#I think circus baby needs to stop smoking

[officermaddie23]

That one scene in the fourth closet that gets memed a lot

Imposter Charlie: Hey baby I (coughs as she reveals her true identity)

Carlton Bruke: *backs away*

Circus baby: *still coughing*

Carlton Bruke: *WTF face*

[annikasevenshots]

Star Trek Picard: Season 3 Episode 2 Reaction (spoilers!)

All the Titan bridge babies looking around when Shaw fights Seven 🥺 yes 🥺

Oh baby La Forge 🥺

"There's something familiar about him" RIKER PLEASE IM HOWLING

Oh RAFFI 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Ohhhh my god. Oh Raffi. Oh my GOD. Oh my darling my sweet girl you can do no wrong 😭

my clever girl 🥺 my clever baby girl.

oh. oh raffi.

SEVEN SLAY

i am SO proud of her.

Seven's "you could be the heroes that saves heroes" vs Raffi's "someone needs to speak for the dead" PARALLELS!!!!! HELPING PEOPLE WHO HAVE NO ONE ELSE TO HELP THEM PARALLELS!!!!!!!!!!

lmfaooooooo Picard half beaming Jack out I'm begging be more serious fr 😭

Jack's "smack it until it works again" is so me-coded of him teehee

BOOPIN ON THE SENSORS

NO STOP THE WAY THE TITAN JUST APPEARED IN THERE I CACKLED SO HARD

THIS SHOW IS A MF COMEDY I SWEARRRRR

YES AN EPIC VERSION OF THE TITAN THEME MY BELOVED

"We're basically a hotel now" he's so grumpy shaw is so slay actually

Seven <3 i love uuuuuuuuuuu

JAE??????????????? LIKE JAES AN ARTIST JAE????????????? JAE WHO HAS PAINT SPLATTERS ON HIS SHIRT JAE???????????? HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCKJNG FUCMF HOOOOOOLY FUCK

"i have to be. i want to be." my strong darling.

JAE OWNS A BAR?????????? SIR

people believe raffi challenge. fuck you jae. fuck YOUUUUUU jae.

oh my god. gabe or sneed??????? GABE OR SNEED?????????????????? GABE OR SNEED YOU ARE FUCKING JOKING ME IM LEAVING IM NEVER COMING BACK

I HATE EVERYTHING. i hate everything. i. hate. everything.

"You boys are in so much trouble" I agree with Shaw actually. Not the deadname but like

"Captain" "WHAT" "WHAT" this show is so unserious

Oh this villain is JUIIIIIIICY! she is so SLAY

"Official psychological profile with starfleet" SIR IS NO ONE EVER NORMAL IN THIS FORBIDDEN SPACE MILITARY

i can just SEE seven's cogs turning at "jack crusher"

What is it with people and smoking in this show 😭

SIDNEY LA FORGE IS SO BABY AND CUTE 🥺 protect her pls

THIS SHOW IS LITERALLY SO UNSERIOUS DID THEY FUCKING YEET THE ELEOS AT THE TITAN FRRRRRRRR SHE ACTUALLY FUCKING WENT YEET IM CRYING

i actually can't this is a fucking circus show

La forge talking about law of physics yes baby you're so smart and funny 🥺🥺🥺🤏

"How is that even possible" lowkey Shaw is getting relatable like no one @ me but

"We are cornered in space which has no corners" helppp and seven's constant side eyes like sir are you tripping

"Fenris folk" love you hiro and deet <3

TITAN THEME COMING BACK YAYYYYY <3

BRIG TIME HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

james cole 💀💀💀

"Sir as a former fenris ranger" yes you are my girl <3 my sweet sweet girl <3

i'm... i'm torn here. shaw's kinda right but seven 🥺 she's just trying to do right by people who would have lost their lives. 500 injuries vs 4 deaths? just. just. THAT'S The complexity of star trek i've missed. the moral dilemmas. the losing either way.

Picard calling Seven Seven slay

Dare i say it PatStew actually looks spunkier this season? When in S2 he just looked covid tired?

"Why are you dancing around it" RIKER KNOWS 🤡🤡🤡

DO THE MATH??????????????? IM WHEEZING DOES RIKER KNOW WHEN THEY'VE BONKED

this show is ACTUALLY SO UNSERIOUS

"do you not see what i see? a british accent, jean luc?"

"Who do you think taught me all this" "..." please this show is a comedy

BEV KICKING JACK'S ASS SO TRUEEEEWWEWEEWEWEEEE

"Because you know her so well" CALL ME A WEEWOOWEEWOO I AM BEGGING

"WHO IS YOUR FATHER" "I NEVER HAD ONE" HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

raffi? 🥺 you good girl? 🥺

oh gosh. please told me she found sneed on her own instead of through jae. please. please please please.

A FUCKING BASEBALL???????????????????????

"Artists are unknowable assholes" vs "Jae's an artist" in NML AND WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME

Oh my god Michelle Hurd's acting is so chefs kiss 🤌🤌🤌

haha section 31 why would you BAIT ME LIKE THAT

oh. oh my god. OHHH MY GOD. RAFFI. RAFFI RAFFI RAFFI. NO. MY DARLING GIRL NO. PLEASE NO

"it takes a real addict to fight it this hard" NO

TAKE IT BACK TAKE IT ALL BACK

WORF???????????????????????

OMG IS THAT WHERE THE SCENE OF WORF CARRYING RAFFI COMES FROM

WHY IS THE USS SAFFI SO SMART WE LITERALLY CAUGHT HER HAIR ON HIS SHOULDER LIKE

ALSO. WORF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WORF????!!?(!?!!!!???????

also. RAFFI. OHHHH RAFFI. RAFFI 😭😭😭 MY DARLING GIRL YOU'VE BEEN SO BRAVE AND SO STRONG. I LOVE YOU. my sweet clever girl.

why was their grand plan mf WAKING bev they're actually 👁️👄👁️

BEV'S ACTING IN THIS ONE IS A MASTERCLASS IN LESS IS MORE

The shrike being called the shrike is so slay

In conclusion, i laughed a lot until raffi's second scene. then i laughed less.

[thvnderr]

❀ *ﾟ kim mingyu. cis man. he/him. heterosexual. ⇝ hey, isn’t that Dae-Hyun (Noah) Moon? i think that the twenty-six year old from Bristol, United Kingdom works as carnival staff and clerk at the black dog motel, but outside of that people describe them as the faint laughter of children at that old victorian mansion late at night, dusty mats being dragged across an old floor and the heat of the spotlight, misplaced items and the slamming of doors at empty motel rooms. i hear they are closed-minded & anxious, but they are also known to be independent & reliable. consider giving them a visit at their home in seal harbor apartments and get to know why they’re called the unwilling witch.

Possible kidnapping tw, death mention tw

Mother and Father Moon fall in love after the circus is touring before establishing in Anchorage. The man comes from a rich family that certainly did not approve of the union, while the woman is part of the gymnastics act alongside the fortune teller tent.

Ignoring  family advice, the Father leaves with the love of his life and decides to join the circus life as well ( not without emptying most of the safe in the process ).

Unable to conceive at first, the Mother prays and prays every night to whoever is listening — God, the stars, deities, nature — until the miracle comes in the shape of a premature sickly baby that did not even cry after being born.

Doctors didn’t give much hope to the family so in one last plead for help, the Mother goes up to the highest hill she can find and prays to the moon the entire night for the health of her only son. Knowing she could not simply ask and not offer something in return, she offers the same she’s asking for: her son. “Have him!”, she exclaimed, “I will not be a jealous mother, take him in and let him be your servant. Save him and you can have him”.

                                                 And the moon listened.

In a few days the baby was healthy, his cheeks had color again and he was crying and eating properly.

Dae-Hyun grew up in the circus helping his Mother with the fortune telling and participating in some acrobatic acts as well, he helped to set the environment, move the mirrors and add the smoke when necessary, anything to make the act believable upon empty words and gibberish said by the woman. That was until the little boy interrupts to say something: an accurate reading. Something about someone’s mom leaving a personal item to them. Safe to say the person was moved to tears and soon, the word spread fast.

Many were coming to visit the witch boy as they called him to have their future read and everything was going good in general, until the gritty things started to came through. Disappearances, “fake” people, death. Things that people didn’t want to hear left the boy’s lips non-stop. Mother and Father decided to stop the act altogether when Dae-Hyun predicted the disappearance of his own Father.

A few years go by, most people seemed to forget about the crude readings, but when the boy was 7 years old and in need of a drink in the middle of the night, he saw the main door open. He peeked outside and saw his father apparently looking for something or someone in the dark. The boy was about to call for him when something snatched Father into the bushes.

The little boy stood there for a couple of hours in total shock; unable to really process what had happened, he simply closed the door and went upstairs to his bedroom. He definitely should have told Mother. 

Next day, he takes longer than expected to go downstairs out of fear of what he might or might not find; but when his Mother came upstairs to bring him down for breakfast, everything seemed normal. Father was helping with the breakfast and Mother hummed to the song they were playing on the radio.

Dae-Hyun wondered if it had been only a nightmare, but something caught his attention later that day. He enjoyed playing with his Father’s wedding ring, it had pretty blue stones that shone nicely under the sun and usually, the mark of the band would be clearly visible on the man’s finger after taking it off. This time, when the boy asked his Father for the ring, the man looked puzzled as if asking why a child would want the ring for; second, the son noticed no mark of a ring on his Father’s finger; and third... “Be careful with that, Dae-Hyun, you cannot be playing around with it”. His Father would never doubt the child’s careful nature in the past.     His stomach dropped.    This man, this... THING, was NOT his Father.

He tried to tell Mother about it, he really did, but of course she would not buy it; even if she was always participant of her son’s stories, this one had gone too far and for too long. He was taken to a child therapist who dismissed the issue as nothing more than an early rebellious phase and a little dissociation common in children with a lot of imagination.

Dae-Hyun became more closed-off afterwards, feeling quite ignored after the situation with “Father”; he too, tried to convince himself that everything he had seen and experienced was just part of a wild imagination and soon enough, he shut himself down to any kind of fantastical or paranormal happening — or at least he thought he did.

The boy kept on perceiving and experiencing unexplainable things, but it didn’t matter how odd or nerve-wrecking the situation could be, he always got sure to find a logical explanation for it as stretched as it could get. He still helped around in the circus’ acts but when he reached high school, his parents decided to send him back to UK to study there and have more of a multicultural experience.

He then came back to Anchorage with a heavy British accent sometimes accidentally infused into his Korean. He decided to study college online going for a double major in physics and theology.

Dae-Hyun has tried to keep to himself most of the time at both of his jobs with the occasional odd sightings and unbodied whispers in his ear and if you approach him better be to ask about how to find the bathroom and not if he’s the famous witch boy.

Personality wise he’s rather serious and even unexpressive sometimes unless he’s teasing you for whatever reason; he is proud of his fluency in sarcasm and clapback. He is not one to express affection out loud except for his circus family, he will instead go for acts of service if possible. Being a psychic has allowed him to be empathetic to people’s needs so he will most likely get you the thing you needed before you have a chance to express it, so this makes him a reliable friend to have. Very afraid deep inside of his abilities and the possible existence of clones, Dae-Hyun will deny over and over again any crazy ass theory you come up with. “We live in a physical world and a physical world only”.

FACTS

His western name is Noah and most acquaintances call him that. You can also call him Dae-Hyun and he will still respond without a problem. Some people might prefer to call him Moon, though. Goes on preference for each person and he doesn’t mind either name.

Moved out from his parents trailer and into seal harbor apartments because he needed the space for himself; at least this is what he tells people, he was also being stalked by a couple of ghosts and wanted out of there as soon as possible. Adopted a black three-legged-cat called Tripod.

While he’s not an active participant of the acrobats crew, he still practices the routines regularly to keep himself in shape. He will usually help with whatever is needed at the circus, whether it be reparations, substitute or selling something.

Has a tattoo of the moon phases across his upper back. He said it was as a joke of his mom offering him to the satellite, but he does feel affection for that story.

Is kinda superstitious and you will rarely see him cursing someone, he wouldn’t really like to see someone being hit by a truck.

Really good at handling spicy food and is the kind of person who will eat whatever his companion(s) left on their plate.

Spends a lot of time playing mobile games. Refuses to own a console because he knows he won’t be leaving the apartment.

You will find him doodling on napkins or pieces of paper nonsense to pass the time wherever he is. He will also scribble random words and I cannot stress enough about how these words will most likely not be as random as he thinks they are.

Witches have crows, he has a bunch of pigeons following him around bc he sometimes ( always ) feeds them.

PINTEREST

PLAYLIST

TL;DR Dae-hyun has the 6th sense and absolutely refuses to acknowledge it. Sees ghosts and accidentally predicts stuff. Empathetic. Will reply to that question you made in your head when he thought you said it out loud. That kind of jazz. Just trying to leave a peaceful life and Anchorage not letting him. Majoring in physics and theology as a way to try and explain what he sees/hears.

[taechaos]

Freaky Idea

Pt. 2 of New Idea

pairing: Stepbrother!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

genre: oneshot, pseudo-incest, smut

synopsis: The last guaranteed day you have with Taehyung is spent with his choice of adventure. You learn a lot of things about the history of freakshows, and how much of a freak your brother is as well.

warnings: mention of murder and somnophilia, riding, manipulation

word count: 3.8k

When Taehyung agreed to being your slave for a month, he wasn’t lying. He was attached to your hip throughout the whole time span, obeying your every command without complaint. You didn’t deem him forgiven, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy his company and compliance. The whole month was a bliss for you.

The first week, the morning after the… event, you had him prepare breakfast for you and your mother walked in on him cooking an omelette for you. She was perplexed, and with her morning drowsiness asked, “You’re home?” before smothering him with a hug. Your father gave him the minimum acknowledgement, and it went by quickly with your mother being surprised every time she saw him in the morning.

The second week, he drove you around and paid for your every need. You don’t know how he has so much money, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he sells drugs or had robbed a bank. You decided to reward him by kissing his cheek every time he bought you clothes and jewelries per your request. He realized he enjoyed spoiling you, and took you shopping in different malls for 7 days straight.

The third week, you met his friend. You had insisted, and he gave in after a short while of you begging because it was difficult to say no to you and rules are rules. His terms were: 1. You're going to act like his girlfriend, and 2. You sit on his lap. Maybe you didn't get it, but his friend Namjoon didn't seem dangerous enough for you to be behaving the way you were forced to. Sitting in front of a burning barrel in the middle of nowhere, Taehyung and Namjoon smoked weed together while you watched them. The conversation was fun, and you wanted to see him again. Taehyung didn’t allow you to question the ordeal. Rest of the week went by a breeze.

Fourth week was relatively calm as well, and now Taehyung is on his final day of slavery. It’s somewhat melancholic for you because you don’t know if he’ll vanish once the clock hits 12. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging your dangling legs while your step-brother inspects the fridge to find you something for lunch. The two of you woke up late this morning, well, afternoon, and you don’t know why you feel so exhausted and sore. You’ve been feeling this way for a whole month now, but you’re growing somewhat used to it. 

“This bitch is empty,” Taehyung grumbles before closing the fridge and standing up straight. When he notices your soft pout, he slithers his way between your legs. “What’s wrong princess? Are you tired?”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” you blurt without beating around the bush and peek at him under your lashes.

His brow ticks as he tilts his head. “Did you want to do something?”

“Well, no,” you drawl, “I just wish… you were here more often.”

"You know I can't stay away from you for long," he counters your worries, "especially if you allowed me to…"

"Stop." You distance yourself by pushing him away; you don't want to think about what he was implying. You made it explicitly clear that anything remotely sexual wasn't allowed to be brought up when you were around, and he’s been sticking to that rule until now - to your knowledge, at least. 

“Stop teasing your sister, Taehyung.” your mother enters the kitchen while tying the knot of her robe, now checking the fridge herself. 

He rolls his eyes before turning to her and retaliating, “I didn’t even do anything.” You giggle to yourself and bite your fist. “Did I tease you?” he asks innocently with his neck craned in your direction.

“Yes, he doesn’t even make me breakfast,” you joke with a grin. 

“The fridge is fucking empty!”

“Language,” your mother warns strictly before taking out a box of frozen pizza. “And it isn’t empty. Could you turn on the oven for me, love?” You nod and arrange the heat to 200 degrees while Taehyung scoffs, “I can’t survive in a house with women.”

“Man up,” your step-father butts in monotonously. “You have to rely on your mother to cook to this day. When will you move out? Act your age Taehyung, you’re 21.”

The light-hearted atmosphere dims with the presence of Taehyung’s father. There’s a distinct contrast between your two parents, and you can understand why your step-brother is so rebellious around them. The only thing holding them together is their dedication to religion. 

He only huffs and crosses his arms in response as his dad grabs a carton of juice and a glass from the cupboard. It’s tense in the room until Taehyung leans into your ear and whispers, “I’m only here because of you.”

A light blush tints your cheeks at his sweet confession, although it also makes you guilty. He later convinces you to eat with him in your room, and it’s comfortable in your bed as you chomp on the slices hungrily. 

“Is there anything you want to do today?” Taehyung asks as he chews on his pizza.

“Let’s do something you want for a change,” you answer after swallowing. 

Though he hasn’t been showing any lack of interest around you, you are aware that you haven’t been doing anything fun by his definition. You’re worried that you’ve bored him throughout this whole timespan of being together.

A smirk grows on his face and there’s that glint of mischief in his eyes that you’ve missed. Fair, the last time you saw it was before he traumatized you, but you try not to think about it much like you ignore the constant ache between your legs. 

“There’s this circus,” he begins slowly, “I hear it’s interesting. Would you want to come with?”

You know he’s leaving something out, his cautious tone and aura implicit he knows something you don’t. But you nod anyway, because you still stupidly trust him.

Taehyung’s car is old and retro, but he must have upgraded the engines for how fast he is driving. You like admiring his side profile as he holds the steering wheel, but the view is much more interesting when he catches you looking. It’s a far location, and you’re out of the city by the time he parks his car in the woods. How did he memorize the directions when it took an hour to get there?

