#I love how poofy his jacket parts are

[sysig]

Bowtie Charm! Inspired by @zarla-s​‘ super cute rendition hehe 💕 (Patreon)

Bonus collar breakdowns:

Changes depending on the doodle!

[ladykailitha]

Everything I Ever Wanted Part 3/4

Hello! We're almost done with this lovely story just one more to go.

It's chapters like this that make me wish I was a better artist so I could draw Steve's wedding clothes. But alas, I'm not so I can only hope I described it well enough.

The wedding/bonding ceremony of the century. Steve and Eddie being absolutely gooey for each other and their shared rut/heat. And with the heat comes sexy times so mature fun ahead.

Part 1 Part 2

****

Steve and Eddie’s bonding and wedding ceremony was the event of the decade everyone from royalty to who’s who in film, music, and sports all wanted an invite.

A world famous rockstar bonding to a wealthy and glamorous former escort?

Yeah, everyone wanted a piece of that action, but sadly they were all out of luck. It was an intimate affair where only their closest friends and in Eddie’s case family were invited to attend.

Jim and Joyce Hopper stood in for Steve’s parents (he didn’t even bother to invite the Harringtons) and Wayne stood in for Eddie’s.

All of Steve’s friends were there. Nancy and Jonathan’s younger brothers, Mike and Will. Lucas and Max were there, of course. With Erica in tow. Dustin, too. Nikita was there, too. Steve insisting on it after their lunch together. She had brought her boyfriend, a beta actor who looked at her like she was the sun.

Steve was happy for her.

Robin was his maid of honor with Jeff as Eddie’s best man. Chrissy and Elinor rounding out Steve’s side of the aisle and Gareth and Brian rounding out Eddie’s.

Everyone had been expecting Steve to wear a dress being an omega. But Steve surprised them all. He wore white, skin tight pants that had a poofy train attached at the waist, a white lace bodice with a sweetheart neckline. It was daring and provocative. Steve loved it.

Eddie was standing at the end of the aisle in a leather jacket over a white button up that was only buttoned up halfway. His skin tight pants were tucked into leather boots. He had on all his chains and leather bands and bracelets.

His groomsmen were all dressed similarly, but Steve’s bridesmaids were all in silver sheath gowns. Well except Robin. She was a grey suit that was like Steve’s white suit but without the train, and with a black bodice instead of grey.

The fashion mags would have been scandalized for sure, but Steve refused to conform for anyone. He had spent too long under societal pressures and wasn’t going to let society dictate what he wore to his ceremony.

Jim walked Steve down the aisle and handed him off to Eddie.

The officiant gave the usual spiel on the importance of the bond and how like marriage it is a commitment not to be taken lightly, then he veered off script a little as spoke of Eddie and Steve.

“Never before have I seen a couple so deeply and categorically in love with each other as these two people,” he said. “In their case the bond isn’t just a next step. It’s the next step. The only step left in their journey together.”

Steve and Eddie looked at each other so fondly that the crowd all cooed.

A single tear slipped down Eddie’s cheek and Steve gently wiped it away.

“Do you, Edward Nicholas Munson take Steven Aaron Harrington to have and to hold through bond and matrimony, sickness and health, hardship and success?”

Eddie squeezed Steve’s hands. “I do.”

“And do you Steve Aaron Harrington take Edward Nicholas Munson,” he said turning to the omega, “to support and sustain through all that life may take you both?”

“I do.”

“Then I now pronounce you as husbands and bondmates. You may kiss each other.”

Steve and Eddie leaned in for a chaste but deep kiss.

A cheer went up and Steve and Eddie parted with great reluctance.

White and black confetti went up as they walked back down the aisle arm in arm, their groomsmen and bridesmaids falling in behind them.

****

Once they got to the reception Robin helped Steve remove the train from the back of his suit so that he could move around more freely and put on a tuxedo jacket over the top of the bodice to match Robin’s suit.

Everyone came up and congratulated them. They cut the cake, they had their first dance.

The one thing they didn’t do was the tossing of bouquet and garter. Steve’s outfit precluded a garter and he didn’t want to lose his bouquet that way.

The food was good, the alcohol flowed freely, and everyone had a good time.

It wouldn’t be until after their honeymoon that Steve would learn that his parents had tried to crash the reception, but security had handled it so well, that no one had known until after the event.

Steve and Eddie had planned everything down to the minutest detail. Including having their wedding and honeymoon before their shared heat and rut.

They had actually wanted to enjoy themselves and not be mindless fuck machines.

They opted to spend three days at a lovely castle nestled in the Scottish Highlands and then two days on Welsh beaches.

When they came home, they had found that Robin and Jeff had made sure they had everything they needed for their fuck fest as Jeff kept calling it. Robin called it their reat. An unholy combination of rut and heat.

Steve hated it.

So of course Robin refused to call it anything else.

Steve’s nest had been painstakingly been put in Eddie’s bedroom, new items being added from Elinor, Chrissy, and Jim and Joyce Hopper. Eddie’s comfort items had already been integrated before the wedding.

Steve collapsed happily into the folds of his nest without even so much as taking off his shoes.

Eddie snorted and swatted playfully at Steve’s ass. “At least take off your shoes, you brat.”

Steve chuckled and rolled over to do just that. Then he removed all of his clothes. Just shucked everything off.

Eddie was about to say something snarky when Steve’s scent reached his nose.

His spicy chocolate scent had become sweeter and spicier then it normally was.

He reached between Steve’s legs and found that, yup, his husband was slick and open.

Steve threw his head back and moaned. Eddie licked his lips and manhandled his omega further up onto the bed.

“You already starting without me, sweetheart?” he growled into Steve’s ear.

“Hit the lights, baby,” Steve groaned in response. If his heat had come early then Eddie’s rut would no doubt be right behind.

Eddie lowered the lights and closed the drapes, then got undressed. As soon as he crawled onto the bed, he could feel his skin tighten and heat up. A sure sign his body was reacting to the omega in front of him.

“I need you so bad, Eddie...” Steve groaned, his back arching off the bed.

Eddie spread Steve’s legs and settled between them. He rubbed his hands soothingly over Steve’s sides and thighs until his body relaxed enough for Eddie to line up and pressed in.

The omega cried out in utter bliss as his alpha’s cock slid all the way in. Steve jack knifed off the bed as pleasure hit him.

Eddie rubbed his hands over Steve’s abs and stomach. “Is it too much, baby?”

Steve wanted to immediately answer no, to shake his head, to demand Eddie to just fucking move! But he forced himself to actually take stock of what his body needed in that moment. Just like he would force an alpha in their rut to do the same.

He let out a shuddering breath and then another.

“I never knew it could feel like this,” he huffed, more than a little breathless. “I know why us escorts aren’t allowed to spend our heats with alphas, but holy fuck I was not prepared by how intense it actually is.”

Eddie continued to brush his fingers lightly over Steve’s overheated skin in soothing circles. He was glad his rut hadn’t hit yet, so that he could be present for his omega’s first heat with him, instead being overtaken by lust.

“I’m going to start slow, Stevie,” Eddie murmured. “I promise it’ll get better once I get moving.”

Steve gulped but nodded.

“Uh-uh,” Eddie said wagging his finger. “Words, baby.”

“Yes, honey. Please move. I need it. I need you!” he blurted, before he arched his back again as pleasure hit him with another wave.

“I’ve got you.”

Eddie started with small, easy movements because while Steve was used to normal and rut sex, heat sex was not in his wheelhouse as it were. Once Steve got used to the smaller movements, Eddie ramped it up to longer and faster thrusts.

“Oh, Eds...” Steve moaned as the friction began to build up heat in his lower abdomen.

“You feeling good?” Eddie asked, reaching out to cup his cheek gently.

All Steve could answer in response was to turn his head and kiss Eddie’s palm.

Eddie melted from the sheer tenderness of it all. He had a lot of sex. Had even done so with a couple of alphas in his early days when he was experimenting with his sexuality before he decided it was men first gender and omega second gender for him. Betas, too, he supposed. But definitely not alphas.

But in all those encounters, he had never felt this warmth between his partner and him.

It was something he didn’t realize he craved before Steve. That love and connection. And holy fuck did he get it from Steve in spades. Even when Steve was still working as an escort, he never let Eddie think for a moment that he wasn’t completely and totally in love him.

Flowers waiting from him in his dressing room after a concert. Food delivered to his hotel room when he was just too tired to go out. Little text messages with just heart or a kiss.

Eddie devoured the attention like a man, starving.

And now with this beautiful creature below him, soaking up his touch and reveling in the pleasure Eddie was giving him?

He was in paradise. Heaven. Nirvana. Elysium. Didn’t matter what you called it, Eddie was there with this ethereal being who was begging for his knot.

Just pleasure bubbling out of those perfect lips.

And who was Eddie to deny this man anything? He buried himself deep into Steve, his knot blooming just past the opening, locking them together. Suddenly he was coming and coming. It felt like it wasn’t going to stop.

But it did and Eddie was spent. Not just sexually, but physically exhausted too. He laid down on Steve and just murmured inanities into his omega’s ear.

Steve wrapped his arms around him and caressed his back and hair, telling him what a good strong alpha he was. Eddie’s inner alpha purred. It rumbled deep and happy.

Steve’s omega chirped back, sated and serene.

****

It would be several days before they were both aware at the same time. It was then when Eddie decided to do the bite.

They both had about a day left in their cycles and there was no better time for it.

Steve got down on all fours, presenting his ass to Eddie in the most delicious way imaginable. Eddie lined himself up and gently slid in as he had the first time, but now Steve was ready for the wave of pleasure that took over him the second Eddie entered his body.

Despite all the sex they had had over the week, Eddie knew he wasn’t going to last long. He gingerly pulled Steve up so their bodies were flush against each other.

“You ready, Stevie?” he asked into the crook of Steve’s neck.

Steve nodded, all ready breathless from the pleasure sending wave after wave through his skin.

“Okay, baby,” Eddie murmured. “It might sting for the first little bit, but your endorphins will quickly override the pain and it’ll feel like you’re high.”

“Oh god,” Steve huffed. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s–”

He was stopped short by Eddie starting his thrusting. He had one hand on Steve’s hip and the other arm draped over his shoulders to keep them as close to each other as possible.

The knot formed quickly and too soon Eddie was filling up his pretty, little omega’s cunt. Steve’s head dropped from the sheer instinct and Eddie bit down on Steve’s soul patch as the area was called. It would send the bonding chemical right to Steve’s brain, and his blood mingling with the saliva in Eddie’s mouth would when swallowed would bind Eddie to Steve. It takes longer for the alpha to bond to omega as it has farther to go, but it would be as strong for either one of them.

Some alphas had tried to cheat the system so that omega would be bonded to them, but they could fool around with other omegas by not being bonded to the one they bit, by trying not to swallow. There were even some sketchy products that came out in the early 1960s that claimed to prevent the blood and saliva from being swallowed. But the claims were bogus because there would always be some remnant left on the teeth or under the tongue and all it would take would a swipe of the tongue and a swallow and they were bonded anyway.

Eddie licked up the blood on the back of Steve’s neck, his saliva during knotting producing a healing component to close the wound. As the process neared the end, Steve gasped and suddenly he was coming too.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Eddie cooed. “You did so well. I love you so much.”

Steve came again, his body shaking with the strength of his bond to Eddie. He could feel it alter his brain chemicals. Eddie lowered him onto the other side of the bed so as to not have him face plant into his own cum.

Eddie cleaned Steve up and then when he was able to stand, cleared off the bed and put down clean sheets. One of the few times they’d been able to do that over the course of their cycle.

Once done they laid down on the bed and cuddled.

“How do you feel, baby?” Eddie asked, running his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“Those faux bonds are fucking liars, love,” Steve growled. “I thought this would be just more intense versions of that. But no. This is real in every way I never thought possible. Everything is brighter and clearer. I feel like I’m floating and I don’t want to ever come down.”

Eddie chuckled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “So good then?”

“Fucking fantastic!” Steve chirped.

Suddenly Eddie had a lap full of horny omega and he couldn’t be happier.

“Hey, babe,” he murmured sweetly. “You ready to go again?”

Steve responded by grounding their cocks together. Eddie threw back his head with a high pitched whine.

“Yeah, Stevie,” he gasped. “Just like that.”

****

The next morning they woke up both heads clear of their cycle and wrapped up in each other’s arms.

They showered and ate and puttered around their kitchen, cleaning up after themselves.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Eddie asked as Steve made a list of food they would need to replenish.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck where there would be a bond mark showing the world that he was taken if he ever wanted to cut his hair. The mark was warm to the touch and he traced each indent of Eddie’s teeth.

“I feel good,” he murmured. “Safe. Contented.”

Eddie smiled up at him with that closed lip smile he only ever bestowed on his omega.

“Everything you ever hoped for?”

“Everything and more.”

****

Part 4

Tag List:

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @redfreckledwolf @emly03 @itsall-taken

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369

​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi

@maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666

@carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch

@yikes-a-bee @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @scheodingers-muppet @y4r3luv

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @irregular-child

@nburkhardt @apomaro-mellow @yellowdevilkitten @eyehartart @mangoinacan13

@demolvr @ellietheasexylibrarian @rememberthatiloveyou @slowandsteddie @r0binscript @alyelf

@melodymeddler @mogami13 @annabanannabeth @disrespectedgoatman @manda-panda-monium

@lexirosewrites @lawrencebshoggoth @lingeringmirth

[ghostofthemost141]

Welcome Home Simon

Pairing: Ghost x Soap, Third Person POV

Word Count: 2,601

Themes: !18+! for Suggestive Themes but nothing Explicit, Fluff

About: Johnny welcomes home his significant other after a long and grueling mission.

