#she's dressed as a ringmaster. that's easy enough

[itsrainingfeathers]

aughhhhhh i wanna cosplay nikola orsinov so bad but i don't really know how i'd like her to look

[beanghostprincess]

Hey sweetie!! I realized I have been absent from your inbox for quite some time and that simply will not do, I am legally required to annoy people I like, it's the Law.

Therefore, I thus drop even MORE transfem Buggy ideas, silliest, and snippets in the hopes of making you smile and/or laugh bc you deserve nice things I wanna throw them at you ♡♡♡♡♡

• Buggy coming out as trans over the course of a loooooong time, where she had Inklings of it young (Buggy+Toki bonding my beloved), and for a while just went "it is what it is, it's my nose that makes me hate mirrors so much-" and thus reclaiming the nose with the clown aesthetic and commitment to the circus bit. And it's enjoyable, really, the colors and patterns are So Good, and the makeup feels WONDERFUL, and all dolled up, Buggy doesn't want to punch the mirror quite so much.

It's only with Alvida and their Mean Girls Gossip Club being founded that there are some late night, semi-drunk conversations and Buggy says something like "everything sucks but I think things would be better if I were born a girl, ya know-?"

Cue Alvida taking that as a "women have it easy" type of thing (it's not), and so she and Buggy make a bet - dress as a girl, go out for a night, and play the part. They pick a small, no name island, pick an equally small, no name town, and hit the bars there. And Buggy is.... thriving.

It's not all sunshine and daisies, and Buggy sees first hand what women experience, but there's a shift in the movements, in Her Chest, and suddenly things are clicking, she's stepping aside, she's off to the restroom, and she is staring into the mirror there, blue eyes wide and hair loose around her shoulders and she really Looks. Fingertips brush the cool, smooth surface before her, trembling with fear, with anticipation, with joy and grief and anger and love. She barely notices when Al comes up to her side, when a pale hand brushes her shoulder. It's the question which throws her.

"What are you thinking?"

And in the tiny little bar bathroom at Seas-knows-what-time, Buggy has a sudden accidental baptism, and Alvida takes her hands through it all.

Buggy comes home to her ship, her crew, with knowledge, with a new awareness, a new fear, a new joy.

Her crew are nothing if not welcoming, and when she tells them, faux-casual and already edging into defensive aggression, they are simply delighted. They are ecstatic. They don't even question it, just beam and offer hugs and ask if they should still call her Buggy and Captain and Ringmaster, because she is theirs and they are hers they will be as good for her as she is for them, by the Seas as their witness.

And Buggy is happy, is safe, is emotional, is loved.

• coming out publicly is an ordeal, especially with the media storm already occurring elsewhere. She doesn't even think to do it. It's her crew that bristle when someone misunderstood her, the first two times a passable correction, then a point of disrespect. People do not disrespect their captain lightly.

• An article is written about her, and the contents are.... unkind at best. Interestingly enough, another article is never published by that journalist, and there is now no trace of their existence beyond that point. It was not Buggy and her gang who did it, though.

• Crocodile and Mihawk are both bisexual, and they do not initially know of Buggy's gender identity until well into the Guild's existence, after that article full of heresay and guessing. Not many want to correct such powerful men, after all.

When it DOES come out, they don't even really treat Buggy any differently. Just nod, verify name, ask for pronouns, and it's back to business. It's refreshingly normal and bittersweet.

• when they eventually being courting Buggy asks if her gender is.... going to be a problem. Crocodile just sneers. "It'd be hypocritical of me to not date someone transgender. I may pass as cis, but I made myself into the man I am today. Who cares?"

Mihawk just kind of laces his fingers with hers and states that "your body is but a vessel, and I care only for the wielder. The forms of your body matter not to me beyond your own joys in it."

• they also go on to be rather protective of their girlfriend. Business transactions have, and will, be dropped if a group is not respectful of her or has a history of it. Money is money, certainly, but business is a gamble and the deck is stacked against them with such animosity. After all, would you trust someone visibly aggressive with you over an ambivalent stranger when both hold a gun?

• just for shits and giggles, open relationships, and Shanks being fucking FERAL for Buggy and it's an absolute hot mess because he loves his clown wife so much-

• extra funnies, many others ALSO love his clown wife. Including, to his dramatic betrayal and theatric tears, many in his own crew.

• Rayleigh shows up at Karai Bari without warning to give Buggy a piece of his mind - not about her being a woman, no, that's fine, he loves her regardless, but about how she hasn't called him even ONCE just to give him the news that he has a DAUGHTER, she KNOWS he wanted a little girl, Buglet, why have you hurt him so-?

"You never gave me your number???"

"I didn't??"

"NO?????"

"Oh."

"Yeah, OH, you senile old fart!!!"

"Hey, missy, no need for that kind of disrespect-"

• Luffy, Zoro, and Ussop bond over "my dad/dad-figure has done it with the clown lady" and Sanji is just laughing at their misery while Jimbei is trying so hard not to make eye contact lest they see his own clown fucking history ((it was one time but he wouldn't be against a repeat-))

I'm eepy so that's all I have now but ily nini ♡♡♡♡

HELLO SWEETIE HOW I'VE MISSED YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💖💖💖🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 I am so glad you're back for more ideas and headcanons of our wonderful Buggy 💖💖

Toki and Buggy bonding my beloved but I absolutely adore what you said about Buggy blaming her nose at first instead of like, actually thinking why her image bothers her so much,,, She doesn't want to think further about it so she just guesses it had to be the nose because it's the one thing that's wrong with her,, But then she has the whole "I wish I were a girl because it would be easier" mindset still after claiming the clown aesthetic,,, My girl,,,

And the way she finds out I am,,, Gonna cry,,, The way it starts as a bet and Alvida is genuinely mad at her at first for her commentary about women but then she sees Buggy visibly upset because she's having the realization™ in the middle of a crowd. And I can't stop thinking about how it'd be sweet and comforting and,, You know. It'd feel like a family, something they don't really seem a lot of times because of their catastrophic dynamic. But Buggy would feel seen and loved and she knows Alvida will be there for her through it all no matter what. It's kind of weird to be comforted by a younger woman and I think Buggy would feel a bit ashamed for that?? But Al would tell her that there is no age to support each other, especially in womanhood.

I love how protective her crew is but mostly how little Crocodile and Mihawk care about this 😭 They really said "well if this doesn't affect us I don't care what you are but at least we are going to refer to you properly because we are not monsters, thank you". And also Crocodile is trans so it just makes sense. And what the hell with Mihawk's words??? This man is so romantic when he wants to--

My favorite thing about this is everybody being extremely protective of Buggy. She deserves it. She's a queen. An icon. And everybody is in love with her. And Rayleigh is soooo father and I adore him,, He'd go there solely to see his girl.

And never forget Zoro and Luffy bonding over this, but the funniest part of all is how I am 100% sure that after transitioning Buggy is wayyy hotter and way more confident and Sanji would be head over heels for her like everybody else. So yeah, he laughs all he wants but he wishes he could pull Buggy like that-

And I hope you slept well!!! Mwah mwah mwah!!! Loved to see you here again sweetie 💖💖💖💖💖

[vulpes-fennec]

Prythian's Fantasia 🎪 (Ch. 3)

Summary: It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Previously: The Archeron sisters had a magical experience at Prythian's Fantasia. Will Feyre be able to bargain with Amarantha to save her mother's life? WARNINGS: References to past SA in Gwyn's POV

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Tuesday, March 12th, 1889

***Nesta***

Nesta was scritch-scratching her way through the pile of correspondence in the parlor when the front door snicked shut. Blazing irritation ruined Nesta’s train of thought. Where the hell was her damn sister going? 

Sure enough, Feyre’s cloaked form had just turned the corner down the street. Nesta ground her teeth, frustration fueling her quick steps into a light jog. She’d turned a blind eye to Feyre’s excursions long enough. As the eldest child, it was her responsibility to keep her sisters out of trouble. But Nesta hated running. Especially in such a layered skirt and dainty little shoes. 

“You, there. I’ll pay you five shillings if you follow that girl in the black dress down the street.” Nesta announced to a boy who happened to be driving an empty wagon past her. He could not be any older than fourteen, based on his short stature and pimple-covered face. But he nodded, even cowing slightly as Nesta hopped into the grimy wagon. “Be discreet. If she catches us, you’ll only get two.” 

The janky wagon rumbled and squelched over cobblestone and mud. The boy maintained a careful distance as they moved past soot-darkened gray buildings, ramshackle apartments, squalid beggars, and over the Thames River. They followed Feyre for a good half hour before she disappeared into thin air. 

“Where did she go?” The boy stopped, his confusion mirroring Nesta’s. Nesta, who had been keeping a close eye on Feyre the entire time, was at a loss for words. Feyre’s honey-brown hair was easy to spot, even amongst the throng of Londoners. She was even wearing a knitted cream shawl that made her stand out in the gray. But they had traveled far enough that Nesta was certain where Feyre was headed. 

The Prythian’s Fantasia tent rose tall and proud about a half mile away. The lines and colors were sharper in daylight, but the structure still evoked memories of that magical night. Nesta had not been able to stop thinking about how circus dancers pranced and spun across the ring, seductively contorting their bodies mid-air with silken ribbons. She would make the rest of the way by foot; Nesta plunked down the five shillings into the wagon before hopping out.

The circus gate was shut and the grounds were silent, which had Nesta wondering for a moment if she had guessed incorrectly. It seemed dead as a graveyard. But there it was…that faint jingle of music. Lilting notes and clear tones sweetened the air, beckoning her in. Nesta walked along the massive perimeter, following the music. She eventually reached the performers’ camp just behind the main circus. 

Sure enough, her sister was idling at the camp’s edge, wringing her hands and pacing anxiously as if she was working up the nerve to enter. A gold-painted sign propped next to the small entrance read: Prospective performers, seek Amarantha. 

“Feyre,” Nesta called out firmly. 

Feyre jumped, her blue-gray eyes widening in surprise. “Nesta!” Her expression pinched with sudden nervousness. “What are you doing here? Have you been following me?” 

“I should ask the same thing about yourself. Not thinking of running away to the circus, are you?” Nesta replied dryly. 

“I’m not running away…I simply must speak with the ringmaster.” Nesta groaned in frustration when Feyre strode away. Whatever business Feyre had with Amarantha, Nesta was not going to wait around for her sister to come back out. 

During the day, the circus performers were unrecognizable in regular garb, with women in plain linen dresses and men in standard brown pants and shirts. Nesta clearly stuck out, with her pale blue dress and embroidered silk slippers. Even Feyre looked more proper than usual, with her freshly cleaned lilac dress and carefully braided hair. 

Colored caravans were interspersed between medium-sized tents and practice rings. The performers barely paid Nesta and Feyre any attention as they navigated down the crunchy dry grass and towards the large plum tent with the words “ringmaster’s office” scripted on a hanging placard.

A tall, muscular man stood under the tent’s awning, and Nesta gawked at him openly. He was not like the sniveling, pale, weak-boned aristocrats of London society. Nor was he like one of those bumbling country boys who were all brawn but no brain. His golden eyes were like a hawk’s: sharp, intelligent, and…beautiful. Was he a circus performer, or personal protection? Nesta could not recall having seen him in the show, for she would certainly remember a man like him. 

“What’s your business here?” he asked with a half grin, in a deep voice that sounded like a song. Nesta clenched her jaw, trying to keep herself from getting carried away.

“We request an audience with Amarantha,” Feyre responded. The man’s crossed arms stretched and creased his gray shirt along defined muscles. Nesta’s eyes were fixated on the triangle of ruddy brown skin, like that of sailors who spent their days out in the open seas, peeking through the unbuttoned top of his shirt.

“What is the nature of your audience?” 

“I seek her aid for our ailing mother.” Nesta blinked in surprise. Running to a circus ringmaster for healing? Feyre must have lost her mind. 

The man’s hazel eyes snapped towards Nesta’s face, picking her steely facade apart and assessing every hidden, dark thought. She could have sworn his pupils widened with subtle desire. His chiseled face was rugged, as if a sculptor had failed to smooth down a marble statue before presenting their work to an art exhibit. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” His attitude had changed, and it stung, for some reason. 

“I don’t see why not?” Nesta blurted out. “You are not the ringmaster.” The man scoffed at her now, his lip twitching in condescension. 

“What you seek would not benefit you in the slightest.” Normally, Nesta would have wholeheartedly used the barring of entry as an excuse to drag Feyre away. But his self-righteous and dismissive attitude riled her. 

“Cassian,” a strong, female voice called from the interior of the tent. “Do we have guests outside? Do let them in.”  

So that was his name. Cassian. 

“Seems you do not have the final word around here.” Nesta allowed her lips to twitch in a simpering smirk as she walked past Cassian, who had gone rigid with fury, most likely. She could not banish the memory of his intense hazel eyes, which were surely pinned on her back like a target as she slipped into the ringmaster’s tent.  

***Feyre***

It was surprisingly dim inside the tent, and the air clung to Feyre’s cheeks like a damp fog. Ringmaster Amarantha sat in a large velvet chair, reading a book and sipping from a goblet of wine. She’d exchanged her bodice and breeches for a deep purple gown that made her alabaster skin appear bloodless.  

“Good afternoon,” Amarantha purred with a saccharine smile. “What brings such lovely ladies to my domain today?” It seemed the ringmaster’s charisma was not limited to the stage. Feyre took a step forward, dipping her head in a slight bow. 

“Good afternoon, ringmaster. I heard you possess…magic. And I’ve come to humbly request your assistance. My mother has been gravely ill for months.” The Archeron family’s fate hung upon Amarantha’s answer.

“My assistance does not come without a price. Tell me, dear, what is your name?” Amarantha tossed her thick, crimson hair behind a shoulder. 

“Feyre Archeron.” Confidence—keeping her voice steady—was crucial.

“And yours?” Amarantha’s dark gaze swiveled to Nesta, who did not balk at the sheer weight of the ringmaster’s stare. 

“Nesta. Nesta Archeron,” she replied. “I’m Feyre’s older sister.” Amarantha hummed in approval. She closed her eyes, tapping her fingers together in contemplation. 

“Feyre Archeron, I do not desire money or riches as a form of payment. I will provide a healing potion for your mother, as long as you agree to half a year of service with my circus: Prythian’s Fantasia.” 

Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. But Nesta pinched Feyre’s arm hard before she could speak. 

“Please excuse us for a moment,” Nesta said roughly. Amarantha waved her hand flippantly, returning to her book. Nesta dragged Feyre to the side. “Have you lost your mind, Feyre?” she hissed lowly. “Join a circus? For some crackpot potion, when Mother is already on her way out this world?” 

Feyre’s blue eyes flashed angrily. 

“I need to try, Nesta,” she argued back. “I know that you are not fond of Mother. But imagine what Father will endure if she dies. And think about Elain! You may not want to get married, but are you willing to be her chaperone next year? Be my chaperone for another season?” 

“The ringmaster didn’t even inquire about Mother’s condition. How would her ‘potion’ be any useful cure?” Nesta asked, a little more loudly. 

“Magic,” Amarantha called out lazily. “Six months of service seems sufficient in exchange for a potion that acts as a general restorative for any ailment, don’t you think?”

“Magic does not exist. Healing potions do not exist,” Nesta rationalized. “You’re being foolish, Feyre. Save yourself from the embarrassment.”

“Magic does exist. I know it,” Feyre shot back, her voice a harsh whisper. She turned back to Amarantha. “My mother’s condition is too dire to wait six months. What if she passes before my term of service is completed?” 

Amarantha’s mouth curled in a wry grin. “You do drive a hard bargain, my dear. I will award you the potion after two months of service, but you must finish the six months with me before you are free to leave.”  

“This is a traveling circus, is it not? Where do you plan to go?” Feyre asked. 

“We will be making a touring loop around England before heading to Paris in May for the World’s Fair,” Amarantha responded. “Our stops will be in the main cities of Bristol, Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds, Sheffield, Cambridge, and Southend-on-Sea.”

Feyre chewed her lip. Her answer was still ‘yes’ but would two months be soon enough? 

“One month of service,” Nesta declared suddenly. Feyre stared at her older sister in confusion. “I will take part in the bargain, as long as you give us the ‘potion’ after one month of service.” 

Amarantha’s dark eyes gleamed with feral delight. “Very well, then. Come closer, ladies. All I need is a few droplets of your blood.” 

“For what?” Nesta blanched.

“The potion, of course.” Nesta and Feyre stepped closer to Amarantha, who produced a sharp needle. Amarantha grasped Feyre’s hand, her slender fingers icy cold and unusually strong. 

“A bargain: one healing potion, to be given after a month of work, in exchange for six months of Feyre Archeron’s work in Prythian’s Fantasia,” Amarantha intoned. 

Feyre watched with fascination as crimson welled from her index finger and dripped into a small glass vial. A prickling sensation raced from her fingertip to her elbow. Amarantha did the same for Nesta, handing them both linen bandages once she was done. The ringmaster pocketed the glass vial and smiled demurely at them.

“Thank you, ladies. Prythian’s Fantasia departs for Bristol on Friday morning. I shall see both of you here no later than eleven o’clock.”

“What will our roles be?” Feyre blurted out. Amarantha assessed them critically. 

“Feyre, our magician is in need of an assistant, especially for the World’s Fair. You shall work closely with him on his acts. Nesta, I see you have a dancer’s grace. You shall participate in our aerial silks act.” 

“Thank you.” Feyre smiled, feeling incandescent. Everything was lining into place: she would save her mother, go on an adventure, and become closer with the handsome magician. The magician! Perhaps by working with him, she could also find answers about her magic. 

She was so caught up in her joy that she barely noticed a glowering Cassian as they exited Amarantha’s tent. She was going to join the circus! Feyre’s finger throbbed with residual pain, proof that this was truly happening. “You didn’t have to strike a bargain with Amarantha,” she pointed out. “So why did you?” 

Nesta seemed lost in a similar wishful daze. “It’s a ticket to Manchester. The beating heart of the suffragist movement. I also couldn’t let you do such a foolish thing alone.” She gave Feyre a dubious glance.

Feyre froze. “Oh, damn us,” she gasped, glancing at Nesta with wide eyes. “What are we going to say to Elain?” 

***Gwyn***

Tears rolled down Gwyneth Berdara’s cheeks at the memory of her twin sister Catrin’s joyful face and pealing laugh. How many more times could she draw upon her recollections before they faded away? Catrin’s silver wedding ring hung on a chain around Gwyn’s neck, was the only physical part of her sister she had left—and served as a reminder of all that was lost. 

Her heart hurt, but at least she wasn’t in physical pain anymore. Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed, pushing away the memories of the cursed brothel. The rank smells, the raucous laughter of drunkards. The clinking of coins before they began. The leering men who did not bother with “making love” to women. 

From what Catrin told her, intercourse was supposed to be a blissful and exciting experience. But Gwyn only knew pain. Pain from the bruises, the pulling of her coppery-brown hair, the chafing of skin between her legs. 

There was also a specific memory of warm, wet blood and the sounds of screams in the dark. And a fast-cooling body. 

Gwyn wiped her teary face and allowed herself one last sniffle before getting up from her cot. At least the bruises on her arms and waist had faded after a week with Prythian’s Fantasia. She’d sought the help of Thesan, the circus physician, who gave her contraceptive tonics without any judgment.

The caravan she shared with Emerie, Nuala, and Cerridwen was packed to the brim. Small windows ventilated the space, a small copper tub was shoved in the corner, and clothes and books were strewn across all available surfaces.

Gwyn was on kitchen duty today. The center of the camp served as the main area for meals and congregating, with food prepared in the open air. Tarquin and Daphne Vanserra were already there, baking bread in the clay oven and handling the wheels of cheese. 

“The vegetables are already washed,” Tarquin said, pointing to the crates of leafy greens, carrots, and potatoes. Tarquin cut a striking figure, with his turquoise eyes and long white hair contrasting with his dark brown skin. She’d only known him for a week, but his gentle smiles and thoughtful nature had put Gwyn at ease with her new surroundings. 

Gwyn picked up a sharp knife and began dicing the vegetables, placing the smaller pieces into large wooden bowls for stew. She was so engrossed with her cutting that when a man silently stepped up next to her, Gwyn jumped with fright. But it was only the dagger-thrower, here to assist with meal preparation. 

He was the same height as her, with a slightly muscled build. Inky black hair curled around the nape of his neck and fell in front of his angular hazel eyes, which softened slightly at her reaction.

“Apologies,” he muttered, his voice low. 

“It’s alright,” Gwyn responded quickly. “My name is Gwyn. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She smiled broadly at him.

“You’ve been crying, haven’t you?” Gwyn stiffened, her smile slipping away. 

“Azriel, don’t you know it’s rude to say such things to a lady?” Daphne tutted at the dagger-thrower. 

“Apologies,” Azriel said again. He picked up a knife and began expertly fileting the skin and bone off a slab of meat. Gwyn stared: pale scars streaked across his olive-toned hands. They moved with deadly precision. Smears of blood had begun to coat the tips of his fingers…Azriel met her gaze with a sharp look that had Gwyn glancing away with embarrassment. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Gwyn replied. “I joined the circus right when it arrived in London.” 

“Why?” His words were short, and to the point. 

Catrin’s lifeless face, with sunken-in cheeks and chapped lips flashed before her. That horrible smell…those awful hands grabbing her, hurting her…Gwyn shrugged nonchalantly. 

“I needed to make some money. When did you join the circus?” Azriel’s brows lifted slightly at her returning question. 

“Almost five years,” he replied. The dagger-thrower did not offer any more words of conversation after that. Daphne and Tarquin chatted in the background, but between Azriel and Gwyn, there was only silence. Gwyn’s eyes began watering again when she started on the onions. Before she could reach for a second onion, Azriel wordlessly took the whole crate away. 

“Thank you. I suppose I’ve cried enough for today,” Gwyn murmured. She snuck a glance at the dagger-thrower, and was disappointed to see his face stone-cold at her attempt to jest.

✨

Tags: @velidewrites @reverie-tales @highladysith @shadowsxgwynriel @foxwithagoldeye @sunshinebingo @jealousveronya @corcracrow @fieldofdaisiies @the-lonelybarricade

[inexplicifics]

time travel + circus au, Milena/Lambert

So we're starting with angst.

Lambert is the last of the witchers. His brothers are scattered and fallen, his lover is dead at a traitor's hand, and monsters are growing rare enough that it's hard for him to find enough work to earn the coin to keep meat on his bones.

He's running mostly on spite and rage when he kills a chimerical monster of some sort, and he's not even surprised when the mage who created it shows up, spitting mad, and throws a spell at him.

The spell knocks him the fuck out, and also hurts worse than anything since the Grasses.

Lambert wakes up with an aching head, in the middle of a grassy field, with a good dozen people peering down at him. One of them, dressed more flamboyantly than Geralt's bard ever was, offers him a hand up and introduces himself as the Ringmaster of the circus which is currently using this field; they all saw Lambert fall out of the sky, and are astonished that he's alive.

Also that he's apparently a witcher, because the last witchers died out a good few centuries ago.

Lambert, shocked and miserable and in a great deal of pain and having some trouble understanding the language - it's shifted a lot - allows himself to be ushered into the mess tent and fed (the food is weird but it's hot and he's eaten worse). And then Ringmaster Marx (of the line of traveling Marxes, descended from the great Cidarian bard himself!) offers Lambert a job.

Lambert, at a loss for what else to do, takes it.

He performs feats of strength and lets people peer at his slitted eyes and gives profane but fascinating monologues about history and extinct monsters. It's not a great job, but it's no worse than witchering ever was. And he gets enough food, and a place to sleep out of the weather, and time to adjust to the new language and the incredible technology. He decides he likes automobiles - they're fast and fun to tinker with - and phones are a lot better than xenovoxes.

The circus is in the middle of a big circuit up through Redania, and they camp outside the walls of Roggeven for a week.

Lambert notices a young woman who sits front and center and watches him with a sort of fascination that seems different somehow from the way most people watch him. Almost everyone else looks at him as a sort of performing animal, no different than the elephant or the lions. She looks at him like he's a person.

And on their last night in town, she sneaks onto the campsite and finds him sitting out in a field, watching the slightly unfamiliar stars.

Her name is Milena de Roggeven; she's from a family that used to be noble, and is still both wealthy and powerful. She's not stuck up, though; she's smart and kind and awfully pretty.

And for some reason, she's seen something worth admiring in a beat-up old witcher who hasn't even got any witchering left to do.

Lambert's never met anyone like her before.

He doesn't stay, not that year. But he's got a phone now - Ringmaster Marx doesn't pay well, but he pays enough - and Milena gives him her number, and it's easy - shockingly easy - to talk to her over text. She can explain a lot of the weirder things about this new century, and has lots of questions about the years he lived through, and she's funny and kind and he likes talking to her, either through the many texts they exchange every day or during their infrequent but wonderful actual phone calls. She's got a nice voice, and his swearing makes her laugh.

The next year, when the circus comes through Roggeven again, Lambert thanks Ringmaster Marx for the job and takes his leave.

Milena is waiting for him at the city gates, and Lambert kisses her for the first time, and lets her lead him in.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Another One?!, Part 2

First > Next

Years passed them by. It’s funny how that happens when no one in the house has a distinct schedule to follow. 

The hours blending together was actually really good for them as vigilantes. People couldn’t just plan around their normal patrolling hours.

Also, it meant that they could take days off without anyone thinking much of it.

Like today.

He glared at his reflection, touching his hair for the millionth time in an attempt to fix it. Or, rather, un-fix it. He was going for a messier look, why couldn’t he just get it to cooperate?

He gave his wife a pleading look. “Help?”

She clicked her tongue and looked him up and down a few times to get a gauge for his outfit (which he had purposely made too vague for her to get an idea of what they were doing) then rested her hands on her hips. “Well, I’d love to help…”

“But…?”

“But I can’t use my expertise unless I know where we’re going. There’s certain looks for different occasions, after all.”

He sighed. “C’mon…”

She bit her lip. “Fine. Just tell me how formal I need to be.”

“Casual…” He hesitated as he mulled it over. “But not jeans casual, more like day-dress casual. And wear darker colors, you could get stains on it.”

“There, was that so hard?”

He raised his eyebrow at her. “Considering I’m sure you’ve now guessed the surprise, I’m going to say yes.”

She gave him a cheeky grin and a wink.

He pouted. Man. He’d been so careful about keeping everything a secret from her. It was their tenth anniversary, he’d wanted to surprise her. He’d pulled out all the stops, even using cash for the tickets so she wouldn’t have an easy way to trace the payments.

Only to have it spoiled because of his hair.

Dang.

Then, she laughed and he thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad that she’d found out. The smile was worth it.

She reached up and started running her fingers through his hair. “As always, your problem is that you use too much hair gel… you never learn, do you…?”

“Maybe I do it on purpose to make you mess with my hair.”

She gave him a skeptical look and then pulled away. “Done. Time to get ready for… a carnival…? No… a circus.”

He pouted.

Marinette gave him another one of those laughs before slipping into the bathroom to change.

Two hours later they sat in a circus tent. Front-row seats, of course, they weren’t stingy.

She rested her head on his shoulder as they waited for everything to start. He stole some of her popcorn and smiled at the halfhearted glare he earned. His smile dropped when she dropped some onto his head. He pulled away from her to try and pick the pieces out.

“C’mon, Mari, my hair took so long. The paparazzi always checks on us on our anniversaries. I’m a model, you can’t do this to me --.”

And then the lights dimmed. And the ringmaster walked out.

The both of them tensed. The crowd was buzzing with excitment, but the two vigilantes gave each other wary looks. The ringmaster seemed almost anxious, his knuckles white on his cane.

Still, he gave a brilliant smile to the crowd as he announced the first act.

They relaxed the longer they watched. Nothing seemed to be going wrong, the contortionist was absolutely fine. So was the person doing aerial silks, and the clowns, the snake charmer…

Maybe the ringmaster was just new. He seemed to be growing more and more confident with each act. False alarm.

But then the trapeze artists came onstage.

Marinette murmured something about their outfits that he didn’t catch but knew was insulting.

The young performer smiled and waved to the crowd, then started climbing the opposite ladder as his parents.

The mom grabbed ahold of the trapeze and smiled as she hooked her knees over the bar, then held her hands out for her husband. The man jumped out and caught her hands.

And then the wire snapped.

The couple barely had a chance to scream before they hit the dirt.

The tent was completely silent.

And then the chaos started. Parents rushed to cover their kids’ eyes, people stumbled over each other as they ran, others surged forward to see better.

He could feel Marinette hop the railing in front of them to go check their pulses. There was no need, everyone could see it plainly, but she still tried.

Adrien didn’t move, his eyes locked on the kid.

He was standing there. He was hugging himself tightly, shaking, tears spilling over his cheeks.

He needed help.

A hand wrapped around his wrist. Marinette was pulling him out of the tent. He didn’t want to leave the kid alone but he couldn’t do that as Adrien Agreste. They needed to transform.

It took way too long to find a hiding place because people were already hiding in every obvious place they could think of. After a while they just broke into a trailer and dropped some money on the counter as an apology, unable to waste any more time.

They ran back into the tent and found that, to their horror, the police were there already.

Marinette mumbled a curse. “You deal with the kid, I’m going to steal some evidence before they get rid of it all.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and then practically disappeared.

Adrien found his way over to the child, who had been covered in a shock blanket. They flinched when he got closer and he gave his most award-winning smile as he held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I don’t want to hurt you, I promise.”

They looked kind of skeptical, but they did scoot over a little on their bench so he could sit down.

He sat as far away as he could, setting his baton at his feet carefully. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

His eyes never wavered from the front of the tent. It was like he was waiting for something or someone, but Adrien couldn’t guess what.

“Dick.”

“Well, Dick, do you have any family that I can take you to?”

Maybe that was what he was waiting for --?

“No.”

His smile disappeared. Ah. Not great.

He followed his gaze to the door and mulled everything over.

The kid didn’t seem to be in much of a rush, the shock was wearing off but it would still make the passage of time kind of weird for him. Adrien could take the time to think his next words through.

He’d met kids who had lost their last remaining family members before. Sometimes Marinette and Adrien just couldn’t get there in time and she wouldn’t be able to bring them back. It was an inevitable and unfortunately common part of their jobs. But every single time felt like a punch to the gut.

But he couldn’t let that show, not really.

He watched the kid out of the corner of his eyes. You always base your approach on how the kid is reacting in the moment. Some wanted open comfort, but this one didn’t want that if the way he’d flinched when Adrien had come close was any indication. Others wanted to just talk, also not going to happen considering the short answers he’d been given thus far. This kid seemed to just want to be left alone, but leaving a child in a vulnerable state was never a good idea.

So, what was he supposed to do?

He sighed. “I’m really sorry about what happened, these kinds of accidents --.”

“It wasn’t an accident.”

Adrien blanked. “Sorry?”

“It wasn’t an accident.” Dick hugged the blanket tighter around himself. “There was two guys. Mean-looking. Tried to get Mr. Haly to do some… protection payments? Left all mad and stuff. Said they would get paid or get payback.”

He was so shocked that the kid had given an answer with more than a few words in it that his brain buzzed right past the information he was given and he had to backtrack to actually process it.

And, when he did, his fists clenched.

“Did they mention any names?” He asked quietly, fighting to keep his voice level. This was still a kid who needs help, he couldn’t allow his anger to mess that up.

“Zucco.”

Adrien filed that information away for later and then gave the kid a once-over. They were no longer staring at the door, instead just fidgeting under their blanket. It was good that they were coming out of shock, but he doubted that Dick would see it that way. The numbness would be wearing off soon, and the feelings that would come to take its place would be painful.

He did the only thing he could think of: try and distract the kid. Good to see he’s passing on the unhealthy coping mechanisms.

“Hey, are you going to stay in the circus?”

“Can I?” Said Dick. He didn’t seem all that excited, just confused. As if he hadn’t thought that an option.

Adrien shrugged. “I mean, there’s that whole thing about ‘running away and joining the circus’. Even if they force you into an orphanage, you can probably just come back here.”

“I hear orphanages suck.”

True. He doubted that Dick would get the mental health treatment he needed (if he got any at all) and the money at those kinds of places were always stretched thin, especially in Gotham. He didn’t like the idea of sending the kid there, but what other choices did he have?

Before he could really think of an answer a hand clapped itself over his shoulder.

He barely even looked back. He knew who it was going to be. He fought back a groan.

“Ross,” he said, the smile on his face becoming more strained. He wasn’t going to fight in front of Dick, the kid was already stressed enough. “Nice to see you again.”

The cop didn’t seem all that concerned about niceties, his grip tightening on Adrien’s shoulder. “Get away from my witness.”

“He has a name. And he doesn’t know anything. Leave him alone.”

Dick frowned. “But I --.”

Marinette popped up out of nowhere, arms crossed over her chest as she openly glared at the officer. “You guys should keep better track of the evidence you actually do have, someone might take it.”

Officer Ross went pale and then ran to his partner to ask where the evidence was.

