#also i think he told me i was a gentleman and a scholar

[bug-84]

thinking of that time at work when my elderly neighbor and his husband came in and at the end i was ringing up their stuff and asked if they wanted to get anything else and he looked at me, smiled, and said "no, i think we have everything we need at home :-)" and i wanted to break down sobbing and tell them im so grateful they have happiness in spite of it all

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

Sulani: Evening

(Written for @akitasimblr's Mad About Dodo Challenge ❤️ This got very long. I cannot do short lines of dialogue that convey so much like some of you out there :x The last two paragraphs are the only ones that matter)

(Also I owe a lot to @dead-lights for her interpretation of Darrel. Thank you for giving him so may layers!)

GEMMA: So. Why are we here? DARREL: I know why I’m here. The question is, why are you here? GEMMA: Ah, c’mon man. Sulani. The cushiest and most exclusive resort on the whole island. Even more cushy and exclusive now that they’re filming Mad About Dodo. DARREL: Mad about what now? Mundanes still believe that they exist?

GEMMA: No, you doofus. Only the hottest reality tv show in the Simsverse. And Dodo Harper is the bachelor. DARREL: The twin of He Who Shall Not Be Named?

GEMMA: Now look around us. It’s a beautiful sunset. About to be a beautiful night. Why do you darken my day by bringing up that turd and his pro-vampire propaganda piece? DARREL: That’s usually my line. GEMMA: And it was totally when he was banging that one lady fanger too. Why do you masc type Sims have to go and lose any mote of common sense the instant you get your wands wet- DARREL: Gemma.

GEMMA: Okay, you have a little more sense than the rest of them. I’ll give you that. In fact, some days I think that you were born with a broomstick shoved so far up your arse that Emilia’s still pulling the fragments out- DARREL: Gemma.

GEMMA: So prove me otherwise by letting your absolute favouritist sister stay with you while you’re here for work? Pretty please? I’ll even cook you dinner. DARREL: I can Delicioso my own dinner. So can you. GEMMA: But then it won’t be made with love. Pleaaaase?

DARREL: Alright. Fine. But only because I know that you’ll get into worse mischief if I say no. GEMMA: A gentleman and a scholar! DARREL: Back on the premises no later than eleven o’clock. And if I’m out for the night, you’ll stay with Duane Talla and his caregivers. GEMMA: You’re the best! 

Somewhere nearby, a loading screen blips, deposits a Sim on the nearby shore (he never even got peanuts on his ride). A Wildfang emerges.

LOU: Well, hey. Had no idea I’d be working with spellcaster royalty. If I’d known, I’d have taken a longer wolf bath before boarding the loading screen. DARREL: Great. My associate is a Wildfang. GEMMA: Darrel, be cool. Don’t mind my brother. He doesn’t actually hate werewolves. DARREL: I don’t. I’m wary of them. No offence. GEMMA: He just miscast a spell one day and his face has been frozen like that ever since. So sad.

DARREL: I did not miscast a spell. GEMMA: Whatever. I however am a werewolf ally. LOU: I can tell by the lack of tense moodlets on you. Awoo! DARREN: How does that even apply when you’re not transformed?

LOU: For you, baby? I can transform. GEMMA: Don’t bother. He’s engaged and not the slightest bit interested in that throuple update coming to base game. Though he supports it in principle. DARREN: Yeah. See this finger?

LOU: Bro. Wrong finger. And that was hurtful. DARREN: Ah plum. Look, I’m just juggling a lot at the moment with the wedding and an upcoming trial- GEMMA: He’s going to be a Master Caster… DARREN: And for all I know, you’re a decent enough guy. But when I was told that I’d be working with a werewolf, I was expecting someone with more of a… reputation for polish and professionalism. Someone from the Collective, maybe.

GEMMA: Guys, it will be fine. This big secret thing that you’re not telling me, that is. Maybe you can start over by trading hair care tips? Even though Darrel only has the second best ‘do of all the spellcasters. DARREN: Ember has to be using some kind of untamed magic. I just know it. Therefore it doesn’t count. LOU: Hey, your locks are truly luscious, man. Could totally smell the keratin the second I got off the loading screen. DARREN: Oh, really? Thank you. It’s my-

GEMMA: And it could be worse. At least you’re not working with Vladdy Daddy... [mimes the creep walk] All three laugh. 

Here, however, comes someone who is not laughing. In fact, had she French kissed a lemon beforehand, you would probably describe her expression as ‘joyous’ next to the one she’s currently wielding.

ROSAMUND: Pleased to see that you have already found each other. But why am I addressing a child? My directives were clear. This is a potential business meeting, not a summer camp.

GEMMA: Child? You know, gameplay mechanics allow me to do all the things that a young adult can do. Even perform caregiving duties on an infant, only I don’t get any parenting skill boost from it. Do you ever think about that? No, you only ever think about yourselves. LOU: That’s so unfair. GEMMA: [fake sniff] I know! ROSAMUND: We can discuss the rights of the disenfranchised Thriftea generation later. Shall we sojourn to somewhere more private? LOU: [to Gemma] Hey, she’s got that kind of knack where she phrases something like it’s a request. Only it’s anything but a request- TOGETHER: I stan.

ROSAMUND: So. Is there an adult present with whom I may converse?

DARREN: That would be me. And not simply by default, though I can understand you having that impression. ROSAMUND: Yes. You come highly recommended at least. Please. Have a seat.

GEMMA: So, Wildfang. What news of this gig? What do your wolf ears perceive? LOU: A Lord of the Swings reference. I dig it. GEMMA: Something about Mad About Dodo? LOU: Oh my Watcher, I am obsessed! When that hot mean girl type was all set to Black Widow challenge Vlad- GEMMA: Not all heroes wear capes! LOU: And then that sweet shy twink finally got to shoot his shot at the WowWow hut! GEMMA: Total OTPness! LOU: Oh, but then that one dude drowned.

GEMMA: Which at first I thought was funny because I was like ‘people, chill, there’s a spell for that dot com?’ But then I remembered that everyone on that show is a mundane, probably because "Mister Vampire War Crimes Apologist" wants to be able to torture all the truly helpless Sims without any pushback or accountability or something. LOU: Plum, I hate that dick.  GEMMA: So then I felt bad for thinking that it was funny? Since they don’t know what we know. And Dodo was crying over his tombstone and shit.

LOU: Yeah, that was rough but like, don’t feel bad. Our first reaction to anything ever is all down to social conditioning, you know? You reframed the situation in your own mind with hindsight and that’s what’s important. GEMMA: Thank you. LOU: I got you. Anyways. The tea is that her daughter’s on the show and she’s not happy. GEMMA: Oh my Watcher, I knew that she looked familiar! She has to be - TOGETHER: [scooby doo villain reveal tone] - Minty’s Mom!!! GEMMA: And Minty almost died too. No wonder Lady Muck-Muck here looks like she just stepped in a three hundred year old corpse. LOU: Yeah, I would be Blood Moon Rising level Furious if it was my pup. [whispers even quieter] But as well as ‘a’ mommy, she’s also Mommy, am I right? GEMMA: Totally Mommy. Though I’m still a teenager so I don’t have those moodlets about anyone above my age group yet. LOU: Don’t worry. I’ve got enough for the both of us.

ROSAMUND: Let neither of us disrespect the other by wasting their time. What do you know of untamed magic? DARREL: About five thousand simoleons worth more than what you’re currently offering. ROSAMUND: A risky venture and you must be compensated accordingly for your labour. Understood. DARREL: You’ve obviously done your research. You know then that we Charms are an old spellcaster family and we don’t need the money. And neither are we the types to dispense cheap party tricks for hire. [glances over at Gemma] Well, those of us who are of age anyway. I want to know that you’re serious about this. ROSAMUND: Oh, I most certainly am. And I can afford to be still more serious than five thousand additional simoleons. I can be very serious indeed. DARREL: Let’s discuss particulars then, yeah?

ROSAMUND: Yes, let’s. Mister Howl and Ms. Charm, downstairs you will find a bar, a dance floor and some credit in your names. LOU: [to Gemma] Don’t worry, I got you. ROSAMUND: You will also find a bartender under strict instructions not to serve alcohol to any minors, and to blacklist anyone who provides alcohol to said minors. LOU: Curses, foiled again!

