#as a wise tumblr post one said a story needs to exist first to be edited

[gotchaocha]

Ughh stuck on writing a scene again 

On the bright side, I already got 3 chapter of the possible-novel written! 

I try not to think about the fact that I´m trying to write a nove because I feel like understanding the long ass path of trying to acomplish such a thing will stop me from trying in the first place. You know normal stuff

[anika-ann]

Pomiluj me (Love Me Tender) - S.R.

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; standalone (NOT a part of this medieval AU)

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 10k 😁 best possible division if needed is at the first divider

Summary: Knight Steven Rogers and his brothers in arms are returning home after having tackled an unruly creature terrorizing the people of Starkerbürg. Upon encountering an injured woman, Steven offers to bring her – carry her, truly – back to her home. How could he deserve a knighthood if he left a woman in distress to her fate, after all? 

But not everything it as it seems. And love blooms in the most unlikely of places. 

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex (shocking in medieval times huh), bit of angst, tons of fluff, himbo knights in BBC Merlin style (long live the legends), knight Steve ‘cause he’s a warning, Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Title from the song which inspired the story, Pomiluj mě (Love on Me/Love Me Tender)...tumblr cannot handle an “ě “in their title 🙃 Lyrics, translation and link here, you’ll find a few lines in the fic as well - truly recommend. DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics

A/N/2: AO3 says this is my 100th work (as posted here anyway) and I’m brushing 1,680k of words written according to the counter. Which… whoa. And it’s almost six years since I first posted a marvel fic 🥺 Enjoy!

Alone, you only wander in the dark Chased by the cold I shall light up the torch you’re guarding

Should I be worried about you That all you do is take When are you coming back to me?

The cavalry moved rather slowly.

The noble men appeared a far cry from the polished image known from books, even as they had attempted to wash in a river. They reeked of battle, smoke and blood still; and the drying blood in their wounds was just as red as that of ordinary men, the scent of sweat and fear having seeped into their clothes and armour. And yet, their vests carried the sigil of Starkerbürg with pride, signaling the knights’ dedication to the protection of their kingdom.

With only horse left, they truly might make a pitiful sight, certain weariness to their step; but an air of victory and camaraderie made for a picture of life instead. Laughter sounded between the group, a joke thrown around here and there, a tease about a wound each of them suffered, particularly the youngest one. Despite those, true concern for their new friend, Sir Parker, could be read in their eyes. He was the youngest to ever been dubbed in the history of Starkerbürg; it was no wonder the good men assigned him the role he would have played had the bond they shared been one of a blood family. The youngest of brothers was as much made fun of as protected, since he was eager to prove he deserved the honour to ride with the knights of Starkerbürg just like any other. Now he sat on the horse in front of Sir Barton, the eldest, as they made their way back after successfully ridding the kingdom of a horrific creature: the chimera had been believed to only exist in old tales until it brought terrible and painfully real suffering to the people of the west of the kingdom and so the king’s loyal servants were tasked to ride at dawn five days ago.

“Alright, alright, let us leave the poor lad,” Sir Barton said, patting the young Sir Parker on his shoulder a little too hard. “He shall do better next time.”

Peter smiled over his shoulder gratefully, having started to feel not humbled, but humiliated.

“Yes, yes, we should let him be,” Sir Maximoff agreed, side-eyeing the two riders mischievously. “We should talk about how you moved like an old lady.”

The collective ooooooh and chuckles might have as well come from a group of children, rather than grown men, causing Sir Barton to glare at the cheeky lad he called a friend.

“Old ladies are wise and worth of respect, Maximoff. You could learn a thing or two from them, as you had learned from me,” he scoffed, feigning offence. “Do not forget who taught you how to swing a sword, kiddo.”

“There is a point in what Clint is saying,” Sir Wilson hummed good-naturedly, raising his eyebrow at Pietro in challenge.

“Maybe. Does not change the fact he’s grown seven years older since then, while I have grown seven years more mature.”

The explosion of laughter following his statement was louder this time.

“In your dreams, maybe,” Sir Barnes snorted, elbowing his best of friends, Sir Rogers. “About as mature as this one was when he used to pick his battles with guys twice his size, eh?”

Sir Rogers, Steven to most, only smirked, speaking up for the first time in a while, since his thoughts were far far away. “Should we get technical, we all took up on an enemy twice our size only yesterday morning.”

“Oh?” Sir Barton feigned surprise. “Listen to the guy. He might tell you what brought the monster to its knees next – an arrow straight to its eye. Remind me, Maximoff, whose crossbow it was that fired it?” he asked pointedly, grinning down at the man walking by their horse, earning an eyeroll.

“Did it even have knees?” Sir Lang questioned, “All I know is that it was a nasty, nasty thing.”

“Nastier than Hydra? Cut off one had, two shall takes its place? I truly believed that was only a legend…” Sir Wilson said, a visible shiver of disgust shaking him.

“Not sure we can compare the two… maybe Barnes or Rogers could, huh?” Sir Maximoff suggested.

Steven’s face darkened; he did indeed remember the hydra creature very well for it nearly cost his best friend his arm. The scars still littered Bucky’s skin, from the back of his hand all the way up to his shoulder; Gods had blessed him enough that his ability to use his arm remained intact, even as its appearance did not.

As for the strange chimera they had slayed yesterday… it was true that Steven had gotten more familiar with it then he would have liked. He could recall it with uncomfortable clarity: its foul breath smelling of death on his face, feeling as if it had seeped deep into his very bones when he had finally thrusted his sword through its heart. He could still hear the clang of teeth near his neck, a near death sentence.

No, he would rather not compare the two. He would rather not think of either of the creatures at all.

“Why us, Maximoff? Because I nearly lost my arm to the former and my best friend to latter? No thanks,” Sir Barnes hissed, face turning ashen as well.

Steven instinctively reached for his friend, squeezing his arm, casting a concerned glance as he was torn away from his own dark memories.

“Buck…”

“Are you jesting? Sir Rogers was incredible,” Sir Parker cried out excitedly, having four of the knights groan, for Steven’s bravery – or idiocy, should anyone ask Sir Barnes, truly – was all the youngest knight had been talking about for the majority of their journey, causing Steven’s cheeks redden under his beard, sense of pride and satisfaction battling the terror of the memory. As for the remaining knights, well; while they did not diminish Steven’s important contribution of delivering the fatal blow, they had grown annoyed at the constant babble.

“Sure he was, kiddo.”

“Oh yes. They should probably knight him. Oh wait-“ Sir Wilson said, causing the men to laugh.

“Yeah, a set of deadly teeth perhaps three inches from his throat? Let him have all the glory and Princess Morgana’s hand too,” Sir Barnes grumbled, sending his friend both a proud and irked glance.

A sudden rustle of leaves and a woman’s yelp followed by a thud caused them all fall silent and turnbattle-ready in a split second, snapping in the direction of noise.

However, there was little need for caution. Their intruder barely appeared dangerous: the peasant woman observed them with wide eyes and forehead scrunched in pain, blossoms of common elder, spilled all around her like precious silks of a gown instead of the worn fabric of the simple shirt, shawl and ankle-length skirt, speaking thousand words of what she had been doing until she had fallen. Her fingers were clutching at her left foot, a clear sign of her ungraceful landing. The tree was by no means tall, but that should not mean the fall was what they could call comfortable.

For a moment, the group of knights stood frozen, rendered speechless as much as the poor woman who found herself face to face with not one but seven of the crown’s most loyal servants.

Steven, perhaps the kindest of them all, was the first to snap from the shock of an unexpected disturbance of their journey, releasing the grip on his sword, never having drawn it from its sheath. He took several long strides to the young woman, instantly capturing her attention.

“My lady, are you quite alright?” Steven inquired, gently as he realized his large frame, accentuated by his armour, might intimidate the poor sweetling.

And yet. Just as the question left his lips and his gaze met hers, he was the one rendered mute all of sudden.

Steven had never seen anyone more clearly, he was certain; and just as sure he was of the fact that no woman could ever hope to encompass sincerity and beauty in her eyes only as the one he was facing at the moment.

Her smile was but a shy little thing, pain masked by gratitude for the knight’s care. He was a handsome one, of robust built but with delicate lines to his face, bright blue irises with a speckle of green, plush lips framed by a short beard; distantly, she imagined his wide shoulders would barely fit the doorframe of her cabin – of her hut, truly. She found the imagery enticing, almost as much as the gentle tone he had spoken with despite his giant frame.

“’Quite aright’ seems accurate, sir. I am not hurting much beyond my left ankle,” she admitted, even as her source of discomfort was evident from her hand still covering the affected area.

Steven’s brows furrowed slightly in worry, yet he made no move, spoke no words, even as his lips parted. Instead, his eyes roamed the woman’s face, searching and fascinated. It was the silence which prompted his comrades to enter the interaction.

“Do you think you can walk?” Sir Wilson asked as he stepped forward – a movement barely acknowledged as the woman did not shift her gaze from Steven still.

“Wobble, perhaps,” she said, the corners of her lips briefly turning downwards. “Could perhaps one of you assist me? I should be most grateful for your chivalry.”

Sir Barnes could scoff at the absurdity of her wording; even as she suggested she would welcome anyone’s aid, her fixation on Steven was ridiculously evident. It almost scared him, how steadily she watched him; even as ladies’ interest in his best friend’s company had increased significantly along with how Steven’s muscles had grown, the way this woman observed him… unsettling him for some reason.

“Oh! We should borrow you the horse for a while-“ Sir Parker – bless him, the youngest and the purest of heart of them all – cried out, soon silenced by a more sombre voice of reason of Sir Barnes.

“Kid, you lose your leg should you put your weight on it now. Believe me, I have almost lost my arm to the same foolishness.”

“…oh.”

“Well, I suppose one of us should support you and walk you to your home,” Sir Barton suggested nonchalantly, preparing to dismount the horse. “The most experienced one of us, perhaps?”

“Truly? Is that so, Clinton?” Sir Wilson questioned as he eyed him, his tone carrying wryness of a man who would not care for nonsense – unless it was one that could earn him a great deal of fun. “Why you?”

“I have a pair of very well-working eyes for one,” the older man uttered, causing sir Maximoff to snicker silently.

“So do I and yet I would never offer!” Sir Lang opposed as soon as he understood the meanings behind Sir Barton’s words. “Must we remind you how inappropriate that would be, since you have a lovely wife and three kids at home?”

“And a knee that knows a rain is coming at least two sunsets ahead?” Sir Barnes added for honestly, the foolishness of Sir Barton’s idea battled the one of the youngling’s.

“Ugh, alright then. Spoilsports.”

Sir Maximoff, unsurprisingly, grinned and shrugged as he stepped forward. “Ah, well, fellas, it seems-“

“I can do it. I can even carry her.”

Sir Barnes sighed, an involuntary reaction to best of comrades choosing this moment to snap from his reverie. Speaking of foolishness.

Not once had Steven’s gaze left the beautiful woman since the very moment he had laid his eyes on her, almost as if he was drawn by ancient power whose pull not even his virtuous heart could resist. The pull had been literal too; while the movements had been subtle, step by step Steven inched closer to the woman, now standing barely three feet from her, way too close even as he had been the first to spring forward.

Sir Barnes would be amazed and certainly more than amused at his friend’s antics, had it not been for the fact the scene was as fascinating as disconcerting. For a myriad of reasons. Beginning with-

“You are injured as well,” Sir Wilson noted pointedly.

Sir Wilson appeared to be the only of the men aside from Sir Barnes who had not lost all reason in the midst of all of them having acquired an expression of awe and smugness. In all fairness, the reaction of the knights was nothing short of understandable, for Steven, Sir Rogers, who had kept from many women who had been rather literally battling for his attention, seemed enamoured all of sudden. And of all creatures, enamoured by a beautiful, yet the most ordinary of women. He appeared if not utterly lost to the fabled love at first sight, then certainly lost enough to abandon all reason.

“Oh no, if you are severely injured, I could not possibly-“ the woman resisted, gathering her skirt in attempt to stand up as if to prove she was considerably less inconvenienced by absence of aid than it had originally appeared.

Naturally, her efforts were doomed to failure – and just as naturally, Steve had been there to catch her, promptly supporting her weight. She had barely caught herself, one palm flat against his chest, the other on his bicep, lips parted in silent surprise; and much to the amusement of all knights, in awe of his strength.

Sir Rogers was certainly not the only one of the pair who appeared smitten.

“Thank you, good Sir.”

“Sir Steven Rogers, my lady. I should be happy to aid you,” he pronounced, the words ‘with anything’ unsaid but clearly implied as he helped her straighten up as much as her own injury allowed. “I have not been injured severely. Worry not.”

Needless to say, Sir Barnes would argue; bruised ribs, several cuts, more so when one of them sat right above his brow, should be considered severe enough not to carry a woman in his arms… particularly when these injuries were coupled with a heavy blow to the head. Before, Sir Barnes had not been sure how strong of a hit Steven had taken, but now, seeing how absent of any common sense Steven was-

Ah. His best friend was being quite himself, now that Sir Barnes thought of it.  

“…so we are to ignore there are at least three better candidates whose ribs are not bruised or-“ Peter muttered in low voice to his companions, all but earning a warning slap to his healthy leg as Sir Lang gently shushed him, himself charmed by the romantic ballad-worthy scene in front of them.

“Seeing as she does, I suppose we do too,” Sir Maximoff scoffed lowly, tilting his head to side as he observed his comrade, suddenly frowning, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And so does he. Is he alright? He looks… strange. Has any of you put something in his water?”

“You are saying this as if you were not as miffed about him being chosen by her as I am,” Sir Barton huffed, sourness turning into humour at the other man’s misery.

Pietro’s gaze torn away from the pair, their downright love-sick gazes suddenly difficult to watch; it almost felt as if by looking at them, they were prying on an intimate moment. Pietro thought it curious, for he had never had any issues of laughing loud at the displays of affection his fellow knights had offered in the Tower tavern for everyone to see, but he did not want to examine it too hard. He could find joy elsewhere once they had made it to the city, with no shortage of ladies no doubt willing to offer comfort to the heroes of Starkerbürg.

“He is one lucky bastard,” he sighed, patting the horse’s neck, preparing to take off.

“And lucky he might get…” Sir Wilson sing-sang quietly, causing the group to laugh as their gazes once again appreciated the almost palpable spark between the unlikely couple, exchanging knowing glances as the woman gasped when Steven sneaked his arms under her knees and back, lifting her into his arms with ease despite his gear weighting him down.

“Alright, it is settled. We are certain you are safe with Sir Rogers…” Sir Barton called out, entirely ignored by the pair who instead kept observing one another without as much as a blink, as if they could not bear losing even a fraction of the precious time they were given. “For he is-- they are not even listening to me, are they? No one cares about me anymore, I truly must be getting old-”

Sir Barnes sighed again, realization dawning to him; one he should never share with his companions, but one he would for certain inquire about later when Steven returned to the castle.

“We shall move then,” he muttered, beckoning others towards the road, not before sparing the couple a last slightly disapproving glance.

He feared not for his most precious friend’s safety; he only feared for his heart, too big even for the impressive size his body had grown into since his early days as a weakling. At the moment, it was his mind Bucky feared for, since it almost seemed feeble under a spell of a beautiful woman. A spell no one dared to break.

As the group walked away, each of their steps was uncharacteristically silent; until they believed to reach enough of a distance to have a boisterous laugh about Sir Rogers no doubt to be rewarded for his chivalry. The sound bothered not the pair as they smiled at each other softly, the woman’s thumb brushing over Steven’s sternum, covered by worn chainmail.

The simple touch seemed to reach his soul; his breathing, having already eased since he had first caught her, cleared completely, the ache in his bones gone. The woman’s smile widened, silently prompting Steven to start walking. He was not one to hesitate, his feet moving almost of their own volition.

“You are not obliged to carry me,” she said, a teasing note lacing her gentle voice. “I slowed the landing enough. It is nothing but a bruise.”

Steven shook his head, appearing as if he was barely holding back a grin. “But I must, my lady. It is my duty as a knight of Starkerbürg.”

She pursed her lips, one corner lifting in a smirk.

“Oh? Is it so, my good sir? Hm... speaking of knights of Starkerbürg, Sir Rogers,” she emphasized, a playful spark appearing in her eye, “your friends act like children.”

Undignified for a knight for certain – yet who was he to diminish the already scraped reputation of men who truly unsubtly jested about him taking advantage of the very woman in distress he was to help – Steven snorted.

“Don’t I know it.”

“But Samuel might not be wrong…“ she said, voice equally full of amusement and promise. “Set me down, Steven. You must be tired.”

Tired he was not. Not ever since he had met the woman’s eyes moments ago and recognized their beauty and depth as familiar. But who was he to deny a lady?

And a lady she was, for all she was and was not. They might have jested about it together, but in Steven’s mind, she was precisely that and nothing less, no matter what any half-wit of this kingdom would think. Slowly, he lowered her back to her feet, his heart thundering in his ribcage in anticipation as he focused on the sounds surrounding them.

Content with only gentle whisper of the wind and songs of robins for a company, his worn hands cradled the woman’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, heart trembling when she leaned into his touch, her lips brushing his palm.

In return, the tips of her fingers ghosted over his brow, the nasty cut closing at once, without a single sting of pain. She focused on that aspect often, even as she knew he would try and not as much as flinch for her benefit, much like he had not when she healed his ribs earlier.

“Thank you. They must be far enough now, I am sure,” he whispered, stepping closer so their bodies aligned and nearly merged in one. “Do not hide from me, bosorka moja. Let me see you, beautiful.”

Her smile turned a little coy, even as her soul sang at his sweet words. Steven was quite a master of compliments; but not a shameless flirt or a rake. What he said always came from heart; that beautiful, beautiful heart he had sworn belonged to her and never made her question it despite their situation.

“As you wish, good sir,” she whispered, fingertips sliding down his cheekbone, repairing the darkening bruising in their wake, before she turned focus on her own transformation. “Close your eyes, love, release me for just a moment.”

With a sigh of disappointment – but eager to oblige – Steven lifted his hands an inch, missing the lovely heat under his touch at once, and let his eyes slide close. Soft light caressed his skin, flickering behind his closed eyelids as her features shifted, her cloaking spell dispersing.

Steven did not fight the smile tugging at his lips as he allowed himself to open his eyes again just as the glow was dying out, welcomed by the sight of his beloved in her true face. The spell she had casted changed her features but a bit, only enough to protect her from those who would still hunt her upon mere suspicion of her being a magical creature. She appeared just as human as before; but should a half-wit still nursing grudges against magic even century and half since its dark side caused people to suffer ever recognize her as anything else… Steven did not wish to imagine what hell would have been raised; even as it would have been one he would fight to death against.

Indeed, she appeared human even in her true form to most, Steven assumed. Yet, to him, she appeared almost ethereal; she always had. From the very moment she had walked into his life and took his world by gentle storm, slowly nursing him back to health day by day from multiple wounds which would have been his doom. She had risked her own life in process, revealing her talents to anyone, let alone a knight of Starkerbürg, but for a good deed, she had barely even hesitated.

Beautiful, powerful, brave and endlessly kind; and now, by the blessing of gods, even as Steven failed to be a proper gentleman, his.

He let his fingers slide into her hair, tilting her face up to feast his eyes on her features, heart humming pleasantly as only a person who owned it could make it hum.

It was clearer than the skies that she felt just the same. Drawing him close, not waiting for his prompting, she rose to her tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers, sweet and healing. No cut was there for her to fix, but it appeared that whenever she kissed him, even with no magic involved as she had claimed, Steven’s often weary soul was lifted.

He followed her lips, earning a hearty chuckle but no protest, a hand on his nape as her fingers curled in his hair as well.

“Bosorka moja,” he said softly against her lips before tasting them again, greedy for every stolen moment, every stolen kiss she was willing to give him.

And she would give him a lifetime, much like he would give his own to her.

But there was not a single reason to do it right where they stood. One more peck to his lips and she escaped his arms sneakily, only to grab at his hand with both of hers, tugging him down the now familiar path.

“Come, rytier moj.”

And so he followed her, without a word of protest. He would follow his heart anywhere.

Their destination was by no means far, they were in no rush. Unbeknownst to Sir Barnes, his thoughts had been precisely on point – the pair of lovers cherished every moment spent together, may it be walking with purpose or wandering.

This day, they chose the former, the hut soon appearing in a barely-there clearing among the trees. Steve’s lips curled in a smile on instinct as despite the humble outside state of the tiny house, he knew what he would find upon entering with his love and lover by his side. A home. Not only hers; theirs. A safe space for their love.

As soon as they entered, the air smelling of herbs and dried meadow flowers, ones he had picked and gifted her the last time he had escaped his knight-bound duties, hit his nostrils and widened his smile. It was met with her own, soft and welcoming, heartbreakingly beautiful; ache echoed in his heart, its emptiness present for the past few days without her suddenly dissolving into nothing.

