#He might have a higher alcohol tolerance than the others lol

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Wild, entering the ranch after spending time outside in the snow with Wind: *sees Sky passed out halfway off the recliner, Four sitting on the floor with his head on the table, Legend gripping a bottle like his life depends on it, Warriors smirking at the tv, and Twilight staring intensely at the tv like his life depends on it* Uh what are you guys doing?

Twilight: Hush we’re busy

TV Doctor: *starts IV*

Twi: DAMMIT

Wars: HA

Legend: THIS IS A STUPID GAME

Wild: Uh, what exactly is going on?

Time, nonchalantly from the kitchen: They decided to play a drinkin game while watching a medical drama. Every time there’s a medical inaccuracy they have to drink.

Warriors: Best game ever

[plushie-sentai]

King Ohger Drinking Headcanons

Made a little list earlier in reply to @stickers-on-a-laptop but then got carried away in my free time at work and did a whole bunch so. Have fun! I love liquor and spirits (in like. A ooh yummy this is cool bartender way and not in a I love getting drunk way) so this was honestly rlly fun to write!

Character headcanons below the cut with some little stories hidden inside lol

Sorry I’m too lazy to fix the formatting I might do it later lol

⁃ Gira isn’t accustomed to drinking, he’s young and was used to being at the orphanage all the time anyways. When he does drink with the kings he either opts for something nonalcoholic like a glass of sparkling cider or whatever someone hands him. Kaguragi likes to mess with him and give him cocktails that he SAYS aren’t alcoholic but… definitely are. (Kagu learned the hard way the first time he messed with him like this that Gira is a lightweight and ended up taking care of him overnight in Shuggodam’s castle. The only person who knows is Douga since Gira doesn’t remember and Kagu refuses to admit he felt bad about the incident or that it even happened)

⁃ Yanma - drinks watered down bud light ass beer for the longest time. He doesn’t like it, but it’s what his mentor drank and he thinks it makes him look cool. That, and it’s cheap. This is all he drinks until Himeno buys everyone a round of her favorite cocktail of the week and he realizes he REALLY likes sweet stuff. He orders fruity drinks all the time “for shiokara” but if you watch carefully they’re always sharing it and he never finishes more than one shitty beer anymore. Kaguragi hasn’t told him abt craft beer and ipas yet but he knows it’ll rock his world. Absolutely forgot to add that if Yanma DOES order a cocktail for himself openly it’ll always be a jack and coke.

⁃ Himeno - Drinks fancy cocktails all day everyday. They’re usually very sweet, sometimes extra dry depending on the mood, and she loves anything with champagne, but despite how they look they’re always a higher percentage than anything the other kings are drinking. She also loves a good wine and savors any sommelier knowledge she receives from Sebastian, Cleo, Elegance, and of course Jeramie. Her dinner parties are always coupled with tasteful optional drinks planned to fit the meal. At least once she has a drinking contest with Kaguragi and absolutely drinks him under the table to everyone’s surprise (except sebas)

⁃ Rita - Rita also doesn’t drink much, as they aren’t a fan of being drunk around others and certainly don’t enjoy the mood that comes with drinking alone, but once they’re closer with the other kings (especially Himeno, as she and Morphonia get Rita to try all kinds of new things together) they branch out into drinking here and there. More often than not, you’ll find Rita at a king celebration nursing a glass of sake, a Smokey whiskey, or some very expensive vodka on the rocks. Don’t knock it till you try it in the cold of gokkan.

⁃ Kaguragi - Kaguragi of course drinks anything hand crafted from Toufu. His favorite are the Nigori sake and Daiginjo Junmai sake made from the Suzume’s tears rice. Of course, he’s also a big fan of mead! He does enjoy a good craft beer on the occasion, and will often drink whatever Himeno is serving at her dinners, even if it’s not his usual taste. He’s just happy to be included and have an opportunity to mess with the others a little given he has the highest tolerance out of anyone other than Himeno and Suzume and finds himself getting more tipsy while the others are already fully drunk.

⁃ Jeramie - Jeramie LOVES wine. He’s been drinking it for a long time and even has some bottles that he found in his mothers things that he’s never opened (that in my heart him and Gira share at their wedding). He tends to drink a rose or any white wines as he’s cautious of spilling red wine onto his suit, but he does love a nice sweet red blend too. Whenever he goes wine shopping in the different kingdoms he brings a bottle of his favorite reds to Himeno as a gift.

⁃ Racles - Big baby with alcohol. Never drank much due to fear of letting down his guard around others. Will drink whatever Suzume gives him but mostly refuses drinks from others even after the end of the story. When he does drink, he loves Suzume’s Nigori sake or a small glass of orange blossom mead. He does his best to be the “DD” for Gira (or whoever else needs it really but he always says he’s only there for Gira) Is a very loving and silly drunk the few times he has been and always gets snuggly with Gira (familially obviously), Suzume, and Kaguragi. Gira gets a bit embarrassed but always welcomes it happily, and suzu and kagu LOVE the attention and a chance to mess with him.

⁃ Douga - douga doesn’t like to drink a lot since he works a lot, but Gira tries to make sure he and his family are invited to celebrations where douga may partake in the occasional light beer (typically whatever Kaguragi brings bc he knows it’s always good). He used to drink a decent amount when he was younger so he tries to gently help Gira make sure he isn’t gonna over do it… Gira does accidentally anyways frequently lol

⁃ Kogane and Boone obviously don’t drink alcohol but Gira still makes them Shirley temples all the time as a treat (my sister used to make them for me when we had sibling sleepovers and watch mean girls so this is mostly for me lol)

⁃ Shiokara usually drinks fruity cocktails because he enjoys sour stuff and sodas, which he now usually ends up sharing with Yanma while he poses like he’s still drinking just his shitty beer. Shiokara is also a lovey dovey drunk, but no one is surprised since he’s also like this when he’s sober. Shio is also often a caretaker after parties, even if he himself is drunk, and finds himself helping with clean up and getting people home hydrated and safe, despite usually needing a place to crash himself (hopefully into yanmas arms-)

⁃ Sebastian doesn’t drink super often as he’s worried he wouldn’t be able to keep up appearances as an older gentleman, but when he’s with just the kings or just the ishibana squad, he doesn’t mind letting the veil drop. He’s unexpectedly a bit of a flirty drunk, but knowing this he’ll usually remove his makeup before drinking just so he doesn’t accidentally creep anyone out. Even regardless of that he’s still very aware and occasionally charmingly over-careful about people’s boundaries. He usually drinks whatever he is helping to prepare for Himeno as it’s what’s available, but his favorite is Spumante champagne.

⁃ Cleo - Cleo is a conniseur of all things ishibanan, her favorites being cocktails made with crème de violette and/or white chocolate crème liquor. She doesn’t get drunk often unless she’s having a girls night with elegance and Himeno (and sometimes sebas), but when she is she somehow ends up very quiet and only speaks to either give the wisest advice you’ve ever heard or something just completely unintelligible to anyone but her.

⁃ Elegance doesn’t drink pretty much unless Cleo does, so they’re about on par there. They like to share drinks with each other on occasion so they can try everything sebas and the chef came up with for a meal or party. The first time she drinks with the other kings however they learn that she used to be a bit of a partier when she was younger and always has stories to tell about this time. Yanma (and sometimes Kagu) like to challenge her to arm wrestling but they pretty much always lose. Yanma definitely always loses.

⁃ Morphonia may have started drinking when she was a teen (just for shits n giggles) but she still has a laughably low tolerance. She tried once to drink whatever Rita’s drinking but that night… did not end well. Not that she didn’t appreciate being waited on by Himeno and Rita themselves. She’s honestly a fan of the light beers Yanma never seems to finish, and she thinks the fact he won’t admit he hates them is funny, so she drinks them for him whenever he leaves one open. I don’t think Yanma ever notices it’s her drinking them, lol. She loves to party, but she’s a very chill drunk, and definitely prefers an edible to a glass of anything.

⁃ Kuroko - will typically have the first glass out of any bottle opens for Kaguragi, mostly for safety, but he tends to enjoy the same as him other than will prefer to have beer more often than any spirit. Doesn’t drink a lot because he likes to stay on guard for Kaguragi (though he usually doesn’t need it lol)

⁃ Suzume CAN outdrink Kaguragi, and is pretty evenly matched with Himeno, but often prefers to pretend to get drunk so she can pull pranks or gossip or do whatever scheme she has her heart set on. She also loves a good Suzume’s tears nigori sake, and will occasionally partake in an edible when offered by morf. The few times she does get genuinely drunk, she almost seems exactly the same and lucid?? People are very confused by this lol

⁃ Gerojim, like other bugnarak, have “strange taste” when it comes to liquor. His favorite drinks, on the rare occasion that he feels comfortable to partake, are VERY light absinthe cocktails with a lot of sugar, a bugnarak-made kelp liquor (yes it exists irl), and buganarak algae beer (which also exists, tho very little of it lol. A French brand made some in 2022 and it’s BLUE). Despite his size, he is definitely a lightweight, and is very careful about how much he drinks as alcohol tends to have a bit of an aphrodisiac-like effect on bugnarak and gerojim gets very embarrassed about his behavior during previous fun-times. (note: this is based in studies showing that rejected male flies may turn to alcohol when offered combined with a cursory glance at articles about alcohol creating pheromone signals in fruit flies as well. No promises that this is perfectly accurate but I think it’s fun LOL)

⁃ Dethnarak tends to avoid alcohol, as he both doesn’t enjoy most of it but also is uncertain as to the effect it may have on him in larger quantities.Some worm-descending bugnarak are incapable of getting drunk and find health benefits to drinking it, and others are highly sensitive to it and can do major damage to their nervous systems when partaking. If he drinks at all, it’s usually a glass of expensive smoked mezcal tequila on the rocks. (See again cursory google search at the effect alcohol can have on earth worms, also the joke of worms being in mezcal lol)

⁃ Iroki, Nephila, and Karras have girls nights in hakabaka whenever they feel like having a little fun. Given its hakabaka, they can really have whatever they want, but iroki tends towards a very sharp Namazake sake like she drank made from the rice grown by the dybowskis, nephila a deep dry red wine like an aged Cabernet Sauvignon, and karras a nice bourbon brûlée like she’d have to keep warm and cozy in gokkan. They get as pleasantly drunk as they wish, no matter how much they drink. Their nights are always fun and maybe… occasionally involve some spice.

⁃ Akka likes a good IPA and will often bring a case of somethin new to try to hang outs with the nkosopa gang. He doesn’t drink a lot in general and tends not to get drunk just by preference.

⁃ Mayuta LOVES coming up with new fruity and sour cocktails with shiokara, but also really loves a good IPA like Akka since he keeps bringing them to hang outs. She gets tipsy at parties but isn’t crazy about being drunk either. She just likes to have fun :)

⁃ Asuba drinks a lot of seltzer drinks, basically whatever nkosopas version of white claws and trulys are. He’s happy to drink whatever Yanma and shio are supplying as long as it’s not his shitty watery beer, though. He likes a good party and drinks a decent amount while gaming with the rest of the squad. He’s definitely a goofy/clumsy drunk, telling a lot of jokes but tripping over his words and himself.

⁃ Bonus: Grub! - grub kinda drinks whatever’s put in front of him and has a surprisingly high alcohol tolerance. A lot of people think he’s a bit of a pothead but he doesn’t actually smoke or do edibles as he’s not a fan of feeling high. He can be a bit of a sad drunk, so he’s grateful to have a higher tolerance to keep himself in check, but he’s still a big softie caretaker at heart and will help clean up after parties with shiokara if he’s sober enough to do so, otherwise he tends to fall asleep easily past a certain point and he’s a VERY heavy sleeper lmao. His favorite drinks are margaritas and lemon drop shots, anything sour!

[pbelfz]

Hello captain PB!

I have questions about chapter 8! Bc idk if I’m interpreting the text correctly.

It’s been alluded to by Izuku (I think in chapter 2 or 3) that Katsuki has issues with drinking. It wasn’t a comment on the frequency per se, but his temperament/ attitude intensifies when he drinks.

At first glance, you would think Izuku being upset in chapter 8 is justified, if his comment from the previous chapter was true reality. But Katsuki doesn’t seem all that bad after a couple of drinks. The behavior he displayed was pretty controlled and civil. He seemed more fit to make decisions than Y/N (then again three glasses of wine is going to look different on him than her). So is Izuku being upset about them drinking together coming from a place of genuine concern bc of things Katsuki has done in the past, or is it about control? Specifically the way Izuku exercises a need for control in his relationship.

Also, why did Katsuki suggest calling Izuku so late? While I fully understand they had been drinking his behavior and actions prior suggest that he may have been more sober at this point. Was he making some sort of display or statement to intentionally get at Izuku, or was he really was just “taken with wine”?

Maybe it’s me bc I hyper focus on behavior of others and I’m distrustful of…everyone, but do I spy the being stages of potential love bombing at the start of chapter 8? What are those grand gestures and why does it makes me uneasy 🤨

Anyways chapter 8 was great! I can’t wait to analyse the next one! Hope you’re well ❤️ and be confident in your writing skills, you’re amazing!

TW: alcohol

Great observation!

What exactly does "issues with drinking" imply in the situation with Katsuki? And what can that look like in real life?

Does someone with "drinking issues" drink too much? Do they get angry when they drink? Do they become a different person? Does it make those around them uncomfortable? Or are their drinking habits just beyond the preference of their social circle and that's what makes it an "issue"?

Let's think about what alcohol does to a person, so we can dissect why Katsuki appeared to still be generally the same while tispy.

Everyone's heard of an angry drunk, sad drunk, etc. Drinking obviously affects every part of your brain. Your prefrontal cortex, which controls decision-making and personality, is located at the front of your brain, so imagine there's a barrier on your forehead blocking all of your negative emotions, like anger, sadness, jealousy. Just stuff we don't typically show to the public, but we might be thinking about in our head. Alcohol lowers that barrier; so, if a person who is already angry, sad, jealous, but kept it hidden, drinks, they will most likely now be honest about those emotions. With this in mind, no one is an "angry drunk" or a "sad drunk" every time they drink.

So!

How does that apply to Katsuki?

He and (Y/n) were just having a good time. Katsuki definitely has a higher alcohol tolerance than (Y/n), so he wasn't really affected by the wine.

And no, he wasn't trying to provoke Izuku by calling him, LOL. Hearing (Y/n) say she missed their partner, his tipsy mind was like, "Oh! I know how to fix that!" and blurted out a response before thinking about how Izuku would feel about them drinking or considering it was 2 AM.

[honeytea8]

Could I get Bucci gang reacting to a S/o who’s usually really sweet and hyper, and one day comes home super drunk/high off her ass and like she’s being really possessive over them? I.e, literally clinging to them like a koala and staring down anyone who tries to talk to them?

Absolutely! I loved writing this request btw 🤣💗 Super funny!

Bruno Bucciarati

Good lord, he will be worried. “Are you okay? What brought this on? What happened??”

When you let him know you’re just drunk or high, he’ll sigh and shake his head, and be resigned to taking care of you for the night so you don’t hurt yourself.

With you being suddenly clingy and possessive, he’ll be a bit surprised but will simply rub your back and try to get you to calm down

“Please y/n, no need to bite Leone, he’s only bringing your food like I asked.”

Expect him to hover around you like a mother hen so you don’t choke on your vomit!

You make him cuddle with you the entire night but he won’t get a wink of sleep, out of his worry for you.

And when you wake up in the morning expect a mild scolding for your behavior. Afterwards, he’ll treat you to breakfast so you can get some food in your system.

“Next time, bring a plus-one if you’re going out drinking. I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you, cara.”

Leone Abbacchio

Let’s be honest, he’s probably drunk with you!

But I also imagine his tolerance is way higher than yours. He’s somewhat of a professional at this lol

He’ll act like you being clingy is annoying the hell out of him and may shove you off once or twice. When you keep coming back he just gives up and takes it lmao

Will chuckle a bit when you growl at people to leave him alone (thinks he has a personal guard dog now smh)

“Yeah, you heard her. Now fuck off, Giovanna.”

Y’all are a drunk mess together because neither of you are in the right headspace to take care of anyone.

It’s a rough night for everyone else involved too. You and Leone are a handful!

You both pass out on the couch cuddled up in each other’s arms, maybe you drool a bit, maybe he snores and maybe Narancia has an incriminating photo you won’t see until your birthday 💀

Don Giorno Giovanna

Chances are if you come back high, he’ll be upset with you. His stance on drugs is firm and he’ll be alarmed, wanting to know what made you do it.

If you’re drunk, he will be mildly intrigued by your antics, and will take note of this different side of your personality.

Like Bruno he will be concerned for your well being but Gio considers you grown enough to know what you’re getting into. Mostly. So, he may not totally baby you.

He will indulge your clinginess, however, if you want to cuddle or hug him, he certainly won’t push you away. Giorno may even let you sit on his lap while he works.

Depending on the extent (or your behavior), he might be tempted to use Golden Experience on you to mitigate the effects of the alcohol lmao especially when you become really protective.

“Mista’s here to do his job, y/n, you can’t just order him to leave.” Look closely and you’ll catch him hiding a smirk.

Pannacotta Fugo

Will literally want to smack you upside the head, it takes everything in him not to do it though. But he will interrogate you!

“What were you thinking, y/n? Why didn’t you call me? This isn’t funny, you know!”

Fugo will try to take care of you but ultimately cannot handle you in this state. You’re already a hyperactive ball of energy when sober. The drunken version of you is like something straight out of a nightmare.

Fugo will eventually call for backup—anyone who can come help reign you in.

He’s definitely surprised when you start getting possessive and won’t leave him alone. Fugo will get a bit frustrated at how difficult you’re being.

“Y/n, Bucciarati is here to help, so sit still and stop glaring at him.”

It’s safe to say that Fugo doesn’t get any sleep either. He’s got his hands full with you, literally, since you're clinging to him the whole night. When you wake up with a hangover, he laughs as he pours you a cup of chamomile tea.

Retribution is so sweet.

Narancia Ghirga

Dude, Nara is positively losing it!

He’s got his phone out and ready to record/take pictures of you utterly making a fool of yourself.

At first, he doesn’t notice anything wrong, I mean, yeah you’re acting a bit loopy, but you’ve always been hyperactive and super fun to hang around, so that isn’t unusual.

It’ll take Bruno or Mista telling him that you are in fact drunk/high for him to realize and even then, it doesn’t quite hit him until you nearly smack Fugo for touching him.

He'll be a bit caught off guard because you’re normally so nice and sweet. You’ve never tried to hit any of them before.

“Woah there! Y/n, what’s gotten into you?” and “Better watch out Fugo, or else hehehe!” is what he’ll probably say. 

When you cling to Narancia, Narancia clings back. He loves cuddling and hugging you and won’t mind the clinginess at all; he can be that way too sometimes.

By the end, you and Nara are curled up in his bed after a night full of hilarity and chaos.

Guido Mista

I imagine Mista will take everything in stride, as long as you’re uninjured, of course. And so, he’ll probably make a joke about you “having all the fun” without him. 

He’ll pretty much be goofy and playful the entire time.

Mista will definitely try to get some food in you to help get you sober. Either he’ll whip something up or he’ll order take out. He also jokingly tries to feed you too.

He’s definitely willing to let you hang off him like a koala, in fact, he’ll offer you a piggyback ride and let you sit on his lap if you want.

Mista will get a bit concerned, though, when you almost yell at Abbacchio for telling him to move out of the way, but he’ll laugh it off in the end.

“Aww, babe, you look so cute defending me like that!” 

The next day will be hilarious, only because Mista will continuously bring up the cute/funny stuff you did while drunk. It’ll be one of his favorite stories to tell.

