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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

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

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

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

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Henry is six the first time he visits the Circus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

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

A week later, the Circus is gone.

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

———

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

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

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

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

And that’s that.

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t surprise Emma in the least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods decisively. “Good.”

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

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

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

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

(She is not entirely sure she means it.)

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

Killian -

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

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

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

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

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

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

Best wishes,

Belle

———

In time, the Circus gains followers.

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

And then - there are the Rêveurs.

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

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

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

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

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

———

Killian -

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

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

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

Yours &c.,

Belle

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

It is not.

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

Killian -

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

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

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

Yours,

-Belle

———

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

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

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

Make a wish.

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And like that, the magician begins her show.

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

———

The Circus returns when Henry is ten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Then prove it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you managed that,” she observes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

Affectionately yours,

Belle

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

One they want her involvement in as well.

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

(Would he even mind?)

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I haven’t felt the desire before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How imminent?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand. Thank you.”

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

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

———

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

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

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

Yours &c.,

Belle

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not hers.

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

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

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

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

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sssn-neptune-vasilias · 4 years ago

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So like, Ironwood’s clearly tumbling down the staircase towards authoritarianism so I just wanted to clarify my points about him because I did agree with a lot of what he was saying during the first couple of seasons up until he decided to completely throw himself off the boat without a life preserver. Also I don’t want y’all calling me an authoritarian (or fascist, Tumblr really doesn’t like to learn the difference between the different kinds of authoritarianisms and just lumps them all under fascism because why take a class when you can just say words?).

1) I think Ironwood was right to bring his airships to Beacon and frankly I think the other headmasters should’ve as well. Obviously no other Kingdom works like Mantle/Atlas- they’re the only one where the Hunter Academy is a direct branch of the kingdom’s military- but SOME protection should’ve been brought from Shade and Haven as well as Beacon. The Vytal tournament was an incredibly important part of Remnant culture, and ANYBODY could’ve seen that as a chance to strike. Any terrorist organization, anybody with a grudge, anybody with an agenda could’ve seen a giant float collessum and decided it’d look better crashing towards the ground. I think Ozpin, Lionheart and Theodore were hugely negligent not requesting SOME kind of military support from their respective kingdoms to watch over the event. Just think about it, that would’ve created FOUR different systems Cinder would’ve needed to hack into instead of one. The other three headmasters didn’t bring security and relied completely on Ironwood to save them when shit hit the fan. Ozpin’s words to Ironwood will always be hilarious to me. “You brought your army to my kingdom James… Use it!” The same army that he swore brought more harm than good? The same army he promised would be ineffective in keeping the peace? Now all of a sudden he’s begging for it? Ozpin of all people should’ve been READY for something like this. He’s closer to Salem than ANYONE he should’ve KNOWN that she would use an opportunity like this to strike. A wounded and defenseless Maiden locked in Beacon tower, a one-woman army infiltrating an SDC tower and leaving no recognizable trace other than a wake of bodies, a breach where “hundreds of people were killed” just weeks before, then Yang’s random and brutal “attack” on a seemingly defenseless student? Ozpin should’ve seen the signs of an imminent attack and acted proactively to ensure the safety of not just Beacon but the world. And instead he was too clueless to even ask for a security detail. He claimed that there was peace in Remnant, and that there was no need to upset people by bringing weapons of war, but peace needs to be defended. The Fall of Beacon was proof of what happens when you wait too long to defend yourself. Bringing in other kingdom’s defenses would’ve also shot one of Cinder’s weird monologue in the foot. She calls Ironwood a “tyrannical dictator” who “occupied an unsuspecting kingdom with armed forces” but if Ozpin had REQUESTED those airships? Maybe not even all of them but SOME? And brought his OWN? It would’ve just been business as usual instead of some kind of “invasion” from a previously adversarial nation. Ozpin’s complacency gave Cinder another nail to shut the coffin with. Did Ironwood overstep bringing ALL those ships without a warning? Absolutely, and whoever’s running Vale is out of their mind for not engaging their defenses to deter those ships before they entered Vale airspace in the first place. Should an equal number of ships all flying different flags have been there ANYWAY to stop something like the Breach or the Fall happening? Absolutely.

2) I think Ironwood’s plan is the right move. Let me clarify, the “tell the world about Salem” plan is the right move. “Unite the world against a common enemy” is the right move. “Expose the enemy for who she is and force her to leave the comfort of the shadows and engage in an actual war instead of the silly chess game proxy war you’ve been engaged in all this time.” If you expose Salem and make her a target, she crumbles. Anyone working for her is a top of the most wanted list, and it’s impossible for her to infiltrate and manipulate behind the scenes as she’s been doing. Her only army is Grimm and the kingdoms have been doing decently against them for centuries. I think Ironwood’s got a good idea, and Ozma was just too jaded by his centuries of life to believe that the world would pull together the way it needed to to band against Salem.

That said, I think Ironwood’s entire plan was a necessary evil. “Pull all Atlesian forces and resources out of Remnant and back into Mantle, to ride out the waves of Grimm that would come to tear the kingdom down after they learned about Salem.” It was a well thought out plan! He had STEPS. He KNEW that people would panic and planned AROUND that! For a “tin man” with no heart, he sure as fuck knew how to account for everyone else’s. Argus would suffer for this, sure, but he left them with a giant fucking jaegar, a Pacific Rim style wall around its biggest weak point, and enough air ships and guns to hold off a small scale invasion. Argus was also a unique situation where it was Mistral’s responsibility that Atlas elected to care for. We haven’t heard of any similar cities like this. He wanted to keep his people safe. And I know that’s a slap in the face to all of the people of Mantle who were living in the beginning stages of authoritarian rule for MONTHS, but I think the ends justify the means here. Ironwood’s plan was never to subjugate his people indefinitely, but to keep them safe until the worst had passed. I REALLY think Ironwood’s plan would’ve worked, and CLEARLY Salem does too, otherwise she wouldn’t be sending the biggest Grimm army ever seen and a whale the size of a fucking island to stop him. Telling Remnant about Salem was and still is a good plan, and drawing his troops and resources back to handle the fallout of it was a smart choice.

3) I think Ironwood is right to try abandon Mantle, and frankly I think he should’ve done it sooner. Ironwood is right, if Salem destroys Atlas, she destroys Remnant’s only hope of defeating her. Mistral and Haven were already attacked by the White Fang and Cinder’s crew without so much as a finger raised against them. Have fun reading the books to find out what’s happening in Shade. If Ironwood doesn’t save A) the power of the Winter Maiden B) the staff of creation, C) the lamp of knowledge AND D) as much of Atlas as he can, we’re fucked, and we’ve already lost the fucking lamp. The WORLD is fucked if we don’t stop Salem. And even KNOWING all of this, Ironwood waited until he had definitive proof that the enemy had already invaded Atlas before moving to leave. Tyrian and Watts were one thing, but Salem leaving her chess piece on his desk without him even knowing she was there? I can’t blame him for being scared. I can’t blame him for wanting to leave ASAP. Frankly I can’t blame him for calling RWBYJNRQOP naive. Saving every individual person down in Mantle would doom Atlas as a whole, and by extension the world. I don’t think I would’ve been able to fight against RWBY for wanting to risk saving everyone, but I don’t think I would’ve been able to fight with RWBY for the chance to take the risk either.

Last season was super political, which was a first for RWBY. Yeah, the writing’s ALWAYS been on the walls that Ironwood would take these steps into authoritarianism, and last episode had him breaking out into a full sprint. He straight up shot a member of his opposition! And that guy wasn’t even EXPLICITLY opposition, he was just questioning how Ironwood was handling the situation! I don’t think anyone can honestly say they’re surprised by this, and it’s super important to not just be against authoritarianism, but actively against it. We can’t condone it and must uproot it wherever it even begins to take hold. That said, I will say that, up to a point, Ironwood’s had good ideas on helping to save the world, while RWBY’ve been cutely optimistic but not very pragmatic in their “save every life no matter the cost” approach. And let’s be real, the show is called “RWBY” not “Ironwood” so I’m fully expecting the narrative to play out in a way that validates RWBY and demonizes Ironwood. I’m fully expecting Ironwood to completely fly off the walls as Salem draws nearer. I’m fully expecting to want to kick myself for agreeing with his motivations during season 7. I’m just writing this so that there’s a clear record of my stance not only for my followers (and for people ready to make callout posts, here you go 😉) but for myself too! So I can see if my stance changes and where I was before. So here you go future Tobias. Good luck!

#RWBY #General James Ironwood

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blazingopus · 4 years ago

Text

Green Haze - Golden Wind

This story ended up much darker than I had intended. It was very difficult for me to write in some places. Drawing from detective noir can do that sometimes. For the squeamish of you (and this is in no way a judgement), I will list the parts where there is body horror in bold. Please enjoy.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3LZDJ6gWi5HP2P2YCMTcn1?si=A4Kncm8JR_mkOdszS7TCww

You're a private investigator taking photos of someone who spots what you are doing. What happens next?

Napoli, and all of Italia for that matter, is ruled by The Famiglia. A complex web of businessmen, smugglers, politicians, assassins, drug peddlers, hustlers, bookkeepers, and every other role a mafioso could fill. Money acquired legally and illegally is funneled throughout the web, funding the various operations and front businesses. And pulling all the strings from the shadows is the illusive Boss, hiding his identity to preserve his life and keep control over all of Italia. He hears all, sees all. Little happens in the Famiglia without the Boss knowing at least in passing. This is the Empire called Passione. At least, this is what I hear when dealing in the underground.

I am a private investigator. I am paid large sums of money to investigate things that the police cannot, or will not, touch with their pristine hands. I say this, knowing that most of the police are in bed with corrupt politicians. The same politicians working closely, or at the very least taking bribes from Passione.

I only know this because I was in the police force for a few years myself. I saw first hand what went on behind closed doors. They say they want law and order. They say that they want to protect people. They say that they serve the citizens of Napoli. Lies. Nothing but lies. Most who join the force are corrupted by the system and the people. The few who do not leave of their own accord or are forced out.

Morality is a funny thing. Philosophers, authors, religious figures, and other thinkers have debated and formed their own frameworks to understand it. All of which are very different. But there are some basic ideas that most people tend to agree on. Killing innocents is bad. Stealing is bad. Lying is bad. Usually. There are more shades of grey to it all than an overcast sky. And many are willing to throw it all away for their own gain.

I walked away from all of it. The corruption, the lies, the posturing, the cutthroat environment. I was done with it all. I took the skills I had learned as a police officer and went into business for myself. You see, when the world is stripped of morals and decency, there are few things of value: Money. Information. Sex. Sometimes drugs, depending on how you felt that day. And the occasional organ. Of these, information became my currency. I procure information you want, for a price. Unlike the information brokers of Passione, I work on the street, I take the photos, and I steal the evidence. I can provide some of the most incriminating, career ending, reputation ruining information that the brokers would spend millions of Liras for. That is, if I were to sell it to them.

I don't work for Passione, and I have only worked with a few members. Poor souls. They had such ambitions of righting the wrongs, undoing the injustices from the inside. All of them ended up dead soon after their last visit to my office. Seems that the Boss doesn't much like members of his Famiglia trying to undo everything he had worked for.

It was a few days ago when another poor soul asked for my services. An up and coming politician with bright eyes and a noble heart. After being elected to a local office, he had found the government was as corrupted as any other. He was on a valiant quest to rid all he could of the "evil" out of Napoli. I told him that most do not survive that silly quest of his. He replied saying that, 'He would be one of the few who did, and bring some decency to his fair city.' He owed it to the people who elected him into office. I could tell he was a stubborn man, hellbent on his sacred duty. All I could do was shake my head and accept the upfront fee from him. How naïve he was.

Among some other things, he wanted me to look into a young man named Bruno Buccellati. The valiant knight had concerns about where Buccellati stood, since he liked to keep a low profile. While he was a mafioso, he was in good standing with the people of his territory and was a trusted right hand man to Polpo, the capo of Napoli. He suspected that Buccellati was either a noble individual like himself, or was playing nice to everyone to get an advantage. I told him it didn't matter either way.

I spent a couple of days getting a feel for his regular haunts. The people who lived and worked in his territory had a favorable view of him, but were somewhat protective of him. I was able to get more information out of them when I told them that he had helped me not too long ago, and was wanting to repay his kindness. Many said he would not accept any gifts or rewards, but wished me good luck. I didn't need it, but it was appreciated.

Buccellati moved around a lot, completing assignments from Polpo and maintaining the businesses under his jurisdiction. He did however, favor a particular restaurant. He tended to have small meetings there once a week or so with the team he was building. Such things were not uncommon in Passione. Many higher ranking mafiosi had a team of trusted few to help with whatever they were up to. It was a crucial part of the structure of the Familgia, and most teams were extremely independent. It was important that teams did not know of each other, so that separate operations could be conducted without interference or information leaking. At least, that was the intention. For some, it didn't matter how independent or how secretive a team was. Once they gained a certain level of status and notoriety, no matter how careful and secretive they were, word got around about their exploits. The only exception, of course, was the Boss.

The strange thing was, of the two people Buccellati had on his team, both were under the age of 18 and both had criminal records. Pannacota Fugo had allegedly murdered a teacher of his, and had a genius level IQ. If Buccellati played his cards right, he might make Fugo a crucial member of Passione. Narancia Ghirga was a different story. He had ran with gangs most of his younger years and only committed petty theft. From all I could gather, I could not understand why Buccellati had put him on his team. He had no outstanding qualities that I could find. The boy hadn't had an education in years, and had no particular skills.

There wasn't much else I could do now. I had been watching the restaurant for the past few days. I did a little snooping around the restaurant itself, and I found that Buccellati had made a reservation for tomorrow at noon. Four top. If I had to make a guess, he might be recruiting a new member or making some sort of deal. I would have to wait and see.

I made sure I look the part. The goal is to get a good look at Buccellati and his team. Take a few pictures. Start collecting some information about them. In order to accomplish this, I decided to dress a little casual chic. I was playing the role of a photographer for a travel magazine, getting some pictures of the local shops and the people in their natural state. It was important that the magazine had some candid photos along with the glamorized landscapes and reused building shots. At least, that was what I would use as an alibi.

I set up across from the restaurant at a quaint cafe with outdoor seating in the front. I had previously asked the owner if it was alright if I took a few pictures, and he let me eat free for the publicity. He didn't ask many questions. It was ten till noon, and the lunch rush was ramping up.

From what people told me, Buccellati had a few defining features. Piercing blue eyes. Dark hair cut in a severe bob. Pair of gold clips to adorn said bob. Suit with strange poke-a-dot pattern. Exposed chest with a tattoo or lace undershirt, no one could tell for sure. For someone who was so skilled at keeping a low profile, he was damn good at standing out from the crowd.

My eye caught someone entering the restaurant. Blue, hair, gold, pattern, chest thing. That must be him. I watched him talk to the host, who led him to a table right in front of a nearby window. My lucky day. At the table, I could see two other individuals, both looked to be young. These were most likely Fugo and Naranchia. They matched the descriptions I had come across earlier.

I was still watching the customers coming and going. Buccellati would not have reserved a four top if he was not expecting another person. Who that person was, I had no idea. A male walked in that made me pause for a minute. It was not his attire, which was also very distinct. Pale hair and skin deeply contrasted by his dark and broody clothing. It was the fact that it gave me a strong feeling of deja-vu. I didn't think it was a past client, or a past target. It went farther back than that, into the past I wanted to forget.

I took a sip of my water and made myself focus again. Fortunately for me, the mysterious man joined Buccellati at his table. He was lucky number four. It took about an hour and a half for them to order, eat, and discuss their business. The entire time, I was taking notes for one of the articles I was writing. At least, that is what I told the cafe owner. I was making note of particular ticks or quirks they had in their movements and speech patterns. I was also able to get a few pictures of them, but the main photos I was wanting would have to be taken as they left the restaurant.

I put my stuff in my bag when I saw they were beginning to wrap up. I left my camera hanging around my neck. I watched Buccellati pay the bill. The four of them stood up. They moved to the front of the building. I moved the camera to my face. I snapped a few photos as they came out the front door.

My heart stopped.

The last one out was the mysterious man. I finally remembered him. Abbacchio. He was one of the victims of the cruel justice system. I was coming to the end of my time in the police when I heard the news of his departure. He had made a hard decision, and it didn't pay off for him. I had worked close with him on some assignments, but I had not seen him since...

His deep purple eyes met mine through the lens. Deep. Accusing. Damn it. Why did I hesitate? I lowered the camera, keeping eye contact with him. His eyes bore into me. They were full of distrust and suspicion. Did he recognize me? Had he caught on to what I was doing?

Abbacchio finally broke eye contact with me, slowly walking away. I let our the breath I didn't know I was holding. I didn't know what his next action was going to be, but I needed to get the hell out of there. Damn it! How could I have been so reckless? So stupid? I could have just compromised everything. I put my camera in my bag and told the waiter my thanks.

I walked briskly toward the nearest train station. While it would be much more convenient to own a car, such a thing was dangerous. Cars can be tracked via licence plate, or could identify my apartment if someone should see me on assignment. That means my options for transportation are limited. Taxis would be faster, but I can blend into the crowds and loose people easier that way. If it all plays out properly.

When I reached the station, I bought a ticket and waited to board. I stood in the crowd, watching around me for anyone from Buccellati's team, or anyone else suspicious. I stepped on the train and found a seat. No one of note came on board. I spent the train ride anxious, my mind racing. Would Abbacchio do anything? Would they hunt me down? I could handle myself well enough, but the members of Passione were dangerous individuals. If they did, I probably wouldn't live through it. But this is what I signed up for when I took up this line of work. This is all my own doing.

The train came to a slow stop. I stood up and stepped onto the street. Heading straight home would be stupid. It would be better to head to the office first, where there would be people to witness anything that might happen. I walked over a block or two to the building where my office was located. I entered and unlocked the door. Inside was the same as I had left it. The heavy wooden desk sat in the back of the room with a chair to match. In front were two large chairs. I picked them out especially because they were very, very uncomfortable. I didn't want people staying longer than they had to, and having comfortable chairs just encouraged people to linger. It was important with the kinds of people I deal with.

I picked up the few documents I had sitting on my desk and stuffed them in my bag. They weren't of great importance, but I could not afford to leave any sort of evidence out. After most of my assignments, if I didn't think they would be useful I burned most of the information I had collected. I didn't want any evidence pointing to me if something got out. I usually didn't need it anyway. There were a few exceptions, though. I had a few safes in my apartment containing very valuable information that might come in handy one day. Don't know when, but you never know when you need to expose someone, or blackmail them, or call in a favor.

I straightened up the place before I left again. Speaking of calling in favors, if shit hits the fan, I might have to do that. Working in the professions I have, you get to know the right people, or the wrong people that need a favor. I didn't want to cash my chips in just yet, but I didn't know how all this would play out. I might not even have time to call in the first place. I have to be damn careful.

I locked the door and headed out onto the street, looking for a cab. My apartment was a bit away from my office. While I would have liked to be able to walk home every day, I didn't want anyone following me home that easily. I hailed a cab down and gave the driver directions.

As soon as I got home, I set the several locks on my reinforced door. Some may say I am paranoid, but that paranoia has kept me alive through some pretty bad scrapes. I quickly changed out of my clothes, throwing on a tank top and sweatpants. If they come for me tonight, I at least want to be comfortable. I then went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. It wasn't the first time I was going to miss out on a lot of sleep. I will have to keep up throughout the night.

I reached into a kitchen drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I needed something to calm my nerves. I hate smoking and would have much preferred alcohol. Alcohol makes me sleepy, and being able to aim is important if hell breaks loose. Nicotine would have to do instead. I took out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling the sickening smoke. Stale, this pack was getting old. I would have to pick up a new one soon.

I went back into my bedroom, opening up the top drawer of my bedside table. I took the two pistols I kept in there and checked the clips inside. I turned off the safety and stuck one in the waistband of my pants, feeling it settle against my spine. I picked up the extra clips I kept as well, putting two in my bra and sticking the rest in my pockets.

I went to the kitchen and grabbed one of my kitchen chairs, dragging it in front of my door. I poured myself a cup of coffee. I walked over to my chair and sat in it backwards. Pistol in my right hand, coffee in my left, cigarette in my mouth. I waited throughout the night with my eyes trained on the door, waiting for anything to go wrong.

The night passed to morning, and the time passed in silence. The sun rose on a new day. I was still alive and unharmed, for now at least. I rose from my seat and quickly showered. I hit myself with the cold water to wake myself up again. I tiredly put on clothes, keeping the pistol in its spot next to my spine. I put the other in the holster I keep in my jacket. I grabbed my bag and walked out my door, undoing all the locks from the night before.

I made my way back to my office without incident. The door was still locked and intact. Everything was in place inside. I sat down behind my desk and pulled out my notes, going over what I had collected over the past few days.

Buccellati seemed decent, at least. Many people went to him for counsel and help. He was Polpo's most trusted mafioso and went above and beyond to complete his missions. He ran his territory well and kept businesses alive. Giving his team a second thought, he probably picked them up off the street and took them in. The younger ones looked a little rough around the edges, and the one that was probably Narancia did not know what comb was. Still, I have run into a lot of people that looked like good people who ended up being rotten to the core.

I sighed and rubbed my face. I needed more coffee, but I didn't want to get up to actually make it. I was pretty much done with Bruno Buccellati, and I needed to move on the other targets my client had hired me to dig up dirt on. That is, if Buccellati didn't come after me and cut my life very short.

I sighed again and stood up, starting up the coffee maker. I watched blankly as the pot filled with caffeinated hot bean water. I needed to stay alert. I needed to stay awake. My life might depend on it.

