#(<- my higher effort art tag. I need to get a new one.) While it's different from my usual style I really loved how this came out!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Alas, this beautiful dream could not last.

[fearfylsymmetry]

less of an ask and more of a compliment i love the way your tags are organized…”decay as a commodity” “bodies shifting in narrow spaces” etc is it your own original work or quoting from a song/poem/or something?

helloo angel and welcomee to the show, its always such a joy when people appreciate my silly little tagging system. they're all just random sentences i thought up ages ago, , just to make sense of the mess in front of you etc y'know how it gets love. i couldn't really get behind tagging things as "art" "people, faces places things" etc. i needed to inject a bit of flavour to the whole thing (let this not be read as a subtle jab towards any new york based tumblrinas , we're above that c'mon now). i wouldn't say these little phrases are "personal" by any means but they have been motifs i wanted to actively explore in the art i make so no harm putting them up here i guess haha

for posterity's sake i thought i'd just copy an explanation of my tags from an old ask

decay as a commodity : okay so i envisioned this as a way to just summarize modern living? i think of a whole blueish neon color scheme with this one. my line of thinking was,, with the world slowly rotting away and living becoming so expensive and exhausting, whats the one commodity we all share? wouldn't it be decay? aren't we all slowly fading together etc etc. i use this for images with cooler muted tones and anything with a futuristic vibe,, along with some grimey, monochrome photography

the setting dawn: this is the polar opposite of decay, i think of it as "hope beyond hope" a la Prior Walter's line in Angels in America. i know "the setting sun " might sound more natural but i think of it as,, dawn , when the sun breaks through - in this short period the world starts to wake. qs the dawn sets the day kicks in, with all its routine misery. Dawn i think, is the only time the sun is kind to you, because its still hidden away at least slightly. But the day truly starts and itbeats down on you. And yet we continue to live, past the boredom and the pain, we live past hope, past the quiet comfort of dawn. I use this for pictures with earthy tones and things on the more uplifting side

bodies shifting in narrow spaces: this has some overlap with the decay tag, im not as organized as i need 2 be. i use this for figures & portraits ill want to draw or just really any photography i like that features a human presence. think of it as people so dependent on an outside gaze they constantly try to reinvent themselves, or just, everyday people, getting less and less time to live, having to work and forcing themselves into relationships with any real connection

original sin and other contingencies: im trying to fit this in for more risque photography and maybe things on the more gory side. how do i explain this.. okay so... when there's nothing left to do you'll always have sin to turn to just yo keep yourself occupied, along with other methods/contingencies u get the jist

linen that lingers: my fashion tag nothing more 2 it

the canvas as testimony: for art that is made for the gallery or art that is held in higher regard i guess, more high culture. it includes painting, sculptures,along with architecture,, but maybe i should make an architecture tag. i think of the things here as more personal efforts

motion on a still surface: for art that is energetic and really pops off the page. includes comics, manga, fanart, animation. stuff here may be more low culture but really its not. i just differentiate these art tags as ,,one is stuck to the canvas whatever that canvas may be, while the other leaps off the page

word on a wing let me soar: books, poetry, articles, journals , all words that i adore

a conversation with the self: i wanted this to be for things that are very personal to me but i just use my other tags

angels in descent: my little funny haha tag for yknow ,,, funny haha. yknow the "devil's rejects" the movie? like its a way of saying people so horrible no even the devil would take them. okay so i thought " god's rejects " but that's lame. so i landed on this, like idk...imagine angels falling from grace

arcade shuffle: for my little viddy games lol. sorry for being a #gamergirl but yes it happens sadly ,,moving on

jet jump jive: for songs

at the pictures: for movies,, like imagine im going "cant talk im at the pictures wheee ^_^"

there is such a great distance between now and later: to track my art and writing progress but i barely use it cause it barely draw or write these days i blame the wave of despair that washeth over me

proof of concept: photos i took but there's like almost nothing here

misc that are just funny 2 me like i do it 4 a little chuckle i deserve it:

screw it posting hole - for hole the band

bowies in spaaace - for bowie, after the flight of the concords song cmon its a little funny at least cmon now

twink speaks- for twin peaks lol

[cmdonovann]

quantum break appreciation month: a quick retrospective

so, first of all, wow, it was WAY more effort than i thought to just POST SOMETHING EVERY DAY. i put a lot of pressure on myself to only post The Good Stuff to this blog, and boy golly is my standard of "good stuff" higher than it ought to be! so this has been great practice for me in "finished is better than perfect."

second of all, i wanna put together a quick rundown of everything i did this month!

Announcement post

April 1st: My Bleeding Clock (My Immortal AU) fanfic for April Fool's Day

April 2nd: Playlist to go with My Bleeding Clock

April 3rd: Sketch of 2010!Beth

April 4th: Sketch of Jack and Beth

April 5th: Reblogged my old post about last year's anniversary zine, as well as a new little sketch to celebrate the 7th anniversary of the game's release

April 6th: Doodle of Beth in a skirt (with pockets!)

April 7th: I literally just posted a passage I like from the QB:ZS novel

April 8th: Started posting old art... completed set of the halo series here!

April 9th: More old art (Jack/Paul this time)

April 10th: More old art, LNEHH edition

April 11th: More old art, Will Joyce edition

April 12th: Some Jack/Paul art to celebrate me and my husband's anniversary :3c

April 13th: QUANTUM BREAK HOMESTUCK AU!!!

April 14th: Surprise! it's even more old Jack/Paul art!

April 15th: Wow! I can't believe it's more Jack/Paul art!

April 16th: Apparently I was busy this day because I just reblogged LNEHH, lol

April 17th: Quantum Break characters, but as Skyrim characters

April 18th: Some blinkie gifs I made using blinkies.cafe

April 19th: A sweater I made using the linocut stamps from last year's anniversary zine

April 20th: Another blinkie gif, hehe

April 21st: Meta post about color palettes and color usage in Quantum Break

April 22nd: A little QB divider I made for my fansite (WIP)

April 23rd: Some terrible glitter gifs, also for the WIP fansite

April 24th: Minecraft skins of a bunch of QB characters!

April 25th: I was also apparently busy this day, cuz all I did was make a stupid phone background for myself XD

April 26th: Took a swing at pixel art

April 27th: A promo for the Quantum Break Discord Server I run!

April 28th: Wrote another chapter of My Bleeding Clock...

April 29th: Art of Jack and Paul :3

April 30th: Started a new longfic: The Symmetry of Fear!

holy shit. that's a lot. i am retroactively impressed with my past self for doing all this, lmao. nice.

third of all! i wanna note that i started several projects this month that i have yet to finish. of course i'm not confining my quantum break posting to one month of the year (impossible) but i will take my time finishing the... uh... three fics and two meta essays i have unfinished, as well as the fansite i am working on. i want these to be GOOD, so i'm not going to rush them. i'm glad this month gave me to juice to finally get these projects started, though!

and lastly... why did i even do this project/event in the first place?

well... good question. i imagine i'm not the only one who has been Going Through It for a while now, and i just... really needed a big project to focus on for a while. and quantum break is like, one of the only things that i never get tired of thinking about, so... are you seeing my logic here?

all that said, i do genuinely want to work on putting more love out into the world. and i love quantum break! i want other people to love it too! (or at least, i want other people to look at my passion for it and be like "i dont go here but you keep doing your funky little thing my man," you know what i mean?)

so, big thanks to everyone who has encouraged me this month, whether it be in reblog tags, in the quantum break discord server, or elsewhere. also, big thanks to my husband, who i would not have married if not for our mutual obsession with quantum break, and who is always down to listen to me talk about my various theories and fic ideas. and finally, a big thanks to remedy, for making this dumb game that i love so so so much.

[maddieinwonder]

A Lesson In Romance #3: The Cast

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.5k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, the team figures it out.

A/N: I'm guilty of writing too much Morgan and Garcia but I can't help it — they're so much fun! I think them plus Emily would have the most dramatic reactions to Spencer in a (potential) relationship, though I'm excited to write about the rest too.

(Also, the reference at the end is from Lord of the Rings, because I love Lord of the Rings.)

Masterlist | All chapters here!

-----------

If you've learned anything from rom-coms, it's that every romantic lead needed a supporting cast. Whether they were siblings, parents, or childhood best friends, the main character needed somebody who would drop everything to talk to them — preferably showing up at their doorstep with face masks, nail polish, and a bottle of wine.

In your life right now, you suppose those people would be your teammates from the BAU.

Of course, this hypothetical scenario didn't require your potential love interest to be from work, but let's say for the purposes of the discussion that they were. Then you hoped, at least, that they would have an IQ of 150 or higher and a propensity for wearing mismatched socks.

But you were getting ahead of yourself. You were simply imagining the hypothetical scenario where your life was a rom-com. Hypothetically, you would need a love interest, and hypothetically, you kind of already had one.

“Hey,” Spencer waved you over from across the coffee shop. It wasn’t difficult to spot him when the place was nearly vacant. Everything was slow and quiet this early in the morning, and you weren’t going to make an exception.

“Morning,” you greeted softly as you sat down, relaxing into the smell of freshly roasted coffee and baked goods.

“I already ordered yours.” He smiled, tucking his book away in his messenger bag. “They had bagels this morning. Yours is cream cheese, but mine is strawberry jelly.” He looked overly pleased with himself, and you couldn’t help but crack a sleepy smile.

You eyed the spread in front of you, before lifting your gaze to meet his. “So your theory that you can predict my taste in desserts seems to be getting better.”

"Yes!" He shout-whispered, silently raising his fists in victory. “I knew I was right.”

You giggled at his overexcitement over something as small as getting your dessert order right. Although, he did once spend ten whole minutes explaining to you why dessert for breakfast was an underrated concept, so you couldn't say this was beyond your expectations for Dr. Spencer Reid.

You propped your head up with your arms, a smile plastered over your face. “Have I ever told you that you’re a weirdo, doctor?” You teased.

“Why, yes. Yes you have.” He replied with a smile, gesturing at you to try the bagel. His own was almost-gone, so they must be good.

And it was. Your eyes fluttered shut as the heavenly combination of carbs and cream woke up your taste buds. It was made even better with a sip of the perfect cup of coffee.

"Perfect," you sighed happily, digging into your breakfast further as Spencer quietly caught you up on the latest news in classical art.

Two weeks ago, you wouldn't have guessed that you would talk to Spencer alone, much less spend your mornings together with him. But as it turned out, a lot could change in a few days.

After the initial awkwardness between you had passed, you found that the two of you shared a lot more interests than interdimensional doctors and space opera. You both loved coffee, obviously, but you also had a mutual love for desserts, classical literature, and history.

It didn't take long for these interests to seep into the weekend, resulting in a suspiciously date-like afternoon with Spencer at his favourite museum. But you tried not to think too much into it. After all, the day had ended with a "see you at work", and not a "would you like to come in?"

Still, your dance between friendship and something more continued to grow wilder as days passed, until it reached a point where it inhabited your every waking thought. The only time it didn't, ironically, was when you were spending time with the person in question and every stray thought seemed to fall away.

Your mornings with him brought a necessary reprieve to the dark realities of this job, and some days you almost had to drag yourself out of your seat, knowing that you were straying from the calm of his company straight into the lion's mouth. But duty always called.

Your sudden hesitance to be apart from the resident genius hadn't gone unnoticed by the rest of your team either; ever since the two of you walked into office one morning with matching coffee cups and smiles on your faces.

At first you enjoyed Spencer's company too much to care, but you knew that it was going to bite you back one day. And today seemed to be that day.

You could tell, because the lift doors to the BAU opened to one very determined Penelope Garcia with her arms folded across her chest. "Spit it out, you two," she said sharply without any greeting.

You and Spencer looked at each other, confused, before looking back at Penelope. "Spit out what, Pen?" You asked, a frown starting to form between your eyes.

"You know what I mean!" She squeaked, dropping her stern facade for a brief moment. "Are the two of you dating? The entire team has been dying to know, and I mean, d-y-i-n-g because there's a huge pot of money with my name on it if you are."

"Ah— No— I mean, you think—" Spencer stammered, his face instantly turning beet red in embarrassment, while your face began to grow red for another reason entirely.

"I think what he means is 'no', and what I mean to say is— what do you mean the entire team?" You half-yelled the question, while Penelope raised her hands defensively.

"What I mean, sugar, is that the two of you went from avoiding each other completely, to coming into work together everyday — and I know you spent last weekend together too, because you couldn't stop talking about it the next day at work and everybody noticed." She stated, pushing up her glasses.

"Not to mention, Dr. Reid here started wearing brighter colours subconsciously." She continued with her observations. "I know this, because in the almost four years I've worked with this man, I've never seen him wear anything brighter than violet. Or white. Or beige. But those don't count." She shook her head, getting back to her point.

"You get what I mean— and you," she pointed her pen in your direction, causing you to jump slightly. "You finally stopped doubting yourself as a part of this team. I knew this when you started talking more often during briefings — which I have nothing against, B-T-W, I totally support any effort in self-care and personal growth — but you also stopped shifting in your seat which you used to do when you felt nervous."

Penelope took a deep breath, preparing for the climax. "So all I can assume, is either you've been attending one of the 52 self-help classes that happen every weekend in Virginia, or somebody has been helping you find some serious zen."

"And my money's on the latter because every time you think nobody's watching, you're making eyes at Reid. But you're wrong. Garcia is always watching." She concluded triumphantly, raising one finger to point at herself.

"You might make a good profiler yet, doll." Derek remarked, walking up to the group with a smirk firmly affixed to his face.

"Expert at all things romance, and Cupid of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, Penelope Garcia at your service." She smiled, graciously curtseying to your other teammate.

"I know you're smart like that, babygirl," he grinned, draping his arm around her shoulder, "but you also don't know pretty boy as well as I do, because they aren't in a relationship."

He turned to you questioningly. "Are you?"

"No." You replied, glancing hesitantly at Spencer for his response, but his face simply looked blank with shock.

"See? Now it's time to collect my payout." Derek grinned at the tech analyst, making the motion of raining dollar bills.

Penelope tailed behind him grumpily as he walked into the BAU office, surely to share the "good news" with everybody else.

You hesitated to follow, imagining what teasing and looks would follow regardless of the outcome. Then you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, Spencer gestured back at the empty lift with his head and you smiled, realising what he meant.

"That is the best hypothesis you've had all morning," you said. The two of you shared a laugh as you got back into the lift.

Even behind glass doors, you could hear a muffled "What?!" that you guessed came from Emily. "There's absolutely no way those two aren't together already. Have you seen them?"

There was a brief pause, then a loud groan.

"I know, that's what I told him!" Penelope's high-pitched voice was clear. "You know I'm going to be right about them eventually—"

The lift doors finally closed, blocking out the rest of their conversation. You looked up at Spencer, your gaze meeting his clear hazel eyes. He looked at his watch briefly before saying the next words.

"We've got time. Are you up for second breakfast?" He asked, referencing a movie from a conversation two weeks ago. He remembered. Of course he remembered.

You cleared your throat before replying the next line. "What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper?"

He laughed, and you felt a familiar peace return to you.

Whatever your teammates were yelling about, the two of you could deal with it later. Together.

-----------

Tag list:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot

[karanoid]

about top joe discord

LET ME ADDRESS A FEW POINTS:

There has been many fear and anxiety regardless the top!joe discord I made. I understand how it gives my discord a bad reputation. Somebody has kindly reached out to me to ask me addressing several points, which I’m now gonna clarify:

1. I am racist, I asked why, and they said mostly because of my dismissive behavior to people who called me out for drawing yusuf adorned in gold jewelry which made their friends feel unsafe. So, I am a muslim and was raised in a muslim household and community. I am fucking brown.

I didn’t say it because you don’t need to know that about me. What bothers me is how some people feel the need to come to my inbox informing me “maam yusuf is a religious muslim who prays 5 times a day and do all the supplementary prayers all while he drinks alcohol and fuck nicky in the dailies, he wouldnt be wearing gold maam no maam.” as if I didn’t know any better. so please, now don’t do that. If you care so much about the littlest details like wearing gold then you’ll also call out yusuf because he draws living beings and drinks champagne. yes it’s true muslim men are forbidden from wearing gold AND silk but let’s not forget, nothing in the comic and movies imply yusuf has ever been religious. It’s easier to see nicolo as religious because he was a fucking priest. Yusuf was a fucking merchant, it’s easy to see that he’d be less faithful because he would have been travelling and seen many kind of people to broaden his horizons and not contained to a little bubble of hyper religious community. However, let me remind you: whether yusuf AND nicolo are religious or not is entirely UP TO THE AUTHOR/ARTIST. It’s totally fine to make him religious and if you can respect it THATS GREAT, I ALSO LIKE HIM THAT WAY, but please remember it’s not even canon and hey sometimes I just draw things because I like the aesthetics. Also please, do not harass writers for getting a thing or two incorrect, even white people cannot get christianity correct, even between two muslims could be a disagreement whether this fic’s yusuf is problematic or not. I wouldn’t even expect anything more and THAT’S OKAY. Just don’t be an ass to muslims of color in real life and don’t fall into the believe that it’s a religion of violence. you can say that greg made him that way bc he knew nothing better but hey, I have no problem with that. again, it’s fine to make him religious, I’d be delighted but it’s ALSO fine to make him not religious.

2. I think that people only write Top!Nicky out of political correctness. OKAY. I apologize for this. I thought like this because I have accounts telling me that they were pressured into writing top!nicky or they wanted more readerships so I make a BIG assumption. I realized this is only a small part of switch and top!nicky fics and the big bulk of this must be out of genuine care. So yeah, I apologize for thinking that people only write top!nicky out of political correctness. I think writers should be allowed to write whatever they want. Yes this includes top!Nicky. And in whatever kinks they want it. However, this still doesn’t change that the discourses do scare people away from writing top!joe. Write top!nicky however you want, but stop vague-blogging about top!joe. racism isn’t inherent to top!joe and you can always remind people to be mindful with their writings but discouraging people from writing top!joe is not the solution. 

3. Top!joe is racist and people in the discord are racist. Okay, I am gonna touch several aspects why top!joe discord is considered racist: (1) because I don’t like to switch them, therefore I am racist. Sorry that’s not how it works. I have a clear preference and that’s just how I roll. Besides, a lot of people in the discord (including me) think either they switch (because they are 900 yo) or joe just doesn’t like bottoming. I’m not the kind of people who refers to reality for fiction I consume but people who prefer to top or to bottom exist (2) i want to be away from accountability and responsibility. Nope. The reason I made it is because I wanted to gather people with same interest as mine. 

4. I paint Yusuf as aggressive and the whole discord like him being an aggressive top. I think this is the only reason why the discord is seen in a negative light. Because wow what a coincidence that someone vagueblogged my discord at the day I celebrated about Nicky suggesting 20 years and wrote a post about how Joe is allowed to be angry. And beside someone made the WRONG assumption that we are focusing on Joe’s anger and violence (what). Okay, I don’t know how to break this down. But I will try. First, yes I was overjoyed at the news. Because I’m one of the people that do not like feral!nicky headcanon. I liked it at first bc it was funny but then it was twisted into Nicky being cold. So I don’t like it (lol), I still like it though but like I don’t seriously think that way. However, I never liked the idea that Nicky suggested higher than Joe. Because then his character just doesn’t click with me, there was a cognitive dissonance for me because joe clearly says nicky’s heart overflows kindness, you can see nicky as a medic in the credit montage. Also, from their body language and from the way the movie set em up, I think Joe is the one who suggested higher and I am glad to be proven right. Second, I did write a post about how Joe is allowed to be angry at Booker. People agreed with me, so I was not alone. But the reason I wrote that post is not because I wanted to paint yusuf as aggressive, but because I’m tired at people who think Joe shouldn’t display any negative emotions. I think it’s out of character. I do NOT think Joe is aggressive. That is NOT his wholeass personality. If you looked at my tog art tag, never once I portrayed Joe as anything aggressive. If I do, please show me. Third, people are conflating this with my post where I reblogged with a comment that implies aggressive Joe isn’t racism. Okay in this, the context is IN BED. It’s Joe being aggressive in BED. It’s literally BED ROLES AND FANTASY. I don’t even have a particular scenario in my head when I reblogged that, the original post clearly refers to bed roles with manhandling and kinks etc. like, why would you spank someone in public? Lastly, about the discord, NOPE, most people in the discord agree that Joe is either a GENTLE DOM or SERVICE TOP. But in my opinion, if someone likes Joe as an aggressive top (again, bed roles baby) I really don’t think it’s racism. It’s just... projection? 

anyway, back to joe’s emotions, these are posts from a moroccan man (paragraph #7) and a brown woman whose posts I agree with. Let’s be real, people of color are expected to shut up in favor of white people’s fragile feelings.

Now, about racism in fandom. I understand the concern because muslim men are painted as violent and aggressive. You know what I will never forgive those radicals for taking away innocents lives and to leave a lasting damage in how muslims are perceived in the west. However, you have to keep in mind, Joe in the movie is far from being stereotyped. I mean, Gina and Marwan practically greenlit him? Now, you might have concerns that writers are gonna turn him into a walking stereotype which is... okay, I understand that concern. But the solution is to communicate this ‘hey I think you make him too stereotypical in this etc etc’ not “write more top!nicky AND shame top!joe” because again, top!joe is not inherently racist.

also some people mentioned that they hope I recognize racial bias in the ship. dude, that goes without saying, all aspects of your life will be influenced by racial biases. however, this kind of thing is not specific to fandom/shipping. Like I said I’m fucking brown, friends and families with facial features that cater to white expectation are treated better. I did say at the bottom of this post, yeah I did notice why it’s always a brown character who’s always openly mad. And that’s in itself a form of racial bias. Racial biases affect everyone, white or POC, it doesn’t matter. But I got an issue with how people think this is racism. like how convenient, if by falling to racial biases mean you are a racist then what about those white people who created this racial biases in the first place? and I noticed the persons who got the audacity to cry about everything in this fandom is white?? I mean okay, they don’t know what I am, but not everyone is comfortable with sharing their private information like ethnic group, faith, etc. what if they really don’t want to share it? Because like you said, racial bias, whether good or bad will affect me. Now, I don’t know what white people are feeling, I’m not white. However, based on my interactions with them. We’re all just people sharing same interest, it could be they fall into racial biases, but all we shared about are just regular HCs. Even people making a conscious effort to combat racial bias still in essence fall for racial bias. You just cannot escape it.

According to this post, fandom assumes that the bottom is the proxy of writers, I don’t think this is applicable to everyone but let’s just say it’s true and people tend to write about their projection better so I’m gonna assume the racism part comes from the fact that..yeah I do think the bottom usually gets more fleshed out as a result of them being the writers proxy, so somebody posted this in the discord which I agree because yes I do think there’s a lack about yusuf’s background especially when it comes to crusade era:

but since I know most writers aren’t muslims, to me it’s not so much about racism but they simply know nothing about it, and not always out of ignorance either but in this climate, if you get a thing or two wrong you’d get harassed. so *shrugs* I understand the reluctancy. But here’s the thing, this is not about top/bottom issue but because most of the fandom are white so they have more freedom in writing the white character. Anyway, plenty of people have projected themselves into yusuf already, the whole “top/bottom” thing in this fandom is not even a thing. Yes, some writers project on the bottom so if you prefer bottom!joe that’s fine, somebody in the discord is doing a research and it turned out top!joe wasn’t even a CLEAR majority in JULY. So clearly they got their share already?

so please, let’s stop with the vitriol. if people are preferring top!joe it’s clearly because of different preferences. it’s not that deep. it’s the same way with how some people are preferring top!nicky. But we’re being driven out based on a hypothetical scenarios? like what do you want? for us to cease existing??? don’t be ridiculous.

