#toni x nimbus

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"Water For Elephants" at the Imperial Theatre will enjoy what I think will be a long run on Broadway. Like "Music Man" and "Back to The Future", this wonderful musical will appeal to people of all ages and all walks of life. The music and lyrics by Pigpen Theatre Co. are not overly memorable, the choreography by Jesse Robb is simple and plain, however, the acting, the book by Rick Elice the direction by Jessica Stone and the circus design and acrobatics by Shana Carroll (Cirque du Soleil's Crystal) are outstanding.

Based on the book by Sara Gruen, "Water" takes us to the depression; the circus, the people and animals in the Benzini Brothers Circus are the story-line. We get to see two Jankowski's, the younger Jacob (Grant Gustin) and Mr. Jankowski (Gregg Edelman). He is a veterinarian from Cornell who never finished his studies. He turns out to be a huge help to the penny pinching owner, August (Paul Alexander Nolan) who bought the circus from Benzini back in 1929. The good Doctor would fall smitten with August's wife, Marlena (Isabelle McCalla). August has a foul temper, he is often ruthless with his employees and worse with the treatment of his animals As the plot goes on, both tension and tempers flair, people are pushed to the brink (both literally and figuratively).

What makes "Water For Elephants" a standout is the star cast, the supporting cast and its ensemble. The sound and the projections too are quite remarkable; the costumes (David Israel Reynoso), the scenic design (Takeshi Kata) and the lighting (Bradley King) all complement what is a great evening of theater.

When this musical opens up full throttle is when the audience becomes most enchanted... songs that do its magic are: "Anywhere/ Another Train", "I Choose the Ride", "I Shouldn't Be Surprised", "You've Got Nothing" and "Go Home". It is these songs that have the actors giving its audience full singing and dancing; the lights and sounds are whirlwind. The audience laps up the circus atmosphere, it loves the protagonist/antagonist part of the show. In Jessica Stone's direction, the animals come to life onstage and they become a big part of the story. In both a simple way and a very visual way, "Water For Elephants" should not be missed!

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I recently went to a performance at AMT called "Gallery". Although it was a run through for a later staged performance in New Hampshire, some of the songs and some of the singers were very talented. It will be very interesting to see how it is staged and directed. The premise of the musical is that famous artists have their work projected on the back of the theater while the different actors sing a song about the work that is presented in front of us. Both catchy and pithy, this new musical may take hold.

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As this very full Spring season is upon us we welcome up "Tommy", "Suffs", "Hells Kitchen" "The Wiz" and "The Great Gatsby". The two shows that most are waiting for is both "Tommy" and "Cabaret". Early word on "Tommy" is that is the best thing right now on Broadway and it is still in previews! "Cabaret" has been running raves with its great lead actor since it played on London's West End.

Other shows that should delight are "The Mother Play", which has a first rate cast," Mary Jane" and "Uncle Vayna" at Lincoln Center with Steve Carrell in the lead. "Stereophonic" will be coming later in the season along with "Heart of Rock and Roll". Stay tuned! Reviews and more reviews to come!

www.triviscompanies.com, Broadway Bob, Tony Awards, Broadway, Metropolitan Magazine, WACE Entertainment, Nimbus Magazine, Mann About Town Magazine, www.broadwayworld.com, Google, Meta, X, LinkedIn.







Words: 624

[fanficexcerpts]

"Wow," Tony said, looking at Harry. "Thor, your sprog is short." "So are you. I'm thirteen. I'm still growing. What's your excuse, Mister Stark?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. Clint, Thor and Loki cracked up laughing as Tony gaped. "Did he just sass me?" Tony asked incredulously.

Child of the Storm chapter 7: First Impressions, a harry potter fanfic | FanFiction

[innaminitus]

The one with the Bludger

About the series: What are you about to read is a series in a sitcom manner. This means the chapters are going to be only briefly connected to each other and you don’t have to read them all (you can start in the middle if you want and you will still understand what’s going on). Just as in sitcoms majority of the stories will have the beginning and the end (something like oneshots). Think of it as if you were watching Friends that I copied the title from.

