#I tagged all the contestants whose names I could remember
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littlelodell · 1 year ago
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Tag Game!!
ˏˋ°*♡➷ get to know me ༊*·˚
Thank you @happy-mokka for the tag!!
rule: name your favorite movie, character, animal, drink, song, season, book, color and hobby
This is going to be tough because I am highly suggestible & I will bury my favorites for years and then suddenly remember them.
MOVIE(S) It's a tie, and an impossible task because I can name about fifty films whose images float around in my imagination. I grew watching a lot, A LOT, of Westerns, British WWII films and movie musicals, and classic films of the 1940's...but here are two later era movies that I come back to, and influence me as a creative person. Honorable mention to Hayao Miyazaki's entire oeuvre.
The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover, 1989
dir. Peter Greenaway. Michael Nyman score.
with Helen Mirren, Michael Gambon (RIP), Richard Bohringer & Alan Howard. (and Tim Roth and Alex Kingston!)
Terrifying, horrifying, darkly funny and stunningly gorgeous. It's extremely violent in a very specific way to Greenaway, which I have a harder time with now, but it's still worth watching, if only for the scenes between Mirren and Howard, which are virtually silent. Breathtaking.
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Der Himmel über Berlin (Wings of Desire) 1987 dir. Wim Wenders
This movie has EVERYTHING. Angels in dark coats, a library, Nick Cave, poetry, pre-fall of The Wall Berlin, trapeze artistry, moody smoking, Peter Falk as himself, did I mention angels? The final line gets me every time; "Ich weiss jetzt was kein Engel weiss." (excuse my German spelling.) "I know what no angel knows." In other words, love.
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Character. In my current obsession? Our dear demon, Crowley. He chooses himself, but is honest enough to know he loves someone else. Silly, moody, been to actual hell and back. What's not to love? Plus us redheads have to stick together.
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And of course, Kate ~ Taming of the Shrew. The OG bitch you hate to love. Runner up, Ariel from The Tempest. Gotta love a spirit that manages to be both mischievous and compassionate.
ANIMAL: Grey wolf. Canis Lupus. Their reintroduction to the wild is a very, very small pinpoint of hope for our ailing world.
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Drink: Coffee. No contest. Black. Unlike Daffy here, I prefer mine iced.
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Song: Currently listening to Yebba's "October Sky" on heavy rotation. She's truly gifted.
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But, how could I choose just one song? I listen to jazz, 90's RandB, country, West Coast rap, deep 80's cuts, current pop, always Bowie, Prince, Kate Bush, and classical vocal rep.
"Will There Really Be a Morning?" Ricky Ian Gordon comp., set to The Belle of Amherst's poetry - a perfect song.
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Season: Winter. But that's because I have to travel to get to a real winter. I love to (visit) the snow. I know, I romanticize it. I grew up in a place with brutal winters but all I remember is the Nordic skiing and playing hockey in figure skates and hot cocoa. Let me have my idyll.
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Books, three, in no order, all non-fiction, or I will get too far down a rabbit-hole:
The Hakawati by Rabih Alemeddine
Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson
My Antonia by Willa Cather (my actual favorite)
Each of these authors have other, equally compelling titles, and you should read them.
Color: Shades of Blue.
Hobby: Reading, traveling, taking pictures, starting yet another language to study.
Possibly cooking, but I used to do it for a living, so it always feels like a dance with an old friend, not a hobby.
I'll tag @reloha and @risingphoenix761 but don't feel obligated at all. If I did this again tomorrow, I would have completely different answers.
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shireness-says · 4 years ago
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A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink (2/5)
Summary: Two people are trained from childhood for a magical competition they don’t fully understand, whose stakes are higher than they imagine, all to be played out in a magical traveling circus. Falling in love complicates things. A CS AU of the book “The Night Circus”.
Rated M. ~16.5k. Also on Ao3. On Tumblr: Chapter One
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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.”
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heartwoodventures · 4 years ago
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Primary Access Required: Testing, Testing
In which Heartwood heads back to (bloody) Coerthas in order to test Aislinn’s aether dampener and catch themselves a spidery bioweapon!
Aislinn arrived in Heartwood’s front hall after a quick rest and a change of clothes. Seeing Rising near the tanks, she walked up and peered into the aquarium. "How's your friend?" she asked, doing away with any preamble.
Rising was eyeing the smaller fish swimming around the bottom of the tank as Aislinn approached. "Seems like he's doin' alright! If he ain't been eaten yet I don't think he will."
Aislinn gave a brief smile as she caught sight of the little bugger. "Looks like he's one of the team now. Good on him." she nodded before turning and taking a seat to wait for things to get under way. "How about yourself? How's things?"
Cravendy slips out from her room and joins the others by the couches. Once seated, she immediately begins to fiddle with her gun, double and triple checking its parts on repeat.
Riylli lazily waves to Cravs as she enters and takes a seat near her. "Hey! Have we always had this many Miqo'te in the company? Why'd no one tell me?"
"Still need a name though." Rising rubs her chin as she was clearly running through suitable options in her head. "Crimble I suppose seems alright, an' can't complain here, yourself? Carve anythin' neat yet?"
"Crimble." Aislinn tried the name out a few times, murmuring it under her breath. "Aye, that fits. Tiny-sounding. Like a crumb or a thimble." At Rising's question though, she tilted her head. "I'm getting really good at spatulas. And kindling. Lots of kindling for the fire." she replied in a deadpan way before shrugging in wry amusement. "So it goes."
"Well then after you start your fire with the kindlin' you have somethin' to flip your food at least! I guess next thing ya should work on is a fork or a plate eh?" Rising plopped down on the other chair, cursing a moment later. "Shite, we're headin' to Coerthas right?"
N'yami moved through the estate with a carbuncle following right behind her, the Seeker chose to stand next to the railing and eye the group that had showed up. Ears flicked at the mention of Riylli's comment then offered a small wave. "I tend to hide out in my workshop, only come out when I'm either needed or dragged out."
N'ana Firesong stretches.
“I always figured ye cat-folk kept to yourselves...” Cravendy dips her head at N’yami. Case in point.
Riylli waved back to N'yami and flashed her a quick grin. "Well, it's nice to finally meet ya then. My names Riylli." She said, before her friendly attitude turned on a dime as she turned back to Cravs. "Don't call us cats." She said, her voice cold and clearly annoyed.
Haila meanwhile, merely remained silent. She could see new faces being involved in this particular case, and it didn't bring any relief more than worry. Having more people meant bigger risks of losing someone again, or at least, such was the case in her eyes as she glanced around with a small frown.
N'ana Firesong simply dusted her legs and made herself comfortable.
Evelyn Blazewing laughs and shakes her head upon hearing Riylli's comment. "Fufufu... this vessel is merely temporary. But I suppose I am still /technically/ a Miqo'te..." She brought her bandaged right hand up to cover the left side of her face. "I much prefer the company of my familiar than I do that of mortals. But, I figured I should at least come out every once in a while to converse with the commoners..." She smiled smugly to herself with her last comment.
Riylli Aliapoh raised an eyebrow at Evelyn's comment, then looked around the room to check everyone elses reactions only to find no one looking as confused as she was. "Erm... Right. Well, nice to meet you too... I think."
N'yami Synch: "N'yami, ya ever need somethin' fixed lemme know and I'll lend a hand." The carbuncle next to the Seeker jumped up onto the Seeker's shoulder to wrap around her like a scarf, the summon wanted to feel a part of the conversation. "Oh, and this is Whackara before she hits me for not introducin' her." The summon puffed out her chest with joy. "So I'm sure the rest of ya are as excited as I am to head out to Coerthas and deal with that cold hell."
Cravendy Hound grunts, but obliges to Riylli’s request. She was used to hanging out with pirates whose conversations were often thinly veiled insulting contests, and old habits die hard. “Right...Mee-quote-tay. Not cat.”
Aislinn was about to open her mouth to reply to Rising but quickly shut it as N'yami started talking. She turned her attention to the miqo'te and simply sighed. Damned bloody Coerthas.
N'ana Firesong: "What is in this Cold hell ye are dealing with?"
Haila Wetyios: "The reason we're short three people within the Company right now..." was all she'd comment, choosing to allow N'yami to take the floor on this one.
N'yami Synch: "Allagan spider creatures that some crazed scientist made to drain aether from living things...." She paused and thought it over for a moment. "I think that about sums it up." The Seeker shrugged. "I just got pulled into this recently."
Evelyn chuckles to herself. "Ah, are you all going out? I, Evelyn Blazewing, third incarnation of Lord Blazewing the Phoenix, the Eternal Ember, shall accompany you. You said we are headed to Coerthas, is that right, mortal? Fufufu... a phoenix not need worry about the cold. You should be most glad that I'm tagging along! My prowess with fire shall prove most useful to all of you there... i-if you'll have me, I mean." She looked away a bit at her last statement.
Rising Lotus grumbled more as their location was confirmed, shrugging as Riylli glanced at her. "Don't have my damn cold gear with me..gonna be a fun day." she sighed and slumped down a bit in the chair.
After casting an askance look at Evelyn and her declaration, Aislinn murmured almost to herself. "I'll have to grab my bleeding coat before we head out." If Aislinn hated anything, it was the cold.
N'ana Firesong: "Well then meh blade if for ye then. Don't know much of whatever these spiders are but aye am always willing to test meh metal."
Riylli grinned. "Finally, I've been waiting to go after those spiders ever since I joined this group! You can't just lead with that then make me build up some town for moons instead. I'm built for smashing, not building!"
Haila snapped her eyes towards one of the newcomers. "Pride won't do you any good in this, nor recklessness. These things have casters as their primary targets each and every single time we've come across them." she said, immediately sighing afterwards as she raised a hand to her forehead. "It goes without saying that magic should be the very VERY last resort in this expedition you're all about to go." she added, this time glancing at everyone.
Cravendy Hound: “Are ye all ‘earin’ what I’m ‘earin’? Or am I ‘avin’ some kind of...” Cravs shakes her head in confusion at Evelyn’s remarks. But it was all very curious to her, and she found herself wondering about the curious character. “Aye, let’s bring along that one.”
N'yami had a very confused look on her face for a moment but it vanished as soon as it appeared. "Well, I believe Aislinn had a device to help us?" She perked a brow when looking over to the Hyur. "Last time we talked we were goin' to use me as bait for pullin' the creature in while the rest of ya bring it down."
Haila Wetyios: "All of this while keeping the spider as intact as possible. 'Tis all I'd ask to finish cracking the data and communication they all share."
N'ana Firesong: "So we are studying them, not slaying them."
Riylli Aliapoh breathed a sigh of relief that someone else was hearing what Evelyn was saying, and that she had not just gone insane. But she had another concern now, turning to Haila, "Wait, we can't use magic? No one said anythin' about not using magic."
Aislinn nodded to N'yami. "The aether dampener, aye. Did you remember to grab it from your mother's desk?" she asked. "Like I said before it. ..*should* mask a person's aether signature a great deal. But, you can't get something for nothing. In return, it makes using aether far more difficult. Like training with weights on. Should being the operative word. I've tested it out here but it's never really been field tested before. And not against those bioweapons." she added.
N'yami’s ears went down for a moment, that's right she was supposed to grab it. But never fear Whackara was on the case! The carbuncle swatted Yami over the head before opening her mouth to show the object they were talking about. "Oh yea! Gave it to ya to protect." Holding her hand out the carbuncle just dropped it in Yami's hands like it was no big deal. Clearly this wasn't the first time the carbuncle was used for storage.
Cravendy‘s frown deepens at the mention of N’yami being bait. “It sounds like ye ‘ave all the pieces aligned, but that sounds risky. If it looks like yer in trouble, then ye’ll ‘ave to forgive me for trashin’ the enemy.”
"We've lost three people so far, all of them having a specialty somehow tied to conjury or white magic. We can't take extra risks again." Haila paused, turning over to Riylli. 
"When the first person went missing, a group of three assembled secretly and went to try and find them without telling anyone... Needless to say, only the one person that wasn't exactly magically inclined came back. Those creatures are an army of machina to say the least."
Evelyn Blazewing sighs. "Fine, mortal. I shall hold my magic unless it is absolutely necessary. You needn't worry regardless, for a phoenix always rises from her ashes!" She struck a small pose, leaning back in her seat for a moment before returning to her usual position. "So we're letting it live? Perhaps it is best I not use my magic after all..." She sighs and shrugs. "I will simply find another way to assist you all, then. I shall exercise extreme caution so you do not worry, viera. Does that help ease your nerves?"
Riylli Aliapoh peaked up from over the back of her couch to listen to Aislinn explain. "Well... I should be able to work with using less aether, but you won't be getting me at my best! I was hoping to show off proper this time too, since no one could see anything during that dodo fight..."
Aislinn nodded in thanks to the carbuncle for remembering. She looked back to N'yami. "Once you're ready, just cuff it to your wrist, the stone and circuitry should do the rest." she once more eyed Evelyn with a wary gaze.
Haila Wetyios: "As long as you keep your own distance, I won't complain." she merely stated with a serious tone, though from her voice, it was clear that she had her own reservations or even personal feelings about this entire case.
Rising Lotus raised her hand "Going with what Cravs said, in case things start to go sour, we ought to have a signal or somethin' to switch from catchin' to smashin' and gettin' outa there."
Aislinn turned her attention to Riylli. "Unfortunately, I only had time to create one prototype." she jerked her chin to the one in N'yami's hands. "The rest of us need to be careful."
Riylli groaned. "Great... Guess I'll just... Play defense, or somethin'..." She muttered, totally pouting over not getting to fight the spiders properly
"Should I put it on now or wait till we get there?" N'yami eyed Riylli for a moment, an actual caster would be better playing bait but the Seeker couldn't bring herself to letting the others getting injured if things went bad.
Aislinn does her best to hold her tongue in the face of such idealistic exuberance. The gravity of the loss of Heartwood members in the face of these bioweapons hadn't truly sunken in for the new recruits. Sometimes experience was the best teacher. She looked to N'yami and took a refocusing breath. "Depends on if you think you're going to need to call upon some aether between now and then."
“Scream once if yer in trouble, twice if yer just foolin’ with us.” Cravs dryly advises N’yami.
"What happens if I do it three times?" N’yami grinned, joking of course and an attempt to lighten the mood. "No worries, if things start goin' bad I'll let ya know guys know."
Evelyn: "Ah, is that what our signal shall be? Primitive and simple, yet effective. The success of our mission is all but assured regardless if we take the necessary precautions."
N'yami nodded. "So." N'yami clipped the item onto her wrist. "Who wants to hold the Carbuncle? If things start goin' bad she'll let ya know." The summon’s ears perked up and pitch black orbs looked around the room to determine who her Coerthas buddy will be.
Evelyn raises her hand enthusiastically. "I shall care for thy familiar, mortal. Choose me, and you shall not regret it."
Cravendy Hound tries to lean into N’yami’s confidence, and tries to tell herself this mission will be smooth sailing. But an ever familiar anxiety sets her heart pumping.  Cravs huffs, and moodily looks to the corner of the table.
"Whackara is connected to me, if I'm in trouble her fur will bristle so just keep an eye on that." The carbuncle jumped down from N'yami's shoulder and went to sit on the arm of the chair where Evelyn was, a paw reached out to rest on the red heads shoulder as if to say 'Buddy'.
Evelyn grinned quietly to herself and chuckled. "The pact is complete, then. I shall guard this one with my life. You needn't worry, I will simply resurrect should anything happen to me. Your safety is all but assured, friend." She reaches a hand out to softly pet the carbuncle.
Rising Lotus "We have somethin' to catch it or keep it too right? Or should we jus' break it's legs an' bring it in?" she crossed her arms and leaned back into her chair. "Granted I don't know anythin' near enough 'bout them as Haila, but I do remember ya sayin' it can call other ones too right? Do we have some way to stop that?"
Haila turned over to Rising, "No ways to disrupt it yet I'm afraid, 'tis one strong signal, but the best would be to drag the straggler you mean to capture as far away as possible before it calls reinforcements."
N'yami hummed in thought for a moment. "Could use wires? A barrier would just be absorbed by the damn thing, but we would need a couple people who would want to volunteer to just jump the damn thing and tie it up."
Aislinn let her gaze drift over to Rising and Cravendy
Evelyn sighed and looked around. "Unfortunately, this vessel's arms are quite frail, otherwise I would love to volunteer... are any mortals willing to take the lead?"
“Seems easier to just break its legs. We won’t be needin’ those to do whatever we need the spider for, right?” Cravendy looks around, suddenly wary of another’s gaze on her. “Jump it. Beat it up. Been there, done that...”
Rising Lotus grimaces "Ugh, alright. I don't wanna see a wave of them things again if I can help it." she glanced at N'yami as she offered her suggestion. "..that sounds like it'd work, sure Cravs is a right fine knot tie-er too. " she looked toward Cravs.
