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shireness-says · 4 years

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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.

#captain swan #cs ff #captain swan ff #cssns #A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink #my writing #magicians!cs #The Night Circus

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jaehyun-eclipsed · 3 years

Text

Before I Met You | Twenty

Next Update: ~December 29, 2020

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas, Mark, Jaemin, Johnny) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Author’s Note: Hello! Sorry I’m a few days late -- was doing some finishing touches. Also, instead of having a regular update schedule, I think I’ll be sticking with letting you know when you can expect the next update!

Before I Met You Masterlist

Prev | Next

“Where are you going?” Jia asks as soon as she sees me putting on my boots.

I glance up at her as I zip up my right boot. “Grocery store.”

“Oh… by yourself?”

I’m not sure why Jia suddenly decided to ask today who I’m going to the grocery store with. Perhaps because I went last Saturday morning, never go in consecutive weeks, and certainly never go at two o’clock in the afternoon. Or she senses that I’m sneaking around her and avoiding questions like I was with Jaemin.

“No, Johnny asked me to go with him.”

“Johnny?!” she exclaims. “Why does Johnny want to go to the grocery store with you?! He seems to want to hang out with you a lot, huh?”

“I don’t know. I mean, we just played card games and talked yesterday.”

Jia’s eyes widen. “What if he likes you?!”

I shrug.

That is a good question though. What if he does like me? Then what am I supposed to do? I would go out with him, but—

“Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” she asks. “I saw a girl here like a month ago with him. I didn’t recognize her.”

“I don’t know. He’s never mentioned any—

Shit. No. That’s what Jaemin did. Please do not let this be a repeat of Jaemin. I don’t have time for that kind of shit again.

Jia quirks her eyebrow, wondering why I suddenly stopped midsentence. “Any… what? What are you thinking?”

“Uh, he’s never mentioned anything about it. Have you ever seen her around here after that?”

“No, I don’t think so…”

I press my lips together. “Maybe they broke up.”

“What if he does like you?!” she asks excitedly. “Would you go out with him?” I blink a few times and shrug. “I guess so.”

“So you’re from Medford? That’s cool. My family drove through there once on our way to Portland. It’s nice.”

“Yeah, I like it there. You grew up in San Jose, right?”

Johnny and I walk up the hill towards a local grocery store a few blocks north from where we live. My face feels cold from the end of fall chill, but I feel strangely happy. I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that I sort of have a crush on Johnny because I think he’s cute and we’re hanging out.

I’ve been asking him questions. Trying to figure out what he’s like. Trying to figure out whether he has a girlfriend... I know I could just be direct about it and ask, but it seems kind of random to suddenly say, “So, do you have a girlfriend?” when I barely know him.

We obviously know that we can’t just default to, “Oh, if he has a girlfriend, he wouldn’t be trying to hit on someone else” and immediately assume he has morals because apparently that’s not always true.

But aside from that issue, Johnny is nice and in the “getting to know you” stage, he’s decently interesting.

“Yeah. My parents and my sister moved to California a few months after I was born. So I lived with my grandparents in Korea until my parents came back to pick me up after settling down to bring me here,” he says.

“Do you speak Korean?”

“Yeah, but it’s not very good. I can get around though.”

“I’ve been trying to learn Korean,” I say. “I can read the alphabet and say a few phrases!”

“Oh really? I could help you out sometime.”

Johnny is a year younger than me and he has a sister that’s a year older than me that goes to school in San Francisco. His dad is often traveling for work, so Johnny doesn’t see him as often when he goes home to visit his mom every few weeks. Since she’s home by herself often, she spends a lot of her time volunteering at her church, though sometimes she’ll buy a plane ticket and meet Johnny’s dad wherever he traveled for work.

It seems… lonely.

We arrive at the grocery store and I follow him around, watching him pick out his groceries and making casual small talk about our classes, our interests, and what food to buy.

I can’t help but feel flirtatious. And that’s a weird feeling to me because I never feel flirtatious. Friendly and shy, sure. But flirtatious has only ever really occurred once and I’ll never forget that feeling. I clearly like Johnny, but I’m not trying to give it away. But he asked me to go grocery shopping so that has to count for something.

“Do you want some tea?” Johnny asks, pointing to a colorful display of canned teas.

I blink several times. “Uh, sure? I can Venmo you.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he says. “Which one do you want?”

I spot my favorite flavor near the top and without saying a word, walk over to the display and get on my tippy toes in an attempt to reach the peach tea. My fingers are just a few inches shy of reaching it. Johnny chuckles and I keep my back to him to hide my frown. He walks up behind me and easily reaches over my hand to grab the can and place it in his cart.

“You could’ve just told me which one you wanted. That’s the benefit of being short with tall friends,” he teases.

“Hey! I’m not short!”

“You’re shorter than me.”

“Everyone is shorter than you!” I retort.

He chuckles again. “Yeah, that’s true. Is there anything you need? I’m done.”

I shake my head and turn to head towards the checkout line. An Oreo display case catches my eye and my expression morphs into one of disgust.

“Cherry cola Oreos?” I say in disbelief. “That sounds gross.”

“Hey, they’re probably good,” he responds, pulling out his phone.

I shrug. “I guess they had to pass the taste test before production.”

He doesn’t respond, engrossed in whatever is on his phone. My curiosity gets to the best of me and I begin peering over. He’s looking at an ad for Muji and in the top left corner are the Facebook chat bubbles. Mine is the only one on the screen and he doesn’t appear to have any other notifications. I don’t know what this would tell me. I figure if he had a girlfriend, she would message him while he was on his excursion. Actually, wouldn’t he ask her to accompany him? Unless…?

“Hey,” I greet, placing a glass of water and a plate of sliced fruit on the table. “How’s the studying going?”

Jaehyun lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s all right. A lot of terms to remember. Strategic risk, credit risk, call-options, price insurance… hard to keep them straight sometimes.”

“Do you have any flash cards? I can help test you if you want.”

He shakes his head. “That’s okay. Maybe a little later. I’m doing some practice questions now.” He looks at the plate, grabs an apple slice, and takes a bite. “Thanks.”

“You’ve taken and passed a couple exams already. I know you’ll do great on this one,” I say, taking a seat in the chair across from him.

“Yeah, but I had to take one of those exams multiple times.”

“So? You still passed. That’s all that matters. And now you’re on your way to becoming a certified financial planner! You’re doing great!”

Jaehyun smiles a bit. “I’d really like to pass this one the first time…”

“I’m sure with all the studying you’re doing, you’ll be fine. You still have a few weeks to get it down.”

“Yeah, but I have to work too…”

I chuckle lightly. “I don’t know how you do it. But you amaze me every day. Work, study, and pass these exams.”

“Honestly, I don’t really know either.” Jaehyun leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “We should take a vacation after this.”

I clap my hands together. “Let’s go somewhere warm after I finish finals! Last vacation during law school because next semester it’s finals and then the bar exam.” I press my lips together and frown. “Tests. Always another test!”

“Are you coming in here to study?”

“Hm? Oh, I need to make a call to Siwon first. Why? Do you need something?”

Jaehyun smiles and shakes his head. “No.”

“Oh, okay,” I say as I get up from my seat. “Then I’ll—

“I just like it when you’re with me.”

I started spending more time downstairs with Chaeyoung and Shotaro. We’d sit in a comfortable silence to study and then chat over dinner. Occasionally Johnny would come down to join us. Though recently, he had been cooped up in his room trying to finish the last CS projects of the semester with Hendery. So we didn’t see each other as much, but he did message me frequently to see how I was doing and ate dinner downstairs with the rest of us.

Within a matter of weeks, classes ended and dead week was upon us. Now it was a week of intense cramming and poor diet followed by finals and then a few weeks to relax before doing it all over again. It’s like a hamster wheel… constantly running, only to find out you receive a piece of paper for your endeavors.

After finishing lunch in the dining room, I pack up my laptop and notebooks to set out for a psych review session and a few hours of library study for genetics. Johnny walks in and sits down at the neighboring table, thoughtfully watching me as I place my belongings into my bag.

“Where you going?” he finally asks.

“I have a review session for my psych class at two and then I’m going to study in the library until five or so.”

“Oh, where is it?

“In the life sciences building.”

“Oh.” He shifts around in his chair a bit and begins biting the inside of his lip. “Are you staying in the life science building after that?”

“Yeah, that’s the library I like.”

“Oh, okay. Maybe I should check it out.”

“It’s nice. It’s smaller and they usually have space.”

I glance at him, expecting him to ask to join me in the library, but when he doesn’t, I mentally shrug and throw my backpack over my shoulder.

“See you later,” I say, heading towards the door.

“Bye.”

At the review session, I scan the room and sit down next to an old dorm floormate. She doesn’t notice when I sit down, furiously texting someone with a furrowed brow.

“Ugh!” she groans.

“Everything okay?” I ask out of obligation.

“My boyfriend is being stupid.” She puts her phone back in her pocket. “I kinda think he’s cheating on me.”

I bite my lip and nod in acknowledgement. “Boys suck.”

“Tell me about it.”

I pull out my own phone to avoid any further divulgence and see a message notification.

Johnny: you said youre gonna study at the library after your review session right?

Heh. It sounds like someone’s too afraid to ask in person.

Me: Yeah

J: when does it end? can I join you? I wanna go study at the library but I don’t wanna get lost lol

My forehead creases in confusion upon reading Johnny’s reasoning. Get lost? How would you get lost?