[biboomerangboi]

This is absolutely nothing to do with the Netflix show I haven’t even watched that thing but I’m once again thinking about Sokka and Sokkas Master again and going insane.

Especially with how Sokka was never supposed to be a warrior. Like fundamentally he’s just not built for that kind of life. He was born into war and has been basically been told and trained to believe that one day he is going to die for his tribe and especially for his sister and that’s his destiny and he’s like okay that’s my job that’s what I do and everyone in the tribe knows this and sees this as my role as I am the only man left. (I sincerely doubt a bunch of woman and old people were actually looking at this kid as the last warrior seriously until he went to fight the fire nation BY HIMSELF but that’s not the point, the point is he was doing it)

But but the thing about Sokka is he’s not a fighter, he’s a scholar to his core. He doesn’t win hand to hand against Zuko but he does get a hit in with his boomerang that takes an insane amount of math to do perfectly and even though he loses the fight we realise already that Sokka is coming at this war from a different angle that anyone else is.

Like Sokka knows when he joins Aang he doesn’t have as much to bring to the team, he basically assigns himself the role of provider and bodyguard and is now willing to die for both of them because they are two of the most important people in the world and he could have been cynical the entire time. He was prepared to be cynical. Until he goes to Kyoshi gets his shit rocked by a girl and is like oh damn there’s different ways to go about fighting and war and I actually don’t know a lot of it can you super pretty warrior lady teach me your ways and from that moment on Sokka becomes a student.

He gets the mark of the wise with Bato, he figures out how to get Katara on that prison ship and that the fortune teller is a hoax and gets the water bending scroll all through thinking things through not fighting them head on. He invents the fricken war ballon and it’s so clear that all his thinking is now coming at things from an angle no one expects which is so perfect for this war in particular considering it’s been basically a slow tug of war between the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation for decades. He’s looking at these things and he’s like hey I’m not a bender but I do know how benders think and how a lot of people think because I’m trying to figure out how the world works. Like by the time he gets to North he isn’t as great with the weapons because again HES NOT A FIGHTER AT HEART but he is a thinker and he points out all the holes in the Norths strategy with full confidence.

Like in book 2 all his thoughts are about winning and out thinking the enemy. He learns about the library and gets so genuine excited about it but he can’t be a true nerd cause of his responsibilities but he basically plans a way to win the war, learns haikus, try’s art, gets into wrestling and learns so much about other cultures and skills he’s always thinking and winning and no longer doing things on impulse.

But of course he still feels insecure about that and doesn’t see his brain as his true weapon because he was supposed to be the warrior. That’s his role.

So he goes to Piandao who sees all of that and sees how Sokka is so so smart and eager to learn and think in ways that no one expects and he nurtures that. He teaches him art and calligraphy and gives him a Jian! He gives Sokka a Jian "The Gentleman of Weapons" not Dao even though Dao are made for soilders and Jian are for scholars, nobels and people who have time for proper sword craft. (Not to mention the fact they are primarily used for Tai Chi which is also the base for water bending which is just a detail I love). Like the Jian is a sword for scholars it’s for scholars!!!

Sokkas a thinker not a fighter and that’s so amazing to me.

Like he starts as the boy that took on a fire nation ship by himself then ends the series as the guy who’s strategies won the war, a trusted advisor for basically anyone of importance because they know he’s smart and are willing to listen to his ideas and with such a happy future for him to grow without the weight of having to be a fighter weighing him down cause that’s not who he’s supposed to be.

[uskglass-mirror-house]

Thoughts about chapter 21: the cards of Marseilles

I have been reading bits and pieces from the book as part of the 20th anniversary read-along. I wanted to join in once it reached chapter 29 (where I left the book on my third re-read), but then I remembered how cool chapter 21 was and went through it and ho boiiii I have so many thoughts. I am definitely going to make a massive breakdown of the fortune-telling and why it is so genius, but now I'm just sharing random thoughts I had while reading. Enjoy (and mind the spoilers)!

The start of the chapter reminded me of my old theory about the author of the book. The first time I read jsamn I had this theory that the author of the book was either a magician or a fairy and when Jonathan Strange met that one fairy in the brugh I became convinced that it was her. I had this impression because of the footnotes and some descriptions, including the one of the ale-house at the start of this chapter. Why? Well, the footnotes can be divided into two categories: the academic ones, which cite specific in-universe texts (or real ones from our world); and the folklore ones, which usually inform us of some magical event, fairy culture, stories from in-universe folklore, and so on. Now, I always assumed that while many scholars would know the former, the latter was mostly the domain of fairy/ magicians that had first knowledge coming from the Otherlands. But the curious thing is that some descriptions within the story are narrated in the same way as the folklore notes, giving me the impression that these places exist at a junction between reality and the Otherlands and also that the knowledge about some specific events was obtained through magical means. Page 197 is a perfect example of this kind of narration.

I love how this is basically a date between Childermass and Vinculus. This is the first convo between the Book and its reader and it went exactly as well as you could imagine.

THE ACTUAL FORTUNE READING IS SO GOOD AND MULTILAYERED AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Childermass copied the card for a sailor and then told him his fortune: "that he would be drowned dead before the year was out." And now I am here wondering... was that a sailor on the Penlaw, the ship that transported Stephen Black and his mother??? That ship also ended up in a shipwreck according to the Gentleman...

I like thinking that the Raven King was watching this whole thing go down in some magical manner. Looking over Childermass' shoulder and being like "bro, you're cooking right now, not gonna lie". Or going "How dramatic." in the most deadpan voice ever when Vinculus changes the cards to look like him.... aaaaa I love Uskglass so much.

It would also be cool if Uskglass followed the events through Childermass' card (since we know that L'Empereur did not go back to look like a regular card but stayed that way). I like to think that this is how Childermass was enchanted when he saved Norrell's life later on. The card acted as a path for Uskglass' magic.

In a similar way, I like thinking that Uskglass was watching over in other scenes like the Genlteman was doing while pestering Strange. It would make it so funny if he were present while Lascelles berates him, or whenever Norrell does. Like imagine:

Norrell: "He abandoned us! He was evil!!"

Uskglass (invisible): "u sure 'bout that? lol"

Norrell: "I foolishly tried to summon him when I was younger..."

Uskglass: "You surely did buddy. Can't say I was impressed, though."

Norrell: "...but it never worked and I think that was fortunate!"

Uskglass: "This is why nobody likes you, Gilbert."

ok, these are all the things that came to mind. For the breakdown of the tarot reading, I'm going to make a separate post one of these days. Definitely going to re-read the whole novel now, my fixation has returned!!!!

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

"For she may strew dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds" (making a fresh argument for my 'Ophelia was murdered' interpretation of Hamlet)

Three-years-and-change ago, I wrote a post with my conspiracy theory literary interpretation that Ophelia was murdered. A couple weeks ago, I was tagged in another post about "The Tragedy of Hamlet," and that brought me back to my chosen hill to die on.

In this post, I'll focus on Gertrude herself, and on the iambic pentameter, because

A) The rhythm of English has not changed in the last 400 years, and B) We know Shakespeare himself wrote it that way on purpose.

Now, Shakespeare used iambic pentameter to direct the pacing of a scene, depending on context (I'm basing this on the work of Shakespearean actor and scholar Ben Crystal; see the link at the end to a video where he demonstrates how this works):

If an actors line was shorter than ten syllables, followed by a full line, that could tell the other actor in the scene exactly how long to pause and do some nonverbal reaction before speaking (the unspoken syllables are there, they're just silent).

If two, or more, lines add up to exactly ten syllables, that could tell the actors to pick up the pace, and answer without pausing

If each line is less than ten syllables, but more than ten when added together, Tell the actors to speak over each other / "step on each other's lines.

And Shakespeare uses all three variations in Act 4, scene Five.

In dialog lines of irregular length, I'll indicate silent syllables with "-_" for each iamb, and I'll underline the when the overlapping syllables blend to make a clean line of iambic pentameter. Then I'll write out the shared & overlapping dialog as though they were lines of verse, showing the stressed syllables in bold.