[fukurodanni]

everything stays (but it still changes)

part 1 || part 2 || PART 3

pairing: tsukishima kei x photographer!reader summary: so the same man (that broke your heart 3 years ago) accidentally gets drunk with you at a work event. how bad could it be? word count: 2.5k note: includes cursing, drunken actions. this whole thing reads a bit like a rom-com, if u haven’t gotten that by now lol

The only thing left to do after it all is to push it all into the back of your mind because you have a job to do tomorrow and you need to be well rested, so you pull the covers over yourself and hope to every deity out there that he isn’t in your dreams, too.

And funnily enough, he isn’t. You stop by for tea before the photoshoot - it’s the Thursday afterwards and Tsukishima isn’t there but you don’t have the time to question it, so you stuff your phone into your back pocket and head off. It’s in a big studio building, and the set is gorgeous, based in off-white and decked with pale yellows and citrus colors. The models seem to have been there for a while, already in makeup, but the stylist is still hanging around so maybe they haven’t been there for very long after all. They straighten a little when you greet them, easy smiles coloring their faces.

Off to business, then.

The work distracts from your wandering thoughts - the flex of Tsukishima’s hands across the table, eyes like swirling honey. It’s easy to lose yourself in the routine of it all, the ridges of a camera lens under your fingertips and the gentle click of the shutter.

Sometime after lunch and before wrapping up, you’re talking with one of the models, Mika, about how her brother is a photography major. She’s been his guinea pig for about two weeks now - you laugh gently as she jokes about how refreshing it is to be in a set that isn’t the corner of a college dorm. Incidentally, you manage not to hear the heavy click of the door behind you.

Mika’s gaze drifts behind you and you don’t think much of it until you notice it drift back to you. That’s when you hear the rest of the production crew and glance over at them, confused. They’re all standing in a little huddle.

“They’re looking for the photographer,” Mika explains, having heard a bit of the conversation.

You get up quickly and stand a little straighter. “I’m the photographer,” you announce, and immediately regret it.

Their heads all turn at once to look at you and it’s only a little unnerving but one of the heads turns out to be Kei Tsukishima and you think your jaw might have decided to glue itself to the floor in response. You realize, now, that perhaps you should have asked him to elaborate about his career. You allow yourself a split second of shock before wiping the expression and walking up to them.

You ask, very politely and not at all like you have weird tension with one of these men, what the issue is. It’s Tsukishima that addresses you, in a short, clipped tone.

“They want the color scheme changed.”

And you gape. “What, why?” you ask, completely forgetting your resolve to ignore him. “We’re finished shooting, they would have told us this beforehand - the whole thing?”

Tsukishima looks unbothered, mostly. “Didn’t reach in time, I guess.”

Part of you wants to strangle him, another part wants to strangle the client, but it’s all fine and well. The photographer’s assistant (who you haven’t talked with, in favor of doing most of the work yourself - you aren’t even sure why he was hired) cracks a joke about checking your schedule and it only serves to piss you off even more. It seems to show on your face though, and - Jun, you think - looks a little sheepish at having joked about it in the first place.

He comes up to you a moment later, after you’ve wandered back towards the set.

“I haven’t done much,” he starts in a low, nervous tone, “I feel sorta bad.” You’re unsure about where the hell he’s going with this but he only grows more nervous and it looks like it’s taking physical exertion from him:

“We could go out for drinks after. On me.”

A little voice in you wants to ask, shamelessly, if he means a date. You’re co-workers, though, and that would cross the line of professionalism, just a bit, but he keeps talking and you realize your chance to ask has probably passed.

The models, besides Mika, have long gone - and it’ll only be four or five people including yourself. It doesn’t sound so bad. And he’s offering to pay. The messenger bag is barely over your shoulder before you reply, “Okay.”

-

The bar is about as well lit as an 8pm bar should be, lights in pale yellows that, for a moment, remind you of the set. You drink, bitterly.

Everyone is loose with the alcohol and atmosphere, movements and dialogue easy. Jun, funnily enough, is the first to go - absolutely plastered and claiming otherwise. One of the production managers calls him an Uber and excuses himself as well.

Mika leaves after accidentally oversharing. The most your brain could comprehend from that spiel, drunken or not, came in the form of ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s. She makes an excuse for herself too, clearly not having expected to divulge so much.

You’re tipsy at most, having been careful with your drinks and generally reserved to keeping polite conversation. That, or it hasn’t hit you yet. (At least your tolerance is higher than Jun’s.)

Eventually, it dawns on you that you and Tsukishima are the only ones left. You haven’t noticed how much he’d drank, having spent half the night trying not to look at him. You talk to him with a warbled sort of exhaustion. Conversation seems filmy and vague and you’re not bothered by that weird date-thing anymore. You’re sure it’ll come back to you at some point, just not now.

“God, starlight,” he says, and it isn’t as much of a slur as it is a slant, because as soon as it leaves his mouth he seems to realize it. “Out of all the people who could’ve been working that set….”

He chuckles mirthlessly, but you’re frozen in your seat because the nickname falls from his lips with such ease. It is, at once, unerring and much more sobering than it has any right to be.

The rest of the bar is suddenly oceans away. “What gives you any right to call me that again?” you ask, except it comes out in a mangled, jarring breath. The familiarity of it all hits you again just thinking about it, like constellations traced across your shoulder and the warmth of a bed that isn’t yours. “M’not taking any of this starlight bullshit after the stunt you pulled.”

Tsukishima furrows his eyebrows in a semblance of anger. It comes off more like dazed confusion, but it gets the point across. “That I pulled? That was a mutual… pulling. You left me on a bench after giving me mixed signals for two hours.”

“You’re hot, okay? What the hell was I supposed to do?” You’re not thinking very hard about these responses - you’re mostly on autopilot, watching the way his fist tightens and loosens, the way he crosses his arms. Arms that spent hours snaked around you, swaying along to music so low it made it seem like you were the only two in the world who could hear.

“Thanks,” he replies bluntly.

You think about replying for a second, think about the way he’d flick your forehead, enough to calm your skin but never your heart. And then, eloquently: “Fuck off.”

You sit in silence.

It’s in the instant that you’re coming up with an excuse to leave that you hear him, quiet and somber as if you weren’t supposed to hear it at all. “I still…” Tsukishima glances at the table in front of him, fingertips gliding over glossy wood.

“Loved you,” he finishes, lamely. “Love you. Past tense. I don’t know.”  

You’re watching him unravel like this, face flushed and pointedly avoiding your gaze. Except suddenly it’s like the crack of lightning, breakneck and furious and long overdue. “Fucking what?”

“Huh?” Tsukishima raises his head.

“The hell did you dump me for, then?” Your voice comes out a little more shrill than you’d meant, a little louder and a little more brash. So be it. He looks lost for words, foggy with drink and unresolved emotion, probably.

He isn’t answering, so you prod again. “Why did you dump me if you still fucking loved me? Why is this coming out now? Motherfucker, I still loved you!”

He stares numbly, hazily. “I didn’t want to deal with it.”

You want to smack the glasses off his face.

“So what, you dealt with me for 3 years and got tired of it?”

“You know that’s not what happened.”

“You could’ve fucking talked to me. Could’ve lied to my face instead of just walking out that fucking door without an explanation. Kei.”

The look on his face is desperate, disdainful. He doesn’t want to have this conversation but goddamn are you going to force it out of him.

He glances at the other bar patrons. “Can we talk about this? Outside?”

Which is how you find yourself in Kei Tsukishima’s passenger seat at 11pm on a weekday, screaming enough profanities to scare your grandmother into an early grave.

When it’s all out of your system, the only dredges left are of simmering regret. There is no anger left to give and only the hollow, mournful feeling that you’d spent so long trying to internalize. You remember contentedness and routine being ripped out from under your feet, kicking and thrashing as it was overtaken by shame. Shame and distress and the sharpest edges of remorse - of thinking that maybe - maybe Tsuki wouldn’t have left if you had been a little more careful. That somehow, despite everything, maybe you could have convinced him to stay.

His eyes are a miserable amber under parking lot lights and maybe yours are a little watery, but he takes the silence as a cue to talk.

And god, does he talk - staring holes into his hands as he does, never once meeting your eyes - about his fears, about letting you slip through his fingers and watching you go. “Because I saw forever with you,” he says, quiet and prayerful. “I thought I saw forever and I wanted it so badly, I ran when I thought it wouldn’t come.”

Like sand in an hourglass, watching grain by grain slip past the point of return and thinking that maybe there wasn’t going to be a forever - and if it ended, it would be on his own terms, running to put effort into everything that wasn’t you, shameful and laden with guilt. His hand is barely shaking in his lap and against it all, you want to take it in yours. It takes a special, sobering kind of talking down to restrain the urge.

And then, wonder of wonders, he apologizes.

Tsuki apologizes, only just managing to meet your eyes, nervous and different and new. For the misunderstandings and the endless fear and the regret of not having realized it sooner. You laugh, a wet and broken thing, and apologize too. It’s barely midnight and you’re still in the parking lot but the buoyant, hopeful feeling in your chest tells you that there are only two people in the world right now; only two that matter.

-

You wake up in a hotel bed.

It takes you about two seconds to absolutely lose your shit before realizing you’re still dressed and by that fact, nothing eventful happened. Kei sits next to you, scrolling idly on his phone and it hits you all at once - how content you feel, sitting quietly with him - keeping watch as the sun kisses his hair into shining ivory, glasses glinting in the light.

You feel as if heavy wires of tension have been removed from your limbs. They aren’t so leaden anymore but lighter and easier. Kei glances at you.

“Morning.”

You blink at him. “How the fuck did we get here?” and then, belatedly, “G’morning.”

He chuckles lightly and you consider, momentarily, that this is all a dream. Much too idyllic for your taste, but he explains that it was the most convenient option after a long crying session because you were in no state to drive and it was right there, anyway, and he had the money. He sounds a little sheepish by the end, but it’s all the more endearing. None of this makes sense, anyway.

You order room service - not breakfast, he has a habit of saying ‘good morning’ during odd hours of the afternoon. (A part of you wants to ask where he picked it up, and the other already knows the answer.) And talk all the while, same as before. You feel very grown up sitting with him like this, talking over bagels and tea having hashed everything out in a half-drunken therapy session the night before.

Part of it is so, so familiar. The way he doesn’t quite grin when he’s trying to hide it - the corners of his mouth turn up in an almost-smile and his eyes light with mirth. Another is new - two adults who happen to know each other, talking about everything and nothing at all. It feels a bit like a first date and it fills you with something rare and electric.

He has to drop you off at the bar again, walking you to your car and cracking a joke about the absurdity of it all. It’s about as awkward as it sounds on paper, but it’s perfect and good and you look up at him with new eyes. You’re opening the car door when Kei calls for you in a rushed, harried tone.

“Go out with me,” he says, halfway across the parking lot. “It doesn’t have to be with forever in mind but I’d like a second chance. If you’re willing to take a second chance.”

“Not forever?” you ask, and it’s supposed to come out joking. You take a few steps closer and watch as he does, too.

“Focus on what’s happening now. No running away from what I think the future holds.”

“Sounds good. Sounds solid.”

“Yeah. Good.”

A beat of silence. You’re closer than you were a second ago; you can see the smudge on the edge of his lens where you jokingly smacked him earlier. Your heart does a funny, acrobatic sort of thing.

His mouth opens, a sentence starts and ends. He tries again.

“Can I kiss you?”

“What? Ye- mmph.”

He tastes like 2pm breakfast food and black tea with too much lemon in and you melt like sugar in the rain. He kisses like home, warm and comfortable and easy. It makes you think that no matter how much has changed - how much you’ve grown - there’s a distinctness in Kei Tsukishima that will always feel familiar. Home after a lifetime away, coming up for air after hours underwater. Maybe it’ll always be like that with him, no matter how much time goes by.

You can’t wait to find out.

[enby-hawke]

For I Have Sinned-Chapter 7

Chapter 7- Renewal

Word Count: 14,555 (lol shoot me)

Tw: elf fetishization bordering on non-con but not a major theme, homophobia

Ships: Malcolm/Leandra,  Maurevar Carver/Mara Hartling

Follow on AO3

Carver never wanted to be a Templar, but his mother and father had the heir, the spare, and then some, so Carver was dedicated while he was still in the womb. They were proud of their Templar lineage but they didn’t know the sacrifices they forced Carver to make. Carver made them because it was his duty, and he did so with a smile. Even if he hardly saw his family outside of the many duties that filled his days.

 No, he found he didn’t have much in common with his parents, who were not even Templars, or his brothers. In all respects he carried their name, but they were just strangers to him, that tried to control his life, and used his good standing like a trophy in their collection.

 And there was a disquiet in him as he wielded power over mages. Chantry rhetoric claimed mages were not people. They were classified as living weapons, and yet they cried the same tears, bled the same blood, had the same fears, died just as easily. And he resented how many who he worked with used that power to harm. Carver didn’t know a better way than the Circle, but he often wondered if what they were doing was actually effective, as blasphemous as that statement was.

 He found few Templars that agreed with him and counted many mages as friends, even if there were rules that said otherwise.

 The fact was that Carver was given the keys to the prison and was free to leave his position at any time. But only through the Chantry could he get lyrium he needed, and he could only get lyrium if he remained a Templar. He thought of leaving, but his own leash held him place well enough.

 “I hate to bring this up,” Carver said hesitantly as they started pulling into the streets of the docks towards the Templar station where he’d need to park his car. “But you should clean up your face before we get back. We’ll be caught for sure.”

 Carver knew Malcolm better than the family that had given him up, knew him almost as well as he knew himself, even when Malcolm tried to keep secrets from him. And there was no denying that Leandra had changed Malcolm. Malcolm smirked often, but tonight on his face was a true smile, the usual frown lines and sarcasm had gone. He had been humming the songs that they had been singing all night, and had been serving as the radio for Carver as they drove through the streets of Kirkwall. There was no chip on his shoulder, no snarl to his words. Leandra had sanded down the edges until all Carver saw was a happy man in love.

 And Carver was scared for them.

 Malcolm laughed pulling down the mirrors as he inspected the red smears, wiping his face clean with his sleeve and a bit of magic when the lipstick remained stubborn. Malcolm seemed sorry to wipe off the evidence of the night.

 Carver reached into the middle compartment and tossed Malcolm some mints. “Your breath smells like alcohol. Take care of that.”

 Malcolm dutifully popped a handful of mints in his mouth, probably not enough to completely cover the smell but it would help.

 Carver knew mages were dangerous. He had lost a few templar brethren hunting down apostates, but among the heavier death toll, mages were always the higher casualty, not that his brethren saw it that way. Still, he thought long and hard, trying to find ways to prevent the same tragedies.

 “So we should get our story straight,” Carver said, as he pulled into his personal parking space which was marked and always clear for him. Carver could see Malcolm squirm in his peripherals, his lips getting tight as he sucked on his mints but he volunteered nothing. Carver turned off the car, stalling the engine so only ships at sea could be heard. He locked the door before Malcolm could get out and the way Malcolm glared made him look like a cornered wolf. “I know I initially tagged along because I wanted to keep that asshole in line, but I know you’re key to the investigation,” more squirming, some hunching. “Though I still need to interview the other mages at the party, I’ve been reading reports all night and no one seems to know more than you do.”

 “I don’t know what’s going on.” Malcolm’s voice was tense in the admission. He played dumb like he always did.

 Carver sighed. Obviously a lie, but calling him on it would only make him more evasive. He kept his eyes on the Templar station, an intimidating fortress that imposed the Docks, guarding a private train-line that went over the water and into the Circle.

 “So what do you know?”

 Malcolm went quiet. Carver glanced over, seeing a hundred thoughts scattering through his mind.

 “It was nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he finally said.

 “Nor I,” Carver said, worried about that admission.

 Malcolm’s hands twisted as he picked at his nails. “What’s going in your report?”

 Carver knew it was against the rules to tell anyone, let alone a mage under his care, what he told the Knight-Commander, but he could understand why Malcolm was scared. The Knight-Commander wasn’t the most tolerant of mages, and often criticized Carver’s approach in spite of the results Carver brought. “Only what’s necessary,” Carver hoped that would reassure him but his friend remained tense.

 More silence, an internal debate in Malcolm’s head as he decided what to tell.

 Carver waited in patience, his gaze expectant.

 “The Veil was sundered and torn, but not only that, corrupted,” Malcolm finally said. “I don’t know how but it seemed like the Fade was leaking into reality, like they were merging together.”

 That didn’t sound good. He wanted to know how Malcolm knew this but instead he asked, “What could cause that?”

 Malcolm avoided Carver’s gaze. “Something dark and ancient and powerful.”

 Carver cocked his head unsure of what that meant. “Like a Tevinter magister?”

 “Worse than that, dude.” Malcolm laughed uneasily. He actually looked scared. “I don’t think you can arrest this.”

 Carver considered what he meant and then it hit him. “Are you saying a demon did this?” Malcolm flinched, keeping silent but Carver knew he was on the right track. “What kind of demon?”

 “Terror,” Malcolm admitted. “And it’s big and hungry.”

 Carver then realized. “Did you fight it in the Viscount’s Palace?”

 Malcolm’s golden eyes blinked up in surprise and he chewed on his lip. “I did, but it’s strong.”

 Carver wondered how many battles he was fighting alone, and he knew Malcolm was too prideful to ask so he said, “It sounds like you could use help.”

 Malcolm sputtered as if embarrassed. “I don’t think you can help with this, dude.”

 If Carver had ego it might have been wounded, but he simply smiled. “It’s my duty as a Templar, and if this demon can sunder reality it is a danger that must be vanquished.”

 Malcolm looked uneasy, but he didn’t argue. “So, what’s going in your report?”

 Carver knew he shouldn’t but he said, “I think it important the Knight-Commander knows that a dangerous demon is hunting. We need to be prepared.”

 Malcolm turned to Carver, pleading. “Don’t say I jumped into the Fade.”

 “It’s an important detail,” Carver said, “and impressive as well. You could probably teach your own class with the types of spells you seem to always come up with.”

 Was this just because he didn’t want more responsibility? Malcolm’s eyes said otherwise. He recognized someone begging for his life. He had seen it too many times in the countless Harrowings he oversaw.

 “It really isn’t,” Malcolm insisted. “Just say we fought a terror demon that opened a rift into the Fade. That’s enough.”

 Carver was uncertain. He wasn’t comfortable with lying, but this seemed important to Malcolm. “And then we spent the night chasing it,” Carver finally agreed, seeing Malcolm’s shoulders finally relax. Still, Carver knew there was a huge piece missing from the puzzle, and it somehow had to do with Malcolm, but he knew Malcolm, and he could see him closing himself off like a vault. He had hoped the alcohol might be enough to loosen that tongue, but Malcolm was the most stubborn man he knew. He prayed it wouldn’t lead to casualties. “You’ll tell me what I need to know before it hurts anyone else, right?”

 “Of course. Trust me,” Malcolm nodded.

 “I do,” Carver said with a grimace. “I just wished you trusted me.”

 Malcolm looked hurt by the accusation. “Of course I trust you.”

 “But you won’t tell me what I need to know,” Carver said bitterly. He didn’t like how many questions he was still left with.

 “I did tell you what you need to know,” Malcolm’s voice was defensive. “The demon will die, soon, and everything will go back to normal.”

 Carver doubted that with the evidence he had seen that night, but he knew that would only lead to an argument. So, instead he placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “You don’t have to fight your battles, alone.”

 Malcolm said nothing to this, but he made a tight nod.

 Carver sighed finally unlocking the door and getting out of the car.

 Carver left his car at Templar station and they boarded the train, watching the water over the ocean in companionable silence as the tower of the Circle approached. Dawn was just starting to rise over the ocean cut off by the ugly tower that jutted into the sky with its red Circle flags waving in the ocean wind as bronze slave statues curled into themselves against the ocean spray, weeping.