AU: Hogwarts  

Pairing: Various (for now: Loki x Reader, Tony Stark x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter summary: Natasha tells you a secret about Loki and Tony proposes a private Quidditch match. 

Chapter warninigs: language

Chapter word count: 2318

A/N: I want you to create this series with me! Got any idea what could happen to our pals? Let me know! Let’s make this as awesome as we can, together! Tag list is open.

You desperately needed to talk to Nat, but you were asleep when she came back from the party. You were reading a book in your bed, waiting for her to wake up, but you couldn’t focus on the words. Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration were blurred before your eyes. If this was supposed to be going on through the whole year, you had no chance in passing your NEWTs.

Nat moved on the bed and stretched. Finally.

“Hey, where have you been last night?” She asked, her voice was sharp as always in the morning. “Last time I saw you, you were playing this muggle game.”

“Did… Did Loki tell you anything?” You closed the book and looked at her. She was lying on her side, watching you.

She shook her head.

“He must’ve left just after you.” She narrowed her eyes. “What happened, Y/N?”

You bit your lip.

“We played this game… seven minutes in heaven. Together.” You swallowed hard and she quickly sat up. “We got into the Cabinet, talked for a while, but eventually, we… started to make out.”

“What?!” She squeaked and moved to your bed.  

“That’s not the end,” you sighed and covered your eyes. “When we were kissing,” you lowered your voice “he got…” You couldn’t say it and just shook your head.

“He got what?” She was whispering as well, trying not to wake the other girls. “Intrusive?”

“No…” You laid back, embarrassed. “He got… hard.”

“Holy shit.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “What did you do?”

“I ran!” She laughed and you covered her mouth with your hand to keep her quiet. “What am I supposed to do now? I can’t look at him after that! God, I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“Y/N… I think there is something you should know.” She started hesitantly. “I strongly believe he loves you.”

“I love him, too, he’s my friend-“

“No.” She shook her head. “Like… Romantically.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you laughed.

“Is it, though?” She tilted her head. “He’s doing everything for you. Sure, that’s what friends do, but you are more important to him than anything else.”

“Or he was just drunk and reacted like most boys would…?”

The idea of him being in love with you was surreal. He was like a family to you, closest friend. He would surely tell you if he was in love with you, right? And you weren’t exactly blind yourself, you would notice at least something.

“Believe what you want, Y/N, I just told you what I think.” She got up. “Can we go for breakfast now? I’m starving.”

*

You sat next to Loki in the Great Hall, trying to make everything look normal, even though you were both stiff as wands.

You tried to swallow bacon and toast, but even though your stomach was rumbling you had no appetite whatsoever.  

“Should we… talk?” Loki asked, moving his eggs on the plate, dealing with hangover.

You definitely should. That would be reasonable, mature thing to do. Talk everything through, find solutions and fix what’s broken.

“No.” You stuffed your face with bacon and forced yourself to chew. You had your first Quidditch practice this morning and had to have energy.

Nat eyed you both, but didn’t say anything. She never liked to dip, she preferred to listen and give advice if asked. You wondered how much she’s heard, not only from you and Loki, but also from other people around her. She must’ve known a lot.

“Good,” Loki sighed and locked his eyes on cold scrambled eggs. He didn’t even like it.

You opened your mouth to say at least something, but an entrance of owls drowned out your tries.

You never got any mail. Your parents stopped writing to you around October of your first year and the only letters you got at Hogwarts were from our grandma who liked to keep you updated whether any of her friends had problem with their hip or died. That’s why you were more than surprised to see an unknown to you screech owl land straight on your toast and throw a piece of paper in your tea. You raised a brow and took the paper.

Y/N,

I’ve heard your team has first training around nine today. We haven’t practise this year either, so how about a little match to see how rusty you are? No public, just our teams.

Tony

“You’re going to agree?” Loki asked when he read the letter and watched you as you wrote the response on the back.

“I don’t see why not.” You shrugged. It was a great opportunity to impress Tony. His owl squeaked and stepped onto Loki’s eggs.

If you’re so eager to get your ass kicked then I’m in.

PS. Your owl needs training.

You tried to give the owl the letter and it bit your fingers before finally grasping the paper.

