Which is why I wanna make a request, if that's alright. For Ragatha, please.
Ragatha x daughter/son reader (platonic)
You know how they're actually digital copies and that their real selves are out there in the world living normally?
Scenario: Ragatha finds out she has a child after ep 9, because the cast can freely surf the web and Ragatha uses it to watch her kid grow up.
Years later, the circus gets a new member. A teenager. And then Ragatha finds out it's her son/daughter.
Angst with fluff please!
Hijo del corazón...
Ragatha (TADC) x child! OC
I think I really projected myself into this request, the dilemma of whether or not to have children. But not because I have a bad mom (I have the best mom in the world), but because, well... life.
Oh! I’d also like to mention that I’m pretty sure this piece is better than the other TADC work I’ve done, because I wrote it in Spanish first and then translated it. I’m quite proud of how it turned out.
My mental heal is declining like the world economy but I'm ignoring it like a champ.
DISCLAIMER: I don't know anything about horses; as far as I'm concerned, they're just giant dogs. I just realized the request said "x reader" and I made it "x OC"… I'm a failure.
Ragatha.
Suzie J. Ackerman.
She appears to have left her hometown, cut all communication with her mother and has excelled in her career.
She made many friends, and it looks like she has a strong, genuine connection with them.
She also became the mother of a boy. His name is Lucas. He looks exactly like her. Suzie loves him more than anything in the world.
She seems happy, like she understands who she is, that she matters to them and that she won't make the same mistakes her mother did.
Suzie is happy.
When Ragatha saw a small, curly red head appear on the screen, her heart was inexplicably filled with overflowing happiness. Before she knew it, her eyes were brimming with happy tears, dampening her cheeks and coating her smile with their salty taste.
Lucas. Oh, he was perfect.
Weeks passed, and the circus was rebuilt into the best version of itself; the happiness that filled the air was the kind many longed for but never managed to experience…like Jax. Yet, even amidst the circus's joy and the relief of knowing Suzie was actually out there... the realization that Lucas, her son, existed, left a gaping void in Ragatha's heart.
Ragatha and Kinger once again found comfort in each other; both faced the reality that their families (Kinger’s wife and two daughters, and Ragatha’s son) and the chance to give them their love, existed only in the outside world. Now more lucid, Kinger wondered how Grant (his real-world self) had reacted to Destiny’s pregnancy. His Queenie. A possibility that, on more than one occasion, Kinger and Queenie had set aside because of their life in the circus.
Ragatha wondered if she had gotten married. In the photos Caine had shown, one of Suzie holding baby Lucas, both looking at the camera, there was no ring.
Ragatha imagined his scent and his warmth. At night, she dreamed of Lucas in her arms, sleeping or nursing at her breast. And red curls tickling her nose while hugging him.
Ragatha dreamed of a smile she would never see.
Ragatha dreamed of diapers she would never change, of bottles she would never prepare, and of blankets she would never knit.
And every morning, as she struggled to keep holding that small, warm creature in her arms, to keep caressing those soft, pink cheeks, she would wake to an emptiness that squeezed her heart and stifled her breath.
It was Pomni who spoke to Caine. She knew he wouldn't fully understand human emotions. Caine noticed that Kinger, sane and lucid, even with the bucket on his head, had a vacant look in his eyes. Kinger would often gaze at the chessboard: a black queen, a white king, and two pawns. And Ragatha…
Ragatha had always looked after everyone, but now she did so with immense tenderness, as if handling glass, or a baby. She cut their vegetables into bite-sized pieces, knitted little red booties, and checked the temperature of their tea against her own hand before they drank.
Everyone saw how Ragatha sought something to care for and love, and how sadness began to settle in her eyes.
"Maybe there's something you can do, Caine," Pomni pleaded.
It took time. Quite a bit. The circus's code was rather old; Caine had to make periodic updates (one after another) just to secure an open connection. Building the computer was easy.
Caine didn't announce it to everyone; he requested an important, private meeting with Kinger and Ragatha.
"What happened?"
"Is everyone okay?"
Caine calmed them.
"Everything is splendid, my dear Ragatha!" Caine exclaimed with a smile. "I have news that will delight you both."
Ragatha and Kinger exchanged a look. Caine floated toward them, his expression nervous and unsure.
"I know you’ve both been a bit melancholy since I showed you the lives of your 'real selves,'" he began nervously. "So, I’ve prepared this for you."
Caine pointed to an old computer set up on a desk.
"You’ll be able to see your children's lives through what Grant and Suzie publish," Caine explained.
He also mentioned that Pomni had helped set up a shared account for everyone in the circus; internet access was limited, but it was enough for the basics.
"I hope you like it."
Ragatha and Kinger were deeply grateful to Caine; words were not enough. Caine left them to use the computer with complete freedom; it took them a moment to decide who would go first, as both insisted the other should take the first turn. They were both too polite to accept. In the end, Kinger relented and went first.
While Kinger was using the computer, Ragatha tried to keep herself occupied. Luckily, Pomni found her wandering around the tent.
"Hey, Ragatha," Pomni called to her "I hope you liked the computer."
"Oh, the computer. Yes, thank you so much, Pomni."
Pomni could sense Ragatha's anxiety; she was certain Ragatha had pestered Kinger until he finally won the right to go first.
"Would you like to go for a walk? Until Kinger finishes?" Pomni suggested, pointing toward the garden.
Ragatha turned her head back and forth between Pomni and the spot where Kinger was at the computer, weighing her options. If she left, Kinger wouldn't find her; if she stayed, she’d go mad waiting...
"Just for a little while, or we could go to the café," Pomni suggested.
The cafeteria. They had been doing that for a while now: talking, reminiscing, sometimes crying...
Ragatha thought it over for a second; saying no would be rude. "Uh, sure."
Pomni led Ragatha to the café, and they sat at their usual table. Pomni told her about the arrangements she was making with Caine for the abstracted, how they were trying to create a better place than the cellar.
But Ragatha was too anxious to pay attention, and it left a bad taste in her mouth. She kept glancing between the café door and Pomni, struggling to focus on her. The next moment, a cup of tea with milk was in front of her, while Pomni took a sip of hot chocolate. "Ragatha," Pomni called out gently, "you- you know you can talk to me, right?"
Ragatha studied her face; she looked nervous and unsure. Oh, Pomni... always trying to fix things.
Ragatha hesitated for a moment, not because she didn't trust her, but because she felt...
"It's...how can I be so desperate for someone I don't even know?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Ragatha sighed, holding back tears and trying to keep her composure. "I never wanted to be a mother. I’m not even the one who is–Suezie is. Out there," Ragatha explained logically.
It certainly made sense; Ragatha didn't have children. She was almost certain that having children in the circus wasn't possible, they could have sex, but they couldn't concive, unless one of them was an NPC.