I hope that's clear (or will quickly become so).

First: Act 4, scene Five (MIT.edu) opens in the middle of things, with a Walk-and-Talk that would make Aaron Sorkin proud:

QUEEN GERTRUDE: I will not speak with her. -_ -_ HORATIO and Gentleman: [Insert astonished blinking man GIF here] Gentleman: She is importunate, indeed distract: Her mood will needs be pitied. QUEEN GERTRUDE: What would she have?

Her moods will needs be pit- What would she have?

Okay, so hearing that Ophelia is "acting up" certainly got the queen's attention, eh? She doesn't even wait for Gentleman to finish the last word of his line (Also: she's being told that a teenage girl is really upset that her dad's dead. And Gertrude's response is to snap: "What does she want?" Really?! Yikes).

The unnamed Gentleman goes on to describe how Ophelia is speaking of her dead father and vaguely alluding to conspiracies, that her speech is basically word salad, but her "winks and nods" give the impression that she's speaking in code.

Gentleman: [concluding] Indeed would make one think there might be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. HORATIO: 'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.

Though nothing sure, yet much unhapi-'Twere Good she were spoken with; for she may strew Dange-rous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.

Finally, Gertrude says: "-_ -_ -_ Let her come in."

Horatio and the Gentleman are talking over each other, in their efforts to sway the queen. I get the feeling this attempt has been going on for some time; it may have started with: "She's really sad about her father. she could use some support in dealing with grief.." But the argument that finally sways Gertrude is: "She's a potential threat to Claudius's Power."

Shakespeare wrote the line about the threat she posed in a completely different meter. Instead of giving that line a scansion of: "de-dum, de-dum, de-dum, de-dum, de-dum," he's given it the rhythm of "Dum-de-de, dum-de-de, dum-de-de, dum," which makes it stand out from the rest of the scene. That's another red underline Shakespeare is giving us.

The longish pause could have come at the end of her line, but I think it makes more sense to have her hesitate before agreeing to see Ophelia.

Exit Horatio to go fetch her. Then:

To my sick soul, as sin’s true nature is, Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss: So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

As I noted in my previous post, these are two rhyming couplets -- the only "plain dialog" in the scene that rhymes (other than Ophelia's songs, but they rhyme because that's what song lyrics do), and not even in Shakespeare's usual way of rhyming alternate lines.

Now what, pray tell, could the queen be feeling so guilty about (that she absolutely, positively, does not want Ophelia to find out)?

That Ophelia's father died because of something she had asked him to do? Quite possibly. But Ophelia already knows her father has died, and the queen expressing regret about it would not likely make the queen appear guilty.

Maybe Ophelia doesn't know, however, that her father was in the queen's chamber when he was killed, and the queen is afraid Ophelia would get the wrong idea. But whatever sin Gertrude is trying to hide, it's probably not that she's cheating on Claudius with Polonius so soon after the wedding (unless that's exactly it. I doubt it, though. Polonius is basically a walking-talking plot point).

At first, I thought she felt guilty about the fact that her own son (and Ophelia's boyfriend) was the murderer, and that's the secret she doesn't want Ophelia to find out. That's reasonable. That's what any halfway decent person would worry about, to protect the heart and mind of a young woman that's almost family.

But then, between Ophelia's first confrontation with the queen and her "Flower Speech," Leartes breeches Elsinore's defenses, and leads a raging mob (those ill-breeding minds in which dangerous conjectures have already been planted) to the doors just beyond Stage Left, and:

Leartes: Where is my father? Claudius: Dead. Gertrude: But not by him.

Where is my father? Dead. But not by him.

I said it in my earlier post, and I'll say it again, here: Gertrude literally does not skip a beat to defend Claudius, even when that puts her own son at risk. Doesn't stop to think about it, even for a breath.

If Queen Gertrude didn't hesitate to risk Hamlet's life. I doubt she'd be overly worried about risking Ophelia's opinion's of his character (especially since appeals to speak to her at all didn't sway her until Horatio mentioned Ophelia' threat to civil order). And yet, Shakespeare very deliberately underlined and circled the point that Gertrude is holding a deep secret guilt, and that she's afraid to speak to Ophelia, lest she let something slip.

(Also, when going back to the scene, to check something, I noticed something my mind skipped over, before: The Danish Rabble promise Leartes not to let anyone come in while he's in the room negotiating with Claudius. And yet, they're heard off-stage saying: "Let her come in" just as Ophelia reenters to give her "Flower Speech" while her brother is there. So while Leartes has been in France, Ophelia has clearly been gaining the respect of the Common Folk in the meantime. Which, to my mind, suggests this "madness" has been going on for a while, and is not a sudden reaction to deliberate or accidental poisoning. Which further suggests to me that she is simply better at "Putting on an antic disposition" than Hamlet is.)

So, all that is why Queen Gertrude started to appear very suspicious in regards to Ophelia's death.

But what's the secret Gertrude is so afraid Ophelia will find out? I think :

Claudius's legitimacy to the Danish Throne depends on the courtiers and common people Believing that he and Gertrude agreed to wed after consoling each other in their shared grief over losing a darling husband and beloved brother.

Queen Gertrude had done a "Lady Macbeth," and it was actually her idea for her first husband to have a final, forever, nap in the royal garden.

She's afraid Ophelia will figure that out. After the coded language of the Flower Speech, I think she's worried that Ophelia has already figured it out, and so gives her a little shove into the river, before she can spread that idea any further.

-----

*Starting here, in a 2014 presentation on Shakespeare's use of language (celebrating Willy Shakes's 450th birthday), Shakespearean actor and scholar Ben Crystal demonstrates how Iambic Pentameter shows us how Shakespeare wanted the dialog to be paced in The Tragedy of Macbeth (sorry, not sorry, not superstitious). A bit later, he and his acting friends demonstrate overlapping iambic pentameter when Hamlet and Leartes fight at Ophelia's grave.

[thomashoes]

Thinking about.... Alhaitham

so i hung out with one of my best friends today and i updated her on what was going on in my life and i told her about a dream i had and it made me think that it would be a good alhaitham fic lol. anyways, here ya go!

fem reader x alhaitham

angst, little comfort, false accusations

might have grammatical errors and typos, i apologize

alhaitham might be a bit ooc, sorry :<

TW// mentions of harassment

Little backstory:

y/n and alhaitham dated during their akademiya days (shocking i know) purely out of ”motivation” but genuine feelings did develop later on. they were quite toxic with each other, they just couldnt tell. they broke up bc of a rumor about y/n was sleeping with one of the matra so she wouldn’t get into trouble with her academic offenses when she was in fact harassed by the matra who also spread the rumor. alhaitham caught wind of this and initially didnt care until another student approached him and that was when he screwed up by making out with that student. and (un)fortunately kaveh saw this and told y/n about it like the good senpai he is. that was when the two of them blew it off and split. as soon as y/n graduated, she left to mondstadt and worked for dawn winery. met diluc and fell in love. yeah. enjoy!

The Akademiya decided to hold a celebration for the “return” of their Archon, Lesser Lord Kusanali, and practically put a hold on all sorts of research that any of the scholars had going on. Alhaitham saw this celebration as unnecessary since him and the rest of the “save the archon” team already did in zubayr theater and, as the Acting Grand Sage, he rejected the idea.

At first, at least. 

After much persuasion from Nahida herself, he reluctantly agreed seeing that their Archon seemed to want this celebration with the entire city and the neighboring nations. He was then in-charge of overseeing the organizing procedure and sending out invitations to the other nations. Needless to say, he was quite overworked but it was nothing compared to when still a student in the Akademiya.

On the day of the celebration, he made sure that everything was in order and that the city's security was guaranteed. He walked around the bustling city streets which was more lively than the celebration of the Jnagarbha Day. The more he walked around the city, the more he felt at peace since it seemed his hard work had paid off.

When evening fell and it was time for the formal party that was arranged for the prominent figures from each nation to gather and was held at the Palace of Alcazarzaray. The night was going as smoothly as he had expected. He watched as the Acting Grand Master of The Knights of Favonius spoke with the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, the General Mahamatra in his own group, that Paimon lovingly called “the archon protection squad”, was laughing rather loudly. Too loud for his liking, really.

