"The Cosmic Error"

Part 1 / Next

Cassandra Cain plans to confess to a fellow (fem!) ballet dancer using mimics! (concept, anyone can work this out further (do tag me if you do, I would love to read it). Just had the starting idea, and I wanted to share it) This one doesn't have trigger warnings, it's a full on fluff story! Do know that my mimics knowledge is a little bit rusty.

Cassandra Cain is a lot of things: an assassin, a daughter and a dancer are just a few of them. When she's with you, she's everything she wants to be. She feels a peace her family can't give her. Her senses calm, and there is no danger shouting at her or knocking on her door.

Only her heart beats quicker when she sees you. When she sees you dance, her heart melts.

She met you in her amateur ballet class; it's a class you joined for outside of the ballet season. It was a small class; four students in total. Cassandra and you clicked instantly. She doesn't talk a lot, and you use your facial expressions do the talking for you. You're so easy to read, and the best part of it? You never tried to hide it.

You didn't get angry if she somehow knew you were upset, instead you told her why or that you didn't want to talk about it.

Sometimes, words didn't even need to be said. You would understand Cassandra's need for silence, like no other. She would your dreams and relationships issues like no other as well.

Your bonds outside of ballet were easily broken due to intimacy of duo dances, and none of them understood the time it takes to train. To take care of your body — your livelihood.

So when she knew for sure she liked you romantically, she wanted to confess in a meaningful way.

She's sure, you like her too. If you don't, she'll need to acknowledge that love can taint her senses. But she swears that she can see your eyes shimmer when you look at her, that you wave a little bit harder at her than others. That you greet her with a bigger smile than the one you get when you perfect a variation.

So she learns all the mimics associated with love. She'll admit that mimics aren't her strongest suit, so she won't dance with them. She'll ask you to come with her to a secluded place, and she'll stand in front of you. Her heart will almost beat out of her chest as she raises her arms up to her chest with a tilt of her head. Than she'll point at you.

You'll know what she means, even if it's poorly conveyed. You always do, if you don't — or if you doubt your interpretation — she'll circle her hands above her head. Afterwards, she'll hold out her hands to waltz with you. That way there will be no doubts or discussion for what she feels for you.

Fixed it:

There is beauty and value in your unfinished ideas, art, writing, and crafts. I have seen enough life to think that completion is not the default.

That starting is not the default.

The fact that completing something even occurred to you

at all

that you'd even attempt it

is fucking magical.

Like

I love unfinished works.

I am unfinished.

Everyone I've ever met is an unfinished work of art. That's all life will ever be to me; beautiful

unfinished.

But sometimes we need a reminder.

Sometimes I need a reminder:

That some of the best things I've ever eaten/read/seen/heard in my life were things I only got to take one bite out of...

and now

I'm here

for the rest of my life with only the memory of it having been

AMAZING.

Time was put into that thing

its very fucking beautiful.

Yes, I love completion

But