#granny: no one can face who they really are inside. it's too terrible

[clonerightsagenda]

Since I am approaching 24 hours of witches posting, was thinking about the bit in Wyrd Sisters where Granny breaks down all the duchess's justifications and compartmentalizing to force her to "see her true self" and is flummoxed when the duchess shrugs it off and goes "yes I know I've done wrong and I don't care". Granny is so fixated on all the ways she can go astray, so convinced that her true self is bad and she needs to monitor that at all times, that she can't conceive of anyone not feeling that way. Actually Granny you're not as wicked as you think you are.

#granny in wyrd sisters: surely everyone has my exact mental illnesses #granny in carpe jugulum: i'm going to GIVE everyone my exact mental illnesses #discworld #perpetual perpetual ladies night #granny: no one can face who they really are inside. it's too terrible #also granny: staring vigilantly at every less than perfect thought she's ever had bc she's decided she's inherently evil #granny's cackling vs Vimes' beast... fight

[lady-yandere]

The Boy in the Mirror {Yandere Mirror being x F! Reader}

Here is my into story for My OC Kagami! I hope you like it My Sweeties!

Warnings: Isolation, mention of death, breakdown, mention of violence.

____________

An old woman swept outside a small antique shop on a brisk autumn afternoon. The crunching of fallen leaves as her broom moved across the welcome mat. With a satisfied smile she nodded and turned back to the front door, going inside. The shop is how one would imagine, Knick knacks of all kinds, statues and teacups, decorative spoons in wooden cases with glass windows and ornate furnishings from times gone by. The smell of apple pie candles in the air.

Hanging up her broom nearby, the old woman made her way behind the counter. Not many customers today but she didn’t mind. It gave her plenty of time to organize the shop. She looked at her items behind the counter, moving, adjusting, and dusting. Then she came to a little mirror, gilded with a delicate pattern of vines and leaves, with a small crack on the side.

“Oh, my little mirror, you need some dusting today.”

“Granny!”

A face of a boy appeared in the mirror. His skin was a bluish grey, his left eye, piercing light grey and the right, covered with a patch. A sweet smile appeared on his face at sight of the old woman.

“Good morning, Granny! I missed you!” His hands clasped together.

“I missed you too Kagami.” Her voice was warm and loving.

“I knew you’d come back. I uh...” He hesitated, “I got lonely.”

The old woman, Granny, smiled at the face in the mirror, not a hint of fear in her eyes. This mirror was a prized possession of hers, she had come upon it one evening, while out searching for antiques, it was thrown aside in a trash can, covered in dirt and dust with the word destroy in red paint on the glass. The old woman however knew when things were special and took it home. Only to find this sweet boy behind the glass. He gave her quite a fright upon their first meeting but over the years they grew close, and Granny called him the grandson of her shop. Kagami liked that very much.

In the past when he talked to people, the people who had his mirror before, they would become afraid of him and try to destroy his mirror, his home,himself. He would press his hands against the glass and cry.

“Please! Please don’t break my mirror! Don’t hurt me!”

He tried not to think about those times though his eye was always a reminder. He never knew how he came to have this life all he could remember was being in this mirror, but he did know he did not like being alone. He felt deep down that for once he wouldn’t have to. The old woman’s shop became his safe space but there was always doubt in his mind. He spoke quietly as she cleaned the mirror,

“Granny, are you gonna leave me all alone?”

“Hush now, don’t say terrible things like that.” She clicked her tongue as she dusted the mirror.

He frowned, messing with the black silk bow of his dress shirt, something he would do when he felt anxious. Granny furrowed her brows for a moment then spoke kindly.

“Kagami, you look very nice today.” With one final swipe of her cleaning cloth, the mirror was sparkling.

The boy’s face flushed with embarrassment as he fidgeted with the collar of his red shirt.

“It’s like you say, everyone deserves to look their best.”

“Quite right!”

They shared a laugh; He loved his granny very much. He hoped that they could be family forever, but forever is a long time.

 The day came and went, and the shop closed for the evening. Kagami watched the world grow dark from inside the mirror, he felt restless as Granny locked the doors and waved goodbye. In the Morning, all seemed usual, but Granny never came to open the shop. Kagami waited and waited. The last words they spoke still ringing in his head.

“Granny, do you really have to go home now?”

“Yes Kagami, its closing time, I will be back bright and early tomorrow. I promise.”

Days went by slowly, but he didn’t want to lose hope. Granny never lied before, why would she now? He called out every day, the slightest noise of the outside caught his attention, somedays he was louder than others, some days he just whimpered out the words as he cried.

“She’s just running late.”

“She promised me she would come back.”

“Maybe she’s sick.”

Then the creeping doubt came back to his mind, and it festered. Maybe she was like all the rest, but rather than destroy his mirror, she left him all alone?

“It’s been three weeks.”

“Granny you promised me!”

“My mirror is so dirty…”

He would stare out the glass the urge to scream in his throat, but the world felt so quiet most days.

“Granny it has been a month. Where are you?”

A year went by, and the isolation felt like death, something changed about Kagami. His eye didn’t sparkle like before, somedays he could see his own reflection in the glass as if it were taunting him of his loneliness. He couldn’t stand it.

“Let me out of here! Why can’t I get out of this mirror.”

“Please…please…please help me, Come back. Come back.”

“Where did you go Granny? I’m scared…please don’t leave me alone. I would rather lose my eye all over again, just please don’t leave me alone.”

People would peer into the shop, as cobwebs began to cover all the antiques and thick layers of dust called the furniture their home. Kagami cried as his fingernails dragged down the mirror. His breathing ragged and his voice full of venom. No one could hear him.

“It’s been four years granny…you lied. Why did you lie?”

Just how many nights did he weep alone? What thoughts ran though his lonely little head?

---

The jingle of the bells rung throughout the shop,

“So, your grandmother left you the whole place?” You turn towards your friend.

“Yeah, it took so long to get everything situated after she passed.”

You looked around at the cobwebs, taking in the old shop, what once looked like a labour of love now reduced to a home of dust.

“Your grandmother really was a collector.”

“I guess, I don’t really want any of this stuff, maybe I could sell it or donate it or something.” Your friend dragged a finger across the dust from a dresser. “Ugh, gross… Hey since you just moved, take whatever you want back with you. It’ll be easier than me lugging all this junk.”

“Really? Anything? But don’t you want something for the memories since she died?”

“Not really, my parents are still grieving, they really don’t want me bringing this stuff to the house. Besides, I know you like this kind of stuff. Let me go check the back room.” Your friend shuddered at the dust and hurried away to the back of the shop.

You took your time, taking in everything, if you were going to bring some stuff to your new place, you would need a truck, but it would be better to decide what you wanted. You wandered behind the counter and touched all the dusty animal sculptures before finding a mirror. You took a hand and wiped the caked dust away.

“Wow, this mirror is beautiful…” You looked at the details, the gold frame still giving an ornate beauty underneath the dust as the glass reflected your face.

“Find anything interesting?” Your friend returned, carrying an assortment of items in a dusty box.

“Yeah…a few things, um, can I take this mirror?”

“That old thing? I mean if you want to, I don’t want it! My grandma had that thing forever, she said she found it in the trash. You should’ve seen my dad.” They laugh, rummaging through the box, “I don’t know why she would want it, it’s so gaudy.”

“Don’t say that! It’s so nice, I’ll clean it up and hang it in my new room.” You carefully lift it and smile at your reflection. “I’ll go put it in the car, I want to fix it up as soon as I get home.”

“Feel free…maybe it will be worth something.”

You take it out of the shop and carefully put it in the backseat. You can barely contain your excitement.

---

“Alright, that should do it.” Admiring your handiwork, you slightly adjusted the mirror on the wall. Even with the small crack in the frame, that you were able to fix it with a little repair putty, it looked whimsical on the plain wall.

“Now let’s give it a nice clean.” You wiped the mirror in smooth circular motions, until a face is staring at you, that is not your own, you let out a scream and jumped back, as the boy in the mirror looked at you quizzically.

“You’re not granny…” His voice matched his face, blank.

“Gran-Granny? I don’t under-”

“She owned the antique store. Where is she?” He pressed his hands to the glass, “This isn’t her shop.”

“She uh…um. She died… four years ago.” Your heart felt like it was being squeezed, a strange being in your mirror.

He stared at you for a while. His eye wavering for a moment.

“All alone again?” He mumbled as he touched the eye patch, “I had been so lonely in that dusty shop.”

You felt nervous as he talked to himself then his gaze moved slowly back to you,

“You took my mirror, because you wanted it right?”

“I suppose?” You scratched your head and wondered where this conversation would go.

“What is your name? Mine is Kagami.”

“Oh…uh, it’s Y/n.”

“Y/n…Y/n.” He said it a few times before giving you a smile. “In that case can we be friends?

You blinked and wondered if you were dreaming, you pinched your cheek to be sure, it did hurt.

“Friends?”

“After all you took my mirror, so why not?” His voice was suddenly chipper and lively.

“I guess there’s no harm in it? The words tumbled out of your mouth as you tried to understand your situation. You aren’t sure what to do, but it seems you’ve made your first new friend in this new home.

#yandere blog #yandere #yandere oc #My OC #Kagami

[starvette]

T 11-13/90 51.8

I got paid and suddenly I have so much to do there's time only for brief stenographies of my days.

11 I weighed 51.6. Mom got me sweet cherries and a piece of smoked cod. Both were excellent. But not excellent enough for me to stop freaking out and tweeting at him. Mom checked how my hair removal has been going on the back of my thighs and said it was much better. Then she proceeded to make gnarly comments about how I am perfect the way I am. I did my arm weight workout for the first time in a long time and read a great many KP posts. I've been really enjoying sunbathing and took some decent selfies after today's session. Acne is starting to come back without any sweeteners.

12 The tweet worked! Sort of. I'm still depressed and blasting Married in Mount Airy. Right when things had started to get peaceful again, mom comes crying in my room - dad is being mean again. I force myself to put it out of my mind because if they're two old fucking adults who have always been so much smarter than me, well then why the hell can't they figure it out between themselves. I obviously have enough to worry about that nobody else ever EVER worries about. For example, my neighbor granny's imprisoned cat. While making gas safety rounds at noon I notice she has put up a sort of mosquito net in front of her window. It's obviously for her cat. Is that how he escaped last time? I read a giant article about the lab leak theory. Probably took me way too long. Then I read in the news that a girl has been beat up in the face by a gang of teenagers in town center late at night. Makes me queasy about running. I stayed in, ate two bags of frozen bean pods and watched the idol. Tomorrow is planned binge day which I'm disgustingly excited for, but I couldn't wait, I had to see it right away so I had only those beans for a movie snack.

13 The most amazing thing happens. I get paid! I tell him I love him. Depression lifts right away. I actually worked out and then went out to get those damn pastries. I got three almond croissants, two vegan cinnabuns, one nutella danish, and one regular croissant. ...aaand... They're kind of dry. They're not that great. I get full fast and don't even want the rest. What I want is to throw all this crap up. I tried doing that but I just got a few wet crumbs out. Maybe they'd already digested?! Anyway. It's clear that I truly cannot purge. I swear off any more binges ever again. Like, I really fucking regret this one. I have two leftover pastries. Don't even want them at all. Gonna gift to mom. In the afternoon I hear a terrible bellowing outside. She must have opened her window and her cat is pleading to get outside? It honestly breaks my heart. Well, then I tell myself I have to save myself before I can save anyone else, sunbathe, and I. finally. fucking. get. finasteride. I was extremely pleasantly surprised by the price. That made me feel a lot more hopeful and positive about this whole fin ordeal looming ahead. When I got home, mom was finishing up bathing and told me that dad has mellowed out and is sweet again. We decided to give him my leftover pastries as reward. And just maybe they'll kill him a bit sooner. I've started wearing skirts around the house for the KP. After all, pants, especially those made of plastic, aren't natural at all. Nor is sitting. When I don't feel like wearing a skirt I'll just imagine I'm living with a sexual deviant dominant daddy who's ordered me to wear skirts at all times. But it's been pretty easy now since it's 25 degrees inside.

[supercorpkid]

Once Upon a Time in…

Storybrooke.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Emma Swan x Reader, Regina Mills x Reader, Snow White x Reader, Prince Charming x Reader.

Word Count: 2900.

Previously on the series - Neverland, Camelot

“So we’re back at square one.” You sigh, looking at Henry, while he is reading his enormous book.

“Not entirely true. We know that we have to lift the curse so you can leave, and that we have to do it fast before you become a character of the book.” He says, without raising his head at you. You’re almost arguing when a plate with at least 20 pancakes is placed before you. That stops your mind mid-rant.

“Thanks, Granny.” You smile at her, who smiles back before leaving. “Except that we don’t know who cursed the town, so I might as well embrace my fate of being a fairytale character right now and forever.”

“You know, there is another way.” He finally looks at you and you encourage him with an eyebrow raise. “Too risky and honestly? I don’t even know if they would agree to it…”

“Would you go on with it already? No need to build up the climax, we’re already past that.”

“Another curse.” Henry says and you furrow your brows. Having two curses surely doesn’t sound like the solution. “A liftable curse, of course.”

You just blink at him when he doesn’t say anything for a while.

“Ok, what if my mom cursed you into believing you’re a part of the story? You would be written into the book-” You open your mouth to argue. “But it comes from someone who knows and can undo it. So, when the time comes, she lifts the curse and you’re not in the book anymore.”

“Uh.” You think about it for a second. “Sounds like it could work. It would be like if we had a countdown watch and after your mom’s curse it would just pause it.” You say and he nods in agreement.

“The protection spell around town gets lifted and she undoes your curse right after. The countdown restarts but you would be ready to leave.” He finishes your train of thought. “Only thing is whether she will agree to this.”

“Well, we’ve got to try, right? Might be our only hope.” You’re almost out of the booth when you look at the pancakes in front of you. “Give me a minute.”

“Can’t believe you’re thinking about food right now.” Henry rolls his eyes at you.

“Can’t believe you’re not.” You say inhaling the food in front of you in exactly one minute. “Ok, I’m done.”

“This was traumatic to watch.”

You ignore him and you both run out of Granny’s to Regina’s house at the end of the main street. You try to go slower so he doesn’t fall too far behind, but you’re still in front of her house way before he gets there.

“Next time, give me a ride.” He is breathing hard next to you but recovers faster than normal. “Mom? Are you here?”

“In the kitchen, kid!” You hear Emma’s voice, and you follow Henry to it. You find both Regina and Emma making breakfast together. The scene doesn’t fail to bring tears to your eyes. It’s too familiar. “Oh, you guys are together, great!”

“We think we have a, well, it’s not a solution. It’s more like a-” Henry looks at you.

“Band-aid.” You give them a forced smile.

“Let’s hear it.” Regina asks and you and Henry do your best explaining the whole thing. “So I would undo the curse and she’ll leave, huh?”

“I know it’s not ideal but-”

“But it’s pretty good.” Emma says. She comes closer to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure about that, though?”

“No. I know nothing about magic.” You shrug. “If this was science or anything related, I would probably be sure, but this is outside my area of expertise. If you two think it could work, then I trust you to bring me back when it’s time.”

“You should know all magic comes with a price.” Regina adds.

“What’s the price?”

“We’ll learn about it later.” She raises an eyebrow at you. You think of Lena and how you need to go back home to see her eyebrow raise.

“I’ll pay.”

“Well, then hold on to it, kid.” Regina says with a smile. “You’re about to become a fairytale character.”

You and Henry look at each other. As good of an idea this was, you didn’t consider all the outcomes. You’ll become a fairytale character; you won’t remember anything about your actual life. You won’t remember your moms, aunts, cousins, girlfriend, grandmas… You know it’s what you have to do, if you ever want to make it out of this reality and back into yours, but still. Not remembering Jamie’s laugh, Maya’s kisses, Kelly’s comfort, Alex’s shoulder squeezes, Lillian’s head tilt, Eliza’s soft voice, Lena’s green eyes, Kara’s smiles, it almost makes you want to forget about this and find another way.

“Ok, the curse is ready.” Regina says and you look up, coming back from your thoughts.

“Smells funny.”

“I know, sweetheart. It's a curse. It's not meant to be pleasant.” She says, making your heart beat faster on your chest. You hold your necklace strongly in your hands; remember your family one last time. Then close your eyes.

“Yay, food!” You open your eyes and look at your moms on the other side with a stack of pancakes in front of them.

“Hey, leave some for your brother.” Regina says, stopping you before you grab all of the apple pancakes she has made.

“Fine, you can have one, Henry.” You joke, putting just one on his plate from the stack in front of you.

“Be nicer, honey.” Emma kisses the crown of your head, before sitting next to you. You smile, putting two more on his plate.

“There, you’re eating just as much as me now.”

“Listen kids, today Emma and I will be working with Mr. Gold to see if we can lift the protection spell around the city. You two will spend the day with the Charmings.”

“Oh, come on, moms. We’re old enough to help!” Henry says and you agree.

“Of course you are. And we will need your help when the time comes. Just, well, you know how is like to work with Mr. Gold-”

“Always an adventure.” You and Henry say in unison.

“Something like that.” Emma agrees looking like she wanted to disagree, instead. “Besides, I thought you had archery lessons with your grandma today?”

“Yes!” You agree, excitedly.

“And Henry, you will be hanging out with your grandpa at the station, right?” She gets his answer in the form of a nod. “Well, great, we’re all very busy today. But we’re still meeting at Granny’s tonight for dinner, ok?”

“Sure thing, mom.” You get up and kiss her head. “See you guys later, I’m late to meet grandma.” You kiss Regina’s head right after. “Bye, mom. Squirt, wanna a ride?”

“Stop calling me squirt.” Henry complains, getting up from the table. “See you later, moms.” He follows you to the front of the house. “Don’t run so fast, I just ate.”

“You know I only have two speed levels. Fast or breaking the sound barrier.” He jumps on your back and out you go, fast enough to be at the station in a blink of an eye. “See you later!”

It doesn’t take long before you and Snow White are walking in the woods close to the city. You love spending time in the woods with her. You love just sitting in silence and letting your senses become even more refined. Sure, you have super hearing, but she teaches you how to focus even on the simpler things. Leaves in the wind, steps in the woods, birds chirping. There’s no other place you feel as in peace as in the woods with Snow.

“So? How are the woods today?” She asks, hand on your shoulder.

“Was there ever a time where there wasn’t anyone in the woods doing weird stuff?” You ask, making Snow laugh loudly next to you.

“Not in Storybrooke.” Snow agrees with a smile and points a direction for you both to walk.

“How do you want to do this?” You ask, putting your bow into position and closing one eye, looking around.

“Like we shall do everything.” You look at her and she winks at you. “Together.”

You miss the shot. You try again. Your arrow breaks. You try again. You lose your temper. You try yet again.

Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

‘Together’ is the word to live by.

“Mom, can you help me take control of the panic attacks?” It’s late at night when you ask her that. Regina is happy that you’re asking for her help, and you two sneak into her office while Emma and Henry watch Space Paranoids.

“Remember,” She holds you, before she starts. “These are nightmares I’m putting in your mind. None of them are real. You’re safe and sound at home with us. Say the word and I’ll stop.”

“Ok.”

“But sweetheart, you’ve got to fight it. With all the strength and courage I know you have. Concentrate and fight it.” Regina says, and you nod, closing your eyes.

Your mind is filled with visions. Terrible ones, by the way. You see people dying, by shot guns and swords. It’s a war inside your mind. You know it’s not real, but the feeling is the same. You try to run but your legs feel wobbly and weak, and you fall on your knees. There’s a pool of blood under you and when you look to the side you see Henry with glassy eyes, completely lifeless.

“NOOOO!” Your heart starts beating into your ribcage, as you shake before reaching for him. “Please, please don’t be dead.”

“Concentrate. Focus.”

“HE IS DEAD! IT’S MY FAULT!” You yell, with tears wetting your face.

“It’s not your fault.” Regina says in your ear. “Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.”

“HENRY! PLEASE COME BACK!”

“What’s going on?” You hear his voice. Regina has already stopped filling your mind with visions, but still you see his glassy eyes staring at you. “Hey, open your eyes. I’m here.”

You see him. But your body is still reacting harshly to the vision. You cry and shake. You’ve failed, but you’re not the one to back down.

Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

You’ll overcome your fears.

“Hey honey!” Emma wakes you up, with an excited greeting, and you roll to the side not opening your eyes just yet. “I could really use your help with something.”

“What is it?” You mumble, still too sleepy to talk.

“We’ve gotta help Ella. And I thought we could have some mother-daughter bonding time.”

“You’re my mother. Isn’t that enough of a bond?” You ask, as a joke, and you get a chuckle in response.

“Come on. It would be much faster if you could fly around and find her for me. Otherwise I would have to use magic to find a shoe and then more magic to track her, and then-”

“Oh my God, ok. I’ll help.” You get up and get ready in seconds. “I know you just want my help because I’m faster than the Flash.”

“Faster than a flash, honey.” Emma corrects you. “Let’s go!”

So you find Ella, just before her evil stepmother shoots her, and you stand tall in front of her because you’re indestructible, and your mom uses magic to contain her evil stepmother, and it’s just another day in Storybrooke. You know, for a really small town, there’s always something going on in here.

“Saving the town with my kid.” Emma throws her arms around your shoulders with a smile. “What mother could ask for more?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think being saved probably doesn’t sound so bad.” You complain, getting a tight squeeze from her.

“Sitting around waiting to be saved, with no idea whether someone’s actually going to come for you-” She sighs, loudly. “Trust me, I know doing all the saving all the time sounds exhausting. But waiting around is-is as bad as it can get, honey.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

Heroism comes first.

“Are you ready?” Snow asks and you agree excitedly. Bow and arrow ready to shoot. You look at her getting in position. “Together.”

You nod, and you two aim at the same spot. Both of the arrows travel together and land side by side in the middle of the target. You smile, excited. “I feel like the Green Arrow!”

“Who’s that?” Snow asks and you look at her furrowing your brows.

“I-I don’t know.” You think and think about how that name just easily left your mouth. Huh. Weird.

Days. Weeks. Months.

“Here comes the town’ superhero!” Emma says when you walk in the kitchen.

“Here is the town’ savior!” You answer with a smile.

“I could use your help out there today, kid!” She widens her smile.

“Doesn’t this town have enough heroes?” You sit next to her, and she kisses the crown of your head, before placing a plate of hot waffles in front of you.

“But only one is super.” She winks, making you giggle in excitement. You’re convinced right away.

Days. Weeks. Months.

“Focus. Concentrate.” Regina says, close to your ear. And you breathe deep trying to do so.

“It's kind of hard when you're talking in my ear.”

“And when the wind blows, or it's raining, or someone's shooting arrows at you. Yes, concentration's hard. That's the point.” She bumps her shoulder on yours. “Sweetheart, you told me you needed help.”

“And I do.”

“Then let me help.” She runs her fingers through your hair slowly. “The world will always throw disappointments, sorrows and pain on our backs. It’s our job to learn how to handle them. I worked very hard for my first reaction to be as Regina and not as the Evil Queen.”

“I know, mom. You said that a million times.” Your answer makes Regina lose her cool a little. And you smile, apologetic. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I asked for help. I need to know how to handle the pain. Please, I’m ready to go on.”

“Close your eyes.” She asks again and you comply. “Are you ready?” You shake your head in agreement.

You see images. Like a lucid dream in your mind. Regina is using magic to alter what you see. And you see destruction, death everywhere. You see Snow’s head detached from her body, Emma bleeding with a sword on her heart, the only thing left from Charming is his hand, still clinging to his sword.

