#yes circe did this too if i have to see one more person say ‘oh except circe’ i will scream.

[florbelles]

finished hera & started lady macbeth and we have got to start blaming women for shit again for real

[dootznbootz]

Can I be for real? I hate when people hate on Circe/Kirke for being morally gray >:( Because all the gods are to an extent. Also I think the saying "You can like her as long as you acknowledge she's a bad person" doesn't really work because you could say that for all the gods. I think it's better to say "You can like her as long as you don't try to justify her actions" because that's what most Circe/Female god fans do. And it's so double standard-y I hate it >:( NORMALIZE LIKING CHARACTERS WHO ARE BAD PEOPLE WITHOUT TRYING TO JUSTIFY THEIR ACTIONS BY MAKING THEM VICTIMS. Especially when there are ACTUAL victims in the myth. Circe wasn't trying to protect herself. She's a goddamn goddess and a daughter of a titan. If she truly felt threatened she would've done something more permanent/serious to them. And if she was a male no one would he saying she was just trying to protect herself or something! I get there's a lot of misogyny in Greek Mythology but Circe is a GODDESS, she's above mortals. If Odysseus had to eat a MAGIC DRUG to defeat her that what could've the other soldiers done???

That's one of the reasons I really hated the Circe Book. It just feels so icky when people try to justify the shit she did. Like boo don't. We don't try to justify Zeus' actions. We don't try to justify Apollo's actions. We don't justify Calypso's actions (Or at least we shouldn't). We don't justify Theseus' actions. Because we shouldn't! So don't justify Circe's either >:((((((

Lmao sorry this kind of turned into my own little rant- Anyways do you have any Circe headcanons/shenanigans? I love my old ass mean witch wife 👉👈

And have a great day too, Mad! :D

All of this!!! Yes! Great points!!!

And that's the thing! You can be a fan of two different characters even if they're at odds or one has hurt the other! I do NOT hate Circe at all! Did she traumatize my special lil freak, Odysseus? Yeah. He's in therapy (AKA Penelope's arms). I still don't hate her!

And I absolutely agree with the whole "I just wanna protect my nymphs!" being kind of silly. It's fine, but I prefer her just being selfish in that moment (at least in my writing. There's more to it but I HAVE A PLAN!)

For headcanons/shenanigans, I'm...trying to be a bit more "stingy" with them, as for 1.) I really love my Circe and she's very special, and 2.) I've...honestly been doing too much into headcanons and not as much into actually WRITING. ;~; Which is what I really WANT to do. So I'll give a few basic silly ones that I'm okay with sharing. :D

1.) Circe has a habit of saying words twice. Like "Oh, oh", "My, my", "Yes, yes," etc. She has that habit from her papa :3 (I really love Helios lol. I wanna have him visit Aeaea during the year Odysseus is there just because I can lol) Once, though, Hermes pointed it out and teased her about it so she's a bit embarrassed and tries to not do that. (it slips out)

2.) She is basically her own lil sun. (not as much as Helios ofc, but yeah. enough) You can't look her in the eyes too long as it's basically like looking at 2 mini suns. If you're a mortal and sit close to her, you may get a sunburn. (she has mostly dryad nymphs working for her because it's a bonus to get extra sunlight.) It's kind of nice when making potions to be very warm so then she can hold it for a while and it'll warm up.

3.) She's kind of a behavioral psychologist/researcher in a way?? (putting my own field of interest into my shit lol) She much prefers the company of animals and immortals. She thinks humans are neat but she sees them more as something to "study". She does not see them as equal in a way. She also finds humans to be a lil gross. Being as warm as she is, mortals tend to sweat if they share the same room as her for a while and...Ew :') (Fun fact: Odysseus is a very sweaty dude, so... yeah. "I'm putting up with this because you're handsome and I want to study you.") It's part of the reason WHY she turns them into "cuter furred creatures". Also cats like laying in sunbeams!!! :D She's so warm! (Odysseus' men were to feed her pets eventually)

4.) She tends to laugh at her own jokes.

5.) Her and Artemis have beef because her having her pets run amock on Aeaea is fucking with it's balance in nature xD basically a bunch of big cat/wolf predators being introduced and what's naturally there can't keep up.

Some other stuff would give spoilers and some are not safe for wormlings so yeah! :D I hope this is good!

You have a great day too, Dear anon! Thank you! :D

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 56: Phone Call

Harry's mobile rang and he couldn't help but smile as he reached for his back pocket. It had taken a while but Draco had finally come around on mobiles, he called him almost every day on his lunch and it was one of Harry's favorite parts of his day.

"Hey you," he greeted. "I was thinking pot roast for dinner, would you pick up some carrots on your way?"

"Harry," he gasped and the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end, his entire body tingling like he was about to fall off a cliff.

"Where are you?" he asked. "I'm coming for you."

"Too late," the other man rasped.

Harry shook his head, and grabbed his wand, "No-"

"Please," Draco begged, breath rattling in his chest, "Listen," he gasped, "to me."

"I'm listening," Harry whispered, he couldn't get his voice to come out any louder, it felt like he'd swallowed glass.

"I love you," he said. "So much. You," he broke of, a cough rattling around in his chest. "Are the best thing that ever happened to me."

Harry's breath caught on a panicked sob, "Draco-"

"You," he gasped, crying out in pain, "you saved me. Love yo-"

The phone call ended abruptly and without a thought, Harry immediately apparated, through the wards into the Ministry and straight into Ron's office. "Where is he?" he said the moment his feet touched the floor.

"Circe's tits!" Ron exclaimed and Harry was vaguely aware of something shattering as Ron startled. "How the bloody hell-"

"Where is he?!" Harry shouted.

"Draco?" Ron shook his head, "You know I can't tell you that, mate. You're not-"

"I don't care. He's dying! Tell me where he is or I will bring this building to the ground."

(Read more below the cut)

"What-"

"Tell me!"

"Alright," he said, looking down at the file on his file, "Here-" he said thrusting the file at Harry.

He looked at the coordinates and apparated into the warehouse they'd sent Draco to. The moment his feet touched the ground spells were being fired of at him, but Harry was so desperate, so terrified, that his magic exploded from his body, knocking down every person standing in the room.

Without thinking, he started to move. "Draco!" he shouted as he started to jog through the rows of cases, "Draco," he begged, his heart thundering so loudly in his ears that he was afraid he wouldn't be able to hear a response.

He was almost to the end of the warehouse, about to turn back, when he glanced down a row and saw him, crumpled on the ground, blood pooling absolutely everywhere.

"Draco," he gasped, running to him and lifting him into his arms.

Draco's eyes fluttered weakly and that was all the hope that Harry needed. He apparated with the other man in his arms, taking him to St. Mungos, and screaming "Help!" as soon as they landed.

Healers seemed to rush from every side, a fact that Harry would be profoundly grateful for later, and Draco was laid out on a stretcher to be moved into a room.

A healer caught Harry as he tried to follow, "Let us work," she said.

"But-"

"No," she told him firmly, "I know you are terrified, but we need to be able to work and having you in there will only distract us."

"He's my life," Harry whispered.

She nodded, "I will do everything I can. Please. Stay here and we'll update you as soon as we can."

He stumbled when she let go, collapsing onto the floor by the door. Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed as he sat on the floor with his head down between his knees, shaking and trying to breathe before Ron and Hermione found him.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione murmured.

"Did you find him?" Ron asked, "Did you get to him in time?"

Harry looked up to see Ron's face ashen, Hermione's eyes wide with concern and he cracked, splintered into a thousand pieces that he didn't know if he'd ever be able to put together again.

His best friends were at his sides in an instant, Hermione wrapped her arms around him from the left and Ron around both of them from the right. And Harry cried. He wept, heaving, ugly sobs that he could hardly breathe around.

When he finally managed to calm himself down enough to take a deep shuddering breath, he whispered, "I don't know."

"What?" Ron asked, rubbing his hand in soothing circles along Harry's back.

"I found him and he was alive, but just barely."

"Okay," Hermione said, "Okay. We'll wait with you, alright?" she asked.

He nodded and rested his head against her shoulder, still ensconced in their embraces. Time seemed to be hardly moving at all but eventually the same healer who'd stopped Harry from going along with Draco came out of the room.

Harry looked up at her, his heart lodged so completely in his throat that he couldn't get any words out.

"He's alive," she said and Harry had to fight not to start sobbing all over again. "He's still unconscious and we won't know the complete extent of the damage until he's awake-"

"Can I see him?" Harry begged.

She nodded, "Yes. It might be some time before he wakes up, though. And like I was saying, we won't know the extent-"

"I don't care," Harry said, "I don't care one bit, whatever happens we'll work through it. I'll do anything."

"Okay," she said softly, "Okay. Go ahead inside."

Ron and Hermione helped him up and followed him into the room but stayed near the doorway as Harry approached the bed. Hermione conjured a chair for him near the bed and he gave her a grateful little nod, it was the best he could do.

He brought Draco's hand to his lips and brushed a kiss over his knuckles, "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Please come back to me, my love," he said, voice tight. "I can't-" he couldn't push any other words out through his throat, he broke down crying again, pressing Draco's hand against his lips.

Hermione stepped over and rubbed Harry's back, Ron came to the foot of the bed and murmured, "He'll pull through."

---------------

Two weeks. Harry had spent two weeks in St. Mungos; he hadn't left to go further than the bathroom in Draco's room for a quick shower or downstairs to get some food to bring up.

At first, he'd watched Draco almost constantly, begging him to wake up, but he'd slowly allowed himself to start doing other things while he waited; reading books aloud to him or the newspaper, knitting scarves while he talked to Draco about whatever came into his head that he'd donate to the gala that raised money for children orphaned by the war, and napping in the chair that Hermione had made for him.

He was working on a crossword when he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. By this point, though, he'd thought that the other man was moving so many times that he finished writing in the word he was on before looking up.

Time stood still as Draco's eyes fluttered slowly open.

"Draco?" he whispered.

Draco turned his head slowly, his eyes catching on Harry's.

"Hey," Harry gasped, dropping the cross word, his eyes filling with tears as the took Draco's hand in his and pressed a kiss to his fingertips. "You scared the shit out of me," he said weakly.

"Harry?" Draco rasped, voice hardly making any sound at all.

He nodded, "How are you feeling?"

"Hurts," he whispered.

"Hold on," he murmured, pulling out his wand and sending a patronus to the healers station. "I love you," Harry said. "Godric, I love you."

"I've heard you," Draco said.

"Sorry?" he murmured.

Draco's fingers weakly squeezed Harry's and Harry took that to be a good sign, "I heard you," he said. "I lost count of how many times you said it."

He pressed another kiss to Draco's knuckles, not sure what to say.

A healer came hurrying in, "Oh, Mr. Malfoy, you're awake!" she exclaimed. "You gave your boyfriend quite a scare, love."

He nodded, squeezing Harry's fingers.

"Let's get you up to testing, so we can get a better picture of your recovery plan."

Draco looked over at him, "You'll be here?"

"I'm pretty much never leaving your side again," Harry said, only half joking. "Yes, I'll be here."

-------

When they returned Draco to him, the other man was smiling and a bit of color had returned to his face. He seemed to be in the middle of a conversation with the healer bringing him back to Harry.

He glanced up and gave Harry a smile as she put his bed back in place.

"You'll be happy to know that he's going to be okay," she informed Harry. "We'll have to do a bit of work to re-train his body," she added, "but he'll make a full recovery."

"Thanks," Harry said, shaking her hand before moving back to his chair at Draco's side.

"Hey," Draco murmured.

He took Draco's hand in his and brushed a kiss over the back, "Hi."

"You've wanted me to quit the aurors for a while," Draco said.

"Yes," he affirmed because it was true; being an auror was dangerous and it was always fighting not only the bad guys but also corruption within the system. "But I understand the appeal of doing good things to help people," he added, because he did, he understood it all too well.

"Could you help me with something?"

Harry laughed, "At this point you could ask me to do pretty much anything and I would."

"Do you have a piece of parchment?"

He looked around, digging through the stack of books and magazines that Hermione had left him until he found a piece of scrap paper, "Will this do?"

He rolled his eyes, "I suppose it will suffice." And what a ridiculous thing it was to have missed his haughtiness.

"What do you want me to write?" Harry asked.

Draco cleared his throat, "Dear Head Auror Weasley," he started and Harry looked up at him in shock. "Write it down," he chastised.

His fingers trembled a little as he started to write.

"I hereby tender my resignation, effective immediately. Signed, Draco Malfoy."

"Do you mean it?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded, reaching up to cup Harry's face. "I'm sorry."

Harry turned his head to press a kiss to Draco's palm, "It doesn't matter anymore." He kissed his palm again, "You're going to be alright and you won't be in that kind of situation again. We're okay," Harry breathed.

"We're better than okay, I hope," Draco replied softly, almost a question.

"Better than okay," Harry affirmed with a nod and a smile.

And Harry was quite content to spend the rest of their (long) lives being better than okay.

---------------------

Day 55: Music | Day 57: Text Message

[capricornsims]

Strangetown Mystery 16: Tycho

The last few months of Pascal’s life had changed drastically ever since Tycho was brought into the world. He never thought he could feel unconditional love like this until he met his son. There was something about Tycho that completed a piece that he was missing in his mundane life. Now he had a purpose and that was to protect and raise this extraterrestrial gift and prove to everyone that he was a good father. Ever since he started his investigation in the [Redacted] lab along with his work at the Bunker, his time with Tycho was greatly limited. His encounter with the Mother plant instilled a fear in him that he never felt before, as though if he continued fighting he would never see his son again. He assured himself that everything he was doing at the lab along with his dangerous endeavors would be worth it in the end. The last thing Pascal wanted was for his son to grow up in this toxic world, shunned for his existence and locked away in a secret lab. Yes, he thought ... he was doing the right thing. 

....right?

Vidcund swiftly made his way out of the [Redacted] lab, Pascal’s investigation preoccupied him for the most part, rarely seeing the infant alien he kept hidden in his room. After the Mother Plant was discovered, his older brother wasted no time going back to the Bunker to continue his research on the bizarre plants, not even taking a break to see how Tycho was doing. All of this worked in his favor, The Dudes in Black were waiting for him at the house after all, with a brief case full of money waiting to be put into his bank account. This was probably one of the most morally bankrupt things he’d ever done, but at this point refusing to aid the Dudes in Black would be even more dangerous. All the Dudes in Black requested was one Sixamian alien baby, for $500,000. 

Vidcund: Well here he is, we call him Tycho and he’s turning five months soon. 

Dude in Black 1: Fine specimen you have there, from one look I can determine that it belongs to Pollination Technician #12 am I not correct? 

Vidcund: I don’t know, I wasn’t abducted yet. My brother, Pascal, made this one.

Dude in Black 1: PT12 is ...particular about their spawn, weaponizing them with extreme telekinetic powers. What you are holding is a very dangerous specimen, which I shall take off your hands. As Promised $500,000 will be deposited into your bank account, Vidcund Curious. 

Vidcund: Oh man...well I think it’s for the better, Pascal is too busy to take care of him anyways. 

Dude in Black 1: Yes you are doing him a favor, now hand over the infant.

Vidcund: It was nice knowing you, Tycho, I’m sure Pascal can just ask for another one if he gets abducted again.

Dude in Black 1: Yes he can. Now hand it over I have urgent matters to attend to. Oh, and tell Pascal that the Dudes in Black say hello.

Without saying so much as a goodbye, the Dude in black tucked Tycho under his arm and walked out door. If Vidcund had a hint of rationality left he would rush after the agent and pry Tycho out of his hands. But he didn’t, Vidcund watched as they disappeared in the distance, into the unknown expanse of the desert. 

The house was silent for a moment as Vidcund stood in the center, taking in the uncharacteristic silence. All he could hear was his rapid heart  beating in his ears and feel the sweat in his palms. He froze when he heard tires screech outside and the sound of Pascal’s voice approaching the house. “ I’ll see you tomorrow, Erwin” he said....Vidcund was f*cked. He didn’t even think of a cover story despite planning this weeks in advance! The door unlocked and Vidcund was face to face with his brother, smiling widely at him “ I think I got it. A way to combat the Mother!” He said enthusiastically. Vidcund could only nod with a weary smile plastered on his face, he knew that Pascal’s optimism was due to be short lived. Pascal pushed passed him and rushed into his room to see his baby, finally having the time to spend with Tycho...

Pascal: Tycho you won’t believe what just happened at work! 

Vidcund: ( oh my watcher...what have I done? ) Pascal! Wait! 

Pascal: TYCHO!!!

Pascal: Tycho... Where did you? Oh no...oh no no no no no no This ISN’T HAPPENING.

Pascal: This can’t be happening.. HE was HERE this morning! I fed him this morning... I...He was here.... I WAS HERE!  he’s not under the bed...no he can’t even crawl...no no no no no. 

Pascal: This..THIS IS ALL MY FAULT! If I wasn’t so busy in the lab... trying to find out the goddamn cure...trying to fight the mother... if...I just stood here for one day and actually looked after Tycho he would still be here.

He would still be here... if I was a good father. Tycho where are you!

Pascal spend the next hour tearing through the house to find any clue of where Tycho went, from under the bed, Lazlo’s laundry, and the cabinets. The house was left in an absolute wreck once he finished his emotional rampage, too exhausted to continue. He crumbled to his knees and broke down crying once more until his throat strained and his eyes were sore. He wiped off his glasses and stumbled outside in an attempt to find comfort in fresh air. The plants and the spores around him only served as a cruel reminder why his son had suddenly vanished...it was because of this Strangetown Syndrome, it took away his family, his time, his friend and his baby.

But he couldn’t just blame himself, he spent all the money he had for Tycho’s care and the one person who said that they would look after him managed to lose him. The sound of footsteps broke the silence of the desert and Pascal turned to see his brother standing pathetically behind him. He was so weak and feeble looking like a dog with its tail between its leg. He could practically smell the guilt emitting from Vidcund. The more he gazed at him, he could feel his blood boiling, his face tensed with rage as he snapped.  

Vidcund: Pascal I- 

Pascal: DON’T YOU DARE SAY THAT YOU ARE SORRY, VIDCUND. 

Vidcund: I’m - I don’t know what else to say.

Pascal: THEN DON’T OPEN YOUR STUPID MOUTH IF ITS SOME LAME EXUSE AS TO WHY MY INFANT SON IS MISSING! YOU. HAD. ONE. JOB!!

Vidcund: Now take a deep breath. I was in the basement working. I had the baby monitor right next to me the whole time 

Pascal: AND YOU LEFT HIM ALONE! YOU LEFT TYCHO ALONE!

Pascal: Do you have any Idea what world we are living in, Vidcund? He’s just a baby, he only just started eating solids. I put all that I had into Tycho and made sure that he was taken care of. Physically, mentally, spiritually! He is all that made me whole...Watcher it feels like someone just dug into my rib cage and tore a piece of me out. 

You cry about Circe all the time now imagine that pain 10,000x more. This is real, Vidcund, I can’t just take a deep breath and make this better!

Pascal: Watcher- What if something bad got him. What if he’s sold on the black market and vivisected... I can’t imagine that...what if he’s hungry. I have all his formula here. What if they don’t sing to him that lullaby...it’s the only thing that gets him to sleep....they forgot his bear...I- I- can’t.

Vidcund could only watch as Pascal’s expression fell from rage, his eyes gazed down at the sand as he imagined all the cruel scenarios Tycho could be in, tears streaking down his cheeks again as he tried to speak. He tried to say something else but he was too focused on looking around his surroundings that he completely disregarded his brother and the rage he felt a second before. His breathing became rapid as his chest weighed heavily against his lungs. The world was growing so blurry as he tried to breathe. He thought he heard Vidcund say something as he turned his heel and sprinted down the sidewalk. It was  all he could do.  

What was he doing, running until his legs burned, trying to find another living being that had not had their brains rotted by spores. For the first time he felt helpless, the weight of the world weighed on his shoulders along with freeing his family, and finding his friend Nervous. Above all now he had to find his baby. Who knows where he could have been taken in a climate like this. 

Where ever Tycho was, Pascal prayed that he was safe, somewhere that he would be fed and changed and taken care of for the time being. 

The swirling clouds of the spores towered in the air as Pascal stood in the middle of the barren road, taking in the immense responsibility he had put on himself. He knew he wasn’t alone on his mission but as the days wore on he felt doubt take over his morale along with his team’s. He needed to put an end to all of this. He didn’t know how much he could hold on. 

Pascal: Where ever you are, Tycho. I will find you even if it kills me. 

[sodamnbored]

I so badly want a Roman prequel series. More than a Solangelo book. There could be so many great things in it.

Ideally, we’d get a series, basically original PJO but on the Roman side, presumably then following Jason in the same way we originally followed Percy.

But that would just be rehashing what we’ve already seen! Jason’s story would be too similar to Percy’s! - I hear you cry. But bear with me.

Yes: there would be some big similarities - following a son of one of the big three as he grows up and masters his powers and all that. And yes it would also conclude with him fighting a titan. But! I also think they’re different enough that it would read more as parallels than just copy and paste. It could be really interesting.

For one thing: Jason is starting way earlier than Percy. And I am desperate to know about the wolves thing. Correct me if I’m wrong, but all the info we have thus far is pretty vague, no? We know he went to the wolves when he was about two years old. But we don’t really know how long he stayed with them.

There’s the idea that he was raised by wolves (which don’t get me wrong I love that) and only went to the Legion when he was older - for parallels sake say about twelve. But we don’t know that’s the case for sure. He might’ve just spent the more or less normal time period with the wolves, or even if he were there longer than most - a year, two years even - he might’ve toddled off to camp still pretty young.

Cause this is another thing: we know very little about Camp Jupiter. In CHB you see for a fact that there are plenty of young demigods there, talking ten and under. Unless I’m mistaken, we never really heard mention of any little kids in the Legion right? Hazel was what, thirteen, in SoN, which is fairly young, but I don’t think there was any mention of anyone much younger than that. There was the little girl helping Terminus, but she was from New Rome not the Legion. And the Legion isn’t a summer camp of course, that’s a crucial difference.

They are quite literally an army, preparing for war should one ever arise. So do they have a minimum age requirement? Would not be unreasonable to assume they would. We know the majority of Legionaries are legacies from New Rome as opposed to actual half bloods, so it’s not unreasonable to think these kids live normal lives in New Rome until they hit a certain age and get conscripted/have the option to join the Legion for training.

If this is the case, then Jason might not’ve been with the wolves for years at all. He could’ve done his time and then been passed along to the care of New Rome. Set up somewhere to go to school and grow up and have something of a life to prepare him for his future in the Legion. That would be an interesting difference from Percy who had grown up not knowing about his heritage, for Jason to be fully aware of his godly parentage and to grow up knowing he was heading to the Legion as soon as he was old enough. I’m not sure about timings because in The Lost Hero pretty sure he’s fifteen and has twelve lines on his tattoo “for twelve years of service in the Legion” according to the wiki; but the wiki for the tattoos alone says the lines can be for years at Camp Jupiter or for completed quests and such, so it could mean he was toddling about CJ at three years old in mini Legionnaire armour like Caligula (oh the irony), or just that he crammed a crap load of cool stuff into just a few years when he was older.

So the series could quite happily start with him joining the Legion and maybe just summarise his life before that, have the important parts explained as relevant to the plot, I dunno. But it would give us more info on how Camp Jupiter actually works because personally I am clamouring for more info on the Romans.

Presuming that Jason is at least a Probatio by the time he’s about twelve (and it’d be cool to see him earn his full place in the legion too), that also means we’d get to see other people’s stories happening alongside his.

We know he fought the Trojan Sea Monster at some point, so that would be a cool quest to see play out. We don’t know a lot of other things he’s done, but we can assume he’d have been in the Legion when Reyna turned up, which would also be a really interesting story to follow.

We know from tSoM that Reyna and Hylla were on Circe’s island, when Percy was about 12/13, and it seems in SoN that he and Reyna were both around the same age, 16 or so. We know Reyna and Hylla spent some time after tSoM on Blackbeard’s ship before she made it to Camp Jupiter. So somewhere between ages 12-16, she would pop up at camp and I firmly believe she would’ve been Jason’s friend before they both became Praetors. And I would kill to see it. I wanna see them go on a quest together so badly. They would be an awesome team.

But we’d get to see Jason go through the steps, Probatio to Centurion to Praetor. We’d see him improving the Fifth Cohort’s standing in the Legion. We’d see Reyna become Praetor. (We’d ideally see Jason and Octavian gently bitch at each other like with Percy, but that’s just for me.) We’d get to see Jason and Reyna being Praetors together for a bit hopefully. That would be cool. And no doubt the series would conclude with their side of the Titan War, with Krios’ defeat - which would be so cool to see!

Being able to see more of their side of the war would also be really interesting as well. Because surely, there was more to it for them than just that one battle out of nowhere right? They must’ve been aware of the war and enlisted by the gods to help out right? Maybe there were some other titans for them to fight, maybe they had defectors too? Perhaps they were under the impression Kronos was still chopped up in little bits and Krios was running the show, either wanting to take Kronos’ place as the big cheese, or thinking the titans were working to reform Kronos, but they were kept out of Luke’s side of things so they didn’t realise that he already had been? Who knows. Certainly not me, cause we don’t have any books on it.

