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kookiebunnii · 4 years

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love you a latte || mark tuan

Working part-time at your aunt’s café was supposed to be a relatively easy task. You get to strike up conversations with regulars and your clothes always smell like dark roast. However, as large coffee chains begin popping up around your neighborhood, your job and your workplace are suddenly threatened. As you scramble to find a way to keep your family’s business afloat, meeting the God of Coffee might just be what you need.

→ pairing: coffeegod!mark x barista!reader

→ genre: fluff mixed with angst

→ word count: 4k

→ warnings: n/a

“How does Love You a Latte have such good drinks? Simple, they make regular sacrifices to the Coffee God.”

→ a/n: this is my submission for @got7writerscollective‘s virgo project! please enjoy my short work and be sure to check out the other talented submissions

Having the desire to burn down a Starbucks had never been on your to-do list, but recently life was full of surprises.

You continue wiping down the same table that you’ve cleaned for the third time today. The giant green competitor occupying your thoughts looms just outside the windows. Slumping into the nearest seat, you fold the dish towel in your hands into neat little squares. Recently, every time your aunt came into the store to check in on you and the other baristas, her face dropped at the empty room. The sadness in her eyes almost breaks your heart, and you don’t think you can stand it any longer. Wracking your brain for a solution, you watch as rows upon rows of laughing customers walk through the doors of the new coffee shop across the street.

How could you possibly beat a brand that had notoriety, cheaper prices, and all the funds in the world at its disposal? As much as you adored the little slice of heaven your aunt built for herself, this shop is a small business that barely makes ends meet when faced with such a famous competitor. You could not afford to lower prices while maintaining quality, nor continually develop new drinks to use individuality as a lure.

At least the one positive, if you could even consider it that, was how quick and easy closing time became. There were less pitchers to clean, less trash to empty, and less in the registers to account for at the end of the day. As you let your hair out of the high ponytail you typically make for work, you take your singular trash bag out to the dumpster in the alleyway.

When you dispose the garbage for the day, you make an immediate beeline for the sink to wash your hands. However, there is a tall man your do not recognize observing the ceramic mugs kept behind the counter, and suddenly your shift becomes a little more eventful than usual.

“Oh, there you are,” he says, as if you were a friend he was waiting on.

You point at yourself incredulously before realizing that this stranger could be very dangerous or very delusional. It wasn’t everyday someone hopped behind the counter without permission and started admiring your workplace appliances. God, was this man trying to rob you?

“There’s no point stealing from us. We don’t have much anyways,” you mumble, raising your hands up slowly in surrender.

This seems to amuse him, because he chuckles darkly before replacing the pastel pink mug in his hands back to its designated spot on the shelf. Hands tucked in his dark jeans, he almost glides over to you and you instantly feel the hair at the back of your neck rise in fear. His head tilts as he observes you, his dark eyes identical to freshly brewed coffee and his skin glowing like the gentle honey brown of the lattes you like to make.

“Are you afraid of me?” he muses, giving you a teasing smile that immediately sparks the fight-or-flight response in your brain.

“There’s a stranger in my store fiddling behind the counter. You tell me,” as soon as the annoyed words leave your mouth, you realize that it would probably be best not to provoke the man.

As you brace yourself for his response to your snide little comment, you don’t expect the laugh that comes out of him. He reaches out to fix your apron strap, the small act immediately causing your skin to flush, before offering you a more reassuring smile.

“I’m not here to rob you.”

Fiddling with the edge of your apron, you try to relax your nerves—a difficult task considering how muddled with anxiety they were. Gathering what little confidence you have, you reply, “Either way, we’re closed for the day. If you’re looking for something, please come tomorrow.”

As you brush past him to hang up your apron, you’re quickly tugged back with an insistent hand on your wrist. His deep chocolate eyes find yours again, and you can’t help but hold your breath as you wonder what would be coming next.

“I’m here because you called me,” he states plainly, as if this fact should be obvious to you.

Your mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish before you stutter, “I don’t even know who you are?”

His features are painted with amusement, as if your confused expression was funny to him. He backs up to lean against the counter casually, letting go of your wrist in the process. The warmth from his grasp lingers, and you find it hard to concentrate on the words he utters next.

“I’m here to help your store. You’re struggling, aren’t you?” he gestures around to the untouched tables, their accompanying chairs all properly tucked in due to lack of use. The observation makes your heart sink again, and you struggle not to let his comment hurt you. Even if this was something you knew already, hearing another person point it out so obviously nevertheless rubbed salt in the wound.

“Hey…I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m here to make a deal with you, and I promise in a week this place will be packed,” he hurries forward, tilting your chin up to look at him as you try to blink away tears. You offer him whatever semblance of a smile you can, and he offers you one of his own in response.

“How are you going to help?” you wonder, “How do I know I can trust you?”

The stranger snaps his fingers and all of a sudden, the ties of your apron begin undoing themselves as if an invisible hand were working at them. You watch, stunned in silence, and your apron drifts over to the man and serenely loops itself over his neck. Apron secured, he strides over behind the counter and sets to work. His motions are practiced with a smooth hand which make his actions as exquisite as a performance. Mesmerized, you watch as he gathers the perfect amount of milk foam over the espresso shots. As he hands the finished cappuccino in front of your eager eyes, you swear his fingers glow slightly against the side of the mug.

Abandoning all reason, you take a sip of the mysterious man’s finished product. Immediately, your lips curl into a smile. It tastes as amazing as it looks, and you swear it’s the best drink you’re ever had. All the notes are balanced perfectly, and the temperature isn’t too scalding either. Even the most experienced barista may not be able to create such a masterpiece, especially with the average ingredients Love You a Latte supplied.

“Who are you?”

He doesn’t answer for a second, simply tugging the cup from your hands and taking his own sip. His mouth lingers slightly against the rim, his eyes observing you with satisfaction. Humming slightly, he taps the handle of the now-empty mug and it begins cleaning itself within your sink before settling back on the shelf to dry.

“I’m the God of Coffee. However, you can just call me Mark. It’s a lot easier to say,” he finally answers, before hanging your apron on the hook with his own hands and not whatever magic he controls.

“You’re a god? I never knew there were actual gods, especially not for coffee…” the idea almost makes you giggle, as you wonder whether there would be a god for cinnamon rolls too.

“Well, fortunately for humankind, we’re very real. You were hoping for a way to save your aunt’s café earlier, and now I’m here,” he rests his chin against his hand that’s propped up against the counter.

“I’m thankful you made me that cup of coffee earlier. I think anyone could trust you after that display,” you quip, much more comfortable now that you accepted that you could actually help your aunt’s business stay afloat.

He blushes, and the dusty pink across his cheekbones actually surprises you. You didn’t think gods would be so easily fazed over a compliment, but his bashfulness only makes Mark more endearing than before.

“So, are you just going to make all our drinks from now on?” you tilt your head slightly as you question him, wondering how you could convince your aunt to accept Mark’s help. She sure wouldn’t be as accepting of a supposed “god” since she was so strung up with figuring out finances already.

Shaking his head, he gives the top of your head a pat before saying, “Nope. I’ll just give you some of my powers.”

“What do you mean?”

“From now on, you’ll be able to add a little special something to any coffee order you make. In fact, I’ll be magicking this store a little so it’ll help improve the customer experience,” as he finishes his thought, he quickly adds, “I don’t just help anyone. You and your aunt have worked hard for this café, so it’s only right that it gets the attention it deserves.”

“You said you’d make a deal with me. What’s my end of the bargain?” you didn’t have much, so you were genuinely curious about what he could want from you.

He reaches for your hands, pressing his fingertips against your right palm before switching to the left. As he does this, you feel a strange warmth flowing throughout your hands, and you’re unsure whether your heart is racing because of the magic or because the way he brushes against your fingers with his own.

When he’s finished, he simply straightens up and replies, “Just make me a cup of coffee once in a while.”

With that, he fades alongside the setting sun.

☕☕☕☕☕

It appears that Mark is telling the truth, because your store is bustling by the end of the week. Word seems to travel fast when it came to delicious foods and drinks, so the amount of new faces you’ve seen make it hard for you to remember names—even if that was your special talent.

You call out orders, taking the time to hand each customer their order and personally wish them a pleasant day. You knew to be grateful for the new development, so you did your best to offer what little you could to add to the positive change. Even if Mark had helped make your drinks stellar, kindhearted customer service was essential too.

Even though you had only seen the man once, you sense the moment he’s in the room. Brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you look up from the croissant in your hands to see Mark sitting across the room with a smile. You can’t help but grin back, handing the last customer of the day her warmed-up pastry. When she leaves, you sneak off from your position behind the counter to approach him.

As soon as you’re within earshot, Mark says, “You look much happier Y/N.”

Assuming one of his godly duties is to already know the names of those he assists, you brush away the shiver that dances across your spine when he says your name.

“All thanks to you of course. What can I get you?”

“Surprise me,” he replies.

You can’t help the way your arms tremble as you adjust the steam wand into your pitcher of milk. Watching the way foam begins developing as a result of the heat and air bubbling in the liquid, you pray that whatever magic he gave you helps you also make a good decision for what to offer a literal God of Coffee.

Tapping the side of the cinnamon shaker in your hands, you watch as small brown specks dot the snow-white of the milk foam. Satisfied, you carry your creation over to the figure watching you with interest. Your coworkers don’t pay you much heed, opting to simply clean up as quickly as possible in order to clock-out on time. Since you were the manager’s relative, they were relatively lenient with you, never giving you a hard time or questioning you. It was nice at times, but it also made it difficult to befriend them, as they always placed you on a pedestal.

As he takes the drink you offer to him, his fingers brush against your own. It’s a small gesture, but it still does wonders in dispelling the fear you felt in approaching him. Almost immediately, Mark nods in appreciation.

“Pumpkin spice latte. Fits the season quite well,” he notes, before tipping the coffee into his waiting mouth.

“You knew that before tasting it?” you admire, wondering what the extent of his powers were.

“Of course,” he says as if agreeing that the sky was blue.

He waits for you until you finish locking up. In the time that he had been gone, you always wondered whether the sacrifices this god sought paled in comparison to how much he was helping you. After all, the sales generated were well over anything the café had previously mad. Your aunt had been ecstatic, immediately setting to work developing new menus to keep up with the growing engagement. Perhaps she felt that if she questioned why everything was happening, the bubble would burst like a dream. You were grateful for her easy acceptance, smiling whenever you noticed the gentle glow against a customer’s coffee cup that reminded you of Mark’s lingering presence.

“Are all gods like you?” you ask, tucking your keys back into your purse before running a hand through your hair in an attempt to fix any stray strands.

“Not quite. I’m one of the lesser gods, so that probably makes me less full of myself,” he jokes, laughing slightly when he notices the way you cover your mouth to laugh as well.

“I’m glad,” you reply.

He leads you all the way to your apartment, and the fact that he’s aware of your residence is simply another observation you accept as part of his godly duties. When you’re right outside the black metal gates, your hand hesitating against the keypad to open them, you realize that you’re reluctant to leave him.

“Y/N?”

You sheepishly turn to face him with an embarrassed expression, “You’ll be back again? Soon?”

Your question surprises him, as if he couldn’t believe you would request his presence in the way you did. Gathering his composure, he only ruffles your hair adoringly in response. He takes two steps back, his form barely visible when he finally whispers, “Yes.”

You stand there until you’re completely sure he’s gone. The soft ‘thank you’ that escapes your parted lips is quickly caught by a passing breeze. You pray that he hears it.

☕☕☕☕☕

Fall rushes past like a memory that’s difficult to grasp in its entirety. You developed a habit of counting the times Mark had visited you. Originally, you only offered him items available on your menu. You were confident that those drinks would at most be passable, and free drinks were a worthy trade-off for Love You a Latte’s sudden flourishing. Eventually, after some teasing encouragement from the Coffee God himself, you began experimenting. Taking ideas from flavor profiles you already knew would mingle well, you would happily offer those to him instead as his scheduled sacrifice. He was an honest critic, providing tips on how to improve taste or mouthfeel. Laughing whenever you would take notes and hang onto each word he utters; he’d simply call you ‘cute’ before returning to the drinks you offered him.

You wonder if being a deity also means he notices how you were slowly admitting him into your life.

Mark hadn’t been in the store for a week, something that was atypical for the man. Your fellow baristas had long clocked out for the day, bidding you half-hearted goodbyes after you insisted on doing some inventory review. Counting the boxes of oat milk remaining in the storage for the third time, you sigh and hang up your apron. Remembering the way he had fixed your strap absentmindedly the first day you’d met him, you run your fingers against the fabric in mimicry. It was a stupid emotion, but you missed him.

Even then, you couldn’t help the hope rising in your chest that told you he would be waiting for you at one of the tables you wiped down earlier in the day. When that didn’t happen, you told yourself that he would try to scare you as soon as you turn your back to lock the front door of the coffee shop. The music you listened on the way home still couldn’t soothe your powerful expectations, which chased you like hungry wolves all the way back to your apartment.

It’s only when you’ve changed into an oversized hoodie and worn sweatpants, ready to jump into bed and call it a night, that your wishes are finally answered.

“Y/N.”

No many how many times you heard his voice rumble with your name, you couldn’t help the way it felt like a shot of espresso to your system. He’d say it in warning whenever he notices you slyly trying to slip salt into his contracted offering as a prank or in a sort of gentle happiness when he leaves you outside your apartment in goodbye. You knew it was futile, letting yourself be affected by the natural awe that gods likely possessed. Your foolish mortal feelings would mean nothing to him, as he was merely here for business purposes.

“Hi,” you push away the sadness in your tone and clear your throat, “You usually don’t show up in my bedroom.”

Your tease garners an immediate reaction from him. Even though the night settles early in the winter evenings, you notice the scarlet color he tries to hide. You sit up from under your blankets, hoping that he stays longer than he used to tonight.

“I’m sorry I’ve been away,” he continues, averting his gaze.

You’re not used to the sudden awkwardness. Previously, the two of you would talk nonstop at the café and the walk home that were occurring two or three times a week. It was as if the god you knew had been replaced by this uncomfortable clone. It hurt you more than the idea that you would never be meaningful to him.

“It’s fine. I’m sure you’ve been busy.”

You’re not sure what you want. You want him to return back to the Mark you knew, the one who would tell you funny stores about his brothers and help you in the café whenever you needed a hand. You missed the Mark that looked like he didn’t want the day to end whenever he took the time to consume your coffee offering while laughing at your stories of unique customer experiences. You missed the way his hands would brush against yours, whenever he leaned in closer to hear you above the harsh winter winds on your nightly walks.

But above all else, you suddenly want him to tell you he missed you too.

“Y/N, I have other obligations elsewhere,” he finally relents, body sagging with the weight of the information he just exposed.

Even without the details, you know what this means.

“Will the café be fine without you?” you add, hoping to keep the disappointment in your tone at bay.

He moves forward to settle down on the edge of your bed, leaving the previous spot he’d occupied by your window. When his hand rests on your knee, you know you should push him off to rid yourself of the jolt of something you suddenly felt. But you were frozen, eyes trained on the way he looked at you. It was utter, tender love.

“It’s been without me for the past month, Y/N.”

His confession causes you to momentarily lose your train of thought. Did he mean that he hadn’t been using his magic for the past few weeks? But he still stopped by and complimented the drinks you were creating…why would he still be around if he was no longer holding up his end of the bargain?

