#Mathew Baynton Fanfiction

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter iii

plots are half revealed, and willy "mr accidentally steal yo girl" wonka gets his sorry ass saved by a woman wearing one of those "oh no my husband mysteriously floated away died" robes you see all over pinterest. (now there's a sentence i never thought i'd write.)

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.5k

i would like to thank mr mathew baynton in that one bts interview for those bits and pieces of fickelgruber analysis that will totally now be used here. and also for being generally wonderful. thanks mat ilysm

also i thought it would be sort of funny for at least someone in this world revolving around chocolate to be lactose intolerant and then of course i had to turn it into something sad and poetic bc of Who I Am As A Person

enjoy!! and thank you for all the support on this fic so far!!

part two fic masterlist part four

She had a lot to think about that night.

Felix hadn’t returned home yet, and she started to worry that the fateful flying chocolates weren’t quite as harmless as advertised. The young man who’d made them, too, was swirling about her mind in a haze of schoolgirl blushes and piercing guilt.

Florence Fickelgruber had chosen her lot when she agreed to take on that name. Who was she to imagine a freer life, one of candy-coated dreams and a clear conscience, of gazes and banter with someone her own age, of running her hand through curls that weren’t slick with expensive gel? Who was she to foolishly wish for anything different, when so many people were counting on her?

She missed her home, her family, and it hadn’t been lost on her that Felix had never told her about his own background. Their wedding was attended mainly by those surrounding the Fickelgruber business, as well as another flood of press. She’d had to blink so much that day, unused to being in front of cameras after a youth spent on the stage, but her new husband had preened next to her as if this focus on appearance was where he felt most at home. She remembered the crowd’s polite cheers fading in her mind as he had slowly lifted her chin while she accepted a forkful of the most extraordinarily decadent chocolate cake.

For that day, she had allowed the feeling of his hand on her face to eclipse that of the too-rich frosting stuck in her throat.

Then he came through the door, humming a jaunty tune, and she blinked, torn out of the memory that she felt an entirely different kind of guilt for indulging in.

“Felix? Darling, where have you been?”

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty auburn head, my songbird. The boy’s finished, absolutely finished. No one will be flying about the Galeries Gourmet if the police have anything to say about it.”

“What-what do you mean?”

“He’s disturbed the peace, made a commotion, even encouraged the-the-the unfortunate to disgrace our sacred sanctuary of chocolate. And the Chief is none too happy about it.”

“Is he?” she said suspiciously, stepping in front of him-because, up until this point, he hadn’t looked her in the eye.

Felix was silent for a moment, cacao eyes darting. His wife’s gaze was strong and unyielding-don’t lie to me again, I can’t take it-but her head tilted innocently to the side, a sort of plausible deniability.

A sort of protection.

“Yes,” he breathed with a curt nod, and took her hands in his. “I promise you, it was a solemn thing.”

“Then what were you singing as you came in?”

The chocolatier blinked again, falling into an absolutely done sort of expression, and Florence’s head tilted to the other side.

“You’ve had another musical number without me.”

“I’m terribly sorry, pet.”

“You know you can’t hide from me, Felix,” she said, something that would have been playfully teasing but held an edge of desperation that he refused to pick up on.

“It of course wasn’t the same without you,” he drawled in that ever-dramatic way, bringing her into their living room. “We’ll make it up now. Dance with me, Florence.”

He snapped his fingers, and some unseen yet attentive servant placed a needle on a record. A crooning melody started to crackle and bounce across the high golden ceilings, and Felix spun his wife into him, twirling her about with a smirk that she could only imagine to be the result of a monopoly saved.

She swayed to and fro in his arms, trying desperately to sink into the music, unable to focus on anything but the wrenching pull of her battling guilts.

~

Florence spent much of the next day in a state of ping-ponging worry. She’d looked intently out of the mansion’s sprawling windows over the town square, wondering whether her forbidden new friend had taken her advice.

“Just…don’t give up.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

And who knows what they’ll do to him now?

The hours had passed in a blur, and then she was laid limp, unable to sleep, and mentally exhausted, next to her husband and his piccolo snore.

She had screwed her eyes shut and burrowed into him, trying to force herself to feel as secure as she did two years ago; then, the slight sound of a little girl’s singing voice lifted itself into her consciousness, followed by the blare of a police car.

Puzzled, Florence carefully got out of bed and went to the window once more. The girl she’d heard was the one with the sweet smile that she’d seen in the Galeria yesterday, and Willy Wonka was next to her, warning her to run. The Chief of Police and Officer Affable faced them, but this wasn’t to last-the former seemed to tell the latter to leave, and the latter obeyed.

It wasn’t as if a switch flipped at that moment.

More like…

An extinguished candle was finally relit.

Before she could overthink herself into inaction, Wren was grabbing her robe and slippers and bolting downstairs, the snore that echoed after her serving as reassurance that she wouldn’t be found out. In her haste, she had the passing realization that this would be the first time she’d leave the house with her hair down and uncoiffed in over two years.

Through this rush, she heard the plunge of something in the town square’s fountain along with the shouts of the Chief, and she ran faster, throwing open the door just in time to see him about to club a drenched Willy over the head.

“OFFICER!”

Both men turned to her in an instant. She let out the breath she’d been holding since first hearing the girl’s voice, rolled her shoulders back, dropped into the character she’d played for the past two years, and stepped forward.

“What on earth is going on?”

They stared, each with a different kind of shock, as she walked toward the fountain. The Chief returned his nightstick to its holster.

“Mrs. Fickelgruber,” he stammered, “I thought you would have thought-well, I guess he didn’t tell-you aren’t-”

“No, I’m not thrilled about you clobbering this poor young man in the middle of the night,” she said, placing a hand on Willy’s shoulder. He looked at her, still touched with the fear of the past minutes but now grateful, and she tried not to be struck by the freckles she saw behind his water-plastered curls.

“Who said anything about clobbering?” the Chief laughed somewhat nervously. “We were just having a chat. An impactful, memorable chat. Right, Mr. Wonka?”

Willy dragged his eyes to him and held them there, a bit speechless.

What was probably three seconds but felt like an eternity of strange silence passed.

“Memorable indeed.”

“Right, then,” the Chief said. “You’ll do good to continue to remember it. Goodnight, Mrs. Fickelgruber.”

With that, he entered his car and drove away, his tail lights fading in the distance as the remaining pair stood, a little shell-shocked, her hand still on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said after a while, his gaze still trailing the receding police car.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, giving his shoulder an awkward pat, which made her realize just how cold he was due to the impromptu fountain bath. “Oh, God, you’re freezing. Let me…”

As he turned towards her, she looked up, trying to see through her window in the dark. She could barely make out the shape of a sound-asleep Felix, still in bed.

“Come to the office, I’ve got the key. There’s a fireplace there; you can stay as long as you need to to warm up.”

“Are you sure?”

His eyes moved up the same way, then back to her, and she shook her head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course.”

~

“Do you want anything to drink? Water, tea? Hot chocolate?”

She hadn’t turned on most of the lights so as not to draw attention, but she’d started a beautiful fire, which Willy sat by in a plush emerald-green chair. She’d rattled off the drinks on habit, but she turned to him upon saying the third, sharing his smile.

“The last one, please. But I’ll make it.”

“No, you need to rest-”

“I insist,” he said, moving to join her by the small bar in the office and searching through ingredients. “Unless that’s some sort of corporate sacrilege.”