Riylli raised her hand. "I could probably incapacitate it with my magic pretty easy, depending on how strong the thing is. Would give me something to do too..." She said with an overexaggerated sigh
Haila Wetyios: "As long as it gets the job done, I have no quarry with it. Breaking the legs should do the job, but if all else fails, I'll take a broken spider."
"Ah, are you not joining us, mortal? A shame, your apparent experience with these spiders would be quite the help." Evelyn said, turning her gaze to Haila.
Haila Wetyios shook her head. "As much as I wish I could, I have my reasons for not going... 'Tis been by mere coincidence that the spiders didn't pick up on me the other times. But I can't risk a third one. At least not if I want a few plans of my own to work."
N'yami Synch: "So who's ready to go catch us a spider!? That's a dumb question no one really is but hells we need the bloody thing so let's go punch it in the legs."
N'ana Firesong gave a small sigh. "Why spiders" she mumbled.
Cravendy glances back at Rising. “Can’t say I’ve ever kidnapped a spider, but there’s a first for everythin’. But the idea would be the same. Lure it away to some lonely corner, away from pryin’ eyes, and tie it up afore it knows what got ‘im. Or beat it till it’s broken.”
Riylli gave a concerned look to the pirate Roe, unsure if she was joking or not
Rising Lotus: "Well lets play it by ear then. If we have a chance to bind it lets do that, if not we'll smash it's legs off, and as a last case option we'll kill it all together."
Evelyn stands up and strikes a pose with her staff. "Let our operation commence. The Goddess of Victory is on our side, so long as we err on the side of caution. Now, let us show these spiders true despair..." She held her bandaged right arm up to her left eye again, folding her left one across her body. She let out an enthusiastic "Fwahahaha!" and shook her head afterward.
Aislinn nodded and rose to her feet. "Seems like we have a plan in place." Roughly, but it was still a plan. "I'll go grab my bloody coat." she shook her head and retreated briefly back to her quarters.
After the group made the walk through Coerthas back to the area where they knew the spiders would appear, with some grumbling cause of the cold of course, N'yami lead them through the snowy terrain. Stopping in her tracks the Seeker looked around with perked ears. "Where exactly were you all ambushed before? Perhaps that will be the best spot to look for one."
Riylli kicked at the ground below, trying to keep her shivering to a minimum. "...Hate this stupid place... Grounds all frozen... Terrible to work with..." She muttered to herself as the rest of the group did their thing
N'ana: "Aye hope we finish up quickly. As much as aye enjoy mountain trips in Othard this cold is a different story."
Aislinn looked to Rising and Cravendy to answer that question. She hadn't yet ventured out to meet these spiders head on. For obvious reasons. Heartwood still needed at least a semblance of a medical staff until they could get G'lewra and Vanriri back.
Rising Lotus huffed as they exited the cave, rubbing her hands together as she was a tad underdressed. "I think it was a bit more down there, near the bridge right?" she glanced at Cravs, keeping her body moving to build up some heat. It then dawned on her the Cravs was kind of not there at the time, but maybe she knew somehow?
Evelyn shivered quietly, holding Whackara in her arms. "F-Fufufu... this cold is n-nothing... you m-mortals always complain about the silliest things..." she posed again in her usual fashion.
Cravendy feels her gut sink as she remembers a time when...it was before she woke up, and yet. She groans, but answers to the best of her ability. “Yeah, I remember it was by that hill, and we crossed a bridge at some point. Over there?” Cravs points down south.
N'yami Synch: "Works for me." She offered a shrug and just started walking down the path, they'd eventually run into the blasted thing right? That's how it usually worked from what she heard. "Time to give this damsel-in-distress thing a try I suppose."
"I-If these things go after magic users, how 'bout we just start channelling and wait for it to show up?" Riylli offered, getting sick of standing in one place freezing her tail off
Cravendy lightly elbows Evelyn as she passes her. “Phoenix-lass, right? Ye think ye can ‘eat up the poor sods who’re freezin’ their arses off?”
Rising Lotus looks at the river over the hill. "This is lookin' familiar, bridge ain't too far from here." she pointed across it. "They all came from the other side of it, and we fell back to the bridge." she pointed to the left down the path.
Aislinn heard Cravendy and looked over her shoulder. "I'm good. No need to light me up or anything."
Evelyn Blazewing 's eyes open wide. "Sh-Share my warmth? With... e-everyone? F-Fwahaha, I certainly would if it were possible. Touching a mere mortal with my body temperature s-so high would incinerate them to mere ashes!" she quietly mumbled to herself. "B-Besides, I'm kinda using it right now..."
Cravendy nods to Rising’s statement. “Some of ‘em were underneath the snow too, so watch where ye step.”
Aislinn took a few steps back at that. "Great." she muttered as she peered down at the frozen ground around them.
N'ana Firesong: "Ye seem ye can mix a drink right now, Phoenix."
Evelyn: "I would be happy to mix you a drink were now a good time, mortal. Ask when we return home and I shall happily oblige."
N'yami looked around for a moment as they paused. "We'll stick around somewhere safe so the rest of ya have a place to hide while I drag the damn thing out." The Seeker pointed over at the boulder sticking out of the ground. "Go hide over there while I call it out. Rising, and Cravs, get ready to launch yerself at it once it comes out."
Rising Lotus: "Aye, pulled...uh.. someone off one before it got her, then it called it's friends." she tapped her boots on the ground to shake some snow out of her sandals.
Cravendy: “Aye. Come on Rising, we got a boulder to snoop behind.” She starts to walk over.
Heartwood runs into another RP FC also RPing (Riylli Aliapoh) (feels like two rival gangs are passing) (Aislinn North) ((Throwdown)) (Haila Wetyios) Oh snap)) (Rising Lotus) We have to intimidate them, everyone make yourselfs big)) (Cravendy Hound) OH?? )) (N'yami Synch) PUFF OUT)) (N'yami Synch) I think we win)) (Cravendy Hound) omg haha )) (Riylli Aliapoh) (as big as you can get) (N'yami Synch) Lol one of them is a friend of my so I whispered yelled at him to get out of my swamp xD))
Rising Lotus nodded, pumping herself up before tailing behind Cravs, drawing her spear on the way.
"I can help too y'know..." Riylli muttered as she stomped off to hide behind the boulder
Aislinn murmured to N'yami as she gestured to the device on the miqo'te's wrist. "If your plan is to take that off to lure a spider, I'd suggest snapping it right back on the moment you get one on your trail. As it is we're going to have a hell of a time shutting it up before it calls any others." she nodded. "Watch yourself, aye?"
Cravendy ducks behind the boulder and peeks out, as sneakily as she can manage. But she’s half-distracted by Rising, who to her...does not look dressed for success, in this weather. “Nophica’s teats, ye askin’ to catch a cold again?!” She harshly whispers.
N'yami Synch: "Cravs and Rising, pull Riylli with ya when the thing comes out, the faster we bring the thing down the better." The Seeker looked over to Aislinn and offered a short nod. "I can defend myself pretty well, if you know someone else needs it more I'll be fine without it."
Riylli's ears perked up, her pouting interrupted. "Wait, me? I mean, yeah! The grounds a bit frozen, but I'm sure it'll be fine" She finished with a confident nod, back to her usual self
Rising Lotus was peeking around the other side of the rock, spearing humming away as they waited. "I'll be fine, been through here lots of times dressed like this. Build's character." she shivered a bit as she said the last part. " 'sides fightin' will keep me plenty warm."
Aislinn shook her head and snorted. "I'm not playing the lottery like that. You're going after the spider, you take it. I'm just saying." she turned and went to stand with the others.
Riylli kicks a bit off snow onto Rising's exposed toes. "Builds hypothermia is what it does. How are you gonna fight when you're frozen to the ground?"
Cravendy: “Might be awhile ‘fore we’re fightin’.” Cravs looks back at N’yami and watches the miqo’te like a hawk. Her breath coming out in chilly plumes, she mumbles something under her breath. “Feh, character...Personally, I’m done buildin’ anymore of that.”
N'ana Firesong keeps a watchful eye over her surroundings.
N'yami unhooked the device from her arm for a moment, and that's when the rest of the group would feel a surge of aether crash over them. The group would feel a wide range of emotions hit them, the strongest one they felt would send a warmth through their cold bodies. Raising her hand in the air the Seeker summoned a ball of aether and shot it off in the air, one after the other like a show of fireworks and each one burst in the sky. Red aether mixed into the white winds that were carried off to call upon the creature they were looking for and with how much the Seeker was giving off did the group hear an echoing screech off in the distance. Those who had met the creatures would know the sound all too well, it was coming.
N'ana Firesong knelt over, feeling the warmth take over her body and shivered. "Thralls balls!"
Rising Lotus shot Riylli a glare, flinging the snow off her foot, about to retaliate before N'yami started and she focused up, tightening her grip on her spear. She grit her teeth as they had garnered hopefully only one's attention.
Evelyn recoils a bit, reeling from the emotional surge she just felt. She then turns her attention to the sky, and back to N'yami. "An excellent show, mortal, but will it do the tri-" She's cut off by the screeching, which causes her to smirk. "Fufufu... it seems your ploy worked. Everyone, ready yourselves. Our enemy will be upon us soon." She mumbled to herself again. "I-I think... that's our enemy..."
Aislinn stumbled back as the aetheric emotions hit her, the warmth flowing into her body triggering a sense of alarm. No. Not now. But it soon passes as she realized it was only N'yami and not herself. She breathed and tried to shake off the feeling. "That'll get them if nothing else." she said low, her voice wavering slightly.
Riylli glances over to Evelyn. "Hey, crazy lady, how hot can that fire of yours get? Y'think you can thaw the earth a bit for me when we jump out?"
Cravendy grunts as she weathers the wave of aether, sets her jaw as foreign emotions flow through. When it passes, she finally takes a gasp of air. Without knowing it, Cravs had been holding her breath. But she could not breathe easy, not yet. They were coming.
Evelyn glares at Riylli. "I am not crazy, mortal. My flames are the hottest in the realm. I would be more than happy to assist you, however." She sighed.  "So, my talents shall simply be used to thaw the earth? Fine, fine... I came here to offer my assistance, after all."
The sound of heavy footsteps could be heard as the beast came crashing through the snowy plains, this one was the perfect size to carry someone off and with how much aether it detected it seemed determined to catch whatever was creating it. At the last possible second N'yami slapped the device onto her wrist again to dampen her aether, and that's when the Crawler stopped in front of her. The familiar whirring noise was heard as it scanned the Seeker for the aether source.
Aislinn North From her hiding place behind the boulder, Aislinn tensely watched, her breath trapped in her lungs. She sincerely hoped her device wouldn't fail now, of all times.
Cravendy‘s eyes widen at the sight of the machine, but any hesitation is quickly pushed down. Cravs shuffles over the boulder and charges at her target, hoping to knock it off balance with a low blow to one of its many legs.
Rising Lotus "Great, a big one..." she hopped out from her hiding place and charged forward, taking a great big swipe at it's front left leg as she got in range.
Riylli Aliapoh hopped up onto the rock, shouting out to Evelyn. "Time to shine, crazy phoenix lady! Help me get the earth under it's legs!" She commanded, and began to swirl aether around her as she commanded the earth to reach out and swallow up the spiders legs, though as she suspected the ice made it difficult to manage. However, with Evelyn's help…
N'ana Firesong: "Take out it's eye!"
Evelyn sighs and smiles, bringing her rod close to her. "Fufufu... behold mortals, the purest of flames, the hottest of cinders! This is a gift from Lord Blazewing himself! To ash do we fall, and from ash do we rise... now!" *she launches a small fireball, which then explodes into a larger flame that consumes the ground around the spider. "Hell's Maw!"
Aislinn reached into her coat, white-knuckles wrapping around the grip of her pistol as the others charged. She wouldn't use her aether but she would shoot if things began to take a dire turn. For now, she watched and waited, fighting the frustration that rose in her.
Despite the several attacks aimed at the spider, it seemed as only a selected few even had an effect on it. Riylli's rocks for once, managed to at least ground it on the spot. It's metal legs though, were stronger than the ones that they'd faced before, that much was clear from the fact that it's hindleg barely took any damage from Rising's attack. The edges of it's fleshy limbs suffering very slight charring as it detected the aether sources around it. The fire spell becoming it's first target as it had been the biggest display of aether out of all of them, with the earth rocks being a close second.
Aislinn North can see where this is going and cursed harshly under her breath. The weapon was already assessing and zeroing in on those who had created a display of aether. "Get ready to scatter." she warned.
Finishing it's scans of it's primary targets as well as potential threats, the mechanical spider made several whirring sounds, had it been a smaller one, it would have surely attempted to call for backups already. This one though, was big enough to attempt it's own attacks. Lifting the few legs that weren't trapped in stone, it attempted to free it's other legs as it hurled rocks around at the closest people within it's range whilst smaller spiders dropped off the big one, rushing at the people in the back.
N'yami watched as the crowd charged at the Crawler and watched the chaos start to form, the Seeker waited for the right time to interfere and if needed she would join the battle. Her ruby gaze kept flicking down to the device on her wrist, debating to take it off to act as bait again, that's why she was here right?
Riylli pumped more aether into her spell, refusing to allow the spider freedom so long as she could help it. "Gonna need you guys to keep those things off me! Can't exactly multitask right now!" She called to whoever might be able to help
Ready for it, Aislinn dashed out from behind the boulder as the smaller spiders charged toward them. She fired off a few shots as she went, hoping to pick a couple off before they swarmed the others.
Rising Lotus managed to dodge the stones that were throw at her, grunting and gripping her spear tightly. With a mighty shout she jabbed the tip of her spear right between where the leg meets the body, twisting and pushing open a gap towars the now exposed and vulnerable shoulder mechanics! If someone could aim several shots in there it would sure do a lot of damage!
Cravendy Hound: “Umf! Shit, thing’s built like a brick ‘ouse!” Why did she think that tackling a thing made of solid metal was a good idea to begin with? Now her shoulder felt all kinds of wrong. She rolls to dodge the flurry of rocks and, out of the corner of her eye, she sees the smaller spiders rush at the party’s backline. A bitter cocktail of anger and anxiety sets her heart alight. Not on her watch!
Cravendy grins when Rising serves her an opening on a silver platter. “Thank ye, flower. Now!” She whips her gun out and sends a flurry of shots aimed directly at the exposed circuitry.
N'ana stabbed at the smaller spiders around her. slashing and kicking the ones too close to her.
Evelyn targets the small spiders approaching her, readying another area fire spell. Without giving a small speech this time, she simply readies and casts another area fire spell, hoping to get rid of the smaller spiders coming after her. After launching her attack, she mutters "Calamity Blaze." and strikes a pose.
Relatively assured that she hadn't made herself a target for the smaller spiders, Aislinn continued to fire off shots to drop the bastards before they could reach the ones casting aether about with abandon, pausing only for the scant seconds it took her to reload. Her precision as a sharpshooter on display, she rarely seemed to miss her marks.
Riylli grit her teeth, trying to hold on as the spider did everything it could to free itself from it's bindings. "I ain't gonna be able to hold much longer! Do whatever it is you gotta do, and do it fast!" She called out to the front lines, swearing under her breath. "'Take it alive' huh? Easy to say when you aren't the one holding the damned thing..." She mutters angrily, before pumping another dose of aether into the earthen shackles
Rising Lotus grinned as Cravs fired several shots into the hole she made, twisting her body around to try and spear the other front leg, aiming for the first joint from it's body and thrusting hard, hopefully she'd continued to have good results aiming for those points compared to hacking and slashing
Cravendy feels that telltale burn of combat. Of blood boiling, of time slowing. Given her proximity to the large machine, Cravs decides to try to grab hold of another leg and directly press the end of her gun at its joint. Squeeze, and fire.
The onslaught of attacks took it's toll, for a moment it seemed that the large spider had underestimated it's targets. Such was the issue of programming it's priorities. The leg that Rising and Cravs had worked together to damage caused several circuits to go haywire. The spider had to pause for a moment as the rest of it's legs too, started taking damage from the shots, the spears and the rocks keeping it grounded all causing damage beyond acceptable parameters, the creature attempted to step back to no avail, it's smaller spiders being taken one after the other with the group work from everyone attacking it. Upon finishing it's damage calculations, it buckled down, almost compacting part of it's body for a moment as it emitted a deafening sound alongside static that was nearly palpable in the air. It wouldn't damage it's opponents as much as it would deafen them briefly, but it was for sure calling for nearby backups.
Riylli just kept channeling really. Nothing to see here. She wasn't getting tired or anything. It's fine. All fine.
Cravendy recoils at the explosive sound blaring right next to her ears. She searches for the source of the sound but can’t quite focus with this ringing in her head, so instead she opts to continue her assault. Cravs aims her gun at the spider’s chassis and fires several times. If it’s broken, the racket’ll stop, right?
N'ana shook her head feeling a bit dizzy and off balance from the noise. She put the sword inside its holdster and then drew it with a blinding light of power on one of the spiders back legs.