I poured myself some coffee and walked back to my desk. I didn't need this information much anymore. I put everything in a manila folder and put it into a small safe under my desk. Damn thing was heavy, so it wasn't like anyone was carrying it out anytime soon. I took out my small spiral notebook from my bag, and looked at the list I had written a few days before. It was the list of targets I had been hired to investigate. I took out a pencil and crossed out Buccellati's name. Who would be the best target to go after next?

My head snapped up. There was a knock at my door. I quickly shoved the notebook back in my bag. There were a few possibilities going through my head. My client; he seemed to be a little impatient when I took the job from him. It could be a potential client, they liked to drop in sometimes. Or, it was Buccellati. That last one had my heart thumping against my chest and adrenaline filling my veins. I checked the guns on my person. Everything could go bad very quickly.

I stood up and crossed the room. I hesitated for just a moment before grasping the doorknob and pulling it open.

My heart stopped for just a moment. Before me stood Bruno Buccellati and Abbacchio, their eyes bearing down on me with serious expressions on their faces. I did my best to maintain a stony expression despite the terror filling me.

"Can I help you, Gentlemen?" I asked professionally. I might be able to talk my way out of this.

Buccellati nods his head slightly. "Yes. Do you have time to talk, miss?"

"I do." I moved aside and gestured for them to enter. They slid past me and moved to the chairs situated across from my desk. I swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Of all the things that could have happened, this was probably the worst. I would have to be smart about this.

I moved over to my office chair to sit down. A part of me was quite pleased to see Abbacchio becoming visibly uncomfortable trying to settle himself in his chair. Buccellati also looked very uncomfortable, but he was trying his best to not let it show.

"Allow us to introduce ourselves," Buccellati said as I pulled myself up to my desk. "My name is Bruno Buccellati," he gestured to Abbacchio, who had a stern glare on his face, "And my companion is Leone Abbacchio."

"A pleasure," I replied politely.

"It's not," Abbacchio shot back in a low voice. The glare on his face intensified.

Buccellati looked back to me with suspicious eyes. "Though, I am sure that you already know who we are."

"It is my business to know things, Mr. Buccellati." I had to be careful. "Word of you has spread throughout Napoli. It is not uncommon to hear tales of you in the crowds." I looked over at Abbacchio. "And Abbacchio and I served on the same police force together. We had some assignments together from time to time. Now, you said that you would like to speak with me. Are you interested in my services?"

"Not quite." Buccellati shifted his weight a little. "Your reputation precedes you, Miss (Y/N). You are known as a very talented private investigator, perhaps one of the best in Napoli."

I chuckled a bit. "Those words are not mine, Mr. Buccellati. I let my clients decide for themselves if my work is up to par." I tilted my head a little. "It also seems you know who I am. You know your way among the town gossip."

Buccellati cracked a small smile. "It has helped me before in the past, I must admit." His eyes bore into mine again. "What exactly do you do in this profession of yours, Miss (Y/N)?"

I had to play it cool, use a bit of misdirection. "I am a private investigator. I investigate whatever my clients hire me to. Cheating spouses, missing family members, the occasional long lost flame. Many people think that we like working with reporters, but they almost never tell the full story. Police are not much better. Too wrapped up in internal politics to investigate properly and arrest the right people."

"Many people also think that you investigate corruption." Buccellati interjected, his eyes still trained on me. "There are many politicians that do whatever it takes to achieve their goals, no matter how illegal."

I took a breath in. "I don't do that kind of investigating, Mr. Buccellati. If I were to investigate one bad politician, it would take me years to unravel the web of misdeeds and lies. Bad people tend to work with other bad people, who would also be exposed. All for what?" I shrugged. "There will always be corrupt politicians. Removing one would lead to another taking his place, if you could remove him at all. Best to stay out of it entirely. There are many people out there who need help that the police and politicians cannot provide. In doing my work, I hope to provide some solace to them."

"Do you really believe that garbage?" Abbacchio growled at me. Anger was washing over him. "Talking about helping people by going through their private lives. Sounds like a load of shit to me."

"Abbacchio, calm down," Buccellati ordered. His voice was stern and commanding. Abbacchio turned away, becoming more broody by the minute.

Buccellati looked back at me. "Passione is a powerful organization in Napoli, and all of Italia for that matter. It controls one of the largest drug trades in the world, and engages in many illegal activities. Surely, there would be people interested in finding out all they can about it, and the people who comprise its members?"

Buccellati was proding around, trying to find a way to pin me down. I would have to be careful how I answered "Yes, there are many people who would like to uncover the secrets of Passione. I have had my fair share of people try to enlist my services, but I have made it policy to turn them down. The mafiosi don't much like it when people go sniffing around where they shouldn't, and they tend to respond rather violently when they do. I also do not take any assignments from members of Passione. One job leads to another, and you either end up a member of Passione yourself or very much dead. Neither sound very appealing to me."

Buccellati nodded intently. "What kind of people do you take these "assignments" from, Miss (Y/N)?"

I looked at him suspiciously. "A variety of individuals. If you are wanting specifics, I am afraid I have a strict confidentiality policy. I do not share any information about any previous or current clients, or anyone I have or am investigating. Any information I find stays between me and the respective client. What they do with said information is their business."

Buccellati narrowed his eyes at me. " I want to change subjects, if you don't mind."

I nodded. "Go ahead." I had the sense that this conversation was taking a turn for the worse. I could feel my pulse speed up.

"Yesterday, Abbacchio saw you taking photos of me and my team as we were leaving a restaurant." Abbacchio turned back to me and stared at me like he was reading my soul " Not only were you taking photos of us, you were in the perfect location to take them. You were either very lucky that day, or you had been investigating me and tracking my movements." He leans forward, his voice becoming more direct and commanding. "So I ask you, what were you doing there that day, and why were you taking photos of us?"

I had to keep reminding myself to stay calm. I could not let anything important slip. I could not show weakness. And I could not answer that question. "I am not at liberty to say. I told you I keep my work confidential."

"That's fucking bullshit," Abbacchio yelled at me. "You know damn well that someone is trying to get dirt on us!"

"I told you, whether or not that is true, I cannot and will not release any information to anyone but my client."

Abbacchio stood up suddenly, violently knocking over the chair in the process. Anger seethed across his body. "I am not taking any more of this. You tell us everything, or I will beat the living shit out of you!"

I stood up, pulled the pistol out of my jacket and aimed it at him. I knew that if I pulled the trigger, the first bullet would lodge right between his eyes.

"You can try, but you would have to reach me first."

Before anything else could happen, there was a small flash of blue light in the corner of my eye, before something hit me square in the chest. I fell back a few feet, my body feeling like it was tearing apart. I landed on my side, my muscles not functioning and my joints not moving. I didn't know what kind of weapon Buccellati had used on me, but it was very effective. I moved my head a little, just enough for Buccallati and Abbacchio to come into view.

Buccallati looked deep into my eyes, murderous intent in his cool blue pools. "I'm tired of playing games, Miss (Y/N). Tell us what we want to know, or I will have to resort to more extreme measures. And know that I am very good at telling when people are lying."

I gave him a defiant glare. "You think you are the first person to threaten me? I have put up with a lot of shit in my life, I doubt you can do anything to me to make me talk."

His gaze lingered on me for a few seconds. Then he looked to Abbacchio. "Move her onto her back and support her head. I want her to see this."

Abbacchio nodded and knelt down next to me, sliding his hands under my arms and easing me onto my back. He pulled me up to his chest, and I could see my body splayed out in front of me. My arms and legs were in strange and unnatural angles, but they didn't look broken or damaged. Still, they were doing some very unnatural things.

I looked up at Buccellati. He was rolling the sleeves of this suit jacket to expose his forearms. "There have been many sorts of punishments used over the course of human existence," he said as he kneeled beside me. "Disembowelment is particularly brutal and painful. Most people don't tend to live through it. It just so happens that I have an ability that allows such an act to be easier on the both of us."

He outstretched an empty hand, and touched me just above my collar bone. If I could move, I would have flinched away. Abbacchio and Buccellati's strange power kept me from doing much of anything. Buccellati clenched his hand like he was grasping something. He then moved his hand down my sternum, over my abdomen, and stopped just below my navel. A thin line was left on my clothing. He then took both hands and pulled on both sides of the line he drew. Slowly, my clothes and my skin separated together to reveal what lay underneath.

I could see inside myself. I saw my heart as it drummed and sent blood shooting through my arteries and veins. I could see my lungs rise and fall with my breathing. I watched my stomach churn and move. My intestines pulsed as they did their digestive dance. I could see all the red and soft organs that were keeping me alive and well. Everything was wet and held together by long, thin membranes you could see though. I couldn't move, but that didn't stop me from shaking in fear.

"How easy it would be to kill you," Buccelatti said as he looked into my eyes. "All I would have to do is squeeze your aorta until your cells die of oxygen deficiency, if your heart doesn't explode first. Or I could cut off the air to your lungs and let you suffocate. But if I wanted to make this really painful," He moved his hands over to where my intestines pulsated, "I could simply disembowel you. That would be much longer and more painful, giving me more time to get some answers out of you."

My shaking was becoming worse, my breathing becoming ragged. I kept my eyes locked on Buccellati, avoiding the horror he had unleashed. "Even if I do tell you, you would just end up killing me anyway."

He gave me a small, terrifying smile. "I may be a mafioso, Miss (Y/N), but I can assure you that I am a man of my word. You tell me what I want to know, and all this will end."

"Either way, I'll be spilling my guts."

"That's the idea."

He reached into my body and grabbed hold of my small intestine. Reaching into his pocket, he brought out a small pocket knife, flipping it open. He brought the blade to my abdominal cavity, preparing to cut the thin membrane that held my organs in place. He was going to pull my intestines out right in front of me.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I tried to thrash around, do something to stop it, but nothing was working. I could feel hot tears running down my face. I began to scream, to beg, to plead with Buccellati to stop. This was not worth getting my intestines ripped out for. This was not worth dying over.

"What were you doing yesterday?" he demanded an answer. "Why were you watching us? Why were you photographing us?"

The tears kept coming. "I was hired to."

"Obviously. Who hired you?" Buccellati nearly yelled.

I choked out the client's name.

He thought for a moment. "You said that you didn't work for politicians. You also said that you don't investigate members of Passione. You are either lying or you are very confused, and I doubt you are the latter."

I dropped my head back and stared at the ceiling. "It doesn't matter if I take the job or not. Either way, he ends up dead. They all do."

"They end up dead?" Abbacchio questioned from behind me.

"Fools who think they can fix everything. Undo all the terrible things that Passione has done. Rid Napoli of corrupt people. They don't understand what they get themselves into." I swallowed and let more tears fall. "I try to warn them. Try to tell them they are playing with fire, but they never listen. They are so hellbent on being the hero that they don't have time to listen. It doesn't matter if I get them the information or not. They never have enough time to do anything with it. Passione always finds out. Passione always comes for them. And the fools always end up dead."

My words hung in the air for a moment, the mafiosi taking in what I had said. "That still doesn't explain why you took the job." Abbacchio said softly. "You could have refused him."

"I know, " I whispered. "But if I did, he would turn to other places to get what they want, and most of them are being funded by the government officials or are members of Passione. He would be found out and dealt with much quicker than if he came to me. The problem is, idiots like him tend to have family and friends that care about them. If I take the job, instead of someone else, he might live just a day longer."

I lowered my eyes to look at Buccellati again. He looked intently at me, but I couldn't read his expression. What was he thinking? Did he hate me? Did he think I was a fool for even thinking like this? Did he feel sorry for me for lying to myself, justifying working for these poor souls?

Buccellati put the knife back in his pocket, taking out a handkerchief to clean his wet hand. He stood up and walked over to my chest. "Help her up, Abbacchio." The two of them lifted me to my feet, careful not to hurt me.

I looked down at my body again. My limbs were normal and straight. There was no gaping whole in my torso. I was magically whole again. I wiped some of the tears off my face. What kind of superpowers did these people have?

I took control over my body again, trying to regain my balance. I smoothed out my clothing and adjusted myself. I took a deep breath in. "If you gentlemen would excuse me," I said without looking at the mafiosi, " I will return shortly." I promptly walked out the door and turned down the hall. I opened the lady's room door and headed to the sink.

I took a few haggard breaths. My body had stopped shaking but I was still trying to recover. I wasn't dead yet. I was still intact. I just needed to let my body calm down.

As far as interrogations go, that was very effective for how little he actually hurt me. How the hell did Buccellati open me up like that without actually cutting into me? Was this all some sort of fever dream? Or a nightmare?

I turned on the faucet and ran the water over my hands. I needed to gather myself. I splashed the cool water over my face. I glanced at the mirror as my face dripped. I looked like death. All the color had drained from my face, there were dark bags under my eyes. Even the muscles under my face didn't have enough energy to move properly. I grabbed a few paper towels and dried my face.

I was so tired. I didn't want to be here anymore, to deal with Buccellati anymore. I just wanted to sleep forever and let the world pass me by. Damn it all.

I gripped the edge of the sink. I had to go back in there. I had to face them one more time. I didn't have a choice. They had gotten what they wanted from me. I didn't know what other information they would attempt to get from me. I didn't know if I would want to give it to them. Besides, my bag was still in there.

I gave myself a few more adjustments in the mirror before walking out into the hall. I told myself to breathe, to stay calm. I forced myself to walk to my office door. I gripped the doorknob. I turned it and opened the door.

Abbacchio was sitting on top of my desk, one leg tucked under him while the other dangled off the side. Buccellati stood off to the side, involved intensy with the conversation with his companion. The chair that Abbacchio flipped over was still laying on its side. They did, however, pick up my office chair. The both of them looked at me as I opened the door.

"Are you alright, Miss (Y/N)?" Buccellati asked me, a concerned look on his face.

I closed the door behind me. "Well enough, at least." I looked up at him. "I am surprised you would even ask that."

He gave me a strange look. "I may be a mafioso, but I am not heartless."

"You could have fooled me."

Buccellati looked at me intensely. "You would do whatever necessary to protect what is important to you, am I right Miss (Y/N)?"

I thought for a moment. "I suppose so."

"So would I. In my business, people important to you end up dead if not protected."

I sighed. "I see your point, Mr. Buccellati." I walked over to my office chair. "My question is, who is important to you? Who is so close to you that you would torture and kill to protect?"

"Haven't you done enough digging as it is?" Abbacchio growled at me. He was always a little prone to bad moods, but I don't remember him being this bad.

I glared at him. "I answered you damn questions, you might as well answer mine."

Buccellati raised his hand. "She's right, Abbacchio. We owe her an explanation for what happened that day." He looked back to me. "Miss (Y/N), would you join us for lunch? I would be happy to answer any questions you have."

I gave him a confused look. "Why would you trust me? How do you know I won't just sell all the information you give me?"

"I agree," Abbacchio spoke up. "This is stupid, Buccellati. We have more pressing matters to attend to."

Buccellati looked back to me, a small smile on his face. "Something tells me that you can be trusted. But I will only answer you questions if you come with us."

I thought for a few moments. This could be a trap, certainly. But I didn't think so. Buccellati didn't seem like he had something up his sleeve. Free food also didn't sound so bad either. I leaned down and grabbed my bag.

"Lead the way."

Half an hour later, I was sitting in a restaurant. The very same restaurant I watched the day before. Sitting across from me was a very calm Buccellati and a not as calm Abbacchio. I scanned over the menu, trying to narrow down what I wanted to eat. It all sounded so good. After the waiter took our orders, he whisked away our menus, leaving the three of us to talk.

Buccellati folded his hands over his face. "So, what do you want to know?"

I thought for a moment. "Narancia Ghirga. Why is he on your team? I can understand Abbacchio. He has a lot of skills from his career as a police officer. He also has a lot of knowledge on how both criminals and police operate. Pannacotta Fugo is extremely intelligent, and can probably think his way around problems. Narancia has no particular skills or qualities that set him apart."

He took a breath in. "It is not a simple story. Fugo found him alone and broken on the street. He brought Narancia to me in the hopes that I could help feed him. He was also in bad shape and needed extensive medical treatment. I made sure he had a full recovery. I could tell as time went on he began to idolize me." He looked away for a minute. "This life I lead is not for most people. It can destroy you if you are not careful. I didn't want to drag Narancia into it. I sent him home to his father to continue his education."

I leaned forward, intrigued by the story he was crafting. "Then how did he become a mafioso?"

Buccellatti gave a momentary smirk. "He went behind my back. Went directly to Polpo for initiation. He requested to be under my command. I accepted." He took a sip of his water. "He might not look like much, but Narancia fights to the bitter end. He is deadly when he wants to be, and is extremely loyal. I could not ask for a better charge."

During the course of the meal, I asked many questions. I learned more about what had happened to Abbacchio, the hard choices he had to make. I learned about Fugo, the difficult life he led of study and high expectations. And I learned of Buccellati, his life of fending for himself and his father. Now, he fights for Napoli, doing what he can for the people.

While the stories were being told, I told mine. I had always wanted to make a difference here. There was this righteousness that always burned within me. But whenever I tried, someone or something always stopped me. The only correct way to get anything done in Napoli is the illegal way. So I stopped trying. I used my skills to support myself, maybe help where I could. But the more you dig up, the more you realize how evil people can be. The more it beats you down and takes hold of your soul.

By the time everything was said, we had finished eating and Buccellati was paying the bill. Once he had finished, he looked to me. "Would you wait for us outside, Miss (Y/N)? There is something I would like to discuss with Abbacchio."

I nodded. "Of course."

I wandered out the front door and leaned against the building. I watched the people pass by. One person in particular caught my eye. A teenage boy wearing an altered pink private school uniform. His blond hair braided down his back and his bangs intricately set. A strange sight indeed. But not the most extravagant person you would see in Napoli.

I saw Buccellati and Abbacchio walk out of the restaurant. I stood up and walked to them. "Before we part ways," Buccellati said to me, "I have one more question to ask you."

"Another one?" I joked.

He smiled for a moment. "Just one. What do you think of joining my team? With your skills, you would make a valuable asset. You already know Abbacchio, and the two of you would work well together."

"I am the last person who would want to join Passione," I said promptly.

He shook his head. "You would be a member of Passione, but you would be working for me." He looked intently at me. "You of all people would know how I run things. I am trying to make Napoli better for everyone. Would you join me in doing that?"

I avoided eye contact, trying to make sense of everything. Just earlier that day, we thought of each other as enemies. Now, he had seen something in me that compelled him to ask me to join his cause. And Abbacchio had agreed to this? He had been so antagonistic towards me.

I looked Buccellati directly in the eyes. "I would need to wrap up my assignments, or try to get out of them somehow. But, yes. I will join you, Mr. Buccellati."

He nodded. "Good. I was hoping that would be your answer. By the way, you don't have to call me 'Mr.' anymore. Bruno will do just fine"

I smiled up at him. "You don't have to call me 'Miss.' either. (Y/N) works just as well."

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure golden wind #golden wind #vento aureo #bruno buccellati #leone abbacchio #narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #jjba #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader #jjba fanfiction

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kingreywrites · 5 years ago

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For the innocent

Words count: 2275

Eugene Appreciation Week Day Five: Free Day

Summary: Edmund gets a glimpse of what he missed all those years without his son.

Read on ao3

@fishskiin

When Edmund got to Corona, or more precisely the castle, he was excited to spend time with his son and the family Eugene built around himself for the first time in weeks. Rebuilding the Dark Kingdom was a time-consuming endeavor and, even if they sent each other letters regularly, Edmund missed his son. For now, Adira was taking care of things, and Hector was annoying her about it, so it would be more or less alright.

What he hadn't expected was to find the castle in an uproar, guards running everywhere and looking very stressed out. Usually, when Edmund visited his son, Eugene would come and greet him as soon as he got here, but he didn't make an appearance - neither did any of his friends. Unsettled, Edmund stopped one of the guard that he recognised as Stan. The man glanced at him, paled as he recognised him and squeaked his name fearfully.

"What is going on?" Edmund asked, trying to not sound threatening because he didn't want the guard to faint on him - it had happened once and Eugene laughed about it for weeks.

"We- uh, we kinda… LostTheCaptainWhenWeWereSupposedToTakeCareOfHim," Stan mumbled in one go, looking purple at the edges. He took a step back and ran away again, throwing that they needed to "find him before the Princess decided to kill them," which must be an exaggeration because Rapunzel was the most forgiving woman Edmund knew.

Then, his brain catched up to the first sentence, and he frowned because how could they lose his son? Why would they be in charge of taking care of him?

Officially worried, Edmund hesitated, thinking about his options (outloud, as always). On one hand, he could try to go to the throne room and find informations about what was happening; on the other, Eugene was probably not there if he was lost, so Edmund could go and try to find him himself. Edmund was a man of action; he went with the later, and wracked his brain to think of a place where Eugene would hide. More precisely, somewhere he wouldn't usually hide, but would still think of, since he apparently didn't want anyone to find him.

Pushing open the door of one of the multiple attics in the Castle, Edmund felt quite silly to only find silence and dusty untouched objects. Eugene had told him once that he couldn't believe how many things went unused in the castle, and that he liked to search through them sometimes. Edmund himself, in his youth, was quite the collector, and once started a beatles collection, to his parents' ever growing despair and-

A giggle interrupted his thought.

Edmund startled, eyes going immediately to the corner from which it came. There were boxes, that made enough shadows that he nearly didn't see the little shadow hiding between - shadow that was way too small to be his son, but Edmund wasn't sure what kind of opponent would hide in the attic only to give away his position with a laugh.

Another giggle.

"You're talking aloud," a little voice said, obviously belonging to a kid.

"Hello?" Edmund called, getting closer to the shadow but unable to squeeze himself enough to go to the kid. "What are you doing here little one?"

"I'm hiding," the boy whispered, sounding sad, "they don't like me much here."