Taking a sip from his cup of Mondstadt’s dandelion wine, he mentally checked off the names of the guests that have arrived and noted that one was missing. He shrugged it off thinking that he might have not seen a letter from the guest declining the invitation with due to his busy schedule. As he was about to walk away from the table he was hovering over, the entrance door opened and revealed the guest that he thought wouldn’t arrive.

And there he spotted her, donned in a simple yet elegant black dress with her hair up in a bun with her bangs hanging freely against her forehead and some strands falling to her shoulders. her face didn't seem to be caked, allowing her natural beauty to show. Alhaitham was not sure if the wine has finally hit him or was it his old feelings that made the thought, but he absolutely believed that she had stolen tonight's spotlight.

He was quickly taken out of his head when he recognized the red haired gentleman that walked alongside her.

Ah, yes. He had completely forgotten about one unfortunate fact. The one that he once called rival for the Scribe title and the love of his life was now to be wed to Mondstadt’s very own wine tycoon, Diluc Ragvindr.

The aforementioned man walked up to him but Alhaitham only had his eyes on her. Diluc and Alhaitham exchanged greetings and pleasantries while Y/N would occasionally answer for Diluc. Alhaitham tried to ignore the way Diluc would look at her, so much pride and adoration. The same look he had once held for her. His heart twisted painfully as he watched Diluc place a kiss on her knuckles before they excused themselves. Alhaitham needed fresh air, so he swiftly moved his legs to exit the palace and settled in the small gazebo at the front.

He stared at the night sky, his glass of wine forgotten beside him as his mind wandered to the “what if’s”. As he drowned in his thoughts, he failed to hear the footsteps that approached him.

“Didn’t think you would accept the title of Acting Grand Sage,” the person friskily commented. “But, it is to be expected of the oh-so-amazing Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham turned around and silently watched Y/N walked to the other end of the railing he was situated on. They stayed in silence before Alhaitham answered her, “I never wanted to be one and I actually declined the position multiple times. However, the city was a mess and someone had to bring everything back in order.”

Y/N looked at him with a perfectly shaped brow raised, “And they chose you to be the Grand Sage? The Akademiya might as well have shut down if that was the case.” She shifted against the railing to lean against the gazebo’s post as she eyed the glittery sky. Alhaitham scoffed at the familiar comment, “That’s what Kaveh told me as well.”

A soft hum came from her throat, “It’s nice to know that you and Senior Kaveh still get along in a way.” she turned to look at him, “Or are you just tolerating his presence?”

A chuckle left Alhaitham’s mouth as he sipped on his wine, “Tolerating him is an understatement, but you may view it however you want.”

Another round of silence enveloped the cold setting as neither of the two spoke, simply enjoying each other’s company and their drinks.

Y/N hesitated to speak, fearing that her emotions may get the better of her especially with the alcohol in her system. but before she could speak, Alhaitham beat her to it.

“I’m sorry,” Alhaitham uttered, pain spread across his chest as soon as he did. “For everything that I have said and done to you. I shouldn’t have let arrogance get the best of me and I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. I knew what I did was wrong but I didn't care back then. But please know that I did love you and I still do.”

The emotions Alhaitham had held on for years had finally revealed themselves to Y/N. He felt woozy and his heart was pounding, unsure if it really was the alcohol or the result of years of pent up emotions. Y/N looked at him with watering eyes, “Please stop, don’t do this to me. I did not come here for closure, Alhaitham. We are long past that. You made your decision 5 years ago, there’s nothing left for you to do.”

His heart throbbed, “I know that it was wrong of me to do and say those things to you, but you weren’t innocent either, Y/N.” he remarked bitterly. Y/N’s gaze hardened and gripped the railing hard, “Oh, so now you’re pushing the blame to me? I already told you everything and after all these years you’re still hung up on that rumor?”

Y/N scoffed and shook her head before pushing herself off the railing, “You know what, this is why we couldn’t work out. You may be the most intelligent guy in the world but you definitely are lacking in the social understanding department. I didn’t approach you tonight to pick a fight and open old wounds.” she rummaged through her purse and pulled out an envelope while she stood firmly on her feet and looked Alhaitham in the eyes before handing it to him.

A cold wave washed over Alhaitham as he realized what it was.

It was a wedding invitation.

“Diluc knows about you being my former lover and also my best friend. Him and I talked about this and thought that our wedding would be a nice way for us to reconnect because he trusts me not run back into your arms, as he put it.” Y/N conveyed to him earnestly. Alhaitham didn't move to accept the envelope simply staring at the engagement ring on her finger, all the more reminder of his loss.

Y/N realized he was not going to move so she walked up to him and slid the envelope on the pocket of his suit. Alhaitham slowly breathed in to calm his heart from pounding, catching whiff of her favorite scented shampoo.

Seeming to sense that Alhaitham was tense, Y/N looked up at him and saw his eyes were glassy. Her heart ached at the sight, despite years of separation and zero-contact, it seemed that a part of her still loved him. Just not as much as before.

She smiled at him as she felt her own eyes water and raised a hand to stroke his cheek. The words she wanted to say dried up in her throat. Alhaitham subconsciously leaned in to her touch and moved his own hand to hold hers, mentally begging her to leave her fiancé.

A moment of silence passed by before Y/N whispered, “Thank you for everything, Alhaitham.”

The Acting Grand Sage was frozen as soon as she slid her hand off his face and silently made her way back to her fiancé. And before Alhaitham knew it, his heart broke for the first time in 5 years and tears have run down his face.

He never thought loving someone could be so painful.

this brainrot was brought to you by trauma //j

[allthisdwarvishracket]

"Tell me what thou thinkest of me."

I read Twelfth Night about a thousand times this summer while dramaturging for a local production, and there's one little detail that I love.

Olivia: Stay. I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me. Cesario: That you do think you are not what you are. Olivia: If I think so, I think the same of you. (Twelfth Night, 3.1.145-147)

Did you catch that?

Olivia calls Cesario "thou" for the first time in the play. Let's dissect that.

Quick Grammar Lesson

[Disclaimer: I'm not a scholar on early modern English, just a passionate amateur, so take what I say with a few grains of salt.]

"Thou" and "you" aren't always interchangeable. When you're speaking to more than one person, you have to use "you." When you're speaking to just one person, you can choose between "thou" and "you," depending on how formal you want to be. Even though it sounds fancy to modern ears, "thou" is the informal pronoun - you use it with someone who is 1) lower status than you, or 2) a close friend.

Back to Twelfth Night...

Which brings me back to why I love this scene, and how the grammar reveals personality.

Olivia has been addressing Cesario as "you" in every scene so far. It's polite and professional, suiting Cesario's position as a gentleman and a member of the Duke's court. But then Cesario starts to leave, and Olivia (who up to this point has been calm and collected) addresses him as "thou." It's an expression of intimacy - she's talking to him like a friend or a lover.

Degrees of formality are a lot more blurry in modern English; you might sound a bit odd if you get it wrong, but you're not likely to offend someone by being too informal. But I think, in context, Olivia's comment is a bit like calling your coworker "babe" or "honey" - it's uncomfortably friendly for the situation.

In that light, Cesario's next line has another interesting layer. He uses "you" three times in the next sentence - as if he's saying it pointedly, as if he's noticed what Olivia's just done and he's correcting her without explicitly pointing it out. And Olivia responds by going back to "you," back to professionalism, even as she continues to plead her case.

There's so much personality in this short exchange, and it encapsulates why I love both these characters. Olivia is full of passion that, in spite of herself, keeps breaking through her reserved exterior. Cesario is gentle but firm - and is also avoiding direct conflict, which is ... very on-brand for Viola.

The Challenges of Performing Shakespeare

These lines are a perfect example of why I love performing Shakespeare: it's a long, in-depth process of interpretation.

Shakespeare plays, compared to modern scripts, have very little stage direction; the actors are told when to enter and exit, but the way they deliver their lines is up to the actor's and director's interpretation. The actor must study the text to decide how best to support what is written (the dialogue itself) with what isn't written (inflection, gestures, blocking).

