#anyway Mystery Nun only really says one thing about ''her''

[freytful]

Catherine misericorde is living in my head rent free btw I know she dies aprox. 30 minutes into the game but shes my fave. i love post mortem characters i love having to piece together different perspectives and i love messy dykes

#I've got some kind of thought within me about Catherine being the unnamed ''She'' the Mystery Nun mentions in the secret scene #and possibly even being Alex. Catherine has some kind of meta presence and she seems so. modern leftist. #that she might actually just be a modern leftist i.e alex #but timetravel in such a direct way doesnt feel right so idk #misericorde #anyway the Secret Scene is actually very easy to find but only about half of people who finish the game did so? #which. huh. do most people not go through the extras after finishing games? #anyway Mystery Nun only really says one thing about ''her'' #which is that she doesnt like it when you mess with her hobbies. meaning This Game. #and the two main traits we know about Catherine is that shes got a lot of hobbies #and that shes very passionate about everything #also that she has some kind of maybe meta perspective?? maybe?? #so. i wonder. #i guess Catherine is invested in Stories in a way alex is not. so maybe she isnt Alex. but.

[orangepanic]

34, 36 (I am myself a very visual person, and I should say proudly that I have read all your fics during last 2 months, and I visualize Iroh very good, you even told his height, but not for Asami(as far as I can remember) I would love to imagine them beside eachother in your fics, so how tall you imagine her🧐)

39, 41

Please skip any, if you have already answered ❤️

That's such an interesting point! (also you read all my fics???!!!!!🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗) I wonder if I spend less time describing Asami because she has so much more screen time so I assume readers know? Anyway I have Asami as just a hair over 5'9" but as in canon almost always in heels, which puts her at perfect kissing height with Iroh :-)

34. What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?

At the same time everything and nothing. There are no characters who are inspired by real people, but at the same time there are little bits of people I know in so much of my characterizations. Asami has my messy purse and my coffee order. Iroh and I probably have the same number of books, though his are far better organized. His and Izumi's dislike of shoes is the same as my husband's. Some of the settings look like places I've been or seen (like all of Starvation Paradise is inspired by a real place in Russia). It's all cobbled together.

36. Do you visualize what you read/write?

Yes, which is often the hardest part. Writing for me is like watching a movie in my head and trying to translate. But it's also filtered through the characters' perceptions. Another reason I might describe Iroh differently than Asami is that they notice different things about one another. For example, I pulled these first re-meeting descriptions from the same fic.

Taller than average, he had thick black hair that he wore slicked back and the typical pale skin and golden eyes of the Fire Nation. Handsome in an angular sort of way, he had the kind of tense, uncomfortable look that she associated only with military men, nuns, and Lin Beifong.

Her black hair was bound up into a ponytail and she’d exchanged her heeled boots for hiking shoes. Even in the flat shoes she was tall, and though clearly younger than him she walked with a surety of movement that made her seem older than Korra and the others. A pair of olive green goggles perched on the top of her head. Iroh hadn’t wanted a traveling companion, but the thought crossed his mind that, if he must have one, he could do a lot worse than a pretty girl with common sense.

While it's only an example, I think Asami is slightly more literal and objective in her internal descriptions. Enter Mr. Tall, Tense, and Handsome from the Fire Nation. Iroh seems to be more relative, so while also noting features like tall and pretty, he's also describing Asami relative to his own expectations and feelings, so you get comparators like "younger than me but seems older than Korra and mature for her age so maybe okay to date?" and "I really didn't want to go with someone but hmmm okay yes I like this."

I can't claim I'm doing this on purpose but maybe I am? It would track with my characterization of Asami as slightly more analytical and Iroh as a big sack of feelings.

39. Is any aspect of your writing process inspired by other writers or people? If so, who?

Oh, all the time! First, I shamelessly steal headcanons. All the time. I see something I like and I adopt it. Second, I'm always reading things that make me want to write better or differently. If I read something I like I'll try it out. For example I just read a trashy mystery novel that, while I didn't love it, hardly used dialog tags at all and I was fascinated by that, so I've been trying it out. It's just fun to play with. Finally, I love chatting with other writers and people in fandom and bouncing ideas and getting feedback. They've all made me better.

41. Link a fic that made you think, “Wow, I want to write like that.”

I love the subtle intimacy of this one and have been trying to write like that ever since.

Fanfic writer asks

#ask game #irosami #tlok

[jtl07]

jt (finally) watches warrior nun - s1 e4

So I’m going to be very deliberate in focusing just on Beatrice because there’s a lot of things that just … don’t make sense with my experience in the military so I’m just not going to comment on them. (The only thing I’ll say is that outdoor training area in ep 3 is ridiculous: you would never have folks training next to a shooting range, much less behind the targets - regardless of if the guns are not loaded that's just incredibly unsafe jfc) 

Anyway. Focusing on Beatrice.

The interesting thing with my understanding of Beatrice here are the unusual risks she takes in this episode, namely the “conversation” outside of Arq-Tech and continuing the mission solo. What we’ve seen of her so far has been very controlled, strategic - this episode seemed so out of character that I really wanted to pause and understand why this was happening. 

And the thing I remembered was that line from Lucia in s2 ep2: “You’re a mystery, a labyrinth: walls within walls. And in the center: a fire, burning to be free.” Lucia means this flirtatiously but I think it's still relevant to Beatrice's anger. In season 2 (again, still just going by gifs and clips and fanvids), we see Beatrice’s anger simmering just under the surface, erupting at certain times. But her anger is on clear display in this episode - but I think here, and perhaps many of the other times we see her angry as well, it’s driven by fear. 

Let’s take the “conversation” outside of Arq-Tech - I’m using scare quotes here because it’s really a warning shot, both to Lilith and the other sisters. Because we have to remember: They’ve got a whole team with them, and they’re in the middle of a mission when they start talking. Beatrice knows this - in fact, when she says, "Still, we're taking a risk here: We could expose our sect. And for what?" she even turns to the unnamed sister to her left after addressing Camila (the sister even nods): 

So she’s aware of her audience, aware also of her reputation as a senior member of the OCS, a leader. The thing is, she’s not acting very leader-like here. She’s vocal about her disdain for Duretti’s agenda, which you don’t do as a leader because that sows distrust and rumor and overall reduction of effectiveness. She also calls out Lilith herself, another senior member, airing out her business in front of the others - which can cause drama of folks choosing sides. 

Lastly, this is in the middle of a mission - sure, the "action" hasn’t started, but they’re on site so the mission has begun. You don’t start shit like that during a mission - what if things had escalated? The whole mission would’ve been compromised, and the very thing that Beatrice is afraid of would have come true. 

And what is Beatrice afraid of? I don’t think it’s merely change - it's that the change of agenda threatens the OCS. I'm willing to bet that her fear is that the OCS, one thing - the only thing - that she has, will be taken away from her. At this point in her arc, Beatrice only sees her value as a sister warrior - it’s only during s2 that that starts to change, resulting in her leaving in the s2 finale. 

Here though, she’s trying to hold on as tightly as she can to what she has. And I think that’s why she does that questionable action of dismissing Camila to go back to Cat’s Cradle with the rest of the sister warriors. On my initial watch, I was very confused: they had a whole squad go out to Arq-Tech, and Beatrice basically goes, “nah I’ll just do it myself”???? Like, were the other sister warriors just there for decoration? Leaving would have been the safer choice, the smarter, more prudent choice. 

But she doesn’t choose to leave. And she knows the danger - she acknowledges it when she takes that moment to pray, “You make known to me the path of life.” But you know what’s interesting? Psalm chapter 16, where that line is from, starts like this: Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge. I say to the Lord, “You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you.” The things that stand out to me are “refuge” - which we know is how Beatrice sees the OCS - and “I have no good apart from you.” 

And if you’ve been following along in my other write ups, you know where I’m going: This is yet another moment of Beatrice devaluing herself. Beatrice choosing to stay, to continue the mission - a mission that she doesn’t even believe in - is all because she sees herself as expendable. That if everything goes south and she gets caught or worse, at least it won’t be one of the other sister warriors, at least they will be safe.

Which makes that hallway fight all the more charged. Losing is not an option for her - and as cheesy as the “faith is my business” line is, it really is what drives her here. “If God wants me to live, He’ll let me survive this” is how I’d read this fight scene (though again, as I mention in my episode 5 rewrite, I wish the fight scenes actually had a narrative). 

There’s some interesting choices during the fight, of which I’ll just call out three. First, there’s the use of that shoulder lock near the beginning (0:39 in this clip). I’ve trained in different martial arts and I’m quite small (smaller than Ava/Alba lol), and the thing I love about shoulder locks is that it gives you so much leverage over someone, even when they’re bigger. The thing is, though, there is no margin for error: as the smaller person, you have to use your whole body just to control the bigger dude’s arm. There’s a lot of commitment necessary, which, again, is fitting for Beatrice. 

Second, there’s a couple moments when Beatrice does a little pose with her hands down: 

I’m aware it’s probably for the badass factor and a moment of breathing room for the fight, but what’s kinda odd is that she’s not in a fight stance at all. It’s kind of arrogant, actually, to stand with your hands down in front of your opponent like that. Which to me reads a bit like intimidation, like, “you sure you still want to do this?” This is Beatrice purely in fight mode and it's terrifying.

Third, is the moment when she uses one of the guards as a shield: 

What’s interesting about a move like this is that it can be seen as cowardly, using a human shield. Yes, she’s doing what she needs to in order to survive, but the fact that Beatrice would do something as “low” as allowing another human get hurt on her behalf is kind of chilling. 

There’s some other moments that are nice, like the precision and efficiency of Beatrice’s strikes and the use of the staff to control space once guns are introduced, but maybe later I’ll compare this with the “you all stand between me and Ava” fight once I get to s2. 

Anyway, altogether fascinating, how they’ve quietly crafted Beatrice’s character here in s1. I’ll likely combine my thoughts for episodes 5 and 6 since Beatrice doesn't feature much in those episodes, and I'm also still pondering my rewrite of episode 6 (because woof, that was a pain to get through). Really excited for episode 7 though! As always, thanks for reading along lmk if you have thoughts or anything.

#jt watches wn #warrior nun #sister beatrice

[pinkiepiebones]

You've talked a lot about your ghouls, but do you have any hcs about the human clergy members?

Not so much, I'm afraid. I'm proud to say one of my fics on Ao3 are the only ones that use the tag for Zbigniew Beliak's character in the Ghost-verse (Archbishop Necropolitus Cracoviensis). I made up some stuff about him in order to use him as a character, derived from, like, one article that says anything about him at all. (Sorry for the f*cebo*k link)

So the Archbishop is a human. Some say he's always been an Archbishop. How old is he, anyway?- he was and still is great friends with Papa III. Their friendship started long before there was a Papa III.

The Archbishop works, and possibly lives, in a narrow 'apartment' (it's a glorified closet, really) in the church. The walls are lined with shelves which are full of... things. Petrified things. Pieces of things. Gels and jellies and salves and tinctures and ashes and memories and blood and dirt and eyes and bugs. This space also houses some of the older relics of the church, like Papa III's thurible.

Over his Archbishop attire, he wears a long dark coat lined with pockets which contain small jars (he is always ready to harvest more samples for his collection), pens, and sketchbooks.

He has a pet poodle, long dead, perfectly preserved and stuffed, and he frequently carries it in his arm and pets it like a spy movie villain with a cat. The poodle seems to have some sort of armature inside it; it has been seen in different poses. Wait- is it dead?

He wears large, bizarre glasses that give him sort of a mechanical spider vibe. The glasses have a series of small arms with different lenses on either side of the main lenses, which can be flipped in front of the main lenses to magnify his vision. Invaluable for his art!

He speaks with a disquieting, hoarse voice. It doesn't suit his age. Or does it? How old is he, anyway?

... And like I desperately want to write more about Imperator and the nuns she oversees but I cannot get a feel for her. She's elusive and mysterious and I feel... unworthy of just going "well fuck it here's what I think" at her like I've done with the other members of the church.

