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shireness-says · 3 years

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A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink (2/5)

Summary: Two people are trained from childhood for a magical competition they don’t fully understand, whose stakes are higher than they imagine, all to be played out in a magical traveling circus. Falling in love complicates things. A CS AU of the book “The Night Circus”.

Rated M. ~16.5k. Also on Ao3. On Tumblr: Chapter One

A/N: I’m back! Thanks for your patience in waiting for the latest chapter of my @cssns piece. My apologies for the wait; these chapters are slow in coming due to my own overthinking and perfectionism, what I know where everything is going and this Will Be Finished.

Special thanks to my betas, @snidgetsafan and @ohmightydevviepuu, and to @eirabach for the absolutely gorgeous art she created for this chapter. Seriously, it’s like she climbs right inside my head to see what I’m picturing. Give her a BUNCH of love for all this.

Tagging the interested parties (and let me know if you’re one of those!): @welllpthisishappening, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @thejollyroger-writer, @superchocovian, @teamhook, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @searchingwardrobes, @katie-dub, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @phiralovesloki, @profdanglaisstuff, @winterbythesea

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Henry is six the first time he visits the Circus.

It’s a special treat for an orphaned boy like him; the nuns who run the Storybrooke Children’s Home, just outside of Portland, Maine, aren’t much given to frivolous entertainments like this. But a generous monetary donation had been made to the home when the Circus had set up just over the next hill, and tickets for all the children along with it. The nuns may not be much for frivolity, but they’re not ones for waste, either, especially where gifts are concerned. The next night, Sister Astrid and Sister Theodora collect all the children who want to go, and bring them to what, to Henry, feels like a whole other world.

Henry is a boy the adults already say lives in his imagination too much, and the magic of the Circus only enchants him further, calling to him in a way he doesn’t yet have the words to understand, let alone describe. There are trapeze artists who soar through the air, and jugglers, and lions and tigers and wolves so tame that they’ll take treats from his hands. Kindly confectioners slip him pieces of praline and boxes of popcorn to snack on through the night with a wink and a smile. It’s treatment such as he’s never experienced before, and it’s easy to wonder if he’s just wandered into some kind of dream.

(Even at six, Henry knows better than to disrupt such a lovely dream.)

It’s easy to get separated from the rest of the children in the dazzle of it all, and Henry finds himself wandering the curved paths alone as the clock strikes one, when the others in his group are preparing to return to the Home. Not that he knows it; he’s far too occupied by staring wide-eyed at the black and white tents where they soar to meet the stars and peeking beyond their entrance flaps.

That’s how the lady finds him - gawking with a craned neck at everything around him.

“Have you lost your group, young man?” she asks with a gentle voice. Henry likes being called young man; it makes him feel important.

“It’s okay,” he tells her earnestly. “They like to go faster than me. I can do it by myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” the lady laughs. She looks really pretty; her hair is yellow and curly and she wears a poofy white dress with black swirly bits and a black, long-sleeved jacket, the lack of color making it obvious she’s part of the Circus somehow. If this was one of the fairy tales Henry likes so much, she’d be the princess in hiding; here, at the Circus, that just might be true. “I was just planning to walk to the front gates. Would you care to escort me, young sir?”

Henry eagerly takes the hand the lady offers. “I’m Henry,” he tells her as they walk. “What’s your name?”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Henry. My name is Emma.”

“That’s a princess name. Are you a princess?”

“No,” she laughs, “but thank you very much, Henry. I appreciate the compliment. Are you enjoying the circus?”

“Yeah!” As they walk, Henry eagerly tells the lady - Emma, his new friend - about all his favorite bits - the animals and the dancers and especially the magician. Emma has a funny little smile when he talks about that, but Henry doesn’t think to ask about it.

When the front gates are finally in sight, Henry tugs on Emma’s hand. “I like it here,” he whispers. “Do I have to go?”

Emma crouches down, her skirts pooling around her and threatening to envelop him too. “Yes, Henry, you have to leave for now.”

“But why? I want to stay here. I could stay with you!”

“Oh, Henry, I’d like that so much,” she tells him, pulling him into a hug. “You need to go for now, until you’re older, but the Circus will always be here for you, okay? You’ll come back.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Henry dreams of the circus that night, and for many nights after, though the visions his mind conjures up never quite match the mysticism of the real thing.

A week later, the Circus is gone.

(But here, in a small room in a cold, gloomy children’s home - a young boy remembers.)

———

Belle, unsurprisingly, proves to be a determined and reliable correspondent. She’s like his little window into the Circus, even when he can’t be there himself, as is so often the case - especially in those first few years. Five years pass of letters and far-too-rare visits, and yet Killian never feels left in the dark. That’s the magic of what Belle can accomplish with her words - let him feel as if he is present even when he can’t be.

Her missives contain the important things he asked for, of course - reports of new tents and changes in operations and unusual things his opponent, Miss Swan, is doing. They’re useful words, words that help him plan his own next moves. More than that, though, her letters are filled with wonderful little mundane details that make him smile. Belle tells him about the latest book she’s read and how fast the Zimmer twins are growing up and particularly funny anecdotes she’s heard. There are complaints about the weather, and discussions of the interesting or ominous things she reads in the cards. Always, always, there are chronicles of all the many places she has seen as the Circus crisscrosses the world, recountings of wondrous sights and marvelous people. Belle had wanted to see the world, and she’s getting to, five times over. It’s everything she deserves, only wrapped in an unusual and often demanding package.

“It’s not too much, is it?” Killian asks on one of the rare instances their paths cross - in Paris, this time, where Killian has come on an errand for Jefferson, sitting in a little cafe in the shadow of Notre Dame. “I never want to ask more of you than you can manage.”

“Don’t be silly,” Belle says, waving off his concerns like the steam from their coffee. “They’re merely letters, Killian. It’s no great bother - especially for something I’d be doing anyways. I’d be writing to you regardless, Killian - you’re my best friend in the world, and I’ll be terribly put out if you ever stop writing me back.”

And that’s that.

(Most days, Killian believes that Belle is a much better friend than he could ever possibly deserve. He makes a mental note to say something of the sort in his next letter back to her.)

(Of course, he forgets - but then again, he can’t imagine she doesn’t already know.)

———

As a child, growing up knowing she was destined for some magical contest, Emma had always been told that she’d understand what she needed to do once her competition actually started. As an adult, now smack in the middle of it all, she finds that is decidedly not the case. Emma does her best, but it still feels like she has no idea what in the world she’s supposed to be doing.

The Circus is meant to be a canvas for her abilities, hers and her opponent’s; that much is obvious. What exactly that means is… more up for debate. Emma tries to take on more of the Circus in little pieces, bit by bit, so that more of its operations run on magic than on man power. It’s more enjoyable to try and come up with new attractions, drawing upon her imagination to come up with something new. It’s not a particularly quick process - Emma spends a lot of time planning each idea, to make sure she doesn’t miss anything, and it means that she can only create maybe two new tents each year. It’s worth it, though, to wander through the finished product, and see the way her most fanciful ideas have come to life.

(“You need to be doing more,” Regina always scolds her on those rare occasions she makes the effort to visit her student. “This isn’t playtime. You can’t just make the effort when you feel like it, silly girl. Don’t you want to win this?”

“Of course, Regina,” Emma always says, making whatever promises she needs to in order to appease the other woman - all the while knowing that she will continue to act in her own way.)

(For Emma, the best thing about the Circus may be the separation from the woman who took her in. Regina does not often make the effort to check in on how her student is doing - and Emma more than likes it that way.)

There are traces of her mysterious opponent’s work, too. Sometimes it’s in the form of dramatic new attractions, things that push the bounds of possibility and perception; sometimes, it’s with more mundane things, like a wine-sampling tent tucked along a path that Emma is certain never existed before.

His or her greatest feat, however, is on the members of the Circus themselves. As the years pass by, Emma can’t help but notice that time doesn’t affect everyone who brings the Circus to life, with the exception of the Zimmer twins. It’s been more than half a decade, but Granny Lucas is still as hale and hearty as ever. Not a single face has gained extra creases, or a single head extra grey hairs. Something this unknown competitor did has stopped the clock for all of them within the iron fence, even as the grand timepiece above the front gates ticks on.

It’s an impressive piece of magic - one that must take a considerable amount of skill and effort. It’s the first time Emma wonders if maybe this is a contest of endurance, rather than skill.

Regina won’t tell her, however, and Emma puts the matter out of her mind while she turns her attention towards the night’s performances and the germ of an idea blooming in her head. Something fantastical. Something striking - and icy.

There’s always room for imagination and for creation at the Circus, after all - and despite her opponent’s impressive efforts, that’s exactly what Emma is counting on to one day prevail in this competition.

———

The Zimmer twins are special, Emma discovers, and not just in the way anyone who has loved a child claims them to be exceptional. In Ava and Nicholas’ case, it’s true.

There had been something in the air the night the circus opened, the night after the twins were born - something crackling and pervasive and magical. Emma has suspected for years - since that very moment - that the energy was something created by her still-unknown opponent. It’d been like a wave, rippling through them all at once and creating unknown effects. She thinks this might be one of those - powers growing in two children who, by all indication, shouldn’t have received them.

It’s especially noticeable to Emma, who not only has the ability to sense the powers running through their veins, but spends a considerable amount of time with the six-year-old twins. Ava and Nicholas grow up like the beloved niece and nephew of everyone involved with the circus, as though everyone communally agreed to test the proverb it takes a village. While the circus is open to visitors, and the children’s parents responsible for their little cart of carved treasures, everyone else watches the little boy and girl in shifts when they’re not performing - and Emma quickly becomes a particular favorite. She’s never been sure why; maybe they sensed the magic in her own veins, even as babies, and latched onto it. Maybe they simply like the way she thoughtfully humors every flight of fancy. Whatever the case - Emma knows her life would be far less interesting without the two in it.

Ava has magic that likes to shake out and twinkle at the edges of her soft hair, similar in a way to Emma’s own powers. Unusual things happen around her, if you’re paying attention; lost things are more easily found, snacks and sweets turn up in unlikely places, and on one impressive occasion, a pair of fluffy orange and white kittens crawled out from beneath her bunk.

“I can fix that,” she tells Emma innocently one day as Emma moves to throw a vase of wilted flowers out. She hasn’t prodded Ava about her powers before - it doesn’t seem the time to bring to the forefront all the things she can likely do, not when she’s still a little girl, not when Emma’s own childhood was largely sacrificed because of her own powers - but it’s a hard opportunity to pass up. It’s worth demonstrating to Ava, anyways, that her powers are simply a part of her, and nothing to make a fuss about.

“Can you show me?” Emma asks. It’s impossible not to smile when the little girl nods eagerly and furrows her brow in concentration, staring fixedly at the wilted daisies. Slowly but surely, the browned tips disappear, the petals straightening from their shrivelled state and the flowers once again lifting upright to seek the sun.

“That’s very well done, Ava,” Emma makes sure to tell her.

“I know,” Ava replies seriously with all the intensity of a child her age. “Can you do that too?”

“I can.” Emma doesn’t tell people about her magic, usually, but Ava seems like a necessary exception - to let the little girl know she’s not entirely alone in her special, unusual skills.

“I thought so,” the little girl nods sagely. “I could feel it.”

It doesn’t surprise Emma in the least.

Nicholas knows things that he shouldn’t - knows things that no one should know. Somehow, the stars speak to him in a language only he can understand. Nick sees things to come and things that have already happened, and sometimes divulges them readily and at the most unlikely times.

“Is the scary lady with the dark hair your mama?” he asks one day out of the blue, startling Emma before she collects herself.

“No. She was my teacher,” Emma explains.

“Oh.” His question asked, Nick happily goes back to playing quietly with his wooden lion. He’s less prone to chatter than his sister, happy to keep to his own thoughts when Ava isn’t pulling him into some other adventure. Emma rather wonders if it’s not because he has all the things he sees in the stars to keep him company.

“Is there a reason you asked?” she inquires as casually as she can. “Did you… was there something you saw?”

“She hurt you,” is all he’ll say. “Before you were here.”

Something from the past, then - not so immediately alarming, though a sign she’ll need to be vigilant about hiding certain portions of her memories that young, impressionable and trusting minds shouldn’t be seeing.

“It’s alright, Nickie,” she tells him. “She isn’t around to bother me very often.”

He nods decisively. “Good.”

As he turns his attention back to his wooden lion, bringing a tiger in as well, Emma reaches out for the magic constantly humming about her and draws it into herself, directing to play through her mind and cast something almost like her invisibility cloak around her more traumatic memories to keep Nicholas from seeing.

“Is there anything else?” she prods, mostly to test and see if the charm is effective.

Sure enough, the little boy’s face twists into a frown. “I don’t know,” he grumbles. “I can’t see.”

“Ah, well,” Emma replies in a purposefully light tone. “Maybe some other time.”

(She is not entirely sure she means it.)

Truth be told, Ava and Nicholas and their wondrous gifts are a beautiful mystery. All Emma knows is that it’s her responsibility to protect them from more sinister influences, the way she wishes someone had done for her. They deserve that. She deserved that. And she’ll be damned if they’re turned into pawns the way she was.

There are many good things to come out of the Circus - friendship and wonder and home - but Emma thinks the Zimmer twins, and the powers they should be able to wield for good without the interference of people like Regina - are one of the best.

———

There are attractions at the Circus unlike anything you’ve seen before, that you think may only exist within these iron gates. The Circus is a place where the otherworldly and impossible come to life.

This tent contains one such wonder, advertised with simple but mysterious words. This marker swirls and glistens in the moonlight, coaxing you inside to discover its secrets.

Stepping through the tent flap, brisk air tickles at your face - the first sign of what’s to come. Twisting through the interior are all manner of transparent structures, arranged in neat beds. The Ice Garden - just as promised. Each creation appears impossibly delicate and fragile, and by all logic, should be impossible on a warm summer’s night. There are lilies and roses and daisies, sculpted topiaries, winding vines, flowers that remind you of an illustration you once saw of tropical flora. A raised bed of cacti and succulents sprawls along one wall. Opposite, an apple tree, laden with fruit, arches gracefully at the edge of a silver-stoned path. There are little crystalline plaques, too, for all the plants whose names you’d never begin to guess: Shooting Star. Gayfeather. Anemones. Candelabra Primrose.

Every inch, every label, every petal, is made of ice.

Even at the Circus, such a thing should be impossible, This tent may be slightly, inexplicably cooler, but it’s by no means chilled enough to maintain this icy wonder. Though you know you shouldn’t touch, you can’t help but graze your fingers along an icy petal, just to make sure it isn’t cleverly blown glass. It’s a joyous mystery when they come away cold and wet, the sculptures revealed as ice in truth.

There’s no explanation for the Ice Garden - how it can exist at this edge of the Circus, seemingly unburdened by the laws of nature.

The longer you spend in the sparkling, colorless chill, the more you come to realize that beauty doesn’t need an explanation anyways.

———

Killian -

I know it’s not quite the update you were asking for, but I still feel compelled to share - something wonderful and charming and amusing, and so delightfully human. I couldn’t quite resist writing to tell you.

I could be wrong - but I believe a little fanclub has sprung up to trail the Circus. You’ll think it silly, Killian, but I am starting to recognize faces here - not of Circus members (I am not nearly so unobservant, or so rude not to recognize them by name after all these years!) but of visitors. There are a handful I could swear are coming over and over again. I’ll have to ask, next time I notice.

(Not that I can begrudge them of such - I certainly would be doing the same, in their shoes! It’s just that the fortunes get rather repetitive. I should probably let them know that the stars of fate do not change nearly as quickly as they seem to believe…)

There’s a certain awe, or maybe more like peace, that they wear on their faces as they move about the grounds that’s unique from all the other looks I see - almost like they’re coming home. I certainly know something about that - I think so many of us do. It’s wonderful, really - the way these visitors love the Circus so much that they feel compelled to return time and time again, joyously retracing the same paths over and over. It’s clear they love this place the way we do. Isn’t that just what we wanted, anyways? To make something for others to love, to play a part in bringing it to life?

(Yes, I obviously remember that you’re also doing this for your mysterious competition - but I don’t believe someone makes something so beautiful without a generous dose of love as well. Don’t try to deny it, Killian - you know I’m always right.)

I hope you are well; no other news from here. As always, I’ll let you know if anything changes.

Best wishes,

Belle

———

In time, the Circus gains followers.

It was probably inevitable, in a way; as the Circus winds its way across the world, through large cities and small towns, it touches countless lives as it goes, some more impactfully than others. There are those who visit once, and remember it fondly; those who take the opportunity to visit whenever the Circus is in their area, and look forward to it; and those who hold the memories close to one day tell their disbelieving grandchildren.

And then - there are the Rêveurs.

The Rêveurs start almost like a book club - groups of people who meet to reminisce about their favorite attractions, all the sights and smells and tastes that make the whole experience unforgettable. In time, the groups morph; they begin to go to the Circus together, and then travel to visit other Rêveurs when the Circus comes to their area. Particularly eloquent members begin to write into their local newspapers and magazines, beautiful editorials that convey love and wonder and coax thousands of others through the twisted iron gates. It becomes an entire movement, based off of a shared love, of people coming together to experience the Circus over and over again.

It is easy to spot the Rêveurs, if you know what you are looking for. In one of the editorials, an adherent mentions his own preferred way to experience the Circus - to blend in as much as he can, in all black and white, while still setting himself apart from those who bring the experience to life by adding a single touch of red. The trend catches on quickly; wandering the grounds, it is easy to spot splashes of red in the crowd, handkerchiefs peeking from pockets and roses or carnations in lapels and gloves and ribbons in hair.

Some Rêveurs make sure to visit new attractions each time they visit; some prefer to see the same over and over, lingering in the acrobat tent or on the carousel for hours. In a way, they prove that there is no right or wrong way to experience the Circus - there will always be new things to see, and old favorites to return to.

The members of the Circus are aware of the Rêveurs, too. Indeed, there are benefits to being in the same audience with that little flash of red, as performers bring out their best, most dazzling tricks and attempt new daring feats. Watching carefully, one might see a vendor slip a cup of cocoa or an extra serving of toasted nuts to a man or woman with that bare hint of color. All visitors to the Circus are valued, but the Rêveurs are treasured, in a different way, that makes every person involved in the endeavor want to do just the slightest bit more to bring the experience to life in a new way.

The performers and vendors and other members of the Circus are its engine, in many ways - but the Rêveurs just might be its heart.

———

Killian -

I just realized that it’s been a while since my last letter - two months, I believe! Everything is perfectly fine here, I assure you. In fact, I haven’t written because there’s been nothing particularly notable to report. I’ve been watching for new additions, just as I always do, but nothing has appeared. Ah, well. We must be in a quiet stretch on that front.

Meanwhile, the Circus trundles onward, as it so often does. This week, we’re in Morocco. I’ve never been - and oh Killian, it is wonderful. The air is hot and dry and tinged with all kinds of spices that I can’t quite identify. And the food! A little group of us went and wandered in one of the markets, trying things from the stands. I’ve never tasted anything like it. What boring lives so many people lead, happy to stay on their own little island and pretend they know everything. This is so much preferable. The weather is a wonderful respite, too, from the cold I know must be sweeping through now that December is well and truly here.

I do not know if we’ll be home for Christmas; I rather doubt it. I’ll miss our usual holiday feast, but I trust that you’ll have a lovely time with your brother instead. My regards to Liam, as always.

Yours &c.,

Belle

———

Killian is lucky, in a way. After all, he has Belle and Liam, who both know about this competition. They’re his support system, the people who keep him grounded to life outside of all this - especially Liam. Lord knows Mr. Gold has never sought to do that. He doubts Miss Swan has that. Maybe he’s wrong; for her sake, he hopes he is. How lonely it must be to keep that secret, otherwise.

Liam’s apartment is like a sanctuary at the end of a long day, where his brother waits with dark spiced rum and a roaring fire. Sometimes they venture out for dinner; some nights they stay in, and have the landlady send up something to eat. Mostly, Killian enjoys the peace of being in company that never expects more of him than he’s sure he can give. All Liam expects is companionship, and maybe for Killian to come with a nice bottle of spirits every so often. Killian can more than handle that.

(They do not mention that Liam does not seem to age, the same way all those attached to the Circus do not. If his brother has even noticed, he remains blessedly silent on the subject.)

“Do you wonder sometimes,” Liam asks one night, “what would have happened if you hadn’t been selected by Gold? If you had turned him down?”

Killian shrugs. They’re in the middle of their third drinks - just the time for philosophical questions like these. “Not really,” he admits. “What’s the use? It happened like it happened. You wouldn’t have as nice a place as this, that’s for damn sure.”

Liam snorts, and the atmosphere turns more jovial for a few minutes as both men indulge in a drunken laugh before things turn thoughtful again. “If you had to do it all over again… would you?”

“I would,” Killian agrees. “We were a couple of scrappy orphans, no prospects, nothing. I’ve never been given a reason to truly regret it.”

“Then I’m happy for you, brother.” Liam tops off their glasses and raises his drink in a toast. “To good decisions, then!”

“To good decisions,” Killian echoes. “Or at least ones we haven’t yet regretted.”

———

Some attractions are more conventional in name, their promises familiar and comforting in that way that the expected can be. But this is the Circus, and conventional simply doesn’t exist here in the same way.

You enter another tent to discover a hall of mirrors. It is a common enough attraction, at its core, one you have seen in other carnivals and street fairs. But true to the promise of the Circus, this version of such a fun house classic is more than you’ve ever seen. There are tall, full length mirrors, as you’ve come to expect, but small mirrors too, clustered on tables in every nook between their larger counterparts to reflect the lantern light in every direction. The mirrors don’t just distort your own reflection either; in addition to mirrors that cause your reflection to look taller or shorter or wider, there are mirrors to make you look older or younger, mirrors which change your hair, mirrors which duplicate your visage over and over again until you appear to be surrounded by a crowd of your own self in the mirror. There are even mirrors which somehow make it appear that you are someplace else entirely - by the seaside, the water slowly soaking your shoes, or in a fragrant flower garden, or wandering amidst ancient ruins. It is a clever trick, and one you won’t pretend to understand. In your heart, you never want to, for fear of ruining the illusion.

The world feels bright and new under the moonlight as you exit back outside the tent, like the hall of mirrors has helped you find a new way of seeing.

(And maybe, you realize, that’s the entire point.)

———

Killian takes small comfort in the fact that Mr. Gold seems pleased with his efforts. Truthfully, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows that somehow he’s supposed to demonstrate his abilities and magical knowledge on the canvas that is the Circus, but that only tells him so much. Killian adds attractions when he can, crafting things like the Hall of Mirrors in careful dioramas before sewing the plans into his master book, but it’s so hard to know if he’s on the right track.

Mr. Gold has never been particularly involved in Killian’s life, and that doesn’t change now that the competition has well and truly begun. As a child, Killian had been largely self-taught, relying on the books that his teacher provided and the man himself only dropping in periodically to test his knowledge and comprehension. This feels like much the same thing; once a year, Mr. Gold will appear in Killian’s office after one of the Circus dinners, or outside his flat door without warning. There may be a polite inquiry about what Killian is currently working on, especially if the visit occurs in his cramped and ruthlessly organized office; more often than not, there isn’t. Killian will make polite inquiries about his mentor’s health and business, all of which are carefully avoided. Mr. Gold will state that he is satisfied with the work of his student - exactly that, and nothing more.

Killian never expects an expression of pride; after all, he’s never received anything of the sort in all the years he’s been under his teacher’s direction. Theirs has always been a distant relationship, if it can even be called that.

“How will I know I’ve won?” Killian dares to ask on one of these visits. “What do I have to do?”

“You’ll know, dearie,” is all his teacher will say. “Trust me, it will be very obvious.”

It is not.

But Killian works onward, carefully building and manipulating things. Who knows? Maybe, one day, he’ll understand.

———

The relationship between the members of the Circus and the Rêveurs has always been unusual. If it weren’t for the fact that the two groups are inextricably linked, and indeed obviously treasure one another, the interaction almost might be called respectfully distant. There exists an unspoken, but obviously adhered to, separation between the two - that there are Circus folks and there are Rêveurs, and they do not socially interact. Though a vendor or performer might, surreptitiously and casually, mention an anticipated next stop to an awed visitor with that single splash of red, they will not be found together in the light of day, strolling in the public parks or sharing a coffee in one of the cafés. The Rêveurs, largely, prefer it that way; the mystical quality is somehow kept alive when the people of the Circus only seem to dwell within its gates.

Of course, Emma has never been one for formality, or fitting in with the rest of the crowd.

If pressed, she’ll claim that Marco is an anomaly - a man who fits between both worlds, and therefore special. It’s her own kind of loophole in the intricate rituals of the Circus and the Rêveurs.

(No one ever presses, though - to do that, they’d need to know that Emma writes to Marco in the first place.)

Marco, in truth, has been involved in the Circus since the very beginning - though he did not always know it. An Italian by birth, living in Germany and creating exquisitely crafted cuckoo clocks, Mr. Marco Gepetto had been the very man contracted by Mr. Booth, the architect, to build the massive timepiece at the front gates, back when this whole endeavor was still coming together. Marco hadn’t been aware of that, at the time; all he’d known was that an Englishman had offered him a frankly absurd amount of money and next to no direction, only to create something unusual and extraordinary for a circus venue he was helping produce. With his rambling imagination and careful craftsman’s hands, Marco had more than delivered, creating the masterpiece Emma has found comfort in watching many times.

That clock had always haunted him, he’s tried to explain to her many times during their correspondence, his mind running wild wondering exactly where it had been installed. Mr. Booth had sent a note declaring the producers delighted by the result, and Marco had never heard a peep again. Emma cannot blame him for wondering, truly, after all the months he had invested in the clock and all the personal touches he had poured in. The truth, he confides, is that he believed - nay, believes it to be his greatest work, all the while unaware that so many others were similarly touched. It was only years later that Marco had realized the grand project he had unknowingly helped bring to life, when an acquaintance had insisted they visit the traveling circus setting up just outside of Munich.

“It was wonderful,” he gushes to Emma as they walk down the streets of Naples several years later, the older man happily pointing out the location of all the haunts of his younger days. “It was more than I ever could have imagined - and so well situated! So perfectly blended with the rest of the design! I must tip my cap to Signore Booth for his work, and all his compatriots.”

Marco had fallen in love with the circus on that first night, as a venue for his masterpiece and as a creation all its own. It was impossible not to, he had claimed later in the first of many editorials and subsequent letters - it was like the Circus called to him, begging him to uncover all its secrets. It may be the work of several lifetimes; perhaps, that’s just the appeal.

He didn’t particularly mean to spearhead the Rêveurs movement, he’d explained to Emma in one letter. It was simply that he’d fallen in love, with a place and an experience, and wanted to share that with everyone else. It was just that he was the first, the first to not just talk about the Circus but publish his thoughts, that had made him the unexpected figurehead of the group. He’d been the one to come up with the idea of that touch of red, too, though he never admits it unless pressed.

Letters flood in, from across Europe and the globe, wanting to compare experiences and share in the joy of the Circus. Marco gladly responds; many, indeed, become friends. But none is quite like Emma, who he only first knows as a woman with unusual insight into the Circus when she first begins writing, just another person who reaches out after one of his editorials. He assumes she’s just another of his Rêveur correspondents at first, but her thoughts, so carefully measured but fond, strike a chord somewhere in Marco. A friendship blossoms over dozens of letters exchanged, comparing experiences and details noticed and treasured - until, finally, this summit, as Marco had visited an elderly aunt while the Circus docked along the Italian coast.

He takes the revelation that Emma isn’t merely some visitor, but a core member of the Circus, with an unexpected lack of surprise. “I wondered if you were rather closer to the matter than you let on,” Marco explains, patting her hand before tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “I shall consider myself uniquely lucky to have earned your friendship.”

And he has. Marco possesses a sharp mind and an affection for the little details that Emma loves, and an easy-going manner it proves near-impossible not to be charmed by. He fills something like a fatherly role, for Emma - always encouraging and delighted to hear about the latest improvements to her show. She doesn’t tell him that all the magic she does is real - but somehow feels that he understands, anyways. Marco is special like that, and perceptive. Somehow, Emma doubts that he’d be much surprised if she revealed the whole mess of the competition.

Marco may be physically distant from the ever-changing Circus grounds, and may not fully know what’s going on - but he’s a pillar of support, all the same, like Emma has never known.

(She only hopes he isn’t one more thing that’s just too good to last.)

———

Killian -

At long last - an update! I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve had anything to report to you. Not that I don’t enjoy our correspondence, of course - it’s always so wonderful to share with you a little slice of my life here and hear from you in return. I simply feel so much better when I have something concrete to report to you, as we agreed.

I’m stalling, though. The truth is… I’m not entirely sure how to put into words exactly what this latest tent contains. It defies description, I find. The little sign along the path reads ‘Wishing Tree’, but that doesn’t describe much, does it? That could be anything. The Wishing Tree, in truth, is… oh, where do I start? It is somehow both earthly and otherworldly. It is both wondrously fantastical and firmly rooted in the soil. It exists both on this plane and in the world of dreams and aspirations. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that it is a contradiction, in the most spectacular way. Most simply put, if I stop beating around the bush, it is like a living, growing wishing well - but so much better than that, in its symbolism. There are no words to do it justice.

If you couldn’t tell already, Killian, I am insisting that you come and visit the Circus grounds next time it is convenient. There is no other way to fully grasp the delight of this latest addition. If I were not so terribly fond of you, I’d offer a hearty ‘Bravo!’ to your competitor - so count yourself lucky!

Yours,

-Belle

———

The Circus’ tents are filled with wonders - large and small, loud and quiet, and everything in between. What unites all the disparate attractions is a mystical quality - one that’s hard to put into words, but that makes every move and every moment greater and more magical than any similar display you may have seen before.

The particular tent in front of you is tall, but narrow, with a delicate wooden sign carefully placed to the side of the silvery-paved path leading beneath the entrance flap. Wishing Tree, it reads in a painted cursive script. An attraction you’ve never heard of.

Lifting the tent flap reveals just what was promised on the placard - a tall, elegant tree, all in the colors of the circus, with white bark and black leaves. The tree’s branches twist and curve around the tent, creating a structure almost reminiscent of a basket. Where it could be grotesque, the way branches stretch and dip around your body, but the effect is somehow comforting - like the tree protects all that it surrounds. It is otherworldly, in the truest sense of the word, an effect only heightened by the clusters of pearly white candles on each branch. By the entrance sits a small table, with a basket of candles and a crisp white card, embossed with a simple instruction:

Make a wish.

A wish is a sacred thing, and this is a place that respects that. After making your own wish, lighting your candle with one of the many already waiting on the tree’s branches, you place it in the highest nook you can reach where two branches join. There’s a profound symbolism to it all - one wish ignited by another, left to become part of a beautiful mass of light, illuminating this little corner of the world in soft and beautiful light.

(That light will stay with you long after you slip back through the flap of the tent.)

———

At Belle’s urging, Killian makes the trip to see the Circus, and especially this new attraction, when they pass through Edinburgh. It is not precisely convenient - there are multiple trains involved from London, after all - but there’s no real telling when it will next be in the city, and he trusts Belle’s judgement that he must see this Wishing Tree for himself.

She’s right, of course. The Wishing Tree defies all conventional description. There’s a sense of possibility, and hope that just can’t be captured in a simple letter. Killian is sorely tempted to take a candle and light a wish of his own, but ultimately resists. The Wishing Tree isn’t just for some passing fancy - it is for the deepest dreams of one’s heart. As long as Killian is still unsure as to what his own dearest dream might be, it feels more appropriate to refrain from adding his own candle to the glowing branches. There will be time, later.

His immediate business for the evening concluded, Killian takes the time just to wander the grounds. It’s something he hasn’t had the opportunity to do in far too long - there’s always been something to worry about, something to take care of when he comes to the Circus. This is a bit of a chance to try and experience things the way all their unknowing visitors do - to see the beauty, and the wonder, without analyzing anything further. Once he clears his mind, it’s easy to see the things the way that normal visitors do, the way something special sparkles in the very air.

There are still stops to make, of course; Belle would never forgive him if he didn’t pop into her tent. The fortune teller’s tent is made up to be an eye-catching oddity, but there’s still something welcoming about it that always soothes Killian - though maybe that’s just the knowledge of his dearest friend waiting just inside. Just inside the tent flap, dark curtains speckled with silver flecks like stars drape, giving way to a beaded fringe that softly clicks when touched. He’s been known to fiddle with those beads as he sits and talks with Belle, like a soothing sort of fidget. Beyond the beaded curtains sit three comfortable armchairs with a draped table at their center; Belle always does like the romance of reading for couples. There are no crystal balls, or posters about lines on palms; just Belle, the table and chairs, and her deck of tarot cards. Killian knows one of the curtains stretched behind her hides the entrance into her private quarters, where she’s been known to duck for a quick cup of tea, but no one else who didn’t know would see that. The whole effect is decidedly unusual, even mystical, but in a way that feels cozy. It’s like sitting in someone’s living room, sharing a bit of conversation - but the conversation concerns all manner of possible futures, and how they’ll come to pass.

Belle looks like herself, mostly, elegant in shades of white and grey and black and silver. She hasn’t leaned into any of the stereotypes or cliches - no scarf around her head or massive gold earrings or patchwork skirts. She looks like she could be any shop girl, or personal secretary, or even a beloved female relation in her neat dresses in playful patterns, accentuated with pretty bits of lace. There are more formal options in her closet too, he knows, provided by the Circus organizers for her use, but she likes this better; it makes her feel more like herself, and not entirely subsumed by the role she plays.

“You came!” she crows with delight when he ducks his head past the beaded drapery. He hadn’t let her know he was coming, this time, happy to let it remain a pleasant surprise. Not that it matters much - Belle’s face would light up in delight in the same way, even if he had warned her to expect his visit.

“Of course I did, love,” he assures her with a grin. “You insisted, didn’t you? I seem to remember a very commanding letter, telling me I must come see this wishing tree for myself.”

“Yes, but there was always the chance you would get stubborn on me, or get called away on business for Jefferson, and I’d have to send another three to five letters until I finally guilted you here.”

“Alright, I suppose that’s true,” he admits. He does tend to get rather sidetracked much of the time, especially when there is work to be done and new, exciting ideas to explore.

“Instead, here you are! Only weeks after I wrote. A rare instance of agreeability - there’s hope for you yet,” she continues, only to plow forward before he even has a chance to defend himself. “But tell me - have you seen the Wishing Tree yet? Or did you come straight here first? I’m touched, of course, but really, you must —”

“I’m not nearly so foolish as to come here first, knowing you’d demand my own opinions on the tent just as soon as I arrived,” he teases fondly.