“We’re here,” he announces before shifting the manual stick gear with a screech. You exit the car and he is not gentle with the way he slams the door closed, so you do the same. You can see hints of red colors between the cracks of the thin trees. 

“Is it open?” you question apprehensively. The sun hasn’t set yet, but it should be getting dark soon in the evening. 

“Hasn’t been open for a century. You wouldn’t believe the amount of history this place has.”

He takes the lead in his steps, and you follow behind though your gut doesn’t approve. The path isn’t long, and only then do you see the circus when Taehyung moves aside. It’s run down, worn out colors in the curtains, broken glasses on the ground and the circus barely holding itself up. There’s a huge cannon in the middle of the stage, the tip balancing itself on the ground. It’s kind of creepy, but Taehyung doesn’t leave you in the dark for long.

“A lot of crazy shit happened here, you know,” he piques your curiosity, “the clowns were fucking freaks. Any type of physical disorder landed you in here, whether you liked it or not. Even for babies,” he picks up an idle shard of glass, “these were jars. They had deformed fetuses on display on a stand, but the wind must have fucked it up.”

“Deformed fetuses?”

“Yeah, like, conjoined and some other stuff.” You grimace at his description, although it stirs empathy in you. The 20th century sounds inhumane. 

“Are these real stories?” 

“Yeah. And the cannon: they rocketed people from this very bad boy,” he points at it before standing under.

Your stomach sinks as you panic, “It could fall on you!” You pull at his hand and the force makes your chests meet. He smiles down at you before pecking your lips. You stammer, a little mad as he chuckles before walking to a wooden wheel. He makes a star pose after stepping on the metal stand, stretching out his limbs to fit the whole circle. 

“This was the Wheel of Death; they threw knives at targets on this. I think they only targeted females actually...” He nods at you to replace him as he hops off. You go along with his idea and climb on the stand, though it creaks weakly. He takes out a pocket knife from his pocket and you’re about to yell before he hurls it at you. It lands above your shoulder and you immediately scold, “What the fuck, Tae?! Why would you do that! I could’ve died.”

He shrugs with a bright grin, clearly unbothered by your stressing. “My aim isn’t too bad.” He walks over to you and collects his floating knife. “Besides, when have I ever hurt you?”

You bite your tongue and purse your lips with a glare. 

“See?” he whispers. “You can’t even name one time…”

He’s teasing your silence, how you can’t even dare to voice the specific night. You haven’t even told your parents and slept with him right after, and he finds that so interesting: that you trust him with your life. 

“You actually can’t? Wow, I didn’t realize I was such a good brother,” he grins lopsidedly before snapping his fingers. “On with the tour.” He is enthusiastic as he struts past the circus. You shake your head with a sigh but follow him regardless. “So there were sword swallowers, acrobats, strongmen, anything that drew attention. They had a shit ton of accidents and deaths, but you would die if you got boring as well.” Taehyung holds back a bush to let you pass; the place he’s leading you to is a lot more crowded with sages and trees than the previous path. “Once the initial attraction wears off, you’re a goner. They couldn’t survive in that society with those deformities, so it was suicide either way.”

“That is so cruel,” you mumble sympathetically. “This place was like a fractured fantasy.”

“At least they lived for a bit… up until someone ended it.” When he pushes away the woodruffs, you’re met with another rundown site with a few… cages? “This is the trailer. Where they stayed and got ready for their shows. Some were held against their will, and slept with the animals in those cages.”

You gape at your surroundings in shock. The trailer is missing one side of the wall, and the rest have been vandalized with random phrases written in spray paint. You don’t give much attention to the torture cages, because the trailer has a lot more to show. It still has couches on the incomplete hardwood flooring, and Taehyung plops on one. The fabric is torn and dust rises the moment he’s on the seat. “That’s so dirty, Tae,” you pull a displeased face.

“Don’t be rude to the past occupants. Their ghosts might still be around.” He wiggles his fingers as if imitating a monster. He then pats his thighs, beckoning you to sit on his lap. You begrudgingly do so, and he wraps his arms around your waist before pulling you flush against him. “Any theories on how this shitshow ended?”

“Police intervention?”

“Something like that, I guess. One of the acrobats went nuts and shot everyone, so the place was shut down.”

“What?” you widen your eyes at him. “Why did they do that?”

“He was going to be replaced, so he got rid of the competition. Very chilling,” he casually states. “There must be some bullet holes in the walls, but we can check that out later.” His head snuggles into your neck while you’re still processing his words, but you go blank when he starts leaving feather light kisses on your neck. “Right now,” he murmurs, “I just want you to ride me.”

“Ride you?”

“Don’t act innocent, you know what I mean. You said I could choose what we did today… and I want to fuck here.”

“Taehyung… I specifically told you we aren’t allowed to do anything sexual. You hurt me last time as well,” you frown at the mention. 

“I asked you if I ever hurt you earlier. Did you say anything?” he asks condescendingly.

“No…”

“Why are you saying I hurt you now? Don’t tell lies, baby. Besides,” his hand slides down to your thigh as he speaks in a low, sultry voice, “I’ve been loosening up your cunt. You don’t even wake up at night anymore. It won’t hurt this time, I promise.”

You had an inkling, the stupid inkling that you tried so damn hard to brush aside. “You fucked me in my sleep?” you force out, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. “And you brought me here just to–”

“Christ, no,” he cuts you off offendedly, “I’m not that sick in the head. I didn’t plan it, but I can’t say I wasn’t hoping. It’s not like I’m going to rape you.”

“You did it once!”

“I was on a lot of drugs then! I’m clean now,” he huffs in irritation. “I’m sorry about that, and I know my apology is long overdue or whatever, but give me a break. I’ve been into you since I was like 16.”

You turn to look at him - really look at him. There’s not a trace of guilt on his face; the roots of his messy teal hair have grown out; the beauty of his naturally downward lip corners; you don’t know what to think. Your mind is a mess because you don’t know what to make of his confession. He has manipulated you countless times, coerced you into doing things you would never do, and for once you reflect on his personality. This could be one of his schemes in order to get you to do what he wants, and ironically, he was supposed to be doing that for you. Through all of your scrambled thoughts, you only muster a meek “really?”

“Yes,” he affirms, “that’s why I want to be intimate with you.”

Lies, lies, lies, you think before gently pressing your lips against his. Despite your attempt at kissing him softly, he doesn’t cooperate by instantly sucking on your nether lip with vigor, his hands immediately meeting at your hips to gently rock them against his crotch. He bites your lip before swiping his tongue against it, coaxing, “Suck on my tongue.” The awkward angle from where you’re kissing him makes him turn your body to completely face him, your knees landing on either side of him on the uncomfortable chair. It doesn’t matter, because you’re starting to forget the whole setting, just about everything except for him as arousal begins to seep in. Heat pools in your stomach at the switch in mood, and he’s enjoying your compliance as he quietly moans into your mouth. 

While you’re busy relishing in his swirling tongue, he starts tugging down your pants and you help him without looking. You sit up to push it down your ankles and throw it on the floor along with your panties. “What’s gotten into you?” he chuckles breathlessly before leaving wet kisses on your lips and pulling away to take off his wrinkled shirt. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, equally breathless.

“I don’t know, you’re just… so hot when you’re horny.” His boyish smile grows on your flustered face as he says, “Take off your shirt. Wanna see those pretty tits again.”

You bite your lip to suppress your insecurities, but it doesn’t help when you’re left in your bra as you cover your chest. “Don’t be shy now,” he teases knowingly and removes your arms before unclasping the garment. “Take out my cock now.” His tone is gentle with encouragement. You unzip his jeans timidly, but your eyes grow in wonder at the outline of his erection. “I’m so hard for you,” he assures you in a whisper and takes your hand in his to rub himself. “You’re so pretty, and sexy. I fucked you every night because you’re just so irresistible. You understand, don’t you, baby?” 

“I… Yes,” you agree and finally push down his briefs. His throbbing cock stands proudly and you’re intimidated by the size until he murmurs, “I won’t hurt you.” He lightly touches your bare pussy, slick with your arousal as you shudder. He coats your vulva with all of it, giving special attention to your clenching hole as he inserts a single finger. “Does it hurt?”

You shake your head, and you’re confused by the lack of pain and the desire for more. It feels good and that is a surprise for you as you sink down lower on his finger. He curls it, adds another finger and stretches your walls, emitting a moan out of you. You’re liking it, and you don’t know why; he was so cruel the last time that you were convinced something would go wrong now. Nothing does, and if anything, his fingers make you feel the best you have ever felt though it is not enough. “More,” you beg and he replaces his fingers by pulling you to the head of his cock. He’s staring right at you with hooded lids as he rubs it up and down, making you release a needy whimper. “Please, Taehyung.”

And like the slave he was meant to be, he shoves it in with a grunt. Your scream catches in your throat at the initial sting, but it’s worth it when he screws his eyes shut in pleasure and bites his lip to hold back a groan. He looks angelic under you, although he is anything but. You realize he is waiting for your cue to move, and it flutters your hearts because he is more attentive to you this time. Rather than letting him take the lead, you act on your instincts as you roll your hips. It’s unsteady at first, the foreign position making it difficult for you to adapt to so fast. His audible quick breaths encourage you to take your time in angling your pelvis comfortably, and when an involuntary moan leaves you, you place your hands on his shoulders before sticking to the current stance and going up and down on him. 

“Oh shit, you’re doing so well,” he praises you between gasps, supporting your body with his hands, “feels so fucking good. My good girl.”

It gets to your head, how much he’s enjoying your motions. He meets them with thrusts of his own, perfectly hitting your cervix and blinding you with pleasure. What is it that makes you feel so wonderful in this situation? Is it the touch, or the complimentary fact that you’re the only person Taehyung wouldn’t get bored of? 

Could it be that you’re two of the same?

Maybe he’s the one desperate to please you, you think as he massages your breasts, flicking your hard nipples with his thumbs so graciously. The eerie silence is broken by both of your loud moans, ecstasy sensually building up in knots in your stomachs. Sweat accumulates on your forehead, your hair sticking to your face but not hiding the sight of his erotic expression. You arch your back and grind down on him, and he’s limp on the loveseat as he takes all that you give him so submissively.

It’s your turn to use him, and you actually start understanding what makes him so rash and impulsive in hopes of receiving this amount of serotonin. It’s worth it, the release of control and morals to be with him. “Taehyung, h-how did you do it?” you moan. “Every night, what did you do?”

“I,” he tries to catch his breath, “I used my fingers to stretch you out. One finger, then two, then three.” He groans and thrusts into you fast and hard, “I fisted you at some point, and you came in your sleep, and then on my cock. Moaning and whining every fucking night, like some filthy whore.” You mewl at his crude words. He’s so obscene with you, and you clench your walls in response. “You like being my whore, hm? Little freak.”

“Yes, yes,” you confirm in a whimper, nodding your head as you pass the dominance onto him. He’s fucking into you while you stand on your knees, eyes rolled back with drool about to drip from the corner of your mouth. He starts to rub your clit and kisses your neck for you to tighten around him over and over again; it’s heaven in an empty graveyard. It’s so fucked up, yet he can’t stop. You’re panting as he manipulates your body to mold with his. “I’m close.”

His hands fall on your ass, greedily kneading it as your hips begin to stutter, your orgasm climbing up just as your energy is falling down. It hits you like a truck: the peak of pleasure, accompanied by a silent scream, nails digging into his skin as your muscles tense. “Fuck,” you breathe once his thrusts begin overstimulating you, but it’s not for long as he shoots his load inside you with a groan. He’s twitching as his erection becomes flaccid, and you feel it as he pulls out. 

“Bet it didn’t hurt,” he jokes while you recover from your climax. You’re leaking with his cum and he uses his shirt to wipe you clean, making you shake from how sensitive you are. “I’ll buy you the pill on the way home.”

“Thanks,” you plainly say and stand up to pick up your clothes. You’re trembling slightly and a little achy, but it’s nothing compared to losing your virginity. 

“What? You gonna give me the cold shoulder now?” He’s only in his loose pants and has his shirt thrown over his shoulder. He buckles his belt while you put on your bra. 

“Why did you make us act like a couple in front of Namjoon?” After hearing his confession, the interaction before bugs you.

“What do you mean?”

“Is it because you didn’t want him to think I was single? Because you like me?”

“No, he’s a convicted felon. Crazy motherfucker killed his ex’s new boyfriend,” he reveals with a scoff. “Besides, if you like me, you’d like him as well.”

Putting your shock aside, you realize one thing: Taehyung doesn’t want to be replaced. Does that mean you hold power over him? Or will he do anything at any cost to be in your life?  Regardless of your internal monologue, you only reply with, “who says I like you?”

It’s a joke, and he knows it. As promised, he buys you an emergency pill and another shirt for himself on the way home. His days of slavery are over, and you wonder: where will he be tomorrow? Maybe take his father’s advice… 

[vacantgodling]

tit for tat: the character from witch noir i'm most obsessed with right now is angel. he just sucks so bad, but at the last minute he decides to try really hard!! for love!!! he's a cancer sun pisces moon pisces rising he's so sad and pathetic and full of love. he cries big ghibli tears and changes reality through sheer force of he believes in it so hard. he can't drive and his best friend is a cat. and he looks like oscar isaac.

now you 🔁

thank you for doing this i’m also now???? obsessed with him. cancer x pisces baby he’s so TINY idk i’m holding him i am kissing on the head i am giving him hot chocolate 😭 i’d love to know more about him?? how does he suck? how does he manage to turn things around? what’s his cats name??? i need to knowww

(also he looks like oscar isaac? i’m 👀 looking)

i randomly get into moods for stuff so like earlier i was going through my google drive with all my nonsense and looked back over my stuff for NAD and man i wish this plot would better reveal itself to me bc i love these characters. so much!!!

NAD rn is an acronym placeholder title for the actual wip itself (hopefully it’ll name itself… one day…) standing for the 3 povs that the story’s gonna switch through.

N is for Nyseah Nicoletti. she’s a trans femme nurse who is so. fucking. tired. she’s so damn tired. let her sleep. in her 30s and works the midnight shift most nights of the week and hardly takes time for herself, chain smokes to keep the edge off of how tired and irritable she always is. she wants better for herself but like ? how. getting the boob job was hard enough lmao. anyway tho, she’s given a respite from her misery one rare night off and she decides (for once) to go out. gets all dressed up, goes to a bar and WOW? a handsome man is actually?? flirting with her???? this doesn’t happen every day, what’s the occasion? they end up going back to a motel, fuck, and then nyseah wakes up alone. everything’s cool… until she opens her left eye. then SUDDEN PAIN!!! (i posted that excerpt here but she’s not having a god time). and well, come to find out she’s psychic now. but not in a good way. in a if you even think about using your powers blood is pouring from your eye type of way. ends up meeting some “escaped experiment” kids that she immediately adopts who are able to help her but her whole story is kinda. revenge for this dude who fucked her over like this bc it’s definitely one-night-stand dude’s fault (and this ain’t just a funny like. he literally caused this lol,,)

A is for Alona. a sweet, little air headed but doing her best! college student in her early 20s. she picks up a job at the largest and most famous (infamous probably) company in the city as a part time secretary and is living the good life, or is trying to! her coworkers are a bit standoffish at times but she’s pretty chill with the whole thing until one day for the first time she’s asked to stay on for the night shift. that night goes well, but she notices what looks to be a trail of blood coming from one of the back rooms she’s told not to go into and while she doesn’t that night the thought doesn’t leave her mind. she just can’t help but want to know more? somethings not right and well. she’s curious! (let’s just hope the cat phrase doesn’t come to fruition shall we).

finally, D is for PI Donte MacBride, the oldest of the bunch in his mid 40s. he really should retire from doing pi work but he has no other prospects or savings, so he just lives out his days in his little rickety shop/turned upstairs apartment (since he lost the last real place he had), shooing away those with hopes of him facing the cruel justice system on their behalf. he won’t, not anymore, he’s done with that circus. and he’s all but stopped taking on cases too until one day a very. very famous guest decides to drop by; an actor known only by his first name leonine. he comes by to request his services, claiming its only for closure as per don’s policy: find out who killed recently killed rising star, the singer roxanne davis, one of his dearest friends. and he makes don a monetary offer he can’t refuse—one that would set him for the rest of his life. so… despite the red flags about touching this case going off in his head, don finds himself taking on one last case.

as you can probably guess, these three stories intersect and the three of them are going to meet and realize they’re all on the same path to… whatever the fuck is going on here. but !! i have yet to figure out truly what it is aside from lil bits and pieces. fjfjfj i’m sorry this was so long haha.

[darthwheezely]

i walk the line - f.w. - 1

1950s american carnival! au

Summary: The Weasley Bros. Circus has always been a family affair...until they pick up a highly unusual girl with wicked talents...

Warnings: 1950s America and all the shit that comes with it, NSFW/SMUT MINORS NO INTERACTING :) , alcohol usage, cussing, tw violence (fights), carny folk, contortionist, language and desc of intense circus acts, clowns, sad boy George, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF BULLYING IN THIS CHAPTER, angst

taglist or people that may like this! DM to be added or removed @cappsikle @lumosandnoxwriting @whizboingies @virgohufflepuff @officialwizardwheezes @amourtentiaa @softlyqoos @breadqueen95 @thehufflepuffwife @george-fabian-weasley @lupinsclassroom @haileymorelikestupid @sarcasticallywitty15 @band--psycho @gcdric @vogueweasley @harrysweasleys @slytherinsunrise @thisismynerdyself @loony-loopy-lupinn @writingsomewrongs @pineapplesandpinas @valwritesx @amxrtentias @theweasleyslut @oh-for-merlins-sake @alyssamalfoy @bisou-doux

“...welcome to our home!”

