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seasons-beatings · 4 months

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Happy holidays, @pigeonwhumps!

From your gifter: For @pigeonwhumps Merry Christmas Ruth, and the best wishes for an amazing 2024!

Showstopper

Cw: character death (temporary), immortal Whumpee, lady whump (not as focused on), non human whumpee, multiple whumpees, blood, reluctant whumper, forced to whump/kill, knives, torture, circus setting, mentions of beatings/canings, exhaustion whump, mentions of starvation, over exerted whumpee, forced to perform

There were no gloves today.

Pythias cringed as she felt the dulled edge of the ringmaster’s favored cane prod at her back. Not quite a strike, not yet. Her jaw clenched as another insistent poke encouraged her forwards.

Last night’s show had been adequate, as the circus director had put it. Substandard. Prosaic. No one cares about the resurrecting man if his death is boring to begin with. There hadn’t been enough energy in their performance today, enough flair. Pythias had been tired, her and Damon had been up into the early hours of the morning working at the circus assistant’s hand to perfect some small details of their show. Damon was obviously exhausted, emotionally and physically drained from the exertion of being murdered over and over, a knife twisted into his gut just to strike again at the turn of the hour. All the rest in the world, and Pythias doubted he’d ever truly recover.

It hadn’t been him, really. There was only so much of the show that could be laid on him. Obviously the resurrection and the presentation that followed, he had to pull at every string to shape the audience’s perception into something entertaining. But for the most part, it was her. It was the flourish of the knife before she artfully buried the knife between his ribs, the way she twisted the blade to encourage the blood to pour and stain his white shirt crimson. It was her who stood above his lifeless corpse and played the brutal murder off as a show, encouraging the audiences’ laughter and amazement. All Damon had to do was die and then come back. He didn’t have to kill the closest thing he had to a friend over and over again, a dozen times a day, six days a week, fifty weeks a year. All he had to do was survive, die and survive, which in the ringmaster’s eyes was easy. Simple.

Should’ve been impossible to mess up. That’s what Mosi had hissed, the friendly hand on Damon’s back turning into a rough grasp on his hair the moment the curtains closed behind them as he escorted the two performers of the sideshow out of the public eye. As the wooden planks of the floor of their ‘stage’ turned to hard, packed dirt, the bright colors shifted starkly to dull, dark neutrals.

There was color now, Pythias thought bitterly, a bad taste in the back of her mouth as her eyes inadvertently shifted to the ground. The dirt was a dull copper, so much blood spilt over and over again, only broken by the occasional bucket of water that was tossed over the pair when the slick coating of blood started to impede with the act. Pythias used to think that she would choke on the smell, like the taste of iron would lodge in her throat and never be washed out, but now it sat with her like a headache, in the back of her mind, aching faintly.

Before the focus had been on Damon’s part of the act, working on his reaction until he was about to drop and Mosi was satisfied enough. Now it was her turn, and they were working on the flourish. A single stab was too boring, Mosi decided. Nowhere near enough to keep an audience enthralled. Three hours of murdering the closest thing she had to a friend, in varying manners of gruesome execution, Mosi had finally decided on which performances he liked the best. A slit throat was classic, he said, the gush of warm blood over Pythias’ hands. The small gasp and gurgling that the circus director decided would make for the perfect show haunted Pythias’ thoughts, and she knew she’d be hearing the terrible sounds in her dreams.

For a while, Mosi had tried experimenting with knife throwing, but had ruled that out when Pythias’ aim was consistently poor. Her hands were shaking too badly, half the time the blade would slip and land harmlessly in the dirt. Each time that happened, she had to grit her teeth against the stroke of the cane, her failure alternating punishments between her and Damon. She wasn’t sure what was worse, the sting of the wood against her own back, or the small cringe on Damon’s face that was the only sign that he felt anything. His reactions to pain had been getting better, that was at least one thing Mosi found to be somewhat pleased about. He was getting better at hiding it. Eventually the ringmaster decided to revisit throwing later, and returned to classical approaches.

“Step, spin, grab.” Mosi voiced the actions as Pythias went through them, her motions stiff and ordered. Damon’s skin was cold and clammy to the touch as she pressed behind him, the hand that wasn’t holding the knife twisting in his hair. He wore only a thin pair of shorts and a tank top, ragged and worn. Through the fabric, the stubs of his wings were visible, small juts out of the fabric. Tails of scars curled around his shoulders, evidence of what he had suffered in the past when their shows didn’t gather enough revenue. She tried her best to be gentle, but exhaustion weighed heavily on her limbs, and she was beginning to grow blunt and unfocused. Damon leaned back slightly, into her hold. Subtle encouragement to continue the act, when his voice couldn’t speak the words.

“Brandish, smile, cut.”

Pythias’s stomach flipped as she held the knife up for an invisible audience, her mind filling in the sick cheers of encouragement. Her lips curled into a gleeful smile, looking to the tarp wall as her mind turned each discolored patch into a face. Laughing children chewing on their candied apples and sugar floss, adults speaking hushed to each other over the circus music that buzzed in Pythias’ ears, all with their eyes turned directly towards her blade. Her breath hitched quietly, the only falter of her act to the invisible audience.

She tried to make the cut quick, pulling Damon’s head back slightly as she drew the knife across his throat to give her better access to his neck. The first time Mosi had her try this way, she hadn’t quite hit the artery, and Damon had bled out slowly, the light in his eyes surrendering as his body went limp. She knew better now, knew exactly where to press the knife deepest to make this as quick as possible. Both for Damon’s sake and her own. No audience liked waiting for a show.

The stench of iron stung her nose, but there was nothing Pythias could do. She pulled the knife away, barely avoiding the cascade of blood as Damon let out a strangled wheeze, the air he sucked in with a gasp only causing more blood to spurt from the wound, the breath never reaching his lungs.

“Release, move.”

She wasn’t really hearing the words anymore. The motions were ingrained in her mind, automatic at this point. The first time, she had depended on his instructions, fearful that her performance wouldn’t be good enough. The first ten times, he made small tweaks each repeat, choreographing the murder as if it was an intricate dance, a duet between just the two of them.

Damon collapsed to the ground when Pythias stepped back, fresh blood splattering along the copper dirt. During a show, she would hold him longer, long enough for the blood to seep into her gloves, down his shirt before he bled out on the ground. But for now, Pythias felt as if she’d be sick if she felt the slick, warm liquid against her palms again. Dried blood stuck beneath her fingernails, embedded in her nail beds like a polish that would never come off.

She was too tired to smile right now, but she looked at her invisible audience and forced her lips to curl back. It looked more like a grimace, and to the side of her vision she could see Mosi’s frown.

Damon shuddered, a final gurgle escaping him before he stilled. For a minute after his chest stopped rising, blood continued to weep from the wound, a growing puddle slowly inching towards Pythias’ shoes. Her stomach twisted as she went through the routine following his death, making a show of taking the rag from her pocket and sliding it along the blade, leaving glinting silver in its wake. During a show, the cloth would be an ornate white handkerchief, tucked in the folds of her dress, but without the onlooking eyes, a rag sufficed. Already stiff and coated with dried blood, scratching her fingertips. She dropped it, letting it flutter to the ground to her side as she tucked the knife in its sheath, which would be concealed beneath a ruffle but for now was strapped to her thigh, just below the hip. Just as her hand left the blade, the form before her shuddered, a small shiver that quickly turned to a jolt. A moment passed, the terrible moment where his eyes opened and all Pythias could see was the hurt in his expression, the hurt that she’d caused. Then he turned onto his side, pushing himself up, palms nearly slipping in the puddle of his own blood as he stumbled to his feet. The flesh across his throat knit together as he moved, leaving only a thin, discolored line that was barely distinguishable from his skin, unless one looked close.

She recited her closing lines with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, which was not much. She prayed it would be enough. She linked her arm with Damon’s, steadying him as he swayed during their bow. When she straightened, she looked to the circus director as Damon leaned heavily against her, his eyes fluttering like he was struggling to keep them open.

Mosi’s cold eyes met hers, his expression unreadable. Was this it? She knew her performance wasn’t perfect, but considering the hours upon hours they’d spent practicing, did he finally understand? Would he finally spare a shred of sympathy and let them rest, eat and recover?

She knew the answer to her outlandish hopes long before he opened his mouth.

“Again. From the top.”

#season’s beatings gift #whump #whump writing #season’s beatings

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whumpurr · 10 months

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The Greatest Show part 6

cw: pet(?) whump, male whumpee, nonbinary whumpee, male whumper, circus setting, dehumanization, peril

masterlist

Gasps, chatter, and murmurs filled the wide space of the circus tent, people standing up out of their seats to look over one another, desperately trying to sate their morbid curiosity. Was… was the acrobat dead? Would parents have to enroll their children in therapy? Would the sight of a crumpled corpse plague the nightmares of onlookers?

Only perceptible to the very front row of the audience, Rogue’s chest rose and fell beneath their tight, black, glittery leotard.

Apollo, standing on the sidelines down the performers’ entrance aisle, could not see that. He didn’t even realize what had happened until seconds after the fact when his blood ran cold in his veins and the Ringmaster, who was standing in front of him, instructed the behind the scenes crew of the circus to attempt to restrain him. It was only when there were hands on his shoulders pushing him back that he snapped out of his stupor, but by then, the Ringmaster was already standing out before the audience and addressing them.

The dark shadow of a bulky man in a top had obscured the harsh spotlight from Rogue’s squinting eyes. The Ringmaster’s hands were held casually in one another behind his back, his elaborate cane in one.

“Hm, no witty quips from ya this time?” He asked, looking down at Rogue. The only sounds Rogue offered up was a squeaking gurgle, followed by a weak cough. Their body was nowhere near as twisted as they felt. Their back had hit the floor at about the same time as their legs. They could most definitely not move one of their feet, and the very thought of hoisting themself up off the ground made them want to vomit.

By that point, more circus assistants and handymen had rushed in. Two ushered out the audience, promising refunds if they went back to the ticket booth at the front of the land plot, and two more came to the Ringmaster’s side. Their bodies obscured the warm spotlight from Rogue’s body.

“Get ‘em out of here,” The Ringmaster said, jabbing his thumb towards the other side exit. “Put ‘em… Somewhere.”

Apollo watched in horror as the darkly clothed men stepped towards Rogue. He didn’t even care about the people holding onto him, he did not care about his promise to never hurt another person. He wrenched his arms out of their grip and ran forward.

The final few people got shuffled out of the tent.

Rogue screamed as their twisted body was lifted off the ground and roughly tossed over a shoulder. By the time Apollo made it to the center of the ring, Rogue had already been carted off by the security guards.

Apollo’s towering figure loomed over the Ringmaster. It blocked the warm light from the hot spotlights, and the Ringmaster looked up, unbothered. His smarmy smile almost made him look like he enjoyed this massacre. While in any purely physical scenario, the Ringmaster was outmatched, one would have to consider the power which he holds. He is the one who stole Apollo away in his hour of need, when the name Apollo was not yet known to him. He was the one who housed him, who fed him and gave him a purpose.

He was the one who gave him Rogue.

Who had just been carted away over the shoulder of some brute.

The wide eyes and otherwise blank expression that Apollo wore while he stared down at the Ringmaster was one that would haunt the nightmares of any bystander, if there were any left.