You should be ready by now. In fact, you should be used to it somehow. It’s not the first time you and Regina do this kind of exercise. But it doesn’t matter how many times you see your family bleeding out, totally lifeless in front of you, every single time, without fail, makes your heart beat faster, your lungs stop working, you shake, you start crying and hyperventilating, ready to destroy everything.

“Focus! No fire from the eyes.” You hear Regina’s voice and you come back to yourself a little bit, just to hold back your first reaction. It’s always the eyes.

“But mom is dead.” You cry out, clenching your fist.

“Concentrate. You can do it.”

You can do it.

You kneel before Snow’s head. Breath in while counting to 3. Hold your breath for 3 seconds. Breath out in the same amount of time. You know this isn’t real. Snow is home, and safe. You’re not in the enchanted forest. Nothing here is real.

You unclench your fist. Steadying your breath. You fight the images. Snow’s head goes back to her body. Charming’s hand disappears. Emma opens her eyes.

“You can do it.” You hear again. And you feel the thump in your heart settling back in your ribcage. Beating normal again. Soon enough the entire thing vanishes in front of your eyes. You open your eyes again. Your hands are still shaking a little, but you’re home with your mom, and you’re safe. She smiles fondly at you. “See? I knew you could do it.”

“I did it. I stopped my panic attack.” You say with excitement planted on your face and she hugs you tightly. It doesn’t matter how many months it took you to do so, you still did it.

“How about we celebrate? Guess who lifted the town’s protection spell this morning?”

“Wait, really?” Your eyes widen in excitement.

“Yes! You know what that means?” Regina asks, and you can barely contain yourself, jumping up and down.

“Pizza from the neighborhood city!” You squeak. “Can I go get it? Please mom, let me go get it!”

“Here.” Regina gives you the money. “Bring enough for your grandparents. And Belle. Maybe Hook too. Just anyone who happens to be at Granny’s.”

“So basically the entire city?”

“Basically.” She smiles and you’re almost out the door, when you look back at her and add.

“Did I have any plans for when we could leave town?” You think and think, but nothing comes to mind. “It’s weird, I swear I feel like I’m forgetting something important.”

“Maybe to give mom a kiss?” Regina asks and you smile. Rushing to her and hugging her, before kissing her forehead.

“Yeah, it was probably just a kiss.” You chuckle.

Days. Weeks. Months.

#supergirl #kara danvers #supercorp #supercorpfamily #lena luthor #supercorp daughter #kara x lena #kara x reader #supercorp fanfic #lena x reader #ouat fanfiction #ouat #snow white #emma swan #regina mills #swanqueen

[jade-parcels]

Miscellaneous Fatui hcs 🎭

Keep in mind, we don’t know much about them!! And I haven’t delved into the lore or whatever :) this is just for fun!!! It won’t be accurate!! :) This was an old warm up draft thing so might as well post it! It’s really just one big ramble page :)

The Fatui and their titles are inspired by the Italian commedia dell'arte. So I believe the Tsaritsa is very into the Genshin equivalent of Italy, if there is one. (If they’ve got Mondstadt(German) and Fontaine(French) then there must be some sort of Italian sounding dialect then? Maybe?)

If she’s into theatre and “Italian” culture/history, I like to think that the harbingers had to learn Italian as well as other languages as they trained to become harbingers. It’s fun to think about Ajax, the stutterer and the fool, having to sit and be tutored for Italian lessons as a heavily accented Snezhnayan! He’s got Pulcinella and Capitano looming over him, lecturing him about grammar…All the kid wants to do is go out and slaughter enemy camps. Is that too much to ask?

I love the idea of the Tsaritsa throwing a ball (or multiple?) every so often. Here, she shows off her soldiers, diplomats, riches, weaponry and harbingers to all she invites. It’s a huge event that the normal, everyday people of Snezhnaya wish they could see in person and not just photographs in their newspapers. Zapolyarny Palace has tons of carriages outside and those who make their way inside are all dressed to the nines

^^ at these balls, the harbingers are decked out in their formal uniforms which are saved for occasions like this. They all wear their masks and wear sashes that display their countless pins and badges that they earned. Their uniforms don’t exactly match in style since they’re inspired by their theatre roles, many of these uniforms include ruffles, puffy sleeves or bells, but they’re not ridiculous by any means! They’re just cool, cool enough that guests’ eyes tend to go wide when they see them for the first time

In addition to learning Italian, the harbingers also had to learn all kinds of etiquette. This is usually hard for them since they want to fight all the time or do their own thing. Scaramouche was a sight to see during his etiquette training, he was so insufferable that he failed his course three times. Part of this course is ballroom dancing. The Tsaritsa expects her harbingers to engage with the guests at the ball! And if she wanted to dance with one of them, they better know how to dance or they’d be a terrible embarrassment to her

Capitano, Signora and Dottore have beautiful singing voices. They can’t stand each other, they want to rip each others’ throats out, but when it’s time for the first dance of the night and they’re called upon to sing with the band as the Tsaritsa dances with a lucky guest to start the night off…They don’t exactly hate each other in those moments. It is quite the honor to sing in front of everyone this way. And they just look THAT much better than everyone else. They’re practically super soldiers, they have their best uniforms on, they dance like they were made to do so and on top of that, these three can sing like angels. Is there anything they can’t do? All it takes is months of grueling training :)

Ajax is the youngest harbinger. When he went to his first ball while still training under Pulcinella, he was totally flabbergasted. He came from a smaller town so seeing the grand ballroom of the Zapolyarny palace all gussied up and full of guests…He’d never seen anything like it. Even now, after attending many of these stupid balls…He still feels that little spark of magical, childlike admiration when he steps into the room for the first time

I love the idea of the harbingers having their own wing in the palace. They all have separate rooms, labs and offices but there’s one parlor where they can go to play chess, strategize or relax. They could go anywhere else in the palace if they wanted to but some will go out of their way to annoy the others in the parlor just for fun. Dottore will flip the chess board while Pantalone and Sandrone play, Signora will play the piano off key to annoy Scaramouche while he tries to read, Capitano will put his feet up on the coffee table while knowing how much it bothers Pulcinella. Sometimes they’re like one big rabid family who hate each other. The Tsaritsa likes that a lot

Something else I like to imagine is ‘family dinners’. When all of the harbingers happen to back at the palace, it’s rare for them to all be there at the same time, the Tsaritsa will call for them to have dinner with her. It won’t be a formal affair, no mask required, just the twelve of them at the table together. Sometimes they sit and strategize, sometimes they tell stories, sometimes they sit in silence as the Tsaritsa glares at them when plans are ruined. These ‘family dinners’ are either somewhat pleasant or absolutely dreadful

What about their military uniforms? They must have uniforms of some kind right? From the harbingers we’ve seen so far (Childe, Scara, Signora and Dottore), they pretty much just wear whatever they want! I love the idea of them having 2 actual military uniforms. One for winter, kinda like the Russian uniforms with the cloak/capeish looking coats. And another for…Well, not winter. It’s still long sleeves and long pants, combat boots, sashes, masks and gloves. They rarely wear those uniforms unless 1. They’re all together in the public eye 2. They’re going to see the Tsaritsa all together

Ooo something else, it would be so cool to see maybe a little old lady who makes masks for the harbingers. She’s just a sweet old Russian grandmother who lives in the palace just cause the Tsaritsa likes her! So she makes these beautiful masks, carves them and paints them all by hand. She makes sculpts of each harbinger’s face so she can continually make new masks. Some with nicer paint, some formal masks with more detail, plain black masks for royal funded funerals, masks with gemstones in them, replacement masks for broken ones. Everyone gets along with this lady. Harbingers actually find a bit of joy in getting her souvenirs from neighboring nations or trying on masks for her just to see her smile. No one dares to disrespect granny. She has scary dog privileges :)

#just something for fun #I wrote this as a warmup the other day and thought #I might as well post it! I already wrote it so why not!!! #I think the Fatui s are so cool… 0-0 #genshin impact #genshin impact writing #genshin impact headcanons #series: Fatui #genshin impact Fatui #genshin impact childe #genshin impact dottore #genshin impact Signora #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact tsaritsa

[donutloverxo]

His salvation

Note - for my love @evnscvll's 3k follower challenge. Congrats and i hope you like it.

Anon asked for "Mobster!steve making u dress in white lingerie specifically and act innocent so the purity of it is always a contrast to him and his gritty life whew it is hot in here"

Summary - You're Steves light. He can't let you go even if he knows he's bad for you.

Themes - mob au, smut, pwp, soft dark Steve, master/sir kink, dom/sub dynamics, cockwarming, slut shaming.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2.3k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

Steve had always believed he was born in blood and darkness. Doomed to stay there forever. Forced to do things he didn’t want.

To have people expect the world from him. Put him up on a pedestal. Having to match their standards.

Maybe no one is truly forced to do anything. Maybe that’s a lie he told himself so he could sleep at night.

It didn’t really matter either way. His soul would forever be tainted. No matter how many times he washed them, his hands will always be dirty.

His father died when he was only 20. As sad as he was. He was free as well. He was almost happy. He thought he wouldn’t have to live under the mobsters tight fist anymore. That he could use his power and his name for some good.

But he was surrounded by cartels, gangs and bad men. Who he owed many things to, on his fathers behalf. He never did try to stop fighting to get out of the quicksand, which only made him sink further. Believing that there would always be a light at the end of the tunnel. That someday he'd get to be normal.

Turns out the light was you. He decided so as soon as he saw you. Who knew a sweet simple waitress would save him from himself.

You were all smiles and politeness as you took down his and his associates orders. He still remembers your smudged pink lipstick, your white apron.

He found out how innocent and pure you were when you finally gave in and let him take you out to dinner. He doubted you had ever done anything bad in your life.

He choked on his wine when you told him that you’re a virgin. He had his suspicions but he really couldn’t believe how no one had ever touched someone as beautiful as you and took your innocence away.

He was elated when you told him that you wanted him to be your first. That you couldn’t be with anyone but him. That he had ruined you for other men.

The first time with you was the greatest night of his life. The best sex he ever had. Who knew it'd be with a virgin?

You weren’t like most women. Flaunting around their assets, leaving nothing to the imagination.

No. You were real and honest. So responsive to his touch. Your moans didn’t sound rehearsed, as if something you copied from watching too much gratuitous pornography.

Your cunt was adorned with soft dark curls. Completely natural. Just the way he liked. He drank from you as if he hadn’t drank anything for years. Revelling in the way he made you feel so good that you cried real tears for him.

But loving you came with a price. He couldn’t help but feel terrified of just how intense his feelings were. Because he knew you deserved the whole world. You deserved to be happy.

Because he knew he wasn’t the best for you. It wouldn’t be too long before you found out what he did for a living.

If you wanted to leave it would be understandable. But would he let you? He didn’t know.

He walked into your shared bedroom when you didn’t greet him at the door, he assumed you’d be asleep. But here you were putting on some sort of concoction on your face.

He put the little gift he got you aside and sneaked up behind you.

“Boo!” He screamed in your ear and chuckled at the startled noise you made.

You frowned as you spilled the multani clay all over your lap. All thanks to your man. You looked at him over your shoulder. Your frown creasing the drying clay on your face. “Thanks a lot.” You stood up removing your soiled robe.

His smile left his face as he delivered a harsh smack on your behind. You yelped and landed your palms down on your dressing table to support your weight.

He leaned in close to whisper in your ear. “What have we said about sassing me my dear?” He whispered lowly, caressing your bum before smacking it again.

“Only bad girls talk back.” You whimpered tears spilling from your eyes. “I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to.” You sobbed as he kept delivering sharp smacks to both your cheeks. Disappointed that you let him down, feeling the sharp pain in your ass, humiliated at the wetness pooling between your legs.

He sneaked a hand up your nightgown and past your panties. Pressing a thumb against your second hole. One he hadn’t had the opportunity to fuck yet. “Maybe I should some pay attention here as well.” He suggested pressing his thumb inside you.

“Whatever you want sir. I’ll do anything for you.” You breathed out as you felt him push two of his fingers in your heat. Working both your holes expertly. Almost tipping you over the edge.

You would be embarrassed of just how he could play with you so well that he had you cuming in mere minutes. But right now you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Too lost in the glorious pleasure. You had missed him terribly for the last few days. You couldn’t even touch yourself to relieve your aching pussy. It was against the rules laid out by Steve.

He pulled his fingers out of you all too soon as you whimpered at the loss. More tears escaping your eyes wetting the clay you had put on.

He delivered another sharp slap to your upper thigh. “Stop it. You know bad girls don’t get to cum.” He chastised your insolent behavior. He wanted to feel you gush around his fingers, but he couldn’t have you thinking you could speak to him however you liked.

To be so arrogant and bratty was unbecoming of you and he wasn’t having any of it. “It’s your own fault. You ruined it for both of us.” He said sternly as he moved you around to make you look at him.

His heart melted, all his anger fading away at the defeated and sad look on your face. “What’s this on your face?” He frowned at your brown face pack. Restricting him from seeing your face.

“It’s supposed to be good for your skin. I was just getting ready for our anniversary tomorrow.” You looked down shyly averting his eyes “I wanted to look pretty for you sir.” You mumbled.

You were too good to be true. So kind and considerate to him when he had just been so cruel and malicious to you. He supposed the stark contrast was only one of the million things he loved about you and your relationship.

He hummed at. Almost dropping to his knees then and there to finish you off with his mouth. But he had other plans for tonight.

He pushed his wet middle and forefinger, which were deep inside your cunt just a few seconds ago, against your lips. “You know what to do princess.” He instructed as you them in your mouth, suckling on them to clean them up.

He could hardly hold on. Just imagining your warm wet mouth around his cock had him almost cuming in his pants.

“Wash it off doll. You don’t need it. If you become anymore beautiful I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” He growled gripping your hips, perhaps a bit too harshly, grinding his hardness against your core.

You let out another pathetic whimper and gave him a small nod, complying instantly like you always do, walking towards the bathroom.

“Wait” He called out stopping you in your tracks. He handed you the paper bag. “Put that on.” He instructed.

“What is it?” You curiously peeked inside the bag.

“It’s your anniversary gift doll. Now go put it on.” He said growing more and more impatient by the minute. You hurried off into the bathroom. It was really more of a gift for him than you. But he had bought you some diamonds and pretty purses. He didn’t feel that guilty.

If he did have any semblance of guilt, it instantly faded away as he laid his eyes on you. Wearing the white satin baby doll he had picked out, with white lace on the edge of it. It ended just below your ass, giving him a generous view of your thick thighs and legs.

“Come here dove.” He extended an arm to you as you lingered at the bathroom door. Playing with the lace of your new nightie.

You gulped down and walked to him and stood in front of him. “Uh sir...” You trailed off as you couldn’t gather enough courage, not being able to concentrate with his large hands roaming freely on your body.

“What dove?” He asked feeling your ass over the smooth material.

“It – didn’t have any panties. Did they fall somewhere or something?” You stammered so embarrassed that you felt you’d cry.

You trusted Steve with your life but you couldn’t help the but feel exposed and embarrassed whenever his hungry eyes feasted upon you when you were naked. You had never put on any kind of lingerie for him before. Steve never seemed to mind your simple bras or comfortable granny panties. This was so new and scary for you. But at the same time oh so exciting.

“It did come with panties. But satin isn’t supposed to be good for you dove.” He explained. “I prefer you this way. It gives me free reign to do whatever I want with you.” He slipped a hand between your legs and caressed the inside of your thighs.

“At the end of the day. You are mine.” He pulled his hand away and jutted your chin up to make you look at him. “Now don’t you think you should apologize for being so rude to your master?” He asked and you nodded eagerly. “Get to work then. If you do a good job maybe I’ll go easy on you.” He said pushing on your shoulders to make you kneel in front of him.

Your shaky fingers worked to undo his zipper and pulling him out of his underwear. You gasped as his cockhead slapped your face before standing tall against his lower abdomen.

You licked your hand wrapping it around his thick length. You stroked him slowly watching in awe as beads of white cream oozed from his tip.

“You can do better than that.” He groaned nudging his cock against your lips and slowly pushing it in. He grunted at your warmth and wetness as he bottomed out, touching the back of your throat. Smirking as you gagged around him.

He looked down at you. Wishing he could rip out his phone and capture the image forever. You on your knees, looking up at him adoringly as if he’s your whole world, your mouth stretched wide as he fucked it. He was living the dream.

He grabbed a hold of your head with both his hands and hastily pushed and pulled out of your mouth. You cupped his balls and played with them, just as he had taught you.

He pulled you off of him. You looked up at him scared that he was still mad with you. “Aw don’t look so disappointed.” He cooed smoothening his hand over your hair “Need to cum in your cunt.” He rasped. “I’ll let you swallow it later dove. I plan to go all night.” He smirked as your eyes widened. Probably worried about how you could keep up with him. He did love testing you.

He impatiently manhandled you and dropped you on the bed. Making quick work of taking off his shirt and pants. He settled between your legs wrapping them around his waist. He wanted to taste you. To get lost between your legs. But he’d save that for later as well.

You bit his shoulder as he entered you. Still not used to his length. Your cunt burning in the best way at the hard and warm weight of him.

“Oh Steve...” You chanted his name and then a series of ‘oh my goodness' as he fucked into you, the sounds of his balls slapping your cunt so purely sinful. He didn’t mind you saying his given name while so delirious with pleasure. It was the only thing he was willing to look past.

He was almost there. Going days without you had only served to feed his hunger for you. But he held off. He wanted to see you finish first.

You looked so gorgeous, completely fucked out under him. Your breasts bouncing under the thin satin as he pounded into you. He lifted your hips and gave a particularly harsh thrust to strike your special spot.

From the way you screamed at the top of your lungs he knew he found it.

Being the sweet angel that you are, you had always been shy about the loud noises you made whenever he had his way with you. Even tried to stifle them. As if he would let you hide such beautiful sounds. He made sure to teach you that you could be yourself, as wild as you wished to be, in the bed you both shared.

When he felt your tight channel clenching around him, now he was the one who couldn’t keep from screaming. He spilled deep inside you rolling his hips to tease your clit.

He pulled your thigh over his hips, snuggling against your back. Gently palming and feeling your breasts and rolling his hips again to settle his soft cock in you in the right angle, to make sure he his seed stayed inside you. So he could be as close to you as he can. Feeling you, smelling you all around him.

You were his and he was yours. He would never let anyone or anything change that.

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm.

Comments and feedback are appreciated! ❤❤

Beautiful dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

#evnscvll3kchallenge #mob!steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #steve x you #steve rogers reader insert #marvel au #chris evans x reader #avengers x oc #avengers x y/n #avengers x you #avengers x reader #marvel x reader

[lifeofkaze]

October Writing Challenge - Day 31

Happy Halloween everybody! Ready for a ghost story? 👻 💛

The old estate of the Fraser family was lying in darkness.

Not even the full moon, which was hidden behind the clouds the storm was blowing over the black sky, shed its light upon the lake adjacent to the estate. The gusts of east wind stirred the deep waters, and ripped the last dead leaves from the trees surrounding it; the bare branches had turned into bony hands trying to grab anyone who was mad enough to venture outside into the night.

There wasn’t a light to be seen in either the massive house, nor in the adjacent buildings housing the Fraser distillery. But if one looked closely enough, there was an occasional flicker in one of the windows as a torch was being passed back and forth to the sound of subdued giggles.

Little five year-old Lizzie Jameson sat on the floor cross legged, hugging her teddy bear to her chest, and stared at her older brother Jake. He was holding the torchlight underneath his chin, plunging his face in a creepy play of shadow and light; Lizzie was reminded of the scary skeleton her great-grandmother Selene kept in her study and affectionately called Ralph.

Lizzie and Jake always went up to the Highlands for a few days in autumn to visit their great-grandmother Selene and their Aunt Lexie. Usually, Lizzie was looking forward to their visits, but this time, she couldn’t help but feel a little sad.

This time next year, her brother Jake would be old enough to go to Hogwarts and become a proper wizard, while she had to stay in the old house in Lyme Regis with their mum and dad. She was going to miss him terribly, and determined to make their stay at Aunt Lexie’s the best one ever.

They had spent the whole day doing fun stuff with their aunt; baking cookies, racing along the endlessly long hallways, dancing with Ralph the Skeleton, and sliding down the stairs on rugs - something Granny Selene was adamant in joining them in, despite her old age.

Now that it was dark outside, Lizzie and Jake were up in their room, telling stories to each other and listening to the wind howling over the roofs of the house.

Jake was currently in the process of telling Lizzie about the ghost ferret which had supposedly drowned in a barrel of whiskey almost a hundred years ago.

“But the ferret was so evil,” Jake told her with a deep voice, “the pet hell itself didn’t want it and sent it back to the realm of the living.”

Lizzie’s eyes widened, and she contemplated for a moment if there even was something like a pet hell, but forgot about it when Jake leaned forward, his eyes gleaming in the shadows of the torchlight.

“It’s been haunting these halls ever since. They say, if you stand in front of the mirror down in the tasting room and say “Alan the Ferret” three times, it will appear. It will appear and it will slip inside your head and then eat your eyeballs from the inside out!”

He raised his voice at his last words and grabbed Lizzie’s shoulder, shaking her; Lizzie buried her face in the soft plush of her teddy bear and screamed, until she heard Jake laugh.

She carefully peeked up at her brother. “Is that really true? You’re joking, right? Jake?”

Jake was grinning broadly and waved the torchlight in her face.

“I might be. I might not be. You’ll never find out, Liz, you’re too much of a scaredy cat.”

When the two children were lying in bed later that night Lizzie couldn’t sleep, and not only because of Jake tossing and turning all the while. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jake’s story and the bloodthirsty ghost ferret in the tasting room.

The thought of her eyeballs turning into ferret food terrified her and she shut her eyes tightly, but she had to admit that she wasn’t quite sure Jake had told her the truth.

And he’d called her a scaredy cat; no one called Lizzie Jameson a scaredy cat for nothing.

Lizzie swung her legs out of the bed and carefully tucked her teddy bear back underneath her duvet.

“You stay here, where it’s safe,” she whispered. “I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

She turned to go, but stopped, gave her teddy bear a kiss and then silently tiptoed out of the room.

The way down to the entrance hall took her longer than expected in the darkness. Once she had oriented herself, though, she took the hallway connecting the main house with the distillery until she reached the tasting room.The old oak door was locked, the big set of keys hanging on a ring just above Lizzie’s reach.

Looking around, Lizzie found an ancient looking chair she pushed over to the door, climbed on it and got her hands on the keys.

It took her three tries to find the right one, and the rustling of the key ring as she turned it inside the lock seemed awfully loud to her ears.

She tapped inside the room, turned the light on and then off again; she’d never heard of a ghost coming out when the room was well lit, after all. Everybody knew ghosts liked scary, dark rooms. and Lizzie found herself awfully clever to have thought of that.

The floor length mirror at the end of the room gleamed enticingly from the little light coming in from the hallway, and Lizzie slowly walked over to it.

She stood in front of it, feeling as if she’d swallowed a whole anthill; she wiped her clammy hands on her nightgown and took a deep breath.

“Alan the Ferret,” she whispered to her reflection in the mirror, “Alan the Ferret, Alan the Ferret.”

Nothing happened, and Lizzie was prepared to go back to her room filled with relief, when she suddenly froze.

The surface of the mirror had begun to ripple, like the lake when Lizzie was tossing stones into it. Her breath caught in her throat, and then, all of a sudden, the head of a ferret popped out of the glass, it’s beady eyes trained on her and its nose wiggling up and down.

Letting out an ear piercing scream, Lizzie clapped her hands over her eyes and ran for the door.

Behind her she could hear a loud shriek and then a set of yelps, followed by a small whimper.

