iwannaseeyainakia

[iwannaseeyainakia]

Idk what it is bruh, but the roundest chicken nugget of the bunch always gotta be the last one I eat. Something about it makes all the difference. If I don’t save it for last I’ll be in a bad mood lmao

[iwannaseeyainakia]

If every person in the world who has a dollar gives me a dollar I’d probably have enough money to just finally sleep in without feeling fucking guilty for being a sad fuck with no aspirations. What I’m saying is I don’t want to go to work anymore please let me sleep.

[iwannaseeyainakia]

Mikasa x Reader (x Eren)

Not a continuation of my last oneshot lol. 

TW: Cursing, slight angst, character death, spoilers

Hope you guys enjoy!

Mikasa held your hand as you both resisted the urge to rush to Eren’s cell. You squeeze her calloused palm a bit tighter, trying to make sense of the massacre he caused. You’ve both known Eren for years. Mikasa even longer, being raised with him. You had been confident you knew what was going on in his head. You could even relate; the titans held freedom just out of your reach. But now, neither of you were sure what he was thinking anymore. After all, everyone was still reeling after finding out the true threat to their lives was never really giant beasts; rather other humans. 

Despite knowing why you were trapped behind these walls, you had a heart. This is never what you wanted. You didn’t want to watch people lose their homes. Children crushed under Eren’s feet. You didn’t want to have Sasha’s blood all over you as she died in your arms. But it all happened, and it was Eren Jeager’s doing. 

Mikasa, noticing the distress you were in, threw half of her scarf over your shoulders. She leant close and kissed your hair. 

After Eren left for Marley short notice, your relationship with him slowly weakened. But Mikasa was there to pick you back up. You both helped each other in his absence, and fell in love all over again. In a moment of weakness you admitted your affection for her, and she surprisingly returned it all. The day she kissed your forehead after a bold declaration of love by the railroad is a day you will never forget.

She ran her hand over your shoulder and you laid your head upon her collar bone. Abruptly, Hange made their way back in, looking distraught. Their sudden presence prompted your head to shoot up, wanting to know about their encounter with him. They didn’t seem up for much conversation though, lost in their own head. Before they could walk off you grabbed their arm, Mikasa behind you, warry. 

“Please, let me see him.” You begged. They shook their head solemnly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea [Name].” 

“I haven’t talked to him in months, Hange. Please.” Your eyes began to swell with tears. You were tired of waiting. Tired of thinking. Horrified by the things you had to deal with because of him. You wanted an explanation. You needed one. 

They looked down at you, feeling your grip become tighter, but shaky. Hange let out a light sigh. Their hair swayed as their head turned to the side. “Maybe he’ll listen to you” They mumbled to themselves. 

“Alright. But not alone. Mikasa, go with them.” She nodded in response, obviously having no problem. Her love for you didn’t deter her desire to protect Eren. He’s been with her for so long, she’s just as determined to get answers. 

After getting the OK, you rush through the door and down to Eren’s cell. The room was dark and had a musty smell. Mikasa stood by your side, in an almost protective stance. 

His back was turned to face you both. You could make out the pulsing muscles beneath his skin. You knew he heard you both make your way to the bars. But he did not turn. Didn’t acknowledge you at all. This was your first sign. His breathing was steady, but heavy. 

“Eren.” You called for his attention. He ignored you again. Your second sign. You rapped your knuckles against the bar, making a piercing echo of bone hitting metal. He turned and looked at you with empty eyes. “What do you want?” He started gruffly. This. This was your third sign. You realized then that you may not know who Eren is anymore. 

Before you could answer, Mikasa stepped forward. You looked at her and she looked back. Her eyes were soft for you. Discreetly, you took her hand in yours again and addressed the man behind bars once more. “Why, Eren?” He just stared back. Gaze hollow. You repeat once more. “Why did this need to happen E-”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.” He turned away slightly, thinking over his next words. He interrupts your train of thought. “You’re a pest.” Your eyes shoot up to him again, stunned. He continues on.

“If you don’t understand why I did what I did, then you’re weak. You enjoy being a slave to our enemies. I can’t stand people like you. You’ve always been weak. You don’t want to do what needs to be done, and that makes you no better than them.” He looks you up and down with disgust. His glare pierces you.

“I want nothing to do with you. Die with the rest of them if you sympathize with them so much.”

Mikasa jerks forward, teeth grit tight. Before she can move anymore, you shoot your arm out to block her. You let your gaze fall to your feet. The ground looked blurry through your glazed eyes. She looks at you startled, but doesn’t try to fight you. 

“Fuck you, Jeager.”

His eyes widened slightly. You look back up, pretending to be unaffected by his harsh words. 

“You can shove your ideology up your ass and piss off. People are dead because of you. Sasha is dead, because of you. I wanted answers, and I got it. So I’ll leave you here to rot alone.” 

Before he can get another word in, you walk off, Mikasa rushing behind you after one last defiant glance Eren’s way. A moment of silence passes over you two as you ascend the stairs.

Once the door is shut behind you, you fall into her arms. She nearly stumbles from the force of it, feeling queasy from your silent sobs. She clutched you tight, rocking you slightly as your facade crumbled. “It’s ok [Name], I’ve got you. Always.” You gripped the back of her shirt as hard as you could. Nothing could have prepared you for any of this. You weren’t ready. You didn’t fucking want any of this. You’re almost sure you’ve lost everything that mattered to you. The only thing that told you otherwise was Mikasa Ackerman’s heartbeat. She stroked your hair to calm you down, and you allowed yourself to embrace this moment. Despite everything, she was still here. Still here for you. You rested your head on her breast, just to listen to the thump of her heart. It sped up as you laid there. You both sat silently on the floor in one another’s embrace, mourning the loss of a friend, of Eren, and a peaceful future. 

