So, about my The freak circus hyperfixation... I made an oc. And I'm too lazy to create another account, so I'll just post on this one

Her name is Acrobata, she is, obviously, an acrobat. And she's Brazilian! Her colors are blue and teal.

Fun facts about her!

She's 2,13 / 7'0", being the tallest among the circus crew! She has adhd, and for some reason she hates wearing shoes (no those are not her shoes, this is socks from her costume). And her "signature mark" is the suit of spades.

I'll say more things about her as the time goes on, but that's all for now!

I have no hyperfixation criteria, they just go on random.

I've had:

And my permanent ones:

Weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun weeping monk as a sexy nun

WEEPING

MONK

AS

A

Just started working on chapter there of my lancewain fanfic! It's just going to take a little longer because I'll have to rewatch the episodes and reread the chapters of the book where Gawain appears, because I'm having trouble remembering how he acts.

Yes, he will appear in the third chapter.

New achievement accomplished!!

I slept for 16 hours straight. From 4 PM to 6 AM (now)

I like the Idea of just existing. Simply existence. Nothing more than only being. Maybe If i stop thinking for long enough i'll reach the point of only exist

... Listen i am well aware that i said It was going to be a one shot, but i just had too many ideas okay?! (Also holidays have this weird magic that makes me want to write endlessly, so don't blame me, blame the holidays!)

This is still the Phoenix au, just a new chapter. And you can find It here on Ao3, and here If you want to re-read the first chapter.

This work has 2,548 words; Reading time is 12 minutes

Tags: @lancedoncrimsonwings @holy3cake @dinogod

Good Reading!

Flowers in my read makes me wish that you were here.

Chapter 2: Dear Devil

"Wake up! Please, wake up!"

Tiny hands shook Lancelot's limp body, or at least tried, as he was too heavy and Squirrel only managed to move his arm, back to conscience. That's already the second time he had fainted in his sleep since the fight against the trinity. This could not become something of everyday.

The monk toke a deep breath, one that made him groan in pain, waking up to the boy's pleas. Once again his broken ribs reminded him he was still very much and painfully alive.

"Stop shakin' me, boy. 'M awake." Lancelot mumbled. Slowly blinking his eyes open. They immediately narrow again with the sun rays hitting his face. "Do you always wake people in their slumber?"

"Not my fault you look like a bloody corpse."

Squirrel is pushing himself to his feet and away from the monk before he knows. The man stirs himself, carefully, gritting his teeth through the pain. His mouth felt muzzled up again. He always woke up with this disturbing feeling whenever he dream—or rather had nightmare—of that memory.

Even more weird he's been dreaming with that a awfully lot since the green knight found out his secret. But that's not a thought for now.

"It is, in fact." A groan rumbles in his throat. Forcing himself past the pain to sit up doesn't feel as easy as he was used to. "It was to save you, remember?"

The child faces away, a thoughtful look on his pouty lips and furrowed brows. He's quite expressive for someone so young looking.

"Thank you."

"Hm?"

"For saving me."

The boy's eyes rise again. Big, direct, grateful. He's never saw such thing in one's eyes before. It was…Beautiful. Enchanting even. It made the monk's heart wrong a few beats, and the words stop running in his mind.

After a eternity—actually just few messed heartbeats—words put themselves together in the ash's mind to a small sentence. "He smells different." It stuck him. The boy did smell different. Lighter, softer than anything he's ever got his nose on. Remembered him of—

"Mister Lancelot?"

Another breath, this one tastes like blood. "Put yourself together."

"You do not need to call me mister."

"It's out of respect."

And what a surprise, the little fey with a sharp tongue still has a bit of respect in him. He didn't think he knew this word at all. "I strange being called that. Do not call me mister."

"Why do you talk like that?"

"Like what?"

"You're all stiff and formal. Sounds like those empty-headed lords who poop in golden pots and eat toxic food. Is this how the paladins—"

"Percival." His stern voice slashed the air like a sharp blade, making Squirrel shut up and turn his face into a scowl as quickly as he started babbling. "Fine, grumpy."

Now that silence was back, the monk gathered the remaining strength in his sore body to push himself up. Using the nearest tree as support, his teeth gritting so hard through the spiking pain he's surprised it didn't break.

"…"

"…"

"I'm hungry."

Oh for Christ sake. He understood the boy's needs, but couldn't he stay silent for a minute?

"I am unable to hunt. That fight—"

"I'll do it!" Squirrel immediately offered himself. Too excited about the perspective of showing his savior his skills to let him finish. "I just need a bow."

"My bow is too big for you."

"I can do it with a blade."