#ghost bc #in my headcanon Copia was abandoned and I have an idea of how his bio mother is but that's neither here nor there

[bastard-of-a-bog-being]

📕 Book Review 📕

What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher

Rating: ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️/5

Eyyyy, I read another book! A real one, with words and for adults and everything. This one will go without a cover image, but let’s talk about the book.

A special thank you to Netgalley and Macmillan-Tor/Forge / Tor Nightfire for providing me with a digital ARC copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

I will be judging this book on its own merit, and not as a retelling of The Fall of the House of Usher. I have not read The Fall of the House of Usher in ages, and as such, I can say with certainty that this book stands easily on its own. I probably should re-read it, as it’s only forty pages apparently, but I digress. (I did sign up for Poe Daily, so with hope, maybe it won’t be long before I do re-read it)

I found the descriptions in the book to be wholly unsettling, which T. Kingfisher is exceptionally good at. There is a mystery afoot, but it’s not a whodunit. It’s intriguing, it’s Gothic, it is dark and brooding and I believe the uncanny horrors thoroughly and without question. The writing is so exceptional that I am very excited to dive into T. Kingfisher’s other novels. I have full faith in her to unnerve me with beautiful, poetic, but unsettling words and descriptions. I trust in her sense of a slow, drifting horror. I would recommend to not read this whilst eating, which was the mistake I made earlier, and if you will be eating anyway, I'd stray away from cold lox straight from the package. T. Kingfisher does not shy away from her descriptions, no matter how gruesome, and I love her for that.

Alex Easton, our protagonist, goes to visit dying childhood friend Madeline Usher, and is immediately aware that something is deeply wrong. The falling, crumbling house of Usher holds many disturbing secrets, and Alex Easton is determined to learn what has caused the immediate decline of Madeline and Roderick Usher, and their growing madness. Something else seems to be growing too, a dark, uncanny horror slowly enveloping the house and those within it.

My biggest issue with the book is the lore. The worldbuilding. Yes, America and England do exist. It is almost our world. Except, there is Gallacia, and Ruravia. There are Gallacian words, pronouns, a language made up of bastardized loan words from other languages. There is a humor to the Gallacian protagonist’s tear-down of their own country, a snide remark here and there to express the vast differences between places. Perhaps the use of fake countries was a means to hand wave away other things, such as the fictional mushrooms and their way of functioning. The author’s note states it to be a sort of nod to a sort of Ruritania romanticism, something I admit I was not overly familiar with, and decline to directly comment on as I’m not well-versed in that knowledge.

Alex Easton, our protagonist, goes by Gallacia’s genderless soldier pronouns of Ka/Kan, which is probably more confusing when our narrator explains that there are seven sets of pronouns, depending on if you’re a child, a nun, a soldier, a man, a woman, God, etc. however, none of these other pronouns really focus much. Occasionally the pronouns for children (va/van) is referred to, but the others are simply mentioned and then never really brought up for use.

The lore isn’t so much of a problem if this were a bigger book and it was sprinkled in subtly, but the story pauses at times so the narrator, even in the middle of expressing the horror being experienced, can explain the history of Gallacia, or the language, or the alcohol in Gallacia, or whatever else needs to be explained as it comes up. At times it's like the main character pulls down a map of the world and says “I don’t blame you for missing Gallacia, it’s so small on the map. A blip. It’s this many miles from Gallacia to Ruravia, if you take a horse, and a hundred years ago, this happened, and it mattered to the history of the world, but probably wouldn’t affect the story if we took it out and set it in a rural English countryside regardless, or never explicitly stated where in the world we were anyway.”

In all truth, the lore feels more like it exists to explain the nonbinary main character and the pronouns used. Frankly, it almost implies the nonbinary-ness of the character couldn’t exist in our reality, but only in one where many rules had to be made up to make it acceptable. Nonbinary people cannot exist without this country and the concept of genderless soldiers, or so it seems to be. I don’t imagine that was intentional, but at times, with how many times it has to be explained even within the first half of the story, I find it… a little inauthentic, but I understand the place it comes from and I genuinely appreciate the representation nonetheless. It’s not often I even GET a book with a nonbinary lead. I just wish that fact could’ve existed on its own merit, as if it didn’t need to be explained. That Alex Easton is nonbinary, and that’s all there is to it, and it’s nobody’s business but Alex Easton’s.

In a larger novel, original, without hint of America, England, Beatrix Potter (well, specifically her aunt, made up for the story, but it’s still implied Beatrix Potter is also a part of this world), I would’ve forgiven the worldbuilding aspects introduced. Language, culture, neighboring fictional countries… but it is wholly out of place in a short horror novel where a good, uninterrupted flow is important for keeping tensions high. As per the author’s note, T. Kingfisher seemed to very much love the character of Alex Easton and ka’s culture, and must have had fun writing kan, but I can’t help but think those aspects could’ve served better in a full-length original fantasy novel where they would have the time to shine. Had they been omitted, this would have made a magnificent short story that would’ve gone straight to the heart of the horror at hand, without constant pitstops for Gallacia history lesson.

I will avoid spoilers, but highly recommend you avoid this book if you cannot tolerate to read about animal death, death of a friend/loved one, gore, or body horror.

What Moves the Dead will be officially published July 12 2022, and I highly recommend it if you want a horror novel that is reasonably unsettling, descriptive, and perfect for a dreary, rainy day. It’s a short read, at about 176 pages. It’s currently available to preorder, or request it at your local library! (As a library assistant, this is a necessary plug for you to support your local libraries as well.)

#book review #book reviews #what moves the dead #t kingfisher #horror review #horror novels #horror Novella #rae's ramblings

[voluptuarian]

“Medieval” Media on TV checklist

It’s in the UK. They can name it whatever they want, but it’s supposed to be the UK. (And not anywhere specific either-- is it Cornwall, Yorkshire, Aberdeen? None of the above, and also all.) So of course, it was filmed in Hungary, Croatia, and 2 French castles. Also it’s always winter because in medieval-fantasy-old-times-England it was always winter, always cold and gray, and always muddy, because of Christianity. Or something.

Paganism stand-in religion that is free-love-feminism-horned-god-bambi-rainbow-divine-feminine-oh-goddess!-silver-ravenwolf-glitter-farts and gives you magic powers and probably Disney Princess animal-handling skills. Clergy are female except for the only relevant character who is male and also probably Merlin, wear woad and Ren faire face paint, and are free of dogma or structure despite somehow having once governed. Now pushed into the shadows by “new” Christianity stand-in that hunts followers of the “old” religion as heretics.

Grimdark and repressive Christianity stand-in that rules with a patriarchal iron first and has made everyone miserable. Inexplicably Protestantism-based and Evangelical-inspired. Despite claiming to be medieval, no mention of Mary, Saints, feast days, pilgrimage, mystery plays, music, rosaries or medals, icons or relics, or probably even confession-- if you get lucky somebody might mention a Nail of the Cross or have communion. None of the clergy really believe unless they’re zealots, or sympathetic-and-tragically-misguided (and probably self-hating lesbians or something), everyone else is there out of ambition. Unlike the “old” religion, this one has zero divine or magical power and if it appears to have, that will actually come from demons-- who are real, although “new” God isn’t. Exists just to police sex and personal expression, self-flagellate, and guilt trip characters vaguely about “sin” without providing any discussion of what level sin it is or how many Hail Mary’s must be said to expatiate it.

Witch hunting mania which combines Renaissance Inquisition with independent early modern Puritan witch finding-- somehow is both Church-sponsored and widespread. Goes after women who are too sexy and independent, women who can read, anyone who believes in birth control, and the protagonist’s mother. Also followers of “old” religion who are usually secretly the above. Anyone caught will be burned at the stake, because hanging isn’t flashy enough.

Corsets as outerwear. Because bodices and corsets are the same thing. And everyone wore their underwear over their clothes. Victorian tightlacing de rigeur to combat wandering wombs and female mobility. If a female character wears armor, it too, is probably a corset. The enlightened heroine finally abandons hers with a feminine gasp of relief-- and no lingering health issues from years of tightlacing-- and her titties stay up anyway because of the Wonderbra she has on underneath.

Priests look like Martin Luther or the Ku Klux Klan. Nuns-- if they exist-- are only there to get killed, possessed, or dominated by male clergy (and possibly squeeze in an ill-fated lesbian romance before doing any of the former). No one has ever heard of an abbess and if you bring the subject up they’ll burn you at the stake.

If there are any Romans, they are exclusively played by Irish or German actors, with crisp Shakespearean accents. If there’s a German, they’re Dutch or Russian. If the “English” characters are actually English, they must be Southerners doing a basic British accent; if not they’re played by Americans doing no accent at all.

Chrome plate armor was all the rage in 500 AD

Despite witnessing the magic of “the old religion” firsthand, and being born and raised in the “new” one, the protagonist is an atheist, and even if he should meet god in person will steadfastly refuse to believe in Him. Because he’s just too cool and enlightened for that.

The plague is ever present, and has no name, since no one needs to define which plague, because there has only ever been the one. Other than starvation or being killed by the Baddie’s henchmen or the Church, it’s the only way anyone has ever died (except for pregnant women, who all die in childbirth.) Symptoms include fever, coughing, concealer appearing inexplicably on the lips, and then a few dramatic final words.

Nobody brushes their teeth because it’s Olde Tymes (incorrect) and nobody takes baths because it’s Satanic (also incorrect) yet every character with the exception of somebody only credited as “Ancient One-Eyed Old Coot” is clean, has shiny hair, no BO, and mouthfuls of big white teeth. Also perfume was never invented in this world, and the only beverage is water, mostly drunk from the hands at random streams, which are never mucked up or disease-carrying.

All the peasants dress in throw blankets and the remnants of Water World’s costuming department in a color range going from “Black Death” to “Dun”, accessorized with warts and fresh mud. The nobles meanwhile, drowning in money and with trade access to China dress like they were sent to The Wall, with the exception of “sexy slut” character who wears magenta crushed velvet off-the-shoulder gowns, and the only gay guy in the movie, who has slashed sleeves in 1350 and is one gold chain away from a rap career.

During interviews the cast will all say how they “wouldn’t have survived in medieval times” with all the mud and disease and sexual repression and they would have probably been “burned at the stake” for reading or swearing. The women fulfill their contractual obligation to complain about their corsets, yet another reason they would have died in “medieval times”. Somebody mentions the plague.

The harvest will be burned a dozen times, all the livestock will be slaughtered, the populace will end up homeless and starving, (which will of course, only concern the protagonist, who must dutifully share a crust of plain bread with some toothless vagrant) but once The Baddie is slain peace will return to the land and the infrastructure will magically rebuild itself, miraculously re-planting fields and restocking larders. Also it’s Spring now.

#I was annoyed and had some time on my hands #game of thrones #cursed netflix #every 'medieval knight movie' ever #middle ages #medieval

[leona-florianova]

Can I get a rundown of the Locked Tomb Trilogy? I know I could read a summary on Google, but like, wanna hear it from someone corporeal

*googles the definition of "corporeal"* aw shoot and this is the thing i strive against...

Yeah anyway... so far I have only read Gideon the ninth and Harrow the ninth and there might be more but im not sure whats going on cause im not entirely invested in the fandom and whenever anything new from the series conveniently appears for free i will read it.

I dunno how to summarize the series without too many spoilers + im incredibly bad at puting thoughts together..

so im just gonna say that...first and second book are VERY DIFFERENT...and there is no point in summarizing the second one really if you havent read the first...

Gideon the Ninth is about a butch sword wielding lesbian jock (Gideon), who lived her whole life cloistered on a horrible death cultist space station on some terribly moribund planet (that might or might not be ex Pluto) and would like to leave... The only other teenager on the whole planet is a 17 year old nun necromancer supreme (the reverend daughter Harrowhark) And they hate each other with passion so very very much...for REASONS.