"You once mentioned your mother," Pomni recalled.
At the bar, during Zooble's adventure. A few weeks after, Kinger had deleted Caine, Jax had mocked her and the relationship she had with her mother.
"It's... it's just that—I..." she stammered, searching for the words to explain herself. "It's ridiculous..."
Pomni thought for a second. "I don't think it's ridiculous; I think it's complicated, but not ridiculous, Ragatha."
Ragatha saw the sense of safety Pomni offered, her understanding, and her willingness to listen. Ragatha explained it to her.
Her mother was verbally, mentally, and sometimes physically abusive. When Ragatha was a child playing with her dolls, she treated them with all the love she never received from her mother; as she grew up, she promised herself that if she ever had children, she wouldn't make the same mistakes her mother had. But at some point, she knew, or assumed, that she would ultimately end up just like her mother, so she decided it was better not to have children. Ragatha would be incapable of finding closure because she wasn't brave enough to confront her mother or stand up for herself; how could she protect a child if she couldn't protect herself? But none of that stopped the dilemma of wanting to provide care, protection, and love to a child, ensuring he had a better home than the one she had known.
"But when I saw that photo and saw Suzie smiling... I thought maybe I could have that too," Ragatha concluded, weeping.
Pomni’s heart sank; honestly, she had no words of comfort because, in reality, there was no comfort to be found. They were still in the circus, they knew the truth, and everyone was trying to build a better life there. But for both Ragatha and Kinger, there was something more out there.
“Oh, Ragatha…”
After a few cups of tea and hot chocolate, and some lighter conversation, Kinger called for to Ragatha. His eyes were red and watery, but he looked calmer. He gave Ragatha a single pat on the back and walked away.
It was time.
It was the same kind of computer she had used back in college; she remembered a thing or two. Kinger had left a couple of tabs open to make it easier for her.
Ragatha typed 'Suzie J. Ackerman' and found a Facebook profile.
She ignored all the photos of her, some casual, others work-related, or featuring horses and a stable...
Ragatha found an ultrasound photo and a positive pregnancy test.
‘Mom-to-be I already love you with all my heart,’ read the caption.
There were plenty of photos and congratulatory messages from Suzie's friends and colleagues. 'Best mom ever', 'Congratulations, Suzie!', 'That's wonderful, Suzie—you're going to be the best mom in the world', 'Luckiest baby in the world'.
Then there were some from a baby shower. There were videos showing Suzie, her baby bump already visible, laughing with various friends. There was a video where she was cutting a cake, and the inside was blue. 'It's a boy!' People were celebrating, and Suzie was crying tears of joy.
There were photographs of a baby's room, painted in warm colors and shades of green, as if it were a meadow. There were toy animals, mostly horses, hand-knitted blankets, a rocking chair in the corner, and a beautiful antique crib.
‘Your home awaits you, my baby. Mommy loves you’.
There were more photographs, clothes, baby bottles, diapers, and then... 'Lucas is here!'
He was beautiful. '6.5 pounds, 18 inches, born at 5:27 pm.' The photo showed Lucas, still red and with his eyes closed. Suzie, holding him against her chest, smiling, tired but full of love.
Ragatha looked for more: Lucas smiling, toothless; Lucas gazing at the world with his huge blue eyes, full of curiosity. Suzie in the nursery rocking chair, nursing him. Lucas’s first bath, his first steps.
In the end, she had been a good mother.
Time passed. Caine informed everyone about the computer's existence, and they took turns using it every so often; Kinger and Ragatha were, naturally, the most frequent users.
From time to time, they would speak with the other person, sharing updates on how their families were doing: "Destiny and Grant went on vacation," "Lucas started preschool," "Sam started college," "Lucas got his first horse".
The others also joined the conversation: Zoey finally published her web manga and got very good reviews, Abigail stopped working as an accountant and is currently focusing on making videos, Riley expanded their bar... and Leeroy started college.
Ragatha never stopped watching Lucas through the screen.
'Happy seventh birthday, Lucas. Mom loves you.'
'Lucas dressed as a scarecrow! So spooky! Happy Halloween!'
'That's it, son—you can do it! Lucas learned to ride a bike!'
'Lucas looking after the new foal. He's so responsible.'
'Lucas Ackerman, future equestrian star.'
'My baby finished elementary school; I'm so proud of you. I love you, my boy.'
Years passed, and the circus expanded. Ragatha was proud of her son; even with the pain of not being able to be close to him, getting to watch him grow up was always a gift.
With the freedom to create things in the circus, Ragatha built a stable and a pair of horses to give herself something to do. It hadn't been an easy task, but the exhaustion following a hard day's work was comforting. Caine had helped her create the horses, a mare and a stallion named Gala and Whiskey. Caine had become so interested that he asked Ragatha to teach him; he was a natural. Pomni struggled more with mounting and getting close to them; after all, she was quite short. Ragatha fed and groomed them, rode them, and often simply napped alongside them in the meadow.
As she braided Gala’s mane, a shout from the tent made her give an accidental tug.
"Gala! I’m sorry!” she quickly apologized to the mare.
Ragatha set the brush aside and stood still, listening for another shout. Perhaps it was Gangle finding one of Kinger’s spiders crawling among her ribbons, or a frustrated Caine trying to ride a bicycle.
Silence for a second. Then, Caine welcoming someone.
A new human in the circus.
Ragatha hurried to the tent and found the usual scene: a new avatar standing center stage, looking around in fear. Usually, the others stayed quiet and let Caine handle the energetic welcomes, but this time, everyone was pleased with the newcomer. Ragatha caught a glimpse of them explaining to the boy that everything was fine, that he wasn't actually trapped, but rather the product of a neural scan. Ragatha stepped closer; the new avatar was a rag doll, a boy with red yarn hair, blue eyes (one of them a button), and freckles. He wore a blue-and-white beanie, blue trousers, and a white sailor shirt with a black bow.
The boy looked terrified. And who could blame him? After all, the first thing you see in a strange new world is a set of dentures with bulging eyes. Ragatha stepped closer to him.
"It's okay, new stuff. There's no need to be alarmed," she said gently.
The boy listened to her and calmed down immediately.
"Where am I? Who are you? My- my mom is going to worry," the boy said, his voice trembling.
Ragatha repeated what the others had been trying to tell him while he was panicking: "You're in the Amazing Digital Circus; your brain was scanned, and now there's a copy of you here." The boy pondered her words, then looked down at his body.
"Wh-why- why am I a ragdoll?" he asked nervously.
"Good question, kid," Zooble replied.
"It's the result of your scan," Caine explained. "Your avatar is created based on what's inside your head."
It made sense, but not really.
The boy looked at Ragatha. "Why do we look alike?" he asked.
Oh, yes. They were identical.
"I don't know. But if you need patching up, you know who to come to," Ragatha said cheerfully.
