#do not aerial silks like this at home i assume

[ducessaeva]

you were a king and his castle, I was every dirty rascal if you asked me for my lighter mate I gave you my fire I'd call as you climbed and I'd catch you every time you fell

#my art #rusty quill gaming #rqg #rqg spoilers #sasha racket #sasha rackett #rqg sasha #rqg oscar wilde #rqg wilde #do not aerial silks like this at home i assume #i'm just listening to secret worlds and vibing #tad makes me think of these two so much and i'm losing it

[vulpes-fennec]

Prythian's Fantasia 🎪 (Ch. 4)

Summary: It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Previously: Feyre and Nesta have bargained with Amarantha! What's Elain going to do?!?

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Thursday, March 14th, 1889

***Elain***

Feyre and Nesta didn’t stop giving her furtive looks until they sat her down for a serious conversation over yesterday’s afternoon tea. And now Elain knew why. 

“Nesta and I will be joining Prythian’s Fantasia for the next half year,” Feyre had announced, stirring cream and sugar into her tea as if it were any other day. “We made a deal with the ringmaster: Amarantha will cure Mother in exchange for our service.”

“How?” Elain had sputtered. Nothing—nothing—had helped Isabella Archeron’s illness, which seemed to worsen with spite.

Nesta’s heavy sigh preceded Feyre’s answer: “Magic.”  

Elain could believe magic existed. Her gift of reading the future was part of the occult, was it not? But the idea of a magical circus…well, stunning performances did not equate to proof of magic. 

“You do not seem surprised,” Feyre observed. 

Elain shrugged. “I am skeptical…but I am more concerned with where is Prythian’s Fantasia going.”  

“The circus will tour England…then head to Paris for the Exposition Universelle,” Nesta replied, switching into French for the last bit of the sentence. “Feyre will be the magician’s assistant, and I will be participating in the aerial silks performance.”

“What about Mother?” Elain asked. “What about the upcoming season? We ordered all our gowns already. And when Father gets back…none of us will be home…”

“That is why we need you to stay and care for the household…ensure Mother is taking her tonics and manage our correspondence from the other families,” Nesta responded swiftly. Her sister’s gaze dropped down guiltily. 

“You will be gone…for months?” Elain’s voice was barely above a whisper, her initial excitement quickly dashed. “And you did not care to include me in this arrangement?” 

Feyre was the more apologetic sister. “We will be sure to write, Elain. And Amarantha will give us the curative after a month, which means Mother will be back to health in no time at all.”

“I do not wish for you to write,” Elain had said stiffly. She had spent the afternoon baking scones and preparing the little sandwiches, but now the food was less than palatable. “I wish to join you both.” 

“Traveling is far too dangerous,” Nesta said. “Do you think we are going on holiday? Feyre and I will be working. We do not want you to go hungry, or sleep in the cold and damp. Staying here is easier, Elain. And safer.” 

“But I want to go to Paris!” Elain had cried, feeling like a petulant child. 

“Nesta is right,” Feyre had added. “The journey ahead is uncertain…and what talents could you possibly bring to Prythian’s Fantasia? Gardening and baking are not useful in a traveling circus.” 

Elain had glanced at her sisters, shocked that both were in agreement for once. “When do you depart?” she had asked, feeling discombobulated.

“Tomorrow morning,” Nesta had said with finality, clearly assuming Elain was agreeable with their plan of action. 

But Elain was livid, and far from agreeable when it came to this issue. How could her sisters leave her behind? Feyre knew damn well Elain wanted to travel to Continental Europe her entire life. And how could Nesta, of all women, assume Elain needed protection from the big scary world? Of course they would expect her to stay home, for she was the Archeron sister that was most well-adjusted to London society. Of course it was alright for radical Nesta and bold Feyre to gallivant England unchaperoned, but the thought of soft and sweet Elain doing so would draw gasps of horror! 

Elain called an early night, unable to bear watching Nesta and Feyre pack when it should have been her in their positions. Guilt gnawed at her: it would be their last night together for a while, yet Elain could not bring herself to spend a minute longer with them. Not that it would make much of a difference, for the Archeron sisters had never been particularly close.. 

But it simply wasn’t fair! 

Whatever happened to taking charge of her own destiny? The fact that she had a premonition about a mysterious man in Paris seemed a good sign to leap out of her comfort zone. Elain did not want to shoulder the burden of excusing her sisters’ prolonged absence to her mother. And telling Isabella Archeron her two daughters had left high society for a traveling circus would be a death wish. 

Which was how Elain found herself hastily packing after Feyre and Nesta bid her a stiff goodbye in the morning. Dresses, shoes, cosmetics, hats, and gloves were haphazardly stuffed into massive carpet bags. Elain bundled out the door, paying the family carriage driver a generous sum for his discretion. 

The big top had been taken down, but the circus performers were still packing up their camp. Feyre and Nesta had to be in there somewhere. Elain’s palms dampened gloves in a mixture of anxiety and thrill—no longer would she sit back and wait for life to happen!  

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” Elain’s voice was shrill as she ran towards the camp as fast as her daintily slippered feet could carry her. The large cases she lugged in both hands made her gait even more awkward.

In her haste, Elain did not notice how wet and muddy the grass was. Her ankle slipped; she went down with a screech. Cases went flying, her hat turned askew, and her gloved hands sank several inches into smelly gunk. It seemed like the whole camp had come to a stand-still as everybody watched Elain struggle to stand. 

“Elain? Elain!” Feyre cried as she rushed over, picking up the muddy cases for her sister. “What are you doing here?” 

Elain stood, red-cheeked with embarrassment. Her creamy pink dress was sodden and now stank of filth, her cheeks were splattered with mud. But at the sound of Feyre’s voice, she straightened and indignantly replied, “I don’t want to be left behind.” 

“Elain, you must return home,” Nesta ordered, striding over to them quickly. “This is foolishness.”

“What is going on here?” Amarantha’s voice sharply rang out over the crowd of people. “My goodness, who is this pathetic creature?” The ringmaster assessed Elain’s now-filthy form with obvious distaste. 

“I’m sorry, Amarantha,” Feyre apologized quickly. “This is my sister, Elain.”

“She will be leaving now,” Nesta added meaningfully, grabbing the last clean patch of fabric on Elain’s elbow and tugging on it. Elain disentangled herself subtly, but Amarantha noticed it. 

“Leaving?” Amarantha arched an eyebrow. “Why, it looks like she was planning on joining us.” 

“Yes!” Elain cried breathily. “I wish to be with my sisters.” She ignored Nesta’s glare. The crowd of circus performers had grown larger, though, and Elain shrank slightly under their bold stares. This was not the first impression she wanted to make.

It could not be any more obvious that Amarantha was judging Elain’s clumsy feet, her gloved hands, the timid roundness of her shoulders. Elain held her breath, fearful of being turned away. 

“I know just the role for you. You will be our fortune-teller. We lost our last one thanks to…an unfortunate accident.” 

“I am afraid I do not have any experience in the occult,” Elain blurted out defensively, so taken aback by the accuracy of Amarantha’s assignment. It was partially true, though. Experiencing sporadic visions was one thing; being skilled at “parlor tricks” or channeling specific readings was another. Still, Elain mentally kicked herself for spurning the offer. 

“Well? Simply make things up,” the ringmaster waved her hand condescendingly. “As long as the circus visitors are satisfied, you will be of use to me. And do tidy yourself up before we board the train.” Amarantha flashed Elain a gleaming white smile that possessed no warmth before she turned away.

Nesta sighed and motioned for Elain to follow her through the camp. Elain kept her head down, careful not to embarrass herself again. There was a feeling of unease writhing in the pit of her stomach like a black worm. It was distinct from nerves or embarrassment…the sensation was akin to a warning bell.  

Elain considered herself an open-minded, friendly lady, who didn’t have qualms with many people. But there was something peculiar about the way Amarantha assessed her, and she didn’t like it. No, Elain did not like it at all.

“We were lucky enough to have our own caravan,” Feyre said, interrupting Elain’s musings. “Come, let us put your cases inside.”

The caravan was painted in a rich green with ornate gold detailing. Glass windows and beautiful lanterns hanging by the door, as well as the fold-down wooden steps of polished dark wood, elevated the caravan’s standing beyond a covered wagon on wheels.

“It’s so small,” Elain commented doubtfully. 

“It’s much bigger inside, you will see.” The door swung on well-oiled hinges, revealing an unusually spacious setting. The first thing Elain saw was a copper tub—for bathing—positioned opposite a wooden table complete with green-cushioned wooden chairs. 

“At least we can stand upright here! Look, we have a bathtub,” Feyre explained excitedly. “Towels and soaps included. We can heat the water on the stove.” A small iron stove was situated in the caravan’s corner, its black slender chimney extending up and out of the wooden roof. 

It was beginning to dawn on Elain that, while the caravan was better than sleeping on the cold, hard ground, nothing would compare to the comforts of home. Since the maids always drew up warm baths upon request, tending a flame and heating up water bucket by bucket would be a harsh wake-up call to reality. Elain wasn’t even sure she could strike a match.  

An elegant wardrobe stood next to the tub, facing an upholstered sofa with plush velvet pillows. Thick curtains kept the sleeping area separate: the back end of the caravan was taken up by a large bunk bed. 

“I took the top bed already,” Feyre said, pointing to the top bunk where a circular window offered views to the outside world. “And Nesta took the bottom one. But there’s a separate bed on the side for you.” 

She had never been confined in such close proximity to her sisters. Elain’s bed was built into the caravan, with extra storage underneath. Across from her bed sat a small counter with a marble wash basin, and an ornate mirror hanging on the wall. Her cruddy face reflected back at her, pale and disheveled. Her first adventure started off on the wrong foot, but she made it, didn’t she? 

“It’s quite nice,” Elain finally said quietly. “Home sweet home for the next few months.” 

Saturday, March 16th, 1889

***Gwyn***

Birds of a feather flock together. Any stranger would have taken one look at Daphne’s auburn and Gwyn’s coppery-brown hair, their pale skin and willowy statures, and assumed them to be relatives. Gwyn had learned several key facts about the fire performer over the last few days. One: Daphne’s son, Lucien was 26. Just two years younger than Gwyn. Two: she hailed from Ireland, somehow surviving famine and political turmoil. Three: she was married to Beron Vanserra, the sour-faced, Spanish escape artist. Based on Gwyn’s limited observations of the two, Beron was hardly deserving of Daphne’s warmth and goodness. In fact, Daphne seemed to shrink back within herself whenever she was in her husband’s proximity.

Prythian’s Fantasia, Gwyn also learned, was transported from town to town via the great English railway system. Tents were taken down and bundled neatly, caravans were rolled onto flatcars and strapped down, and the performers bundled into carriages.

When they boarded the train to Bristol two days ago, Gwyn could have sworn some odd emotion passed between Daphne and an older man. The man was around Daphne’s age, with earthy brown skin and hazel eyes like that of a wise owl. Gwyn had seen him several times, for his muscled thighs and foreign features were unmistakable around the camp.

“Who is that gentleman?” Gwyn had whispered to Daphne as they sat down in the carriage. “The tall, dark one who just passed us by?” 

“Ah…that is Helion,” the lady murmured, looking down demurely. “He assists with the lights during the performance.” From the way Daphne’s fair cheeks mellowed out with color, Gwyn presumed there was more to the story than Daphne would divulge. But she didn’t want to pry when Daphne had just warmed up to her.

Tomorrow would be their first show in Bristol, and Gwyn was currently assisting the circus hands in setting up the music hall. An open-air tent of forest-green fabric had just been pitched. Signage was carefully hung. Polished boards were neatly aligned to form a sizable dance floor. The stage would be elevated by pushing together massive crates, artfully concealed by luxurious curtains and decor. 

Amarantha had taken Gwyn into Prythian’s Fantasia to fulfill a singer position in the music hall, but Gwyn had been stationed at the ticket booth for the last few nights with no indication of reassignment. Gwyn was itching to move on from the rote task of checking tickets. She wanted to sing!

Everyone listened whenever Gwyn began singing. Her mother had always spoken of merrow or morgen heritage from their Irish and Welsh ancestors, something Gwyn had always dismissed. Sirens were pure myth; and Gwyn had never seen the ocean, nor felt any draw towards the vast seas. But even she could not deny that her voice was unusually rich and magnetic. Catrin incessantly encouraged Gwyn to audition for London’s high-end music halls, but Gwyn much preferred to offer her talents free of charge at the local church choir. 

Sweat beaded Gwyn’s brow as she pushed against the massive crate. The church would never accept her now, after all she had done—been forced to do—at the brothel…and Catrin. Catrin would never get to hear her perform at a music hall ever again, not even this one—

Gwyn’s foot slipped in the mud. A pair of scarred hands positioned themselves next to her, assisting with the crate. 

“Careful.” Azriel’s voice was flat, but his hazel eyes were wary. “Severe flooding occurred in Bristol this week.” The corded muscles in his forearms flexed as he easily pushed the crate into the proper position. 

“Thank you,” Gwyn replied, wiping her brow. “Are you looking forward to the performance tonight?”

“I am always prepared.” Not exactly answering her question. But from the daggers that were sheathed along his belt, Gwyn had no doubt that Azriel practiced everywhere he went. 

“What are you doing here?” Tamlin, one of the circus musicians, rounded the corner with a hammer in his hand. His emerald gaze was fixed on Azriel, and Gwyn could have sworn Tamlin’s imaginary hackles were raised like a cornered dog. 

“Someone could not be bothered to quit their hammering to lend her a hand, so of course I had to assist,” Azriel replied shortly, his eyes narrowing with mirrored distaste. His scarred hands hung loosely at his side, within close reach of his daggers. 

There must be some history between Tamlin and Azriel, Gwyn decided, for Tamlin had been nothing but cordial towards her, Daphne, and Tarquin. First Daphne and Helion, now Tamlin and Azriel. Prythian’s Fantasia, it seemed, held an unusual amount of secrets under its glossy tents and sparkling performances. 

“Tamlin.” A clear, powerful voice rang out as the magician strode into the music hall with feline grace. Tamlin’s expression soured even further. “You have a new performer assignment for the music hall.”

“You do not give me orders, Rhysand,” Tamlin snarled as Rhysand smacked a thick stack of papers against his chest.

Rhysand smirked, his inky black hair the polar opposite to Tamlin’s golden blonde. “They’re Amarantha’s orders, not mine. I do feel sorry for you, Gwyneth, that your new colleague is acting like an uncouth beast.” 

“Me?” Gwyn squeaked. It was the first time the magician had interacted with her, and she was surprised that he knew her name. His handsome face was even a bit unnerving to look at, for it was cold as the morning frost. 

Rhysand’s violet eyes flicked towards her, faint amusement shimmering. He produced another stack of papers out of thin air and offered them to Gwyn with a courteous bow. “Amarantha has reassigned you to the music hall, as promised. Do inform me if Tamlin gives you any trouble.” 

“I would rather be a beast than a bootlicking turncoat,” Tamlin threw back coldly at Rhysand’s retreating back. Bootlicking turncoat? What happened between Tamlin and Rhysand? Gwyn was vaguely aware of Tamlin saying something about practice times, before realizing Azriel had disappeared as well. 

***Feyre***

The magician’s tent was far too easy to spot amongst the multitude of colored tents in the circus camp: it was midnight black. It was the key to getting her questions about her shadow capabilities answered. Of finally meeting someone who was like her. Years of wishes on evening stars culminating in this very moment. 

“Be still, o beating heart,” Feyre whispered to herself as she approached. To her surprise, the top of the magician’s tent was left open, bathing the space in sunlight. And there he was, leaning casually against a tent pole and fiddling with his top hat. The magician looked up slowly when she stepped across the threshold, like a cat waking up from a luxurious nap. 

He was still dressed in black, albeit in a more simple pair of pants and neatly creased shirt. Onyx black hair carefully combed and styled across his forehead, and his tan brown face close-shaven. The magician clearly maintained an impeccable appearance even while off-stage.

“You must be my new assistant, Feyre Archeron.” Feyre’s breath hitched at the smooth purr of voice, shaping the syllables of her name as if he was savoring sweet wine. “I was wondering when you would show up.��� 

“And you are…?”

“Rhysand,” the magician replied matter-of-factly, as if he was mildly offended she didn’t already know his name. He prowled towards her, mouth curving with an almost intimate smile. “But you may call me Rhys.”

“You are from Wales?” Feyre tracked his movements carefully, unsure of how to act around her new mentor. 

“My father is from Scotland, actually.” Rhys halted in front of her, close enough to border on impropriety. Dear lord—his deep blue eyes were hypnotizing. Already she was mentally tabulating the color combinations she could use to recreate the color of his eyes, for they were an unusual shade of violet. Like the color of amethyst gemstone mixed with sunset’s indigo. 

“I see.” Feyre doubted the validity of that statement, for Rhys’s brown nose and aquiline nose implied otherwise. 

“I heard you arrived here with not one, but two sisters. What is a darling like you doing in a circus like this?” Men who called ladies “darling” on the street were exactly the types of men Feyre rolled her eyes at. So why did she shiver with delight when Rhys said it? 

“My mother is very ill,” Feyre explained, tilting her chin up to maintain eye contact. “I sought Amarantha for help.” And you are the first person I’ve met who possesses the same gifts, she added silently.

Rhys’s brow creased slightly, and his sensual gaze chilled. “So you made a bargain with Amarantha.” Displeasure was laced in his tone. 

“Only six months of service for a healing potion. But since my mother’s condition is dire, Amarantha will give me the potion after a month,” Feyre explained, unsure of why he was frowning. 

“There is no such thing as only six months,” Rhys muttered, more to himself than her. While he appeared lost in thought, Feyre took the liberty of studying Rhys with an artist’s gaze, parsing every plane of his face, the details of his relaxed body. Surely a handsome man like him was married, right? It would be criminal—and alarming—if he wasn’t. 

The edges of Feyre’s attention span suddenly thinned and wavered, as if her thoughts were being scrambled up. Raw power thrummed in the air, thick enough to taste. Rhys tilted his head, darkness quickly evaporating into satisfaction. 

“What do you know about magic?” A double-edged question: was he inquiring about her skills with magic tricks, or was he somehow referring to the strange shadow capabilities she possessed? 

“Little enough for me to seek the master himself,” Feyre responded gamely. 

His beautiful mouth smirked as he closed the distance between them. Feyre leaned in, presuming he was about to kiss her…but Rhys’s hand brushed a lock of golden-brown hair behind her ear, producing a small silver chain with a delicate silver cross instead. 

“How did you do that?” Feyre blinked in crest-fallen confusion. 

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Rhys offered her a sly smile. “Allow me.” 

Feyre could only nod slightly, heart hammering in her chest as Rhys positioned himself behind her. She pressed her lips together tightly when his hands brushed the nape of her neck, lest she let out an inappropriate moan. How could such a simple touch bring forth such pleasurable sensations that traveled right down to her very toes? 

His fingers delicately scraped her skin again, as he slipped the silver cross under her collar and out of sight. The gesture was chaste, yet the sensation of intimacy hung heavy in the air. “I advise you to keep that cross on at all times…for your own good.”

“...What?” Feyre needed to remember to breathe. 

“It’s protection,” he replied simply. “Identification.”

“I am not keen on wearing something around my neck like a dog,” Feyre objected, feeling even more confused.  

“Then consider a gift from your mentor.” Rhys stepped back in front of her, putting a regretful amount of distance between them once more. 

“Mentor, are you? If I am to be your assistant, I think I should be privy to at least some of your secrets.” She smiled back teasingly, fingering the delicate chain. Violet eyes regarded her with molten intensity. Feyre smiled even wider. Good…it seemed Rhys was just as taken with her. It would be such a shame if he found her uninteresting. 

“If you wish to know some of my secrets, then let us begin your training.” 

✨

Tags: @velidewrites @reverie-tales @highladysith @shadowsxgwynriel @foxwithagoldeye @sunshinebingo @jealousveronya @corcracrow @fieldofdaisiies @the-lonelybarricade

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed this update! Maybe it took you 5 minutes to read it, but it took me several hours to write it. Would you rather read a paragraph of words an AI strung together over a fanfic with fun headcanons and character analysis, or published writing?

I hope your answer is no, and I hope you will show the same respect to artists by NOT supporting or reposting AI art, especially on TikTok. Artists spend YEARS honing their craft, so propping up AI art is the equivalent of supporting plagiarism. I'm tired of seeing people defending their use of AI images over genuine art in their fan edits because AI "look perfect". ACOTAR fandom, please do better.