“Is there somethin’ you needed?” The Ringmaster sneered, looking up at Apollo, unafraid.

The grating sound of the Ringmaster’s voice was enough to snap Apollo out of whatever limbo he had been in. Had he been in possession of his comically large barbell that he used for his act, the Ringmaster would have been far more fearful. Since Apollo was unarmed, the Ringmaster did not anticipate the first strike.

A heavy, solid blow, with a closed fist across the Ringmaster’s brow. The empty tent bore witness to the first thud, and then the second as the Ringmaster’s body tumbled to the ground. Apollo wasted no time in tailing him down, kneeling over his body, landing hit after hit to his face, head, and chest. Apollo was not thinking. He was allowing himself to follow his most primal instincts, recalling actions that he had spent so much time, effort, and sanity trying to shut down.

“I’ll kill you-” Apollo growled through grit teeth. “Nobody will miss you!” He repeated the things that the Ringmaster had told him time and time again. Dark red blood pooled in a small puddle beneath the Ringmaster’s dark hair. Apollo did not stop. The man beneath him had been unresponsive since the first blow. Apollo wished that such was not the case.

He lost track of how long he was over the Ringmaster before he heard the crackling sound of a tool often used against him in the past. An electric cattle prod. It was coming from behind him, but he didn’t care to look. The pain that struck him next was unlike the prod that he had felt before. Hot, jolting, excruciatingly painful against the back of his neck. It gripped his body until Apollo was rendered unconscious on the floor next to his prey, and the circus stagehand behind him was putting the taser back into their bag.

Rogue yelped with each step from the person carrying them. It jostled their body, shoving their injured foot against the person’s stomach. They’d be kicking and flailing if they could muster up the energy to push through the pain. They never laid down for the Ringmaster, they prided themself on retaining at least a little bit of fight inside them, but they just couldn’t now. They hadn’t properly eaten in weeks. They were worked to the bone. And now their foot was twisted in a way that it hasn’t ever twisted before.

As they were brought out of the tent, they heard the muffled sound of Apollo’s yelling. It was a rare and terrifying sound that Rogue had heard maybe only once before. Even though Rogue knew that it was not directed at them, it still made their hair raise.

“Let go of me.” Rogue demanded of the man carrying them. They thudded their fist against his back. He was unfazed. “Let go!” They shifted as much as they could and drove their elbow into his back. They struck again and again, kneeing him with their not-as-injured leg, elbowing him, and yet their actions garnered no response.

Rogue was carried out of the tent and into one of the metal shipping containers that the circus used to travel around by train. When they were on the move, the whole circus would be backed into a couple of these containers, but now that they’ve been set up at this location for a while, the container was bare. The handyman-turned-abductor opened the heavy metal door and flung Rogue bodily into the cold, metal box.

They crashed down into the box, head slamming into the floor of it, body crumpling and unable to move. Hot pain lanced through their leg and their back. They were committed to bearing with it, at least mentally. Though they could hardly turn around before their body gave up, trembling then collapsing unconscious on the floor. The last thing they saw was the handyman closing the door, hiding them away in the darkness.

#whump #whump blog #whumpee #whumpblr #my writing #whump writing #pet whump #the greatest show

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the-faramir · 4 months

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Niji-iro Midori: The Reluctant Ringmaster

Chapter 4: Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys

During one night's performance of the Celestial Menagerie, a commotion arose from the audience. An outraged upper-class member of the audience accused Toby of short-changing him. While the clowns performed, Mistress Dusklight herself went into the stands to settle the conflict.

"Mistress Dusklight! This ginger fool can't even count! I gave him a platinum and he gave me change for a gold! Are you simple, boy? I demand the rest!"

"Sir, we will resolve this matter," Mistress Dusklight replied, "but please let's not disrupt the performance. Now, Toby—"

"Stuff and nonsense!" The portly patron reached out toward Toby. "I'm taking my platinum back now!" The man grabbed at Toby's change purse, tearing the fabric and scattering coins about. In the cascade, a few earrings, bracelets, and gold coins ricocheted onto the floor. "What? My antique watch! How did you lift that from me, boy?"

Some of the surrounding audience, also seeing their stolen property, started an uproar, stopping the clown act altogether.

"Intolerable, Dusklight! Scandal! Disgrace!" The overweight man turned several shades of red not usual for human skin. "What kind of operation are you running here? No. I will not stand for this. Friends! Let us leave and never patronize this establishment again!"

Audience members scrambled to retrieve their stolen valuables, taking all of the coins Toby had collected in payment for tonight's concessions as well. As a good third of the audience left the tent, loudly clamoring for refunds, Mistress Dusklight turned to Toby, her ears pointed out sideways and her eyes practically incandescent with rage. She simply said, "My office. Now."

Having heard the ruckus from midway, and since the crowds had long since left to fill the big top for the show, Midori locked up the booth she had been running all evening and followed Mistress Dusklight and Toby, moving stealthily in the shadows to avoid anybody's notice. Arriving at her quarters, Mistress Dusklight greeted Mazael, her new aasimar bodyguard. The lovestruck young man stood at attention as the two approached, smiled at Dusklight fawningly, opened the door, let the two inside, and then closed the door, standing guard.

Midori sneaked around to the open window in the back, escaping Mazael's senses. She could hear everything from that vantage point.

"Toby, Toby, Toby!" Mistress Dusklight exasperated. "What went on back there?"

"Mistress Dusklight, ma'am!" Toby snapped to attention like a soldier addressing his captain. "They have so much and we have little. So I take a bit from those who can afford it. You know we all do it. I've done this for years and never got caught in the act. Never. Nobody gets caught. But that fat guy, it was dark in the stands. I couldn't see his coin was platinum. Nobody pays in platinum. Usually silver. Sometimes gold. If he just said 'gimme change for a plat,' I woulda known and that whole scene wouldn't'a gone down. Honest mistake. Won't happen again, ma'am!"

Mistress Dusklight's ears flicked backward for a split second. "For years, you say?" She began pacing back and forth. "You are damned right that won't happen again! Tonight, we lost nearly half of the audience." She pivoted and took a few steps away from Toby, her anger clearly growing by the second. "They all wanted refunds." She turned on her heel and leaned forward toward Toby with her arms spread out as if in explanation. "REFUNDS, Toby! And they won't be coming back! This is going to set the Celestial Menagerie back quite a bit. We will have to tighten our belts." She turned away again, stepping past her desk, her right hand skimming the desktop and picking something up off of its surface that Toby could not quite see. She spun around and took four quick steps, closing the distance between herself and Toby, her tail puffed and flicking furiously from side to side. "But do you know the worst thing, Toby? The thing that you've done in all of this that hurts me the most?" Toby, surprised, shook his head quickly. "You've been pickpocketing for years, and YOU'VE! NEVER! PAID! ME! TRIBUTE!" She emphasized every one of those last words with a thrust of her dagger into Toby's ribcage.

Toby looked down at his chest, aghast, then back up to Mistress Dusklight until his vision faded and he collapsed onto the floor with a weak, wet groan.

"I'm afraid, Toby, that your services are no longer required. Good day, sir." Dusklight tossed her bloody dagger onto her desk. "The Celestial Menagerie wishes you the best of luck in your future endeavors."

Hearing Toby collapse, Midori panicked and jumped through the window to come to his aid. The bottom fell out of her life as she saw him on the floor, lifeless. Midori fell to her knees and looked up into Mistress Dusklight's startled face.

"Mistress Dusklight?" Midori pleaded, "What happened?"

Mistress Dusklight chuckled. "Midori, I know Toby was an…attachment…to you. But in this business, there is so much workforce turnover that it's best not to get too close to anyone." Her eyes glowed gold and her pupils dilated as she pulled at her web of magical influence to manipulate Midori's emotions, staring unblinkingly into her tear-brimmed eyes. "Forget him." Her voice took on a honeyed, purring quality. "He is nothing. Go back to your post. Do not react. I am your mother. You will obey me. Good carnies follow orders." Dusklight grinned evilly as her power surged.

In Midori's head, there was practically an audible snap as her rising emotions overwhelmed Mistress Dusklight's spell. In a moment of clarity, all of the memories of all of the times in which Dusklight mistreated her or one of her fellow Celestial Menagerie members came flooding into her mind. Not only had Dusklight's cruel treatment caused people to leave the circus, but she had killed other performers before! Dusklight simply convinced everyone that her victims had left on their own accord. Nobody ever dared to question her.

Dusklight felt a twinge of feedback from her spells breaking; she knew that further manipulation would not be possible. Midori jumped to her feet, her boiling rage washing away her sensibilities. She raised her hands at Mistress Dusklight, her tiny, dull claws barely visible, and managed to force out coherent words: "Dusklight! Why I oughtta…!"

Dusklight snorted out a derisive laugh. "Oh, little kit! You could hardly open a letter with those. But still, my hands have gotten dirty enough tonight." She changed her voice to sound sweet and vulnerable, but could not help sounding sarcastic. "Oh, help! Help! There is an intruder in my quarters!"

Almost immediately, Mazael launched himself through the door, drawing his sword as his shiny plate armor clanked. "Fair Mistress! Someone threatens thee? This tiny vixen, mayhap?"

Seeing the sword drawn on her forced Midori to come to her senses, at least somewhat. "Whoa, whoa, Maz! Keep it in your scabbard! Mistress Dusklight and I were just having a friendly discussion." With no immediate threat to Mistress Dusklight, Mazael lowered his sword somewhat. "Turns out, I was just leaving, see? I'm outta here, leaving for somewhere better, and I just came to say goodbye." Midori drew a deep, calming breath. She redirected her murderous rage into the only other channel she had available: song. She cleared her throat, drew another breath, and turned to Dusklight. She began to sing:

🎵🎵🎵

You think you own me, you think you can cage me You think you can abuse me and not enrage me But you don’t know me, you don’t see the real me You don’t feel the fire, the desire, that frees me

🎵🎵🎵

Mistress Dusklight arched an eyebrow.

🎵🎵🎵

I’m a wild soul, I’m a fox in the night I’m a star in the sky, I’m a spark of the light I’m a wild soul, I’m a dreamer of dreams I’m a seeker of wonders, I’m a maker of schemes

I’m a wild soul, and I’m leaving you behind I’m a wild soul, and I’m going to find A place where I belong, a place where I can shine A place where I can be myself, a place that can be mine

🎵🎵🎵

With the circus show over, other circus folk heard Midori's song and wandered by. Some came in through the open door. Others gathered by the windows. A few security bruisers came to stand behind Mistress Dusklight. Some of Midori's friends, seeing Toby dead on the floor and not knowing what happened, came over to stand by Midori.

Seeing that she had an audience, Midori used the trick that Myron taught her to amplify her voice, carrying it throughout the circus grounds and into the big top. She poured her soul into her song in an effort to reach out to everyone in the Celestial Menagerie and break as many of Mistress Dusklight's spells as she could.