There's an extra level of challenge in moments like this, where the audience is unlikely to understand the original intention of the words (because some of the words aren't in use anymore, or there's a pop-culture reference that is now obscure, or whatever). The performers now have to not only understand the intention of the dialogue, but figure out how to translate that idea in a way that the audience can understand through their delivery of the dialogue. It's a wonderful collaboration between director, actors, and playwright in order to bring life to the story once again.

[hulijingemperor2]

And yes, there's a special guest, from goose goose goose✨️.

Xue Yang's fierce corpse training ground, Jingjing 📍📍

The training ground is one of the places where the team dimple quartet act free and savage with each other in a joking way.

Mo xuanyu: Yao gege, this is what yangyang and I are up to when we're bored.

Yao: I see.

Xue yang: sometimes I make useless fierce corpses that can't fight, when I'm bored.

Mo xuanyu: one time we made a fierce corpse who would slap someone whenever they say candy is nasty or you're not hot.

Su she: why don't you gift it to huaisang?

Xue yang: good idea. But I would miss him.

Yao: lol, does Shanshan help you two?!

Su she: me and fierce corpses? No.

Xue yang: he's too busy being a simp.

Su she: that too. But I'm a proud simp.

Mo xuanyu: we all are.

Minshan has a shrine of you by the way.

Su she: don't tell him!! Please!

Yao: lol I know already. Chengmei told me.

Su she: *nervous* is it weird, Huangdi?

Yao: nooo, I find it's adorable.

And effective when I take over the world.

Xue yang: love that! And love you. Hehehehehe.

Mo xuanyu: don't listen to xue yang, cuz I love you.

Yao: lol.

Xue yang: we should plan some world domination for real.

Su she: want me start an indoctrination. I'm chief cultivator after all.

Mo xuanyu: Yao gege, just say the word.

Yao: no no! You three insane people. I don't want to. I was only joking.

Xue yang: do you just feel to take it over just a little! Jiggybuns. You know you can with that excessive power you have.

Yao: maybe, you'll never know!

Anyways I rather people live their life and make their own decisions in accordance to their sect and environment of course.

My worlds are Song'er, A-niang, team dimple, Xichen and the hulijing empire

Mo xuanyu: *sniffles* Jiggy, that's beautiful.

Su she: true example of power and responsibility. But you run the whole Jianghu though.

Xue yang: so you're saying that you don't want my fierce corpses to eat people? Should I plant bombs instead?

Yao: *laughing* please no, Chengmei.

~~

Later that day! A-Yao has a well known guest.

Yao and Rusong: *sitting in his (A-Yao's ) imperial court.

Team dimple were also seated.

Yi: Huangdi, the fox scholar is here to meet you. Should I bring him in?

Yao: *opens fan* you may.

Yi: *shouting* hulijing scholar, and your wife, the rabbit spirit! The emperor summons you!

Fox scholar: *kowtows, by dramatically flopping on the ground* accept my greetings, hulijing Huangdi and hulijing Dianxia.

Tuzi spirit: *bows* greetings Huangdi and Dianxia.

Yao: please, please rise. *smile*

Fox scholar: yes

Mo xuanyu: *whispers* this fox scholar seems very passionate.

Su she: he's being patriotic towards his emperor.

Xue yang: I think that's how he is.

Do you think he might prank Jiggy?

Mo xuanyu: heck no. And that's illegal.

Rusong: *glaring at team dimple*

*whispers* team D.

Trio: *pouting* we'll be quiet, little highness.

Yao: I heard that you're very talented. You're the master of tricks and disguise. I applaud you.

Fox scholar: I feel so fortunate to be complimented by the hulijing emperor.

Yao: please, would you demonstrate your talents.

Fox scholar: yes Huangdi.

Yao: would you like some tea or wine?

Fox scholar: *pulls a cup out from his sleeve.* no need, my gracious emperor. I have brought my own.

Tuzi spirit: *makes some wine appear*

Yao: *flutters fan in amusement*

Rusong: waw.

Tuzi spirit: *pours*

Fox scholar: hold it for me, darling. I can't drink before I pay respects to Huangdi.

Tuzi spirit: mn.

Yao: *makes tail appear*

Fox scholar: *kneels and puts the tip of A-Yao's tail in his hand respectfully.* my Huangdi.

*makes a rose appear*

Yao: ah, such a gentleman.

Fox scholar: *kisses his hand formally, then went back to where he was standing.

Tuzi spirit: here's your wine.

Yao: Song'er. When you become Huangdi, your dear citizens will greet you like this. It's a sweet gesture.

Rusong: how beautiful.

Fox scholar: do you feel thirsty, Huangdi? *makes a peach blossom tree appear in the middle of the court.* I'll make peach blossom tea for you. I know that you're fond of imported and expensive tea.

Yao: oh my goodness! A tree, in my court?! *flutters fan*

Fox scholar: the best for you.

Rusong and team dimple: *awestruck*

Su she: beautiful!! *worrying that it might obstruct A-Yao's court meetings.*

Xue yang: this dude is cool!

Yao: how excellent.

Fox scholar: *hands him a cup of peach blossom tea*

Yao: thank you.

Fox scholar: here you go, Dianxia.

Rusong: thank you.

Yao: delicious tea.

Now tell me, what am I supposed to do with an indoor tree. *laughing*

Fox scholar: you can have it as an indoor plant.

Yao: you're so witty. I love it.

Fox scholar: *traps the tree magically in a sapphire stone* I would like to present the tree on the go to you.

Here you go.

Yao: *smile* such a precious gift. Thank you.

Yi: *collects it for him*

Fox scholar: you know, Huangdi. I'm actually allergic to peach blossoms.

Yao: oh really? I'm so sorry.

Fox scholar: no no, Huangdi, don't be sorry. I just-- *sneezes*

When he sneezed, a shower of peach blossom petals fell on A-Yao.

Yao: *amused*

Fox scholar: for Huangdi.

Yao: I'm so appeased. You're certainly favored by me.

Fox scholar: *bows*

Fox scholar: what do you need, Dianxia?

Rusong: can you make instruments play by itself?

Fox scholar: sure I can.

And I can sing and dance too

*instruments began to play on its own*

Yao: *smiling brightly*

*opens fan*

Some minutes later......

Fox scholar: how was it, Huangdi?

Yao: so delightful. You're very very talented.

I'm happy to meet someone so gifted.

Rusong: we loved it a lot.

And I see that you're favored by Huangdi. *smiling*

Yao: *smile* please. Show me more of your wittiness.

Fox scholar: emperor shall I whisper it to you? Yet I'm afraid I might be sucked into those deep dimples.

Yao: *giggles* haha! You're such a darling.

Mo xuanyu: Fox scholar be stating facts!

Xue yang: yup!

Su she: Agreed.

Fox scholar: my dimpled Huangdi. I don't have a permanent home, as a fox spirit, you're automatically my Huangdi. Permission to stay in Jingjing's capital.

Yao: you can stay as much as you like.

Fox scholar: thank you! What about you, Dianxia?

Rusong: sure. I would love that.

Fox scholar: you both are gracious.

Now may my wife and I take your leave?

Yao: of course and it was a pleasure meeting you.

Before you leave, please accept these gifts. It's a few poetry books from my library.

Fox scholar: thank you so much, Huangdi. I'll cherish this! I take your leave.

*exits along with his wife*

Yao: lovely!

Song'er, do you find it fun to meet these personalities?

Rusong: definitely.

Yao: great.

You must get used to it, as you'll be Huangdi soon.

Rusong: mn.

~~

Later on, A-Yao met with a few fox spirits, who came to admire him. Since that some fox spirits are honoured and worshipped, the Hulijing Huangdi must be honoured too~~ for prosperity and abundance in the empire and their personal lives.

Yao: *sits* hello, dear hulijing citizens.

*bows* greetings Huangdi.

*lights three incense each*

May our huangdi give us prosperity.

*offers him fruits, wine and fried tofu.

Yao: how thoughtful. Thank you for the offerings.

*offers flowers*

Yao: they're beautiful.

Give us prosperity, huangdi.

Yao: definitely.

Our beloved Huangdi.

A few hulijing citizens took turns kisses his hand.

Yao: everyone in the empire will definitely be prosperous and successful.