#prythian's fantasia #elucien #gwynriel #feysand #acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #gwyneth berdara #feyre archeron

[inkareds]

Flying Together Miles Morales

nav // marvel m.list // ko-fi

✧.* word count: 3.3k ✧.* genre: Fluff ✧.* warnings: the reader is an aerialist so is assumed to be physically fit, but otherwise they are completely neutral

Miles finally realised how brave you truly were to be part of a circus troupe as an aerialist

This is heavily self-indulgent because I'm also an aerialist (mainly with lyra and silks) who desperately want to be able to do flying trapeze sometime in the future :')

"You do this without a safety net?!" Miles looked around as he walked into the gym space. All starry-eyed, he looked at the many aerialist training on their different apparatuses. 

“Well, the flying trapeze people get a foam pit, mostly because of space reasons.” You explained as you pointed over towards the specific area where a foam pit lay, on either side of the foam pit was a tower where people would climb and then perform their act. 

You couldn’t help but grin ear to ear as you watched Miles look around your space. The circus gym was like your second home at this point with how much time you’ve spent. So having him finally visit the space and meet all your teammates excited you. 

Miles looked about the space, it was built similarly to a gymnastic gymnasium. Though instead of the normal gymnastic apparatuses, everywhere he looked were gears for different kinds of circus acts. 

“Have you done all these?” He asked with so much admiration in his eyes that you couldn’t help but feel slightly flustered. 

“Not really,” you chuckled diverting your gaze from your boyfriend, “I’m an aerialist so I mostly stick to the aerial stuff. Y’know, like aerial hoop, aerial silks, static and flying trapeze oh but I’m also learning-” 

As you continued explaining, Miles listened to you intently. After all, it wasn’t every day he got to see you so passionate about something. He nodded along with what you were saying, not really understanding everything as you had now started to explain the semantics of being up in the air. He didn’t realise how complicated it was to actually be upside down until now, he just does it. Nothing happens thanks to his spider powers. 

But when it comes to you, you had to remember to breathe, remember not to be there for too long, and remember to engage your muscles lest you want to accidentally pull something. All of it became second nature to you once you got used to it. Though with him, all of it was second nature the moment he did it. He wondered if any of the other spider-people had to deal with the issues you talked about. 

Right as you started explaining about flying trapeze and your role in the performance your troupe was about to do very soon, one of your teammates called out to you. 

“Oh shit, I have to go, you can watch me practice if you want?” You shrugged off your jacket as you started your stretches. 

“Yeah, that’s cool.” He shrugged making his way over to the many benches on the side of the gym. 

Miles started to actually pay attention to the people around him the moment he sat down. 

There was someone in the aerial hoop apparatus teaching a student of theirs how to grip the hoop properly. Another person just got down from performing some flips on the silks only to groan at his burning hands, their spotters chuckling as they scolded him for not doing enough warmups. The final person he observed was you. You had just climbed up to the tower to get started on some flying trapeze routines. 

His eyes widened the moment he saw you confidently take off, your hands gripping the bar as your body swung by. He saw the large smile on your face as your core tightened to force your body to swing backwards and land back on the tower platform. 

You turned to speak something with your teammates, motioning to your hands before looking towards Miles and beaming him with a large smile all before jumping off again. At that moment he felt all the love he had for you rush to him like a crashing wave. Unbeknownst to you, he swung himself from building to building every single day. All with the knowledge that if he ever misstep, he had his healing factor, his inhuman strength, and his webs to catch him. 

But with you, every time you jump off that platform and you take off into the open air of the circus gymnasium, there’s nothing there to catch you if things went wrong. Only something to cushion your fall. Yet, you still do it, all with a massive grin on your face as you flipped around and a teammate catches you. 

He knows he isn’t special to be able to do what he does, there are thousands of spider-people out there doing the exact thing he did. Yet, when he looked around, seeing these truly fearless people put their trust into their hard work and muscles. When at any time they could fall, and those who didn’t do the trapeze, break a bone or injure themselves badly. He didn’t know how they could do it. 

Throughout the rest of your practice time, he had a warm feeling in his chest. 

~

When you finished, Miles insisted on walking you home. Joking about how it was the gentlemanly thing to do, to which you only responded by bumping his elbow. Stating how adorable he was when he tried to be chivalrous. Through the laughter and jokes, he finally asked you the question he had been dying to ask you ever since he saw you in action. 

“Do you not get scared?” You smiled at his question. 

“I used to, I still sometimes do, but whenever I do I just think about the fact that there’s this person out there who does exactly what I do but without the fixed routines and spaces I’m given.” You looked down at your feet as you explained, “When I think about it that way, I forget about being scared.”

Miles felt his chest tighten at your explanation. He knows you’re talking about Spiderman and the fact that his existence could make you feel that way makes him feel things. Though through the silence and wide eyes, he realised he needed to act normal about your statement. Quick, what would Miles who wasn’t Spiderman say to you at this moment?!

“Didn’t know you were such a fan.” He mumbled awkwardly after clearing his throat.

Shoving his hands in his pockets in an attempt to act casual. You rolled your eyes at his statement, lightly nudging his side. 

“I just think he’s pretty cool, that’s all.” Now Miles' eyes were wide open. 

“Really?” he elongated the y in the word. 

“Yeah, I mean he swings around and fights crime, who wouldn’t think he’s cool? Also, he does tricks in the air too! A lot of my teammates tried to do some of the tricks, they don’t do it as well though.”

“Well, I mean, he has powers, so I think his tricks are harder for normal people to do.” Miles rambled. “He also got his webs that lets him go anywhere, you don’t got that in trapeze or any of the other things there.” He explained. 

You nodded along with him, “I guess you’re right.” Miles couldn’t really pinpoint why, but he must’ve said something wrong as your expression fell slightly the moment he stopped talking. 

Before he could correct himself and lighten up the mood again, the two of you had reached the front of your flat. You both said your goodbyes, but the moment you got to your door you looked back to Miles. 

“You’re coming to my performance on Saturday, right?” You asked hesitantly. 

Miles nodded excitedly, “Of course I will.” 

His simple response made a bright smile creep its way to your face. 

“Alright, cause,” you hesitated, wondering if you should say it. “I based my routine off of you.” 

Before he could respond anything you opened the door to your flat and run in. Ignoring the fact that Miles stood there like a baby deer in headlights, shocked and speechless. Of course, all before a love-sick grin made its way to his face. He’s definitely looking forward to Saturday. 

~

When Saturday did come, you looked out the curtains when the first act had just finished to find that Miles wasn’t anywhere in the crowd. Your lips tightened into a thin line at the thought of Miles not making it to your big performance but you brushed it aside. He must just be late.

So, you toughened it out. There was still around an hour before your act, the final act. You wouldn’t be the sole flyer of the act, but you’d be the centre of everyone’s attention considering yours would be the furthest ones. 

You just hoped Miles was here to see it. 

To no knowledge of yours, Miles was currently trying to swing his fastest towards the location of your performance. He had decided to take up some daytime patrolling today, considering how he wouldn’t be able to do any of it at night due to being with you. But then he got way too caught up and one thing led to another, so now he was late.

As he swung around the city he passed by a street he frequented, a guy whose been watching him from across the block yelled out to him, phone in hand.

“Do a trick!” 

With a chuckle and, to be honest, for his ego, knowing it’ll be posted. He flew himself off his web and spun his body around in the air before webbing himself up from the ground before he could fall. The people around him cheered at him as he chuckled and quickly swung away in your direction. 

~

The time was nearing even more, the act right before your show had just wrapped up. You still hadn’t seen Miles around the audience. 

“Hey,” one of your catchers tapped your shoulders seeing how anxious you were getting, “He’ll show, don’t worry too much about it.” They spoke right before it was their turn to go up to the rig. 

You shook your head and gritted your teeth. They were right, Miles will show up, he knows how important this is to you. So, with a deep breath, you prepared yourself mentally for your performance. 

As the song started to play, you walked out with a bright smile. The crowd goes wild as the lights blared in your direction, blinding your view of the crowd. When the beat quickened you knew it was time for you to climb the trapeze rig and begin the tricks portion of your act. 

Your quickening heartbeat deafened your ears as you best to strain them to listen to the music beats through the loud noises of the crowd’s cheers. 

Though you didn’t see it, Miles had made it just in time. He realised he was extremely late, but knowing that your act was the final one he figured he’d still come in time to see your act. But because at this point all the seats were taken up, he stayed near the entrance of the show stage and watched from the corner. 

Miles mumbled your name under his breath when he saw the way you looked. You looked ravishing, your face caked with stage makeup and a shiny costume. Despite how far away you were from where he was watching his senses let him see you much closer than anyone else. 

He cemented the way you looked in his memory, wanting to sketch this in his book later on. But just as you were getting to the last hold to get up to your rig, your hand missed the hold. Almost on instinct, Miles readied to lunge forward his costume still underneath his civilian outfit. But, one of your teammates grabbed a hold of your hand and pulled you up. 

He saw the way your expression fell from the careless mistake. Why were you so nervous? Your head slightly turned towards the audience and he realised why you were nervous. You were looking for him. Miles immediately beat himself up for it, but he stepped forward a little towards the light. Hoping you would catch his eyes. 

You scanned the room a couple of times, your heart dropping at every second you didn’t see your boyfriend. But finally, your eyes met his, and just like that, all the anxious energy in your heart dissipated. 

“You got this.” Miles mouthed towards you. 

He knew you probably wouldn’t be able to see it, not with all the bright spotlight in your eyes. But from the way your eyes lit up and your smile got even larger, he realised it didn’t matter what he said to you. The fact that he was there at all was enough. 

Funny, he thought to himself. After all, the fact that you were there with him, despite not knowing the secrets he withheld from you, was also enough for him. 

With your confidence boosted you performed. 

Along with the music and the practised routine of your teammates, all of you performed with pizzazz. Miles watched and cheered along with the audience. Yelling slightly louder than the people around him more than once. 

When your final move came, you took a deep breath. You had only successfully tried this trick once, amongst the countless times you had practised it. You knew it was possible, after all, it is an official move. But no one else in your gym had been able to get it right. 

You wanted to get it right. 

You had to. 

After all, your choreo was dedicated to Miles Morales. You needed to hit this trick. 

Opening your eyes wide, you let the wind catch you as you leapt off the platform. The wind against your skin, your mind focused on the next things you had to do. For a moment, time slowed down. 

You could feel your palms burning from all the tricks you’ve been doing. You could feel the sheen of sweat and the way your stage makeup refused to melt off. You could hear the way the crowd’s breath hitched at the final trick. You had to make it. You will make it. 

Swinging ones to the front you pulled your body back for the momentum. When your body was high enough you immediately threw yourself forward, propelling yourself to the sky right at the moment you see the catcher in front of you leap from her own platform. 

The moment you let go of your bar you willed your body to stand in the air as your hands folded in front of your chest and you forced yourself to twist upon itself. Spinning mid-air, a full twisting double. 

Miles' eyes blew wide the moment you landed the trick, as you fell to the ground your catcher immediately took your hands in theirs and flung you to the other platform as crowds cheered. He stood there, frozen. 

That was Spiderman’s trick. You landed Spiderman’s trick. 

When the realisation hit him, he erupted into cheers. His own applauses were drowned out by the crowd but as he watched you take your bow he realised you were just looking at him. 

After your bows, you ran backstage and Miles followed. 

Behind the stage, acrobats and aerialists were already taking off their greasy makeup. Congratulating and hugging everyone they come across with tears in their eyes. Months of work and training have finally come to a close. And the show was a hit. 

Throughout the rush of people congratulating you for your success, you weaved around from them. Of course, you expressed your gratitude, but you needed to see someone else right now. 

Miles embraced you the moment he saw you. Not caring about your sweaty body or your stage makeup, not even your chalky hands that definitely left an imprint on his clothes. He only wanted to hold you right now. 

“You were incredible!” He enunciated every word, a bright smile on his face as he continuously cheered for you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here from the start but the way all of you were just flying in the air! And that trick you did halfway through where you flipped mid-air?! How’d you do that?!” 

Miles wouldn’t stop talking as he kept complimenting your performance. 

“I’m just going to change and take all of this off real quick, wait for me?” Miles nodded enthusiastically. 

“Well, duh.” You chuckled before going to the dressing room to change. 

~

When you got back to Miles he was already ready to walk you home. The way back home was quiet, mainly because the adrenaline within the two of you finally ran its course. What was left was exhaustion on your part and a busy mind trying to process everything that just happened on Miles’ part. 

Because he was doing all of that, one moment stuck out to him. The last move, the last trick, was supposed to be the most special trick. It was the closing move and if your choreography was dedicated to him, why did you do Spiderman’s trick?

“Hey, what was that last trick you did?” Miles started. With the way your eyes lit up, he realised you were waiting for him to realise. 

“It’s a full-twisting double.” You smiled. 

“Oh- huh- guess you gotta sneak a move for Spiderman in there? Right?” he joked. 

Though his heart stopped when you stopped walking. Miles turned around to find you staring at him. 

“Is something wrong?” he started, slowly getting antsy. 

“Miles,” you spoke, “You know you’re not good at hiding it, right?” His mind ran a thousand different scenarios. Though it landed on one. 

“Pshhh, what? What are you talking about?” He shrugged, averting his gaze from you. 

“That wasn’t for Spiderman, that was for you, Miles Morales, my Spiderman.” You stepped closer towards him. 

“What?! Spiderman? Oh you mean like, you idolise me and stuff. I don’t know nothing about Spiderman.” He rambled on as took step after step closer to him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

To cut him off, you pulled him in for a kiss. Both your lips crash into one another in an unsynchronised manner. Miles let himself be shushed in favour of your affection. When you did pull away, he chased after you, causing you to slightly chuckle. 

With the way, you looked at him, all doe-eyed and in love. He couldn’t help but admit it. 

“How’d you find out though?” He said with a lop-sided grin. 

“Well,” And then you began explaining. It started with the inconsistencies. 

There were times when he’d disappear and you’d ask him where he went off to only for him to tell one story and then tell a completely different one the next time you asked him. At first, you thought he was hiding something else, but then other things started happening. 

The biggest one was the first time you showed off one of your tricks to him on video and his reaction, safe to say wasn’t like most people. 

“What if I was just some guy who wasn’t easily impressed?!” Miles argued. 

“Nope! That’s not it! You started talking to me about the physics of it and like the momentum and stuff. Something only someone who has done it would know about! That alone wouldn’t have been suspicious but c’mon with all the other stuff?! It was just a matter of time before when I’d get it!” 

Miles groaned while his head hung long. Though not long after he smiled. 

“Guess I didn’t have to worry about anything at all huh?” You shook your head at his response. 

It was true, he shouldn’t have worried about telling you his secret. You would’ve figured it out either way, but there was no harm in telling you. The most it would change was you’d be much more understanding now and he wouldn’t have to lie to you so much. 

A comfortable silence slipped between the two of you as you made the final stretch towards your home. A silence that was broken by your voice. 

“So, could you train with me with your webs when I can’t go to the gym?”

“No.”

#miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles x reader #miles morales x you #miles x you #spiderman atsv #atsv #spiderman #spiderman x you #spiderman x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman itsv #itsv

[dragonofeternal]

2 tag memes

I got tagged in two different memes this week! Yaaay~

Current things tag meme!

Tagged by @ghoul-misadventures

3 ships: Millionsummers, Vashwood, LeoJoker

Last song: "radio protector" by 65daysofstatic

Currently reading: The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle

Currently watching: I don't really watch a lot of TV, but I have been on and off binging through the "how it's actually made" parody dub-overs by huggbees on youtube. I also want to check out Flanagan's "Fall of the House of Usher" but starting shows is hard for me XDD

Last movie: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh assuming that hours long youtube documentaries don't count, then I think the last thing I watched might have been the fucking FF7 Advent Children Director's Cut that we rewatched over the summer. (I feel like I've watched something since then but I can't. Remember. What it would have been. So. Yeah.)

Currently consuming: After binging through it in like 2 days, I am now more slowly replaying through Paranormasight

Currently craving: hot chocolate bc it's really cold and rainy here =A=

15 people 15 questions tag meme

tagged by @rosemirmir!

1. are you named after anyone? My first name is the name of my cut-throat great- (or was it great-great?) grandmother who earned the family fortune, and my middle name came from my mom's college roommate.

2. when was the last time you cried? Uhhhh... Like... a couple therapy sessions ago? I have a really good therapist, so we're working on a lot of shit, but unfortunately that means I cry somewhat frequently ><

3. do you have kids? Nope! Not really my scene, but more power to those who do.

4. what sports do you play/have you played? I did basketball on and off in elementary school, and my high school tried to get me to join the basketball team there too, but uhhh I wanted to do theatre more and I only had time to do one or the other. Not a "sport" but I'm gonna be taking an aerial silks class soon!

5. do you use sarcasm? Never. (yes)

6. what’s the first thing you notice about people? I don't. (I dunno? Height? I'll be honest and say I'm not the most observant about other people lol)

7. what’s your eye color? Blue~

8. scary movies or happy endings? That's a weird dichotomy to present XDDD I guess happy endings if we're talking movies, because I prefer horror in games, writing, comics, and audio mediums slightly more than movies.

9. any talents? Writing and acting spring to mind as two that are both "I've always been fairly talented in this" and "I have worked a lot to hone this skill."

10. where were you born? DC~

11. what are your hobbies Numerous. Uhhh, I write, I draw, I play video and tabletop games, I take walks, I enjoy watching anime and getting way too serious about it.....

12. do you have any pets? We have four cats at home! Two are technically "mine" and Killians, and two are technically Pat's, but yeah. They're good kitties

13. how tall are you? 5'9"

14. favorite subject in school? History! (Though I also honestly very much enjoyed Math bc it was one of the easiest to keep on top of homework and shit in lol)

15. dream job Honestly I'm really, really happy with my current job. It's not anything I necessarily would have expected being like HOMGORZ DREAM JOBBBBB but it's like? Really fulfilling and enjoyable? So uh. Admin for an LGBTQ Health Equity Center XDDD.

tagging @rosemirmir @ghoul-misadventures @arahith @onlines @clockworkspider @setsuntamew @ehyde @jacenbren @orcelito @xx-bluesummers-xx and whoever else feels inspired to do either of these in the most "seriously no pressure guys just do it if you feel like it" way XDD

#long post #tag meme #state of the liz

[awritingcaitlin]

15 OC Questions Tag

@sam-glade tagged me for this and uh, we'll go with Rinnie I guess!

I'll put the questions under the cut. 💜

Tagging: @legiomiam, @sentfromwolves, @tananaphone, @saphoblin, and @carrotblr (softly no pressure)

Are you named after anyone?

Sorta after my great-grandmother, but it's a shortened version of her name. My given name is Riona. Her name was Caitriona.

2. When was the last time you cried?

How about we don't ask this question! (It was like, last week, when my friend found out her fiance had died. I cried with her.)

3. Do you have kids?

No. But also I'm only 117 and it's not really expected yet. They'll start getting on me once it's been another century.

4. Do you use sarcasm?

No. Not at all.

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Hair, usually. Then what they're wearing.

6. What's your eye colour?

Blue. I'm frequently told they look like the ocean.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings please. I've seen so much shit in the world.

8. Any special talents?

I can do calculus in my head. I'm assuming we're not talking about the fact that I can also light things on fire with pyromancy, right?

9. Where were you born?

At home! My mother had a home team of midwives and doctors. Home is in Edansa, an island chain. We live not far from a beach.

10. What are your hobbies?

Swimming, reading, doing math, ribbon (aerial silks) dancing, other forms of dancing...

11. Have you any pets?

Not at the moment, but I think one day I might get a bird.

12. What sports do you play/have you played?

I was a professional surfer at one point. And I mentioned dance, right?

13. How tall are you?

5'3 but the hair gives me at least another 2-3 inches.

14. Favourite subject in school?

Math. Science was a close second. History was third. English was fourth. And that's just of the core ones.

15. Dream job?

I'll spare you the rant about me getting forced into the Navy. Also this is a very complicated question and I am just going to not answer, actually. Thanks.

#rinnie #my characters #tag game #15 oc questions

[pattysplaceofplaces]

I love the Trapeze art, and the headcanons from the shipping post. I’m interested in the Trapeze’s story!

What are their pronouns? Same as yours?

What are their LBGTQ+ identity labels?

How did they get into VILE? How did they meet Tigress?

What is their relationship with Carmen like?

Do they get along with characters other than Tigress?

What type of missions do they get sent on? What is their favorite caper they have been on?

-Anon 1

I’m glad you like them! I’ll definitely posting more content of them.