Although her blood was frozen, Lizzie stopped; that didn’t sound like the menacing scream of a hell ferret in pursuit of her eyes. Come to think of it, it sounded almost scared.

Lizzie hesitated, before carefully edging back into the tasting room again.

“Hello?” she called out in a high voice, still a little shaky. “Alan the Ferret? Are you okay?”

The ghost ferret wasn’t in the mirror anymore, so Lizzie followed the whimpering to one of the barrels in the corner of the room. It was empty and had always been as long as Lizzie could remember; when she looked inside, she saw the small, pearlescent body of Alan the Ghost Ferret, curled in on itself and trembling like the leaves in the wind outside.

When the ghost ferret saw her, his whimpers intensified and he hid his little face under his bushy tail.

Lizzie’s face softened and she felt incredibly sorry; her scream must have frightened the poor little guy.

“Hey,” she said gently, and reached out to the small ghost ferret, “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to scare you. I think you didn’t mean to scare me either. I’m Lizzie, by the way. Are you Alan?”

Lizzie wanted to stroke Alan’s bristled fur and was surprised to find her hand passing right through his body. It felt like she had dipped her fingers into the icy water of the lake, and she shivered.

Alan, however, seemed to like it; he raised his head and made a chirping sound that made Lizzie giggle. He uncurled and floated up to her, circling around her head in excitement until Lizzie had to laugh out loud.

The world around her suddenly went bright and colourful again as the lights in the tasting room were turned on, and Lizzie had to blink several times.

She turned around to see Aunt Lexie standing in the doorway, wand at the ready and looking around frantically. Behind her Jake was standing, his hair still tousled from sleep and looking more disgruntled than anything.

When Aunt Lexie saw her niece and the resident ghost ferret next to the empty barrel, she lowered her wand and sighed.

“Lizzie, what are you doing here, and in the middle of the night, for Merlin’s sake? Has Alan scared you?”

She gave Alan a look, and Alan chattered indignantly.

“We kind of scared each other, I think,” Lizzie replied meekly. Her aunt seemed to actually be angry that she had been wandering the house during the night.

“What have you been doing in here?” she wanted to know.

“Jake said if I said ‘Alan the Ferret’ three times in front of the mirror, Alan would come and eat my eyeballs.”

“And you thought of nothing better than to go and try?” Aunt Lexie asked sternly, but Lizzie saw that the corners of her mouth were twitching.

She turned to Jake and stemmed her hands into her hips. “And what about you, young man? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“It was only a story,” Jake muttered and shuffled his feet.

“Do you think that this is an appropriate story to tell your little sister? How did you know about this nonsense anyway?”

Jake stuffed his hands inside his pockets and looked up at his aunt. “Dad told me about it. He said you used to tell him the same one when you were small.”

Aunt Lexie covered her mouth with a hand, but it was clear to see that she was grinning behind it.

“Don’t believe anything your dad says. His fantasy is wild.”

“So it’s not true?”

“Off to bed with you!” Aunt Lexie laughed and shooed Lizzie and Jake out of the room.

“You, too,” she said over her shoulder to Alan, who dived headfirst back into his barrel.

When Lizzie was lying in her bed again, she was still wide awake, but this time not because she was scared of Alan the Eyeball Eating Ghost Ferret, but because she was thinking about how exciting it had been to meet a proper ghost; she also couldn’t help but feel a little smug about Jake getting told off when she had been the one to sneak out of bed, but that was only a bonus.

She was almost asleep when she suddenly felt something cold brushing her arm. Lizzie opened her eyes again to see a slender, shimmering body curled up against her between her stomach and her teddy bear.

Alan gave a little chirp, nudged her with his nose, which went right through her hand, and then closed his eyes. Lizzie smiled to herself and snuggled deeper into her pillows.

She had the feeling that this was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #lizzie jameson #jake jameson #alan the ferret #october writing challenge #wine club stories 🌻 #THIS IS IT #I can't believe I did the whole month #and nothing else lol #but whatever

[sparklingchan]

The Prince and I || Jeong Yunho(Ateez)

Pairing : Reader (fem.) x Yunho.

Word count : 9.2k+

Warnings : Cuss words, minor injuries, Yunho BEING A FLUFFBALL!!

Genre : Fluff, angst, Arranged marriage au, Royal au.

Description : Your marriage to Prince Yunho feels like nothing less than a fairytale - but a fairytale is incomplete without a villain, right?

A/N:  This fic took longer than I thought it would lol  

This is a part of the holiday treats event conducted by kafenetwork.          This fic is for the lovely Anna! I hope you like it and I hope it didn’t disappoint. I’m sorry I cannot tag you here because this site always decides to eat up my posts with tags in it :((

Enjoy!

"This wedding dress is a little expensive, granny."

The silky cloth slips away from in between your fingers, as quick as sand. You hadn't ever touched a piece of cloth as beautiful and smooth as this one, really. In fact, you'd never ever seen anything like the dress presented before you at the moment. And well, as much as you want to buy it, you knew you couldn't. Not unless you use up all your life's savings.

"I'm sure Ms. Claire here could find us something less...royal." you mutter again when your Grandmother doesn't respond.

Ms. Claire, the owner of the elegant boutique you find yourself standing in this morning, smiles at you sheepishly. "Oh, what nonsense! You will be married into a royal family, y/n. I cannot have you wear a normal wedding dress."

You sigh, turning away from the mannequin that donnes your dream wedding dress and crouching down to speak to your granny, "Granny, we won't have any money left if we buy this."

Your grandmother has been in the wheel chair for as long as you could remember. But she has more energy and life in her than most young people out there, including you. She's like this ball of sunshine who adores you to death. And now that the most important event of your life is slowly coming close with every passing day, you find her enthusiasm increasing likewise. She would wake up every morning and coax you to work out and do your skin care routine every night before bed. Today too, she forced you to allow her to tag along on your last shopping trip before your big day. Though you never say it out loud, your grandmother is nothing short of an angle. And you'd do anything to make her happy.

"I have saved up enough money to buy three such dresses, y/n." Your grandmother says as you lean down , "Miss Claire, pack this one up please."

Miss Claire nods and smiles at your granny, "Surely, madam."

Her assistant takes away the mannequin to get it packed up and billed.

You sit on the small couch present in the room as your eyes roam around the room full of pretty dresses and veils and shoes. It feels surreal all of a sudden, as if you were in a day dream you'd often think about as a teenager.

"What? Do you want anything else? I have enough money for that too." Your grandmother chimes in, rolling the wheelchair a little towards you, "Should we buy one for your mom too?"

Your mom, though equally excited for your wedding as your grandmother, was more on the realistic side. She'd give you a reality check ever so often - about husbands and in-laws and everything surrounding it. You're also not very sure your mom would appreciate spending so much money on dresses in a single day, especially when your wedding stands only four days away.

"No, granny, mom has enough dresses." You run a soothing hand through her grey and thin hair, "Aren't you tired? We've been out for a long time now."

"Do I look tired to you? " she raises an eyebrow, her eyes wrinkling up as she smiles at you sweetly. She's such an adorable little woman that it makes your heart melt everytime she looks at you.

"No," you roll your eyes, "Guess we can go and pick up Maya's dress while we're at it."

"Maya as in your best friend? The annoyingly loud girl from your college?" You snort at your granny's choice of words to describe your best friend.

You hear Miss Claire call you towards the payment counter and before you could move a finger, your granny races you to it.

"Come on, girl, what are you- eighty?" She teases you with a loud chuckle.

And still, you may not say it out loud , but your granny is your whole world. And when you are married off into the royal family of your father's old hometown, the only person you'll miss badly is probably your sweet old grandmother.

Later that evening, after dropping your grandma back home, you decide to walk to your best friend's apartment which is located just a few blocks away from yours. You carry her dress with you but deep down, you know that's not the only reason as to why you wanted to visit her this late at night.

"I need advice. "

"About what?"

"Marriage and life. "

Your best friend's eyes widen at your words. Her lips part as if she wanted to comment something but then stopped herself. "Maya, dude please. I'm terribly scared and I can't talk to anyone else at home." You admit, playing with the hem of your dress. A sudden sense of embarrassment and shyness washes over you but you push all that away before they get the best of you.

Maya puts down her dress on the bed.

"Y/n, I could give you all the advice in the world but believe me, you won't be able to apply it practically. I married a normal man from a normal family. We live in a cozy apartment in a city. But for you, it's different. You'll not marry a common person- you're marrying a prince for God's sake. A Crown Prince on top of that. You'll be living in a castle far away in the mountains. I don't know how my advice would be of any help here, y/n." Maya says, her hand gently patting yours.

You shift in your place, the bed creaking softly beneath you.

Maya is unarguably right - her advice won't be useful in your case. In fact, no one's advice would be useful to you unless they've had a first hand experience with an arranged marriage and a royal life. Yet these facts do little to comfort your growing fear and anxiousness.

"I haven't even met him in person yet. I only saw him over a few stupid video calls and in his pictures. I don't know what to expect." You say.

His Highness Crown Prince Yunho is a pretty busy man it turns out. So busy that he hasn't even been able to take some time out of his duties and come visit his fiancé for a few hours. He's a beautiful man, you have to say. Elegant and stylish and well mannered and everything about him screams Royal. He often texts you in his free time and calls you once in a blue moon. He seems like a nice man indeed, the kind you'd love to marry even without his royal heritage. But being his wife and a Crown Princess is a challenge you'd have to face completely on your own.

"Your granny thinks he's a good man, y/n. Maybe you should trust her judgement. Old people have that in themselves, you know." Maya says with a small smile, "Plus he's a Prince. You'll live a luxurious life, y/n. Don't be so pessimistic! I'm sure things will turn out great."

You give your best friend a tight hug for trying to cheer you up and helping you forget your fears even if it's just for a few hours . That night, as you toss and turn in your bed, trying to keep your mind free from thoughts about your life after marriage, you realise how big of a change this one thing will make.

And you're not very sure if you're ready for that change yet.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The weather is quite pleasant today, the sun shining softly through the thin curtain of clouds and the humidity deciding to be a little forgiving today but too bad you're stuck inside your room, folding clothes and making sure all your necessities are packed in the luggage.

"Well, this is not how I expected my last day at home to turn out, " you complain to your mother who sits across from you on the bed, helping you pack your things, "But it is what it is, I guess."

Your mom chuckles, placing your folded clothes into huge black suitcase spread open on the floor. "This isn't bad. You're alone with your family and friend, what more do you need?"

A fancy Bachelorette party with your friends and a few male strippers didn't sound like a very appropriate response so you decide to just shake your head.

"Aren't you angry though? Even just a little bit?" She asks. You scowl at the unexpected, out of context question. You are scared and anxious and nervous but angry? Not at all.

"What do you mean? Why would I be angry?" You reply, crossing your arms in front of your chest, "I'm fine."

She sighs, momentarily pausing her actions to face you. Her eyes are a little moist, you notice, and her lips pressed into a sad line. "Your grandmother betrothed you to Prince Yunho when you guys were just nineteen. It is an arranged marriage, to a person you don't know and a family which holds so much power. She didn't give you freedom to choose your own partner. Aren't you angry about that?" She elaborates.

You feel a soft tug in your heart at her words. You've been so preoccupied with worrying about how you'd handle yourself after marriage that you never really thought about this. Even so, when you really think about it, you can't find it in yourself to be angry at your grandmother.

"Granny and Prince Yunho's grandmother were best friends, mom. They made a promise and I respect that. Plus granny never forced me to say yes. I did that on my own account. " you explain yourself, your hand slowly reaching over to squeeze your mom's shoulder, "Don't worry about me. I'll manage. I always do."

Its rather funny how you were the one needing assurance from Maya a few nights ago and here you are, repeating the same words of encouragement to your mother. A part of you is obviously still terrified of the future, but that's not your mom's problem to deal with. It's entirely yours.

Your mom sniffs, but a tear manages to roll down her cheek, "I'll miss having you around. Why couldn't she have arranged your marriage to a normal person who lived in the same city?"

And then it finally dawns on you. It really is your last day at home. Your last day in the city you so dearly loved, your last day in the house which has seen you grow from a little baby to a beautiful, young woman. It's your last day as y/n y/l/n, your parents' only child and your grandmother's favorite grandchild. Tomorrow, you would be a Princess, a wife, a person of political importance. And your heart breaks a little at the thought of never getting this life back again.

"Mom.." you mutter, your eyes tearing up as well. Words fall short when it comes to describing how much you'll miss everyone and everything here. Starting from your friends to your family to the smallest of decorative items in your room that you've managed to collect over the years. It's like a piece of you would just cease to exist. As the night grows darker and the day crosses over to the next one, you hold your mother close as the both of you let out the quietest of sobs and realise that this might be the last time she'd have you all to herself.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡   

The journey from your parents' old house to Prince Yunho's ancestral palace is short - not with respect to time but with respect to the fact that amidst tearful eyes and memory flashbacks, the car ride gives you little to no time to settle your hurricane of thoughts.

As your dad's car slowly pulls over in front of a huge black metal gate, you are welcomed with a view that seems right out of a fairytale. The Royal palace is located in the most beautiful locations you've ever been to, a place you never thought could exist in real life. It almost feels like you are in a dream. With the beautiful backdrop of lush green mountains in the back, the Palace stands tall on the foothills of the mountains. The pastel pink walls and the carefully carved window panes look ethereal with contrast to the tall black gates that securely surround the palace. A group of servants are rowed in front of the man main entrance, with warm smiles and trays full of welcome drinks.

But you're far too mesmerized by the place to bother consuming anything at the moment.

This place - this breathtakingly gorgeous palace with the biggest gardens and tallest fountains- would be your home. For a long time, home meant your crammed little apartment which always smelt like cinnamon and bread. It had no big gardens, no servants, no fountains but it was your home. Your safe place. You wonder if this place could ever feel like home.

"Geez, y/n, I'm so jealous." Maya whisper-squeals in your ear as the servants lead you inside, "Do you want to exchange husbands?"

You nudge her gently with your elbow, "Shut up. Or I'll have you thrown out."

You are made to walk through a quiet hallway that has a huge wooden door at the end. On both sides of the hallway, pictures and paintings and vintage weapons are displayed like in museums and the marble floor beneath you shines like water under the sun. Every nook and corner of this place is a treasure waiting to be discovered, you realise.

The servants open the wooden door and lead you inside into what appears to look like a Throne Room. Now, you'd never really been to one before but movies and books have taught you that this is what a Throne room probably looks like - with a Grand Throne placed at the very center and numerous chairs placed on either side of it. The walls in this room are graced with more pictures and paintings of kings and queens and common people and soldiers. You wonder if your picture would ever be up there somewhere in the future.

"Oh, hello lovely people!" A manly voice booms through the hall, "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

A few quick taps of feet on the floor and there stands in front of you a very familiar face - as if you'd almost seen him in a dream.

Black tuxedo, perfectly styled hair, a walkie-talkie in his hand, the man before you looks right out of a James Bond movie. "I'm Choi San, Prince Yunho's personal secretary and the royal family's representative for the day."

He claps his hands together, "Her Highness the Queen Regent, Her Highness the Queen Mother and His Highness Crown Prince Yunho sadly couldn't be here since they have some important charity event to attend. I deeply apologize for that. In their place, allow me to welcome you to the Jeong family's Grand palace!"

"You'll all be taken to your rooms now because you must be tired from the journey. If you need anything, just tell one of these servants."

The servants nod at San and signal you and your family to follow them.

"Uh, lady Y/n. Mind if I have a word with you?" San interrupts.

Although surprised, you nod as you let your family walk off to their rooms.

"Yes?" You ask San.

San's eyes are focused on your frame - every movement, every expression, every word - he's observing you as if to make sure you're the right person for Prince Yunho. You feel self conscious all of a sudden.

"Yunho did say you're a charming person. I just didn't think I'd agree with him before, but now..I definitely do." San giggles, offering you his hand, "I'm Choi San at your service, madam. Your wish is my command."

You bow gently at him, "I'm y/n y/l/n. It's nice to meet you too, sir."

San chuckles, "Please don't call me that, your Highness. I'm your employee. Besides I have something important to talk to you about. "

The last few words form a tight knot in your stomach, fear finding it's way through your veins.

"Y-yeah?"

"You have a coronation ceremony tonight. I hope you know that. We've already hired a stylist who will take care of all you from now on. She'll meet you immediately after lunch." San explains, "And here's my business card. Contact me if anything comes up, okay?"

You gulp as you accept the shining business card from him, "Thanks. I'll do that."

San smiles sympathetically, as if he understood the fears swimming inside you. He offers you a gentle, encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"I know how you feel. A palace is a scary place, I won't deny. But if I can survive here, so can you. Plus you have Yunho. He's the nicest man a person could ever ask for, I'm sure." San says.

Your whole body relaxes a little as a soft breeze of comfort washes over you with the words leaving San's mouth. This is what you'd been wanting to hear for a long time - a reassurance that you'll be safe and okay as a member of the Royal family and that Prince Yunho might be a person you could love. But for now, you focus on keeping your self calm.

"Now, do you mind walking me to my room? I find myself a bit lost." You giggle.

San finds himself chuckling in response, "Of course, your majesty."

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

When San had told you that you'd have your own personal stylist, you did not expect this . Even in your wildest dreams, this is not something you'd catch yourself wanting.

The beautiful blue gown clutches to your upper body at just the right places and then flows down your waist like a beautiful waterfall under the sunlight. A diamond necklace graces your otherwise empty neck complimented with matching earrings. The stylist - Alisa - puts your hair up in a pretty bun and then places a beautiful diamond tiara on your head. And when your eyes finally land on your reflection in the mirror, your mouth hangs open with no words but just air slipping out of it as response.

"Do you like it, your Highness?" Alisa asks with hopeful eyes. Her shy smile giving away the fact that she wants you to like what she's done, her efforts and ideas.

You have to blink hard for a few more seconds before coming to terms with the fact that you look so beautiful right now. A part you is in denial while a part of you is jumping around, doing a victory dance in happiness. You weren't used to seeing yourself look this good. Your heart leaps at the thought of Prince Yunho seeing you like this - almost like a princess who's lived in castles all her life. And then you realize that you would be one ; in only a few minutes.

"I love it, Alisa. You're brilliant!" You exclaim, wrapping your arms tightly around the stylist in happiness. By Lisa's stiff response, you are sure you'd taken her by surprise. Royals do not go around hugging normal stylists yet this hug was a symbol of your thankfulness towards her for putting so much effort into you, to make you feel special. Alisa's proud smile reaches to her eyes as she quickly works on placing the brooch pin in the right place on your dress.

A knock on your room's door attracts your attention and you are quick to fix yourself in case it was someone from the Royal family.

"I'll get that." Alisa jogs quickly towards the door.

When the door creaks opens, you see a familiar face standing there - familiar enough to know it was your fiancé, the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on, with the kindest smile and brightest eyes. Your heart stops beating for a dangerous second.

"Oh, hello your Highness. " Alisa greets him, bowing slightly, "Miss y/n is ready to go."

And when Yunho looks at you, your soul as if escapes your body. "H-hi, Prince Yunho."

He walks towards you with warm, red cheeks and perfect black hair and a stylish black tuxedo and offers you his hand, "It's nice to finally meet you, my lady."

How does one ever respond to that? How does one ever behave in front of an actual, real life prince, who also happens to be your fiancé? He presses his lips to your fingers ever so gently.

The butterflies in your stomach go wild.

"Shall we go now? Everyone's waiting for you, my lady." He asks.

You nod, wrapping an arm around his, "Yes."

The short walk towards the throne room is mostly filled with a comfortable sense of silence, except for the times when Prince Yunho points at some random picture on the wall and talks about it. Your eyes seem to be following every movement of his, and everytime your eyes meet, you find yourself melting under his gaze. You are smitten by him and there's no denying in that.

On entering the throne room, all heads turn towards you - ministers, relatives, your family, Yunho's friends, San and all servants present there observe you as Yunho walks you down the flowery aisle leading to the Throne. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, scary yet exciting, they follow your every movement and every word and every expression.

And when they bow down slightly as you stand on the right side on the Throne, you realise these people weren't just bowing at Yunho, there were also bowing down at you. Because you'll be his wife tomorrow, a princess, a figure that should be loved by the people. The only thing keeping you grounded is Yunho's gentle hand softly clutching yours. It's as if he could sense your inner turmoil before even you do it yourself. "Are you nervous?" He whispers in your ear.

"Yes, a little. "

"Don't be. I'm here with you."

The main door to the hall opens and two women walk inside, at least ten soldiers walking in front and behind them, guns at ready and eyes critically scanning all the faces.

The older woman, who you assume to be the Queen Mother and Yunho's grandmother, wears a sweet smile and walks as gracefully as ever even in this senile age. She waves gleefully at the crowd bowing down to her. On her left stands a slightly younger woman, Yunho's aunt and the Queen Regent who has been the ruler of this kingdom after Yunho's parents passed away in a tragic accident ten years ago. Rumor has it that the Queen Regent is a strict, emotionless ruler who has no mercy for criminals and is harsh with all the employees of the palace. You notice her serious gaze fixed in your direction and shudder in fear even though you've barely ever talked to her before.

"May the Queen Mother live long! May the Queen Regent live long!" Someone chants and the others follow suit in the blink of an eye.

You suddenly feel as if you are in some period drama.

The Queen Regent takes her place on the throne while the Queen Mother takes a seat on the left side of the Throne. A single wave of the Queen Regent's hand and the crowd goes completely silent.

"Hello to everyone gathered here today. I am very, very glad to welcome a new member of the family - lady y/n y/l/n. She is to be the wife of my beloved nephew Yunho and the future Queen of this kingdom. Please give her a warm welcome!"

The hall erupts into claps and cheers and your name being repeated as if in a chant. Your grip on Yunho's arm tightens.

"I'm there, my lady." He says again, "Don't be afraid."

San brings out a huge sword and places it in the Queen Regent's hands. This sword is what you assume to be the Jeong family's old, sacred sword used by generations and generations of brave kings and queens to protect themselves as well as the citizens of their beloved country. This sword is a symbol of pride and victories. And a lost history.

"As per ancient traditions, I will now be crowning miss y/n as a princess before her wedding with the prince tomorrow. From now on she will be called her Highness Crown princess Y/n. She is an important member of our family from this day forth."

"Y/n, go on and kneel in front of my aunt." Yunho whispers, nodding at you with a proud smile, "You're doing so great already."

You comply by his words and kneel in front of the throne, your head hanging low and eyes squeezed shut with anxiousness of what is to come.

"Welcome to the family, y/n." You hear the Queen Regent's voice before she gently taps your right shoulder with the tip of the sword and then the left one. You feel a few droplets of water being sprinkled on your face.

"Rise, Crown Princess. Face your people and let them welcome you with open arms."

It is done. You are a princess now. This can never be undone, this name, this title will stick with you till the end of time. You're no longer a normal girl with small dreams and basic requirements, you're a future Queen now.

Rise, Crown Princess.

And you do.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Every person has dreamt about their own wedding at least once in their life - whether it is in the peak of their teenage or in the innocent wonders of their childhood or the wildest dreams of their adult years, this thought found itself in everyone's mind.

You had one such dream too.

But your dream had always been very simple. A nice man, your closest friends and family, a cheap and beautiful wedding dress, a small party with limited people - that is all you've ever wanted. You didn't want a gathering of four hundred people who you barely knew, the new reporters shoving their cameras into your face, heavy make up or expensive jewelry, or a husband who you barely knew. But guess that is what the Gods had written in your fate. And you have no option now than to accept things the way they are.