“The magic in here,” he continues after taking your hand in his, “isn’t simply limited to what I gave you when we first made our agreement.”

You wait for him to continue, unable to help the way your fingers instinctively tighten around his. He doesn’t seem to mind, because he adjusts his grip to allow your fingers to intertwine with his own longer ones. You know you’re blushing, and you don’t need to see the small smirk tugging against his lip corner to know that.

“You didn’t need me to be successful. I gave the shop a small push in the right direction, but soon enough, the hard work and love in each coffee you sold echoed stronger in your customers than whatever strings I could’ve pulled,” he says.

His fingertips brush the tears away from your cheeks. You sniffle, upset that your vulnerability showed so obviously in front of Mark. He tugs on your hand slightly so you direct your gaze to connect with his again. In his eyes, you think you find comfort telling you that he didn’t mind your crying.

“Ever since that pumpkin spice latte, I’ve never given you access to my magic when you made drinks for me.”

“But wouldn’t magic have made them better? Everything I made must’ve only been subpar to you then,” you bite your lip, worrying that he had been lying to you all along that your sacrifices had been enjoyable to him at all.

He chuckles before pulling you into his arms. You drink in the soft scent of coffee beans against his skin, nuzzling close to the crook of his neck to seek the warmth there. His skin radiates heat like a freshly brewed batch of morning coffee. The way he rests his hand against the back of your head, slowly brushing his fingers through the strands of hair there does wild things to your pulse. There’s no way he doesn’t feel it drumming against your chest, with the two of you being this close.

“I wanted to enjoy whatever you made as something uniquely you,” he pulls back so you can see the stars shining in his eyes, “If you’ve learned anything from our companionship these past few months, it should be about how talented you are.”

You grip his own hoodie in your hands, fearing that if you didn’t hold onto him, he wouldn’t disappear just like he had the past 52 times.

“Please don’t go.”

The words fall like fractured pieces of glass on the floor. You let the pain fully seep into your voice now, hoping that he would stay even if it was out of pity. Instead, Mark simply presses his palm against your cheek before leaning in to give you the best kiss you’ve ever had.

He tastes bittersweet, and you wonder if it’s the coffee he’s probably had already or the fact that everything about this moment is a sort of painful happiness. His other hand joins the other to cup your face delicately, as if he couldn’t believe you were real. Lips soft yet desperate, you match his pace as you etch each detail into your memories. As long as you lived, you didn’t want to forget Mark.

At your insistence, he stays with you for the rest of night. Pressed up against his chest, you can almost delude yourself into thinking that you were a normal girl sleeping beside her normal boyfriend. You force yourself to stay awake as long as you could, not wanting to forget the small details of his face. From the bridge of his nose to the sharp line of his jaw, you trace these features until you fall asleep. Giving him a final kiss goodbye, you let the final tear cascade from the corner of your eyelid when he finally murmurs those three special words against your hair that you’ve been waiting to hear.

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

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Someone Left to Save (3)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: Part 1 | Previous: Part 2 | Next: Part 4 | Masterlist

3 of ?

The Second Brother’s hand barely touched you, his clawed gloves hovered mere inches away from your face, but you could feel the energy escaping your entire body and then enter his fingers in the form of white, translucent tendrils. The sensation was similar to drowning—sinking, rather—with a weight tied to your ankles, the farther you plummet the more air you are deprived of. Your throat roughed up on its own as you gagged for oxygen. When you thought you were kicking your legs to perhaps swing yourself out, your ankles were all but a pair of spastic, twitching joints—any more and you just might tear your tendons due to the desperation brought by your fight-or-flight instinct.

It’s excruciating. Extremely.

You could feel like your heart would stop any moment now, unable to withstand this overwhelming sensation.

With your guard down, he got back at you in breaking your balance—kicking you in the shin so your stance falters—and then held you by the scruff of your shirt as he continued stealing what could be your Force energy. As he stole your essence, he took satisfaction in your bodily throes that were nothing more but feeble attempts to slip away from his grasp.

“Not so slippery, aren’t you, my little thorn?”

For every inch of translucent mist that wafted out you cannot breathe, your head felt heavy for each time the veins on your temples throbbed, and your vision went dim as you avoided eye contact with the Second Brother. Whatever form of escape you attempt, everything was pointless.

You are literally in the Second Brother’s grasp.

It is mercy that he has not killed you yet.

Although he decided to make a plaything out of your agony.

“LET ME GO!!! LET… M-ME… G-G-GO!!!” you ear-shattering plea fell to deaf, sadistic ears.

As you suffer with every violent jerk of your body—so much so that it cramped your muscles—every labored, through-the-teeth breath, and the frenzied shifting of your eyes to fight off the dimming—all of these reactions to the intolerable, inhumane pain that you’re experiencing right now does not seem to sate this Inquisitor.

Through his wicked Force ability, he was able to see everything in the recesses of your mind—your memories, dreams and nightmares, and fears. He bore witness to the nightmare that has haunted two nights ago until the eve of this very day. The Second Brother wanted to make sure that you will see and realize that your motivation is also your weakness.

“Now I see whom that fire burns for,” he purred.

His cackling began with a wheeze, muffled yet still audible through his mask’s ornate face plate. As he looked into your shifty eyes, he mocks you by watching your nightmare play like a film… over and over again, to his liking.

All of a sudden, his strength appears to have double compared to hours ago. The longer he inflicts this agonizing power over you, the more you submit to your knees—with the toll of the pain becoming more and more unbearable.

This was a dark, distorted mirror image of Cal’s own ability: Psychometry. His and the Second Brother’s abilities are near-identical; the only difference is that the Inquisitor has yet to demonstrate that he can manipulate his victim’s visions to his whim—bending them, poisoning them, and ultimately changing them—to further twist what they truly convey. This is a capability that he has earned through the Dark Side of the Force.

“I can see him heading this way right now,”

“Liar! He’s out there fighting with the others,”

“Oh, I never lie. I may be bad, little thorn, but I do not lie—it’s a lesser, lamer evil, in my opinion.”

“And I am supposed to believe you—of all people? I’d rather believe a pile of Bantha shit if it talked!”

The fight dragged on, while it did, Cal tore his way through the enemy fronts, leaving lifeless Stormtroopers in his wake—but he hasn’t gotten any closer to the stronghold to get to you. From where he stood, he could see the rebels that you came with pour out of the entrance, some of them leaped from the towers, taking the enemy by surprise and flanking them.

He squinted his eyes through the battlefield, he couldn’t spot you—he knew what you wore and none of those figures in the distance matched.

“Where are you, [Y/N]?” Cal growled in frustration and growing fear.

The Inquisitor continued to siphon your Force energy out of your system, leaving barely an ounce from the vessel.

When he’s had enough of it, he releases his grip from the collar of your shirt and then you felt a row of solid, metal knuckles slammed to your cheekbone. You literally saw stars, mere white specks dancing behind your eyes as the surroundings blurred; you can barely make a proper stance, let alone stand straight. The Inquisitor laughed in mockery.

“With every step he takes, the closer that nightmare of yours becomes a reality,” he cooed.

“Just shut up!”

“Oh, and would you look at the time?” he chirped in his trademark singsong tone, only this time it was sarcastic and meant to taunt you.

Eleven minutes remain on the clock.

You spot this from the nearest time-bomb at the corner of your eye.

“Do you still think you can play around with fate, little thorn?”

There still some fight left in you, though your battle was both physical and mental, it’s difficult enough to deal with the physical—what more of the latter?

Being drained of your Force essence was relative to losing a lot of blood—you’re nauseous and groggy, your vision’s fogged and wobbly, and your grip can barely keep itself tight. You cannot even hold your defensive stance for more than a minute. You coax yourself to take long, slow, calm breaths—it was effective. Slowly, you recompose yourself.

Your objective in mind is to hold off the Second Brother while affording enough time to escape.

“There is another way of saving him, you know,”

You ultimately hate to admit it… but he’s right.

As he had siphoned the Force out of you, he has also seen through the secrets of your mind. He knew of your fear—the apparent death of Cal. You’ve already figured out that the blinding red and orange light, the ash and soot, all came from the imminent explosion caused by the bombs destroying the reactors.

Little did you know that the solution he had intentionally embedded in your mind was a distortion, a trick, and he smiled to himself sensing full well that you’re slowly biting into the bait.

“Are you really going to let his blood be on your hands? It’s going to be a lot, you might not keep all of it, little thorn,”

“Don’t call me that…” you snarled through the grit of your teeth as you sobbed.

You’re desperate. The longer the clock ticks, the more imminent Cal’s death would be.

Come on, [Y/N], think fast!

You will not allow the Second Brother to get the best of you. A mere second was afforded for you to meditate, to make peace quickly that your last-minute plan is the best and only resort to save Cal—without any other compromise.

I know he’s safe, that’s all that matters. You mouth the words to yourself like a prayer.

With one sweep of the arm, all of the bombs’ timers have been manually changed. Originally, only five minutes were remaining, but you—using the Force—overrode the configuration and set them all to ten seconds. This took the Second Brother by surprise, with the remainder of your strength, you kicked him on the chest and flung him a few inches away; while disoriented, you made a run for it—dashing through the air in the same speed as he did, scaled and skipped a few spokes of the ladder until you hauled yourself to the platform. Doing these doubled the toll your body is already taking, which is struggling to keep you from collapsing; your breath heaved and your own weight suddenly became anvils.

Now that you’ve gotten yourself to high ground, you’ve used up all of your energy and returned to your sluggish, weakened state. The exit is still far off and you can see the digits on the clock.

00:05.

“W-Where’s [Y/N]?” Cal demands an answer from the rebel who ran past him, grabbing the soldier by the sleeve.

“I-I don’t know! An Imp attacked us from nowhere… he’s already killed Yenna!”

“Imp? What Imp?”

“He had a saber like yours, except red.”

The young Jedi let the partisan go. Based on the last thing the rebel said, Cal already knew it was no ordinary Imp.

His fears have come true. Although he was aware of the risks already but he never anticipated you would face an Inquisitor alone!

00:02.

Before Cal could even get any closer to the stronghold, he—along with everyone else, friend and foe alike—stopped dead in his tracks, startled by the rumble that sourced from the building. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped—the red and orange cloud of fire filled the pair of jade eyes—and his heart drummed so loudly that it just might tear right through his ribs and out from his leather armor. Goosebumps pelted his arms, cold sweat trickled on his temples, and the hairs at the back of his neck pricked up.

“No…!” he gasped. When the reality of the explosion eventually sunk into him, despite refusing the truth right in front of him, he roared your name at the top of his lungs—so much so that he wheezed when he inhaled.

“Beeeeeeee!!!!” BD-1 let out of the shrillest, ear-shattering chirp he has ever done in his entire life.

“FALL BACK!!!”

“RETREAT!!”

The Stormtroopers cried in panic, some turned tail and fled, a brave handful kept shooting while slowly stepping back. The rebels gradually overtook the field until the numbers have thinned out in the enemy’s side. Having a complete disregard for his safety, Cal charged through the crossfire, powered yet blinded by pure adrenaline, a few of the partisans called out to him but to no avail.

“CAL, HEY COME BACK!!”

“CAL, COME BACK HERE!!!”

Cal was hindered from coming closer as another minor explosion followed up after the big one. The wind of the blast was enough to fling him away and the couple of partisans who called for him ran and caught up to him. The hooked their arms underneath Cal’s.

“NO, WAIT!!! [Y/N] IS STILL IN THERE!!!” Cal violently kicked and attempted to shake them off his arms, but they’ve held him tight enough to bruise his arms through the sleeves. “GET OFF OF ME!!!”

“Cal, come on! We gotta get out of here!” insisted the male partisan who’s the first to call Cal out when he ran off.

The two young men worked together in hauling Cal out of the fire’s radius—surprisingly, he was heavy for both of them, considering the insistent one was a bit bulkier in stature, but that’s the adrenaline doing its job in his body—the ginger kept his eyes on the blazing stronghold, his emotions have clouded the clarity of his mind as well as his good judgment.

The pair of rebels had regrouped with Cal in tow—who was still being stubborn and difficult to deal with. They reported the one known casualty—the woman who personally called you Little Spark, the woman named Yenna, murdered by the Inquisitor upon making his grand entrance earlier.

Cere personally approached him to greet him back, but when the woman saw that you’re missing, her eyes searched the entire group.

“Where’s [Y/N]?”

“She wasn’t with them when they rendezvoused,”

“Th-Then where?”

Cal’s face lit up and frantically patted his person in search of the compact radar. There was no sign of your blip. He could’ve sworn he saw it blink once before it died out.

“No! My radar’s bust, but I know she’s out there, Cere!”

Cere, unsure of what to make of Cal’s medley of emotions, sighed and spoke nothing. Cal insisted on setting up a search party for you with him personally leading it. The idea was merit, unfortunately, the young redhead isn’t the one calling the shots.

“Whoa, slow down, kid,” the captain in charge stepped into the scene between Cal and Cere. He expresses that he understands what the boy is going through, shell-shocked by the apparent fact that you might have been killed in the explosion, but he also expressed the importance of the survivors’ individual well-being.

“We have to tend the wounded first; and you’re gonna need some equipment if you want to charge through that fire out there,” added the captain.

“I won’t need a lot of men, rather I don’t any,”

The same couple of partisans who hauled Cal against his will—namely Larki and Morzen—cut in directly after Cal’s statement. They volunteered to go with him, thus it’s just the three of them as a search party. They have enough people back in the rendezvous point and the main hideout to care for the wounded and send them back for proper medical attention. The captain personally took and handed over sets of protective gears for Cal and his companions.

The three of them mounted speeder bikes—Cal rode along while Larki and Morzen shared. Cere watched the trio disappear into the horizon and then her head craned to the sky peeking over the trees.

It will be night very soon.

“Your boy sure is persistent,”

“It’s because he feels something is there, and he means what he says,” Cere argued. She nodded sideways to the captain, gesturing him to the tent until their land transport arrives.

39 notes · View notes

minsyal · 5 years

Text

Stan83, [Sam x Reader]

Word Count: 6k

Summary: The life of a hunters assistant wasn’t easy, especially when two of them come knocking on your door posing as Agents investigating the recent deaths in the area.

Warnings: General SPN stuff, nothing crazy

This was the third time you had woken in the middle of the night. This was the third time you had jolted upward in bed only to find an empty room and unsettling feeling falling to the pit of your stomach. This was the third time you had searched your home in the dark of night with an old metal baseball bat that you kept beneath your bed. This was the third time you had found countless open windows with no recollection of leaving them so. This was the third time you had come to the conclusion that nobody was here. It was just you.

It was later than usual, or perhaps simply earlier in the morning. The clock on your bedside table blinked on and off in big red numbers “4:45 AM.” Your job wasn’t exactly a nine to five with a set lunch break and mandatory stopping points throughout the day. You were an on-call, entirely electronic, assistant to the vast grapevine of hunters that so chose to reach out. Who they were didn’t matter to you. For all you knew, you were telling vampires how to kill one another and witches where to find the ingredients they needed for an unsuspecting ghoul.

The tradition passed through generations of your family, from grandfather to father and now to you. Your father had decided he wanted more thrill in his life; he didn’t want to be tied down to his computer desk for the rest of eternity. That decision led to hunting, and within months he had passed. Your mother, on the other hand, was a runaway. She abandoned the family as soon as she learned of your father’s secret life.

