#writing from the circus

[circus-complex]

Warped Reflection

Rating: Gen

Characters: Original Luo Binghe, Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu

Tags: Angst, Whump, Alternate Universe

@febuwhump day 7: Alternate Universe Self

A mirror lets each Luo Binghe see their other self.

Also on AO3

Full work under the cut

Luo Binghe stared into the mirror. Another man stared back. He may have the same features, but his were…harsher. They looked like the sharp edges of steel, make from a volcano’s eruption and fine-tuned with an ax.

“Binghe!” Shen Qingqiu called as he stepped into the room.

Luo Binghe’s eyes hovered on his reflection for a moment longer, before pulling away to look at his lover.

The sun may have been shining, but Luo Binghe’s world was only lit when Shen Qingqiu was smiling. And right now, it felt like he was in front of the sun.

“Binghe, what’s taking so long?” He tilted his head ever so slightly, mouth twitching downward.

“Nothing, Shizun.” He could feel his worries melt away like ice in summer. Shen Qingqiu loved him, and he could only smile at the thought.

“Alright, you should come eat. It’s already past noon!” Shen Qingqiu took Luo Binghe’s hand. His palm was soft and warm, a fire lit in the depth of winter. He smelled of toasted apples. Luo Binghe could feel it down to his core.

He let Shen Qingqiu drag him away. When he looked back at the mirror, it only showed their room.

Luo Binghe stared into the mirror. Another man stared back. He may have the same features, but his were…softer. They weren’t cut from stone, but carved from clay. Shaped with loving hands instead of harsh winds and violent storms.

“Binghe!” Shen Qingqiu stepped into the room in front of Luo Binghe. He looked so…happy. He wasn’t scowling, and he didn’t flinch at the sight of his disciple.

“Binghe, what’s taking so long?” Shen Qingqiu tilted his head in concern.

“Nothing, Shizun,” the other Luo Binghe turned away from the mirror.

They looked so soft, so pleased with each other’s company. Luo Binghe could only dream of such a domestic scene.

“Alright, you should come eat. It’s already past noon!” Shen Qingqiu took Luo Binghe’s hand in his own, pulling him away.

The vision before Luo Binghe faded away. All that stared back at him was his own face — the one made from beatings, not loving touches. The mirror was dark, demon mark glowing a cherry-apple red.

He could have been happy. It could have been better. And yet, it wasn’t. If one person, just one, had loved him, would he still be sitting in front of this mirror?

[justpizzaisgood]

Someone once pointed out the similarities between these two promo arts, and i think that it could contain have some really good symbolism.

They could represent Pomni's and Ragatha's relationships with the other cast members as the show progresses.

Let's start with Pomni. When we're introduced to her, we see her as an outsider to the circus. She's lost, confused, and scared. But as the show progresses, we watch her forming deeper bonds with the rest of the cast, starting with Ragatha, then Kinger, then Gangle, and finally Jax. Jax is the most significant representation of this because we see him as an antagonist at the show's start from how he pushes around and bullies Pomni when she was still adjusting. Yet from the latest episode, it's kind of flipped and she seems to be the only one he trusts enough to have deepish conversations with.

Ragatha on the other hand, is introduced as sort of the mom of the group. She tries to comfort Pomni and gives her a tour. She helps her adjust to the adventures and tries to stop Jax from antagonising her and Gangle. She partipates in group activities a lot: the adventures, Pomni's breath-holding experiment, softball practice with Gangle and Jax. Based on all this, we think, she must be the most established person in the cast right? She should have some connection with the rest, since she acts like the leader/mom of the group.

Unfortunately, the opposite is slowly being revealed. First, Zooble hints that she's too nice to criticize Caine's adventures. Then Gangle admits that Ragatha doesn't always seem genuine. Then Jax reveals that her being too nice and happy makes him feel like she's trying to take advantage of him. We slowly realize that she isn't as connected to the others as she first seems. It turns out, she doesnt seem to have deep connections with anyone in the group, save for Pomni and maybe Kinger. It also feels like Ragatha sees herself as slowly losing connections with everyone. The end of episode 5 visually stresses this:

How does this tie in with the promo art?

Let's assume Pomni is watching the sun RISE. Sunrises represent a new day, with new opportunities, and therefore change. Even thoughshe seems to start the day alone, she has the chance to change that. And it shows. As the day (the show) progresses, Pomni makes friends and is adapting to the wackiness of the circus.

As for Ragatha, she's sitting alone at night. Nighttime can be seen as a time of rest, contemplation, and even as a moment to spend time with loved ones or friends after a busy day. Yet Ragatha spends it alone. Even the moon isnt present in Ragatha's promo art, while it seems like the sun is greeting Pomni. Both in the episode's end and in the promo, Ragatha seems to be contemplating the reality of her relationships with others. At the end of the day, Ragatha is all alone (literally in episode 5 lol), even though the during the day it doesn't seem like so.

So yeah that's what i got from it: the promo art represents the two's developping relationships with the cast members, and how they're going in opposite directions.

Could be just a theory and the two promo arts are just promo art. But who knows.

[quarterlifekitty]

How would Price react if reader agreed to graves's offer and tried to run away with him in the circus au? And would they manage to escape?

Anger doesn’t even scratch the surface.