“Back to Tony, off you go!” You hurried it, poking its belly when it only blinked at you.

“So… You still want to date him?” Loki moved his plate away with distaste.

“Well, yes.” You peaked at the Gryffindor table right at the moment when Tony’s owl landed on his head and threw the letter into his porridge. He fed her with toast and shooed away. His hand flew to his hair, fixing it slightly.

“Great, well, good luck with that,” Loki hissed, got up and left the Great Hall in an angry pace.

You furrowed.

“What was that about?” You leaned back on your chair and looked at Nat.

“About what I told you earlier!” She rolled her eyes. “You kissed yesterday and now you’re not only unwilling to clear everything up, you’re talking about dating other guy.”

You shook your head. That was overall ridiculous.

“If he has feeling for me, then he should confess it. How am I supposed to know how he’s feeling if he won’t tell me?” You got up as well. “He wants me to figure everything out by myself. That’s not how any relationship works.”

*

“Alright, guys, we’re not exactly going to practice today. We’re going to play against Gryffindor, so I hope everyone remembers how to use a broom. Anyone who lets me down today is out of the team.”

You grabbed your polished Nimbus 1700 and a trunk with balls and lead your team to the pitch. Gryffindor’s team was already there, dressed in red and gold robes. Tony looked so good in his when he sent you his mind blowing smile and adjusted his glasses. He took a few steps in front of his team.

“Hey, baby.” He winked.

“Ready for losing?” You asked and put the trunk down before opening it. “One or two?” You pointed at Bludgers.

“Two,” he said without hesitation and you raised your brow. “What, are you scared your team is too rusty to play with both?”

“Was actually worried about yours.”

He laughed and took the Quaffle out. You undid the strips, leaned your head to avoid getting hit by the Bludgers and carefully took out the Snitch. It swooped its little wings and flew away.

“We only have an hour,” you said, positioning your broom in between your legs. “So whoever gets more points, wins.” You blew the whistle and everyone pushed off the ground.

You flew high, looking for a glimpse of gold and saw Tony doing the same. You slowly flew around the pitch, but didn’t let your opponent off your sight. He was good and if he saw the Snitch first, you would shamelessly follow him.

Somewhere below you a shout of victory filled the pitch. Danvers scored.

And then you saw it. The Snitch was flying right above the ground. You lowered your front and viciously dived down, chasing the little golden ball. Tony saw you and mimicked your moves, the wind mussed his hair and soon he was right next to you. The Snitch was just a feet or two away, desperately moving its small wings, trying to escape. You reached your hand, stretching as much as you could without actually falling off the broomstick. The ball rapidly flew up and you barely managed to keep up with the wind blowing at your face, slowing you down. Your nails almost scratched the golden surface, Tony was mere millimetres away from you, you could hear his sharp breath as his hand was right next to you, almost touching. A sound of joy told you that someone scored again, but your mind and your eyes were focused only on the Snitch. You almost heard the sound of its wings moving…

You felt dull pain in your chest when a Bludger hit you, speeding fast from the hit a Gryffindor Beater gave it. You fell off your broom with a scream, desperately trying to reach for it, your fingers swiped its surface, but weren’t able to hold onto it. In panic you tried to take your wand out, but it was tangled in your robes, the ground was dangerously close, the rush would certainly kill you if you hit it-

A strong grasp on your hand kept you from falling any further.

“I got you,” Tony gasped. “I got you…”

He pulled you up and you were able to grasp his broom to sit on it. Soon you felt the ground under your feet and swayed off. The pain in your ribs was slowly becoming unbearable and you massaged the spot.

“Who the fuck hit it?” Tony shouted when the teams landed as well. You didn’t look at him, you had to sit and the grass seemed surprisingly comfortable. “Are you out of your mind, Thor?! You could’ve killed her!”

“It’s fine,” you murmured, swaying. “That’s how Quidditch is.” You took your wand out. “Accio broom.” It obediently flew to your hand. “Are we going to play or not?” You looked at everyone around you. Tony opened his fist and showed you the Snitch. You sighed. “Great…”

“But you were close.”