And there would be opportunities to have almost crossovers. Particularly regarding the war. They might just overhear things that don’t necessarily make sense to them but that we get, stuff like that. See some aftermath from one of Percy’s visits to the area. So many options.

Oh also actually, just for added angst and a different view than Percy’s, there was that freaking tragic bit in HoH I think where Jason thinks about his mother. The part about following orders and rules bothered him, but he insisted on doing so and keeping his promises because his mother had abandoned him and broken her promise. That would be an interesting aspect for the narration and his point of view because it’s the exact opposite of Percy. Percy doesn’t mind pushing the limits with the gods and exploiting loopholes or calling them on their faults, focused on surviving till the end of the day when he can go home to his mother and forget the gods and their stupid rules. Jason, on the other hand, doesn’t have anywhere to go back to. Camp Jupiter and the roles he’s given there are quite literally it for him, so even though he may resent it as much as Percy, he feels the need to bite his tongue and do everything in his power meet expectations and stay in line, etc. And yes, it’s for the benefit of others like he said in HoH, but maybe also the threat that if he makes too much trouble, where else is he gonna go and who else outside the Legion does he have?

Unfortunately we wouldn’t get to see Frank and Hazel come into it as newbies because that would’ve only happened after the war, so unlikely the series would continue after they beat Krios. But it’d still be a good set up to lead back into HoO alongside original PJO.

Also, I wanna know if Jason would’ve been particularly aware of his dad handing him off to Juno, or if she took a back seat until yoinking his memories out his head and dumping him on a dusty bus. I quite like the idea of him knowing, that she wouldn’t have been shy about popping up now and again as his patron, maybe sending him quests, offering occasional assistance like Poseidon did for Percy. Juno cared about her little champion, you can’t tell me different. I’d like to see her drop by from time to time. Or if he just accepted he was Jupiter’s and his dad basically never wanted to talk to him, and was a bit blindsided when Juno popped up after his hit on Krios.

Maybe he was just heading to bed after a long day of Titan slaying, thinking what he’d have for breakfast tomorrow and poof - Juno staring at him in his PJs, doesn’t he feel underdressed. Barely gets out an “um-?” before she’s like “got a quest for you. Surprise!”

(Since we got The Fall Of Jason Grace from Apollo in ToA, this series could be called something silly like The Rise Of Jason Grace to mirror it. I dunno.)

Either way, I need this. We deserve this. I will literally pay like 20$ per book if we could get this.

Wrote this hella sleep deprived and without sources and I’m still in ToA and haven’t read the extra books yet like demigod files and the Probatio one, so anything I’ve missed, had been answered, or is just plain wrong, let me know.

[berryunho]

hiii I love love The Answer 😭 it’s so fun to read I literally cannot wait to see what happens next. I was wondering, what inspired you to write this story? was there any specific stories/cults that you’ve heard of that you took inspiration from? I love thriller stories so muchdkfk so I’m just so happy to have found your blog!! also do you usually read thriller or do you prefer reading other genres? tysm for sharing your work you’re so talented!!!❤️❤️❤️

omg hi!! first of all thank you so much for reading hehe i'm really glad to hear that you're enjoying it!! and aaaaaaa thank you for the questions omg this might get kinda long (edit from future lauren: yeah it did so im adding a read more lol) but im excited hehe

sooo to answer the first question of what inspired me hehe it was definitely a mix of a few things!! biggest inspiration was me reading mists of celeste and being like "what the fuck. can i do that?" bc ... im sure you've all read it and yk what i mean LMAO its just so good and i wanted to know if i could write something as impactful hehe i had already been a writer but i had never shared my writing or tried to write a longfic so it was a big challenge to start and im so happy i did!!

and soooo after i decided i wanted to write my own fic i figured some things out like i definitely wanted to do an au and i pretty quickly decided that i wanted hongjoong to be an antagonist so i started pondering what situations make Bad People into People Of Power and ... the cult idea plopped nicely into my brain and then everything started falling into place after that hehehe

and YES there are specific cults ALKJFKDJFDK the way im majorly freaking out getting to talk about this thank you again for asking omg anyways. scientologists (so sorry if any of you are scientologists but fr...) heaven's gate. branch davidians (mullet hj is canon in the answer for 1 reason and 1 reason only. david koresh’s mullet.) and like ofc the manson family and the people’s temple (though more so just jim jones himself idk that whole 900 people thing… not intimate enough for the vibe i was going for) and honestly the characterization of hongjoong is derivative of a few irl people too LKFJSDFKLJSD like im not gonna name names bc then yall would be like “oh god …” and judge yourselves so ill save you the torment lol but you could Probably Guess

and yes!! i definitely mostly read thriller/horror novels hehe but i also really love fantasy & sci-fi & lately historical fiction ?? and my favorite book ever is none of those genres hehe i would love any and all recommendations for any of these genres!! i know you didn’t ask this one but im gonna give some book recs anyhow hehehe so my Favorite Book Ever — the secret history by donna tartt … literally in love w this book. the amount of times ive pondered an au…… shhhh my Second Favorite Book Ever — the long walk by stephen king. idk what to say other than literary masterpiece. (its actually super weird but the characters … ugh chefs kiss) the Scariest Book Ive Ever Read — gerald’s game by stephen king. there were just moments of tension that were so perfectly written that it was almost unbearable like wtf not to be that person but like fr i dont get scared by books or movies or documentaries or anything but … yeah this was something an Interesting Series — the southern reach trilogy by jeff vandermeer !! crazy world building very intriguing books a Fantasy Novel — the priory of the orange tree by samantha shannon … yes i know booktok book but it was really good okay a Historical Fiction — circe by madeline miller !!!! bawled but it was really good !!! annnnd a Sci-Fi — project hail mary by andy weir ... glakdjfkasj me feeling emotions over a rock alien ... anyways

… SO YEAH AKDJFASDKFJ; THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THE ANSWER AND FOR ASKING ME QUESTIONS AAAA i hope i provided some good commentary lol idk hehehe tysm ily <3

[aueua]

Marona’s Fantastic Tale (2019) AU where the dog lives and others are happier. Idea bounced with @mushrium a few weeks back; details under cut.

Yes, I am aware that hardly anyone knows of this movie (but maybe more’ll know it now due to the streamer albeit even then this is unlikely to be a proper fandom, maybe, maybe not). Doesn’t matter. This now exists for archiving purposes.

First and foremost: Spoilers abound, don’t seek further if you don’t want them by any means - with that said, also good luck if you aren’t aware of what the movie is but I’ll do my best to give some context as necessary. (Post-edit: No clarification. Very sorry.)

See also: The movie is not for everyone but it can be appreciated artistically for its fluidity and variety of styles. There is also a lot of symbolism and the dog narrator is impeccable. I love Nine. I love her, I do.

Okay! Here we go.

Recall the [Lost Dog Sign] that is posted some scenes after Nine (protagonist, dog) left Manole (red and yellow, acrobat entertainer) and she’s picked up by Istvan beloved (Tumblr nose, big guy). Istvan may be driving and potentially distracted; however, he absolutely sees that sign. And it doesn’t quite click, not yet. He’s worried about his mother, his wife, himself, this dog. Dog... Dog! This doesn’t register until he’s arrived at his ill mother’s home. That dog on the wanted sign looks eerily like the one he just picked up... and come to think of it, it did seem well cared for...

So he fudges around, figures out what the number is.

An answer. And with one thing leading to another, Istvan figured that this guy is sincere: He loves this dog much like he does. (But he believed that Manole loved her more, deserved her more, and it isn’t likely he can bring her quite anywhere...) So. They meet up. Guy really is nice, but Istvan can see it - the acrobat’s nerves are a bit shot after all that worrying and desperation to find this dog again. Ana (dog), was it? (There was an inkling that he should call her Sara but Ana is also quite the nice name. It’s fine. And thank goodness, that he did not name her, since goodbyes would be worse.)

They part, and that is that. Istvan checked on his mother, returned to his choking snake of a wife (yellow skin ostritch, black fluff); Manole reobtained his beloved boy (girl, he knows), managed to get a contract that allowed him to work with her in the La Circe (???) troupe thingamabob since it was either them or nothing. Both of these two keep in touch with each other as Istvan is worried and, admittedly, attached to the dog after those moments in the dumps viva la his loneliness. Plus Manole’s a fun personality. He’s considered going to see one of his acts, once, but his wife’s a bit overbearing.

A bit overbearing, as in a time skip occurs and he still had yet to leave her toxic self, nor could he bear to see his mother but still stuck it through.

Come to think of it though. Manole is obviously happy, and so is the dog. He can’t recall a moment with his wife recently where he felt... happy, sincerely. Perhaps in the past, when he’d strum his guitar and skate around - free and without the exhaustion of judgment and micromanagement? He deserved better. There’s just no right timing, though, as he can’t find the motivation to work himself up and tell his wife they need a divorce for both of their own sakes.

And then his wife gave him the ultimatum: Her, or that stupid acrobat with the dog and his mother.

Well, well. Fine. He doesn’t need to pack much, and he doesn’t need to say anything. He’s rearing to go. The wife? Cocky. All until she realized quite quickly that he was serious, dead serious, and she begged and pleaded and smothered herself all over him trying to get him to obey her every whim just like before. That it was a joke, an act, a test to see where he would be really happy but she needed him and who else would indulge her needs and fluff up her ego with the beefcake of a man?

Too bad! He’s gone, but he’s also an incredible mess and it was incredibly short-notice and maybe he should’ve thought things out better, but he’s free. He’s never felt so relieved. It’s quite cold, dark, and alone, but everything seems so much more colorful and bright now but also he really should find a place to say and strangely, his immediate thought is to call up Manole -- but he’s asleep, isn’t he? Or working? He shouldn’t bother him, he should go to his mother. But...

He called. Decided that if he did not get an answer, he would let him know another time (never, really). And nobody picked up. So as he’s ready to drive out, he gets a call: It’s Manole. He picked up, and he heard the groggy-confused voice of an acrobat ringing out with the delightful barks of Ana in the background to give him the image that oh, she must have woken him up, and oh, he’s smiling. They chat for the night. As in. They meet up again, and the two take a quiet stroll out with Ana, and Istvan gets to vent, tell his story. (His little audience is quite expressive too, he noted. Loose red strings of disbelief and high-pitched barking. Dramatic flailing of arms, a growl.)

In the end, they have to rest. Manole and Ana depart (with Manole insisting that they continue their little interactions and that Istvan finally comes to one of his showings, he swore he’d make it worthwhile - Ana agreeing in her little pip), and Istvan is home. A home of memories. Bad, good, but a place that made him nevertheless and he supposed... he should probably go to that therapist Manole recommended. He gave his word that she was fine; she had helped him back then, too, when things were dire.

Solange was her name. And oh, she was understanding - the best, at least for his circumstances. He revealed his feelings, and she helped him through most of it - enough that he was in better shape than before. Enough that he can lift his head high even with his impressive stature. But - he did ask, out of polite curiosity. What was it that made her want to be a therapist?

And it was an easy answer, the way she’d told it. A deadbeat father, a single mother with a cat and her father - her own grandfather. She had been... rebellious, in a sense, and she was a menace to her family. They had financial issues, relationship issues, the works. It was only until they’d discovered the (grand)father dead that things really started to change. Viva la insurance money, they were able to handle most of the debt and loans. She felt more inclined to... help, seeing as how badly-shapen her mother was, mourning and all. And during that - she realized it was something she wanted to pursue wholeheartedly.

Overall, they’re happy. Istvan and Manole eventually get together (after a long amount of time, only when Istvan was ready to open himself up again - easier, when he’d started acting as accompaniment as (a tech) crew and occasional musical act in the streets and they realized how well they clicked). Ana thrives (with a few other secret nicknames that the others gave to her; well. She doesn’t mind.) Solange occasionally helped out in using her artistic skills with some of the advertisements.

They’re all comfortable. They’re living.

That is all.

 SUMMARY:

・[Overall] The canon diverges with Istvan actually noticing and recognizing the missing dog poster Manole put up. Manole and Ana are reunited. Istvan eventually divorces his wife and gets therapy from Solange, and Istvan is later friends (or more than that, ah-heem) with Manole.

・[Manole] Acrobat for that dreamy circus, but with a dog.

・[Ana] Dog! Beloved! Living! Happy! SO Happy. Maybe gets to meet her old litter of siblings again.

・[Istvan] No more toxic wife that tries to control and restrain him with false affections and silly desires built on creating a dumb image! Musical fun time! Also lifts and flexes.

・[Solange] On good terms with mother now! Grandpa is deader than dead but it’s for the better, promise. Insurance money and her mother made her realize she’d wanted to be a therapist. Occasionally does art for Manole’s circus thing.

No I did not proofread this. I do not care. I have self love, and this is, in fact, indulgent.

[goose-books]

stars: an excerpt from act 2 of darkling [image credit] word count: 1.3k aka: the most holiday-appropriate excerpt darkling has. by which i mean it takes place sort of near christmas & doesn’t make me feel like a crying cat image

context: this takes place about three years before canon (in the text it’s a flashback!); jasper goes to boarding school & only really comes home for the summers and for winter break. cw for misgendering a few times

Vee’s - fifteen when he gets his license; no, sixteen, seventeen maybe - no. It has to be sixteen; fifteen’s too young and Jasper isn’t Jasper yet; seventeen is when it starts to hurt, really hurt, every day. Sixteen is chess and the cane as a friend, not an enemy. And the car keys. Sixteen is the car keys.

He plans it out two weeks ahead of time, in December when his school break overlaps with Jasper coming home - pulls out his little school assignment book, notes down when Dad’s driving to work, when Dad’s working from home, when they’ll be expected to show up at some public Christmas event, what the weather forecast says. “You really think she wants to go sit in the cold and look at stars with you?” Dad says. Not like it’s an attack; more like it’s never occurred to him. Vee should correct him on the pronouns (Vee’s been practicing, even if Dad hasn’t), but he doesn’t, just tilts his head and says, “But I can have the car, right?,” gets a nod and a skeptical eye-roll in response.

He picks three days before Christmas. They leave around eight, when it’s already dark. It’s also cold. Really cold. “This is your plan?” Jasper grumbles as he flips the seat-warmer on. “To go outside? Right now?”

Vee is - Vee is feeling some regret already. He is having some second thoughts. He is shaking like a battery-powered children’s toy, even inside the car. But goddamnit, he made a plan. “Trust me,” he says, trying to tug his gloves on with his teeth so he can keep one hand on the wheel. “It’s gonna be good. Just trust me.”

Jasper arches his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything. Just pulls his slush-glazed shoes up onto Dad’s nice leather upholstery.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive - out of Dovermorry proper, up the winding mountain roads at the very edges of the city. Vee spends most of it trying not to think about, and thus thinking about, how weird it is that he only sees his sibling every few months. It’s not like Jasper goes off to school and comes back a different person. No dye jobs; no piercings. He looks the same as he did when he left at the end of the summer, right down to the loose unruly curls he brushes out of his eyes. That’s what makes it so weird. Behind those bright eyes are four months spent somewhere Vee will never be, with people Vee will never meet, and sure, Vee still texts him, still reads his emails, but he barely gets any information out of that. It’s like there’s another layer of Jasper’s world, one Vee doesn’t have. Jasper told them about his new name over the summer, but Vee’s seen the comments on his Instagram posts. No one from his school has called him Circe since April.

“You have your license,” Jasper says, looking straight ahead.

“Yeah,” Vee says, swerving sharply around a branch that looms out of the road’s darkness.

Jasper looks at him sideways. “I don’t know if you should.”

“Dad says I’ll get better.” Vee ducks his head to hide his sheepish smile, but he doesn’t miss Jasper’s snicker.

The wheels whir over the road. Driving in the snow makes him nervous; up here the roads aren’t paved half as well. Still. They’re almost there.

“He’s gonna put Circe on my Christmas presents,” Jasper says, very flatly.

It’s too dark in the car to make out his face, even if Vee felt comfortable taking his eyes off the road, which he doesn’t. He feathers the brake, edges around a snowdrift encroaching on the sheer black pavement. He knows what he’s supposed to say. I’ll talk to him. (He won’t. He’s tried; he gets tongue-tied.) He just needs some time to get used to it. (He knows very well how stupid Jasper will find that.) It’s not like he’s going to lie, either. Dad is going to put Circe on Jasper’s Christmas presents.

“Well,” Vee says, biting his lip, “I won’t.”

They drive the last half mile in silence.

When they stop, they can just barely see the lights of Dovermorry glittering over the ridge. Up here, up higher in the mountains, it’s dark-dark. Real dark, not city dark. Vee unlocks the car, takes his cane with him when he steps out, comes around to the passenger side and opens Jasper’s door. Not out of gentlemanliness so much as a fear that Jasper won’t move.

He does move - albeit with a hiss of, “God, it’s cold as shit out here.” Still, when Vee’s cane slips on a patch of ice under the snow, Jasper catches his arm with ease, unpanicked, unrushed, and Vee steadies himself and smiles at him and gets a quick-flashed smile in return.

They leave the car and walk up the road, footsteps crunching crisply in the fresh snow, until they round the bend and the hills block out the last bit of city-light. Jasper’s a step behind, blowing on his hands, and Vee catches the moment when his face changes - when he looks up and sees the sky bursting with stars above them.

If there’s one advantage to living in the mountains, to standing above the rest of the world, a city closed off with its nose turned up - it’s this. The clear sky, dark and rich as paint, pinpricked with white light. The thousands on thousands on thousands of stars, like sugar spilled across dark cloth.

Up here above the city it’s like there’s nothing else. It’s like the heavens could swallow the world.

Vee stays silent as long as he can. Then, finally: “It’s crazy, right?”

“Yeah,” Jasper breathes, head tilted back, lips parted. “Oh my God.”

Vee could say more - about how he was just driving around, just trying to practice with the car, just trying to get out of the house for a little because when Dad isn’t there it’s far too large. How he found the place by accident. How he sat on the hood of the car until he lost track of time, sat back and stared at the swirling stars until his teeth chattered. How he doesn’t want to show anyone else except the two of them. How places get less lovely when everyone knows about them.

But he doesn’t need to. He thinks Jasper knows that already. Anyway, it’s enough standing here, surrounded by stars, glowing with them, reflecting them, watching Jasper stare up at the sky.

“Perseus, there,” he says after a few moments, pointing. Jasper side-steps closer, interlocks their arms. “And Aries. That line there.”

“Where?”

“Those ones.” Vee traces a line in the sky with one fingertip.

“How the hell is it a deer?”

Vee isn’t very good at judging when Jasper is joking. He ventures a sideways look. He doesn't think it’s a joke. “Come on.”

Mimicked back: “Come on.”

“It’s a ram.”

“Whatever,” Jasper says, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Sure as shit doesn’t look like a ram, either, Vee.”

“But people saw one,” Vee says, and he draws out the path with his finger, imagines connections sparking between each star. “To the point where - where we’re still seeing it. However many years after. You know?”

Jasper doesn’t say anything. But he sets his head, very lightly, on Vee’s shoulder.

They both have thick coats on; the touch doesn’t itch like it usually does. Besides, Vee’s so cold he doubts he’d feel it anyway, layers or not. So he steps a little closer, so Jasper can lean on him, and they tip their heads back and gaze up at the sky and Vee feels like he could drink the whole night, like they’re both glittering with constellations.

They stand there for five, ten, fifteen minutes - Vee doesn’t know. Just until he can’t take it anymore, until he says through chattering teeth, “You wanna go back and turn the car heater on?” and Jasper says, “Oh, my God, yes.”

He doesn’t run ahead, though. He keeps their arms linked - Jasper on one side, Vee’s cane on the other - and they scramble back as fast as Vee can, and then they turn the car on and sit in it parked and hold their hands over the heater and shiver and laugh.

[shireness-says]

A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink (1/4)

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. ~15.2K. Also on AO3.

A/N: Presenting my contribution to the @cssns​! “The Night Circus” by Erin Morgenstern is a favorite book of mine that I have long thought would make for an excellent CS AU. And so, I’m finally doing it. At length. 

I was incredibly lucky to be paired with @eirabach​ for this event, who created the beautiful art attached above. She has such amazing ideas for bringing this fic to life in all its atmospheric glory that I never would have thought of. Her art is also posted on her tumblr; go give it all the love it deserves!

Thanks also go to @snidgetsafan​, my ever-phenomenal beta, and @ohmightydevviepuu​, who read the book at my urging and then agreed to read my monster to make sure nothing important was left out. This fic is better for both their efforts. 

Tagging the usual suspects for now. If you want to be added to (or removed from!) this list, just shoot me a message: @welllpthisishappening​, @profdanglaisstuff​, @thisonesatellite​, @let-it-raines​, @kmomof4​, @scientificapricot​, @thejollyroger-writer​, @superchocovian​, @teamhook​, @optomisticgirl​, @winterbaby89​, @searchingwardrobes​, @katie-dub​, @snowbellewells​