I know people won’t listen to me. So this is my suggestion: LETS JUST IGNORE THINGS YOU DON’T LIKE. LET’S ALL JUST AGREE TO DISAGREE. 

[letoscrawls]

Hiiiii

I hope you're doing well!

I would like to ask if u have and advise about starting and art account on insta. I have a small one here on tumblr but people say insta is better for art accs. So I just create an account and start posting? Or do I promote myself in some way, maybe taking dtiys and other challenges?

Thanks in advance:D

Hi! thank you so much for checking on me! :) 

okay, i get this question quite often and i wish i could give you solid advice, but the problem with instagram right now is its algorithm. when i started my account it wasn’t that fucked up, so i don’t really know how it is for new artists who have just started their accounts now! but i can tell you that it really affected every artist, even the bigger ones, so please keep that in mind. if you “fail” to reach your audience it’s not your fault, instagram is literally sabotaging artists and i don’t know for how long it’ll be “the best platform for art”. so just to warn all of you, i don’t want you to compromise your mental health for a social platform that makes money out of our stress and insecurities, i’ll try to share what i think could work because sharing art can be really rewarding and shouldn’t be an ordeal so i’d be happy to help somehow!!!!!

so this is the “algorithm tricks” part: 

when i first opened ig, i remember my stories were viewed by at least 100 people for the first two days even though i had less than 10 followers, so i think that’s instagram way to encourage you to keep posting, so my first advice would be to post your art in the stories too, at least for the first week or something?? now, i know the algorithm is currently promoting reels, so if you’re skilled with those go for it! make videos of your creating process and stuff like that. it’s important to inform your followers when you make a new post bc the chances of it being noticed are higher, you have to do the work bc ig won’t show that post to most of your audience (did i mention that i hate whoever made this algorithm?? yes??) i’m not really sure about this but i think ig prefers the reels you make with their set of editing tools instead of just uploading a pre saved video (i think it’s their way to sabotage those who post their tiktoks), i’ve never tried them so i don’t really know what they’re like, but i’m pretty sure tiktok is way better. i read somewhere that IGTV aren’t ig big thing anymore, so i don’t think you’d get much engagement from them. in general i’d say to always promote your posts in your stories and to wait at least an hour before editing a post bc i think you’ll lose engagement if you edit it right after posting (i know, it’s so stupid).

the use of hashtags is the only thing that i approve, because it’s an helpful tool made by social media before it got so bad and they really help you to reach more people (that’s like their purpose, i just wish there weren’t dozens of other stupid rules to follow in order to be noticed besides hashtags). so using tags like “art”, “artists on instagram” and “daily art” along with tags related to the pic you posted (like the name of the character or the fandom etc) is really helpful, just don’t use unrelated tags bc it’s annoying and idk how convenient it is :P the last thing is promoting your posts by using the sponsored feature; i never used that because i’d rather eat a slug than give money to instagram, but if you have the possibility and you are okay with that then you could try!

now for the “artsy” part

artists have found many ways to bypass the algorithm and keep the community alive over the years, challenges are probably the best way to do so! dtiys are awesome, not only they help you get more recognition, but they also make artists incredibly happy! i should host one very soon myself, i’m looking for a pose and an outfit to draw one of my ocs in, hopefully you’ll see it soon! i cannot explain how happy it makes me to see people draw a character of mine, and it’s great to see them in so many different styles, so i highly recommend dtiys! usually the artists who host them post the entries in their stories too, so yeah, you should definitely try those! there are other challenges like art vs artist, memes etc, it’s incredible how creative the community is despite all! and lastly, draw fan art! contributing to a fandom with your art is so cool, personally i prefer it over original content most of the time, i feel the need to share my point of view and to let out all the idiotic thoughts i have when i consume some kind of media so i’m really biased, but every artist is different, so don’t force yourself to do something if you don’t feel like doing it! drawing something you don’t particularly enjoy because you want to get recognition is gonna make you burnout REALLY BAD, trust me, i personally think that passion>effort, so never forget to put your enjoyment first!!!! 

okay this took me a while and i hope it was helpful! good luck!!! i definitely forgot something dskfjhis

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Ghosts

I initially had the idea to do this fic a while ago, even before I started writing my first Super Mario fic. I finally got around to it for Halloween after being reminded of the idea via coming across a fanart piece that depicted a similar idea. I'd link it because it's sort of fic inspiration but it's buried deep in the Bowuigi tag on Tumblr and in the reblogs on my main blog.

~

Of course the hotel was haunted, why wouldn’t it be? Just when he thought he was finally free of having to deal with ghosts, this had to happen. Finding the Poltergust in the garage – indicating E. Gadd was here somewhere too, probably trapped in a portrait – was a sheer stroke of luck because Luigi had neglected to bring his own ghost hunting equipment. This one was the new model E. Gadd had been telling him about too which was neat expect for the fact that he now had to use it to deal with a hotel full of ghosts.

Before getting to that though, he glanced around the garage one last time to make sure he was alone before pulling out his phone. He needed to call Bowser, tell him not to come day after tomorrow after all. They’d been planning to have him show up at the hotel a couple days later and then finally reveal their relationship to Mario and Peach because away from home while on vacation when everyone was already in a good mood seemed like a good place to do that. But ghosts had happened instead so it’d have to wait.

Though it wasn’t super late into the night yet, hopefully Bowser would already be sleeping so Luigi could just leave a message. There was a very real chance Bowser would want to come anyway to punch the ghosts over their plans being ruined and only get himself in trouble. Luigi would rather not have to try to dissuade him from that so… He picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, what’s up?” he said. “Aren’t you normally in bed by now?”

“Uh… yeah but um… well turns out the hotel’s haunted, it was a trap from King Boo. He uh… yeah, stuff happened and I have to deal with it.” He needed to save Mario and Peach, the Toads too. “So, you probably shouldn’t come after all. We’ll have to tell them… later.” Both of them had kept finding reasons to put it off, figures after finally committing to a plan something would go wrong with it.

“He got Mario again, didn’t he?”

“Yep and Peach and the Toads and probably E. Gadd too, since his car is here but he’s not.”

Bowser grunted. “How does King Boo keep beating Mario when I never could?”

“Please not now.” Mario was in danger; Luigi didn’t want to hear about Bowser’s rivalry with him when that was a thing.

“Oh uh… all right, sorry. You okay?” All the gruff bravado was gone from Bowser’s voice now. Instead he sounded concerned which meant Luigi’s plea had been filled with more desperation than he’d intended.

“No, not really.” How could he be in this situation? What if he couldn’t beat King Boo this time? Or what if… King Boo took it further and killed Mario before Luigi could get there to even try to save him?

“Right, you’re afraid of ghosts, huh?”

“I know I probably shouldn’t be anymore.” He’d dealt with two full hauntings and captured King Boo twice as well so logically he shouldn’t be afraid anymore but alas, his fear had never been rooted in anything logical. “But… they’re still scary.” He leaned against E. Gadd’s car, holding back a grown. This ‘adventure’ had only just started and he was already tired.

“All righty then,” Bowser said as if reaching some kind of decision. “I’ll go over and beat the ghosts up for you. Except me in however long it takes my fastest air ship to get there.”

“What? No, no, no, you don’t need to come down here. I can handle it on my own.” It was too late though; the line was dead.

Luigi groaned as he flipped his phone closed to slip back into his pockets. Now he had to save his brother and friends and watch out for when Bowser arrived to hopefully make sure King Boo didn’t get him too. Could the night get any worse?

***

The hotel was rather drab looking in the dark of night, there wasn’t a light on anywhere inside it. It had looked much better in the brochures so it was a disappointment all around. Vacation wasn’t what Bowser was here for though so whatever. Maybe a dark hotel would serve as a good arena to beat up some ghosts and King Boo though.

Mario was going to be so shocked when he saw it was Bowser who’d save him this time. That would count as finally besting him too, right? Defeating the person who’d defeated him was basically a victory over both of them, right? So, this was going to be a fun outing after all.

With a signal from him, the ship flew in closer to hover over the roof. “Circle at a distance until I call you back,” he instructed the shy guy at the wheel before vaulting over the edge. In hindsight, even with how much it would’ve slowed down the ship, he probably should’ve brought in a troop of minions for backup but he’d been in such a hurry and hadn’t wanted to wait for an entire troop to get ready to broad it and now it was too late. Whatever though, he could handle King Boo and his tiny boos by himself.

He landed on the hotel’s roof with a thud, the tiles cracking beneath his weight. Glancing around he was disappointed to see that the roof was empty. What his exact plan was, he had no idea but he didn’t a plan, he’d just wing it like he normally did and it should be fine.

The roof was pretty barren and thus it didn’t take him long to locate a possible way down so he could enter in properly through a window or something. Before he could start to descend though…

“Why are you here?”

He snapped around to see King Boo had come out of seemingly nowhere. He was holding a portrait of Princess Peach, which knowing King Boo’s powerset, meant it probably was her. Bowser had given up courting her a long time ago and had only continued to kidnap her to lure Mario in for another rematch. He no longer even did that because Luigi had decided to convince him not to which had ultimately resulted in their current relationship. But it still made him mad because if anyone was going to capture her, it should’ve been him. He at least treated her right, the way a princess should be treated, not trapping her in a portrait. So…

“I’m here to kick your ass,” he said with a slight growl as he balled up his hands into fists. He would’ve preferred to start with a blast of fire but he wasn’t sure how flammable Peach’s portrait was and he wasn’t going to risk damaging it and possibly her.

King Boo raised an eyebrow and laughed. “You’ll make a nice portrait so sure, I won’t question my good fortune, let’s fight.”

Bowser lunged at him even before finished speaking, intending to grab and rip Peach’s portrait out of his hands. But King Boo floated higher, dodging with seemingly little effort. And he was out of Bowser’s range completely, such bullshit.

With a flash of light from King Boo’s crown, there was suddenly an empty portrait floating beside him. “Sorry this isn’t much of a fight, I got stuff to do,” he said as it starting glowing, pulling Bowser in.

Like hell was he gonna be turned into wall art. He’d blast the damn thing to bits with fire and then…

 -

Next thing he knew, he was indoors and looking down at Luigi instead of up at King Boo. It felt kind of like waking up after a too long nap. He breathed out the breath he’d been taking, releasing a puff of smoke instead of the mighty blast of fire he’d intended it to be. He glanced around at the room, it seemed to be an office of some sort. “What happened? Where am I?” he said as he looked back down.

Luigi looked tired but otherwise mostly fine. He had the Poltergust on his back but a different model than the one he’d shown Bowser. This one had a clear tank with something green inside it. “You were captured by King Boo and turned into a portrait,” he said. “Why did you have come? I tried to tell you not to.”

“Because I wanted to.” Bowser always did whatever he wanted.

“Yeah but why?”

“You’re scared of ghosts, I wanted to beat them up for you.” And he still would, he just had to try a little harder. There were few problems that couldn’t be solved with a good punch and/or blast of fire.

“Oh uh… thanks for the thought.” The slight blush on Luigi’s face as he lifted his free hand to rub the back of his neck was cute and made look slightly less tired. “But I um… I’m fine. I can handle it by myself.”

Bowser sighed as he crossed his arms. He wasn’t too good at reading other people’s emotions but… “You don’t seem fine.”

Luigi deflated a little, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s scary and I’m tired and… scared and stuff. Gotta save my bro though so…” he trialed off with a shrug. “You should probably go the garage but uh… I’m not sure how I’m going to explain your presence to E. Gadd and the Toads, that’s going to be awkward but I’m not sure where else would be safe.”

“Fuck that, it’s personal now, I’m going to beat up King Boo.” No way would Bowser ever stand for such a humiliating defeat. So he turned to march out the room.

Before he could take more a few steps though Luigi grabbed his arm pulling him back. Bowser could easily just drag him along or pick up and carry him with him or even just shake him off entirely but didn’t.

“You can’t,” Luigi said. “He’ll just turn you into a portrait again so… please don’t. I already have to save Mario and Peach, I don’t want to have to save you again too.” He sounded desperate and scared and… it made Bowser feel bad. “So just… let me do it.”

“You’re scared of ghosts though.” So he shouldn’t even want to do this.

“Yeah but… you need special equipment for hunting ghosts and… I’ve never lost to them so… I can handle it.” He was full on hugging Bower’s arm now, making it even harder to pull away.

Bowser could only sigh at that. “All right, fine, I’ll just help you then.” He could do that much at least. “I’m not letting that bastard get away with beating me so easily and I’m not letting you face the ghosts on your own when you’re so scared of them. And there’s nothing you can do to convince me to hide in some stupid safe place instead.”

Luigi looked like he wanted to protest but sighed instead as he rested the side of his face against Bowser’s upper arm. “Okay, that works, I guess. It’s… kind of nice to have some company anyway I suppose, it gets kind of lonely sometimes.”

Bowser grunted instead of trying to come up with a reply because he wasn’t sure how to. “Let’s go,” he said instead, gesturing towards the rooms exit. He wanted to see how Luigi fought ghosts, he’d been curios about what that was like ever since Luigi had told him about it. “I can’t wait to see the look on Mario’s face when I help save him.”

Luigi chuckled nervously. “That’s uh… certainly going to be an interesting meeting.”

[shireness-says]

A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink (2/5)

Summary: Two people are trained from childhood for a magical competition they don’t fully understand, whose stakes are higher than they imagine, all to be played out in a magical traveling circus. Falling in love complicates things. A CS AU of the book “The Night Circus”.

Rated M. ~16.5k. Also on Ao3. On Tumblr: Chapter One

A/N: I’m back! Thanks for your patience in waiting for the latest chapter of my @cssns​ piece. My apologies for the wait; these chapters are slow in coming due to my own overthinking and perfectionism, what I know where everything is going and this Will Be Finished. 

Special thanks to my betas, @snidgetsafan​ and @ohmightydevviepuu​, and to @eirabach for the absolutely gorgeous art she created for this chapter. Seriously, it’s like she climbs right inside my head to see what I’m picturing. Give her a BUNCH of love for all this. 

Tagging the interested parties (and let me know if you’re one of those!): @welllpthisishappening​, @thisonesatellite​, @let-it-raines​, @kmomof4​, @scientificapricot​, @thejollyroger-writer​, @superchocovian​, @teamhook​, @optomisticgirl​, @winterbaby89​, @searchingwardrobes​, @katie-dub​, @snowbellewells​, @spartanguard​, @phiralovesloki​, @profdanglaisstuff​, @winterbythesea​​

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Henry is six the first time he visits the Circus. 

It’s a special treat for an orphaned boy like him; the nuns who run the Storybrooke Children’s Home, just outside of Portland, Maine, aren’t much given to frivolous entertainments like this. But a generous monetary donation had been made to the home when the Circus had set up just over the next hill, and tickets for all the children along with it. The nuns may not be much for frivolity, but they’re not ones for waste, either, especially where gifts are concerned. The next night, Sister Astrid and Sister Theodora collect all the children who want to go, and bring them to what, to Henry, feels like a whole other world. 

Henry is a boy the adults already say lives in his imagination too much, and the magic of the Circus only enchants him further, calling to him in a way he doesn’t yet have the words to understand, let alone describe. There are trapeze artists who soar through the air, and jugglers, and lions and tigers and wolves so tame that they’ll take treats from his hands. Kindly confectioners slip him pieces of praline and boxes of popcorn to snack on through the night with a wink and a smile. It’s treatment such as he’s never experienced before, and it’s easy to wonder if he’s just wandered into some kind of dream.

(Even at six, Henry knows better than to disrupt such a lovely dream.)

It’s easy to get separated from the rest of the children in the dazzle of it all, and Henry finds himself wandering the curved paths alone as the clock strikes one, when the others in his group are preparing to return to the Home. Not that he knows it; he’s far too occupied by staring wide-eyed at the black and white tents where they soar to meet the stars and peeking beyond their entrance flaps.

That’s how the lady finds him - gawking with a craned neck at everything around him. 

“Have you lost your group, young man?” she asks with a gentle voice. Henry likes being called young man; it makes him feel important. 

“It’s okay,” he tells her earnestly. “They like to go faster than me. I can do it by myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” the lady laughs. She looks really pretty; her hair is yellow and curly and she wears a poofy white dress with black swirly bits and a black, long-sleeved jacket, the lack of color making it obvious she’s part of the Circus somehow. If this was one of the fairy tales Henry likes so much, she’d be the princess in hiding; here, at the Circus, that just might be true. “I was just planning to walk to the front gates. Would you care to escort me, young sir?”

Henry eagerly takes the hand the lady offers. “I’m Henry,” he tells her as they walk. “What’s your name?”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Henry. My name is Emma.”

“That’s a princess name. Are you a princess?”

“No,” she laughs, “but thank you very much, Henry. I appreciate the compliment. Are you enjoying the circus?”

“Yeah!” As they walk, Henry eagerly tells the lady - Emma, his new friend - about all his favorite bits - the animals and the dancers and especially the magician. Emma has a funny little smile when he talks about that, but Henry doesn’t think to ask about it.

When the front gates are finally in sight, Henry tugs on Emma’s hand. “I like it here,” he whispers. “Do I have to go?”

Emma crouches down, her skirts pooling around her and threatening to envelop him too. “Yes, Henry, you have to leave for now.”

“But why? I want to stay here. I could stay with you!”

“Oh, Henry, I’d like that so much,” she tells him, pulling him into a hug. “You need to go for now, until you’re older, but the Circus will always be here for you, okay? You’ll come back.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Henry dreams of the circus that night, and for many nights after, though the visions his mind conjures up never quite match the mysticism of the real thing.

A week later, the Circus is gone.

(But here, in a small room in a cold, gloomy children’s home - a young boy remembers.)

———

Belle, unsurprisingly, proves to be a determined and reliable correspondent. She’s like his little window into the Circus, even when he can’t be there himself, as is so often the case - especially in those first few years. Five years pass of letters and far-too-rare visits, and yet Killian never feels left in the dark. That’s the magic of what Belle can accomplish with her words - let him feel as if he is present even when he can’t be. 

Her missives contain the important things he asked for, of course - reports of new tents and changes in operations and unusual things his opponent, Miss Swan, is doing. They’re useful words, words that help him plan his own next moves. More than that, though, her letters are filled with wonderful little mundane details that make him smile. Belle tells him about the latest book she’s read and how fast the Zimmer twins are growing up and particularly funny anecdotes she’s heard. There are complaints about the weather, and discussions of the interesting or ominous things she reads in the cards. Always, always, there are chronicles of all the many places she has seen as the Circus crisscrosses the world, recountings of wondrous sights and marvelous people. Belle had wanted to see the world, and she’s getting to, five times over. It’s everything she deserves, only wrapped in an unusual and often demanding package. 

“It’s not too much, is it?” Killian asks on one of the rare instances their paths cross - in Paris, this time, where Killian has come on an errand for Jefferson, sitting in a little cafe in the shadow of Notre Dame. “I never want to ask more of you than you can manage.”

“Don’t be silly,” Belle says, waving off his concerns like the steam from their coffee. “They’re merely letters, Killian. It’s no great bother - especially for something I’d be doing anyways. I’d be writing to you regardless, Killian - you’re my best friend in the world, and I’ll be terribly put out if you ever stop writing me back.”

And that’s that.

(Most days, Killian believes that Belle is a much better friend than he could ever possibly deserve. He makes a mental note to say something of the sort in his next letter back to her.)

(Of course, he forgets - but then again, he can’t imagine she doesn’t already know.)

———

As a child, growing up knowing she was destined for some magical contest, Emma had always been told that she’d understand what she needed to do once her competition actually started. As an adult, now smack in the middle of it all, she finds that is decidedly not the case. Emma does her best, but it still feels like she has no idea what in the world she’s supposed to be doing.

The Circus is meant to be a canvas for her abilities, hers and her opponent’s; that much is obvious. What exactly that means is… more up for debate. Emma tries to take on more of the Circus in little pieces, bit by bit, so that more of its operations run on magic than on man power. It’s more enjoyable to try and come up with new attractions, drawing upon her imagination to come up with something new. It’s not a particularly quick process - Emma spends a lot of time planning each idea, to make sure she doesn’t miss anything, and it means that she can only create maybe two new tents each year. It’s worth it, though, to wander through the finished product, and see the way her most fanciful ideas have come to life. 

(“You need to be doing more,” Regina always scolds her on those rare occasions she makes the effort to visit her student. “This isn’t playtime. You can’t just make the effort when you feel like it, silly girl. Don’t you want to win this?”

“Of course, Regina,” Emma always says, making whatever promises she needs to in order to appease the other woman - all the while knowing that she will continue to act in her own way.)

(For Emma, the best thing about the Circus may be the separation from the woman who took her in. Regina does not often make the effort to check in on how her student is doing - and Emma more than likes it that way.)

There are traces of her mysterious opponent’s work, too. Sometimes it’s in the form of dramatic new attractions, things that push the bounds of possibility and perception; sometimes, it’s with more mundane things, like a wine-sampling tent tucked along a path that Emma is certain never existed before. 

His or her greatest feat, however, is on the members of the Circus themselves. As the years pass by, Emma can’t help but notice that time doesn’t affect everyone who brings the Circus to life, with the exception of the Zimmer twins. It’s been more than half a decade, but Granny Lucas is still as hale and hearty as ever. Not a single face has gained extra creases, or a single head extra grey hairs. Something this unknown competitor did has stopped the clock for all of them within the iron fence, even as the grand timepiece above the front gates ticks on.

It’s an impressive piece of magic - one that must take a considerable amount of skill and effort. It’s the first time Emma wonders if maybe this is a contest of endurance, rather than skill.

Regina won’t tell her, however, and Emma puts the matter out of her mind while she turns her attention towards the night’s performances and the germ of an idea blooming in her head. Something fantastical. Something striking - and icy. 

There’s always room for imagination and for creation at the Circus, after all - and despite her opponent’s impressive efforts, that’s exactly what Emma is counting on to one day prevail in this competition. 

——— 

The Zimmer twins are special, Emma discovers, and not just in the way anyone who has loved a child claims them to be exceptional. In Ava and Nicholas’ case, it’s true. 

There had been something in the air the night the circus opened, the night after the twins were born - something crackling and pervasive and magical. Emma has suspected for years - since that very moment - that the energy was something created by her still-unknown opponent. It’d been like a wave, rippling through them all at once and creating unknown effects. She thinks this might be one of those - powers growing in two children who, by all indication, shouldn’t have received them.

It’s especially noticeable to Emma, who not only has the ability to sense the powers running through their veins, but spends a considerable amount of time with the six-year-old twins. Ava and Nicholas grow up like the beloved niece and nephew of everyone involved with the circus, as though everyone communally agreed to test the proverb it takes a village. While the circus is open to visitors, and the children’s parents responsible for their little cart of carved treasures, everyone else watches the little boy and girl in shifts when they’re not performing - and Emma quickly becomes a particular favorite. She’s never been sure why; maybe they sensed the magic in her own veins, even as babies, and latched onto it. Maybe they simply like the way she thoughtfully humors every flight of fancy. Whatever the case - Emma knows her life would be far less interesting without the two in it. 

Ava has magic that likes to shake out and twinkle at the edges of her soft hair, similar in a way to Emma’s own powers. Unusual things happen around her, if you’re paying attention; lost things are more easily found, snacks and sweets turn up in unlikely places, and on one impressive occasion, a pair of fluffy orange and white kittens crawled out from beneath her bunk. 