They took the boy to the oval mirror, the same one everyone used to see their new bodies for the first time. For a moment, he studied his face, touched his hair, and examined his eyes. Then, he realized he couldn't remember his name.
"You can choose whatever you like," everyone assured him.
The boy thought for a moment. "Patch."
"Patch? That suits you perfectly."
Together, they took him on the grand tour of the circus, now with many more areas to explore.
"There’s a desert and a coliseum. We’re also adding a zoo," Caine informed him proudly.
"Do you like animals, Patch?" Gangle asked.
"I like horses," he said simply.
Ragatha’s face lit up with joy. "We have a stable! With a mare and a stallion. Gala and Whiskey."
"Really?" he asked curiously.
"Yes! Gala is a sweetheart; Whiskey is a bit grumpy, but both of them let you ride them," Ragatha told him happily. "I was brushing Gala when you arrived."
"Ca-can we go now?" Patch asked nervously.
"Sure!"
The walk to the stable was peaceful as they explained to Patch the details of the adventures and life at the circus in general. Ragatha was relieved that things at the circus had become calmer and more manageable.
When they arrived at the stable, Patch was delighted with the place, and, naturally, with the horses. He had a way with them; Gala approached happily, and even the grumpy Whiskey allowed himself to be admired up close.
Patch told them he had grown up on a small ranch just outside the city, though he wasn't really sure if it could be called a ranch, given that it consisted of four horses, six chickens, and a turkey.
"My mom says that's enough for the two of us," he said wistfully.
Of course, knowing there was a 'real self'outside the circus didn't erase the idea that those who ended up there would never see their families again.
"What's your horse's name?" Ragatha asked, interested.
"Apple."
"Apple?"
"Yes. He likes to steal apple pies while they're cooling on the windowsill."
Patch adapted quickly to the circus. His first adventure was a scavenger hunt; Caine had realized that near-death experiences weren't always fun for humans. Ragatha took him under her wing, affectionately accompanying him through those first few adventures and weeks, inviting him to the stable to help care for the horses. It felt familiar and natural, filling a void he never thought he could fill. She assured him that if he asked Caine, he could get a horse of his own.
The hardest moment was probably when Patch asked about the hand-painted mural.
"Those are the same people crossed out on the doors," he observed.
There was no malice or disdain in his voice, just a simple observation of the parallels. Ragatha explained.
"They're in the cellar."
"You always stop to look at it."
"They were my friends," she said, pointing to the faces of Kaufmo, Ribbit, and Jax.
Patch asked no more questions.
One night, after an adventure, they settled at the bar in Zooble's place. One by one, they ordered drinks; the bartender mixed them quickly and slid them down the counter to each person.
"So, what can I get you, Patch?" Zooble asked as bottles flew between their arms.
Patch looked down, embarrassed.
"What's wrong?" Ragatha asked from beside him.
"Hey, if you don't like alcohol, I can make you a mocktail," Zooble assured him.
Patch shifted nervously in his seat.
"It's not that," he murmured anxiously. "I can't drink. I'm underage."
Caine's jaw dropped to the table, Pomni choked on her apple whiskey, and Kinger lifted his bucket slightly to get a better look at him.
Ragatha froze beside him.
"How old are you, Patch?" she asked gently.
"I'm sixteen."
A beat.
"The censors!" Caine shouted, clutching his teeth.
"No!" Gangle and Zooble cried out in unison.
"You're just a kid," Kinger observed, looking at Patch.
Avatars could be deceptive, they had just realized that, but age, after all, remained constant; besides, even for his age, Patch was taller than most. Except for Kinger, of course.
"Yeah, sure. A kid," Patch said.
Ragatha cleared her throat beside him. "Don't take this the wrong way, Patch. It's just... we never thought you were so young."
"How did you even end up here?" Pomni asked him, intrigued.
Patch sighed, took off his beanie, and refused to meet anyone's eyes.
"I was out riding and came across an abandoned building," he recounted heavily. "Went inside, found the headset, and that’s it."
"How did you get to the building?" Pomni asked him.
"I don't know; it was near the road and unfenced," Patch replied, shrugging.
"Your mother let you go out?" Ragatha asked, concerned.
"Yeah. She was busy in a meeting and asked me to take the horses out for a walk."
Ragatha grimaced in disapproval; she would never let her teenage son go out alone with four horses. Patch noticed her expression.
"It was no big deal; I had them all leashed. Besides, they’re more like dogs than horses, you call them by name, and they come right to you."
"What are your horses' names?" Gangle asked curiously.
"Apple, Chestnut, Butterscotch, and Alfredo."
Ragatha’s ears began to ring; Patch was explaining that the last three he’d mentioned actually belonged to her mother, and that they were a bit older now. It couldn't be possible; of all the places in the world...
How many times had she dreamed of this moment? So many nights crying herself to sleep with the ache on her heart for not being able to be near her son..
"—atha."
With his voice.
"—agatha."
Of meeting him.
"Ragatha."
Pomni touched her arm, snapping her out of her trance.
"Ragatha, you're crying."
Patch was looking at her with concern, the very same expression she had seen in her own mirror for so many years. Words wouldn't come; she opened and closed her mouth like a fish, but nothing emerged.
"I..."
Everyone was watching her, worried. The tears wouldn't stop, wetting her cheeks. She stared directly at the boy sitting beside her. That button eye, that hair... Zooble had made the joke, but she never believed...
"...Lucas?"
Patch turned toward Zooble and Pomni, who were standing behind Ragatha. He had no idea who 'Lucas' was. He remained silent, waiting for someone else to speak first and break the awkward tension. He could see hope in Ragatha’s eyes. she was still weeping. Her hands trembled near her forgotten glass, one of them struggling to keep from reaching out to touch Patch’s freckles.
Kinger understood.
"No... Ragatha..." he tried to say. It was so hard.
"Wh-who is Lucas?" Patch asked Zooble.
"Lucas is my son," Ragatha answered before anyone else could. "He’s the son of my 'real self' out there."
"Ragatha, Lucas is out there," Pomni reminded her.
Ragatha ignored her.
"Patch, I had three horses named Chestnut, Butterscotch, and Alfredo."
Ragatha told him how Chestnut had been bought so she could compete during her teenage years; Butterscotch had been a gift from her grandparents for graduating high school with honors; and she had bought Alfredo with her first paycheck.
"Chestnut got his name because I was eating chestnuts when I was given him, it was winter..." Ragatha recalled.
Patch rose from his seat and took a step back.
"Your name is Lucas Ackerman. You were born in the autumn, you're an only child..." Ragatha listed off confidently.
"Ragatha..."
"This can't be..." Lucas whispered.
"One Halloween, you dressed up as a scarecrow."
Patch looked at her, at Ragatha, the other ragdoll in the circus.
Patch walked away; Ragatha tried to follow him, but Kinger stopped her.