Thank you Huangdi! *bows*

Huangdi, here's a flowered crown for you.

Yao: how lovely. *takes of his hat. Then they placed it on him.

Huangdi your dimples are really cute.

Yao: I see! Do you want to touch them.

Mo xuanyu: Yao gege is always so adorable. Why is he adorable.

Like is there a moment whe he's not cute.

Xue yang: he's cute when he sleeps too.

Su she: stalker!

Xue yang: but you want with me as well, Shanshan.

Su she: shhh.

Su she: *kowtows* Huangdi.

Yao: *smile* Minshan.

.

Su she: here are some peonies.

Yao: aww how lovely.*caresses the flowers, admiring them*

Su she: please, I want to play the guqin for my master.

Yao: go ahead.

Su she: you're really really cute. And you do so much for the empire.

Yao: *smile*

Su she: can you give Moling Su some good fortune too?

Yao: of course! I could never refuse you.

Su she: thank you, Huangdi. *begins*

Yao: delightful music.

Xue yang: here are some candies, Jiggy. Love you!

Yao: love you too.

Mo xuanyu: *kisses his hand* cutest of all hulijings.

Yao: Yuyu. My sweetheart.

I hope team dimple prospers too.

Team Dimple: thank you Huangdi.

Fox spirit citizen: Huangdi, my children are getting married.

Yao: great news. I hope they have a happy married life.

Huangdi, I'm now a successful merchant, thanks to you.

Yao: oh sweet. That's my duty as Huangdi.

Some random child: Huangdi, Huangdi. Can I call you Foxy gege?

Yao: *smile* certainly you can.

Mo xuanyu: he's really sweet.

Su she: love seeing Huangdi getting worshipped, hehe. I hope the Jianghu does the same.

Xue yang: you know he has the power to make the Jianghu do it.

Mo xuanyu: definitely.

Su she: if that ever happens, I'm going to turn the cloud recesses into a temple.

Xue yang: and what are you going to do to the Lans?

Su she: I haven't decided yet.

Maybe I'll tie them up somewhere.

Or cook them.

Mo xuanyu: omg.

Xue yang: shanshan, I thought you were vegetarian.

Su she: I'm not going to eat them.

Xichen: Yao Huangdi.

Xue yang: who invited him?

Mo xuanyu: how did he get here.

Su she: and what is that in his hands?!

Team d: *judging him* lipsy.

Yao: *smiles* Zewu Jun.

Xichen: you sound so regal when you call me by my title.

Su she: Huangdi always sound regal.

Xue yang: even during alone time, when he's being hot with team dimple.

Mo xuanyu: ugh. Shanshan, hit him with your guqin.

Su she: *sighs* I wish I could.

Yao: team dimple. *glares*

Team d: we'll behave, Huangdi.

Xichen: here's some loquats, for Huangdi.

Yao: aw, how precious. I'll enjoy these.

Xichen: this is on the behalf of the Lans.

Yao: ah. Well they'll also have success in their cultivation.

Xichen: *kisses his dimple*

Team d: *almost faints*

Fox spirits citizens: *cheering for their Huangdi*

Yao: *cheerfully smiling*

~~

Our beloved Huangdi, may we take your leave?

Huangdi we're so satisfied to see you and your dimples.

Yao: thank you. And yes, you're free to leave.

I loved all your offerings. Good fortune is once again established in the empire and the rest of the Jianghu.

Salutations Huangdi!

[andtheny]

Diego: You fucking slut!

Klaus: What did I do?

Diego: You were flirting with my girlfriend!

Klaus: That so? I had no idea.

Diego: Don’t play dumb!

Klaus: Don’t worry, Diego. I know I’M not the dumb one.

Diego: Fuck you!

Luther: Um, maybe it was a misunderstanding?

Diego: Fuck you too, Luther!

Five: There’s no point trying to reason with them, Luther

Diego: Fuck you too, Five! Fuck all of you, you fucking assholes!

Klaus: Exqueeze me? I’m a scholar and a gentleman!

Luther: Um, yes you’re very smart, Klaus.

Lila Pitts: *bursts into the room, looking pissed off* SHUT UP!

Diego: Fuck you!

Lila Pitts: FUCK ME YOURSELF, YOU FUCKING INCEL!

Klaus: BUUUUUUURN!

Five: Roasted

Luther: What?

Klaus: Sorry Luther, you’re too much of a virgin to understand the nuance of that sick burn

Five: She called him celibate. 

Diego: FUCK ALL OF YOU TO HELL AND BACK!

*Diego stomps out of the room*

Klaus: LOVE YOU TOO, DIEGO!

Luther: Um... I’m kind of lost?

Five: As usual

Lila Pitts: Want me to show you a good time, big guy?

Luther: Huh?

Five: Leave him alone, Lila. He’s not for you.

Klaus: Yeah, Lila! Go fuck Diego!

Luther: What?!

Five: No, he’s dating the detective. He isn’t allowed to-

Luther: Wait a minute!

Klaus: Yeah?

Luther: Why are we talking about sex?!

Lila: It’s always about sex, you gorilla dummy!

Five: HEY!

Klaus: You crossed a line, bitch!

Luther: Um, it’s okay-

Five: Fuck you! No, it isn’t!

Klaus: I’m ready to throw hands!

Lila: Calm down

Five: Fuck you! I’ll be calm when I’m dead!

Klaus: Ditto!

Luther: Whoa. Um... you guys? She didn’t offend me

Five: Fuck you!

Luther: Huh?

Klaus: Have some self respect, Luther!

Lila: You know what? I want to have sex with Diego after all. He was a good lay.

Five: Fuck you, you fucking slut! He has a girlfriend now!

Klaus: Yeah, you fucking cunt! Leave Diego alone!

Luther: You guys can’t talk to her that way!

Lila: Fuck you, Luther!

Klaus: Yeah, fuck you Luther! We’ll talk to this dyke however we want to talk to her!

Five: I concur

Lila: I fucking hate you guys. Fucking Umbrella bitches! I already told you I’m not gay!!!

Klaus: Suuuuuure

Five: Like we didn’t fucking SEE you flirting with Vanya!

Klaus: Pardon me, sir, but our brother updated his name to Viktor

Five: Quite right. Pardon my slip up.

Klaus: Forgiven!

Luther: Wow. Um, I’m just... you know what? I think I should try to... uh... help Diego... he seemed upset about something

Five: Run along, then

*Luther awkwardly shuffles out of the room*

Five: Now then. Time for The Talk

Klaus: Here we go!

Lila: What talk?

Klaus: The Birds and the Bees, bitch!

Lila: I’m not a virgin like Luther!

Five: Sure, you aren’t

Lila: Also, fuck you for calling me gay! Viktor’s a boy now, so it isn’t gay for me to flirt with him!

Klaus: It’s still queer as folk, butch!

Five: You’re towing the line, missy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45264169/chapters/113874814

you know what, fuck you *unumbrellas your academy*

[apenitentialprayer]