You don't remember much from the wedding ceremony or the huge party that follows, really ; you only remember Yunho's lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead when the priest asks the groom to kiss the bride(probably the best part of the day), your grandmother's tears of happiness and Alisa and San winking at the two of you after the ceremony was over. Everything else felt like a blur, as if your head had been underwater all this while.

An hour or so into the party, Prince Yunho asks you to walk with him. Alone. Though reluctant, how could you ever say no to those innocent eyes? The discomfort from being surrounded by hundreds of unknown people slowly disappears as the two of you walk around the garden, your eyes never meeting but a sense of familiarity settling between the two of you.

"I'm not used to this, you know." He says with a shy smile.

The sky is beautiful, decorated with stars and a full moon but nothing compares the glow on Yunho's face when he turns to glance at you.

"Used to what?" You enquire, "Having so many people here?"

He shakes his head, "No. I'm used to having a lot of people here. That's all I've ever seen. What I'm not used to is this. Having a partner or someone else live in my room with me."

"So...?"

"I'm happy about it. I really am. But I know you're new to this royal lifestyle and we barely even know each other that well but I hope you don't regret this marriage. Because I'm sure that I won't. " Yunho sighs, "And if you ever feel like it's not worth your time anymore, you are more than free to leave. Forget about everyone else, do what your heart says. "

The last phrase catches you off guard. It is very, very rare to find people who give you this sort of freedom in any arrangement. The fact that he opens up his thoughts to you makes your heart leap with happiness. And a little sadness too that he'd think you'd leave him so easily.

"Hey," you pat his arm, "I'm not leaving anytime soon. I promise. We made a vow, didn't we?"

Yunho blushes at your words, but under the bright moonlight it goes unnoticed by you.

"Do you mind if I hold your hand?" He suggests after a few seconds of silence.

The butterflies in your stomach are seemingly having the time of their life these past few days.

"I don't." You slide your hand into his and your fingers intertwine almost instantly. His warm palm presses against your cold one, bring a sense of comfort you never thought you'd ever experience. In the midst of a chaotic royal gathering and the paparazzi trying to sneak in through the gates, you and Yunho find a small world for yourselves that no one else can ever have access to.

And for the first time in months, you realise that this marriage might be worth more than what you thought it would be.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You've always wondered what the people in royal palaces do. Do they spend all their time greeting the citizens and walking in the gardens? Do they keep dancing in the ballroom all the time? Or do they busy themselves with war conspiracies?

Sadly you realise that royal life sounds very exciting and extravagant only when you're not the one actually living a life like that. And this conclusion dawns on you only after ten days of the wedding.

The first week is packed with activities, alright. Visiting the common people and distant relatives and going to various public events. Your curiosity was at its peak till a few days ago, but now here you are, sitting on the edge of your soft bed, phone in lap and eyes drooping with sleepiness, wondering how to keep yourself occupied.

"Y/n?" The door creaks open as Yunho peeks inside shyly, "Can I come in?"

You nod, "It's your room, Yunho. You don't need my permission to enter."

"Oh, I was just making sure you weren't doing anything you didn't want me to see."

Oh. Your cheeks turn into crimson fruits as his words finally hit you.

"Anyway, I actually came to get my file. But I saw you sitting here. Are you bored?"

Are you? Heck, yes!

"Yes." You reply almost guiltily.

Chuckling, he leans down to press a loving kiss on top of your head, "Come on. I'll show you something."

You took pride in the fact that after only a week of staying here, you knew the palace fairly well. The corridors and paintings and artifacts and the workers weren't as foreign to you anymore. Yet the path Yunho takes you to seems weirdly unfamiliar.

Guess new surprises await everyday.

Soon enough, your steps halt in front of a huge wooden door labeled as ' library '.

Rows and rows of books welcome you the moment you step inside, Yunho leading the way into the most beautiful library you'd ever seen in your life. As always, paintings grace the wooden walls and a huge crystal chandelier hangs from the middle most point of the ceiling.

"Yunho...is this..what heaven looks like?"

The smell of old and new books hit your nostrils as you run a gentle hand over the book kept in the shelves, feeling the various materials of book covers brush past your fingertips.

"Maybe." Yunho responds with a grin.

Yunho's heart feels full with adoration and content at the sight of you dancing around the books shelves, gleefully taking notes of the books you plan to read on the days to come. Your eyes curl up into crescent moons as your toothy smile seems to have taken Yunho's breath away. Beautiful is what you look. Simple and elegant and so innocent.

All his life he's spent among royal people, people with political intentions and lots of money. But you make him feel differently. Being with you feels like a breath of fresh air for Yunho. And who wouldn't like that?

"Earth to Yunho." You click your fingers in front of his face after you catch him staring at you. Not that you didn't like it, but you had to do something before you turn into a mush before his eyes, "What are you thinking?"

"Oh, um..nothing." you. He was thinking about you, "How about I ask the workers to bring my office stuff over here? I can work here while you read. I don't want you to be alone."

A shameless grin plasters over your lips.

"I'd like that, Yunho. I'd like that very much. "

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"How's the married life treating you?" Your granny asks you this question every damn time she decides to call you. 

And surprisingly somehow, you always answer positively to her query.

"Well, good. I think so at least. " you smile to yourself, remembering the soft kiss Yunho had placed on your head as he left for an official trip this morning. Even in your half asleep state, your cheeks had turned bright red, "Prince Yunho is a nice man. "

"Oh, of course he is! I wouldn't have asked you to marry him otherwise, you idiot." She yells at you although you know she's smiling through the phone, "Anyway, I can't talk for long today. I have a doctor's appointment so I'll need to dress up for that."

That comes as a surprise, "What? Are you sick ?"

"God, no. I'm not a weakling, okay? It's the regular check up. Don't worry." She says, "Bye now. "

The line goes silent.

Sighing, you put your phone down on the night stand. On times like this, when the room is too quiet and you are too lazy to walk out and talk to other people, you start missing home. A lot more than usual. Your house, though only consisting of four people was way too noisy from sunset till sundown and somehow, you'd gotten used to it. The quietness has yet to grow on you.

A slight knock on the door attracts your attention and you immediately allow whoever it is to come inside.

"Oh, Alisa. It's you!" You exclaim as relief washes over you on seeing a familiar face.

"Yes, your Highness. How have you been?" She bows down to you, "Are you able to adjust to this new life?"

"I've been okay, you could say. Still a little overwhelmed whenever I have to face people but I think I'm getting there." You laugh a little.

Alisa gives you an understanding nod, "I totally understand. But I'm glad you're feeling more comfortable. By the way, I came here to ask you if you wanted to visit my boutique in the town nearby. It's a new one and I wanted you to come see it before the inauguration. "

Your heart jumps at the offer. You remember back in your college days, you would often go shopping with Maya, especially on weekends. The two of you would wait for months for a sale or special offers because online shopping sometimes just doesn't do it for you. You smile, nostalgic, "I'd love to go."

"And then maybe we could go and eat in the pizzeria nearby. It serves the best pizza in the world, I swear."

This is just beyond tempting at this point, a literal trap to have you step out of the role of a royal Princess and embracing the careless city girl inside of you and who are you to keep her hidden for too long?

"What are we waiting for then?"

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Yunho surprises you every now and then.

On the outside, he is a strict man with the sharpest of brains and the most observant eyes. The title of being a crown prince sits heavy on his shoulders and with every passing day, the weight just get heavier.

On the contrary, the Yunho you get to see everyday is very different. Soft and cheerful and smiley, he's the literal embodiment of the sunshine and your heart doesn't seem to rest everytime you see him.

It must have been roughly a month since the wedding when he makes an impromptu plan of visiting your city and your parents' house since it had been a long time you last saw them.

"Heard you were going to your parents house?" You had gotten ready to go before Yunho did, so instead of sitting in your bedroom, you decided take a short walk outside in the gardens. And as you strolled around aimlessly among the flowers and bushes, deep in thoughts, you had come across the Queen Mother sitting by the water fountain.

"Yes, your majesty." You reply, rather intimated by her aura.

It's hard to accept sometimes that this person is best friends with your grandmother, when the both of them are as different from each other as the two poles! Your grandmother is the ever so sweet, smiling, supportive person. You would never see her angry or upset. But on the other hand, the Queen Mother is uptight, very quiet and rarely ever smiles. Just like her daughter, the Queen Regent. Maybe it's a royal thing but you're glad you don't have to see this serious side of Yunho on a daily basis.

"Good. The farther from here, the better." She mumbles.

You are alarmed at her words, "I'm sorry?"

She sighs, her walking sticking tapping the marble wall of the fountain, "Y/n, I adore you. I might not show it but I'm glad my grandson has someone like you to make his life less lonely. But you have to be careful. Not everyone is appreciative of a person of common birth being crowned as a Crown Princess. "

Fear slowly clutches you in its palms. You had gotten very occupied with Yunho and being a crown princess and making new friends, you admit. So occupied that you let your guard down. And the Queen Mother's words sound more like an advice than a threat.

"Should I be worried?" You ask, your skin going cold at the thought of someone actually wanting to hurt you.

"Not yet, no. But be very, very careful. You cannot trust anyone here. Not even me. The only person you can lean on is Yunho. Why? Because he might be as much in danger as you."

Have you ever seen how people start panicking when any sort of alarm goes off? Yeah, thats exactly how you feel at that moment.

"Y/n, let's go!" You hear Yunho call you from the front gate, already taking his seat inside his car.

You bow at the Queen Mother before jogging towards Yunho, your heart no longer into the trip as it were a few minutes ago.

Yet seeing your parents and granny after so long did comfort you.

They had prepared this small barbeque party in your backyard, your dad playing guitar and purposely singing badly to embarrass you while your mother shows Yunho your childhood pictures. And the food, oh, the food! The five star chefs from Yunho's palace could never replace this comfort food you had at your parents house. It might not be well decorated with garnishes or spices or fancy plates but it made you feel like everything will eventually be okay - which is exactly what you needed at the moment.

The entire evening you try hard to talk to Yunho but when your house is full of three excited adults, it is hard to do that. Around one am in the morning, you finally find yourself in your old bedroom, Yunho's fascinated eyes roaming around the room that feels like it were straight out of some teenage romance movie. Where in reality you'd honestly been too lazy to change the room's layout once you outgrew your teenage obsessions and interests.

"You seem to be liking my room a little too much. " you chuckle, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, your face partly squished into your favorite pillow.

The boyband posters, old polaroids from your school functions, romance novels stacked up neatly by the nightstand - all of this is as foreign to him as his palace is to you.

Yunho lies down beside you, still in awe of the room, "Yeah, it literally mirrors your personality. "

"How?"

"I can't explain it, you know," he clicks his tongue, "But everything in this room screams y/n. Like everything here is made only for you."

You raise your eyebrow at his words. He's very observant, that you've noticed, but the fact that he knows you this well in barely a month warms your heart.

"What about our bedroom in the palace? Is it not made for me?"

"Oh, it is. Of course it is. But you're staying there because you have to, right? Because we're married and all that." He replies.

"No, I'm not. I told you Yunho - I'm staying there because I want to." You say, now no longer in a mood to joke around.

Suddenly, the words from The Queen Mother swim back into your mind, as you start seeing her words in a completely different light.

Yunho has somehow always expressed how he is unable to believe your presence around him and how he acts like you're doing a favor by doing that. And you find yourself wondering if Yunho knows what she'd said to you. The danger that looms above both of your heads must not be as much of a secret to him than you thought it would be. So instead of confronting him, you decide to comfort him.

"We'll be fine, Yunho. " you drag your hand towards his, your body relaxing the moment he squeezes it back, "Both of us."

Yunho looks at you with love and desire clear in his eyes, his free hand slowly dragging towards your face. You could see it now- the loneliness from the loss of his parents and the negligence from his aunt and grandmother throughout his childhood still very much exists behind the mask of a happy prince. You do not know the language of royal people or politics but you do know the language of love and more than a stupid gold crown, he needs someone to love him. And thats exactly what you intend to do.

Was it too soon? You didn't care anymore. And you know for a fact that he didn't either.

You lean in close and press your forehead to his, "You're not alone anymore. Okay?"

You see him smile from your hooded gaze, your breath mixing with his in an intoxicating mixture. "Thank you, y/n. You have no idea how much I appreciate it."

And that in itself are a combination of words much more heavier than a simple 'I like you.'

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"The Queen Regent wishes to see you."

San runs up to you the first thing the next morning, right after breakfast.

"Why?" You ask, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

You had a plan to accompany your granny and the Queen Mother to their small tea party in a nearby Farmhouse but you couldn't obviously say no to meeting the Queen Regent. Because well, she's the Queen.

"I don't know, your Highness. I try to stay away from her as much as possible but whenever our paths do cross, she always assigns some work to me." He whines, "Go on, I'll tell the Queen Mother that you're occupied. I will be heading out with Yunho right now anyway."

Shaking your head in annoyance, you make your way to the Queen Regent's office.

Her office smells like expensive cigars the moment you step inside, and the full ashtray on her table only feeds into your conclusions.

"You asked for me, your majesty?" You ask in a low voice.

When she looks up from writing in her journal, your heart skips a few beats in fear. Her eyes hold no resemblance to Yunho's angelic ones or even The Queen Mother's serious ones. They look like two deep, bottomless black holes that swallow everything and anything in its vicinity. Her long hair is tied in a braid and her lips quiver passively upon seeing you.

"Ah, yes." She replies, "Please have a seat."

You take the chair in front of her desk, uncomfortable at the close proximity between you and the one person who everyone tries to avoid.

"How are you?" She begins, closing her journal and keeping her pen inside the drawer, "How are things going with Yunho?"

"I'm good, thank you for asking. And yes, things are going well with Yunho."

Her question seems odd, but you let it pass.

"Okay. That's really great to hear. Anyway, I met your husband a little while ago. And he asked me to tell you that he intends to see you on the rooftop alone later tonight." She raises an eyebrow, a gentle smile playing on her lips, "Looks like he has a date planned."

Her words seem too far fetched to be true. Too unrealistic. Not the date part though, but the part where he specifically ask her to pass on the message to you. He could have easily asked San or Lisa or even told you in first person, so why would he choose the Queen Regent out of so many people when he you've barely seen him talk to her?

But you're a Crown Princess, and she's the Queen and you cannot question her. "Okay, I'll be there." You get up from your seat and bowing gently, "Thank you for letting me know, your majesty. By the way, did he mention what time I am to go ?"

"Oh um...Around seven in the evening?" She's fumbling on her words, and you're sure she's lying about something.

Still you suppress your doubts and walk back to your room, hoping to find the truth behind her words this evening at seven.

The entire day goes by in the blink of an eye, but to you it feels like an eternity. The curiosity has you sitting at the edge of your bed, ready to make a run for it if any danger ever comes your way.

Yunho, who was out with San for some official work has surprisingly not texted you today at all. And it only adds to your doubts of the Queen Regent being a liar.

And when night finally falls, you find yourself tense up more than you'd done the entire day.

The night is quiet, calm but beautiful and as you step into the terrace and the soft wind kisses your face, you almost believe the Queen Regent's words. Maybe Yunho did really plan a surprise date for you. Because this is everything that Yunho likes. A beautiful night and a company he loves.

The terrace stands high giving you a beautiful view of the entire palace complex, the gardens and everything beyond. And for a moment, your worries diminish as you step near the railing, inhaling the fresh air and you feel safe.

But, you see, that's where you are wrong. This imaginary cloud of safety that you'd thought was around you was never there in the first place. Since the first time you stepped into the palace, all eyes have been on you - on every action, every activity, every word. You'd always been swimming in a dangerous sea. One wrong move, and you realise the shark is right behind you. And just how the Queen Mother had told you, you were only ever safe with Yunho by your side. But he isn't here anymore.

So it doesn't come as a when a pair of rough hands give you a single, harsh push, sending you falling right down five floors.

"You will never be our queen." Is what you hear before your vision dissolves into a black hole.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

When you were six years old, you fell down your bike once while trying to copy some stupid stunt you'd seen people on television shows do. The excruciating pain that followed the fall was something which you thought you'd never have to experience again. That was the kind of pain which hurts you down to your very bones, sending waves of shock through your body with a single movement of your hands.

And that is exactly how you expect to feel the moment you open your eyes and come face to face with a familiar ceiling. But all you feel is sore, like how you feel the morning after exercising after a long while.

The bandages on your arms and abdomen indicate that your fall wasn't as bad as you thought it'd be but it was, nevertheless, a fall which was very much done on purpose.

"Y/n, honey, are you awake?" You hear Yunho's groggy voice coming from somewhere near the foot of the bed you lie on.

"Y-yeah. What happened?" You manage to sit up even though your body feels heavy with fatigue, "How did I fall?"

Yunho appears by your bed side in the blink of an eye and your heart clenches with relief when he bends down to kiss your head.

It feels like you hadn't seen him in days, years, where as it had only been around two days since you passed out. Yunho had rushed back home the moment he found out about it, leaving all his stupid official work for some other day. Hell, he would happily give up all his responsibilities if it means he could see you and keep you safe. He'd cried for nights and days, never leaving your side even when the nurses would change your clothes or bandage dressing. The mere thought of you never waking up again was too dark for him, especially when he'd found such a happy place in you. You are the owner of his heart and everything else that he could give you. You are, literally, his only family member. His whole world. And if he loses you, he would lose himself with you.

"A-are you okay?" He sits down on the bed, holding your hand so tight as if he was afraid you'd disappear if he let's go, "does it hurt anywhere?"

"Just a little bit, but I'm okay. I feel fine." You say, smiling through your busted lips.

Your smile as if breaks a wall he'd been holding onto for days, and his eyes immediately tear up.

"I'm so so sorry, y/n. I should have been there. I should have been protecting you. I keep forgetting I'm not a stupid guy with a normal life and that people I associate with might get into trouble anytime. I'm so sorry, I should have protected you from my Aunt and Alisa. I'm so fucking sorry."

Aunt? And Alisa? What is he taking about?

"Yunho, what are you -"

"They planned it. The entire thing. They purposely sent me and grandma away so no one would doubt them. Aunt had supposedly promised my hand in marriage to Alisa a long time ago but Grandma got us married instead. They were angry. So angry that they went ahead and tried to k-kill you. " he sobs into his hands, the tip of his nose turning bright red, "Alisa was the one who pushed you. They forgot to remove the CCTV footage."

You freeze for a second, Alisa's betrayal hurting you worse than The Queen Regent's. You almost thought you could find a friend in her, just like Maya. You trusted her. You felt safe around her when in reality, she'd only been a time bomb - waiting to blow up.

"Alisa did?" You mutter, your lips drying with fear, "I-I don't know what to say. Yunho, I- I can't believe Alisa would do this."

"I didn't either. But both of them have admitted to it. The police took them. I'm so sorry, y/n. " Yunho rubs his tears away, "I talked to your granny and parents. They said you could move back in with them. The divorce will take about a year or so to get finalized but you don't have to stay here till then. You can go back home whenever you want."

Your heart crushes in your chest. The fear of abandonment Yunho carries within himself yet he has the guts to let you go is something you would forever admire and hate in him. How could he think this way, especially after you've reassured him countless number of times that you're here to stay.

"I didn't agree to a divorce. What the fuck are you even cooking up in that mind of yours?" You say, stern and angry.

He looks up at you, his guilty eyes making the pain in your chest more painful.

"Y/n, please, you cannot stay with -"

"Shut up. Just shut up. I don't care. I don't care what you think. I am an adult and the crown princess of this kingdom and I will do as I please. " you almost yell, "I am staying here, with you, for better or worse. I told you I wouldn't leave. "

Yunho bursts into tears, wrapping his arms gently around you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as you gently pat his back, reassuring him that you'd always stay. No matter what.

"Y-you might get hurt again, y/n. I don't want you to stay and get hurt again." But his tight hold on your body tells you otherwise.

"We're both in danger for the rest of our lives. Does that mean we stop living?" You whisper, pulling away from the embrace only to grab his chin, "Does that mean we stop loving?"

He shakes his head as his lips curve down and a shaky sob escapes his mouth, "Nothing will ever happen to you again, I swear. I will keep you safe. You will not have a reason to complain again."

You nod, dabbing his tears away with your thumb, "I know. I believe you. "

You stare into his eyes - his beautiful eyes made of the finest stardust that make your brain go hazy every morning that you wake up and find them right beside you. And that's exactly how you choose to wake up every morning till the end of your days.

"Is this the part where we kiss or what, because I've waited a long time -" he cuts your blabbering off by finally placing his plump, peachy lips on yours ever so tenderly.

He steals all the air from lungs, driving you breathless and crazy with every movement of his lips on yours and the gentle touch of his fingers on your face only adds to the unbounded euphoria you feel at the moment. He's beautiful. Even with your eyes closed, you know that he is beautiful. And not just with his face, he is a beautiful man inside out. He is yours and nothing in this world can ever change that. So when he pulls away, panting and out of breath, and gently kisses your forehead, you say, "I love you, my prince."

These words. These damn words that he'd waited for months to hear, nights he spent dreaming about hearing them. And he has to mentally slap himself to make himself believe this all to be true.

Stealing a quick kiss from your lips again, he whispers, "I love you, too, my princess. "

#kafeholiday20 #kafenetwork #wkcnet #starryktown #ateez au #ateez #ateez kpop #ateez ff #ateez fics #ateez yunho #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #jeong yunho #ateez fanfic #ateez romance #ateez smut #ateez royalty au #yunho angst #jung yunho #yunho fluff #ateez yunho ff #ateez yunho fic #ateez yunho imagines #ateez yunho au #ateez x atiny #royal au #ateez icons #ateez edits #ateez jung yunho

[lady-amethyst18]

When they packed up the lemonade stand with the help of their new friends, Leo and Emma looked at how much they had earned. “We earned quite a bit,” Emma said.

Leo nodded. “We should do a lemonade stand again,” he said.

Yuri smiled. “You guys really are serious about helping out your friend, aren't you?” She asked.

“Yes,” Emma answered.

Haoyu smiled. “He's lucky to have you guys as his friends,” he said.

Leo smiled back and saw they were done packing up the stand. “Hey, why don't we go to the park?”

“That sounds good,” Yuri said. “Mind if we join you?”

The four teens headed to the park and were soon by the swings talking amongst themselves when they heard another voice nearby. “Hi,” a female voice said, and they saw a girl sitting on the swings, and she was smiling. “I didn't mean to interrupt, but I noticed you all talking.”

“Hi,” Emma said. “I'm Emma, and these are Leo, Haoyu, and Yuri. What's your name?”

“I'm Cass,” the girl said. “You guys want to swing too?”

Haoyu backed away, looking a bit afraid. “N-No thanks,” he stammered a bit nervously. “I'll just watch.”

“Okay,” Cass said before looking curious. “What were you guys talking about?”

“We're looking for ways to help out our friend,” Leo said.

“He owns the theater by the alley,” Yuri said helpfully.

The green-haired girl looked surprised. “Doesn't the crazy man live there?” She asked, proving she had heard the rumors about the place.

“Hey!” Leo barked angrily. “Balan's not crazy! He's a good guy!”

“Leo, calm down,” Emma soothed, trying to be the peacemaker. “But he's right. Balan isn't crazy. He just hit upon hard times.” She looked saddened. “His dreams didn't go the way he hoped they would, and though his home is in disrepair, he doesn't want to lose it forever or give up on it.”

Cass looked surprised at this before hanging her head. “Wow,” she said softly. “I... I can relate to how he feels.”

“What do you mean, Cass?” Haoyu asked curiously.

The green-haired girl sighed. “My parents are heavy into gambling,” she answered. “It's so bad that we lost our home and I was sent to live with my granny, who's been taking care of me.”

“Wow,” Yuri spoke softly. “Seems like we've all had some bad luck.”