“Yeah, I know.” You grimaced and pressed your palm harder onto your chest. “Well, I guess you’ve won, then.” You reached your hand to Tony and he shook it. “Congrats. You clean up, that’s your reward.”

You turned and slowly walked back to the changing room, still pressing your hand under your breasts. It hurt like hell, you had to quickly visit the Hospital Wing.

“Are you alright?” Danvers wrapped her arm around you to help you walk and you leaned on her slightly.

“No, I actually feel a little like dying.”

“I’ll help you go to the Hospital Wing.”

“That’s alright, I can manage.” You moved away from her to change your robes.

It took you longer than anyone else and you were left alone in the locker room, trying to tie your sneakers, barely breathing when bending. You straightened and sobbed silently at the pain.

“You need some help?” Tony was leaning on the doorframe.

You slowly got up and grabbed your bag.

“I told you I’m fine,” you said, but a grimace on your face told him otherwise. “What are you doing here anyway? You shouldn’t be here.”

He pushed himself off the doorframe and walked to you.

“Yeah, but, you know, I came to collect my prize for winning. And saving you.”

“What prize?” You furrowed. You didn’t agree for any prize…

He reached his hand to your face, his fingers softly caressed your cheek, swiping some invisible dust. Whether you wanted it or not, your heart started to beat like crazy. He was so close, touching you this intimately.

Slowly, very slowly, giving you time for any protest, he leaned to you and his soft lips met yours in a gentle kiss.

Merlin’s beard.

You weren’t exactly sure whether the excitement made you nauseous, the nervousness of your crush kissing you¸ or was it because the pain in your chest was dulling your senses, but you were pretty damn sure you could throw up any second.

You held onto him, bringing him closer and deepening the kiss. His lips were plump and sweet, caressing yours in the most perfect way…

You had to move away, dizziness made you sway and he quickly held your arm before you fell. You covered your mouth and coughed, not being able to bear the scratchy feeling in your lungs anymore. You coughed blood, just as you thought you would.

“Shit. So you’re saying you’re fine?” His hands were slightly shaking. “Come, let’s get you to Madame Pomfrey.” You obeyed and let him wrap his arm around you to help you walk. When you reached the Hospital Wing, he took a deep breath. “You know, if you survive this, we could go to Hogsmeade or something…”

Your heart jumped, run a marathon and jumped again. Your stomach did something similar and just as you stepped onto the tiles of the Hospital Wing, you threw up blood. Tony jumped on the side slightly.

“If you think you can handle my grace…” You squirmed when Madame Pomfrey shouted something about dirtying her floors. “I’d like to go.”

He smiled slightly, but was all pale when he helped you sit on one of the beds.

“Get out, boy! You’re not helping here with your scared face…” Madame Pomfrey shooed him.

“We’ll be in touch!” He managed to shout before she closed the massive door.

“So what do we have here?” She flicked her wand and the floor was clean.

“Bludger,” you managed to stutter and touched your ribs. “It hit me here.”

She walked to you, touched the spot and told you that you had two broken ribs and was lucky none of them pierced the lungs.

You had to stay until the next morning. That gave you whole day and a whole night to think about how lovely Tony’s lips were on yours. And how strangely similar you felt after Loki’s kiss.

___

Previous: The one with seven minutes

Next: The one with the tea shop

___

tag list:  @lokislilslut @inlovewithmrstark @help-i-need-a-social-life @arcanethamin @nevaeh-potter15 @timetraveler1978 @tanelle83 @fuckythebuckybarnes @fashionlive15 @tricksterwinchester @tvdplusriverdale 

[fangirlingincamouflage]

265 Days of Drabbles: Day 13

Title: Dreams and Prophecy Author: Rosie Dayze Word Count: 2,503 Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Story Rating: PG-13 Themes: Angst,  Comfort, Nightmares, super powers, Disclaimer I do not own Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch, nor do I make any money off of this fanfic. Wanda is the property of Marvel/Disney. Author’s Note: This fanfic assumes that you have super powers, I used a random super power website to generate a power. I kind of love it. Also, out of all of my drabbles, this is the one I’d love to make into a multi-chapter fic.