“I can fix that,” she tells Emma innocently one day as Emma moves to throw a vase of wilted flowers out. She hasn’t prodded Ava about her powers before - it doesn’t seem the time to bring to the forefront all the things she can likely do, not when she’s still a little girl, not when Emma’s own childhood was largely sacrificed because of her own powers - but it’s a hard opportunity to pass up. It’s worth demonstrating to Ava, anyways, that her powers are simply a part of her, and nothing to make a fuss about.

“Can you show me?” Emma asks. It’s impossible not to smile when the little girl nods eagerly and furrows her brow in concentration, staring fixedly at the wilted daisies. Slowly but surely, the browned tips disappear, the petals straightening from their shrivelled state and the flowers once again lifting upright to seek the sun.

“That’s very well done, Ava,” Emma makes sure to tell her. 

“I know,” Ava replies seriously with all the intensity of a child her age. “Can you do that too?”

“I can.” Emma doesn’t tell people about her magic, usually, but Ava seems like a necessary exception - to let the little girl know she’s not entirely alone in her special, unusual skills.

“I thought so,” the little girl nods sagely. “I could feel it.”

It doesn’t surprise Emma in the least. 

Nicholas knows things that he shouldn’t - knows things that no one should know. Somehow, the stars speak to him in a language only he can understand. Nick sees things to come and things that have already happened, and sometimes divulges them readily and at the most unlikely times. 

“Is the scary lady with the dark hair your mama?” he asks one day out of the blue, startling Emma before she collects herself.

“No. She was my teacher,” Emma explains. 

“Oh.” His question asked, Nick happily goes back to playing quietly with his wooden lion. He’s less prone to chatter than his sister, happy to keep to his own thoughts when Ava isn’t pulling him into some other adventure. Emma rather wonders if it’s not because he has all the things he sees in the stars to keep him company. 

“Is there a reason you asked?” she inquires as casually as she can. “Did you… was there something you saw?”

“She hurt you,” is all he’ll say. “Before you were here.”

Something from the past, then - not so immediately alarming, though a sign she’ll need to be vigilant about hiding certain portions of her memories that young, impressionable and trusting minds shouldn’t be seeing.

“It’s alright, Nickie,” she tells him. “She isn’t around to bother me very often.”

He nods decisively. “Good.”

As he turns his attention back to his wooden lion, bringing a tiger in as well, Emma reaches out for the magic constantly humming about her and draws it into herself, directing to play through her mind and cast something almost like her invisibility cloak around her more traumatic memories to keep Nicholas from seeing. 

“Is there anything else?” she prods, mostly to test and see if the charm is effective.

Sure enough, the little boy’s face twists into a frown. “I don’t know,” he grumbles. “I can’t see.”

“Ah, well,” Emma replies in a purposefully light tone. “Maybe some other time.”

(She is not entirely sure she means it.)

Truth be told, Ava and Nicholas and their wondrous gifts are a beautiful mystery. All Emma knows is that it’s her responsibility to protect them from more sinister influences, the way she wishes someone had done for her. They deserve that. She deserved that. And she’ll be damned if they’re turned into pawns the way she was. 

There are many good things to come out of the Circus - friendship and wonder and home - but Emma thinks the Zimmer twins, and the powers they should be able to wield for good without the interference of people like Regina - are one of the best. 

——— 

There are attractions at the Circus unlike anything you’ve seen before, that you think may only exist within these iron gates. The Circus is a place where the otherworldly and impossible come to life.

This tent contains one such wonder, advertised with simple but mysterious words. This marker swirls and glistens in the moonlight, coaxing you inside to discover its secrets.

Stepping through the tent flap, brisk air tickles at your face - the first sign of what’s to come. Twisting through the interior are all manner of transparent structures, arranged in neat beds. The Ice Garden - just as promised. Each creation appears impossibly delicate and fragile, and by all logic, should be impossible on a warm summer’s night. There are lilies and roses and daisies, sculpted topiaries, winding vines, flowers that remind you of an illustration you once saw of tropical flora. A raised bed of cacti and succulents sprawls along one wall. Opposite, an apple tree, laden with fruit, arches gracefully at the edge of a silver-stoned path. There are little crystalline plaques, too, for all the plants whose names you’d never begin to guess: Shooting Star. Gayfeather. Anemones. Candelabra Primrose.

Every inch, every label, every petal, is made of ice.

Even at the Circus, such a thing should be impossible, This tent may be slightly, inexplicably cooler, but it’s by no means chilled enough to maintain this icy wonder. Though you know you shouldn’t touch, you can’t help but graze your fingers along an icy petal, just to make sure it isn’t cleverly blown glass. It’s a joyous mystery when they come away cold and wet, the sculptures revealed as ice in truth.

There’s no explanation for the Ice Garden - how it can exist at this edge of the Circus, seemingly unburdened by the laws of nature.

The longer you spend in the sparkling, colorless chill, the more you come to realize that beauty doesn’t need an explanation anyways.

———

Killian - 

I know it’s not quite the update you were asking for, but I still feel compelled to share - something wonderful and charming and amusing, and so delightfully human. I couldn’t quite resist writing to tell you. 

I could be wrong - but I believe a little fanclub has sprung up to trail the Circus. You’ll think it silly, Killian, but I am starting to recognize faces here - not of Circus members (I am not nearly so unobservant, or so rude not to recognize them by name after all these years!) but of visitors. There are a handful I could swear are coming over and over again. I’ll have to ask, next time I notice.

(Not that I can begrudge them of such - I certainly would be doing the same, in their shoes! It’s just that the fortunes get rather repetitive. I should probably let them know that the stars of fate do not change nearly as quickly as they seem to believe…)

There’s a certain awe, or maybe more like peace, that they wear on their faces as they move about the grounds that’s unique from all the other looks I see - almost like they’re coming home. I certainly know something about that - I think so many of us do. It’s wonderful, really - the way these visitors love the Circus so much that they feel compelled to return time and time again, joyously retracing the same paths over and over. It’s clear they love this place the way we do. Isn’t that just what we wanted, anyways? To make something for others to love, to play a part in bringing it to life? 

(Yes, I obviously remember that you’re also doing this for your mysterious competition - but I don’t believe someone makes something so beautiful without a generous dose of love as well. Don’t try to deny it, Killian - you know I’m always right.)

I hope you are well; no other news from here. As always, I’ll let you know if anything changes. 

Best wishes,

Belle

——— 

In time, the Circus gains followers.

It was probably inevitable, in a way; as the Circus winds its way across the world, through large cities and small towns, it touches countless lives as it goes, some more impactfully than others. There are those who visit once, and remember it fondly; those who take the opportunity to visit whenever the Circus is in their area, and look forward to it; and those who hold the memories close to one day tell their disbelieving grandchildren.

And then - there are the Rêveurs.

The Rêveurs start almost like a book club - groups of people who meet to reminisce about their favorite attractions, all the sights and smells and tastes that make the whole experience unforgettable. In time, the groups morph; they begin to go to the Circus together, and then travel to visit other Rêveurs when the Circus comes to their area. Particularly eloquent members begin to write into their local newspapers and magazines, beautiful editorials that convey love and wonder and coax thousands of others through the twisted iron gates. It becomes an entire movement, based off of a shared love, of people coming together to experience the Circus over and over again.

It is easy to spot the Rêveurs, if you know what you are looking for. In one of the editorials, an adherent mentions his own preferred way to experience the Circus - to blend in as much as he can, in all black and white, while still setting himself apart from those who bring the experience to life by adding a single touch of red. The trend catches on quickly; wandering the grounds, it is easy to spot splashes of red in the crowd, handkerchiefs peeking from pockets and roses or carnations in lapels and gloves and ribbons in hair. 

Some Rêveurs make sure to visit new attractions each time they visit; some prefer to see the same over and over, lingering in the acrobat tent or on the carousel for hours. In a way, they prove that there is no right or wrong way to experience the Circus - there will always be new things to see, and old favorites to return to. 

The members of the Circus are aware of the Rêveurs, too. Indeed, there are benefits to being in the same audience with that little flash of red, as performers bring out their best, most dazzling tricks and attempt new daring feats. Watching carefully, one might see a vendor slip a cup of cocoa or an extra serving of toasted nuts to a man or woman with that bare hint of color. All visitors to the Circus are valued, but the Rêveurs are treasured, in a different way, that makes every person involved in the endeavor want to do just the slightest bit more to bring the experience to life in a new way. 

The performers and vendors and other members of the Circus are its engine, in many ways - but the Rêveurs just might be its heart. 

———

Killian - 

I just realized that it’s been a while since my last letter - two months, I believe! Everything is perfectly fine here, I assure you. In fact, I haven’t written because there’s been nothing particularly notable to report. I’ve been watching for new additions, just as I always do, but nothing has appeared. Ah, well. We must be in a quiet stretch on that front.

Meanwhile, the Circus trundles onward, as it so often does. This week, we’re in Morocco. I’ve never been - and oh Killian, it is wonderful. The air is hot and dry and tinged with all kinds of spices that I can’t quite identify. And the food! A little group of us went and wandered in one of the markets, trying things from the stands. I’ve never tasted anything like it. What boring lives so many people lead, happy to stay on their own little island and pretend they know everything. This is so much preferable. The weather is a wonderful respite, too, from the cold I know must be sweeping through now that December is well and truly here.

I do not know if we’ll be home for Christmas; I rather doubt it. I’ll miss our usual holiday feast, but I trust that you’ll have a lovely time with your brother instead. My regards to Liam, as always.

Yours &c.,

Belle

———

Killian is lucky, in a way. After all, he has Belle and Liam, who both know about this competition. They’re his support system, the people who keep him grounded to life outside of all this - especially Liam. Lord knows Mr. Gold has never sought to do that. He doubts Miss Swan has that. Maybe he’s wrong; for her sake, he hopes he is. How lonely it must be to keep that secret, otherwise. 

Liam’s apartment is like a sanctuary at the end of a long day, where his brother waits with dark spiced rum and a roaring fire. Sometimes they venture out for dinner; some nights they stay in, and have the landlady send up something to eat. Mostly, Killian enjoys the peace of being in company that never expects more of him than he’s sure he can give. All Liam expects is companionship, and maybe for Killian to come with a nice bottle of spirits every so often. Killian can more than handle that. 

(They do not mention that Liam does not seem to age, the same way all those attached to the Circus do not. If his brother has even noticed, he remains blessedly silent on the subject.)

“Do you wonder sometimes,” Liam asks one night, “what would have happened if you hadn’t been selected by Gold? If you had turned him down?”

Killian shrugs. They’re in the middle of their third drinks - just the time for philosophical questions like these. “Not really,” he admits. “What’s the use? It happened like it happened. You wouldn’t have as nice a place as this, that’s for damn sure.”

Liam snorts, and the atmosphere turns more jovial for a few minutes as both men indulge in a drunken laugh before things turn thoughtful again. “If you had to do it all over again… would you?”

“I would,” Killian agrees. “We were a couple of scrappy orphans, no prospects, nothing. I’ve never been given a reason to truly regret it.”

“Then I’m happy for you, brother.” Liam tops off their glasses and raises his drink in a toast. “To good decisions, then!”

“To good decisions,” Killian echoes. “Or at least ones we haven’t yet regretted.”

———

Some attractions are more conventional in name, their promises familiar and comforting in that way that the expected can be. But this is the Circus, and conventional simply doesn’t exist here in the same way. 

You enter another tent to discover a hall of mirrors. It is a common enough attraction, at its core, one you have seen in other carnivals and street fairs. But true to the promise of the Circus, this version of such a fun house classic is more than you’ve ever seen. There are tall, full length mirrors, as you’ve come to expect, but small mirrors too, clustered on tables in every nook between their larger counterparts to reflect the lantern light in every direction. The mirrors don’t just distort your own reflection either; in addition to mirrors that cause your reflection to look taller or shorter or wider, there are mirrors to make you look older or younger, mirrors which change your hair, mirrors which duplicate your visage over and over again until you appear to be surrounded by a crowd of your own self in the mirror. There are even mirrors which somehow make it appear that you are someplace else entirely - by the seaside, the water slowly soaking your shoes, or in a fragrant flower garden, or wandering amidst ancient ruins. It is a clever trick, and one you won’t pretend to understand. In your heart, you never want to, for fear of ruining the illusion.

The world feels bright and new under the moonlight as you exit back outside the tent, like the hall of mirrors has helped you find a new way of seeing.

(And maybe, you realize, that’s the entire point.)

———

Killian takes small comfort in the fact that Mr. Gold seems pleased with his efforts. Truthfully, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows that somehow he’s supposed to demonstrate his abilities and magical knowledge on the canvas that is the Circus, but that only tells him so much. Killian adds attractions when he can, crafting things like the Hall of Mirrors in careful dioramas before sewing the plans into his master book, but it’s so hard to know if he’s on the right track. 

Mr. Gold has never been particularly involved in Killian’s life, and that doesn’t change now that the competition has well and truly begun. As a child, Killian had been largely self-taught, relying on the books that his teacher provided and the man himself only dropping in periodically to test his knowledge and comprehension. This feels like much the same thing; once a year, Mr. Gold will appear in Killian’s office after one of the Circus dinners, or outside his flat door without warning. There may be a polite inquiry about what Killian is currently working on, especially if the visit occurs in his cramped and ruthlessly organized office; more often than not, there isn’t. Killian will make polite inquiries about his mentor’s health and business, all of which are carefully avoided. Mr. Gold will state that he is satisfied with the work of his student - exactly that, and nothing more. 

Killian never expects an expression of pride; after all, he’s never received anything of the sort in all the years he’s been under his teacher’s direction. Theirs has always been a distant relationship, if it can even be called that. 

“How will I know I’ve won?” Killian dares to ask on one of these visits. “What do I have to do?”

“You’ll know, dearie,” is all his teacher will say. “Trust me, it will be very obvious.”

It is not. 

But Killian works onward, carefully building and manipulating things. Who knows? Maybe, one day, he’ll understand. 

———

The relationship between the members of the Circus and the Rêveurs has always been unusual. If it weren’t for the fact that the two groups are inextricably linked, and indeed obviously treasure one another, the interaction almost might be called respectfully distant. There exists an unspoken, but obviously adhered to, separation between the two - that there are Circus folks and there are Rêveurs, and they do not socially interact. Though a vendor or performer might, surreptitiously and casually, mention an anticipated next stop to an awed visitor with that single splash of red, they will not be found together in the light of day, strolling in the public parks or sharing a coffee in one of the cafés. The Rêveurs, largely, prefer it that way; the mystical quality is somehow kept alive when the people of the Circus only seem to dwell within its gates.

Of course, Emma has never been one for formality, or fitting in with the rest of the crowd. 

If pressed, she’ll claim that Marco is an anomaly - a man who fits between both worlds, and therefore special. It’s her own kind of loophole in the intricate rituals of the Circus and the Rêveurs. 

(No one ever presses, though - to do that, they’d need to know that Emma writes to Marco in the first place.)

Marco, in truth, has been involved in the Circus since the very beginning - though he did not always know it. An Italian by birth, living in Germany and creating exquisitely crafted cuckoo clocks, Mr. Marco Gepetto had been the very man contracted by Mr. Booth, the architect, to build the massive timepiece at the front gates, back when this whole endeavor was still coming together. Marco hadn’t been aware of that, at the time; all he’d known was that an Englishman had offered him a frankly absurd amount of money and next to no direction, only to create something unusual and extraordinary for a circus venue he was helping produce. With his rambling imagination and careful craftsman’s hands, Marco had more than delivered, creating the masterpiece Emma has found comfort in watching many times. 

That clock had always haunted him, he’s tried to explain to her many times during their correspondence, his mind running wild wondering exactly where it had been installed. Mr. Booth had sent a note declaring the producers delighted by the result, and Marco had never heard a peep again. Emma cannot blame him for wondering, truly, after all the months he had invested in the clock and all the personal touches he had poured in. The truth, he confides, is that he believed - nay, believes it to be his greatest work, all the while unaware that so many others were similarly touched. It was only years later that Marco had realized the grand project he had unknowingly helped bring to life, when an acquaintance had insisted they visit the traveling circus setting up just outside of Munich. 

“It was wonderful,” he gushes to Emma as they walk down the streets of Naples several years later, the older man happily pointing out the location of all the haunts of his younger days. “It was more than I ever could have imagined - and so well situated! So perfectly blended with the rest of the design! I must tip my cap to Signore Booth for his work, and all his compatriots.”

Marco had fallen in love with the circus on that first night, as a venue for his masterpiece and as a creation all its own. It was impossible not to, he had claimed later in the first of many editorials and subsequent letters - it was like the Circus called to him, begging him to uncover all its secrets. It may be the work of several lifetimes; perhaps, that’s just the appeal. 

He didn’t particularly mean to spearhead the Rêveurs movement, he’d explained to Emma in one letter. It was simply that he’d fallen in love, with a place and an experience, and wanted to share that with everyone else. It was just that he was the first, the first to not just talk about the Circus but publish his thoughts, that had made him the unexpected figurehead of the group. He’d been the one to come up with the idea of that touch of red, too, though he never admits it unless pressed. 

Letters flood in, from across Europe and the globe, wanting to compare experiences and share in the joy of the Circus. Marco gladly responds; many, indeed, become friends. But none is quite like Emma, who he only first knows as a woman with unusual insight into the Circus when she first begins writing, just another person who reaches out after one of his editorials. He assumes she’s just another of his Rêveur correspondents at first, but her thoughts, so carefully measured but fond, strike a chord somewhere in Marco. A friendship blossoms over dozens of letters exchanged, comparing experiences and details noticed and treasured - until, finally, this summit, as Marco had visited an elderly aunt while the Circus docked along the Italian coast. 

He takes the revelation that Emma isn’t merely some visitor, but a core member of the Circus, with an unexpected lack of surprise. “I wondered if you were rather closer to the matter than you let on,” Marco explains, patting her hand before tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “I shall consider myself uniquely lucky to have earned your friendship.”

And he has. Marco possesses a sharp mind and an affection for the little details that Emma loves, and an easy-going manner it proves near-impossible not to be charmed by. He fills something like a fatherly role, for Emma - always encouraging and delighted to hear about the latest improvements to her show. She doesn’t tell him that all the magic she does is real - but somehow feels that he understands, anyways. Marco is special like that, and perceptive. Somehow, Emma doubts that he’d be much surprised if she revealed the whole mess of the competition.

Marco may be physically distant from the ever-changing Circus grounds, and may not fully know what’s going on - but he’s a pillar of support, all the same, like Emma has never known.

(She only hopes he isn’t one more thing that’s just too good to last.)

——— 

Killian - 

At long last - an update! I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve had anything to report to you. Not that I don’t enjoy our correspondence, of course - it’s always so wonderful to share with you a little slice of my life here and hear from you in return. I simply feel so much better when I have something concrete to report to you, as we agreed.

I’m stalling, though. The truth is… I’m not entirely sure how to put into words exactly what this latest tent contains. It defies description, I find. The little sign along the path reads ‘Wishing Tree’, but that doesn’t describe much, does it? That could be anything. The Wishing Tree, in truth, is… oh, where do I start? It is somehow both earthly and otherworldly. It is both wondrously fantastical and firmly rooted in the soil. It exists both on this plane and in the world of dreams and aspirations. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that it is a contradiction, in the most spectacular way. Most simply put, if I stop beating around the bush, it is like a living, growing wishing well - but so much better than that, in its symbolism. There are no words to do it justice.

If you couldn’t tell already, Killian, I am insisting that you come and visit the Circus grounds next time it is convenient. There is no other way to fully grasp the delight of this latest addition. If I were not so terribly fond of you, I’d offer a hearty ‘Bravo!’ to your competitor - so count yourself lucky!

Yours,

-Belle

———

The Circus’ tents are filled with wonders - large and small, loud and quiet, and everything in between. What unites all the disparate attractions is a mystical quality - one that’s hard to put into words, but that makes every move and every moment greater and more magical than any similar display you may have seen before.

The particular tent in front of you is tall, but narrow, with a delicate wooden sign carefully placed to the side of the silvery-paved path leading beneath the entrance flap. Wishing Tree, it reads in a painted cursive script. An attraction you’ve never heard of.

Lifting the tent flap reveals just what was promised on the placard - a tall, elegant tree, all in the colors of the circus, with white bark and black leaves. The tree’s branches twist and curve around the tent, creating a structure almost reminiscent of a basket. Where it could be grotesque, the way branches stretch and dip around your body, but the effect is somehow comforting - like the tree protects all that it surrounds. It is otherworldly, in the truest sense of the word, an effect only heightened by the clusters of pearly white candles on each branch. By the entrance sits a small table, with a basket of candles and a crisp white card, embossed with a simple instruction:

Make a wish.

A wish is a sacred thing, and this is a place that respects that. After making your own wish, lighting your candle with one of the many already waiting on the tree’s branches, you place it in the highest nook you can reach where two branches join. There’s a profound symbolism to it all - one wish ignited by another, left to become part of a beautiful mass of light, illuminating this little corner of the world in soft and beautiful light. 

(That light will stay with you long after you slip back through the flap of the tent.)

———

At Belle’s urging, Killian makes the trip to see the Circus, and especially this new attraction, when they pass through Edinburgh. It is not precisely convenient - there are multiple trains involved from London, after all - but there’s no real telling when it will next be in the city, and he trusts Belle’s judgement that he must see this Wishing Tree for himself.

She’s right, of course. The Wishing Tree defies all conventional description. There’s a sense of possibility, and hope that just can’t be captured in a simple letter. Killian is sorely tempted to take a candle and light a wish of his own, but ultimately resists. The Wishing Tree isn’t just for some passing fancy - it is for the deepest dreams of one’s heart. As long as Killian is still unsure as to what his own dearest dream might be, it feels more appropriate to refrain from adding his own candle to the glowing branches. There will be time, later. 

His immediate business for the evening concluded, Killian takes the time just to wander the grounds. It’s something he hasn’t had the opportunity to do in far too long - there’s always been something to worry about, something to take care of when he comes to the Circus. This is a bit of a chance to try and experience things the way all their unknowing visitors do - to see the beauty, and the wonder, without analyzing anything further. Once he clears his mind, it’s easy to see the things the way that normal visitors do, the way something special sparkles in the very air.

There are still stops to make, of course; Belle would never forgive him if he didn’t pop into her tent. The fortune teller’s tent is made up to be an eye-catching oddity, but there’s still something welcoming about it that always soothes Killian - though maybe that’s just the knowledge of his dearest friend waiting just inside. Just inside the tent flap, dark curtains speckled with silver flecks like stars drape, giving way to a beaded fringe that softly clicks when touched. He’s been known to fiddle with those beads as he sits and talks with Belle, like a soothing sort of fidget. Beyond the beaded curtains sit three comfortable armchairs with a draped table at their center; Belle always does like the romance of reading for couples. There are no crystal balls, or posters about lines on palms; just Belle, the table and chairs, and her deck of tarot cards. Killian knows one of the curtains stretched behind her hides the entrance into her private quarters, where she’s been known to duck for a quick cup of tea, but no one else who didn’t know would see that. The whole effect is decidedly unusual, even mystical, but in a way that feels cozy. It’s like sitting in someone’s living room, sharing a bit of conversation - but the conversation concerns all manner of possible futures, and how they’ll come to pass.