Notes: I am starting to get into this pairing a lot, they just have so much chemistry with each other and I was heavily inspired by the lovely @wispscribbles and their art 'Welcome Home Simon' to write this so thank you for giving me permission to write this!! I enjoyed doing this. For some reason, this music fits with the theme of this fic so of course I was listening to it the whole time I was writing it. And this is also a situation where Simon is in the military and Johnny isn't. Enjoy!!

The soft distant boom of thunder that occurred every few seconds was enough to keep him awake. Even though it was nearing two o’clock in the morning, he knew it was worth it to see the one he loves the most. Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish never thought this would be his life. A year ago, he was working in a dead end customer service job. He wanted something more in life. It was miserable getting up just to go to a job you hated so much. His life was essentially on repeat back then. Get up, go to work from nine am to five pm, come home, eat some cheap dinner, watch some stupid soap opera show he secretly enjoys, take a shower, go to bed, and then rinse and repeat. Johnny knew there had to be something more to his life, he just wasn’t sure where to look. One day, after work, he decided to try this local new coffee shop that opened up. As he entered, there was a little line but he had all the time in the world to wait. He was not in any rush. 

“I'll just have regular tea, please.” 

Tea? Who the fuck orders tea at a coffee shop? Johnny thought. It was the man in front of the line. The first thing he noticed about the man was how tall and broad he was. Johnny was pretty fit himself but this man was huge. The man wore a dark navy jacket with gray jeans and regular tennis shoes. The second thing he noticed about the man was his thick British accent. Johnny himself was Scottish and everyone always giggles when he starts to talk, simply because of the way he pronounces and says some words, and while it doesn’t bother him for the most part, he can’t help how he sounds and where he is from. The man paid for his tea and stepped to the side to wait for it. Johnny was one more person away from ordering a coffee. But for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of the man who ordered tea at a coffee shop. Johnny was surprised to find the man wearing a skull mask that concealed his face apart from his eyes. His deep brown eyes scanned the entire shop, eventually landing on Johnny who immediately looked away, feeling a little flustered he was caught staring. The man was given the tea he had ordered and he turned and walked out of the coffee shop. 

Wait..is that his wallet on the ground? 

Johnny stepped out of line and approached the lone, leather wallet that was on the ground. He opened it up to find an ID card and a military ID card both issued to Simon Riley. So that’s his name. In the regular ID, Simon Riley had short, poofy blonde hair, the same deep brown eyes, and light skin. It has to be his, just from the eye color alone. Maybe he could catch him, he couldn’t have gotten far. Ditching the coffee all together, Johnny closed the wallet and sprinted out of the coffee shop, his eyes scanning outside to find the masked man walking down the street. 

“Sir? Sir?!” Johnny called out to the man, hurrying up his pace. 

The masked man turned and faced him, relieved that it was indeed the same man who was in the coffee shop just moments ago. 

“You..” Johnny paused, catching his breath from sprinting, “you dropped your wallet in the shop.” 

The man took the wallet from Johnny, examining it to confirm if it was his or not. 

“Thank you.” The man thanked Johnny and was starting to turn and leave when Johnny remembered the military ID card. 

“Are you in the ‘milatree’?” Johnny asked. 

Simon was amused by Johnny's accent. 

“Yes.” Simon plainly answered. 

“Oh that's nice. My cousin is in the military too. I didn't mean to snoop but I had to check and see if it was ‘our wallet before I chased you down.” Johnny explained himself. 

Simon understood and appreciated Johnny's act of kindness. Most people are turned away by him due to his appearance but this Scottish man was the first to not be. In fact he wanted to have a conversation with him. 

“I appreciate you returning my wallet.” Simon thanked him. 

And from then on it was history. Johnny and Simon kept bumping into each other in town to the point that eventually Johnny asked to hang out with him. Although Simon was reluctant at first, he agreed. From then on, both Johnny and Simon grew close. Real close. Johnny was the first to get feelings and he pushed them away. He didn’t even really have a real reason to have romantic feelings for Simon. He has always had girlfriends. Granted they were never anything serious or lasted long, but for some reason, Simon was special. He has never felt this way about any man or anyone in general. His heart would race every time he would think he saw him, his leg would start bouncing if Simon sat too close to him, he would chew the inside of his cheek if Simon prolonged eye contact for too long, and his palms would get sweaty if Simon brushed his hand on his leg. When they were out with friends, Simon always insisted on sitting next to Johnny. Johnny didn’t understand why he was having these feelings for Simon. He figured this phase would past eventually and maybe just maybe he just had an infatuation for him and looked up to him. It wasn’t until one night when Simon brushed his hand on Johnny, a little too down low, and Simon immediately felt it in his pants. He tried to hide it, but he knew Simon saw it. He had to have. That confirmed it for Simon. He was in love with Simon. He didn’t understand why but he did. He loved Simon. 

And then Simon told Johnny he would have to be deployed again for another mission. 

Present Johnny was glad he did it, but Past Johnny didn’t understand why he did it. Simon invited him over to his place to hang out before Simon would have to leave early in the morning. He had it in his mind to confess to Simon how he felt, in fear he would get killed in combat before he ever got the chance to do so. So he did. He told Simon how he felt. 

“I don’t know why, I feel this way about ‘ou. But I love you, Simon.” 

For a moment, Simon was silent. His deep brown eyes pierced into Johnny’s bright blue ones. It was then that Johnny started to regret what he did. 

You stupid focking idiot. Why would you do that? 

The thoughts stopped when Simon lifted up his mask, just enough for his lips to be out,leaned in and placed a passionate kiss onto Johnny’s lips. Johnny immediately latched back, feeling romance and lust take over immediately but he managed to hold himself together to avoid hurting or making Simon uncomfortable. He didn’t expect that night to go as far as it did, but it very much did to the point were Simon was worried he would get a noise complaint. But it was the best night of their lives. They both thought that. 

“So dis whole fucking time, you were teasin’ meh?” Johnny asked the scruffy blonde man. 

“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t.” Simon teased back as Johnny rested his head on Simon’s soft but muscular chest, feeling loved for the first time ever in his life. 

The next day was hard for both of them. They didn’t care that everyone was watching as Johnny gave Simon a ‘Good luck’ peck on the cheek. Even though Simon couldn’t give a peck back due to all of the gear on him, he instead bumped his forehead onto Johnny’s. Simon didn’t care what the rest of the team thought, whether they were supportive or not. Turns out they were supportive, but he wouldn’t stop being relentlessly teased the whole time. The first time Simon came back home from a mission, Johnny had a warm and hearty dinner ready for Simon. Of course, Simon was surprised, but very much appreciated it. And that’s what Johnny did every single time Simon came home from a mission. During the day he would work at his carpentry job that Simon got for him and then come home and make sure the place was tidy and would be ready for Simon to come home. He missed him when he was out on missions, but it only made their relationship stronger. 

And that is exactly what Johnny was doing right at this moment. Simon already warned Johnny ahead of time that he would be flying in really late due to their original flight being canceled. Of course, Johnny insisted and still prepared a meal for him, despite making it hard for him to stay awake. Just as he was drifting off on the couch, the door swung open. 

“Si?” Soap tiredly called to him. 

“I’m ‘ere, Johnny.” Simon responded as he approached the couch. 

Johnny smiled at Simon as he pulled his mask up to his forehead, his handsome face being put on display for Johnny. 

“How was your flight?” Johnny asked as Simon approached him. 

“Bloody fucking lovely.” 

Johnny chuckled at his sarcasm. 

“Take all that gear off, love.” Johnny suggested as he went to grab Simon’s tactical vest. 

“At least take me out to dinner first.” 

Johnny broke out into a chuckle, leaning his head onto Simon’s chest. Simon was significantly taller than Johnny so he was always at perfect eye height at his chest, which is Johnny’s favorite pillow. 

“I promised I did cook some grub.” Johnny said, not moving his head. 

Simon ran his fingers through Johnny’s mohawk. He could tell Johnny missed him a lot. 

“How was your mission?” Johnny asked as Simon led Johnny to the couch. 

Simon laid down on his back and Johnny laid down on his chest, wrapping his arms around him. 

“The worst we had in a long time.” Simon said. 

“I’m ‘orry, Simon.” Johnny apologized. 

“Ain’t your fault, Johnny. I’m just happy to be home.” 

Simon had felt instant relief when he entered their home they both had bought recently. They bought it a couple of months ago and it was perfect for the two of them. When Simon first got with Johnny, he had walls up. While he too had feelings for Johnny, he was afraid of letting him in. He wasn’t afraid to show his face almost right away to Johnny. In fact, remembering that moment always puts a smile on his face. It wasn’t like a ‘grand reveal moment’ he just took it off in front of Johnny one day and Johnny wouldn’t stop staring at him. 

“What? Do I have some shit on my face?” 

“No, not at all. You’re just..” 

Johnny could barely put the words together to describe how he felt. But one things for sure, he had hit the jackpot. 

“Just what?” Simon asked, afraid of what Johnny would say. 

Johnny just approached Simon and smashed his lips onto his. After a moment of lust, Johnny finally managed to find the words to say. 

“You’re just stunning, Simon.” 

Simon chuckled to himself, remembering the moment. 

“What’s so funny, aye?” Johnny asked. 

“Nothing. Just remembering the time you first saw my entire face.” 

Johnny’s face turned pink once Simon said that. 

“I assume for a good reason righ’?” 

“Yes of course.” Simon reassured Johnny. 

Johnny just held Simon tightly, fear of him disappearing. 

“I thought about ‘ou every single day.” Johnny commented. 

“So did I.” 

Johnny smiled to himself, knowing that Simon loves him as much as he loves him. Things were kind of awkward when they first got together only cause neither of them had ever been with a man before and they were still getting to know each other. But now they know for sure that they love each other very much. 

“Dinner is in the fridge.” Johnny softly told Simon. 

“Is it alright if I go get it?” 

“Of course, love.” 

Johnny moved first so Simon could get up. As Simon was in the kitchen, Johnny got into his own thoughts. Everyday he wakes up not believing that this was his life. Some days it feels like a dream. He couldn’t believe he had gotten so lucky. So damn lucky. Johnny was always afraid that his Captain would be at his front door instead of Simon, but he is thankful every single time Simon is the one who shows up. But there’s always that chance that the next mission he goes to could be the last time he sees him. Even though they always spend as much time as they can together before he gets sent off again, Johnny feels as though there’s always that off chance that something could happen to Simon. Anything could happen. Johnny knows that Simon is the one he wants to be with for the rest of his life. He still gets flirted on and hit on by many women and even though it makes his ego bigger, he always turns them down, happy to inform them that he is happily taken. He just wants to actually have physical proof of it. The kind that rests on your finger. 

“Fuck it.” Johnny mumbled to himself. 

Johnny got up from the couch and marched over to Simon. Before Simon could even get a word out, Johnny grabbed him by his vest and pulled him into a kiss. Simon immediately melted into the kiss, his food leaving his mind that very second. One hand went into Johnny’s mohawk and the other on his hip. Both of Johnny’s hands stayed on Simon’s chest as he pulled him even closer, deepening the kiss. Something was growing intensely inside both of them and they both knew it well. Simon was the first to pull away to get some air. 

“Someone missed me.” Simon smirked at Johnny. 

“I can say the same about ‘ou.” 

Simon laughed, giving Johnny a light peck. 

“Let’s get married.” 

Simon’s eyes went wide when Johnny said that. 

“Really? You wanna get married to me?” Simon asked Johnny. 

“Fucking ‘ell, yes I do. There’s always that chance that you may not come back home alive. I want to do everything with ya Simon. I love you.” Johnny poured his heart out to him.

Simon felt his heart racing. He has never had someone pour their heart out to him like that, let alone demand to get married. He never thought his life would end up like this. Never. But he was happy, very happy. 

“Johnny..” Simon started.

Johnny perked up, waiting to hear what Simon had to say. 

“It’s going to be bloody fucking hard deciding whose last name gets changed.” 

Johnny knew that was Simon’s way of saying yes. Johnny hugged Simon tightly, just so damn happy. 

“Quit stabbing me, Johnny.” Simon remarked. 

Johnny’s face turned beet red, forgetting about their ‘predicaments.’ 

“Let’s go take care of that.” Simon seductively said. 

“But Simon, you need to eat.” 

“Eh, I ain’t that hungry.” 

Johnny placed a kiss on Simon’s lips, just high off of his love alone. The food got cold in the microwave, the storm raged outside, the sun was starting to peek through the windows, but neither of them cared. They only cared about each other and that is all that matters to them.  

END

[morninkim]

the gang's all here!!

now we're just missing team rocket 👀

inspired by kianamai's redesigns!!

design notes and lil musings under the cut!

Ash takes a lot from Pokespe in terms of his proportions (at least how the early chapters look in my head) and some cues from the newer movie designs bc i LOVE those, especially the one from Power of Us. So ya I also wanted to give him a big poofy jacket bc of i remember seeing an interpretation of Red's original sprite as a big jacket as well and i think it suits Ash a lot. The style was kinda early One Piece inspired at first, so there's just a big of Luffy in Ash's design, but I think it ended up more Digimon Adventure in the end lmaoo. The nose bandaid's to just elevate that rookie protagonist feel a lil bit + I spent way too long figuring out a new hat symbol lmaoo. He's also 11 in this world to match Red's age in RBY.