A skeptical silence fills the air. No child under fourteen should know how to hunt with a blade for themselves. And the fact he kept finding solutions to all his problems was annoying the hell out of the monk.

"I'm fast. And silent." There it is, those big eyes looking at him again. Pleading and filled with that childish eagerness. He should never put a weapon in a kid's hand and let him go around. Especially not this reckless one. But besides his better judgment…

"You are anything but silent." Lancelot comments. "There is a blade in my belt, under my upper robe."

As a bee attracted to the sweet pollen, Squirrel flies back to Lancelot. The little hands reaching under the church's cloak, practically hiding himself under the black tissue to get his hands on the sharp dagger that looked too big in his hands. "I'll get us two good bunnies."

Before the man can say anything again, the boy is already going off as fast as he can towards the forest.

This gives the monk time to check the place he chose when he was on the verge of passing out the day before. And most importantly where is Goliath. His eyes search for the long life companion as soon as the kid is out of view.

It's not hard to find a big, laid out, dark thing when it's surrounded by green grass, or anything really. Goliath was awfully easy to spot since always, though not always that was something good, it was something that gave him a sense of reassurance to know he'd always know where to find his most loyal friend.

The black horse, a gypsy vanner, a beautiful, big baby slept laying on the grass floor. Resting peacefully near where his owner himself slept. Keeping his protection for him even when itself was on edge of exhaustion.

He remembered when he got Goliath. The foal was all clumsy, barely a few days old, and as thin as a twig. It looked like it would break at the slightest touch and ran—or at least tried to—from everyone. Everyone but Lancelot. Little thing of horse loved him at first sight, and the ash did back.

It's fun to think he didn't even knew his race until a voice in his head whispered to him, and the man still doesn't know If that's a actual race after grown. He just likes to say Goliath is a perfect mix of everything he's ever wished.

It was quite the sight to light the weight in Lancelot's heart. The creature he protected the most, his only friend, laying so trusting right there close to him. It'd be even better if very breath he took didn't burn him to tears every time.

"Focus on something else. Make the pain the last thing in your mind." Carden's old and stinging instructions from he was young rang in his head, making the monk grit his teeth back to present. Still he obeyed the voice embedded in his mind like a loyal dog.

Looking around and starting to analyze the place more properly, taking in all surrounding as if the earth was a extension of his body, the pain turned into just a sting in the back of the ash's mind. The trees were good in height, and their trunks looked average thick, the tree's leaf were spear shaped. Looked like a chestnut tree. And goodness did it smell good, sweet and…

"Wait…" Lancelot's inner voice spoke with rising consciousness. "I think I've smelled this before. Up close. but where…"

As the monk frowned and bit his lip trying to remember, other thing was heard.

"Hihihi…"

That wasn't something of his mind. He's sure. Lancelot heard the mischievous laugh as clear as he saw the green of the leafs. The monk looks around, searching for the source of the sound. "Squirrel?"

No answer.

But he couldn't possibly be going crazy right now, could he? And why is his back itching so bad?

"Hahaha…"

"Squirrel this is not funny. Come out."

Lancelot himself didn't believe it was the fey boy laughing, he couldn't smell the scent of him close by and the ash didn't like it. He tries to take a deep breath even tough his lungs are already begging for him to stop breathing completely.

End up with everything hitting him all at once. The sweet smell turn overwhelming, his joints cracking from the sheer force which he straightened his back, his black tear marks glowing bright red to the point his cranium felt hot like a volcano.

His nails dig into the tree's bark, crashing it to the ground and mingling his skin with the wooden pattern. His wounds felt like there was thick vines crawling beneath the sore skin, trying to reach for his heart.

"Hahaha…"

"What the…?" A rising cough interrupts Lancelot's curse, his vision blurs. A failed breath before he noticed, his knees hit the ground with a loud thud, the warm feeling of tears steaming down his cheeks appears and his eyes disappear in the back of his mind.

Carden, falling to the ground. A corpse. Blood falling all over earth. The sword of power. Salt's empty torture chair. The ground turning crimson red, then a weird color of brown. It's blood. The blood-wolf witch. Vines. His own cries as child ringing in his head. A dead deer. The green knight's corpse laid on earth. The dead deer, getting up. Alive. Fucking alive.

After what felt like an eternity, a gasp makes way to the air finally fill Lancelot's lungs again. He's left panting on the ground, coughing for air like a new born baby crying into life. The inner wounds makes themselves to know they still there, making the man see his own blood on the green grass after a few harsh coughs and sucked in breaths.

Goliath, having woken up and startled trotted close to Lancelot. He sniffs and nudges his owner's head with his snout, trying to help Lancelot the best it can.