Me: It’s over at 3 and yeah

Me: Just meet me in front of the library at 3

I’m holding back a smile. I wanted to go to the library with Johnny, but I also didn’t want to be the one to ask. To some extent, this was a test for him. To test his attraction? I like being chased just as much as the next person and if the opportunity presents itself to spend time with Johnny, then all the better.

J: ok! See u then!

An hour later, I exit the lecture hall and start walking to the other side of the building towards the library. Johnny’s tall figure is leaning against the railing in front of the entrance. He’s wearing a gray baseball cap and holding a textbook against his left thigh while using his other hand to scroll through something on his phone. I walk up to him and looks up from his phone.

“Hey!” he greets. “How was the review session?”

I shrug. “It was all right.” I gesture my head towards the library. “Ready to go in?”

He nods and I start walking into the library with him following slightly behind.

“Whoa,” he whispers, lightly grabbing onto the dangling strap of my backpack. “I’d definitely get lost in here. Make sure I don’t get lost.”

I turn my head slightly to look at him over my shoulder. Gawking at him, he smiles widely back at me. I blink at him a few times and turn back around, continuing on towards the tables in the back and pretending like I’m not leading a child with one of those backpack leashes.

Okay… maybe he’s just really, really weird.

God, this looks so stupid.

I stop in front of an empty table with two high chairs. Johnny lets go of the strap when he sees me move to take off my backpack and then follows suit. I place my belongings on the table and immediately immerse myself in reviewing for my genetics exam. I occasionally take glances over at Johnny who is diligently reading the textbook he was holding and taking notes. Normally, I’d pay a little more attention, but that’s not really my priority right now. However, I won’t deny that there’s this annoying voice in my head that’s asking, “What in the world is Johnny doing? He must like you, right? But what if he has a girlfriend that you don’t know about? Those pictures of him with that girl are still on his Instagram page, but some people leave all of those photos up even after they break up. I don’t have a gauge on what he’s like and whether he’d do that.”

Later that evening, while trying to finish a bioethics paper in bed, I receive a message from Johnny.

J: what are you doing?

Me: I’m trying to write this damn paper and it’s pissing me off

J: you want some cookies?

J: maybe it’ll help you write your paper

Me: Mm okay. I’ll be downstairs in a few

“Are you going downstairs?” Jia asks as I begin shuffling around and grabbing my backpack and a small blanket.

“Yeah.”

“Did you go to the library with Johnny earlier?”

I freeze in place and slowly turn around. How did she know about that?

“I saw you guys walking back together when I was coming back from my review session,” she continues, answering my question without her knowledge.

“Oh, yeah. He asked to meet me there.”

“Oooh!” She cracks into a wide, shit-eating grin. “He likes you! Are you meeting him downstairs too?!”

“Yeah, he said he had cookies. I want some.”

“Oh my gosh… do you like him?!”

I feel the heat rise up into my cheeks. “I mean, I think he’s cute and he’s fun to hang around with, but I don’t think I like him like that.”

“Oh yeah… if he has a girlfriend, you probably shouldn’t.” She ponders for a few seconds and her eyes shoot open. “Do you think his girlfriend knows he’s hanging out with you?!”

I mentally scoff. If Johnny is actually interested in me like that, I bet he’s conveniently left it out of any conversations with his girlfriend that he’s hanging around another girl and grabbing onto her backpack strap so that he doesn’t get “lost” in the library.

“My guess is probably not.”

I quickly leave and consider the conversation I had had with my dad earlier. I called to tell him about Johnny asking to meet at the library, grabbing onto my backpack, his various offers of cookies and what not. Basically, dad thinks that Johnny probably likes me. His opinion on the girlfriend thing? He’s not sure since we don’t know whether or not Johnny actually has one. It’s strange that she showed up once and then never again and that he’s never mentioned her. This is starting to sound eerily familiar. It’s a problem for later. I need to focus on finals for now.

There is one thing that I hadn’t realized until now though.

Jaemin hasn’t come to mind as frequently.

Perhaps I was finally getting over him.

“What’s the paper for?” Johnny asks as I set my things down at the table on his left.

“It’s for some bioethics class. I’m doing research on pesticides and lymphoma. Not exactly a happy topic.”

He pushes the cookies over to me, gesturing with his left hand for me to take some. My brow raises in curiosity when a piece of jewelry on his wrist catches my eye. It’s a thin, black band with a circular charm hanging off it. It looks like there’s something engraved on it, but I can’t tell because the backside is facing up.

“What’s the bracelet for?”

“Hm?” Johnny raises his left arm and runs his hand through his hair. “Which one?”

I raise my brow at him. “The only black one around your wrist…”

“Oh.” He lowers his hand and looks at his wrist. “Um, it’s a bracelet from my girlfriend.”

I deadpan for a few seconds before quickly remarking, “Oh. Nice!” and following with forced smile.

I turn back to my laptop, trying to pretend to read through my essay. Though, if my facial expression clearly conveys annoyance, I wouldn’t be surprised.

See! This is exactly what I meant about not being able to assume anyone has morals. Interested in Johnny, Y/N? Not anymore. Never mind.

Oh well. It’s not like I got that far with this anyway.

There’s a quick motion coming from my right and suddenly the room becomes dimmer as a baseball cap is placed on my head. I slowly turn to look at Johnny, still slightly miffed at the revelation from seconds earlier. He smiles warmly at me.

“Do you want to go to the library tomorrow?” he asks.

“Why did you do that?” I ask without answering his question.

“What?” He shrugs. “So do you want to go? We should wake up really early in the morning to go so that we can get a head start on studying!”

I nod my head. “Okay.”

What are you doing? There should be some blaring siren going off in your head, but there isn’t. Oh, that’s right. It’s because you’re still attracted to him.

I grab the hat on my head and place it back on his.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s too big for me.”

“It’s a thinking cap. It’ll help you with your essay.”

“If only it were that easy.”

Johnny chuckles and then opens Facebook on his laptop. He has two messages: one from Hendery and another from someone with the nickname “Boo boo.” It’s times like these where I’m glad I have good control over my facial expressions and can easily type out an essay while reading over someone’s shoulder.

Boo boo’s profile picture is clearly of a girl and when Johnny opens her chat box, I see that boo boo sent a bunch of heart stickers. He follows by responding with a few hearts and a “hiii boo boo!! i love youuuuuu soooo much!!!” It goes back and forth like that a few more times.

I have to try not to gag. Is this what people are like with their boyfriends and girlfriends? Am I going to be like that? Oh gross.

Maybe I just don’t understand what love is. Who am I to question their love? However, if Johnny is “soooo in looooove” with his girlfriend, why is he acting like this with me?

If this is a repeat of Jaemin, I’m walking right into a trap.

The rest of dead week played out the same way. Wake up in the morning, go to the library with Johnny, watch Johnny send “I looovvee youuu” messages to boo boo, study in the evening with Johnny, grab a study snack with Johnny, spend time with Chaeyoung and Hendery while with Johnny.

My whole study life started revolving around Johnny. And really, it was simply having someone to spend time with. Johnny and I could sit in a comfortable silence and study for our own classes, occasionally taking breaks to eat or show each other videos. It was a good arrangement and I liked my new friend.

But the sad truth was, I liked my new friend a little too much and I had a feeling that nothing good was going to come of it.

Johnny had a girlfriend and he knew that I knew he had a girlfriend. I’ve never been interested in home wrecking and I certainly wasn’t saying anything or doing anything other than spending time with him, to indicate that I had a crush on him. But here we are a year later with the same problem: is it morally wrong for me to be spending time with this guy when I have a crush on him while fairly certain that his behavior was indicative that he liked me? Isn’t he technically emotionally cheating on his girlfriend?

I think the way I tried to justify this was by telling myself that I wasn’t the one initiating the hang outs or study sessions. Johnny would ask and I had the option of agreeing or declining. And sincerely, since I was just trying to study, I didn’t see anything wrong with it.

On the last day of finals, I joined Johnny, Chaeyoung, Jia, Shotaro, Hendery, Sungchan, and a few others in the dining room, celebrating over a box of donuts and cups of hot chocolate. We were exchanging social media accounts to keep up with each other over the break.

“Hey,” Johnny greets as he grabs the empty seat next to me. “Are you going home tomorrow?”

I shake my head. “No, the day after.”

“Do you wanna grab lunch together tomorrow? Hendery is leaving and I’m also not leaving until Sunday.”

“Oh, sure! That would be fun!”

“Cool!”

He throws his baseball cap on top of my head and suddenly the room is quiet. I can tell that everyone is looking at me. I keep my gaze down on the table and take a few seconds to respond with a laugh.

“I don’t want your hat!” I exclaim playfully, pulling it off and trying to put it back on him.

He lightly shoves my arm away. “It looks better on you.”

I ignore him and put the hat down on the table and move to grab another donut from the box, silently praying everyone will stop watching and pretend like nothing happened.

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Before I Met You Masterlist Masterlist

#nct #nct 127 #jung jaehyun #lucas wong #na jaemin #mark lee #johnny suh #wong yukhei #jaehyun #nct dream #nct u #wayv #superm #before I met you

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nylonsandlipstick · 6 years

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I'm not doubting you about the 'cs lewis wasn't racist' but can you share the receipts so that I can use them when people argue w me about this?

Absolutely!!!

The thing about the racism claim is it’s mislabeling what Lewis truly did. Do I approve of how Lewis portrayed the Calormene as a whole? No. But is it racism? Not at all. What Lewis shows us is more of a cultural insensitivity which is still common to this day. There’s a really big difference between cultural insensitivity sprung up by ignorance and just straight up racism. And labeling everything racism really begins to dilute the meaning of the word until it hardly means anything to anyone it should impact.