“Making chocolate in enemy territory?”

He took a small jar of powder from his sleeve and shook it into two mugs, considering this, and his smile faltered a bit.

“Is it really that bad?” he asked. “That they’d…that they’d send the police after me? That business rivalry is thought of like a war?”

She pursed her lips and nodded solemnly.

“They…feel threatened,” she said slowly, “and, despite how professional they seem, they can’t be mature or rational about it. Apparently, you really do have the best chocolate in town.”

He neither confirmed nor denied, but gave half of a smile as he looked down at the drinks he was stirring.

“And I, for one, am quite looking forward to trying it.”

“Here, then,” he said, pulling something out of a coat pocket that had managed to escape the frozen flush. “Nothing too dangerous about this one. Just some good old Wonka magic.”

He opened his hand to her, revealing a small, wrapped treat, and she sighed.

“I’d love to, but I really shouldn’t. Not even the drinks.”

“Why not?” came the stunned reply, and she nearly laughed at just how sweetly scandalized the boy seemed to be at the idea of anyone denying themselves that pleasure.

“Milk has never really…agreed with me. Bad for the throat, and I’m a singer besides, as you know-I mean, I-well, it’s just…”

PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER.

“I shouldn’t.”

He took a moment, and she watched his eyes widen as he processed the shocking injustice of being genetically predisposed against chocolate.

“Does your husband know about this?”

“He does, but he doesn’t care. Says I’ll ‘grow out of it with time’, which I haven’t.”

“So he’s…”

“Essentially poisoning me, yes.”

They laughed a little, because, surrounded by echoes of Fickelgruber’s power, it was the only thing they could do.

Willy stared at the table for a moment, then pulled another vial, this one containing a liquid, from yet another pocket.

“Lucky for you, then, I’ve got milk made from the product of the finest almond trees on the islands of Seychelles,” he said as he deftly poured the liquid into her glass. “Guaranteed to go down sweetly, both on the taste buds and after.”

“...Thank you,” she murmured, touched by the gesture.

With a final flick of the wrist, he deemed the hot chocolate finished, and they each carried their mug to the fire.

“Wren,” he said thoughtfully as they sat down.

“Hm?”

She was instinctively flooded with warmth in the same way she was yesterday, though whether it was due to the stunningly perfect cocoa or hearing her name in his voice she wasn’t sure.

“Is it a nickname? Songbird, right?”

She saw in the fireglow that his face darkened a bit upon the memory of how Felix had always referred to her in the press, taking that potentially sweet title and spinning it in an almost dehumanizing manner. So someone did notice.

“Well…sort of. That was what my parents intended. They say a wren sang when I was born, so they gave me that name, and I loved it. But Felix assumed it was a nickname and suggested I should expand it; to sound more sophisticated in my performances, he said, but I knew half the reason was to fit with the alliteration. He’s always valued aesthetics above anything else.”

They were silent for a while, and the massive painting seemed to stare down at them, making the Fickelgrubers look almost menacing in the fireglow.

“That’s you?”

A moment passed.

“No. No, that’s not really me.”

Her voice was quiet, but decisive. Willy looked at her, really looked at her, and she felt more seen than she had in years.

“I want to help you,” she said.

“Hm?”

His head tilted to the side, a little stunned, and she nearly giggled as his now-drying curls flopped in front of his face.

How could anyone want to hurt him?

“I don’t know exactly what Felix and the rest have planned against you, but I know there’s something. He never really tells me anything, but I’ll…I’ll try to find out what I can, to distract him when needed. I don’t want you to be alone in this.”

“I’m not,” he said. “The others where I’m staying right now, we’re all in a rather precarious situation together, and I’ve got a few ideas, but…”

She watched the wheels turn in his mind, and after a few moments, he looked back up at her, for once lost for words.

“But thank you. Again. I’d…I appreciate it.”

“Thank you. For bringing some much-needed heart into this place.”

“I think you’ve done that rather well yourself.”

This was news to her often-guilt-wracked brain.

“...Really?”

“Well, of course. You clearly care, Wren…you’re kind, you’re poetic and talented, and far smarter than it seems they give you credit for. It’s in your eyes, too, I think. You can always tell the truth by a person’s eyes.”

Her heart had nearly stopped.

Somehow, though, she could tell that he was unaware of the full effect he had on her.

“Mr. Wonka-ah, Willy, I mean…”

“Forgive me if-I didn’t intend to-”

The clocks around the city chimed the hour, interrupting the two just as they had the day before, and the young man’s expression went from its dazed dawning to a startled realization.

“They’ll need me. Back where I’m staying, I mean.”

“Of-of course,” she said a bit awkwardly as they both stood up.

His hair had dried by now, falling in perfectly imperfect swoops around his face. He’d undone his necktie to keep its cold away from his neck, and his jacket was folded over his arm, and he was looking at her as if he hadn’t had a conversation quite like that with someone in a very, very long time.

And neither had I.

Or…ever, I suppose.

Until now.

“Thank you. Again.”

“You’re welcome. Again.”

She took a breath, let it out, and folded him into a hug, which he returned in an instant.

After two years of jutting angles and sharply possessive grasps, it was remarkable to simply, softly, hold and be held.

They bid a last goodnight before parting ways, and as she took her time walking back to the mansion, the moon seemed brighter than ever before.

[yonderghostshistories]

Made a collage-y of sorts poster for the future fanfic about the Monty Python/Six Idiots crossover where the Pythons meet the Idiots via accidental time-travelling....in a wardrobe (via an offbrand, Poundland version of the TARDIS (to avoid copyright law in-universe of the fanfic) in the form of a regular looking wardrobe which can time travel through time and space, but unlike the TARDIS, the regular wardrobe is *slightly* more cramped and can only fit in a maximum of 6 people lol). Anyway uhh here it is! :

(btw the title for the fanfic is gonna be called "When Monty Python met ThemThere (formally known as The Six Idiots)" )

[leftabit-leftabit]

Not me naming my first BBC Ghosts Oc “Casper” Just so Mike can ask; “Is he a friendly ghost?”

👻 if you know, you know. 

[teacup-captor]

Context:

Sherlock Holmes fanfiction

Sherlock Holmes fanfiction but this time I'M writing it

Sherlock Holmes in a podcast

Sherlock Marlow Holmes

Mathew Baynton

Mathew Baynton but specifically in his hopeless romantic poet form

The same as the above but this time I'm roleplaying as him

The same as the above but now I make him swoon over the same gay pirate I am also swooning over

Afformentioned gay pirate (Stede Bonnet)

OTHER gay pirates

Fr.othing at the mottuh.

I think I will explode now

[xpurpleeclipse]

Forbidden Love ~ Chapter Two: Embarrassment | Mathew Baynton FanFic

The six cast members took their seats on stools that had been provided by the theatre. Each of the six was holding a microphone ready to talk to the students (and staff) sat in the auditorium. It was weird seeing the 'six idiots' as they were known in their casual clothes. I was so used to seeing them in their extravagant and often wacky costumes from the TV show.

'Hello everyone!' Jim took the lead of the Q&A session. 'We're very excited to be able to work with you today! We're going to kick-start the day with a Q&A and then later you will be doing a workshop with myself, Larry and Mat.' Out of the corner of my eye, I could see some of the students, especially the girls, looking at one another and whispering 'yes' and 'get in!' To be fair, I'd be lying if I wasn't thinking the same. It's not every day you get to meet people from TV as part of your teaching career.