Belle looks like herself, mostly, elegant in shades of white and grey and black and silver. She hasn’t leaned into any of the stereotypes or cliches - no scarf around her head or massive gold earrings or patchwork skirts. She looks like she could be any shop girl, or personal secretary, or even a beloved female relation in her neat dresses in playful patterns, accentuated with pretty bits of lace. There are more formal options in her closet too, he knows, provided by the Circus organizers for her use, but she likes this better; it makes her feel more like herself, and not entirely subsumed by the role she plays. 

“You came!” she crows with delight when he ducks his head past the beaded drapery. He hadn’t let her know he was coming, this time, happy to let it remain a pleasant surprise. Not that it matters much - Belle’s face would light up in delight in the same way, even if he had warned her to expect his visit.

“Of course I did, love,” he assures her with a grin. “You insisted, didn’t you? I seem to remember a very commanding letter, telling me I must come see this wishing tree for myself.”

“Yes, but there was always the chance you would get stubborn on me, or get called away on business for Jefferson, and I’d have to send another three to five letters until I finally guilted you here.”

“Alright, I suppose that’s true,” he admits. He does tend to get rather sidetracked much of the time, especially when there is work to be done and new, exciting ideas to explore.

“Instead, here you are! Only weeks after I wrote. A rare instance of agreeability - there’s hope for you yet,” she continues, only to plow forward before he even has a chance to defend himself. “But tell me - have you seen the Wishing Tree yet? Or did you come straight here first? I’m touched, of course, but really, you must —”

“I’m not nearly so foolish as to come here first, knowing you’d demand my own opinions on the tent just as soon as I arrived,” he teases fondly.

“Wise man. Tell me then - what did you think?”

“It’s everything you promised,” he tells her. “Utterly indescribable. I’m glad you insisted I come.”

The beam that graces Belle’s face at that simple agreement is a sight to behold.

“You’ll stay for a few days, won’t you?” she asks - cajoles, really, though Killian won’t take  any convincing. “It’s been so long.”

“Of course. We’ll have dinner tomorrow, and you can tell me everything you’ve seen since I last saw you.” It’s an easy promise to make, and one he’ll be even happier to keep.

Though Belle is an expected friendly face, one Killian had already built into his loose plans for tonight, the person he runs into as he wanders down the path away from her little tent is rather more unexpected.

“Mr. Jones,” Miss Elsa Frost smiles warmly - a member of the creative team of the circus, whose eye for details had been invaluable in creating this world so many have fallen in love with. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Nor did I,” Killian admits, executing a short and polite bow of greeting. “Especially not here, so far from London. May I escort you around the grounds, if I may be so bold?”

“You may,” Miss Frost says, slipping her delicate hand into the crook of his proffered arm. “I was just about to go see the magician - Miss Swan, was it? I’m told she should have a performance starting soon.”

“Then it will be my honor to accompany you.”

Though Killian has visited the Circus on several occasions in the past years, on business and to see Belle and to examine the creations of his competitor, he’s avoided this tent. It somehow feels like cheating, to watch Miss Swan like this with full awareness that she’s his competitor when she hasn’t been privy to the same knowledge. That’s not to say he hasn’t been tempted; across all the spiraling stone paths, her magic calls to his own like a siren’s song, drawing him in. Tonight, with a companion on his arm, he finally has the excuse to cave. As they approach her tent as others trickle in ahead of them, Killian makes sure to draw a spell around him to mask his own magic like a cloak, the same one he’d used that first day he’d seen her. Even if he feels guilt at the advantage, Killian isn’t quite sure he’s willing to tip his hand yet, no matter how often he’s been tempted. It’s not the time for such a revelation. 

(He doesn’t notice, beside him, the way Miss Frost’s forehead briefly creases as the spell settles around his body; it would not matter if he had, anyways, and the lady is more than happy to hold her tongue on the matter.)

The magician’s tent is small, intimate - a small clearing surrounded by a double ring of chairs. It’s a subtly ingenious way of heightening the drama and the enchantment of the performance: there is, quite literally, nowhere to hide, every angle visible to spectators as they space themselves around the center ring. A lesser magician would never be able to pull it off; it’s lucky, then that Miss Swan doesn’t have to rely on tricks.

Killian is the only one that notices that the tent flap has disappeared, two minutes past the hour. Everyone else is too busy whispering to each other, speculating about where the illusionist is and when the show will start. Unlike the rest of them, Killian waits patiently, knowing that the show has already begun.

No one misses the next trick, as a stream of flame chases around the tent above their heads. Gasps echo from the crowd, in excitement and wonder and no small dose of fear. A handful turn towards where the exit once was, only to discover that the way has been sealed and blocked by chairs during their inattention. Gasps turn to screams, panic quickly catching, until - 

A single figure stands from the audience, a woman with dramatic black skirts and what appears to be a men’s top hat. As she moves towards the center of the ring, she casually tosses the hat onto the seat she had occupied - and as if on cue, the streams of fire chase around the tent once more before plunging downwards, downwards into the hat, which somehow serves to contain the flames instead of catching on fire. As the rest of the audience comes back to their senses, turning their attention towards the slight blonde woman now at the center of the tent, she flicks a finger, sending the hat tumbling through the air to land in her hand, where she jauntily tips the black felt back onto her head and takes a dramatic bow.

And like that, the magician begins her show.

The displays that follow exceed Killian’s feeble memory of her audition, those several years ago. There are little miraculous bits she’s still using - the chairs still levitate, and the hat replaces the jacket as it turns into a beautiful black raven to fly about their heads - but there are new bits, too, as items disappear and reappear and visitors discover all manner of unexpected items in purses and pockets. Somehow, it all flows together seamlessly, one display of ability and control into another. At the very end, the fire returns again, chasing around and around and around her body until she can’t be seen anymore —

And when the flames disperse, all on their own, there is no one to be seen at all. The tent flap appears once again, and they all file out, awed in a way they hadn’t expected. 

It’s beautiful, mysterious, magnificent - just like the woman herself. And Killian can’t remember why he ever stayed away. 

———

Wandering the grounds of the Circus, it is impossible not to notice the statues scattered along the path. Some are monochromatic, fully pristine white or glistening black; some are so vividly realistic, in black and white and flesh tones, as to seem almost lifelike. There are single figures and couples, male portrayals and female, all beautifully detailed and caught mid-action. There is something mystical about them, something you can’t quite put your finger on but know separates them from anything else you’ve ever seen - a feeling that saturates the very air within the iron fencing. 

Examining the statues reveals that the life-like state of the statues is no trick, no clever construction of hard stone and a steady chisel - no, these are merely people mimicking statues by standing so still and moving so slowly as to trick the eye. This isn’t some mere street performer, either, like you might see near the buildings tourists frequent en masse. No, this is something more special, more deliberate, more enchanting. It is almost like a dance, performed on a timeframe only the dancer can perceive. Watching closely, it is possible to see the movement - though it will take much patience. It is easier, in some ways, to pay careful attention to the stance of the living statue at the beginning of a set period, and then see how it has changed some minutes later.

It is said that if you wait long enough, the statues will bend enough to pluck an offering from your very hand. However, it takes a certain kind of person, with a certain kind of fascination, to even try. After all, why spend so long examining statues, when there are so many other wonders to see? 

(Just before you walk away, you could swear the living statue of a young man winks an eye, all in impeccable slow motion - just one more memory of the Circus to treasure in your mind for years to come.)

——— 

The Circus returns when Henry is ten.

Ten is a sensitive age; it’s an age where one is still young enough to be excited about simple, playful things, but believe oneself to be too old to show it. Perceived maturity is beginning to be tantamount at this age, as is the idea of being cool.

Henry, for all his efforts (and a good bit of maturity, in truth), is perceived as neither. 

“The circus is for babies,” Jack Hastings declares in the schoolyard when Henry makes the mistake of mentioning that he’d seen the tents. A keen observer might find humor in the fact that Jack’s proclamation was made as he and the boys played with a collection of small wooden soldiers; the boys, however, are not yet adult enough to see the irony. “I’m not going.”

“I don’t know,” Henry ventures cautiously. “I think I might like to go. It isn’t very often something like the circus comes to town.”

“That’s because you’re a baby,” Jack taunts. “Henry’s a baby! Henry’s a baby!”

“Am not!” Henry bites back hotly before anyone else takes up the chant. 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Then prove it.”

That’s how Henry finds himself examining the black iron bars that encircle the circus tents, searching for a way to slip in. It’s a dare - to sneak in, in daylight hours, and come back with something to prove it. Henry had agreed in the heat of the moment. Now, with school over, Henry’s got to do the deed, while all the other boys wait back in the schoolyard.

While Henry remembers the Circus practically crackling with its own special energy, things are quiet in the light of day. He supposes that makes sense; the Circus operates from sunset to sunrise, and it’s still an hour until dusk. Its performers need to rest and prepare and the like, like anyone else, and this is the time they get to do that.

After spending far more time than necessary carefully examining the outer fence, Henry finally finds a little out of the way stretch, framed by the back of two tents with no one in sight. The bars will be a tight squeeze, but he sucks in his stomach and holds his breath, and after a little bit of wiggling, manages to twist his way through. Quickly brushing himself off, Henry searches around for something he can bring back as proof for the other boys. The easiest thing to do would be to tear off a bit of fabric from one of the tents, but he struggles to bring himself to do it. The tents feel special, nearly sacred, somehow; it would be the worst kind of crime to ruin them in any way. Maybe, if he ventures a little further in, he can find something else —

“What are you doing?” a girl’s voice sounds, interrupting Henry’s thoughts. 

Whirling around, Henry is met by a blonde girl he could have sworn wasn’t there before, about his age, dressed in a black and silver striped dress. He didn’t know people his age were allowed to join the circus; it catches his attention nearly as much as the look on her face. Though her words are accusing, her face only shows curiosity. 

That does nothing to temper Henry’s shame, for better or worse. He didn’t exactly count on getting caught, after all. “There was a dare,” he blurts out. “To sneak into the circus.”

“Well, you managed that,” she observes. 

“Yes.” The silence sits heavy between them. Henry knows he ought to leave, but also feels like he can’t. “I’m sorry,” he finally cuts in - practically begs - once the quiet gets too much and he can’t take that curious stare anymore. “I can slip back out again, or pay the admission, or —”

That finally makes her smile - a bright, lovely thing that makes something stir within Henry that he’s never felt before. “It’s quite alright, Henry. You don’t need to leave. Nick saw you coming.”

He has many questions about that - how she knew his name, what in the world saw you coming means - but he reaches for the easiest first. “Who’s Nick?”

“My brother,” the girl beams. “Twin brother, really. I’m Ava.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.” It’s obvious that there’s no real point in offering his name; Henry is curiously less concerned about her unnatural knowledge than he figures he really ought to be. 

“Likewise,” Ava replies with that same smile, offering her hand for Henry to awkwardly shake. 

(For the first time in his life, he’s left wondering if he should have kissed the back of her offered hand instead. Then again - that sounds gross.)

“Come with me,” she commands with a little nod of her head. Even knowing he ought to slip back through the fence, Henry can’t help but follow, pulled along in a way that he doesn’t quite understand. “You picked a good day to come - Nick says the Circus will be closed tonight for inclement weather,” she adds with a hand waved towards the quickly gathering clouds.

“Yes, they just called it,” adds a different voice - another boy, this one also their age and with a remarkable resemblance to Ava. The biggest difference, really, is the boy’s light brown hair, a contrast to her cheery blonde. It’s obvious this is the twin brother she mentioned - Nick, who somehow knows things.

“He was there, just like you said, Nickie,” she laughs. “I don’t know why anyone bothers to doubt you.”

“They don’t know better,” Nick shrugs.

“Nick has a gift,” Ava explains. “He sees things that others don’t - and they always come true.”

“Oh.” Henry isn’t really sure what to say to that, honestly. He doesn’t disbelieve it, really - Ava did know things she shouldn’t have, without what they claim being true - but he’s a little too flabbergasted at it all to say anything more comprehensible. Besides, if such a thing were to be true - well, it makes sense that it’d happen at the Circus. Where else is magical enough to shelter people with such talents?

Ava breezes right past it though. That must be characteristic of her, if the way her brother stifles a smile is any indication. “There’s always a party in the acrobats’ tent whenever the weather is too bad to open. It’s the biggest, you know.”

“You can come too, if you want,” Nick adds.

Despite the tempting offer, Henry frowns. “I’m not part of the Circus, though. Won’t anyone mind?”

“Circus people are welcoming,” Nick shrugs. “They won’t mind.”

“Besides, everyone thinks we need friends our own age,” Ava chimes in. 

As the sun starts to creep below the horizon, Henry lets the twins lead him across the circus grounds. He wants to go, really - besides, there’s no reason not to. There’s no one waiting who will care if he doesn’t show up for dinner, or even for bedtime. 

(Nick probably already knows that as well; perhaps that’s why neither of them ask whether he needs to be home.)

The inclement weather party is a different kind of marvel than the otherworldly splendor of the open circus that Henry remembers. It seems like everyone is crowded into the tent as raindrops start to patter down upon the canvas, yet somehow the space never seems claustrophobic. Half the collected mass is in their black and white and silver circus clothes, while the other half wears street clothes in all manner of colors and styles. Laughter colors the air, as small groups congregate only to disperse and remingle again. It feels like a family, like a great big reunion, even though Henry is sure they’re not all related. 

(Then again, maybe family doesn’t have to be linked by blood and genealogical trees; maybe family is something that can be crafted with those you choose and care for.)

Ava tugs on his arm before he can get too lost in his thoughts and marvelling at the spectacle of the tent. “You should meet Emma,” she says. At her side, Nick nods in genial agreement. “You’ll like her. She’s the magician.”

She doesn’t quite bodily haul him across the tent space, but it’s close. Henry would complain, but it isn’t hurting; he can tell she’s just eager to share her and Nick’s world in a way she hasn’t with outsiders before. At least, Henry hopes she hasn’t shared all this with outsiders before; Henry’s never really had the chance to be special. It’d be a nice change. 

Eventually, she halts in front of a cluster of women - three brunettes and a blonde. All smile fondly as Ava approaches with Henry in tow. “Emma, I want you to meet someone!” Ava bursts out as they pull to a stop.

“I can see that,” the blonde chuckles as her companions move away. Henry’s distracted for a moment by the movement of the other three ladies, but forces his attention back to meet the magician’s eyes.

And it’s her - the nice lady from the last time he was here. Henry’s face flushes red as he remembers his youthful question - Are you a princess?. She still looks like a princess, four years later, only in a burgundy dress with her hair in a simple bun instead of her sumptuous black and white dress from the last time they met. He can see the moment recognition sweeps across Emma’s face, and knows she remembers too. 

“Henry, was it?” Emma smiles down at him. Somehow, he manages a nod of confirmation. “It’s lovely to see you again, Henry.”

Ava’s face drops a little in disappointment, and a hint of confusion. Seems this is one thing her brother’s visions didn’t reveal - or at least one thing he didn’t share with her. “You know each other already?”

“Only a little,” Henry hastens to explain. It somehow feels very important that Ava know he didn’t deceive her in this way. 

“Henry and I briefly crossed paths the last time the Circus was here - what, four years ago?” Henry nods again. Emma and Ava and Nick and the rest of the Circus may have been to so many places since them that they don’t remember exactly how long it’s been, but Henry could probably tell them down to the day if he just had a couple of minutes to think. “He was kind enough to let me escort him back to the front gates. I must say, I didn’t expect to see him here tonight, though… is there anything I ought to know?”

“No!” Ava assures quickly. It’s not remotely convincing; Henry barely manages to smother a smile as she continues her blatant evasion. “We should go get a little something to eat. Come on, Henry, let’s go!”

To be fair, the spread that Ava leads him to - Nick pulling up the rear, laughing - is very impressive. There are all manner of little finger foods to carry with him, savory and sweet, and an older lady the twins call Granny who presides over the whole thing and makes Henry take another sandwich. All of the circus members - and it feels like Henry’s introduced to every single one - seem to treat the twins like a niece and nephew, or maybe even children. There’s an affection in the air amongst everyone that’s almost palpable, and like nothing he’s ever encountered before. It’s hard not to feel a little jealous of his new friends; it’s everything he’s ever wished for himself. 

Eventually, he’s dragged across the grounds to what they’ll only call the cloud room after a stop by Emma again for a set of umbrellas that seem to actively repel water. 

“It’s my favorite spot,” Nick explains as they shake off their umbrellas just inside the tent flap in a dim antechamber. Henry had barely caught a glimpse of the signage before he’d been bustled inside; Atmospheric Wonders had been less than illuminating a descriptor. “Ava’s is the carousel.”

“I like the animals,” she shrugs. “They’re interesting.”

“Yeah, well, so is this,” her brother quips back. “Henry, look.”

And when Henry does - it’s more than his imagination ever expected.

Somehow, there are dozens of fluffy clouds floating within the confines of the tent, the top of the peaked canvas not even visible for all the clouds in the way. They come in all sizes, all winding around a central, silvery structure with a platform at the top and a slide spiraling back down to the ground. Somehow along the stretch from the ground to the indiscernible peak, the stripes shift into a night sky gently dappled with stars. It’s mystical, and marvelous, and unlike anything he’s ever imagined. 

Henry has barely processed what he’s seeing before Nick takes a flying leap onto a cloud hovering at chest height. Miraculously, it somehow holds his weight, bobbing gently in the air under the change of balance but showing no signs of capsizing.

“It’s really very sturdy,” he calls from his perch, grinning with glee. “There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

Carefully, Henry steps onto a different cloud hovering about his knees; that’s less distance to fall if there’s any problem. Under his feet, the cloud isn’t exactly firm, or stable - it’s more like if you try to step onto a mattress - but he can also feel that he’s not at risk of crashing down. Somehow, it’s just as safe as Nick promised. 

(How did he miss this before? Now that Henry’s here, he’s not sure he ever wants to leave.)

Ava clambers up onto a cloud somewhere between him and Nick, abandoning grace to pull herself to standing. “It’s a newer tent,” she explains, brushing her skirt free of imaginary cloud dust and casually reading Henry’s mind. Maybe her brother isn’t the only one with special powers of sight. “It only went up a couple months ago, right, Nick?”

“January,” he confirms. “Just after the new year’s party.”

“Not a lot of people know about it yet - but it’s one of our favorites now. Nick and I like to come on the nights we’re not busy with other things.”

Across from them both, Nick obviously grows impatient with all the chatter, leaping to another, higher cloud. “Race you to the top!” he yells back, quickly becoming obscured from sight as he scrambles higher and higher.

Ava stretches her hand across the divide to help him forward. “You’re going to love it,” she beams.

Henry takes her hand, gladly, and lets a smile crease his face even as hers stretches impossibly wider. 

He does love it, just as she promised. The view from the top is spectacular, like something out of a fairy tale, an impression only magnified by small tufts of cloud still hovering around, inviting them to lounge. It would be a good place just to sit and think, Henry thinks, if you lived with the Circus and had that chance. 

Time passes both quickly and slowly at the top of the tower as the three of them sit and talk for what must be hours. Henry feels as if he’s known the twins forever, not just a night - like he fits with them, somehow, in a way he never has with his schoolmates or the other children at the Home, and can’t explain.

(It’s the same feeling he remembers from the first time he visited the Circus, four years before. Of belonging. Of home.)

All too soon, things much end, however. As the conversation encounters a rare lull, Henry sighs heavily, knowing he must draw this to a close. 

“I have to go,” he tells his companions - now friends, he thinks - with the kind of regret that’s practically palpable. 

Ava nods sadly; Henry scrambles to his feet to help her do the same. It’s what a gentleman would do. “We know. But this was lovely.”

“And you’ll be back,” Nick says decisively. “I know it.”

It’s not worth arguing with the boy with a gift. 

Getting down from their perch takes a little more boldness. Technically, there is a slide they could all take advantage of, but Nick won’t let that stand. 

“You’ve got to jump, Henry,” he cajoles. “It’s so much more fun. You feel like you’re flying!”

“More like falling,” Henry mutters. Even if he knows that Nick wouldn’t try to hurt him, like some of the boys at school might, looking down from this height makes his stomach turn. 

Suddenly, a soft hand slips into his own. Ava, who slipped up beside him while he was distracted by the height. “We’ll do it together,” she promises, and somehow - Henry finds himself nodding.

Nick lets out a wild whoop and throws himself off the platform, gleefully tumbling down and down. Ava squeezes his hand tight, just the once, and then she’s running too, bringing Henry with her as they leap. It feels like he’s left his stomach up at the top, but it’s a little freeing too. At the bottom, a particularly soft cloud cushions their fall, surrounding them like a hug. Henry even finds himself laughing along with Ava and Nick as they pick themselves back up. 

Ava walks him back to the main gates under the marvelous umbrella, Nick letting them go on their own after offering Henry a jolly wave goodbye. The door in the iron bars opens without even a squeak, letting the both of them slip through. 

“I don’t want to leave,” Henry confides, the words spilling out of him almost without permission. “I don’t want to go back to the real world out there.”

“You’ll be back,” Ava promises. “We’ll see each other again - I promise.”

He wants to believe her - he does. But it’s a mean world out there, and he’s long since learned that nothing is guaranteed, and —

Ava presses up on her toes to drop a quick kiss on Henry’s lips - his first. It’s just a little peck, really, but it makes them both blush and sends something hopeful in his soul soaring above all the other negativity. 

“To seal it. The promise,” she explains.

No explanation was needed, really - not to the perfect ending to this dream of a night.

(He does not return to the Circus this time, the Sisters punishing him with extra chores when he sneaks back into the Home long after bed checks. Though he would like nothing more than to return back to the Circus and his new friends, he somehow can’t regret it. Every moment was worth it.

Later, he finds a single glove, white with shiny black buttons, tucked into his pocket - proof for his dare. He never shows it off to the other boys; the little scrap of fabric is too personal, and too precious. Instead, he tucks it into the old cigar box he keeps all his treasures in, amongst the perfectly round stones and colored bits of glass and a brightly colored birds’ feather. Let them think he never managed it. They’ll forget soon enough anyways. 

We’ll see each other again, Ava had promised - and Henry intends to wait.)

——— 

There’s a new attraction at the Circus again, Killian - the most wonderful carousel. There’s the usual carved horses, of course, all wonderfully detailed, but there’s all manner of other creatures too - giraffes and elephants and a particularly clever ostrich. There’s even some mythical creatures too. I’m particularly fond of the gryphon, though I suspect you might prefer the dragon. There’s even a bench seat with a kraken twining around it! It’s truly charming; the kids love it, obviously, but it’s wonderful to see the delight of grown men and women too. I believe I saw a young couple squabbling over the cow yesterday; the lady won, of course. Wise man. 

If you hadn’t guessed already, the carousel is very obviously a creation of your winsome competitor. The ride travels through an enclosed portion at the back, ostensibly to parade the figures and their riders past a scrolling display of landscapes; however, having ridden the thing myself (I couldn’t resist, Killian! And obviously chose the gryphon, though I was tempted by a polar bear), it’s obvious that this tunnel somehow bends reality, stretches the track much further than it should ever go. Magic is obviously at play, here, though I believe the visitors are too enthralled (and, as usual, too oblivious) to realize. 

There’s something else a little unusual about the carousel: Mr. Booth’s part in bringing it to life. He was here in Brussels to oversee installation, or I might not have believed it. You know as well as I that usually, new installments just… pop up, without explanation. His craftsmanship is evident in the construction, too, if you know to look - the smooth curves and the intricate carvings and the way the peak of the striped roof stretches up towards the sky. It’s lovely, really, and undeniably a joint effort between Mr. Booth and Miss Swan. 