Minutes passed but you refused to move. Instead, you wrapped her scarf around you again, wanting to be even closer. You needed all the comfort you could get. She complied and held you tighter. You gently look up to peer at her dark, cloudy irises. She leans down to meet your lips with hers. You kiss her softly, salty tears being all you could taste. She puts her palm on the nape of your neck, and you know she loves you as you do her. 

“We’ll get through this.” She encourages in a soft manner. You nod weakly in response. Putting your head back on her chest, you close your eyes, missing the loving look she gave you and the pink blush gracing her cheeks. She holds you longer, swearing in her head that she’ll interrogate Eren herself and find out what’s going on. For herself, but most importantly. For you. 

[iwannaseeyainakia]

Eren Jeager X Reader Angst

TW: gore, cursing, angst, spoilers

I do fanfic commissions so let me know if you’re interested. Enjoy!

The ground quaked under the thundering steps of the Wall Titans. Screams rang out amongst the residents of Paradis as they struggled to stay standing. Surrounded by rubble, all you could do was stare. In awe. In absolute terror. You couldn’t stop him. You DIDN’T stop him. Eren wanted freedom, and he sure as hell got it. No matter the costs. Your own home was destroyed. But dirt under the Titans’ feet.  

Mikasa was gripping your shoulder, shouting over the rumbling. Armin attempted to assist her in getting your attention. But you did not hear. No, the only thing you could focus on was the rumbling and your sister’s mutilated hand beneath the debris. Ripping yourself from her grip, you jump down and trudged over to her corpse, falling to your knees. So much blood. Her blood. Numb, you gently took her hand in yours. Looking over the shrapnel lodged in her palm. Her face crushed under fragments of the roof. Her jaw was broken off, tongue lulling out nearly split from her throat. Your tears would not flow. Until you turned and saw her most prized possession.

The poorly sewn bear you made for her. Just a foot away from her body. Your screams mixed with the many other voices and the deafening rumble of the Titans. Eren Jeager. The man you’d devoted your life too, promised to see the world with. He’s not just doomed everyone outside the walls. He’s also brutely murdered your sister. Your throat bled from your consistent wailing. She’s dead. He’s killed her. Threads of hair rip from your scalp into the grip of your fist. What has he done. What has he donewhathashedonewhathashedone-

“[Name], WE NEED TO GO!” Mikasa shouted over the noise. Her words continued to fall on deaf ears, your sobs overpowering you. After glancing at the large feet stomping through the town one last time, she promptly lifted you up and launched with you in an attempt to regroup with the others. Armin could only follow with somber eyes. Pure grief clouded your mind. You’ve lost your family and your lover in one split second. You saw him. You got close enough to stop him. He lied to you. You knew he was never going to do what Zeke wanted. He told you. But he also refused to disclose what his true intentions were. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll protect you.” You believed him. So, when you were only a few feet away from his fallen titan, you did not engage. As he burst out of his titan and made eye contact with you, you didn’t move. His eyes locked on and all you could do was nod and back up. You trusted him. You trusted him more than anyone else.  

And now your sister has paid the price for your naivety. It all made sense now. Armin’s sudden realization of Eren’s actions brought you to the reality of it all. He’s going to kill everyone. To protect you all he’s going to wipe out the majority of humanity. And in doing so he’s killed many of his own.

He’s met your sister. She thought he was amazing. The annoyed look he had on his face to hide his smile the day he met her, seeing her tiny feet padding on the floor to hug him, was the day you fell in love. And decided you could trust him. The person who promised to protect you all, also killed your sibling. You’ll make him pay. Any love for him is overpowered by the growing hatred you’ve developed in these past few moments.  

The three of you land on the roof of a building untouched by the rumbling. Mikasa loosens her grip and puts you down gently. She places her hand on your shoulders as they shake. She assumes because of your cries. But as you lift your head, she knows that’s no longer the case. You were filled with unbelievable rage. “[Name]…” She didn’t have the words to console you. She knows she can’t do anything to help you. Eren has done too much damage. Your hands clench into fists, veins popping out. The glint your eyes held made both of their stomachs drop. Armin reaches out.  

“I’m sorry. I wish I realized sooner. I know I can’t understand, but right now we need to keep moving. We have to meet up with Jean and Connie, [Name].” He places his hand atop your closed one. “Please.” You knew you couldn’t keep sitting and crying. Couldn’t keep thinking about what Eren has done. How he’s betrayed you. Still numb, you take Armin’s hand. He helps you up and puts his hand on your back. He and Mikasa help you back to meet up with the others. As you glide in the air with them, you glance back at the Titans. The steam that filled the air. Your gaze hardens.

You’re going to kill that fucker yourself.  

[iwannaseeyainakia]

I hate when I hear a song I like and forget to look it up. Because I keep forgetting to look it up and eventually not only do I not know the name I also can’t remember what it sounds like or the lyrics. All I can remember is part of one word and it’s like “love” or some shit smh.

[iwannaseeyainakia]

The Moonlight Circus

This was a story I was commissioned to write by an anonymous tumblr user. Thought it would be good to show my writing and see how it changes over time!

trigger warning: gore, smoking, religious and supernatural themes, death, minor profanity

The heel of Morgan’s boots clicked against the checkered flooring of the circus. She made her way to the center of the stage, her stride casual. She readjusted her gray beanie as she climbed up the steps. The plastic name tag below her collarbone wobbled with each step. The words “Moonlight Circus” in Courier New font rested above her first name.  The floor of the stage was filthy; ash and soot smeared into the once pristine black and white pattern. Her pale green eyes followed a line of ash leading to a rusted cast-iron cannon. The smell of burnt flesh lingered in the air.  