So, to start: the meaning of the word racism. The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines it as “a belief that race is the primary determinant of human traits and capacities and that racial differences produce an inherent superiority of a particular race,” race being defined as “a category of humankind that shares certain distinctive physical traits.” So now we know what we need to look for.

Knowing the definitions, if you actually read The Chronicles of Narnia thoroughly you’ll see that racism isn’t brought up and that any prejudices against the Calormene people doesn’t have to do with their skin color or their culture (at least, their culture as a whole). What I mean by the culture “as a whole” is that while Lewis isn’t prejudiced against the whole of the Calormene people, he does make some differences between Calormen and Narnia to make Calormen the foil for Narnia, specifically in the religious aspect.

What a lot of people can’t seem to wrap their heads around is the fact that Lewis was Christian and he really did try to incorporate Christianity into his books (although into Narnia unintentionally at first) and while I see that a lot of people understand this to a degree, they don’t fully comprehend it and don’t really see it in his writings. With the Susan aspects, people think that because Lewis is a Christian, he’s saying that femininity is godless and in turn that makes him a sexist because women can’t be feminine. All of that is untrue.

In the aspect of the Calormen religion, Lewis didn’t make them a nation of “non-Aslan believers” just to hate on them and their faith. Lewis grew up in a Christian household, lost his faith during his early adulthood, became a pagan, and when he returned to Christianity he was “kicking, struggling, resentful and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance to escape” (Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life; 1955). Lewis knows different faiths, he’s not some guy who spent his entire life as a steadfast Christian with no doubt in the world and one to ostracize non-Christians. He doesn’t look at the Calormene in a hateful, anti-Christian view, but instead as a people that believe in what he thinks to be the same things as the Narnians just differently (I’ll get into what I mean by that in a bit) and are ruled by poor leaders (at least that we see of in the books, I don’t remember clearly if Calormen ever had any very admirable leaders that were liked throughout Narnia).

What I like about Lewis is that he acknowledges that question of “if I believe in x deity, what happens to the other people that believe in y deity?” (it’s such a deep and philosophical question that any theologian asks themselves at least once in their lifetime and a great use of soteriology). He not only acknowledges that deep theological question but also basically states his whole view of Calormen in this one quote from The Last Battle:

“I and [Tash] are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him.”

This basically means that those who worship Tash and are virtuous and good people are actually worshiping Aslan, and those who are immoral and who worship Aslan are in fact worshiping Tash. So, not only does this establish Aslan as a greater and mightier being in the Narnia universe (considering all of the other minor deities, I see him as God but with a Zeus-like council of other gods, more Mount Olympus-esque) and Tash as the more evil of the two (I don’t think he’s necessarily Satan but more of a hateful being) but it also shows that Lewis doesn’t view the Calormene people as villainous or even erroneous for their faith in Tash, more as if Tash was just their Calormene name for Aslan (as God has several different names depending on the language). It also doesn’t make the Calormene people villainous, only full of people who could be virtuous and people who could be immoral as any kingdom in any place could be. He essentially humanizes them and addresses gray areas instead of making it all black and white by having one people be good (the Narnians) and another be bad (the Caloremene).

Seeing as Lewis really heavily focuses on the Christian aspect of his books, I really do think it resonates in his books that he doesn’t have this whole idea of “these are the Christians and these essentially are Satan-worshipers” especially how he took a lot of inspiration for Calormen from the Middle East and bits from Central Asia.

Why I include this argument is because there are arguments against the Calormene faith being seen as one of the major points in the counterargument for Lewis’s alleged racism. Seeing as Calormen is inspired from the Middle East and the Middle East is predominantly Islamic, a lot of people also see this as rather perverted anti-Islamic propaganda. Which is wrong. Because the only reason why the Calormene religion would be at all similar to Islam is because of any influence pre-Muhammad religions may have had on Islam which more so boils down to culture and less to actual belief systems. I remember reading once, I can’t pinpoint exactly where, most likely on the Wikipedia page of something to do with Calormen or The Horse and His Boy, that the Calormen religion is most likely influenced by early Canaanite and Carthaginian religions, the Carthaginian religion just being more of a Phoenician continuation of the Canaanite religion. This makes sense since all three religions are polytheistic and require sacrifices, specifically of the human kind (although last I read, it hasn’t been completely confirmed that human sacrifices were done for the Canaanite religion; it’s been confirmed that the Carthaginian religion did, in fact, practice human sacrifices, even that of children) and the Calormene religion even follows how the Canaanite religion was polytheistic yet monolatristic (this coming from the word monolatry which is the belief of many gods, i.e. polytheism, but with a more consistent worship of only one deity). I believe the reasons why the Canaanite and Carthaginian religions are more likely to be Lewis’s inspiration for the Calormene religion were because of G.K. Chesterton’s book The Everlasting Man (a book that Lewis wholly admired) and E. Nesbit’s depiction of Babylon (this I especially see in Lewis’s cultural development of the Calormene in their use of “Tisroc” as the name for their ruler, and their use of “may he live forever” whenever the Tisroc is mentioned).

Now, to move away from the religious aspect, Lewis really doesn’t portray any racism because there’s no hate against the Calormene people coming from the Narnians (who the narrative paints as a great nation with few flaws when controlled by the Narnians or the Pevensies). When Susan and Edmund go to Calormen in The Horse and His Boy, they don’t portray any racist ideologies. They’re not hateful toward any of the Calormene, they’re not grossly rude. They just find it an odd kingdom and that’s about it. It’s different from Narnia, Narnia which is full of what should be mythical creatures and talking animals and few humans.

The Narnians and Archenlanders happily accept Aravis, a Calormene noblegirl, and even marries Cor, a boy who seems to fall more under that European-inspired ethnicity. Not only did Lewis write Aravis out to be a heroic character, she’s also in a mixed relationship which was still heavily frowned upon and unaccepted in 1954 when the book was published. Nowadays we don’t blink at an interracial relationship (well, most of us anyways) but just to put it into perspective, the Supreme Court of the United States didn’t legalize interracial marriages throughout the entire U.S. until 1967, over 10 years after the case of Loving v. Virginia which actually imprisoned a white man and a woman of color (she identified as Indian-Rappahannock but was reported as also being Cherokee, Portuguese, and African American) for marrying because it was against Virginia’s anti-miscegenation laws. So, it’s pretty obvious that Lewis was very ahead of his times in that one aspect that seems so minuscule to us now.

On to other Calormene characters that were depicted well, we also have Lasaraleen and Emeth. Lasaraleen is a frivolous girl who cares more about dresses and dinners than fighting but she’s not evil. She’s not seen as less than the Narnian or Archenlandan(?) characters because of her skin color. She’s scared and frivolous but a good friend to Aravis who helps her escape Tashbaan so that she can continue her journey to Narnia. Whether you see her personality as being sexist is a different argument, but it’s blatantly obvious that Lewis doesn’t see her in a racist manner. She can actually be a bit admirable if you like that she pushed through her fears to help a friend escape to safety.

Emeth is one of my favorite examples as to how progressive and forward-thinking Lewis really was and this is going to veer a little bit away from the race aspect but it’ll really emphasize what Lewis was truly trying to do with Calormen by depicting it the way he did. Emeth is a Calormene officer who is very devoted to Tash, which Aslan later reveals to actually be a devotion to Him through his noble motives. By having Aslan accept Emeth into His Country even though he believed he was worshiping Tash in specific, Lewis is depicting Inclusivism. Inclusivism has two fields of thought which basically boil down to either a) the Traditional kind which states that a believer’s own views are absolutely true and believers of other religions insofar as long as they agree with that believer or b) the Relativistic Inclusivism which states that there are Absolute Truths and while no living human has yet to establish those Absolute Truths, all of humanity has partially established those Absolute Truths. I’m going to say that Lewis leans more towards the Relativistic Inclusivism in terms of Emeth. For more conservative and traditional Christians, it’s such a wild ideology to follow and has actually caused controversy within the Christian community for Lewis to have put into his books. I don’t think it helps that Emeth’s name means “truth” in Hebrew and was probably Lewis’s way of saying “this is what I believe to be true.” What I’m trying to say with all of this is that Lewis could have used a pagan white-European-inspired kingdom to depict this ideal, he could have made up a kingdom that was Viking- or Anglo-Saxon or whatever-inspired to depict that idea of Inclusivism. He could have completely left out Emeth from the plot and have used a different moment or a different book to portray Inclusivism. And yet he didn’t. He purposely chose a good man from a Middle Eastern-inspired kingdom who believed in a deity from a polytheistic yet monolastric faith and used him as an example for an ideology that’s not anti-Christian due to it’s actual Biblical support yet still so controversial within the Christian community.

I think that’s all I’ve got for now. It feels like I’m picking out small things but with Lewis he didn’t seem to write anything he didn’t feel was important to the plot (and actually important, not J.K. Rowling-type “important”) so there’s not much to actually go on in terms of anything Calormene. I think the reason why people want to claim racism is because nobody wants to delve deep into Lewis’s writing because they’ll end up face-to-face with his ideologies and they’re not easy more many people to stomach, whether Christian or atheist. They’re radical in Lewis’s veracity in his belief in them but they’re so non-traditional and more progressive than most of us in the twenty-first century will claim to be. I know there are a lot of people like Philip Pullman, who’s an outspoken atheist critic, and J.K. Rowling, who will say that they get that his Narnia books are Christian but won’t take the time to dissect it as a Christian piece and instead take the stories out of context and put it to modern day standards. I don’t know if it’s just because he’s a Christian writing in the mid-twentieth century, apparently too close to our times and ideologies and too far from the more conservative and bigoted ideologies of the earlier decades and centuries for us to be able to put his books up to our current views and standards, but I know for sure if someone like Jane Austen had written anything like the Narnia books, there wouldn’t be such an outcry for racism and sexism and etc. I mean, look at Oscar Wilde. He’s idolized for his literature and his sexuality yet everyone brushes over his gross antisemitism.