 Carver felt sorry that the night was over. He could already see that Malcolm was getting antsy approaching the Circle, his fingers drumming on his legs in a steady beat. He seemed wound up with energy still from the night, which he guessed was good since he probably only got a few minutes of sleep.

 Soon they walked off the train and into the courtyard which was still empty, but it would be filled with Templars doing drills. Dawn had broken and so First Bell wouldn’t be too far. Before Malcolm walked back to his room Carver stopped him by a hand on the shoulder. “Remember your promise to Leandra. No lip, and work on your grades.”

 “Yeah, yeah,” Malcolm rolled his neck, cracking it nonchalantly. He said it like he was brushing it off, but Carver couldn’t help but notice how alert he was, his posture straighter with a confidence that carried him with every step. As Malcolm walked away, Carver thought this might be the first time Malcolm actually might consider taking something seriously, and he couldn’t help but think he’d have to find more ways to thank Leandra, if for no other reason to bump into that rather whimsical cat-eyed woman who had mischief in her smile.

 As Carver made his way down the Templar quarters he found his mind wandering back to Mara. He had met many beautiful women, but Mara had a spunk to her that set her apart and made her shine. He was rather impressed that she stood up to her own man for Malcolm and her loyalty to her lady seemed to go beyond just duty. Admiration. That’s what he told himself was stirring inside him. Any other considerations he had long since buried, but like a stubborn weed, irresponsible thoughts were unearthing.

 Carver knew those were thoughts that would go nowhere. He was Knight-Captain, second only to the Knight-Commander. He had a responsibility to his wards and his comrades to be sharp and undistracted and while Templars were not forbidden to marry very few found the opportunity nor the time. Carver himself barely had time in the day to eat so to fully commit to anything like a romance seemed out of the question. Plus, it was clear she already had a man. Still, he hoped Mara would find someone more worthy of her wild adventurous spirit. And the way she inspected him with that scrutinizing stare as he performed for her left a shiver in his spine. He remembered the sassy way she called him “Officer” that stirred something primal in him and he was left unbalanced when she grabbed his arm.

 He shouldn’t have allowed the picture. It could ruin everything, but Mara smelled so good he was left dizzy and his spine turned to jelly. And when Gamlen yanked her back from him it took everything not to punch him and ruin the night Malcolm worked so hard for.

 It was not his place. Carver was only there to protect Malcolm, nothing else, and he felt a little ashamed that he was even thinking such things. He needed to focus, make sure that Malcolm doesn’t ruin what little standing he has left by taking reckless chances. But he couldn’t help but wish the song he sang Mara was a little longer and that Gamlen had stayed on that curb so he might find an excuse to talk to her again.

 The door  to the   Knight-Commander’s office was intimidating, high reinforced steel bars with a heavy plaque of the red Chantry sun, as if they needed another reminder who ruled over them.  Carver went to knock on the door to find that it was slightly ajar, muffled voices coming through the door.

 “Knight-Commander, we need to consider that this might have been an attack on the Amell’s or the De Lancets. We need to reinforce security, pull from the Guard if necessary to ensure the nobility’s safety.”

 Carver gritted his teeth. It was clearly Meredith’s voice coming from the door. Normally he would commend Meredith for her proactive thinking. She was remarkably fast at getting the men to secure the ballroom, but she made it clear to Carver that she was gunning for his job and he was sure this was just going to be another attempt to undermine his command.

 Carver knocked twice before letting himself in, cutting off the Knight-Commander’s reply. Both the Knight-Commander and Meredith’s head flung in Carver’s direction. Knight-Commander Guylian stayed behind his desk, an antique oak with heavy legs, his pale skin popped against the dark leather. He was an older man with a prominent nose, lips so thin they were barely visible and dull grey eyes. He looked fully rested compared to Meredith whose bags from the all-nighter she pulled darkened her creamy skin.

 “Good, I’ve been expecting your report,” the Knight-Commander nodded.

 “Finally,” Meredith scowled as the Knight-Commander motioned for Carver to come in, but she kept her usual barbs to herself for now.

 Carver glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even 6am. He was not late. Still, he couldn’t help the anxiety creeping up his neck as his Commander stared him down, waiting for him to spin his tale. Carver had become good at lying though, years of meditation and duty hardening him into a beacon of calm.

 “Before I go into my report I want to recommend an official reprimand be marked on the Knight-Lieutenant's record.”

   Meredith went red, eyes widening in outrage. “What for!?”

 Carver felt himself mold into the role of Knight-Captain and addressed her while keeping his eyes on the Knight-Commander. “Instead of assessing the area for culprits she assaulted Taylor Filene. Such behavior will sow disorder and dissent in the ranks.”

 “But Taylor Filene might be a culprit,” Meredith barked back.

 “Regardless,” Carver continued. “There are procedures if you have suspicions. Threatening your wards in plain sight of the nobility is not.”

 The Knight-Commander waited patiently studying both templars under the comfort of his cushioned chair. “This is true. The public must not see such things, Knight-Lieutenant. Our public image must be maintained.”

 That was not Carver’s point, but he knew that arguing that it should not be allowed at all would get him nowhere. The Knight-Commander could be a harsh man, himself, and Carver needed to toe the line.

 The Knight-Commander tapped his desk with his finger. “But considering the stress of last night I believe an unofficial reprimand will do just fine. Just see that it does not happen again.”

 Meredith nodded, suppressing a triumphant smile. “It won’t, Knight-Commander.”

 The Knight-Commander leaned back inspecting Carver again. “Now, where did you disappear to last night?”

 “I’ve made an unexpected discovery in Malcolm Hawke’s testimony. He was able to identify that it was a terror demon that sundered the veil at the party and he is assisting me as I hunt it down. The hunt took me all over Kirkwall.”

 “You had an unsanctioned mage assist you in an investigation?” Meredith sneered, echoing the concern on the Knight-Commander’s face. “Without backup?”

 “The Fade interference messed with our electronics. There wasn’t time,” Carver lied quickly, “But I witnessed myself as he closed the rift in the Fade with his magic and calmed the spirits enough to go back, a feat no mage in this Circle I know to be capable of. Without his help, we might have had a bloodbath on our hands. Unsanctioned he may be, but his help may prove invaluable.”

 “That oaf? He’ll make a mockery of this investigation,” Meredith  sneered.

 Carver expected that from Meredith but still he couldn’t help but ask a question he knew the answer to from his reports, “Knight-Lieutenant, what is the status of the Veil?”

 Meredith’s lips thinned into a red line. “It appears to be stronger than before.”

 Carver kept the grin off his face. “So should I issue you a ‘thank you’ to Malcolm myself or will you?”  

 The Knight-Commander stared at Carver and he wondered if the uneasiness on his face was suspicion or something else. “Demons do not usually affect the world without outside help. We should not discount Meredith’s theory that this could have been an orchestrated attack on the Amells or De Lancets.”

 Carver grimaced. He wasn’t sure if Meredith was right, but he knew from the smirk on Meredith’s face that she would use this more to swing her iron fist.

 Then the Knight-Commander asked, “How exactly did Malcolm heal the Veil? I thought using magic only weakened it.”

 Carver knew he had to omit a few details but he wanted to keep as close to the truth as possible. Easier to keep track of the lies that way. “He claimed it to be an aura he developed to calm spirits,” he could tell from the look on their faces that they had questions about that and so did he, but instead he distracted them with something else, “I believe he has the potential to be a Spirit Healer. From my observations he seems to be sensitive to their presence.”

 Meredith and the Knight-Commander shared a look. Spirit Healers made contracts with beneficial spirits to draw upon great healing magic, the kind that could bring men back from the brink of death. They were incredibly rare and watched ever closely by the templars because of how similarly they functioned to blood mages, and how easily they fell to temptation, but because of their beneficial nature they were still highly sought and prized by the Circle. He could see the arguments warring both on Meredith and the Knight-Commander’s faces.

 The Knight-Commander seemed conflicted. “It would be a boon for the Circle, but what makes you think the elf would even do it? He seems insistent to sleeping his potential away.”

 Carver put on his most convincing smile. “Give Malcolm a chance. He’s already proved last night he is capable of much more than he’s letting on.”

 Meredith slammed her hand on the table startling both the men. “Absolutely not,” she snarled. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

 The Knight-Commander’s eyebrow twitched and Meredith reddened, retracting her hand.

 “Is that not for me to decide, Knight-Lieutenant?”

 “Yes, ser,” she simply responded, her eyes on his desk.

 The Knight-Commander leaned forward, resting his fingers on his chin as he thought. “I have an opportunity in mind, but I have reservations about his abilities but since Malcolm managed to not offend anyone at the party…” His calculating gaze locked on Carver as he made his decision. “The Amells and De Lancets will be here for their interviews as well as their Cleansing. If Malcolm can perform without offending them, I may consider speaking with the First Enchanter to rework his curriculum.”

 Carver nodded. “I’ll make sure he takes this opportunity seriously.”

   The Knight-Commander’s blue eyes were like a faded cloudy day. “See that he does. The Amells are high patrons of the Circle and if they are not satisfied with his performance, neither will I.” It sounded like the threat it was.

 Carver nodded, gritting his teeth, a sinking feeling in his gut about how far Malcolm’s place was falling in the Circle. He needed to do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t fall further. Still, Malcolm was one of his best friends and he knew him well enough to know that he would not be thanked for this. But, dangling Leandra seemed to work before. Surely, it would work again.

 Mara’s kitchen was a small but cutely decorated space, with duckling wallpaper and colorful appliances and cartoony knickknacks, some that Leandra had gifted over the years. On the fridge was a homemade frame of a picture of a fishing trip with the family when Mara’s parents and grandma were still alive. Leandra, Gamlen and Mara’s grandfather were also in the picture. He was a pale red-headed elf with green eyes and mischief in his smile. The rest of the family shared Mara’s chestnut hair and her dark unhooded cat eyes. Mara and he were both holding large rainbow trouts, Mara’s slightly bigger and she was rubbing it in Leandra’s face since she had only managed to catch a small minnow which she still showed proudly to the camera.

 Everyone in the family was laughing, their faces in half-blurs as the Hartlings were never ones to sit still. Only Gamlen remained looking out of place as he glowered at the camera, hot and uncomfortable and always letting everyone know about it. Still, that day was perfect, and the memory of it kept Mara going on her darkest days.

 Leandra stared at her phone, sipping at her coffee, her belly full of fried rice, bacon and eggs, helping to stave off an oncoming headache. She had spent many nights sitting at this counter, staying up gossiping with Mara and tonight was no different. Though the pain of exhaustion made her question if anything about the night was real, Mara was there to confirm every detail. And there was more evidence, in her picture, Malcolm was pressing against her cheek, looking as dazzling as in her dreams except now she had the memory of his clover musk that she sorely missed. She didn’t recognize the smile on her face, or how Mara let her hair get so messy, and now that she was slowly sobering up, she realized she was dumbstruck by her own actions.

 She realized with profoundness, that she would repeat everything exactly the same. She had never felt so brave except at Malcolm’s side and now that he was gone the whimsy of the night was over. The reality of her   fiancé   and her parents were coming back to her. She’d need to face them, soon.

 “He really fills out that suit, doesn’t he?” Mara hummed, placing her chin on Leandra’s bare shoulder.

 Leandra hummed in agreement, admiring how Malcolm’s suit cut a striking silhouette, until she registered what Mara said and smacked her playfully on the arm. “Eyes to yourself, lady, he’s mine.”

 “Oh, please, your man’s too skinny,” Mara waggled her eyebrows. “I was talking about Ser Herculean Statue.”  

 “Mara,” Leandra guffawed, scandalized. “What if Gamlen heard?”

 Mara pulled away, rolling her eyes as she departed for the sink in a hasty retreat. “I’m just looking. It’s not like I don’t catch Gamlen’s eyes wandering. Neither of us are blind, y’know.”

 Mara seemed tense at the mention of Gamlen, and she immediately began scouring the pots to put in the dishwasher. Leandra bit her lip. She knew that they spent at least fifteen minutes talking in Mara’s room before Gamlen decided to take a nap and Leandra was unsure if Gamlen would bother to show up for the Cleansing. Mara and Gamlen were still together, but for the first time Leandra was unsure about their future and she could see how uneasy this was making Mara.

   Mara washed off her cat eye makeup making her eyes look more almond shaped and they were red from tiredness, but Leandra looked at the irritated rims of her eyes and knew she had been rubbing them. Her lips were paler and a more natural pink and her hair was still damp from the shower she had. She looked much more comfortable in her baggy t-shirt that looked like it belonged to Gamlen at one point and plain plaid sweatpants.

 “How are things with Gamlen?” Leandra asked hesitantly.

 Mara’s shoulders tensed before she opened up the dishwasher and deposited the pan with some force. “Oh, it’s peachy.”

 Leandra abandoned her place at the counter to saddle up beside Mara to help her wash. She picked up a stray plate and started rinsing the grease from it.

 “Your mother will kill me if you ruin your manicure doing servant work,” Mara took the plate away from her to take over but Leandra just picked up another.

 “Who cares about my mother? We’re talking about you right now,” Leandra sniffed as she scrubbed off some stubborn onion that was sticking to the plate. Leandra’s polished white-tipped pointed nails were soon covered in bacon grease. Leandra gritted her teeth. “You know he’s my brother, but you can always be honest with me.” Leandra met Mara’s uncertain gaze as she paused to bite her lip. “About anything.”

 Mara took the plate from Leandra, placing it in the dishwasher. She was silent, but Leandra could tell there was something Mara was keeping from her. “Promise not to tell, Gamlen?”

 “I won’t say a word,” Leandra nodded, abandoning the chores to give Mara her full attention.

 Mara tucked a wet strand behind her ear as she leaned her back against the sink. “I’ve been with Gamlen for as long as I can remember. I know I love him but…”

 “But…?” Leandra echoed as Mara trailed off.

 Mara kept her eyes to the ground. “Seeing the way you are with Malcolm…maybe I’m a little jealous.”

 Leandra dropped her mouth. Mara? Jealous of her and Malcolm? She was blushing at the idea considering the years she spent in envy in the reverse position.

 “I just met Malcolm last night,” Leandra blubbered. “You and Gamlen have had a solid relationship for years. Malcolm and I are too new to even label our relationship. And the fact that I’m about to be married in two months, you have nothing to be envious over.”

 Mara looked at Leandra biting her cheek. “See that’s the thing. Malcolm looks at you like he’s seen the sunrise for the first time. I’ve never seen a man look so devoted,” Mara looked sad, meeting her gaze hesitantly. “And you have never looked so happy beside him. I think you found something real. And I want that…”

 Leandra felt a rush of warmth at the thought, before her rational mind took over and started tearing the fantasy apart. This was too new for her to even name what she was feeling for him. She was still engaged. Very, very engaged, and though she was angry at her parents, she wasn’t so angry that she would throw her whole future away over one wonderful night, no matter how perfect everything felt. Still, as she looked at her friend’s uncertainty she knew she had to reach out for her hand and ask, “You don’t think you have something real with Gamlen?”

 Mara froze, her eyes dropping again. “I...don’t know.” Then she forced a grin, “He gives me a      real    headache.”

 Leandra laughed in spite of herself, but she knew Mara was just joking to avoid talking too seriously. “I won’t lie and say I don’t want you and Gamlen to work, but if you’re unhappy-”

 “I’m not,” Mara said a little too quickly and returned to cleaning the dishes. “I’m probably just still mad about last night. Just ignore me.”

 Leandra could sense the broiling emotions under Mara, but she nudged Mara’s shoulder with her own before returning to the dishes. “You’re hard to ignore, Mara.”

 A pleased smile pulled on Mara’s lips, her cheeks blushing just a shade pinker.

 Suddenly Leandra’s phone rang from her purse, and Leandra wiped her hands on the hand towel and went to retrieve it. She recognized from the chiming wedding bells that it was Guillaume. Sure enough his name with the screen photo showing Leandra and him on one of their dates to their favorite restaurant at la Rose’ de Safran, a ritzy Orlesian place where their portions were smaller than their wine glasses. She couldn’t help but take a moment to compare how fake her smile seemed as she posed with him keeping a professional distance apart even as they held hands.

 She let only one more annoying bell ring before she answered the phone, her voice cloaked with peppy energy even though she felt so exhausted she was sure she’d fall asleep on the kitchen counter. “Guillaume, what a surprise. Why are you calling so early?”

 Guillaume’s slightly Orlesian accent filtered through the speakers, grating her nerves with anxiety even though his voice was calm and soothing. “I heard you had a fight with your parents last night and I wanted to help if I could.”  

 She was touched and suddenly flooded with guilt. Guillaume was still her friend and a true one and she was deceiving him. “I’m not sure how you could help, but thank you for the thought,” she almost mumbled the words as she struggled to keep herself calm and breathing even.

 “I thought I’d offer you a ride to the Cleansing if you would like, to give you more space between your parents. We can get a cup of coffee and talk.”

 It was just like him, incredibly thoughtful, and the confusion about what the right thing to do was made her dizzy and hesitant. Usually talking with Guillaume would unburden her, but she immediately thought of Malcolm and the jealous look in his eye and how badly she just wanted to belong to only him. How she wanted to come clean and tell Guillaume the truth right there. Would he judge her? He never had before?

 But she wouldn’t. She still didn’t even know what was happening to her heart, and all these urges to make irrational decisions scared her.

 She took in a shallow breath. “You’re right that I’d rather not face my parents,” she admitted, not wanting to say yes, but the thought of a car ride lecture all the way to the Circle was less preferable.

 She could hear the smile in his voice. “Merveilleux, I’ll be at your house in less than ten minutes.”

 “Actually come to Mara’s.”

 Leandra tried to get Gamlen out of Mara’s bed plush polkadot duvet but he was snoring so forcefully he was ruffling his bangs. After shaking him firmly once he told her to ‘bugger off’ and she decided she wasn’t going to do what she normally did and fuss over him and drag him to his duties. He was a full grown man. If he wanted to let his aura fester that was his problem.  

 She texted her family’s group chat to not send the car to Mara’s because Guillaume was picking her up and though she expected an argument over that she didn’t get one. Just a firm reminder to not be late. She tried to distract herself with social media, but soon enough all the congratulation messages and worried ‘are you ok?’ messages about her betrothal ball found her sorely missing Malcolm.

 She wished she could post that picture, let everyone know of the wonderful man she found and share her happiness, but she would hurt Guillaume deeply and knew she would get no congratulations. So she traced Malcolm’s lips with her thumb, wishing things were simpler so she could just enjoy this feeling.

 Soon Guillaume’s town car pulled into Mara’s driveway and Guillaume stepped out.

 Leandra stiffened, brushing herself off as she approached him, smiling in greeting. She couldn’t miss the way his eyes raked her from head to toe taking in her look. She told herself she should appreciate it. Mara had worked hard helping her pluck, smooth out her hair, paint on her face and vet her outfit. Still, she wished that Mara had clothes that didn’t always cling so close or reveal so much. It was almost impossible to find something appropriate to meet her future in-laws in.

 “Are those Mara’s?” His tone was appreciative.

 She tucked hair behind her ear as she shyly hid her figure behind her purse. Normally Leandra’s day wear consisted of airy dresses that were modest but fashionable, but today she had on a loose black knit sweater that hung off her shoulders and a bold peacock patterned pencil skirt that hugged every curve. She was still wearing her red heels from last night since her feet were too small for Mara’s shoes. “It looks awkward on me, right?”

 “Not at all,” his smile gleaned as he stared appreciatively at her bare shoulders. “I’d say it’s a fetching look.”

 No blush came to Leandra’s cheeks but instead she made a strangled sound in her throat.

 Guillaume opened the door for her, chuckling. “I’d say I left you speechless, my lady.”

 Leandra chuckled nervously as she ducked into the car.