Enjoy - and let me know what you think! Next chapter will be posted whenever I get it done. 

~~~~~

The circus arrives at night.

There is never any warning of its arrival; no handbills stuck to the lampposts or announcement from some other lucky town that yours will be next. It is simply there one morning, all the black and white tents taking on a particularly mystical quality in the light of the sunrise. At the front gate is a sign:

                       Le Cirque des Rêves

                   Open sunset until sunrise

(And what a curious idea, that; a circus that is only open at night.)

The circus is a place where anything can happen, and routinely does. Those who visit leave with an awareness that no street-side carnival or traveling minstrel will ever induce such enjoyment again; everything must naturally pale in comparison. The illusionist is somehow more magical, the fortune-teller more wise, the contortionists and acrobats more daring. The world of the circus, created all in black and white and silver and lit by delicate lanterns and a great bonfire at its center, feels otherworldly - and you somehow feel that it just might be. 

In a word, the circus is magic, brought to life right in front of your eyes, and you know you will never be the same for having witnessed it. 

Our story does not begin at the circus, however; it only ends there.

———

Our story begins in the back corner of a smoky tavern, or a grimy alley, or a dimly lit dressing room of a theater, or any number of other places that exist in-between the rest of humanity, overlooked, utterly invisible in their mundanity.

(In truth, it does not matter where our story begins - only that it does.)

A woman sits in a darkened corner. More attentive observers might recognize her as the famed stage magician, Circe the Enchantress, capable of tricks beyond their wildest imagination.

(Even the most observant wouldn’t realize that all of Circe’s “tricks” are gloriously real; the human mind is excellent at not seeing things that it doesn’t want to acknowledge.)

(The most observant won’t notice the way she purposefully draws the shadows further around herself, either, just to ensure that the rest of humanity around her can’t penetrate the curtain of dark.)

Circe isn’t her real name, of course; it just sounds good on a playbill, capable of attracting people from far and wide. These days, she goes by Regina Mills, though there’s been other names before that: Corwin and King and Bowen and Smith. Names aren’t much of a concern for those as old as she, just another passing distraction when you’ve witnessed hundreds of years.

Hundreds of years don’t make the waiting any easier when the person you’re expecting can’t bother to arrive on time.

“You’re late,” she comments drily when her companion finally arrives, a slight man with a slighter limp. They may as well be a study in opposites; where Regina plays with shadow to avoid notice, he’s draped himself in a spell that causes an observer’s eyes to glance away without seeing; while Regina tries on names like hats over the decades and centuries, changing with every whim, her companion has allowed his own moniker to become lost to time, known only now to very few and only as Mr. Gold. 

“Au contraire, dearie,” he replies mildly, though the irritated glint in his eye would terrify anyone else. “I arrived exactly when I needed to. What is time to those like us, anyhow?”

“A convenient construct that keeps those you have appointments with from waiting around for any longer than they have to.” 

Mr. Gold studiously ignores the quip.  “Why did you ask me here tonight, Regina?” 

“I’m in the mood for a game,” she says, faux-casually. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a proper competition.”

“Ah yes,” her companion smirks. “If I remember right, my contestant defeated yours last time.”

“On a technicality,” Regina corrects through gritted teeth.

“In this world of absolutes, I often find a technicality is all it takes to shift the balance. And magic, true power… that’s the greatest technicality of them all.”

“I’m rather less inclined to deal in technicalities, at least where the matter of starting a new game is involved,” Regina snaps. Any minute shred of patience or humor she might have possessed is long since gone, even if her companion remains unruffled. “It really boils down to: do you want to, or not?”

“Never let it be said I turn down a challenge, dearie.” This time, it’s impossible to miss the menace behind the supposed endearment. “In fact, I’d say you were the one being… shall we say, vague about the details of this all. Do you have a venue in mind? Or are you leaving that particular bit up to me?”

Regina waves a dismissive hand. “Do as you will. You know I’m not much interested in that, anyways.”

“You never did understand the importance of setting.”

“Perhaps I simply have faith that my contestant will prevail regardless.”

That piques Gold’s interest. “You already have a candidate in mind, then?”

“And fully anticipate taking them as a student, yes. I suppose you’ll want to be there to bind them to the competition?”

“You know me well.”

“I should bloody well hope so,” Regina mutters under her breath. They both know, however, that Mr. Gold hears the words regardless. 

Carefully, the man in question stands from the table, supporting himself on a gilt-ended cane. Any limp that might necessitate such an accessory has long since been corrected; some things are more about the effect, anyways. “If there’s nothing else, Regina, I have other matters to attend to.”

“I expect you do,” Regina smirks. “After all, I’ve already spotted my player, and you’ve yet to find yours.”

“That is true,” Gold concedes with a deceptive mildness. “But remember, dearie: it isn’t about how the game starts, or when, or where. It’s about where it ends. And I have full confidence my acolyte will be able to last the distance.”

With their business concluded, both magicians fade back into the night. Pedestrians continue along the streets, occasionally interrupted by a horse and carriage, all unaware of the true nature of the beings weaving through their midst.

(Dozens of lives have been altered with this ten minute conversation, but the world at large will never know that either.)

———

Emma Swan spends a lot of time by herself.

That’s to be expected, in some ways; she’s an orphan, after all, having spent all 6 years of her life bouncing between begging in the children’s homes and begging on the streets, desperate for the help of others and receiving very little of it. 

But Emma is different, in a way that scares others and has left her to bounce around for years. Emma can do things that others can’t do, like the sparks that dance between her fingers and all the little things that sometimes move, falling off shelves and tables and everything else, whenever she’s upset. She can’t control it, not really, and in a life like hers, there are far too many opportunities to be upset. 

A lady had seen her the other day - one of the fancy ladies by the theaters, the kind that usually pretend they don’t see Emma, like her very existence might dirty their skirts. Emma hadn’t meant to - she never means for these things to happen. But the days are getting colder, and when she really starts to shiver, even with her arms curled around herself to conserve heat, sometimes the little sparks just happen. It’s like whatever this thing is is just trying to keep her warm too.

And no one should have seen her, tucked away in that corner, but the lady is already looking around with a frown on her face like she’s searching for something, and when she turns Emma’s way, it just happens. The lady’s eyes focus on Emma, drawn by those little shoots of light, even as she shoves her hands into her armpits. Emma expects gasping, or screaming, or maybe even a panicked shout for the police - it wouldn’t be the first time - but instead, the lady just tilts her head and narrows her eyes, as if she’s seen something interesting. Then she nods abruptly and leaves.

Emma doesn’t expect to see the lady again - indeed, she rather thinks she’s dodged a bullet. But a week later, she rounds the corner with a filched apple and runs straight into the lady.

“Sorry, Ma’am,” Emma mumbles, ducking her head and trying to scoot around the older woman. When the lady darts out an elegant hand to grab Emma’s arm and hold her in place, panic courses through her veins. “Please, Ma’am, I didn’t do nothing, I swear —”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous,” the lady snaps, tugging Emma into the mouth of an unnaturally quiet alley. “I don’t care about whatever you ‘didn’t do’. I want to talk about what you did the other day.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Emma mumbles, staring studiously at her feet.

“Of course you do - the lights, in your hands. Don’t lie to me. That’s a gift, don’t you know that?”

Emma shakes her head no.

“Your gift - it can do wonderful things. It makes you special.”

“I’m not special.”

The lady considers that for a moment before answering. “No. But you could be. I could teach you.”

Now that catches Emma’s attention. “You can? How?”

“I can do things like that too,” the lady explains with a smile that seems more smug than pleased. Sure enough, when the lady turns her hand upright, a small ball of flame burns there. Emma’s eyes practically bulge out of her head as she watches that little lick of fire - like her own, in so many ways.

“If you come with me, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” the lady says. It sounds like an order, not an offer; Emma knows how to recognize those. Still, maybe…

“Like a mother?” she asks hopefully, even if she knows that’s unlikely.

The lady scrunches her nose in a kind of instinctual disgust. It’s about as much as Emma expected. “Heavens, no. Don’t be ridiculous,” she scolds. “No, more like… you’d be my apprentice, and I’d teach you our trade.”

That seems odd to Emma; this lady, with her fancy dress and her fancy hat and her posh accent, doesn’t seem like the type who should have to work. “What’s your work?”

For the first time this whole conversation, the lady bends down to properly meet Emma’s eyes. Emma straightens a bit at the gesture, already able to tell she’s about to impart something important. “Magic,” the woman tells her with a smug, adult kind of smile.

“Magic isn’t real,” Emma says back, almost automatically. Six years in orphanages and left to her own devices have long since proved there are no fairy godmothers in this world, not for little girls like her. 

The woman straightens. “The bits of it you have dancing around your fingers right now say otherwise.”

Emma looks down in horror to see it again - the sparks that she tries so hard to hide, that give her so much trouble. For all the mad things this lady says, she’s the first to not look at the display in alarm or even fear. 

“You can make it go away?”

“I can teach you to control it,” the lady corrects, “and so much more. I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime, Emma. Don’t be such a fool as to reject that.”

And even at six, Emma is not a fool.

Emma goes with the lady, who she learns is called Regina. She never learns how Regina knew her name, but writes it off as magic.

(There are far worse fates for lost girls like her.)

———

Emma has been with Regina for a week when the strange man shows up backstage at the theater where Regina is performing.

One week isn’t a lot of time in the grand scheme of an apprenticeship, but her teacher is guiding Emma to recognize magic in the world - the way it pulls toward Emma like an odd kind of magnet and traces linger in the air for hours. Emma has learned to see the faint, radiating glow of magic around her own mentor; this man doesn’t quite have the same glow, but there’s a hum that emanates from him that she thinks might be the same thing. 

Regina introduces the man as a friend, but Emma doesn’t think that’s quite right. She’s always had a knack for recognizing lies - maybe that’s a kind of magic, she wonders now - and her benefactor isn’t quite telling the truth. Maybe that’s one of the half-lies that adults tell, when they think the truth is too difficult for a child to comprehend.

Regardless of what the man might be - friend, foe, acquaintance, something else altogether - Emma can’t help but feel uncomfortable under his piercing gaze. The sparks burst and dance around her fingertips again, entirely without her say-so - something the man quickly notices.

“You’ve found a natural talent, then?” The words are addressed at Regina, but his eyes never leave Emma.

“I told you I had someone in mind,” Regina bites back, just barely on the right side of civility. “Now, if you don’t mind, I don’t have all day.”

“Patience was never your strong suit, was it, Regina?” The man’s tone is mild, but his eyes flash with displeasure. Still, he crouches in front of Emma, granting her his full attention. Though he carries a cane, the movement doesn’t appear to pain him in the way she expects. “What do they call you, young miss?”

She doesn’t particularly want to answer, but Regina has a particular look in her eye that says that she doesn’t really have a choice. “Emma,” she finally mumbles, avoiding the man’s eyes.

“Emma,” he parrots back. “What a lovely name. May I see your hand, Emma?”

Silently, she offers it, palm facing up. Once she does so, the man slips a plain gold ring off his pinky finger, sliding it onto Emma’s own ring finger instead. Curiously, Emma looks at the bauble; it is far too loose on her small finger at first, but as she watches, the band shrinks to fit until it’s a perfect fit. It doesn’t stop though, continuing to tighten and tighten until the metal sears into her skin, burning the flesh until she cries out in pain and tears spring to her eyes. 

And then it’s over. The mysterious man lifts her hand with deceptively soft and delicate fingers, removing that awful ring from her digit to slip it back onto his own.

“You’ll do well, Emma.” The name almost sounds like an insult in his cold voice. “I wish you good fortune.”

(Emma doesn’t notice the item wrapped in a handkerchief Regina passes to the odd man, never realizes that it contains a silver ring to match the one he just used on her, too focused on rubbing at the smooth, scarred skin on her finger where the odd man’s ring just branded her and trying to chase the memory of pain away. One day, she will understand the way that this moment and that ring bound her to a future she didn’t fully understand.

But today, Emma is six, and all she knows is that her finger hurts.)

“You don’t want to do this yourself?” Mr. Gold asks, tucking the handkerchief and ring into his inner breast pocket.

“Obviously not. I’m not nearly as mistrusting as you are,” Regina replies.

(One day soon, Mr. Gold knows he will have cause to execute this binding on a student of his own. It does not matter much to him whether Regina is present for such a binding, though he thinks her a fool for her own sake. After all, knowledge is power - and there is no power greater than knowing your opponent.)

———

A strange man comes to Killian’s school on a Wednesday when he is eight, the kind of day where everything is shifting and changing.

(School is a generous word for this place, as none of the children ever leave, no homes or families to return to at the end of the day. Killian has a brother, three years older, but their mother is long dead. As for their father… as Liam says, the less said about the bastard, the better. There is a reason the two boys have found themselves in this children’s home by any other name.)

The man doesn’t say much, and explains even less. A selection of children, three boys and two girls - including Killian and Liam - are pulled from their regular classes and made to sit for an exam, only instructed to read all the instructions before beginning. The man must have money; the test is printed, each letter pressed in black ink onto the crisp page. It feels like a silly use of money, at least to Killian - he’d much rather use it at one of the concession vendors down by the river - but it’s impressive all the same. The test itself is not fully any one subject; there are translations of languages he doesn’t understand and number puzzles and a curious instruction at the end to only answer questions numbered in multiples of three. At the very end - question 57 - is a short answer question: Why do you think you are here today, and why are you taking this test?

Killian looks around the room at the other children, all diligently working on their own exams. There’s no obvious connector between the five children in the room; Liam has always been brilliant, but Killian is a middling student, and the other boy even lower than that. Some of them are known as quiet and well behaved, but some are not. Some are leaders, some are followers. There’s no obvious pattern.

As to why he’s taking this test… it’s obvious that the man must want to evaluate something, but Killian can’t begin to understand what. As far as his young brain can discern, the exam is about recognizing patterns and following directions. He couldn’t even begin to figure out why.

Killian stares at the space for his answer for what feels like hours. Even after nearly three years in this home, or perhaps because of it, he still has a strong desire to please, to give adults the answers they want to hear; in this case, he just doesn’t know what that is. Finally, as the other children start to put down their pencils, he hurriedly scrawls an answer.

Does it really matter?

After the exams are collected, the children are called in to speak with the man, one by one. None of the conversations are very long, and each trails out with a look of confusion on their face afterwards. Killian tries to catch Liam’s eye as his brother leaves the headmistress’ office, but Liam just furrows his brow and shrugs his shoulders in confusion.

The man holds Killian’s test in his hands when he finally enters the office, appearing to examine his answers. The man is perfectly ordinary in every way; neither short nor tall, thin nor fat, with hair that is not quite brown or blond or grey. The only thing that sets him apart is his clothing - the expensive suit, the perfectly shined shoes, the gold-tipped cane. 

“Does it really matter?” the man quips, diving straight in and obviously quoting Killian’s own response.

Killian swallows heavily; he wouldn’t have written that in the first place if he knew this was coming. “Sir?”

“Your answer,” he expands, as if that needs clarifying. “I’d be curious to hear why you gave that particular answer.”

Killian flushes and looks at his shoes, but the man just waits until he finally answers. “It was obvious you had a reason for having us sit that exam,” he finally explains, “and I had no idea why that was. I didn’t want to guess.”

“You could have left it blank,” the man points out. “Several of the others did. Why the question?”

Killian shrugs. “I wanted to know.” Then, when the silence stretches out between them: “Was that wrong?”

The man stares in silence for a moment longer, before shaking his head. “I would like to take you on as my student,” he declares. When Killian hesitates, his tone turns sharp. “Are you opposed to that?”

“What about my brother?” Killian asks, meeker than he’d like.

“I am only interested in taking one student.” His words are dismissive, bordering on uncaring, and Killian’s stomach plummets.

“But what will happen to him? He’s the only thing I have left.”

“I’m more interested in what happens to you, particularly in relation to my offer, than in your brother.”

In a burst of courage (or, he’ll think in later years, foolishness), Killian pulls himself together to make a fateful declaration. “I’ll go with you… but only if you send Liam - send my brother to school.”

“This is a school.”

“A good school,” Killian clarifies. “The best one. One that will let him do anything he wants when he’s grown up.”

There’s a pause as the mystery man seems to study Killian, though his face gives nothing away. Killian’s heart climbs into his throat as he waits, but he holds his ground. That seems important, somehow - like he’s engaging in some kind of unknown battle. Finally, after what seems an eternity, the odd man tilts his head in a half shrug, as if such a concession is nothing to him. Who knows; with the kind of money he obviously has, maybe it really is nothing. “We have a deal. Go get your things - we leave today.”

(Months later, after many lessons that Killian doesn’t yet understand, the man - Mr. Gold - has Killian place a ring on his finger, a loop of silver that burns a band of flesh on his thumb. A binding, Mr. Gold calls it, tying Killian to a contest that he does not yet understand.

However, it is this transaction - Liam’s education for Killian’s own - that binds him far sooner and better than magic ever could.)

——— 

Magic, Emma finds, is a thread upon the breeze - swirling around them all, lighting upon branches and settling into corners, just waiting to be noticed and harnessed. And Emma does - she feels it, and knows it, and asks it for favors. Dye the dress. Fold the sheet. Heal the dove. The magic deigns to come and wind through her fingers, grip a thread and pull and alter the world to her liking. 

Magic, she finds, is whimsy and wildness all in one, there for her to use and set free once again. Magic is power, more than she will ever wield; her role is but to borrow and return, like a toy set neatly back on a shelf. 

Magic, she finds, is a living thing all its own, and if she works very hard, she just might earn its trust.

Emma grows to enjoy a better childhood than she ever expected before Regina took her off the streets, though it is far from gentle. It is a childhood spent moving from place to place, hopping all over Europe and even to the Americas as Regina performs in theaters around the world. Regina demands nothing less than perfection in their lessons, and Emma grows used to performing the same tasks over and over until her mentor is satisfied - turning tea cups into mice and materializing all manner of objects from unseen rooms and healing her fingertips from where Regina slices the skin with a knife, each scar a supposed indication that she’s not trying hard enough.

But in time, Emma learns and she grows. At 18, Regina deems her skills honed enough to rent her out as a medium, calling upon Emma’s skills to rattle dishes and peer into people’s deepest, saddest thoughts to echo back just what they want to hear. Emma hates every moment of it - lying to people already wracked with grief, taking their money and offering them little satisfaction. She tries to comfort the bereaved as best she can in these sessions, but it’s often of little use. Emma may dread these hollow performances, but what choice does she have? As long as she’s under Regina’s tutelage and protection, Emma’s choices are not her own. 

(She may not know nearly as much about this competition as she should, but Emma longs for the beginning of the contest all the same, if only to finally crawl out from underneath Regina’s thumb.)

———

Magic, Killian finds, is a well of ink, the feeling of satisfaction deep within him when pen births onto page the perfect word, a descriptor for all the things he knew but could never say. It takes hours and years of study, but Killian learns all the ways to channel that pool - each spell, each rune, each intricate bit of charmwork. Magic is hard, but Mr. Gold says all power worth having is; besides, Killian has always been diligent. 

(The lessons are much more interesting than his regular schoolwork, anyways.)

Magic, he learns, is there, if one just knows how to look for it. Most people will go their entire lives without being aware of that; he’s special to have learned. Knowing opens a whole universe of possibility; after that, it’s all down to technique, and finding the right language to channel it. 

Magic, he finds, is a tool, and if he works very hard, he just might be able to harness it to his will. 

Killian’s childhood is a regimented one, filled with books and careful note taking, mastering the theory and principle of every bit of magic he encounters before being allowed to put it to use. As the years stack up, his head fills with runes and symbols and all manner of magical words, like another language he’s slowly become fluent in. In time, Killian learns to piece all of it together into a powerful language only known to a select few - words that can make things happen, that can alter the very world around them. The language of magic, at its very core.

Mr. Gold may be a distant mentor, not prone to affection and rarely even telling Killian he’s proud or pleased, but he keeps his word. Liam attends the best boys’ school that money can secure, impressing his teachers with his innate curiosity and intelligence and making a whole host of friends who are happy to host him on school holidays. Once a month, Mr. Gold takes Killian to see Liam, or brings Liam to see Killian, all with a transport more efficient than any train or carriage. In between, the brothers gladly fill the weeks with exchanged letters, keeping one another apprised of their lives. Killian had told Liam about this arrangement from the beginning - the magic, the competition he’ll one day engage in - and his older brother offers all the pride that Killian doesn’t receive from his mentor. It’s not the path that either anticipated following as children, but it’s a much better life than either expected. There’s a lot to be grateful for.

As Killian grows into a man and learns how to study independently, his enigmatic teacher leaves him to his own devices. Killian prefers it that way, really; though he’s always been grateful for the mysterious, once in a lifetime opportunity he’s been offered, Killian has never been close to his benefactor, not by a long shot. There’s a feeling that hangs over every interaction that he’s never been able to shake, that he owes Mr. Gold in ways he’ll never fully understand. It’s never made for an easy relationship.

Besides, he likes his independence. He is granted a little flat in a quiet and respectable part of the city, with room for a library and a pretty view of a nearby park. It’s more than an orphan like him ever imagined he could have before this opportunity fell in his lap. There are moments of loneliness, but no more than he’s grown used to in youth; besides, as adults, Liam drops by for conversation and a nightcap far more frequently. It’s a little life he’s carved out for himself, with his notebooks and spellbooks and everything in its place, even as he continues the interminable wait for a contest he still barely knows anything about.

It’s all the more surprising, then, when one day the knock at his front door reveals none other but his teacher, as neatly turned out as ever and utterly unexpected.

“Won’t you come in?” Killian asks, stepping aside in welcome. He doesn’t much expect the invitation to be accepted, but he asks all the same; he’s used to interactions with his teacher being strictly business. 

Sure enough: “That won’t be necessary. This will only be a moment.” Gold’s tone might generously be described as brusque, if Killian was in a mood to be so generous. He’s not, particularly. 

“What can I do for you, then?”

“A Mr. Jefferson Madigan will be seeking a secretary and assistant,” Gold tells him, handing over someone else’s calling card. “You will apply for that position.”

It’s an odd command; Killian’s benefactor has never cultivated much of an opinion about his life of study and leisure up to this point. But suddenly, it clicks. “Is this about the challenge?”

“Mr. Madigan and his companions will be creating a venue.” Technically, it’s neither a confirmation nor a denial, but over the years, Killian has learned to read those answers as well as any book. It’s an affirmative. “It will be to your advantage to become part of that circle.”

“I understand,” Killian nods gravely.

“Make sure that you do.”

Killian looks down to examine the address on the calling card, and by the time he looks up again, Gold is gone. His teacher does that, he’s learned - found a way to move through the world while barely leaving a mark upon it. With the conversation clearly over, Killian closes his flat door.

(All the while, a metaphorical door of possibility has been thrown wide open.)

———

Mr. Jefferson Madigan may be the man for whom the word eccentric was crafted.

The townhouse is only a townhouse in the aristocratic sense of the word, more an elaborate and enormous monolith situated in town than just a normal dwelling. The door knocker is cast in the shape of two dragons, and curtains in a variety of different and garish colors peek through the window. At the bottom of what are otherwise staid, conventional stone steps are marble statues of a rabbit and a dormouse where regal lions might usually be.

It all makes sense when the man himself opens the door. While Killian has taken care to dress neatly in a trim, dark colored suit and tie, making his best attempt at the appearance of professionalism, Madigan is a riot of colors and patterns that Killian isn’t entirely certain match, but seem fitting all the same. Behind him, the entry hall is decorated in a jewel-tone blue with golden patterns and baseboards, but that makes a little more sense now that Killian has seen the man himself.

“Are you here about the vaudeville acts? Because I’m afraid that we’re rather moved on from that idea,” he says without introduction, words tumbling one right over the other in a jumble.

“I… No,” Killian manages to stutter out. A question like that has a way of putting a man off-guard. “I was led to believe you were in need of a secretary or assistant?”

“Ah. That makes more sense.” Mr. Madigan nods as if to cement it in his head. “Have you done that kind of work before?”

“No, Sir.”

“Well, that’s fine, I’ve never had a secretary before either.” By the look on his face, Madigan would be much more comfortable conducting an interview for a vaudeville actor than a secretary. “Then can you… I don’t know. Read and write and do sums? File things? I don’t think I’ve ever filed something in my life,” he mutters to himself.

“Yes, Sir. To all of it.”

“Well then good, you’re hired. Do you think I need to be filing things? It’s something I’ve never really thought about before.”

Jefferson, as he prefers to be called (“Don’t even try that Mr. Madigan nonsense, I won’t answer to it.”), is planning a circus - what Killian imagines is the venue he’s heard about for a decade and a half. And it sounds magnificent the way Jefferson describes it - something otherworldly. More an entire sensory experience than just a show, spanning dozens of tents and food stands and performers scattered across the grounds. The way he envisions it, the endeavor is more experience than anything else - simultaneously a performance space and a theater and a zoo and a venue for all kinds of edible delicacies. Perhaps carnival would be the better word, but Jefferson insists on circus. 

“There’s a sense of mystery to the word, Killian,” he decrees while jotting down what is doubtless another half-baked idea on the back of a receipt. “Anyone can hold a carnival, but a circus… marvelous, magical things happen at the circus. It will look better in the papers anyways.”

(Killian will need to do so much filing to keep all this in order.)

It quickly becomes obvious that Jefferson is primarily an ideas man - and while his ideas are spectacular in so many ways, he needs assistance in bringing those ideas to life. It’s immediately obvious why he needs an assistant; for a man who spends so much of his time with his head in the clouds, lost in ideals and fanciful imagining, it’s hard to manage the practicalities of the day-to-day implementation. 