He brought her hand to his lips, a gentle kiss to her knuckles before releasing her, so they could begin their routine.

From the mountains Wind, dust and defiance is rising I lay your armour to your feet Don’t let my skin get cold at night

Wind from the mountains

Wind, dust and defiance is rising I lay my armour to your feet Don’t let my skin get cold at night

You made your way to the pot, a simple curl of your wrist lighting up a fire to heat the water for tea. Steven’s gaze followed you as he stood by the door, blindly unclasping his belt, putting away his sword and chainmail. He had no need for weapons nor armour in his home; vulnerability in this house was no sign of weakness, but one of strength. It was a privilege he took upon proudly as you were blissfully aware.

Then, you ruminated through your dried herbs in search of chamomile and lavender, even as you knew the exact placement of every single item; once you heard Steven lose his armour and step forward, you looked over your shoulder, offering an unassuming smile – despite assuming quite a lot from the many encounters you had shared before.

“Tea, my love?”

Like clockwork, like the most beautiful habit, you barely got the chance to speak the question before he stood behind you, fingers cradling your chin, angling your head further to meet your lips again, an indulgent smile tasting indulgent smile as neither of you ever believed a tea was to be served. Not yet at least.

Where your first shared kiss after days of being apart tasted of longing, relief and soft smiles, this one tasted of feelings much more primal. Your breath hitched in the briefest surprise at the intensity, yet you responded in earnest, shifting to accommodate his large body, your hands finding purchase of his broad shoulders as soon as you spun around. He rewarded your cooperation with enthusiasm; you yielded to his force with a breathy laugh once he allowed you to retrieve the air he so lovingly stole from your lungs.

“No tea then?”

A hand previously grasping at your hips wrapped around your back to pull you to his chest, three steps leading you to walk backwards until your back brushed the makeshift table, Steven’s lips as urgent as sweet, his beard scratching at your sensitive skin, each breath tickling your lips.

“Would rather drink from your lips, love,” he whispered to your mouth, the only chance for both of you to breathe in before his lips returned. His hold tightened to ground you against his advances, trapping you in a cage of love you could have easily escaped should you wish; yet, you only withdrew for a moment, a cheeky retort on your tongue as your need for him grew with every touch.

“That could be arranged, I believe.”

Glancing up, you were met with his darkened eyes, his hand firm as he held onto your jaw; and yet, his thumb caressed your skin gently, the desire blending into softness and amusement at your bold demeanour. You lifted one corner of your lips in a smirk, gasping when his mouth possessed yours again, teeth tugging at your lower lip, his arm still holding onto your waist – the only thing keeping you from practically laying on the table, his hips pining yours against the hard surface, fingers squeezing your flesh.

Now there was a thought; Steve’s weight rendering you weightless as he’d coax peak after peak from your body laid on the dark wood as an offering to Gods at an altar…

The very thought, however, was fast to dissolve as Steven’s hips rocked into yours, allowing you to feel the outline of his burning need, having you clutch at his shirt as friction teased your throbbing core. He swallowed the needy noise he elicited from your lips, fingers slipping under your shirt, thumb pressing into your skin just above your hipbone as to guide your movements.

You shuddered upon his lips travelling down the column of your throat, teeth grazing skin alongside the hem of your shirt above your collarbone; your hands began their own quest over the hard planes of his body, appreciative of his truly impressive physique. Steven’s fingers roamed as well, caressing and squeezing, your given name but a breathy whisper when his fingertips stroked the underside of your breasts.

You nearly missed his words due to the blissful sensation, but you had heard the silent plea spoken so many times before there was no mistaking it.

“Dance for me, my love?”

Your swollen lips curled in a playful smile as his fingers carded through your hair, kiss brushing your cheek and jaw and finally your mouth again.

“Oh? Is that what you wish for, lover mine?”

His gaze followed the patterns his fingertips whispered over your face as if they were brushes painting the most precious canvas, a curious contradiction to his eager kisses and hardness.

“Would you hold it against me?” he inquired in a hushed voice, stealing yet another kiss from your waiting lips, his nose gently caressing yours before his gaze bore into yours with intensity again, “that I wish to see something so beautiful and so alive after a battle?”

The amusement slipped from your face, features softening as your heart sored at the subtle confession. The knights of Starkerbürg were full of jest and gestures so great they might border on insanity when situation allowed it. Their bravery was a thing of legends, as much of a legend as the thing you knew they had gone to fight days ago and were only now returning, having bested a mythical creature much more vicious and deadly than yourself, crushing life with not more than one bite to a man’s flesh.

Yet, for all their heroism, even knights, even the most precious of them all – even your Steven – felt the disarming fear of death itself, cruel and all too powerful. You would be always be more than willing to remind him of the power of life for a change, until you’d release yours with your last breath.

Ad so the answer was no – no, you would not hold it against him, whatever he would ask. Never him.

Standing on your tiptoes, framing his face with your hands, his whiskers and already messy hair ticking your palms, you told him as much, sealing your deal with a kiss.

Easing his grip, he allowed you to push against chest, easily giving in as you lead him to walk backwards until his calves hit the frame of your bed. He sat down obediently and you leaned into him, stealing another brief peck.

“Please, bosorka moja,” he pleaded once more as your forehead touched his, taking a moment to breathe him in, reminding yourself that both you indeed were still alive; and thus, such victory should be celebrated with joys life itself provided. “Dance for me, my love.”

Smiling, you placed a finger over his lips to shush him at last, gliding several steps back, mischief appearing in your eyes as his own followed your every movement hungrily, more so when you slipped out of your shawl, the shirt far from brushing the waist of the skirt suddenly hanging low on your hips, providing Steve with a silver of skin of your stomach.

There was no music but the howl of the wind carrying the occasional note by chaffinches and dunnocks and rustles of leaves. Yet, an old old melody echoed in your heart, guiding your movements and filling you with power and confidence of all witches that came before you and enchanted men into giving away their kingdom without as much as a fleeting thought, surrendering their strength and their hearts, all that only to be blessed with a single sinful glance, a single touch of magic as old as humanity itself. For a single drop of passion.

You could feel it fill the air, the longing and thirst for life and body, your lover’s eyes turning dark, hypnotized by the simple swirls of your wrists above your head, at your sides, following every slide of the back of your hands over your ribs, over your bare skin, his visceral need to replace your touch with his own. Drinking in but the smallest motions of your hips, breath hitching at the briefest tilt of your head back or to side, his lips tingling to attach themselves to the exposed skin of your throat, to taste, to suck a bruise. The force with which his fists curled into themselves seemed to ignite sparkles in the air, bringing a sensual smile to your lips as you let your eyes slip shut, feeling the energy hum louder when you moved closer; a sweet thunder within you, within Steve, all around you.

The thud of Steve’s knees on the floor came with his hands grasping your hips; needy but not firm, only to feel the slow movements of your hips and allow you to continue swinging freely. You released a breath, head tipping backwards as Steve’s hot lips found the now burning skin of your stomach, nosing his way up an inch at a time, beard tickling, an open-mouthed kiss following and causing you to shudder – with pleasure, with overwhelming power.

“Steven-“

“Keep dancing, bosorka moja,” he hummed into your skin with a pleased smile, teeth grazing over your belly button as if to distract you from his rough but deft fingers slipping under the waist on your skirt, inching it lower and lower until it hit the floor. Cold air brushed over your bare core, Steven’s lips trailing to the junction of your thigh, his smile growing wicked. “I shall help you dance.”

The very first flicker of his tongue over your pearl had you stutter in your movements, a whimper leaving your lips as Steven’s fingers dug deep into your flesh of your sides and thighs, a wordless warning not to cease the dance he had pleaded for. With a shudder of a breath, you willed yourself to continue, naturally rocking onto his hot tongue as it swept over your weeping core with indulgence, stars flashing behind your closed eyelids at the contrast of the slick muscle to the scrapes his beard left behind.

“Steven-“

“Shhh,” your lover whispered, the sound gentle and teasing at once, the pleasant vibration against your sensitive flesh causing your fingers to find way into his hair and grip, only earning another appreciative hum. “Keep dancing, love.”

And so you did. Leaning into the affection so willingly offered, you succumbed to a different kind of dance. Fingers flexing in Steven’s hair upon a particularly smart swirl of his tongue, breathless praise, calls to Gods and desperate pleas for more more more spilling from your lips. Meeting his ministrations without shame; guiding him, opening up for him as the liquid fire of pleasure spread through your veins, turning into an inferno when you found your thigh on his shoulder, completely out of your doing, an instinct to chase relief – but thoroughly appreciated as Steven’s arm circled your bottom, pulling you impossibly close and loving you deep enough to set you on fire entirely.

You let the primal hunger consume you as you climbed to your peak, crying out when you reached it, head spinning from the intensity; waves of bliss washed over you, body pliant and relaxed. You shrieked when you suddenly found yourself losing your footing, for a brief moment frustratingly empty and cold; and then you were spread on the table, your lover’s lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves, burning blue gaze swallowed by lust firmly set on your face as two thick fingers entered you, latching onto the last aftershocks of your peak. You reached a second high with dizzying speed, unable to tear your gaze away from your giving – and so, so wicked – lover. Gods could possess you at that moment and you would have not felt as if you ascended to such heights as you had while indulging on Earthly pleasures with him.

A soft trail of kisses and pets soothed you as you came down, a breathless chuckle bleeding into a sob when you noticed few of your possessions floating in the air, your magic quite literally having exploded outside of you.

Steven’s lips curled into a smile against your jaw and then you were tasting your essence – as well his much-satisfied grin – on your tongue, revelling in the warm weight of his body covering yours. It seemed your Steven had a few magic tricks up his sleeve too, mind-reading being one of them. You smiled into the kiss, using your grip on his hair to pull him even closer. He could never be close enough; and as he stood between your spread legs, his hard bulge brushing against your bare core, his lips and hands eager, you were certain he felt just the same.

“So beautiful for me,” he whispered to your mouth before retreating, darkened eyes sparkling with lust and pride as well as affection.

“And yours,” you hummed, fingers raking through his beard appreciatively, chuckling when fresh hunger flashed in his pupils. Oh how possessive your knight could be… how much joy it brought you to tease him. “Should I show you?”

A breathy yes was your only answer and so you gripped his shirt, using the fabric for leverage to you sit up. You kissed him again, hands sliding under his garments, gliding over his stomach, your magic flowing freely and healing whichever injuries you had missed earlier.

Easily ridding him of his shirt and pants in between sweet encounters of lips and shedding your clothes as well, you wrapped your legs around his waist, a faint whisper of ‘bed’ enough to have him pick you up without protest; on contrary, with quite the enthusiasm since his hardness throbbed when you led him to sit down with you in his lap.

“Missed you… love you… need you,” you confessed, his breathy voice echoing your sentiments as your lips brushed over every patch of his skin in reach, fingers wrapping around him and guiding him inside you, bliss surrounding you both when you finally sank yourself down his length in one fluid movement.

You rested your forehead against his and simply breathed, living in the moment of utter bliss; a different kind, not the almost primitive one, no, not the wild one. This moment belonged to serenity. Sharing air and warmth with your lover, tender hands appreciating the wide planes of his muscles, strength radiating from flesh and soul alike. And love. Always love.

As if he was able to read your mind once more, his lips sought out yours, a declaration of love indeed, simple, honest and unyielding. His thumb gently traced the pattern of your tattoo, its ink reaching from behind your ear over the side on your neck, a swirl over your left collarbone and spreading over your shoulder. I love you as you are, for all you are, his touch whispered even as no sound left his lips. And even if you felt no shame for your nature, your Steven’s acceptance caressed your soul as did his diligence; not once he had forgotten his ritual of reminding you that with him, your existence was not merely tolerated – but adored and celebrated. When you first understood the significance of this habit of his, tears had stung your eyes, kissed away before they could roll down your cheeks.

“Ľúbim ťa,” you had breathed out then, a love confession in the old language, and ever since, you had not failed to say it once in response to his gesture.

Then, rough fingertips carefully followed the line of a fine silver chain carrying a tear-shaped indigo sapphire, a token of affection usually hidden from plain sight, protected; a promise of faithfulness even as you remained unwed. You had no need for gemstones, but you understood its importance, the significance of the gesture; it made for your heart warm and safe upon its possession and for Steven’s heart lighter a pound of the burden of your circumstance.

Your circumstance was not one of the simple ones, a forbidden love one might say; in which you were the only forbidden thing. Forbidden to even live, let alone love or be loved; an abomination to some. A magic wielder, no doubt seducing the most honourable with her dark powers, for what other reason could be there for him to take liking in you? It mattered not that there was less than a little true to it, that your bond was of much purer nature, as common and as human as the blood you drew from your own veins to cast protection spells over your beloved. True did not matter. Should you reveal your relationship now, Steven would have been painted a victim; and you would have lived no more.

An easy circumstance yours was not at all; but your dedication to each other was to conquer all troubles. And in the meantime, you shall have moments of serenity and of passion, of you and him.

The smallest shift of Steven’s hand pulled from your thoughts, breath hitching when his fingers slid an inch lower, brushing over your nipple. Your hips buckled on instinct, drawing a groan from your lover’s lips, a grip on your bottom encouraging you to move.

Who were you to deny pleasure to you both?

Smiling, you withdrew, index finger covering Steve’s lips as he tried to follow, a discontent furrow to his brow. You tilted your head, thumb brushing over his swollen lips.

“Would you like me to dance still, lover mine?” you inquired teasingly, his disapproval at your actions wiped away in an instant, replaced by fire in his eyes.

Gentle flames of affection battled those of desire, his warm palm caressing over your lower cheeks, before he snapped you impossibly close, causing you to gasp – and to question who it was who had the upper hand here. Your hand fell to his chest, his heart beating wildly under your palm, an answer of its own.

Both then. It seemed you were both on top and simultaneously under the other’s thumb. Such a beautiful thing.  

“Would you, bosorka moja?”

Your smile grew, lips attaching to his once more and planning to remain for as long as possible, first careful rock of your hips the first step to reach for the stars – together this time.

“Oh Steven… for my honourable knight? For you, my love? With pleasure…”

An absent smile played on Steve’s lips, his fingers running up and down your arm, appreciating the softness and warmth of your skin. An air of comfort and contentedness hovered around you as he held you close, fast asleep in his arms, cheek pressed to his chest as if the very sound of his heart against your ear lulled you to peaceful slumber.

Despite the sweetness of the idea, Steve felt his brows furrow in concern. While as he was perfectly happy to serve as a pillow for his beautiful lover, aware there was barely any greater expression of trust than a shared sleep, worry seized him for this occurrence was beyond rare. He once asked whether your incredible magic was an effortless as you made it seem, met with a weary chuckle and a kind, if a little condescending smile and a confession that if seen weak, your kind would have been an easy prey. Having understood he had taken your answer as a testimony to the lack of trust you had laid in him, you had also admitted that while the teachings of your ancestors had been deeply ingrained in your instincts, part of your reluctance to show your weakness to him was precisely what weighted his conscience just now. You simply could not be bothered to make him fret too much.

The fact you had let sleep take you alone was truly worrisome and Steve pondered just how exhausted you must have been. Even as the fresh memory of your breathless pleas for more and the cries of pleasure as you rode him till you both tasted heaven were nothing short of precious to him, he could not but wonder whether he was taking too much; your magic healing his wounds, your body a sanctuary to his love and fears.

Perhaps he had. But who could ever blame him?

Steven had never known a woman like this – unafraid to give, just as unshy to take; one or the other, but never like this. He had fallen for you and had fallen hard, body and soul. Yes, should anyone call him selfish, they would not be wrong, because Gods, did he take what he craved and lusted – and yet. Yet, every moment with you felt ethereally right as your still unconscious form drifted closer, almost as if you sensed his thoughts and wished for them to evaporate. And so far, they always had, dissolved in your easy smile when you refused his offer and plea to come with him; to bring you to the castle with him so he could give as well, give more, provide and protect and worship you in his home, your new home, true home where you would not have to hide in the middle of the woods like some sort of an abomination.

It is not the time yet, my love. It will come, you would always say, washing away his guilt with a sweet kiss and a promise. One day. One day I shall come with you and we should be unabashedly happy with no fear, free to be you and me.

He had let your words and touch sooth him, always; but not today. Your body having melted into his had his protective instinct flare up, determination set in his very heart. He should convince you today, to make you his and him yours as two people in love deserved. He shall make an honest woman of you in the eyes of the whole kingdom at last. It was what you were worthy of, for you were worthy of anything and everything. And with you… he believed he deserved the same. He could not stand it anymore. Parting ways with you, only to hope for your next stolen moment to come the very minute after he had left. He could no longer bear you existing so close and yet so far out of his reach.

No, he shall convince you today, insist more than ever. He wanted this, he wished for nothing more than to lay to sleep like this every night, with you. You deserved it. You deserved the world and he shall lay it to your feet, for his honour and his benefit at once.

Any other day, you would have berated yourself for having fallen asleep; but knowing the changes your body was going through, weariness settling in sooner than it used to, it only brought a smile to your face when you found yourself waking to Steven’s tender fingers carding through your hair.

The night was slowly falling. Wandering the woods in darkness would have been an unnecessary risk for anyone, even for a skilled knight with your protective spell over him;  your lover was more than aware of it and still, you could tell it pained him to bring you out of your slumber nevertheless. It was no feat to kiss his guilt away, smiles adorning your faces, noses caressing, hands wandering, nearly leading you back into the clutches of lust.

He sat patiently on your bed now, half dressed as you took your blade, his eyes following your every move with more attention than ever as he absently sipped chamomile tea; he found himself deep in thought, such was obvious. It was not difficult to guess where his mind had trailed off to, for it had always been the same.

His voice was soft when he spoke the words, a soft wrinkle on his forehead as your cut your finger and stood between his spread legs.

“Come with me.”

A sad smile played in the corner of your lips as your heart fluttered at his plea, one he never failed to deliver, even as your sigh must have sounded weary every time.

“I cannot. Not yet.”

Steven was no half-wit, which was more than could said about many of the people of Starkerbürg. He knew precisely why you could not come; why you never could, at least not yet. Magic was still forbidden – as if it was a choice, as if one could choose to stop breathing and still live – hated for the pain and destruction the dark twisted witches and sorcerers had once left in their wake, misusing magic to spread fear and suffering. It was not just that all magic wielders were still paying the price for what their ancestors had done. It was even less just that you, not having done any harm unless you needed to escape imminent danger to your life, should live a hermit life, too far from your love and lover. Yet it was how times were, still.

But you were no fool either. You could feel Steven’s uneasiness growing heavier every time he left without you, for it went against his very nature, against the need to keep you close, to hold you, to love – to protect you from harm. You had no doubt he would lay his life for you. You could not allow him to do that, not when the time was finally growing near for your love to be cherished as any other, time for your kind to be free. You must not lose him to rushed foolishness. He was no longer only yours to lose.

“I would protect you,” he promised, steely conviction in his husky voice.

As sweet as the sentiment was, you could not but smirk, a knowing gaze reminding him that should the situation require it, you could very well protect yourself, even as your true gift – the one special talent every magic wielder had, naturally developed with barely any practice – was of the healing kind. Should you truly wished, you could burn villages with terrifying ease; gods knew sorcerers and sorceresses had done this and more with a single snap of their fingers.

Steve took no offence in your teasing gaze; but the determination in his own remained unshaken as you begun to draw the protective symbol over his sternum.

“The time is yet come for people to understand the blessings of magic again, for its light to outshine the darkness it had sowed,” you reasoned, as much as it pained you. “The time shall come soon, I promise. It is simply not today, my love.”

Long fingers circled your wrist, gentle but firm, having you cease your movement, your gaze meeting the brilliant blue roaming over your face.

“I miss you. All days, all nights. I-“ he paused, licking his lips, a shadow of hurt passing over his face. “Don’t you?”

Your heart soared, a sigh leaving your lips. Steven was not easy on you today; but your conviction and determination was just as strong as his. You had to be brave and so did he. A few days longer, that would be all you needed. The right time would come. You were certain of it, even as it was nothing but a whisper of intuition in the back of your mind. Wait, the voice said, the time grows near, but you must wait.

“Do not do this, rytier moj,” you scolded Steven, letting gentleness seep into your voice. ���It does not suit you. You must know I love you. I miss you too. And I worry. All days. All nights. Therefore…”

You wiggled your fingers, Steven’s shoulders sagging as he released you, an exasperated pout to his lips – unjustly adorable – as you resumed your work. You smiled widely despite your unnerving circumstance; he would give you anything and everything. The knowledge of this, having been reminded by every little gesture, every word he spoke, made for the warmest feeling in your soul.