George listened as the crowd erupted before his father. He had always admired Arthur “Art” Weasley, for many a reason. The way he could walk in and command a room, the way he could silence an entire audience with a simple flick of his wrist of wave of his hand, the way his voice alone could stop his cries in the night, the way he would come up behind him when taking care of the animals was too much and say, “Georgie, go to sleep, son.” but most of all? The way his father noticed him.

Baltimore, Maryland. 1933.

George Weasley was on the run. Again. Charlie Dooley, a boy from his class, and his gang of (as Fred said) “chickenshit babies” had made it a habit of following George home from school and doing one of the following: a) chasing him on bikes, b) cornering him in the bathroom, or c) sprinting after him on foot.

Today, it had been on foot.

“C’mon monkey boy!” Charlie howled, the other boys closing in on him. George sprinted a quick right realizing he dropped his lunch box and thinking a violent but rapid mom’s gonna be so mad, oh no oh no-

George barreled down the street, his house in sight, tears stealing on his cheeks from the sheer speed and necessity to get home. His feet seemed to be operating without him knowing, his body throwing itself backwards and forwards with the blinding need to be home, to hug his dad and say he wasn’t going to school anymore, to ask his mom to stop packing bananas in his lunchbox even though it was his favorite snack because mom don’t you know they call me monkey boy-

“Thought you could really get away from us this time huh, Georgie boy?” Charlie had pinned him to the concrete, George’s heart screaming in his ears. He could barely register that his lip was bleeding, and that maybe if he focused on the sky, his eleven year old shrimp of a body wouldn’t feel-

Pow.

Isn’t that what superheroes say? Pow? Let’s think about superheroes, Georgie, Charlie doesn’t last long with punches anyway just keep lookin’ at the sky, he thought wildly before-

Pow.

Pow.

He vaguely felt his eyes roll back into his head, but he made a very clear rule to himself that he wouldn’t cry, Fred wouldn’t want him to cry, not that Fred was mean, Fred just hates seeing him cry-

Pow.

P-

And suddenly there was something off his body. He could hear punching noises but they were not aimed at George, but rather someone else. When he was able to open his eyes he saw his brother, Fred, landing blow after blow to Charlie Dooley, Charlie mewling under Fred.

“Touch my brother again, and I promise I won’t just break your nose next time, yeah?”

-

Art Weasley sat with his son George in the red chair in his caravan. It was George’s favorite chair, as he learned the word “red” from that chair and then equated “red” to his own hair.

Arthur had known his son would have it harder. It wasn’t his fault the boy was different, he loved him just the same for it if not slightly more so for the way he was a bit quieter, the way he listened and thought and thought and then wanted to make choices. The way he asked his mom if he could pack Fred’s lunches for school because only George knew Fred hated crunchy peanut butter sandwiches with white bread.

But more so for the way George wasn’t afraid to show love. To cry. To feel things Art sometimes couldn’t articulate.

George was curled into his father, tears staining his button up shirt and his body shuddering with every anxiety laden breath. Art put a hand on his son’s back and put his lips to his hair.

“George, you have to breathe for me or you’re gonna get sick.” He rubbed his son’s back soothingly.

“I’m sorry, dad, I promised I did what you said and tried to protect myself and when I couldn’t do anything else I just didn’t look at h-him I p-promise, dad p-please don’t be mad at me...” he took another shudder and released a cry into his father’s shoulder. Art was not a helpless man, but there was something that destroyed and cracked his very soul at the sight of his most vulnerable child, the most angelic of his seven children. The one that everyone protected. And at times like these, sometimes all a father can do is hold his child. So that’s what he did.

“I know, son...I know...”

-

“George?”

George jumped out of his thoughts, his palms sweaty from the inevitable stage fright that always accompanied him before a show. It was no matter how many times he grazed the trapeze with his sister Gin and his brother Ron, the nerves were always the same.

At least this time, no pows would be administered from anyone besides himself.

He heard his name again, the daze breaking as he looked at his oldest brother Bill.

“George. You’ll be fine. You always are, baby brother.” He said softly, placing his hands back on, Cora (short for Corazon) the lion. George gulped and nodded, and Fred patted his back, giving a hearty wink. George smiled a small smile, clapping Fred’s forearm.

“Ready, Fred?”

Fred grinned.

“Ready, George.”

-

George belonged to the trapeze. The way his body seemed to elongate with grace and dexterity when he grabbed his sister, the way he gave flirty winks at the girls in the crowd, the way he never dropped a muscle unplaced-

The way their father always noticed.

Fred saw these things in his younger brother and couldn’t help the fit of jealousy in his stomach. Don’t get your tightrope in a twist, he was possibly the most proud of his brother, and his hand to God if he didn’t say he hooted his name the loudest watching him do his thing.

But he never felt like he could ever match that.

He knew his hands were meant for something greater, same as his mind. Juggling came almost as easy to the older twin as breathing, smoking cigarettes, witty banter, and sex (in no particular order). But George had something Fred didn’t have.

Approval.

Fred was, for all intents and purposes, a good person. A great person. But his habits could’ve said so much otherwise.

Fred had a nasty habit of letting his temper get the best of him. Ever since he could talk, he had taken on the role of protector to not only George, but to Ginny and Ron as well. Frequently, his hands always seemed to have more things to say than he could which says a massive fucking lot. At the ripe age of 20, he’d gotten into more bar fights and straight up blacked out sober more than his own father, and all of his other siblings. He’d been in and out of detention when he did go to school, and in and out of-

Well, you get it.

The one thing that always seemed to follow him? His charm.

Fred Weasley was a charismatic motherfucker.

And he knew it.

It was simple. All he had to do in between acts was make a couple jokes, a few magic tricks, and by the end of his little charade? He’d have at least 3 girls lined up for that night. And if he was in a particularly bad mood?

Well, it could get a little more than that.

On nights like this, he was fine with just two.

I mean...Fred knew what he was doing.

And on a night like this - he was damn proud of it.

Until he saw you...

Last night.

Fred’s dessert was named Candy. He honestly couldn’t remember what her actual name was, but he did remember she said:

“Call me Candy. I taste like it, too.”

And honestly? That was really all he needed.

It didn’t take him long to press her small body against his caravan. She wound her arms around his neck and fisted into his flame colored hair and yanked, his hips rolling as he moaned into her lipstick stained mouth.

Fred always did have a thing for gals in red.

Fred realized his pants had begun to be a tad too tight, as Candy’s tongue licked into his mouth. his hands found their way under her dress, fingers kneading at her thighs and she squeaked. He lifted her legs at her noise and he wrapped them around his body, his bulge pressing into where she needed him the most.

“Fred, please” she whined, his mouth attaching to the valley of her breasts, the exposed skin of her dress warm and inviting.

“Please what, doll?” He teased roughly, his free hand sliding to cup her ass and squeezing. She gasped at his rough touch and he bit her collarbone.

“Fred, please, fuck me” she said airily. He smirked before pressing a quick kiss to her mouth.

“Absolutely, baby, see how easy that was?” He licked her bottom lip and bit, before pressing his forehead to hers, the sheer strength of his body pressing her against the van enough to use his hands to pull her panties down enough for her to kick them away. She reached down to unzip his pants when he motioned for her to do so, his hard cock free of his boxers.

“You ready, pretty girl?” He growled against her earlobe. Candy whispered a breathy “please” and Fred slid into her cunt, her wetness echoing sinful noises at the contact. They groaned at connection, and Fred continued to go deeper into her until he bottomed out. He looked at her for confirmation to keep going and she nodded. He pulled out and slammed back into her, beginning to set a rough pace against the van.

“Freddie, fuckfuckfuck you feel s-so good” she sputtered, Candy’s back hitting and arching against the van, causing it to move slightly against her. Fred nipped and sucked at her neck, determined to always leave a map of where he left his treasure behind...

“Look at you, unraveling like a ball of twine. Never had cock this good, doll?” He reached a particularly good angle in her causing her to claw deeper at his back, biting in a scream.

“Thereeee it is, baby. You like that don’t you, c’mon be a good little cock slut and tell me what you want, want everyone in this whole fucking camp to know I’m fucking you so good.” His hand went to her clit, circling it harshly. He wanted her to finish, his dick was twitching all to hard in her and he needed her to release before it was his turn. Her moans and gasps and mini clawings were getting sloppier, losing their tempo.

“Fred-Fred-“

“Yeah, baby, I’ve got you” he groaned against her mouth at her clenching pussy. She gave a final sputter and screamed into his shoulder, a hot electric wave coursing over his cock, with one, two, three harder pumps, he released into her as well. He leaned his forehead against hers and kissed it lightly. But when he looked back at her face, she was already losing interest. Just like the others. But it didn’t bother him...at least not anymore, right?

Just another night.

-

Memories of Candy and Janie and Jessica and Portia and all the other girls seemed to wash away at the sight of you waiting after the show. Your eyes were full of life but somehow had something tired behind them. The way your hair wasn’t perfectly coiffed but still looked like you had tried to, the way your dress was crinkled at the bottom like you didn’t give a shit if it was crumpled in the bottom of your dresser.

And then you looked at him.

Fred Weasley could have sworn time stopped at the way you walked across the hay to him, your body positioned in a way that would’ve given him every reason to hold you. he realized his face began to flush at the sight of you getting closer.

That, he thought, was an alien feeling.

“Hi.” You said warmly to him.

“You’re Fred, right? I loved your act.”

He blinked twice and then returned your smile.

“Yeah. Thank you so much, I...I really try, I am so sorry but what is your name?” His eyes scanned your face. You stuck your tongue in your cheek and returned the search on his face.

“Y/N. Y/L/N. I’m looking for a job.”

[fkahersweetness]

Mads Characters Sex Headcanon List

in order of best to worst in bed

Martin: literal comfort Daddy, more invested in partner's pleasure than his own but obvs likes his own as well -- never in a rush or showboating, just there to have a good fucking time and it shows, let's clap it out for the hero we deserve

Hannibal: stays doing The Most. knows a lot, done a lot, seen a lot, came a lot. manhandley and calculating af but it's part of the appeal

Lucas: does it with his glasses on. more enthusiastic than you'd think at first glance and will jackhammer the hell out of partner if not told to slow down

Overgard: while an overwhelmingly nurturing presence during sex, he also fucks like he's dying of hypothermia and the only warmth in the universe is balls-deep inside you

Cliff: single-minded and heavy into breeding kink; if you're not up for popping out babies, maybe this isn't for you. on the upside, say you're ovulating and you won't catch sleep for DAYS

Tristan: highly skilled and attentive during sex, if there's food promised later. he's adventurous and curious about different positions and can even braid your hair afterwards!

Duncan: pure power and speed. points off for never having any expression at all -- is he thinking about his taxes? most likely

Michael: gorgeous but likes it in mostly laying down positions because he's tired from riding horses all day. likes smacking ass tho which is a big plus

Nigel: cares mostly about his own pleasure but when you're being used as a sex toy by someone that hot, do you really care?? smokes during sex sometimes to keep himself from coming too fast

Grindelwald: will pretend to be a romantic dude and then turns into an absolute circus freak between the sheets -- do reccomend

11. Niels: he's just happy to be here! loves giving pleasure although slightly rusty at it -- he doesn't fuck often but when he does he rolls out the red rose petals.

12. Johann: not a terribly imaginative or adventurous fellow but makes up for it with stamina and a smoky presence. smiley and jokey during sex until you try taking loose his ponytail -- no touchy!

13. Le Chiffre: King of Toys, mostly bc he doesn't want to over exert himself -- asthma, after all. he's especially good with his fingers and especially bad at oral. it's give and take.

14. Thomas: acts like the type to do it with the lights off but then surprises everyone by bending you over and hitting it caveman style. then gets up, redresses, shuffles out without a word.

15. Mark: Normal Guy in the house!! lays pipe like a Normal Guy but the pluses come with that ass you could bounce a quarter off and lots of delicious sweat

16. The Priest: if you're into degradation, this is your one-stop shop. you'll have no idea if you're pleasing him until he comes and even then it's up for debate. have a drop of self-esteem? you won't after one night in his monastic bedroom.

17. David: mostly self-serving but, on the upside, doesn't make you do a lot of the work. wham-bam-thank you-ma'am personified, he gets in, gets off, gets out

18. Jorgen: he invented the game Pop Goes the Weasel -- he comes waaay too early for it to even be considered sex but he does have some decency and so will subsequently go down on you for thirty minutes afterwards

19. Elias: the epitome of "wait what there's another person here?" get ready to walk funny because it's the Suez Canal all over again

20. Jon: rugged as shit but don't let that fool you -- dude is a bit of a pushover and will let you grab his chest hair and ride him like a docile pony. not a bad day at the stables

21. Ivan: is 100% sure you're having a great time and nothing needs to change even when you're not having a great time and can we switch this up please

22. Markus: looks depressed or angry during sex. there's probably a category of porn for that. only likes giving it from behind. keep your eyes to yourself!!

23. Kaecilius: if you like to be hogtied by magic and spun around and around, naked, while he chuckles darkly at your genitals, go off i guess.

24. Arne: is up for it anytime, anywhere, no matter what's going on or who else is in the room

25. Svend: super sweaty and that haircut is a nightmare but if you turn around and just listen to his whimperings about being loved, it can be enjoyable

26. One Eye: syphilis? likely. yeast infection? definitely. worth it? ... yes

27. Sniff: what the hell is wrong with you???

will update as i see more Mads characters

[allthingsfangirl101]

A Family Circus–Phillip Carlyle

Masterlist

Request by @faithie-brock-gillespie01​

I placed my hand over my stomach, eager to tell Phillip what the doctor just told me. Phillip and I have known each other our entire lives. Our families were really close and we grew up together.

We finally realized we were in love when we were in high school. We were already inseparable but after we started dating, no one could tear us apart. Eighteen months after high school we got married and a year after that we had our son, Daniel. It's been four years and we were having another baby.

The entire trolley ride home, I eagerly bounced my knee. As we rode through town, all I could think is, "How have I been pregnant for three months and didn't know?"

"First child?" A lady across from me asked.

"I'm sorry?" I asked.

"Not to pry," the woman giggled, "but the way you're rubbing your stomach is kind of a giveaway."

"No," I chuckled. "Actually, she would be our second. We have a four-year-old son."

"Well, congratulations."

As she turned her attention back to her book, I looked down at my stomach. When the trolley finally came to my stop, I looked over and immediately saw Phillip and our son, Daniel, waiting for me. I smiled when Phillp picked up Daniel and pointed at me. I bit my lip, forcing myself to stop the happy tears as Daniel eagerly waved at me.

I got off the trolley and walked over to my husband and son. Daniel practically jumped out of Phillip's arms and ran to me. I leaned down and picked him up.

"Mommy!" Daniel said loudly as he hugged me. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby," I chuckled as I kissed his forehead.

"Please don't let Daddy make me lunch," Daniel pouted.

"And why is that?" I asked glancing at Phillip.

"Apparently," Phillip sighed as he walked over and grabbed my bag from me, "I don't make peanut butter and jelly sandwichs as well as you do."

I laughed as I leaned over and kissed Phillip. He draped my bag over his shoulder, grabbed my hand, and led us through town.

"So, how was the doctor? Did she find out what's been going on with you?" Phillip asked.

I glanced at Daniel in my arms and sighed. "Maybe we should talk at home."

Phillip looked over at me, his eyes wide. He pulled on my hand, stopping me.

"What?" He asked, his voice cracking. "Is something wrong? Are you. . . Is it. . ."

"Phillip," I said gently. "It's nothing bad, I promise."

I smiled as Phillip let out the breath he was holding. "Don't scare me like that, Y/N. For a second I thought I was going to lose you."

"You will never lose me." I leaned over and pressed my lips to his. I giggled into the kiss as Phillip immediately started kissing me back.

"Ew!!" Daniel giggled. Phillip and I laughed as he pushed us apart.

"Daniel, baby, you know Mommy and Daddy will always be here for you, right?" I asked as we started walking home.

"Of course," Daniel said, slightly oblivious to the tense moment we just had. "You're my Mommy and Daddy. You love me."

"Yes," Phillip chuckled, "we do."

                       * * * * *

After Daniel went down for his nap, Phillip and I sat down to have our conversation.

"Okay," Phillip said. "What did the doctor say?"

"I'm pregnant."

"What?!" I giggled as he stood up and pulled me to my feet, wrapping his arms tightly around me.

"I'm sorry," he said as he let me go. "I shouldn't lift you and spin you around. In fact, you shouldn't have carried Daniel the whole way home. How far along are you? Did Dr. Amiee tell you when you're due? I think we still have most of Daniel's baby stuff. Then again, all the clothes are for a baby boy. What if it's a girl? Maybe Barnum has some leftover clothes from his daughters we can borrow. Or we can buy our baby new clothes. The circus is doing well and the profits are great. I can talk to him when I go to the circus tomorrow."

"Phillip," I cut him off. "Baby, breathe."

"Sorry," he laughed. "I just. . . I feel like I panicked when you were pregnant with Daniel and I wanted to be more prepared this time."

I grabbed his hand and led him back over to the couch, making him sit next to me.

"Dr. Aimee said that I'm three months pregnant. She thinks that this pregnancy shouldn't be too different from our first. My body should react the same way it did when I was pregnant with Daniel. There is one big difference though."

"I'm not the father?" Phillip joked. I sent him a look that made him laugh.

"Don't even joke about that."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to my cheek. "What's the big difference?"

"We're having a girl this time."

"Really?" He gasped, his eyes filling with tears. "We're having a little girl? You're carrying my daughter?"

"Yes," I giggled. "We're having a little girl."

Phillip leaned back and smiled. I could tell he was imagining things from the far off look I'm his eyes and the way he was subconsciously rubbing my palm as he held my hand.

"I'm going to have a Daddy's Little Girl."

                       * * * * *

I held Daniel's hand as we walked to the circus. Phillip doesn't know that we were planning on surprising him with dinner. As we got close to the circus, I held Daniel's hand tighter.

The group of men waiting outside the circus has been getting bigger, louder, and drunker. I ignored their taunts as I guided Daniel inside.

"Where's Daddy?" He asked, bouncing on his toes.