One day Harrowhark is asked to participate in some event that might result in saving the planet from its total moribundnes moribundussness...

N its required of her to bring a bodyguard, but because stuff happened with her original bodyguard, she has to do with Gideon, who lacks any manners whatsoever.

Anyway... the event is a fun treasure hunt inside an abandoned floating city... with murder mystery peppered in for extra tension

There is like 15 or how many other participants... Both necromancers and their bodyguards from... 7? other planets.. i cant count.. just bunch of people... And nobody really knows whats the point of the whole event, but there is definitelly something fucked up going on....

.....

...

.

Oh yeah and there is some wlw stuff.. which is cool but cause i rarely pay attention to relationshippy stuff I was more interested in the whole clusterfuck of fantasy/scifi laws and worlbuilding this series has going on...

in this universe:

- Necromancer is an umbrella term for person able to shape either body or soul... With no regard to laws of physiscs as we know it.

- The more sickly n moribund the necromancer is the stronger they are... or if more death n decay happended around them... So I imagine they all look kinda sh*t.

- One thing that took some getting used to while reading was the... use of recent expressions used in memes... Which is initially weird considering the scifi setting.. but hey... we also sometimes use whole sentences from classical literature, right? :y

- I dunno whats the general idea of how the characters n settings look cause I havent really looked at the cover art nor looked much at other fanart..

But I like to imagine its all very... both baroque and goth(ic) n still very sci-fi/fantasy... combination of the aesthetics of Darksouls and Event Horizon... art of Juan Giménez, H. R. Giger and Jan Blažej Santini (the author of the ossuary in Sedlec..)..and bunch of others

wow this is quite long...

anyway its interesting read

#also highly recommend if you like characters that are just..the worst #gideon the ninth #the locked tomb #thoughts #text post #long post #damn i cant think #like at all #my head is stuffed cuz im ill zzzz #their space ships work on power of death and shitty electronics just think about that...thats metal af #spoiler alert the treasure is the relationship with bodyguards the necromancers made along the way

[usergreenpixel]

Frev writing prompts, Part 5! Seriously, I have no idea how I keep coming up with these. 😅

36. The protagonist was born and raised by a troupe of traveling performers. For as long as they can remember, they have been traveling from place to place, never staying anywhere for a few days at most.

The protagonist’s father is the troupe’s flutist and singer while their mother is a puppeteer so the youth has always had a passion for the performing arts and dreams of traveling all over Europe with their big happy family.

Nicknamed “L’œillet rouge” (The Red Carnation) by the troupe as an homage to their father’s favorite flower, the protagonist enjoys playing the flute and singing with their father, as well as putting on puppet shows with their mother.

With a song in their heart, a smile on their face and their father’s precious flute in their hands, the protagonist travels all over the country with their family, entertaining the people of France but never settling down and they like it that way.

But one day, while the troupe is staying in Paris and putting on a rather satirical puppet show which mocks the current regime, the protagonist’s parents are suddenly arrested by the police. Apparently, the father is a dangerous rebel while the mother is guilty of having sheltered said rebel years ago.

The protagonist is convinced that there must be a mistake and decides to rescue their parents with the help of all the other troupe members, including the protagonist’s older maternal half-brother and their maternal grandparents, all of whom are eager to help.

The time is limited and the rescue will be far from easy, but the protagonist will be damned if they don’t at least try to succeed. So, with that in mind, the young flutist and their family start to concoct the rescue plan...

37. Rumors have it that people who have been murdered tend to become vengeful ghosts and haunt their killers to exact revenge.

This is certainly true for Robespierre and his supporters. Unable to find peace, their souls are brought back to the realm of the living, seeking revenge on the Thermidorians.

This particular circumstance is quite convenient for the protagonist, a spirit medium who summons these ghosts and intends to use them as tools in their plan to torment the Thermidorians and avenge their family that got massacred in Lyon, skillfully using the revolutionaries’ restlessness and anger to achieve their goal.

However, soon certain events make the protagonist question the morality of using these spirits. Perhaps the protagonist is no better than their enemies if they are not above manipulating others. Perhaps there’s another way… Nonsense! It’s not manipulation if the other people also want revenge and are dead anyway...right?

38. The heroine of the story, like many other girls of the noble class, grew up and got her education in a convent in her hometown of Caen, France.

As a result of this upbringing, the young woman is rather used to a sheltered life, her idealism is through the roof and she is rather nostalgic about her life in the convent and her friendship with another noble girl, Charlotte Corday, who is the heroine’s closest friend and confidant.

At first the noblewoman wants to stay out of the events of the revolution, dreaming of taking her vows as a nun and living a quiet life in the convent, but those plans are abruptly thwarted by Corday, whose influence slowly gets the naïve heroine deeper and deeper into the mess that is the French Revolution.

Being idealistic, easily trusting, quiet, pacifistic and devoutly Catholic, the heroine initially follows her best friend’s lead and trusts her judgement since Corday is the closest thing to a big sister that the young woman has.

However, when Corday tries to convince her to kill Jean-Paul Marat and end the revolution, the heroine starts having mixed feelings about her friend’s decisions, despite being angry with Marat for her own personal reasons. After all, her faith teaches to forgive, not to judge and take revenge, so now the heroine must make a choice.

Will she betray her best friend and ruin the plan or will she cast aside her morals to help Corday and, presumably, the rest of the country? Is Marat really the bloodthirsty monster that Corday says he is? Is there another way to deal with the situation at hand without any casualties? And what consequences will the main character face for the choice she makes?

39. The main character is an illegitimate son of a Russian noble and a serf (yes, serfs were still a thing in Russia) who got taken in by his father as a “ward” and sent to France to get a good education, as everything French was very fashionable in the Russian Empire at the time.

There, in Paris of 1789, the young man absorbs all the knowledge he can, learning languages, reading the prominent books written in the Enlightenment era and even befriends a man by the name of Maximilien de Robespierre, a lawyer from Arras and the representative of Artois.

Considering that Robespierre was almost born illegitimate, he is the first person in a long time who doesn’t judge the protagonist for the circumstances of his birth and accepts him for him. Excited to be accepted at long last, the young man begins to look up to Robespierre as a mentor and an older brother of sorts, quickly absorbing his ideas and supporting him.

So, naturally, when the revolution begins and the young man finds himself trapped in Paris, he joins the revolutionaries to fight alongside his mentor.

Thus begin his adventures.

40. The protagonist is a child of criminals forced to survive on the streets after losing their parents until they’re eventually taken in by a seemingly sympathetic Jacobin, given a new name, a home and a fresh start in life. The protagonist essentially becomes the revolutionary’s ward and their guardian even takes them to the Convention so the youth can observe the meetings.

All seems good for the protagonist...almost too good to be true. But eventually certain events force the protagonist to wonder if their new guardian truly cares about them.

Could it be that their Jacobin guardian has some sinister motives? And will the protagonist be able to move away from their “bad” heritage and live an honest life at last?

41. Barras is in love. Again.

Head over heels over a pretty servant he recently hired and she even seems to like her employer back. Even her suspiciously strong resemblance to a certain Jacobin who got executed in 1794 isn’t a dealbreaker for Barras and the smitten man writes said resemblance off as a coincidence.

The other Thermidorians, especially Fouché, are not that blind and they fear that a relative of that particular executed man is here to seek revenge. Fouché decides to investigate this seemingly ordinary and harmless young servant, suspecting that she has quite a few skeletons in her closet.

Are these suspicions going to be confirmed or is Fouché simply being paranoid?

42. Thermidor has just taken place. The Jacobins are imprisoned and it seems like the traitors are going to win. All hope is lost for the Jacobins and their enemies rejoice.

But little do the Thermidorians know that by betraying and imprisoning all the men who stand in their way, they have just acquired new enemies - women.

Revolutionary women.

Wives, daughters, sisters, nieces, goddaughters, lovers, wards, friends and sympathizers of the captured Jacobins who are not going to sit back and give up.

Seeing how bleak things are, these women, led by a mysterious woman who conceals her face behind a mask and calls herself “Citoyenne Liberté” (Citizen Liberty), decide to rescue their imprisoned loved ones from the clutches of the Thermidorians.

They’re running out of time, they’re outnumbered and not equipped with proper weapons, but that is hardly a problem they can’t solve and they’re willing to fight against the odds regardless of the obstacles.

After all, Heaven hath no fury like a woman scorned, which is what the Thermidorians are about to learn the hard way.

43. A singer and actress who used to perform in Venice flees to France after a scandal demolishes her reputation. Having only her voice and her acting to make ends meet, for a while she tries to find work in Paris but barely makes enough money for her and her son to survive.

Her only friend and confidant in this bleak situation is a future revolutionary who happens to admire the heroine’s singing and strongly believes that she deserves better. He even bonds with the actress’s toddler son and is willing to step up and become a proper father figure for the child.

Thanks to said revolutionary, the heroine’s life begins to change for the better and she decides to settle down in Paris. Even when she learns about the approaching revolution, she chooses to stay in the only place where she feels like she can belong.

What’s more, the actress finally finds her new purpose in life. She too can fight for the cause of her new partner and his friends, in her own way.

How is a woman whose main talents are acting and singing supposed to be able fight, you may ask? Why, by becoming a spy for the Jacobins and the singing voice of the revolution of course!

And she might just be able to prove that anyone can be a revolutionary and one doesn’t need to be a fighter nor an orator to help a noble cause.

44. A female servant working for Georges Danton has to practically flee the house of her employer after the latter crosses all the possible boundaries while drunk.

Fearing for her safety and profoundly traumatized by the event, the servant is found and taken in by a seemingly sympathetic man who sees Danton as a sworn enemy for his own reasons. Considering that both have a grudge against Danton and the man is a journalist, he and the servant team up to bring Danton down.

Will they succeed? Why does the journalist hate Danton? And is his desire to aid the heroine genuine?

45. Paris, France. The revolution is in full swing.

The Committee of Public Safety has to deal with multiple issues, the ongoing war is depleting France’s resources and the situation seems dire.

What’s more, a new newspaper, “La Voix de la Justice” (The Voice of Justice), began to circulate in the city. While this particular fact isn’t that surprising by itself, the thing that sets this newspaper apart from the rest is the fact that its author is anonymous.

Nobody knows who writes this newspaper but the articles are quite good and this mysterious person has already exposed several people who were using the Reign of Terror as an excuse for their atrocities.

Naturally, all these details catch the attention of Jean-Paul Marat and Camille Desmoulins, two of the most prominent journalists of that time. Intrigued by this new newspaper and its author, the two revolutionaries team up to track that person down, if only to find out who they are and thank them for helping their cause.

46. The protagonist grew up believing that Robespierre is single handedly responsible for the execution of their beloved aunt and uncle and, as a result, believes that the man deserved to be executed for that betrayal.

However, the protagonist is soon forced to question their judgment when their older cousin, Horace Desmoulins, reaches out to them in a letter, inviting them to Paris and claiming that he found evidence proving that in actuality Robespierre attempted to save Camille and Lucile Desmoulins, Horace’s parents.

Although the protagonist is skeptical at first, since Horace has always defended his godfather, they are still intrigued by their cousin’s invitation and leaves Guise to join Horace in his investigation.

Together, the two cousins are both determined to clear the names of Horace’s parents and figure out what role Robespierre actually played in the family tragedy.

47. The five protagonists are all members of a heavy metal band whose name and songs are an homage to the French Revolution.

Previously little more than a quintet of college misfits determined to rehabilitate this particular event and tell the real story through music, the band finally starts gaining popularity after a successful concert at a music festival in Marseille.

And then things take a turn for the unexpected when the band gets into an accident on their way home, only to wake up in Revolutionary France. Naturally, they now must survive and return home but this adventure might just become the inspiration they needed so much...

48. After the protagonist’s father leaves them and their blind mother behind to move to Paris, the protagonist is naturally upset. Year after year, they wait for their father to return but he never does.