It would never work. There are dogs that know your scents. Too many people that know your face from the act. And too many members of your family that won’t rest until the family jewel is recovered.

It’s not the first time for Graves, but he’s punished more than ever before— because he involved you this time. He comes out of it with fresh, bleeding lashes across his back, a broken wrist, and an 8-ball fracture that has a chance of causing permanent damage.

They can’t punish you physically, of course. That would be unsightly. But you’ll know no privacy. You’ll share a trailer with Nik so he can keep an eye on you. Your leash is significantly shortened, so to speak. You’ll have to make up the missed revenue from your time on the run with your own pay, as your debt becomes deeper than ever.

Graves is forbidden from speaking to you. It doesn’t stop him, despite how you urge him to stay away, afraid he’ll be punished again— maybe worse this time.

“What’s a couple more scars? Can barely feel the whip anymore, sugar.”

[superbat-lmao]

In college, Harvey and Harley would poke fun at being Bruce’s first friends. He’d been so closed off with all those rich kids that it took him until college to really find his people.

But that’s not entirely true.

Bruce would say he had a lot of friends actually, just that none of them stuck around for very long. Meeting each of them was completely accidental. And strange. It has taken him a while to figure out what was happening, but once he got one of them to admit to it, the rest caved pretty quick.

You see, Bruce’s friends were time travelers.

They had crazy suits, some skin tight, others padded like a SWAT team, and all of them made of stuff Bruce had never seen before. They could also do insane tricks they were willing to teach Bruce, like backflips and knife throwing when he was old enough. They promised to teach him more each time they came back through time.

They wouldn’t give him their names, but they all had nicknames for each other and that worked well enough. Didn’t want to blow up the time-space continuum.

He met “Wing” first. He’d felt moronic calling someone that looked like an adult something that wasn’t a real name, but by the time Jay, Red, and Robin turned up, he caught on to the bird theme. The girls didn’t stick with the bird thing and neither did Tom, although the knew that was a fake name, especially because Robin would often try and call him Thomas, so he assumed it was close.

So yes actually, Bruce had friends before he met Harley and Harvey. He was just waiting for the day he would meet them in his time.

[sunnyknight-original]

KINGERS GAMBIT - CHAPTER 1

“Why couldn’t we just play in the tent-“

(Work In Progress and Behind The Scenes stuff in my Shitpost account!)

[finalskies]

Saw the latest tadc episode. I really like that triangle, want to see them in more situations

[amielot]

Horn.

Bonus:)

[naffeclipse]

Forget-me-not

Reader x Sun and Moon

Commission Info

Thank you for @robinette-green for the lovely request! I adored writing this and making the boys so sweet to the reader! The reader is a clockwork animatronic who's trapped in an abandoned circus, and Sun and Moon step foot onto the forgotten ground and find someone in need of their help.

———

You watch another golden glow creep into oblivion upon the abandoned carnival and its sad, lonely inhabitants. The sun withdraws soundlessly like a stranger passing by. The Freak Show sign slumps, depressed. The once golden and galloping horses in the carousel have rusted into cruel, dark hues and no longer stamp or throw their wild manes back while children ride their once beautiful, gleaming saddles. The big tent—it hasn’t been big in years. It lies in sore tatters, wet from yesterday’s rainstorm with poles sticking up high and stringing along broken bulbs of once bright, yellow lights illuminating the darkness, promising fun to the humans who stepped onto the fairgrounds. 

You hate the darkness. You hate it more than being bolted down in place and left to host a game of ring toss no one has played in years. Your right arm is still extended in invitation over the green and brown bottles. The carnival owner couldn’t even allow you both of your arms, pinning your stance into place with bolts and leaving only your left hand to occasionally wave and flutter to catch the attendee’s eyes. 

After all the trouble he went to steal you away from your creator, you thought he would at least have taken you with him when the bright, colorful lights and happy, bouncing music came to a halt.

The soft words of your creator ring distantly, like a voice calling out through fog. You are—were his most beautiful creation. He whispered the words to you while he painted your lips red and bid you to take a look in the mirror.

You agreed. You were so, so pretty.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you don’t know what you look like anymore. You don’t want to look upon how rusted your clockwork inner workings have become. Your once pale and milky porcelain skin might be gray and slushy as the dirt along the pathways guests took, and that is not something you wish to know. There’s no doubt your red lips and silky red hair have been forsaken to the elements. You fear you are ruined. 

You are now worthy of abandonment.

In the darkness, you truly are forgotten. A hitch within your clockwork chassis catches and grinds before continuing, but the scraping pain remains.

Your attention is drawn back to the front entrance, a good distance away from you. Half crumbled with support beats cutting over the access in an ‘X’ shape, like a warning to not trespass this decrepit lot, shadows slink over the splintered and rotted wood. Long, lanky umbras move with a silence that is so strange and careful.

You squint your eyes. The urge to tilt your head slightly to peer better at the disturbance is cut short by the bolt in your neck, refusing to let your head tilt save from a slight side to side to give an enthralling smile.

You shouldn’t get too excited. It’s likely mere animals. A pair of raccoons or a stray dog who has lost its owner. Once, you watched a doe deer step softly through the wretched ruins, big wet eyes turning to you for one moment before the blurt of your automated voice lines jumped from your throat and sent the creature bounding away.