Pikachu I just wanted to draw him like Red's Pikachu in Special and give him the lighter coloured tummy from early artwork.

Misty's the biggest departure obvs but I knew I wanted to give her a crop hoodie and take inspo from Kiana Khansmith's Misty and give her the wetsuit as an undersuit. Then the chunky shoes were carried over from Ash with big scrumpled socks bc I thought it made her look a lil more unkempt. The whole goal was the make her more scrappy looking and focus in on the whole "Tomyboyish Mermaid" thing from the games. Also combined her RBY hair with her GSC do by making it a half-up ponytail that I think is very cute. OH and her shoes are Cerulean Gym branded, bc I imagine in this world there's merch for each Gym that the leader wear, so the wet suit and hoodie would be branded too. The hoodie's just cropped above the logo and the wet suit's logo's covered by clothes. She's about 12, so a lil older than Ash and does not let him forget it.

For Psyduck, I wanted to make him a lil fluffier and ugly-duckling + incorporate the three lil sprout hairs he's got a lil more to suit the style. He also has a neck now, you just can't see it super well here. He's just a fluffy lil duck who hurt a lot. Poor lil guy :((

Brock was pretty straight forward, I kinda wanted to reference his Sygna Suit from Masters with pants and a tank top, but made the pants into cargo pants that can be unzipped into shorts (he's thinks its the coolest thing in the world. He wears hiking boots to go over rougher terrain as a Rock-type Leader and hunt for fossils bc I like that aspect of his game characterization so I carried it over here, and he wears an armband with Pewter Gym branding. His tiny lil facial hairs are all he can grow at the moment bc he's still like 15 as usual, but he thinks it makes him look ~Older, Maturer & More Sophisticated~ so refuses to shave it.

I wanted to incorporate a lil more Geode Dude into Geodude so I changed his colours a bit and added parts where the outer layers of the rock have kinda chipped away in battles to reveal the crystal underneath + added the eyebrows from Alolan Geodude. I imagine it's like, the more outer layer gets chipped away from a Geodude, the closer they get to evolution. I do not at all know what this world's Graveller or Golem would look like but I think I'd canonise the theory of Machoke and Graveller taking aspects of the other when traded and make them kinda like Karrablast and Shelmet in a way.

Broad plot strokes are just these guys would exist in a version of the indigo league w an expanded kanto dex to include all related mons + variants, so stuff like Electivire and Annihilape and Alolan Exeggcutor would exist in there without much fanfare of ~Woahhhh Newly Discovered Pokemon~. Regional variants would be found on the Sevii Islands. Maybe there'd be small type changes too idk. Like pure Rock Geodude that gain Ground on evolution bc Gravel-ler. idk who knows I'm just spitballin. Essentially just a lil more closely following the Game's story, I guess. Less wacky loose adaptation stuff from Indigo League. Not bc I don't like that stuff, just bc it's not what I'd do.

I figure like, there'd be an interlude short arc that takes place in the Sevii Islands just after the Vermillion Gym where Ash would catch a Galarian Farfetch'd and all forms of Paldean Tauros instead of like, 100 Kantonian Tauros, and be introduced to Legendary Pokemon through a quest to track down the Galarian Legendary birds (then find out others can be found back in Kanto). Naturally he'd use the PC system (maybe adapted as some kind of daycare or something, or maybe just a teleporter to Oak's lab like the main anime) and have a couple more than 6 team members to rotate out as needed. Also. Mega Evolution would be a factor bc I think it'd be cool, so Ash gets to Mega Evolve Charizard into Mega Charizard Y.

OH also just for funsies, I'd split the starters across the trio, so Ash gets Charmander, Misty gets Squirtle and Brock gets Bulbasaur.

Basically Ash would end up with more or less the same team from the original series, but with added Annihilape, Sirfetch'd, Paldean Tauros and Mega Charizard Y. I also think I'd add Dragonite from Journeys and make his Gengar the Haunter he befriended that would follow him in secret after helping him beat Sabrina and evolve in the Cinnabar Mansion + officially join his team there.

Squirtle would evolve into Wartortle with Misty and Bulbasaur would stay in the same stage with Brock like Ash's.

I'll come up with and probably draw everyone's main teams at some point later but. ya. that's my piece!

[moonspirit]

Hi Moon!! I hope you are well! I was wondering if you have any image refs for Jean, Pieck and Gabi's outfits! I'd love to visualize what you had in mind for them! This chapter was AWESOME!

Hello stella, how are you!!!

Thank you for asking T///T Jeanpiku's + Gabi's clothes in Ch 36 of VBEOW were actually inspired by the Norwegian Bunad.

For the most part, Jeanpiku are dressed in something like this:

With some variations tho. Pieck's "waistcoat" is described as curving right below her bust, therefore obviously a bit more fitting than the one in the above picture. She isn't wearing a shawl or a headpiece. The skirt is described by Jean as being "poofy" too, however I didn't actually think of it being too poofy, perhaps just a tad more than the above.

With Jean, it's more or less the same as above; the "shirt" he's described wearing having "... loose sleeves narrowing in decorated cuffs around his wrists..." are hidden under the embroidered vest and jacket.

I hope to feature more traditional costumes from other parts of Europe in later chapters tho!

[berensteinsmonster]

Just remembered I like drawing so here's the two of them :)))) I like their current redesign now the colours look so good by themselves and with eachother heehee

info dump on their perspnalities cuzzzz errrmm i realized i havent explained much abt them

Butterflyguy "Butterfly"

INFP-A

She/He/They

A social butterfly, usually has a small group of friends they like to flutter on by to. Enjoys being an extrovert but isn't much of a talker, prefers the personal time spent with other people and just likes being with his peers.

Their hobby includes painting and traditional arts. They like drawing full body portraits and is often doing bold strokes when it comes to the canvas. She's complete dogshit when it comes to digital works tho lmao

Likes wearing sweaters :) Usually wears things given by his friends

Likes fruity smoothies. And cooked pork blood. Anything with sugar is part of their appetite.

Cannot fly with his wings tho. They just simply flutter as he emotes and stuff.

Planetman "PM"

ISFJ-T

They/Them

A desolate planet, usually orbitting around public libraries or community parks. Enjoys being an introvert but doesn't like being completely alone, if ever they make a friend then that person is going to be their very best friend ever.

Their hooby includes being a writer and a poet. They like writing prose poems and using unconventional writing styles, the words they write seem to flow together seamlessly and create strong emotions within the text. They can never seem to find the right rhymes when it comes to traditional poems tho. Doesn't help that they don't really have a mouth to speak with ayways.

Likes wearing BIG. POOFY jackets. It's a comfort item for them. Short shorts all the way.

Doesn't have a preference when it comes to snacks, as long as it's there, good enough. (How does one without a mouth eat? Let's not worry abt that)

They put that flag on their head themselves. It's doesn't hurt them. It's just an accesory like how one wears an earring

How they met... I like to think they had a little meet cute, probably at a library or somethin. they were walking in the same direction (Butterflyguy was too busy scrolling through his phone for some inspo pics while PM was reading through their notes app) when suddenly.... BAM! They bumped into each other. They both apologize while smiling sheepishly. Yes yes. PM was a bit more flustered at having embarassed themselves for not looking but Butterfly said it was ok :) Butterfly then invites PM to a fast food chain he's going to since he and his friends are all pitching in to eat lunch there. PM is nervous, declining at first since they said they didn't have any money, but that just makes Butterfly even more insistent to join since "oh no it's okay we'll pay for your food plus if you don't have any money then you should totes come along so you cna munch on something to eat!" And since then. PM has orbitted around Butterflyguy's friendship circle too, eventually gaining friends of their own, and getting more closer to Butterfly than they had originally intended (becuz now they're togehter in love wink wink)

^This is still a work in progress so I'm nto sure if it's gonna change or what. But I just want their story to be simple cuz they're just a silly cute couple to me and i just like making weird looking characters with average af stories lmao

But erhmm yeah thats it for now lalalallala :))))))

[itsjustelian]

Ranpo's Dress

Part five of BSD men in dresses I design!

As always, design choices are below the cut :>

And we immediately fall back into more informal dress territory with Ranpo, who is possibly the least informal man in the series. It's a more poofy and whimsical dress because Ranpo is a fun person.

Since he lacks an actual ability I gave him a jacket on top of his dress to mimic how he puts on an act about having an ability.

The flowy part at the end of the jacket sleeves is because he knows how he doesn't have an ability anymore and is more open about it.

The jacket kinda looks like his whatever-you-call-it that he wears usually. But it's more fun in this.

Can you tell I like putting men in heels yet?

The bag in the big drawing is there for two reasons. One: it fills space and his dress was looking empty in the drawing. Two: Since he doesn't have any means of defending himself ability-wise, Fukuzawa probably makes him carry around some sort of self-defence weapon in case he's separated from his protection (*cough* Train navigator *cough*). He also probably carries around candy and one of Poe's novels inside. Hell, Poe's novel could be his self-defence.

Light-coloured accessories cause he's a good guy, and I can't see him willingly joining the bad guys or having inherently bad intentions.

The last member of the ADA we're doing is next. Everybody get ready for our lovely main character, Atsushi!

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

https://youtu.be/_QJHdovVj-M

https://youtu.be/wPayLGgx_8E

https://youtu.be/4GHe5BPb6Yg

https://youtu.be/ELRHD4UCo74

https://youtu.be/CemnaJclmoQ

https://youtu.be/sz4ebLGNUn0

https://youtu.be/tK8YleEhYCI

https://youtu.be/b6AA0qWI4dQ

I CAN HEAR THE GRAAAAASS GROOOW

this was one of my favorite ones of sweet's covers on the radio session things, which was the first version of this song i heard.

i am loving this whole entire outfit:

his movements omg. and the way his feet are sliding around the stage. i love it.

flowers in the rain omg the sparkly shirt jacket thing.

i'm obsessed with these parts:

okay fire brigade

NECK CHAINS?

sfhsdghs the way he moves:

omg the drumstick at the end.

blackberry way, MORE SPARKLY AND IN COLOR

i'm laughing at the drummer's shirt and how poofy it looks

curly, omg double flutes!!

also loving that the drummer is up front in front of everybody. that needs to happen more in every band ever.

and i am loving their clothes, like this:

okay wild tiger woman.

love it.

night of fear, i lovee the way the intro sounds

the way the 3 of them back up and then move forward at the same time

their little jump at the end omg.

walk upon the water, i am loving this song. also these sunglasses:

their voices sound so good!!!!

thank you for theeeeeeeese!!!!!!

[skltnglttr]

hiii your blog is very cute!! :o 💕 i saw your tags saying you wanted to draw different versions of sans so may i suggest outertale sans? :] or maybe nightmare before being corrupted idk i'm very indecisive sldjhdkf

I’ve never drawn outer sans before but he’s so cute and fun to draw!!! ☆ ☆ ☆

I wanted to give him more of a pastel look bc he reminds me a lot of Sanrio’s little twin stars ☆

[rainypaperangel]

I didn't like how they dressed the Monster High characters for the upcoming movies... so I re-did it xD

Disclaimer; this is just my opinion, and I've never made a clothes collection whatever-they're-called post, soeh... bear with me. I also didn't do everyone, just the ones I though could be improved upon the most! The movie will premiere on Nickelodeon, do I understand they couldn't make the characters as edgy as in the cartoon (they could, but we can't have nice things) - anyway, take this with a grain of salt!

Frankie Stein

I like how they made Frankie preppy, but they also looks a bit... boring? The dress or whatever it is seem a bit plain - I'd split it up between a plaid skirt and a plain, white blouse, and from thereon use accessories and the likes of that to make it more interesting. I chose carefully so nothing would clash with the skirt, and like in the show, Frankie's accessories are silver and metallic.

I though the tights were a bit too much - I understand they can't be too "sexy" for kids' TV, but they also look a bit clunky. I replaced them with thinner tights that doesn't look like they were ripped on purpose.

Draculaura

A key feature of Draculaura's is that she's cute and romantic, and I don't really think that's reflected in her movie-costume. She looks too much like Frankie, preppy, and not like she's 1600 years old.

In the show, she wears a lot of Victorian-inspired clothing, so I chose a poofy Lolita skirt and a pink blouse to go with it. I figured a charm bracelet would suit her, plus a bat-backpack. She has a lot of heart-imagery in her design, so I added heart earrings.

Cleo DeNile

I kind of like Cleo's outfit, but not for an Egyptian princess. Cleo's over the top, so I chose her outfit exclusively in gold and marine colors. She wears a lot of jewelry, most of which is probably amulets and other magic trinkets for protection and all that...

I was worried the excessive amounts of gold would be too much, but both the boots, the shawl, and the hair piece(?) is a deep blue - I think this would make a nice balance.

Clawdeen Wolf

I think Clawdeen's outfit was the one I minded the least, but it still didn't feel quite like her. I put her in a similar dark, purple outfit, but I chose a more emo-like skirt and some more daring jewelry and shoes.

I wanted to put her in a fur jacket, but I just didn't like any of the ones found, so I opted for a leather jacket instead - I also figured that'd be good for hunting.

Lagoona Blue

I'll be honest, I'm not suuuper hooked on the outfit I ended up with, but I think it'd be better with a blue skin tone (why is she not blue when almost everyone else gets a color??). The bracelet is Australian opals and reminds me of the ocean - I think she'd look at it when she feels homesick.