She exhaled softly, reached into the pocket of her ‘Metallica’ pullover, and pulled out a lavender lighter and a worn pack of Newport cigarettes. She yanked one out of the box and shoved it in her hoodie again. Her black bitten nails struggled to start a flame before she victoriously held it to her cigarette, finally lighting it. A pewter gray smog released from the very tip, emitting a bitter comforting scent. She lifted her hand to her face, the cig clenched between her middle and pointer finger. As the paper touched her pale lips, the once vermillion embers shifted to a startling violet and the musty gray smoke suddenly turned a mauve tone. Morgan took a long drag of the strange purple cigarette while taking in her surroundings.  

The massive tent surrounding her was a striped pattern of burgundy and eggshell white.  The fabric was contrastingly cleaner than the stage of the ‘Moonlight Circus.’ The seating for guests was discolored bleachers; the aluminum being stained and scratched away by years of usage and lack of cleanliness. Many hot dogs drenched in mustard and bags of popcorn must have been dropped on it. There were multiple stacked on either side of the tent. The elevated stage had an outer ring surrounded by dark crimson foam. A round indoor pool was 15 feet away from her, the bottom of the pool a dirty yellow tint. Scales and confetti floated at the surface of the tainted water. 

 Large LED stage lights were set up at the ceiling of the canvass. Each was about the size of a child and contained a lens of different hues. They dimly lit the stage white. The tent was held up by dozens of rods with a singular large black pole at the center. The fabric bunched together and pulled up; it looked almost as if the very top of the tent was a tunnel that led nowhere, the stripes creating a dizzying optical illusion.  

The circus itself was located in a cheap amusement park; the locals treasured this place. It was affordable and held plenty of memories dear to their hearts. The Moonlight Circus was the main event, the park's pièce de résistance if you will.  

They had crowds of people flood the show every day. Bright smiles beamed on the faces of children and content parents awaited a trip down memory lane, nostalgia a pleasant high. After all, who wouldn’t be entranced by real-life monsters? 

Morgan released a puff of amethyst smoke, gently laying the cigarette between her lips again and keeping it there. She proceeded to stuff her hands in her pockets before an elegant voice called out to her, disrupting her daze.  

“Are you ready for the next show Morgana?” The feminine voice was gentle and motherly. She spoke each word with a grace that held centuries of wisdom. Her thick French accent was gorgeous; her voice matched exactly how she appeared. Morgan casually turned around and sent the woman a closed smile. Guinevere was a being of beauty, a true spectacle to behold. She was a small woman, approximately 5’2, petite but with a stance that conveyed raw strength. Her billowing pitch-black gown strewn behind her as she sashayed her direction. Her arms gently swung at her hips, an opera-length cigarette holder between the dainty fingers of her left hand. The skin of said hand was a pale blue-gray. The center of the long pipe was a silver fading into an intense black; a cigarette burning blood red at the end of it. Morgan glanced at her long dark hair. It was bone straight and swung behind her waist. The fringe of her locks covered her right eye, but Morgan could still make out a piercing iris a startling shade of red.  

“Hey, Gwen. Yeah, pretty much. Is everyone in the dressing room right now?” She inquired as the monster woman stood in front of her. Gwen gripped the edge of her large ebony sunhat, cigarette holder still between her fingers. The brim of the apparel was big enough to cover most of her hauntingly beautiful face. Lace hung half an inch off the seams and thin royal purple sticks of dynamite adorned the outer ring. While the entire hat was an eye-catcher; a nod to her part in the circus, the true emphasis of the hat was the large skull littered with cracks and yellow stains from tobacco. 

“Yes, and they’re taking damn long if I do say so myself.” The skull quipped judgmentally. Morgan chuckled. Gwen was not so amused by her husband’s comment. 

“Hush Pierre. No need to be snippy.” Guinevere jutted her hip out and placed her right hand on it to convey her sass. The skull instead, haughtily laughed at his wife. She rolled her eyes but could not contain the fond smile that grew on her lips, exposing her sharp fangs.  Despite all the time that’s passed, she still couldn’t fight how easily Pierre made her grin ear to ear. “Don’t mind him, Morgana, we’d best be on our way to prepare.” Gwen gripped Morgan’s wrist and tugged her along in the direction of the dressing room. 

Guinevere was the owner of the Moonlight Circus. A wonderful boss indeed, she felt more like a friend she’d known all her life than her superior. She also was a woman with a dream: to unite humans and monsters through entertainment. Humans used to fear the supernatural, loath it with their very being, but in this day and age, they take great pleasure in the abnormalities of the differing species. Harmony is built in this circus; humans come for entertainment and to admire the beautiful, violent specters, and the monster women give it to them. Gwen, a vampire, found joy in making others happy with her performance and her performers. 

 She often sat with Morgan under the night sky, gazing at the stars with a fond expression, spilling her life story to her. 

As a young girl, Guinevere was dazzled by monster kind. Born human, she felt there was so much to be discovered in magic and mythology. She felt it a shame that humanity was so quick to turn a blind eye to something so beautiful due to its differences in appearance. Her inclination in performing arts made her dream of a world where she could use performance to change a deep-seeded ideal within the societal structure. She’d sit next to her window sill, eyes twinkling with delight, wishing upon stars that someday her dream would become reality.  

For a woman such as herself, an objective of that nature was unheard of; impossible even. Nonetheless, she persevered. She wanted to tell the world that as a woman she would create art like no other and she would make a change for the supernatural of all origins. With a cigar between her lips, she rolled up the sleeves of her dress and got to work. She specifically sought out other women of mythological backgrounds for her acts. By 1890, she’d created the “Moonlight Circus” with the help of supernatural people she’d met along the way. In a small corner of Paris, France, it stayed. Given that monsters were still looked down upon by mankind, they’d been spit on, leered at, and dismissed by the public. As decades passed without much luck, her hope slowly began to dwindle. 