Ice crept from the old, cracked tiles of your kitchen. Fall’s spiny fingers had wretched themselves from the ground and were now climbing your legs, sending chills up your spine. The tiles weren’t helping much. They hadn’t seen white in years and were now permanently stained what you preferred to call cream. Going bad to bed, while the best outcome of the night, was no use as your phone and computer lit up with five new notifications all from “Stan83.”

Hey, crazy story. Need your help.

Hunting – little to no details – marks on victims

You there?

It can wait if you’re busy.

Sorry if this wakes you up.

Stan83 had quickly become one of your favorite hunters to converse with. He, you assumed, was in his late twenties to early thirties based on the “83” in his name. He had told you little to no information about himself other than the fact that he hunted with his brother and moved all over the country. Your conversations were more casual: what did you have for lunch, what are you hunting today, what type of music do you like, what’s up. The simple things. A few conversations spiraled. It was rare for them to happen. Only when big things happened and Stan83 had no one else to talk to would he pick up the phone and send a text.

Picking your mug up from the counter, you flicked the kitchen light off and started for your room where you’d likely spend the rest of the day. Your desk was a mess. Books littered the surface opened to all sorts of weird information that anyone would have you locked in an institution for. Scribbled notes were pinned up on your wall that detailed the whereabouts of those you spoke with. If they didn’t contact you for about a month, you’d contact them.

You didn’t wake me up. You responded, waiting for only a moment before a small text bubble popped up indicating that the person on the other side was typing.

You sure? It’s 5:00am. Stan83 answered. It was easy to imagine the tone he used, a little sarcastic, a little smug.

That wasn’t you. It was the nightmares. It’s 5 for you too? Finally taking a spin in the BEST time zone, huh?

The best time zone that spans about 600 miles?

Ok, sass me then. What’s up?

Weird hunt. Women in this town are dying at a pretty fast rate. Their children are acting strange. Weird marks on their necks are making fathers think they’re cheating.

I’ll take a look through what I have and get back to you.

Thank you Sav!

Sav, your own nick. It was the easiest to think of on the spot when your old system had gone kaput and you needed to as quickly as possible set up a new database and communication network. It’s short for saver, or savior, or whatever the hell these hunters wanted to believe. Maybe it meant savvy but given the state of your home and wardrobe you wouldn’t put money on that.

The rest of the morning consisted of research. Each lore book and journal your father left behind was thoroughly scanned through with big yellow sticky notes marking the pages that held possible leads. With your luck, you’d be able to message Stan83 back by noon with possibilities. That is, you would have been able to message Stan83 back if your doorbell hadn’t rung 13 times in a row at an alarming rate.

You passed by the entry hall warily. Nobody in this town really knew you, and you didn’t care to know them either. The only people who dared step foot on your property were usually city officials complaining of the broken window on your small garage or political campaigners who were being paid to pester and harp on people for votes.

The figures beyond were large, looming even. Two dark shadows were cast over your frosted-glass door and you watched as the shorter of the two raised his hand once more to ring the bell another five times. “I’m coming!” You finally yelled back, turning quickly to the mirror in your hall that held no particular purpose, but it was supposedly your mothers. You looked awful. If the garage hadn’t scared off whoever stood beyond your home’s threshold, your physical appearance definitely would.

Loose hairs fell from the messy, slept-in ponytail that hung lazily and lopsided at the back of your head. Your skin was flushed from the lack of breakfast, and now lunch as you had lost track of time attempting to help one of your favorite hunters. The shirt you wore was luckily clean, but the sweatpants had small holes from where they had caught on the kitchen counter and torn.

“What can I do for you?” You asked without bothering to look at the two men standing on your front porch. Nobody knew of your “hunting” life, so there was a slim to no possibility of any real threat coming to your door. Unless, of course, these were tax collectors coming to repossess something for another unpaid credit card.

The shorter of the two men spoke “Agent Stark,” he quickly flashed an ID, “Banner,” he motioned to the taller man beside him, “we’re here to investigate the deaths of a few of your neighbors. Do you mind if we come in?”

You took a moment, Stark and Banner, really? “Let me get a look at that ID.” You nodded your head in the direction of his coat pocket where he had neatly tucked the leather protected card. Agent Banner acted faster. “Here.”

Banner, or whoever this was, was far taller than the man who self-identified himself as Tony Stark. He had the classic triangle shape to his body, broad shoulders, slim waist. His hair was formally tucked back from his face, but strands kept falling from his ears as he shifted from foot to foot waiting for your determination. Mr. Stark was shorter, but still a giant none-the-less. He had a finely set jaw, green eyes, and a short business-cut style to his hair.

“Mr. Banner.” You pressed your lips together. The ID was awful. The leather was fake, scratched and worn from what you guessed to be a few uses. “Where’d you get this ID?” Twisting it in your hand, you offered it back to him.

“The Federal Bureau of Investigation, ma’m.” He replied smoothly, not showing how his heart rate picked up at your questioning of their identities.

“In some back alley?” You shrugged. “At least choose realistic names next time.”

“Look.” Agent Stark stiffened as he crossed his arms over his chest. Agent Banner immediately went wide-eyed and motioned for him to stop whatever he was about to do. “We’re here to investigate your neighbor’s deaths. Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?”

Waiting a moment, you held your grip on the door, willing it to close any second. “You got guns on you?” An eyebrow raise from Agent Stark confirmed your suspicions.

“Leave them in your little muscle car over there.” You peered between them at the black Impala parked on the road. It was pristine, well taken care of, clearly waxed recently. “Then come back and we can talk.”

Hunters, while difficult to talk to online, are insufferable in person. These big meat heads always want to get their way. They never relent and admit they’re wrong or they’ve been caught. So, when the two nodded and began off your doorstep toward the car, you were taken aback.

Both unloaded two guns from their waistbands. “Other weapons too!” You yelled from the step. Agent Stark grumbled something inaudible as Agent Banner seemed to soothe him.

Why are all you hunters so horrible? You typed into your phone, smiling as you pressed send and immediately saw Stan83 typing back.

What happened this time?

Real hunters interrupting my work! I think I got you guys some leads though. Will tell you later. Gotta deal with these bozos.

Bozos? Really?

Guess I inherited my father’s vocabulary too.

“Alright, Iron Man and the Incredible Hulk.” You were perched upon the arm of one of your recliners, arms crossed over your chest as you eyed the two men looking out of place in your small living room. “You’re hunters, I know. Real names?”

“I’m Sam.” The taller of the two said, being stopped with an arm over his chest from the shorter one. “What?” He shook his head. “She obviously knows…”

“Too much.” The shorter one said. “Who are you?”

“Nobody important.”

“Important enough to know what hunting is.”

“[Y/N.]” You replied, shifting in your seat. “Ok, your turn.”

“Dean.”

“Last names?”

“Confidential.”

“Mhm.” You hummed, really uncaring of their last names but trying to pry anyway. Sam tilted his head, looking around the house. “What do you think you’re hunting?”

“Aren’t sure yet.” Sam piped up, snapping his attention back to you. “Have you been keeping up with the news here lately?”

“I rarely leave this place. I don’t even know my neighbors.”

“We can tell.” Dean chimed in earning himself a heavy elbow to the gut. Sam shot him a dirty look before turning back to you. “A couple of women have died. Their husbands think they’re cheating on them, but after they pass their children disappear too.”

“Sounds like a changeling.”

“Told you.” Dean commented, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back on the couch.

“Grab some matches and go crazy.” You pushed yourself up from your chair. “Wait here a second.” Escaping to the back hall, you returned to your desk and began to gather a few things about changelings that you had read this morning.

I think we figured it out. A message stopped you from returning to Sam and Dean. It was Stan83.

No, wait I figured it out first.

Why didn’t you tell me, then?

Because I like keeping secrets from you.

“Hurry up back there, will you?” Dean’s voice called from the living room.

“Hold your horses.”

“My what?” You heard Dean whisper to Sam who either didn’t respond or responded quietly. “Dude would you get off your phone?”

“Here. A couple pages in this should help. I’d loan them to you, but I’m not sure I’d get them back.” The books landed on the coffee table in front of the two. Dean began palming through the contents while Sam sat glued to his phone, typing something quickly.

“Did you not listen to me a second ago?” Dean bickered. “Phone, off. Hunt, now.”

Sam pressed something speedily, closing his phone before pocketing it out of sight. Your phone in your own pocket buzzed, causing you and Sam to stop. Dean hadn’t noticed, he was enthralled in the journal you had presented to him. “Where’d you get this?” He asked, not looking away from the page.

“Grandfather had it.” You began to pull your phone out of your pocket. “He passed it down from one of his hunting buddies to my father and now to me.”

Secrets are supposed to be for crushes and broken plates, not things that are killing people.

Oops! You typed back slowly, eyeing Sam who was doing the same. When you hit send a notification rang from his pocket causing Dean to groan.

“Stan83?” The words scrambled from your lips before your tongue had time to catch them. Dean snorted as he shook his head and flipped the journal’s page.

“Sav?” Sam replied as Dean gave yet another snort, this time accompanied by a head shake. “Are we still bozos?”

“You called us bozos?” Dean chuckled.

~~*~~

Sam is Stan83. You’re Sav. That much you can say for sure. After the initial shock of it all, you quickly mellowed out and fled to the back room to gather the materials you were saving to message Stan83 with. Turns out, you had just saved yourself an hour of typing.

Stan83 was far different from Sam. Stan83 presented himself as a somewhat sarcastic, confident, flirtatious man while Sam sat much smaller despite his frame. He was clumsy and nervous, stumbling over a few of his words before catching himself as he went full speed down a hill. When he had attempted to describe what he looked like, he was being modest. He said he was tall, had an average build, brown hair, and liked to run. You had assumed he was skinnier and less muscle.

Sam blushed at each comment you made concerning your conversations online; you could never imagine Stan83 to be a blusher. He was so different, yet so similar. In a way, it was endearing.

“So, it’s targeting women on this block?” You frowned; your hand outstretched to Dean as he accepted the coffee you had just made. “Good thing I’ve got no kids.” You joked.

“That’s the thing, though.” Sam had long since discarded his blazer and was now sitting in the armchair you had initially been sitting on. “It’s targeting all women. We think there may be more than one.”

“Well, yeah. Changelings have kids.”

“No, he means more than one adult changeling.” Dean added.

“They don’t typically work together like that, though.”

“Which is why we think it’s weird.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

The two brothers waited a moment before seemingly conversing without a single audible word. Dean raised his eyebrows, eyes moving back and forth between you and Sam. Sam immediately went on the defense. “Dean, no.”

“Come on! You don’t even know what I’m thinking.” Dean pouted. He brought his now-chilled coffee up to his lips, a frown laced upon his lips as the cold bitter liquid spilled over his tongue. “Gah.” He crinkled his face up and bit his lip. “It’s a good plan.”

“What is he talking about?”

“[Y/N],” Dean began, “me and Sam, big dudes. We aren’t exactly this things cup-of-tea. It’s going after women… and you happen to be a woman…”

“You guys want to use me as bait?”

“Correction. He wants to use you as bait.” Sam added.

“I’m not really a hunter though.” You shifted in your seat. “I can’t even shoot a gun.”

“Just think about it.” Dean said. He leant over and grabbed his blazer. Throwing it over his shoulder, he motioned for Sam to do the same. “We’re staying at the motel on highway 62. If you’re up for it, feel free to uh…” he pulled a slip of paper from his pocket – a fake business card, “call us.”

“I have Sam’s number, you know?”

“Right.” Dean withdrew the card and returned it to its rightful home, tucked away in his pocket.

~~*~~

The next day came and went with no contact to either Sam or Dean. You had relented and finally turned on the local news channel. Four women in your neighborhood had passed away with their children all going missing afterward. The fathers were sending out heartfelt pleas for their children’s safe returns. One woman was considered missing and immediately seen as a suspect in the eyes of the law.

You, along with two other women, were the only ones left on the block. One was a daughter living with her single father as she finished up her college degree. The other, a widowed elderly woman living alone with her two dogs.

~~*~~

“She’s not a hunter, Dean. We can’t just expect her to drop everything she knows and jump straight into action.” Sam groaned, throwing his blazer down on the old worn couch. The motel room was as they left it. The desk’s chair was pushed out slightly, an open laptop sitting upon the cracked oak wood. Each bed was still neatly made, the two brothers hadn’t had the chance to sleep yet as they only arrived in the morning.

“All she has to do is wait around at her home while we keep an eye on the other two. Something bad happens and we run 50 feet.”

“What if 50 feet is too much? She could get hurt.”

Dean pulled his shirt over his head, adjusting the neck before accessorizing with a blue button-up. He ran his fingers through his hair, wiping the excess gel on his jeans. Sam sat on the edge of one of the beds, already changed and working away on his computer.

“Fine. Then we have to figure out something else.”

~~*~~

Changelings are awful creatures. Not just awful looking, but awful in general. They act so quietly that it’s hard to detect them before they get their first few kills. Your eyes scanned the screen before you, days since you’d spoken to the brothers. It had been two days of waiting, watching, and hoping they’d finish this hunt.

4:45AM. The clock blinked. On and off, on and off, the red numbers illuminated the room. Your routine stood, wake, check the home, and return to assisting hunters. The window was open. It had been rather nice outside lately. Fall was setting in after a grueling humid summer and you were excited to have a good excuse to stay indoors.

Sorry about the other day. The message popped up around 6, and it took you til 7 to answer.

It’s okay. Typical hunter jazz. No big deal. You responded.

Do you mind if I stop by?

With your brother? This early in the morning?

Just me. Dean’s still sleeping.

You pondered for a moment. Sure, you had been talking to Sam for years at this point, but the Sam you had come to know was so vastly different from the Sam that knocked on your door impersonating the Incredible Hulk. It had been years since you actively attempted to converse with others in person. Your social life had mostly been contained to the world of technology.

Sure, give me 30. You regretted it the moment you hit send. What were you supposed to talk to him about? “No, I don’t want to be bait, but I also don’t want to come across as an asshole who doesn’t care?”

~~*~~

Sam sat, looking comically large, in the small armchair he had taken to the last time he visited. A fresh cup of coffee was warming the palms of his hands, fighting off the cold that spilled in from the windows. You sat on the couch, across from him, mirroring his position.

“So,” you started, breaking the strained silence that fell between you, “have you guys found anything on the changelings?”

“Nothing more than what you told us, and we already knew.” Sam sipped the coffee. “Hey, I uh, do you remember what we talked about a few years ago? That promise?”

Promises were touchy subjects in hunting. Often, they were meaningless. “You mean when I promised I’d quit drinking?”

He laughed, “Close, but no.”

“When I promised I’d never get into hunting?” He nodded. “Don’t worry, Sam. Not planning on…” You closed your eyes and began to speak, but upon opening them found him with a rather pensive look. He almost looked guilty. “You want me to bait the damn thing out, huh?”

“We’re out of leads. Dean and I have been watching the block for the past few days and we have nothing.”

“You’re asking me to break my promise?”

“Just for a night.”

“What happens when I die?”

“You’ll go to heaven.” He said as if there was no question to it. “But that’s not going to happen anytime soon. When it’s over, you’re going to be okay.”

“You promise?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I promise.” He brought the mug to his mouth, “and I won’t break mine like you break yours.”