I never liked Lagoona's shoes, so I chose some more practical sneakers for her that she could actually run in. The flowers are hair-clips, which I think'd look great in big, curly, blonde hair. I also think she'd wear her jacket tied around her wait most of the time, unless it was really sunny and she worried about drying out.

Deuce Gorgon

I took this as an opportunity to completely re-design Deuce's outfit. White tank-top, leather pants, and a snakey-green leather jacket - couldn't you just imagine it?! I wanted the snake imagery to be there, but more subtle - I would love a more edgy take on Deuce where he tries to handle how he feels about his abilities; a part of his heritage, and yet, a curse...

So I ended up with a snake ring and dark glasses with snake handles (whyyyy is his live-action glasses not tinted?). I also added a red bracelet, which, in a movie-setting, I would prefer to have Greek-inspired imagery, but hey... It's a nod to the red accents of his cartoon outfit.

Also, trans Deuce supremacy <3

[morceid]

sway in the snow

12 Days of Moreid 2021

read on ao3

Summary: Derek takes Spencer dancing for their first date.

Word Count: 864

Category: fluff

Content Warnings: none, maybe alcohol

A/N: we’re getting closer and closer to christmas arent we

“Hey pretty boy,” Derek rolled his chair over to Spencer’s side of the break room table. They were working on a case in Philadelphia.

“What is it?”

“You ever been out dancing?” He asked.

“No, why?” Spencer replied.

“Well, I’ve got an extra ticket to this place my buddy works at, they’ve got a Christmas ball coming up and I was wondering-”

“Oh my god! I got it!” Spencer interrupted Derek and jumped up from his seat, holding the notepad he was writing on.

That night they ended up catching their unsub, and Derek didn’t get an answer to his question. He had only been working with Spencer for a year but he felt so connected to him in every way. He wanted to hug him, to date him, to kiss him, to do everything he felt he couldn’t do with him. He was so enamored, he almost forgot he even attempted to ask Spencer on a date.

When they all got off the jet, Spencer asked for a ride home, and thinking nothing of it, Derek agreed.

“It’s right up here,” Spencer said as they pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building.

“Alight, goodnight then Spence.”

“Actually, Derek, I have a question.”

“Yeah? What is it Spence?”

“W-Well, uh, before I solved the case yesterday you were asking me something, what was it?”

“Oh, uh, it’s stupid,” Derek said, turning away.

“Oh come on, there’s no such thing as a stupid question. Just say it!”

“Alright! Alright, Spencer, would you like to go out dancing with me? Like be all fancy and stuff, not just out to a bar?”

“Sure, I’d love to.” Spencer beamed before thanking Derek for the ride and going to his apartment, unable to conceal his happy stims.

The night of the dance Derek sent Spencer all of the event information and prepared himself for the date. He laid out all of his suits and asked Penelope which would be the best, he wore his best socks, and he even put on the cologne his father used to wear.

He got to the place around fifteen minutes early, scared that Spencer might get there first and not know where to sit, and he waited for him. To his surprise, Spencer arrived right on time.

When he walked in, it was like time stopped. Derek looked up to see him. Spencer’s usually messy bob had been thoroughly cleaned and curled, his brows seemed to have just been waxed, and for a moment Derek caught the glow of his lipgloss in the light. Looking down, Derek saw that Spencer was wearing a sparkly gold dress with a poofy skirt, along with a small black jacket around his shoulders. Derek broke his focus when Spencer waved to him.

Spencer walked over to the table and sat with Derek.

“I hope this isn’t too much of a surprise, I asked Penelope what looked best and she really liked this,” Spencer said.

“Oh, you look absolutely amazing Spence, you really live up to your nickname.”

“Well thank you, Derek.”

Derek explained that the first part of the night would be dinner, and the dancing would be afterwards. They both ordered their food and began talking. Eventually, the conversation got to their exes.

“Wow, I cannot believe how many people in this world can be insane to date! What about you Spence? You have any ex stories?” Derek asked, taking a sip of wine.

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever even kissed anyone.”

“Really now?”

“Yeah, I mean, I was never old enough to date anyone in highschool or college, plus I was always too busy studying or emailing professors to even think about it.”

“Well then, pretty boy, tonight is gonna be a wonderful night for you,” Derek said, winking.

They continued with light conversation for the rest of their meal, drinking wine along with it.

They went up to the rooftop of the building for the dancing portion of the night. Spencer stared in awe at the beauty of the soft lights scattered around the railings, and Derek stared in awe at the beauty of Spencer. 

Slow jazz music started to play and soon Derek and Spencer were holding onto each other as they moved in rhythm to the sound. Derek held Spencer’s waist gently and Spencer wrapped his arms around his neck and brought them closer together.

“So, why here for a first date?” Spencer asked.

“Why not? It’s a perfect night. The sky is clear, the moon is bright, and you are as beautiful as ever. I’m glad I’m here with you, Spence.”

“I’m glad too. But really, you couldn’t possibly have known that all of these things would fall into place so perfectly, so still, why?”

“Because I wanted to do this,” Derek said, pulling them closer than they had ever been before, and pressing a soft kiss to Spencer’s lips.

Spencer blushed and grinned softly when they pulled away. 

“Wow, that felt perfect,” Spencer giggled.

The couple continued to sway with each other, and soon it started to snow around them. As they danced, Derek pulled Spencer back in for another perfect kiss, and many more after.

TAGLIST: @garceids @moss0ntherocks @scaryisa @tarajareau @4x24 @izzyl13 @leomo0n @tiedyedrose1705 @harpersequoia @wifeyprentiss @moreidsdaughter @sapphicalexblake @soap-allergy

[charlies-gillespie]

private relationship | charlie gillespie (part 1)

PART TWO

paring: fem!reader x charlie gillespie

summary: reader and Charlie have been in a very private relationship. none of their fans know that they’re together, until a slip up at a very public event changes everything for the pair

requested: no

length: long

rating: PG (borderline PG-13 tho for some nsfw jokes)

warnings: a dirty joke or two, a few sexual innuendos throughout, drinking

!! MY GIF - give creds if used !!

authors note: “mon amour” means “my love” in french. it’ll probably be used a lot throughout the imagine

another author’s note: would y’all want a part two, but with smut?

MASTERLIST

“Charlie!” you call. Your voice echoes through your apartment. “Can you come here for a second?”

You need help zipping your dress. Charlie was the first to get to your apartment. He’s been waiting for Owen, Madison, Jeremy, Jadah, and Savannah, and Sacha to get here so your group can go to the release party together. It’s a formal event so you had to wear a dress and heels. It wasn’t your first choice, especially the heels part.

Charlie appears in the doorway and says, “Yea- woah.” You see him in your mirror. His eyes are on you. He looks good in his suit that he’s wearing. His jacket and pants are black, his button-up beneath the jacket is white, but he wears a silver tie to compliment the color of your pale pink dress since he can’t match your dress.

A smile forms on your lips and you ask, “Can you come zip up my dress, please?” Charlie nods and walks into your bedroom. You watch him as he slowly zips up your dress.

The dress is a long, baby pink dress with satin fabric. The skirt is a little poofy from the waist down. The top hugs your chest, pushing your breasts up a little bit so they look a little bigger than they actually are. A sparkly silver belt sits on your waist to add some sparkle to the dress. The sleeves are off your shoulders, and there are hidden pockets in the skirt.

Your boyfriend admires you in the mirror. You’re fully dressed now. Your hair is loosely curled and you have a natural makeup look painted on your face. The light color of the dress compliments your tan skin.

“You look stunning, mon amour,” Charlie sighs. “Absolutely stunning.”

You lean your head back a bit, resting it against Charlie’s shoulder. “You clean up very nicely, Charlie,” you say. “I like that you matched me without actually matching me.”

He laughs and says, “I might’ve had Mads and Jadah help me with that little detail. I wanted to match you but it would draw suspicion to us.”

When you and Charlie started dating almost nine months ago, both of you agreed to keep it on the very low. No social media posts unless hanging out in a group setting, no tagging each other in stories if you were alone together, and only going as far as following each other on social media since you’ve worked on the same show together. The fans don’t even know that you’re friends with each other at this point. Only your closest friends that are going with you to the event tonight know that you and Charlie are together.

Kenny Ortega also knows since he’s technically your boss and you’re both co-workers. He also might have found you making out with Charlie after the two of you got carried away when cuddling on Julie’s bed after a few hours of shooting scenes. You couldn’t lie to him after that.

Tonight is a very public event. Pictures will be taken, journalists will be wanting every juicy detail, and fans have been invited to the event so if there’s even a little be of suspicion, it won’t take very long to go public. It’s the release night party for Julie and the Phantoms season two. Everyone’s been invited to watch the first few episodes of the new season.

You feel Charlie kiss your bare shoulder and you giggle softly. “I’m sure everyone will be getting here soon so we should go wait out in the living room,” you tell your boyfriend.

“I wish I was able to touch you tonight,” he says. “It’s your big Netflix debut, Y/N. I wish I was able to hug you and show you how proud I am of you.”

A little sigh leaves your body and you say, “You can hug me. I’m sure a friendly hug won’t hurt, as long as you hug other people too. As for showing me that you’re proud of me, you can do that later when we’re alone.” You send him a playful wink so he gets what you mean.

Charlie’s jaw drops and he blinks at you. “I-you, um,” your boyfriend stammers. “Okay, yeah. I’m going to show you just how proud I am of you later, baby.”

You turn and face Charlie. “I look forward to it, Charlie,” you tell him, leaning up. He smiles and lightly pecks your lips.

Someone knocks on the door and you click out of the room in your silver heels to answer the door. Owen and Jeremy stand at the door. Jer’s wife, Carolynn, stands beside him.

“Hi, Y/N,” Owen greets you. “You look very pretty. I saw Charlie’s car in the parking garage so where is that loser?”

You laugh and say, “Probably still in my bedroom. Go get him. I think I shocked him or something with my words.” Owen pushes past you. Jeremy follows him, leaving you and Carolynn alone.

Carolynn smiles and says, “I love that color on you, Y/N. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” you say, shooting her a little smile. You’ve grown close to Carolynn since she’s married to Jeremy and you’ve spent a lot of time hanging out with the guys in a group.

You let Carolynn walk in before closing the door behind her. Faintly, you hear Owen say, “Bro, what’s going on with you? Your face is red.”

Charlie responds with, “I am so having sex tonight, dude.”

Both you and Carolynn laugh in the living room as Carolynn asks, “I don’t want to know what that’s about, do I?”

As you sit, you say, “Charlie said he wishes he could touch me tonight at the party so he could show me how proud he was of me. I told him he can show me how proud he is of me later when we’re alone.”

Carolynn says, “Ah, okay. That makes sense. Congratulations, by the way. Making your big Netflix debut tonight. How’s it feel?”

“I’m excited, but very nervous,” you admit. “The first season did so well and won so many awards that I’m scared that I’m going to come in and ruin the whole show and that people won’t like my character.”

She says, “You play the nice daughter of the villain of the show. Everyone will probably love you when they realize that your character wants to help the Phantoms instead of siding with Caleb. Don’t tell Jer and the guys but I think you have one of the best songs of the season so I think the fans will definitely love that.”

You smile as there is another knock on the door. Charlie, Owen, and Jeremy come into the living room as you answer the door.

Savannah stands in the doorway with Mads, Sacha, and Jadah. “I had to pick up the kiddos,” Sav says. “Ooh, Y/N. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling. “We’re just waiting for the limo to get here. I think we have a half hour or so before it gets here.”

Kenny is sending a limo to your apartment for the nine of you. When you decided to go as a group so you and Charlie could go together, Kenny pitched in and helped like the wonderful human being he is.

Owen decides to go live with Jeremy on his Instagram account for a few minutes. Carolynn talks with Savannah, Sacha, and Jadah while you find yourself talking with Charlie and Madison.

Mads says, “Kenny is giving us the opportunity to sing on stage together tonight. He told me that we can pick whatever song from either season. He thinks the fans would want to hear Perfect Harmony or Stand Tall since those were massive after season one dropped.”

Charlie nods and says, “Stand Tall would be good since all of us can get in on that number. I can talk to Jeremy and Owen about it when they get off live.”

You smile at the two of them and say, “That’s exciting. The fans will be so excited for this little surprise.”

“We can thank Kenny when it goes really well,” Mads says with a laugh. “He’s always got these great ideas. I don’t know how he comes up with them.”

Both you and Charlie laugh as your phone rings. You answer it, speaking to the limo driver. After a moment, you hang up the phone and announce, “Limo is here. Let’s head on out.”

Everyone gets their things together, Owen gets off Instagram live, and you all head down two floors to pile into the limo.

The drive from your apartment to the Laglyan Complex on North Vine Street is close to forty minutes. It was close to six when you left and it’s almost seven when you arrive to the venue for tonight’s event.

There is a red carpet laid out across the front of the building to the door. There is a lot of press here and a lot of cameras flashing. Cheyenne Jackson and Booboo Stewart are together on the carpet. You spot Kenny with one of the assistant directors.

When the press spots the limo, they begin to mumble to each other as they try to figure out who is in the car. Owen and Jeremy get out first. The press begin to snap pictures of the guys. Madison gets out with Jadah. Carolynn, Sacha, and Savannah. Sacha pairs up with Savannah while Mads, Jadah and Carolynn walk the carpet together until Carolynn finds her way to her husband.