🎵🎵🎵

You call us freaks, you call us monsters You call us tools and fools and bothers But you need us, you want us, you fear us You need our charm, our skill, our talent

You say you’re an artist, you say you’re a star You say you’re a master, a leader, a czar But you’re a tyrant, you’re a liar, you’re a cheat You’re a coward, a traitor, a thief

You can’t stop me, you can’t hold me, you can’t control me You can’t hurt me, you can’t break me, you can’t erase me You can’t keep me, you can’t have me, you can’t own me You can’t change me, you can’t tame me, you can’t claim me

I’m a wild soul, and I’m leaving you behind I’m a wild soul, and I’m going to find A place where I belong, a place where I can shine A place where I can be myself, a place where I can be free

I’m a wild soul, and I’m saying goodbye I’m a wild soul, and I’m ready to fly A place where I belong, a place where I can shine A place where I can be myself, a place that can be mine

🎵🎵🎵

Seeing that she was rapidly losing support, Mistress Dusklight stepped into the metaphorical spotlight with her rebuttal:

🎵🎵🎵

You think you’re free, you think you can escape me You think you can betray me, desert me, and forsake me But you owe me, you serve me, you belong to me You owe me your life, your loyalty, your destiny

You’re a lost soul, you’re a fox in a trap You’re a speck in the dark, you’re a stain on the map You’re a lost soul, you’re a dreamer of lies You’re a seeker of trouble, you’re a maker of cries

You’re a lost soul, and you’re making a mistake You're a lost soul, and you’re going to break They call me the boss, they call me the queen You call me a coward, a bully, a fiend?

But they love me, they admire me, they envy me They love my art, my fame, my glory

You say you’re a star, you say you’re a hero You say you’re the leader, and you say I’m a zero But you’re a puppet, YOU’RE a liar, YOU’RE a cheat YOU’RE the coward, the traitor, the thief

You can’t fool me, you can’t outrun me, you can’t defy me You can’t hurt me, you can’t beat me, you can’t deny me You can’t leave me, you can’t forget me, you can’t ignore me You can’t change me, you can’t resist me, you can’t oppose me

You’re a lost soul, and you’re making a mistake You’re a lost soul, and you’re going to break You’re a lost soul, and you’re saying goodbye? You’ll stay with me or you’re GOING TO DIE!

🎵🎵🎵

Not to shy away from a challenge, Midori replied in a way that she knew would hit Dusklight right where it hurt:

🎵🎵🎵

Your ex-boyfriend Thunder, he’s upset You know he left you because of something that you said And he didn’t like the way you treat everyone like trash

He was a father to me and all the rest So, more than you, we all love him the best And we’re leaving here to go to a show with more panache

We’ll be in the back seat of Papa Thunder’s wagon He’ll be driving to the Circus of Wayward Wonders And I can’t help but think that this is where we belong 'Cause we’ve been dreaming of joining him all along

Oh, I remember you taking me away In the middle of the night

You said you wanted me to be your star But you never treated me right

You said I was a member of your family But you lied, you lied, you lied

So Mistress Dusklight, can’t you see That you can’t control me

No, no, you don’t control me

And we’ll be on the stage with Papa Thunder’s crew We’re putting on a show that makes the crowd go wild And I can’t help but smile, 'cause this is what I love And I know that he loves me too

🎵🎵🎵

Mistress Dusklight stood still, arms crossed, with a scowl on her face and her left eye twitching. "Hmph." She snapped her fingers. "Guards! Kill her!"

Mazael and the two security guards stepped toward Midori, who raised her fists and wished that she had a rapier or dagger so that she could at least take one of them down with her in the impending battle.

Brondin Stonehammer, an armored dwarf with a blood-red beard who worked in crowd control, stepped between Midori and Dusklight's minions. He slammed the haft of his greataxe onto the floor with a resounding boom. "Do not touch her! She's done nothing wrong."

Stefano, one of the circus riggers, stepped in next to Brondin, his fists raised in a fighting stance. "Is this really how you treat family, Mistress?"

More of Midori's friends looked at each other, nodding, and moved in between her and Dusklight with shouts of "We quit, Dusklight!" and "We're with Midori!"

"FOOLS!" Mistress Dusklight thundered. A team of heavily muscled goons in clown costumes and whimsical greasepaint entered the room to stand behind Dusklight, armed with clubs, maces, brass knuckles, and the like. "You are hopelessly outnumbered! Even if you were able to fight your way out of my chambers, you would never survive running the gauntlet of my minions to escape the circus grounds."

Bufurug, Midori's favorite cook and resident druid, piped up meekly in his raspy, high-pitched voice,

"Don't worry, folks, I'll get you out of here safely." Everyone in the room, including Mistress Dusklight, turned to look at the little shoony doubtfully.

A goblin in the back jeered "Whatcha gonna do, bite our ankles?"

Bufurug replied, "Um, no, well, I was actually thinking…." and quickly transformed into the ferocious shape of a tyrannosaurus rex, breaking through the ceiling and outer wall, sending wood-and-glass shrapnel throughout Mistress Dusklight's trailer, knocking Dusklight and her flunkies to the floor. Bufurug let out a thunderous feral bellow that Midori swore sounded like his voice shouting "Run!"

And run they did, hidden in the wake of the rampaging dinosaur. They soon ran safely away from the circus grounds and toward Abberton, the outskirts of which hosted the Circus of Wayward Wonders.

Meanwhile, Dusklight and her minions picked themselves up from the rubble on the floor in her destroyed office. She caught the eye of Ruanna Nyamma, a flame-red-haired half-elven carnival barker who had done a significant amount of dirty work for her in the past. "Ruanna! Form up a team with two others. I have a job for you…."

Chapter 1: We Are On a Diplomatic Mission to Absalom

Chapter 2: The Circus Arrives Without Warning

Chapter 3: Hi-Diddle-De-Dee, a Carny's Life for Me

Chapter 5: One Does Not Simply Walk Into Abberton (Coming Soon)

Chapter 6: The Circus of Wayward Wonders (Coming Soon)

#pathfinder #pf2e #extinction curse #character backstory #original character #kitsune #ai artwork

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intrigued-gelatin · 1 year

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APHMAU CIRCUS AU PART 1

Alright peoples, it looks like the Circus and SK Au's both tied out in the poll, so I'm just going to do the Circus AU first because I have more ideas for it. Thing will be added as I go on. This isn't actually in any particular setting (like mcd or mystreet).

-Aph is the ringmaster, running the show and introducing and managing the acts. She's a little frazzled when she's not in the spotlight, just because that's when she's dealing with the stresses of backstage, but she's light and confident in front of the crowd.

- Aaron in in charge of equipment and roping. He's the one who makes sure all the safety checks are met, and who sets up the rope courses and such. He's quiet and pretty solitary, but tends to be fairly sarcastic/joking when he actually decides to speak with the performers. He's not really the type to enjoy a lot of attention, so he prefers his more subtle working.

- Dante and Kawai~Chan are both trick riders and equestrian vaulters, often working together for breath-taking tricks. Kimi~Chan, KC's trusty horse, is usually the horse used for solo performances.

-Dante does sword tricks when he isn't trick riding, and Kawai~Chan works with puppets/does ventriloquism

-Katelyn and Garroth are the strongmen/strong women of the show. Ya'll can't tell me with the muscle those two have they wouldn't rock those roles.

-Laurence would be....not a clown (though I do think it fits lol), probably just the comedian. He pops up in random places in the audience too, just because the unexpected surprises always start him off on an interesting note.

#aphmau #circus au #aphmau circus AU #laurance #Aaron #AU #Dante #KC #kawaii chan #Katelyn #Garroth

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bluegrowlmon · 5 months

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been thinking about new story idea, i guess i could try to write as a book? psychological horror in a carnival/circus setting. Set in whatever time period circuses were most popular.

Whole thing would start with some guy, psych or medicine student or something, who is fascinated by both wellness and circuses. He thinks that a psychologist's office or an asylum is too staid and artificial to promote mental healing. What if instead of needing a specialist, large groups of people could all be made well passively, through the careful manipulations of the senses, of sight and sound and taste? and what better what to implement that than through something people love, and actively seek out? Hordes could be made well before they even know they're sick!

He makes two friends in his college (or college equivalent for this setting) days to help get this idea off the ground. A PT Barnum knockoff guy, to represent the capitalistic side of such a venture, and another college student, a lady who studies the cutting edge of sound and psychology and is as if your middle school music teacher was also a surgeon who regularly violated every part of the Hippocratic oath. Do no harm? Never heard of it.

Together they're all able to buy out a run-down circus, and PT Barum-lite manages to get it back on its feet, the musicologist is able to put together some damn good musical acts, and Main Guy gets to live out a childhood dream of playacting as a ringmaster. And once their traveling show is up and running, they start putting in some of the psychological aids they researched - music in certain tones, certain flashing patterns of light, things like that.

The plan is to wait for some good, presentable results, and then show them off at the various institutions that laughed him out of academia. And they start getting results! by staking out certain audience members they do see that their shows have noticeable effects on people!

But its not exactly the effects he wants. in many cases, people seem to deteriorate. after they visit towns, reports of violence and disobedience, and even insanity go up, not down. PT Barnum knockoff changes the acts, the musicologist woman changes the tones of the organs, but things aren't going according to plan, and keep sliding out of control. They discover that the act may have psychological effects when the rats on the circus train, a commonplace plague on many ventures, start changing. Some die. some twist and contort and mutate so fiercely that they probably wish they were dead. Main Guy reads articles, tracks goings on of every town they've been to, and begins to hear of worse and worse things. Even about monsters. But that couldn't have been him surely. No way that could be his fault.

even when a few shows end with certain sensitive audience members crying or trying to rip their tongues out, he doesn't give up. he thinks that, well, some bad stuff happened once, but that doesn't mean it'll happen every time! Science is built on broken eggs! We just have to keep trying!

#typing here is so difficult idk why #i think bc when im writing to a person like im talking words flow way easier #when i just make a post that i dont think anyone will read is way harder #wip

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vore-scientist · 1 year

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What are some of your thoughts on these darker/crueler subcategories of vore:

- Punishment vore

- Revenge vore

- Torture (both physical & psychological) vore

- Long-term belly imprisonment

- Fatal vore

Obviously you’re not expected to talk about any of these that make you uncomfortable

I've written and RP'd all of these anon XD i really like all kinds of vore (as longs as its GT and oral).

Let me first rank these (A-F like a grade?) and then I'll site specific moments from stories i've written and RP'd.

- Punishment vore. Good shit. B+ i say, its cathartic.

- Revenge vore. This can pair with punishment. A+, revenge is a dish best served tasty.

- Torture (both physical & psychological) vore. Yonah literally does this??? A+. Traumatize the prey thanks.

- Long-term belly imprisonment. Im saying B. Its not my favorite but damn its fucking crazy i do love just extreme nature of it.

- Fatal vore. Yeah??? I used to be averse to fatal, it squicked me out. now im like "KILL THE BITCH" though I'm still gonna rank it A an not A+ because sometimes it still bothers me depending on the situation.

Now for Story/RP highlights!!!

Punishment Vore: to be fair this can range from safe to fatal. Yonah used to punish Sophia by eating her but over time this uhhhh no longer worked unless there was an intense reason sophia didnt want to be stuck inside Yonah's stomach. Usually bc there was something she wanted to do or see but nope, time out.

Revenge Vore: I see this as fatal, i dont really see how revenge vore could be dark/cruel without it. Otherwise it's just friendly getting back at someone. Anyways See Return of the Dragon King Part 1: Prison Break. Yonah chows down on the guards that tortured him. good revenge that. If I eventually get to it, yonah will get to eat Tobi's dad (who was the second in command of the facility).