"I'm not sure, baby," I answered as I scanned the room. "He should be around here somewhere."

We walked backstage, stopping to say hello to the people we passed as we searched for Phillip. As we went up to his office, we heard some yelling outside. Daniel looked up at me but I just smiled.

"Are those people outside mad?" He asked as we finally got to Phillip's office.

"Yes, baby," I sighed.

"Why are they so mad?" Daniel asked innocently. I looked down at my son and wished there was a simple answer for him.

Instead, I said, "Well, they don't like the circus."

"Why not? It's fun!" Daniel giggled when we saw Lettie walking up the stairs. She waved before disappearing into her dressing room.

I opened the door to Phillip's office but it was empty. I walked in and looked at Daniel. We sat and waited, but Phillip never showed.

"Mommy?" Daniel said, looking up from his toys. "Can we eat yet? I'm hungry."

I checked the clock on the wall and sighed. I reached into my bag and grabbed Daniel's sandwich.

"You can start eating, baby. I'm going to try and find Daddy."

I stood up and was about to grab the door handle when the door was pushed open.

"Y/N," Lettie gasped. Her eyes glanced down at Daniel and they filled with tears. "We gotta go."

"What's going on? Where's Phillip?"

"I don't know," she stuttered, "but the building is on fire."

Phillip's POV

My heart jumped into my throat when I saw the building on fire. I looked around and started taking a headcount.

"Phillip!"

I turned my head to see Lettie holding Daniel as she ran over to me. Daniel had tears streaming down his cheeks as he reached out to me.

"Daddy!" He cried out. I instant took him from Lettie, holding him close to me as I kissed his head.

"What are you doing here?" I asked softly as I moved some hair out of his face.

"Mommy wanted to bring you dinner. We thought it would be fun," he said through his tears. My eyes widened as I looked back at Lettie.

"Y/N's here?" I asked, my breath getting caught in my throat. "Where is she?"

"She sent me out with Daniel while she. . . I'm so sorry, Phillip," Lettie tried to explain.

"She's still inside?" I stuttered.

"Yes," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm so sorry, honey."

"Can you watch him?" I asked as I put Daniel down. I was about to run inside, but a small hand grabbed mine and stopped me.

"Daddy, don't leave me!" Daniel cried. "I'm scared. What's happening? Where's Mommy? Why is everyone running around? Why is it so hot? Is Mommy okay?"

I knelt down and grabbed my son's shoulders. "Mommy is inside and Daddy is going to go get her."

"You're leaving me?" He asked, his voice breaking as his lips started to quiver. I sighed as I pulled him into my chest.

"Stay with Lettie, okay? I'll be right back." I kissed his forehead, my lips lingering on his skin.

I stood back up and turned towards Lettie. Before I could say anything, she grabbed Daniel's hand and nodded. I started to run into the building but I was stopped again.

"What are you doing?" Barnum asked as he stopped me from running inside the burning building.

"Y/N's stuck inside," I said quickly. I was about to run inside but he stopped me again.

"Stay here."

Before I could say or do anything, Barnum ran inside the circus. I looked over when I heard Daniel calling out to me. He ran away from Lettie and jumped into my arms. I held him close to my chest as he sobbed.

"Is Mommy going to be okay?" He asked through his sobs.

"She's going to be just fine," I said, trying to reassure him and myself. "Mr. Barnum went to get her. He'll bring her to us soon."

I held my breath as I waited for any sign of Y/N and Barnum. The longer it took Barnum to find Y/N, the more worried I got. We all seemed to be holding our breath as we waited outside.

Y/N has been like a mother to everyone in the circus. Even though we didn't pay her, she still comes as much as she can and helps out wherever it's needed.

My breath got caught in my throat when I saw Barnum carrying Y/N out of the building. Emergency personal ran over to them and met them halfway.

"Daniel, stay with Lettie," I said as I put him down.

"But Mommy. . ." He stuttered.

"I got her," I tried to reassure him. "Stay with Lettie."

I ran over and knelt next to Y/N. With shaking hands, I reached over and moved a piece of hair out of her face.

"Is she going to be okay?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"She has a lot of smoke in her lungs but she should be alright," the EMT explained. "As long as she doesn't have any medical concerns or. . ."

"She's three months pregnant," I cut him off.

"She is?" I heard Barnum ask but I was too focused on the EMT getting Y/N connected to oxygen.

The EMTs started talking to each other as they worked faster. I felt numb as they lifted her and gently carried her to the ambulance. Barnum knelt next to me, clearing his throat to get my attention.

"So, Y/N's pregnant?" He asked, trying to lighten the tension.

"Yeah," I said, my voice barely working.

"How far along is she?"

"About three months."

"That's great!" He chuckled. "Do you know the sex yet?"

I cleared my throat as I nodded. "It's a girl."

"That's wonderful news," he chuckled. When I didn't respond, I heard him sigh. He gently grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to look away from the retreating ambulance.

"Phillip," he said. "Y/N and the baby are going to be just fine. I know it."

"If something. . . If she. . . If we lose. . . It'll be because I didn't protect my wife."

"Phillip," Barnum sighed. "The fire wasn't your fault. Those rioters set it and you didn't know that Y/N was there until Lettie ran outside with Daniel."

"But what if. . ."

"No more what if's," Barnum chuckled. "Y/N's a strong girl, Phillip. And if your daughter is anything like her, she's gonna be just as strong."

                       * * * * *

I decided to leave Daniel with Y/N's mom when I went to the hospital to see her. I wasn't sure how Y/N looked and I didn't want him to see her like that. I followed the doctor down the hallway, my breath getting stuck in my throat when we finally stopped outside a door.

"She's right in here," the doctor said kindly. "She's a little groggy but she's fine."

"And the baby?" I barely got my question out.

"Your daughter is perfectly healthy. The smoke did a little damage on Mom but absolutely none on the baby."

"Thank you," I said, letting out the breath I've been holding since the fire. The doctor nodded before heading to aide another patient. I turned back towards Y/N's room and hesitated. I took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

"Come in," I heard weakly from inside. The second I open the door and my eyes met Y/N's, she smiled.

"Phillip."

I quickly walked inside and sat next to her bed. I immediately leaned over and pressed my lips to hers. I felt her smile as she kissed me back. I broke the kiss and leaned my forehead against hers.

"What were you thinking?" I whispered. "I know how much you care about the circus and the people but you could've. . ."

"Phillip," she cut me off. I leaned back and looked into her eyes. "Is Danny okay?"

"He's fine," I said. "Lettie got him out of the building and he's with your mother now."

"Good," she said, letting out a sigh of relief. "What about. . ."

Y/N's eyes filled with tears as she gently placed her hand over her stomach. I reached over and placed my hand over hers.

"The baby is just fine," I whispered.

"Really?" Y/N asked, her voice breaking.

"The baby takes after her mom," I chuckled. "Strong and too stubborn to get hurt. You and the baby are going to be just fine."

Y/N leaned her head against the pillow and closed her eyes. I reached forward and caught a tear that had started streaming down her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered open as she turned her head towards me. "I thought. . . If something had happened to you, Danny or our little girl, I don't think. . ."

"Y/N," I interrupted her. "We are all fine. Our family is still intact. Like it always will be."

"And the circus," she stuttered.

"Don't worry about the circus," I laughed as I shook my head. "Worry about you."

She reached over and grabbed my hand, immediately intertwining our fingers.

"I love you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. I leaned over and pressed my lips gently to hers.

"I love you too, Y/N."

[rreeaahh]

“Then I want to be sick forever” | Pansy Parkinson

pairing: pansy x reader

word count: 2,374 (unedited)

summary: even the prettiest faces have their scars, and sometimes the tears make it worst. but this time, the tears transformed into a kiss.

a/n: pansy deserved better and you can’t change my opinion.

warnings: eating disorder; smoking; swearing

Pansy Parkinson. A name known by the whole Hogwarts, worn by a black haired, quite short and most importantly, pureblood witch. Whether her name was said by a silly boy who couldn’t have her or an angry girl who couldn’t be her, Pansy continued to be the young ladylike girl her mother taught her to be. She would always smile with superiority and talk like she was better than anyone else because, in fact, she really was. She was from a wealthy and respected family, she was friend with a lot of students from families with connections and she had a thing going on with Draco Malfoy – they were the perfect pair for any Slytherin: both of them very beautiful, strong and – again – purebloods.

You, on the other hand, were a simple student – muggleborn, known by your housemates and a few other students you were friends with. The only thing you had in common with Pansy were some classes where you two were forced to stay in the same room. You didn’t really have a problem with Pansy, you just wanted to avoid her so you could also avoid her mean comments or the looks her friends would give you. She didn’t know you – not even your name – but that didn’t make her stop from making fun of you.

You filthy mudblood. Why are you looking like that? Imagining you’re one of us? I guess they don’t have decent clothes in the muggle world.

And the list could go on forever. Sometimes her words were affecting you, especially because of her the jokes about you came to life. Her friends weren’t so harsh – Draco would totally ignore you, being too busy with bullying Harry and his friends, and dear Merlin, Blaise sat besides you in Charms and he didn’t say a word; he even asked nicely for a quill and returned it at the end of the class – but as soon as she made a comment about your presence, they all started. You really wanted to ignore her, but from time to time you would find yourself crying until you would fall asleep because of her words. You did nothing to her.

But one day happened something that shocked you. Pansy arrived earlier than her friends to Potions and she sat at her table, starting to look over her notes.

“Why does she wear so much make-up?”, ask out of the sudden one of your friends, a Gryffindor girl who was just as pure as Pansy – maybe that gave her the nerve to make a comment out loud about the girl who wasn’t very far from you.

It was true that Pansy was wearing make-up everyday – dark lipstick and her eyes always highlighted by some black eyeshadow; but she was beautiful, the colors were just pointing out her features. Her pale skin was perfect and her black hair was always straightened – her whole face seemed to be painted by a skilled artist and you would be a fool to deny it.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever saw her without it, I think it’s a part of her face”, laughed a boy from your table, Gryffindor too.

You thought they wanted to keep the rivality between the houses, but when a Hufflepuff girl joined their little roast you started to have a weird feeling.

“Hey, Parkinson!”, shouted the Hufflepuff, getting her attention. “I think the circus left some weeks ago, they forgot you?”

“Very funny, Puffy”, came her answer quickly, “I think they also left their hippo behind, but maybe you can catch them up if you hurry.”

“Me?”, laughed the Hufflepuff again, “Hunny, you’re the one whose shirt is a little too tight”, and with that comment she made the entire table laugh. You started to feel a little uncomfortable with the hole conversation going on, but you just couldn’t say anything.

Draco Malfoy entered the Potions’ class followed by his friends and sat down besides Pansy, not even looking at her. He was too busy to talk with Theo about Merlin knows what. Blaise tried to start a conversation with the girl, but she was caught in her own thoughts.

“Draco”, you heard her whispering, but your tablemates heard her too.

“Pst, Pansy”, said the Gryffindor girl again, “I think your boyfriend is too busy thinking about some Mudblood Gryffindor to pay attention to you right now”, she laughed and her friends started to do so immediately after.

“Draco”, Pansy said again, this time louder, but she was interrupted by the sound of Snape’s fluttering robes.

“Not now, Pansy”, was the only answer she gained as the boy started to pay attention to Snape’s comments about how the hole class was full with incapable students, with some exceptions.

The class passed by like it usually did. When you got your head out of your notes, the Slytherin table was empty and a feeling of anxiety grew in your stomach, knowing that maybe they were waiting outside of the class to say mean things as you walk by them. But the corridor was empty, and that was the strangest thing ever.

***

Three days later, you were questioning your choices. You made a promise to yourself in your fourth year, but you demonstrated yourself again how useless are those stupid words said only in your head. You swore to never go in the Forbidden Forest with Luna to feed the Thestrals again because everytime you went you were always scared to death or slightly injured and this time wasn’t any different. While Luna was laughing and having a good time, feeding a baby Thestral – you couldn’t say if she was doing so, you saw nothing – you went to have a walk near the place where the blonde girl was. The forest was always a beautiful place, mysterious and dark even in afternoon, and it was calling for you to discover it. But the feeling of fear was calling louder than the forest, your mind playing tricks by making non-existent sounds in your head.

“Luna?”, you called her when you found yourself alone, even if you didn’t go too far from her. You screamed from the bottom of your lungs when you fell into a hollow, all your body hurting from the impact. Maybe you fell three feet or so but the falling felt like an eternity.

“What are you doing there, Y/N?”, asked Luna while looking down to you, from the place you were before falling.

“Just admiring the sky”, you said nonchalantly, “The clouds are beautiful today”, but all you could see were the trees, the tall and leafy trees.

Luna looked up too, smiling a little. “You’re right”, she agreed, “but I’m afraid we need to go back to the castle. Get up.”

You would to that if you could, but your ankle was hurting like hell and it was impossible for you to walk. Luna helped you to move, little by little, and by dinner time you were in the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey looking at your swollen ankle.

“Why did you fell, Y/N?”, asked Luna who was standing at the left of your bed.

“Why did you went to the Forbidden Forest is a better question, Miss Lovegood”, said Madam Pomfrey with a little annoyance in her voice.

Luna shrugged and smiled to you. “These are some questions that will not be answered any time soon. See you tomorrow, Y/N, goodnight Madam Pomfrey”, and she left you alone.

Madam Pomfrey took care of your ankle and suggested to have a little rest in the Hospital Wing for that night, which was a good idea. You were exhausted so a good sleep seemed to be ideal.

But the voices that started to argue after an hour or two woke you up and didn’t let you to go back to sleep.

“I told you I’m fine, it wasn’t necessary to bring me here”, the anger in the girl’s voice was more than obvious.

“You nearly fainted when you got up from the couch, Pansy”, said the one and only Draco Malfoy to his girlfriend. “Blaise told me you didn’t eat in the last three days, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

You tried to see them from your bed, but all you saw was Draco’s back and Pansy’s bare feet.

“Wrong with me?”, she asked laughing. “If Blaise wouldn’t tell you that, you wouldn’t even know that I’m still your girlfriend.”

“Don’t start that bullshit again, Pansy”, warned her the boy and you saw his hand moving. Pansy got up and she was facing the angry platinum-haired boy. “You know that’s not true, do you?” You didn’t hear Pansy’s answer, but soon Draco called her a good girl. “You look sick”, he said before getting on his feet.

“I don’t wear make-up, dumb ass”, laughed slightly the girl. You could see Draco cupping her face with a hand and a smile grew on her pale lips.

“Then get better and put back on that pretty face of yours, ok?”, he asked and pulled away, taking her smile with him. “Night, Pansy”, were the last words he said before leaving her side. He looked at you with a blank face and left the room in silence. You looked back to Pansy and she gave you a dirty look.

“What are you looking at, Mudblood?”

“Nothing”, you simply said, “I just woke up.”

“I didn’t ask you anything, did I?”

And she laid back on her bed, her back facing you. Sighing, you did the same and tried to go back to sleep. But when your sleep was sweeter, the door of the Hospital Wing was slammed closed. Pansy’s bed was empty and by the dark outside of the window the time must have been around midnight. Some time went by and Pansy didn’t came back, so your curiosity made you leave the Hospital Wing as well, walking with a little difficulty because of your ankle. You walked on the empty and dark corridor hoping to don’t see Mrs. Norris or Filch on your way. Hearing sobbings near the Clock Tower, you struggled to go there.

Standind in the front of the big windows, only her cries and the ticking of the clock being heard, Pansy Parkinson was squatted near the wall, a little could of smoke leaving her direction.

“Why aren’t you on bed, Pansy?”, she seemed scared and wanted to hide the cigarette but relaxed a little when she saw you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I asked first”, you returned the reply to her as you came closer. You sat down next to her and looked outside to the courtyard and then looked at her hand, pale and veiny, holding between her trembling fingers with painted nails the cigarette.

After firing another smoke she held out the cigarette to you and you took it a little confused.

“I didn’t know you smoke”, you told her.

“I didn’t care if you smoke or not but still gave it to you.”

You laughed and inhaled the toxic smoke.

“Yeah, you’re right”, you mumbled and gave it back to her.

You two sat in silence, smoking the cigarette together and after that one Pansy pulled out of her hoodie a packet nearly empty, handing you another one.

“I stole it from my father”, she told you like she could read your mind, knowing that was your next question. “My parents would kill me if they would see my right now.”

“They don’t want you to smoke?”, you asked even if the answer was obvious.

“They don’t want me to talk to Mudbloods”, she said smiling at you, but it wasn’t the mean smile she always gave you. It was a sad one.

“You’re parents are assholes.”

“Yes, they are”, laughed the witch again and suddenly you felt good with her. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. “The worst part is that they want me to be like them”, she continued while smoking.

“So you don’t want to be such a bitch?”, you laughed but she didn’t find your comment as funny as you did. “Sorry, I…”, you started but she laughed with anger.

“So you think you’re better than me? You’re just as bad as I am, Mudblood.”

You didn’t say anything in return.

“Why didn’t you eat, Pansy?”, you asked without looking at her. A part of you was scared by her possible reaction but a part of you felt bad for her. She was even paler than normally and her body seemed to be weaker, like she couldn’t support her weight.

“I don’t need to eat”, she simply said, “I ate before and it didn’t give me anything nice.”

“You need to eat, Pansy”, you spoke softly, suddenly concerned about her condition.

“No, I need to be pretty”, she said lighting another cigarette. “You heard Draco, I look sick, I need my pretty face back on.”

When you looked at her you saw tears running down on her face again.

“My mother is right, I need to be pretty or I’ll be worthless”, she said looking front.

“Pansy…”

“What happened to your ankle?”, she asked out of the sudden like she really cared, but she wanted to change the subject.

“Pansy, you’re not worthless”, you told her ignoring her question.

“I’m sick”, she said crying even harder. “You don’t know how it feels to be just a pretty face, good only to carry on that stupid line of purity. If I’m not beautiful, I’m sick! If I don’t have my make-up on, I’m sick!”