Does that mean he’s aware of her abilities? I can’t say for certain, but I have trouble imagining otherwise. It could be interesting to see if you could enlist him in a similar effort - though of course, that’s entirely up to you. I’m merely reporting your opponent’s most recent move on the chessboard, so to speak.

(Do come see the carousel, though; I promise you won’t regret it.)

Affectionately yours,

Belle

———

Killian folds Belle’s latest letter carefully, considering her words as he meticulously files the pages away, just as he always does. The new carousel sounds beautiful, of course; Miss Swan’s creations always are. The fact that she enlisted August Booth to create it captures his attention the same way it had Belle’s. That’s something he never considered - drawing upon others’ skills to create something that is not entirely mechanical, but not fully dependent on magic either. He should have thought of it sooner - after all, the Circus as a whole operates in a similar way, weaving enchantments in amongst all the physical manpower needed to bring the whole thing to life. It sets Killian’s mind running in other directions, other ideas that could be brought to life in the same way. And if Booth is aware of the things Miss Swan can do… perhaps he can serve as an intermediary, of sorts, in a way that could bring this competition to a new level.

But Killian is a patient man, a planner through and through. It’s his greatest advantage in his employment and in this game. So before he lets his imagination run away with him, drafting things that can never come to fruition, he calls upon Booth at his office to test the waters of what is possible. 

“I didn’t expect to see you, Jones,” the other man says, smiling genially as he comes out from around the back of his heavy wooden desk to offer a handshake of greeting. 

“It was a bit of an unplanned visit,” Killian admits as he seats himself in the offered chair. 

“Well that’s quite alright. What can I do for you? Is this about the Circus, or are you finally looking to build something more comfortable than that little flat of yours?”

“It’s about the Circus.” Killian lets his gaze glance around the room before he speaks further, considering his next words. Though the furniture in the office at Booth’s architecture firm is heavy, with dark wood and intricate carvings and tall bookshelves lining two walls, the whole thing manages to avoid a feeling of claustrophobia due to a stretch of tall windows along one wall. A panel of stained glass is installed in the middle, with beautiful swirling patterns in all kinds of colors. The whole effect is a little whimsical, while somehow still ordered and elegant. In that moment, Killian can see exactly why August Booth was chosen as a partner to produce the Circus. 

Drawing his attention back to Booth, Killian finds the man patiently waiting for him to start speaking, prompting him to gather his thoughts. “I understand you had a hand in creating a new attraction - a carousel.”

“Ah yes,” August smiles. His tone is fond, almost like a parent speaking of a favorite child. “Marvelous, isn’t it? Though, of course, I can’t take full credit - or even most of the credit, really.”

“So you’re aware of others’... unusual contributions, shall we say.”

Booth makes an amused, guttural noise from the back of his throat. “I may be a skilled designer, but not nearly enough to create space that’s not there. And I’m not nearly oblivious or egotistical enough to believe I can. Besides, Miss Swan was involved from the beginning. The carousel was her idea.”

That’s one question answered. “So how much did Miss Swan tell you about her… abilities, I suppose? And her influence on the Circus?”

“A rudimentary explanation, I believe - just as much as I needed to agree to assist her. All her illusions are real, true magic, and she’s engaged in a competition to be played out at the Circus.” Realization suddenly lights his eyes. “I suppose that makes you the competitor, then? She didn’t seem to know who they were.”

“Aye, I am. And I would appreciate it if you would keep that fact between us. This particular game doesn’t precisely encourage familiarity between contestants.”

August waves him off. “Of course. Now, are you here just to talk about the carousel - or do you have something else in mind?”

“You read my mind,” Killian says, letting a smile spread across his face. “I have an unusual idea, one that I think you can be of assistance with.”

———

Emma should have known that her opponent would hear of the carousel, and of her partnership with Mr. Booth. What she hadn’t expected was for Mr. Booth to send her a letter, detailing an idea her competitor had brought to him.

One they want her involvement in as well.

It’s a simple idea, on the surface - a maze of rooms. Its brilliance is in how it allows the two of them to interact and compete directly as they build off of each others’ ideas. Once the maze is brought to life, once visitors enter the tent, they reach a hallway lined with doors, each leading into other rooms with other doors, and so on. Some will be hidden; some will be obvious. It is entirely up to Emma and whoever she is competing against to build out each room, testing the limits of imagination and reality and magic. 

It’s like a puzzle on a massive scale - each piece fitting into others which in turn fit into others. It’s fascinating to see the things her opponent comes up with over time - creations that play with structure, with scale, like golden bird cages and a room where everything appears so large as to dwarf the viewer. She treasures exploring each one, finding all the hidden doors and discerning the way everything fits together. 

Emma has a niggling feeling that this is not exactly how their competition is supposed to play out - but as she opens another door, she can’t bring herself to care. 

——— 

Maybe it’s ridiculous - but Killian feels like he comes to know the lovely Miss Swan a little better through the room maze and each addition she crafts from her imagination.

She focuses on creating an atmosphere, he finds - the little things that make each space feel like an environment, rather than a room. There are lush green jungles and arid desertscapes and the illusion of a lovely rose garden. He wonders if she feels trapped; all the illusions of open spaces make him think she might. 

He can tell she truly loves the circus in all the little details she weaves in, too. It must take her incredible effort, but it’s worth it to see how leaves glisten with dew and the barest scent of earth or flowers tickles his nose and heat or chill dances along his skin. There’s pride to be found in the work she creates - all the things that take each room of the maze from the illusion of a space into something tangible and believable as its own natural world.

She’s smart, too: the hatches and doors out of her rooms are cleverly hidden, and often require searching for a key first. Killian thinks she might be trying to stump him, for all the time he spends searching for the way out in some rooms. Would she laugh if she could see him? Is he reacting in exactly the way she anticipated, or even intended?

(Would he even mind?)

He’s not such a fool as to fall a little in love with his opponent in the rooms that she builds, but he does delight in receiving these little insights to her personality. It reminds him that Miss Swan is more than his opponent - she’s a person, and one he’d love to know under other circumstances.

Only time will tell whether that makes things easier or harder.

———

To no one’s particular surprise, Regina does not approve of the maze.

“This is a waste of your time,” she proclaims to Emma on one of her rare (and never welcomed) visits. “You’re supposed to be competing, not… collaborating.” She spits out the word like it’s a profanity; who knows, it likely is in her mind. Emma wouldn’t be entirely surprised. 

“Isn’t this just a different way of competing?” Emma asks. Truthfully, she doesn’t see the fuss. “I’d think it would be easier to compare, when we have to share the same structure. Well, even more than we usually do.”

“This is not how things are supposed to work,” Regina snaps. “I didn’t train you to be so stupid about this, Emma. You know better - this is… frivolous!”

“I like it,” Emma says, letting her voice display a quiet defiance. “I think it’s wonderful.”

That’s why she’d led Regina to the maze in the first place, instead of simply taking tea in her compartment as usual - a little childish thought that maybe her mentor would see all the careful crafting she had put into each chamber. That maybe she would appreciate this unusual way in which Emma was stretching her abilities beyond what she thought was possible, challenged by the necessity of working around someone else’s ideas in the most literal, compressed way. That maybe she would be proud.

Pride, at least for others, is not something that’s in Regina’s vocabulary, however - something that Emma has never been more aware of than in this moment, standing amongst the hedges of a shifting maze within a maze. It’s an ever-changing creation, one that Emma had been particularly proud of.

It’s easier simply to wind their way to the closest exit than to attempt to convince Regina any further; Emma has long since learned her mentor is an immovable force. If Regina hasn’t been swayed by the creativity and brilliance of seeing the maze in person, no words will do it. So they’ll exit the maze and slip back into the backstage rooms, where Regina can berate her about her work ethic and how it seems like Emma doesn’t even want this while still failing to offer any concrete details or advice, until Emma can make her escape to perform another show, displaying her abilities to a kinder audience. That’s how these things always seem to go, and now that her foolishly hopeful little bubble has been broken, there’s no reason they won’t go that way again. 

Then again, there’s alway room for surprises and changes from the norm; Emma should know that, after so many years here at the Circus. As they exit into the chilled night air, Emma - and more importantly, Regina - clearly didn’t expect to run into Mulan as the sword swallower wandered back towards her own lodgings.

Most days, Emma almost forgets this other source of magic buzzing around the circus. It’s like white noise, almost; something Emma is subconsciously aware of, and can focus on when she chooses, but fades into the background most of the time. They’re friendly, but not quite friends - happy to spend time with one another, but rarely seeking each other out. Mulan is closer with Ruby, or with Belle. It’s easy, in that way, for Emma to forget the higher force that binds the two of them together - Regina herself, who has been a teacher to both of them. 

It is visibly obvious the moment they catch sight of one another: both straighten to their most rigid posture, Regina’s face shifting into something even more haughty than her usual mien, and Mulan shifting to something cool and dangerous. The air between them practically crackles with restrained magical energy, sending the hair on Emma’s arms to stand on end. Emma sends a silent thanks to whomever may be listening that this meeting occurred firmly in public; while the confrontation is primed to be bad as it is, she wouldn’t relish being forced between them in a private setting. Or a dark alley.

For all of the danger sparking the air, it is almost anticlimactic when each party finally finds their words. “Regina,” Mulan says, coolly polite and with the barest incline of her head. Regina only jerks her chin in a broken nod in response. 

And then they’re moving their separate ways, the whole thing over. Maybe it’s better that way; it would be a pity if the Circus was razed to the ground, after they’ve all put so much effort into the venue. There’s a story there, though, one Emma doesn’t know but can’t help but wonder about. She’ll have to ask Mulan, later; she knows very well that asking Regina will bear no fruit. 

(She never does, of course, just another intention lost to time and her mentor’s berating. Not that it would have done any good, anyways. Mulan keeps her secrets locked as tight as the most impressive safe.)

———

Emma knows Belle, of course - they’ve both been with the Circus for more than a decade, and Emma isn’t entirely self absorbed. They’re even friendly, in that way two people who work together but aren’t particularly close can be. But never once in all that time can Emma remember actively seeking the other woman out - for her skills or anything else. 

Belle’s particular skill unsettles Emma, she supposes. It feels a little hypocritical - Emma has magic, after all, she shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable about fortune-telling. There’s something about the talent to see glimpses of the future, however, that has never sat quite right in her mind - that has always made her ever so slightly uncomfortable. It’s not Belle’s fault; Emma knows as well as anyone that sometimes, these kinds of gifts choose their recipient instead of the other way around. 

There’s something in the air, though, something Emma can’t quite identify. There’s a niggling feeling of anticipation, like a reverse deja vu, where Emma knows something is coming, but doesn’t know what or how or when. She’s never been particularly good with that kind of uncertainty, searching for control wherever possible. It’s that search for control that brings her to Belle, seeking answers anywhere she can find them. Unusual times call for unusual measures, or some other such cliché. 

Emma goes at night, while the Circus is open, in between her own performances - just like any other querrant. It’s a simple thing to blend into the crowd - after all, no one is expecting  the illusionist to wander among them, especially in a dark coat and skirts turned crimson red with the touch of a finger. It takes no magic at all to slip down the silvery paths and duck into a tent labeled Fortune Teller: Feats of Fate and Prophecy. 

Belle snaps into character as soon as Emma brushes past the beaded curtain welcoming visitors into her space, only to relax again as she recognizes Emma’s face. “What a lovely surprise,” she comments with a pleased smile. “Sit down, sit down. What can I do for you, Emma?”

“I was hoping for a reading,” Emma explains as casually as possible - as if this is no great favor. Still, it shoots the brunette’s eyebrows up towards her hairline in surprise. 

“I must say, I didn’t expect that,” she comments. “I don’t believe you’ve asked such a thing of me before.”

“I haven’t felt the desire before.”

“Ah. You must face some kind of crossroads, then.” 

“Truthfully, I am not even sure enough to say that much,” Emma admits. Summoning a few coins into her hand, she pushes them across the table - payment for services rendered, as is typically custom in Belle’s little nook. “I hoped you might be able to shed more light on the matter than I can currently discern.”

Belle pushes the coins back. “Keep your money. Consider this a gift for a friend. Now, shall we?” As soon as Emma nods, Belle begins shuffling the cards - a quick, hypnotic motion, as each card flies past again and again. Once she’s satisfied with the shuffle, she carefully fans the cards across her table, face down. “Pick a card to represent yourself, if you please.”

Emma contemplates her options; truthfully, the tarot has never called to her, and this moment is no different. After some short examination, she selects one barely visible towards the left-hand side.

Belle chuckles a little as she turns the card over - and Emma can see exactly why, as soon as she sees the card. The Magician. 

“Now, this card often represents a plethora of abilities or options you may not be fully aware of, especially in the face of impending change or disaster,” Belle explains. “And that may still be the case. However, under the circumstances, I suspect this card is supposed to be taken rather more literally in this particular reading, Madame Magician.”

Belle shuffles again, before cutting the deck into three portions and directing Emma to select one. Replacing the selected stack back at the top at the pile, she quickly doles the cards back out, in practiced patterns and an unexpected elegance. There are flashes of cups and swords on the cards between them, interspersed with picture cards of women and wheels and a couple reaching for one another.

(Emma does not think she has the time for whatever a card like The Lovers may symbolize.)

“I see what you mean,” Belle says after a long moment. “There are significant changes here - in circumstance, in thinking, and in feelings. Whatever knot you have been working at in your mind will begin to unravel - one change that will spur many more. Now these changes - they seem imminent.”

“How imminent?”

Belle cocks her head, examining again. “There’s rarely an evident timeline that I can see,” she admits, “but I would wager in the coming weeks or months.”

Emma nods. It’s not really an answer - but it feels like validation, somehow. Like someone else can sense that something is on the horizon. 

“Now, I asked about a crossroads, before we started,” Belle continues. “The changes that are coming - they will not be your crossroads. This will not be the moment you have to make that decision. But each change will compound upon each other until it leads you to that crossroads - a choice you’ll make that will change everything, again. It will not be for some time yet, but those seeds are being sown now.”

Emma nods slowly, taking it all in. There is an odd comfort in Belle’s words, even as Emma tells herself not to put too much stock in it. “Thank you,” she finally says. “Is there anything else you can see?”

Belle shakes her head ruefully. “Not that I can see now, no. But I’ll keep looking. Sometimes, these things make themselves clearer given a few hours to think on them.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

Emma ponders the words as she emerges back into the night. A momentous change to come seems inevitable - both from her instincts and Belle’s own readings. All that’s left to do is brace herself and face that change with an open mind and courage.

The weeks and months to come may change everything - and Emma intends to be ready for it. 

———

We’ll be back in England next month - just in time for the rains, I’m sure. As if they ever stop. I anticipate many inclement weather parties in my future, and I don’t even need the cards to tell me that. 

Speaking of which - be on the lookout for something, Killian. Change is in the cards and in the air. Something is on the horizon, and I think it’s best you be ready for whatever that might be.

We’ll have tea one afternoon next time I’m in town, and you can buy me an absurd amount of books. I have several recommendations to give you from the last batch. I expect you’ll feign interest and the time to read, just as always, but I don’t particularly care. You’ll do it because I’m your friend, and you love me.

Yours &c., 

Belle

———

That same feeling of anticipation, of something in the air, only intensifies when the Circus returns to London for a short stretch. It’s been growing ever since Emma spoke with Belle, becoming more urgent as time goes by. A breaking point must come soon - though what that will herald, Emma doesn’t pretend to know. There’s no use continuing to worry over something that will only reveal itself at the right time.

Emma throws herself into rediscovery instead, wandering all those places she used to know. It’s hard to call London home, even though she grew up here - that designation has only ever belonged to her cramped and cozy little train compartment - but the city is familiar in a way that’s comforting. She spent the first 24 years of her life here, after all; even trapped under Regina’s thumb, she was able to discover little corners of the city all her own, park benches and cafe tables and backstage theater rooms. 

(She doesn’t intend to visit her benefactor during this stop, if she can at all help it; bringing Regina into things always invites trouble that Emma would rather avoid.)

It’s raining on their first day in town, of course, like her own meteorological welcome. Emma smiles a bit at the thought of the clouds and raindrops and wind whispering a hello - though truthfully, she’s seen odder things. She’s orchestrated odder things. The soft patter of raindrops on her umbrella is almost soothing as she walks down the cobbled streets to a favorite remembered cafe. Emma loves the Circus with every fiber of her being, both as her creation and as her home; still, sometimes it’s nice to escape for an afternoon and enjoy the anonymity of people watching or reading a nice book. Some days, she wants that distance; to be just another face in the crowd.

The afternoon passes quietly and uneventfully with her tea and scone and a silly novel. It’s easy to blend into this little corner of London, tucked into the corner of a quiet street off the main road. Emma has always liked this place, and tries to visit whenever she’s in the city; it’s something about the way that light dapples through the wide windows at the front, always perpetually just the slightest bit grimy, like dirt had accumulated just as soon as some poor soul had taken the efforts to clean them off. The used bookstore just across the street is a wonderful bonus too, where Emma sometimes finds unexpected treasures. Here, she can be just anyone else - no expectations, no grand fate. Just a woman at a weathered table. 

All too soon, the clock on the wall chimes 4pm, prompting Emma to gather her things to leave. This time of year, even though spring approaches, the sun still sets early, heralding the opening of the circus’ wide gates. Emma is lucky enough to set her own performance hours during the night, generally aiming to do three or four shows in an evening; however, it’s still important that she’s fully ready for the evening by the time the first visitors trickle into the grounds, regardless of the fact that she won’t make her own dramatic entrance for at least another half hour. 

As she bustles out the door, she mentally runs through her checklist for the night of tricks she might like to perform. That’s the freeing thing about performing with real magic; not having to depend on mechanics means that she can improvise, that every single show can be different as she feeds off the audience and her current whims. 

She’s so busy running through her possibilities for the night that she doesn’t notice she’s grabbed the wrong umbrella - not at first, at least. It’s just one amongst a cluster of black fabric in the umbrella stand, each nearly identical to each other. Emma’s put a special charm on hers that repels the rain; that slight buzz of magic is the only thing that differentiates hers from all the others. She picks it out by the feel alone, absentmindedly, before exiting into the deluge.

Something is off, though - something she realizes the further she walks from the cafe and comes back to full awareness. The charm on the umbrella is wonderfully effective, as always, but there’s something… wrong about the magic. Emma’s own magic has a particular warm feel to it, one that largely fades into the background of her mind until she barely notices it. This, though… the buzz continues, like a pricking or a tickle under her skin. Foreign.

Not hers.

Realization draws her up short. This umbrella - clearly imbued with powerful magic - magic like her opponent would possess - in the cafe at the same time - 

A polite clearing of the throat causes Emma to whip around, revealing an unexpectedly familiar face: Jefferson’s assistant, the handsome one, who she remembers lurking at the edges of ballrooms and the back of theatres and in the densest of crowds. Jones - something with a K. Or a C? Kelvin? Carson? No —

“Excuse me, Miss Swan,” Killian Jones smiles warmly, “but I believe you have my umbrella.”

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #134: Kiyohime (Lancer)

Our first summer is nearing its end, but we’re not finished quite yet. Today we’re building Kiyohime once more! Stalk a certain someone, and set ablaze anyone who’d dare come between you two!

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: Watch out WATCH OUT! RKO OUTTA NOWHERE!

Race and Background

Like the other summer servants we’re not changing too much here. Kiyohime’s still a Dragonborn, though her exact color is up to you. If you’d prefer a flavor match, go red or gold. If you want an aesthetic match, go white. Regardless, you get +2 Strength and +1 Wisdom (thanks, Tasha), a Breath Weapon that deals damage based on your color, and Resistance to that damage as well. (Fire for red and gold, cold for white.) You can use this once per short rest, and its saving throw is 8 + your proficiency + your constitution modifier.

You’re also still an Urban Bounty Hunter. Your actual background is rather vague in-game, and this gives you perks for stalking people, giving you proficiency with Insight and Stealth. 

Ability Scores

Kiyohime’s a bit of a paradox thanks to how DND groups things in their stats. On one hand, being a good stalker requires good perception, a.k.a., good Wisdom. On the other, she’s got a madness enhancement. Fortunately she’s a lancer now, so there’s less reason to dump that stat. Second is Strength. Your naginata technique could use some work, but you’re enthusiastic, and that’s what counts. After that is Dexterity, because you’re quick on your feet. Your Constitution isn’t amazing, but you’re normally a glass cannon anyway. Your Intelligence isn’t amazing but it’s summer so it’s not like anyone’s going to notice. Finally, dump Charisma. It turns out constantly being on fire makes you unpopular in the middle of a heat wave, who knew?

Class Levels

1. Ranger 1: We’ll get your swimsuit on soon, but first: stalking! First level rangers learn a Favored Enemy, giving you advantage on survival and intelligence checks against them, plus an extra language. Grab Human to better track down your master, and Aasimar to keep tabs on another member of the My Room Trio. I know you have a truce going, but it’s best to play it safe. You’re also Canny, doubling your proficiency with Survival checks for all occasions, not just your favored prey.

Speaking of, you get proficiency with Strength and Dex saves, as well as Athletics, Survival and Perception, all going towards our final goal of becoming the ultimate stalker.

2. Monk 1: Your stalking expertise makes you so observant that you don’t even need armor to protect yourself. Your Unarmored Defense gives you an AC based on your dexterity and wisdom. 14 still isn’t amazing, but we’ll work on it. You also get Martial Arts, making your monk attacks (unarmed attacks and all weapons monks are proficient with) deal at least 1d4 damage, and growing as you level in the class. You can also use dexterity instead of strength when attacking, but you’re a stronk (strong monk), so we won’t be doing that. Also, when you make a monk attack as an action, you can make an unarmed attack as a bonus action. Give it your all, and I’m sure Anchin will notice you!

3. Ranger 2: Second level rangers learn a fighting style, and Dueling will help you deal solid damage with your spear while leaving your hand open for spells, dealing +2 damage with one-handed weapons. Oh, right, you also get Spells this level, they use your Wisdom to cast.

Absorb Elements will help you add a little fire to your attacks right away if you went the white dragon route, and Hunter’s Mark deals extra damage once per turn on your target, and also helps you stalk them no matter who they are, giving advantage on perception and survival checks to find them.

4. Ranger 3: If we want to get serious about this stalking business, we’ve got to turn to the conclave literally named after it. As a Gloom Stalker, you are a Dread Ambusher, adding your wisdom to your initiative. You also start each combat with an extra 10′ of movement your first turn. Also for one turn only, you can make an extra weapon attack, if it hits you deal an extra 1d8 damage.

That’s not all! Your Umbral Sight helps your dumb dragonborn eyes see in the dark, with 60 feet of darkvision. You’re also invisible to other creatures with darkvision when in darkness. That room is cramped at night, it’s hard to find a hiding space.

Like any good ranger, you get Primeval Awareness, burning a spell slot to sense aberrations, celestials, dragons, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead within 1 mile of you. It’s not super in canon, but keeping tags on the competition isn’t a bad idea.

Finally, spells: Searing Smite is a longer burn, for when you really want your opponent to suffer. You also get Disguise Self as a conclave spell.

5. Ranger 4: Use this Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Wisdom for stronger spells and better ambushes.

6. Ranger 5: Fifth level rangers get an Extra Attack each attack action, meaning you can now hit someone four times on your first turn: 2 from your normal attacks, 1 from dread ambusher, and 1 from martial arts. Nobody can say you’re not putting in effort.

You also learn second level spells this level! Locate Object is the closest thing to magical tracking we’re getting, but it’s fine. It’s not like Anchin would ever get rid of that bracelet you gave him, right? You also learn Rope Trick, allowing you to literally pop out of thin air when master shows up.

