Chapter Text
The "reading tent" had become somewhat legendary among the Wicked cast and crew over the past few weeks. What started as Ariana bringing her cards to set for personal use—a quiet moment of grounding between takes—had evolved into impromptu break sessions that drew lines of curious seekers. Between scene setups, during costume changes, and in those precious moments when the cameras weren't rolling, cast and crew would slip away to her makeshift sanctuary. She'd read for makeup artists who wanted to know about love while touch-ups were being done, lighting technicians curious about career changes during equipment adjustments, and most of the principal cast members who'd initially approached with skepticism but left as believers.
Word traveled fast in the close-knit world of a film set. Soon, everyone knew about Ariana's hidden talent. The accuracy of her readings had earned her a reputation—some joked she was channeling real magic, others whispered that maybe she actually was.
"Welcome to my mystical domain!" Ariana announced to Jonathan Bailey with a theatrical flourish. She gestured grandly to the basic white production tent she'd commandeered during breaks. What had been a simple equipment storage tent now served as her makeshift sanctuary. The plain white canvas walls and metal framework remained unchanged, but she'd managed to create an atmosphere with what little she could bring to set. Her small container of protection dust sat on the tent floor beside where she sat on her knees, along with a little Glinda ball that gleamed in the overhead lighting. The air carried the faint scent of sage from a small bundle she'd burned earlier, mixing with the lingering smell of canvas and metal.
He ducked through the tent flaps, his tall frame folding gracefully as he entered. His grin was infectious, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made everyone around him feel lighter. "The reading tent, I presume?" His British accent wrapped around the words with amused affection.
"Don't mock the reading tent," Ariana warned playfully, though her brown eyes sparkled with mischief. She was already shuffling her well-worn tarot deck—a beautiful set decorated with rainbow colors and brightly illustrated images. The cards felt warm in her hands, familiar and comforting after years of use.
“The cards know more than you think.” She declared with playful authority. “Including that thing you did last week." She joked.
"Which thing?" Jonathan settled onto the floor, his Fiyero boots still laced tight from the morning's rehearsal. The leather creaked softly as he adjusted his position, trying to find comfort in the unfamiliar seated arrangement.
"Exactly." She winked, the gesture so natural it seemed choreographed. With practiced ease, she fanned the cards out in a perfect arc, each one face-down and waiting. The familiar ritual calmed her nerves—this was her element, her sanctuary.
"Think of something you would like clarity on," she instructed, closing her eyes and letting her fingers hover over the deck, feeling for the right energy. Her fingers traced the edges of the deck, focusing on textures and the subtle pull of intuition. She listened to that inner voice she'd learned to trust completely over the years—pulling out the cards that called to her, that seemed to tingle when she passed over them, that silently asked to be chosen.
She selected three cards with deliberate precision and laid them each face down in a perfect line on the floor in front of them, the soft whisper of cardstock against the rug.
As she carefully flipped them, each card revealed itself, the colorful artwork coming to life under the harsh white lights.
"The Knight of Swords." She held up the card showing a warrior charging forward on horseback. "You're rushing toward something, maybe too fast?" Her eyes lifted to study his face, noting the tension around his eyes, the way he'd been pushing himself harder lately. "Slow down. Whatever you're chasing will still be there if you take a breath."
"Cryptic," he mused with a hint of disbelief and recognition in his voice. He'd been working eighteen-hour days lately, working on multiple projects at once. Splitting his time between several commitments, driven by a perfectionism that bordered on obsession. "What about that one?"
"The Three of Pentacles. Collaboration, teamwork..." She traced the card's image with her finger. "You're building something important with others. And look—" She pointed to the final card, the Six of Wands, where a victorious figure rode through a cheering crowd. "Success is coming. Recognition. The cards say trust the process, trust your collaborators."
"Well, that's… reassuring." Jonathan stretched, joints popping after a morning of complex choreography.
"Anytime." She smiled knowingly and began shuffling the cards before sliding them back into their box. He started to rise, then paused halfway up, struck by sudden thought.