In 1789, after losing their mother to an illness, the protagonist decides that enough is enough and travels to Paris to confront their father. To their disgust, they soon find out that their father is now remarried, with a new family and quite rich while the protagonist is basically a pauper. Moreover, the father seems to have joined the revolutionaries, which is something that the protagonist cannot approve of either.

Now the protagonist wants to make sure that their father faces the music for his betrayal so they contact a journalist who is about to expose said father in an article.

A story of one of his enemies leaving behind his first family will be a nice addition to the already existing accusations of corruption, but the protagonist and the journalist soon realize that they are not immune to the consequences of their actions either and this article might cause more damage than they think it will.

49. (A reimagining of Aladdin) After their flute is broken beyond repair, the protagonist goes to a pawn shop to find a replacement for their practice.

It is there that an old ivory flute catches their attention so the protagonist purchases it, has it professionally restored and decides to keep it, ignoring the warning of the shopkeeper that it’s cursed and the suspiciously low price.

The protagonist is a skeptic and never believed in magic, curses and other occult things.

That is until they play the flute for the first time and a man poofs into existence like a genie from a lamp. Introducing himself as Louis Antoine de Saint-Just, he informs the protagonist that he used to be the owner of the flute but is now trapped in it because of black magic.

Despite their skepticism, the protagonist cannot logically explain anything that’s going on but wants to help so they strike a deal with Saint-Just - he is going to help the protagonist win over their love interest in exchange for freedom.

As for how the spell is supposed to be broken, the protagonist is completely clueless but their mysterious neighbor with a knack for alchemy and the occult might be able to help…

50. Lyon, France.

The future Thermidorians mercilessly massacre innocent people and rule with an iron fist. Just today they massacred several prominent noble families of the city for defying them.

However, what the tyrants do not know is that they didn’t massacre everyone, for the daughters of the executed nobles are currently living at a convent to get education, as was common back then.

Upon receiving the tragic news and fearing that these young girls are going to end up on the death list, two nuns, the heroines of the story, come up with a plan to escort the girls out of the city and get them to a different location where they would be safe.

The plan is daring but the risk is too high to sit there and do nothing. Will the nuns be able to keep their students safe?

Let me know in the comments or DMs if any of my prompts interest you! I can help you with certain prompts if you want! 😊

#louis antoine de saint just #french revolution #writing #writing prompts #frev #paul barras #I still refuse to make a fouche tag #charlotte corday #jean paul marat #camille desmoulins #lucile desmoulins

[edettethegreat]

Review of Romeo X Juliet (the anime adaption of Romeo and Juliet, VERY loosely based off of the original play)

Well I think it’s gonna be kinda long, so I’m gonna put a cut right here.

OK.

What it got right/ what was in there that was in the actual play:

Romeo and Juliet are from two opposing families (Montague and Capulet). They fall in love with each other. There are some other characters who also exist.  

What was in there that was NOT in the actual play:

Literally everything and anything else. This is not an exaggeration in the least bit. Juliet grows wings at some point. And maybe turns into an actual tree.

So. What’s Romeo X Juliet about?

The basic Premise:

Montague (not the whole family- just Romeo’s father) is the main antagonist. He kills out the entire Capulet family when Juliet is a child, but somehow Juliet is rescued. Juliet spends the next like 13-14 year of her life pretending to be a boy by the name of Odin to hide from Montague, and also does vigilante work, because life isn’t so good under Montague’s rule. Oh yeah, Montague’s like. The king or something. 

There are also characters from other Shakespeare plays there. And Shakespeare himself is a character. 

The Characters:

Characters who aren’t from Romeo and Juliet (but are from other Shakespeare plays):

Shakespeare himself- he’s literally just Shakespeare himself. Just chilling, watching the whole plot go down. 

Emilia- an actress in Shakespeare’s acting troupe

Regan- a servant girl working for Shakespeare’s mother’S family.

Cordelia- I think she’s like. A servant to the Capulet family? Who got away with Juliet when Montague killed them off? Anyway she’s Plot relevant. She marries Benvolio.

Ophelia- oh boy. Where do I even start. OK you know what? I’ll get to this when I get up to Escalus. Just. Scroll to where I talk about Escalus.

Petruchio- he’s pretty irrelevant- he only exists for one episode, and then he dies a tragic death

Hermione- the girl Romeo’s engaged to. 

Characters that are actually from Romeo and Juliet: 

(In the order of easiest to explain to hardest to explain)

Juliet- Ok. She’s the main character. She does vigilante work until she can’t anymore. 

Romeo- literally just Romeo. Exactly what you’d expect from Romeo. He doesn’t do anything mind blowing. I mean, he does try to kill Montague, but everyone tries to kill Montague because he’s basically a dictator.

Lady Montague- I think she went off to become a nun or something, because she didn’t like that her husband was basically a dictator who goes around murdering people. She’s nice. I liked her.

Benvolio- not the brightest guy. Really. He and his family gets exiled because his father disagreed with something Montague said. Ends up marrying Cordelia.

Mercutio- one of the antagonists, but literally the worst one. He decides to betray Romeo and join Team Antagonists because I think he wanted power or something? It wasn’t entirely clear. He then betrays his father to Montague, and Montague kills his father. Then Montague tells him that he’s totally better than Romeo and he could totally replace him as Montague’s son. So you’re probably thinking “hey that sounds a lot like that one part of Edmund’s arc”- BUT IT’S NOT- Mercutio is about 0% dedicated to any of this and is a huge coward. Then he tries to kill Romeo. That doesn’t work out. Then he kills Montague and goes mad. I don’t know why he does any of this. I don’t think he himself knows why he does any of this. Also he’s *really* annoying. (Literally just go watch it- you’ll see- he’s *so* annoying.)

Montague- OK SO. This fellow here has actually a tragic backstory that motivates his evilness. Listen to this wild ride of of a story: So. Capulet (not Juliet’s father- her grandfather or great grandfather or someone else related but not her father) had a affair with some lower class lady, and MONTAGUE WAS THE RESULT. YES. THAT’S RIGHT. I HAVE ANOTHER TRAGIC SAD LITERAL AND FIGURATIVE BASTARD TO ADD TO MY COLLECTION. Anyway. Montague just wanted to kill out the whole Capulet family as revenge. Sounds fair enough. So he gets adopted or something by the Montague family, kills out the people ahead of his until he’s the heir (I think?), and then goes on a killing spree with the Capulet family. Then he becomes. Like. An evil dictator. That lowers his coolness by a large percentage. He was pretty neat before, but I’m not so pro-evil dictators. 

Tybalt- HOLD ON. IF YOU THOUGHT MONTAGUE’S STORY WAS COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY BUT GREAT NONETHELESS, THEN BEHOLD THE STORY HERE.  Ok so. He’s introduced when he suddenly appears out of nowhere being super mysterious. Juliet was doing some vigilante work, and it looked like she was about to get caught, and he swoops in and saves the day. And Juliet’s all like “who on earth are you?” And he basically says “the name’s Tybalt- I’m loyal to the Capulet family- that’s all you gotta know”. (He might also tell her that he’s her cousin- idk). Anyway. He spends most of the time being mysterious and kinda emo, and hating Montague. Until his tragic backstory is revealed. BASICALLY. You know how I mentioned Montague was climbing the rankings in the Montague family? So at that time, the Montagues and Capulets weren’t really enemies or anything. So they hung out. And while climbing the ranks, he ended up courting a Capulet- Juliet’s mom’s sister. THAT’S RIGHT. TYBALT IS THE SON OF MONTAGUE AND A CAPULET. ANOTHER BOTH LITERAL AND FIGURATIVE BASTARD. I HAD NO IDEA THERE WOULD BE ONE, LET ALONE TWO. YOU ALL KNOW THAT’S MY FAVORITE TYPE OF CHARACTER. 

Me, when the Montague and Tybalt reveals happened:

And onto the absolute craziest change made to any character ever-

Escalus- He’s. He’s a tree. A physical tree. I’m not even kidding. I wish I was. He’s a physical magical tree, that magically sustains the world. Ophelia (remeber I said I’ll explain her when I explain Escalus?) is the magical guardian of this magical tree. The tree is sustained by the women of the Capulet family occasionally sacrificing themselves to merge with the tree or something? Towards the end of the show the world starts literally collapsing around everyone, and Ophelia is like “hey Juliet the only way to save the world is for you to sacrifice yourself and come merge with the tree. If not the everyone will literally die.”

And Juliet’s like “yeah sounds fair”. But Romeo’s like “NO! I love you! You will not merge with a tree!” 

And Ophelia’s like “um. Literally everyone will die if she doesn’t.” And Romeo’s like “But at least we’ll die together!!”. So Ophelia and Romeo fight each other and they both kill each other. Then Juliet’s like “welp since romeo’s already dead, i may as well die too.” And (I think??) merges with the tree? Also she grows wings. Anyway. That’s that. That’s the show. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

OTHER THINGS- Mainly about Tybalt because I love him (more specifically- I love emo vigilante Tybalt, but the play version of angry rich boy Tybalt)

-When Romeo finds out that Tybalt is kinda his brother, he’s like “oh cool! You’re my brother now!” And Tybalt is like “huh. Yeah, I guess you’re right”- and from there onward they are 100% committed to being brothers. 

-There’s this one scene where Tybalt, Romeo, and Juliet all simultaneously decide “yup Im gonna go kill Motague. I have the biggest right to kill him. He’s for me to kill”. So Tybalt gets there first and is like “PLOT TWIST I’M YOUR SON!” And draws his sword. Then Romeo enters and is like “YOUR REIGN OF TYRANNY IS OVER!” And draws his sword. And then Juliet comes in and is like “I AM JULIET OF THE HOUSE OF CAPULET!”. And then Juliet decides not to kill him, because Mercy (TM). And then Mercutio comes in and stabs him, because (here’s a bit of the plot I forgot to mention) Montague sent him to hold off the rebellion (The Capulet’s team+ most of the citizens), and Mercutio epically failed. So he was like “the citizens will kill me if I go to them. And Montague will kill me if I go to him. Welp. I guess I have to kill him.” Then Mercutio goes mad. Because why not.

-Benvolio and Mercutio have literally nothing to do with each other. I don’t think they ever even speak. What 

-everyone rides around on these dragons with wings called Dragon Steeds.

-Also instead of it taking place in Verona, it takes place in Neo-Verona. A floating city miles above ground. 

-I think that’s it

#romeo and juliet #Romeo X Juliet #shakespeare #Anyone who isn’t familiar with my regular content is gonna be very confused with my reaction to Montague and Tybalt #So to the random dude scrolling through the Romeo and Juliet tag: #this whole account is just me talking about Benedetto from tcomc and Edmund from King Lear #that’s the context

[love-geeky-fangirl]

Ranking every teen drama I've watched

I have gotten really into teen dramas lately, because it's quarantine I can't go out and have fun, but I can still watch other people my age going out and having fun and doing things I don't get to do. Anyway I haven't seen all teen dramas, I was never interested in supernatural ones, so you won't find Vampire Diaries and similar shows on this list.

From worst to best:

The Secret Life of the American Teenager

I will never understand how this show ran for five seasons. It will forever remain a mystery to me. This show is so bad it's good. The writing resembles a wattpad story, Amy's pregnancy is inconsistent (like how was she five months pregnant for like five or six episodes, aren't the episodes supposed to be set a week apart?), the acting is bad (that is not to say that Molly Ringwald or Shailene Woodley are bad actresses, obviously they're not, I'm talking about Amy's sister that has the same facial expression no matter what her mood is supposed to be), some of the views this show expresses are very old-fashioned and damaging (the madonna-whore binary, the fact that they can't even utter the word abortion) and every single male character on this show is a creep and a cheater. I can't believe I watched like thirteen episodes of this. I will never get that time back.

Weirdest moment: "I'm a whore!" "Well, you're my whore." (Was this supposed to be romantic??)