Anyways, I’m rambling and this has already been long enough. I hope this helped! If I find anything more that I can add to this argument I definitely will. If you have any more questions or there’s something else you want to ask about, you’re totally welcome to as well!

#this was so damn long #but I'm officially back #I think #c s lewis #meta #asks #hit me

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losttalongthewayy · 7 years

Text

once again

cs + Daddy Charming + baby numero two *shrugs* I have feels kay? ;D (( AO3 ))

— ღ —

She wants to tell David.

She’s known for a while, she’s gone through the motions of the whole thing again, and she’s at that point when it finally feels real and she may be ready to start telling people.

She may even have a semi actual bump to show for it now and all.

Despite of how much she’s tried to hide it these past few weeks, the little thing seems to be growing at an almost alarming rate these days and maybe that’s why she needs to do this.

She’s ready, she thinks —probably not to tell the entire town just yet, but David —Emma wants (needs) to tell her father.

— ღ —

The day is miserable, pretty much; rain and gloom and not the slightest bit of sunshine to be seen.

Emma hardly cares though; she drives to her parents’ farmhouse, steps out of her bug, and off to face her father she goes (squeaky bright yellow rubber boots on and all).

— ღ —

She finds him at home, drinking a lukewarm cup of coffee he completely forgets about the second she steps in his door.

He stands up and gives her a hug before Emma can even put a hello in. His hug is warm and Emma feels any remaining anxiety dissolving at his affection.

It’s stupid, how sometimes she still feels like she has to pinch herself in moments like this. She has a father —a doting stupid father she has wrapped well around her finger.

She loves him so much.

“Did you have breakfast yet?” David asks her almost immediately.

It shocks Emma, in a good way, how a random visit in the middle of the morning (not at all usual —she should be working) doesn’t ring any bells to her father. It hasn’t even crossed his mind something may be wrong and that just comes to show how damn far Storybrooke has come since the days Emma first arrived.

She can’t say the change of pace doesn’t please her.

“I had some cocoa before leaving home just now?” Emma says, playfully letting her words hang.

David chuckles and doesn’t need her say more. “Pancakes?”

Emma bites down a laugh —her father, bless his heart, even after all these years, is still clueless as ever and she couldn’t love him more for it. “Waffles maybe?”

He nods without hesitation. “Waffles it is…”

— ღ —

Emma almost forgets the reason of her visit as the morning wears on. It’s still pissing rain out so David tells her he’s taking the morning, probably the day off.

“There’s not a lot I can do with this weather you know?” He told her before, smiling at her warmly before also saying, “I’m glad you stopped by, sweetheart.”

Emma had nodded simply, continuing to make easy conversation with him while also devouring more than her fair share of her father’s awesome waffles.

— ღ —

David’s seeing to the dishes (having already stopped Emma when she tried to take hers to the sink herself) when she remembers just why she’s there. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, and before she can’t stop herself, she’s moving her hand down to her tiny, albeit perfectly rounded belly under the table.

She watches David for a little while longer though, the way he’s hand washing every plate and utensil despite the most likely empty dishwasher next to him. He’s a great dad, she thinks, never mind an incredible man in his own right.

It makes Emma glad to know her newest little boy will have just about the greatest role models in both Killian and David.

The thought makes her smile, also almost giggle with anticipation at her dad’s reaction.

“Um dad?”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t turn to look at her just yet; he carries on hand drying the dishes he just washed.

“I actually have something to ask you,”

At this he sets down the plate he was holding as well as the dishtowel, and turns to her.

“Is why I came,”

He looks at her for a beat, before nodding. “Sure, what is it?”

“I may need you to mind the station for me for a little while in a few months?”

David frowns, clearly confused by the request. “Um, okay —but, what about your staff Emma? Don’t you have enough men working already these days?”

Emma groans because yes, she does have what should be enough men to mind the station without her, and yet… “Everybody except for my husband are complete incompetent idiots dad! Did I tell you they stopped traffic the other day just because they could?” She shakes her head, hardly still believing it herself. “I wanted to throw all of their asses in jail that day,”

“You did not?” He asks her, incredulously.

Emma smirks. “I almost did, actually. Killian stopped me,”

David makes an aha face, and hums. “He’s gone soft,”

Emma doesn’t reply but she may or may not be matching her father’s silly smile right then. She needs to just say the words now or she’ll explode though.

“My point is,” she carries on. “Killian and I are going to need a few weeks away when the baby comes in the fall so, uh, do you think you can help us out? Please?”

The words don’t compute in David at first —at all. Emma watches him closely, his stand relaxed against the kitchen counter as he opens his mouth to reply but then —then he freezes.

“Uh— what did you just say Emma?”

Emma fights back the urge to smile at him too widely. “I asked you if you could mind the station for m—”

“No,” David interrupts. “Not that,”

“Oh,” Emma grins at him, playing stupid. “You mean the part when I told you I’m pregnant?”

David doesn’t reply —his mouth drops open and he just stares at her for the longest time.

Emma bites her lip keeping herself from laughing at him. She watches as David slowly processes the new information.

“You’re pregnant?” He asks her then, awe like wonder in his tone that just about make Emma want to cry in her spot.

She knew this was the right thing to do. They’ve talked about starting to tell people finally, and now, after telling her father, like this, just the two of them, Emma thinks maybe she is finally ready to properly share her news with whoever wants to listen.

“Yeah, I am…” she replies, the smile on her face almost as grand as the one that keeps growing on David’s face.

He moves to her in seconds, gathering her in his arms once more this morning, yet this time with so much more intent. “Oh honey,” he coos in her hair, his hand cradling the back of her head closely in that way that only he does. “Congratulations,” he says, pulling back slightly, searching for Emma’s eyes. “I’m so happy for you sweetheart.”

Emma nods at him, her throat suddenly feeling too tight to reply. She lets him hug her again, his warm loving hug reassuring her about everything she has —everything she’s yet to have. Everything that’s coming.

— ღ —

They sit back at the table after a few moments when they both regain some of their composure.

David reaches for her hand on the table, and Emma gladly allows him to squeeze it reassuringly every so often.

“Did you just find out?”

She makes a silly face at that, she knows it’s a fair question, but still…“Actually,” she says. “I’m already almost half way there,”

“What?” David asks, his eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Emma shrugs, smiling at him. “We, well, mostly me —I was a bit hesitant to tell people at all.” She confesses. “It took us so long to actually get here, to get that positive that I think it made me cautious. I guess I was afraid something was going to go wrong …”

David nods at her words, understandingly. “Nothing has gone wrong though, obviously…”

“Nope,”

He watches her carefully now, tries to guess what she hasn’t said yet. His eyes narrow ever so slightly before he speaks. “What changed today? What made you decide to come and tell me today?”

And yeah, it appears she’s not just an open book to her pirate husband, but her dad as well.

Ah well.

She smiles because she can and because she is happy and this actually feels very right. “I properly felt him kick and tumble around today —it was the first time.”

“Emma,” David says, and that is all he says —all he can say.

Emma shrugs again, tries to make the moment less significant than she feels it is. “I know,” she tells him back anyway. “I think, all things considered, the little pirate is well and growing, so I just wanted to tell you, you know?”

“Yeah,” David breathes out, squeezing her hand. They are quiet for a moment, the actual significance of their whole morning sinking in. He sighs after a moment. “Your mom did mention something before, a while ago, about you guys trying,”

Emma doesn’t especially want to talk about that part but well…she can’t exactly lie to him either. “We were actually almost ready to call it quits, it was becoming too stressful and pointless, but then…I don’t know, we found out when I was already eight weeks in. We weren’t expecting it after so many months of nothing but…it did happen, and we are pretty happy about it.”

David can’t help the smile on his face. He nods at her. “I’m very happy for you and Killian.”

“Thank you dad.”

David simply nods, squeezing her hand once more. “You haven’t told anyone else?”

“Nope,” Emma replies. “I wanted you to know first for some reason,”

David’s expression turns cocky suddenly and she has to roll her eyes. “Well, actually, the kids do know already, so don’t go feeling that special.”

He chuckles, but still, “The kids?”

Emma smiles, a bittersweet thing. “Yeah well, we couldn’t exactly keep this from Estella. That sweet girl has been waiting forever to be a big sister, so when we were sure, we just had to tell her…”

David smiles at that, easily picturing the doting and incredible big sister his granddaughter is going to be.

“What about—“

“Do you remember when Killian and I went to see Henry a few months ago?”

“Yeah”

“We had found out about the kid like a week before that,”

“So you told him? He knows?”

“Yep,” Emma replies, but can hardly meet his eye. It doesn’t get any easier being apart —especially not now. Henry was here when she was pregnant with Estella —he was here when she was a tiny little infant and Emma would be a huge liar if she denied how much she hates he isn’t going to be here now when this new baby is born.

She feels for her kid a lot too, honestly. He gets the best big sister in the world with Estella, but he will also miss out on the best big brother.

“It’s going to be okay,”

Emma startles a little when David touches her hand and breaks her from her thoughts. She knows he’s right, she does, but her heart still feels heavy with that tiny bit of grief that never goes away.

“When are you due?”