I hit the breaking point as a parent a few years ago. It was the week of my extended family’s annual gathering in August, and we were struggling with assorted crises. My parents were aging; my wife and I were straining under the chaos of young children; my sister was bracing to prepare her preteens for bullying, sex and cyberstalking. Sure enough, one night all the tensions boiled over. At dinner, I noticed my nephew texting under the table. I knew I shouldn’t say anything, but I couldn’t help myself and asked him to stop. Ka-boom! My sister snapped at me to not discipline her child. My dad pointed out that my girls were the ones balancing spoons on their noses. My mom said none of the grandchildren had manners. Within minutes, everyone had fled to separate corners. Later, my dad called me to his bedside. There was a palpable sense of fear I couldn’t remember hearing before. “Our family’s falling apart,” he said. “No it’s not,” I said instinctively. “It’s stronger than ever.” But lying in bed afterward, I began to wonder: Was he right? What is the secret sauce that holds a family together? What are the ingredients that make some families effective, resilient, happy? It turns out to be an astonishingly good time to ask that question. The last few years have seen stunning breakthroughs in knowledge about how to make families, along with other groups, work more effectively. Myth-shattering research has reshaped our understanding of dinnertime, discipline and difficult conversations. Trendsetting programs from Silicon Valley and the military have introduced techniques for making teams function better. The only problem: most of that knowledge remains ghettoized in these subcultures, hidden from the parents who need it most. I spent the last few years trying to uncover that information, meeting families, scholars and experts ranging from peace negotiators to online game designers to Warren Buffett’s bankers. After a while, a surprising theme emerged. The single most important thing you can do for your family may be the simplest of all: develop a strong family narrative. I first heard this idea from Marshall Duke, a colorful psychologist at Emory University. In the mid-1990s, Dr. Duke was asked to help explore myth and ritual in American families.“There was a lot of research at the time into the dissipation of the family,” he told me at his home in suburban Atlanta. “But we were more interested in what families could do to counteract those forces.” Around that time, Dr. Duke’s wife, Sara, a psychologist who works with children with learning disabilities, noticed something about her students.“The ones who know a lot about their families tend to do better when they face challenges,” she said. Her husband was intrigued, and along with a colleague, Robyn Fivush, set out to test her hypothesis. They developed a measure called the “Do You Know?” scale that asked children to answer 20 questions. Examples included: Do you know where your grandparents grew up? Do you know where your mom and dad went to high school? Do you know where your parents met? Do you know an illness or something really terrible that happened in your family? Do you know the story of your birth? Dr. Duke and Dr. Fivush asked those questions of four dozen families in the summer of 2001, and taped several of their dinner table conversations. They then compared the children’s results to a battery of psychological tests the children had taken, and reached an overwhelming conclusion. The more children knew about their family’s history, the stronger their sense of control over their lives, the higher their self-esteem and the more successfully they believed their families functioned. The “Do You Know?” scale turned out to be the best single predictor of children’s emotional health and happiness. “We were blown away,” Dr. Duke said. And then something unexpected happened. Two months later was Sept. 11. As citizens, Dr. Duke and Dr. Fivush were horrified like everyone else, but as psychologists, they knew they had been given a rare opportunity: though the families they studied had not been directly affected by the events, all the children had experienced the same national trauma at the same time. The researchers went back and reassessed the children.“Once again,” Dr. Duke said, “the ones who knew more about their families proved to be more resilient, meaning they could moderate the effects of stress.” Why does knowing where your grandmother went to school help a child overcome something as minor as a skinned knee or as major as a terrorist attack? “The answers have to do with a child’s sense of being part of a larger family,” Dr. Duke said. Psychologists have found that every family has a unifying narrative, he explained, and those narratives take one of three shapes. First, the ascending family narrative: “Son, when we came to this country, we had nothing. Our family worked. We opened a store. Your grandfather went to high school. Your father went to college. And now you. ...” Second is the descending narrative: “Sweetheart, we used to have it all. Then we lost everything.” “The most healthful narrative,” Dr. Duke continued, “is the third one. It’s called the oscillating family narrative: ‘Dear, let me tell you, we’ve had ups and downs in our family. We built a family business. Your grandfather was a pillar of the community. Your mother was on the board of the hospital. But we also had setbacks. You had an uncle who was once arrested. We had a house burn down. Your father lost a job. But no matter what happened, we always stuck together as a family.’ ” Dr. Duke said that children who have the most self-confidence have what he and Dr. Fivush call a strong “intergenerational self.” They know they belong to something bigger than themselves. Leaders in other fields have found similar results. Many groups use what sociologists call sense-making, the building of a narrative that explains what the group is about. Jim Collins, a management expert and author of “Good to Great,” told me that successful human enterprises of any kind, from companies to countries, go out of their way to capture their core identity. In Mr. Collins’s terms, they “preserve core, while stimulating progress.” The same applies to families, he said. Mr. Collins recommended that families create a mission statement similar to the ones companies and other organizations use to identify their core values. The military has also found that teaching recruits about the history of their service increases their camaraderie and ability to bond more closely with their unit.Cmdr. David G. Smith is the chairman of the department of leadership, ethics and law at the Naval Academy and an expert in unit cohesion, the Pentagon’s term for group morale. Until recently, the military taught unit cohesion by “dehumanizing” individuals, Commander Smith said. Think of the bullying drill sergeants in “Full Metal Jacket” or “An Officer and a Gentleman.” But these days the military spends more time building up identity through communal activities. At the Naval Academy, Commander Smith advises graduating seniors to take incoming freshmen (or plebes) on history-building exercises, like going to the cemetery to pay tribute to the first naval aviator or visiting the original B-1 aircraft on display on campus. Dr. Duke recommended that parents pursue similar activities with their children. Any number of occasions work to convey this sense of history: holidays, vacations, big family get-togethers, even a ride to the mall. The hokier the family’s tradition, he said, the more likely it is to be passed down. He mentioned his family’s custom of hiding frozen turkeys and canned pumpkin in the bushes during Thanksgiving so grandchildren would have to “hunt for their supper,” like the Pilgrims. “These traditions become part of your family,” Dr. Duke said. Decades of research have shown that most happy families communicate effectively. But talking doesn’t mean simply “talking through problems,” as important as that is. Talking also means telling a positive story about yourselves. When faced with a challenge, happy families, like happy people, just add a new chapter to their life story that shows them overcoming the hardship. This skill is particularly important for children, whose identity tends to get locked in during adolescence. The bottom line: if you want a happier family, create, refine and retell the story of your family’s positive moments and your ability to bounce back from the difficult ones. That act alone may increase the odds that your family will thrive for many generations to come.

- Bruce Feiler. Emphases added.

[wedreamedlove]

Xu Mo vs. Mo Yi [Character Study]

I can never get over the aesthetic of these two pictures placed side by side LOL. But, anyway, the point of this post is to nip any undue comparisons in the bud and claims of copying organize my thoughts and compare these two characters to highlight their similarities, differences, and further explore each character through these contrasts.

Q) If you like Xu Mo, would you like Mo Yi?

Honestly, I think this depends on what you like most about Xu Mo. I already knew beforehand that I gravitate towards characters who think 5 steps ahead, are predominantly logical, and scholars/gentlemen, so it’s not surprising I bias both Xu Mo and Mo Yi.

However, as I got to know Mo Yi further (Themis is around 6 months old now), I find that he’s distinctively different from Xu Mo on three crucial points that’ll determine whether people from either camp will like the other character.

1) Stance on Others

In a post for Xu Mo, “Into Your World”, I argued that Xu Mo is an alienated genius who had troubles getting along with others, until he mastered the social game as an adult. However, you can still see glimpses of this as he tries to understand MC’s world and shares his own.

To be fair, Mo Yi’s past is still under wraps but I feel confident in saying that, while he was probably highly intelligent compared to his peers [SR Sculpted Heart], his isolation doesn’t seem to come from his innate nature but rather his social position (there’s heavy implications that he’s like some sort of noble or something) [SR Snowy Pine Fairytale].

IMO, these backgrounds really shaped the way these two men interact with the world.

Xu Mo has a detached and indifferent view towards other people. They simply exist and don’t bring anything positive or negative to him. His ambition to ensure the survival of humanity reflects this too because it’s pure utilitarianism; everyone (apart from MC) can be sacrificed equally for the greater good. If anything, he probably finds other people to be interesting subjects to study, no matter what kind of person they are. IIRC the only time he expressed dislike to people, or a group of people, was when he told Hades he enjoyed killing thieves LOL.

Meanwhile, Mo Yi has an elitist streak to the point where he and his MC actually clashed opinions and debated each other [SR Warm Fingertips]. It’s incredibly ironic because he’s a psychiatrist who treats his patients without judgment, but at the same time he looks down on so many things and people (PUAs, people who betray love, hypocrites who only seek power and fame) [Ch2; Personal Story Ch1-3; SSR Moonlit Ball].

One of the things I noticed early on is that Xu Mo draws from the Eastern scholar archetype, “Xu Mo Character Study”, while Mo Yi actually draws more from the Western gentleman archetype.

So, just to summarize this section, Xu Mo is detached from the world naturally and likes to observe people and try to blend in. Mo Yi deliberately draws a line between him and others and, at times, has the casual cruelty of someone born as nobility (arrogance is carved into his bones, even if he tends to keep it low-key because he generally has a “gentle and polite” attitude).