There are investors of course, men who flit in and out of the planning at will as if just to make sure that their money is actually being used properly. Killian isn’t fully surprised to see his mentor is one of them; doubtless, that’s how he knew to direct Killian to Jefferson’s door in the first place. He doubts that anyone else truly remembers the man, however; Killian has long since learned to recognize the cloak of forgetability his teacher likes to draw around himself. 

(There are different kinds of power, Killian has learned over the years - the kind that comes from everyone knowing what you can do, and the kind that comes from no one knowing what you can do.)

Killian learns that he is a late addition, comparatively speaking; a small collection of people have already been met on the matter, creating a small stack of roughly sketched plans that he’s sure will inevitably grow by the day. Jefferson holds a reputation, Killian has learned, for a series of elaborate late-night soirées known only as Midnight Dinners, famously exclusive events with over a dozen exotic courses and unmatched entertainments. Jefferson is a producer by trade, an entertainer in every bit of his being, and these private entertainments may be the pinnacle of his accomplishments.

(Or may have been, at least; Killian has a feeling that this circus he envisions may surpass anything else.)

The circus is born at one of these dinners - an intimate one, with only five attendees, handpicked by Jefferson as the men and women necessary to bring his vision to life. The vaguest outline was sketched that first night, tacked to the walls in the emerald green study Jefferson has set aside especially for the circus and its plans. Already, there is a stack of opened envelopes on a side table, filled with ideas the other attendees simply couldn’t hold onto until the next meeting.

They’re an interesting collection, certainly. Madame Constance Blue is a former opera singer who’s found a second career in fashion. Her eye for color and aesthetic is fabled as being unmatched - a talent she brings to this endeavor to create a cohesive environment that looks like another world on the outskirts of the city. Elsa and Anna Frost are a pair of sisters, socialites who have tried a little bit of everything, from a stint in the ballet and art school to a time as librarians they will only speak about after great persuasion. Where Madame Blue may create a visual environment for the circus, the Misses Frost are experts on the feel - all of the rest of those details from the positioning of signage to the very scents in the air, those details that so few consider but still manage to sell or doom an experience. Their little group, most meetings, is rounded out by Mr. August Booth, an architect and engineer by trade, who draws up marvelous plans for each tent and attraction. All of it embodies an elegant simplicity centered around a series of circles, one curve bleeding into another in a way that feels organic, nearly living. It makes the straight black and white stripes of the tents all the more striking in contrast to this world of elegant curves. One contributor’s work bleeds into the other, all with Jefferson at the helm to lend his ideas of what kinds of things should be presented, creating a venue that feels like a realization of all their dreams.

(The last attendee, Mr. Gold - who betrays no indication that he and Killian are even remotely acquainted - has no particular, obvious specialty that he lends to the endeavor. In fact, he barely seems to speak and is nearly forgotten in the rest of the bustle of the Circus Dinners. Somehow, though, even if no one can put their finger on what exactly Mr. Gold does, it is agreed that his contributions are essential, and that everything runs smoother and more productively at those few dinners he does attend.)

(He is always referred to by surname; though the other attendees are certain they were told his first name upon first introduction, they have no memory of what that moniker might be, and decide it would be rude to ask. )

With each dinner, the Circus fleshes out a little bit more, each piece carefully filed away so it can all fit together later. There are designs for the gates and August’s wonderful blueprints for the butterfly tents and lists of confections that must be offered. As time keeps churning forward, the members of their little dinner group increasingly start to travel, seeking out the perfect craftsmen and performers and creators to bring this endeavor to life. There are acrobats training in France and an intricate clock being crafted in Germany and Jefferson and Killian will be travelling to Scotland next week to see about a pair of big cat trainers as August travels to Austria to see about some trained horses.

But tonight, they’re all here for dinner, and there’s an unexpected guest at the door. A tall, slender woman, who claims to be a sword swallower.

“What’s the harm?” Jefferson asks when Killian informs him cautiously, sweeping his arm in a grand motion. The Circus Dinners are exclusive, and nearly sacred, but she’s here about the circus. And Jefferson has always been generous by nature. “Show her in, Jones, we’ll set another plate at the table.”

The woman introduces herself as Mulan - no second name, and no indication whether that’s her given name or surname. As the clock strikes midnight and the first plates are brought out, she climbs the low dais usually reserved for a pianist and begins her demonstration.

And it is so much more than just a sword swallowing act. Mulan moves with an almost supernatural grace, whirling her blades in an intricate and deadly dance. She tosses her swords and balances them on the tips of fingers and the ridge of her chin. And she does send the swords down her gullet, in ways that make Anna and Elsa and even composed August gasp. Each move blends one into another into another, beautiful in a savage way that leaves them all on the edge of their seats as she twirls and even flips. It mesmerizes their little audience, as delicate appetizers sit untouched on their plates.

At the conclusion of her display, Mulan resheathes her swords with a satisfying hiss of metal against metal before executing a dramatic bow, nearly bending in half in the process. Their audience erupts into applause; across from Killian, Jefferson springs to his feet in a standing ovation.

“Brilliant! Simply brilliant!” Jefferson darts up to the platform to shake Mulan’s hand vigorously, much to her apparent amusement. “We simply must have you for the circus. A platform out in the open in the crowds, right near the center, don’t you think, Elsa?”

“It certainly would be a shame to hide her away in a tent,” the blonde agrees. “I don’t think we’ll find anyone else to match her talent, either. Would you be comfortable with that? Performing to a passing crowd?” she addresses Mulan to finish. 

Mulan nods solemnly, though a slight smile dances in her eyes and on her lips. “My skills are not limited by venue, you’ll find.”

“Excellent!” Jefferson crows. “You know, this is exactly what the Circus should be. More than expected. Anything but mundane. Up close and pressing past anything seen before and - oh! It’s just perfect. Welcome to the Circus, Madame.”

Jefferson’s words become a mantra as they move forward - to push boundaries, to seek people and things that are more than anyone would ever imagine.

It is what may become the making of the circus.

———

Looking back, once they come to know one another better, Killian will find it fitting that he meets Belle in a used book store.

He’s taken to wandering these stores on his rare days off with a pair of notebooks in his jacket pocket - one for little bits of magical research, and the other for chronicling any ideas he might stumble across for the Circus. Over time, Killian has discovered that odd, unusual, and even historic tomes have a way of accumulating in used bookshops, overlooked and nearly lost to time. On shelves such as these, Killian has located alchemical treatises and books of magical theory and even a potions compendium that appeared to the untrained eye to be a simple accounting of folk remedies. In a way, he supposes that’s right; it just overlooks the dash of magic that’s an extra, if necessary ingredient. These old bookstores are a good source, too, of unusual and exotic attractions and obscure ideas for confections. Whenever Killian stumbles across something he hasn’t seen before that he thinks will be of use, he records it carefully in the pertinent notebook, one tucked into each of his coat pockets, before purchasing the volume or returning it to its place on the so-often messy and cluttered shelves. 

This particular day had been less than fruitful, though Killian would never call it wasted. Even if he doesn’t manage to excavate any scrap of information, the whole environment is calming - something Killian sorely needs, more often than not. He walks back to his flat at a leisurely pace, just enjoying the crisp fall day, when he suddenly realizes - 

One of his pockets is lighter than it ought to be. 

Quickly, Killian doubles back to the bookshop. This isn’t the first time this has happened - it’s all too easy to accidentally leave a little leather-bound notebook on a shelf in an environment full of other leather-bound books, and Killian does remember pulling out the notebook to record a particular line of a spell he’d remembered he had already recorded just as soon as his pencil had lifted off the page. A quick check of the notebook in his other pocket reveals that it is, indeed, his magic notes that are missing. It’s a mild irritant, but nothing unusual for a man with a million other things on his mind.

What is more unusual, however, is to turn the corner only to see a young woman outside the shop, paging through what appears to be his own notes with a look of marked interest on her face.

She’s pretty, Killian notes, with prim brunette curls that frame her face below a beribboned, feathered hat and a petite frame that seems dwarfed by the yellow dress beneath a neat burgundy jacket. He only spares a moment to look, however, before he intervenes for the sake of his book. If she’s half as clever as that intent crinkle in her brow suggests, it may be too late.

The young lady jerks her head to attention as Killian clears his throat, a becoming blush staining her cheeks. “I believe you have something of mine,” he comments, nodding towards the book in her hand. 

“Ah, yes.” She carefully closes the pages, handing the little notebook back to him. “You’ll be Mr. Jones, then?” Killian nods an affirmative as he takes the book back - not that it stops her string of thoughts. “I do promise that I was trying to bring it back, sir - I saw you leave it down that one aisle where the cat particularly likes to sleep - but you had already left and, I see now, most likely had turned a corner and, well, I’ve already been a little curious and I just couldn’t resist flipping through the pages and —”

“Miss, it’s fine” he smiles. “I’m just relieved to have it back. That little notebook is indispensable to me.”

“I recognize some of the symbols in there,” his companion blurts out. Killian is discovering she has a tendency to do that while nervous. “Alchemical symbols, and astrological ones. Not the rest, but… well, those are all over the pages.”

“And what would you know about alchemical and astrological symbols? Seems an unusual hobby for a proper young lady, Miss…”

“Belle French. I read a lot of books.”

“Books on alchemy and astrology?”

“Yes.” She blushes again. “I came into possession of a deck of tarot cards a few years ago. It seemed worth doing my research. The alchemical bits were an accident that expanded into a separate research project.”

“You read the tarot then? I wouldn’t have expected that of a dignified lady like yourself.”

“Only for myself,” she admits. “It’s not precisely something you can practice at the average tea party. I find myself more curious what a proper young man like yourself,” she mocks his own tone, “is doing with a notebook full of such symbols.”

“Perhaps I, too, accidentally conducted extensive research into alchemy.”

Miss French fixes him with a skeptical look. “I don’t believe that for a moment. What’s the real reason?”

Killian sighs. “That’s… rather a longer story. Best settled somewhere else, if it must be told. Would you care to join me at a bistro I know?”

That should be the end of the matter. No proper young woman would agree to such a thing.

But Miss Belle French seems to be no such proper young woman, and she says yes.

It takes a hearty sip of wine once they’re settled in Killian’s favorite Parisian-style bistro for him to muster the words to speak. “I am… a student. Of sorts.”

“A student of what?” Miss French asks around her own, more delicate sip.

Now is the moment of truth, where she believes him or she doesn’t. “Of magic.”

Miss French’s brow furrows for just a confusion. “Magic? Like the illusion acts you see at the theaters?”

“A little more than that,” he tries to explain. “It’s… well. When you read your cards, does it feel like some rote interpretation? Or like you’re channeling something, the mere conduit for the cards?”

“The latter, I suppose.”

“That’s a form of magic. A very special one, actually, one that not everyone can find. I can’t.”

“So your… magic isn’t like that then?”

“It’s more like… a secret language,” Killian tries to explain. “It’s something I can find deep within me, and speak into existence.”

His lovely companion still looks unconvinced - not that he can blame her. It’s a lot to wrap one’s head around. “You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t disbelieve you,” she’s careful to say. “But you must admit, Mr. Jones, that it’s an awful lot to take in.”

Killian thinks for a moment, before settling in his mind on a way to prove it. “Is there anywhere you’ve ever wanted to go? Someplace you’ve never seen, but always wanted to?”

“I’ve always wanted to visit the beach, and see the ocean,” she replies wistfully.

“I can make that happen.”

“With your magic, I suppose?”

“Yes. Do you trust me?”

Miss French hesitates for just a moment before nodding. 

“Then take my hands, and close your eyes.”

With her soft hands in his own, Killian draws upon the words, murmuring them into the back corner of the cafe where they sit. Slowly, the dim lighting and faint smell of smoke dissipates, replaced by warm sunlight and the faint rush of the tide coming in.

Miss French opens her eyes without his asking, gasping as she takes in the illusion of an environment he’s created. Gulls circle overhead; were she to remove her shoes, she’d feel soft sand beneath her toes, stretching as far as the eye can see.

“It’s marvelous,” she breathes. “And you did all this?”

“Aye. And I can do much more.”

It’s evident that in this moment, at least, she doesn’t care about much more; she’s too enthralled with the ocean in front of her. 

“You know, Mr. Jones, I think we were meant to meet today,” she murmurs. “And I don’t even need the cards to say it.”

She becomes a friend, over time, over cups of tea and discussions of his studies and her practice with her tarot cards; the first real friend he’s ever had. Mr. Gold doesn’t approve, claiming that she’s a distraction, but Killian doesn’t much care. She makes his life better, in those hours he isn’t called away by the circus. And as the planning rolls on, turning into reality, she lends a listening ear every step of the way. 

Neither of them can predict how much will change with the hiring of the illusionist.

———

It’s been years of this - the constant preparing for something she doesn’t fully understand, of being tested, being pushed to what Emma believes are her very limits before discovering that she still has more to give, to bleed, to learn. A sense of anticipation hangs over her entire life, such as it is, and she doesn’t even know what she’s waiting for, or how long it will take to get here. Regina has told her time and again to be patient, that things will become clearer in time, that this isn’t something frivolous, you foolish girl, you can’t rush it, but Emma has never been one for patience. She is 24, and it has been 18 years, and there is still no sign of whatever this competition is, or will be.

Until one day, a neat envelope appears on the dressing table in Emma’s room in the ostentatious flat she has shared with Regina since the very beginning whenever they’re in London.

It would be in your best interest to present yourself at the below address on June the 19th.

The missive isn’t signed, but Emma doesn’t need a signature anyways; it’s evident in the neat gilt letters on the crisp cream-colored parchment that this message is from the man with the cane. Mr. Gold, half a memory whispers, though he’s done his very best to remove himself from memory. There is no postmark, and no messenger; it is clear to Emma that this card has appeared without the intervention of a human hand. Not that the man she suspects would need such mundane means to deliver a message. Emma has grown up surrounded by and steeped in magic, and she has long since learned to recognize true power - and even though she was only a child the single time she met the man with the gold-tipped cane, she’d felt even then the magic clustered all around him like metal filings to a magnet. To a man like that, delivery of this message would be the easiest thing in the world. 

There’s a newspaper clipping too, Emma realizes as she slowly moves to find and show her teacher. It’s an advertisement, seeking an illusionist, with the address of a modest theater at which she should apply.

Seeking an extraordinary individual to marvel and amaze, the cramped newsprint proclaims. An unmatched opportunity to become part of an unprecedented entertainment spectacle.

“What have you got there?” Regina asks when Emma enters their parlor, examining every inch of the message and its attached advertisement. The words are closer to a demand than an inquiry, but Emma isn’t particularly surprised; these kinds of interactions have always been her teacher’s modus operandi. 

“A note. I found it on my dressing table.” Carefully, Emma passes the documents to Regina for the other woman’s examination. As Regina reads the words, a devious kind of smile inches its way across her face. 

“You know what this means, don’t you?” she asks Emma with that same odd smile. It only widens when Emma shakes her head in the negative. “It means we’ve reached the beginning.”

And with those six words, the next phase of Emma’s life begins.

———

Killian thought he knew what to expect - but he never expected her.

They’d placed advertisements in all the major papers, seeking an illusionist for the circus - a magician. Jefferson, for all his endless inspiration and imagination, has never realized that the most fitting candidate for this particular job has been silently at his side for the past two years, through every bit of planning. Jefferson never realizes that there’s a reason that this has all come together unnaturally smoothly, as if aided by unseen forces.

Jefferson, for all his endless imagination, will never believe that humans are capable of anything more than illusion, will never believe that true magic is possible.

(That’s for the best, really; Mr. Gold just needs a pawn to create a venue, and Killian… well, Killian just wants, nay, needs to limit the collateral lives disrupted for the purposes of this competition.)

Attending the auditions as Jefferson’s personal secretary to record any decisions ultimately made, Killian expects a long parade of conmen, of charlatans and fakers and all the normal cast of characters that pass for magicians in a world that refuses to see the truth. And he gets them in spades, with card tricks and pretty assistants and poorly behaved rabbits who are more interested in exploring the legs of the mezzanine chairs than disappearing into hats. Maybe those kinds of displays would be good enough for most undertakings; the public will be expecting the normal sort of “magic” displays, after all. 

But this is for the circus - and the circus must be more than that. 

(It’s for exactly that reason that Killian draws a tricky bit of magic about himself that he picked up from his mentor years ago - a charm to smother any traces of magic about him, to make him seem so ordinary that strangers’ eyes don’t bother to linger. He may expect a long line of fakes, but on the off chance this attracts someone of more genuine talent… Killian isn’t taking any chances.)

Killian never even sees her coming. It’s their last appointment of the day after a chain of disappointments, and frankly, he’s ready for a cup of tea, or perhaps a glass of something stronger. But then the young man who works at the theater is clearing his throat to announce the next applicant, and Killian looks up —

And it’s her. 

The woman before him is beautiful - collected, quiet, but with a confidence that shows in her bearing, in the straightness of her spine and the sure look on her face. She wears an emerald green dress with a black velvet jacket with trailing sleeves, and she looks a picture - possibly the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. She looks more suited to fashionable tea rooms, or strolling along the street to perhaps visit an acquaintance, or any of those other ordinary things women of means and unnatural beauty do with their days. It’s obvious, though, that ordinary is the last word that could be used to describe her. Even from across the room, he can sense the magic that clings to her skin like traces of ink - true magic, not the facsimiles he’s suffered through all day. 

He knows immediately that this woman - whoever she may be - is the opponent he’s been anticipating for 18 years, since he was only 8 years old, and the knowledge simultaneously exhilarates and terrifies him.

(Even if he’s been working for two years to help bring this competition, this circus to life, it suddenly feels real to see his competitor across from him, flesh and blood and blond curls.)

(He has no business forming an attachment, but she already fascinates him on a level far more personal than professional.)

“Your name?” Killian hears Jefferson ask, as if from a distance. That’s not the reality of this situation, really; his employer sits in the seat right in front of Killian’s own, barely two feet apart. It’s hard to focus on anything else, though, with an angel standing in front of them all. 

“Emma Swan,” she answers. Her voice isn’t loud, but it’s sure, and with its own particular melody. “I understand you’re looking for an illusionist.”

“We are indeed, Miss Swan. And do you believe you’re the man - my pardon, woman for the job?” Jefferson wears what Killian has learned is his most charming smile, and Killian feels an unwarranted flash of irritation. Can’t he see this creature isn’t for him? Isn’t some simpering young girl to melt at his attentions?

(It’s a relief to see that, while Miss Swan does smile back, it’s only a smirk of seeming amusement. She’s here for other things, they both know, even if Jefferson doesn’t.)

“That’s for your judgement, isn’t it?” As Emma poses the question, she carefully strips out of her jacket, only to toss it carelessly towards a chair. As the fabric sails through the air, however, it miraculously turns into a raven, circling the room before landing back in one of the investors’ laps, abruptly a stack of folded velvet once more. Miss Swan may make it look easy, nearly thoughtless, but it’s evident to Killian that she’s performed a very impressive piece of magic - and evident to all those less observant as well. The amused little smirk returns as Miss Swan calmly folds her hands atop the green satin of her dress. “But I believe so, yes.”

What follows is exactly the impressive spectacle of magic they’d hoped to find, but Killian never believed they would.

The gentlemen’s handkerchiefs turn into doves, which fly to perch at the edge of the stage. The delicate flowers of the wallpaper peel from the walls to beautiful, fragrant life. At one point, their chairs all lift to hover a foot above the ground. One trick flows into the next, and into the next again, all conducted by the extraordinary Miss Swan with graceful hands and barely any appearance of effort. It feels like the entire audience, small though it might be, holds its breath as the magician completes her display, conjuring her crisply folded jacket back into a raven. In a flurry of feathers, the bird dives towards its mistress as the audience watches anxiously, only to reappear as a drapery once again on the pale, delicate arms of the enchanting Miss Swan. 

Ahead of Killian, Jefferson and the other producers explode into a flurry of applause - a well earned ovation, in his not-so-humble opinion. That was… spectacular. Amazing. Magical.

“Bravo, Miss Swan!” Jefferson calls, jumping nimbly up the stairs at the front of the stage to shake her hand. “I think you’re just the thing we’ve been looking for. Won’t she look lovely, Constance?”

“She’ll make a statement, certainly,” Madame Blue replies. This might be the closest Killian has seen the formidable woman to satisfaction. “We’ll have to plan the wardrobe carefully, of course. Something… striking. A bit out of the ordinary, with outer layers to remove. That trick with the jacket was extraordinary,” she finally addresses the subject of their discussion. “I imagine you’ll want to incorporate it.”

“I had planned to in some form, yes,” Miss Swan confirms. “Is there a particular… concern you have about my clothing?”

“Please don’t mistake us, Miss Swan,” Jefferson hurries to assure her. “You look absolutely lovely. We’re trying to create an entire atmosphere in this endeavor, you see. An entire circus, all in black and white and silver. Including its members. Madame Blue, here, is an invaluable help in creating that.”

“I see,” Miss Swan nods. “So I suppose you’re thinking something more like this?” 

As she speaks, they’re treated to one final trick, as the green of her skirts flees at the touch of a finger, changing to pearly skirts that slowly give way to an ink black hem. As with every display of her magic, it’s graceful, effortless; more than that, as her dress completes its transformation, skirts widening to a dramatic sweep in the process, she looks like the very essence of everything they want the circus to be. 

Killian gapes. Madame Blue nods approvingly. Jefferson beams.

“Splendid! Oh, absolutely marvelous. Never tell me how you do that. Yes, that will do very nicely indeed, Miss Swan. You’re hired.”

As if anyone else would ever do.

———

Killian shows up at Liam’s door that night, to the small but comfortable apartment a junior banker shouldn’t yet be able to afford on his salary.

(He’s always been sure to care for his brother, the same way his brother always cared for him.)

He must look a wreck when Liam opens the door, as his brother moves to pour them both a measure of rum without even being asked. His neat necktie has been loosened in the past hour and his hair is doubtless a riot from running his hand up the back, but Killian thinks it’s more whatever look he wears on his face that spurs Liam into action.

“I met them today. Her,” Killian finally confides once they’re both settled into the plush, if hideous armchairs in front of the fire.

“Who’s this, now?”

“My competitor.” Killian attempts a chuckle, but can’t quite manage it. “This game I’ve been prepared for for so long… the other person was always just some amorphous concept. Of course there’d be a competitor, it’s a game. But… I met her today, Liam.”

Liam takes another sip from his tumbler. “I take it that’s a bad thing?”

Killian fiddles with the scar on his thumb as he thinks, the seared band of skin the contract tying him to this competition. It doesn’t bother him, never has, really; most days, he wears a silver ring to conceal the mark from the many curious eyes in Jefferson’s winding townhome, but he’s taken the piece of jewelry off tonight. Tonight is a night for confession, for laying his myriad of confused feelings on the table, not for concealment. 

“I don’t know that it’s bad, per se,” he finally replies. “It’s just… she was never a person until today. I know I’ve been working with Jefferson and his colleagues for two years to bring the venue for this competition to life, but meeting a real, live person is something else. It made it real, in a way.”

“And you’d rather it wasn’t,” Liam infers.

Killian says nothing, ready to neither confirm nor deny that. It’s been an unexpected day, and he’s still trying to process the novelty of having a name and a face. This has been years of his life - 18 years of them - and it finally feels like the waiting is done. 

Liam tries again. “What’s she like, then?”

“Composed.” It’s too stiff a word for the vibrant creature he witnessed today, but it’s the first that comes to mind. She’d seemed perfectly composed, fully in control of everything around her. There’s more than that, though. “She was confident, mostly, in that kind of understated way where you could tell she knew exactly what she was doing without ever having to brag about it. She seemed bloody brilliant, honestly,” Killian admits.

“That sounds like an awful lot of admiration for a woman you’re supposed to view as your foe,” Liam comments with that lift of the brow Killian adopted himself years and years ago. 

“She’s beautiful,” Killian says simply. “She’s perfectly lovely, and honestly? I don’t really want to battle her.”

“So what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” Killian replies truthfully.

He never expected this knowledge to create more questions than answers.

(Killian is beginning to think that just may be the way of this competition; frustration and confusion at every turn.)

(As his mentor has so often says: magic comes with a price.)

———

Now that he knows his competition, it becomes obvious that Miss Swan has an advantage over Killian: while he may exist outside the Circus, maneuvering the board from afar, she’ll live right in the heart of it, manipulating things from within. After all these years, Killian still only knows that the Circus is meant to be a venue for him to test and stretch his abilities beyond anything he ever imagined until, inexplicably, one of them is crowned the winner. From his standpoint, Miss Swan will find that much easier, as she doesn’t have a distance to reckon with. Hell, he won’t even know when she makes a move, so to speak.

Unexpectedly, it is Belle who finds a solution to that. 

“I could be your spy, you know,” she proposes. They’ve long since abandoned formal last names and proper tea shops for lounging in his flat, her with a book and he with one of his notebooks or some circus plans he’s perfecting. So, too, has Belle long since been apprised of all the misty particulars of this competition.

Killian frowns. “I don’t follow.”

“Well, you need a way to hear the news of the circus, right? Everything this Miss Swan does, at least in regards to the Circus. All the little changes she might make.”

“That’s right.”

“And it’s true, too, that the Circus still needs a fortune teller.”

Realization slowly dawns. “Belle, I couldn’t ask you to —”

“You’re not asking; I’m offering,” she interrupts. “I can read my cards for visitors. You’ll be so busy with the Circus, anyways, and making your own moves in this competition, that we’ll barely see each other anymore. You can arrange that, right? To hire me as the fortune teller?”

“Of course - but Belle, are you certain?”

“Nothing is ever certain, Killian,” she scolds affectionately, good-naturedly. “But I want to help. And besides, I’ve always wanted to see the world. What better opportunity will I find, or make?”

When Killian personally vouches for Belle to Jefferson, her hiring is arranged as quickly as promised. He can’t help but feel like this is a mistake, somehow, but the benefits are undeniable. Belle packs her bags and promises to be a faithful correspondent - a promise he knows she’ll admirably fulfill.

(He tries not to think about how she’s one more life he’s tied to the Circus, one more article of collateral damage if and when this all ends.)

———