The Q&A started. The students eagerly put their hands up waiting for their questions to be asked. It was going pretty well until I noticed a certain student who was bouncing in their seat with their hand raised. I saw Aggie go over to Harry and whisper something to him. In my head, I knew exactly what she was saying. 'Harry, please sit properly in your seat and wait patiently to be picked to ask a question.' I saw him roll his eyes and slump into his seat but his hand was still raised and flapping trying to get the attention of those on stage.

Larry pointed in the direction of Harry and his friends and said 'the young man in the second row.' Harry jumped back up, eager and bellowed his question. 'If you could only pick one song to sing from the show for the rest of your life what would it be?' The cast looked at one another and smiled. Larry responded with 'that's such a great question. I'm going to hand this one over to Mat first I think.'

Mathew Baynton. Ah, what a man. The students didn't know this but on the inside I was fan-girling myself. It was an added bonus that I got to see his face every day at work even if it was only on a whiteboard for a few minutes. I guess in my head he was everything I believed a perfect man would be like but then again, I had Eric so... Anyway. He looked like he was pondering his answer to the question. I knew instantly what my favourite song was from the show and it was one of his solos. 'You know, I think I might have to go for Charles II: King of Bling. It was really fun to film and I know the majority of people adore the character.' Out of nowhere, there was an outburst from Harry. 'Oh my god! That's so cool! You know our teacher Miss Thorne plays that all the time! Like every single day! Miss, that's your favourite song isn't it!?' I could feel myself turning red. The blazing heat taking over my cheeks. Not only were all the students looking my way but I knew that the six grown adults on stage where also looking directly at me too. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Thanks Harry!

Aggie rushed straight back over to Harry and I knew she was scolding him for jumping back into the conversation. I didn't know what to say or do. Was I embarrassed because one of my students had acted up? Was I embarrassed that my colleague now knew that I played the song pretty much every day? Or was I embarrassed because one of my students had unknowingly outed me for having a huge crush on Mathew Baynton who was literally a couple of metres away? I looked sheepishly back at the stage and let out a small smile. 'Tell you what, shall we have a sing-a-long?' Jim chimed in. I could feel myself looking around at the students. Some of them responded with a loud 'yeah!' 'Okay then! Let's do it! Shall we start with the Monarch song!? Who knows that?' A sea of hands rose into the air. Lots of excited students ready to have an impromptu sing-a-long of their favourite songs from the show. I felt someone behind me before they started whispering in my ear. 'Why don't you go call Sue and let her know how the trip is going? It will give you a couple of minutes to have a breather too. You're looking a little flustered.' I looked behind me and saw Aggie there. 'But...' She put her hand up to stop me. 'I'll be fine looking after this lot. Go ring Sue and let her know how it's going. Off you pop!'

I walked out of the auditorium through a side door and ended up in corridor that was quite narrow. Where did Helen say the toilets where again? I wandered down the corridor and eventually found the ladies toilets. Was I even meant to be down this corridor? I got in and saw my reflection in the mirror. Yup, those rosy cheeks didn't give anything anyway did they? I had to stop myself from going up to the wall and bashing my head against it. After I composed myself, I scrambled in my pockets to find my phone. I dialled the school number and waited for Sue's voice on the other end. No answer. Great.

'Hello, you have reached the reception for Humphrey High School. Unfortunately, the school receptionist cannot take your call right now but if you leave a message, we will return your call as soon as possible.' I checked my watch. It felt like I had been in the bathroom for ages even though it had only been at least five minutes. The phone beeped. 'Hi Sue, it's just Lottie. Aggie asked me to give the school a ring to let you know that we have arrived at the theatre safe and sound and the children are enjoying the workshop so far. If we have any issues, I'm sure I'll ring you back. See you when we return to school. Thanks now!' I hung up my phone and sighed. Right time to get back to the auditorium and make sure that Aggie wasn't left alone for much longer.

I looked in the mirror, took a quick glance at myself and straightened up my glasses. I made my way out of the toilets and back onto the long corridor. The hallway was long. The carpet the same rouge colour that matched the seats in the auditorium. Obviously that was the colour scheme of the theatre. The corridor was filled with posters from previous productions that had performed at the theatre. Some of the faces I recognised, various celebrities from TV and films. I was lost in my own little world until I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE.

I looked to see Eric's name with the message 'Another night eating tea alone. Guess you can just make up for it at the weekend. That's if you are not too busy? See you tonight.' I rolled my eyes. I hated his mini guilt trips. You'd think he was 15 never mind 35. I wish he would understand that my profession sometimes meant putting others before myself and this was a fantastic opportunity for the students.

I started heading towards the auditorium, phone still in hand. I had no clue what to reply. Could I be bothered arguing back? Was it worth it? As I started typing, I felt myself bump into something... Or someone...

'Oh my god, I am so sorry! I should have been looking...' I looked up and there he was. He had grabbed hold off my arm as we collided. Possibly in the hope of catching me before I hit the deck. I could feel myself getting lost in his dark brown eyes. 'I, urm, I....' I was lost for words. That was the second time I'd managed to embarrass myself today.

[lady-me-meow]

Me to Me: hey, you can just enjoy a tv show, you don't need obsess over it for weeks, you don't need to read fanfiction. you'll just end up unsatisfied by the non-existent fandom

Me: *opens ao3* *200 works exist*

Me: welp, might as well just read all of them

[brezchez]

"A Thorne Among The Roses" by HaydenChambers on Wattpad https://my.w.tt/71gvFvCTK8

Please give it a read. I genuinely shed a tear over the ending. It's so beautiful and deserves more love and recognition. Please. Please.

Read it 🥀

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter iv

shit goes DOWN. as y'all have probably gathered. bc. yknow. the plot of the movie. but first there's a song yayyyyyyyyy

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.5k

god, i love musicals.

(edit: realized after posting that i was looking at the wrong page of the screenplay while writing this and therefore royally screwed up the song structure of a world of your own but it’s fiiiiiiine)

once again, thank you mat for that interview taking a typical one-dimensional dahl villain and letting him be a more complex character. also i should probably throw a content warning on this one for depiction of a slightly abusive relationship

but i promise everything's gonna be okay soon-happy new year everyone!!

part three fic masterlist part five

While going through a time of personal growth involving trying to unravel one’s identity from that of one’s rich and powerful husband, it often happens that there are advantages to said husband being wrapped in worry over a new business rival-and, therefore, spending far more time at the office.

Wren’s favorite advantage at the present moment was that she was the only one to watch the mail come in.

Deep purple stationery was the signal she looked for-and steadily received, then returned with her own emerald letters-every day. The notes included scrawled updates regarding the operation to allow the earnest young chocolatier his day in the sun, anecdotes about the group of launderers that supported it (who she’d snuck out to meet often enough that they now felt like a second family), tales of a mysterious orange man, and exchanges of advice, witticisms, and Shakespeare quotes.

The handwriting was inexperienced, and there were more than a fair share of spelling errors toward the start of their correspondence, but she didn’t care a whit.

We’ve got the shop, Willy had written one day. For now, the task is digging through its decrepit debris and designing its decoration. (The credit for those words goes to Noodle-she says hello.) There are so many possibilities, I barely know where to start.

