“hey kid,” pete exclaims, settling at the hufflepuff table beside the younger, placing a comically large package on the surface in front of them. “my aunt sent me this mess of regular -- uh, you know, not wizard candy, in case i was missing home,” which he was, but he’s saying it more to encourage the other in case he is, “and i’m pretty sure she spent like her entire monthly salary on it, and i know she’ll be preeeetty disappointed if i don’t eat all of it, but --” pete gestures to the box before lifting off the lid to show it’s stuffed to the top. “-- if i eat all this alone, i’ll probably end up in a sugar coma.” 

@rosexpark

the midnight bell tolls with no lover in sight. but wouldn’t call her his lover, not really; she’s still a kid to him, still someone who’s bound not by will but by duty. it’s the difference between a cage and an open field, and woobin respects her enough to give her the benefit of the doubt. surely, she doesn’t also believe that they must be together because their parents told them to? it’s not the middle ages anymore, no matter how much the architecture might make it seem so. there’s a lot that can be done, too many loopholes, and he’s sure he’ll see it if his parents will actually let him have the document that’s supposed to dictate the rest of his life. it’s ruined his prospects before, and a dance with a past too-often-remembered makes the wound seem all the more deeper.

but he respects rose enough to escort her back to her room. it’s common courtesy, and it’s not like he went just to dance with everyone else but her. she still owes him a dance, and midnight – and the announcement that the party will come to a close soon (the dwindling numbers could’ve told him that!) – comes too fast. he must’ve spent more time with his Past than he realised. now his stomach is in his throat and it feels like either bile or butterbeer has made some crazy, sickening mixture at the back of his mouth. he swallows it just when he sees her, and in a worse state than he could have expected.

it would’ve been fine if she was surrounded by boys. those she could fend off. it would’ve been fine, even, if she was nursing a twisted ankle, or had a broken heel. all that can be fixed. 

@withoutjoy

disappearing from britain’s magical landscape was a strategic choice. there had been many people to avoid – the resurgent crew of death eaters, on one hand, and her, on the other. she counted as an entire hand of things to avoid. it wasn’t that she had been particularly horrible to him. they had their ups and downs, pulled from any sun by their own pride and hubris that they could possibly last. jongin held too many things close to his chest, including her, but that didn’t mean that she had to know everything else that occupied his soul. now there was the matter of owing her most of the good years of his life before he ran, and coming home meant that there was a lot of interest accrued for the debt. 

he wouldn’t have made dinner otherwise.

there were some things he learned in the wilderness that urbanity couldn’t teach. some of the wizards he’d met taught him spells for food, specifically, that he never would’ve found useful if he was in a different field. herbology meant knowing which plants and wildlife to use for spells and potions, but it also meant knowing which plants could be eaten without being killed by them – and jongin knew plenty of those. besides, if he was going to prepare salad for someone he was technically still on break with, it might as well look, smell and taste good. he owed her this much, and that much, and this, and that – all the trappings, all the cleaning to be done! there was dirt on the floor from the greenhouse room (enchanted, of course, to sustain his children), and the cat litter needed to be cleaned out (where was that stupid cat, anyway?), and everything had to be spotless, as if he hadn’t lived in the amazon for years and deliberately cut off all contact with anyone else; as if he didn’t still know her preferences despite that. he even dressed up for it, in his own home. tank tops and cargo shorts had to be exchanged with button-ups and slacks.

the doorbell rang just as he was letting his sleeves down. a wave of a wand caused the utensils and the food to settle where they should be. another wave, and the candles on the table were lit. his wand was still in his hand when he opened the door; even more tightly-held now, as if it’ll protect him from the past he was more than willing to confront. 

there are eyes watching him that yixing can’t place.

it starts when he returns home – no, not godric’s hollow; that’s too familial – to london. he has an apartment with running water that won’t give him dysentry; enough space for books; enough space for his plants. they have a room of their own, made so that they can thrive in it, but some he has to plant upstairs. (it’s good that his landlord is agreeable enough.) it’s nondescript and in the middle of the city, in a nice little building on a small street, an alley, and better than his lodgings in the americas, temporary and homely as they were. now he’s not getting bitten by mosquitoes or throwing up in the toilet because of another stomach bug. better yet, he has a job: a real occupation that pays the bills and he can put on his calling card: ‘Zhang Yixing, Herbologist’ has a nice ring to it. 

but it starts then.

it’s in the shadow of the next flight of stairs. (he doesn’t go there anymore; doesn’t dare open the doors to the fire escape stairwell.) it’s in the flickering light of the elevator. (he’d rather apparate now than take it.) in the silent echo of steps on cobblestone alleys. in that brief non-moment between being here and there, just before dusk, just before sunrise. the eyes are in the in-between and yixing knows they’re watching.

today they’re stronger. 

he pretends not to notice, as is his custom, and goes about his work in the ministry. he meets with people and has lunch with them. (they watch him.) he goes by the bookstore at diagon alley to check up on the owner, say his hellos and his thanks, and bring them snacks just in case. (they watch him from the store window.) he retires to his apartment, closes the blinds, and utters an incantation for his plants and their need for the sun. (they see better.) he drinks his wine and settles with his plants, talks to them, gives them the meat and whatever other nourishment they need. he takes notes. 