Leo and Emma looked at each other before nodding, seeing that their new friends weren't too different from them. Cass then lifted up her head, looking curious. “What is... Balan?... Like?” She asked.

“Well, he's really tall, but really friendly,” Leo replied.

“And he really just wants a friend and a second chance to have his dreams come true,” Emma added. “Which we want to help him with.”

Cass smiled before remembering something. “My granny told me what the theater was like before it went to ruins,” she said. “It sounds like it was very amazing.”

“We think so too,” Leo said.

Emma gasped and smiled as an idea came to her. “I know!” She exclaimed. “Why don't we take you guys to go see Balan? Meeting some new friends would help him cheer up for sure.”

“Really?” Haoyu asked in surprise.

“Do you think... He'd be happy to see us?” Yuri asked quietly, seeing as things hadn't worked out last time.

“Sure he would,” the blonde-haired girl said with a nod.

“I agree with Emma,” Leo said. “Come on. You too, Cass.”

The five kids headed for the theater, knocking on the door, which Balan opened a moment later, and he blinked in surprise at seeing the five children before smiling softly. “Come in,” he said, gesturing them inside. “Please pardon the mess.”

Haoyu, Yuri, and Cass were wide-eyed as they looked up at Balan, who smiled at them. “And who are you, young ones?” He asked, his voice friendly.

“These are Haoyu, Yuri, and Cass,” Emma introduced.

“They were curious about you after hearing we were looking to help you,” Leo said.

“Curious about me?” Balan repeated in surprise before he smiled. “It's... It's been so long since anyone was curious about me after hearing from a friend.”

Cass looked around and saw the state of the theater, and she could see why Emma and Leo wanted to help Balan out. She began to feel the same and looked at Haoyu and Yuri, who nodded, also feeling the same way.

“Hey, Leo? Emma?” Haoyu asked. “Can we join you guys in the effort to bring the theater back?”

Balan's heart lifted a little at hearing that, and when the two blonde teens nodded, tears ran down the tall man's face in gratitude, feeling that perhaps this time, there was some hope after all.

So here's the context

After getting some coins from their lemonade stand, Leo and Emma, along with Haoyu and Yuri, decide to go to the park. There, they meet a young girl by the name of Cass.

Cass, too, heard the rumors of Balan being nuts. But when she heard that Leo and Emma are trying to restore his theater because it's his only home, she began to see the bigger picture.

Turns out both Cass and Balan have related problems because Cass's parents have terrible gambling habits, and they gambled themselves out of home. Luckily, Cass had her granny to keep an eye on her until her parents get the help they need.

Leo and Emma explain that Balan is NOT crazy, but just a lonely man who just wants another chance at life and a friend or two. Hearing about this, the others wanted to meet Balan as well. Wanting to know what he really was like.

When they met him, they were surprised by how friendly he acted. And by taking a closer look at the theater, Haoyu, Yuri, and Cass all wanted to help Balan restore his home to its former glory. Maybe Balan might get his second chance after all.

This is my Lonesome Maestro AU. When Balan's first show was a disaster, and everyone left him. He's become very lonely and sad due to no one being around. Until Leo and Emma showed up and try to change his life for the better.

The script written above was written by CrazygirlAuto5 on DeviantART.

#balan wonderworld #balan wonderworld balan #leo craig #emma cole #haoyu chang #yuri brand #cass milligan #lonesome maestro au #alternate universe

[stories-by-rie]

Chapter 3 - Heart of Silver

Back in the present, Evelyn and Ariel search the house of the dead granny in order to find clues on how to stop the heart of silver curse.

words: 3614 || masterlist

Evelyn pulled in on the house’s driveway. Now that she knew that no one was living there anymore, she couldn’t deny the ghostly aura that hung on it. The windows were dirty, the geraniums in the windows dead and brown. The driveway was growing weeds all over, so unlike the tidy places of most older people. Even the magnolia tree looked glum now.

    “The whole house feels like death,” Ariel mumbled as they walked closer. “Must have been a pretty rich lady, though. Didn’t you say she didn’t have any money?”

    “It’s an old woman. She owned the house and couldn’t bear to separate from it. Believe me, she told me for nearly a whole hour how she wouldn’t move out because she couldn’t see it in someone else’s hands. The pension was just enough to cover for house and food, so she didn’t have much extra.”

    They came to a halt before the door that was cordoned off by the police, but Evelyn swiftly cut through the sticker.

    “You’ve become unscrupulous, huh,” Ariel said and stepped in behind her.

    “It’s your terrible influence,” Evelyn replied and turned on the lights.

    “This was probably a nice house once,” Ariel noted as they looked around. The ceiling was dark brown mahogany, the floor white marble tiles that looked quite expensive, but were covered with a great Persian carpet. Overall it seemed to have been a very grandiose house judging by its interior alone. There were shadows on the walls, where paintings or photos must have hung -- which perhaps had been sold in time. This was an impression that wasn’t new to Evelyn, as weren’t the spiderwebs in the corners and the dust on the decoration.

    “They probably used to have a lot of money back in the day. Judging from the silverware alone,” Evelyn agreed and pointed towards the dining room, the door still open from the day before. Ariel nodded along and they walked over the echoing tiles, over the old dusty rugs, quieter. There was a simple chandelier over the dinner table, dipping the small room in yellow light, spider webs between its bulbs.

    Evelyn walked over to the sideboard, opened the drawer where the silverware was neatly stashed on red velvet.

    “Fancy,” Ariel mumbled and looked at the spoons and knives and forks. “So which of these is the culprit?”

    Evelyn looked down, face blank. “I don’t remember.”

    “Didn’t you say that there was some kind of evil aura?”

“Very much so. It only missed evil green sparkles or something. But it just looked like a fork. Maybe too much like a fork? It definitely stood out somehow.” Evelyn looked down at the forks. None of it was missing, the cutlery was still neatly put in its satin cushion, but she still couldn’t make out the one that had been the medium to curse her. She still remembered the unsettling feeling that had overcome her at the sight of the whole drawer the last time around, shivers running down her spine. All of that was missing now.

    “Maybe it is because I sent the granny off? Or because the curse got activated?” she mused. Ariel crossed their arms before their chest.

“That’s both possible. Curses work in a whole lot of different ways, there are dozens of various classifications for how they are transmitted alone. If the medium isn’t working once the curse gets activated, and doesn’t even show signs of the curse, then it means that either the curse gets transmitted through the victim, or that the curse medium is randomised. Any kind of object could be the medium now if it’s not you.”

    Evelyn felt her limbs get heavier at those words. It was not the silver – not yet. It was the hope that left her in that moment. Somehow, it had been so easy in her mind. Ariel knew their curses. They knew how to break them.

    “So, what do we do no-”

    Evelyn didn’t even get to finish her question before Ariel took the first fork and poked their finger on it.

    “What are you doing?” her voice jumped an octave higher as Ariel tried the next one.

    “These aren’t exactly sharp, did it bleed when you poked your finger?”

    “No. Sort of? There was liquid silver when I pressed it. But- Why are you-”

    “Maybe it is just a hidden medium. Sometimes, when curses are especially deadly, to make sure the whole power goes into just that one victim, the medium hides its potential so that it won’t curse two people at the same time.”

    “Ah.” Evelyn stared at Ariel as they kept poking themselves with the forks. “So can it still curse you then?”

    “Depends. Potentially.”

    It was late and Evelyn was exhausted, so it took a while for her to understand those words’ meaning. Once she did, however, she quickly grabbed the fork out of Ariel’s hand and put it back.

    “Are you mad? What if you get cursed too?” With horror she looked at a reasonably startled Ariel who just shrugged.

    “Would definitely keep me motivated.” Their gaze dropped to Evelyn’s neck, then wrists where the dark silver veins were well hidden by her hoodie.

    “No. If you get sick you won’t be able to cure me anymore. You stay alive, preferably.” Evelyn closed the drawer and pinched the bridge of her nose.

    “Then how do you think I am going to find the right fork if it is just hiding?” At this point Ariel sounded a little exasperated, a fake smile on their dark purple lips.

    “Don’t you have some strange curse detector of sorts?”

    Ariel just shook their head. “Only nolly-powder and that’s really just for our last resort, okay? There are really, drastically awful side-effects, and we should not lose time because of them.” 

It was quiet in the dining room, only the platter of the rain against the windows -- it sounded spitefully soft now. The quiet of a house not lived in. Consequently, it was easy to hear the door fall shut.

    Both Evelyn and Ariel whipped around toward the back of the room, where the door was still wide open as they had left it.

    “Maybe above us?” Evelyn wondered with a toneless voice.

    “Did you not say you sent the granny off?” Ariel asked instead. They glanced at each other with the same uncertain look in their eyes.

    “I am really tired. I would honestly be happier if this was a burglar, and not a ghost. Or a Mare. Seriously, I couldn’t even handle an Elwetritsch today.”

    “Isn’t that last one just some super shy chicken with antlers?” Ariel had turned back to the forks and continued poking their finger.

    “Please don’t underestimate chicken nor antlers. But yes. They also can’t shut doors,” Evelyn said and sighed deeply. Maybe, if she ignored any kind of noises for long enough they would eventually disappear by themselves.

    Certainly, getting cursed didn’t seem bad enough for one day, though. So she flinched when there followed the sound of something heavy falling over – really heavy – somewhere in the house, even if it was not close by.

    “At this point, it would make more sense if it was a burglar,” Ariel said and walked back towards the hallway. Stairs lead up to the next floor on one side, a door right underneath that had to lead into the cellar.“Hey, let’s take bets. I say it’s a burglar, you say it’s a horned chicken. Winner gets ten Euros, deal?”

    “It’s called an Elwetritsch, and also I wouldn’t make deals with dying people if I were you, Ariel.”

    “That just sounds like you have no faith in my abilities at all.” They said it like a joke, but Evelyn knew them long enough now to understand what they actually meant. The way they weren’t looking up at her when they said it was telling enough.

    “I do trust you, Ariel. You know that right?” Evelyn looked at them, and when their eyes finally met, Ariel’s crinkled. “Just, the situation is driving me a bit on edge, that’s all,” she added.

    “Mh,” Ariel hummed, not in a way that indicated that they believed her. For now she ignored it, as she did the feeling of doubt in the pit of her stomach, and focused on Ariel instead when they pointed upstairs. “Let’s check in on the Elwetritsch?”

    Evelyn nodded and followed them up the stairs. Last time she had not gone that far deep into the house, and it seemed like the old woman who had lived here didn’t either. The dust laid heavily on the old furniture, even on the ground in a way that was easy to see in the dim light.

    “Doesn’t seem like she went here often.” Ariel wiped a finger over the dust and pulled a face. “This is going to make my allergies so bad.”

    “Maybe she was too old to walk many steps. Old people have bad joints, no?” Evelyn opened the door to her side, revealing a small bathroom that looked like it was ripped straight out of a 70s decoration advert. It smelled like old water and too much soap, the tiles a shade of orange that should be banned. 

    “It would be a good place for a burglar now that the house is officially empty, just that there are no signs of a living person anywhere. Not even chicken feet in the dust.” Ariel had kneeled on the ground staring at the floor from close up and squinted at the tiles. They sneezed. 

    “Maybe the noise came from the cellar then,” Evelyn wondered and walked over to the next door. Behind it, there was a children’s room. Posters of pop bands from the eighties still hung on the walls, the bookshelves empty but the bed still made ready. It poked at Evelyn, uncurled something inside her heart at the view.

    “She had her kid’s room ready for whenever they would come back home, it seems. That’s very nice.” And still no one had noticed the old woman’s death in such a long time. She must have been truly lonely. She walked over to the next room that was mostly empty.

    “Any chickens inside?” Ariel asked into the space – nothing answered. There were still curtains and a closet on the wall. A fainter colour in the shape of a bed on another wall.

    “This probably was the old bedroom. Maybe she had the bed brought downstairs at some point.” Evelyn walked over where there was still an impression of the bedposts in the old rug.

    “Okay, one more room, I am having the hunch that I will be disappointed regarding my expectations to see horned chicken today.”

    “Wait.” Evelyn turned back to Ariel who was just about to walk over to the next room. “Don’t you think this room feels weird?” she asked and Ariel just shrugged. But there was an undeniable shadow hiding in the corners, behind the curtains, inside the closet.

    “Feels like it does in your apartment. Like ghosts are trapped in here.”

    “There are no ghosts trapped inside my apartment,” Ariel refuted but walked closer to Evelyn as she went to open the closet door.

    “Are you good with ghosts?” they mumbled behind her back as she put her hand on the door knob.

    “Most of them. As long as I recognize them, yes.”

    Ariel chuckled a bit at her words, which gave her the courage to open the door. Behind, there was nothing. Nothing but shadows. Evelyn crunched down and now it was her turn to wipe with her finger through the dust.

    “And?”

    “Looks like there were ghosts here at least. Maybe it was the granny. There is residue mixed here. See? The grey ash?” She held her finger up for Ariel to see and they nodded.

    “Knew that dust looked funky.”

    “It’s when ghosts dissolve. They lose what could be considered their body. To the human eye it looks ashen. It also tends to darken shadows.”

    “Fascinating.”

    Evelyn looked up at Ariel with a raised eyebrow. “You had a class about this. You studied the same subjects as me at uni.”

    “That really is no reason for me to actually know this stuff.”

    Evelyn supposed that they had made a fair point and let the matter be, even if the confusion would not leave her. 

“The granny was still very lifelike when I saw her. She couldn’t have dissolved that much so quickly for us to find so much residue.”

“So, more ghosts?”, Ariel suggested and Evelyn gave a nod. There was only one more room on the floor, and she could not deny the rising anticipation. Before the door, they both hesitated, though. 

    “If there is no burglar in there, we should check the cellar next,” Evelyn mused and Ariel nodded and stepped back a bit, as if asking Evelyn to open the door first.

    “We should check the cellar either way, really. No matter what we find behind this door” she said and took a step back too. Ariel just sent their hand through their hair and pointed at the door.

    “You feel that there’s something behind this, too. Don’t you? It might be important, so we should really check this out. You go first.”

    Evelyn shook her head. “There is no reason I should go first. This is about curses, so you’re the go-to person. You should go first.”

    “It’s likelier that there’s a burglar behind this, or a horned chicken. That’s your area of expertise, so you should go first. I am far too fragile to be put in such a danger.”

    “Ariel, you were the one who went to attack a Mare back when we met, do you remember?”

    “Yes, and I have learnt and changed myself through that experience. More specifically, I have learnt that it should be you who deals with these kinds of matters. So after you.”

    Evelyn sighed deeply and then shrugged. “You know what? Fine. There’s no reason not to check out this room too. I can ignore some cold shudders down my spine, I am not that easily frightened.” Just as she put her hand on the door knob, though, the knob dissipated to dust right in front of her. Evelyn and Ariel exchanged a glance. “I feel like something doesn’t actually want us to enter this room.”

    “No shit.” Ariel stepped back even farther and then waved for her to move out of the way. Evelyn just managed to get far away enough before they tried to kick the door open. 

    A loud yelp, a loud bang when the door flew open, but nothing else happened, no monster jumping at them, no screaming ghost, and no attacking burglar either. In front of them was a simple study, filled with bookshelves and a big desk full of papers and letters.

    “I am slightly disappointed. That’s what I hurt my ankle for?” Ariel said as they stepped inside. Evelyn followed right after and couldn’t hide her slight awe. For a few seconds, the sight of the study overwhelmed her, a space that was clearly well cared for, a space that must have been so precious a long time ago. It was as obvious as it could be, small decorative figures on the shelf, a few letters framed on the wall. The only sign of neglect was the thick layer of dust on the books, even inside there. It was the few seconds in which Evelyn’s heart beat a bit lighter, forgetting about the fact that it pumped liquid silver through her body.

    The spell was broken as Ariel’s words settled in a bit late. “You hurt your ankle? Should we go and check with a doctor?” 

    “No, it’ll be fine. This is how devoted I am to curing you. Let’s check out these open letters and books, maybe we will find a clue about the curse,” Ariel whispered. They had a good point though, so they both started to work through what they could get in their hands.

    It didn’t take long until they realized what the old lady had used the study for.

    “She was looking into curses,” Evelyn said as she flipped through A Beginners Guide to Curses And How to Break Them.

    “Yeah. I found a conversation with a famous curse-broker from the sixties here. Apparently they were discussing some new phenomena that they thought were linked to curses.”

    “But she was not a curse-broker herself?” Evelyn wondered and Ariel shook their head.

    “If she had been, I would have known. Not a professional one, at least. Maybe she just was fascinated by them. Or maybe she had a victim in her family. A lot of people get into curses after one of their loved ones succumbs to one.”

    Evelyn continued to flip through the book before her until her fingers traced the photo of a boy in silver, shackled to a barn wall. A cold shudder ran through her then, made her recoil a bit before she flipped to the next page, where an equally familiar photo was printed.

    “Ariel, I am certain that this woman knew about the Heart of Silver curse. This book looks well read.”

    “You have it,” Ariel mumbled from behind her, their voice a bit thin. It nearly sounded as if they would start crying, which was a slightly unsettling thought.

    When Evelyn turned around, it was not Ariel who stood behind her. Instead, she stared right at the very dead eyes of a young boy. He was maybe fifteen years old, still already nearly as big as Evelyn herself. The startle nearly made her scream, but she could control herself just in time. Carefully, she tried to look around and find Ariel, but the boy just came closer, losing his body more and more.

    “Yes, I have. I have it,” Evelyn stuttered and held out the book to him. 

    “No. You have it,” the boy repeated, in the same manner, but he still sounded more powerful. His eyes dropped to her neck, where the black lines of her silver veins were visible the best. 

    “I do,” she agreed and pulled up her sleeves as well to bare her wrists. 

    “You should find what you really want,” the boy said with a sad tone in his voice, it sounded farther away than he was. So hollow.

    “I will. Thank you.”

    The boy still looked like there was more that he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth next, there was no sound coming from him. Instead he just disappeared into thin air once more. Evelyn felt her whole body shake.

    “Oh! Look at what I found! That old granny won second place in a cooking show once!” Ariel yelled from across the room. Evelyn turned to them and the framed certificate in their hands.

    “Wow, you look as if you have seen a ghost.”

    Evelyn just stared at them from afar and pointed towards the dusty footprints before her.

    “There is a ghost in here.”

    The ash-like dust was still falling slowly like soft snow and landed before her feet -- the thought alone that the ghost was standing so close made her skin crawl. Ariel took off their glasses for a moment to narrow their eyes at where Evelyn was pointing.

    “I can’t see anything.”

    “The ghost is currently not showing his corporal form.”

    Ariel nodded and pushed the glasses back up their nose. “So it was a ghost, not a burglar or an Elwetritsch. At least as long as there isn’t anything weird in the cellar. What happens when neither of us win a bet? Do we both pay? You give me 10 euros and I give you 10 euros?”

    Evelyn decided to ignore the question and instead held up the book that was still in her hands.

    “The old lady knew about the curse. The ghost materialized for a moment when I talked about it. He said ‘You should find what you really want’, and then disappeared.”

    Finally, Ariel got a bit more serious and walked over.

    “That’s the same book as I have at home,” they mumbled and took it out of her hands. “So the old granny really knew some of those curses. I wonder if it’s just a coincidence, or if she was somehow tied to that curse especially.” They flipped through the pages not unlike Evelyn had done before, until they looked up again. “What is it that you really want, Evelyn?”

    “I want to get rid of this curse, of course, what do you think?”

    “What do you really want, must be the focus here, then. So, some kind of personal revelation might be the key to fulfilling the curse.”

    “Believe me, my thoughts and emotions are all set on staying alive. Maybe what he said was not related to the curse, though. It could be that he was just talking nonsense. Some ghosts lose control over their words with time,” Evelyn pointed out and with another glance at the ashen dust before her, she added, “This one has been dissolving for a long time now, from what it looks like. I bet he is the one leaving all the residue in the other rooms.”

    Ariel put down the book onto the desk and stared at the ashen footprints in front of Evelyn. “Better search the cellar then? Let’s find out a bit more about this granny that taught herself about curses, hid ghosts in her house, and cursed innocent ghost hunters after her death with her silverware, shall we?”

In lieu of nothing better to say, Evelyn agreed and carefully stepped around the ghost, out of the study.

____

previous chapter || WIP intro || masterlist || next chapter

#writeblr #novella #my writing #original fiction #fantasy #urban fantasy #ghosts #curses #wip; heart of silver #heart of silver chapter 3 #tw body horror #(very very light not really spooky though) #tw depression #tw death mention #because of ghosts

[noladyme]

xo - Red (A Clark Kent/Superman oneshot)

Just a really funny; warm; kind; built like an Olympic athlete, with perfect lips friend? Tag-list: @wolf-lover-bookdragon @wonderlandfandomkingdom​

TW: Fluff. So much fluff. Explosions.

Fifth date. Things were supposed to happen, right? I mean, at least a kiss; other than a peck on the cheek. But he was a friggin’ gentleman; which I couldn’t help but be a little annoyed about; as it made it very difficult to get to the fun part of our relationship. Not that we didn’t have fun, mind you. Clark had an uncanny way of turning my frown upside down.

Ever since I’d run in to him – literally – at that coffeeshop a few months ago. I had left home early, so I wouldn’t be late for my first day at my new job, at the elementary school. I’d been so nervous about it; I hadn’t been able to fall asleep until 3 am; and was now battling exhaustion, nerves, and the fact that my new red shoes were really uncomfortable – all at the same time. I’d ordered a large black coffee; extra strong; and was on my way out the door – the sun in my eyes – when I tripped on the steps; my drink splashing out of the cup.

Suddenly; two strong hands were grabbing my shoulders; and pulling me up to stand. “Are you ok?”, a warm voice said. I looked up, and found two friendly blue eyes looking me over. “Yes, thank you”, I smiled; before noticing the large brown stain on the man’s white shirt. “Oh, crap. I am so sorry!”. He looked down himself; and smiled. “It’s fine. White isn’t my color anyway”. I laughed. “Still, I’m so sorry. Didn’t I burn you?”. The coffee had been scolding; I knew. He smirked. “I’m thick skinned”, he insisted.

He was still holding on to me; and I felt a warmth spreading in my stomach; making me short of breath. “Miss?”. His eyes suddenly looked worried. “Are you sure you’re ok?”. I smiled. “Yes, absolutely. It’s just been… a morning”. He chuckled. “Can I buy you a new cup of coffee?” I simultaneously nodded and shook my head. “Yes… no… I mean, I should buy you one; as an apology”.

He removed his hands from my shoulders; leaving me to stand on my own. “No need for an apology”, he smiled. “But I’ll take the coffee”.

We’d spent 10 minutes sipping at our hot drinks – for which he’d insisted to pay – and talking about what we did for work, and what our favorite movies were; having noticed an advertisement for some superhero movie on a passing bus. Apparently Clark wasn’t a fan of superheroes; but found it hilarious that I loved The Wizard of Oz – being from Kansas himself. Then; Clark had asked for my number, and I’d given it to him. He shook my hand, and we’d said goodbye.

The next afternoon; he’d called me, and we’d gone to see a movie – one about aliens instead of superheroes. He’d still been frowning all the way through it. “It was just really… unrealistic”, he said afterwards over a beer at a local bar near my apartment. He walked me home, declining my offer to come up for coffee; and had given me a short hug, before saying goodbye.

The next time has been a trip to an apple picking farm. “You can take the boy out of Kansas…”, I’d chuckled, as he’d carried a bushel of Granny Smith’s back to his car. “I just really like pie”, he’d smiled. He’d driven me home; and on the way there, told me about his moms pies; and how it was his favorite thing in the world – next to sweet potato fries. When he dropped me off; he leaned in, and kissed my cheek. “Goodnight”, he’d whispered; and I’d bit my lip – and hoped for more. More didn’t happen.