Edmund frowned, both because he tried to think of a little boy that frequented the castle, and because he was pretty sure that no one in this castle was able to dislike anyone, especially not a little kid. And if anyone did, he was sure that both his son's and Rapunzel's glares would be enough to discourage these kind of thoughts. He wasn't sure what made the kid think that, though and he was not that used to children overall, but his mind left the search for his son, focusing instead on getting the kid out of the attic to help him. Eugene would understand.

"Well, I am sure this is not true," Edmund announced wisely, "I quite like you myself."

"You don't know me."

"That's true, but you were amused by my habit of talking aloud, instead of being mean about it. That tells me you are a nice young boy, so I decided that I like you."

"Oh," the kid breathed, and Edmund heard shifting. "I like you too," the boy said quietly and, to the King's joy, he got out of under the boxes.

Edmund's first thought was that they boy needed a good clean up, his brown hair dirtied by the ambient dust. Then, the kid raised his head, and there were no thought at all as he felt all the air leave his lungs.

He would know his son's eyes anywhere.

"I'm Eugene," the boy announced with a shy smile, as he got close enough for Edmund to help him over the different objects lingering on the ground, the gesture automatic. He was so small.

"Hello Eugene," Edmund choked. "Ah- hum, how- how old are you?"

"Five!" The kid grinned.

Edmund thought back on Stan's words and, even while he still had no idea on what exactly had happened, he could now understand the worry that Rapunzel would kill them - who lost a five year old? Who dared lose his son? This was a pretty recent development, considering that Eugene sent him a letter four days ago, and they not only managed to lose him but also made him think that they didn't like him?

"Are you mad?" Eugene asked, shuffling back a little, and Edmund startled, before putting the gentlest smile he could on his face. He hadn't dealt with kids in quite some times, but this wasn't any child - it was Eugene.

"No, of course not," he assured. "I was just wondering why you thought that the people of the castle didn't like you."

Eugene lowered his eyes, blushing brightly, and Edmund didn't know what to feel as he discovered that his son had been quite shy as a child. It wasn't surprising, per say, it even fitted well with what Eugene told him about his childhood - but it was something else to see it with his own eyes.

"You can tell me, Eugene," Edmund pressed gently, a hand going hesitantly to his son's hair.

Big and hopeful brown eyes met his and, for a moment, Edmund could only think of his late wife - they had met when they were only children, and he could see her in every of Eugene's features. Except that, where she had been confident, Eugene was scared, and for the umpteenth time, Edmund felt ashamed. He had abandoned, for good reasons of course, but he had abandoned his son - and now, he could see how much heartache Eugene went through, only five but already wary of adults.

"They… They're always sad to see me," Eugene mumbled, looking away. "Rapunzel is nice, but she left me with the guards and I heard… I heard her tell one of them that she wanted to find a solution to get me back but-"

Eugene sniffled and Edmund kneeled in front of him, his hand going to his son's cheek without an ounce of hesitation. The boy raised his hand, tears gathering in his eyes despite his obvious effort to keep them in, and he threw himself at Edmund's neck, trying to hug him with his too small arms. Edmund hand went automatically around his son, taking him with him as he got up again, the warm weight settling naturally against him.

"I don't wanna go back to the orphanage," he sniffled again, his voice wobbly as he tightened his grip around Edmund. "Everyone here is so nice, and fun, and- and-"

"Oh, son," Edmund breathed, barely noticing the slip of his tongue, "don't worry, Rapunzel didn't mean it like that."

Eugene shrugged in his arm, still sniffling. His grip didn't relent and, for a second, Edmund let himself think of a world where he didn't try to take the moonstone foolishly - a world where he had these kinds of moments each and every day, with his son in his arms and his wife nearby. But it wasn't meant to be, and he still got to be reunited with Eugene; that was more than he ever hoped for.

"Come on," Edmund announced, his booming voice drawing a laugh from Eugene, "let's go clear this all up with the Princess!"

His son against his chest, Edmund got out of the attic, narrating the whole trip to the throne room with as much dramatics as he could. Thankfully, this kid liked a good story as much as his adult counterpart, and in no time, it wasn't a crying but a laughing kid that Edmund carried.

They found Rapunzel in a hallway, talking frantically to Pascal until she heard Edmund's voice calling her name.

"Edmund! Oh-" she started, before seeing Eugene who was watching her from his perch, "Eugene! I was so worried!" she exclaimed, beaming as she went to him- but that turned into a sad frown as the kid turned away from her. Her eyes darted to Edmund, panicked and hurt.

"Hum, Princess," Edmund coughed, taking his very serious voice and making Eugene giggle. "Eugene here is worried that you would sent him back to the orphanage."

"Oh Eugene, no," she gasped, looking heartbroken at the thought, "I promised I wouldn't!"

"But…" Eugene answered shyly, turning his eyes back to her. "You said that you wanted to bring me back?"

Her gaze softened as Edmund smiled encouragingly. "Oh, that's not what I meant at all," she promised, "I was… uh," Rapunzel stammered, not that good of a liar. "I have another friend whose name is Eugene," she settled on, as close to the truth as she could, "and he disappeared, so I want to bring him back."

"Really?" Eugene asked plainly, the disbelief and sarcasm sounding exactly as it did when he was an adult.

"Ah, I can confirm that the Princess has another friend named Eugene," Edmund intervened, bouncing his son up a little as his arm was assaulted by pins and needles. He wouldn't put him down until he asked, though.

Eugene watched them both carefully, before nodding, and Rapunzel sent Edmund a grateful smile. She'd need to explain the situation to him, but he could understand that Eugene had to be kept out of the loop. There was still one thing, though.

"Who, exactly, was in charge of keeping an eye on Eugene?" Edmund asked innocently - and, going by the look Rapunzel threw him, this particular guard wasn't going to spend a good evening.

------

It took two more days for them to find a way to turn Eugene back into his real age - and kid Eugene had been very brave, accepting to take the potion needed when they explained it to him, even when it was clear he was scared. It was all the result of an accident with a weird magical artefact, but in the end, Edmund still felt himself tear up as he said goodbye to the little boy. He missed his son, the adult - missed his jokes and their discussions and the trust they shared - but he loved him as a five year old too, and it was hard to deal with these conflicting emotions.

Edmund knocked softly on the Princess' door, pushing it open as he heard a muffled "come in". He found Rapunzel next to Eugene's sleeping form, half sitting up for his sake.

"Still not awake?" Edmund asked.

Rapunzel shook her head morosely, her hand going to play with Eugene's hair. Since he drank that potion four hours ago, he had been unconscious, and they were all worried of the toll this adventure had on his body. Edmund didn't like to see him lying here - not when he could see the parallel to his own wife laying on her deathbed so many years ago, the wound still so fresh in his heart. After some hesitation, Edmund sat down on the side of the bed, and Rapunzel shuffled until she could sit next to him.

"I forgot to thank you for being here," Rapunzel smiled hesitantly, "you really saved us."

"He's my son, of course I'd take care of him." Edmund winced at his own formulation, thinking back to all those years Eugene spent alone - all those years that seemed much more tangible now that he had seen for himself how much Eugene suffered from it. "I mean- I-"

"I get it," Rapunzel comforted him. "You were really good with him," she continued after a beat, "he kept asking after you if you ever dared leave the room."

"Ah," Edmund laughed quietly, "I knew that the way to his heart was Flynnigan Rider's stories, especially since he didn't know them by heart already."

"That may be true, but that wasn't all. He trusted you, Edmund," Rapunzel insisted. The King blushed, trying to come up with an answer, but he didn't have to.

"Ow," a voice behind them groaned, startling them, "If there isn't a good time to justify this headache, I'm suing."

"Eugene!" Rapunzel immediately yelled, snatching him up in a tight hug. Eugene sputtered, his eyes widening when he noticed his father standing behind her, now sure that whatever happened, it probably hadn't involved alcohol.

"Welcome back, son," Edmund boomed, drawing a surprised laugh from Eugene - just like it did when he was a kid. Edmund beamed down at them, and swept them both up in a crushing hug, despite his son's loud protests.

Perhaps he missed out on most of his son's life, but he didn't intend to miss out on more.

#A little later than usual because I had an exam today and it was awful #but hey the EAW is here to pick me up #if I can't have a hug Eugene is going to get all of them #Eugene Fitzherbert #Edmund #Rapunzel #Eugene Appreciation Week #tangled

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panharmonium · 5 years ago

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no man can know his destiny...

...because if we told him what it was, he might decide to tell destiny to bugger off!

all right, folks. i am obviously eight years late to this party (party? maybe not party; that’s...maybe not the best word), and i am aware that everybody who was ever in this fandom has probably already consumed all the finale reaction posts that they ever needed to read. i am putting this S5 finale round-up together for my own purposes anyway, because now that i’m no longer avoiding spoilers, i want to make sure i get all of my own thoughts down on paper before i accidentally run into anyone else’s.

fair warning before anyone decides to invest their time: this post is sixteen single-spaced pages long. i am putting it under a cut here, so feel free to scroll on by.

with that said, off we go!

in a land of myth and a time of magic (i fell in love with a ten-year-old tv show):

so, to preface this, i think it’s pretty fair to say that i very rarely complain about merlin.

i watched the first episode of merlin on a complete whim - i was by myself, on a trip to atlanta, and despite the fact that i usually never sit down and just decide to watch random tv, i was scrolling around on netflix before bed and saw merlin and thought “oh hey, that’s always been on my list as something i thought i might like.” i clicked it. i watched it. i thought it was going to be a silly, fun, low-investment show i could use to fill the spare time on my trip.

it was silly. and it was fun. it was not low-investment. i fell in LOVE.

and i know this comes through in the way i write about it, like - the vast majority of the blogging i have done about merlin has come from a place of THIS THING IS GREAT AND I WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT BECAUSE IT’S GREAT. sometimes the story will go places that stress me out or make me sad, but usually that hasn’t impacted my enjoyment, because generally, when i evaluate stories, i react more to my perception of the story’s integrity, as opposed to whether or not i personally ‘liked’ the ending. so i might personally prefer stories that don’t end in tragedy, but if the story has earned its ending, with integrity, then i won’t feel any desire to criticize it. i will talk about how sad i am or how low it made me feel, but if the story has earned its ending then i can’t - i just can’t argue with it. i have to respect it.

and i think i’ve demonstrated that well enough in all the other blogging i’ve done about merlin. with 5.10 and 5.11 particularly; i felt those episodes were impossibly tragic and dark and SO unhappy, but i respected the storytelling, despite this. i wasn’t hopping on here to make posts like ‘ugh this is getting so dark this episode sucks!!!’ i was writing about the story they were crafting - which, yes, WAS getting dark, certainly - and about how impactful it was (even when that impact was just “OUCH”). i was still deeply engaged, at that time.

so - i think i have earned the right to say honestly that the following analysis does not come from a place of ‘this was SAD and that makes it automatically CRAPPY!!!’ that’s not how i assess things. 5.10 and 5.11 were devastating, but i respect them. i loved watching them. i would watch them again. i thought that the show had the potential to pull off something masterful, after those two episodes.

but the one thing this series has always struggled with a little bit is follow-through. bbc merlin is at its finest when they aren’t afraid to go barreling after the moral ambiguity and complexities that their show inherently contains (‘to kill the king,’ ‘the sorcerer’s shadow,’ ‘the disir,’ ‘the kindness of strangers,’ ‘the drawing of the dark,’ to name just a few), and they achieve real greatness in those moments. but they sometimes pull back from the difficult questions they pose. and i can’t tell if it’s that they’re deliberately chickening out, or if it’s just some variation of carelessness or ineptitude that makes them fumble the ball, but the end result is that they hit these amazing highs of “wow, i can’t believe we’re finally going there; we’re addressing the central conflict” and then all the complicated questions they asked just get dropped.

it happens in ‘the sorcerer’s shadow’ (which is an amazing episode otherwise), when kilgharrah kind of...word-of-god handwaves away merlin’s conflict, saying ‘we just gotta wait for arthur to be king, that’s the right way to go about this.’ and they double down on this by having merlin say that it was gilli, not merlin, who had betrayed their kind - which is just not - that is not what that episode had been saying, up until that point! the entire point of that episode was that yeah, merlin has in fact gotten himself into a position where he’s made a morally questionable decision to serve a regime that oppresses him and others like him. they show us how conflicted he feels when he’s confronted by this reality. they show us that he knows it’s true. it was brilliantly done - and then they pulled WAY back.

but even then i don’t think it was like...unforgivable, at that point. it doesn’t break the story’s integrity; i can definitely believe that merlin would take that tack - i’m not sure he’s quite ready to confront/accept the reality of his situation at that point. so i get it. it wouldn’t be a big deal - if the show had eventually addressed/followed through on this conflict in the end.

and i think the same is true of the episodes leading up to the finale. they were dark and complicated and tragic, but they were telling an important story; and none of the terrible things we saw happening to the characters were dead-ends, story-wise. there was a place for that story to go. there was room for morgana to have her arc resolve in a meaningful way. there was room for mordred’s arc to do the same. the place in which we found ourselves at the end of 5.11 was as dark and complicated as merlin had ever been, and it was still bursting with potential.

and then you watch the finale and it’s just - empty. i described it as a paper castle in some other post, and that’s what it felt like. no substance. it was like they stuffed us on a bullet train and whizzed us past material that should have taken an entire season to handle, and you didn’t see any of it or feel anything because the trip took ten seconds and the scenery was a blur.

it honestly felt like they thought they had another season coming and then someone popped in and told them “actually you have to wrap this up in two episodes.” i can’t think of another way to reasonably explain how dramatically the quality of the storytelling downshifts between 5.11 and 5.12. i wasn’t watching the show then, so i don’t know, but it’s - at least if that had been the case, i would UNDERSTAND what had happened. it’s just insanity, otherwise.

so anyway, with all that said, here are my own reasons for why i think the last two episodes were objectively bad writing, as opposed to just writing i don’t personally like. nobody is obligated to agree with me on any of these points, but i’m also not putting them up here to debate them, really - i truly believe that almost everything i watched in the last two episodes was poorly-conceived.

(there’s an entirely different discussion to be had, of course, about the relative merits of ending your, uh, hopeful fantasy story on a bummer of a death knell, and i might touch on that later, but that’s a little bit more subject to personal preference, and honestly, it’s not the point i’m trying to make here, because to be frank, these episodes are bad without even getting into who lives and who dies.)

i. plot contrivances: EVERYWHERE.

i don’t mean plot devices. plot devices are important, in a story. a plot device is something like how merlin throws excalibur into the lake in 1.09, and then is able to retrieve it in 3.13 because of a choice he made to show someone compassion in 2.09, and thus he is able to save the day and defeat the undead. excalibur is a plot device, in that scenario - the ability to use it in 3.13 unfolds organically.

a plot contrivance, on the other hand, is artificial. it’s unnaturally convenient. it doesn’t feel convincing. it’s what you reach for when you can’t think of a way to make something happen, but a writer is supposed to look at these things when they edit and think ‘hey. if i can’t make this happen without it being contrived, maybe it shouldn’t happen. maybe i need to look at this again.’

so like, from the very beginning of 5.12, we have:

the face-sucker slug. never seen one before. never heard of it before. never given any indication that any such creature ever existed. never given any indication that “stealing” magic was something that could even happen. no idea where morgana found it. created for and introduced in this very episode, just to give merlin a reason to go to the crystal cave; removed from the episode ten minutes after it’s introduced, forgotten.

gwaine’s sudden girlfriend. NEVER SEEN HER BEFORE. NEVER HEARD OF HER BEFORE. NEVER GIVEN ANY INDICATION THAT ANY SUCH CREATURE EVER EXISTED. where does she come from? why do we care? (surprise: we don’t.) created for and introduced in this very episode for the sole purpose of explaining how morgana could get the information she needed to interfere with everyone’s plans, which was a contrived idea in and of itself, because it relied completely on making gwaine act like the kind of dope who tells a civilian military secrets.

you just. you can’t. if your plot point can’t function without a) introducing a brand new character in the penultimate episode of your show and b) forcing a long-standing character to do something they just wouldn’t do, you can’t use it. you just can’t. you have to figure out something else.

this lady’s very existence is nonsense. absolutely, utterly contrived. to waste that much time on a character we’ve never seen before and don’t care about, in the last two hours of your five-season show...incredible.

morgana’s army. they outnumber camelot’s forces “five to one.” where did they come from? how did she amass such a force? in season 4 she was losing all her allies - the episode with annis and caerleon was specifically designed to show us how people were turning from her methods and aligning with arthur. and then she spent two years in a pit. how did she amass such a force in such a short period of time? what could she offer them? why do they fight for her? there is no explanation of who the “saxons” are or what they want - the show just needed an army for camlann.

aithusa. aithusa was, apparently, just a vehicle to enable mordred to obtain a blade forged in the dragon’s breath. beyond that, he served no purpose. he literally just vanishes, along with that entire storyline - the future of the dragons, everything - just dropped, forgotten, never mentioned again.

morgana in the crystal cave. “gee, i finally caught merlin, the guy who’s supposed to be my doom. i think i’ll just...trap him behind some rocks. wouldn’t want to kill him, while i have him completely powerless and at my mercy. how then would he escape from this super powerful magical cave and ensure that the next step in this impossibly weak plot unfolds?”

the crystal cave itself. what is the entire point of this detour? killing time while arthur and merlin are separated? i mean, the whole “merlin loses his magic for all of five minutes” thing was a contrivance itself, just to ensure that merlin and arthur had a reason to be separated during the battle. but even putting that aside, once merlin is in there, and balinor says ‘you have to go into the light to discover who you truly are, you have power of which you cannot conceive’ - what purpose did that serve? all we see merlin do once he gets to camlann is call down some lightning. he’s done that before. he...he did that in season one.

the entire detour in the crystal cave changed nothing. it was a contrivance to mark time so merlin didn’t arrive at camlann at the same time as everybody else.

arthur at camlann. the idea that we are supposed to believe that arthur somehow finds himself all alone on that battlefield, long enough for mordred to sneak up on him and stab him and for him not be found by a single other human being until merlin shows up. he is the KING. there is no conceivable circumstance where his army lets him go wandering around by himself after the battle has been mostly won. it doesn’t make sense. it isn’t believable. it’s a contrivance to make sure mordred has an opportunity to get him.

“only the sidhe possess such magic.” the SIDHE????? you guys. the last time we saw the sidhe was in that gooftastically wonderful filler episode where a pixie wanted to bone gaius. you can’t - you just - you can’t center your entire ‘this is how we save arthur’ plan on a race of beings that we haven’t heard of since early season 3 and which we never knew anything more about than that they once possessed a farting princess.

“not without the horses.” are you telling me. that the reason they don’t make it to this fabulous isle in time. is because. their horses. were conveniently scared away. that’s what killed the glorious once and future king. the horses ran off.

and the horses conveniently ran off because they were conveniently scared away by morgana, who conveniently happened to show up because she was conveniently put in a position to extract information from someone who conveniently knew where arthur was going - all of this, of course, predicated on the impossible-to-believe assumption that a) gwen would ever tell anybody where arthur was going, when the stakes were this high, when nobody needed to know and camelot had already fallen prey to spies multiple times, and b) that gwaine and percival would, if they did for some reason know where arthur was headed, be so foolish as to literally serve themselves up to morgana on a plate, when they know that the whole point of this scheme is that they WANT morgana to hang out in brineved wasting her time in order to allow arthur to reach the isle safely.