Things float when she dreams. For the first couple of weeks that you lived at the Avengers compound it was a little disconcerting. You'd roll over, half awake, and see that the glass of water you'd left on your nightstand was hovering steadily alongside your cell phone and that paperback you kept forgetting to read. Then, after nothing fell, or broke, or got slung into your face, you just decided that that's just the kind of thing that happens when a wall is all that separates your room from that of a witch.

Witch? Was it okay to call her that? It fit, certainly. But sometimes people kinda liked to make it sound like a bad thing. Sort of like, Inhuman, which, as it turns out, is exactly what you are. Not that you'd known that. You'd been going about life, mostly content with your lot in life. And then, one fateful day, your entire world changed. It had been such a small thing; inconsequential at the time, important in retrospect. Your life hadn't been in jeopardy. You weren't in the middle of some life-changing, traumatic event. You'd just been walking down the street, feeling a little lost, and wishing you could read the sign; if only it hadn't been so damn bright. And then, like magic, the light had shifted. You'd felt it like a tickle behind your eyes, a heat in the tips of your fingers. You'd chalked it up to a bit of sun-sickness and went about your way.

But then it had happened again. And again. Subtle shifts in light gave way to full-on apparations that depicted your daydreams. Nothing like everyone at work knowing that you were totally thinking about smooching that hotty from Game of Thrones.

It hadn't taken long for Tony Stark to find you, and bring you into the Avengers Homebase for testing. Light-Manipulation, he'd called it. The ability to bend, alter, and control the visible spectrum of light. He'd dubbed you The Illusionist, slapped an Avengers stamp on you and set you up at the compound. Your days were split into two parts. The first was training, where you learned how to test and push the limits of your Inhuman power. You learned how to bend light in such a way that you vanished from view. And how to change your appearance and those of others. Your strongest skill, however, was the ability to create believable, if soundless, projections. You were trained physically, and mentally, to withstand all the crap that might happen to you while opperating as a masked vigilante.

You'd been doing just fine (mostly) until they'd decided to set you up with Wanda as a training partner. The moment she'd walked into the room you'd felt your mouth go dry. Your knees went squishy. No one, you'd decided, should look that good in jeans and a T-shirt. But there she was, with her hair pulled back into a loose knot, and green eyes that seemed to stare directly into you.

"Alright," Natasha Romanoff had said. "Let's train."

You'd done terribly. Steve and Nat had taken the two of you out into the real world. He'd put you in a busy street and both you and Natasha had taken turns trying to sneak up on Wanda. The assumption, of course, was that your ability to cloak yourself, paired with the ability to bend the light to change your appearance, would make you excellent at espionage and tailing. Problem was, every time Wanda even kind of looked in your direction your concentration had cracked and you started to glow.

Glow. Seriously. Like a lightening bug. A big ol' nimbus that screamed 'look at me'.

Fan-tastic.

That had been two and a half weeks ago and you hadn't got much better. But Natasha had taken it upon herself to turn you into the best spy she could, and Steve wanted Wanda to be more aware of her surroundings. So the pair of you kept getting forced into situations together.

It was a surprise you got any sleep at all, you think as you watch the water cup continue to hover. You reach for your floating cell phone and check the time. It was almost six in the morning. Early enough that you could get back to sleep if you try, late enough that you know that someone in the compound is bound to be awake.

You don't notice the glass shaking until a drop of water fell unto your cheek. It is lukewarm and dibbles down your skin, leaving a line of sensitive skin in its wake. Curious, your eyes dart up. The water sloshes around in a tiny whirl inside the cup, like a miniature aquatic tornado. It shakes harder and harder. With a tell-tale creak, a growing crack appears to one side. You dive beneath your blanket just in time. With a glassy scream it shatters. The nearly forgotten paperback goes whirling through the room, slamming into your bedroom window. The drawers of your dresser slap and creak. High tech blinds, resistant to all kinds of damage according to Stark, bend and shake. Streaks of chaotic light illuminate your room.

Then, amidst the steadily growing pandemonium of your room, you hear the sound of Wanda's cries. Before you can even think you yank your blanket back and charge the nine steps to her door. It takes all of your strength to pull it open, revealing the living horror scene within.