After so long in her contained world, constantly under Regina’s critical eye, Emma finds she loves the communal atmosphere of the circus. Emma’s little compartment is so much more compact than the rooms she’s grown used to over the years, but there’s a particular coziness that feels more comfortable than anything she’s known before. Maybe it’s the knowledge that this space is truly hers, without monitoring or judgement. She lines the walls with spell books and herbal manuals and silly novels, hangs cages for her doves from the ceiling, shoves a small desk in one corner and a well padded armchair in the other, and spreads a brightly pieced quilt over the bunk’s mattress. She makes it home, in a way she’d never thought she’d achieve. 

(She’s wanted a home since she was a child, went with Regina in partial hope that she’d find one, but it’s only now at the age of 24 that she’s made it with her own two hands and a good bit of magic.)

She watches the circus come together too, in staging grounds just outside of London. Each tent is carefully constructed in black and white stripes, though their height and circumference vary. The acrobats’ tents soar the highest, starting to fade into the starry skies to accommodate the trapezes and tightropes beneath the cloth surface. On the other end of the spectrum the fortune teller’s tent is barely large enough for two people and a table. 

Emma’s tent is somewhere in between. It’s not large, by any means, but there’s enough space for a clearing at the center and two rows of chairs circling all the way around the edges. It’s interactive, in a way Emma never imagined a theater could be when she was a child under Regina’s care. Then again, it’s not really a theater, is it? It’s more a… space. An arena. Truthfully, Emma isn’t sure there’s a word for the intimate feel of this arrangement. Her audience will be right there, enhancing the display in a way Emma hadn’t imagined. Then again, when you’re practicing true magic instead of illusion, you don’t need that extra separation. 

Once it’s time to eventually move on, the whole venue has been carefully constructed to fold and stow away into a series of boxcars and containers for transport. It’s all a little unbelievable, really, the ease with which something so sprawling can stow so neatly away. There’s an atmosphere at the circus, however, even amongst its members, that anything might happen, and the logistics are never questioned as the specially hired crew of workers scurry about, practicing folding and unfolding each tent into their respective boxcars. Maybe they already know that something supernatural is at work; the longer Emma spends at the circus, the more she wonders if this is the one place on Earth where magic can exist in plain sight without question.

(There’s something about the traces of magic at the folds and joints of each structure that feels familiar in a way Emma can’t quite put her finger on - like she’s encountered it before. It’s a rare trace of her competitor in an environment where she still doesn’t know their identity.)

If the circus is the first real home Emma’s ever found, then its members may be her first real family. She’s always felt… different, all too aware of how her abilities have set her apart from other people since she was a little girl. The wonderful thing that she’s discovered is that everyone is a little odd at the circus, even without magic. There are contortionists and animal tamers and acrobats and all manner of other performers, all good people who don’t fit within the bounds of conventional society. Even the vendors, the souvenir sellers and the concession dealers, are the kind of people more willing to believe in the unusual without question. It’s a welcoming, accepting, happy environment that Emma revels in.

There are individuals that Emma makes particular friends with. Ruby, who, along with her husband Graham, works with wolves , is an absolute spitfire who keeps them all entertained with her wit and predictions for the circus. Mary Margaret, who performs tricks with a flock of trained birds, and her husband David, one of the stagehands, are as sweet a couple as Emma’s ever seen and determined to spread that love to everyone else around them as well. It feels a little like they’ve adopted her as an adult child, set upon caring for her in any way they can, and Emma finds she kind of likes it. 

(There’s the fortune teller, too - Belle, a kind and quiet woman that Emma is friendly with, if not close. Somehow, Emma gets the feeling that Belle knows more about this whole thing than anyone else, but can’t put her finger on why. She’d know if the petite little brunette was her opponent, she’s sure; surely she’d sense her opponent’s own magic, the way she can always see the way her own gathers like dozens of little stray hairs about her person.)

There’s a feeling of comradery amongst the group of them, of family. They’re a stability that Emma craves in the midst of all this uncertainty, a support system even if she can’t reveal the stakes she’s facing. As simple a word as it is, they’re friends, and that’s a thing that’s been sorely lacking Emma’s entire life. 

Mulan, however, is a different story. It’s not that they’re not friends - Emma would say that they’re consistently friendly. Emma had immediately noticed the way magic had clung to the other woman in the same way that it does to herself. Here, Mulan may be a sword swallower, but she’s undeniably a powerful magician too. 

“This isn’t the first time that such a competition has been staged,” Mulan tells her over tea as her spoon stirs in sugar without apparent human hand, a thread of magic spooling and unspooling about the metal over and over again.

“So how do I win, then?” If Mulan has been in her shoes before - and indeed, the other woman’s particular brand of magic suggests she trained under Emma’s own mentor, Regina - then this could be a critical advantage for Emma.

But Mulan shakes her head. “That’s something you have to discover in your own time. I’m here merely as… an observer. Support, perhaps. But not to interfere.”

(Even as she says the words, Emma can see a sadness in Mulan’s eyes that sends a stab of foreboding through Emma’s heart.)

There’s an entire universe of possibilities contained within the wrought iron gates, different ways this all could play out. Emma feels within her heart that even if the circus hasn’t opened, the competition has already begun; after all, she’s already tied her own magic to its construction, the way it expands and contracts and travels, lending her own abilities to those enchantments someone else already set. 

There will be a chance to test that tomorrow, as all of this is folded up and moved to where the circus will celebrate its opening night in barely 72 hours’ time. It’s a delicate business, but will be worth it when the effect is finally unveiled - or at least Emma hopes it will be. It’s hard to imagine anyone not loving the circus, in all its wonder, just as much as they do, but dozens of lives are tied to the circus - now dozens of homes and salaries and futures. It’s hard not to feel a little nervous about all that is to come, for their sakes if not her own. 

Above the ticketing booths at the front gates of the circus sits an enormous cuckoo clock, with figures and designs constantly shifting, changing from black to white and back again. Emma likes to come and watch the clock in the moments she takes for herself; there’s something about the simple, elegant mechanics that calms her, shows her the beauty that can exist without magic. Her entire world will change once again once the circus opens its gates for the first time, but the clock is a reminder that change is more than inevitable - it is natural, and sometimes even good. 

As the clock ticks the minutes away overhead, Emma closes her eyes and centers herself. All around her, she can feel the energies of all the people who bring the circus to life - happy and excited and good, in a way she hadn’t known existed. All these lives in her hands, caught up in this competition without even knowing it.

And Emma will do her damndest to protect every one.

———

There’s a party, the night before the circus opens its gates for the first time, at the lavish townhouse of the circus’ proprietor. It’s perfectly in keeping with what Emma knows of the man; Jefferson - as he insists on being called, damn the proprieties - is generous by nature, despite (or perhaps because of) his eccentricities. Where anyone else would balk at the collected mass of the Circus’ players and crew showing up on their doorstep and traipsing through their halls, Jefferson welcomes them with open arms, seeming to delight in the chaos they might bring with them. 

At the Circus, they might be clad in black and white and every shade in between, but Jefferson’s halls are a riot of color tonight - and not just due to his bold decorating preferences. The circus members have truly let loose for the occasion, in a wide array of colors and patterns - green stripes and purple layered on blue and polka-dotted waistcoats, all melding together into a unique symphony of hues never seen before or since. Emma herself wears a red gown that makes her feel like a princess, with long sleeves and a scooped neckline and beading along the bust. Technically, the dress has looked far different when she started with it - a dark navy blue and rather more demure than this end result, though the cloth itself was of good quality - but she’s always had a deft hand with fabrics. It comes in handy in her small train car room, where she really only has room for a single trunk unless she gets magically creative with her storage space.

The party is, by all appearances, a roaring success. Dinner features the widest variety of options imaginable, featuring dishes seemingly from every corner of the globe. There are fountains of chocolate and tiny little bites of meat and vegetables and the most delicate pastries Emma has ever eaten in her life. After dinner, there’s music and dancing and gaming tables in the parlor. The hired band keeps playing a series of merry dance numbers, reels and jigs and the occasional waltz. It’s joyful, happiness permeating every inch of Jefferson’s brightly colored mansion that makes the whole place shine in a way that has nothing to do with any candles or oil lamps.

Personally, Emma is happier along the edges of rooms, observing everything else that goes on around her. It’s not that she’s somehow opposed to the festivities; far from it, at fact. She easily allows herself to be talked into taking turns on the dance floor with David and Ruby even a delighted Jefferson when they ask her with a smile and, in Ruby’s case, a rather insistent and intoxicated tug towards the dance floor. She knows the steps; she knows the rules. But it is hard, sometimes, after a childhood spent largely alone, to throw herself willingly into the heart of it all. It’s intimidating, in a way. At the heart of things, it’s less overwhelming to observe, a wallflower by choice.

From her own vantage point, however, it’s impossible not to notice another soul doing the same thing - sticking to the walls and to the shadows, absorbing everything while engaging with none of it. The person in question is a man - strikingly handsome, with dark hair and sharp cheekbones that make him look a little dangerous. He’s the kind of man who should have no problem finding a dance partner, if he so desired, but he waits along the edges, the same as her. What’s even more curious is that Emma has no idea who he is. Emma isn’t fool enough to claim that she’s intimate friends with each and every person in the Circus - there’s far too many for that - but she does recognize them by sight, at least. It’s an inevitable result of living and working with people in such a tight-knit environment as the Circus. This man isn’t one of them. Curiously, she still has the feeling that he’s familiar, somehow. She can’t quite put a finger on why; it’s like a whisper in her ear, that she knows him in a way she doesn’t yet understand. 

(She sees him looking, too, when he thinks she hasn’t noticed. Maybe he feels this curious deja vu as well.)

At one point, she notices Mulan speaking briefly with the mystery man - nothing more than a few words, but enough to catch her attention.

“Who is that?” Emma asks the next time Mulan passes her by, dressed in regalia that looks more like armor than a dress. It suits her, in a way something more traditional wouldn’t have. “That man in the corner?”

“By that particularly ugly bronze bust?” Emma nods. “That’s Jefferson’s personal secretary. Killian Jones. I’m surprised you haven’t met him before - he follows Jefferson everywhere, records everything. Jefferson won’t on his own.”

Maybe that’s where Emma recognizes him from; it would make sense that he’d have been at her audition, just another face in the crowd. That must account for this odd sense of familiarity.

Mulan waits patiently as Emma turns the information over in her head, as if waiting for her to ask another question. For the life of her, she can’t imagine what that might be.

“I didn’t know that,” she finally replies. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Mulan nods. “Try and have a little fun tonight. It’s not like we’ll have another chance for this for a long while.”

“I promise I am. Even without the dancing.”

“Good.”

(There’s a little tickle at the back of her neck that says Mulan isn’t sharing the whole story, but Emma doesn’t pry further. The other woman plays her cards very close to her proverbial vest; she won’t reveal anything except exactly what she deems it necessary for Emma to know.)

As Mulan slides silently back into the crush, Emma steals another glance at the corner, but the man - Killian Jones - is gone.

Not that it matters to her. After all, they’ll likely never meet again.

(It is easy to ignore the little voice that whispers Oh, but you will.)

——— 

The circus opens on a warm June night under a new moon, and it feels like anything might happen. The tents are all set, the costumes sewn, the performers placed along each neatly lined path. All that’s missing is the audience. 

At the very center of the circus is an ornately crafted fire pit, with shoots of burnished metal curling towards the sky in imitation of the flame contained within. Over time, the heat of the fire will heat and scar the metal in its own unique way, creating an ever changing statue. Tonight, in recognition of the circus’ opening night, the bonfire will be lit for the first time at precisely midnight in a ceremony for all to see. 

Tucked into the grate beneath the fire pit, carefully warded against the flame with a series of runes, is a leather-bound book that no one but Killian knows about. The volume is the circus, in a way that he’s proud to have accomplished. Between the covers are pages and pages of plans for each and every tent, ride, and attraction, with magic carved into every line. This is the way that the circus is brought to life - the way it’s assembled and disassembled, the way it operates, the way it exists. At the back is a list of everyone employed by the circus, from Mrs. Lucas who runs the dining car of the train to the day-old twins of one of their vendors, a craftsman and his wife who sell intricate animals carved out of wood so delicately and with such life that they look as if they might begin to cavort across your palm. Each name is accompanied by a single drop of their blood - something so simple, but powerful. It binds them to the circus, protects them; it’s a safeguard, in case something should ever happen.

(Killian hates to think that there might be collateral damage in all this, but it seems inevitable. Mr. Gold and Madame Mills aren’t the types to worry about the chaos they create, as long as they get what they want. This will protect the circus and all the many lives that depend upon it.)

Most significantly, Killian creates a tricky little bit of magic to link the volume under the bonfire, right in the heart of the circus, to another in his own possession. It’s still unclear, in so many ways, exactly what this so-called competition will entail, let alone how long it will last. It seems inevitable that in order for the competition to move forward, additions and changes will need to be made, ways to demonstrate each of their respective powers. A second volume, directly mirroring the first, will allow him to add attractions as the opportunity arises. 

Killian feels somehow in-between as he wanders the grounds of the circus - not one of the performers, but not quite a normal visitor ever. He’s done more to bring this to life than anyone present knows, but it doesn’t feel like a part of him in a way he might have expected. He strolls the paths, cloaked in spells that turn everyone’s attention away from his person so he can place the tome without questioning. That’s fitting, he thinks; he’s not part of the circus in any visual way, now or previously, yet he’s made more of a mark than they’ll ever know. He’s shaped this entire spectacle from the shadows, and his work is only beginning. 

It feels like something settles into place as Killian slides the book into its nook. It’s like the whole circus was just waiting for that final piece, as if a breath has been released and this can all finally begin. Something cements in that moment; some piece of ancient magic more powerful than any rune. All that’s left to do is activate that magic with the lighting of the bonfire.

(There are already firecrackers in place to set off with each tick of the clock leading to midnight, but Killian can sense the traces of someone else’s magic lingering on each charge. It seems Miss Swan has left her mark on the fire in her own way, one that will make this a night to remember for all involved. Their work has long since begun, but they both usher in a new phase with their own mark.)

Killian stays to watch the lighting of the bonfire, still cloaked in the shadows even amongst the crowds of life around him. At a few minutes to midnight, they all assemble around the pit - every performer, every visitor, every vendor. Each and every soul. It’s easy to pick out the audience from the circus members; true to their vision, those who are part of the circus are clad in black and white and silver, alternately blending into the night and reflecting like the brightest stars. They stand stark against everyone else and the usual medley of colors, like elegant wraiths. 

Killian spots, too, Jefferson across the way, and the Frost sisters, and Madame Blue and Mr. Booth, all here to mark the occasion. They’ve participated in the dress code as well, Killian is amused to see - Jefferson in a white suit decked with tiny black stars, and the ladies in varying shades of white and silver and grey. Mr. Booth’s black suit may just be his usual wear, but the silver necktie adds a certain celebratory vibe. Killian’s lips twitch in a smile to see their little group, looking with varying levels of satisfaction (or outright bouncing glee, in Jefferson’s case) on the experience they dreamed and brought to life. It’s not necessary, really, that Killian disguise himself anymore; as Jefferson’s personal secretary, it would seem natural for him to be here to witness this. Killian has ulterior motives for maintaining the cloak, however - namely, watching his opponent, the lovely Miss Swan. 

He’s a little enthralled by her, he’ll admit. Miss Emma Swan is… not what he expected in a competitor. If pressed, Killian will admit that he expected his opposing counterpart to be someone rather like himself - some young man around his age, similarly focused, similarly discreet. Miss Swan - besides being, most obviously, a young woman instead of a young man - wields her magic with an open confidence that he hadn’t expected, at least if her audition and the few times they’ve crossed paths since on circus business are any indication. Then again, it’s not like there’s as much need to hide her magic as Killian always believed; to the public, magic isn’t real after all, and she’s just a circus illusionist. 

(She’s a born performer, is what she is, and Killian looks forward to surreptitiously attending one of her shows tonight to relive the particular thrill of watching Miss Swan in action.)

(As much as Killian tells himself they’re different, there’s something in her eyes that says that’s not quite true - the look of someone who’s been left alone for too long. Maybe they are cut from the same cloth, after all. Not that it matters in situations such as these.)

Ten seconds before midnight, the firecrackers begin setting off in bright bursts of color and pattern, causing an audible gasp of awe from the assembled audience. There are swirls of blue, shoots of red, bursts of gold, all perfectly timed to the second hand of his watch. It’s the purest expression of magic made real, and even though Killian knows to watch for the way Miss Swan’s fingers twist at her side to release each round, it still leaves him in a little bit of awe and wonder. It’s displays like these that first enthralled him to the idea of magic, all those years ago when he was still just a boy; it’s nice to reclaim that even just for a moment. 

At the crescendo, a previously unnoticed archer - a trick-shot they’d hired, who can hit the smallest targets from the greatest distance - releases a single flaming arrow. It lands dead center in the bonfire pit, just above where Killian alone knows the volume containing the circus rests, and ignites it in a chasing line of flame. It roars to beautiful life, illuminating the beautiful joy and wonder on each and every face. 

And just like that - the circus is alive.

———

The circus is a wonder, unmatched by any other.

There’s something otherworldly about it, you think as you take in the sights. There’s a stark elegance and mysticism about the venue and all its players that feels unnatural, in the best way - as if you’ve stumbled out of the real world and into a fairy court, where the very air is laced with magic and anything might happen. 

Each tent is somehow better than the last, and you wander without real purpose between each, trusting fate and your heart to lead the way. Even the winding paths, paved in silvery grey pebbles, hold their own surprises, twisting and curving past all manner of performers on pedestals in the night air. There are contortionists in silver and jugglers with patterned balls and clubs, fire swallowers and concession vendors who smile at you and living statues who move so gradually as to be barely discernible to the naked eye.

It is more than an attraction, you realize as the first rays of light peak over the horizon, illuminating the intricate metalwork of the front gate clock; it’s an experience, a wonder, something that sinks into your very soul and changes you in ways you’re not yet equipped to describe.

The circus lingers in your mind and heart, and you will never be the same again.

[demon-winchester]

Tremors Behind The Veil Chapter 8

-Chapter 8- Sylvia's POV: You need to pull yourself together I thought to myself as I was leaving my cover. "We meet again" I screamed at Abigor. He glanced at me and I could feel he was smiling. "Hahaha, the small girl survived... I still remember the splendid taste of your brother little vamp" Abigor replied. That broke something in me... Vengeance was calling my name. I started rushing towards the knight, he still had Aiden on his grasp and it was time to free him. I summoned my Twin Sickles and I started stabbing him. The attacks did nothing and I could see Aiden turning purple. I dashed back and I started rushing again. I jumped on some tables, I grasped my sickles tightly, I stretched the chain and I lept on Abigor. I tied the chain on his neck and I started hanging from him. He started sidestepping and I heard him choke, that's when I knew I needed to apply even more pressure. He threw Aiden on a wall, he grabbed my chains and he started gasping for air.

Aiden's POV: I started gasping and gasping trying to catch my breath. This fucker actually came close I thought to myself. I saw Sylvia hanging from him with her chains tied around his throat. "Oh so you finally decided to join the fun?" I sassed while getting up from the rubble. "Oh shit" I whispered. Abigor managed to free himself and he grabbed Sylvia pushing her to a wall. I picked up my gun and I started shooting him. The bullets were affecting him but he wouldn't stop. He kept hitting her while she was down. "You have no magic to help you this time little vamp" he growled. I kept shooting and shooting and after two magazines he screamed in pain. "Erebus...Drag your hand across its blade and let it cut you" Sylvia managed to say while Abigor started to push through the pain. I removed my gauntlet and I followed the instructions cutting myself. As the blood was touching the sword when I was dragging my hand, the blade started changing. It grew wider and somehow purple, it was shining and whatever was inside the blade it was moving around.

While the blade was getting transformed I started losing my armor and my wings, I was now a simple human with simple clothes holding a big shining purple sword. What the hell I thought to myself. I know I need to work fast. I rushed towards Abigor significantly slower than before and this time the sword was actually doing damage, it was really scratching his armor and it left an aftermath of energy after every attack. Red smoke was coming out of every scratch. He was in terrible pain... His screams would shake the ground but he would still not let her go. "You know what...You have taken a toll on all of us...I am ending you" I growled. He started laughing as I was letting the energy from the sword travel through me. I closed my eyes and I took a deep breath as I was trying to contain the energy. One breath, one movement, one moment and this torment would stop. I breathed out and a purple ray flew from the edge of the sword hitting Abigor on his chest. The blast left a hole on his body and red smoke was flowing out of it, he finally fell down helpess. I helped Sylvia up and we slowly approached him. I held the sword on top of his neck. "Sylvia, grab the handle along with me... It's closure for you too" I said to her and if she hadn't been through hell she would smile. "Any last words?" I asked Abigor. "Curse you, your children too. And their children, forever true." he answered as he was chocking. That made me smile. "So...Shall we?" I said to Sylvia. "May God have mercy upon your soul because I won't." I sighed and we pushed the blade through his neck. And with that, complete silence. He stopped moving and what was once the club was now a building in ruins. "Bastard" Sylvia said and she spit on him. "That's a great time for a drink" I said with joy and I headed to the few bottles that weren't destroyed with Sylvia right behind me. I jumped behind the bar. "Pick your poison love" I said.  We agreed on a bottle of red wine and we were ready to start drinking. "You know what, it's the perfect time for a toast." I exclaimed. "To putting an end to unfinished bussines." she said raising her glass. "To lady death and may she be on our side on the approaching fights." I continued and our glasses met. "Are you old enough to drink?" she asked. "We killed an executioner that had returned from the dead...Do you want to see my ID or does that cover you?" I sassed. She started laughing. "Calm down boy..let me jest" she answered and she kept laughing. "Anyways, with your club destroyed what are you going to do?" I asked. "Well, good question actually...I've always wanted to move to another country for a fresh start and I don't think I'm getting a better chance... I can't help but see hope throughout this mayhem and well, a fresh start is all I need...I hope. What about you?" she said. "Hm, now that I'm powered up again I need to find Circe though there's a talk I need to have with Lydia." I continued. "How so?" she asked. "Well, you see she doesn't have powers and she came all the way here in the middle of the night while we were fighting...She could've been killed, I told her to stay away from me" and as I was saying that a slap hit me. "She came here to help you, you fool and you're going to hold it against her? You know, you might know how to fight but you really need to learn to understand people more..." she said with anger in her voice. "So what do you think I should do?" I asked. "You should figure it out yourself" she said and she took a sip, "Also about Erebus" she continued. "Oh yeah what's up with that... My armor went away while I transformed it" I said. "Well that's the thing... The hunger this blade has while transformed is insatiable, it draws energy from whenever it can and your armor is a great source, you should remember though... Don't hold it in this form for more than a few minutes after your armor has gone away, it starts eating life force and that's not ideal." she continued. "Alright then, I'll have it in mind" I replied. We talked for a bit more, about her story and about mine too, the bottle had reached its bottom. She placed the glass on the table, she got up, she took a sealed one and she started walking away. "It's time to say goodbye Aiden and about Circe you should try searching in abandoned churches, those places are rotten grounds, perfect for Harbingers...Give her my regards." she sighed. "Bye then, I'll take your words to heart and I hope we meet again." I said with a smile. "You shouldn't hope." she said and she closed the door behind her. Time to head out I thought to myself so I grabbed a bottle of wine and I returned to the hideout..It was morning by now and people have started gathering around the ruins of the club. It took me some time but I reached the hideout and that pun in the entrance always makes me laugh. I jumped on the couch and I fell asleep almost instantly.... I hadn't slept that good in ages. I woke up and I checked my phone. A text from Lydia saying hello sent 10 hours ago....God how long have I been sleeping. "Hi there" I answered and she instantly started typing.

Hello                    Hi there                    What's up MY GOD YOU'RE ALIVE                    You're not getting rid of me that easily ...... Look we need to talk                    Okaaay, feel free to say what you want Not here... I mean talk in person                    What's going on? Look, can you be at the garden behind the hotel at 12?                    Like... Midnight? Yes                    Alright... I'll be there