You cupped her face, wiping her tears away. “You’re beautiful without your make-up on, Pansy”, you whispered, your voice cracking at her pain. “You’re beautiful even if you’re sick.”

“What?”, she asked looking into your eyes. Her full lips were trembling as she wanted to say something.

“You’re beautiful even if you’re sick”, you repeated and then made the craziest shit you did in your entire life: you kissed Pansy Parkinson.

The kiss was soft, innocent and salty from her tears, but when she didn’t answer your actions, you pulled away.

“Then I want to be sick forever”, she told you before cupping your face in her tiny hands and crashing your lips together.

[mmvalentine]

Circus of Dreams, pt 4 | Feysand

Night Circus AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

In the end, no one came that first day. Rhys was not altogether surprised, it wasn't the first time it had happened and it certainly would not be the last.

Despite the lack of crowds, the day was not all bad. Sure, he had spent most of the day pacing his tent alone, but the minutes dancing with Feyre... well he wasn't sure when the last time he'd had that much fun was.

So, at the end of the day, when their official closing time hit and he was free to go back to his caravan, he was in a good mood and whistled as he walked.

Every night, dinner was served in the largest tent. It was an unkempt, sloppy affair, when performers were ravenous and no one was standing on ceremony. Rhys had rolled up his shirt sleeves joined the long table once he had picked up his serving of stew, and those he sat near nodded their acknowledgement without pausing their meal.

A couple of minutes later, he saw Mor enter the tent with Feyre. The ballgown was gone now, but it looked like Mor had not let her change into her faded old dress. Instead, she had Feyre in simple but elegant black wool skirt, and a soft white shirt tucked into it. They spotted Rhys and headed right to him.

"Evening ladies," he said. "Hello Rhysand, move over," Mor said, wriggling down next to him.

Feyre sat more gingerly opposite them, and Rhys' eyes sparkled at him. "It's a little rough in here," he said. "My apologies." "No," Feyre said, "I'm just surprised at how... different it is in here from out there." Rhys nodded. "We put on a beautiful show," he said, "but at night we're just a big messy family. Relaxing when you're off makes it easier to be fully engaged when you're on." Feyre smiled. "It's nice, actually. Dinners at home mostly consisted of shivering and trying to make soup out of bones." "Well then, dig in," Rhys said, and Feyre, not needing further invitation, did so.

Rhys went to sleep that night full and comfortable. But hours later, he woke to the sound of screams and the smell of smoke.

He burst out of his caravan, scanning the area, and soon found the source of the panic. Mor and Feyre's caravan was on fire, heavy benches propped up against the two doors in the side. Dark figures ran off into the night.

"You're not welcome here!" one of them shouted as he ran. Cassian took off after them, but Rhys dove toward the doors. He became aware of Amren beside him, and reached Feyre's door at the same time as Amren shoved aside the bench and yanked open Mor's. They hauled the girls out, coughing and spluttering, and dragged them away from the smoking wagon before letting them rest on the grass. A few of the others had run for buckets of water to douse the flames.

"What in the fuck was that?" Amren snapped. She was looking around furiously, propping Mor up while she searched for answers. Rhys didn't say anything, just sat grimly with Feyre as she continued coughing and checked her over for injuries. Someone ran up with water for them, and to report that the fire was now out.

Soon after, Cassian walked back into the camp, and in each of his hands was the collar of a young man. They dangled in his grip, resentment written over their faces.

"I found these," Cassian growled, addressing Amren. "And two cans of kerosene to boot." She stood, and looked them both over with disgust. "Just what in the hell do you think you're playing at?" she hissed at them. "People could have died." "Not our people," replied one sullenly. He spat at her feet.

Like lighting, Amren reached out and slapped the boy across the fight. "No," she snarled. "My people." She looked at Cassian.

"Say Cassian. Didn't we pass a big, cold looking river on the way in?" "Yes ma'am, I believe we did," was his reply. "Fantastic. Please toss these miserable excuses for men in said river, and let them know if I catch them around here again I will personally break all of their legs." "Yes ma'am." Cassian nodded, and strode off.

Amren pinched the bride of her nose. "Is everyone alright?" she asked. Mor and Feyre just nodded.

"Oh, Mor," Feyre said suddenly. "Your beautiful fabrics."

But Mor just smiled ruefully at her.

"They're just fabrics," she said. "We'll go in tomorrow and see what's left."

"Right," Amren said. "Morrigan, you can come sleep in my caravan. Feyre, go with Rhysand." She addressed the rest of the camp. "Everyone else go back to sleep. We'll leave first thing in the morning."

And with that, she left them. Mor hugged Feyre tightly, and checked again to see if she was okay. When she had ascertained that she was, she followed after Amren. And the rest of the crowd drifted off back to their caravans too.

"Come on," Rhys said gently, and took Feyre's arm under the elbow to help her up. She leaned on him as they walked, shivering slightly at the shock of what had happened.

Back in Rhys' caravan, Rhys had to help Feyre through the cramped space. He would have lit a candle, but after her ordeal, he thought it might be insensitive. So he guided her through the dark, and led her to the bed. Feyre sat down, then suddenly looked up at him with alarm in her eyes.

"Don't worry," he said. "You have the bed, I'll sleep on the floor."

Feyre looked like she was about to protest, but Rhys whipped out a spare blanket and got down before she could say anything. So, Feyre slid in between his sheets, and the thought of it made him shiver a little. He pushed the thought to the side, and closed his eyes.

A moment later, Feyre's voiced reached out though the dark.

"Rhys?" "Yes Feyre?" "They're not... coming back, are they?"

Rhys sat up. "Oh, darling. No, I shouldn't think so. Amren will have Cassian keep watch all night." "Okay," was all she said. "I'm so sorry that happened to you. What a start to your circus career." Feyre was quiet for a moment. "Thanks for pulling me out," she said. "Of course. I'm just glad we got to you quickly."

There was silence again, and Rhys had just started to drop off to sleep, when Feyre spoke again. "Rhys?" "Yes Feyre?" A pause. "I'm so sorry, I feel so deeply foolish. But I just wanted to check that you were still there." Rhys frowned into the dark. "It's not foolish. You were nearly burned alive in your caravan, I wouldn't sleep well either." "I started to drift off, then for some reason I panicked that you weren't there." "Okay. Would... would you like me to hold your hand?" Another pause. "I think that might help."

Rhys shifted closer to the bed, and tapped the frame so that she would know where his hand was. Immediately, he felt her small grip clutching him. He realised that this was the first time he was touching her without gloves, and the warmth of her skin was lovely.

"Mmm," she murmured. "That does help." Feyre yawned. "Rhys?" "Yes Feyre?" he whispered. "Thank you," she said. And shortly after that, she was asleep.

The next day, Rhys woke with a dead arm, but didn't mind. They left early, everyone a little bleary eyed, but with the scorched caravan still scenting the air with the stale smoke, no one complained as they packed up quickly and headed out of town.

Over in the next village, they set up and asked around for a carpenter to come have a look at the burnt wagon. Mor spent some time sifting through the wreckage, pulling out things that were salvageable. Unfortunately, since the boys had done such a thorough job of dousing the wood in kerosene, even though the fire hadn't burned very long the caravan was now unliveable.

They performed to a modest audience that night, and ate in relative quiet, everyone still a bit unsettled after the attack the previous night. Feyre left early, and when Rhys got back to his caravan, he found her sitting on the front step.

He gave her a gentle smile.

"Hello, Feyre darling," he said. "I... still don't have any place to live," she said by way of greeting. "Yes you do," he said. "You can live here."

Feyre turned and looked at his caravan. "It doesn't seem... very proper," she said slowly. "Well, neither does running away with the circus, and you've done that already." "I suppose that's true," Feyre mused. "If you're uncomfortable, I'm sure we can make other arrangements. Most people live with a partner or friend already, but they can always make room." Feyre shook her head. "I wouldn't want to put anyone out like that. I'm happy to stay if you are happy to have me." She paused. "Or, maybe I should just go home." "Nonsense," Rhys said quickly. "You haven't even seen half the things that need your attention. There's a massive clockwork pony that you would just love."

And so she stayed.

****

OH LOOK I COULDN'T MANAGE 2 DAYS OFF BECAUSE THE TRAFFIC STOPPED AND MY DOPAMINE SUPPLY GOT CUT OFF AND NOW I'M PANIC POSTING why am i like this you guys

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira

[prettyboyporter]

It Started Like This

also on ao3

for @lissieisspacey for harringrove for BLM, who wanted the story behind the cat drawn in this art by @artzeppo

1.5k | M 

It started with Steve clearing out his savings account.

He marched into the bank kind of in a daze, and before he knew it he was blinking in front of a teller and saying, I’d like to withdraw all of my money. She gave it to him, baffled, and he looked down at the stacks of bills -- the college fund that his dad had deposited that never came to fruition because no colleges would take him in addition to the tiny amount he’d managed to put in there from his Family Video earnings.

If he was in a daze before, he suddenly moved as if a meteorite would crash into the Earth if he didn’t hurry. He sped home, took the stairs two at a time, flung open two suitcases on his bed and jammed them full of clothes, a handful of pictures, the little league trophy from when he was nine, a few cassettes, and the little stuffed tiger Billy had given him last night that led to their first kiss.

He snapped them closed as soon as they were full, tossed them in the trunk, and squealed his tires as he took the corner hard toward Cherry Lane.

Neil Hargrove was outside watering his lawn when Steve came to a speeding halt in the driveway, sending gravel skittering.

“Can I help you?” Neil asked as Steve bounded up the stairs and let himself into the house.

“Nope, fuck off!” Steve shouted back over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Neil shouted but Steve didn’t hear what came next because he was already standing in Billy’s room, chest heaving, his lungs trying to catch up with the frenzy of activity.

Billy stood up from his bed and faced Steve, shock written all over his expression. “The fuck?”

Steve’s heart was banging against his sternum. He felt like he was going to pass out. “Come with me to California.”

“What?” Billy asked, a little hysterically.

“Pack a bag, Billy. Fuck it. Let’s just go. Me and you.”

Two heavy boot thumps came from Steve in Billy’s doorway. “You’ll go nowhere with this boy,” Neil said from behind Steve’s back.

Fire flared up in Billy’s eyes -- a fire that had been missing during Billy’s strenuous ten-month recovery from Starcourt.

Last night, the first time that Steve had ever kissed Billy, Billy’s eyes were soft and warm as Steve held the little stuffed tiger that Billy had given him.

Right now, Billy’s jaw twitched, and his eyes were cold as ice. “I’ll go where the fuck I want.”

“You’ll do exactly as I-”

Steve turned around and decked Neil, and Neil went down with a loud thump. I won again, Steve thought. Dustin would be proud.

Billy stood wide-eyed, silent. Time stretched out for a few moments as Billy blinked at his father on the ground. “Fuck you Neil,” he whispered down to Neil’s unconscious body splayed on the hallway floor.

Then, he went digging under his bed and pulled out a suitcase. He started emptying the contents of his dresser into it. “See those crates over there? Start dumping shit in them.”

The crates made up part of Billy’s makeshift vanity. Steve’d always felt sad when he looked at it that Billy had to make it himself since his dad didn’t simply buy him one. He pulled apart the vanity and started filling the crates with haircare products and cologne and random items from Billy’s shelf.

They stood at the trunk of the beemer holding all of Billy’s worldly possessions. Billy paused as he looked at the beemer, then looked over at his own car. His expression hardened. “Let’s take the Camaro,” he said. “Let’s bring her home.”

Steve nodded. It made sense. He wasn’t overly-connected with the beemer in any case.

He left the keys in Dustin’s mailbox with a hastily scribbled note on a Burger King napkin.

Dustin would be 16 soon enough, and he deserved to have a good car. The whole thing felt good and right and when they pulled away, Steve wiped at tears that he hoped were inconspicuous.

They make it through Indiana, Illinois, and most of Missouri smiling, whooping, and fist pumping. They blared Metallica and Ratt and Van Halen. The Camaro felt like a roller coaster flying past corn stalks, flitting greens and fields of golden wheat. Steve stuck his hand out the window and felt the breeze flow between his fingers, free and clear.

Billy laced his fingers through Steve’s on the seat between them. They stopped and shared their second kiss after eating, still tasting of greasy burgers and Cokes with the smell of asphalt in the air.

They shared their third kiss when they spent the night at a motel, neon lights in the middle of a dark night, shining through the crack in their curtains as they slept together but kissed lazily and spooned, too tired to take it any further, too drained after a day of driving and intense emotion. Steve buried his nose in Billy’s curls.

Steve drove the next day with Billy’s hand on his thigh. They drove past more corn while Billy complained about Steve’s Lionel Richie tape laming up the aura of his car, then slept, mouth open and aviators dangling off of his ear. His curls blew around in the air from the cracked window.

Eventually the air grew warm and dry around them. Night settled. The stars appeared and the temperature dropped as Billy laid his head on Steve’s shoulder. He wasn’t asleep -- he just rambled about nothing and Steve dropped his arm around Billy’s shoulders.

“You’re good to me, pretty boy,” Billy said as he took a drag off of his smoke.

“Wouldn’t have wanted to run away and join the circus with anyone else,” Steve said. He planted a kiss on Billy’s forehead.

That night as they were bringing their suitcases into their motel room, a tiny little tabby cat brushed in past their legs, jumped up on the bed, and curled up into a ball.

“Fuckin excuse you,” Billy said to the cat. “Our bed. Skidaddle.”

The cat blinked lazily up at Billy.

“You wanna stay here you gotta pitch in for the room, gato,” Billy said as he placed his suitcase on the stand. Steve closed the door.

“Hey. That cat needs to get out. Open the door back up.”

Steve shrugged. “He looks comfy. We should let him stay.”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“I don’t. C’mere gato!” Steve said in a high-pitched voice. The cat stood and walked to the end of the bed, raising his little grey head and closing his eyes while Steve scratched his cheeks and behind his ears, under his chin.

Gato started purring.

“I think we have a cat now,” Steve said.

“We don’t have a fucking cat, Steve.”

That night, though, Gato slept on Billy’s chest. And when Steve woke up, Billy was petting him and cooing.

When they got around to loading up the car, Gato walked out with them and jumped up into the Camaro’s back seat when Steve opened the door.

Billy looked at the cat and shook his head. “I guess we have a cat.”

They found a pet store in the phone book and Steve peeled off some of his savings account money for food, litter, a couple of bowls, and a box.

They stopped one more time at a motel. Gato curled up in Steve’s suitcase on top of his clothes while Steve tongue kissed Billy on the bed, heated, dick hard, got down between Billy’s legs, thick thighs under his hands as he sucked and sucked with Billy’s hand on the back of his head.

Billy did the same for Steve on his knees while Steve braced himself against the wall, breathless, in love, so in love, his heart bursting with it as he spilled into Billy’s mouth.

The next day the Welcome to California sign loomed ahead of them and grew larger as they approached.

Billy pulled the car off to the shoulder as they got close to it.

“What’re you doing?” Steve asked.

“Come on,” Billy said as he exited the car.

Steve looked around and couldn’t see why -- they were near the Colorado River so maybe Billy wanted to snap a Polaroid with the camera he’d purchased yesterday.

Gato got out behind Steve and started playing with the brush on the side of the road.

“Gonna carry you across the state line, baby. Here’s our future,” Billy said, gesturing up at the sign. He crouched down. “Get up on my back.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, and as he started to climb up, Gato scurried up Steve’s back and got up on his shoulder. “And you accused me of being romantic.” He leaned down to kiss Billy’s cheek as Billy started walking forward with Steve and Gato on his back.

It started four days ago with Steve clearing out his savings at Hawkins National. It started there, and ended here, in California, where Billy carried them across the state line, where they found a little loft in San Diego that fit their budget, where Steve found work in a bookstore and where Billy got a job in a repair shop.

It started at the bank, and it ended in love.

[chupacabrasmustdie]

Ovella negra

If there's one thing we love here, it's spending way too much time thinking about minor characters - and when I heard Sylvando's audiobook mentioned a circus mentor, i knew i was in for a treat.

So without further ado, have some baby Sylv meeting madam Rose. 1k words, pre-canon, gen af. Scroll down or read it on AO3!

Thanks to the ever great @venatohru ​​ for going over this <3 remaining mistakes all mine.

---

He followed the circus from a distance for a couple of days, stopping when they did, far enough to escape detection but close enough to discourage prowlers and wild animals. On the third night, his back hurt from sleeping on the ground and he was ready to make his grand entrance.

Turns out, they had little interest in who he was, and much more in what he was willing to share. The dry-cured ham put stars in everyone’s eyes; the bottle of sweet white wine (snatched from the family cellar) helped convince them to introduce him to the ringmaster.

The juggler led him away from the campfire, to a wagon parked a bit further near the treeline. Truly, a sight to behold: a pink and red monstrosity, adorned with touches of gold and floral decorations. “Wait here,” the man said, and disappeared through an impossibly narrow door. He came back after what felt like an eternity and ushered him in with a wink.

Inside, sitting among piles of colorful clothing, stage props and flashy trinkets, was an old woman with long, dark hair, her eyes outlined with heavy black makeup. She could’ve been fifty or sixty years old, maybe more; her face was covered in wrinkles, but her movements were still lively - graceful, even. Laying down her smoking pipe, she gave him a curious look, her large golden earrings tingling softly. “And who might you be?”

He’d had enough time to come up with a ready answer. “Ernesto, milady.”

She barked out a laugh, and waved at the tiny space around them. “Have you seen a lady here? ‘Cause I sure haven’t. Madam Rose will do.”

Ignoring the heat creeping up his neck, he nodded. “Understood.”

“And loosen up a little, for goodness’ sake. This isn’t troops review.” He rushed to unclasp his hands from behind his back; the movement caught her eye and she reached out to catch one of his hands in hers, turning it around and inspecting it closely. He resisted the urge to bat her hands away, wondering if she was able to guess who he was, somehow. He’d always dismissed palm reading as superstitious nonsense, but…

“Interesting,” she said, letting him go. “A soft hand, well-cared for…with a couple of distinctive calluses.” Toying with one of her earrings, she gave him an easy smile. “A young man of good breeding with a knack for fencing, then. Is that right, Ernesto?”