Nothing is yours here, not even the moment of daydreaming of you prancing out of this forsaken carnival like a doe deer. Free.

The shadows mingle into the dusky darkness. The blue-gray twilight reveals figures, and your mechanical heart chokes.

Two personages creep along the path winding from the entranceway. The same path leading directly towards the ring toss game; towards you. One dons a thick hood and cape, dark blue like midnight. The other’s head is sharper and unconcealed. A crown of jutting points frame the figure’s disk-like face, and a thick deep brown shawl gathers at his throat and falls down his chest and arms. 

As they pass into a silvery slant of budding starlight, metal glints on the crowned one’s face and the other hooded person’s hands spray out while scanning the darkness for threats, silver digits curling and uncurling.

Two automatons. Like you. But not.

A whirl in your servos thrums a loud, exhausted sound, and you stiffen—as much as you can while bolted in place. 

What could two automatons want with an abandoned circus? You were never familiar with the world outside of your creator’s home before you were smuggled out against your will by the circus owner, but at the circus, you learned much. 

You learned of scavengers and automatons gaining their rights. You always wonder if that’s partly the reason you were left here to rot too—are you too human now to own but robotic enough to be neglected? 

They could spy on you in the darkness and decide to strip you for parts. Your clockwork clanks heavily within you like a clapper within a bell, beating against your brass heart. Can they hear it? You have to stop. Be quiet. 

The two automatons prowl forward. Their optics and audio processors strain not unlike hounds searching for a fox. What do they prey upon? The crowned one gestures towards the carousel, the ride well within distance to your ring toss game, and you must clench your jaw tightly to keep from whimpering. The hooded one dips his head but keeps moving forward. Your gears crank in jarring motions, jolting and jerking while you hope they take the parts they desire from the circus and leave.

The hooded one continues down the path. Your chassis tightens, and your fingers tremble in place while you keep your eyes averted, held above the automaton’s head but keeping him in the unfocused corners of your optics.

Please. Please, don’t. Your bottom lip quivers.

“Step right up and toss a ring to win a prize!” The words blurt from your mouth and startle all the ruins and everyone within.

Two pairs of glowing eyes fall upon you. Straightening and alerted, the shrouded automatons stare into your fluttering eyelids as you attempt to beg them to leave you alone. A spark burns in your throat. Your voice lines refuse to give.

One stops and reaches silver and blue digits up and lowers the hood slowly. A face gazes at you, scarlet eyes glowing in the darkness with a face like a crescent moon. A blue nightcap, slightly frayed and worn, and decorated in yellow stars, covers his circular faceplate. 

The other steps closer with a curious tilt of the sharp points framing the automation’s head, and enters the last of the blue-gray darkness before night completely takes over. A yellow face, grinning with round cheeks, observes you. Pale optics beam. 

“Hello, friend,” he speaks, voice bouncing low but with intrigue. “Why don’t you come on out? It’s alright, don’t be afraid.”

Your optics dart side to side. Helplessness settles over you, pinned in place by rusty, dark shame. 

“Do you need help?” The one with the pale yellow sun rays steps closer, his eyes narrowing in the slightest. “Are you stuck?”

The moon-face automaton slips closer. The glow of his gaze sweeps over the game you’re bolted in front of, and he fixates on your right arm stiffly held out in invitation as your fingers curl and clench. You glance down at him, wondering if your eyes plead in the way your mouth cannot.

Biting your bottom lip does not prevent another voice line from bursting forth, and inwardly, you crumple.

“Try your hand! One ring around the neck of a bottle wins a prize!” 

“Not stuck,” the lunar automaton turns to his accomplice. His cloak shifts like shadows under the arc of the moon. “Trapped.”

“Oh, you poor thing! Here, let us help.” The sunny one steps forward, his hands raised as if to pacify a wild creature. “And, if I may be so bold, your voice box sounds like it’s not your own.”

You wish to nod but only succeed in cranking your head halfway to the right, as if in a gesture towards your hapless situation. 

You wonder if they can see the ugly, rusty bolts pinning your body in place, holding you shackled to the ring toss game. They must, for the lunar face man slips closer, stooping down by your feet behind the barrier as he inspects the heavy metal securing you in place. The solar gentleman energetically leaps over the barrier and stops right beside you, hand on his hips. His shawl drapes darkly around him but his grin is bright like a new dawn.

You don’t dare hope. The niceness will fall away like a curtain to reveal the snarling, roaring beast behind it. They will strip you for parts or worse, mock you, revel in your helplessness, and slip back through the night, leaving you with only the daydream of a rescue.

Facing the sunny one, you hold your metaphorical breath as he pauses. He stares deeply into your optics. You stare back into the foggy gray irises he possesses, like a cool, misty fog gathering in the night only to be touched by the sun’s first rays of light. 

“Your eyes are beautiful—the same color as forget-me-nots.” The sunny automaton smiles.

Your servos slow to a calm hum.

“Come on,” he says and carefully reaches for your neck to begin unscrewing the bolt stuck in your throat, “You won’t be left to rust here anymore, starlight.”

Your insides melt, touched by their generosity.

Below, at your feet, the dark blue and silver automaton begins to unscrew the bolts holding your feet down. Rust scrapes away and a harsh squeak of metal echoes. You grunt, jostled but, strangely, you hold to hope like a feathered, tiny thing in your hands, hoping to watch it fly again. 