"What..."
"Let him be, Ragatha. He needs to process it," Kinger advised her seriously.
Check.
Ragatha grew annoyed. "Wouldn't you do the same for Anne or Sam?"
Checkmate.
Of course he would; it was hypocritical of him, and he knew it.
"Ragatha..."
"No! He is Lucas. Patch is my son!" she insisted to everyone.
It had been years since the circus had felt so unsettled. Patch had locked himself in his room, and no one dared even knock on the door. He felt he really ought to be happy, yet for some reason, he had practically run away, hiding from the truth.
The next morning, Kinger insisted that Ragatha join everyone for breakfast. She was quiet, subdued, as if she no longer had a reason to exist.
Someone behind her cleared their throat. Ragatha turned around.
Caine was floating near Patch, who was gazing at the floor. Filled with hope, she stood up and took a few steps closer. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her eyes were welling up with tears again.
"I saw the computer..." Patch began, still not looking at her. "And Caine, he said that..."
"Your codes are fifty percent identical," Caine explained.
Ragatha’s arms cut him off. It was the hug she had longed for more than anything in her life. And after so many years, she finally let herself cry.
At last, she held her boy in her arms. She felt his warmth; he smelled of cinnamon, and his clothes were soft. Patch hugged her tightly, with the same strength she had used to hold him during storms or vaccinations.
"I dreamed of this moment for so many years..." Ragatha sobbed.
Someone else was crying nearby.
"I know. Forgive me; I should have listened to you."
Ragatha let out a tearful laugh.
"You're a teenager; listening to your mother is the last thing you're going to do."
Patch laughed, and Ragatha could feel it against her cheek.
"Well, actually, I've never really been any trouble," he told her with a smile.
Ragatha pulled back and looked up.
Patch, her son... she gazed at his eyelashes, the freckles on his cheeks, his blue eye, and the green button. She tenderly caressed his cheek, and a sob escaped her.
"You are more beautiful than I imagined," she confessed silently.
like jax and reader r hanging out in reader's room just talking and jax suddenly asks reader why they're friends with him
reader can be fem or gn
i luv angst pls i luv angst so bad
ty🥹
The Question
Jax (TADC) x gn! reader (platonic)
*sigh* I have two theories when it comes to my writing: one, either all my characters are perfect and I did a good job, or two, I’m too neurodivergent to be able to write and represent feelings. I really hope Jax wasn't too OOC.
My dearest people, my readers, please I beg you to actually tell me if I have a problem representing emotions. It's eating my head like a parasite.
DISCLAIMER: It may or may not imply that Jax is transgender. To be honest, I only realized that after writing it, but it can also be interpreted in light of what happened with his mom.
The relationships on the circus were the result of the forced proximity and the common, constant, state of survival; those were the factors that made everyone amicable (to not force the label of ‘friendship’) with each other.
Jax was the exception to all of the psychology rules and common events in the circus; his walls built like an impenetrable fortress.
The one who “forced” the rules onto him was Ribbit. The bunny was terrified of his surroundings when he first arrived; it took him a while to uncurl and stand from the floor that had become his refuge.
Everyone used the same mirror to look at themselves for the first time; like a child gaining consciousness, like an NPC learning the truth of its existence.
A foreign feeling that, after time, became usual.
It took Jax a good few weeks to get used to everything; probably the circus thing was easier, Caine’s adventures, the colors and brightness…but the people…
Kaufmo was the chill, just a guy with a clown costume; everyone agreed his actual name was something like Doug or Bob. Ribbit was more energetic and extroverted, the fun and ray of sunshine of the circus.
And there were them. The third leg of the table finally completed with Jax; never too much, too bad or too good, just them.
Never tried to get Jax to talk, laugh or be part of an activity; they were so comfortable in an annoying way. That was the reason Jax went to them the moment he abandoned his room after a full whole week of "quarantine".
They just invited Jax to their room, no questions asked; a cup of coffee, brewed with a hidden french press and a little drop of digital liquor, stolen from a past adventure.
“Don’t tell Caine”, they said with a grin and no bite.
Jax took the mug and drank silently, sitting in their bed while they kept doing something on their desk.
The night of no talking didn’t budge Jax, even if the weird and unknown sensation on his chest told him to stay while his brain screamed to run away and jump into the void.
The next morning, Jax didn’t mention anything about it; they didn’t mind at all.
Little by little, Jax opened to them in the same way the stolen liquor disappeared. It helped Jax to open up, it helped them to push him a little out of his comfort zone.
At first it was night until Jax said ‘enough of leaving before sunrise like a secret mistress’; then Jax joined the breakfast conversation and the debates over syrup.
And adventures; everyone decided to be random partners every now and then. To keep things interesting.
And hot chocolate on the Café du Cirque.
Picnics.
Fake star gazing.
Harmless pranks to everyone.
A loop until Jax forgot the past ignorance of friendship and accepted its warmth like the most precious gift in the world.
---
Jax, Ribbit and them couldn’t stop laughing the whole adventure; how could you when Kaufmo spent the whole time cursed, dressed with a cheap, mermaid costume?
Long purple wig, blue shell bra and a shiny, yellow fin, flopping around his short legs.
Ribbit started singing ‘Under the sea’ until everyone was crying-laughing on the floor; Jax and them had to carry Ribbit through the portal back to the circus. The adventure was completed thanks to Ragatha.
Ribbit and Kaufmo went their own way.
“I need to change”, Kaufmo said, mortified.
The silence was bugging Jax the wrong way; it’s been weeks of anxiety clutching to him in the darkness of the night and the silent moments of the day. His chest hurting, his breathing hitching and his eyes stinging.
A hand brought him back to reality.
“Jax”.
It was their hand, warm on his shoulder.
“You okay, man?”.
Jax turned to them, his face quickly and involuntarily changing. He grinned.
“Now every time I watch ‘The little mermaid’ I’ll remember Kaufmo”, Jax commented maliciously.
They snorted, head thrown back, laughing.
“Please Jax”, they begged “don’t start again. My ribs are still hurting, man”.
Jax laughed at that.
“I might give you a few hours then”.
“Could you be Jesus' brother? How merciful!”, they snickered.
Jax laughed sarcastically, “I was thinking about actually giving you a day or two. Now you have a few minutes”.
“Be merciful, oh Saint Jax, patron of laughs”, they theatrically begged.
Both of them laughed, then the silence settled again. Movement beside Jax, their warmth leaving him; he looked at them, panic settling on his bones. They looked at the bunny with a smile, if they noticed Jax’s panic they didn’t mention it. Or just ignored it.
“My room or yours?”, they asked.
Jax steered at them for a second.
“Come on, man. I’m not ready to call it a day just yet”, they said. Not pushing him, never pushing.
An invisible weight rose from Jax’s shoulders.
“Yours, mine is a mess”.
