💤sid-wright-was-right Follow
Can ya'll stop posting anti-saint stuff... They're an oppressed minority, can we all remember that.....Saints get hunted every day, and ya'll are out here posting stuff like "Saw a saint in my bookshop's attic I'm calling the godkillers" like what happened to all godkillers are bastards
💡lesbian-saint-electric Follow
LMAOOOO what's wrong with you LOL of course I'm calling the godkillers if there's a saint on the loose that's fucking dangerous.
🌊whatthosetwinmouthsdo Follow
theres the legal gods fetishist coming here to defend godkillers
💡 lesbian-saint-electric Follow
Your url is literally whatthosetwinmouthsdo?? That's super illegal.
🌊 whatthosetwinmouthsdo Follow
at least im not supporting killing saints for just existing go shoot at a shrimp loser
🪰emperorinfags Follow
anyone in this thread smoke weed
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18 & 63 for the trope mashup please! <3
18. Circus AU and 63. Everybody knows, mistaken for a couple
^from the prompt mash ups game!
This is a Cirque du Soleil AU where Norris and Piastri are two trapeze artists who made huge names for themselves in their individual countries. They get paired up for new show, and it involves a really tricky sequence that people are convinced is not possible and has never been done before, let alone by two guys.
They have a couple of near misses on the attempts to nail the trick, and the whole gang is watching carefully from the safety nets. People are biting their nails, and george is totally double checking the insurance papers and trying not to freak out.
Anyway, Oscar hangs upside down on the bar, totally chill. on the platform, Lando shakes the last of his nerves from his fingers. he slides a firm grip down his own bar, the one place that’s been so familiar for so many years, and he takes a breath. It’s beyond conscious thought, it’s just muscle memory, stepping into the air. With faith that the other man will meet him, in that millisecond between complete connection and the plummet.
Hands. It’s all in the hands. Lando's own fingertips moulding to the floor the first time he nailed a handstand, someone else’s careful hands that taught him his first few balances and tucks. The way his hands bled bloody and blistered, until he worked up the requisite strength.
Now, Lando grips the bar steady with both hands. Now, the steady rhythm in the pit of his stomach. Once, three times, four — the pendulum hits the peak of the apex.
Lando jackknifes through the air, and he’s twisting, house lights blurring in his vision.
Oscar waits, hands outstretched.
Then, a firm clasp from a smaller hand. Callouses pressed against his own. Years of practice, leading up to this point of contact.
His body knows before his mind does. The snap of gravity into the right place, when moving object meets opposing force. It’s Oscar’s counter-rhythm that stops him falling, Oscar’s nimble strength that matches his own. The way they do this in silence, carefully cultivated trust. In that moment, their bodies are a marvel of physics.
Below, the cast erupts in whoops and cheers. Lando wants to run around, wants to scream, but in that moment there’s not really an option - he just clasps Oscar’s forearms, and lets himself be swung.
“Well.” Oscar says, wry. “That was easy.”
Lando looks up. “Yeah. Only took fifty four tries.”
Lando can tell Oscar’s trying not to laugh. Oscar's hands stay steady though.
Someone captures the footage and it takes a while to get going, but then they’re doing numbers on socials. Cirque marketing figures this could get momentum and gradually shares more behind the scenes footage of them both: heads bowed together to talk about the tricks, tightening their wrist wraps, dusting chalk off each other, and laughing as they sip their energy drinks. They even get a portmanteau: landoscar.
The final show is obviously a massive hit. Lando and Oscar’s segment ends up being a lyrical interpretation of the life of a papaya or something. It’s Seb Vettel’s show about the lifespan of plants and bees so they’re just rolling with the vision.
When Pride comes around, the two of them step out to get coffee and a snack at their regular spot. The barista waves at them and says: “a year's free coffee for the happy couple! thank you so much for repping queer excellence in the arts.”
And Oscar’s like, “oh, uh. I mean. I am. But we– we’re not…”
Then Lando turns to him. The morning light looks good on Oscar. Oscar who always lends him sports tape, always lets him order lunch first, and always, always leans forward to catch him. In or out of the ring, he is the partner Lando trusts more than anything in the world.
So Lando tugs on Oscar’s hoodie sleeve, and is like: “actually, I’d meant to ask you…”
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