She knows he’s just trying to change the subject, bring the smile back to her face, the giddiness she had before when she spoke about the tiny little pirate inside her.

She caves —mostly because despite everything, she is so happy about this baby. “November,” she replies. “Around the 14th, although I doubt he’s going to stay put that long considering how damn impatient Estella was,”

David nods; certainly, she has a point. “Hopefully he does stay put for a bit longer than Estella did though, right?”

“Yeah,” Emma says, her hand moving to stroke tiny little circles on her stomach. She’s been doing it so often lately, she doesn’t even think about it anymore. It amazes her, time and again, that she is actually growing a little baby one more time. It’s her last one, there’s little doubt of that, so she finds herself trying to enjoy the whole thing as much as she can.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“You keep saying he, do you know that for sure already?”

And before she can stop herself, a stupid grin grows on her face.

“You do?” David asks her, wonder and pure happiness in his tone.

Emma nods her head. “We found out pretty early actually,” she tells him. “During our first scan a few weeks ago the technician asked us if we wanted to know —apparently the baby was cooperating and giving him an almost perfect view of his, well, you know, his baby boy business…”

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Emma says, smiling at him brightly. “We are still getting definitive confirmation when we go for our next scan in a couple of days, but we’re pretty sure…”

“Wow,”

“I know,” Emma says simply. “You know, both Henry and Estella gave me a run for my money when I was pregnant with them —this little guy on the other hand, he’s a joy to have inside me.” She says, not really sure why, but suddenly just feeling okay about sharing all these things she’s kept to herself all these months. “I’m really getting big now and all, and my hormones are all out of whack, but nothing compared to the two before him. I had so little sickness with him —I haven’t even puked this time around at all. He makes me want to pee all the damn time but I can deal with that, you know?”

David simply nods at her, the joy in her eyes completely moving him.

“I hope he’s as mellow as I think he is now,” she confesses, a little cheekily. “Killian and I already deal with enough rambunctiousness as is with Miss Estella; a mellow little babe would be nice…”

Her words make David laugh; a lot because of the way she said them, but a lot too because he agrees —Estella probably brings enough rambunctiousness to their whole family as is.

“We already know his name too you know?” Emma says then, before David has a chance to speak himself.

His eyes go wide, but so does the smile on his face. “Are we going to get to announce it properly as we did Estella and our boys?”

Emma shrugs. “I don’t know. I could just tell you now if you want to?”

And that small twinkle in her eyes as she asks him, David simply can’t take it. He finds himself grinning, considering her question for less than a beat before he simply says yes.

Emma matches his grin, the giddiness she feels almost impossible to contain. For weeks, months really, this was their little secret. She was so afraid to share it with anyone outside Killian and the kids, but now…

Now she wonders why she didn’t do this before.

She moves closer to David, cups his ear with her hands, and whispers the name softly. “Oliver David Jones”

David’s reaction is a gasp followed by a breathy, “Emma,”

Emma shrugs at him, pretending she doesn’t see the tears forming in his eyes. “We would have given it to Estella if we weren’t sure she’d hate us and probably never speak to us again for giving her a horrible boy middle name, you know?”

David just stares at her in awe for a bit. Not a clue what to tell her back, but then he just smiles. “I’m…honored, Emma, thank you so much…”

Emma goes to squeeze his hand now. “We both really wanted it —kid has the best grandpa already, you know? It only seemed fitting…”

“Thank you, Emma,”

She simply shrugs once more. “It’s okay…” She says, but then freezes and looks at him as seriously as she can.

“What? What?”

Emma has to bite her lips to keep herself from laughing too soon. “You will mind the station for us when he’s born, right? We’re naming him after you and all, you have to!”

And that is all she has to say to have David laughing almost uncontrollably.

She smiles fully, her hand traveling down to her tummy as the tiny little pirate in there decides to finally wake up and join in her morning with her dad.

— ღ —

When Emma gets home that day, Killian is already there and she finds the words just spilling out when she sees him. “I think I’m actually good telling people now,”

He doesn’t even have to ask her what she’s talking about. “Yeah?”

Emma nods at him. “Mmhmm,”

Killian just looks at her, at the silly happy expression on her face as she steps in closer to him in the kitchen. She stops, standing just at arm’s length from him and then shrugs. “Told my dad today,”

“Did you now?”

“Mm,” Emma hums, nodding.

“And…?” Killian smirks, unable to stop himself. “How’d it go?”

Emma just looks at him, a happy sigh escaping her as she caves in and moves into his embrace without thought then. His arms snake around her immediately and his hold is warm and perfect and exactly where she needs to be right now. She’s safe and happy and this is the feeling she sought after for so long. She has it now and she refuses to let it go for anything. “It went great,” she whispers, her face nestled as close to him as she possibly can. Killian’s hand reaches up, his fingers trailing up and down the length of her back.

He kisses her forehead, mumbling something Emma doesn’t quite get but she still smiles. “I know I made a bigger deal that I should about keeping him a secret, but…I guess it just didn’t feel real for the longest time. Now…now I think it’s okay, Killian…”

He’s quiet again for a while, carefully taking in her words before he just nods. “It is, love,” he tells her, reassuringly. “Does that mean we can properly start preparing for our babe and not just toss all of his things in the nursery?”

Emma laughs, her body shaking slightly against his. “Yeah, I guess it’s time we do…”

“Good,” Killian nods, his chin bumping against the top of her head.

“Killian?”

“Um?”

“The baby is properly, really kicking now,”

He doesn’t reply —not for a while, making Emma pull back just a bit to look up at his face. She feels her heart melting at the sight of that stupid full of love grin of his. “He is?”

“Yeah,” Emma nods, matching his smile. “I think he really is okay, you know?”

“Aye,” Killian replies, awe-like amazement wholly filling his every feature. He touches her stomach; he doesn’t speak, but does allow his fingers to softly move about her rounded belly. Emma’s still hiding it beneath a very baggy top, but it doesn’t stop him from stroking the exact spot his baby lies inside his Swan. “I think so too, love…” He agrees easily, his smile happy and full as Emma chins up and kisses him deeply.

Emma’s hand comes up to rest against his heart; she breathes slowly and relaxes against him once she’s pulled back. They are quiet, her eyes drift shut and she’s so at peace she can hardly believe this is her life and not a dream.

Her lips twitch upwards and she settles even deeper into his embrace letting out the quietest giggle she can manage.

Killian chuckles too, looking down at her smiley self, cuddled up against him, happy, radiant. “Little pirate looks great in you, my love,”

A hundred and ten responses come to mind; she wants to tease him, disagree with him, agree with him, but in the end, she just giggles again and nods.

— ღ —

Emma’s heart sinks (only a little, but enough) when she learns Estella has been mostly asleep since coming home from school. Her kid is seven going on seventeen these days, and the last thing in her vocabulary these days are afternoon naps.

Needless to say, Emma worries (a little)

She crouches besides the couch Estella’s sleeping, and without thought, her hand reaches up to stroke her forehead. “Hi ducky,” she whispers.

Estella blinks at her voice; a sleepy, slow little hand coming up to rub at her eye. “Mama?”

“Mm,” Emma hums, smoothing that wild wavy hair of hers off her face. “Mommy’s here,”

Estella blinks slowly a few more times, her eyes failing to properly focus before she just hums and without saying anything else, goes right back to sleep.

Emma looks at her sadly, her heart breaking at her tired little kid.

“Is she okay, you think?” Emma asks as soon as she feels Killian stepping into the living room as well.

He leans against the wall, looking over at his girls and for a small moment, he’s quiet, just taking them in.

He takes in deep breath before replying. “I think she may be coming down with the sniffles or something,”

Emma frowns; it’s an immediate thing despite how much she also wants to grin. She turns to him then, looking at him pointedly. “The sniffles? Estella told you that, right?”

Guiltily, Killian smiles. He scratches at the back of his head and nods. “Aye,” he says. “We were reading after school, poor lass kept dozing off so when I asked her if she felt unwell, she blamed the bloody sniffles,”

Emma’s face crumples a little as she looks back at Estella. She’s quiet for a bit, stroking her little girl’s forehead. She doesn’t feel a fever, or even clamminess or anything —it still breaks her heart that her kid isn’t feeling 100 perfect well.

“Did you give her any medicine?”

She doesn’t even look at him as she speaks, but Killian’s fine with that; he understands. “Not yet,” he replies. “She wasn’t feverish or in pain as far as she assured me —just a sleepy little lass…”

Emma hums, mostly to herself, her eyes still glued to Estella’s form.

Killian allows her (and himself) another moment or two to drink in the moment, the quietness, the stillness of it all. If memory serves him well, quiet moments like this are going to be rare and far in between once his newest son joins them earthside.

The thought alone; just picturing him, tiny and squirmy like Estella was, blonde and fair and perfect like Emma is, like Estella is too, loud and shrieky when mad, quiet and mellow when not, all of it, thinking about it alone makes him grin madly. “Hey love?”

Emma doesn’t reply, but does shift to look at him.

“Can you believe we are doing it from the very start once more?”

She gasps, the question catches her by surprise, but his words, once they sink in, plus the stupid grin on his face, are enough to make her giddy with excitement instantly. “I think I’m starting to.” She replies honestly —there’s no doubt that after today, her newest baby boy finally feels like a reality, and not just a hope and a dream too good to be true. “You?”

Killian flashes his most perfect grin at that question. “Aye love, it’s starting to sink in for me too…”

Emma nods, a happy, simply content smile on her face. She sighs deeply, her eyes returning to Estella. She bites her lips; containing her very own grin as yet another happy thought crosses her mind. “I get to tell her she’s finally allowed to tell everybody she’s getting a baby brother —I can’t wait to see her face!”