7. Monk 2: Your tracking’s solid, but we’re not that fast. Thankfully, the second level of monk fixes that with Unarmored Movement, giving you extra speed as you level up, as long as you don’t wear armor. You also get Ki Points equal to your monk level, which you can use to attack twice, dash, disengage, or dodge as a bonus action. They recharge each short rest.

8. Monk 3: You’re supposed to be Kiyohime, but we’ve been disturbingly short on fire so far. Let’s fix that. As a Four Elements monk, you become a Disciple of the Elements, giving you two elemental disciplines that you can spend ki points to activate. Elemental Attunement is free, using your action to perform small elemental effects like sensory effects, lighting candles, warming objects, and shaping elements. If you’re creative you can have fun with it, it’s basically prestidigitation. You also learn Sweeping Cinder Strike, spending 2 ki points to cast Burning Hands using your wisdom.

You can also Deflect Missiles as a reaction, reducing the pain arrows can cause you, and even letting you throw them back if you block all of it. Finally, your Ki-Fueled Attacks let you attack as a bonus action if you spend ki as your main action.

9. Monk 4: I’m allergic to odd numbers, so we’re using this ASI to become a Piercer. Your dexterity rounds out, and once per turn you can re-roll a die of piercing damage. You also deal an extra die of damage when making critical hits with piercing weapons. Turns out, you should use the pointy end. What will they think of next?

10. Monk 5: This extra attack doesn’t stack, but you do learn how to make Stunning Strikes, spending a ki point after attacking a foe to force them to make a constitution save or get stunned for a round. At least it’s not a complete dud.

11. Monk 6: Sixth level monks get Ki Empowered Strikes, making their unarmed attacks magical against resistances. You also learn a new elemental discipline: Clench of the North Wind lets you trap someone in a giant bell by casting Hold Person on them.

12. Ranger 6: Sixth level rangers get one more set of Favored Enemies: Grung finishes off the bedroom trio, but that still leaves you with another humanoid of your choice. You also become Roving, giving you an extra 5 feet of movement speed, as well as a climbing and swimming speed. Now there’s nowhere to run.

13. Monk 7: Evasion seems pretty common in these builds, huh? You probably know the drill by now: dex saves deal half damage on failures, 0 on successes. You also get Stillness of Mind, letting you end an effect that’s frightening or charming you as an action. You only have eyes for Master, after all.

14. Monk 8: Use this ASI to make your Strength even higher for better stabbings.

15. Monk 9: With your Unarmored Movement Improvement, you can now run up walls and over water. Okay, now there’s nowhere to run.

16. Monk 10: Our final level of monk gives you a Purity of Body that makes you immune to disease and poison. Your internal body temperature’s probably pretty high. Plus, you’re saving yourself for master, no germs allowed. 

17. Ranger 7: Back in gloom stalker, your Iron Mind gives you proficiency in Wisdom saves. If someone tried to control your mind, that might stop you from killing protecting Anchin, how horrible!

You also learn Pass Without Trace, for advanced stalking techniques.

18. Ranger 8: Use your last ASI to max out your Wisdom for the best survival and perception checks. You’re also Fleet of Foot, letting you ignore nonmagical difficult terrain and plants, as well as giving you advantage on saves against magical plants. Crawling through tight spaces is no problem for you, you practically own the vents in Chaldea.

19. Ranger 9: Ninth level rangers get third level spells. Elemental Weapon lets you add a bit of firepower to your spear and make it magical, while Fear is just your general effect on people.

20. Ranger 10: Our final level makes you Tireless, giving you temporary hp as an action six times per long rest. You also remove levels of exhaustion on short rests now.

You can also Hide in Plain Sight, creating camouflage over a minute that adds +10 to your stealth checks as long as you don’t move from your position. Being a true stalker requires patience, and an intimate knowledge of your prey’s habits. Also, a lot of mud, surprisingly. Covering yourself is easy. Covering the rest of the hallway so you’re disguised? That’s the hard part.

Pros:

With doubled proficiency, a maxed out wisdom stat, and advantage, you make for a pretty good stalker. Track down the love of your life, and don’t take no for an answer!

Finding them is only half the game- the other half is mobility. You’ve got 55 feet of movement speed (65 on the first turn), and you can climb, swim, or just walk on water to reach your goals. Most people can’t outspeed you, and almost nothing can get out of your reach.

Speaking of first turns, you can make five attacks in that first turn of combat. Combine that with something like Elemental Weapon and your already prodigious spear skills and you can deal some serious damage before they even know what hit them.

Cons:

For a melee fighter your HP isn’t amazing, especially with your AC that only reaches 17 by the end of the build. Stay light on your feet, you’ll need it.

Semi-related, but a lot of your spells require concentration, meaning you can’t have them all up at once and you might waste a slot if you get sucker punched after casting.

Monks like bonus actions, Rangers like bonus actions, but you certainly don’t like bonus actions. Basically, you have way too much stuff to keep up with that all use your bonus actions to do so. It’s rare that “too many options” is a bad thing, but here we are.

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 23//

Masterlist

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia) *bold tags don’t work ;-;

Sorry this chapter is late today, it’s just been a crazy hectic week, but I’ve been determined to still post on Monday’s dammit! Even at 8PM 😅 Enjoy! 

XXX

A week into our newfound peace, Rhys and I were glad to be rid of Keir and the ongoing threat he posed, but now faced the aftermath of the Illyrians and the rebellion they had raised on their side of the coup. While Keir and his Darkbringer generals had been easily taken care of by Mor, we were now faced with the task of dispensing the repercussions to the Illyrian camp lords that sided with Kallon.

"I want all the camp lords dead," Rhys said—darkly and very matter-of-factly to our inner circle; all of us having gathered in the small cabin at Windhaven.

Following the battle, it only took a couple of days to round up the rogue Illyrians into the prison camps that had been established. Cassian had also separated the camp lords from their legions and imprisoned them separately. He, Azriel, Rhys and I decided early on that their sentences would differ from their soldiers as a warning that another attempt like this wouldn't be taken lightly—if our powerful friends throughout the other courts weren't foreboding enough. As the days passed, most of our court allies had returned back to their respective territories; Tamlin being the first, followed by Tarquin with the promise to send any other additional aide we might need; as well as good wishes for my mate and I and our baby. Eris left shortly after without any additional fanfare, but gave us a less-than subtle reminder of his father who continued to rot in their dungeons, though any thoughts of possibly dealing with the elder male left me weary. Rhys assured me that Eris would be more than pleased to manage with his father. Only a few days after that, Helion and Thesan agreed to stay behind with their general commanders and a small intel of higher-ranking soldiers in order to help keep an eye on our newly stationed prisons. They decided to leave the rest of this issue in our hands by wisely sitting out of the meetings Rhys and I had with our family.

Cassian visibly stiffened at my mate's words, but before he had a chance to protest, I held up a hand and turned to him. "That is almost half of the camp lords in Illyria, some that have been in their position for centuries, Rhys," I shared a quick exchange with Cassian, who looked on with approval.

"You, Cassian, and Azriel came to the conclusion long ago that this had to be dealt with more delicately, right?" I posed.

The tension in Rhys's shoulders remained, but his face shifted from dark to moderate as his eyes trailed over my rounded stomach; more pronounced than ever at this stage, and more so while I sat in the chair at the table we gathered around. With only a little less than two months to go, I was growing increasingly uncomfortable as the days dragged on. With the dust settled, the adrenaline I had gathered in the past weeks began to dissipate—leaving me with the aches and pains I had grown accustomed to, along with my more sluggish movement.

Rhys's gaze lingered on my stomach. "That was a decade ago, when we were speculating. Things played out a lot differently than we originally anticipated."

"But we had a hunch on this outcome, Rhys. Feyre is right, we were right back then. We can't kill our way out of this one," Cassian explained.

From the corner of my eye I noticed Azriel silently watching their exchange, arms crossed, and it didn't take much to assume what his opinion on the matter was.

"Well how else do we send a message to them? Apparently executing the camps who sided with Amarantha didn't send it clear enough, because they pulled this," Mor challenged.

I turned a withered gaze in her direction. She did have a point, but I still couldn't help feeling that simply sentencing high-ranking Illyrians to death wasn't the answer we needed.

"That, and the losses they suffered from the war with Hybern only added to their list of grievances against us. Adding more to their dead would only strengthen that point for them," Cassian argued.

"These people are ruthless," Nesta pointed out, staring Cassian down hard as his head turned at her words. "The only way to match that and make sure our point is received is by being equally merciless."

"The girl has a point, Cassian." Amren drawled from her spot next to me, her petite legs draped casually on the table. "Violence begets violence."

"We don't need any more violence," Elain suddenly said, surprisingly assertive—even as everyone directed their astonished stares at her.

"Feyre is about to have a baby. That baby is going to take over as High Lord one day, and we don't want him inheriting the difficulties you all have been dealing with for centuries," she explained. "The whole reason we sought to end this coup was to herald in a new era of peace. So, we have to establish that now. Somehow."

I smiled gratefully in return and noticed that while Nesta and Cassian stared at my otherwise timid sister, Azriel fought a grin on his composed face. Amren, however, allowed a long feline grin to grow on her lips.

"Wise words, girl," she said casually.

Mor's grin was friendly, but worried. "That would be ideal, but these are the Illyrians we're talking about."

"There must be something we can do," Elain insisted.

"There is," Rhys finally spoke up. "But will be hard pressed to find."

I drummed my fingertips along the apex of my belly, Sebastian mercifully sleeping after a night of constant kicking, and I debated aloud. "What if we took something of value to them? Something that would cost them they're rank and force them into different occupations in the camps? Like say...an ability?"

Azriel was the first to understand what I meant, eyes growing wide with an astonished blink, Rhys and Cassian following and looking equally shocked.

"That practice was banned centuries ago," Rhys said, though he didn't sound too bothered.

"In regard to females," Cassian interjected as he crossed his arms again with a smug smirk.

"It would certainly make them wish they were dead," Azriel added, also unbothered.

"And makes for a rather profound impact," I concluded with a small grin. "Any other sympathizers for their cause will think twice before trying to oppose our rule again."

Mor and Amren seemed to catch onto what we were implying, as did Nesta—who bent down to mutter in our sister's ear to inform her. Elain's eyes went wide but didn't protest.

"Well girl, it appears pregnancy hasn't affected that mischievous mind of yours," Amren mused, grey eyes almost seeming to shimmer as she spoke.

"It looks like we have our solution then," Mor said with a satisfied sigh. "Can we get the hell out of this frozen tundra now and go back to Velaris?"

Rhys nodded, placing a hand on the back of my chair. "We will, just as soon as Feyre darling delivers the sentences to the camp lords."

I blinked and turned my head to face him. "Me?" I asked.

"Well, it was your idea, my love," Rhys replied with a wicked grin.

"And since you weren't at the battle, it'd be good for them to hear and see their High Lady. Give them another reminder of your position and the power you hold as well," Cassian said.

I sighed tiredly, running both hands along the expanse of my belly. I wanted nothing more than to return to Velaris—return home and finally enjoy this newly-granted peace, before a new chaos ensued in the form of a newborn high fae infant.

I promise, the first thing I'll do when we return to Velaris is draw you a warm bath

And bring me as many chocolate covered strawberries as I want? I asked in return.

His responding chuckle was aloud as he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. I'll bring you whatever you're craving and more, my love

I smiled at him in return before facing the others. "All right, I'll address the camp lords and hand out their sentences, but I don't think I can stomach watching it all be carried out."

"Az and I will see to that, and we'll have the other prisoners and camp lords bear witness. That will guarantee that none of them ever try anything like this again," Cassian promised, though for a second I saw a glimmer of that long-held pain reflected in his eyes.

After the week it took to gather the last of our prisoners and the last efforts it took to clean up this mess, I still didn't get that moment alone to speak with Cassian. The night following the battle, Rhys had let down his black adamant shields, allowing me to see the fighting that took place after Keir's death. While the Illyrians and Darkbringers managed to hold their own for a time, they were certainly no match against our numbers with the other High Lord's forces combined. Even through his memories I could feel the ache my mate felt when facing his own people; the people and traditions he had been primarily raised in thanks to his mother. That ache and betrayal was just as present in Cassian, who would let out frustrated shouts of anger as he fought his fellow Illyrian warriors. Through Rhys's memory, I saw flashes of Cassian in battle and the inner turmoil he endured as he took down Illyrian after Illyrian. Both he and Rhys did their best to only knock them unconscious rather than kill them outright, but there were instances when it was their only option.

I stared at Cassian a little longer than I meant to, having realized it when he frowned with concern. "Feyre?" he asked.

I looked down at my lap, half covered by my belly, and squeezed Rhys's hand, still on my shoulder. "I need a moment with Cassian, please," I said to no one in particular.

Rhys pressed a kiss to the crown of my head as confirmation, and I didn't look up as I heard the scrapping of chairs as the others filed out of the cabin one-by-one. I waited until I heard the soft click of the door closing before I lifted my head to face the general—my general and commander.

My eyes stung as I sighed. "Cassian, I...I never got to apologize to you, for all of this," I started softly. "For your own people turning on you, and Rhys, and Az. For you having to fight them at all. I-I can't imagine how hard it must've been for you during that battle."

He crossed over to my side, pulling out a chair and turning it to face mine as he sat across from me. "Feyre, you're not the one who should be apologizing, there is no need," he said before taking my hands in his. "I have dealt with the Illyrians' resentment for centuries and learned a long time ago that I would never be more than some bastard-born nobody to them. I've accepted that."

"Still, to have to take down your own, to face them across the field and know of their intentions…" I said and shook my head with a sigh.

"It might've stung a little, but my loyalties lie elsewhere," he said with a small squeeze of my hands.

I offered him a sad smile in return, but he grinned. "I may command these legions, and consider myself a proud Illyrian male, but that is separate from you, Rhys, and the others. The Illyrians may be the foundation on which I was raised and trained, but Velaris—the rest of you, are my people."

Tears sprang to my eyes before I had the chance to control them and Cassian laughed, standing so he could kneel at my side and wrap an arm around my shoulders. He rubbed my back lightly as I cried.

"I'm beginning to wonder if you'll ever return back to the old Feyre once the little one is born. She was able to control her tears better," he contemplated.

I shoved his shoulder and he laughed again. "You have no idea how hard it is to control my emotions right now," I motioned to my stomach. "He has complete control over me."

"Oh, I don't envy that at all," he said before standing upright and offering me a hand up.

I sniffed as I took his hand, standing with a grunt of effort and resting a hand on the small of my back. "Thank you, Cassian," I said. "For helping make his world safer."

Cassian grinned in return, bowing with a hand over his heart—as he had when he swore his first oath to me. "Anything in service and protection for my High Lady," he said with a wink.

I laughed and after clearing away any lingering tears, he escorted me outside of the cabin; where I would address the imprisoned Illyrian camp lords and perform as High Lady for the last time before giving birth to their future High Lord.

XXX

Rhys's speech had been short and to the point. We agreed he would address the camp lords first before turning the verdict of their punishment to me. The minute the word clipped left my mouth, audible shocked gasps could be heard from the other camp residents and prisoners. Devlon's face was steeled over, despite having agreed with us on this course of action, I imagined the thought of losing one's ability to fly made every male here recoil—though Devlon's face remained as hard as ever.

Half of the camp lords looked disbelieving, thinking we wouldn't actually follow through on such a promise; until Kallon himself foolishly stepped forward and expressed as much, followed by spitting on the ground in front of where Rhys and I stood. Azriel had been quick in his response, a cobalt siphon flickering before a blue light shot out and flattened Kallon on his back—bright blue netting holding him down as he thrashed to get free. Azriel slowly walked over and forced one of the male's wings open, Truth-Teller in hand, before swiftly and brutally making the cut.

I tried not to look away even as my stomach churned at the male's screams. I continued to watch in abject horror until Rhys placed a hand on my back and led me away without another word, Cassian stepping into our place as we left.

The screams followed me all the way back to Velaris, Rhys carrying me in his arms as we flew through the skies as carefully as possible. Even now as I stood on the front balcony of the estate, overlooking the Sidra and city beyond, the anguished screams echoed through my mind for much longer than I wanted. It wasn't remorse that twisted in my gut—no, Kallon and every camp lord that decided to follow him deserved to be clipped as their punishment.

"It's the centuries and centuries you know that practice was performed on females," Rhys suddenly said from behind me, and I realized my shields were down as I twisted to find him leaning against the doorframe leading back into the estate. "And you're worried how they might retaliate."

I frowned, running both hands over the front of my stomach, holding it. "Do you think they will?" I asked softly.

Rhys sauntered over to me, pressing a lingering kiss to my brow. "It's certainly a possibility, but we'll be keeping a much closer eye on those camps, and the females residing there," he reassured me.

I sighed shakily with a nod, placing my hands on his shoulders. "I just...don't want them to use it as an excuse to clip any more females, even the ones that sympathized with their cause," I admitted.

"If they do, they'll pay the consequences. And for any other bullshit they try to pull," he pressed another kiss to my brow, both hands coming to hold my stomach. "But I have a feeling this will bring them down a couple notches, so we may not have anything to worry about for a while."

"I hope you're right about that," I said, closing my eyes with relief as he massaged the sides of my stomach, the muscles beneath my skin sore.

"Am I ever wrong, Feyre darling?" He asked with a wicked grin.

"You don't want me to answer that," I teased.

He gasped in mock hurt. "You wound me, my love," he said as his hands moved to my hips, eliciting a groan from my lips as he massaged the tender spots where the muscles of my stomach met my hips. "Come get some rest, it's been a hectic week."

I nodded and followed him back into our home, placing both of my hands on the small of my back as I began walking ahead of him. "Your son is starting to get heavier and heavier these days," I complained.

I glanced over my shoulder, seeing the wide grin on his face and raised a brow as he watched me walk. "What is it?" I asked.

"Your gait has changed, Feyre darling, that's all," he said as he caught up to my side, resting a hand in place of mine on my back.

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You're starting to waddle," he answered, his grin widening.

I balked and took a few more steps, noticing that I certainly was shifting my weight in a slight swaying motion as I walked. "Well, you can't blame me, I am carrying around a splendid burden in my gut."

"You certainly are, my love," he laughed as he guided me to the living area

I held onto both of his arms as I lowered myself onto the sofa, glad I had chosen such luxuriously soft furnishings for each room of the manor. "It's only going to get bigger...much bigger," I said as I stared at my stomach.

Rhys sat beside me, draping an arm over the back of the seat behind me. "That's a good thing. Madja says we want a healthy, cherub-cheeked babe," he said.

His violet eyes sparkled as he began stroking my stomach gently, his grin transforming into a warm smile. I smiled at him in return. "It's all just...becoming so real now. We've spent so much time worrying about the coup, and even though we had those periods of respite, it always lingered over us," I explained. "Now the only thing we have to look forward to is...becoming parents."

"Are you nervous?" Rhys asked, keeping a hand on my stomach.

I shook my head. "I'm excited to meet him, and hold him...to see you hold him," my eyes stung at just the mention of it and laughed at myself—exasperated at how quickly I continued to be reduced to tears.

Rhys pulled me closer, placing a kiss at my temple before moving to my ear. "I can't wait to see him in your arms, to see you nurse him and rock him to sleep," he purred.

I sniffed and nuzzled into his embrace, resting my face into the nape of his neck, breathing in his salt and citrus scent. "It's going to be wonderful isn't it?" I asked softly.

"That, and more," he replied, his chin resting atop the crown of my head as he inhaled my scent as well, both of us basking in each other as he caressed my belly—gratitude didn't even begin to explain what we were both experiencing in this moment.

Gratitude, and hope, and so much more.

[minccinoocappuccino]

Beyblade: Evolution Review

Finally got around to writing this review for the person who asked for it

I’m going to break this review into sections so I don’t forget anything.  

◉ Mechanics ◉ Graphics ◉ Gameplay ◉ story/Plot

⚠️ I’m not a game reviewer and these opinions are just that opinions ⚠️

Mechanics 

Ok so the big thing about this particular game is that you launch the beys through gyro and motion sensors using the Nintendo 3DS’s camera...or at least that’s how it’s supposed to be done. I’ve found all you really have to do is flick your 3DS towards or away from you and it counts as a launch. You do have to launch it at the right time however as you get spirit bursts that “ make your bey stronger for a short time”. If you do launch it off it really doesn't matter much you just start off with less spirit burst which I’ll explain later why it’s fine. There's really not much else to this gimmick though you only use it to launch beys and that's it so it's only about 2 secs of a beybattle despite being one of it’s biggest selling points.

Another mechanic is changing the bey parts to make your own, which is one of the best parts in the game. You can even try and recreate character beys or just come up with your own! They draw back to this though is if you want to win you really can’t use some of the beys at all. The game has the 4 types of beys in it Attack, Defense, Stamina, and Balance but it might as well just be Defense, and Stamina only. The Attack beys are so useless using them is an instant loss unless you get a lucky knock out really fast. They have no stamina at all so once you launch them they run out faster than the ps5 did, you have seconds to knock out the longer lasting beys with no help from your spirit bursts since you won’t have time to gain them. Balance beys suffer from the jack of all master of none curse, even if you build it with mostly stamina , you might as well instead make a full Stamina instead. Side note: Orion is one of the best beys to use its really OP though it’s only able to be bought late game Sagittarius is a good early game one to pick up. 

Now let's talk about spirit bursts, they suck. There's not really a gain to using them, yes your beyblade gets stronger by spinning fast but it goes so fast it usually misses the other bey and if they other hits you while your going so fast you have a higher chance of just flying out the ring. After 35 hours of playing this mechanic has helped me exactly zero times but has caused me to lose 7 times that I remember.

Graphics

There's not actually much to talk about with its graphics seeing as how it’s almost identically to other beyblade games. They did put a lot of effort into trying to make the beyblades look realistic, but there's only so much early 2000s graphics can do. The sprites look like they were drawn and then squished down to look pixelated; they still look good however, resembling the show's art while the pixelated effect gives it a more game feel. The text boxes however are really bad imo...There are solid blue boxes that go across the entire bottom of the screen with plain white letters over it for the dialogue. The worst part about them is the characters' names are in the same front, size, and colour of the dialogue so it all just blends together. 

The backgrounds are all neat and nice nothing to complain about….except the “special backgrounds”. These are for Battles and some Mini games and they're just real life pictures of parks or buildings. There so blurry and pixelated they look like they were taken from google earth. I know they wanted to give this game the feel of playing an actual bey battle in real life but starting at a clearly modeled and textured bey and area with real grass and buildings behind it is strange and out of place. This is just a nitpick since you really don't notice it much and again I know it’s early 2000s graphics so I can't complain much I still feel just putting in backgrounds from the show or just drawn ones would have looked better.

Gameplay

So the game is like a RNG where you go to different places on the map, meet characters from the show, battle them and enter tournaments and shop for parts. It’s very simple and easy to get the hang of and progress. You have 50 turns to do all this and become the champion™. On your 10th turn you enter tournaments to win beypoints to buy new parts. There are two stadiums for tournaments and you can go to each to do this, they have different rules so pay attention to this before entering. One you can use 3 beys and the other only one, if you can only afford one good bey you need to enter the one bey only one or else you will get crushed. On your turns you progress by going to random places on the map and meeting and talking to the characters to earn points, and their friendship. By befriending a character you get to unlock their mini game plus they will give you parts of their beys as gifts which is great if you befriend Kenta but Ginga might as well be giving you trash. Each talk/battle with a character takes up one turn and it takes a couple of times fighting and beating them to get to a high friendship level enough for them to fork over there bey. Since you only have 50 turns if you want a certain bey from a character focus on them only until you get it. Fully befriending a character will also unlock more characters that show up on the map as well.