“We can fix your voice box,” the lunar one speaks in a slight rasp you find endearing. His gaze remains focused on setting you free. “We have a shop. We repair things sometimes.”

“That’s right,” the solar one chimes in, “We scavenge as well. Don’t worry, we’ve repaired a few automatons or two. You can trust us.”

When he pries the bolt from your neck, you can dip your head in acknowledgment. A strange sensation burns through your wires, heating you from the inside out. Emotion. You wish you could ask for their names.

“You look very delicate.” The one at your feet finally frees one of your porcelain slippers with a slow, cautious tug. “We’ll be gentle.”

He tilts his head upwards and flashes a grin. You find yourself warming in the face. Is he being a tease or does he not know how he sounds? By the mischievous glint in your eyes, you fear he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You try to pry your lips apart to find the right words, but all that leaves you is “Enjoy lots of fun! For a small price, of course!”

The automaton of yellow and gray hues glances briefly at you, tilting his heading in confusion while he begins to loosen the bolt stabbed into your right elbow. Holding his gaze, you speak with your eyes, almost pleading.

What are your names?

A spark of understanding answers in his pale optics, and he gasps.

“Moon, where are our manners? I’m so sorry, starlight! My name is Sun, and this is Moon.”

You dip your head again, bobbing up and down in excitement. You know their names. You haven’t learned anything new about anyone in so long…

When they free you from the ring toss game, you can hardly believe how the muddy path now leads you to the outside of the circus as Sun holds you gently in his grasp, how their strides are sure-footed and smooth, and how they look at you with concern.  

You vow silently to speak their names the moment your voice is free too.

*

You haven’t seen anything outside of the carnival in so long, you’ve almost forgotten the sight of dark, shiny paved streets and the lone lamp posts that light the way. Gray and dreary buildings line the streets. One, however, is cheerfully plastered in wooden stars painted bright yellow, and the door is a soft, sky blue with white fluffy clouds along the very top. 

Sun and Moon take turns carrying you. Their hands are careful, cradling you close against their cloak and shawl while murmuring that it’s alright. You’re safe. They’ll get you fixed up in no time. Moon cradles you in his arms now as Sun unlocks the door, and holds it open so you can be carried over the threshold. 

For an odd reason, it triggers your faceplate to heat up more than the colored rouge on the porcelain should allow.

Through the door, the interior of the workshop is set with tools ranging from smallest to biggest, shelves containing boxes marked, and small containers with different, shiny nuts and bolts. There are even some small containers with shiny, bronze gears. You haven’t seen a spotless floor in so long. There were always leaves and mud staining the path serpentining through the carnival. 

A table, coppery under a work lamp, awaits. 

“I’m setting you here,” Moon murmurs close to your audio processor before he lays you softly down with a gentle click of your frame against the metal. 

“I worry about how long you were left there.” Sun loses the shawl and locates a brown leather apron. Tools line the pockets as he swiftly ties it behind his back. His eyes are creased though he still smiles reassuringly. “By the amount of rust, I would guess years. For your sake, I hope I’m wrong.”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. What comes out instead is a showy voice declaring “Whoever can ring three bottles wins the ultimate prize!” 

A whirl in your servos practically screams out your embarrassment. You lower your gaze. The stiffness in your joints is almost as unbearable as the voice lines the circus owner forced upon you. 

“Shush,” Moon says, his cloak falling away as he snags an apron similar to Sun’s off of a hook. “Wait for a moment, pretty thing, then you may have your words back.”

“That’s right,” Sun nods and shifts to stand close beside you. He grows still for a moment, his bright disposition falling behind a somber cloud. “We’re very lucky to have found you.”

You smile—not the forced, showy smile that has been plastered on your face while you lie in the ruins, but a true smile for the ones who rescued you.

Moon moves to the other side of the table. His hands, now gloved in black leather, hesitate. 

“We will open you up now.” The automaton turns flush along the spindle support of his neck. “Is that alright? It’s the only way we can fix your voice box.”

Sun leans forward, his smile still cheery while he modestly averts his eyes, “As well any other damage done from being exposed and negligent for… however long you were out there.” 

You never thought the solar automaton could be shy, and yet. 

You nod your head as it rests on the table. You feel safe, so much more so than when you were bolted in place. The circus owner did not ask you what you wanted then.

Moon and Sun move in tandem. It’s strange and beautiful, how effortlessly they weave their fingers to begin work. Sun unlocks your chassis and Moon gently lifts it open. You throw your gaze to the ceiling. You don’t want to know. You know they will find it horrible and awful, but you don’t want to see it and have it seared into your mind.

“You’re beautiful,” Moon utters.

You blink, as breathless as a machine can become.

“Your clockwork—is very beautiful,” a slight stumble from his raspy voice seals your fate. You say nothing. You press your lips together and wonder if you might overheat right here and now. 

“You are pretty,” Sun continues effortlessly, though there’s a slight trill to his voice that may give away his nervousness or bashfulness, you can’t decide. “Clockwork automatons are rare.”

The circus owner made mention of that.

You close your eyes as Sun and Moon narrate their every movement. Hands held down by your sides, you only occasionally shift or softly buzz as they clean and fix your voice box nestled within the bottom of your throat. They are so gentle. You never knew hands could be so kind, even if they are rummaging through your inner workings. 