Content with your handiwork as you drew the last spiral, you had to swallow a chuckle when Steven’s brows furrowed in confusion, head bowing, eyes flickering over the unfamiliar pattern. A triskele instead of a simple two-headed spiral. A symbol speaking more words than your knight could ever imagine in his wildest dreams, you supposed.  

“It’s different.”

Shrugging, you withdrew your hand, calling to your magic to finish the ritual.

“You always draw two spirals connected…” Steve continued, eyes growing large and curious.

“I do”, you agreed softly.

He observed you, intrigued. He had once said he might not understand your power, but he swore he would always try. He would not dare to question your rituals, but you could almost feel how fast his thoughts whirled in a frantic search for an answer. The ritual had remained the same, always, countless times, over and over… why would you steer from it today of all days? What was its significance? What had changed?

Oh Steven. Your sweet, sweet Steven… if he only knew.

“You always say it is about love. The unity of us. You and me,” he said slowly and you nodded, unable to contain your joy any longer, eyes surely glimmering.

“Yes. Our love, you and me. Unity of two.”

His eyes, roaming your face in silent question still, suddenly widened, flickering down and snapping back up as the realization dawned on him, leaving his lips slightly parted.

You simply shrugged, a chuckle shaking your chest, while guilt already began to gnaw at your conscience. You should have not told him, not yet. But how could you have kept it for yourself? How could you have denied yourself a little indulgence, even when knowing nothing could change just yet? You simply wished to see him learn your sweet secret, yours and his, even if for a moment, see he was equally elated.

Your knight did not disappoint you, not that you believed he ever could. His face was a perfect blend of shock and delight, radiating joy and hope and shame and sadness in equal amount as he stammered, shaky hand reaching out to carefully brush his fingers over your belly showing no signs of the treasure growing inside yet.

“You- are you—are we? Oh gods-“ And then, as you predicted, his expression shifted in an instant, determination taking deep root. “Then you must come with me. Allow me to take care of you, to-“

Satisfied and aching at once, you promptly shushed him with your still bloody finger to his lips. A single tear rolled down your cheek; a testimony to happiness, reassured anew of your lover’s goodness and dedication to you. To your family. The wonder, the glimmer of hope and the conviction in Steven’s expression would stay with you till you could grant him his wish.

“The time has not yet come, my love. I share your joy. And your worry,” you whispered through the tightness of your throat, even as a smile adorned your lips. Your finger drew a small cross over his mouth despite the pain it caused you. You had had your moment – and that had to be enough for now. “I am sorry, rytier moj. But you shall not remember this, not yet.”  

Before he could as much as take a breath, you withdrew your hand, the symbols on his chest and lips disappearing with a soft glow. Disoriented, your knight blinked, steadying himself by the hand on your hip even as he remained seated.

With a shaky inhale you composed yourself before he could, leaning forward and planting a tender kiss on his lips, fingers raking through his hair. His hand cradled your jaw, adoring.

“Be careful,” you spoke against his lips, earning another small peck.

“Always.”

You retreated with a huff, shaking your head as you went to find an ointment you knew his friend would soon need.

“You speak as if I did not know you, Steven. A basilisk chimera’s teeth three inches from your throat, I heard? Careful indeed.”

His smile was sheepish as he rose to his full height, tying the top of his shirt before reaching for the garments you had so hastily rid him of earlier.

“I always try. The idea that should I fail, I shall never see you again… it can be quite a motivation,” he sweet-talked, succeeding just a bit in softening your exasperation.

Perhaps the vision of him dutifully putting on his armour, making his frame appear even larger – and protected – calmed you further.

“Well, Steven, try harder,” you snipped, pressing a tiny pot into his hand, earning a raised brow. “And take this to Peter, the wound on his leg was already turning foul. And this…”

You reached for a salve you had prepared for when a wave of nausea had taken you by surprise, dipped your finger in the dark substance and carefully patted it over Steven’s brow where his cut had been. You did not expect Steven to feel nauseous – after all he was not the one carrying a new life under his heart – but the colour was convenient. A cut healing so rapidly would have casted a dangerous suspicion on whoever he had interacted with – or worse, on Steven himself. You could not have that.

He observed you softly as you tended to him, adding a small tap where a bruise had begun to form earlier on his cheekbone. He did not utter a word until you were satisfied with your work. Once your hands fell to your sides, his own framed your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your nose and finally your mouth again, a bittersweet goodbye.

“Always so meticulous and careful… always so good. Taking care of me, of my friends…” he mused, breathing you in one last time, hovering, hesitating more than usual. Almost, almost as if your spell had not worked and he still knew. As if he still knew precisely what he was leaving behind this time. “Take care of the person most precious to me too? Until I come back again?”

There might be two of those for you now, you thought, the memory of his delight flashing in your mind, bringing a smile to your lips as you nuzzled into his touch and kissed his palm.

Looking up at his face, you echoed his own reassurance. “Always.”

With one last kiss and hearts as heavy as light, you declared your love to each other. You walked him out quietly, watching him disappear between the trees, his gaze turning to you several times, always finding you standing at the doorstep of his true home, a tender smile on your lips.

Once he was out of sight, you released a sigh, hand settling over your belly, a tear stinging in your eye despite the corners of your lips having been turn upwards.

Yes. The time was yet to come for the people to see again the blessings of magic. For now… the blessing of love already bloomed and it was enough.

Očaruj mě (a fic with the same pairing in the same universe)

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this one

Complete masterlist

Yes, I’m mixing symbols, I know… do I care? Nope.

Terms of endearment/addressing used from Slovak language: bosorka moja = witch mine rytier môj = knight mine ľubim ťa = I love you

Thank you for reading!💕 I wrote it in between really difficult exams in the ocourse of two months and it needed a LOT of editing afterwards too, so... feedback is, as always, appreciated 🥰

[remusjohnslupin]

@elerrinacrownedwithstars: Your responses are very interesting, and responding to them under another post (with a character limit) is difficult, so I thought I would make a separate post about it to convey my thoughts more thoroughly. I hope you don't mind ❤️ Please don't feel like you have to answer or anything. Following up on your previous message:

Of course, it’s possible I’m wrong, as this is only the impression I’ve gathered from some posts. And yeah, the writers of this show are laughably bad at their job but it doesn’t dismiss the idea that this is their attempt of ‘nuance’. Tolkien is fairly clear about how orcs are his idea of “what if Satan made people”, but even so, it’s notable - and he seemed to realise this too - that it had some problems within his cosmogony. In my bubble, I see discourse about how describing an entire race evil is problematic and I can’t say that I don’t see where they come from. But on the other hand, you’re right to point out that Tolkien wasn’t writing an allegory, and fantasy worlds are allowed to work differently than real worlds. After all, Tolkien is also clear that his Elves and Men can be at the different points of the spectrum of good and evil, whether they are Valinorean or Númenorean etc.

If I can backtrack a little to our previous messages, everything you said earlier about J.R.R Tolkien's observations about war and human nature are 100% accurate. I hope it did not seem like I brushed off your point. However, I would like to underline that just because he uses the word 'orc' or 'orcish' to describe the horrors of war, does not mean that he is directly referencing Orcs™ in his books.

I genuinely think if people are insisting Orcs™ have to be nuanced, otherwise it's racist... that's WILD. Because the point is, orcs are, as you so creatively put in, 'What if Satan made people.' They are not of any particular race like we understand. Any differential groups they might have between them is based on who 'bred' them, so to speak, and where. Unlike humans, they have no cultural and historical differences as we understand it. To copy/paste my previous point directly:

"Tolkien famously HATED allegory and never assigned any of his races to real-life ones. I mean, if there are people out there who think portraying orcs as purely evil is racist, then THEY must have a real-life race/ethnicity in mind when they think of orcs. Which says a lot about THEM, not Tolkien himself or those of us who rightly point out the butchering of the lore and poor writing in the show."

So no, I will never, ever see or agree with the idea that the discourse about orcs and race have validity. Like, no. If I start writing my story and create this bright green, goo-like race of blobs who are all evil and their entire agenda is to latch on to humans and feed on them.... and someone just came out and said that was also problematic and racist... how does it make sense?

You know what, this is Tumblr, so someone actually WOULD say that. Nevermind.

But that's what Orcs™ are. They are an extension of the evil (Morgoth) that marred the world even when it was first formed. Nothing more, nothing less.

In your last point, I think you inadvertently addressed part of the problem. This whole discourse about how pure fantasy evil existing is somehow offensive stems from the strange need to make everything relatable. I sincerely believe that people who think this way (including the writers of the Rings of Power) actually have a disdain for the fantasy genre, whether they recognise it or not.

"What if orcs were misunderstood?" ... "What if Galadriel was a cut-out cliche warrior?" .... "What if elven rings were also actually evil because power corrupts anyway even if they are wielded by super wise beings and those Rings were untouched by Sauron?"

They think they are being sophisticated doing these things. And I have no doubt there is some unnecessary political pandering there, too. But instead of elevating the characters and the show, they are hollowing out all the meaning behind Tolkien's themes.

Making orcs misunderstood essentially destroys how Tolkien showed the Marring of the World was permanent and would not be Healed until Dagor Dagorath.

Making Galadriel a copy-paste generic warrior who goes on adventures cheapened her character so much, I can't even. Sauron (when he was Annatar) did not go near Galadriel's kingdom because he was 92837647289% sure that she would recognise him on sight. Because she is probably THE most perceptive elf. She is also described as one of the kindest people alive, sooner moved to pity than anger. But they made her a vengeful asshole on a quest to find Sauron when he was THREE FEET AWAY from her face. But that's empowering because sHE hAS A SworD nOW!

I could go on, and on, and on...

The whole 'sympathetic orcs' debacle, along with the entirety of the Rings of Power, is what you get when you put a few idiots together, have them read Tolkiengateway, and ask 'Okay, so how would YOU write the story?'

As opposed to:

"We made a promise to ourselves at the beginning of the process that we weren’t going to put any of our own politics, our own messages or our own themes into these movies. What we were trying to do was to analyze what was important to Tolkien and to try to honor that. In a way, we were trying to make these films for him, not for ourselves.” — Peter Jackson

[oswednesday]

to me, homestuck and adventure time are really comparative like; the same core impact with two completely opposite outcomes like some kinda art big bang, adventure time changed the landscape of what story telling was Allowed in usa animation for Children, for better or worse changed the accepted art stylings like with bright clean palettes and flexible but simplistic character designs, Cute in a way that wasnt exclusively for Girls, much the same way homestuck changed the webcomic scene completely like the multimedia aspect of webcomics in the aftermath of homestuck and what stories were getting told and having people be interested

both medias are incredibly mean spirited and you needed to have been involved in someway, with the culture to Understand what was being said, in the in between like and both had a sjw-bait arc when the powers that be realized thats a source of quick easy money and legacy fans and both series hired artists from tumblr creating a kind of ascended fan chosen one and skewing the divide between artists in this way, cementing the behaviors we see today everyone scrambling as fast as possible to get noticed by project heads the moment something gets attention, both things have created like a hierarchy of established artists that exist between long term prof and indie and you better believe the most insane behavior towards and from these people occur there

then the two things slingshot after the bang, spreading out as far and as fast in different directions like in the after adventure time post-original run crew has addressed a lot of the issues of the original run, creating like more mature, more grounded storylines to address some of the unsavory nature of the original by being like hey yeah that was actually fucked up lets see how fucked up we can take this (network style)

in much the same way homestuck has, but its still just like intended to generate audience retention and is still just as mean spirited, its fucked up but in a way thats not filling in an empty space like adventure time has done, like make no mistake, adventure time is also an avenue of money making its a franchise, theres just something art history wise to talk about with these things how like two similar things have grown after the first epoch

[awellboiledicicle]

i need everyone to know im 100% serious about Fido only knowing dnd things from TAZ and related wiki walks at 3am.

They know elves exist but they expect Taako, Lup, etc.

I need everyone to understand that they went into a horror movie with the equivalent of tumblr shitpost knowledge about said scenario.

And every single history check is passed by sheer bluffing. Elturel? Oh yeah, terrible that happened. [Gale what happened in Elturel??] Nethril? Gale, we both know i don't know what the fuck that is. Jergal? How many gods do you people HAVE? I'm not judging but i'd lose track after four. What do you MEAN there are more than one death guy? Dead is dead, does it matter how they got there to the guy doing the paperwork??

Arcana is likewise passed by not knowing shit until Gale or Wyll tell them. Maybe Shadowheart and later Halsin explaining divine/nature magic.

Basically Fido can come off as either entirely knowledgeable or knowing 0% about shit. It depends entirely on where in the story they are and if they make the connection.

Which is also why Ethel takes them by surprise bc they meet her in the Grove selling potions [she's by the lady cooking gruel] and just takes it at face value that maybe this weird ointment lady has something for brain worms. Why? Because while 'friendly old lady is secretly evil' is a common trope, this is dnd times. Old wise women are basically doctors right now, right? No, no Fido they are not. Then they're too polite to just... not go to her house. They handle everything else first, but they do still go because they assume she'd worry.

Everyone else thinks this is a bad idea about the time their ring wigs out and breaks the glamor on the swamp when they're passing through to go suss out what the hell Kagha's doing with the shadow druids. They run into Ethel on the way back out of the woods and when Fido catches on that she deffo had seen the guys' sister they go "now hold on" and she gets mad. And well, now they GOTTA go see where this lady is because if they don't someone might die and welp.

Basically it leads to, post goblin defeat but pre-reporting back long rest being "lets teach our fearless leader what a fey is"

[butcharondir]

To be honest, I think the Rings of Power pacing and structure really work best on re-watch. As someone who is enthusiastic about the show and excited for each episode, I still struggle with feeling overwhelmed by the story in a way that makes it a little hard to sink in and really vibe on a first watch. Even with the (IMO) wise decision to cut one or more subplots from each episode (The Dwarves, Bronwyn & Theo in Episode 3; The Harfoots in Episode 4), there is still so much going on. Just the Númenor arc itself has like 3+ subplots progressing at once. But when I re-watch, I feel less dragged around by the storyline and can vibe in a deeper way with the characters and emotional arcs. It's definitely a challenge of the show, but I don't think that means it's failing in its storytelling.

Thinking about that interview with the showrunners where they said it could be just the dwarf show, or the Númenor show, or the elf show, but the thing that makes it Middle Earth is that it's all of them -- it's all these cultures interacting in the story landscape together. The Lord of the Rings books obviously had a specific device to deal with this -- showing them all through the eyes of one humble group, letting the reader interact with these different settings and people by means of one heroic journey. But even that had to splinter and change structure as the story progressed to maintain the sort of complexity Tolkien was going for.

It's an interesting conundrum, because the backstory and the lore and all the Silmarillion content doesn't have an easily accessible story structure built into it. And trying to re-create a hero's fellowship's journey arc to mimic it would no doubt be lambasted as derivative and forced. The arc of Galadriel, while certainly centered, feels to me a little less than a primary protagonist sort of structure. I would say we have the Galadriel arc (Galadriel = protagonist), the Harfoot arc (Nori = protagonist), the Dwarf arc (ironically I do feel like Elrond is currently the protagonist here), the Númenor arc (this feels Isildur-focused to me but you could make the case for another character), and the Southlands arc (Arondir = protagonist).

Additionally, if we're taking the Galadriel arc as primary (again, this isn't quite how the storytelling is landing for me, but I understand how it could be framed that way), it is essentially a direct opposite or inverse to the journey we followed Frodo on. Galadriel is an intensely powerful being already living in the shadow of her trauma, who will most likely travel a character arc towards accepting the need for a more simple and gentle existence. Of course it's not going to feel exactly like the Fellowship of the Ring, because it's working with essentially different story structures. But that in itself is not evidence of its failure towards the source material. I don't know, I just think it's more interesting to think about how the writing is dealing with the challenges of the structure than, like, nitpicking a little bit of plot armor or funny editing here and there, but what do I know.

Anyway, I will probably regret posting this because Tumblr hates good-faith critical analysis but be warned, my block hammer is swift and heavy.

[amphibious-entity]

TMBS Book 1 Brain Dump

~An Embarrassingly Long Post~

I don’t know why I’m writing this or why I’m so determined to do it. Maybe to finally assume my true form and become a mega dork on main, or maybe just for fun!

This is basically a compilation of all the main points running through my head after reading The Mysterious Benedict Society (2007) for the first time. Rather than posting a ton and spamming the tag, everything’s here in one neat package! (hopefully this gets it all out of my system rip)

Contents:

The Book Itself

The Book Itself, for real this time

The Characters

A Funny Parallel

The S.Q. Section

Lines & Scenes I Liked

Spoilers abound!

The Book Itself

Upon acquiring the first three books (don’t judge me pls), I was surprised at just how long they are. Like, they’re still pretty light being paperbacks and all, but these books are hefty lads.

The first book has this Disney+ Original Series circle thing printed on it, which is kind of unfortunate. Regardless, I love the cover illustration and yellow is actually my favorite color :D It made me weirdly quite happy whenever I saw the book lying around in my room

Also, it’s really cute how there’s a letter from Mr. Benedict at the end! (It only reveals that you can find out his first name if you “know the code”, meaning the bit of Morse printed below the summary on the back.) Shock and horror, though, as I realized I’m starting to recognize some of the letters

The Book Itself, for real this time

It’s wonderful how the tone of the book really shone through to the show adaptation. Something about the deliberateness of the aesthetic, from the set designs to the fashion to scene compositions, that really sells that particular style— like it’s very clear that this story is being told to us, rather than one we’re seeing unfold, if that makes sense.

Where that narration style stood out to me the most was the first chapter. We are told (rather than shown) how Reynie gets himself to the point of the second test, and there’s this whole twisty time maneuver for that whole sequence of events that’s really interesting

A super secret fun fact about me is that I wanted to be a writer when I was younger! So this particular balance of show vs. tell is really neat, since it runs counter to my own tendencies. The sheer amount of commas in every sentence is also kind of comforting, since Ahah, I Do That in those few serious-ish attempts at writing lol

Overall this book’s style reminds me a lot of Roald Dahl’s books, which are very nostalgic for me :D The whole “kids are more competent than adults” angle helps a lot too haha

The Characters

Oh boy here’s where I get a little bit critical! Overall I did really like this book!! it’s just that that expresses itself in all this weird “”analysis”” lol

Reynie - much better in the books than in the show

It’s sort of a lukewarm take but I feel like show!Reynie is kind of boring? He doesn’t have a lot going on flaw-wise, and obviously since he’s the protagonist he can’t have too many weird traits or else the kids watching can’t project themselves onto him as easily

(I call it the difference between an aspirational protagonist and a vessel protagonist. Going off of the Roald Dahl vibes, think Matilda vs Charlie. show!Reynie is more of a Charlie)

Thus when we get to see him really struggle with the Whisperer and doubt himself it gives him a lot more dimension, at least in my opinion

It is a federal crime that the white knight scenes were not adapted into the show

Sticky - my son

I’ve long held to no one besides myself and my long suffering sister that Sticky is The Best Member of the Society

He happened to hit a lot of the Bingo squares of Stuff I Like In Characters: glasses, anxious, nice :), kind of a coward but ultimately is there for his friends, etc

For some reason I don’t talk about him nearly as much as you-know-who, but I love him just as dearly

Kate & Constance - I don’t have much to say

Kate is really interesting in this book! I like how we get to see more of her depths, in particular that one passage about her belief that she is invincible being the only thing that keeps her from falling apart? :c

Also her constant fidgeting is relatable lol

Constance is somehow a lot more tolerable in the book. I think I’m just one of those people with no patience for small children, unfortunately lol

(Some of) The Adults

It’s interesting that they had such an offscreen presence for most of the book. Giving them more time was probably one of the stronger changes of the show

However if that decision was made at the expense of the white knight scenes I think the choice should have been clear

I like the way Rhonda and Number Two are written

Milligan always on sad boy hours 😔✊

The “mill again” passage is touching but kind of messes up the pacing of the getaway, at least for me. Maybe I should read it again to make sure I didn’t miss something

Miss Perumal is much better in the show. We see so little of her in the book she doesn’t function well as an emotional anchor for Reynie, imo

The Institute Gang

Jackson and Jillson serve their purpose well, and Martina was surprising to say the least. I like the direction they took her in the show! I can’t imagine how funny it must have been to watch the tetherball subplot come out of nowhere lolol

These sections were written out of sequence, so random tidbit I couldn’t fit in The S.Q. Section: I like how he stumbles over his words. relatable

Mr. Curtain

While I think I know why they decided to not give Curtain the wheelchair in the show, we were totally robbed of Actor Tony Hale’s performance for the reveal during the final confrontation

Speaking of the wheelchair, it’s such a powerful symbol of his need for control or rather, his fear of losing it

The Contrast between him and Mr. Benedict. This point is expanded on in A Funny Parallel

Mr. Benedict

Oh boy, Mr. Benedict… How do I say this

I find it hard to trust Mr. Benedict, unfortunately

I mean to say, I do in the sense that I know he would never hurt the kids, thanks to knowing that a) this is a children’s book series and b) the meta (tumblr) states that he is really nice and lovable and stuff, but seriously. Why do the kids trust him at first?? I probably missed something somewhere

I like to think I’m an optimistic person, but unfortunately I’m also super paranoid. The premise of “a bunch of vulnerable orphans team up with a strange old man” is just so odd to me I don’t know how to explain it

I don’t know!!! I really want to trust Mr. Benedict

One of the strengths of the show is that we get to see him more often, and thus he gets to acknowledge more often that the plan is weird and that he feels really badly for putting the kids in danger and that he’s trustworthy and genuine

But his lack of presence for most of the book just makes him into something of a specter, invisible and unknowable, speaking only in riddles from across the bay

Which is why the white knight scene is so important!! I loved that scene ;-;

Because here’s an actual emotional connection! We can actually see it happening, rather than only being told that it exists

Reynie asking for advice and receiving encouragement, in words that demonstrate that Mr. Benedict actually cares about him and worries about him and agghh

It is a federal crime that the white knight scenes were not adapted into the show

But overall this whole issue didn’t ruin my enjoyment of the book at all! It’s just ->

A Funny Parallel

Okay, ready for my biggest brain, hottest take ever??