He observed a cautious silence, and realized that he’d somehow assumed the same posture she’d just made fun of, neck and shoulders rigid with tension. He willed his muscles to relax without exhaling too deeply.

“Thing is,” she continued, taking a long drag on her pipe. “We don’t usually take in runaway young nobles. It tends to end badly.”

“I’m not,” he started, but the look she gave him shut him up right then and there.

“As I was saying…” She blew a couple of smoke rings, lost in her thoughts for a moment. “We circus people have a bad enough reputation as it is. The last thing we need is angry wealthy people making things more difficult for us.”

He licked his lips, giving his next sentence some serious consideration. “You said you don’t usually take in runaway nobles.”

“So?”

“So I take it you have done it, occasionally.”

“Someone paid attention during their rhetoric lessons,” she smirked. “Yes, darling, we do welcome the occasional black sheep. But…” She gave him the once-over and the line of her mouth hardened. “You look both too young to make that call, and too old to start training with us.”

He forced a smile on his face, fingernails digging into his palms. “I’m a quick learner.”

“I’m sure you are, darling.”

“I’m fast, I have good balance. I can walk a tightrope.” She nodded, obviously unimpressed, but it was the shrill of desperation in his own voice that made his cheeks burn with embarrassment. There had to be something he could say to change her mind - a talent he possessed that would make him a worthwhile addition…

To hell with it. “I’m a good dancer, a decent singer. And I play a mean dulzaina.”

She took the pipe out of her mouth and turned to look at him. “You play the dulzaina?”

“Yes! Recorder, castanets, various percussion instruments, but mostly the dulzaina.”

“We could use another musician,” she mused. The lines around her mouth deepened as she added, “but not another mouth to feed.”

Last throw of the dice, he thought as he rummaged in his satchel to produce a small piece of velvet. Unfolding it carefully, he held up its content for her to see - and she gasped.

“Put that thing away,” she hissed. “Are you mad? Or just trying to get yourself killed?”

“No, not at all,” he stammered, hiding the offensive item as fast as he could. “I simply wished to show you I can pay for my tuition.”

“You absolute fool.” She hid her face in her hands and groaned. “Honey, if you have any common sense, you’ll keep that thing hidden until we visit a big city and you can trade it somewhat safely for gold coins.”

In the heavy silence that followed, he tried not to grin - and failed. “Does that mean you’re letting me stay with you?”

She snarled and he took a step back. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

He held her gaze until her expression softened into something almost affectionate. “Oh, what the hell… Why not? I feel it my duty to protect such a spendy, sheltered youth. And if they happen to play a mean dulzaina… how could I resist?”

The mocking made him blush - again - but he supposed he’d earned it. He knew the pearl was precious, it was the very reason he’d brought it with him; but he’d failed to realize just how precious, and how it was bound to attract greed. He guessed he really had lived quite a sheltered life in Puerto Valor.

He bowed his head, fist on his chest - a typically caballero gesture, he realized too late. “You won’t regret it, I promise. Thank you, mil-” The word died away on his lips under her stare, “Madam Rose.”

“I’d better not, or it’s back to sword fencing for you.”

Not a bad perspective, for most people; all his training companions had considered themselves lucky. But the thought of going home with his tail between his legs - of facing his father - made his stomach twist.

“It won’t come to that.”

She waved him off. “We’ll see. Off with you, now, darling…a lady needs her beauty sleep.”

Her hoarse laughter followed him out of the wagon, and back to the campfire.

[star-birthmark]

First off, I love your writing so, so much! Secondly can I get some headcanons about La Squadra dating a milf/single mother, and if they interact with the kid? Just something light hearted and fun along those lines, if you answer this then thank you so much ^^

Umm.. first off thank you for your ask. Fair warning, I really liked this request so I kind of went HAM and the post is really long so bare with me lol. 

Risotto Nero

Risotto is torn. His s/o is the best thing to ever happen to him. But his line of work and general lifestyle isn’t conducive to a child. He wouldn’t want the kid to get attached to him and then he’d be dead the next day.

After a bit of convincing, and realizing that his s/o’s love is worth it, Risotto agrees to meet the child and his s/o invites him for a meal so he can meet them.

He’s extremely nervous that he’s going to scare them off, given his height and eyes.

When the day finally comes, and he’s outside their door, knocking, his s/o calls out to their kid that their ‘special guest’ is here and asks them to open the door.

When the toddler reaches up and opens the door to see Risotto’s knees, their eyes go up… and up… and up, until they finally make eye contact with him, letting out a shy, awestruck “woah” at the man’s height. 

The kid becomes obsessed with Risotto after meeting him. They love it when he hoists them up on his shoulders so they can see over everyone. 

One of their favorite things to do is wear Risotto’s bell cap and run around the house scaring the cat. Risotto thinks it’s the cutest thing on Earth.  

They love sitting in his lap and having his big arms around him. It makes them feel safer than they’d ever felt before. 

The two of them get into their fair share of mischief together. Notably, Risotto used Metallica on him and the kid, and the two of them snuck backstage when a nearby circus company came near Naples. However, Risotto got distracted by the toddler running off and accidentally scared one of the elephants. 

Over time, Risotto slowly but surely sees this kid as his own, with the little toddler warming up to him as their dad as well. 

They become his source of light and good in the world, and he becomes their big friendly giant that can protect them from anything. 

One afternoon, the two of them are playing in s/o’s backyard when the kid gets a cut on their knee. After using Metallica to ease the pain and stop the bleeding, while he’s putting a bandage on it, the kid mutters a soft, “Thanks daddy.” 

The next day, Risotto is still gushing with happiness at an important meeting, and the rest of the squad doesn’t know why.

Prosciutto

When he first finds out, he’s terrified. 

In his own way, Prosciutto’s scared of commitment, because in a long term relationship eventually he’d have to break down his tough-guy exterior. 

And a kid? That’s about as high of a commitment as it gets. 

When his s/o arrives at the park with her child in tow to meet Prosciutto so they can all spend the day together, he’s nervously fidgeting, making sure he’s presentable. 

 At first, Prosciutto finds it awkward to talk to them. Prosciutto spent his own childhood taking care of other neighborhood kids, but he hasn’t interacted with a kid in years. 

However, the kid sees the suave way that Prosciutto talks with their mother, and the way he carries himself, and how happy their mom is near him, and they immediately take a liking to the mafioso. 

Prosciutto and the child have a much more idol and follower relationship, as opposed to father and daughter/son

They want to be exactly like him. They want to dress like him, act like him. Do what he does. Say what he says. 

And Prosciutto loves showing them his way of life. How to be a leader, how to be proud of one’s self. His s/o is part of Passione as well, so he doesn’t need to hide that part of his profession from the kid. But he does hide that he’s part of La Squadra.

He also stops smoking. This kid is making him a better man. They remind him of how he looked up to his own father on how to be perfect. 

He even bought them a mini P pendant for them to wear and they never take it off. 

Since the kid is a little older when Prosciutto meets them, he gives them advice constantly, and they absorb it like a sponge.

One time, they came home and asked Prosciutto about how to deal with a crush they had on one of their classmates. 

The next day at school, the kid wears fancy, incredibly cool looking clothes that no one had ever even seen them in before. Turns out it was an outfit they had bought with Prosciutto the day before. 

Their crush becomes smitten when their classmate even looks at them and says the lines that their stepdad had said to say. Prosciutto’s plan worked to get their attention. 

Formaggio

Formaggio is the member of La Squadra that is least in favor of their s/o being a mom. He even tells her how apprehensive he is about the idea of being any sort of father figure. He even considers leaving her. 

His s/o understands (it’s quite the bomb to drop), but she still wants him to meet the child. A smile comes to her face, she thinks they’ll get along just fun. 

It turns out that her child is quite the little trouble maker, quite similar to the mafioso. 

Formaggio has his doubts when he first meets the kid while the three of them are having dinner together at a restaurant, but those doubts are soon forgotten when the kid starts reaching over and steals another kid’s crayons at a different table when they aren’t looking. 

s/o keeps scolding them and apologizing to the family at the nearby table but both the kid and Formaggio share a chuckle when they make eye contact.

The two of them love annoying s/o together. They’ll make gross noises out in public just to make each other laugh. If she asks either of them a question, they both just respond with another until the three of them are talking in a circle and s/o gets annoyed. 

If the kid knows about stands, Formaggio will shrink them both down so they can sneak up behind the kid’s mom and scare her constantly. 

Formaggio begins to love the little kid as his own. Whenever his s/o is working and he doesn’t have a mission, he’ll take the kid to the park and they’ll play soccer together. 

They love Formaggio’s cat since their mom is allergic and won’t let them have one of their own, so Formaggio usually takes the kid back to his place so they can play with it. 

After a while, the two of them have a real father and daughter/son relationship. Being so young, the child can’t remember their real father that well, but they do remember the nights their mom spent crying when he left them. 

But when they look up into Formaggio’s face when the two of them are sitting together on the couch watching cartoons, they can’t help but smile and feel loved. They don’t think Formaggio will leave them and their mom. 

Formaggio reaches down to ruffle their hair and blow into their ear teasingly. He doesn’t want to leave them either. 

Illuso

Illuso already knew that his s/o had a kid. He would never admit it to anyone, but when relationships get serious, he’ll spy on his lover a bit through the mirrors. Much to his surprise, he saw that she has a child. Freaking out, he immediately heads back to the hideout and wonders what to do. 

When his s/o finally tells him herself, Illuso would have had a lot of time to think of the situation. He decides that his s/o’s love is worth the effort of caring for a kid, and he keeps an open mind when he goes to meet the child. 

It turns out that the curiosity that drew Illuso to his s/o was inherited by her child. The moment that s/o introduced the two of them, the kid starts asking a million questions. 

“Do you like my mom?” “Yeah, of course, I do.” 

“...Why’s your hair so long?” “I like it that way.” 

“Why does your jacket look like that ghostbusters monster?” “The Pillsbury Dough Boy???” “Yeah.”

The two of them develop a bond of mutual interest in one another. Neither is really ready to say the other is their father or child, but each of them vows to “figure the other out”

One main thing that’s holding the kid back from accepting Illuso is their memories of their birth father. 

Being a little older, they still recall the cool tricks that their dad would do to impress them and their friends. Without the kid knowing it, the previous father was a stand user. 

When Illuso learns of this from his s/o, Illuso makes it a mission to impress the kid in the same way. He comes up to them and asks if they want to go with him on a day trip to Milan. The kid looks at him confused, as Milan is about a 7 hour drive from Naples, and hesitantly say sure. 

The two of them turn to the full-length mirror in the kid's bedroom and within just 5 minutes, the two of them pop out a car’s side window into the city of Milan. Illuso had used his stand to hop from mirror to mirror at lightning speed. 

The kid can hardly believe what just happened, and look up at Illuso, who’s giving them his signature grin. 

“How’d you do that?!” “Not telling.” “Come on! Tell me!” “You’ll find out eventually.”

Pesci

When he first finds out, he freaks out more than he’s ever freaked out before. He was already nervous that he’ll ruin his relationship with s/o, but a kid??? That just makes his anxiety worse!

His s/o assures him that since she’s still so young herself, the kid isn’t even two years old yet, so Pesci doesn’t really need to make an impression so much as just be there for her and her kid. 

That calms Pesci down immensely, he doesn’t know how he would react if the child was a rambunctious toddler. He agrees to meet them, still nervous. 

The night before, he asks Prosciutto for advice, who simply tells him to listen to his s/o’s words on how to take care of the little one, and that he’ll know immediately whether or not the baby likes him. 

When he arrives at his s/o’s apartment, and she places the sleeping child in Pesci’s lap for the first time, the little one wakes up and looks up the new guest. 

Pesci holds in his breath, too nervous to exhale. Those nerves are quickly forgotten when the baby reaches up to grab some of Pesci’s hair, happily squealing the word “green” and then starts giggling in the mafioso’s arms. His s/o smiles at the sight, meanwhile Pesci’s face is bright red. That was the cutest thing he’d ever experienced. 

Pesci’s s/o had joined Passione to make enough money to support herself and her child after her family had kicked her out for getting pregnant, leading to Pesci quickly taking up the mantle and becoming the support for the young mom and her baby. 

He falls in love with the baby, even buying them a cute little pajama set that has different colored fish all over it. 

After some time of Pesci taking care of his s/o and now their kid together, the rest of La Squadra begin to notice a change in their comrade. He holds himself higher, has a brighter gleam in his eye. Has a strengthened resolve. He opts to go on missions by himself without Prosciutto. 

When Risotto asks him what’s happened, the young man smiles. 

“I’ve got people to watch over now. I can’t disappoint them.”

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio, having no awareness of other people’s emotions, immediately starts panic yelling at his s/o when she first tells him she has a kid. When he asks why she hadn’t told him sooner, she simply said she didn’t want to ruin anything between them. 

She understands if he wants to leave her, but in reality Ghiaccio is unsure of what to do. He asks Melone what to do, to which his friend excitedly (almost too excitedly) encourages him to meet the child without delay. 

What’s holding him back is his anger. He doesn’t want to scare away the kid or get angry with them. Then he’d surely not forgive himself, and lose his s/o’s love in the process. 

Little did he know that s/o’s kid was more than capable of taking a little anger their way. Turns out that they had inherited their mom’s snappiness, and was ready to meet Ghiaccio so they could start tearing him apart. 

S/o, upon realizing that both her kid and her boyfriend have the shortest tempers known to man, prepares herself to play referee.

When the two of them finally meet, Ghiaccio tries his best to not burst at the toddler, when they just look him up and down and stay silent for a while without any reaction to him. 

This pisses him off and after minutes of just bored, blank stares from the kid, he impatiently asks, “well… what do you think? Do you like me or not?”, causing his s/o to groan at such a straightforward question.

The kid mentally pats themselves on the back for getting the poor man right where they want him and just shrugs, giving Ghiaccio a bored, “meh”. 

This sets Ghiaccio off big time, and the two of them get into a match of sarcastic teases and insults, which s/o immediately breaks up. After though, Ghiaccio turns to the kid, who flashes him a big smile, and Ghiaccio can’t help but respect them for their temper. 

At the very least, though Ghiaccio isn’t quick to call this kid his, he is willing to spend time with them, mainly because he finds their sarcasm entertaining and equal to his own.

The moment that Ghiaccio vows to treat the child as his own is when he takes them to a nearby skating rink. He finds himself being proud of them for being so good at skating after only a couple times, helping coach them on their turns and spins. And he finds himself being even more proud of them when they go on a yelling rampage at another kid for bumping into them. Ghiaccio has to carry them away as to not make a scene, but the two of them share a knowing smile. Yeah… this was gonna work out fine.

Melone

Melone is, obviously, ecstatic to hear that his s/o has a kid. He usually gets made fun of by his teammates for his “naive” wishes to have a kid of his own, telling him that he has no right to knock anyone up when he could be dead the next day. 

This way, he gets to help raise a kid with someone without getting made fun of by his teammates. The kid’s already born, and Melone can’t wait to take care of them!

Almost surprised by Melone’s eagerness to meet her kid, s/o tells him to come over to meet them the next day. 

Melone comes well prepared, with toys and new clothes (he wasn’t sure how big the kid was so he got one of every size), that he had just bought to help win the kid over. He also creates a plan for the day that the three of them would spend together, chock-full of things that are sure to get on the kid’s good side. 

However, when he arrives at his s/o’s door with everything, she immediately gushes over everything that he had bought, but the kid merely hides behind her shyly, not wanting to meet Melone. 

Melone tries his best to form a connection throughout the whole day of fun activities, but the kid stays quiet, holding onto their mother’s hand and not wanting to talk to the eccentric mafioso. 

When the day comes to a close, the three of them are sitting outside of s/o’s house that night to relax after the eventful day. The child’s mother goes back inside to get coffee for herself and Melone, leaving the young man and the toddler alone in the backyard together. 

Melone looks down at them in the awkward silence asking, “Is there anything I’m doing wrong?”, and the kid silently shakes their head. 

“...You just don’t like me?” Melone asked sadly, not wanting to hear the answer.

However, the answer never arrives. He watches as the kid stands up and walks over to the small pond nearby, seeing a group of fruit flies resting on the water. 

This causes the young kid to smile and he decides to finally break the silence with Melone. 

“...I once read a book in class that fruit flies are used in studying medicines because their DNA is really big and easy to look at. I told the last guy my mom liked that I wanna study DNA one day, but he laughed at me…”

Melone’s entire face lights up at the fact that that’s the first thing the kid’s said to him all day and rushes at his side saying, “It’s not just that. It’s that they have both an X and Y chromosome, but that doesn’t inherently mean they’re all male. That makes them the perfect model organism. You’re on the right track (f/n).”

Seeing the way the kid’s face shot up with glee at finally being understood for their interest in biology, Melone realized that he didn’t need all of those presents to get to the kid���s heart. He just needed to be himself. 

When s/o finally arrives back to the backyard with the coffees, her heart is warmed to see her shy child absorbing every word that Melone says about the intricacies of genetics and the studies that he conducted when still in school. A smile came to her face. She knew then that she wanted Melone to be around to teach her child everything he knows about the world around them.

[nubianamy]

35k, PG, Finn/Sam, pre-slash, pre-canon, camp, series, drama

from chapter 3

Every time Finn and Sam were around the campfire after that, Finn encouraged him to sing. Sometimes it was with Aggie’s borrowed guitar, and sometimes it was just him, without any accompaniment. Sam had a strong, melodic voice, and it didn’t really need the guitar, but Finn noticed he was louder and more confident when he was strumming along, and that was great to witness.

One evening, after most of the guys had gone back to their cabins and Finn and Sam were there tending the dying fire, Sam turned to him curiously. “How come you never sing by yourself? I mean, I would play anything you wanted to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” Finn shook his head perhaps a little too quickly, “that’s kind of the rule me and Puck have. Like, he’s the front man for the band, and I get to do the harmonies and stuff when we mess around.”