Could they possibly let you stay?

The absurd thought enters your processor and you almost immediately shove it into a box and bury it deep into cold, black soil. 

“You’re doing so good.” Sun grins as he looks down into your chassis. “There. That should do it. Moon?”

“I’m done.”

Slowly, carefully, as if finishing a sacred rite, the two close up your chassis and tighten it back into place. You haven’t opened your eyes yet. A part of you wonders if you’ll only look out into the ruins of the circus again, and find this was all one blissful moment of a daydream. 

“Can you say something, starlight?” Sun’s voice washes over you.

“It’s alright if you’re not ready,” Moon answers in a low sound of comfort.

It falls past your lips before you realize you are not ready, but you so terribly want to speak anyway.

“Thank you.” Your eyes flash open, and you gape—the echo. Your soft, demure tones no longer strained into shouting and calling attention. 

It’s you.

Your hand touches your lips, and a sound between a laugh and a sob emerges from your voice box. 

“Thank you! Thank you!” You look between the two of them, overwhelmed. With the overhead lamp now touching their features as they sit back, grinning, you get to admire their handsome features. 

You two are very striking.

“Oh, my,” Sun chuckles, bleeding red in the cheeks, “Thank you!”

“You’re very sweet,” Moon murmurs, touching his nightcap with a slight bashfulness.

And you realize you spoke your thoughts out loud. You called them striking.

“Oh,” you begin to burn.

“It’s alright,” Moon says swiftly, interrupting your apology. “We would like to know what your plans are after this. Now that you’re free.”

“Free,” you whisper back. You clutch at your chest, over your clockwork heart, and marvel. “I…”

You have your voice back. Use it.

“I—if I may be so bold, may I ask to stay with you both? I won’t be a burden. I won’t stay longer than you will allow, and I—”

Sun sighs, dramatic and cheerful, as he finds your hand to hold it. 

“I thought you would never ask, starlight!”

Moon’s hand slips under your anxious fingers. His nod echoes his solar counterpart’s enthusiasm. You turn your head between both of them, your lips parting in awe.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Sun. Moon. Thank you.”

[bigskydreaming]

Imagine looking at a character whose entire premise is that in every stage of his life, he's made every version of himself into someone that inspires people to such a degree that EVERY SINGLE VERSION OF HIM has people wanting to literally follow in his footsteps in some way or another.....

And coming to the conclusion that like.....the most important things about him are the sum of all his trappings. His entirely homemade developed from scratch could not exist if not for what he already was and brought with him BEFORE crafting this newest version of himself trappings, with his greatest trait throughout all of it being his adaptability; his ability and willingness to roll with the punches and not try to simply weather any opposition or changes to his life but instead reshape himself as needed to better fit INTO whatever new shape his life and the world around him takes. All while managing to carry the most innate, fundamental and necessary aspects of himself from one version to the next. Thus every single version of himself is different but simultaneously every single version of himself is also undeniably the same person.

The strength of this character, to me, will always be that he can be so many versions of himself, he can become so many things, all without ever actually losing or discarding any of the aspects of himself he considers most essential, the things he's not willing to lose or give up just to keep going. Finding that road not taken by most, usually because most never even think to look for it as an option. But one that he's always able to find because the one trick he's mastered in his tumultuous life is threading that needle of not just digging in his heels in an unproductive way but rather being selective about when and where he makes a stand and decides "this is not a thing I'm willing to compromise about" but here are places and ways I can and will change and evolve and adapt in order to make it possible for me to hold onto these parts and keep them as they are.

And that's why its always so mind-boggling to me that so many writers can't seem to think of anything else to do with Dick Grayson other than invent some new reason for him to just....not be that person, or to like just take the character whose most basic fundamental trait he's NOT about to compromise on is willingly giving up his spot in the driver's seat of his own life.....and make him just a passenger in his own life and stories.

Dick Grayson at age nine....at age nineteen...at age twenty nine....the one core thread running through all versions of him is the only way he's standing back and letting you call the shots for him or putting him on the sidelines in some way is over his dead body.

HOW he goes about that, what that looks like, who he becomes and what aspects of himself he plays up at some times and what traits he lets fall by the wayside at other times when they offer less in service to his primary goal here....that changes constantly. He changes constantly.

But those changes are almost always (or at least they used to be/should be IN MY OPINION) made with the intention of keeping certain things about him or his life as consistent as possible.

That's the duality of Dick Grayson that I'm here for. The inherent contradiction of him that COULD allow for endless conflict and breaking new narrative ground in all sorts of ways if mined properly:

His eternal willingness to compromise....but only ever in pursuit of doubling down on the ways he's not willing to compromise.

Forever walking that tightrope in ways that only a kid born and raised in a circus could ever hope to.

[iamespecter]

WOAHHHHH POMNI SLOW DOWN GIRLLLLL‼️‼️‼️😳🕶️👌

Finally writing the Wild West AU for the collection!! But uh....

Ever since Mushy passed the crown onto me I've never felt such unfathomable power /hj this is only halfway through the fic and I have no idea if this will exceed Bestest Friends in terms of word count entirely

but if it does then fuck it we ball, fuck it we ball Showtime Nation!!!!!!!!!!! 💪💪

[open-sketchbook]

my girlfriend is asking for where she can find your written works, she really likes the one post you made about your mindstate wandering w/r/t making porn stories and she'd love to support you & read your stories

Sure!