Charlie helps you out of the car. The journalists call Charlie’s name as you close the door behind you. “Go,” you order him. “I’ll be okay. You’re the star of the show.” He smiles and sends you a wink since his back is turned toward the cameras. He walks off and your eyes follow him. Cheyenne walks over.

“Look at you, Y/N,” he says. “You look wonderful.”

You smile and say, “Thank you, Cheyenne. You look nice tonight. I love the suit.” He wears a shirt similar to his Julie and the Phantoms character, Caleb Covington. You play his daughter on the show.

Cheyenne holds his arm out for you and you hook your elbow with his. The cameras snap away at you and Cheyenne since the two of you play a father-daughter duo. Booboo comes and joins you and Cheyenne as the ‘Hollywood Ghost Club Crew’, as Booboo dubbed the three of you. The band is getting pictures together. Savannah, Sacha, and Jadah are getting their pictures taken together. Carolynn is getting her pictures done.

The journalists call out questions to the cast. They ask Madi which season was her favorite, which she replies with, “Y’all really going to make me choose? I can’t do that.”

Owen is asked whether or not we’ll get a Willex kiss in the future, which Owen replies with, “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

All the journalists laugh. One of them calls out, “Y/N, what was it like joining a show that already had a pretty large fan base and a successful first season?”

“It was nerve wracking at first,” you admit. “But the cast welcomed me with open arms and I’ve made some very, very close friends.” You shoot a smile to the cameras.

A second journalist calls out to everyone, “Are there any secret romances on set that no one knows about?”

Most of the cast, including you and Charlie, laughs. Owen answers with, “Now it wouldn’t be a secret if we told everyone. But no, there aren’t any secret romances. That I know of at least.”

After a few more pictures and questions, we all head inside. The main room as a bunch of tables set up and a little stage with Madi’s piano, Charlie’s guitars, Jeremy’s bass, and Owen’s drums. There are a few fans that were exclusively invited that are scattered around. They start getting excited when they see you walk in with everyone.

You find your table. You’re sitting with Owen, Charlie, Jeremy, Carolynn, Cheyenne, Booboo, and Savannah. This is the “adult” table, you guess. Mads, Jadah, and Sacha sit with Kenny and a few of the younger cast members at another table.

You’re sitting between Charlie and Owen. Someone needs to sit between them or they’ll be at each other all night. That’s your argument if someone is suspicious of you and Charlie.

Suddenly, you feel someone’s fingers lace with yours under the cloth that’s on the table. You glance over at Charlie and he has a little smile on his face as he talks with Jeremy. You turn and say to Owen softly, “Did Charlie really say that he’s having sex tonight?”

Owen laughs a bit and nods. “He thinks he is anyway,” the blond says. “Is he?”

“If he can behave himself then yes,” you say. Owen chuckles.

You feel Charlie squeeze your hand. You know he heard so you smile.

After small conversation with everyone at the table, you get up and get a drink. You walk to the bar, asking for a martini. While you wait, you’re approached by a guy dressed in a nice button-up shirt and dress pants. His hair is in a neat bun behind his head. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Austin.”

“Y/N,” you say.

“I couldn’t notice you came over here alone,” he says.

The bartender gives you your drink and you say, “I just came over to grab a drink. I was going to go back to my table after I grabbed it.”

Austin pulls out his wallet and hands the bartender a twenty dollar bill. “Let me at least pay for it,” he says.

You smile a bit and say, “Thank you. I must be headed back to the table with my friends now. I appreciate the drink, though.”

He blocks your way and you look up at him. “How about a dance in return for the drink?” Austin suggests.

Feeling more and more uncomfortable, you say, “Maybe later. I need to get back to my friends.”

Austin asks, “What’s the rush? It’s not like you have a boyfriend or anything. I follow your social media accounts and you never post a guy.”

You begin to say, “Actually, I-” before Charlie walks up. You let out a soft sigh of relief.

“Everything okay here?” Charlie asks. “You were taking a while to come get a drink so I thought that I’d come check.”

The stranger says, “All good here. I was just offering Y/N a dance here since I paid for her drink.”

Charlie looks down at you and blinks before you say, “I didn’t ask him to pay for it. He took out a twenty and offered.” Austin looks between you and your secret boyfriend.

Then Charlie says, “If you offered yourself then Y/N isn’t obligated to dance with you just because you paid for her drink.”

Austin says, “Well, I’ll just ask again later.” The man walks away and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Your boyfriend moves and stands in front of you. He asks, “Are you okay?”

You nod and say, “Yeah, thank you. It was just uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to get out of it.”

Charlie reaches up to cup your face in his hands but he stops before he can touch your face. You look up at him before you lean forward, putting your face in Charlie’s hands. Your eyes flutter closed and you smile.

“Y/N,” Charlie says. “People are looking.”

With a sigh, you say, “I just need you to touch me, Charlie. I want you.”

He runs his thumbs over your cheekbones and you can hear pictures being taken. You put your drink on the bar counter and step closer to Charlie.

Your eyes open and you find Charlie looking down at you. He says, “You know what this means for us, right?”

You nod and say, “Our on-the-low relationship isn’t as on the low now. I don’t mind that anymore because I’m tired of guys coming up and trying to flirt with me while I have a boyfriend.”

Charlie chuckles a bit as he says, “I hope that means I can kiss you now. It’s all I’ve wanted to do tonight.”

“Yeah,” you sigh.

With no hesitation, Charlie leans down and crashes his lips to yours. You press your body against his, grabbing his jacket and holding him close to you. You kiss Charlie back just as hard as he kissed you. Your eyes are closed again but you can see flashes behind your eyes. You pull back from the kiss and stare up at Charlie.

Both of you smile at each other as Charlie says, “You better be ready for what happens after this.”

You push Charlie’s hair away form his face and say, “What happens after this is you get on that stage tonight, you kill it, we go back to your place because it’s closer, and you get all the sex you want.”

Charlie’s face turns a little red and he says, “I will never get used to you saying something sexual to me. I hope you know that.”

“You better, Mr. Gillespie,” you tell him. “I’m not the innocent girl that you met a year and a half ago.”

He laughs and says, “Trust me. I know you’re not the innocent girl that I met last year. You’ve proven that several times at this point.”

With a smile on your face, you take Charlie’s hand in yours before grabbing your drink and walking back to the table with your friends. When you get back to the table, you scoot closer to Charlie and rest your head on his shoulder. Owen looks over and says, “Woah, being affectionate in public. This isn’t the best idea.”

You say, “It’s okay, Owen. Everything is okay.”

Owen looks confused as you look up at Charlie. Charlie looks at his best friend and says, “I kissed her. At the the bar when I went to check on her. Cameras saw so that’s going to be a huge thing in the morning.”

Jeremy says, “Well, congratulations on making your relationship public, I guess.”

The table laughs. Owen looks at you, Charlie, Jeremy, and Carolynn before he says, “I need a relationship. I feel so single right now.”

Charlie says, “You’d actually have to talk to people to get a girlfriend, Owen.”

“Haha,” Owen says, sticking his tongue out at Charlie. You laugh.

***

At nine, Madi, Charlie, Owen, and Jeremy all leave to get ready. They decided on Stand Tall for the number they’re going to perform. It’s almost 9:30 when Kenny gets on the mic on stage. “Hello, everyone,” he says. “Today, Netflix released season two of Julie and the Phantoms. To celebrate, I offered our band the chance to perform a song of their choice. So, let’s all welcome Madison Reyes, Charlie Gillespie, Jeremy Shada, and Owen Patrick Joyner to the stage for their performance of whatever song they chose.”

The crowd cheers as everyone walks onto the stage, taking their place. You and Carolynn get a front row seat while you both watch your guys perform. You notice Charlie took off his jacket and his tie. He also cut off the sleeves, but that doesn’t surprise you. The top few buttons of his white button-up are unbuttoned, showing off his chest a bit.

Mads begins to play the first few keys to the song.

Don't blink No, I don't want to miss it One thing, and it’s back to the beginning Cause everything is rushing in fast Keep going on, never look back

You smile and watch Madi sing. She’s insanely talented and you’re so glad that the world was able to hear her voice.

The guys nod their heads to the beat while they wait for their signal to begin playing. Once they get their cues, they begin to play one by one.

Right now, I'm loving every minute Hands down, can't let myself forgеt it, no Cause everything is rushing in fast Keep holding on, nеver look back

Charlie plays like he’s flickering on and off stage like he does on the show. You smile and admire your boyfriend. You know how talented he is, especially those fingers of his, but he never ceases to amaze you how talented he is.

And it’s one, two, three, four times That I'll try for one more night Light a fire in my eyes I'm going out of my mind

You smile wide when Charlie sings his line at the end of the pre-chorus. Then he begins to sing his part of the song and you dance with Carolynn. The crowd sings and dances behind you two.

The four of them finish the song and smile. The crowd cheers and you smile, looking at Charlie. He has the biggest smile on his face, which is covered in a layer of sweat. His hair is damp with sweat too. Charlie bows with his closest friends before putting his guitar on the stand. He jumps off the stage and comes over to you.

“I told you that you’d kill it,” you tell him when he gets to you.

Charlie laughs and says, “Oh, hush.” He pulls you into a soft kiss. You smile and kiss him back, making your relationship with him completely public. The people around you cheer a bit as Charlie pulls away.

You look up at him and say, “You’re going to have so much fun being able to hugs me and kiss me in public now, aren’t you?”

He smiles and stares down at you. Charlie says, “Maybe I’ll be having too much fun now.”

As you brush some of the hair away from Charlie’s eyes, you say, “Please try to keep the PDA to a minimum, Charlie. You do have a lot of younger fans. Save most of it for when we’re alone.”

“Like how we will be tonight?” Charlie asks, eyes hopeful.

You laugh and say, “Just like how we will be tonight.” Then an idea pops into your idea. “This dress is getting really hot. I might need to take it off soon.”

Charlie gets what you’re trying to say so he replies with, “Let’s go.”

He takes your hand and hops over the barricade. You smile as he leads you through the crowd of people. Charlie calls you an Uber so you can both go back to his place tonight.

[adventure-with-loki]

[Make a run for the getaway car with Loki]

🖐️ pause this is a part of a choose your own adventure. If you just found this you can start from the beginning here.

Written by: @youlightmeupfinn

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: None

“Shall we?” His voice asked. You looked to see your fiancé standing there, his eyes trained on you. Gulping, your eyes maneuvered to the sight of Loki’s keys already being pulled from his pocket. Looking up at him, you inhaled sharply. Your husband-to-be found himself beginning to close in on the space, looking at you as though you were crazy.

Well, you were.

Maybe?

Wiping the corner of your mouth, Loki waited for your response, his eyes shifting between you and the angered man approaching.

“Sweetheart,” The groom’s voice pitched through your ears, causing you to decide.

“Darling, it’s now or never.” Loki added seconds later.

“Get me the hell outta here!” You cried.

That was all it took for Mischief himself to activate his senses. He quickly gathered your hand and began to push through the crowd of people on the floor, the sound of the groom’s voice bellowing out.

“HEY!” He screamed, his footsteps running faster. You had your hands tangled through that of the raven-haired beauty beside you, those blue orbs flickering with a newfound intensity.

Adrenaline.

Oh, adrenaline was real, baby!

Your fight or flight response was initiated. Loki glanced behind him, watching as the infuriated groom was knocking people down left and right in order to catch up.

“Darling, can you run a touch faster?” Loki suddenly asked you, his strides overbearing yours. He was having to slow down in order to run. You shot him a stare, grumbling under your breath.

“Heels aren’t the ideal running shoe!” You cried out. Taking a few seconds, you ripped the heels off of your feet. Loki watched as you hurtled them behind you, the sound of your groom’s groan of pain filling the air.

“My eye!” He screamed.

Loki felt as you pushed yourself farther, your speed somewhat catching on with his. “Was throwing your bedazzled heel really necessary?”

Giggling, the two of you bustled out of the doors finally. “I thought there wasn’t this much talking during an escape?” You asked him with a subtle wink. The door to the bar suddenly crashed open and there your fiancé was, one hand covering his eye, the flaps of his dress jacket whipping with the motions.

“Where’s your car?” You asked.

“Down the street.”

“DOWN THE STREET?!” You cried. “I can’t run any longer! Not in this poofy-ass dress!” You looked down at the billowing dress that swallowed you.

Loki glared at you before a devious smirk crossed his face. “Good thing I can do this,”

Your eyebrows furrowed and a scream released from your throat when you felt the demigod throw you over his shoulder.

Suddenly, you two were in front of a sleek black coupe. You were screaming the entire time until Loki opened the door. When your eyes reopened, you gazed around, seeing that the bar was still in sight, but your fiancé was spinning in circles, trying to see where you went.

“You can teleport?” You asked.

Loki winked. “Perks of magic, love.”

“Was throwing me over your shoulder really needed?” You added, already hooking your seatbelt.

Loki smiled. “I felt the drama was necessary. Plus, it was funny to hear you scream.”

Glaring, you listened as the engine came to life. It wasn’t long before Loki pulled out of the parking space and you two were zooming down the street. You watched the man who you almost made the mistake of marrying, point a finger at you as you rolled the window down.

Taking your veil off, you threw it out of the window, watching as the wind blew it in his direction.

“How dare you!” He screamed, but Loki put the pedal to the metal, earning yet another scream.

“Love, I could listen to that sound all night long.” Loki prodded as he gripped the steering wheel.

Your cheeks began to turn crimson red, your heart rate quickening.