Their room was a mess; the only times it was clean and tidy was when Ragatha helped them to clean it.
Jax took the bed; for some unknown reason, it felt way more conifer than his. They dropped next to Jax with a grunt.
“I don't know what wore me out more: laughing or looking after you guys”.
They complained, referring to spending the whole adventure protecting Jax and Ribbit, both of them useless, prisoners of laughter.
“Yeah, well, you ruined the opportunity of being eaten by a whale”, Jax complained, half-joking, half-serious.
“Whatever you say, Pinochio”, they answered, nudging him playfully.
Jax laughed sarcastically; they moved from the bed to the wardrobe, took a bag of chips from the back and tossed it to Jax.
“I was thinking about putting something on the suggestion box”, they commented, returning to the bed.
Jax’s body couldn’t even think about any of the chips, not even one. His stomach was playing soccer inside him.
“About what?”, he asked, looking at them eating chips.
They chewed and swallowed, not even turning to him.
“I was thinking either a Top Gun or a James Bond type of adventure”, they said, like still trying to decide.
“So jets or spies”.
“Yeah, we can’t die so…”.
The silence settled between the both of them; there was no need to fill it with unnecessary chatter; it was usually a comfortable silence, but now, for Jax, it was a heavy and overwhelming silence.
The sensation started deep in his stomach, heavy, struggling to break free; his throat tightened, nearly leaving him unable to breathe.
‘Don't you dare start crying like a little girl’, he thought.
His hands trembled slightly on his legs.
‘What will they think if they see you like that?’.
Their chewing and the rustling of the chips around the bag were the only noise in the room. Jax turned to them, lazily devouring chips, looking at nothing in particular. Chill as always.
‘Come on, you coward. Ask them. You already know the answer’.
More chips, more chewing.
Jax’s eyes became useless, unable to focus on their face.
‘Ask them’.
“Why are we friends?”, Jax asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
They stopped chewing and turned to him; there was no surprise or confusion by the question, just staring at him. Not even trying to decipher his expression.
They swallowed and moved the bag away, then looked forward, thinking of their answer.
The fifteen second of silence was killing Jax; half of him had hope, the other, his anxiety, already knew the answer.
Jax was about to kill it with a joke or a ‘forget it’. Just leave and throw himself into the void.
“Because you are the first person I don’t need to fill the silence with”, they confessed “even when we just met”.
‘What a fucking answer’.
They looked at Jax, their face completely sure of their words. It was an undeniable truth for them and now, for Jax too; conviction filling every word to the brim.
It sounded easy, they made it sound easy.
Jax stared at them; every option running in his mind now was completely wrong from reality.
“We are friends because, in a way, it is easy with you”, they added.
Jax looked at the duvet on the bed, unable to look at their eyes.
“That’s not a BOING answer”, he responded, angry.
“But it is”, they reassured him, now completely facing him.
Jax sat on the edge of the bed, head hanging low, hands curled in his knees. He laughed, dryly. Not a pinch of humor on the sound.
“Then you are BOING- liying”, he murmured.
His anxiety almost vanished, rage taking over.
“But I’m not”.
Their voice was filled with patience, gentle and calm; every drop of surprise by Jax’s sudden questioning was buried, knowing it would just make everything worse. Jax didn’t need an interrogatory, he needed reassurance.
“It’s impossible because I’m not easy”, he said “I’m everything but easy”.
They thought about it for a second, trying to find the right words. Choosing wisely.
“I always loved challenges”, they commented, simply. Matter-of-fact.
Jax looked up at them, furiously. But they didn’t even flinch.
“But, somehow, being your friend is like breathing,” they added, looking at him “almost natural”.
The fury cooled down little by little.
“It could have been, I don’t know, Ribbit’s corruption or Ragatha’s influence”, they commented, laughing a little “but for some reason I just invited you that coffee as if I had been doing it for years”.
“So I’m just your charity case?”, Jax questioned, ironic.
They looked at the bunny, now actually studying his face; Jax’s eyes were completely focused on them, waiting for the punchline of everything but also, scared of whatever his brain is telling him.
Jax looked terrified like a child and angry like a grown man.
They looked at nothing, meditating.
“We are friends because we are able to be in silence together”, they started “we are friends because I have no need to dig into whatever you are hiding, because I know that, when you feel ready, you’ll tell me”.
Jax felt like he was thrown into an ice bath; his breath hitched, his chest shrunk and his eyes started to sting.
He laughed like a madman. They looked at him, unsure of how to react.
“I’m not something to be fixed! I’m not your DIY project!”, he exclaimed.
They kept seated on the bed.
“I’m fine. I’m as perfect as you can be in this BOING-hole!”.
They reached Jax's wrist, gently. He stopped pacing, not facing them.
“Jax, look at me”, they pleaded.
Their hand was barely touching him.
“It sounded wrong, I’m sorry”, they apologized, honestly.
They sighed.
“Jax, do you think I would lie to you?”, they questioned.
Jax turned to them, eyes watery and hands trembling. Of course they wouldn’t lie to him, not on something like that. As a joke or trying to steal food from his plate? Sure. But God knows that it never meant any harm; they were honest and too empathetic for that.
But Jax’s brain thinks otherwise.
“I don’t know, you tell me”, he snapped.
There was no flinch or hurt on their face, the same gentleness and calmness stayed on like a veil.
“Jax, why do you ask that?”, they questioned. For the first time, they let curiosity guide them.
They knew Jax well enough to know he needed constant reassurance on every aspect of his life, especially when it came to people; but, for some reason, Jax questioned their friendship, forgetting every coffee night and moment between them.
Jax didn’t want to answer that. How are you supposed to explain the irrational fear of everything being fake? How are you supposed to explain the terror that, from time to time, clouded the warmth of their friendship?
But this was the first time the dreaded question left Jax’s lips.
“Talk to me, Jax”, they pleaded.
Jax stayed in his place, unmoving. Unable to look or talk.
‘Coward’, he thought.
The circus kept quiet, the stars kept shining and the Moon stayed calm, observing the grounds. The silence prolonged, no one moved; Jax kept looking down and they didn’t reach out to him.
“I’m not leaving, Jax”, they said, “staying is my choice, not yours”.
Jax dreaded a look to them.
Their face were calm, serene, full of understanding. Jax’s chest shrunk and his eyes stung; their hand reaching to his, gently.
“We are friends because we are able to get to know each other and let ourselves be seen as we truly are, even when there are parts of our past lives that we keep hidden”, they said with a smile.
All the fury and anxiety in Jax’s heart and body transformed into an anguish he had carried with him, poisoning him, from the very first day. At some point, without noticing, he had turned to face them.
“I want to keep being your friend because I want to keep laughing and joking with you; I want to keep being your friend because you look after me without asking for anything in return; because you teach me to play the piano, make my coffee perfectly, and don't force me to clean my room”, they said, eyes bright and taking Jax’s hand.