For the first question they go by any pronouns, they don’t really care what they’re perceived as and for them it’s not like it’s bad to be call by a certain gender pronoun. Although they mostly get called she/her because of the biological female body.

A chaotic pansexual and omnigender (basically they can be perceived as any gender without caring too much about it)

Patty was the quiet kid. The doormat, the one who was ignored unless someone needed something, it was easier for teachers to pretend she didn’t exist or assume she was lazy rather than see she was struggling. She was intelligent but not skilled when it came to academics. After having enough of taking shit from everyone she just left. No one knows where she went, there was no records of her besides her school records, the address given to the school didn’t exist as well as her parent’s phone numbers. Rumors spread like wildfire. Some say she was an alien, something made by the government, a ghost, the cause of a gas leak or mass hallucination. Where had she gone? With no leads her investigation was closed the same day it started. It’s not like anyone was there to grieve her disappearance and there was more important things to deal with.

In the beginning of the year they were assigned as partner’s in Coach Brunt’s class. Because they were familiar with each other they partnered up whenever they could because it made things easier. Both of them saw there was more to this person than meets the eye and in their curiosity they started to get to know each other.

Patty claimed to be some normal girl who just had a natural talent for thriving yet Sheena knew it didn’t add up. Patty acted like she was confident, like she belonged there yet Sheena could spot how she nibbled on her hair, got quiet when put on the spot, apologize for every little thing, excuse herself from the group to be alone so she could calm her anxious self down and get back out there.

Sheena was labeled as the princess, the golden girl, the primadonna yet Patty could see there was something more to her. She may have punched the wall in a fit of anger yet her voice trembled, how she would look at herself in the mirror with a troubled expression when she thought no one noticed.

They were two lost souls with no place to call home so they found home in each other.

Patty understands Carmen yet also disagrees with her. She doesn’t understand the point of being a hero, having to be held to such high expectations to everyone around her. Patty can be who she wants to be and not care about the public eye like she used to. Although she does wish for the freedom that Carmen has. She doesn’t spare her during their interactions but doesn’t try to kill Carmen and will also try to sneak past her first if it’s possible.

Friends: Crackle, El Topo, Thunderbird

Acquaintances: Dash Haber, Mime Bomb, Le Chevre

Stays away from: Amelia/Heartache, Paper Star, Neal the Eel

Patty likes to act so they may be a diversion, like perhaps they cause an elaborate scene while Tigress gets the goods. When they’re with Tigress they are definitely a lot more confident in their abilities. They also act as support for an operative during an operation. They’re extremely quiet and the cuffs on their wrists/ankles release the aerial silks they use with hooks that can latch onto walls as well as small inflatable rings. That means they can tie someone up, disorient them with the silks, or help someone escape. They do want to do a caper on their own but is often disregarded by faculty, seen as a low ranking operative that they don’t care about losing.

#Carmen Sandiego #carmen sandeigo 2019 #Carmen Sandiego oc #Carmen Sandiego self insert #Patty/The Trapeze #Anon 1 #Thanks to Anon 1 for letting me ramble!

[wellesleyunderground]

Pandemic Pregnancy by Jess Sirizzotti ‘10 (@JezRebelle)

Having your first kid during a global pandemic makes for a very weird experience. Though the much anticipated “quarantine baby boom” turned out not to be the reality, there were still many pregnancies that started, continued, or wrapped up in 2020-2021.

Being pregnant during a pandemic is about as isolating as you’d expect. Reduced immunity plus *gestures vaguely* everything meant that a lot of people grew a person in unprecedented ways. What I struggled with the most (beyond the overarching panic and dread of a world on fire) was that there was no benchmarking. I could have made it nine months at work before telling anyone, because they only saw me on video conference from the clavicle up. There were no hospital tours, no childbirth classes, no expectant parenting groups. 

Whenever you’re going through it, there seems to be no middle ground between dry, evidence-based medicine and projecting yourself entirely into the astral plane for communing with the ancestors. Here are a few things that helped me through my pregnancy, and some things I wish I’d known earlier.

Illustration Credit: Mercedes deBellard

Prep work

There are plenty of guides about how much you should have saved or what kind of physical shape you should be in. Some of that is helpful.

Oddly missing from those guides is “get a handle on your traumas.” Talk to a therapist. Talk to a partner. Talk to yourself in a diary where you ask yourself questions about what you want to carry with you and what terrifies you about having a kid. There are questionnaires for people donating living organs, and it does not hurt to say, “Hey, if there is a problem with ANY OF THE MYRIAD OF THINGS THAT CAN GO WRONG, how would I work through those feelings? What are the boundaries I want for this process that will make me feel safer or in control?””

If you’re getting pregnant with someone who will raise this kid with you, get into it with them. Have very specific conversations about what you will do about parental leave, diapers, daycare, requests for tattoos from a twelve-year-old. My husband and I would read the Care & Feeding parenting column from Slate, debating how we would handle the conundrums of different letters before getting the “answer” from the columnist.

Also, get as full a picture of family pregnancy as you can. You might know your own birth story, but what about the other half of the genetics you’ll be juggling? I, personally, managed to mash up my MIL’s hyperemesis gravidarum and my mom’s gestational diabetes which has been...not a great time.

And ask *lots* of questions. I had pretty low-stakes issues making it into the world, but it turns out all my dad’s generation of siblings all needed to stay in the NICU. My dad had multiple full-body blood transfusions in his first days. That would have been helpful to know!

That said, what I was most shocked to learn is that there is no way to know what kind of pregnancy you’re going to have until you’re in it. Even if you’ve had a kid before—you can have wildly different experiences! There’s literally no way to know in advance!

Pro tip: you can’t know for certain what pregnancy will be like for you, but getting a broad picture can help it seem less like a cliff jump into the unknown.

Getting pregnant will take longer than you think

Once again, for those in the back, GETTING PREGNANT WILL TAKE LONGER THAN YOU THINK. 

For starters, you will need to stop not getting pregnant, which has been the focus of most young adult lives since your fertility started. I had to get my IUD removed and also get revaccinated for a bunch of things (rubella, flu, tetanus). If you were on the pill, it may take a few months to get everything out of your system. Then, you will do something to try to get pregnant and wait for two weeks. Whether it takes two weeks, two months, or ten years—it will feel like a very long time.

Especially because by this point, I felt ready to have a child. I looked at the calendar and thought, “Oh good, the kid will be X horoscope sign. They’ll have their birthday during the school year. Their birthday will be X year, and that will be easy to remember.” I made plans.

And then I just...didn’t get pregnant. And kept not getting pregnant. Every month of getting my period was so frustrating. I had charted my cycle! I had taken my temperature to figure out if I was ovulating! I swallowed these giant prenatal vitamins that are the size of a human toe!

Some people do get pregnant instantly, and many blessings on their ultra-efficient plumbing. Some people get pregnant when they don’t want to, and they should be able to have a choice about whether to have those kids. 

For most people, there will be a while between deciding to have a child through pregnancy and getting one started. It is happening everywhere, to countless people, and is one of the hardest, loneliest, most unintelligible experiences—made worse by the fact that people are shoving their feet into their own faces around you for the entire experience. You’re surrounded by people getting pregnant (magically! easily! with barely a whisper of effort!), people asking you when you will become pregnant, people congratulating you on not being pregnant because you can go out, drink, get really into aerial silks, etc. And you will have to not punch them in the face.

If you are under 35, most doctors will not even talk to you about fertility issues until you have tried for a year. That’s a minimum of twelve cycles of trying, twelve “I feel really good about this month” conversations, twelve pregnancy tests that say you’re not pregnant, twelve months at a job you may not like but stay at because they have good parental leave benefits or insurance coverage.

After a year (and after you get on their schedule) a fertility specialist can offer you fun adventures like getting dye injected into your fallopian tubes to see if they’re blocked, approval to shoot yourself up with expensive hormones (at home! with a real needle!), and any of the other amazing methods technology and medicine have discovered that tweak any of the multitude of handoffs that need to happen for a pregnancy to “take.”

If I can ask one thing, assume at least one person in earshot of your public conversation is trying to get pregnant and can’t—and be a little kinder.

Pro tip: get the cheaper pregnancy tests with lines rather than the electronic ones with words, because there are few bigger downers than seeing “NOT PREGNANT” month after month.

Find a practitioner you like

Because eventually, you will want to strangle them. It’s important to start with someone you like, so that the strangling phase will be late in the pregnancy and not a sustained hatred for nine full months.

Whether you’re pregnant or working with a reproductive specialist, having someone who listens to you will help. Some people cannot deal with hippie woo woo, some cannot imagine a pregnancy that’s all medical jargon. If you’re a person of color or want to have certain cultural traditions respected from the get-go, vetting at the beginning can avoid being at loggerheads later. Take some time to reflect on good and bad medical experiences you’ve had, and if you have options, choose someone who will not make you hyperventilate every time you have an appointment.

For me, I knew I needed a doctor who would not give me a hard time about weight gain. I have a history of disordered eating and (pre-pregnancy) was competing as a super heavyweight lifter, so am used to plenty of unsolicited opinions about my weight and what I should be doing with it. Pregnancy is fraught enough to take a single off-hand comment to an extreme, and I was deeply uninterested in negotiating an anorexia relapse while battling all the pregnancy changes.

If you have some time, shuffle up your pre-pregnancy appointments to get a feel for different doctors. I pulled up ZocDoc for my insurance network and came up with some finalists: had my annual exam by one, my IUD taken out by another, and my MMR re-vaccine done by a third. I knew my practice was right for me when the doctor offered to take all weight measurements patient-blind for the entire pregnancy.

Pro tip: think about what style of doctoring would make you feel better during this time, and give yourself the gift of one less thing to stress about.

Taking information in

Like the best of us, I enjoy a Wikipedia rabbit hole. I’m an especially good finder and am frequently tagged in as the friend who can unearth the secret Tumblr or yearbook photo of an elusive crush. I can find anything, and have a Jeopardy-level mental trapper keeper for bizarre edge-cases.

This is...not great for pregnancy, especially when unleashed on the “seems legit” constellation of mommy blogs. There are a million things that can go wrong with a pregnancy, and past a certain point, knowing more does not make you more likely to avoid or survive them.

Think of it like a fractal. Having the general shape of the tree: useful. Hyperfocusing so hard on one of the branches that you lose days in front of the computer screen, diving deeper into medical texts and unconfirmed narratives until you completely glaze over: less so.

Knowing this about myself helped me manage the unceasing amount of feedback offered by everyone from doctors to bystanders. I limited myself to one book (Emily Oster’s Expecting Better, which is wonderful), a doctor I trusted, and small doses of the Wellesley pregnancy group. I still couldn’t stop myself from reading every op-ed about miscarriage and stillbirth, but I was able to process them as things I was choosing to read instead of a compulsion I could not turn off.

Pro tip: really think about how much information serves you. It can feel like knowing every little thing will make you an expert who is ironclad against any malady. That’s, unfortunately, not how it works.

Sending information out

Like information gathering, you’ll want to decide how, when, and who to share information with. Having a pandemic pregnancy gave me a lot more power over when I disclosed than I would have had normally—I was sick as hell and it would have been a first-month discussion at work rather than a third-month one. It has allowed others to have entire pregnancies in private, only announcing when the baby has been delivered.

I found it helpful to think of pregnancy updates in concentric rings: my husband and I in the innermost circle, immediate family and some friends next, wider friend group and extended family, and then everyone else. I didn’t have to give minute-by-minute updates to everyone in the world if I didn’t want to, and a quick “Oh actually that’s private” was usually enough to keep any especially nosy questions to a minimum.

There were people who surprised me with wanting to know much more, and some who heard “baby” and unsubscribed. Both are fine!

Pro tip: if at all possible, curate a group of friends who are far from having first kids so that you can be assured of a rapt audience of “WHAT can happen??” Plus, at least one friend with a recent kid who’s very organized who can tell you what’s helpful to buy and what is BS.

Particular pandemic weirdness (good and bad)

While it has been lonely, it has also been wonderfully private. Some particular strange markers:

It is very odd to go from several months of zero physical contact with anyone outside my apartment directly into an intravaginal ultrasound.

My husband is going to meet our doctor at the delivery, because no one except patients is allowed past the lobby at our practice.

I will likely not need to buy any maternity clothes, because my pandemic outfits of blousy shirts and stretchy pants to work from home will suit perfectly.

No one touches my stomach unless I want them to.

Remote birthing classes allow you to snicker as much as you’d like from the comfort of your couch.

Things I did not know and wish I had

The way they count how far along you are starts from the first day of your last period. That is not when you got pregnant, but is the easiest way to have a consistent range for all patients (who may or may not be tracking ovulation spikes).

It is normal to have spotting-level breakthrough bleeding at some point during your pregnancy. The books will tell you this. Your doctor will tell you this. I am telling you this now. It will not make a damn bit of difference, because the moment you see blood, you will panic and be certain you are having a miscarriage. No one will be able to convince you otherwise until you get checked out.

Your entire digestive system slows waaaay down to accommodate a pregnancy, and is part of the reason for nausea. I had heard that you will need to pee all the time, but hadn’t heard that you will almost entirely stop pooping. And then once a week, you will crap yourself inside out.

The placenta can grow wherever it wants, including smack-dab over your cervix. This offends me more than I can say. That’s where the baby needs to go out! (C-section is required in these cases)

A cesarean birth is a horizontal cut, like an envelope opening and then they squeeze the baby through it. I always pictured it vertical, like opening a book.

Acronyms are a minefield on pregnancy forums. For months, I read posts thinking “FTM” meant “female-to-male trans person” instead of “first-time mom.” Don’t be afraid to Google to keep your bearings, but also feel free to create your own—DH can be “Dear” or “Damn” Husband depending on context.

“Morning sickness” is a misnomer. It can happen all day. It can happen for your whole pregnancy, though most women see a gradual decrease after the first trimester. I’m mid-way through my third trimester, and still throwing up six times a day. If I had known that earlier, I would not have tried to “stick it out” for as long as I did: cooking meals from scratch, insisting that pre-packaged snacks were for wimps. If you are sick, get comfortable EARLY. You don’t get extra points or a better baby for staying miserable, so you might as well lean in to Couch and Cheese Central. If it clears up, great. If not, at least you’re not already tired from trying too hard.

Around 4% of babies are born on their due dates. Do not assume your third trimester will be the length you would like it to be. My doctor has proposed a 37 week induction (because of all the sickness and gestational diabetes). While that is technically full-term, that news was given to me in such a way that low-balled the panic of being A FULL MONTH EARLY. As in, LOSING A THIRD OF THE TRIMESTER.

The baby is lower than you may expect—actual location is generally half-way between navel and nethers. If you’re patting the top of a pregnant person’s stomach (with their permission), you are far away from where the kid is.

There is no good news during a pregnancy. The best you can hope for is continuing to meet the baseline. I am so much more understanding of gender reveal parties, because it is literally the only test result that you can have an opinion about. No ultrasound or blood test will come back with, “Congratulations, your child is gifted!” or “They’re going to be so good at tennis!” It is nine straight months of finding out you’re high risk or not for sickle-cell anemia or tuberculosis. I stopped writing them down after awhile because it felt like every one was, “Oh damn, I didn’t even know we were still concerned about that.”

“Round ligament pain” is the technical term for sharp, stabbing pain in your groin caused by all the ligaments in your hips and crotch helpfully loosening to allow for gestation and birth. This can start as early as 14 weeks, which one would think is way too fricking early for it, but nope. You’d be wrong. The general recommendation for this is to keep your knees together, to which I say, “That particular ship has left the harbor.”

#wellesley underground #pregnancy #pandemic pregnancy

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 42 (epilogue)

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse.

NEW WARNING - fictional police brutality. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Masterlist on my profile!

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer @silver-stormy . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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

Three years later.

After the Icebox rescue, Piotr had taken another leave of absence from the X-Men until he was sure Rhonda could take care of herself. The Rasputins argued for months about whether he should rejoin at all, knowing all too keenly the possibility of being snatched up by the DMC. They had settled on a reluctant compromise that he would alternate a month of active duty with a month off.

Rhonda never rejoined the X-Men, and never again tagged along with Piotr on a mission, no matter how Wade tried to bait her. She did, however, hammer into every single active duty member about being careful and made them promise that if they ran into DMC, to either kill them or run. Scott and some of the other members shook their heads and whispered about Rhonda being paranoid, but Piotr, Ororo, Ellie, Yukio, Hank, and Kurt knew better, and they frequently drilled simulations of fighting the DMC. Just in case.

When Piotr eventually resumed active duty, Rhonda was so anxious that she would be nauseous until he came home. Though she had been resistant to getting into therapy at first, she’d found an unexpected friend in Michelle. When they got past their tension and awkwardness of seeing each other as “the other woman,” Michelle made a lot of helpful suggestions. Rhonda started seeing someone Michelle had highly recommended - a therapist who was also a mutant and specialized in helping other mutants. They worked together well, and over time Rhonda worked past her trauma to a life she cherished.

--

A dance class sprang up at the Xavier School. It wasn’t quite ballet or modern dance, but it encouraged students to seek out multiple forms of dance and see how they can fit together. Rhonda studied and gained certification to teach aerial silks and started teaching a handful of students in an additional silks class. Yukio was her first silks student, and she became a skilled aerialist in her own right.

Rhonda found she enjoyed making choreography and videos to her favorite songs. She got her prison tattoos completely covered with a floral pattern that matched the zhostovo tray from her in-laws, just like the way Piotr had painted on her a few times. It was a lengthy process, but once her cover-up sleeve was done, Rhonda started posting videos under the pseudonym Zhostovo. When her following had built enough that people in the comments were begging for lessons, she realized she had outgrown the single room in the Xavier house.

A short drive away, Piotr and Rhonda found a great spot to build a larger studio. There was enough space to teach good sized classes and with the equipment put away, it converted to a beautiful soundstage for recording videos. Friends frequently visited and collaborated - Cable moved the camera or Rhonda herself for dreamlike effects, Russell had developed incredibly fine control with his abilities and was sometimes asked to help with some pyrotechnics. Piotr, Ellie, Yukio, and Wade found themselves in front of the camera a few times when Rhonda asked them to feature or perform a duet with her. Yukio was by far her favorite silks collaborator - it helped that they had similar electric abilities and made that part of their choreography as well.

Piotr lent his talents to paint gorgeous backdrops for some of the videos, and painted murals around the exterior of the studio, which eventually came to be called the Rasputin Performing Arts Center.

--

The court case against the DMC was messy, to say the least. Including Rhonda, there had been nine mutants who had been proven to be kidnapped and thrown into the Icebox with none of their rights honored - no phone call, no lawyer, nothing. For most of the Icebox Nine, as the media had called them, there weren’t even records of them in the Department of Mutant Control’s databases. The DMC itself dodged and weaved around accusations, using the lack of official record to try to discredit the prosecution, declaring it a ridiculous conspiracy theory.

Public perception was mired in reconciling the facts that there were many dangerous criminal mutants imprisoned in the Icebox, and also many who had been detained illegally - the true number of which was impossible to determine if they weren’t even on record. Never mind guessing how many had died over the years before they could be rescued. People didn’t want to believe both things were possible and true, and it gave Rhonda and Piotr a sick feeling their case would ultimately go nowhere, no matter how determined their attorney was.

Rumor had it that the DMC had closed the Icebox and had built a new prison in an undisclosed location. Professor Charles Xavier enlisted hackers to once again find whatever plans they could, but came up dry.

--

The Zhostovo YouTube channel grew quickly. Zhostovo herself was known for incredibly expressive choreography. At first, her videos were uncut wide shots of her rolling some floorwork across her studio space, or wrapped in silks in the air with her hair dyed to match, or sometimes moving through thin air, suspended by nothing the camera could see. She started with performing to songs from the early 2000s, before branching out to more recent hits. Her videos became more complex, with multiple camera angles, close ups, and special effects that at first viewers assumed were digital, until she published a video revealing that she was a mutant, and introduced the other mutants who helped make her videos by adding fire, fog, glowing sparks, and numerous other effects. In a matter of months, maybe a year, people started saying they preferred her videos over the musicians’ official, record label-produced videos.

Zhostovo’s performances for “Work Song” and “Someone New” by Hozier were what skyrocketed her channel’s popularity. There was a bone-chilling soulfulness she poured into those that resonated with many Hozier fans. Zhostovo made a few TV appearances, always flanked by her husband, whose steel form towered over everyone else, and at least one other mutant from the group she had introduced in her videos. She wasn’t young, but her hair was always dyed bright colors, and she had flower petals tattooed on one cheek, matching the folk painting style of the sleeve on her right arm. She was also an outspoken mutant rights activist, and made it clear that she wanted to show the world - humans and mutants alike - that extraordinary abilities can be used for fun and art and self-expression. She emphasized that most mutants were not the violent monsters conservative news stations made them out to be, and that believing them would cost lives every day.