Sam seemed to accept that at face value, which suited Finn just fine, even if it involved throwing Puck under the bus with the implication that Puck had decided on the rule. When really, it was because whenever Finn had taken lead vocals, he’d managed to almost put the beater through the kick drum, he got so tense.

“The thing is, I can barely hear you when I’m singing,” Sam said, poking the fire with a long stick. “I’m kind of loud in my own ears, if you know what I mean. But what I can hear sounds really good.”

He smiled over his shoulder at Finn, not teasing, not waiting for Finn to say something, just because that was how Sam was. Being next to him, watching him smile like that, gave Finn courage. He took a deep breath. “I, uh… I used to sing all the time, when I was a kid. My mom had all these cassette tapes, and we’d play and sing in the kitchen and in the car. And she dated this guy, Darren. He always said I should be a singer when I grew up.”

“Sounds like he was really supportive.” Sam turned so he was facing Finn, digging the stick into the ground so he could lean against it, “What about your mom? Did she... not like it?” He quickly added, “I just... you don’t sing anymore, so I assume someone convinced you not to, or something.”

“Nobody,” Finn said, shrugging. “I mean, nobody in particular. You know how guys are. It just stopped being cool to do stuff like that. Like playing video games or reading comics. Me and Puck, we still do those things together, but… we don’t tell anybody? That would kind of be the death of our popularity, and Quinn, she thinks that’s really important.”

Sam nodded slowly, and in the darkness and the firelight it was hard to read much of his expression, “I guess people don’t do a lot of things they want to do. But, everyone here likes the singing. And I definitely do, and I like comic books and video games, so you already know I’m super lame.” He reached forward to nudge Finn’s knee with his fingers as Finn chuckled. “If you ever wanted to try with me, that’d be cool.”

“Try singing? I mean, we’ve done that lots.” Finn gave him a nervous smile. “Maybe if nobody else was around, I would. If it was just us.”

Sam looked down at the log they were sitting on for a long moment before he looked back and smiled, “I mean, Sean’s always sneaking over to the cheerleading camp, right? You come and get me when you’re ready, and I’m happy to listen.”

It didn’t happen that night, or the night after that, but Finn thought about Sam’s suggestion a lot, maybe more than he should have. It was running through his mind pretty much all the time when he wasn’t focusing on something else. Which, unfortunately, seemed to be during a lot of the practices.

“Hudson! Are you planning on running at any point this morning!” Coach Tyler yelled, and Finn picked up the pace as he quickly as he could until he was next to Sean again.

“Look, dude,” Sean looked around and gave Finn a pointed look, “You need to focus.”

“I’m trying—”

“No, your mind’s somewhere else,” Sean reached over and tapped the side of his head with the back of his hand. “Listen, I get it. You’re not finding this challenging. But the QB boat has sailed, and you need to be giving this your all, okay? Now... What can I do to get your mind off whatever it’s on, and back on these plays? Because we’ve got our second game coming up, and if Lucas loses to Sam’s team? He’s gonna be fucking insufferable.”

“Seriously, it’s nothing. It’s just something between me and Sam.” Finn shook his head, “We haven’t had time to really work it out—”

“Great. Me and Aggie are gonna go smoke weed in another cabin tonight. So, you and Sam can pick a room and hash this all out, before I lose my patience with you, dweeb.”

Finn watched as Sean moved away and was about to move himself when there was a hand on his shoulder, stopping him dead. He winced, expecting to see Coach Tyler, but instead Lucas was looking at him with a very neutral expression. “You’re interested in being QB?”

“Kind of?” Finn tried to settle under Lucas’s gaze. He’d been friendly enough to him, but then he’d turn around and be terrible to Aggie. Finn didn’t trust him. “I mean, yeah, I’m interested, but… that’s your position, right? Yours and Sam’s?”

“It’s like saying the circus belongs to the ringmaster and the accordion-playing monkey,” Lucas rolled his eyes, and looked Finn up and down, “I’m not going to be playing next year, and I kind of like the idea of passing this on to someone. I mean, you’ve got shitty taste in friends, but...” He shrugged. “I’ll find you when I’m ready, Hudson.”

Finn watched him walk away, feeling much the same as he had when Darren told him he should be a singer. Seriously, if I had your voice, my group would still exist. Keep it up. He felt a shiver. It didn’t matter in that moment if Sam wanted to be QB or not. He pictured himself on the field, in the center of the team, calling the plays, catching the hike, passing the ball for the touchdown. It actually felt possible.

Maybe that was why, when Sam asked him at dinner, “So are we singing tonight by the fire?” Finn shook his head.

“Aggie and Sean are busy,” he said. “We can be alone in the cabin.”

“Oh.” Sam seemed to hesitate, causing the line of people waiting for food behind him to stop for a moment, before he quickly took a step forward again. “Yeah. Okay. Uh, your room or mine?”

“Whatever. Except our room has that chair with no arms. It might be easier for you to play guitar sitting there, instead of on the bed?”

“Isn’t that chair really uncomfortable?” Sam said, walking straight past the salad bar without stopping. “I mean, I’m fine with either. The chair sounds great. Just, if you want the bed instead, I can make that work.”

It turned out the evening was drizzly, anyway, so Finn didn’t feel so bad keeping Sam all to himself. Back in their cabin, however, Sam seemed restless, moving from one thing to another. Finn tried to give him space.

“You know, I think I’m going to go for a run,” Sam told him finally.

Finn raised an eyebrow as Sam stripped off his t-shirt. “In the rain?”

“Just a short one. It’ll make it easier for me to focus.” He backed toward the door in his undershirt. “I won’t be long.”

“You’re gonna get wet.” Finn said, but before he could try his argument for why Sam should sit down before he lost his nerve, Sam had vanished out of the door, his glasses abandoned on the side table. Finn stood by the door, watching Sam’s legs carry him around the lake trail until he was out of sight. Then he went through the bathroom into his and Sean’s room, dug his phone out of his jacket pocket, and dialed Puck’s number.

It went to voicemail once, but the second time Finn called, it clicked to life. “You have the worst timing, Hudson. I’m in the middle of something.” Puck sounded annoyed, but there was the sound of music playing softly in the background so he couldn’t be too busy, “Or, I mean, I’m about to be getting into something.”

“Dude, you could have let it go to—uh.” He laughed sheepishly. “Sorry. I’ll be quick. What’s a song you and I sing together that’s really good? I mean, really, really good. One that shows off a little.”

“How about...” Puck trailed off, and there was a noise in the background that sounded almost like a groan.

Let's talk about sex, baby Let's talk about you and me Let's talk about all the good things And the bad things that may be

“Not that,” Finn protested. “Dude, I’m not trying to get in anybody’s pants. What the hell. I’m talking good singing.”

“Why’re you singing to someone if you don’t want to get in their pants?” Puck scoffed. “Can I offer...”

Come out Virginia, don't let 'em wait You Catholic girls start much too late Aw but sooner or later it comes down to faith Oh I might as well be the one

Finn flung himself onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. “No, no, Billy Joel is your range, not mine. Something higher.”

“So much for being quick about it. Sounds like the rumors about you aren’t exactly accurate.” He could hear a scuffling noise, and shushing and snorts of muffled laughter.

“Dude, who’s there with you?” Finn said suspiciously.

“Oh, this big, handsome, burly right guard. Yeah, we’re going at it pretty hot and heavy right now.” Puck sounded almost bored. “And, oh, yeah, there’s Mr. Ryerson coming through the door.”

“You really know how to make everything gross,” Finn said, grinning. “Okay, well, if you can’t think of anything, I’m going to have to default to Journey.”

“Do that Steve Perry single, the one from Straight Talk.” Puck hummed the chorus, and Finn sat up. “Can I hang up on you now, or do you have more stupid questions?”

“No, I think I’m good. Have fun… whatever you’re doing.”

“Looks like I might be doing some singing, actually.” Puck sounded amused. He added, to whoever was there, “You’re serious? Right now?”

Finn laughed. “I’m out of here. Whoever she is, good luck.”

He had to look up the lyrics to the song on his phone, not because he hadn’t sung it eight thousand times, but because he was sure he had been singing some of them wrong for years. Somehow it seemed important to get the lyrics right when he was singing for somebody else. Not that he was singing to Sam, or anything like that.

Actually, now that he was reading the lyrics, Finn decided he might want to have second thoughts about singing this particular song. It wasn’t because it was a love song, but it was kind of sad, and not exactly upbeat. But it was too late to call Puck back, and he wasn’t going to pick something else now.

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside, and Finn sat up on the bed quickly, his phone almost bouncing on the mattress as it slipped from his hand. He had begun to swing his legs off, but the door opened with a very loud noise, and Sam stepped in, shaking out his hair.

“Paul wanted us to know that the hose for the sprinkler system is working again,” he said dryly, barely looking as he pulled at his undershirt that was soaked to his skin. “It came off and sprayed me, but he, very heroically...” he trailed off, his eyes finally falling on Finn who was resting back on his hands, his legs splayed wide. “Uh... are you... waiting for someone?”

“Me? No.” Finn straightened up, trying to figure out what to do with his hands. He rose to his feet, tripping over his shoes a little. “Who would I be… um. Can I get you, like, a towel or something?”

“I should get to the bathroom,” Sam gestured but his shoes squelched as he took a step, and Finn quickly shook his head.

“No way, you need to lose the shirt at least, man, before you get sick. You can borrow one of mine until you go next door.” He grabbed one of his big, comfy McKinley High athletics shirts from his drawer and held it out. “Just—sit there and take off your shoes. I’ll get you that towel.”

He ducked into the bathroom. The towels on the rack both smelled like feet, so he rummaged in the shelf above the sink until he found a clean one. It was a worn towel from Six Flags, the one with the picture of the roller coaster on it.

Finn brought it back into his room where Sam was sitting on the floor in a puddle, his soaking-wet undershirt in a pile next to one of his shoes. He was struggling to get the other one off. When Finn snickered, he shot him an exasperated look.

“It’s really hard to untie wet shoelaces,” he protested.

“Hey, I’m not saying anything,” Finn held up his hands with a grin.

He exchanged Sam’s wet undershirt for the dry towel, then took the shirt into the bathroom to drip dry. He couldn’t help but pause in the doorway, though, and glance back at Sam, who was contorting himself trying to get a better angle on the lace, until his foot was nearly over his head, as he got more and more frustrated.

“Here.” Finn knelt on the floor next to him, gesturing for Sam to put his foot back on the floor. “You’re just making it hard for yourself. Let me.”

Sam looked very unsure about this, but he let Finn tug at the heel of his shoe until it finally slid off his foot with a sloppy sound. It made them both snicker. When Finn presented him with the shoe, like it was a priceless gift, Sam laughed harder.

“Thanks.” Sam rolled his eyes. “For the towel, too. It’s been a pretty crappy evening so far. Maybe... I should just turn in.”

“You think it’s going to get any better if Aggie gets home and sees you’re asleep?” Finn joked lightly, “I bet he’d put your hand in warm water just on principle. Come on, why don’t we just... hang out. I’ve got this dumb book I’m supposed to read for my classes next year, I’m sure you could do some sketching or something, right?”

That made Sam brighten a little. “Yeah, that sounds pretty good.”

It didn’t take long for the two of them to get comfortable, but the separate beds felt like way too far away to Finn’s mind. He pulled the blanket off the bed, and made himself a little half-nest on the ground, his back to the drawers. Sam spread out on the mattress, not physically, but between the sketchpad, a small pile of comic books, and the guitar resting against the headboard, there wasn’t a lot of space there.

The book was very boring, but listening to the sound of Sam’s pencil skritching away on the paper was strangely relaxing.

It wasn’t until the third time that he lifted his hand to his nose, and Sam hummed in a mildly negative way, that he turned to look. Sam finished with a line, and then looked back towards Finn and froze. Finn offered a small smile, “You doing all right?”

“Yeah, I was just...” Sam glanced at the sketchbook on his lap and then back to Finn. “Art, you know?”

“Are you drawing me?” Finn couldn’t help but ask, his chest feeling strangely warm. Sam looked mildly horrified, but after a beat he slowly nodded. “Can I see?” Finn continued, and that got a sharp negative. Finn tilted his head. “Why not?”

“Because... it’s embarrassing.” Sam shrugged, “And private. And you were supposed to sing, and you didn’t, so I’m holding my art ransom.”

“Oh, yeah?” Finn felt his smile broaden. “Does that mean you would show me if I sang something?”

Sam glanced back at the sketchbook and then back to him, “It’s honestly not that good. I mean, I really want to hear you sing, but I don’t want you to be disappointed if you’re expecting the Mona Lisa or something.”

“Dude,” Finn said softly. “There is literally no way I would be disappointed by you, Sam. Ever.”

Read the rest of chapter 3 | Read the whole story on AO3

[janekfan]

Hello friend!! I thought of a prompt, and if you like it, it's yours!! What if Tim was kidnapped by the circus with Jon?? They're having a bad time together; Tim is hostile. Eventually, Jon starts to get quieter, and Tim thinks he's in a mood. Jon complains of a headache, and Tim thinks he's being a baby. Until he finds out he's burning up and was just too afraid to say anything because he didn't think he could take Tim telling him he didn't care 😭 (but, begrudgingly, he DOES) 💖

oooooooh this prompt! Had me feeling things! Thank you @taylortut!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400745

It was Tim who woke up first, unsure of where he was, still with the residual anger he’d had on his way to confront Jon about all of this nonsense still burning incandescent. Hindsight being 20/20, he probably should have taken the anonymous tip on Jon’s location with a grain of salt and a fistful of caution but he was just so angry it was filling him up like a poison, overflowing with nowhere to go, and it was so much easier to focus on his boss because it was his fault they were in this mess.

It was his fault Sasha was gone.

It was his fault they were all trapped.

“T’Tim...” Barely an exhale and if the room they were contained in hadn’t been dead quiet, he’d ignore Jon. Still might. Let him sit in the guilt and shame of having inflicted whatever this was on yet another assistant.

If he even cared.

“Where...are we?” There was some light to see by, but not nearly enough to determine the answer to that even if he’d wanted to speak to him in the first place. Based on his own headache, Tim assumed that Jon had been knocked unconscious as well and corroborated it with the hiss of pain drawn sharply between his teeth.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?” Snapping callously and surprising even himself at the harsh bite in his voice, Jon flinched hard, turning with it to examine the space.

“We’re tied up.” He remarked, nonplussed, and Tim heard him pulling at his bonds. It wasn’t rope, but something softer and before he could think on it further a shaft of light fell upon Jon as a being, not quite a person, stepped through a door. “Nikola.”

“Well acquainted are you?” Tim scoffed.

“Not by choice.” And he didn’t look anywhere except straight at the thing he’d named, vitriol in his eyes, in the firm set of his jaw.

“Oh, Archivist. Don’t be like that.” Her smile was inhuman, too many teeth, not quite right. “And please do stop frowning like that.” Jon turned away from the fingers claiming his chin and Tim had once been so close to him that he knew he didn’t like to be touched unless he trusted you. Like Tim had trusted him. “I want you in pristine condition for the show.” She snapped once and several mannequins surrounded and released Jon from his bonds. They tried to drag him through the door and Jon fought like a beast possessed, wild and feral and loud and no match for their sturdy yet gentle grip as they carried him off against his will. It left Tim alone in sudden silence, a little stunned and more than a little worried and he’d take that to his grave, thank you very much.

With nothing else to focus his attention on, Tim could only think of how awful Jon looked illuminated in that cold beam with that monster leering down at him. Could only think about how hard he fought before he was hauled away in cold, plastic hands and wondered if that was the last of him.

But he was returned, quiet and haunted, still and silent when they tied him back down and resisting the water they held to his lips until they forced it on him by holding his nose, sputtering and hacking as they poured it down his throat. Calm, Tim took his ration, puzzling over his strange behavior and trying to get a closer look, but Jon just hid behind his overgrown hair, using it like a curtain to shield his face and visibly shivering.

“Given up already?” He sneered, trying to get a rise out of him.

He failed.

Time waxed and waned, strained and stretched, dilating like a pupil in the dark whenever Tim tried to keep track of it. Eventually, he gave up. It didn’t seem like there was any rhyme or reason regarding when they took Jon, but he assumed it was at least once a day. Each time he raged against them with everything he had and each time they overpowered him like he was a child and hurried him off to god knows where. Each time he was tied back down he had an odd blank look in his eye that gradually cleared until it didn’t, trembling finely and Tim used it as a way to needle him, goad him, tried to make him do something, anything. Without a response he didn’t know if he was getting through to him, but it made him feel better to take out his frustration on Jon.

Days passed. Inexorably slow with nothing to do save yell at his sole companion. Jon still tried to make his taking as difficult as he could, but he was slowing down, losing strength on a diet of bread and sips of water. Now when he returned he shook with the effort of weeping without sound, turned away as far as he could and spilling sorrow down the front of his shirt.

“Oh, little Archivist.” Nikola purred one day, lifting his face with a delicately placed fingertip. “Do you know why he hates you?” A new game they were forced to play. Because they were held captive by the Circus. And the Circus had taken Danny. And Tim screamed himself hoarse demanding answers from Jon when he'd been told.

“You’re lucky I’m tied down, Jon! I would take my answers by force if these fuckers would let me!” Jon never said anything other than apologies and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fair and when Jon cried it made him that much more furious because what right did he have to be upset when he was the one doing all this to them!

“We can’t have that, Tim.” She would smirk, placing her hands over his shoulders in a mock massage, tone soothing and so understanding. “We need him to be perfect.”

“Perfect.” Tim spat. Perfect. And Jon shook harder at Nikola’s cryptic words until she turned her machinations toward Tim because, after all? If he’d kept a closer eye on his precious family, would he have lost him at all?

“It’s really your fault if you think about it.” Tim tried his damndest to get closer, grappling so hard with his bonds he fell over and still tried to take a chunk out of her with his teeth. She merely laughed, ridiculing them both.