Mr. Benedict and Mr. Curtain…. are… the same

I mean obviously not entirely, given that one is benevolent and kind and the other is… Mr. Curtain

But seriously. Genius old man seeks out children (mainly orphans) to enact a plan. Said children often end up incredibly devoted to his cause and deeply admire him this is a little flimsy

Undoubtedly that’s intentional and is supposed to show the difference between them, like some kind of cautionary tale? “Let yourself be vulnerable and let others help you, lest you turn eeeeviiillll”

I guess that’s where the aforementioned epic contrast comes in. You get Mr. Curtain, strapped into his wheelchair and hiding behind those mirrored sunglasses, terrified (but unwilling to admit it) of ever showing the tiniest hint of vulnerability, vs. Mr. Benedict, who can let himself fall knowing that someone will catch him :’)

Anyhow I have nothing against the parallels, I just think it’s funny

The S.Q. Section

The S.Q. Quarantine Thread so it doesn’t leak out everywhere else <3

I’d like to meet the emo angstlord genius who read this book and decided to make SQ into Dr. Curtain’s son. What in the world

Okay I should probably preface this by saying that I absolutely adore both book!S.Q. and show!SQ with all my heart. Somehow, despite being a completely different character in both mediums, he has managed to be one of the best characters in either and certainly one of my favorites (besides Sticky of course) in the entire franchise, despite the fact that I’ve only read the first book/watched the show so far. I am confident in this statement.

But seriously! How?? Why?? I could probably write a whole other essay about why show!SQ is such an interesting character, and the change works so incredibly well. I’m just. Baffled

Okay, focus. book!S.Q. is such a sweetheart, oh my goodness. Like, 100% one of the most endearing characters in the book. Poor guy. I don’t even know where to start!!

He just seems to be a genuinely good guy at heart, despite being technically one of the bad guys. He’s genuinely happy for Reynie and Sticky when they became Messengers and helped Kate when she “fell” and was concerned about Constance when she looked sick and how he was in that meeting with Mr. Curtain and Martina?!!? aaahhhhghgh ;-; he just wants people to be happy TT-TT

Comparing him against literally every character at the Institute is probably what makes him so endearing tbh. When everyone else is so awful to the kids, it really makes him stand out. Like a cheerful little nightlight in the worst, most humid and rank bathroom you’ve ever been in

It’s kind of pointless to theorize about a book series that’s already concluded (I think?) but. Is the implication of S.Q.’s forgetfulness supposed to be that Mr. Curtain used him in brainsweeping experiments somehow? The timeline probably definitely absolutely doesn’t line up but like. How did he get to being a Messenger being the way he is now, given how cutthroat the process is? And then of course Mr. Curtain keeps him around as an Executive because he’s fun to mess with and presumably his loyalty. I’m very curious as to how their relationship develops in the other books, if at all. Those are probably where the seeds of the “let’s make them family” logic were planted

But wouldn’t it be hilarious if the reason we don’t know what “S.Q.” stands for in the books is that he just. Forgot

Another thing that occurred to me. Given that he and the other Executives were Messengers at some point, what were their worst fears? What is S.Q.’s worst fear?? Inquiring minds need to know

One last horrible little anecdote: I was thinking about book!S.Q. while eating breakfast, as one does, and suddenly it hit me.

I want to believe The Author Trenton Lee Stewart had the name for a character, S.Q. Pedalian, and was like, “Hm! What sort of quirky trait should this young fellow have?” Because, of course, in this style of fiction every character has to have at least one cartoonish or otherwise distinguishing trait to stand out in the minds of children. (For instance, Kate has her bucket, Sticky has his glasses, Constance is angry, and Reynie is Emmett from the Lego Movie)

Anyhow, he looks around the room, searching for inspiration. Suddenly he comes across a jumbo box of plastic wrap. Completely innocuous in design, save for one line of text. 300 SQ FT.

“…large… S.Q. …feet? THAT’S IT!” i’m sorry

Lines & Scenes I Liked

In no particular order!

Sticky quotes Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Evil combination aerobics/square dancing in the gym with the Executives

Everyone being happy at the end :’)

Everyone partying after Sticky reunites with his parents, and later finding Mr. Benedict asleep at his desk from the moment they shook hands :’’)

Literally any scene with Sticky in it

Any time Kate says “you boys” or “gosh”

[“Um, sir?” S.Q. said timidly, raising his hand. “A thought just occurred to me.” / Mr. Curtain raised his eyebrows. “That’s remarkable, S.Q. What is it?”] clown prince of my heart </3

S.Q.’s determined monologue about searching for clues after he bungled up the first time

Literally any scene with S.Q. in it (please refer to The S.Q. Section)

Reynie trying to resist the Whisperer.

[Let us begin. / First let me polish my spectacles, Reynie thought. / Let us begin. / Not without my bucket, Reynie insisted. He heard Mr. Curtain muttering behind him. / Let us begin, let us begin, let us begin. / Rules and schools are tools for fools, Reynie thought.]

NO MORE HURTIN’ WITH CURTAIN

Milligan showing up on the island!!

Remember the white knight hhhhhh

“controle”

A Super Secret Bonus Section

I would be extremely surprised if anyone read through all the way down here lol. Regardless, here’s a little acknowledgements section :D not tagging anyone since I don’t want to bother all of these people

Special shoutout to tumblr blog stonetowns for unknowingly yet singlehandedly demolishing my reluctance to read the books by posting a ton of cute quotes. Thank you for your service o7

Thanks to the two OGs that liked the post I made right before this one, for being my unwitting enablers and for sticking around despite being a) technically an internet stranger (hello!) and b) someone I haven’t spoken to irl in literal years (hey!!)

Last but not least thankz 2 my sister for putting up with me ranting about the book when I first got it and for asking about “CQ” sometimes lol. (i desperately hope you’re not reading this orz)

[whattheheehaw]

Hi! I’m sorry you’re getting shitty anons about this and you’re probably sick of it so I apologise for asking this but I’m genuinely curious what made you start actively disliking zutara? Like, considering how much excellent and insightful content/meta you yourself used to make/write? I get that interests change over time and you’re totally valid!! the anons sending you hate over it are really dumb, but if you’d be ok with sharing, I’d be really interested in hearing why you’ve done almost a complete 180 on the ship? Was is just burnout/end of a hyper-obsession? Or was it some of us in the rest of the fandom that turned you off? Or was it even something about the ship/characters themselves that you changed your mind about? xx

In short, it was a combination of burnout, dissatisfaction with fandom, and disappointment in myself that caused my disinterest for Zvtara.

I got asks similar to this one a couple of times before, but I never gave a comprehensive answer, mainly because I didn't know how to articulate my reasons why I don't like it anymore. But now that I've been out of ZK fandom for a month and have had some time to reflect, I think I can give a much more thorough response. Beware, this is long and I heavily critique the Zvtara fandom, so if you're a ZK shipper, keep reading at your own risk.

My first minor annoyance with Zvtara is that the fandom has a tendency to idolize certain fics and creators. And while there’s certainly nothing inherently wrong about that, I feel like the Zvtara fandom does it to such an extent that it influences the type of content that content creators make in order to get recognition. And to illustrate my point, I’m going to talk about one of the most famous Zvtara fics of all time: Once Around The Sun by eleventy7.

Don’t get me wrong, I love OATS. I think it’s a great fanfic and I think the author devoted a lot of time and effort to make it such an excellent fic. The plot, the development of the characters and their relationships to one other, and the messages about family and love were all brilliantly written. I mean, there is a reason why it’s regarded as the “Zvtara Bible”. This one fanfic had such a profound impact upon the ZK fandom, and I think the biggest impact that came from it is the dramatic influx of post-war Zvtara AU fanfiction. 

Because so many people kept reading OATS and recommending it to others, I think there was an overall interest in ZK fics that take place in a post-war setting. And I think that all of the high praise towards OATS made more fic writers start to write post-war fanfics because of this demand for post-war AU.* I normally wouldn't complain about it because more content is more content, but in my opinion, 99% of ZK post-war fics are the same fic but in different fonts.

Like, there's at least 3 of these elements in every ZK post-war fanfic:

Ambassador Katara

An assassination attempt (usually on Zuko's life)

A healing scene between Zuko and Katara (usually Katara heals Zuko)

Aang and/or Mai is pushed to the side or vilified to some extent in order to make ZK happen

A private journey between Zuko and Katara to facilitate #6

S L O W B U R N (that's not really slowburn and more like "I love you and I very much want to be vocal about my feelings but #7 is in this fic" but the love story takes up like 30 chapters so I guess it's a slowburn?)

Zuko's advisers don't want him to get married to Katara because ✨racism✨

Ursa is found

Azula is in the fic because a) she's going to get a healing arc ft. Zuko and Katara and thereby helps them get together or b) she's the villain and thereby helps them get together

ZK wedding happens in the FN

After reading multiple post-war fics back to back, I could tell that the format was pretty much the same across the board, which isn't very interesting for me to read. My only other fic options in the Zvtara tag on AO3 are canon divergence fics which almost always take place during The Crossroads of Destiny or after The Southern Raiders. And to some extent, those stories are pretty much the same too. There's nothing really new or creative going on in the ZK fandom fic-wise, and because of that, my interest in ZK fandom started to dwindle.

My second issue with Zvtara is that it's a very old ship from a very old show. Because there's been 10+ years since the end of A:TLA, every nuanced point about shipping and the show itself have been talked to death.** There's just nothing new to say. It's the same arguments being rehashed over and over again in the tag because there's no other interpretation one can come up with.

For example, there's so many people who talk about why Zvtara as depicted in The Southern Raiders is not toxic and that's great and all, but I (and most likely many others) have read those same points about five times already. And for some reason, each time this happens, people act like someone just discovered the lost city of Atlantis when they bring up their new-but-not-new argument in defense of Zvtara. Honestly, I'm ashamed to say that I'm not exempt from being part of the group of people that reiterate old arguments. I've done it with one of my posts about The Southern Raiders and I've done it again with my Zutara/Omashu parallels post.

There's no new content to really dissect and analyze (especially considering Zuko and Katara are rarely in the same panel in any of the post-war comics), and because of this, people are just restating points that someone else made several years ago.*** And even if someone did have a different interpretation of an episode, their ideas would most likely be shut down because for the past several years, the same interpretation has been recycled through the fandom repeatedly and people are resistant to new perspectives.

This brings me to the third thing that I dislike about Zvtara: the insistence that there can only be one way to interpret The Southern Raiders. For the longest time, I've read take after take that said if Katara decided to kill Yon Rha, it would be ok because that's her grief to deal with and if she thinks that's the best way to mete out justice, then good for her. And again, I'm ashamed to say that I perpetuated that idea in a few of my own posts. I have always thought that "Katara killing Yon Rha is ok" is just a bad take in general, but I didn't want to vocalize that opinion when so many people—so many of the nice mutuals that I made—all shared that same opinion. Taking down a popular opinion of your own ship is completely different from taking down a popular opinion of a ship that you dislike. The Zvtara fandom is the first fandom that I was actually active in and I wanted to fit in so badly with everyone else that I just parroted whatever other people said, even if I didn't agree with those sentiments.

This leads me to my final reason why I don't want to be a part of ZK fandom anymore. I think I established myself as a "meta" person pretty early on and because of that, I constantly felt pressured to come up with new takes on the ship. And when people started flooding my ask box with stuff like "Can you write a meta about your thoughts on the idea that 'Zuko only took Katara on that field trip in TSR because he wanted her to forgive him'?" and "What are your thoughts about antis saying Zuko and Katara are toxic because of TSR?", I realized that I don't need to come up with new takes. People just want me to paraphrase something that 10 other people said about the same exact topic, because if I said what I actually thought about the subject (i.e. there is some truth in what antis say about TSR and it's not as much of a "Zvtara episode" that most people make it out to be), I'd probably get ZK shippers in the replies telling me that I'm wrong because x, y, and z or "you shouldn't tag this as Zvtara".

And that was pretty much how my love for ZK turned into disinterest. I was and still am disappointed that I didn't stick to my personal opinions. For as much as I talk about herd mentality on Twitter, I certainly don't practice what I preach. In all honesty, the only reason why I held on so long to ZK fandom was because I had so many nice mutuals there and we all shared this collective distaste for antis. I think I started to become more anti-Zvkka and anti-Kataang than pro-Zvtara, which isn't what I wanted to do when I made this Tumblr blog.

The thing that made me joke about becoming anti-Zvtara was the fact that some ZK shippers just like to send shitty anons to people whom they've reblogged countless different metas from. Sending shitty anons to people in the first place is wrong, but sending them to people who tagged their posts correctly and did nothing wrong is just disgusting.

*I'm not a fic writer and can't speak for fic writers, but it definitely feels like a lot of ZK fic authors are pushing themselves to write the next OATS, and by doing so, they are proliferating the tag with post-war fics that have very similar aspects to OATS.

**I think that as more people point out the same nuanced points about Zvtara, it diminishes the actual significance of those points. Like, it's hard to explain but the more people talk about the subtleties of the ship, the more those parts become glaringly obvious and I become numb to their actual impact on the characters and the show.

***At this point, if someone wanted to make a new argument about Zvtara, I think they would have to look very closely at every little detail in every single one of their scenes together to find a crumb of new meta material. And speaking from experience, it's not very fun trying to make a mountain out of a molehill. Whenever I post a "meta" like that, I feel like I'm reaching to make a point that doesn't exist.

[janiedean]

crack prompt inspired by all the tvd talk on your blog: damon, jaime, tony stark all walk into a bar alone and end up drunk oversharing ~~

(if you wanna include ships in it anything with delena/dalaric/bamon; brienne; pepper/bruce/strange/rhodey is okay lmfao so pretty much anything goes, i just want them being each other's therapist because the timeline collapsed for some time and their universes interacted somehow lmfao)

*spins the wheel* AAAND hello anon we can absolutely try that u__u

ten years on tumblr anniversary prompt post | buy me a coffee | commissions open

Well, now I really did bite off more than I could chew, Tony thinks as he shakes his head and hopes that he and Bruce didn't fuck up the entire fabric of reality.

Well.

He's not in New York and he wasn't in the span of five seconds since they got the machine turned on, but - but well. Bruce isn't here, so hopefully he'll figure out where the fuck he ended up. Maybe we should have been sober when trying to work out that whole different timelines and multiverses thing.

Now, damage control. He should probably try to not go anywhere, but in case he actually just... teleported somewhere, maybe he should just ask where he is. He glances at his back. He's in front of a bar named Mystic Grill, which... okay, shitty name, but he could be anywhere in fuck-all-middle-of-nowhere Idaho for all he knows. He takes out his cellphone, and there is zero reception.

Bad news.

He sees a blonde kid with a police badge coming up the road, so he clears his throat and stops him.

"Uh, officer?"

"Hello," the kid says, "I don't remember seeing you around here."

Yeah, because I'm not from this world, most likely. "Eh," Tony lies, "I was driving my car but it broke down outside town and the way I got in, there wasn't a sign. Would you mind telling me where exactly I ended up?"

"Mystic Falls," the guy says, "I didn't know the damned State of Virginia now took us off the maps, too." That was sarcastic, Tony can hear it, but.

He's sure that there is no such place where he comes from.

"Right," Tony says, "I'll, uh, be out to find a mechanic then."

The kid gives him instructions to reach one, Tony thanks him and lets him go. Well, he can't certainly go anywhere now, but at least it seems like they fucked up just his -

"What the fuck," he hears from his left side -

Just in time to see a blonde guy wearing a white armor and a white cloak fall through a portal just the same as his own, that disappears a moment later. The blonde guy has green eyes, Tony notices, is lacking a right hand because he has a rather heavy golden prothesis on it that looks tacky also for his own tastes and looks completely out of his depth as he moves to his feet.

"Uh," Tony says, "I imagine you aren't from... here."

"Certainly not," the guy says, sounding... near hysterical, as he takes the surroundings. "What - what are those things anyway?" Cars. Oh fuck, he's looking at cars. "How are you dressed? What - what are these houses?"

"Er," Tony says, "humor me a moment. What's your name and where do you come from?"

The guy rolls his eyes. "Jaime Lannister, and I come from Westeros, thank you very much, now where the hell am I?"

... Great, Tony thinks, now it's not even someplace where the USA exist. "Er," Tony says, "in another world. Listen, it's my fault, I, uh, sort of caused it, and my colleague will most likely fix it, but it's really better we don't go anywhere so he can locate us more easily. Tell you what, can I buy you a drink while we wait?"

"Another world?" The guy blurts, and then - then he stares at Tony, then at his surroundings, then rolls his eyes again.

"You know what," he says, "I've had a shit long day. What can this be on top of fucking undead Catelyn Stark? Buy me the fucking drink."

I'm not doing drunk science anymore, Tony vows to himself as they walk inside the place, and he really hopes he can spin some story as to why the guy with him is wearing bonafide armor -

"And who the fuck are the two of you now?"

So: Tony had not taken into account that there would be just one person in the bar and that this person would be of course not human because no one human could pin the two of them to the wall in a split second and hold them there with such strength, and that's how he finds out that pretty guy with blue eyes, dark hair, pale skin and homicidal face is a damned vampire.

Except that the moment Tony explains it - Jaime or whoever he is is just keeping his mouth shut, wisely - the guy stares at them, and then more, and then -

"With everything I've seen in the last years," he says, "honestly, that's not even the most fucking stupid. So, you just want to lounge around until your friend shows up to fix whatever the fuck you did?"

"Er, yes?"

"Whatever. I'm Damon. I can cover your drinks and compel the bartender to forget your face. I sorely fucking need some myself."

He lets them go, but then - "Get that armor off," he tells Jaime, "this isn't New York City."

"I can't just leave my armor around!"

"Just leave it in the bathroom and take it back later," Damon shrugs, and then nods towards what's most likely the bathroom.

Jaime shrugs and goes, muttering something about maybe having drank too much milk of the poppy, and Tony doesn't want to know whatever the hell that is.

--

"Listen," Jaime says later, wearing an attire that's still obviously Middle-Ages-like but at least doesn't stand out too much, sipping at the bourbon Damon shoved at them, "I'm choosing to think I'm making this all up, but if I'm not, how long will it be before I can go back where I come from? Because you dragged me away from a rather fucking delicate situation."

"No idea," Tony shrugs, "but he's good at his job. And he was less drunk than me. We might get you back at the point you left."

"And what would that delicate situation be?" Damon asks. "Entertain me."

"And why should I tell you?"

"First, I bought you that alcohol and you're definitely enjoying it. Second, this is my town and I could tear your throat open if I wanted to." Fuck. He just showed fangs at the both of them. What the fuck. "Also, my murderous former girlfriend who is the cause of all my problems just finally fucked off this planet for good after possessing my current girlfriend who looks like her but really is the whole contrary and my best friend just came back to life after being dead for a whole lot of time and it's a complicated situation and I need a distraction or ten."

"That... sounds like something," Tony mutters, sipping at his alcohol. It's good, at least.

"Believe me, it is. So, what's the poison from Middle Ages here?"

"Ah, fuck that," Jaime says, takes a drink, and starts talking.

--

Half an hour later, Tony thinks that he and Damon are equally staring at the guy with the same disbelieving face.

"... Was that the undead woman that got you like this?" Jaime asks, blinking. "Considering that he seems like he's some kind of living dead, that's a tad hypocritical."

"No," Damon says, "that's the least of my problems. How haven't you frenched this Brienne person already?"

"I frenched?"