"It's funny," he said, almost to himself, "I've seen practically the entire cast come through here, most of the crew." He paused, studying her face. "But I’ve never seen Cynthia. With as close as you two are..."
Ariana's shuffle faltered—just for a moment, but enough that Jonathan caught it.
“You've read for everyone except Cynthia, haven't you?"
The cards scattered briefly before she regained control. "She hasn't asked yet." She attempted a casual shrug.
"Really? You two are practically joined at the hip these days. I figured she'd be your first reading." He studied her face, noting the way she suddenly couldn't meet his eyes. "You're always together during breaks, finishing each other's sentences..."
"Yeah, well..." Ariana exhaled slowly, focusing intently on gathering the cards into the box, her movements more deliberate than usual. "The tent is always open." She glanced up at him, forcing a weak smile.
Jonathan stood with a nod, brushing off his costume with efficient movements. "Thanks for this, Ari. Your cards were surprisingly on point."
"They usually are," she said as she placed the last few cards in the box.
As Jonathan left, the tent flaps swaying gently in his wake, Ariana caught sight of Cynthia passing by outside. Even partially obscure through the brief opening, Cynthia was radiant. She moved with a magnetic confidence and grace that made everything around her seem to move in slow motion.
Their eyes met briefly through the space, and Cynthia smiled—that radiant, warm smile that made something flutter in Ariana's chest. Not just butterflies, but something deeper, like recognition.
Not yet , Ariana thought, her fingers nervously placed the lid on her card box. She'd read for grips with calloused hands and honest hearts during quick breaks between lighting setups. She'd told fortunes for flying monkeys between costume changes and makeup touch-ups. She'd even done readings for makeup artists, squeezing in sessions while hair was being styled.
But something held her back from offering a read to Cynthia.
Maybe she was afraid of what the cards might say. Her deck had never lied, never softened difficult truths or painted pretty pictures when reality was harsh. The cards would tell her exactly what she needed to hear, even if it wasn't what she wanted to hear.
Or maybe she was afraid they'd say exactly what she'd been trying not to think about—that the connection she felt with her co-star ran deeper than just playing perfectly matched characters. That the electricity between them on screen was real, rooted in something neither of them had acknowledged yet.
The emerald lights of the Wicked set dimmed as Jon Chu called for a break, his voice echoing through the massive soundstage. "That's a wrap on this setup! Twenty minutes, everyone!" Around them, crew members immediately sprang into action—adjusting lights, moving equipment, preparing for the next scene.
Ariana reached into one of the hidden pockets of her dress and pulled out a small wrapped lollipop—a comforting habit she had developed years ago. She unwrapped it quietly, the sweet strawberry flavor helping her reset after the intense scene they'd just finished. Without thinking, she pulled out another and handed it to Cynthia who stood next to her, the gesture as natural as breathing.
Cynthia smiled at the familiar gesture, accepting the candy with a warm "Thanks, love," before unwrapping it herself. The small ritual had become one of her favorite parts of their breaks together.
"Babe, can I ask you something?" Ariana said, fidgeting with her costume as they walked off their marks, the lollipop slightly muffling her words.
"Always," Cynthia replied, her warm smile genuine. She couldn't help but grin at the way Ariana was trying to talk around the candy.
"Do you ever feel like... like we're living in some kind of fever dream?" Ariana continued, moving the lollipop to one side of her mouth. "It feels like just yesterday I was at home with my dogs, and now I'm literally living in Oz. It’s… bizarre."
Cynthia burst out laughing, both at the absurdity of the situation and the way Ariana was gesturing dramatically with a lollipop stick poking out of her mouth. "You mean Tuesday wasn't normal for you? Here I thought this was just your regular routine."
"Oh totally," Ariana grinned back, pulling the lollipop out to speak more clearly. "Flying around in bubbles, leading an entire nation while fighting within the political hierarchy, the usual Tuesday vibes." Her expression grew softer, "But seriously, sometimes when we're singing together I get this feeling like... like this is exactly where we're supposed to be."