Oh, this devilish man was up to no good.

And you loved every moment of it.

Do you;

Choices:

Turn the heat up by taking control and saying, “Then make me” (Chapter coming soon, comment below if you want to be tagged when this chapter is released.)

Refrain and see what his plans are for the two of you. (Chapter coming soon, comment below if you want to be tagged when this chapter is released.)

Taglist:

Make a run for the getaway car with Loki:

@mmabodybuilder

All:

@vampire7595

@righteous-scamp

@decemberflurries

@brazenlittleminx

@laufeysonluvr

@gayboywap

@bitchy-bi-trash

@sheris532

@midnight-coffee-and-songs

@user13cabs

@qardasngan

[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.”

[uwua3]

Hello! I'm a new follower and I just love your writing so far!! You're really good at depicting The Whole Scene™ so you made me love my favs even more 😳 It's like my heart melts when I get to the extra soft parts 💖 If it's alright, may I request some fluffy hcs of Banri and/or Juza with a soft/baby-ish s/o who likes cute things? Or in general an s/o who's kind of opposite to either of them 👉🏻👈🏻 Thank you! 💞

hi!!! welcome to my writing blog~ :D i’m so happy you said that 🥺 (i appreciate the trademark no Suing in this household) i’m so glad when it gets soft it makes your heart go 💕💞💓💗💖💘💝 always feel like that!!! i’d be more than honored to baby the two tough boys of autumn~ they are secretly Baby no i do not take criticism but you’re welcome!!!

summary: this is the one time major misunderstandings work out for the best

warnings: swearing

author’s note: hello, everyone~ it’s been 4 days since i last posted a fic TT i’m so sorry!!! i hope this makes up for the absence~ it’s a bit long! please love banri and juza with all your heart ♡ fair warning, i design both readers to have dresses on but everything else is gender–neutral :D

word count: 6,482 (total) — 3,532 (banri), 2,950 (juza)

music: liar liar – oh my girl (banri), just right – got7 (juza)

sugar, spice, and everything nice!

🍁🥇 settsu banri

banri was thrifting and saw the most god–awful, terrible piece of clothing he had ever had the misfortune of seeing in his life

it was a bublegum pink sailor uniform esque shirt, embellished with the most pastel ribbons and lacy accessories ever, and was decorated to put harajuku to shame

“who the hell would want to buy this shit?” banri muttered to himself, holding it up to grimance at the girly details that hang from the ugliest shirt he had ever came across. before he could put it back to hide amongst the clothing rack, a gentle, barely noticeable tap on his shoulder made banri turn his head with a glare

“what—” banri’s eyes widened, his jaw slightly dropping. oh my god, if there was a human embodiment of the fucking shirt he was holding, you would literally be it

you were nervously smiling at him, clad in a pastel pink lolita–styled dress, with even more bows at the corset bodice and ruffles at your poofy skirt. you had the largest singular lace bonnet in your curled hair and adorned the biggest, widest circular glasses (they had to be fake). you clasped your hands together with a high–pitched laugh, banri wanted to disappear and never come back to the store again

how could people like you just exist? you walked around like a doll everyday and for what? banri looked down at his clothing for a second, all black again. maybe, he shouldn’t be talking if he was like death everyday...

“sorry~ but are you interested in that shirt?” you asked cutely, batting your eyelashes as you looked up at banri. he blinked, not realizing he was still holding the fashion industry’s worst abonimation as he quickly tossed it towards you, not bothering to check if you even caught it

“no, bye.” banri forced out, moving from the aisle to leave the godforsaken pastels and bright colors. it was all giving him a headache, there was no way this color spectrum ever existed to someone and they liked it. everybody move over because banri was gonna puke

banri flipped through more clothes, pushing through the racks with ease, trying to push the mental image of pink out of his mind until something landed on his head

quickly pulling it off with a scowl, banri deadpanned at the shirt. pink, sailor uniform, ugly ribbons and bows, check. it was that shirt again... what the—

you stood next to him, with the most angelic smile possible despite the passive aggressive look in your eyes. banri noticed your hair was slightly messed up, that he must’ve done something. he never thought he’d fight a pastel lolita in the middle of one of his favorite thrift stores, but here he was, glaring down at you like it was a big deal

“what do you want?!” banri cursed, about to throw the shirt back to you before you forced it in his hands, surprising him with the amount of force your short self managed to produce. you smiled even bigger, and banri suddenly knew he couldn’t cause a scene because no one believe him if you started a fight

“let me pick your clothes!” you offered, yet there was no room for disagreement. oh god, this was revenge for screwing up your look, wasn’t it? banri blanked again, about to tell you to fuck off before he called security (yeah, security on the most non–threatening person here), before you shoved another outfit into his arms

“go change! i want to see you in it!” you insisted, banri’s eye twitched as he took in the colors. all various shades of pink... you did know there were other colors right?

maybe it was because he knew you would start a scene if he didn’t try, but banri mumbled something about annoying people and their loud fashion sense before slipping into a dressing room. you clapped when banri begrudgingly agreed to it, pissing him off even more

(you didn’t know why you were forcing this stranger to be pastel for once. one look at his all–black attire and you felt a part of your soul die for a second)

when you heard the most dragged–out, emphasized swear behind the door, you knew you had to see it

“are you okay in there~?” you asked, waiting patiently outside with a devious smile. revenge was sweet, you almost forgot about how that shirt had messed up your hairstyle for the day

(banri suddenly regretted ever messing with you, you were the devil in pink)

“i know we just met, but fuck you.” banri deadpanned, stepping out from behind the curtain with the resignation of a quitter. you threw your hands over your mouth, stifling your snickers as you observed him top to bottom, wondering how you even fathomed such a creation

banri stood before you in the same sailor shirt, ribbons and bows alike, that somehow fit him. you had given him basic pink shorts that clased with his giant black boots (he made a stomping sound whenever he walked)

“i hate this, i am never wearing this again.” banri admitted without difficulty, expecting you to go away so he could shop in peace but you giggled, nodding in satisfaction at your mistake. he couldn’t believe it, he was embarrassing himself and sacrificing his dignity just because some moral conscious was aware he probably ruined part of your fit

“i’ll buy it for you!” you said and banri pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing with so much exhaustion even though it was the afternoon. is this how sakyo felt dealing with three kids all day? banri was this close to calling him up just to apologize for all the batshit crazy things he’s done

“no.” banri stated, not offering an explanation before turning around, about to head back into the dressing room before you stopped him, pouting your lips with a stubborn look

“come on! why not? i’ll do anything!” you pleaded, giving him your biggest puppy dog eyes as you kept repeating “please~” loudly. banri was about to tell you off before he noticed the store customers glancing at the odd duo, groaning before he rubbed his face

“anything?” banri asked, realizing his mischevious smirk was back on his face as you narrowed your eyes at him, wondering what the hell he was planning

when you hesitantly nodded, banri wolfishly grinned as he leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms and looking down at you (you would’ve burst into laughter at how banri tried to look intimidating in pink if you weren’t too plagued by your surprise at his sudden attitude change)

“okay, let me pick your next outfit.” banri said and you winced at the memory of his previous outfit, considering your options before shaking his hand, knowing whatever was about to happen would be one for your social media

it only took about two hours before you actually agreed to try anything on banri picked. it was all animal print, mismatched neon colors, and flannel. you refused every single time he held anything up, bruising banri’s ego even further

“jesus, you have no taste.” banri complained, just wanting to see the most pastel person he’s seen wear something normal for once. you two bickered easily, fighting like there was no tomorrow and warranting nervous glances from the store employees (who nearly alerted security when they saw you almost knock over a whole display chasing after banri)

finally, banri chose something you wouldn’t be caught dead in. it was close to what he had before, a black turtleneck with a silver–zip bomber jacket. he was nice enough to choose a black pleated skirt for you to wear with black oxford that had 3d white daisies

you actually liked it, believe it or not

in return, you adjusted your pick for him (much to banri’s relief when he muttered “thank god” as you put the pink sailor shirt back). you adjusted the theme to be a mixture of black & pink, picking a pink sweater with a black stitched heart surrounded by lace that read “i’ll kill you” and a pink button down underneath. you let him wear basic black pants (just so he wouldn’t have actually killed you) and found the cutest pink sneakers with black shoelaces!

by the time both of you finished, banri didn’t seem as mad and actually nodded at your choices

“not bad, punk.” banri joked as you swatted at his arm, ignoring the way he rolled his eyes at your antics. you two made your way into opposite changing rooms and went out at the same time, staring at each other wide–eyed for about three seconds before banri pushed his finger in the center of your forehead with a smirk

“see! you don’t look as bad now.” banri winked as you nearly kicked him, rubbing your forehead with a frown. you two fought all the way to the cash register, paying for each other’s new outfits as you wore them out the door, holding your originals in a bag

“happy now? gotta go or else my friends are gonna kill me.” banri rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his pant pockets as he was about to go the opposite way. you grabbed his sleeve, impatiently shoving your phone in his face as he adjusted to seeing his own pissed off expression stare back at him

“you have to take a picture with me!” you insisted, your bubbly demeanor really not fitting your “goth” approach (courtesy of banri, of course)

banri glared, knowing this wasn’t apart of the deal before you feigned sadness, wrapping your arms around yourself as you looked around like it was really unfortunate

“oh... are you not photogenic? that’s too bad...” you mocked him, pretending to not notice banri’s fists clench as he furrowed his eyebrows. of course he was good at taking photos! he’d show you, alright

“give me your phone.” banri demanded, taking it without a warning and holding it at a distance with an effortlessly cool pose, doing his usual smirk with a casual peace sign

“say ‘worst day ever’.” banri snapped the picture when you got into frame, putting your chin on his shoulder due to your height difference as you smiled cutely, contrasting his entire vibe

when you actually went through the selfies, they were perfect. damn it! of course he was good at everything, including somehow making black look good on you and be the ultimate photographer

“let me tag you, these are actually...” you were about to say something else until you noticed he was walking away, not bothering to say goodbye as you called his name

“yo, banri! what’s your instagram handle?” you yelled, holding your phone up. banri didn’t even look behind him, just throwing up a single middle finger towards you as he turned the corner. what a typical teenage boy

it was so like him, you didn’t even bother chasing after banri as you posted the set of photos you took with him with the caption “worst day ever with this emo punk, someone find him for me”

when banri made it the dorms, he took out his phone for the first time in forever and felt the vibrations. he never got this many notifications, itaru was probably telling him to get online or he’d beat his ass—oh

oh, you didn’t

kazunari (of course it was him) had tagged him in a familiar picture, with too many emoticons and exclamation points to begin with. banri scrolled through the comments, all complimenting his cool face despite being in pink (banri already knew that) and... wait... shipping you two?!

you two were completely different! if you two stood next to each other, you’d be two opposite ends of any spectrum possible. yet, banri couldn’t help but read all the comments on your post, saying how you two looked good together

banri zoomed in on the photo and moved to your face and huh... maybe they were onto something...

banri clicked on your profile and as expected, it was all soft like sanrio personally made it. you were an angel in each of your pictures, posing with stuffed animals, pastel café sweets, and anything that looked like it came out of a kid’s show. banri was scrolling mindlessly, screenshotting some as he slouched on the sofa, exhaling sharply through his nose at some childish pun you had in your captions

when banri was near the beginning of your feed, it had happened. he accidentally tapped too fast (blame it on his gamer hands), liking your picture from years ago

banri paused. after a minute, banri slowly unliked your picture, shut the app, and threw his phone across the room. it landed on the other couch with a thump as banri slid down the seat with the loudest groan ever, covering his face as he refrained from screaming

that’s what he got for stalking your entire fashion page despite hating your style

the damage had been done. you followed him and instantly dm–ed him with the full, unedited selfies of you two

(banri didn’t follow back until like, a month later for no reason other than he was petty)

banri became your immediate go–to fashion guru, believe it or not. moving past his horrific sense of animal print, he actually wasn’t that bad at picking clothes (banri said it was something about growing up with an older sister)

whenever you needed advice on an outfit, you sent him a text and got a response within minutes (the more he hated it, the more you wore it). any time you went to another up and coming clothing store, he was by your side (unwillingly holding your bags with multiple threats). banri even took your pics for your page, pretending like it was a huge nuisance whenever you asked anyone to take a photo (they always came out awful and he claimed he was tired of hearing you whine 24/7)

you and banri’s interest in fashion was the foundation of a competitive and sarcastic friendship that formed between you two. you exaggerated your pink clothes by making sure to be as pastel as possible whenever you hung out with him, and banri made a point to be all–black and dark down to his silver earrings despite the weather

you posted him more and more on your socials despite his style clashing with your feed. your followers seemed to love him, hyping up his coolness even if you two bullied each other in the comments like an old married couple. it was becoming expected to see banri’s account tagged every time you gave him credit for the post (he always used it against you just to make you mad)

over time, when banri went to see you, he didn’t insult your style anymore even if he tried to (his insults were even half–assed). he took your bags on his own accord and acted like they didn’t weigh a thing. he started taking more photos of you on his own phone, like it wasn’t a big deal he had shocks of pastel throughout his rather dark camera roll

banri didn’t know when it happened, but the moment he looked at the pink sweater you bought him the first time he met you and didn’t react, he knew

oh shit, he didn’t hate pink (or you) anymore. he might have even... liked it

(he might have even liked you)

it was nearly closing time, the employee about to close up shop before banri was seen sprinting towards them, barely out of breath as he skidded to a stop near the concerned worker (understandably so, since it was dark and a whole teenager nearly trampled them)