And so time came to pass... I dressed up and I headed to the garden. The place was beautiful. Bushes with unique colours all around... A fountain in the middle frozen from the cold with patches of icebound flowers surrounding it, benches placed under old lamps and snowflakes longing to hug the frigid landscape. I saw her and I approached her, we nodded and we both started looking at the frozen fountain. "Look" I told her, "I know I haven't been the most supportive friend. I've been so caught up with the -whatever the fuck this shit is- and I never took a moment to think that I didn't act the way I should have". She raised her eyebrow. "No matter how difficult this thing is, I should have considered how nerve racking must be seeing a friend you've known all these years put himself on the grasp of death..." I continued. "Could you please tell me what you did that you think was wrong?" she asked. "Well, for starters, when I talked to you about this situation you wanted to help and I did my best to stop you from that, even if I wanted to protect you I should have been a bit more careful. Next when I lost my bluetooth I didn't even try to contact you another way which led you to coming to help me.. I should have escorted you out of harms way that very moment but instead I screamed at you and I returned to the shitshow... Lastly, I should have contacted you the moment I was safe..." I replied.  "Hm" she said, "Do you know why I called you here?". "No" I replied. "Look, I do want to apologise myself... I felt like a burden coming on the club, I shouldn't be something else you have to have your mind on".  "Wait" I said interrupting her, "I never got to tell you that but thank you... You weren't a burden... on the contrary, I don't know how that fight would have ended if you hadn't stepped in at that moment".  "Nevertheless, we had a deal and I broke it... The moment that I saw those pieces of rubble fly towards us I knew that I shouldn't have been there and the fact that I made you endure the hit really made me feel bad" she continued. "Please don't do this... You were the best support I could have asked for" I said. "This world isn't for me and I can't pretend that I am able to withstand the anxiety that comes with it... I don't know if I can help you anymore and that includes comms... It's hard for me to say that you know" she sighed. "I understand... The moment I saw him approaching you... I've never felt so much concern and so much hate, not towards him... Towards me for dragging you into all...that" I said. "What I'm trying to say is I'm sorry and thank you.... You were a big help and I'd feel happy to have you on the comms if you're up to it..." I said with a small smile. "There's another thing... The trip ends in a couple of days and you'll be alone here which will make the situation even worse. I'm asking you... Leave this behind and come home with the rest of us" she continued. "I can't do that... I would love to return to how things were but now that's something I'm unable to do... My plan now is saving Circe, returning home and finding a way to get these stuff off of me" I sighed. "That sounds fair" she said, "So, all good?". "It seems like it..." I replied, "We still have a night to spare, what are you in the mood for?". "Okay, I have a great idea. We head to this great 24/7 diner, get a bite, a drink and then walk in the old city" she said excited. "You know what... I dig that, let's not waste a moment!" I replied. And so we begun. We headed to the diner and we bought some snacks and hot chocolate . We started walking around talking laughing and just enjoying this part of the city. The cold was stinging a bit but nothing we couldn't handle, I didn't really mind because it was just what was needed for the scenery to look like that. Roofs covered in snow all around, tall trees almost crystallised by the cold and snowflakes dancing in the breeze. The time was passing fast and after walking around for hours we concluded that we should return. We were moving in an alley to save time and we saw a person emerge from its end. I have a bad feeling I thought to myself, I looked behind us and I noticed someone was on our tail. "Give me your gloves" I said with a low voice and that's exactly what she did. I summoned my gauntlets and I covered them with the gloves. We had almost reached the end of the street but the man was still blocking, he now had his hand inside his jacket... We were getting closer and closer. "Look what we have here" the man said while drawing a knife , "such a great night to do a good deed and help my poor soul". We tried to step back but a woman was in the way with a knife on her hand as well . "I don't think they are really into charity love" she said to who I presume was her boyfriend. "Here's the thing kids, if you give us your stuff we'll let you go, it would be terrible to stain this street with blood wouldn't it" the man said to us, "I like your pink gloves dude, really... Manly" he continued and the couple started chucking. "Oh you have no idea" I said under my breath. "Don't" Lydia told me. "We don't have all night, start with your wallets" said the woman. "You heard the lady, now hurry... It would be a pity for something bad to happen to your lady friend... You get me dude, man to man, you know how that is, she looks like fun" the man said and I felt my heart pumping. "You done fucked up" said Lydia. "Stop talking girl" said the man while putting the knife closer to her throat. I grabbed the hand and I smashed his elbow, a loud crack echoed in the alley, the man fell down and he started screaming in pain and in disbelief. "You little shit!" screamed the woman and she tried to stab me but I blocked the knife with my gauntlets. "What the fuck" she muttered and I grabbed her head with my arm, I smiled and I smashed it on the wall letting her drop down unconscious. His screams were still going and I saw Lydia kicking him in the guts. "His stupid voice enrages me" I said to her and I approached him. "Nah I got it" she said, she took a few steps back and she kicked him in the head knocking him out. "Ouch, that's gonna hurt like a bitch when he wakes up" I chuckled. "Thank you... Exactly what I was going for" she replied and she started laughing. "I hope you won't kick me too but I may have stained your gloves with a tiny bit of blood" I said. "Nah they make them look less childish... You know, the blood really brings out a murderous intent the normal pink just can't" she replied smiling. "Cool point of view... Does that mean I should stain your pyjamas too?" I said with a grin. "Sheesh, I'm trying to make a joke here and you take it as a chance to hit more people" she laughed. "On my defense I read on a fashion magazine that scarlet red is gonna be worn a lot this year" I continued. "Admitting you're reading fashion magazines isn't a great defense per say but you do you" she replied with a laugh. "We should probably call the police shouldn't we?" I said and she pulled out her phone. "Already on it" she Said. She left an anonymous tip and we continued our wall back. Some time passed and we finally managed to reach the hotel. I followed her to the lobby "So I guess this is goodnight" I said. "Oh, you're not going to your room?" she asked. "We shouldn't give miss old hag the chance to ask questions should we" I replied. "Fair" she said, "That was fun... You know, up until the mugging part". "Attempted mugging you mean... But yeah, it was fun" I said. "The trip days are running out" she continued, "we should do something tomorrow". "I would love to but I have a lead for Circe that I need to follow... Can't wait for when I get back so we can hang out more" I said. "Likewise" she said and she yawned, "I guess it's goodnight then". "I guess it is" I replied with a smile, "Goodnight". "Night" she answered and she started going up the stairs. Time to go back to the hideout and be all alone I thought to myself and I sighed. I walked out of the hotel and the sun was rising.

[mxstyassasxin]

Every Year I Tried, Every Year I Lied (T, 3k)

In the three years immediately following the war, Harry and Draco find themselves witholding the truth about their own feelings but as they begin to work together, they find it harder to keep lying.

on AO3

The parchment stayed blank for a long time after Potter had returned his wand. It had been there on his desk since the evening of his own birthday, a few hours after Potter had approached him in the Apothecary of all places and held his wand out; the wand that Potter had snatched from his grip in his own home – not that it had been any home to him at that moment in time. Draco had stared at it a moment, held comfortably between the calloused fingers of The Saviour, before snatching it himself. A perfunctory nod at Potter and a quick turn on his heel and he was gone, wand back in hand.

The fact that he hadn’t said anything grated on him, because he knew there was much to be said between the two of them. So he had laid a piece of parchment down on his desk, in his bedroom, waiting for him to write the words down. It had taken the arrival of Potter’s own birthday for that to finally happen.

He used his words, first and foremost, to thank Potter for returning his wand, but then the thankfulness continued to spill onto the page. Thankful that he and his mother were not in Azkaban. Thankful that his father was. Thankful for coming back for him in the Room of Hidden Things. Thankful that Potter had lived so he was able to save them all, to save everything, from the Dark Lord.

But that was a lie. Not a total lie, because he was thankful that Potter had saved them. Except, Draco knew there were other reasons that he was thankful for Potter’s individual survival, reasons that he refused to delve into. He was quite content with them bubbling away beneath the surface.

X - X - X

Was that really… Harry had to do a double take. Because strolling through the Ministry corridors towards him was Draco Sodding Malfoy who, for all Harry knew, should have been at Hogwarts revising for his NEWTs like Hermione.

As they passed each other with equal nods of acknowledgement, Harry remembered what date it was, and that on this day last year, he had returned Draco his wand. He turned to look after the retreating blonde, hair looking much softer than it had at school, and opened his mouth to shout. He faltered a moment, closing his mouth again as he thought whether it was appropriate to shout Happy Birthday in the Ministry corridors, and then opened it once more when he decided it would be best just to get his attention first.

“Malfoy!” Draco turned slowly with a tilt to his head and a quirked eyebrow as if to say, “Me?”.

Yes, you, Harry thought with a roll of his eyes as he jogged up to him.

“I just, well, I wanted to… How’s your day going?” Harry tried to smile normally at him but felt the gesture had failed by the look on Draco’s face. “And Happy Birthday, by the way. At least I hope it’s happy.” What was he saying? He wished the floor would open up beneath him.

“Thank you, Potter,” Draco said formally after clearing his throat. “It is quite a pleasant one this year. I’ve just finished interviewing with your department and they don’t see why I can’t begin training at the end of July. Depending on my exam results of course.”

“Of course,” Harry nodded numbly, still trying to take in the news that he would be working in the same department as Draco Malfoy. “I mean, congratulations! I’ll be pleased to work alongside you.”

“I hope you’re not just saying that, Potter,” Draco scowled at him.

“No! God, no. Of course not! I will be pleased. You’ve got a good way of thinking for it. You’re creative and strategic as well as logical. And I know you can be quick with your wand.”

Harry told himself it wasn’t a lie as he smiled at Draco. Not really. Because all that was true about Draco. It just wasn’t the most important reason why Harry would be pleased to work alongside him.

X - X - X

Draco stepped out of the shower, much needed after a long training session, and wrapped a towel around his waist before rolling the knots out of his shoulders that the hot water had missed. His wet hair was dripping down over his eyes as he rolled his neck, but he knew the way by now from the shower across the room to his locker.

What he didn’t count on was the voice that spoke from the direction of another locker slightly to his right. His sure steps faltered but he couldn’t stop lest the git pay any particular attention to his chest.

“Oh, Draco. Sorry, didn’t know you were in here.” At least it sounded as though one of them had a smile on their face.

He carried on quickly towards his locker and his clothes, his skin feeling flusher than it had in the heat of the shower.

“It’s alright, Potter. We’ll get used to bumping into one another, I’m sure,” he drawled, praising Merlin, Circe and Morgana when his voice sounded unaffected.

He kept his back to Potter while he buttoned up a crisp white shirt and pulled on a pair of black briefs, then turned around only to see Potter pulling on a polo shirt. His eyes grew wide and he shut them quickly, gaining a hold on himself. Since when did the man have abs!

He shook himself lightly from his sudden stupor when he realised that Potter had started speaking again and pulled his eyes up from the now-cotton-covered muscles.

“So I’m meeting a few people at the Leaky. You want to come?” Potter was saying and Draco had the feeling that he had missed something somewhere. He felt his brow furrow and saw Potter roll his eyes. “You know, birthday and all that? Drinks. Leaky. Would you like to join us?”

“Um, no. Thank you, Potter, but I probably shouldn’t, and I have a prior engagement anyway. Best wishes though.” He tried to smile but the outright lie he’d just told had settled painfully in the pit of his stomach. He was surprised it hadn’t gotten stuck in his throat because there definitely was no prior engagement, and no one usually cared either way. But here was Harry Potter looking at him like he cared and Salazar, that didn’t help with the guilt.

How could he, in good conscience, go with Potter and be around his friends without ruining their fun. Without ruining his birthday. Especially when he wouldn’t be able to get the image of some well-toned abs out of his mind.

X - X - X

Harry stared at the prone form in the hospital bed as he had been doing every day for the past week. “Asleep,” the healers kept telling him. “He’s just sleeping and he’ll wake up when he feels ready. That was a pretty intense curse he took.”

Yeah, Harry kept berating himself. A pretty intense curse that was meant for me. And it was Draco’s bloody birthday. If he wasn’t going to wake up today, when else would he.

Deep down he knew he was being petty and that Draco being alive after saving his life was much more important to focus on than the fact that he wouldn’t bloody wake up on his own birthday. But Harry needed him to wake up. His own recovery from the ambush was over and he was being sent on another case, with Ron this time, and it sounded like a long one.

He couldn’t leave without speaking to Draco, without thanking him, without saying… Well, he hadn’t quite figured out what to say, but it was Draco’s birthday for crying out loud and he couldn’t just disappear without letting Draco know.

Realising that he would have to try and put it down in writing, Harry summoned a self-inking quill and a piece of parchment, one that ended up with too many lines through it to even bother leaving for Draco to read. He summoned parchment after parchment, never quite getting the wording right. Being unable to express himself properly; frustrating himself until he gave up and lied.

He told Draco, thank you. That he wished he could have told him in person, but he had to go away on a case. That he hoped Draco would wake up soon and that he hoped to be able to see him awake when he gets back. There was more. Harry knew that there was, but it didn’t make it onto the page.

Not being very practised at writing letters that important, Harry reverted to something he remembered being taught about letter writing in primary school, signing the letter off with Yours, gratefully. Those two words felt right. More right than any other two words written on that pitiful piece of parchment, so he left it at that.

Folding it up and placing it in Draco’s hand with a whispered Happy Birthday, Harry squeezed the long, pale fingers once and walked out of the room

X - X - X

“Sir, tell me where he is,” Draco, a junior Auror of one year, demanded from Robards. He had kept his mouth shut the first week, then the second week, even the first month went by without Draco saying anything. But they had been gone far too long for everything to be going right, and Draco was worried, panicked even.

“You already know I can’t do that Auror Malfoy. I’ve told you all that I can.”

“You’ve told me shit.”

“Malfoy,” Robards warned.

“We work well together, Sir. We both know how the other works and it allows us to see the different parts of the puzzle. There could be something missing that only I can see. A link that they haven’t noticed in their observations. It will be beneficial to the department to let me join them.”

Draco told himself that it wasn’t a lie, that Potter was right about his way of thinking when they bumped into each other just over a year ago. But he knew it wasn’t the reason for demanding that Robards send him wherever they are, and he was pretty sure that Robards knew it too. But Draco just stared him down until he got what he wanted. He had yet to relinquish all his pretentiousness.

“You haven’t long been cleared for service again, Malfoy.”

“I am aware, Sir,” Draco acknowledged without removing his gaze and, a few moments later, it paid off because Robards gave a long sigh.

“You will have to read the briefing first, in here so I know you’ve done so. It has all the initial intelligence as well as the updates sent in by Aurors Potter and Weasley. Last contact was ten days ago.”

“Ten days!” Draco practically exploded but closed his eyes and took five deep, steadying breaths. “Alright. Assuming intel is ten days out of date.”

Robards nodded at him with an impressed smirk on his face before handing him a red docket.

“You’re heading to Serbia. The international Wizarding community has been keeping an eye on the situation out there following the breakup of Yugoslavia. It recently came to our attention that there are some magical influences at play interfering with the decisions of the muggle armies. Some dangerous magical influences. Considering their experiences, the European Coalition agreed that Aurors Potter and Weasley were best suited to infiltrate the situation, lay low, identify the target and extract them.”

“You sent them into another war?” Draco blinked incredulously. “Their experiences,” he hissed, “are those of child soldiers in a fight that the responsible adults ignored until it was too late.”

Robards narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything as Draco went back to reading the entirely useless docket. He was still seething when he finished and slapped it down on Robards’ desk.

“Get me a portkey. Now.”

The portkey sent him straight to the initial safe house which Draco already knew would be empty because they wouldn’t have gone quiet ten days ago if they were still there. It wasn’t anything fabulous – a three room, bare brick building on a rather barren hillside. He quickly set about searching for the warded compartment that housed maps and photographs of all the other safe houses in the area.

He could only hope that it would be this easy.

After studying the photos and locations carefully, Draco held one in his hands along with his wand and shoved the rest in a pocket on his left side before spinning away to the first safe house he’d chosen at random.

After a successful apparition, he put the information of that safe house in a pocket on his right side and cast a useful spell to reveal any recent magical signatures. Nothing.

Sighing, he took another random location out of his pocket and disapparated, casting the spell again when he landed in the correct place. Still nothing.

He tried again, and again until the fifth time, the spell caught something. The remains of some household magic; the ancient kind of family magic that you can only learn by owning a magical house. He scanned again for the trace and held it in his mind, expanding the signature not just for the type of spell, but specifically what it had been used for.

He saw it physically expanding. Someone acquainted with ancient household magic had literally expanded this safe house. Following that revelation, Draco covered every inch of the space, running his palms over the walls and floors and ceilings. Over the tops of cupboards and around doorways and window frames, seeking a particular tingle that he had felt in rooms throughout the Manor, left there from years of expansions and additions using this type of magic.

Eventually, he felt it, in the bottom of the bathtub of all places. Feeling very unlike himself, he climbed into the empty bathtub and sat cross-legged, bent forwards at the hips with his palms pressed against the cold surface; his face as close to it as he could manage.

“Potter?” He spoke quietly after a few deep breaths. “Potter, please. If you can hear me, let me in. Are you even in there? I don’t even know what house you own to be able to do this kind of magic. Some magical building must have let you in on this secret somehow. Or was it Weasley? Very possible with the way his place looks. Obviously, his parents know about it, but Weasley technically shouldn’t as the fifth, sixth, however many-eth child.

“No, I’m sure it’s not him so it has to be you, and you need to open up for me. It’s your birthday for Merlin’s sake, and I know I look utterly ridiculous right now but my Healer said that you sat waiting for me to wake up uttering complete nonsense all the time too, so I’m going to keep on talking until you come out of there because you wrote Yours. Why did you write Yours? And with a comma after it too? You must be aware of how that reads. Potter? Harry?”

After running out of air, Draco sat in silence for a moment, listening for the slightest sound. When he didn’t hear anything, he carried on speaking because he knew that this had to be it. He refused to give up hope. Especially when it came to Potter.

“I wouldn’t mind, you know. Being yours. So Happy Birthday!” Draco laughed drily. “You get me of all things, if you want.”

He lifted his cold hands from the floor of the tub to cover his face and sighed, but it soon turned into a gasp as he felt the tub give way below him and he fell, landing on his knees with warm, calloused hands frantically checking him over.

“Draco? Draco? I couldn’t figure out how to undo the damn spell to let me out. I wanted a hiding place and the damn thing gave me a bloody good place to hide but then I couldn’t un-hide.” Draco uncovered his face and stared up at the green eyes smiling down at him.

“Potter?”

“And Ron’s the sixth child, just so you know,” the git chuckled, and Draco scrambled off his knees to pull him into a hug.

“You disappeared,” Draco pointlessly pointed out.

“I know,” Potter mumbled into Draco’s chest.

“They didn’t know where you were.”

“Well I’ve been stuck beneath a bathtub for however long it’s been. Wait? You said it was my birthday? It’s been that long?”

Draco pulled back and stared shocked into Harry’s face.

“You heard what I was saying? You heard everything I said?”

“Yes, Draco. I heard everything you said,” Potter smiled warmly and looked down at their hands which had, at some point, joined together.

“And did you?” he swallowed before continuing, nervous for the answer. “Did you mean it like that?”

“Yes,” he began stroking his thumbs over Draco knuckles. “I meant it like that. I wouldn’t mind being yours either.”

And then Potter was leaning forwards, his eyes on Draco’s lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own. Draco took in a sharp breath and surged forwards, meeting Potter’s lips and sighing as they parted for him. His knees felt weak and for once, nothing felt like a lie. He wouldn’t have to lie about Potter, to himself, to others, to the man himself, ever again.

Too soon, Potter was pulling away, leaving a chaste kiss behind, his thumbs still stroking over Draco’s knuckles. He smiled, and Draco couldn’t help but smile back.

“Can we go and find Ron now? We had to split up and I have no idea where he went.”

“Sure, that’s why I’m here,” Draco smirked, allowing himself just one more lie.

[arandompostarchive]

SALEM - Ch. 5

SAVED WORK

Summary: In all the centuries of your existence, you had never been dragged out of hiding by another god, put in a superhero team and forced to save the universe. But it seems your luck has run out.

______________

“I can’t believe you’re all actually considering this.” Tony started. He was sitting on the opposite side of you and Thor. Something he called “debate club 2.0”, whatever that was.

“I mean the guy tried to conquer Earth, killed a lot of people, and I’m sure has numerous other crimes to his name. Not to mention bad hair.”

Thor interrupted, “His hair has gotten better, actually. Not as… pointy.”

“Has it really though?”

“Okay, boys.” You started, “This isn’t about his hair. We need to decide whether he stays in a cell when here’s here or not. Keep in mind, either way, he stays under our protection. And even if he stays out, he’d be with me and Thor. He won’t be going anywhere.”

Steve sighed, “It doesn’t matter. He’s a criminal, he needs to be treated as one.”

Thor interrupted again, “I have reason to believe my brother was under Thanos’ influence at the time. You’ve all fought him. He’s not a kind being, even to the others you view as villains. Steve, my brother is many things. Very many things. But somewhere in there, he’s someone who actually cares about other people.”

Tony laughed, “Oh yeah, Point Break?”

“Yes. He didn’t need to help me back on Asgard, granted it took him a while to get there, but he did. He wasn’t in complete control of his actions.”

Steve sighed. “People are dead because of him.”

You were serious about this. Sure, it was partially a slight longing to just talk for hours like you used to. To be able to spend time with each other. At this point? You’d take anything.

“This team is made of second chances,” Natasha said. She stood up, walking directly in front of him. “Most of us were criminals at some point. And if he stays here, Strange and Y/n can find a way to stop him from using his abilities, we can put him right back in a cell at any time. If he’s serious and there is actually a death god trying to steal the Tesseract, I think we’re going to have to take a chance here.”

Steve slowly nodded. “As long as we have it under control, we can try.”

Toyn clapped his hands together. “Okay, sure. Let’s let the psychopath roam around my building.”

“Tony, I’m afraid you’ll have to get over it. I’m not excited either. Y/n, you and Strange get on that, Thor and Nat, why don’t you bring Loki up here. The rest of us can start figuring out what’s going on.”

You stepped out, walking down towards your own room.

***

“So your mother is Nyx? Like the goddess of the night?”

You nodded and Peter put it down in his notebook.

“I’m a goddess of magic and the goddess of darkness. I used to go by Circe.”

Peter looked slightly confused, “Isn’t Circe a daughter of Helios?”

“I suppose that’s a complicated question. Yes, in myths. But not all myths are accurate. I mean, in myth, Loki is the god of fire. Not everything is perfectly accurate, really.”

He nodded. He was sweet. In the first month of your meeting, he had practically attached himself to you and Tony. Although you weren’t as science-focused as either of them, you were still close. After so long, it meant a lot just to spend time with people. Especially people so kind, even with Tony’s extremely sarcastic personality.

“That makes sense, but my teacher probably won’t like it as much.” He laughed a bit, so did you. A moment to breathe. That’s exactly what you needed.

“Hey, Sal?” You looked at him. It was a small nickname he came up with after 2 months of you insisting he could stop calling you Ms. Salem, you hadn’t bothered to use your real last name in centuries. Too many bad memories. But eventually, he settled for Salem, and slowly he shortened it to Sal. It was nice to have someone so close to you.

“You and Loki… you’re the one that talked to him, right? Do you two know each other?”

You weren’t quite sure how to answer. Obviously, you did, and you were beyond excited to be able to talk again. You know, now that you know he didn’t actually let you die.

“Yeah, we did. A while ago.”

“How long is a while? Because Thor said you first met him in the 1800s? What was it like then? Were you and Loki actually friends?”

You laughed a bit at his curious expression. He wasn’t trying to ask too many things at once, he just really wanted to know.

“We met a few centuries ago.”

***

You sat next to the lake outside of your town on a small bench. Normally, you weren’t allowed out, but every once in a while your father spent a full day in court for some case or another. It meant you had plenty of time to go wherever you wanted in Salem.

You always chose the lake.

You closed your eyes and let the sun hit your skin, taking in the day. There weren’t many people out. With the amount of clothing most women wore, none were really up to spending summers outside, you on the other hand weren’t affected much. You supposed it was part of your mother living in the underworld, hot temperatures weren’t really a problem.

Part of you enjoyed the silence and was slightly disappointed when it was interrupted.

“Excuse me.” You let out a small sigh, turning to the man behind you. He was formally dressed, to say the least. Clearly not from the States, but to be technical, neither were you. His hair was slicked back, and he had gold around his collar. Not something you saw often, not that your father wasn’t inclined to the occasional expensive dress coat. The more you looked, the more you felt it. That sort of… power.

“What are you?” He asked.

“I apologize. It seems I don’t understand the question.”

He sat down next to you, making you move over slightly. He seemed oddly comfortable with you. Especially for someone who clearly wasn’t from Salem.

“Well, you clearly are not human, even if you look it. But I just can’t place it. So, what are you?”

That’s what it was. He was a god. Not Greek, or else it would’ve been much easier. In fact, you weren’t even sure if you’d call him a god. Normally, that implies immortality. Something you weren’t sure if he had. You sure didn’t.

“I could ask you the very same, Sir.” He laughed a bit, a light, genuine sound. It seemed that was something he didn’t do very often. At least, not really.

“The god of mischief, pleasure to meet you, Mistress…?” You laughed. Offly direct for a man you just met.

“I am most definitely not married.” You prayed to Chaos itself that he didn’t see how you moved just a bit closer to him. Ever so slightly, you saw him move too.

“Really now?” You nodded as he turned towards the lake. He was handsome, there was no doubt about that. And a full god? You had only met a few, your mother, Nyx and two of your siblings, Moros and Hemera. Your mother was a kind person, even if she was protective. Moros was exactly what you’d expect for a god of destruction. And Hemera was much too kind for her own good. Always finding some way to help, even when she really shouldn’t.

“Yes, really. I barely leave my father’s house, much less have time to spend with someone else.” He nodded.

“Something I understand all too well. But, that does still leave my question unanswered. What are you?” You smiled at him.

“I’m a demigod, a daughter of night herself.”

He looked surprised.”Night herself?”

You shook your head in confusion, “Nyx. I’m Greek. I’m going to assume you’re Norse. There are limited gods in the world and not many who would come to Earth willingly. The Norse are one of the more accepting gods when it comes to humans.”

He nodded. “You are correct there. My brother certainly likes Midgard, though we aren’t allowed to visit much.”

“My mother likes humans more than other gods. She’s probably the one person Zeus will actually leave alone. But, people don’t seem to like darkness much.”

He didn’t seem shocked by your statement. You had a lot in common.

“Midgard is interesting,” He started. “The people are… difficult to understand. But it is beautiful.”

He had a point there. The sun in your eyes proved it. The sky was melting into a soft golds and pinks, with bright oranges across it. Dark trees swayed in the distance, the static of the blowing leaves echoed in your ear. A beautiful sound. You saw the man glance at you from the corner of your eyes. Hm.

“It’s a lovely sunset. Are they all like this?” He looked towards you. Had he not been here for more than a day?

“No, not at all. They’re all different in their own ways. All beautiful.”

He smiled. “My name is Loki.”

“Circe.”

***

“So he came to Earth for a while? How long? Did he like it here?”

You laughed, “He used to. He wasn’t much of a fan of humans, but he always liked Earth. I’m not sure what happened.”

Suddenly you heard Friday’s voice in Peter’s room. “Salem, there’s an emergency meeting concerning you in the briefing room. I suggest you make your way over there as soon as you can.”