Torture: In my RP sessions Yonah is often the body guard to a powerful politician and will torture prisoners/assassins/spies with her. Eating spies whole and not giving them safety charms but spitting them up partially digested but not dead. rinse and repeat. Biting off limbs, stuff like that.

Long Term Belly Imprisonment. Now that's an interesting one. Haven't played around with it much because I havent designed preds which that's really... possible. Though you could argue Yonah keeping someone overnight is "long term" ish. but i suspect you mean longer. I have done this in RP.

In one RP we had the characters kinda stuck in a limbo on a ship in the ocean and Sophia and the King of the Giants had to hunt down an assassin as everyone on the ship slept due to Yonah activating a sleeping beauty curse. Except the King of Giants was in a pocket of subspace (put there to avoid the curse). Sophia found the assassin and shoves them into the pocket dimension and The King ate them. The curse lasted THIRTY DAYS (i suggested 30 years LOL). Even after the curse was broken the assassin stayed in the King's belly as they sailed back to shore and was released a few days after arriving back in the Giant Kingdom. (this also counts as revenge/punishment to if you didnt notice)

I absolutely loved this entire little shenanigan and I want to write it really badly.

Fatal: So ive not posted many fatal stories, but oh boy, have I RP'd a lot of it. It's made me more comfortable with it in fact. pre-2020 me was still not super comfy with it but now im like fuck yeah!!! My RPs often revolve around fatal revenge/punishment set ups. taking down character's parents who want to train them as super soldiers, eating a circus ringmaster who used yonah as a side show monster (who was fed audience members. yup. fatally). These stories often have a healthy dose of Safe as well, fatal for revenge and punishment, safe for comfort and cuddling. Or protection! Even in the stories where the fatal was central to plot moreso than the safe. Example with the circus one is that after freeing all the other side-show monsters they all travel to a safe haven. but one of the monsters is a Naga who cannot handle the cold nights and has to be eaten by Yonah to stay warm :D

Thanks for this amazing Ask Anon!! <3

#fatal vore #soft vore #GT vore #vore talk

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yourfantasyfigures · 2 years

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Epilogue: The Wormhole

Border: Carnival <completed>

Start here: Prologue: The Invitation

Previous chapter: Mixed Up (Chapter 4)

Masterlist Info AO3

"No, no, it was never mine."

Rating: All Audiences

Words: 1108

Status: Completed

Tags & Warnings of the entire fic: Vampire!au, mystery, found family, hurt & comfort, non-graphic violence, hints towards past trauma, family drama

If you have any questions or concerns regarding the tags/warnings, feel free to contact me. Please let me know if I'm missing any tags.

°°°

We interrupt your program to bring you an update on the events that transpired at Wormhole Carnival, which was suddenly evacuated earlier today.

According to reports, police were informed of a potentially life-threatening incident at one of the attracions. A young man, estimated to be between the ages of 17 and 23 reportedly jumped off a swing ride. When medical professionals arrived to treat possible injuries from the fall, the man was nowhere to be found.

As the police was on site to investigate the peculiar incident, they were alerted to unusual movement of the circus tent that seemed to be threatening to collapse. Securing the tent and searching inside, they found five individuals, all of which belonging to the circus The Invitation.

Seemingly the aftermath of a violent confrontation, the ringmaster was transferred to a hospital where he is receiving treatment.

Police declined to disclose any further details.

Until clarity on what transpired at Wormhole Carnival is achieved, the Carnival will be temporarily closed to ensure the safety of the public.

Thank you and have a good night.

"No thank you, I don't want any."

"You should eat something, Ni-ki, it will make you feel better. Look." Jay filled a bowl halfway.

"This one is yours, so just take it whenever you're ready."

He set it down in front of the younger boy who weakly smiled at him, the thank you remaining unspoken but understood nonetheless.

They six others dug in, and upon hearing the overwhelming compliments directed towards Jay who had prepared the meal, Ni-ki couldn't hold back his own curiosity, giving into his rumbling stomach.

When they were all full and too lazy to get up to clear the table, Ni-ki reached into his pocket, then paused.

"Why havent you asked yet?" he wondered out loud.

"What do you mean? Ask what?" Jake asked in return.

Ni-ki vaguely gestured to the hand that was still resting in his pocket.

"What he gave me. I know you're all curious but none of you even alluded to it."

Jake looked around at the others.

"I guess we didn't want to upset you, give you space." Everyone nodded in agreement but Ni-ki let out a huff of annoyance.

"I don't want you guys to treat me like a scared little child that you need to tiptoe around. You don't have to wait for me to bring something up, you can just go ahead and say or ask what you want. And if I'm uncomfortable, I'll say so. I just... I don't want you to constantly protect my feelings or something."

"Okay but me personally, I was just protecting myself from you flinging me across the room but maybe that's just me."

Sunghoon was very amused by his own joke, not even caring that he was the only one laughing. Besides Sunoo, who used his hand to cover his giggle, the others barely reacted, not wanting to further encourage his comedic inclinations.

"Anyways" Jungwon said and turned back to Ni-ki.

"What did he give you in the tent?"

Ni-ki pulled his hand out of his pocket in order to show the others. A thin chain dangled in front of his face, as he showed the others the beautiful amulet.

"Is it yours from when you were a kid?" Jay asked, watching the amulet swing slightly from side to side.

Ni-ki shook his head. "No, no, it was never mine." He mumbled, seeming a bit lost in thought. Heeseung snapped him out of his daydream.

"Does it open?"

Ni-ki smiled as he laid the amulet in the middle of the table.

"Go ahead." He said, looking at Heeseung expectantly.

Heeseung picked it up, careful not to cause any damage.

He opened it, his eyes widening at the pictures he found inside.

"Ni-ki..." he whispered, choking up at what he saw.

They all took turns to look at it before it finally landed in Ni-ki's hands again.

"So is that, is she, I mean" Sunoo struggled to find the right words.

"Yeah." Ni-ki still answered. "That's her. I gave it to her back when I was..." he looked up into the air, trying to remember "Six? Eight? Something like that."

He looked at the amulet again.

"I always thought she took it with her. I know it's ridiculous to hold on to something like that but I just... I understand that she wouldn't want the wedding picture on it, I get leaving him in the past but..."

He closed his eyes as he took a shaky breath, a tear threatening to escape his eyes.

"I don't know, I just really wanted to believe that she would hold on to this and cherish it. She could have taken out their wedding photo and just kept the one with me in it but I guess she didn't want to."

He cleared his voice in hopes of regaining his composure.

"Turns out she gave it to him instead, he probably had it all this time. It makes sense, you know. She was the one who left, it's foolish to assume she would want to take any memory with her."

"It's not foolish" Jake interrupted him. "You're not foolish for thinking or wishing she would take your gift with her. You were a child, for crying out loud. And it's natural to assume she would want to remember her son, so please, stop. Don't make yourself more miserable. You don't deserve this."

Ni-ki reached out to take Jake's hand who took it silently. Ni-ki opened his mouth but no words came out, so he pressed his lips together instead. While Jake was rubbing the back of Ni-ki's hand with soothing motions, the youngest let his head drop, hiding his face from the others.

Because they were all quiet, the sound of Ni-ki's sniffling was unmistakable. It started out quiet, the boy holding it back with all his might, before he broke down.

Tears dropped into his lap and his body began shaking, all of his emotions pouring out.

Jungwon had gotten out of his seat to stand next to the youngest, hoping he could comfort him by running his fingers through his hair. Ni-ki leaned into the touch as his sobs grew louder and louder. He turned in his seat, pulling Jungwon close and burying his face in his stomach.

The others couldn't hold back either, each of them losing their battle against the tears.

They cried together, comforting each other as best as they could.

When they were all out of tears, still sniffling in each other's arms, Ni-ki raised his head.

"I don't.... I don't need them now. You're my only family."

#enhypen angst #enhypen vampire au #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #border carnival

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innytoes · 2 years

Note

"Pinky promise?" And "Relationships are built on trust, and I trust you," from the soft prompts for Willex? (Feel free to change ship if it doesn't vibe with you!)

Some nights, after the applause died down and the audience went home and they'd done all the clean up, Alex would lie in the van he shared with Reggie and Luke, both boys curled up beside him, and stare at the ceiling wondering how the hell this had turned out to be his life.

Running away and joining the circus was supposed to be something that happened in kid's books, not real life. But Luke had already been living in the garage they rented as a studio, Reggie crashing there more and more often. And when Alex came to the studio one night, hastily packed bag over one shoulder telling them how he'd overheard his parents discussing sending him to some kind of 'pray away the gay' camp, well, they knew they had to get out of LA, and fast.

Joining up with the circus was supposed to be a temporary thing. Except it turned out, they all really liked it there. The ringmaster and owner, Ray, was really nice and was thrilled to have a bunch of young musicians offer to join up. He'd been less thrilled, a year later, when he realised they were celebrating Alex' eighteenth birthday, but he hadn't kicked them out or anything.

So they played their music, joining up with Ray's daughter Julie to form 'the most epic band ever', according to Luke. And they found out ways to help before and after the shows. Turned out Luke was killer at balloon animals, Reggie helped with the animals, and Alex usually helped the food stalls.

"Hey Hotdog," Willie said, leaning over the side and giving him a kiss. Alex' stomach fluttered with butterflies, the way it always did when Willie was close. The last of the people had gone into the big tent, which meant they had about a half an hour to tidy up and get ready before the actual show started and they were needed at their stations. "Can we talk?"

The butterflies in his stomach must have frozen to death, considering the way his insides turned to ice. "O... okay."

"Shit no, sorry, not like that, that totally set off your anxiety, didn't it? It's not anything bad, I swear." Willie stammered. He looked ridiculously nervous himself, one of his big sweaters over his leotard. He took Alex' hand, bringing them to behind the trailers, out of sight of everyone. "Caleb offered me a spot in his part of the show."

"That's brilliant, Willie!" Alex said, grasping his tighter. His boyfriend deserved all of the time in front of the audience. At first, Alex hadn't even been able to watch Willie's part of the show, his aerial tricks and tight rope walking and time up in the air meaning he almost toppled over his cymbal from hitting it so hard in his anxiety. But now, he loved nothing more than to watch his boyfriend fly free and joyful above the crowds.

"It does mean I'll have to get pretty up-close and personal with Dante, though," Willie said. Dante was one of Caleb's stage assistants. He was usually the guy who did all the switcheroo stuff, as Reggie called it, while Fuego and Caleb distracted the crowd.

"Okay?" Alex asked. "Are you worried he's gonna drop you?" He'd never seen Dantye drop anyone. They'd had acrobatics and stuff in the magic show before, and he'd never heard any of the other performers complain. The guy seemed pretty solid.

"You're not upset?" Willie asked, blinking. Alex shrugged.

"You spend all your time forty feet off the ground doing things I can't even wrap my head around," he pointed out. "I think you can handle being fake-sawed-in-half or whatever."

"You're not worried about me being all over this super buff, hot guy?" Willie pressed. And okay yeah maybe Alex did still sometimes blush when Dante was doing a shirtless workout on the grounds. But he was married to Fuego. Plus, Willie would never cheat on him. Honestly, the big muscles were kind of reassuring, if Dante was meant to be catching his boyfriend.

"Relationships are built on trust, and I trust you," he said, gently taking Willie's face in his hands and pressing a kiss to his furrowed brow. Immediately, Willie relaxed, leaning into him. "Promise me one thing, though," he said.