Lancelot by his turn, uses Goliath's body to put himself on his knees. Still looking at the ground, he can see the earth absorbing his blood. As if absorbing what he just saw too.

A whistle whispered from the surroundings. Instinctively, the ash dig his fingers into the ground beneath him. Vines felt like were crawling between his muscles now, searching, merging with his body like a invasive plant taking its place over a tree's roots.

As soon as that feeling begin to crawl into him again, Lancelot snapped his fingers off the earth and clung to Goliath. For the first time in forever, he's scared. Not the thrill of the fighting against the fey or against the trinity. He's dead scared.

“What the fuck?” The ash's voice falters, trembling from the edges to the deep core.

Lancelot feels like the ground he's sitting on is not trustworthy. That It might open up and swallow him while at any second.

"No no. Maybe I'm just paranoid. Hunger and pain mess with your head, don't they? That must be It, I'm just imagining things."

It's funny how he tells himself the same lie again even after all these years.

But any doubt he had, or any lie he told himself, vanished the moment he saw it. But any doubt he had, or any lie he told himself, vanished the moment he caught something moving with the corner of his eye.

He turned his head to look and... A deer. Large, beautiful, but also with blood running down its ribs, looking straight to him.

It did nothing, no sound, no movement. But still managed to get into every single one of Lancelot's nerves.

It felt so…unreal.

"Why you looking at a deer?" Squirrel's voice came from behind him. Snapping the ash man out of his thoughts and scaring the deer away.

"Nothing. I was waiting for you to come back."

"I only found one bunny. I would have looked for another one, but it's difficult with winter coming, and they hide very well."

And here comes another wave of babbling.

"If I took too long looking for another bunny someone could have seen me, or even find you. And then we'd have a problem."

"I should have stayed quiet, I could have taken that deer, then we both could have eaten well. But we can share—"

"Boy." Lancelot cut him off once again. All that noise only made his head throb even worse.

"Fine! But the thing is, you don't talk much and I hate silence, so I have to speak for both of us."

The monk let out a deep sigh through his nose. That half of a child was gonna kill him faster than any paladin or fey ever could.

The ash man does to the kid the same he does to any paladin that tries to have a conversation with him; ignores whatever he's saying completely. There was no need to pay attention to everything he babbles about anyway, he was going to separate from the boy soon enough. Even though that made his heart ache.

The little project of a man was so brave and naive yet… But he couldn't get attached. It'd be better to have his intestines twisted and knotted around his neck than to form a bond with the little fey.

That would only turn into a weakness later on. Would kill the boy sooner than a rat in a cat's mouth.

His look shifts to Squirrel for a split second, not regretful but still too soft for his liking. As if a simple blink could forever imprint the boy in his memories.

Suddenly the monk thinks he's not that hungry anymore, and that he can take another day without food. The pain is more of a numb feeling spreading along his body anyways. Warm and creeping up everywhere It could.

Percival's survival is more important than his stupid wounds now. He'll be fine.

Strangely, the pain is much less painful than before he saw that deer… But that couldn't be.

Lancelot touches his broken rib gently, a sharp pain makes him shudder. Even then It fades into a half-dullness after a few twitches.

What he didn't expect was to feel it. Something felt as embracing his broken bones so that it wouldn't hurt as much as it should.

"What…?" Lancelot murmurs, incredulous.

"Seriously? You didn't know?"

Oh right, kid was still rattling on.

"Uh…"

"Fauns are can to ride these giant, majestic deer because they have domesticated them over the years. They ride them as if they were horses! And all the houses of the heavenly people have these on the roof as a sign of respect for the fauns, and something else. Nimue explained it to me, but I don't remember everything now—"

This was going to be a long day ahead.

The monk could guess that because—besides Squirrel's endless talking—Lancelot was hyper-aware of that ghost feeling moving among his insides. A snake crawling just beneath his skin and midst the muscles and bones.

Also could still see that damned deer every time he closed his eyes. What the hell is that even suppose to mean? And why did he saw Carden die and a deer come back to life?

He had barely stepped outside of God's field when the Devil was already trying to pull him closer.

There were so many questions running in Lancelot's mind, none of them has an answer. But God forbid he is going to find an answer, sooner or later.

It's like they say. If you're in hell, why not kiss the devil, right? And Lancelot for sure is on a living hell right now. Might as well find a devil to kiss.

Hey! You! Fanfic writer!

Your story doesn't need to be completely accurate to their time/era. It is still fiction. If you want to make a vegan dragon, or that anesthesia existed before men knew how to speak, you can. And if people not okay with that? Fuck them, the story is yours.