Adrien was also pale, though for different reasons. This kid didn’t know that the police were corrupt and that telling them anything would likely end in him getting killed? He couldn’t let that happen. Where could he keep him that they wouldn’t check? An orphanage or the circus wouldn’t work, those would be the first places they’d go…

He brought a smile to his face as he carefully leaned towards the kid. To his delight, he didn’t flinch or lean away. Progress!

“Hey, I’ve got some friends that I think I can give you to. Good people. They’ll take care of you until we can find something more permanent, sound good?”

Dick looked a little skeptical but he nodded.

Adrien carefully scooped the kid up in his arms and looked at his wife. “I’m going to take him, you can go home for the night and relax.” He sent her a discreet wink.

She smiled faintly and gave Dick a tiny wave before slipping out of the tent.

Good. She’d understood.

~

She had definitely not understood.

You see, winks are ambiguous.

Adrien’s wink had meant ‘Get home and brush up on your acting skills because we need to sell this’.

She had thought his wink had meant ‘It’s our anniversary and we shouldn’t be working anyways. Go ahead and head home, we’ve already done too much and I want to relax with my darling wife’.

So, when she’d gotten home she’d detransformed and slipped into some comfy pajamas and plopped herself down on the couch to watch some TV.

And then the door had opened.

She’d smiled and poked her head up. “Back already? That was quick --.”

Adrien was still holding Dick to himself.

Tikki gave a quiet gasp of surprise and zipped between the couch cushions.

Her husband smiled. “Hey, can I cash in a favor?”

Marinette opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, and then pursed her lips tightly. She couldn’t exactly say ‘no’, because now that she thought about it they really didn’t have any other options (kids have a tendency to have no filter and this one seemed to lack any common sense at all if she was judging by his outfit)...

Didn’t mean she couldn’t be bitter. They should have had more of a conversation about this than a wink, and she was going to tell him that:

“I don’t know, Chat, my husband isn’t here right now. This is the kind of thing you’re supposed to discuss with your partner.”

Adrien winced almost imperceptibly and had the decency to look sheepish. “I’m sure he’d be fine with it. Please, I have nowhere else I can take him.”

She bit her lip and looked at the kid, then squeezed her eyes shut.

There was a more selfish reason that they both wanted to do this…

They wanted kids. It had just never really been an option for them. If she wanted to get pregnant, she would pretty much have to give up crime-fighting for those nine months (and possibly permanently, that stuff has long-term effects). They couldn’t really bring themselves to adopt, either, because their lives were hectic and every single book in the world says that adoptees need a stable home.

She couldn’t let their wishes cloud their judgment. She was supposed to be the rational one. They would certainly mess this kid up, taking him wasn’t an option…

But leaving him wasn’t an option…

And it was kind of like the universe was dropping Dick into their laps…

Dick started to sniffle, bringing a hand up to wipe his eyes. Damn. She’d taken too long and now he felt rejected.

Her heart clenched. The kid didn’t deserve this...

“I… we can take him… but only temporarily. We need to find a better home for him eventually.”

It was best that none of them got their hopes up. This wasn’t a good solution, just the only one they could think of at the moment. At some point they’d think of a better one, and they’d have to do that.

Adrien and Dick both nodded.

Marinette slowly walked over and leaned down slightly to be at the kid’s eye level. “I’m Marinette Agreste. What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Richard. You can call me Dick, though.”

Listen. She wasn’t proud of what she’d said. But she’d never heard it before -- she was far less social than Adrien was -- and, really, how do you get the name ‘Dick’ from ‘Richard’?

“I don’t think you understand how much I cannot do that.”

Adrien had had to set Dick down, he was laughing so hard.

~

When he came home (as Adrien, this time), he was surprised to see Marinette stress baking.

He wasn’t sure why he was surprised, adopting a child is a stressful situation even if you had been expecting it. And they definitely had not been expecting it.

He watched her bake for a moment in the doorway.

She clicked her tongue. “Are you just going to watch me bake or are you going to come inside? Or do I have to make a ‘look what the cat dragged in’ joke everytime I see you, now?”

He smiled and took a seat on the counter. “What’re you making?”

“Cookies.” She turned around for some flour and then sent him a half-hearted glare when she saw him sitting next to it. “I was using that counter.”

“Unfortunate.”

Marinette clicked her tongue again and then moved to another spot. “When...” She grimaced a little. “When… the kid wakes up from a nightmare -- because there’s no way that he wouldn’t have one after tonight -- I’d like to at least have something sweet ready for him. I know we’re not his parents or whatever, but he should at least feel welcome while he’s here.”

He sobered a little, pulling a knee to his chest. “The whole vigilante thing… we’re going to have to put it on hold for a little while, you know…”

“There’s no way we can properly take care of a kid and be Chat Noir and Ladybug. Or, at least, we’d need to make some changes.” She procured a whisk out of seemingly nowhere and started whisking the batter.

He raised his eyebrows. “Changes?”

“We could take shifts. I’d take night shifts as Ladybug and day shifts parenting the kid. You do the opposite.”

“We’d burn out,” said Adrien with a sigh.

“Well, what are we supposed to do? Give the city over to Superman? Guy is shady enough as it is.”

He rolled his eyes. “He’s not shady, you just can’t handle people being nice to you.”

“MY POINT IS that we can’t just stop protecting the city. Especially not if the mob is going after circuses of all things.”

“Yeah, why are they doing that? Is there really money from circuses? Aren’t they all going out of fashion because of that whole ‘animal abuse’ thing most of them have going on?”

“As they should,” she murmured. She finished whisking and started searching for something in the drawers. She procured a scoop and started making rows of cookies. “But, probably, smuggling. No one bats an eye when circuses cross borders, that’s kind of their whole thing.”

He nodded slowly. “Fair enough. Still seems like a hassle, especially now that they’re probably going to be more heavily regulated because those people died.”

“Well, hopefully their sacrifice won’t be in vain. The bit of trapeze wire I stole from the police might give us some leads on the guy’s pseuds.”

“Are you calling up Nygma?”

She shrugged and set the cookies in the oven. “Kinda. He hasn’t done anything in three months, so he’s due any day now. I’ll talk to him about it after saving whoever he captured this time… unless you want to talk to him instead?”

He grinned. “No, I could never go instead of you. You like making fun of his outfit too much.”

“Awwww, thanks, Chaton,” she cooed. She took a seat next to him and pressed a short kiss to his lips. “You know me so well.”

“Well, we’ve been partners for fifteen years. You’d hope I’d know you by now.”

She smiled faintly and leaned into him. She watched the timer tick down for a little while in silence, biting her lip.

“What’s wrong?”

“I mean, even if the trapeze was sabotaged, what are the chances that the acid is something special that we can trace to him? One of us is going to have to go undercover.”

He raised his eyebrows. “And leave Dick alone?”

“There’s no way Zucco is only going after this one place. We can’t take back what’s happened to him, but we can at least make sure he’s the only one to have to go through this.”

Adrien frowned. She was right, though he hated it. While they had given themselves the obligation of taking care of Dick, they couldn’t just drop everything for him. Especially considering their jobs.

“Okay, M’lady, what’s the plan?”

“Well, I hear that the circus is looking for new trapeze artists.”

~

She smiled as she set the last of the cookies in the Tupperware and started heading towards Dick’s new room.

Her conversation with Adrien had gone a lot better than she was expecting, honestly. She’d explained her reasoning for why it would be safe now and he’d, however reluctantly, agreed that she’d made sense.

She decided she’d wait a few days for everything to end up in the news properly before asking to join the circus. After all, it would be suspicious if she called just a few hours after a tragedy.

She stopped outside the former guest room and considered knocking… and then decided she’d better not. On the off chance that Dick wasn’t having a nightmare, she didn’t want to wake him.

She pressed the door open and then stopped cold when she saw that the kid was crying.

Marinette glanced behind her, wondering if she could get away with just walking past and acting like she was going to the bathroom or something. She wasn’t good with emotions, not with people close to her. Random people on the street were fine, people she’d never have to interact with again were fine, but this…

She was not nearly as good as Adrien… but Adrien was asleep, the fucker...

“Miss Marinette?” Said the kid.

She winced mentally and reached along the wall for the light. “Yes, sweetie, it’s me.”

The light flicked on and she saw Dick duck his head so his hair would hide his face.

“I brought cookies,” she said awkwardly as she walked over and took a seat on the edge of his bed. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I just went with chocolate chip.”

He nodded slightly and mumbled his thanks as he took the Tupperware from her.

She bit her lip as he nibbled at her cookies, and then couldn’t help but smile at the way his posture relaxed a little.

“These are good.”

“My parents were bakers. I’d have been disowned if I couldn’t make chocolate chip cookies.”

He cracked the tiniest of smiles.

She floundered again in the new silence. There’s a difference between comfortable silences and awkward ones and this was definitely feeling more on the awkward side.

“I could teach you to bake, if you’d like. I doubt you had time to learn on the road.”

He hesitated. “I’d burn the place down.”

“That’s okay. If I could teach Adrien to cook then there’s hope for anyone.”

She had not, in fact, been able to teach Adrien to cook. He had set the entire kitchen on fire in what they now called The Brownie Incident… but Dick didn’t need to know that.

He smiled a little more and leaned back against the bed frame, still eating cookies. He had to be on his third one by now. She wasn’t going to call him out on it, though.

She glanced him over. He was no longer really hiding his face, and the tears had stopped sliding down his cheeks. He seemed content. She didn’t want to drag any feelings back, but...

“Would you like to talk about your nightmare?” She asked quietly.

“No.”

She winced internally. “Okay. Would you like me to leave?”

“No.”

Marinette let a little bit of surprise show on her face for just a second before slowly scooting over to lay next to him. She took a cookie he offered her and closed her eyes, relaxing a little.

“Are you going to sleep again?”

“No.”

“That’s okay. Do you want that baking lesson now?”

Dick giggled a little. “But we already have cookies…”

“Well, we don’t have any cakes, now, do we? Or brownies. And there’s other types of cookies!”

She peeked an eye open and couldn’t help but smile a little at the grin on the kid’s face at the mention of all the possibilities.

Then he gave her a suspicious look. “Are you trying to fatten me up like an evil witch?”

“Yes,” she said gravely. “I adopt little circus kids and fatten them up to eat. The entire house is actually made of candy.”

To her surprise and slight horror, he actually brought the corner of his blanket to his mouth. Then he spat it out. “Liar!”

“I…” She trailed off. She didn’t know how to respond to that. Moving on. “So, about that baking thing, how do brownies sound?”

He grabbed her by the sleeve of her pajama shirt and pulled her out into the halls with a bright smile. She had to do a half-jog to keep up with him.

“Shhhh, Mister Adrien is asleep!” He stage-whispered.

She scoffed. “Me?! You’re the one running!”

“Shhhhhhhhh!”

Marinette clicked her tongue once and allowed him to pull her into a full on jog as they raced through the house. Really, it was a testament to how tired he was that Adrien didn’t wake up.

She grinned and offered him a hand to get up on the counter, and then was reminded of the fact that he was a literal trapeze artist as he vaulted off of her hand and jumped over her head to get to it.

She whispered a quiet “holy shit” in English, then covered her mouth with her hand. She and Adrien had a sort of unspoken rule that you can only curse in English, it’s just a weird thing that bilingual households do where cursing in the second language just doesn’t count, but now this was an actual kid who spoke (as far as she was aware) only English. She can’t teach him curse words!

But he didn’t seem to hear it, instead smiling as he reached towards the sink and started cleaning his hands.

She washed her hands after him and then started pulling down things to make brownies. Should she do chocolate chips or just cocoa powder…?

She remembered The Brownie Incident.

She shivered.

Cocoa powder. Definitely cocoa powder.

She put some butter in the microwave.

“What does ‘holy shit’ mean?”

She wheezed. “Uh-- I-- um--.”

“I’m just messing with you. I already know.”

Oh thank fuck.

Well, maybe not. She was kind of glad that he was feeling comfortable enough to joke around with her, but… the idea of him secretly being a little shit, while not necessarily surprising, was a bit worrying.

“Okay… good? Just… don’t swear in front of Adrien. I don’t really care, but if he hears you he might think I taught you… so it’s just our little secret, okay?”

He smiled and made a zipping motion across his lips. She copied the motion.

Aw, she’d almost forgotten how cute kids were when they weren’t in dangerous or sad situations.

The microwave beeped and she hummed as she combined the butter, cocoa, and sugar. She stirred a bit and then handed Dick the eggs.

“Here, you can crack three of them into the bowl. Do you know how to do that?”

He huffed. “Yes!”

He, in fact, did not know how to do that.

She watched in open-mouthed horror as he attempted to just pull the egg open without cracking it.

“N… no, sweetie. You need to break it on the counter, first.”

He nodded and then slammed the egg on the counter.

Marinette wiped some egg off of the front of her shirt and then took a few breaths to steady herself. Now that the shock had worn off, she was very tempted to laugh and she was not going to do that to this poor, confused kid.

“I think I did it wrong.”

She snickered and then coughed to cover it up. “I… yes. I’ll show you how to do it.”

He gave a tiny smile as she took his hand and taught him how to crack an egg. He repeated the process with the other two eggs and she worked at cleaning up the mess he’d made.

… how the fuck was there egg on the wall? That was a good seven feet away from the island they were cooking on. Sure, he had to be strong to be an acrobat, but what the fuck?

She sighed and set the napkin done now that he was done and smiled as she added the vanilla, salt, and flour.

She handed him a spatula.

“Stir. Go wild, kid,” she said, 

Big mistake.

Dick took her words to heart, and she watched as he stirred madly, batter flying everywhere.

She laughed, only to get splashed with the batter.

She managed to stop his hand and sent him a tiny glare.

“I'm starting to think you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Whaaaat? No.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, and then gasped when he lobbed a tiny bit of batter at her shirt.

“Oops,” he said, giving her a feral grin.

Marinette couldn’t help but smile back… then she reached past him and grabbed a handful of flour. She flicked her fingers and smiled when it got on his face.

He pouted and started rubbing his eyes. “Ow…”

Panic.

“Oh, sorry, did I get it in your eyes?” She leaned down. “Let me see.”

He nodded and slowly brought his hands away from his face and she checked his eyes with her fingers carefully --.

Only to feel an egg smash itself on top of her head.

She wiped some egg from her face and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll get you for that one, you traitor!”

He squealed and set the batter down, then did a backroll away from her.

Marinette and Dick grabbed their weapons…

An hour later, they were both breathing heavily.

“Truce?” She said, lowering her flour-covered arm.

He nodded slowly… and then threw an egg at her.

She dodged it easily and glared at him, her hand already reaching for her flour again —.

“Now truce! Now truce.”

She hesitated, then clicked her tongue as she let herself relax.

They looked around the mess that was the kitchen... at the batter still somehow untouched on the counter… the oven, which hadn’t even been preheated yet…

“Do you just want to eat the batter?”

“Let me get some spoons.”

A few hours later, Adrien walked in… only to stop short when he saw his wife and new kid there, covered in cooking ingredients. Dick had fallen asleep with his head on her shoulder. She was fine with this, there was still some batter left.

“Um…?”

“Brownies are cursed,” she told him, then she took another spoonful.

“What?” Said a bewildered and still half-asleep Adrien.

She looked her husband dead in the eye as she pulled the spoon from her mouth with a tiny ‘pop’.

“Brownies are cursed.”

~

Adrien felt bad homeschooling the kid.

Really, it had brought him a lot of grief growing up. He hadn’t known anyone besides Chloe and Kagami until he was twelve years old.

But, as it turned out, Dick really needed to be homeschooled.

On top of just… having no formal education whatsoever and his general knowledge being a toss of the dice, it was also the middle of the school year and everyone knows you can’t just dump new kids into a class halfway through.

Adrien tipped his head back against his chair and closed his eyes.

Dick was taking a test to see what he had to teach him, but he wasn’t concerned about the kid cheating. What was he going to do? Sneak away, grab a textbook, and start flipping through it without him noticing?

He sighed.

The kid was… weird.

He was always smiling, always in motion, always affectionate. It was something they’d figured out quickly, but it had taken longer to notice that he was only like that when he was talking about things he actually wanted to. If they asked how he was doing, because it had only really been a week since it had happened, he would clam up and start semi-subtly shifting the conversation away.

He was avoiding his problems. And Marinette and Adrien really didn’t know what to do. He had stolen their unhealthy coping mechanism and now they were forced to stand back and watch as the kid destroyed himself the same way they did. And they knew it was a terrible coping mechanism, even Dick might have known it, but what were they supposed to do? They had been around much longer and they hadn’t found a better mechanism, what could they do for Dick?

He peeked an eye open and looked at the kid, who was chewing on the end of his pen as he thought through the question he was on.

… damn, he was actually going to have to learn how to cope, huh?

So, that afternoon, he passed Dick off to Marinette like a baton in a relay race and took a bus to the bookstore.

The psychology section was huge and filled to the brim with case studies. It was honestly daunting to look at. Instead, he made his way to the clerk.

The woman looked him up and down once. “Rough week?”

“You have no idea,” he muttered. “Can I have some recommendations for books on adoption, parenting, and coping with trauma? And also a highlighter, that would probably help.”

He skimmed through the parenting and adoption books. He and Marinette had already done this a few years back when they had first been considering kids, he was mostly just getting a refresher.

And then he turned to the five books on coping mechanisms he’d bought.

He took a deep breath and started looking methodically reading his way through it, highlighter in hand.

The next day, he found Dick, who was drumming his fingers on the table as he glared at the textbook in front of him.

Adrien had some suspicions about the kid in front of him, though he wasn’t absolutely sure yet. Still, he figured he should test his theory.

Besides, it would also help keep the kid safe and physical activity was one of the things a book on coping mechanisms had suggested.

Multi-tasking!

Or maybe it was just efficiency…

Whatever!

He smiled. “Hey, kid, want to try something different for today’s lesson?”

Dick looked up, frowning. “Like what?”

“Well… how do you feel about learning self-defense?”

~

“Where are you going?” Asked Dick with a tiny frown as she started bustling around the living room in search of her shoes.

“Uh… work!” She said.

They’d both agreed that telling Dick that she was going to go do the exact job his parents had just died in was a terrible idea, so they’d thought up a cover story… too bad she couldn’t think of it at the moment. She finally saw her shoes tucked under the couch and dove down to grab them, then sent her kid a smile.

“Have a good day, sweetie, I’ll see you later,” she said, walking over and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

She ducked out the door and started running all over again. Her eyes found their way to her watch. It was a tryout and she was going to be late…

But she wasn’t.

Barely.

She stumbled inside with one minute to spare, panting, and it took everything in her not to slump over the nearest bench and die.

“Hi,” she wheezed at Haly, who raised his eyebrows slightly at her.

“You’re really cutting it close, here. Have anything to say for yourself?”

She rested a hand over her heart as if that would somehow bring it back to normal. “I need a fucking car.”

Haly paused, then nodded. “That explains that. I’ll let you off with a warning that you should try not to be late again.”

“Oka --.” She stopped, and then looked at him. “I got the job?”

He shrugged and pointed around at the empty tent. “You’re the only one here.”

Wow. She’d suspected that people would be less than eager to take the job offer, but to be the only person…

Well, she figured that she should just be thankful. That made things much easier.

She smiled faintly. “Cool. Should I still show you my skills and everything?”

He motioned to the trapeze. There was a net under it. The man had learned his lesson, at least. “Please.”

It turns out that being Ladybug is really helpful when you want to be a trapeze artist.

Actually, she found that being a trapeze artist was actually easier in some ways. Instead of having to hold tight to one thin string when swinging around, she was able to get a proper grip on a bar.

It was a lot of fun. Recently, she’d been using her cane more. Having a yoyo was impractical as a weapon when people were firing guns, so she’d more or less stopped using it. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to feel the wind in her hair. It was calming...

Also, she got to show off, which was always fun.

She stopped after a few minor tricks and gave a bow to Haly, who seemed to just be glad that she actually had an idea of what she was doing.

“You’ll need about a month of training before you do any shows. Do you have any other expertise?”

She shook her head. It was a lie, she would probably be good with aerial silks or contortionism, but she felt some weird need to do the trapeze…

Just then, her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it and read the news headline.

She groaned and turned to Haly. “Can I have a minute? I need to take this.”

The man nodded.

She scowled as she stepped out and dialled a number.

“NYGMA.”

“Ladybug!” Riddler said cheerfully. She could hear a woman sobbing in the background. “What’s up? Did you see the news?”

“Yes, I saw. I’m at a job interview!”

The smile in the man’s voice disappeared as he spoke next: “Oh, I’m sorry. I can reschedule the death trap.”

“YOU CAN, CAN YOU?”

“Yep! How does tomorrow sound?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to relax. “I can do tomorrow. Thank you. And let go of the poor lady, will you?”

“Fiiiiine.”

She hung up on him and then stepped back inside, giving Haly her brightest smile.

“I can start working in two days, if that sounds good to you.”

~

Adrien hesitated.

Really, he should be getting Marinette to train Dick on self-defense. They had similar movement styles…

But his hunch had been right. This kid seemed to learn a lot better when he was multitasking and, as much as he loved his wife, he didn’t think her English was good enough to teach someone else.

And, besides, he wanted to spend time with his kid, dang it!

He stopped Dick before he could throw another punch at the dummy to fix his form. “I know putting power into it is hard when you’re so little, but you need to rotate your hips so you can get at least some kind of force behind it.”

The kid pouted. “But this is so boooooooring. It’s just the same thing over and over again! I want to do cool stuff!”

“Not yet. You have to understand the basics before you start messing with it.”

Dick gave another pout, this time adding puppy-dog eyes, but, unfortunately for him, Adrien had never been fond of dogs. He raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

The kid groaned and started punching the pads again.

“I before E, except after C, or when sounding like A, as in neighbor and…”

~

It didn’t take long for Marinette to notice The Guy.

She had a pretty good vantage point from the ladder to her trapeze. She would stop at the top, her hands up in a salute, and pause for ‘dramatic effect’.

Her eyes flicked over the crowd and locked on the face of The Guy.

He was at every show, his face pulled into a bored frown as he rested his head on his hand. He’d sit there the whole time, watching the same performance over and over again, and then leave the moment the show was over.

She pursed her lips for half a second before bringing her face back to its smile.

She’d brought a camera this time. This time she’d be able to get his face so she and Adrien could get information on him.

But, for now, she concentrated on making the first jump to the trapeze…

She sat down after her act, still breathing heavily. She was in shape… but, kwami, that kind of stuff is hard! Still, she couldn’t help but smile. She hadn’t been challenged in a while. It was kind of fun.

She wondered, vaguely, if this was what she’d be doing if she hadn’t gone back into crime fighting.

Marinette pushed that thought from her head as she downed her water. It wasn’t the time. She only had a few more minutes before she was on again for the outro. She needed the picture now.

She grabbed her camera from her locker and snuck her way to the stands, and pointed her camera --.

The Guy had spotted her. He looked directly at her camera, his face set in an even deeper frown than usual.

She quickly snapped the picture, then darted back behind the curtain. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Shit! Shitshitshit --!

Okay. Breathe.

He wasn’t going to just kill her. If the way they’d offed the Graysons was any indication, they didn’t want to draw too much attention to the circus. It was unfortunate what had happened, but not suspicious. However, the trapeze was new and there was a net. An accident like that couldn’t happen again.

No, they’d probably wait until after the show. That would be fine. She could deal with that. At least then she could stall until she had energy by waiting with someone.

She felt a hand tap her shoulder and looked over at the contortionist. “Time?”

“Time,” he said simply.

She hid the camera and ran out with him, smiling like she wasn’t about to face off with a mobster.

Two hours later, she stepped into her train car and crossed her arms over her chest. “Right, I know you’re in here,” she said quietly.

Or, at least, she hoped so. Because otherwise she would be looking a little silly --.

Wait, a knife pressed to her neck. Maybe she wished she was wrong.

She clicked her tongue and leaned into her attacker, closing her eyes. “You Americans still say ‘yo’, right?”

The Guy tensed a little under her, and then whispered a confused, “No…?”

She huffed. “Damn. Why do you change your greetings so often? Whatever. Kaalki, a little help would be nice.”

“Who --?” Began The Guy, but he was quickly cut off.

Because a portal opened under them and dumped them into a back alley in Gotham.

Marinette grinned and grabbed his arm, using his confusion to lean forward and flip him over her shoulder. He cursed as his back hit the ground and the blade clattered to the floor.

She grabbed it nonchalantly and her eyes flicked over the hilt.

A name was engraved there.

Zucco.

“You mob people make this too easy. Now, tell me everything you know.”

He glared up at her. “They’ll kill me!”

“And what gave you the impression that I wouldn’t?” She twirled the knife in her fingers. “Quickly, please, I have a kid to get back to.”

A half hour later, he had spilled everything he knew.

And his guts…

She rolled off of him and glanced at the bloodied dagger in her hand. Her nose scrunched up as she dropped it beside him. There. Now it looked like a mob hit.

She pushed herself to her feet and dusted herself off, only to groan at the sight of the blood staining her front.

She gave the corpse a kick as she cursed him out:

“Asshole. I liked these clothes!”

~

He smiled as he pulled his wife into his side.

Dick had finally gone to bed, so it was just them two. For once.

Marinette had a show in an hour that she needed to portal back for, and Adrien needed to go out as Chat Noir soon, but they didn’t want to get up just yet.

She yawned and curled closer to him. “I guess…” She yawned again. “I guess I should tell you what I found out. Which is basically nothing. Apparently, hardly anyone has ever seen Zucco in person, just the higher ups. He just sends people to do his bidding.”

He groaned and buried his face in her hair. “Great. Did you at least give the sample to Nygma when you saw him yesterday?”

“Obviously.” Her watch beeped and she mumbled a curse. “Alright, I have to go.”

“Nooooooo.”

“Yeeees,” she said, gently pushing his chest until he let go. She stretched out a bit and then walked to the bedroom door.

It swung open before she even touched the knob.

Dick was standing in the doorway, hugging a Chat Noir doll to his chest. “I had a nightmare. Can I sleep with you guys?”

Marinette glanced at her watch and then at the kid and then at her watch again.

“Or are you guys both going out again?”

Adrien winced. “You noticed that?”

“It’s, like, every night,” he said irritably. He sighed and wiped his eyes a little bit. “Fine. I’ll just go lay down again.”

She bit her lip and then leaned down to look him in the eyes. “I’ll be back in four hours, okay, sweetie? Can you handle that?”

Dick looked at the ground. “Sure.”

Marinette grimaced. “I’m sorry.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

They could hear the coatrack hit the ground in her hurry to grab her jacket and get out the door.

Adrien sighed and looked at Dick, who was still standing in the doorway.

He really should be going on patrol. The people of Gotham had begun to notice that Chat Noir and Ladybug had been showing up less frequently. Crime rates were rising…

He laid back in bed and opened his arms. “I won’t leave. Come here.”

Dick gave a tiny smile, though it seemed a little forced. Still, he got into bed and curled up in Adrien’s arms.

“Would you like to talk about it?” He tried.

“No.”

He sighed. “You’re going to have to talk about it, eventually. Avoiding it is just going to make it harder to deal with later.”

“Nope.”

He gave a tiny laugh. Dang. This kid really was just them but younger. Now all he needed was a miraculous and he’d be a perfect mini version of them…

“Where do you guys even go?” Asked Dick, his voice muffled in Adrien’s chest.

“Work,” he said after a few minutes’ deliberation.

“I thought you didn’t really have jobs.”

He laughed quietly. “Marinette has a million jobs, and I have my one. Though we don’t really get paid for what we do most of the time.”

“Why do you do it, then?”

Adrien raised his eyebrows slightly, then gave a tiny shrug. “Why did you do the trapeze?”

He’d meant for it to be a rhetorical question, meant for it to be something that would make Dick change the subject, so it was a complete surprise when the kid whispered: “It was all that I knew.”

Internally, he was screaming. It was happening! Finally! He had opened up a little bit!

Externally, he nodded and rubbed circles into the kid’s back. “Hopefully, we can make it so it’s not all you know. Help you branch out a little bit while you’re here.”

He felt tiny hands clutch the back of his shirt. “Can’t do that when you’re always gone.”

“I know,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

They stayed in silence for a long time. Adrien was pretty sure that Dick had fallen asleep, but he wasn’t going to move. The kid had noticed that they were gone often, but the two of them had always made sure to wait until he had fallen asleep to leave. He had to be waking up at least once a night, so…

He held the kid close to his chest.

A few hours later, the door creaked open.

Adrien opened an eye blearily and saw Marinette get into bed. He lifted an arm for Marinette to join the cuddle and smiled faintly when she actually did.

He let himself drift off.

~

A few days later, Marinette and Adrien came back from patrols to find Dick talking to the kwamis. All of them gave sounds of surprise when they saw the two vigilantes in the door and disappeared except for Trixx, who turned and fixed their purple eyes on them.

Marinette pursed her lips tightly for a second, considering what to say, and then decided on: “What the fuck, guys?”

Adrien removed his arm from around her waist so he could bury his face in his hands.

Trixx smiled. “It’s not what it looks like. He found us.”

“He…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “So… you’re telling me that this kid pushed our bed aside, pulled up the exact right floorboard, and pulled out the miracle box...”

“... yes.”

“Forgive me for being skeptical, but I’m not buying it.”

Dick pouted and hugged the tiny fox to his chest. “Are you mad at her?”

Marinette hesitated.

Before Dick had known about the kwamis, they had a chance of giving him back. They would have been able to find better parents for him, been able to give him a genuinely good life. But now… they couldn’t risk giving him up. The reason they’d taken him in in the first place was that he was relatively loose-lipped. Now that he knew something so important, there was no way in hell that they could risk him ever telling anyone.

Of course, she doubted they would have been able to give up Dick anyways. She’d grown annoyingly attached to the kid, he was sweet and generally made her life a little more fun, but now there wasn’t an option at all.

Still, this part of their lives… beyond needing to keep things a secret, it was extremely dangerous to involve a kid in this kind of thing.

Adrien answered first: “No, we’re not mad. Just… this wasn’t exactly the plan.”

“And what was the plan? Never telling me that we have a bunch of… what did they call themselves? Kwamis? Whatever, they’re gods. There are just gods living in our house!”

Marinette shrugged. “We weren’t telling you because we didn’t want you to get dragged into this part of our lives, sweetie.”

Dick huffed. “And are there any other secrets that I should know about?”

“They’re Ladybug and Chat Noir,” supplied Trixx.

“TRIXX?!”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY’RE CHAT NOIR AND LADYBUG?!”

The fox kwami laughed and disappeared.

Marinette scowled. “I know you’re still here, Trixx, where are you? I will hunt you.”

“Please, Mari, you don’t need to do that. Just get the fox miraculous and summon her here, it’s much easier.”

“Smart.”

“WHY HAVE YOU STILL NOT DENIED IT?!”

Marinette and Adrien looked at each other awkwardly.

Well… the secret was out.

She opened her purse and he opened his jacket, and their kwamis slowly poked their heads out to look at Dick.

Poor kid was not prepared.

He covered his eyes with his hands and took a few deep breaths. “So… I… wow…”

Well, she supposed there could be worse reactions.

“Wait, so are you investigating what happened with my parents?”

Like that. That was a worse reaction. Fuck.

Marinette carefully took a seat on the floor by her kid. Adrien sat down as well.

“We’re working on it,” she said carefully. “I’m following a lead and I got help from a… an associate of ours.”

Adrien nodded. “It will take a while. It’s just the two of us -- and Nygma, I guess -- so it’s not going to be done quickly.”

Dick removed his hands from his eyes and looked at them both. “I want to help.”

“No,” said both adults instantly.

“But --.”

“Nope,” said Marinette.

“I --.”

Adrien held up his hands. “Not allowed.”

Dick pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why not? They’re my parents.”

Marinette shook her head slowly. “It has nothing to do with that. You’re a kid, we can’t just let you fight crime.”

“Oh? And when did you start fighting crime?”

“Eighteen,” said Marinette, which technically wasn’t a lie…

Which means it was unfortunate that Adrien gave a more accurate answer: “I was twelve, she was thirteen.”

She groaned and rested her head in her hands. “Damn it, Adrien.”

“So, when I’m twelve, can I join you guys?”

Marinette pursed her lips tightly. She didn’t want to be a hypocrite, but she also didn’t want to let an actual kid fight crime. She had fought crime as a kid, it had messed her up. She wasn’t eager to pass that on to someone else…

But…

“Fine. How about this: if we don’t solve it by the time you’re twelve you can join us for that case specifically.”

Dick pouted a little, but seemed to understand. “Okay.”

She and Adrien met eyes. They had three years to solve this case before Dick would get involved, and they couldn’t let that happen.

But it was three years.

How hard could it be?

~

He and Marinette sat on the floor in front of the miracle box, sorting the miraculi into two different piles: ‘Will Protect’ and ‘Can’t Protect’.

Once that was done, they started sifting through the ‘Will Protect’ pile.

“Turtle?” Marinette said.

Adrien shook his head. “Doesn’t fit his fighting style. Bee?”

She shuddered. “Don’t need another Chloe. Snake?”