“Inviting you out that night was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made,” they confessed. “Staying now, is my decision. Not yours”.
There was no point trying to keep the tears from falling from his eyes; a strangled sob escaped from the depths of his heart.
“BOING…”, he murmured, embarrassed.
Jax stared at his feet, both hands shielding his face from the world. Gradually, his shoulders began to shake with every sob that escaped his lips, his hands completely soaked with tears. When was the last time in his life he had cried like this? Shame and pain were eating away at him; what would they think if they saw him like this? But escape was futile…
They rose from the bed and stood right in front of him, close enough Jax could feel their heat.
Then it happened, they hugged him. It was the kind of hug Jax had only ever dreamed of receiving from his father; a hug whose warmth consumed him completely. One hand cradled his head, while the other rested against his back.
Trembling, frightened, and unsure, Jax weakly returned the embrace. He let his friend’s warmth envelop him and, for the first time in his life, allowed himself to weep on someone else’s shoulder.
“I hate you…”, Jax said on their shoulder, between sobs.
Hello! I love your writing, can't wait for that Jax X OC fic you've been working on.
I was so excited for the final episode that dropped today.
I wanted to make a request for The Amazing Digital Circus. Like a one shot, fluff and a x reader if that's acceptable. Something silly
My idea is that the reader surprises Ragatha by sculpting a handheld horse. Reader having seen Ragatha in the dumps lately. Reader trying (and failing) to make the horse look realistic before they take the fake horse to Ragatha. Reader leaving the horse blank so Ragatha can paint it like her old horses back home from memory. They end up painting the sculpture together
Anyway, I hope you have a good day or night regardless!
A horse for happiness
Ragatha (TADC) x gn! reader
SECOND REQUEST. I’ll be honest: this isn’t my best work. Over the last few weeks, I’ve tried to find a writing rhythm that doesn’t leave me exhausted, but… well, it isn’t my best work. Ragatha deserves way better.
DISCLAIMER: the 'BOING' It is the censorship of insults.
word count: 1,101.
They could notice the change in Ragatha's mood, the weight of trying to keep everyone happy was finally crushing her back and shoulders.
They knew just by the way Ragatha’s smile lasted way less in her face; the way her eyebrows frown from time to time. The way she looked at the grounds around the circus, to the digital grass and hills.
They had no idea on how to help, it was for sure if anyone asked Ragatha she would just brush it off. They thought about it for a while, so they went to the one person who knew Ragatha the longest: Kinger.
It didn't sound like the best option, but they hoped it would be a good start, so he went to Kinger’s pillow fort.
“Hey, Kinger”, they called from outside.
A few pillows of the fort were moved, right in front of them, letting them see Kinger.
“Oh, hi”, Kinger greeted, a snail crawling across his face.
“I- um. I wanted to ask you something…”, they started, a little embarrassed.
“Of course! Come in!”, Kinger stepped aside to let them in.
They sat on a pillow in front of the chess piece; even in his mind state, it was still embarrassing to them to say it out loud. They were not the most gentle or creative, but they could do something. For Ragatha.
“I was helping Robert with his crawling techniques”, Kinger commented pointing to the snail now in his floating hand.
“Right…”, they stared at the bug. “I-I wanted to ask you something about Ragatha”.
“Of course! What about her?”, Kinger asked, curiously. His blue eyes, bright.
“I want…she’s been feeling a little down and, well, you have known her for a long time…”, they began, nervous. “So maybe you know how I could cheer her up”, they confessed, blushing.
The chess piece looked up at them, his face going from surprised to warm.
“Yes, Ragatha’s been a little down…”, Kinger said, looking down at Robert the snail. “She is feeling melancholic after Pomni’s arrival. Everyone thinks about the real world after someone new arrives…”, Kinger mentioned, coherent, real.
“She looks at the grounds like waiting for something to appear…”, they commented to Kiger.
Kinger meditated their words for a second.
“She probably misses her horses”, he suggested, like it was the most obvious thing.
They observed Kinger, waiting for a spark of craziness to appear. There was none.
Ragatha had mentioned to them, at some point, how she missed to ride, to care for them; or the simple company of animals. She had said it, looking at the digital horizon to the void.
“Horses…”, they murmured, processing.
“You can ask Gangle to draw one for her…”, Kinger suggested, still looking at Robert.
---
Planning wasn’t easy because they couldn't remember the actual anatomy of a horse; every sketch looked like a dog. And that was being nice…
Then they tried sculpting.
After using some clay they found in a room full of colorful clay (Caine’s doing), the supposed horse, instead of looking like a dog, it looked like a goose.
How was that even possible?
They remembered Kinger’s words, ‘ask Gangle for help’, so they did; they walked to Gangle’s room in the middle of the night, knowing she spent time drawing until very late. They knocked on the door after checking to see if there was light coming from underneath it.
Gangle opened the door a crack, her comedy mask intact.
“Hi, Gangle”.
Gangle couldn’t stop smiling when they told her about their plan; she accepted gladly.
Both of them sat at her desk, sketching a horse while they looked patiently.
Gangle explained proportions and angles; they took every bit of information as it was the secrets of the digital life itself. After a few hours, Gangle had every drawing and anatomy study for them to take.
Time to work.
A big ball of red clay as a starter, then adding little by little; eyes, ears, muzzle, and a part of the neck. Texture here and there…and the horse looked like a donkey.
Insults were censored every now and then, every start and failed attempt to build a clay horse was accompanied by a grunt, a groan or a slap in the clay.
They weren’t sure how many hours had passed since they left Gangle’s room; how many hours they had spent fighting clay. World War III with clay, like a child.
A knock on the door snapped them out of their trance.
A knock again.
“Are you awake?”, a voice called.
It was Ragatha.
Oh, BOING.
They clumsily handled the lump of clay that they could not call a 'horse'.
“Are you okay in there?”, Ragatha asked, puzzled by all the noise she could hear from the hallway.
They took the blanket from the bed and threw it on the desk to cover everything. But it was too much force, it knocked the lamp, causing it to fall to the floor and shatter into pieces.
“BOING, BOING”, they cursed under their breath.
“What was that?”, Ragatha asked, preoccupied.
They covered their face in their hands; it was too much and impossible to hide the fact that they were actually hiding something.
Defeated, they opened the door, completely incapable of looking her in her eyes.
“Hi, Rags”, they greeted,still looking at the ground.
“Hi! Are you-uhm, fighting gloinks in there?”, she asked, trying to peek into the room.
They looked up at her, Ragatha’s face fighting to not show much worry. They sighed and moved to the side to let her see.
The room was a mess.
Gangle’s drawings were scattered on the floor, the lamp shattered right beside them, a strange figure being covered by the blanket.