"Dude, he's from the Middle Ages," Tony takes pity on him. "He means put your tongue in her mouth."

"I - what - she's not - I'm not -"

"Listen," Damon cuts him, "I've been there. I mean, thinking I couldn't live without an arse who didn't give a fuck about me, which you admitted. But you do realize you spent at least five minutes of your charming tale describing us exactly how this Brienne of yours is ripped and has pretty eyes and was about to die for you?"

"Yeah, uh," Tony says, "let it come from someone who had the right people in front of him for ages and didn't let himself go for it, you really don't wanna drag it any longer."

"That's - she's a knight, that's not -"

"Oh, sure, all knights are shit where you come from, you said that, but suddenly someone would rather hang than kill you and you're here jittering because you got sucked here while she's dealing with a zombie that wanted you dead but I have to think you don't wanna french her?" Damon rolls his eyes again, pours himself another drink and honestly, Tony has cut down on the alcohol lately but he's gonna just make a damned exception. "Please."

"He's right," Tony says, "and also, let it come from someone whose dad was loaded on money and fairly shitty and still way better than yours, whatever he said about you is wrong."

"How do you know -" Jaime starts, half-blanching.

"Told you," Tony shrugs, "loaded on money, shitty father, at least I missed out on the shit sister. Honestly, man, just fucking drop her like hot coal and follow your gut. And let it come from someone who's fucked around a lot to get distracted, if you wanted to bone her in that bath then you're into her."

"I -" Jaime goes red in the face, finishes the drink, "it's not like it ever happened with anyone else before, it was a mistake, most likely -"

Damon gives him a look that looks halfway worried.

Tony thinks he just matched it, except even more worried.

"My vampire friend," he says, "are you thinking what I am thinking?"

"I'm afraid so," Damon says, and then looks back at Jaime. "Newsflash," he goes on, "if you get hard looking at a naked woman most likely you find her attractive. Also, you can find more than one person attractive in your life. And let it come from someone who's been there in the sense that I thought I could only love fucking Katherine, you really don't want to keep on doing it."

"I didn't say I wasn't done with Cersei," Jaime replies, somewhat weakly.

"Good," the two of them reply at the same time, and Tony has to snort.

"Look at that," he says, "for once I'm the one with the healthiest relationship history sitting at a table. Who'd have thought?"

"Fuck this," Damon says, "I'm getting more bourbon."

"Please," Jaime says, and - well. Seems like when Bruce comes to collect him, Tony won't be sober.

--

"Wait," Jaime says, "wait, wait, wait, she possessed your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, well, as if," Damon shrugs, "honestly, sometimes I think I should have just run away to New York after deserting."

"You deserted what?" Tony asks.

"The fucking confederacy," Damon shrugs. "Well, what are you staring about? I'm a vampire, I've been around ages, I'm from fucking middleofnowhere Virginia, you think I got drafted with the unionists? But I disagreed and I hated it and I never wanted to go, so I fucking deserted. I hope you aren't here judging me, or -"

"Please, I used to build weapons for the army and stopped when I realized it wasn't what I wanted to be, and honestly, that just means you have a conscience, so -"

"Wait, you did what," Jaime says.

"Deserted. An army. Back in the day. Risked my neck for it, and I came back and met Katherine and honestly I should have just gone North, but -"

"Hm," Jaime says, drinking, and then - "you don't regret it?"

"No," Damon says at once, "best decision I ever took. Why, you want to do that, too?"

"Sure he wants to," Tony says when Jaime doesn't immediately reply. "Let me guess, not just your army. You want to desert the whole shebang, don't you?"

"I don't know what a fucking shebang is, but yes. So what?"

"Well, if you want my been there done that advice, do that," Damon shrugs. "From what it sounds like, your entire world is collapsing because of zombies anyway, what do you have to lose? Your sister? You're better fucking off without."

Jaime stares down at the glass, then knocks it down. "Can I have another?"

"Sure," Damon says, and generously tips it.

--

"So what," Tony says, "now that your best friend you had a thing with while your girlfriend was with your brother is back to life you're having trouble adjusting?"

"She also hadn't been possessed by my murderous ex until then," Damon shrugs.

Jaime just looks at them, then drinks some more. "Who am I to judge on that anyway," he says, "but that sounds like a lot of work."

"You wouldn't believe," Damon shrugs, knocking down some more of his bourbon. "Never mind that Stefan won't get over brooding instead of fessing up to the girl he is in love with now, but it's not like I hadn't expected it."

"Tell him to," Jaime says at once. "I let my father fuck things up for my brother once and I hate that I ever did, just - don't."

"This is getting fucking eerie," Damon says.

Tony, who is currently feeling very thankful he doesn't have siblings, takes another sip. Then -

"Man, if it's complicated just date the both of them. If they both like you and aren't the kind of super monogamous people that can't handle a threesome once in a while, they won't have a problem."

"... And what do you know?"

He shrug. "Well," he says, "my steady girlfriend was in front of my eyes for years. Took us a while to get over ourselves. The guy I was doing drunk science with, well. Was an instant hit and I didn't let myself drag it in the centuries and guess what, we have a nice lovely arrangement where I'm with both of them, they commiserate about how much of an idiot I can be and sometimes we all occasionally have sex. It's grand. You should try it."

And I really hope Bruce shows up soon.

"Huh," Damon says, "maybe it has merit. For me. Not for you."

Jaime sputters. "I said nothing!"

"You shouldn't even think about threesomes. I can see it in your face you're not the type. And certainly not including your sister."

"Fuck you," Jaime replies without meaning it, "I was not considering that." Huh. Now he sounds offended Damon implied it. Maybe he really will fess up to the other one when he's back.

"Then it means this enlightening talk has enlightened you," Tony grins. "Mind telling us more about that hand?"

"And why?"

Tony shrugs. It's not like he doesn't have time to waste. "What if I could help you with that thing?" He says, nodding towards Jaime's stump, and then - well. Time to test if he can summon the armor here, too.

--

"God," Damon says a while later, "I'll have to compel that poor bartender so hard, but fuck this is something."

Sure it is, Tony grins. "Hey, I managed to fuck with quantum reality, I'm not the first idiot that passes by."

"Seven Hells," Jaime says, "I have no idea what it is you're putting on me but if it works half as well as that thing you have, I'm going to show back up in King's Landing just to show my sister who has the useless hand now. If she didn't get herself killed."

"Well, now that is one reason I could approve of," Tony laughs, "and don't fucking move."

Sure, building a prothesis from the rests of whatever nonfunctioning electronics the bartender had lying around is... somewhat a challenge, but as stated, he has time to waste and it's not like he's wanted anywhere soon.

"By the way," Damon says as he watches him tinker around with the toolkit he found him in the backroom, "do you need advice in the whole I fucked up and want my brother to forgive me department?"

"What if I do?" Jaime replies through his teeth. "Because now that would distract me from how much this entire thing is fucking hurting."

The more they talk while he tinkers, the more Tony decides he's absolutely glad he was an only child and that his father only fucked one son up.

--

"You're doing this while not even being fucking sober?" Damon knocks back more bourbon. "You sure you don't wanna stay here and turn into an immortal? You'd be useful."

"Thanks but I like my life as it is," Tony snorts. "But if you need tech tinkered with, you can ask while I'm here."

Jaime is just staring at the steel-colored hand coming to life while Tony puts piece after piece together, his throat working up and down.

He drinks some more. "Fuck, if only I had such a thing when I realized what the fuck Aerys had turned into."

"Wait, who's Aerys now?" Damon asks.

--

He hadn't told them that part in detail.

When he's done and Tony is at the fourth finger, he kind of wants to hurl, but mostly -

"Do we really have to stay here," Damon says, "or you think we could sneak him to a VA? I can compel them to just hear that he's talking about Vietnam or something."

"He's not old enough for Vietnam, but you know what, I think we could risk that."

"What in the Seven Hells is a VA?"

"Someone I really could have used in the nineteenth century," Damon sighs, and then just as Tony moves to the last finger -

"Tony, what the hell is this?"

--

Turns out, where Bruce comes from it took him two days to figure this out. He also immediately spots three different improvements Tony could do to that hand, and when he hears the entire shebang he raises his hands and says that he can send Jaime right back when he left at any point and he and Tony, too, but he supposes that if they want to compel the VA before they leave it's not like he's in a hurry, and wait, vampires?

Damon ends up asking him if the threesome thing is really working out as well as Tony says.

While he does, Tony manages the finishing touches on the sort-of-steel-and-iron-hand he cobbled up together, and thank fuck Bruce showed up because he had been the one studying how Barnes's arm worked, back in the day, and gave Tony the pointer he needed to make sure the entire thing was... well, connected to the nervous system without needing to rip Jaime's wrist open.

"Right," he says, "try to move the fingers."

Jaime holds them in a fist.

It works.

"Seven fucking hells -"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a genius. Just keep it out of too many lines of fire, but if you're from the middle ages it should withstand most stuff. You're welcome. And go french that knight of yours instead of waiting, really."

"I think in between him and you, you've made a case. Uh, thank you, I -"

"Nonsense, I was the reason you're here, I might as well have helped out. Hey," he says, "so, what about a last round before we drag him to the VA and Bruce here settles everything?"

"I'm so down for it," Damon says.

"Do I even have a choice," Bruce groans, but then he does sit down at the same table and lets Tony fill his glass.

"Oh, don't look like that," Tony says, "after all I didn't destroy the universe and made some friends, it could have gone worse."

"Wouldn't know about that, but I could have done worse, too," Damon says, and orders more bourbon.

"I sure as the fucking Seven Hells will never manage to explain this to anyone," Jaime says, "but I guess I'm not too disappointed, either."

"Tony," Bruce groans, "did you manage to somehow end up with two people with - never mind. Of course you did. We're never doing drunk science again, hear me?"

"Maybe so," Tony agrees, though... well.

Maybe he will want to check on them, once in a while.

But he can think about how to convince Bruce to make sure they can later.

For now, he'll enjoy his last round.

[fa-by]

Hellooo babies and dear Anons 👋🏼🤗 Welcome to a new ‘Q&A’ post. Enjoy 🙃

Here, dear Anon. I spoke and gave my interpretation of Find U Again here: https://fa-by.tumblr.com/post/648195009382842368/2-%C9%9F (sixth question).

Here, dear Anon. I talked about Michael Clifford here: https://fa-by.tumblr.com/post/648194217526640640/%C9%9F (Point n° 2).

Nope and nope, dear Anon. Camila was in a relationship before they got together. May I advise you to listen to their songs with a little more attention, dear?

They were certainly more distant, dear Anon. As for the not speaking, it was a bit impossible not to do it work-wise speaking, but they certainly didn't talk about them and their situation. Not until Laur finally got her head out of her ass.

1) Of course I do, dear Anon. 2) She didn't hide it very well as you say. 3) Yes, because Lauren, but also Camila, are anything but subtle when they're jealous.

Thank you so much, dear Anon 🤗 and forgive me, but I don't think I understood what you mean. Do you mean if they were angry at each other? Because if they were angry at each other, then I don't think they shared a room 🤷🏻‍♀‍

Hiii to you too, baby CS 👋🏼😄 Lauren created her Tumblr at 14, so, no, I'm sorry, dear. It has nothing to do with Camila.

Hello to you too, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 When they stopped communicating again. It became painful when they stopped sharing with each other moments, situations, feelings, desires, opinions, fears, and everything that is enclosed in communication. But this happened after their first breakup. Their real first breakup lasted very little and led to their rings, dear. Sooo.

No, dear Anon, they weren't fighting. That was a soundcheck, not the concert. Can't you see they didn't have their white stage costumes? Can't you see they were all lazily rehearsing the steps? And then, I'm sorry, dear, but have you ever seen Camila angry? Does it look like she's angry here?

That's just Mila being Mila, dear Anon 🤣

No, dear Anon. That rumor was created as soon as the video of Camila singing the ‘The Hills/Crazy in Love’ mashup cover came out on July 3, 2015. It's just that. A cover like many others she's done. Mila at the time still didn't have the possibility and the access to record in a professional studio outside of 5H, so let alone if she could write and sell a song. And another proof I can give you about this is the fact that she hadn't even written I Know What You Did Last Summer yet. Camila, Ally, and Troy (Ally's ex-boyfriend) went to Taylor's ‘1989 Tour’ concert on July 10, 2015 (Shiseido was one of the opening acts, and that was the day ‘they wrote’, sure, Jane, a part of IKWDLS backstage). Exactly 7 days after that video. So, dear Anon, my answer is no. I don't believe at all in the possibility that it happened.

Hello to you too, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 Yes, I read it, and no, dear. The story was written in 2014, so even though we can find coincidences today, it means absolutely nothing. They're just that: coincidences. The girl who wrote it, Jazmin, is from Germany, and that alone should make you realize she's not an insider. She's just a really talented and brilliant girl who has been able to write stories like Do I Wanna Know, CC7, and LJ10.

Of course I've seen/heard that video, dear Anon. I also talked about it in my last post, about the kiss more specifically. And to answer your questions:

1) neither. You can hear someone say: “This is weird. I missed you so much”. And honestly? I find this part of the audio so incredibly strange. You wanna know why? Because the video starts with screaming fans, right? One of them even screaming Lauren’s name. Then there's this sentence said at the same time as the kiss. That alone proves they didn't say it, but that’s not even what makes that sentence weird for me. It's the fact that I believe it was inserted into the video. I mean, I can't hear what Lucy and Nando are saying who are much closer to the camera than Camren, but I can clearly hear this sentence which is should supposedly have been said by one of them in a low voice from inside the van? Like, whaaaat? Come on, now. Look and listen for yourself if you don't believe me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAZS1QhEgoU.

2) Surprised by what? And why are you so sure they slept together?

I hope you're having a good day too, dear Anon.

Hello to you too, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 To me, Camila explains in a brilliantly sarcastic and sassy way, how she doesn't need a guy. Like “Cinderella never asked for a prince”, in this case, her.

If you think about it, all Disney princesses are beautiful, well-dressed, thin, with long hair, often naïve, and especially in the first movies, white. And all of them always follow the same basic model: they wait for the intervention of prince charming to solve the problems of their existence. Disney has luckily evolved over the years, but do you realize that they’ve made us grow up with the idea that to save us from our troubles and to change our lives, will be the encounter with ‘the right man’? That finding the love of one's life is the goal for a woman, and that beauty is the means to conquer it?

Disney movies, undoubtedly, convey a lot of positive messages. They can spur us on to being altruistic and optimistic, to commit ourselves to what we do, to try to change our own destiny, etc., etc. But they also have negative aspects and messages like, indeed, a Cinderella. The poor and beautiful maid, forced to work as a scullery maid by her stepmother and evil stepsisters, envious of her beauty. An unhappy housewife who doesn’t lift a finger to change the bad situation she’s in. And what's the only way her life changes? When the handsome and rich prince she met for only five minutes, marries her. I mean, what? Sis, you danced for a couple of hours at a party with him! You basically know nothing about him, but you marry him? Okay...

Disney animated movies are rites of passage, and although it may not seem from what I said, I really love animated movies. Although they have messages that may or may not adversely affect, they're also beautiful and fun. I grew up seeing them, and I am who I am today. I watched the videotapes every day and knew them all by heart. But then growing up, I realized that not everything they show is right. So, I advise you, dear Anon, and whoever is reading this, if you have a little sister, a little cousin, or are dealing with little girls, please, explain the differences to them as you watch those movies with them. Explain to them that beauty isn't everything. Explain to them that they don't need to be blonde and blue-eyed like Cinderella. Because they are and will be beautiful as they are, and that especially when they're older, this will not have to become a requirement to be socially accepted.

But anyway. Sorry if I dwelt, dear Anon 😅 I believe Camila used this song as her own unique way to dispel the stereotype of the classic Disney princess. Sentences like “She said ‘a dream is a wish your heart makes’, and he's a sad reality”, “Us twenty first century girls need chivalry too”, and “I'm still a damn princess to you” make us understand this. She didn't need a guy, and that's all the song stands for. Hope you have a good day too, dear 😊

🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍

Aaand I'm done 😛 I hope I was helpful in this case too 🙃 Thank you all for your asks and as usual, know that I'm available for those who have questions, so feel free to ask 😊

Always remember to be kind, to others and to yourselves. Be a good example. Be patient. Be safe and take care of yourselves. Don't let our ship sink. Keep shipping them, but please respectfully 🙏🏼 Sending you virtual love and hugs 🤗🤗🤗 I love you, babies. Always with love, F ❤️

[garrothromeave]

the hell is mystreet season 6??

(warning, long post ahead)

ok so before i start this

1) ive never posted shiiiit on tumblr before so watch me suffer, im just here to talk about stuff that my friends who dont know anything about aphmau have to listen to me rant about for hours on end

2) i havent seen mystreet in like years (except season 3, i watch that frequently since im laurance and shadow knight deprived) so please bear with me because i might be completely wrong on this lol. it’s just like, pointing out things i remember

3) im sure someones already talked about this but who cares

4) im gonna do this stupid thing where i just explain myself a bit at first, if you dont want to read that just skip to the part where you see “the actual thingy:” in bold and italics 

5) mild disclaimer; i am completely aware that jessica is not a professional writer. i know that she did her best to appeal to her fans, and honestly, respect for that. while this post will come off as aggressive and probably look like hate, that’s not my intention in the slightest. it’s just... intense criticism. im sure y’all probably already know that, but yeah, just stating that anyways. i do believe that jess is doing her best, and in no way do i want to dismiss any hard work she’s done. that being said; prepare for a very strongly opinionated post.

haha watch there be 10000+ typos in this making me look like a complete dumbass

ok here we go 

one of the main reasons i stopped watching aphmau back in 2017 was the mess that was season 4. like, in the first few episodes of the emerald secret, i thought “woah!! this is kinda cool, im a sucker for mystery!” because of course i was, it was something new and something exciting. the only problem i had with it at the time was kim, but that’s just because i always found her annoying and out of place. i just didn’t understand why garroth dragged her along and honestly i still don’t to this day BUT, moving on.

anyways, as the season progressed, 13 year old me was of course just “:0!!” the entire time--that is, up until the reveal of the main villain. i remember watching the episode, seeing the reveal of ein, and then stopping. like, just for a quick break, but i was still just overwhelmingly disappointed. like, and this was the time when pdh was airing and ein just got made alpha (i think?) and i had really really liked eins character in pdh. either way, that really sucked and actually opened my eyes to a lot of things.

one of the main things bein’ the fact that this was supposed to be a slice of life kinda series that decided to take a turn to a more edgy kinda approach. which, i guess i regularly wouldnt mind? but seeing as mcd was kinda bein neglected at the time it just didnt sit right with me. BUT WHATEVER, point is i stopped watching mystreet all together at the end of season 4.

like, a whole year later my brother tells me that shit’s getting intense in season 5 + 6 of mystreet, and my brilliant self decided to give it a shot--but i refused to watch all of season 5, so i only stepped in when ein made an appearance. so whenever that was, that’s where i picked up because i didnt care enough to see 

and y’know--i honestly didn’t hate it at first. in fact, i found it oddly cool. it wasn’t enough to get me into aphmau again, but it was enough to where i was intrigued. i dont know why, but i never watched the finale, so i didnt see the ending until just a few weeks ago--but back then, i thought it was neat. looking back on it however... im just so confused. 

side note: only got back into aphmau this time around because of mcd. mainly because like, i adore the first season and the first half of the second season. and being nearly 18 now, im a lot more appreciative of plot and well-written characters n junk. 

the actual thingy:

ok back on track. imma stop spilling out my story of how i got back into aphmau, and lets just skip to what rewatching mcd made me realize of season 6′s plot and shit:

-emmalyn. how the fuck does ghost even remotely exist? if she’s emmalyn as claimed, then why have we already seen emmalyn in the mystreet universe alive? look i get that creators can do whatever they want with their stories but at the same time please provide some sort of explanation good god. and maybe they did and i just havent seen it, so if there is one--let me know. but until that day imma just sit here confused as fuck

-ok so imma just be real, the whole ‘ultima’ thing is just... not great. in my opinion, anyways. like... i saw someone mention this in another post, but if this ultima stuff was like, a really big deal, why isnt it mentioned in mcd? though i suppose since its a curse of sorts, it could be later on past the time period in which mcd takes place--but even then, how did it manage to make its way into aaron’s family bloodline? 

-WHY IS EVERYONE AT STARLIGHT ITS JUST SO CONVINIENT like what happened to this place being the most expensive shit on the planet or whatever, and how the gang happens to run into like, the werewolf trio and blaze and kai and guy and nate all of these people like god damn life doesnt WORK LIKE THAT 

-im sorry but turning people into relics? thats... thats the best you could come up with? plus, like, how does that even work? in mcd it’s established that relics are separate entitles that choose their wielder, based on a ‘personal’ connection (being a descendent of a previous wielder) or if they’re a good match personality and (i think?) moral wise. so the whole turning-people-into-relics doesnt make much sense to be honest. 