“Wise man. Tell me then - what did you think?”

“It’s everything you promised,” he tells her. “Utterly indescribable. I’m glad you insisted I come.”

The beam that graces Belle’s face at that simple agreement is a sight to behold.

“You’ll stay for a few days, won’t you?” she asks - cajoles, really, though Killian won’t take any convincing. “It’s been so long.”

“Of course. We’ll have dinner tomorrow, and you can tell me everything you’ve seen since I last saw you.” It’s an easy promise to make, and one he’ll be even happier to keep.

Though Belle is an expected friendly face, one Killian had already built into his loose plans for tonight, the person he runs into as he wanders down the path away from her little tent is rather more unexpected.

“Mr. Jones,” Miss Elsa Frost smiles warmly - a member of the creative team of the circus, whose eye for details had been invaluable in creating this world so many have fallen in love with. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Nor did I,” Killian admits, executing a short and polite bow of greeting. “Especially not here, so far from London. May I escort you around the grounds, if I may be so bold?”

“You may,” Miss Frost says, slipping her delicate hand into the crook of his proffered arm. “I was just about to go see the magician - Miss Swan, was it? I’m told she should have a performance starting soon.”

“Then it will be my honor to accompany you.”

Though Killian has visited the Circus on several occasions in the past years, on business and to see Belle and to examine the creations of his competitor, he’s avoided this tent. It somehow feels like cheating, to watch Miss Swan like this with full awareness that she’s his competitor when she hasn’t been privy to the same knowledge. That’s not to say he hasn’t been tempted; across all the spiraling stone paths, her magic calls to his own like a siren’s song, drawing him in. Tonight, with a companion on his arm, he finally has the excuse to cave. As they approach her tent as others trickle in ahead of them, Killian makes sure to draw a spell around him to mask his own magic like a cloak, the same one he’d used that first day he’d seen her. Even if he feels guilt at the advantage, Killian isn’t quite sure he’s willing to tip his hand yet, no matter how often he’s been tempted. It’s not the time for such a revelation.

(He doesn’t notice, beside him, the way Miss Frost’s forehead briefly creases as the spell settles around his body; it would not matter if he had, anyways, and the lady is more than happy to hold her tongue on the matter.)

The magician’s tent is small, intimate - a small clearing surrounded by a double ring of chairs. It’s a subtly ingenious way of heightening the drama and the enchantment of the performance: there is, quite literally, nowhere to hide, every angle visible to spectators as they space themselves around the center ring. A lesser magician would never be able to pull it off; it’s lucky, then that Miss Swan doesn’t have to rely on tricks.

Killian is the only one that notices that the tent flap has disappeared, two minutes past the hour. Everyone else is too busy whispering to each other, speculating about where the illusionist is and when the show will start. Unlike the rest of them, Killian waits patiently, knowing that the show has already begun.

No one misses the next trick, as a stream of flame chases around the tent above their heads. Gasps echo from the crowd, in excitement and wonder and no small dose of fear. A handful turn towards where the exit once was, only to discover that the way has been sealed and blocked by chairs during their inattention. Gasps turn to screams, panic quickly catching, until -

A single figure stands from the audience, a woman with dramatic black skirts and what appears to be a men’s top hat. As she moves towards the center of the ring, she casually tosses the hat onto the seat she had occupied - and as if on cue, the streams of fire chase around the tent once more before plunging downwards, downwards into the hat, which somehow serves to contain the flames instead of catching on fire. As the rest of the audience comes back to their senses, turning their attention towards the slight blonde woman now at the center of the tent, she flicks a finger, sending the hat tumbling through the air to land in her hand, where she jauntily tips the black felt back onto her head and takes a dramatic bow.

And like that, the magician begins her show.

The displays that follow exceed Killian’s feeble memory of her audition, those several years ago. There are little miraculous bits she’s still using - the chairs still levitate, and the hat replaces the jacket as it turns into a beautiful black raven to fly about their heads - but there are new bits, too, as items disappear and reappear and visitors discover all manner of unexpected items in purses and pockets. Somehow, it all flows together seamlessly, one display of ability and control into another. At the very end, the fire returns again, chasing around and around and around her body until she can’t be seen anymore —

And when the flames disperse, all on their own, there is no one to be seen at all. The tent flap appears once again, and they all file out, awed in a way they hadn’t expected.

It’s beautiful, mysterious, magnificent - just like the woman herself. And Killian can’t remember why he ever stayed away.

———

Wandering the grounds of the Circus, it is impossible not to notice the statues scattered along the path. Some are monochromatic, fully pristine white or glistening black; some are so vividly realistic, in black and white and flesh tones, as to seem almost lifelike. There are single figures and couples, male portrayals and female, all beautifully detailed and caught mid-action. There is something mystical about them, something you can’t quite put your finger on but know separates them from anything else you’ve ever seen - a feeling that saturates the very air within the iron fencing.

Examining the statues reveals that the life-like state of the statues is no trick, no clever construction of hard stone and a steady chisel - no, these are merely people mimicking statues by standing so still and moving so slowly as to trick the eye. This isn’t some mere street performer, either, like you might see near the buildings tourists frequent en masse. No, this is something more special, more deliberate, more enchanting. It is almost like a dance, performed on a timeframe only the dancer can perceive. Watching closely, it is possible to see the movement - though it will take much patience. It is easier, in some ways, to pay careful attention to the stance of the living statue at the beginning of a set period, and then see how it has changed some minutes later.

It is said that if you wait long enough, the statues will bend enough to pluck an offering from your very hand. However, it takes a certain kind of person, with a certain kind of fascination, to even try. After all, why spend so long examining statues, when there are so many other wonders to see?

(Just before you walk away, you could swear the living statue of a young man winks an eye, all in impeccable slow motion - just one more memory of the Circus to treasure in your mind for years to come.)

———

The Circus returns when Henry is ten.

Ten is a sensitive age; it’s an age where one is still young enough to be excited about simple, playful things, but believe oneself to be too old to show it. Perceived maturity is beginning to be tantamount at this age, as is the idea of being cool.

Henry, for all his efforts (and a good bit of maturity, in truth), is perceived as neither.

“The circus is for babies,” Jack Hastings declares in the schoolyard when Henry makes the mistake of mentioning that he’d seen the tents. A keen observer might find humor in the fact that Jack’s proclamation was made as he and the boys played with a collection of small wooden soldiers; the boys, however, are not yet adult enough to see the irony. “I’m not going.”

“I don’t know,” Henry ventures cautiously. “I think I might like to go. It isn’t very often something like the circus comes to town.”

“That’s because you’re a baby,” Jack taunts. “Henry’s a baby! Henry’s a baby!”

“Am not!” Henry bites back hotly before anyone else takes up the chant.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Then prove it.”

That’s how Henry finds himself examining the black iron bars that encircle the circus tents, searching for a way to slip in. It’s a dare - to sneak in, in daylight hours, and come back with something to prove it. Henry had agreed in the heat of the moment. Now, with school over, Henry’s got to do the deed, while all the other boys wait back in the schoolyard.

While Henry remembers the Circus practically crackling with its own special energy, things are quiet in the light of day. He supposes that makes sense; the Circus operates from sunset to sunrise, and it’s still an hour until dusk. Its performers need to rest and prepare and the like, like anyone else, and this is the time they get to do that.

After spending far more time than necessary carefully examining the outer fence, Henry finally finds a little out of the way stretch, framed by the back of two tents with no one in sight. The bars will be a tight squeeze, but he sucks in his stomach and holds his breath, and after a little bit of wiggling, manages to twist his way through. Quickly brushing himself off, Henry searches around for something he can bring back as proof for the other boys. The easiest thing to do would be to tear off a bit of fabric from one of the tents, but he struggles to bring himself to do it. The tents feel special, nearly sacred, somehow; it would be the worst kind of crime to ruin them in any way. Maybe, if he ventures a little further in, he can find something else —

“What are you doing?” a girl’s voice sounds, interrupting Henry’s thoughts.

Whirling around, Henry is met by a blonde girl he could have sworn wasn’t there before, about his age, dressed in a black and silver striped dress. He didn’t know people his age were allowed to join the circus; it catches his attention nearly as much as the look on her face. Though her words are accusing, her face only shows curiosity.

That does nothing to temper Henry’s shame, for better or worse. He didn’t exactly count on getting caught, after all. “There was a dare,” he blurts out. “To sneak into the circus.”

“Well, you managed that,” she observes.

“Yes.” The silence sits heavy between them. Henry knows he ought to leave, but also feels like he can’t. “I’m sorry,” he finally cuts in - practically begs - once the quiet gets too much and he can’t take that curious stare anymore. “I can slip back out again, or pay the admission, or —”

That finally makes her smile - a bright, lovely thing that makes something stir within Henry that he’s never felt before. “It’s quite alright, Henry. You don’t need to leave. Nick saw you coming.”

He has many questions about that - how she knew his name, what in the world saw you coming means - but he reaches for the easiest first. “Who’s Nick?”

“My brother,” the girl beams. “Twin brother, really. I’m Ava.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.” It’s obvious that there’s no real point in offering his name; Henry is curiously less concerned about her unnatural knowledge than he figures he really ought to be.

“Likewise,” Ava replies with that same smile, offering her hand for Henry to awkwardly shake.

(For the first time in his life, he’s left wondering if he should have kissed the back of her offered hand instead. Then again - that sounds gross.)

“Come with me,” she commands with a little nod of her head. Even knowing he ought to slip back through the fence, Henry can’t help but follow, pulled along in a way that he doesn’t quite understand. “You picked a good day to come - Nick says the Circus will be closed tonight for inclement weather,” she adds with a hand waved towards the quickly gathering clouds.

“Yes, they just called it,” adds a different voice - another boy, this one also their age and with a remarkable resemblance to Ava. The biggest difference, really, is the boy’s light brown hair, a contrast to her cheery blonde. It’s obvious this is the twin brother she mentioned - Nick, who somehow knows things.

“He was there, just like you said, Nickie,” she laughs. “I don’t know why anyone bothers to doubt you.”

“They don’t know better,” Nick shrugs.

“Nick has a gift,” Ava explains. “He sees things that others don’t - and they always come true.”

“Oh.” Henry isn’t really sure what to say to that, honestly. He doesn’t disbelieve it, really - Ava did know things she shouldn’t have, without what they claim being true - but he’s a little too flabbergasted at it all to say anything more comprehensible. Besides, if such a thing were to be true - well, it makes sense that it’d happen at the Circus. Where else is magical enough to shelter people with such talents?

Ava breezes right past it though. That must be characteristic of her, if the way her brother stifles a smile is any indication. “There’s always a party in the acrobats’ tent whenever the weather is too bad to open. It’s the biggest, you know.”

“You can come too, if you want,” Nick adds.

Despite the tempting offer, Henry frowns. “I’m not part of the Circus, though. Won’t anyone mind?”

“Circus people are welcoming,” Nick shrugs. “They won’t mind.”

“Besides, everyone thinks we need friends our own age,” Ava chimes in.

As the sun starts to creep below the horizon, Henry lets the twins lead him across the circus grounds. He wants to go, really - besides, there’s no reason not to. There’s no one waiting who will care if he doesn’t show up for dinner, or even for bedtime.

(Nick probably already knows that as well; perhaps that’s why neither of them ask whether he needs to be home.)

The inclement weather party is a different kind of marvel than the otherworldly splendor of the open circus that Henry remembers. It seems like everyone is crowded into the tent as raindrops start to patter down upon the canvas, yet somehow the space never seems claustrophobic. Half the collected mass is in their black and white and silver circus clothes, while the other half wears street clothes in all manner of colors and styles. Laughter colors the air, as small groups congregate only to disperse and remingle again. It feels like a family, like a great big reunion, even though Henry is sure they’re not all related.

(Then again, maybe family doesn’t have to be linked by blood and genealogical trees; maybe family is something that can be crafted with those you choose and care for.)

Ava tugs on his arm before he can get too lost in his thoughts and marvelling at the spectacle of the tent. “You should meet Emma,” she says. At her side, Nick nods in genial agreement. “You’ll like her. She’s the magician.”

She doesn’t quite bodily haul him across the tent space, but it’s close. Henry would complain, but it isn’t hurting; he can tell she’s just eager to share her and Nick’s world in a way she hasn’t with outsiders before. At least, Henry hopes she hasn’t shared all this with outsiders before; Henry’s never really had the chance to be special. It’d be a nice change.

Eventually, she halts in front of a cluster of women - three brunettes and a blonde. All smile fondly as Ava approaches with Henry in tow. “Emma, I want you to meet someone!” Ava bursts out as they pull to a stop.

“I can see that,” the blonde chuckles as her companions move away. Henry’s distracted for a moment by the movement of the other three ladies, but forces his attention back to meet the magician’s eyes.

And it’s her - the nice lady from the last time he was here. Henry’s face flushes red as he remembers his youthful question - Are you a princess?. She still looks like a princess, four years later, only in a burgundy dress with her hair in a simple bun instead of her sumptuous black and white dress from the last time they met. He can see the moment recognition sweeps across Emma’s face, and knows she remembers too.

“Henry, was it?” Emma smiles down at him. Somehow, he manages a nod of confirmation. “It’s lovely to see you again, Henry.”

Ava’s face drops a little in disappointment, and a hint of confusion. Seems this is one thing her brother’s visions didn’t reveal - or at least one thing he didn’t share with her. “You know each other already?”

“Only a little,” Henry hastens to explain. It somehow feels very important that Ava know he didn’t deceive her in this way.

“Henry and I briefly crossed paths the last time the Circus was here - what, four years ago?” Henry nods again. Emma and Ava and Nick and the rest of the Circus may have been to so many places since them that they don’t remember exactly how long it’s been, but Henry could probably tell them down to the day if he just had a couple of minutes to think. “He was kind enough to let me escort him back to the front gates. I must say, I didn’t expect to see him here tonight, though… is there anything I ought to know?”

“No!” Ava assures quickly. It’s not remotely convincing; Henry barely manages to smother a smile as she continues her blatant evasion. “We should go get a little something to eat. Come on, Henry, let’s go!”

To be fair, the spread that Ava leads him to - Nick pulling up the rear, laughing - is very impressive. There are all manner of little finger foods to carry with him, savory and sweet, and an older lady the twins call Granny who presides over the whole thing and makes Henry take another sandwich. All of the circus members - and it feels like Henry’s introduced to every single one - seem to treat the twins like a niece and nephew, or maybe even children. There’s an affection in the air amongst everyone that’s almost palpable, and like nothing he’s ever encountered before. It’s hard not to feel a little jealous of his new friends; it’s everything he’s ever wished for himself.

Eventually, he’s dragged across the grounds to what they’ll only call the cloud room after a stop by Emma again for a set of umbrellas that seem to actively repel water.

“It’s my favorite spot,” Nick explains as they shake off their umbrellas just inside the tent flap in a dim antechamber. Henry had barely caught a glimpse of the signage before he’d been bustled inside; Atmospheric Wonders had been less than illuminating a descriptor. “Ava’s is the carousel.”

“I like the animals,” she shrugs. “They’re interesting.”

“Yeah, well, so is this,” her brother quips back. “Henry, look.”

And when Henry does - it’s more than his imagination ever expected.

Somehow, there are dozens of fluffy clouds floating within the confines of the tent, the top of the peaked canvas not even visible for all the clouds in the way. They come in all sizes, all winding around a central, silvery structure with a platform at the top and a slide spiraling back down to the ground. Somehow along the stretch from the ground to the indiscernible peak, the stripes shift into a night sky gently dappled with stars. It’s mystical, and marvelous, and unlike anything he’s ever imagined.

Henry has barely processed what he’s seeing before Nick takes a flying leap onto a cloud hovering at chest height. Miraculously, it somehow holds his weight, bobbing gently in the air under the change of balance but showing no signs of capsizing.

“It’s really very sturdy,” he calls from his perch, grinning with glee. “There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

Carefully, Henry steps onto a different cloud hovering about his knees; that’s less distance to fall if there’s any problem. Under his feet, the cloud isn’t exactly firm, or stable - it’s more like if you try to step onto a mattress - but he can also feel that he’s not at risk of crashing down. Somehow, it’s just as safe as Nick promised.

(How did he miss this before? Now that Henry’s here, he’s not sure he ever wants to leave.)

Ava clambers up onto a cloud somewhere between him and Nick, abandoning grace to pull herself to standing. “It’s a newer tent,” she explains, brushing her skirt free of imaginary cloud dust and casually reading Henry’s mind. Maybe her brother isn’t the only one with special powers of sight. “It only went up a couple months ago, right, Nick?”

“January,” he confirms. “Just after the new year’s party.”

“Not a lot of people know about it yet - but it’s one of our favorites now. Nick and I like to come on the nights we’re not busy with other things.”

Across from them both, Nick obviously grows impatient with all the chatter, leaping to another, higher cloud. “Race you to the top!” he yells back, quickly becoming obscured from sight as he scrambles higher and higher.

Ava stretches her hand across the divide to help him forward. “You’re going to love it,” she beams.

Henry takes her hand, gladly, and lets a smile crease his face even as hers stretches impossibly wider.

He does love it, just as she promised. The view from the top is spectacular, like something out of a fairy tale, an impression only magnified by small tufts of cloud still hovering around, inviting them to lounge. It would be a good place just to sit and think, Henry thinks, if you lived with the Circus and had that chance.

Time passes both quickly and slowly at the top of the tower as the three of them sit and talk for what must be hours. Henry feels as if he’s known the twins forever, not just a night - like he fits with them, somehow, in a way he never has with his schoolmates or the other children at the Home, and can’t explain.

(It’s the same feeling he remembers from the first time he visited the Circus, four years before. Of belonging. Of home.)

All too soon, things much end, however. As the conversation encounters a rare lull, Henry sighs heavily, knowing he must draw this to a close.

“I have to go,” he tells his companions - now friends, he thinks - with the kind of regret that’s practically palpable.

Ava nods sadly; Henry scrambles to his feet to help her do the same. It’s what a gentleman would do. “We know. But this was lovely.”

“And you’ll be back,” Nick says decisively. “I know it.”

It’s not worth arguing with the boy with a gift.

Getting down from their perch takes a little more boldness. Technically, there is a slide they could all take advantage of, but Nick won’t let that stand.

“You’ve got to jump, Henry,” he cajoles. “It’s so much more fun. You feel like you’re flying!”

“More like falling,” Henry mutters. Even if he knows that Nick wouldn’t try to hurt him, like some of the boys at school might, looking down from this height makes his stomach turn.

Suddenly, a soft hand slips into his own. Ava, who slipped up beside him while he was distracted by the height. “We’ll do it together,” she promises, and somehow - Henry finds himself nodding.

Nick lets out a wild whoop and throws himself off the platform, gleefully tumbling down and down. Ava squeezes his hand tight, just the once, and then she’s running too, bringing Henry with her as they leap. It feels like he’s left his stomach up at the top, but it’s a little freeing too. At the bottom, a particularly soft cloud cushions their fall, surrounding them like a hug. Henry even finds himself laughing along with Ava and Nick as they pick themselves back up.

Ava walks him back to the main gates under the marvelous umbrella, Nick letting them go on their own after offering Henry a jolly wave goodbye. The door in the iron bars opens without even a squeak, letting the both of them slip through.

“I don’t want to leave,” Henry confides, the words spilling out of him almost without permission. “I don’t want to go back to the real world out there.”

“You’ll be back,” Ava promises. “We’ll see each other again - I promise.”

He wants to believe her - he does. But it’s a mean world out there, and he’s long since learned that nothing is guaranteed, and —

Ava presses up on her toes to drop a quick kiss on Henry’s lips - his first. It’s just a little peck, really, but it makes them both blush and sends something hopeful in his soul soaring above all the other negativity.

“To seal it. The promise,” she explains.

No explanation was needed, really - not to the perfect ending to this dream of a night.

(He does not return to the Circus this time, the Sisters punishing him with extra chores when he sneaks back into the Home long after bed checks. Though he would like nothing more than to return back to the Circus and his new friends, he somehow can’t regret it. Every moment was worth it.

Later, he finds a single glove, white with shiny black buttons, tucked into his pocket - proof for his dare. He never shows it off to the other boys; the little scrap of fabric is too personal, and too precious. Instead, he tucks it into the old cigar box he keeps all his treasures in, amongst the perfectly round stones and colored bits of glass and a brightly colored birds’ feather. Let them think he never managed it. They’ll forget soon enough anyways.

We’ll see each other again, Ava had promised - and Henry intends to wait.)

———

There’s a new attraction at the Circus again, Killian - the most wonderful carousel. There’s the usual carved horses, of course, all wonderfully detailed, but there’s all manner of other creatures too - giraffes and elephants and a particularly clever ostrich. There’s even some mythical creatures too. I’m particularly fond of the gryphon, though I suspect you might prefer the dragon. There’s even a bench seat with a kraken twining around it! It’s truly charming; the kids love it, obviously, but it’s wonderful to see the delight of grown men and women too. I believe I saw a young couple squabbling over the cow yesterday; the lady won, of course. Wise man.

If you hadn’t guessed already, the carousel is very obviously a creation of your winsome competitor. The ride travels through an enclosed portion at the back, ostensibly to parade the figures and their riders past a scrolling display of landscapes; however, having ridden the thing myself (I couldn’t resist, Killian! And obviously chose the gryphon, though I was tempted by a polar bear), it’s obvious that this tunnel somehow bends reality, stretches the track much further than it should ever go. Magic is obviously at play, here, though I believe the visitors are too enthralled (and, as usual, too oblivious) to realize.

There’s something else a little unusual about the carousel: Mr. Booth’s part in bringing it to life. He was here in Brussels to oversee installation, or I might not have believed it. You know as well as I that usually, new installments just… pop up, without explanation. His craftsmanship is evident in the construction, too, if you know to look - the smooth curves and the intricate carvings and the way the peak of the striped roof stretches up towards the sky. It’s lovely, really, and undeniably a joint effort between Mr. Booth and Miss Swan.

Does that mean he’s aware of her abilities? I can’t say for certain, but I have trouble imagining otherwise. It could be interesting to see if you could enlist him in a similar effort - though of course, that’s entirely up to you. I’m merely reporting your opponent’s most recent move on the chessboard, so to speak.

(Do come see the carousel, though; I promise you won’t regret it.)

Affectionately yours,

Belle

———

Killian folds Belle’s latest letter carefully, considering her words as he meticulously files the pages away, just as he always does. The new carousel sounds beautiful, of course; Miss Swan’s creations always are. The fact that she enlisted August Booth to create it captures his attention the same way it had Belle’s. That’s something he never considered - drawing upon others’ skills to create something that is not entirely mechanical, but not fully dependent on magic either. He should have thought of it sooner - after all, the Circus as a whole operates in a similar way, weaving enchantments in amongst all the physical manpower needed to bring the whole thing to life. It sets Killian’s mind running in other directions, other ideas that could be brought to life in the same way. And if Booth is aware of the things Miss Swan can do… perhaps he can serve as an intermediary, of sorts, in a way that could bring this competition to a new level.

But Killian is a patient man, a planner through and through. It’s his greatest advantage in his employment and in this game. So before he lets his imagination run away with him, drafting things that can never come to fruition, he calls upon Booth at his office to test the waters of what is possible.

“I didn’t expect to see you, Jones,” the other man says, smiling genially as he comes out from around the back of his heavy wooden desk to offer a handshake of greeting.

“It was a bit of an unplanned visit,” Killian admits as he seats himself in the offered chair.

“Well that’s quite alright. What can I do for you? Is this about the Circus, or are you finally looking to build something more comfortable than that little flat of yours?”

“It’s about the Circus.” Killian lets his gaze glance around the room before he speaks further, considering his next words. Though the furniture in the office at Booth’s architecture firm is heavy, with dark wood and intricate carvings and tall bookshelves lining two walls, the whole thing manages to avoid a feeling of claustrophobia due to a stretch of tall windows along one wall. A panel of stained glass is installed in the middle, with beautiful swirling patterns in all kinds of colors. The whole effect is a little whimsical, while somehow still ordered and elegant. In that moment, Killian can see exactly why August Booth was chosen as a partner to produce the Circus.

Drawing his attention back to Booth, Killian finds the man patiently waiting for him to start speaking, prompting him to gather his thoughts. “I understand you had a hand in creating a new attraction - a carousel.”

“Ah yes,” August smiles. His tone is fond, almost like a parent speaking of a favorite child. “Marvelous, isn’t it? Though, of course, I can’t take full credit - or even most of the credit, really.”

“So you’re aware of others’... unusual contributions, shall we say.”

Booth makes an amused, guttural noise from the back of his throat. “I may be a skilled designer, but not nearly enough to create space that’s not there. And I’m not nearly oblivious or egotistical enough to believe I can. Besides, Miss Swan was involved from the beginning. The carousel was her idea.”

That’s one question answered. “So how much did Miss Swan tell you about her… abilities, I suppose? And her influence on the Circus?”

“A rudimentary explanation, I believe - just as much as I needed to agree to assist her. All her illusions are real, true magic, and she’s engaged in a competition to be played out at the Circus.” Realization suddenly lights his eyes. “I suppose that makes you the competitor, then? She didn’t seem to know who they were.”

“Aye, I am. And I would appreciate it if you would keep that fact between us. This particular game doesn’t precisely encourage familiarity between contestants.”

August waves him off. “Of course. Now, are you here just to talk about the carousel - or do you have something else in mind?”

“You read my mind,” Killian says, letting a smile spread across his face. “I have an unusual idea, one that I think you can be of assistance with.”

———

Emma should have known that her opponent would hear of the carousel, and of her partnership with Mr. Booth. What she hadn’t expected was for Mr. Booth to send her a letter, detailing an idea her competitor had brought to him.

One they want her involvement in as well.

It’s a simple idea, on the surface - a maze of rooms. Its brilliance is in how it allows the two of them to interact and compete directly as they build off of each others’ ideas. Once the maze is brought to life, once visitors enter the tent, they reach a hallway lined with doors, each leading into other rooms with other doors, and so on. Some will be hidden; some will be obvious. It is entirely up to Emma and whoever she is competing against to build out each room, testing the limits of imagination and reality and magic.

It’s like a puzzle on a massive scale - each piece fitting into others which in turn fit into others. It’s fascinating to see the things her opponent comes up with over time - creations that play with structure, with scale, like golden bird cages and a room where everything appears so large as to dwarf the viewer. She treasures exploring each one, finding all the hidden doors and discerning the way everything fits together.

Emma has a niggling feeling that this is not exactly how their competition is supposed to play out - but as she opens another door, she can’t bring herself to care.

———

Maybe it’s ridiculous - but Killian feels like he comes to know the lovely Miss Swan a little better through the room maze and each addition she crafts from her imagination.

She focuses on creating an atmosphere, he finds - the little things that make each space feel like an environment, rather than a room. There are lush green jungles and arid desertscapes and the illusion of a lovely rose garden. He wonders if she feels trapped; all the illusions of open spaces make him think she might.

He can tell she truly loves the circus in all the little details she weaves in, too. It must take her incredible effort, but it’s worth it to see how leaves glisten with dew and the barest scent of earth or flowers tickles his nose and heat or chill dances along his skin. There’s pride to be found in the work she creates - all the things that take each room of the maze from the illusion of a space into something tangible and believable as its own natural world.

She’s smart, too: the hatches and doors out of her rooms are cleverly hidden, and often require searching for a key first. Killian thinks she might be trying to stump him, for all the time he spends searching for the way out in some rooms. Would she laugh if she could see him? Is he reacting in exactly the way she anticipated, or even intended?

(Would he even mind?)

He’s not such a fool as to fall a little in love with his opponent in the rooms that she builds, but he does delight in receiving these little insights to her personality. It reminds him that Miss Swan is more than his opponent - she’s a person, and one he’d love to know under other circumstances.

Only time will tell whether that makes things easier or harder.

———

To no one’s particular surprise, Regina does not approve of the maze.

“This is a waste of your time,” she proclaims to Emma on one of her rare (and never welcomed) visits. “You’re supposed to be competing, not… collaborating.” She spits out the word like it’s a profanity; who knows, it likely is in her mind. Emma wouldn’t be entirely surprised.

“Isn’t this just a different way of competing?” Emma asks. Truthfully, she doesn’t see the fuss. “I’d think it would be easier to compare, when we have to share the same structure. Well, even more than we usually do.”

“This is not how things are supposed to work,” Regina snaps. “I didn’t train you to be so stupid about this, Emma. You know better - this is… frivolous!”

“I like it,” Emma says, letting her voice display a quiet defiance. “I think it’s wonderful.”

That’s why she’d led Regina to the maze in the first place, instead of simply taking tea in her compartment as usual - a little childish thought that maybe her mentor would see all the careful crafting she had put into each chamber. That maybe she would appreciate this unusual way in which Emma was stretching her abilities beyond what she thought was possible, challenged by the necessity of working around someone else’s ideas in the most literal, compressed way. That maybe she would be proud.

Pride, at least for others, is not something that’s in Regina’s vocabulary, however - something that Emma has never been more aware of than in this moment, standing amongst the hedges of a shifting maze within a maze. It’s an ever-changing creation, one that Emma had been particularly proud of.

It’s easier simply to wind their way to the closest exit than to attempt to convince Regina any further; Emma has long since learned her mentor is an immovable force. If Regina hasn’t been swayed by the creativity and brilliance of seeing the maze in person, no words will do it. So they’ll exit the maze and slip back into the backstage rooms, where Regina can berate her about her work ethic and how it seems like Emma doesn’t even want this while still failing to offer any concrete details or advice, until Emma can make her escape to perform another show, displaying her abilities to a kinder audience. That’s how these things always seem to go, and now that her foolishly hopeful little bubble has been broken, there’s no reason they won’t go that way again.

Then again, there’s alway room for surprises and changes from the norm; Emma should know that, after so many years here at the Circus. As they exit into the chilled night air, Emma - and more importantly, Regina - clearly didn’t expect to run into Mulan as the sword swallower wandered back towards her own lodgings.

Most days, Emma almost forgets this other source of magic buzzing around the circus. It’s like white noise, almost; something Emma is subconsciously aware of, and can focus on when she chooses, but fades into the background most of the time. They’re friendly, but not quite friends - happy to spend time with one another, but rarely seeking each other out. Mulan is closer with Ruby, or with Belle. It’s easy, in that way, for Emma to forget the higher force that binds the two of them together - Regina herself, who has been a teacher to both of them.

It is visibly obvious the moment they catch sight of one another: both straighten to their most rigid posture, Regina’s face shifting into something even more haughty than her usual mien, and Mulan shifting to something cool and dangerous. The air between them practically crackles with restrained magical energy, sending the hair on Emma’s arms to stand on end. Emma sends a silent thanks to whomever may be listening that this meeting occurred firmly in public; while the confrontation is primed to be bad as it is, she wouldn’t relish being forced between them in a private setting. Or a dark alley.

For all of the danger sparking the air, it is almost anticlimactic when each party finally finds their words. “Regina,” Mulan says, coolly polite and with the barest incline of her head. Regina only jerks her chin in a broken nod in response.

And then they’re moving their separate ways, the whole thing over. Maybe it’s better that way; it would be a pity if the Circus was razed to the ground, after they’ve all put so much effort into the venue. There’s a story there, though, one Emma doesn’t know but can’t help but wonder about. She’ll have to ask Mulan, later; she knows very well that asking Regina will bear no fruit.

(She never does, of course, just another intention lost to time and her mentor’s berating. Not that it would have done any good, anyways. Mulan keeps her secrets locked as tight as the most impressive safe.)

———

Emma knows Belle, of course - they’ve both been with the Circus for more than a decade, and Emma isn’t entirely self absorbed. They’re even friendly, in that way two people who work together but aren’t particularly close can be. But never once in all that time can Emma remember actively seeking the other woman out - for her skills or anything else.

Belle’s particular skill unsettles Emma, she supposes. It feels a little hypocritical - Emma has magic, after all, she shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable about fortune-telling. There’s something about the talent to see glimpses of the future, however, that has never sat quite right in her mind - that has always made her ever so slightly uncomfortable. It’s not Belle’s fault; Emma knows as well as anyone that sometimes, these kinds of gifts choose their recipient instead of the other way around.

There’s something in the air, though, something Emma can’t quite identify. There’s a niggling feeling of anticipation, like a reverse deja vu, where Emma knows something is coming, but doesn’t know what or how or when. She’s never been particularly good with that kind of uncertainty, searching for control wherever possible. It’s that search for control that brings her to Belle, seeking answers anywhere she can find them. Unusual times call for unusual measures, or some other such cliché.

Emma goes at night, while the Circus is open, in between her own performances - just like any other querrant. It’s a simple thing to blend into the crowd - after all, no one is expecting the illusionist to wander among them, especially in a dark coat and skirts turned crimson red with the touch of a finger. It takes no magic at all to slip down the silvery paths and duck into a tent labeled Fortune Teller: Feats of Fate and Prophecy.

Belle snaps into character as soon as Emma brushes past the beaded curtain welcoming visitors into her space, only to relax again as she recognizes Emma’s face. “What a lovely surprise,” she comments with a pleased smile. “Sit down, sit down. What can I do for you, Emma?”

“I was hoping for a reading,” Emma explains as casually as possible - as if this is no great favor. Still, it shoots the brunette’s eyebrows up towards her hairline in surprise.

“I must say, I didn’t expect that,” she comments. “I don’t believe you’ve asked such a thing of me before.”

“I haven’t felt the desire before.”

“Ah. You must face some kind of crossroads, then.”

“Truthfully, I am not even sure enough to say that much,” Emma admits. Summoning a few coins into her hand, she pushes them across the table - payment for services rendered, as is typically custom in Belle’s little nook. “I hoped you might be able to shed more light on the matter than I can currently discern.”

Belle pushes the coins back. “Keep your money. Consider this a gift for a friend. Now, shall we?” As soon as Emma nods, Belle begins shuffling the cards - a quick, hypnotic motion, as each card flies past again and again. Once she’s satisfied with the shuffle, she carefully fans the cards across her table, face down. “Pick a card to represent yourself, if you please.”

Emma contemplates her options; truthfully, the tarot has never called to her, and this moment is no different. After some short examination, she selects one barely visible towards the left-hand side.

Belle chuckles a little as she turns the card over - and Emma can see exactly why, as soon as she sees the card. The Magician.

“Now, this card often represents a plethora of abilities or options you may not be fully aware of, especially in the face of impending change or disaster,” Belle explains. “And that may still be the case. However, under the circumstances, I suspect this card is supposed to be taken rather more literally in this particular reading, Madame Magician.”