They tipped their heads from side to side as they considered it, but then Trixx piped up: “I’m right here, y’know.”

The two vigilantes jumped out of their skin. Then they glared at the kwami.

“Must you always sneak up on us?”

“Yes. Anyways, I’m the best fit for the kid and you know it.”

Marinette pursed her lips. Adrien raised his eyebrows.

It was true. From the moment they’d started considering giving Dick a miraculous (because, even if they doubted he was ever going to get to that point, they figured they should at least make sure he was safe), they’d both been eyeing the fox miraculous…

Thing was…

“You’re just going to tell him more of our secrets,” he complained, sighing.

Trixx crossed their paws over their chest. “Do you really have any other secrets you care about?”

They considered this for a minute, before Marinette clicked her tongue.

“Fine. Fine! Adrien, you’ll need to train him on his powers, your secondary powers are closer than mine. I’ll take up sparring to teach him a fight style that better matches his circus training.”

Adrien pouted and fell back until his head hit her lap. “You don’t think I was teaching him well enough? Because our fight styles and training were completely different? I’m wounded, M’lady. I’ll never recover.”

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips.

He smiled. “I’ve been cured.”

She clicked her tongue.

Adrien smiled…

And then her watch beeped. He groaned and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her stomach. “Nooooo, don’t gooooooooooo.”

“I can’t just not go, Chaton.”

“Why nooooot? It would be so easy.”

She slowly peeled his arms off of her, smiling fondly. “Relax. I’ll be back later. Hang out with… with Di --... Nope. With the kid. Maybe train him a little in his powers or whatever.”

He laid on the floor with a pout as he watched her leave, and then looked down at the necklace in his hands.

Well, he supposed he might as well. What else could he do? Protect the city? Nah.

He walked to his kid’s room and rolled his eyes when he saw the kid standing with his ear pressed to the wall.

“Hello?”

Dick’s face reddened and he turned to Adrien with a bright smile. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Wow, he really was a good fit for Trixx.

He sighed and offered the necklace. “You’re not in trouble. C’mon, we’re going to teach you to use these powers.”

Trixx floated over to rest on Dick’s shoulder and Adrien waved him along to the training room.

Adrien held up a hand before walking to the window and quickly shutting the curtains.

He smiled as the kid transformed.

Adrien stretched lazily. “Right, on your back right now is a flute. It… works like a flute. You can play music with it if you want, and also hit people with it if you want. It also summons your power.”

Dick nodded and pulled it off his back. “What can I do?”

“You play a note and envision an illusion of some sort. The limit is just your imagination.”

“Like a Green Lantern?”

“I… kind of. You just have illusions, if you touch them they disappear.”

“That sucks.”

“I guess. Alright, so you’re probably going to have side-effects.”

He watched the kid’s eyes widen and rushed to explain: “It usually isn’t bad. Just weird. It’s why I like to sit on counters and why Mari’s always so cold. It also changes looks a little. Like… Mari has a lot more white in her eyes and my hair has those two little tufts that I have to gel down.”

Dick’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Okay. So… powers.”

“Yep.”

He pulled out his flute.

Adrien smiled. “Right, let’s start simple. The main thing you need is a clear vision. I’m going to close my eyes and you’re going to make something appear in the room. If you’re doing it right then it should appear real, if not then we’ll figure out what’s going wrong.”

He closed his eyes and waited for a few seconds after he heard the shrill note of the flute. Then he opened his eyes.

And came face to face with a giant, bright pink inflatable elephant.

“I…”

Dick grinned. “Think we should address the elephant in the room?”

He blinked once, then broke into a matching grin. “You’re what’s been missing from my life. Oh my kwami. That was beautiful.”

Then he actually went to inspect the elephant. It was pretty good. The lighting was a little off but it wasn’t plainly obvious it was fake, if he wasn’t paying attention he doubted he would’ve noticed. That made sense. Powers were usually pretty instinctual.

He nodded slowly. “Now try something that makes sound.”

Dick brought the flute to his lips and played another note.

He had expected the elephant to disappear and get replaced by something. Instead, it let out a high whine as the air in it slipped out of a new gash on its side.

Adrien smiled.

“Nice.” He sighed and let his smile lessen. Now for the reason they had thought the fox miraculous could be used for protection: “Okay. Make yourself disappear.”

He got a frown for that one. “Sorry?”

“It’s… you’re still a kid. You need to know how to cloak yourself so you don’t get hurt. We can’t really stop you from coming with us in an ethical way, but we need to at least make sure you’ll be okay if you come along.”

Dick frowned. “I thought you were going to let me help.”

“In three years. If we haven’t already solved this case yet. And if we think that you’re going to be able to handle it.”

“But --.”

“We were heroes at a young age. True. We weren’t ready for it, though, and we don’t want to screw up a kid in the same way we were screwed up. That’s the whole thing about having kids, we want you to have a better life than we did.”

The kid gave an annoyed expression before bringing his flute to his lips. With a shrill note, the annoyed face disappeared.

Adrien tipped his head from side to side as he considered this. He was pretty sure that he could sense something off, but he wasn’t sure if that was just his mind messing with him because he knew that Dick was there…

He walked towards where he’d last seen him to make sure and then stopped short when he realized what was off. His feet weren’t making any sound.

There wasn’t any sound at all, actually.

“You’ve done too much. You got rid of all sound, not just your own.”

Dick appeared, a grin on his face.

“This is boring. Can we make it into a game? Like hide-n-seek?”

Adrien hesitated, then shrugged. “Don’t see why not.” He brought his hands up to cover his eyes. “Thirty… twenty-nine…”

~

She hummed absently as she and Dick stretched to warm up.

She was a little jealous, if she was honest, he was way more flexible than she was even though he was out of practice and she wasn’t. She’d been stretching before this kid was even born. How dare he still be more flexible than her.

Still, she rolled to her feet and offered him a hand up.

Dick’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly and he did a backhandspring from the floor.

How the fuck?

But she wasn’t going to act like this was an amazing thing. She was already bitter enough about his flexibility, admitting that he was also better at gymnastics would be even worse.

Instead, she grinned. “Hey, kid, what should we call you?”

He thought for a minute, taking his flute out and twirling it in his hand like a baton. “Robin?”

“I…” She held up a finger to say ‘one minute’ and then pulled out her phone. After a quick google search to make sure they were talking about the same animal, she gave her kid a confused look. “You’re a fox.”

“Yes.”

“Robins are birds.”

“Yes.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She really didn’t know why she asked a kid who called himself ‘Dick’ to name himself. Really, she should have expected this.

Marinette shrugged to herself. “Fine. I’m just gonna keep calling you ‘sweetie’.”

“Okay!” He stopped twirling his flute and pointed it at Marinette. “So, you’re going to teach me to use my circus training for fighting?”

She sighed and pulled out her cane, leaning against it. “Right. I’ll need to check to see how well you know the basics, first, though.”

Dick groaned. “I’m ready. I feel like I’ve been ready for ages!”

“I know, I know, but I need to make sure, okay?”

He gave her an annoyed look.

Marinette pursed her lips tightly. “Okay. Fine.” She dropped her cane. “Spar with me.”

Dick’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yep. You’ll have first swing and I won't get a weapon.”

True to her word, she let him have the first swing. She dodged and grabbed his arm, then pressed her foot to the middle of his back. He hit the ground with a groan. She pulled the flute from his hand and sent him a tired glare.

“You got lucky,” said Dick, his voice muffled against the floor.

She pulled him back to his feet. “No, you’re a child and I’ve been fighting for years. Like pretty much everyone else you’re going to fight. Which means that we can’t rush your training, okay? You have years before we let you into the field, if we do, so…”

He brushed himself off with a bitter expression.

“Fine. We drill basics.”

~

Riddler grinned, spinning around in his chair.

“Ladybug and Chat Noi --.” He stopped short, his eyes widening as they spotted something behind them. “What the heck? You guys brought a kid to this?”

He glanced behind himself and cringed lightly. He reached out and gently pulled Dick behind himself a little. Nygma had never been one for random attacks, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to make sure that this kid was safe.

And why had they brought him?

Marinette clicked her tongue once in annoyance. “Hey, sweetie, show the nice man your powers for a second.”

Dick brought his flute to his lips. With one high note he was gone.

Yep. They were really regretting giving him that miraculous right about then. They hadn’t even realized that he was coming along until Adrien had missed a jump and realized that his bones hadn’t audibly cracked like they usually did when he messed up like that.

He reappeared with a fox-like grin playing across his thin lips.

(Or maybe they just thought it was fox-like because he was currently dressed as a fox. Who knows.)

Riddler considered this for a minute, then nodded. “I understand now.”

Adrien sighed. “Yep.”

Marinette pulled out her yoyo and summoned a coloring book and some crayons. Dick beamed and plopped down on the floor to color.

The parents smiled fondly at their kid and then turned to Riddler.

“Now, you have news?” Adrien said.

“Good news and bad news.”

The adults looked at each other and gave tiny shrugs.

“Good news first,” said Marinette.

“Good news is that there’s only one person who supplies that specific acid.”

Adrien’s eyebrows knit together. That sounded good, but…

“Bad news is that she’s pretty popular. Over two-hundred customers popular.”

Ah. There it was.

Marinette covered Dick’s ears so she could curse.

Adrien, however, shrugged. “Do you have a list of her customers?”

Riddler nodded slowly. “Of course. I’ll forward it to you guys.”

“Thanks for the help, Nygma. See you in a few months.” With that, Marinette picked up Dick and held him to her hip.

“I’ll get you with the next one!”

“Mhmm. Sure.”

Adrien gave an apologetic smile and a friendly wave as he hurried out after his wife.

~

Marinette hummed absently as she pulled her jacket on, then froze up when she heard a gun click behind her head.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

She pulled a smile to her face and held her hands up in a kind of surrender, then turned around.

Wow. This man looked exactly like how gangsters looked in movies. She probably would have laughed if he wasn’t pointing a gun at her.

And, even with the gun pointed at her, she had to suppress a smile.

“Who are you?” He asked.

She frowned. “Shouldn’t I be asking that of you, sir? You’re the one attacking the random trapeze artist.”

“You’ve killed every single man I’ve sent in here to make sure everything was going to plan.”

“Maybe you should’ve sent a woman. We apparently get the job done better.”

“Who. Are. You?”

“Marinette Agreste, but I’m sure you knew that. Otherwise you wouldn’t know that I’ve killed ‘every single man you’ve sent here’.”

He scowled. “That wasn’t what I was asking and you know it.”

“Do I? Maybe you should be clearer,” she said. “Or, you could just tell me your name and I promise I would be much more compliant.”

The man seemed to consider this for a minute, his face tinged red with annoyance. She tried to push down the twinge of satisfaction. Even if this wasn’t Zucco, he at least had to be pretty high up and was likely the person who had ordered the goons to kill Dick’s parents. This bitch deserved all the hell she gave him, in her not-so-humble opinion.

“Giovanni,” he said carefully.

She smiled. “See? Was that so hard? Now, who am I...? I don’t know. I sometimes fight people. What else is there to say?”

He didn’t seem amused. “Why are you killing all my men?”

“I wouldn’t have to if they didn’t notice me noticing them every time. It’s getting very annoying. Send less observant people.”

Her eyes caught Kaalki’s. The kwami was hiding in a duffel bag that had been left open and she gave a tiny shrug to say go.

The man gave a scream as a portal sliced his hand off.

Marinette hummed absently and leaned down to pick up the gun. She pried the hand off of the gun and tossed it aside.

“WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK --.”

“I know, I know, it hurts, but could you be quieter?” She rubbed the side of her head. “Right, I have a few questions about Zucco.”

“He’d kill m --.”

“Yes. Yes, he would. But maybe you should concern yourself less with him, who has already made up his mind about killing you, and more about me, who’s still mulling it over.”

An hour later she stepped out of the changing room, humming as she tossed the gun back over her shoulder lazily.

“Haly?” She yelled, and smiled when his head popped out from his train care.

He looked stunned for a moment before he pulled himself together. “Yes?”

“I’m quitting. It’s been fun, though!”

She bit her lip as she strode out into the night.

Well, if she wasn’t already on Zucco’s radar she definitely would be now.

Greeeeaaaat.

~

It’s hard to look into people when you’re on the run from the mob.

They’d done everything they could think of. Marinette had withdrawn everything from their accounts, Adrien had altered all their appearances, Dick had... come along.

And it turns out tracking down 237 people is hard or something. Who knew.

You have to:

Figure out whether or not the person you’re after has pseuds. In order to do this you have to track their income patterns. This requires pretty high tech stuff, which they were generally trying to avoid because of the whole ‘mob out to get them’ thing.

Then, if they do have pseuds, you have to find all their assets. Then you have to go and check every single safehouse to see if it is, in fact, Zucco or someone working for him. It’s not fun. Most people in the mob are trained to not tell secrets no matter what, and getting to the point where you can get that information is… time consuming.

And they didn’t have time.

They glared at the remaining names. Dick was turning twelve tomorrow. They hadn’t even realized it because time was getting fuzzy again, but then they had come home to him hanging upside down from one of the lights on the ceiling and chanting about how close his birthday was.

After checking to make sure their kid hadn’t somehow gotten high or drunk, because what the heck, they had flown into a panic about how much work they still had to do.

“What’re the ethics of killing all 92 people tonight?” She asked, leaning back against her husband as he clicked through files.

“Even if we could, I’d say it’s probably frowned upon.”

She groaned and closed her eyes, then opened them again to glare at the papers in front of her. “How much you wanna bet that the very first one we choose after the kid joins us is going to be the right one?”

“Knowing our luck? That’s definitely going to happen.”

She gave a bitter laugh before pushing herself back up. “I’m going to break into a bakery to make a cake.”

“Cupcakes. You know he’s going to want to spend the day out in the field looking for answers, we might as well have food we can travel with.”

She clicked her tongue but nodded.

He fell back on the bed and glared at the list. He should have said they started at eighteen...

~

Well, at least it hadn’t been the first person that they’d looked into with Dick.

It had been the second.

After… ‘interogating’ the guy they’d found, they’d been given the name of this cruise ship and where it often docked. Then Dick had given them all cover so they could sneak on undetected.

And now night had hit. The three of them sat, perched on a railing as they observed the goons below them.

She watched Adrien send a wave before disappearing to take out the captain and destroy anything that could be used to contact land.

She turned to the kid next to her and reached out to ruffle his hair. “Ready, sweetie?”

Dick gave a slightly nervous smile before pulling out his flute.

“You’re only allowed to get involved if I’m dying, remember?”

He nodded, though she got the feeling that the kid wasn’t listening. Or, rather, he was listening and just opting not to take the words to heart.

She clicked her tongue once. Then she began walking along the outer edges of the ship, Dick trailing along behind her. She twirled her yoyo absently. They needed to get to the private quarters, as she was pretty sure that Zucco wouldn’t be anywhere else (he sent people out to do all his work, there was no way he was doing any work on his ship).

Then she heard laughter.

She looked up and scowled at the three henchmen who were leaning over the side of the railing above them.

“Oh my god, Ladybug has a kid!”

Her yoyo came to a stop. “Hilarious, I know.”

“Kinda! I mean the most deadly vigilantes in the world have a little kid trailing around like a lost puppy! That’s so good!”

She pressed her lips together tightly. “Mhmm. Please, tell me more...”

“Gonna say ‘or else’? Or else what? You’re going to change our diapers?”

She nodded slowly, then turned to Dick. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. She opted to ignore the way the three roared with laughter above her at the action, instead concentrating on him.

“Sweetie, I want you to cover your eyes for a second, please. I’ll tell you when you can look again, okay?”

He nodded and brought his hands to his eyes.

She wheeled on the criminals, whose laughter was quickly dying.

“Oops,” said one of them, his voice so quiet she’d barely heard it.

But she did. And she fought off some laughter of her own. “‘Oops’ is right.”

Three minutes later, she smiled and pulled Dick’s hands away from his eyes.

“Hey, sweetie, how’re you feeling?”

He glanced behind her and she winced, expecting him to become horrified, but then he suddenly tossed his flute.

There was a satisfying ‘thunk’ as it made contact with the guy’s head and he fell over the side.

Marinette looked at Dick and gave him a tiny smile. He beamed in return.

“Thanks for the save.”

“No problem.”

She tossed her yoyo and recovered his flute for him, then took his hand. She led her kid through the ship.

~

When he caught up with them, Adrien smiled and rested a hand over the top of the kid’s head. “I found out where the private quarters are.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Follow me.”

The three of them went along in silence. Whenever they passed someone they’d casually knock them over the side. They might live that way.

But probably not.

Still, it was relatively easy.

They walked along the private quarters, poking their head in doors and then closing them.

Eventually, they came to the most grandiose-looking cabin. Really, they should have checked it first, but whatever. Marinette, Adrien, and Dick all gave each other wary looks before Adrien kicked the door open.

The poor guy had been asleep. Sucks.

Zucco looked up slowly and then gasped, reaching under his pillow and pulling out a gun.

Ah. Now that sucks for them.

Dick gave a high-pitched whine.

Marinette and Adrien instantly reached for Dick to push him behind them, only to stop short when their hands passed through clean air. They turned to look, confused expressions on their faces, only to find that the kid was gone.

Uh…

They frowned slightly and looked around. Their faces drained of color when they found their way back to where Zucco was.

Or, rather, had been. Because he was missing, too.

Marinette cursed beside him and Adrien felt like punching a wall. Dick hadn’t been making that noise because he was scared, he’d been making that noise because he’d been creating an illusion.

They had to stop Dick before he did something he would regret.

Their eyes searched the room desperately, their ears strained. There had to be something off. Dick and Zucco hadn’t left, Marinette and Adrien were covering too much of the door for both of them to squeeze past without the illusion breaking, so they were still in the cabin.

Marinette pursed her lips tightly and pulled the door shut, then lopped off the doorknob with her yoyo.

Adrien nodded and they began to shuffle through the room.

It was needlessly huge, but there was a lot of stuff in it. A bed, a mostly untouched kitchen area, a bathroom with a jacuzzi, a possibly real treasure chest, a vanity…

He knocked his staff against things absently. It should reveal illusions…

Where was this kid?

He kicked some jewelry on the floor in irritation and then blinked when they hit the wall nearby without a sound.

Wait a minute…

He swung his staff in a large circle around him and couldn’t help but wince when he hit something that he couldn’t see. The illusion shattered and Dick groaned in pain as he stumbled off of Zucco, holding his side where Adrien had hit him.

But, for once, Adrien wasn’t looking at the kid. His eyes found their way to the floor, where Zucco had curled up. He was beaten and bloody, bruises starting to form on his pale skin.

“Robin…” He whispered, looking at Dick.

Dick was crying, the blunt end of his flute bloodied.

Adrien walked over and carefully pulled the flute from his hands and then drew him into his chest. “You can’t kill him.”

“But --!”

“No buts.” Marinette gave Zucco a kick to the head to make sure he was down before joining the hug.

“But you kill people!”

“And we’re also adults. When you’re an adult you can kill people, too.”

“M’lady…”

She winced a little. “Yeah, I hear it. But… anyways, sweetie, we can’t let a kid kill anyone. Killing… it messes with you. We don’t want that life for you.”

Adrien sighed. “You’re a kid. You can’t kill someone, it’s not good for your psyche. Leave that kind of thing to us.”

Dick took a shaky breath, and then nodded.

They’d been right to not want to include him in this. Vigilantism wasn’t healthy for kids.

And they especially shouldn’t have brought Dick along for this part, they should have expected that something like this would happen. He was too close to the case.

He swallowed thickly and hugged him closer.

Marinette pulled away carefully. She hummed, grabbing Zucco by the back of his nightshirt and dragging him away.

He gently rubbed circle’s into the kid’s back. “You want some ice cream? I think there’s still some at home…”

Dick giggled a little. “That ice cream is so expired.”

“You don’t know that!”

“It’s been, like, three years.”

Adrien sighed. “Okay, maybe, but hush.”

He pulled away slightly from the kid and wiped some stray tears from his cheeks.

“Want to go home anyways?”

Dick smiled faintly and nodded.

~

She dropped back on the bed and smiled as she curled in the blankets. The night had been… interesting… but at least she was home now.

She felt tiny hands wrap around her and her smile widened as she felt a face bury itself in her stomach.

But then her smile lessened. She slowly combed her fingers through the kid’s hair.

“I need your miraculous back, sweetie.”

“No. I want to keep doing it.”

She gave Adrien a pleading look and he sighed, slipping into bed and wrapping his arms around them. “She’s right. We don’t want —.”

“And what about what I want?”

It definitely wasn’t an angle they’d considered. They’d been very concerned about the kid ending up like them (they had given up on trying to fix themselves a long time ago, but they were still self aware of the fact that they didn’t cope healthily). But… what if they were too late? The kid had already been exhibiting signs of their bad coping mechanisms, had been since the start, had they accidentally encouraged it just by being around him?

She didn’t know.

What she did know, though, was that they’d messed up by letting him come along. He’d had a taste of the adrenaline, and there was no going back.

She flinched. “I… are you sure?”

Dick nodded against her stomach. “I want to help people.”

She bit her lip. Dick was one of those kids that would sneak out and do it anyways, the least they could do was make sure he was safe.

Adrien seemed to come to the same conclusion, because he sighed again and squeezed them both tighter.

“As long as you make sure to always be with one of us while you’re doing vigilante work…” he said reluctantly.

“I can do that.”

Oh, thank kwami. 