Start with the “why”, Wren wrote back. That’s what I always do. If there’s a piece I’m struggling to sing and I lose motivation to practice, I go back to the reasons I love the piece, even all the way back to the reasons I love the arts in the first place. Maybe there’s something in there for your shop-what made you want to share your chocolate with the world? (And hello to you too, Noodle!)

My dear Wren, came the reply, you’ve just given me the best of ideas.

He told her then about his mother and the inspiration she provided. Wren would be lying if she’d said a tear hadn’t fallen onto that particular letter.

As for how to keep him safe from the Cartel, police, and every other corrupt authority, Wren did her part by becoming Florence again whenever necessary. She acted less suspicious around her husband, leading him to be less secretive-although the gain in information was miniscule, it was better than nothing.

Felix’s rages would range anywhere from tittering, jealous rants to scheming monologues during which his whole being seemed to take on a lower, darker, more calculating tone. She’d listen carefully to all of these, tactfully calling out anything that might get him to consider he was wrong, but that had little to no effect.

Plan B, then, she’d realized, is all I can do.

So, whenever Felix seemed particularly incensed or just on the verge of coming up with how to destroy his rival, Florence would swoop in with wine and dark lipstick and a low-cut dress. She’d endure being his caged pet songbird, his doll, his perfect plaything, only because she had the growing feeling that things were about to change.

If Willy’s shop becomes successful enough to be completely undeniable, maybe the Cartel will finally acknowledge him as an equal. Maybe I’ll finally be seen as an equal, too. Maybe things will finally be truly fine.

So, night after night, she’d sit on her husband’s lap, twirl his tie, and kiss his neck until he’d forgotten the name of Wonka.

The same could not be said for her.

~

Due to just how glamorized she always had to be while in public, it didn’t take much to come up with disguise enough to be able to visit the new shop on its opening day.

With a fluttering sense of hope, Wren approached the fourth building of the Galeries Gourmet, blending in seamlessly with the sea of soon-to-be-wonderstruck passers-by. She cast a few nervous glances to the window of the Fickelgruber office, at which the man stood in his usual stance. There was no chance, though, of his recognizing her trademark ginger flame amongst the crowd; it was safely tucked under a dark, low-brimmed hat.

This could have set her mind at ease, but the fact that he looked even more smug than usual as he surveyed the ground below him made her nervous.

Did they plan something?

She was distracted from this worry by a sudden flash of color at the long-empty shop’s door. Willy Wonka stepped through, looking more himself than she could have ever imagined. He addressed the crowd with a flourish, and she marveled at his ability to combine showmanship with authenticity.

He took a skeptical older man’s arm, leading him to the shop’s entrance, and began to sing.

All at once, the shop transformed before all of their eyes, flooding with color, and the music settled into a sparking pulse that thrilled Wren to the core.

Willy grinned, fully in his element, and the doorway went dark. Gloved hands presented chocolate wonders as their creator sang them into existence. When he lit a match, the store seemed to come alive, and Wren gasped.

If his letter was anything to go by, the sight he had created was an homage to his childhood on his mother’s boat, brought to life in a way nearly too beautiful to be true.

Willy and the other man danced up a bridge of sorts as his song continued, proudly offering his shop as a world for each of his customers to call their own. Overtaken and lifted by the enchanting environment, Wren squealed with the rest of the crowd and ran into the shop, ripping the hat from her head and allowing her auburn curls to tumble freely down.

She threw her head back and laughed aloud. Her lack of makeup, and plain blouse and skirt replacing the usual emerald-colored finery, gave her assurance that she wouldn’t be recognized here; this was the closest thing she’d experienced to liberation in a very long while, and she relished it, along with the sweetly simple soar of Willy’s voice across his song.

When she looked up at him again, he was sitting on the boat that floated on the circling chocolate river, and she noticed he’d already been staring with a sideways grin. As the bassline that came from nowhere launched into a rollicking chromatic vamp, he tipped his hat to her, and she gave an enamored wave.

The second verse passed, and suddenly he’d reached her, extending a hand which she took without a second thought. He helped her onto the boat, then pulled her alarmingly close, but before she could say a thing about it, a cloud of smoke appeared around them.

Wren blinked and realized that she and Willy were now at the base of the massive chocolate tree in the center of the shop.

“How did you-”

But he only smiled and started to dance his way up the tree.

“A world of your own,” he sang, then gestured an invitation straight towards her.

This’ll be easy enough, she thought, nearly bursting with joy.

“A place to escape to,” she continued, running farther up the tree to meet him in the middle. His expression filled with awe upon finally hearing her sing, and they began a whirling back-and-forth.

“A world of your own-”

“-where you can be free!”

“Wherever you go, wherever life takes you…”

“This is your home,” she sang to him, twirling herself into his arms and beaming with pride. He’s found it-he’s created it.

“A world of your own,” they finished. He looked at her for a moment, seeming struck, then kissed her hand and disappeared through the branches of the tree to continue with the song’s bridge. She let out a dazed and happy breath, taking a moment to let her gaze roam the shop from her perch in the chocolate tree.

She didn’t know what would happen next, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t let herself enjoy this moment.

~

What did happen next was…as an understatement, not what any of them had hoped.

She wished she could say it was a complete surprise, and she wished she could have done more to stop it. The candy started having disastrous effects, the customers understandably balked, and it was clearly not Willy’s fault in the least. In a blur, the shop was in ruins, and Wren sat in shock with the little group who’d worked so hard to make it magical.

The candyman himself was devastated; not just by the massive setback, but by the absence of his mother’s spirit. Wren and Noodle sat by his side, but Abacus ushered them up. It broke Wren’s heart to think of leaving him like this-if the truest and most trusting dreamer on Earth can be broken down, where’s the hope for the rest of us?-but she somehow still felt she had to follow the group out.

She felt a hug around her waist and a held-back sob, and looked down to see Noodle clinging onto her. Wren immediately knelt to her level and hugged the girl close, finding it hard now to keep back her own tears.

“Terrible shame what-”

“Florence?”

Slowly, she opened her eyes, her breath dropping to the floor.

Slugworth had spoken first, a smooth and practiced opening to what would have turned into a gloat. The voice that had interrupted him was genuinely shaken and clearly belonging to her husband.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Noodle, who nodded. “You can go, you shouldn’t have to see this-”

“Florence,” his voice came again, at a loss. She took a breath, stood up, and faced him with tears in her voice.

“Hi, Felix.”

Silence.

Slugworth looked with growing puzzlement between the woman and the girl, and Felix could only stare at his wife with dawning realization.

“You’ve been working with him,” he said simply, every usual quirk of inflection having vanished.

For a moment, the wash crew surrounded her in an attempt at a shield, and she heaved a breath to keep back a sob-of fear, of gratefulness for these friends that had become family over the past weeks, of everything suddenly crashing down.

“I’ll be okay,” she said quietly to the wash crew and perhaps to myself. “You all should go. Like you were going to. I’m sorry.”

They didn’t move.

She looked at Piper, whose worried hand was on her arm. There was an unspoken vow of protection between the women in that moment, but Wren’s eyes pleaded, so Piper nodded sadly, took Noodle’s hand, and the group left.

Wren was almost afraid to look at Willy, but she did; the boy was staring at the old chocolate bar in his hands, looking as if he could barely process a thing.

The sympathy in her gaze must have been far too obvious, because she suddenly heard footsteps, felt a hard grip on her wrist, and gasped in pain as it was yanked up and backwards.