Belle shuffles again, before cutting the deck into three portions and directing Emma to select one. Replacing the selected stack back at the top at the pile, she quickly doles the cards back out, in practiced patterns and an unexpected elegance. There are flashes of cups and swords on the cards between them, interspersed with picture cards of women and wheels and a couple reaching for one another.

(Emma does not think she has the time for whatever a card like The Lovers may symbolize.)

“I see what you mean,” Belle says after a long moment. “There are significant changes here - in circumstance, in thinking, and in feelings. Whatever knot you have been working at in your mind will begin to unravel - one change that will spur many more. Now these changes - they seem imminent.”

“How imminent?”

Belle cocks her head, examining again. “There’s rarely an evident timeline that I can see,” she admits, “but I would wager in the coming weeks or months.”

Emma nods. It’s not really an answer - but it feels like validation, somehow. Like someone else can sense that something is on the horizon.

“Now, I asked about a crossroads, before we started,” Belle continues. “The changes that are coming - they will not be your crossroads. This will not be the moment you have to make that decision. But each change will compound upon each other until it leads you to that crossroads - a choice you’ll make that will change everything, again. It will not be for some time yet, but those seeds are being sown now.”

Emma nods slowly, taking it all in. There is an odd comfort in Belle’s words, even as Emma tells herself not to put too much stock in it. “Thank you,” she finally says. “Is there anything else you can see?”

Belle shakes her head ruefully. “Not that I can see now, no. But I’ll keep looking. Sometimes, these things make themselves clearer given a few hours to think on them.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

Emma ponders the words as she emerges back into the night. A momentous change to come seems inevitable - both from her instincts and Belle’s own readings. All that’s left to do is brace herself and face that change with an open mind and courage.

The weeks and months to come may change everything - and Emma intends to be ready for it.

———

We’ll be back in England next month - just in time for the rains, I’m sure. As if they ever stop. I anticipate many inclement weather parties in my future, and I don’t even need the cards to tell me that.

Speaking of which - be on the lookout for something, Killian. Change is in the cards and in the air. Something is on the horizon, and I think it’s best you be ready for whatever that might be.

We’ll have tea one afternoon next time I’m in town, and you can buy me an absurd amount of books. I have several recommendations to give you from the last batch. I expect you’ll feign interest and the time to read, just as always, but I don’t particularly care. You’ll do it because I’m your friend, and you love me.

Yours &c.,

Belle

———

That same feeling of anticipation, of something in the air, only intensifies when the Circus returns to London for a short stretch. It’s been growing ever since Emma spoke with Belle, becoming more urgent as time goes by. A breaking point must come soon - though what that will herald, Emma doesn’t pretend to know. There’s no use continuing to worry over something that will only reveal itself at the right time.

Emma throws herself into rediscovery instead, wandering all those places she used to know. It’s hard to call London home, even though she grew up here - that designation has only ever belonged to her cramped and cozy little train compartment - but the city is familiar in a way that’s comforting. She spent the first 24 years of her life here, after all; even trapped under Regina’s thumb, she was able to discover little corners of the city all her own, park benches and cafe tables and backstage theater rooms.

(She doesn’t intend to visit her benefactor during this stop, if she can at all help it; bringing Regina into things always invites trouble that Emma would rather avoid.)

It’s raining on their first day in town, of course, like her own meteorological welcome. Emma smiles a bit at the thought of the clouds and raindrops and wind whispering a hello - though truthfully, she’s seen odder things. She’s orchestrated odder things. The soft patter of raindrops on her umbrella is almost soothing as she walks down the cobbled streets to a favorite remembered cafe. Emma loves the Circus with every fiber of her being, both as her creation and as her home; still, sometimes it’s nice to escape for an afternoon and enjoy the anonymity of people watching or reading a nice book. Some days, she wants that distance; to be just another face in the crowd.

The afternoon passes quietly and uneventfully with her tea and scone and a silly novel. It’s easy to blend into this little corner of London, tucked into the corner of a quiet street off the main road. Emma has always liked this place, and tries to visit whenever she’s in the city; it’s something about the way that light dapples through the wide windows at the front, always perpetually just the slightest bit grimy, like dirt had accumulated just as soon as some poor soul had taken the efforts to clean them off. The used bookstore just across the street is a wonderful bonus too, where Emma sometimes finds unexpected treasures. Here, she can be just anyone else - no expectations, no grand fate. Just a woman at a weathered table.

All too soon, the clock on the wall chimes 4pm, prompting Emma to gather her things to leave. This time of year, even though spring approaches, the sun still sets early, heralding the opening of the circus’ wide gates. Emma is lucky enough to set her own performance hours during the night, generally aiming to do three or four shows in an evening; however, it’s still important that she’s fully ready for the evening by the time the first visitors trickle into the grounds, regardless of the fact that she won’t make her own dramatic entrance for at least another half hour.

As she bustles out the door, she mentally runs through her checklist for the night of tricks she might like to perform. That’s the freeing thing about performing with real magic; not having to depend on mechanics means that she can improvise, that every single show can be different as she feeds off the audience and her current whims.

She’s so busy running through her possibilities for the night that she doesn’t notice she’s grabbed the wrong umbrella - not at first, at least. It’s just one amongst a cluster of black fabric in the umbrella stand, each nearly identical to each other. Emma’s put a special charm on hers that repels the rain; that slight buzz of magic is the only thing that differentiates hers from all the others. She picks it out by the feel alone, absentmindedly, before exiting into the deluge.

Something is off, though - something she realizes the further she walks from the cafe and comes back to full awareness. The charm on the umbrella is wonderfully effective, as always, but there’s something… wrong about the magic. Emma’s own magic has a particular warm feel to it, one that largely fades into the background of her mind until she barely notices it. This, though… the buzz continues, like a pricking or a tickle under her skin. Foreign.

Not hers.

Realization draws her up short. This umbrella - clearly imbued with powerful magic - magic like her opponent would possess - in the cafe at the same time -

A polite clearing of the throat causes Emma to whip around, revealing an unexpectedly familiar face: Jefferson’s assistant, the handsome one, who she remembers lurking at the edges of ballrooms and the back of theatres and in the densest of crowds. Jones - something with a K. Or a C? Kelvin? Carson? No —

“Excuse me, Miss Swan,” Killian Jones smiles warmly, “but I believe you have my umbrella.”

#cssns20 #captain swan #cs ff #captain swan ff #A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink #magicians!CS #The Night Circus #they finally meet guys!#twenty some odd years later #also henry is real cute #and i just want you to know that

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thatnerdnextdoor24 · 4 years

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Don’t hurt me like this...

I haven't been very proud of the last few things I've written so I decided to take this one slow until I was proud of it and actually enjoyed it. Then I spent about an hour at the end, trying to remember the word 'mischievous.' So, even though it's short, I hope it makes you laugh. Prompt; doing something together.

Ao3

More Kit/Ty

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ty…” He whispered, voice gruff. “Don’t do this to me…” He begged, pressure was building behind his eyes. His throat was thick, “Please, think about this!” Kit exclaimed. He couldn’t believe Ty could hurt him like this.

“I’m sorry Kit,” Ty looked up at him, regret prominent in his eyes. “Think about all we’ve been through!” Kit interjected. He pleaded with his eyes, in hopes that Ty would remember how much he loved him. “Don’t hurt me like this…” But Ty only looked at him, and Kit knew that his mind was made up. And there was nothing Kit could do to change it.

Ty gave him one final apologetic look, “It has to be done.” His voice grave, he pulled the card out of his hand. Kit almost couldn’t look. He felt the air in the room, heavy with guilt. Ty placed the card on the pile, “Draw four, Uno.” He whispered.

A competitive rage filled Kit, he tossed his cards down. “Come on! This is the third time.” He dragged his hand down his face, Ty chuckled at his dramatics. “How are you so good at this?!” Kit demanded. Ty shrugged, “I’m not,” He shot Kit a cheeky grin, “You, are just bad at Uno,” Kit feigned offense with a loud gasp, “How DARE you! Insulting my Uno playing abilities? That is just hurtful.” He shook his head with a smirk.

To be fair, Kit, while he could crush any video game, he was hilariously bad at most board or card games. Ty on the other hand, was great at both card and board games. To the extent that certain games were banned from their house because Ty was just too good at them. But where Kit lacked in board game capabilities, he made up for with enthusiasm and a competitive attitude.

“Also, we technically haven’t finished. I still have one more card,” Ty pointed out. Kit raised his hands in defeat, “Absolutely not. We have been playing this game for like, three hours,” They really had been playing this game for so long. Everytime one of them got close to winning, the other had another card up his sleeve. They had just kept going back and forth in a never ending game of Uno. Then again, it wasn’t like they had anything better to do. They were stuck at the London Institute and it hadn’t stopped raining all day long.

Ty looked down at his phone, “Actually, it’s been four hours.”

“Oh yes, that’s so much better,”

“Yes, it is. Four is an even number. I’d rather play for four hours than three,”

“I’d rather play a game of Uno for thirty minutes,” Kit muttered as he shoved all the cards back into the box. “Really, a card game this simple shouldn’t take longer than thirty minutes.” He glanced up to see if Ty agreed, but his boyfriend had flopped back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. His hands behind his head, and the edge of his shirt had ridden up.

Kit slid the box of cards aside, and crawled across the floor. He laid down on his side, propping his head up with his fist. “Bored?” He asked. Ty kept staring at the ceiling, he shook his head slightly. “Not really,” His voice had grown quiet. “I can hear the rain on the roof,” He said. Slowly, his eyes fell closed. Kit watched his chest rise and fall with his breathing. Above them, the rain did indeed pound against the roof in a soothing rhythm.

His body seemed relaxed for the first time in days. His curly hair had grown out and now grazed the bottom of his jaw. His long eyelashes pillowed on his cheek. “I can feel you staring at me,” Ty murmured. Kit drapped his arm over Ty’s middle. “I thought you were asleep,”

Ty huffed, “I can’t sleep when you stare at me,” Kit let out a quiet snort of laughter, “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” He said, thinking about all the many, many, times Ty fell asleep before him and Kit would lay awake for a while longer. The corners of Ty’s mouth pulled up into the smallest of smiles. Kit’s hand traced idle patterns across Ty’s chest.

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Hissed a high pitched voice from above. It made Kit jump, but he knew who it was before he saw her. Jessamine Lovelace floated above them, glaring daggers at Kit. Her hands fisted on the hips of her poofy Victorian dress. “Will you just kiss already?! I can’t keep watching you stare at him forever,”

Kit laughed, loud enough to startle Ty. He gave Kit a confused look, before Kit captured his lips. Giving him a short and sweet kiss. He turned his head to look back up, leaving a slightly bewildered looking Ty. “There is that better for you-” Kit cut himself off.

Where Jessamine had been, there was nothing but air and the sound of rain. Kit rolled his eyes. “Hopeless romantic,” He muttered into the air. Knowing that wherever Jessamine had disappeared too, she most definitely had a mischievous grin across her ghostly face.

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overlyimmersedarcana · 4 years

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No Matter Where You Are

(The Arcana fanfic)

He sits in some dark corner, huddled tightly in the blanket he always carries, quiet sobs making his form quiver. Being the biggest kid never kept him from getting picked on. The others came to him when they needed something, but otherwise they jeered and threw rocks. Kids can be as cruel as any adult.

"Oh, dear..." comes a little voice. It's high pitched and soft, sympathetic. Or is it pitying?

He doesn't know the difference, or care. He just shrinks closer into himself. Despite his attempts to be ignored, he soon feels a presence next to him. He looks up and his eyes meet a pair of deep russet ones. He jolts back a little, he didn't realize the person was this close. He looks over the rest of them, it's a girl. A little girl, maybe around his age, her shirt is pink and her shorts are blue and her dark brown hair is messy. Her face seems familiar, though it's rounder then he thinks it ought to be. Little girls always have round faces, his own face is still round from youth.

The girl is just looking at him, wearing a patient smile. Her big, round eyes are full of sympathy -or pity?- and sadness joins it as her gaze wander over him. "What happened?" she asks, still with her voice lowered.

He looks away from her, not answering. This doesn't seem to deter her.

"Alright," she says gently, "you don't have to say." Something about her voice, not the sound of it but the way she's talking, the odd pronunciations and stresses on sounds, it's familiar somehow. It calls to something in the back of his mind.

But before he can figure what exactly, she's reaching out to him, he flinches away but her movement is confident. The backs of her fingers glide along his cheek, brushing painlessly over one of his new bruises. He looks at her in shock, both at the harmless touch and at the odd feeling of comfort it brings to him. What is this girl?

She smiles at him again and slowly lets her hand fall to find one of his. "It's alright." she assures gently as she takes hold of his hand. This time he's too stunned to resist, and oddly curious. He watches as she turns his hand over and brings it to her lips, her eyes close as she places a soft kiss on the palm. She opens her eyes and meets his gaze again, now her eyes are full of...something else. Something he's not really familiar with, but makes him feel...safe?

"I'll always be here when you need me." comes her little voice against the palm of his hand. He just stares at her, holding that...warm gaze of her's, until a sound draws his attention away.

A voice from the other side of the alley calling to him, he turns his head to see his friend. Or whatever he is. That little kid with the poofy white hair that's always around him anymore. The kid asks what he's doing, and he looks back to his side, about to answer, but she's gone. She's just...gone. His hand slowly falls from where she'd been holding it, it's odd how much he already misses her. The kid tugs at his blanket, and his voice comes along encouraging him to get up. He does, and follows the kid wherever he intends to go, glancing over his shoulder one last time.

```*``` ```*``` ```*```

He's sitting in his cell, chains holding him to the wall. Though he could probably break them, if he really wanted to. It's utterly silent, but he roar of the crowd still echos in his ears, the match replaying over and over again in his mind. It's been hours, it's probably well into night by now. Not that he plans on sleeping much.

The silence of the room is broken by a soft sound. Tapping? The roaring crowd in his mind dulls as he focuses on listening. Knocking? Who knocks here? He lifts his head just enough to see the barred window in his door and his gaze meets a familiar pair of dark eyes. They're now ringed in black markings but they're just as he remembers. It can't be. It seems she's only tall enough for her eyes and nose to be visible, but he can still tell she's smiling when their eyes meet. In a harsh whisper he asks what she's doing here.

"You needed me." She answers simply.

Her words in their youth come back to him, but there have been many times over the years where he needed the comfort she inexplicably brought to him. And he tells her such.

"If that were true, I would have been there." with that, her eyes disappear from the window. For a moment, he thinks she's abandoned him in this place, but then the thunk of the door coming open resounds in the room. And open it creaks, with her stepping though.

She's as pretty as he remembers, probably more so now that she's grown. Her hair is neatly brushed now, and so much longer, flowing down past her waist. Her outfit is less colorful, but more refined, a black calf-length skirt with a green top, the sleeves only coming about 3/4 of the way down her arms. Her face look much more...right, now. It's not round anymore, she's grown up, and the marking around her eyes are more then just eyeliner. They branch off in swirling ivy to her cheek bones.

He stares for a moment, not just because she's pretty or because she looks so different from her childhood, but also because something still feels...a little off. But it's closer now. Once he shakes off the odd feeling, he asks how she got the door open.

She laughs quietly, "You think a little lock can stop me?" her voice is gentle as before, but now it's less high pitched and has some humor to it. Her eyes travel over him, and again take on that...look, that sympathy or pity, which ever it is, and the sadness. She carefully approaches him, her simple black flats making no sound against the cell floor.

He visibly recoils from her, but as last time she's not deterred. She sits herself next to him on the hard wooden bench, smooths her skirt and crosses her ankles like a well trained lady.

Fixing him with that gaze again, "What happened?" she asks, as last time. And as last time he doesn't answer. This time she sighs and soothes "My poor dear." then lifts her hand to reach for him, as last time. This time he verbally protests and leans away. She can't touch him, not like this. He's too... And she's too... He can't let her touch what he is now. This time she hesitates, and the sadness in her eyes deepens. But after a moment she reach again, slowly and as last time brushes the backs on her fingers against his cheek, over a puffy, red gash that had hours ago stopped oozing blood. And just like before, her touch brings no pain, even as it slides over an angry wound. He looks at her, as shocked as the first time and tries to stammer out an argument.

"It's alright" she interrupts, her sad gaze turning warm.

He knows what she'll do next, he remembers, and despite the protests in his mind something deep inside him can't help but let her. She takes his hand, turns it over, and brings it up to lightly kiss his palm, reiterating her promise against his skin "I'll always be here when you need me." It's exactly like last time, this hand has killed so many people now but she still kissed it. Everything he's done hasn't changed anything. That unexplainable sense of calm and comfort washes over him again. This time it's like a great relief and he can almost place that look, the warmth in her eyes, it has a name and it's right on the tip of his tongue.

His peace is shattered by another voice, an obnoxious, grating voice coming down the corridor complaining and barking commands. His attention snaps to the door at the abrupt sound, and just as last time, when he looks back she's gone. Just vanished into thin air. He sighs heavily, missing her and her comfort so painfully he can feel it in his limbs. He felt so close this time, for a second he thought he might get to keep her, at least for more then a long moment. But of course not. Not with *him* around, nothing good can ever happen with *him* around.

```*``` ```*``` ```*```

He's sitting outside his hut in the woods, it's raining but he doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn't care. Outside his dark, quiet forest the city is dying and the only friend he has has lost his mind with grief. Is this how it all ends?

The sounds of a twig snapping drawing his dour gaze and his eyes go wide. It's her. And she looks...well wet, but right. Almost perfect. Her hair looks much darker when it's wet, almost the same color as his is dry. She has bangs now, cut into a V shape who's point reaches the bridge of her nose. He gets the odd impression they'd be fluffy if they were dry. Her outfit is very different again, it's less proper but he likes it better, brown leggings with a layered top, a brown long sleeved shirt under a green short sleeved one. There's color to the markings on her face now, green eye shadow clouded around the ivy, and that's what really sells it. That's what makes her really look...right.

She smiles gently and tips her head at him, before approaching. He was excited when he first saw her, but now, as she sits down next to him, he knows exactly what will happen. She'll just disappear after she kisses his hand. She never stays. He turns his head away from her, and says he doesn't need her.

"If that were true I wouldn't be here." she points out patiently. She reaches for his cheek, this time he catches her wrist, gently but enough to keep it way from him. She sighs and this time the look she gives him isn't sympathy or pity, it's apologetic.

"Oh, Dear." she says with a tone to match her gaze, "Please trust me?" it's more imploring then a real request, and she pulls her wrist free -it doesn't take much effort, he lets her go- to reach for his face again. This time he doesn't resist, allowing the comforting touch. There's no injury this time, just the scar from the last one for the backs of her fingers to brush against. This time the touch does cause him pain, not in his cheek but in his chest. How can he enjoy this when she's just going to leave him alone again? Is a handful of moments every few years really enough? Is it really all she can manage? He just wants to stay like this. He just wants to keep her.

"You can." she says softly, almost with a whisper of a laugh. He doesn't think he said that out-loud. She reaches for his hand and he pulls it back, he's not ready for this to be over. He doesn't want it to end so quickly. She gives him the sympathetic look asking him again, with her eyes, to trust her. He resigns, giving her his hand but dropping his head. She takes it and holds it to her lips, he can feel her breath against his palm, but she doesn't kiss it. He glances up to see why and meets her gaze. The look in her eyes is different, the warmth is there, but there's more this time. Her dark brown eyes beg for his faith and his forgiveness.