“Hey!”

~~*~~

That’s how you ended up with all your doors unlocked, most of your windows parked, and a Black Impala parked a few doors down in front of an empty lot. You paced in the living room, nervous for whatever this night would hold. Sam promised you’d be okay, and you’d be damned if you didn’t hold him to that. Sam said if anything went haywire, he’d be on your doorstep in no time flat. Dean was happy to hear you had “come around” and briefed you on what you needed to do which was mostly “stay put, act normal.”

It was 12:00am when you finally moved to ready yourself for bed. Flicking off the lights, your eyes flitted from the curtains blowing slightly in the night to the computer screen that had long since gone dark. Sam and Dean were just outside, there was nothing to be nervous about. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Settling into bed, you felt the exhaustion of the day rush through your body. Everything felt heavy. Your eyelids attempted to will themselves closed, but you pushed yourself to remain awake. Just as darkness seeped into the corners of your vision, an incessant knocking pulled you back to reality.

“[Y/N]!” It was Sam. He continued knocking incessantly, with each collision of his knuckles to the door the knock got harder. A cold wave rushed over your body as you ran to the door, a sense of dread caused your arms and legs to go limp. Had something gone wrong already? “Come on!” He called. “Change of plan. We need to get out of here.”

The door opened loudly, the handle knocking against the wall shook the thin walls of the home. Sam’s eyes were wild, he looked scared. “Sam? What the hell is going on? Did you guys catch it?”

“It got away, come on. We have to get you somewhere safe.”

You followed him through the house to the back door but stopped dead in your tracks as you passed the hall. The mirror, the one you dreaded keeping around, caught your eye. Sam gripped tightly to your hand, tugging you forward. “Come on, [Y/N]. We need to go.” He insisted, pulling you harder now.

It was like nothing you could put to words. His eyes were hollowed, where hazel once looked back at you were now pools of black. His mouth had become round with hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny pointed teeth layering downward. Its skin was tanned and discolored. It looked dry but was slimy to the touch. The face that looked back at you was not Sam’s.

Tearing your hand from its, you cringed at the tiny lacerations left from its grip. “Sam” turned to you; his face was still human. He looked confused, slowly approaching you as you moved backward.

“Sam?” You yelled, hoping the real Sam was just outside.

“[Y/N]? Are you crazy? It’s me.” The changeling said, holding its hands up in a non-threatening way.

“Like hell! Sam!” You screamed now, continually taking steps backward. “Dean?”

“Hey!” The front door, which had been closed by the changeling, burst open with more force than before. It was Dean, but like Sam something was off. He wasn’t wearing the same red button-up that he had briefed you in. His hair looked longer, his posture was different, and his eyes were hollow.

There was no time to react as the world fell dark.

~~*~~

The crack of a door closing is what finally shook you awake. The room around you was your own, an unexpected sight. What happened last night was beyond you and whether this was real or not was as well.

“[Y/N]?” Footsteps echoed down the hallway, falling closer and closer with each step. “You awake?” It was Sam’s voice. He sounded more sound, solid even. There was a slight hesitation lacing his tone, something delicate, as if he was walking around broken glass. “Hey.” He let out a breathy huff of air, hazel eyes meeting yours.

Retracting in your bed, you moved against the wall to put as much space between the two of you as possible. Your hand quickly found the base of your neck where a rim of scabbed-over skin protruded in a circular shape. Your chest constricted; your heart felt as if it was crumpling up attempting to make itself as small as possible. Sam watched as your eyes widened and he felt a pang in his chest as you retreated away from him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he kept his body low, attempting to make himself as small as he could, “it’s me.” He mentally scolded himself for not taking precautions. “Hold on.” His held-out hand did nothing to ease your nerves. Sam returned a moment later with the mirror from the hall. It was cracked now, two large fractures split it down the middle. He positioned it against the wall opposite you and sat in front of it.

You expected the face from the night before. You expected those haunted hollow eyes, the dry scaly skin, the rounded-out mouth of razor-sharp teeth. Instead, you only saw Sam. His gaze was soft, brows drawn together. His lips parted slightly as he debated whether he should say something or not. He decided against it; you needed to be the first to act.

“It’s you.” You said, more to yourself as opposed to him. “What happened last night?”

His eyes flitted from your returning gaze in the mirror to the mark that now scarred your neck. “There were two. One was dragging you back in the woods while the other was fighting Dean. It’s dead. Dean knocked it out, took it out back, and burnt it.” Hesitantly, he moved from his position on the floor to a kneeling one in front of your bed.

“What about the other one?”

A crooked smile moved across his features. “You may need a new living room floor.”

“Is it bad?”

“If you’ve ever wanted new hard-woods, now’s the time.” He chuckled. “We’re going to stay in town another day, just to make sure everything is gone.”

~~*~~

You didn’t wake that night. The rising sun woke you along with the ding of a phone notification. It was one of your other hunters, requesting assistance on a hunt in Nevada. You stretched, feeling a dull ache in your muscles and a pop where one shouldn’t be. Slipping your phone from your nightstand, you promptly sent out a message to the other hunters in that area and discarded the technology in favor of the idea of finally sleeping in.

It was 11:00AM when you woke again. The bed was warm, a strong arm was slung over your side resting snugly against your stomach. Sounds of steady breathing filled the room; a heavy heartbeat played a calming melody in your ears.

It had been a long time since you shared a bed with anyone, but after the antics of the night before it was well-deserved. Sam didn’t offer, rather you did. You didn’t want to be alone.

“Morning.” His sleep-filled voice was smoother than his typical one. Groggily, Sam tugged you backward into his chest as he buried his face in your neck.

“Morning.” You replied, relishing in the moment you wished could last forever.

The day passed with ease. Dean had taken to the couch, insisting that the hole in the floor didn’t bother him and that he’d go out and purchase some planks to at least patch it up. Sam spent the day at your side. Most of it was spent lazily dozing, the rest was doing mundane tasks that seemed so little in comparison to what you experienced the day prior.

Sam had insisted that the effect would wear off soon. It was just some shock and trauma, he told you. It would all get better as time passed.

When the night returned along with Dean who had gone out to pick up dinner, you expected them to tell you they were heading out. But they didn’t. They chatted about nothing and everything at the same time, acting as if you had been part of the team for years. You had a lot in common with Dean, and just as much if not more with Sam. He was an intellectual, smart, kind, caring, and the softer-around-the-edges of the two.

“Hey,” Sam popped his head into your room as you readied yourself for bed, “Dean will be out on the couch. I’m going to set up on the floor out there. We’ll be here if you need anything.”

You felt something. Something sad. Your heart ached at his proclamation of staying down the hall from you. Nodding, you decided it was best. There was no reason to get attached to the boys, it’s not like they’d be coming back any time soon. You and Sam would eventually fall back into your routine of texting at all hours of the day and night and you’d become a distant memory of one of the hundreds of hunts they went on.

“Good night.”

With darkness came distortion. The pile of unlaundered clothing cast shadows across your room where shadows weren’t supposed to be. Despite the curtains being pulled taught over your window, red glowing eyes permeated the fabric and watched you for hours. It wasn’t real, you continually told yourself. It was just your mind playing tricks on you. But the tricks were cruel and holding you back from sleep.

You weren’t sure when you did finally slip into unconsciousness, but you were sure it didn’t last long. Strong hands shook you awake along with the soft coos of someone telling you it’s okay and that it’s all over now. You felt something, someone, in your bed. You laid in someone’s lap as they held your body close, rocking slowly back and forth.

“It’s just a dream.” It was Sam.

“Sam?” You felt meek, your voice mimicking that sentiment. “What happened?”

“You were screaming in your sleep.”

Feeling your face flush red, you wanted nothing more than to bury it along with the changeling in the forest beyond your yard. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Sam felt his heart drop at the sound you made before the tears fell. “You’re okay. You’ve been through a lot.”

“A lot?” The gates held no match to the tears that shook and clambered their rusted metal bars. Your vision blurred as you closed your eyes, willing away the oncoming storm. “I hardly saw anything!”

Sam didn’t respond, only held you tighter as he pressed wordless kisses to the top of your head. “Sam, how can I even call myself a hunter if I can’t even face something as weak as a changeling?” A heavy breath fell upon your lips as you inhaled deeply. “Useless.”

“You’re not useless.”

Hushed voices woke you, arguing about something incoherent as one voice raised over the other. Sam was no longer with you, but the bed was still warm where he had spent the night.

“We’re leaving today, Sam. Nothing’s around anymore.” A muted whisper danced down the hall.

“We can’t just leave her alone now.”

“She’s safe. Changelings gone, wiped out the entire family tree. I’ll be out in the car; we’ve got another case. Bobby called this morning.”

The front door shut, and footsteps fell down the hall toward your room. Sam peeked his head in, a smile immediately spreading across his face. “Hey.”

“You’re leaving?”

He sighed, wiping a hand down his face, dragging slightly at his chin. “Dean wants to get to the next case.”

“Oh.” You shifted in bed, propping yourself up on your arm. “Well, thank you.”

“I wish we could stay longer.” Sam moved to the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped as he sat on the corner, the weight willed you forward. He laid a hand on your shoulder. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Seeing Sam out was one of the first times you had taken a hard look at the hole in your floor. Dean had done a make-shift job in patching it up. Thin sheets of plywood were nailed together haphazardly with different sized nails hammered in here and there. The wood wobbled as you walked over it. Maybe it was time to skip town.

Dean stood on the curb with a disposable cup, with what you presumed to be filled with coffee, sipping away as he relished in the morning sun. Perking up, he waved a big hand to you. “Stay safe, kiddo!”

“Will do, Mr. Stark!” You hollered back, eliciting a laugh from Sam.

“You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah.” You turned back to the living room. “I’ll probably have to move. I don’t need the cops on my tail for the missing people burnt in my backyard.”

Sam waited a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. He bit the inside of his mouth and glanced back to Dean who was now climbing into the driver’s side front seat. “You could come with us.”

“Sam.”

“I’m serious. We have a friend you could stay with. He does the same stuff you do. Lots of land, if you hate him you would never have to see him. He’s an older guy, a little rough-around-the-edges but has a good heart. It’s our home-base.” He grasped at your hand. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I’ll consider it.”

~~*~~

“We’re home!” The front door slammed shut as two sets of footsteps fell down the front hall into the kitchen.

“Hunt go well?” You wiped your hands and moved to greet the hunter. Sam smiled, slipping his arm around you as he planted a kiss on your cheek. “Mhm.” He replied.

“What?” Bobby had hardly looked up from his desk as he tapped away on his phone. “No kiss for me?”

“Good to see you too, Bobby.”

Dean slid into the kitchen, making a disgusted face as he took in the scene before him. “Couples.” He grumbled, tugging the fridge door open and grabbing a beer. “No kiss for me either?” He grinned smugly, making quick time as he found a bottle opener and lost himself in the cold liquid.

It hadn’t taken long for you to accept Sam’s offer. After an entire five minutes of deliberation, you agreed. The important things fit perfectly into the back seat of the Impala, mostly books and electronics. Dean grumbled at the slight delay in events as he directed himself back home as opposed to the case. Your relationship with Sam had blossomed from there.

A ding rung out from the study. “That’s me!” You slipped out of Sam’s grasp. “Got work to do.”

#sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester oneshot #sam imagine #sam oneshot #sam winchester fanfiction #supernatural fic #spn fic

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

Text

Seven: Chapter One

Chapter One

Humans, I’ve observed, are often concerned with their appearance. It is because I was designed to integrate peacefully with them that I am where I am now.

I trace the back of my right hand over my smooth, plastic skin, right against my cheek. My soft brown hair is pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of my neck, with bangs parted down the middle falling to my jaw. My skin is pale, my eyes a bright shade of green. If you look closely enough, you can see little yellow circles around my pupils. My eyebrows are brown and softly arched, and next to the one on the right is an led-light in the shape of a circle.

When it turns green, it indicates that I am confirming something. Yellow means I am analyzing or active in some way. Red symbolizes danger or some kind of alertness. White, which I have on me now, means nothing. It shows that I am calm.

My face is well put together, but not too much. When Androids were first released, reports were made that people felt uncomfortable because the Androids were too perfect. Too symmetrical. There were allegedly a string of men who became disloyal to their partners in favor of the metal beings. Androids were recalled and modified to look more human- more realistic and uneven. After that, Androids that were considered more symmetrical were sent to sex clubs.

And so, my face is not perfect. My face is adequate, a more regular sight. I know I must be based off some human in the world, as the human mind is incapable of thinking of an entirely new face. If I ever met them, I wonder if it would feel like meeting my creator or identical twin.

I straighten out my jacket, given to me by the company that designed me: Icarus. Icarus is actually from Japan, the first country that actually successfully created functioning Androids. The United States used it’s political ties to the country to coerce them into sharing the secret to creating such intelligent machines. Soon enough, an Android plant was created in Minneapolis. The plant made maids that become so popular, other states began constructing plants as well. Then the sex clubs came. Then secretaries. Then every state had at least four factories.

I make sure I look professional enough to make a good impression on what will be my coworkers. I’ve been assigned to partner someone named Detective Everhart. From what I’ve researched on him, he is 54 years old, and very accomplished. When working with Androids in the past, there has been a record of Everhart being courteous to them. It’s a rarity, as far as I’ve observed.

With one final look of myself in the mirror, I step away and turn to the door. A human walks in right then, a female with glasses and red hair pinned back by the name of Ellie Grint. She looks me up and down before her eyes land on my led. Then she scoffs as if I’ve disgusted her and chooses a stall. Ellie even slams the door so I am sure of her disapproval.

I turn the door handle to the police lobby. Rain hits the great glass windows sharply, matched with gray skies. I politely scoot myself past people in rows of chairs to get a better look of the outside. I can see the Space Needle from here, and I begin to analyze the weather.

Weather: 100% chance of rain. 0% chance of snow. 30% chance of sun. 44% chance of winds.

Temperature: 61 degrees Fahrenheit. 16.1111 degrees Celsius.

The longer I stare at the rain outside and listen to it’s pitter patter, the more I feel my shoulders soften in my jacket. I guess I like this weather. It makes me feel especially warm and dry for being inside.

After 41 seconds, I turn away and face the front desk. Long and made of metal and wood, three uniformed officers sit at computers, sipping coffee, attending to citizens. I position myself patiently behind a couple I identify as Carl Stacy and Mary Higgins. There arms wrapped tight around each other, they finish speaking to the Officer and move along to the right. I watch their backs, curious about why so many couples are so insistent on the constant touching. I know humans have warm skin, especially when alive, but why do they consider it so intimate to hold each other? If I were to be held, it would lead to problems with my work, as I wouldn’t be able to properly move.

I step forward to the desk. The Officer- Blaise Shovelman, is concentrated on his computer. With his head down, I can’t get a more intensive read on his face, but I can analyze his hair enough to see lots of dandruff.

I wait patiently, my hands clasped behind my back again. It feels natural to do, and I’ve seen humans do it before. Officer Shovelman can feel eyes on him- perhaps eyes that aren’t human, and raises his head to meet me. His lips are parted slightly in confusion, orbs locked onto my led.

“Hello,” I greet calmly. “I’m looking for Detective Lucas Everhart.” Officer Shovelman stares at me blankly. “I have authorization,” I say.

“Ah… Detective Everhart is unavailable at the moment.”