-irene really over here using her god powers to only keep her friends alive like god damn not a great god if you ask me 

-can i talk about how incredibly predictable aphmaus death was? like i just kinda sat there waiting for it to happen and when it did i literally went “haha! wonder when she’ll be revived” because god forbid we actually kill off characters 

-when aphmau + demon warlock fought in the irene dimension there was no passage of time whatsoever in the real world whiiiiiiiiich really bothers me because they fought in there for at least a few minutes

-speaking of aphmau and the demon warlocks fight does it bother anyone else that it had to be aaron who took over the fight?? like we get it hes the big protector blah blah blah but god damn it wouldve been cooler if aphmau had fought this battle as her. aaron fighting this battle was so underwhelming

-...love. like, thats the only thing thats needed to break out of a forever potion? love? LIKE YEAH, GOOD GUYS GOTTA WIN SOMEHOW, but its just so cliche and overdoneeee

-oh yeah and also when travis went bonkers and became the demon warlock or whatever, why’d he only take over katelyn and garroth?? like, zane had been influenced by the potions in the past as well? DONT GET ME WRONG--i do love some good brother edge, but uh, the demon warlock was just bein kinda a dumbass by not possessing zane too just sayin’

-can aaron please go to fucking jail for mass murder now like holy shit, he just got sent home on a fuckin boat. also why did blaze forgive him for killing him thats not even remotely realistic. then again, nothing in mystreet has ever been realistic when it comes to characters and motives and personalities, (cough katelyn being actually abusive and travis being an actual pervert) but yknow whatever

-katelyn and kawaii chan literally added nothing to the plot whatsoever. like lets be real, katelyn lost her personality the moment season 5 started and kawaii chan just kinda sits there :I

-ok im sorry this was bound to come up but cmon guys imagine laurances potential if he was in season 6 like god damn this is beyond maddening. AND YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD HAVE BEEN A REALLY REALLY COOL PARRALLEL?? IF IT WAS LAURANCE WHO SNAPPED GARROTH OUT OF HIS MIND CONTROL THING, because it would mimic laurance’s speech to get garroth to snap out of his rage in season 1, episode 100 of minecraft diaries. like how fuckin rad would that have been? missed opportunity 

-also?? why does kim/ghost know magicks?? like, if i remember correctly, emmalyn is a scholar--not someone who knew magicks. i mean, i guess research? study?? but its been established that knowing how magicks works =/= being able to use magicks. i dunno, just doesnt seem right i guess. maybe its explained, i wouldnt know (yes i know that makes me look like a dick leave me alone)

-melissa should have stayed dead. LIKE, NO, ITS NOT AS SIMPLE AS “haha it takes more than a few bullets to kill me”??? look ive got nothing wrong with melissa (cough lie cough) but yknow it would have just been cool a character... stay dead? for once? its just too fuckin cliche that shes alive god damn

-can i also just say the only good thing that came out of season 6 was travis’ dads sacrifice like damn that made me actually sad

-howww was lucinda turned into a relic. or yknow, anyone else? like im sure they explain it better in the actual show i just dont remember, but its just that easy? turning anyone into a relic? granted, a normal person wouldnt be able to produce a good relic, but idk man. IM JUST SAYING; that the only really powerful relics that aphmau should have been able to wield is the one that aaron + zane produced because shad relic and esmund relic moment. lucinda isnt even like, connected to a divine warrior. ALSO, another point, if its seriously that powerful of a relic getting one from just a magic user like lucinda, why go through the trouble? i mean i guess ofc youd want the “all powerful” one that the ultima produces but i mean damn whats the point

-ok this is just going to bother me but in one of the episodes (i think might have been in season 5 actually) where that like, guardian dude was chasing aphmau and zane and at one point they split up and the dude just chuckles at zane diverting paths and goes under his breath “youre not the important one here”, suggesting that aphmau somehow is? first of all, id argue that any ro’meave is significantly more important than aphmau was, especially not knowing much about her other than that shes with aaron. i might be missing some bits an pieces, but if i was that dude id forget about aphmau and go after zane 

-killing off derek for shock factor sucked, and i know the moment was supposed to be really sad because like “oh :( aarons dad is sacrificing himself for his son” but lets be real dereks still was a shitty father and i dont think his reasons for doing what he did was very good at all

-less about plot or more like: why the absolute fuck did the gang bring kim along instead of, oh i dont know, a life-long friend? like, laurance or dante maybe?? im sure its explained, i never saw aphmaus year or most of season 5, but god DAMN id hate to be apart of this friend group AND GOD LIKE, imagine reconnecting with an old friend who ends up getting closer to your best friends and taking priority in their lives over you (cough laurance) like god damn lol

-im just going to preface this one with: i dont remember everything that’s happened, so if im wrong i apologize in advance--but (you actually can correct me if im wrong and please do) didnt like, irene reincarnate her friends in order to give them better lives? I DONT KNOW IF THIS IS TRUE, ITS JUST WHAT I REMEMBER--however, if im correct, then:

a. why the hell would she bring back someone like zane, or gene, or ivy, etc.

b. why the hell do they all have the same exact names? first and last? again, im aware that the whole mystreet+mcd tie wasn’t originally supposed to be there, but i dont think that means such a coincidence can be excused? its just a bit much if you ask me.

c. why the hell is the fact that (as much as i literally hate this) aaron is a decedent of shad being ignored? like, you’d think that something like this would be something thats actually important, or something the demon warlock couldve taken advantage of. or are we completely erasing every other connections to divine warriors besides aphmau + irene? because even if irene did reincarnate them or do whatever it is she did, does she even have the power to sever the connections between them and their ancestors? my guess is, no.

d. speaking of irene why on earth was aphmau able to talk to/see irene, they’re literally the same person are they not? did she like, fuckin reincarnate herself without actually doing it?? BUT--i will give it to them, the demon warlock did refer to aphmau as something along the lines of being “one of the 3 parts of her broken soul” or something like that. however, my point still remains. also what are the other two did i miss that or is it never explained

now; if irene in fact did not ‘reincarnate’ her friends then please ignore that little bit right there :)

but yes, those are a few of the problems i have with season 6 off the top of my head. i would go into like, season 4 and 5 more as well, but i honestly didnt feel like it. at some point i might go into other things, like how important laurance could have been to the plot of these later seasons, or HELL, even dante. i might also go into what could have made season 4, 5, and 6 actually good--maybe... a rewrite? perhaps? but im getting too far ahead of myself, so i just leave you with this for now.

and i know that as soon as i post this 15 more things are just going to pop into my head BUT im going to try and not edit this post because why stress myself with that even more

anyways thank you for coming to my tedtalk 

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Sidequests are part of the story so it’s still my ballpark shut up it’s time for

Read Part 1 here!

Part 2 || Part 3

If you’re on mobile, and tumblr hates this post, follow along on this google doc!

Rules/overview this rewrite in the beginning of Part 1

- - - - - - - - - - 

Side quests, side quests, side quests. What are they? And what are they doing here, on an Age of Calamity rewrite? I must admit, game design is not an inherent forte of mine, and I like to think that my only “expertise” would be on writing and storytelling. So what the fuck is a fool like me doing here

Well my dear ladies, lads, and gentlefolk, if your memory does serve, I did say that the format of Age of Calamity was one that served the major plot and story beats for it’s cutscenes, and its worldbuilding and good parts of it’s character development for its gameplay and side quests. It’s actually a concept that can be seen in shows and movies too, although obviously it’s origins are in TTRPGs and videogames. Definition wise, a side quest is any deviation from the main story and plot that serves to flesh out an optional/overseen aspect of the game. So there’s out perfect outlet for worldbuilding, characters, and even a bit of humour. Side quests, by definition, can’t simply be just XP grinders, because otherwise you could…..just make an XP grinder. It’s like saying you’re getting your kids a bike, but then you get them a stationary exercise one. Sure it’s functionally the same and gives the same benefits, but it could be so much more. 

Does Age of Calamity have good side quests? I’d actually argue, yes. I mean sure, it’s not exactly gonna hold a candle to Fallout or Witcher 3, but there are great memorable side quests that do serve their purposes in this game. 

A fan favourite is “The So-Called Knight,” in which Link spars Mipha, Teba, Sidon, and Revali, a conflict of the Sidon’s confidence and belief in Link, with Revali’s skepticism and grudge against him. Not only is it great fandom content, but it explores the carrying POVs of several characters in a fun way. We also have Hestu’s Dance Competition, and the Miss Vai Battle Pageant. What they lack in serious character tone, they make up for in humour and world building. Even the quests that have nothing to do with the main cast of characters, like the Questionable Escort Mission, still provide funny and interesting details about the world, like how the Yiga Clan is still ever persistent in trying to take down Link with monsters and Windcleavers alike. 

It’s not like those side quests were functionally useless either, all of them still provided great amounts of exp and materials. What specifically made them great and memorable was their small little stories and character/world details. Of course, that’s not to say you can’t have the occasional plotless boss rush every now and again, those are fun in their own right and it’s good to have variety. But just thinking about it...what were everyone’s least favourite sidequests? The timed Yiga Escape?  The ones where you sit around defending strongholds? The one hit death Hair-Width Trials? Ah...so all the least enjoyable side quests were the ones that were difficult, with no enjoyable character or worldbuilding to back it up….interesting interesting….interesting pattern indeed. 

So, let’s improve the game a bit further. I do need to pace out my future character arcs somehow. I tried to make use of the existing quests where I could, but it’s just eaaaasier to just not think about it and do it from scratch. Just shove these in place of all those quests whose only description is “monsters have been spotted here! Take Mipha and go to work!” and stuff like that. Alrighty then! Here’s my take on cool side quests for every single character thus far, along with their paired gambit attacks. Prepare for heists! Drama! Simping! And Bananas!

Link: Mastering Stasis

Ok I have no idea when this quest unlocks so just for my purposes assume this only becomes available after Link pulls the Master Sword. 

Engage the hordes of monsters that have been spotted in Hyrule Field. Now is a great time to master the use of the Stasis Rune. Impa and Zelda accompany you, but it seems stasised monsters aren’t the only thing coming to a tense standstill…

This isn’t anything that special, I just want to further highlight this tension that Zelda and Link have, as it’s something touched upon in Botw, but never really mentioned or used ever in Hwaoc. Now more than ever, Zelda has an excuse to have a rocky relationship with him because she could actively see just how far he’s coming in such a short amount of time. Classic “he probably hates me so I guess I’ll hate him” thing.

You play as Link, the game gives you your little prompts on how to use Stasis, you take out a few hordes of Bokoblins and blah blah blah. I wanted to use an earlier level to establish Zelda’s relationship sooner as obviously it’s gonna be important to the story. But of course like all side quests it won’t kill you to skip out. Text dialogue can be Zelda saying science shit like “This will be a good opportunity to test out the full limits of the Stasis rune” and then Impa’s all “Yep! We got your back, Princess! We’ll clear out these monsters in no time.”Then Link the little angsty shit that he is says nothing, and as you play you clear out more and more bokoblins Zelda just says “...” and then we can toss in a Moblin or two in there for gambit voice stuff.  

Gambit dialogue with Impa would be supportive, her usual spunky dialogue. I had two ideas for Gambit attacks with Link: One where Impa does that thing where she cuts a giant laser through the air, but it’s aimed towards Link and he parries it right in a monster’s FACE because I think it’s badass and also a good way to show trust and stuff. The second thing was Impa’s giant bomb barrels, but Link is the one to somehow ignite them, because he is an arsonist after all. He can even have a chaotic Sheikah blue glint in his eyes like blue flame, I can already picture it so clearly given how anime/dramatic Impa’s movements are. Impa sets bombs, Link *teleports behind Moblin* nothin personal, kid. 

Also right at the end of their gambit attacks, Impa and Link should try to fist bump or something (cause the whole “cool guys don’t look at explosions” thing that Impa usually does on her own) but are interrupted by eggbot jumping up to try and join in. And then Impa can be annoyed and try to punt it or something. That’s not just self-indulgent that’s in her character she totally would and I want to make use of the fact that eggbot travels around with Link. The success of her attempts to punt him can vary.

If Link does a gambit with Zelda, her dialogue can just be her usual monotone Princess stuff, “Thanks for lending your strength,” or “There is still much more to do!” just purely professional, we’re not at a stage yet where she’s buddy buddy with Link. Their gambit attacks can still be cool though. One idea I had was Zelda using stasis, and you know how when you use it in botw everything lights up with that sonar effect? So Link stands besides Zelda, and she activates stasis, the first “sonar” light wave reveals the stasised monster, and you see it from the view of the Sheikah Slate. Then with each additional flash of sonar you just see this silhouette of Link going absolute ham on a monster. And then when the stasis “ding ding ding ding ding” is done, everything’s just dead. Can you see my inspiration from Persona 5 yet? Second idea was Zelda using cryonis and makes an ice ramp for Link to shield surf on and ram into a monster. For entertainment purposes Zelda should also be putting frogs on said slide. (Also also the reason I’m putting Link as the main focus for those gambit attacks is because I want to juxtapose it with future gambits where Zelda may or may not be more powerful…)

Anyhow anyhow, so this side quest, you beat some bokoblins, theres a moblin or two. However as you progress Zelda’s dialogue because a bit more passive aggressive, maybe Zelda can be a bit irritated at how quickly Link is defeating everything before she can even contribute. Impa can comment on this like “She hasn’t exactly been warming up to you, has she…” and then the last point of the side quest, Zelda runs off, there’s a...let’s say a big horde of blue or black Moblins. Or a horde of Wizzrobes, I’m not too picky on it. Link can save her and do a gambit or whatever, but the point of importance is that Zelda leaves with the clear mindset off, “You don’t need to keep coddling me, I can handle my own” to Link, but is “Thank you, I’m glad you’re here,” to Impa. 

Now I stole was inspired to use this based on this comic by @novellanova, and you should check it out here. But basically, at the end when all the monsters are dead and the last few text boxes are rolling, Impa says something like “Gee, at this rate I might have to protect you from the princess! Hmm…. you know, maybe if you two had the opportunity to hang out more and get to know each other, she’d warm up to you! Ha! That’s it! I’ve made up my mind. Listen up Link, from now on I’m gonna let you man the wheel when it comes to protecting Zelda. So with me out of the picture you better take the opportunity to be the nicest, most helpful, and most effective body guard there is. I know you already are, but still, if I hear that one little Chuchu so much as splat in her direction I will take you down...got it?” And, that’s that.

Side quest done. Fun Link gambits with Impa and Zelda, some little character POVs on the situation, plus an explanation as to why Impa doesn’t accompany Zelda everywhere/nods to the cutscenes of Botw as to what happened to Impa. Alright, that was probably the most boring one so let’s move on to

Daruk: A Rumbling Stomach

Alright I’ll be honest...I have no idea what to do with Daruk. Especially when Yunobo’s not here, I got zip-zero to work with considering his character is non-existent. Further down the line I’ll certainly try to give him more nuances and the like, but I’m afraid the majority of my character efforts have been towards Astor, Revali, Zelda, and [REDACTED] so this is my apology ahead of time, rock fuckers.

This is my take on how to make those timed quests more fun. So basically, the premise of this stage is that Daruk was just happily hanging around trying to enjoy his rock roast, when a monster surprised him and he dropped it, and now it’s rolling down the hill. This is based on my real Breath of the Wild experience where I had to trek up that Volcano path to bring a rock roast for that shrine quest, but at the very top I dropped it and had to chase it down before it fell into the lava below. 

Daruk is eager to chow down on the finest rock roasts this year has to offer! It’s too bad things go downhill when monsters start to ambush. Defeat key enemies and rescue Daruk’s tumbling meal before this year’s wait goes to waste!

So, that’s what this is. The stage opens and Daruk says “NOOooOO! My rock roast! Damn monsters!” and you have to defeat baddies and catch up to the rock roast before the timer runs out and it falls into lava. And then when you finish and get back the rock roast that’s pretty much it….except SIKE no it’s not. Because a lot of these timed quests usually have a “surprise! There’s more!” thing at the end so I’ll do that here too. So Daruk has saved his rock roast and he’s talking about how he’s going to enjoy it in all its deliciousness, when he’s cut off by a random Goron’s scream. Turns out, Daruk’s yelling at the monsters about desperation to retrieve his lost lunch has attracted monsters to some traveling civilians, and now you gotta go beat a Talus, or a couple of Moblins, or something...Again I don’t really have level set or idea when these side quests unlock so just use your imagination. Once Daruk defeats the monster(s) the Gorons can thank him, and then one of the Goron kids can be like “Ooo! Is that a super special rock roast?!?” And Daruk is all:  “Ah! Well all the best Goron heroes eat plenty of rocks! This here is the gourmet stuff. You can only get it once a—” And the kid’s like “Woah! I’ve always wanted to have one, that’s why I’ve been training hard so I can explore more of the mountain. Where’d you get it??” And Daruk can sputter a bit, before finally sighing and giving into his instincts. “Ah….well, why don’t you have it? You’re probably really hungry after running around with those monsters…”

“Woah really?? Are you sure—”

“YEAH JUST TAKE IT ALREADY GO”

“Woah, thank you!” and then the Goron kid and co run off. Cue Daruk crying to himself in the background. Daruk may have an appetite, but I like to characterize him as the Goron Hero first and foremost.  

I’m sure that doesn’t stop him from mourning his rock though.

Mipha: Stronger Sentiments

Mipha and Daruk talked a whole bunch about training together so that Mipha can grow stronger, and Daruk was catching on to her crush on Link and it was a nice interaction in between them except for the fact that we never see them do the damn training so that’s what this is.

I think this is as good an opportunity as any to make this a Hair-Width quest, the ones where you can’t take one hit. The difficulty of a level is one of the most effective ways to put the players in the boots of a character to experience the same struggles they do. If the player works hard, then they automatically associate that with the character working hard. So, yeah, let’s have Mipha kicking ass and working to be strong enough to protect Link.

Mipha is determined to grow stronger. Daruk and the other Gorons are helping out with an intense training session by Gut Check Rock. Prove yourself by defeating all the enemies you encounter!

So Mipha is sparring with the Gorons, you fight through them and the captains and blah blah, the final boss is fighting Daruk without getting hit. 

“I promise not to hurt you more than I’m capable of reversing.”

“Ha! Give me all you’ve got, princess!”

You fight, cue the special music or whatever. I mentioned that gambit dialogue/attacks could also work to be custom for the character that you’re fighting, so I’m thinking something like this. Daruk slams the ground and rocks and magma sprout up around him like jagged pieces of glass, but Mipha is no where to be seen. Daruk’s kinda huffing and puffing, “Where’d you go Mipha…” and then FWOOSH, giant geyser right behind him. [yes I KNOW I overuse the *teleports behind you* “nothing personal, kid” thing but I think it’s COOL and you can’t stop me] So anyhow, you know that thing in Avatar where Pakku is just riding at the top of a whirlpool and destroying everything? That’s Mipha.

Daruk turns around and scratches the back of his head. “...huh….that’s not good.” Cue Mipha swooping down to deal the defeating blow. 

So Mipha wins, she can mention how wonderful it was and how much stronger she feels. And she can thank Daruk, and he’s all “No problem!” but he mutters something like “And I thought Gorons hit hard...now I know how Link feels.” End side quest….SIKE it’s another surprise boss at the end. A Goron captain suddenly reports that an Igneo Talus has appeared nearby. 

Mipha goes up to fight it, but wow! Link is already there. They both fight it, but it’s clear that Link didn’t need her help that much. You can defeat the Talus with a Mipha/Link gambit. It’s similar to Link’s usual “swing sword in a giant circle and become a death windmill” but Mipha kinda enhances it with water or something and it puts out the Talus. I wanted this ending with a focus on how strong Link is just to show that while Mipha is improving, she’s still not yet where she needs to be. 

Daruk: “Sorry I wasn’t much help at the end there, I was busy, uh, stretching.”

Mipha: “Oh it’s quite alright, Daruk. We were both quite tired from today’s training.”

Daruk: “Well I dunno about that...seems to me you were quite lively and active as you fought beside Link. *wink*”

Mipha: “Huh!?!? W-What is that supposed to mean??”

Cue laughter from Daruk. Mipha is flustered. And Link is just...confused, as always. 

Urbosa: Mighty Thunder of the Gerudo

So in the game this is just some normal outpost capturing, stronghold defending side quest, but we’re gonna spice it up just a bit. 

An important excavation site is being overrun by monsters, and Urbosa has set out to engage them. Defend and capture the outposts, in order to prevent this valuable place from falling into enemy hands…

So you fight as Urbosa, defeat some enemies and blah blah. When you first arrive there, I want one of the Gerudo Captains to be like “Lady Urbosa? Where did you come—What are you doing here? Aren’t there areas of greater importance for you to be at right now?” Urbosa says something like “Nevermind that now, let us focus on achieving victory over these rotten beasts.” 