 He soon joined her on the other side, the cabin cozier than she wished it. He nestled in close and it took all of Leandra’s willpower not to shy away from him as he took her hand. His hand felt wrong, too large, too imposing. It didn’t feel at all like comfort though she wondered if it ever did. His amber eyes burrowed into her in questioning. “So what happened with your parents?”

 She didn’t feel at all like sharing but she did because she thought she should. “They tried to fire Mara.”

 Guillaume made a dramatic gasp into his spare hand. “No, they can’t.”

 “I said they tried. I rehired her,” Leandra found herself looking at the window rather than at Guillaume, if only so she would stop catching him staring at her shoulders.

 “That was quick thinking, ma chérie,” Guillaume squeezed her hand. “Do you need any financial assistance in the matter? I would be happy to lend any assets.”

 Leandra felt herself get hot and quickly said, “No, no, that’s not necessary,” she shook her head so violently her ponytail swayed from side to side. “I’ll have to cut back on a few expenses but Mara is more important than frivolous things like spa days.”

 “Maker,” Guillaume shook his head. “You are a stronger woman than me. I need my spa days.” Guillaume laughed at his own joke and Leandra joined in politely until his laugh trailed off and was replaced with a silent tension. “Ma chérie, I have a confession to make,” his voice was as tense as his shoulders.

 Leandra turned to face Guillaume, her gut plummeting. “Yes?”

 “You know my mother is a very religious woman,” Guillaume looked at Leandra, and then tucked a hair back in place fondly. Leandra withheld a shudder. “The haunting has spooked her. She thinks it’s a curse on your family and she wants to call off the wedding.”

 Leandra blinked, her heart fluttering and she almost caught herself smiling but she knew from Guillaume’s face that this was a huge source of anxiety for him and she felt herself being pulled by two ropes. She knew she should say something and he was expecting her to, but she was trying not to thank the Maker out loud so she did so in her head. She schooled her face into a frown, and said, “How terrible,” as convincingly as possible.

 It worked because Guillaume brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “We have to convince her not to.”

 This time she did shudder. She knew she should agree and try to use this car ride to strategize but Leandra felt her shoulders dropping. “Do you really want to?” she actually asked. She clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as the question escaped. She could see the hurt written on Guillaume’s face and he dropped her hand.

 “Of course I do! Do you?”

 “I…”Leandra tried to make her face unreadable but her voice was caught in her throat and she hesitated and this time he noticed.

 Guillaume immediately straightened his shoulders like a soldier. “What did I do wrong?”

 “Nothing!” Leandra blurted. “Guillaume, you’re wonderful, it’s just…” she gulped, trying to find the words and still feeling the effects of the residual alcohol in her system she found herself being a little more honest than she usually dared. “We were promised as kids. Do you not ever wonder if there is someone else out there? Someone perfect for you?”

 Guillaume’s shoulders dropped, looking defeated, and his eyes actually watered before he turned away. “I thought you were perfect for me.” Then his jaw clenched, his mustache twitching. “Did you find your perfect someone? Is that what you’re telling me?”

 Leandra didn’t realize she was such an open book, and she had forgotten how well Guillaume could read her. “No,” she shook her head and clasped both his hands like she used to try to reassure him even though her words were dripping with lies. “It’s nothing like that, just pre-wedding jitters.”

 “Because I’ll back off,” he continued looking hard at her, inspecting every minute reaction. “Just be honest with me, Leandra.”

 Her heart was suddenly in her throat as she tried not to squeak. She wanted to. She wanted to tell him everything, but there was a hardness in his gaze that made her quiver. Was she really going to ruin her future her parents prepared for her over a man she had only met last night?

 She opened her mouth and said, “Let’s find a way to convince your mother not to call off the wedding. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

 She had no idea if she made the right decision, but the way Guillaume’s shoulders relaxed made her breathe easier. Did he notice that she did not say no? He had already seen through her the first time. She wasn’t sure how convincing she was being.

 Guillaume patted her hand fondly and said, “That’s why we’re getting coffee. It’s always good to start a negotiation with a bribe.”

 Leandra smiled, feeling it unnatural on her face. She had no idea how to act around Guillaume now that he was suspicious and she was trying her best not to give anything else away. She let him hold his hand as he pitched his ideas of what they would say and she nodded along as she panicked. Little did she know the Maker had twisted fate to test her a little more that day.

 Malcolm had a skip to his step as he walked to breakfast, whistling so merrily that the sound echoed through the stone in an unnatural cheer. Nothing could darken his mood; no ugly sneer from a templar, nor the bars on the windows or the winter chill in the air. His backpack was slung over his  shoulder, actually   filled with what he needed for his  day's   study, though his textbooks were vandalized with doodles and blasphemy.

 He was still flooded with energy from Leandra’s kisses and the wheels in his head were working in overdrive to figure out a way to escape again. Could he manage it, tonight? Two breakouts in a row would be risky. He was so in his head, planning and scheduling details he didn’t notice that people were pointing and gossiping about him as he waited in line for breakfast. He found Taylor and Charlie in the usual spot on the corner table where they were looking at him in confusion and worry.

 “Are you alright?” Taylor’s eyebrows knitted together as she picked at her bowl of porridge mostly untouched.

 Instead of Malcolm’s usual brush-off he just pulled his thick eyebrows together in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 Charlie and Taylor shared a look before Taylor said, “You disappeared last night after the haunting. I feared the worst.”

 Malcolm shrugged. “Carver brought me along on an investigation. Nothing serious.” He wanted to tell them the truth about Leandra but Charlie was probably the biggest gossip in all the Circle. If Charlie even got a whiff that Malcolm was seeing someone, everyone would know by lunch.

 Charlie broke out in an excited grin. “Nothing serious? Are you kidding? Rumors are you saved everyone last night and now the Knight-Captain is recruiting you personally to help?”

 Malcolm tried to remain nonchalant but he couldn’t help the puff in his chest. He really felt like things were turning around. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess I’m kind of a big deal now.”

 Taylor shook her head, though even she was grinning. “Don’t let that head get too inflated with hot air. If it wasn’t for Carver you’d have gone home with the rest of us.”

 Malcolm harrumphed. That was true but she didn’t need to say it. Malcolm scooped up his porridge, the sludge looking cold and unappetizing, but with a grin, he weaved a subtle spell in his mind and scooped the porridge into his mouth. Instead of a bland mush he felt a bursting array of sweet, tart strawberries and cream and he groaned in ecstasy as his tongue remembered the feel of Leandra’s kisses caressing him. He immediately licked the spoon clean and scooped up another generous helping, groaning again. The texture was off, lumpy and slimy, but that was something easily ignored.

 Taylor and Charlie stared in confusion. “The food here is not that good.”

 Malcolm grinned offering his hand to Taylor. “You got to try this new spell I made. Take my hand.”

 Taylor stared skeptically at the hand, being the butt of too many pranks to trust it. “I don’t think so,” she wrinkled her nose.

 Malcolm rolled his eyes. He could have cast the spell directly on her but if he was caught casting spells outside of class that would be more trouble. So he moved his hand to Charlie. “Take my hand, dude.”

 Charlie grabbed it without hesitating. “Sure.”

 Malcolm changed the spell slightly in his mind channeling it into his friend. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Now, try a bite.”

 Charlie hesitantly took a bite of his porridge before his eyes bugged out in amazement. Then immediately one handed he started gobbling up his food so fast he was getting it on his face. He was hardly breathing as he inhaled bite after bite.

 Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what I had for dinner last night.”

 “How is it still steamy?” Charlie’s full mouth was dripping with mush.

 Taylor leaned forward, suddenly keen and interested. “Wait, how did you do that?”

 Malcolm tried to hide the pride in his voice but he had to thank Scholar for the idea and all that talk about what taste is. This new deal with him had really gotten Malcolm’s wheels turning. “It’s a simple illusion spell, actually. Even Charlie can manage it.”

 Taylor cocked her head as she started putting it together. “Illusion? You mean you’re substituting visual stimuli for gustatory?”

 Malcolm blinked in confusion. “If that means I tweaked the illusion spell to focus on my memories of good food then yes.”

 Taylor muttered, doing some calculations under her breath. “So if any memory will work then…” She dipped her mostly untouched porridge and took a bite, her violet eyes watering. “I haven’t tasted Mamae’s matzah since I was a girl.” She blinked back the tears before they could fall and she stared at Malcolm with a newfound respect. “Malcolm, this is absolutely brilliant.”

 “Thank you, I feel brilliant,” Malcolm grinned. “Think Enchanter Jakoby will take the spell as extra credit?”

 “I don’t see why not?” Taylor went to take another bite before she stopped blinking back at Malcolm. “Why are you asking about extra credit?”

 Malcolm suddenly felt embarrassed, like he was caught doing something weird. “Dunno…just thought it would be a good idea.”

 Taylor beamed at him with a knowing smile. “I think Enchanter Jakoby would be proud, too.”

 If Malcolm’s skin could go red, it would. “That’s not what it’s about,” he muttered, scooping a lobster infused porridge into his mouth with his free hand to avoid talking more.

 “You said I can manage it?” Charlie asked, still gripping Malcolm’s hand. He looked at the last bite of his bowl like he was sorry that he had eaten it so fast. “I can barely light a candle without sweating. How am I supposed to do something so complicated?”

 Malcolm squeezed, feeling odd that he was holding a man’s hand, or anyone’s hand other than Leandra’s, but the gesture didn’t feel out of place. “It’s not complicated. You just need to practice. I’ll help.”

 Charlie sniffed, rubbing off some of the porridge on his face with a napkin. “Thanks. It’d be nice to eat some nice food before I get tranquilized and can’t appreciate it anymore.”

 The table went silent at the thought as Charlie scooped up the last bite. Malcolm and Taylor both looked at each other in worried silence as Charlie savored it. Finally Taylor leaned in and placed her hand over Charlie’s fist. “You’re not getting tranquilized.”

 “You don’t have to humor me,” Charlie said stiffly. “I overheard the templars talking. There’s no way I’ll survive the Harrowing.”

 “They’re just bastards. You can,” Malcolm said earnestly, though his voice sounded frail in his anger. Carver had managed to put off Charlie’s Harrowing for as long as possible while Malcolm and Taylor tutored Charlie in their spare time and his magic had improved steadily, but he was not built for fighting. Now his Harrowing was any day, and they waited each night wondering if today was the last.

 “Passing the Harrowing is all about believing in your own ability,” Malcolm said. “You can’t let these doubts shake you.”

 “They’re not doubts, dude, they’re facts,” Charlie’s voice was not laced by melancholy but filled with pragmatism, like he had already accepted his fate and that twisted Malcolm’s gut.

 It was times like these when Malcolm wanted to burn everything to the ground.

 “I knew you two were fairies,” a sneering voice said behind them. Malcolm and Charlie dropped hands blushing to find that Matthew, the Templar, had approached their table and from the look in his eyes he was in a cruel mood.

 Malcolm opened his mouth to give lip but he immediately swallowed it remembering his promise to Carver and then turned back to his food with a sigh. “And here I was actually enjoying my morning.”

 “My bad,” Matthew chuckled. “You’re clearly in the honeymoon period. My sincere congratulations.”

 “Sometimes bros hold hands,” Charlie sank down in his seat, his shoulders hunching.

 Malcolm snarled. “Do you really not have anything better to do with your time?”

 Matthew smirked, motioning for Malcolm to follow him. “You dumb? You owe me something.”

 Malcolm’s stomach dropped. In all the commotion with Leandra and the haunting he had forgotten about Matthew’s order and he wouldn’t be the only one looking. Malcolm reluctantly left his seat to take his conversation with Matthew in private. He was lucky he was still in public where someone could get Carver if necessary. There was no way he would leave with Matthew alone.

 Matthew led him to the same barred window overlooking the ocean and Kirkwall’s skyline. His skin was noticeably yellower and his eyes more bloodshot, and darkened with bags.  

 Malcolm nervously shoved his hands in his pockets speaking lowly. “Look, it’s not here, yet. Didn’t you get the memo about me being pulled on some investigation?”

 The man snarled. “I had to work that fiasco last night and got no sleep. But the fact still is I need it today.”

 “Tonight, then,” Malcolm countered. There would be no going around that. He missed the drop-off and it was still waiting where his contact left it.

 Matthew looked like he wanted to argue but the Second Bell rang, signaling it was time for everyone to go to classes.

 “Tonight,” Matthew sneered then stalked off, disappearing into the flood of students moving.

 Malcolm sighed in relief, never having been so grateful to hear that bell. He walked back to Taylor and Charlie who looked as relieved as he was.  

 He set his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Stay tough, man. I’m not giving up on you, so don’t you give up either.”

 Charlie sighed as if he was tired but he smiled back. “Yeah, sure.”

 Malcolm wished that didn’t sound so sarcastic.

 “Guess I’ll see ya’ll later, then,” Malcolm hoisted his bag over his shoulder, leaving his tray abandoned at the table.

 Taylor raised her eyebrows. “I’ve never seen you eager to go to class.”

 “I’m not eager,” Malcolm argued, walking backwards. “I’m resigned. Devastated. Can’t wait to graduate.”

 Taylor actually laughed at his joke along with Charlie as she picked up her bag. “Whatever, Malcolm. See you in class.”

 Charlie looked at Malcolm’s food with puppy eyes as he started shuffling away. Malcolm couldn’t help the little smile on his lips when he heard, “I can’t believe I’m looking forward to lunch.”

 Malcolm wandered through the flow of traffic into the hallways to his first class, Creation Studies, ran by Enchanter Karena, a conservative biddy who didn’t like when Malcolm corrected her on anything, even if she was teaching things wrong.

 She went by the book and by the book only, even though Malcolm found that most of how magic was taught was backwards and counter-intuitive, based on ritual rather than usefulness. She was very religious and that seeped into every lesson. She saw other schools of magic as evil, finding that Creation was the only one deemed blessed by the Maker, even though the whole practice relied on channeling the healing energies of beneficial spirits, which made the whole thing sound like Chantry sanctioned blood magic when you thought of it. Something she did not appreciate hearing from Malcolm.  

 When he saw the silver haired woman, she was arguing with Carver, her wrinkled face so red she looked like an aged tomato but that stopped as soon as Malcolm walked through.

 Carver was here. That wasn’t good. Still Malcolm hadn’t broken any rules that Carver didn’t help him with.

 Enchanter Karena whirled around, her perfectly pinned bun falling slightly out of place. “Messere Hawke,” she sniffed overly politely.

 Malcolm resisted the urge to poke at her and took his seat with an acknowledging nod, but Carver walked over to his desk.

 “Pick your stuff up. You don’t go to this class anymore.”

 Malcolm blinked. “What?”

 “Absolutely not. That blasphemer has no business doing Cleansings or learning the sacred art of Spirit Healing. Those are for only the Maker’s chosen,” Enchanter Karena argued.

 “Pardon, Senior Enchanter, but if Malcolm has the talent, I believe he falls into that category.”

 Malcolm snorted at the way the Senior Enchanter’s mouth puckered in such a scowl it looked like a dog’s asshole. But then he registered what Carver said. “I’m doing what?”

 Carver smirked. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Now c’mon.”

 The other students looked on in wonder as Carver led Malcolm out of the classroom and back out into the hallway. Gossip started flowing from the classroom and Malcolm sighed. He was already sick of the spotlight.

 “So I’m guessing I don’t have a say in this,” Malcolm grumbled as he clenched the strap of his bag.

 “Do you ever have a say in anything?” Carver quipped.

 Malcolm grumbled. “You can be such an ass.”

 “Not denying that,” Carver grinned. “But I’m on your side.” He nudged Malcolm’s shoulder, the metal biting into him. “Trust me, this will be good for you.”

 Malcolm’s shoulders slumped. How many times had he heard that?

 “Would you perk up if I told you we’re going to see Leandra?”

 Malcolm did, his back straightening like an arrow as he jerked in full attention. “It’s her Cleansing?”

 “Her family’s Cleansing and her   fiancé  ’s, so behave. I can’t babysit you with all these interviews.”

 Her fiancé. He had almost forgotten he existed at all in that perfect night together. Still, Malcolm readied himself like he was going into battle. “I can handle that jerk.”

 “He’s actually quite a nice guy,” Carver quipped, already grinning as the scowl rose from Malcolm.

 “Oh, how great is he? He’s Orlesian,” Malcolm shoved his hands into his pockets hunching.

 Carver laughed heartily, knowing he shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he was, but if he could only tell him that he didn’t need to worry, because Leandra always looked at him like she was mesmerized by his existence. But Carver didn’t know how this story would end, and he also knew the Amell’s a little more intimately through Revka. She had once confided in him in a visit about how she’s all but disowned by the family for birthing so many mages. It would be a hard-fought journey, no question.

 Malcolm felt jittery. Would her brother be there? What would happen if he opened his big mouth and ruined everything? He didn’t seem like the type loyal enough to keep a secret. Still, the promise of seeing Leandra so soon after they had parted was too tempting, even paired with less appealing company. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like this was his first impression on her family, and he did want to impress them. Suddenly he found himself a bundle of tight nerves and he found himself needing to emanate his own calming spell to soothe himself.

 The healing quarters were filled with incense and Chantry symbols and candles even though modern lighting was installed. There was something to be said about creating a healing space to perform, but Malcolm felt like the Chantry sisters were just a little too attached to those candles. Malcolm wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or pleased to see that Enchanter Jakoby was there.

 The three other mages were a bit older and looked at him curiously as the Chantry sisters readied the quarters for the nobility’s arrival. He saw a pale elf with black hair and a rather bird-like features whisper to a man who looked like a vampire for his skin was so lucid it looked like it never touched the sun.

 The ghoulish man laughed at the elf’s whisper and Malcolm shivered at the sound for it seemed to belong to a horror film. The vampire was angular with scrutinizing silver eyes that were as cold as steel and he looked at Malcolm in interest while Malcolm tried his best to ignore him. The third mage seemed to fade into the background for how much presence she made. She was a plumpish woman with tan skin and wavy hair that hid her eyes. She avoided everyone else in the room and looked like she’d rather not be there.

 Enchanter Jakoby clasped hands with Carver greeting him. “Ser Carver, thank you again for your intervention last night.”

 Carver nodded humbly. “Only doing my duty.”

 “Well, we’re blessed to have you,” the Enchanter beamed before his smile turned playful at Malcolm, “and we’re blessed to have you, too.”

 Was Malcolm pleased that Enchanter Jakoby wanted him in his classroom? He found any snarky reply that he would have said died in his throat. It was a nice change of pace since he was used to being seen as the local pain in the ass, but part of him felt like he was giving in too easy. “So, you’re just making me a Spirit Healer? Don’t I have to pass some test?”

 “The Cleansing will be your test,” the Enchanter nodded. “If the Amell’s are satisfied with your performance then you’ll graduate into a full Enchanter and into my class as well as take on new duties.”

 “Great,” Malcolm tried not to make that sound sarcastic but it still laced his voice. “So I’m the school nurse now. Any other surprises?”

 “As part of your graduation requirements you will be required to help tutor younger apprentices.”

 Malcolm’s face twisted. Now this was unacceptable. “You really want to put me with kids? The guy that says fuck every other sentence?”

 Enchanter Jakoby looked amused. “Don’t worry. Since you're graduating out of season it’ll be at least a week to arrange the paperwork and find a class for you. You’ll have some time to practice substitutes. Try fudge.”

 “No fucking way,” Malcolm snorted.

 Carver cleared his throat, glaring at Malcolm.

 Malcolm almost blurted out, ‘no fudging way’ just out of habit, but Carver’s stern glare kept the insolence in his throat and he sighed reluctantly. “I mean, I’ll find a way.”

 He didn’t realize it would be so hard to keep this promise.

 Enchanter Jakoby mouthed ‘thank you’ to Carver who only nodded in response.