“Then I would like to speak with Captain Armitage Ericson.”

Officer Shovelman is still stunned. I can see his heartrate has increased. Have I done something to upset him? If so, I may need to report to Adelicia about this incident. “Oh… yes- yes of course,” he stutters. His fingers type something into the keyboard choppily. Beside him, the two other officers have stopped their activities to also stare at me.

I bring my right hand up slowly as a kind of soft wave to acknowledge them. The blonde’s name is Quinn Blackwell. The other one with the slim eyes and black hair is Tom Ho-Kim.

“Ah, Captain Ericson has an appointment with an Android at eleven thirty.”

“Yes,” I nod. “That would be me.”

“Oh…” Officer Shovelman points to the right, where a glass sliding door awaits. “Just that way.”

“Thank you,” I say. I turn to the right, pretending not to know about six eyes all trained on me in disbelief.

Past the glass door, the floor turns to grey and blue tiles. Glass separates the desks, and almost ever divider has some photos or information taped to it. To the immediate left of me, up a quick flight of stairs is a room of glass. This is supposed to be Captain Ericson’s office. It must be frustrating and strange to have people be able to see you work. Though, I suppose the rows of detectives desks must create the same feeling.

“Excuse me,” I say to someone walking by. “I’m looking for Detective Everhart’s Desk.”

The man (Joseph Blake) sneers at me and bumps my shoulder has he continues on. I still myself before stumbling too much, calculating his weight must be close to 200 pounds for him to push me so hard with such little effort.

I regain my step, straighten my jacket again and brush off my button-up shirt underneath. I continue onward, deciding against walking into the bullpin. Instead, I turn up the stairs and knock softly on the Captain’s glass door. “Come in,” I see him say, focused on writing something down on his desk.

I pull the door open and step inside, quick to analyze the room.

Name: Armitage Ericson

Date of Birth: April 11th, 1974- Age 67

Height: 6’0

Weight: 285 lbs

Race: African-American

Birthplace: Seattle, Washington

Occupation: Commanding Officer, Police Captain at Seattle Police Department

Family: Kayden Ericson, Husband (Age 59), Aaron Ericson, Son (Age 12), Sarah Ericson, Daughter (Age 9)

Finding Related Articles… Articles Found. Searching ‘Ericson, Armitage’…

“Hello,” I say. I detect a sharp increase in Captain Ericson’s heartrate and he jumps to look at me. “My name is Aleksandra. I’m the Android sent by Iapetus. Serial Number 742 943 189-7. I believe you were contacted by Mrs. Adelicia?”

“Jesus,” he mutters. I detect traces off coffee against his thick black mustache. “I thought it was a joke.”

I cock my head slowly, thinking of all the possible things to say. “I assure you, Mrs. Adelicia has very little sense of humor.”

“Yes,” Captain Ericson says slowly. “Yes, that’s true. Take a seat miss…”

“Aleksandra,” I repeat politely. I make my way to a chair in front of his glass desk, sitting up straight and formally as my program suggests.

“Is that… a biblical name?” Captain Ericson asks dryly, his hands moving slightly.

“Yes,” I nod. “It means ‘one who saves the warriors’.”

“Of course,” Captain Ericson swallows. “Well, you were assigned to work with Detective Everhart, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I am looking forward to working with him.”

“See, that’s going to be difficult,” the captain sighs, looking down at his fumbling fingers. “Lucas was pronounced dead this morning. There was a shootout with Androids yesterday.”

I know my led is turning yellow as I absorb the information. Accessing the public records of the nearest hospital, I search through hundreds of reports before finding the one I’m searching for. Yes, Detective Everhart died at 6:14 am, due to internal bleeding during surgery to remove bullets. He left behind a second wife, no children.

“I see,” I say, not really knowing what else to respond with. My led turns green, then goes back to white.

Captain Ericson continues to fiddle with his thumbs, leaning back in his chair as a way to show authority. I’m unsure why he feels the need to do that. Androids are strictly forbidden from having any jobs of power. I am not here to undermine him. In fact, all the articles I just read about him tell me that he’s done many things deserving of respect. He’s won a medal of valor for his work with a drug task force from the year 2035, and been praised in the local papers for commanding respect among his fellow officers.

“How about you join in on our meeting?” Captain Ericson offers. “All our officers and detectives should be here by then.”

My led goes yellow as I determine the probability of that. “Yes,” I settle upon. “That should work.” I stand up, shaking the Captain’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”

“Ah… yes. Dismissed.”

I nod and turn on my heel, leaving his office and walking down the steps. From the corner of the room, I can see three people glaring at me and snickering. One is a uniformed officer- Mindy Cho. The other are Detectives Clarence Frost and Michael Corlecio. I knew that many humans were uncomfortable in the presence of Androids, but I guess I still wasn’t expecting all this really. The sneers, the glares, the pushes. Still, one of my core purposes is to accommodate humans. My best option is to continue to be polite to them. It’s not as if I was programmed to exactly care how the humans see me anyway, so long as it doesn’t interfere with my main mission.

I look away from the group, ignoring them. My eyes meet the door to the precincts bathroom, down a hallway beside some plants. I put my foot forward and start over there, messing with my cuffs on my jacket. Once I enter the bathroom, I note a collection of stains on the floor and pick a stall in the middle to sit in.

Androids don’t need to use the bathroom. We don’t need to eat. The only thing we need to drink is Binary Blood- a silver, thick liquid that acts as blood for Androids. It’s essentially melted metal, working to reconstruct parts we may be missing and solidify itself. When that is not needed, it works to pump throughout what is basically our veins. That is one of the many things that differs Androids from humans- we do not bleed the same color. One could even technically argue that Androids do not truly bleed.

With the highly unsanitary toilet seat down, I sit on it. Then I close my eyes. When I open them, I am back in the white room where I first began.

“You really must learn how to do this correctly,” says a low voice. I turn around, meeting Adelicia’s stern face. Today, her blond hair is pulled backwards into a very tight and professional bun. Her normal fitted pearl necklace sits along her neck, matched with a pale yellow pantsuit and skirt.

“Yes,” I say. “I will keep that in mind.” My hands clasp behind my back yet again, a pastime of mine, it seems. “Detective Everhart is no longer alive,” I tell her. “He passed away of gunshot wounds early this morning.”

“Yes,” Adelicia says gravelly. “With one of the Exceptions. What is to happen with you now?”

“Captain Ericson suggested I stay here for today’s meeting. I expect I will be reassigned to a new partner.”

I wonder about who it could be. One of the snickering ones from the corner? How would I possibly be able to complete my mission with them constantly getting in my way? It would not look good for me to ask for a different partner then, because I would appear unreasonable and catty to the humans. I can see their faces twisting into one of disapproval now.

Adelicia’s eyes narrow at me, her thin lips pulled into a stern frown. Almost like she’s disgusted. “Report back to me when you’ve received your new instructions.”

Before I can see, “yes, Adelicia”, I’m back in the bathroom stall. This isn’t the first time she’s kicked me out of her program. I don’t know how I feel about it, exactly. It makes an unsettling whir happen in my abdominal biocomponents.

I run a diagnosis. All systems appear operational. With something equivalent to a sigh, I push myself up off the seat and out of the stall, brushing past a woman who stares at me in shock.

“I didn’t know Androids had to use the bathroom…” she squeaks, her eyes wide.

I cock my head to the side. “I wasn’t using the bathroom.” Then I move past her, leaving the woman silent and stunned for some unknown reason.

#androids #detroit become human #detroit: become human #android #dbh #dbh fanfiction #fanfiction #story #technology

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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?"

#tw:violence #fantasy #horror #comedy #lgbt+ writing #LGBT+ characters #werewolves #werewolf #cat creature #shapeshifter #magic #vampire #tw:gore #performance #writeblr #writing #writer #creative writing

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thatlesbiannudistcult-stories · 6 years

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Finding Goddess (Chapter 12)

Carol stood in front of the mirror clad in her full regalia, her heart beating a mile a minute. Gossamer threads poured down her form like sheets of precious snow, standing in stark contrast to the queenly plaits in her ebony hair. Her lips gleamed a brilliant red from her lipstick, and her eyes emitted a violet aura upon her perfect milky skin thanks to the luxurious eye shadow she had just applied. Dazzling stars of blue dangled daintily from her ears, and a lovely sapphire brooch in the shape of a jay clung preciously to her neck. A light fragrance of lilac wafted off her form from the gentle perfume she had put on barely an hour ago, and her feet clicked in the delicate white heels that made it impossible for her to stand in a way that couldn't be described as majestic. Without a doubt, this was the most beautiful she had ever looked.

And yet...she didn't feel beautiful. Every time she looked in the mirror, something always seemed off. A ruffle where there shouldn't have been, an out-of-place hair, a jewel hanging at a crooked angle, a smudge of something on her face. All problems, all imperfections that marred her looks. And no matter what she nipped, no matter what she tucked, no matter what she wiped or tied or brushed away, it seemed like another flaw would take its place and capture her attention. This wouldn't do at all! She had to look her absolute best. No, she had to look better than she ever had in her entire life, and not just for herself. For this was not just any day. This was a very special day. This was the day when Caroline Connors would become a wife. "You can't keep putting this off any longer," said one of her bridesmaids. Carol turned to look behind her and saw that it was Henrietta. "Everyone's waiting for you." "Yeah," said the other bridesmaid, Katherine, who took this moment to grab Carol by the arm. "C'mon, Mommy. You keep stalling like this and you'll miss your own wedding!" "But, but," Carol stammered as the two women dragged her away from the mirror, "I'm not properly dressed for this! I have to look absolutely perfect and I...don't yet." "Hmmm, you're right on that count," said Henrietta as she took a moment to eye Carol up and down. "You really aren't looking your best." "And you're definitely not properly dressed!" quipped Katherine. "Honestly, Mommy, it's like you didn't even bother at all!" "But...but I've been in here for hours!" said Carol, feeling her heart drop into her stomach. "I put on my best makeup for this, put on my best shoes, made sure my dress was pristine! I even spent all yesterday in the spa just to have perfect skin! How could I possibly—" "Exactly!" said Katherine as she gave Carol's gown a disdainful tug. "You've got all that crap on!" "We all know what you look best in," said Henrietta. "And we all know what your special someone wants to see you in." Carol blinked in confusion. What her special someone wanted to see her in? What did they mean by— RRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP! A stretch of her dress was torn off, starting from the shoulder and extending down to her hip. And her black bridesmaid was the one holding the fabric. "Katy!" she cried. "Why did you—" RRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP! Another stretch of fabric was ripped off from the other side, tearing off a sizable chunk of the skirt and exposing her leg. "Henri!" More dress was ripped off, this time from her back. Then from her other shoulder. And then from her leg. Soon, the air was filled with a cacophony of torn silk screeching all around her. "WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?" Carol screamed as more and more of her body was shorn of clothing and exposed to the air. The...cool, gentle, sweet-feeling air. It cascaded down her now bare shoulders, poured onto her back, pooled into her navel, and seeped between her thighs. Soon, the only thing between Carol and the rest of the world was her lacy white bra and panties. "Putting you in your best dress," answered Henrietta. "The one we all want you to be in," continued Katy. "The one you are meant to be in," they both said in unison. "Meant...to be in?" said Carol, who was starting to feel dizzy. "You can't possibly mean..." There was a tug on her bra strap. A pop in the waistband of her panties. Carol could only watch as they both fluttered away from her and onto the floor, joining the pile of all that remained of her now ruined wedding dress. She was naked now. Everything about her was bare. Her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, her butt. Even her heels had been destroyed in the confusion, leaving her completely barefoot. There was not a thing left to cover her! "They're waiting," said Henrietta, looping her arm around Carol's. "She's waiting," added Katherine as she took Carol's other arm, keeping the bride from escaping. "Who? Who's waiting?" said Carol as the two bridesmaids dragged her out of the room and into the corridor, towards a set of formidable-looking double doors. "You know exactly who, Mommy" said Katy with a warm smile. "The one you are destined for," said Henrietta. "She's always been with you." "But...but I can't see her...like this," murmured the naked woman, who was finding it harder to think straight. "Of course you can," said Katy. "This is the only way you can see her." "I don't...under..." The doors opened, seemingly of their own accord. Behind them, Carol found herself staring at a chapel overlooking rows upon rows of seats where many eager guests awaited. Greeting her on either side were her two daughters, Mindy and Erin, dressed in identical blue garbs that made them nigh impossible to tell apart for anyone who hadn't birthed them. "You look wonderful, Mom," said Mindy as she gave her mother an affectionate hug, completely unconcerned about her nudity. "I knew you could do this," said Erin as she embraced her in turn. Together, the four dragged the naked woman to the altar, where there awaited another equally naked woman. Carol went stiff the moment her eyes fell upon her. The tanned skin, the brilliant fiery mane, the distinctive symbol tattooed on her Venusian mons...it could only be... "Ce-Celeste?" Carol uttered, totally at a loss for words. "Yes, it is I, my childe," said the priestess in a tone that sounded like a soothing whisper, but carried with it a resounding echo. "Please, come closer. The time is fast approaching." "Time? Time for what?" stammered Carol. She still didn't know what was going on. Nothing made sense. No one was telling her anything. Wasn't she supposed to get married? She didn't even know anymore. "You know what it is," said Celeste. "You've always known. You've been waiting your whole life for this. You've been waiting your whole life for Her. And She has been waiting for you." "Who? Who is..." The double doors opened again. Light flooded into the chapel. It swallowed everyone, the attendants, Carol's bridesmaids, her daughters, the priestess, and Carol herself. She couldn't see anything, everything was just a haze of imperceptible whiteness. But she didn't need to see. For everything had become clear now. Everything made sense. Carol knew what she needed to do, what she always needed to do, what she was always destined for. It was only the most natural thing, as natural as breathing, no, more natural than that. Warm arms embraced her. Warm breasts engulfed her. Warm lips kissed her. *** Carol awoke with a sudden jolt. That dream! She was in...she was getting...everyone was...she was naked...and she...and she...! She blinked and turned her head around stiffly, as if it was on a swivel. She gazed at her surroundings. This was...this was a bedroom. This was her bedroom. In her apartment. In the great city of Beringall. And she was most definitely not... Carol blinked again. What was she most definitely not doing? She had clearly been not doing something meaningful, because whatever it was, it was making her feel...making her feel...warm? Hopeful? Like everything was good, and that everything would be alright? What could she have possibly dreamt to feel that? She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to remember the dream she had, tried to dredge up any fleeting memory she could muster that could help her recall it. She found nothing. "Figures," she groaned. "Just another dream to wake up to and forget. Like all the others." Carol sighed. Maybe if she went back to sleep, it would pick up where she left off. That seemed worth a shot. Stealing a glance at her clock radio to see if she had any time, the mother couldn't help but groan again. There was only one minute to go before the alarm was set to go off. There would be no more dreams for her today. "Goddess damn it." As she clicked the device off to keep her ears clean of the infernal country music that was mere seconds away from playing, Carol heard a murmur to her side and felt something shift next to her. Looking down, she saw the sleeping face of her younger girlfriend, Katherine, looking precious as she always did in her slumber. Just like a big, overgrown baby, Carol couldn't help but think with an amused grin. At least seeing her like this made waking up prematurely a little worthwhile. Carol was half-tempted and let her faux daughter sleep in a little bit, but she knew that just wouldn't do. They both had work today after all. "Hey, baby, it's time to wake up," she said giving her girlfriend a gentle shake. It didn't work. Katherine only mumbled a few garbled syllables and rolled away, determined to stay in whatever nice dream she was having. This got a wicked smirk out of Carol. "Okay, girl, you asked for it!" she snickered, flipping the blanket off and exposing the younger woman's naked body to her. So young, so slender, the sight of it always elicited a lick of Carol's lips, especially those cute little tits of hers that made her think of sweet melted chocolate. But it wasn't Katy's boobs that had the nudist's attention now; it was her trim stomach, moving slowly up and down with her breathing, showing off just off a hint of the sexy girl abs she was packing in it. "THBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB!" That woke her up immediately. "AHHH! Mommy! What are you—" "THBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB!" "AHHH! Stop it, Mommy! Ah-hahahaha!" "Are you ready to wake up now?" "Yes! Yes! I'm ready to—" "THBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB!" "AHHH-HAHAHAHAHAHA!" It never failed. If a shake didn't wake Katy up, if a thunderstorm didn't wake her up, if the coming of the Apocalypse didn't wake her up, then a few good old-fashioned belly raspberries and a lot of tickling would do the trick. The younger girl laughed, kicked, and squirmed uncontrollably in desperation as she tried to escape her torture, but it was all in vain. With Carol's superior strength and her hands wedged firmly into her armpits, there was nothing Katy could do; she was left thoroughly at the mercy of her dear sweet mommy! "Okay! I give! I gi-hi-hi-hi-hiiiiive!" Katherine gasped. "Just, hahahahaha, stop, hahahahaha, stop, hahahahah, STAAA-HAHAHAHAHAAAAHHHHHP!" "Okay, you earned it," giggled Carol as she mercifully withdrew her hands to end her lover's gleeful torment, though not before giving her a playful kiss on the lips. "C'mon, we both gotta get ready for work. Wouldn't want you to get fired, homeless, and forced to move back in with your parent, now would you?" "Oooooh, I'd love to move back in with my Mommy," laughed Katherine as she sat up to hug Carol from behind and give her an eager nibble on the neck. "No, I meant...ah, I guess I walked into that one. C'mon, let's go shower." After cleaning and drying themselves off in the shower, the two women exited the bathroom, Katy wrapped up in a towel, and Carol content to wander around au natural as usual. Upon stepping into the kitchen where she intended to fix up a quick cup of coffee and breakfast, Carol couldn't help but look around with a feeling of bewilderment. "What the hell happened in here?" The couch in the living room was overturned, assorted chairs were scattered all over the floor on their sides, cups, papers and other odds and ends rolled around haphazardly, and she couldn't help but notice that some things looked like they had accrued some new stains. "Oh, yeah, about that," said Katy, "we got really wild last night and went through this whole apartment like a tornado in a trailer park. First we did it on the couch. Then on the kitchen table, then on the counter, then against the fridge, then against the door, and then..." "I...barely even remember," said Carol. "Yeah, it was really fast. Faster than usual anyway. You were like a wild animal, Mommy! I thought you were wild before, but last night was...it was like something in you just blew up! It was amazing! Made me wonder what you would have done to me in the gym yesterday if you hadn't caught yourself." At her words, a realization of horror suddenly dawned over Carol. She darted her gaze to the door leading to her daughters' room, eyes wide with panic. "Oh shit! Katy we didn't actually do it in there, did we?" "Um...I can't say. Like I said, we were all over the place. After you finished screwing me in one area, you would just scoop me up and carry me to another area and..." Carol didn't wait for her to finish. She just about broke the sound barrier rushing to her girls' room and flung the door open almost as fast, kicking up a breeze that in normal circumstances would have felt amazing on her completely naked body. She didn't have time to appreciate the feeling this time though. If she had been so careless as to actually have sex in Mindy and Erin's space, she'd never forgive herself. And most likely, neither would they! Fortunately, it looked like that wasn't the case at all. The bunk beds were still neatly made, the desks were still in one piece, the TV was still standing, the controllers for the connected game console were lying right where the girls left them...everything was untouched and exactly where they were supposed to be. "Phew, that's a relief," she said, letting out a deep breath of air. "Wouldn't want to traumatize my kids." "You know, I can understand not wanting to violate their personal space," said Katherine, "but don't you think it's melodramatic to say that having sex in their room would traumatize them?" "Not everyone is like you, Katy," said Carol as she shut the door. "Most children don't have sexual fantasies about their mothers!" "Not according to Freud," said Katherine in a wistful tone. "But...that's not what I mean. What I mean is they're not going to be scarred for life if you have sex in their room. Okay, maybe they'd get a little angry, maybe they'd get a little grossed out, but they wouldn't get traumatized! Mom, you need to stop being so self-conscious around them!" "Well I can't help it," said Carol. "They're my babies, no matter how big they get. It's my job to make sure they live as comfortably as possible. Even if..." she looked down at her body, completely uncovered, completely exposed, completely...perfect in all its raw nakedness, and let out a sad sigh. "Even if I can't." Katherine recognized that look and tone in her older lover well enough, and it made her sigh as well. "Mom, you shouldn't have to keep this side of you a secret from them forever." "I've been doing it for almost 18 years," said Carol. "I can do it a little longer." "Well...whatever!" Katherine just shrugged. It was too early in the morning to have this kind of talk with her. One day, she and Henrietta would have to team up to convince their mutual lover to be more open about her nudism. But that was a discussion to have in another time and another place. Possibly involving that religion she had been going on about yesterday. "If you're really that concerned about what doing it in their room will have on them, I doubt doing it everywhere else is going to be any better." "Oh Goddess, you're right!" cried Carol as she looked around in horror at the state of her apartment. "They can't see the house like this! I have to clean it all up!" Already she began scurrying around the apartment, righting and picking up every little object she could find lying on the floor. "Does this go here? Is this supposed to go there? I don't even remember where this was! Oh Goddess, I can still smell that over here! How am I going to wash this out?" "Calm down, Mommy, calm down!" said Katherine as she grabbed her naked fake mother from behind to get her to stop. "They're not home yet, you don't need to worry about cleaning up now. Don't your daughters still have a few days left?" "You're...you're right," said Carol with a relenting sigh. "I...I don't know what came over me." "The same thing that always comes over you whenever you start fretting about your girls," muttered Katherine. She changed her tune when she began to explore her lover's body with her hands, sliding them over Carol's breasts and giving each orb a tender squeeze. "When right now, the only girl you should be fretting over is me." Carol shut her eyes and leaned back as the black girl massaged her breasts. Goddess, that felt so good right now. "And what would you ask of me, sweetie?" "Well, I could use some food for one. All that sex last night really took a lot out of me!"