You know what an inescapable nightmare looks like, and it's written all over her. She's kicked the blankets off and she is twitching and groaning. Her face is twisted up with sadness and pain. The room mirrors her fright. Drawers of red and black clothing have been tossed like phantoms across the floor. Belts slither around like snakes. Cracks decorate picture frames and glass. The bed creaks in protestation, like some great, invisible weight is pressing down on it.

"Wanda?" you take a careful step into the room, ducking as a shoe flies out of the closet. You put what training Natasha has given you to use and treat the room like an obstacle course with Wanda as the goal. With agility you didn't have three months ago you duck, bend, and weave. You kept your eyes fixed on her as you navigate your way past hair supplies and leather jackets. "Wanda!"

The bedsheet seems to spring to life as you approach. It billows and pulses like it is breathing. It seems to shimmer with the red light of her magic, casting strange and lovecraftian shadows across the walls and you. You wish, not for the first time, that your ability had granted you something that let you attack. The best you'd managed was blinding so that you could run away. that required, you know, eyes. Bedsheets were notorious for their lack of eyes.

"Come on, Wanda," you mutter to yourself. "Wake up."

The next sound she makes is so close to a tear-filled sob that you swallow your fear, dive through the creepy sheet, and land on her bed. Your knee jabs against her leg. The external pain jerks her up and out of sleep, another cry caught in her throat.

"Hey," you say as soothingly as you can manage, "it's okay. I'm right here."

She makes a confused sound. Without her magic everywhere, it is dark. At last, something you can fix. You feel the heat of your own power rise and fill you, and you send it out through the room, casting a soft warm glow across the bed. The light illuminates her too-pale face and sweat-soaked features. It's her eyes that bother you the most. Their green depths are filled with some haunted truth that you can't even begin to fathom.

"Are you okay?"

She blinks, and swallows. "What time is it?" her voice, tinged with Serbia, is cracked and dry.

"Early."

She looks around the room. Her confusion gives way to embarrassment. "I was dreaming."

"You could call it that if you want." You want to reach out, touch her, offer some paltry show of comfort. But you hesitate. You aren't sure what she was dreaming, or if she wants to be touched. You've been working with her for weeks, thought about her in ways you wouldn't even confide to yourself, but you can't bring yourself to close that single gap without some kind of invitation. “Did you want to talk about it?”

The light of your magic turns her green eyes to glass. They peer at you, cool and empty. It's a trick of hers that you've noticed, this ability to put on a mask of absolute nothingness. Usually, it fascinates you. Right then you saw it for what it really was; protection.

“I'm sorry that I woke you,”

“Don't worry about that. Can I get you anything?”

She looks away, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. A little color has returned to her cheeks, but not much. Not enough that you'd be comfortable leaving her with whatever thoughts are haunting her dreams.

“I live in Stark Tower.” She says it like a curse, like it's some ugly, terrible thing. Since you don't understand it, you stay quiet, letting her speak at her own pace. “Growing up, Stark meant bad. It meant pain and weapons and explosions.”

To be fair, growing up Stark meant pretty much the same thing to you. But as you watch the way she continues to look off into the distant light, caught up in the memories of what was, you realize that the difference is that Stark, and everything that his company had stood for, had been the shield you'd been behind, not the weapon at your throat.

“He's given that up.”

“Has he?” Her gaze flicked to yours, a red light gleaming out of their depths. “He still makes weapons, he just gives them names and costumes now.” Her hand was like a phantom slicing through the air, encompassing the room and the destruction therein.

“Oh...Wanda,” you whisper. This time you do reach out and touch her shoulder. She does not move away. “You aren't a weapon.”

“Oh? Then what am I?” Her lips formed a grim line of defiance as if daring you to disagree.

You could tell her. You could use every word you know for amazing and beautiful, but it still wouldn't express exactly how you see her. Wanda has too much beauty in too many facets to be relegated to a few words. So you do the only thing you can think of.