Killian huffs, his mouth opens to retort almost on instinct, but then he thinks better of it. He shakes his head at her, smirking all too knowingly. “As you wish,”

Emma meets his eyes at that. “I love you, too.”

O U T T A K E I *shrugs idek*

— ღ —

“Um, Emma?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh, um…I—”

“What?”

“Um, I mean, you told David, aye?”

“Um, yeah?”

“I mean, did you tell him?”

“AH!” She lets out, finally getting what he’s talking about. “You mean, did I tell him the baby’s name?”

“Mmhmm,” he answers, just barely meeting her eyes.

Emma grins. “I did, actually,” she says, waiting for Killian’s reaction. He’s containing himself, she knows, slightly turning to look at her a bit more properly. Waiting for her to say more. Emma can barely stop the laugh from escaping.

“Love” he urges her, and that’s all Emma needs before she bursts out laughing. Killian rolls his eyes, frowning, but not quite able to keep the grumpiness too long. Her laughter is still one of the sweetest sounds he’s lucky enough to witness daily.

Emma caves, deciding she’s made him suffer enough as is. “I’ll deny it and probably kill you if you repeat this, but,” she pauses on purpose, hoping to create even more stupid anticipation in him. She smirks at him, but then quickly carries on before he can complain. “There might or might not have been actual tears in my dad’s eyes when I told him…”

Killian doesn’t reply, his mouth does open and forms an almost ridiculously perfect O though.

Emma chuckles, looking away from him, and re-focusing in folding the laundry she’s supposed to have finished folding ages ago.

She hears him shuffling closer to her after a moment. He settles behind her on the bed, his arms wrapping around her, his chin lightly resting on her shoulder. He’s quiet at first, his eyes blinking slowly against her, his mouth pressing soft butterfly kisses to the exposed skin of her shoulder, her neck, her cheek…

Emma closes her eyes, relaxing against him and completely forgetting about the pile of clothes in front of her. “He was very happy about it,” Emma whispers after a while. She hears Killian humming and then nodding. He smiles against her neck and it makes her own lips tug upwards.

“I’m glad to hear that, love.”

It’s Emma’s turn to nod now. She’s pretty damn glad that was the case as well —not that she ever doubted it, but still, she’s glad about it as well. “Baby boy is so lucky to have you both,”

Killian ducks his face at that, burying it on her back. Emma chuckles. She opens her eyes just in time to see his hand traveling down to her rounded tummy —he does it more often now that she’s properly showing and he can actually hope to feel the baby tumbling about. He always hopes he will —even if the baby is asleep, he still tells Emma that ‘maybe he’ll wake up to say hello to daddy’.

It melts her heart, his love for their children. It’s unparalleled and probably one of the many many reasons she loves him so much more every day.

“I can’t wait to meet him love,”

Emma smiles, she wants to tell him right then and there that she loves him so much —again and again. That she’s so so grateful for him, that she can’t imagine a better father for her kids.

She settles by moving her own hand down to cover his on her stomach. She tilts her head so that she can kiss him and not a word needs to be spoken then. He knows. He knows exactly how she feels.

“Soon,” she does mumble after a beat, making Killian nod slowly. “Soon we will…”

“Aye, love…soon…”

#Captain Swan #cs ff #cs fluff #cs baby #Daddy Charming #*

149 notes · View notes

courage-a-word-of-justice · 7 years

Text

Still need votes for this.

7O3X 1

As you can kinda tell from these notes, I love random trivia, so this was a hype show ever since I found out about it. Then again, I never thought a quiz anime would exist in the first place prior to the announcement of this.

Okay, question 1 – why exactly did some Japanese staff member saddle this show with a name that doesn’t match the Japanese title at all? So long as you know O is a correct answer, you’re fine…

I love how they’ve styled the credits to be like a Q and A. That really works in the show’s favour.

Headband girl’s name is Mari Fukami, right? How does she pose her legs like that?!

For some reason, I like Shiki’s name in the Western order more…

Interesting how Kuroda stands out more than Shiki, knowing anime tropes.

I’m not entirely up to snuff on Japan’s nuclear stuff, but the Descartes saying is fairly well known and I got it. The thing about quiz shows is that you have to want to play along, which I’m not getting just yet, but this is just the setup stage so I’ll keep going. Sahara…The Metamorphosis (I love transformation fiction, so to get a question about Metamorphosis so early on basically means you’ve won me over, LOL)…I think the deeper this goes, the more cliché it may seem, but I like it. Especially because I remember helping out at the library a lot (plus free pizza as a result…haha).

The books Shiki passes by include “The World of Literature You Don’t Know” and a parody of that Arukeyo Otome thing by Masaaki Yuasa that was released recently (which is based on a novel). Specifically, the name of the 7O3X version of the book is “The Morning is Short, Walk On Girl” (to use the sentence pattern of the original).

Ah, now Shiki’s a kiddo that gets me! I’ve never been too sociable to people and before I got too deep with the internet, it was just me and books, and as a result I specialised in everything English (bar writing, which I was average at). However, by the time I was 13, I lost my skills in English to essays. My love of anime made its resurgence around then so I suspect if I were still a book nerd, I wouldn’t be where I am today…

Okay, I think someone on the ‘net warned me about the panty shot. It’s a good thing Shiki is clearly uncomfortable with it…yeah. Moving on.

That club with the skirts really is disturbing, but I couldn’t help laughing like the brunette in front of Shiki.

Gakuto really made a great first impression. It wowed me. Unfortunately, the quiz show he referenced doesn’t exist, according to Google-sensei…”High School Quiz Show” apparently does, though.

I think there are specialised makers of those buzzers, Shiki. Or you could order them online or something, your call.

Please stop with the panty shot references…but sticking “April” in English really doesn’t make this question work out for me. So, to answer in Japanese, it would be shigatsu.

There are 50 stars on the American flag, right?…Yep. It wasn’t a trick question – buzzing in too fast can be a liability, so make sure you listen to the entire question before you answer!

I’d actually guess Gakuto is going to ask for “the nation with the most people”…Darnit! Oh well, I knew that one before the other guy buzzed in. Interesting how there’s Vatican Miracle Examiner this season though.

I suck at anticipating questions, but I’m good at answering like Shiki. “Et tu, Brute?” is said by Julius Caesar.

The guy to Mari’s left just seems to be fooling around. I’d know that sort of guy anywhere…*frowning face*

I don’t know about this “I fell in love” one…By the way, the text is here. That reveals the author is Dazai and Das Gemeine actually starts with “Back then, each day was the end of my life.” “I fell in love” comes after that.

Kaijou High School? Is this foreshadowing for a later opponent? Like, say, Mikuriya Chisato?

Stop it with the panty shot reference! Argh!

Wait, there’s a silhouette there in one of the circles. The long hair and colour of the circle indicates it’s most likely a girl, but probably one the staff want to keep secret…Interesting.

I’m kind of ambivalent, as this was one of 4 major hype shows for me. The number of panty shot references means they may refer to the event again in subsequent episodes, and fanservice has killed shows for me in the past. However, I’m slowly getting the hang of this quiz bowl stuff, even if I can’t always get in before the answer, and I know the emphasis is on quizzes, so I’ll give it another ep.

Saiyuki Reload Blast 1

Apparently, you don’t need to know much to get into Saiyuki so *shrugs* I’m gonna try it.

I think a more literal version of this ep title is “Sudden Storm”. “Squall” implies power as much as immediacy…

This reeks of DN Angel (late 90s/early 2000s) style, and I like it! Plus I’ve heard of the dragon/Jeep from other people who’ve talked about the series (notably there was an article on CR that convinced me to watch this and it mentioned the dragon), so…that was actually no biggie. Camera blood spatter is a bit questionable, though…

I have weird tastes in humour, as you might know from Kado. Therefore, when the woman appeared at the window, I laughed myself silly…

Shangri-la is China, so it’s natural that west China is different to east China. Kind of like how western America and eastern America are different…

I dunno why Gojyo is a water sprite, but that “diarrhoea sprite” thing is funny.

Gahh! That blonde (Sanzo) is too hot for me! No wonder people put characters on dakimakura, this guy looks right at home on one.

Well, I dunno what I just got myself into, but that was some good stuff! Next ep, please! (Plus, Granrodeo and Luck Life, the same duo of artists on Bungou Stray Dogs. That’s gotta be a good sign, right?)

Oh great, I left the ep running and it turns out there’s an after credits segment. Tsukigakirei’s after credits extras didn’t quite work for me, but since I laughed so much at the main show, this shouldn’t hurt, right?

G-Guh! The dragon can write calligraphy?! With its feet?! At least the joke works in Japanese and English…

That baldness joke works for me, considering I know Sanzo’s a priest…welp, if you get a lil’ background knowledge, it seems like you can conquer almost anything Saiyuki, and who knows what places it’ll take me in the future, eh?

Konbini Kareshi 1

I’m here for the VA talent, if nothing else. Nishiyama’s (Atsushi of Boueibu) getting a lot of side roles lately, which is great!

That running sequence took a good minute and a half, which is the same length as the OP. I almost noped out of there because that kind of thing is only compelling for about 10 seconds for me.

There’s something that’s a hybrid of Sagrada Reset, Denpa Kyoushi and Tsukigakirei here…which means it’ll probably get a low to medium rating, if anything. I can normally peg what sort of rating a show will get by its first episode,because shows tend to be consistent about what they do.

Interesting to note they don’t use shigatsu here.