Gwen spent many restless nights wandering the streets of Paris, desperately trying to spread word of the big top containing wonderous spectacles to no avail. Just as she was close to giving up an aspiration she’d clutched tight since childhood, an American traveling carnival approached her. The owner, a large man who was only ever seen adorning a velvet suit, believed there was promise in her bazaar. He saw something no one else but Guinevere considered possible: an opportunity for change. In a society where her family within the tent were nothing but social rejects, outcasts; they along with everyone like them could be so much more. The man, kinder than Gwen could have ever hoped, opened up about his beliefs and desire to have her circus as an attraction in his fair. And she accepted with insurmountable glee.  

So, a new chapter for the big top began. With this foreign carnival, she traveled and built up her crew from nothing but sheer will. She continued her exploration and found many monstrous beings with the same ideology to join as performers. Word soon got out of the fantastical bazaar that made its way around the world. As opinions of the inhuman began to evolve with new generations, so too did their desire to know more. And eventually, they had a crowd; an adoring audience astounded by the display of otherworldly figures. Now, the carnival has made its permanent home in New Mexico, USA, and the circus by extension.  

“Think it’ll be packed tonight, Gwen?” Morgan already knew the answer, but figured it would be polite to make small talk.  

“Yes, absolutely my dear.” Guinevere continued to drag her to a slit in the circus tent. She placed her cigarette holder between her lips and used her palm to gently spread the opening, revealing a backstage area. It was renovated to be a dressing room; gothic aesthetic to match the theme, for all the performers pre-show. It was a much smaller canopy structure installed into the side of the main show tent. Despite the ground being grassy terrain, the room itself was well done. Dark oak vanities covered the walls, steampunk and alternative costumes littered any free space, and makeup laid atop every flat surface.  The spherical bulbs lining the mirror of the vanities were all lit a dim white light, illuminating the room enough so it was not pitch black.  

Light chatter and giggles filled the room as everyone who performed in the circus continued to get ready. 

The first person to notice Morgan’s sudden appearance was Gwen’s daughter, Victoria. Her eyes instantly brightened and a large Cheshire grin grew to meet her eyes. Vicky’s poofy raven black dress bounced as she sprinted towards her. The ivory petticoat underneath made the lace skirt fuller and frilly. The undead theme seemed to run in the family; Vicky being the zombie to her mother's bloodsucker and her father's skeletal remains. Her skin and teeth were rotten and oozing. Her hair was almost floor-length, and unbelievably matted. The knots at the base of her skull were so large you could have mistaken them for golf balls wrapped inside her tresses. A pair of filthy copper goggles rested on her forehead, the lenses murky and caked in blood. Between her toothy smile was a large cigar. There was no way to pinpoint the brand, as it was only labeled with a strange rune Morgan had never seen before.  Apparently, she had been taking a drag from the cigar, because smoke began to leak out of the holes in her skin.

Vicky launched her small form into Morgan’s arms. Morgan struggled to grip her as the foul stench her rotten flesh emanated was near unbearable. Swallowing down an audible gag, she smiled at the little girl before placing her gently back onto the grass.  

“Morgan! You’re going to love my act tonight.” Victoria loudly claimed, holding her fists to her chest with a grin still plastered upon her lips. Morgan couldn’t help but return the expression. Vicky was a sweet girl. A demented undead one, but sweet nonetheless. “I’m sure I will, Vicky. You’ll kill it tonight.” She seemed to have chosen the right words, because Vicky’s grin only got wider as she bounced up and down, skirt floating with her movement. She made gestures referencing explosions and tried to explain how her act tonight would go, but her words were so jumbled they were not understandable in the slightest. Her enthusiasm continued to increase alongside her violent movements before her mother placed a hand on her small shoulder.  

“Now, now Victoria, you’re talking so fast no one can understand you, dear. She’ll get to see your performance soon anyway, so let's keep it a surprise.” Gwen chided her daughter sweetly. “Ok, mommy.” Vicky heeded her mother's words and scurried to the side to search for her favorite lighter, cigar bouncing between her decayed teeth.  Cigar smoke trailed behind her figure. Gwen shook her head at her daughter’s antics, gripping the cig holder between her lips to take in a puff of nicotine. 

Victoria was the product of forbidden love between Guinevere and Pierre, a formerly vampiric man she’d encountered while searching for spectacles to join her circus. The traveling carnival had traversed Europe and decided to take camp for a while in the French countryside. Gwen had been overjoyed to be in her mother country again. She languished in the smell of the air and the sounds of nature like music to her ears. On a particularly stormy night, a vampire man with hair as light as wheat and skin as pale as snow knocked at the door of her bedroom within a quaint little inn. She opened the door to see him drenched in rain. The revenant, Pierre, gave her a goofy smile and asked for a part in her monstrous sideshow. 

While puzzled, she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. Pierre and Guinevere grew close the more they worked at the fair together. They both had a passion for performing and magic. Romance blossomed; eventually, they eloped and she became pregnant. It was uncommon for vampires to conceive children, let alone with one of mankind. Guinevere was a woman of adventure and risk, so she took this new development in stride. In the excitement of her family growing larger, she decided to have Pierre turn her. Neither realized the possible problems that would arise from changing her into a vampire while bearing a child.  

And so, when Victoria was born, she was sickly and frail in every sense. Her genetics were corrupted by the change her mother took on while carrying her. Her personality, though, could be described as nothing but robust. Vicky as a toddler would often act as if she were not terminally ill; watching the acts in her mother’s circus with enraptured eyes, even participating in the choreography herself from time to time. 

Guinevere often spoke of a time in which Vicky had climbed into the cannon without anyone noticing and failed in trying to light it with one of her old cigars. She had rushed over in a panic, tearing her from the barrel before the flame grew closer. She checked over her body and, once assured she was not injured, inquired what she had been thinking. Victoria, the overzealous little girl she was, could only laugh with a large smile plastered on her face. “I wanted to fly mommy!”  