Once he's looking at her, she closes her eyes and places a soft kiss on his palm, then speaks against his skin. Only this time it isn't her promise, "I'm right here." she whispers assuring. He's startled, and when her eyes open again and meet his, everything fades to white.

```*``` ```*``` ```*```

He draws a sharp breath, dragging the air into his lungs like he hadn't breathed in ages. It takes a moment for his senses to start registering again, at first his vision is a confusing jumble, then shapes in the darkness start to make sense and become familiar. He sits up and notices his skin is damp, he's been sweating. There's a voice next to him, a familiar voice! He looks over, wide eyed and sees her, sitting right beside him. Her hair is messy again, and longer still, even her bangs are longer brushed across her forehead and hanging down against her right cheek. She's wearing little black shorts with stars on them, and a white tank top.

"Maranell..." he breathes in a half-statement half-question.

She lets out a breath of her own, it seems she was worried "It's alright." she says, settling him with a sympathetic gaze, "you were dreaming."

A dream? That was all a dream...Things start to click into place, this is their bedroom, she built this room. He looks down, they're on their bed. They were sleeping. He sighs deeply and scrubs at his face a little, trying to clear the rest of the haze. He feels her touch and glances over, she's pressed herself close to him, her eyes filled with concern.

"Are you alright?" she asks in that soothing voice.

He nods and drops his hands from his face.

"It's ok if you're not." she assures, tucking a strand of hair out of his face. As she brings her hand down, she brushes the backs of her fingers against his cheek. At first he relaxes into the touch, then the memory strikes him and he jumps slightly, giving her a startled look.

"I- Did you- How?" he stammers, unsure exactly how to ask the question.

"You said you don't like me trying to wake you when you have a nightmare, so I tried an old trick of mine."

"I didn't know you could do that..."

She drops her hand to one of his and watches as she fidgets with it. "It's not something I put a lot of faith in..."

He watches too, for a moment, then looks at her face. He doesn't like that expression. And she wears it too often for his liking. She never hesitates to take on something physical, even things a tiny girl like her shouldn't be able to do. But she always doubts her powers. She once mentioned that her friend made her doubt her empathic sense, he wonders who made her doubt this ability.

"Well... It worked. Thanks." he says, as reassuringly as he can manage. That snaps her out of it and she smiles up at him.

"Good, I'm glad." she brings his hand up to kiss his palm, just like in the dreams, and gives him that warm look. Here in reality he knows it's name, it's love. Her eyes are full of love. "I meant what I said. I'll always be there when you need me, no matter where you are."

He smiles softly and leans to rest his cheek again his head, he can smell her hair this way. The mix of vanilla and myrrh is deeply comforting, it makes everything feel real, it makes her feel real, and her feelings for him. "I know."

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana muriel #muriel x oc #the arcana oc #the arcana fanfic #The Determined Young Woman || Maranell #dream walking #fanfic #fanfiction #writing

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yeet-or-be-hawed · 5 years

Text

“Lost and Found” Arthur Morgan x Reader

Fluff

This was another request for @shewalksinanotherworld! Thank you guys for being so patient with me, I’ve had major writer’s block the last few days but now I’m back full swing!

After getting separated from the gang, the reader has to learn to fend for themselves and survive on their own. Arthur thought you had died in a shootout, so boy was he in for a surprise when he sees a familiar horse in Rhodes!

You cursed the sun as you rode into Rhodes, the air was dry and hot and the dust caked your lungs. You were used to living it rough, but you were used to living it rough with others. Since you got separated from your gang, it’s been nothing but hardships one after the other. You tried so hard not to blame the others. You tried not to let it harden your heart. You tried to tell yourself there was a good reason they didn’t come back for you, or even attempt to send you a letter. Unfortunately you could only try for so long and being left alone with your own thoughts only made it easier for you to abandon hope and replace with with anger. How dare they just leave you behind like that? How dare they never even try to let you know their location? Something always nagged at you in the back of your head, told you you weren’t special and no one cared. It’s why your mama and daddy left you in the streets to starve. It’s why the orphanage was more than willing to throw you out on the streets when they became too overpopulated. And it’s why the people you came to call family picked up and left you without a trace. It didn’t bother you though, you told yourself. You came to terms with the fact you would be alone forever long ago.

You dismounted your horse in front of the butcher.

“Ah, hello young lady. You must be new to these parts, I ain’t seen you before!”

You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “I been sellin’ to you the last three months, Eddie.”

the man became flustered and cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about it.” You said flatly as you u loaded your hunt onto the butcher’s table.

An awkward silence fell between you as he handed you your cash. After you collected, you headed over to the saloon. It didn’t take you long to spend the money you had just received on whiskey and fried catfish.

“...suspicious lookin’ group down by the lake.”

“Saw one of em ridin’ through town yesterday, looked like a mean son of a bitch. Best leave em be till they move on.”

The conversation faded out as the two men left the saloon. You made a mental note to keep your eyes peeled, just in case they were bounty hunters. There seemed to be more and more damned flesh hunters every year. You waved to the bartender, “One more down here good sir.”

“Comin’ right up!”

He placed the shot in front of you and you knocked it back easily. “You reckon that group them men was talkin’ bout were bounty hunters?”

The bartender raised an eyebrow at you suspiciously. “Nah, I don’t reckon so. The men and some of the women like to come into town every now and again. One of ‘em actually asked me about bounty hunters the first time he came in though. Seem like a nice crowd, said the factory they all worked for up North shut down. ”

You nodded. “Thanks.” You placed a tip on the table and turned out the door. As you headed towards the sheriff’s office, you lowered your hat over your face and pulled your hair out of its normal braid. “Afternoon.” You said plainly to the man sitting in behind the desk.

“Mornin’.” The man slurred. You rolled your eyes, this sheriff was no more a threat than the hound dog sniffing around the saloon.

Your eyes studied the board of bounty posters. Your own was there and you grabbed it quickly. You’d have to remember to burn it later. When you removed it, something grabbed your eye. There were layers of bounty posters on the cork board, and sticking out two layers behind you could see AR for the first name and M for the last name.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” You whispered as you pulled out the wanted poster. There he was, a ghost from your past. “WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE. ARTHUR MORGAN, LAST SEEN IN VALENTINE. ASSOCIATES ALSO WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE: DUTCH VAN DER LINDE, HOSEA MATTHEWS, JOHN MARSTON, MICAH BELL. ANY ACCOMPANYING PERSONS WILL BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR AIDING AND ABETTING.”

He looked handsome as ever, even in some shitty drawing. Your first thought was, Arthur could’ve drawn himself so much better. Your second thought was, burn in hell, Morgan. You crumpled up the wanted poster in your hand and stuffed it in your bag. You had half a mind to leave it up, fuck all of them, they could rot for all you cared. They left you, he left you.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, Arthur’s betrayal (or what you considered betrayal) cut you deeper than any of the rest. He was your closest friend in the Van Der Linde Gang, and even though you would never say it, you were hoping to make things more intimate between you two, and sometimes you felt like Arthur wanted the same. But that was a long time ago, before they up and left you in Blackwater. No food, no shelter, they even took your tent. All you had was the clothes on your body and the supplies you had on your horse. Arthur never once sent you a letter; you went to the post office every day, sometimes multiple times a day, hoping for a letter from Tacitus Killgore but it never came. You kept your old alias at the post just in case. That was what burned you the deepest. There were so many opportunities to reach out, and none of them did, not even Arthur.

You decided you would burn his bounty poster along with yours. If any of the others had bounty posters, they could deal with it on their own. Maybe one day Arthur will know your pain of having hisfamily uprooted and left on his own without a trace. You decided that would be a worse fate than being found by bountymen.

You felt tired as you mounted your horse, as if your body was being dragged down by weights. You sighed heavily and gave him a pat. “Come on boy, lets get back home.” With a dig of spurs, the horse sped down the trail.

Arthur cackled as Sadie read off Pearon’s letter in her best impersonation of him as they pulled off the slim trail from Clemen’s Point onto the main road leading into Rhodes. As he pulled out, a horse flew by them like a bullet. Long hair trailed behind the rider’s head and time stood still. He was almost certain that was who he thought it was, but that was impossible. Dutch said she died in the shootout at Blackwater. His eyes followed horse until it disappeared. All in all no more than ten seconds had passed but to Arthur it seemed like he watched that horse for hours.

“Well, come on then let’s go!” Sadie said impatiently.

Arthur sighed and gave the reins a pull. He was in a daze of his own thoughts the rest of the day and for the first time in months, your ghost returned to him in his dreams that night.

Arthur brought the brim of his hat farther over his eyes as he walked down the steps of the gun shop. He could tolerate most anything, but this dry dusty air was getting real old real quick. He gave his horse a good pat and a carrot, she deserved it. The horses around camp deserved more praise than what they got, or atleast Arthur seemed to think so. It must be just as hard on them all this moving as it is for everyone else. “Yer a good ol girl.” He cooed softly. He mounted effortlessly and took a slow pace down the main street of Rhodes. He wanted to whip the reins and tear through the middle of the street like a hell on a horse, but as a badged deputy, he had to maintain a low profile. Hosea and Dutch thought it was silly how serious he took it, he figured he was just doing his best to keep cover.

The horse caught his attention, an Appaloosa with a Leopard coat. It was so dirty, he could hardly distinguish the spots from the mud. Your hair was the next thing he saw. Big and poofy, no doubt from the humidity. When you turned, his heart stopped. “It’s you.” He said breathlessly.

You didn’t even hear anyone approach. When you turned to mount your horse, there he was. He was standing so the afternoon sun sent sunbeams dancing around him making him look like a blessing, but it felt like a curse. He looked too well, a new olive colored vest with golden accents hugged his chest and a crisp white shirt, so new it hadn’t developed sweat stains. His sleeves were rolled up as usual, you remembered him mentioning he hated how restricting full sleeves felt. You remembered secretly admiring the muscular arms he would leave exposed. He seemed a little beefier than you remembered and his beard was longer. You hated him for looking so good.

“I can’t believe it’s really you.” He said softly before pulling himself off his horse. He approached with a big grin, that bastard. He was met with a swift slap to the face.

The shock from your slap rippled throughout his entire body. Of all the reactions, this was the last one he expected. He rubbed the spot where you hit him. “What the hell was that for?” He hissed.

“That was for leaving me!” You half yelled. A couple people were already staring but you didn’t care. “I go hunting for a day and I come back to nothing. No letter, no explanation, no tent! You took my tent for Christ’s sake! I gave my all to you, to everyone and that’s how I’m repaid. Left for dead with nothing but the clothes on my back.” Arthur blinked. You were seething with anger, but your eyes were welling with tears. “You left me behind.” Your voice was suddenly soft and you looked at the ground. Arthur saw the tears fall into the dust. “You left me to die and didn’t even care.”

Arthur stammered, he had no idea what to say. “Dutch said-“

“What did Dutch say? I’m sure it sounded very heroic and made the decision very easy.”

“Dutch said you were dead!” Arthur finally snapped. “He told me you died in that shootout. I grieved over you, I cried for you.” His voice shook with emotion. He grabbed your wrist tight and when you looked him in the eyes, the raw intensity behind them scared you. “Had I thought there would’ve been the slimmest chance you were still alive, I would’ve fought to my last breath to find you.”

Arthur said more than he meant to say in a rush of overwhelming emotions and it took him aback when you looked at him with confusion. “What shootout?”

“Scuse me?”

“What shootout? Why did Dutch say I died?” You looked him dead in the eye and a pit formed in his stomach.

“I...I don’t know.” His grip around your wrists loosened as his eyes darted to and from your face. “Me and Hosea was plannin’ a job, but Micah and Dutch swore by this ferry job they was stakin’ out. I wasn’t with them, but somethin’ went south and the law showed up quick. We had to move out so fast we left everything expect the caravans and the horses. All that money, all my things, and I ain’t sure we can ever get back.”

You sighed. “I understand, that’s a lot to go through, but you didn’t think to try to reach out to me, even once? I been at the post office damn near every day waiting for something, anything from you!”

Arthur gave you a thin glare, “well I don’t remember gettin’ a letter from you, what’s yer excuse?”

You sputtered, it honestly hadn’t occurred to you. “I...well I was- you always tell us to be so careful! How was I supposed to know if Tacitus Killgore was still safe?”

He crossed his arms, he knew you well enough to know when you had been had. “And how was I supposed to know Marisol Fletcher was still safe?”

You huffed in frustration and refused to look him in the eye. “Yeah well, fair enough. That still don’t change the question: why did Dutch say I died in a gun fight I wasn’t even involved in?”

Arthur went quiet. There had to be some sort of misunderstanding. Dutch would never leave a gang member behind if he could help it. And what was the point in lying? To keep Arthur from returning to Blackwater for you? There had to be some reason for lying.

You took Arthur’s silence as an answer. It was apparent to you that even though you were alive, Dutch made it clear you weren’t apart of the gang any more. You cleared your throat and grabbed your horse’s reins. “It’s gettin’ late, I need to get back to camp.”

Arthur straightened up and whistled for his horse, she had a bad habit of wandering away. “C’mon, you can follow me. We ain’t too far from here.”

You shook your head as you mounted. “I mean my camp. I ain’t goin’ back, Arthur. I am very... happy to know you’re alive and okay, but Dutch has made up his mind. I’m dead to the gang now, I’m on my own.”

“That’s not-“

“But it is.” You looked over the horizon. “Come with me.”

“What?”

You were certain he heard you. You sighed, “never mind. That was a silly request, you’re as loyal as they come Arthur Morgan. Write me when you can, and I’ll always respond. Until then, Mr. Morgan.” With a snap of the reins, heavy hooves sent up a cloud of dust.

Arthur couldn’t decide if he was relieved or frightened by the sight of you today. His thoughts were in a whirlwind as he rode back to camp. Nothing about this made sense, nothing at all.

“Who’s there?” Bill called.

“Arthur, dumbass.” He rolled his eyes, who the hell else would it be? He didn’t even hitch his Arabian before jumping off and making a beeline for Dutch’s tent.

Dutch was sat on a crate just outside his tent puffing a cigar. He lifted a brow in Arthur’s direction as he approached. Dutch let out a thick puff of smoke and smiled, “Good afternoon, Arthur.”

Arthur tipped his hat, “Dutch.” He took a seat beside the older man and cleared his throat. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Ditched eyed Arthur uneasily, “sure son, what’s on your mind.”

“You remember the shootout in Blackwater?”

“Course I do.”

“Who all died? In the shootout I mean.”

“Ahhh...let’s see.” Dutch sat back and tilted his head up, Arthur thought he looked a bit theatrical. “Ol Davey was shot, but he died up in the mountains. Jenny got caught in the fire, the Calander boys, and Y/N was there too.”

“I thought she went out huntin’ that day.”

Dutch cleared his throat. “She did, she did. Returned in the middle of the chaos, her and that pretty horse a hers got shot I believe.”

There was a false note in his voice it was very faint, so faint had Arthur not been face to face with you just a coupla hours ago, he may not have caught it. His eyes slowly came up and met Dutch’s. “That’s strange.” He said slowly. “Because I just ran into her in Rhodes.”

Dutch’s cigar nearly fell out of his mouth as he stuttered and stumbled on his words. “That- I-.... are ya sure it was her?” His voice was steady, but Arthur could see the quick flare of panic in Dutch’s eye.

He crossed his arms and nodded. “Sure as the sun is high. Stopped and talked to her. She seemed quite upset we left her behind.” He laughed nervously and rubbed his cheek. “My cheek still stings from where she slapped me.” He paused and his tone was serious. “Did you see her and her horse get shot?”

Arthur could see the cogs moving in Dutch’s head. “No, I... I didn’t.”

“Then why? Why leave her there? Damn it Dutch we took everything she had with us! She coulda died!”

“What’s important is she’s alive now!” Dutch said hastily. “Did she have the money from Blackwater?”

“No. She said all she had was the clothes on her back and the supplies on her horse.”

Dutch’s eyes went dark as he stared off in space. “We don’t know that.” He said slowly then rose to his feet. “She coulda snuck back and stole everything we had waiting for us. Does she know where we are now?”

The look in Dutch’s eye was fierce, Arthur averted his gaze. “No, I offered to bring her back but she wouldn’t come.”

“Good.” Dutch nodded and paced. “We don’t need her comin’ back here and stealin’ the rest of what we got.”

“Come on Dutch, she ain’t like that. We both known her for years before we got separated, surely you got a little more faith in us than that.”

Dutch shook his head in frustration. “Now why else would she follow us here? Arthur my boy don’t you see? She’s greedy, she wants to take everything from us.” He turned toward Arthur and his eyes focused. “No contact with her, you hear me? Not even through the mail, you can’t trust the mail service any more.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Dutch, I think yer gettin’ paranoid in your old age. Why don’t we just meet up and-“

“No!” Dutch bellowed. “I said no contact. No letters, and certainly no meeting up and that is final.” He sighed and softened his voice as he put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I know I’m being harsh, but I just want what’s best for us, for everybody. I know you miss her, but we can’t trust her anymore. Take comfort in knowing she’s alive. It’s more than what most of us have gotten from this life.”

Arthur watched Dutch’s back as he walked away. Was Dutch descending into a new madness or was Arthur following so blindly that he hadn’t noticed until now? He did not know.

Arthur groaned in frustration as he ripped the page from his journal and balled it up. Identical wads of paper littered the booth he sat in at the saloon. Writing was always something that came easily to him, until now.

Y/N,

I spoke to Dutch and

Rip! Crinkle crinkle. Let’s not start with that.

Dearest Y/N,

Rip! Dearest? Arthur flushed. Maybe too much. Crinkle crinkle.

Y/N,

He paused and sighed, he knew what he had to say but putting it into words was proving easier said than done. This is the last shot, after spending an hour writing unfinished letters, this is the last one just say what you have to say. He laid the pencil back to paper and stopped thinking.

I’ve missed your company terribly, so I am quite happy to be writing you this letter. Mary-Beth told me to tell you hello and send you her warmest regards. She cried when I told her you were alive, by the way. Don’t you know it’s rude to make women cry? I guess I can’t say too much, I’m not much of a gentleman myself. We didn’t get a chance to catch up when we spoke, I am curious as to where you have traveled and how you’ve kept yourself. I hope you faired better than us. After the whole Blackwater mess, we retreated up North and stayed in an abandoned mining town called Colter. We about starved to death waiting on the thaw, Davey did die, but from a bullet wound. Ol’ John Marston got attacked by wolves, he’s okay unfortunately just a bit uglier. A lotta bit uglier. Once the thaw came, we hit a train owned by Leviticus Cornwall. We didn’t know who the hell he was at the time, and what a mistake it was. Apparently he’s some big oil tycoon, he’s hired the Pinkerton Protection Agency just for us, ain’t we special? So between Pinkerton’s, bounty hunters, lawmen, and O’Driscolls, we’ve managed to find ourselves farther east than I’m comfortable with. In my opinion, we’re too close to civilization and people. Hosea agrees, he thinks if we keep up in this direction we’re gonna end up right in the jaws of their trap and I couldn’t agree more. Dutch is... well, Dutch is Dutch. He swears he’s got a plan to get us outta here, but instead of the West, he wants to go to the Philippines. Or was it Tahiti? Or maybe the Philippines are in Tahiti? To be honest, Dutch isn’t making a lot of sense these days. The day I saw you in town I confronted him about Blackwater. Dutch is a lot of things and a liar isn’t one of them, but I swear I could see his brain ticking like he was searching for answers he didn’t know. Things are changing, Y/N and things aren’t as simple as they used to be. Remember out in Nevada, it seems like we were just kids then. The group was so small, we were all so young. We were the best team for scams, weren’t we? Even managed to impress Hosea. It isn’t like that no more, I’m sure you’ve noticed. I know you said you aren’t coming back to the gang and I understand, but I hope you would be willing to spend some time with an old friend. If you’re still around Rhodes, you should meet me at the saloon sometime for a drink. I look forward to your letter and hope to see you again soon, I miss your company more than I’d like to admit.

Yours, Arthur

Arthur cringed at the last line, it didn’t sound as foolish in his head as it read on paper. He debated crinkling it in a ball and restarting but that was a page and a half worth of writing! He sighed heavily and carefully ripped the pages from his journal and folded them neatly. He would need a new alias, one no one else in camp would know. After a moment of thought, he signed the envelope as Morgan Callahan.

The morning fog rolled over the lake and refracted the morning sunlight over the waves of the shore. The morning air was thick and soupy, you could already feel your hair sticking to the back of your neck. You wiped your brow as you put on your boots and began the day. This wouldn’t be such a terrible place to stay if it wasn’t so damn humid all the time. Iron Flat Lake was teeming with life, both underwater and around its shores. The woods surrounding the lake were flourishing with wildlife. In the three months you had been staying here, you were able to gain a few pounds and keep a low profile. You kept your head low after Blackwater, being part of a gang was the biggest advantage to evading the law and without it you were left vulnerable; you adapted in response. You were an outlaw turned outdoorsman, you traded in your repeater for a bow and replaced blood lust with the thrill of the hunt.

After pulling on your day clothes and your boots, you began your daily routine. First, you check your nets that you had set the night before. You frowned down at the single bass flopping in the tangle of nets. Usually the yield was higher, but one fish is enough for breakfast so it was all you needed. After breakfast, it’s time to kill the fire and take down the tent. Your spot was safe, but paranoia isn’t always a bad thing when you’re on the run, never such thing as too safe. The next step of the day is one that you almost cut out completely- checking the mail. The mid morning sun was warming the thick air as you came into Rhodes.

“Got anything for Marisol Fletcher?”

“Yes actually,” you looked up in surprise, you hadn’t had anything in weeks. You had to close your slack jaw when the postman turned back to you and handed you an envelope. “Here you are.”

You gave him a bright smile and a nod. “Thank you very much!”

You sat at the bench in the shade as you inspected the parcel. You didn’t recognize the name, Morgan Callahan? But you recognized the handwriting immediately. You couldn’t stop the smile that spread over your face as you read over Arthur’s beautiful handwriting. You forgot how eloquently he wrote, you could almost hear his voice reading you the words. The pages had a slight leather scent, they must’ve came from his journal. A memory of him sitting against his caravan lost in his drawings came into your mind. As you finished the letter, you reread the last sentence over and over. I miss your company more than I’d like to admit.

How just like Arthur, it brought back so many confusing memories. Late night conversations where you could swear you saw his eyes linger on your lips, small moments in saloons after he’s had too many drinks and he’d get a little handsy but never in a disrespectful manor. But with all these little things came awkward next mornings where he wouldn’t look at you, claim to drink too much to remember what had happened the night before, and don’t even get started with the whole Mary situation. This man confuses you to no end with his wishy washy behavior. You sighed, was he wishy washy or were you just desperate to read into things? Maybe you just imagined his eyes lingering on your lips, maybe you took his touches too seriously. Maybe you wanted more from your relationship with him than he wanted. There was no maybe on that one, but you shook your head to yourself. You saw how Arthur loves a woman first hand, you were there every step of the way from the time he first met Mary until she rejected his proposal. That was the one night you had seen Arthur cry, and it was the most heartbreaking thing you’d ever seen in your life. So yes, you knew how Arthur loved and no, it was not intended for you.

You pushed yourself off the bench and into the crowded saloon. Your eyes searched for Arthur, but he wasn’t there. You were a little relieved, after so long you had forgotten how to hide how flustered he made you. You pulled the stolen stationary paper from your satchel and began to write.

Dear Arthur,

I have missed you also, as well as everyone else in the gang. Tell Mary-Beth I was elated to hear from her and hope all is well for her. Honestly Arthur, who hasn’t heard of Leviticus Cornwall these days? That surely was a mistake. I stayed in Blackwater for a couple of weeks in case you all came back but not only did you have wanted posters everywhere, the place was also crawling with bounty hunters. I heard some of them got Sean, I tried tracking him down but the trail went cold after a few days. After that, I was everywhere and nowhere. I survived off the land, really survived. I thought what we was doing as a gang was surviving but boy was I wrong. Having a group that size is a privilege you don’t know you have until it’s gone. With more and more bounty hunters popping up, I had to lay low. You’d be proud, Arthur I haven’t committed a crime worse than pickpocketing since we were separated. I’ve mostly just made money by hunting and fishing, I’ll pick up odd jobs where I can. For the most part it’s just been me and Ol’ Cow. He’s still fit as a fiddle, still wouldn’t trade him in for the world. Tell Marston I’m sorry to hear about his unfortunate face, maybe it will humble him up a bit. As far as Dutch goes, well maybe I shouldn’t go there as to keep conversation friendly. Don’t trust him Arthur, that man is a snake. I know he and Hosea raised you, raised us, but people change and not always for the best. Keep that in mind in your travels, and get the hell out of there the moment you notice anything fishy. You’re right, the world has changed and it isn’t so simple anymore. Civilization isn’t the cause of corruption, it’s the spawn of it. At the end of the day, there’s only one cause of corruption and that’s people. As for me, I’m currently camping out on Iron Bed Lake so I’m not far from Rhodes at all. I usually stop in the saloon in the evenings for a drink and some supper, that would be the easiest time to catch me. Maybe I’ll show you where camp is, your company is welcome anytime. I look forward to your company as always.

Yours, Y/N

You frowned at the ‘yours’. You always just signed, but it felt natural to mirror Arthur’s closing. As you folded the letter, you wondered when you would get to see him again. You pushed down the blossoming hope that it would be soon.

Arthur read the parcel just outside the post office, he told himself he didn’t want to risk getting caught but that didn’t explain the excitement he felt as he tore open the envelope. His heart felt heavy as he read your letter, you had lived so hard on your own and he had no idea you were even out there. It was hard for him to remember what it was like to be on his own before he met Dutch and Hosea. It had been so long, he honestly couldn’t recall. But, to live roughly you looked good, he thought. He smiled at the pages, he had forgotten the silly name you gave to your horse. It brought back the memory of the day you bought him from the stables. He spent two days trying to give you better names, what kind of name is Cow for a horse? He would ask. You would shrug as you patted his pink nose and say that it was a good name for a good horse and that was that. If anyone was more stubborn than him, it was you. He looked up at the sky as he finished the letter, the sun was already behind the trees. Perfect timing, he thought to himself as he whistled for his horse. The saloon wasn’t far at all, but Arthur wasn’t a patient man.

When he entered the saloon, his eyes darted across every face until they landed on a familiar black hat at the bar. He straightened himself and tugged at his vest self consciously, he wished he would’ve taken a bath first. He cleared his throat. “Ma’am.”

When you turned, Arthur was able to get a good look at you. Even through the humidity, your hair was still shiny and vibrant, the color hadn’t dulled a day since Blackwater. You had had a bath recently, your skin was clean and he could clearly see the freckles that dotted your cheeks. The sun had spotted new freckles since he had last seen you, now sitting around your lips and chin. Your sleeves were rolled up to reveal arms that were much more muscular than they were before. Even through the thin material of your shirt he could see the muscles in your back and shoulders. He tried to recall a more beautiful sight and was lost for words. When your lips curled into a smile, he felt a familiar heat in his cheeks. “Hello Arthur, have a seat.”

He nodded and obliged. Why was he so damn nervous all of a sudden? He started to speak and his mouth was terribly dry. He cleared his throat and waved over the bar tender. “So,” he stared at the ground as he spoke. “What kinda work you been doin’ in a run down town like this?”

You took a sip of your beer. “Mostly just handy work. Helped a feller patch his roof this mornin’.”

He smiled and his eyes flickered back to your muscular shoulders. “Well, ain’t you just a gentleman.”

You rolled your eyes. “Hey, gotta do whatcha can to survive.” You smiled and let out a breathy laugh. “Plus, I kinda like helpin’ people now.”

Arthur raised a brow towards you, “so you went from robbin’ and killin’ folks go helpin’ em around the house, huh?” He laughed. “Good on ya, ya got out.”

“Huh?”

He looked at you. “Ya got out, out of the outlaw game. Look at you now, a regular citizen.”

You frowned into your mug. “It weren’t my choice.”

“I’m sorry that wasn’t-“ he stuttered.

You sighed and gave him a smile. To him it looked terribly sad. “It’s okay, really. I know it ain’t your fault. I do miss it, more often than I don’t.”

“Why?”

“I guess I just miss havin’ a family. And people who care.”

“You can have a family outside the gang, ya know.” The bartender sat a beer in front of Arthur and he took a swig. “Hosea tried it for a few years.”

You barked a short laugh. “And who would have me? Look at me, I’m a beat up, rough nobody. Ain’t no man gonna want me.”

Arthur’s heart lurched, he fought the urge to put his hand on yours. Is this what he sounded like when he put himself down? It all sounded so ridiculous to him. “You don’t know that.” He said softly.

You leaned your head against his shoulder and he looked at you. Your eyes were far away and a small smile was on your face. “I do, but thank you anyways.”

As evening shifted into night, one beer turned to two, which turned to five. The saloon was in full swing, every booth full of patrons and the saloon girls were fliting around like fireflies in July. A jolly tune was coming from the piano and the chaotic noise of drunk men but all you could hear was Arthur’s bubbling laughter. His cheeks were a bright red from the booze and he wore a lazy smile. He said something, but it was so slurred together in an incoherent mumble.

“What’d you say?”

He leaned in close to your ear and you felt his beard hair prickle against your skin. “I said, let’s get outta here.” His Breath was hot and you were glad he didn’t feel you tremble. You nodded and he took your hand and led you out into the street. The saloon was the only building with lights still on and the chaotic noise was muffled in the night. The crickets chirped as the two of you stumbled down Main Street.

Arthur still had your hand in his big palm, half dragging you along as you sang obnoxiously into the night. Arthur was carefully paying attention to the ground under him, but you were not. You stumbled over a rock and began to fall forward, but you were caught by two heavy hands on your waist. “Careful.” He laughed.

You giggled drunkenly and when you lifted your head to look at him, his face was inches from yours. Even with your vision spinning, you could Arthur’s eyes on your lips, when he met your eyes, there was something behind them you had never seen. After a moment, he cleared his throat and helped you to your feet. His hand lingered on your waist and you leaned into his shoulder as you smiled up to him, “thanks Artie.”

Arthur spurted and laughed heartily. “Artie?” He wipes a tear from his eye and laughed again. “Is that what yer callin’ me now?”

You laughed with him, the movement caused the two of you to sway. “Naw, I just thought it was cute.” Your finger came up and bopped him on the nose.

“You’re cute.” Arthur blurted. As soon as it left his lips he could’ve smacked himself. What a fool he was.

You wrapped your arms around his waist tightly, “not as cute as you.”

Arthur’s vision was blurry but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. He swallowed hard, this was too much. He cleared his throat. “Where’s your camp?” He looked around and almost lost his balance. “Wheres the horses?” He slurred.

You laughed and slumped against a near by bench. “Who knows?” You fell into a fit of drunken giddy giggles.

Arthur plopped down beside you and slunk an arm around your shoulders. He smiled to himself as you curled up against his chest. “I’ve missed you.” You mumbled.

Arthur couldn’t tell if the heat in his cheeks was from the booze anymore. “I...I missed you too.”

When you looked up at him with those big doe eyes, he swore he could see whole worlds reflecting back at him. “Wanna know a secret?” You whispered.

He gulped. “Sure.”

With the most straight face you could manage you said, “I’m going to throw up.”

And with the most grace and poise Arthur has ever seen in a drunk person, you stood up, turned away from him, and vomited. He rolled his eyes and stood shakily. He put a hand on your back-for your support and his- and pulled your hair back with the other. “S’okay,” he whispered. “I gotcha.”

You cleared your throat and wiped your mouth as you turned to Arthur. “I think” you slurred. “It’s time for night night.”

Arthur laughed and whistled for his horse. She must not have been far, she came around the corner immediately. Arthur used her as support as he helped you up and then pulled himself up clumsily. He almost pulled you down as he mounted and the two of you fell into another laughing fit after you helped him up. “Okay okay,” He said as he tried to contain his laughter. “Where you stayin’ at?”

You leaned back against him and pointed lazily. “Jus’ go that way for a minute, I’ll tell ya where to go.”

With your best attempts of directions, the two of you finally made it back to camp and there your loyal steed was, waiting at camp without you. “Son of a bitch.” You muttered. “I’m too drunk to set up a tent.”

Arthur pulled his bedroll from his horse. “Sky’s clear, it shouldn’t rain tonight. We should be fine sleepin’ under the stars.”

You hadn’t even unpacked your bedroll before tumbling to the ground and resting against an old log.

Arthur laughed, “you sure you don’t want somethin’ more comfortable than the ground?”

You didn’t hear him, you were out.

When you woke up the next morning, your head felt like it had been smashed against a rock. You groaned as you sat up and rubbed your eyes.

“Mornin’.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin and let out a small scream as you opened your eyes. When they focused on Arthur you groaned. “Jesus Arthur, you about gave me a heart attack. Ain’t used to havin’ other people around.”

He handed you a cup of coffee as you stretched. “Sorry bout that, didn’t want to wake ya.”

You scratched your head and closed your eyes as you sipped from your coffee. “Ugh, I feel like hell.”

Arthur chuckled. “Drink up, that should help. You should probably eat something too.”

You nodded and groaned in agreement as you stood up. “Christ,” You said as you walked over to check the nets. “How much did we drink last night? I lost count.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t count.”

As you pulled the net in, your arms ached in disagreement. Arthur stood up quickly, “need some help?”

You let go with one hand to do a shooing motion and went back to pulling it in. “I got it.”

The net was much more successful this morning, yielding three smallmouth bass and two largemouth bass. You smiled triumphantly. “Did someone say breakfast?”

You ate together in silence, Arthur contemplated bringing you back to camp, how mad could Dutch really get? You had something different on your mind. Through your hungover haze, little flashes were coming back. Arthur holding your hand, the way his lips brushed your ear, the way his beard felt against your skin, his arm around your waist. His presence was unearthing so many buried emotions it was starting to get overwhelming. He was the first to speak. “Do you plan on doin’ this forever?”

“Doin’ what?” You turned to look at him and he was staring at the ground.

He turned to you. “Doin’ this, livin’ on your own. Are you not lonely?”

You frowned. “Course I get lonely, but where else am I gonna go?”

“Come with me.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He stood. “Come back to camp, come back to the gang! We all miss you like crazy, and Dutch, well Dutch can deal with it.” He took your hands in his and pulled you up from the ground so quickly you almost lost your balance. His gaze was so intense on you you had to look away.

“Arthur, Dutch ain’t gonna just let me waltz back in. And like I said, I don’t trust that man. I can’t trust him farther than I can throw him and as much as I-“ you caught yourself as sighed. “As much as I...care about you-about all of you, I can’t trust that man with my safety and well-being.”

“Trust me then.” You looked up at him and he caught your cheek in his hand. “Trust me with your safety and your well-being. Let me take care of you.”

Your chest seized and it was hard to breathe. “Arthur I...”

He suddenly looked sad and pulled away. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-“

You cut him off as he began to turn away by grabbing his face and pulling it down to yours. Your lips were on his and before he could react, they were gone. You couldn’t look up at his face, you couldn’t handle the rejection. “Arthur, I care about you entirely too much for my own good. I need to go.”

Arthur was frozen in shock, he could still feel the ghost of your lips on his. As you turned to your horse, he felt the panic slip in, he lost you once and he didn’t want to lose you again. He caught your wrist and when you turned to look at him he looked desperate, afraid, and devistatingly handsome. “Don’t go. Don’t make me go without you again, I ain’t strong enough. You don’t gotta come back with me, just stay with me.”

“I...oh Arthur, you know I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He wrapped his big arms around your waist and it sent butterflies to your stomach. You wrapped your arms around him and sighed. “What are ya gonna tell Dutch?”

He buried his face into your neck and you felt him inhale. “I ain’t gotta tell him a thing.”

You rolled your eyes and relaxed in his embrace. “You silly, silly man.”

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #arthur x reader #van der linde gang #reader insert #rdr2 fanfic #request #fluff

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chez-pezeater · 4 years

Text

TCR Secret Santa 2019

This is for Jenna131. I apologize it took so long to get done but the holiday prep had me super frazzled. That and when I had an idea I had no time and when I had time I had no ideas. Again: Apologies, Merry Christmas, and I hope you enjoy.

Links to some interesting information:

https://www.tor.com/2018/01/31/how-to-fight-in-a-dress-everything-you-need-to-know/

https://www.tor.com/2017/05/03/how-to-do-karate-in-a-victorian-dress/

https://twitter.com/melisscaru/status/958709767395950593

The idea that prompted this: https://catsafarithewriter.tumblr.com/post/189814057998/chez-pezeater-haru-you-dont-think-i-can

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again the Cat Bureau got into Royal Wedding Shenanigans, yes capital letters as a must for the kind of trouble they managed to step into again. Complete with yet another Royal trying to marry the kind and fair Haru Yoshioka.

This time her supposed groom was “The Original King Julian!” of the Lemur Kingdom. King Julian managed to get Haru into a dress by tricking her into believing the “Ball”, which in all actuality would be their wedding, was to thank the Cat Bureau for their efforts in helping the kingdom relocate the small but very troublesome lion population that had accidentally invaded and chose not to leave. And King Julian was insistent that it was a formal affair thus formal attire was required, NO EXCEPTIONS!

Muta ended up in a too small courtier’s outfit that strangely reminded her of that one Disney movie involving a fox archer and his bear friend. Toto had somehow ended up in a poet’s shirt with a vest and pantaloons. Baron, the dapper cat that he was, had gotten no complaints in regards to his normal outfit. Haru unfortunately had to ditch her comfortable jeans and graphic t-shirt reminiscent of Van Gout's Starry Night painting for a poofy monstrosity of a ballgown complete with puffed sleeves.

At least it wasn’t an eye searing yellow this time.