 Carver then turned to Malcolm with a stern look. “Remember your manners in front of the nobility.”

 Malcolm cracked out the tension building in his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

 With that Carver abandoned him to class.

 The next hour was spent in instruction by Enchanter Jakoby not about how to perform Cleansings, as that was a simple thing that most proper Enchanters could manage, but how to address the nobility. There was a lot of protocol about where to stand, how to address a Lord, how not to stare directly in one’s eyes to offend. There were so many ways to offend.  

 Malcolm tried his best to listen like he promised, but he found his mind had gotten in a habit of tuning the Enchanter’s voice out and so he kept catching himself daydreaming about Leandra’s kisses. Malcolm was nervous trying to learn all these new rules but from what he figured the best policy was just to stick to the background and just not bother to talk to anybody unless they needed him. How he was even going to get a word to Leandra he had no idea.

 Then they were each handed a staff to use, just simple metal rods only used for channeling and not fighting. The Enchanter reached through the Veil coating himself with magic, instructing his students to do the same. Malcolm could hear the whispers of the excited spirits answering his summons, flooding their energy into him so he burned the brightest of them all, making the others glance nervously at the difference.

 The Enchanter couldn’t help but beam at the fact that Malcolm was taking instruction so well. No chiding needed. No snark. His eyes were closed in concentration, the colors coming off his flames reflecting rainbows.

 “We start by Cleansing our own auras, because if we ourselves are infected then we will infect our subjects. Now clear your minds and breathe with me.”

 Every mage in the Circle learned how to cleanse their auras from a young age. It was necessary in order to not attract demons in the Fade, so it felt like they were back in Basics as they sat in silence just listening to their own heartbeats as they opened themselves up to the Fade. “If you have doubts or pain or fears open them up now and offer them to the Maker.”

 Malcolm tried not to snort but the sound still echoed through the chamber. In all his walkings of the Fade he had never heard the voice of a God of any kind, just spirits. Still they were eager to pluck up the darker thoughts in his mind until his own thoughts echoed back at him.

     You’re being stupid. She’s a noble. And human. She’ll betray you. Or abandon you. Why are you trusting her? What about your plans to escape? She’s going to ruin everything.  

 The spirits picked at the thoughts in curiosity, like they were baubles in a shop.

 “Don’t give the thoughts power. Just offer them up to the flame and let them be transformed,” the Enchanter instructed.

 Malcolm’s aura lit up in a cloak of flames as the spirits combed through old pain, touching upon his deep-seated anger so he could taste it on his teeth. They poured through his memories so they flowed through him, the good and the bad. His mom, his dad, being kidnapped to the Circle, meeting Carver, Taylor and Charlie, Gamlen’s ugly judgement, Leandra’s righteous anger, burning with jealousy as he watched her on Guillaume’s arm, how she grabbed his tie at the karaoke club and kissed him in front of everyone. The spirits ended up latching onto Leandra’s song, the lyrics filling him with peace as they echoed it in his head and he focused on that until the rest of the doubts floated away until all was left with music.

 “That’s no good. You’ll cleanse no one with that aura.”

 Malcolm opened his eyes but the Enchanter, whose flame burned bright and blue wasn’t speaking to him but to the mousy woman who hid her face. Her flames were dark, purple and smoky and she seemed to be having difficulty with connecting with the Fade.

 The woman stopped the spell breathing heavily. “I’m sorry, Enchanter, I’m just not feeling well today.” Her shoulders looked shaky from the spell.

 The Enchanter frowned sympathetically, closing his connection to the Fade until his bright blue flaming aura died in a smoke. “Well, you won’t be able to participate like that. You may sit out for the noble’s Cleansing but you’ll need to stay and observe.” He then turned to the three men with a pleased smile motioning them to end the spell with a calm wave of his hand.

 “Gentlemen, very well done, especially you Malcolm. I believe you have a talent for this.”

 The other men glanced at Malcolm as he swelled, but their heads quickly snapped back as their names were called.

 “Orsino, Quentin, why don’t you all get acquainted by teaching Malcolm the basics about performing a Cleansing on another person. Be brief though. The nobility arrives any minute now.”

 “Yes, Enchanter,” they spoke in unison like it was rehearsed.

 The Enchanter then turned to the other mage. “Melissa, over here. I’ll have to take care of your aura, later.” He dragged her away to one of the spare cots in the room.

 Then the men both turned on Malcolm, their eyes sparkling in interest and Malcolm suddenly felt like he was on an observation table about to be poked and prodded from every angle.

 “So Malcolm was it?”  The   creepy mage had his arms behind his back as he strolled lazily up to Malcolm. He easily towered over both elves, staring down his pointed nose at each of them.

 “You can call me Hawke,” Malcolm decided suddenly, feeling that his first name in that man’s mouth was just too familiar.

 “Sure Hawke,” the green-eyed elf offered his hand, his black hair slicked back neatly. He also looked far too skinny for his clothes, his hand thin and bony. “I’m Orsino. Nice to see another elf made it into this program.”

 “Sure,” Malcolm took the hand not wanting to start off on the wrong foot though he wasn’t sure that they’d get along just because they were elves.

 The other willowy man offered his thin hand. “I’m Quentin. And you may call me that.”

 Malcolm took the man’s hand too and his nerves locked on edge. Was Enchanter Jakoby certain about this man’s aura? Malcolm felt a coldness in him that seemed unnatural, and Malcolm took back his hand quickly resisting a shiver. He wasn’t sure why but he didn’t like that man but it felt more like instinct than prejudice. He didn’t like the way he smiled, how he moved, how his eyes studied him like a lab rat.

 “So Cleansing someone else’s soul is simple. We guide them through a meditation as we channel their auras into the Fade so their darker actions and thoughts do not get attacked by demons like so,” Quentin then waved his hand pouring Fade magic into Malcolm as he felt his magic coat him, foul with dark energy.

 Malcolm automatically cast a dispel to interrupt the examination. His mind felt a little tingly, like something had tried to pry it open. Did the bastard just try to read him? “Watch it, Q-ball.”

 The man reddened, apparently self-conscious about his thinning hairline. “Just demonstrating,” Quentin squinted his eyes. “You hide it well but I did sense some dark anger in that aura. Dangerous for healers. A friendly warning from your upperclassman.”

 His mind still tingled from the man’s magic making Malcolm’s hands glow in his own spell. “Is it my turn?”              

 Orsino stepped between them hastily. “Perhaps we should focus on examining our patients.” He looked apologetically to Malcolm. “Forgive Quentin. He can be overeager.”

 “Well tell him to watch it. I can, too,” Malcolm huffed, shaking away the spell from his fingers.

 Orsino folded his hands, taking over instruction as he tried to diffuse the situation. “The meditation is usually taken from the Canticle of Trials. You are familiar?” The question was more of a statement and Malcolm found himself stuttering. Was now a good time to say he always slept through Mass?

 “Uh, sure I’m familiar,” Malcolm lied.

 Orsino smiled. “Good then we won’t have to go over that.”

 “Maybe, we should go over it a little,” Malcolm quickly backpedaled.

 But then Meredith and Matthew marched into the room standing straighter than usual. Malcolm noticed that Meredith was glaring at him in particular and he couldn’t help but poke at her with a mock salute.

 Meredith tried to keep the scowl from her face but her lips still twisted in a snarl. “Announcing the arrival of the esteemed Houses Amell and De Lancet,” Meredith’s voice sounded bitter with the false energy she forced into the greeting.

 Malcolm bowed his head with the rest of the mages as the nobles paraded in, two by two, bringing with them the aroma of expensive perfumes and fresh coffee that they still clutched in their hands. Malcolm recognized Leandra’s parents striding in first, in coordinated red outfits. They took the prominent place in front. Guillaume’s parents, a greying red-headed couple in royal purple took the next highest place on the Amells’ right hand, and Leandra and Guillaume came next, completely uncoordinated and settling onto her parent’s left hand side still sipping their cups.

 Malcolm couldn’t help but drag his eyes up Leandra’s legs admiring the newly revealed curves that her other dress hid. Leandra stopped mid-sip, reddening as the coffee dribbling down her chin a bit as she noticed Malcolm in the room staring.

 Malcolm winked, holding back a laugh as she wiped her chin with her hand. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

 Her mother scowled, stepping out of place as she took a red handkerchief and wiped it away properly, making apologetic eyes to the De Lancets. “Leandra, really, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

 Guillaume chuckled. “It’s rather adorable actually.”

 Malcolm tried to keep the sneer off his face but his whole jaw clenched as he tried to remember his place. He lowered his head again, remembering he was just supposed to be furniture.

 Her mother sighed as if she was tired. “I’m glad you think so, dear.” Her mother then took her place measuring each mage against the other. “Is this the whole selection, templar?”

 Meredith bristled. “Spirit healing is a very rare art, Lady Amell.”

 “Still, there is the instructor, no?” Lady Amell sniffed, smoothing out an already perfect strand of greying hair. “Bring him before me.”

 Enchanter Jakoby waited for Matthew to bring him from his place in the wall, and he bowed deeply before Lady Amell saying nothing as she inspected him, too.

 “Ah,” she said in a disappointed tone. “Also an elf.”

 Leandra’s eyes widened, as she reddened in embarrassment, looking apologetically at the Enchanter but the remark didn’t even seem to phase him.

 “Permission to speak, Lady Amell?” Enchanter Jakoby asked evenly.

 “Granted,” Lady Amell nodded in a bored tone as she sipped her coffee.

 “While I would be happy to perform your Cleansing, my students are more than capable to attend to you.”

 “Very well,” she snapped her fingers at Quentin. “You’ll do.”

 Quentin bowed deeply. “I am honored to attend you.”

 Lady De Lancet seemed to eagerly be inspecting Orsino against Malcolm, her gaze a leering and predatory. “Well I think elves are rather pretty.”

 Malcolm gritted his teeth as she stepped up to Malcolm and Orsino, her heels echoing against the stone. She looked them up and down her eyes lingering on their backsides in full view of her husband. Malcolm bit his tongue as he hoped she thought Orsino was prettier.

 But she stepped in front of Malcolm. “You…” she lifted his chin with her manicured nail. “You performed beautifully last night.”

 “Thank you?” Was Malcolm supposed to say something else? He didn’t trust anything flattering to come out of his mouth so he just avoided her eyes as she studied his face.

 She leaned down to meet his eye, patting his cheek fondly with her glove. “I think I’d like you to attend to me, mon petit.”

 Malcolm felt like a worm on the end of a hook about to be swallowed. He audibly gulped. “Uuuh…you don’t want me, I barely started class this morning. Don’t even know the Chant, proper.” Orsino’s bright green eyes widened in alarm as Malcolm grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. “Orsino, here, is just as pretty and has been at this a lot longer.”

 Lady de Lancet tittered in amusement. “I don’t mind breaking you in.”

 Orsino kept his professional smile but his eyes were glaring at Malcolm while Malcolm scanned the room looking for anyone to help.

 Leandra was already fuming from Lady de Lancet’s brazen forwardness, which wasn’t out of character for her, but the lady was practically fondling Malcolm in full view of her husband who was just boredly sipping his frappe’ as he played a candy puzzle game on his phone. She stepped out of place and curtsied politely announcing herself with a, “Pardon me, Lady de Lancet, but may I have a moment of your time?”

 Her parents glared at her, and Guillaume subtly waved at Leandra to come back but Leandra stayed, though she had no idea what exactly to say.

 The lady tutted and turned back to her. “Yes, dear?” she said, the patience in her voice wearing thin.

 Leandra glanced at Malcolm who looked at her expectantly and so she said, “If the mage is so new to this, perhaps I should be the one to be his first test. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

 She looked apologetically at Malcolm for throwing him under the bus but he looked relieved.

 The lady didn’t seem to take kindly to this but before she could speak Enchanter Jakoby stepped forward, his head bowed. “Pardon, but her ladyship has a point. Malcolm is talented but…” the Enchanter trailed off looking to the Heavens as he tried to find a suitable word before he landed on, “untested. I will be coaching him every step of the way, but Orsino is very capable in his own right, and can anticipate your needs much better.”

 Lady de Lancet clucked her tongue. “Oh, very well.” She looked rather annoyed but seemed reluctant to wager her health no matter how pretty that face looked. She snapped at Orsino. “You, come with me.”

 Lady Amell took her husband’s arm as she led him to one of the cots. “I guess we’re starting then.”

 Chantry sisters came bringing bowls of water and towels and set them at the foot at each of the beds that were stone and scoured for a bath of flame. As Leandra and Guillaume approached arm in arm, Enchanter Jakoby and Malcolm bowed and stayed that way until they got comfortable on the cot. Then Enchanter Jakoby led Malcolm in a kneel.  

 On one side of the room the Amell matriarch was flagging down a Chantry sister to say, “I don’t want a mage to touch me.”

 Quentin remained silent as the Chantry sister nodded and took his place kneeling on the floor. Malcolm didn’t envy him, but at the same time every comment from Leandra’s parents dropped his stomach. He wasn’t even a consideration.

 However Lady de Lancet was a bullet he was happy to dodge. He could see Orsino squirming as she eagerly kicked off her heels. “Now make sure to get in between the toes, dearie.”

 Malcolm shuddered. He wouldn’t blame Orsino if he hated him for this.

 The first part of the ritual meant bathing the noble's feet. Why the nobles couldn’t be bothered to bathe their own feet he wasn’t sure why. In Enchanter Jakoby’s lesson he spoke about how the ritual that went back to Andraste’s last day, when her disciple and friend Justinia begged Archon Hessarian to prepare her living body for the Maker. It was said in Andraste’s last hours Justinia was allowed into her cell, offering prayers to prepare her soul and cleansed her remaining sins by offering them to the Maker as the filth was washed from her feet. Malcolm could not find reverence in an old dead woman who couldn’t keep her promise of freedom to her elven allies, but he could find it in touching Leandra.

 Malcolm was not a foot guy, not even close, but even he couldn’t deny how soft her skin was, each toe trimmed and polished, with cute little deco designs that seemed a shame to hide in her shoes. He could tell from her ankles that they were swollen from how long she had been standing in heels, and as he gently pinched at the tendon at her ankle releasing tension.

 “Oh!” Leandra made a surprised sound that she bit down on her lip, her eyes glancing to Guillaume who seemed to also perk at the sound.

 Malcolm felt a devilish impulse pull at his gut at the flush that colored her face from his slightest touch and he couldn’t help but dig his thumbs into the flat of her arch, his heart tugging at the sweet sigh he pulled from her. He sent little soothing healing pulses through his fingers as he renewed his determination, trying to see what more sounds he could force her to make.

 Leandra was melting under his touch, holding back the moans in her throat, but still he could hear the tiniest whimpers escape setting Malcolm’s imagination alight. He suddenly wished no one else was there so he could pull her skirt up and bury himself between her legs so he could hear her cry for him. He knew he was winning the battle, her composure seemed to be coming undone, but before he could claim victory another voice reminded him what he was supposed to be doing.

 “Messere Hawke, I believe her feet are clean enough,” the Enchanter cleared his throat.

 Leandra took back her foot forcefully almost falling over, her eyes flinging to Guillaume who was also going slightly red at the sounds and faces Leandra was making.

 “Just being thorough,” Malcolm hid a haughty smirk, wondering if Guillaume ever managed to make Leandra sound like that but he regretted that line of thought immediately.

 “Perhaps I should give you a massage, sometime,” Guillaume offered with a flirtatious tone that made Malcolm clench his fists to keep from clocking him in the jaw.

 Leandra patted her hot cheeks. “Perhaps,” she said evasively, but Malcolm didn’t like the thought of the man trying to put his hands all over Leandra and he couldn’t suppress the ugly scowl that took over his face.

 Enchanter Jakoby grabbed a staff that was handed to him by a Chantry sister. “Now that the physical impurities have been taken care of, we will now purify your souls. My lord. My lady, please concentrate on offering your sins to the Maker as we sing the Chant.”

 Malcolm took the paltry staff from the Chantry sister, trying to ignore his seething jealousy as the staff started channeling with magic Malcolm and Enchanter Jakoby poured from the Fade. Malcolm could hear all the spirits chattering, scouring into their memories so that he saw flashes of Leandra’s younger days. He tried not to glimpse too closely, but he could see the imprint of her loneliness hidden behind a careful smile that she used for everyone. Her soul had been flattened, like a flower that had been stomped on but still stubbornly peeking up the sunshine trying to take in little bits of light.

 He heard Enchanter Jakoby’s voice take in a chanting intonation, Orsino and Quentin’s voice harmonizing with him.

 “I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade

 For there is no darkness, and no death, in the Maker’s light

 And nothing he has wrought has been lost.”

 Then each of the nobles' auras burned brilliantly as they each bared the darkness of their souls to the Fade. Leandra looked magnificent, too beautiful to be real, amber dancing against her skin as her dark hair ruffled lightly in the burning light. Malcolm almost reached out to touch the magic, to see what her burn would feel like on his skin before he remembered that others still watched them. Still, he couldn’t miss how her eyes watched his every move.

 “For she was reborn to us in flame

 And so flame we consume to be reborn

 May, He Who Burns The Brightest

 Purify the sins we hide in our hearts

 So that we may know true peace.”

 Then the flame snuffed out. All of the nobles looked bright and cheerful, like they each had an invigorated spirit-induced power nap, except for Lord de Lancet who looked pale and uneasy. Unlike the other nobles, the Cleansing seemed to have worn him out and his skin was showing a sheen of sweat.

 “My, that was bracing,” the Lord patted his face with a purple handkerchief.

 His wife tucked to his side with a concerned look on her face. “Darling, did the Cleansing not rejuvenate you.”

 “Oh, I’m rejuvenated, absolutely,” but the man sounded absolutely winded. “Just the old war injury flaring, that’s all.”

 Malcolm felt there was something odd about that. Rightfully a Cleansing should ease old pains, and though not every wound could be Cleansed, it shouldn’t be having that effect.

 Enchanter Jakoby bowed his head and approached the de Lancets. “If you’d like I could take a look.”

 Lord de Lancet nodded tightly and said, “it couldn’t hurt.”

 The Enchanter scanned the man’s aura, focusing on his back where the pain seemed to radiate and Malcolm thought he saw it in the flicker of the Enchanter’s magic, but the Enchanter stopped his spell and said, “I’m sorry, my Lord. I thought there might be something else causing it but I see nothing out of the ordinary.”

 Lord de Lancet rubbed his back nodding as if he expected that and said. “Yes, I’ve spent a fortune on chiropractors and masseuse’s and numbing injections but the pain just comes back worse than ever.”

 Another clue for Malcolm and he stepped forward, forgetting all protocol. “Do you get nightmares…of the exact moment you got your wound?”

 The man’s eyes widened in alarm, but he said, “The psychiatrist told me that was normal.”

 “And are you forgetful lately? Having trouble remembering things that used to be easy?” Malcolm prodded more.

 The man’s face reddened to almost the color of his mustache and he straightened his jacket. “How impertinent. You are not privileged to my medical history.”

 But Lady de Lancet placed a slightly wrinkled hand on her husband’s puffed shoulder. “You have been needing an awful lot of reminders, lately, Reynaud.”

 “I’ve just been stressed, Amelia.”

 But Enchanter Jakoby noticed there was a look on Malcolm’s face and he put his finger on his lightly stubbled chin. “Do you have a prognosis?”

 Malcolm looked at the Enchanter rather than the nobles for permission, breaking another rule. “May I have a look?”

 The Enchanter motioned with his head to the noble who didn’t look pleased with Malcolm’s offer. “What makes you think you could make a difference?”

 Malcolm shrugged. “I mean, I might not, but it could prove educational.” If the Lord didn’t want his help, he wouldn’t force it.

 But Lord de Lancet seemed to be in so much pain he was willing to try anything. He nodded, muttering, “Very well.”