As she grew older, her body deteriorated. By age five she could barely walk. By six she couldn’t at all. At seven, she no longer had the energy to speak. At the young age of eight, she could only watch the performing women with a blank smile before she passed. For days they grieved over her. They left her cadaver laying on her satin bed sheets as she was before her death, in anguished hopes they could find a way to bring her back to them. After tirelessly searching for any form of necromancy that could revive her, Guinevere entered Victoria’s bedroom to adjust her as she did every day. Only to be startled by her daughter sitting upright and speaking to her.  

“Mommy, can I go play at the circus now?” Victoria bounced off the bed with newfound strength in her rotten limbs. Gwen could only rush to hug her baby who was with her once more. Undead, but with her despite everything. From that day on she allowed Victoria to become a full-time member of the bazaar. The human (zombie) cannonball. With a body that could be put back together, no working pain receptors, and a passion for explosives and theatrics, she fits the part flawlessly.  

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

The smaller tent was filled with a variety of supernatural women, the circus only having female staff. While most continued with their activities, some turned her direction and welcomed her. The parts in the circus were relatively small compared to most other acts, but the integration of monsters and mankind made up for it.  

Every single person handpicked by Guinevere herself, the cosmetologists, background musicians, and stage crew were all fairies. They each had varying sizes and shades of iridescent butterfly wings, and tight thigh-length dresses made from leaves and spider silk. While not as small as fae are typically depicted in human literature, they reached only about 3 feet and hovered above ground with a light flap of their appendages; they had the grace of hummingbirds. Faes are known for their artistic and musical capabilities. There were twenty-three pixies on set, all of them being gentle girls with a heart of gold. Their love of all life made them a wonderful asset to this circus promoting coexistence. Currently, they fluttered around tidying the room and freshening up the faces of the main performers.  

The ‘clowns’ of the act were all young shapeshifters. All fifteen of the women were from different cultures, shapeshifters being in a large majority of mythology; making them unique despite the similarities in capacities. Their abilities were used to shift them from playful clowns to dangerous animals to be used in other’s acts. While their personalities were all very different, each of them loved performing at the Moonlight Circus. Some spoke amongst themselves, shimmying into tight leotards and fixing their updos. A few of them, though, struggled to keep Victoria from swallowing handfuls of gunpowder. Especially with a lit cigar in her mouth.

“VICKY NO-” A wet splat hit the wall and a giggling head rolled at their feet. The shifters looked in disgust at their blood-stained clothes and scolded the decapitated head of the little girl. The others just laughed at the normally terrifying sight. 

 Morgana turned her eyes away, cringing internally, but knowing full well she’d be back on her feet in a few minutes. 

The main acts were very typical of a circus; the women enacting them were anything but. The designated tight rope walker was an Arachne woman named Magnolia. Her form was that of a tall human, her body could only be described as pear-shaped. Despite her form being humanoid, she had skin that was a smooth charcoal black and a spider abdomen attached to her lower back. The abdomen was a sunshine yellow covered in symmetrical white spots on either side. The pedicel connecting it to her body was the same tone as her skin. She also had eight spindly appendages protruding from the middle of her spine, each striped black and yellow. Magnolia had shoulder-length wavy hair a banana color with frayed strands of spider webs tangled within. Despite the frightening six extra eyes lining her temples, she was a kind eccentric woman. As the aerialist, the tightrope she walked during each performance was a magnificent braided rope made of her webbing. Magnolia was sitting on a cushioned stool, twisting her thread into a complicated bracelet, only glancing up to grace Morgan with a polite smile and greeting.  

Delane and Clio, however, wasted no time in rushing to make conversation with her. 

“Yo, Morgan! We’ve been looking for ya. Can you help me into this wetsuit?” Clio loudly proclaimed, simultaneously carrying her lover, Delane, in her arms bridal style. The duo is the aquatic performers of the show. Clio is a water nymph with connections to the Greek god Poseidon. She willingly took on a human female’s appearance, but that could not hide the divine aura that radiated off her very being. She had a lean build but still held all the strength a creature with holy connections such as herself should have. Her head was bare of hair and her ears pointed in an elf-like fashion. She stumbled around in a limp bedazzled wetsuit pulled up her hips halfway, the skin of her upper half an olive tan.  

“Seriously dude, I’m struggling here.” 

Delane was a mermaid, a perfect match to Clio’s Nereid. Her Prussian blue scaled tail hung limply over her girlfriend’s arm. The trawl half of her body closely resembled a koi fish. The caudal fin was long and thin, like fine silk flowing with the movements of Clio’s jerks. A dorsal fin ran down the back of it, getting smaller as it reached the end of her tail. She also had multiple pelvic fins running down the sides; the fins at the top were much larger than the ones at the end. They were all light cyan. The scales from her tail ran up her stomach, becoming much more scattered as they reached the dark skin of her breasts. Her hair was a short black pixie cut with a shaggy top, ending at the gills just below her chin.  

“Yeah, uh, maybe hurry before she drops me, please.” Delane nervously spoke. She wore a necklace composed of seashells and stones from the shore of her home, matching Clio’s own as a symbol of devotion between them. Together, they enacted a beautiful water-based act that captivated every audience we had.  

Morgan laughed at Clio’s predicament before moving to help her into the suit. Just as she got a grip on the neoprene material a strong voice halted them.  

“You could’ve just asked me, Clio. Here I got you.” Large calloused hands assisted her in her efforts. Morgan turned her head to Anastalia. Anastalia was the strong woman act of the circus. Like many of those hired here, a part of her resembled that of mankind, but she was very obviously not human. Her upper half was the build of a shredded woman: pulsing muscles, large bulging breasts, defined abs, intimidating biceps. She looked as if she was carved by the gods themselves. Her bottom half, while just as muscular, was that of a black stallion. Her four large hooves clapped against the ground in a deafening display and her dark tail broke the sound barrier like a whip. The hair atop her head was a dark brown with a sheen that made it glint in the light. Her long straight locks cascaded down the flesh of her shoulders a similar shade, reaching the small of her back.  