#carol #Finding goddess

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84reedsy · 7 years

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A Pirate’s Life For Me - Pirate Negan AU

Author: @84reedsy

Characters: (Pirate) Negan X Female OC

Word Count: 4759

Warnings: A level of smut that I was not even really prepared for. Also my first time writing Negan! NSFW, Swearing, language, some violence.

Tags: @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @negans-network

Description: A new crew member has a big secret to hide, will the Captain find out “Gabriel’s” hidden identity?

The seas were fairly calm, the skies were bright blue. The hull of the ship bobbed slowly in the water as if it were part of the tide, part of the sea itself. The Sanctuary was a mighty ship, it’s black sails setting it apart from many of its counterparts; the pirate ship’s appearance alone struck fear into the hearts of those who were unlucky enough to lay their eyes upon it. For when one saw the ship, it was usually to late to fend her off for long, for The Sanctuary was a mighty, mighty ship indeed as her lossless record of piracy would suggest.

The crew was kept well as any crew could. Captain Negan made a point to call them Saviours instead of pirates, saying their work was honorable and part of what the sea needs.

They did not want for much as long as their allegiance to their captain was strong. The deck swabbed daily, the ship kept in immaculate shape, even the cooks quarters, normally a source of disease and festering smells was kept well. The captain would tolerate no less. He was fair, but if crossed or disobeyed could be a vicious and as bloodthirsty as any pirate captain could be. Those he did not strike fear in upon his appearance, he would at the very least garner the utmost respect. Yes, Negan was one hell of a pirate.

The ship was large, one of the largest vessels ever stolen from the royal navy and left unreclaimed, for the military feared him as much as any other man. Knowing this only furthered Negan’s drive to plunder and amass his fortune.

Most of the crew was an aggregation of his conquests. Those that did not perish were invited to join the ship’s legion. Those that refused were left behind on their sinking vessels to die an almost certain watery death. It was on one of those ships that Gabriel was a recruit from. He was aboard a french ship on a destinationless pleasure cruise when they were taken by Negan and the rest of the crew aboard The Sanctuary.

As with all other he’d started very low in the pecking order, slowly working his way up. He kept to himself, rarely speaking to others. Those he considered friends assumed that his antisocial behavior was nothing suspicious and therefore were usually content with his quiet presence. The truth behind his silence is what was truly shocking, and something he felt he must keep for the fear of his own life and honor.

For you see, Gabriel made a snap decision the day the french based ship was taken into the control of The Sanctuary. A decision that would, in his mind, secure his life and possibly provided a chance one day to return to shore and seek out his family. This was something only a man could accomplish, Gabriel had thought. It was the reasoning behind his decision to hide that fact that he….she was actual a young woman.

Somehow over the last few months, she’d managed to conceal this hidden identity. Choosing her father’s name was the first task and one she made quite impulsively as she kneeled before Captain Neegan as he asked each survivor if they’d care to join his crew. It was her father’s clothes that she’d hurriedly dressed in as the pirate ship approached, spurring her decision as well.

Lowering her voice, her french accent obscured her otherwise obviously fake attempt at baritone. As a woman she was svelte and incredibly attractive, which made concealing her form difficult. But luckily most of those employed in piracy wore baggy rags of clothes; layers and odd posture also aided in her concealment. It was quite a departure from the corseted frock revealing ample cleavage she normally wore.

She made it a point to keep her appearance rougher than normal, smearing dirt on her normally flawless skin and keeping her loose, golden blonde curls dirtied and shoved in a ponytail, partially hidden by a scrap of fabric tied around her head.

The more time that passed, the less and less she missed the rigidness of her upbringing, of her dull courtship with a politician's son; a man so unmasculine and unendowed that she hadn’t even realized that she’d lost her virginity. Doomed to a life of ungratifying sexual boredom was something she was willing to escape from and grew happier and happier every day.She was respected and not questioned or looked down upon, even as a swab.

She tried to remain inconspicuous to those in charge. Normally they saw Negan’s first mate, Simon on a daily basis as he would give orders, shouting from the top deck the plans for the day, assignments, promotions….punishments. Negan only made appearances in important occasions, usually punishments and promotions. Apparently today as very important, as Negan appeared from his captain’s quarters, silently studying the crew as they gathered below, waiting for him to commence the announcements.

Everyone appeared to be on edge as a small cauldron smoked at his feet. A long metal rod protruded from it, most knew it was a flat metal end, almost a brand of sorts. Those who had been with him the longest knew what was to come and tried as much as they could to ignore the apparatus, gazing upwards upon Negan.

Gabriel usually kept her eyes low, but Captain Negan was a specimen of a man that was difficult to avert your eyes from as a woman. He was muscular, but lean. His shirt split at the neck and dipped well into his chest, revealing a slight hairiness that solidified his masculinity. His salt and pepper stubble adorned his face, giving him a sight of wisdom. His constant smirk, an aire of confidence unmatched by any she’d ever seen before.

Her eyes scanned the rest of him as he began speaking, his dark red sash riding low, tightly cinched around his hips. She licked her lips as she remembered the dream she’d had of him sliding that sash around her waist and pulling her to him. She quickly shook the thought from her head, not wanting to rouse suspicion. She looked up at Negan’s face, her blood ran cold as he was smirking directly at her.

“SAVIOURS!” He boomed his greeting, leaning back as if it helped project his voice.

“CAPTAIN NEGAN!” The whole of the crew responding in resounding reverence.

“What a fine fucking day we have here.” His grin spread, showing his pearly white teeth, the envy of the ship, no doubt. It was one of the things that made him so mesmerizing. The crew responded again affirmatively.

“Simon, get on with this shit.” He clapped Simon on the shoulder, standing almost ominously to the side as Simon addressed the group. As much as most tried to give undivided attention to Simon, Negan’s presence made that impossible. He leaned against the newel post at the top of the stairway, one hand gripping the hand of his sword lightly. The sword even had a name, Lucille.

Gabriel had to ask several times if the other shipmates were being serious when she found out he’d named his weapon of choice that he held so dearly, so affectionately by his side. There were several rumors as to what the name signified. Most assumed it was a woman who’d broken his heart, some went as far as to say it was a sea nymph who’d lured him out to the sea, or a mermaid. The theories were endless but the coincidence of it was interesting to say the least.

Negan’s voice brought her mind back to attention as she realized he was looking in her direction as he spoke. His finger pointed and she felt her heart stop. Had she been found out? Had someone noticed something about her?

“Him...bring him here.” Negan pointed again in her direction. She felt the lump in her throat as two enforcers parted the crowd and made their way back. She was sure she would vomit when they reached her, but she felt a wave of relief as they grabbed a man next to her, who looked as pale and nervous as a man on death row. He fought their direction at first, but became almost lifeless as he was led up the stairs to a rickety wooden chair between Simon and Negan.

“You see, something that I demand from you Saviours...is respect, loyalty. If i get respect from you, you get it from me. I hope that’s fucking clear as crystal to all of you.”

“SIR, YES, SIR” was the again resounding response of the crew below.

“Absolutely fucking perfect.” He grinned, but it was almost devilish as if he were licking his chops over a fresh kill, “Because, you see, William here, has forgotten that very simple rule. The rule that says, ‘Don’t fuck over your Captain’.” He paced slowly back and forth on the upper deck, his heavy boots clunking with each step.

“You don’t fucking steal shit, from your Captain.” The silence below was almost deafening. It was almost as if the sea itself with quiet, listening to him, “I think William, here...need’s a reminder.”

Negan pulled Lucille from her sheath, holding it at eye-level to a clearly fear-stricken William. It was hard to feel sympathy for him. William was known to be quite selfish and insulting. Not to mention boorish and clearly entitled. But she felt a twinge of sorrow for him as his eyes were fixed on the blade, distracting him as Simon carefully handed Negan the glowingly hot brand.

William tried to apologize, begged to just let him return the gold he’d skimmed from their bounty, but it was clearly too late. She turned her head, unable to watch. Her eyes fell upon another of the saviours, his eyes blank, a scar on his cheek identical to the brand that Negan was wielding against William’s face. It was brutal and violent, but whether or not you agreed with his methods one couldn’t argue the results it produced.

She peered back as William fell silent, unconscious after the attack. Negan’s smile was wicked as he turned back to them. Parts of skin still hung from the end of the brand. The enforcers carted William off of the deck down below as Negan jabbed the iron back into the still smouldering cauldron.

Simon continued announcements as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. It made her stomach turn at the thought of that being a typical operating procedure, but she kept her head down the rest of the time. As they were dismissed, she scuttled about the crew, wanting to disappear below deck for a while, but as she approached the descending stairwell, a heavy arm blocked her escape.

Her eyes traveled the forearm, to the bicep, to the shoulder, finally seeing Simon was the one blocking her way.

“Yes, sir?” she mumbled in her muddled, falsely deep voice.