Aislinn staggered to the side and clapped a free hand over one ear as the blaring beacon went off. Damn it all. That thing simply needed to -die-. Gritting her teeth against the painful noise, she did her best to keep watch on the casters, and pick off any of the smaller spiders that still remained. "Someone shut it up, fast!" her words barely heard over the blaring siren.
Rising Lotus braced herself as the screech blared, bracing herself while she gazed over the ugly thing. Things usually make sound from their mouths, so she thrusted right under it's glowing eye, hoping that was where it would be? If it had one?
N'yami Synch placed her hands over her ears as the creature called out for help. Why did it need to be so loud? "Take it down now! We need to get out of here fast before the backup arrives!"
Riylli Aliapoh huffed, feeling neglected out there in the backlines, watching everyone else do cool stuff. She was not one to enjoy taking the support role, and suddenly a very stupid idea dawned on her. She grinned, "Alright, time to end this!" She called out, suddenly thrusting her arms out to the sides and pumping in every last bit of her aether, the earthen shackles that had been binding the creatures legs suddenly flying out in opposite directions, ripping the spiders legs out with them
Evelyn Blazewing covered her ears and crouched down in recoil from the harsh noise the spider emitted. "I-It's worse than the wails of the damned... shut up!" She stood up, braced herself, and fired a ball of flame at the mechanical arachnid, yelling out "Flames of Ifrit!" as she did.
Cravendy Hound brings her arms up in time to guard herself against a shower of earth and ice. “By the godsdamned Navigator! Warn me next time ye use yer magic!” But, seeing as the spider was now rendered legless by Riylli’s efforts, it seemed a good opportunity to grab and go. Cravs stumbles to the other end of the machine and tries to lift it. They had to get this thing, and themselves, out of here fast.
While incredibly risky and stupid, Riylli's idea worked, the sudden pull from the rocks alongside it's already damaged legs nearly ripped all of them off on the spot. Only one leg remaining, which was the one N'ana kept attacking as the blasted thing started to squirm as much as it could. Several smaller spiders dropped off it's insides, clearly confused as the signal it was sending out to them was not going off well thanks to the damage caused by Rising and Crav's shots.
N'yami bolted towards the giant spider and went to lift it with Cravs. "Let's go go go." The carbuncle grew in size to be big enough to ride and trotted up to Riylli incase she needed to be carried home. "Those who can lift get over here."
The large spider was rendered defenseless, and most of all, it was half intact.
Riylli fell to her knees, aether spent and body exhausted. She grit her teeth and picked herself back up, using her staff to keep her balance as she didn't want people seeing how wiped out she was. "What else could 'time to end this' mean!?" Riylli shot back to Cravs, before carefully trying to crawl her way off the boulder she was dramatically perched on. Maybe exhausting herself right before it was time to run... was not the best plan
Rising pulled her spear back just in time to watch Riylli pull it's legs off like a child would do to a bug, and probably Riylli to a bug too honestly. Quickly returning her spear to her back, she made her way to the front, squatting down and preparing to lift it with the others.
As the limbs come off the spider in a mighty pull of earth, Aislinn wasted no time rushing towards the downed bioweapon, taking out the small spiders that wandered around in confusion. "Alright. N'yami's right. Let's take it and run." she holstered her weapon and made ready to lift along with the others.
Evelyn applauded Riylli's display, a proud smile on her face. "Excellent, truly excellent work, mortal. Your prowess with the earth is quite remarkable..."
Cravendy grumbles something under her breath about being more specific, that “time to end this” should clearly state -how- as well. But it was all bullshit and Cravs knew it - couldn’t expect people to say all that in the heat of the battle. Didn’t stop her from complaining the whole way back though.
Riylli gave a tired grin, always ready to accept some praise. "Best geomancer in eorzea, you can bet on it! You were a big help with that fire though. Couldn't have done it without ya." She said with a nod, before noticing the large carbuncle seemingly waiting for her to pass out. "Oh, hey... you. You offering a ride?" She asked, giving a shrug as she hopped on and did her best not to look so relieved.
As Heartwood managed to take the giant Crawler back, hopefully Haila was fine with the size of it, the group successfully completed their mission and even managed to escape the backup before they showed up but now the real question. How are they going to get it through the door?
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hela-avenger · 5 years ago
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poison & wine- part 21
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Author: hela-avenger
Word Count: 1743
Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.
A/N:  I don’t know if you guys are ready for this one but here it is! Thanks for liking/commenting/reblogging! Please send me a message/ask if you’ll like to be tagged!
poison & wine masterlist
Though they seemed to love to spread their opinion of the prince, they really did seem to know to keep their lips sealed at the banquet. You overlook their temporal content and keep your focus ahead of you. You’re nervous, as you should be in this type of situation, but you clear your mind of those thoughts as you stop right in front of the Allfather.
Loki’s hand anchors you as Odin inspects you both.
“Lady Y/N of Midgard,” Odin calls out, immediately gaining everyone’s attention. The room falls into a silence awaiting for the king to continue. His eyes narrow down at the both of you as if trying to find a crack between you two. ”Your work is quite… admirable.”
You allow yourself to glow in his vague comment. 
“Thank you, your Majesty.” 
Odin doesn’t respond to you and simply shifts his focus to Loki. 
“The dagger?”
Loki doesn’t deem a verbal response as he raises his free hand and plucks a dagger out of the air. He looks down at you and offers the dagger for you to take. 
You do and you can’t help but marvel at the sight of it. 
The dagger has a double edged blade. Slender in shape and sharp enough that you don’t bother to touch the edge knowing it’ll slice your skin at the slight caress. The blade is fixed on a gold encrusted handle with an emerald jewel at the end. A set of runes are carved into the hilt of the handle making you wonder what is inscribed. 
“It’s beautiful, Loki,” you tell him. “Very beautiful.” 
Loki smiles down at you and takes the dagger from your hands. 
“May I?” 
Without waiting for your response, Loki takes a knee and as gently as he was in his bedroom he slides the dagger into the sheath. Murmured gasps are heard around you as Loki’s hand slips out of the slit of your dress but Loki doesn’t care for it. He simply grins and offers you a wink.  
“Thank you,” you blush genuinely as he rises up once more. “That wasn’t necessary.” 
“I’m more than happy to be on my knees for you.” 
You laugh at his response knowing the insinuation he was making and it seemed like Odin knew too. 
“Loki!” he exclaims. “Act accordingly.” 
“I shall,” Loki responds as he stares down at you. 
You should have known what was coming next but it still catches you by surprise. His hand pulls you close and his lips press against yours.
You melt into it. You have to. 
Loki’s hands are holding you against him and you have no other choice but to play the role you’re given. You let yourself be swooned and it seems easier this time. 
The kiss breaks the silence in the room as cheers erupt loudly.  
You feel Loki pull away from you and you smile up at him. He smiles in return and presses one quick kiss on the palm of your hand before leading you towards your seat. You spare a glance to the Allfather who doesn’t seem too pleased at the both of you.
You manage to sit by the queen once more and Loki holds no objections as he takes the seat next to you.  A server walks by with a jug of wine but the moment she comes close to serve you, Loki is quick to turn your glass down. 
“You’re human, remember?” Loki whispers to you. “No Asgardian wine or mead. Just water.”
“I have to be sober for this,” you mutter at him. “That’s not fair.”   
Loki shrugs as he takes up his own cup of mead and takes a drink. 
“Can’t afford having someone else find out your secret.” 
You knew he was right so you resign yourself to enjoy the rest of the meal. Frigga is kind as always and the lords and ladies who arrive at the table to pass well wishes are sweet with their words.
You fall into a sense of security that is soon easily disrupted as Odin attention returns to you. 
“To the merry couple,” he calls out to you and Loki with a glass raised. “I hope you don’t mind answering a few questions of mine.” 
Loki’s hand takes a hold of yours and he simply smiles. 
“Not at all.”
You weren’t prepared for this but Loki was the God of Lies and you’ve been good so far at evading the truth. 
“How did you two meet?” 
You open your mouth to respond but Odin raises his hand to silence you. He looks over at Loki who is surprised that his father has even acknowledged him with this type of question. It makes the both of you suspicious. 
“It was an evening quite like this one with all of Thor’s mortal friends,” Loki begins to answer. “And I wasn’t in the greatest of moods. I usually never am. The drinks were subpar as was the company and ...” 
“Permit me to interrupt,” Odin states as a smile takes over his face. “But I fear I’ve heard otherwise.” 
“What do you mean?” Loki asks. 
Your suspicions are proven correct as Odin shifts his stare to you. It doesn’t take much to realize that he knew of what you said to the girls. He had set a trap and you had fallen for it.
“I said we met through Thor,” you tell him. “He introduced us and you blew me off.” 
Loki doesn’t tense up at your mistake nor does he show any other sign of nervousness. Instead, he nods in agreement. 
“Yes, that’s how we formally met,” Loki answers. “Informally, I saw you at Tony’s gala.” 
You frown as you try to figure out what he could possibly be referring to. Loki simply leans forward and presses a kiss on your forehead and chuckles.
“I see I’m the romantic one in this courtship,” Loki states. “You really don’t remember, do you?” 
You simply shrug and Loki takes his cue to explain. You were interested to see what lie he was orchestrating to cover your mistake. 
“As I was saying, I was dragged out by my brother for a night,” Loki tells you. “He was trying to lift my mood but I wasn’t having it. I was ready to leave when I caught sight of the most beautiful being in existence.” 
He turns to look at you and you knew he was really packing it thick with flirtations.
“Me,” Loki answers. “I caught sight of my reflection and might I say I looked magnificent.” 
You snort caught off guard by that. 
“Seriously?” you ask. 
Loki presses another kiss on your embraced hands. 
“It’s not my fault you don’t recall this,” Loki chuckles. “But then again, how could you? I was not the one you came for that night.” 
You want to ask what he was droning on about but Odin beats you to it. 
“Loki, enough with the stalling.” 
Loki looks over at Odin and lets out a sigh. He turns to look at you again and takes a deep breath. His hold on your hand tightens and you wonder why. 
“You came bursting into the night,” Loki tells you. “Your hair wild and untamed, clearly underdressed and out of breath, but you had come running with this smile that illuminated the entire room.”
Your mind flickers with recognition and you are surprised he recalls that many details in the first place. 
“I had every intention of learning your name,” he continues. “Of course, I never got the chance. Your friends found you first and they were the ones whose attention you sought for. You laughed and danced the night away. Told them of your new adventures and they hung to your every word. Any chance of learning your name was gone that night and so I left. Thor introduced us the morning after and I was caught by surprise.” 
You don’t know how to respond. You had expected a lie to be told but he had spoken his truth. A truth that was yours too. 
“You acted as if you didn’t know me,” you laugh. “But you did… This whole time you did.” 
Loki looks away having been caught in his own lie and takes a drink from his mead. 
“Why didn’t you say something before?” 
“Because it was obvious that I did not have the same effect on you that you had on me.” 
“But you did,” you answer with a smile. “How could I not notice the handsome brooding man in the corner of the party?”
“I was not brooding.” 
“You were,” you laugh. “All scowls and frowns.” 
“I was not.” 
“Yes, you were.” 
“Enough, children,” Frigga interrupts with a laugh. “You’ve made your point. It was love at first sight.” 
Loki shakes his head and your face warms at her comment. 
“Perhaps it was,” you answer, feeling suddenly warm at the coolness of his hand in yours. Loki’s stare is still on you and you can’t bear to look at him at the moment. You didn’t know what was happening and it seemed like Odin shared the same sentiment.
“You two are quite the pair,” Odin states in disbelief. “Quite the pair indeed.” 
His hands slam down onto the table alarming you but gathering everyone’s attention. He picks up his golden chalice and rises from his seat ready to make an announcement. The action causing Loki to tense under you.
“People of Asgard,” Odin addresses. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the start of a strong courtship between Prince Loki and Lady Y/N. A strong step forward in the alliance between Asgard and Midgard.” 
Cheers erupt throughout the room as gold glasses were raised in praise. 
“To solidify their union further, I have decided it is high time for a tournament!” 
Loki’s grip on your hand tightens and you don’t understand why. 
“The Contest of Warriors,” Odin continues before smiling down at the both of you. “Asgards’ best putting their skills to the test and our two lovers facing the wild beast of the Forbidden Forest.” 
The whole room is filled with roars of excitement that Loki’s anger goes unseen. The tight grip on your hand disappears as his own hands slam the table. 
“You can’t be serious,” Loki exclaims. “She’s a mortal.” 
“Even more of a reason to protect the woman you so love, Loki,” Odin responds. “Take as much time as you like to prepare her. The tournament stands.”
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poison & wine tag: @damalseer @just-the-hiddles @jessiejunebug @nonsensicalobsessions @smollest-soybean @assassinoftheworld @readerbandit @doyoufeelikeayounggod @strangemcuvlogs @ha-tep @i-dont-know-eiither @gene-king @day-dreaming-fox @bn-studies @is-it-madness @devilbat @victor-criss-bish @skinny-macncheese @musicconversedance @baby-bunnyxn @fandoms-allovertheplace @marvelloonie @jinxjinxednova @queenmuahaha @accio-boys @eternalqueensworld @umlvk @roger-the-reindeer @punkrockhufflefluff @your-local-abyss @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals​
Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-njorddottir
All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie 
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vivithefolle · 5 years ago
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Ron’s greatest acts of bravery
An itty-bitty butthurty Harmony shipper reported this answer of mine and got it deleted by the Quora moderation. Naturally, I have contested this decision, but my appeal has been unanswered as of now. So here’s what we’re going to do, folks: I’m gonna repost this answer of mine here, where no angwy widdle Hawmony shipper can censor it. And y’all are going to spam the reblog button until people can’t go in the Harry Potter tag without finding this answer reblogged at least five times over. Good? Good.
(this is totally a demarcation line I don’t know what you’re talking about)
What was Ron Weasley's greatest act of bravery in any of the Harry Potter movies or books?
We of course have the mythical “I’ll be a knight” but that’s so easy. Ron would die for his loved ones any day of any week, because that’s how stupidly selfless and self-effacing he is.
There is the equally mythical “If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too!” which reeks of badassery and awesomeness, but it has also been quoted before, and to be fair that wasn’t one of Ron’s greatest acts of bravery. Oh, yes, it is incredibly brave, but Ron has plenty more of those to give.
One that is often forgotten is “He beat you!”, spoken to Voldemort in the flesh, which also highlights just how far Ron has come from the beginning of the series - because unlike what the haters want you to believe, Ronald Weasley has an actual character arc. An arc that keeps getting reseted and postponed in-between books because his author is too busy trying to make her Mary Sue look better instead, but he has one, and it’s so perfectly illustrated by this:
"... and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about be ing a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort" Ron gasped. "What?" said Harry. "You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people --" - Philosopher’s Stone
—-
"Malfoy's dad must have told him," said Harry, ignoring Ron. "He was right in Voldemort's inner circle --" "Say You-Know-Who, will you?" interjected Ron angrily. - Prisoner of Azkaban
—-
“My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again." "Don't - say - his - name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth. "And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry went on, ignoring Ron. - Goblet Of Fire
—-
"You see?" said Voldemort, and Harry felt him striding backward and forward right beside the place where he lay. "Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!" "He beat you!" yelled Ron, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful bang extinguished their voices once more.
From the boy who flinched at Voldemort’s name, to the man who was the first to sass back to Voldemort when the latter dissed his best mate. To say nothing of the fact that this was the first time Ron ever saw Voldemort in the flesh. Ron had never seen Voldemort before, yet the second Voldemort says something about Harry, Ron is up in arms and ready to kill the Dark Lord with his bare hands.
We could go with the tested-and-true “follow the spiders”. Unlike in the movies where Harry immediately sees a trail of spiders and Ron follows moaning and bumbling all the while, in the books Harry and Ron are comfortably in the castle when they decide to follow. Ron has the time to psych himself up, to terrify himself into imagining the spiders, and was given the time to backtrack a million times over. But he didn’t. This one Tumblr post has said it all.
Yes, “Follow the spiders” is probably one of Ron’s bravest moments, but…
But, but, but.
There’s more.
Sure, I absolutely adore Ron and can’t choose between all those awesome moments he has to his name, because they’re all so wonderful. From the ones that highlight just how much he’s grown and developed in spite of his own author treating him like an afterthought; from the ones that showcase just how good a kid he is, how much he loves and fights for his friends; all those moments that show that no, Ron Weasley isn’t a fair-weather friend and anyone who calls him that needs a high-five in the face with a block of concrete…
Out of those moments, out of them all, I have to pick something that is too often forgotten, too often glossed over, even by those of us who love Ron.
I’m talking, naturally, of his return.
Harry had no strength to lift his head and see his savior’s identity. All he could do was raise a shaking hand to his throat and feel the place where the locket had cut tightly into his flesh. It was gone. Someone had cut him free. Then a panting voice spoke from over his head, “Are—you—mental?”