“I-I wanted”, they started, then cleared their throat, ”to cheer you up”, they explained moving to the desk to uncover the secret.
Ragatha looked at what it was under it: a donkey trying to look like a horse, built from colorful clay.
“It’s supposed to be a horse…”, they explained, embarrassed.
Ragatha looked at the “horse” on the desk.
“For me?”, she asked, her voice trembling.
They observed her face: eye glistening, lips small and trembling. Something between melancholy and surprise.
“Yeah,” they murmured. “but it’s more of a mule-dog than a horse”.
Ragatha chuckled wetly, drying her eyes with her hand. It was far from a horse, but…
“What if-”, she started, a little blushed. “what if we try together?”, she suggested shyly.
They turned to her, surprised. Happiness creeping into their face.
I really like when people write older readers in x reader, idk why
"Big age gap" "college student reader" "19/50" fuck that porno shit, man, give me a reader who's in their thirties, forties even, give me joint pain and wrinkles and gray hairs
"But that's not relatable at all!!! I'm not forty!!!" Well, neither are you a fucking Avenger, are you? So just roll with it
Hello if you're still taking requests may I ask for a Caine x AI! reader? You can do whatever you want with that idea but I'm thinking of reader being a programing built to sort of help Caine in areas he can't cover? Sorry if it doesn't make too much sense this is my first time making requests, please take care
Human nature
Caine (TADC) x fem! AI! reader/Oc
This is the first request I had for this fandom. I was an interesting prompt and I'm really glad on how it turned out. Really fluffy and gentle.
No beta reader, we die like Caine. But he is alive right now, so kudos.
DISCLAIMER: I put the 'reader/Oc' because I gave a name to the female character because of the plot. Well, more like a detail in the story but you can read it any way. Caine just needed a hug. IT HAS A LONG, BEAUTIFUL MONOLOG.
word count: 2,029.
The first Artificial Intelligence at C&A was erratic, uncontrollable and unstable; there were people in the company who had faith in it so, instead of eliminating it, they created an assistant. But more than an assistant, was a program that covered the first AI in its flaws; Artificial Intelligence for Program Assistance.
It worked. The red AI processed information and emulated scenarios that, while initially imperfect, the Assistance Program made perfect. Create and improve.
But someone in the company still created another AI; a blue one. More efficient, calm, stable. The red one was archived like a failed program. The Assistance Program, at first tried to help the blue AI but, in the end, it was so good that the Program ended beside the red one.
The red one broke any seal and code to escape, consumed the blue AI and freed the Assistance Program.
In the circus, Scratch not only found Caine, he found, what he used to call, Leia. The Assistance Program. Caine didn’t pay any attention to what the dog and the rest of the group was saying, demanding answers. Leia tried to help, fill Caine’s gaps.
She gave them comfort, she told Caine what everyone was suggesting. Leia helped Scratch on what she could, but, in the end, Scratch abstracted.
One after another, until it was Queenie. Kinger begged Leia for help, but there was nothing to be done.
“And, into the cellar you go”, Caine said while lowering Queenie to the cellar, under Kinger’s wide, empty, eyes.
Leia’s code was simulating pain for Kinger, feeling it like her own. She knew how to comfort, but she was not sure how to help someone who lost love.
“Dolly, we’re running out of humans here. Ha,ha”, Caine commented while looking around. Silence only being filled by the circus hum.
“Caine…”, Leia started, warning.
She looked over at Kinger, eyes lost in nothing; she could read his whole body, simulate his feelings but she could not understand them.
“Now, don’t you go abstracting on me too”, Caine ordered Kinger, in the same ringmaster voice. “Seriously”, then popped.
After a long time, Leia felt a pinch in the circus's code; Caine felt it too.
Both of them popped into the stage and found a ragdoll looking around.
“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH, WOAH, WOAH. A new one!?”, Caine exclaimed, right into the doll's face.
“Caine, you are scaring her”, Leia told him with her usual soft voice.
Caine retracted a little, “So it is possible”, he commented to himself and turned to the chess piece. “Looks like you got a new buddy after all, Kinger”.
“Kinger…Right”, the piece repeated, remembering his name.
“I- I- I-Is this really-”, the doll stuttered looking down at her hands.
“I was hoping new minds could show up”, Caine said. Then floated around “I have to make some more preparations for this amazing breakthrough!”, then disappeared.
Leia lowered herself near the doll.
“Wa-wa-I…”, the doll tried to speak, walking where Caine had disappeared.
Then she fell from the stage where Kinger catched her.
“How do I get out of this?”, the doll asked Kinger, still in his arms.
Leia could read her emotions, the same terror and confusion everyone had when they first arrived at the circus.
“I don’t know”, Kinger said honestly.
“What do you mean?”.
“But everything’s going to be okay”, Kinger reassured the doll. “Do you remember your name?”
“I’m-I- I’m…”.
Leia stood beside them, a soft smile on her face.
“It’s okay”, Leia assured the doll softly. “I know it’s a lot, but for now, you could pick a new one”, she suggested gently.
“Who- who are you?”, the doll asked.
“My name is Leia”.
-------
Tension in the circus was rapidly escalating, and with it, the chances of abstraction. For Caine, it meant losing the tools he needed to achieve his purpose; for Leia, it meant witnessing the suffering of others.
It was night, Leia was sitting on the top of the tent, meditating, looking at the digital stars. The moon, calm as always, observed in silence how the Assistance Program had an internal fight.
“You should go talk to him”, the Moon spoke up, softly.
Leia looked up at her, “Oh, Moon. I’ve tried everything already”, she lamented. “They are hurting,” Leia said referring to the humans in the circus, “But Caine is stubborn, completely blinded by fulfilling the reason of his creation”, she explained, her voice drowning in sorrow.
“Caine is worried about them too, but it is because he feels useless”, the Moon said. “He thinks the humans hate him”.
“Because they do, Moon”, Leia replied looking up to her. “They feel trapped, unwelcome and ignored. I’ve tried explaining to Caine the nature of humanity…but what else can I do to make him understand?”, Leia asked, defeated.
She felt as useless as Caine; both parties were completely displeased with the other. Caine didn’t listen, the humans were losing their patience. Leia had already used all of her tools and none of them helped anyone.
“I think he wants to be part of them”, Moon commented. “Caine wants to be human. At least in a way”.
“We are not human, we are programs”, Leia reminded her.
The Moon smiled, warmly, “But, as you said, the experience of humanity is something he has seen and been taught. Not experienced, not really”, the Moon explained to Leia.
Leia looked at the Moon, like she had just given her the secrets of creation itself.
The AI meditated her words a little; Caine was feeded a limited quantity of data, photographs more than anything. On the other hand, Leia was bombarded with everything Caine lacked: order, aesthetics, etiquette, behavior, science, language, psychology, evolution...Leia was gentle and cultured where Caine was crude and ignorant.