"Anything," Willie said immediately.

"Don't get on Caleb's bad side and get sawed in half for real," Alex said as seriously as he could.

Willie's laugh echoed over the now empty fields. "Pinky promise," he agreed, linking their fingers together and kissing him soundly.

#willex #fanfic #julie and the phantoms #willie throckmorton #alex mercer #circus au #AUs are awesome #I cannot explain to you my thought process for this one it was all over the place #except hnnghhh willie in a leotard #just the boys all sleeping in their beat up van as they tour with the circus #reggie is friends with all the animals down to Caleb's doves #the trick riders are 100% teaching him their stuff #he may or may not find a stray dog and teach it tricks at some point #one day willie will convince Alex to let him take him up #but for now he has a lot of fun teaching Alex silk-rope tricks half a meter off the floor #just picture Luke making small children balloon animals while Julie and Reggie stare at him all heart-eyed

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gothicmama · 2 months

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Basilina's Beginning (Rough Draft)

I cranked out all 5764 words the other day, but that'll probably double once I go through and edit it.

Disclaimer that I know nothing about how circuses run, I'm running with what little I remember from the last time I went to the circus and what I've seen on TV, I'll fix any inaccuracies later with some research.

Cirque du Bizarre was a unique circus. One could simply claim it was just a freakshow, a product of a bygone era, but that wouldn't be entirely accurate. It had the expected circus features, a giant tent, the three rings, the ringmaster. It had the acts you'd expect to see in a circus, trapeze artists, acrobats, animal acts, fire eaters, et cetera. But unlike most circuses, Cirque du Bizarre leaned into the dark and creepy aesthetic, which allowed it to have other acts, the kind that one would expect to find at a freakshow decades ago.

There was the man who could eat anything, who would eat random things from the audience. There were the contortionist couple who could create any shape the audience could call out, including some animals. The magician would call out a few different audience members and use them for little tricks, before choosing one for the big act. The snake wrangler and his assistants would bring out the most dangerous, venomous snakes and show off their skill at handling them without being bitten. And if he was bitten, well, that only added to the show, after all. The snake dancer would come out, with her long python, and give a few dances, at times scaring the audience when the snake tried to wrap around her completely. In between acts, dancers and acrobats would come out and dance and do tricks. And last but not least, was the psychic.

Said psychic was sitting in front of her mirror, which she couldn't use, as she adjusted her wig. It was something one of the other performers had made for her when she first arrived. It was made of synthetic red hair, with two bangs that hung past her face and down to her chest. The two large buns on either side of her head were made from two large Styrofoam balls that had the hair wrapped around them. Draped over the hair was an intricate headpiece that wrapped around the buns and over the top, with two pieces that hung down alongside the bangs. The whole thing was covered in jewels, some of which were large enough to hang, and hanging down onto her forehead was a crescent moon. It was a bit heavy, even with the foam balls, but it was something she'd gotten used to over the years. Besides, it didn't compare to the pain she already felt on a daily basis.

Once she was sure the wig was in place, as sure as she could be without seeing it for herself, she moved onto her makeup. In the beginning, she'd had to have help with it, but after years of practicing she now could do it herself flawlessly. So long as no one moved or changed her makeup around, but she would know if anyone had as soon as she touched anything so the risk of that was low. Her fellow performers and the crew knew not to do it, and they went out of their way to make sure any new people knew it, too. She expertly applied her makeup, starting with a smooth, pale foundation. Then she moved onto her eyebrows. She kept them shaved, just like her head, so all she had to do was draw them on to match the wig. She drew on the double wings that rose past her eyebrows with face paint and then used eyeliner to do a thick wing on top of that. Black lipstick went on her top lip, which she then partially smudged onto the bottom before drawing a thick line down the middle of it. And to complete the look, she drew a series of thin lines that curved all over her face to create a pattern.

After spraying on a generous amount of setting spray, she stood up from the vanity. She'd gotten dressed before she started but she checked and adjusted everything again just the same. Her black peasant style shirt, that was cut short and left her belly bare, had a corset opening over the chest that was tied just loose enough to show some skin. It had no sleeves, instead it thick straps that were designed to hang off her shoulders instead of sitting on them properly. Her black skirt was thick with several layers, some of the which were tied up to show the layers underneath and give the skirt more movement when she moved. Hey body was covered in jewelry that matched the headpiece in her wig. Draped around her bare waist were chains, decorated with jewels. On her wrists and ankles laid dozens of chains, jewels, and bangles. And around her neck were more chains and jewels. All of it was an amalgamation of red, gold, and black.

After fussing with her clothes and jewelry for a minute, she took a deep breath to settle herself. She could hear the announcer over the quiet talk filling the dressing room and she knew it was almost her turn. Around her, her fellow performers were either getting ready for their own acts or getting unready after their acts were done. It was calming, in a way, because everyone was focused on themselves and weren't paying her any attention. She couldn't stop their thoughts from getting into her mind, but it wasn't overwhelming. Instead, it was familiar to her, part of the routine she'd fallen into over the years. She stood there, just enjoying the relative peace she found in that moment, and everyone around her just let her be. It gave her the chance to prepare, brace herself, for what was to come. Whether it would help or not, she wouldn't find out until she stepped outside.

Her moment was cut short when one of the crew, Miller, a young man who'd only been with them for a year, called for her. She turned her head towards him, and his thoughts instantly hit her. She barely held back her flinch before she responded, "I'm coming." She needlessly checked her wig and clothes again, giving herself a moment to adjust to the sudden burst of pain his thoughts had caused. Once it had settled down to the usual pounding in the back of her head, she took one last deep breath. Then, as prepared as she could be, she moved towards him. She confidently stepped around the other performers and crew, pinpointing their exact locations with ease. She reached Miller's side and heard the shift of fabric as he raised his hand to her. Almost immediately he dropped it, and she knew he was making a face. Even after several months, he was still adjusting to the fact that Basilina didn't like touch and didn't need help getting around.

Despite the pain she knew it would cause, she reached out and gently touched his arm. Instantly she was slammed with more of his thoughts, his most memories, and despite her knowing it was coming, it still made her want to yell. Instead, she put on a smile and said, "Thank you," before lowering her hand. She stepped past him outside of the tent they used as a dressing room and took the brief moment to grimace, clenching her eyes shut for a few seconds before he stepped up beside her. Her eyes snapped open then and she put the smile back on. With a nod of her head, he cleared his throat and started walking in front of her. She followed behind, biting her tongue at how slow they were going. She knew it was because he was trying to make it easy on her, but it felt more like a pity than truly trying to be helpful. She didn't need help walking, she just needed to know where she was going, since it was their first night in that town and she hadn't had time to learn the route fully.

Those thoughts were soon pushed away as they got closer to the main tent. The announcer's voice over the intercom and the crowd's cheering overwhelming on her sensitive ears, making them pound along with the rest of her head. But not only that, with so many people, all of them excited, their thoughts slammed into her mind and there was no keeping them out. It was a struggle to stay upright and keep walking when she suddenly felt dizzy, but she managed it and finished the trek to the performer's entrance set in the back of the tent. She stopped several feet from it, waiting for the act before her to finish. As she waited, Miller stepped away from her side and returned a few seconds later. She could hear him holding something out to her and she held in a sigh. The hooded robe she usually wore for her entrance had gotten damaged during travel, so she was having to borrow someone else's. She held her hands out for it and he passed it to her.

She wanted to drop it right away, but she made herself hold onto it. Images burst through her mind with the pain and her fingers gripped the robe hard, so hard they trembled, as she pulled it to her chest. She hurriedly slipped it on over her shoulders and pulled the hood up. The pain and images got worse with so much of it touching her skin, but the hood gave her a way to hide her face as she adjusted it. Which was good because she needed a moment to grit her teeth and grimace, breathing through her nose until the images passed and the pain eased.

When she raised her head, the act before her was running through the entrance past her and the announcer was welcoming her as the next act. She straightened up, pulled the robe closed around her, and watched through the open doorway as the crew quickly and efficiently reset the center ring for her. Her act was simple, she didn't need anything to actually do what she did, but for the aesthetic of the creepy psychic she had a little stage. She'd never cared what it looked like, partly because she couldn't see it anyway but also because she just didn't care. But she'd had it described to her the first time it was set up, and again any time changes were made, so she knew what it looked like.

The stage itself was only a few inches tall, a perfect circle that was six feet in diameter. It had a deep red, thick tablecloth spread over it. In the middle sat an old gothic chair that had a tall, cushioned back and a cushioned seat, made of black wood and dark blue fabric. Next to it was an end table that matched, upon which rested an old, heavy tome. Alongside it were other little knickknacks her fellow performers and crew had added. A variety of dried out bones from various small animals, though one looked suspiciously like a finger bone. There were several dead flowers scattered around the table and the stage. Also scattered around were candles, burned down to various lengths. Some were lit and some weren't, but that was more for the look than for the little light they gave off. The candlelight wasn't needed, since there were floor lights illuminating the stage. It was all set up to lean into her act as the eerily beautiful psychic.

She heard the overhead lights click off and there were startled gasps from the crowd as the tent was plunged into darkness. The haunting music that set the scene for her act came on over the speakers and a second later the floor lights clicked on. The crowd went silent, and she felt the excitement, curiosity, and fear coming from it increase. Then, the announcer, speaking much softer and deeper than he had been before, began her entrance and that was her cue. She lowered her head again to shroud her face and she stepped through the entrance. The robe was shorter than her usual one, which trailed behind her as she walked, but it reached the floor and did the job of keeping her completely covered just the same. Not even her bare feet showed.

With each step, the assault on her, both mental and physical, got worse, and she was once again grateful that she could play off her slow walk as part of her act. In reality, it was her giving herself time to adjust, and with her head down and the hood shielding her, she was able to flinch and wince freely. She and announcer had mastered this entrance over the years, timed it perfectly so that by the time she reached the stage, his voice was trailing off. She stepped onto the stage and stood in front of the chair, where she froze in place. With her entrance finished, the music slowly died down, and then, the whole tent was plunged into silence.

She counted down the seconds in her head, another thing she could do perfectly with no effort, and slowly raised her head on the thirtieth one. The crowd gasped, a few excitable people squealed and shouted but were immediately shushed. She felt the heat from the floor lights hit her face as she calmly turned her head from side to side. She knew her eyes were eerie, she'd had them described to her many times in her life in less than friendly words, but for this, they were perfect. The light caught the cloudiness just right and almost made them shine, as if they were otherworldly and not a physical defect. It wasn't advertised that she was blind, as agreed upon with the manager, and it was left up to the audience to make up their own minds on it. But despite being blind, her ability let her focus on individual people, and she knew how to look as if she were actually looking at them.

As she "looked" over the crowd, one person's thoughts caught her attention. It was a woman who, judging by the glimpses of her thoughts Basilina was catching, had recently lost someone. She was the perfect target to open the show. Tilting her head, she raised her arm, slipping it out from the folds of the robe, to point at the woman. When she spoke, her voice was heard clearly in the stillness. "You lost someone. Not long ago."

She couldn't see the woman, but she heard her and others in the crowd gasping. Then the woman stuttered, "Yeah. I did. My best friend."