Whether you think that Ron “abandoned” Harry and Hermione, whether you think that Ron is a traitor or a man with the patience of a saint who put up with Harry and Hermione’s bullshit for too long. Whether you think the three times Harry told him to leave were a factor or whether you place the blame solely on Ron’s shoulders.
Ron comes back to save Harry’s life.
But not only that.
“No!” said Ron. “No, don’t open it! I’m serious!” “Why not?” asked Harry. “Let’s get rid of the damn thing, it’s been months—” “Because that thing’s bad for me!” said Ron, backing away from the locket on the rock. “I can’t handle it! I’m not making excuses, Harry, for what I was like, but it affects me worse than it affected you and Hermione, it made me think stuff — stuff I was thinking anyway, but it made everything worse. I can’t explain it, and then I’d take it off and I’d get my head on straight again, and then I’d have to put the effing thing back on—I can’t do it, Harry!” He had bakced away, the sword dragging at his side, shaking his head.
Ron came back, even though he knew it would mean being with the thing that had tortured him all this time.
The thing that latched onto all of Ron’s weak spots, cultivated them, weaponized them, used them to push Ron closer and closer to the edge, until he couldn’t take it anymore and snapped. (Funny how some will act as though Hermione’s birds were her “snapping”, but when Ron is holding Voldemort’s soul in his hands and going insane under their very eyes they just say “hurr durr teh locket didnt do nuthin”…)
And with this thing preying on him, tormenting him, Ron did what any rational, sane human being would have done when their abuser forgets to lock the door.
He opened it and ran.
But, but, but, and that’s where the bravery comes in.
He came back.
He knew there was this thing that preyed upon him relentlessly, a thing that managed to make him believe his best friends didn’t want nor cared about him, that his entire existence amounted to nothing, that he was just a waste of space nobody wanted around.
“Why return? We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence... We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption —”
“You mother confessed,” sneered Riddle-Harry, while Riddle-Hermione jeered, “that she would have preferred me as a son, would be glad to exchange...” “Who wouldn’t prefer him, what woman would take you, you are nothing, nothing, nothing to him,” crooned Riddle-Hermione
Ron fled from this sort of abuse, from this sort of torture, then he decided to come back for more.
Because even though he believed his friends didn’t need him, even though he thought his friends were better off without him, he still wanted to make himself useful. He still wanted to help.
And once he’d saved Harry, he was back to facing the entity that has been torturing him, and that entity proceeded to show off Ron’s deepest, most shameful secrets… to his best mate.
Ron’s entire self-esteem is tied to the way his loved ones perceive him:
“You did brilliantly, Ron!” This time it really was Hermione running toward them from the stands; Harry saw Lavender walking off the pitch, arm in arm with Parvati, a rather grumpy expression on her face. Ron looked extremely pleased with himself and even taller than usual as he grinned at the team and at Hermione.
The image the Mirror of Erised showed Ron was one of glory and fame… or was it?
"No -- I'm alone -- but I'm different -- I look older -- and I'm head boy!" "What?" "I am -- I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to -- and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup -- I'm Quidditch captain, too."
Being Head Boy and Quidditch captain. He could have seen himself being crowned World’s Best Emperor if he wanted, with legions of fans throwing himself at him, but that doesn’t happen.
Instead he sees himself being like Bill. Like his cool older brother. And Quidditch captain, like his other cool older brother Charlie.
What Ron wants… is to make his loved ones proud.
Ron defines himself by the way his loved ones look at him.
When Malfoy calls him an idiot he scoffs because it’s Malfoy. When Hermione calls him an idiot, though…? Ouch.
And now all of Ron’s secrets, all his feelings of inadequacy and inferiority that he has tried to keep quiet throughout the series out of respect for Harry, his deepest fears… They’re all there for Harry to see, for Harry to judge, for Harry to feel disgusted by. Because how dare Ron Weasley have problems, how dare Ron Weasley be envious of Harry Potter, whose life is nothing but suffering?
Ron’s greatest act of bravery, to me, was coming back, even though for all he knew Harry and Hermione had hooked up while he was gone (they’d never, of course, but how could he know?), even though he knew it would mean being up for Round #2 of his private torture sessions with Voldemort, even though he believed he wouldn’t be welcome…
He still came back. Because it was the right thing to do.
Anyone who’s gonna tell me that Ronald Weasley isn’t loyal to the core can suck on a cactus.
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darkpoisonouslove · 4 years ago
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First Line Tag Game
Thanks for the tag, @foreveranevilregal​!
Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 authors!
These are from most to least recent (except the last two):
1. For her nonexistent cooking skills, Stella sure could pack a picnic basket with the speed of light. (Sunshine on Our Picnic)
2. “What did you want to show me?” Griffin’s golden eyes finally found her after she’d been gracing the translucent blue petals of a flower with their light for at least ten minutes now. (Shine a Light on Your Romance)
3. The sky was on fire – a last glorious blaze to promise the sun would be back tomorrow shiny and golden like her own eyes. (Rust on the Curtain)
4. Tugging on the charm bracelet around her wrist accomplishes nothing more than chafing where a thin sheen of sweat has formed on her skin thanks to the cursed thing. (Two Sides of the Same Drum)
5. Riven’s dorm is a mess, especially now that he’s not rooming with the nerd. (The Hand That Bleeds You)
6. His lungs burn in tact with his heels hitting the pavement. (Run for Your Words)
7. Broken. (Broken Eyes)
8. The flames rained on her ice shield – each like a rock melting away her magic instead of breaking through it. (Win a Heart)
9. Shaking is the only constant. (May Be)
10. Warmth tingled Sky’s fingers as Stella grabbed his hand. (Life of the Sunlight)
11. That was the day the full story got thrown down in the dark depths of the sirens’ minds for only them to remember it once heaven turned away from the two writing it and history never bothered to even learn their names. [This is the actual first sentence I wrote for that fic because the previous ones were taken from a prompt.] (Until Color)
12. Samara’s body begrudgingly stumbled after him in his misstep slipping into an unnatural disruption of her graceful and calculated movements. (New Warmth to Weave in Your Garden of Shine)
13. Erendor emerged from the walk-in closet to his bedchamber still swallowed in darkness that allowed almost no shadow to form behind Samara whose silhouette was just barely outlined in his private space by the meek moonlight finding its way into the room through the thick clouds suffocating the night sky. (Bring Home to Family)
14. Samara’s heart was racing faster than it had on the stage of every beauty pageant and modeling contest she’d ever competed in as if to compensate for the lack of rouge on her cheeks. (No Order Can Make the Heart Miss)
15. “If the ring isn’t returned, the Solarian court will issue an official demand to Cloud Tower for its retrieval.” (Left to Heritage)
16. [NSFW] Every movement of her writhing body accentuated the presence of the magical bonds around her wrists and ankles like powerful jewelry that held her to the bed and spread open. (Return to Need)
17. Darcy’s anxiousness peaked along with the rising urge in Valtor to blast every shelf around them to pieces. (The End of Never)
18. A pull in his body dragged him towards wakefulness in a harsh manner he would have protested against despite the fight he’d put up the previous night at Griffin’s insistence to give himself a rest. (The Inside of Your Frame)
19.  Her heartbeat punctuated each of her steps into her bedchamber.*
20. “Let go of me!” Marion twisted her wrist viciously but to no avail.**
*Unedited Griffin x Valtor Arranged Marriage AU
**Unedited Griffin x Marion Aladdin AU
To be fair, I expected more fics to start with dialogue but that is the result of me trying to actually have some kind of opening instead of throwing readers in the deep so good job me, I guess! What I can see in common here is that I tend to open with some kind of sensory detail when it isn’t a line of dialogue starting but even in those cases, the speaking is followed by sensory details. That is definitely something I hadn’t noticed. Kinda proud of it. Also, happy to see my return to shorter sentences. It was about damn time!
Tagging: @poisonerrose, @theonceoverthinker, @goblins-riddles-or-frocks, @bloomvalyria, @everythingpuddle if you want to do it.
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mowu-moment · 4 years ago
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rusty lake vk findings
as the honorary bdg of this fandom (apparently) i had to go rooting around for more Discoveries, and had found this crawl of hidden content on the fandomwiki trivia section of arles (which i have discussed before & made fanart of that didn’t get put in the tags still, sadface) (also why aint that page in any other trivia section, fandomwiki writers get on it ! !). since i had nothing better to do, i decided to go through every post on the vk; most of it was fanart, contests and people freaking out over seeing anthro animals or god forbid a silhouette, but there were some interesting things. note most of the following are just devscreens that may have been shared here around the time they were posted in the vk, but they’re new to me.
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- paradox originally did have a shrimp item (another one for the bingo), as well as what appears to be a shotglass, but could just be an early version of the glass cube or, idk, a piece of paper. there also doesn’t seem to be a slot for a globe key? but i don’t remember where said key goes in the final release so i can’t conclude much myself
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- high res trees thank the lord
- but seriously what are gerard and nicholas wearing. no comment on david’s hat. or elizabeth’s new principle of showing no skin below the neck
- i swear i’ve seen that gerard before but i have zero idea where
- the weirder thing is the 2nd shot was posted after another gif of the final owl-shrine-leech-blood-thing, so either they changed it back or that shot was just taken earlier. or there were multiple. euu
- different well design! well in the middle of the damn woods without a cube-dropper! no caroline shrine! a dock! you can see these things but it’s worth mentioning them!
- if you’re wondering the meme is just along the lines of ‘girlfriend: my family isn’t weird’ ‘her family:’
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- james has no chair lol. also the fireplace looks cleaner, maybe
- the initial choice for tarot cards (presumably in ida’s level because of the red background, unlike the wooden table in the lying game) included the world and temperance, though since only five are shown i can’t say what cards specifically replaced them. fandomwiki doesn’t mention either of these cards in association with any vanderboom, nor do i have a clue which vanderboom could be associated with them but feel free to drop ur theories :3
- there’s also no markings for where to place the cards and a slightly modified drawin of samuel, so presumably the puzzle in that level was. pretty different. or they had yet to develop that but the sam pic implies otherwise
- sometime between roots and paradox they switched to macbooks, which i’d love to judge them for but that’s rude and i love them
- fun fact the 2nd is a crop & there are pages below it but it’s just character references, including betafrank will! i think! i didn’t save the full tho & i don’t wanna go back through 30+ pages to get it
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- wip shots for the roots paintin! not much to speculate on here but it’s cool
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-  what’s more capable-of-being-speculated-on is this painting from the background of a dev screen, seemingly painted by the same guy as roots whose name i cannot remember for the life of me, but reverse image search doesn’t find anything for me. if anyone knows more about this painting let me know, it’s probably not anything rusty lake related but i’m just curious
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- im sure y’all have seen this i just thought it was funny. david on that king shit. i do think that crown is a unique asset though, which is weird cause they had like two other crowns they could use (from rose in the ball & albert eating shit) but whatever suits them i spose
that is all for now, folks. unfortunately there wasn't anything noticeably for hotel or any other cube escapes & the community didn't exist before hotel. will keep yall posted if anything new n interesting comes up tho
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imagine-lovebug · 6 years ago
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can i request #37, #45 and #150 "Just kiss me, idiot" with bestfriend!tom helping u around your ex (you're in love with each other secretly)?
#37. “Where did he go?”
#45. “You look pretty hot in plaid.”
#150. “Just kiss me, idiot.”
_____
The queue hasn’t moved an inch in almost ten minutes. The shopping trolley of the frail old lady in front of you seems to be neverending, and your arm is getting tired of holding the green plastic basket. Tom shuffles in his place beside you, “I can hold it if you want.” You sigh, “It’s fine, thanks though.” He glances around, trying to find an open till, but this is the only one manned; each of the self-service checkout screens are flashing the same red ‘maintenance required’ message. The shop is primarily silent, save for the sound of Tom’s feet shuffling against the linoleum floors and the repeated beeping of the barcode scanner. 
“Did you remember to pick up milk? I used the last of it in my tea,” he whispers, trying not to disturb the quiet that surrounds you. “Um,” you glance into the heavy basket, void of milk, “no I didn’t. Could you run and grab some, please?”
“The purple one right?”
“Yeah, purple cap.” The LED lights above flicker as Tom walks towards the refrigerated aisles, leaving you alone with the bored teenager manning the station and the old woman whose basket looks just as full as it did five minutes ago. She’s still stacking her items onto the sticky conveyer belt. 
The automatic sliding doors beside the check-out area open and a familiar face walks in, his jacket damp from the rain. He doesn’t see you at first; you try your best to hide your face, but your efforts are to no avail. “(Y/N)? Is that you?” Your ex’s penetrating voice fills the supermarket’s silence. You let out a loud exhale, trying to release as much tension from your shoulders as possible before you turn to face him, “Hi, Jay. Yeah, it’s me.” You let out an awkward chuckle. How the fuck isn’t Tom back yet, you think, he’s just picking up milk.
“How have you been? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
“Yeah, yeah, um, I’ve been alright,” you offer pathetically, “How... how have you been?”
“Oh, great, I actually got back from Ibiza yesterday. Really good trip,” he bragged, “ But, hey, you’re still looking great! I always told you that you look pretty hot in plaid,” he mentions, motioning to your red tartan skirt. Your free hand automatically goes to grip the hemline and pull it further down. “Yeah, um, thanks.” Tom, you yell in your head, get the fuck back here now, please.
“Where are you staying now? Since you moved out of my place, that is,” he asks.
“Oh, um, I’m actually staying with Tom in his place.”
“Yeah?” he questions, jealousy evident in his grating voice, “not surprising. You two were always sneaking off when we were together.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call hanging out with my best friend ‘sneaking off’ but...” your voice trails off, “yeah. He’s around here somewhere anyway.”
“Really?” he snarls, “Where did he go?” 
Almost like he was summoned, Tom turns out of the dairy aisle to walk back to you. “Oh, there he is. Tom! Remember Jay?” At your call, he looks up to see your ex standing by you, a smug smirk on his face. His eyes focus on you, however, and your ‘oh-god-help-me-please’ look that he’s familiar with. 
“Yeah, I do. Hey, how are you, man?” he offers politely, but you can see the tenseness in his shoulders. After they shake hands with offending and competing grips, Tom exaggeratedly snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. “Sorry that I took so long, babe,” the pet name stands out like a sore thumb, “I couldn’t see any purple caps; I eventually found one though.” Like she was purposefully trying to make this awkward situation happen, the old lady finally placed her last few items on the conveyer belt. You look to Tom with a questioning look in your eyes, what’s up with the babe thing. 
“Oh, so you two are a thing now. I always knew there was something going on there,” Jay says, anger easily detectable in his voice. You remain in Tom’s grip but start unloading your shopping onto the sticky black surface, the divider placed between yours and the old woman’s items.
“Oh, yeah,” Tom reinforces, “Once you, y’know, dipped, I asked her out— been dating ever since.” Thoroughly confused is how you’d describe how you’re feeling right now. You shoot a sweet smile towards Jay before pressing yourself up on your tip toes so your lips are directly next to Tom’s ear.
“Why the fuck are you having a pissing contest with my ex?” you whisper mock-sweetly before pulling away. He leans down to your ear to relay his answer. “Because he’s a prick and won’t go away until I prove that you’re off the market. Don’t you see him constantly staring at your ass?” Jay stands before you, rolling his eyes at your secretiveness, an angry look on his face. You giggle and turn to relay your final message to Tom. 
“Just kiss me, idiot,” you whisper, “that’ll be a pretty solid tell, don’t you think?” When you pull away, you can see the crimson blush that has covered Tom’s cheeks. 
“Well, Jay,” you say in a conclusive way, “We kind of have to get going, but it’s been nice seeing you.” You place the few final items you have in your basket onto the conveyor. 
“The milk, baby?” you say, gesturing to the milk Tom’s got dangling from two fingertips. “Right, ‘course.” He leans over and places the carton next to the rest of your stuff. He pulls back and tightens his grip around your waist, making you twist towards him in his arms. He leans in and places a quick, yet possessive, peck to your lips, one that you can’t help but wish lasted longer. “Thanks, babe,” he turns towards your ex, “anyway, Jay, nice to see you again man.”
“Yeah, yeah, you too,” he mumbles before storming off into one of the aisles. 
After your shopping is all bagged up and paid for, the two of you make your way out to Tom’s car. The rain outside hasn’t completely stopped but has shifted from the torrential downpour it was when you entered the shop to a light drizzle. You put the paper bags in the boot of his car and turn towards him. “Thanks,” you say quietly, “for... helping me, in there.”
“Course,” he replies, “I fucking hate him anyway. I hated him then, I hate him now.” His rant makes a little smile blossom on your face. “Plus,” he adds, hesitation in his voice, “kissing you was kinda fun too.” Your smile transitions into a grin and you bite your lower lip. “Yeah,” you agree, “kissing you was kinda fun.” He lifts his hand to your cheek and brushes a few rogue raindrops from your skin. He doesn’t ask, but you nod, knowing what the touch meant. 