“Darling,” Felix hissed with a sinister edge, though his voice was breaking, “I don’t know how or why this betrayal-”

“Betrayal?” she finally cried out, breaking free from his grasp as Willy rushed between them. “You lot have just poisoned dozens of innocent people, all for a business rivalry, and I won’t-”

“If you want your family not to starve, you had better lower your voice,” he barked.

Every speck of air seemed to leave the room.

“...My family?”

“I may have been distracted enough for the past weeks to ignore the mail that came in and out of our house, but I had not always been that blind. I thought your compassion to be an incomprehensible gesture, but I let it slide. When I felt like it.”

…They haven’t gotten everything I’ve sent.

They haven’t-

“In fact,” he continued, “it served as what was almost a pleasant reminder of the truth. For your family, for your stupid dream, and for your sweetly dependent soul-you need me.”

“If you knew I was poor, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it’s the same way for me!”

This was the peak of what had been a building explosion, and this was the moment in which they both remembered there were other people in the room.

“What?” the four besides him breathed, almost in unison.

“Oh, you heard right,” Felix launched into speech, the characteristic gestures starting to work their way back into him. “I came from nearly nothing, just the same. But I did what I had to do to climb to the top. I cast them all away, left my old life behind completely, and I suppose it was a foolish hope to think my wife would do the same. But she-but you-you are nothing but a guileless, deceitful bleeding heart.”

“I…”

Tears blurred her vision.

“I am…genuinely sorry that you felt you had to hide your past, but that doesn’t excuse trying to make the rest of the world match your insecurity and fit your little chocolate mold. And if that makes me a bleeding heart…I’m proud of the title.”

For a moment, the man looked as if he would allow his wife’s words to affect him.

Then his face, normally so expressive, turned completely cold.

She’d lost him.

She’d never truly had him to lose.

But she looked at Willy, and she thought of the wash crew, and she realized she finally had a truer support system. And if she could try to start over, find some other way to earn money to send to her family without interception, and some other way to reach the dreams that felt so far away at the moment, she knew Felix would be wrong: she didn’t need him.

After a long silence, Slugworth cleared his throat.

“Get her out of here. We have business with Mr. Wonka.”

What?

Her and the younger man’s eyes widened, and they grabbed each other’s hands on instinct, but a small number of policemen came around the corner of the shop door at Slugworth’s order. They clamped hands on her shoulders and dragged her away from Willy as the Cartel stood silently and watched.

“Wait-wait, no, I-”

“Wren-”

She struggled, fought, kicked, but was forced into the backseat of a police car-

“Let me go, you corrupt bastards-”

“Wren-”

“Let me-”

“Just drop her somewhere in town,” Felix said coolly. “Somewhere that isn’t my home.”

“WREN!”

The car door was slammed, and the last thing she saw was the Cartel advancing on a dazed Willy, opening a suitcase of cash.

All she could do was scream, and the scream turned into a cry.

They did indeed drop her somewhere. She burst out of the car the second it had stopped, and the officers drove away without a word.

Sick with worry and trying to regain her breath, she looked around, almost fainting with relief when she saw the laundry building. Piper, having heard the commotion, stood outside, and they looked at each other for a moment before Wren fell sobbing into her arms.

This is not over.

[lace-anne]

When a reader calls me out on ignoring canon deaths:

[leftabit-leftabit]

[amli3n]

Hey...

I'm bug! I'm an amateur writer and artist. To help you get to know me, I thought I say a bit about myself.

My favorite show is you, me and the apocalypse

My favorite movie is Bill

I LOVE Mathew Baynton (obviously)

I like anime

I'm a huge theater kid

I love poetry

I write a lot of fanfiction...

I am open to requests!

That's really all there is to know about me. I hope you enjoy my writing!

[edwardprendick1896]

my favourite bits from “Redding Weddy”

“...I don’t think they’ll be here just yet sir...”

*gay tension* 

“OnlY abOUT thRee hUnDRED yeAs”

the wedding planner’s pristine suit

“Oh yeah, put it to the people, like they know what they’re doing.”

fanny doing a great impression of me reading thirteenth doctor x reader fanfiction

*Mathew Baynton voice* “YOU’RE DICKED IN THE KNOB”

“lEt’S grAb ThE ComPutEr ThAt fOldS” :D

horny fanny.  horny fanny.

my first threeso-

“I always choose pistol.” “Oh yeAh, it rEAllY wOrked out for yOu last time, dIdn’t it?”

mary being the friend kitty has needed for so long <3

the captain assuming fanny has the hots for him

*dramatic gay leaping*

“Redding Weddy!” :D

“here’s to buried secrets” :’)

[xpurpleeclipse]

Forbidden Love ~ Chapter One: The 'Horrible' School Trip | Mathew Baynton FanFic

*Beep beep!* *Beep beep!*

5am. Time to get up. Today was going to be a long day. A longer day than usual. But today was THE day. I honestly think I was more excited than the kids.

I turned over, snoozed the alarm on my phone and pushed myself out of bed. As I looked back, I could see that Eric was readjusting. I didn't know if he was actually awake or not. Quite frankly I didn't want to poke the bear especially at this time of morning. I got up and started to scramble for my work clothes. I needed to make sure that I looked at least half decent today. I was going to make sure of that!

'Why are you getting up earlier than usual? It's only a silly school trip. Come back to bed for half an hour.' Eric mumbled as I tried to escape the bedroom with the items of clothing that I needed to spruce myself up in my hands. 'I can't. You know how important today is. I need to make sure I'm prepared for a very long day.' I heard him groan. He had never been a fan of me taking on extra commitments at work. 'Like I said, it's a silly school trip. It's not really that important Lottie. I hate how you always end up working long hours. I thought teaching was meant to be a 9 to 5 job.' I rolled my eyes, ignored his comment and headed to the bathroom to get ready.

No one, not even Eric, was going to rain on my parade today.

__________________________________________________

As the coach pulled up outside the venue, the bus started to buzz with excitement. 'Right Y9, you need to listen very carefully to the following instructions...' Aggie or Mrs Carter as she was formally known by the students was the head of the History department. She was a lovely woman but she was regimented in her ways. Everything needed to be done a certain way and everything had to be done correctly otherwise she would turn into the teacher from hell. Or it seemed that way anyway!

I waited for the cohort of students to leave the bus before I did a quick sweep of the seats to ensure that nothing had been left behind before joining them outside the theatre. 'Miss Thorne, what are we actually going to be doing today?' One of the girls near me asked. The agenda for the day was to meet with the Horrible Histories cast and have a Q&A session before the students participated in a workshop with some of the cast. It had been a long time since the troupe had done anything related to Horrible Histories so it was a special one off occasion. The cast had taken time out of their busy schedules filming their new series 'Ghosts' for the BBC to come and work with the students from Humphrey High School. I didn't know exactly who was going to be conducting the workshop or what to even expect from it, but I was hoping that I'd get to meet him at least. Either way, it seemed like it was going to be a fun filled day.

Before I knew it, I could hear Aggie bellowing over the students. 'Please keep to the left! Come on Y9, you need to make sure you are on the left so you are out of the way. Harry! Are you listening to my instructions!? Move to the side!' Well, it might be a fun filled day if everyone managed to behave.