--

On an early spring day, when things were green but there was still a little chill in the air if the sun wasn't out, Rhonda and Piotr were having a picnic on her grave, a special date they did a few times a year. The plot had been converted into a little garden, with just enough of a clear spot in the middle to fit two people having lunch. The granite headstone still stood with the erroneous year of death chipped away, but it was surrounded with rosemary and wildflowers. The season’s first bees bobbed along, looking for the most open flowers, and Rhonda’s grave was easily the brightest and most lively spot in the private cemetery. 

Rhonda’s smile tugged at the flower petal tattoos that covered the old prison tear drops. She gently waved a bee away from her sandwich before taking a bite. Piotr plucked a little sprig of rosemary and added the leaves to his sandwich before starting in on it. 

“You’re quiet today,” Piotr observed. “You seem like you’re in a good mood, but quiet.” He sipped some of the white wine they had packed. He had armored down, and was now able to hold it for hours at a time. He'd kept his beard - it was thick, neatly trimmed, and had just gotten its first touches of grey.

Her eyes crinkled more as she smiled around her bite of food. When she swallowed, she took a deep breath. “I got an email this morning,” she began. “I didn’t wanna say anything about it until I was sure it was real, you know?”

Piotr regarded his wife carefully, playful suspicion growing. “Sladkaya, an email from who?”

The cemetery was quiet, but she looked around anyway, as if checking for an unwelcome eavesdropper. The wildflowers and herbs rustled in the breeze. She grinned so big Piotr was sure he could count all her teeth. Her shoulders lifted as she took a deep breath, “Hozier wants to collaborate on a music video. A real one, not the copyright infringement videos I do.”

Piotr almost dropped his sandwich before he remembered it was in his hand. He set it down and reached for her. Rhonda jumped to her feet and hugged his head to her stomach, both laughing. “That’s wonderful news!” His fingers pressed into her thighs. “Amazing! Is it for a new song? Or one already out?”

She was bouncing with excitement and squealing for a solid minute or two before she sat down again, still fidgeting and twisting with excitement. “I think a new one! His people sent over a contract and an NDA I have to sign before I can hear the song he wants to work on. Do you think Matthew would look it over? I know he’s not an entertainment lawyer, but a contract’s a contract, right?”

“We can ask,” he agreed as they toasted their plastic wine glasses. He watched her eyes sparkle with tears of excitement, the way her curls bounced as she laughed, dyed dark green to match the foliage in her tattoo. The lush blooms and leaves that filled her arm still had a raised texture of the Xs they covered if you looked closely, but the black spaces and gold scrollwork were striking any time she moved. “Is this what you wanted when we were young?” he asked.

“When I thought I was gonna go to Julliard and join a dance troupe?” She thought for a long minute, then shook her head. “It’s better.”

They shared beaming smiles, Piotr’s eyes brimming with tears for his wife's joy, when a fat little bumble bee landed on one of the flowers on Rhonda’s arm. “Oh!” he exclaimed softly. “Hold still, Sladkaya.”

He pulled out the camera he always brought along for these picnics, and captured the moment of Rhonda's surprise, noticing the bee on her tattoo, as she delicately held her wine glass with her four fingered right hand, her gravestone behind her, sunlight playing on her forest green curls.

#not a ghost #piotr rasputin x oc #cooossus x oc #deadpool fanfic #xmen fanfic #colossus #marvel #piotr rasputin

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

So here’s a thing that happened, tumblr.

Many moons ago, I was in the Neuro ICU for a while. I was actually in there twice--for a week at first, then out, then in again for about two weeks. In between: “Nothing’s wrong! It’s resolved!” As you might imagine, given the spoiler there about how I went to the Neuro ICU twice: in fact, Something was wrong, and it was not resolved (then).

(it is resolved now, thank you)

This post is not actually ABOUT that, but we must start there, out of order.

This is a post about art and rivers and boys in cars. But we start in the Neuro ICU.

I don’t like talking about this time in my life. I would have been skittish and mysterious ANYWAY--I was raised like that--but I’m extra skittish and vague about my timeline because I don’t want to talk about it, you know? I survived something I had no business surviving. I had to relearn how to walk. That took months and that was the easy part. Because I am a big tiddy goth girl, and because I was very young then, people love to assume that the problem was drugs, and I did it to myself, as if that somehow makes anything less tragic.

I was 23 years old with a brain bleed due to a congenital defect, and even at the time, I had to defend myself: no, I’m not on drugs, I don’t do drugs, I didn’t do coke, I’ve never done coke.

I am also Colombian, which, I suppose, might play into their calculus about the coke, but WHO KNOWS. I was busy gibbering and almost dying at the time, which left little energy for noticing potential microaggressions.

Is it a microaggression, I guess, when you’re dying? Who knows.

I have never even been drunk, tumblr. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t snort. I never have. This is mostly because I’m a paranoid loon with an off again, on again anorexia, ya know, thing, so occasionally I get really hung up on irrational concepts of bodily purity. People think it’s a flex when I try to explain this, that I’m relishing in some kind of moral superiority. I’m not. I admitting to SEVERAL defects (“quirks”) of personality there. The eating disorder. The deep distrust: I will not be vulnerable in the presence of others, I will not dull my senses, I will not allow myself to be weak. A certain perfectionism. A certain tendency towards slow burn self harm. Grand ideas made of nothing that sometimes take hold.

My point is that this big disruptive thing happened.

I survived, which is AWESOME. And yeah, I had to relearn how to walk, and some other things, but you guys know that I do yoga and aerial silks and lyra and ran off to Thailand to train kickboxing for a summer on fighter street and I STILL do not shut the fuck up about it.

So, cool, cool cool cool cool.

And I don’t even want to talk about that part, the medical drama, the body horror, the institutional whatever. My neurosurgeon was fantastic and like a week after my discharge I was high as SHIT on prescribed painkillers my caregivers insisted I take and wrote him a gushing effusive letter about how he was MY HERO because I was ALIVE and anyway that basically makes you BATMAN, DOCTOR LEWIS, I FUCKING LOVE BATMAN.

Again: high as fuck, ok.

 My point is: I hate talking about this.

Because once you’re a survivor in people’s minds, that’s all you are. You are reduced to this one event that had very little to do with you. You are defined by this thing that happened to you.

And this isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s happened TO me! But still. Happened TO me. Not something I did. Not my action. Barely even my reaction.

But again, personality flaws. What does it say about me that I look at social norms about comfort and inwardly I snarl that I want no one’s pity?

Except I’m not actually that mean. I don’t snarl.

I just withdraw.

This is a tactic that has served me well in life a BUNCH of times. Is it always the answer? No. Is it often worth a shot? Listen. Yeah. Yeah, it is. Sometimes you flee an abusive home life because that’s the only option, and you don’t want to die. Hypothetically speaking: sometimes all you can do is run.

But sometimes you flee people with mostly good intentions, maybe.

This is all very high minded but what’s prompting me to write this isn’t exactly the upcoming (many year) anniversary of the event. It’s something way more mundane and dumb.

I have not logged into my facebook account since this happened. I never bothered deleting the account(s), either. I presume they still exist. I have no idea HOW to log back onto them, and, more importantly, no desire.

“So what?”

So, okay, back when I had my first stint in the Neuro ICU? Like, totally out of nowhere, I just disappeared from people’s feeds. (you all know I do this) Somehow part of the story got out and SOMEHOW, I have no idea how, a small group of my friends managed to independently track down the hospital I was at. And this is on next to no info, across state lines, like--I have no idea how the fuck they did it.

I also don’t fucking know who they were.

I was told, at the time. I have a vague idea of who two out of (I think) four were, or might have been. I was kind of busy at the time, with the dying.

And when I say I don’t like talking about this time: I don’t like even THINKING about it. I avoid it.

Fleeing. See?

So I don’t have a memory of the names. I don’t have memories of the memory.

“So what?”

So, I know from groups other than this one, groups less dedicated than this one, that people actually get REALLY fucking mad at you for not accepting their get better soon wishes. And like, I get it! You were very worried and I did nothing to reassure you.

I WAS BUSY.

I was busy dying. Almost dying. Not dying. I was busy sleeping 20 hrs a day. I was busy being unable to walk. I was busy re-learning to walk. I was busy relearning how to write with pen and paper and for months I COULD NOT DO IT, do you have any idea how that feels to someone who is and has always been and has always wanted to be a writer? Fuck it. Fuck you.

The initial disappearance. I am not to blame.

But then doing nothing to reach out to anybody for YEARS and YEARS--

Okay, maybe a dick move on my part.

“So what?”

So I think one of the people who managed to track me down in the hospital was my best friend from high school, a terribly sweet Brazilian boy who mostly called me not by my name, but simply: The Devil.

I dig it. Always did.

And it’s high school, right. Everybody is thirsty as fuck for their friends, one way or another. We never dated--we were both always dating or pursuing other people--but we had the typical high school bestie unresolved romantic tension deal going on.

This is important so remember it for later: the problem was not attraction. The problem was not one sided unresolved sexual tension. I had a particular thing for how he looked while driving, shades on, one arm slung over the wheel in that terribly and typically male lounging driving pose that’s probably a safety hazard.

We spent a lot of time in his car.

I didn’t drive, at the time, because my mother didn’t allow me to learn, and I got kicked out of my house and disowned when I was 17. This dude spent a LOT of time driving me places. Boys in cars is practically a genre of erotic poetry, thanks to Richard Siken. This is because boys look Cool driving cars, wearing sunglasses, pretending they’re not paying attention to you while you know they are.

So he was fun.

More importantly, I guess, the fact that he picked my ass up at like 6 AM over and over and over again for a big chunk of my senior year is one of the few reasons I managed to graduate despite being technically homeless.

He was not a morning person. I am not a morning person. He did it anyway.

Why didn’t we date, I wondered, years later, for a fraction of a second, and then I forgot about it.

“SO WHAT?!”

So I’m grown up and happy and fulfilled and in a lovely long term relationship (remember! we’re buying a house!), so it’s not about “what if?” It’s that I’m happy and grown up and I write books sometimes.

But there it is.

I write books sometimes.

Artists are constantly stealing ideas from everywhere and this is good. Artists also steal from themselves, grubby little hands on secret parts of our hearts.

So I’m writing this book, right. My Great Work. My Break Out Novel. My SERIOUS FUCKING BUSINESS book. My “this is the thing I’ve worked the hardest on in my whole entire LIFE” book.

And in this book there is a male love interest. He is a political statement. I’m writing him as sexy and heroic as possible. I want this to be the MOST attractive man I’ve ever written.

Latino. Sexy as fuck. Not a criminal. Overly responsible. Action ready, and terribly nurturing.

Hot Single Dad and Reluctant Necromancer is my masterpiece. A passionate statement and stance against the depiction of Latino men in media. A war cry to examine our own subconscious biases. A weapon raised against an unjust system.

I stole parts of him from Frank Castle. I stole parts of him from Geralt. I stole (MANY) parts of him from this one IRL hot dad former Army Ranger guy, Mexican American with a tattoo on his arm of a jack o lantern one of his kids drew. I stole parts of him from this cute Marine in my DMs who gave me story advice about guns and gear. I stole parts of him from indigenous leaders from centuries ago, from the peoples he is descended from. I stole parts of him from every man I’ve met who worked in dog rescue. I stole parts of him from myself, hiding secret parts of my heart in the male character so that no one will know.

Lovely. All good so far.

I got like two whole drafts in before I was thumbing through some printed out pages, idly thinking: how funny that I don’t have any real life, personal to me models for this guy.

All my prior male love interests, you see, are based on someone. In the werewolf trilogy, they’re BOTH based on someone--different someones. The villain, too, is jokingly referred to as the “evil werewolf ex boyfriend” for a reason.

Everybody is someone.

So how funny, I thought, that necromancer hot dad lacks any references from my own--

OH, wait, fuck--

Overly responsible brown dude with sad dog eyes drives the female lead/occult specialist around while good naturedly complaining that she’s weird as shit.

Oh, damn.

And suddenly a bunch of teensy little backstory details made sense.

Cool.

“So what?”

Bonus round of self realization: my own understanding of this time in my life radically shifted, turning, lurching, sickly rotating on a new axis.

Why didn’t we date?

Somewhere between then and now, post ICU but pre novel writing time--

This one time I overheard somebody talking to somebody else and it had nothing to do with me but sight unseen, on the other side of the stacks in a used bookstore, one dude said to another: “you know that if you were lighter, you’d have a chance with her, right?”

How terrible, I thought, and I forgot about it.

Why didn’t we date?

Because my mother told me, when I was very young, that boys from Brazil were all very wild, and I should avoid them. And she told me this so early and so plainly that I never thought to question it. When I was older she took harder stances that I easily ignored because I knew they were wrong--don’t you dare bring a black boy into this house. You’re dating a Jew? I can’t believe you did this to me. What are you going to do next, kiss a girl?

WELL, Ma, as it turns out, I mean, not til college, but yes.

But the smaller, more mild statement was so much more insidious.

I wonder if he knew. I don’t think he did. I wonder if he figured it out later. I have no idea, because we were friends when we were still essentially children, and now we are grown. Not everybody thinks about this kind of thing, and I don’t blame them.

How much damage did I do?

Does it matter?

Does he know?

I know.

I know, now, that my rallying cry against a system’s unfairness is also a cry wrenched wetly from my own subconscious depths. YOUR biases against? Yes. But more accurately: my biases against.

“So what?”

So this kind of epiphany shit leaves you breathless about it and you wanna scream. You wanna SHARE it. You must infect others with this knowledge.

But you can’t out of nowhere foist this apology on someone. That’s selfish. That’s about redeeming yourself in your own eyes AND asking someone else to confront unpleasant emotions on your behalf, even though they’re the wronged party. Selfish. Tell me I’m not a bad person, baby. Tell me I never hurt you, not even a little. Forgive me if I did. Wade through this pile of astral shit for me just to make me feel better. Reassure me. Hurt yourself for me in the here and now.

So I’m not going to do that, obviously.

“So what?”

But there’s that other part of it, right? Not the apology. The surge of emotion. The realization that all those morning drives back then added up to something deep within me, something so foundational to my concept of care and maybe even the start of something like love--the knowledge that this person gently carved some ideals for you, so long ago, so subtly that you never questioned it, never even realized, because it felt so natural, because something about it is so inherently good and right.

Despite everything--despite society, propaganda, colonialism, the prejudice of my upbringing, my own unexamined complicity, ALL of it--

Despite everything, this person taught me something so deeply about love and the shape of it, something so foundational that I built all my art on it and didn’t even see the beams of it until halfway through my most ambitious and soul bearing undertaking.

This is how you care for another, went the lesson, and I wrote pragmatic actions over words romantic male leads all the way down.

This is what love might look like, and in my own life, ever ambitious, I chose a poet talented with words and actions and good fight choreography, because I think that’s sexy and dichotomies are mostly bullshit, or at least things that happen to other people.

But I didn’t learn what love looked like from my childhood home life, obviously. How could I?

Without you, though, without you and your mirror sunglasses at 6 AM and your exasperated teasing, devil, witch, bruja, without any of those, where would I have learned? How long would it take me, to find someone who would teach me a wholesome lesson?

I’m small and cute and predators love a victim with a lack of context. I give myself and my wit some credit, but what’s pattern recognition worth if you never get any good data points?

Deep lessons.

Again: this kind of epiphany makes you wanna scream. Who to infect, with all this new knowledge?

Maybe no one. Probably no one.

But maybe, just a little, you wonder--

How would that conversation even go?

Hey, so I wrote this book--no, it’s my fifth, not my first, but thanks--so I wrote this book, and there’s this character, right, and he’s--well, hahah, I mean, he’s not exactly--I just--funny story, really--no, god, no, you don’t have to read it--it’s just--he’s just--I mean, no, you, you’re just--forget it, actually, just--

Like, what the fuck is there to say?

“I couldn’t have written this without you.”

And

“Did you check on me? When you thought I was dead?”

and

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice, at the time, that I meant anything to you.”

or is it really

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize until now that you meant something to me.”

What to do with all this emotion? Or more accurately--like rivers carve out gorges, here is the shape of something that once was. This shape will always be here. Even without a single drop of water ever again: we see the river.

What to do with the shape of all this emotion?

I consult the great Richard Siken via a feat of bibliomancy. Advise me, O Oracle. The oracle is War of the Foxes (2015), turned over blindly in my hands, opened randomly to The Worm King’s Lullaby, pg 45, verse 1:

The holes in this story are not lamps, they are not wheels. I walked and walked, grew a beard so I could drag it in the dirt, into a forest that wasn’t there. I want to give you more but not everything. You don’t need everything.

This advice is too good. I close the book.

The advice does not tell me what to do, but it’s too good. The verse reaches into my chest and carves out my heart, slices it open. Inside my heart: pomegranate seeds. Tiny jewels, fit for a dragon, snacking on garnets and rubies, and the apple of Eden wasn’t an apple, because it was the desert, wasn’t it? It was a pomegranate. Something with scales, maybe snakes. The serpent, the devil.

What to do with all this love?

I swallow the pomegranate seeds. I buy myself some time. I want to give you more, but not everything. Do you need everything? I don’t know. I don’t have it to give to you, in any case. Does it matter?

Why are you doing this, me?

Because art is messy. Art is cutting yourself open over and over again. You clean up most of the mess, try to bottle the fluids and label them nicely or deliberately misleadingly, fit for someone else’s consumption, but either way, you’re bleeding.

Maybe this urge is bleed with me or maybe it is oh, you already did.

I swallow the seeds. I buy some time.

I’m not done yet. I’m not.

Maybe all this adds up to nothing.

Maybe if I do this right, it adds up to a lot.

Maybe if I do this right it will feel real, maybe what I want is to gift the shape of these rivers to somebody else, all emotionally intimately with strangers. This is a shape that love can be. This is a silhouette you may recognize.

Maybe that’s a tribute, or a tributary.

But it’s not about you, not really, so don’t get too big headed about it. This is about Art and something like Justice. Big things. This is a book about big things, about history and dogs, history and gods, crimes and lies, slaughter and slander.

Right, yeah.

An act of faith, an act of will.

I swallow the pomegranate seeds. I buy myself some time.

It’s not harvest season yet. Not yet, not now, not yet.

If not now, then when?

When it’s ready.

There is no ready. Perfection is an illusion.

Yeah, sure, but page count is REAL.

You’re evading. That’s another word for fleeing. Do you know that?

Yes. I do.

How long will you run?

Just a little bit more. Just a little. I promise.

#it was boiling / i run to the sea #'i wrote this book because REPRESENTATION also possibly an unresolved crush from high school i am pure LITERATURE' #i have done everything in my power to find you! except get on LinkedIn

[katianegreyson]

Birthday Bash!

[Warning: Contains mild gore and violence. Read at your own risk.]

She had been back in the city for over a week, yet remained homebound. She had watched the fervor of activity from her apartment window. People flowing through the pathways below, growing bolder as the sunset. Nightlife in the Mage Quarter was always questionable. Drunken behaviors that often resulted in walks of shame out of the alleyways. Fights. Loud tirades. Those manicured lawns housed quite the show, one she wasn't always so hesitant to join in some small part.

However, melancholia had taken root, as it often did after her trips to the mountains. Too many memories, not to mention, the painful reminder of someone's absence. It generally took a week or so before the urge to stop staring at the empty pages of a journey book or out a window took hold. A small span of hope and optimism before reality sunk in once more. Not even time spent in her aerial silks sped up the process or eased her state of mind.

She put off rejoining civilization for as long as possible. In the end, it was the barren state of her pantry that drove her to dastardly things like putting on pants and running a brush through her hair. Sadly, society demanded she not be bare-assed and disheveled looking. Well, most of society. She knew a few who wouldn't complain.

It was early morning when she finally left her apartment, the predawn hour promising her the best choices at the city market. What was the saying? The early bird gets the worm.

Well, this bird wanted steak and eggs.

And bacon. Lots of bacon.

As she descended the steps to the small shop beneath her apartment, it was impossible to miss the brightly wrapped package left for her. The bow was enormous and the counter the box rested on was covered in a gods awful amount of glitter.