And he kissed you again.
 Tags: @ptersparkers // @lousimusician // @stephie-senpai // @flirtypeter // @stuckonspidey // @lostparker // @dej-okay // @somethingtoavenge // @shadowsingeraxolotl // @demonsintheair // @parkeroffline // @thegirlwiththeimpala 
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shark-from-the-park · 5 years ago
Text
FIC: The Fitzier of It, Episode Four
A Fitzier The Thick of It AU in several parts. You can find Episode One here , Episode Two here and Episode Three here. With sincere thanks to @casperthefriendlylittlefan and @coffeesugarcream for their cheerleading and encouragement and to everyone else who has read and enjoyed so far. I love you all, your comments/tags/asks/PM’s make my heart swell.
In this installment, James really does go for broke in his attempts to get hired as Francis’s spin doctor. This certainly won’t awaken anything in him... will it?
Warnings for very bad language, NSFW themes, endlessly snacking LeVesconte and a wild Blanky.
@litttlesilkworm @boisinberryjamarama @thegreenmeridian @cinemaocd @the-jewish-marxist @hereliesnils @nashilena @itisa-profoundbond-sarandom @idlesuperstar @what-a-terrorific-mess @kahootqueen69 @jaredharrisankles @shit-in-silk-stocking @bobbole @fellowshipofthegay @aconfusedwriter @uncannybrightside @glorioustidalwavedefendor @zaphodbeeblebro @sasheenka @intrepid-inkweaver @full-of-terrors @anadequatesir
Contact me via semiphore (or some more convenient method) to be tagged/untagged, or just to say hello/hurl abuse. xXx.
Episode Four
When James strode into Baffin House the next day, his confidence was based on more than just his usual bluster and self-assurance.  
He struck it lucky as soon as he reached the second floor.
Ed Little and Thomas Jopson were sat at a desk together near the elevators, heads bent, chatting and laughing. The sideburn brothers didn’t even notice James as he passed them.  
That just left Blanky.  
Who was, of course, perched on the desk outside Francis’s office door like a guard dog, exchanging friendly banter with two women a few desks over (the term ‘duck’ was being thrown about with bewildering regularity).
James steeled himself and approached the Yorkshireman with his palms up in a gesture of peace.  
He also kept his mouth firmly shut.  
Blanky regarded him with crinkly, laughing eyes, almost fondly.  
“Go on then, Fitzjames, lad. Yer’ve caught me in a good mood.”
James reached into his leather satchel, and with the bare minimum of theatricality (that he was physically capable of), brought out his gifts. One by one he placed them on the desk next to Blanky.  
First came a box of colourful Paperchase paper-clips in the shapes of whales and anchors.
Second, and this one was an educated guess really, a grab bag of steak flavoured McCoy’s.  
Thirdly, a folded slip of notepaper with the words ‘Shadow Cabinet’ written on it in James’s neat handwriting.  
Blanky regarded each gift thoughtfully, picking up and unfolding the slip of paper, reading the contents, then meeting James’s eye.  
Blanky refolded the notepaper and handed it back, the beginnings of a grin on his face.  
He rapped on Francis’s office door three times, then held it open.  
“Go on then, lad. Yer’ve earned it.”
With a tiny sigh of relief, James darted through the door before Blanky could change his mind.  
Francis, elbow deep in some report or other, looked up at James from behind his desk in surprise.  
“Thomas Blanky you useless, traitorous gimp, I should have you flogged!” He bellowed after a moment of silence.  
“He brought me crisps, Frank.  And fancy paper-clips.  I’m not made of stone.”  Blanky closed the office door behind James, effectively trapping him and Francis inside together.  
“Class traitor!” Francis yelled at Blanky before sneering at James across the expanse of his desk and saying; “To what do I owe this pleasure, James?” acidly.  
Realising that he had placed both hands up in a peace gesture again, James swiftly dropped them to his sides, feeling like a twat.  
“I just wanted to talk, Francis. I, uh, I brought you this.” He laid the folded piece of notepaper on Francis’s desk and then took a step back.  
Francis unfolded the paper, read it, peered up at James to give him a quick glare, then read it again.  
“Do you honestly think I don’t already know who I want working with me?  You arrogant, snot-nosed little public school wanker...”  He managed to grind out at last.  
James breathed out slowly through his nose.  
Humility. Humility.  
“The thing is, Francis, it’s not just the list. I, uh, talked to them. All of them. I mean, I vetted them all first, of course. Official and unofficial channels. Did some research into their stances on your key issues. And they’ve all, er, agreed. To back you. To serve on your shadow cabinet and toe the line on your fundamentals. All would be willing to meet with you about it. All committed. I mean, I made it clear that it was all speculative, of course. I made it clear that I was doing it off my own back. And then I found out that you’d already spoken to some of them…  It’s just… I’d really like to work with you, Francis. For you.”  James stopped, feeling light-headed.  
Francis’s mouth kept opening and shutting silently.  His face had gone the colour of cooked lobster.  
James chewed on the inside of his bottom lip and waited.  
Eventually, Francis managed;
“Fucking hell James. Why? Why the fuck… I’m no Sir John. I’m not in this for a fucking seat in the House of Lords. You won’t get me to schmooze with any of the great and good. There’ll be no champagne dinners. No golf. No parties with Richard fucking Branson. Have you lost your mind, James? I’m a backwards, Stalinist potato-fucker with bad dress sense, remember?”
“I’ve never said potato-fucker, Francis. About anyone.”
“I just don’t know what your game is here, James.”
“There is no game. I want to work for you. I think I can help you win.”
“You, Mister privately educated, Oxbridge, gap-year-in-South-East-Asia, Paul Smith ties and expensive haircuts, want to work for this ex-alcoholic, Bangor University graduate, backbench, cardigan-wearing Irish...”
“Look!” James interjected desperately. “Francis... Somewhere along the line, I think you might have gotten the idea that I don’t respect you...”
“Whatever could possibly have given me that impression, James.”  Francis said, steely-eyed.  
“But the thing is, you see, that actually, I -”  James’ larynx tried to seize up over the words and he was forced to clear his throat loudly, feeling colour rise to his face.  “I admire you.” He managed at last in a rushed voice that didn’t sound at all like his own.  
Somehow, he felt as if he’d just said something else.
Utterly exposed.  
Francis looked completely astonished. It didn’t suit him.  
They stared at each other from opposite sides of the room, evidently having run off some sort of conversational cliff.  
James chafed under Francis’s intense blue gaze, but having said his piece he found himself unwilling to back down or look away.  
Seconds ticked by, lengthening into minutes and they just breathed in and out and looked at one another.  
The office door opened and Blanky stuck his head in.
“I’m not sorry for interrupting.” He said. “Yers have been quiet for so long I thought one of you must have killed the other.  Now I see it’s just some sort of homoerotic staring contest. My mistake.” He retreated and shut the door on them again.  
“Alright.” Francis finally ground out from between clenched teeth. “I’ll consider it.”
James, whose brain had snagged on the words ‘homoerotic staring contest’, blinked at him in confusion.  
“You’ll...”
“I’ll consider bringing you and Le Vesconte on board. I’ll meet with the names on your bloody list.”
“Oh. Well. Good. Good.”  James felt as though he were having an out of body experience.  
“Just… liaise with Blanky. Set up the meetings.”
“Alright Francis. And… Thank you...”
James exited Francis’s office as quickly as was humanly possible, only to find Blanky, Ed Little, Jopson and half a dozen others crowded around the door, peering at him with rapt curiosity.  
*****
“Fucking hell, Fitz. It sounds about as nerve-wracking as asking him to a school disco.”
“No, it was worse than that.” Muttered James, strangely subdued. “It was like one of those dreams where you…  No, it was like… Like I accidentally took off my face and showed him the horrific writhing mass of gore that is the real me, for a second...”
“Fuck. That’s deep, Fitz. I’ve known you going on thirty years and I don’t think I’ve ever seen the real you.” Dundy managed around a mouthful of treacle scone.
“Exactly, Dundy. It wasn’t like I meant to do it.” James rubbed a hand over the back of his neck uncomfortably.
“It worked though, didn’t it?  We’ve actually got a shot at being in government!”
“Mmmm? Yeah.”
Dundy looked both worried and worryingly thoughtful for a moment.  
“James?” He spoke gently, as though trying not to spook a horse. “You do realise that you’re in-”
“Shut up.”  James snapped back into gear all at once.  “Come on, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”  
*****
Episode Five here...
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wolfpawn · 5 years ago
Text
Life is a Game of Risks, Chapter 23
Chapter Summary - Tom arrives to Alexianna's to see if he can save their relationship.
TRIGGERS - Past domestic abuse, Past emotional abuse, Past sexual abuse.
Previous Chapter
Tags: @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @theoneanna
Request if you wish to be tagged
Alexianna watched Lily as she coloured another picture. ‘Look at this, Mommy.’
Alexianna wiped her tears and put on a smile. ‘What is it, love?’
Lily pointed to the different people on the page. ‘There’s you, there’s me. And there’s Tom, he is holding your hand.’
Alexianna winced. ‘Lily, I need to talk to you about something.’ she knelt down in front of her daughter. ‘Sweetie, I need to talk to you about Tom.’
‘I like Tom.’ Lily declared happily.
‘I know you do love, so do I, but...sometimes...sometimes things don’t happen like we want them to, and even when we really really like people, we don’t get to continue being around them.’ she tried to explain, but all she got in return was a puzzled Lily who had no idea what she was trying to say. ‘Lil…’ A knock on the door caused her to frown. Realising it was more than likely Edward, she sighed. ‘Go to the bedroom, okay?’ Lily tried to complain, ‘Now Lil, and I will give you some ice-cream in a minute.’ The child did as she was told. Alexianna walked to the door, terrified of what she was about to face. She opened it without paying attention to who was on the other side. ‘Come on so, you bottom feeder, let’s just get this sorted.’ She growled. Tom walked in. ‘Oh.’ she looked at him, Tom looking at her expectantly. ‘I didn’t…’
‘So he is coming back?’
‘He should be here in a minute.’ she nodded.
‘And what are you going to do?’
‘I have it signed.’
‘Lexi.’ Tom walked toward her but she stepped back. ‘You shouldn’t…’
‘I should never have allowed this Tom, I put everything you worked so hard for at risk because of a crush I had as a teenager. I could not let it affect you.’
‘I am grateful that you were thinking of me, but I am a fully grown man, I can look after myself and when making a decision like this, I think it only fair that you consider both of our opinions on the matter.’ He stated.
‘It’s just too complicated.’
‘No, Lexi, it’s not. We talk over everything, we see what is the best way forward and we go from there. You can’t just push me away…’ he looked at the table, recognising himself in Lily’s drawing. ‘I know it’s not easy Lexi and this isn’t easy, but Lily has accepted me, you said you love me, we can’t throw it all away just because he wants to control your life.’
‘I had to sign those papers.’
‘What is so wrong about signing them?’
‘You’re kidding, right? All I had in that sham of a marriage was my integrity, and now he is taking that from me.’ she cried. ‘I…’ Tom pulled her to him, caressing her hair gently. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘It’s not, which is why he is not going to do it.’
‘I need to go to the bathroom.’ She pulled away again.
‘I’ll still be here in a minute.’ Tom promised, kissing her head. Alexianna left the kitchenette for the bathroom. No sooner than she left, there was a sharp rap on the door. Causing Tom to look at it warily. A moment later, Lily came to the bedroom door. ‘Lil?’
‘It’s the bad man.’
‘What bad man, Darling?’
‘He was here yesterday, he made Mommy cry.’
‘Okay love, you go into the room, alright?’ Lily nodded and did as she was told. Tom inhaled deeply and walked to the door, opening it and looking out at the man on the doorstep. ‘Yes?’
‘I am looking for Alexianna Rice.’
Tom frowned, he had never heard Alexianna’s married name before. ‘Concerning?’
‘That’s nothing to do with you.’
‘On the contrary, considering your threats to her last night, I think it very much concerns me.’ He growled back, stepping out of the house, closing over the door behind him.
‘It’s not a threat, it’s a promise. Besides, it’s not like it’s a hard sell, our paperwork signed, for hers. Your little dirty past doesn’t need to come out.’
‘There is no dirty past.’
‘Of course not, that’s why her daughter looks like you then, is it?’
‘I am not her father, as much as you may want it to be otherwise.’ Edward scoffed. ‘Jonathan does not deserve to be her father.’
‘Well, considering the evidence against Alexianna, it is very much doubtful he is.’ Edward grinned. ‘Has she that form signed or are we doing this the hard way, I don’t care, either way, you, however, should.’
The longer Tom spent near the man, the more he wished he was more brutishly aggressive. ‘Just have him sign the damn divorce papers. If Jonathan wants to be rid of her, then just sign them, once they are signed, she cannot come after him, his name isn’t on the birth cert, no spousal support and he can continue his miserable existence with whichever poor creature decides to endure him next.’
‘She can…’
‘If you are so sure he is not the father, then it doesn’t matter, does it?’ Tom challenged. Edward said nothing. ‘She has not looked back once in four years, she is glad to be rid of him. Her daughter did what she never could, she got her away from that pathetic excuse of a sack of…’
‘Tom.’ He turned to see Alexianna next to him. She extended her hand to his arm, ‘Don’t bother.’
Tom felt him exhale a breath he did not realise he had been holding. ‘You’re not giving him anything.’ Tom stated firmly. He turned to look at Edward. ‘You’re a legal man, right?’ Edward nodded warily at him. ‘Then you know of Carlton, Hedges and Graham?’ Again Edward nodded. ‘Funny thing about Eton, all sorts go there, I was in the year ahead of Jeremy Carlton, I was at his wedding only last year, so when Alexianna told me your little blackmail story, I got onto him, and guess what?’ Tom grinned. ‘We have you with five charges of malpractice and intimidation.’ Tom stood tall over Edward’s five foot eleven frame. ‘Including the illegal stalking of a woman and minor.’ Edward’s face fell. ‘You are the one with an ultimatum now, sign her papers, and part ways, never to hear from one another again, or be in front of a judge, and well, you know that firms win rate, Carlton has assured me that his father will personally preside over it.’ Tom stood millimetres from Edward’s chest. ‘So, either fax his signed papers over to them in the morning, care of Jeremy, or we will see you in court, and when the DNA on Lily comes back, he will suffer for putting her and Alexianna through all of this, every last copper penny from the day she was born, for every last nappy used, he will be forced to pay back half. Every pair of shoes, every last school pencil, he will pay half on until she graduates college. And we are very much considering private education, Alexianna is a past pupil of Headington in Oxford, the fees there are eighteen thousand for day schooling alone when we checked, we, of course, are looking at all options for her schooling. We want what’s best for her.’ Tom spoke with authority. ‘But if he signs those papers, then she is no longer his concern, her or her wonderful mother. Alexianna is not going to contest maintenance, so he moves on scot-free. Alexianna keeps her integrity, he keeps his money. He will not dictate to her how to live her life for one day longer. Am I clear?’ Edward remained silent. ‘Now get away from this door, you are never to step foot here again. You are never to bother Alexianna Hughes again, or her daughter or I will make one call and you will be neck-deep in paperwork for ten years.’ Tom growled. ‘Leave.’
Edward looked to Alexianna, who simply grinned back at him. ‘You heard him, Ed, fuck off.’ Tom grinned proudly at her. Edward’s mouth remained suspended between opened and closed for several moments before he turned and left, his tail firmly between his legs.
When he was gone, Tom looked to Alexianna again, she was shaking violently. ‘Have you eaten?’ She shook her head. ‘Come on, I think you and Lily deserve a nice takeaway, has she had Indian before?’ Tom put his arm around her. ‘I am so proud of you, Lexi.’
‘How…?’
‘I went to school with a guy whose father is the biggest thing in family law, he has represented every one of note, I gave him a call on the cab over, he works for his father now, I told him your situation, he gave me the quickest rundown of what you needed and told me to have everything to deal with that guy.’
‘Why would he help me?’
‘Well, you remember when I told you and Emma about an incident at Eton where I almost lost my house captaincy?’
‘Yeah, you covered for someone.’
‘I literally saved Jeremy from being expelled, he has always owed me since, this is going to be a big part of his debt repaid, he is doing this, free of charge and if Jonathan decides to play hardball, he will ensure he is shopping in Iceland and Home Bargain for the rest of his days.’ Tom promised. ‘He thinks you’re mad to not go for the jugular.’
‘I just want to be left alone. I want him gone.’
‘We’ll get that sorted, wait and see.’ Tom promised as they went back inside. ‘So, where is the best girl, she deserves something nice for being so good?’ Lily rushed out of the bedroom and into Tom’s arms, he pulled her up. ‘Have you tried Indian before? I think you look like someone who would love a Korma.’ Alexianna smiled as she watched Tom talking to Lily and the child talking excitedly back before beginning to drift into a daydream. ‘I mean it.’ She looked back at Tom when she realised he was talking to her. ‘If you want me gone for a genuine reason, I will respect that, if you try to push me away for a non-reason, I am not going to abandon you, either of you. I am not him.’