Basilina tilted her head the other way, keeping her face calm as she focused on the woman. She couldn't get much more without actually touching her, but her grief was so fresh in her mind that it was strong enough for her to pick up on it. She got flashes of the woman's best friend, images of them together, and then her name. "Your name is Emily."

It took the woman a moment to respond with a shaky, "Yes."

"She told me. Rebecca, she told me." The whole crowd was holding its breath now, waiting for something.

They didn't have to wait long because Emily's shock turned into disbelief. Her voice shaking harder, she asked, "She's here?"

Basilina straightened her head and nodded, lowering her arm. "She is. She has words for you, if you would hear them." She didn't need to see to know Emily was nodding through her tears. "She wants you to know she's okay, wherever she is. She doesn't want you to worry. She'll be with you, always, and she's waiting for you." She paused and put on a small smile. "She says not to hurry though. She doesn't want to see you anytime soon." That got a laugh out of Emily before she broke down completely. Basilina could hear someone beside her comforting her, and it made moving on easier. She didn't like lying to people like this, didn't like using them in such a way. It was harder when she accidentally picked someone who was by themselves, who didn't have anyone to comfort or calm them after she shook them up.

With the introduction to her act officially done, she lowered the hood before she slipped the robe off. It pooled around her feet, and she delicately stepped away from it. The chair really was just for show, she never touched it during her act. She didn't need what was left behind on it from everyone who had handled it on top of what she was handling from the crowd. She stepped to the edge of the stage and struggled not to flinch when some thoughts turned from curious to chilling. That was the only real problem she had with her outfit, she didn't like getting thoughts and images of how much skin she was showing shoved into her head. She stalled, playing it off as scanning the crowd again, and gave herself time to shove those thoughts aside and focus on others.

That wasn't hard, because now that she had proven herself, there were many in the crowd who were thinking of their lost loved ones. Some wanted her to pick them, wanted the chance to talk to the one they'd lost, while others wanted nothing to do with it. She ignored them, she wanted her act to be good and trying to convince someone who wanted nothing to do with her would just waste time and energy. She randomly picked another person from the crowd, an older man this time, but unlike with Emily she invited him down to the stage with her. She held her hand out to him invitingly and he was eager to take it. She pushed back her instinctive urge to rip her hand away as his mind sledgehammered into hers. She bent her head over their hand, playing off her pained expression as if she were just deep in thought.

It was easy for her to get everything she needed from him. The person he was thinking was in the forefront of his mind. She raised her head after almost a minute of reading him and the smile she gave him was genuine. His memories were good and despite the pain it was causing her, seeing them made her happy. She patted his hand with her free one and said, "Peter told me all about you, Ralph. He said you're a good man."

Still smiling, Ralph burst into tears. "Tell him I love him, please, I haven't stopped loving him since I lost him." He blubbered as he talked, but she understood all the same.

Her smile growing, she nodded confidently. "He knows, he knows, and he loves you, too. He loves you so much, he wants you to be happy. He doesn't want you to be alone." Ralph pulled back, looking uncertain. "But. I couldn't. I couldn't do that to him." Shaking her head, Basilina replied, "He said it wouldn't be betraying him. He wants you to be happy and loved, until you can be together again. Which, he says, had better not be soon. He says you've still got several years of love to give before you join him."

A fresh flood of tears spilled from Ralph's eyes, and he nodded weakly, thanking her through his tears. He thanked her and patted her hand several times before he let her go and returned to his seat. She returned her attention to the crowd, once again stalling for time as she scanned them. At this point, she could hear some people calling out to her, begging for a chance to talk to their dearly departed, and she made a show of looking them up and down. In reality, she was gauging how much she could get from them without touching them. If she could get a lot from that distance, then she knew she'd get more once they were closer, and then even more when she touched them. She was just raising her hand to her next target when she caught the thoughts of someone she'd never thought she'd see again.

Frozen in place with her sudden fear, she couldn't move as she worked through the thoughts overwhelming her.

This is where she's been this whole time? Scamming people out of their money with this nonsense.

Look at what she's wearing, is she whoring herself out after the show is over?

At least she's not going by her real name, none of this can be traced to us and once we get her home, we can pretend none of this happened.

It took over a minute for Basilina to break free from the thoughts and the fear suddenly overwhelming her. It took so long that she could hear the crowd murmuring and whispering, their excitement fading slightly. The concern from her fellow performers and the crew behind her was pressing in on her. She shook her head slightly and put on a forced smile. She swept both hands out to her sides, bowed as low as she could with the wig, and offered an apology. "I'm so sorry. I felt something unexpected just now, someone whose grief is so strong and their loved one so close, it took me by surprise." The crowd's excitement returned, this time tempered with even greater curiosity. Ignoring the urge to run, she randomly pointed to someone in the back row.

She did the rest of her act in a daze, just barely making it acceptable. She could tell her friends were worried about her, could feel their worry adding to her own thoughts that were, for once, threatening to drown her. When she finally finished her act, after the seventh person, she couldn't wait any longer. Abandoning her usual exit, she hurried from the stage and to the flap in the tent she'd entered from. She stumbled through it and ripped off the robe, ignoring the people crowding her. They were all talking at once, their voices jumbled up in her ears, and a few of them tried to touch her. She clumsily pushed through them, shoved away the hands reaching for her. Each touch sent shockwaves through her, wringing gasps of pain from her, and when she made it through the small crowd she started running.

She heard shouts behind her, but she ignored them. Running wasn't as safe as walking, as she had less time to anticipate where people were, but she didn't care. She had to run, had to get away. She had no idea where her parents were, but if she'd heard their thoughts, that meant they were close. She couldn't tell how close without focusing on them, but any close was too close for her. She ran all the way through the various tents and rooms set up for the performers and crew, bumping into a few people on the way. The touches were light enough that the glimpses she got from them didn't slow her down. She threw apologies over her shoulders and didn't stop until she finally made it out into the open.

She stumbled to a stop, then collapsed to the ground. Panting, she doubled over and hung her head, almost to the point of touching the ground with her forehead. She couldn't hear or feel her parents anymore, only the crowd that had already mostly forgotten about her and her concerned friends she'd run away from. But she knew they were there, and she knew they wouldn't leave without at least seeing her, if not dragging her away physically. For all she knew, they might have even gotten a lawyer involved. She'd run from the facility as soon as she'd turned eighteen, hadn't given them the chance to get legal control over her, but she knew how it was for disabled people. It would be all too easy, with their money, to get a good lawyer and get a judge to sign off that she couldn't take care of herself. She couldn't let that happen, or she'd lose control of what little freedom she had, the life she'd made for herself despite over the years.

These thoughts all bounced around in her head so fast that she couldn't focus on any single one. She was spiraling, panicking, she knew she was, but she didn't know how to stop it. She choked back a sob as despair and desperation took over.

She jumped when a hand suddenly touched her shoulder. She fell backwards onto her butt and frantically scooted away. Her first thought was that they'd found her, and she needed to run again, but before she could get her feet under her, the owner of the hand spoke.

“I'm sorry, I should have warned you."

She stopped, lifted her head towards the voice, and waited for the inevitable onslaught of thoughts to hit her. When that didn't happen, she forgot completely about her parents. After a moment where still nothing happened, she hesitantly asked, "Who are you?" She could feel that someone was there, someone she didn't know, but that was it. No thoughts, no memories, no images. She got nothing from the stranger, and it was disorienting, and surprising, but also amazing and peaceful.

"My name is Marvin." She heard footsteps, felt the stranger move closer until he was right in front of her. Part of her was frightened by the lack of feeling from him, it made it impossible for her to know if he was dangerous or not. But that part was small compared to the rest of her that was relishing the new experience of feeling someone without being bombarded by everything in their mind. She heard a shift of fabric and felt the air move in front of her. She assumed he was offering his hand to her, but she didn't move to take it. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm not here to harm you."

"Who are you?" She repeated, before she blurted out the question that was really on her mind. "Why can't I hear your thoughts?" Only too late did she realize she'd just revealed what she could do. Her eyes went wide, and she gasped. Her mind went overdrive trying to think of an excuse, an explanation, a way to take back what she said. Her mind was moving faster than her mouth could keep up with and she ended up stammering unintelligibly.

"Hey, it's okay, I know. I saw your act." His words were less than reassuring and did nothing to calm her down. Sighing, he lowered his hand and simultaneously lowered the shield he'd erected in his mind. He didn't know what else to do to quickly prove to her that she was safe and could trust him.

Basilina flinched when she first felt his thoughts enter her mind, but as she let them wash over her, she couldn't help but be comforted. People could lie with their words, but their thoughts were always true. And like he said, he only wanted to help her. she couldn't see more, not even when she tried, but what she did see was enough. She forced herself to breathe slowly, taking long, deep breaths, and as she did so, her heart slowly settled as well. After a moment of this, she felt calm enough to speak again. "If you're not here to harm me, why are you here?"

"To help you." His answer was simple and sincere, both in his voice and his mind. "I heard about you and your act, and curiosity got the better of me. So, I tracked you down to see for myself. I have to say, I was thoroughly impressed."

Basilina couldn't help but smile, genuinely. She was always happy to hear praise for her act. "Thank you. I've gotten good at it over the years."

"But it hurts you." His response wiped the smile from her face.

She turned her head away from him and shrugged. "It's just the way things are. I'm used to the pain now."

"You don't have to be."

She whipped her head back to him, her face shocked. "What?"

"There's a way for you to not be in pain." As he spoke, she got an image of a giant house, almost a mansion.

She shook her head, instantly rejecting whatever he was suggesting. "There's no way, other than becoming a hermit for the rest of my life." She frowned as a thought occurred to her. "Wait. How did you do that? The mind thingy? I couldn't feel you at first, but then I did."

"I can shield my mind from others, so they can't read my thoughts."

Basilina gasped. "That's possible?" She couldn't keep the hope from her voice. She'd never met anyone who could do that, but most people also didn't know inhuman abilities like that existed.

"For some, yes. Not everyone. For me, it's something I do without thinking, for my own protection."

"And there are others like you?" She was hesitant to ask, but the mansion was still in her mind and she couldn't imagine that no one lived in such a big place.

"Yes. I know many, a few of them live in the place I want to take you."

"The mansion I keep seeing in your thoughts, right?" She heard him nod, felt his approval flow into her mind. It weighted out the pain it brought with it. "Where is it?"

"Very far from here. It will be quite a trip." She got flashes of trains and cars before a mountain replaced everything.

Basilina wanted to jump at the chance, say yes to whatever he said. But as much as the thought of a place where she could live, with others who wouldn't cause her pain, she didn't want to leave the life she'd made at the circus. It had been good to her over the years, gave her a chance at a new life when the rest of the world seemed against her. Her friends were there, she could even consider some of them family. But, as much as they tried to get close to her, as much as she could let them in, being around them was still painful and she couldn't ever be as close to them as she wanted. She couldn't hug any of them, couldn't touch them in any way. It was only a half-life, and as much as she'd grown to love it over the years, she knew she still wanted more. She wanted to be truly happy, not just existing and surviving the best way she could.

Even as she sorted through those thoughts, another rose up from the back of her mind. Her parents had found her. She felt fear spike through her again. Whether she went with Marvin or not, the life she had in the circus was about to be over. Either she'd have to run, again, and hope they wouldn't catch her a second time, or they'd leave her alone after she refused to go with them, but she'd live the rest of her life in fear of them. Or they'd drag her back with them and she'd be a prisoner for the rest of her life.