I SAY AGAIN: if your plot point cannot function without making characters do things we just do not believe they would do, you can’t use it. you can’t. you have to revisit what you’re doing. you can’t just make anything happen that you want to in order to drive the story to the place you want it to go. it has to make sense.

kilgharrah. is called just in time to deliver a pat explanation of the ending, but not in time to shuttle arthur over to the isle? merlin could have called for a ride ages ago. merlin and arthur weren’t traveling fast, or far. it’s not like kilgharrah was having that much trouble getting around. we see that he handles carrying the two of them just fine. we see that he flies away, zoop, no problem. there is no reason for him not to have been called even a single hour sooner, other than that the plot demanded that he could not be, because the plot demanded that arthur not get there in time.

it breaks the boundaries of disbelief. it takes you right out of the story. it reminds you, inappropriately, that all of this is a thing someone planned (poorly). all of it is contrived.

ii. dropped plotlines

i can’t believe i actually have to say this.

i’ve seen tv shows tank before, but usually, when tv shows tank, it’s just that the quality of their writing has declined, and they’ve resorted to resolving their plotlines in ill-conceived ways.

i have never, in my life, seen a tv show DROP all of its major plotlines before it ends. i have never seen a tv show just. FORGET. to address their premise. never. i still can’t believe it actually happened. i’m sitting here trying to remember if the merlin finale was actually some kind of anxiety-induced fever dream i had while i was gearing myself up to watch the last few episodes.

merlin bbc had, at its outset, two major plotlines. these would be supplemented later by other throughlines (many of which were also dropped), but the two major ones always stayed the same, one for arthur and one for merlin:

for arthur, the question of him one day becoming the greatest king in history and uniting the land of albion

for merlin, the question of him one day liberating the magical community from oppression and being able to live free from fear

those were the two constant throughlines in this show, from episode one. the struggle to unite the land of albion, and the struggle to make the land a free and just one for ALL of its people, not just those without magic.

this show, somehow, ended without actually addressing either of these things.

it’s amazing. i don’t even know how they managed it. somehow, this show ended without actually ending.

to elaborate on this (and other dropped plots):

a) the once and future king: we never see a united albion. the show is driving at it, in seasons 4 and 5, when arthur makes peace with annis in S4, and then gets annis’s permission to travel through her lands in 5.01, and then helps Mithian’s father in S5, and makes peace with odin in 5.04, and then tries to make peace with the sarrum in 5.08, and it’s all making sense, and you expect that plotline to continue until we see its eventual fulfillment at the end of the show. you would expect, if this were supposed to be such an important thing, that the big struggle at the end of the series would have been all the peoples of albion united together against a threat.

but we never see any of these kingdoms again. we never hear a peep out of them. no one ever mentions them. it’s like they all just vanished into the wind. as far as we’re aware, camelot fights morgana’s army on their own - it’s like annis and odin and godwyn and rodor and those five kings that came together to sign the treaty in 2.10 never existed.

the dragon says at the end, “all you have dreamt of building has come to pass,” but we’re just like - WHERE? we literally didn’t see it! it was never shown to happen! you can’t just say that the most important outcome of your five-season series happened when it never did! it demonstrably NEVER DID! you can’t…..oh my god, you can’t...try to end your show offscreen, lol; i don’t know what else to say!

look - this is something i wrote before i knew how the series ended, when i was considering the possibility of arthur dying:

i wrote that before i even knew what happened. that’s not the result of, you know, retroactive complaining because they killed a character and i didn’t like it. i was doubting the idea that they would even be able to kill arthur, because i legitimately didn’t believe the show had shown us the uniting of albion yet (and they hadn’t, lol).

it just...it truly doesn’t make sense. something got tangled as they approached these last episodes. in 5.10, finna tells merlin, “without you, emrys, arthur cannot build the new world we all long for,” indicating that it hasn’t been built yet. but that scene takes place just a few weeks before the finale - you’re saying “the new world” hadn’t yet been accomplished at that point, but now, a few week later, it has? arthur didn’t DO ANYTHING in that interval! we saw camelot fight off a bunch of invaders (alone) like they’ve done a billion times before. there was nothing to hint that now albion is united.

and if finna was referring to the “new world” meaning a magical world, i mean - arthur didn’t do anything to build that, either. he died.

something happened. some wire got crossed. i don’t know what it was, but it meant that the show ended without actually closing out Main Plotline #1.

b) one day, we will be free: this show also somehow managed to end without addressing the plight of the magical community, which was THE central conflict of the show for all five seasons. more than that, it was the show’s premise - it was how they crafted their entire idea; it was one of two defining features of their pitch to BBC: that they would “wind back the clock” to when the characters were young, and that magic in this universe would be outlawed.

they literally abandoned the show’s premise. the episode directly preceding the finale was entirely about camelot’s wrongdoing and the right of magic-users to stand up and fight for their rights. it is not a crime to fight for the right to be who you are. and then we literally never heard a word about this struggle again. it was dropped like a hot sack of bricks.

IMPOSSIBLE.

and yet

it’s just left, twisting in the wind. we have no idea what happened. the one and only glimpse of camelot that we get at the end of this show has nothing to do with magic; it’s grim and somber people chanting ‘long live the queen’ in the throne room. and then we’re gone from that place, forever, never to return. it’s like they don’t even remember that ‘freedom for magical folk!’ was the driving source of conflict for the entire show. you would never have known that “magical oppression” was ever a feature in this show, if you just watched the end. camelot’s wrongs are never addressed, never referred to, never amended. the fate of the magical community is never hinted at. we don’t have any inkling of what happened to those people. we literally do not even have any indication of whether the magic ban was lifted.

it’s like none of that ever existed. it’s like the show just FORGOT its entire premise.

this truly might be the most unbelievable thing about the finale, for me. i’m still having trouble wrapping my head around it. in a roomful of writers and editors and producers, not a single person pointed out “hey uhhhh...we haven’t actually resolved either of our plots?”

i was exposed to enough vague reactions from fans to expect the finale to be disappointing. i assumed that the show would resolve its major plotlines in ways that i either didn’t approve of or found unsatisfying.

i did NOT expect them not to resolve their major plotlines at all.

i have never seen a tv show literally forget to end. never. never seen that happen before in my life.

c.) i am the last of my kind: the reveal of merlin as a dragonlord ushered in a third important plotline - his responsibility to the dragons, his duty to protect them and help them thrive. and the question was always ‘all right, so as a dragonlord, how is merlin going to ensure the survival of the dragons as a species, since they’ve been almost exterminated - .’ and that was also dropped. like a hot potato. like it never was. we never get clarity on what the heck was going on with aithusa, and then at camlann, aithusa just vanishes. gone. literally never to be seen, mentioned, or wondered about again.

d) i am old, merlin: this is a smaller thing, but in 5.10 the show starts this subplot about kilgharrah being unwell and merlin suddenly confronting the idea that kilgharrah is not, in fact, immortal. and it was actually very poignant and made me emotional despite how kilgharrah kind of drives us insane. they set us up for the idea that we are going to lose him. they set us up to expect that we will eventually see merlin arrive at a place where he doesn’t have that voice in his ear anymore, kind of like when luke goes to cloud city and obi-wan can’t help him.

but then, in the finale, kilgharrah just shows up like he always does, and there’s no mention of anything that came before. he’s fine.

it’s - it’s inconsistent, it’s not appropriate; there’s no emotional throughline. the exchange they have in 5.10 is such a beautiful moment, when a wavering merlin asks “what will i do without you?”

and kilgharrah says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “you will remember me.”

that’s such a powerful thing. for someone like merlin, for someone who has lost so many people who mattered to him - you can feel that line expand to cover miles and miles of ground. it’s about more than just kilgharrah.

but having kilgharrah then show up at the end of the finale to deliver his neat little explanatory summary the same way he always does dilutes that previous moment down to almost non-meaning. there’s no emotional consistency. they emotionally prep us for this figure’s departure, and instead he shows up, the same as always, with no reference to the fact that a few episodes ago we were getting ready to watch him leave us.

it’s not good writing. it just isn’t good writing.

iii. i want you to always earn your ending

i think it’s hard to come to grips with the idea that bbc merlin was specifically a show whose kind of...big premise was being a deliciously torturous slow burn up to some massive and long-awaited reveal, and then it fizzled just before it gave the audience what it had been leading up to for five seasons. it’s really just...wow. i’ve seen shows fizzle before, obviously, but the fact that this one was specifically built on the idea that you were waiting for something momentous (and inevitable!) to happen - which then doesn’t happen? that’s just...hoo boy.

the long-awaited, promised “payoff” doesn’t happen in any way that is convincing or satisfying or remotely plausible. it’s a little walk in the woods, and it ultimately doesn’t matter, because as soon as it’s over, so is the show, and everybody except merlin is long dead.

not with a bang, but with a whimper, indeed.

for a show that had its audience waiting on tenterhooks for five seasons for merlin’s secret to be stripped away, the fact that the show’s biggest “payoff” ended up carrying so little weight and feeling so unconvincing is truly a shame. there was no way for the show to give this concept the weight it deserved by flying through it in thirty minutes. the audience knows that there’s no way this could have been resolved so quickly, so everything that happens between the “reveal” (such as it was) and the end feels...false. it doesn’t seem real. it’s not believable. it feels (again, to use the word that truly sums up the entire spirit of this finale) contrived. rushed and squished together to be neatly tied up in the time they had available.

and that’s poor craftsmanship. stories shouldn’t feel like ‘well, i needed to reach x destination no matter what, so i made this that and the other thing happen to ensure that we got there.’ a reader/viewer shouldn’t be able to sense the presence of the author. they shouldn’t be able to feel the hand of god reaching in and arranging pieces to force a conclusion or extract an emotion that hasn’t been earned.

stories, if they are crafted appropriately, should feel like they have no author at all. like they just are. like everything that happens is the natural next step to whatever came before, as if events could not possibly have unfolded any other way. and i don’t feel like the “reveal” and arthur’s reaction to it met those criteria. all the supposedly super sad and emotional moments they were having at the end made me feel absolutely nothing, because the things arthur says don’t feel real. they haven’t been earned in-story. i felt like i was watching that sequence from a hundred miles away...just like...clinical. removed. like i was taken completely out of the story. like i was in the lighting booth of a theater watching some scripted scene play out below me.

(and this might be the time to mention that this has NOTHING to do with the actors. the entire cast was killing it. they were AMAZING. their performance threatened to wring emotion out of me even despite me being completely unconvinced by the idea of what was happening.)

but that aside - how can you stay immersed in something when you can feel the creator’s hand coming down and forcing a resolution that doesn’t make sense, that hasn’t been earned? it snaps you right out of the suspension of disbelief that all stories require you to maintain in order for you to engage with them. the writers needed arthur to say these things sometime before the end of the show, and so he says them, regardless of whether or not it would ever actually happen like that. but i didn’t believe it, because it wouldn’t have happened like that, and so the emotional impact was zero.

here’s the truth: you can’t use lines like “i want you to always be you” and expect me to get weepy about it when you haven’t earned that kind of resolution. it’s a false tearjerker. the writers are relying on our previous emotional attachment to these characters and our burning desire to see merlin validated in order to slip a contrived resolution past us without actually doing the work to make it plausible. they’re playing on our affections in order to cover up the structural shortcomings of the story they cobbled together.

i don’t like when a story tries to manipulate me like that. i’m not going to play that game.

iv. you are destined to be albion’s greatest king (*thor face* are you, though?)

i think there are probably some people out there for whom arthur’s death would have been a dealbreaker no matter what the rest of the story looked like. i respect that.

i’m in the camp where i could have accepted the ‘legend-compliant’ ending, if only it had been earned. as it is, arthur is never allowed to fully realize himself before he dies. the show keeps saying, and i quote, “one day you will be the greatest king this land has ever known,” but arthur skips off to avalon after having reigned for a whopping total of three years, during which time he is not shown to accomplish the only goal that was prophesied for him (uniting the land of albion) and during which time he also becomes further entrenched in his father’s anti-magic views (along with the hypocrisy of using magic for his own purposes), as opposed to ever seeing the error of his ways. he doesn’t right his father’s wrongs. he doesn’t usher in justice and freedom for all camelot’s people. he doesn’t change the status quo in camelot much at all, to be honest - and then he dies. and they try to tell us “there will never be another like [him].”

how? how can that not fall completely flat? he hasn’t accomplished his goal yet! he hasn’t become what they’ve kept telling us he will become.

so i can understand the ultimate plan of arthur shuffling off this mortal coil and being prophesied to return, and i could even accept that as an appropriate ending, but not when it hasn’t been earned. the way it actually unfolded, watching this moment feels like we skipped a season somewhere. it feels like a sham.

we’re being asked to give arthur credit for something he did not actually achieve, and it makes the whole thing feel like a farce.

v. gratuitousness and inconsistency

i had no emotional reaction when i realized they had actually killed gwaine.

that is insane, because you know how much i love him. but his death was so ridiculous that I actually started laughing in disbelief. and that in and of itself should be a sign that something wasn’t working. when your emotional beats are landing this wrong - falling this flat - something has slid fundamentally sideways with your storytelling.

i laughed when they killed my favorite knight! but what other reaction was i supposed to have? it was laughably silly! the premise itself was already foolish - that gwaine and percival would even come out here and endanger arthur in that way - and then gwaine dies because morgana used a nathair to extract information from him? we’ve seen morgana use the nathair twice before! she tortured elyan with it. she used it on alator. neither of them died. it’s never been indicated that being tortured with this creature will kill you. which isn’t to say that it can’t be the case, but from a writing perspective, if you’re going to use a sudden inconsistency to kill a major character, it’s noticeable! it’s jarring! and it makes us feel, once again, that the writers just grasped at any little thing they could think of to make what they wanted to happen happen.

and then there’s the whole question of why they wanted gwaine to die in the first place. what purpose did it serve? gwaine didn’t have to die in order for morgana to get the information the writers wanted her to have. and you’d assume that if they still killed him after that, that there would be a reason for it, or that it would at least...matter, somehow, but - WE LITERALLY NEVER HEAR ABOUT HIM AGAIN LOL. i wasn’t even sure he was dead at first. that’s how insignificant it felt. i felt like zuko in the ember island players.

that’s it. we never see him or percival again after that scene. there’s this weird moment where percival examines a footprint and the implication is that he’s going to follow morgana or something, but then it never happens. it’s like the showrunners ran out of time and were like ‘ok well, we just won’t be able to get back to that dangling thread.’ they gratuitously axed their most developed knight and then forgot they did it.

that’s why i laughed. it was so unbelievably bad - there was literally nothing else for me to do.

vi. let the bodies hit the floor (but like, anticlimactically)

i don’t feel like i need to examine mordred and morgana’s fates too closely, because i suspect the subject of “they deserved better” has already been done to death, and that’s kind of a different conversation than what i’m dealing with here. i’m not here right now to argue that they should have lived (though of course, yeah, i have my opinions on what would have made a better story), i’m just here to deal with how ineffectively the story we did get was executed.

one thing that amazes me is that when i watched the S5 deleted scenes, i realized that the showrunners did in fact originally have the right ideas about making morgana and mordred’s arcs deeper/more nuanced, but somehow these ideas never made it into the final cut. there are two deleted scenes that change so much about what could have been - one where arthur and merlin are talking about morgana and arthur is expressing regret and confusion about what happened to her, and merlin says it’s not arthur’s fault, that “there were others better placed to help morgana,” indicating his own guilty feelings.

and the other one was after mordred defected to morgana, where he has a whole conversation with her about how he thinks there is still GOOD in arthur!!!! he’s uncertain about what he’s doing! I JUST

i can’t believe

they had the seeds

of this better story

and they consciously decided not to pursue them. it’s not like they didn’t have the idea. it’s not like they just never thought of it. they thought of it, filmed it, and deliberately removed it. unfathomable.

it’s also pretty remarkable that the big baddie they’ve been touting for the last three seasons just pegs out from a stab wound in about 5 seconds as we’re being hustled on to something else. there is no space devoted to morgana’s death scene (such as it was…). it’s a parenthesis. it feels like, ‘oh we gotta get this out of the way quick hurry up let’s move on.’

and the thing is, i am not wholly opposed to the idea of morgana ultimately destroying herself - it’s not necessarily my first choice, but there are ways they could have gone that route and still told a meaningful story - but if they wanted to go that way, her death would have to matter. it would have to be treated like the terrible failure it represents. it would have to be given the weight of tragedy.

but structurally, the way this scene is set up, there is no way for this to happen. the viewers are already hyper-strung out on tension, when she appears, because they’re suddenly starting to get this horrible realization that one of the show’s two central characters might actually be about to die, but nobody wants to stop clinging to hope despite their bad feelings so there’s just this desperate, screamingly loud ticking clock running in the background, and when morgana shows up in the middle of that clenching fear, there’s absolutely no way her death can receive the attention she deserves. the audience doesn’t have room for something like that. they don’t have room to feel anything on top of what they’re already feeling. they’re already about to explode. they’re already maxed out on investment. they can’t focus on her; they want her to disappear because something more urgent is going on.

and so the show hustles us past her, and her death is just this blip. it barely registers. if you sneezed, you would miss it.

(and then mordred, for his part, doesn’t even have the benefit of a structural problem to explain the anticlimax of his death. he just gets taken out like the trash. for a character that they just spent all this time developing and making sympathetic - boy.)

i think...the thing, ultimately, is this: if this show truly felt that what they had to do was take their previously hopeful premise and stun their audience with the death of the hero, then they should have understood that trying to stack other things on top of that is too much. trying to squash morgana��s death right up against arthur’s is foolish. it’s ridiculous to expect your audience to be able to process morgana’s death and arthur’s in-progress dying at the same time. these two things happen within two minutes of each other. the audience has been following these characters for five years. it’s unreasonable to expect your audience to hold so much emotion at once.

vii. you’ll just have to trust me

the last thing i want to say is a more general thing.

the rest of this analysis focused on the ways in which the finale is poorly-crafted, rather than on my personal feelings about who they did dirty. it’s not really about my own personal thoughts re: the merits of killing gwaine and morgana and mordred and arthur or stranding merlin across the centuries; it’s about if these things (and all the other things in these episodes) were done effectively, and the answer, sadly, is no. the show could have killed all these people and still written something i would have respected (even though it would have been devastating), but that’s not what happened.

but here, at the end, i think i can make room for a little sentiment.

so what i want to reflect on here is this: ultimately, i don’t end up rejecting stories just because they do things i don’t like. the pre-finale episodes were filled with things i didn’t like. i hated how merlin turned mordred and kara in instead of letting them run. i hated how he let the execution proceed. i hated how arthur refused to see the injustice of his own actions. i hated how merlin was getting so wrapped up in ‘make sure arthur doesn’t die’ that everything else was fading away, that he was doing things he could never have done in good conscience before. but i was still deeply wrapped up in these stories, because i believed they were plausible and true. i accepted them. it made sense to me, that these things would be happening, dark and unpleasant as they were.

i don’t start rejecting stories just because they go places i don’t want them to go. i start rejecting stories when i feel they’ve betrayed my trust.

writers and readers/viewers can only ever move together if they trust each other. i allow stories to take me places i don’t want to go because i trust the authors to keep me safe while we travel. i know that they may take me somewhere i don’t want to be, but i trust that they will never take me somewhere i don’t need to be. i trust that they are taking me somewhere intentionally, with the story’s integrity in mind. a creator i trust can take their story anywhere, because i know they will take care. a creator i trust can end their story tragically, because they remember that i am experiencing it alongside them. they don’t surprise-punt me off the edge of the cliff so i can crash, alone, into the painful conclusion. they carry me the whole way, and by the time we get to the end of the line, we can both look back and see that the road that led us here was straight and true. i don’t fault them for taking me here. it was the right place to go.

the end of merlin didn’t feel like that to me. putting aside the fact that it was all so contrived that it didn’t even feel real (illustrated clearly enough in the ten pages above) - the truth is that even if it had displayed the highest quality writing in the world, the way this show ended felt like the audience had been abandoned. the bond of trust between the creator and the consumer was severed. the show forgot to take care.

i’m a ‘galaxy far far away’ girl first and foremost, so i’ll borrow an excerpt from the world according to star wars in order to make my point:

kasdan: i think you should kill luke and have leia take over.

lucas: you don’t want to kill luke.

kasdan: okay, then kill yoda.

lucas: i don’t want to kill yoda. you don’t have to kill people. you’re a product of the 1980’s. you don’t go around killing people. it’s not nice.

kasdan: no, i’m not. i’m trying to give the story some kind of edge to it…

lucas: by killing somebody, i think you alienate the audience. (x)

i think merlin forgot this.

i’m not saying that merlin shouldn’t have killed anybody at the end of their show. i’m not even saying that they shouldn’t have killed arthur. i’m saying that they forgot to take care.

merlin bbc betrayed their audience. you cannot take a show whose underlying theme has consistently been the promise of better things and then turn around and end it like that without taking special care of the people who are watching. you cannot just take an audience who has spent five years listening to someone bright and full of unflinching hope say - without any indication that anyone should doubt the certainty of this statement - “one day things will be better” and expect them to walk into this kind of ending safely.

by killing someone, i think you alienate the audience. and this doesn’t mean that nobody can ever die. but it does mean that if you’re going to kill someone, you have to understand that there is going to be an automatic pain reaction from your viewers/readers/etc, and if you want to maintain their trust, you have to take so much care. you have to be sure that you know exactly what you’re doing. you have to be sure that it’s the right thing. the only thing. you have to make sure that it doesn’t betray the fundamental promises you’ve made whilst crafting the rest of your story.

the end of merlin is truly stunning in a) its utter reversal/unfulfillment of every major promise that comprised its premise and b) the casualness with which it throws its characters away in the last episode. it’s not just “killing someone.” it’s a slaughter. we have to watch almost half the cast die onscreen, and then at the very end literally everybody is dead except merlin himself.

and this is merlin! not game of thrones! merlin is a “family show;” that’s what the writers/directors/producers keep calling it when you listen to the episode commentaries and they talk about how they can’t show certain things or make it too bloody. they wanted to follow in the tradition of “big, kind of epic family-entertaining shows, that—across generations—work on lots of different levels.” but i cannot imagine a young person who has watched this show for five years coming into the finale to see mordred and gwaine and morgana and arthur violently executed, and to see gwen in mourning, and merlin anguished and then more alone than he ever was even when he was hiding his secret, and then, whoop, there’s the credits, that’s all folks. aren’t you glad you got on this ride?

the show ends without fulfilling any of the promises it made repeatedly for years. the liberation of magic, the uniting of albion, and, for merlin, especially, the long-predicted day when he would be known and recognized for who he was - all forgotten. all abandoned. the finale finishes without giving the audience any of the things that they have spent five years being told to expect. the show rewards five years of emotional investment with death and desolation. it breaks all of its promises. it doesn’t take care.

i was lucky enough to have been so disconnected by how shockingly bad these episodes were that i mostly sat there shock-laughing at them in disbelief, the first time i watched. but going through them again to put this write-up together was just like - that’s when a deep sadness kicked in, for me. not at the ending itself, exactly, because, as i’ve said before, it was so poorly put-together that i can’t even see it as real. but just - at the idea that i still had to see it, period. that i had to witness this thing that i loved so much descend into this misery, for all that i didn’t recognize it as something plausible or true. that i still had to watch merlin drag arthur all over creation, still trying, still scrabbling for that sliver of hope, only to have arthur bite the dust like ten feet from their destination. that all merlin ever wanted in his life was to be accepted and loved for who he is, and that he put all of this on hold so he could (supposedly) bring about a world where it would be possible, and then he never gets it. that a life of hiding himself and believing that everybody around him hated who he was inside - that was as good as it was ever going to get, for him.

the writers just - piled it on. ‘you can watch mordred die, even though we just went to all this effort to make you root for him! and now you can watch gwaine die (why????? we don’t know!!! it doesn’t change the story, but why don’t you watch it happen anyway!). and now you can watch morgana die! but don’t look too long, because arthur is dying! and now you can see camelot cold and in mourning - but only for one second, because now you can see merlin, who we never showed meeting any of his friends ever again, wandering around as a solitary old man thousands of years after everybody else is dead and the universe we spent the last five seasons living in no longer exists!!!!!!’