"This is where we’re supposed to be,” Cynythia said reassuringly. “But I know what you mean," she said quietly, her British accent wrapping around the words. "It's mental, isn't it? How right it feels. Even when I'm covered head to toe in green paint and you're drowning in sparkles."
"Especially then," Ariana laughed. "We're ridiculous and it's perfect."
"The most beautiful kind of ridiculous," Cynthia agreed, and there was something deeper in her voice, something that made Ariana's heart skip just slightly.
Ariana blinked, as if waking from a dream, and suddenly felt the need to busy herself with something—anything. She reached into her designer bag looking for her phone. Without thinking, she pulled out her tarot box, transferring it to her other hand so she could search deeper in her bag.
"Ooh, are those your cards?" Cynthia asked, her voice carrying that rich, warm tone that made Ariana's pulse quicken.
Ariana stalled, deck in hand, looking too guilty for what she was doing. Her cheeks flushed pink beneath her own makeup, and she fumbled with the box like she'd been caught doing something forbidden. "Um yeah."
She felt her cheek warm further. "I've been doing readings for everyone during breaks," Ariana continued, trying to sound casual while her heart hammered against her ribs. Then she fell into their natural teasing banter, the easy rhythm they'd developed over weeks of working together. "I... uh haven't seen you in my tent."
"I've been meaning to ask, actually." Cynthia's voice carried genuine interest, though there was something almost shy in her tone. "I see everyone coming and going from your little setup."
"Reading tent," Ariana corrected automatically, then immediately cringed at how pretentious it sounded. She could feel her cheeks burning beneath her makeup.
"Want one?" she stammered. "A reading, I mean?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them. What am I doing? Ariana's smile felt shaky, her usual confidence completely absent. She was never nervous around Cynthia, but suddenly she felt like a hundred butterflies were trying to burst through her chest. Maybe she'll say no...
"I'd love that." Cynthia's acceptance was immediate, surprising them both.
Ariana cursed under her breath. She cleared her throat and tried again, gesturing toward the simple white tent she'd claimed as her own. "Ok then. Come join me in my tent." She said awkwardly. The words felt both too casual and too formal at the same time, and she mentally kicked herself for overthinking every syllable.
The short walk to her tent felt endless. Ariana was hyper aware of Cynthia beside her, the way her costume rustled with each step.The bare production tent suddenly felt too exposed, too plain for what was about to happen—just white canvas walls and the two of them sitting on the floor.
Cynthia settled onto the tent floor across from her co-star, her movements graceful despite the cumbersome costume as she arranged herself cross-legged. Ariana carefully arranged her pink ruffles around her as she sat, the layers of fabric pooling dramatically on the tent floor like flower petals.
Cynthia watched as Ariana's delicate fingers moved with practiced precision as she removed her cards from their box displaying them on the floor between them, the familiar ritual helping to steady her nerves.
"Queer tarot, Ari?" Cynthia couldn't contain her laughter when she saw the deck's rainbow-edged design. The cards featured diverse figures and reimagined traditional imagery with inclusive representation.
"Could you see me owning any other deck? Be honest." Ariana's voice carried mock indignation, but her smile was genuine, some of her nervousness melting away in the face of Cynthia's easy laughter.
"Exactly." Ariana continued to expertly shuffle her deck, the cards flowing between her hands like water. Years of practice had made the movement automatic, soothing. "Okay, just think about what you want guidance on." Her voice took on a more serious tone as she slipped into her reader persona.
She took a deep breath, centering herself the way she always does. The familiar ritual should have calmed her, but with Cynthia watching, every movement felt charged with electricity. She spread out her cards in a perfect fan on the tent floor and instinctively laid out a five-card spread.
The first card flipped: The Lovers.
Ariana's heart skipped, then began racing. The card showed two figures reaching for each other beneath a rainbow, their faces filled with joy and recognition. Just a coincidence, she told herself, but her hands were already trembling.
