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@dreamsbuilt said: ❝ even if you don’t need me anymore, it is i who
needs you. ❞ (for Celia)
the breath of air that escaped her was soft - ALMOST A SIGH, REALLY, - as her gaze searched his face, lips pursing just a touch. “i never said i didn’t need you,” she said finally, the truth winning the debate that ran through her mind. “i...” she was juggling too many things - a balancing act that was destined to fail eventually. and she didn’t want him to suffer the fallout. but she knew that she couldn’t expect him to just stand back while she held the weight of the world - THEIR WORLD, REALLY - on her shoulders. “forgive me,” she muttered finally, voice light as a crease formed between her brows. “i didn’t mean to lead you to believe that i don’t need you.”
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“Who are YOU?”
Meet a muse from one of my other blogs. (not accepting) | @sinnhelmingr
He almost laughs at the question. It’s a far more complex one than anyone ever realizes. They’re always looking for something as simple and inconsequential as a name, but who someone is… Well, it’s so much more than that. He can say ‘Oh, I’m Marco’, but what does that mean? It’s not even the name that he’d been born with. It’s a variation, sure, but it’s not real. He’d chosen that name for himself long ago after the only father he’s ever known had expressed how little they meant, how little he needed one.
But Marco likes having a name. It makes him feel as though he exists within the world rather than somewhere above it, material of a possession as it might be. His name is a miraculous thing when he hears Celia whispering it in the dark or calling it out across the train car that they travel in and have filled to the brim with their books and little wonders. His name doesn’t mean much of anything when it’s not on her lips, but he has the memory of it, so he cherishes it for that reason alone.
“Oh, I’m Marco.”
Marco Alisdair under construction/coming soon at @dreamsbuilt
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@dreamsbuilt said: “i’m really proud of you.” (for Marco's canon
confirmed son, Bailey)
before he’d found the circus, bailey had always felt like an outcast. THE KIND OF BOY WHO’D HAD BIGGER DREAMS THAN BEING A SHEEP FARMER, even way back when he’d snuck into the circus after hours on a dare, and had met a redhead who’d seemed like she knew he was coming. poppet was still calling him out for things before he did them, and despite the years, he hadn’t stopped being amazed by her ability to do it. the night circus and everyone within it had become the family he’d always dreamed of having.
a strawberry hue flushed over his cheeks at the older man’s words, head ducking down just a touch. PRAISE WAS STILL SOMETHING HE STRUGGLED TO ACCEPT. even after all this time. even with someone like marco in his life, whose presence encouraged him to do his best, in everything. “i’m just trying to do my best,” he said finally, voice quiet. “it’s what i’ve always tried to do.”
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@dreamsbuilt: *follows*
all of my night circus muses: *screaming*
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