Then there was the quick cup of coffee on both our lunchbreaks; where I’d told him about how I’d sprained my ankle on roller-skates – 3 times in the same amount of years. He’d snorted a laugh. “Well you are kind of clumsy”, he’d said, and removed a strand of hair from my face; putting it behind my ear – before running off for a sudden work emergency.

And lastly; the roller-skating rink. Because I insisted. And he said he couldn’t say no to me. That night, he’d held my hand as we went about the floor; and grabbed my waist several times, as I was about to fall. “Careful, slick”, he’d said. “Oh, is that my nickname now?”, I’d chuckled. “No. I think I’ll call you Red. From those godawful shoes you were wearing when I met you”. It was another kiss on the cheek; and a hug that lingered, and made my knees weak. And then just… goodnight.

So yes. I was just about desperate to kiss the man. He was gorgeous; which at times had made me feel insufficient and a bit self-conscious – but then there was the way he looked at me. His eyes would light up as I talked; as if I was the most fascinating person he’d ever met. Even when our conversation was about cereal, or how one of the kids at my school had put bead up his nose. It was like his eyes drew me in; and then – as my breath would hitch, and I’d part my lips – he’d pull back as if nothing had happened.

I couldn’t help but ask myself; does he just want to be my friend? My really funny; warm; kind; built like an Olympic athlete, with perfect lips friend? I’d decided that I needed clarity on where we were going with our relationship – even if that thought did make me feel like I was living in a sad rom-com, where everyone was always talking about their feelings.

Tonight, it was dinner. Nothing fancy, just a steakhouse I’d suggested. If Clark turned out to just be in it for the apple picking and coffee; then at least I could drown my sorrows in a medium rare steak, with enough bearnaise-sauce to drown a small elephant.

—

Putting on my favorite jeans, black pumps, and a snug top; I waited for the call to let me know Clark was by the door on the street. He’d never been inside my apartment; and didn’t seem very interested in it either. This isn’t real, I told myself to guard my feelings against the inevitable rejection I’d have to face that evening. We’ll eat, laugh; and he’ll walk me home – and then tell me that he’s got a wife and three kids in Smallville, waiting for him to come home for game-night.

A text message made my phone light up. Hey Red. I’m late. So sorry. Be there as soon as possible. – C

Great. That gave me even more time to just hang out… and be anxious.

No worries, Kansas. See you. xo – R Send… Crap, why did I write xo? What am I; a teenager?

I sat down on my couch. Deciding I needed to pass the time doing something other than stare at the wall; I turned on the television. Landing on the news; I dropped the remote.

In Stockholm, Sweden, the building of a new sky-scraper in an old neighborhood; had made a nearby building begin to crack in the foundation. The old residential was quickly giving in; and families were being evacuated from their homes. There were firetrucks spraying water at the structure, to avoid flames from any electrical fires.

Though it was a terrible situation for those families; I was confused as to why one building falling apart half way around the world, was a breaking news story here. That was until I saw a figure at the bottom of the screen; seemingly supporting the weight of the building on his shoulders. Oh, right! That guy! The Superdude…, I chuckled to myself; and went to see if Clark had texted me back yet.

Nothing. It was probably the xo-thing. He didn’t know how to reply to that.

The news story ended when cameras filmed Superman handing a shaking and wet puppy to a little girl; who kissed his cheek in thanks. I always found it kind of neat, that the flying caped man managed to know where every camera was; so that anyone watching would find it difficult to make out his features. From what I could see; he was sort of cute. If Clark doesn’t work out; I could always throw myself of a building; and have that guy catch me. It must be lonely in that fortress of solitude; maybe he’d like some company.

A text. Outside in 5. Can’t wait to see you. xo – C

xo. He’d written xo. Right. Big girl pants on, and go talk to him.

—

Outside the door of my building stood Clark; a smile the size of the sun plastered across his face. My heart jumped. He opened his arms; and took me in for a hug.

“Hi, Red”, he breathed. “I’m so sorry I’m late. It was a work emergency”. “It’s fine”, I said and looked up at him; and opened my mouth to say something more – until I noticed something strange.

“Clark?”, I said. He was still holding on to me. “Yeah?”. “This is going to sound weird, but… why do you smell like wet dog?”.

He pulled back. “Yeah… I was doing a story at an animal shelter”, he said. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Let’s go!”, he said, and took my hand.

It was a beautiful night; so we decided to skip the cab, and walk the few miles to the restaurant. We walked down the street, hand in hand. It wasn’t the first time we’d held hands; but then it was because he was trying to keep me from falling. This was different. It wasn’t strange; but warm… familiar. I swallowed hard. “I want to talk to you about something, Kansas”, I said. He looked down. “You don’t want to do that at the restaurant?”, he said with a strained voice. “No, I think I need to do it now”, I answered. He nodded. “Ok. Do you want to sit down?”, he asked; and gestured at a bench on a playground we were passing.

Once seated; I let go of Clarks hand. “What’s up, Red?”, he asked earnestly. “You seem… tense”. He laughed nervously. I smiled. “I like you, Clark. A lot”, I said. “I like you too. A lot”, he smiled. I matched his nervous laughter. “It’s just… lately, I���ve been thinking. About us… and what we are”. He looked down. “Yeah, I figured we’d get to this at some point”. I nodded. “We have fun”, I said. “Like friends. But I don’t know if we both feel like this is more than that. Friendship, I mean”. He sighed. “Right. No, I get it”, he said. “You’re new in the city, and shouldn’t be settling down with anyone serious”.

I looked at him confusedly. “I’m not sure I follow”, I smiled. He took my hand. “You’re an amazing woman, Red”, he said “And I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. But maybe you’re right, and this is a good time to call it quits. If that’s what you want”. My heart fell into my stomach. “Is that what you want?”, I asked timidly. “I want you to be happy”, he said, smiling sadly. “With or without me in your life. I’d just hoped I’d have a few more dates before you came to your senses about me”.

I frowned. “Clark… you need to be clear with me here”, I said. “Are you breaking it off with me?”. He looked at me with a frown on his face. “I thought you were breaking up with me…”, he said. “You suggested that restaurant; and I thought you wanted to be in public when you did it”. I laughed. “No. I just… really like steak”, I smiled.

He exhaled with relief. “Good. Because I was lying. I really don’t want you to be happy without me…”, he said. “I mean… crap… I want you to be happy; I’d just really like to be a part of it. If you’ll have me”. I bit my lip and nodded. “I’d like that”, I said. “I thought you saw me as a friend because… you haven’t…”. I couldn’t finish the sentence. He took my hand, and tried to meet my gaze. “What? Tell me”, he said. I took a deep breath. “You haven’t kissed me”, I said; meeting his eyes for a second; before looking down in embarrassment.

He put his hand under my chin, and raised it to finally meet my eyes for real. “Red, I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment you spilled scorching hot coffee on my least favorite shirt”, he smiled. “I was just waiting for the right time, and…”. He exhaled and took my other hand; playing with my fingers.

“My life is… complicated. The work I do; sometimes it’s dangerous”, he said. I raised an eyebrow at him. “You write fluff pieces for The Daily Planet”, I chuckled. “That too…”, he muttered and looked down.

I smiled; wanting to ease the tension. “You know, I was watching a news story while I was waiting for you”, I said. He looked up at me with questioning eyes. “Yeah?”. I chuckled. “It was about that Superman guy. He was helping some people; in Sweden I think”, I said. “I was telling myself; that if you didn’t want to see me anymore; I could always just… throw myself of a building, and he’d rescue me. Then I could hook up with him”. He laughed nervously. “What? Like a rebound?”. “More like a… third choice. If you didn’t work out”. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Only third?”, he said. I scoffed. “Have you seen Aquaman? I mean, come on!”, I grinned.

His lips tightened, and he stifled a laughter. “So… if Superman is third… and… Aquaman…”, he raised an eyebrow at me, “… is second. What does that make me?”. I sighed. “The guy I’ve been waiting months to kiss”.

He looked deep into my eyes; and my breath hitched. He put his hand on my cheek; and he leaned in close to me, stroking my temple with his thumb I brushed my nose against his; and closed my eyes, letting my lips part.

Suddenly; he pulled back. “Clark?”, I asked. His eyes were scanning the area; before they met mine again – alarmed. “Red, go home.” “What’s wrong?”, I said. “Did I say something?”.

He stood up and began backing away; his eyes again searching his surroundings. “Listen, go straight home. Don’t stop for anything. I’ll… I’ll call you when I can”. He ran around a corner, and was gone. I heard a strange woosh, and a stray cat ran from the alley he’d gone in to.

I felt suddenly cold. This was the weirdest date I’d ever had; and it hadn’t even really started. Then there was the fact that the guy I was falling head over heels for, finally said he care about me too – and then just… left. That’s it, I laughed to myself. I’m finding a really high building to jump off.

I began walking home. Slowly. I didn’t want Clark to have the pleasure of getting me to do what he wanted me to. Jerk. Not a jerk. Crap; I really like him. More than like. This is real.

I heard a crash, and then a screech; like metal being torn apart. I felt a warm gust of wind, forceful enough to make me stumble. I looked up. Was that seriously a bus flying through the air?

Another crash; this one even closer. I fell to the ground; and was scrambling to get up, when I saw a minivan sliding on its roof towards me. I got on my feet, and bean running out of the way; when something red and blue slammed into the minivan; making it alter its course. Was that?…

I ran towards my block. Red, go home. I’m going; but where are you Clark? Are you ok?

I kept running; fishing my phone out of my pocket, and dialing Clarks number. It kept ringing, but went to voicemail. Hey. This is Clark Kent. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you… beep. Come on, Clark. I need to know you’re ok!

I redialed. Suddenly I heard a phone ringing near me. I looked into a bush; and saw… Clarks jacket? His phone was ringing in his pocket. 2 missed calls from Red – heart emoji. Damn it, Kansas. If I wasn’t so pissed at you; I might think this was really sweet. Where are you?

Screeching… a car landed on the ground 10 feet from me; the force of it throwing me to the ground again. I got up slowly; rattled from the shock.

I began running again; getting closer to my block.

Suddenly; a tank truck was blocking my path; crashing into a bus-shed. My heart was in my throat, and my chest hurt from having run so fast. I tried turning around, but a bus had crashed into an RV, blocking my path in both directions. I was trapped.

I looked up. The sky was covered in smoke from the many burning vehicles around me. The sound of a large crash made me look towards the truck. Something made the vehicle fall onto its side, and slide towards me with such speed that the shock of it made me fall.

I looked back – there was nowhere to run. In three seconds, I would be smashed between the truck and the bus.

Three… Oh God…

Two… Clark, where are you?

One.

A gush of wind; and I flew in to the air. No… I didn’t fly; I was lifted. My feet were dangling in the air; and one of my shoes fell of, landing on the ground hundreds of feet below me. Someone was holding on to me; his strong arms around my waist; and my chest pressed to his – which was adorned with a red S on a yellow background. What?

I let out a terrified whimper. “It’s ok. I’ve got you”, a warm voice said. I looked up into my saviors face. “Clark?”, I gasped. “Hi”, he said with a crooked smile. I opened my mouth to say something. “Don’t speak…”, he said. “The air is kind of thin up here”.

I looked down; and realizing how far up in the air we were, I panicked. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let out a weak squeal. “It’s ok, Red”, he chuckled. “I won’t let you fall”.

He set me down on the top of a building a few miles from the explosions. Once on stable ground, he held on to me for a second; making sure my legs would carry me. I stepped backwards, holding my hand up in front of me. “Y-you…”, I stuttered. He looked at me apologetically. “I know. I should have told you. It’s just… complicated”. He tried to smile.

I stumbled; and fell to my bottom. He took a tentative step forward. “I know. I get it. You’re scared”, he said. I shook my head. “No… it’s… you!”, I said.

He reached his hand out to me. “Please, let me help you up”. I gave him my hand; and he gently raised me to my feet. “Are you ok?”, he smiled. I simultaneously shook my head and nodded. “Yes?”. It was almost a question. He sniggered.

Suddenly I began laughing – the ridiculousness of the situation too comical. “I was supposed to fall off a building; not land on it”, I chuckled. He began laughing with me. “Yeah, I must have gotten those two mixed up”, he said. “It’s like I’ve said; I can’t say no to you”.

I sighed, and gently laid a hand on the S on his chest. “So… what now?”, I asked. He smiled. “I really want to continue what we started on that bench”. I chuckled and bit my lip. “Ok”.

He slid his arms around me – his tall and broad frame almost enveloping me – and I melted into his arms. His face came close to mine; and the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes; where his striking blue ones, boring deep into me.

He tensed up; and when I opened my eyes again, he was frowning, and turning his head, as if listening.

“I’m so sorry, Red; but I have to finish this”, he said. Another gush of wind; and he was gone. “Seriously?!”, I yelled after him.

—

I made my way down the skyscraper Clark had left me on; where I was met by the sirens of police cars, and people pointing at the sky. I was out of danger – I knew – but no less rattled. I was wearing a pump on one foot, and limping barefoot on the other; until I simply gave up; and took off the shoe – throwing it in a trashcan.

I walked all the way home; confused and dizzy. On my block, people were standing in the streets, murmuring to each other; and looking at the fires in the distance. It was as if there was line drawn through the city. On one side; havoc, and crashed cars – on the other, where I was… nothing. It was as if nothing had been touched.

One of my neighbors tried to stop me in the doorway; noticing the shell-shocked look on my face, and my bare feet. “Were you in that? Are you ok”, he asked. I shook my head. “I’m fine. It’s nothing”, I smiled.

I stumbled into my apartment; threw my jacket on the floor, and grabbed a beer from the fridge – plopping down on the couch.

Well… that was something…

Without anything else to do, I took a large swig of my beer; and turned on the television.

“… explosions in downtown Metropolis this evening; as terrorists connected to the incarcerated Lex Luthor, placed explosives on multiple vehicles, throughout the city…”

Footage of explosions, and scenes of police cars and firetrucks racing down the streets.

“… no casualties, due to the quick intervention of the group calling themselves The Justice League…”

A man who looked like Robocop, pointed at the camera, and the screen blurred. There was a flash of red; and just after it, footage of a group of men captured by a shiny lasso, held by a woman dressed like a Greek goddess. A burning building was drowned in water; and a smirking longhaired man – still hot… – was yelling booyah’s at it.

“… headed by the Batman; and Metropolis’ own Superman…”

I saw the Gotham Knight shaking hands with…

It was Clark. It was always him.

There was a knock at my door. When I opened it Clark stood outside. Not red and blue Superman – just my Clark; dressed in jeans; a plaid flannel; and wearing his glasses.

“Hi”, he said. “Hi”, I answered. “I brought you something”. He pulled out my black pump; the one I had dropped from the air. I chuckled. “Great, now I just need the other one”. He pulled out the other one as well. “It might smell a little. It was laying in a trashcan”. I took the shoes from his hands, and half smiled at him. “I have something of yours as well”, I said, and gave him back his phone, from my jacket on the floor. “Thanks”, he said. “The suit doesn’t really have pockets”.

He clenched his jaw. “Can I come in?”, he asked. I stepped aside, and he walked into my combined kitchen/living room. “You have a nice place”, he smiled. “Thanks”, I said quietly; as I closed the door behind him. His large frame seemed to fill the entire space. “Do you want a beer?”, I asked. He looked at me warmly. “Yeah, sure”. I handed him a cold one. “You can sit down”, I said. “Unless… you pulled a muscle flying me through the sky”.

He chuckled at me, and sat down on my couch. “No, I’m fine”, he smiled. I raised a brow; and sat down on the couch with him – leaving some space between us. “Right; you can lift buildings and stuff like that”, I muttered.

He exhaled, and took a swig of his beer. “Yeah… about that”, he began. “I was going to tell you”. “Why?”, I muttered. “It seems like something pretty big. I get why you’d want to keep it private. Have a… secret identity”.

He frowned. “I wanted to tell you, because I care about you. And I want you to be a part of my life… all of it”. I met his eyes. “Really”. I bit my lip. “You… care”, I said. He reached for my hand; and I let him take it. Our fingers linked into each other. “You’re funny; smart; passionate”, he said. “And you’re beautiful”.

I scrunched up my face in embarrassment. “Ok, now I’m uncomfortable”. “Why?, he said, and stroked my cheek; moving closer to me on the couch. I sighed. “Because you’re… you. The Superdude. You can see every flaw…”. “There isn’t a flaw on your body”, he smiled. I scoffed at him. “I’m serious! Every little thing… the wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re concentrating… how your one hand is a little bit smaller than the other… that beauty-mark on your back…”. “How did you know about that?”, I interrupted. He smiled embarrassedly. “That loose fitting top you wore on our last date. The dark blue one”, he muttered. “I love all of it”. I half-smiled. “There’s actually two of them… the beauty-marks”, I said. “I didn’t want you to think I was creepy for looking”, he smirked.

“You love it?”, I mumbled. He swallowed. “Yeah, Red”, he said. “I mean… I’ve fallen hard for you”. I giggled nervously. “So, this is real…”, I muttered. “I want it to be”, he smiled. “Do you?”. I nodded, and looked at him through my lashes. “Yeah, I do”, I said.

He let out a relieved sigh, and chuckled “Good… Are you sure?”, he smirked. “I could introduce you to Arthur”. I frowned. “Arthur?”, I sneered. “In that case, never mind!”.

We laughed together; before Clarks face became apprehensive. “And…”, he couldn’t form the words. “Your other side?”, I said. He shook his head. “It’s not my other side. It’s me. It’s who I am”.

I squeezed his hand gently, and placed it on my knee. “I fell for you, without knowing everything you were”, I said. “What I know now… just makes you… better”. His eyes lit up. “Really?”, he half-whispered. “Yeah”, I smirked. “Besides; I kind of like how the suit makes your butt look”.

He raised his brows at me and laughed – putting his free hand to my cheek, and stroking my temple. “Oh!”, he said. “Well… yours isn’t half bad either”. I frowned. “Did you x-ray my pants?”, I asked; narrowing my eyes at him. He tightened his lips. “Not yet… do you want me to? I mean… I’m up for it”, he smiled, and moved his other hand up my thigh.

I chuckled; and put my hand on his cheek; pulling him closer. “Let’s do the kissing part first – we can get to what’s in my pants later”, I smirked. “Unless, of course, you have another superhero emergency you need to tend to".

He closed his eyes and listened; then opened them again. “Nah, we’re good”, he smiled; and his lips met mine.

He tasted like apple pie and sunshine.

—

#superman #superman x reader #clark kent #clark kent x reader #superman oneshot #clark kent oneshot

[shireness-says]

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

[isnt-it-loverly]

little birdie (4)// five hargreeves

Warnings: blood

Summary: When Five lands in the Sparrow Academy, he must convince one of them to help him reset the timeline. 

Word count: 1800

Author note: sorry if this is bad, ive been in a rut as of late. Once again thank you so much for all the love and support. I hope you enjoy :)

part one, part two, part three part five

You knocked softly on the door of apartment 217. An elderly lady opened the door with a bright smile on her face. 

“Hello, my little birdie! It's been so long!” She said while pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. The wool of her sweater scratched against your skin, and the smell of freshly baked cookies and wild flowers filled your nose. She pulled away and placed her gaze on Five. 

“Oh, you’ve brought a friend!” She added gleefully. 

“Yes, Granny, this is um… Aidan! We met at the karate class my father has me in,” You explained. You hated lying to such a sweet old lady, but you knew the truth would be too much for her to understand. Plus you really didn’t have the time to explain everything. 

You turned back to Five and have a shrug of your shoulders. He was right, he didn’t need a normal name. Five was just too fitting. She moved closer to him and grabbed his cheek, making him very uncomfortable. 

“You’re father is just terrible for making you kids do that! Look how roughed up the pair of you are, come inside and we’ll get you cleaned up” She said solemnly. 

Five walked beside you and grabbed your arm firmly. Pulling you to the side he whispered a quick “what the hell” in your ear. 

“She thinks she’s my grandma,” you replied bluntly, “just go along with it.” 

Five sighed in exasperation, this was not helping him find his siblings. He followed you into the apartment begrudgingly, trusting that you were not just yanking his chain. The old woman excused herself and said she would bake a fresh batch of cookies. After she left you grabbed his sleeve and whispered, “follow me.”

You lead him into a side bedroom. It was small and quaint, very homey compared to the academy. 

“Remember when I said that I’ve lived a million lives? Gertrude was one of my first, I got stuck in her mind for weeks, and I learned a lot about her. Her husband died right before I got trapped in her noggin, so I switched some memories then added some new ones. I’ve been visiting ever since,” You explained. 

“Do your siblings know?” He asked, worry dripping in his tone. 

“Not to my knowledge, I don’t think they’d appreciate me having a life outside the academy,” you answered with a shrug. 

Five was utterly perplexed by you. You were an enigma, so eager to trust others, so kind, and selfless. How did you end up so different from the others? He watched as you opened a drawer of the cedar chest that was in front of the bed. 

“Sometimes, I like to take things from the people I’ve been. Just as little reminders. I think I have some clothes in here that might fit you,” you said with extreme focus. You pulled out a tee-shirt and jeans, something Five was not accustomed to. He turned his nose slightly.

“I’d rather choke on my own tongue than wear that,” He groaned. 

You shook your head in annoyance, pulling out a set of clean clothes for yourself as well. You enjoyed civilian wear, it made you feel normal and secure- something your academy uniform could never. 

“Just put on the damn clothes before I make you short stack,” you snapped back. Your eyes glowed s brighter blue for a moment and Five now knew he didn’t have a choice in the matter. 

“At least turn your back,” he grumbled in response. 

You gave him a small laugh and did as you were told. You crawled to the other side of the bed and slipped on your new clothes as well. After a few minutes, Five gave you the clear. 

“Wow, unknit that eyebrow and wipe that frown off your face, and you look almost normal,” You said with a smile. 

It was true, he looked like a regular ole teenager. Something you know that he has never been. You give him a look over before your eyes stop at his forearm. An umbrella tattoo, of course, he would have one. 

Five noticed you staring, he followed your gaze to his arm. He lifted it so you could see it better, and an ever-present scowl on his face. 

“Do you have one?” He asked. 

You nodded solemnly and pushed up your sleeve. You placed your arm against his, the bird and the umbrella practically touching. You wondered why your Father loathed them so much and then it was quiet for a moment. 

“The houses of Capulet and Montague,” you spoke up in a mocking tone. 

“I didn’t ask you to betray your entire family,” He said. His voice was deep and rough, a sense of anger could be detected. 

“No, but you really twisted my arm showing me the whole apocalypse thing. I’m an empath idiot, your feelings became mine,” You were quick to snap back. 

Five liked that about you. You were nice and helpful, but you also knew when to stand your ground. He could compare you to a coin, two different sides yet well balanced. A perfect equilibrium. 

“I’ve helped you,” you murmured, “now I think you owe me.” 

He raised an eyebrow at you, curious and intrigued at what you were going to say. 

“I’ve only done this once and it didn’t end well. I need you to keep me grounded, do whatever it takes to get me back. My father believes that I can project my consciousness onto someone without looking into their eyes, so I’m going to try to do that to your sister, Allison,” you explained. 

“You said it didn’t end well? What happened?” Five asked, very concerned. 

“It takes a lot out of me, I couldn’t get into anyone’s mind and it almost killed me,” You confessed. 

��I’m sorry, did you say killed?” He responded wide-eyed. It warmed your heart that he was at least concerned about you. 