The picture book is “The Mermaid Prince” (<- update: “The Merfolk Prince” is a better translation, so my bad). It was pretty obvious by the swimming sequence in the OP that at least one of these guys is a swimmer, or at least a PE nut (as some of the other things on his table suggest).<br>

I’ve never seen a younger brother be a morning person and the one to wake up a sibling. It’s always an imouto or a mother…

Wasn’t this straight romance, and not Hitorijime My Hero romance? Towa really has that bromance thing going on for him, the way Suna and Takeo (Ore Monogatari) do.

CS I think is a reference to BS Japan, one of the TV stations that shows Boueibu. Update: It’s actually highly likely to be CS-TBS, which shows the show. By the by, Nishiyama is Miki.

The red keion announcement vaguely pisses me off simply because I know that’s the light music club. I’ve seen small snippets of K-On, and while it wasn’t enough to warrant marking episodes off, catchy songs aren’t enough to keep me coming back.

This first meeting seems a little hamfisted for some reason I can’t put my finger on. However, it’s great Miki’s getting a lot of lines right here, although it’s still a side role…

The background scenery is beautiful in this show…

Here we go again…(basically, I have a very low opinion of this show, just as I suspected I would have).

I’ve got the volume on to evaluate Nishiyama, but the high-pitched teasing voice Towa just used is not natural at all. It would’ve worked better in his normal voice.

I get why the girls are fangirling over books, but I didn’t get who Michael Ende was until “The Neverending Story” came up, haha.

Glasses girl (Mami, right?) is reading something called “Glasses Man”, haha.

There’s a lot of voiceover here, as if the anime staff don’t quite care about their show enough to animate lip flaps.

As soon as she stepped on his foot and he didn’t give chase, that’s when I realised I didn’t quite care about these people. The pacing in this show, during critical moments, is just too awkward, that’s why…

Well, that was subpar. It has an opportunity to get better next ep, but I don’t care to stick around enough. However, there’s an interesting thing in the ED – there’s credits for scripting “Merfolk Prince”, meaning that may show up in a later ep. This ED sounds Coldplay-turned-Japanese, which is cool.

Knight’s & Magic 1

If you didn’t notice already, I’ve become so complacent with the premieres, this is my biggest season so far. If I finish watching every first ep I intend to watch as of the count I did for this commentary, I’d have 17 documented (7 more than on my hype list) because I have time, plus I’m relying on ANN to find me the good stuff this time.

What’s with that apostrophe in the title? As someone who likes their grammar to be correct, I just don’t like it.

I get the appeal of programming as an IT nerd, but it’s an acquired taste, plus it doesn’t have much payoff when you get frustrated at problems within your own code because it’s all a bunch of words and punctuation anyway.

Oh, it’s that effect where you-letterboxing! That’s what I was thinking of! (Reminds me of Erased.) Also, the ambient light is nice here, but the angled letterboxing is just plain weird.

CGI…bugs? That’s a pretty bad choice for monsters, IMHO.

ANN people have commented Erni’s past went too fast and I agree. Also, it’s just cliché after cliché with this show, ain’t it? Including the need to kabedon a girl.

Why does red eyed girl look like Atsushi of Bungou Stray Dogs? Plus, the wear on the mechas is nice.

Not every man – or every woman or other kind of person – dreams of robots, y’know?

“Trandorkis.” That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard in a while, and not just because it has “dork” in it, mind you.

Well, the look is shiny, bright and appealing and I can see this having a niche appeal to those who like giant robots. However, the backstory was too fast and Erni is way too OP for this world, so I’m dropping it.

Chronos Ruler 1

I’m familiar with only the first one or two chapters of the source material, so I was surprised this got adapted to anime…considering it’s a Taiwanese creator on a Jump manga though, it was kinda inevitable these days with all the Chinese coproductions.

That was a pretty interesting intro, even if it seemed like I’d watched the PV instead.

The battle there was good but a lil’ rotoscopy…hmph.

The colour scheme’s a lil’ dark…it’s a bit worrying, because Chronos Ruler normally has some pretty bright colours. I don’t want this to come off as a completely edgelord work like Big Order. I don’t seem to recall this dog though…

I’m pretty sure I don’t remember the forced humour spot, either, though it’s not as bad as, say, Bungou, where the director is known for his distinctive style of humour. Then again, my memory on this stuff is kinda vague.

This thing is starting to show cracks in its façade. Some of the movements are stiff and the CGI, while integreated well, doesn’t quite work with the 2D (although that’s shown up since the battle with the Horologue). “Cabalet” really adds to the cracks.

Every time Kiri speaks, I think of Kunikida (Bungou), so Victo is Dazai.

Adding the music to the show really adds another crack. There is absolutely no singing going on in this one singing scene.

Cue bad time puns. Puns are one of my specialties, y’know, so I don’t mind ‘em. Why else would I run LOL Yeah Shinichi, eh?

Victo, you remind me so much of +Anima’s Senri…and that’s just beautiful. Not many shows remind me of that. To anyone reading this, if you can get your hands on the old Tokyopop releases, +Anima is a gorgeous series, so go read it!

If Victo’s cards can fire at Mach 10, then he can’t beat Koro-sensei, LOL. (Ouch.)

Kids, don’t wear your hats inside. That’s an etiquette thing you should never forget, okay?

That was…strangely a much better premiere than I expected a Chinese part-production to be like! It’s better than the bunch of premieres I’ve tackled already and since good premieres are scarce, I’m taking it!

Update: Here’s another sign that doesn’t bode well for this show – it’s got the same director as Chaos Dragon (Masato Matsune), which I dropped after 2 eps. Chaos Dragon is known to be the epitome of road apples around the internet…

18if 1

18if was initially the only thing guaranteed to be out of Amazon’s greedy hands, so it’s great to see something so visually exciting ifnally be here for me. I know it’s based on a mobile game, which tend to be bad, but…c’mon, I’m struggling to find a good lineup here with what’s basically the death of Kaito x Ansa (it debuted on the 12th, but still hasn’t come CR’s way). Katsugeki’s good though, so at least that’s a lock for the commentary…

Quick –is this thing meant to be fully English? Or is this just Funimation being annoying?

Oh no, what a horrible first impression! Someone who speaks from their *erhem* and a chicken, aka cock…*muffles laughter* How dirty of me to even suggest it, but…well, it’s what we’re working with here.

The more I watch, the more confused I get.

Couldn’t Haruto have run towards the door? Or is this one of those non-lucid dreams?

This 16 frame simultaneous animation doesn’t quite work for me, but it’s an interesting hallmark of this anime.

Katsumi’s a Looney Toons Cat, sort of kind of…

The production values are mostly quite good, but unfortunately Haruto looks eyesearingly bad and I still can’t quite grasp the narrative thread of this show…

I just realised I completely didn’t care about Haruto getting his arm chopped off, not only because this is a dream world where anything can happen, but because heck, that arm drop wasn’t dramatic in the least.

“Anything can happen in this world”, eh? Including headphones being sliced off with a head, it seems.

Wait, so Yuko’s from his school? Haruto, please don’t encourage Yuko to skip school, as cool as that is.

Okay, I can see this becoming a harem crossed with The Royal Tutor…which would pretty much make this the Monogatari series. Unfortunately, because I still can’t quite detect what’s happened narrative-wise and the production values aren’t as great as they seem at first glance, I’m dropping this.

Boku no Hero Academia 27

Finally, we get out of that pool of mediocrity to get to the good stuff. Let’s go!

This new amazarashi OP is…great! Absolutely great match for this show…but as a musical choice for me, it’s kinda dull.

This old man is great humour-wise, but man, he’s basically Speed of Sound Sonic as an old geezer, LOL. The vibes between “little bro” and “big bro” are just too much.

Gran Torino really is a great old guy, basically Yoda, LOL (I had to make the comparison because even though I’ve never seen Star Wars, Horikoshi’s a fan). He can see weakness just from watching Deku on TV, which is what every great mentor should be able to do, right?

What makes movement flexible? Belief in one’s own strength and no fear for repercussions (not quite in the way Deku’s doing right now, but rather going all out all the time without having a subconscious fear drag you down). Also of course exercise and youth works in your favour.

Deku likes katsudon, LOL. No wonder he’s basically Yuri Katsuki’s little bro as well as Saitama’s, hahaha.

Best Jeanist is basically Aoyama gone pro (I’ll say ouch for Bakugou in advance).

Oh! Uwabami! I know she came from Oumagadoki Zoo, so it’s nice to see her animated!

Gahaha, Gran Torino is such a Mr Miyagi (even though I’ve never seen the original Karate Kid).

“Omazan”, LOL! This ep just keeps getting better and better!

Gahaha, I just made a comparison of Yuri Katsuki to Deku, and suddenly here come the food metaphors. This show became superhero!YOI with better comedy, and that’s just even more fantabulous than before.

This fairy tale AU, I dig it. Unfortunately, Mercy (@mercysorrows) spoilt prince!Shouto for me, but yes, this AU is just as great as the ep itself. Kaminari looks great in this, although I’m disappointed I couldn’t see Tokoyami. What a great twist at the end though, for it to be 1-A’s festival album…is that foreshadowing for a later arc, perhaps? (The All Might fire is both a fitting and a sad analogy, because All Might’s force is literally Deku’s sword and shield and All Might’s presence is what makes Deku a hero, yet it suggests Toshinori’s time as a buff man is limited…*feels all sad inside*)

Vatican Kiseki Chousakan 1

This one actually seems like it has some promise, and because I was a Detective Conan fan a few years back I’m a sucker for any new seasonal mystery series. By the way, let’s just call this “The Vatican Anime” and leave it at that, okay?