Anastalia peers up from the suit to bicker teasingly with Clio. She galloped gracefully in circles around them, admiring her handy work. “Eh, to be honest, I think it needs to be a bit bluer at the hips.” She quipped thoughtfully. Clio and Delane exchanged a glance and giggled in unison. Clio responded, “You’re one for detail, but let me tell ya, you don’t look it.” She lets out a boisterous laugh, keeling over slightly, causing Delane to screech in fear of being dropped and grip her shoulders tighter. Anastalia only rolled her eyes.  

“Har har, laugh it up, I’m not just a brute. I’m also an artist.” She struck a pose that had Clio cackling harder and Delane protesting louder. Morgan shared a laugh with them, her sides aching. Loud footsteps behind her turned her attention away for a moment. “C’mon Lanira, hurry!” Vicky, seemingly back to normal after spontaneously combusting, ran and jumped in a very abstract dance with her friend. Lanira, an incorporeal little girl resembling that of a cartoon witch floated around her at a much slower pace. “I’m going as fast as I can Vicky.” Lanira’s tone was much less enthusiastic. She had a slight cockney accent. 

Her dark flowing gown had no shape to it, more like a sack made of cotton. Her sleeves puffed out and tightened below her palms that gripped onto a translucent 19th-century broomstick underneath her. She twirled around with Victoria, who was still jumping around and flailing in her interpretative art form. Her wide-brimmed hat had a large peak at the top that dipped down at the very point. It was navy blue and held a wide variety of jewelry and trinkets that dangled down. Bits of cloth hung off the edge with pearls woven into it.  

Lanira had become a ghost after a ‘mishap’ with one of her spells backfiring. As the magician of the big top, she experimented with plenty of dangerous enchantments. One moment she was but a mangled corpse of a girl with crippling insomnia, and the next she was a spirit with large eyebags, continuing with her act as if death had not just occurred before everyone’s eyes. As the specter of a young talented sorceress, she must have expected this possible outcome and kept a few “tricks” up her sleeve. She kept with her act even after her untimely demise, even increasing the intensity now that death was no longer a possibility.  

Morgan took a long drag of her cigarette and continued to gaze in amusement. Lanira half-heartedly attempted to keep up with Victoria, the zombie child still lost in her own little world.  

“Alright, everyone! It’s time to get this show on the road once more, as they say.” Gwen chuckled at herself lightly. The room erupted in conversation and scrambling to get in costume in time. The pale woman approached her once more. “Will you please start allowing entry, dear?” She nodded at her, cig between her lips bobbing. “Of course.” She smiled and made her way out of the dressing room.  

The flap quietly closed behind her form as she made her way to her ticket booth. She could still hear the loud conversations and shuffling from inside the room. Her steps echoed throughout the stage. The entrance to the inside of the show floor was a large rectangular cut-out with a flap hanging to the side that could be zipped up. The outside of the tent was the same striped colors as the inside, illuminated by the setting sun. The tent performed almost all day, but their largest and most spectacular show was always right after the sunset. It was also the most packed of all their performances.  

The ticket booth was a wooden structure painted red and white. A gigantic sign in the shape of a ticket was placed on the roof displaying the name of the circus. It sat in front of a zig-zagging gate that led to the entrance. She opened the door and stepped inside, admiring the long line that had already formed. The crowd was a diverse amount of people. Some were singular people showing up alone for the show. Some were human couples on a date or parents with their ecstatic children bouncing with joy. There were even some couples that were interspecies; a human and a not-so-human person lovingly interlocked their hands.  

She opened the window of the booth and started accepting tickets from each person. One by one they approached the stall, handing in their crisp voucher, and making their way through the gates to pick up snack food and be seated. The sound of kids giggling and adults speaking with a grin in their voice was heartwarming. Memories were being made here time and time again; the atmosphere never changed. She never got tired of seeing happy faces coming to experience the wonders of the Moonlight Circus. A small crescent moon adorned each ticket that she received and stashed away in a box beside her.  

It took a good long while before each person who had previously bought a ticket was granted entry. She let out a sigh and sucked in some more smoke. She released a lilac cloud into the evening air. The sky was a dusty orange making way for the black of night. She continued to smoke while idly wondering if a storm was brewing. It seemed as if their best shows were when it was pouring rain and thunder broke through the cheers. The sound of Guinevere’s muffled voice over a speaker broke through the silence she’d been basking in.  

“Ladies and gentlemen! I thank you for coming to see our fantastical performers tonight! We hope to amaze you just as every crowd before.” Her words were a cue for Morgana. She laid the cigarette between her lips once more and strode her way into the tent. The tips of her fingers graced over the edge of the tent fabric for a split second. The control panels for the lighting were tucked into another miniature tent attached to the side of the main structure. She could see the sprites flying above and moving the large spotlight from the cameras beside the panels to follow Gwen’s moving figure. The stark white luminescence made her look more ethereal than before.  She continued on, cigarette holder still wedged between her thin lips. 

“We have an awe-inspiring act for you all!”  

“This beautiful lady here did most of the work.”  

Her husband quickly added to her dialogue. “Hush my love.” The crowd quietly chuckled.  

“It’s true.”  

“Pierre!” 

“Sorry, sorry!”  

The audience roared with more laughter.  