You sighed. “I’ll be back later, Peter. I can help you with that English project too.” He smiled and waved. You knew a huge part of him wanted to be at that meeting. To be a real Avenger.

“You’ll have your day, Peter.” You said, walking out of the room.

It wasn’t hard to find which meeting room they were using, the door was wide open. You walked in with Wanda, taking a seat between Thor and Bucky.

“There was another small energy spike,” Fury said. “It was enough for our agents to handle, so we sent them. But they found a problem.” Steve sat up a bit.

“Was it the woman?”

“I’m not sure if it’s better or worse, Rodgers. There’s just a sentence, written over and over again in what looks like spray paint.”

“Well? What sort of graffiti are we talking about? Just your standard gibberish?” Tony asked Fury.

Fury sighed. “No. They all just say “Doom is Rising.”

***

[pls-let-me-out]

YOUNG GODS

chapter 1: warmth

words count: 4909 

you can also find this on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25933858/chapters/63034189

        Time goes by differently in the upper world.

           When he was younger, Nico used to spend much more time there. Only when the blinding light of the sun caresses his face, he realizes that he hasn’t seen Hazel in many years. Is she still staying with Circe? How much has she learnt? The weight of not-knowing is heavy on Nico’s chest.

           “Fancy seeing you here.”

           Nico almost jumps out of his skin. Instead, he turns to William, scolding his features into a cold mask. William is wearing blue silky robes. Under the sunrays, it looks like a waterfall. When William comes closer, Nico finds himself surprised to not hear the sound of water splashing.

           William is even more beautiful in the upper-world; it shouldn’t be allowed. The Fates have really played a trick on Nico.

           “Did you really need to bring that sword here?” William asks, gesturing to Nico’s hip. “Do you intend to kill me?”

           Heat spreads on Nico’s cheeks. “Did you really need to paint your skin?”

           William nods. “It’s art, Nico. Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

           Nico rolls his eyes. William has far too much confidence for his own good. “Not pretending, my Lord.”

           “Oh, so we’re using titles.”

William sighs, putting his hands on his hips as he takes a few steps forward. Again not caring for his safety, he invades Nico’s personal space. Nico doesn’t realize he’s put his hand on his sword until William takes it off.

           The touch alone makes Nico shiver from head to toe.

           “I’m Prince of the Underworld,” Nico says. “Don’t touch me.”

           Before William can say another word, Nico slips his hand from free, and takes a few steps back. If anyone were to ask about his reddened cheeks, he would give the fault to the temperature. Instead, he takes in the place around them.

           They are in the same clearing Nico has gotten William, after freeing him from the dungeons. Last time he was here; he didn’t stay long enough to study his surroundings. Now he notices that the trees are oaks and pines, and there’s a lake. They must be far from the shore; he can’t smell saltine in the air.

           “Where are we?” Nico asks.

           “Pelion. The centaur Chiron lives not far from here, training new heroes.” William sits on the lake’s shore, uncovering his legs to dip them in the water. “Have you never met him?”

           “A long time ago,” Nico says. The memory leaves an ashy taste in his mouth. He sits not too far from William, keeping his legs crossed under himself.

           “Do you not ask me if I met him?”

           Nico blinks. “You obviously have. You asked me to bring you here after you spent a night in the Underworld.”

           William’s lips curl. “Ask me to be nice, then.”

           Nico doesn’t do nice. He’s Prince of the Underworld, there is no need for him to be nice. He’s a warrior, a soldier. He’s killed people, then given them eternal punishment. He’s spent more time with the dead than with the living. He’s scary, he knows that.

           “Shouldn’t you be healing me right now?” he asks.

           “Won’t it be boring to spend time together if we know nothing about each other?”

           “I’m the Prince of the Underworld, heir to my Father’s throne,” Nico says, talking far slower than necessary. “That’s all you need to know.”

           “You don’t even know who I am.”

           “You’re William.”

           “Who’s my Father?”

           “I don’t think I care, William. That wasn’t part of our bargain.”

           William’s happy expression fades. The sun feels hotter on Nico’s back, far angrier. He shrugs the thought off. He wishes he had stayed in his rooms in his Father’s palace. The lake looks like a mirror of diamonds under the sun, there’s nothing similar in the Underworld.

           The rest of the day goes by silently. The only sound is that of nature, although sometimes William hums hymns to Lord Apollo. Nico’s pain doesn’t lessen, if William touches the wrong point his fingers curl in the dust and stones they are sitting on, but he doesn’t say a word.

           The moon is high in the sky by the time William lets go of Nico’s leg.

           “The day is up, Your Highness,” William says. “You are free of my presence.”

           Nico nods. He stands slowly, stretching his leg. He’s been in the same position all day long, something he hasn’t done in a very long time.

           “I’ll see you next moon, then,” Nico says. Now that he can leave, he’s not sure he wants to. His Father might be wondering where he is, though. Something he’s sure of, is that he doesn’t want his Father to know of William.

           William, who smiles too much and too widely. Not with Nico, anymore. He hasn’t smiled since Nico told him he doesn’t care. The information sits uncomfortable on Nico’s chest.

           “I’ll be here,” William says. He makes no move to stand, leaning back on his elbow. His spine cracks, and he lets out a sigh. He closes his eyes, as though he were under the sun instead of the moon.

           Is that how he spends his days? Stretching under the sun, painting flowers wherever he can? Is that what other gods do up on Olympus? It’s not the first time Nico has wondered what others his age do, but it’s the first time he really wishes he knew the answer.

           William opens an eye, and a smile slowly creeps on his lips as his gaze meets Nico’s. Nico blushes, turning on his heels to walk away. When he puts his foot on the ground, he’s not on the upper world’s soil, but in his Father’s palace.

           No sound reaches Nico’s ears down here.

             Days go by slowly in the Underworld.

           The first years of Nico’s life weren’t so slow. One day he was a young boy, the next he wore a crown and lived among the dead.

           He watches them during the day. Often walking through them, often accompanying his Father. The King has a stoic face, and Nico knows he is not much different.

           Days go by slowly.

             “William.”

           William turns, a smile widens on his face. There is no cloud in the sky, its blue reflects perfectly on the surface of the lake. William is wearing robes shorter than Nico’s, which isn’t a surprise, seeing that the upper-world is far warmer than the Underworld. When he was younger, Nico used to shiver even in his bed.

           “Do you not spend time here except when you come see me, Your Highness?” William asks, taking his legs out of the water.

           Nico raises an eyebrow. “What’s it to you?”

           “You are just very pale,” William says. When Nico indignantly stutters, his smile widens even more. “I’m just teasing you.”

           “I’m Prince of the Underworld. You can’t do that.”

           William looks around. “I don’t see anyone stopping me here.”

           “Just get on with my leg.”

           Nico sits on the warm soil, William grabs his leg and puts it on his lap. He starts massaging it, the contact gives Nico chills, and dries his throat. It’s not surprise that, when he speaks, his voice is weak.

           “What are you doing?”

           William raises an eyebrow, looking at Nico from behind his eyelashes. It sends new shivers down Nico’s back.

           “What’s it to you, Your Highness?” William asks. Nico furrows his eyebrows; his mouth opens slightly, complaints on the tip of his tongue. “I’m teasing you again. I have healing powers; I use them to check your injury. It was inflicted by the Giants, right? A thorn was left inside; I need to deactivate its powers before I take it out.”

           “Is it as bad as it sounds?”

           “It might leave you feeling a bit dizzy.” William rubs his neck. His face turns red. Is he choking? He doesn’t smell of death, but maybe it’s different for gods –oh. Right. Gods don’t die.

           Also, he’s still moving his mouth. He’s speaking. Crap. Was speaking. Now he looks at Nico like he’s waiting for an answer, and he’s turning even redder.

           “I was distracted,” Nico says. “Can you repeat?”

           William clears his throat, clasping his hands around Nico’s leg, startling him.

           William covers his mouth with his hands. “Oh, sorry, sorry!” He’s even redder, so red he might combust. “Did it hurt you? Of course it did. I’m so, so very sorry, and–”

           Nico rubs his hand on his leg, groaning. “Can you just repeat what you said earlier?”

           As he talks, William fidgets with his legs. “I was saying, that maybe you were wondering why I knew so much about your injury. But–”

           “I really wasn’t to, but go on.”

           “-I just knew because –wait. What?”

           “I wasn’t wondering anything. But now I’m interested, so you can go on with your story.”

           Nico looks at him with raised eyebrows, and William pouts. “I, uh. Yes, well – now I don’t remember where I was.”

           “Gods above.”

           “Ah, yes. I knew about your injury.” He clears his throat, rubbing his hand on Nico’s leg, a weirdly intimate gesture. “Well, words travel fast. We need something to talk about on Olympus, and… so, your injury.”

           Nico blinks slowly. He doesn’t even know why he’s disappointed. He knew William came from Olympus, it’s not surprising that he’s talked of Nico behind his back. Has he laughed at his stupidity for getting so badly injured?

           William must notice something shift in Nico’s expression, because his whole face pales.

           “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I just knew about you, and some things about you. Gods talk, and–”

           “I really don’t care about how you occupy your time, William.” Nico scolds his features into the coldest mask he can create, but it’s not voluntary the way his lips tug downward. The air is fresher in the upper-world, but now it’s just too fresh, the sun too bright, and Nico too foolish. “Just get on with it.”

           William looks down at Nico’s leg, his hands start moving slowly. “As you wish.”

           Nico looks down at his wrist, and curses at the stupid tattoo.

           Once again, they stay seated on the ground until the moon is high, and the stars are reflecting on the lake. Nico stands on his sore legs, his bones crack.

           This time, William stands too.

           “I didn’t mean to offend you,” William says.

           Nico gives him a tight-lipped smile. “And I don’t mean to waste my time, listening to you.”

           A step forward, shadows cloak him, and he is in his rooms again.

             Time goes by differently in the Underworld. Although, sometimes, it passes much quicker than usual. Sometimes the dead aren’t as passive as usual, and troubles happen. It’s Nico’s job as heir to make sure those problems are solved before they can reach Olympus’ ears.

           When problems come, days pass much quicker for Nico. He has something to do, the Underworld doesn’t seem so dead.

           He’s just done stopping the escape of those souls, and he walks in the Asphodel Meadows by his Father’s side. It’s a little ritual of them, to walk through the souls together after Nico’s done something for the realm.

           “One day it will all be yours,” his Father had told him the first time he had brought Nico along.

           Nico was still young, still foolish. He tries his best to not be, now. “But you are a god, you are immortal.”

           Hades had smiled at his son’s certainty. “One day the era of the gods will be over. It happened to the Titans, to Father Sky before them. For all my brother thinks we are invincible, stronger than them, we will share their destiny.”

           “Doesn’t it scare you, Father?”

           “Being scared of death would make me a hypocrite.”

           It feels like centuries have passed since that conversation. Maybe they have, Nico has never really grasped the concept of time, not in the way mortals do. Counting years is useless, when you have eternity in front of you.

           “Is something troubling you?” His Father asks, side-eyeing him. His gaze falls on Nico’s fingers, curling around the fabric of his clothes.

           “I was just thinking,” Nico says. He knows he won’t be able to see Elysium from here, but he tries anyway. “Have you ever heard from Hazel?”

           “She is in the upper-world,” Hades says. His voice sounds much colder. “Why are you asking?”

           “I was just thinking.”

           “You know I can’t give you permission to visit her, wherever she is. She made her choice. She refused the Underworld.”

           “I know.” A jolt of pain passes through Nico’s leg. “I was just–”

           “Thinking. I know.”

           They don’t talk much after that.

           “You didn’t come last time.”

           Nico looks up at William, his mouth falls slightly open when he takes in the other’s appearance. William is standing right in front of him, with his hands on his hips, clutching his clothes tightly. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips slightly tugged downwards, and no flowers painted on his cheeks.

           It’s a strange sight to behold, especially because it makes something blossom inside of Nico’s chest. If he were more honest with himself, he’d just call it worry.

           “I waited for you all day,” William continues, tapping his foot on the ground. “Why didn’t you come?”

           You look like a child, Nico wants to say. It’s on the tip of his tongue. The words change right as he is speaking.

           “I was here last time.”

           “Then I suppose you were using your father’s helm to be invisible. I was here and you weren’t.” William pokes his index on Nico’s chest. If Nico were a mortal, he’d stumble back. He’s too godly and too stubborn for that. “At least don’t lie to my face.”

           “You shouldn’t talk so freely of my Father.”

           William cocks an eyebrow, poking on Nico’s chest every couple of words. Nico doesn’t even remember William walking up to him. “Or what? What consequences will there be?”

           His face is only inches from Nico’s. Does it not bother him? Does he not know how dangerous Nico is? Maybe he should have listened better to the talks up in Olympus, if he is so keen on underrating Nico.

           “The consequences will be for me, not for you,” Nico says.

           William blinks, relaxing his posture. His hand falls to his hip, and he fidgets with the golden belt around his hips. “Does your father not know you are here?”

           “I shouldn’t stay in the upper-world,” is all Nico replies. He can’t take William’s eyes anymore, it’s much easier to cross his arms on his chest, and look at the lake behind him. It’s just as bright as always. “I had a lot to do, and I haven’t kept track of the passing of time. I’m sorry you had to waste a day here.”

           William’s eyes are already much softer, as he takes Nico’s hand in his own, squeezing it gently. Nico is Prince of the Underworld; William shouldn’t do it. He shouldn’t let William do it. With the warmth in his chest, the shivers running up and down his body, starting from his hand, Nico can’t keep track of reality.

           “I forgive you,” William says. He smiles, and it’s like seeing the sun for the first time after an eternity of clouds and rain. “Come, we’d better get to it.”

           This time, Nico doesn’t stop William when he starts talking.

           The day ends, and Nico returns to the Underworld. He makes sure to not miss the next appointment, and when it comes, Nico is the first to arrive.

           William talks again. After he is done with Nico’s leg for the day, none of them moves. They remain seated, looking at each other under the moon.

           “You never asked me who my father is,” William says.

           There’s the beginning of a smile on his lips, and Nico has found out that William’s smile makes his knees go weak, much more than any type of fear ever has. Nico takes a round stone. It skips three times on the calm waters of the lake, before disappearing under the surface. Nico knows what that feels like, being cloaked in shadows and freezing cold as you go down.

           He takes another stone.

           “Why is it so important for you that I ask?”

           “Because you haven’t yet, and there is no reason for you to hold back so much.”

           This time the stone skips seven times. Nico takes another.

           “You called yourself a god of medicine. Your father is either Asclepius or Lord Apollo. I’ve seen the way you look under the sun, so I’d safely say that your father is Lord Apollo.”

           William tilts his head to the side. “You could have just asked me, and I would have told you.”

           “But I didn’t need to ask.”

           William shakes his head. “It’s not about what you need.”

           The stone skips five times. Nico takes another. “Then what is it about?”

           “Making conversation, for one.”

           “So you want me to ask you questions I already know the answer to, just to have something to talk about?”

           “Yes!” William takes the stone from Nico’s hand, and makes only two skips. He lets out a frustrated groan.

           “Oh.” Nico takes two stones, and hands one to William. He accepts it without saying a word. “Who is your father, William?”

           William sends him an unamused glance. Under the glare, Nico’s skin heats up fast. William passes the stone from hand to hand, his eyebrows furrowed over his eyes.

           “Too late for that, I get it,” Nico says, raising his hands. His stone skips seven times.

           William throws the stone; it does three skips. He lets out another groan. “I get it. I’m not interesting enough for the Prince of the Underworld, just stop rubbing in my face how–”

           Nico’s throat is dry, when he speaks, he stumbles over his own words. “Why were you in the Queen’s gardens?”

           “Oh.” William blushes, and it’s a sight to behold. He looks younger, his eyes brighter. He’s even prettier. When he speaks, his voice is soft and low. “There’s a flower only Lady Persephone can grow, and I needed it for a healing drought. A friend of mine –she’s a mortal. She would have died without it.”

           Nico looks down at his hands on his lap. The tattoo on his wrist, his sister’s ring on his middle finger. “Just so you know, if you ever ask Persephone for a flower, she will give it to you.”

           It’s hard to say no to pretty boys with blue eyes and wide smile. If they paint flowers on their skin, then it’s impossible.

           William’s voice takes him back to reality. “I was in a hurry. I didn’t know if I had time to find her, then go to the Underworld and take the flower.”

           “Then ask me next time.” Heat spreads on Nico’s cheeks again. “I’m always in the Underworld, anyway.”

           “Thank you.”

           “It’s dangerous, you know? The Underworld has no mercy. If you had been found by a guard, you would have been dragged to the dungeons, to never see the light of day again.”

           “You say the Underworld has no mercy, yet you are the Prince, and I am still alive.”

           “Yeah. I’m not all that good at my job.”

           William looks startled for a moment. His lips parted in surprise, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Then he sags forward, clutching his stomach with his hands, and laughter shakes his body. Such a beautiful sound, made by an even more beautiful creature. Nico would be blessed, if he could spend eternity making William laugh, hearing that sound all over again. It hits Nico then that, if they were mortals, William would be the man another goes to war for.

           Another moon goes by. Then another, and another again. Seasons pass in the upper-world; the Underworld prepares to welcome its Queen again.

           Days turn colder, sometimes it rains. William and Nico don’t go to the lake anymore, but they see each other in a cave. The first time they go there it’s cold. By the next moon, William brings pillows and covers, and puts them on the ground. It almost feels like a bed, and Nico has a hard time keeping track of conversation, when that thought crosses his mind. By the way William blushes a time or two as he looks at the covers, he’s thought about it too.

           Persephone wears a crown of flowers, and she glows in the darkness of the Underworld. Hades bows to her, and kisses her hands. He calls her ‘my beloved’, and Nico blushes as he looks away. Persephone kisses his temple, says his name far too quietly for Nico to hear, but he reads her lips. King and Queen kiss each other on the lips.

           Fall has at last arrived.

           It’s on a day much like any other that Queen Persephone corners Nico. Actually, she invites him in her gardens, and he goes. It’s in the open –as much as anything in the Underworld can be– and he could leave through the shadows if he wanted to.

           She smiles at him from her chair, fruits are laid on the table in front of her. She sits on the chair like another would sit on a throne, with all the confidence in the world. A crown of flower adorns her dark hair. The summer tan is still tainting her naturally dark skin; she will be much paler by the time she goes to her mother again.

           “Did you want to see me, Your Majesty?” Nico asks.

           Persephone smiles, in a way that many would find warm. Nico would too, if he hadn’t lived in the Underworld for so long. They have never been close. Sometimes, Nico wonders whether she sees Maria or Hades when she looks at him.

           “Sit with me, Nikólaos,” she says, gesturing with her hand to the other chair.

           Nico grimaces at the use of his name, before sitting on the chair. Its painted in black, and much more Underworld-like than the one Persephone is sitting on. He drums his fingers on the armrest.

           “Is something troubling you, Your Majesty?” Nico asks.

           “Nothing is. I’ve just heard talks around Olympus, that’s all. I wonder whether they are truth or lies.”

           “Talks?” Nico repeats. He’s not sure whether Persephone hates him or not, but either way he knows she wouldn’t go to him for gossip.

           “About you getting cozy with a certain son of Apollo.”

           Blood falls from Nico’s face, so fast it feels like the ground is opening under him, too. How does Persephone know? Who told her? Nico wants to scream, or open the ground so that it swallows him whole.

           “If it were true, there would be nothing wrong with it,” she continues. “I’m just wondering.”

           “We are not cozy,” is what Nico manages to say. Heir to the Underworld, and talking with its Queen makes his knees go weak, and not in the pleasant way William’s smile does.

           Don’t think of his smile, idiot.

           “Are you friends, then?”

           “I wouldn’t say so, no.”

           Nico doesn’t remember ever having friends. There was a time when he thought he had, but after a while, it felt like being thorn in two different directions. Between the Underworld and his friends, he chose the Underworld. When the days go by slowly, and only the dead keep him company, it’s hard to understand if he made the right choice.

           “But you are not lover either?”

           Nico chokes on his own spit, which isn’t something a god should be able to do. “No!”

           “Just asking.” Persephone has the audacity to chuckle, before taking a sip of whatever is in her goblet. She licks her lips afterwards, closing her eyes as she savors the taste. “He seems nice, by the way.”

           “You know him?”

           “Everyone knows everyone on Olympus.” She waves her goblet around, a distasteful smile on her lips. “Especially since Apollo parades his children around so much, almost as much as he does with himself. If you were to listen to him, neither him nor his children have any flaw. If anyone were to actually listen to him, they’d know how boring, full of himself and empty he is.” Her smile turns sweet, as though she has just wished someone good luck, and takes another sip from her goblet. “Are you not hungry, Nikólaos?”

           Nico shakes his head, biting his lips. “No, thank you, Your Majesty.”

           “Does your Father know of William?”

           Nico’s heart speeds up. “There’s nothing to know of him.”

           “Oh? He’s like his father, then? A pretty, empty shell?”

           Nico’s lips tug downwards. “No, he’s –that’s not what I mean. I mean that I have nothing to tell about him.”

           “But you visit him.”

           Nico scrapes on the chair with his thumbnail, ruining the black paint. “He’s a god of medicine. He’s helping with my leg.”

           Persephone’s features turn softer; Nico fixes his gaze on the shiny seeds of pomegranate on the table. The pity in her eyes is far too heavy to bear.

“I see.”

           “I would much prefer if my Father didn’t know.”

           “I will keep my mouth sealed, then. I swear on the River Styx, I won’t tell your Father about you and William.”

           “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

           For the first time, he’s relieved he’s talked to Persephone.

           William is already sitting on the pillows in the cave, with a blanket covering his lap. He doesn’t know how to light the fire, it’s always Nico’s job.

           “People on Olympus know that we meet,” Nico says.

Nico’s voice is much drier than he would like, and William looks worried. Nico looks at him from behind his eyelashes, staying crouched on the ground, with the fire to warm him.

           “I know. I’m sorry. Does it bother you?”

           “Doesn’t it bother you?”

           “What? A couple of nymphs knowing I’m spending time with you? Why would it?”

           Frustration warms Nico even more than the fire in front of him. “I’m the Prince of the Underworld, William.”

           “I know, Nico.” William leans forward, tightening the blankets and furs around himself. “So what?”

           “So I spend my time amongst the dead, and before meeting with you, I hadn’t spent much time in the upper-world. Most days, I don’t even remember what the sunlight feels like.”

           Nico doesn’t notice he’s raised his voice until his words echo in the cave. William’s bright eyes don’t betray any fear, though. Does he not know what Nico is capable of?

           “And I spend most of my time braiding my siblings’ hair, as we dance and sing. My days are incredibly boring, Nico.” He tilts his head to the side. “What do you see when you look at me? Are you ashamed of spending time with me?”

           “Gods, no!” Nico stands so fast his head spins, and a bolt of pain shoots through his leg.

           “Then what?” William’s expression turns much softer, and so does his voice, as he draws his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly. “Do you think I am ashamed of you?”

           Heat expands on Nico’s cheeks. He knows he’s not as gorgeous as William. Not normally, surely not as he blushes and stutters. It must be answer enough for William, because he resumes talking.

           “I’m not. I really like spending time with you. You are funny, when you forget to be a stiffy Prince.”

           Nico rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter me too much.”

           William giggles. Actually giggles. Nico is almost sure William is just as old as he is, yet he is giggling, and the sound is warm and pleasant. It’s summer air lingering in the cold of autumn, the last spark of life in the souls in Elysium. It’s the sound that makes Nico’s breath break.

           “Come here, now. Should I thank you for starting the fire before talking? I swear I was getting hypothermia.”

           Nico huffs a laugh, sitting over William’s makeshift bed. He puts his leg on William’s lap. Even after so much time, it still makes him blush.

           “Just get on with it,” he mumbles.

             Bad days happen. There are days when Nico is so tired he either wanders around the palace without saying a word. Some other days, he can’t find the force to leave his bed. Sometimes, although he wants to get up, his leg acts up, and he can’t so much as walk.

           Pain shoots through his leg. His Father passes in his room, or maybe it’s just Nico’s imagination. With William’s cures, he hasn’t had such a bad episode in months. He clutches the blankets of his bed.

           Is it winter yet? Is Nico buried under snow? There is no other explanation in his feverish mind.

           The door closes. Is Nico alone now? His vision is blurred. Is his hand turning black? Fuck, is it his powers? Someone grunts. But isn’t Nico alone?

           He sleeps. He dreams of William. They are in the cave, and William is painting the walls. He turns to Nico with a smile, which stretches the skin of his cheeks. Nico’s heart flutters in his chest.

           “You’re going to be fine,” William says.

           As free as William is in real life, he’s even more in dreams. He steps forward, and tucks a strand of hair behind Nico’s ear. Afterward, he remains with his hand cupping Nico’s jaw. If Nico leans into the warmth, no one is there to see.

[whatsmylaneagain]

Amethyst - Third Chapter

Pairing: Eggsy x Agent!Reader

Word count: 1960 (a big one!!! Yay!!!)

Warnings: swearing, Roxy mention (bc she deserved more), reader’s character being a rebellious lil shit, Eggsy being kinda dumb (oh well this is all kinda narrated by his point of view, there’s no way to not expect that, right?!)

Chapter synopsis: so, we know that the bomb had Eggsy’s name on it, but.... what the hell is actually happening?

A/N: GUYS IM BACK AND IM SORRY!!!! I’ve written (and revised) this more than six months ago, but I absolutely hated how I made Eggsy a dumb character, so I spent all this months putting this story aside to fix it later... but I love it so much and this week I watched Spies are Forever and oh well.... idk, its been too long, but I’m posting this anyway.

Amethyst masterlist

Eggsy didn’t expect to find another person other than Harry and Merlin at the Kingsman’s meeting room. And what he definitely didn’t expect was for the person to be a beautiful Chinese woman laughing and having a drink with Harry Hart. The young man felt like he was invading a private moment, and had the sudden urge to grab y/n by the arm to show her the new victorian-style sconces he chosen for the rebuilt hallway.

But before he could say anything, y/n had already tapped the doorpost, making their presence known. The middle-aged woman talking to Harry glanced at the two young agents, giving the girl a sly smile. 

“I’m glad to know you didn’t punch Mr. Unwin on your way here, y/n” she said, as Eggsy went straight for his chair on Harry’s right side.

“I would’ve if you didn’t send me that text” The girl had moved to the woman’s side, backing up to the wall for support. She never made mention of pulling a chair.

“Well, y/n, I take as you already know Harry.” Said the woman, gesturing to the older man, who smiled sweetly. Yes, that’s right. Harry SMILED.