It was as they were trying to escape that Haru ended up separated from the Bureau and surrounded by several large Gorilla Guerrilla Warriors. Unknown to everyone, after the whole Cat Kingdom debacle Haru had decided she never wanted to feel that vulnerable ever again, even if she did like how cool Baron made the whole thing look, and did something about it. Turned out her Best Friend Hiromi had a cousin who taught martial arts and was more than happy to help teach the young woman how to defend herself.

That was over 5 years ago.

Haru immediately fell into a well balanced stance and waited for the first move. One gorilla tried to grab her arm which she responded to by twisting his hand away from her and punching him in the face. He fell back dazedly and released her as another tried to grab her from behind. She threw her head back and headbutted him in the nose. As his grip around her waist loosened, Haru brought her arms up and jabbed her elbows back harshly into his unprotected stomach. She dodged a grab from the first gorilla and dropped down to swipe her leg at his ankles sending him toppling and punched him again, this time in the throat. She ducked her head to avoid a punch by a third gorilla and grabbed onto his arm, using his momentum to get up from being so low to the floor as kick out at a fourth gorilla who tried to rush forward to help. Gorilla No. 4 went crashing into a nearby table, head over kettle and out of the fight. She wrapped her legs around Gorilla 3’s neck, silently thanking the puffy skirt hiding her underthings, and let her weight and gravity do the work to throw him into the second gorilla who had just gotten up.

Haru rose to her full height and saw that the guys had taken care of the ones that had been stopping them from helping her. The entire ballroom stared at her in shock and awe, fearfully drawing away as her gaze past over them. She turned to look at the Bureau and saw all three males staring at her in shock, mouths slightly parted.

“What?” Haru crankily asked, entirely done with the entire situation.

One could almost hear a cartoon sounding crash happen as Muta and Toto’s jaws drop open all the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonus dialogue that didn’t fit T-T:

Haru: Your sister goes to war in a late Victorian Upper Class gown. And you criticize my fashion choices?

#TCR #the cat returns #the cat returns fanfics #tcr secret santa #tcr secret santa 2019

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iguessihavemore · 5 years

Text

Garden Chap. 1 Not Your Garden Variety Pt.1

Ahhhhhh yessss. A smaller chapter because I Do Not Trust tumblr yet with big big posts. Enjoy folks!

“This is the best day ever! WOOHOO!” Chris cheered, hopping up with both feet off the ground. He held a cellphone in one hand. “I knew I was right! Take that!” He threw it down in a celebratory-football way, and it shattered instantly. Chris clearly didn’t care at all.

“Uh….” Someone voiced behind the camera, and it went dark.

----

“This show is MINE, baby. Ain’t NO ONE can tell me how to run it but ME.” Chris continued to dance, after who knows how long the video was off. Several groans resounded this time, and cut to black again.

----

The host cleared his throat. “Heyo, and welcome to the next instalment of Total Drama!” He was still buzzing from excitement. The camera seemed to jitter and focus happily, having not expected this to be a viable take. “We’ve got a fresh change of atmosphere- a REALLY big change, try not to let it give you a shock. I won’t lie, it’s so new, even I had to wonder, ‘oh my god, producers, what are you thinking??’” He shook his hands, face scrunched up. He loosened up. “But not to fear, despite what I once thought until this moment, we can still torture these contestants at will. And by we, I MEAN ME-”

For once he caught himself, and rapidly switched back to his calm tone. “The only difference this time around is that it’ll be prettier or something? They wanted an exercise on how much the puke and mud was really drawing in an audience.” Chris rolled his eyes. “So now we have a whole season without it. It’s AeStHeTiC, they said.”

Drawing back, he was standing on a bright green plot of grass. Decorative stones littered the ground like tiny pathways. A white birch archway behind him blocked the view of the rest of the garden with green tubes hanging from it like a curtain. To the right, an odd, unappealing to look at, massive flower bulb sat sideways on stilts, the bottom end of it connected to a wide tube that trailed off-screen. To the left was the beginning of a woodwalk, that also went out a view. “This season, we decided to let the contestants themselves decide how they wanted to be introduced. As stupid adreneline junkies,” He gestured to the tube contraption. “As boring and basic,” He held a hand near his head and looked back, referring to the archway. “Or as pretentious wannabes.” As he said this, he brought a hand to his eyes and smiled down the walkway. “Speaking of which, here comes our first one!”

The wooden planks led to a serene lake. A gondolier was just finishing up rowing up to the little dock. The contestant sitting at the other end, who at first glance gave off a brunette Barbie vibe, delicately eyed the scenery. She stepped from the boat and waved pleasantly at the man who had brought her, mouthing a ‘thank you.’ He had too much facial hair to see if he cared, and simply pushed off. The girl didn’t mind, smiling forward with glossy light-pink lips, batting her lightly mascaraed, blue eyes in every new direction she looked in.

“Hello Chris, it’s a pleasure.” She gave a bow-curtsy, feminine but not wearing a skirt. Chris and her shared a smile. “And I mean it. How lucky of me to be accepted into the best of the seasons.” She straightened, folding her hands at her hips. She had on a white blouse with the slightly poofy sleeves and single button at the collar, tucked into blue jeans, and white ballet flats she pointed with an arbitrary delicacy.

“Nice to have you here, Amelia. And, hey, if you say so.” He put on a grudging tone that was the total opposite of before.

She giggled, her arms bouncing lightly and jostling her auburn hair, curled to shoulder length. “Never fear, with my thespian roots, I’ll personally ensure you all have something to look forward to, even without your beloved explosions.” She placed a flamboyant hand to her collar.

“Well, we’ll see.” Chris motioned for her to step to the side, and she did so. He walked to the other end near the bulb, winking at the camera with a toothy grin while she couldn’t see.

“Next contestant, you can come out now.” He called to the curtained archway.

“Oh hell yeah, baby.” Two brown-greyish hands poked out between the garden hose-like tubes, quickly thrusting them to the sides, tossing the curtain around her in a grand entrance. Amelia laughed supportingly as the girl took a long stride forward, and then went shock-silent when one of the tubes coiled around the girl’s arm on it’s way back down, snagged her, and threw her face down into the ground.

The girl, hair a combo of dark purple to neon green sprawled around her head, laid there silently for awhile. Amelia couldn’t help but laugh quieter and more awkwardly. In a single move, the girl drenched mostly in black clothing sprung to her sneakered feet, hands already on her hips like nothing had happened, sans the green hose still tied to her upper arm. “It’s Cameron!” She beamed.

“Yes it is!” Chris agreed, letting her wipeout speak for itself. “How’s Cameron ready for this season?”

Before she answered, she unknotted her leather jacket sleeve from the hose with her tongue sticking out, fussily tossing it to the ground since she’d unknowingly ripped it from the birch. She went back to her previous attitude in an instant. “Oh, I’m ready. I have the power of ghosts and, heck, maybe even god on my side.” She did a wide, ninjitsu-esque move. “Eh, who am I kidding. More likely Satan, but he’s more of a bro than you’d think.” She smiled cockily, etching up her two facial moles (on her cheek and upper lip), and folded pink eyes.

“Whoo boy, sounds like we’re in for a ride with you.” Amelia spoke up as Cameron came to her side. Her hair could now fall in its intended long-in-the-front bob.

“You betcha!” She winked, making a single finger-gun. She took in a deep, content breath, and then her entire person relaxed. Putting her hands in her jacket pockets, she said, “Okay, I’m done.” Her boxy-jacketed, legging-clad body shifted to the side comfortably.

“Much obliged,” Chris nodded, happy to not need to force them to shut up just yet. “Now for my favorite of the bunch, the sliders, give a warm welcome to Paulie!”

“AAAAAAAHHHHH-” A husky voice screamed as a dark shadow filled the inside of the tube, rocketing downwards. Once at the end, the bulb contracted slightly and spat out the next contestant. She flew with a shock of coiled, lime green hair, legs kicking desperately. She was lean, but definitely top heavy, dancing on her bright pink and black sneakers with a war cry of “AHHYAYAYA”

She finally came to a stop, knees wobbly and pointed at each other, but upright nevertheless. She gasped deeply, with a happy scoff mixed in. “You- you thought.” She shakily pointed at Chris with pride.

The host, with a smile, snapped his fingers in a disappointed manner. “Hopefully you can keep up those good plays.”

The dark skinned girl rose fully. She had a simple black T-shirt, dark blue ripped jeans, a shiny silver ring pierced in her right nostril, an array of various rings lining both her ears, an X on her cheek made of simple bandaids, and a black bandana at the base of her scalp, lighting it up with a bright red-and-yellow flame decal. She tilted forward, staring excitedly with her round, rusty-red eyes and a broad smile parting her thick, skin-colored lips. “You are so not ready for me.” She insisted.

“Guess all that’s left for us is to pray, then.” Amelia mock-sighed. Paulie turned, her arms and what could be seen of her knees littered in faint scars. She gasped.

“SAME HAIR DYE!!” She yelled, a dull-nailed finger was pointed at Cameron’s head.

“Lime Crime??” Cameron questioned. Paulie screamed in agreement. Cameron screamed back, and they jumped at each other with open palms. It’s good that they went at each other with equal force, or one of them would have been high-fived into the next dimension.

Amelia laughed with the enthusiasm they radiated. “You guys would be fantastic in theater.”

The trio hushed as Chris made his way over, ready to introduce the next teenager. This one was also arriving by boat, and was just as bright-eyed to see the pretty destination as Amelia had been, if not more so. She hopped off the gondola and also thanked the ferryman, who this time gave a very slight nod.

“Hellooo, Marina!” Chris called, waving his hand.

“Hi Chris!” The girl called back, with big, dark, lemon shaped eyes. She had thick, wavy dark hair that reached right under her neck. Her bangs parted at the center, tucked behind her ears. A soft pink dress flowed around her brown skin and she walked down the path with a quickened pace. Her dusty-pink flats stopped as she got to their congregation, the lacy skirt of her dress resting at her knees, a small bit of dusty-pink leggings peeking out just past it.

Chris patted his knees and bent to her eye level. “Dressed for the occasion, aren’t you?” He commented, though his nose wrinkled just slightly at the pinkness.

She smiled brightly with her simple mauve lips and thick arched eyebrows. “This is how I always look!” She fiddled with one of the red ribbon bows that made up her sleeves, the top portion of her dress printed with a big red heart center-focus. “I’m glad to hear it happens to be fitting for the season, though.” She had freckles littered between her eyes right above her button nose.

“Girly-girls unite!” Amelia laughed and knelt down just a bit, holding her hand out. Marina flashed a smile and high-fived her, but it held nowhere near the flair than the previous one.

“I kinda hope I’m just as fitting, too...” Marina thought aloud, idly tapping her fingers.

“Ah! Ha ha.” Chris leaned back with his hands on his hips. “Yeah. We’ll see.” He said non-committedly, not wanting to show his cards so soon. Marina’s eyebrows flipped, but she didn’t let up on her smile.

“Next up? Come on out.” He called towards the archway.

This person held a tan hand out between the hose curtain, sweeping enough aside to step through. She stared out blankly for a moment, then smiled lazily with dark grey lips. She passed into the pretty clearing, her black platform boots a stark contrast to the pastel greenery. Her entire outfit- a simple black corset over a modest grey dress that went to her neck, just past her elbows, and right above her knees with a pleated shard look- was a contrast to the whole current setting.

“I’m J-” She began to introduce herself with a soft, low voice.

“How come you didn’t get catapulted to the ground?” Cameron huffed. Everyone but Amelia blinked at her. The newest of the bunch then smirked lightly.

“Did you barge in all gung-ho?” She teased, flicking a wrist that was dressed with a sheer, fingerless glove. Cameron snorted in response.

“Maybe? Who’s to say?” She shrugged. She put a finger to Amelia’s lips, even though she wasn’t going to say anything anyhow.

The gothic girl silently giggled. “Of course. My name’s Jennifer.” She gestured to herself by placing her palm above her bright crystal necklace. Her long, dark brown hair that framed her face swung with her as she regarded Chris solely. Her eyes were constantly relaxed and under a heavy set of lashes, and the cute shape of her face was very familiar. “May I ask what the surprise is, Chris McClain?” She cut right to the chase.

“What are you talking about?” Chris threw his hands in front of him, putting on an annoyed tone. “I wish there was one- I’m gonna die of boredom before this season hits the merge!”

She sighed, “I thought not.” Jennifer rolled her eyes at his insistence. “Let’s prepare ourselves.” She told the other four girls, coming to stand with them.

“Our next competitor-!” Chris began to pump up for the next person to be shot out of the flower bud shotgun-style.

However, the streamer curtain behind him exploded with a loud, “Yeah!! That’s me!!”

Chris gasped and clutched at his chest.

“Careful grandpa.” Paulie cocked her head with a smirk as the others laughed.

The host glared over his shoulder at a boy of medium stature, fully clothed in what looked like a black morph suit. “That was not your cue.” He snapped.

The boy, with one of the only visible things of his skin being a strip cut out for his honey brown eyes, squinted one of them. “Yes it was.” He argued simply, as if Chris was the confused one.

Chris opened his mouth, groaned, and pinched his nose. “Roger, everyone.” He flipped his hand lamely. Roger blinked, his eyes curling happily, and rose his arms up once again. One of the tubes, after flapping back, had tied onto his upper arm from the force he arrived with.

“Oh, oh buddy-” Cameron started to speak up.

“So what’s with the…?” Chris leaned towards him, waving his hand in front of his own face.

Roger rose a brow. “Huh?” He asked for clarification. Chris continued to mention the mask in every way but saying ‘mask,’ and Roger continued to be confused, completely drowning out the teenagers who were trying to warn him.

“Why are you hiding your face?” Chris finally said, which must have been enough for Roger to get it.

“Uhhh…” He brought his finger up, fiddling with a bit of bushy brown hair that escaped from his suit. “I don’t know. It’s TV and that’s embarrassing. But I also wear it all the time because it’s embarrassing to be around people when they can see your face. I guess the TV thing is just an excuse-” He lost himself in his musings rather quickly.

“Alright alright.” Chris cut him off, annoyed. “At least we don’t have to see your junk.” He motioned downwards, at the basketball shorts and tanktop Roger was wearing.

The space between his eyes flushed pink. “Uh, yeah. I’m on TV, that’d be so embarrassing! Like in would be in public-”

“Go stand with the others.” Chris cut him off again, eyebrows cinched together. “You’ve just about ruined my groove.”

Roger’s eyebrows curled upwards and he did what he was told silently. “Uh, you’re welcome!” Amelia called to him teasingly. She, Paulie, and Cameron were standing where they would have been behind him. They held up the hose proudly. “You almost fell right on your face!”

Roger looked at the three with wide eyes. “You… you were going to trip me?” He asked softly, betrayed.

They let their mouths hang open for a second, until Chris clapped. “Next contestant for real this time!”

Marina’s shoulders jumped up. “It might be my sister!” She told the others excitedly. “She chose the slide.”

“Yikes,” Paulie winked down at her. It was the first time Marina frowned.

The slide filled with a shadow, a consistent thud thud thud filling the air. The first three to be introduced made way, Marina and Jennifer following their lead, the former with much concern. Jennifer looked over her shoulder and grabbed a spacing Roger by the collar of his shirt, pulling him to the rest of them.

The tip of the petals parted, and a massive figure twirled out feet-first. It landed right in front of where they had all been standing, but they could still feel the impact of this creature landing upright. A lanky stature of a person rose from the squat they landed in, with a slight serpentine manner to a height that towered over the others. “HOWDY!” A chipper voice came out of her, her olive eyes glittering.

“Jesus CHRIST you’re a giant!” Cameron shouted, holding a hand to her head.

The glitter ran dry. “Language, pal-y.” She laughed despite. “And it’s all the camping in me! Made me big and strong!” She flexed her tanned freckled arms, and though not totally muscular, made an impact due to the rest of her being so slim and lanky. Her legs were the same, all her limbs nicked with a small cut and a bump or two. She wore a simple pair of cargo shorts, and a light blue T-shirt with boxy sleeves reaching mid-upper arm. It sported a nondescript summer camp logo on the front. She lunged forward on one sneaker, nearly worn thin, and stretched as she took in the scenery. “Pretty little place! Are we having a tea party?”

“Oh, you better get used to things looking like this,” Chris grinned, “It’s Garden all season.”

“Huh!?” She gasped. “Naw, don’t tell me we won’t have any trees or hills! Come on, don’t tell me!”

Chris rubbed his chin in thought. “Not many... at least, not the kind you’re wanting. You can’t touch those trees.”

“Ummm why’s that-?” Jennifer asked allowed in utter confusion, but was drowned out by the newest arrival.

“Aw Chris, that just isn’t any fair!” She tilted her head, her frizzy dark ponytail flipping with it. “You can’t keep me from cabins, and nature, and campfires, and rivers, and rope tying, and- and-” She listed off fretfully.

Chris shook his hands out in front of him. “Relax! There’s still going to be half of that stuff, and you’ll get a butt-whooping of nature to last you a lifetime, don’t you worry.”

She righted herself, wiping her nose with a sniff. “Chris, that isn’t appropriate. As you’re not an official counselor I suppose I can give you a pass JUST this once, but don’t let me catch you mentioning again…” All of her chipper drawl was gone as she began to chide the host, getting to his level to whisper “Hitting the derriere.”

Chris laughed his absolute head off. “Oh! Rosie! I’m nowhere near a counselor! But keep up that uptight attitude, I love it!”

“Hmhm.” The campy girl squinted with a tight smile. “Yes, I see. Make no worse offenses. Surely even you can manage.”

Chris tried to calm himself as he circled over to the edge of the boardwalk once more.

Rosie felt a light pat on her arm. Marina was looking up at her. “Hey… it’s okay that you didn’t like what he said. Sorry that he laughed at you like that.”

“Aw,” Rosie brightened. “Never you mind- I’m sure Chris has some tight windows to be saying such things, anyway.”

Marina mustered a little smile. “Oh, haha, I’m sure he… I’m sure he does.”

“And next we have…!” Chris motioned to the lonely dock. “...!”

He motioned again. “...!”

“Tsk!” He threw his fists on his hips, staring daggers further down the lake. The gondolier was down on his knees at his end of the boat, clearly pushing the paddle so far down he was pushing off the bottom of the lake to get anywhere. He was sweating bullets, as on the other end, the contestant was such a muscular unit his corner was slightly sunk into the water. “Hmmm…” The host turned away. “He looked smaller in his audition.” He mused to himself.

He moved on to the archway. “Hey, yo, you can come out now Annabelle.”

“Sweet.” A smooth, femme voice said. From behind the tubes came a curtain of its own, made of honey brown hair reaching her lower back. The contestant ducked and straightened from the archway with her hands in the pocket of her grey hoodie, a panther printed on the front. She smiled a small, lazy smile under her hooded hazel eye, her thick coarse hair encasing the other. Light freckles dotted her high cheeks and button nose. Her lips pulled up more as she nodded to the others. “Heya. Nice to meet ‘cha.”

Some of the previous teenagers tried to say something quippy but it got drowned out in the general ‘hey’ they all said back. Annabelle swept her sight over them, and a relief seemed to settle on her calm person. “Looks like I don’t have ta worry about fitting in.” She said fondly. She walked her blue jeans over, and stood next to Paulie nearish the back.

“Okay, looks like Tony finally decided to show up.” Chris didn’t bother walking back to the dock. The blonde contestant, too wide for the dock, was making his way towards them, the ferryman trying to scoop out water from the half-drowned gondola behind him. Instead of safely shimming down the boardwalk, Tony opted to walk with both his feet just halfway on either side of the dock, head-on. The group of them let out a sigh when he finally got to the ground.

“So, Tony, welcome. You excited?” The host asked the pale boy who never skipped arm or leg or torso day.

He curled back his lips, speaking through his teeth. “Yeeeah. Yep.” He paused, and with no change of tone admitted, “I’m scared.”

“Aw, no need to worry. Nothing to fear here, and if you’re camera shy, just turn any amount of degrees and your hulking muscles will block the view!” Chris did his best impression of consoling.

“Mmm… okay.” Tony went over to the others, all of them wide-eyed. They didn’t really strike up conversation like they had when it was Rosie’s height they were aweing, probably because Tony made no effort to notice any of them at all.

“AAAaaand....!” Chris suddenly perked up, turning his beaming face to the slide, now thumping with the next contestant. The bulb contracted, a blur of faint yellow and blue rocketing out. The person attempted to land right, but his tennis shoe only grazed the ground and the rest of him smacked right flat into the dirt.

Marina gasped and threw her hands to her mouth. A few people around her snickered or expressed sympathy, as Chris quickly blocked the way of any of them that moved to help the newcomer. “Welcome to the show, Jackson!”

Jackson lifted his shoulders off the ground, his tongue sticking out as it was covered in grass. He quickly spat as he stood up, displeased and blushed on his light, orange-undertoned skin. He shook his choppy, platinum blonde hair that reached his cheekbones, and blinked at Chris with hazel-green eyes. “Th- thanks. Definitely already feeling it.”

“I should hope so! I have to get my kicks somehow!” Chris beamed, and laughed at it for far too long. “Now, our next competit-” He began to turn away.

“H- hey! Don’t tell me they get to know my name and I don’t get to know theirs’!” Jackson cried incredulously, outstretching his hands to his peers that came before him. “That’s not fair!” He stood in place and wouldn’t move to the gathering quite yet. He was thin, the only thing plumping up his silhouette being his clothes, like his grey sweatpants and open blue hoodie, a black T-shirt underneath.

The host groaned, rolling his head to the side. “Think about that for a second, would ya? Then we’d have to do that for every single person, and that makes no sense-”

“I’m Jennifer.” The gothic girl smiled warmly and waved. She stepped forward to shake Jackson’s hand now that Chris wasn’t standing in the way. Jackson finally brightened. When he smiled, it really showed off his prominent upper lip and cupid’s bow. As he shook her hand back, the others piped in.

“I’m Paulie! Like a parrot.”

“My name’s Marina, nice to meet you!”

“Cameron, ghost hunter!” Cameron thrusted her thumb firmly to herself.

“Annabelle.” Annabelle shrugged, looking away to the side with her small smile.

“T o n y.”

“Amelia.” The thespian did a flashy hand gesture.

“So that’s your guys’ names!” Marina laughed, turning to the first three girls.

“Do you want me to say my name to!?” Roger excitedly asked Jackson, pointing to himself.

Jackson chuckled. “Yeah, man!”

“I’m Roger!” He happily yelled.

“And I’m ROSIE!” Rosie also yelled. “Glad to be here and glad to have you here, camper!”

“Alright!” Jackson moved over and found a place in their gathering.

Chris, his arms dangling in front of him, was scowling at the kids the entire time. “Don’t make that a habit.” He pointed to them. “This section can’t get TOO long.”

Jennifer shrugged unapologetically. “I thought you’d be happy, since it took that long for the next boat to come.”

Chris whirled around in surprise, to find that the gondolier was only just getting to the dock. He’d forgotten about Tony’s complications beforehand. “Whatever.” He huffed when he looked back at the teens.

Once it stopped at the pier, the arrival stood up. She was tall and slim, covered completely in pastels and a pair of thick grey yoga pants. A pale blue hijab wrapped around her brown face, as she looked at the host from a distance, staring blankly. She did not step off the boat.

“Well?” Chris asked her testily.

Pride instantly crossed her features. “This.” She informed.

The girl arched her back and placed her bare hands on the surface of the dock. She lifted her entire body effortlessly from the gondola, standing perfectly straight but upside down and backwards from the others. They let out a unanimous “Oh, woah.” Her black runners pointed into the sky.

Instead of rolling forward and doing a prolonged frontflip sort of thing, she instead curled only her head towards the rest of the cast, lifting up an arm as her legs slowly came down. She tightened her stance, planking in the air on one hand.

“Ha ha! Okay, okay, showoff!” Paulie cheered, clapping louder than everyone else.

She got to her feet and walked over with a smile, a mole present on the left of her upper lip. “I only take that as a compliment.” She said earnestly, regarding the competition with smiling rusty-brown eyes. “Chris! Nice to meet you.” She held her hand out to him. Her mint green shirt flared at the wrist, hanging down between them. Most importantly, it had an adorable panda icon printed on the front. Don’t you dare forget about the cute panda.

“Nooo, you’re making a pact with the devil!” Cameron called out. Behind her, Rosie’s pupils shrunk to pinpoints and almost made a noise due to how fast they glared at her.

“Nice to meet you too, Nadine.” Chris urged the girl on to the others. She nodded and stood towards the side. She was the tallest after Rosie and Tony, who were already taking up the back.

“I, uh…” Roger turned around, a sparkle in his eyes as he looked at her. “Love your, uh…”

Nadine looked him over and guessed in an instant, “My hijab?” She brought her hand to it.

His eyes squinted adoringly as he let in a tiny gasp. “Yes!”

“ROGER, in fact, should have been introduced now,” Chris cut in testily. The boy looked over fearfully, anyone could feel the confusion radiating from him. “But no biggie. ‘Cause now we can get back to the sliiiiiiiiiiiiiide!!!”

The teens began to flinch back and prepare themselves, but Marina ran to the front. “W- wait! Wait, please!” That has to be my sister, but she didn’t know it would be so- so intense!” She stressed to Chris.

“So?” Chris asked cockily. “Any one of these options had a risk- honestly it’s saddening no one stepped on the trick board yet.” He mused.

“Uh, wh- what was that.” Amelia asked.

“Yeah but, Stella, she- she’ll get hurt and not be able to think about much else, and later when she learns that’s how she spent her introduction, she’ll- she’ll be devastated!” Marina clasped her hands in front of her, pleading with the man. The slanted tube began to thump, making her more panicked. “I can’t let that happen to her- isn’t this season suppose to be less dangerous, anyhow!?”

Chris rubbed his stubble, looking away in false thought. “Nothing dangerous about getting your head bumped a little. It’s not my fault you brought me someone who’s easy to embarrass.”

“Hey! That’s not-!” Marina huffed, lamely scowling.

Rosie easily stepped up to the front, crouching down pretty close to the gross bud thing, winking at the pink-clad girl. “No worries, there’s plenty of big guys here to protect you little ‘uns. That’s just how nature is-” She thrusted her fist into her open palm and then threw her hands out in front of her. She looked like the catcher in a game of baseball. “The strong protect the small so we can all have fun!”

“WEEEEEEEEEEEE!” A girl’s voice shrieked as the bulb twitched. It shot her out full speed, and Rosie sprung up. Her arms flew out and caught her loosely, the two spinning around a few times from the pure momentum. After it was all done, Rosie was left standing with a giggling girl face-down in her arms, one around her shoulders and one at her knees. Stella’s own arms were outstretched in front of her, having come out head-first, her eyes sealed shut from her glee. “HA HA HA!”

Rosie smiled down at her, flipping her over effortlessly so that she was facing upwards, still in her hold. A latina girl with high thin eyebrows and a huge gaping smile greeted her and she couldn’t help but laugh back, sharing the excitement. Rosie finally set the girl on her yellow converse-d feet.

Stella now moved her hands over her stomach, still giggling. She had curly, dark caramel hair with a few lighter highlights reaching right to her shoulder blades, a long yellow ribbon tied in a bow behind her. Her nose was round and had a semi-prominent bridge; her bangs were parted in the center but some shorter bits hung over her forehead near her eyes. Her outfit consisted of a pale yellow scoopneck T-shirt that went to her elbows and sported a glittery, swirly pattern of a big crown and the cursive word ‘Princess,’ ending just above her belly button, a pair of navy green shorts held to her hips with a black belt with a golden buckle, unrolled socks with a single gold stripe at the tops, a copper-plated necklace, and several colorful bandaids stuck to her calves if they counted.

“Stella!” Marina said happily, coming to give her sister a small embrace. She then turned to the campy gal. “Thank you.”

“Aw!” Rosie waved her hand dismissively. Stella was clearly still laughing to herself as she walked with Marina to the gathering, but was silent.

“You can say hi to the others when you’re ready.” Marina told her. It was hard to tell if her sister heard her or not. “They’re really nice so far, you’re going to love them.” Stella audibly chuckled for a moment at that. The rest of the teens mostly kindly, silently regarded her, and a few said ‘hi.’

“Welp, that was the last of my favorite entrance.” Chris mourned. “I liked how it ended, though. Very loud, very flashy.” He rubbed his hands together. “I hope the last boardwalk person is gonna give me a show…” He uttered with an eager darkness.

The twelve current competitors turned at once to the dock, causing the ghastly pale person making their way down the dock stop in their tracks. The newbie and everyone on the grass seemed to be having a staring match, but the solo person was clearly just confused. They finally- while sweating bullets- walked the rest of the way, pink pupils darting everywhere for some sort of answer.

Chris groaned loudly, head rocked all the way back.

The albino standing before them brought a finger to their round chin, their downturned eyes staring out of their rectangular glasses. “Did I- did I already mess up?” They joked nervously, but was obviously also really worried.

“NO.” Chris grumped, crossing his arms like a child. “Welcome to the Garden, Jupiter. Hopefully everything comes EASY to you. Hope it’s all sunshine and daisies for YOU.”

Jupiter had no idea what to make of that. They had a simple shoulder-length hairstyle with their white, smooth, thin hair- it fell straight down and curled a bit at the ends. A button nose, and hands clasped tightly in front of them. “Thank you.” They muttered in fear.

“Shucks, looks like you got favoritism already.” Annabelle winked at the newcomer.

They wavered a bit of a smile, stepping closer to them all. At this distance, the sticker on their white lab shirt could be read, saying ‘Hi, my name’s Jupiter! They/them pronouns!’ Beneath that they wore a red V-neck with jean shorts, red and white sneakers, and sported a faint scar on their left thigh before it trailed under their shorts. Their torso was round at the bottom, tapering at the top like a pear. “I guess it’s the best welcoming I could hope for.” They shrugged, stopping near their peers.

Chris shook himself off. “Last and literally not the least- in fact, dare I say double than any of you- we have- well, depending on how you look at it,” Chris kept interrupting himself, his smile growing wider and wider.

“Ah, come on man! On with it!” Jackson put his hands on his hips. “I don’t know how anybody can be Tony doubled.” He pointed his thumb at said boy.

“Oh ho ho! Not like that!” Chris gushed. “From the archway, we have our last one and/or two contestants…” From the tube curtain, two pairs of fingers began to appear, too far apart to be from one person. “Avery and Erika!”

A leg appeared, a leg appeared, and a leg appeared exactly. Two girls walked from the curtain, each using a hand to part themselves a way. Between them, they let what remained of the curtain trail over their shared shoulder until they walked far enough for it to slip behind them. Operating their five limbs carefully and slowly, they didn’t have to worry about the curtain yanking them back. Everyone who had come before them were ready to greet them like normal, but as the seconds passed and realizations began to bloom, things went dead silent.

They stopped soon after, standing in front of the gathering. Chris walked up to them as the twins and the rest of the cast shared glances, their light brown eyes open wide but relaxed- owlish. It didn’t take long for the two girls to look down at a space between them, cupping their hands together and inching towards each other a bit, making themselves smaller. They had a sandy complexion, and dark brown bobs. Avery, the twin with the right hand, had blunt bangs over her forehead, her hair reaching the mid of her shoulder blades. Erika’s hair ended at the shoulder, her bangs swept to the side.

Tailored to their needs, they wore a brown blouse over their bulky top with short, slightly puffed sleeves and short collars. Their conjoined torso tapered towards the middle where they had a black thick belt wrapped around their stomach, then widen to their shoulder width at their hips where they wore a three-legged pair of denim shorts. Below, they had two right-foot black Mary Janes(their middle leg slightly favored Erika, but alas was very stunted either way) and one left one, and black stockings that went up to their knees. Thankfully, for how misfortunate their situation was, both could stand upright with proper posture without either one having to lean to a side, which is more than can be said about most conjoined twins.

“I’m so glad you two could make it!” Chris jeered. “Or one. However you call it.”

They had small, pouty lips, and blinked at each other. Avery lifted her head and began looking out at the others blankly once again.

“Call us two.” Erika softly requested.

Avery let her personal shoulder sag. “But count us as whatever you will.” She said just as quietly. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Such new… territory.”

“DON’T MOVE!” Paulie demanded, jumping towards them. “We’ll come to you!” The others quickly followed suit around the twins. Curious stares were thrown all around the girls, but no one got close enough to touch them.

“This is so cool…” Annabelle muttered.

“I want to ask you a billion questions… but must’nt overwhelm you…!” Jackson was visibly holding himself back, one of the nearest to the twins.

Avery and Erika barely responded to any of them beyond flicking their eyes here and there.

Chris let out a sigh, the least angsty sigh he’d let out all day. “You know, that wasn’t so bad. Too bad I have to ruin it by showing you around- ugh- the garden, I guess.”

Previously standing within the camera crew, some interns came to the meeting ground and began to clear out the props. The boardwalk was allowed to stay, and they dismantled the archway in record time. There was an actual curtain behind it that had kept those who chose the archway from seeing the rest of the island.

And once it was taken down……

The clearing before had been pretty and all that, like grandma’s backyard or something, but this was like the personification of aesthetic and botany had a head-on collision AND a love child. The prettiest of flowers, from pastel, dainty, and sweeping, to bright neon, bold blooms.

A fountain with a statue was in front of them a ways away, shaped as a vague man-shape holding a tall vase, the tip of it gurgling out a stream of water with a pleasant sound. Light blue glassy bricks made a clean walkway to it, and in two other directions further into the island. Some tastefully-chosen trees filled some empty space within the near candy-green grass, broken up only by tiny stones or carefully picked wildflowers.

Chef sat nearby at an off-white table made with intricate designs, sipping on a fine china tea cup. The matching tea kettle was on the table.

“Tea parties…” Rosie muttered, hanging her head sadly. Not her cup of tea.

“It’s GORGEOUS!” Amelia cried, lacing fingers with Marina. Stella bobbed her head in front of them, her smile huge as ever.

Some of the others, like Jupiter, Nadine, and Paulie, were impressed by the sight, but not too much to comment. Others, like Jackson, Rosie, and Annabelle, preferred something else, but not enough to complain.

Jennifer shifted her eyes in outright suspicion. “Is that a mango tree!?” She pointed at a lush, fruitless tree.

“Uhhhhh….” Chris, more fearful of not knowing something than of Jennifer’s brewing wrath, swiveled to Chef to back him up.

“Not yet it ain’t.” Chef decided to help.

“Tropical trees don’t grow in Canada!” Jennifer chided. “At least, they shouldn’t, especially not around all these other- none of these plants should go together! They’re all going to die!”

Chef made her wait until he took a long sip. He set the cup on the saucer he held in his hand. “Man…” He said, “Stop dissing my mango tree.”

Jennifer continued to hotly argue plant ethics. An intern got Chris’s attention from it by tapping his shoulder, giving him a piece of paper. “Oh! Ahem,” He began hostly once he saw what it was. “This season, we have a team of the world’s BEST plant experts, who have carefully either found a way to keep all native and nonnative plants living in harmony with one another, or under a careful plan for future removal once the season is finished.” He smirked pridefully. “There, no harm done.”

“‘Plant experts?’” Jennifer scoffed. “Plant experts my ass! That’s just Total Drama bull-”

Rosie planted a hand on her shoulder from too far away, but made up for it in one long stride. She was at her side in a second, toothily smiling down at her. “Jenny, what’s it matter? I’m a nature enthusiast! You don’t see me complaining. You’re just being silly.”

Jennifer rose a brow from her scowl. She sighed angrily, but otherwise decided to back down.

“Now if you’ll all follow me.” Chris started to lead them down one of the brick pathways. Chef finished and took up the rear.

“Down this way we have the essentials. You’re going to be in charge of cooking your own meals, but here you’re almost always going to be able to get the ingredients you need.” He explained as they came to a large patch of tilled soil, many various green stalks and vines sprouting from it. Towards the back there were some huts that Chris pointed to. “Those have things like meat and grain stuff. We weren’t allowed to have you slaughter things for yourselves, so I said to heck with all the farm animals then, what’d be the point?” That got a mixed reaction from the teens. “But downside is you have a limited amount of the stuff a day. A pity. Oh, and fruit and berries are scattered around the island- can’t let your snacks be too easy.”

Chris gained a boost of excitement at the little shack at the edge of all the food spots, skipping up to it. “This!” He eagerly smacked the side of the shabby wood with a flat palm. “Is the tool shed- this season’s confessional! There’s lots of these babies all ‘round the island! I want you guys to get acquainted by taking turns saying who you want on your team or not! Who wants to give it a try first!?”

*Shed: Jupiter* They sat at a small wooden bench, knees tucked in. The lighting was a bit dim, light peeking in from the cracks of the wall behind, and a light was illuminating their face for the camera. “I want to be on Annabelle’s team. That may sound strange to instantly decide but… we’re actually siblings. We auditioned together.” They admitted, eyes dropping. “She said that because of my skin condition, as long as Chris didn’t mention it, no one would be the wiser. We even didn’t mention each other on our audition tapes, just in case. It looks like he’s playing along.” They laughed nervously. “I don’t like our plan much, but Anna’s right, it has a lot of pluses. Having the others thinking-” They began to hack grossly “Alright! I can’t take it anymore! Why’s it smell so bad!? It’s not like this is an outhouse anymore-” They turned around, revealing that the wall behind was lined with some small gardening tools… and stacked with open bags of manure. Chris could be heard outside the door cackling like a witch.

*Shed: Jennifer* “One, these plants WILL have retribution.” She informed before saying anything she was supposed to. Her leg was crossed over the other, her hands resting on her knee if not animated around her. “I hate to say it, because people will assume this is how I am in real life outside of sick television world, but I want as few of the… weaker people on my team as possible. I usually PREFER to hang around underdog types, but those are dangerous in a drama competition. Sorry twins, sisters, and Jupiter… but the less of you the better. Not sorry Amelia, you’re preppy.” She finally succumbed to a wince, and glared over at the bags of manure in the corner. Chris somehow, someway, knew this and laughed shrilly once again outside the door.

*Shed: Nadine* “I plan on being the strongest on my team no matter what.” Nadine announced, sitting with her legs pointed to one side. “Even versus… Tony, was it? I can get around him in no time flat, and I’d be surprised if he was able to flinch about it.” She suddenly laughed, looking away bashfully. “Sorry, that was a bit mean. Um, a leader type would be nice. I’d hate for people to look at me to solve in-fighting. If I had to guess who’d that be…” She scratched at her hijab, trying not to be at a loss for words. “Rosie or Paulie, perhaps?”

*Shed: Roger* He sat leaned back with his legs crossed. “I don’t super get it. Like, I don’t know how to PICK someone to be with for important stuff. Everybody hates me being in their group projects at school, but I don’t know why, because I always end up doing all the work, and I hate it because it takes me forever! And they never give me credit!” He crossed his arms and leaned forward, fuming at the floor. “And people always change… they give you attention for nothing but ignore you when you ask for it… so I want people on my team who make sense! That’s it!” He clicked his heels. “Hnn… being nice would help though… or if they were pretty. Or smart. Or-”

*Shed: Cameron* “Eh, I’m thinking Amelia, Paulie, and Jennifer would make good teammates. They seem well-rounded at worse, and I feel a slight bond with them. I’d be crazy not to want both Tony and Nadine on my team. Oh! And Erika and Avery. So cool. So creepy. Maybe get a collab thing going if things don’t turn out here. REAL conjoined twins on my mystery channel would be insane for business! Or if not, I want to hang with them as much as possible, just for funsies.” She paused, a finger on her chin. “But what if… they don’t think I’M cool!?!?”