Best moment: none

Glee

This is going to be unpopular and don't get me wrong, I like Glee, but I feel like the writers put much more thought into the musical numbers than the storylines. Again, Quinn's pregnancy is inconsistent (but I'm starting to think TV shows are always inconsistent about pregnancies), the characters don't look like they're in high school at all, the cheerleaders wear their uniforms 24/7 for no reason (Quinn even wore it to her sonogram, like seriously?) the whole celibacy club thing is weird and Mr Schue is a terrible teacher. However, the visuals and the musical numbers are great, Sue Sylvester is iconic (albeit also a terrible teacher) and some of the scenes are really emotional (Kurt singing I Wanna Hold Your Hand made my sister cry) so overall, it's pretty good.

Weirdest moment: Finn praying to grilled cheese (what??)

Best moment: Quinn giving birth to Bohemian Rhapsody, Kurt singing I Wanna Hold Your Hand

Dawson's Creek

I LOVE their 90s' outfits and Joey and Pacey are really otp material, but I just can't stand Dawson! He got mad that Joey didn't tell him about his mother's affair, as if it was her place to get involved. She was 15! It's understandible she didn't want to get tangled into that mess. He also slut-shamed Jen in a really gross way. He literally stopped talking to her for a day when he found out she isn't a virgin. Why are both Joey and Jen into this guy?? This would've been a much better show if it was called Joey's Creek or Pacey's Creek.

Weirdest moment: the way Dawson's mom confessed her affair to her husband. I don't think any irl human would use this choice of words. Also that scene where Dawson's father was teaching him how to kiss while Joey was watching. Cringe.

Best moment: any time Joey and Pacey are bickering. My shipper heart!

Pretty Little Liars

I loved the book version of this, but the TV version seems way too dramatic. First of all, they romanticized Aria and Ezra's relationship (ewww) and made the whole thing seem much more overdramatic. I don't know how to explain it, I mean the books are also dramatic but the TV show somehow took it to a whole new level. None of the girls look like they're in high school, but I love the way they dress and do their makeup. It's almost as though the writers put more thought into their outfits than storylines. I still loved watching it until Netflix took it off, though.

Weirdest moment: Spencer somehow trying to block A's number from her laptop in the middle of a park and then being confused that it didn't work. Weren't you supposed to be the smart one, Spencer?

Best moment: Haleb in the shower, hiding from Hanna's mom.

Skins

This is a classic. Effy is iconic (I somehow heard about her even before watching Skins) and the musical number at the end of season 1 was out of nowhere but still somehow fit perfectly into the story. I also give this show point for being one of the few TV shows where teen characters are actually played by real life teens. They look their age, talk their age (no "I reject reality" or other cringy lines like that) and aren't unrealistically perfect like characters from American teen dramas tend to be. They look like people you might actually meet in high school. However the show loses points for all the continuity errors (are 8 episodes supposed to be the whole school year??) and the number of unneccessary death/tragic accidents. It seemed kind of over-the-top and unneccessarily dark and brutal at times.

Weirdest moment: Chris's graphic death

Best moment: Wild World

Euphoria

The Gen Z American version of Skins, but with better visuals. Much better. I loved the aesthetic, the colors, the lighting and glitter. Zendaya's a great actress and I give this show points for casting an actual trans actress in the role of Jules. However I find it weird that all guys on this show are complete irredeemable assholes (except of Jules's dad and Ethan that is). Are we supposed to just root for the girls and not the guys? Also I find it hard to believe that any of these characters are actually 16/17. They have sex all the time (yeah teenagers have sex sometimes but on this show they treated Kat as some kind of a chaste nun for being a virgin at 16) and have seemingly no rules and no curfew. It would've been much more believable if they were in college.

Weirdest moment: Nate breaking into Tyler's house, beating him up and then taking a shower. The audacity this guy has!

Best moment: "You did this to me!" and Rue having an anxiety attack on the stage in theater class

Gossip Girl

I know this is also an unpopular opinion, because many claim Gossip Girl is the best teen drama ever, but for me it just got way too soapy as the seasons went on. The first two seasons were believable, even though they didn't really look like they were in high school, but after that it was just more and more weird plot points. I will give this show points for the fashion (I mean Blair's headbands and school uniform inspired a fashion line), the acting ("I killed someone"- iconic) and the choice of background music (Nate and Serena kissing to Paparazzi, Thanksgiving with Watcha Say). Despite the wild twists and turns of events, I just had to keep watching because this show had me hooked.

Weirdest moment: Bart Bass somehow flying off the building for no reason (seriously, what he did there had no logical explanation and defied laws of physics), Dan being Gossip Girl, Bart faking his death and returning more evil than before, Serena becoming Gossip Girl, the affidavit, everyone randomly stopping going to college... there are so many but Bart takes the cake I guess

Best moment: the Thanksgiving flashbacks from season 1, Dan placing a plastic crown on Blair's head

Freaks and Geeks

This is one of the few shows where high school is depicted realistically. It's not all glitter and parties and not everyone has sex and does drugs. Okay, I admit, the bullying was over the top and it was weird how no adults cared but other than that, it was pretty spot-on. It was emotional without being too dramatic and far-fetched and also had funny moments. Yes some of the characters may have been stereotypes but at least the show seemed self-aware of that. It's truly a shame we only got 18 episodes of this show, while The Secret Life of the American Teenager somehow got five seasons??? I don't get it.

Weirdest moment: when Cindy suddenly got super mean once she started dating Sam

Best moment: Daniel showing up at Kim's doorstep, Sam breaking down in tears in the end of 'Garage Door'

Gilmore Girls

I'm not sure this one counts as a teen drama, maybe it's more of a dramedy but I'm still including it here. It's funny, the dialogue is witty and full of obscure pop-culture references and the relationships between generations complex. Same as with Freaks and Geeks, the portrayal of high school is pretty realistic. Characters are shown studying and taking tests and not just partying all the time. However the show loses points for getting weirdly soapy in the 7th season. The dialogue wasn't as good and the camera angles were soap opera like and the storylines weren't very good either. You could really tell the show changed show-runners. The earlier seasons are the best. It's hard to explain but something about them feels cozy like a warm blanket and a cup of hot chocolate on a rainy day.

Weirdest moment: Lorelai marrying Chris and then making the whole "you're the man I want to want" speech, Lorelai defending and loving Dean for no reason

Best moment: Rory's graduation speech, Rory yelling at Chris and calling him out for not having been there for her, Then She Appeared, "Yes Emily, you may go first"... there are so many!

#teen dramas #the secret life of the american teenager #glee #dawson's creek #pll #skins #euphoria #gossip girl #freaks and geeks #gilmore girls #i would've included the oc but i havent seen enough of it yet

[theparanormalperiodical]

French Nuns And Newspaper Clippings: The Real Stories That Inspired The Exorcist (1973)

The year is 1632.

We are in a remote commune in Northern France. The situation is bleak: an outbreak of plague has started snatching lives again, and King Louis XIII is ordering the walls around Loudon to be torn down. The locals are more divided than ever.

But things are about to get worse.

Way worse.

The local nuns are beginning to act strange.

It started when one young nun claimed she had a vision of a dead priest. Suddenly, all 17 clergywomen are reporting similar visions. They then begin cussing, shouting, and displaying more and more aggressive behaviour.

17th century nuns do not act like this.

Oh no, this was something unholy. This was demonic possession.

331 years later, this little-known historic tale would feature as one of the main inspirations behind horror’s most iconic movie.

Yep, the film that still gives you nightmares of young girls walking down stairs crustacean-style is based on a true story. But it’s worse than that. It’s based on two tales of alleged possession, several real-life people, and a demon many still worship today.

*nopes the f*ck out*

Let’s Talk About The Exorcist

Let me just clarify something: the exorcist is not the creepy, possessed ‘lil girl. An exorcist is a person that performs exorcisms - so here, it’s the priests.

The Exorcist was originally a book written by William Peter Blatty. Adapted to a film series (and a TV show) starting 2 years later, they both shared a close plotline. Well, to begin with, anyway.

A statue of a demon is found in an archaeological dig of northern Iraq. The discovery unleashes a mysterious spirit/demon/god called Pazuzu. On the other side of the world, a young girl begins exhibiting strange behaviour. Regan, a typical 12-year-old American girl, refuses to eat or sleep and becomes aggressive. All the while, strange things happen around the house.

The doctors provide no answers to her behaviour, so the mother of the supposedly-ill child turns to religion instead. She finds help in the form of a priest who is experiencing a crisis of faith and consequently doesn’t believe this is demonic possession. But a couple chats with the girl convinces him that yep, she’s bunged up with a demon. So, he asks the bishop if he can perform an exorcism. A priest fresh off that dig in Iraq is shipped over and they get to work. During the final exorcism, one of the priests opts to save the possessed girl by asking the demon to possess them instead. The possessed priest chucks himself out of the window and as he falls to his death, regains his faith in God.

The Exorcist is one of the most famous horror films - if not, the most iconic - of all time, from the traumatic FX makeup of a possessed Regan to sequences ‘80s America wasn’t ready for.

But The Exorcist was not a stand alone film. Contrary to popular belief, what followed was 4 (soon to be 5) sequels ‘n’ prequels that unravelled a deep, dramatic plotline. There’s a reason we don’t hear about them.

In the following films we see the aftermath of Regan’s exorcism and emerging doubts about whether she was in fact really possessed. Political and theological themes rise to the surface, looking deeper at the priests that conducted the exorcism rather than the victim. At the same time we take part in an archeological dig, meet a serial killer, and get a front row seat to a battle during WW2.

It’s a wild ride. But this ride is brimming with reality.

Blatty directly cited inspiration from a number of sources, most famously the 1949 demonic possession of Roland Doe that he first heard when studying at Georgetown University. But he has also claimed that many of the characters who navigated the possession of Regan were based on real people.

Take Father Merrin, the exorcist leading the exorcism: he was based on a British archaeologist that excavated the caves where the Dead Sea Scrolls (ancient manuscripts written in Hebrew) had been found.

But the nature of the exorcism that filled out a majority of the film were informed by the work for Father William S Bowdern, a Jesuit priest who exorcised Roland Doe himself.

However, it wasn’t just the mortals that were inspired by real, historic figures.

Pazuzu Is An Actual Worshipped Demon

Without Pazuzu, there would be no possession. Without Pazuzu, there would be no exorcism, nor the need for an exorcist.

We only see the demon in flashes - but these moments inherit a history that takes us back as far as 3500BC. Pazuzu was an ancient Mesopotamian or Assyro-Babylonian god that was the king of the demons of the wind. He brought storms and drought, and although recognised as an evil spirit, he also drove away other evil spirits. He strives to protect us from plagues and misfortunes, and his rival, Lamashtu, causes harm to mother and baby during childbirth.

He is known as both a demon and a god, but in The Exorcist is recognised more as the former.

We do catch a couple glimpses of Pazuzu, but we only see his face clearly when he begins to take over young Regan. The pasty white face and blood red eyes don’t fit ancient lore: Pazuzu is traditionally depicted as having the head of a lion, the body of a human, the talons of an eagle, a pair of wings, a scorpion’s tail, and a ‘serpentine penis’ (I can’t work out if this is the penis of a snake or a penis that looks like a snake and like I don’t wanna know k).

The Exorcism Of Roland Doe

It’s one of the most famous cases of possession - and we don’t even know who the victim actually was.

In 1949, American newspapers began to pick up on the story of an exorcism in Maryland. A teenage boy was at the centre of mysterious poltergeist activity after the death of his spiritualist aunt. She was the one that first introduced him to an ouija board.

After typical paranormal activity took place, priests were summoned to exorcism him. During these exorcisms, furniture began to move by itself, the boy began to attack priests with rogue bedsprings, he began to speak in an unknown voice, the mattress he lay on began to shake, and words like “evil” and “hell” began to appear in scratches upon his body.

It was a very similar state to the one Regan was in during The Exorcist.