“Of course, The Great Harry Hart, the man of a thousand missions;” when Eggsy thought he couldn’t get more confused, y/n pulled this. “Everybody at the headquarters knows who you are.” And some - fucking – how, she sounded genuine, and not witty or arrogant as she appeared to be. Was that… admiration?

Seeing Eggsy’s confused expression, the older woman gave him a small smile, welcoming, but not too sweet; just like an agent is used to do.

“Galahad, I’m Yijun, or as my agents – or people who can’t bother to learn how to pronounce it - call me, Circe. I’m the head of Amethyst, the agency that y/n works for.”

Eggsy must have looked very confused, because Harry intervened, while pouring two more drinks, giving him one and sliding the other across the table, towards y/n.

“Yijun is an old friend, we met some weeks after she came from China. I was already a Kingsman, and was trying to bring her into the organization – just like I did with you – when she was recruited as an Amethyst trainee.”

“You knew?” Started Eggsy, a little bit of irritation shaping his words. After agent Whiskey, he knew better than not to trust Harry. But he couldn’t help the feeling of being a pawn. “Why did you let me go after her then?”

“I didn’t know the agent who saved you was y/n. All I knew was that she was an Amethyst, since the intervention was fast and clean.”

“-almost clean;” Yijun turned her chair to y/n, who was taking a sip out of her drink, still leant against the wall. “If Morgan’s work were perfect, you wouldn’t be able to find her.”

“Nobody’s perfect, but I try my best.” She shrugged. “’m still your best agent tho.”

“Please,” Merlin entered the room, an IPad in hands, ready to the briefing. “put the blame on me for being able to hack into almost anything, including London’s surveillance cameras. She did a wonderful job.”

Merlin stopped right in front of y/n, extending his hand for a handshake. She grabbed it immediately.

“Miss Le Fay. Hope our codenames won’t be a problem.” 

“I don’t see why, Sir Merlin. The witch from who I borrowed my name could very easily have been Merlin’s apprentice.”

No awkward pressure thing, from what Eggsy could see. Why were his interactions with her so bloody awful? For god’s sake, y/n was joking with Merlin!

It took him a moment to remember what history the two were referring to: Morgan Le Fay was a witch in King Arthur’s story, from where Kingsman got their codenames. Depending on the version, she can be portrayed as Merlin’s enemy, responsible for the death of King Arthur or as a powerful good woman, that had healing powers and could shape shift. For an organization like Amethyst, Eggsy supposed the second option was the one they had in mind.

Merlin greeted Yijun with a respectful “ma’am” before selecting something on his device, the projection of a document showing up on the wall above y/n.

“The techs over Amethyst sent us their reports on missing people, and turns out the man who you two,” Merlin looked at Eggsy and y/n. “saw is Adrian Bell. Seven months ago, he apparently went on a trip to India, but his family didn’t hear about him after he left. He never showed up on the airport camera footage.”

“So... he planned to disappear?” Interfered Eggsy.

“Apparently, yes. But there’s a problem.” Merlin changed the projection, it now being a series of pictures, especially ones where Bell hugged his family tightly, his wife crying, and his kids glued to his leg. It looked like a reunion. “He doesn’t remember anything and woke up asking for his family. His last memory was being in a bar and passing out. He thinks that he was in an alcoholic coma.”

Eggsy was about to ask a lot of questions, but Merlin had started talking again, while taking two Kingsman’s RayBans out of his pocket, giving each woman a pair. 

“I’ve made a partnership with the group of cooperative organizations led by Amethyst, also called D.E.A.R; Diamond, Emerald and Amethyst Relations -” Introduced Merlin, but Eggsy wasn’t really paying much attention to him. 

Instead, he was observing y/n, who hesitantly spun the glasses in her hands, analysing it, differently from Yijun, who just put them on right away. Her mouth twitched on the side, and she started to bite her tongue, as if trying to distract and put herself together. Y/n put them on, but kept looking down for some seconds, before fixing her posture and raising her head, crossing her arms, still leant against the wall on one shoulder.

It was quite weird seeing y/n wearing the glasses. Even though she had noting that could possibly remind him of Roxy, Eggsy couldn’t stop the deja vu of his best friend. A sad smile adorned his lips. He missed her.

A Kingsman-style hologram of a young 16-year-old girl appeared sitting on one of the chairs, big extravagant round sunglasses framing her face along with bright pink streaks on her brown hair. Although she was a teenager (and dressed like one, in a jean jacket and a white tee that said “girl power” in red), she sat perfectly straight, very professionally.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Tonks, Emerald’s tech and field agent. I just came back from an information gathering mission.” which, as a previous Emerald’s agent, y/n knew was just a fancy description for attending parties. Nothing too dangerous, especially for Emerald’s missions, that were more based in socialization and keeping an eye on people. Actually, y/n was impressed that Tonks had something substantial to report (especially to Kingsman) in a high school party. “A group of unmatchable individuals seems to be working together, all of them acting really uncharacteristic and very patronized. I detected the group spiking other teen’s drinks. I managed to intervene and get a sample of it. Agent Spellman also reported a strange movement, alike the one I observed, with a college group. We sent the samples to our biotechs, and the lab concluded it was a modified Mikey Pinn.” The girl grabbed her phone and sent something, the IPhone message sound reverberating through the room. “Now you have access to our outhouse cameras, Merlin.” 

Merlin quickly changed the projection above y/n to eight squares of video that showed each teen in one small room, some asleep on the beds, some walking around nervously, and one passed out on the floor. Tonks started talking again.

“Spellman and I brought the group of high school and college students to our outhouse. Whatever drug they’re on soon will wear off, and then we’ll be able to analyse what happened to them.”

“Was that the first ever occurrence on your field, Tonks?” Asked Yijun, and then turned to the Kingsman’s, explaining; “Emerald agents that work on high schools usually only have to get in action to stop violence and abuse at their missions. Situations like what we’re dealing with right now is uncharacteristic.”

“No, Boss. Some students stopped going to classes suddenly, but we checked: they all were confirmed on exchange programs abroad. Apparently, they never went.”

Y/n wasn’t leant on the wall anymore. She’d walked to the table, bent over it, hands open, pressed on the cold wood, all her attention on Tonks. Tension.

“Who were the kids? High school and college. Why choose them?” She said.

Tonks flipped through her phone, messaging Merlin more documents - the ring once again filling the room - before answering.

“A rugby player, two perfect grade kids and a foreign student were the high school kids. Apparently, it’s a pattern: physically strong people and awarded students that stand out for their knowledge of exact sciences.”

“Have you tracked were they were drugged the first time?” Continued y/n.

“Not yet, but...”

“I did;” said Merlin, suddenly, typing on his IPad.

A new image showed up on the wall. The front of a bar that looked like it used to be fancy ten years ago. Now, the paint was coming off the walls, and the huge opaque black doors were rusted, chains and a big old padlock kept them closed. It had no name on the outside, only a broken light up waning crescent moon, just the inferior part working, shining in a weak yellow light.

Eggsy knew the place. Actually, every teen and young adult in London knew Moonz: the flat broke bar that let underage kids come in and drink. You didn’t even need a fake ID, they would pretend to not be able to do math and let kids in. In some months, it became domain of teens, turning into a considerably safe place for them to get drunk and party. Also, it was the cheapest place to get booze.

But the underage drinking caused a bigger problem; since it was illegal, the neighbourhood didn’t have a lot of cops because the owner kept them away. Consequently, Moonz’s location became a centre of violence, kidnapping, and other heavy crimes.

The young Galahad saw y/n turn to the projection in slow motion, the act of being casual being thrown out of the window. For Eggsy, she looked like a robot who got rebooted and installed a completely different system of command. When she spoke again, her voice was strong and deep.

“Tonks, do you know when it started?”

“It?” Asked Eggsy. 

“The kidnappings.” Y/n answered. “The fact that they were drugging others looks like it was a kidnapping system. In this context, those kids were “recruiting” more teens.” 

Tonks checked her phone.

“No, Morgan. We couldn’t track it. They apparently are the first ones to come back.”

“Shit.” Y/n paced around the room. “Boss, permission to do an observation and protection mission at Moonz.”

“Permission granted” nodded Yijun “take Galahad with you.”

“Yi, I don’t think the gentlemen can pass as a teenager.” Y/n had stopped walking. She looked straight into Eggsy’s eyes. “With all due respect...”

Yijun shook her head. 

“You know there are other ways to get him inside undercover.”

Y/n ran her fingers through her hair, taking a deep breath. Eggsy could almost hear her thinking “Fuck. Fine.”.

“C’mon Galahad, we’ve got a job to do.”

Eggsy and Y/n were almost out of the room when Yijun called her agent again.

“Oh and Y/n.” The girl turned around. “Don’t engage. I’ll send Emerald agents to protect the kids, but you and Galahad can’t have your covers blown up. Do. Not. Engage. Do you understand?”

All Y/n did was nod slightly.

If you made it to here, thank you so much! I hope it was worth your time! Some feedback would be appreciated, I really wanted to see if you liked this (dumb) Eggsy I’m presenting.... If you don’t want to be in the taglist anymore, I totally understand! Just message me :)

Also!!!! Feel free to message me any questions about the fic and this chapter! I have some fun reasons for choosing those codenames and Diamond, Emerald and Amethyst as the names for the organization!

Amethyst taglist

@a-dorky-book-keeper @50shadesofuncomfortable @arizonacolleen @infinity-of-high-dreaming @toasty-fish @pink-smarties @mc225g @dadd-ilf @sueeatstheworld @katorgatorgalaxy @the-ink-and-salt-club @incorrect-mcdanno @xelizabethvalentinex @ahyestheandersons @thatdamnokie @wxxnks @awesomewees @ryedikkulus @discodeak @clacestan @y-dadd

(If you got the notification again, sorry! I had a problem with the taglist and had to do it again!

[stardancerluv]

Off On Adventure With Roman Sionis

Part 6a

Summary: Feelings realized..

Your heart was racing, even though you were sitting in his lap, you felt weak in the knees. You moved in his lap to better look at him. You took in his sharp features. His piercing blue eyes, straight nose and a mouth that could look cruel or desirable in a moments notice.

You took a breath that made all of your insides shake. “I..I...” you words were failing, you did know to actualize what you wanted to say.

“Look, I won’t be easy to be with. I barely trust anyone. I was a kid with Circe. I have never wanted to share my time or space with anyone, till you.”

Now you are the one who silenced him by laying her fingers over his mouth. His words plucked at all your heart strings.

“Roman, you are the roughest and the darkest person, I’ve ever met. Despite, that I crave your love and affection. Just continue to give me that and I will be your girl always.”

“It won’t be easy, but I’ll give what I can.”

Tears, flowed then freely you couldn’t stop them. “I’ll take that and love you always.” You shook hard.

He held you then as you curled up in his lap. His arms tightened around you. You felt more safe and loved at that moment then you ever did in your life.

******

“Let me look at you baby.” He took out his handkerchief out with a snap, then brushed away the lines your tears made on your face. Tucking it away, he cupped your chin, he drew close and kissed you.

*****

He glanced over at you while Albert was talking numbers. The sun, kissed at your cheeks as you and Albert’s wife shared a laugh.

“Roman, you did good, she is charming.”

“Oh, oh...excuse me Albert.”

Albert smiled. “Roman, what you have looks special. Hold onto it.”

Roman nodded. He had learned that today.

“Look, at Miriam and I. There is no one else I’d want at my side.”

“She’s always been a good woman.”

Albert nodded. “Forgive me, Roman but how did you meet such a girl?

Roman, chuckled. “She came into the club one night.” He pressed his lips together. “Actually, right after you and I signed our first contract.”

“Oh, Roman then how am I only seeing her now?”

“Because she walked in and then right back out of my life. About six months, she walked back in.”

“Ahh... good...good. Because how you’ve been during other visits while having a girl like this, I don’t judge but that is not, how I’d treat her.”

“Someone did. I want to cut their heart out but she won’t let Victor or I.” He chuckled.

Albert then was the one to laugh. He grabbed his glass and took a sip. “If only we could rid the world of men that did our women wrong. Miriam, wouldn’t let me send the man who did her wrong your way.”

“Zsasz, would have happily.”

“I figured. But no. Our women are far too kind.”

Roman, nodded.

He always found it refreshing to talk and spend time with Albert. He was a refreshing change from mindless goons of Gotham.

“Will we do dinner before the two of you fly back?”

“Certainly.”

“We’ll come and see the two of you.”

“We could let the girls hit the spa, and you can I can enjoy a good cigar.”

“Albert, I thought you gave them up.”

“I only have them on special occasions, or I’m sure in that case Miriam would serve me up on a platter.”

“Alright, I will tell Y/N she can look forward to a spa day with Miriam.”

*****

Walking in the suite, you took off your hat and tossed it onto the table beside you. Roman walking in behind you, came up and wrapped an arm around you. You let yourself melt into him.

“I really like this dress.” You felt as his nose grazed your throat. “Mmm, you smell like the sun.”

You sighed, making a soft sound of pleasure. Turning, you faced him smiling. “Thank you.” You breathed.

You unbuttoned his suit jacket. “Tell me,” you smoothed your hands gently up and down him. “Do you have any other business you need to take care of or can we do anything we want?”

“We can do whatever we want.” As he spoke, you slipped out of your heels and put them on the table beside the hate.

You smirked. Going, on your tip toes you wrapped an arm around his throat, which pressed a few kisses against. “Good.” You whispered demurely. “Then you have to try and catch me.” You trailed your tongue along the exposed part of his throat. His cologne filled your nose delightfully so, and you could taste him. To you all of him tasted good.

“When you catch me,” you whispered. “You can do do whatever you wish.” You pulled back meeting those sharp blue eyes, that were burning. “Ok?”

“Yes, then better run and now.”

Squealing you turned letting go of him and you ran off.

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obession @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @whyisgmora @theblackmaskclub @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @top-rumbelle-fan @babydoll97 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @rosionis @queenofgotham800 @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @guns-n-marvel @starwarsslytherin @proffesionalclown @chogisss @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching

[just-dreaming-about]

Show your feelings

Soooo I bring a new thing about Young!Sirius. Enjoy it! Bye!

Warning: Swearing. There's no fluff or smut, sexual tension maybe? IDK They aren't in a relationship but they liked each other or at least they started to feel that way?

The Slytherin common room wasn't funny anymore. They started to talk about how those mudbloods were staining the magic community and she was bored about this already.

Gadea Salavert left the room without saying anything to anyone and if someone noticed that she was leaving, they said nothing.

She was used to loneliness, she lived in loneliness since she can remember. Her house wasn't a place where a child could learn about making friends and share with others. Her house was a small family that had achieved pure-blood status only three generations ago and were struggling to improve it so all her education was focused on the purity of the blood and how to improve herself and the family. So things like play around with other kids wasn't an option, she quickly learned to observe what was happening around her, hear what was being said near her and be silent long enough to know what to do with that information.

It was obvious she would be a Slytherin.

She was educated to focus on her own future, she had a legacy to protect, she needed to know how cruel this world is and how quickly they can take away all that was important to her.

Gadea was thinking now on that legacy. Lost in her thoughts she used a red ribbon to make herself a quick and messy half-collected bun so this way her ash blonde short hair would stay out of her face so that her cold, calculating and gray-blue eyes could analyze the facts that surrounded her life.

At age of thirteen she was told she would get married with a person to improve the family name. Although she didn't show it on that moment, she was so mad at the situation.

Sirius Orion Black.

She knew him. Not only from that fatuous parties her parents took her: she knew him from Hogwarts. He didn't act like a pure-blood: he was hanging around with mudbloods and blood traitors and fooling around without any care of his future.

Her thirteen years old self just asked one thing:

-Why him?

And the answer wasn't complex.

It was an open secret the Black's heir was a lost cause but the name he had -Black- was a big open door for her family. With this marriage the Blacks would have their heir controlled and the Salaverts would climb socially.

Even for that thirteen years old little girl this noble game was a waste of time, she would prefer climb socially with her skills. At Hogwarts she was learning things that at her house never have been told and she started to think that the purity blood wasn't that important like her parents told her but she would never said that to anyone.

She keep this things at her heart.

The thing is, when Gadea and Sirius met that summer at the noble and ancient Blacks house they weren't excited with this marriage thing. Although both acted politely in front of their parents there was a slight tone of annoyance in Sirius's voice as Gadea's face showed indifferent.

Since that day, Sirius's purpose was show her his discontent with their marriage. Everytime she entered in a room, he started flirting with any girl that was around and eventually she could see him making out with some of those girls. They were fourteen now but he wasn't losing his time. And they fight about everything.

She wasn't interested in those things, she had more interest in her transfiguration and dueling skills. Even professor McGonagall was impressed with her and told her she could have a great future if she wanted it.

And she wanted it.

So she investigated the best witches of all the times; Rowena Ravenclaw, Morgana Le Fay, Cliodna, Circe, Hecate... They were so inspiring for her...

But no one seemed like shared this opinion and she never shared it with no one. It was something personal.

And her parents wanted for her to married with this Black guy even if he wasn't discreet at all with his romantic adventures. All Hogwarts talked about it so of course the Blacks and her parents discover this: the Blacks scolded her parents from not teaching her how to keep the interest of a men so her parents scolded her about it too. It was an embarrassing talk with her mum but none of the consequences of Sirius' actions stopped him from continuing his love affairs during his fifth year. But she did learn something.

So she investigated him. She founded that this guy -Severus Snape- had something against Potter and they joined forces to discover the Marauders secret. She didn't want to know why Snape was so determined to find Potter' secret but she needed something big to blackmail Sirius and make life easier for her to achieve her own goals. She didn't care that there was no love between them, she just needed her parents to stop pressuring her and be able to focus on her studies. Snape and Gadea weren't friends, he didn't help her in potion class where he was an excellent alumni and she never defended him from the abuse of Potter and Black, but they worked together. Only for that year.

In the summer between their fifth and sixth year a new flew to all pure-blood families: Sirius Black had denied his family and ran away from home. This caused a big discussion between the families: the Salaverts were demanding compensation and the Blacks were trying to withdraw the marriage agreement. Gadea wasn't worried about it, she just wanted to become a famous and well-known talented witch. She returned to Hogwarts with the idea her mother put in her head:

-If you can make Regulus Black fall in love with you, maybe we still have a chance.

And she was so angry about it. Why she needed to marry anyone!? She was a talented witch! Everyone in Hogwarts saw it but her parents not.

It seemed like Regulus Black think like her mother because the moment she put a foot on the train ready to start her sixth year, he stopped her.

-I don't know if you're concerned about it but our families are working on a new arrangement. If we ended up marrying I want to know you.

So her sixth year started bad. Really bad. Regulus was nicer than Sirius, he was much more talker and the things he said weren't boring at all. Their conversations were interesting actually so she was surprised enjoying talking to him but there wasn't passion and love at all, at least not from her. He was just... like her parents. And she didn't like that.

She was lost in her thoughts. She signed and stopped to look at the gardens where a lot of kids were enjoying that sunny afternoon.

She was angry about everything lately: her parents thinking of her like an object to catch their ambitions, the Blacks and their shit, Regulus and his boring attitude, Sirius for making her waste energy trying to find a way to blackmail him.

But at the end she was so jealous of Sirius.

She wanted so desperately be able to be herself, found the courage to said no to her parents and work on her own future. But she wasn't that brave, she wasn't ready for it.

-Salavert -a well-known voice took her attention from the other side of the hallway- How come my dear little brother is not with you today?

Sirius was smiling like they were friends. He was wearing his uniform carelessly; the sleeves rolled up, his tie half loose and the first buttons unbuttoned. Almost like her, he wore his hair in a carefree ponytail from which a few strands of hair escaped but he didn't seem to mind.

-Do you actually care? -she replied looking at the gardens again.

-Of course I am concerned if my brother tries to flirt with my fiancee -he answered walking until he was next to her leaning against the wall.

-Oh, you don't know, Black? -she talked with fake kindness- Apparently when you ran away from home you caused our arranged marriage to dissolve. Congratulations -at the end she show how mad at him she was.

Sirius face was surprised but no because of the marriage dissolving but for her tone. It was like she was mad at her -like always- but this time he didn't know what he did.

-I thought you didn't want to marry me.

-And I don't, Black, but I prefer marrying you than anyone else because I know you and I could use that information to our benefit. We could both have what we wanted and pretended to be a happy marriage.

-And you would be happy with that? Pretending to be in a happy relationship?

He was looking at her so concerned as if he had not tried all those years to make her see that he didn't agree to the marriage and that he wanted to be free. It was easy for him, he had nothing to lose.

She had this confrontation all the time with the part of herself that wanted to be free and the part of herself that had a legacy to protect.

-And haven't you thought that I didn't want to pretend? I may not want to get married soon but definitely when I get married I would like my partner to say yes freely.

That was a way of thinking that Gadea didn't think she would see in Sirius. I mean, yes, it was an easy concept to catch even for him, but it was the first time that the two of them had really spoken and had never said why they didn't want to marry the other. This sincerity was new to her.

-I just want to be able to study -she confessed too- My parents think I should stop studying once I finish at Hogwarts that I should get married soon.

-I see -he crossed his arms and looked at her seriously- And what do you think?

-I think... -she stopped looking at him to look at the gardens and she smiled ambitious- I can be the best witch Hogwarts has ever seen if they let me study a little more.

Sirius laugh openly and she blushed abruptly. It was the first time she said it to someone and she was embarrassed.

-I would not expect less from you, Gadea -he said when he could stop laughing- I'm willing to see how great you would be.

She thought she could die right there in embarrassment. His words made her blush but the sincerity made her feel more nervous. He, of all the people she knew, was the first to hear her dream and encourage her to achieve it.

-But you're still gonna get married as your parents want? -he asked the question of a million galleons.

She thought about it. Her parents didn't say anything about a new arranged marriage but she hoped there would be none.

-No -she whispered as if she was afraid her parents would listen her.

He looked at her proudly and she was more confused about it. It was like he was waiting for that answer.

-Good. Because I would not like to see you married to anyone else.

-What? -she looked at him frowning.

Sirius simply smiled at her confusion. Over time he had learned that she was smarter than she let on and it bothered him a lot that she pretended to be someone she wasn't. Although the two of them had never agreed on anything, he had learned a lot from her both in class and discussing. Did he admire her? Yes, it could be said so. James would say that he was obsessed with making her angry? Yes, it could be said so too. The important thing here is that after so many years and right after their marriage was canceled, they were really talking. He was showing her the most sincere part of himself and she was showing him the most ambitious part of herself. He was delighted with this in a way no other girl delighted him. And it was way better than making her angry.

-Is bothering you this troglodyte?

It was Regulus at the other side of the hallway, where she came from. His uniform was neatly perfect, as was his hair and his well-worked friendliness.

-Watch out, Reg, I don't recommend starting a fight you can't win -Sirius threatened him leaving the wall to stand in the middle of the hallway looking at him nonchalantly.

-Are you really so conceited as to believe that I wouldn't beat you in a duel?

-For once I am not talking about myself, asshole. I'm talking about her -he shook his head to point at her who just crossed her arms and dropped against the wall- You know, she gets very angry when interrupted. Believe me, we were at the same class for six years.

Regulus' gaze was a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and some embarrassment, perhaps some fear as well but this could be from the intensity of Gadea's gaze. He always seemed a little intimidated by her when they were alone in the same room.

-You two are actually talking? -he was asking at her, ignoring his brother- I thought you couldn't stand him.

-And I can't -she answered without leaving the wall- But he is my fiancee, we can have a nice talk even if we mostly fight.

Those words surprised the two brothers who were staring at her.

-I-I thought the arrangement was...

-I didn't say that I agreed to end it, did I?

Regulus' face was red but she couldn't tell if it was from anger or shame. He simply went the way he had come without saying anything else but she knew that this would reach her parents' ears and for a blessed moment the future retaliation did not matter to her and she enjoyed the spicy taste of rebellion and the refreshing taste of freedom.

And then Sirius brought her back to reality.

-Fiancee? -he was smiling, this arrogant smile that he reserved to mess with her.

She looked at him still without leaving the wall, the indifference still on her face.

-Don't get excited, Black. I just broke up with your brother.

He laughed loudly, openly and she wondered how it feels to be able to laugh like that. So carelessly, so openly, until your side hurts and you cry with happiness. He wasn't crying, of course, he was this careless.

-What a short and boring relationship it would have been -he smirked, his hands in his pants pockets.

-You have no idea -she rolled his eyes but she was smiling- It was like dating my parents.

-That's gross, Salavert -he looked at her, still smiling- So even you can really smile.

She stopped smiling to look at him irritated.

-I smile a lot, Black.

-Not really.

It wasn't a question it was an statement. And it was so true that she trembled wondering how he knew.

He knew because he was watching her. She just couldn't openly show her feelings, but he knew what a real smile looks like on her. The way she acted with other Slytherins, the way she smiled when McGonagall complimented her in class, or the way her eyes shone brighter when the spell they have to learn for class resisted her. Her smile after each dueling club victory made his own losses worth challenging her. It took him a while to notice that she was stunning in a way that no one had ever shown him. He did not understand very well what he felt but that she called him her fiancee in front of his brother made his heart jump to the astronomy tower and return to his chest painfully excited.

Staring at her now, he could see her clearly trying to keep the indifference on her face but she was putting too much effort into it.

-I suppose I can play the fiancee game around Regulus if you want me to -he offered as if he was doing her a great favor.

She was silent for a moment and he let her think because he knew that was what she was doing. He could see how her brain worked with the information it had and the consequences that her actions could bring. She was that foxy. And then something new flashed in Gadea's eyes and he was sure that she was not aware that she was showing some of how she felt at the moment. But he was dying to know what was that shining in her eyes.

-I can get my ass out of this. Just watch me.

And with that she went the way Regulus had taken, from where she had come, to the Slytherin common room.

He smiled looking at her. She was taking a new challenge, he can see it in her smile -just like in class- and he was willing to see how she afford it.

-Believe me! -he had to yell so she could hear him- I'm looking at your nice ass!

-Fuck off, Black! -she yelled back but didn't turn to look at him.

She didn't want him to see she was smiling.