Under the dim lighting of the rest of the stage, she could make out the two fluffy skirts of the little girls waiting for their first part in the choreography. One was fidgeting and prancing around in the dark, not only disguised by the lack of light but the cloud from her cigar. The other floated just above the ground, flying around the other body in circles. Morgan placed her fingertips on the switches and pushed them up very slightly. The area brightened enough for the stage to be somewhat visible but kept the two hidden from their awaiting audience.  

“Each of our performers is a woman with grace, power, and most of all, a love for their part here.”  

Recovering from her husband's unethical interruption, she made her way up to the round platform on the stage. The spotlight followed in sync. She turned suddenly to face the stands, her skirt twirling above her feet.  

“We give you our best and only our best!” Gwen spoke into the microphone with glee, her visible scarlet eye piercing the crowd. “The Moonlight Circus has been our pride and joy for many decades. Tonight, we strive to show you exactly why!” She gave them a beautiful motherly smile.  

“Now please.” 

“Stay seated and enjoy the show!” She and the skull of her husband atop her head spoke in unison. She extended one arm behind her, bent the other in front of her middle and bowed.  

“Hey, hey! Careful please!” Pierre screamed as he slipped down slightly. The audience responded with laughter as before. The spotlight shut off and the stage was dim once again, other than the shine of Guinevere’s red cigarette. The crowd went silent. Her footsteps echoed on a different part of the stage. She could very faintly make out dainty shoes running up the steps and hopping into the cannon. One of the two figures was missing from their spot to the side. 

Morgan’s fingers danced on the panel, letting excitement coarse through her. She couldn’t fight the adrenaline rush before each performance commenced. She hadn’t been working there for more than two years, but this circus had become her family. Her home. Each person here has proven to her that the impossible is only so if you believe it is. And each show was a testament to how far they’d come. This circus act alone has been a large part of the progression that’s been made between the supernatural world and human society. They’re more than just a tent of sideshow freaks; they’re artists embracing their bodies and talents to better their lives, and many others.  

She grips the lever with resolve. She knows that to an outsider they may be passing entertainment. But that was progress by itself. This place is a part of her now. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Morgana pushed the handle forward. It clicked in place. The stage lights flicked on in a magnificent spectrum of colors. Gwen’s right hand is extended to the wick of the cannon, holder lighting the end. Her daughter’s tangled mane of hair is just barely visible from the lip. A deafening boom shatters the atmosphere and the show begins.  

[iwannaseeyainakia]

Hey! Just wanted to put it out there that I'm looking into doing commission writing. Whether you want fanfiction, a short story from scratch, a poem, etc., just let me know! I'd love to be able to make someone's imagination come to life. Just get in contact with me and I can give you details for pricing, you give me an idea of what you want, and I'll do the rest. Don't be afraid to message me!

Besides fanfiction, I take a special interest in horror, so that's another option to choose from. I'll slowly build up my archive of stories on this platform as examples of my writing and how I improve over time!

If you're interested, I can also help with character (oc) design and conveying their personality. I'll write x reader fanfictions and x OC fanfics as well.

[iwannaseeyainakia]

Amajiki Tamaki (1)

trigger warning: none

Just another one-shot inspired by daily events in my own life

The metal of the door knob felt cold in my contrastingly sweaty hand as I turned it. My dorm room was pitch black and completely quiet. After closing the door, I trudged my way to the bed and unceremoniously plopped down. My entire body ached. Sweat continued to drip down my body and face; a blisteringly hot day only worsening an already rough day at work. The verbal abuse I deal with from the majority of the patients entering the hospital continues to grate on my mental state.  

I grip the hair at my scalp for a second before dragging my palms down my face in exasperation. The exhaustion hits me before I realize it. My arms feel weak and I start to feel faint, my breath hitching slightly and picking up pace. I can’t stop the tears from welling in my eyes. I can no longer make out the floor my gaze lingers on as they sting my eyes. I take in a deep, shaky breath and exhale slowly while slouching.  

In hopes of shaking off the sudden tiredness hitting me, I wipe my eyes with my sleeve, stand, and try to busy myself. I tried everything I could: bending down to my toes and stretching, tidying up as much of the room as possible, starting on assignments I was given in class. But as my hands clenched around the papers, I knew I couldn’t concentrate in the slightest. I stuffed the papers back into my cluttered school bag. As I rolled my eyes in irritation, I heard the lightest tapping at my door. I lifted myself up and shuffled to the door lethargically. My gaze makes contact with Tamaki’s timid face.  

“H-hey. Uh-um Togata told me you had left something back in his room a few days ago. He uh- he said to return this to you. I’m sorry if this is too sudden.”  

Tamaki could only repeat how much he wanted to go home in his head like a mantra. Only 5 seconds talking and he’s already embarrassed himself. What was he thinking, he should have just asked Hado to do this, she’s better with people. He hasn’t seen you in weeks, let alone interacted with you recently. He has no idea how to act right now. Tamaki stops his internal monologue and looks up from his hands to peer at your form.  

“Oh. I didn’t realize I left something. Sorry about that Amajiki.” I trail off awkwardly. He opens his palm to reveal a cheap mechanical pencil. That’s what he came to give back to me? Really?  

“That’s it? Togata could have just kept it, it's so old and it was cheap as hell.”  

Tamaki breaks the intense stare he had on me for a split second.

‘Oh god they’re right. Why would Togata insist I return something so worthless, especially if they hadn’t even noticed it was gone. He just wanted me to talk to them, didn’t he?’ He could understand exactly why Mirio felt the need to have them converse again. They looked horrible. Their clothes were out of place and wrinkled. They smelled of sweat almost completely masked by the overwhelming scent of isopropyl alcohol. Their eyes had dark bags under them and they starred with a far-off look.

He shivered as they made eye contact. Yeah, they definitely aren’t okay.  

I raised a brow at Tamaki. He just continued to stare at me as serious as I’ve ever seen the poor guy be. He clenched his hand around the pencil and stuffed it back into the pocket of his uniform slacks. “I-uh, know I’m probably not the best person to talk to, but is everything alright?” My brow fell back in place only to furrow as I contemplated where the fuck this question came from.  