Kate loosed a long sigh. Of course her birthday wasn't missed by the proprietor. Such information was required in the rental contract. If it were up to her, she would spend the day like any other. Clearly, her landlord had different ideas. It was as if she could hear her voice, telling Kate in a motherly, (nosey) overbearing tone.

"A birthday should be cherished and celebrated."

Knowing she would be faced with far worse repercussions than a mild annoyance if she ignored the box, Kate huffed out a curse and walked over to the damn thing. Lifting the lid, she found the inside stuffed full of tissue paper in the most obnoxious pinks known to man. Shaking her head, she peeled layer after layer, silently cursing the woman until the last piece of paper was pulled free.

A sharp inhale was Kate's only outward sign of the sight within. No fancy bauble or awful outfit she would have to wear. This was far more personal.

The woman she had been cursing moments before stared back at her with milky dead eyes, a look of pure horror frozen onto her face. Jagged shreds of flesh were spread out at the neck, looking as if it was torn rather than cut cleanly off.

The head rested on a pile of roses, a gruesome message she understood all too well.

Why couldn't things just stay dead these days? 

Floorboards creaked softly behind her, a moment later, quietly letting her know she wasn't alone and the 'guest' was an amateur.

She should have just stayed home.

The sound of a single shot echoed through the empty pathways of The Quarter. While sound would have been drowned out later in the day, the early hour drew unwanted attention to the thunderous boom.

Standing outside the shop that prided itself on pyrotechnics, Maddox sucked in the last drag of his cigarette, flicking the spent butt away. The sound reached him the moment the occasional vice fled his fingertips. Poor timing, or perhaps perfect, and the man dove for it. He was after all smoking near a place that was combustible.

The sudden boom led him to assume the worst. Moments later, when he realized he was still in one piece, more or less, he pushed himself up and began cursing someone's mother. Grass stains clashed with his token grease stains, not that he cared. The noise wasn't a concern either until the sounds of a struggle carried his way.

Lads being lads, likely. At least that is what he thought until he heard the telltale shrieks of a woman.

"Fuck…"

His apathy was overshadowed by his protective nature in an instant. Taking off in a sprint, he followed the muffled sounds of conflict through the manicured walkways. Twists and turns didn't help. Fucking city layout.

When the noise died down, Maddox feared he was too late. Lost in a maze of purple rooftops and decorative fescue. It wasn't until he skidded around a corner that he caught sight of the group of men, fighting to load a bound and gagged redhead into a wagon.

She was giving them hell, small little thing, covered in blood and full of fight. Every time they got close to loading her, she wriggled in the most awkward way possible, causing one of the four brutes to lose their grip. It wasn't until one genius used the butt of his gun to deliver a well-placed blow to her head. It didn't knock her out, but she was stunned enough to go limp.

Maddox wasn't confident that he could take on four men, even if a pair looked wounded. So, he improvised.

Pulling out a stick of dynamite from the bag at his hip, he lit the long braided fuse and shouted to bring attention to himself.

"Oi! How about we put the lass down, eh?" He was walking closer, slowly. "Nice and easy. Then you can leave with what pieces she left you with. Or… I can blow all those pieces up."

"Got to tell ya, I personally would prefer to not spend the tail end of the morn being scraped into a glass jar."

Waving the explosive, Maddox eyed the dwindling fuse, sparks flying as time ticked away. "Tick tock, lads. What's it gonna be?"

There was no nice and easy as they dropped their prisoner, the lawn doing little to cushion the fall. A glaring sneer came from who he assumed was the leader as he pointed with his chin to the lass on the grass.

"You bought her a day, tops. C'mon boys. We can come back later." Clearly they didn't want to deal with an audience. Though as they left, a careful eye was kept in case they had a mind to beat his ass.

Maddox waited until the last few seconds, after the quad of men was long gone, before he pulled the fuse free of the explosive cylinder. Tossing the sparking twine into the grass, tucking the rest of the stick in his back pocket, he went to see to the woman he just saved. From what, he wasn't sure.

With his luck, she might be more hazardous to his health than the men who tried carting her off. Fate was a bitch that way.

"Did you have to bite me when I pulled the gag free?"

Kate didn't answer at first, walking sorely to her bathroom, the bruises she earned making her body ache with every step. Pulling the length of silk free from the mirror, she looked at the sorry state she was in. Busted lip, bruised and bleeding temple. The blood had already started to cake and congeal in her hair, matting it to the side of her head.

Ripping off the sleeve to her bloodied shirt, she uncovered the bullet hole she had been gifted with, if it could really be called that. The shot hadn't buried a bullet in her flesh, but it was too deep to really be called a graze.

She was going to need stitches. First, she was going to need coffee. The blow to the head hurt worse than the wound on her arm, the pain making her nauseous. That alone was a sure sign of the damage it wrought. Sleep was now the enemy.

Grabbing a clean towel, she ripped the absorbent cloth into a few thin strips, shouting out to her guest or... savior.

"There is whiskey in the bedside table. Bring it to me."

Muttering as he fetched the bottle, Maddox brought it to her, standing in the bathroom doorway as he passed it over. He was older than Kate, his salt and pepper hair cropped short. He didn't boast a beard in the traditional sense. Just a thick stubble that shaded his face.

His skin was weathered, Kate's guess was from the sun or some manner of heat. He carried it well, the deep lines adding character to his face rather than make him look old. His eyes, however, were his most striking feature. Shadowed by his darker brow, the pale blue stood out like pools of ice, yet they held none of the expected coldness. Just warmth and compassion.

"Probably not the best time to drink, lass." He commented, catching the look she gave him in the mirror.

"You're not my father or my husband. And while I do appreciate the assistance, it doesn't mean you're suddenly entitled to tell me what to do." Her tone wasn't harsh, just a matter of fact.

Nodding to her words, he shrugged. "Fair enough."

Despite her pointed remark, none of the whiskey made it to her lips once the bottle was opened. Instead, it was poured over her wound. Kate pursed her lips, but the groan of pain and displeasure was hardly muffled.

When she finally spoke through clenched teeth, it was to complain about the waste of good whiskey. Seems she would have rather drank it than use it as a disinfectant before she worked to bandage her arm.

It took her a few clumsy attempts, her guest clearly knowing better than to offer assistance at the moment. Finally, though, she tied the thin strips in place, tying them off and tightening the knots with her teeth.

As she turned, she nodded her thanks and sighed, knowing she was about to ask too much of a stranger.

"Don't suppose you would be kind enough to not mention this to the guard. Chances are, they were bribed to patrol elsewhere. I have a feeling my landlord's death would be easily pinned on me. Would rather not get thrown in The Stocks."

Maddox furrowed his brow. "Dead landlord?"

"Yeah. Her head is gift wrapped downstairs. Literally." She admitted honestly.

Scratching his stubble jaw as he grimaced, he shook his head. "Lass, I don't know what you're into. But smells like deep shit. You sure you don't want to involve the authorities?"

Kate nodded but it was clear the movement brought on a wave of discomfort. Gingerly touching her temple, she felt the abused flesh trickling with fresh blood. Head wounds were a bitch.

"Alright. I'll keep out of it. I take it you've got things handled now?"

It was a polite way to excuse himself and get the hell out of dodge. One she thankfully indulged.

"Mhm." She hummed, waving him towards the door. "Thanks again…"

"Maddox." He finished when she gave him a look to let him know she hadn't caught his name.

"Maddox." She repeated, following up with her own simple introduction. "Kate."

"Stay out of trouble then, Kate." Pointing to her bloodied shirt. "Not gonna die when I leave, right?"

Looking down, she saw more blood soaked into the fabric. Luckily, it wasn't anything to worry about.

"No. Not mine. Compliments of one of my abductors."

There was a grunt of acknowledgment as he waved his farewell, vanishing through the door and closing it quietly behind him.

Alone again.

She waited until she couldn't hear him beyond the door, wanting to make sure he was gone. The moment silence fell, Kate sank down to her knees, letting the pain that she had hidden consume her. She was too stubborn to show weakness in front of another.

Alone, however, she could be hurt and broken all she wanted.

Introducing: Maddox E. Zale

Following the story arc of #Fallen Roses.

#happy birthday #writings #fallen roses #what's in the box?!

[bates--boy]

The swimmers burst through the surface, pushed through by the very nose of the orcas and backs of the porpoises; Peter himself rose up high on the steel hoop he contorted his body around and through. It was a more beautiful rebirth, splashing out and gasping air, suddenly bathed in bright, colorful lights, to the applause of thousands and growing.

How many times had they done this? Yet, and this is Peter’s personal opinion, it never gets old.

The roaring and clapping still had yet to cease as the swimmers climbed out of the tank and waved their arms, Peter blowing kisses to the crowd as he followed the others off the tank because when will he have the chance again? He knew that this energy they’re basking in was fickle, and to take it all in while the people keep coming back for more.

Back in the hold away from the departing audience, Peter and his fellow performers dry themselves off, dancing and wiggling in their towels to warm up. After changing into his regular uniform to prepare for closing, the usual rewarding the marine performers with treats for their spectacular work, checking their bodies for any injuries sustained during the show, cleaning the tank, Peter reentered the arena.

He and a couple others started for the tank when his wandering eye caught sight of figures. At first glance, he thought they may be stragglers, loitering to still take in the leftover magic of the show, not quite ready to go home yet, but he noticed that among them were children. And his growing suspicions were confirmed when those figures waved and strolled towards him.

A family of four, with their littlest girl clutching a sparkling plush toy close to her chest. It took a lot for Peter to not coo loud and sweet at the charming little girl.

What Peter assumed to be the father stepped forward, holding his hand out that Peter automatically took in his own. “Hey, you’re Peter, right? The guy on the rings and ropes, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter nodded. He didn’t feel like correcting this jovial man. “Can I help you with anything? You all enjoyed the show, I hope!” 

The man and his wife nodded, and the little girl squeezed her toy tighter. “We did, we most certainly did! It was phenomenal. In fact, coming here is starting to become one of our family’s favorite pastimes.”

“It’s basically a monthly tradition at this point,” the mother chimed in, putting an arm around her preteen son’s shoulder. “Charlie here loves the way you talk about the sea creatures, and he wants to study the ocean when he graduates high school.”

“And Kris is a gymnast. She’s working her way into ribbons, and she adores you! She goes on about ‘I wanna see the Mermaid Man! I wanna see the Mermaid Man!’ she talks about you to her Gramgram so much, her Gramgram made a doll for her. Want to show him, sweetie?”

When Kris moves the doll, Peter could see that she was hiding a smile, wide and gapped with her two front teeth missing, and he could understand then why so many old aunts and grandmothers like to pinch the rosy, dimpled cheeks of little tykes everywhere.

Then she turns the doll to him. His eyes widen, and he looks into the faces of every family member as he points at the doll. “Is… Is that me?”

Of course it was him, there were too many details for it to not be him, from the tone of the felt that made up his body, to the long, sand blond yarn dyed blue at the ends and tied into a ponytail, to the needlepoint of baby blue thread that make up his eyes. And the glittering outfit, the black fabric with gold sequins sewn into a beautiful pattern, Peter recognized it as the same one he had worn for their very first performance.

Kris nodded, and her father said, “Yeah, she had made her Gramgram a big fan of yours, too. Every time we visit her, she and Kris play your videos over and over. They even found your personal channel and started watching your home videos, they love you so much!”

“It’s the only way Gramgram gets to see you,” Charlie finally spoke up, his small grin tainted with a little melancholy.

“Then, our kids had an idea and they would not stop bugging us about it.” The father reached up to rub his neck, his chuckle nervous though still jovial. “Since their grandmother’s birthday is coming up, and she’s been too, well, tired to be able to travel, we were wondering: would you be willing to do family events?”

“We’ll pay, of course!” the mother added.

It was a miracle that Peter had been paying attention at this point, his eyes boring into the doll replica of himself, then the radiant face and the dazzled eyes of the incredibly adorable child hugging the doll. He had his fingers covering his slightly parted lips, and he tore his gaze away to meet the eyes of the others. There came a swelling, a tightness, in Peter’s chest, and though he was aware that they were still waiting for an answer, and that his coworkers were waiting for him to help them with cleaning, already, it was too much, it made him lightheaded. He lowered his fingers from his embarrassingly trembling lip…

--

He should have said no. 

He had struggled to say anything at all, the way he choked up and had to force his words to come out normal, and not a tight-throat squeak. How had that family not been put off by the way Peter started wiping his eyes or the way his cheeks flushed redder? (Well, Charlie did appear to suffer secondhand embarrassment for the grown man suddenly weeping for no reason, so something did make sense.)

In any case: he should have said no. He should have refused. He wasn’t an expert, certainly not skilled enough for the huge check they were willing to pay. He had no proper portable equipment, and his work schedule! How would he be able to fit a private performance into his work schedule?

But there he was, in his living room, kneeling on the ground and surrounded by his tools and parts and pieces he picked up from the hardware store. He had dragged his duffel bag with his collapsible dance pole kit and put the pieces together. It was time that he put his old civil engineering degree to use, and so, after sketching out a few rigging systems to reconstruct the pole for, and spending way too much time figuring out what his chicken scratch doodles even meant, Peter set to work, drilling holes and screwing in bars and hooks and bearings to make his travel aerial silks rig work. He had a week until Gramgram’s birthday.

#life thus far ( story ) #hetalia

[rufousnmacska]

Goodbye and Hello - 5

Manon and Dorian said goodbye in Orynth. But for them, saying hello again is only a matter of time.

fanfic master list (includes the link to my fics on AO3)

Previous chapters:

Part One: I Wish…

Part Two: Another Day

Part Three: Those Two Words

Part Four: Breakfast in Bed

Part Five: Waiting

Squeezed up against the wall, Dorian tried to get out of the way as the rukhin poured from the dining hall. Breakfast was the one meal he and Manon did not join them for, and it was the one meal for which they filled the hall, eating as a single, enormous group.

Some of the larger wyverns were going to attempt the crossing today and the air was thick with excitement. The chosen riders came out last, beaming with pride as they strode by him. Each one gave him a solemn nod in greeting.

After the hall emptied, Dorian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying not to think about how little time they had left here. He would be leaving the day after tomorrow. Manon as well, depending on how things went today.

After her first inspection of the young wyverns and meetings with the squad leaders selected by Orghana, Manon planned the week out in detail: training runs through the mountains, flight formations, lessons in hand-to-hand aerial combat. Until today, those flights had been easy, incremental steps to strengthen not just the mounts, but their new riders. No one expected that a handful of wyverns would be advanced enough to go up against the deadly currents of the Ferian Gap.

Privately, Manon had confessed her doubts to him. She’d known the rukhin were disciplined and excellent flyers. What she didn’t know was just how quickly wyverns could develop. Abraxos came to her as a full grown adult. In some regards, she was as inexperienced with this as the rukhin.

Though she shared the aerie’s excitement, he felt the tang of nerves emanating from her while they ate this morning. The crossing was dangerous, even with the precautions they were putting in place. Sentinels on ruks and the smaller wyverns would be positioned at intervals along the descent and near the valley floor, ready to assist if anyone needed help. Prudent planning, but no guarantee it would prevent tragedy.

He was just about to go back and check on Manon when she came around the corner.

“You take forever getting ready,” he teased as she stopped to fasten a few straps on her flight leathers.

She smirked. “If I’d taken a bath with you in the room, we’d both still be there.”

He took her fur-lined cloak, draping it over his arm while she adjusted her sword. “That’s probably true,” he admitted with a grin. “You know me so well.”

“I assume you will be joining us then?”

During the days, while she worked with Orghana and the riders, Dorian spent his time meeting with various small groups. Not everyone who moved here from the Tavan Mountains wanted to be part of the aerial legion. Along with the riders came their spouses and families, including, to everyone’s enjoyment, a clan storyteller who’d accompanied her daughter.

There were caretakers to look after the ruks and wyverns, as well as the people. Yisu, an engineer who'd relocated with her young family, was working to improve the water system inside the Omega while her wife Naran tended some of the livestock. Several teachers had made the trip, ensuring the children would continue their studies.

Then there was Qara, the head cook. After proclaiming “The witch needs more meat on her bones,” the tiny, old woman helped Dorian prepare breakfast each morning. The hot, spiced chocolate drink she made for them was currently Manon’s most favorite thing in the world. When she had told Qara that - not necessarily in those words - the woman grinned from ear to ear, shoved a few pastries into their hands, and turned back to her giant stove.

Dorian met one family of weavers who ventured north in search of new sources of wool for their rugs, as well as new buyers. “No middleman this way,” they’d reasoned. With other craftspeople making their homes here - a blacksmith, tanner, potter - the place was practically self-sufficient.

But he never got the impression that they wanted to be closed off in any way. When he’d brought up the possibility of opening the ranks up to Adarlanians, the rukhin were welcoming.

Despite his daily activities, he was surprised by Manon’s question. Everyone would be out for at least part of the event. It was odd that she didn’t expect it of him.

“I am. In fact, I thought I’d help out. You can use another full grown wyvern in the air, in case anything goes wrong.”

Manon looked up at him. Fear lined her eyes and she opened her mouth to say something, but a deep voice echoed down the hallway.

“Wing leader. May I have a moment?”

Dorian turned to see one of the older riders jogging towards them. Erden wasn’t old exactly. No gray salted his hair, but he had a ruggedly handsome face that only came with age. When he reached them, he stared with open admiration at Manon, completely oblivious to Dorian’s presence.

“Is there something you need?” Dorian asked, not masking his annoyance at the interruption.

Erden looked over, his dark eyebrows raised in what could only be surprise. The man truly hadn’t seen him. Dorian almost laughed.

Addressing Manon, Erden said, “Yes, well, I have some questions about the crossing.”

With a clear expression of dismissal, Manon said, “I’ll be right there.”

Erden didn’t need to be told twice. He gave her a sharp bow, ignored Dorian, and returned the way he had come.

Dorian watched him go, not noticing when Manon took her cloak back and swung it over her shoulders.

“Jealous, princeling?”

Turning back, he found her smirking again, all the tension of a moment ago gone. “How can I not be? Half of them are in love with you. And the other half are in love with you.”

The riders all seemed to worship her, looking at Manon as if she was a warrior goddess sent from above. Which, she was, he happily admitted. Beautiful, clever, lethal, immortal. He really couldn’t blame them.

Manon shook her head and started down the hall. When he caught up to her, she said, “You should stay above, on the platform. Orghana will be below with me, so we’ll have plenty of help along the descent.”

Dorian wanted to protest, but he didn’t, telling himself this was her area of expertise. Even though it was a bullshit excuse. And she wouldn’t look at him. Neither said anything more as they made their way outside.

On the platform, Manon stopped to speak to the riders who’d be undertaking the crossing, giving last minute warnings and answering questions. While everyone else would fly across the valley, they would go on foot, taking the narrow bridge that linked the Omega and the Northern Fang. Someone had suggested it to make things more ceremonial, as if the crossing needed more drama.

When everyone dispersed, Manon hopped onto Abraxos and twisted around, an expectant look on her face. For some reason he couldn’t explain, part of him thought she’d just leave him here. But instead, she waited to fly him over to the Northern Fang.

Settling in behind her, Dorian pulled her to his chest. Where his hands rested against her waist, she laced her fingers into them with a vise-like grip. The fear was back. But, he couldn’t see it this time. He felt it. As if his magic was constantly reaching towards her, reading her emotions.

Her reticence to let him take part had nothing to do with his lack of knowledge or flying experience. It had everything to do with the fact that people could die today. It wouldn’t matter that the riders were pulled from a group of volunteers. If things went badly today, she would hold herself responsible. Just as she did with her coven.

“I’ll stay above. Safe and out of the way,” he said.

Her body relaxed at his words. “Thank you.”

And with that, Abraxos leapt into the air.

***

Cheers echoed between the peaks of the gap as the final wyvern swooped up sharply and flew high into the sky. Every crossing had been a success. As the sentinels took off to join their fellow riders for the celebration awaiting them, Manon stayed behind, guiding Abraxos to land on a rocky slope nearby. Her celebration was letting herself breathe normally for the first time all day.

With her eyes closed, she sat and listened to the wind coursing through the pass, concentrating on the rise and fall of Abraxos’s chest.  

As nervous as she had been today, he’d been distant, lifeless. Her wyvern had his own memories of this place to overcome, something she’d considered before leaving the Wastes. Their arrival had been so happy and he’d been so well taken care of, she thought he was fine.

But today was different. Abraxos had conquered the crossing to the sound of her Thirteen and others cheering him on, to the beating wings of his fellow chained wyverns. None of them were here anymore. Narene wasn’t here.