*Shed: Stella* “Ahhh! Friends!” She joyfully cheered. She balled her hands and bounced in her seat. “With Mari! Ahhhh!”

*Shed: Avery and Erika* Avery sat with her hand on her lap, and Erika lent to the side on hers. “We reeeeally hope to get better at this whole people thing.” Erika whined, sounding nothing like before. Her voice was still soft, but not sad. “We came onto this show hoping to get used to people outside the orphanage. It’s pathetic to say but… we were most excited that they’d be forced to get along with us.”

“We fall into the creepy twin act on habit.” Avery explained. “We’re just so nervous around new faces. A driving factor to joining was also that Total Drama is notorious for oddballs. If anyone’s going to get used to us quick, and us get used to them, this seemed like just the environment. Like Erika said… pathetic. We know.” They didn’t seem all that embarrassed, though.

Erika perked up. “Team wise? Anyone will do! It’ll all be about the same for us, probably cannon fodder no matter what.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Pathetic. But hey, if we get any sort of positivity out of this at all, it’ll be- say, will you hold your hand out, I wanna do the thing- yeah like that.” Avery held her hand open palm-up for Erika to throw her fist into. “It’ll ALL be worth it!”

*Shed: Paulie* “HMM…” She gleefully pondered. “Definitely Rosie and Cameron- so wild! And Jennifer’s hilarious, gotta be on her team when she pisses Chris off. Mmm, who else… Jupiter maybe? They look cool- oh yeah! And the twins. Think about it- if they count as two, when we vote them off, we still get to keep them! At least once.”

*Shed: Annabelle* She sat sideways on the bench with her legs propped up. “On the opposite team as Jupiter, my dear little sibling. It’ll be good for them, and best case scenario we both get to the merge and become unstoppable. If you’re wondering why we’re not all like those sisters… we’d be targeted like crazy. Being on separate teams, we’ll have a much wider range of people to target, and I won’t have to worry about having to work against them.” Annabelle’s confidence in her plan sounded a bit more flakey when she continued with the next part, “And the main reason I can’t risk getting targeted due to being related is that… it makes it fifty/fifty on which of us gets voted, and as much as I love them… I have to be the one who gets to the finale.” She propped her cheek on her fist. “Jupiter thinks they have a good plan for the money that I pretended to agree with, but to be real, it’ll go to waste in their hands.”

*Shed: Marina* “It goes without saying, Stella! I don’t baby her, I swear, but she deserved a decent introduction, at least! And she’s not the best at talking, so I’ll probably be pretty necessary for awhile since she’s so excited. Otherwise, Rosie’s so nice and strong! I’d love to be on her team. Amelia’s nice… Jackson’s pretty cool… Nadine seems like she’ll be great in challenges… that kind of stuff!” She propped her hands on her hips in excitement.

*Shed: Tony* “Pft, it doesn’t matter. They’re all simple enough, I’ll get under their skins easily.” He said with way more clarity than before, examining his nails. “Err, not those twins though. There’s no WAY I’d be able to get either of them alone…”

*Shed: Amelia* She sat dainty as ever. “Cameron and Paulie, of course! Being the typical ‘quirky girls,’ they’re going to be looking for someone to give them direction. Tony’ll be useful. Jennifer will be fun to mess with, her being on either team will work just fine. Rosie is too into herself, I think, so I’ll pass on her. Roger is a puppy, he’ll follow me easily. I would say Marina would be a nice addition, but now that she has a sister to look after, not so much. The twins have too much of a specific thing… like on stage, you want to be versatile! I can’t tell how stubborn Nadine will be… she’s a dangerous wildcard. Annabelle and Jackson will probably take orders from something that sounds right, which won’t be any trouble for me. Jupiter can be my replacement Marina, I suppose.” She listed off without a second thought on any of her assumptions.

*Shed: Jackson* “There’s SO many girls on this show. Oh my god. I hope I’m with at least ONE of the two other boys. Chris really would toy with me and put them together on the opposite one without me, UGH. Not that the girls are bad, it’s just- Well, I’m no sexist, just- WHATEVER just trust me on this, ‘kay!? Anyway, Jennifer, Annabelle, and Cameron would be pretty cool too.”

*Shed: Rosie* Her eyes popped open in earnest shock. “There’s a lot of un-camp worthy stuff going on already! Jeez! Who raised these folks!?” She huffed. “Well, I’ll give them one chance each, which that all-black wearing girl better appreciate, ‘cause she said some unsavory things a minute ago! Oh, and that OTHER girl… she’s got like, a point and a half. Any worse offense, and she’ll have to go home, with a lesson at that! I’d love to be on her team, just to make sure she stays in line.” *End*

The last of the confessors tromped out to a beaming Chris. “Now on to the next landmark, we have the winners cabin. Which, as it sounds, is the better of the two cabins for only the most recent winners.” He described as they walked to it.

They came to a quaint little cottage sitting in a field, another confessional shed sitting nearby. Right in front of it was a basic wooden fence leading up to the front door. Sitting upon the fence, there was a boy of the contestants’ age idly knocking his knees together, flicking his dark eyes from the clouds to the cast as they approached.

He sprung from his seat ahead of Chris, smiling wide and outstretching his arms. He was one of the most wiry people in existence it seemed, at a normal height and with brown skin. Dressed simply, he wore dark green jeans, brown dress shoes, and a golden yellow long-sleeved T-shirt. Well, less simply, he had a short black tophat perched on his head, concealing his hair. He had a weird pair of eyes where instead of his eyelids squinting as he emoted, they simply widened or contracted together perfectly, like the lens of a camera. “Chris! What a bunch!”

“Hello Lucas.” Chris groaned, lazily waving at the boy. “Care to tell this ‘bunch’ what you’re here for?” He sorta flicked his wrist over his shoulder.

Lucas hopped up to his side, training his sight on the others. “I’m Lucas, I’m with the people who know the island this season is taking place on.”

Chris sharply growled at him. Lucas blinked at the host, then brought his wrist to his eyes. With his other hand, he pulled back his sleeve a bit, stared at his skin, then looked up smiling once again. “I’m with the people who OWN this island!”

Chris smacked himself.

“I’ll just be around. I’m not working with the staff, so don’t go asking me for stuff.” Lucas continued.

“Like we can ask them for stuff anyway.” Jackson scoffed light-heartedly.

“Will you be doing… anything?” Nadine asked him.

He shrugged, giving a coy, innocent smile on his sharp-featured face. “I sure do love the idea of Reality TV chores. Much more fun than normal chores.”

Marina chuckled. “I bet, if you aren’t competing.”

“I suppose.”

“Anyway, Lucas’ll be around and if he tells you not to do something, listen to him because his dad might get mad if we mess up his island. I don’t really want to know what will happen if we tick him off.” Chris instructed, and Lucas waved to them at hearing his name. He turned to the boy. “I was showing them the good cabin, so if you could…”

Lucas tilted his torso at a weird angle. “Ooh! I like how they have to be two to a room. How do you think they’ll go about that!?”

Chris grimaced.

“Just pick whoever we like the best on the team.” Cameron shrugged. “Though I do admittedly not share very often.”

Lucas turned to them brimming with intrigue, but Chef shook his head from the back and waved the boy over. He perked up, and left the host’s side happily.

“You know what? The cabin speaks for itself when you go inside. Let’s move on to the loser’s cabin.” He lead the cast on the path. From the rear, Chef and Lucas shared dark giggles that all the others nervously picked up on.

They walked this path the longest yet, a curve in the walk suggesting they were walking the perimeter of something, hinted even more so as fences were a prominent feature on one side of them. A grey mass in the distance came into focus, nearly drawing all the attention from the shabby shack in front of it.

“Cool.” Annabelle said while looking up at the gnarled forest, in slight awe.

“Nasty.” Stella added.

“Isn’t it?” Chris asked proudly, before shaking back his senses. “Ahem. THIS is the loser’s cabin. It’s worse than the other one in most ways, the confessional shed is attached to the side, AND it comes with a chore.”

The teenagers groaned prematurely, before they even knew what it was. It made the host even happier. “After a challenge is lost, the losing team will come here after voting off one of their members. You will then be tasked with keeping the untamed part of the island at bay, however you can.”

“What?” Rosie cried, aghast, yet again. “If it’s growing then it’s alive, and it’s not okay in the slightest to cut away living trees!”

“Rosie Rosie Rosie, this forest is SUPER invasive and dangerous. I assure you, it’ll take over this island within a few DAYS of being left untouched, and there’s nothing good inside it. Trust me.” Chris seemed a bit serious. “And as for all of you, don’t be stupid, reckless, curious, or any of that other dumb teenage stuff and try to explore it. That is literally the only important job Lucas has, to make sure none of you act that idiotically.” For anyone who looked towards him, Lucas once again waved his hands at his name. “Because I’ve been at this for way too long to know that at least someone will try it.”

Rosie still looked worried, but after giving the weird forest another look, didn’t press it.

“Now!” Chris clapped his hands. “It’s time to find out who here you have to trust and rely on for your success in the challenges- your teammates! And don’t worry, once the merge hits, you’ll all be in charge of forest taming! But that’s a ways down the road. For now, will the people I call stand over to where I point” Chris motioned to two sides in front of him, Chef and Lucas moving behind the host. Chef whispered something to the boy, who went happily sprinting off.

“Tony,” The massive contestant trucked over to the right side.

“Annabelle,” He pointed to the left. She slightly nodded and contentedly moved away.

“Paulie,” She cockily made a ‘heh’ sound and fingered her bandana as she made her way to the right.

“Stella,” She brightened, coming up to Annabelle. “Hi!” She said, and Annabelle returned the greeting with a chuckle.

“Jackson,” The boy pumped his fist, then paused and coughed into it as he walked over. Paulie smiled at him, and he returned it.

“Marina,” Said contestant had been sweating bullets the second her sister had been called, and was relieved to be pointed in her direction- and so soon at that.

“Amelia,” She walked to the right with a happy wave, turning to face the host promptly once she arrived.

“Erika,” The twins paused before slowly making their way to the left.

“Jupiter,” They jolted, muttering “Ah, y- yes!” and walked to the right.

“Rosie,” She adjusted her non-existent tie before making her way over.

“Roger,” He pointed to the right to make sure, and Chris aggressively pointed in that direction even harder. Jackson beamed at his arrival.

“Cameron,” The girl sprung up as she made her way to the left, and Rosie’s eyes glittered down at her.

“Jennifer,” The goth nodded like she expected it, and went to the right.

“Nadine,” She calmly walked over to the left, no flair nor expression.

“And Avery,” Chris pointed for the final time, to the right.

The clearing was silent.

“Uhhh…. NO?” Jackson stated incredulously.

“What the heck, Chris?” Cameron shouted, flinging her arm around the twins’ shoulders. The twins, who had yet to emote to the announcement themselves, jumped slightly at the touch. “That’s not right, cool, OR possible. So stop joking, man!”

Chris chuckled remorselessly. “What’s wrong about it?”

“They CAN’T- not to offend-” Jennifer interrupted herself to make that note to the twins, “They literally can not be on both teams, and you know it, so stop being cruel.”

“Yeah, pretend I said it like that.” Cameron pointed to the goth.

“I’m not being cruel! As you can see with Marina and Stella, I’d never split apart sisters, and the twins still look together to me!” The host stifled a laugh.

*Shed: Jupiter* They sighed, their shoulders slumping. *End*

“That’s the opposite of funny, Chris.” Nadine grumbled, running her hand down her face.

He planted his hands on his hips. At this time, Lucas returned with two flashy props in hand. Chris didn’t pay him any mind yet. “Well I think we’re all forgetting to ask the people this is about. Avery! Erika! What do you say? Can you do it?”

The twins perked up, flicking their eyes to each other. They whispered in the space between them quickly. With the first smile they ever mustered in front of the others, Avery said, “We can handle it.”

Chris seemed to be the only one completely happy about that, but the contestants let it be.

“Um. So I guess we should like…” Paulie did an awkward step out, “Get a little closer?”

“Just a tad.” Amelia agreed, and the teams wedged a little closer, the twins tilting to be standing with them both.

“You all on the right,” The host reached behind him to take one of the props, “You are the Cheshire Queens.” He tossed the object, shaped like a long scepter with a big, heart-shaped gem sitting up top. Paulie caught it with a smile.

“And you,” He turned to the others, “Are the Hare Hatters.” He tossed a tube-shaped hat with white bunny ears coming out the sides to the team, and Stella eagerly caught it.

“It’s dumb!” She said, putting it on.

Chris ignored her. “With that, we can now,”

Lucas’s eyes grew wide behind him, bouncing on his heels, clasping his hands tightly.

“Start the first challenge.” The host stated simply. The boy behind him looked incredibly aggravated that it didn’t have the flair he was pumped for, and turned away. “A nice little scavenger hunt to get you guys used to the garden. At the expense of one of you on the losing team, of course, but such is life.” He produced two folded squares of paper from his back pocket. “Y’all ready?”

#garden #garden chapters #i'll have to make a page or something later to keep these around #tony fucking die challenge i hate you so much #i don't know flowers and will die next chapter myself lol #mangos trees don't belong in canada psa #idk if that's even right I just google #what trees don't belong in canada #it was the best answer i got #agh I hope you guys have fun with this!!!

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whitleyschn33 · 5 years

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RWBY 7 Trailer Thoughts

So, I said I would share my thoughts on the trailer, so here they are! I’m going to start at the beginning and write down what comes to mind for each little section, but since I have seen the entire trailer a couple times now, I may jump forward to connect whatever I’m addressing to something later in the trailer. This might make things seem a bit erratic, so I apologize in advance if this comes out like a lot of rambling nonsense. That said, let’s begin!

1. We open with Ironwood narrating that these are “uncertain times” over a montage of the Kaiju Grimm attack Argus, then cuts to Ruby saying that she’s trying to do what’s best, but doesn’t know if what’s best is what’s right as we see her use her Silver eyes on the Kaiju.

I’m hoping that this line about Ruby not being sure about what’s best being what’s right implies that we’ll get some kind of fallout for the events of Argus. One of my major gripes with the V6 finale is just how dangerous their plan was for the civilians in Argus, and how the narrative so far hasn’t really acknowledged that. The first step of their plan was cutting communications in Argus – something that would have caused mass panic even if they had succeeded and got away without the military noticing in time to send out forces. That panic can and did draw Grimm, and very easily would have killed dozens to hundreds of people. They’re huntsmen and huntresses – even if what’s “best” may be getting the Relic to Atlas, that doesn’t make what they did to do so (putting the civilians of Argus in unnecessary danger) “right”. Anyway, moving on.

2. Next, we get the gang flying into Atlas, whose airspace is completely full of military airships, with Weiss saying that this isn’t right. It then transitions to a shot of Atlas above Mantle, which seems to be on fire, then to the city, then the streets, where we see Atlesian knights patrolling, and only a handful of civilians walking outside, while Blake says the city just seems awful. We see a man throwing a trashcan at a TV screen (which as far as I can tell was showing the “Atlas Broadcasting(?) Network”) while a voice asks “what can we do?” (Can someone tell me who that is? It doesn’t really sound like Oscar or Jaune, and Qrow’s new VA pulls off a much more convincing performance at the end of the trailer, so I don’t think it’s him). Cut to Ruby saying that they didn’t come this far to fail now.

So, from Weiss’s line, we know that this is not how things usually are. The military is on high alert, showing off how strong their defenses are to match the closed off borders. I would guess that this also means troops roaming the city on patrol isn’t how things used to be either. Now, from what I’ve seen, most people seem to be taking this as a sign of martial law, and that theory certainly seems likely – the man throwing the trashcan and the fires we see are all potential signs of rioting, which could be a cause and/or effect of martial law being enacted. I have to wonder if that’s only part of the story, though. Later in the trailer, we see the gang fighting Grimm on the city streets (so I assume that’s what Ruby’s line is directed at), which we know from the leaked storyboards and their clothes happens immediately after they enter Atlas. The only time we’ve seen Grimm inside kingdom walls is during the Fall, so why are they there? What if this is a recent occurrence – a sudden influx of Grimm making it past the defenses and into the city proper? That’s another explanation (or even just another reason in addition to rioting) for troops to be patrolling, and I could very easily see that becoming a vicious cycle. Grimm get in, people panic, drawing more Grimm to the area and making it more likely for them to get it, causing more attacks and more panic, and making the soldiers seem less like protectors and more like ineffective “peacekeepers”. There’s a lot more I could say about this, but let’s keep going.

3. We go back to Ironwood’s voice overlaying what seem to be two/three different fights – the fight in the city streets against the sabertooth Grimm and two different fights in a mineshaft (and yes, they’re mines, the warning signs on the walls warn of deep mineshafts) against a new type of Grimm that I’ve heard are called Centinels and later an Ice Geist. He says, “Until now, I believed it was impossible to truly turn the tides against Salem. We find ourselves in the position of needing…. A new approach. She will keep returning stronger and stronger –“ cut to the new model for Ironwood “- unless we destroy her.” Cut to Ruby saying “Tell us how we can help.”

So, the main thing of interest to me here is Ironwood. We can see from the shot of his new appearance that he’s no longer taking care of his appearance like he did in the first few volumes – the stubble from V4 has become a full grown beard, and his hair doesn’t look like it’s been combed in weeks. The guilt and paranoia that we saw budding in V4 has fully come into bloom, as evident by his lines here, the heightened defenses we saw around Atlas, and the troops patrolling the city. In V4 E11, Jacques accuses Ironwood of never trusting anyone but himself, to which Ironwood responds to “For good reason,” then immediately says, “If Oz had just listened to me from the start…” Ironwood clearly believes that the Fall of Beacon would not have happened had Oz listened to him – used his strategies. Oz’s strategies “failed”, so this reaffirmed Ironwood in thinking that he’d had the right ideas – that if he had been able to control what was happening in Beacon, he could have stopped it. So, now, he’s not taking any risks with Atlas. He’s doing everything he thinks is right to protect the kingdom, no matter how paranoid or insane it seems – closing the borders, dust embargos, potential martial law, whatever it takes to keep the kingdom “safe”.

Now, this seems to be extending to Salem herself. If Oz was flawed about Beacon, he may be reasoning, why can’t he be wrong about Salem? Maybe there is a way – maybe the strength of Atlas *can* destroy Salem. Salem always seems to come back, maybe she’s just never been completely destroyed, and that’s what we need to try to do to fully get rid of her. Now, we know that this isn’t true, that Salem can’t be killed, can’t be destroyed, but even if Ironwood knows this (from his “believed it was impossible to turn the tides” line), he’s clearly no longer thinking straight. He no longer trusts Oz for having reasons for not simply going after her with an army, since Oz has been knocked down from his pedestal of “all-wise and powerful” with his “death”, so now he’s going to try to go about things his own way… which, from the state of Mantle? Doesn’t seem to be working amazingly well. More on that when I try to summarize my thoughts into a cohesive TLDR.

4. Cue Team RWBY jumping out of a plane into some kind of complex (my guess would be the mines/refineries at the mine site), interspersed with them fighting either the Sabertooths or the Cenitals, and title card.

So, “final” (I say that, but I’ll probably talk about them again) take on the new outfits. Ruby is still my favorite – it still looks really good, the hair is far tamer than I or anyone else thought it would be and I’m glad (though in some places, particularly the concept art that went around like a week ago, it really looks like Cinder, and I’m not sure how to feel about that), since this just gives her hair a more stylized look.

Blake is sitting at my second favorite – I think it’s a look that comes together pretty well, and the hair looks fine (I’ve seen some people complaining about how flat it looks, and I’m just here like, yeah, that happens a lot when you cut it that short, it can lose the volume it used to have).

Now Weiss and Yang… are now kinda tied. Yang’s outfit looks better than it did in the original art for me, and I think that’s mainly because the belt breaks up the khaki a bit better in 3D, so it’s not just a great expanse of bleh (still think the jumpsuit itself is ugly as hell, but I’ll take what I can get).

Weiss’s… is still a case where I like the aesthetic they were going for, but it doesn’t come together right. The big poofy skirt looks okay when she’s on her own (sometimes), but next to the rest of RWBY just looks so out of place and in the way and honestly a bit bland. The top half with the sleeves and gloves look… fine, but again, I wish they didn’t poof out the arms so much. The braid… still gives me really mixed feelings because it’s shorter than the concept art, but it’s still looks so thick and heavy, and adds to this unbalanced feeling I get. If it was in the back completely, instead of the side, I would be perfectly fine with it, but as it is, just throws me off. I can see what they were going for, particularly in the clip where she’s fighting a Cenital since that’s where the outfit as a whole looks best to me, but as a whole, there are too many little details that throw me off for me to really like it. Again, that might change when the first episode hits, but for now… eh.

The title card is pretty, though.

5. Back in the city streets – Qrow comments that he was expecting things to go a lot rougher, Blake and Yang are walking away when suddenly – captured by bolos! We see Blake, Qrow, then Ruby go down, the Relic falling off on to the pavement. A man approaches, while another standing of to the side, and then picks up the Relic. End trailer.

So, first off, major kudos to the new Qrow VA – his performance is outstanding. I was worried that the transition would be jarring, but if I hadn’t known they’d put someone new in, I honestly wouldn’t have noticed. His mimicry of Qrow’s voice is exceptional.

Second, I’m fairly certain that the people that captured the team are Atlas personnel. While we can’t see much, the man in frame wears white and blue, Atlas colors, and has a fairly militaristic haircut. The other figure is either wearing white boots, has a model that hasn’t been completely rendered yet, or seems to be an android, looking at the odd pattern and shape of his feet. I’ve seen some people throwing out the idea that this is Ironwood trying to take the Relic, or Atlas trying to steal the Relic, since the man picks it up, but – guys. Really? We see Ruby talking to Ironwood earlier in this trailer. They’re still in their old clothes, this is episode one. The more likely explanation is that these guys captured them because RWBY and Co attacked a military base, stole an airship, arrived in said stolen airship, and clearly are not supposed to be here if they just suddenly appeared without the border officials being informed, and so are clearly criminals in the eyes of Atlas. So, yeah, my 5 lien are on them spending, like, 5 minutes in jail before they can get to Ironwood, where he (hopefully) reams them out a bit.

So, yeah, that’s the trailer! No sign of Whitley, which, disappointed by not surprised. I’m gonna hold out hope for him to be in the intro, like in Volume 4. As for what I think may be happening this volume from the trailers, I expect we’ll have a heavy focus on Ironwood, his paranoia, and his relationship with Oz, and how that extends to how the inner circle has operated for the part 10/20/?? years. I also feel like the first big thing to be tackled will be the Grimm in the city. The fact that Grimm are getting in points to a huge breakdown in the kingdom’s defenses, despite the fact Ironwood seems to have ramped them up to 11. So, the question is, where are they coming from, and how are they getting in? Considering that the Centinals break out from the ground, and RWBY and Co are fighting in a mineshaft, I would say that it’s coming from a subterranean pocket of Grimm, like the ones that people of Mountain Glenn broke in on. Since we know Salem is experimenting more with Grimm, it’s possible that this Grimm outbreak is being caused by her seeing how viable it would be to launch an attack on Atlas from underground, where their defenses are at their weakest, and this is showing most prominently in the mines and the city around them/on the ground. Otherwise, it could be possible the SDC, while mining, broke into a cavern full of them. This doesn’t seem as likely, though, with the dust embargo. If the SDC isn’t able to sell overseas, then mining operations were most likely shut down temporarily. No use wasting money trying to get product that you can’t sell. It could be an old mine, though – one that had been boarded up cause Grimm, but that broke loose due to all the negativity caused by Ironwood’s new measures.

But ultimately, we’ll just have to wait and see! Once again, I’m sorry if this is a bit rambling – I have to leave any minute now, so I haven’t given this a through reread, but I want to get my thoughts out there in a timely manner for once, so I’m going to post anyway. Thank you for reading this far! What’re your thoughts on the trailer, the outfits, the potential plot? Feel free to comment below or send an ask, and I’ll talk to you all soon! Have a good day!

#rwby #rwby7 #ruby rose #weiss schnee #Blake Belladonna #yang xiao long #ironwood #general ironwood #qrow branwen #RWBY spoilers #rwby7 spoilers #rwby 7 trailer #rwby7 thoughts #salem #grimm #ozpin

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randomoranges · 4 years

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i lost a friendly wager last night. we agreed to soft. then i was told historical period costumes and or baking. (because i historical period costumes are not in my drawing range.) i offered words and they were accepted. this idea sprouted.

a whole brand new au world for a friendly wager i lost.

liberties were taken.

i can chat your ear off with this dumb new au.

@allbeendonebefore here are your winnings.

O Come, All Ye Faithful [In Excelsis Deo]

Edward takes out the last tray of gingerbread people from the oven and places the tray to cool. He removes his oven mitts and apron, before loading the last items into the dishwasher and then starts it. He is about to call out to his partner, to ask him where the decorating kit with the brushes are (because that’s his partner’s job – even if they always end up decorating together – because Edward likes to spend time with him,) when said partner lets out a string of curses. Amused, Edward peers into the eating area to find Étienne re-stringing the sewing machine for what must be the nineteenth time this past hour.

Edward spares one of his gingerbread folk and plates it, before making his way to where Étienne is working, figuring he could use a break before he chucks the sewing machine and work-in-progress out their living room window.

“Careful, dear,” He starts, putting the plate down, “The sewing machine hears you when you curse at it. I find that gentle encouragement works best.”

Étienne grumbles something under his breath, which sounds a lot like “waste of time” and “it should know better,” before he sits up and leans away from the table. Edward takes the hint and cozies himself up on Étienne’s lap. He brushes back a long strand of curly brown hair away from Étienne’s face and tucks it behind his ear. Étienne sighs and leans into Edward’s chest, defeated.

“Remind me again why this was a good idea,” He mumbles and Edward chuckles softly, rubbing his beau’s back.

This is a historically accurate late nineteenth century dress, with all the intricate patterns, jewels, beads, and details that come with it (with some modern alterations, because Edward needs to be able to actually get out of the dress) that Étienne decided to make from scratch. He researched the design, stayed up late more nights than Edward is probably aware of, spent every waking moment on the garment, he even took out his grandmother’s old sewing machine for it, and all because Edward has a show at the end of the month and Edward deserves the absolute best, even if it kills him. Or so Étienne says and believes.

Étienne is a stubborn, mule-headed idiot and Edward absolutely loves him.

The fool.

Edward still remembers the day they met. (Étienne always tells the story better.)

It happened a really long time ago – it feels like it happened centuries ago, but back then, Edward’s main source of income comes from the drag shows he participates in. He enjoys the performative aspect of it, likes the fact that he can explore different facets of himself and likes how free it makes him feel. He has worked hard creating his persona, has worked hard on his performance, and even though he isn’t the Greatest Drag Queen to ever grace the planet, he is quite good, if he says so himself and he has a small following, which he thinks is endearing – when he lets himself admit to it.

The story goes that on a dreary November evening, Étienne happened to be sitting in the small cabaret where Edward was performing that very same night. Étienne had gone there with his friends, since he did not usually frequent such places, and it actually turned out to be his very first experience assisting a drag performance.

Then, the moment Edward (well, at the time Étienne didn’t know his name was Edward – all he knew was that this performer was Klondike Kate) stepped out on stage, in his beautiful flowing dress with the poofy sleeves, perfectly made up hair (was it real, was it a wig? It was hard to tell), outrageous, gorgeous hat, and elaborate makeup, Étienne’s heart stopped beating for a second. When the lights dimmed down low and the first few notes of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” played, Étienne’s breath stilled. And then, when Edward started singing, in that perfect voice of his, swaying gently to the music, Étienne forgot to breathe all together.

When Étienne tells the story, he adds that after Klondike Kate’s number, he rushed out of the cabaret to find the nearest anything that would sell flowers to buy a bouquet. There was a dep across the street and Étienne swears a car almost hit him as he ran to the store. Edward is never sure if that part is true or exaggerated, but he doesn’t interrupt and lets the story go. Étienne recounts how the only flowers the dépanneur had were a sad looking bouquet with three roses that had seen better days and a few other yellow flowers he couldn’t name, but how it had to do and so he got it, using the last twenty-dollar bill he had in his pocket.

(There is a part to this story that no one knows – not even Étienne – and that��s that Edward still has those flowers. He pressed them between the pages of an old book and he lovingly preserved them, all these years later.)

The story ends with Étienne somehow or other making his way backstage after the show and finding the door to Klondike Kate’s dressing room. He says he didn’t have to bribe anyone, that his charms and good looks granted him passage alone and that as long as anyone acts confident and as though they know what they’re doing, it’s fine. Edward always has more questions at that part, but it’s such a good tale that he keeps his mouth shut and listens. (He’s heard the story so many times by now, but it’s his favourite.)

Quite frankly, Edward was actually quite startled when he opened his dressing room door to find such a strapping young man standing in front of it with a partial besotted look upon him, but what had really gotten him was that this stranger had been able to just – waltz in without getting caught.

Edward had blinked, curious, and Étienne had fumbled something about having just attended the show and how great he thought Klondike Kate had been and what a voice he (she?) had and well – he wanted to congratulate him (her?) in person and – yeah this was kind of weird, and he was not usually such a mess, but he is impulsive and so please accept these flowers as a token of congratulations.

Before Edward even had a chance to say anything, Étienne had bolted out (in Étienne’s words, walked out quickly and obviously, smoothly), leaving one very perplexed Edward behind, flowers in hand.

Edward thought for sure that this was the end of his strange suitor? Fan? Admirer? Crazy stalker??, but he still put the flowers in a vase, still brought them home, and still carefully dried all of them out – for some reason. (He didn’t always get flowers and not even his last boyfriend had bothered, so, really, the gesture was nice.)

He more or less forgot about the stranger and continued living his life, preparing for his shows, but Étienne became a returning customer. He went to every show, cheered the loudest (not that Edward could tell), but he made sure to sit at the far back, away from the lights and from where Klondike Kate could see him. The plan was to keep a safe distance and admire from afar, but sometimes, the universe has strange plans.

And so, towards the end of January, after a show, Étienne walked up to the bus stop and he was quietly smoking a cigarette, replaying his favourite parts of the show in his mind, when Edward (whose car was in the shop and who couldn’t be bothered to hail a cab when he literally had a five minute commute from here and knew the bus would be here in four minutes max) showed up in his line of sight.

“It’s you!” Edward said and Étienne’s eyes had widened as he tried to find something intelligent to say. “You’re the flower guy!” Edward added.

“Étienne – actually, my name is Étienne,” He tried, offering a shy, timid smile and Edward was surprised, if endeared and he laughed over the ridiculousness of the whole affair.

“And I’m Edward, actually, my name is Edward,” He added with a smile of his own, extending his hand.

Étienne wraps up the story at that point, usually. He says they became friends after that, before he finally found the courage to ask Edward out after a show, one day and that the rest is history. It’s mostly true. Mostly, because there’s the part where they both missed their bus stop because they were too busy talking. Mostly, because they walked all the way back to Edward’s place (Étienne didn’t want to let him go alone). Mostly, because Edward really wanted to invite him back inside afterwards for anything – even if it was just talking. Mostly, because at the time Étienne was seeing someone (even though it was complicated and mostly on its way out, but it wouldn’t be right). Mostly, because by the time Étienne was single again, Edward was seeing someone. Mostly, because even though they became fast friends and spent whatever time they had together, Étienne asked him to dinner the night Edward’s boyfriend dumped him and for the longest time, Edward thought he was using Étienne as a rebound. (And if that’s the case, then Étienne is at least a twelve year old rebound.)

They’ve grown, since then. They own the place they live in (somehow) and they do grownup things like pay bills, talk about their mortgage, and clean out the filters of the wall unit three times a year. Étienne has a real job now. He’s not a student anymore. (Not like when they met.) Edward also has a real job now, but he still does drag every so often. He likes it. He likes being Klondike Kate. He likes mentoring the new queens. (He calls them his little princesses. They love it. Étienne thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. Étienne still goes to every show. He brings Edward a bouquet after every show. It’s a much nicer bouquet than that first one. In fact, he’s only ever missed a grand total of six shows and he hates himself for it. Edward tells him every time to chill, he had valid reasons. Étienne doesn’t want to hear a word of it. It’s infuriatingly endearing. And annoying as hell.)

He likes the friends he’s made, the community he’s found and the sense of belonging he gets from performing. Klondike Kate can say things Edward can’t blurt out whenever and wherever. Klondike Kate can wear nice dresses, heels, makeup, and pretty gloves. Klondike Kate gets attention he never wants as Edward. Klondike Kate let’s Étienne dote on her as much as he wants. (Edward does as well, but sometimes he wants to dote on Étienne and Étienne is a stubborn old goat he loves very much.) It’s a strange dichotomy and he loves it. He loves sitting in front of his vanity and applying his makeup. He loves watching his transformation from Edward to Klondike Kate. (He loves sitting at his vanity and having Étienne gently remove the makeup from his face, transforming him back, at the end of every show. It’s a ritual. He wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.)

The cabaret he’s been performing at for the past ten years is putting on a special show for the holiday season – something authentic and historical and the owner politely asked Edward if he would like to perform. It’s a part special, part retrospective, part throw off for the end of the decade and part whatever the queens want it to be. Edward says yes almost immediately and he then thinks of what he can do – what he can wear. He has his usual dresses and costumes – his usual numbers. His favourites and easy go-tos. But then he thinks of the meaning behind Klondike Kate – what she means to him, why he picked her name, and he figures he can really put on a show.

It’s when Étienne comes up with the crazy idea to make him a period accurate dress.

Edward laughs at his idea – because he thinks Étienne is joking.

Étienne already has his sketchbook out and is looking at images on his tablet, jotting things down, saving reference photos, looking at past photos of Edward’s costumes as well. Watching Étienne work is a dizzying affair. He’s in five places at the same time. Edward knows not to kill off such creative energy, so he tells him not to get in too deep and lets him be.

It was a mistake, obviously.

It’s a good thing Edward wasn’t there to see him work at the library.

It’s how nine days before the show Étienne is still fighting with the sewing machine (because Edward is the one who’s good with the sewing machine – Étienne learnt it for fun a few years back – after he brought home his grandmother’s old sewing machine) and he’s cursing about beads and jewels (because Klondike Kate deserves the greatest, poofiest dress ever). It’s not that Edward does not try to make this easier for his beau – he tries, oh he tries to get Étienne to reconsider – they could take one of Edward’s old costumes and make alterations to it, but Étienne is and always has been stubborn.

So Étienne has hand sewn the jewels and the beads, has measured once and twice (and thrice) has cursed and pricked his fingers, has sat down with the old sewing machine and with time, the dress has slowly taken shape. Slowly.

“You said something about wanting to make me the greatest dress ever known, dear,” He reminds Étienne, who nods sagely and picks at the sleeve he has apparently been having trouble with.

“Yes, that’s right and you’ll look absolutely stunning in it.” He says with all the sincerity of the world.

Edward’s cheeks pink ever so and Étienne grins. He’s ridiculous and Edward loves him so.

“Think you’ll be done before the actual show?” He teases to regain his footing. Étienne pushes up his glasses and studies his work – the dark mauve of the fabric, the sleeves, the bodice with the lace and the jewels and the beads. He’s pensive and serious, but Edward spots a hint of a smile and knows that Étienne is messing with him now.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’ll be done by this summer, you see, there’s a handsome fellow sitting on my lap and I simply cannot do anymore work,” He adds, mock serious and Edward playfully hits his arm.

“Need I remind you that you’ve been complaining about this all day. I came to see you in your time of need to bring you comfort and joy in the form of my company and a cookie, but if this is the thanks I get...” He tries to get off, but Étienne is quicker and wraps his arms around him tightly, trapping him in place.

“And I am ever so grateful for such an offering. With it, I’ll be able to complete this dress from hell by the end of the evening – hopefully.”

Edward pecks his nose in thanks but remains seated on Étienne’s lap for a moment longer. He likes it here – it’s nice and comfortable.

“Think you can model this one for me, after?” Étienne asks, looking up at him.

Edward nuzzles their noses together and smiles, “Of course – when have I not?”

FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #Edward Murphy #étienne maisonneuve #au

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kwanisms · 6 years

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Personal Trainer - lhs

⤑ genre: smut/ personal trainer!au ⤑ pairing: Hoseok x Reader ⤑ warning: face fucking, slight?? degradation, some overstim, sir kink ⤑ summary: when your best friend begs you to go to the gym with her, you’re convinced she’s trying to set you up with her personal trainer and after seeing him, you might just be okay with that. ⤑ word count: 7.6k

a/n: i can’t believe it’s been so long since i posted this piece! i decided to revamp my blog and my openings got a huge makeover. all oneshots and drabbles now have title cards! anyway, thank you all for the attention you’ve shown this piece and in light of recent events, i’m reblogging this to celebrate the good news about our Wonho! ~K

It was a well known fact you detested the gym. You hated the wandering eyes of the overly buff wannabe bodybuilders who clearly didn’t need to be there but instead were hoping to pick up women with their overcompensation. You hated the judging stares you received when you stopped running as if everyone else deemed it too soon for you to quit. Of course, you could be entirely wrong and they probably weren’t thinking about you at all.

Still, you disliked the dirty looks girls gave you when you walked a little too close to their boyfriends as if you were going to snatch them and run; no one wants your poodle, honey, you thought as a girl with her long blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail stood protectively in front of her boyfriend with his poofy and curly locks, sending a menacing glare your way. So it came as no shock that you refused to accompany your best friend, Emily, to the private gym at the country club her family belonged to.