You can buy beyparts at the two stores in game the B-pit and WBBA store with Madoka and Hikaru running them. The WBBA has better choices and higher ranking beyparts but the B-pit is cheaper so starting out with the B-pit is usually the best option and then switching over after earning good parts from characters. Going to the shop does use up a turn so buy what you need in one go.

The actual battling is boring and not fun at all. Like I said earlier they really wanted this game to give you the feel of real life beybattling so after you launch your bey you just sit there and watch it spin you can’t control it all so when you get knocked out or win it feels less like skill and more like luck. I get the skill is supposed to come from customizing the best bey but unless you're using the meta beys you kinda lose so you're forced to use beys you might not like to win there's really no room for innovation. The spirit burst was supposed to cover this by giving you a sense of doing something in the battle but it’s so useless most of the time it feels like you wasted it. It’s not even an auto thing you can’t just press the spirit button and your beys instantly get its power you have to aim it and hit your bey with it while its spinning and if you hit your opponent they get it or its just gone.

The minigames aren't a big thing in the game once you befriend a character you unlock his/hers game, which two characters can have the same one, to play and earn points from it. So far I’ve only played 5 different minigames: Balloon pop: you shoot a bey at balloons rising upwards different coloured balloons will give you different number of points the faster balloons give the most Track: you tilt your DS side to side to keep you bey on the track the faster you get to the end without falling off the more points you get Ring: You shoot your bey threw moving rings the more rings you shoot threw in a row the more points you get What part is it: parts of the bey will show up on screen and you have to guess if it's a Facebolt, Energy ring, Wheel, spin track, or tip. The more you guess right the faster they fly across your screen and the wheel and energy rings can look so close together since they are zooming so fast Guess: It gives you a Facebolt, Energy ring, Wheel, spin track, or tip and you have to guess what beyblade it's from.

Story/Plot

The game was marketed as the bridge between Fury and Shogun but there is nothing about it that does that. It’s clearly set after Fury but you don’t know when. It plays out with you battling character after character shopping and mini gaming in between and then on turn 50 battling in a tournament and hoping you win and become the champion. There’s no story to it other than that no underlying plot or an evil villain you need to stop. Just battling and becoming champ.  

Talking to the character is fun but you don’t get anything else, no new secrets or facts about them. Also after you become champion the game just starts you over. You start back at turn 0 and have to do it all again and unlock everything again. The game does let you keep 25% of your beypoints the first time you beat it and 100% of them the 4th time if I remember correctly.  

Overall: It’s a good game if you prefer talking to characters over battling and story. You can still have fun with the battling system since strange things can happen with beys getting shot out or just spinning out. And the wonky gyro system can cause you to shoot your bey right out the ring which makes for some laughs. It’s a very repetitive game which isn't a bad thing inself just depends on what you like. The Metal Masters game was way better with a decent storyline and fun battle mechanics which I’ll review at a later time, and this game just fails to compete with the other beyblade games.  Of course you are allowed to like the game. I enjoyed it a fair bit, and there are really good parts in it. I just think it has so much more room to be better.

Another notes: Some characters that are mentioned to be in the game I have not seen at all such as Nile, and Zero from Shogun. There is a battle area where you just battle for fun that's not a part of the story. I have only done it once though. You are allowed to have two save files on it.

If you want to see more of it you can look through my blog I have it tagged as I play beyblade  also again I do not have gameplay footage of it but if it’s something that is requested or wanted I don’t mind recording it 

[trekkie-in-space]

KakagaiWeek2020 - Day 1 - Burden

Author : JackB

Title : Taking the Burden

Rating : General Audience.

Words : 2392

Resume : Today it’s Kakashi inauguration as the new Hokage. It doesn’t matter Gai is one week out of the coma, he will attend.

Tag : Gai killed Madara AU, Injury, Long Recovery, Negotiation, talking about death, canon disabled characters, Kakashi sharp nose hc, a bit of angst and a bit of fluff

Prompt : Burden

__

It’s not that Gai was particularly stubborn, it’s just that he had a strong will and enough optimism to last two lifetimes. It also didn’t really matter he had been forbidden from attending Kakashi inauguration as the new Hokage. He would be there without fault.

If they didn’t want him to come, they should have wrapped it up when he was still in the coma. But now he was awake and no matter how weak and frail he felt he would still go. It didn’t matter if he barely managed to push his own wheelchair, it didn’t matter if he still couldn’t stay awake for more than a couple of hours. Those things were not important, it was just details in the end.

Getting out of the hospital without being seen by the doctors and nurses was a detail. None would risk Tsunade wrath if he dared quit the hospital and they would do everything to keep him in. Sneaking past them had been feasible, he wasn’t a jonin for nothing after all. Feasible, but exhausting in itself.

Going down the stairs on the backdoor of his level with his wheelchair had been a detail, and a terrible idea. No matter how slow and gentle he managed to pass each step, the shock would awaken pain in his whole body. He had opened the eight gates, he had defeated Madara. Enduring this pain was a detail, one that left him panting and shaking at the end, sure, but a detail nonetheless.

Pushing his wheelchair through the soft slope until he reached the Konoha’s great hall, had just been another step in his mission. One he wasn’t proud of as he barely had the strength to move. He guesses he underestimated his injuries. Thankfully an old man helped him to the main door. He was grateful for the bandage still covering his whole body and face because he would surely look pallid by now and this kind man would have rushed him back to the hospital in a second if he saw it.

The fresh air still felt good though. Beside the short five minutes walk Tsunade had given him once upon insistent request, he didn’t actually have the right to step a foot outside. Even opening the windows had been strictly controlled. It was all about ‘not getting germs from outside’ and ‘regulated environment for better healing’ or ‘not catching a cold from a damn breeze’. He had argued he was more resistant than that and they could cut him some slack. Tsunade had argued back that, for a fact, he wasn’t as resistant anymore and if he didn’t stop whining she would cut visit too. He didn’t argue for too long, because you just didn’t argue with Tsunade. Or, more likely, because he passed out pretty quickly from the excitement this argument had been. It was easier to think the former than to agree with the latter.

But those were still details in his book, not enough to stop him from attending Kakashi’s inauguration. His struggle might have made him late, but it also meant nobody was here to notice he shouldn’t be here and decide they would send him back to the hospital. Nor was there anyone to see him pathetically push his wheelchair or struggle to open absolutely every door he had to pass through. You would think opening a door in a wheelchair is not that difficult. Well, it is.

With the last shaking strength he had left he pushed himself inside the great hall. All were focused on the scene and didn’t pay attention to him. He didn’t have a great view because everybody was standing, but a kind shinobi noticed him and pushed him inside the crowd to a place that allowed him a better view. It wasn’t great, but at least he could see Tsunade-sama and Kakashi, which, in the end, is the only thing that mattered.

Despite being late the ceremony had barely begun. He focused all his attention on the scene, trying to ignore his shaking body and pushes back the dizziness. He felt awful. But well, the eight gates made it an art form to put everything else into perspective. Relatively nothing could ever be as awful as the eight gates, and if he had managed it back then it meant he could handle anything now.

It was a detail really, and after everything he had done to get there he wouldn’t collapse to exhaustion.

‘Everything I’ve done.’ Not so long ago attending this ceremony wouldn’t have been such a trouble.

___

Kakashi’s senses are awakened in an instant. He wrinkles his nose.

‘No.’

His focus shift entirely out of the ceremony.

‘He dared.’

He immediately walks to Tsunade giving her speech and touches her arm to catch her attention. She turn to him with a smile.

“Oh no, you agreed to take this burden off my hands, it’s too late to flee.. ” She whispers with a grin.

“Gai’s here !” He cut, his throat is dry and he nearly strangles while telling them. He can’t believe it. Tsunade immediately lose her smile.

“No, he can’t. He’s too weak.. ”

“Just picked up his scent.”

He can see her jaws clench and anger rouse in her eyes.

“Maito Gai !” Her tone is so terrifying that nearly everybody tense despite her anger not being directed at them. It’s just instinct.

Shizune in the front row is alert at the instant she hears the name, it’s the same for every medical-nin in the room. They all know about it, it doesn’t matter if they worked on it or not, Maito’s case is so peculiar and exceptional that it’s a recurrent talk among them, there’s so much to learn from it, and they all know he shouldn’t be here. At all.

The crowd is quick to disperse around Gai and in an instant both Tsunade and Kakashi are at his side.

“What are you doing h.. ”

“Why aren’t you in your hospital bed ?” Tsunade tone is severe. She grabbed Gai by the collar and lifted him a bit out of his chair.

Gai let out a whimper, he is barely holding, his limbs shaking to the effort. He closed his eyes an instant, feeling the dizziness come back.

‘No ! Fight it, fight it !’ He opens his eyes and stares back at Tsunade. He wants to give a small apologetic smile but can’t manage it.

At his side Kakashi and Shizune, who looked pissed off at first, are now entirely focused on calming Tsunade. He hates how people see him as fragile now. He is, so it’s fair, but he still doesn’t like it.

Tsunade ignore them and give Gai a small shake. He groans and let out a huff, suddenly afraid to receive a hit because he knows for a fact he wouldn’t be able to survive it. But he also knows she wouldn’t waste all the effort they made to keep him alive to anger.

“Why are you here ?” She knows the answer, they all know the answer, but she still needs to ask.

“Couldn’t miss the new Hokage inauguration.”

“I knew we should have done it before he woke up.” Shizune says with frustration in her voice. Clearly this has been a topic they talked about a lot.

Tsunade very carefully put in back in his chair and he can’t help but grab his chest and give a shaky breath as he settles the dizziness and nausea away. They are surrounded by all the medical-nin, all ready to intervene in case a problem occurs. But Gai would hate to take more of the spotlight than he already does. This had never been his intention. He wanted to be a quiet and proud witness.

“You know you can’t be out. Do you have any idea of the risk you’re taking ? How many infections you can get just by being there ? Your immune system is already on its knees and you’re just adding to it.” She scolds. Behind her Kakashi is weirdly silent, he is not sure if he is worried or angry and Gai doesn’t like it, maybe he is mad. Maybe he would rather not have him around. “Bring him back to his room.” She order a few medical-nin.

“No.” He stops them.

“No ?” Tsunade repeat with a chuckle. Her patience getting thin.

“No ! The risk is already taken, staying won’t add to it.” He stares at her, not backing down, despite the fact she is terrifying.

“He has a point.” Kakashi notice, taking all of Tsunade anger on himself in an instant, he takes a step back just to be careful.

“He doesn’t, risk only go higher the more he stays here. It’s out of question, he belongs in a hospital bed until I say so !” She turn to Gai. “Defeating Madara don’t give you all the right !”

“It was never about that.. ”

“If he stays, we can rush the ceremony.” Kakashi proposes in a whisper.

Tsunade soften to the idea. They both want it done and out of the way as fast as possible and Gai case could allow them to break protocol. Also even if Gai protest would be fruitless in his state, she knows psychology plays a lot in successful recovery. Sending him back to the hospital after doing so much to come could actually be more detrimental to his recovery than staying would be.

She gets at his level. “I will let you stay if you promise to follow all the rules and protocols I put for your recovery after that. Deal ?” She can see at his posture and his eyes how drained he is. He is only holding out of pure spite and pride and she has to salute his will.

He holds her stare and nod. Tsunade press her lips together, ‘if he can’t even talk anymore…’ this is a bad idea.

“Fine.” She agrees but her tone is dry and severe. “We finish it in ten minutes.” She turn to Gai one last time. “Don’t come to complain if you die.” Then walks to the scene.

Gai brace himself to follow her. He is not sure he has enough strength to push his wheelchair to the front row, but thankfully Shizune is the one to push him. Kakashi gently press his hand before stepping on the scene again.

They rush the ceremony without guilt and at the instant it’s official, Kakashi rush at his side, lift him out of his chair. Tsunade is just behind.

“Hold me.” He says. It’s just a whisper and it makes Gai shiver.

He does his best to cling on him and in an instant they are out of the room and back at the hospital where doctors and nurses rush to the room as well as Tsunade who followed them.

As Kakashi lay him on the bed, he wants to say something but only manage to collapse to the feeling of Kakashi’s warms leaving him.

When he awakes again, night has fallen, only a small warm light lit up the room. Kakashi is on a chair at his side, gently falling asleep but not quite sleeping yet. A move on his part immediately rouse him up.

“You took your time.” His voice is so gentle, but also scolding, Gai can’t help but smile.

“I’ve just been out a few hours.” He says back.

“Two days actually.”

“Oh !”

Kakashi sit on the bed and grab his hand. Silent reigns between them for a moment, Kakashi gentle caress is the only thing that smooth Gai worries.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“For nearly dying a second time ? Yes, you can !” Gai frown but ignore it.

“No, for interrupting your inauguration. I didn’t mean to steal the attention. You deserved to have a proper ceremony.”

“The ceremony was proper.”

“It was rushed.”

“Which is perfect for me, you know how much I hate when it goes on, and goes on, indefinitely. You saved me here. Gave me the perfect excuse.” Gai give a small chuckle. “Plus who says I want the attention ? Feel free to steal it all, always, I don’t want it.”

“I just really wanted to see you become Hokage. It’s an honor. Congratulations.”

“It’s a burden.”

“Burden.. You’re exaggerating.” He stirs up and try to straighten but fail. His body hurt. Kakashi seeing this gently push on his chest and mutter a ‘stay’ so quiet Gai barely discern it.

“I don’t want the position.”

“Too late you took it.” Kakashi chuckles,

“I know. Everybody tells me the same. Now I have to wait until Naruto is ready to take it from me.” They pause. “You should have been the one taking the post.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious, you would have made a wonderful Hokage.. ”

“No, not anymore.”

“What ?”

“I can’t protect the village anymore if need be. I would make a pitiful Hokage.”

“Gai.. ”

“I’m.. Useless now.” Kakashi frown.

“Ah yes, as if the one who killed Madara could ever be useless.” Gai stare at him. “I mean it. And if you think I’m not gonna make you useful, you’re mistaken. There is more you can offer than your fighting. But for that you have to stop being so kin on reaching your grave early. Don’t get me wrong I’m glad you came to see me, but I’m the one supposed to die first.”

“Since when you’re supposed to be the one dying first ?”

“Since always.”

“As if I will let it happen.”

“I’m serious, stop scaring me by taking absurd risk.”

“It was not absurd risk.”

“It absolutely was. Nobody else would have managed that, one week out of the coma and with the injuries you have, yet you did. Nobody even knows how you managed not to die from the effort itself.” Gai scoff. “I want you by my side.” His tone changed, softer and bit hurt. He bends to him and slowly pull down his mask. “I need you by my side.” He gently presses his lips on Gai’s. He’s shaking and Gai only truly realize how worried he has been.

“I will.” Kakashi press his forehead against his. “I will always stay by your side as long as you have me.”

End.

[bjy-on-ao3]

Fic Friday: Helping Hand

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

This story feels like fan content-ception to me, as it spawned from some NSFW art I made featuring Izaya, which was made from doodles to start with. Still scheming, but a lot more simple than my other fics with Izaya. Leaving this one a little open-ended in case I came back to it for Izaya returning the favor as he suggested. Not currently decided for sure though. I recently got my first request for Izaya and am brewing that, though it could be some time before I can get something down. It should be pretty fun though and spicier than this. (Note: Apologies for no cut - I am not sure how I add a cut with the new editor :/) Summary Invited over to Izaya’s apartment, Reader arrives too early and interrupts the informant’s alone time. And unfortunately (or fortunately), Izaya has no qualms about asking for a little help. Tags/Warnings Blowjobs, Come Swallowing, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut

Helping Hand (F! Reader/Izaya Orihara)

Arriving at the non-descript door in the hall of the impressive-looking apartment building, you hesitated. A few quick glances confirmed the numbers by the door matched up with the information listed in your phone’s address book. A few times before you had been to the apartment, but you hadn’t memorized everything about the address. All things considered, it was surprising you weren’t late this time, as you had been each time in the past. Maybe you were improving a little.

You raised a fist and drummed it against the door, starting light and polite. Nothing. You rapped harder. Surely that was loud enough to be heard? Your assumption was disproved when all that met you was silence, leaving you alone still in the hallway. You frowned in frustration and impatience. You knocked a third time, waiting a minute, wondering if he was preoccupied or just enjoying making you wait. When all remained quiet again, your frown deepened.

You looked back down at your phone, silently navigating to the texting feature and typing you a message irritably.

(X:XX PM): I’m here. I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear it.

You didn’t need to wait more than fifteen seconds before your phone buzzed in reply. Two words met your gaze, followed after a moment by a second slightly longer message.

Izaya (X:XX PM): You’re early.

Izaya (X:XX PM): I’m a little busy right now.

You paused, your scowl becoming confusion, and you scrolled back up through the conversation. The log confirmed the time you had been told and the one in the corner of your phone matched. ‘ Early? Right. Don’t tell me Izaya of all people forgot.’

(X:XX PM): I checked and either I’m on time or you screwed up and sent me the wrong time.

Arguing with him wouldn’t do you any good one way or another; Izaya wasn’t one to genuinely apologize for any inconveniences he caused others. But correcting him made you feel a little better and somewhat less cross at least.

Izaya (X:XX PM): Oh, did I?

Izaya (X:XX PM): Well, if you don’t like waiting, you can just come in. Door’s unlocked.

Your face twisted again, now into a skeptical surprise. Izaya just left his door unlocked? Izaya Orihara, the man who had probably as many enemies as he had clients, decided it was smart to let whoever wanted to waltz right in. Yeah, that made sense. You wondered if he enjoyed the excitement of the potential danger.

(X:XX PM): Hardly seems like a good idea for YOU to leave your door unlocked, but whatever.

With a dismissive shrug, you tucked your phone into your pocket and reached for the knob. Pushing it open, you stepped inside quickly and closed it gently behind you. You took a step away before pausing, turning back and locking the door as an afterthought. Izaya could endanger himself all he wanted, but you would rather there be at least some kind of barrier between whatever messy trouble came looking for him.

Walking past the foyer, you expected to see him perched on his chair, clacking noisily away at his keyboard, fixed on the screens of his computers and cellphones or something of the sort. The chair was empty though, turned away from the screens. You scanned the area for the ever-frustrating information broker. Quickly, you noticed him tucked away in the corner of the dark-colored leather section, his back facing you. His head rested against the couch, one long arm lying curled over its back. For someone supposedly busy, Izaya looked pretty relaxed from where you were standing.

“You don’t look real busy to me,” you accused once you spotted him.

Izaya shifted, tilting his head further back to glance over his outstretched arm at you. “Oh, I am, I assure you.” He looked and sounded as collected as ever, as if nothing could or should trouble him. Except… was it just you, or did his face seem a bit red? “But I’ll be just a few minutes. Feel free to wait for me there,” Izaya suggested. There was something off as well about the quality of his voice you couldn’t place.

“Uh huh,” you said, unsure if you felt unsettled or just irritated still. Maybe a little of both.

He had told you to wait, yet your curiosity nagged at you viciously, demanding to see what exactly preoccupied him. Or maybe it was indignation needing to see what was so pressing he couldn’t remember the time he had told you. You took a few steps, intending to round the recessed floor area and the sectional to see what he was doing.

“You really should wait over there,” he warned you casually, the strange tone of his voice sounding stronger, but still indecipherable.

You scoffed, ignoring the warning and carrying on. When you swept around the corner of the area though, what you saw stopped you dead in your tracks, poised on the lip of the steps down. At first the strangled squeak that burst from your mouth didn’t quite register, nor did the immediate hot flush that fell across your face.

Izaya looked very comfortable where he sat, leaning back into the plush cushions. From the top-down, at first he looked perfectly normal, if a little flushed, one of his usual ‘v’-neck shirts tantalizing displaying a bit of his delicate-looking collarbones. Though the picture grew more suspect the further you went. The hem of his shirt was lifted, askew and higher on one side than the other, exposing his lean torso. That wasn’t nearly so scandalous though, as even further down.

He sat nude from the waist down, his pants and belt pooled around his ankles. His cock stood prominently between his splayed legs, a flushed tone to match the rosy tint in cheeks and leaking pre-cum. As if walking on Izaya with his pants literally down wasn’t mortifying enough, one hand was wrapped leisurely around his cock. Obviously he had been in the process of jerking off, and still was, having not bothered to stop even once you had caught him in the act.

What you were looking at hit you all at once, and a stream of half-finished sentences exploded out. “I’I’m sorry, I-- But what are you--? Why would let me come in if that’s what you’re busy doing?! You began in an apologetic voice, though your apology quickly turned to indignation at the fact Izaya’d had plenty of time to put himself away before you came in. Before he invited you, for example, and then before he greeted you.

“Well, I did warn you.” Izaya’s speech held no hint of apology. The shameless, steady stroke of his hand up and down confirmed he was not bothered whatsoever. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted to show up early and be nosy, darling.”

At last you recognized the tone in his voice you hadn’t been able to place before. Something husky and thick, a silky accent to his already smooth voice. You felt stupid not being able to put two-and-two together from his voice and face.

“I’m not early! I-it’s not my fault you told me the wrong time,” you tried to hide the shakiness in your voice with anger, though you knew Izaya was a master at seeing through masks.

You wanted to turn, to look away, but you found yours glued to the sight of him, stunned like a deer in headlights. Maybe it was his audacity that was truly so stunning. I’m just gonna go and come back later,” you ground out through teeth after you tore your eyes away from the enticingly lewd scene.

“Oh? But like I said, I’ll only be a little bit.” You nearly choked again from Izaya’s boldness. He really expected you to just wait around while he jacked off like it was nothing? For someone who claimed to love humans and all their emotions and behaviors so much, you really wondered how much he really understood them sometimes. “You know, if you wanted to lend a hand, it might be even sooner.”

You made another embarrassing noise, your eyes snapping back around and fixing on his own. The expression in his sharp brown eyes told you he wasn’t just you or making some inappropriate joke, not completely. Izaya was dead serious suggesting you ‘lend him a hand’ with his current ‘business’. You should have been mad. You should have been uncomfortable. You should have walked away then. But something else was creeping up and up, suppressing what you should have done, leaving behind the sense that you didn’t quite hate the idea.

You weren’t ready to give in completely, though, not yet. “Was that your plan when you invited me over?” You tried to deflect once more, but your angry speech was half-hearted.

He gave a small shrug, still languorously pumping his hand up and down, smearing a new bead of pre-cum along the head of his dick. You licked your lips, and you weren’t sure whether it was from nerves or hunger. “Who knows? Maybe, maybe not.” Of course Izaya would give you a nonsense answered that told you nothing.

“Can you just put your pants on, please?” You tried weakly, a last ditch effort to squish down the hot feeling suffusing you and to call his bluff. But Izaya wouldn’t be moved.

“Weren’t you leaving though?” He questioned calmly. “So why should I? Then I can’t take care of this.” You groaned mentally at his ‘logic’ that amounted to his typical games. “So, what’s stopping you?”

You didn’t speak, listening only to the slick sound of Izaya stroking himself, as if trying to come up with an appropriate excuse. But there was none. You were still there because you wanted to be. You sputtered some nonsense at first, before sighing in defeat.

“I...I just… fine,” you mumbled, unable to meet his cutting gaze when you agreed.