 Malcolm poured magic back into him, revealing the tapestry of his energy in an array of light. He could see the war wound that festered into the spine damaging nerves all along his hip, but what he couldn’t figure out was how the others missed the knot of corded energy that seemed to snake in the heart of the wound, gnarling it up. The pain seemed to be feeding, growing more agitated with the feel of his magic. Was Malcolm the only one that could see it?

 He poked at the knot with his finger. “Is it tender here?”

 No sooner did Malcolm brush it did the noble cry out in pain, and Malcolm couldn’t deny he did relish the sound a little.

 “Andraste’s flaming knickerweasels what are you doing back there!”

 “Yep, we got ourselves a pain demon,” Malcolm cracked his neck nonchalantly stretching. “This one’s really burrowed into you. No wonder the Cleansing couldn’t take effect.”

 “What!?” Lord de Lancet cried out his face paling.    

 Lady de Lancet smacked him on the arm which made him whimper more. “I told you that’s why you shouldn’t skip Cleansings, but do you listen to me?”

 Enchanter Jakoby’s smile reached all the way to his eyes. “Malcolm, how did you spot it? It was hiding very well.”

 Malcolm looked puzzled as if it should have been obvious. “Don’t you see how the energy in his aura moves differently around the pain spike?” Malcolm pointed to the knot in the magic as both Orsino and Quentin huddled in for a closer look. He motioned to the red ugly festering energy that stayed twisted up in the lord’s back. “You can see here is where the natural pain is,” Malcolm waved his hand down his thigh as he mimicked the energy’s movement, “but here the energy moves differently on it’s own wavelength. It’s not actually part of him.”

 “Ooooooh,” the men said in unison as if everything was now obvious to them, too.

 “Yes, yes very fascinating. Now will you get it out of me before it kills me!”

 “Have no fear, My Lord. Pain demons are rarely lethal. Just painful,” Malcolm had forgotten all the training the Enchanter coached into him and without a thought put his hand over the knot, and twisted his fingers into the energy. The colors grew red and chaotic, the bright energy growing from the wound.

 “Now just breathe,” Malcolm commanded, as he grasped around the essence of the demon, feeling the wrongness festering. Lord de Lancet cried out as Malcolm pulled. The creature was starting to become visible under Malcolm’s palm, a sickening black bloody vein-like leech with gnashing teeth screeching in a volume so high-pitched it deafened everyone’s hearing. Then it shriveled and burned away into Malcolm’s brilliant flaming magic until it was nothing but ash.

 “Now how does that feel?” Malcolm pulled his hand away.

 The man’s eyes widened as he patted his back which was not locking up in stiffness anymore. “Andraste’s Mercy. I feel twenty years younger,” He looked to Malcolm in disbelief.

 “You look it, Reynaud,” his wife placed a fond hand on his cheek.

 “Just doing my job,” Malcolm bowed his head with a pleased smirk on his lips. Leandra was beaming at him and he couldn’t help but notice even her parents weren’t looking with the same disgust only moments before.

 That smirk quickly dropped when Lady de Lancet started straightening her husband’s tie, “That settles it. We have to have him as a House Mage.”

 Shit.

 Lord de Lancet looked at Malcolm with renewed interest. “I think you’re absolutely, right, mon amie.”

 Enchanter Jakoby looked pleased, but a little hesitant to agree forthwith. “Malcolm is not a full Enchanter, yet, more an Enchanter in training.”

 “Well then we’ll pluck him up as soon as he’s ripened,” Lady de Lancet twisted her fingers into a promise.

 Malcolm froze, the urge to self-sabotage with a rude comment so strong he bit his tongue to keep himself silent. If he had realized that helping that lord would have led to this he would have let the Orlesian suffer.

 But Leandra also seemed to find this unacceptable and stepped forward. “Pardon,” Leandra said in a voice too forceful to be polite, and before she realized she was doing it she curtsied in front of Lady de Lancet and said, “but I find that with the Haunting I feel absolutely terrified,” she added a believable wobble to her lip, “I do fear that, I, too, might be under a curse and am in desperate need of protection from a House Mage.” She met Malcolm’s eyes as she added, “and only the best will do.”

 “Absolutely not!” Meredith’s outraged voice called out cutting through the discussion that was happening. She looked completely frazzled, as if she couldn’t fathom what was happening in front of her eyes. “You might not know this but Malcolm Hawke is a well-known trouble-maker in the Circle. He is not fit to serve the noble houses and will dishonor you all.”

 Leandra audibly huffed. “Was it not Malcolm who saved everyone last night?”

 “And he did spot the demon even the instructor missed,” Lord de Lancet also stretched his back, admiring the new looseness in his body.

 Meredith scowled, seething with so much hatred for Malcolm he was sure she’d pop a gasket. “Believe me that talent makes him more dangerous.”

 He glared back defiantly. That it did. If only she knew.

 “Pardon,” Enchanter Jakoby raised his finger to silence the argument that was about to spring up from everyone. “But I’m afraid until he has proper training he won’t be doing anything than catching up on his graduation requirements.”

There was a finality in his words that told Malcolm no matter his future, he would be in for a lot of work, and for the first time in his life he found himself praying to the Maker to be kind.  

[shortythescreen]

come over

Warning(s): NSFT/18+, friends with benefits, sex with feelings lol. 

Relationship(s): Octane/Female Reader.  

Author’s Notes: this was my first post on ao3 and i’m trying to actually start using this blog so. here’s the post, lmao! my spanish sucks but i understand everything, hence the ref to a meme in spanish. :) 

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3.

come over?

That’s what lights up your phone screen at damn near three in the morning. You roll over, squinting at the bright screen as you grab it from your bedside table. It’s one of the lamest texts you’ve ever gotten. It’s barely a step up from the even more basic ‘u up?’ and you’re half tempted to leave him on read. Octavio can do better than that.

Yet, you scroll through your compilation of gifs and send him one of a woman rolling her eyes. Sure, it’s disdainful but he now knows that you are, in fact, awake.

About three months ago, you were offered a job by Apex, the corporation running the well renowned Apex Games. The offered pay was astronomical in comparison to what you made at your humble little gig as a thorn in a journalist’s side. Room and lodging would be included in the miniature city built just for Champions and the people who made the games happen.

All you had to do was do what you do best. Take pictures.

Every advertisement, webpage, and piece of merchandise is covered with your pictures of the Legends. Those that you take in the studio given to you and those that you take off the clock. Every picture on your camera belongs to Apex, even with your signature scratched at the bottom of all of them.

Because of this, it had taken a select few Legends time to warm up to you. Others, not so much.

Octavio, better known as Octane, might as well have sat in your lap when you walked in with a camera hanging around your neck.

Though you’re a lot quieter than ‘The Adrenaline Junkie’, you have about as much impulse control as he does. So one night when he’d visited you in your studio a little past business hours, brandishing a bottle of Hennessey Black the size of your head, one thing lead to another and, well.

The events of that night lead to you getting texts from Octavio at damn near three in the fucking morning asking you to come over.

i have a box of wings and a bottle of Smirnoff with ur name on it.

You bite the tip of your tongue. The offer’s tempting.

and other things, if you can keep up. ;)

That, even more so.

Against your better judgment, you text him back with words instead of a gif. You’ll be over in ten minutes.  If he drinks all the liquor before you get there, you’re leaving. You imagine him cackling at his screen because if you know him at all, and you do, he’s probably polished off at least a quarter of the bottle on his own.

Octavio’s apartment is a five minute walk from yours but you gave yourself an extra five to brush your teeth and find your shoes. The penthouse suites offered to all the Legends is right across the street from your simple one bedroom.

When you first moved in, you thought maybe Apex Corp wanted you to take paparazzi sort of shots of their competitors. They’ve never asked you to and you haven’t bothered to try, so you guess they just gave you what was available.

Whatever. You don’t mind living in earshot of some of the deadliest people in the Outlands. Especially now that you’re fucking one of them.

God, you never thought you’d be in this position. Sure, you’re not fucking blind, most of the Legends are attractive. Bangalore has a smirk that drops panties and a voice that’s a little more gravelly than the average woman. Wraith’s got the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen, powers or otherwise, and her skin is flawless. Gibraltar could probably defeat half of his opponents by throwing them.

Even those that you can’t see the faces of have appeal – Bloodhound’s shroud of mystery has gained them quite the following online and what Octavio doesn’t show of his face is made up for by his stupid little crop top.

You just… Didn’t anticipate any of them finding you attractive too. Least of all the speedster with a penchant for picking up bad habits. Like fucking the photographer. You run your hand down your face as you exit your house, locking it behind you before jogging across the street to the penthouse suites.

Even if you had toyed with the possibility of warming one of their beds, you certainly didn’t think you’d wind up in Octavio’s. Maybe Elliot, who’s got a reputation for getting around, or Ajay, who’s could crush you with her thighs. Octavio, whose accent and stupid selfies had caught the attention of many Apex fans, was the last legend you expected to end up making your heart do the jitterbug-

It’s not, you’re not, you vehemently remind yourself as you enter the elevator of the Legends’ suites. Absolutely not. No way. You walk down the hallway to Octavio’s door, reminding yourself over and over again you’re most certainly not catching feelings and whatever dance your heart is doing has something to do with the lack of sleep.

Even though that makes no sense, it’s what you tell yourself, because there’s no fucking way you’re into Octavio like that. Not into someone you’re just hooking up with. Not into someone who’s only interested in hooking up.

You knock once on his door and you barely have a chance to step back before Octavio’s tearing it open. His mask is gone and even though you’ve seen his face a million times by now, you still take a moment to breathe him in. He’s got the prettiest green eyes you’ve ever seen, glassy with alcohol, and you notice that he’s in need of a shave, his cheeks tinted dark by pinpricks of facial hair.

“It’s three am,” you tell him.

“Yet here you are, amiga,” he smirks.

“For the booze,” you reply and he snickers, shoving out a plastic cup you hadn’t noticed he was holding. The stench of Smirnoff envelops you and you sigh, snatching it away and shouldering your way into his apartment.

“What are you doing up, anyway?” You ask, flopping on the couch and taking a large enough gulp of your cup to make your nose burn. You squeeze your eyes briefly closed, letting out a little ‘ahh’ as Octavio’s weight sinks the opposite side of the couch.

“Couldn’t stop watching The Flash. But Barry got kinda boring, so I texted you,” he says and you snort, opening one eye to glance at him. You hadn’t even noticed the title glaring at you from the flat screen only a few feet away, the only light in the apartment aside from the stove.

God, he’s so unfairly pretty. He’s resting his tousled head of green hair, the same green as his eyes, in his hand, propped up on the back of the couch. His PLUS ULTRA tattoo peeks out from the three quarter sleeved shirt he’s wearing and you go for your drink, hoping you can excuse the warmth in your chest as Smirnoff.

“Of course you were. You’re so fuckin’ basic.”

“I’m on brand.”

“You’re at home. Alone.”

“Not anymore.”

You snort, finally beginning to feel that warmth in your chest drip down into your stomach. The easy, fuzziness that comes with being here, with drinking and banter and the promise of something so much sweeter.

“Well, thanks for inviting me,” you say, “now where are those wings?”

As promised, Octavio brings you a takeout box with about thirty wings. With liquor brewing in your stomach, you probably could demolish them, but you’re barely buzzed and still willing to be polite.

It’s the wee hours of the morning, so you’re grateful that each of the Legends have soundproof walls. You and Octavio put on old telenovelas, even though your Spanish is slim to none, and he makes you laugh by describing the scenes to you.

“Oho man, she’s such a bitch. The mother basically just told the son’s lover acompáñame a ver esta triste historia.”

“I don’t speak Spanish, Oc,” you remind him around a mouthful of a wing coated in ranch.

“Remember how the girl’s parents died when she was six?” He asks and you nod your head, vaguely remembering the shitty graphics acting as flashbacks. “The son’s mother heard that and might as well have said ‘that’s cute’.”

You were right to assume Octavio had already had a hefty serving of alcohol before he’d texted you, as he brings out the bottle when your glass gets low, a little less than half of it gone. He’s got a higher alcohol tolerance than you and it’s obvious the more you two delve into the Smirnoff.

He smirks at you when you whine about the wings getting low, polishing off what must be your twelfth. You’ve officially had enough alcohol to stop being polite and Octavio loops an arm around your shoulder. When had he gotten so close to you on the couch?

“There, there,” he murmurs into your hair, “there will be wings tomorrow, mami.”

“But I want them now,” you complain, only to completely forget your train of thought as you bury your nose in the collar of Octavio’s shirt. “Fuck, you smell good. Do you always smell this good?”

“I smell like liquor,” he snickers, kissing the top of your head and you shudder as he slides his fingers through the small hairs at the base of your neck.

“And soap. What soap do you use? I bet you use Old Spice. Old Spice is so basic but it smells so fucking good,” you ramble, tilting your head just enough so that your lips brush against his collarbone.

“Gracias,” he hums, tilting his head back a smidge. You take this as an invitation and begin placing careful, open mouthed kisses up the length of his neck.

Octavio sighs through his nose, arm around your shoulders sliding down your side to pull you half into his lap. Your teeth scrape his pulse and his grip on you tightens.

“You didn’t say yes or no,” you absently mumble as he grabs a handful of your ass. He squeezes before you pull back just enough to meet those pretty green eyes of his, dark with want.

“Yeah, it’s Old Spice,” he says, then leans in to devour your mouth with his.

Octavio kisses like he moves. Quick, eager, his tongue pushes into your mouth and makes you groan. You haphazardly drape one leg over his, twisting so your chest is flush against his. He bites your lower lip and you whimper, half grinding against his prosthetic legs, cool against your heat.

His free hand sneaks down to grab your other ass cheek, pulling you up to straddle him. His lips leave yours with a pop and he bites his lower lip as you shudder against his dick jumping under your hips.

“We haven’t even started yet,” you say, allowing him to slip his hands beneath your shirt, gripping your breasts and rolling the peaks under his thumbs. You sigh, continuing, “how are you so hard?”

“How are you so sexy?” He snarks, releasing your tits in favor of grabbing the hem of your top. He pulls it off eagerly, eyes hot.  

“You too,” you half beg and he obliges, tugging that snug fitting shirt over his head. You hum, hot with liquor, and with lust, and with the look he’s burning into your chest. He leans back into the couch, drinking in your disheveled state before reaching up to cruelly pinch your nipples.

You gasp, trying to lean into the sensation and alleviate the pain. Octavio only pulls harder, biting his lower lip when you’re almost chest to chest.

“Asshole,” you hiss and he grins, giving you a flash of his tongue piercing.

“You like it,” he says as you relent, going still in his lap. Octavio finally releases his almost too tight grip on one nipple in favor of looping an arm around your waist. He’s torturous to the other, squeezing, rolling, tugging. As a reward for the way you buckled, he slurps the free one into his mouth. You moan, his mouth all wet warmth and cool metal. His thumb flickers teasingly across your other pebbled nipple and you arch your back.

“Oc, please,” you pant and he pulls off of you with a pop, cupping the tit he still has a handle on to flick his tongue across it.

“Por favor? Por favor que?” He half laughs only to break off in a needy groan when you grind against him. “Fuck fuck fuck, okay, stand up for a sec.”

You roll yourself along his dick for a moment longer, relishing in the way his hips instinctually jerk against yours. He squirms beneath you, opting to tightly grab your hips.

“Shit, mami,” Octavio pants, sharply thrusting up before trying to push you off. “C’mon, c’mon, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

You finally climb off him and he follows you forward, sharply pulling down your sweats. A long, sticky trail connects you briefly to them and he outright groans at how filthy that is.

“You’re so wet,” he all but whines, fascinatedly rubbing a finger between your lips. Your breath hitches as he pointedly drags his knuckle across your clit, teasing you with the not quite enough touch.

“Shorts off,” you growl, and he hurriedly obeys. His cock springs free as his shorts hit the carpet and your mouth waters. The tip is swollen and pink, leaking with excitement. You’re half tempted to get on your knees, swipe the pre up with your tongue and put him at your mercy.

“Oh, mami, yes, you can do that for me later,” he babbles, making you realize you’d said that aloud. You try to climb back into his lap, only to have him grab you by the shoulders. You yelp as he tosses you onto your back on the opposite side of the couch, maneuvering himself between your thighs.

You two have been doing this long enough to have done away with condoms and you’re so fucking grateful for that as he pushes himself between your lips. Your slick helps him along as he glides the tip against your aching, swollen clit.

“Oc,” you impatiently murmur and he smirks. Octavio is a bastard at the worst times and not even the bedroom is exempt, because he grabs his shaft and taps the leaking tip of his cock against your clit.

“How bad do you want it, hm?” He asks and if you weren’t so overwhelmed, you’d roll your eyes. You settle for propping yourself up on your elbows and thrusting your hips up. His cock catches on your hole and his breath hitches in his throat.

“That bad, huh?” Octavio breathlessly whispers and you glare at him through the fog of your lust.

“Aren’t you supposed to be quick?”

“You want it to be over? Aw, okay, guess I’ll-“

Before he can pull away, you wrap your legs around his waist and yank him against you. Octavio slips, caught off guard, and he catches himself on the arm of the couch, letting out a strangled groan as the tip of his dick breeches your swollen cunt.

“Fuck,” he grits out, suddenly unconcerned with teasing. He drives himself the rest of the way inside and you sigh, relieved to be so wonderfully full.

“I’m trying,” you gleefully counter and he sharply thrusts into you with a laugh that’s half moan.

You reach around, clawing at his lower back as he fucks into you. His elbow lands on the space next to your neck and you find his hand cupping the crown of your head, simply resting there as he fucks you like he’s trying to win a race.

Octavio moans and curses and whines just as much as you do, his green eyes squeezed shut. You rake your nails up the length of his spine and he groans, giving you an especially brutal thrust. Your mouth falls open and he takes the opportunity to sloppily kiss you, tongue pushing past your lips to twist with yours and he doesn’t taste so much like liquor anymore.

You sob into the kiss as he angles his hips down a little, hitting right there. He gets the picture quickly and he aims just so, abusing that place that makes you see stars. His hips snap into yours and you grab his shoulders for purchase. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

It’s him, pulling away from your kiss to watch you with amazed green eyes. It’s him, grabbing your hips and yanking you onto his dick. It’s him, passing a thumb over your clit, making your eyes roll back. It’s him, hissing your name as his hips begin to stutter and shake. It’s him.

“C’mon, mami, c’mon, I won’t last,” he gasps, fondling your clit desperately and your jaw drops at the sensation. “C’mon, baby, need it, need to feel that tight pussy squeeze my dick, you can do it, do it for me, please, baby, please-“

You say his name as your orgasm hits you, shaking legs tightening so harshly around his waist you can feel every tremor of his hips. He fucks you through it, relentlessly rubbing your clit and you whimper, reaching down to try and shove his hand away. It doesn’t seem to stop him and finally with two, three more thrusts, he’s coming.

Octavio buries his face in your neck, saying something so low and garbled that you barely pick up that it was in Spanish. You don’t care to ask what he said just yet, too busy catching your breath as you clutch his back.

“Shit…” He breathes, turning his head to rest his nose against your still racing pulse. Now, though, it’s not just with need, but you don’t tell him that.

“How’s that for keeping up?” You ask and he snickers, slowly pulling out of you. Octavio reaches down, grabbing his shorts and tucking them beneath your hips to catch the spunk dripping out of you.

“I’ll go get a wash cloth,” he says as you paw at the coffee table for the TV remote. You groan at the time it shows you.

“It’s almost seven, you ass! I have to be to work in two hours!”

“Guess I kept you up all night. At least you weren’t bored.”

“I hate you,” you groan, scrubbing your hands over your eyes. Octavio snickers, making his way towards the bathroom.

“Oh, hey, wait,” you say, propping your head up. He stops short, meeting your gaze. “What did you say? I was kinda preoccupied and didn’t hear.”