The second card: Two of Cups. Partnership. Deep connection. Mutual affection. The image showed two people toasting each other, their cups overflowing with shared emotion.
Her hands trembled more visibly as she revealed the third: The Sun. Joy, success, vitality—but in this position, in this spread, it spoke of a radiant love that would illuminate everything around it.
"What are they saying?" Cynthia leaned forward, genuinely curious. Her proximity sent a wave of warmth through Ariana, and she caught a hint of Cynthia's perfume beneath the theatrical makeup.
"Oh, um..." Ariana's mind raced, her usual intuitive flow completely disrupted. The fourth card—Queen of Wands. Passionate, confident, magnetic. Everything Cynthia embodied. The figure on the card even bore a striking resemblance to her co-star. The fifth—Ace of Cups. New emotional beginnings. A soulmate connection.
Every single card screamed the same message: This person sitting across from you is your soulmate.
"It's... it's about your career!" Ariana blurted out, her voice pitched higher than usual. Panic made her creative in the worst way. "Yeah, massive success coming your way. Awards, recognition, all that good stuff."
Cynthia's eyes sparkled with excitement and something else. "Really?” What about that one?" She pointed to The Lovers, her finger hovering just above the card's surface, careful not to disturb the spread.
"Creative partnerships!" Ariana said quickly, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. "Like us—" Ariana caught herself, quickly pivoting, "you know, Glinda and Elphaba. The cards are picking up on our work connection."
She hurried through the rest of the reading, making up interpretations on the spot, her usual intuitive flow completely abandoned. Each lie felt like a betrayal—of Cynthia, of herself, of the cards that had never steered her wrong. When the assistant director's voice crackled over the walkie-talkie calling "Back to first positions in five!" and Cynthia was summoned back to set, Ariana practically collapsed with relief.
Cynthia stood gracefully, smoothing down her costume with practiced efficiency. "Well, thank you for that, Ari. It was... enlightening." Her voice carried that warm, genuine tone that made Ariana's heart flutter, but there was something else there too—a hint of amusement.
"Of course," Ariana managed, still unable to meet her eyes.. "Anytime you want career advice, you know where to find me." The smile she offered felt weak and unconvincing, even to herself.
"I'll definitely keep that in mind." Cynthia's smile was radiant, innocent—though there was the faintest glimmer of something knowing in her eyes that Ariana was too flustered to catch. She stood and headed for the tent flap, pausing just before she stepped outside. "See you out there, love."
As soon as the tent flap closed behind her, Cynthia allowed herself a moment of pure satisfaction. She walked toward her mark with measured steps, her expression carefully neutral for any crew members who might be watching. But inside, she was practically glowing with smugness.
Creative partnerships, my ass, she thought, barely suppressing a grin.
She'd been reading tarot since she was sixteen—her grandmother had taught her before anyone in her family could object. She knew exactly what The Lovers meant, especially paired with the Two of Cups and the Ace of Cups. She'd recognized the Queen of Wands immediately, and had seen herself in that confident, passionate figure. And The Sun? In a love reading, surrounded by cards of deep emotional connection and new beginnings? Please.
The reading had been about as subtle as a brick through a window, and watching Ariana scramble to reinterpret the most obvious love spread in tarot history had been absolutely delicious. Every fumbled explanation, every nervous laugh, every time Ariana's voice had gone up an octave—it all pointed to the same beautiful truth that the cards had laid bare.
Cynthia took her position on set, her expression serene and professional. But deep down, she was practically purring with satisfaction. She'd suspected, of course—the way they looked at each other, the lingering touches, the way their chemistry seemed to crackle even when the cameras weren't rolling. But having it confirmed by the universe itself, through Ariana's own cards?
Well, she thought, catching sight of Ariana emerging from the tent looking thoroughly rattled, this is going to be fun.
The director called for quiet on set, and Cynthia slipped seamlessly into Elphaba's skin. But even as she prepared to film their next scene together, part of her mind was already planning her next move. After all, the cards had spoken quite clearly about their destiny—and Cynthia had never been one to argue with fate.