“The captain, requests your company...Gabriel” Now even a complete greenhorn of a sailor knew that it was no request, but a veiled order to appear. She was a little surprised to hear him say her “name”. She wasn’t aware that Simon nor Captain Negan even knew she existed. She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding silently. As Simon led her to the captain’s quarters she kept her head down, careful to not make any eye contact with the other crew, a few of which who were looking on curiously.

As she was let into the room, she had to contain herself from being visibly awestricken. The wood pillars and molding around the room shown with a brilliant shine. It smelled of spices and good tobacco. She saw a tray with two crystal glasses, both filled halfway with a clear liquid. Lanterns hung around the room, giving the room a warm glow. His bed was the most impressive. Crisp, satiny sheets were tucked neatly; she remembered days of such extravagance, the way those sheets would cascade across your bare skin as you slept. Far better than the rough hammock she’d become accustomed to.

“Captain, deckhand Gabriel...as you requested.” Simon announced, a slight smirk on his face. He exited the room before she had a chance to really wonder what his smirk could have implied.

She stood at attention as best as she could while still leaving her chest caved in to hide her bosom. She clasped her hands behind her back to hide the nervous wringing of her hands. She heard his boots first as he emerged from behind a dressing screen. He’d removed his vest and head scarf, also letting the lacing on his shirt loose so that most of his chest and abdominals were exposed. The warm day left the slightest sheen of sweat glaze his body. It made every female part of her take notice as she tried not to let her eyes linger.

“You...You wanted to see me Captain?” She asked, her accent and low tone almost comical in a one on one setting. She felt her body shiver as a grin spread across his face and he lightly chuckled.

“Why yes, Gabriel. I did ask for Simon to bring your ass in here.” He sat down at the table, kicking both boots up on its edge, lighting a cigar, “I was wondering you knew the fuck why?”

From his grin she knew he was playing with her. She didn’t know the endgame but had nowhere to run, so she stayed.

“Sir, I do not know why you asked me here.”

He lifted his hand and curled his index finger, signalling her to approach him. He kept curling his finger as she edged closer, stopping a mere foot from him.

“Well...I thought I might need to reiterate my point earlier to make it crystal fucking clear about what I expect.” He turned the cigar between his full lips as he bored his eyes into her.

“Sir, you were very clear.” She somehow was keeping herself from shaking.

“Then care to tell your Captain why you’ve been a god damned liar since you got here?”

She felt frozen in place, she clenched her feminine hands in a fist as if that would keep him from noticing.

“S-sir?” She tried to play ignorant, stuttering as she couldn’t speak as deeply as she wanted.

“Wash your face.” He said, puffing away on the cigar. She stood, still frozen in place, his command a little confusing. “I said wash your fucking face.” He rose his voice a little, pointing to the wash basin.

Somehow her feet moved in that direction though they felt like solid bricks. She washed her face, staring into the mirror behind it as she did, the more dirty and grime that washed away, the more feminine she appeared. She returned to his side as she was instructed to do.

“Ah much better….Gabriel.” But the way he said the name, she had a suspicion that he was using it sarcastically.

“Now, back to you being a filthy little liar.” His voice almost growled. She couldn’t decide if it was fear or attraction that spurred her at this point, “Go ahead, tell Captain Negan you’ve been a bad little liar this whooooole time.” He bit lightly on the cigar as he smiled.

She wanted to defend herself, to convince him he was wrong, but she couldn’t find the words, or perhaps, the courage to say them. At her silence, Negan made the next move.

“Well…” He sat his cigar down, “I have a sneaking fucking suspicion, that if I keep doing this.” He clamped his hand on the inside of her knee, making her gasp as he slowly slid it up her thigh, “I’m gonna find a distinct fucking lack of dick.”

Her breathing quickened with each inch that his hand moved. Panic set in her brain as she realized she was not going to be able to talk her way around this one. Just as his fingers grazed her, she spoke up.

“Ok...Ok...You’re...you’re right...I’ve been lying...to protect myself.” She tried to offer as an explanation, but it almost came out pleading. She spoke in her normal feminine tone that seemed to make his grin widen.

“I like that voice much better. Take your hair down.” He stopped moving his hand, but left it on her inner thigh. She took a deep breath as she removed the cloth from her head. She took her hair down gently shaking it out.

“Well hell, you’re pretty as a fucking picture.” Negan drawled, puffing on the cigar again, “ Shame you’ve been hiding it so long...we coulda been having some fun.” His hand left her thigh to rest in his own lap, “Shirt. Off.”

Her eyes widened at his direction. His smile diminished a little as she stalled.

“No naughty deed goes unpunished.” was his warning to her, “Shirt...now.”

She saw his hand gently squeeze himself and couldn’t deny she was curious to see how much of a man he was. She slowly untucked the gauzy shirt, lifting it over her head and letting it fall to the floor. She had several layers of cloth wrapped around her chest to suppress what would have made her sex all too obvious.

“Well, look at that you crafty little thing.” He chuckled but stood. She jumped as he unsheathed Lucille, holding it near her face as he stood in front of her, studying the blade.

“Tell me doll, what’s your real name?” He tilted his head, staring down at her, aware of how overbearing he appeared. Her eyes flickered from the blade to his, “If it’s Gabrielle or some boring french shit, I’m gonna be real fucking disappointed.”

“It’s...It’s...Lucille.” She felt her cheeks blush as his smile faltered.

“Huh, no shit?” He was taken by surprise at this, quickly regaining his composure as she shook her head, “Well ain’t that some shit.”

Lucille almost yelped as she felt the cool dull side of the blade of her same name sake run between her skin at the cloth, the sharp edge tearing the cloth along it’s edge, making it fall to the floor. Her instincts were to cover herself, but she kept her arms stiff at her side.

“Oh, damn, doll...even more of a shame that you kept these things under wraps.” his voice was quieter, somehow deeper. She kept her eyes on his, trying to remain unflinching as his hand grazed her breast, his rough skin abrasive on her nipple, but she didn’t dare ask him to stop. The fire in her belly was being stoked and she wanted more.

“If this isn’t ok...just fucking say so. I’m not into forcing a woman to please me.” His motion stalled, leaving her wanting for more, surprised at his request, “I can always find other ways to punish you.”

“It’s ok….it’s more than ok.” She murmured, arching her back a little so that her breast was pushed more into his hand. His smile has her answer as his hand squeezed her breast tightly, massaging it as her lips parted in a whispery moan.

His head slowly leaned down, his lips touching hers. A teasing kiss at first, toying with her lips to make her press herself upwards into his lips. Her eyes fluttered closed at the feel of his lips. She felt her legs shake as he deepened it suddenly, his tongue demanding entrance, pushing past hers and exploring her mouth as if it were a sea he’d had yet to conquer.

“Get them britches off...I wanna see all of what I’m working with here.” He released her breast, sitting back down in his chair, his legs splayed wide, she could see the growing bulge that strained his pants a little; already she could tell he was much more than she’d had before.

She did as he asked, lowering them slowly. His eyes followed them down to the floor and slowly drank her in, his eyes lifting over her legs, her thighs. She felt a heat pulsate between her legs as his eyes seemed focused on the blonde tuft of hair that adorned her sex.

He no longer smiled, but his eyes were worshipful and darkened with desire. She could help but feel some pride at clearly garnering his attraction. He slapped his hand on the table a few times, beckoning her. She obeyed, feeling a little exposed, being completely nude in front of him, not having been so ever before. Even the joke of a courtship she’d had, he’d been to nervous so she’d kept her underclothes on the entire time.

She hopped up on the table, perched on the edge as he leaned forward.

“I think you know what I want you to do now.” His voice was more gravely by the second. His hands rested on her knees. She obeyed him again, parting her legs. She breathed quickly, her breasts almost heaving as his face leaned between her legs. He took a large inhale, letting her scent. He could smell her arousal, “You like this shit, doll? Damn I heard you french girls were into some freaky shit.”

Lucille felt herself go speechless to his teasing. She leaned back on her hands, giving him better access, her wordless request for him to continue. She almost jumped as he tasted her. His tongue thick and warm, almost rough against her tender, sensitive lips made her feel weakened, for sure knew she would do anything to let him do this to her for the rest of her life.

His mouth worked her masterfully. His hums from enjoying her sweetness vibrated against her clit, driving her quickly towards an edge she had only ever gotten to by herself, and most surely never this intensely.

“C-Captain…” She whimpered, her delicate hand lay softly on his hair. When he didn’t protest, she let her fingers sink into his locks, pressing his head more firmly against her sex, now soaked from a mix of his mouth and her wetness. His thick finger teased her entrance causing her hips, on their own accord to twitch, sinking into her.

“Captain WHAT?” He demanded, gently biting down on her clit. She squirmed a little, bucking into his face as she panted.

“Captain Negan,” She immediately whimpered, “Please sir...make me cum. Please, please, please!” Her instinctual eroticism took over, as her body continued to gyrate, working herself towards a release that she was craving desperately.

Her moans were cut short as the intensity of her orgasm rocked her body to the core, shuddering as he growled against her, his finger finally sinking in, working her through her orgasmic aftershocks.

“Absolutely...fucking dripping..” Negan sat back, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, grinning smugly. She continued to pant on the table, her sex throbbing and aching for more.

“Knees...get down here on your fucking knees.” He said it through almost gritted teeth as he swiftly undid his red sash. He slid his hand down his pants, he gripping himself, stroking. She did exactly as she was told, her eyes wide and innocent as she knew what he was asking, but never having done so herself.

His large hand held her cheek for a moment, humming as he stroked himself. He leaned back farther in his chair as he displayed himself to her, and oh, what a man he was. She couldn’t help but lick her lips as the size of it. Thick and swollen, she could smell the musk from it that dilated her senses into an erotic frenzy.

“Open up, Lucille…” He grinned as he said it, his hand drawing her face to it, guiding the tip around her lips before parting them. He hissed as the head sunk into her warm mouth and her tongue greeted it. She slowly ran her tongue around the ridge, sliding his tip in and out of her mouth, watching him for a reaction. She took more in as his large hand encouraged her to do so, pressing the back of her head. His hand gripped her hair firmly as she struggled to swallow more and more of his throbbing, regal manhood.

His taste was salty and musky, but she couldn’t get enough of it, bathing his shaft with her tongue, humming and whimpering for more. She was caught off guard when he lifted her mouth from him. He pulled her face close to his, she felt him hard and pulsing against her belly as he did.

“Much more of that shit, doll, and you’ll be swallowing what I’ve got for you.” He surprised her by standing quickly and lifting her as if she were weightless. She bounced a little on the bed as he dropped her. He tore off his shirt, stripping completely himself as he looked down upon her wanting body.

As he slid over her, he hooked an arm around her leg, drawing it high, opening her to him.

“Fucking tight little bitch aren’t you…” He grunted, his face inches from her as he thrust in slowly. Each inch filled her like nothing before, drawing a long, wanton groan from her.

“It’s...your cock...it’s so huge, Captain Negan…” She purred, feeling her belly tingle at the knowing grin that spread across his face.

“Fucking right it is.” He growled once more, kissing her roughly as his hips set a punishing pace, working in her like it was an actual punishment. But punishment couldn’t be farther from what Lucille felt. Her body aflame, she was overwhelmed by sexual gratification. The feel of his sweat-slickened body against hers intensifying her arousal. She was aware her noises were not leaving much to the imagination of anyone with in earshot, but she was finding it less and less important to her to conceal any of it.

She whimpered in disappointment as he withdrew, only to be immediately satisfied when he flipped her over and entered her from behind. Negan leaned over her, biting her neck and shoulders as he grunted, each thrust a culmination of his power. His hands gripped her back side, smacking down on it.

“Such a….fine fucking ass…” He snarled, “God damn, you’re a good fuck girl…” He thrusted in her a few more strokes before leaving her sex again, laying back on the bed.

“Get up here and ride your Captain…” He pulled her by the arms and she eagerly straddled him. Her little experience seemed to have no ill-effect on her abilities as she let her intuition take over, sinking him in her and grinding her hips. She loved the way his large hands possessively roamed her, squeezing, pinching, slapping. It was no surprise to her that she came against, her body shuddering the muscles of her sex tightening around him as she cried out his name.

“Oh...OH...OH CAPTAIN NEGAN!” She squealed as she let it overtake her.

“Yeah doll...FUCK...let ‘em hear ya.!” He slapped her ass to encourage her.

Nega’s hands gripped her hips, forcing her to fuck him rapidly as he became more and more needy for his own release. She acquiesced, more than willing to let him use her for his own fulfillment. She felt his shaft growing, stretching her more. He bit his lip as he slid out of her and into his hand. He worked himself roughly, holding her in place as he came, shooting streams of his warm seed onto her belly, gasping and seething.

Lucille watched as he came, his release bringing her more satisfaction that she’d assumed she would feel. As he stroked himself down from his zenith, she gently rubbed his seed on her, stimulated by his attention as she did. She brought some to her lips, humming as she tasted him.

“God fucking damn it, doll...are you for real?” His words were teasing, but his face told her he was more than entertained by it.

Soon they both were on their backs, recovering from the vigorous session. Negan rolled over slowly his hand gripping tightly around her sex making her shiver.

“As long as this pussy stays only for me. You have nothing to worry about on this ship.” His terms were simple, but straightforward. She nodded her head in acceptance.

“Captain Negan...I think you’ve ruined me for any other man.” She purred, letting her finger slide along his jawline. His smug grin returned.

“Good fucking answer.”

#ash’s round 3 negan challenge #twdsm #negan #negan smut #negans thirst squad #twd fanfiction #negan fanfiction

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nicolewrites · 7 years

Text

sometimes we celebrate the silence

For @nerdzewordart, Happy Feast of Fortuna! You requested art first and fic second, but alas, my art skills are not up to par. Instead, take highschool au Jason/Piper and the two aesthetics I made to match. @feastoffortuna2017

Rating: T Genre: Romance and Friendship Characters: [Piper McLean and Jason Grace], Annabeth Chase, Leo Valdez, Percy Jackson Words: 3,663

Sometimes silence is more romantic that a raging beach party. / jasiper / highschool au / for nerdzewordart on tumblr / Feast of Fortuna 2017

AO3 | FFN

Annabeth shut the door more aggressively than she needed to, and Piper laughed. "That bad?"

The blonde slouched in the seat, scowling. "You have no idea."

Piper turned the key in the ignition and her car rumbled to life. She gave Annabeth a pointed look and her friend fastened her seatbelt reluctantly. Piper turned her eyes to the road and waited for Annabeth to start talking. This was usually how their conversations went when one of them was frustrated and it worked.

"He's being obstinate," she complained. "It's such a simple fix, so why won't he listen to me?"

"Annie," Piper drawled as she turned the corner onto Annabeth's street. "You realise that you're fighting with your boyfriend over something small right? You guys have been dating for three years and this is what you choose to fight over?"

"It's important!" Annabeth insisted. The blonde removed her sunglasses, dropped them into the cupholder of the car, and ran a hand through her blonde curls.

Piper slowed to a stop at a red light, easing off the gas, and raised an eyebrow at her best friend. "Annabeth, I love you, but you're fighting over a goddamn tie."

Annabeth turned her head away insistently. "We should match. Plus, his mum agrees with me and it's her wedding."