You found yourself at one of the loudest and most popular clubs Friday night listening to her pleas as you tried to enjoy yourself and let loose after a taxing work week.“Please!! I could really use the encouragement and you could use the workout,” she said, giving you a once over. “Wow, thanks Emily, that wasn’t contumelious or anything,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Oh come on, (Y/N). You would be so much hotter than you are now if you had a killer body!” she said stirring her drink before raising it to her lips.”And stop using obscure words like some vocabulary hipster. I’m not best friends with a dictionary. Well,” she paused before her eyes turned back to you, a smirk present on her face. “Unless you count as one.” You smacked her arm, bursting into giggles as the music with loud pulsing bass swirled around you.

Emily had always been a very outspoken, very honest, and extremely blunt. It was never her intentions to hurt someone’s feelings, but more times than naught that was the result. You had been friends since you could walk. You knew each other better than anyone. You downed the rest of your drink and stood to make your way over to the bar and order another, Emily’s words still fresh in your mind. Returning to.your table, drink in hand, the words that next came out of your best friend’s mouth made it all too clear why she wanted you at the gym.

“Please just come with me! The new personal trainer is really hot!” Ahhh, there it was. You smirked as she revealed her true intentions to you. “You just want me to be your wingman, don’t you?!” you feigned shock, lacing your voice with mock betrayal. “Actually, he’s more your type than mine,” Emily said, playing with a stand of her hair absentmindedly. This piqued your interest and you sighed. It couldn’t hurt to go and have a look, right? “Fiiiiine,” you say, drawing out the vowel and your best friend smiled half in glee, half in triumph and you almost regretted your submission.

Almost.

The next day, dressed in some simple black leggings, your sports bra, an oversized long sleeve shirt, and your sneakers, you were in Emily’s car and ready to get this over with. The night before, still fresh in your mind, you mentally prepared yourself to deal with Emily’s whining about how hungover she was when she had all of 3 drinks. She pulled into a parking spot near the entrance and the two of you got out.

You looked up at the natural stone façade of the massive complex, slinging your gym bag over your shoulder. The grounds were huge, a massive golf course spanning the sprawling hills outside. The drive up to the building was a long path hidden behind a huge line of trees, as if this place was hidden inside some dense forest when really, it was just inside a huge, heavily wooded city park. The cars parked in the perfectly painted spaces were all models you would never be able to afford with your measly salary as a bank manager.

Ferrari, Lamborghini, and BMWs. Think of any fancy car and they were all there. You had an intrusive thought of a middle aged woman driving her BMW to the grocery store to buy milk and tried to keep a giggle inside. You walked through the massive double doors with wrought iron and glass framed by thick, heavy black wood. Inside was just was grand as the outside with vaulted ceilings, polished marble floors, and dark wood paneling on the walls. The place screamed high class and reeked of old money.

A massive crystal chandelier hung in the waiting area that was much larger than your one bedroom apartment. The marble on the floors was mirrored in the huge receptionist counter and a small, a girl in her late teens sat behind it. The patrons inside a small cafe area sat around small round glass top bistro style tables sipping on their caramel machiafrappuchinos or whatever the latest coffee trend was and you swore they looked at you with disdain when you passed by, as if you were some dirty thing hellbent on mucking up their precious club. Emily approached the reception desk to sign in and smiled at the teen behind the counter.

“I’ve brought a guest today,” she said sweetly. The receptionist sighed as if Emily was demanding she perform like a monkey for her, pulled out a clipboard with a sign in sheet for guests and jabbed it out at you. Taking the clipboard, you signed in quickly, handed it back, and then proceeded to follow Emily through the massive club to the gym. Inside it was moderately sized, filled with various workout equipment.

On one end was a wall of mirrors with racks of free weights standing in front of them. To one side behind the treadmills were floor to ceiling windows that gave a view of the vast golf course you had seen from the parking lot. Several patrons were enjoying a day of golf on this mild autumn day. On the wall opposite the windows were several doors leading into smaller rooms, each door with a little plaque next to it giving insight as to what was inside.

There were only 4 people in the gym; a middle aged woman, a young man, Emily, and yourself. The woman sported a very blunt, black bob haircut that barely reached past her chin, strands of grey littered her pin straight locks. She moved at a steady pace on one of the ellipticals, her eyes trained on the television screen in front of her, old reruns of Grey’s Anatomy or some other soap opera playing. The only man in the room sat by one of the doors into a private room, his eyes glued to his phone. He had probably the most incredible body you’d had ever seen.

He was ripped. Arms, chest, thighs, calves, you name it, he had it. He wore black knee length basketball shorts over grey compression pants, a black compression shirt, and a black baseball cap. On the floor next to him was a grey duffle bag, a black semi transparent water bottle resting on top. Suddenly, you felt very self conscious of your body and tried to unsuccessfully hide behind your own gym bag.

Emily shook her head, her long black hair swaying and she marched up to the man. He looked up and your heart nearly stopped. He was so handsome. His eyes shone brightly and his face broke into the sweetest smile. He pocketed his phone as he stood up.

“Hi, Emily, right?” he asked extending his arm, offering one if his large hands. She smiled and nodded, shaking his hand. “This is my friend, (Y/N), she’ll be joining us today.” You stepped forward shyly as the man held his hand out and offered you a warm smile. You were painfully aware of how your heart was hammering in your chest, wondering if anyone else could hear it, because damn, it was loud in your ears. When you took his hand and shook it, there was no other way to describe it; your body ignited, as if you were the latest victim of spontaneous human combustion.

His eyes locked with your own and suddenly you found it nearly impossible to form any coherent sentences. The intensity of his stare sent blood rushing to places you didn’t exactly want it to. Damn it, you were screwed. Instead you nodded politely and returned his smile. He dropped your hand, and your body whined at the loss of contact.

“A pleasure to meet you ladies, my name is Hoseok.” You made a mental note of how his name sounded. “The pleasure is ours, Hoseok,” Emily smiled, and when Hoseok leaned over to pick up his bag, she looked at you and mouthed the words “oh my god!” You gave her a stern look, mouthing back “stop it!” and dropped it when Hoseok stood straight again.

He led the two of you into the private room he sat by, shutting the door behind you, making sure to hang the occupied sign in place. Inside the room was larger than you had anticipated. The floor was the same as outside in the main gym, that soft spongy material, there were medium blue mats hanging on the wall to the left of the door as you entered and they vaguely reminded you of the mats that hung in the gym in elementary school.

In the far left corner of the room, next to a large mirror that took up the entire wall across from the door, was a simple door that you suspected was a closet holding various workout equipment. Hoseok dropped his bag in the corner, facing away from you but you could see his face in the reflection of the mirror. He removed his hat and his blonde hair fell, bangs falling into his eyes. You hadn’t noticed you had been staring until Emily cleared her throat.

“(Y/N), you can put your bag over here,’ she said and you tie your gaze away from Hoseok’s reflection but you could have sworn his eyes met yours briefly before you turned away and set your bag next to Emily’s, bending to grab your own water bottle. Emily knelt down, pretending to busy herself with something in her bag. “Don’t get caught staring,” she whispered so low you almost didn’t hear her.

Clearing your throat with a grunt, you stood straight and turned around to find Hoseok had already turned to face you. His eyes were trained on you, the ends of his mouth curled up as if he was trying to fight a smile. Emily followed you to the center of the room as she pulled all her hair up into a bun on top of her head. Hoseok tore his gaze away and moved to open the closet, retrieving three yoga mats. You glared at Emily and she smiled sheepishly at you. Yoga had not been part of the agreement.

You had virtually no balance whatsoever and now you were expected to contort your body while maintaining your balance in front of this incredibly handsome stranger. No way. Not happening. Hoseok motioned for the two of you to join him and gestured at the mats. “Have a seat.” You followed Emily, who sat without hesitation. She grinned broadly as Hoseok sat on the mat in front of you and led you through a series of light stretches, warming you up before the workout began.

Hoseok had you remove your shoes and socks and stand on the mats, showing you the first yoga pose. It was relatively simple enough. You had to stand still. You could do that. “Press your toes into the mat and bring your shoulders back further,” Hoseok said softly behind you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders and he lightly pulled signaling you to stand up straight. You complied, your skin burning under his touch and you were certain he could tell. If the smile on his face wasn’t a dead giveaway, then the way one of his hands lingered on your shoulder after he had already corrected your posture definitely should have given him away.

The next pose had you standing, feet wide apart, arms open, and you had to admit you felt like a real idiot. Hoseok attended to Emily, correcting her feet before focusing his attention on you. He complimented your feet being in the right position but he gently grasped your hips to move them in the right position and you couldn’t hide the involuntary gasp that left your mouth when his large hands touched you.

He either didn’t notice, or he didn’t choose to notice but instead remained professional as he continued to correct your position. When he pulled away and circled around you to make sure you were doing the pose right he stopped in front of you and you dared not look up at him. This man was driving you crazy.

Hoseok moved into the next pose that had you sitting on the floor, legs together in front of you, and you had to bend your body in half. Emily, being the flexible former cheerleader, had no problems. You however had great difficulty. You were not on the cheerleading squad in high school, instead opting to focus more on your studies. Hoseok knelt behind you, “may I?” he asked and you nodded, trying to hide the blush that crept across your face.

His hands were gentle as he slowly pushed you into position, stopping every so often to make sure it wasn’t too much. One hand on between your shoulder blades, the other at the small of your back. “If it’s too much, let me know. I don’t want to overwork you,” he said softly, his voice caring and sweet, mimicking the gentleness of his hands. You winced, feeling a burn in your hamstrings you’ve never felt before.

“Are you alright?” he asked, leaning in closer, his breath fanning the back of your neck. You could smell his cologne. A light airy scent that on it’s own wouldn’t affect you but mixed with another heavier scent, possibly arousal, you felt dizzy. You nodded quickly hoping it would end soon. Hoseok smiled and patted your back. “Alright, you can sit up now,” he said, his hands falling from your back as he stood and returned to the front of the room. He put his shoes and socks back on, signaling the yoga session was over.

You and Emily also replaced your footwear before standing and allowing Hoseok to roll up the yoga mats, returning them to the small closet. You took the reprieve to down some water before moving on to the next part. The next part was cardio. You left the small room and back out into the now empty gym. He motioned for you to join him at two of the treadmills.

He set the workout for you and let you get into position. You pulled your earbuds up into your ears, pressing play on your phone before starting off at a mild walking pace. After a couple moments, the walking pace sped up into a light run. You tried to focus on anything that wasn’t Hoseok’s face, ultimately focusing your eyes on one of the television screens.

You could see Hoseok watching you and Emily carefully out of the corner of your eye. His gaze lingered on you longer than you thought was necessary but eventually he tore his gaze away. He checked his watch as your pace slowed to a brisk walking pace and you tried to catch your breath. You continued, following the preset workout, keeping your eyes ahead but glancing slyly at Hoseok.

Finally the treadmill slowed to a stop and you worked to catch your breath, taking huge gulps of water in between breaths. Emily gave you a big cheeky grin as Hoseok led you the rack with the free weights. “See? This isn’t so bad,” she said as she picked up her water and downed a few gulps.

Maybe she was fine, but your body was screaming. You were so incredibly turned on by this man who had been touching you, albeit innocently, all morning. You felt as if your body would explode if you didn’t find release soon. Hoseok grabbed two sets of hand weights that were on the smaller side and showed you both the next part. You tried your best to mimic him, wanting to avoid as much skin contact his correcting would bring.

You did well up until the start of your third repetition. “You need to stand up straight, (Y/N),” Hoseok said chuckling and pressing his hand to the small of your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You visibly shuddered and immediately felt mortified. Hoseok said nothing, clearly choosing to ignore it because there was no way he didn’t notice. You finished your workout with the weights and moved on to squats.

Hoseok handed Emily a medium sized kettlebell and she set off, needing no correction. When your turn came, Hoseok showed you how to stand and gave you advice on how to keep your balance while squatting. “Keep your back straight, lower with your legs and lift with your heels. Keep your heels planted. Try not to lift them,” he said with a kind smile and handed you the kettlebell.

While you did your squats, Emily went to refill your and her water bottles. You lowered yourself down, feeling Hoseok’s gaze burning into the side of your face. “No, you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that,” he said and moved behind you. He corrected your position and gently lowered you, his hands guiding your body and you struggled to breathe evenly, letting out shaky breaths. Hoseok noticed because he ended your set early and let Emily finish hers when she returned. Your face set ablaze from embarrassment, Hoseok led the two of you back to the private room.

The next exercise required regular mats that he pulled from the wall and set down. Hoseok picked up two medicine balls and handed them to you and Emily. He sat between the two of you, demonstrating a movement called a Russian twist with your medicine ball. You watched in awe, your eyes trailing up his arms, across his chest, and down his stomach to his thighs as he twist back and forth, showing you exactly what to do.

He handed your ball back and immediately Emily started, mirroring his demonstration perfectly. You tried to get into the right position but found you could not keep your balance for more than a few seconds. Futilely, you keep trying, eager to show you could do it, but ultimately failing with a loud sigh. Hoseok knelt down next to you and reached out.

With one hand on the middle of your back, he encouraged you to try again and you did, his hand supporting your back and allowing you to execute a couple twists. You could see Emily’s smirk out of the corner of your eye but you tried your best to ignore her and the obvious heat emanating from his hand and spreading throughout your body, a flush forming on your face. You hoped Hoseok would think the pink tinge to your cheeks was from your exertion and not the fact that he was touching you. After a few more reps, the Russian twist part was done. Emily stood closely as Hoseok returned the mat to the wall, Velcro to Velcro.

“I think he’s noticed how badly you want him,” she whispered so softly only you could hear yet you still shot her a warning glare. “You want him too, I know you do,” she added and pulled away, smiling brightly as if nothing happened the moment Hoseok turned toward the pair of you. There was a knock on the door and Hoseok called out a “yes?”

The receptionist opened the door, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but your car is being towed, miss,” she said looking at Emily who immediately yelled out a “what?!” “I tried to stop them but something about unpaid tickets and parking in a handicapped spot.” Emily cursed softly as she rushed out of the room, grabbing her bag and let the door shut behind her, not even sparing you a second glance.

Suddenly you were aware of how small the room was, Hoseok standing behind you. You slowly turned to him to find his eyes were already trained on you. “So, uh, do we just wait for her?” you ask softly, not sure if she was going to return. Hoseok said nothing, eyes glued on your face, his expression unreadable. You glanced around nervously, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

You swayed awkwardly, trying to form a sentence. “Should I just go?” you asked and again were met with silence. You took that as a sign and moved to pack up your belongings. As you bent over, a soft voice called out “don’t,” and you turned to look at Hoseok. He was leaning against the mirror, arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t what?” you asked, your voice small. “Don’t bend over like that,” he said, his voice deeper than before.

His tone was commanding, his eyes dark as his stare bore through you. When you didn’t speak, he pushed off the wall, making his way slowly towards you. “If you bend over like that again, I won’t be able to stop myself.” His gaze was almost predatory as he stalked forward, the intensity of it, sent heat rushing to your core.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Hoseok’s lips twitched as a smirk appeared. “You think I didn’t notice? How often your eyes wandered? How your body reacted every time I touched you? How your breath caught in your throat? I’m not blind, sweetheart, and you’re not very subtle.” The amused hint to his voice caught your attention and immediately, heat spreading across your face. He slowly backed you into the wall, reaching out to rest his hands on each side of your head and leaning into you. You didn’t dare look up to meet his eyes.

“I can tell you want me,” his voice was a deadly whisper and still you refuse to meet his gaze, afraid of what might happen if you did. “Look at me at me,” he commanded and you found yourself submit to him, obedient to his words. The moment your eyes met his, your lips parted as a soft whimper left your throat. The look on his face had you melting immediately. The darkness in his eyes hooded with what you could only assume was lust sent shivers down your spine, your core tightening with want, no… with need.

Hoseok searched your gaze, no doubt looking for any sign of discomfort before he spoke. “If you want me to stop,” his hand left the wall and gently, caressed the side of your neck as he made his way down your side, stopping at your hip. “Tell me and I will.” You sighed as his fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, rubbing light circles against the skin of your side.

You didn’t want him to stop so you shook your head and said in a whisper, “don’t stop.” Expecting him to crash his lips to yours, you braced for impact but it never came, instead his lips pressed softly against your cheek, slowly making their way toward your lips in light, chaste kisses before he paused, lips centimeters from yours. He was giving you one last chance to change your mind.

Any inhibitions you might have had before were now long gone with his skin against yours. You wasted no time, uncertain if Emily would return, and closed the distance, placing a quick peck. You were merely testing, not sure of how to progress. Hoseok’s hand moved to the back of your neck and pulled you back into him, deepening the kiss. Your hands resting on his sides, you moved your lips against his. It was a slow sensual kiss. The hand that wasn’t on your neck, was roaming, examining your body. He pressed his body into yours, pushing you against the wall before he rolled his hips into yours and you gasped.

He took that opportunity to slip his tongue past your parted lips and explore. Your hands moved over him with as much enthusiasm as he showed and you settled for resting them on his broad shoulders. Hoseok’s hand snaked down to your thigh and lifted, wrapping it around his hip as he pushed against you again, eliciting a moan from you.

He smiled into the kiss and rocked his hips against yours again, enjoying the sounds of your moans, knowing it was all because of him. It fueled his ego and his lips left yours to pass over your cheek until he reached your neck and started to nip at the sensitive skin just below your ear. A quiet whimper escaped you as Hoseok soothed over the irritated skin with his tongue before he sucked which would leave a purplish bruise the next day. His hand that wasn’t holding your hip braced against the wall as he continued you grind into you and tease your neck. You moved your hips to match his rhythm and moaned loudly at the sensation, leaning your head back.

Hoseok bit harshly where your shoulder and neck met and you whined. “You have to be quiet, sweetheart. Unless you want everyone to know what a needy slut you are,” he hissed in your ear. Your core tightened at his words, walls clenching around nothing. He pulled away, inspecting your face to see if he hadn’t crossed a line but you encouraged him to continue. He let your leg drop before grabbing you by the wrist and leading you out of the private room, leaving all your stuff behind.

He dragged you through the empty gym to the locker room. Your body burned with anticipation as Hoseok pulled you into one of the showers and shut the curtain before pouncing on you, meeting your lips hungrily. He pulled the hem of your shirt up above your breasts before pulling away and tearing the offending top off, discarding it somewhere on the floor of the shower before latching his lips to yours again. He cupped your cheeks with his hands and backed you against the cool tile.

Your fingers locked in his hair, willing him closer though the was no more empty space between you. Hoseok’s hand moved over your chest, lightly grasping your breast, causing you to groan and lean into his touch. He squeezed and caught your lower lip between his teeth. You suppressed a moan and tugged on his locks, a soft groan rising up from his throat. He pulled back and removed his own shirt, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes.

You released your grip on his hair and allowed your hands to wander, smoothing over his muscles, your eyes following every curve. Hoseok slipped his hand under your sports bra and your gasped at the feeling of his warm palm against your sensitive nipple. He rocked more forcefully against your hips, his erection digging into your pelvis.

“This needs to come off,” he said in a deep husky tone that dripped with lust and conveyed his desire for you. He pulled at the waistband of your leggings. “May I?” he asked and you nodded slowly, watching as he tucked his thumbs under the elastic and slid your leggings down to your ankles. His eyes traveled slowly up your body, stopping momentarily at your black lace panties, before continuing up to lock your eyes in an intense heated gaze. As he watched your chest rising and falling due to your labored breaths, Hoseok stood again before learning into you, pressing a kiss to your lips, positioning his thigh between your legs, and pushed up against your sex.

A soft cry skipped past your lips at the contact and you shivered. Hoseok smirked, resting his hands on your hip and pushed you down on him, guiding your hips to rock against his muscular thigh. You gasped, closing your eyes and losing yourself to the feeling. Hoseok chuckled above you and you snapped your eyes open. “Look at you,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

“Getting yourself off on my thigh. Are you that desperate?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. His hands left your hips and reached up to push your bra up, exposing your breasts. You flushed red and looked away from his gaze. His chuckled reverberated off the tile and he pulled his thigh away.

“Which would you rather have, sweetheart; my thigh or my cock?” his eyes had a mischievous glint in his eyes. Your eyes flitted down toward the prominent bulge in his shorts. You reached a hand between you, palm resting against his erection. “You mean this cock?” you purred. Hoseok’s eyes fluttered shut as his lips parted, a soft moan fell from his open mouth.

You relished in your power over him temporarily before he gripped your wrist tightly and his eyes snapped open, finding yours instantly. “When I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for it,” he hissed, taking both of your hands above your head and pinning them in one of his own hands before letting his free one slide down your body, stopping to punch one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You whined and pushed your hips against his. Hoseok grinned and dipped his head to take the other sensitive bud in his mouth, toying it with his tongue while his hand on your breast kneaded it.

You lean your head back into the wall, letting out another moan, and winced when Hoseok bit down on your chest. “Shut up, or else everyone will hear what a whiny whore you are.” You pressed your thighs together at his words and Hoseok resumed his ministrations. He pulled back, capturing your lips in another hearted kiss, tongues dancing together. His hand left your chest and continued down your body until he cupped your heat.

You held in a gasp as his fingers moved, pressing against your soaked panties, rolling in agonizingly slow waves. You whimpered, muffled by his lips, at his touch. “You’re soaked right through your pretty lace panties. Do you want me that badly, babygirl?” You rolled your hips against his hand, desperate for some friction. “Use your words,” Hoseok mused. “Yes. I want you,” you breathed.

“Tsk, that won’t do. ‘Yes, I want you, sir.’ Say it again and say it right, sweetheart,” Hoseok corrected you. You moaned when his fingers pressed harder into your wet folds, still not giving you pressure where you wanted it the most. “Y-yes, I want you, sir,” you pleaded. Hoseok gave in and delved his hand into your panties, sliding a finger along your wetness.

His skin made contact with your clit and started rubbing slow circles against it. Your breathing came out shallow, your chest working overtime. Hoseok smiled against your skin, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck as he continued to tease you. “Please,” you gasped, trying to wriggle your wrists free. “Let me touch you, sir.” Hoseok contemplated giving in but decided against it.

“You get to touch when you prove that you can be a good girl,” he smirked, letting his finger flitted over your entrance cause you to shudder. “Should I give you what you want? I don’t know if you deserve it.” You tried to rock your hips against his hand but he pulled back. “If you can’t even stay still, how can I trust you to keep your hands to yourself.”

You whined, pleading with your eyes. “I’m sorry, sir. I promise I’ll be good,” you mewled. Hoseok bit his lip, the corners curling up. “You promise? If you don’t follow through, if you break your promise, I’ll have no choice but to punish you, sweetheart,” he growled and your body shook with want. “I know, sir.” Hoseok’s hand was back in your panties, finger pressed to your clit again. You moaned, arching your back. He slipped a finger inside your wet pussy and slowly pumped the digit in and out of you, eyes on your face, watching your reaction. He added another finger, picking up the pace as he fucked you with his fingers, palm rubbing against your clit.

Your moans grew in volume, bouncing off the tile walls. Hoseok pulled his hand away before your orgasm could come to fruition and wrapped his fingers around your throat, gently, carefully cutting off your air supply. “Since you can’t keep quiet, I guess I’m going to have to fill that pretty mouth of yours.” A dark blush swept over your face at his words and he released his grip on your throat. “On your knees, now,” he commanded. You were surprised by how quickly you complied, sliding down the wall until your knees met the cold unforgiving floor. Hoseok rid himself of his shorts and compression pants, leaving him in only his boxer briefs. Your eyes trailed up and down his body, taking in every curve of his muscles.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” he asked bemused. You gulped as he returned to you, taking your chin in his hand and brushed his thumb over your swollen bottom lip. “Open your mouth,” he barked and you obeyed him, your core tightening as you watched him palm himself over his boxers.

“You look so pretty on your knees in front of me, mouth open like the cockslut you are.” You refrained from moaning like you wanted to, certain he might not give you what you wanted. You watched Hoseok stroked himself over his underwear, watching your every move like a hawk. “Arms behind your back,” he said and again, you obeyed instantly. It was arousing how much control his words had.

You watched in awe as Hoseok slowly removed his underwear and his hard cock sprang free. You tried to hold back a low moan but with your mouth open, it met no resistance. Hoseok glanced up at you with a lopsided grin before he let his boxers drop to his ankles and stepping out of them. He stood before you, holding himself at the base of his member, tip leaking with pre-cum and you tried to hold back from flinging yourself at him.

You wait for instruction which came swiftly. “Tongue out,” he said in a low voice. You surrendered to him and stuck your tongue out, his cock dangerously close to your mouth now. You inhaled deeply and slowly, Hoseok set the head of his dick on your tongue before moving slowly inside your mouth.

You moved to brace yourself against his thighs but he hissed “you don’t get to touch yet. Hands behind your back, sweetheart.” You clasped your hands together behind your back as Hoseok moved deeper into your mouth. He groaned at the sensation of your wet mouth around his throbbing member and pushed inside further still.

You felt the tip of his cock nearing the back of your throat and tried to keep your breathing steady. He stilled inside you, letting you adjust to the intrusion, his hand brushing a few strands of your hair out of your face before gripping your locks. He slowly pulled out and gently thrust into your mouth, his cock barely hitting the back of your throat.

You fought against your gag reflex as he continued to thrust into your mouth. You tried to keep your jaw as relaxed as possible, timing your breaths. Hoseok thrust deeper into your mouth, now fully hitting the back of your throat, his hand in your hair holding you in place, another hand placed against the wall, bracing himself. Another hit to the back of your throat and you gagged again.

The lewd sounds of his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly filled the locker room before he shoved in and stilled, his cock buried in your throat. You swallowed around them, the sensation sending shivers up Hoseok’s back, his head thrown back as he let out a loud moan.

You tried to hold out as long as you could, your breath slowly running out. Hoseok pulled back and you gasped trying to catch your breath, saliva running down your chin before Hoseok pressed the head of his cock to your lips. “You aren’t done,” he growled and thrust back in once you opened your mouth.

Your tongue brushed against the vein that along the underside of his dick and he moaned again, ramming back into your mouth before pushing your head until you settled at the base of his cock, effectively cutting off your air supply again. You swallowed and Hoseok grunted, staying completely still. “Almost,” he said. Your lungs cried for air and as you tried pulling back to breathe, an impossible feat because of the strong grip he had on your hair, Hoseok let out a loud drawn out moan mixed with a slew of curses as he came, his hot release shooting down your throat.

Hoseok pulled out once he had finished, panting heavily while you coughed as air met your lungs again. You fell forward, hands moving to brace yourself against the cold floor. “Holy shit, that was amazing,” Hoseok said breathlessly. He knelt down next to you and wiped your drool of your chin before he pulled you up and moved you to the small seat inside the shower.

Sitting you down on the edge, he pulled your panties off, discarding them and knelt between your thighs. “What are you doing?” you asked looking down at him. “Rewarding you,” he said with a mischievous grin before leaning forward and pressing light kisses to your knees. His lips trailed along the inside of your thigh, stopping to bite and suck purplish bruises in the sensitive flesh. Your hands moved to run your fingers through his hair and he pulled back.

“No touching, not yet,” he said and resumed his teasing before moving to the other thigh and repeating the same actions. You moaned when his lips ghosted over your wet sex and he smiled before pressing a kiss to your abdomen just under your belly button. “Please don’t tease me, sir,” you whimpered, not forgetting to call him by his preferred title. “I promise I’ll be good.”

Hoseok chuckled lowly before throwing your left thigh over his shoulder and giving you a soft kitten lick. You tasted even better than you smelled and he leaned in for one more little lick before spreading your lips and focusing his attention at the small bundle of nerves. He wrapped his lips around it, the tip of his tongue flicking against it lightly and you let out a high pitched moan placing your hands palms flat on the seat on other side of you and leaned back against the tile. Hoseok alternated between licking and sucking on your clit while his free hand roamed, traveling up to your breast and cupped it, his fingers kneading into it. You whimpered while he continued, eating you out as if it was his last meal.

It wasn’t long before you felt the familiar coil inside your groin telling you that your orgasm was building. As if Hoseok knew by some miracle, his hand left your breast and moved down to ease two fingers inside of you, pumping at a steady rhythm. He pulled back, grinning up at you, your juices glistened on his chin. “You taste so good, sweetheart,” he said, his voice husky and you felt your core tighten at his praise.

He returned to your clit, flattening his tongue as he licked harshly against it. He softly nibbled and you cried out. He added a third digit, moving faster as he repeatedly rammed them into you. Your hips bucked to meet his hand and another moan tore from your throat, which was now hoarse from his cock being so far down it before.

Hoseok used his shoulders to nudge your legs, silently asking you to spread them further and you did, allowing more access. “You should see how you look, babygirl. Legs spread wide for me. You’re such a good slut,” he said lips barely leaving your dripping heat. You could only moan in response. “God I can’t wait to be inside your tight pussy. You won’t remember your name when I’m done with you.” As you neared your high, you whined out a series of moans and sirs before you threw your head back and whimpered “I’m gonna cum.”

Hoseok looked up at you, a smile present on his face again. “I don’t think so, sweetheart,” and he was gone. You groaned, angry at him for denying you your release before he was pulling you up, only to sit down and guide you to straddle him, your wet, quivering core above the head of his erect cock. His hands pushed your hips down as he slowly slid inside you until he bottomed out. You sat still for a moment, adjusting to his size, the stretch of him more than you had anticipated.

When the pain ebbed away, you rolled your hips against his and he let out a strained moan and grasped your ass in his hands, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as you slowly lifted off him and slid back down. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight.” Hoseok said, his eyes screwing shut as you rode him. Your hands settled on his shoulders, bracing yourself as you continued to bounce on his dick.

You felt one of his hands leave your ass only to deliver a sharp slap against your ass cheek and you gasped, the skin stinging where he had smacked you. He gently ran his hand over the spot, soothing it. He found it increasingly harder and harder to keep up the sir facade as you continued to ride him and take his cock so well.

His eyes fell from your face, the pink tinge of your cheeks and your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you concentrated, down to your breasts that bounced each time you fell back down on his length, and finally further down where we watched himself disappear inside you. His jaw opened in a silent moan and he couldn’t help but chuckle when you leaned forward, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “I can’t,” you whispered and Hoseok didn’t need telling twice.

He gripped your hips on either side and held you in place while he thrusted up into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed off the walls. Moan after moan fell from your mouth as his dick rubbed against a sensitive spot inside. Hoseok continued thrusting as deep as he could. One of your hands locked in his hair, the other rested against his thigh and you leaned back slightly while he rocked up into your tight pussy. Your eyes locked and he could see that you were close. This time, he wasn’t going to stop because he couldn’t hold back anymore.

His pace quickened as he chased his own high, but not before he snaked a hand between you and pressed his thumb into your clit, rubbing to the pace of his thrusts trying to time your climaxes. You threw your head back and moaned out “oh god, Hoseok,” just as he let a groan fall from his lips.

“God you feel so good,” he grunted and moved the hand on your hip yo hook around your waist and pulled you closer, his face buried in the crook of your neck this time as he thrust harder and harder into you. He was close, but judging from the tightening of your pussy, your walls clenching around him, squeezing his cock so nicely, you were close to coming undone, too.

A few more thrusts up into you along with the circles he rubbed into your clit had you crying out “I’m gonna cum!” Hoseok smiled into your neck and whispered “come for me, sweetheart. Come on my cock.” His words were the final pushed you needed and you cried out, walls clenching him as your orgasm hit you. White blinded your vision, an intense heat spread throughout your body as Hoseok continued to thrust, helping you ride out your high before chasing his own and his hips slammed up into yours.

It wasn’t long after that he moaned, more of a whine, as he released his load inside you and continued thrusting until he slowly came to a stop, you still on his lap, face still hidden in your neck. You softly stroked his hair while you struggled to catch your breath.

“That was incredible,” he finally managed to say, pulling back and looking up at you. You blushed slightly and cupped his face in your hands before pressing a gentle kiss to hips lips, one he returned eagerly. “So, you wanna get cleaned up and get some coffee after? I know this really good cafe.” he asked as you gently placed kisses all over his face. “It’s not the cafe here, right?” you asked in between kisses. Hoseok smiled up, his hands on the small of your back as you arched, pressing your chest into his. “No, it’s not. The coffee here sucks.”

a/n: Whew!! I finally did it! I finally posted this. It was something I had in my mind since those most recent photos of Wonho at the gym came out and I just…. hello, sir. I’m a huge hoe for Wonho and my love for him will probably never die since he’ll never let me just L I V E. LET ME LIVE WONHO. I hope you all enjoyed this! I had so much fun writing it. Let me know what you think! Feedback is always welcome! ~K♡

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poemsforcowboys · 5 years

Text

What a Feeling // Freddie Mercury

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Five

Pairing: Freddie Mercury and Katy Newton (OC)

Summary: Before she moved from London to New York at the age of thirteen, Katy Newton had always been friends with Brian May. He was the only one she knew who encouraged her creative side, especially her designs for fashion and makeup. So much so, that Katy is hired as Queen’s newest stylist. But what she doesn’t expect is her knew found friend, Freddie Mercury. Will their casual flirts lead to anything of substance? Or will their relationship just become another lost love as they both make their journey towards self acceptance.

Warnings: there will be smut eventually but not in this chapter, bisexuality (?), feels, mentions of alcohol and drugs

CHAPTER FOUR

“Okay so make her wearing something super cute and she’s looking at the book infront of her but make sure she’s glowing too and that you get her hair right and-”

“You’re gonna have to be a little more descriptive, I’m not exactly sure what to draw”

“Katy. I don’t know how much more descriptive I can be. She is an angelic princess and basically floats instead of walks”

“Joey”

When Jo had asked Katy if she could come over the next day, she thought it would be the perfect time to announce her new job, and soon departure. But instead, Jo needed her help with drawing the storyboard for a new film she was making, with Michelle as the lead. “Michelle is SO perfect I need a true artist to draw her, Katy she can’t be a stick figure this is why I need YOUR help” Katy had appreciated the sentiment, and would miss the times like this when she goes away.

“Mich is just so pretty, usually I have to tell the actors to wear makeup but she doesn’t need to, she’s a bartender too you know. The fact that I get to watch her make drinks?” Jo put her thumbs up and clicked her tongue, Katy rolled her eyes but smiled. “Last night she made one called a pink lady and hold shit Kate I was swept away at first we were just drinking and sitting on her couch and then oh my god is she so good with-”

“Okay, okay enough Jo I get it you’re in love we’re not all as lucky as you are” Katy laughed, but looked down.

“Oh come on Katy don’t worry about that, you have your future in front of you who knows who you’ll meet!” Jo said, putting a hand on her shoulder, she didn’t mean to make her feel bad.

The last person Katy had dated was Harry, they loved each other, she thought they did; he was a philosophy professor at a private school and she actually that thought they had something, but then he was offered a teaching job in California. They had been dating for two years but split because the distance was too much. That was months ago though, she needed to stop thinking about him.

The future. Katy was hopeful, her mother had said yes, and it was time to relay the news to her best friend, who was still feeling bad for her.

“Jo, you know how the band came over for dinner last night?” Katy asked, playing with the hem of her shirt and now trying not to smile. “Yeah, you told me, how were Roger and Freddie?” she smirked, knowing that they must have caused some trouble.

“They were fine actually, Jo something a lot bigger happened than that”

As Katy recounted the events of last night, Jo’s eyes grew wider and wider. When Katy finished with her mother’s approval, Jo literally screamed - something Mrs. Newton was definitely not happy about downstairs. She ran towards her friend to hug her, picking Katy up and swinging her around.