“Kinda? You wound me,” Octavio says, placing a hand over his heart. You unceremoniously flip him off. “You think I remember what I said while I was nutting, chica?!”

Octavio grins roguishly. You roll your eyes, throwing one of the couch cushions at him. It doesn’t get anywhere close to hitting him and Octavio snickers, bending down to toss it back onto the couch. “Who knows?”

Octavio turns back to the bathroom and his playful expression slackens. His brow scrunches up as he flicks the light on, closing the restroom door behind him and staring disbelievingly into the mirror.

Te amo, he’d gasped into your neck when he was overwhelmed with the smell of you, the feeling of you, the taste of you.

[chungledown-bimothy]

Keep Talking, Oh, Keep Talking

So, I know it’s been FOREVER since I posted any writing, and that’s mostly because I was working on this @sanderssantas​ fic for @mewithanie​! So sorry about how long it’s been, and hopefully I’ll be posting things again slightly more often lol

I had so much fun writing this! Happy holidays, mewithanie! <3

AO3     Masterlist

Summary: Patton and Virgil were deliriously in love and didn’t think they could get any happier. Enter Logan, Virgil’s tutor.

Warnings: alcohol use, slight intoxication. 

Pairing(s): established moxiety into analogicality

Word Count: 2,647 (plus 2 fake-texts images)

Tag List:  @ren-allen​​ @ccecode​​ @emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn​​ @ilovemygaydad​​ @bloodropsblog​​ @funsizedgremlin​​ @raygelkitty​​ @roxiefox23​​ @thomasthesandersengine​

Patton loved his boyfriends. He loved them so much that sometimes, when he thought about them, his heart would race, his knees would go weak, and his head would spin. Especially since Logan joined the relationship.

Patton and Virgil met the first day of college, in their shared psychology class. It wasn't long until they started dating, and a year later, they moved in together. Patton had known for years that he was polyamorous, but he kept that to himself, because he was blissfully happy with Virgil, and it was never relevant. Until the second semester after they moved in together, that is.

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

Eight Months Ago

Fifteen minutes later, Virgil walked through the front door of the apartment and was immediately caught in a bear hug.

"Well hello to you too," Virgil laughed, despite his terrible mood.

"What, a guy can't be excited to see his favorite stormcloud?" Patton looked up at him, his expression just a little bit too innocent.

"Patton, what did you do?" Virgil questioned, remembering the cupcake tower Patton made the night before their first set of final exams together and the time he came home from his first therapy session to find the living room covered in fairy lights.

"Nothing major; I promise. Come look!" Patton took him by the hand and practically dragged him into the kitchen. "See? Just a lasagna. Let's eat while you tell me about your meeting and this mysterious Logan guy."

Virgil got a couple plates and served the lasagna as he started talking. "Turns out, he's in my class. I've mentioned front-and-center-nerd before, yeah?" Patton laughed.

"Dresses more professionally than the teacher, kinda cute but also seems stuck up?"

"Yep, that's the guy. He's a lot chiller than I thought he'd be. Anyway, we're gonna meet after class every Wednesday for the rest of the semester."

"I'm sure it's gonna go great!"

Five Months Ago

"Hi, I'm Patton! Nice to meet you; Virgil has said such wonderful things about you!" Patton half-yelled over the music playing at the bar.

"Oh, erm, hello. I am Logan, although clearly you already knew that. Virgil has spoken highly of you as well." Logan fought the impulse to adjust his tie. Patton opened his mouth to say something else, but Virgil arrived with their drinks, passing them out as he sat down.

"Alright, we've got a whiskey neat for Logan, some IPA that the bartender recommended for you, Pat, and a rum and Coke for me. Honestly, though, Patton, I don't get how you can drink those. I had a sip of yours on my way over, and it was awful."

Patton laughed. "Yeah, they're not for everyone, but I like 'em! And it's hard to drink too many of them, unlike your drinks, so I don't get super drunk- my tolerance is garbage. Anyway," he continued with a mock glare at his boyfriend, "we aren't here to make fun of the way I drink, we're here to celebrate Virgil!" He raised his glass.

"Indeed. It has been an honor working with you this past semester, Virgil, and I am proud to see your hard work pay off," Logan added, raising his glass as well.

Virgil blushed and refused to look at either of them. "I barely got a B+, that's hardly a reason to celebrate," he mumbled.

"Falsehood. Truthfully, when we began working together, I doubted that you would be able to achieve higher than a C. You worked incredibly hard, not only on the subject matter, but on how you approached studying. Your dedication is truly inspiring."

"Hear hear! Virge, I know how hard this class has been on you. You've worked that cute butt of yours off for it, and that alone deserves celebration, even before you take into account how much that hard work paid off! But if it helps, we can call this a general post-finals celebration, okay?" Patton was rewarded with a grateful smile.

"You guys deserve to be celebrated too. Logan, you have been so incredibly patient with me; I know that I'm not exactly the most pleasant to be around when I get frustrated, so, thanks for sticking with me, I guess. And Pat, you've had my back since day one. I love you more than I could ever say, baby." He pressed a sweet kiss to Patton's cheek, and Logan was suddenly very interested in his drink.

"Loooogan has anyone told you how pretty you are?" Patton hit his hands on the table, almost knocking over the glass that once contained a strawberry daiquiri; he'd decided he wanted something sweeter after two beers.

"No no no no, the prettiest one here is Virgil. Those cheekbones have got to be illegal somewhere," Logan wasn't any more sober, two whiskeys in. "And his face when he's focusing on studying is just the cutest thing everrr."

"Oh I know! Have you seen him do the thing where he sticks his tongue out a little bit when he's really concentrating?" Patton was practically bouncing in his seat, continuing to be a danger to the glasses.

"Dear Newton yes! I had to excuse myself and get a drink of water the first time I saw him do it."

"Wait, that's why you left? I thought it was because you were getting frustrated with how long it was taking me to get it!" Virgil chimed in, astonished.

"Sounds like he was some sort of frustrated alright," Patton muttered.

"Look. We all know that Virgil is an incredibly attractive man, and I am a simple homosexual. That said, Patton, I apologize for the… less than appropriate thoughts I may have had before I knew that he was in a relationship at all, let alone one as objectively adorable as yours."

Patton giggled. "No worries, Lolo! Like you said, my man is an entire three-course meal, and it would be silly of me to hold natural, human thoughts against you! And besides, you weren't the only one in those study sessions with some interesting thoughts, right Virgey?"

"Oh my god Patton I cannot believe you just said that!" Virgil hid his flaming blush behind his hands.

"Oops! Sorry, V!"

"You- you're okay with that? Your boyfriend and a stranger having lewd thoughts about each other?" Logan asked.

"Well yeah! I'm not the jealous type, and I trust Virgil. What's important to me is open and honest communication, and he told me about his attraction to you almost immediately. Plus, in all honesty, I found it kinda hot, especially once he showed me a picture of you."

Logan looked to Virgil and raised an eyebrow. Virgil game the same look to Patton, who, after a moment of confusion and then realization, nodded slightly and leaned back in his chair. Once Patton gave his blessing, Virgil leaned in and kissed Logan, soft and unsure. After they separated, Logan approached Patton and, after receiving another nod of consent, pressed a similar kiss to his lips.

The next morning

"So… can we talk about what happened last night?" Patton asked sweetly over breakfast.

"Oh my god are you actually not okay with it? Patton, I'm so sorry I shouldn't have-"

"Hey, Virgil, no, I really did mean that it was okay. More than okay, even. In fact, I think now is a good time to tell you that I'm polyamorous. I had a lot of fun hanging out with Logan last night, and I'd like to get to know him better. And clearly you are both into each other. I love you so much, and I just want you to be happy. If you want to, I think at least a conversation with Logan about it couldn't hurt."

Virgil sat in silence, sipping his coffee occasionally, for several minutes before speaking. "Pat, I love you more than I can possibly say. I'm honestly not surprised that you're polyam; you have so much love to give. I, uh, I actually am too. So, uh, I guess I'll call Logan? See if he wants to get lunch or something?"

"Aww yay! Okay, I'm gonna go take a shower real quick." Patton kissed Virgil quickly on the cheek on his way out of the room.

Virgil took a steadying breath and took out his phone.

     -

Logan straightened his tie and cleared his throat. "If I am understanding this correctly, you are both polyamorous and… wish for me to join your relationship?"

"Not so formally, but yeah? Last night, it was clear we all find each other hot. Which, like, duh, you're both gorgeous and sometimes I look pretty okay. Not now, Pat." Virgil preempted Patton's interruption without looking away from Logan. "I like you a lot, and I think you and Patton would also get along really well. So, uh, yeah, this is us asking you out. Not asking for any sort of commitment or anything, just hanging out and going on dates and stuff. You know, normal dating stuff. Just… with two of us."

"Only if you want to! And if you wanted to just date Virgil, I'd be completely okay with that too, but I had a lot of fun last night, and I'd love to get to know you better."

A tense moment of silence later, Logan spoke. "Let me begin by saying how flattered I am by your interest, both of you. While I am… inclined to accept your invitation to date both of you, I have never put much thought into my own feelings about polyamory for myself. Obviously, it is a completely normal and rational thing; my hesitation is in how I might fit into your so well-established relationship. Additionally, feelings do not come easily to me, and I find them exceedingly frustrating trying to understand. I have been reliably informed that this makes me a poor romantic partner." He took a breath and adjusted his tie.

"I have noticed that you are both quite vocally and physically publicly affectionate with each other, and I wonder whether my reticence with such displays would leave you unhappy with me. I have historically struggled to show adequate affection to just one person; I cannot imagine I would be able to give you both the kind of affection you seem to crave. In short, while I would like to accept, I currently cannot see it ending in anything but significant emotional distress for all of us. I apologize, most sincerely."

"I think I can safely speak for both of us when I say that we appreciate your honesty," Patton began gently. "Can I address some of your points?" Logan gave him a confused look, but nodded. "Thank you! So, it seems like your big concern is that you're afraid your emotional reticence would in some way hurt us or leave us unsatisfied. Am I understanding that right?" He waited for another nod before continuing. "To be honest, Lo, that's just silly. Are you familiar with Gary Chapman's concept of love languages?" Logan shook his head.

"Chapman posited that there are five ways people experience and express love- gifts, quality time, acts of service, words of affirmation, and physical touch- and everyone prefers to give and receive one or two of them over the others. Mine is words of affirmation, and Virgil's is physical touch; that's why we are as outwardly affectionate as we are. Trying to force a partner to 'speak' your language and not their own is just going to make everyone unhappy; healthy relationships require everyone involved to understand what the others need and want. We would never try to force you into anything you aren't comfortable with. We want to date you, Logan, not some version of you that pretends to be something or someone you aren't. If you let us, we'd love to learn your love language and not ask or expect anything else of you."

"Also," Virgil chimed in, "as to your worry about how you'd fit? Not a worry at all. I love Patton so much, and his energy and positivity makes me feel so good most of the time, but sometimes it can be... a bit much. He's wonderful at giving me space when I want it, but I know that I'd enjoy having someone else around who's more grounded. On the other hand, I remember quite a few study sessions that got diverted by you going on a tangent about something you love. If you think that passion isn't something Patton is going to join you in, you're incredibly wrong. And I think that his energy will help draw you out of that thick shell of yours, while I'll always be a more down-to-earth realist with you. I think we'd all be great for each other, if you're willing to give us the chance to show you. Only if you want to, though. One word, and we'll shut up about it forever." He gave Logan an anxious smile.

"In the face of such reasonable responses to my concerns, I suppose I have no choice but to gladly accept." Virgil and Patton both silently melted at the pure joy in Logan's smile. Well, Virgil was silent. Patton let out a squeal of delight that only dogs could hear.

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

Present

Patton loved his boyfriends so much, just remembering the beginning of their story made him dizzy. Wait. No. Bad dizzy. I need to- he collapsed on the bathroom floor with a resounding THUD.  

-

THUD

Virgil jumped out of his seat. "Logan? Patton??" he called as he ran from their bedroom to the living room.

"Patton? Virgil?" Logan shouted at the same time. They met in the living room.

"Shit, where's Patton? PATTON!" Virgil yelled.

"It sounded like it came from the bathroom." Logan had barely finished his sentence before they both started running. They skidded to a halt outside the closed door; Virgil knocked.

"Patton? Are you in there? Are you okay?"

Three seconds of silence later, Logan knocked. "Patton, we are coming in." They opened the door to find him collapsed on the floor.

"Patton, can you hear us? Patton??" Virgil fell to his knees, checking for breathing and a pulse. "He's got a weak pulse, but it's there, and he's breathing okay. I don't- what do we do, Lo?" Virgil's voice was barely more than a shaky squeak.

Logan, on the other hand, spoke with cool, detached clarity. "Assuming that Patton collapsed due to a loss of consciousness, he has been unconscious for approximately thirty seconds. If he is out for another minute, we will call 911. In the meantime, go get a glass of water and all the pillows from the living room. Quickly, Verge. We need to get him back." They locked eyes and saw mirrored concern and panic. Virgil turned and ran to the kitchen. He was back in 45 seconds, and found Logan holding up Patton's groggy, but conscious, head.

"Virgil, you're back. Excellent. Here, give me a couple of pillows." He tucked them under his head gently, while Virgil knelt down beside him and took his hand. Only then did he notice how much his own were shaking.

"Patton, are you okay? What happened?"

"Mmf, dunno. Got dizzy. Are you guys okay?" Patton mumbled.

"Patton, of- of course we are okay; you're the one who fell. We should get you into bed. Do you think you can stand?" Logan asked.

"I- I don't think so, not quite yet." Logan and Virgil once again met eyes in a silent conversation.

"Okay, Pat, knees up, I'm gonna carry you." With an ease that surprised and slightly aroused Logan, Virgil picked Patton up, placed a soft kiss to his forehead, and carried him to the bedroom. "Let's get you to bed, baby; we'll take good care of you. You're gonna be just fine," he said softly into Patton's hair.

Once they got him to bed, they tucked him in, Logan made chicken noodle soup for when Patton felt up to it, and they gave him all of the cuddles he could possibly want. Which is, of course, an unlimited amount.

[gay4eraser]

For big baby boy Brad! 1-10, because childhood is important, 12,13, 15, 18, 21, 26, 31, 42, and 49!

my braddy boi!!!! thanks bb!!!! a note that Brad is somewhat a co-created character between me and blop at this point

Bnha Brad Boi content under readmore!!! 

1. What’s their full name? Why was that chosen? Does it mean anything?

Brad Bartholomew Jenkins. His name was literally chosen as a placeholder name and then we just Liked it and he stayed a Brad

2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them? 

Does Zookeeper count??? In bnha universe he was a zookeeper who was eventually hired on in All Might’s Lost&Found Shelter and Educational Center to take care of exotic animals, since he can communicate with them. 

3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory? 

Brad had a very distant childhood. His family was huge and not very well off, and he had to grow up fast to help take care of a lot of siblings and cousins. He does have a lot of good memories though! ...mostly of being the one delegated to taking care of all the family pets, which while kind of bad overall, he considered a huge plus. 

4. What is their relationship with their parents? What’s a good and bad memory with them? Did they know both parents? 

Brad knew both parents but they were often tired, overworked, and rarely saw him. They didn’t really understand their son’s quirk and how it worked and so everyone in the family thought his quirk was weird and made him go a bit crazy. 

Brad has fond memories of family gatherings, full of people, never being alone. He has fond memories of never EVER being alone because being surrounded by people was just as nice as being surrounded by animals, and he was always with one or the other. 

5. Do they have any siblings? What’s their names? What is their relationship with them? Has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults? 

He has lots of siblings! All of which I have not named in the slightest. Brad is the oldest and he’s always been a loner type simply because people find it weird that he considers animals perfectly acceptable company. He also took a job ASAP to help support his family so his siblings never saw much of him. They all think he’s kind of stuck up. 

6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate? 

Brad loves the sciences! He’s pretty good at them too, though he’s very absent minded in school unless it’s a special interest like his animals. His school tried to get him to join sports so many times he doesn’t much care for sports anymore 

Have I mentioned he grows up to be 7′2″ 

In high school he hit 6 feet tall and kept going up from there 

He’s also really, really bad at math. 

7. Did they have lots of friends as a child? Did they keep any of their childhood friends into adulthood? 

Brad had a ton of friends as a kid! As weird as he is, he makes friends pretty easily. None of them were super close, but that was fine enough for him, he certainly didn’t care lol. He didn’t have time for friends really outside of work but everyone there loves the shit out of him and he has an extremely friendly and open demeanor. A lot of old friends honestly just went to the zoo to say hi to him.

When he moved to Japan a lot of people were really sad to see him go, though he was generally unaware of it 

8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals? 

Brad doesn’t consider them pets he considers them his best friends, thank you 

9. Do animals like them? Do they get on well with animals? 

His entire quirk revolves around animals, calming animals down, and slowly influencing the intelligence of animals. He Loves Them So Much. He will talk about them or TO them for fucking hours on end and infodumps about them at the slightest opportunity. He’ll destroy you if you try to spread false information about animals.

10. Do they like children? Do children like them? Do they have or want any children? What would they be like as a parent? Or as a godparent/babysitter/ect? 

Ehhhhh Brad’s too.. earnest for most children. He also tends to lose his temper with them easily. Animals need to be treated with kindness and respect and if a child taps on the fucking glass ONE MORE TIME- 

He’s nearly lost it towards kids several times and only timely intervention by coworkers has saved his job. Kids can be kind and innocent, and he loves those kinds of kids, but he has No tolerance for shitty kids. Kids who respect him and his animals however, he’s a great babysitter for, as long as the kids are fairly self-sufficient and don’t mind being forgotten in favor of the cockroach exhibit needing to be fed again. 

12. What is their favourite food? 

Boi loves himself some granola bars, he’ll chow down all day. In general snack and convenience food he loves

13. What is their least favourite food?

He can’t eat anything that resembles the animal it came from. Whole roasted chickens? He’ll cry over

15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking?

He can put sandwiches together and basic foods, but he’s not too good on cooking. Mostly just good enough to not starve. Everyone appreciates his efforts

18. What’s their favourite genre of: books, music, tv shows, films, video games and anything else

Get him a documentary and a laptop for fact checking and this boy is set for Hours of entertainment. He also religiously follows animal birthing livestreams and has vines of cute animals doing silly things on a playlist. He also watches terrifying shows like Eaten Alive and will chatter happily about the parasites transferred through eating infected, improperly cooked fish during dinner and make his sigfigs hurl 

Also survivalist shows, anything in nature really. He’s not huge on video games because his hands are too big and it makes him a bit clumsy. He’s cried during every sad dog movie that ever existed. 

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper?

Like mentioned earlier he has No tolerance for stupidity towards his animals, but otherwise he’s very easy going and generally just super chill. It’s hard to get a rise out of him. 

When he does get angry he unconsciously squares his huge ass shoulders and tenses up and straightens up alllll the way and that’s usually when his gentle giant aesthetic falls away and people suddenly realize. This guy. Lifts animals bigger than them. Without breaking a sweat. He’s stronk from sheer daily working like a bear. 

He’s very, very terrifying when he’s angry but all he’s gonna do is lecture you furiously and physically pick you up and remove you from wherever your offense is. (The worst he’s ever done is physically THROWING Asshat from his zoo) 

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions?

Brad chatters excitedly yet peacefully when he’s happy! To people, to animals, to himself, doesn’t matter, he’ll talk out loud to anyone. 

31. Do they drink? What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act when other people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing?

Brad doesn’t much drink? He’s into biology, so he’s Very Aware that alcohol is technically just poisoning your body. Also, he’s slightly afraid because when he gets tipsy (the most he’s ever gotten) he gets clumsy and hella  uncoordinated, which is dangerous when ur so big. He doesn’t wanna hurt anyone

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition?