‘I know.’ she smiled, her eyes full of tears and her voice low. ‘Sorry.’ She dried her eyes with her hands. ‘Thank you, Tom.’
‘You don’t deserve that Lexi, though, I have to ask, Rice?’
‘My married name.’
‘But that guy was Rice?’
‘He is Jonathan’s brother.’
‘So he sent his brother to bully you?’ She nodded. ‘A lovely human being.’
‘Another string in his extensive bow.’ Alexianna agreed.
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betterloved · 5 years ago
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12/12/12 tag game
I was tagged by @livvywrites (thank you!)
rules: answer 12 questions in character as an OC, ask 12 questions, & tag 12 people!
(I’ll be answering as Yna)
1. What teachings from your parents still affect you to this day? Do you wish that they didn’t?
“She who birthed me taught me many things,” Yna says fondly, “I can hardly remember her lessons now, but do I remember she taught me to be passionate and that it is always better to love. I am grateful despite the pressure it places upon me.”
2. Who is the person who has made the greatest impact (good OR bad) on you, and who you are today?
“A woman who’s name is a mystery and whose face I shall never forget. I had never watched a living soul become a corpse before her.”
3. If you could do anything, without strings or consequences attached, what would you do?
“... I would give in to the urges that burn beneath my skin.” Yna sighs. “I would show them all my truest form and bathe cities in my flames just to watch them burn.”
4. A genie gives you three wishes. What would you wish for?
“If I wasn’t aware that any being capable of granting wishes is probably dangerous, I would wish to age
“Second, I would wish for my home back
“and, lastly, I would wish for a river than ran with sweet wine.” 
5. When you go to pack for something—whether it be as simple as tucking items in your pocket for a normal day, or an overnight trip—what are three or so items that you couldn’t live without?
“There aren’t many things that come to mind, truthfully. I keep a knife for my protection and my amulet to keep myself under control. Sometimes, I keep dice in my coin purse in case I get the chance to play.”
6. Is there someone in your life you can’t live without? Who are they, and what is your relationship like?
“While there is no specific someone I cannot live without, I know that I could never live a life alone. As long as there is, someone, I can find a way to be pleased with that.” 
7. What do you think your childhood self would think of you now? How is your life different from what you pictured then?
“I do not remember my youth well, but I am sure I would not believe the woman I am today. I recall believing that I would be as powerful as she who birthed me, thinking I could reach the clouds just as she did.”
8. How do you feel about where you are now? About the person you are now? What, if anything, would you change about yourself?
“Hm, I feel... content? I am not unfortunate by any stretch of the word, and I am revered as a god. I can, with pride, proclaim that I am a kind and compassionate woman. But, there are times that I envy the power that she who birthed me wielded with such ease and there are times where I wished I could be as free as she once was.”
9. What do you do to de-stress, and take your mind off of things?
“I dance.” Yna smiles. “I dance until sweat rolls down my neck and the soles of my feet are hot. I jump, and writhe, and flail until I have no energy left to worry over anything else.”
10. What is the most ridiculous thing that you can recall doing? Do you remember why you did it?
“Dove from a mountain before my wings had fully come in. Maybe because I thought I could force it if I panicked enough or maybe because I adored when she who birthed me would swoop down to catch me.
“Or, challenging an orc to a drinking contest. It seemed like a great idea and my pride would not allow me to back down when I came to the realization that it was, in fact, not.”
11. If someone were to record what was happening to you, the story of your life, how would you want to be portrayed?
“I would want to be portrayed as beautiful and compassionate, fun-loving, strong, or poetic and insightful. Anything but a god.”
12. What is your ideal future life like? When all is said & done, what does peace look like to you?
“My peace would be spreading my wings and soaring higher than any man could ever reach, being loved by someone who sees more than what I allow, and true friends who don’t see me as a god.”
My Questions & Tags Under the Cut!
1. What is the first thing you notice about a person?
2. How would the people close to you describe you? Do you think they’re right?
3. What do you look for in a friend? A romantic partner?
4. Do you find it more difficult to accept praise or give praise?
5. Are you well traveled? If so, what has been your favorite place to visit?
6. Do you ever feel the need to fix problems that are not your own/do not involve you?
7. Describe your first relationship. Romantic or friendly. 
8. Are you more inclined toward solving your problems/diagreements with your fists or your words?
9. What are your talents? Which are natural born and which are learned? 
10. What are you religious views? What is Heaven to you?
11. What  is the worst thing someone could do to you? What about say to you?
12. Do you believe in happy endings?
I tag (feel free to ignore): @kiliyarandkoweir, @noloumna, @belles-library, @toboldlywrite, @dogwrites, @delphwrites, @velvetlighthouse, @melwrotethat, @aureliobooks, @leave-her-a-tome, @semblanche
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screamoffkey · 6 years ago
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An Introduction to the New Romantics (Chapter 1)
TYRUS X HEATHERS  (there’s some other ships too, check tags lol)
Chapter 1: The Rumors are Terrible and Cruel (but, most of them are true)
You move out of town for a couple of years and all of a sudden it’s like you step into a parallel universe. That was the thought running through TJ Kippen’s mind as he stared at the spectacle before him. He had left Shadyside after the eighth grade to be with his mom in California, but had moved back to Utah after some ‘parental difficulties.’ He had moved back home with his dad a quarter-way through his Junior year of high school because he wanted a taste of normal again, but… the sight he was staring at was far from normal.
It was his first day at his new school, Jefferson High, and he had barely walked into the classroom before his homeroom teacher had ushered him out into the halls with a boy who seemed eager to teach him the ways of Jefferson High School. His plucky tour guide, flashing a sticker that had the name ‘Marty’ hastily scribbled across it, looked familiar in a way that suggested TJ had definitely met him before. Marty hadn’t even managed to open his mouth yet before TJ interrupted.
“We’ve met before… haven’t we?”
Marty gave an uncomfortable laugh, as he tried to fight the awkwardness that was quickly building between the two. “Yeah, TJ… I, uh, tried out for the basketball team back in middle school before you moved. But, we didn’t really talk much after I got cut.”
TJ winced. The one thing he feared about coming back was his reputation as a jerk. A mixture of age, the paradisiacal California weather, and the major Surfer Vibes of his high school out West had softened him out of the douchebag mentality. It had felt like forever since he had been considered even slightly mean by anyone, but now he had to own up to the mistakes he made years ago.
“I’m sorry about… how I acted back in middle school. I’m totally nicer, I swear.” He offered a friendly, but apologetic smile at the brunette, who seemed more than willing to accept the apology.
“Dude, no worries, I get it. Everyone is so different from who they were in middle school.” He gave TJ a once-over, before meeting his stare with a mischievous look in his yes. You definitely look different.”
Marty had a point. Over the course of three years in California, he had grown a couple inched taller, a few shades tanner, and at least a little more stylistically inclined than he had been back in middle school. He’d since relaxed on the hair gel and the AXE body spray; and, while he hadn’t kicked his hoodie habit, they had all been approved by his sister as fashionable before purchasing. The fluffy white one he was wearing right now was a moving away gift from her, actually.
TJ laughed at the slight teasing while the boys walked down the hall, trying to keep pace with Marty’s power walking. Marty spoke fast as he gave the tour of the large high school, and freckled in some light conversations while walking past obvious structures like ‘library’ and ‘cafeteria.’ Jefferson high school was much bigger than its Jefferson Middle, with about 6 different intermediate schools feeding into it, and the school was certainly big enough to accommodate the massive class size. It gave TJ mild comfort to know that he could blend into a crowd for his last years of high school, without having to deal with too many people who knew that he was a total dick when he was 14.
Marty had somehow managed to spend the full class period leading TJ throughout the massive school, (and giving TJ a highlight reel of the best gossip that he’s missed out on) because soon enough, the class bell rang, and hordes of chattering students flooded the wide hallways that were previously desolate.
Which brings us to the display that TJ Kippen was currently watching. Everything that seemed like a normal passing period, until three figures appeared at the end of the hall. The silhouettes were nonchalant, but almost instantly the crowd cleared a path for them. It was like the world stood still as the three students started walking down the hallway, no one dared speak a decibel above the footsteps of three pairs of shoes on hard tile. It was like something out of an eighty’s movie.
 “Guess you were going to meet them sooner or later.” Marty whispered into his ear, with a suspenseful tone that TJ really hoped was just him being dramatic. He began narrating the trio, who hadn’t looked even slightly bothered at the stares they were getting. First, a girl with a pixie cut in a blue romper, whose white heels that were clicking just a few steps ahead of her other friends.
“That’s Andi Mack, editor-in-chief of the yearbook. If you get on her bad side, she’ll immortalize your most embarrassing moment in the pages. Girls want to be her; guys and girls want to date her.”
TJ felt his chest tighten as a tall girl in a crimson red letterman jacket and curly hair came into his line of sight. He wasn’t sure if it was her or the boy she was walking beside that was causing the knots in his stomach. Marty continued his whisper commentary, clearly not noticing the building tension in his new friend.
“Buffy Driscoll. Captain of the track team, the girls’ basketball team, and the soccer team. 4.0 GPA. Recruiters are basically begging at her feet to play for their college.”
TJ detected the slightest bit of adoration in the boy’s voice when he spoke of her; or, maybe it was jealousy? He didn’t know Marty well enough to parse out that it was some odd mix of both. He decided not to ask.
“And, of course, Cyrus Goodman.” Marty paused as he looked up at him.
The pair found themselves engaged in some sort of odd staring contest with the dark-haired boy, who had stopped his conversation with Buffy and was clearly looking directly at them. He was a taller than TJ remembered him, and those vibrant brown eyes had gone cold and stoic. He wore a pale-yellow crewneck from a brand that TJ didn’t recognize, and black skinny jeans that tucked into Comme des Garcons converses. His hair was meticulously parted and combed - everything about him was flawless. He only stared for a about a second before deciding to resume his conversation with Buffy, not paying them another glance.
“The kid of Leslie Goodman, as in the TV Show Dr. Goodman. In other words, one of the richest families in Shadyside. Also known as the boyfriend of the senior class president Jonah Beck, and for being Co-Homecoming King with him last fall… Together the three of them make up the Good Hair Crew: they practically run the school. Solid Teflon, never touched, never bothered.” And with that, the trio had passed them, continuing on to wherever they were going.
 TJ stood frozen in the hallway, even as the rest of the populous seemed to return to normal. His brain was reeling, desperately trying to keep up with the information he was processing. That was Buffy. That was Cyrus, and Cyrus has a boyfriend???? were seemingly the only thoughts his brain could manage to sputter, as though it had found a glitch. Error 404: my middle school friends all became bad asses without me. 
After a few more moments, and an encouraging nudge from Marty, he snapped out of his daze.
“Marty, I know them. They aren’t like that. I remember in middle school those three-”
Marty hushed him hurriedly, looking around frantically to make sure no one had heard. “If I were you, I wouldn’t mention anything about the GHC in middle school if you want survive a day at Jefferson High. They’ve erased any trace of who they were back then.” He paused, letting the taller boy know that he was serious. “I mean it TJ. When I said everyone has changed since 7th grade, I meant everyone. They’ll have your head if you try to resurface some old memories.”
Marty hooked a friendly arm around TJ’s shoulder, ignoring that TJ was practically a half-foot taller than him, and shepherded him away from the spot to which his feet were planted. With a lighter tone, he continued rambling.
“C’mon Kippen. We have AP US History next period together. You can freak out all you want about everything you missed while you were busy being a Surfer Boy when Mrs. Peters is lecturing us about the importance of Grover Cleveland.” The quip managed to earn a soft chuckle from TJ, despite his head hurting from the mental confusion of the events that had all taken place within the last five minutes.
He conceded for now, and let the three mysterious figures he used to know exit the hallway and his mind, as he followed Marty down the hallway in the opposite direction.
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softscottlang · 6 years ago
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Dogfight (Tom Holland) p1
[Military!Tom x Reader] 
Warnings: Referring to women as ugly and cussing
Summary: When there is a contest to see who can get the ugliest date, Tom has trouble finding anyone he thinks is unattractive. 
A/N: This is based off of the Musical “Dogfight” 
Word Count: 3.5k
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“Alright boys, last day before we ship out in the mornin’.” Tom looked up to see his superior talking to the group of marines gathered in the room. “So, enjoy your last night. Report time is 0600, if you are late, you will not be fighting, and you will disgrace your country.”
Tom internally cringed at the aggressive nature of the man’s speech. Meanwhile, the other men were hopping around and screaming in excitement. He felt his spirits start to match that of the people around him, he also felt a hand grab his wrist and pull him out of the room and towards his group of friends.
“C’mon mate, we still need your share for the dogfight.” Tom looked to see the person pulling him was his childhood friend Harrison.
“How much was it again?” Tom asked grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket. It was relatively thin to begin with, consisting of barely enough money to get along with and his required identification.
“Hundred bucks.” Sebastian said from across the little circle that was created. Tom nodded and emptied his wallet of all cash expect a twenty for the rest of the night. He realized that he was going to have to win the dogfight if he wanted to have any money until payday.
“Alright ladies, we remember the rules, right?” Jacob said as he was putting all the money in an envelope before placing it in his travel bag. “Whoever brings the ugliest date to Ceaser’s tonight get all the money in this envelope, no prostitutes, no dudes and they can’t know about the bet.”
Tom had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, he didn’t want to do this. The thought of bringing a date that was, in his friend’s opinion, unattractive was making his chest feel heavy. He may have been getting five hundred dollars, but he didn’t think it was worth putting someone else in harm's way. Despite them not knowing that Tom was ‘using’ them, he felt that it was still offensive.
“What are we waiting around for pussies, get a move on it!” Paul said, smiling from ear to ear as he and Sebastian started walking towards the library.
“Well fuck faces, let’s get some dogs.” Haz said while Jacob hollered with excitement. Tom gave an unconvincing smile, trying to keep his face from frowning. Tom wanted to have friends when he was overseas, but he also didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feeling.
“Come on Tommy boy, you’re not chickening out on us are your asshole?” Haz had thrown his arm around his old friend’s shoulder, pulling him closer into his side.
“No, I-I’m just trying to figure out the best place to find an… um. Ugly girl.” the words felt dirty falling out of his mouth, like they didn’t belong there. Haz and Jacob gave Tom an encouraging shove before giving him advice.
“They’re everywhere bro, all you have to do is open your eyes,” Jacob replied before doing a weird little spin. “Look over there.”
Tom followed Jacob’s gesture to a lady with black hair and dressed in all dark colors. He was confused why she was being referred to, she had a beautiful confidence radiating off of her. Harrison started nodding his head in agreement, a wicked smirk adorning his face.
“You got her or should I?” Jacob said looking to Tom. Tom felt sick to his stomach as he shook his head to turn the offer down. “Alright then, wish me luck.”
Tom and Harrison watched as Jacob straightened his shirt and ran his hand over his bald head. None of the boys had much hair due to having to shave it from being a marine, but Jacob was able to pull off the lack of hair perfectly.
Once Jacob was happy with his appearance, he started walking towards the black clad girl. She had been watching him as he hyped himself up to his friends, she didn’t want him to approach her but she was definitely interested in what he had to say.
“Hey good lookin’, you’re so out of sight. I just had to stop and say hello.” Tom let out a chuckle at his friends attempt at a pick-up line. The girl gave a quick smirk to the tanned man. They exchanged a few more words before Jacob walked off with the girl under his arm.
“Looks like Jacob has his contender.” Harrison said before letting out a hearty laugh. “I’ll see you later, gotta get me an ugly.”
Before Tom could respond, Harrison had walked away leaving him to be all alone. Tom walked down the street looking for an ugly date, but he just couldn’t find one. Either they had pretty eyes, a bubbly personality, naturally gorgeous hair or were just beautiful. He spent hours walking around for just one ugly girl, but there were none.
Tom had decided to give up and just get some food, so he walked into a diner that he had found. It was small and very vintage, something that made his senses calm. He ordered a coffee from a waitress with a cute nose. He had practically wanted to just leave and sleep on the docks for the night before he had looked across the room.
He saw you standing next to the counter, wiping it down with a little cloth. He didn’t know why, but he was drawn to you, to your beauty. You were giving the customers a breath-taking smile as you kept up the friendly conversation.
“Can I get you something Sugar?” a middle-aged woman asked Tom, breaking him from his gaze on you. Her strong southern accent made him look at her.
“Who is she?” Tom motioned his head back towards you, where you were still smiling and nodding along to what was being said.