Roland Doe (a pseudonym, obviously) to this day has remained anonymous, and - if alive - he would be 86 years old.

Despite this being the most known case of alleged possession - rivalling only that of Anneliese Michel - it has received a large dose of skepticism and debunking. The supposed location of the exorcism and some personal details of Roland Doe have been contested. Plus, many believe Doe was actually a spoiled, attention-seeking bully who simply repeated Latin phrases heard at school in order to create some elaborate prank.

Regardless of whether it was real or not, it is a landmark moment in paranormal history.

And 300 years before a 14 year old lutheran began to growl Latin at his family members, a group of women began to show similar signs of a haunting.

The Possessed Affair Of Loudon And Aix-en-Provence

I’ve already introduced you to the possessed nuns of Loudon. But it turns out The Exorcist also took inspiration in another French convent: Aix-en-Provence.

The nuns of Loudon pinned their possession on the demon Asmodai and gave a number of different answers as to who summoned it. Some claimed it was either a priest named Peter or Zabulon (a biblical figure). But a week after this, a man named Urbain Grandier who had amassed a lot of power and a strained reputation in the community was considered the culprit.

Soon after the nuns first exhibited strange behaviour, they were hidden away and the symptoms stopped.

The accusations levelled against Grandier were clearly inspired by political motives as he had publicly attacked the cardinal’s work and the taking down of the wall. But locals say he would appear at random in the convent with no one sure as to how he got inside. It was even claimed that he had made a pact with the devil - from which a physical contract was supposedly uncovered - and that he had attended witch’s sabbat.

The priest was executed for sorcery and given ‘the boot’ (a method of torture).

Loudon and Aix-en-Provence are considered cases that fit in well with wider witch trials taking place across western Europe in the 17th century. The possession of the Ursuline nuns of Aix-en-Provence were similar to that of Loudon - but were just a tad more mental.

20 years before Grandier was convicted, a young woman, Madeleine de Demandolx, confessed to the superior of the convent that she had been intimate with the local priest. She was sent away to Aix-en-Provence to get some distance but soon began to do some rather out-of-character things.

She would have convulsions and soon the other nuns began to do the same. It appeared to be contagious.

But things got hella weird when the nuns gathered together in a holy cave that Mary Magdalene was meant to have once lived in (Sainte-Baume) to be exorcised. Instead of just shaking, they all tried to outdo each other in symptoms of possession.

Once would cuss fervently; another would speak in a deep, demonic voice.

A political story soon unravelled full of accusations, executions, and even Madeleine being released from jail at 77 for her alleged witchcraft.

So - are you ever going to watch The Exorcist after this?

(Me neither.)

If you liked this post, go on and let me know with a like ‘n’ a reblog. And if you want to hear somethin’ spooky every Saturday, go on and hit follow!

#The Exorcist #exorcism #the exorcism of emily rose #the exorcist 1973 #the exorcist 2021 #roland doe #anneliese michel #the last exorcist #The Possession #demonic possession #spiritual #ghosts #demon #paranormal #supernatural #real ghost stories #based on a true story #true ghost stories #evidence of the paranormal #horror films #best horror movies #best horror movies 2020 #scary movies #scary stories #the conjuring #ed and lorraine warren #loudon possession

[new-sandrafilter]

Behold Dune: An Exclusive Look at Timothée Chalamet, Zendaya, Oscar Isaac, and More  

Timothée Chalamet remembers the darkness. It was the summer of 2019, and the cast and crew of Dune had ventured deep into the sandstone and granite canyons of southern Jordan, leaving in the middle of the night so they could catch the dawn on camera. The light spilling over the chasms gave the landscape an otherworldly feel. It was what they had come for.

“It was really surreal,” says Chalamet. “There are these Goliath landscapes, which you may imagine existing on planets in our universe, but not on Earth.”

They weren’t on Earth anymore, anyway. They were on a deadly, dust-dry battleground planet called Arrakis. In Frank Herbert’s epic 1965 sci-fi novel, Arrakis is the only known location of the galaxy’s most vital resource, the mind-altering, time-and-space-warping “spice.” In the new film adaptation, directed by Arrival and Blade Runner 2049 filmmaker Denis Villeneuve, Chalamet stars as the young royal Paul Atreides, the proverbial stranger in a very strange land, who’s fighting to protect this hostile new home even as it threatens to destroy him. Humans are the aliens on Arrakis. The dominant species on that world are immense, voracious sandworms that burrow through the barren drifts like subterranean dragons.

For the infinite seas of sand that give the story its title, the production moved to remote regions outside Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates, where the temperatures rivaled the fiction in Herbert’s story. “I remember going out of my room at 2 a.m., and it being probably 100 degrees,” says Chalamet. During the shoot, he and the other actors were costumed in what the world of Dune calls “stillsuits”—thick, rubbery armor that preserves the body’s moisture, even gathering tiny bits from the breath exhaled through the nose. In the story, the suits are life-giving. In real life, they were agony. “The shooting temperature was sometimes 120 degrees,” says Chalamet. “They put a cap on it out there, if it gets too hot. I forget what the exact number is, but you can’t keep working.” The circumstances fed the story they were there to tell: “In a really grounded way, it was helpful to be in the stillsuits and to be at that level of exhaustion.”

It wouldn’t be Dune if it were easy. Herbert’s novel became a sci-fi touchstone in the 1960s, heralded for its world-building and ecological subtext, as well as its intricate (some say impenetrable) plot focusing on two families struggling for supremacy over Arrakis. The book created ripples that many see in everything from Star Wars to Alien to Game of Thrones. Still, for decades, the novel itself has defied adaptation. In the ’70s, the wild man experimental filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky mounted a quest to film it, but Hollywood considered the project too risky. David Lynch brought Dune to the big screen in a 1984 feature, but it was derided as an incomprehensible mess and a blight on his filmography. In 2000, a Dune miniseries on what’s now the SyFy channel became a hit for the cable network, but it is now only dimly remembered.

Villeneuve intends to create a Dune that has so far only existed in the imagination of readers. The key, he says, was to break the sprawling narrative in half. When Dune hits theaters on December 18, it will only be half the novel, with Warner Bros. agreeing to tell the story in two films, similar to the studio’s approach with Stephen King’s It and It Chapter Two. “I would not agree to make this adaptation of the book with one single movie,” says Villeneuve. “The world is too complex. It’s a world that takes its power in details.”

For Villeneuve, this 55-year-old story about a planet being mined to death was not merely a space adventure, but a prophecy. “No matter what you believe, Earth is changing, and we will have to adapt,” he says. “That’s why I think that Dune, this book, was written in the 20th century. It was a distant portrait of the reality of the oil and the capitalism and the exploitation—the overexploitation—of Earth. Today, things are just worse. It’s a coming-of-age story, but also a call for action for the youth.”

Chalamet’s character, Paul, thinks he’s just a boy struggling to find a place in the world, but he actually possesses the ability to change it. He has a supernatural gift to harness and unleash energy, lead others, and meld with the heart of his new home world. Think Greta Thunberg, only she’s a Jedi with a degree from Hogwarts. Paul comes from a powerful galactic family with a name that sounds like a constellation—the House Atreides. His father and mother, Duke Leto (played by Oscar Isaac) and Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), take their son from their lush, Scandinavian-like home world to preside over spice extraction on Arrakis. What follows is a clash with the criminal, politically connected House Harkonnen, led by the monstrous Baron Vladimir (Stellan Skarsgård), a mammoth with merciless appetites. The baron, created with full-body prosthetics, is like a rhino in human form. This version of the character is less of a madman and more of a predator. “As much as I deeply love the book, I felt that the baron was flirting very often with caricature,” says Villeneuve. “And I tried to bring him a bit more dimension. That’s why I brought in Stellan. Stellan has something in the eyes. You feel that there’s someone thinking, thinking, thinking—that has tension and is calculating inside, deep in the eyes. I can testify, it can be quite frightening.”

The director has also expanded the role of Paul’s mother, Lady Jessica. She’s a member of the Bene Gesserit, a sect of women who can read minds, control people with their voice (again, a precursor to the Jedi mind trick), and manipulate the balance of power in the universe. In the script, which Villeneuve wrote with Eric Roth and Jon Spaihts, she is even more fearsome than before. The studio’s plot synopsis describes her as a “warrior priestess.” As Villeneuve jokes, “It’s better than ‘space nun.’ ”

Lady Jessica’s duty is to deliver a savior to the universe—and now she has a greater role in defending and training Paul too. “She’s a mother, she’s a concubine, she’s a soldier,” says Ferguson. “Denis was very respectful of Frank’s work in the book, [but] the quality of the arcs for much of the women have been brought up to a new level. There were some shifts he did, and they are beautifully portrayed now.”

In an intriguing change to the source material, Villeneuve has also updated Dr. Liet Kynes, the leading ecologist on Arrakis and an independent power broker amid the various warring factions. Although always depicted as a white man, the character is now played by Sharon Duncan-Brewster (Rogue One), a black woman. “What Denis had stated to me was there was a lack of female characters in his cast, and he had always been very feminist, pro-women, and wanted to write the role for a woman,” Duncan-Brewster says. “This human being manages to basically keep the peace amongst many people. Women are very good at that, so why can’t Kynes be a woman? Why shouldn’t Kynes be a woman?”

 As fans will know, there’s a vast menagerie of other characters populating Dune. There are humans called “mentats,” augmented with computerlike minds. Paul is mentored by two of them. There are also the bravado warriors Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck, played by Jason Momoa and Josh Brolin. Dave Bautista plays a sinister Harkonnen enforcer Glossu Rabban, and Charlotte Rampling has a key role as the Bene Gesserit reverend mother. The list goes on. In the seemingly unlivable wilds of Arrakis, Javier Bardem leads the Fremen tribe as Stilgar, and Zendaya costars as a mystery woman named Chani, who haunts Paul in his dreams as a vision with glowing blue eyes.

The breadth of Dune is what has made it so confounding for others to adapt. “It’s a book that tackles politics, religion, ecology, spirituality—and with a lot of characters,” says Villeneuve. “I think that’s why it’s so difficult. Honestly, it’s by far the most difficult thing I’ve done in my life.” After finishing this first movie, he’ll just have to do it all over again.

#timmy #timothee chalamet #dune 2020 #paul atreides #denis villeneuve #zendaya #Rebecca Ferguson #Oscar Isaac #Josh Brolin #my edit

[shireness-says]

A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink (2/5)

Summary: Two people are trained from childhood for a magical competition they don’t fully understand, whose stakes are higher than they imagine, all to be played out in a magical traveling circus. Falling in love complicates things. A CS AU of the book “The Night Circus”.

Rated M. ~16.5k. Also on Ao3. On Tumblr: Chapter One

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

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

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

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Henry is six the first time he visits the Circus. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

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

A week later, the Circus is gone.

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

———

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

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

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

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

And that’s that.

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t surprise Emma in the least. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods decisively. “Good.”

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

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

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

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

(She is not entirely sure she means it.)

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

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

——— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

Killian - 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Best wishes,

Belle

——— 

In time, the Circus gains followers.

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

And then - there are the Rêveurs.

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

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

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

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

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

———

Killian - 

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

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

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

Yours &c.,

Belle

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

It is not. 

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——— 

Killian - 

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

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

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

Yours,

-Belle

———

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

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

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

Make a wish.

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And like that, the magician begins her show.

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

——— 

The Circus returns when Henry is ten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Then prove it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you managed that,” she observes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——— 

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

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

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

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

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

Affectionately yours,

Belle

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

One they want her involvement in as well.

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

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

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

——— 

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

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

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

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

(Would he even mind?)

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I haven’t felt the desire before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How imminent?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand. Thank you.”

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

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

———

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

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

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

Yours &c., 

Belle

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not hers.