She smiled and ruffled his hair. “I guess it would be kind of cool to have a whole family of vigilantes...”

~~~

As it turns out, I am unable to write pure fluff. It eludes me.

On the other hand, I managed a Christmas update!! Go me!!

~

Taglist

@i-am-ironic @nathleigh @mialuvscats @golden-promises @sassakitty @deathwishy @toodaloo-kangaroo

[noodle-anon-shit]

Encounter: Alroy

My head was spinning from the mix of drugs I had taken hours before and the panic attack I was trying to calm myself down from. I had gone for a walk in the forest. I eventually came to a slope that was steep that lead right down to the train tracks...my mom always told me never to go near em' but I didn't care. I slid down the slope and just about broke my ankle. Once down I began to walk alongside the train tracks; they hadn't been used in years so I wasn't worried.

It was then I saw a silhouette of a man walking in my direction. When he got close enough that I could see him the first thing I noticed was his teeth, they were too sharp and his grin seemed to almost glow in the darkness. He was dressed weirdly in an almost ringmaster outfit with a top hat and everything.

"It's a nice night for a walk, would you mind if I joined you?"

"D-Do what you wanna do..."

"Well that's great because I'm going to...not to annoy you but I really have to ask what a young man like you is doing out by the tracks...are you waiting on a train?"

The man's voice seemed to distort slightly with some words as he began to walk alongside me...he was at least twice my height and I couldn't see his eyes through the shadow his hat made.

"Nah man let me explain- I'm just minding my business so maybe you should do the same. I just been a whiteness to something sick and sadistic- so twistedly disgusting you should feel real lucky you missed it"

He man glanced down at me...

"Easy with the tongue son and try to listen carefully. What you've seen is scary but nothing when compared to me. I can show you things to paint all your dreams haunted-"

The man quickly turned and grabbed me by the shirt. He proceeded to lift me with one arm so I was eye level with him.

"I could make you scream if I wanted"

He then quickly dropped me, I landed on my feet and he quickly put an arm around my shoulder...his entire demeanor seemed to suddenly change.

"I could be the...no actually. I have a better idea"

The man pushed me away and I fell on my ass. When I looked back up at him he suddenly had a sword in his hand.

"Johnathan M. Turner can I ask you a question?"

I was too scared to nod.

"Why would someone want you dead?"

"I...I have done a lot of bad things..."

"Such as murder?"

How-

"Mr. Turner look me in the eyes when I speak to you"

"Yes sir..."

"Why did you kill his wife? Jealously? An accident? Revenge?"

The man's sword had suddenly turned into a knife and he tossed it onto my lap...I...I got rid of this knife- it still has blood on it-

"Answer me Mr. Turner"

"...Jealousy..."

"You thought she was yours if I'm correct?"

"Y-Yes but I didn't mean-"

The man suddenly kicked me in the mouth. I cough and throw myself forward as I feel bits of my teeth fall out of my mouth.

"You kicked her in the mouth to prevent her from speaking just as I did to you. You severed her spinal cord and left her to be eaten by wild animals. You tried to get rid of the knife you used. You meant every single thing you did to her"

The knife on my lap turned to dust. Something cold touched the back of my neck.

"Mr. Turner someone wants you dead and you already know who. You can either attempt to run, I'll give you 10 seconds, or you can allow me to sever your spinal cord right here and leave you for the shades. Pick quickly Mr. Turner"

I moved back a bit and the bit of cold metal left my neck. I quickly stood up. The man before me just grinned at me. I turned and ran. I could hear him counting down, I could hear his voice getting quieter as I got further way, I could hear...a twig snapping to my right.

I was suddenly sent flying as I tripped over something. I fell flat on my stomach and just about threw up from the impact. Before I could stand I felt fingers intertwine with my hair and violently pull my head up as a foot was placed on my back.

"I sincerely apologize Mr. Turner but you know what must happen"

I try to scream but am cut off by the man's sword cutting the back of my neck open. I begin to attampt to struggle but it's no use, I hear a crack and I suddenly can't move. He drops my head.

"I'll let you feel pain when they start to eat you, I hope you enjoy what your past has brought you Mr. Turner"

I watch as the man walks away from me and into the distance. I can hear my own blood leaking from my body, I can hear the man's footsteps becoming quieter as he gets further away...I can hear the screeches and footsteps of shades.

[mythgirlimagines]

Listen up, folks! I can tell that this week’s talentswap would be a doozy! You best stick around for the loud presence of Myth, the Former Ultimate Commentator!

——————————————————-

BACKSTORY AND TALENT

Despite what her present-day personality would suggest, the pre-middle school Myth was the total opposite of post-high school Myth, being timid and usually spending her time cooped up in her room and playing video games, a far cry from her jock parents and older sisters. Myth looked upon her pathetic past self with shame, and seeked to reinvent herself, basing her new personality off of the bombastic and outgoing E-sports and actual sports commentators that she encounters frequently and idolises, complete with an entire personality and wardrobe change. When she entered high-school with the brand-new ensemble and personality, she was a massive hit and was asked several times to comment on her school’s regular sports (and, more irregularly, her school’s E-sports tournaments), and each time, she accepted their offers, and she blew them away with her witty and well-timed commentary, as well as her sheer passion for whatever she is commentating on. Myth also garnered infamy for regularly flirting with her co-stars, and always succeeding in making them blush on camera. In the adult years, Myth is still going strong as a commentator and regularly stars in massive events.

——————————————————-

RELATIONSHIPS 

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Net Admin

In spite of their young age, Wyre is competent with computers and other pieces of tech, to the point that they were left in charge of a whole city’s LAN network, and you better believe that they put their technological aptitude to good use, for they can manage both that, and spending their free-time cohosting with Myth. For a good majority of Myth’s life, Wyre was her only friend and they regularly like to sit together in Myth’s house and play video games together, and Wyre proved to be an amazing Player 2. Wyre is the only one of all of the Kibo-Con attendees who actually knew Myth before her whole wardrobe revamp, and Wyre is the only one who Myth can truly let her guard down and regress back to her past self.

Outfit: A dark green hoodie over a white dress shirt and a bright green tie, green and grey headphones around their neck, black fingerless gloves, dark grey short shorts, green and black striped stockings, red and white converses.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Brewmaster

Despite her Ultimate title commonly being used for people who specialise in brewing alcoholic drinks, Scar‘s title refers to her sheer talent in brewing relaxing herbal teas and other herbal beverages. Scar is also a hobbyist tea ceremonialist (much like her parents and siblings) and the students under her are called ”The Underlings of the Demon of the Liquid Form”, and Scar happens to be the before-mentioned “Demon of the Liquid Form”. While Scar isn’t really in any position to mock people for their personality quirks, Myth’s constant hyperactive energy concerns Scar, and regularly tries to offer the coffee/energy drink-hyped Myth some of her signature relaxing herbal tea. Myth always refuses the tea, much to the tea brewer’s ire.

Outfit: Hair in a ponytail, a purple, black and red kimono with long sleeves and a black obi, with black hakama pants, white socks, and geta sandals.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Buddy

Desperately in need for some money to support his close-to-bankrupt parents and little brother, Fusion decided to admit himself into a “rent-a-buddy“ service, in which Fusion could become somebody’s temporary friend for money. Fusion’s cheery and caring (to an almost paternal degree) personality proved to be a hit amongst those that rented and hanged out with him. All of the positive reviews written about him allowed Hope’s Peak to saddle him with the title of “Ultimate Buddy” and gained even further popularity with patrons of the “rent-a-buddy” service. Fusion’s friendly yet calm personality with goes well with Myth’s boundless and high-octane personality, and regularly helps pull Myth back down to Earth.

Outfit: A blue blazer over a baggy red hoodie, pants that match his blazer, black and white sneakers, the glasses from his original design.

Fusion II, Ultimate Principal

In spite of her age, Fusion II proved herself to be a competent school principal, when the regular principal and vice principal of her school got injured in an accident, and needed a substitute. As the over-confident and power-seeking honors student she is, Fusion II stepped up to bat, and did well enough in the principal and vice’s principal’s positions to earn her Ultimate title of “Ultimate Principal”. With a sarcastic demeanor (from dealing with so many troublemakers), Fusion II regularly tries to come off as poised, cool, collected and mature, but often times, her more dorky side would show up, much to her embarrassment. Myth regularly likes to toy with the dorky principal and see Fusion II’s cool and mature facade crack.

Outfit: A dark grey pantsuit over a pink t-shirt and a red tie, black heels that make her look taller, the ribbons and sunglasses from her original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Masseur

Desperately trying to escape all of the strict adult figures in his life, Janon eventually figured out that he had a gift for giving relaxation-inducing massages to others and finding the pressure points on just about anybody. Upon finding out about his secret gift, Janon quickly went on a pressure-point-poking spree in his school, in order to make all of his teachers fall asleep, to give everybody (but mostly him) more time to finish their homework. However, Janon is much more merciful towards his underclassmen, and regularly gives them a proper massage, just before they start particularly stressful projects. Myth’s annoyingly hyperactive attitude really gets on Janon’s nerves, and he has to poke Myth’s special pressure point, in order to shut her up.

Outfit: A pink ski-cap with a little face and bunny ears on top, a baggy pink t-shirt, baggy blue pants, and brown sandals, the mask from his original design. 

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Orator

With a loud voice and a knack for performance, whenever Sparkle organises a speech, the audience can tell that they are in for quite the spectacle, both physically speaking and mentally speaking. Sparkle‘s speeches manage to be all shine and all substance, all at once, for in spite of her overdramatic and eccentric personality, Sparkle‘s speeches are always well-researched and erudite, and according to her critics, truly deserve to be called “SPECTACULAR“. Apart from Wyre, Myth gets along with Sparkle the most, thanks to their similar loud and bombastic personalities and their similar talents. On occasion, you could find videos online of the two girls collaborating with each other. They really are something, so to speak.

Outfit: The same outfit from the original design, but with a small microphone clipped to her hoodie.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Mystery Novelist, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Paranormal Investigator

With creepy aesthetics and a love for all things horrific and cursed, Egg and Wet Sock revel in all things mysterious and paranormal. The duo actually work together, with the brooding yet benevolent Wet Sock’s paranormal investigations providing fuel for the more smiley but much more devious Egg’s mystery novels. Despite not seeming all that bright, Egg is very manipulative and knows just what to do to gain inspiration for their twisted novels. Sometimes, Myth likes to co-star on Wet Sock’s paranormal investigation web series. Wet Sock would never admit it, but Myth managed to spice up the show and put a smile on their face. Myth is currently trying to create the audiobook version of one of Egg’s novels, with Sparkle’s help. 

Egg’s Outfit: A black top hat with a white feather quill stuck in the red band, a black blazer over a red vest and white dress shirt, a black skirt, dark grey tights, red slip-on shoes.

Wet Sock’s Outfit: A black hoodie with purple patches, black sweatpants, brown steel-toed boots.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Strongperson

Originally from an orphanage, Curious had a hard time finding a proper home, due to their eerie smile and their unnatural strength. That was until a circus found them and decided to take them in, for they were looking for a strongman for their latest circus act. The audience marveled, as Curious lifted objects that were several times their height and several times their weight. In spite of their freakish strength, Curious is very polite and courteous, both in and out of the tent. Curious gets along unsurprisingly (considering their attitude) well with Myth, for she reminds them of the kindly ringmaster that took them in. Whenever Curious goes over to lift something, you could often hear Myth acting like and impersonating a circus’s ringmaster. 

Outfit: Hair in a ponytail, a white tanktop, dark green cargo pants, black boots and matching fingerless gloves.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Conductor

With a loud and commanding voice and quite the colorful vocabulary, there is no mistaking Nerd’s presence in the train station, for he has worked at the local train station for practically all of his life. Needless to say, years of dealing with criminals and assorted troublemakers on the train, has given him a firey and easy-to-rile-up attitude, that is clearly not helped by his chronic ”surrounded by idiots” syndrome that plagues his career, school life, and chaperoning life, all the time. Myth really loves to mess with people who are easy to rile up and fluster, and Nerd is most definitely not an exception to this rule. She doesn’t care if Nerd’s scouter blasts the dyed hair and contacts right off of her, for she’ll just keep on riling him up.

Outfit: Same outfit, but with the addition of white gloves and a black conductor’s hat.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Foreman

Born in a regularly torn-down slum in the middle of nowhere, Eldritch quickly took action and joined the construction force, in protest of the government that regularly tears down the buildings that he calls his home. In spite of his small height and otherwise timid personality, Eldritch proved to be an excellent foreman and an even better commander, who managed to organize freedom fighters out of otherwise obedient construction workers. During the Kibo-Con field trip, Eldritch regularly tries to gather more freedom fighters, to barely any avail. Eldritch doesn’t trust anyone who isn’t on his side, and, until she decides to join Eldritch and his band of freedom fighters, Myth absolutely has no reason to be trusted, in the eyes of Eldritch.

Outfit: A black and green construction uniform.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Hide-And-Seeker

Despite her ridiculous-sounding title, Dream is the reigning champion of the National Hide-And-Seek championships that her hometown holds every single year, and is a master at both hiding and seeking, for she is strikingly observant and strategic, in spite of what her bullheaded and childish personality would suggest. Dream wears her title of “Ultimate Hide-And-Seeker” as a badge of pride, and couldn’t care less about the laughter she gets from others, when she mentions what her talent is. Dream and Myth actually had quite the history together, for they have similar personalities, and Myth actually commentated on Dream’s yearly hide-and-seek matches before, so Dream knew Myth before the Kibo-Con trip.

Outfit: A camo hoodie and matching baseball cap, denim short shorts, black stockings and green sneakers.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Mountaineer

A massive fanatic of nature and rock climbing, ever since she was a little girl, Iris is famous for scaling the tallest and most treacherous of mountains, and then placing a galaxy-printed flag on the very peak of them. Despite her own clumsiness and the dangerous situations that she keeps putting herself into, Iris always reaches the top of the mountain, with her head held high and with a great big smile on her face. Her optimism and determination towards her goals is was garnered her fame, along with geographical reach. Myth and Iris get along well, for they both have a shared love of all actions risky, with Iris doing the reckless stuff and Myth commentating and also doing the reckless stuff, much to the concern of the Brain Cells. 

Outfit: Hair in a single braid, a pink parka over a galaxy printed sweater, black leggings, brown Ugg boots, a galaxy printed backpack filled with mountaineering gear, glasses from her original design. 

Purple Anon, Ultimate Saleswoman

Born to two parents that are absolute tycoons in the financial world, Purple inherited the business acumen that her parents had, and multiplied said acumen to an unforeseen degree. Purple knows which words to use from her expansive (and admittedly, very old-fashioned) vocabulary, in order to convince prospective customers into buying products from her parents’ company, and most of the time, Purple chooses her words well, and manages to convince almost all of said prospective customers into buying her stuff. Myth is currently trying to convince the timid-if-not-in-a-business-setting Purple to do a couple of hammy infomercials featuring Purple’s products together, but Purple seems to be rather camera-shy. 

Outfit: A purple headband that hides a question mark shaped ahoge, a long-sleeves purple dress shirt and a black tie with her family’s logo on the front, grey nylons, the skirt and shoes from her original design.

Prepare to get potential collaborations, for this AU’s story would function much like a talk show!

——————————————————-

PERSONALITY

The first thing that would pop out at you, when encountering Commentator!Myth, apart from her loud appearance, is her equally loud tone of voice. Commentator!Myth talks very loudly and very quickly, which are great qualities when it comes to her constant commentary. Commentator!Myth is a massive attention hog, and thrives off of the attention and love she gets from others (to compensate for her lonely and friendless childhood), hence her loud appearance, her loud voice, and her flirtatious behavior with her co-stars. Commentator!Myth is also shockingly intelligent and analytical, in spite of her reckless and extremely energetic behavior, which is a valuable asset to have when you are talking about fast-paced sports/e-sports matches.

——————————————————-

APPEARANCE

Commentator!Myth’s hair is dyed various shades of blue, purple, and red and is held up in a long ponytail. In her post-middle school makeover, she switched from contacts to glasses. Commentator!Myth wears a blue hoodie with various badges on the front, over a black t-shirt with a red lightning bolt on the front, pink headphones with a built in microphone, around her neck, a red skirt with a golden star belt, black stockings with randomly-colored polka dots on them, and purple glow-in-the-dark sneakers. 

——————————————————-

I’d love to hear your opinions on this AU! Which would you say is your favorite or most interesting talentswapped character? Kudos to anyone who knows where the talent set originated from!

-Fusion Anon

[dandelionflower]

Felix Month Day 1

Circus

Felix balanced on one hand, yards above the crowds in the stands.

This was always his favorite part; seeing the barely contained awe on their faces as he defied death, gravity and common sense.

He was the best acrobat in the world; at least, that was what the ringmaster liked to say (and was he really wrong?)

He flipped nimbly and landed with both feet on the platform, his arms stretched to the sides.

As he prepared his hands for the trapeze act, his eye caught on that same girl. The girl that had been at every show for weeks. The girl with blue hair.

She seemed to be about his age, and she wore the most beautiful clothes. The first day he noticed her, she was wearing a brilliant orange dress and when the roving spotlights hit her, she seemed to glow.

Felix pinched himself sharply. He would have time to daydream later, now he had to focus.

Allegra waved to him from across the net and nodded as the ringmaster introduced their next act.

Felix squeezed the rod and swung.

It was easy; so easy he allowed himself a few more moments to think about the girl in the stands as Allegra breezed past him on her own trapeze.

Why had she kept coming? There were very little variations in the acts thus far; sometimes she didn’t even seem to be paying attention, just scribbling in a book of some sorts.

He jolted, only slightly, as Allegra flipped from her trapeze and latched to his legs; not enough to ruin the performance, but enough that Allegra would know he wasn’t paying attention, again. She would demand to know what had been taking up so much of his mind, likely with Bridgette, Claude, and Mercury by her side.

“Our Felix, with a crush on a girl?” Claude would swoon into Bridgette. “Already?”

Bridgette would sniff, dabbing at her eyes. “They grow up so fast.”

Allegra would tease him mercilessly, and Mercury would show much reaction but his smirk would say more than enough.

Before he knew it, the act had ended and Felix was bowing and being led by Allegra out of the light behind stage.

“Get ready to spill your seeecrets.” She sang, skipping into her dressing room to change.

Felix changed too, just in time to run out for the final performance.

It went off without a hitch, of course, but with Bridgette grinning at him from atop her elephant, Claudes subtle wink, and Mercury’s eyes following him, it was a miracle that he didn’t pass out right then and there.

Especially, when, as he delivered his final flip from off of Gorilla the strongman’s shoulders, he caught the girl staring directly at him, like she was trying to memorize him.

The performance ended, they all bowed, and as the crowds funneled out, Allegra and Bridgette each grabbed one of Felix’s arms, ushering him backstage.

Mercury and Claude were already there, Mercury in a sitting position that no human should be able to accomplish, and Claude pulling off his oversized shoes.

“Spill.”

“There is a woman in the stands, who... caught my atten-“

“FELIX HAS A CRUSH!” Claude shouted, as Bridgette fell to the ground like a rock and Mercury smirked.

“Do you mean that blue-haired girl who keeps staring at you?”

The commotion halted and everyone turned to stare at Allegra.

“What?”

Bridgette and Claude reacted in unison, pouncing onto Allegra and shouting.

“YOU’VE SEEN FELIX’S CRUSH?”

“How could I not? She’s been sitting in the same spot for weeks.”

Claude and Bridgette turned with identical smiles.

“Weeks, you say?” Bridgette circled Felix with a feline grin.

“I wonder what could compel someone to sit through the same show, in what I can only imagine is the prime seat for viewing the acrobatics, for weeks?”

“Might it be that our blue haired mystery girl finds herself with an interest in acrobatics, or maybe,” her smile grew, “an acrobat?”

“Hmm, a fair hypothesis, M’lady.”

After circling him with their Cheshire grins, Claude and Bridgette were directly in front of Felix, leaning forwards with plans for a grand and delusional romance.

A red-headed lion tamer pokes her head through the door. “Guys, Chief’s calling a meeting.”

Saved by the bell. Felix lamented as they walked out of their secluded area to where the rest of their troop was standing.

“Everyone!” Chief, their ringleader, clapped his hands. “I’ve got a surprise!”

“You got a new top hat!”

He grinned. “Better.”

Allegra pressed a hand to her chest. “Chief! You of all people should know; nothing is better than a new top hat.”

“Not even new costumes for everyone?”

“I stand corrected.”

A murmur ran through the group, each one focused entirely around what someone wanted for their new costume. Felix had a different thought.

“Who’s making them?”

“That’s the best part! An upcoming designer is willing to design and make each and every costume.” He turned to one of the tent flaps that led outside. “Come on out!”

A woman, the woman with blue hair stepped into the semi circle, a bright smile on her face.

“Everyone, this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the newest member of our circus.”

Claude, Bridgette and Allegra were having a hushed conversation that seemed to just be Allegra confirming that yes, that was the woman who was distracting Felix.

Felix braced himself, knowing what was coming.

“OH MY GOSH!”

[whump-mania]

A Cursed Blessing

Chapter 1: You’re Hired!

(tw: female whumpees, tranquilization, knives, kidnapping)

Henry Hamilton sat in his extravagant office, tapping his foot as he flipped through pages and pages of applicants.

Hundreds of creatures had responded to his flyer: well, Hamilton wasn’t surprised, he had promised a substantial amount of money for the job. And the concept was to die for: an exhibition of the amazing talents of five extraordinary creatures to be adored and beloved by mortals around the world. Who wouldn’t be intrigued by the idea?

Memories of the auditions danced around in Hamilton’s mind. Many were great, many were embarrassing. But he needed five: five beings that performed above greatness.

He flipped to one of the mermaids. Naia. Hamilton remembered her performance well: the heights she would leap out of her tank, her perfect posture as she swam gracefully in the water: she was clearly the best aquatic applicant, and she knew it too. The ringmaster smiled and set her application to the side.

Hamilton stared out of the window of his office at the fields that surrounded it. He found wild horses grazing, and that’s when he remembered Atlas: how could he have forgotten the amazing performance? He had never seen a centaur of Atlas’s stature leap with such grace and land with so little commotion: but what had really shocked Hamilton was their silk routine. An enormous centaur hanging from extravagant silks, their body perfectly under control and exactly where it needed to be. Atlas’s application was put with Naia’s.

As Hamilton closed his eyes in thought, he remembered Finn. A tiny little fairy who was able to light up an entire room with beautiful reds and yellows with his magic. Not even human fireworks could have created such a spectacle.

Hamilton’s eyes fell onto the vase of flowers on his desk: so similar to the flowers of that land nymph, Ophelia, who could create them from nothing. She seemed so unimpressed by her powers, and it only intrigued Hamilton more.

On the topic of the nymph, Hamilton laughed to himself when he thought of the loud satyr—Damon was his name—that followed and relentlessly flirted with Ophelia before his audition. The ringmaster was only amused by Damon before he heard his music: it delighted Hamilton’s ears, and it was such a contrast to the satyr’s wild personality.

Before he knew it, Hamilton had his five. He grinned to himself: his signature, award winning grin.

He was going to have so much fun.

~

“Oh no. Not you. PLEASE tell me this is a joke.”

The five chosen performers sat in the waiting room, eager to meet the ringmaster once again. They had all been elated at the news that they had gotten the job: but at that moment, Ophelia was anything but elated.

“Please tell me he didn’t choose you,” The nymph groaned in disgust. The satyr sitting next to her grinned and leaned closer.

“What, you think you could get rid of me that easy?” Damon barked out a laugh. “I’m here to stay, baby.”

“Don’t even try it, you ugly fuck.” Damon turned to the voice that emitted from the tank of water that had been rolled into the room. Inside of it was Naia, brushing her long hair away from her face and crossing her arms. She smirked. “You’re not even five feet tall.”

“EXCUSE me, I am five feet and ONE INCH tall! So HA!” Damon stood from his seat and poked around at the expensive artifacts in the room.

“Don’t break anything,” Atlas warned. They were too large for any of the chairs, so they were perfectly content with standing in the corner of the room and watching over everyone. The small fairy on their shoulder, Finn, hid behind Atlas’s long braid.

It wasn’t long before the ringmaster came into the room with no warning, effectively startling Finn and making the rest of the performers turn to look at the door. Hamilton wore a ridiculous checkered suit with a bright yellow jacket and floral tie, but looked confident as ever wearing it.

“You look fucking ridiculous,” Damon commented, leaning back on the wall. The ringmaster’s smile only grew as he laughed heartily.

“Damon! I missed that fiery attitude!” Hamilton clapped his hands together and met gazes with the other performers. “So! I’m very, very pleased to have you all here. You all performed exceptionally in your auditions, and I’m happy to announce that you all will be the official first cast of Hamilton’s Festival of Mythic Wonders!”

Hamilton’s enthusiasm was enough to make even Finn smile. They had practiced for months to get a spot in this show: it was a big deal. Hamilton glanced around at the performers.

“I assume you all brought your signed contracts and waivers?” He held his hand out expectantly, and one by one, each of the performers handed their forms to the ringmaster. His smile grew with each paper in his hand.

The last one to turn in his form was Finn. He clutched his form close to his chest as he fluttered in front of Hamilton. The paper was about as big as him.

“Is something the matter?” Hamilton tilted his head to the side, smiling down at the fairy. Finn stammered, clutching the paper even tighter.

“I-I’m sorry sir, I’m just…b-bad with commitments, and…” Hamilton knelt down to Finn’s level, giving him a sincere and reassuring look.

“You are an extraordinary talent. Of hundreds of other fairies that applied, I chose you. I would hate for you to give up on that so quickly.” Finn stared into the ringmaster’s eyes and sighed, finally handing him the forms.

Hamilton smiled sweetly at Finn before standing up and browsing each form for their signatures. Once he approved each one, he pocketed them and pressed a small button on the wall.

“I’m so happy you all signed up. This is going to be such a wonderful show!” He exclaimed cheerfully. Soon enough, a group of men dressed in black filed into the room.

“H-Hey, what—” Atlas glanced around at the men, confused until they saw the ropes in the hands of the ones approaching them. Their eyes widened and they went into panic mode, kicking and bucking and punching to no avail. They were tranquilized and bound in a second.

“ATLAS!” Finn cried, but he was too late. A man had caught him by his torso, shoving him into a small box. Naia screamed as the men started pushing her tank away, and she hopped out of the water to try to drag herself away. The men restrained her and threw her back into the water before she could do anything else.

Ophelia shielded herself and Damon with a strong wall of vines. “What the fuck is going on?!” Damon screamed, backing up against the vine wall. Ophelia couldn’t respond: her words were enveloped by screams as the men began hacking away at her vines with knives. Ophelia lost her grip and the vines gave way, letting the men restrain both of them (despite Damon’s weak kicks.)

Henry Hamilton watched the entire ordeal with that same, saccharine grin, closing the door behind him as the last guard left with a screaming, kicking Damon in his grasp.

“Lovely,” Hamilton sighed happily. “What a lovely day!” He laughed heartily to himself before leaving the room to his office, relishing in the screams of protest he heard deep in the cellar.

Next

taglist: @whump-me-all-night-long @wafflestakethecake

[rwbyremnants]

Really getting into it now! These two have a long journey ahead of them... are you going to be there for the ride?

=Chapter 2

Ruby found herself questioning her life decisions as she sat on the edge of Winter Schnee’s bed, swinging her calves and watching the elder woman cross the room to the wardrobe. This could go very well, or very, very badly, but the time had passed for hesitation and second-guesses. Winter seemed to care enough about her that, even if she wound up not liking what was going to happen next, she would take care of her and reassure her that everything was going to be fine.

"Alright, I'll show you a little something I got you. But do you want me to dress you up, or let you put it on yourself?" Even as she asked, Winter was reaching toward the wardrobe. “This is your show; I’m just the ringmaster.”

Putting her hand to her chin, Ruby thought on that. Although it would be easy to be in control and do it herself, the thought of Winter so intimately dressing her was alluring enough. So alluring that she said, "You can, if you want to?"

The easy smile turned just the tiniest bit wicked. Crooking her finger, Winter beckoned her closer as her other hand raised not to the door of the wardrobe, but to the top of it. "Then step right this way, Miss Rose. I'll prepare you for training."

And then Winter turned to the closet, the one that had lain innocently closed the entire time. Using a key she had apparently retrieved moments before, she unlocked and opened the mysterious door. Biting her lip once more, Ruby did just as she was asked. Hopping off the bed and walking toward the closet doors, she eagerly awaited to see what Winter had prepared for their evening together.

And what a sight to behold! It was full to the brim with various objects for different play. A lot of it suggested that she was a more submissive role the majority of the time, considering the rope and the carabiners that could attach to the anklets and gloves in there. But there were other, more suggestive items.

One that particularly caught Ruby's eye was a long tail, attached to an average-sized, tapered implement… one she could only assume was meant to go somewhere quite unusual. It may feed into her “bad puppy” fantasy, but the small girl could only hope Winter wouldn't ask her to wear that.

"And this… is you." Withdrawing from the clothing rack, she displayed a hangar to Ruby that held what looked to be a somewhat… furry one-piece bathing suit. Light tan in colour and featuring a white "underbelly", it really did seem to be something intended to make one's body look like that of an animal.

Ruby heaved a small sigh of relief. She could see that attached to the suit the other side, was a small tail of its own - one that wasn't very long in length, but did the trick. At least she wouldn't have to wear the plug. But when she looked back at the outfit again, she found her cheeks reddening. She really was going to look the part, besides the paws and the ears, perhaps.

"It looks super cute!"

"This isn't all of it," Winter informed her as she nipped it off the hanger, "but it's a start. We said we were taking little steps, right?" Then she put the hanger back on the rack and said, "Now… I will need to get rid of what you're wearing, as this will fit pretty snug. Besides, the leg holes are a little high-cut, and they would show. But I promise it's all I'm going to do. That alright?"

So she would be naked. Naked except for a furry costume. It was to be expected, given that she'd come knowing they were to engage in more for the evening. But now that the moment had arrived, it was more than enough to bring a bright blush to Ruby's cheeks.

Still, she nodded, taking it from her, then looking to the folding screen. "I'll try it on then."

And Winter didn't say a word. Even though Ruby had said she was going to let her dress her up, she understood; it was a bit different being asked to get entirely nude for the first time in front of a near-stranger. She merely handed over the garment and said, "Hopefully it fits as advertised."

Once walking behind the screen, Ruby made short work of the silk panties; tossing them over the top of the screen for Winter to quite easily see. Then came the task of trying on the furry material. It wasn't as nice against her skin as silk, in fact the material felt rather scratchy and itchy. But it was the knowledge that she would only have to wear it for an evening that powered her through, and she slid the straps over her shoulders to secure it in place.

Although there was a sudden gasp from Ruby. Something she hadn't noticed before was becoming extremely apparent. Reaching her hand down to pat between her legs, she noticed a feature in the costume that she didn't see before.

"Winter? There's a hole in this! D-downstairs. Maybe you should get your money back."

The answer she received wasn't terribly complex. "There's supposed to be one." Then there was a pause for effect, and for the meaning to sink in.

"Oooohhh…"

And then Ruby walked out from behind the screen. Yet again, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking up with bright red cheeks for her approval. The hole around her crotch felt huge, but in fact to anyone else, it was barely noticeable. Unless they actively looked for it.

In fact, from her vantage point, Winter couldn't see a thing. But she wasn't focusing on that, anyway. Instead, she was holding up a few other items, waiting for Ruby to get an eyeful. In one hand, a red leather studded collar; simple, a placeholder for now. In the other, a black Alice headband with two furry ears stuck on.

"C'mere, girl!" Winter said gently, as if she were calling a dog. Because now, she was.

For another moment, Ruby had paused again; getting a good look at the other items in her hand. Once more she'd began to blush, especially at the collar. That would be a real sign of ownership. But not wanting to disappoint, she attempted to play the role. Letting her tongue hang from her mouth and panting, she walked toward her. "Arf arf!"

"Good girl!" Winter cooed. If Ruby had been expecting her to laugh or poke fun at her, that was proven wrong as she reached out to stick the headband into her hair gently, adjusting it so that it sat as a normal headband would. Then she reached to just behind her human ear and scratched lightly.

"And how is my little…" Her voice changed back to its usual tone. "Did you want another name while in petspace?"

"I didn't think that far…" Ruby mentioned, leaning against Winter's hand as it lightly scratched at her ears. What could she name herself? Zwei would be too weird, even if that was her dog. As would Fido or Fluffy or any of those usual petnames. Perhaps something a little more refined…

"How about um, ‘Lady’?" At least that one was somewhat noble-sounding.

"Lady," Winter mused as her scratching ceased, though she left the hand there to support Ruby's head. "Yeah, that sounds just the thing. Hello, Lady."

"Hello- I mean… Arf." Oops, she had forgotten already! In order to try and correct her action, she rubbed her head still against Winter's hand affectionately, smiling all the while.

"It's okay," Winter laughed. "As I said, today is just a training session; you can mess up without being scolded or anything." Then she held up the collar and the tag jingled slightly. It was a blank tag, ready to be engraved. "Is Lady ready to put this on?"

"Y-" she had been about to answer vocally, but stopped herself before she managed to get that far. Instead she just nodded. That was allowed, dogs could nod. To further play into the act, she also raised her hands up, holding them in a begging position.

Winter's smile grew ever more, and she reached out to caress the side of Ruby's head with one hand briefly as the other brought the collar up. Nimble fingers undid the buckle and slid the leather strap free, guiding it around either side of Ruby's neck before she fastened it.

"Just whine if it's too tight," she whispered as she finished off, giving Ruby about a centimeter of wiggle room between her and the new collar.

No whine came. In contrast to the costume, the collar fit snugly and comfortably, with enough space for Winter to get her hands under and tug if she required to. Even if blank, the tag was a nice touch. A true mark of ownership. Looking up to her master, she smiled nervously, awaiting for her next commands. Or any further parts for the costume.

"Now," she sighed, reaching back behind her for yet more parts. These, however, were something she hadn't been expecting; kneepads. They were the same shade as the rest of the "fur". Kneeling down herself, she held one below Ruby's left foot and asked, "Step up for me?"

"Hmm?" It had certainly gotten her attention, what would she want Ruby to wear knee pads for of all things? But not arguing, she did as asked, putting her foot through the hole to work with her. Adjusting it quickly, her new master moved to do the same for her other knee. Then she picked up what was to be the final two pieces of the costume.