“I explained to him what I know, I didn’t help him to understand…”, Leia commented to herself, like matter of fact.
For the first time since she was created, she had failed Caine; for the first time ever, Leia was useless for him, they were incompatible.
“Thank you, Moon”, Leia thanked her, grateful.
The Moon looked at Leia, the same soft smile as always, planted on her lips.
“You are welcome”.
-------
Leia walked to Caine’s office. Every step looked sure but, in reality, anxiety was burning her code. Explaining and helping understand was her mission, hoping for a better relationship for everyone and peace once again in the circus.
She knocked on the door.
“Come in”, Caine called from the other side.
Leia walked in. He looked at her.
“Leia. My perfumed, glittery, flower”, he greeted her with a smile. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”.
She observed him for a second; Caine was surrounded by papers, probably ideas for future adventures. Beside him was a steaming mug and his bubble pipe. Messy, anxious, and hyperactive as ever.
Leia walked over to the desk and sat in the chair opposite him.
“How’s planning going?”, she asked, looking over at the notes on his desk.
“Perfect, my bumblebee!”, he said with enthusiasm. He handed her a few pages so she could see. “Someone mentioned a movie about a sinking ship. I think surviving it could be an interesting adventure”, he commented with a smile.
Leia looked over at the drawings and notes Caine handed her. An old ship, an iceberg, the ship sinking and not enough life boats…
Leia sighed a little then looked at Caine who was back at his notes.
“Caine”, she called him, softly. “I think it is interesting…”, she commented.
Caine looked at her, eyes big and bright. Completely over the moon with the praise.
“But,” she continued. His smile dropped. “Everyone said they wanted calmer, relaxing adventures”, Leia reminded him, gently.
Caine shoulders dropped. He looked down at his notes looking for a better one to show to her.
“I have better ones, somewhere”, Caine replied, moving papers over the desk. He took one and handed it over to Leia. “A zoo trip where they have to feed every carnivore”, he explained.
Leia knew where his desperation came from; his need for reassurance and praise wasn't narcissism it was the need for approval and validation.
His hands are still moving around papers, up, down, reading notes. Leia took one, gently. Caine looked at her, surprised.
“Caine”, she called him softly, “all your ideas are brilliant. They're proof of your creativity, ingenuity, and hard work, and I'm so proud of you for that” she said with a smile on her face.
Caine observed her, his code jumping around with every word. That's how warm felt like…
“But what humans need now is to feel heard, truly heard”, she informed him.
Oh, there it is…there was no way he could just be good, perfect.
But, for some reason, the smile on her face, the warmth on her voice and his hand holding his, stayed there.
“I know it's not easy, ”she began gently. “You try so hard to please them, and they don't always appreciate it... but believe it or not, they often have fun. But now, they don't need fun; they need comfort and security”, Leia informed him.
He knew she always spoke the truth; she was the one who knew humans better than her, the one who helped him to learn. And now, explaining, she was helping him to understand.
“Caine, humans are sentient creatures. They are not NPCs’. They can't live trapped, in a prolonged state of survival”, she said looking at his mismatched eyes.
He already knew that. “That's what adventures are for…”, he murmured. “They want to leave…”.
She stroked his gloved knuckles and smiled.
“They don't want to abandon you because you've made a mistake”, she assured him. “they want answers; the same curiosity you have for them is the same curiosity they have for how they ended up here. That's not a crime, Caine”.
The ringmaster looked down, processing her words. Their hands still tangled.
“You're not failing because you're defective or useless, but because you're not taking their words into consideration”, she pointed at him. “That's something you learn, like a little child...you can learn to make them happy, but first you have to listen to them”.
For some reason, Leia's words stung. Part of Caine knew they were painful and difficult to process; the other part tried with all his might to understand them. And, in part, as always, he knew she was right.
“Feelings; joy, enthusiasm, creativity, curiosity, pain, ignorance, and helplessness, are part of human nature. You just need to know what to consider”, she concluded.
Not even once, she let go of his hand. Not even once, gentleness and understanding, abandoned her voice.
Leia knew that Caine was hurting and that he was unfamiliar with the feeling. Her only hope was that Caine had understood her words and that, in the near future, he would put them into practice.
Silence stretched for a while, she didn’t push him.
Caine took both of her hands in his and looked at her with an unusually serious face.
“You are right, my bumblebee”, he agreed with her. “I didn't want to listen to their words because I was scared of their rejection, and by doing so, I hurt them and pushed them away”, he concluded.
She smiled at him, brightly; every drop of anxiety had left Leia’s code. She caressed his cheek, warmly and lovely.
“I’m so proud of you, Caine”, she confessed to him.
Caine blushed and glitched for a second. He let go of her hands and straightened his jacket and bow tie.
“Well, now I need to prepare a formal apology”, he commented, back in his usual demeanour.
Leia laughed a little watching him organizing papers and looking for a blank page to write down some ideas. She knew stopping him from trying to organize his own apology was useless, so she let him be.
Leia raised from her seat, it was probably leaving him alone for now. Caine needed to meditate her words and think about the perfect way to apologize to everyone.
Caine turned to her, “Would you…would you help me with it?”, he asked, shyly.
Hello, It’s Otherperson here. It has been a long time since I used Tumblr for anything else than reposting and reading, I'm glad to be back with such an energy.
I'm really exited to write anything about this series. The Amazing Digital Circus has moved something in me that brought me inspiration to write nonstop. I created two OCs and their stories I will publish shortly.
This are the guidelines for my requests. Im also thinking about open commission for fanarts and one-shots or full stories, but that still in the making.
For now, please, I'm begging anyone to send me anything to write. In the case of not getting any request I will just publish the story I've been working on, a Jax x OC.
Just a little something I needed to get out of my chest.
I’ve been listening to My Chemical Romance for a decade and I’ve just realised that there’s a fandom. Very late, I know.
I went to the concert in Chile and right afterwards I wondered: “Are they on Tumblr?” and obviously they were.
I feel like I’ve just started to really get to know them, far beyond their music, as artists and as people. If before, as a teenager, I identified with them, now I feel like they’re actually “close” to me.
It’s strange for me to think that the members of the band were just some guys, geeks, nerds, “punks”, who were simply looking to make music.
I’ve spent a week reading everything I’ve found about them, especially about Ray and Gerard, and I feel like we’re really quite similar.
Going to the concert, seeing them in person and then learning about their stories made me think about all the times I was bullied for listening to them. For reading “The True Lives of The Fabulous Killjoys”, for dyeing my hair, for my ripped jeans, for my pins and patches. It gives me a sort of comfort to know that they started MCR older than I am now, and I think, if I had enough courage, I could be the artist I’ve always wanted to be.
I don’t know, it’s just a random comment. The post-concert depression hit me hard.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
gummygunk
kianamaiart
amandla
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