“Look, do you wanna find your family or not? Unless you have a better plan?” You asked with a slight raise of your voice. 

Five shook his head, knowing that this was the best plan You sat on the plush bed, curling your fingers around the soft comforter. You took a shaky breath and closed your eyes tightly. Running the fabric between your fingers you counted every stitch. You pictured his sister’s face in your mind, paying extra intention to her eyes. Five watched intently as you did, he was worried about you- you were an important asset and a powerful ally. It would be a shame if you died. Your eyes opened abruptly and to Five’s amazement and horror there was just white and a soft blue emanating from them. 

When you opened your eyes again to find yourself sitting at a kitchen table. Looking up you see Allison sitting across from you, intently reading the newspaper. If she was there, then who were you? Looking down and the palms of your hands the words ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye’ were splayed across them. 

“Well shit, I’m the pretty one,” You mumbled to yourself. Although you were very glad and very surprised that you had managed to pull this off, you would have to thank your father for the extra training the past few months. 

“What are you on about now, Klaus?” Allison said utterly unamused. 

“Actually it’s number five. Not your Five, the other five. Sparrow Five. Ya know what I’m rambling, I’m (Y/n),” You spit out quickly. Holy shit this man’s brain was fried. Everything was happening at a million miles an hour, you couldn’t keep up.

You watched as her expression changed, she stood up abruptly in the same fighting stance Five had used earlier. Her eyes watched you like a hawk and if looks could kill you’d be dead. 

“Your family killed my brother, now I swear if you harm one hair on Klaus’ stupid head. I’ll end you,” She spat venom dripping in her words. 

“He’s not dead! Five is very much alive, and we’re looking for you guys. So all we need is an address and we will be on our way,” You replied with a smile. 

“Yeah right, why would I trust you?” She questioned. 

“Look, Five is hurt really badly. This astral possession thing is gonna knock me on my ass, I won’t be able to protect him from my siblings. If you don’t help us, well, we’re both already dead,” You said in a somber tone. 

 You could tell that the gears we’re winding in her head. You felt a pain in your head that radiates in your chest, you coughed slightly and blood appeared on your hands. Shit its starting, you couldn’t stay much longer. You felt blood begin to slowly drip from your nose. Double shit with a cherry on top.

“What are you doing to him?” She yelled.

“Allison,” you choked, “he needs you.”

“Fine, just stop whatever you are doing to him!” She yelled in fear of her brother, Moments later she revealed the address, perfect that’s all you needed. Now you could get back and share your triumph. 

You closed your eyes tightly and the world began to spin. Round and round, faster and faster.  Until finally, you felt your legs give out but you didn’t hit the floor. You opened your eyes slowly to find yourself in Five’s arms. He was looking down at you, fear present in those emerald eyes. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank God, you started pouring out blood like a fountain. I thought you were dead,” He scolded. He sounded like an old man when he spoke, it was almost endearing. 

You touched your nose and wiped away some of the fresh blood, staring at it intently. You felt so weak, that was too much and you vowed never to do that again. The cost was far too high. You sat up and you felt Five’s hand on your back- ready to steady you if you need it. You had really scared him, he didn’t know why. He had just met you, so why did the thought of losing you hurt so badly.

“I did it,” You mumbled hoarsely. 

“Did what?” Five whispered in a soft voice. The tone was foreign even to him, but right now he felt like you needed a friend and not a sarcastic asshole. 

“I found them, I found your family. They aren’t far from here,” You breathed out. 

Five hugged you tightly and gave you a sincere thank you. You hugged back gently, you couldn’t remember the last time someone hugged you. It was a feeling you could get used to, warm, secure, and safe. You also couldn’t remember the last time you felt any of those things. Perhaps these umbrellas weren’t so bad after all.

“Come on,” You said breaking away, “let’s get some of those cookies, hit the road, and get you back to the right timeline.”

Taglist: alexander-hamilhoe

#number five #five x reader #five hargreeves #number five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #number five x you #five x y/n #five #Umbrella Academy #The Umbrella Academy #tua #aidan gallagher

[kenkamishiro]

Jack Jeanne Playthrough Part 3 (April 5)

1 month later. April 5th in the VN. Kisa is at Univeil and excited she passed the entrance exam. She runs into her childhood friend Yonaga who's also been accepted. He's shocked that Kisa is attending too, but before she can explain Suzu joins them, introduces one each other.

Quartz's theme is "transparency" where many inexperienced performers who haven't specialized yet tend to go.

Onyx = Jacks whose forte is in dance.

Rhodonite = Jeannes who specialize in song.

Amber is where talented and unique students gather.

Suzu theorizes Kisa would be in Rhodonite because of her appearance, himself in Onyx because his physical abilities make him more suitable for dancing than singing or acting. Yonaga would like to be in Quartz.

Yonaga: Quartz...would be nice.

Suzu: I get what you mean!

Yonaga: Huh?

Suzu: Tbh I enrolled in Univeil cause I really admire Tachibana Tsuki, the legendary Jackace of Quartz!

Kisa: ...!

Suzu: That's why I wanna be in the same class as Tachibana Tsuki...come to think of it, your last names are the same.

Kisa: (If people find out I'm related to Tsuki-nii, it might make it even easier for them to discover my identity...! But it might be better than lying poorly...)

Kisa: It's true. It's the same (nonchalantly)

Yonaga: ......

Suzu: Maybe you guys are distant relatives!

Kisa: *nervous laughter*

Yonaga cuts in and says they should go check which class they're in. Kisa thanks Yonaga for the save. Their year is the 78th class of Univeil. All 3 are in Quartz.

Kisa gets called to the headmaster's office.

Chuuza congratulates her and informs her about her admission. The only ones who know that Kisa is a girl is him, Quartz's homeroom teacher Enishi Rokurou, and now Yonaga, Kisa's childhood friend. Chuuza is surprised that someone who knew about Kisa enrolled in the school.

But if anyone else finds out that she's a girl, expulsion. But since a lot of students are feminine, she won't have to go out of her way to act and dress like a boy. He reminds her to build trust with the rest of the students, and aim to become a lead and aim for the top.

Kisa arrives to Quartz's homeroom late.

??: Yes, yes, come right in.

Kisa: (The teacher...? But he's in a student uniform.)

??: You were called in quite loudly during the school announcements. Did you run into any issues on the first day? Theft, robbery, manslaughter, extortion, coercion, or a bank robbery, perhaps...?

(Please watch the clip of this scene. Can you tell he and Furuta share the same VA? 😄)

Fumi: No one like that would be in our school, Kuro.

??: But wouldn't be great to have such a plucky 1st year around, Fuumin! All the world's a stage!

Fumi: And, if the cops came?

??: I concede! Law is what keeps society together.

Kai: ...you two are bothering the 1st years.

Kisa finds a seat by Suzu and Yonaga.

Neji Kokuto (3rd year, 76th class of Univeil) welcomes the 1st year students to Univeil and Quartz. Class leader-slash-scriptwriter-slash-director-slash...all kinds of other things! He provides an info-dump about Univeil for us.

5 performances in total: Rookie, Summer, Fall, Winter, and Univeil Exhibitions. The Rookie Exhibition is where the 1st years take the lead roles, which is going to be held May 30th. Today is April 5th, so less than 2 months remain. Most viewers will watch over them warmly,  but others will be more strict, like journal reporters, critics and avid Univeil fans. Neji will write a script to allow even novices like them to shine on stage. Casting will be announced mid-April. Upper years are also participating and support the 1st years.

Neji: If you have any questions, all you need is to ask. I'm sure all our seniors here will be more than happy to help you.

??: What, no way.

Neji: With some exceptions of course! Mwahaha. Mikki's a 2nd year now, you can be a little nice to your juniors, hm?

??: ...

Kisa notes he looks cute like a doll. Shirota Mitsuki, noted for his singing. He catches Kisa staring at him, and she apologizes.

Neji asks if anyone has any questions. You're given 3 options: 1) How casting is determined, 2) Type of training to be done, 3) No questions.

Casting is based on Neji's subjective judgment. Everything from how they're doing in lessons, campus life, the way they walk, talk, physique, voice, facial expressions. Essentially based on his intuition, which he uses to find gemstones in the rough.

Training I'll explain later, there's gameplay related to it.

Neji finishes his spiel and passes it on to Quartz's homeroom teacher, Enishi. Pretty low energy. Lessons start tomorrow. Class is dismissed.

Suzu meets Kisa outside the Quartz dorms and asks if she's ready to introduce herself to the other students. He notes it's hard to find people since Univeil is so large. They chat for a bit, Suzu asks Kisa to call him by his first name, so Suzu-kun it is.

Inside Yonaga's dorm. He's finished unpacking, though he's still yet to put away his books (on theatre). He asks how Kisa got into Univeil, and she explains what happened. Yonaga says he'll help Kisa to make sure she stays at Univeil. He's glad that Kisa is here with him.

Yonaga: Kisa-chan, about Tsuki-kun...

Kisa: I can't get in touch with Tsuki-nii, but I'm sure he's doing fine wherever he is. 

Yonaga: I see. Yeah, I'm sure he is.

(Isn't that sketchy? Maybe he turned into that weasel with the moon on its belly lol)

Kisa begins her search for the Quartz students. At the Univeil courtyard, Kisa hears Mitsuki singing.

"Within this chest of mine I dance, the rhythm of possibilities"

Kisa: (I'd heard he was lauded for his singing, but he really has a beautiful voice...the lyrics paint the scene in my head.)

Mitsuki: ...could you not stare at me like that? It's uncomfortable.

Kisa: Oh, I'm sorry!

Mitsuki: Oh, you again. The 1st year who came in late.

Kisa: Yes. My name is Tachibana Kisa. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Mitsuki: Huh...you've got a face like a girl.

Kisa: Eh? Y-yes, I suppose so.

Mitsuki: A high-pitch voice. A delicate figure. And a Jeanne at that. At least be aware of your own features.

Kisa: I-I'm sorry.

He sighs and introduces himself. 2nd year, 77th class of Univeil. A Jeanne and a tresor (songstress/diva) of Quartz. VA is Kajiwara Gakuto (Asta). Kisa compliments him on his singing.

Mitsuki: So you were eavesdropping.

Kisa: I-I'm sorry.

Mitsuki: Well, not like I care either way. Later.

Kisa: He left...I guess he doesn't really like interacting with people. But his voice really was beautiful.

(If I had to describe Mitsuki's tone, it would be similar to Kenma, but a bit more antisocial lol)

Kisa finds Kai in the forest, seemingly concentrating on something. She decides to come back later, but Kai notices her.

Kai: ...? Quartz's 1st year?

Kisa: Yes! I'm Tachibana Kisa.

Kai: I see, you're...

Kisa: Yes!

(awkward silence between the two)

Kai: Mutsumi Kai, 76th class of Univeil. I'm a 3rd year.

Kisa: So I should call you Mutsumi-senpai!

Kai: Kai is fine. You can call me that around other people too.

Kisa: But...

Kai: ...

Kisa: ...(agrees)

Kai: ...

Kisa: T-then, I'll call you Kai-san!

Kai: Okay.

Kisa notes Kai is the Jackace of Quartz. And since Tsuki was also the Jackace, that means he must be talented too.

Kai: I'm a vessel meant to garnish the Aljeanne. Nothing more, nothing less.

Kisa is confused by his statement. Convo ends.

Kisa runs into Neji next in the hallways. He enters a room then promptly comes back out.

Neji: Welcome!

Kisa: Ah!

Neji: What're you doing in a place like this?

Kisa: I'm going around introducing myself to everyone in Quartz.

Neji invites her into his workroom where he writes his scripts and plans his staging. But he also performs on stage, any male or female role, from a shining prince/princess to old grannies/gramps.

He's currently working on the script for Quartz, but he won't reveal it just yet. Kisa asks if the other class leaders write the scripts like he does, but Neji is a special case, who screenwrites, directs and performs.

Neji: Once you get carried away, you can't see what's going on around you. What we do has no end to it. Acting, dancing, singing, they're fields that you can pursue for a lifetime. You could reach the stars, or merely end up as a master of none. No matter how much time,  it will never be enough. It's a terrifying world out there. That's why it's so engrossing. The stage is a colossal device. The Jacks and Jeannes make up the gears, and I am the craftsman who pieces them together. Let's create a fantastic stage together, Tachibana-kun!

Neji must continue writing, and wishes Kisa the best for the Rookie Exhibition. (Neji definitely talks the most out of the main cast lol. And fast too, talks a mile a minute and tone varies hugely)

Kisa finds Fumi standing languidly in the middle of the dance room, taking deep breaths before beginning to dance. A Japanese-style dance where his movements are gentle, beautiful and brilliant. He comments on Kisa staring intently at him, just like during the entrance exam.

Kisa is surprised that Fumi remembered, despite the number of applicants.

Fumi: I remember you and the red-haired guy well cause you two danced so terribly.

Kisa: Oh...

Fumi: I'm just kidding. Though the red-haired guy really did suck.

Kisa introduces herself, and Fumi pauses at hearing the name Tachibana. 3rd year Takashina Sarafumi, 76th class of Univeil, but he prefers being called Fumi, no senpai honorific attached. Kisa ends up calling him Fumi-san.

Fumi: Let's have fun, Kisa. (leaves)

Kisa: It's overwhelming seeing him up close. So that's the power of an Aljeanne.

Kisa goes to her room excited for her new life at Univeil and retires for the night for her 1st day of classes tomorrow.

＊＊＊

previous || next (to be updated)

#Jack Jeanne #Ishida Sui #JJ playthrough

[sammystep]

No One Lives Forever- CH7

(AO3 link)

Stardust Crusader Wolf Pack AU

[From the beginning- CH1]

<Previous Chapter   Next Chapter>

It took Polnareff some time to cool off from the implications that the mysterious and frankly frightening man he met all those years ago was now behind some other shady business involving wolves, but by the time he reached the vehicles abandoned on the side of the road he was able to focus on the task at hand. Both were unlocked so it was easy to take a look inside the white van first. Opening the back door revealed the cargo area had been partitioned with metal cage sections like those in the backs of police cruisers.

Other gear was scattered around the back near the rear doors for easy access. Some more guns and ammo boxes and an overturned bin of the collar devices that they found on the bodies. Nothing really caught his eye but he took pictures on his phone for future reference. The keys were still in the ignition so he started up the vehicle and moved it off the main road to not draw unwanted attention.

It felt rude to go sniffing through your car, so after a brief look through the windows to confirm the hunters left no surprises, he opened the door and put it in neutral. With a few strong shoves he was able to rescue it from the shallow ditch it had been driven into. Your keys were also still in the ignition and luckily it started, but a few lights on the dash lit up- probably more internal damage than he first assumed from the crash. Driving slow and steady he was able to get it back to the cabin.

The slamming of the car door must have alerted the rest of the pack to his return, he saw Avdol peek through the window as he made his way to the door. Inside he was glad to see you moving about mostly unaided on your own, your wounds must be healing well thanks to Avdol’s expert care. Producing your car keys, he hands them over, “I was able to drive it back, but I don’t think it’s up for any longer distances without repairs. I thought you would want your things back though.”

You sigh as you realize you really are stuck with this pack, not that you mind them but the sudden loss of freedom is disheartening. You thank him as you take back your keys.

“Pol, did you find anything else? Any link to who sent them?” Jotaro asks as everyone stares intently at him, the rest of the pack must have already been brought up to speed on the situation.

“Just more of the same gear. I moved their van off the road so no nosey troopers get involved, at least not right now. Took some pictures of the inside in case you guys see anything I missed.” Polnareff hands over his phone to Jotaro who scrolls through the images before handing it to Avdol. Walking over to the table where the hunters’ things are still laid out Polnareff absently fiddles with the extra ammo before picking one up to examine more closely. “Hmm, that’s odd. There are no makers marks on this?”

“What do you mean?” Joseph scratches his beard as he holds one up as well.

“It’s weird that there’s no markings whatsoever. Silver bullets are always homemade but the quality of these, they look mass produced but have no manufacture marks.” Polnareff’s face is grim as he makes the connection.

“What does that mean? Is that unusual?” You ask as you try to understand the significance.

Jotaro sighs as Polnareff hands him the piece he was holding. “It means this group of hunters is experienced enough not to leave evidence linking to them. And their operation is probably much more complex and much bigger than the group we encountered here. The tech, the mass manufacture of silver ammo…”

“And the van was modified for prisoners.” Polnareff shakes his head and sighs.

“Polnareff, you said before you recognized the smell of one of the hunters.” Jotaro rolls his eyes as Joseph lets out a fake cough that sounds a lot like ‘DIO’. “Ignoring who it may or may not be for now, how do you know that scent?”

“I don’t know how else to describe it other than it smells like magic. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever smelled. There was only one person I’ve ever encountered that smelled like that.” Polnareff sits heavily in the nearest chair as the pack reconvenes at the table. “It was about five years ago now, before I met you Mr. Joestar. I was in New York City for the first time, trying to follow a lead on a case but having no luck. I heard rumors of a man who knew what had really happened to… in the case.” Polnareff gets a little choked up but controls himself and continues. “I was able to set up a meeting, but when I went to the spot, everything kind of… shifted? It felt like I was in a dream: it was hard to move, like weights on my feet. Everything looked just slightly wrong too, hazy like in a fog. I remember there was some sort of party going on, a lot of people everywhere like a medieval banquet or something. That’s where I met him. He introduced himself as Dio and I could tell he wasn’t human but couldn’t place what he actually was. He claimed he had the information I needed, but it would come at a price.”

“What do you mean by ‘investigation?” you tilt your head in confusion as you try to analyze his story so far.

“Ah, you wouldn’t know yet chérie but I’m one of the best private investigators in New York, probably the whole east coast!” Polnareff brags, jabbing his chest with his thumb.

“Focus Pol! What was his ‘price’?” Joseph groans out, exasperated with the younger man’s need to show off. “And why did you even need supernatural help? Not to inflate your ego any more than it is, but you are a good investigator.”

Polnareff looks down to the table, all sense of cheerfulness gone from his face. “The case had gone cold. It’s actually the reason I became a PI in the first place. My family, the whole town… they were murdered!” He slams his fists on the table as he shouts. “And not by just some maniac in the night! It was something inhuman! That’s the reason why I needed his help or whatever info he had on who did such a terrible act.”

You are frozen to your chair in shock with this new information. It seems to have taken the younger members of the pack by surprise too, Joseph and Avdol only nodding along in understanding. “The whole town murdered? You don’t mean…The one north of Quebec City, that was your home?” you say quietly.

Polnareff’s eyes shoot to yours, “Oui! Do you know of it?”

You swallow nervously as all the attention turns on you, “I heard of it, that was about seven or eight years ago right?” Polnareff nods and you continue, “That was about time I left my parent’s territory to try and find or start my own pack. They made me promise to not go that far north to Quebec, they were afraid whatever did that would get me too. They say the whole town was… torn apart.”

Polnareff hangs his head and you can see tears gather in his blue eyes. “Yes. It’s been years now but the pain… I wasn’t there when it happened, I was off in Quebec City partying while my family… When I got back, I was the one who found them. It wasn’t just a burglary gone bad or even ‘normal’ murder. Whatever killed them had used silver to do it. All of them, the whole town,” he chokes on his words trying to get the next ones out, “some of the bodies were eaten. Not by animals, by something almost human. I didn’t rest for days afterward. I swore I would hunt down the thing, the demon that did this to them. Unfortunately, I was not as good a tracker then as I am now, and the trail grew cold fast. So, I became a PI to try and keep looking and hone my skills.”

“That Dio guy, did he help at all? You said his help came at a price.” Jotaro directs the conversation back to the mysterious encounter.

“His price was too steep. He wanted information about other supernatural beings, to keep tabs and report to him directly.”

“Do you think he really did have the information though?” Kakyoin questions as he steeples his fingers together in front of him while he considers the information of Polnareff’s story.

Polnareff shakes his head, “It’s impossible to know now. He was so confident, about everything. I think I surprised him when I refused though. For a moment, it was like I saw his true face through the fog, he was suddenly terrifying and not at all charming. But I figured if he knew something, with all the people he had surrounded himself with someone else was bound to know as well. Whatever secret knowledge he had, it wouldn’t be secret for long. And why pay such a price for something that I could get for free later?”

“Did you ever find out his secret?” Avdol leans in as he asks, enraptured by Polnareff’s tale.

“Non, I don’t even remember leaving the place he brought me to. The next thing I remember after turning down his offer is, I suddenly found myself sitting in my car ready to head back to my motel.” He clasps his hands together and you can see his knuckles turn white from the tension. “I tried to find him again to, I don’t know… stop him? His intentions for the info on other creatures… It couldn’t have been good. And the slip of his façade I saw. The man, that creature is bad news. But he might have well been a ghost. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.”

Polnareff turns to you, “A few years later I got hired by Mr. Joestar to keep an eye on a shady landlord working for him, and I guess the rest is history.” He shakes his head, “Who would have thought joining your pack would lead back to Dio again. Non- this is fate.”

Avdol gives Polnareff a pat on the shoulder before turning to Joseph. “Mr. Joestar, I think you should tell us what you know about Dio, or at least the person you know as Dio. I think it’s time the younger ones hear this.” Avdol says as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.

Joseph nods and runs his hand through his hair before he begins, “Right. Ahh, well,” he pauses to gather his thoughts for a second, “I know this is going to sound crazy but I guess there is no way around it. When I was young, I lived with my granny Erina, my parents were either dead or missing and her husband Jonathan had been dead since before my father was even born. Now’s not the time to get into the details of that but Granny used to tell me all kinds of stories from when Jonathan was alive. And most importantly- the majority of them involved an evil man named DIO! My grandfather’s adopted brother!” Joseph doesn’t control his volume in his excitement and ends up shouting his last sentence.

“Being an adopted son in a werewolf pack was strange enough, but Granny could tell there was something ‘other’ about Dio as well. Then one night, his schemes and plans finally came to fruition! There was a massive fight at the house, Granny said Jonathan would not speak of it except that his father George had died saving him from Dio’s magic and in the fight the manor was set on fire and burned down. Jonathan made it his life’s mission to find and destroy Dio, not for revenge but for the safety of England and the world!” Joseph turns his attention to look directly at Jotaro, “Dio was a changeling child. His actions confirmed it that night. He was one of the last remaining Fae on earth. And apparently not of the good and benevolent kind. So, you see why it could be possible that this man may be the same one my grandpa tried to destroy more than a hundred years ago.”

“That… that’s impossible! The Fae, they all disappeared long before that to Avalon.” Kakyoin is wide eyed as he tries to process the information. “I know some humans still believe in them, but…”

“I know! I know! I thought they were just stories from my granny too!” Joseph exclaims and puts his hand to his eyes, “But one time… I don’t think I was supposed to see it, but I found an old photo album. There was a family photo of my grandfather, his father, and Dio.” He turns to Polnareff, “Pol, the man you met. Did he have blond hair, angry eyes and three moles on his left ear?”

It’s Polnareff’s turn to go pale as he slowly nods.

Jotaro growls as he tilts his hat to hide his eyes before snapping his head up to face the pack. “As impossible as this all sounds, it doesn’t change the fact that someone is hunting down wolves. I don’t give a shit if it is Dio or not, or an extinct Fae or not. We are going to put an end to this.” He looks around the table for a second and you can tell his eyes linger on yours longer than the others. “If anyone has an objection to this say it now. There will be no opportunity later.”

Joseph slams his hand to the table palm down, “I’m in! lets show this bastard who he’s messing with!”