"Now," Winter said as she held out one of the fluffy paw-mittens. "Once these are on your hands, you're going to be a little more helpless than before. This is one of the 'play' conditions in which it's useful to remember the safeword, since you won't have your fingers free to reach out and stop whatever's going on. Not that I need you to use it today, since this is just practice, but you said you wanted to know how this stuff works."

"Oh yeah… That was something Qrow mentioned, when he attacked that Roman guy. Something about him ignoring them?" Judging by Winter's blank face at the mere mention of his name, Ruby quickly cleared her throat, changing the subject whilst she held her hand out. "Okay, so I say it when I'm in trouble, right?"

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Winter seemed to bring herself back around after a moment or two. When they opened again, she smiled gently as she began to slide the paw onto Ruby's hand. "Exactly. If you're in pain, or even if you're just very uncomfortable with what's going on. For today, you can also just tell me to stop the usual way and I will, but if we're both deep in play, especially in… consent play, a Dom might not take 'please stop' seriously." The last was said with some discomfort. "But the safeword is like the emergency brake."

"Okay, I get it." Ruby said with confidence, even giving a reassuring nod as she held her other hand forward. Giving a small test on how the paws felt, the main thing Ruby noticed was the lack of thumbs. Picking up anything would be nigh impossible in these. "Why don't we try it now, though? Like you said, this is a practice, so I gotta be ready."

"Alright. Let's begin." Stepping back, she put her hands on her hips for a moment, then pointed to the floor. "Sit, Lady."

"B-but we never-" Maybe she'd be told later. Choosing to obey her master rather than question it further, she did as she was told. Crouching down she placed her hands on the ground, putting herself in a doglike sitting position.

"Never what?" Winter asked. This really was a non-hardline session, as she was asking questions instead of scolding her for breaking character.

"We never, um… decided a word," she clarified, looking down bashfully. "Sorry."

Both of the woman's pale eyebrows arched. "Oh! Oh, right, that would be important… hmm. What's a word you wouldn’t typically say during sex, that you will definitely remember?"

"Hmm…" She had been about to press her hand against her chin, but instead was welcomed by the large plushness of the glove. Quickly recovering right after a nervous laugh, she spoke. "How about… 'Strawberry'?"

"Alright, strawberry. Strawberry…" She was repeating it to herself, not truly for Ruby's benefit. "Got it; the safeword is 'strawberry'. Now, let me see you beg."

Supporting herself on her knees rather than her feet, Ruby did as she was told. Reaching upward with her hands and curling them into a begging position as she sat upright, waiting patiently for any other commands.

"Good girl!" she cooed down at her with a big smile. "Shame I didn't think to buy some tiny cookies or something as treats. Ah well." Then she began to twirl her hand in the air. "Roll over."

"Maybe if we do this again?" she asked. Returning her hands to the ground, she immediately crouched low down, rolling to one side, and then sitting herself upright again straight after.

"Yes, I think so. I wanted to focus on getting the outfit right this time, of course." Winter snapped her fingers and lifted them, just like an actual dog trainer. "Speak!"

Looking upward obediently, she yipped as loudly as she could, continuing to sit patiently right after for more commands. Already the shame of being treated like an animal was making her cheeks heat up. And there was another result she didn't care to admit just yet - but Winter would likely find that out herself if this session continued.

"Very good, Lady, very good. Now, on your back! Go on!" The commands came so easily to her; obviously, Ruby was not her first pet.

Returning to the floor, Lady rolled onto her back. Holding her legs and arms up, she was still trying to make herself appear as canine as possible. Hands returning to the begging position, she also further played into the role by letting her tongue hang out of her mouth.

Reaching over closer, Winter began to rub up and down her belly, careful not to stray too far down. She did, however, caress her chest now and again. All the while, her gaze was calm and loving. Ruby blushed yet harder when the soft hands began to caress her chest. Even through the uncomfortable suit, it was a stimulating feeling, one that she hadn't felt in a while. Winter knew just where to pay attention, to bring out the best reactions in her.

"Does that feel good, girl?" After a few more scrubbings, she straightened and sighed as she began to push to her feet. "Now then, follow me into the kitchen. Come on!"

"O-oh, oka- um. Bark bark!" Yet again, she struggled to maintain her character. But getting onto her hands and knees, she followed Winter through the apartment, managing to just stay by her heel all the while to seem as obedient as possible.

Even the subtle action of crawling was causing air to hit her sex through the opening in the suit. A strange feeling, one that was making her wetter.

Once in the kitchen, the master reached up into a cabinet and withdrew a wide-bottomed black bowl. Then she carried it over to the sink and began filling it. Only once she had finished these tasks and began to lower it to the floorspace at the end of the counter did it become clear what she meant to happen.

"You must be a thirsty puppy."

Raising an eyebrow, Ruby looked down at the bowl questioningly. How on earth was she supposed to accomplish that task? It was completely humiliating.

But that was the whole point, wasn't it? She was supposed to be a puppy – a lesser being. Showing her willingness to obey, she leant in, trying her best to delicately lap at the water. She had little success.

"Awwww, puppy is having problems," Winter cooed in a sad tone of voice. "Shall I help her?"

There was no more forewarning than that before a light amount of pressure was being applied to the back of Ruby's head. It wasn't much; just enough to lower her head another half-inch or so.

"Wait wha-"

The rest of her words were cut off when her mouth hit the water. Though she could still breathe through her nose, she had a task at hand, so at least she didn't panic. Rather than lapping with her tongue, she did just as she was asked instead, drinking water as best she could by slurping it into her mouth.

The toes of Winter's foot flexed in Ruby's hair as she maintained perfect balance, one hand braced against the edge of the counter. "There, isn't that better? Lady was so thirsty!"

Once the bowl was half way down, Ruby was finally trying to retract her head, having had enough. From where she had accidentally managed to inhale some water she coughed, shaking her head to recover.

The pressure against her head vanished, and instead began to stroke down her back. "Now, does Lady need to go walkies?" Then she whispered, clearly not as part of their play, "Just to the bathroom, not actually outside."

At that Ruby's eyes snapped open wide. She'd had a drink of water, and knew well enough what walkies straight after that meant from having a dog of her own! Breaking the character, she asked, "You're not gonna make me actually go, are you?! I can't do that!"

"You can," Winter insisted gently, gazing down at her without any malice or irritation, nor any shame. But she was still coolly confident. "Of course, you might not want to today, and you won't be required. But other Doms who are into petplay might command you to go. You'll want to decide if you might at least consent to 'number one', or to tell them beforehand that it's one of your limits." After a heartbeat, she added in an undertone, "I was going to let you use the toilet, too…"

"Oh…" She hunched her shoulders. It was probably something she should have expected, considering it was one of the most common things dogs did. And yet, for a sexual situation, it was something that intimidated her. She was already intimidated enough by the thought of accidentally-

"I-I… think that's a limit," she quickly blurted out, looking down. "I can't… A-And I don't need to, anyway. Sorry."

Winter sighed before telling her with a gentle smile, "Quite alright. Would you like to come keep me company in bed for a while?"

Finally relaxing again, Ruby nodded, looking up with a grateful smile. At least she wasn't disappointed, again. That seemed to be Ruby's main concern. Determined not to disappoint any further, she got straight back to her hands and knees, crawling to Winter's side.

Once back in the bedroom, Winter quickly crossed to the bedside and patted the mattress with one hand. "Up!"

Making an effort to impress, Ruby took a moment to crouch properly, wiggling her backside to shake the tail on the suit, before hopping upward and onto the bed. Even if the landing wasn't exactly dignified, she at least made it up without embarrassing herself too badly. Getting into a sitting position, she awaited for her master to join her.

Soon after, Winter settled herself into the bed, acting as if she were about to spend an hour or two relaxing there before drifting off to sleep. Pulling Ruby up toward her head by her collar, she reached to the bedside table and took up a remote, using it to turn on the wall-mounted television on the wall opposite the bed.

Laying by her side, Ruby barely dared to make a move. She hadn't been commanded to go anywhere, or do anything else. All Winte was doing was laying, seeming to be ready to watch TV. Despite the low volume, and the fact it could easily be background noise, Ruby didn't know what else to do. Whether or not to make a move.

So she whispered, "Is everything okay?"

"Well," Winter answered in the same tone, "I'm honestly not sure where to go from here. You're new to this, so I'm not ready to start in on you with everything I would for a more experienced sub. Do you… have any requests?"

In all honesty, she did not. She had experienced as much as she thought possible for the actual pet side. The rest was sexual contact, which was something she wasn't ready for, either.

Or… was she? Perhaps not toward herself, but on Winter? She knew that the dom was in control of both of their pleasures, and it was up to them what order things occurred, or how regularly. She could command Ruby at her whim, and she would obey.

"What about other commands?" she asked. "Like… Subs are meant to please their masters, right? I could maybe…"

At this suggestion, Winter leaned away very slightly to blink down at her. "Are you ready for that? Please say 'yes'," she added in a very slightly more suggestive tone, her voice husky as she allowed herself a hint of a smirk.

There was barely a moment's hesitation before Ruby nodded. But Winter needed to hear the words. She wanted to be sure Ruby meant it. And so, looking back into her eyes, she whispered, "Yes. I wanna try, at least."

The smirk only grew. "Don't forget, Lady… your paws won't be of much use here." Her thighs began to part very slowly, though she made no move to force Ruby down there with her hands. Merely stroked along her shoulder the way she had begun doing the minute they laid down together.

Slowly, she began to get on her 'paws' again and edged her face toward the inner thighs. She had been about to raise her hand, to nudge her underwear aside for access, but stopped when she noticed the massive paws again. She'd have to do this a dog way. So she headed inward, nuzzling the material to one side as best she could with her nose. It took longer than usual, but no doubt the effort Ruby made to get such an easy task done was enticing for Winter.

"Oooh," Winter sighed shakily with every blunt push up against her sex from the button nose of her pet. "My little doggie seems quite frisky today. Does she… smell something she likes?"

Satisfied with how far apart she'd nuzzled her legs, Ruby went in for the kill, letting out her tongue again to trail up and down between Winter's sodden lips. It was far wetter than Ruby first realised! But she lapped at it without any complaints, happy to taste her master.

"Oh goodness," Winter sighed, pausing to swallow and inhale a shaky breath. "You're not wasting any time… good girl, good girl!"

Right against Winter's sex, 'Lady' moaned. It had been a long long time since she and Penny were last intimate, and even longer since she was allowed to please her in this way. She more or less forgot what another's flower tasted like! But Winter was different from Penny. She couldn't say whether it was better or not, but it was different. And she enjoyed savouring her – so much she continued to hold her legs apart as she lapped more.

After she had grown used to the sensation, to the rhythm of Ruby's soft tongue, her hips began to buck up into the face nestled between her legs. She could already tell it wasn't going to take long if she was this skilled! A pleasant surprise indeed. Licking her lips, she began to let out gentle breaths of pleasure with every thrust up into the tongue.

The moans of pleasure were a good sign. Maybe Ruby hadn't gone rusty in the interim. She loved Penny, well and truly, but it felt good to have someone else to practice her skills with. To not only please them for her own delight, but to keep herself in top form on the once-in-a-blue-moon occasion Penny did want to do something. If only she could thank Winter for this chance.

Perhaps she would. With a satisfactory experience. Looping her paws under Winter's thighs, Ruby held her firmly in place, burying her mouth right against Winter's sex as she lapped at it over and over again, trying to press in as roughly as she could.

And Winter completely lost herself in the writhing and panting of her own performance, so pleased was she by the attentions being paid her fragile flesh. Perhaps Ruby was new to the BDSM game, but she was certainly no slouch in that department. Her technique might be rough around the edges, but the eagerness and thirst for the action more than made up for that.

Quickly taking a moment to peek up at her master's expression, she could only smile to herself against the flesh. She looked a picture of ecstasy. But it wasn't over yet, she was going to make sure of that. Finally her tongue trailed further upward, beginning to lap and lick at her sensitive clit. Over and over again she circled and flicked, using whatever actions she could to try and get her going.

"O-OH!" Winter burst out at the heightened sensation. Ruby really did know her way around a woman! Raising her legs up, she rested them against Ruby's back as one of her hands came down to clutch into her hair, hoping to encourage her to lap faster and harder, if she so chose.

Now that she had a hand firmly pulling at her hair, Ruby could moan once again. Making the last ditch effort, she continued to lap as hard as she could against her clit over and over again, hoping to send her rocketing to her finish. It would be an honour of she managed it, but only time would tell.

However, no matter how completely overcome with pleasure as Winter was growing, she was still a professional. "Ohhh, good GIRL, Lady! YES! F-finish your dinner!" She was so close - within arm's length of an earth-shattering climax! "A-almost done!" she reassured the girl.

If only her hands were free, then she really could finish Winter off in style, by putting something inside her while her clit was paid attention to. Too bad. Or perhaps she could anyway…

It would take some effort, but she moved her face again to adjust herself. This time, her nose was pressed in against the nub instead, where she continued to nuzzle while her tongue went back to lapping up and down for a moment, only for her to then wiggle it against Winter's entrance. With a little more perseverance, she managed to push it inside, in and out her wet opening as best she could.

A minute of that was all that was needed; Ruby had the right idea, and executed it perfectly. Panting louder and louder, Winter found herself squealing in delight, bucking up against the torturous tongue as her orgasm blossomed into reality, shaking all over as she panted and writhed. It was one of the better ones a woman had ever given her, that was an absolute certainty.

Allowing Winter to ride it out till the very end, she continued to push her nose right against the clit and her tongue in and out for a few moments longer. Finally when the screams of ecstasy had died down, she drew her face back, panting heavily herself now that she was free. She could still feel Winter's wetness over her lips, having to lick them to be rid of it. The taste of a satisfied customer, she thought.

"Was that good?" she asked questioningly, tilting her head once she looked up again. "Haven’t done that in a few months."

"Verrrry good," Winter drawled weakly as she panted to catch her breath. Her hand had fallen from Ruby's hair when she drew away, and now it drifted up and down her own stomach as she basked in the afterglow. "Ohhh, you're very accomplished, aren't you?"

Licking her lips yet again, she nodded rather eagerly, crawling further forward to nuzzle herself back into Winter's side again, just as they were before. At least now that had been done, they could cuddle up and relax for the rest of the evening. If Winter let her stay that long.

"I'm glad." Ruby replied happily. "Penny always said I was kinda skilled with my tongue. Guess she was right!"

Having caught her wind, she pushed herself up onto one elbow to better see her partner for the evening. "But you've said she doesn't enjoy your efforts? That's… I can't imagine that, to be entirely honest with you. Not after what you just did for me!"

Allowing herself the luxury of resting her head on the pillow, she backtracked, "She does when she's in the mood, don't get me wrong! But that's pretty rare for her to want anything. Like Shining Charizard card rare. Which is totally fine, of course; I still love her and all! I just… wanna be good for her when she does want it. Plus I got my own needs."

"Hmm… I have a hard time understanding that from a personal standpoint, but it does stand to reason. Not everyone has to enjoy this like I do." One palm pressed into her shoulder as she leaned over and kissed Ruby's lips, and not hesitantly at all. "Thank you for such good work."

Ruby smiled bashfully back at Winter, taking a moment to nuzzle into her again and bask in her warmth. "Anytime."

"And I don't mind telling you… it isn't as though I'm interested in you romantically, but I do find you quite attractive, so far as women go. Fun to spend time with, to play with."

The blush couldn't get any brighter from before. However, such a remark did bring about a giggle from her. "Y'know what'd be funny? If you and I did get romantic. It'd be like a role reversal of Yang and Weiss."

An awkward little laugh floated out of Winter's throat. "Maybe it should bother me more to mention them when we're lying here, wet and wild as we are. But it doesn't." She glanced over to Ruby out of the corner of her eye. "Does it bother you? Not Weiss, obviously, but mentioning Yang in that context."

She shrugged her shoulders. Yet again she thought back to the truth and dare games they'd all played together, and the various confessions in them. "Not really," she explained, shrugging her shoulders. "I mean, obviously I don't want to sit and imagine what she looks like when Weiss uses a strap-on on her like she told us she does, but it's nice to know that she's getting what she wants, I guess?"

A light blush hit Winter's cheeks as Ruby described the scene. "W-well, that's… yes." Clearing her throat, she adjusted her position up against Ruby and settled in more. "Guess pegging runs in the family. I've done it a few times. Wouldn't mind doing it to Yang, either, if it wouldn't make things awkward."

Seemed Winter was more bothered about that mental image than Ruby was. But for a different reason. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you had the hots for my sister."

"Couldn't I say the same thing?" But it wasn't said cruelly, more as an afterthought. "There is something about yours I can't put my finger on. Or in. But I'm sure you don't particularly want to talk about this."

"You're curious of what it's like sleeping with a chick with a dick. I get it." It was as if Ruby had said it a million and one times before. Then again, she probably had. After all, she would have had to offer some sort of explanation to her schoolmates when she suddenly had a sister instead of a brother. And one or two of those friends had brought up that aspect.

But realising it may have been mentioned too harshly toward Winter, she shrugged her shoulders, looking downward. "Sorry, that came out like an accusation. I just… I get pretty defensive over her. She can be an easy target for some creeps."

However, Winter didn't sound chagrined or irritated in the slightest. Her voice was perfectly calm and even. "Oh no, you're right. To be entirely honest with you… she was the first woman I ever allowed myself to entertain any sexual thoughts about. Probably because of that aspect. Of course, NOW I realize that's bad, turning her into a fetish in my mind, but I've moved beyond that in the years since then."

The feelings Winter seemed to feel were ones that were mirrored within Ruby. Not for the same person, or for the same amount of time, but it was very similar to her own attractions she had towards Weiss in the beginning. In fact, truth be told, if Weiss ever gave her the chance of one wild night, or even just a kiss, she would leap at it without question. Although she might be her sister-in-law to be, Ruby still viewed Weiss as one of her favourite people to listen to, even to look at. And when she thought of it that way, it was no different to what Winter was turning Yang into in her mind.

"I'm glad." She attempted to distract herself by talking. "Glad you um, evolved or whatever."

"Yes, that's been a long-term project," Winter laughed easily, snuggling up to her anew. "I went from loathing and mistrusting her completely, to fantasizing about her, to… well, okay, I do still fantasize, but a lot less. And it takes a back seat to loving her as part of my family. Is… does that make sense? Am I a terrible person for feeling that way?"

"No! No I… I totally get it." And she did. Thankfully now she didn't feel as bad about the odd intrusive thought she had about Weiss. The odd fantasy, the odd dream. She didn't care for her any less as a friend or as family, so what harm could it really do? Finally, she felt brave enough to snuggle back against her movements. "Hey, Winter?"

"Yes?" the woman whispered back, moving her hand down to Ruby's side as she began to smooth up and down along it, affectionate but gentle.

Shuffling back and forth a moment longer, she eventually gave in, confessing, "This suit is pretty itchy…"

Winter didn't respond or move for a moment. Then she let her hand slide around to her back, rubbing up and down. "Want me to take it off?"

Ruby shrugged again. She didn't want to disappoint her master, but the material was just so unpleasant! "Unless there's anything else you wanted to do? I can bear with it longer, if you want?"

"Oh, there is. Several things. But we can take it off if it's really irritating you." Her lips pursed. "Perhaps I can have it cleaned, soften up the material…"

"No no, I'll deal for now!" Ruby insisted. She was far more interested in pleasing her master than she was in taking it off. "It can be a reward for after, right?"

The smile was soft and bemused. "Yes, I suppose it can. Alright, very well; up on your 'paws' again."

She began to edge away slightly, to enable her to do so. Rolling back onto her front, Lady did as commanded. She returned to her dog like sitting position on her hands and knees, letting her tongue hang from her mouth as she faked panting again.

"Good girl," Winter cooed as she began to stroke up and down the back of Ruby's thigh. It would convey a certain intent… but she had not proceeded any further than that as of yet. She was still waiting to watch her young charge's reaction.

For the moment, Ruby only continued to pant and sit still. Winter's hand wasn't going anywhere particularly bad, just fussing over her. Perhaps that was all she wanted to do for the rest of the evening, fuss over her pet. But there was still a worry. In the back of her mind, she was still terrified that Winter would try and return the favour. She wasn't ready for that, not yet. Her only hope was to wait and see what Winter wanted.

"Does Lady wish me to… scratch her itches?" Winter breathed as the hand drifted higher with each pass. It never quite hit home, but began to come a lot closer to the mark.

The closer it got, the slower Ruby's panting was starting to get. Okay, don't panic, Ruby, she told herself, holding still as Winter stroked higher and higher. It doesn't happen every time, it might not happen here! Just let things keep going, it'll be fine.

"Oh… goodness, she seems to." The hand had drifted closer still - not close enough to touch her lips yet. However, a drip of Ruby's essence came away on her hand. Withdrawing it entirely, she raised to her lips and let her tongue loll out, exactly where Ruby could watch her take the tiny droplet into her mouth. "Mmm…"

Oh no. She can't put her mouth there! Ruby could only bite her lip as her nerves began to ramp up. Even if she had constantly reassured herself it would be okay, she continued to worry. If Winter really insisted on taking her, insisted on tasting her, she would be done for. Once Winter's hand finally hit home, she flinched away rather quickly, shutting her eyes tightly.

"Wait!" For a moment, Ruby panted quickly, trying to calm herself. She edged herself away from the hand again, looking back at it nervously. The very woman that had cuddled her in a warm embrace was now someone she feared the touch of. What was wrong with her? "I-I'm sorry. I-I just… I'm worried about.. I-I…"

"What are you worried about?" Winter wasn't moving, wasn't backing down. But she also wasn't advancing again. Her hands were pushing down into the mattress, far and away from where one of them had been teasing moments before.

Biting her lip again, Ruby looked downward at the mattress. She wasn't able to make eye contact with her anymore, only able to look down in shame. This wasn't how she wanted to spend the evening, not when it had been so fun already. But she couldn't just leave Winter with no answer either! Finally taking a deep breath in to try and calm herself, she spoke slowly.

"P-promise you won't freak out if I tell you?"

Tentatively, she placed a hand on Ruby's ankle. It was distant enough that she hoped it would be of comfort rather than unpleasant for her. "I promise."

Weighing the options in her head, Ruby continued to stare at the bed a little longer. Their entire experience together was a private affair, that was established before it began. And she had promised to keep calm no matter what it was. With another deep breath in, she finally looked up again.

"It's really embarrassing," she began, hunching her shoulders. "But when I finish? Something happens. Something… not very nice happens."

"Oh?" Unable to help but chuckle gently, she whispered, "It's happened to me, too. I mean… all those muscles down there relax, and sometimes you can't help it. But it's nothing to be ashamed of; everyone does it at some point or another, don't they?"

"Huh?" Ruby could only look on in confusion. It seemed that either Winter had thought of something else entirely, or Winter really had experienced the same thing. Still red with embarrassment, she went on, "But, Penny's never done it! It's only been me, but I feel so bad! Like when it's just me on my own I don't care, b-but when it's on someone else…"

"Of course! No one wants to be heard doing that in the company of others. But with all that gasping for air, it's bound to force some out… in other areas. Honestly, it's nothing to wind yourself up over, Ruby."

"Force- wait…" Ruby's eyebrow raised in confusion. Looking up at Winter again, she asked quietly. "What are you talking about?"

That brought her up quick. "I'm… talking about… well, breaking wind during sex. What are you talking about?"

"Ooohh…" While that was embarrassing enough to think about, it wasn't as embarrassing as Ruby was about to confess. "I-I was talking… a-about, um… something else."

"You were? I thought for sure you…" Waving her hand back and forth, she sighed, "Nevermind. I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions. What did you mean?"

"Okay. Most times when I finish… by myself, or with Penny, I-I…" Taking a few more deep breaths in, she couldn't look at Winter again, staring downward at the mattress and speaking so quietly Winter could barely hear. "I-I kind of… pee a little."

That sent both of her eyebrows arching upward. "Ah. Is that all?"

"What do you mean 'is that all'?!" Ruby quickly looked up toward her. By how red her face was and how quick her breathing had become, she had clearly been worried about this for a long time. "I know I couldn't go in front of you, but that doesn't mean I want to do it on accident, either! It's disgusting, humiliating! A-and I don't… I don't want to put you through that grossness!"

But Winter did not seem riled by Ruby's outburst. In fact, her composure remained at nearly the same level as she said, "You say this as if I haven't been peed on by a partner before. Or vice versa."

"Yeah, well I don't want to be that girl who- wait…" Had she caught that correctly? Looking back around to Winter, who still seemed perfectly unperturbed about her confession, she gasped, "For SERIOUS? You mean peeing is a thing?!"

One of Winter's silk-clad shoulders rose and fell, entirely nonchalant. "If it's onto another person, it's typically called a 'golden shower'. That's definitely not my thing; I don't mind it, but I've never had any strong desire to have it done to me, and I don't care about doing it to someone else, either. However…" Clearing her throat, she looked away from Ruby briefly. "Being commanded to do it in front of someone… it is thrilling somehow. I don't know why."

"I… Oh." She had gathered that Winter had done some very intense things from the amount of toys she had, and how her room was more or less built for these types of ventures. But the idea of someone experiencing pleasure from that was completely alien to her. "It's just… I hate doing it, but I can't control it! And I don't wanna squirt on people!"

Silence fell between them for a few seconds as her master mulled that over. Ruby really did seem to have herself a huge stumbling block; not one that couldn't be dealt with, but one that she had built up in her mind as something insurmountable. Something that made her a completely unacceptable bedroom partner. This might not be a thing they could fix overnight, but she could try to make headway.

Crawling upward, Winter wrapped her arms around Ruby from behind, nuzzling into her neck and kissing each stretch of skin with great care and desire. With as much gusto as if she were ready to be pleasured again. Once the hands looped around her, and she felt the kisses on her skin over and over again, Ruby gasped in surprise. Winter didn't… mind? It seemed not, from how the kisses continued over and over, leaving no part of her untreated. It was enough to bring a tear to Ruby's eye. She still wanted her, even despite her embarrassing confession, Winter still had a desire to please her and return the favour. And now, she was more inclined to accept.

Though Winter would take it a step further. As her lips lifted up toward Ruby's ear, she began to whisper earnest phrases in the most sultry of voices - and the woman was capable of quite a sultry one indeed.

"I want to feel you. I want to hear you calling out in pleasure. Your body to writhe under mine, your mind breaking from how good you feel." The tongue ran up the skin, only just. "And if you do leak a little by accident… if it happens, it happens. From a body as glorious as yours, I don't mind in the slightest. Christen me with your juices; I should be so lucky."

All Ruby could do was continue to gasp, leaning her head in all manner of directions to give Winter all the access she needed. Those lips just kept pressing against her body, over and over again, sending more and more tingles up her spine. She may still have been worried, but with Winter's reassurance, she could get past that.

And so turning her head, she managed to catch Winter's lips for herself, kissing her back hungrily. One shaky breath later and Winter was returning the contact, winding her fingers into her lover's hair and biting her bottom lip as they began to writhe up against each other again, slowly spinning Ruby just enough so that they could comfortably enjoy each other's mouths. As they did so, she allowed her hand to rest against the plane of her stomach - lying in wait. Needing only the green light to proceed downward.

There came no resistance. Ruby only continued to eagerly kiss back, embracing Winter closer toward her as she allowed her tongue to trace over hers on occasion. She was eager for Winter to keep going now.

That desire was seen to quite soon as the fingers probed downward, between the seams of the costume and into the fragile petals below. Winter's kiss became hungrier, more frenzied, as if hoping it would prove a distraction from what was going on below.

It was working. While continuing to lap at Winter's tongue with her own, Ruby was content with what was happening. In fact, she was encouraging it, parting her legs even further to give Winter more room to work with. At last, Winter broke away from the supple mouth - but it appeared she had a concentrated purpose in doing so. Perhaps it was part of their play, or perhaps it came from an earnest desire to calm her temporary partner. Likely a mixture of both.

"How sweet your body is," she whispered as her finger glided up and down the length of the folds. "So perfect and inviting. As wet as it should be, as I want it to be. What a good girl you are, Lady."

That last made it clear; they were still playing. Anything that happened was just part of their arrangement, and nothing for Ruby to fret over. Sighing softly with relief, Ruby had began to continually push her hips up against Winter's hand. Going back to a game for this occasion put her at ease. Although she had appreciated Winter's confidence building, that was something she still worried about: developing romantic feelings for another.

But now she felt silly. Winter was just a good friend, and they both needed to relieve each other's urges. At least, that's how Ruby saw it.

"She's such a good girl," Winter soothed her further as she added more fingers, pushing the middle one in between the moistened lips as the ones on either side teased them. "Knows who her master is, and that she'll take care of Lady. Yes she does." The tone of her words was halfway between "sexy talk" and "baby talk"; it was both odd and arousing at the same time.

Ruby moaned, relaxing more as Winter continued to tease and taunt her skin. With her skill, it was no wonder she was already beginning to feel her stomach tighten, and her legs beginning to shudder. She was close already, and Winter hadn't even gone inside! A simple consequence of her finishing Winter first: she was far more eager.

For a few seconds, Winter merely kept going, teasing up and down, worrying the flesh. Then she panted, "If I already asked this, I'm sorry, but… have you…" Her finger dipped in further, hoping to indicate what she was asking without verbalizing it directly. It wasn't a fun thing to bring up right in the middle of their play, but it would be very important if the answer was "no".

Biting her lip, Ruby opened her eyes again just to look at what Winter was doing. Was penetration what she was asking about? Leaning to give a small kiss to Winter's cheek, she reassured her, "I have a couple of times. Solo and all."

"Okay... okay, then." And Winter wasted no more time. They had spent so much time teasing each other that Ruby had to be dying to finish by now. Angling herself just so, she leapt straight from nothing to two fingers sliding through Ruby's defenses - not too fast, not too slow. A steady but unrelenting pace.

"OHHHH!" she called out yet again. One of her hands quickly went to grasp Winter's, using it in a vain attempt to try and tether herself. But no success. Those fingers were relentless, making her body quiver more and more as her muscles tightened. "WHOA! Yeah! Holy SHIZ, keep going! K-Keep… WINTER!"

"Yes, call my name!" Winter urged her, waggling the fingers back and forth once they were all the way inside. "Let loose - make as much noise as you like! Nobody will ever hear it outside these reinforced walls!"

For the next dozen seconds or so, Ruby panted and squirmed before shouting, "YES! Y-YEEEAAAAH!"

And that was about all it took before she reached her end. Anticipation and foreplay had done ninety percent of the work. Legs shuddering even more right by her hand, she felt her muscles tightening through the waves of pleasure sent around her body. Over and over again, her muscles clamped onto those fingers, trying to keep them for all they were worth.

However… they still had to contend with Ruby’s issue. Through the muscle spasms, there was a small amount of fluid released against Winter's hand. It was only tiny spurts of clear liquid, but that seemed to be what Ruby described.

"Ohhh," Winter breathed. It was her only true reaction to the spurting of fluid, but it was a reaction all the same. Her fingers curled up and into her a few more times, then stilled, waiting to see what Ruby would do, or ask.

A few spasms of her body later, and Ruby flopped back against the bed. Completely exhausted from their efforts. She had to regain her breath before she did anything else, before she cuddled Winter, before she got out of the-

The suit. Quickly looking downward to where Winter's hand was, she could already see Winter's hand glistening with liquid, and feel that the fur around her crotch was damp. Covering her face with embarrassment, she whined, "I did it again…"

"You did. Naughty, naughty puppy." But what Winter did next was the direct opposite of scolding or being angry. Her hand came up, covered as it was in both internal juices and the ones that she had shot forth upon her climax. Then she took a long, gratuitous lick from the heel of her palm to the tip of her middle finger.

By the time Ruby had ran her paw-hands down her face enough to see, she caught sight of Winter nearing the end of her lick. And right away gasped. "D-don't!" she insisted, blush returning to her cheeks once again in shame. "You don't want to taste that! It's nasty!"

"Hmmm…" Winter smacked her lips a few times. Having caught Ruby's expression, she decided to have a bit more fun with her and licked the palm again, sure to get the wettest areas. "It has a nice tart flavor to it; lovely bouquet. Delightful."

Poor Ruby could barely stand to watch! Surely Winter couldn't experience pleasure from doing anything as disgusting as that? "You don't have to do that for me." she insisted. "You could have just run to the bathroom, I'd never ask you to do that with my p-pee!"

But Winter was chuckling quietly, and it grew louder the longer Ruby spoke. "Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn't. It's irrelevant, anyway." Grasping one of her wrists with her clean hand, she pulled it away from her face as gently as she could. "You didn't pee at all, silly girl."

"I-I didn't? Huh?" Once again she looked to Winter's wet hand, and then down at the costume again. The evidence was all there still, she didn't dream it. "B-but… I felt it. It's still on me now. I-I know I did…"

"You did squirt on me, yes, but… what you squirted isn't urine, Ruby." She was going to have to be patient. Caressing her hair as she went on, she asked, "Haven't you ever heard of 'female ejaculation' before?"

That did very little to ease Ruby's confusion. Her hands had lowered from her face, but she still appeared as though someone was explaining rocket science to her. "Sure, I've heard of it, but…" Then she shrugged her shoulders, looking down in embarrassment. "I thought that meant girls like Yang… Y'know."

Winter canted her head from side to side as she considered. "Well… I suppose that's technically what Yang's doing, but not what the term usually means. Some women, when they climax, produce a little fluid this way; it's partly from the bladder and partly from tiny glands inside of you. They're a lot like the glands that help produce male ejaculate; the watery part of it, anyway."

"…Hold on." Blinking a few times as she allowed the new information to sink in, her eyes seemed to dart from side to side for a moment, until back up to Winter's again. There seemed to be an odd mixture of both relief and embarrassment. "You mean all this time, I've been cumming, not peeing? That I can skeet-skeet like a guy can?"

"Not exactly the same, but it's similar. The reason your body does it is the same, and the fluid isn't too far off." Leaning down, she kissed Ruby's flaming-red cheek just to show her she was right there with her, entirely supportive and not even the slightest bit put off. "Now, this fluid still goes through your bladder, so it's coming from the same place as pee. But saying it's pee isn't very accurate. Do… you understand, or am I just babbling at you?"

"I… think I get it." It was still new information to Ruby. But one thing that had been sinking in was a fact that made her feel better about herself. It wasn't as filthy as she thought it was. Though beyond her control, it was something Ruby didn't need to panic about getting on the clothes Winter provided - or her hands, for that matter. Wiping her forehead in the end, she smiled. "That's… a relief, actually. Because I kinda got it on the suit."