unbelievable.

it doesn’t upset me in the sense of “it’s so terrible that the story ended that way” because i know it didn’t, really. it was contrived and false enough that i laughed through most of the episode. i know it isn’t the way things would have gone, and i won’t have any trouble forgetting it; whereas if it had been well-done, i wouldn’t have been able to dismiss it so easily. but i still had to watch it, regardless. you’re forced to watch it, because you care, and the creators know you care enough not to look away, and they use that trust to keep you glued there while they gut-punch you over and over and over again and then peace out without concluding any of their plotlines, saying, “isn’t it clever??? we really fooled you, didn’t we? technically, we fulfilled the prophecies - nobody ever said any of the characters would get to enjoy the new world they would build! i bet you’re so surprised!”

it leaves you stunned.

it’s so...mean.

it’s so careless.

i don’t have any desire to subject myself to that a second time. after i’m done with this post, i know i’m never going to watch those episodes again. they weren’t good, first of all; and if you need more clarification on that, please see the first ten pages of this document. but more importantly, i don’t feel the need to subject myself once again to the callous disregard for the trust i gave this show’s creators.

if i’m supposed to trust a creator to carry me over rough terrain, i’m trusting them to carry me all the way to the end. they can’t violently dump me to the ground two feet before the finish line, run me over with an ATV, and then expect me to willingly climb back into their arms.

viii: if you want something done right

in conclusion, i guess the one nice thing about this is that we can crawl the last two feet ourselves.

for me, sadly, i think canon!merlin is always going to end at 5.11. the last two episodes don’t feel believable to me. i couldn’t watch them and be convinced that i was watching something plausible; i felt like i was watching two hours of scripted theater. which is, of course, what we’re always doing - but if the story had been crafted appropriately, we shouldn’t have realized it. we shouldn’t have been able to feel the writer’s hand reaching in and making improbable things happen. we shouldn’t have been laughing in disbelief as supposedly “sad” things were happening in front of us, and we definitely shouldn’t have been almost falling off the couch because the last scene was so jarring we thought it was an advertisement. (the TRUCK, people. blaring across the screen and bulldozering through medieval fantasy-adventure show merlin bbc. nothing on earth or in high heaven could have prepared me for that moment.)

but the one good thing about a piece of media that ended so unsatisfactorily is that it lights a fire under people’s butts to go ahead and sort of...row the boat themselves. i was afraid, before i watched this, that seeing it would make me never want to go back to merlin again. i put off finishing season 5 for an entire year because i was in the middle of writing a fic and i thought that if the end of the show upset me, i would never want to write another word. but now that i’m finished, i’m relieved to be able to say that the finale, while it will always be a bitterly disappointing sore spot, was also SO laughably bad that i don’t feel the slightest compunction about just...letting it lie unrecognized. if it were well-crafted and i was just ignoring it because it made me sad, i’d feel guilty for being petty. but it was Just Actually That Bad, so my conscience is clear.

and so is the path to more fun things, i hope, because that is the point of fandom, in the end, to have fun with something you love in the company of other people who love it the same way.

i hope i haven’t written the last merlin thing i’ll ever write. i hope there’s more inside me that i want to say. i hope i haven’t come in too late to make connections. i hope i’ll enjoy rewatching (most of) this show someday. i couldn’t imagine that any of these things would be true, when i knew the end was going to be a let-down, but now that i’ve finished, i feel like there’s infinite room to play, and that, at least, makes me smile.

i’ve said before that this was a hell of a ride. it ended in a trainwreck, sure, but i’m not sorry i got on.

#the once and future slowburn #merlin S5 #meta

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bepp-ers · 5 years ago

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A tale of red and blue | S. Todoroki X Reader X K. Bakugo [Pt 3]

Fantasy AU! Part three:

With a loud creak, it swung open and revealed... A winding staircase. “Wow, this looks pretty old. Let’s go--!” You were about to make your first step, but Todoroki grabbed your arm and pulled you back before you could.

“What?” You asked with annoyance. “Hold on. We don’t know what’s down there, or if we should even be going down those stairs. Is this such a good idea?”

You rolled your eyes, and shook yourself out of your grip. “Well if you don’t want to go, then give me the candelabra. I’m going at least.” He shook his head, and kept a firm grip on the light source.

“I’m coming with you then. It’s not a good idea for someone such as yourself to go alone.” “Hey, what’s that supposed to-”

You were cut off by thunderous footsteps hurrying towards the two of you, and you stepped closer to Todoroki out of nerves.

“What the hell are you two doing down here?! Well?!” You smiled in relief as it turned out just to be Bakugo. “Exploring. Duh. It’s boring doing nothing all day,” You stated.

He scowled at the two of you. “Exploring? Stupid princess, and you two-toned freak, why didn’t you stop her?” Todoroki shrugged. “I was bored too. Besides, she needs someone with her so she doesn’t get hurt, right [Name]?”

You were a little taken aback by how quickly he took your side here, but thought nothing of it. “I mean yeah. Say Bakugo, where do these stairs lead?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why the hell do you wanna know? You said you were exploring, so figure out for yourself.” “Alright then, wanna join us?”

The words were so simple yet Bakugo looked at you like you’d just asked him to hand over his entire castle. “The fuck? No I- Why would I want to join you exploring my own castle?!”

“So we don’t get lost obviously. Is that a yes, or?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and shook his head, still scowling. “Maybe if it were just you, but I’m not playing hosts or whatever fucking ideas you have!”

You batted you eyes at him, doing your best impression of an abandoned puppy. “Please? It’ll be more fun with you. And you can tell me more about your dragons!”

He pondered for a moment- it would be nice to show off to that cold stuck-up prince in front of you... “Ugh, fine. You two idiots would get lost anyway.” Todoroki gave you a strange look.

“You really want him with us? I wouldn’t have agreed if I’d have known he would join us.” He gave the smallest of eye rolls, but it didn’t go unnoticed by the ash-blond.

“Shut up, [Name] asked me to join you two so I did! If anything you should be glad I agreed. Don’t think we’re getting all pally though, I only agreed ‘cos of Pocchari over here.”

You gave him a small shove. “Quit calling me names! Your a prince for god’s sake, maybe act like it. Let’s go already.”

Bakugo grumbled something under his breath, but guided by the light of the candelabra the three of you descended down the steps.

“Wow, these sure are long stairs.” “Quit complaining!” Todoroki was mostly silent as you climbed down. He seemed to be in thought, you didn’t know what about though.

The two-toned boy was actually thinking about you, and why he actually agreed to your silly idea of exploring. Maybe it was because he wanted to create a bad image of his father, or maybe it was because he found you so interesting.

When you’d told him about the dragons back in the library, he’d thought you were dotty. But then you gave him the scale and he had no choice but to believe you.

Also, you’d somehow kind of befriended Bakugo, the angry prince. That was impressive in itself and now he found himself wanting to get to know you better.

That wasn’t really happening though, as Bakugo was just bickering with you as you walked down the stairs. He wished you hadn’t invited him to join, but knowing him he would have done anyway.

“Oh look, I think I can see the end!” “Yes, that’s the floor.” You stepped closer and jumped down the last few steps, and Bakugo marched towards the identical wrought-iron door.

“There’s nothing too interesting down here, but be glad you didn’t accidentally pick the dungeons.” He stated and swung the door open with ease. He was pretty muscly after all, as evident by the lack of shirt in the royal attire he wore.

“Ooh, this is nice.” You ogled, and Bakugo smirked. “Of course it is, it’s a monument after all.”

In front of you was a patio-style garden, with large dragon sculptures on stone plinths. You raced over to each one in turn, hesitant to run your hands over the detailed stone scales.

“Hey, Bakugo, this one looks like Kiri!” You stood in front of a large grey dragon, posed eternally in what looked like a smile - if dragons could smile, of course.

“That’s ‘cos it is you moron. Each member of the royal family conquers their own beast. Mine just happens to be able to turn into a dude.” He walked over and leant on the bottom of the plinth, Todoroki shortly joining you two.

“That’s fascinating, is this the same dragon that you and [Name] rode on?” “Yep, he’s the strongest yet. You extra countries would be mad if you were to ever wage war on an army of dragons.”

You ignored the semi-rude remark and took a seat on the edge of a nearby stone fountain. “Wow. You really aren’t all talk like I first thought.” “Eh? The hell does that mean?!”

Todoroki sat beside you, and Bakugo instantly sat on the other side. “It means you actually do have some feats to your nonstop bragging. You should probably tone down on that, it’s kinda annoying.”

“Shut it you icy-hot bastard!” You giggled at the nickname, just revelling in the atmosphere. You didn’t have too many friends back at home, and now it seemed you had just gained two more.

Sure, one of them never shut up about how great he was and had the worst anger issues she’d ever seen, and the other didn’t really seem too friendly or sociable, but they were friend-material to you.

“So, had a nice time exploring my castle?” You glanced over at the sarcastic comment and beamed. “Yeah, it’s pretty fun! We should do it again tomorrow, or you’ll have to find something else for us to do.”

“Count me out.” Todoroki said much to your dismay. “Huh?” “I don’t want any part if Bakugo’s coming with us. Sorry, but I don’t think we get along.” You frowned, and shuffled a little closer to him.

“Aw, that’s no fun. Are you really gonna be that boring? This wasn’t so bad, right?” He looked into your eyes full of hope, and he sighed. ‘How the hell do I say no to that...’

“Fine. I guess there’s nothing else to do here anyway.” “Tch, quit dissing my castle. It’s way better than anything you’ll have.” You simply grinned, glad that they were at least being civil.

“I’m out. You two can stay here I guess. Tomorrow you need to be up early, I’ll get horses for us.” Bakugo scowled, but you could see beneath the narrowed eyes that he was kind of looking forward to it.

You got the impression he didn’t have too many friends, so it’d be good for him. “Can’t wait. See you tomorrow.” With a swish of his crimson cloak, he left, leaving just you and Todoroki.

“Say, [Name].” “Hm?” “Why are you trying so hard to be friends with him? It’s not like we were told to get closer, just to be civil.” You looked over at the cold prince, and simply shrugged.

“Bakugo seems angry, sure, but he’s fun to be around. I may have only met him yesterday, but he’s interesting. Plus there’s Kirishima, if I wasn’t close to Bakugo then I doubt I’d be able to see him again.”

“That’s the dragon?” “Yeah, Kiri’s great. Why don’t you like him so much?” He looked over to the different statues, pondering for a moment. “He’s arrogant. And angry. He reminds me of my father, who I don’t have the best relationship with.”

He paused. “And... I met you yesterday, so I can’t say we’re that close, but I don’t like how rude he is to you. It’s not very civil, and you don’t exactly strike me as deserving of such rude titles.”

“Aw wow, that’s so sweet of you to say.” You teased, watching him go ever so slightly pink with indignance. “That’s not-” “I know, I know. We should head back right? I’ll race you up the stairs.”

You challenged, and stood up. “[Name], you think I’m childish enough for that?” He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone’s afraid of loosing to a princess. Well, I guess I’ll just call myself the winner, and-”

He stood up, a slight smile dancing on his lips. “Fine, but when you loose you’ll get no consoling from me.” “You’re on, peppermint.”

Bakugo watched from the shadows as the two of you raced up the stairs, Todoroki naturally faster than you. He cursed as you tripped up the last step, fumbling to the stone floor.

“Yikes, I guess you win and I eat the ground.” You laughed, and Bakugo gritted his teeth as Todoroki helped you up carefully. “We’ll call it a draw. Come on, can you walk? That was quite the trip.”

“I’m good, I just hurt my pride a bit.” Bakugo was very close to jumping out and helping you himself for whatever reason, but refrained as the two of you walked away.

He didn’t fail to notice how much happier Todoroki seemed now that he was gone, and smirked to himself. ‘I’ll show him what a prince is tomorrow, he’ll see.’

[To be continued... ☆]

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #bakugo x reader #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #bnha fantasy au #your-lover-academia #part three

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aver-no · 4 years ago

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Real to Me (A Sanders Sides Princess and the Frog AU) Prologue

First | Next

Summary: Virgil Bast grew up in a poor neighborhood in New Orleans, learning from his family’s work ethic and never once slowing down from the day he could get a job of his own. He’s always been kept company by his best friend, Patton La Bouff, son of the richest man in New Orleans.

Prince Roman of Maldonia has always been surrounded by praise, money, and almost anything he could ever want. Prince Remus, on the other hand, has never really been what you might call the pride of Maldonia.

And the Shadow Man has only ever wanted to punish those who’ve done wrong, helped along by his Friend on the Other Side.

Relationships: Platonic moxiety, eventual prinxiety

Characters: Virgil, Patton (eventual Roman, Remus, Janus, Logan, C!Thomas)

Warnings: None for this chapter! (There will be eventual unsympathetic Janus and Remus, but they get redeemed. There will also eventually be racial prejudice, but no slurs or physical violence.)

Word count: 1644

A/N: Hi, I’d like to preface this fic by saying that I’m not black. Although I am non-white, I also don’t have the same experiences as black people do and therefore cannot do their stories justice the way that they can.

I really debated on how best to write this au, because I want to give the best representation that I possibly can, and I even considered just scrapping it. However, I was really excited about it, and in the end I wanted to provide what representation I can, because as a racial minority myself, I know that some representation (so long as it’s accurate) is better than none at all.

There are no internal monologues about being black in this story, because I don’t know how that would go. I also realize that not all black people share the same exact thoughts/opinions and since I can’t use my own personal experience with racism for this, I figured it best to leave out the internal aspects of it altogether, so that I don’t misrepresent the black community. There is, however, some racism aimed at some of the characters by others. This is something I felt like I could accurately write about, having witnessed and experienced racism myself. The racism is there, presented, and condemned, but I don’t offer much more than that. Discrimination on the basis of race and/or color is something that too many people have faced, and I felt that it was too important to leave out of the story altogether (especially considering it’s part of why Tiana struggled to get her restaurant in the movie itself).

If you made it this far, thanks for reading!! This is something I’ve worked hard on, and I really hope you enjoy it! This first chapter is going to be mostly characterization and setting up the rest of the story, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Without further ado, I give you Real to Me!

“Just at that moment, the ugly little frog looked up with his sad, round eyes and pleaded, ‘Oh, please, dear princess, only a kiss from you can break this terrible spell that was inflicted on me by a wicked witch!’”

Virgil felt Patton lean over to him to loudly whisper, “Here comes my favorite part!” Virgil mentally prepared himself for what he knew was coming next.

“And the beautiful princess was so moved by his desperate plea that she stooped down,” Patton was leaning in now, “picked up the slippery creature,” Virgil was leaning away, “and kissed that little frog!”

Pat gave a squeal of delight and grabbed the cat that was walking by, squeezing it so tightly its eyes seemed to pop out. All while Virgil was dramatically sticking his tongue out as far as he could.

That was one thing about his friend that Virgil would never understand. How could Patton possibly think that the story was anything but unrealistic and unsanitary? The princess could’ve contracted some disease! Or maybe the frog was lying and he wasn’t even a prince?! Who came up with those stories?? He needed to have a talk with them.

“...and they lived happily ever after!”

He heard Patton sigh with delight before looking at Virgil’s mama with pleading eyes. “Will you read it again Mrs. Bast?”

“Sorry, honey, we’d better be heading home,” she said with a kind smile. “Say goodbye Virgil.”

“There is no way I’d ever ever EVER kiss a frog. Yuck,” Virgil ranted as he gathered his things from around the room.

“Even if he turned into a prince after?” Patton asked.

Virgil nodded hard. “Especially if he turned into a prince. Princes are just rich boys who do nothing all day but ride on their horses and dance with pretty ladies. I’d have to do all his work for him!”

“Nuh-uh!! Princes are brave, and polite, and after you’re married, they only dance with you!” Pat defended.

“You don’t kn-!”

“Evening Eudora!” Patton’s daddy called as he turned into the room.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Pat jumped up and down excitedly. “Look at my new dress!!” He twirled around to show off the fluffy, sky blue gown Eudora had sewn for him.

“Why, I’d expect nothing less from the finest seamstress in New Orleans!”

“Well thanks, Mr. La Bouff,” Eudora Bast replied. “Sorry to leave so soon after seeing ya, but we’d best be heading out now.”

Virgil vaguely heard Mr. La Bouff give his well-wishes to his mama as Pat was walking over to say, “What if the prince wasn’t lazy and boring? Would you marry him then?”

“I’d only marry him if he wasn’t just some prince in a book,” Virgil stated matter-of-factly. “He has to be a real person that I can talk to.”

“Well duh, silly! You can’t marry a book!” the blond boy laughed.

“Virgil! It’s time to go home baby, your daddy should be home by now,” Eudora called to him.

He ran over to where his mama was standing in the wide, elegant doorway and shouted, “Bye Patton!”

“Bye Virge!!”

Virgil always liked the ride home. He could watch the other people on the tram, and wonder what they’re like, and stare out the window at the fuzzy streetlights in the distance. Plus he got to lean his head on his mama’s shoulder and feel the tram rock side to side. It made him feel safe.

When they got near their neighborhood, Eudora whispered, “Go ahead and pull the cord.”

Virgil waved goodbye to the driver as he hopped off the tram and onto the sidewalk. He looked up at his mama as they walked down the street. “Why does Pat wanna marry a prince so bad? He’s already a prince, pretty much.”

“I don’t know sweetheart.” The lights made his mama’s face look so warm. “Maybe he wants to make it official. You could ask him sometime.”

“No,” Virgil said thoughtfully, “I think I’ll just help him find his prince. Oh! That can be his birthday present this year!!”

Eudora laughed lightly and smiled down at him. “I think that’s a great idea, hon.”

Voices rang out from houses along the streets, and Virgil could see families laughing together through some of the glowing windows. The two of them stepped up to the old, brown house and the door that creaks when you open it. As soon as he stepped inside, Virgil smelled the most amazing gumbo in the world, the kind only his daddy could make. He could almost taste it in the air. That, in combination with the yellow light coming from the kitchen and his daddy’s heavy, brown coat draped over the living room chair made Virgil feel like there was a fire in his chest, the kind that you have at Christmas.

“Daddy! We’re home!!”

Mr. Bast looked over his shoulder at the two coming inside, and smiled big. “Hey, Virge! I’m almost done chopping veggies, you wanna help me finish?”

“Yeah!! Can I taste it?” the boy asked as he dragged a chair over to the old stove.

“I’d be hurt if you didn’t,” James joked, helping him up. “How ‘bout you put these peppers in?”

After they’d let the ingredients stew in the pot for a while, Virgil put the wooden spoon to his mouth and his daddy asked, “How’s it taste?”

“Hmm…” Virgil tapped his chin a bit before quickly sliding to the floor, running over to the cupboard, and grabbing a bottle of tabasco. He dashed back over to the pot and shook in some of the sauce. “There! Try it!” The curly-haired boy handed the spoon over to his dad. He laughed as his daddy made a big show of tasting it.

“Mmm, now that has to be the best gumbo I ever tasted!” James grabbed Virgil under the arms and swung him to the ground. “Why don’t you go with your mama to call the neighborhood over? I’ll grab the pot.”

Virgil slid out of his daddy’s arms and nodded before running to the door. He flung it open and shouted as loud as he could, “Hey, everybody! I made gumbo!!” His mama reached where he was standing on the porch and stood behind him proudly, while the neighbors greeted him with “Woo! That smells good!” and he replied with “I made it almost all by myself! My daddy helped a little though.” Mr. Bast spooned out some gumbo into everyone’s bowls, and one by one they picked up their spoons.

It was quiet for a little, the kind that happens when your family’s sat around the table and it’s been a long day, but now you get to eat something and it barely even matters what it is because you’re all eating it in the same place at the same time. Then, though, people start saying things like “Mm-mm-mmm!!” and “this is fantastic Virgil, you must’ve gotten your daddy’s talent.” He could barely stop smiling long enough to chew. (His mama didn’t say anything about chewing with his mouth closed.) (This time.)

That night, when Virgil snuggled under his covers, he was smiling. He felt his mama sitting down on the bed by his feet. James was standing right next to her.

“You know the thing about good food?” Virgil looked up at his daddy. “It brings folks together from all walks of life. It warms them right up and it puts little smiles on their faces.” He tapped Virgil’s cheeks when he said it. James pulled a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and showed it to Virgil, a drawing of a beautiful golden room with fancy tables and soaring ceilings. There were lots of people in the picture, musicians and waiters and diners with nice clothes and big feathers. “When I open up my restaurant, I tell you, people are going to line up for miles around just to get a taste of my food.”

Virgil sat up at that. “Our food.”

“That’s right, baby. Our food,” his daddy laughed and handed him the picture. The boy held it gently in his hands, like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Suddenly, Virgil got up and said, “Oh, look!” He stared out the window.

“What is it, hon?” Eudora craned her head to see what he was looking at.

“Patton’s fairy tale book said if you wish on a star, it’s sure to come true!”

James smiled at him and said gently, “Well, you wish on that star. You dream with all your heart. But remember, Virge, that star can only take you part of the way.” Virgil looked away from the star and back at his daddy. “You’ve got to help it along with some hard work of your own, and then, yeah, you can do anything you set your mind to. Just promise me one thing.” Virgil held his eyes. “That you’ll never, ever lose sight of what’s really important. Okay?” He nodded hard, twice, just to be sure his daddy knew he was serious.

His mama reached over to rub the tight black curls on his head. “See you in the morning, baby.”

“Get some sleep,” James told him.

“G’night,” Virgil whispered as he snuggled deeper into bed.