Joseph’s enthusiasm is contagious and you and Polnareff slam your hands to the table as well, surprising the group with the fire they can see burning in your eyes. “Hell yeah! They think they can just take me? No way! I’m going to help tear this guy to pieces! I’m with you all the way!” You say as you look directly at Jotaro. You’re not sure but you think that’s a look of pride on his face as you make your declaration.

Avdol and Kakyoin keep their cool but you can see the determination in their eyes as they nod and place their hands on the table as well. Joseph is grinning like a feral maniac and you suddenly believe his stories about saving the world with how excited he looks to do it all over again. “Then it’s settled! I’ll call Caesar and let him know to gather the Zeppeli pack too.” Joseph pauses as he stands and looks at you, “Oh, and (Y/N)?” you tilt your head at him to continue. “Welcome to the Joestar pack.”

 <Previous Chapter  Next Chapter>

Author’s Note:

Sorry for the slow update! Guess who’s not good at regulating her personal time? This gal! I had to change up the process of how I’m writing this cause just trying to type on my computer had too many distractions and next thing I know I’ve been playing Stardew Valley for  3 hours.

Anyway, I have a favor to ask- I need a name for one of the dead bad guys. So leave a comment with a first name for the guy from Jersey, can be a bad ex, terrible boss, friend you want to embarrass by getting their name in a fanfic (first names only please- no doxing!)

#jotaro x y/n #jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo #joseph joestar #jjba polnareff #noriaki kakyoin #muhammad avdol #jojo part 3 fiction #stardust crusaders #jjba fanfic #werewolf #family pack #pack dynamics #fanfic #jjba au

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summery: Tom is not entirely sure of how it happens. But one moment he’s the gardener of Locksley Hall, and the next he’s run off to marry the lords daughter. A girl he despises.

Well, sort of.

Warnings: Smoking.

A/N: this is (loosely) based on the Locksley Hall poem by Tennyson, but the relationship between them is pretty heavily inspired by Atonement by Ian McEwan (the first part of the book) and the story at large also slightly inspired by Downton Abbey.   Also, I’ve changed the law in this. As I understand it (from watching Downton Abbey) girls could never inherit the estate, no matter if she was married or not. Here you will inherit, but only if you are married and it will then go to your husband. Also, I was listening to Old Money – lana del rey the entire time I was writing this. 

-

Locksley Hall, England – 1920.

It’s June, and Tom finds himself praying for rain.  

It’s one of those summer days when the air stands still. Not a whiff of wind, no breeze in the trees, not a cloud in the sky. Just an ever-pressing, inescapable heat that seems to paint the whole world a hazy golden shade.  

He’s knee-deep in the earth, sweat running down his back, shovelling soil under the merciless sun. It’s midday and the warmth is intolerable. He can already feel the blisters he’ll have on his hands tomorrow. To top it all off his head is pounding and he reminds himself to give Harrison a good kick in the chin the next time he sees him; for convincing him that one more drink wouldn’t hurt.  

And god, he desperately wants a cigarette.  

“God, it’s hot today” Madeleine’s bored voice drifts out the open window. “One can hardly think straight”.

Tom lifts his head and observes her through the glass. The owner of the voice is in the conservatory. Wearing a lace dress and her dark curls perfectly pinned into place. She is primly drinking tea alongside her mother; safely hidden away from the beaming sun.    

He swipes the sweat from his forehead before shovelling the spade further down in the dirt. A sudden urge to throw some of the earth through the conservatory window hits him, just enough to dirty up her white gown. But he resists it. Instead he sits down by the flowerbed and leans his pounding head against the wall. His sore muscles scream in relief. Lighting a cigarette, he then closes his eyes and inhales deeply. The whole world goes white as the sun shines through his closed eyelids and a soft sigh escapes him.  

“Have you received any more letters from Sir Hatfield?” He hears lady Locksley inquire from inside.  

“What, James?”  

“Yes, of course James, has he written you again?”  

“Thankfully not”.  

“Oh, don’t be silly child, he’s the owner of Hatfield house! God knows you could do worse than him” Lady Locksley scolds her oldest daughter. Despite himself Tom’s interest is peaked, so he keeps smoking and listening to the conversation, ignoring his gardening duties.  

“But he’s such a bore” Madeleine whines in response. “Honestly mother, all he ever talks about is hunting. And Hatfield house is a terrible building, you know I can’t stand Tudor architecture. Plus, James is ancient.”  

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s not ancient, he’s ten years younger than your father.”  

“Exactly, and I’m two-and-twenty years old!”  

“Oh, do be quiet, you’re very lucky he’s shown any interest in you at all. I have talked to your father about this. It’s high time for you to get married. Ever since Francis…” she trails off and Tom knows why. Francis had been her oldest child and only son, the one set to inherit the land and the title. Who had died in the war during the battle of the Somme. Tom had known Francis and had not been fond of him. Upon hearing about his death he’d wondered if the heir had been shot by one of his own, though he did not air this suspicion. Tall and handsome Francis may have had been, but he had also been entitled, rude and unkind to animals. He’d beaten his horses, screamed at the servants and taunted his sisters.    

Lady Locksley continues with a new air of authority in her voice. “It’s more important than ever before that we find you a good match. You know what’s at stake if you don’t marry and marry soon”.    

Silence for a second, and unease is setting like lead in Tom’s stomach. Maybe this isn’t a conversation he should listen in to.  

“Yes, I know.” The words sound heavy and reluctant in Madeleine’s mouth.    

He opens his eyes and discretely as he can he pops his head up to sneak a look through the window. The look on the young heir’s face strikes him. It’s not sad, nor angry or dismayed. It’s apathetic. Like she’s somewhere far, far away.  

“Boy, I thought I told you to start digging!” Bertie Higgins voice booms over the grounds as he crosses the corner of the building and walk towards Tom, who quickly puts out his cigarette.  

An elderly man, with bushy beard and eyebrows, a bit too fond of beer and with fingernails so dirty Tom wonders if they’ve ever been cleaned, walks towards him. Mr. Higgins has worked as the head gardener on the grounds of Locksley Hall for longer than anyone could remember.  

“Sorry Mr. Higgins, I just took a breather” he says before putting out his cigarette and picking up his shovel again. Mr. Higgins observes him for a moment, then he leans in closer and whiffs of the beer the older man had for lunch hits Tom’s face. “Listen, boy” he says in a low voice “no good will come from spying on them gentle folks, hear me? No good will come of it”.

“Mr. Higgins I wasn’t -” Tom begins to defend himself but the gardener pats his shoulder and continuous in his stern voice. “Is no use lyin’ to me, boy, I’m too old, I’ve seen too much. You’ve been sniffin’ after that young heir since you came back. ’s no use lad. Them folks are not for the likes of us, above your station she is, well above your station.” Tom wants to protest. For he has most certainly not been sniffing after anyone, least of all Madeleine Locksley, but Mr. Higgins continues. “Now Alice,” he says and pats his shoulder again “she’s some good maid she is, why not ask her out?”  

Alice was indeed a maid at Locksley Hall. Pretty and always ready for a laugh. She’d made it perfectly clear of her interest in him too. There was however a streak of pettiness to the girl that he wasn’t too fond of, and therefor he’d reclined her thus far. But he doesn’t particularly feel like sharing that with Mr. Higgins.  

“Now boy” Mr. Higgins goes on. “You had your breather, go back to diggin’, if I told you once I told’ you a thousand times, you dig when the sun’s out and the dirt is dry an’ you water when the sun’s gone down”.  

Tom goes back to digging, the sun burning his neck, and his joints already protesting.  

He doesn’t notice Madeleine’s brown eyes observing him from within the conservatory.  

***  

The bathwater has gone cold. Still, she stays in the water. The prospect of putting down her book and getting up and ready for yet another family dinner seems dull at best. The rose-scented cold water feels refreshing against her skin. Today really had been unbearably hot. 

Still the heat lingers in the air.

Outside the bathrooms leaded windows the last rays of daylight are lighting up the grounds. Though the light in the gardener’s cottage is already lit.  

Dropping her copy of Pride & Prejudice to the floor she sinks further down into the water. Leaning her head back against the edge of the tub she closes her eyes and sighs.  

She’d just gotten to the part in the book where Elizabeth refuses Mr. Darcy’s proposal and it had annoyed her. How Elizabeth could refuse Mr. Darcy and all his possessions, and it didn’t lead to despair and desolation for her entire family, instead, as if by the waving of a magic wand, everything worked out beautifully in the end. That wasn’t real life.

Everything was annoying her today. Her mother’s persistent nagging, her father’s detachment, granny’s constant complaining. Tom’s strong arms wielding a shovel. The cotton shirt sticking to his sweaty back, the suspenders holding up his muddy trousers.  

She sinks further down into the cold water.  

Tom had looked annoyed today as well. But then again, he’d seemed permanently aggravated ever since he got back from France, at least in her presence. She’d seen him laugh plenty of times with Harrison from the pub when she visited the village, and with Alice too. He’d even crack a smile from time to time with Mr. Higgins. But her presence always seemed to put a frown on his face.

It had not always been this way.

As children they had played. They had explored the woods like travellers discovering a new world. Had run over the poppy fields pretending they could fly. They’d made it down to the sea and Old Sailor Joe had told them stories of Odysseus, and his long journey home. They’d sneaked out and slept under the stars and he had told her all of what Mr. Higgins had taught him about botany. Of how the things we sow in the ground with time will grow. About which flowers could kill you, and which ones could heal.

They had shared secrets and kept them between themselves, solemnly sworn blood-oaths with all the seriousness of a promise between children. They’d sworn that whatever happened between them stayed that way. That his secrets were hers and she’d keep them to her grave, and likewise for him.

Then she’d been sent away to boarding school and he had gone to the village school and that had been the end of that. During the holidays so much time had seemed to have passed between them that it was hard to pick up the threads of childish games where they’d left them. Then, war had broken out and she’d been sent to live with relatives in Canada, and Tom, well, Tom had joined the army.

Once they’d seen each other again years had passed, and they were strangers to one another.

The last evening light shines over the grounds of Locksley Hall, but Madeleine doesn’t move out of her bath, instead she stares out the window, feeling no motivation to move.  

Everything is fleeting, that was what she kept feeling. The hours, the days, the weeks, the months and years. Time passed her by so rapidly and yet all the days looked the same. She felt like a leaf landing in a river, being swept away with the stream with no control of where it was going or were it’d end up. Soon, she would be married, most likely to dreary James Hatfield, and then they would settle in Hatfield house and she would never spend her days roaming the grounds of Locksley Hall again.

Or maybe, she wouldn’t marry, and upon the death of her father and in the lack of a male heir, all their lands and possessions would go to the crown, and they’d all would be left with nothing.

A scream works itself larger in her throat. It had started earlier that day, with her mother in the conservatory. It would only grow larger, and larger until she wouldn’t be able to hold it in any longer. She knew this much from experience.

It felt like this,

In school they’d been taught about diamonds, about how with heat, pressure, and time diamonds are formed to something so unbreakable and everlasting that only another diamond can cut it. She’d imagined how all the screams she’d held inside, pressed between two lungs, over time created so much pressure that they’d turn her insides into diamonds.

As a child she and Tom had snuck into the library one night. In a book of medical terms they’d found the word autopsy with the description:  “An examination of a body after death to determine the cause of death or the character and extent of changes produced by disease — called also necropsy”. Not understanding much of this they had searched the other medical books until they found a more thorough description of what the word meant.

She had been horrified upon finding the truth in all its bloody glory. How, upon one’s death, a pathologist would cut you open to see what they could find. Painted pictures of the procedure followed, and Madeleine is still certain that the image of a cut open human heart is imprinted on her retinas forever.

She imagined it like this,

When they cut her open they won’t find veins, or blood, or intestines. But instead a cloud of smoke as they’ll tear her up, and inside –

dust. 

And a diamond heart; at the living core of which a handful of secrets shared between children years ago were kept. And the pathologists will look at one another and ask themselves, ‘why did she walk around with a diamond heart for all those years?’ Not realising, that her diamond heart was a perfect symbol of her.

Beautiful and valuable.  

And essentially useless.

The door to the bathroom bursts open, and a very aggravated eleven-year-old girl stands on the threshold. Her cheeks are flushed red, not only from a day spent playing in the sun, but from barely held-back rage.  

“That hag!” she bursts out. Her curly, brown hair a mess, wearing a grass-stained dress. A big hole at the sole her left sock.

Madeleine finally steps out of the cold water, pulls on her robe and turns to Beatrix.

“Beanie darling, you know you can’t call people that. Now, what has happened?”

“She told me I’d only be fit to marry a sailor the way I look! And then she had the nerve to say that I was lacking manners! Just because I told her I’d love to marry a sailor, at least he wouldn’t be such a bore!”

The older sister tries to hold back a smile, not wanting to encourage this kind of behaviour. “Would we perhaps be talking about granny?” she inquires.

“Do we know of anyone else that fit the description absolute hag?” her little sister answers, hand on her hip, clearly still annoyed. “Also, she says I have to change for supper in the nursery, god knows why; I’m hardly trying to impress nanny, and that they are waiting for you downstairs.”

And thus, it is time to face the unavoidable and join the lion’s den. Madeleine steps into her adjoining bedroom to get dressed and Beatrix follows closely behind.

“You’ll never guess who she suggested you should marry” Beatrix continues, amusement in her voice, as she sits down at her sisters dressing table, inspecting the bottles of scent and jars of powder with a bemused look on her young face.

“Was it by any chance James Hatfield?” Madeleine answers as she steps into the blue frock Alice had laid out for her earlier.

Beatrix stares at her sister in incredulity and in a heartbroken voice she wails with disbelief in every syllable,” OH, surely not! Leine, you can’t marry him! You simply can’t!”

Benie and Lenie were the affectionate nicknames the sister had for one another. As a child Beatrix had not been able to say Madeleine, but instead only pronounced the latter part of the name and dragged the vocals out into a ‘leeniee’ every time she called out for her.

“Well, he hasn’t proposed yet, so nothing is set” Madeleine answers while avoiding her sister’s questioning eyes, inspecting her hair in the mirror instead.

“So that’s why they’ll have a ball then, I was wondering what called for such an occasion”. 

“A ball?”

“Yes” Beatrix states, inspecting her own freckled, sunburned face in the mirror. “Mommy told granny that they would have one as soon as possible”.

The scream works itself larger in Madeleine’s lungs.

“Oh, well. It can’t be helped” she says and leads her sister out of the bedroom. “Now, you really do need to change, or nanny will be furious with you, and I’ll have to join them downstairs”.

The bedroom door closes behind them as they leave.

***  

The late evening air is loaded with the scent of rhododendrons. In the trees the nightingales sing, and the summer air feel cool against her bare arms as she steps out into the night.

Carefully, as to not be seen from any of the windows, she makes her way across the garden. It is dark, but on her childhood paths her feet still knows where to tread. She walks past the house, the gigantic rhododendron bush, and along the pathway lined with pink geraniums, down the trail past the summerhouse by the lake and further still until she arrives at the fountain by the labyrinth. The deep green hedges are lined with powder pink hydrangeas, blue hyacinths and cardinal red peonies. In the middle of it a square with a fountain. And if you look past that, the entrance to the labyrinth itself. 

If she had walked further still, away from the labyrinth, she’d come to a wide field of poppies. Had she, instead of walking north from the house, walked west she would have ended up by the sea, and the cliffs and Locksley Bay. East of the house laid the road to the village, and then the road to town. South of the manor the forest grew.  

She doesn’t go through the entrance of the labyrinth but sits down by the edge of the fountain. From her pocket she picks up a package of Woodbine cigarettes, but when she goes to light it, the lighter only flickers.

“Need a light?”

She nearly falls into the fountain, taken by surprise by the familiar voice. Tom laughs and walks out of the shadows. Hands in pockets and hair a wild mess.  

“Wanker!” she burst out, heart beating painfully hard in her chest.

“Now, now, where did you learn a word like that?”

He’s so smug, and it’s making her skin crawl with anger. She ignores his question and ask, “did you follow me here?”

He moves closer still, until he’s right in front of her. Then he takes out his lighter. She puts the cigarette in her mouth and he lights it for her.

“No” he answers eventually. “Was just finishing up watering the peonies.”

“You water the peonies in the middle of the night?”

He lights a cigarette for himself and blows out pearl white smoke into the summer night before he answers. “Yeah, as Mr. Higgins keeps telling me. You dig when the soil is dry, otherwise you’ll shovel mud, and you water the plants when the sun’s gone down and the soil is cool, or you’ll just end up boiling the poor things”.

She looks at him, really looks at him; while he’s busy looking up at the moon. His white cotton shirt is filled with stains of earth and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, a worn linen jacket thrown over his shoulder. Worn suspender holds up his muddy pants. His brown locks frame his face perfectly and in the moonlight his skin, tanned from working out all day, seems to almost radiate. He looks positively angelical. A sudden urge to pull her fingers through his hair overwhelms her. 

She looks away.

The nightingales sing louder than ever in the silence, as do the buzzing insects. Somewhere in the far distance a fox screech.

“You know” he says, sitting down on the bench opposite the fountain, leaning back he spreads out into a relaxed position. “Whenever I hear a vixen’s cry I think about Gideon’s ghost.”

“Well, you are the inhabitant of Gideon’s cottage”.

When, or indeed why, the gardener’s cottage on Locksley Hall had been baptised Gideon’s cottage no one seemed to know. Not even Old Sailor Joe, and rumour has it he’d been guarding the boats in Locksley Bay since the first wave crashed against its shore.

But the gardener of Locksley Hall had, for as long as anyone could remember, lived in Gideon’s cottage.

As a child her older brother had frightened her with tales of Gideon’s ghost, and how he still roamed the grounds of the manor, still volatile over long forgotten quarrels. When ever she’d hear a fox’s cry at night, as they laid tucked up in their shared nursery, he’d told her it was the ghost of Gideon, seeking out small girls to take out his revenge on. She had been terrified.

When she’d told this to Tom he had lost his temper with her brother, the two had never gotten along, and he’d taken the older boy to the ground, punching him with his small fists until a furious Bertie Higgins, who’d seen the quarrel from across the yard, had pulled him off him. Madeleine knew Tom had gotten a trashing from Mr. Higgins for the attack and a stern telling off from her father.

“I love that old cottage” he says with a found smile on his face, blowing out more smoke into the air between them. “But I’m yet to see his ghost. ’s a shame really, would have asked if the legend was true about gold being buried at the cliffs of Locksley Bay”.

She smiles, and the nightingales keeps on singing. The scent of peonies and hyacinths is heavy in the air, despite the smoke.  

Tom observing her with an intensity that unnerves her, so she turns away from him to look down into the fountain. Slowly she lowers her hand into the cold water and she watches as the goldfish swim around her.

“Why are you out here smoking at night?” he asks, and she turns to back to look at him, pulling her hand out of the water. He’s still observing her, and she feels almost naked under his glance, despite the silk gown she’s still wearing from dinner. It makes her nervous when he looks at her like that, because underneath their easy tones of conversation, she’s not actually sure he likes her all that much. She shivers, goosebumps all over her naked arms.  

“Here” he says and throws her his jacket. She utters a thank you and pulls it on. It smells of earth and smoke, and fresh cut grass. It smells like him and her diamond heart beat harder in her chest.

“Papa doesn’t like me smoking in the house.” She answers in the end.  

In fact, her father was against her smoking at all. It was a habit that had begun at Talbot Heath boarding school. Smoking with the other girls behind the gymnasium. They’d practised smoking without coughing, feeling mighty smug when they succeeded.

But smoking was, as it had been pointed out to her by her father, ‘not a dignified habit for a woman of her class to partake in’. When she’d gotten back from Canada after the war they’d have words about the subject. In the end the general agreement was that she did not smoke in the house, or amongst other people. She didn’t always follow these rules. There were days when all she did was sit in her bathroom, smoke cigarette after cigarette and read books. A part of her wanted to walk around the house and leave a trace of smoke in every room. Like a ghost, reminding them that she is still there. But a deeply rooted respect, verging on fear, of her father has always kept her from doing such a thing.

Tom hums in reply, that smug smile on his face again. “And what’s dear papa to say about this then? Hmm?” He nods at her, sitting just a meter away from him, wearing his jacket. “Princess sneaking out at night to share a smoke with the gardener?”

“Oh, do shut up”.  

“You know you really have improved your vocabulary since we last spoke” he replies dryly, “must be all that reading”.

“How do you know I read so much”.

And maybe it’s a trick of the moonlight, but she swears he blushes, his cheek the colour of peonies. “I can see the light in your window from my cottage at night”.

“Oh, and you’re keeping tabs on me? How sweet!” You reply in a mocking tone, grateful that you get the chance to be smug for once.

“Well, it’s hard not to notice it” the annoyance is clear in his voice. Then he changes the subject. “What are you reading so late at night anyway?”

“At the moment, Tennyson”.

He groans, “of course you like Tennyson” he scoffs, puts out his cigarette and lights a new one, offering her one as well, which she accepts.

“What’s wrong with Tennyson?” She asks, indignant.  

“Nothing I guess” he responds, “unless you’d like to read about things other than knights and fair maidens”  

“He did not only write about knights and fair maidens!” She defends fiercely. “He wrote about love and loss and death and privilege and -”  

“Oh, he wrote about privilege, did he! Well, you know all about that, don’t you? Little miss ivory tower”.

“And what do you read then? What is so good it makes Tennyson look foolish to you?” She tries to keep her annoyance out of her voice, but its difficult, especially when he looks at her like that. Like he finds her laughable.  

“Recently? Mostly Gorky.”

“You always did prefer your literature Russian. You’re politics too if Alice is to be believed.”  

He smiles, a little less condescending this time, “and you always loved your poetry, and no, she isn’t”.

“You must like some of the poets, surely?”  

“I’m rather fond of Shelley, actually”

“And the sunlight clasps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea:  what is all this sweet work worth, if thou kiss not me?” she quotes, not considering the implication of her words until they’ve already left her mouth. It had always been her favourite poem, and the words fell from her lips so effortlessly. But the intensity in his eyes as he observers her seem to change the very air around them. It is as though the whole world stills, if only for a moment. Like the nightingales and the foxes and the crickets all have heard her, and quieted down, in suspense over what’s to happen next.

He stands up and puts out his cigarette. Looking away from her he suggests, “we should head back, it’s late. I’ll walk you”. So, she puts out hers as well and follows him, and in silence they head back to the manor house, each avoiding the others eyes.  

She pulls his jacket closer to her.  

Then, he stops in his tracks. “Look,” he says and points up at the night sky “Andromeda burns bright tonight”.  

Already as a child he’d been good at recognising the constellations. Many a night they had sneaked out and wandered off to the poppy fields where they’d laid down their heads, and he had pointed up to the sky, just as he was doing now, and taught her to read them.  

“Andromeda, who was tied to the rocks, to be eaten by the sea monster Cetus?”

He nods, but doesn’t look away from the sky, “but Perseus rescued her”.

“And you criticised Tennyson for writing about knights and maidens” she teases.

He looks down at her then, a smile tugging the corners of his lips. They start walking again, his hands in his pockets, looking at the road ahead.  

“So, what did your dear Tennyson write about privilege?”  

“That opportunities are only given to those with riches already” she answers, and then she quotes, “every door is barr’d with gold, and opens but to golden keys.”

Tom is silence for a moment. They’re nearing the end of the road; they’re by the rhododendron bush, and they’ve reached the points were they have to walk their separate ways.  

She removes his jacket and hands it to him.  

“Keep it, for now. You can give it back later, you’ll freeze.”

“No” she argues. “No, Alice will see it and wonder”.

He doesn’t argue with her on that point but takes the jacket from her outstretched hand. “Well” he says, awkwardly. “See you around, Lady Madeleine”.  

They part ways.  

***

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