“Leave off!” Jon shouted, Tim’s chest was heaving against the floor as he twisted and bent himself into all manner of shapes in a fruitless attempt to attack her again, blind with rage and hate.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” Nikola caressed his skin and Jon bit his lip until blood ran in rivelets but she left.

“I’m so sor--”

“Save it. Don’t think this changes anything.” Uncomfortable and sore and still seething, Tim laid there until they came for Jon.

Whatever they were doing was taking a visible toll and Jon’s resistance began tapering off and he became too tired to put up a fight. He’d developed a cough that kept them both awake. It began small, chronic and dry, but no less obnoxious and only Jon could find more ways to make this captivity more difficult.

“Stop it.” Clipped and bitter.

“Sorry, sorry. Smoking, you know.” Tim didn’t answer and Jon’s attempts to stifle it were sorely lacking, bursting from his chest like a gunshot.

“You know what they want, don’t you.” Surprised, he looked up, nodding slowly, brow furrowed. “Well?”

“It’s. It’s.” Real fear raced across his face before he could stop it and he swallowed thickly.

“Lemme guess. It involves you.” Tim’s ire began to rise because of course it did.

“Yes.”

“And you won’t just give it over to save us?” Jon looked away, eyes shut tight.

“No.” He tried to take a deep breath and it lodged somewhere in between. “But it’s becau--”

“Save it. Coward. It’s enough that you won’t consider it.” Resentful, Tim again wanted to get his hands on him because of course he’d refuse. There wasn’t a more selfish man in the archives. “So this is it then? We go the way of Sasha?”

“I--”

“Because you didn’t help her either. Didn’t even notice.” It was his turn to hide because he’d be damned if Jon saw him cry. “Maybe if she’d been the Archivist, it would have been you.”

Jon didn’t, couldn’t fight this time and was more lifeless than any time before when they secured him which seemed to please Nikola and she praised him, dragging fingers through his messy hair, pulling sharply on the tangles.

“Ah, you’ve finally learned, Jon." And she tapped his cheek, sickeningly tender, before finally leaving him alone.

“Giving up so soon?” Tim scoffed; ‘so soon’ being weeks into their capture when Jon was clearly exhausted, sleeping more and more in between waking enough to hack up a lung. He could hear the wheeze on his breath from where he was across the room. “Figures.”

“Jus’… m'head hurts.” Laughing bitterly, Tim told him to keep it to himself. Dealing with Jon when he was in a mood or whining for the sake of it hadn’t made it onto his agenda. But the part that cared, that he’d tried to stamp out and fill with hate, reminded him that they were both dehydrated and hungry.

Reminded him that Jon was getting quieter and quieter, going long stretches between speaking and this time when he was carried away, he was frighteningly lax and loose, head thrown back and gasping, overbright eyes half lidded. This time, when they dragged him back and tied him up, he was crying openly, shaking fit to fly apart and eerily quiet. But the tears were there, streaming down his face and gathering on his chin before his trembling got the better of them.

“Jon?” If anything, he sobbed harder, the sound choked off as he tried so, so hard to be quiet.

“Please s’stop, Tim.” And his whisper was so broken, so small and sad, that Tim shut his mouth, because Jon was at his breaking point and he’d helped push him to it.

Now Tim couldn't stop looking at Jon and it made the other man self conscious when he was awake enough to notice, trying to keep his head turned away when he had the strength and it wasn't thrown back over the chair while he gasped like a fish out of water.

The few times Tim caught him looking his way were fraught with weariness. Jon's red rimmed eyes, bruised and ringed with shadow, held a constant question and reminded him too much of his paranoia. Truthfully, the stare was heavy and he was uncomfortable with the weight of it leveled across his shoulders.

"What're you staring at?" But it was a half-hearted attempt at inflicting hurt and Jon shrugged, blinking and a few times as if to clear his vision.

"You okay?" It sounded like he'd been swallowing gravel, rough and low and painful.

"What do you think?" And Tim couldn't stop responding in anger, swearing to himself that Jon's defeated expression meant less than nothing.

Jon wasn’t well.

He’d been unconscious for the better part of a day and Tim hadn’t been able to rouse him; shouting at him from the other side of the room wasn't enough but he tried once more out of desperation.

“Jon, buddy. Jon!”

“Mmwha'Tim?” Cracked right in the middle, it was forced through a deep wet cough that sounded bad. Really bad. The effort left his narrow chest heaving with every difficult pull for air, like he was breathing through a straw.

“Oh, thank god.” Even with the distance between them Tim could see his face twist up in confusion. “You weren't answering me.”

“Talkin t'me?” Panting and pale in the weird light, Jon’s features seemed carved from shadow and sweat.

“Yes, who else??” More than used to Tim’s frustration and annoyance, Jon just let his chin tip forward on his chest. “Jon, what's wrong.”

“Head hur's.” Slurring badly, Jon gave up words altogether in favor of letting his dark lashes flutter closed.

“You've said! What else?” Yelling and angry and helpless, the guilt rose in him like a slow and deadly tide when he saw tears slipping down his face. Tim was scared and he was mean, shouting and demanding, because of it. Because he thought he was done caring about this paranoid menace who had posed as his friend and gotten them into this mess. And he wasn't, oh he wasn't and something was seriously, seriously wrong and he was tied to a chair two meters away and couldn’t do anything about it. “Jon! Don’t, hey! Don’t go to sleep!” But it didn’t matter, he was already gone.

“Well, don’t you look tetchy.” Tim ignored Nikola’s jab the next time she and her clowns came to visit and through a surge of protectiveness he hadn’t felt in so long for anybody, he spoke on his behalf.

“Please. Jon, he. Something’s wrong.” She didn’t look impressed.

“He’s stopped his fighting.”

“Let me check on him. Whatever you need him for, he won’t be any use if he’s dead, right?” Nikola laughed, cruel smile striking fear into Tim’s heart for the first time.

“It wouldn’t matter, truly. But. Well," grabbing a fistful of hair, she forced his head back and forth to get a good look at him. "I just don’t think he’s done yet. And that would be a shame--I do so wish to look my best.” Tim was no closer to figuring out what was happening but it didn’t matter anymore. “I assure you, if you try to run.”

“I won’t.” Swiftly promised, they’d escape another time. Somehow, someway. “Untie us?”

“Us?” She chuckled and in the end, only released Tim but it would have to do, and once he was sure she was well and truly gone, he stumbled on numb legs to stand over him.

“Jon?” Gently, like he might break under the weight of his hand, Tim laid it over his forehead, brushing back through his tangled hair when the heat of it met his palm. He was a furnace, burning away to nothing and very sick. “Jon?” He tore a strip off the bottom of his shirt, wiping away the sweat because there was nothing else he could do until he finally came around. “Hey, Jon.” Jerking away with enough force that Tim had to catch the chair, he coughed with his shoulders hunched around his ears like--

Like Tim was going to strike him.

“Oh, no, no.” What a mess they’d made. “Hey, none of that.” When he went to apply the compress again, Jon flinched, shaking, muttering breathlessly:

“Don’touch, please, don’touch me any’anymore. Pl’please.” So now he was free, free to see up close the terror and fear, faced with it plainly enough to question that Jon wanted any of this at all, or if he was just as caught in it’s spiraling web. He wore himself out, body slumped uncomfortably where he was tied as he lost consciousness and Tim was at a loss as to what to do. He wasn’t able to pick apart the knots, didn’t have anything to slice through his bonds. No medicine, no water. Nothing, and so he finally relegated himself to pounding on the door, shouting, pleading for water because Jon was out of his mind with fever and wouldn't let Tim touch him. Of course it went unanswered, and instead he found himself sitting crisscross at Jon’s feet. “Don’...don’touch…”

“I won’t, I promise. Not, not until you say I can.” Wringing his hands, remembering every time they'd helped each other through a sick day at the institute. Remembering when he was free to touch and free to comfort. Jon ruined that. But it shouldn't mean he was afraid of him.

“T’tim?” The whimper of recognition made the fist around his heart squeeze. “They...they’re. My skin. Take it. G’g’gonna take it.”

“Calm down, you’re not making sense.” And shaking so hard with chills his teeth were chattering.

“It’s going to, to hurt. She, Ni-she.” Worked up, Jon was hyperventilating, barely getting any air between his coughing and rambling but he wouldn’t listen to Tim. “It’s, it’s. I, I, I don’wan’to h’hurt anymore…” Delirious, he had to be, paranoid and ill and delusional and he said as much.

“Okay, Jon? That’s not going to happen.”

“Why Tim!” Nikola’s delighted voice rose up behind him and he startled. “He didn’t tell you? This ritual requires a special ingredient, a costume! Of special power and distinction and you,” she tapped his forehead sharply, “just don’t fit the bill!”

“Costume?”

“Of course!” When she clapped her hands together it made a sharp plastic clatter. “Our Archivist here will have the most lovely skin when we’re through with him.” Tim felt sick to his stomach. Jon. He’d. He’d called him a coward. Wished awful things on him and maybe it would be impossible to be friends again but, but they’d been friends once. Been close once. And.

“Please. He, he needs water.” His voice shook. “His--” skin “It’ll be better if he’s had enough water.”

“A wonderful idea!” She turned away from where she was tracing lines over his body, “to think I wanted to kill you upon arrival, when you’ve been so useful in keeping our mutual friend in line!”

“Slow, slow Jon.” He pulled the cup away when it seemed he’d try for the whole of it at once, “you’ll make yourself sick.”

“T’Tim...need.”

“I know, be patient.” Jon’s brown eyes were piercing even glassed with fever, all his limited focus directed at Tim.

“N’no.” He paused to get enough breath to speak. “Run. You n’need to run.” Days ago, Tim would have done so in a heartbeat but the thought of abandoning him now. He couldn’t.

“I cant.”

“Tim”

“No, not without you.” His gaze was devastating and he dropped his head.

“Why?” He didn’t have an answer and thankfully didn’t need one because at that very moment a yellow door appeared where one had never been before and through it stepped a man who both was and wasn’t, face ever changing, limbs elongating in strange intervals and he had to look away.

“I’ve come to kill you, Archivist.” A distorted echo that was also not an echo filled up the room.

“Get in line, you’re not the only one who wants a piece.” The being seemed taken aback, tickled that a human would even dare, and Jon used the gap in their conversation to draw its attention.

“Michael.” The thing that was Not What It Is shifted focus, oil on water. “Tell me.” And while Jon couldn’t say anything more than that, he did and instead of killing the archivist, Helen saved him, using sharp fingers that warped and writhed to slice the bonds and send him sprawling to the ground. Or would have, if Tim hadn’t caught him. He wouldn’t respond to Tim’s shaking and shouting and when Helen offered to grant them both safe passage as a favor to her favorite Sims (her only Sims, Tim figured) he lifted him into his arms and stepped through the door.

And into his own flat.

“Do tell him I say hello, would you?”

“Uh, yeah. ‘Course.” Awkwardly, he waved with his arms still full of Jon. “Thanks.” When he was sure his flat had only the same number of doors it came with, he laid his burden down on the couch, heading to the medicine cabinet for any fever reducer he could find and filling a glass with water on the way. It took too much time to wake him and he wasn’t aware enough to parse the instructions Tim was trying to explain, that dreadful whistling almost deafening this close and the crackling in his lungs like dry leaves in autumn. So he propped him up against his shoulder, body blazing through their clothes, and slipped the pills onto his tongue one at a time so he could swallow them with small sips. Replacing himself with several pillows shoved behind him, Tim wrung out a cool flannel and smoothed it over his forehead, ignoring the sluggish, enquiring gaze until it disappeared behind heavy lids and his face relaxed into sleep.

There wasn’t anything in the fridge that survived his absence save for the bicarbonate of soda and beyond that, Tim didn’t want to take a chance opening anything. The bread was moldy, but a packet of biscuits with peanut butter helped dull the hunger and, though he would never admit it, gave him a reason to stay up to watch over Jon. Flushed and fevered, he mumbled nonsense in his sleep, and Tim recognized enough that he soon decided not to listen, the horror of it too much to bear just yet. He fell into his own bed, relaxing sore muscles and glanced at the clock blaring too bright numbers that he didn’t want to read, his last conscious decision that they’d been gone this long, what was one more night before telling everyone else they weren’t dead.

The sun, blessed sun, fell across his face and he let himself have a lie in until he remembered who was passed out on his couch and he dragged himself towards responsibility, a knot of apprehension tight in his throat, relaxing when Jon looked, well, not well, but better. Apparently sensitive to being watched, their eyes collided briefly before ricocheting away and Tim was irritated by it and the way Jon was avoiding him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were that sick?” Though Tim stood over him, Jon continued to look at his hands, tracing a finger over the rough scar spanning his whole palm. He took his time, thinking, so long that when Tim shouted “well?!” he jumped, eyes wide, breath catching.

“You. You said.” Coughing into his elbow, he needed a moment to recover. “Said t’to keep it to myself.”

“When you were complaining about a headache!” Jon shrugged with one shoulder, curling into himself small and fragile, somehow more so in the late morning light.

“Didn’t think--”

“No, you didn’t, you never do, Jon!”

“--you’d want to know.”

“Jon.” But would he have wanted to know? Would he have ignored it like he had his anguish? What reason had Tim given him when he’d used everything he experienced in that room and out of it as a weapon against him? Jon was looking up at him, wan and pallid, waiting for whatever Tim had to say and he knew he would take it like he’d taken it in their captivity. He sat on the low table in front of the couch. “Jon. I’m. You know I’m angry with you.” He nodded. “I’m sorry for, I took it too far. But, I’d still have wanted to know.” He pressed the next dose of medicine into his unblemished hand and made sure the water glass was within reach. “Take those.” Before he slipped into the kitchen and away from their shared mistakes, but he could still hear.

“Thank you, Tim.”

“Oh,” he popped his head back into the sitting room. “Helen says hello.” And chuckled when Jon threw an arm over his eyes with a groan.

[rotten-rabbitx3]

Lets get this out of the way for all the stans (p.s. stop).

Davis for A4, A6, A7, A12, A13, A17, B1, B7, C1, D4, E3, E8, F5, F11, G7, H1, H8, L1.

Feel free to answer at your own pace! - Kitten

WARNING. These are about an oc who is NOT A GOOD PERSON. He does bad things! There could be triggering topics!

A4: Are they a pessimist or an optimist?

I’d say it depends on the circumstances?? optimistic pessimist.

A6: Does your OC tend to assume their interpretation of events and reality is correct, or do they question it? I.e., “I’m sure that’s what you said” versus “It’s possible I misheard you.”

Davis always has to be right. He will gaslight to make sure you also believe he is in the right. “You sure you’re remembering that correctly?” “I don’t recall it going that way…” “Well maybe that’s how YOU feel.”

A7: Is your OC confident in their reactions to life in general, or do they get embarrassed or easily shamed for it? I.e., if something startles them, do they insist it WAS scary? When they cry, do they feel like they overreacted?

Davis is a whole man child. Like I mean he throws full on tantrums, and he always thinks they’re called for. He might get embarrassed for how he reacted, and he tries to not get that upset around a crowd, but again… he always has to be in the right. If you have a way to make him feel ashamed, he will be VERY ashamed and mortified.

A12: Does your OC have any addictions? If so and problematic, have they admitted it to themselves? 

Not really, actually! I’d say he smokes cigarettes occasionally, mostly because Miriam does a LOT. Now if fucking up peoples lives and messing with their bodies is an addiction- then that. And he doesn’t think it’s that bad lmao.

A13: Does your OC have any phobias? If so, where did they come from?

Authority scares him. He needs to be in charge and in control. Being bound, immobile, getting any of his senses taken away, those terrify him. Also being alone (autophobia), and cramped spaces (claustrophobia). This is all mostly because of how he grew up.

A17: What’s one of your OC’s proudest moments of themselves?

Starting his circus, of course! It’s his pride and joy!

B1: Do they believe you have to give respect to get it, or get respect to give it?

Give respect to get it. But he also just… thinks he always deserves the highest amount of respect- and then won’t return it depending on who you are.

B7: How do they respond to babies crying in public?

He hates it. It causes him stress, and is upsetting to him. He’d curse under his breath “can they not shut their kid up?” “What an annoying child-“ He’s great at pretending to be good with kids, and being friendly. But he quite dislikes them and they’re unpredictable behavior.

C1: Does your OC have a moral code? If not, how do they base their actions? If so, where does it come from, and how seriously do they take it?

Davis… doesnt have a great sense of what’s right or wrong. He pretty much just does what he wants to do in most given moments. If it benefits him or his plans, he’ll do it. However, he will not hurt children. Even he has limits.

D4: Would they like to be immortal? Why, why not? If they are immortal, would they rather not be? Oh my god definitely. If he was immortal, he’d try to make people believe he was a god. Start a religion, start wars, be the center. That kind of power would drive him to do even more unspeakable things.

E3: How many languages do they speak?

English, bit of ASL, Spanish!

E8: What’s one of your OC’s biggest regrets?

How he treated his mother sometimes.

F5: How handy are they? Can they fix appliances, cars, cabinets, et cetera?

Pretty handy! He’s great with taking things apart and putting things together. If he gets a good look at how something works, it’s not hard for him to fix it.

F11: What are some of their favorite things to do for recreation? How did they get into it? What part of it do they like the most?

He likes to experiment on people 🤪 Fr though he doesn’t have many hobbies. He does like card games, taxidermy, and doing medical research

G7: Do they have any childhood memories they’d rather forget or be less affected by?

His mother’s passing.

H1: What is your OC’s orientation, romantic and/or sexual? Has it ever been a source of stress for them? Have they always been pretty sure of their orientation?

Davis thinks labels are dumb, so he doesn’t identify with anything! But I’d say omnisexual and on the aromantic spectrum!

H8: What’s your OC’s idea of a perfect date?

He’s not really a date person. I’d say he’d like something casual, like a nice dinner!

L1: How have your characters changed since you created them?

He’s gotten worse lmao.