When the door closed, he hopped up again and went to the window. He could still find the star he had been looking at earlier — it was the brightest, and almost in the very middle of the sky. Almost like it was standing on a stage, waiting to be seen. Virgil closed his eyes and held the drawing to his chest. “I wish, I wish, I wish…”

Rrrrrribbit.

Virgil slowly turned to see the frog on the windowsill.

If he screamed, it was nobody’s business. (His mama and daddy were lucky enough to enjoy his company that night.)

A/N: Ok so I realize that it’s a lot of just quoting the movie, but I liked the way they set it up so I figured why fix it if it’s not broken right? But from here on, the characters deviate more from those of the movie, so the dialogue will be a whole lot more of my own :) it’ll be a lot more interesting next chapter, I promise. (And Virgil will be grown next time.)

Taglist: @prinxiety-shipper101 @meowthefluffy

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tayerroos · 4 years ago

Text

Patchwork Tales: Book 1

A “9" roleplay compendium. Read on AO3 Chapter: 9 [First] [Back] [You Are Here] [Next] Warnings for this chapter: Panic Attack, Violence

#Patchwork Tales #Book 1 #Chapter 9 #Shane Acker's 9 #tw: panic attack #tw: violence #Fanfiction #9 RP

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mynachopaper · 4 years ago

Note

Heyo...I’d like you to answer all of the weird questions that say a lot please...😇🖤

That’s very naughty of you. I expect payment when I’m done...

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

Wine glasses. I love their shape

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

Chocolate

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

Bubble gum, I like the oral fixation

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

Wierd, creepy, creative. “He needs to find an outlet or have a beating”- My arabic teacher

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

Glass bottles

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

Tomboy

7. earbuds or headphones?

Headphones

8. movies or tv shows?

Both

9. favorite smell in the summer?

river in the cedar forest

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

Fencing

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

Nothing (sometimes fruit if I need to)

12. name of your favorite playlist?

SHmood

13. lanyard or key ring?

key ring

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

Turkish delights

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

Simon versus the Homosapien agenda

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

Legs to my chest on a chair

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

My trainers

18. ideal weather?

Thunder and rain

19. sleeping position?

Curled up on my side

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

Notebook but laptops are great for convenience

21. obsession from childhood?

Horror stories and or occult (Yes I cringe too)

22. role model?

Don’t have one

23. strange habits?

I like to practice voices and movements (mostly for DnD) anywhere. Shopping, cooking, with the cat. normally I’m on my own but I’ve been caught a few times.

24. favorite crystal?

Obsidian

25. first song you remember hearing?

Wide, wide as the ocean- My dad sang it to me as a kid

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Swimming

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

Bonfire jumping (used to do it with the scout kids)

28. five songs to describe you?

Fall into me- Alev Lenz

Rush- I am waiting for you last summer

Smile- Nat King Cole

Limb to limb- Fatal

Kiss breakdown- Micheal Brook (Perks of being a wallflower soundtrack)

29. best way to bond with you?

Discuss your passions and your fears. Other than that, play silly games with me.

30. places that you find sacred?

Anywhere that is deemed so.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

My pajamas (honestly no idea)

32. top five favorite vines?

Don’t have favourites.

33. most used phrase in your phone?

I love you to the moon and back.

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

I have adblock so I don’t hear enough for them to get stuck. Maybe the old spice commercial.

35. average time you fall asleep?

12-1am

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

The orly owl

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

Duffel bag

38. lemonade or tea?

lemonade

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

Lemon meringue pie (obviously)

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

Nothing too weird. We did have a slew of dead birds that were killed and placed in weird positions. They were claimed to be omens.

The culprit was never caught. But I did have an old journal where I kept notes on them. I lost it in the move though..

41. last person you texted?

My online friend in the uk

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

Jacket pockets

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

Hoodie, I need the soft

44. favorite scent for soap?

sandalwood

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Fantasy, DnD for life

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

Shirt and underwear

47. favorite type of cheese?

Brie

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

Orange

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

Already answered

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

When my friend and I got stuck in traffic so we listened to the John Mulaney story about the salt and pepper diner. Afterward we actually made the playlist and listened to it. We died, the song got to us and we lost our minds.

51. current stresses?

My Father being ok back home. Me not finishing uni. Breaking my promise to my friends back home of making something of myself.

52. favorite font?

Bree Serif

53. what is the current state of your hands?

Their ok, quite dexterous. My nails have grown out too

54. what did you learn from your first job?

People take production for granted. The public opinion of a show means little. The entertainment industry is weaker than everyone treats it.

55. favorite fairy tale?

The Bloody Chamber

Book by Angela Carter

56. favorite tradition?

Our family does breakfast in bed for the birthday person

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Self harm, the invasion of my country, getting out of my old life.

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

I improvise well, I remain calm in an emergency, and am often the first to act. I have good emotional skills. I will always find a way, though it often comes at great cost.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

After someone tells me I can’t do something “HAVE YOU MET ME?!”

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

Probably Shonen. Love me some JoJoBA

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

Yeah, I stayed. I stayed, because every time you threw a brick at my head, or said I smelled, it *hurt*; but it could never hurt more than every day of my life just being *me*! I *stayed* because I thought, if anyone can change me, can make me... *not* me, it was you! - Kung Fu Panda

62. seven characters you relate to?

Tarzan-Stich-Quisimodo-Ginger (From Chicken run)- Po (Kung fu Panda)- Mulan (Yes really)- Charlie (Perks of being a wallflower)

63. five songs that would play in your club?

Shut up and dance with me- Walk the moon

Suzy- Caravan Palace

Rocket Fuel feat. De La Soul - DJ Shadow

Come with me now - KONGOS

Dance with me tonight - Olly Murs

64. favorite website from your childhood?

Miniclip

65. any permanent scars?

Some on my arms and a large one on my forearm

66. favorite flower(s)?

I’m a cliche, I love roses

67. good luck charms?

My Celtic ring and my pride pin

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

It was chocolate shrimp in Sanfrancisco. Fad food with an abhorrent mixture.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

Spiders don’t kill every prey that falls into their web. Sometimes they just wrap them up and let them squirm helpessly.

70. left or right handed?

Right, unless eating

71. least favorite pattern?

Uh... not sure

72. worst subject?

Maths

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

Fries and Icecream

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

I was 5

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

Baked potatoes, especially with Sour cream and garlic

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

A succulent?

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

Sushi from grocery

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

School Id (not by much though)

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

Jewel tones

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

Fireflies

82. pc or console?

83. writing or drawing?

Writing, though I wish I could draw

84. podcasts or talk radio?

Podcasts

84. barbie or polly pocket?

Neither

85. fairy tales or mythology?

Mythology

86. cookies or cupcakes?

87. your greatest fear?

That I had no impact on anything

88. your greatest wish?

To gain the power to change the world

89. who would you put before everyone else?

The one I love. A partner (If we had a child then it falls to them)

90. luckiest mistake?

When I had an accident at work over my selfharm wounds. Some metal staging scraped against my arm.

91. boxes or bags?

Bags

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

Fairylights

93. nicknames?

Teddy, Monster, Quis

94. favorite season?

Winter

95. favorite app on your phone?

Reddit is fun

96. desktop background?

My current Pfp

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

2 My parents

98. favorite historical era?

Don’t really have a favourite

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michiigii-writes · 5 years ago

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Of Shadows and Tyr (1.5/??)

A continuation of our DnD campaign’s first session right here. Because there is a limit to text on text posts. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In the beginning: There was a city (2/2)

We spent about a week living in the Church of Tyr. Elyssia provided us with a constant stream of free food, and it was a safe, dry place to stay. Craven and Valzan were also always around, but I spent the most of my time with the Tiefling girl.

She never spoke. I was pretty sure she could understand common, from the way that she listened to the rest of us speak, but the most she ever said was during that first fight with the slavers. I wondered if she knew how to write or draw, but she tended to keep herself otherwise occupied, so I never got much of a chance to ask.

She had scars all over her arm and neck, like she had been shackled for a long time and the bonds had chafed. I tried touching her to cure her wounds, the first evening at the church. She looked so small and guarded, and had clearly had a rough life; I was worried that there was some kind of wound that she was keeping to herself.

I was promptly bitten for my efforts.

I had hoped that clearly being an ally would have warmed me up to her even a little, but she definitely did not like to be touched ever. I drew back with a grimace.

“I’m only trying to help you,” I grumbled, keeping my low but feeling annoyance bubble into my tone.

For a reply, she bared her teeth at me in warning. I frowned, then recalled a different spell that might work.

[May you find sweet grass and gentle water,] I murmured, sending healing words her way.

The spell wasn’t as strong as if I had touched her, but I saw her sit up a bit straighter in shock as she felt the healing take effect. I couldn’t see or feel if what I had done was enough, but seeing her surprised yet calm was enough to satisfy my efforts. At the very least, she was well, and I had to be content with that.

For the rest of the week, she remained in my sights, not necessarily beside me, but always nearby. I’m not sure who thought of her name first. It might of been me, joking referring to her as “my shadow” whenever I spoke about her. It might have been Elyssia, nodding to how the young Tiefling always managed to find the darkest, most secret corners of a room.

It was definitely not Craven. The giant somehow found out that she liked all things that glittered in the light, and from then on, he called her, “Shiny.”

But by the time our company decided to go out and explore Kendrith as a group, we had somehow all elected to refer to call her, “Shadow.” And she seemed to like it just fine.

Craven and Valzan had a few errands they wanted to run, before investigating about the slavers we had come across. I heard mention of “books,” so I wanted to go, and wherever I went, Shadow tended to follow.

It was another bright day; I found the weather rather pleasant in comparison to the humid, warm days we had in the swamp. Shadow walked to and fro behind us, while Valzan and Craven walked ahead. As usual, I kept my distance from Valzan, but I had to admit he was growing on me. He treated Shadow and I with the same courtesy he paid Craven. I still kept my horns tucked away in his presence, whipping my hood up when he approached, but more than once, I had accidentally let my tail peek out while talking to him. I was getting comfortable around the human, and that troubled me, a little. Was Valzan the exception, or had it been the humans in my past?

Time and experience would have to tell. Maybe there was a reason Master didn’t want me to return until a good year had passed.

Not too far from the church, Shadow ended up distracted by sparkling glass shards by the side of the road. Tail swishing back and forth under the cloak that Elyssia had provided her, she crouched low and fixated on the twinkling remains of what might have been a bottle.

Our party ended up right within reach of a nearby game stall. There were targets set up, and according to the hawker, if we hit a bulls-eye with a throwing axe, we would get a voucher for a free drink at a local tavern.

I heard “free.” Considering I had about two silver pieces to my name, that was enough to get my attention.

I waited for Valzan and Craven to play, first. Craven managed to snag three free drinks! I was impressed, but not too surprised; the Kalashtar barbarian was huge.

I was, however, surprised when he gave his prizes to Valzan. Who turned down something that was free? And Craven didn’t seem particularly wealthy, to me.

When it came to my turn, I did my best, but I clearly had never used a throwing axe, before. I could hit the targets, but not well enough to win anything. For my last throw, I could see that it was about to fall just a little too low. Wanting that stupid coupon, I drew on my Druidcraft and encouraged a light puff of wind to boost the axe up, a little.

I was too encouraging. The axe ended up blown too high above the target.

"You better not be trying to pull any funny business,” the stall-keeper said suspiciously, looking between the target and I.

Feeling cornered, I forced a laugh.

“Well, if I were going to cheat, you would think I’d be more successful,” I joked, mentally kicking myself for being so eager about a free drink.

The stall-keeper seemed to agree, but I don’t think he completely bought it. He offered me another try, but I declined; only the first round was free, and it would probably be cheaper to just buy myself my own drink. Valzan asked the man where we could get information, and he was told that a woman who worked at the tavern where our coupons applied might help us. Convenient, but good enough for me!

Our next stop was to the library. I’d never seen so many books in one place, before; I had thought Master had a grand collection, but even all of his tomes would barely take up a shelf. I was also relieved to see that the librarian was half orc(?). I hoped humans like Valzan were the rule and not the exception, but I really didn’t want to test it in the library.

Craven walked off in search of books on plagues and blights, of all things. I opted for herbs. I was only familiar with swampy things, and it would be nice to see what could be used for healing or poison from local flora. Shadow followed suit, even finding me a couple books with some excellent diagrams. Nothing with words, though...I was becoming more certain that she didn’t know how to read or write. I considered teaching her for a moment, before throwing the idea away. I wasn’t patient enough to teach, and if she wanted to learn, she was clearly determined enough that she would have made some signs of it.

Still, I wanted her to have something to take from the library. The books were free. Everyone should take advantage of free. I knew she liked shiny things, and Valzan had recently given her a brass bell that she liked, but I asked her what kind of books she wanted. However, she either didn’t hear or didn’t have time to answer, because Craven took that moment to materialize.

He wanted to know if I knew anything about creeping blights; according to him, the land of his home was slowly dying by some unknown evil. He said he realized that I was in-tune with nature, and knew about growing things, so he felt that I was his key, or destined to meet him, or something?

He got a bit fuzzy, after that, turning red and tripping over his words. I thought he was being silly, in an endearing sort of way, and couldn’t help but smile a little. Shadow, on the other hand, seemed irritated with him, hissing her displeasure. That seemed to cool Craven off, and rather than let me really respond in any way, the giant lumbered off, muttering to himself as he was wont to do.

I looked at Shadow, and saw that she looked ready to leave the library. I grabbed a book on healing herbs, and one on poisons, and when the librarian said I could take a third, and snagged a book with a lot of rather beautifully illustrated gemstones. With my hand, the librarian set some kind of enchantment that would return the books automatically, once a week was up. I liked it; that would prevent me from accidentally paying late fees, and I wouldn’t need to worry about losing the books.

When we left the library, I handed the book on gems to Shadow. I had meant well, but from the way she looked at me, she was very clearly offended that I thought she would enjoy a children’s book.

“She’s probably older than she looks,” Valzan pointed out.

I rolled my eyes and tried not to groan, while Shadow moved to the side of the group furthest from me. It’s not like she mentioned what she did want to check out! How was I supposed to know!?

I clearly wasn’t doing a good job getting on Shadow’s good side.

And, to add insult to injury, she excepted a shiny marble from Valzan.

“How is that not condescending?!” I exclaimed, while Shadow contentedly added the bauble to a pocket of what I was certain contained a growing collection of shiny things.

Instead of answering, Valzan shrugged dismissively. The desire to grab a less shiny rock and throw it at his head occurred to me, but instead, we continued to our second stop: A pet store.

Craven was under the impression that he could find a bear for a pet. The shopkeeper was surprised, most likely because that seemed more like an exotic/black market kind of pet. However, when he offered up hedgehogs as an adequate alternative, I was on Craven’s side: bears are to hedgehogs as falcons are to finches. They are not equal.

Naturally, Craven got even more upset when the shopkeeper suggested a squirrel, instead.

To use as bait.

None of us were pleased! Craven began roaring about what a terrible person the shopkeeper was, and I’m pretty sure when Shadow called him a squirrel murderer, his nose started bleeding. Valzan ushered us out, but when Craven suggested we return after dark to Free the Enslaved, I readily agreed. I wanted to Speak to the animals, to see if they were all in danger or just the squirrels, but there wasn’t enough time; already, we were out the door.

It didn’t take us long to reach the top of the hill, finding the tavern where we could redeem Craven’s vouchers was situated. A creaky sign with the words “Scout’s Mug Bar and Inn” hung over the doorway that we entered, Craven stooping slightly to fit through. I braced myself for noise, but it was early enough in the day that there weren’t too many patrons.

Shadow moved straight to a table in a secluded corner, dark but safe; I and the rest followed suit. Craven, of course, immediately ordered every dessert on the menu. I tried not to let my eyes pop out of my head as plate after plate of confection and pastry were brought by the waitress and placed before him. I was about to ask how he could possibly eat all of those desserts by himself, when I saw him push all the plates to Shadow.

...Of course they weren’t just for himself. I made a note to myself to be a little less snide toward Craven.

Eyeing all the desserts, I surreptitiously slid what looked like a slice of apple pie towards myself. Shadow didn’t seem to notice. And while she did have a good appetite, I doubted she could finish everything. Besides, the pie was warm and smelled heavenly. I never got to eat anything like this, in the swamp.

Valzan, ever dutiful, was already in the process of asking for Mildred, the woman who would most likely have information for us. By some stroke of luck, our waitress was Mildred.

Things were coming together smoothly! Perhaps things would be simple from now on, I thought.

Suddenly, a bang came at the bar’s entrance; someone had slammed open the door. A dishevelled man rushed in, eyes wild, hands wringing in worry.

...of course it wouldn’t be that easy, I sighed inwardly.

“My daughter! They took my daughter!” he exclaimed.

I sat up straight, head whipping around to look at the man in surprise. His daughter? Taken? That was awful! The very idea made me sick.

And yet, for some unfathomable reason, all the patrons of the bar started laughing at the man.

What on earth is going on?

---tbc--

Continuation here!

#Of Shadows and Tyr #dnd campaign #dnd #Strive not Charity

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fullmetaldevil-blog · 5 years ago

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Stitched AU: Halloween Birthday Bash pt. 2

Lol boy these pages are rapidly racking up along with the demon count.

October 30th has arrived with the awaited guest arriving along with some more surprises. Allison is pulling out all the stops to accommodate her guests while Tom has a little project in store. It is a time of learning as they all learn a little more about each other and the gaps once filled with hesitation and fear are slowly being fulled with understanding.

I hope you all like the story as I got 1 more chapter to go then this tale is at an end. It’s gonna have to run past Halloween as life is slowing things down a touch.

SINdy belongs to @trashboatprince

Ben and Shadow belong to @zanzaflux

Bendy belongs to @soniccrazygal

There are guest mentions of Gingie who is SINdy’s adopted grandfather figure who is owned by @pipesflowforeverandever

On with the show~!

October 30 (SINdy’s side)

SINdy was up bright and early since he was excited that the day had finally arrived for him to meet Benny's parents. His mother said that she would welcome him in her home regardless and that he shouldn't worry. He had to admit he was still nervous and wanted to make a good impression, but he really didn't have much in the terms of a gift. He couldn't exactly wander about the studio and the only thing the music department had to offer was various instruments and sheet music. He glanced down at the folder he put together with his dad's help before looking back at the ink puddle that lead him to Benny's world. He hoped everything would work out ok, he really liked the idea of being able to come over and to not have to hide. Taking a deep breath and resecuring his present he pushed a glove into the ink and stepped through.

SINdy's gloves were the first to come through the portal as they firmly held onto his gift and sign. However the rest of him wasn't so fortunate and his body tumbled ungracefully out the portal firmly panting his face onto the pillows that Benny kept on the floor for him.

'Thank heavens for the pillows' SINdy's sign read as he sat himself up before standing and lightly brushing himself off. He quickly double checked his package to make sure it wasn’t damaged before walking to the door. His hand hesitated on the door knob, he had to admit he was a bit nervous, but wanted to look on the bright side of things and summoned up his courage and opened the door.

SINdy’s eyes grew wide as the backyard was dyed with pale yellows and blues of the early morning sky. Small dew droplets kissed the grass and some of the flowers that had yet to open their petals to welcome the dawn of the new day. He stood there admiring the yard before spying a cluster of large orange objects with black markings in them. Taking caution to avoid the damp grass the cardboard demon approached one of the objects realizing it was a bag and that faces has been painted on them. There was even one of him! He giggled silently to himself as he eagerly looked over the bag before remembering his reason for being there and carefully stepped towards the back door. He stood before the barrier that separated the portion of Benny's world he traversed and the rest of his friends world that was off limits. He gingerly lifted a hand up and knocked on the door.

---- Benny's side ----

Allison danced about her kitchen twirling pots and pans of as many breakfast items as she could think of. She knew her own demon had a sizeable appetite and wasn’t certain as to her soon to be guest for the weekend, let alone the guests that would come a bit later. It was a good thing Tom had agreed to be her errand boy to make trips to the market for her so she can supervise the events. A grin graced the womans face as she set down a bowl filled to the brim of sliced fruits as she took a step back to look over her table.

The table was covered in cut fruits, sausages, french toast, waffles and the batter for the pancakes that just needed to be whipped up and thrown on the stove along with the eggs and this little feast was done. Allison hummed as she grabbed her whisk and began to stir the batter when a small knock at the back door caught her attention. SINdy had arrived. Setting the bowl and whisk down she wiped her hands on her apron and strode to the back door opening it.

Before her stood a small demon the same height as her son and ironically yellowish just like him, but almost like the yellowing of paper rather then sepia tones. However this little demon before her had very off model round yellow eyes and pupils which would have come as a small shock if she hadn’t seen Benny’s drawing of his friend in advance. What surprised her was what looked like ink lightly dripping from his eyes and part of his widows peak, something that she took as a sign of stress which she was guessing was normal for this little demon. A pink heart resided in the toons chest which was the heart she assumed was the heart that Benny had mentioned that if pulled out, Confessional will come out. A bright smile graced his features as he set a folder down and held up a hand. Wait. There was no arm attached. It was just a floating glove while his other hand held up a piece of cardboard.

'Good Morning Mrs. Connor. Nice to meet you, my name is SINdy!'

Allison looked down at the little cardboard demon before she bent down and gently scooped SINdy into a warm hug. "Nice to meet you too SINdy." she chuckled. She had to admit she couldn’t find it within herself to be afraid of a little demon that reminded her so much of her own. SINdy was being so polite and formal she found it too adorable to not pass up.

SINdy was shocked by her hug, he wasn’t expecting such a kind and warm welcome from the start. He wasn’t even getting many whispers from her as he would with some of the other people he’s met.The few whispers he did hear were small regrets that he remembered Benny telling him about and that they were things beyond his mother's control. She was a kind soul who deeply cared about her family and friends. He happily wiggled in her arms wearing a huge grin, she liked him and was accepting of him! His excitement paused when he felt her drawing him towards the house.