Whilst the students were lining up, a lady appeared at the door. Her name tag said 'Helen.' She was going to be our 'guide' for the day as the theatre wasn't prepared to let us run riot. I couldn't blame them. Just from the outside you could see how glorious and glamorous the building was. 'Morning everyone! My name is Helen and I'm going to be looking after you all today. If you could follow me inside please, that would be lovely.' She smiled before opening the door and gesturing for the students to start following her inside. Aggie followed the first lot of students. I stayed behind so I could keep an eye on the students at the back, Harry being one of them.

As we walked into the theatre, some of the students looked around with awe on their faces. 'Wow! Miss, I've never actually been to a theatre before. It looks well old in 'ere.' I chuckled. Although we lived near London, it never ceased to amaze me how many of our students had never explored the sights and sounds of the city. Helen guided the students into the auditorium where the students were going to meet and greet the cast of Horrible Histories and participate in a Q&A.

As the last of the students filed in, Aggie came over and said 'they seem settled enough. Let's just keep an eye on the usual suspects.' I nodded and smiled before taking a seat on the end of one of the rows. The seats were a little bit stiff but the fabric was so soft to touch. The regal red of the fabric really matched the décor in the auditorium too. Helen took herself up on the stage so that she could greet the students and staff properly.

'Right, good morning everyone! It's lovely to have you here with us today. Are we all excited for the day ahead?' The students gave an unenthusiastic 'yeah' in response. I chuckled as secretly I knew they were all excited but they never truly wanted to show off their emotions in case it came across as 'uncool.' Typical teenagers. Plus, I think Helen's energetic and enthusiasm was far too much for them to take on board. 'Oh I think we can do better than that. As you know, the cast of Horrible Histories is here! Very exciting!' There was no response to this. I felt sorry for the woman as she tried to hype up the tired teens. 'Yes, exciting indeed. We will get started in approximately five minutes. Whilst we wait, I just want to go over a few 'house' rules that we have here at the theatre...' Poor woman. She wasn't helping herself. Students rolling their eyes, muttering under their breath. Typical teenagers!

After what seemed like an eternity, some movement in the wings caught my eye. I couldn't see who it was but I'm sure it meant that Helen's speech on the dos and don'ts of the theatre was coming to an end. 'So please remember, no mess is to be left in the auditorium. We want to make sure we keep our theatre nice and clean.' Helen looked both ways into the wings. It appeared that something, or someone had caught her eye too. 'Right, so without further ado. May I present to you the cast of Horrible Histories!' Onto the stage walked the six familiar faces that graced my classroom's interactive whiteboard every week. I could see the students' faces light up. Harry was sat bouncing in his chair with excitement. Here we go...

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter i

florence fickelgruber, the famed chocolatier's idealistic young wife, ponders her past, her regrets, and her longing for a change. guess what? she finds one.

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~1.7k

chapter one is a shit ton of exposition for the character, but i promise you, dear timothee fans, the content you're here for is coming. i tried to capture the dahl style of storytelling (without, yknow, the racism and fatphobia and all that) which was so fun. this character essentially popped into my head last night, and the story will follow her development through the plot of the movie. after i left the theater, i realized i'd painted my nails to match mat’s costumes without realizing, and then suddenly WHOOM there she was. almost like magic. :)

enjoy!!

(also. even if the cartel’s offices don’t actually have balconies, THEY DO NOW.)

part two fic masterlist

"Free if you Truly Wish to Be", or, "the Chronicles of the Songbird", being a Tale of She who is Truly one Wren Matterson, but More Widely Known-at the Start of our Plot-as one Florence Fickelgruber.

Things were…fine.

In a world such as this one, there was very little luxury for a girl such as herself to hatch, nurture, and follow a dream. It would spark up in the purest of fashions and launch onto its way, glittering with promise of a life’s hopes fulfilled, only for the world around it to force it down a path of compromise and disillusionment until the dream’s poor follower found it nearly unrecognizable.

Such was the lot of Mrs. Florence Fickelgruber’s passion for performance. Long before either of these names were attached to her, she knew she longed to spend her life swept up in poetry and music, creating a better world through the arts she loved.

That dream, she often swore to herself, had not died.

It had simply…not turned out as planned.

For now, at least.

For a little over the past two years, more specifically.

It would have been nice to have the means and time to try to make her own fortune, to experience a sweeping romance with someone her own age, to live in a world fair enough that allowed her to both support her now-faraway family and live according to her ideals; it would have been nice indeed.

But for now, life was not quite nice, but fine. The sleekly fonted Fs that monogrammed nearly every surface in the mansion in which she lived had stood during the beginning months for her husband’s, and now her own, alliterative names. Now, she only saw them as golden signifiers of things being nothing more than Fine.

She was currently perched on an emerald-colored fainting couch in her husband’s office that, despite its plush craftsmanship, had lost any semblance of comfort long ago. She sat, and she considered the striking portrait of the two of them that hung over the fireplace, which they’d posed for when she’d still thought this was a good idea: a self-satisfied smirk rested on his face, and her emerald-manicured hand rested on his chest (intended by her to show her devotion, intended by the artist to show her ornate ring). She sat, and she looked into the hall, and she sat, and she stared out the window for a time, and she sat. Eventually, she picked up a set of paper and an emerald-set quill.

“What’s that you’re writing, darling?” came Felix’s voice from across the room, and she nearly sighed in annoyance, a direct contrast to the way her head snapped toward the sound.

There shouldn’t be a melody to that voice, she thought. Not when he only seems to initiate conversation at the exact moments I’ve decided to do something for myself.

“To the opera house,” she responded as he entered the room.

“Again? I thought they’d rejected you.”

“On the grounds that they were scared to hire me, they said, lest they write my role not fully to your liking and lose their concessions wares because of it.”

“Pish, posh.”

“Do you think, my love,” she asked, standing and moving to him, “that…well, would you dictate something I can write here, to reassure them? They’ll take your word over mine.”

“There wouldn’t be a point,” he said flippantly. “Besides, they’re right. Just keep singing for my radio commercials, darling; the customers love it. I can’t imagine you needing anything else. They’re installing our new grand piano next week, you can have all the little fun you’d like on that…”

Throughout this speech, he’d been digging through the pockets of his impeccably tailored blazer, eventually producing a cigarette.

“Give me a light, pet?”

She gritted her teeth as she lit his cigarette, and he brought it to his lips with a smile. She hated when he called her that.

It used to make her feel…wanted, wanted when nobody else did.

Now it just felt…

“I want to share my work,” she said, pushing aside the previous thoughts and pushing forward the previous conversation. “I want to have a genuine impact on the world.”

“And you will, I swear it. Once Fickelgruber Chocolate’s advertisements started using your voice, sales went up nearly twenty percent, and they’re only growing; if that’s not impact, what is?”

With that, he kissed her before she could give an answer-there was a time I would have romanticized that taste of cigarette smoke-took the half-finished letter, folded it so crisply it nearly ripped, and tossed it into the gold-leaf wastebasket.

“Felix-”

“Just wait until the new radio spots are released. It’ll be marvelous, darling.”

She should have known this was how it would be.

It had seemed too good to be true in the moment. To receive, after a performance in her home city, not only the praises of a world-famous chocolatier but also an offer to travel to and perform in his world-famous city, and later a proposal-albeit more businesslike than romantic-to be set for life, to provide for her struggling family; although, she’d come to learn, her husband would have wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her if he had known of her humble origins.

He’d just never bothered to ask.

Well, save for once-

“I assume you come from a good family?”

“Oh, yes, they’re the warmest souls you could ever-”

“Wonderful.”