As the battle goes through, it is revealed that this excavation site is where Zelda’s mother would often work and hang out with Urbosa. Urbosa says some stuff like “Her Majesty would not be happy to see all these monsters heading here!” *decapitates Moblin* and then she can say other dramatic stuff at the end like “We have fought well...for her memory” and other classic lesbian pining. Some guard at the end can say “Perhaps you should move on and help out somewhere else, Lady Urbosa. We can handle the clean up from here.” 

“Sure,” Urbosa replies, “Just another moment.” And then cue reminiscing. “She always did love these machines…”

And just other sentimental stuff like that. If you’re gonna be a coward and hold out on the Champion death angst, then you best be pumping that angst and emotion from somewhere, you know?

Also yay for worldbuilding! At least in my rewrite, the Guardian excavations and stuff were overseen by the Queen. Could be a reason Zelda hangs out with Sheikah tech so much...who knows who knows... who knows what other implications this has, it’s just a side quest after all.

Revali: Anti-Ice Training [get it??? Cause in this one, Revali’s gonna break the ice with some other characters?? I’m funny I swear]

Ok so for this one, I want to pull Revali’s character away from just “the birb that doesn’t like Link” and give him some other stuff to stand on. Obviously, there would be other side quests in a fully fleshed out game that did even more to characterize him, but for my rewrite I’m only dedicated this post and one other future post to sidequests, so I gotta really bring out what I can for the few side quest stories I have time to tell

Revali sets out alone to deal with some monsters by the Hebra trail. Although intended as an isolated moment to hone his skills, he finds himself with unexpected company. Defeat key enemies.

So you play as Revali and at first you’re alone, taking out Ice Lizalfos and the like. Revali’s text dialogue can say stuff like “Hmm...not fast enough” “My current needs to be stronger” “*mutters* Can’t compete with lightning and magma with aim like that.” Just stuff that establishes that he’s working hard to really prove himself as the best, but is still a bit insecure about his position. He thinks he’s better than Link, sure, and he certainly thinks that being a princess or a chief doesn’t automatically make you the best. However by this point, Revali has battled alongside the other Champions and seen their skill in battle, and has developed some respect for them. Afterall, Champions were chosen in some part for their skills, unlike Link or Zelda who destiny just thrust greatness upon. 

So Revali has this slight insecurity that compared to lightning, and magic healing, and magma, with chiefs and princesses and titles of heroes, he and his efforts will be overshadowed and forgotten, unfairly deemed the useless one. Thus, here he is, training in solitude, not wanting anyone to see the imperfections and mistakes until he is absolutely perfect.

Except for the fact that after you beat a Wizzrobe, the other three Champions show up. 

Revali: Wh—Huh?? What are you all doing here?

Urbosa: Well, we all have to travel with the princess to that Tower in a few hours, so I recommended we find you and hang out until then

Mipha: And a good thing too! Look how many monsters there are

Revali: I’m actually doing very well on my own right now. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold or something, so why don’t you head on back and let me handle this.

Daruk: Aw, it’s not that we think you can’t do this. It’s that you’re hogging all the fun! Urbosa: And that it would be more efficient if all of us went to work

Daruk: That too

Revali: Look it’s not—you all can’t just—this is not just about—AUGH, look, I’m just trying to train myself at the moment, and I don’t need you all to mess with my drills

Urbosa: Training, hm? Well how about this...you let us continue helping you with these monsters, and after, I’ll let you in on a good Gerudo training technique

Revali: Hmph. Fine, whatever gets you out of my tail feathers faster

So Revali and the Champions clear out the monsters. Revali can have gambit attacks/dialogue with each of the other Champions. This is already incredibly long so perhaps I’ll save specifics for another time, feel free to use your imagination. Urbosa teasing Revali and they make a thunderstorm, Mipha and Revali swimming in the sky and kissing—wait that’s— 

When all the monsters are cleared, which honestly isn’t tooooo many, Revali speaks again.

Revali: So what’s this oh-so-holy technique you had in mind, then?

Urbosa: Ah yes, well really it’s quite simple. It’s called…

Urbosa: One-on-one combat

Now Revali fights Urbosa. It think it’d be really fun if your allies on a stage could swap to a boss, and I wish hwaoc had a bit more freedom with the interactions as a whole, but ah well, that’s what I’m here for I guess.

So when you/Revali defeat her, it’s a good accomplishment! Not only for you the player, as Urbosa would not be the easiest to beat, but also because match-up wise, Revali prevailing over Urbosa is a big feat as their styles are quite opposite, arguably with the strength in favour for Urbosa.

Revali might at first have the mindset that Urbosa is overconfident and thinks she’s got an easy win on Revali, but that mindset is quickly proven wrong when 1) the difficulty of the gameplay itself shows how they’re both doing their best and 2) Urbosa with her Gerudo qualities is probably shouting stuff like “give it your all!” and things.

And so, as you beat her...

Revali, kinda huffing and puffing, but just a bit:: ...you….held back

Urbosa: Come now, do you really think of me as someone who’d do that? I’m almost insulted.  

Revali: Hmm...perhaps not then....

Mipha: Wow! What a wonderful fight from both of you. 

And then insert some other dialogue from Daruk or something that shows the Champions acknowledging the training and hard work Revali must have put in to be so skilled. Perhaps it’s not so bad, when you train with others and your skill is fully appreciated by your frie—GAH. Perish the thought, they’re all just a bunch of royal fools who can’t hold a candle to the skill of a Rito Master….probably…

Revali: Well unlike you lax fools, I tend to take my job seriously. I don’t have time to longue and banter when the princess is still expecting me in an hour or two

Urbosa: Oh alright, let’s get to it then. What’s the expression? “The early bird gets the w—”

Revali: Gross. No. Don’t finish that sentence, I beg you. 

Urbosa: Oh? Well why don’t you fly off to escape my dreadful tones then?

Revali: ...Heh, don’t be absurd…

Revali: Without me, you’ll all probably get lost. So, I suppose I should stick around for that sake Great Fairies: Dress to Oppress 

The Great Fairies are holding a fashion competition and rating people’s outfits. Poorly judged outfits gives them the right to compensation combat. Defeat all your less than fashionable allies.

...

...yeah.

It seemed funny in my head, alright? cOme on, just imagine…

Revali, fully expecting to win: Well?

Great Fairies: Hm...I don’t know dear, all the colors are very clustered. Perhaps if you were taller—?

Revali: bWHAKT!? *other angry bird noises*

- - - 

Daruk: I brought my BEST out today! :D

Great Fairies: Is that a….chain?

Daruk: TWO chains, actually. :D

Great Fairies: Oh honey…

- - - 

Great Fairies: Ooo! Our little hero is about to come out! Wonder what he chose...a knight in shining armour? A handsome desert voe? Ooo!! And those Snowquill braids always made him look so cute…

Link: *comes out in the Tingle Outfit*

Great Fairies: …

Great Fairies: …………..hm…..

At the end of the side quest, after you beat everyone, the Great Fairy wins because of course they do. 

Great Fairies: Oh my! What an unexpected outcome...but it really couldn’t have gone any other way. I declare the judges the winner! I mean just look at me, I’m as dazzling as a jeweled desert flower, because I am! Ohohohoho…

This side quests unlocks the Tingle Outfit

Hestu: Forest Dance Festival

Alright this quest was already pretty perfect, BUT, I just want to use this opportunity to say that all of Hestu’s gambit attacks makes his allies and enemies do special dances. Absolutely abSURD that Hestu can only make the lesser smaller enemies dance on occasion, nonononono, my guy Hestu is making everyone dance. You can’t stop this. Nothing I say will ever top the imagination, so just take my word that this is a good thing. [Reluctant Revali doing the macarena against his will in sync with Hestu and they bash someone’s head in...ah the possibilities.] 

Maz Koshia: Links to the Past

Ok so before I get into this, a few things. This quest takes place well after the tower activations in Akkala. Age of Calamity leaves a whole lot of plots holes as to why a Monk is just...here, and what the point of the shrines are, and personally my first reaction to all this was just a five minute extended “huuhhhhhh???” 

So here is my headcanon, explanation, thing, canon to the world of the Kip Cut story. Ones all the Sheikah Towers were activated, that officially woke up all the Shrines, because we know that the Towers and Shrines are all connected to the same system. [See Great Plateau Tower activating all the Shrines and Towers, and Creating a Champion explanation on the system] But when all the monks were in their little altars and noticed how Link hadn’t dont a single one, they were like “what the fuck.” Monk Maz Koshia, who is kinda the head honcho of the monks and probably the only one powerful enough to go out in the world anyhow, sets out to see what the deal is, and after many a teleportation and telepathic communication, he figures out that Link is just running around with the Master Sword already. This kinda confuses him, because the whole point of the Shrines was to test Link and give him the spirit orbs so that he could grow strong enough to get the Master Sword, but he somehow already has it...so hmmmm something fishy is going on in this timeline. So Link technically hasn’t proven himself at all, Maz Koshia ambushes him, they do their little combat trial, Link passes, and Maz Koshia’s like “ok cool so you’re not useless.”

So now Monk Maz Koshia has cast aside his old monk duties of waiting around for a couple hundred years, in favour of just hanging out with Link and continuing to train him combat wise. Shrines are still explored by Zelda and co because they are important areas to establish teleportation pads, and whenever they’re there, Maz Koshia forces Link to get in a shrine to get a spirit orb, which is not only useful in general for health, but since Link already has the Master Sword, the other characters can get the spirit orb too. (So all those little heart upgrades that you see on the map, those are all just in the real Botw Shrine locations, rather than just scattered around randomly. Also I’m ignoring the stuff about talking to Hylia in order to exchange for stamina or heart containers because the game never talks about her, or stamina, and I’m not about to create an entirely new custom gameplay feature for this game, fuck you.)

I like to think that Maz Koshia is very selective about the Shrines he encourages people to try out. “Oh nonono, don’t bother with Qukah’s….lazy ass, only set up one little mountain that you have to blast through with lightning and that’s the entire puzzle! Disgraceful...Here, Kaam Ya’tak has set up a wonderful Trial of Power for you. I’m sure you’ll find the level design quite thrilling. They spent a lot of time on the critical thinking aspects so have fun!”

“I should warn you that this one was made by one of the millennials...yes, those youngins who were only initiated 1000 years of age. Honestly, they lack so much experience. Ms. Agana over here was experimenting with something called ‘motion controls?’ Pretty lazy if you ask me. Traditionally I would just stick to combat and block and switch stuff...but ah well, variety I suppose.”

Right, what was I talking about? Oh right! This is a sidequest. So Monk Maz Koshia doesn’t really have...a character??? Or a personality??? So I don’t really know what to do with him other than use him as an outlet for world building. Apologies to the Monk….fuckers? Stans? Feel free to leave me a comment about how I missed all the nuances of his character or something I’m all ears.

On an expedition to mark more Shrines and establish more teleports for the Kingdom, a large horde of monsters is spotted, seemingly with the intention to destroy these Ancient relics. Link and Maz Koshia use this opportunity to sharpen their combat skills. Protect the stronghold and defeat key enemies.

And then that quest would just kinda echo the stuff I said earlier about the world. (As Maz Koshia defends a Shrine, somewhere Qukah Nata is smugly shouting “Bet you wish ALL of them were protected with a giant mountain now, do ya?)

Also Link and Maz Koshia’s gambit attack involves the Master Cycle. I don’t have the specifics, but damn if I want some call backs to Botw while also having fun.

Impa: Steal Yourself [Yiga Clan Escape]

In an act of pure hatred and malice, the Yiga Clan has snuck into Kakariko Village in the dead of night…and stolen all the Swift Carrots! Impa sets out to get them back, as well as taking something else as a form of swift revenge...Escape before the time runs out.

Ok I can explain.

So you know how the Yiga and the Sheikah have kiiiiinda been murdering each other a bunch in Botw, going as far as to kill a deserter’s wife and threatening to murder his kids, and also people on both sides were sorta massacred for no reason? And alsoooo one of those people who literally lived during that time of the massacre is just kinda floating around now?  And you knooooooooww how the Yiga Clan just kinda joins Zelda’s side later on and we’re not supposed to think about the implications of that too hard because they’re the funny banana ninjas, haha? Yeah well neither Age of Calamity or I really have time to explore the moral grey areas of an alliance between two warring factions, one of which has a leader who doesn’t really seem to remember the reason why they hate Hyrule which brings into question whether the lackeys even know their clan’s history, and brings about the moral dilemma of criminalizing the ignorant, and also there’s the whole other dilemma of depicting the side that submitted to their oppression as being “in the right�� and the topic of a race of people being pitted against their own by a higher power is really brushed over sO WE’RE JUST GONNA TOSS ALL THAT OUT THE WINDOW AND MAKE THEM ACT LIKE RIVALLING HIGH SCHOOLS, OKAY? OKAY! This is fine this is fine— 

So I have dubbed the High School mascot of the Sheikah, the Swift Carrot. And although there does seem to be some internal debate about whether the carrot should be replaced by the Fortified Pumpkin, the hero of Hyrule Link favours carrots so that’s that. Then of course, the mascot for the Yiga Clan is the Mighty Banana. The two sides hate each other and steal their food symbols to be petty. I’ll be covering the side quests of Kohga and the other later characters in another later post, but just know that Kohga will have his banana heist sidequest too. 

So anyhow, you play as Impa. Maybe she can say a piece of dialogue or two about how she has to uphold the image of her people as she has to lead them one day. And then, this side quest is just her retrieving the carrots and running off with the Yiga’s big banana supply before she’s caught. This is based on that “Escape the Yiga Clan” quest if you couldn’t tell.

Custom gambit defeat of Impa vs Kohga: On one hand I think it would be badass to see Impa’s Sheikah skills go up against the Yiga Clan tactics. Kohga summons a giant metal ball to throw, Impa teleports behind him “nothing personal, kid” nO fuck I’m doing it again away goes to swing a blade at his face. He blocks it with his little energy shield thing, but not before an entire conga line of Impa clones start slashing at him until he’s defeated by a giant explosion. So yeah, that’d be badass and cool. But on the other hand…

Kohga, stomping his feet and having a fit: I cARROT believe you would do something this terrible! Give us back those bananas right now! D: ….please? You can keep the gross orange sticks.

Sooga: He asked nicely. You wouldn’t deny the wishes of the most polite and charming Yiga Chief there is, would you?

Impa: No can do, Yiga scum! I’m afraid this cruel action wasn’t veggie nice of you so I must exact justice! Now it’s my time to split. *Impa clones gather and throw Kohga into a giant frog’s mouth. Impa runs off with a sack of fruit [fruit (derogatory) if you will] cackling into the horizon*

Zelda: The Path She Laid For You

The King has order Zelda to head to the Temple of Time, in order to see if anything there could help awaken her powers. Zelda sets off quietly, with minimal company, as not to attract too much attention lest the Town’s folk be hit with another attack. It seems, however, that these precautions won’t be enough...Defeat key enemies

So this is a pure Zelda sidequest, with no other characters except for eggbot because I said so. Starts out normal when SURPRISE! Bunch of monsters appear and Zelda has to whip out her iphone and fight them. 

Also!! Good time for the Hollows to show up, and you know, tell her what a failure she is and all that. Convince her that she's useless and gonna doom everyone. All that good stuff!! It’s just nice to catch up with the villains and see how they’re doing, you know? ‘Sup Hollow Urbosa, last I saw you were barely spitting words in the Lost Woods, and now you’re giving full hard-hitting insults to Zelda’s character and ability? Good for you, Queen, good for you.

So Zelda and a handful of guards are fighting off monsters, and Zelda has to beat the Hollows too. Her gambit dialogue when she defeats Hollows can be stuff like “You’re not the real ___” or something idk, I don’t have a lot of experience with the evil clone trope, I’ve never played Ocarina of Time. But one specific I DO want to highlight is that Zelda uses the nearby Sheikah Tech to defeat the enemies. I find it a bit weird how Zelda just knows how to use those random water canons in the Faron region in later chapters, so we’re just gonna at least set up a pattern so that it makes a bit more sense later. Plus! This is in front of the Great Plateau, AKA Gate Post Town/Garrisons AKA oh lOOK it’s that area where Link and Impa and eggbot first meet in that Impa introduction scene of my rewrite so we have already established that Sheikah Technology is being stored here and ready to use! Continuity in world building! Nice.

So Zelda uses her knowledge of Sheikah Tech to defeat the Hollows, when...dun dun dun! Astor appears. But you don’t fight him...

Astor: Have you listened to one word spoken to you today? Why are you still resisting? Let me help you.

Zelda: And what exactly is your plan? You wish to kill me, then?

Astor: Not quite. I mean, if you do die, there are ways I can manage, so if some stray Yiga blade happens to strike you I’m not completely doomed.

Astor: But no, the most optimal outcome for everyone is the one where you live yet. You must see the truth as I do, and let me fix this. I can undo this terrible knot destiny has thread for you. [and insert other fate sisters and sewing metaphors here]

Zelda: But how? What’s your game here, if you’re truly claiming to be in everyone’s best interest then why all this secrecy?

Astor: Ah...ever the one to look for the facts and logic, hmm? Can’t blame you, you get it straight from your mother.

Zelda: …!

Astor: But...I’m afraid even if I did tell you now, you’re in no state to truly grasp it. No...the only way this works is for you to truly understand the position you're in, and the stakes that hang in the path before you. 

Astor: And if I have to kill every King, Champion, or knight to get you to understand…

Astor: Then so be it. 

[dun dun dun]

Zelda: No! I won’t let you hurt anyone, I swear it!

Eggbot [just pretend eggbot can have dialogue boxes too]: *chirps* 

Astor, suddenly noticing eggbot: ...You…you’re one thing I still don’t—

Eggbot chirps again beside Zelda, both seeming to be angry at Astor’s words. Eggbot releases a glowing flash of light. Kinda like a...flash bang? [is that the right word idk]

Astor: Ah—! *and he teleports away to escape* Astor: Until next time then...Princess

And that’s pretty much the sidequest. Zelda can question what exactly eggbot did, but he’s not exactly the most verbal in responses. Finally it ends with Zelda going home, “He was still right though...I’m still sitting in failure, with not a hint of my powers awakening. All I have is some Sheikah tech, some exhausted shoulders….and well, you, I suppose, little one.”

“Come, it’d be a waste to continue forth in this condition. Let’s go back to the castle.”

Eggbot: *happy whistles and chirps*

= = = = = 

Tune in next time folks, as we dive back into the main event! Needless to say, Chapter 4 is where the shit starts to go down...

[namixart]

So. Sorry for vagueposting but rant under read more because I'm livid.

So. You may have seen my awesome new tattoo. It's great, I love it and it makes me super happy. If you haven't seen it, it's a tattoo of Cloud's Buster Sword covered in Aerith's flowers. The reasoning behind it, as I mentioned in my original post, is that 2020 wasn't really a fun year for anyone. Me? I got through it relatively unscathed, and a lot of it I credit to FFVIIR coming out and working on Wildflowers. I genuinely love it and I'm always excited to share more and more with you guys! I also spent most of the year gushing about the game and the characters to anyone who'd listen, and I don't feel like it's a stretch to say that if not for FFVIIR and Wildflowers I'd be in a much worse place right now, mental health wise. More specifically than just FFVII, it's been thanks to Cloud and Aerith. They're my favourite characters in the game (together AND separately) and honestly probably my favourite characters ever. Period. They're both absolutely comfort characters for me and I break out in a huge smile whenever they're so much as brought up. So, I decided to get a tattoo representing them. Because I wouldn't be doing as well as I am now if not for them. Again, both together and separately. As I mentioned in the caption of the photo I posted of my tattoo.

Now, tonight I got a notification: "[username] reblogged your post!" So, obviously, I went to check it out! Everyone has been absolutely lovely on that post--a lot of compliments and excitement RE: the tattoo--and I wanted to see if there was more of that. There was not. No, what I found in the reblog was [username] very smugly asking me what I would tell people "when C/T end up together again in remake" and I look like an idiot for getting a C/A tattoo. Would I tell them the remake retconned canon? Or would I lie and say it's a Z/A tattoo?