His hands shot up waving at her before pointing towards his sign.

'Wait. I brought Benny a present!' He pointed down at the folder with a little ribbon tied around it.

Allison cradled SINdy in one arm and grasped onto the folder with the other. "How about I hide this for now until it's time to open presents. Ok?" SINdy quickly shook his head in agreement before he found Allison gently poking him in his nonexistent nose. "For now how about joining us for breakfast?"

'Yay!' SINdy swayed in Allison's grasp before he was brought into the home and she closed the door.

SINdy stared wide eyed into the kitchen at all the different items that he's seen in other universes. He even recognized some items he's seen at grandpa Gingie's. He didn't know Bennys family had similar things. Allison chuckled at the small demon who frantically looked around the room trying to take in the sights. She gently set him down watching him wander around while she pulled out some plates from the cupboard.

"Want to help me set the table? They'll be out once they start smelling the food." Her voice drawing SINdy’s attention to her as she held out a small stack of plates.

'Sure!' SINdy happily accepted some of the plates from Allison and she showed him how to set up the table before she resumed mixing the pancake batter before pouring small amounts into the pan while sprinkling in a few white chocolate chips.

Allison watched SINdy out the corner of her eye as the little demon paced back and forth around the table helping to set up. It was like watching a version of Benny wandering around, it warmed her heart that Benny's friend really was a sweet little boy like him. She felt some of the tension leave her shoulders as she turned back to continue cooking. She realized she had nothing to worry about with this little demon. Humming drifted through the air to accompany the sizzling sounds of the pancakes that no where near rivaled their sweet smell. It was making her mouth water. She quickly laid out the last of the pancakes before starting to cook the eggs. After a time she felt a small tug on her pant leg and looked down to see SINdy holding his sign.

'I finished setting the table. Now what do you want me to do?' He tilted his head slightly.

"Well if you want, you can start eating first since they are taking their sweet time getting up." Allison gestured to the table with all the food before pouring the scrambled eggs into a bowl.

At her comment SINdy's eyes went wide at all the food she had prepared. Sure he saw it when he was setting the table, but he thought it was only for the family. He looked back at her confused while the words changed on his sign.

'You mean, I can eat breakfast with you? I didn't set a plate for myself. I thought it was just you guys so I put the spare away.'

Allison looked at the table only seeing 3 plates, she chuckled before looking at SINdy. "Silly of course you're eating with us. Why else did you think I asked for you to come early. I don’t invite anyone over early and not feed them like I would my own."

Allison soon found SINdy leaning against her leg with his gloves grasping onto her before one glove floating up with 'thank you' written over and over along with a heart. 'Huh, this must be how he hugs' she thought to herself while watching the little grateful demon.

"Now go sit at the table while I get you a plate."

SINdy nodded and immediately booked it to the table trying to get onto the chair while Allison had gone to the cupboard to pull out a plate and cup before grabbing a fork. When she turned around she saw the little cardboard demon struggling with getting onto the chair. She chuckled and set the plate down before gently lifting him up onto the chair properly. Once he was properly situated he flashed her a big excited grin before looking over her shoulder and somehow his smile got even wider before his sign floated up.

'BENNY!'

Allison looked over her shoulder to see Benny standing in the doorway with his father completely gobsmacked. The plushtoon was too shocked for words as he looked at SINdy then at Allison in a mix of shock and confusion.

"W-what's going on?" The toon finally locating his voice.

Benny couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Sure it was normal for SINdy to come over, but they always stayed in the hut. What was he doing in the house, let alone at the breakfast table? What’s going on? The plushtoons mind raced a mile a minute trying to process what was going on while Alison looked at his confused face chuckling.

Allison checked on SINdy making sure he was situated at the table before leaving to attend to her own demon. She bent down and gently rested a hand on Benny's shoulder. "See 30 years ago Thomas finished the prototype ink machine at this time. Not long afterwards you were born so while your Birthday was technically the 27th, we decided to celebrate it alongside Halloween since they were so close. After learning about your friends I decided to invite them over to spend the day with us on Halloween. Since SINdy was your best friend and the only one who is still in a version of the studio, I invited him to come early to spend 2 days with us."

As soon as Allison's words sunk in Benny firmly attached himself to her in a tight hug happily squeaking away before words finally formed. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Benny couldn't believe it. Not only was his folks trusting his friends, but they even invited them to come over to spend time with them all for his birthday! He would have never have thought that his friends would ever be able to come over and spend time with him openly rather than hiding in the hut all day. His dreams of wanting to play openly with them was becoming a reality.

"Now they can come over on the promise that they behave themselves." a rough voice sounded from behind. Benny turned to see Tom scratching the back of his head while yawning. "As long as they behave they can come freely in the house."

The older mechanic soon found a demonic anklet as Benny released Allison and glued himself to him happily squeaking his thanks to him as well. While Benny was being affectionate, Tom looked up at the small demon at the table whom Allison had described him as Benny's best friend. Tom carefully strode to the table with Benny still on his leg before holding out his hand to the cardboard demon.

"Nice to meet you. As I'm sure you heard from Benny, my name is Thomas Connor." Tom tried to smile, but it was cracking as he was trying to pry Benny off with his spare hand which was proving to be difficult as the devildoll was firmly glued to his leg.

SINdy could hear the whispers of Tom's past, the regret, the pain and all the negative emotions he had with his dealings with the ink machine. But they were whispers as the man was trying to fix his mistakes as he was trying to be a father to the results of the ink machine. Even though at the moment Benny still hadn't let go of his leg despite his father's efforts.

A smile grew on SINdy's face as he reciprocated the gesture slightly shaking Tom's hand while he held up his sign. 'Nice to meet you as well. My name is SINdy. Thank you for allowing me to come over.'

Tom nodded before bending down using both hands to finally pry Benny off his leg. He chuckled before setting Benny down next to his friend at the table before grabbing a coffee mug from the cupboard. Allison sat down and started dividing out proportions of food to the chattering demons. SINdy's eyes were sparkling as Allison loaded up his plate with white chocolate pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage and a few pieces of fruit. Benny had a good sized stack of waffles and fruit he was pounding down eagerly with Tom telling him to slow down that the food wasn't going anywhere. SINdy was initially shy about eating because of his second mouth, but after some encouragement from Benny he finally started digging in. Allison and Tom were both surprised by the second mouth that split SINdy's head in half but considering their own demon has a mouth that spans the length of his stomach they weren't too surprised. SINdy's smile grew a little more when he realized that they didn't seem to be bothered about his eating method and simply asked him if he wanted more pancakes. Though Allison was quick to notice that Sindy had yet to touch his orange juice and realized that with how his mouth works that he would spill it all over himself since it didn’t open the conventional way. She briefly left the table and got him a straw for which he happily thanked her and proceeded to enjoy the citrus beverage alongside Benny who was already on his 2nd glass of milk.

Tom quietly watched SINdy eat, studying how his 2nd mouth worked and mused to himself of seeing Benny and his friend SINdy both having their second mouths out in full chasing after something. It wasn’t surprising that Benny had a friend that was just as much a bag of tricks as his was. Though he wondered if SINdy was like Benny and had a monsterous form as well since the two were similar. Curiosity was getting the better of him, but he decided to let sleeping dogs lie and not ask.

"So SINdy" Allison's voice sounding above the pleased hums at the table. "Tell us about yourself. Do you have any family?"

SINdy's sign floated above while the words formed. 'As Benny told you, I live in the studio still and am trying to find a way out with my father. It's been hard because it's just the two of us as the Ink Demon in our world is trapped with us. He stalks the halls and is really scary.' A small frown formed on his face.

"I see" Allison gave a sympathetic look, understanding a little more about the demons situation. "So how's your father, is he doing ok with you being here?"

A bright smile swiftly returned to SINdy's face 'Yep! He's doing fine and he's resting in his department right now. He's the one that gave me permission to come on the promise that I'd be careful.'

"Department? What area does he work" Allison smiled while listening to SINdy's story giving him her undivided attention, Tom on the other hand opted to leisurely listen while sipping his coffee.

SINdy made a silent laugh 'Oh, he's in the music department. After all he is the director of the department, Sammy Lawrence.'

Tom sprayed his coffee choking at the cardboard demon's comment while Allison looked at him wide eyed at the reaction. The older mechanic taking a few breaths before composing himself. "Wait. Sammy Lawrence, as in the Sammy Lawrence head of the music department. Mr drama queen Sammy?"

SINdy tilted his head slightly at the comment confused. 'Yes, but he isn't a drama queen'.

Benny saw the look on SINdy's face and opted to clarify. "See in our world we have a Mr. Sammy Lawrence as well, like your dad he is also the director of the music department. Well former director as we aren't in the studio anymore. Our Mr. Sammy is really fun to play with. He comes off all stuffy, but after awhile he relaxes and livens up a bit. He must get along really well with Henry and Tom cause his face turns red every time they go over the photo albums and he shouts a lot about the photos demanding a copy. He must really love them."

It was Allison’s turn to nearly spray her beverage, but she barely managed to try and contain herself as best she could. It was cute to think that Benny thought that Sammy's face turning red and his shouting was because they got along. The reality was both Henry and Tom were like vultures circling a carcass with Sammy as he was a very easy person to get riled up. It was even easier as the family album was full of tender or hilarious moments involving much of the former staff and the toons. It just so happens that Sammy gets very worked up about his photos as he likes to think he holds himself to higher standards even though under that hard nosed exterior is a man who cares about the demon’s well being. If anything Sammy is embarrassed he got caught showing his feeling and Tom and Henry pounce on him every time.

SINdy gave off a peal of silent laughter before he held up his sign. 'My dad is really nice. Though cause of the ink he has his occasional moments but he recovers quickly enough. My dad loves reading to me. Sometimes we go in the recording booth to play some music together since it's mostly soundproof.'

"Sounds like your father is a really nice man" Allison chimed in as she set more pancakes on SINdys plate.

'Yep! I love him this much!' the little demon smiled brightly while spreading his hands out to emphasize his point.

Meanwhile Tom wore a mischievous grin on his face while drinking his coffee. He couldn't wait to tell Sammy about his 'son' from another dimension. The former music director would have fits, shame he wouldn't get to see it though, but hearing the conniption would be just as satisfying. Little did SINdy know, he just gave the aged mechanic plenty of ammunition to go harass their former coworker. If Tom were a toon himself he would be sporting his own set of devil horns and a pitchfork as he was looking forward to a little later in the day when he knew Sammy would be awake.

The remainder of breakfast went by with SINdy and Benny both polishing off the reminder of the meal and both volunteering to help Allison with the dishes. She laughed as Benny dried the dishes and SINdy raced around putting them away. The chores went by like clockwork and they had the kitchen cleaned up in no time.

"Allright boys come with me into the living room." Allison gestured while grabbing a small stack of holiday magazines. She was met with two grinning faces as Benny and SINdy followed her into the living room.

Allison had the boys sit on the couch while she laid out the magazines on the coffee table. The pamphlets were covered in Halloween costumes and decoration ideas. The two demon's eyes sparkled at all the different concepts ranging from child friendly to horror show. They never knew there was so many different things for Halloween. Each toon lightly fingered through the stack giggling at all the ideas, though at a few points Allison had to wonder if it was excited giggles or of them getting a mischievous idea.

"What do you boys want to be for Halloween?" Allison's voice breaking the toons out of their giggle fest.

"Hmmm…" Benny lifted up a magazine that held different costumes designs and started to flip through the pages.

SINdy grinned before holding up his sign 'Grandpa Gingie gave me a shark costume!'

SINdy reached behind himself and pulled out a blue and white costume. He hopped off the couch and pulled the costume over his head and let it slide down letting the shark hoodie rest on his head. A huge grin rivaled the fabric teeth that lined the hoodie as SINdy happily showed off his costume. He loved the costume because it didn’t require arms!

"Awww that's so cute" Allison cooed while Benny cheered for his friend. "So Benny did you pick one?" She turned her attention back to her own toon.

"I liked this one" Benny held up a simple bee costume design. "I'm already yellow so might as well go with it." He handed his mother the pamphlet so she could look at it. “Plus I have a good amount of black and yellow fabric”

Allison hummed as she looked over the design. It was simple enough as all they needed was to make a little fluffy brown vest with little white wings and to have striped shorts. The design was cute and was perfect as Benny could easily wear a small black long sleeve just in case the night air was a little too cold and his sepia yellow coloring fit perfectly with the costume. She noticed at the corner of her eyes that SINdy was looking over the costume with a small frown.

“What’s wrong SINdy?” Allison lowered the booklet to look at the toon alongside Benny who noticed his friends change in demeanor.

‘It’s just I wanna be a bee too, but I also wanna wear the costume grandpa got for me.’

Benny tilted his head while listening to his friend. “Why not be both? I don’t think there were any rules saying you only had to wear one costume for the holiday.” he looked to his mother for confirmation.

“He’s right SINdy. You can wear both if you want to cause no one is stopping you.” Allison chuckled before having SINdy lean against her with a wide grin. “For grins I might even dress up as a bee as well so we all can go together.”

Both demons cheered and eagerly set about trying to make their costumes. SINdy entrusted Benny to make them since as a stitched demon he excelled in any and all work dealing with fabrics. The pair rushed to the toons room taking the designs with them along with a pair of black long sleeves and pants that Allison lent them for her costume. Tom barely dodged the pair as they eagerly dashed down the hall, leaving the man baffled as to what they were so eager about.

“So what are the conspiring duo up too?” Tom sighed as he rested on the couch relaxing looking rather pleased with himself. He had to admit the resounding tantrum Sammy threw on the phone made everything right with the world. All is well.

“Well for Halloween the boys and I are gonna dress as bees to go trick or treating. It was simple enough and Benny was more then willing to make the costumes.” Allison scooped up the remainder of the Halloween magazines and stacked them neatly on the coffee table before one of them caught her eye. She set the stack down while lifting the small booklet out and a grin grew across her face before she looked at Tom.

Tom flinched at the look, it screamed ‘honey do’ as he tried to edge away from the couch before a melodious voice sang his name.

“Toooom~” Allison held up the picture for her husband to see despite his ‘no honey no’ face. She lightly swayed the photo of a stroller with a small beehive frame built around it with the baby dressed as a little honey bee.

Tom gave Allison his best pleading eyes as she was suddenly pouring on the charm. She even batted her eyes and him giving him a sweet innocent look. God he hated it when she did that. He already felt his resolve breaking the more she played cute while she continuously held the photo in front of him. The final straw that broke the camel's back was Benny and SINdy eagerly running into the living room to show off their bee costumes. Damn these kids! He had to admit they looked cute as they eagerly ran up to Allison to show off as they happily twirled in place before handing over what he assumed was her own costume. Wait, is Benny’s friend dressed with a bee costume over a shark costume? A beeshark? Tom didn’t have long to ponder before the next thing he knew, all eyes were on him with the only thought running through his mind; confound it all.

“Fiiiiine” Tom loudly groaned before snatching the photo out of Allison’s hands. “What exactly do you want me to make?” he looked over the photo.

“I was wondering if you can take that old red wagon Norman brought the other day and can make it a little carrying cart to house the toons on the off chance they get tired from Trick or treating.” Allison happily chirped.

“Well I can use the wheels and base of the frame as the wagon itself needs some work. I’ll have to make a frame from scratch due to circumstances. I think I might have enough materials to make it.” He gave a slight smile for which he instantly found himself with a demonic anklet and a second leaning against his leg with his glove clinging to him.

“Allright boys, while Tom is doing that why don’t you two go play outside for awhile?” Allison chuckled as Tom awkwardly waddled to the door trying to head to his garage and workshop. Her answer was a two sets of ‘oks’ as they released her husband and dashed towards the door. “Take your costumes off.” she shouted after them.

A smile tugged at Tom’s face as he watched Allison chase both toons back into the house to have them take off their costumes so they won’t get them dirty. In a way he was thankful that Allison seemed to have things under control for the most part as he himself can work on the little project he was asked to make. He already had an idea in mind as he knew that what he needed to make needed to be large enough to house more than just one toon.

---------------------------------------------

The evening hours dyed the sky amber and scarlet with small hints of magenta and violet. Benny and SINdy were both resting in the weeping willow trees watching the sunset creep in the horizon. Both toons were enjoying the small touches of the warmth from the light along with the subtle coolness of the night air as it was slowly settling in around them.

“Benny! SINdy! Dinner!” A voice called out from the house gaining the demons attention.

“Guess it’s time to head inside.” Benny grinned as he watched the last rays of the sun fade plunging the sky into violet and blue hues.

SINdy nodded his head before he carefully followed Benny down the tree and headed back towards the house. He couldn’t wait to find out what dinner was as he could already smell hints of whatever was on the menu, and that alone was making his mouth water.

The pair entered the home and washed their hands before coming to the dinner table to find that Allison was setting out baked chicken along with a full pot of mixed vegetables and some rice. Benny looked around the room noticing his father wasn’t inside.

“Where’s Tom? Is his still in the garage?” Benny chirped while lightly tugging on Allison’s pant leg.

His mother looked up towards the clock before looking around the room. “I guess so. He’s not in the house. Do you want to go get him for me?”

As soon as the words left her mouth she barely caught a glimpse of the fine amount of dust that has settled on them before it dissipated. She blinked a few times before a laugh bubbled up at the sudden use of toon logic. That was the fastest she’d ever seen Benny move, she didn’t even know he could use that gag. It must be from being around another toon like himself as even SINdy was gone.

---- Out In The Garage/Workshop ---

Tom was steadily working away in his workshop putting together the base framework he had drawn up on his table. He set down the piece of wood to double check it’s measurements alongside his quickly drawn up blueprint before he felt something tug at his pant leg. He looked down to see both Benny and SINdy.

“Dinner’s ready” Benny pointed towards the door.

A quick glance up at the clock made Tom realize how late it had grown and that Allison most likely sent the toons to give him a break. He stretched wincing from the symphony of cracks and pops from his back while shooting a look at Benny daring him to say something. The toon just grinned at him before motioning towards the door.

‘How is your project coming along?’ SINdy held up his sign while looking at the odd frame resting atop the base of the wagon.

SINdy’s question earned a small smile from the mechanic as he pointed at the cart “The base framework is more or less set up since it’s pretty basic. It is quite sturdy as even I should be able to sit on it with no problem. I just need to finalize a few things, install some panels and get a few cushions so it will be a comfortable ride rather than just sitting on wood.”

Benny and SINdy circled the soon to be cart while Tom explained each portion. Benny felt it was oddly large as it would be just him and SINdy riding it if needed, but he liked the idea of being able to get a lift if he got tired. He immediately ran up to his father flashing a huge grin. “After dinner can we help you finish making it?”

“I dunno” Tom scratched the back of his head. His answer immediately attracted both toons to his legs giving equal pleading looks, both were laying it on thick. “Fine, but.” Tom pointed a finger at each one. “You have to clean your plates and help clean up the kitchen before coming out to help.”

The mechanics answer was instantaneous as both Benny and SINdy cheered promising to help while they both grabbed Tom by his hands dragging him to the door to head back inside the house. He stumbled a few times trying to keep up with the energetic toons silently begging for them to take it easy on him as he wasn’t as young as he used to be.

Allison had the table completely set up for the trio when they came back inside. Benny and SINdy were helped to the table while Tom washed his hands and got ready to dig in. Benny and SINdy immediately pounded down their vegetables first making Tom wonder if they were racing to see who finished their plates first. Once both demons finished their veggies they both happily accepted the baked chicken alongside the little stuffed Cornish hen that Tom muttered about them being ‘turkey buzzards’. Allison didn’t even attempt to acknowledge her husbands comment and rather waited to see the toons reaction to the stuffing. She rested her chin on the palm of her hand while she watched Both Benny and SINdy take the first bite of their chickens.

Benny’s pie cut eyes grew wide before he looked at his mother quickly swallowing “This is so good! It’s sweet!”

Benny’s statement got a nod from SINdy as he held up his sign with his free hand ‘I love the stuffing Mrs. Connor. It’s so fluffy and good!’

“I’m glad you boys like it, someone.” Allison shot a look at her husband. “Doesn’t like the small hens as they feel that they aren’t fulfilling as they are meant to be a single serving.”

“I just don’t like how you have all those tiny little bones” Tom quickly defended himself while gesturing to his bird.

“Well if you don’t like it, they can have it” Allison pointed at both Benny and SINdy who looked at Tom pleadingly.

The man grumbled and he pulled his plate closer to himself making sure that the demons were well aware of his claim to the food. He didn’t want to admit that the only real reason why he didn’t like the hens was because there was never enough of it. The way Allison seasoned and stuffed them was the perfect combination of sweet from the honey and a hint of spice from the mustard that he simply couldn’t get enough. If anything he was silently loathing that the demons liked it as he was hoping that they wouldn’t want theirs so he can swipe it later. Then again, he learned that SINdy had a fair sized appetite that rivaled Benny’s so the chances of him getting any leftovers were slim to none.

Allison chuckled as Benny and SINdy both make quick work of their meals and helped clean the table of all the dishes alongside Tom. He set about washing the dishes while Benny and SINdy dried them and put them away while Allison slipped out of the groups sight to retreat to the pantry to retrieve a small pink box. By the time Allison got her prize and came back into the kitchen she was shocked to find that the group was gone.

“Tom? Benny? SINdy?” she called out only for her voice to be met with silence.

Lifting a brow Allison set the box on the table before heading out to the garage. A smile tugged at her as she stood in the doorway watching Tom sitting on the floor while Benny and SINdy both watched him while he worked and occasionally helping him hold up a piece of the frame for it to be hammered in place. Deciding to let the group work, Allison lightly strode back to the house setting out 4 plates and forks for when the group was done.