Snuggling yet closer, Winter kissed her forehead, then her cheek again. "I'm glad. But even if it had been pure urine, I promise you - promise, promise - that it would have been fine by me. They’re just clothes and clothes can be cleaned. And you shouldn't be embarrassed; it's not exactly common, but plenty of women ejaculate."

"Okay. That's good then… cause otherwise, I would have been worried about seeing a doctor. No one wants to hear about that kind of problem…" Although she had been about to huddle up to Winter again, she looked down at the outfit again. And could already remember how it was feeling. Looking up bashfully, she asked, "C-can I, uh…?"

"Come with me," Winter chuckled as she began to rise from the bed. "Oh, and grab your regular clothing on the way."

Nodding, Ruby did as she was told. Hopping up and off one side of the bed, she quickly managed to gather up the clothes she had scattered over the floor, only just managing to get them over her arms with the clunky paw-gloves. But once that was done she followed again, still like a lost puppy.

Once in the bathroom, Winter turned to shut the door - and laughed when she saw Ruby's awkward grip on her things. "Put those on the counter for a moment and I'll get those paws. Sorry, I… actually forgot you don't normally have paws for a moment, Lady."

"Arf." She spoke the word this time rather than attempted it seriously as she finally put her clothing aside. While she held her hand out for Winter to do as she pleased, she took a good look around the surroundings of the bathroom. A large counter with the sink not even taking up a third of it, a large Jacuzzi and a toilet that looked fancier than any Ruby had ever seen. Giggling to herself, she smirked. "Even your bathroom is worth more than my house, probably."

"It's just a bathroom," Winter commented casually as she removed the second paw, then bent down and worked on the kneepads. Taking everything off was a lot quicker than putting it on in the first place. "But… well, my father insists on the best of the best." While down there, she left a light kiss on the inside of Ruby's thigh.

It was enough to send another shudder through her body. But now that her hands were free, they went straight to the zipper at the front. Cleverly hidden in the middle of the fur, she managed to find the pull and slowly tug it downwards, and eventually wriggle her shoulders out of the costume entirely. And she continued until it was off all the way.

But somehow, being naked in front of Winter didn't phase her at all anymore. In fact, she continued to talk as normal. "Best of the best is really fancy stuff, though! Like, I could live in here, it's big enough."

"You want to live in my bathroom?" Winter laughed aloud, standing back up once Ruby was revealed entirely. "You really are a puppy." Her eyes raked down Ruby's figure, both appraising and already pleased before the appraisal had been completed. "You really are lovely, you know. Don't let anyone tell you any different."

She had been about to grab her underwear when that was spoken, and she grinned to herself again, shrugging her shoulders bashfully. "I'm glad you think so, considering you're the one that suggested this whole arrangement. And then peed on you – or ejaculated or whatever."

"Suppose that's true." Winter bit her lip as she thought something over, eyes directed at the moisture still glistening on Ruby's thighs. Reaching a decision, she left the girl standing there to walk over toward the toilet. As she sat, she slid her underwear down to below her knees, letting them fall to the floor. Then her hand patted her thigh as she commanded, "Come here for a moment."

"Hmm- GAH!" When she looked back to where Winter was sat, and the fact she was sat down with her underwear to the ground, Ruby's first instinct was to cover her eyes, and so she did. "I'm sorry! Do you want me to leave the room?"

"No, I want you to come here," Winter repeated, suppressing a laugh. She knew this was not Ruby's area of comfort and was more than willing to be patient with her. "Have a seat, just for a minute."

"…While you're on the toilet?" Ruby repeated, allowing her hand to fall. When only a nod came from Winter she slowly walked forward, giving into her command as she went to sit on her lap. "Okay…?"

Nodding in satisfaction, Winter looped her hands around Ruby's waist to help hold her steady. "Good. Now, I want to ask you a couple of questions, nothing bad."

Still perpetually confused, Ruby's cheeks reddened as she made herself comfortable. "Okay? What is it?"

"Was there anything we did tonight you really liked? As in, stood out to you that you'd want to do again."

For a moment, Ruby had to really think about that question. There was the kissing for one, that had been interesting and a relief to get out of her system. Then there was the cuddling, and interestingly… "The commands were good." She smiled. "Even if I didn't stay in character very good, I did like that. It reminded me of a teacher I had back in school, this real strict one I had a huge crush on."

A knowing smile flitted across Winter's lips as she waggled both eyebrows. "Ah yes, you did mention that fantasy… but not that it had roots in reality. Interesting. You'll have to tell me more about her sometime so we can do something with that."

"Sounds good to me!" Ruby grinned eagerly. But yet again when remembering where they were, where they were sat, she asked, "Winter… What are we doing here exactly?"

"We'll get to that. Now, tell me if there's anything that didn't work for you. Not just in general, but specifics. This is important for both me, and for you for when you're with other Doms."

"Well…" That was more difficult to think about. The evening had gone well; very well even. Ruby didn't even have to use her safe word that they had set into place, which she expected to be using from the beginning. But there were a few things. "Ironic considering where we're sitting, but being told to go to the bathroom, that's a no. I don't do well with any of those bodily functions." Then she added in an embarrassed mutter, "Hence the freaking out when I thought it was pee."

"Well…" Finally, Winter shivered slightly, and there began a faint tinkling sound into the toilet. Her cheeks flushed when she caught Ruby gaping at her. "Seems I have my own hang-ups. Because I've been trying to get started ever since you sat down. I meant to show you how it's not such a big deal, and ended up showing you the opposite. Pretty silly, huh?"

"You're actually-?!" And Ruby had to continue to sit, cheeks flushing red as she looked off to one side of the room instead. All the while, she remained perfectly still, not daring to move. "I can't believe you did that," she began. "Or are doing that, even. Isn't it really icky to you?"

"No, it isn't. People do it all the time. Besides, it's sterile, you know; it's not as if there are germs in there or anything." The stream was going a little stronger now that she had pushed through that initial barrier of shyness, having another person in the room and so close. "I'm not trying to make you 'like' it, of course, just… it seems like you're almost… afraid of the act. And that won't do, not if I can help you get past that."

"Afraid of it in the bedroom, yeah," she admitted. Having to continue to bear with the sounds, she hunched her shoulders again, face a clear picture of embarrassment. "Look, I know you're trying to help but, I just prefer to keep pee private, you know? I was only scared because I thought I was gonna be doing that on everyone, and that's gross."

"Definitely understandable," Winter chuckled. About that time she finished, and she smiled up at Ruby. "Done. And you lived to tell the tale. Just… food for thought, I guess. I'm sorry if I upset you."

"No no, I totally get you, just…" Getting up to finally collect her clothes again, her shoulders remained raised, even as she reached for her panties. "Don't expect me to be whizzing everywhere on command is all. Definitely not right away."

"Wait, wait," she laughed, standing up and catching Ruby's wrists. "That isn't the only reason I asked you in here, believe it or not. Wouldn't you rather have a quick shower first?"

Freezing when her underwear was half way up, she looked over to the shower unit. Just as fancy as the rest of the bathroom, with plenty of different buttons for different functions. And she was a little damp down below. With that in mind, she pushed her underwear back down again, smiling gratefully. "Sure! That’s probably a good idea, yeah."

"I can leave you to it if you'd rather be rid of me now," Winter told her. It hadn't been apparent at first, but now it was much clearer that she was chagrined by Ruby's disapproval of doing her business in her presence. It was one of the few times she'd ever seen Winter not look like the elder, the one in control. She was nervous and uncertain.

So Ruby paused for a moment. Rather than say anything else, she wanted to show Winter that all was well between them. She wanted to show that she appreciated that Winter did want to help, even if it wasn't a thing Ruby would be enjoying any time soon. And to do that, she grabbed her wrist instead, pulling her toward the shower.

"C’mon, shower buddy! I need you to teach me how to use all this new-fangled junk, anyway."

The anxiety faded as she smiled gently, shifting her shoulders so that her kimono finally began to slide free. Pointedly ignoring the way Ruby ogled her revealed form. "That, I can do."

[writingonthemoon]

Old Clothes Part 5

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Word Count: 2981

Warnings: Mentions of death, religious comments, and a tiny bit of blood??

Author’s Note: I am so, so, so, so, so sorry about how late this part is.  The combination of school and work has been kicking my ass so far, but Ia good cry later and I’m getting the hang of it now.  I hope you all really enjoy this and the next part will hopefully be out by the beginning of October.  Share with everyone you think would enjoy this!  Thank you all so much once again!

Old clothes start to fall apart. Why wouldn’t they? Not only have they been worn by strangers until they no longer fit what they wanted, but they’re the wall between the wind and bare skin. The wind becomes a friend while sprinting. Running becomes a part of life when there’s something always following close behind. It nips at heels like the wind at the nose and follows the trail as if it were a breeze through tunnels. The swooshing of the trees pairs with the pounding of feet on dirtied roads. My mother had gotten all too used to the feeling.

     I used to be a kid. A real kid who would play and play until the moon had come to join me. Of course, I wouldn’t play in the dirt, but I had dolls that had been passed down to me that were from my grandmother’s childhood. Sometimes they would be a family who would be caught in a bind and have to flee town. Other times they would be adventurers that would travel the forests and mountains in hopes of something incredible. There were three stuffed in my pockets that night. My few favourites I couldn’t bear to part with. The Queen, the Witch and the Warlock.

     They weren’t always magical or royal, but it was my preferred way of storytelling. I once had a King and Princess and Prince and many others, but I lost them all to the inferno of my failure. My collection was down to three and I’d continue to attempt an expansion but to no avail. The twigs I would tie together for villagers were snapped in two underfoot and the rock giants glued together with mud would crumble with a gentle breeze. No, my travelling circus would remain a silent trio act, performing for an audience of one with the ringmaster lurking overhead. I played God to a world of mortals and the strings of fate were in my hands. Ironic that I played the role when it did not exist. Either that or I removed myself from the game, becoming a passive onlooker to the cruel roll of the dice that decides the ends of all.

     It was velvet, the regal dress of Her Majesty. A brilliant red with gilded embroidery that made her shine in the light. The back of her crown was delicately laced with her hair, keeping it floating atop her head while she saw over the proceedings of the executions of traitors. Wicked was the witch who dressed in white, her silken cloak billowing behind her as she awakened her powers in the storm. Lightning struck her staff of ivory and scorched the hearts of her enemies. Lichen crawled upon the robes of the wizard, his stiff beard gaining knots and growing worse for wear as he cast spells of whimsy from the oak branch he called a wand. Black tweed melted him into a shadow during dusk and caused looks of doubt in the dawn.

     Sometimes I was the Witch, bringing misfortune unto myself and others in my wares of hope. Other times the Wizard and I were one, my adventures casting spells of joy on those surrounding me as I twisted them into fairytales. Mostly, though, I was the Queen. Her immunity against the forces of society and the corrupt morals of the world mirrored my own permanence in the land of expectations and lies. I had to guard the people around me to keep myself from persecution, just as she had to protect her subjects to assure her survival on the throne. We were equals in the way we thought with logic and reasoning and how we fought with carefully chosen statements and hidden suggestions. But would it be enough? Would it all be enough in the end? Or would we have to stare down the executioner’s blade and meet Death after too many evasions?

     My fingertips burned while I sat on the bridge overlooking the river that ran beneath. With the city finally sleeping and the Moon cold and grey, I allowed myself a reprieve. It was only a moment, but a desperately needed one at that. My mind was free to wander as it seemed fit while I rested and it chose the chilling sights of the afternoon. Albert, Ben, Charlie. Their faces were frightening but warmed my heart like a fire warms your toes. Ah yes, the August afternoon felt more like an autumn evening, one that sends a shiver down your spine but spreads a blanket of comfort over you. That anecdote was backed up by a coming patter of rain that landed on myself and the pavement beside.

     It was cooling, the rain. I relished in it’s frozen embrace, leaning back to ease my turmoil. Soon it was a heavy downpour like the sky had turned the faucet full on. If there were others in the streets, they would be scurrying for cover like rats from the light. My body drew me to stand, gazing at the clouds as if they were the Sistine Chapel. The beauty was greater than all the work in the Louvre. Nature could never be captured so precisely outside of the moment.

     "Hey! You!“ My head snapped across the bridge into the borough of Brooklyn, where a figure stood in the shadows, the rain soaking them the same as it was me. The pending confrontation had me frozen in fear. This sort of thing had never happened to me when I had to fight before, but the events of the evening had changed more than just my record.

     Footsteps approached me quickly, the person drawing nearer and nearer. Puddles splashed as I began to make out features of the face. Dark brown eyes shone with kindness in the night and messy black hair was hidden beneath a sopping hat. I thought it strange his shirt lacked sleeves. Then again, it wasn’t the oddest thing I’ve bared witness to.

     "What’re you doin’ out here, Miss? Youse gonna get a cold.” There was something about him that resonated with me. It wasn’t the running, no, certainly not. There was a lost look reflecting in his pupils, one of someone who had nothing more to lose but wished with what little hope they have that they did.

     "I could say the same thing about you…“ I trailed, not knowing what name to use for the boy in front of me.

     "Graves, Miss. Everyone calls me Graves.”

     "Of course, Graves. But why are you out here chastising me for when the same thing is happening to you? You should be of under some blankets sleeping.“ I waved my hand in the direction he came from.

     "I was just heading back ta the Lodgin’ House over there in Brooklyn from visiting my Ma and Pa, but I came ‘cross you. It was nice out b'fore.”

     I mumbled, “But then…” before putting the pieces together. That was it. He was set adrift at sea the same way I was, not knowing which way was home or if it still existed. “I’m so sorry.” My hand met my lips, covering the shocked expression.

     "Nah, it’s fine. I got all the Brooklyn Newsies wit me.“

     "Of course.” I shook my head to clear out pestering questions, “it’s just… I lost my parents too and I know how wrong it can feel. If I may, without intruding, offer my condolences.”

     "Thank ya.“ He tipped his cap at me, “Now, can’t let a lovely lady like you stay out in the rain like this. Why don’t you come back to Brooklyn with me?” He started walking away before I responded, obviously expecting me to follow him. My feet were glued to the ground, though, and there was no way I’d be moving so soon. Graves kept rattling on, “Youse can stay on the girl side of the house until mornin’. Well, I say girl side, but it’s just Rafaela and Joey. I think you’d like Raf. She’s a little rough ‘round the edges, but once she warms up to ya, she’s a real sweetie. Joe’s just a ball a energy. Ya neva know what she's—” The lack of trailing footsteps caused him to stop. His eyes met mine and I could sense the hurt at that moment.

     "Sorry, Graves,“ I plucked my feet from the ground, "I got lost in thought there for a moment.”

     I was soon at his side, my gait wanting to outmatch his, but my lack of knowledge besting my body, “'Bout what?”

     "You’re lucky to have so many kids supporting you with this loss. I was alone when it happened to me. No siblings, no aunts or uncles or friends. Just me and the forest.“ It wasn’t a lie because this broken boy didn’t warrant one. He just wanted the best for everyone, so I let him have a peek at my vulnerability, but not enough for him to dethrone me.

     "That… I’m sorry. Nobody should go through that alone.”

     "Eh, it was years ago. There’s nothing I can do about it now. All I can do is keep moving forward. One day, I’ll make it out.“ Make it out of life and reunite with my family. That’s been the goal for years. See them again.

     "Well, I’m definitely sorry then.”

     "No need to be.“

     The two of us carried on in silence, but not for long. I guess the Brooklyn House wasn’t as far as I assumed. Perhaps it was easy being close to the bridge for selling rather than further away. You’d get the morning and evening rush of people coming and going to and from work. Whoever got the bridge as their turf, on either side, must make a fair wage from all the workers. I’d assume it to be the higher ranking Newsies would get the top spot before the lower ones, who were probably left with the quieter corners and empty shops.

     "Here we are.” Graves’s announcement brought me out of my thoughts of Newsies politics if there even was such a thing. I gazed up at the subject of his presentation. The building wasn’t much different from the one in Manhattan, but it was burgundy in colour from exposed brick and there was a different air about it. “Come on in.” The door was held open for me while I scurried inside out of the rain that had somehow fallen harder in my last few moments outside.

     It was calm on the inside. No shouting or running or fooling around. Two girls caught my eye and I assumed them to be Rafaela and Joey. Then they saw me and became worried. The two rushed over in their red-toned dresses that looked too short to be appropriate. Both my hands were grasped as they led me around the building and into a room not much bigger than a broom closet. A bunk filled half the room and the door took up much of the other half.

     "You poor thing! Graves knows betta than ta make a lady stand in the rain.“ The one girl with dark hair fretted about the room while speaking to me.  She was obviously looking for something to give to me so I could warm-up. Her accomplice, whose hair was covered with a loudly patterned scarf, gave me strange looks as she rifled through a small sewing basket that was slightly mounding with ill-matched clothing all in the same scarlet hues. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to figure out my size or if I was a spy.

"Here you are,” an old rag was presented to my face, some drops of blood stained the once white fabric, “An’ Rafaela there,” she, who I assumed to be Joey, pointed to the one with the headscarf, “should have somethin’ picked out for ya to wear while your clothes dry. I’m Joey.” The energy radiating off her was enough to chase the chill out of my core.

     Rafaela faced me fully, a dark blue skirt and white blouse held in her hands, “Sorry, but these were the only things that would fit.” There was an accent behind her words. It was one I hadn’t heard in a very long time, but that was mainly because I was British as ever.

     "Oh, you’re Spanish?“ Rafaela nodded, "It’s beautiful there. I hope to return someday. I got sidetracked last time I was there and accidentally forgot a project I was working on. Shouldn’t be too much of an issue to complete it… unless somebody’s found it.” My fear started to manifest at the possibility of my paintings being found. What would the locals think?

     Joey and Raf laughed, “I was actually born in Puerto Rico, but my parents were both from Spain. I would love to visit one day and see where they grew up.”

     In a single bout of happiness, I made a wild suggestion, “You and I just might have to go together then.” We giggled as Joey made a sound of offence, “You too Joe. I’m telling you two, we’re going to live like Queens in Spain one day.”

     "Go change! Then we can sit by the fireplace and keep you warm until Spot arrives.“ Rafaela ushered me towards the restroom across the way, leaving me to wonder about this 'Spot’ she mentioned.  Most likely their leader, but what type of leader were they?  The charismatic Jack Kelly?  Or were they more stoic or friendly?  Time would tell me soon enough. 

     It wasn’t a terrible skirt. It was a little short around the ankles and I needed my belt from my dress to keep it up. The shirt did fit very well, even if the shoulders were smaller than fashion dictated.  They were normal, I suppose, when you look at an actual shoulder.  I do think I was quite well put together in my new outfit.  Almost like a higher-class working girl.  Those entertainment reporters dressed fairly similar.  All I needed was a smart little bow and I could pass as anyone with credentials.

     The moment the cold knob of the door left my fingers, I heard an exclamation from Joey, "Oh, you look fantastic!” She ran forward and took my hands, "Rafaela can do your hair once we get downstairs.  She’s amazing at it.“ I was pitched forward at a sharp tug from both girls.  Next thing I knew, I was seated on a worn footrest that could collapse at any moment.  My white ribbon was pulled from my hair and I was brought back to memories of my mother doing my hair for me, then my sister practising her own styles and Jesse playing with it lightly as we travelled.

     "Do you care if we get rid of this ribbon?  It’s so old.”

     "NO!“ I was too loud in my protest and drew eyes towards myself, "No, uh, please use it.  It’s all I have left of my sister.” A small ‘oh’ came from Rafaela asher and Joe proceeded to release my hair from its tangled bonds.

     The three of us spoke quietly as light tugs pestered the back of my head.  Slight laughter entered the conversation but never dominated.  I enjoyed it, the homey feeling that filled the room.  A hasty fire crackled off to the side, my dress laid out in front of it.  The rain poured outside, warding off all who dared be in the streets so late.  A soft smile graced my face and my eyes were closed in bliss.  This was the perfect moment, even if I knew no one around me.

     A creak of the front door alerted me to someone new and the following hush told me of their importance.  The Brooklyn leader, Spot.  I went to turn my head but was held back with a short ‘not yet’ from the girls behind me.  My position was held until I was told.  I quickly stood and glanced at the soaking wet boy who stood in the entryway.  He was short, even shorter than… than most.  The echoing of my shoes was still heard as I stopped before him, my hand outstretched to greet him.

     "Spot, correct? I’m sorry for intruding on your turf, but Graves here,“  I gestured to the boy in the shadows watching the two of us.  He was brought forward by social protocol, standing adjacent to the gap that separated me and Spot, "said I should get out of the rain and that it was perfectly alright if I stayed here for the night.  If not, I can leave now.”

     "No,” he put his hands up in a simple gesture, “it’s fine.  I’m Sean Conlon, but people call me Spot.” I thought I sensed an Irish accent mixed with the language of the streets, but I could’ve been wrong.

     "Well, I think you’ll learn I’m not exactly ‘people’.“ I sent him a shining grin in an attempt to break him and I almost did.  The questions patched up the cracks before I could tear the protective wall down.

     "Graves,” his head swivelled, “who’s this?  ‘Cause I like ‘er.”

     "Oh!  Yeah, yeah right, this is, uh, this is… What’s your name?” Graves gave me a look as he realised I never quite introduced myself to him.  I prided myself on that accomplishment, my posture straightening the slight amount.  I enjoyed pulling the wool over the eyes of others.

     I took a breath, readying myself for whatever would come next, “It’s nice to meet you, Sean.” My hand met his in a swift shake and I felt a million eyes pierce my skin and a fiery heat sear my back.  Whichever one of the angels that had arrived was not on my side, just preparing to send me to the Devil.  Even if there was no God to pray to, I sent one out for help as I spoke my next words, "I’m Odette.  Odette Tuck.“ 

[prairiesongserial]

epilogue 9

The burlesque tent was still lit up by the paper lanterns hanging from the rafters, reeking of the floral perfumes of six different dancers and the sweat of a packed audience. Johannes lifted the flap of the entryway and ducked inside, searching for any stragglers - sometimes they liked to hang around to try and talk to the girls when they came back out of their dressing rooms. But the tent was empty with the exception of Ezra, sitting at his piano at the foot of the stage, as he had been all evening.

“You’re missing dinner,” Johannes said, swinging himself up onto the stage. His ringmaster’s top hat toppled off his head and fell to the ground behind him, but he didn’t make a move to grab it, letting it lie in the grass for now.

“I’ll have something later,” Ezra said, waving off the concern, still letting the fingers of his other hand crawl across the piano keys. The sound echoed in the empty space of the tent, the reverberation of each note curling through the air like cigarette smoke. His hair was tied back in a little ponytail that poked out from the back of his head, and the top button of his shirt was open, his collar rumpled. “How’d the main tent go tonight?”

“Well, Astrid missed her cue to come in with the horse for the third show in a row, and a spotlight went on the fritz in the middle of the clown act, but you know, I hate to complain,” Johannes said, sitting down on backwards on a chair that had been left on the stage, leaning his arms against the top of it. He dug into his pocket and produced a necklace, spreading it out with his fingers to show Ezra. Usually he waited until dinner to discuss how much profit they’d made with the whole circus, but he couldn’t help but brag a little. Besides, Ezra was family, and the only other person who put as much work into keeping this place afloat as Johannes did. “We got a good sixty silver off the audience, and I got this off a volunteer for the knife-throwing act.”

Ezra whistled, leaning in closer to look. “Is that a real diamond?”

“Dunno,” Johannes said. He pocketed the necklace again, rolling onto his side to face Ezra. “How’d you and the girls make out?”

“Irene wanted her music changed again -”

“Again?”

“- or she wouldn’t perform, so I said sure, no problem,” Ezra went on mildly. “I went back to her music from two months ago. I don’t think she even noticed.”

Johannes barked out a laugh. “Good on you.”

“They made good tips, plus whatever Mari got off the audience,” Ezra added. “And Abernathy wants a new outfit -”

“Done,” Johannes said, because they’d probably made more than enough to cover it, and because the burlesque tent was one of their most profitable attractions. “Tell her to pick one out, next time we hit a town, and one of us’ll cough up the money for it.”

Ezra hummed in agreement, looking once again more enraptured by the piano than by anything Johannes was saying. With a few flourishes of his fingers, he went from picking out a tune to playing a full song, one hand bouncing jauntily from chord to chord while the other played a more complex rhythm over top. It wasn’t a song Johannes had ever heard him play before, which probably meant he was making up something off the top of his head. His ability to do that amazed Johannes sometimes.

“Is this anything?” Ezra asked, still playing, glancing up at Johannes.

Before Johannes could answer, the roar of an engine sounded from somewhere outside the tent, startling him to his feet. It might have been one of the troupe firing up a truck, looking to go out on a late night run for gas or alcohol, but he was sure they would have checked in with him first, or at least with Ezra. And this was a louder noise, the sound of a bike engine, not any of the trucks from the caravan.

Johannes lowered himself down off the stage, grabbing his top hat from the ground, his mind racing. A bike by itself meant a courier, maybe, or someone traveling a relatively short distance alone. More bikes could have meant a gang, but the first engine had stalled and quieted, now, and Johannes couldn’t hear any others in the distance. Plus, he liked to think a gang would know better than to ambush the Madsen & Graves Circus.

“Trouble?” Ezra asked. He was still sitting at the piano, though he’d stopped playing. One of his hands had strayed to the underside of his piano bench, where Johannes knew he kept a gun hidden.

“Dunno,” Johannes said. He nestled his top hat back over his hair, and headed for the entrance of the burlesque tent, motioning for Ezra to join him. It might not be the best idea to let someone wishing the circus ill catch Madsen and Graves together in one place, but at least they’d have strength in numbers. Johannes wondered if he should tell Ezra to bring the gun, but decided to leave it up to Ezra’s discretion.

Johannes pushed his way out of the tent, holding the flap open to let Ezra out behind him. A few other troupe members had emerged from the various other tents and trailers around the campsite, drifting cautiously towards the helmeted rider who’d parked her motorbike just in front of the main tent. It was a sleek, red bike, just as flashy as the rider’s red jacket, and red helmet - which she removed, shaking out waves of shiny black hair as she stepped off the bike.

“Johannes,” she said, cherry red lips curling into a smile. “And the other one.”

“Ezra,” Ezra supplied dryly.

“Sure. It’s been a while.”

“Lady,” Johannes said, arching his eyebrows in surprise. He didn’t know what the top dog of Hemisphere was doing here, but he sure as Hell intended to find out. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Lady’s smile grew wider, showing teeth. “I have a business proposition for you.”

Now, that was interesting. Madsen & Graves had a sort of truce with Hemisphere, a gentleman’s agreement that neither would interfere with the other’s operations, even though the circus wasn’t sponsored by Hemisphere or subject to their rules. Not that Johannes liked people to know about that. It wouldn’t be any good for the word to get out that a crime syndicate was sponsoring the circus - people might get it in their heads that the troupe was up to no good. And they were, of course, but it was much easier if people didn’t suspect them of it.

“Well,” Johannes said, gesturing towards his trailer, “step into my office.”

“Gladly,” Lady said, already striding towards the trailer.

Johannes followed her as closely as he could, glancing over his shoulder only once he stopped to hold the door for her. The rest of the troupe members who had been standing around were still exactly where they’d been before, watching both him and Lady. Even Ezra was still lingering near the bike.

“Ezra, come on,” Johannes said, nodding inside. They both ought to at least hear the proposal, he figured, even if they decided not to take it. “The rest of you, quit rubbernecking and go back to dinner. We’ll do the usual meeting afterwards. Shoo.”

The troupe dispersed, talking amongst themselves, and Ezra quickly closed the distance between himself and the trailer, striding inside and pulling the door shut behind him. Lady had already made herself at home at Johannes’s small table, drumming her fingers idly against a stack of papers. Johannes, for his part, stripped off his tailcoat and top hat, leaving them on a little hook on the back of the door before leaning up against the wall. He folded his arms over his chest, watching Lady with interest.

“So, what’s the proposition?” he asked, sensing that she wasn’t going to elaborate until he did.

“I’m so glad you asked,” Lady said, sweetly. “To make a very long story short, there’s a group that’s been causing trouble for a certain Hemisphere gang recently, and I have a bit of a personal stake in the matter.”

“How personal is personal?” Ezra asked, raising an eyebrow, beating Johannes to the question by half a second.

“Personal to the tune of ten thousand silver,” Lady elaborated. “A member of this troublesome group borrowed the money from the gang, who borrowed it from me. Now the leader of that gang is dead, and I’m no closer to getting my money back.”

Johannes frowned, not quite understanding where Lady was going with this line of thought. “So you want us to shake these people down for your ten thousand silver?”

“No, no, of course not. They just killed the leader of a Hemisphere gang. I want to make an example of them.” Lady smiled again, a ruthless, teeth-baring expression that looked out of place on a face like hers. “Now, I know your little troupe is on a tight schedule, and I won’t ask you to change that. I want you to deliver them to me at a rendezvous point towards the end of your usual route - I was thinking Massachusetts maybe, or Maine. I hear Maine is nice, this time of year.”

“How are we supposed to find them?” Ezra asked, looking just as bemused as Johannes felt.

“Oh, I know where they are,” Lady said, as though she’d just been waiting to be asked. “They’re staying at a convent in New Orleans, right now, and I imagine they’ll still be there when your troupe passes through town in a couple of weeks. They’ll be easy to pick out of a crowd. You’re looking for a man with three fingers on his left hand, a man recently shot in the leg, a short lady thief...and a priest. All you have to do is convince them to travel with you, and keep an eye on them along the way. I’m sure you could use a few extra pairs of hands around this place, anyway.”

Johannes glanced towards Ezra, exchanging a look with him and hoping they were on the same page. It didn’t seem like a hard favor, but it was still a big favor to be asked by Hemisphere, which probably meant Hemisphere had been throwing everything at this problem just to see what would stick. That was interesting in and of itself, but it also meant there was no guarantee the circus would succeed. Still, if they did succeed, maybe it would be worth their while.

“Do we get paid?” Johannes asked, sensing that perhaps Lady had omitted that particular detail on purpose.

“Of course,” Lady said. “I’m putting out bounties on the head of each member. Two thousand silver apiece for each of the four members. If you agree to the deal, I’ll give you one thousand now, and the rest at the time of delivery.”

Johannes and Ezra exchanged another look. The troupe pulled in decent money, especially with what they stole off their audience, but eight thousand silver wasn’t an amount of money they could turn their noses up at so easily.

“I think...we might take you up on that offer,” Johannes said slowly, as Ezra gave him a minute nod of approval.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lady said, though she’d probably known all along what his answer was going to be. She produced a pen from an inside pocket of her jacket, scribbling on one of the papers stacked on the table - a budget chart for that month. Johannes winced. “I’ll leave you my office number and code so we can keep in contact, assuming you can access a phone. I’d like to hear from you in the event that anything changes, or you’re forced to kill one of the hostages -”

“With all due respect, I don’t think we’re going to be killing anyone,” Ezra said, blanching visibly at the idea.

“Well, you never know,” Lady said. She finished what she was writing with a flourish, tucking the pen back inside her jacket. “At any rate, feel free to contact me with any concerns or problems you may have, and we’ll get it sorted out. I trust you’ll keep all of this on a need to know basis, even among your own employees.”

“Right, sure. We can be discreet,” Johannes said, still leaning against the wall. “Is that everything?”

“Everything except your payment,” Lady agreed, unclipping a pack belted around her waist, and dropping it on the table. It was heavy with coins, and they jostled loudly as they hit the table, filling the small trailer with the sound of metal on metal.

“There you go. A thousand silver.” Lady stood, and made her way towards the door, looking expectantly at Ezra until he held it open for her.

“I expect we’ll talk soon,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder just before the door swung shut. A few moments later, Johannes heard the motorbike roar to life again, the noise briefly gaining in volume as it passed the trailer, then disappearing into the distance.

Johannes took a seat at the kitchen table, unzipping the pack Lady had left and spilling the coins out of it, beginning to sort them into groups of a hundred. Most of it would probably go into the budget for equipment and repairs, but some could go towards some kind of bonus for the troupe, maybe a nice dinner or a night on the town. And some would go towards his and Ezra’s wages, of course, since they were the only ones who knew about the deal.

“You could probably get yourself a new violin with all this,” Johannes said, glancing up as he shifted the coins into small piles.

“Try three new violins,” Ezra said, taking a seat across from him at the table. He looked more tired, suddenly, than he had before, like the weight of what Lady had said was pressing down on his shoulders. “You’re really okay with taking this deal?”

“Sure,” Johannes said, and shrugged. “All we have to do is take on four new troupe members, convince them to come up the coast with us, and hand them off to Hemisphere. How hard can it be?”

Ezra studied his face for a long moment, then frowned. “You’re not kidding.”

“Why would I be kidding?”

“Well, alright,” Ezra said, sighing and slumping back in his seat. “From your lips to God’s ears, then. How hard can it be?”

END OF BOOK 1

9.5 || Windfield Pass 1

[mollymauk-teafleak]

“I’ll do anything you want me to do to you, but you have to say it out loud.” for the new Widomauk circus au?

So this didn’t end up going where I thought it was going? But I love it

When he watched Mollymauk perform, every single time, no matter how many shows and towns and months went by, Caleb found himself falling in love with him all over again.

It was in the way he moved, the way he strode around the small, sawdust scattered circlet as if he owned it, which of course he did. His hands would move like birds, flitting this way and that, sweeping and dancing to illustrate his words while his tail flicked and snapped to punctuate his gestures. He would leap from floor to the artfully arranged boxes that separated the audience and the stage, drawing them in, blurring the line between the awed huddle of townsfolk and the show itself.

It was in the way he dressed. He’d have his perpetually present hat, tall and grand and unselfconscious, with the holes in the side for his bedazzled horns to break free from. His badge of office, he could sweep it off to bow low to a pretty lady in the audience, or toss it from hand to hand as he told a joke, or hold it out to draw small pieces of gold foil from to scatter across the stage or else cleverly written, spiky limericks about the audience members. But it would always return to his head, leaving absolutely no doubt as to who or what he was. His coat was the other essential part of the costume, swirling and billowing with every movement he made, like an extension of his body, as much part of his performance as the words. The lights caught in the gilded thread work that made up the elaborate scenes entwining on its wine purple surface, bringing the garment into its own kind of life.

It was in the way he spoke, the way he commanded words so effortlessly and confidently. Nothing fazed him, like the whole tent could come down around him, be devoured by flames, and Mollymauk could turn it into part of his act. He was a showman, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