“oh? banri? what are you doing so late?” the employee recognized the regular customer and banri almost threw up at what he was about to request. he took a moment to compose himself before banri sighed, gesturing towards inside the store

“you remember that really ugly pink sailor shirt that is probably a fashion crime?” banri asked and it didn’t take long before the worker nodded, even grimancing at the memory of such a loud shirt

“yes, no one is really willing to buy it—” the employee was interrupted by a wad of money from inside banri’s wallet as he went through it, wincing at his own purchase that he clearly didn’t want

“i’ll take it. keep the change.” banri went home that day with the same pink shirt he swore he would never wear again

the next day, banri was dressed and the whole dorm went silent. no one dared breathe a word, and banri rolled his eyes, crossing his arms

“what’s wrong? never seen a man wear pink before?” banri raised his eyebrows, casually getting ready to go see you with his backpack strapped. once again, everyone was staring at him (when he left the dorms, the room burst into hysterical laughter)

when you saw banri in that shirt, you suddenly knew. it was as if his behavior made sense, this is way of telling you he didn’t hate you as much as he acted to

as he came up to you pretending like he was still cool in the most pastel pink shirt ever, you couldn’t help but grab him by the sailor collar and give him something long overdue

(the whole mankai company spammed your page with fairy cyberbully comments and likes when you posted a picture of banri in the sailor shirt with the caption: “best boyfriend ever”)

(you ended up keeping the sailor shirt, banri claimed it suited you a lot more than it did for him) (damn, not even one insult about how ugly it was when you expressed how much you loved it)

ever since, your feed became more of punk pastel than anything. anything you wore, banri most likely had in black. you two even shared jewelery and banri often mixed up your earrings with his own (you loved his piercings and often bought the most intricate ear cuffs just to see them on him)

despite your opposite styles, you guys actually shared many of your items together like clothes, accessories like bucket hats and backpacks, even make up! (it took quite some time before banri accepted you painting his nails though, at first it was black, now he allows the occassional pink middle finger if you ask)

(banri liked it the most when you two had matching nails, it was just satisfying to see when holding hands)

you guys were also that gamer couple. you know what i’m talking about, if you guys had a gaming room together, half the room would be pastel pink and his set up was a basic all black

(you two had matching cat headphone sets, yours obviously the pink ones and banri pretended to hate his own pair of ears)

(they really weren’t that bad, he even began wearing it around his boys despite the jokes)

(“shut up, bastard! my partner likes them!”)

as expected, you two got stares every time you went out in public. while you were bright and happy from the anime sparkles around you to your adorable, enthusiatic energy, banri was always by you looming over everyone with a sharp glare and even more aggressive tongue

but this was unexpected: you had banri whipped. wrapped around your finger, even if he would never admit it

(he could go one moment cursing someone out, threatening a fight before he talked to you with a quieter, more relaxed tone. of course he could start shit with you, but for some reason, his voice and demeanor automatically became nicer when he saw you)

(this meant he could never stay mad at you for too long)

an example of banri being absolutely soft for you would be the time you were about to dye your hair and he wanted in

while he was helping you equally do the style and making sure it fit your liking, you giggled at the sight of your boyfriend in the mirror, focusing intently on your hair and the two seperate dyes

“ri, have you ever thought of black hair?” you asked nonchalantly as banri brushed the dye on your hair, giving him a moment to think as he shrugged

“eh, i already dye my hair. never thought about that color.” banri responded, already too busy making sure your hair was completely covered (he was a good hair stylist even if he had never done it before)

“what do you think about matching hairstyles?”

it felt like deja vu. when banri walked into the dorms again, everyone was staring at him. except this time, it wasn’t his sweater (he was back to all–black this time), but his head

oh my god, his hair. his vibrant, half–pink and half–black hair now

“you like that person so much! you dyed your hair that shade of pink?!” practically everyone in mankai was aware banri was whipped for his one and only angel, even if it looked like he came out of hell himself just to be with you

whenever banri saw pink now, he didn’t hate it anymore, and he especially didn’t hate you

🍁🍰 hyodo juza

when juza saw you, he felt like he was on a sugar rush from how cute you were

it was another day helping the director with her grocery shopping and an extra amount of time allowed the two to visit the new bakery that opened downtown

while izumi was making small talk with the server, juza awkwardly hung behind her as he tried to not make it obvious he just wanted to eat every single dessert in the family business

as he was counting the tiles on the floor (how did they design them to look like it was made out of candy?!), a swish of a puffy skirt moved past his line of sight as juza glanced up, feeling like he had downed a whole box of those valentine’s candy hearts at once

you were a waitress, happily bringing customer orders to their tables with the cutest smile ever. you wore a mint green & brown uniform with a big bow at your dress shirt collar, floating around like a fairy with a trey at your hand and gracefully taking requests in the other. if “you are what you eat” was true, you would’ve only ate sweet foods because you were that adorable

then, juza noticed you had some really nice hair clips and thought they were super cute

when you looked up from writing something on your notepad (he noticed it was really elegant cursive), you caught his eye and it was like love at first sight for juza

for you, not so much

you had made eye contact with the most intimidating, tallest boy in the entire bakery. you nervously smiled, waving before hurrying into the kitchen, feeling his stare on your back as you hid in the break room with a sigh of relief

just your luck! you had met some guy who probably didn’t even like sweets, he looked like he wanted to fight you or something! why was he staring at you like that? you anxiously peeked your head from the door frame and went back immediately when you noticed he was looking for you

oh no, was some thug trying to fight you? in a bakery?

when izumi finished up her conversation and bought a speciality cake to go, juza obediently followed her outside as he glanced back behind the counter, trying to spot your unique hair accessories again

as the bell above his head rung, he knew he had to come back to see you and find out where you bought those dessert–themed clips

at first, it began with casual visits, pretending to survey the area after explaining his association with mankai in the most bare minimum way possible. you didn’t struggle convincing someone else to cover your shift quickly when you noticed the scary tall guy up front. then, it became ordering random things to go and hoping he’d at least see you to ask a simple question. you did everything to hide behind tables, hoping you wouldn’t have to confront the gangster

(“he’s back again?! how many more desserts can he order?” you whined, poking your eyes over the front desk to see his frame entering past the window)

for some reason, juza couldn’t stop thinking of your hair clips. they were sweets, for goodness sake! nothing had made him happier, they were so tiny and adorable, they brought him instant serotonin even if he had some tough image

(maybe you were also super cute too, and he just needed an excuse to see you)

after weeks or so of failed attempts to catch you working, juza began sitting down and eating in the bakery, much to your misfortune

“how can i avoid him now if he spends a hour here every afternoon?!” you panicked even though juza’s back was turned to you. he happily ate his food, getting distracted by the quality of the sweets to notice you were basically staring at him

“are you sure he wants something from you? he comes here every day, he seems like a nice boy.” the owner vouched in his favor after talking to the offstandish teen at the register. sure, he was a bit rough around the edges, but he was much more respectful than any of the rotten kids who came in the shop!

ugh! the baker didn’t get it, there was no way someone like that didn’t want to start something with you!

out in the dining area, it took all the sugar in his body to actually make juza ask for a very specific server in detail. when someone had brought him his strawberry milk, juza cleared his throat with an awkward attempt at a smile (it looked more like a grimance than anything)

“uh... do you know if, a server with candy hair pins is here?” juza murmured, looking down at the table with an embarrassed blush as the waiter didn’t think anything of it, calling your name without another warning. you squeaked, dropping behind the counter as juza tilted his head in confusion

(why were you hiding? was there something wrong? what happened? juza thought, unaware he was actually the problem)

when you heard a series of footsteps stop near you, you hesitantly looked up from your crouching position and saw juza staring down at you with a concerned expression. his eyebrows were furrowed and he had his hand out

you took his hand and closed your eyes, fearing for your life. was he gonna yank you to your feet? push you over? trip you so you’d fall for real? you weren’t ready for a fight!

yet, none of that happened. juza gently lifted you up and made sure you were fine by observing your outfit to see if anything was wrinkled, muttering something about being careful and staying safe

you blinked, trying to process how incredibly wrong you were. juza was perhaps the nicest customer you had met in your entire career as a server, even taking the time to actually confirm you were okay with no ill intentions whatsoever

(suddenly, you remembered all the times you actively avoided juza and felt the guilt as he nodded at you, unintentionally lowering his height so he’d seem more approachable)

“sorry to bother you, but uh...” juza trailed off, trying to figure out how to phrase his next sentence. before you could respond, his hand landed on your hair and a beat of silence passed between you two

“cute.” juza forced out, and wanted to slap himself. cute?! no, say cute hair clips, ask where you got them! juza was internally panicking and you were doing the same as you looked up at him with wide eyes

it was so awkward and humiliating, juza couldn’t pull his hand away because his whole body was on shutdown. oh god, what could he do now? this was possibly the worst first impression in human history

“i’m cute?” you warily asked, staring at him with a slightly amused expression as juza blanked. you felt his hand subtly shake as it was your turn to be concerned over how red his face was

“no—i mean, yes, but, not like that! i mean...” juza finally lifted his fingers to poke at your hair decorations and you let out a sound of understanding, pointing at your own clips

“oh? you mean these?” you asked and juza nodded, like he was extremely thankful you understood him. he pushed his hands behind his back, nervously leaning back and forth on his feet as he looked away like the cupcake display was the most interesting thing in the world (it probably was)

“where did you, uh, get them?” juza quietly questioned and you giggled, patting them proudly as you stood a little bit taller from the unintentional praise

“i made them! thank you for asking!” you smiled, about to move away before juza accidentally held onto your arm, releasing his hold when he saw your shock. he definitely needed to learn how to be more socially acceptable one of these days or else he was gonna get in big trouble

“can i commission you?” juza muttered and there began your friendship with the big tough delinquent juza who really adored small, cute things (like yourself!)

any time juza was particularly fascinated with a dessert on display, you would show him a sketch sample of accessories you could make based on his favorites. surprisingly, juza was very comfortable with expressing his love for sugar because you felt the same way!

every day when juza came to visit the bakery, he’d always have something new to say about your homemade accessories and seemed fascinated by your adorable fashion sense

(he had been particularly obsessed with these dangly earrings you made that looked like little dango sticks. it was like a child had been playing with your ears the entire time)

it was about a month later when you made the final designs of the hair clips juza ordered and you knew they were your best work yet

you had multiple favorite desserts and fruits of his molded in clay or shaped in resin on a various sizes of clips and pins. you decorated them with the sole goal in mind to see how pretty they would look against juza’s dark purple hair

this would be the first time you two met out of the bakery, so when juza came and saw you didn’t look any different (hair accessories and all), he thought you were so sweet

juza’s entire face practically lit up when you presented him the clips. foods like ice creams, lollipops, and popsicles were all accessible for him as he struggled to find the words to show his appreciation for your work

you two sat on a bench in the park as juza gently took the clips, turning them carefully (you looked down and almost laughed at how tiny they looked in his hands)

when you asked for a model picture for your business page, juza’s shaky hands were clearly untrained in the art of hair clips as he put one in an awkward position and tried to look up to see what it looked like

“uh... i’m not very good at this.” juza admitted, embarrassed as he stared at his feet. it didn’t take you long to take over, moving closer to giddily pin juza’s hair back

(it was soft, you were almost jealous of how everything about him was the embodiment of “gentle giant”)

“it’s okay! here, let me.” you insisted and juza gratefully passed you your work, staring at everything but you as his cheeks became even redder. you were so close and leaning over him, trying to put them in cute positions as your fingers ran through his hair

(juza felt like the first time he saw you; like he was on a sugar rush as he noticed how nimble your fingers were on him)

when you were done and leaned back with admiration, juza looked at you with a small smile as he reached up to touch the designs you put in his hair, feeling the handmade pins against his calloused fingers

“cute~” you lifted your phone up, about to take a picture. juza didn’t know why, but he covered the camera with his palm as he lowered it, looking at you with the same focus he had everytime he saw you

“you’re cute.” juza froze. oh gosh, did he actually just confess that?! you were surprised, feeling his hand over yours. yet, you didn’t want to pull away. in fact, you wish your phone was out of the way so you could completely hold his hand

“you’re cute, too.” you responded, using your other hand to brush the loose strands of hair back from his face as you smiled

when juza came back to the dorms with the cutest, most pastel, childish hair clips, no one had time to say a word as he ran to his room and threw himself onto his bed. juza rolled onto his back, placing both his hands on his hair and putting them in front of his face as if he couldn’t believe it

he just held your hand! he was your boyfriend now! you liked him even if he was the complete opposite of you! juza silently shoved his pillow over his face, kicking the air uselessly

as your boyfriend, you and juza had much more in common than you thought. juza loved your cute sense of style, always trying his best to compliment your aesthetic by wearing more of your hair accessories and modeling for your page (apparently, he had the perfect hair color for it)

(he even let you put his hair down for certain posts, his usually slicked–back hair laying flat against his forehead as he didn’t look at you, his head turned as he blushed. “it’s not that bad, right?” he’d ask and you always complimented him no matter what)

although juza kept his rather grunge neutral look, he admired the way you were so bright and liked calling you dessert–related endearments just because you were the embodiment of sweets. he 100% thought you were the most adorable thing in his life and had to be made of pure sugar

in order to support your style, juza liked coordinating his clips with yours. he’d text you the night prior just to gain insight on what type of look you were going for and come to your bakery with something similar (even if your coworkers liked poking fun at his serious, stoic face that only changed around you)

he also came in with a new phonecase and you nearly fainted from how cute he was. he had a case that had those little squishes on them, he admitted he liked feeling them whenever he got a little anxious (it was such a cute habit, you had bought him a whole stock and it was like a little kid on christmas morning)