“Oh that’s Y/N, she’s the owner’s family friend, works here while she gets her classes done for college.” The other waitress, whose name was ‘Sally’ according to her name tag, explained to Tom. “Sweet thing, that Y/N. Her smile lights up the whole place making anyone in a ten-mile radius swoon. Such a shame she has to be into men, I could get her number for you though.” Tom felt his stomach do flips when the waitress implied that you were single
Tom nodded his head as his eyes met yours, your smile softened, and you nodded your head at him. You sure did think he was cute, in a boy-ish kind of way.
“I think I’d like that a lot.” Tom said quietly, still holding your gaze as you looked down in a flustered haze.
“Well, we close in about twenty minutes so if you stay, you can get it yourself sugar.” Sally quipped before topping off Tom’s glass of coffee.
He knew that he was supposed to be at the club for the dogfight in less than an hour. He still had yet to find an ugly girl to take with him. At this point he just wanted to go to bed and sleep until he was supposed to be at the dock for departure. But you were peeking his interest, making him want to have a nice night with a nice girl. Sure, if he brought you then you would lose him the contest hands down, but he would spend the night with a beautiful woman.
“Hey there.” He looked up, and was met with beautiful Y/E/C eyes. He felt a fuzzy feeling in his stomach when you gave him a soft smile. “Sally told me you were waiting on me.”
“Uh… yeah. I don’t want to sound creepy but you’re very pretty.” You looked down in embarrassment again, not knowing whether to thank him or ask what he wanted. “But there’s this party tonight and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”
“You ask me the night of the party sir, and I don’t even know your name? How am I supposed to trust that you won’t drag me to an alley and kill me?” You were taken aback by the sudden invitation, not that you thought the man in front of you would do that.
“Well I’m a marine, I have my tags and everything.” He nervously and quickly grabbed for the cool metal that was hanging around his neck, showing you the name engraved upon it.
“Well Holland comma Thomas, I’m Y/F/N, but why should I trust you enough to even leave this store with you?” You were testing him at this point, his eyes went from nervous to sad. Tom knew that he had no way to prove to you that he had good intentions. “I’m pulling your strings Holland, of course I’ll go with you. Just give me a few minutes to run home and freshen up. You can wait for me outside, promise I’ll be right back.”
You quickly walked down the street to your crappy studio apartment, living in the city was expensive and as a college student and a waitress, a studio was the best you could do. You quickly acknowledged your puppy that was in the room before filling his water bowl and running to the closet to pick a dress. You realized then that you hadn’t asked what kind of party you would be attending.
Flustered, you grabbed your go-to dress in the most complimentary cut and color to you. You styled your hair so that it didn’t look like it had when you were working and touched up what makeup you had on, not trying to look like you had overdone yourself.
Once you were happy with your appearance, you walked back past your puppy, petting him and giving him a swift kiss on the head before opening the door and locking it behind you. You walk as fast as your legs could carry you until you were back at the diner.
Tom’s face was being lit up by his fluorescent phone screen, his soft features were hardened in the lighting, making him appear to be more mature and older than you had seen him not to long ago.
“Tom?” You go to get his attention when he locks his phone and looks at you. He let out a little gasp, it was as if he was looking at an angel. You radiated beauty and you looked effortless. The dress was breathtaking and the color made you look phenomenal. He was shocked to say the least, he knew he was for sure going to lose the dogfight now. “Are we going to go or are you going to keep staring at me?”
“Um, yeah, let’s go.” He quickly turned and started to lead the way towards the party, you hurrying after him.
The both of you had been talking and walking slowly, enjoying each other’s company. You talked about your hopes and dreams, what your families were like. You learned that Tom had three younger brothers and a dog that he very much loved. His mother and father were actively supportive in his life and his choices.
“Don’t they worry about you?” you couldn’t help but ask him when he was talking about how his mom supported his decision to join the military. He kept his head forward, obviously too deep in thought to take his cloudy gaze from where ever he had been looking.
“I’m sure they do, they just want me to do whatever makes me happy.” Tom said in a steady voice, not trying to come off too anxious. He has thought about death plenty of times since enlisting, but he never really had anyone to talk to about it.
“Well I know I’d be worried about you.” your voice was quiet, almost too quiet to hear. Fortunately, Tom was close enough where he was able to hear each delicate syllable that passed your lips.
Tom’s eyes were immediately on the side of your face, looking for any sign of you joking or trying to poke fun at him. Your face remained sincere, showing that you were telling the truth.
“Why? You don’t even know me.” Tom was genuinely curious as to why someone he just met would even remotely care if he lived or died.
“Because no one deserves to die away from the people that they love.” You turned to look him in his brown eyes with an unwavering seriousness. Tom’s jaw line softened from him releasing the tension that he held there, you were bringing out a soft side that no one had been able to see since he had started basic training. He had spent so long building his walls up so that he wouldn’t be made fun of for being too weak but here you were, effortlessly knocking down each of those walls without so much as a second thought.
“I’m not going to die Y/N.” Tom looked at you with an intensity that you didn’t know had existed. It made your stomach drop and flip, you were looking at his brown eyes and slowly seeing why your favorite writers talked about eyes being filled with emotion. His were filled with too many to distinguish.
“But what if you do Tom? What happens then?” Your voice stayed soft, you didn’t know why you cared about this man you had just met, but you did. You cared too much to get attached to whom you didn’t really know besides what he had told you. Hell, you didn’t even know if what he said was true but for some reason, you believed him.
Or at least, you wanted to.
“Then I die, but I sure don’t plan on leaving this world yet so you’re going to have to deal with me longer than just tonight.” Tom said throwing his pale hands in the air.
Your mind was processing the words that fell from his mouth. Not knowing how to respond, you reach out and grasp his wrist, pulling him into an hug.
“You’re not allowed to die Tom.” You say, your voice still quiet and soft. He wrapped his hands around you carefully, not knowing if this was the right thing to do or not. You seemed so fragile and broken. He held you for a second, trying to keep all of your pieces together, because maybe if he held you tight enough, he could fix all of your broken bits by pressing them back together gently.
“I won’t.” He softly said. You relaxed and retracted your arms from around him, straightening your dress and running your hands under your eyes to clean the smudged mascara.  
Seeing that you cared so deeply for him made him feel bad for still taking you to the dogfight, despite you being beautiful and not knowing what was happening, he felt guilty. You deserved to go on a nice date and have a good time, not be judged for being ugly, which you were not.
“Y/N, um.. We don’t have to go.” Tom watched as you whipped your head around to look at him, eyes wide with concern. “We can do something else, I don’t want you to feel like you have to go for me.”
“You asked me to go to a party with you, so let’s go!” You say in a blubby tone, confused as to why he had suddenly not wanted to go. Tom decided not to fight with you anymore and to just hold the guilt within.
“Okay, well we’re here then.” Tom gestured towards the pub across the street. There was a neon sign displaying the name of the bar and a musty smell lingering in the air.
You nodded your head and walked towards the entrance, Tom close behind you. You walked in and felt a hand wrap itself around your waist, you looked and saw that Tom was pulling you towards him in what you thought was a protective motive. But to Tom, it was a way to shield you from being seen by the other guys. He didn’t want his friends to see him walking in with a pretty girl, so he pulled your face away from where they were standing,
“Tommy boy, I don’t think you’ve met my date yet.” A tall blonde man had his arm around a middle-aged woman with unbrushed hair and a dirty looking face. Tom wouldn’t say that she was ugly, she just didn’t look like she took care of herself. “This is Billie Jean.”
“Nice to meet ya.” She stuck her hand straight out, offering him a hand shake. Tom could distinctly see the black rim of dirt that had buried itself under her nail bed from not being bathed properly. He held in the cringe that he wanted to let out so bad but suppressed the urge.
“Nice to meet you.” Tom said reluctantly taking her hand. Harrison smirked at Tom, knowing that Tom more than likely had a better-looking date.
“And who is that.” Harrison said gesturing towards you, who had been tucked under Tom’s arm and watching as the dj announced the next singer for the karaoke party.
“This is Y/N” Tom said before nudging you to meet his friend. You turned and saw a tall blonde man standing there. His smile grew when he saw you. You said quick hellos and parted ways when Tom took you onto the dance floor.
You both had danced for what felt like hours until your body was clammy and begging you to go outside and get some of the cool night air.
“I’m going outside, I’ll be right back.” You said to Tom over the thumping music heard throughout the night club. He gave you a quick nod before watching you walk away, making sure that no one harassed you on your way out.
Once you had opened the door and felt the initial wave of cool air hit your body, your attention was on an arguing couple. It wasn’t until your eyes focused that you saw it was Billie Jean and Harrison. He was throwing his hands up in big gestures, obviously angry. It lasted a few more seconds before he flug money at her and stalked back inside, brushing shoulders with you on the way in.
“Are you okay?” You asked the older woman who was picking up the dirty bills that made fallen on the gravel.
“I should have never agreed to this.” The woman growled at you.
“Agreed to what? Didn’t you have a good time?” You thought that she was having a fun time on the dance floor less than a half hour ago.
“This stupid contest, I shouldn’t have come. It’s just for ugly girls and horny boys.” The was still grumbling, scrolling on her phone.
“Tom didn’t bring me here for the contest.” You were quiet, not knowing how to process the information being thrown at you.
“He brought you here because he thought you were ugly darling.”
“Tom wouldn’t do that, he’s not like that.” You were heart broken, in denial that he would be that much of a monster.
“Sorry to break it to ya but that’s what happened. How else do you think my ragged ass got a date with that blonde hunk in there.” She said, her yellowed teeth on display.
“No, I don’t believe you.” You said through tear filled eyes.
“Harrison told me, you saw him throw the money at me. You can’t deny that you were wondering why a good-looking guy like him would be with a girl like you.” Billie Jean was practically screaming at you, making you want to scream out in frustration. You knew it was true from the way that you had been invited to go with him.
You stomped back into the pub, heading straight towards the Holland man in a blind rage. Once he had seen you, his face went from calm contempt to concerned. You didn’t care, as soon as he was within arm reach, you swung your hand that met Tom’s face with a forceful slap. You normally would never do that, it was out of character. Tom looked at you confused, holding his cheek from shock and pain.  
“How dare you bring me here with the motive to exploit me for your own benefits. I’m disgusted that you even participated in something like this. I thought you were better than this Tom, I thought you were different from other guys.” You voice was cracking uncontrollably, filled with so much sorrow and despair.
Tom hadn’t said anything, not knowing how to respond. That made you even more frustrated and even more enraged.  
“I hope you die at war Tom Holland.” You said before stomping off, not caring if you ever saw him again in your life.  
~~~~
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archiveofolives · 5 years ago
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fanfic memetiems!!!
@slipsthrufingers tagged me on this thing, ty!! which is to say, technically she didn’t but i saw ur note on introversion kt so i’m claiming it!!!
putting it under a cut bc i got wordy af lol
OK HERE WE GO
At what age did you start writing fanfiction?
i'm gonna say around 10. maybe latter part of my single digits to early part of my teens. i won't say what my first fanfic was bc i have at least one mutual who's going to block me if i say it (and they have no reason to know anyway lmao) BUT i'm gonna reveal that @slipsthrufingers the demon unearthed it from the depths of the internet once and read it :p
Who is your favorite author?
HERE'S THE THING if ure my friend, i love ur writing. see, i think writing and storytelling are both such human traits that i just want to encourage it out of everyone even when they have a tendency to repeat a sentence 7 times in 2 paragraphs. and i mean, who cares? this isn't a school contest and between capitalism and fascism, i doubt anyone even still cares these days
(altho this much i will say: i'm glad this question isn't about who was my favorite writer back in the rp days. i will, otherwise, go on forever bc the list doesn't stop at u duckie lol)
Favorite type of scene to write?
i am such a trash for dialogues. like, i could be writing my book, space dads or space vikings and i always notice that my banters, my jokes, just anything traded between two people at the least take a life of their own! sometimes it's convenient, a lot of times it's not. i've lost track of my scenes and my plots a lot of times because of this. about the only times i was able to control myself lmao was when i was rping bc...i literally can't control the other character i'm writing with
What is your favorite fanfic?
i don't have one favorite fanfic, i have several i love for several kinds of reasons. but most of them are space dads.
What tags do you avoid like the plague?
incest, pwp and other similar stuff mostly. i'm fine with them existing, i mean part of the reason the tagging system was created was so we could filter out whatever we don't like but i just don't go there, y'know?
What AU do you wish to write but feel like you won’t manage?
OH YOU MEAN THE IDEAS I HAVE IN MY HEAD BUT CAN'T AND WON'T GET TO UNTIL I FINISH MY ODINSONS FIC U MEAN AHAHAHAHAHA
ummm here's the thing: i like to think i have quite the talent for aus. @safarikalamari knows this, i have written her fics of such a nature and described others to her. the trick really is just to find two canons with some workable similarities between the roles and the setting so you won't have to shoehorn everything. if u need help with ur au, ping me, i'll be happy to be of service lmao
OOH BUT i will share this much: once upon a time, i tried to write a fic where atty. phoenix wright, a hogwarts alumni belonging to gryffindor BC COME ON IT'S IN THE NAME, took on the case of sirius black against a prosecutor with a perfect no-lose record, miles edgeworth. whose house i forgot, i think it was ravenclaw. BUT MAN, I HAD IT ALL WORKED OUT, gumshoe was there! and so was ema who's science > magic and maya! maya was gonna try to summon peter pettigrew's spirit so they could question him but obviously she couldn't do it bc he's still alive lmao so she feels like she's a failure and gets heartbroken and runs to the shrieking shack to hide from the world and nick finds her and they investigate the place but it's remus' party night so all that werewolf howling scares the living hell out of them and they run out the forest and come the next morning, they find out on accident thanks to ema's sciency stuff that a lock of hair they picked up along the way belongs to a wolf-like thing. it becomes an important piece of evidence to prove remus' innocence, yes.
Do you outline or write as you go?
if we're talking about fics, i've always written as i go. i got the scenes plotted out in my head and i keep an eye on them from there but the farthest i went with outlining is listing the dialogues i've already come up with (see, again with the dialogues) and then just filling in the deets later, often adding more dialogues to make the flow smoother
What has been your favorite story to write so far?
right now, i have the softest spot for this au i wrote for mari bc after that, my creativity just got sapped out lmao. but i remember that that was really fun to write and reread, i was practically unstoppable.
Do you prefer to write one-shots or multi-chapters? Why?
both. the difference is that the one-shot is the expectation but the multi-chapter becomes the reality >.>;; but i think, I THINK this odinsons fic is going to be a one-shot ❤
What is your favorite kind of comment?
i have a special place for the ones who tell me how much they agree with the fic and my characterization and how it made them feel. and particularly for thor and loki, i love the ones who thank me for writing an odinsons fic that is not incest but very brotherly. :3
Why did you start writing fanfiction? Why are you still writing it?
i started writing fanfic bc my sister started it first. SERIOUSLY a lot of things i do now is bc she did it first and i thought i had to do it to if i wanted to become a full-fledged human being! I'M NOT KIDDING, THAT'S HOW MY MIND WORKED. it's like if you're gonna evolve your starter pokemon, you need a few exps? I THOUGHT FAN-FICTION WAS MY EXP TO EVOLUTION. and then i kept doing it bc you know, it's become a habit for me? but i stopped for a LONG time when i started seriously rping (i remember having like 12 active characters in 6 separate games at one time, it's crazy) and then when rp fizzed out and slowly died, i started churning out like...one, two every couple of months or so? and then i got into the rogue one fandom and literally EVERYONE I KNEW was writing fics, then?? so i got on board and now i'm doing it for thor and loki and HOPEFULLY, hopefully, i get to do it for final fantasy, too. ❤ and maybe get back on the space dads, too, bc i have yet to write my neighbors au lololol
i'm gonna end this post with two things: 1. i'm gonna tag @egregiousderp, @ironmanwlw, @safarikalamari and @whatufish4
2. i'm gonna cite the deep magic on u, kates: we should write together again :p
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thegarrisonpublichouse · 7 years ago
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Business Comes First- Chapter 2
A Peaky Blinders fanfiction set around the end of season three.  
Chapter 1- A Woman who Drinks // Chapter 2- Tea for my Lady //  Chapter 3- Ricocheting Bullets // Chapter 4- Demons // Chapter 5 - A Country House // Chapter 6 - Numbing the Pain
Summary: Alice is a smart and savvy business woman in a male dominated world.  She uses her wit and power to get what she wants but she has burdens from her past that could hinder a business transaction in Small Heath.  
Word count: 2400 words
Author’s note: As always, feedback is always much appreciated!  As this is a longer fiction with several parts, do let me know if you wish to be tagged in the next instalment.  All replies come from @bookish-fox as this is a side account (come on Tumblr sort it out pls). With regards to this chapter, no hate intended on Lizzie!
Tagged accounts: @mariamermaid @little-miss-mischief1
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Warnings: Mentions of a past trauma, language. 