I write my (public) fiction on the website Sufficient Velocity, a sci-fi forum. Most of them are in the form of 'quests', interactive stories; my day job is an independent tabletop roleplaying game designer, so the two things go hand in hand.

I unfortunately am both very busy and kind of a mess mentally, so fiction gets picked up and dropped a lot, and I write less than ever these days due to the shambles that my life has become.

For my quests, the stuff I'm proudest of is...

Castles of Steel, a longrunning (though currently on hiatus) story set in an alternate world much like our own, but with radically different gender politics. It's about the first woman in the navy of a country a lot like 1910s Imperial Japan, and more generally about how state power and imperialism entangles itself with and recoups social progress.

A Splinter in your Mind, a retelling of the Matrix with new characters and reimagined twists and worldbuilding. It makes the trans subtext into trans dommetext, and I feel its some of my cleverest writing.

Suffer Not, and especially its sequel The Witch Lives. Suffer Not is a Warhammer 40,000 fic about an Inquisitor who abuses her powers to actually make people's lives better, and is the story of her slowly realizing it is not enough. The Witch Lives takes place ten years later, following the grown up psyker the Inquisitor adopted, and focuses much more on faith, history, and the little people.

The Spider-Liv Trilogy started as a silly and honestly kind of bad extreme-divergence spiderman AU, but its sequel The Amazing Arachne is, I think, genuinely really good, because it's about what happens when a superhero gets hurt and then doesn't get better.

I've managed to properly publish two pieces of writing, as in you can get them in book form, and I'm still really proud of both.

Whispers from the Deep is an adaptation of the quest that defined the setting of my roleplaying game Flying Circus. It's about a young woman who steals a plane and runs away from her abuser with her boyfriend, and then has to take up life as an aerial mercenary in a 1920s-themed post-apocalyptic fantasy world. Also, she's a fish person and her village is a Cthulhu cult!

Lieutenant Fusilier in the Farthest Reaches is a pastiche of the Richard Sharpe books by Bernard Cornwell, moving the setting from the Napoleonic Wars to a bizarre future world where sentient, cheerfully productive robots were invented in the early 19th century and promptly took all the jobs, elevating all of humanity to the gentry and then to the stars. It's about a redcoated robot soldier who uses her immortality to save up and buy a commission in the Army of Great Britain and Beyond, a position normally occupied exclusively by humans, and then facing the fallout of her decision and the life choices leading to it as her first deployment spirals out of control. It's also, sorta, a parody of Star Trek; the Galactic Concert is a mechanized, Regency-themed Federation, and the back half of the book is basically about how the problems of a world cannot be solved by an away team of well-meaning people with stun pistols.

[circus-complex]

Suit of Hearts

Rating: Teen+

Characters: Feng Xin, Mu Qing, Hua Cheng, Xie Lian, Jian Lan, Qi Rong

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Getting Together, its the xianle6 getting together, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Eventual Romance, Hua Cheng & Mu Qing Friendship , Married Hua Cheng/Xie Lian, Feng Xin and Mu Qing are Idiots in Love, Mu Qing is Bad at Feelings, Feng Xin is So Whipped, Past Feng Xin/Jian Lan, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes (everyone is a woman)

Mu Qing has always thought Feng Xin was an annoyance. Feng Xin thinks the same. And yet they still stick around each other. Hua Cheng and Xie Lian have a deal. Will they get together by the end of the month, or never? It was a gamble, really. To ask Mu Qing out to dinner, to accept Feng Xin's offer. But they've gone all in now, high risk, high reward. For TGCF Gotcha for Congo, and @mxtx-yuri-events - Future.

Also on AO3

Full work under the cut

“Jiejie, do you think Feng Xin and Mu Qing will ever get together?” Hua Cheng looked down at Xie Lian. Xie Lian lay with her head in her wife’s lap, eyes closed as Hua Cheng’s hand wove through her hair.

“Hm. I’m not sure. They’ve been dancing around each other for so long, it would take a miracle to get them together.”

“Yeah, but its just so painful to watch them bicker and flirt.”

Xie Lian hummed in agreement.

“Wanna bet, jiejie?” A smirk danced on Hua Cheng’s lips.

“Bet on what?”

“See how long it takes for the two of them to get together.”

Xie Lian hauled herself up, so she could be eye to eye with Hua Cheng.

“I don’t think its ever happening. I think they’ll just be in a will-they-won’t-they situation till the death of the universe.”

“Well, I think they’ll get together this month.”

“Deal,” Xie Lian replied. She sealed the deal with a kiss to Hua Cheng’s lips.

Mu Qing opened her eyes as her phone went off. What felt like dozens of notifications sent her phone buzzing to the floor.

She groggily picked up her phone — thank god for face ID, Mu Qing didn’t know if her fingers would be nimble enough to type out her password this early in the morning. She was greeted with a wall of texts from Hua Cheng.

Crimson Pain-in-the-ass Today 9:13 AM Hua Cheng: mu qing Hua Cheng: mu qing Hua Cheng: do u wanna go to the mall today Hua Cheng: jiejie isn’t free today :< Crimson Pain-in-the-ass is typing...