"I mean, I agree with you too, but ultimately Percy is the one who will be wearing the tie. Do you really think his mum is going to care if he's wearing a tie? She's got tons of other things to worry about," Piper pointed out.

Annabeth sighed. "You're right."

"As always," Piper interjected.

"And," Annabeth continued, casting Piper a firm look, "we'll be fine at the party tonight."

"Good. Tonight is about fun, so you'd better be ready."

Piper turned into Annabeth's driveway and put her car in park. Annabeth leant over and hugged her and Piper returned the embrace as best she could. Annabeth hopped out of the car and ran across the manicured lawn to the front door of the typical suburban home. Piper watched to make sure her friend got inside alright before she slid the gear shift into reverse and headed to her own home.

She turned up the radio and began humming along to the catchy pop song on the radio. Normally pop music wasn't her thing, but the start of summer was a special occasion. It called for stupid summer anthems and drinking at the beach with friends. One didn't come without the other, so Piper embraced the terrible music taste of the radio DJ with open arms.

Driving from Annabeth's house, so close to the school, to her own was not a short trip, but she did it every day. It wasn't like she was paying for the gas to her car herself, and every minute she spent with her extremely busy friend was worth it. Besides, it wasn't like there was anything she could do at her own house without drowning in the endless hallways and empty rooms.

She drove through the edges of the town, spying some classmates milling around in the streets. Everyone was looking in good spirits and a few waved to Piper as she drove by. She cruised past rows of identical suburban houses and then through the rougher neighbourhood with the more interesting homes. She spent a good amount of time in this area too, thanks to Leo, but she still wasn't home.

As the houses became sparser, and the lots larger, Piper finally spied her house. She rolled up to the edge of her driveway and watched as the gate slid away, granting her access. Piper parked her car in her spot in the garage and jumped out. She grabbed her bag from the front seat on the way and entered the house.

The closing door echoed through the home and Piper knew that it meant her dad wasn't home. He wouldn't be home until later, and she would be lucky if he was home before she went out. Still, she knew things were better than they could have been. At least these days, she saw him nearly every day.

Piper dumped her bag by the door and headed straight for the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and wandered towards the window, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. It was nearing four o'clock and the sun was still fairly high in the sky.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and Piper fished it out. She had a new message from Percy. She smiled subconsciously at the picture of Leo and Jason set as her home screen as she swiped to read the message.

Order pizza yet?

Piper rolled her eyes. Of course, Percy was worried about the pizza. I'll do it now, she replied. Piper opened the app for the pizza place and created a new order. She bought six and set the delivery address for Percy's house at 8 PM.

She glanced at her watch again and saw it had inched only marginally closer to 4 PM. Piper took another glance out at the blue skies streaked with small, white clouds. It was a beautiful day and there was no one saying she couldn't go down sooner than the others.

Hitting the surf in 15. She fired the text to both Percy and Annabeth so they wouldn't be wondering where she was.

Piper headed up to her room, ignored the growing pile of clothes on her desk chair, and headed right for her closet. She picked out her bathing suit and a pair of ratty shorts. She pulled on one of Jason's shirts that she'd stolen and repurposed by cutting the arms off and cropping it, and grabbed a flannel to finish her look.

She slid down the bannister to the main floor and hummed as she walked back into the kitchen, leaving a note for her dad reminding him that she was sleeping over at Percy's. Piper headed back into the garage, locking the door to the house behind her, and opened the back of her car.

She loaded a cooler into the back, as well as another case of beer and a carton of hard liquor. Since Piper's half-sister was of age, it was easy for her to get a run when she needed it, and an end of the year beach party was a perfectly acceptable reason for Silena to buy for her.

Piper threw in a case of coke for those who wouldn't be drinking, and the bundle of firewood she had picked up the week before. Satisfied she had everything, Piper got into her car and headed out.

She reached Percy's place in ten minutes and parked in the shade of the tree out front. She left most of the stuff in her car, bringing only her bag out, as she walked around the side of Percy's house and headed down towards the beach. She kicked off her shoes as soon as she was on the soft sand, relishing in the way that the warm sand slid familiarly through her toes.

She grabbed her board from the rack near the dock and dumped her bag. She shed her shorts and top before pushing out into the water. The sunlight glinted off the waves and the familiar sea breeze made her grin.

School had been making it hard to find time to really hit the waves, but it was summer now. She and Percy had already made a pact to surf as much as possible together before he left for New York, and to try and teach Annabeth and Jason the basics. Still, there were few things Piper loved more than late afternoon rides with the promise of a great evening ahead.

She paddled out and sat up on her board, watching the water intently. Gentle waves bobbed her up and down, but she didn't see one she wanted to ride just yet. There was a boat further out that she could see, and she watched as it rose and fell due to the perfect wave.

She swam out to meet it before turning and riding it in. Just as it began to crest, she pushed up, planting her feet firmly, and she rode. Piper was perfectly balanced and perfectly at ease as she carved through the water, spraying herself in the face with cool droplets.

The wave broke and she wiped out, submerging completely, but she broke the surface easily, a grin spreading across her face.

She had missed this.

At close to 6:45, Piper was lying on the beach on her board, eyes closed while she soaked up some sun. She had nearly fallen asleep when someone plopped into the sand next to her. She opened one eye and to see who had disturbed her.

Percy Jackson cracked a sly grin and Piper smirked at him in reply.

"Ties, huh?" she teased.

Percy rolled his eyes. "Wow, so she told you."

"She tells me everything," Piper reminded.

"Very true." He rolled his shoulders forward and squinted towards the horizon and the slowly setting sun. "How were the waves today?"

"Good until the boats started going by," she replied. "When's Annabeth coming?"

"Now," Annabeth's voice cut in. Piper lolled her head back and spotted Annabeth standing close by, a blanket bundled under one arm.

Percy grinned upon seeing his girlfriend and he jumped up. He jogged over to her and pulled her into a kiss which Annabeth happily recuperated. Annabeth's blanket dropped to the sand as she slid her arms around Percy's neck and Piper rolled her eyes. Her friends were notorious for their PDA, even when they'd only been apart for a couple of hours.

"Hey, guys!" Piper called after they showed no signs of acknowledging her presence.

Annabeth broke the kiss and laughed at Piper's expression. "Like you wouldn't do the same with Jason if he was here."

Piper shrugged. "He's not."

Percy picked up Annabeth's blanket it draped it over his shoulder. "Anyways," he cut in, "the party starts at 7:30 and we should be good till around 11 when it gets too dark or cold."

Annabeth stepped next to Piper, draping an arm over her shoulders. "It's weird, isn't it? The last party of senior year?"

"Only because you guys are leaving me," Piper reminded.

"We'll be with you in spirit," Percy teased. "Now, where's that firewood? We should start setting up."

When the pizza arrived, the party was in full swing. Around thirty to forty people from the senior class were on the beach. Music was blaring from a boombox that Travis Stoll, the self-proclaimed DJ, had brought and the bonfire was crackling merrily.

The alcohol had been cracked into, but only just enough so that everyone was having a good time. Piper herself was nursing her first beer and hanging out near the fire. Her eyes were locked onto the dancing, orange flames and a small smile curled up the edges of her lips.

Suddenly, someone practically jumped onto her back and she stumbled forwards, almost falling. Piper spun and glared at her assailant, seeing Leo standing behind her with a cheeky grin on his face. He was holding a cup in one hand and his phone in the other.

"That was rude," Piper told him.

Leo laughed. "Come on, it was funny."

"You would have owed me a drink if I spilt this," Piper informed him, raising her drink in his direction.

"Gladly," Leo replied cheerfully.

Piper finally dropped her act and smiled at her best friend. "So, how's your night been?"

Leo shrugged. "Pretty good. I came with Calypso, but she wanted to dance, and my feet are not made for dancing."

Piper turned and looked towards where most of the dancing was taking place. It was the area closest to the speaker. Drew Tanaka and her friends were in the middle, but there were others, including Leo's mostly-girlfriend Calypso, having a good time too.

"You didn't go with her?"

"Like I said," Leo replied, "I'm not a dancer."

"Whatever you say," Piper teased. "Come get some pizza with me."

Leo linked arms with her and they walked up towards the top of the beach where someone had put out a table with the pizza displayed across it. Piper grabbed a piece of cheese and a piece of vegetarian and Leo took three pieces of pepperoni. Piper rolled her eyes. His stomach was a well-catalogued characteristic of his.

Leo stuck his tongue out at her and pulled her towards the water again. They found a spot in the sand where they could sit and just barely have their toes get wet. Piper watched as a group of people splashed around in the waves and she recognised Percy and Annabeth amongst them.

"You ready for them to leave?" Leo asked, following her gaze to Percy and Annabeth.

Piper smiled softly and took a bite of her pizza. "I'm not ready for anyone to leave."

"Just you and I left here," Leo mused. "The terrible two."

"You're the terrible one," she taunted.

Leo shoved her shoulder and she grinned, biting into her pizza again.

The sun was almost dipping below the waves now, and it spread a warm glow over the water and the teens spread across the beach. Piper leant back in the soft sand, letting her hands support her weight as she stared out across the beach. It was finally really starting to feel like summer.

Leo's phone buzzed and she watched as he opened the message and practically jumped to his feet. "Someone has sparklers!" he exclaimed excitedly. "I'll go grab us a couple."

"Want me to come?" Piper offered.

"Nah," he replied. "You seem comfortable."

Piper raised an eyebrow. "If you're sure."

Leo saluted her and jogged across the beach towards the fire. Piper turned back to the ocean and she watched Hazel, a friend in sophomore year who was dating the senior Frank Zhang, splash Annabeth before hiding quickly behind her boyfriend. Percy then grabbed Annabeth around the waist and basically dove under the water, drenching them both. Piper bit down a laugh.

The familiar sizzling noise of a sparkler caught her attention and she turned towards the sound, expecting to see Leo with one in each hand. Instead, she was met with a very different, but no less welcome, sight.

Jason Grace was holding two sparklers in one hand and smiling at her affectionately. He was wearing board shorts and a white t-shirt with the University of San Francisco logo on the front. Piper blinked at him in surprise and she imagined that she looked like a deer in headlights.

She placed her drink on the ground and stood up. "You're here! You said you weren't going to be back in time!"

Jason shrugged. "There was a change of plans, and we got back earlier than expected."

Piper lunged forwards and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He smelled like fresh air and other nice things, as always. His free arm wrapped around her in return and it found a place on her waist as she pulled back from the hug. She was smiling wildly and Jason laughed at her. Piper stepped on his toes and pushed herself upwards, brushing their lips together briefly.

"You could have texted me," she said as she pulled away.

Jason nodded. "I could have." He passed her one of the sparklers and Piper took it, grinning. "I wanted to surprise you," he explained.

Piper twirled her sparkler near his face, leaving little streaks of light. "Well, I'm definitely surprised. And I'm guessing Leo was in on this, since he left to bring me one of these, and you were the one who showed up."

"I may have texted him," Jason mused, twirling his own sparkler.

Piper laughed and laced the fingers of their free hands together, pulling him with her as she ran towards the water. The seawater was cold as it lapped at their ankles, but Piper splashed Jason anyways and he splashed her back.

Soon they were both wet and laughing and their sparklers were extinguished. Jason took the dead sticks and tucked them into a free pocket before rejoining their hands. Most people were moving out of the water as the first remnants of the stars began to appear on the eastern horizon.

Several people had left, including most of the more drunk people, but someone had turned the music from the speaker down really low and people were gathering around the fire. Jason led Piper over and they found some seats on a log next to Will Solace and Nico di Angelo.

Will had a guitar in his lap and he smiled at Piper as they sat. "In the mood to sing?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Why not?"

Will strummed a few chords and Piper hummed along, catching onto the song easily. She started singing the first verse, and around the fire, people joined in. By the time they reached the chorus, almost the whole group was singing.

Jason's arm wrapped around Piper's waist and he smiled at her. He wasn't singing, but Piper wasn't going to fight him over it since they'd long established Jason did not have the voice for singing like she did. It was a joke shared between them with love.

Will started into another song and people sang along again. Eventually, the guitar chords faded into the background as people talked about things and made toasts, raising glasses full of water, coke, or slightly more risky substances. Piper had abandoned her beer, donating it to Leo, and Jason was only drinking water.

Piper leant into Jason's side and he pressed a light kiss to the side of her head. She tangled their hands again and ran the pads of her free digits over their interconnected knuckles, humming under her breath.

By now, the numbers had dwindled and there was only a core group of kids left. It was nearly 10:30, and the fire was just starting to burn through the last set of logs.

The party would be wrapping up very soon, but with her boyfriend at her side and her friends around her, Piper wasn't sure she wanted to head home, or to bed, just yet. She squeezed Jason's hand and he looked down at her.

"I have my car if you wanna go somewhere."

"Where?" he asked curiously.

Piper smiled. "Honestly, let's just go somewhere."

Jason's lips twitched. "Sounds like a plan."

They excused themselves from the circle, bidding everyone a goodnight, and headed off the beach towards where Piper was parked. She tossed Jason the keys when they reached her car. Despite not even finishing one drink, Piper wasn't going to risk driving.

She pulled up the address for a park on the north side of town and began directing Jason there. When they arrived, Jason parked near a lookout and Piper jumped out of the car, wandering towards it. It looked out over the city and Piper could just barely make out the smudge of orange that was the dying fire from the party on the beach.

Jason walked over, holding a blanket that had been in the backseat of her car. They spread the blanket and lay down together, staring up at the sky and the stars that were peeking through the indigo-violet sky. Piper curled into Jason and his arm easily wound around her waist in return.

"I love summer," she said quietly.

"I know you do," Jason agreed.

"I'm just not sure if I'm ready for everyone to leave," she murmured.

"I'm not sure any of us are ready to leave either," he admitted. "Besides, I'm going to San Francisco. It's not that far. It's Percy and Annabeth who are both going to New York."

"I hope they stay together."

"They've been good to each other for a long time," Jason said, tightening his grip around her a little.

Piper's eyes found the beginnings of a constellation. "So have we," she added.

"I'm glad."

They lay in comfortable silence for a moment. "I love you," Piper said softly.

"I love you too," Jason replied. His voice was low and gentle and Piper pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Even though you're going away, we'll be okay, won't we?" she asked tentatively.

"Of course," Jason assured. "In fact, I actually have something for you."

Piper sat up and Jason copied her. She stared at him as he pulled a small box out of his pocket. Her eyes locked onto it and she nearly forgot to breathe.

"I don't really want to see my life without you. We're so young right now, but this feels so right. So," he trailed off, opening the box, "I'm hoping this will help us stay connected even when I'm away."

Piper gently reached out to touch the circular locket. It was gold and smaller than a penny, but it was embellished simply and beautifully. She flicked the tiny clasp and revealed their picture from prom. She smiled and ran a nail along the glass pane.

"It's beautiful, Jason, thank you."

"You're probably going to say I didn't have to, but I wanted to."

Piper laughed. "Right, because the movie star's daughter needs more things that are gold."

Jason kissed her then, and Piper didn't think much past it as she wound her arms around his neck. The kiss was lazy and slow, but romantic and full of emotion. They broke apart when Piper ran out of air and she pressed another, feather-light kiss to the edge of Jason's lips.

"This is the start of a perfect summer," she whispered so only he could hear her.

After that, it was quiet, but that was alright because despite how much she enjoyed people, there was something truly romantic and fulfilling about a little silence every now and then.

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