(you also made earrings out of a pair, he would not stop touching them)

whenever he noticed kids staring, juza never failed to advertise your business like his life depended on it. yes, your customer base actually did grow, somehow thanks to your most unlikely model yet

however, juza wasn’t the only one who had adjusted his style, you did too!

you two actually had had matching letterman jackets, yours in pink & white with a “j” in large letters and his black & grey with your first name initial as well. sometimes, you guys even switched just for the fun of it

you even got to wear his usual “10” purple jacket every now and then, even though he never said anything about liking you in his clothes. he’d just casually leave it around your place, acting like you wouldn’t notice the dark outerlayer in your mass of pastels

as you two were dating, juza wanted to be the best boyfriend possible for you as he wondered what to get you for your anniversary coming up. as juza subconsciously rubbed his clips with a thoughtful look, he suddenly had a lightbulb moment

that’s it! he should make you something in return

when you began seeing juza less and less around the bakery, you were nervous as what he was up to. juza barely hid anything from you since he was such a poor liar, so it was clear when he avoided talking about what he did after school now

in reality, juza was becoming frustrated with how big his hands were. every time he tried to make something, he was too forceful and caused the line to snap. the amount of beads he had lost at this point was laughable as juza tried to not knock over the bracelet–making kit on the table

(it took yuki coming by and taking pity on his crouched over form for him to go somewhere, muttering to himself about how he needed this to be perfect or else he’d die)

(juza always had a strong respect for jewelery makers, but it increased much more once he realized how clumsy and small his attenton span was)

just when you thought juza had forgotten your anniversary coming up, he randomly texted you out of no where asking if you were free. you looked at your shift and agreed, knowing you needed a break and not questioning a thing

when you walked out of the bakery, juza was already there with a small bag, his foot tapping against the sidewalk. before you could even ask how he’d been, he shoved it into your hand with an embarrassed blush (he was so nervous, he swore his heart skipped a beat)

“happy anniversary.” juza mumbled when you opened the small mesh, drawstring bag with a gasp. you slowly pulled out the beaded bracelet with a shocked look, seeing multiple silver dessert–themed pieces hang. there were mainly purple and black beads with four white blocks spelling out “juza”

juza showed you his wrist and he was wearing a beaded bracelet in a similar style, except his was your aesthetic with various pastel shades and your name on his string ending with a cute heart

you teared up and juza winced, rubbing the back of his neck as awkwardly looked away

“that bad, huh?” before juza could die of embarrassment, you shook your head and pulled him into a hug, surprising him when you stood on your tippy–toes to give him a kiss on the cheek

“i love it, this is the sweetest gift ever.”

“only for you.”

when juza slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, you knew you were never gonna take it off

who knew the scary, intimidating boy from the bakery was the sweetest person alive?

[burnedbyshoto]

Toyomitsu Taishiro (Fatgum) - HC

a/n: so I realized just how indepth these things really are, so scheduling I had is a joke, but whateva! happy four months lovlies :D

SFW:

A = Affection (How affectionate are they with an s/o?)

HE IS A BIG PHAT LIVING TEDDY BEAR DO YOU UNDERSTAND??? HE IS AS AFFECTIONATE AS YOU WILL LET HIM BE!!!!!!!!

B = Breath (What could their s/o do to take their breath away?)

If you, his s/o, ever learned how to make takoyaki. You don’t even have to be an amazing chef, this small act of cooking his favorite food will make him worship the ground you stand on (as if he wasn’t already doing that!)

C = Cuddling (Do they cuddle? If they do, how and when do they cuddle?)

You know those huge fluffy stuffed animals you wanted as a kid and you’d just lay on top of their big poofy stomach and just hold on because you were living the life??? That’s cuddling with Taishiro and you can’t convince me otherwise. Also, he loves it when you do it??? It just makes him feel super amazing???

D = Dream (What do they dream of doing with their s/o?)

He would love to open a poor kitchen with you. The two of you are that couple that everyone respects because of how kind and generous you are, and this kitchen would mean so much to those in the community that needs it.

E = Effort (How much effort do they put into a relationship?)

He’s very busy as a hero, and most nights he is very tired, but he will always dedicate his free day to you. Of course, it’s surrounded with errands, but just being with you is enough. He puts as much effort into his relationship with you as he can.

F = Fear (What do they do if their s/o is scared? How do they handle it?)

He will give you his hero hoodie. The soft and warm extremely large fabric of the jacket drowns you, but also makes you feel safe. He’ll wait for you to want his physical help, but for now, take the hoodie.

G = Gifts (What type of gifts do they give their s/o? Do they want a gift in return?)

Taishiro is the boyfriend who buys the rose from the local flower shop and brings it back with him on his way home. He gives you little gifts that make you smile, not really into really big and extravagant gifts unless the occasion calls for it. He enjoys the small things because you remember them just as well. He never expects a gift back and is genuinely shocked whenever you bring something home for him.

H = Hugs (Do they hug their s/o? How often?)

He is a big hugger. He will hug you more than kiss you, not even going to lie about it, but you enjoy it. Taishiro is an amazing hugger and it makes you feel safe, soft and warm.

I = Intimacy (How romantic are they? Do they have problems with intimacy?)

He is a huge romantic and is never ever afraid to demonstrate that to you or anyone. Never misses an important date, always texts you happy anniversary! Even month 18 he will send a heartwarming message as if it was a huge one!

J = Jealous (Do they get jealous? How do they act when jealous?)

He’s a bit of a jealous man because you are amazing. Of course, this jealousy doesn’t drive him to do anything, but he knows that many men scoff at him because he is in his large form! But he never fights anyone unless provoked into a fight; instead, he just glares at them which is super scary because he’s typically such an easygoing man.

K = Kiss (Are they a good kisser? Do they like to kiss? How often do they try to kiss you?)

He is a good kisser!!! His lips are never chapped, and he loves peppering kisses all over your face!!!!!!! He loves kissing you and will kiss you as often as you want him too.

L = Love (When do they say they love you? How often do they say it? Do they prefer to say or show it?)

He says “i love you” at a year. He fells it well before, but he felt that those words hold a lot of meaning, and he wants to express these genuine feelings to you at a special moment in your relationship because you mean the world to him. Afterward, he will continue saying it every day. If he had to choose between expressing it or saying, he would always show it.

M = Marriage (Do they want to get married? If so, what kind of ceremony?)

He wants to marry you, for sure! The ceremony would be small and intimate with only people the two of you love going!

N = Night out (What type of dates do they like to go on? How often do they like to go on them?)

You two visit a lot of restaurants together! Cooking classes!!!! Weekend trips to some taste-testing place!!!! wALKS THROUGH THE COMMUNITY?!?!?!!? They happen every week.

O = Out of the Ordinary (What’s something they don’t normally do with/for their s/o?)

He will not change his form for you. If you prefer FitGum over him, he won’t ever change himself.

P =Playful (Are they playful in a relationship? If so, how do they play around/mess with their s/o?)

He’s actually a very serious lover. Don’t let the wide grin and pleasant personality fool you. He is very very serious, that’s not to say he won’t play around with you or not joke around, but he likes being as straightforward and clear as he can be.

Q = Questions (Do they ask their s/o their opinion on things? Do they share theirs?)

He will ask for your opinion on things, he wants to hear your thoughts because he respects your input and ideas. He is also a very open and honest person; he shares his opinions even if they contradict your own.

R = Random (How spontaneous is their relationship? Do they do things on the spot or plan ahead?)

He’s not predictable but also not spontaneous. Like, you expect things from him because he’s a very routine guy, but he still manages to make every single routine something new for you.

S = Sleep (How do they sleep with their s/o?)

You can sleep on top of his belly, he loves it and he doesn’t move in his sleep so it works out! It also makes sharing the blankets easy!

T = Trust (How much do they trust their s/o?)

Taishiro trusts you completely. He never doubts what you say, and even if he thinks you’re lying he trusts you’ll come around and tell him the truth eventually.

U = Unique (What makes them unique as an s/o?)

His compliments. I know, compliments aren’t special or anything new, but there’s something so strangely different, so warming about the way he compliments you. It strikes your soul and warms you up whenever he praises you. You may not have a praise kink, but maybe you do now.

V = Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? What are they like in this state?)

Taishiro actually really really hates being vulnerable in front of you. As a hero, he thinks that it isn’t correct for him to be breaking at the seams. But, when he has to be, it can be at any point because hero work is so fucking exhausting… he’s just… sad. The smile on his face is shakey, his appetite is gone, he’s a shell of who he is, and you both don’t like it.

W = Wild Card (Get a random domestic headcanon of the character of your choice)

Taishiro and you have a long-running game of throwing food into each other’s mouths in the most creative ways possible. The best one so far was when he threw a takoyaki from his stomach hundreds of meters into the sky and you caught it. LEGENDS ONLY!!!!

X = X-Ray (What would they do if their s/o got injured?)

He will cater to you without even blinking an eye. Taishiro will overfeed you because you need the energy to heal! He will giVE YOU HIS JACKET AND I JUST REALLY WANT TO WEAR IT OKAY

Y = Yuck (Do they have any pet peeves about their s/o? Are there any habits that might bother their s/o?)

Super picky eaters. Now now, i know there are picky eaters out there, but i’m talking about picky eaters who won’t let him try any new foods. No, he does not care if you only want chicken tenders for the rest of your life, but if you won’t let him try a new restaurant because they don’t have anything it does bug him.

Z = Zeal (Are they passionate as an s/o? Do they want or like passion?)

He is a super intimate and passionate lover!!! He will try his best with what he has to give to you, and he loves it when you return it to him on every level.

NSFW:

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He lays there for a while, trying to capture his breath again. When he gets up, he always makes the two of you tea, and he returns with some food and whatever you need.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite feature is his legs, they’re just super strong and goddamn do you look hot as fuck when you’re sitting on his lap. His favorite body part on you is your mouth. Your pretty little mouth that can suck him off, kiss him like no one else, and whisper the most sinful things in his ear… yeah, he loves your mouth.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

His cum is… a weird taste. He has a good appetite, but he does sometimes eat questionable things, and it… is evident. But he loves watching you swallow his thin yet full load.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has kept a pair of your candy panties that he didn’t get to finish and ate it in public one day because he was able to pass it off as a candy bracelet… you don’t know that though...

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He is actually not that experienced... unfortunately most people see his fat form and scoff at him because of that, even if he is a kind man. Having sex with these women was especially hard, and since he was busy for a long time he never let it bother him, but he was sort of a natural. He knows how to move his body.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

The standing pretzel (this one is fucking amazing btw) and loves fucking you when you’re on a swing.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He is more serious in bed, but will always be smiling. It’s passionate and meaningful to him, so he tries to avoid joking around. But if you’re into it, he doesn’t mind. 

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

It’s surprising very well-groomed. Almost to the point where it’s shaved off completely. (it’s for less friction with his hero costume)

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

Loves to be super intimate and romantic. He is the kind of guy to hide flowers in the room and present them to you after fucking when you’re about to pass out.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t masturbate often. When he does, it happens more typically in the shower because he thinks you can’t hear him… you can… every time

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

FOOD PLAY FOOD PLAY FOOD PLAY!!!! Hairpulling, thigh-riding, overstimulating (giving), and blindfolds

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

In his office… oh my god, he loves bending you over his desk and making you come whenever you visit for lunch or something

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You. in. a. candy. bra. and. panties. Also, just sending him a very small thirst text/provocative picture is gonna get you some Daddygum dick.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Anything with humiliation. Do not ask him to be FitGum for bed, he literally will ignore you for the rest of the week. There are times he comes back with his low BMI so if you want to seduce that very tired and drained hero, be his guest, but never ever ask for it.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Loves giving it more. But goddamn you just look so fucking delicious going down on him that he doesn’t mind when you beat him to oral.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Isn’t too slow isn’t too fast. It’s why sex with him is so exhausting because you’ll come twice in ten minutes but it’s such a painful yet pleasurable ten minutes.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Not into quickies unless he’s in the office, then, by all means, let’s make each other come in 3 minutes.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He is into experimenting as long as the two of you take it slow while introducing it into the bedroom. Like, don’t dial it up to 15 until you both are comfortable.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He can last a few healthy rounds but nothing more than four rounds in one night.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He owns a fair share of toys that he much would rather use on you. Like he bought you a vibrator that does it’s job fucking right.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Will never ever say he likes to tease, but he’s a natural fucking tease and just isn’t aware. He will be fucking you at such a slow pace, his words teasing promises as he makes sure you can’t fuck him any faster. He’s a goddamn tease okay.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s quite vocal. He thinks words are very powerful and so will make sure he praises your every damn move if he must.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Really really really fucking loves being called hero in bed. He takes so much pride in his work that hearing it being slipped from your mouth… big phat nut.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He’s a big dick daddy. There’s no way he isn’t. Like nine inches with a considerable girth to it. Not veiny though, pinker than the rest of his body, and has a leftward curve.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He has a good sex drive… oh yeah, he can push himself to stay up every night to fuck you if needed.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Having sex really reenergizes him! He will definitely go finish up with last minute things afterward if you don’t fall asleep/want to cuddle.