I grew up nowhere near those obsessions with reputation; how was I to know he meant “good” in that sense?

Before she truly knew him, she had liked him. Felix was undeniably smart, and not unhandsome; she thought him to have a solid wit and an intriguing way of speech, with eyes and hands that would have been attractive on a kinder man. The clean lines and deep green hues that seemed to follow him everywhere suited her well, and she used to have reason to believe that association with him might give her a platform to create positive change, that he saw her as an equal in ambition and intellect.

Once they were married, once she’d seen him with the rest of his Cartel and realized the depth of his disdain, arrogance, classism, and general apathy for anything that was not himself, that reason to believe had dwindled faster than a sweet drop of hot chocolate on a waiting tongue.

…Not to mention that I could practically see him almost rescind his proposal when he learned I’m lactose intolerant.

But she’d suffered through the resulting throataches and occasional days of less-than-stellar singing that came with the barrage of dairy-filled sweets as she was announced to the world as the famed chocolatier’s fiancee, telling their story (which Felix embellished quite often) to the press over and over again.

“Yes, that’s right,” she remembered him saying on the television broadcast that announced the engagement, “my little songbird has finally found her golden cage.”

She had winced, forced to make it seem like a smile in the face of the blinding sea of flashbulbs. That had been the first moment in which she couldn’t ignore the deeper feeling that this was wrong, and she wondered if anyone watching would notice her flash of pain.

What she didn’t know was that, thousands of miles away, in the middle of a far-off ocean, a boy on a ship had been holding a tiny transmission screen (assisted somewhat by magic in order to obtain a stronger signal), eager to see the news about one of his idols, and that, despite his core tendency to give the benefit of the doubt, that idol lost a bit of his respect that day.

I shouldn’t have done this.

But if my family was still starving, all because I wanted to wait for someone kinder, someone who’d support my dreams, I couldn’t forgive myself.

She was startled from her thoughts by a shout calling from below the office, followed by…

A song.

Felix discarded his cigarette and went to the window, posturing into a lean against its frame, and Florence followed. His arm slunk around her waist, so her hand found its way to his chest; it was the portrait pose again, the frozen frame, the unspoken understanding.

I do love acting.

But I don’t know how much longer I can take a life of…offstage performances.

The boy in the center of the Galeria, though, seemed not to be putting on a persona for the crowd, but rather infusing his entire soul into his song to them. He was indeed meaning to sell something, but his passion for it shone brightly in a way she’d never seen from a businessman, present company included. The people that were starting to surround this young man hailed from all walks of life, and he beamed at them all with the same sunlit smile.

With a flourish, he opened the lid of the jar of candy that he held, and-

Oh!-

Each piece of chocolate had flown from its container and flitted into the air, leading to a gasp of delight from the crowd. Florence was able to suppress her own squeal, but couldn’t stop a flex of the hand, involuntarily causing her to grasp her husband’s tie.

“Don’t worry, pet,” Fickelgruber said, clearly misunderstanding his wife’s reaction, and with the tone of his voice clearly opposite of his words. “His charm over them will be…short-lived. Our business is perfectly safe.”

The boy finished his song to rapturous applause, and it took every ounce of Florence’s theatrical training to keep from joining it. She felt a shift next to her, and looked to the side to see her husband making pointed eye contact with his colleagues in their respective offices. The smirk that used to set her soul aflame-before she’d learned what it could mean-formed slowly across his face.

“Florence?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Go home.”

“I-”

“We’ll take care of him. Go home.”

Saying this, he left her side and swiftly went out of the office, presumably to join forces with the rest of the Cartel in terrorizing the poor young man.

The moment Felix’s presence could no longer be felt, Florence let out a breath.

Turning back to the window, she considered the boy, who was wholly wrapped up in the joy of his work having an impact on those who witnessed it.

Tentatively, and with the slight smile of a small rebellion, she turned the window’s handle and stepped out onto the office’s balcony.

She wouldn’t let his light be dimmed in the same way she thought hers was.

And she would certainly not go home.

[inawearyworld]

Free if you Truly Wish to Be,

or, the Chronicles of the Songbird,

being a Tale of She who is Truly one Wren Matterson, but More Widely Known-at the Start of our Plot-as one Florence Fickelgruber.

(a wonka x oc fic in which fickelgruber’s idealistic young wife, who married rich for the need to support her family and the hope to follow her dream of a life on the stage, longs for a chance to make a change and finds it in the form of the daringly earnest newcomer.)

chapter list

chapter i

chapter ii

chapter iii

chapter iv

chapter v

prologue/epilogue

[inawearyworld]

music makers/dreamers of dreams: a fiytwtb addition

a study of wren's relationship with music at two pivotal points, and music's relationship to the world of wonka as a whole

2023!wonka x oc (though lbr there is also a SIZABLE dose of fickelgruber), ~1.9k

alrighty SO. i was thinking more about this dang movie (as you can probably see by the rest of this blog) and all those thoughts came here. i am a big ole motherfreakin nerd for music and shakespeare and many other things, and therefore so is wren.

also this takes place in the universe of the original screenplay (in which pure imagination is first sung by noodle as she teaches willy to read). my take on that song here in general is more like the original in the 70s movie; there’s just Somethin About It Man.

alrighty, enjoy, like comment reblog etc, love yall <3

fic masterlist

“We are the Music Makers, and We are the Dreamers of Dreams”, being a Prologue and Epilogue to “the Chronicles of the Songbird”, regarding the Songs in question and their Bird, one Wren Matterson.

Two Years and Eight Months Prior to Chapter One

This had been a very odd evening.

Wren had been put up in a luxury hotel for the amount of time she’d agreed to stay in the city, which had taken quite a bit of getting used to. Coming back to her room after a day of work voicing advertisements, she had noticed a crisply thrice-folded paper slipped under her door, held together with an emerald wax seal.

Yes, that was where the oddness had started.

She’d torn the seal, read the note conveyed by a cursive hand so elaborate it nearly caused a headache, and crinkled her brow.

She’d opened the door to her room’s closet, faced with the sight of a dress, stole, and gloves of deep green velvet that she soon learned were impossibly well-tailored.

She’d followed the address of the note, becoming even more confused when it led her to the city’s cathedral, but presented it to the bishop as instructed. He had looked her up and down and ushered her into what turned out to be an elevator.

She’d continued through the corridors, growing more and more curious and undeniably uneasy, greeted by a woman with tired eyes whom she wished she could have truly talked to. Any attempt at conversation that Wren made, though, was interrupted by whispers that came from the other side of the heavy door-

“The two of you must stay mostly in shadow, she won’t agree if she recognizes you and knows of our arrangement too early.”

“Are-are you sure of her, then, Felix, if she’s too-”

“Oh, do shut up, Gerald, she’ll certainly come around by the time we’ve-besides, you know you owe me one-”

“Gentlemen, please. Let’s just focus on the…ahem…altered choreography.”

“You can’t be in the center all the time, Arthur, it so happens that for this particular-”

“Fine, fine. Miss Bonbon, lights at the ready?”

And then the guard had cleared her throat, the whispers had ceased, and Wren went inside, asking if this summoning was for some sort of rerecording session.

And that was how she had gotten to this point, whatever point this was.

The evening’s oddness now found her the focal point of a whirling tango, a display so dizzying she barely knew which way was up. It was a teenaged fever-dream fantasy come to life, colored lights flooding and hands on her waist and trembling twixt-verse vamps and velvet and tweed and silk.