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

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

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

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

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

Hi, I would like to hear more about a mystery inc. buzzfeed unsolved au

you really want me to do headcanons for scooby mcfucking doo now??? fine

okay so it’s entirely Shaggy’s fault

but not on PURPOSE. He didn’t think anyone would take him seriously. He’s still not down for all this ghost hunting shit

the Gang(tm) was in the middle of their weekly routine (watching Ghost Adventurers and eating pot brownies in Daphne’s basement) and Shaggy, who was like, Far Out Man by this point, made some off hand comment that they’d be way better at ghost hunting than Zak fucking Baggins (whom he hates for legitimately no clear reason, likely stemming from a hallucination during a bad trip, but his friends find the unexplained grudge from the normally chill Shaggy hilarious and that’s why they always watch the show lmao)

anyway. he was JOKING

but when he wakes up the next morning, Fred has already created a youtube channel, contacted three different local haunted locations, and is using Daphne’s credit card to buy a shit load of equipment. alrighty.

 Daphne is All Fucking In for this idea, because she secretly never grew out of her middle school witchy girl phase, and she wants some damn validation. She’s already running a marketing campaign online and starting up a merch store. Daph. Daph it’s 8:30 in the morning. Daphne Babe I made the joke like two hours ago,

but she won’t be stopped

Scooby Doo himself abso-fucking-lutely has a legendary shitpost twitter and nobody but the gang knows an Actual Dog is running it but anyway Daphne figures out his password and starts promoting their ghost hunting show there ‘first episode dropping in a week!!!’ and it gets millions of retweets lmao

Shaggy dedicates all morning to trying to talk the two of them out of this

and when Velma finally wakes up she’s like are you guys,,,,, insane,

“Please don’t make me be the type of person who agrees with Shaggy”

at one point she was like ‘Well maybe you two can go be stupid together, this doesn’t really need to be a group thing’ but Fred and Daphne just went 🥺🥺 and her and Shaggy were like ‘Goddammit’ 

So they agree,

and by like the next damn day they’re in a decrepit building. It’s really gross. Shaggy’s desperately calling the vet to make sure Scoob is up to date on his shots gross. There’s an ominous thunderstorm. Very mood appropriate right

they’d spent the afternoon filming the bits where they learned the history of the location, because Daphne is a fast working journalist thanks, and the boys are all sufficiently spooked but Velma’s just like ‘why do I put up with all of you’ lmao

so they’re doing their walkthrough, they’ve got a mix of nice cameras and shitty shaky phone cameras, there’s a go-pro on Scobby’s head, and every single noise Velma refutes. Every single shadow she debunks. Every cold wind she hand waves away

there’s one point where Daphne is like ‘Velma honey you just need to open your mind’ and Velma is like ‘if ghosts are actually real than may God smite me where I stand’ and almost immediately the window next to her gets hit by a lightning strike and she just calmly looks up and deadpans ‘You missed’ 

during their solo walks Shaggy and Scoob come face to face with a full bodied apparition that chases them out of the house and when they’re reviewing the footage later Velma’s insisting it’s Fred in a cheap costume being a dick and Shaggy’s insisting that Fred has never successfully done anything in his life, why would he start now? And Fred is standing behind them looking offended and Daphne’s cackling off screen and anyway the first episode is a FUCKING HIT

even taking Scooby’s twitter audience into account they weren’t expecting this kind of a response 

but everyone’s obsessed with their group dynamic and how well the video managed to shift from comedy to horror so everyone’s hooked

they rush out a second episode that’s just as wild as the first

Fred, scared from seeing the footage of a legit ghost chasing Shaggy and Scoob, turns up with nun-chucks ‘‘dipped in holy water’‘ and whacks himself in the face with them while trying to show off. Daphne thinks the reported ghost looks cute in the pictures she dug up and starts getting flirty during the evp session. Fred has a great idea that they can bait the ghosts using costumes and Shaggy’s like ‘that’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said’ and then we hardcut to Shaggy and Scooby looking like this:

Scooby: “Rye rook rike rah dick”

Velma’s still shredding everything like she Won’t believe they even get an evp that says ‘can the chick in the glasses shut up’ ksjddfskjh

look I know traditionally mystery inc unmasks the ghosts and everything but I feel like they wouldn’t be able to post that online with their following??? I feel like that might mess up some criminal trials??? so we’re just going with the early 2000′s ghosts are real angle here, deal with it 

one time Velma says something particularly mean about the ghost’s previous life and they almost immediately pick up crying on the spirit box and Fred’s like ‘You hurt her feelings :/, tell the ghost you’re sorry Velma’ and she’s like no????? that’s clearly just a cat?? and then a rock almost hits her head but she insists it was because Scooby must’ve bumped into a shelf 

 some running gags for their fans include:

Obsessing over how Scooby can talk. Almost every Q&A video they get a question that’s just like ‘how the FUCK is the dog doing that please’ and the gang is always just like ‘What do you mean?’ and then Scooby just goes ‘Reah, rwhat ro rou mean?’ and then they just move onto the next question sdkjsdf

Velma and Shaggy making the hotdogga specifically to piss off Daphne, only instead of hotdogs it’s scooby snacks

 Daphne implying in one episode that she did, in fact, manage to successfully fuck a ghost, but she chose to exclude the footage to preserve modesty 

‘spot how many joints you can see in this episode’ 

 “Shaggy Rogers Buy A New Shirt Challenge” 

Velma once referred to Fred as the ‘communal sugar baby’ and no one is capable of moving on from that statement

one episode where Shaggy went on a five minute rant, uninterrupted, about how he could totally kick Zak Baggin’s ass. Daphne slowly pans in on his twiggy arms the more heated he gets. Zak Baggin’s retweeted the video without comment.

before episodes drop they always put up polls that are like ‘how do you think Fred’s plan will backfire this week?’ lmao

Velma’s glasses falling off right before a full bodied apparition appears before the rest of the group and since she didn’t see anything she thinks they’re talking bullshit so for like a month everyone was flooding her social media just begging her to buy some contacts

bets on what absolutely impractical but killer outfit Daphne will be wearing to a condemned building each episode 

okay I’m sorry I love this but I’m getting tired right now but anyway basically the entire dynamic of this show is:

Fred

Scooby

Daphne 

Shaggy

and Velma

and it’s very iconic I love this idea lmao

#scooby doo #mystery inc #shaggy rogers #daphne blake #bfu #asks #molly mumbles

[casualmaraudering]

/ so, inspired by a fanart i did recently have some fem sirius being a lesbian and having a lot of conflicting feelings!

cw: internalised homophobia, religious (catholic) themes, very brief contemplation of nudity (i guess)

*

*

“-inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother; to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me,” Sirius slowly whispers to herself, head low, breathing in the scent of smoking incense and burning candle wax.

The chapel is empty - rightfully so, seeing as it is nearing 1 am by now. Only the faint light of the candles atop of the altar shines in the room - it’s far too cloudy for the moonlight to come through the stained glass. There’s no sounds in the air, aside an occasional ambience of the night.

Being by herself, and with no chance of anyone interrupting her, Sirius kneels at the kneeler in the main portion of the small chapel. Rather than in front of the main altar, she’s at the side one, with a marble statue of Virgin Mary right in the centre. She had been taught by a nanny - the one who cared for her since birth - that it’s Mary you should go to if you seek guidance and, most of all, forgiveness. The purest of souls, she had been, and that she continues to be, blessing peace onto those who truly seek it. It’s what she had believed in, and poured that belief into Sirius, urging her to pray, rosary in hand, every night before bed.

It has been years since then, though. Sirius’s view of the world is so much different, now that she’s nearly an adult woman. She has met a great number of people, read a great number of books. Her beliefs are so much more than what they’ve been when she was little, mindlessly following her parents’ every step and command. She is worth more than that, now she knows.

And yet, here she is, once again, kneeled with a rosary in hand, just as she had been as a child. Except when she was small, things had been so simple. That whirlwind of emotions inside her chest and constant battle in her mind were nowhere in sight, not the way they are now, ever-present, constantly nagging her and making it hard to breathe.

She prays for so many things. Forgiveness. Guidance. Knowledge. An answer of any kind, really. A push towards one of the sides of war her mind and soul are battling. She doesn’t know who to believe, she doesn’t know if she should feel dirty or proud, whether she should seek penance and plead remorse, or let go and follow her heart.

If only Mary could answer her. Just that one question. Yes, or no.

Is what the people say true? The nuns and pastors and her parents, are they right? When they say that people like her are a plague on this world, that they’ll burn in hell, is this what awaits her?

“Is it wrong of me to love a woman?”

No answer ever comes, of course. None ever does.

God works in mysterious ways, Father Connolly would say. Frankly, Sirius thinks he’s full of shit.

She has gone through almost twenty beads on her rosary when she hears the unmistakable sound of the chapel doors opening.

She freezes, breathing out quietly, squeezing the rosary in her hand, waiting for a teacher to call her name. She’s no stranger to detention, of course, but maybe this time she could talk her way out - she left her bed, yes, but only to pray in the chapel. Surely whatever nun caught her out of bed after curfew will understand that.

“Sirius?”

At the sound of that voice, her breath catches in her throat. The very same voice that got her kneeling here tonight, torn from the inside, aching with confusion. Burning with desire.

“Remus,” she replies, hoping her voice sounds at least a bit relaxed, not giving away the sudden pace of her heart and the coil in her stomach. She shoves the rosary into the pocket of her jacket, and she quickly turns around, standing up.

Remus walks towards her from the darkness, lit by the gentle candlelight. For the first time, Sirius sees her with her hair loose, falling in curling strands around her face and down past her shoulders, resting on her chest. She’s wearing a nightgown - a white, thin fabric, from the looks of it.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Remus says at sudden, gesturing at the kneeler.

“I was done anyway,” Sirius replies with a smile. She sits down on the kneeler, trying to appear relaxed.

Remus nods, and steps closer to sit right next to Sirius, leaning against the brick wall of the altar, facing Sirius with her head just slightly cocked to the side.

“What are you out here for this late?”

Sirius chooses to shrug - she can’t exactly say why. It’s not like she could tell anyone at all, yet alone Remus of all people.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she replies finally.

“So you decided to pray?”

“You have said before that I’m ‘the religious type’,” Sirius reminds her with a smile. “It’s just… I had a nanny growing up. My parents are pretty well off, and it’s like a thing in our family to have someone take care of the kids full time. And that nanny would have me pray before bed, every single night. She said that if I ever need guidance or forgiveness or comfort, I should pray to Mary.”

“And you’re looking for guidance? Or forgiveness?” Remus nudges her with her shoulder, smiling in that particular way of hers that makes all of Sirius’s insides feel as if she’s on fire in the most pleasant of ways.

She looks gorgeous in the faint candlelight. Her hair is wild, curling here and there, a few strands over her face yet she doesn’t seem bothered by it. Sirius can just faintly see the scattering of freckles on her nose - a nose flushed red just slightly, likely cause of the cold outside. Her lips are red too - plump, smooth, soft.

And once she lets her eyes wander, Sirius can’t stop it. Her long neck, the necklace she always wears resting on it. Her collarbones, barely visible from under her hair. A few freckles disappearing under the edge of her gown.

She isn’t wearing a bra, Sirius notes, cursing herself for even noticing. And yet, when Remus leans back on her forearms and turns her head to look around her chapel, stretching her body in an outright sinful way, Sirius can’t not look. The curve of her breasts hidden by the thin fabric - just barely there and yet at the same time drawing her eyes in, taunting her.

“Say,” Sirius says at last - slowly, carefully choosing every word that falls out of her mouth, still letting her eyes bask in the glory of the woman before her. “-do you think that if something is out of your control - you try to go against it as much as you can, but it’s not possible… is it sin? You can’t help it no matter how hard you try, it’s like… engraved into you. Is it still unforgivable?”

Remus is silent for a moment, her head still turned forward towards the chapel. And so Sirius’s eyes remain fixed on her, the curve of her body, the way the fabric falls around those curves, covering some but still letting her see just enough of her silhouette.