“I am SO proud of you! Katy we are celebrating. Tonight. I’m gonna call Michelle right now we can visit the bar she works at! We’ll get free drinks and holy shit I could not be happier for you, you deserve this” she hugged her again and smiled. The two of them couldn’t stop laughing, both just ecstatic about the events unfolding in front of them.

Katy walked over to her record player and put on some music the two of them started dancing before Jo asked for Katy’s consent to raid her closet, looking for something to wear tonight. Of course Jo was upset that Katy would be leaving New York the next day, but she knew how unhappy she had been here and that she had to for her own sanity.

“Can I borrow this one?” Jo pulled out a low cut navy blue long sleeved shirt, the ends of the sleeves poofing out dramatically. Katy nodded enthusiastically, half of the items in her closest she never had the confidence to wear herself so they remained untouched.

Katy put on a white crocheted cropped tank top and high waisted bell bottom jeans. Even though she was short, she still somehow enjoyed her appearance in the mirror. Jo helped by hyping her up like the amazing friend she is. Halfway through finishing their hair to go and visit Michelle at the bar she worked at to celebrate, they heard a knock on the door. It was James, Jo squealed and ran over. “It’s going to make me so sad not being able to come over and see you anymore” she laughed, pinching his cheeks. His face turned bright red, he secretly had had the biggest crush on Jo since he met her. If only he knew.

“Katy” he managed to make out, ignoring Jo’s comment although touched by it “Brian is on the phone, he wants to talk to you. It’s off the line down stairs so all you have to do is pick it up up here, don’t worry, I’ll make sure Mum isn’t listening”

“Ooooooh” Jo bounced her eyebrows, Katy rolled her eyes but happily picked up the phone and mouthed a “thank you” to James.

“Mayday!” Katy smiled into the phone, looking at herself in the mirror, and pressing the phone between her ear and her shoulder.

“Kayday” his familiar voice laughed back.

“I know we’ve been together a lot lately, but what are you doing tonight?” he asked a little awkwardly, hoping he isn’t a bother.

Being the crappy phone it was, Jo was able to hear everything the two of them were talking about. She took the phone from Katy, much like Freddie had taken Brian’s phone to accept her Mum’s dinner proposal.

“Katy is hanging out with Michelle and me since you’re stealing her away, sorry dude” Jo said nonchalantly, looking at her cuticles.

“Well” Brian coughed awkwardly on the other end of the line “there’s a party tonight in the city, we wanted to celebrate the new job, you guys are more than welcome to come with us it’s at the-” “What time” Jo was still nonchalant. Katy was annoyed that Jo was probably scaring Brian into thinking she doesn’t like him right now.

“What? I think around eightish but we aren’t really sure we were thinking of-” “Eight sounds great to me, we will see you at this party!!” Jo wooed, smiling and snapping her fingers. Brian laughed, he appreciated her abruptness and wished her and Katy a goodbye and that he’d talk to them later to tell them the party info.

Jo hung up the phone and turned her attention to Katy.

“GUESS WHO’S PARTYING WITH HER FAVORITE BAND AND FAVORITE FRIEND TONIGHT” she put up her arms, their giant poofy sleeves falling down to her elbows.

“Wow, favorite band first and friend second?” Katy scoffed, realizing now that she might need a little more makeup than she had on.

“Whatever you know I love you” Jo smiled, “but I’ve gotta call Michelle and tell her to try to get someone to cover her shift, her bartending skills are needed elsewhere, among other things” she winked.

“Just call her please”

Moments later, the plan was set for the three of them to meet the band at a high rise apartment in Chelsea, and they were listening to music while Katy applied makeup to Jo’s face and Michelle made her way over.

“Fat bottomed girls make this rockin world go ro-”

“Joey, I swear if you keep singing I’m gonna stop” Katy had not even gotten halfway through applying the silver to Jo’s eyes when she started moving her entire body to the beat of the song she had forced Katy to put on.

“But Katy this song”

She huffed and shot Jo a glare. The glare was enough to get Jo to stop and close her eyes again, Katy sighed in relief and continued to apply the glittery shadow.

Katy always noticed that Jo didn’t change the songs she was singing when she was. That might not even make any sense, but she was used to her friends replacing the pronoun in love songs to keep it in line with their sexuality. Jo was staying true to hers which Katy thought was really cool, but she didn’t know what pronouns she liked the best, they all sounded pretty nice to her.

If it wasn't for that calming train of thought, she would have stopped doing Jo’s makeup all together, and she did yell at her for moving but Jo claimed that she had no idea that dancing counted.

Freddie was rather rudely awoken by the feeling of someone taking a seat on his hip as he slept sideways on the band’s New York suite couch. The boys shared their rooms in pairs, and Freddie had hesitantly agreed to sleep on the couch while Roger had a girl come spend the night. Also why he had been paired with Roger in the first place he wasn’t quite sure of. Nonetheless, his face was pressed into the cushions, his back facing the television as he had fallen asleep with it on in an attempt to hear nothing, it didn’t really work.

Roger began eating his cereal loudly, was he just trying to piss Freddie off? If he was, it was working. Freddie, knowing what he was doing, jolted, the little movement sending Roger off of the couch and spilling the cereal onto his shirt.

“Are you kidding me, Fred?” “Are you kidding me, Rog?” he mumbled into his pillow, not wanting to face the day. The shirtless singer eventually sat up and rubbed his eyes, Roger took a seat next to him this time after cleaning up the mess he had made. It was already one pm and Freddie had still not gotten the most refreshing sleep to say the least. The thought of going out and actually having to talk to people was not at the top of his priority list at the moment. As if he could read his mind, Roger started “there’s a party tonight Freddie, at a fancy hotel in Chelsea, lots of people are gonna be there” Roger winked and nudged his arm.

“Well then I think tonight you’ll find me in the opposite direction” he mumbled, holding his head, he didn’t always get like this but when he did, he’d rather be at home with a quiet conversation and a person he loved than a rager. He wasn’t really going to get that in the middle of New York City with his three drunk friends.

“Katy’s going, Bri already asked her,” Roger chewed loudly and started flipping through the channels. Freddie had changed his mind, he was going to go. “but do you think Jo’ll be there? She was something else too I mean I know you’ve got your sights set on Katy but-”

“Will you PLEASE stop saying that? I never said that to you Rog, and it’s really fucking annoying especially when she’s going to be working with us” Freddie said angrily, turning off the tv to get Roger’s attention.

“Fred, come on, we both know you. She’s kinda spunky and she’s your type, if you don’t like her now, you’re going to. Plus, if you didn’t like her, you would always be making jokes about liking her. Just think about it” Roger said prophetically, he hadn’t even been phased by the anger Freddie had previously shown, and honestly Freddie appreciated that. He didn’t want to admit it, but Roger did know him well.

Freddie also rationalized that of course John would need backup in taking care of Roger, and he did love a good party after all.

He walked over to his suitcase and sighed. He needed a look, his current joggers and tank top would simply not do for tonight. The worst part about touring was how all of his best shirts and pants became wrinkled so easily. This was going to be difficult, maybe even too difficult to do on his own. He needed the help of a stylist. Good thing he had one.

“So you just need help for this party tonight? This is my first official gig?” Katy was smiling way too wide. After Katy had finally finished both Jo’s and her own makeup, Freddie called asking if she’d come to his hotel room to help him choose an outfit. An eruption of “oos” of course followed from Jo and Michelle but she ignored it and blushed.

Now, they were the only two in the fancy room (Freddie had to pay Roger to leave, the situation going something along the lines of “so you don’t fancy her, but you need help with an outfit? I need help with my outfit for tonight too Freddie can I stay here?” “Rog, please”), and Freddie had laid out about half of his wardrobe on his bed. Patiently watching as Katy carefully sifted through the large pile.

“It’s not going to be as easy as it looks darling, I’m indecisive” he laughed, shaking his head “no” as she held up a bright green shirt. She shrugged and put it back.

“We all are, I mean this” she gestured to her outfit, which she had changed since coming over, it was a yellow sundress instead “is like my third outfit today, and I will probably change again before the party.”

Freddie furrowed his eyebrows “you would look absolutely stunning in anything you wear, and in nothing I’m sure too” he winked, not sure where his sudden confidence was coming from, maybe because everything he was saying was true. Katy playfully hit his arm and turned bright red before turning to look back at the clothes.

That’s how Freddie was going to manage, he decided, making her smile and soaking it in, but she wasn’t to know how serious he was really being. He had doubts that she would be interested at all in anything remotely different from co workers and friends. Time continued to float by, Freddie rejecting every one of Katy’s suggestions (she now realized this was why she was getting paid, and maybe by Debbie had disliked her job so much).

She held up another shirt, this one yellow and extremely low cut, the collars meant to be flared.

“Oh come on love, you must be able to imagine what my arms look like in that thing” he scoffed and shooed it away. It was Katy who was upset now, although when he called her “love” it made her heart beat faster.

“What about your arms love?” she asked in the same way, she couldn’t let him know she had appreciated it, Freddie shrugged and looked away. He didn’t really want to talk about his insecurities right now. “You. Always. Look. Like. A. God.” Katy grabbed the yellow shirt and basically pushed it into his chest, causing him to retreat for a second.

“Go try this on, actually what am I saying I’ll be in the bathroom, let me know when I can come out” Katy didn’t even give Freddie a chance to respond to her calling him a god. He didn’t know what he would say anyways, it wasn’t often that a girl had him so tongue tied, she was different. He begrudgingly took the shirt, and she walked away. He stared at her blue hair as she did, it swayed and complimented the pale yellow of her dress. They’d be matching.

After five minutes of posing and different smiles in the mirror, Freddie knocked on the bathroom door. He looked fit. Katy didn’t know how else to describe it, or exactly what to say. The silver chain that hung loosely around his neck was the perfect accessory, the shirt accentuated his muscles and brightened his face, he was practically glowing in Katy’s eyes, and in Freddie’s, he saw himself as okay.

“Oh Freddie, I love it”

He blushed and looked away, fixing and tucking in the end. The two of them were just bad at taking compliments, especially from each other.

“Could you do my makeup, too?” he asked shyly, he smiled with his mouth open, but quickly moved his lips to cover his teeth again. Katy frowned, but decided not to mention it, she was sure she had made him uncomfortable today and didn’t want to again.

“Absolutely, come sit” she patted the bathroom counter. He raised an eyebrow, but took a seat next to the sink. “Damn, you’re still much taller than me” and he was,

“It’s not too hard to be when you’re a pixie” he may not have been as tall as Brian, but Freddie was still a good nine inches taller than her, and sitting on the counter didn’t change that.

“Okay, hm” she ran her fingers through her blue hair thinking. Freddie wished he could reach out and do the same.

“We could sit on the floor, and I could put a record on too if you’d like” Freddie clapped his hands. Katy laughed as he got up suddenly from his idea and ran out of the room. A couple moments later, she could hear the sound of Elton John making its way into the bathroom and Freddie was back. He looked down to see Katy already on the floor, going through her makeup bag and looking for the best eyeliner. He took a seat across from her, sitting cross legged and admiring her dress, she felt his eyes on her.

“It’s going to be so refreshing doing makeup for someone who isn’t constantly singing, whenever I do Jo’s she just won’t stop moving.” Katy laughed as she finally found out the right one and Freddie gently closed his eyes, she began to apply it.

He smirked, and she noticed it, as much as she loved that smirk she didn’t want to see it right now. Freddie started singing along to Rocket Man, he looked adorable and Katy couldn’t stay as irritated at him as she could Jo. “I’d be mad if you weren’t so friggin cute” she mumbled to herself when her back was turned to Freddie, looking for another color shadow from her bag.

“What was that, darling?” he smiled, his eyes still closed. As she did his makeup, his confidence began to return.

“Nothing, what?” Katy had truly not wanted Freddie to hear that. But he did, and decided not to make her repeat herself although he mumbled a “not a cute as you love” back as he started to fix his hair.

He finished and stood up, taking a look at himself in the mirror, Katy stood and joined him, he liked how the two of them looked together, now both in different shades of yellow.

Three hours later, and the music was louder than ever. What from the outside looked like any New York City building, turned into something of a glamorous penthouse with high ceilings and high occupants on the inside. Covered in modern art and leather furniture, no one was quite sure who the house had belonged to, Roger was just known for his connections and this time it really worked out. Everywhere you looked, there was some type of action going on.

Katy had left Freddie to change her outfit again and arrive with Jo and Michelle, volunteering herself as third wheel pretty much. When Katy, Jo, and Michelle had arrived, they saw no one they recognized in sight but absolutely everyone and thing looked fascinating. Jo and Michelle discreetly found each other’s hands and held on tight, here was a place they felt comfortable at least doing that. Jo at the same time was looking for the bar, she wanted Michelle to show off the tricks she had learned.

In the midst of the chaos, they first found John, who was pressed up against one of the walls, unsure of what to do. John tagged along and joined Katy at the front of the pack, he too was extremely happy to see a familiar face.

A blonde woman in tight leather approached them with drinks in her hand, she kissed Deacy on the cheek and handed Katy a drink, she couldn’t stop staring at her. Katy took the drink from her ringed fingers, it was only a little larger than a shot glass and bright pink. She looked over to see Deacy downing it, so she decided to join him. The liquid burned the back of her throat but at the same time reminded her of pink lemonade. Jo always made fun of her for being a lightweight, but she didn’t mind that, and maybe things would change by the time she returns from the tour.

Somewhere on the other side of the room, Freddie was also getting drunk, with Brian, as they watched Roger chat up some girl on the couch. Freddie had really enjoyed the moments he shared with Katy earlier, and decided to keep on the yellow shirt. Brian had asked him more than once if his plan for the night was following in a similar pursuit as Roger was doing, but Freddie wasn’t. Sure there were many beautiful people here, he already was approached by a few fans who whispered things in his ears, but it didn’t felt right tonight for some reason. And of course he couldn’t tell Brian any of this, he’d hit him. So he decided to do something else that he did best, get plastered.

The music was extremely loud, and the low lighting gave everyone a little run for their senses. The large amount of people in the small space coupled with the cigarette and marijuana smoke was a lot for everyone to take in, but for right now Freddie loved it. He felt invisible, he and Brian decided to continue to move through the crowd rather than wait for Roger to stop, they both knew he wasn’t going to. Brian was pretty drunk too, the two of them stumbled through the crowd.

Eventually, the crowd moved them to the bar, fate working out nicely as it united the seven of them. Michelle was making drinks and people were cheering around her, Jo was sitting at the bar, sipping on her straw and never stopped watching Michelle move. Katy was taking shots with some girls she had just met who were all beautiful. John was trying to get the attention of said girls, but the red head he was talking to couldn’t stop staring at Katy, who was staring back.

Brian was happy to see his friend having so much fun “Katy ladyy!” he partially slurred, walking over to her and hugging her.

“I am just SO happy that you’re touring with us! Maybe you can weigh in on the vote I’ve been trying to have, I propose that the the band needs a pet” Brian was clearly drunk, his arm was around Katy’s shoulder now and he held his hand out trying to paint the picture for her.

“Freddie wants a cat but I’m not really sure-” he continued but was interrupted by Freddie walking over. He wasn’t sure where Brian had gone to but when he saw it was Katy he was with, drunk Freddie just needed to say hello.

“Hellllooooo, darlings” he screamed, put a hand on both of their shoulders. Katy was really happy to see him, she had been looking for him all night.

“Fred! Tell Katy about my pet idea!” Brian said enthusiastically, shifting his eyes between the two of them.

“Sorry Bri, I’d rather tell Katy that she looks absolutely radiant right now. I mean stunning, Bri have you seen her?” Freddie said, taking Katy’s hand and kissing it, she giggled. Brian rolled his eyes and walked in between them dramatically, breaking their hands apart.

“She looks” he looked her up and down “fine. I’m going to go ask Deacy what he thinks. I’m thinking a turtle” he stated very nonchalantly, causing Freddie and Katy to look at each other awkwardly for a second, and then break into laughter.

“I” Freddie started, now he and Katy now sitting on a loveseat and talking to each other as people surrounded them “am VERY interested in the art in this house” he stated, he was pretty drunk, and when she got like this, everything fascinated her. Katy smoothed out her black skirt and turning to Freddie, she fixed her hair, she was very jittery right now.

“I am” Katy paused in the same fashion he had “am VERY interested in the art right in front of me” she flirted. His eyes widened and eyebrows changed, he broke into a smile until he shut his mouth quickly.

“You must be hammered to think that this banana colored chap looks like art right now” he referred to his shirt that he was still a little unsure of.

“Oh I am, Michelle kept making me these little clear drinks and they were so good so me and Deacy decided to have a drinking contest and he won but I really gave it my all he was still proud of me, Deacy’s a team player” her emotions continuously changed throughout her ramble. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be art! And I love the shirt!” she started to play with his collar, brushing her skin against his, Freddie wasn’t expecting that kind of intimacy.

The two of them continued to talk, and they talked about everything. They started to talk about the name Mercury and it digressed into her love for astrology and contemplations of time and the future.

Just then, Roger came to join them, he took a seat in between them, and accidentally spilled Katy’s drink all over her white shirt, she stood up and kinda yelped but quickly contained it.

“Rog! What the fuck?” Freddie asked angrily at Roger, he shrugged his shoulders, not exactly sure what he did. Freddie looked around for any napkins in sight, he found some tissues and awkwardly started to pat her chest before she took the napkin from him gratefully and continued to dry herself more feverishly.

She couldn’t help before a yellow stain formed right in the center of her stomach though, unavoidable to sight. She sighed, Roger had really completely ruined that moment, and her shirt.

“Rogerrrrrrrrr” Katy dragged out his name, turning the last part of it into a grr aggressively and throwing her head back to look at the ceiling. He put his hands up defensively, he had been having a great time talking to Jo and Michelle since the other girl rejected him and had been thoroughly enjoying himself up until that moment, now he was a little scared. Freddie also wanted to kill him.

“Kate” Freddie handed her another tissue, he thought that name was pretty on her “I can call you a cab home if you’d like, I kinda would like to head back to the hotel soon, I have to be up early anyway like the rest of these fellows, but unlike them I’d rather get some rest” Freddie said softly to her. She sighed, she probably should be going home anyway. She had no idea where Jo and Michelle had snuck off to and wasn’t exactly in the mood to find out.

She nodded her head “I think that’d be best”

“I know” Freddie said, out of the blue. They now were sitting next to each other in the small yellow cab he had ordered to take her home, he insisted on making sure she got inside safely and she had no problem with that. The beginning of the car ride was a peaceful silence, not awkward at all, Katy staring out the window and Freddie closing his eyes, or opening them to take a peak at what Katy was doing. His sudden voice got Katy’s attention instantly, and she turned to him.

“Katy Kat” he stated, opening his eyes to face Katy who broke out into laughter at the cuteness of the name.

“And you said you weren’t drunk” she booped his nose and laughed loudly.

“I never said I wasn’t drunk” he held up a finger, Katy smiled at the polish “I just said I was sober enough to help you get home. And Katy Kat, that’s your nickname from me. I have decided. I really like cats, and I really like you, and your name sounds like cat, and, oh shit” Freddie’s eyes widened and he stopped smiling, he had been ranting, he clearly was still drunk too, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to ensure Katy was okay “what if I like you so much because your name sounds like a cat, but WAIT, what if I like cats so much because it sounds like Katy, wait no that can’t be right I knew a cat before I knew you” he was just talking to himself now. How desperately did drunk Katy want to just shut him up with a kiss; and maybe she could, he did JUST say he liked her a lot, but no. He was drunk, she was drunk, and it was in the context of cats, she didn’t want to ruin anything and also did not want her first kiss with him to be drunk in the back of a taxi to get him to stop talking about cats. She giggled “I love it Freddie that is a marvelous nickname” she spoke her faint British accent making a slight comeback. He was excited by that “Your accent is so weird” he said teasingly. “Oh shut up” she said, now in a complete British tone to make him smile. Eventually the cab slowed to a stop in front of her apartment, Freddie still rambling on about the various cats he had had throughout his life.

It didn’t matter what it was, Katy could listen to him talk all day and in fact that’s all she wanted to do, ever. The taxi driver turned around in his seat and faced them

“Ma’am? That’s gonna be-”

“Oh please sir, I’m the gentleman, just keep the change” Freddie took a fifty dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the taxi driver, whose eyes widened.

“Thank you so much sir, you two make a lovely couple”

“Thank you for saying that, so much truly, love did you hear that? He said we were a lovely couple” Katy said laughing putting her hand on Freddie’s. He blushed and just nodded to the driver, taking her hand and thanking the driver, he guided her out of the car.

“I did hear that love”

“You should sleep over sometime so I can show you MY wardrobe!” she said excitedly, she almost sounded like a little kid when she was drunk, a little kid with a sailor’s mouth.

“That would be an absolute pleasure, darling” he laughed, walking her up her stairs and making sure that neither of them stumbled or tripped. They finally made it to the top of them successfully.

“Thank you for leaving the party to help me, this was super embarrassing to be honest. I can usually hold my liquor a little better, literally and figuratively, ha” Katy smiled softly. That last part might have been a lie but that’s okay. She was caught staring in Freddie’s glazed chocolate eyes, and he was staring at her mouth as she spoke, watching her smile play on every word.

They stayed staring for a moment, then Freddie remembered he should probably respond to what she had said.

“No worries, I’d much rather be right here with you” that was the complete truth “well um” he coughed “I’ll be seeing you bright and early tomorrow, yeah?” he asked, rubbing his neck, suddenly nervous.

“Okay Freddie, I’ll see you then” Katy said happily, not picking up on his nervousness, she kissed him on the cheek. She really was confident when she was drunk. He laughed, a little annoyed at himself that he wasn’t the one to think of that.

“Okay, goodnight Katy Kat” he smiled again, and finally let her go inside.

As he walked back down the steps alone, he started to quietly hum a song he hadn’t written yet. This was going to be a great tour.

CHAPTER FIVE

AN: hey guys! I know this was a long one but thank you so much for all the positivity I have received so far! If you like this fic, please let me know! I also do Queen ships if you’d like one just send me an ask :) -June

tagged: @come-with-me-and-imagine, @runawayxwithme, @feministsatanworshipper, @axxl-rose, @strawberry--harrington

29 notes · View notes

chierafied · 6 years

Note

Oh my gosh! I just saw you are accepting prompts :) this totally made my day :) I am currently planning my wedding so I am pretty much watching and reading everything which includes weddings so I have been watching Don’t tell the bride and it would be cool if you could write a fic where James and Sirius are planning James and Lily’s wedding and of course the chaos is inevitable :) With love, Ellie Sofia

Thanks so much, love, for this prompt! :) I decided to leave out much of the drama there often is on the show since I wanted something more lighthearted. ♥

I’m so so sorry you’ve had to wait for so long!! I hope you enjoy this and I really hope your own wedding planning went (is going?) smoothly! ♥♥

This is unapologetic fluff because that’s how I roll, jilytober or not!

Don’t Tell the Bride

“It wasn’t love at first sight,” Lily told the camera, a wry smile curving her lips.

“It was for me,” James countered, squeezing her hand.

The TV camera zoomed in on their entwined hands, resting on James’ thigh, focusing on the glimmering engagement ring on Lily’s finger.

“Then again,” James continued, “we met in secondary school and back then I was the biggest prat while Lily was the angel she’s always been, so I can’t really blame her for taking her time.”

“Well, he grew up in the end,” Lily said, flashing a quick smile to her fiancé. “And turned out to be a decent bloke.”

“’Decent’ she says!” James exclaimed, his hazel eyes twinkling with laughter.

“With a great sense of humour. I think that’s one of the things that finally won me over,” Lily said.

“I’m a bit nervous, honestly. It’s gonna be an interesting three weeks,” James told the camera.

“I’m not sure there even needs to be a wedding at this point,” Lily said, her voice wry. “The fact that I’ve agreed to this madness should be enough of a proof of my undying love. After this, marriage will be just a minor formality.”

“Oh, there will be a wedding!” James said. “I just hope it will be one that Lily will enjoy.”

“I hope so too because I’d hate to divorce you,” Lily replied.

The two of them looked at each other and burst into a laughter so warm and contagious that the TV crew behind the camera had to bite their lips not to join in.

James watched Lily drive off. His shoulders were drooping, his hand jumping restlessly to comb through his hair.

“I hate this already,” he muttered, going back into the house and paying no attention to the camera following his steps, the microphone hovering above his head.

He slumped onto the drawing room sofa. It felt sadly empty now that Lily was gone.

“It’s gonna be hard not to have any contact with her for three weeks, I can already tell,” he said softly. “I already want to text her.”

James heaved a sigh and then reached for his phone and hit the speed dial.

“Hey mate,” he said as soon as Sirius picked up. “It’s show time! Get Remus and get your arses here so we can start to plan this thing.”

“James knows me,” Lily breathed, though whether trying to reassure herself or the imagined audience she wasn’t sure.

“We’ve known each other forever, since from when we were teenagers, really. So he knows what I like. At least, he should know… And I trust him, I do. Otherwise, I would’ve never agreed to this.”

She slanted the camera a quick glance.

“Honestly, my biggest worry is Sirius. Or rather the influence he will have on James. Individually, they are lovely, brilliant men. Together, they’re a disaster waiting to happen. I can only hope they’ve got Remus on board so there will be at least one voice of reason in the mix. Though knowing them they’ll be deaf and blind to any reason.”

Lily sighed and rubbed her face.

“This was such a bad idea,” she muttered to herself, pointedly ignoring the camera focused on her.

“So, do you have any ideas?” Sirius asked, lounging on an armchair in Lily’s and James’ drawing room.

“Nothing much yet,” James admitted, running his hand through his hair. “But I think it’d be cool to have the wedding in Scotland.”

Remus folded his arms across his chest. “Like Gretna Green?”

“Ugh, god no,” Sirius cut in. “Don’t be a cliché, James.”

James rolled his eyes. “No, not Gretna Green. It has to be something better. Bigger. More romantic. Magical.”

“Don’t go too big, I don’t think Lily would want a big wedding,” Remus said.

“Yeah, she wouldn’t,” James agreed.

“Magical, eh?” Sirius frowned. “What about a castle?”

“Can you have a wedding at a castle?” Remus asked.

“Sure, why couldn’t you?” Sirius shrugged.

James reached for his laptop and made a quick google search.

“Looks like there’s plenty of castles to choose from. Look.”

He turned the laptop screen to show it to Sirius and Remus.

The TV camera zoomed in on the screen and the listing of Scottish castles on display.

Sirius whistled.

Remus was already rolling up his sleeves. “If we’re gonna do this we need to make a list of the ones we like the best and then start to ring through all these places to see if they’re available.”

James slanted a glance at the TV camera. “See, this is why Remus is here. Sirius and me, we’d never even think of making a list.”

“Blergh, lists.” Sirius made a face. Soon enough, though, he perked up. “Hey, if the wedding’s in Scotland, does that mean I get to wear a kilt?”

Remus and James shared a look and spoke at the same time. “No.”

Sirius pouted. “Why not?”

“Because I really don’t need you trying to steal the show, Sirius,” James joked.

“Fair point,” Sirius admitted. “If I got to show off my amazing legs nobody would care about the bride and groom.”

Remus snorted and James burst into laughter.

“I don’t want this to be my day to be a princess,” Lily told Mary and Marlene, trying not to feel self-conscious about the camera. “I just want something small and warm and intimate. Something romantic with friends and family there to witness it. Nothing crazy. The simpler the better.”

“Well with James and Sirius working on this, I think simple is out of the window,” Marlene said, patting Lily’s shoulder.

Lily grimaced. “I know, that’s what worries me. They will have all the best intentions but they will do something way over the top and I’ll find myself bungee-jumping in a big silly poofy dress or something.”

“I’m not sure they’d go quite that far,” Mary said, trying to placate Lily. “But you should try to keep an open mind.”

“You’re right.” Lily sighed. “I’m trying to remind myself that what matters most is having our friends and family there to see James and me celebrating our love.”

“And to have an open bar,” Marlene quipped.

Lily laughed. “That too. Family, friends and fun. And love and trust. They should be enough.”

And Lily really hoped it woud be, although worry was growing inside of her, gnawing her gut.

“An actual castle!” James turned to grin at the camera. “This is gonna be brilliant.”

“There were so many castles to choose from,” Sirius remarked, “so of course James is gonna go and pick the one that’s furthest away from any civilisation.”

“It is very picturesque though,” Remus pointed out. “Overlooking the water and all.”

“Yeah,” James agreed, full of enthusiasm. “And look at this entrance! I mean it almost makes you want to have the wedding out here!”

“Go for it,” Sirius said, gesturing at the entrance. “Plenty of room here. You’d have the castle in the background. As long as the weather holds out it would work.”

Light sparked in James’ eyes. “Yeah, that’s a great idea. Let’s go in and have a chat with the events coordinator.”

The men walked into the castle, the TV crew trailing after their steps.

“My mum was always planning parties for this charity or that,” James commented, double checking the guest list before stuffing another wedding invitation into an envelope. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

“I know, mate,” Sirius replied with a groan. “This is so much work. I think Lily’s the one who’s better off after all.”

“I bet Lily would disagree,” Remus said distractedly, frowning at the laptop screen.

“Well my wrist is starting to hurt from writing down all these addresses so I still stay Lily’s better off,” Sirius grumbled.

James chuckled and Remus rolled his eyes.

Sirius looked down at the stack of invitations. “You know we could just… lose Petunia’s invitation. Or forget about it. Accidents happen right and what do three blokes know about organising a wedding? Mistakes are bound to be made.”

“That’s very tempting,” James said, his lips twitching into a smile. “And I’m sure Lily wouldn’t mind the least. But I don’t want to upset Mrs Evans.”

“Keeping peace with the in-laws,” Sirius snorted. “Smart move, Potter.”

James grinned. “Well, one of us has to be smart, eh? Speaking of, how’s the budget looking, Remus?”

Remus stopped staring at the spreadsheet and rubbed his eyes. “We’re doing all right so far. The expenses are racking up pretty quickly though and I’m worried we might have forgotten something.”

“How? We have a checklist and everything, thanks to you,” Sirius retorted.

“Because there are a ton of details that go into a big event like this,” Remus replied curtly.

“We have the cake. We have food and booze. We have guests.” Sirius waved an invitation. “We have a Scottish castle. I mean what more do we need?”

“Oh, nothing important. Just things like the flowers, the decorations, dresses for Lily and the bridesmaids and suits for the three of us. Transportation to Scotland might come in handy as well as accommodations there before the big day. Then we’ll need a photographer –“

“Ok fine I get it,” Sirius cut in. “Don’t be a twat.”

“Settle down, guys,” James said. “And don’t worry. There’s a lot to be done but we can do it.”

“I have to say that I’m impressed by you, James. I thought you’d be freaking out and bending over backwards to make everything perfect for Lily,” Remus said.

James ran his hand through his hair. “I do want the day to be special, for her. But honestly, I don’t care if it’s perfect – right not my bar is set very low. I miss Lily so much I’m going bonkers so as long as she’s gonna be there in a white dress and says I do I’m gonna be the happiest man on Earth.”

“You two are disgusting and deserve each other,” Sirius declared, a huge grin on his face. He clapped James on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, mate. We’ll make it special for the two of you.”

“Do you already know what you’re looking for?” Marlene asked, holding open the door for the bridal boutique so that the rest of their party – Mary, Lily and Lily’s mother – could walk in.

“I’ll know it when I see it,” Lily answered, “but I know what types of dresses I prefer.”

The sales attendant hurried to meet them, acting graciously professional despite the cumbersome TV crew that was tagging along with the four women.

“Something simple. Classic and elegant with a sleek silhouette,” Lily explained to the sales attendant, who smiled politely and promptly steered her towards a rack and started pointing out options.

Lily bit down her lip and tried not to glare at the cameras.

She thought this section of the show was cheap and cruel – letting the bride try on her dream dress to drum up drama for the moment when the hapless groom would inevitably get it wrong. Or just to make her nervous about the potential disaster.

As if she wasn’t nervous enough already, being so toally out of the loop.

“Do you think James is going to be able to pick a dress that you like?” Mary asked, as if on cue.

“I think James is going to pick a dress he thinks I’d like. Most probably he’s going to pick something he thinks I’d look good in.”

“James is sweet,” Lily’s mother chimed in. “I think he’s going to pick well.”

“And anyway the groom’s reaction to the dress is the most important thing, right?” Marlene added. “You’ll wanna wear a dress that makes his eyes pop and jaw drop and if he’s gonna be the one choosing and picks something he thinks would look good on you? You’re all set.”

“That’s true,” Lily said, her shoulders slumping a little as a tension she hadn’t even realised she’d been carrying eased away.

The not knowing really was the worst.

But now, at last, the corners of her lips quirked up in a grin. “So, would you ladies want to see me try on some dresses?”

The answer from her bridal party was an unequivocal yes.

“This is a first,” James joked, standing in the dress shop and trying his best not to feel overwhelmed.

“You have Lily’s sizes?” Remus asked, obviously uncomfortable as he looked around the store.

“Yeah. I think they can get it fitted though. Right?” he asked the saleswoman waiting on them with thinly veiled amusement.

“Of course,” she reassured them.

James felt a wave of relief. Until the saleswoman smiled and asked: “What kind of dress are you looking for?”

James had honestly no idea and when he admitted that, his eyes started glazing over when the saleswoman started to talk through styles and colours – which didn’t make any sense anyway because the dresses were just all looking white to him.

“I really need to get this right,” James fretted, pulling at his hair.

“How about you just tell me about the bride,” the saleswoman said, smiling patiently at them. “And I’ll come up with some options to show you.”

“Yeah, brilliant, we’ll do that,” James said. “Umm, Lily has green eyes. Really stunning. And her hair’s beautiful; long and red –“

“Dark red,” Sirius specified. “She also has a fair complexion and a kind of slender-looking pear-shape body type.”

James raised his eyebrow at Sirius but held his tongue.

“All right, that helps,” the saleswoman nodded. “What else?”

“She’s amazing,” James said. “Brilliant. Very smart. Very focused. But she’s also really funny. Has a great sense of humour.”

“She has a bit of a temper,” Remus said. “But she’s also one of the kindest people I know.”

“She’s outspoken and stubborn. She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it,” Sirius added. “And she’s a very warm person.”

“Great. We’ll keep all that in mind and have a look at the dresses, all right?” the saleswoman said.

James nodded and meekly followed after her.

After a while, the options started to blur. James was all but ready to take a break.

“Let me know if you need me to model any of these for you, mate,” Sirius called, trying to lighten up the mood.

The corners of James’ lips twitched. “Well since you volunteered…”

“This one is very classic,” the saleswoman said, pulling out yet another dress.

And this time, James could see it. He could picture Lily in that dress, clear as a day.

Before he had time to succumb to hesitation and second-guessing, he followed his gut.

“We’re taking this one.”

James had never been this stressed about anything in his life. His head felt ready to implode and his spirits had been down all week because not having Lily around was bloody awful. He was starting to resent the cameras, always butting in on everything.

“And what about the place cards?” he asked Remus.

Details like party favours or table settings or seating charts or place cards would’ve never even crossed James’ mind – or Sirius’, for that matter.

Thank god they had Remus.

“I just rang the printing place and put in the order. The place cards should be ready to be picked up on Friday.

Sirius perked up. “Friday is the day! We are going to party like no tomorrow. It’ll be the best stag night ever!”

James laughed, feeling quite ready to knock back a couple of pints and let out some steam.

Until a horrible thought struck him.

“What about the hen night? Have we made any arrangements for the hen night?”

“Shit, I knew we were forgetting something,” Remus cursed.

James shot up from his chair. “Did we forget about the bloody hen night?”

“Well we need to come up with something and fast,” Sirius pointed out less than helpfully. “We only have two days till Friday.”

Remus said a few choice words that would have to be bleeped out in post-production.

James was pacing now, as if that would help him to outrun the panic.

“She wouldn’t want anything too rowdy,” he said, rubbing his temples.

“Right,” Remus agreed.

“It has to be something fun for her. I want her to let her hair down,” James continued.

“If you want her to be pampered just book a spa,” Sirius muttered.

James latched onto the idea with the desperation of a drowning man. “Spa day! That’s a thing, right?”

Remus’ fingers danced over the keyboard of his laptop as he did a quick google search.

“It is very much a thing,” he replied. “This one has a champagne lunch spa day for about a hundred quid per person.”

“Ring them,” James ordered Sirius. “See if they’re available.”

“On it.”

“Can we afford it?” James asked, turning to Remus who in turn started to consult his trusty spreadsheet.

“We might have to shift things around a bit. Maybe cancel the place card order and do them ourselves by hand. I think we could spare enough for five or six people.”

Sirius, still on the phone, gave James the thumbs up.

“Then we’ll do that,” James said, collapsing back into his chair. He turned to Sirius. “Book it for a party of six.”

Lily hadn’t been sure of the dress at first, but once she’d actually seen herself in the mirror, wearing it, she’d fallen in love with it.

She, Marlene and Mary had been shaking their heads and rolling their eyes over James’ poor choice of footwear, however.

The shoes were pretty but the heels were far from comfortable and her toes were already feeling pinched.

But even that didn’t bother her, because this was her wedding day.

She had been nervous and giddy and worried and impatient when they’d got into the car back at the hotel.

Now, standing on the road leading up to an actual Scottish castle on a sunny June afternoon she mostly just felt surreal.

She couldn’t believe this was happening.

After three weeks of separation and mounting stress, they were finally here.

About to get married.

And from what she could see, everything looked amazing. She couldn’t be more proud of James.

The music – provided by an actual string duo – started up. The guests turned as one to look at Lily, who’d just arrived at the end of the aisle and looped her arm securely around her father’s.

Lily’s heart leapt in her chest as she looked across the cobbled yard to see James standing there, waiting for her near the front steps of a centuries-old castle, looking absolutely dashing in his tux.

Then he lifted his glasses to rub at his eyes and Lily guessed he was tearing up.

Lily squeezed her dad’s arm, smiled brilliantly at her waiting husband-to-be and started down the aisle, alight with happiness.

#fanfiction #jily #jily fanfiction #chie writes #fic: JL #RR: JL

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