And, more than anything, it was in the way he sang. That was always how the show closed out, Mollymauk would make his final entrance with his lyre under one arm, the highly polished wood shining a rich honey gold in the light, the strings frighteningly delicate like spiderwebs. But Molly would draw from them the most beautiful music, his voice sweet and full to bursting, like he and the instrument were one and the same. After a few bars, the audience would be weeping and Caleb would be madly, dizzyingly in love.

The applause of the audience was muffled from a thunder to a rumble as the heavy curtains swept closed behind Mollymauk. Grinning wildly, he flew into Caleb’s waiting arms, letting the wizard spin him around and around until they were both light-headed and breathless. The high after each show was a funny thing, reducing most of the troupe, all seasoned and professional performers, to giggling children.

“You were incredible!” Caleb grins, in almost the exact same heartbeat as Molly said, “You did amazing!”

The wizard chuckled bashfully, “What did I do? You’re the star, I’m just the arcanist.”

Mollymauk looked scandalised, “But you’re the best arcanist! That shower of sparks you made, there were so many different colours I couldn’t believe it, I nearly forgot my lines!”

Caleb’s face flamed red and he pressed it to the crook of his husband’s neck, “You never forget your lines…”

“I did say nearly,” Molly points out, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

Caleb had to allow himself a moment of pride. After nearly a year with the troupe, he had been getting a lot better at his job. He no longer spent the whole show in a half blind panic, checking and rechecking where he was supposed to be and when until Yasha grew so irritated with him that she stuck the call sheet to his forehead with resin that took a week to fully peel off. Now it was as natural as breathing, he moved through the wings and under the raised seats right below the audience themselves without ever being seen, throwing out fire and sparks and coloured, scented smokes whenever the script called for it. The delighted gasps and startled yelps that arose from the crowds made him smile.

When he’d been with Ikithon, magic had been a privilege, something he was only ever allowed the briefest tastes of, something that was dangled before him like a lure and shrouded in layers of rules and regulations with severe punishments for its improper use. Now Caleb could delight in magic. He could use it for the smallest things, just to make people smile or save himself a few seconds. It was his, it was part of him. He could love it.

Just another thing Mollymauk had given him.

Feeling bold, Caleb kissed the softer skin under Molly’s jaw, letting it linger for a few seconds longer than he had to.

“Want to head back home?” he murmured, lips only drawing back a hair’s breadth before kissing him again.

Molly’s eyes sparked with interest, “We should help with packing everything down…” he murmured, teasingly.

Understanding immediately what his lover wanted, Caleb gave his best pout, pressing his body against Mollymauk’s and letting hand wander around to the nape of Molly’s neck where the tighter, more sensitive curls were plastered to his skin by the sweat of a full three hour performance under the bright lights, playing with them idly, “Surely they don’t need the ringmaster for that? Your job is done. I was hoping we could go back to the wagon and…celebrate a job well done?”

Caleb was far from experienced in flirting but he knew exactly how to seduce tall, purple tiefling ringmasters with painted lips and too much glitter in their hair that would stay on their shared pillows for weeks. He was rewarded with a deeper blush of colour on Mollymauk’s already flushed cheeks and a spark of interest in his dark eyes.

Caleb could relish using magic for the small things. Like for locking the door to his and Mollymauk’s shared wagon after pulling an already half-dressed tiefling inside.

Home would seem to most like an intangible, unattainable thing, when said by someone who spent their whole life on the move. But Caleb and Molly knew exactly where and what home was. It was in their ancient, listing, beautifully painted caravan, stuffed to the brim with coloured glass orbs holding eternal dancing lights, woven blankets from all corners of the realm, an old but dependable cookstove, bright brass cups and sugar glass bottles both empty and full, more books than most libraries and a hundred other oddities gathered on their travels.

And, most importantly, a surprisingly comfortable slatted bed with deep blue sheets and just enough room for two. It was this that caught the two men as they rolled and kissed, hands roving all over each other as they clumsily dispensed with clothes.

Caleb was already painfully hard by the time they were both naked and Molly’s fingers closing around him drew a longing hiss from between his teeth.

“Molly…” he whimpered pleadingly, burying his face against the tiefling’s neck.

“Ah ah,” Molly wrapped his legs around him and whispered in his ear, “I’ll do anything you want me to do to you. But you have to say it out loud.”

The urge to whine for everything under the sun was powerful but Caleb swallowed hard and forced himself to think. He rolled back so Molly was on top now, looking up at him longingly.

“I want the toy…the cherry wood one…”

Molly grinned, looking positively wicked in the low light of the lamps which had obediently dimmed at Caleb’s command. He pressed a lazy finger to his lover’s freckled nose.

“Close. But not enough, try again.”

Caleb whined, squirming, “I…gods, Molly…I want you to fuck me. With the cherry wood cock you had made back in Rexantrum. The big one.”

When Molly kissed his forehead, he knew he’d done well and relief washed over him, cooling against his burning cheeks. It only took the tiefling a few moments to tease their toybox from its secret place under the bed and retrieve the toy but the absence of his body against Caleb’s was maddening.

One slender, heavily tattooed leg rested on the bedframe so he could work the bulbed end of the toy into himself, not exactly an easy task given its size. Caleb eased the experience by wrapping himself around said leg and pressing kisses to the inside of his lover’s thighs until Molly was laughing and swatting at him, informing him that his beard was tickly.

There was no non-awkward way to fetch anything in the tiny interior of the caravan; Molly had to stand on the bed and reach over Caleb to grab the tiny bottle of lube they kept up there though Caleb wasn’t about to complain at the view he got.

It really was a fantastically beautiful sex toy. The dark, slick oiled wood looked incredible against Molly’s skin and he wore it so confidently. The heavy, inviting curve of it, buried between his lover’s thighs, just made Caleb whine all the more.

Molly made note of that, flashing him a grin and singing happily, “On your belly, handsome.”

Caleb obeyed, happy to sprawl lazily in the vast, downy embrace of the bed while Molly positioned himself behind him and began to work him open with a sprightly slap of his ass and two fingers dripping thick oil that smelled of winter spice.

“That’s enough,” Caleb murmured thickly after a minute or so of those careful, precise fingers sliding in and out, running along his rim.

Molly raised an eyebrow quizzically, “You sure?”

“Uh huh. I like it when it still bites a little.”

With an impressed chuckle, Molly turned him over so he could see his lover’s face, pressing a kiss to both of his cheeks before throwing his long legs over his shoulders. The toy nudged at Caleb’s entrance teasingly, making his muscles flutter expectantly and a wide pit of longing to open low in his stomach.

“Please fuck me,” he growled out, before Mollymauk could even ask, “Please. Gods, Molly, I need you in me.”

“My good boy,” he sounded even more impressed, “You’re learning.”

The first thrust into him had the edge of pain Caleb had wanted, just enough to make his toes curl and his eyes roll back a little. Then it was as easy as anything, sinking into the slow, steady rhythm of Mollymauk’s hips that built so gradually, almost in perfect beat with how Caleb’s heartbeat began to race.

He didn’t care that he was being loud, loud enough that there would be pointed looks when they joined the rest of the troupe the next morning nor that the caravan was creaking its disapproval as it rocked like it was caught in a storm. Mollymauk earned every single cry and gasp and curse that rolled from his lips ten times over. A full show’s worth of desire and want, all of those times he’d fallen in love with him again, crashing together inside him as Molly’s hips jackhammered back and forth and his lips gave searing kisses all over Caleb’s chest.

Caleb sucked in a sharp breath, unsure if he’d get the chance to warn Molly before he came. Whether he did or he didn’t, it turned out not to matter as a sudden crack echoed through the tiny space and the whole damn world tilted on its axis. There was a crash and a rattling ruckus as everything in the caravan slid, clattered and resettled. It was only a second but it was so sudden and loud, it was like an impossible to follow eternity. By the end of it, Mollymauk was upside down against the wall and Caleb had more aches and pains than he thought it was possible to have.

There was a long, stunned silence.

“Um…” Caleb squeaked, “I think one of the supports snapped…”

Molly gave a long, almost minute long sigh, tail flopping down against gravity across his own face with a dull slap.

“Did you at least get there?” he finally asked, voice flat.

“I…have absolutely no idea.”

The next day, upon surveying the damage, Beau would insist it was karma for them skipping out on helping to pack down after the show. Caleb was inclined to agree.

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG128 /o/

- I!! Hate!! The!! Parallels!! In!! This!! Series!!

(MAG128) ARCHIVIST: Why are you here? BREEKON: Dunno. ‘t’s not right… on my own… not right… No point in doing it on my own. Don’t know what happens now…

[…] “I fed her to it. She took him from me. Made us a me, and she doesn’t get to die for that. […] I am without him, now. I. am. I can feel myself fading. Weak. No reason to move. Nothing to deliver. […] I have never known hate before. I have never known loss. But now, they are with me always, and I desire nothing but to share them with you.”

[…] ARCHIVIST: I, I saw that… thing’s mind, i–it’s lost on its own. No partner, no… purpose, I… I honestly think it just wanted to do another delivery.

The ~ surviving part of a half~ explaining how his whole existence is pointless and driveless now that his partner has been killed… sounded so, so much like Basira’s own situation regarding Daisy since:

(MAG112) DAISY: Elias is… keeping me busy. Hunting. Takes a while. [FALTERS] I’m used to working… with a partner. … It’s fine. BASIRA: Daisy… DAISY: It’s fine. BASIRA: Right. … But it’s not, though, is it?

(MAG117) BASIRA: […] But at least Daisy’s coming along. I mean… I know she’s… difficult. Everything they say about her, it’s true, it’s fair. But… she’s solid. She’s a fixed point. And if she’s there, I know exactly where I stand, exactly what I’m doing relative to her. She has no doubts. We go in, we plant bombs, we leave, we blow it all to hell. Or we die. I don’t think I’ll ever have clarity like that. Despite everything she’s done, she’s… she’s still the best partner I ever had.

1°) Basira and Breekon both are the remaining part of their own duo; the difference between monsterhood and humans being maybe… that Basira’s existence isn’t intrinsically tied to Daisy’s; that humans can feel loss and pain, but won’t get their literal raison d’être, sense of purpose and belonging shattered if they lose part or one aspect of them. In a way, that makes monsters’ existence more tragic, since they’re not even able to overcome, to thrive and to survive?

2°) I can’t help but wonder, flipping the situation: and if Daisy had been fed to the coffin first, and if Basira had stumbled upon Hope right after, would Basira have tried to hurt (one of) them the same way they had hurt her by taking Daisy’s life? (Would Jon have done it, too, if given the opportunity to hurt the ones who had hurt Tim and Sasha? He… actually did hurt Breekon here, and it is so, so easy, now, to perceive him as a Monster from the monsters’ point of view…)

3°) Jon’s summary of Breekon’s current state to Basira felt… quite cold compared to the statement itself, I felt? It wasn’t just “another delivery”: it was Breekon trying to viciously hurt what had hurt him. It was achieving a personal revenge before disappearing. I’m… a bit surprised that Jon went so clinical about it.

4°) But it could have also been a kind of protection, since… Yes, “Breekon” and “Hope” tortured and killed, delighting in others’ suffering and misery. And Breekon also confirmed something that we had seen through Jude’s erh, fascination with Agnes: that monsters and avatars are sentient. They have feelings. They are able to form attachments, to feel loss, to desire revenge. So… just because someone cares about a selected few, wouldn’t prevent them from hurting bystanders, innocent or people who just don’t personally matter to them. That’s not something especially encouraging when we have Jon in mind – he cares about the assistants and about Georgie, and he felt sad for the victims in previous statements, and I hope he will be able to remain this way, but… what will happen, what will be become when he “drowns”, indeed?

- I’m often struck with waves of awareness about how much I love this friggin’ series when listening to new episodes, and it happens in various ways – this time, my heart got full of love with the way Breekon’s statement definitely connected the dots between previous ones, through his point of view and in chronological order? And in the midst of it, we got a confirmation of what had actually happened in the second episode of the series!! How rad is this? How rad is it that, while the statements in themselves provide a story that works on its own since the beginning of the series, we’re able to revisit them with information that adds so much more meaning to things that were already there?

* Jon had wondered about “Breekon” and “Hope”’s alignment since they appeared to be involved with various powers, but seems they were indeed part of The Stranger in the end:

(MAG093) ARCHIVIST: But Breekon and Hope? Speaking Russian and helping transport a victim of… whatever dark power rules over disease and rot. And insects, maybe? I was just about convinced that they served the Stranger, and their speaking Russian might well support that if it ties them to the Circus, but… this is not the first time they’ve been delivering things that seem to be tied to other beings. Are they a neutral party, carting round whatever horror needs delivering, just a piece of otherworldly infrastructure? Or are they fully part of the Stranger, just serving as allies of convenience for other things that need to be moved?

(MAG128, “Breekon”) It wasn’t the plague they feared; it wasn’t the death that awaited in our wagon; it was us. Two strangers rolling towards them, unstoppable and uncertain, wearing faces they would only half-remember, bringing a fate they would beg their god to forget. They could not hate us anymore than they might have hated the rock that falls on them from a crumbling cliff. They did not know us. But they knew what we might do to them. What we might bring them. And we did. […] We always take what jobs are before us, deliver whatever will bring that fear and misery, but there is no joy in carrying Meat and shifting, writhing Spiral things.

They followed various phases of progress and technology: long-distance boat journeys as they served on the Robert Small during the 19th century, crossing paths with prisoners from Millbank sent to Australia (“Poor wretches who emerged from Millbank, with tales of Australia and its cruelty on their lips, bundled into the cramped and creaking ship that would drag them away from everything they loved – and towards everything they feared.”); trains, as they became conductors; cars, as they delivered items for auction houses at the beginning of the 20th century.

* Pre-MAG024, MAG044: during some time, including from 1948 to November 1952, they joined The Other Circus, feeling like they belonged:

(MAG024) ARCHIVIST: […] on page 43 of Gregory Petry’s Freaks and Followers: Circuses in the 1940s, I found a reproduction of an old black-and-white photograph. It shows a small group of carnival workers: a contortionist, a fire-eater, two strong-men, a ringmaster and an organist sitting behind a calliope. The photograph is labelled as being from 1948 and taken in Minsk, Russia.

(MAG044, Yuri Utkin) As I scrambled back, I felt a large hand on my shoulder, and looked up to see two huge men in overalls. They lifted me easily, so my feet hung almost two feet from the ground. They talked fast, crude Russian, and their words seemed to shift back and forth between them, telling me that behind the tent was off-limits […].

(MAG128, “Breekon”) Then were the good times, the Circus times. […] with the Circus we were amongst our own kind at last. […] We carried and lifted and helped the Circus move towards its next destination, the next, doomed town. Sometimes we joined the show, lifting weights and things that looked like animals. Sometimes we lifted members of the audience. Sometimes we even put them down again. […]

They didn’t like Nikola at first, but were impressed by her, though they eventually decided to leave when she “lost the ancient skin” – that one is, I think, a mystery? Gertrude stole the gorilla skin from the taxidermy shop but that happened June 23th 2013 and April 4th 2015, so it can’t be the same incident.

* For some time, they picked up hitchhikers (and starved them to death), though they missed having clear destinations and carrying spooky items bringing misery to people.

* MAG096: From 1993 to 1996, they slowly took over Alfred Breekon’s delivery company “Breekon & Hope”, stealing from him its name aaaand the infamous Cockney accent (MAG096: “[One] turned to his companion and opened his mouth. ‘Breekon at your service. Who might you be?’ Instead of the Russian accent I had expected, he spoke in a broad, cartoonish Cockney that I assumed must be a mocking impression of my own voice.”). They went back to doing deliveries or moving items for different entities (MAG093).

(MAG096, Alfred/Arthur Breekon) They wore featureless grey overalls, and even now I’m not sure I could easily describe what they look like, other than to say they seemed solid. Somehow heavier than the world around them. […] Strange folk began coming around asking for Breekon and Hope, and when I told them who I was, they just shook their heads, and I knew who they were after. They often brought crates or boxes with them and, once, a sack full of hair. […] For all that, they do seem to have friends, or at the very least, people who come to see them regularly. Most I don’t remember, the features difficult to put together from memory, but I know that more than once I’ve seen the pair of them talking to a figure at the other end of the depot. They always make sure these meetings are in shadow, and I can never get close enough to see exactly who they’re talking to, but I think they’re dressed like a circus ringmaster.

(MAG128, “Breekon”) Driving aimless, waiting for the call, sat badly with us. We were meant to know our destination. We were meant to have a cargo and an address. So it was we found a man named “Breekon”, and we took everything they were until there was nothing left but the sweet taste of a broken soul’s disquiet and confusion. We took the van and started to deliver once again.

* MAG002: In the 90s, they helped “John” carry an item from The Buried, when he was trying to test its powers – except it backfired badly, since the test subject he had picked turned out to be the Most Practical “Would Survive A Horror Movie” Statement-Giver Ever, and Joshua Gillespie managed to resist the coffin’s temptation for almost a year and a half. We already had a hint about “John” being from The Stranger in MAG002, because of how Joshua had trouble describing him:

(MAG002, Joshua Gillespie) I’ve tried to describe the man who now sat opposite me many times, but it’s difficult. He was short, very short, and felt like he had an odd density to him. His hair was brownish, I think, cut quite short, and he was clean shaven. His face and dress was utterly unremarkable, and the more I try to think of exactly what he looked like, the harder it is to picture him clearly. To be honest, though, I’m inclined to blame that on the drugs. […] John had to take a second to look me up and down, almost in disbelief, as I asked if they’d come to collect their coffin.

(MAG128, “Breekon”) And so we took the casket, a hungry thing of the Earth, a crushing, choking tomb that will not let you die because it is too much what it is for Death to find you there, within its mocking shape – buried alive. It was one like us that found it. A thing of shifting names and déjà-vu. A fool, that believed because it found a coffin in chains, it would be an easy thing to control, to bargain with. But there was no remorse when the test finally failed and it fed on the thing that considered itself the master.

Since Joshua had managed to not open the coffin, “John” was swallowed by it instead when they went to retrieve it.

* Breekon and Hope ended up stuck with the coffin and had to carry it around.

(MAG128, “Breekon”) But there was no mention of us in the deal. No thought towards what might happen should a victim pass the test. And what happened was… we were stuck with it. It was still our cargo. Nowhere to take it, no address or destination, so back in the van it went. A long time, we’ve carried it. Keeping it as close as it wants, not listening to it sing in the rain.

When Jon was sequestered by Nikola, she had made her distaste of the coffin clear, hinting that it wasn’t from The Stranger, while Breekon and Hope had said they couldn’t separate from it:

(MAG101) NIKOLA: Oh, don’t worry, it’s not for you. You won’t even need a coffin – we’re going to use every piece of you. ARCHIVIST: [MUFFLED EXCLAMATION] NIKOLA: Now could you two please move that thing somewhere far, far away? BREEKON: Not really. HOPE: Needs to be near us. NIKOLA: Well, just… just move yourselves away, and take it with you.

* MAG061: The coffin notably ate Daisy’s partner, Isaac Masters, on the 24th of July 2002 while they had stopped Breekon&Hope’s van (accompanied by a “Tom”) on the motorway for driving too slow.

* Overall: in MAG078 (2001, the Web table now binding the Not!Them), MAG024 (2004, the calliope), MAG020 (2009, Father Edwin Burroughs’s pale yellow stole), MAG054 (2013, stopped in front of the Taxidermy shop), possibly MAG083 (2013, taking the ringmaster “mannequin”), MAG035 (July 2016, bringing the Web table and the Web lighter to the Institute for Jon), MAG099 (May 2017, Jon was the (unwilling) package.), Breekon and Hope carried and moved things around, being mostly active for Stranger-related activities.

(MAG128, “Breekon”) Even when the mannequin that now called itself Orsinov came back to us, told us we could help the world Unknow and fear again the coming of Strangers, still we had to drag it with us: an unclaimed package.

* MAG119: during the Unknowing ritual, we heard Daisy as she snapped and tore Hope apart, Breekon then trapped her into the coffin.

(MAG128, “Breekon”) But I suppose it was worth it in the end. When that Hunter killed him, when she took her violence of mindless instinct and unleashed it on us… it was there. It was waiting. I fed her to it.

* MAG128: with Hope dead, Breekon realized he wasn’t tied to the coffin anymore and delivered the coffin to the Institute. Breekon fled, but will probably fade away soon.

- We got some additional information / some confirmation about Nikola’s creation, too:

(MAG097) ARCHIVIST: Who are you? NIKOLA: Well, my father called me Nikola, and then I killed him, so I thought I rather deserved to have his second name too. Which makes me Nikola Orsinov. Pleased to meet you at last. ARCHIVIST: You, um… You killed Gregor Orsinov? NIKOLA: Yep! He got really boring, and I’m a monster. I mean, what do you want me to do – not pull him apart? I did use all the bits.

(MAG102) ELIAS: […] There is also one, the “Danseuse Étoile”, that requires a costume of special power or distinction. Gertrude believed that Orsinov and his circus created a dancer specifically for this role. ARCHIVIST: I–I’ve met it. Calls itself Nikola.

(MAG119) ARCHIVIST: Yes… Yes, I s… I see the sad clown, b–bitter and hateful. I see him finding his way into a ci–circus where nobody knew him. I see him torn apart, becoming the mask, remade by a… a cruel ringmaster. Sometimes a doll, sometimes a mannequin, always hiding in somebody else’s skin. Somebody else’s name. NIKOLA: Not always, and it’s far too late for any of that. Nothing you see can help you.

(MAG128, Breekon) We didn’t like the puppet, when Orsinov began to carve it. It seemed wrong to us to try and bring one like us about; to create or remake it in such a solid, static shape. We were wrong, of course. When Orsinov carved into the thing that had once called itself Grimaldi, and fed the pieces they didn’t need to the shuddering organist, even we found ourselves impressed. And when the faceless puppet peeled its creator and moved itself with their tendon strings, he looked at me… and laughed… and laughed… We followed her a while, but she was unpredictable, while we are things of point and purpose. When she lost the ancient skin, we went our separate ways and found ourselves a lorry, long and dirty grey.

I had assumed that “Nikola” was the Hellish Lovechild of Gregor Orsinov (the ringmaster) and Nikolai Denikin (the organist), but it sounds like Denikin did Not Have A Great Time in that process after all, oopsie – we knew, according to Gertrude, that he had left the circus by the 70s (MAG044), so it might have been precisely because of what was done to him during Nikola’s creation. I wonder if he fathered his child before or after he was fed Grimaldi’s pieces, though? Because if so… is Leanne (statement-giver from MAG024), his granddaughter, kind of part-monster?

- With the chronology given through the courriers’ point of view, Breekon’s mention that he felt itself fading, and Jon’s following comment:

(MAG128) BASIRA: And there’s no chance more of the Circus survived the explosion? ARCHIVIST: I don’t think so. At, at least… Breekon didn’t think so.

… it sounds like Breekon’s statement served mostly to close The Stranger’s chapter. It feels… very weird, in a way. The Stranger had been the most prevalent of the entities since the beginning of the series: it opened it (MAG001), it was the invisible enemy through season 2, it was the shared target through season 3. It took Sasha. It took Tim. And now, the close future doesn’t sound much brighter: there are still books, monsters and avatars roaming out there, there is still the New Unidentified Menace, there is still the possibility of The Watcher’s Crown, there is still The Web weaving Her/its plans. The only satisfaction is that The Stranger’s ceremony won’t be a concern again for a few centuries, but there are still so many other threats to deal with…

- I’m also so fond of the way… things in Magnus tend to be hilarious and heartbreaking at the same time? That statement went full-on burlesque, twisting the deep-rooted complementarity and love into grotesque, and then bam, the conclusion just felt… sad? Tragic?

(MAG128, “Breekon”) They knew this and feared us in kind, and we drank it down, the taste of it sweeter than the food that now rotted on our plates or the drink that curdled in our cups. And we both tasted it together. When we left our destination, the mule whining at the new weight behind it, he would reach behind us and find a face, sagging, sloughing off its skull, and would pull it to him. He’d place it over the one he wore already, and he would laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Sometimes it fell off. Sometimes it stayed for weeks. I kept the face we chose, but I loved him for our levity, and the corpses piled ever higher. […] We knew she wouldn’t scream as she was hollowed out and drunk, but still he thought best to cover the sounds with a laugh. He was always our humour. […] And when the faceless puppet peeled its creator and moved itself with their tendon strings, he looked at me… and laughed… and laughed…

[…] She took him from me. Made us a me, and she doesn’t get to die for that. […] I am without him, now. I. am. I can feel myself fading. […] I have never known hate before. I have never known loss. But now, they are with me always, and I desire nothing but to share them with you.

ROMANCE!! IS!! NOT!! DEAD!!

- I’m very serious about how WOW did Breekon and Hope sound like soulmates, in a romantic or queerplatonic way. That “I remember our first automobile” too, felt like an old couple taking a look back on their whole life together. “Things” pretending to be “humans” and at the same time… demonstrating genuine emotions? And the whole use of pronouns! Breekon was avoiding them in his first sentences – sometimes avoiding to say I because he couldn’t say “we” anymore! Sentences being short and segmented, as if waiting for Hope to complete with the next part!

(MAG128) BREEKON: [HUFFS] Yeah. Just like when we… when I… fed the copper to the pit. […] In here. Realized that I’m not tied… to it anymore. Not on my own. Thought you could have it. Pay your respects, lik– […] Dunno. ‘t’s not right… on my own… not right… No point in doing it on my own. Don’t know what happens now… Thought I might kill you. Missed my chance. Thought I might just… deliver something. So here’s a coffin. [RATTLING SOUND] In case you want… to join your friend.

And in the statement, too: Hope was The “He” for Breekon, while humans tended to be “they”, even when identified as male/female (only exception being the old woman taken by The Web). Nikola was a “she”.

That’s… very fair, considering how Jon and others tend to use “it” for monsters: Jon began the episode by calling Breekon a “he”, and then switched after the statement (“I, I saw that… thing’s mind, i–it’s lost on its own. No partner, no… purpose, I… I honestly think it just wanted to do another delivery.” Rude, Jon, rude!!! Especially since the monsters just proved themselves to have feelings :w)

I never thought I would grow sad for effing Breekon and Hope, godsdamnit!

- Since MAG127 already mentioned Millbank and its possible ties to the Institute (through Jonah Magnus), and Breekon also consecutively mentioned both here, it sounds more and more likely that we’ll dig a bit into that part of history later:

(MAG128, “Breekon”) Poor wretches who emerged from Millbank, with tales of Australia and its cruelty on their lips, bundled into the cramped and creaking ship that would drag them away from everything they loved – and towards everything they feared. That was the first time we saw what would become this place, The Eye’s Pedestal. But we were drunk on the dawning horror of transportation and took no heed of it.

It’s… curious how Beholding has been grounded in the same place for so long? It seems to be the only entity to have become sedentary like this – Elias even mentioned that “Should I, or the Institute, be destroyed, you will all, unfortunately, follow suit.” (MAG092). That made it practical to feed The Eye (with people giving statements to an identified place), and now a danger since other entities know where The Eye’s people reside. Given how the place sounds so important, is The Watcher’s Crown supposed to take place right there? Though we don’t know how long the Usher Foundation in Washington DC and the Pu Songling Research Centre in Beijing have been around and whether they have the same status and history as the Magnus Institute (there wasn’t any mention of Archivists being tied to them, though; Xiaoling even explained how she had suggested someone from her centre for Elias…)

(I don’t know if the word “pedestal” was used on purpose here but… etymological root has to do with a foot. Elias had also said that “Basira is now tied to the Institute. All of you are. Like fingers on a hand. And I am the beating heart of it.” We’re completing the anatomy analogy?)

- Overall: HOLYYY MEEWWWWW, even though I’ve relistened to the episode multiple times by now, I just get chills every time when Jon… freezes the scene. The sound effects were so good, too!! Regular static, encasing that high-pitched buzz… and I loved the echo so much when Jon gave orders We’re so used to Jon getting slapped around that this sudden moment of control and authority was!!! The fact he sounded more offensive, aggressively protective!!

Even at the beginning of the episode, the fact that Jon was in charge of the situation was audible, since there were some shared elements with Nikola’s debut:

(MAG097) ARCHIVIST: [SHARP INTAKE OF BREATH FROM THE ARCHIVIST] NIKOLA: You don’t want to do thaaat~ [FOOTSTEPS] I mean, you can if you really want to, but you’re not going to like it. Sometimes not being able to see something is actually quite a good thing. […] Don’t turn on the light.

(MAG128) BREEKON: Don’t say a word. [SILENCE] BASIRA: [LONG EXHALE] [DOOR OPENS] BASIRA: Jon. Don’t turn on the light. Go get Melanie. Quickly. ARCHIVIST: It’s alright Basira, I know he’s here. BASIRA: So what are you doing? ARCHIVIST: I imagine he’s here to deliver something. Thought it might need signing for.

Light off, a Stranger who sneaked their way into Georgie’s house/the Archives. With Nikola, Jon was startled, stuttering, afraid, toyed with, dominated; with Breekon, Jon… managed. Stayed put. Snarked and used his powers. Stopped Basira and Breekon when they were on the verge of fighting. Neutralized Breekon.

(Though I think that Breekon might have punched/tackled Jon on the ground when he fled, and Jon collapsed right after reading the statement aloud so, eh, Order Is Restored in the world. Jon also still a punching bag.)

- Aaaaand in-universe, it was awful, thanks!!! So, Jon finally used compulsion again. He’d really held back until now, and mostly used it when Breekon was refusing to answer Basira’s own questions:

(MAG128) BASIRA: Is he here for revenge? ARCHIVIST: I don’t, I don’t know. Ask him. BASIRA: Like he’s going to answer me. ARCHIVIST: Fine. [INHALE] [STATIC–] Are you here for revenge? [/STATIC] […] BASIRA: What do you want? Why are you here? [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] [STATIC–] Why are you here? [/STATIC]

That was a lot of compulsion, but expected from an interrogation, and mostly to back Basira up. Jon also knew that Breekon was there – probably from another ~insight~. The new thing was how… Jon then proceeded to very naturally use a brand new power? Not 100% sure whether he was driven by a will to prevent harm to Basira (she was ready to fight Breekon) or by a desire to know Breekon’s story, or a mix of both, so intentions are not absolutely clear. The process, however, was worrisome in the mere concept of EXTRACTING a statement out of someone; the fact that Breekon clearly didn’t want it, told Jon to stop and was suffering from it… made it absolutely horrifying.

(MAG128) ARCHIVIST: Stop. [HIGH-PITCHED BUZZING SOUND OVER STATIC–] BREEKON: What’re you doing? BASIRA: … Jon…? What are you doing? BREEKON: What’re you– Stop it… Stop it! ARCHIVIST: [ECHOING] No. BREEKON: [STRUGGLING, BUZZING INCREASES] Enough! Stop… looking at me!

(And I’m not sure that Jon didn’t actually contribute in Breekon’s feeling that he was “fading”: Jon got to know the unknown. I doubt that it can do any good to an agent from The Stranger – it seems like hurting their nature.)

+ Bonus point for Jon possibly developing night vision, since the whole scene took place in the dark (Basira told him to not turn on the light, and we didn’t hear the clicking of any switch). Though Basira also managed, so maybe Jon didn’t need to see.

(He looked at Breekon, however: did it feel like the whole weight of Beholding, like Jon experienced in his nightmares?)

- Basira had just summarised Jon’s powers last episode (MAG127: “So. You can’t be killed by a collapsing building. Major injuries scar up fast. You can force the truth out of people and knowledge pops into your head whenever you need it.”) and we’re already adding one more to the list – and it turns out to be that Jon can extract the story of an unwilling person out of them. It might have been in order to protect Basira here, but it also feels like the slope from one thing to the next could be so, so slippery… (from there to using his powers against a monster that wasn’t directly harming them, because they need its information; to using his powers against… anyone, really, as long as it’s protecting the assistants, even against people who never wished harm to them). Just this would make it understandable that Basira refuses to trust Jon or to get too close to him, since he’s proving that he’s developing, and fast, and that she can’t know what he will (become able to) do.

… At the same time, Jon would definitely need anchors and moral compasses around. (Martin, while you’re busy and involved into Peter’s schemes, and maybe truly fighting an actual threat, Jon is turning into another one ;;)

- Added horrifying bonus: it… sounded a bit like the “statement never given” that Elias did to Daisy? There was static when he gave it:

(MAG082) ELIAS: Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to make a statement. Your statement. […] Statement of Alice Tonner, regarding the crimes and death of Calvin Benchley. Statement never given. […] Everyone calls me Daisy. I like that because it sounds so gentle, and I’m the only one left who knows about the scar on my back.

Jon’s and Elias’s powers had sounded very distinct until now, but some bits are making them sound more similar, this season? Thinking about MAG102 again, I remember the sudden burst of static just before Elias mentioned that Melanie was coming up with a knife: had he seen that, or had he known about it (like Jon’s insight, same burst of static), since I doubt that Melanie’s knife was in clear sight in the corridors leading to his office?

(It wasn’t the same thing as what Elias did to Melanie in MAG106 and Martin in MAG118, since Elias didn’t present those as statements and used the third person, and, overall, the whole concept of it felt different: it wasn’t about extracting their stories, but about carving information they didn’t yet know in their brains. Putting in knowledge that wasn’t there. Will Jon become able to do that too eventually/soon…?)

- MMMMMMMMMMM

(MAG127) ELIAS: Possibly. Then again: you are beset by enemies on all sides, Basira. And unless you expect Jon to record them into submission, it would seem you’re in rather dire need of another option.

DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT NEW POWER, YOU AWFUL MAN :| (Since Jon “extracted a statement out of them into submission” and it was recorded.)

It also sounds less and less likely that Elias’s reasons to not be face-to-face with Jon are truly about ~*Jon’s own good (according to Elias)*~, uh.

(MAG128) BASIRA: […] So you won’t see him, but you’re happy for him to hear our conversations. ELIAS: He can listen all he wants, but he’s at a very delicate stage right now, and I… fear my presence would be a… a distraction. I’ve made it clear my cooperation’s contingent on his not seeing me, and my terms have been accepted thus far.

YEAH L-O-L ELIAS. Are you actually fearing that not only Jon could compulse the heck out of you now, but also pull out your own fucking statement out of you without you having a say in that. Hilariously (/horrifyingly), is the fact that Elias was thrown in jail… actually protecting him from Jon?

(I’m not saying that Elias wouldn’t be into Jon forcefully extracting his statement out of him. He was really into getting compulsed, even while fighting off the effect of it. But it would mean that Jon forcing information out of him probably wouldn’t be serving his plans right now, which means… he indeed Has Plans and things he wants to hide.)

- At least, Jon’s new power sounds like it’s taking its toll on him, which I’m taking as a good thing (since it will force him to be cautious about that, the sheer immorality and violence and cruelty of the power in itself notwithstanding):

(MAG128) ARCHIVIST: Statement… ends. [RUFFLING OF CLOTHES ENDING WITH A THUD AS PROTAGONIST, WHO DEMONSTRATED A FAIRLY SURPRISING AMOUNT OF USEFULNESS THIS EPISODE, PROCEEDS TO SLIDE OFF CHAIR AND PASS THE FUCK OUT.]

I’ve laughed too many times on that stupid moment, I have no excuse for feeling like it’s Comedy Gold, but. But. Listen. It’s so… so Jon.

Another reason for Jon’s tiredness could also be due to the amount of statements he’s been handling lately. He has had periods like this: the end of season 2 was… pretty intense, only three weeks from MAG071 to MAG080. Right now, less than twenty days have passed from MAG121 (15th February 2018) to MAG128 (3rd March 2018). Assuming that MAG122 also took place on February 15th, 2018: MAG122: February 15th MAG123: February 17th (“Two days out of a coma, and I’m already tired.”) MAG124: February 24th (“It’s been a week and… Melanie’s attitude towards me hasn’t softened.”) MAG125: ? MAG126: ? MAG127: ? MAG128: 3rd March That means that since MAG124, Jon has been reading a statement about every other day (and at least once two days in a row). The current rhythm feels very close to the streak from MAG091 to MAG094, April 28th and 29th, which resulted in Jon giving up at the end of MAG094 and blaming it on the amount of statements (“Are you alright? You look like you’re about to keel over.” “Uh, no, I– I just… Ther– There’s been a lot of statements, in not a lot of time. I’m… I’m exhausted.”)