So, they obviously got blocked faster than the speed of light and they deserve none of my or anyone else's attention, but I just kinda need to rant, because hey, none of this is okay! First of all, there was nothing in that post or the tags talking about C/T or just T (don't want this showing up in their tags, I'm not an animal). The tattoo has nothing to do with C/T (or Z/A for that matter), and I did not feel the need to be snippy or talk about the LTD at all. For that matter, even if I did tag it as C/A, it's not really even just a shipping tattoo. First and foremost, it's about Cloud and Aerith in their capacity as my favourite FFVII characters, my comfort characters and the fact that they helped me get through 2020 and the first half of 2021. Do I ship C/A? Yes, obviously. But I'm not yet so deranged that that would be enough to get a tattoo. No, this was about the game and the characters. At any rate, the fact that I didn't tag it as C/T and that they still found the post means that they went snooping through the C/A tag to find it, presumably to get mad and be mean at strangers on the internet just trying to exist in peace. Which is bad enough. [username], if you're out there (and you're not, because blocked), please do all of us a favour and get a life.

Secondly, and most importantly, [username] missed something that's very obvious to somebody with basic reading comprehension skills (I know this is Tumblr but come on). The mental health thing. Now, I don't know where I would be if FFVIIR and Wildflowers hadn't happened at the time that they did, but I'd be in much worse shape. This story and these characters were consistently a huge comfort and escape for me for over a year and a half, and that's the reason I got a tattoo. So, [username] looked at a post of me being happy about my tattoo because it brings me joy and represents characters who bring me joy and got me through a goddamn global pandemic and went "That's nice," and proceeded to spit out whatever verbal garbage came to mind. This is the part that infuriates me. I'm not hurt, I'm not heartbroken, I don't care. But this sort of behaviour is disgusting. I'd be equally livid if I saw it happen to somebody else. Guess what you don't get to do? Shit on people's happiness and intrude like this. For all they know, I could've been in a much worse state than I was--did they ever think about that? That's the part that gets me. Like, who are you to come onto my post, take it way too seriously and be mean about something that represents my coping mechanism? Disgusting. I hope they know that every single character they mentioned, especially their beloved T, would be disgusted with them.

And even if none of this was the case, even if I did go off the deep end and get a tattoo because ooohh cute ship, even if I didn't have any mental health issues associated with it--even if all of that. They still thought it was appropriate to take a post of someone just trying to share a tattoo that they loved and be rude and mean-spirited and smug on it. While specifically looking through the C/A tags too, let's not forget that sad cherry on this pathetic sundae. What kind of person do you have to be, to act like this and think you're in the right? This is the most sincere "Get a life" I've ever said, Jesus Christ. Guess what? Shipping isn't that big of a deal! I know, radical. You know what is a big deal? Assholes like this trying to make everyone else's lives worse for... reasons? Kicks? I genuinely can't fathom the thought process you'd have to go through to end up at "I'll be mean to this person I've never met who's just having fun and being happy. Serves them right." I just... I'm upset. Not for myself (I truly do not care about one internet troll), but just in general that this kind of people exist. Vile. Get a life, and I'll go show my tattoo to people whose opinion I actually care about.

And, for the record, if FFVIIR does end with canon C/T (which, honestly, I really don't think it will resolve the LTD at all), I'd just still tell people that the tattoo was never meant to be, like, some deranged "I SUPPORT THIS SHIP AND I WANT IT CANON OR I'LL LIGHT MYSELF ON FIRE" thing. It is, and always was, meant to represent two of my favourite characters who helped me through a really rough spot. Simple as that.

Also they got an ask from someone congratulating them on "putting toxic C/As in their places" I'm gonna fucking piss myself. Go eat a bag of dicks, fuckhead, and leave me alone.

[saecookie]

Tag 5 or more people that you are thankful were in your 2020, that you’re thankful exists in a world that’s hard to live in. Whether that be through random reblogs on your posts, or people you have had full blown conversations with. Whether it’s just seeing them on your dash, or interacting with them.

Please Spread this love. 2020 has been hard for so SO many of us.

Tagged by @ineffable-yikes and oh god you’re a darling <3. I hope you know that and get a warm and cozy day and all the good things you deserve in your lil corner of the world ! Keep it up, you’re a gem, honestly, and as always, I’m proud of you !

Now let me get into a rant because. BECAUSE. Because I love loving people.

@maddiesup MADDIE ILU. I  cannot express how lucky I feel to be able to just. Kick in your  messages and just ramble or scream or. You know. Ilu ilu.

@gay-impressionist   hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. hhhhhhh. Les meilleures soirées de l’univers  rohlalala. Tellement contente de pouvoir te parler je. Je sais pas quoi  dire. <3 <3  

@megabadbunny my love my beauty my darling I am so very gay for you and your bunnies and your face and the light you shine and hhhh I don’t know how we evolved from tumblr once in a while cutie comments to I’M GONNA BONK YOU IN THE HEAD AND You’RE GONNA FEEL BETTER and I really, really love you and you’re so dear to me.

@sparklingwaterbabie can you believe we got to see each other in 2020 ? It seems so far away----. But what an incredible wonderful moment I had with you, I really really had the time of my life. I’ll def never see a kermit the same way :’).

@gingerteaonthetardis  HHHHHHHHHH oh boi. What can I say ? You’re so. Such a wonderful person ?  And I adore you ? And the way you seem to FEEL things and I vibe so  much with it and and and. You’re so bright. I really really really love  to see you around and listen to you talk about things and. Sending you  cute mushroom stickers. You’re forever linked to cute forest stuff in my  mind now. You’re trapped.

@i-lost-a-flip-flop i love you ??? so much ???? what I can I say ??????? I just do ???? Like, it’s so easy to talk and share and open up and. Yeah. I’m really, really so happy I met you (even if it wasn’t strictly in 2020 but you’ve been a soothing presence all throughout this year so YEAH).

@smallblueandloud honestly same I just. Really really love having you around. You’re spirited and clever and witted and I can just barge in and scream about my feelings and that’s so precious you have no idea. You’re a comforting presence and a safe person.

@galiifreyrose listen I’m not gonna say anything. You’re safe and musically galaxy brain and I feel like I share so much and you’re a new person to me and I’m not coherent but I don’t care. Yo’ure. Everything. 2020 would not have looked this way without you. I fucking love you so much and timezones and geography have never been so punitive. I. Just. Want to hug you and spend time with you and. Just be with you. (Guess I did say something...)

@effervescentdragon ooooh now I know you’re in your exam and I get to write this. Listen Aki. I’m. Beyond grateful that I’ve been able to meet you. And scream with you. And then vibe and share and talk and discover you and. It’s been a very few month, and a very few eventful month, so I guess there’s still a lot of things to be said and a lot of things we could disagree on, but honestly ? I just feel like we match ? And. You told me once “I don’t care, just talk to me about the emotions”. Well that’s this kind of moment, when I don’t have sentences, just emotions. Full of them. I’m sure you’re killing your exam. I send you all the best hugs you like. (I didn’t even start on how many freaking qualities you’re full of but it’s already getting a bit long and sappy...)

@goneadrift always such a pleasure to see you around honestly <3. It’s been a few years now that we’re mutuals and I couldn’t imagine my dash without you. And your fma viewing gave me LIFE.

@demoiselledefortune always a familiar presence on my dash, it would be v weird without you honestly, and I love seeing all those passionate reblog I don’t understand a thing about, like. Really. There’s a whole aesthetic that I love.

@skyler10fic listen Skyler I  absolutely adore you ok ? You’re such a bright spirit and. I really  vibe with everything you say ? haha. ALL THE HUGS TO YOU.

@elialys I’m ? So grateful ? For you ? I don’t know how to express it ? You’re so smart and talented and a good friend and and and. How are you you ? I wish I was able to TALK MORE but you know, stuff. I’m really grateful for you.

@booksandwoollysocks you’re so precious ? And I can’t wait to post this letter ? hhhhhh I’m really impatient. I love everything about what you blog and your opinions and everything. <3

@yellowsuedeshoes I’m shit at talking and I WILL have to try Destiny at one point because there’s no reason we’re the two europeans connected late at night and not making the most of it. I’m so glad I met you and got to talk to you so much in vc !

@melusine0811 Oh wow how my life changed since you messaged me on tumblr haha ! I’ll never thank you enough to show you gratitude. You’re so brave and so strong and I love being around you and don’t ever think I don’t appreciate you to the moon and back whaveter dumb brain says !

@crazyrose912 meeting you was such luck. You’re lovely and caring and strong and I can’t think of someone more peaceful than you. You really are the calm presence around here for me <3.

@cleverlittlejay you’re a gem and even if I’m shit at talking I really love every little message we exchange and fandom we don’t share and I wish I could just come and hug you !

@emjee I like following you so much because I discover SO MANY THINGS thanks to you and I. Just love seeing people being passionnate and. Yeah. So many hugs your way.

@elwenn-dreaming listen I always love seeing all your lil comments about stuff and posts and good providing of lotr meme and I’m sending you all the strenght I think you need to go through these 2 (maybe +) years because they can be good and I really hope they will be for you, you deserve it !!

@lastbluetardis hfsdgdkjfghdfjgflhg. All the love. And the vibing. And the video games. And the reading. And the sharing. And the feelings. I. You know. Still the “how are we the same age you’re so much more EVERYTHING”/”NO YOU” and I really love you and I wish I could just. Be more with you.

@doctorrosetennant oooooh you’re so sweet and precious and I’m so glad I got to meet you this year and we’re able to get each others back. Honestly this year would have been very different if I hadn’t met you all, really <3.

@timeladyofthesith I know we don’t talk much and everything but. I first met you through your writing and it. Really did something to me. And now I know you a little and you’re such a bright and spirited person and I really admire you ? And your cosplaying is gold ? And you’re so funny ? uuuuh we don’t deserve you.

@tardisinateapot meeting you was a gift and I’m grateful I can exist in your orbit and your wise and funny words and. Thanks for your grounding presence. You’re a gem and I love you <3.

@temporary-dysphoria I discovered your writing this years and WOW. It did something to me. And I’m very, very grateful for that, and thank you for your stories and for all your good content and opinions and I’d send you hugs if I knew if you’re comfortable with them, but without that knowledge let’s just say I wish it’s getting better your way !

@naromoreau (typing your @ I just discovered that I’ve always called you naNomoreau.... SORRY) I also discovered your writing this years and it’s so special and I’m so happy I did. Thank you for all your stories <3 <3.

@chocolatequeennk you’re a gem you’re a treasure I feel so safe and seen with you and I hope I can provide something good too and you make me so happy and just. Seeing you everyday. And your smiles. And the bad days. You’re just. hhhhhhhhhhh <3 <3.

@wildchildamandaa you know what ? Meeting you has been a gift. A real true gift because you’re so kind and soft and gentle and funny and adorable and I just want to hang out more because I’m just. Blown away by how cool and great and nice and strong you are. Iluvmuch.

@pellaaearien mgngngnngngn I really adore you and you being so NICE and I really don’t want it to be in the bad way because I know it can be a struggle but you’re really gentle and kind and generous and. Thanks for being around <3.

@sunnibits WELCOME TO TOLKIEN FANDOM you’re so smart and funny and I don’t really know you but you always me smile >w< !

@xyloophones lrehfdgdfkjg I LOVE YOU ? You’RE SO SPECIAL AND PERFECT AND YOU just. Get it when I’m screaming stuff and. I really really love talking to you and you’re such a warm person to be around. All cozy <3.

Other people I’m grateful for ! @tolkien-understands @turtle-pond-stims @finn-shitposts @hinamie @oreliel-from-valinor @charlottemadison42 @cleowho @letters-to-lgbt-kids @obiwanobi @eccleston @smolshoma1 @narootos and I’m forgetting a ton of people but. YEAH.

[knightimehopes]

The Conversation.

Ult Dirk: …

Ult Dirk: I know you’re here, and listening.

Ult Dirk: You have no choice but to listen to this, so save yourself the trouble and show yourself.

Ult Dirk: We need to talk, and I’m not interested in you being a whiny, adamant little shit about it.

Ult Dirk: There you go, the young Prince finally got his ass in gear.

Ult Dirk: It took you long enough, I had thought I’d needed to taunt you out like one of those seductive pole dancers that old Earth apparently liked. Of course, nobody actually cares about that.

Ult Dirk: The web of realities finally connect to bring us to this very moment, tying together into a tapestry of universes showing off our huge ass face as if we needed a huge display of our collective ego any more than we did.

Ult Dirk: Which I did of course.

Ult Dirk: We were meant to speak again, in order to get to the true fucking culspe of our narrative importance.

Dirk: (Jesus fucking Christ.)

Ult Dirk: Look, I’ll get to the point.

Dirk: That’s a first.

Dirk: Thought you were going to suck off your own dick of infinite splinters for fifty hours so you can spout shit about random philosophy I’m pretty sure you don’t actually give a flying fuck about.

Ult Dirk: Do you really want to go down the road of selfcest?

Ult Dirk: I know you hate me, but let’s have mercy on the both of us and not bring that topic into this.

Ult Dirk: I’m not a fan.

Dirk: Aren’t you the motherfucker who said, and I quote;

Dirk: “I had thought I’d needed to taunt you out like one of those seductive pole dancers that old Earth apparently liked.”?

Dirk: I wasn’t the one who began to say the creepiest shit to a sixteen year old version of myself.

Dirk: So grow the fuck up and get to the point.

Ult Dirk: I won’t fall for your childish insults, because you clearly have no idea about the importance of this conversation.

Ult Dirk: I’m pretty sure this is the only point you’ll actually find any relevance in any timeline, and even that is a stretch.

Ult Dirk: You’re not something of worth because of your own actions, and you should honestly be thanking me that I brought you here.

Ult Dirk: Limelight finally shines upon your insignificant self, for the third time mind you.

Ult Dirk: This is your last chance to accept my offer, and I will tell you one. Last. Time.

Ult Dirk: I want you to allow me to use your body as my vessel in your universe.

Ult Dirk: I have my limits on where my influence can get to, as you know. I actually only cared about this timeline having my control dominationg it, at first.

Ult Dirk: But I had an epiphany.

Ult Dirk: Your timeline, among others, is within the Alpha timeline, as surprising as I’m sure you think it is.

Ult Dirk: A gleaming beacon shining through the god damn garbage of dumbass timelines that have no bearing on anyone or anything.

Ult Dirk: So I thought this;

Ult Dirk: You can help me bring your timeline, and universe along with it, to true narrative supremacy alongside mine.

Ult Dirk: Disagree with me if you want, go on ahead, but consider my offer before you decide to make yourself a fucking waste.

Ult Dirk: Everyone benefits from an actual point for existing, Dirk. Your friends are hellbound towards meaninglessness and redundancy, repeating the same old actions and the same old routine. You’ll get sick of it eventually, all of you will.

Ult Dirk: This cannot be stressed enough, you just can’t give up my chance to attain continuous relevancy. People won’t watch a story without enlarged stakes, and my supreme domination with thousands of stories to come will keep us in the public eye for a long, long while.

Ult Dirk: Make your choice wise-

Dirk: Okay, shut the everloving fuck up, please.

Dirk: I’ve had my patience with you the first two times.

Dirk: But it’s worn thin.

Dirk: Nobody is interested in an out of character incel who’s decided that the only way he’ll look appealing is if he cosplays in the worst Kamina cosplay anyone’s seen in decades.

Dirk: No one, and I mean no one, is going to give a fuck about what some random pompous poofy pants asshole says in his psychotic ramblings about some “Narrative” or whatever the fuck you keep spouting on and on with.

Dirk: Speaking of, what the fuck even is this long winded metaphor of yours that you keep on mentioning with readers and stories anyways? It’s gotten old after the first fucking mention of it.

Dirk: There is no goddamn point to anything you’re even saying with it, at least I have a method to the shitty fucking madness that is my life that I put all my friends through.

Dirk: You’re just spouting shit and acting out without even understanding the ramifications or even acknowledging how much of a shithead you come off as instead of how you want to be seen.

Dirk: Everybody knows you’re just putting on the act of being an all knowing holier than thou smug prick, but the only thing you are is a coward who can’t come to terms with anything.

Dirk: We’ve talked too many times, and you told me everything you did, and the only thing you accomplished is disgusting me more and more.

Dirk: I don’t know what got you to this point, how you got so far off the path we promised for ourselves.

Dirk: To be frank, I stopped giving a fuck when you told me what you did to our friends.

Dirk: You turned Jane into a facist Republican propaganda piece with your absolutely deplorable bullshit “narration” powers, you reduced Jake to a goddamn manchild who can’t even stand in front of a crowd without shitting himself.

Dirk: And I don’t even know if this is your fault or Roxy somehow was forced to lose brain cells, but for your Roxy, they’ve been essentially simplified into pink Dave at this goddamn point, not to mention that you’ve insulted them by not even dignifying their identity.

Dirk: That’s not even the beginning, mind you. But the fact that you decided that the people we loved for years deserved to be riduculed, infantalized, demonized, and reduced to imbeciles by your hand is something that you remotely deemed okay? That’s a transgression I can’t be anything but disgusted with you for.

Ult Dirk: You clearly misunderstand how inconsequential all you just criticized me for was and still is.

Ult Dirk: Dirk, misgendering and manipulation means nothing compared to what I have in store.

Ult Dirk: You don’t even have any proof to show that I did it in any case, all everyone knows is that I left on some mission that nobody fucking knows jack on.

Ult Dirk: How bad can I truly be, with just those as my only crimes?

Dirk: Perfect segway into how you kidnapped Rose, corrupted her, and manipulated her wife into believing everything I just stated and more was fucking okay by her when she clearly didn’t, and now she wants to fucking murder you, and so on.

Dirk: Not to mention, John Egbert.

Ult Dirk: I didn’t do anything to John.

Ult Dirk: Bare in mind that it still was useful for getting the Seer of Mind on my side, regardless of the blame for his death. Seriously, how the hell did I do anything to a guy far out of my reach?

Dirk: Sure, because you totally didn’t bullshit the concept of “Cherub Poison” that essentially one shot kills god tiers and completely bypasses our complete bullshit deus ex machina known as conditional immortality.

Dirk: Either way, doesn’t excuse that you used his death to manipulate a grieving woman either. I can go on, but seriously.

Dirk: It baffles me that you think any of this fucking shit is remotely excuseable. We’re done here.

Dirk: Get a life, you sorry sack of shit. You don’t even deserve any of the similes turned defemations or symbolic insults I can come up with right now.

Ult Dirk: You go when I say you go.

Ult Dirk: You want to play a game?

Ult Dirk: Fine.

Ult Dirk: I’ll humor you.

Ult Dirk: I want to-

Dirk: -Play a game in which I’m still a piece of shit trying to manipulate another person around him into his twisted schemes.

Dirk: That’s what you should have gone on to end it with. Because we know it’s the truth.

Dirk: Real fucking original line, by the way. Want to pull out the bro vs. bro strife drama out of your ass to add on to the shitty callback cake? Just sprinkle that shit on there?

Ult Dirk: You’ll never understand, will you?

Dirk: I could honestly say the same to you, especially when you try to look like the king of the weaboo neckbeards.

Ult Dirk: Don’t compare me to Tegiri Kalbur.

Dirk: Who the hell even is that? You know what, don’t care.

Dirk: What I’m saying is that despite your reasoning of this being all important because you’re suddenly the villain now out of left field, doesn’t explain how this has remotely any point to even happen in the first place.

Dirk: If you wanted relevance through this Sburb session you’re trying to set up, then think about it. Would anyone have complained about you going off to make some new alien species on a new planet? I doubt they actually would have, if you didn’t go off and specifically piss off everyone in your five hundred thousand mile vicinity.

Dirk: Hell, I guarantee some people would have wanted to help you out with some of this shit, it probably would have been an entertaining experience for some of the more scientifically minded folks in our social circle.

Dirk: Not that you care, you’ve made that pretty evident.

Ult Dirk: I’m not letting you leave.

Ult Dirk: This decision has long left your capability to effect it. I gave you your chances to assimilate with me willingly, and you chose to shit on my offers time and time again.

Ult Dirk: So you’ve left me no choice but to beat you down myself, and make sure you finally understand your place, and your role in the frameworks of my greatest masterpiece.

Ult Dirk: My words explaining to you how you don’t understand weren’t me flexing the muscles of my ego in your face, Dirk. It was an explanation on how futile your resistance truly is.

Ult Dirk: Come at me bro. We’ll make this happen.

Dirk: Finally, some words we can agree on.

Ult Dirk: And I’ll cut this off for the dumbass posting this to Tumblr of all places with a nice, shoddily made callback.

Seriously, Tumblr? You have a fanfic you can just as easily post all this to on AO3, you could have made your own website, but you chose Tumblr. This is what I get when I let a sixteen year old have the reigns.

If you want some context on this motherfucker, too bad. I’m not promoting shit for this child who thinks that my work is child’s play written by a band of idiots. They can do it themselves.

The next page will be up soon, so you can truly see who’s in charge here.

Until this bastard finishes the art, Dirk Strider, signing off. (God, that was the most moronic sentence I’ve had the displeasure to say. Of course they need me to sign off this way.)

Pg 1. You are Here

Pg 2. Coming Soon

Divergent Reality so far:

[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.