With one hand you smooth out the rumpled bed sheets. With the other you beckon what little light is in the room and you start to twist it. A city street forms, reminiscent of the one where the two of you were paired together to fight. You recreate the people walking, the street vendors and their wares. You add in the cars and their bumper-kissing traffic. Every detail about that day that you can remember, you recreate. Then, when everything is just right, you add in a woman walking down the street. She is dressed in a pair of boots, worn to perfection, and an aged leather jacket. Every step is like a dance. The swing of her violin shaped hips is like music. Even the way the breeze catches her hair is an aria to her beauty.

“Wow,” she whispers.

Encouraged, you shift the scene. You add yourself to the moment, leaning against a light post with your face half hidden by your phone. You let the scene pick up the way you watched her that day, the fact that you couldn't keep your eyes off her. The way that the moment she turned and spotted you everything seemed to fracture and fall apart. Then you show her the next time it had happened, and the next.

“You are powerful,” you say, lost in your display, “but that's not all you are. You are also talented, kind, and smart. You could take your power and use it to rule the world ten times over, but instead, you sign up with the one and the only group that's trying their best to keep this planet spinning.” Your illusion shifts, focuses on her face. The rendering is nearly perfect. The way her eyes can go from flat and empty to angry to amused. The way her nose crinkles when she laughs. The flutter of her hair around the roundness of her lips. Every detail that has driven you mad in recent weeks. You don't even think about how honest you are being until she reaches out and touches your wrist. Her skin is cool against yours. Again, your phantom play shatters.

“I know,” she says softly, though there is an impish tilt to her lips. “I've known for a while.”

The way she says 'know' leaves no room for guessing her meaning. “Guess I've been kind of obvious. You make it hard to concentrate when we practice.”

“It's not that,” she answers. There is a softness to her. All that fear and self-doubt have evaporated. “Did you know that sometimes you bend light while you sleep?”

“Oh...oh no.” You hide your face suddenly behind your hands. Considering all of the dreams you've had about Wanda, you can only assume that she knows way too much. “I am so sorry.”

Her hand slides down your arm, tugging lightly until your fingers drop away from your face. When you open your eyes she is much closer than she had been, mere inches away. The red of her magic is shimmering around her.

“You came to my rescue tonight,” she says.

“I-”

She places a finger on your mouth, silencing you.

“I've always been the one saving others.”

She closes the distance between you slowly. You forget what it's like to breathe. or think, as her mouth presses ever so lightly against your own. Her hair brushes against your cheeks as she tilts her head, the soft press of her tongue slides against yours. You hear a moan, and are surprised when you realize it's coming from you. But when she returns the sound you melt into that kiss.

You shift your weight, pushing her down to the bed, riding her to the mattress in a slow, controlled motion. Her hand skips down your back as you taste her. The feel of her thighs wrapping around your hips sends electricity running to all the places that you like.

“Wow,” you whisper when you finally manage to pull away.

“I've been wondering.” She takes your hand, bringing your fingers to her lips, kissing the tip of each one in succession. “That heat that you give off when you do your projections...can you do that anytime?”

The weight of her words hits you like a hammer. “Well, there's really only one way to find out.”

[nunopds]

José Pires tem vindo a publicar nos fanzines Fandwestern a Série Matt Mariott, valendo-se frequentemente dos originais que um colecionador português tem adquirido online e, na sua falta, restaurando as bandas desenhadas a partir de publicações prévias. Entre estas 2 estratégias, tem na sua posse 68 episódios dos 70 existentes, sendo que o último não teve o desenho concluído por Tony Weare.

Trata-se do projeto conhecido mais completo a nível mundial, tendo vindo a ser publicado 1 fanzine por mês. Em fevereiro, a coleção chega ao seu 53.º número, intitulado Nimbus McBride.

Clique nas imagens para as visualizar em toda a sua extensão:

Os fanzines apresentam um formato generoso (30 x 21 cm) e papel de boa gramagem. Os interessados devem entrar em contacto com o faneditor, através do e-mail gussy.pires@sapo.pt, prevenindo-se de que as tiragens destas publicações são muito limitadas

nota: imagens cedidas pelo faneditor.

Matt Marriott: Nimbus McBride José Pires tem vindo a publicar nos fanzines Fandwestern a Série Matt Mariott, valendo-se frequentemente dos originais que um colecionador português tem adquirido…