The average rhythm was around once a week usually, I don’t know if this means that Jon has been exhausting himself lately (to be fair, he doesn’t have a whole lot to do, since nobody wants to talk to him and he’s unable to do satisfying follow-ups) or that he feels withdrawal faster than before… and/or, in any case, if he’s just “obeying” the tape recorders when he sees one running.

- I feel Basira’s distrust very deeply, since… since Jon chose to write Breekon’s statement before recording it.

(MAG128) ARCHIVIST: It’s fine…! [/STATIC] Get me a pen… please. [CLICK.]

[…] ARCHIVIST: Basira, we, we can’t– BASIRA: Yeah, I can read.

It’s not a given at all. Why did Jon decide to write it down, when he probably could have just recorded it right away?

I’m obsessed with this but: I can’t help but think that it might be related to Jon’s dreams – did he assume that recording right away would have made it count as a live-statement and that he would be “given” another dream, Breekon’s?

Assuming that Jon still sleeps. But at least, we know he can pass out! And he still drinks. He had asked for water back in MAG122, and Basira brought him another glass in MAG128 according to the sound.

(MAG122) BASIRA: […] Anything else? ARCHIVIST: Water. Please. BASIRA: Sure thing. [OPENS DOOR] ARCHIVIST: … Oh, or a cup of t– BASIRA: [CLOSES DOOR]

(MAG128) BASIRA: Here. [GLASS CLINKING] ARCHIVIST: Thank you.

- Now that we’ve had confirmation that Daisy is actually alive, reminder that:

(MAG120) ELIAS: […] All through it, the shadow is above him; the shape that gazes down upon him, bloodshot and unblinking. The rain is still there, though it is empty; the long and desolate road, slick with the downpour, a police car’s lights flashing over the unmoving van. The doors are open and the two familiar statues stand either side of the well-worn wooden box. He looks around, his eyes scanning this forever road and the clouds of iron grey, looking for her – but she is not there. The Archivist expects, he hopes, to find the violence in her looking back at him, hungry for pursuit and murder. But the emptiness of the place is complete, the only sounds the gentle singing of the box, and the pounding, bitter rain. He knows the writing on the coffin has changed, though is still carved into the splintered wood: [STATIC INTENSIFIES] “I am for you.” He knows it is not addressed to him, but he reaches down and pulls the chains off all the same. It opens, and he walks slowly down the steps into the earth; but even as it closes above him, the great shadow still Sees him. There is nowhere in this universe that it would not blot out the sky.

We don’t know what is supposed to happen if a live statement giver dies. Daisy’s case, though, was already an oddity, since her dream was still there – without her. Breekon did imply that The Eye couldn’t access the coffin when mentioning “John”:

(MAG128, “Breekon”) It was one like us that found it. A thing of shifting names and déjà-vu. A fool, that believed because it found a coffin in chains, it would be an easy thing to control, to bargain with. But there was no remorse when the test finally failed and it fed on the thing that considered itself the master. No face to Change in the cold, dark earth, and no Eye to fool, where it is now.

So although The Eye is all-powerful in Jon’s dreams, the coffin seems to be out of its reach in our world. Is that an overall property from The Buried, or specific to the coffin? I wonder if Leitner’s pamphlet, A Disappearance, is actually a Buried book too? (My suspicion had been The Spiral until now.)

(MAG080) LEITNER: Hardly a book. Barely twelve pages. It is entitled A Disappearance. If read cover to cover it removes one from the world. I cannot say precisely what that means, only that the assistant I assigned to it, Jacob Feng, was never seen again. I have found, however, that reading only one or two words is sufficient to hide me from the prying eyes of your master. It allowed me to talk with Gertrude in relative safety, and occasionally come above ground for my own ends.

(We… don’t know the status of that one, by the way, since Leitner had it close with him when Elias butchered him. So Elias probably got his hands on it.)

Overall: Jon still hasn’t mentioned anything about his dreams so far, while telling Basira that she could trust him and sounding very transparent and honest… I’m still not sure if Basira is suspicious of Jon having an active part in the dreams she used to have before becoming an assistant (and that Daisy still had as of MAG112, since she wasn’t an assistant), but if she is: that’s another reason to be wary of Jon. She would know there is something else that he’s not telling her anything about. What do you know/remember about your dreams, Jon…

- YOU KNOW WHO CAN FIND PEOPLE/THINGS THAT ARE “CONCEALED” THOUGH? THINGS THAT THE EYE CAN’T REACH?

(MAG101) “MICHAEL”: The Eye watches, and the Stranger conceals, but me… I lie, Archivist. I am the throat of delusion incarnate. They can’t hide you from me.

Jon! Jon!!! Could “Helen” help to reach the inside of the coffin…? (Really not sure about it, since it was about The Stranger, not The Buried, but then… Breekon was able to tell that people didn’t die inside of the coffin. How could it know? There might be ways to know/feel what is alive down there…)

- Basira time because Holy Mew did I get feelings all over.

(MAG128) [CLICK–] [SILENCE] [MOVEMENT, CHAIR RATTLING] BREEKON: Don’t say a word. [SILENCE] BASIRA: [LONG EXHALE] [DOOR OPENS] BASIRA: Jon. Don’t turn on the light. Go get Melanie. Quickly.

BASIRA, gdi!!! The fact that she was still level-headed enough to give instructions right away while threatened!! (I wonder if she told Jon to get Melanie to protect her, or if she thought that Melanie could still… be well enough to act as their fighter again, even when not under The Slaughter’s influence and recovering?)

And SSSSSSSSHHHHH you felt the shift when Breekon alluded to Daisy; Jon needed to act with her like she had acted with Daisy in the past, that really meant that she was ready to snap hard.

(MAG092) DAISY: Bouchard. BASIRA: Easy.

(MAG128) BREEKON: Yeah. Just like when we… when I… fed the copper to the pit. BASIRA: [ANGRY INHALE] ARCHIVIST: Easy, Basira. BASIRA: [EXHALE]

(And towards the end, was ready to FIGHT BREEKON…….)

(MAG128) BREEKON: In here. [KNOCKS ON SOMETHING] Realized that I’m not tied… to it anymore. Not on my own. Thought you could have it. Pay your respects, lik– BASIRA: Daisy’s in there.

Her voice and my heart broke at the same time with her “Daisy’s in there” AOUCH AOUCH AOUCH…

I’m still so fond of the way Basira is able to assess things very quickly and efficiently… and for once, she tipped over and lost her cool. Breekon made her crack, and holy Arceus, the fact that it was about Daisy…………….. hhh.

- Given how Basira announced that she would leave right after Jon stated that the coffin was from The Buried…

(MAG127) ELIAS: I might have an idea, yes. BASIRA: And what does it cost? ELIAS: Just some of your time, Basira. Just your time. BASIRA: … [SIGHS] Okay. Let’s hear it. [CLICK.]

(MAG128) BASIRA: Where does the coffin lead? ARCHIVIST: … The Buried. BASIRA: Right. [SILENCE] [INHALES] Right. Keep it safe, I’ll be gone a few days. I have some leads I need to follow up. ARCHIVIST: Sorry…?! BASIRA: You heard me.

I’m suspecting that Elias might have told her something cryptic and Buried-related, and that Basira pieced it together at that moment? What Elias told her could have been totally unrelated but it feels like an odd coincidence (especially since Jon had just proven that he could use his powers to neutralize enemies after all) and… going back to MAG120:

(MAG120) ELIAS: Hello, inspector. Martin. I’m… sorry to hear about Tim. MARTIN: Don’t. ELIAS: And Daisy, I suppose. MARTIN: Don’t. you. dare.

It sounded, back then, like the usual joke of belatedly remembering Daisy’s existence. But it could have also been Elias knowing that she wasn’t dead like Tim.

- I’m worried about what Elias told her, though, and what Basira will have to do ;; Assuming it’s all to bring back Daisy: is she supposed to go fetch an item that could help? Or someone: a Buried avatar? A Vast avatar (as they’re opposed): Simon Fairchild, since Jon doesn’t want to meet him? (He’s probably deaaaad but ;; can’t help but think about Jan Kilbride? He “disappeared” after going back to Earth but we know that he was still around in February 2008, when he gave his statement (MAG106), and probably June 2008, where he was implied to be with Gertrude when she went to stop The Buried ritual in America (MAG097). Probably died countering the ritual, but if he survived… he has already fought against The Buried, had met Gertrude, had collaborated with her to stop an apocalypse. Could be an interesting option. Though, once again: is probably long dead.)

… or is Basira supposed to ultimately take Daisy’s place in the coffin…

And I’m so worried over the fact that it… doesn’t seem like she told Jon anything about her meeting with Elias? Though Elias had told her that he didn’t mind Jon hearing their conversations (so she’s not coerced into hiding information, it’s her own decision)? It’s also unclear if she’s given the tapes to Jon, but we’ll see if Jon mentions them while she’s away – or… not at all. Jon will complain about Elias if he’s hearing anything from him.

- ;; We got Basira’s own summary of the events following The Unknowing and… indeed, her point of view clears up a lot of why she’s been so cautious and distrusting. Her previous situation was strongly tied to Daisy’s, and based on the assumption that she could more or less trust the others (though she wasn’t very confident in Tim and Jon’s abilities to fight):

(MAG0117) BASIRA: […] I don't want to be here. But by the end, I didn’t want to be police either, so… guess I don’t really know what I do want, which… maybe that’s just as well. My options… they’ve gotten a lot narrower over the last year. I don’t know. I feel kind of bad. Everyone seems to be having a much worse time of it than me, and I was meant to be the hostage. It’s amazing, how much you can ignore when you keep your head in a book.

Basira had been involved in the Institute against her will (MAG092); it has never been a place she chose. But in order to get out of The Unknowing, she couldn’t rely on anyone. She managed on her own, and since then: Daisy was officially dead, Tim was dead, Jon was in a coma. The only remaining people were Melanie (who had been unstable since then, while infected) and Martin:

(MAG128) ARCHIVIST: […] You can trust me, Basira– BASIRA: Stop saying that. [SILENCE] Do you know how I survived the… The Unknowing? ARCHIVIST: I… No. No, I don’t. BASIRA: No powers, no… magic or… help. I was trapped in that place, and so I tried to figure it out. And I did. A little. So I kept doing it. I kept going through until I got out. I… reasoned my way out of that nightmare. ARCHIVIST: Good lord… BASIRA: Then everything ended, and Daisy was gone. And you were gone. And Tim. And then I got back to the Institute, and Martin sent me to meet the new boss. Then I stood alone in an empty office for more than one hour. I can trust me, Jon. That’s it. ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS]

It officially answers why Basira said that she had never met Peter Lukas in MGA123 (“Never seen him. As far as I can tell, Martin’s the only one who has.”) despite the fact that Peter had asked Martin to bring Melanie and Basira to his office in MAG120 (“Well, if you could send Melanie and Basira up to see me, I’d like to introduce myself.”). I get the impression that Martin’s behaviour really was what convinced her to not trust easily? She… hasn’t been mean towards him since the beginning of season 4, actually defended him, acknowledged that he has had a difficult situation, but at the same time… I wonder if she isn’t having the same suspicions as I am: that Martin and Peter are one and the same, or that Peter is rooted in Martin, without Martin being aware of it? And the conclusion would be that just because someone is genuine and wishes you no harm doesn’t mean that they can’t actually be a threat to you. Hence her wariness towards Jon, even though he insists that they’re on the same side.

(Ironically, it’s… a bit like Tim’s reasoning in season 3: when he got back on his feet and driven by his desire to avenge Danny’s death by destroying the Circus, he also began to avoid everyone since he couldn’t be sure that they weren’t something like the Not!Them or plainly didn’t know them, and he decided to only rely on himself. We know how that ended for Tim; that doesn’t bode well for Basira… ;;)

- Basira used to like Jon’s sense of humour and… it’s not the case anymore, uh.

(MAG088) BASIRA: I just, I mean he was good company. Y’know, when he wasn’t being a paranoia machine. He was funny, you know? MARTIN: What, Jon? BASIRA: Yeah. MARTIN: I don’t think I’ve ever heard him tell a joke. BASIRA: Maybe you weren’t listening.

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: […] So: we’re under siege; Melanie is aggressively unstable; Martin is working very closely with The Lonely, who is, predictably enough, isolating him; and, oh, yes, Tim and Daisy are still dead. Which is at least easy to keep track of! BASIRA: That isn’t funny, Jon. ARCHIVIST: I know it’s not–! … Sorry. It’s just… it’s a lot.

(MAG128) BASIRA: And don’t open the coffin. ARCHIVIST: [HUMOROUS EXHALE] It is addressed to me! [SILENCE] … Yes, alright. … Alright.

I COULD JUST FEEL BASIRA’S GLARE IN THESE LAST SECONDS. Jon relenting and changing his tone was so beautiful.

Too bad for Jon he mentally scarred the only person who was still finding him entertaining:

(MAG128) BREEKON: … That’s ‘s name? Then sure. ‘t’s in there. Whatever’s left. Find out if you like. ARCHIVIST: Would you please drop that ridiculous voice?! BREEKON: [DIFFERENT ACCENT] Apologies. Is preferred like so? ARCHIVIST: Christ, that’s worse… BREEKON: [CHUCKLES] ARCHIVIST: [STATIC–] What is your real voice? [/STATIC] BREEKON: [CHUCKLES] Nikola said you were funny. Didn’t believe it.

Jon, why do you do this to the people who at least appreciated one (1) thing about you.

(I’m still rolling on the floor about how, while a MONSTER had SNUCK INSIDE the Archives, and was partially THREATENING THEM, and had proven in the past that it could WRECK YOU in a fight, and had even PUNCHED JON HIMSELF before throwing him in its van back in MAG099… Jon’s priorities involved getting irritated about its fake accent. Jon. Joooooooooon. You’re especially funny when you’re not even trying.)

- At the same time, Basira didn’t absolutely cut Jon out entirely. She’s still probing him with questions, still waiting for him to share his discoveries. She brought him water. And… the fact that she’s leaving the Institute for a while incidentally puts Melanie and the coffin in Jon’s care – that’s… actually… a form of trust, in a way? I wonder if she might be, despite it all, trying to test whether she can trust Jon on some matters.

(MAG128) BASIRA: You heard me. Don’t ask about [my leads], and don’t know about them either. ARCHIVIST: I can’t exactly control that! BASIRA: Learn. ARCHIVIST: … [SIGHS] I’ll do my best. […] BASIRA: I’ll try and be back in a week or two. Don’t think about me. ARCHIVIST: Right.

^Could be a way to check if Jon can prevent himself from spookily knowing or trying to investigate? Forcing himself to find a way to refrain it even if he has no idea about how at the moment? (Basira is absolutely the reverse of an enabler, which… makes sense, since she keeps finding new ways to get herself out. She managed to survive The Dark. She was the only one who managed to find her way out of The Unknowing, by herself. At the same time, what she told Jon is… easier said than done. But indeed: it’s that, or enabling and probably accelerating Jon’s downfall.)

(- At the same tiiiime, re:Martin, maybe it would be Very Too Much Hopeful, but. But.

(MAG128, “Breekon”) […] The Spider’s always an easy job – no fuss, no complication, everything planned and prepared. It knows too much to truly be a Stranger, but hides its knowing well enough to injure.

YES, it sounds awfully like The Web and what it’s probably doing right now with Jon/the Institute. But I also thought about Martin, here, and I can’t shake the idea now: it’s clear that Martin is wary of Peter and he explicitly said he didn’t like to be manipulated – he’s not oblivious to what Peter is doing, though… he’s also been opening himself a lot more than feels necessary (Peter knows how to push Martin’s buttons and to persuade him). But what if it’s actually more about Martin trying to manipulate him – Martin showing some parts of him only to get closer, pretending to be vulnerable, trying to establish how Peter operates and what his weaknesses are, for when Martin would have accumulated enough knowledge to take care of the new threat? I mean, Martin took down the previous Head of the Institute through dissimulating and deceiving. He’s done it before. He could do it again.) (/ realistically: yes, it’s me trying to still hold on to the possibility of Web!Martin, sssssh >> I… was so fond… of the aesthetic of Martin being in control, albeit awkwardly…)

- Breekon breached into the Institute and mentioned that he’s felt “loss” since Hope’s death. So. You can’t convince me that Peter Lukas, Agent Of The Lonely, didn’t know that he had entered the Institute. And yet, he didn’t help, didn’t do anything at all.

He had mentioned that Elias was “very protective of his people” (MAG100), which wasn’t super-reassuring regarding how Peter himself takes care of his people, even less for people that are not even his, but… we still don’t know why Elias chose him as an interim director (… if he indeed did), and after The Flesh attack and now Breekon, it seems less and less likely that it was to protect the Archives or Jon himself. So: why was he chosen? What is he supposed to do?

- It sounds like what Peter had hinted at the end of season 3 worked exactly how we could fear – “giving everyone some space”, from a Lonely agent, sounded… very bad and worrisome. And indeed, they drifted apart:

(MAG120) PETER: […] After that, I’ll put through a couple of weeks of paid leave for you all. I think giving everyone some space, to try and deal with the loss of… Tim and… Daisy, might do everyone some good.

Hey!! Peter and Elias, so far, totally succeeded in shattering the Archives team. They’re not even able to collaborate on a common project like they did in season 3 (trying to stop The Unknowing, getting Elias into jail). Martin has been persuaded that his “isolation” will help to fight the New Threat; Basira is adamantly choosing to not trust Jon; Melanie has been refusing to talk to Jon so far. Jon has been successfully isolated, too. Was it the point, or one of the points, of what Elias and Peter did overall…?

- Jon, please, don’t say anything ever unless you’re being pessimistic/negative, since:

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: […] and, oh, yes, Tim and Daisy are still dead. Which is at least easy to keep track of!

Daisy is not dead anymore! You were wrong again and things did get more complicated! Rejoice!

… Although Daisy is probably having it worse than death and has been for the past seven months; it could be that they’ll manage to get her out of the coffin only to have to mercy-kill her shortly after. Or will she have to make the same kind of choice that Jon did in MAG121? Like Jon, she’s in a place The End can’t reach:

(MAG121) OLIVER: […] The thing is, Jon, right now, you have a choice. You’ve put it off for a long time; but it’s trapping you here. You’re not quite human enough to die, but – still too human to survive. You’re… balanced on an edge where The End can’t touch you – but you can’t escape him. I made a choice. We all made choices […].

(MAG128, “Breekon”) And so we took the casket, a hungry thing of the Earth, a crushing, choking tomb that will not let you die because it is too much what it is for Death to find you there, within its mocking shape – buried alive.

I would really like to see Daisy back and functional; the fact that she was Basira’s anchor makes me fear that ahaha nop, would be too hopeful (and she snapped during The Unknowing...), but I loved the familiarity they shared with Basira… And I loved Daisy and Jon’s weird little friendship, gosh!!

(MAG096) ARCHIVIST: So, what? Now you sell dead animals? What is this place? SARAH: The Trophy Room. A taxidermist shop in Barnet – it says above the door. Surprised to meet an Archivist who can’t read. ARCHIVIST: No, I– DAISY: [LAUGHS] Nice! […] DAISY: Come on. Before the Met get here. ARCHIVIST: Whatever you say~ DAISY: And wipe that grin off your face.

- In the meantime: how much will it sting, for Jon, to… keep watch over the coffin, knowing that Daisy is inside and that they might ultimately find a way to save her… while Tim is dead-dead and won’t come back, and there is no hope of him coming back ever again. When one glimmer of hope happens, it’s often hard to refrain from thinking that others could follow suit.

- We’re now 1/5th into season 4! And even if Jon feels ~static~, we’ve technically learned quite a lot? In the six months following the Unknowing, not strictly chronologically: Elias stayed in prison; Peter Lukas “managed” the Institute without revealing himself to anyone except Martin, only sending emails and memos; some researchers disappeared after ignoring his orders; Martin’s mother died; Melanie’s frenzy worsened; Basira tried to keep things afloat; other Fears have been targeting the Institute to prevent The Eye from completing its ritual in this cycle; the Flesh attacked the Archives and was defeated thanks to Melanie; Melanie & Basira have begun to live in the Institute; Martin visited Jon in the hospital, begging him to wake up and help, and given the lack of answer, accepted to work with someone (most likely Peter) with the promise that the others would be “safe”, and has indeed been working with Peter Lukas since then, getting more and more estranged from Basira and Melanie.

Since MAG121: The Dreamer, Oliver, revealed that he had turned into an avatar of The End. Jon ~made his choice~ and woke up. Georgie decided to stop taking care of Jon. Jon said that he didn’t remember everything about the Unknowing, learned that Tim and (presumably) Daisy were dead. We learned that The Web might have intertwined itself with the Institute for (at least) the past years, or at least that Annabelle might have intentions regarding the Institute or Jon in particular. Jon has used many powers other than compulsion, at an alarming rate: Knowing things, being directed towards specific statements (and feeling the presence of written ones), forcefully extracting a statement from someone’s brain, being able to See an otherwise undetectable spooky item (Melanie’s bullet). Basira and Jon removed said bullet from Melanie’s leg; Jon got stabbed in the shoulder, healed quickly. Melanie’s anger was confirmed to have been at least partially supernatural and Slaughter-induced, though she is still currently deeply hurt by the whole ordeal. Jon and Martin briefly saw each other, with Martin intentionally avoiding contact: he indeed made a deal with Peter Lukas, they’re working on Adelard Dekker’s suspicions of a new Menace, which requires Martin getting more powerful (and balance “between the two”), hence his “isolation”. Martin has been taking care of the Institute’s admin tasks for Peter, who “can’t stand computers”. We learned what happened to Albrecht von Closen a few years after he had sent his letter to Jonah Magnus: Jonah stole the mausoleum books from Albrecht, who turned out to have had sons by the time he died (his body filled with eyes). Basira visited Elias in prison: Elias gave her a tape recorder that had appeared in his cell, for her to give to Jon, and explained that he doesn’t want Jon to see him. He tipped Basira off about another potential “defender” for the Archives. Breekon brought the coffin to the Institute, confirmed that Daisy is inside and not dead; Jon used a new power on him to prevent him and Basira from fighting, unrolling his backstory. Basira is leaving for (she thinks) about one or two weeks, to follow up on “some leads”, potentially Buried-related, and forbade Jon from trying to Know what she is doing.

Tl;dr It feels a bit like things are dragging on and that not a lot is happening since Jon is back to being sedentary (after moving, going out and travelling a lot in season 3), that we’re waiting together with Jon… but at the same time, the shrouds around some mysteries are becoming a bit clearer, and a lot of elements have felt like they’ve broken the new status quo already. We’re getting a few missing pieces and completing new parts of the puzzle, while we’re advancing towards… something. (It feels a bit to me like the slow initial ascend of a rollercoaster, too: and there is the dread that when things will pick up for real, the velocity and savageness will simply be mind-shattering…?)

- I have a few ideas about Jon’s options but no certainty nor ~insight~ about what he could choose to do right now, since Basira left? Will he wait? Will he keep pushing his powers, trying to get redirected towards a statement that could help them… with the whole situation, or for the coffin? Will he try to actively research on The Buried or The Hunt? Will he try to focus on something else to avoid accidentally prying into Basira’s business: trying to get Martin back, digging a bit more into the Institute’s foundation or Gertrude’s notes again?

Now that Basira has left, though, a discussion with Melanie… might be coming ;; I’m eager and anticipating Pain at the same time, though… She had been aware of a change in her when she was influenced by the bullet (MAG117: “Elias thinks he’s got this ingenious way to hurt people, but it’s just the same old bullshit in a creepy new package. … asshole… God! I just want to rip his…! [BREATHES] When did I… start to lose the parts of me that weren’t just anger…? … Hm.”), so I’m really curious to hear her again, now that she’s been presumably freed from it – with rightful resentment and distrust… but also a clearer mind.

(I wonder if we’ll hear about Georgie again through her ;;)

MAG129’s title has been given on Patreon: statement-wise, I’m suspecting a Buried one (though could also be The Lonely, or The Dark attacking the Archives, maybe). As for the second meaning, I’m flipping a table in fear that it could be about Jon’s metaphorical inner door already – but at the same time… it would feel very early for that. So, hum. Could be about Melanie’s impressions from when she was under the bullet’s influence? Could be about Jon getting emotionally overwhelmed by everything and having a breakdown, without any door opening? … Could be about Martin and Peter again.

[dontfeedthebabytigers]

You’ve Got So Much Heart: Chapter 7

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Thursday was a quiet day. The halls in Wayne manor held a fragile calm that had been unseen by the scratched hardwood since before Damian’s arrival many years ago. The only commotion came from the den as Bruce and Dick raced to see who could discover the Scooby Doo culprit first. Dick won every time, even if only because Bruce let him. Dick’s prize was sneaking desert in before dinner--- a risky move in a house where Alfred seemed to lurk behind every corner. They made ice cream sundaes with chocolate sauce, bananas, and rainbow sprinkles. If Alfred had found them out from the depleted ice cream supply, he didn’t say anything. Just this once.

Bruce posited the idea of Cass coming over the next day and possibly bringing along Barbara. Dick beamed at the idea and Bruce almost had to resort to bribing to get the boy asleep. Barbara was Dick’s only friend both his age and outside of the family. Out of everyone in the family, Dick had always been the people person, and Bruce knew that being stuck inside with only three other people had been starting to get to the boy. He almost broke Bruce’s ribs when he told Dick that he was ready for a friend. Did the fact that she also had a cape make Bruce feel more secure about introducing Dick to a social life, without a doubt. He also knew how suffocating the family could be--- himself especially. Having a fresh face that Dick could relax around had been a necessity.

They arrived at noon, right on schedule. Dick hated it when people arrived earlier than expected, got anxious when they were late.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Cain, Ms. Gordon.” Alfred couldn’t contain his glee at seeing Cass and Barbara. “Lunch will be ready within the hour. Master Wayne is waiting for you in the study, Ms. Cain. He looks forward to hearing about your latest trip abroad.”

Cass nodded her thanks and left to find her father.

“Do you know where Dick is, Alfie?” Barbara asked looking around the large lobby. He usually met her when she arrived, usually couldn’t wait to see her.

Alfred smiled down at young Barbara, only a few years older than Dick and with all the intelligence that Jim Gordon bragged about every time he passed by. “I believe Master Dick is in the room with us, Ms. Gordon, or maybe above us.” They both looked up to the beams that cross the high ceiling.

Alfred gave a merry laugh. “Good luck on this round, Ms. Gordon. Do try not to break anything from the fifteen century or earlier this time.”

“No fair,” Barbara said, arms crossed with a wicked grin on her face. “Those are all the most breakable antiques.”

“How will you ever survive,” Alfred said as he made his way back to the kitchen to finish their meal. He seldom got the opportunity to prepare a meal for so many people these days, the food had to be perfect.

Barbara surveyed the room for any sign of her friend, but, of course, Dick left no clues.

“You heard Alfred, Boy Wonder, no breaking the really old stuff. Now, we know that is going to happen if I have to start chasing after you.”

A soft footfall announced Dick as he dropped behind her. First thing Barbara noticed when she turned around was his comfy clothing--- a baggy sweatshirt over a leotard. He must have been working out, Barbara thought. Then she noticed that Dick smiled at her, but not a happy Dick Grayson smile. Just as Dick had many names--- Richard, Dick, Robin, Talon, the Gray Son--- he had many smiles that he put on like a show. Right now, Dick’s smile seemed stretched, taut with an inner turmoil.

“I knew where you were.” She joked, trying to see where his level of humor fell today.

“No, you didn’t” A subdued glint in his eyes, usually he enjoyed sneaking up on people. He made a game out of it, and he always loved surprising people. Right now, he didn’t look like he had won another game. Dick looked like he had already lost but didn’t want anyone to know.

“Try and prove that I didn’t.” Barbara gave him an easy smile to help him unwind. She could read Dick Grayson like computer code. His mind was a puzzle, and Barbara loved puzzles. “I’ve missed you. How have you been?”

Dick looked torn; he glanced down the empty halls for any prying family members. “Not good.”

“What happened?” Barbara asked.

Dick looked at her. His hands tapped out nervous energy in the only way his training knew how. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“Come in,” Bruce called when a firm, yet polite, know resonated through the study. That was Cass’s knock. When Dick did actually knock it was hesitant and soft, afraid to ask. Jason was firm, confident, and a little too loud. Damian didn’t knock.

Cass entered with a smile and a wave, and Bruce’s heart soared to see his daughter again.

“Cass, it’s been too long.” Bruce used his most Brucie voice and crossed the room to give his daughter a hug. “How was Bruges?”

“Educational.” Was her response. She pulled a vinyl a bag she carried on her shoulder and handed it to her father. “For you.”

“Brahms,” Bruce remarked. “A good choice. Why don’t we give this a listen?” Bruce went over to the turntable and set up the record. Once the music began playing, Bruce’s façade faded with the lost silence. “What did you find out?”

Cass handed him a USB drive which he plugged into the computer. There were notes and documents, including blurred pictures of Talons dating back decades. Even more, evidence that the Court had influence spreading further than the borders of Gotham could contain.

“Your writing keeps getting better.” He noted as he read the notes that she had written to connect pieces of evidence. “

“I had a great teacher.” She smiled at him before pointing at a single file marked HC. “You need to see this.”

Bruce clicked the file open and was met with an old photograph taken in Bruges almost a century ago. In the photo, there was a man in his twenties shaking hands with a well-dressed older man with a boy standing at his side. A striped circus tent was in the background. The twenty-year-old looked familiar, so Bruce pulled open a file that contained a sketch of William Cobb that Damian had made with Dick’s help. There was an irrefutable resemblance.

“You found him.” A few years of searching and they finally found evidence that William Cobb existed before the Court. His indoctrination couldn’t have been long after the photo had been taken. However, Bruce’s joy at their first lead was sucked away when he remembered the backdrop of the photo.

“He’s at the circus.” Bruce didn’t believe in coincidence, but he wished that he did.

Cass nodded, grief in her heart. She took the mouse and zoomed in on the young boy standing next to the ringmaster. “He is Mr. Haly.”

Bruce had to pace around his study to avoid throwing the computer against the wall. When Dick had first moved in, all he could talk about was the circus and Mr. Haly. Dick saw that man as a grandfather like he saw Alfred. Dick loved that circus, and if they were working with the Court this whole time, well, Bruce didn’t know what that would do to Dick. Even now, the circus was his life.

“You know what this means,” Cass asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

“It means that the Court didn’t pick him at random. They were grooming him, probably from birth.” Bruce had planned to take Dick to the circus when it came back to town later that week. Would they take him back to the Court if they saw him? “What I want to know is why they chose Dick.”

Cass nodded, she had her next mission.

Bruce ejected the USB after making an encrypted copy for his own records. “I assume that I don’t need to tell you that not a word of this leaves the room until we have indisputable proof that Haly’s Circus was working for the Court.”

Cass agreed. She knew Dick, saw herself in him. This news would only bring him pain, and even if there were no collusion he would never feel safe around the circus again. She turned away to leave but stopped when her father spoke again.

“Can I expect you at the Gala next week. I know Dick would love you there.” He could never just ask someone to stay.

She knew this, and she nodded before she left him standing alone with the music.

“Have you talked to Bruce about this?”

Did shook his head. “Bruce doesn’t like talking about Tim.”

Barbara didn’t blame Bruce for that one, at least not completely. She had been there when they found Tim, saw the crazed look in his eyes and heard the sickening laugh play like her dreams original soundtrack. Then with everything that happened after, Tim had always been one of those untouchable subjects within the manor walls. Barbara didn’t even think Bruce had referred to Tim as anything other than Red Hood in years.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Barbara asked the question that everyone knew the answer to because they all had the same one.

“When I came back,” Dick paused to gather his thoughts as he often did when he spoke in longer phrases. “When I came back, Tim was gone. No one would tell me why. Until you. I never got to say sorry, or goodbye.”

She never got to say goodbye either, none of them did. Tim was a dead man that still walked around a Gotham as broken as himself all because she couldn’t get the intel fast enough. Bruce said he didn’t blame her, that the Joker was a madman and a genius, but Barbara couldn’t see how that was supposed to matter. Not when Tim could have been saved from that.

“Hey Dick, can I ask you something?” She waited until he nodded, and her throat almost closed up. “Did he look okay? Healthy?”

Dick observed her like he always did when he couldn’t understand the message behind someone’s words. His gaze passed over her fists and her down-turned eyes. “He looked good.”

Barbara let out a breath and smiled. “Good,” She said. “That’s good.”

[lindyhunt]

All the Lessons Learned from Blake Lively’s Week of Suits

Blake Lively has been on the road for the past several days, promoting her upcoming film with Anna Kendrick, A Simple Favour. In it, she plays a mysterious, strikingly beautiful character who disappears without a trace. And of course, what is more enigmatic, more alluring, more provocative than… a woman in a suit? For some inexplicable reason, all of Lively’s character’s outfits seem to involve some form of menswear circa 1920, with a fedora, red leather gloves and even POCKET WATCH thrown in for good measure. If that weren’t enough, she seems determined to carry the look over into real life, donning a variety of suits for her publicity appearances. Lets take a gander, and also, maybe take some notes just in case you’re inclined to try these at home.

Look 1: Versace

@blakelively was spotted in New York wearing a neon green suit paired with a knit top in the same tone, all from the #VersaceSS19 Men’s Collection. #VersaceCelebrities

A post shared by Versace (@versace) on Aug 18, 2018 at 2:57am PDT

Neon green is a dish best served in teeny, tiny, amuse bouche quantities. Only to be consumed in full meal proportions if you’re a bonafide movie star, in which case go ahead and push it even further with green accessories AND a hot pink lip.

Look 2: Roland Mouret

#NEW Blake leaving her hotel earlier today 😍 Outfit #2 of Day 2 (August 18, 2018) #blakelively

A post shared by Blake Lively Fan (@alwaysblakelively) on Aug 18, 2018 at 3:35pm PDT

Head-to-toe plaid is a cool look, but only if worn with a white tee and minimalist sneakers. How to avoid taking it into prep school uniform territory, you ask? Just don’t reach for a button-up and tie (or side braid). Easy peasy.

Look 3: Zimmermann

Out & About: @blakelively wears the Corsage Tailored Pant, matching vest and Corsage Blazer from our Resort 19 Ready-to-Wear Collection while out and about in New York. The look will be available instore and online from October. #outandabout #resort19 #THECORSAGE #zimmermann

A post shared by ZIMMERMANN (@zimmermann) on Aug 19, 2018 at 6:11pm PDT

To be honest, I’m kind of into this Prohibition Era gangster suit—although the beaded bracelets are a bit of head-scratcher—for its monochrome pinstripes, waistcoat and clean lines. But it’s so, very, costume-y. Don’t attempt this unless you’re headed to an actual costume party or an event with a very specific Al Capone-approved dress code.

Look 4: Brunello Cucinelli

#NEW Blake leaving her hotel today for a photoshoot in New York City, New York (August 17, 2018) #blakelively

A post shared by Blake Lively Fan (@alwaysblakelively) on Aug 17, 2018 at 7:35am PDT

Disclaimer: I love pretty much everything Brunello Cucinelli does and this velvet suit is no exception. I’m into the ’70s vibe and inky blue hue. I’m down with the tousled hair, sans-shirt insouciance. But would I throw another velvet blazer on top of it in 30-degree heat? Maybe not so much.

Look 5: Vivienne Westwood

NEW Blake out and about today 🦄🎆 and of course she’s wearing a suit!!! #blakelively #fashion #hair #makeup

A post shared by ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Blake Lively Fan (@alwayslively) on Aug 20, 2018 at 2:25pm PDT

She looks extremely comfortable, and honestly, what more could one want from a casual day suit? The mauve colour is a refreshing choice, and the frayed hems and brogues add to the Lively’s Day Off vibe.

Look 6: Bottega Veneta

#Spotted: @blakelively a.k.a Serena van der Woodsen in a Multicolor cotton jacket and pant, Dark Moss cashmere sweater and Aloe/Mint silk shirt from @bottegaveneta's Cruise 2019 collection. But ‘you know you love her’ Spring/Summer 2018 Lilac Spheres Knot Clutch more than that rad outfit! #XOXO #GossipGirl 💋

A post shared by BlackBook India (@blackbookindia) on Aug 21, 2018 at 6:58am PDT

I’m slightly confused by this part-50s housewife, part-preppy school kid look. The clashing patterns, incongruous colours and excessive accessorizing don’t help. I’m afraid even the old Coco Chanel adage—look into the mirror before leaving the house and take one thing off—won’t help with this one.

Look 7: Ralph & Russo

@blakelively looking gorgeous at the #vmas in Look 3 from the Autumn Winter 2018/19 Couture Collection #randrstars

A post shared by Ralph & Russo (@ralphandrusso) on Aug 21, 2018 at 1:58am PDT

If you’re contemplating a career change to get into the circus as a professional ringmaster, look no further because we found your first-day outfit. But if you’re not, and you just want to embrace the pristine-white-suit look for a cocktail party, go for it—but maybe stay away from the bedazzled blazer.