Before her mind could replay memories she didn’t want to see, and before anyone came looking for her, she tugged on the reins. Two flaps of his spider silk wings had them rising into the chilly air.

As he flew up to the Omega, Manon leaned forward and ran her hand over his neck. The wounds he’d received in Orynth had healed to silvery stripes, brighter than the old scars that criss-crossed his body. Now, they shined red in the sunset, rippling with the movement of his muscles, a sickening reminder of how close she’d come to losing him.

Abraxos landed on the edge of the platform, jolting her back to the present. The raucous laughter and smiling faces pierced through her dark mood like a beacon. As she dismounted, she was pulled into the mass of people, and to her surprise, she didn’t flinch away from the contact.

Manon thought back to when she and Abraxos had survived that first flight across the gap. Despite the cheers that sent them over the ledge, despite her undiluted joy at his victory, their post-crossing celebration had been... nothing. Brief applause, most of it mocking, then another dinner of bland mush in the dining hall. Another emotionless performance in the hopes of not attracting her grandmother’s attention.

This, though. The excitement and camaraderie of these humans was infectious. It became clear to her in that moment just how lacking the lives of the Ironteeth were. How lacking her life had been.

Witches were not and never would be human. But as she watched the rukhin laugh and tease each other, embrace and kiss, she thought it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if witches adopted a few human traits.

A sudden wish to have her Thirteen by her side and watch their reactions to this happy chaos hit her like a crushing weight. She staggered backwards, away from the crowd as they began to move into the entrance hall.

A warm presence steadied her with a hand on her back. “Are you okay?” Dorian dipped his head to look into her eyes.

Manon didn’t know what he saw there, but she could see the worry in his. With a quick shake of her head, she said, “It’s been a stressful day.” Not a lie but not the whole truth. He knew it, she could tell, but he didn’t prod for more.

Dorian waited for her to say something and she looked backwards to Abraxos. Her wyvern was waiting too, staring off into the distance.

Another memory came to her, unbidden, but more welcome than most.

Abraxos’s first day outside. Unchained, free to walk wherever he chose, free to roll around in a field of wildflowers. He’d never seen the sky before that day. Never felt the wind against his wings. And while she’d railed against his decidedly unbeastly behavior, cursing and looking around to make sure no one witnessed it, inside, her heart had been breaking for the pain he’d endured. For the pleasure he found in peacefully smelling flowers that he’d never known existed.

Facing Dorian again, she said, “I need to see to Abraxos.”

As she turned away, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “You didn’t answer me. Are you okay?” He spoke low so no one else overheard, but there was a hard edge to his voice, a quickening of his pulse. “I care about you, Manon. I...” He trailed off and shook his head. “I’m worried about you.”

“Today has been difficult for him,” she said, still not answering his question. “I want to be the one to stable him tonight. I’ll be back soon.”

Dorian examined the wyvern, his eyes softening in recognition of whatever emotion he saw in Abraxos’s face. She waited for another round of questions, but none came. He kissed her forehead, lingering for a long moment before he released her hand and walked away.

Once he disappeared into the crowd, she returned to Abraxos and led him into a smaller cave entrance set apart from the main hall. The other wyverns were kept in the Northern Fang, their cages large, clean, and warm. The ruks, used to being exposed to all sorts of weather, preferred their nests perched high on the cliffs above the Omega’s platform.

This little cavern, while not made exclusively for Abraxos, was refitted to accommodate him. It seemed his reputation as an alpha warrior had preceded him here, so he was treated accordingly.

Torches lit the entry and lined the curving passage that led back to his quarters. Abraxos lumbered past a freshly butchered goat and curled up on the hay bedding piled high against the back wall of the cave.

Manon knew exactly how he felt, but she refused to leave without trying to get him to eat. Not bothering with her knife, she sliced through the goat with her nails, separating a leg.

“You can sleep as soon as you eat something,” she said, putting the meat right in front of his face. Big, black eyes shone in the torch light, staring back at her without emotion. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” she coaxed. Still no reply, no desire to eat. Sighing, she sat down and leaned against him.

Although she had her own rooms in the keep back home, she often spent part of her nights with him. His aerie was in a nearby tower that was half falling over. It was stable, but just barely. He’d refused to be put with the other wyverns, and the tower overlooked her windows. So even on the nights she didn’t visit him, they could still see each other.

Muffled footsteps sounded from the passage and Manon was surprised to see Orghana walk into the chamber.

“Everyone is asking for you at the aerie.”

The aerie. When she’d lived here, they just referred to it as the entrance hall. It still was the entrance hall in her mind, even after a week. She made a mental note to change that.

“Did the king send you?”

Orghana stroked Abraxos’s snout, eliciting a deep sigh, then sat down next to her. “No. But he did tell me where to find you.”

They sat for a while in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft popping of the flames and Abraxos’s steady breathing. His eyes were closed, but Manon knew by the pattern of his breaths that he was only dozing.

“Why did you come here?” Manon asked. It was something she’d been wondering but never had the nerve to ask. With her impending departure, she let her curiosity got the better of her.

“The riders wanted me to bring you back.” With a hint of exasperation, she added, “I think Erden has it in his head to ask you to dance.”

Manon choked back a laugh.

Orghana sighed. “He is a very good flyer, but sometimes his eyesight is... lacking."

“I think it’s worse than lacking. He might be blind,” Manon said. They both burst out laughing.

Abraxos jerked awake and twisted his head around to glare at them.

“Sorry,” Orghana said. Seeing the uneaten meat, the captain pulled out her knife and sliced a piece from the bone. When she offered it to Abraxos, he took it without hesitation.

It was Manon’s turn to glare at him. “Spoiled worm,” she muttered, unable to stop a smile from creeping onto her face. Orghana fed him the meat, chunk by chunk, until it was gone. When he settled back down, Manon said, “Actually, I meant why did you come to Adarlan?”

The woman stiffened and Manon thought she might not answer. But Orghana said, “I came because Prince Sartaq asked me to.” After a long pause, she added, “And because my husband died two years ago and I wanted to start over somewhere new.

“He was a healer. Not like those at the Torre. He had no magic, just the usual gifts. Compassion. Intelligence. Because of his skill, he was often called to other aeries when they were in need. So when sickness spread through the Berlad aerie, he went immediately that morning.” Orghana smiled faintly. “He told me he’d be home by dinner, but we both knew it wouldn’t be that simple. It was a rare illness and the sick were already being isolated.”

Damn her nosiness. Manon wished she could go back in time and not ask the question. Glancing sideways at Orghana, she thought about offering her condolences and then changing the subject. It would be rude as hell, and she’d hate herself for it, but she didn’t think she had it in her to listen to more. Clenching her fists to keep her hands from shaking, Manon willed Orghana not to continue.

But continue she did. “I received messages from him each day, full of reassurances. He was always so positive. It made him a good healer. The problem was that to a cynic like me, it could sometimes be annoying.” A small laugh escaped the woman’s lips. “He always said... “ She cleared her throat. With a deeper voice to imitate her husband, she went on speaking in Halha. For Manon, she translated: “You are the cloud to my sun. We are lucky the world needs both in order to have balance.”

As quickly as it had come, the levity in Orghana’s face faded. “When two days went by without a message, I knew.”  

Silence returned and Manon didn’t know what to say.

“There were stories that came back to our mountains from the war. I heard of the sacrifice made by your hearth-sisters,” Orghana said quietly, then shook her head in frustration. “No, that’s not the right word. Your coven?”

The world dropped out from under her and Manon felt like she was floating and falling at the same time. Squeezing her eyes shut tight in the hopes of steadying herself, all she saw was white. That white light of their yielding.

Whenever the scene played in her mind, there was always a kernel of awe in her heart. There had never been a witch who yielded anything other than darkness. For that was the source of the power, the Darkness. 

Somehow though, the Darkness, or perhaps their Three-Faced Goddess, had gifted her coven with light. Not only a power used to kill, but to save. The light from their twelve souls had saved the city, their armies, the world.

What had Orghana called them? Hearth-sisters?

In some ways, that was a better word than coven. Witches often referred to each other as sister or cousin, regardless of any actual familial connection. But the words were meant to declare their clan allegiance, their common origins and otherness from humans and fae.

The bond she shared with the Thirteen was that of true sisters. A bond woven into their very souls. From now until the Darkness claims us.

Orghana reached over and grasped Manon’s hand. “My heart cries for your loss.”

With those words and that touch, Manon felt a release in her chest and heard herself begin to speak. “I’m always looking for them, waiting for them. As if they will return at any moment, coming back from scouting or training. Every day I wait. And they never come.” A tear slid down her cheek but she didn’t bother to wipe it away. “All of my life, I had them with me. Even when we were sent off on different missions, it was never long before we’d be together.” Looking at Orghana, Manon said, “I have no one left who shared my life. No one who shares my memories.”

The woman squeezed her hand but said nothing. Manon blinked, then brushed her face on her cloak. “I must sound mad,” she offered in apology.

With a sad smile, Orghana said, “You are not mad. It took months for me to stop looking for Oktai to walk through our door. You lost an entire family, Manon. I cannot imagine your pain.”

“Does it ever change?”

Everyone kept telling her it would get better, that time would heal her broken heart. She’d seen it happen to some of the witches who lost loved ones in the war. They mourned, but eventually, moved on.

Objectively, she understood it was possible. Even she’d had moments when the grief no longer felt all consuming. More often than not, she felt stuck, mired in this heavy sorrow that she could only break free of for short bursts of time.

This week, with Dorian and Orghana and all the rukhin, with the wyverns and the routine… It had felt like she could see more clearly, breathe more deeply, move more freely. But today had flooded her with reminders of the things she’d been able to temporarily forget, and she was being dragged back under.

“It has changed for me,” Orghana said. “Things that started as distractions became more real, more meaningful. They became things that I looked forward to. New people entered my life. Not to replace, but to… expand.” She waved a hand. “I’m not sure of the words. I should teach you Halha. We have better words.”

Manon sniffed, the edge of her mouth turning up into a hint of a smile. “Your words are fine. But you’re right. I should learn your language.”

In full captain mode, Orghana nodded in approval, looking like she was already planning the lessons in her head. After a pause, she asked, “Do witches have an afterlife?”

"Yes.”

“And do you believe you will see them there one day?”

“Yes.”

“Even after two years, I still have hard days. They are fewer now. But on those hard days, I remind myself that Oktai is waiting for me.” Orghana smiled and let go of Manon’s hand with a soft, reassuring pat. “He loved listening to peoples’ stories. So I made a vow to bring as many with me as I could. I suppose that is the real reason I came here. Not to run from the past. But to make a future that I can one day share with him.”

Manon heard Asterin’s last words to her. Live, Manon.

She hadn’t done it, not really. She’d survived. So many days were devoted to just that one thing - survival. And most of the time she’d only barely managed it. Shame welled up inside as she admitted to herself just how badly she’d failed at that final request. Failed not just Asterin and the rest of the Thirteen, but her people. And herself.

“One of my sisters” - Manon tried the word with its new meaning - “liked collecting stories. Her room was always filled with books.” She smiled, thinking of how testy Ghislaine got when anyone interrupted her reading.

Orghana spoke a word in Halha, then said, “Your first lesson. That means story keeper. They preserve our histories and tales and are respected across all the clans.” With a nod in the direction of the aerie, she added, “I’m sure Jullian will be performing tonight. Do witches have such a thing?”

Manon was embarrassed to say no. Ghislaine was truly unique among the Ironteeth. Crochans, however, did have elders who were renowned for their storytelling, though they weren’t given official titles.

As with Orghana’s empathetic touch, her question triggered something in Manon. She began telling this women she’d only known for a few days some of her stories. Terrible stories of battle, mundane stories of everyday life as a witch, even a couple that were humorous. Her early, messy attempts to hunt goats for Abraxos received quite the laugh.

Most weren’t her stories so much as they were the Thirteen’s.

Vesta’s ability to make anyone feel at ease. Sorrel’s quiet, steady wisdom that was always offered at just the right time. The demon twins’ trouble-making that first earned them their nickname. Lin and Imogen’s protectiveness of everyone in the coven. Ghislaine’s lectures on everything from history to wyvern care.

She spoke about how she’d never learned the secret of the shadows’ ability to sneak up on her undetected. And how she’d always watched Thea and Kaya, curious to know what made them look at each other the way they did.

In speaking it, she thought of Dorian, and realized that was no longer something she wondered about.

Manon saved Asterin for last. She didn’t tell Orghana all of her second’s story, just enough to convey what Asterin meant to her. How much she loved and missed her. And how Asterin had changed her life. For the better.

When Manon was done talking, Orghana said, “Thank you for telling me about them. For the rukhin, sharing stories like that is a way to honor your loved ones. It keeps them alive and with you.”

“I’m sorry about your husband,” Manon said. “I’d like to hear more about him sometime.”

Stretching her arms high over her head, Orghana groaned as her back cracked. “I would like that too. But I am hungry. And the others will be looking for us.” She stood and offered a hand. Manon took it and was pulled up.

Abraxos slept soundly, but Manon still went over to say goodnight to him, rubbing the spot between his eyes. There would be plenty of difficult days waiting for them. Borrowing Orghana’s outlook, if she stayed on her current path, she would end up face to face with a pissed off Asterin in the afterlife. Manon truly didn’t want to let that happen.

Leaning down to Abraxos, she whispered a promise to him, to her sisters, and to herself. “From now until the Darkness claims us, we are going to live.”

They started out of the cave. With perfect innocence, Orghana said, “Perhaps it would be nice to also tell your stories to the king. Then you will have more people who share your memories.”

Manon stopped and shook her head. “You’re not as subtle as you think, Captain.”

The woman shrugged. “I’m not familiar with that word. Sut-tell?” Continuing on her way, she called back, “Let’s go, Your Majesty. I’ll distract Erden so you can find your king.”

***

Altai slapped Dorian on the back as the small group surrounding him laughed. Although he’d had lessons in Halha and spoke it rather well, he wasn’t fluent. And he certainly wasn’t fluent in the more colloquial aspects of the language.

He’d learned that the hard way, when Altai had taught him an expression he unwittingly repeated to Qara. To his relief, she immediately turned to Altai, her grandson, and cuffed him on the side of the head instead of Dorian. The young man was now regaling his friends with the tale.

He was smiling and laughing with the rest, but Dorian wasn’t really paying attention. Manon still hadn’t returned.

Where this anxiety was coming from, he didn’t know. He just wanted to see her, to know she was alright. When Orghana had asked after her and then left, something in the woman’s eyes had calmed him enough to keep him from following.

As it became clear that Altai wasn’t going to give them the real ending, Dorian took the opportunity to go into great detail about the phrases Qara unleashed upon her grandson for fooling the king. With the group now focused on teasing Altai, Dorian stepped back and found a quiet spot away from the crowd.

From his seat along the cavern wall, he watched the flames of the bonfire rise high above the edge of the pit.

Until this morning, he thought he’d been making progress in helping Manon. It took some time, but he’d gotten her to talk about her life in the Wastes - Glennis and the other witches, their struggles this past winter, their plans for the coming year.

One topic never came up.

More like twelve, he thought with a sharp punch of his own grief. The twelve witches he’d considered friends were part of his daily thoughts, and not always in relation to Manon.

They hadn’t been mentioned this week and he never asked, choosing to wait and let her decide when she was ready to talk.

Her expression from that first morning sprang into his mind. After finding her afraid and shaken, Dorian had made sure to wake her each morning before he left to get their breakfast. It hadn’t happened again, and he’d convinced himself it was nothing more than a nightmare. Waking from a bad dream in a new place would cause anyone to react that way. Deep down, he knew there was more to it. But beyond mourning the Thirteen, he had no idea what it even was.

Music began to play and several women stepped down into the pit, drawing everyone’s attention as they started to sing. People gathered closer to the fire, some sitting on the floor and benches, others beginning to dance. Dorian stayed where he was, staring at the dark, cloudless sky outside the aerie. Waiting.

Looking back on this week, back to their goodbye in Orynth, and even further back to that last night together in their tent, he began to see something taking shape. Each puzzle piece was a mistake made. Some were obvious, things he should have noticed at the time. Others were harder to make out, only visible with hindsight, after the puzzle was half done.

Dropping his head into his hands, Dorian scrubbed his fingers through his hair. When he sat back up, Manon was standing in front of him.

“Hello princeling.”

He jumped up, standing so close he had to bend a little to see into her eyes. “Hello witchling.”

The red lining her eyes told him she’d been crying. Seconds ago, he convinced himself that they could no longer ignore whatever walls were standing between them. Her tear-streaked cheeks were the push he needed to say something.

But she was smiling at him. And it was so easy to ignore the walls and the puzzles. What with the music sounding through the aerie, and the light of the fire dancing across her hair, and her smile…

Manon reached up and ran her fingers lightly through his hair, rearranging what he’d just messed up. “I believe our official duties here are done. So, I propose that we spend tomorrow together. Just us. And Abraxos. There’s a meadow on the other side of the gap that I think he’d enjoy seeing again.”  

Before he could reply, and, as if she’d just been reading his mind, Manon added, “I think I’m ready to talk. About them. If you’re willing to listen,”

“Of course,” he said, trying to hide his relief. “Anything you want.”

“In that case…” She bit her lip and glanced behind them. In a shy voice he’d never heard from her, she asked, “Would you dance with me?”

It was the absolute last thing he expected her to say, and he had no way to stop the grin that spread across his face. A grin she mirrored, if to a lesser degree.

“I was just about to ask you that,” he said.

Turning back to the gathering once more, Manon confessed, “I don’t know how. I’ve never danced before.”

The tempo of the music had quickened and the women who’d been singing were now part of small circles of dancers. Everyone joined in, belting out lyrics here and there.

“I’m not familiar with this style of dancing actually,” Dorian said, leaning down to speak into her ear over the loud chorus and clapping. She arched an eyebrow in teasing disbelief. Once, he’d mentioned the dance lessons he suffered through as a boy, overly harsh punishments for very minor rule-breaking. “Sadly, my instructor never strayed from traditional Erilean dances.”

They were already apart from the crowd, but Dorian took her hand and gently led her back into the shadows. Positioning her arm around his waist, he pulled her in close against his chest and cradled her hand between them. They began to move, swaying back and forth.

“How about this, witchling? We’ll start off slow and work our way up to the more advanced steps over time.”

Her reply was the soft, faint smile he loved most. The one she never realized she was making.

As Manon melted against him, Dorian rested his chin on her shoulder and began to turn them in a slow circle. They were hopelessly out of sync with the music, but they ignored it, keeping time with their heartbeats instead.

  To be continued...

Tagging  @itach-i  @nestasbucket  @manontrashbeak  @blackhavilliard  @bookishwitchling @jimetg98

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged. My posts no longer show up in tag searches (thanks tumblr), so reblogs are very appreciated. 😊  

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #kingdom of ash #throne of glass #manorian fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #tog fanfiction #goodbye and hello #my writing #I know that ending is cheesy as hell but I don't care #the other ending involved Erden giving Dorian dirty looks because he finally saw what everyone else already knew #but even he couldn't deny how cute they were slow dancing in the corner #manorian trash

[angrykittykrys]

Hey guys... I finally finished(??) my intro scene for my NaNo circus fic. If you are interested, I’ll post it under the read more.

So, this was the so called “magic” circus his uncle had been raving about the last time he had come to visit? From the outside, it didn’t look much different from the one he had known all his life. There were the same red and white striped tents, the same scents of caramel apples and other circus food. If he listened closely, he could even hear the same kinds of excited conversations from the patrons scattered all around him as they waited impatiently for the ticket gate to open for the evening.

“Did you see the show last night?” “The twins were incredibly, weren’t they?” “The fireball act was my favorite!” “I liked the fire dancing myself…”

Devon wondered what was so special about this particular show. His own circus had featured fire eaters and fire dancers, it wasn’t such an unusual act after all. Most circuses had similar acts, it was why he was here in the first place. It would be easy to move from one to another, after all. Even if this particular circus made a name for itself by calling its tricks “magic”, it was doubtful it would be that different from what he had grown up in. He just hoped they were in need of some new talent.

When the crowd began to cheer, he assumed the ticket gate must have opened for the night and he shimmied his way into line so that he would have enough time to reach the big top before the main show of the evening began. Usually it didn’t matter, and patrons would trickle in for the first half an hour while the clowns or jugglers did their thing. But today he didn’t want to miss a moment. If he was going to audition for this show, he wanted to see every single act. A circus was the sum of its parts, even the smallest parts were vitally important.

As he moved forward, coming up to the ticket master, he began to dig in his bag for the money he knew he had stashed away the night he left. He was still searching for a coin when the ticket master spoke up. “Your change, young man.”