Mu Qing threw her phone to the side. It wasn’t even ten yet, and Hua Cheng was already bombarding her.

Her phone pinged once more. Groaning, Mu Qing picked it up again.

Hua Cheng: mu qing i KNOW you’re seeing my texts

Fine! I’ll reply!

Mu Qing quickly typed out a reply.

Mu Qing: its nine in the goddamn morning what is wrong with you Read 9:15 AM

Mu Qing hauled herself out of bed while she waited for Hua Cheng to reply. Rifling through her closet, she threw an outfit on the bed. Throwing herself back into bed as well, she read Hua Cheng’s response.

Hua Cheng: Uhm akshually its 9:15 right now☝️🤓 Crimson Pain-in-the-ass is typing...

Really?! That’s your reply?

Hua Cheng: come onnnn pleaseee will u go to the mall Mu Qing: fine Mu Qing: pick me up in 10 Read 9:17 AM

The mall was loud, voices bouncing around the brightly lit building. The dim buzzing of florescent lights hummed in the background, but Mu Qing paid it no mind.

“Which looks better?” Hua Cheng held up two pairs of earrings. One that looked like translucent flowers on a vine, another with black roses and blood.

“Hm, I’d go with the roses,” Mu Qing replied.

Hua Cheng nodded, placing the roses back on the shelf.

“So, are you gonna tell me whats going on between you and Feng Xin?”

Mu Qing glared and Hua Cheng out of the corner of her eye, “There’s literally nothing going on between us.”

Hua Cheng laughed — short and smug. “Yeah right. You guys see each other every day and you always complain about the ‘idiotic’ things she gets up too. If I was you, I’d have cut off contact with Feng Xin years ago.”

“Whatever, just drop it,” Mu Qing rolled her eyes.

“Alright, alright.” Hua Cheng held her hands up.

What’s going on between us? I don’t even know. Feng Xin gets on my nerves, and makes my blood boil. But I still want to be around her.

Mu Qing’s thoughts were interrupted by Hua Cheng’s dreamy sigh. She whipped her head around to glare at Hua Cheng.

“Don’t you think jiejie would love this?” Hua Cheng held up a blue bow.

“Yeah, probably,” Mu Qing said. You know Xie Lian better than me, why ask for my opinion?

The two wandered through the mall for another hour before stopping for lunch.

“Oh, my, god, did you hear? Feng Xin’s ex is with jiejie’s fuckass green cousin!” Hua Cheng’s eye went wide as she spoke.

“What?! How the fuck did Qi Rong manage to get with her?" Mu Qing replied.

“I have no clue, but jiejie said the two moved in together last week. It sounds quite serious!”

“That’s fast, isn’t it?”

Gossip and laughter flew through the air. Mu Qing chest hurt from how hard she was laughing, and she smiled the whole drive home.

Mu Qing slipped her shoes off as she stepped through her doorway. She opened her phone to see Feng Xin texting her.

Ju Yang Today 2:33 AM Feng Xin: Do you want to meet tomorrow for dinner?

Feng Xin grumbled as she hauled herself out of bed. She quickly shot a text to Xie Lian to let her know she’d be at the gym soon. Throwing clothes on and strolling out the door, Feng Xin paused when she saw the woman in front of her.

“I didn’t know you lived here now,” Feng Xin said.

“Yeah, moved in with my girlfriend. I’m just headed to the store to get snacks for her,” Jian Lan smiled and titled her head to the side. “You know how Qi Rong can be.”

Feng Xin nodded grimly, “Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, nice seeing you!” Jian Lan waved as she headed oppisite of Feng Xin.

Ugh, at least she isn’t awkward about being exes. I’d crawl into a hole and never come out if she was the kind of person to kill me every time we run into each other.

Feng Xin jogged the rest of the way to the gym. She was running late, and didn’t want to be any later — even though Xie Lian wouldn’t care.

“Feng Xin!” Xie Lian waved Feng Xin over. She was leaning against the wall, and had clearly already started her workout.

The two ran through their usual routines in silence. The sound of weights being placed on shelves or the whir of treadmills rang through the building.

Xie Lian looked up from the ground, waiting for Feng Xin to finish with the weights.

“Yeah?'“ Feng Xin looked right back at Xie Lian.

“How’s it going with Mu Qing?”

Feng Xin shrugged, “Same as always, I suppose. Why?”

“I dunno. She just seems to flighty lately.”

“I guess, but she’s always been like that. She acts like a cat, its insufferable.”

“Mn,” Xie Lian raised an eyebrow, “You always complain about her, but come’on, why are you still friends?”

Feng Xin paused to think.

Yeah, why do I always come back?

“She’s fun to be around?”

Yeah right, no one’s believing that answer.

Feng Xin didn’t elaborate, so Xie Lian stood up.

“Shoot, I gotta go. San Niang and I are gonna get lunch. See ya!” Xie Lian speed-walked away.

“Bye!” Feng Xin waved to her quickly. But her thoughts abosrbed her once more.

She’s fun to be around? What kind of bullshit answer is that? Xie Lian’s right, why’re we sill friends? She makes me smile, but she’s the same person to rip that smile off my face. I want to hang out with her all the time, but she always makes snarky comments about how I act like a puppy. Truly, what is the appeal? I want to learn how to do my hair from her, she’s so pretty. And her makeup, it’s always immaculate. Ugh, I wish she would just-

Feng Xin paused.