Licking her lips, Sirius’s mind wanders back to the thoughts she rarely lets herself have - what would she look like without that nightgown covering her? What would it be like to see her here, posing on display, her whole body uncovered and shameless?

Is loving a woman so bad, if clearly women were made to be worshipped? Sirius can’t imagine not letting her eyes sway around Remus’s body, wishing so badly to as much as see it, touch it just once. It would only be natural to follow those desires. And if this is the forbidden fruit, as if Eve were the forbidden fruit… Adam had succumbed to her. How can Sirius not?

“You are who you are,” Remus answers. She turns back towards Sirius, scooting a bit closer. “-and don’t the texts say that God made us in his image?”

“They do, but-”

“Then how could something within your nature be wrong? If it’s that much out of your control that you can do nothing to stop it, how different is it from breathing? From eating? From living? It’s a natural part of you, and it was intended to be a part of you. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness if there’s nothing to forgive.”

Sirius lets her eyes hit the floor, breathing slowly.

If what Remus says is true, why has she heard, over and over, that people like her are not welcome within their communities? Why have all of their teachers preached against it and acted as if it’s the greatest sin one could commit?

“I know a lot of people talk, but often enough, they don’t know what they’re talking about,” Remus continues, seemingly reading into Sirius’s thoughts or straight into her soul. “We’ve had so many classes on it, read through pretty much every page of the Bible. Do you remember any lines that said it’s sinful? Even one?”

She doesn’t. Maybe she’s forgotten, but honestly, she would have remembered. It would be engraved into her conscience just like everything she had heard people say about it. Her thoughts circle around it every night, when she can’t sleep. Every word, every threat, every stab right in the heart. Sinful, unnatural, wrong, Adam, Eve, Hell.

And yet she doesn’t remember stumbling onto it in the one source that does matter most.

“Of course, you could always read through it again, but I don’t see the point, honestly,” Remus keeps talking, shrugging at her, once again with that smile. “I can tell you, if Mary could tell you, she’d say that you’re good. It might seem terrifying at first, but you’re not the only one that feels this way.”

Sirius blinks slowly, brows furrowed in confusion. It’s as if-

“D-do-... are you-... what?”

Remus laughs - and truly, it is a marvellous sound, one Sirius could compare to what she thinks a choir of angels would likely sound like - and she gets up, brushing off any dirt from her gown.

“I know what you’re talking about, yes,” she confirms, taking a step back, but turning around so she can still look Sirius in the face. “Trust me when I say it - you aren’t the only one.”

She smiles, and Sirius feels like her brain isn’t quite catching up with what’s going on at the moment. And then Remus takes a few steps towards her and brushes a strand of Sirius’s hair behind her ear, her face close enough that Sirius sees the reflection of flickering candles in her honey eyes.

It’s a short, fleeting moment - Remus is there, with her eyes and freckles and hair and nose and smile and smell of chocolate and vanilla -and then she’s gone, taking a step back, then two, then three.

“I’ll see you around. Goodnight, Sirius.”

She steps away. Turns around. And with that she leaves, her white gown fluttering with her movement, her hair bouncing with her step, disappearing into the darkness. Sirius is left to herself in the empty chapel, heart hammering, chest flaming with emotion, stomach tight with desire.

God have mercy on me.

#this is the gayest thing i've written in quite a while #might turn into a full fic #if people will like this damn mess cuz i think it's kinda obscure sfkdsf #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #fem wolfstar #female wolfstar #fem sirius black #female sirius black #fem remus lupin #female remus lupin #just two gals being pals in a chapel #my tag #writing tag #my writing tag

[ransomedrogue]

Tales of Woe - Scenes from S1

1.2

When he had time to stop and think about it afterwards, Weller couldn't believe what he'd done.

It was a small thing, but only because everything had ultimately turned out okay. Still, it went against all his training as an agent, and was something he never would have done had he been thinking clearly.

But when he'd seen her vehicle flipped on its side, panic had instantly obliterated protocol and Weller had rushed to Jane right away, without even considering securing the perp first. It was only after he'd found her relatively fine and helped her out of the vehicle that he'd finally remembered to check on their target, breathing a sigh of relief when Gibson was still in his car.

Then there'd been the next rush of relief after Weller had found the little girl, scared but physically unharmed, and returned her to her father. He'd been stressed to the max since they found out she'd been taken, with all sorts of worst case scenarios running dangerously through his head.

Mayfair was right, of course. He didn't do well with cases involving little girls. Especially right now, with Taylor so forefront in his mind.

He looked at Jane, trying his best to keep his emotions from spilling out. She was so goddamned fearless; risking her life to chase down a criminal, even though it wasn't at all her responsibility. Everything about her reminded him of Taylor, the missing girl at the centre of his heart.

Was it possible that his own search was finally over?

"We got her back," Jane said, as if echoing his very thoughts.

Weller didn't want to overwhelm her with his feelings and fought to reel them in. But when he was around her, his emotions kept getting the better of him. Which was something he'd never really had to contend with before. And which really confirmed his outlandish belief that Jane was Taylor, all grown up.

He'd been drawn to her from the first day, and not just because of the mystery of his name on her back. Her touch had been nervous, but electric on his skin. Then, ever since then, he'd been unable to keep his hands off of her, acting not at all like himself.

It was only then that Weller reflected on his actions upon arriving at the crash scene, how he'd instinctively checked on Jane first before making sure Gibson wasn't going to get away. Even now, he felt his heart race at the memory of seeing Jane's vehicle flipped over; vividly remembering the panicked fear that he'd lost her again, so soon after just finding her.

"Yeah we did," he replied, trying not to choke on his words.

He wanted to pull her into his arms, confirm that she was still there. Double check that she wasn't hurt from the car wreck and tell her not to risk herself like that ever again.

But he was full to the brim with emotions and couldn't risk speaking, for fear of letting everything out and scaring her away. And, anyways, just like with Taylor, it didn't seem that telling Jane what to do was going to be successful at all.

So Weller swallowed back his rampant feelings and settled for gazing at her for an unreasonable amount of time. Considering everything she'd gone through, Jane really did seem to by mostly uninjured. Though he could see a bruise emerging around her eye and he was concerned about a concussion. Thankfully though, Jane did not even seem shaken from her experience.

But of course she was tough; Taylor had been stubborn and fearless, even at the age of five. Whatever else had happened in the twenty-five years since, her fundamental personality hadn't changed.

Now, after all that time, he'd finally gotten her back. And standing there, staring at her, Weller swore to himself that he was never going to lose her again.

###

She was filled with a mixture of relief and dread as Agent Weller emerged from the construction site with the little girl and handed her off to her father.

The thought of a child being hurt because one of her tattoos led them to Gibson had helped fuel her dogged chase of the airman. There had been no way she was going to let him get away, no matter what it took.

Thankfully flipping the car hadn't led to any real injuries, just sore ribs and a headache from a hard impact into the steering wheel and windshield. More importantly, the crash had let her retrieve more of the memory that had been haunting her all day. But finding out that the person she'd murdered was masquerading as a nun hadn't resolved any of her worries about her past self.

Jane was sure that shooting someone in the back of the head couldn't be a moral action, no matter the circumstances. And, regardless of what Weller had said about her instincts, it was clearly not something that a good person would do.

Looking at him now, she could see how much it had meant for him to find that girl. He'd been so tense from the moment they found out a child had been kidnapped. Even now, he still looked too serious, like he had a lot going on in his mind.

"We got her back," she said with a small smile.

"Yeah we did," he answered, giving her a long unreadable look before letting his eyes drift down to the ground.

Jane, however, found that she couldn't break her gaze, even though she knew she was staring. Weller seemed to be caught up in some emotion she didn't understand and probably didn't need to know about. Even though she wanted to ask if there was something else going on, it seemed like too invasive a question for a man she hardly knew.

She had to remember that he had a life full of other people and she was a stranger to him, one that had been forced upon him. Even though she already felt attached to him, she figured it was because he had been so kind to her so far and she had no one else to rely on.

But then again, every word he said to her seemed dense with feeling, in a way that she was yet to figure out.

Eventually Weller looked back up at her and Jane had to pull her eyes away, trying to act as if she hadn't been fixated on him for far too long. But this time it was Weller who studied her closely, wearing a small furrow on his brow.

"Nice work stopping Gibson," he said. "But that was an extremely dangerous thing to do. This isn't your job, Jane. You shouldn't be risking your life."

Jane frowned a bit, realizing that she hadn't thought about that at all before engaging in the car chase. She also noticed that her initial reaction wasn't concern at what she'd done but annoyance at Weller for trying to limit her. Even though it didn't make any sense, she felt responsible for anything the tattoos led them to and morally driven to help save lives, even if it put her in danger.

She was about to argue with his statement, insist that it had been a necessary risk but then she saw the depth of emotion in his expression and completely clammed up. His blue eyes were wistful and heavy with concern as he raised his hand to her face and gently ran his thumb over her eyebrow.

"That looks like it hurts," Weller muttered. "It's already starting to bruise. You should get checked out by the doctor when we get back."

Jane automatically shook her head, tensing at the thought of yet another physical examination, especially so soon after being shot in the arm and having to see the doctor for that wound. Even without a reference point, she was sure that the throbbing in her skull would die down shortly and none of her aches warranted a medical professional.

"No, it's okay," she said softly.

"Jane, you could have a concussion," Weller argued. "Did you black out? How does your head feel?"

"Weller, I'm fine," Jane replied. But she didn't move away from his examining touch, feeling completely mesmerized by the intensity his focus. Which then reminded her that she had been staring at him in a mental daze just moments ago.

She didn't think that had anything to do with hitting her head though.

"You'd probably say that even if your head was pounding," he grumbled. "I still think you need to get checked out."

Jane sighed as his hand drifted over her eye again, like he couldn't help but worry it over her bruise. His touch made her spine tingle, but she also felt the heavy weight of his concern.

"I'm fine," she repeated, doing her best to sound confident in her self-assessment. "You don't need to worry about me."

Weller seemed taken aback by her statement, something hardening in his eyes as he pulled away from her and his hand dropped from her face.

"Yes I do," he stated firmly. "As long as you're in protective custody, it's my job to keep you safe."

"And in two cases you've already been shot and in a car crash. So I'm obviously not doing a very good job."

Again, Jane's instinct was to argue that she could take care of herself – he had even said it himself that very day. But again she was silenced as soon as she saw the guilt pouring out of his eyes and the defeat in his shoulders. Obviously he took his duty seriously, considering the emotional toll it took on him.

Maybe it wasn't so bad to have such a dedicated man looking out for her, Jane mused. Though it grated on her to be sheltered from danger, Weller's protective streak did make her feel warm inside. Like she wasn't just a case to him, but a real person that he cared about.

"Or maybe you're doing a great job with someone that doesn't like to be told no. You told me to stay behind both times," she said.

"You tried, Weller. It's not your fault I didn't listen."

Weller opened his mouth, seemed ready to argue further. But Jane was done with it.

"Please don't feel bad about this," she said, rubbing at her swollen eye socket.

"I know you're doing your best."

Weller gave her another long soulful look, as if he were thinking a million thoughts at once.

"I'll try," he replied seriously, fixing her in his gaze.

Jane stared back, taking in the mix of sternness and softness in her agent and thinking that she was glad it was his name on her back. She hadn't known him long but he seemed to be a good man. And he definitely cared.

"But when we get back to the NYO, you're going to see medical right?"

Jane sighed and rolled her eyes at him though she was now more amused than annoyed with his persistence. He sure was stubborn; especially when it came to her. That was something she'd learned right away.

"Yes, Weller," she huffed.

"But only if you stop blaming yourself for my decisions."

At first he gave her a quizzical look, as if he wasn't used to being given orders by the victims in his cases. But then his expression turned to appreciation and Weller flashed her a sheepish smile.

"Deal," he said.

"Now let's find a car you didn't flip and get out of here."

#blindspot fanfic #blindspot rewatch #s1fic #i wrote this