Running off with a stranger who promised the very thing she'd always wanted was the craziest choice, but it felt like the only one she could make. She felt like she had to take a chance. So, with that decision made, she nodded. "I'll go with you."

She could feel the smile in Marvin's mind, and hear it in his voice, as he said, "I'm glad. We can leave right away, as soon as you're ready." She saw it in his thoughts before he offered his hand to her again. She took it this time, tensed for that burst of pain and thoughts that always came with touching someone. To her surprise and relief, that didn't happen. She let out a disbelieving laugh and let him pull her upright. She was reluctant to release his hand, only just then realizing how touch starved she was, but she pulled her hand back anyway. She awkwardly crossed her arms over her chest, tucking her hands under her arms, and shuffled her feet through the dirt.

She didn't know what to do now. Did she need to get her stuff? Did she have time before her parents found her? She definitely needed to let the manager and her friends know. She also needed to come up with a reasonable explanation for why she was running off with some strange man. Even as she was racing through those thoughts, she could see in Marvin's thoughts that he was already ahead of her. Joining what she saw in his mind, he explained what he had planned out. "If you don't mind, I've already got everything planned out. All you have to do is listen to me for now. We're going to go find your manager, we're going to let him know your parents are here. We don't have to tell him the details, just tell him that they're going to try to force you to leave. Explain that I'm an old family friend you've kept in contact with, I heard about your parents finding you and came to get you. I'm going to take you somewhere else and help you hide from them, help you start a new life. Then, we'll gather your things, you can say your goodbyes, and we'll be off. Easy enough, right?"

Basilina blindly looked up at him, shocked. "How long have you been planning this?" She asked incredulously.

He chuckled. "Not long, but this is what I'm good at. You've got nothing to worry about."

She was on the edge of the cliff, ready to just jump, but she had one more question before she did. "Where are you taking me?"

He smiled and his voice was warm when he replied, "Nightshade Manor."

She swallowed nervously. That sounded right, based on the images she'd gotten from his mind. She hesitated another moment before setting her mind to her decision. She straightened up, feigning confidence she didn't feel, and nodded. "Alright. I trust you." She blew out her breath, squared her shoulders, and turned towards the mass of tents. "Let's get this over with." She started walking towards them. A couple seconds later, she felt and heard him following after her. His presence in her mind was comforting and gave her the strength she would need, that she didn't have on her own, to do what she was about to do. To change her life for the better.

#nightshade manor #my original character #my original work #original story #original writing #original character #writer stuff #my writing #writer #writing #writer problems #ao3 writer #rough draft

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thorntonkrell-blog-blog · 6 months

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In the picturesque town of Serenity Springs, Gary and Karen lived a life that resembled an ongoing sitcom . Gary, a charismatic man with a flair for the dramatic, saw every day as a grand production on an invisible stage in front of an awe struck audience. Karen, his pragmatic wife, had her own way of performing, based on Donna Reed, Beaver's Mom and Mary Tyler Moore. Her style was more about efficiency than theatrics. Her audience loved the way she defused situations with practical humor and nurturing.

Their daughter, Lilac, was about to turn five, and the pressure was on to create the most memorable birthday party or a nice, normal party. Gary envisioned a carnival of wonders, complete with circus performers and a fireworks display, while Karen saw a practical celebration with games, good food, and tasteful decorations.

The clash of their invisible performances became apparent as they delved into the party preparations. Gary, dressed as a ringmaster, was orchestrating the placement of acrobats and clowns in the backyard, while Karen, armed with a clipboard, was organizing a spreadsheet of party supplies.

"Gary, do we really need a fire-breathing juggler? It's a five-year-old's birthday party, not a circus," Karen argued, glancing at the spreadsheets in her hands. Her audience nodded in approval.

"But, Karen, the birthday of a five year old demands spectacle! Imagine Lily's face when she sees a real fire-breathing juggler," Gary exclaimed, twirling an imaginary mustache.

Karen sighed, adjusting her glasses. "I'm sure Lily would prefer not to have the fire department on speed dial. Let's keep it simple, okay?"

As the day of the party drew near, the collisions between Gary's theatrical vision and Karen's pragmatic approach intensified. The living room became a battlefield of conflicting decorations, with Gary insisting on a confetti cannon and Karen arguing for a more environmentally friendly approach.

"Gary, we can't have a confetti cannon indoors! Lily will be finding bits of confetti in her toys for weeks," Karen reasoned. The invisible and non existent audience in her mind clapped politely.

"But it's all part of the show, my love! Gary knew that his audience loved surprises and messes " Gary insisted, tossing imaginary confetti into the air.

The arguments continued as they debated the cake (Gary wanted a cake that played music when you cut into it, while Karen favored a classic design) and the party favors (Gary proposed mini magic wands, while Karen argued for simple coloring books).

On the day of the party, the tension was palpable. Gary, adorned in his ringmaster attire, welcomed the guests with grand gestures, while Karen ensured that everything ran smoothly behind the scenes.

As the party unfolded, it became a fusion of theatrical flair and practical charm. The invisible audience, in Gary and Karen's minds, cheered at the synchronized performances. Lily, the unsuspecting star of the show, reveled in the magic of her fifth birthday.

The fire breathing juggler turned out to be a local guy named Stingray who, of course, set himself on fire. As he rolled on the ground, Gary's audience laughed. Karen grabbed the fire extinguisher that she had brought for just such an occasion and blasted Stingray, putting out the fire on the rolling "performer. Karen's audience applauded her foresight.

In the quiet aftermath, as they cleaned up the remnants of the festivities, Gary and Karen found a moment of reflection. They realized that their invisible audiences were not at odds but rather coexisting, creating a unique tapestry of memories for their family.

"Maybe we can find a balance between spectacle and simplicity," Karen suggested, holding Gary's hand.

Karen's audience went "Awwwwww"

Gary smiled, conceding, "Indeed, my dear. Life is a grand performance, but sometimes, the most enchanting moments are the ones we create together, on and off the invisible stage."

Gary's audience went "you da man".

And so, in Serenity Springs, the curtain fell on Lilac's fifth birthday party, leaving behind a tale of love, compromise, and the beautiful collision of two invisible performances satisfying two non-existent audiences,

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kudosmyhero · 8 months

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Transformers: Megatron Origin #02

Read Date: February 13, 2023 Cover Date: July 2007 ● Writer: Eric Holmes ● Art: Alex Milne ◦ Marcelo Matere ● Colorist: Josh Perez ● Letterer: Chris Mowry ◦ Robbie Robbins ● Editor: Chris Ryall ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: ● some sort of gladiator pit? ● these blood sports are basically Autobot snuff films being sold on the black market ● Sentinel Prime and his law enforcement are trying to find the groups doing the fight club thing ● Soundwave and Megatron meeting for the first time ● uh oh

● RIP, Fastback… ● 👏👏👏

Synopsis: Since returning to Cybertron, Megatron and his motley group of rebellious miners have made new lives for themselves as gladiators, competing in the illegal pit fights that take place in the Forge, deep in the bowels of crime-ridden Kaon. In his very first match, Megatron finds himself up against a particularly durable foe, who shrugs off Megatron's initial attempts to impale him. He has the upper hand until Megatron uses his alternate mode as a weapon, harnessing its weight and mass to crush his opponent and run him over. As the other gladiator lies helpless on the floor, Megatron seems ready to end the fight, much to the confusion of the audience watching… until Clench, the ringmaster of these games, orders Megatron to finish the fight by killing him. Though briefly haunted by his memory of taking his first life back on Mining Outpost C-12, Megatron grabs the other gladiator's spear and uses it to fatally stab him, basking in the adulation of the crowd.

Meanwhile, Senator Ratbat dismisses the concerns of his meager assistant to attend to more important matters. A thoroughly corrupt member of the Cybertronian Senate, Ratbat lives on the upper echelons of society, and uses his wealth and connections to easily manipulate planetary events for his personal gain. During his latest session, however, Ratbat is intrigued by a report on the illegal gladiator games sweeping Cybertron, and sends his servant to investigate…

As the days pass, Megatron swiftly rises through the ranks of the bloodsports and eventually finds himself fighting alongside Clench. In one such match, Clench's team is up against the wall, giving Megatron the perfect opportunity to take advantage of Clench's momentary distraction to fatally stab the gladiatorial leader and take over.

The coup doesn't go unnoticed by Cybertronian law enforcement, who are increasingly worried about the rise of these illegal fights, the increasing prominence of Megatron's team, and their inability to find the arenas where these illicit activities take place. At Kaon's Security Services Headquarters, Prowl shows footage of the battle to his team, who are eager to put a stop to the unlawful violence—a sentiment shared by Sentinel Prime, who arrives and announces his plan to nail the gladiators in a wide-ranging police operation: a plan that will require the assistance of every Autobot officer in Kaon.

Eighteen cycles later, Cybertronian Security officers Bumper and Fastback stake out a location suspected to be the grounds for the next game. Bored with the work, their patience is rewarded when the Constructicons arrive: the gladiators aren't shipping parts to set up their mobile arenas, they're building them on-site… using parts obtained from hapless vagrants like Wheezel, who finds himself thrown into a smelting pool, his metal melted down to become the rivets and plates required to refit the abandoned venue into a suitable arena. No sooner have they finished then Soundwave turns up—a new convert to the cause who, on the behalf of his employer, offers the recently arrived Megatron an array of black market weaponry, provided that Megatron uses them as he "sees fit."

The two Autobots witness this exchange, but aren't so lucky when Megatron realizes that he's being eavesdropped on. Though the Autobots try to call for backup, they're immediately ambushed and incapacitated by Soundwave's partners: Ravage, Laserbeak, and Buzzsaw.

Bumper awakens to see Megatron stomping Fastback flat, before the gladiatorial leader turns his attention to Bumper. Bumper refuses to give in to Megatron's interrogation, and so Soundwave deploys Laserbeak—a "specialist"—to pry the necessary data from Bumper's mind. Realizing that they've been compromised, Megatron realizes that he'll have to scuttle the arena. Pleased with Soundwave's services, however, he agrees to do business with Soundwave's master… and then ties up the last loose end by crushing Bumper to death.

(https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Megatron_Origin_issue_2)

Fan Art: Megatron by velveteen2006

#idw #my idw read #transformers #phase one

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ichorai · 2 years

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purpling trapeze ; c.s

pairing ; trapeze artist!san x trapeze artist!reader

synopsis ; you were a flurry of purple in the air, and that just so happened to be san's favorite color.

themes ; angst, fluff, circus au, trapeze artist au

words ; 2.5k

warnings / includes ; injuries, blood, hospitals, heights, mild cursing, san being a bumbling mess in the first bit

a/n ; requested by @aasthrielle with the color #887694 for ICHOR. i love circus settings so this was really fun to write ! i'm not very happy with the pacing bcs it's so short but who knows ! maybe i'll expand on ateez circusverse in the future <3

masterlist.