It was a too-sweet overwhelm of something, but at least it was something at all.

The lighting was such that she couldn’t tell exactly where she was, but she realized that, in that moment, she didn’t care. There was a taste of dark mint chocolate in the air, and she became aware that at some point a massive necklace of dewdrop emeralds had been clasped around her neck by a deft, grazing touch and was now dappling her collarbone as she was twirled, dipped, tossed, thrown.

Most inescapable of all was Felix Fickelgruber’s voice in her ear, accompanied by tight harmonies that came from seemingly nowhere, promising her every speck of security and influence that she’d been in need of her whole life. Any question or dissent from Wren was smoothly dismissed in rhyme, and even when she could get a few words in, they somehow always came out in rhythm.

It was almost as if her innate tendency to musicianship overruled any resistance.

It was almost as if he’d known that would be the case.

The realization was alarming and delicious all at once, and with the current sensation of melodies pronounced against her neck, she was inclined to focus on the latter.

The music from nowhere started to build, shifting from the driving tango into a blasting Broadway finale. Clear-toned horns, stunningly blaring lights, this sauntering silhouette with his sea-of-chocolate eyes calling her by a new name-it was too much, one quiet thought piped up, something’s being hidden.

“You’ll be living so high, don’t refuse my-”

Then the lights dimmed further and all else seemed to disappear, save for Felix and the sound of one solo violin.

“-question it took all this to confess.”

The violin threw in a chromatic accent, adding to her held-back and long-delayed swoon, and she realized the next line was hers.

“Don’t know if I should play it…”

“Darling, won’t you say it?”

Then his hand was lifting her face, and there was silence for the first time in what felt like ages.

She was backed up against a wall, not only in metaphor.

There was only one syllable left in the stanza, and only one possible rhyme.

“Yes.”

She let out a breath, which was soon caught up into his own as violins swooped into a sickeningly soaring final beat.

A Few Minutes Following Chapter Five

The librarian that had been the first in this city to give Wren a kind smile all that time ago was standing on her steps, hugging her daughter, who looked as if she was finally breathing for the first time in her fourteen years.

Without question, this was the most beautiful thing that the other woman had ever witnessed.

Something close to the same was probably true, too, for the man who stood beside her.

“If you want to view paradise, simply look at them and view it.”

He’d sung to Noodle to encourage her as they approached the library, a lilting melody that he was currently continuing-to himself now, and with tears in his voice.

“Somebody to hold onto; it’s all we really need.”

They both knew Noodle would stay in touch with them, they knew they were more than happy for her, but they were still touched with tears. Wren had her own bond with the girl, but she knew Willy would miss her the most out of everyone, so she took his arm, and they leaned on each other.

“Nothing else to it.”

He was probably thinking of his own mom, too.

And she was thinking of hers.

They’d finally been able to write back and forth again; Wren had read over and over the two years’ worth of her family’s letters, remembering all the time she’d spent worrying and wondering aloud to Felix why she’d never gotten a letter from them. He’d always flicked her words away, assured her they must have simply been busy, that the mail these days was spotty; his voice was always sweet and smooth on those days, and she’d allowed it to comfort her when she thought nothing else could.

Never again.

She’d written pages of apologies and explanations to her mom, pouring every ounce of love into that paper, and receiving the reply felt like a world-heavy weight off of her shoulders.

It was the same feeling that she knew her friend was feeling now, that her new love had felt in spirit just minutes ago.

They held each other, certain and close within the shared tinge of loneliness.

“So goes a good deed in a weary world.”

They turned to see the Oompa-Loompa just down the path, looking between them, his eyebrows going up a bit when his gaze found Wren.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Wonka,” he said half-sarcastically, “it seems I’ve misquoted in the presence of your aficionado of the Bard. ‘So shines a good deed in a naughty-’”

“It’s fine,” she laughed. “Portia’s…not exactly the most admirable of characters to need to quote correctly, anyway.”

“Quite right.”

“And I do like ‘weary’,” Willy mused. “It’s not what’s written, but it…”

“Just feels better,” Wren agreed, and Willy smiled at her before turning back to the Oompa-Loompa.

“I was wondering if I’d see you again.”

One negotiation later, the three were walking across an old bridge to a castle of ruin that nearly took Wren’s breath away. There was history in these old stones, so much life, so much room to dream.

“It’s beautiful, Willy.”

“Just wait,” he said with a grin.

“It was sweet, by the way, what you sang to Noodle. How did you find that melody?”

“It was hers, actually. Seems the idea of imagination can…”

He trailed off when the church bells tolled in a way that Wren had never heard them ring before.

High B flat, low A, low B flat.

High B flat, low A, low B flat.

High B flat, low A, low B flat.

Over the ostinato, she started to hum Noodle’s melody, and Willy stopped in his tracks, looking straight at her.

“What?” Wren said.

“...It fits.”

“Yeah, perfectly,” she smiled.

“Keep going,” Willy said, getting that sort of shimmer in his eye that usually came when he’d thought up some sort of wonderful new idea. “You’re the only person I’ve known who sees beauty in an old ruined castle-not only what it could be, but even just what it is. So”-overwashed with thoughts, he took her hands and kissed them, the dreamer in his element, and she laughed, and the Oompa-Loompa rolled his eyes, and Willy grinned, leading them into the castle-“so, Wren, my dear Wren-tell me what you hear.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and let it come. The possibility of the place, the fulfillment of the past few weeks, the melancholy and wonder, the magic that had entered her life.

“Start with a minor chord on the second,” she said softly, slowly. “Repeat your first few notes, let it fall into the five, then-then it goes to that major seventh.”

She swooned into the unexpected chord, then realized that, as she was murmuring each suggestion, it was blooming into full orchestral realization behind the chocolatier’s voice. At the same time, the castle’s courtyard was starting to take shape; the crumbling walls returned to their speckled glory, a beautiful domed ceiling of glass appeared from nowhere, and colorful ingredient pipes started to snake around each corner. Willy’s eyes widened with wonderstruck joy as his creation came to life, and he and Wren looked at each other with equal and mirrored pride.

For his part, the Oompa Loompa started to seem the slightest bit impressed, which the couple took as a win, smiling in awe as they danced into the space.

“We’ll begin with a spin, traveling-”

“One, two, diminished flat three…”

“-in the world of my creation!”

He was the taste and the sight, she was the sound and the sense.

“What we’ll see…”

“Two-five…”

“…will defy…”

The dance came to a pause, and he turned to her, eyes shimmering with anticipatory trust.

The answer came to her as a miracle would.

Your wheel mixes its chocolate, my song mixes its mode. Subvert their expectations, my love, just like you always have.

“Major three,” she said breathlessly, and-

“Explanation.”

The chord ricocheted through the space, and something like a sigh of a laugh escaped them both. Then the bridge came, soaring and swooping with a much truer hope than anything she’d ever heard before.

Wren Matterson had always loved music-it had been once her lifeline, then her work, then the thing that had held her in place. But now, it didn’t have a betraying hold on her, no-now it was hers, born of inspiration from those she loved, coursing through her skin with a warmth unlike anything she’d ever felt.

Perhaps there wasn’t exactly nothing to it, but they had indeed changed quite a bit of the world, and she had the feeling that they’d only just begun.

“There is no life I know to compare with pure imagination. Living there, you’ll be free if you truly wish to be.”