Brad’s a simple guy, give him an animal and a job with them and he’s Solid. Doesn’t have any goal other than to keep supporting his family. He sends them checks whenever possible. 

49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them?

Brad’s TERRIBLY sentimental but he doesn’t have the space for all the stuff he wants to have. He also is something of a minimalist otherwise so while he loves the value in items he’s probably not going to keep it. He DOES have a wall covered in Important Pictures printed out and taped on! Most are of animals. 

[tenyxshx-a]

About characterisation on this blog // hc. && explanations

Emotional turbulence: ever since “descending” onto Earth, Doflamingo has never felt like he belonged. He belonged in the Heavens (like the other Celestial Dragons), but after they rejected him he doesn’t even want to be associated with them anymore. Sure he’ll use them for his own purposes but he wants to destroy everything they have and watch them fall, watch them break, except they won’t rise like he did. There’s pressure on him because of himself, he wants to be strong, he wants to lead his family and wreck the world, he has no time for failure (like with Rocinante and Law), no time for petty and unimportant events. He cannot trust anyone but himself with his genuine, inner feelings and is at constant war, but never shall anyone beside himself know this. He doesn’t trust anyone and he doesn’t want to feel weak exposing his secrets and doubts. One slip of the tongue and it can all be destroyed.

He lost his left eye. The arrow shot at it completely destroyed it. He does have a glass eye as replacement but Doflamingo prefers to keep the eye shut at all times. It’s a permanent reminder of the time he was still too weak, of the time where he was humiliated and tortured. It’s a constant motivator for him to inflict permanent scars and pain onto others. Burn into them that they are below him, just as how it was burnt into him that he had yet to grasp his powers.

He’s sexual, but not really looking that much to have sex with others. He doesn’t like to be vulnerable (and he does feel a bit vulnerable when alone, naked with someone) and he also just doesn’t have much time. If he wants to get off, he’ll just do it himself. Occasionally he might just fuck someone (or some-two), but it’s actually not frequent at all. If Doflamingo actually has sex with someone, he thinks they should consider themselves incredibly lucky that he even showed interested in them to begin with.

He doesn’t chase people (except when he has a personal grudge). People come and go and while he loves pestering people who have shown great dislike towards him, rejection hurts and anyone who rejects him (in any way) is a waste of his time because clearly they can’t even comprehend how honoured they should’ve been. (Now with him holding the heart seat vacant for Law, it was a personal thing. He wanted Law’s power and he hoped that Law would hold loyalty towards him even after thirteen years, since he was the one who actually took in the child and he should be grateful for that).

Doflamingo does long for someone he can trust (try to love, or at least hold close), but first of the person would have to be just as strong as him (not stronger though, it would make him uncomfortable, though he might consider it) and second of all, he would have to be comfortable showing his weak side to them. None of his family members are an option though, since he never wants to have his family see him vulnerable or weakened. He is their king, their captain, their leader and he will lead them. They depend on him, but he doesn’t depend on them, he counts on them.

Doflamingo has severe trust issues though. He refuses to show his true self to anyone. He doesn’t even trust himself. This is why he loathes betrayal. If he actually brings himself to trust someone against his own worries in and they end up betraying him, it makes him feel like a failure, since he actually went ahead and trusted them.

Doflamingo manipulating his family and “raising them to sacrifice their lives” is not because he considered them weak or because he doesn’t care. He raises his family members this way because he wants to trust them. He can only trust them when he knows they adore and love him with their whole being, and for him (and them) it is expressed through the willingness to sacrifice their lives for him. Doflamingo never actually wants to sacrifice his family members, but if it endangers him (and the others), he will. Doflamingo sacrificed Monet and Vergo because he knew that if Kaidou came for him, the rest of the family and he would die. He weighted the options and chose to save the most of them (and of course himself).

Doflamingo accepts his family’s flaws. He has his own flaws so he won’t be hypocritical as to expect them to be perfect. That being said, he is still manipulating them and plays right into their flaws (Baby 5’s trauma of being unneeded….). Doflamingo won’t forgive anyone else who tries to misuse those flaws though.

Doflamingo suffers a lot because of Monet and Vergo’s deaths. He had never planned to sacrifice any of his family. Them being gone is another permanent reminder of failure, of how he hadn’t taken into account just how far Law would go.

Doflamingo’s relation with his head executives is a bit different than the other family members (excluding Vergo). They are different as in they know more about his “true” personality, his thoughts, his plans. They advise him and are on a somewhat higher standing than the other family members. But they do depend on him (he knows). They need him for their dream and that’s why they decided to follow him. Doflamingo will repay them by making that dream come true.

Vergo is probably the only real, true friend Doflamingo had and will have. Since he was around Doflamingo’s age when they met, he stood on equal ground with him. Unlike the head executives, he could not advise Doflamingo, since he didn’t have more experience or power or access to things. Of course, as Doflamingo rose to power and became their Young Master, Vergo went from equal status to beneath, but their relationship was always special. He trusts Vergo in a different way than his other family members and executives because he never really manipulated/sculpted him. Doflamingo inspired him and Vergo came to love and follow him, naturally.

Doflamingo appears arrogant and seems to underestimate his enemies, but he doesn’t. Except in canon because well Oda had to make Luffy win lol. On this blog, Doflamingo will not toy around with his enemies that much. He’s careful. He’s intelligent. He’s sly and cunning. Once things take a turn for the worse he will ruthlessly fight and kill them.

Doflamingo is confident in many things (his looks, his strength, his knowledge, his intelligence, his skills, his family, his leadership, his ruling of Dressrosa…) but he also has a few weaknesses and insecurities.

Doflamingo is very ticklish and sensitive on his body.

He has a hand fixation. Since he uses many of his moves with his hand and fingers, he started focusing more on them and well, shit happens.

Doflamingo loves head pats and strokes. His mom used to do it to him to calm him (and his brother) down and it will always remind him of her. It’s the best way to calm him down but he won’t let anyone do this since they don’t deserve to take his mother’s place.

Doflamingo’s actually not great with heavy drinks. In fact, he has a low alcohol-tolerance. He often intentionally gets himself drunk to blur out the world and it doesn’t take much. Hangovers are a bitch though.

He’s a very deep sleeper and this greatly worries him. He’s vulnerable during his sleep so he tries to get by on as little sleep as possible. Usually, Doflamingo leaves some strings around his bed attached to his fingers. Any movement will cause his fingers to be pulled and lightly sliced and that does wake him up.

His hands and feet are the most sensitive parts of his body. Also his neck.

He finds (cliché) romance cheesy and laughable but he does enjoy it. If someone tries to (sexually) rile him up or tease him that’s okay, but if someone genuinely does something sappy and romantic he will love it. He loves stereotypical idealised love out of the books.

Doflamingo is a very avid reader. He can recite his favourite books without problems.

Doflamingo prefers orchestral music.

Doflamingo sometimes likes cute things. He has no problem admitting it. The opinion of others doesn’t concern him. (This is also why all his Denden-mushi are dressed up like him).

Doflamingo actually likes to be carried. He used to ask the head executives to carry him when he was still a teenager. Of course, he pretended to be wounded or tired but they all actually knew he just really wanted to be carried so they just played along. Now though, it’s more difficult and he never asks anymore.

Doflamingo knew Rocinante might’ve been involved with the marines constantly tailing them (as he discussed with his head executives). He refused to believe it though, since he was still in love with the image he had from his younger brother. He never feels in place and thus, Rocinante felt like a kindred soul to him (a cast-out dragon just like him!).

Doflamingo did not consider Rocinante as part of his “family”. Rocinante had been gone for years, even Doflamingo knew this was dangerous. That’s why he decided to have Rocinante sacrifice himself. That way, he would pass away and Doflamingo would be able to hold on to the precious image he had of his younger brother, without any danger of it being ruined. But that didn’t work out and after executing Rocinante, he felt even lonelier than before. Thus, he confirmed that the family he now had was his only family. The only persons that made him feel less out of place.

Doflamingo has a great singing voice and he actually likes to sing, but only when alone. In public, he might at times hum.

Teen!Doflamingo was a hell of a rebel. He actually went against the advice of his executives, he did dangerous stuff just for the kick and “to experience it” and he just overall was a hurricane. When he got older and more involved in business he became calmer. He also had more family members to care for.

Young!Doflamingo dressed stylishly because he liked it (and also because it fit in the Underworld). As he grew older though, his fashion style went more extravagant and he cared less about appearances.

He hates his receding hairline because it is a reminder that he is ageing.

Fuck your gender norms honestly. Doflamingo doesn’t care and his family doesn’t need to care. Doflamingo decides what is acceptable for them and what not, if it doesn’t fit traditional/general views you can go screw yourself.

Doflamingo has a fear of needles. He just really dislikes how small they are and how they can pierce the skin so effectively while leaving behind such disastrous damage depending on what was injected.

He gets really excited about blood spilling and torturing, but nothing excites him more than a thrilling battle. He feels alive, he doesn’t need to worry about his insecurities or how he feels out of place. He shows his strength and skills and by wining confirms that yes, in the heat of battle, nothing matters, not even whether he belongs or not. Power matters. And he has it. Killing off someone is confirming that he is the strongest right there.

Just like all his views, his own personal feelings matter most. Hence why he has such a fluent view on “justice”. Justice doesn’t matter anyways, since he will destroy the world. Justice won’t save anyone from his wrath.

Doflamingo doesn’t really realise it himself but he does have a weakness for children. Especially children who have been wronged. They remind him of what he went through and thus, he can’t help but speculate what they can be.

Headcanon that Celestial Dragons have a certain dialect and Doflamingo can still speak it but he hides it because he doesn’t want to be associated. He also knows the North Blue dialect.

When Doflamingo first got his Devil Fruit he was actually disappointed. But then he experimented and it all went well.

Doflamingo awakened his Devil Fruit just before entering Dressrosa, after executing Rocinante. He did some extra training after that disaster. Also headcanon: Trébol was the one who knew about awakening and helped Doflamingo with it.

Doflamingo learnt Busoshoku Haki alongside Vergo from Pica. Vergo was a master-talent in it.

Headcanon: Vergo is actually related to the cloning project from Judge and Vegapunk. His natural body is stronger than usual (as seen when he fought Sanji and broke his bones) and this is also why he is so adapt with Busoshoku Haki. Trébol, Pica and Diamante got Vergo through Underworld connections.

It’s not a coincidence Diamante, Pica, Trébol and Vergo were close to where Doflamingo, Rocinante and Hooming were. They got wind of the rumours of the townspeople and well, a fallen Celestial Dragon family…

Diamante, Pica and Trébol’s dream is a world where only the strong rule and where their king, Doflamingo, destroys everything the Celestial Dragons hold. Why? Trébol is seen wearing chains (and he has a scar). He might’ve been a former slave who got away after eating his Devil Fruit and swore to get his revenge. Diamante and Trébol seem closest so they might’ve met in the Underworld. Pica seemed younger so they met him later. An outcast because of his voice, but an outcast who did have potential for violence and strength.

[pretty-volatile]

Journal entry

Thursday, June 6th, 2019 1:40am

So I realized I haven't really journaled in a hot minute and I'm trying to keep track of shit so I know what to bring up when I finally see the psychiatrist.

First of all, only 15 more days until my appointment. I'm still self medicating with weed, but my usage varies day to day. Some days I don't need to smoke AS much, some days I need a lot of help, some days I'm okay but I just want to have fun. My tolerance is higher so I can do daytime use without being affected really. I feel it helps with the anger episodes too. It used to teeter between being helpful/unhelpful for when I was feeling down. Sometimes it would make the overthinking worse because it'd be harder to pull myself out. Lately, I've been exploring my emotions more and being high just helps me open up but kind of numbs some of the pain I might experience. It's more of an emotional trip.

Second of all, I really fucked up this quarter. I'm a 4th year college student and I had already accepted that I need longer, but like. I am worried that I might get kicked out lol. I was Subject to Dismissal ever since I failed my entire Winter Quarter 2018. Oops. Then the next quarter I thought I was going to be able to pick shit back up but then I couldn't keep up so I dropped out of the quarter Week 10 (literally the last week of the quarter lolol). Ever since then I've been trying so damn hard to keep school up while my mental health just kept failing me. I'd start out new every new beginning of a quarter and then by Week 4 I'd start falling behind because I just didn't want to do anything. I couldn't. But then there was a time or two that I was able to pick my ass back up and got decent enough grades to go onto the next thing. This quarter started out pretty well. I was on top of shit til about Week 5 or 6 or something. But I fucking finally cracked this quarter. I had started to pick up on some of my habits, and then I looked up Borderline Personality Disorder and I just lost it. I opened the floodgates to some memories that I had forgotten about or blocked out. Everything started to connect and I started to experience trauma on top of present reality. It was TERRIBLE. Still is but like. It was just so overwhelming to recognize things I didn't even know I did or I didn't know that they weren't okay. Then I reached out to my therapist and I was like I think I have BPD. Of course she couldn't diagnose me because she's not a psychiatrist, but she has experience with supper groups for folx with BPD and she has experience with DBT. But she kept bringing up that she thought it was more likely that I have bipolar disorder. I was still set on BPD. Trying to think of all the symptoms that I experience and match with. I was obsessed with proving there was something wrong with me or that I needed help. Part of me was also thinking "There has to be something wrong because if not, then I really am just a piece of shit...." My insomnia has been pretty bad, which the only thing that helps is...you guessed it!....weed. which sometimes it fed into it too so I'd have to smoke so much that I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. I started to accept the possibility of bipolar disorder too and I was trying to pay attention to my mood(s) more too. Since I was aware of the symptoms of BPD and then later on bipolar, I was starting to pick up when a change was starting to happen so I could warn my partner. At one point my mood was like I was starting over again every single day. It'd start out moderately good and then by the end of the night I'd be breaking down crying about how I didn't want to go to bed just to start the whole day over again. During that time it was EXTREMELY hard to pull myself out of my depression/emptiness. Then once that nightmare stopped my mood switched to being hypomanic for about 6 days. Then right when I needed to get my shit together for school, I started to fall again. At first it was a numb "I don't want to do anything, life is dull, what's the point, fuck it". Then I just became really really sad overall. I didn't want to get out of bed or do chores. I didn't go to class. It was just TOO MUCH but like it made me feel like shit because I knew I needed to go.

Oh and all while I was experiencing most of this, my therapist has been away on medical leave since May 17th and the last time that I actually talked to her was yesterday (6/5 @ 1pm) but it was just for a brief 20 minute call. But we'll be able to pick things right back up when she gets back. I only have to wait 11 more days, so that's good.

Oh and my like impulsive behaviors/reckless shit (for me) was like spending money on food outside of groceries way more than I should have....I got a really bad case of the fuck its and I couldn't really say no because if I didn't buy snacks and food that we didn't have to make we wouldn't have eaten (we as in my partner & I) because of my lack of motivation and energy to do anything at all. I got to use my eating disorder as an excuse to feed into my impulses, oops. Oh and of course I'm addicted to smoking cigarettes and like I smoke weed all the fucking time so I guess those could be some other "reckless" behaviors :P I don't really drink much because of my mother's alcoholism and PTSD. I've had tendencies in the past and when I turned 21 I had a bit of a freak out, but now I'm just like. I'll drink if everyone else is too or if it's for a show or if I just wanted some tall can of yummy stuff at home. Otherwise I REALLY prefer being stoned. It lasts longer. There's not really any PTSD associated with it, debatable but still. It helps me get over the anxiety of dealing with people or strangers specifically. Unfamiliar places with a shit ton of people are definitely a trigger for some panic episode or anger episode. I'll turn into a sour bitch for no reason other than that all the people freaked me out that much. I'm very much like I want a whole separate world for my partner & I and our friends so that we don't have to deal with shitty or creepy people....I like people once I get to know them and stuff but otherwise I'm just like SocIalIZing? Psssh ha...no. That also made it difficult to go to class because I got antisocial as fuck. I LOVE going for walks and doing errands while stoned and listening to music, but like...interacting with people? Having attention drawn onto me? Nooooooo thanx.

Finding out the BPD stuff though weirdly helped me to start talking to other humans again? Kind of? I mean it was mostly me like venting or whatever but I was actually talking to people? (Via messaging mostly) lololol the funniest thing is that a fp was the reason I even looked up BPD. I developed a "crush" first and then later I looked up BPD because I was like ya know... I wanna know. I looked it up once before because there was a time that we thought my mom had BPD. Come to find out, she had bipolar instead. But I remember the first time I looked it up I was like "ha! Some of these symptoms/signs are personally calling me out" but I was mostly looking at it to understand my mom so I wasn't really thinking about myself that much. Plus when I looked it up first, I was still disassociating pretty bad that I wasn't entirely aware of what I was doing or how I was feeling. But when I looked it up the second time... literally EVERYTHING or just about everything that was coming up was exactly how I was feeling or how I have felt in the past. Then I found out about the Favorite Person thing and I was like oof, that's some...that's some shit right there. I still have to sort out what relationships/crushes were actually crushes or just a fp thing that eventually faded away into me not talking to them anymore. That was really fun to admit to my fp that they were the reason I looked up BPD. Lol but we did have a good conversation and like I tried to talk to other people that either understood second hand or first hand. Another person I talked to has BPD, and the other already has mental health issues and his fiance has BPD (so they both understand). Found I am/was an fp to another person that I apparently inspired him to finally go get the help he needs, but like he just had to fuck it up recently by bringing up a touchy subject. I can only imagine how angry or upset he is with me for not responding, which is also why I don't want to answer because I'm too scared with that kind of pressure of being someone's fp 😭😓🙈🙊 sorry bud....just had to bring up something that happened to be a touchy topic 😅

Lately I've really been trying to use music to get me through shit again. Back in high school all I would do at home was stay up, listen to music, draw, write poetry, watch movies, stay up on my phone or laptop. And I was creative as fuck! I've been trying to listen to old music, which also helped me realized just how much help I need(ed) because of how much I would relate to this music and this music was like really deep and really...just it was concerning that is as so young and connecting with what these adults are singing about. It also helped unlock memories. unlocked old feelings. Lots of drifting. But now my music listening is a little more controlled and I used to go on these emotional trips full of memories and just letting myself get swept off into it. I probably can only do this successfully since I eventually said fuck it to the rest of this quarter. (I saved one class but uh unless my professors can make my BPD/bipolar go away then there's nothing we can do.) But like the emotional trips have been really therapeutic for me honestly. Sometimes I feel a little "aw fuck that's all I did today, oops". But other than that it's been helpful. I was also able to draw! I've done like 3 drawings within the like past week ish. Which is more than I thought I'd be able to do. For the longest time I was so blocked off from my emotions and thoughts, I'd feel like drawing but once I sat down it was hard to start it or finish it. Or I'd be able to do like 1 good one every few months. Back in high school I was constantly drawing and even into the beginning of college, but once I started disassociating it was like bye bye creative motivation. Obviously I don't want to take advantage of this burst of creative motivation but like it feels REALLY good. I eventually want to get back into poetry too. I'm actually an art hoe, but when I disassociated I like had no drive to document anything nor the mental capacity/awareness to connect the dots. Which really cramped on me being artsy because my whole art experience is fluid, just let it take me where I need to go. I did some poetry within the last year though. Mainly relating to addiction/alcoholism/insomnia. I'm very much an emotional set type person. It's almost always centered around a feeling or situation that invokes feelings/thoughts.

Okay that's even impressive that I got this much of journaling done, but I think I should stop now. This is long enough and now my thoughts are just kinda scattered and I'm too tired to keep coming back to any points I'm making. This was meant to just be a check in but it turned into like a full on documentation of how I've been feeling or whatever. Whew exhausted. Maybe I'll jot shit down again later after I reread my post later. Goodnight for now ✌