He didn’t seem bothered or surprised by your admission, and when you looked back up, he was smirking widely, as if he had expected you to crumble and play right into his hands. “Well, what are you waiting for then?”

You nearly scowled at the impatience of the question, but shook your head. You approached quickly, stopping once you stood in front of him. You licked your lips again and swallowed thickly, kneeling between his legs. Up close and personal with his cock, it you for real the favor you had submitted yourself to. It made your stomach twist in a way that was pleasantly hot, but with a nervous flutter. But even if he would probably let you, there was no back down now. You had dug your hole and you intended to stay in it.

Feeling Izaya’s eyes burning down onto you, you lifted a hand tentatively, more intimidated than you would have admitted. You nearly jumped when the hand he had been pleasuring himself with seized yours. Your face was on fire as he guided your hand over his shaft, helping you wrap it around the heated skin. He made a small sound in the back of his throat at the contact, his palm lingering over your hand. Gingerly, you shifted your hand up and down, mimicking him, the skin hot and velvety under your fingers.

“There, just like that,” Izaya cooed, his hips rocking up into your touch. His hand left yours to bury itself in the cushion beside him.

You chanced a subtle glance up, past his exposed torso and up his chest. His head lolled back against the sofa back, and his chest rose and fell deeply in more noticeable, pleasured breaths as you stroked. He seemed more than willing to sit back and fully indulge in your touch, apparently a far more exhilarating experience than his own.

“What a good girl,” he praised as your grip tightened you pumped his cock more surely, enjoying the noises that vibrated up his chest. They were low and smooth, containing all the richness of his speaking voice, yet none of the frustrating teasing or condescension. “Mmph, a little hard, don’t be shy,” he coaxed, giving a particularly eager buck of his hips, a new drop of pre-cum beading on the head of his dick.

You did as instructed, and the sound of his breathing deepened more, the small, pleasant sounds morphing into longer, bawdy groans. “How’s that?” you prompted, the confidence from watching him come slowly undone steadying your voice, the sheer arousal in it surprising you.

“Mm, good, keep going.”

You stuck to the steady rhythm you had set, your tongue wetting suddenly dry lips again as you alternated between watching Izaya’s blissful form above you and his throbbing cock in front of you. You moved your idle hand up, cradling his balls in your palm and rubbing gently, rewarded with even more erotic noises. You weren’t sure whether you were more turned on by the eroticism of the sounds themselves, or the fact you were hardly ever heard Izaya sound so unrestrained.

Your gaze stopped, lingering on his cock, and you decided if you were going to help out, you may as well have a little more fun, as well as satisfy the hunger building in you. You bent forward, your breath fanning over the head hotly, and you barely caught a shiver roll through Izaya. You leaned closer, opening your mouth and licking coyly at the flushed head, the bitter taste of pre-cum flooding your senses.

“ Oh .” The word was surprised, excited almost, made even more so by the breathiness that carried it. “I didn’t even have to ask you to do that.” Your faced burned with embarrassment you fought to ignore, letting your lips wrap around the head, swirling your tongue along the underside. “More eager than you let on, I see. But I’m not complaining.”

Izaya relaxed more limply against the cushions, save for the rhythmic roll of his hips meeting the hot, wet touch of your mouth. You sank down on his cock more, slowly, trying to account for the motion of his hips to not choke yourself on his length. Fortunately, though it was steady, his pace was languid, letting you adjust easily. You took as much as you could without inciting your gag reflex, shifting between dancing your tongue along his skin or pressing flat against the underside or teasing the head where it connected to his shaft.

Above you, Izaya’s dulcet chorus of groans and mumbled words escalated and his fingers met the top of your head. They curled loosely, massaging methodically, neither forcing you down or adjust to a new pace.

“Hmm, and they say I’ve got a talented tongue,” Izaya hummed huskily and you couldn’t stifle a low moan in answer, the sound shooting through Izaya and making his hips stutter. “Sure seems like you know to use yours though,” he praised again, and you could make out the teasing tone you were so used to among his lusty, strained voice.

Izaya fell silent for a time, or at least he fell wordless, panting and groaning his pleasure, the sounds accentuated by the wet noises you made while you sucked him off. But Izaya’s was a mouth that couldn’t stand staying silent for long. “You can take a little more, can’t you?” He asked insistently, his fingers tightening their loose hold. He thrust his hips more roughly into your mouth as you sank down again, as if punctuating his question.

Tears stung at your eyes for an instant as the tip of his dick touched your throat and you inhaled deeply to relax it. You took in even more of his cock, noticing the roll of his hips slow, as if accommodating you to take his length more easily. When you pulled back, his hand only let you go so far, effectively keeping you from pulling away. You indulged him, satisfied with the even more ragged breaths replacing his words and more of the salty fluid leaking from him.

Your jaw was beginning to ache, but you ached elsewhere as well, and it urged you to continue. With your mouth wrapped around him so intimately, you could tell Izaya was getting very close to cumming, from the increasing cant of his hips to the harsh pitch of his breath to the way his cock twitched, even more hard.

“Mm, that’s it. Almost there.” Izaya confirmed your suspicions, the lustiness of his tone adding to the urgency. “If you don’t want a mouthful, you might want to stop,” he warned you, surprisingly considerate in the moment.

Your eyes flickered up, but you didn’t stop, trying to hum your acknowledgement around a mouthful of his dick, working him even more eagerly.

“Oh, shit, you’re more obscene than I thought. If that’s how you want it,” His excitement pierced his arousal again, as if he hadn’t expected you to be so wrapped up in servicing him.

Thrusting into your mouth more desperately, his hips finally stuttered as he finished, filling your mouth with hot ropes of thick that you swallowed as soon as the bitter taste swept over your tongue. Several especially long, feral moans drifted from Izaya’s lips as you drank him down, until at last he was spent and there was nothing left for you to swallow. You drew away, wiping a smear of drool and some stray cum from your mouth with the back of your hand and resting back on your knees.

“There, that’s taken care of,” you said, your attempt to sound level and collected ruined by your own arousal making your voice overly breathy. “Now did you actually have a reason for inviting me over?”

Izaya laughed breathlessly, as if amused by your change of pace, lying boneless against the sectional. “Of course, my dear,” he answered when his laughter died, tipping his head forward to look at you. “I wouldn’t lie to your like that. Though, if you’d like, I can return the favor. It sounds like you need it.”

[curiousconch]

Free Fall

Chapter 4 of Ricochet (An Open Heart AU)

Catch up here: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter Synopsis: Bryce takes Heather out to distract her, while a real threat looms closer than ever.

Pairing: Rafael Aveiro x MC (Dr. Heather Song) | Bryce Lahela x MC (Dr. Heather Song) 

Words: 1.9k | Genre: Crime, Mystery, Thriller, Romance

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / hints of violence, stalking

Author’s Notes: I always wanted to try trampoline basketball (not sure if that's the right term?), it looked cool on videos. BUT lockdown happened, so here I am manifesting what could've been a great date night alternative. I have also long imagined to bounce around in slow motion while the chorus of Fallin' All In You by Shawn Mendes was playing on the background. Hope I made the wait for this chapter worth it. Also, disclaimer: majority of the characters are owned by Pixelberry, except the main character Heather Song.

Please let me know if you want me to tag you for the rest of this series. Thank you for reading!

Jordan whistled as he walked through the off-white hallways, pushing a cart full of cleaning supplies forward. Although he knew that this was just a temp job, a means to an ends, it didn't mean he can't enjoy its perks.

His gray overall was already damp, as he just finished mopping the hallways of the building's seventh floor. He was heading to his last assignment for the day, which was also his favorite. His black sneakers squeaked against the tiled floor, but he didn't seem to mind. He was feeling accomplished today, seeing his art splayed across the local news. He gave himself a mental pat on the back, knowing he's running closer toward the finish line of his master plan.  

He adjusted his baseball cap before tapping his key card on the scanner by the glass door, then stepped inside the empty office. 

He cleared the tables of assorted food wrappers in record time. But there was a table where he liked to linger a little bit longer. 

His fingers grazed on the surface of the desk - she always kept hers tidy. He read through the pages of the medical books browsing where bookmarks were sandwiched in, trying to get an idea of where she left off. He then reached out to the purple bottle of hand cream on the left side of the computer screen, and pumped it to get a few drops on his palms. He loved the jasmine scent of it, reminding him of the same fragrance of the clothes in her closet. 

He tapped on the keyboard and the screen display came to life, revealing a picture of her and her mother when she was a teenager. He logged himself in, checking her emails. He found what he was looking for, and took a picture of the itinerary using his phone. He closed the applications and locked the computer, the screen display reverting back to the wallpaper earlier. He smiled sadly as he looked on, thinking what a waste it will be when her day of reckoning comes. It's a pity that she threw herself in the middle of a crossfire, so he had no choice. He felt bad for her, recalling the months of stalking he did to know her life. He always thought she was no different from him, alone in a city, no parents to turn to, no one but themselves to rely on. 

After switching off the computer monitor, he retrieved his cleaning supplies and sprayed a disinfectant on the surface of her desk. He was about to wipe it when he heard the distinct beep of the electronic lock, followed by the subsequent opening of the glass door behind him. 

"Oh, hey Pete," Heather waved at him as she approached. "Sorry for uhm, interrupting. I'm just here to get some of my books."

He tried to hide his initial shock, grinning goofily at her then stepped back from her desk. "No problem, doc. I'll get out of your hair so you could do whatcha have to do."

She smiled back at him. "No, no need. I'll just grab these," she took the bundle of books sitting on top of her desk, "and then these..." she trailed off as she unlocked the drawers and retrieved a small bottle of the hand cream and a few markers. She put the small items in her purse and stepped back.

"Thanks, Pete. I'll see you around," she bid him goodbye, hastily getting out of the diagnostics office.

Jordan followed her figure until she was out of his sight. He then approached the glass windows and slid his fingers in between the blinds, waiting until he saw her crossing the parking lot and got into a familiar silver Camry.

Aha, so you're with the ADA. No wonder he didn't see her with the special agent. She stayed with someone else. 

It was smart for her to stay somewhere he wouldn't expect. But it didn't matter now. Phase 2 didn't concern where she lived at the moment. His lips twisted into a sinister smile, knowing she never had a clue of what was to come.

Oh doc, I'll see you soon.

***

Bryce honked his horn the moment he saw what was cradled in her arms. "Nerd alert!" he shouted.

"Ugh, shut up!" she groaned, her eyes rolling as she dropped the books into the backseat of his car.  

"Seriously, Heath, you are such a dork. It's Sunday!" he said as he began driving out of Edenbrook's parking lot.

She snapped on her seat belt and leaned back, crossing her arms. "You are a hypocrite, Lahela! Deep down you know we are on the same league," she said as she glared at him. 

"Nope, not at the moment, I'm no hypocrite. Do you even see me checking my phone for emails?" 

"Psh, you're driving, you just can't," she ruffled her bangs, annoyed. "So, what's the plan here?" 

"Lighten up, Doctor Song, have some little spontaneity!" he shuffled his shoulders as he said the last word. "I promised to distract you today, did you not trust this handsome face when you said so this morning?" Bryce pouted in an effort to mock her. 

She huffed in reply, settling into silence. She did trust him. She trusted him last night when she poured out her heartbreak to him. She also chose to trust him this morning, taking up his offer to go out today. He gave a convincing pitch about what he had planned for the day. But really, Heather would take any opportunity to get her mind off from the incidents of the past two days.

Besides, it was easy to say yes to Bryce. She was comfortable around him. He reminded her of her carefree days before her life all went downhill. He balanced her out, his dazzling personality never failed to brighten up even the starkest days for Heather. And this was her darkest season in recent memory. It was just apt to let someone like Bryce shine upon it. 

So she agreed to leave at noon, but asked to swing by the hospital to get some of her books so she could catch up on some reading. She wanted to stay sharp since she'll be flying back to Maryland to continue her cancer research.

Now they're driving along the freeway, she had no idea where their car is headed. After almost an hour, Bryce took an exit and then a few turns, before entering a parking lot full of cars. 

"We're here!" he said as he tapped the steering wheel and turned off the ignition. She got out of the car along with him, staring at the white signage in front of the building. 

"Sky zone?" Heather squinted at him, a queasy feeling rising in her stomach.

Seeing her hesitation, he practically dragged her to the front door and pushed her inside. A sight of kids and adults alike bouncing up and down on various complex trampoline structures welcomed her. 

She'd never seen Bryce this giddy, who went straight to the reception to register both of them. She was left alone and dumbfounded. She had no idea a place like this in Boston existed. But all the laughter surrounding her made her suddenly excited. 

He pulled her into an area full of lockers, and helped her shove her shoes and purse inside an empty one. He shoved his into another beside hers. 

"So? What do you think?" Bryce walked up to the nearest trampoline platform looking at her expectantly. 

"You sure you're an adult?" she said sarcastically, chuckling as she said it. 

"Aha! I knew it! I just know you'll like this!" he teased. "Dibs on the first bounce!" he leaped onto one then did a backflip, as Heather watched in amazement. He did another flip, even posing midair to make it look effortless. Seeing him enjoying himself, she couldn't resist any longer and dived right in. 

"This... Feels... Awesome!" she shouted to him in between bouncing, trying to propel herself higher with each jump. Bryce simply nodded back, giggling with her as they alternated between bouncing and running to the different trampoline stages in the park. 

Heather never felt as exhilarated as she was at that moment. With every jump, she felt a piece of her heartbreak shedding away. In her mind, she screamed at the looming threats that washed over her the past few weeks. It was getting more and more difficult to hold on to the grudges that wrapped her heart. So she let herself go. She leaped on every surface, on every stage, on every setup. She bounced until there was nothing left of the anxieties that seemed to anchor her with heaviness in the past 48 hours. 

When she started losing steam, she lifted herself with all her might and leaped into a pit of sponges, savoring the few moments of free fall. She then stood up on her feet and went down, found somewhere to sit and rest. Bryce followed her shortly after. 

While they were sipping ice cold water from one of the vending machines, he watched her. She was lost in her thoughts, a pensive look in her face. He perked up when she finally spoke. 

"The metaphor isn't lost in me. I get why you brought me here." she punched his arm playfully, before wiping the sweat on her forehead with a paper towel. 

"I never doubted you'd get it," he nodded, his face turning serious. "Look, let me tell you a secret," he leaned forward closing the gap between them. "This is where I kinda sulk after I lose a case, or when my head gets caught up in a rut," he paused for a few moments, pursing his lips. "Look, I know you've been through some hard times recently, but in my gut I know you're tougher than that. You're strong, you're a victor, you always, always overcome. Even when things get difficult, you just leverage the situation so you could bounce back. If there's anyone who can emerge from all of this triumphantly, it's you. Because you know why? You're one hell of a woman, Heather."

He stopped himself from saying anything more and finished his speech, as he gave her an endearing look.

She was taken aback by his words, unsure how to react. It took her a few moments before it sunk in - that he was exactly right. When times did get rough, she always managed to rise above it. She didn't buckle. But she had a tendency to forget, not because she's overwhelmed, but because she buzzed right through every painful experience. She used them as stepping stones, as fuel to her dreams and desires. She only needed a rousing reminder.

And that's what Bryce gave her today. With her spirit lifted by his overwhelming encouragement, she placed her hand over his and gave it a soft squeeze. Without thinking, she planted a quick peck on his cheek. 

"Thank you, Bryce. Thanks for bringing me here. I needed this." she whispered, staring back at him. 

It took all of Bryce's strength to stop himself from kissing her. Instead, he settled on ruffling her damp hair, smiling brightly back at her. 

"Like I said, I always got your back." He opened his arms and shrugged, a smug smile pasted on his face. "So if you're done moping around, you wanna play some more?"

Heather can't help but laugh. 

They hit the trampolines again, with Bryce flipping himself and shooting into some hoops. They even had a contest, where they tried besting each other over dodge ball. They didn't stop until they got both hungry. He eventually drove them to a nearby food truck, and together they ate hotdogs and greasy fries in his car. Heather's friends called her while they were parked, inviting them both for a quick hangout at Donahues. 

As they drove back into the town center in silence, she couldn't ignore the tugging in her heart that this wasn't just two friends hanging out. Yet she didn't feel guilty or confused at all. That Sunday afternoon, she felt entirely certain that she was with someone who she was supposed to be with. It didn't feel forced, exhausting or boring. It simply felt good. 

Tags: @choicesficwriterscreations for Fics of the Week

Ricochet AU tags: @eleanorbloom @ramsey-lahela

[amtrax]

Megaton Girl FAQ Masterpost

Here is a bunch of potential questions that you may have about Megaton Girl for both new and long-time followers!

What is Megaton Girl?

Megaton Girl is a scripted podcast (which is to say a radio play) that I would describe as a superhero comedy with lots of action, adorable romance, and an overarching story. The pilot is available here and I highly recommend checking it out if you want an idea of what the style and tone of the show will be.

Okay, well what’s the basic story?

From the official description:

After getting struck by a radioactive meteor, Connie Opland becomes the latest contender in a world of super hero celebrities: Megaton Girl. With the help of her girlfriend and secret publicist Laurel Fitz, and her mentor and manager Kirby, Connie aims to dethrone the corrupt and arrogant Captain Valiant as the greatest hero in the world!

That sounds totally radical, dude.

Thank you, 90′s-slang-spewing question asker.

I have very specific tastes. How will I know if I like this show?

If you enjoy any of the following, you’ll probably really really like this show: Stories with LGBTQ protagonists, Marvel and DC comics, Megas XLR, Teen Titans, The Adventure Zone, Critical Role, The Thrilling Adventure Hour, Mission to Zyxx, Hello from the Magic Tavern, Sonic Boom, Swat Kats, and honestly just check it out. The pilot’s only like 15 minutes long, and I think you’ll really love it if you check it out.

Well, who is the show about?

Connie Opland AKA Megaton Girl: A snarky, bubbly and easily excitable young woman with a love of food and low tolerance for jerks. After a bad run in with a corrupt superhero named Captain Valiant, Connie gets struck by a meteor and gains super powers. She dons the persona of Megaton Girl and begins a career in super-heroics, hoping one day to dethrone Captain Valiant and give the world a hero that actually gives a shit. She’s not very bright or quick to the uptake, but she has a ton of grit and determination. No matter how many times she hits the mat, she’s always back on her feet and ready to fight back. She lives with her best-friend (and now girlfriend), Laurel, in a cheap apartment in Los Dioses, California. Powers: Super strength, flight, energy beam attack (expelled through mouth), enhanced durability. She still feels pain and isn’t completely invincible, but she can withstand a megaton explosion and walk away alive (though VERY hurt).

Laurel Fitz: A shy, composed and brilliant lady with wonderful artistic talent and a passion for documenting the feats of superheroes. She is the newest member of the Olympus Illustrated news team. Her job is to essentially write and illustrate comic pages documenting the latest superhero news. When she gets on the bad side of her boss (whom is secretly Captain Valiant), she gets humiliated and demoted in front of the whole bullpen. When Connie gets superpowers, Laurel begins to secretly rebel against her boss by publishing a website dedicated to documenting the feats of Megaton Girl. She also begins learning the basics of superhero coaching from Connie’s manager, Kirby, who sees a ton of potential in her. She lives with her best friend (and now girlfriend), Connie, in a cheap apartment in Los Dioses, California.

William Kirby: A grumpy, no-nonsense old man with a long, once-celebrated history of superhero managing. He represented and coached the best of the best for decades before being forced into an early retirement by his last client, Captain Valiant. He distanced himself from society and lived out of his gym locker room for 15 years, until Connie and Laurel popped into his life asking for help. He’s long past his prime, so he calls in favors from heroes around the globe and beyond to assist in training Connie to be a hero herself. On the side, he begins to teach Laurel how to be a superhero coach, seeing her as a worthy future successor to his business.

Chuck Bradford AKA Captain Valiant: A vain, pompous, power-hungry man who is a superhero in job title only. He does everything for personal gain, even when it comes to stopping crimes. Once represented by Kirby, he cast his old manager aside when Kirby refused to coddle his ego. He lied, cheated and beat his way to the top of the superhero world, and stood unopposed as the most powerful hero in the world for a little over a decade. To fuel his ambitions, he runs the Olympus Illustrated news outlet, wildly overemphasizing his own deeds and often minimizing the efforts of other heroes. There are few heroes who verbally oppose him (and even fewer who physically oppose him), as he has been known to turn the world against those who seek to bring him down. Powers: Super strength (amplified by years of bodybuilding on top of his natural superhuman power), flight, energy beam attack (expelled through eyes), enhanced durability (comparable to Megaton Girl, though with a much higher pain tolerance due to more years explosions and bullets in his face).

Doctor Menace: A bombastic, bumbling, over-eager supervillain with copious amounts of intellect, but none of the brilliance to put it to much use. None of his plans have ever succeeded, his inventions are in perpetual “early-access,” and no hero or villain ever takes him seriously. In spite of his endless list of failures, he sets high goals for himself and always gets back up after every failure, with just as much vigor and excitement as ever. He just loves being the bad guy, no matter what gets in his way. He dreams of one day being the respected arch-nemesis of a powerful superhero with whom he can be locked in ceaseless bloody combat for all time, and to join a league of supervillains with which he can begin his conquest of the world. Also he’s stuck in a too-small tin can of a mech suit. Haha. Powers: Extraordinarily high IQ, high tech armor and gadgets with seemingly endless resources to create more, and limitless determination.

I watched the pilot and I [totally loved it]. Where’s the rest of the show?

We’re working on that! We want to turn this into a full series and already have several episodes written, but in order to produce a full series we will need funding to make sure that everyone involved is paid for their time. One possible goal is to get the show picked up by a podcast network so that we can run the show like a podcast with commercials. Another possibility is Patreon or some other form of crowdfunding.

Is there anyway I can help with that?

The absolute BEST thing you can do right now is to share the pilot. Reblog it, retweet it, TALK about it. Get the word out, and I do mean the word.Use the #MegatonGirl hashtag on Twitter. Tell people what you think, because word of mouth is the best form of getting people to listen. Tell US what you think! Share your thoughts on the pilot, leave iTunes reviews, leave Youtube comments! We want to know what you think!

This sounds like it’s gonna take a while! I want the show now! And an Oompa-Loompa too, daddy!

PUT THE GUN DOWN! WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS, OKAY?! Alright, okay okay. How about we make a full first episode for now, and see what happens? We’ll produce a full origin-story episode about how Connie and Laurel become girlfriends, how Connie gets her super powers and begins her rivalry with Chuck, and how Connie stopped her first supervillain? It’ll be about an hour long and be a proper start to the series. That sound cool?

Looks like you keep your kneecaps today, sir.

Thank you for your blessing, gender non-specific question asker.

I have fanart/AUs/other fan related content that I want you to see. What’s the best way to get your eyes on it?

Tag me on Tumblr @amtrax or on Twitter (at)amtraxVA, and/or use the proper “#Megaton Girl” tag on Tumblr and the #MegatonGirl tag on Twitter! I have gotten some LOVELY fanart and I love seeing all of it, so if you have some and you want it seen, that’s the best way to get it seen!

Hey don’t you run away from me! I have other questions!

And I’ll gladly take them, any time! Either leave them in my askbox or Tweet it at me! I’ll always answer it as best as I can without spoiling too much of the show. I also put out a call for questions and art requests every week for Megaton Girl Megatuesday, so keep any eye out for that as well.

For now, I think that’s a good spot to leave this. I will update this later as necessary, but I hope your basic needs are tended to for now! Thank you for your time and hope you enjoy what’s to come next!