“You’ve been busy lately, I know. We just, uh, haven’t been talking lately and you seem a bit- um. Off.” He grabbed his left arm in his nervousness, averting his gaze a bit to not hold eye contact.  

“Hmm... Nope!” I give him a small grin. His eyes shoot up back to mine. “No nothing is alright right now to be honest.” No point in pretending. I couldn’t even if I tried. His hands are shaky as he seems at a loss for words.  

“M-may I come in please?” His voice also shakes a bit as he asks. I clumsily move out of the way, nearly tripping over my feet a bit in my exhaustion. He enters and I close to door quietly behind us. I make my way over and sit on the bed, Tamaki following my actions, albeit uncertainly. I keep my eyes to the wall, unsure of what to do next and feeling incredibly uncomfortable with the atmosphere I've created. Tamaki seems to feel the same.  

“Do you want to talk about it?” My eyes don’t leave the wall. “Not really no.”  

The silence lingers for a second and I feel the overwhelming urge to apologize. “Sorry.” He shifts on the bed sheets to face me slightly and I finally turn my gaze to him. His eyes are soft and understanding. He smiles a bit with a pink tone to his cheeks. “Don’t be, it’s alright.” He looks up to the ceiling. “I don’t want to stop talking to you. I like having you around, y’know. And I’ll always be here whenever you need me.” I’m amazed by how firm his words are. He does not stutter or stumble, nor does he seem as nervous as before. “I’ll also be here to listen. If or whenever you’re ready to talk.” The only sign of his nervousness is the firm grip he has on the crumpled blanket beneath us. He breathes a silent sigh.  

I sit and take in his words. I let a shaky grin form on my lips. “Thank you Amajiki. Really.” I will myself not to let my voice crack. He only turns back to me and smiles back. Almost in sync, we lay back onto the soft mattress, legs bent over the side. We enjoy the comfortable silence between us; the awkward atmosphere completely gone. I let my hand wander slowly to the fabric of his UA shirt. He shifts his eyes to my hand and lays his right over mine resting his arm. He thumbs my palm gently, with utmost care. I let my eyes close. As I drift into a peaceful sleep, the last thing I register in my mind is his hand still caressing mine.  

[iwannaseeyainakia]

Midoriya Izuku (1)

trigger warning: self-harm, disassociation

I am by no means trying to glamorize a serious topic such as self-harm and major depressive disorder. This is more like a vent. Inspiration is taken from my own personal experiences.

The blood continued to drip down my thighs in large drops, dripping gently onto the bedsheets and leaving wine red stains. Wine red. The gore dripping from self-inflicted open wounds could only be described as a rich but bitter fine wine color. My gaze rested blankly on the now drying stains upon the porcelain white duvet. I curled my legs into myself further, knees almost reaching my chest while lying uncomfortably on my side. I didn't try to clean the lacerations on my legs. It would dry and I couldn't be bothered.

I breathed out a tired sigh and grabbed the soft velvet blanket at my bedside, its viridescent color dully showing between my fingers. I lifted my right leg over the top of it and used it to cover my left, the heavy blanket now lying comfortably between them. I'd wash it later. It barely shows anyway. I glanced at my closed door, then turned my head back to the off-white walls of my dorm room. 'No point in covering up. I'm alone anyway.' I can lay in agony and silence, nothing but my thoughts or lack thereof to fill the void. Another sigh is let out as I close my eyes and nuzzle closer into my pillow.

Hours go by, the cold air giving me goosebumps and making the cuts on my thighs ache in a familiar manner. Almost comforting. A single constant. My nails picked at the newly formed scabs and dried beads of blood, painfully tearing them from my skin. I continued to absentmindedly scrape away at my skin, not hearing the soft creak of the dorm room door.

"H-Hey, I'm sorry to come in without permission and I know I shouldn't, but I've been trying to call you, a-and I tried knocking but I didn't get an answer so I'm really so-."

Midoriya fell silent. His emerald eyes dilated and zoned in on my figure, a sharp strained gasp leaving both of our lips. I sat up straight faster than I intended to, throwing the blanket and duvet over my legs. I already knew it was too late but I couldn't stop myself from visibly panicking. But once the fabric was laid over my legs, it was promptly torn off and thrown to the floor at the foot of my bed. I looked up to meet Midoriya's terrified eyes looking down at my exposed legs.

"What...what happened...?" He peered up from my legs, eyes dark and panicked. His mouth opens as if to utter another sentence, but he cannot seem to grasp the situation and it falls closed again. His large scarred hands grip the stained sheets beneath my thighs, so tight it could tear. His eyes struggle between keeping eye contact and starring in unrelenting fear at the injuries upon me.

"No. What did you do?" The sudden conviction in his tone caught me off guard. I still couldn't come up with any words that could possibly explain what I did. That could possibly de-escalate the situation at this point. So, I remained silent. I lost the ability to keep his gaze and stared at the bloody sheets instead. A warm calloused palm grasped at my own in a tight comforting grip. I dared to lift my eyes back up and I take in a sharp breath as my eyes widen ever so slightly in disbelief. Midoriya just looked back into my gaze, tears gently rolling down his freckled cheeks as he forced a smile onto his face. His cheeks pulled up in a sickeningly sweet manner.

"It's ok now. I promise it is. Because I am here."

I let out a raspy tearful laugh. How cute. I continue to laugh until I realize I'm sobbing openly, gasping for air so much so that almost no sound escapes. He continues to grip my hand, with a wide smile on his face and his forest green hair swaying into his eyes. Maybe it will be. And I allow myself to believe him. If only for a second. I squeeze his hand back. And his smile finally reaches his eyes just a bit.