Devon furrowed his brow. What change? He hadn’t even found his… wait. His fingers touched a coin then and he pulled it out to hand it over. To his surprise, there was exactly the right amount of change back already being offered to him. How was that possible before he even found money to hand over. Suspicious, he handed over his coin and took the change, stashing it back in his bag for safe keeping.

How had they done that? He wondered what kind of trick had been used as he wandered off between the myriad of tents surrounding him. After a few moments he brushed it off as a guess. Most people probably handed over silver coins, didn’t they? It wasn’t an unusual sum, so it was probably the assumed payment. Even if they only got it right half the time, it would seem like magic and would set the stage for what people assumed they would see once they arrived on the grounds. It was clever, but not magic. Just another circus trick designed to misdirect and inspire wonder.

As he walked toward the big top, he glanced briefly at the tents and sideshow offerings. There was the expected fortune teller stall, various games and food sellers, and the area where you could greet the animals that the circus kept for their acts. He did a double take when he saw a young girl pet a pure white horse sporting a horn, but he shook his head and told himself that it was impossible. Not only because unicorns had died out when his grandmother was a girl, but because circuses used these sorts of tricks all the time. No matter how real they made it look, he was certain it was just a horse with a horn stuck on somehow to make it look like a unicorn. It did add to the atmosphere though, just like that ticket gate trick.

Shaking his head again he moved along with a good portion of the crowd to the big top. 

Because he was early, he managed to get a seat in the front row where he was close enough to watch all the acts with the discerning eye of someone who has done the tricks before. If the show featured a good team of acrobats, he might genuinely consider auditioning. He desperately wanted to work in a team rather than continuing on his own. Not only was it lonely, it was downright alienating. Working with a partner, doing stunts with others who shared his training and experience… that was his dream. It was why he had left his father’s circus in the first place.

Within half an hour the show began. The stars of the evening arrived in the ring in a small parade, led by a lovely pale blonde couple who looked like they might have been twins. Maybe these were the pair that he had overheard talk of at the gate? There was also a water tank larger than any he had ever seen… and on wheels! He couldn’t help but wonder how heavy that must have been and how did it possibly roll along in the procession on its own rather than be pulled by horses or elephants? And then, it was hard to pose many questions at all. It was hard to think of anything when every sight before his eyes was impossible and for lack of a better word… magical.

The theme of the night was water, and that inspired every act, every outfit, every moment of the performance. Blues and greens were everywhere, along with ribbons tied in the female performers' hair that mimicked flowing rivers. It created a watercolor scene, dreamy and ethereal. So much more lovely than anything his own show had ever managed to produce.

Up in the air, hanging from the ceiling, one of the pale blondes, the male, had ascended reality on aerial silks. He moved gracefully as he danced with aerial silks that appeared to be two flowing rivers snaking around his ankles and waist. When he pulled himself up the top, it was clear how much strength it required to do so, but it was almost as though he had been swimming rather than climbing. The sinuous way he spun himself around the silken rivers to bind them around his waist and then spin like a cyclone down to the floor was absolutely mesmerizing. The entire audience held its breath as they watched him, unable to look away.

And that was only the beginning! The night grew more unexplainable, more magical, more spellbound as the acts continued. A young man had sat in the center of the ring and as thunder pealed through the audience, a rainstorm began to beat down on him and only him. One look to the top of the tent and you could see storm clouds gathering and lightning rumbling bright and electric. When it seemed that the storm calling was wonderous enough, he began shooting out his hands to catch lightning bolts that shot from the ceiling. Screams echoed throughout the tent for a moment, but when it all was revealed to be under control, thunderous applause echoed the thunder of the storm. 

To cap off the night, the most unexplainable, magical act was saved for the finale. The other half of the pale blonde pair, the slender young girl stepped forward and created a giant globe of water from the tank that had been sitting to the side of the ring for the entire show. She crafted it carefully, stealing every drop of water from the tank before lifting the globe off the ground and levitating it in the air. When she had it stabilized in the air, a group of acrobats ran out into the ring and one by one jumped into the globe, spinning and tossing each other through the water as if it were nothing but air.  They didn’t appear to even need to breathe. 

This circus was wholly unlike anything Devon had ever seen... and he had been raised in the circus.

After he left the show in the big top, he stepped back around the small sideshow tents that had been set up in the empty plot of land his mind spinning with everything he had seen. It was still early enough in the evening that people milled about, whispering about the show and various attractions in the tents, but he had no intention of looking into any of them. What he wanted was to find the ringmaster and see if there was any possible way to audition for her circus. While he couldn’t perform any spectacular feats of magic like the ones he had just seen, he had been raised on a tightrope and trapeze. His skills were second to none where aerial artists were concerned. The last ringmaster he had worked for had seen to that.

Knowing from experience that the circus was like a family and the ringmaster tended to stay on the outskirts to keep watch, Devon searched for a tent or wagon near the edge of the show grounds. He had just spotted a large wagon that looked like it might be what he was looking for  when he glimpsed a glimmering light coming from one of the nearby tents. It caught his attention in a way none of the others had done. Not that there was anything special about it from the outside. No. It just looked like the rest at first glance. But there was that small glimmer that brought him toward it, almost as if the light were a beacon guiding him on.

Cautiously he stepped up to the open tent flap and peeked inside. It didn’t take more than a moment to realize what the light had been. The tent seemed to be home to a small house of mirrors, and it was reflecting the lamplight in a hundred different directions. If he had been curious before, it was nothing to what he felt when he saw the things reflected in the mirrors. Patrons of the circus were shown in a myriad of ways: short, thin, tall, as wavy as a noodle or strangely enough, giving you hats when you were wearing none? It entertained him and drew him in as he wondered what he would look like reflected in the mirrors.

Eagerly he stepped inside, grinning to himself as he walked up to the first mirror. His smile died away almost instantly. There was nothing different about him in this mirror, nor in the one next to it. He glanced at a mirror across the way and saw that a small girl had red hair in her mirror image while her normal self had hair as dark as his own. He moved to stand behind her, wondering if perhaps the ones at the front of the tent were angled incorrectly or had had the spells wear off of them… but no. As he stood looking into the mirror, his hair remained a sooty black instead of the bright ginger he thought it should have shown.

He moved to another mirror and still nothing. A frown creased his features, scrunching up his nose as he walked through a room of very ordinary mirrors. Where was the mystery, the fun? Why did the other patrons have so many different experiences but he only saw his own reflection the way it always had been?

By the time he exited the tent, he felt a bit cheated. Why hadn’t any of the mirrors shown what they were supposed to show? Was he somehow defective? Had he broken the magic somehow? But no… that didn’t make sense. Hadn’t it worked for the girl while he had been looking in it as well? Then what? There didn’t seem to be an explanation for the strange phenomenon he was facing. It was enough to stop him at the exit of the tent, wondering if he should walk back through and see if it worked this time.

“Young man, please wait a moment!”

Devon’s attention was caught by a small, portly looking fellow who was stepping out of what appeared to be the back of the tent he had just come from. There was an eager look in his eyes as he reached out to keep Devon from leaving.

A prickly, nervous sort of feeling washed over him as the man rushed to his side. Had he in fact broken something? If the circus was indeed run by magic as it claimed (and after seeing the show he had no reason to doubt it), had something gone wrong in the tent of mirrors to make one of the magicians come after him?

“I didn’t mean to break your spells!” The words blurted out of him before he could call them back. He didn’t have any money (did magicians need money to fix broken spells?) or knowledge of how to fix what had gone wrong. Though, as often happened when he grew nervous or afraid, his skin grew warm and he felt a painful tingling in his fingers. His father had always told him it was in his head, an excuse to get out of punishment. Not that it ever had. 

“No, you didn’t break anything, lad. The mirror spells worked just the way they were always intended to,” the man ran his hands down his suspenders and chuckled. 

“But, I didn’t see anything. The other patrons changed with each mirror, but I stayed the same. Is there something wrong with me?” It was a worry that had always flitted about the back of his mind, as he was sure it did to many others. Didn’t everyone worry at some point in their lives that they weren’t normal for whatever reason?

Another chuckle from the small man. “Come with me. I’ll let Emelda explain it all to you. She likes doing all the recruiting herself.”

“Recruiting? You mean, to be a part of your circus here?”

Devon was completely flabbergasted. It had been his hope from the moment the first act had begun in the big top and he had realized how truly different this circus was from any he had seen before. Now he was being told that they wanted to recruit him when they hadn’t even seen his act? It seemed too good to be true. As though he were in a dream just waiting for his father to shake him awake and force him back to a grueling schedule.

“I can’t speak for Emelda, but I’m proud of my house of mirrors. It’s never failed once in gettin’ us exactly who we need for our show. I’ve charmed it up real nice.”

“What… what exactly does your house of mirror do?” Devon couldn’t help but be curious, even if the man didn’t seem inclined to give any answers before passing him off to this ‘Emelda’ person. Surely just one answer couldn’t hurt.

The man turned and winked at him, but gave no answers. He seemed to have a routine that he wasn’t planning to break for anyone. Even for a curious acrobat.

Before long they arrived at the wagon that he had earlier decided was the most likely to house the ringmaster, and the old man gave a light knock on the wooden frame. “Emelda, I found you a good one in the house of mirrors tonight.”

Without hesitation the heavy canvas was immediately pushed aside and the mop of dark curly hair of the ringmaster poked out. Up close she was older than Devon had thought, but no less enthusiastic looking. There was a spark in her that clearly said she loved what she was doing and wanted to share it with the world.

“Walt, are you sure? It’s been awhile since we had a promising candidate.” Dark eyes searched his features, though what she was looking for Devon wasn’t sure.

“Yup! He didn’t light up a single mirror. Shut all my charms down good and proper. He even shut down one while still lettin’ a little girl see herself with pretty red hair. It was impressive if I do say so myself.” The old man, Walt, beamed at Devon and gave him a nudge in the back with his shoulder. “If you can convince him to stay, he could probably put on a real nice show.”

He had no idea what the two were talking about, but clearly they saw something great in him. Perhaps the mirrors let them see talent? If that was the case, it would go a long way toward helping him get the job here he wanted so badly. Maybe if he told them about his experiences, it would sweeten the pot.

“I’m a trained acrobat,” he said eagerly, probably too eager, but he couldn’t help himself. This was where he wanted to perform for the rest of his career. “I’ve been walking the high wire all my life, and I have experience with trapeze and adagio as well. If you’ll let me show you what I can do, I promise that you won’t be disappointed.”

Emelda’s eyes suddenly shot straight to his, her eyebrows raising and her lips parting slightly in surprise. “You’re an acrobat as well?”

“As well?” He squinted, as though by doing so he would finally see the missing piece to the puzzling night he was having. 

“You have latent magical ability,” Emelda said with a delicate shrug, as though that should have been obvious. “It’s why none of the magic mirrors worked for you. A person who can use magic tends to shield themselves from spells of other magic users. It’s an instinctive thing. We can teach you how to turn that off, along with how to channel and use your abilities. Are you interested?”

He took a step back, needing to distance himself for a moment so he could process what had just been said. He had magical ability? Was that really possible? If so, wouldn’t he know? Wouldn’t it have shown itself in him before this?

Nerves had his fingers tingling again, and he opened and closed them without thinking much about it. But Emelda saw what he was doing and she let out a laugh that was just as rich and full as her waves of curls. She leaned forward over the edge of her wagon, a wide grin showing off her pearly white teeth. “Your magic is influenced by your emotions. You’ve always had a buzzing in your hands when you aren’t calm, right?”

He nodded, unable to think of anything else to say. There was a feeling of relief though. Relief that he hadn’t been making it up, that it wasn’t in his head, that someone else understood. It was like he had finally found the ground again after years of floating away.

“Emelda’s the best teacher there is, lad,” Walt said, nudging him again. “If you want to learn what you’re capable of, there’s no better place to study.”

“Okay… yeah. I’ll do it!” He didn’t even need to think the decision through before he agreed. Finally finding people who understood him was more important than anything. It was life changing.

“Walt, find him a place to bunk for the night. I’ll introduce him to Aurora tomorrow,” Emelda said softly, that spark back in her eyes as she looked him over. “I think he’s just what she’s been needing.”

#July Camp Nano 2019 #Circus story #Devon #3 hours and 4 rewrites #it's a good thing I'm going by hours and not words this time #I'd never get anything accomplished

[horsegirlhob]

a n s w e r t h e m a l l

Jesus take the weel we really gon do this huh?

Well, prepare yourself I guess.

1. Who was the last person you held hands with?

Mah girlfrien

2. Are you outgoing or shy?

Outgoing I guess?

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing?

Courtney Barnette in concert tonight good music I strongly recommend.

4. Are you easy to get along with?

I like to think so

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you?

Yeh I’d assume so 

6. What kind of people are you attracted to?

Smart funny people? Idk.

7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now?

Yeah

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind?

No one?

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable?

Nah

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with?

My therapist

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say?

It’s the “Guess I’ll die” picture.

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now?

You can’t make me choose

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair?

Depends on who it is.

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles?

Nah.

15. What good thing happened this summer?

I went to france which was litty as a titty (I regret the words that I speak)

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

Absolutely

17. Do you think there is life on other planets?

Yep, definitely

 18. Do you still talk to your first crush?

No, but not because of some falling out or anything, we just went to different high schools

19. Do you like bubble baths?

Never had one

20. Do you like your neighbors?

Yeah, overall.

21. What are you bad habits?

I bite my nails and I write all my ‘f’s like fuckin forte symbols

22. Where would you like to travel?

I’d like to go to venice again before it sinks into the ocean

23. Do you have trust issues?

Nah

24. Favorite part of your daily routine?

Getting home 

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with?

Fuckin boobs

26. What do you do when you wake up?

Pretend that I have not woken up

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker?

Darker because I burn so fuckin easily

28. Who are you most comfortable around?

The neighborhood cat

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up?

Yes my many many exes that I seduced and who are all still in love with me. (Jk I have no exes)

30. Do you ever want to get married?

I really don’t care either way.

31. If your hair long enough for a pony tail?

Not even remotely

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with?

Jodi Whittaker and Jodi because They’re both great but more importantly their names rhyme

33. Spell your name with your chin.

johanna (I am so impressed with myself you have no idea)

34. Do you play sports? What sports?

I used to play soccer and now I do aerial silks

35. Would you rather live without TV or music?

Definitely no tv

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them?

Yeah, of course.

37. What do you say during awkward silences?

I usually just poke the other person with a stick like some kind of roadkill racoon

38. Describe your dream girl/guy?

Don’t really have one

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in?

The candy ones

40. What do you want to do after high school?

Go to university

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?

Not everyone but usually (for like minor stuff. Rapists and stuff like that I’m not inclined to give a second chance.)

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean?

I’m asleep

43. Do you smile at strangers?

I wink suggestively at strangers until they run away.

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean?

Outer space.

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning?

My mother turning on my light and yelling at me

46. What are you paranoid about?

Everyone hating me

47. Have you ever been high?

Nope.

48. Have you ever been drunk?

Once with my grandmother

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about?

Yep

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore?

Black

51. Ever wished you were someone else?

Yes

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself?

I wish that my chest were smaller (aka no boobs would be a fun time)

53. Favourite makeup brand?

The... face... kind?

54. Favourite store?

the grocery store

55. Favourite blog?

Certainly not my own

56. Favourite colour?

Red

57. Favourite food? 

I’ve always loved all kinds of asian cuisine. Right now I’m kinda craving sushi.

58. Last thing you ate?

A homemade cranberry muffin

59. First thing you ate this morning?

A homemade cranberry muffin

60. Ever won a competition? For what?

Some soccer tournaments.

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what?

Nothing

62. Been arrested? For what?

Arrested for stealing people’s hearts ;)

63. Ever been in love? 

Pass

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss?

My girlfriend kissed me in the theatre room because no one was there and I was leaving for 2 months and then we sat in silence for half an hour.

65. Are you hungry right now?

Not really

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends?

What real friends?

67. Facebook or Twitter?

Instagram

68. Twitter or Tumblr?

Tumblr

69. Are you watching tv right now?

No.

70. Names of your bestfriends? 

Evelin

71. Craving something? What?

Craving that sweet sweet serotonin

 72. What colour are your towels?

Mostly blue and purple

72. How many pillows do you sleep with?

deux

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals?

Oui

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have?

You mean how many drawers of stuffed animals? the answer is three. Three drawers full. 

75. Favourite animal?

Fox or raccoon

76. What colour is your underwear?

Purple

77. Chocolate or Vanilla?

Chocolate

78. Favourite ice cream flavour?

I’m a slut of some good cookie dough

79. What colour shirt are you wearing?

Black

80. What colour pants?

Grey

81. Favourite tv show?

It’s not my favourite but I just finished watching the good place which is a good show

82. Favourite movie?

Don’t really have one. Maybe Heathers?

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2?

Mean Girls

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street?

Mean Girls (never seen 21 jump street)

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls?

Karen

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo?

Crush

87. First person you talked to today?

My mother

88. Last person you talked to today?

My father

89. Name a person you hate?

Jada

90. Name a person you love?

Evelin

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now?

Myself 

92. In a fight with someone?

Myself

93. How many sweatpants do you have?

Too many

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have?

at least 11

95. Last movie you watched?

Ant man and the wasp

96. Favourite actress?

Jodi Whittaker because she’s the first one I could think of.

97. Favourite actor?

David Tennant because I was thinking about doctor who

98. Do you tan a lot?

If by tan you mean burn

99. Have any pets?

I have a little sister

100. How are you feeling?

Depressed and distressed

101. Do you type fast?

Yeah but it’s with really bad technique

102. Do you regret anything from your past?

Yes

103. Can you spell well?

Absolutely not

104. Do you miss anyone from your past?

Yeah

105. Ever been to a bonfire party?

Yes actually

106. Ever broken someone’s heart?

Only my parents

107. Have you ever been on a horse?

Yep

108. What should you be doing?

Not this

109. Is something irritating you right now?

Period cramps are a bitch

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt?

Dan and Phil

111. Do you have trust issues?

No and I feel like this was asked already

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of?

My friend probably

113. What was your childhood nickname?

Joji

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state?

Yep

115. Do you play the Wii?

Nope

116. Are you listening to music right now?

Always

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup?

Yeah

118. Do you like Chinese food?

Yes but only actual Chinese food none of your american Chinese shit

119. Favourite book?

I want my hat back

120. Are you afraid of the dark?

No

121. Are you mean?

Mainly to myself

122. Is cheating ever okay?

No

123. Can you keep white shoes clean?

I can’t even keep black shoes clean

124. Do you believe in love at first sight?

Not at all

125. Do you believe in true love?

In a way

126. Are you currently bored?

Not really

127. What makes you happy?

Dan and Phil

128. Would you change your name?

In a heartbeat

129. What your zodiac sign?

Virgo

130. Do you like subway?

I mean it’s not like, my favourite food but I’ll eat it

131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

But he’s gay

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

I know for sure that we asked this question already

133. Favourite lyrics right now?

“The paramedic thinks I’m clever cause I play guitar, I think she’s clever cause she stops people dying”

134. Can you count to one million?

No because patience is a virtue

135. Dumbest lie you ever told?

“Yeah I have math class next” (I had french class)

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed?

Closed

137. How tall are you?

5′10

138. Curly or Straight hair?

Well I have straight hair, but I don’t know if this means me or on other people.

139. Brunette or Blonde?

Brunette

140. Summer or Winter?

Winter

141. Night or Day?

Night

142. Favourite month?

December

143. Are you a vegetarian?

Nope, I like eating that thick meat.

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate?

Milky milky goodness

145. Tea or Coffee?

Both

146. Was today a good day?

Objectively

147. Mars or Snickers?

Twix

148. What’s your favourite quote?

[Embrace the void and] have the courage to exist 

149. Do you believe in ghosts?

I am a ghost. 

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page? (via catscuddlingandyou)

“Staring at my reflection in one of those angled shoe-store mirrors when I was six or seven, thinking there was something wrong with my body.”

That was long and I apologize to everyone who follows me.

[enigmasalad]

Of Benders and Bonding Chapter 1

Roman didn't know how Patton convinced Logan to check out the circus with them. Okay that was kind of a lie. Patton probably used his puppy eyes, blinked a few times and said “please” in a childish manor. It seemed Logan could not resist the puppy eyes. Of course Roman couldn't either. It would be like kicking a puppy and Roman liked puppies. But yeah, the three of them were sitting in the stands of a circus. Patton was going on and on about buying candy and a few other things for the kids he looked after at home. “Im sure they would like some candy. Of course I would like candy too. Can we buy a lot of candy so everyone can have some?”