he doesn’t notice when his cat slinks towards the door. john keats – the cat, john keats – doesn’t like doors, and it’s never been a problem of keats sneaking out into the night. he meows when he pads further away from his master and yixing doesn’t mind it when he stops. it’s when it’s been too long that he calls out, with no answer, and when he pokes his head out of the room and towards the entry way, keats is sitting by the door, looking up, as if waiting for something, someone –

The day his youngest brother had received his letter, heavy with purpose and bearing the waxen emblem of not only a school, but also an entire world that would forever be denied to the oldest of the Holmes children, Mycroft had locked himself in his room, injured pride and fractured self-worth having made him altogether unable to forgive himself for his incapacity to breach the barriers of the magical universe locked away from his gaze. When Sherlock had been invited to attend the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there had been other emotions beside jealousy and bitterness - in fact, Mycroft had felt a pleasant tinge of excitement at the prospect of seeing his sibling excel in a field in which fraternal rivalry would be impossible. At the time, it had seemed like a pleasant change - however, as Sherlock had begun to drift away, hoarding pieces of knowledge and information like treasures and refusing to acknowledge a brother uninitiated to the secrets of his new craft, Mycroft had started to hope that Newt would not turn out to be equally gifted, expecting his youngest sibling’s eleventh birthday with great trepidation.  He had never been able to overcome the shock and loathsome solitude of being the only of the three brothers not equipped with powers far beyond the ordinary, always conveniently out of the house when Sherlock and Newt returned home from their shared adventures so as not to be faced with the thrill in their gazes, the pity and scorn for someone unable to understand their powers. As the long, desolate months had passed, however, Mycroft had started to miss his brothers dearly and, with a heavy heart, had returned home to await their arrival for the summer holidays. So it was that he found himself seated on his littlest sibling’s deserted bed, the soft thudding of familiar footsteps in the hall a source of both relief and asphyxiating anxiety. It had been nearly a year since he had seen Newt, and how was he to explain his absence? How would his little one have changed over the course of so many weeks? He would very much have liked to leave, but it was far too late for such a cowardly action. As the door opened, Mycroft’s features assumed the cold air of indifference that had always been his shield in times of emotional uncertainty.  “ Welcome back, little brother. ”

REPOST with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. [[ note: i put info for circa in different verses so it's 'main || marvel || hp || mortal' ]]

tagged by : fuascailt

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NAME: Circa || Cassandra [ Arnette / Chronis / Barlas ] AGE: Immortal || 29 || 17 || 20 SPECIES: Goddess || Mutant || Witch || Human GENDER: Female SEXUALITY: Asexual || Demisexual || Bisexual || Doesn't like labels PROFESSION: None || Sometimes an Avenger, sometimes an assassin for hire || Student || Clockmaker and shop owner

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{ PHYSICAL ASPECTS }

BODY TYPE: Slim HAIR: Dark Blonde-ish Brown EYES: Light brown SKIN: Pale / Slightly tanned  HEIGHT: 5'7 WEIGHT: 132lbs

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{ FAMILY }

SIBLINGS: Erebos, Phanes, Aether, and Chaos || None || None || A Brother (Evander)

PARENTS:  Chronos and Ananke || Walter and Lisa Arnette || Pierre and Carina Chronis || Leonardo Barlas (Mother unknown)

GRANDPARENTS: Chaos || unknown || (Grandfather unknown) Ophelia Chronis || unknown

ANY PETS?: YES || no Terrier Mix named Cuckoo [[ marvel + mortal verse only ]]

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{ SKILLS }

Physical Prowess: 8/10 || 9/10 || 5/10 || 3/10  Speed: 9/10 || 9/10 || 6/10 || 5/10 Charisma: 9/10 || 8.5/10 || 8/10 || 9/10 Historical Knowledge: 10/10 || 7/10 || 6/10 || 7/10 Tactical Genius: 9/10 || 10/10 || 5/10 || 3/10 Strength: 10/10 || 10/10 || 8/10 || 4/10 Accuracy: 10/10 || 10/10 || 8/10 || 8/10

{ TRAITS }

POSITIVE: Adventurous, Amiable, Polite, Curious, Observant

NEGATIVE: Annoyingly Formal, Overly Cautious, Hesitant, Narcissistic (at times), Secretive

{ LIKES }

COLOURS: gold, silver, light orange SMELLS:  flowers, cigarette smoke, alcohol FOOD: cheesecake (any kind) FRUITS: strawberries, ambrosia, mangoes DRINKS: coffee, any kind of liquor (mainly margaritas and wine)

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{ OTHER DETAILS }

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES? YES || no || sometimes [[ practically an alcoholic ]] SMOKES? YES || no [[ chain smokes when she's stressed ]] DRUGS?: yes || NO [[ did try cocaine one time ]] DRIVER LICENSE?: YES || no [[ mortal and marvel verse only ]] EVER BEEN ARRESTED? yes || no || ALMOST [[ main and marvel verse ]]

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