Chapter 2 - Tea for my Lady
You had slept poorly; dreams had woken you, sweaty, panting and crying.  Instinctively, you had reached under your pillow and pulled out the small shotgun you kept there.  You held it to your chest, breathing quickly.  It had taken you several minutes to calm your breathing to a regular rhythm.  You looked to the clock, half five in the morning. You groan.
You had enjoyed a relaxing morning despite waking up so early; you had made a pot of tea and had a leisurely breakfast whilst reading the newspaper.  The relaxation almost made you forget about your pounding hangover and night terrors that left you feeling dislocated from reality.
After breakfast, you had sifted through your pile of paperwork and had found the telephone number for Shelby Company Ltd.  You sat by the phone and dialled the number. 
“Hello, Shelby Company Ltd., can I help you?” a woman’s voice answered the phone.  Simply through the tone of her voice, you could tell that she was exceedingly bored or irritated, but you couldn’t work out which. 
“Hello, I would like to arrange a meeting with Mr Shelby, please,” you state, putting on your ‘business’ voice. 
“Which one? There are three of them,” the woman said sarcastically. 
“Thomas.” you reply.
“Regarding?” the woman’s tone of voice was rude.  Pulling a face at the phone as if she could see you, you quickly worked out the angle you would take.  The question was, should you play the strictly business card, or mention last night’s rendezvous in order to get some time with Thomas?  Business, Alice. 
“Business.” you reply, with a tone identical to the woman on the phone.  
The woman scoffs.  “Right, he’s free at three thirty. Can I take a name?” 
“Goodfellows.”  You reply, hastily making a note of the time of your meeting on the corner of your newspaper.  “Thank you.”  You hang up the phone and you go back into your kitchen.  You placed your kettle on the hob to make another pot of tea.  You had a lot of planning to do before your meeting. 
Tommy strode into the office, pushing the door violently open causing it to slam shut behind him.  His head was pounding.  As he walked he turned his head to look into a vacant secretary office.  That woman he saw last night should be working there, he could sense that she had the skills to do it, and he, stupidly, didn’t even ask her name.  Turning a corner, he strode into his personal office. 
“Morning, Lizzie,”  he grunted walking past her sat at his desk with the morning’s itinerary.  He sat down on the other side of the desk in his chair and immediately pulled a cigarette from his pocket. 
“Morning, Tommy.” Lizzie replied, curtly.  Noticing her tone he looked up from his cig and made eye contact with her, lighting the butt without even looking.  Raising his eyebrows he inhaled deeply, inviting Lizzie to explain her curtness. 
“I didn’t see you last night.” Lizzie stated, cooly, reclining back in her chair and maintaining the eye contact. 
“I was busy,” he replied, meeting her harsh stare. 
“Doing who?” Lizzie broke the eye contact, looking down to watch her fingers intertwine together.  Inhaling, she composed herself before continuing. “I waited up for you.”
Tommy looked at the door, the wall, the desk- anywhere but here.  He didn’t need Lizzie’s scorn on him today, his schedule was full of meetings and his head was still pounding.  
“Today’s schedule, please?” He quickly changed the subject.
“Meetings with various shareholders all morning, then at three thirty, you have a meeting with…” Lizzie’s brow furrowed as she struggled to remember the name.  She reached a hand into the pocket of her dress, pulling out a scrap of paper.  “Goodfellows?” 
“Goodfellows?” Tommy’s face went pale. “Lizzie you can go now.”  Lizzie abruptly stood and left the room.  Tommy’s head sunk into his hands. Shit.  Goodfellows.  He had heard that name several times, especially on his trips to London to see Alfie Solomons. Goodfellows were kicking up quite the storm in the racing world: their horses always won.  There were several rumours circulating that they fixed the races in order to get results.  What business did they want in Birmingham? They were a force to be reckoned with, but the Peaky Blinders were too.  A deal with them could be extremely beneficial, but Tommy had learnt the hard way about making deals with the wrong people. 
You made your way to Shelby Company Ltd’s headquarters, conveniently around the corner from the Garrison.  The building didn’t look like much from the outside, but once you had made your way indoors you realised how important this building was to the family business.  The corridors were full of people ferrying paperwork back and forth, and it was never quiet.  There was a seemingly constant buzz of chatter and shouting in the background. 
You found the door with the name ‘Thomas Shelby’ engraved onto a plaque and you knock loudly with your knuckle.  It wasn’t Tommy that answered the door, however.  A tall woman with short dark hair answered. 
“Yes?” She questioned. Her tone was the same as the woman you had spoken to on the phone earlier that day.  She was significantly taller than you, and you could sense her looking down at you, scrutinising every hair on your head and every mascara coated eyelash.  
“I’m here for the Goodfellows meeting, I think we spoke over the phone.” You state, calmly, offering your hand for her to shake, “Alice,” 
“Lizzie,” she replied, denying your hand but opening the door wider so you could make your way inside.  She led you to a chair next to another door.  “Sit here, I’ll see if Mr Shelby is ready for you.”  You sit, feeling the ice cold metal of your gun in its holster against your thigh, making you grit your teeth. 
Lizzie went through the door into his office.  “Goodfellows are here, Tommy,” she said cooly.
“Fuck,” Tommy muttered, he stood up, straightening his jacket and placed his razor studded hat on his head. 
“Don’t worry, they must have sent a secretary, its a woman.” Lizzie stated.  Tommy sat back down, his nerves instantly relaxed.  If it was only a secretary, what’s the worst that could happen?
“Bring her through, Lizzie.”
“Mr Shelby will see you now, Alice.”  Lizzie popped her head around the door.  Smiling you stand and followed her through into Tommy’s large office.  His desk was facing to the door, towards you and was framed by bookcases filled with files. Tommy sat at his desk, sifting through paperwork with a cigarette hung lazily out of the corner of his mouth.  You walk towards the chair opposite him, well aware of the sounds of your shoes clacking against the hard wooden floor in the silent room, but Tommy never looked up.  Lizzie made her way behind him and started aimlessly looking through the files on the bookcases behind him. 
“Morning, Mr Shelby.” You said as you sat.  His eyes darted upward, instantly recognising your voice from the night before. His eyes met yours and you could practically see the cogs turning as he tried to remember every detail about you. 
“Alice Goodfellow,” you presented your hand to him, which he took with a confused expression.  “I trust you slept well.”  You saw Lizzie’s head dart up.
“Yes, thank you,” Tommy replied.  His composure had readjusted from the initial shock of seeing you in his office- he was now calm and collected. He leant back in his chair. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Tea.” You reply quickly.  Tommy signalled to Lizzie, whose expression towards you had hardened into one of almost contempt.  As she walked out of the room, she made it stroked Tommy’s shoulder whilst looking you dead in the eyes.  You could tell that she didn’t like you. 
“Goodfellow, eh? Must admit, I didn’t see that one coming.”  Tommy took a long drag from his cigarette, allowing the smoke to slowly seep out between his lips in ribbons of ashy grey.  Shame, that position within the Shelby Company would have to remain vacant. 
“Why? Because I’m a woman?”  You contest, shifting your weight onto your other leg to relieve the pressure of the holster on your thigh. 
“Not this again.” He smiled, “Why are you here?”
“We understand that your company has the licences to Cheltenham racetrack,” You pull out a pile of paperwork from your bag. “We, Goodfellows Ltd, have a proposition for you, Mr Shelby.”
He quizzically raised an eyebrow and stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray.  You were about to continue when Lizzie loudly pushed open the door to his office, dragging a trolley with a tea set behind her.  As she walked, the china clattered loudly and she made no attempt to silence it.  Giving you a look, she put all the china on the table loudly, earning herself an irritated look from Tommy.
“Tea for my lady.” she said mockingly, before turning around.  
“Hold on Lizzie, we haven’t been properly introduced,” you start standing up to face her.  You offer your hand to her, “Alice Goodfellow, from the country’s most well-regarded race horse breeders and trainers, you might have heard of us.  Your boss and I met last night when he kindly escorted me home after I had far too much to drink.”
Lizzie’s face reddened as you addressed her.  She smiled slightly and walked away quickly, obviously wanting to leave the room as soon as possible.  You sat back down in your chair and watched Tommy run a hand through his raven coloured hair.  Smiling, you poured yourself a cup of tea.  Nice tea set, you took a mental note. 
“Anyway, where was I?” you took a quick sip of your tea, burning your tongue on the heat.  Fuck’s sake, Alice. “Ah, yes.  Being a mainly Southern company, we are yet to explore the northern racetracks.  We want to become a sponsor of the Cheltenham races.”
“And what would I receive from this?”  Tommy asked.  His eyes gave the impression that he was intrigued. 
“We are willing to give Shelby Company Ltd. a horse.  It will win races and therefore be a worthy investment for your bookies.”  You answer.  It was an offer he surely couldn’t refuse. Your horses won the races they competed in, it was a fact.  By simply giving your company prominence at the race, he would be earning himself millions.  
Tommy leant back in his chair, staring you straight in the eyes.  The vivid blue of his irises trapped you in their gaze, and you found yourself struggling to look away.  He seemed to sense the tension in the air, and broke the eye contact himself to pour a cup of tea.  The tea cup looked almost miniature in his large hands, but he held it with such care and grace.  His grip was steady and strong, yet gentle.  You watched him intently as he poured, it seemed that making tea was almost an art form to him, he poured meticulously, and stirred a precise amount until it was exactly the right colour.  Slowly, he added the milk, allowing the two liquids to merge into one in his cup.  
“I wouldn’t have thought you were a tea drinking man, Mr Shelby,” you say quietly, smiling in an attempt to relieve some of the tension in the room.  His eyes immediately went back to yours, locking them in their powerful grip.  Carefully, but without looking, he placed his tea cup onto his saucer.  Leaning back in his chair, he wrapped his hands around the back of his head and licked his full lips. 
“A man can’t survive on whisky and cigarettes alone, Mrs Goodfellow.” He smiled.
“Miss Goodfellow,” you corrected him quickly.  Nothing annoyed you more when people assumed that you were married.  Marriage was a touchy subject for you, having come close to it before the idea of it made you feel trapped.  You hadn’t had a positive experience with it in your past, and felt no need to try it again.  
“Sorry, Miss Goodfellow,”  Tommy smirked.  You were so clever, he could see that in your eyes and the way that you held yourself in your chair. He could see that you had come into his office, and Birmingham with a purpose, and that you wouldn’t leave until you had achieved it.  Tommy felt conflicted regarding the deal: certainly, should it all work out he would benefit significantly, but Goodfellows had built up a rather shifty reputation, and rumours could be damaging to his own enterprises.  He ran a hand across his chin, deep in thought. 
“Well, Miss Goodfellow, this kind of business deal doesn’t happen over night.” you nodded in understanding.  “I will need to consult my brothers and the rest of the family and do some research before I finalise anything, but, I do see there being potential here for a business partnership.”  
You smiled, you had this one in the bag. You couldn’t wait to call your brother Henry when you got home; he hadn’t stopped bragging about his negotiation success with Alfie Solomons for about a year now.  It was finally your turn to pull in a big deal. 
“That being said,” Tommy started, wiping the smile off your face as you felt a ‘but’ coming.  “We are a family enterprise, and therefore I cannot go into any serious negotiations with you until you are acquainted with the whole family, they are much better at judging a person’s motives and character than I am.”
“Of course, Mr Shelby, that’s understandable.  Our company would take similar precautions.” 
“Come to the Garrison tomorrow evening at nine and meet everyone.  In the meantime I’ll do some research.”  Tommy stands, indicating the end of your meeting.  You stand too, and stretch out your hand for him to shake.  To your surprise he grasps it tightly, pulling you towards him so that he could whisper in your ear.
“I can see your gun through your dress, Miss Goodfellow,” He whispers, “you don’t seem to be as innocent as you try to make out.”  He released your hand and waved you towards the door. “I look forward to doing business with you.”  Your heart raced, nerves and adrenaline pumped through your veins.  You smile sweetly at him, and exit the office.
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ryanmeft · 6 years ago
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Creed II Movie Review
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I don’t remember anything about the first Creed except Sylvester Stallone, and that barely. I liked it well enough, then forgot about it. Now here comes a sequel. I liked it well enough, and will soon forget about it. At its best moments, it is about ghosts, and the way they can control a life. It is also sometimes about family, and the way we don’t get to choose ours. In the end, though, it’s fine being a fairly standard boxing movie. It could have been more. Dare I say it? It coulda been a contender.
If you’ll recall (I had to look it up), Adonis Creed (Michael B. Jordan), son of famous Rocky opponent Apollo Creed, got adopted, separately, by both Adonis’s widow (Phylicia Rashad) and Rocky himself (Sylvester Stallone). Before going into the ring and losing but honorably, he also became boyfriend to a partially deaf singer named Bianca (Tessa Thompson). As the sequel begins, Adonis wins the heavyweight championship, and is almost immediately challenged for it by Russian mountain Viktor Drago (Florian Munteanu). That would be the son of Ivan Drago (Dolph Lundgren), the man whose bout with Adonis’s father Apollo was the death of him. Later, Ivan lost to Rocky, and as a result lost his status, his wife, and his respect, which makes you wonder how the Russian divorce rate isn’t 99%; after all, the hard reality is that most people who compete for something lose. Back on the home front, Adonis and Bianca come down with a case of pregnant-before-we’re-ready, and it is only natural to wonder if the baby will also be deaf. Adonis, of course, also takes Viktor’s challenge.
Outside of the ring, the movie, which has tagged in Steven Caple Jr. as director since Ryan Coogler went on to handle some superhero thing, is a surprisingly nuanced look at obsession, masculine ego, and the toll an ultimately meaningless contest takes on people. Adonis has to fight the son of the man who killed his father, because it’s destiny, a word sports announcers, writers and fans throw around more than they do game balls. Mostly, though, it’s because he’s goaded by both the Dragos and a slimy promoter (Russell Hornsby), and it is of course an accepted fact that you cannot turn down such a challenge and still retain your manhood. Who decided it was an accepted fact? Well, people with a lot of money to make off the fight, of course. The idea that your ability to whup another man’s ass decides everything about who you are is of course older than recorded history, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn it was thunk up by an ancient sports promoter.
This is even clearer on the side of Ivan and Victor. The elder Drago blames his loss of “everything” on Rocky defeating him. He never considers the fact that Rocky wouldn’t have been ostracized in his country for losing, never stops to think it might just be wrong to see the world that way. His son does. When their ice-hearted ex-wife/mother (Brigitte Nielsen) parades herself and her status as the pampered trophy wife of a wealthy stuffed shirt in front of the humiliated Drago at a dinner party, it is Viktor who reacts, insisting that, no, dad, it’s her fault for leaving them just because he lost a fair fight. I would have loved to see the movie from their point-of-view.
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Adonis loses his first fight with Drago, and loses badly. He keeps his belt because Drago hits him while he’s down. He goes to the hospital, spends months in recovery. Yet, despite the fact that he has a baby on the way and that Bianca wants him to settle down, she offers no resistance to his continued machismo in accepting a rematch. And it is exactly that. He rages against his own impulses, Rocky tries to impress the importance of other things on him, and the movie flirts briefly with the idea that he might do the saner, rarer and more interesting thing: turn down the fight, live his life, learn that sometimes the story doesn’t go entirely our way. I imagine a film wherein he decides he does not need to fight, that he is a whole man already.
That doesn’t happen, of course. I said in my review for a great, underloved movie called Damsel that the western is the most versatile of modern genres. The sports genre is the least. Donnie takes the fight. The movie ends with a rousing display of well-choreographed martial prowess, a fight that is thrilling in and of itself but which is also common and wrote in a movie where the characters often are not. I felt fascinated by Adonis’s obsession and the toll it takes on him. The screenplay by Stallone and Juel Taylor, based on a story by Sascha Penn and Cheo Hodari Coker, goes to a lot of love in crafting a broken youth. I was especially engaged with him when he is at his worst: when he pushes away the mentor who has been where he is, simply because his ego can’t handle being told a right answer when he wants it to be a wrong one. For much of the film he is not a hero we can admire. And Stallone? Well, he may only have one way of acting, but it works here. He does not feel broken, but worn, sort of like a rock passed many times over by a river. The women in the movie are rendered largely irrelevant and reduced to ineffective protest, but the relationship between Adonis and Rocky points to fascinating conclusions the film could have reached. I also wanted to see more of the viewpoint of Viktor, who more than Adonis doubts the validity of self-confirmation through fighting, but is routinely pulled back into the world he has been taught.
The third act of the film discards most of this. In the end, Adonis’s choice to fix his broken pieces by fighting yields him all of the rewards and none of the consequences, while those in his life either actively cheer or look on passively. It isn’t that I want a sports movie to not be a sports movie, but this one makes so many overtures toward something deeper that when it opts to reinforce the modern sports belief that winning is at the heart of the universe, it becomes less than the sum of its parts. For a few glorious moments, Creed II was almost a powerful film. Then it settled for less.
Verdict: Recommended
Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts.
Must-See
Highly Recommended
Recommended
Average
Not Recommended
Avoid like the Plague
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