Ah, fuck.

I’m in love with her.

[honeythegoat]

Just came back from the Doctor's and they told me that I have character floating in white void disease, I fear it's terminal 😔

[ethan-elliott]

okay hear me out: Normal Man / Man With A Beard is trans masc and that’s why he’s so excited about the fact he has a beard. he joined the circus because of outside prejudice of him being trans but the rest of the circus people are very accepting which is why his show name is ‘the amazing normal man’

(bonus: the bearded lady is a trans woman and that’s why he’s her understudy cause she’s a much older trans person so is teaching Tom’s character about queer culture/history)

[wackywatchdotcom]

something i genuinely adore about tadc is how painfully flawed everyone in the circus is. and not in a small way

everyone does SOMETHING that negatively impacts the others. but it makes the fact that you are supposed to sympathize with and really connect with them all the more potent. because its easy to want to put a bunch of characters in a bad situation together and to just have them all be nice to each other and everyone and never make mistakes because theres no reason to hurt each other, and most of them dont TRY to, but the way they cope is so, so realistic for each of their personalities, and it doesnt always mesh with the others, and sometimes it exceeds self destructive and Just Hurts Others, Too

they still generally care about each other and the mistakes they make and the ways they end up hurting each other dont lose their weight but like. it doesnt take away from their humanity and the fact that they are all trying so hard to manage in an awful situation

and the characters seem to have sooome sort of understanding of this too. not fully, because the characters dont tend to be 100% communicative, but when they hurt each other, it often makes EVERYONE uncomfortable. because these are the only people they have. these are their friends. and theyre all coping. but it doesnt change how much it affects them (best illustrated by ragathas lines at the start of ep 2 or gangles 'i love her, but after a while it gets kinda hard to tell how genuine shes actually being'). its not all like this, theres a good amnt of variety, but characters knowing this but not really knowing what to do about it is very painful in an effective way

(i think a subtle example of this is how zooble handles gangles situation in ep 4- they were so genuinely trying to help her because they care. but could tell as the day went on that oh, this is not working at all and its making things worse, and they leave gangle alone- something that very genuinely couldve been the moment she abstracted, because of the mask zooble gave her- and we dont get to have a super blatant explanation of zoobles thoughts on it, but they reach a fairly healthy conclusion about it that helps both of them, and i like that a lot, because on paper zooble could be placed at fault but the narrative doesnt dwell on it excessively, because thats not the point. i dont know if that tangent makes sense but i think about it sometimes. i think zooble wasnt 'to blame' but it was still a mistake, which is a hard balance to strike, and having them help at the end feels extremely effective at rounding it off!!!)

but like. in general its complicated balancing making characters in a bad situation act flawed because it can run the risk of seeming like the story is scolding them or blaming them for the situation theyre in, or like youre expected to not sympathize with them despite it (though the inverse also has complications- if characters in a bad situation never mess up, it feels unrealistic and hard to relate to, and can imply that their innocence is why whats happening to them is bad at all), but the show handles it so well

even the characters who are genuinely trying all try in different ways- some of them have similar outlooks or attitudes towards these thing but theres vital differences for ALL of them- sometimes it works and sometimes it doesnt. in fact some of the more painful mistakes characters have made in the show have come from them so genuinely trying (like the thing i mentioned w zooble, or basically Everything Ragatha Does, or pomnis first attempt at helping gangle, etc), which hits harder than if every mistake characters made had wholly selfish and cruel goals.

i mean, there is a selfishness to many of the characters' actions but imo not in a way thats not warranted. because all of them are in a horrible setting. its uncomfortable to watch characters be selfish. but it is a natural instinct to survive. its not the foundation of most of their actions, but when it is, its uncomfortable but hard to completely disparage them for in a way that makes you feel kinda conflicted

and like. it hurts to be doing your best and for that to make things worse, but its what happens often in the show. because no one in a bad situation is gonna handle it well. by the very nature of trying to survive something is gonna give, but it makes the themes of the show so much more powerful. that making sure the people around you dont feel unloved, cherishing them and finding meaning with others is no less important just because everyone is fucking up. it complicates things, for sure, but it doesnt make those characters exempt fromt this. theres a reason pomni tells gummigoo that she doesnt want "anyone" to feel like theyre nothing, and that kinger doesnt add ANY quallifiers to making sure people feel wanted and loved (not that i think either of them were thinking SUPER super hard, but it conveys smth from the perspective of the narrative

it gets complicated when you add in jax for sure, since i think on the surface he IS the exception to this concept- none of the characters like him, including pomni or kinger. but i think this is something thats gonna be examined further down the line, bc hes the main complicating factor in this reading of the show, but i feel like thats on purpose. hes universally disliked (and so is caine, in a different way) and his actions arent mistakes. they are him coping. the show has made it clear that he can be a complex person AND also a piece of shit. his actions dont detract from the fact that hes a person and the show reminds us of this. so it makes things so messy, but im genuinely super excited to see how the show examines that. where his character goes is, imo, going to be a massive piece of how this show fleshes out this concept

[lesbiantvfish]

tadc colored sketch commission for @tass3l, please let me know if it could use any adjustments, and ty for the comm!