“This story is a work of fiction…” – The Vatican’s real, though, right? By the way, “succor” is, according to Google-sensei, “assistance and support in times of hardship and distress.”

The shaky camera doesn’t quite do it for me…There was similar stuff for Chronos Ruler, only that time they overdid their spinning.

I thought the door was an elevator, that’s how deceiving that doorbell was. Sheesh though, Hiraga looks like the dude from 91 Days when he’s tired (which is not a compliment!).

The Game of Angels and Demons seems to be reversi or something, Google doesn’t give me anything good on it.

*points at undressed Hiraga* Unnecessary, but wowee. Me likey.

“I’m the one who came up with the game.” – Oh, that explains why I had no proper hits on it…*sighs*

Biometrics? I thought we were in the 91 Days era, or at least another period in the past. Turns out we’re in the present (or somewhere very close to it).

Comparison to Youkai Apato here – both shows take care to state the obvious, but well…they’ve all got a good dose of (at least somewhat good looking) bishies, so I can live with that.

Okay, wait…they show Mexico on the map, but Google just keeps getting me hits for New Mexico (slightly off from the shown section of America) when I look for “aliens America 1945”, and Roswell was 1947 so uh…this really is a work of fiction, after all.

The most widespread religion where I am is Christianity, so it was optional for me to take RE back in the day. I’m not too familiar with Catholics (although there should be some if I bother to look for them), but…this smacks so much of my old RE classes yet doesn’t give me the same nostalgia as the recent Saiyuki did. Maybe it’s the cracks of subparness and the stating the obvious that are doing this.

This Jacob guy looks brainwashed. More than the other procession of priests we’ve just been introduced to, at least.

Bad CGI…then again, I keep these gripes because even Chronos Ruler does better than this and because Kado is its precedent.

“…follow the way like a little child would.”

So the show finally shows some promise! Why did it only start pulling out its big guns now? Probably lazy writing…

I know the AB negative blood is rare, but couldn’t there be someone else with that blood type around the Church? It’s not impossible, y’know?

Can someone verify the correctness of the Italian in this email?

I think we met Johannes already, so…it seems like this show has a propensity to introduce the viewer to a person twice over. That works when things are like Detective Conan (one story spread over 3 eps) but doesn’t work for 1 ep.

I get a sense of feeling of blasphemy from you guys (Hiraga and Nicolas) too, although I’ve pointed out my reasoning.

It’s a good thing it seems like the staff went out to the Vatican to get something that looks realistic, eh?

Wait, is Lauren a man?! Oh my…Also, from my version of the video (from Hidive/Sentai) I get the feeling the next ep preview got blended into the ED. Or was that just time constraints?

Wait, there’s a Horror Bunko? If I knew a Horror Bunko existed, why haven’t they started adapting stuff from it until now? I think people have been complaining about the lack of good horror works in anime…(Oh, I could probably answer my own question there – horror isn’t that popular in Japan itself. It’s popular in the West though…)

All in all, it’s not quite as Scooby-Doo as some people have pegged it to be, but not inspiring enough to continue.

Katsugeki 2

I’m pretty scarce on choice, so I’m doing what was previously never ever done before – I’m picking up one of my worst rankers (Hina Logi) to have a second look at. Mind you, we’ve had an overall stinker of a season so far.

(insert “Come at me, bro!” joke for Tonbokiri)

Huh, interesting – I’ve used female pronouns for the saniwa due to the female VA, but now that I properly listen to them, they do seem more like a dude. Does that mean that Touken Ranbu is specifically trying to go for a larger audience than just fangirls? Of course, for the fangirls, there’s Hanamaru, but Katsugeki’s way better.

Okay, Mutsu. 6 bullets is overkill, calm your gun-totin’ farm. Mutsu’s much like the typical anime protag and while he’s an alright sword, I never have been able to understand the appeal behind him. Maybe he’s for the people who like muscular bishies…? Tonbokiri and Yamabushi probably do that better than him…

LOL, these two. However, just comparing their stats, Kane-san edges over Mutsu a bit for everything aside from range…and that’s only because most swords have a short range.

When you talk about Tonbokiri, you often hear the legend, so it’s no surprise to hear it here. I’m just not good with sorting these swords chronologically though, so…Tonbikiri comes from the age of Nobunaga no Shinobi, huh? Interesting.

Daifuku.

The reason Mutsu carries a gun is because Ryoma Sakamoto was around during the dying days of the age of swords.

It’s kinda hard to hear what Mutsu’s saying from the way he talks, but the hot pot is specifically a nabe.

Noting that Tonbokiri’s ben out about 50 times, this saniwa really is a rookie and this era is probably the second or third map. Yagen isn’t too rare though, so he’s probably the biggest veteran here in regards to this saniwa. However, Mutsu’s number means that this saniwa’s starter wasn’t him…who was it, then?

Mutsu’s statement about daifuku is a pun on the fact “daifuku” means “great luck” as well as being a name for this mochi-like item.

Mutsu, weren’t you going to eat…?

What even is a Historical Restraining Force? Is that the group the saniwa is part of?…My bad, they just explained it.

One of the things that make Touken Ranbu so great is the propensity of it to go from battle action to serious drama or poignant melancholy at the drop of a hat.

This ED…was an odd choice, but has a nice singer. I realised the shots of people I don’t recognise show the swords when they were…y’know, swords. I still love the style of the next ep preview though (it’s even got the same BGM as the game!) and as expected, the citadel at the end of the ED is gorgeous.

Hina Logi 2

Good anime are scarce this season and magical girl shows that can be put through the commentary are scarcer, so…here we are.

“Rice Balls Over Flowers” is hana yori dango. Plus, hina means chick and since chicks are cute, I guess that’s where the aesthetic of the show comes from.

Someone likes the Osomatsu-san ED aesthetic, it seems.

How can you walk and not notice those breasts??? That’s exactly why I didn’t want to pick up this show again.

A qipao is a type of Chinese dress, the sort that normally has a slit up the leg and a skirt that doesn’t quite go to the knees.

Interesting, they’ve incorporated the panda hair accessories into the Trance.

For some reason, the production values here are quite nice, meaning either luck and Logic sells well in Japan or Bushiroad put a lot of their funding behind this…it’s probably a case of both.

She wants to stay with Nina, but unless she was either bored or maltreated at her home castle (which I don’t think was the case) I don’t really get Lion’s motivations…

Well, it actually was a rice ball (onigiri)! Geez, these puns…

Nina needing a logical answer is of course appropriate for a show based off Luck and Logic, LOL.

I seem to remember this Veronica lady from the original, which is funny, because I don’t remember Nina and Luck and Logic was very forgettable…

*tries to sneak away* Gratuitous boob shot? On a high schooler? Yeah, nah.

“small little town” – Small and little are the same thing though…

Trying to entice the lolicons with this ED is not good, y’know.

There really seems to be something hinted about Kagura-sensei, y’know?

I’ve termed this season “the race to the bottom”, but it was interesting to actually pull out a low ranker and give it a second chance. While I’m still not into Hina Logi as a whole and I gave it a 30 first time around, it’s probably better than that stinker Konbini Kareshi.

Hina Logi 3

*shakes head* Only in anime would someone ride a rocket like this. Only in anime.

I can’t see what Lion’s pointing to…

I am screaming profanities at my screen and shaking my head. Only in anime would a plotline like this happen. Only in anime!

I kinda understand Lion’s plight, since my dad used to go to my school to help out every now and again or have parent teacher interviews. Of course, that was when I was much younger, so…yeah. I think the staff are trying to get more younger girls involved in this by bringing in a “sexy dad”, but my tastes don’t skew that way.

Oh, now I understand Lion, but I still don’t get Mahiro, Yayoi, Karin or Karen.

Doesn’t spasibo mean “thank you” in Russian?…Yep. So Liones (country) is based on Russia, then.

Oh gosh, it’s one of those “There are two trains” questions…they bore me to death so much (and I can never solve them!) that as much as I like solving anime board questions, I’ll pass on this one.

The subber at CR decided to put their sub out of the way at the expense of being able to read the question. However, not being able to read the sub of the dialogue is a major problem! So I have absolutely no idea what the teacher was saying during the time she had that math problem up! (Also, that Foreigner question would depend on if you defeated the monster on impact or took extra time to properly defeat it.)

When there’s that screen with the four visuals on it, there’s a girl with a horned hoodie. I recognise her from the original series, but I don’t remember her name.

Here’s something on ezhiki, although there also appears to be a cookie variant.

Little kids always want their own independence, to the point where running away is one of those things most kids do, but then they come back. I don’t think I ever ran away from home, though. I was always too busy with studies and piano to run away…

I know these eyecatch-style screens are meant to be funny, but still…I never laugh at them…isn’t that sad for a show that wants to be a funny slice of life/fantasy…thing?

Last time I saw a bear in anime, it was Armed Girls Machiavellism…

Why would you ever need a bear repelling machine???

Who’s Belle?…Oh yeah, Belle is the squirrel.

Dasvidanya = goodbye. I’ve learnt more Russian because of anime than I ever would have without it (I read the entirety of Crime and Punishment thanks to that gorgeous Fyodor in Bungou Stray Dogs, y’know).

#simulcast commentary #katsugeki touken ranbu #chronos ruler #boku no hero academia #hina logi: from luck & logic #knight's & magic #18if #vatican kiseki chousakan #saiyuki reload blast #konbini kareshi #chesarka watches boku no hero academia #7o3x: fastest finger first #Chesarka watches Saiyuki RB #Chesarka watches Katsugeki

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