--- Inside the garage ---

“And that nail goes here.” Tom pointed at a spot for which SINdy nodded and helped him hold the frame in place while Benny hammered in the nail. “That’s it for this part.”

Benny and SINdy hopped off the frame allowing Tom to look it over properly and even he himself hopped up on the framework to make sure it could hold the weight. He doubted the toons weighed much, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. He gave it his seal of approval before hefting the frame onto the cart and started to screw it down to the wheel base. A light tug on his pant leg redirected his attention to SINdy who sheepishly held up his sign.

‘Mr. Connor, what made you become an engineer? How come you built something like the ink machine when you are capable of building so many things? I’ve seen other worlds where there were other Thomas Connors and none of them were able to answer my question.’

Tom was a bit taken aback by the rather blunt question as even Benny was looking at him for an answer. It was something he didn’t want to admit to Benny as he felt embarrassed by it, but now it looks like even his friend wondered what was his motive behind the machine.

A sigh escaped the man as he gently rested his hand on the framework as he studied the grain of the wood. “My old man was a salty mechanic who always rode my butt on anything and everything I ever did. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate the man because if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be where I am. He pushed me to strive to learn more and to get better at engineering to where I rose the ladder at GENT corporation very quickly. He taught me about innovation and how to improvise with limited materials and on a tight budget. My skills caught the likes of Joey’s eyes to where he came to my superiors with a dream, golden words and a silver tongue. Honestly I didn’t believe him one bit and told him I will wait with my answer.” Tom turned to look at both demons who were listening intently. “That was until I was heading home and saw some of the poorer children playing with patchwork ragdolls that vaguely resembled the the characters of Joey’s studio. Their parents couldn’t afford the toys and did their best to try and make their children smile. The thought of the smallest possibility that I might be able to make those children's favorite characters come to life in a literal sense and to be able to watch them laugh and play with their favorite characters was very tempting. Even I had to admit as to my own small childish desires to see the toons brought to life. I didn’t want to admit it out loud, but I was familiar with the Bendy cartoons as I often saw them in the theaters and they always left a strong impression on me despite them being silly little cartoons. They made me smile when sometimes I truly didn’t feel like it. When I got home I thought about it for a long time before I finally caved in and agreed to work on the project. I felt it was absurd, but if the smallest possibility was there then I was willing to take it for the children's sake.” Tom let out a deep sigh. “The rest is history as to the development of the machine and both Benny and Bendy’s birth, as well as the fall of the studio along with our imprisonment and escape.”

Benny and SINdy shared equal glances of sympathy. Both toons had to admit that they felt bad for the man as a good chunk of his life was ruined by his job and former boss. He built a monstrous machine with the purest intentions, but it simply didn’t work out. Benny fidgeted with his gloves as he approached his father with the one question that burned in his mind.

“If you had a chance to go back and fix it, would you?” The toon looked up at his father.

Benny’s question was met with a small smile and Tom bent down at the knee to look at the plushtoon straight in the eyes. “No, ‘cause if I did then I wouldn’t have you. You can’t change the past, but all you can do is learn from it.” The man gently scooped Benny into a hug.

Benny let out a small happy sigh in his father's arms as he returned the hug. Even though he realized it was his birthday, he was well aware of the pain that went along with his birth as he couldn’t help but wonder if his father ever cursed his birth in the slightest. It was comforting to know that despite what happened that Tom never once regretted making him. He may regret the misuse of the machine, but he didn’t regret the toons born from it.

SINdy watched with a smile on his face as he listened to the whispers that emanated from Benny’s father. He could hear all his sins but at the end of the day, Tom had made the machine with the best intentions, but unfortunately it had the worst outcome. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was the only Thomas he would ever meet that felt this way about the machine as this was the only Thomas he’s seen that was the father to a Bendy toon. This man was one of the few that he would consider a true parent.

“All right well it’s getting late and I don’t need Allison thinking I fell off the face of the earth.” Tom chuckled breaking the hug to stand up and brush himself off.

“What about the cart?” Benny pointed at the unpainted beehive shaped wagon.

“We can paint that in the morning when it’s warmer since the night air won’t let it dry for a very long time.” Tom patted Benny on the back to usher him towards the house with SINdy in tow. “Thank you boys for your help”

SINdy grinned and held up his sign ‘You’re welcome. I had fun seeing the cart get built and even more so when I got to help. Now I can say I lent you a hand’ He waved a gloved hand to emphasize his point

Benny happily agreed with his friend laughing alongside Tom at this friends joke. He had to admit that he had a lot of fun and the games were just beginning.

The group lightly chatted as they retreated towards the home before Ink began to drip from the walls gaining the groups attention. Benny immediately got on the defensive with the mark across his stomach growing teeth as he lightly bared his own. SINdy grinned eagerly at the wall as he was wondering who was getting in a bit too early. He noticed Benny on the defense and quickly place a hand on his friend's shoulder drawing Bennys attention away from the wall only to be met by a grin. SINdy nodded reassuringly as he gestured back towards the wall with a lanky Ink demon stepping through.

“Bendy?!” Benny yelped in surprise at the demon but then noticed the silence and the intimidating vibes he was getting from him. This wasn’t Bendy, it was the other one that accompanied Shadow. Ben.

The lanky demon said nothing has he held the portal open and a familiar figure emerged from it. The creature resembled a large almost skeletal cat made of ink sporting short stubby horns that resembled ears and a large toothy grin. The inky feline’s grin stretched wider at seeing Benny but it did not move from the demons side. It lowered its head as it sat on its haunches.

“B-Benny who is that?” Tom immediately stepped back away from the two new figures in his yard. He was used to seeing Bendy in his ink demon form as he ran from the devil for 30 years, but this one came off more threatening then their now turned playful demon.

Before Benny had a chance to answer the lanky demon looked down at the inky cat who murmured softly “Behhaaave yoursssself.”

The cat nodded lightly folding it's horn like ears down and pressed his head into the palm of the lanky demons hand before the Ink demon stepped through the portal with it closing behind him. The cat watched its creator leave and continued to watch until the ink that made up the portal faded away. Once he was gone Shadow turned its attention back to the group that was looking at it.

“Shadow!” Benny chirped as he dashed up to the inky cat.

The cats grin stretched wider as Benny wrapped his arms around the cats neck hugging it tightly. Shadow lightly head bumped Benny before wiggling its head down to rest it against Benny's chest purring. The toon giggled at the vibrations he was feeling from the inky cat as he scratched the feline behind its horns.

"W-who is that?" A gruff voice finally spoke.

Benny looked up from his friend to see Tom standing at a good distance away from them while SINdy was cautiously approaching to get a better look. A small frown formed on Bennys face as he could tell that the other Bendy's sudden appearance scared his father. Even he had to admit that the other Bendy can come off intimidating, though he suspected that he was just quiet and didn't mean any harm.

"This is Shadow" Benny turned to face his father and SINdy who was now standing in front of the cat looking it over. "It comes from another world like the other Bendy who I know as Ben. Shadow is really nice and likes to play with me when it can. The first time we met there was a little bit of a misunderstanding, but it meant no harm as it was just watching over cloudy."

SINdy tilted his head 'Cloudy?'

Benny flashed a grin "Yep he's an adorable grey kitten with bright yellow eyes. I found him in the backyard a while back and Shadow appeared looking for him. They both come from the same place as Ben as he is Cloudys owner."

Tom lifted a brow. "That Bendy is the owner of a kitten?" The man was baffled at the statement. He couldn't imagine an intimidating demon such as him with a little kitten. An odd yet amusing image flashed in his head of the scary ink demon with a little kitten playing with his floppy bow tie. He just had a hard time believing it.

SINdy grinned at the large feline and slowly reached his hand to the side of Shadows horn lightly scratching it. 'Nice to meet you Shadow! My name is SINdy!'

Shadow leaned into SINdy's hand enjoying the scratching behind its horns before it lightly head bumped SINdy in his chest extracting a peal of silent laughter from the toon. The vibrations from it purring was tickling the little cardboard demon. SINdy in turn leaned into the cat doing his best to hug it while he continued to laugh silently.

Benny chuckled at SINdy enjoying the inky feline before his smile gave way to a frown at the sight of his father. He could tell his dad refused to budge from his spot giving the inky feline a wide berth. He suspected his dad was having trust issues and while he himself knew Shadow meant no harm, Tom was very skeptical. Mustering up his courage Benny slowly walked to his dad.

"Tom?" Gaining the mans attention. "Shadow is really friendly, it won't hurt anyone."

Tom looked down at Benny and then back at Shadow. He wasn't a fool. He could tell that there was more to this creature than what meets the eye. A feline is especially testy as even if it may have soft paws, underneath them are claws, even if it is a cat made of ink. They can come off as cute and cuddly, but at the end of the day they are still predators. Plus since this cat vaguely resembles Bendy it would be even more dangerous and anything resembling Bendy isn’t to be taken lightly. A slight scowl graced Tom's face before he felt a hand gently grab his own. He looked to see Benny gently holding onto him and was giving him a pleading look while gently tugging. He could tell he wanted him to give Shadow a chance.

A deep defeated sigh escaped Tom as he allowed himself to be slowly lead to the inky cat as Shadow sat and waited for his approach. The closer he got made him tense up more as he was beginning to regret the idea. Benny pulled him to a foot away from the cat and slowly lifted Toms hand out and held it there.

Shadow looked at the man whom was presumably his friends father. The cat wasn't a fool, it could tell that the man was very suspicious and felt a creature such as it was dangerous. While it is true it can easily handle its own, it wasn't here to hurt anyone. It just wanted to spend time with its friend as it was surprised and thankful its creator let it attend. Shadow knew it needed to let this man know it is here as a friend and not a foe.

Tom flinched when he felt something cool and damp press into his hand. He looked to see Shadow had leaned its forehead into his palm and he felt a weird vibration traveling up his arm. His eyes were wide in disbelief that the vibrations he was feeling was the creatures purring. The purring sound it made was barely audible.

The large cat gently nuzzled Toms hand purring louder to where it was causing small vibrations in the ground. He then slowly moved closer to the man nuzzling him as he gently leaned his side against him and circled around him slowly. Tom all the while was tense at the sudden movement but soon recognized the behavior as a sign of affection. He himself never owned cats but was familiar with their signs of affection as this oversized cat made of ink was going through the same motions. He relaxed slightly as he cautiously scratched the inky cat behind his stubby horn getting an even louder purr.

The back door opened with Allison looking around "Are you boys done with the car-" she paused at seeing Benny, SINdy and Tom with a familiar large inky cat curled around her husband. "Shadow!"

The inky cats grin stretched at the familiar sight of the woman as it knew this was the mother figure to its friend as well as the one who invited it. Shadow edged away from Tom before striding to the door and sat on it haunches looking at Allison while his tail flicked from side to side.

Allison tensed slightly, she remembered the large inky cat just appearing in her yard as well as the confrontation it had with Benny who was trying to protect her. Little did they realize the inky feline was trying to get its friend in their care back. She let out a small sigh and a smile releasing the little tension in her shoulders. Benny said this cat was his friend and they enjoy quiet time together.

A small step of courage and a hand out in good faith, Allison gently petted Shadow and scratched it lightly on the base of its horn. To her surprise the inky cat made a barely audible purring sound as it leaned into her touch.

Shadow was excited and was growing more and more optimistic. So far its friends parents didn't seem to mind it and they were even reciprocating the affection that was given. He could tell he was gonna be watched by the father which isn't all that unusual a feeling for him as he could sense how tense the man was and the look in his eyes. Allison, on the other hand, is a little more open to it and seemed to have relaxed some.

Benny watched as his mom laughed at Shadow purring and gently nuzzling her side. It warmed his heart seeing her become more at ease with a guest who once spooked her. He hoped that she will be more open towards his other friends, but it looks like he won't have to worry for much longer. Benny had to admit he was more concerned for his father who was still watching the large cat with an air of skepticism. He knew Tom was left with a bad taste in his mouth about the machine and is protective over his mother as they had to rely on only themselves for so many years. The toon hoped that someday Tom will realize that not all results from the ink machines are bad. For every dark shadow cast has a small light at its base.

SINdy silently giggled at Allison whom was now being tickled by Shadows purring as the cat was nudging its head into her stomach. It was extracting a good laughing fit from her as it was showing its gratitude for being allowed to come over. He wished Bendy could join them. He knew Allison sent him an invitation and if Shadow could come early then Bendy can to! A mischievous grin graced SINdy's face as he reached into his hammerspace and pulled out his own copy of the book Bendy gave him.

Carefully touching the ink that dripped from his eyes, SINdy wrote to their friend.

'Bendy why don't you come on over. Shadow is here too! Allison is letting us spend the night! :D'

Tom saw a small golden light emanating from behind him as he looked over his shoulder to see a book completely open with golden light coming from its pages as it floated in SINdy's hand. What looked like a golden liquid flowed from the pages before it turned black spiraling around the book before converging to form a round mass that began to take shape next to SINdy.

A familiar round body formed with noodle like limbs sporting shiny boots, a white bowtie and gloves. The head was round with a large white face with the eyes closed as it finished forming. To his surprise one horn was longer than the other and he was more so when the eyes opened. The black piecute eyes were slightly larger than normal and a golden orb shone within.

The little demon looked at SINdy who summoned him before looking at the crowd whose attention was now drawn to him. He put on a small smile and politely bowed as if on a stage. "Hi everyone, my name is Bendy. Nice to meet you!"

SINdy held up his sign 'Hi Bendy!'

Benny looked shocked at the arrival of yet another one of his friends, but it was quickly replaced with glee. "Hi Bendy!"

Allison watched as the three toon converged and eagerly chatted between themselves. She had to admit she was not anticipating the sudden appearance of the early guests and was going through her mental checklist as to who all had shown up and as to how she was going to accommodate the sudden arrivals. Her train of thought halted when she felt a small nudge on her side and looked to see Shadow looking at her then at the group before he looked at her once more. It wanted her to say hello. She chuckled before stepping forward to meet their guest who also came early.

Bendy broke from the conversation to see who he presumed to be his friend's mother approaching them. He straightened his bow tie and gingerly strode up to her holding out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Connor!"

Allison had to admit she was surprised how straightforward and confident this Bendy was as he seemed to approach her with no hesitation. Even Shadow and SINdy took their time approaching her.

She met Bendy's hand with her own lightly shaking it. "Nice to meet you too. I'd like to thank both you and SINdy for helping Benny with his reading. My husband and I may not always have the time to help him and you both filled in for us. Thank you."

Both SINdy and Bendy blushed at her statement. Allison chuckled how both demons blushed grey even though SINdy was a yellowish color like Benny. She half expected him to blush a soft pink, it was a cute little observation.

"Shucks Mrs. Connor it isn't anything special." Bendy tried to hide the grey on his cheeks. "We were just helping out a friend"

'We all help each other out as we all like to read and share stories.' SINdy flashed a huge grin.

"Well thank you boys. Though why don't we all come inside before you all catch a chill from the night air." Allison gestured inside the home.

The group of toons cheered and eagerly dashed inside leaving Tom, Allison and Shadow behind. The large cat made a gurgling sound akin to a chuckle before slowly trotting behind them.

Tom looked heavenward as he stood next to his wife. "Well I can kiss my quiet night sleep goodbye."

"Oh be nice" Allison tugged on him kissing his cheek. "Keep in mind that you yourself were once an energetic little boy that kept your parents up at night. How it comes back around."

"Oh and like you were a perfect little angel" Tom jokingly retorted.

Allison put on her best puppy eyes and lightly traced a halo over her head. "I was a perfect little angel." She lightly cooed.

"Uh-huh. And I'm a devil in disguise" Tim rolled his eyes.

"Well part of you made a little devil so it must be true." Allison laughed before quickly jogging into the home leaving Tom behind red faced.

Tom knew he had been had, it tugged a smile out him to see that Allison never lost her edge. Though for as much as he'd love to get her back for the comment, he was more interested to see what karma is dished out from the toons since she promised to keep an eye on them. He straightened himself up and walked into the house closing the door.

Inside the home Tom was met with a table full of toons who were happily munching on the lemon cake that Allison had bought. She had just set a plate down for shadow for which the ink cat murmured happily before its grin split open to reveal sharp teeth as the cat began to delicately eat the cake.

Once the cake was consumed and the hour had grown late it was time to clean up before heading to bed. Allison spied the yawn that Benny was trying to hide along with SINdy or Bendy occasionally rubbing their eyes. The toons were getting tired.

A clap rang through the air startling the toons as they turned to look at Allison "Alright boys it's time to clean up and to get ready for bed." Her answer was an immediate chorus of 'awwwws' for which she wagged a finger. "No buts. It's gotten pretty late and if you boys help out then that means you have more time to play.

As soon as she finished her statement the toons immediately split up to start rounding up the dishes and to help Tom put them in the sink. Meanwhile Allison looked at the 3 bendylike toons before focusing on SINdy. She had multiple nightshirts for Benny, but most were long sleeve. SINdy doesn't have arms and it would look strange to have him running around with the sleeves dangling. With a hand on her chin she strode out of the kitchen leaving Tom to deal with the demons while Shadow followed her out.

Allison paced into the living room and opened up a dresser and began rifling through it's contents before she felt like she was being watched. She glanced up briefly and saw Shadow sitting on its haunches watching her. "Oh hi Shadow. If you're wondering what I'm doing, I'm trying to find a nightshirt that will work for SINdy. I have a few short sleeved shirts I might be able to mend quickly enough. Plus I gotta start getting the couch unfolded and the beds set up."

The ink cat looked back at the couch before looking back at her noticing that she was preoccupied. It strode over to couch and looked at the two straps that hung on the corners where it assumed they would be pulled out. Just before it was about to try and tug on the strap Bendy walked into the room.

"Mrs. Connor" the toons voice gaining Allisons attention as she held up a soft blue short sleeve nightshirt. "Is there anything else that needs to be done?"

"If you want, can you hang onto this for me?" Allison held out a small pile of nightshirts for which he graciously accepted.

Allison got up from the dresser tucking the blue nightshirt under her arm before she walked over to the couch. She motioned for Shadow to step back before pulling on the straps opening up the couch. The extension clicked into place before Allison reached into the L side of the couch and opened it to reveal a storage compartment. She pulled out a collection of blankets and pillows while the rest of the toons finally entered the living room.

"What are you doing Allison?" Benny tilted his head while watching his mom lay out a bunch of blankets and pillows on the couch before patting the couch encouraging Shadow to hop up. The ink cat was hesitant, but Allison insisted and it carefully hopped up and curled up on the blankets with it’s grin stretching wider.

"Well your friends are sleeping over and your room is too small so they can take the couch." Allison motioned for Bendy to hand over the nightshirts.

As soon as her words left her lips Benny was an instant barnacle on her leg. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Well before you get too excited, I need your help. I have a night shirt for SINdy that needs to be mended so it fits properly." Allison chucked while trying to peel Benny off her.

SINdys eyes were sparkling as he joined his friend in hugging Allison. His hand floated up with his sign. 'Thank you!'

Allison handed Bendy a soft green nightshirt, Benny his pastel orange before she slid the blue night shirt on SINdy. She gently pinched the spare material while Benny pulled out a pair of scissors, a needle and thread. She held the material still while Benny quickly cut the excess off before running a sewing needle through being careful not to poke his friend. Thanks to toon logic, Benny had it sewn together in a manner of a few strokes while SINdy flashed a huge grin. Once the nightshirt was mended to fit perfectly, SINdy eagerly spun in place showing it off before leaning against Allison again

‘Thank you!’

“You’re welcome sweetie. Now I know you boys are all energetic and all, but for now you all can take the couch since there is plenty of room to go around.” Allison lightly patted SINdy on his head before gesturing to the couch with Shadow already claiming his spot.

“What she means is it’s bedtime.” a rough voice sounded behind her with Tom entering the room already in his pajamas “Make sure you boys keep it down. I don’t want to have to come out later and tell you guys to keep it down.”

The toons gave a chorus of ok’s before they hopped up on the couch with all of them giggling and laughing as they rolled up in the blankets looking like a collection of burritos. Bendy flashed a mischievous grin before pulling out his pillow and smacked Benny with it instigating a pillow fight. Allison laughed watching the pillow war with the three toons before noticing Shadow trying to stay out of the way, let alone trying to actually rest. She had a feeling that eventually the boys would step out of line and get on the ink cats nerves. Backing away from the couch turning to head to her room Allison wished the boys a good night. Just as she was about to turn the corner she heard a chorus of ‘nooooo’ prompting her to turn around.

Shadow had used its tail to trip the toons making them land on the couch for which it promptly threw a blanket on them and laid across them being careful not to crush them, but also not allowing them to get up either. It was tucking the blankets around them to make sure they were covered up for bed while the toons protested beneath the inky cat. Allison doubled over laughing and immediately grabbed her camera taking a photo of the inky cat looking like a hen sitting on her chicks. Shadow had the last laugh.

The cat’s grin stretched wider as it watched her taking photos with Allison silently mouthing ‘thank you’. She knew that if Shadow hadn’t stepped in her husband would have heard the playing demons and would have eventually come out. She put the camera away and whispered a good night to the large cat and the three toons under it that were rapidly succumbing to sleep with Benny already down for the count.

Shadow watched as Allison turned off the light plunging the room into darkness except for the small pale blue night lights that circled the living room. The cat looked at the three toons under it who had already fallen asleep much to it’s relief as it carefully got up. It nudged it’s head gently tucking them in properly as well as pulling in the blankets and pillows around it and them making sure they were comfortable before it laid back down. Shadow’s grin stretched at the sleeping toons beneath it before it laid it’s head down and allowed sleep to claim it.

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