“Patton we're too far away from home. By the time we got home the candy would be expired. Plus you and the children don't need as much as you're saying.” Logan said while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well there's a post office in town! We can box it up and have it send through express mail!” Patton said.

“Patton, as much as a fantastic idea that is, I doubt we can pay for express mail. Perhaps when we do some work and collect some bounties we can send the children candy from one of the shops?” Roman said. He didn't like having limits but sadly money was one of them.

“But Roman it's circus candy! Circus candy is different than regular candy! Its more fun!” Patton said.

“I don't think there Is a difference.” Logan chimed in.

“Well candy from festivals and circuses do seem more special.” Roman thought.

“Exactly! And my- I mean the children definitely deserve some special candy. It may not erase whatever they've gone through but it might add some joy! Plus who doesn't like candy?” the air bender said.

The earth bender raised his hand.

“I thought we were friends Logan! Best friends!” Patton cried. He sounded like he was betrayed.

Just then someone dropped a small bag into Patton's lap. Roman looked up to see a person in a black hooded jacket start to walk away. “Sir you dropped this!” Patton called out.

“Keep it.” the stranger called back as he went through a small guarded door.

Roman turned to the other two and shrugged.

“Perhaps he heard us talking. Maybe next time we should be a bit quieter.” Logan said as he examined the bag's contents. From the clinking sound, the fire bender could guess it was coins.

“Oh what a nice guy! I hope we can find him and thank him!” Patton said.

Soon the lights dimmed and a spotlight shown on the ringmaster. The old man greeted everyone and told them the typical “you will be amazed” speech. Roman was honestly a bit excited to see what would be going on. Perhaps he could draw inspiration from it for his drawings and stories.

“Oh! Also I forgot to mention this. There's a villain who wants to take over this circus! If you spot him let us know. He wears all black and has a thundercloud on him!”

Roman rolled his eyes slightly. This man was a poor script writer and his acting wasn't all that good. However the crowd seemed invested. The first act was the “hero” of the circus and he was the strong man. Next was a man and woman who were animal tamers. Then a few acrobats of both genders did things such as tight rope walking and the trapezes. Roman found himself slightly interested in the other firebenders who juggled things like flaming batons and flaming swords. Seriously the blades were on fire. Patton was cheering when one of them spat out fire near the crowd. Roman glanced over at Logan, who was reading a book. The earth bender could care less. Finally after the last act the Ringmaster came into view again.

“That was our wonderful circus! I h-”

The lights dimmed. The Ringmaster acted confused as he looked around. Roman internally cringed as the Ringmaster pretended to panic. However he was focused on silk lowering from the ceiling. Then a hooded figure was behind the ringmaster and there was smoke. When the smoke cleared the stranger from earlier was in center stage. The Ringmaster was “gagged” and in a cannon. How did Roman not notice the cannon?

“Roman! It's the guy from earlier!” Patton whisper yelled.

The unknown person pulled the jacket off of himself dramatically and crossed his arms. On his skin tight gymnastics leotard was a thundercloud.

“Fools. You thought Strongman could find me? Fat chance. This is my circus now!”

Roman had to admit, this guy's acting was better than everyone who had performed. Patton was very interested. He kept saying “oh my goodness, oh my goodness”.Logan lifted a brow and looked from his book.

“Now witness the last act you will ever take part in Ringmaster. Strongman can't save you now.”

The villain then snapped and music came on. It was obvious his act was aerial silks now. The man slipped off his shoes and began climbing the dark purple silk. He would wrap it around himself and fall, spin, do the splits in mid air and so many other things. And the whole time he was doing it in a slightly seductive or memorizing manor. It was almost like pole dancing, minus the pole. He was incredibly flexible and oddly attractive. Roman was sure under all that dark eye shadow and white foundation there was a nice guy underneath. However every hero story needed a villain.

“Oh wow! He's really good! I can't do the splits!” Patton said.

After one last spin and a drop the man got down from the silk ropes and the music stopped. The crowed cheered at the performance.

“See Ringmaster? They're cheering the loudest for me! My powers are working on them.”

The villain then walked over to the cannon and stood next to it. A smirk spread on his face.

“For my encore  I will send this man into the sky. He will be shot from this cannon and will never be seen again!”

As the villain laughed maniacally “Strongman” came.

“Not if I can help it Doctor Gloom! You may be flexible and smart, but there is one thing you do not have!” Strongman said.

“What is that you boar?”

“Super strength!”

With that Strongman picked Doctor Gloom up and carried him offstage. Everyone laughed and cheered as the villain kicked and pounded the man's back in an effort to free himself. After the two were gone the ringmaster got out of the cannon and took off his gag.

“Doctor Gloom may be scary but he isn't good at tying knots. Anyways thank you for visiting our circus! We hope to see you again soon!”

The crowd made their way out of the exits. However Patton didn't want to leave yet.

“We still have to thank Doctor Gloom! Plus he was cool and I want to ask how he could do the splits without it hurting.”

“Well he went backstage where patrons like us cannot go. Lets just go to the hotel room and end the day.” Logan said as he closed his book.

“Nonsense Logan! That man did a good deed and must be thanked! Plus his acting skills were better than everyone's! I must let him know he was a good villain.” Roman said, agreeing with Patton.

“The guards aren't there Logan? Pleeeaaase?”

Puppy eyes.

“Fine. No more than five minutes. Then we are out.”

Patton cheered and immediately ran towards the backstage curtain. Roman laughed and followed, leaving Logan protesting and having to follow. They carefully looked around to see if anyone saw them. Luckily they weren't noticed, so they entered. Patton let the way down the hall where a large amount of light was coming from a room. They peeked in and saw Strongman and Doctor Gloom talking.

“Virgil you needed that money! You needed it to get out of here! No person deserves to be owned!”

“Chill. Those people needed it more than I do. Besides I'll be fine.”

“But-”

Just then the Ringmaster entered through another entrance.

“Bai can you give Virgil and I a moment? Thank you.”

Strongman looked at Virgil (Doctor Gloom) for a moment and left. After he left, all hell broke loose.

“Boy I didn't buy you off of your father for lousy performances!” the Ringmaster said.

“Whatever. Slavery is against the law. All I have to do is tell someone and you'll be gone.” Virgil said, a frown on his face.

“You wouldn't dare. You have nowhere else to go. Besides what place would allow blood benders to work and live? You'll be alone until you die. Maybe if you were lucky you'd land a job as a prostitute. I own you Virgil. You cant do shit.”

“You dont own m-”

Virgil suddenly fell to the floor holding his cheek. The Ringmaster then kicked him hard. That was enough for Roman. He got up and rushed in. He stood protectively over Virgil and pointed his sword at the Ringmaster.

“You will not lay another hand on this man understood? You will let everyone you bought go and turn yourself in. If not I will have to harm you.” Roman said, his expression becoming more firm.

“Who the hell are you? What does that matter no one will believe you.”

Logan then stood up and walked in ever so calm and collected. However his face was stern, borderline intimidating.

“I would listen to him. He and the emperor of the Fire Nation are close. As many military and government authorities and I.” Logan said.

The Ringmaster was quiet now. Patton came in and helped Virgil up and held him protectively. Like a brother protecting his sibling from a bully. The only reason why the dark strange performer wasn't running away was because he was too stunned.

“I call bullshit.”

“Well then I assume you shall wait until authorities come and break up your circus? Have it your way.”

“We'll be taking Virgil somewhere better than this. Shame on you. I hope you never sleep well ever again.” Patton said. To be honest that was a pretty intense thing to come from the air bender.

The group made their way out the back, Roman keeping vigilant just in case the Ringmaster came after them. When they were out Virgil fell to his hands and knees. He was shaking and if one looked closely one might see tears.

“What do you guys want from me? I don't have anything else to give to you.” he said. “That's a rude thing to say to your heroes.” Roman said.

“You were having a serious problem so we fixed it. Easy as that.” Logan added while pushing his glasses up.

Then Patton spoke. “Virgil is it? Hi I'm Patton. The guy in green is Logan and the guy with the sword is Roman. We wanted to help you.”

“I could've helped myself.” Virgil grumbled. Tears were still falling.

“Well looks like you got out early. Here, we'll  follow you to get your things and take you to our hotel room. We'll let you eat, have a shower, rest  and then you can do what you want. You can leave and do your own thing if you want. Go back to your family if you have any, chase any dreams you have..”

Virgil seemed to tense at that. However Patton continued.

“If you don't know then maybe you can travel with us until you know! We'll visit other places so there might be somewhere you want to be. The world is big you know!”

Virgil looked up with Patton and blinked.

“That...sounds nice.”

#virgil sanders #anxiety sanders #sanders sides #logan sanders #logic sanders #patton sanders #morality sanders #roman sanders #prince sanders #Thomas Sanders #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #prinxiety #logicality

[all-of-the-imagines-for-eve]

Dancer ~ Sweet Pea

A/n: I got a request!!! Thanks, @lazylamo hope you like it!

Request: hey, can I request a one-shot fic about the reader who is doing the serpent dance but her bf sweet pea doesn't know? He only realises when he walks into the wyrm and there are aerials suspended from the ceiling? Aerial silks are the lonf fabrics that the girls climb and fall form thanks xx

Word Count: 2200+

My eyes wandered along the ceiling as I lay in bed, Sweet Pea still asleep beside me. I didn't dare move, half because I didn't want to wake my boyfriend up and half because I was finally falling asleep and my brain was working into a pattern I knew would be shattered if I got out of bed. I didn’t want to start waking up just yet.

My head turned and my gaze rested on the Serpent tattoo on Sweetpea's neck. I frowned, my fingers absent mindedly tracing where I'd always imagined mine would be. My hip. My upper chest. My thigh. My ankle. My shoulder.

I wanted to be a Serpent. I’d been living on the South Side my entire life and they’d always had my back, since my sister was in the gang. When she moved away to college, my friends didn’t stop having my back so much as I just felt like I didn’t deserve their protection. I had no binds to the Serpents anymore. It didn’t seem fair.

Sweet Pea disagreed. I was an official Serpent to him- jacket and tattoo or not. I was part of his life and his family and that’s all that mattered. I had fought with them plenty of times, pipe in hand or back against the wall or face in the dirt. I had spoken for them. In his eyes, that was enough. I acted like a serpent, without having to, so I could get the befits of hanging with them without needing it to be official.

As much as I absolutely loved the kid, that wasn’t good enough for me. I wanted to earn my keep. I wanted to be included in things that would allow me to protect my friends and have a real bond with this family that was at the end of my finger tips but just out of reach. I mean sure, I’d gotten scarred and bloodied plenty of times for them. But there was a difference then last second jumping in or having their back at school or just happening to be there, and being included. I wanted to be involved ALL the time, not just when I was near enough to interject.

I knew Sweets hated the thought of me initiating. He had grown up watching girls dance on that pole and now that he knew what it was like to care about someone as he did me, it horrified him to think of me up there. He was too protective to subject me to the prodding, searching eyes of those in the crowd as girls had been stared down by him. He knew it was bound to happen- there’d be at least one. Most likely far more than just that. People that he wouldn’t be able to catch and put in their place. So he had told me not to do it. What we had now was enough.

Secretly though, I knew he wanted me in the gang. Betty had done the dance and joined Jughead as Queen; Cheryl did the dance and stands at Toni‘s side. Being with someone to balance out all the seriousness and gloom was a relief. There was something so personal to that connection. So much more. Something both of us craved. Fangs was amazing at keeping Sweet Pea light hearted but it wasn’t the same. I wanted to have his back. I couldn’t do that while I stayed home and worry about whether my boyfriend was alive or not. He had come home crying a few times because he didn’t think he’d get to tell me he loved me one more time. I wanted to be there and hold his hand and tell him that if he went, we’d go together.

If I could just get that dance out of the way so he wouldn’t have to see it. If I could just...

My eyes found his sleeping face and I slowly slipped out of his arms as the sun began to be fully rise, putting on shoes and jeans and a jacket before leaving. I got on my bike and made my way to the Wyrm. The woman at the bar was a familiar face and as I approached her, she grinned. “We’re closed right now, Darling. Your boy isn’t here.”

I smiled. “I’m not here for Sweet Pea. I... want to know the details of the dance.”

Her eyes twinkled. “I’m happy you’ve finally come around. I’ll enjoy seeing you around here for real.”

My grin widened. “Me too.”

-

At the end of the day I dumped all of the contents for school from my backpack and slipped the grocery sack in, zipping it up again and closing my locker. Just as I did so, Sweetpea leaned against the locker next to mine. Our eyes met and his smile stretched so wide enough that my knees grew weak. I never got used to how deliciously handsome he was. Especially when he smiled. “Hey there, Princess.”

Blushing, I looked around the hall frantically, checking to make sure no one heard him. “Sweets,” I toned in, surprised.

“What?” He questioned, his tone full of laughter. “I can’t call my girlfriend by her name?” His arm shot around to slide around my lower back, pulling my chest against his. I giggled. I wanted to melt into him...

“You’re too sweet to me,” I hummed distractedly, trying to reorient my thoughts. Focus. I had to force my mind back on track. I had the Dance tonight. Right after school, as soon as the Wyrm opened. He would be busy with homework and I would have plenty of time for one dance and then I’d skip away before he could stop me or had to watch me and suffer with me. Then it’d be over and I’d be official.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his head dipping to catch my eyes again. “What’s got your mind so occupied?”

Shrugging, I leaned into him, trying to distract him. By the way his eyes seemed to warm like melted milk chocolate proved to me it was working. “Nothing,” I eased.

He sighed. “I was thinking of taking you out tonight. The rest of today just for you and me. I was planning on having the day off if Jughead is his goons don’t cause more drama.” We both chuckled, knowing very well that not only was Sweetpea was one of those ‘goons’, he was usually the one causing the trouble. “Have anything in mind?”

My heart soared. Sweetpea and I hadn’t had an entire day to ourselves in a while and being alone with him for so long sounded like paradise. Then I remembered my plans. “Uh, I have something for for like half an hour after school, max. But then yes, definitely.”

He rose an eyebrow, leaning back to look down at me. “What do you have planned?” He wasn’t jealous, which made me happy because he used to be very quick to jealousy and assume the worst right away. He was prodding, though. Curious. He had no idea what I was doing but he trusted me.

I tried not to think too much about that.

“Nothing important,” I dismissed. “Just have to take care of something.” I was toeing the line, too close to a full lie to be comfortable. His confusion didn’t drop but he didn’t push it too far. “But after, okay?”

Sweetpea nodded and when I reached up to kiss him, his frown melted into a soft smile. “I love you,” he whispered as I pulled out of his arms, turning to head for my bike.

I shifted to look at him so I was walking backwards. “I love you too. See you later! He watched me go the entire way. I could feel his eyes on me, and I tried not to picture the worried look he always had on his face when we parted ways. He had no reason to be worried.

Mostly.

- Third person POV -

Y/n had changed and was backstage. Her hair was down and she’d primped up a tad more than usual so her makeup wouldn’t be washed out completely by the state lighting.

Just as the bar lady gave her thumbs up and Y/n prepared herself to push out onto the stage and face the audience for the Serpent Dance that had been promised tonight, Sweet Pea opened the door to the Wyrm and entered the bar. He figured while he had time that he’d check in on things and make sure it was all still set for a perfect night devoid of interruption. He was excited to spend time with the girl he loved more than anything, just the two of them, and he hoped that her plans didn’t take too long.

It was the aerials that caught his eye. The silky material billowed just a bit in the air conditioned room, swaying so softly the movement could barely be seen. The pastel purple and blue lighting added to a feeling boiling in Sweetpea’s gut and he felt dread rising up.

He’d heard about the Serpent dance happening tonight. That’s why he’d taken the day off. He didn’t want to see the dance and he didn’t want to hear people talking about it either. It would make him think about Y/n, and the months she had begged him and how much he wished she was apart of them. Make him think about why he didn’t want her to be...

This time she came to mind though for a different reason. Namely, there were only two people that Sweetpea knew who could use aerials. Toni, who had dabbled in a few different kinds of dance before being a Serpent taken up her life. And Y/n, who had asked Toni to teach her some dance stuff one day when the two girls were bored and worried about whatever thing had been bothering them that week. To pass time, Toni had taught Y/n how to dance with aerials and Y/n had taken up the hobby more seriously to keep her occupied. Sweet Pea remembered catching the tail end of her practicing one day and he swore he’d have to get her to dance for him one day.

Privately.

Without prying eyes.

Definitely not in the Wyrm where everyone was watching.

When Y/n swaggered on stage and the music started, Sweetpea’s horror doubled. He stood there, frozen in shock, helpless to do anything but watch as the girl approached the microphone, the beginning of “Dance Monkey” by Tones and I playing from the speakers.

Y/n, well aware she was no singer, moved past the mic and let the music play as her hands fell through the aerials. She finally grabbed one, gripping it tightly in her hand and leaning back to put her weight on it. She swung for a second before facing the audience, winking before she turned to the aerial and began-

Climbing it.

Horror turned to awe as Sweetpea watched her move up the aerial. It wasn’t innocent by any means and Sweetpea has to swallow hard to clear the lump from his throat at the sight of her body, covered by a leotard. One that was in order to leave her as much mobility as possible, but had in the process left little to the imagination.

Sweetpea had to admit it wasn’t as suggestive as a pole dance though. She paused as she got in the air, twisting around and weaving through the two aerials as she... danced. It was dancing, after all. Even while not on her feet she moved so smoothly and gracefully that it couldn’t be considered anything else.

Other Serpent dances had always reminded Sweet Pea of his times as a youth testing fate and messing with garden snakes. As a child he had watched with with eyes, allured by the dangerous beauty of the snake. That same wide eyed look had been on his face when he’’d watched dances before meeting Y/n. This dance was different. Not dangerous and tantalizing. Y/n’s skill distracted from the way she moved, and her winking and blowing kisses became funny instead of arousing.

In its own way, it was still sexy. Y/n moved with the best, up and down the aerial as she practically glided through the air. It wasn’t however suggestive, and when Sweetpea looked around the room there was no discomfort or creepiness. Just... awe. People were enraptured by her. She had every single pair of eyes, all wide and matching their grins. Like children watching a magic show.

At one point she let go and fell a few feet as the aerials unraveled, and gasps sounded everywhere. Some people - Sweets included - took a step forward as if to race forward and catch the girl. But the aerial stopped her before she hit the ground and caught breaths turned to sounds of astonishment.

She was putting on a show. She was amazing. She was beautiful. No one stared at her like she was a meal, they were gawking at her in wonder.

Sweet Pea grinned. He didn’t know just how much Y/n had continued to practice, but it must have been a lot to get this good. She was genuinely really talented. He got energetic and excited, his hand reaching out to the closest person to catch their attention so he could gush, “That’s my girlfriend!” like a proud parent.

Those around Sweet Pea smiled at the tender look in the boy’s eyes, but were soon pulled back to Y/n as her performance ended and she sunk to the floor in a split, the aerials moving like magic to cover and then uncover her face again and again as her wide, beautiful eyes found the crowd and her flushed face light up the stage.

Applause erupted and she stood, bowed, and made her way back stage with a blinding grin on her face. Sweetpea took off to meet her back stage, stumbling over himself at how flustered he was. He found her quickly as she was pulling on a robe and when their eyes locked, fear flickered through her gaze only a second before she brightened at his enthusiastic expression. “That was amazing!”

She giggled. “Thank you. I asked and they said it counts. It’s just sexy enough while allowing me to focus on something else and still be comfortable...” She searched his eyes, her glee wavering. “You’re not mad?”

Awe turned to need as his eyes found her body in that outfit of hers, picturing how she could twist around him. She had obviously been holding back and Sweetpea was about to take full advantage of everything he’d been missing. He pulled her close. “I did say you couldn’t do this whole dance thing,” he mused. “You’re for my eyes only...”

Smirking, Y/n caught Sweet Pea’s shirt collar in her hands and pulled him down in a passionate kiss. If any eyes were still on her they were gone now as it instantly got heated. She pulled away, her lips against his ear, her breath falling against his skin and causing a shiver to slither down his spine. Her voice was breathy as she whispered, “I have been a bad girl, haven’t I?”

Sweetpea moaned quietly. “Home. Now. I want to see what else you’ve been hiding from me.”

Y/n took his hand, eagerly pulling Sweets toward the exit of the Wyrm. They finally had the entire rest of the day to themselves and both of them were well intending to make the absolute most of it. And then some.

-

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