The first time San laid his eyes on you, he was hunched precariously on a wooden bench, fist clenched around half a dozen peanut shells, fixated on the way you were practically gliding through the air. The dark purple sequined leotard you wore made you look like a blur of glittery mauve, streaking through the spacious tent with seemingly effortless grace. You gripped on another bar, flipping upwards onto the thin beam hanging by two ropes, curling a leg around the knots before you raised a hand, bowing down to the audience with a brilliant grin. The crowd seated around him burst out in raucous applause, and San, still slack-jawed, accidentally dropped all the crushed peanut shells onto the ground in his haste to join the ovation himself.

You disappeared in flashes of wine-hued lights and a flurry of green confetti. The ringmaster had come out not too long after, a tophat perched precariously on his head and the tail of his maroon suit so long that it brushed the ground of the circus. San recognized this man to be Hongjoong, the esteemed organizer of the infamous traveling circus.

The show ended before his heart could recover from the damage that you had inflicted, still fluttering incredibly fast within his ribcage, like a panicked bird trapped in its cage. His palms were sweaty when he timidly approached the ringmaster once the crowd had thinned away, wringing his hands furiously.

“Hello,” he greeted Hongjoong, cursing the quiver in his tone. “I’m a huge, huge fan of your traveling circus, sir.”

“Oh?” The man arched a fine brow. “You want an autograph?”

It was concerning how long it took San to articulate a reply, only for him to choke out a meek, “No.”

“No?”

“I mean—!” San held his hands out, wincing at his own stumble. “I would love an autograph, sir, but that’s not what I wanted to ask you. I, uhm, I’m a trapeze artist myself, you see. Been practicing my whole life. I was wondering… if you’re looking for any new recruits.”

The ringmaster was silent for several moments, leaving San to shift his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. Drawing in a breath, Hongjoong dipped his head. “You know, you’ve got real impeccable timing, kid. I’ve been meaning to hold auditions for a while. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the crew. Then you can show me what you can pull out of your sleeve.” He tugged at the cuffs of San’s loose tunic with a wink. “Besides, Y/N has been complaining about their solo act for a while. They’ve been beggin’ to have a partner. Think you’d be up for it?”

Hongjoong gestured loosely to the right, and San spotted you speaking animatedly with the flaming-sword swallower, eyes alight with mirth.

Gods, San hadn’t even spoken to you yet and he was already in far too deep.

“Yeah,” he said, a little breathless, “yeah, that’d be amazing.”

With a flourish, Hongjoong called you over, and the way your head shot up with a small smile gracing your glossed lips made San melt just a tiny bit.

“Y/N, meet… What's your name again?”

“San,” he coughed out, flushing a ripe shade of crimson under your curious gaze. Up this close, he could see the gentle scintillation of purple glitter over your eyelids, matching the flattering hue of your trapeze costume.

The corner of Hongjoong’s lip curled upwards. “Right. Y/N, meet San. San, I’m sure you already know who this is.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said brightly, sticking your hand out. San didn’t take it, only staring at you with wide eyes. “Um…”

“Oh! Sorry.” He fumbled for your hand. If you had noticed how drenched his palms were, you gave no sign of knowing, to which San was eternally grateful.

“San here says he’s a trapeze artist himself,” declared Hongjoong, hooking his thumbs against the lapels of his tailcoat.

Tilting your head with a newfound interest, you mumbled out, “Oh? Well, I’d love to see what you can do, San. I’ve been dying to have a partner.”

San quickly found purple to be his favorite color. It was yours as well, and San loved just about everything about you. From the way you mumbled out a short countdown under your breath every time you took a leap from the swinging platform, to the way you would grin from ear to ear whenever he brought you those granola bars you enjoyed so much, and especially when you would snort at his lame jokes and lightheartedly call him an idiot. You were every possible shade of purple at once, and San was beginning to understand why it was such an expensive color.

It’s been almost a year since San met you, and it was safe to say that he was utterly infatuated. Tonight was one of the biggest shows yet, and he had already donned his violet garb, stretching his limbs and rolling his shoulders with a profound confidence that he lacked all those months ago.

“Howdy, pardner,” you announced from just behind him in a faux-southern accent, tipping a non-existent hat his way. “Ready for the show?” You maneuvered your way towards him, bumping his hip with yours with a beam.

San nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be. I mean, we only practiced like, what, twelve hours a day? It’s all muscle memory at this point.”

The look you shot him was enough for San to stop stretching, pivoting on his heel so that he’d completely face you, holding his hands out expectantly. Sheepish, you slipped your fingers through his, admiring the glittery sheen of purple eyeshadow over his eyelids, mirroring the same makeup look that you always donned for your show.

“Something’s on your mind,” he said, more of a statement than a question. “I can tell. Are you okay? Is something wrong? Do I have to tell Hongjoong you’re not feeling well?”

A light peal of laughter slipped from your lips, which made San’s tense shoulders loosen only a smidgen. “No! No, I’m fine. Well, I think so. I just…” You tilted your head slightly, a habit that San found awfully endearing, and puckered your lips to the side, observing him with an unreadable expression. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine!”

“Come on,” said San after a moment’s hesitation, gripping your hands tighter to lead you out of the dressing room. “We’re starting soon. You’ll tell me if something’s wrong, right?”

The soft smile you shot him seemed a little strained to San, but he reluctantly shrugged it off as pre-show nerves. It’d be alright, he internally consoled himself. Besides, you’d done this routine a million times before. What could go wrong?

Purple meant a lot of things to San. It meant the sweet chime of your laughter, the soft brush of your touch, and the breath-stealing glamor of your performances. It meant spending nights outside the circus tent with you, watching the setting sun spill reds over the blue sky, bleeding into lilac. It usually meant love for San—because purple was always associated with you.

Never had he been afraid to see purple.

The blood across the sand of the circus floor appeared so dark that his eyes saw purple for a brief moment. The ripped fabric of your performer clothes, tatters of purple everywhere at once…

The worst part was not being able to see you for hours after the incident, waiting outside the hospital operating room, unable to stay still. The rest of the circus crew was there as well; some of them had makeup running down their faces as they cried tears of fear. Some tried consoling others with quiet voices, and some paced the small space in agitation, San being one of the latter. Hongjoong had eyed him with growing concern, but quickly backed down when San shrugged the ringmaster’s hand off his shoulder with a low snarl.

He should’ve known something was wrong. He should’ve stopped you. What had even happened? It all went by so quickly One second, you were doing just fine, balancing your weight across one of the beams with a smile, eyes flickering to meet his for just a moment, and the next, you were falling to the ground with nary a sound, and he was left yelling your name, swinging down as quickly as he could in an effort to reach you. San could still hear the sickening crack of your body hitting the ground, immediately followed by the shocked, panicked screams of the watching crowd. Hongjoong had gotten to you first, but not before dark mauve started staining the sands.

It was hours until he saw you again—the sun had both set and risen during his wait and some of his other coworkers had bid him adieu with worried glances, but he never left the waiting room. The doctors were reluctant on letting him in at first, but Hongjoong had convinced them to allow him into your room, even going as far as to removing his top hat (that he never, ever took off in public), with a solemn set of his jaw.

For the first time, San hated seeing you in purple. All over your skin littered dozens of bruises of various sizes, ranging in different shades of violet. San fought away the tears, kneeling beside your bed with a clogged throat. He had little to say, so he could only whisper your name, as if that alone would make your pain subside. Of course, nothing happened, and you remained still as a statue.

It was a day later that you had stirred awake, groans rumbling from your chest. You glanced around, momentarily bewildered, before your eyes landed on San hunched over the couch in the corner, chest rising and falling slow and steady. It hurt to smile, but you did so nonetheless.

Not even a minute later, San had risen awake, blearily lifting his head from where his nose had been haphazardly tucked into the crevice of his arm. At first, he had thought he was dreaming, seeing you grinning up at him with bloodied lips and the whole right side of your face unevenly discolored. It was certainly a shocking sight to see through the haze of post-slumber. Blinking twice, San had to croak out your name uncertainly to make sure this was real.

When you tilted your head like you always did when you spoke to him, you hoarsely gritted out, “Howdy, pardner,” in that same faux-Southern accent before promptly dissolving into a coughing fit.

San jerked out of his seat to fumble for a water bottle that had been placed by your table, and gingerly helped you take a few gulps of water.

“Shit,” he sighed out, screwing back the cap on the bottle before kneeling back down beside you, hesitantly reaching out to brush his fingers over your cheek, taking extra care to avoid the tender purple spots. “What happened, Y/N? I thought… I saw all that blood, and I thought…” San couldn’t bear to finish his thought, hanging his head in shame. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said firmly, furrowing your brows with a pained expression. “It was all on me. I’m sorry, San. I got distracted.”

Leaning forward, San grasped the rails of the hospital bed so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “By what? You’ve done this a thousand times before what… What was different? I can’t have this happen to you again, Y/N. You can’t just do that to me.”

Guilt flooded your features at the raw desperation in his tone. “I think,” you started, shifting with a low moan of pain so that you weren’t facing him, “I think I’m in love with you. I realized just a while before the show. It threw me off my game. And I got… I got nervous! I don’t get nervous during my shows, you gotta understand. Then I took one look at you and everything just disappeared. All I saw was you. Next thing I know, I’m in a hospital and you’re snorin’ away in the corner.” You smiled loosely, glancing at San to see if he was smiling, too.

He wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you said, and San could tell that you were staving away tears. “I’m sorry, that was really unprofessional of me. We can just pretend this never happened. Go back to how things were before this mess. I’m sorry.”

It took several moments for San to respond. Not because he was affronted or disgusted or appalled in any way, but because he hadn’t ever expected to hear what he’s been dreaming to hear for the past year finally fall past your lips.

“You know,” he began, which made you curiously glimpse towards him, “I’ve been in love with you all this time and not once have I fell off the rope. You gotta come up with a better excuse than that.”

A shocked silence rippled between you. The incredulous expression you donned, personified with wide, glassy eyes, folded wholly over your features, as if waiting for him to bark out a laugh and say, “Just kidding!”

But San was serious, and you quickly came to the realization that this was no joke. Ironically, much to San’s dismay, you could only shake your head, smiling like a damned crazy fool.

“God,” you chuckled breathily, wincing at how your face pinched painfully with each small movement, “it hurts to smile but I can’t stop. Shit!”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know,” he muttered, huffing out half a sigh and half a chuckle. “Never do that to me again. Ever.”

“Never again,” you vowed, the smile slipping off your lips momentarily. “Because I’ve already fallen for you twice, I’m not adding another tally to the chart.”

Wrinkling his nose at your comment, San muttered out, “I was so scared. Everybody was. Hongjoong even took his hat off. That’s when you know it’s a big deal.”

You drew in a sharp, mocking gasp. “He took his hat off? Now that’s just overreacting.”

“I can’t believe you’re joking around right now.”

“Hey.” You fixed him with a pointed stare. “I’m okay. We’re okay. At least… I hope we are? You’re not actually mad at me, right?”

San avoided answering your genuine query, much to your growing concern, but he leaned forward to gently brush his lips against your forehead. Your stomach erupted with butterflies, but you determinedly kept a straight face. “Get some rest. I’ll go tell the nurses that you’re awake. Love you.”

“... Love you, too. We have a lot to talk about, huh?”

“Yeah. But we’ll do that later. You make sure you’re all healed up first. You’ll be swinging again in no time.”

The grateful beam that painted itself violet over your visage almost made San dizzy with delight.

Purple, San concluded, was both beautiful and terrifying at the same time. And that was love, he supposed. Love was purple, and purple was your color.

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