2) Stance on Love

Xu Mo didn’t understand love, or really even emotions. Love is grown between him and his MC (there’s multiple analogies throughout the game about how their love is like a seed). I think [Ch25] pretty much sums it up for Xu Mo, where he goes through that emotional rollercoaster and muses about how, at the end of human evolution, emotions should be discarded. He also admits that MC taught him the “fear” of a normal person, because now he has someone he cannot give up no matter what, which goes against his previous utilitarian beliefs.

Compared to this, Mo Yi fell in love at first sight. Yes, you read that right. The “scientist and logical” archetype fell in love at first sight LOL. Not only does he acknowledge it right off the bat, but he fully embraces it too and believes that real love makes people better versions of themselves [Personal Story]. Mo Yi is a through and through psychiatrist in that he never underestimates how primal emotions (and love) can be.

Heck, not only is this central to his personal story, but we also have hints that one of Mo Yi’s parents fell in love at first sight with the other person (and he inherited their predisposition for that). Unfortunately, their love had a tragic end and Mo Yi seems to have a huge grudge against his father for whatever happened to his mother (again, Mihoyo is keeping this a mystery LOL), but Mo Yi explicitly confirms that even if his love leads to a tragic end he will still walk down this road and attempt to change it [SR Cool Summer].

IMO one other difference between them re: love is this exchange that lives rent free in my head which I saw in a Xu Mo/Reader/Mo Yi fanfiction LOL. Bear with me here.

Mo Yi: Wearing a mask for a long time will tire you.

Xu Mo: It’s enough just to wear one in front of the necessary person.

Xu Mo and his MC make great efforts to understand each other’s worlds, but this understanding comes from the doors he chooses to open to her. He reveals himself as much as possible, but I think he’s an inherently private person (and there’s all that Ares stuff) so there are times where he hides things so that he doesn’t worry his MC. I think this is enough to count as a “mask”. Sometimes he pretends he’s okay when he’s not.

On the other hand, while I think Mo Yi shares the sentiment in not wanting his MC to worry unduly, he tries to reveal himself as much as possible. There’s an amazingly relatable conflict in him here where he wants her to know every side of him, but he’s also terrified of how she’ll react if he shows her his ugliest sides and imperfect sides (he has some sort of phobia or fear about imperfection, but Mihoyo has been keeping mum on the exact details of this so far) [Personal Story; SR Sculpted Heart].

It’s pretty ironic that Mo Yi wants to be perfect, but he realizes that the more perfect he is the more of a sense of distance there’ll be between him and his MC because of the subconscious pressure someone “perfect” brings LOL [SSR Border of Light and Darkness].

3) Stance on Growth

If you haven’t realized that one of Xu Mo’s greatest themes is the phrase “Take your time in growing”, then what have you been reading? Jkjk, but seriously this gets repeated in multiple places, although my brain always goes back to [Blossom Date] for this.

Even if he and his MC start off with fundamental differences (she believes all people have inherent worth and can’t be involuntarily sacrificed), he wants to personally watch the journey of her maturation. He also subtly guides and teaches her. Unfortunately, due to circumstances of the main story, he doesn’t get his wish and she grows up a lot out of his eyes, but their relationship still revolves around him wanting her to have as much time as possible to grow.

He’s, for a lack of better word, extremely gentle about this (setting aside as much of the Ares and story parts as we can, because LovePro’s story is tragedy on tragedy LOL). I think [Autumn Blaze Date] shows a good analogy for this, because he holds the bicycle steady for MC until she can get going on her own, and he also catches her the first time.

Meanwhile, Mo Yi... ha ha ha. I just came out of chapter 3 for his [Personal Story] and let’s just say his philosophy is tough love. It’s ironic because, in many of his other dates, he wrestles with an internal conflict to protect his MC but also to let her experience all sorts of things to both test and temper her.

This is going to touch on the previous topic about love for a moment, but a part of Mo Yi’s love at first sight experience is also “testing” the other person through all sorts of situations and, after seeing all their different sides, he can determine whether his love at first sight is one that’ll last for the rest of his life or if it’s just a fleeting moment of beauty and emotion.

He also extremely respects his MC’s sense of justice and pursuit of the truth in the world, no matter what she encounters, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this is what drew him to her in the first place. But MC’s occupation and beliefs will make her confront a lot of dark and dangerous things and so, whenever possible, Mo Yi lets her confront these in “controlled” situations to train her. If I had to make an analogy, IMO, he’d let his MC ride the bicycle and pick her up only after she falls, or when she’s like 0.1cm away from the ground LOL.

Mo Yi is (perhaps rightfully) called out on this by another character, who believes Mo Yi is too arrogant in believing everything is under his control and he can prevent MC from getting hurt whenever he lets her get into dangerous situations, and I’m interested to see if Mihoyo will let him experience failures with his philosophy so he can grow more, like the things Xu Mo went through re: his personal beliefs [Ch24].

Overall

I don’t know how well I explained myself, especially for people who don’t know anything about Mo Yi, and each section goes back and forth between the two characters LOL so here’s another section that attempts to describe their overall atmosphere.

If, like I said in my Headcanon Notes, Xu Mo makes me immediately think of all the words for soft, gentle, light, still, water, etc etc., then the words I constantly think about for Mo Yi is messily human. He’s like a bundle of contradictions, but coherent because it’s being intentionally done.

Mo Yi doesn’t discriminate against his patients, yet he can be elitist and looks down on others. He wants to let MC have dangerous experiences, but also wants to protect her. He wants to be perfect, but he also wants to reveal himself entirely to his MC because that’s real love.

In contrast, Xu Mo has a very clean and orderly personality LOL. You can draw clear cause and effect lines from his personality to his actions.

So, anyway, these are two interesting characters who start off with similar archetypes as scientific logical men of scholar/gentleman dispositions, but yet they’re also on opposite ends for a lot of things such as their approach to emotions and the world.

Oh wait, lastly, because I don’t have a good place to put this—but I think it’s funny—is that both characters are pretty possessive and greedy, but while Xu Mo does things in a sneaky, cunning and fox-like way Mo Yi gets ridiculously open about his jealousy and it’s hilariously cute but also almost childish? I often forget Mo Yi is older than Xu Mo by a year, because Xu Mo honestly feels a bit more mature than him LOL. If we count them actually aging by when their game came out though, then Mo Yi is 28 and Xu Mo is 29 now.

[lions-arch-chronicle]

Issue 6!

Image ID under read more

Title: Have we unmasked masked roller f?

Story: There has long been debate and conjecture on the true identity of the famed Masked Roller “F”. Scholar Courica along with Consultant Teekay, have conducted a deep dive investigation into who Masked Roller “F” could potentially be.The first potential suspect has been alluded to being no other than Pact Marshal Logan Thackeray. Theories suggest that it could be Thackeray because of the lack of action that he currently sees as the Pact Marshal. The high intensity and adrenaline that comes with roller beetle racing along with the lower impact on the body would be the perfect replacement for the usually intense environment that a battlefield produces. The main argument against this point is mainly Thackeray’s most noticeable feature, his hair. There could potentially be an argument for a wig being used to further the masked persona, but a wig would potentially be impossible to keep in place due to the high wind speeds that racers experience.Another candidate for the identity of the masked roller is the originator of the sport as well as the creator of roller beetles Gorrik. We are aware that Gorrik is in fact, an asura, but dear readers we would like to point out that transformation tonics are also an item that an ingenious asura could create fairly easily and have a ready supply if not a never-ending tonic. The knowledge that Gorrik has about the beetles as well as the creation of the mount lines up with the skills and abilities seen in the masked roller.The final and most controversial option is that Masked Roller “F” is none other than the Krytan noble, Lord Faren. It’s unlikely that the busy lord would have the time or the skill set necessary for him to be the masked roller. But the build, hair, and voice all seem eerily similar to the rider making him a strong candidate.Unfortunately, all three potential riders declined for interviews leaving this an unsolved mystery.

Title: Logan’s Luscious Locks Investigated?

Story: Everyone from Rata Sum to Amnoon knows about the seraph captain’s devotion to his Krytan Queen, but even more widely acknowledged is the phenomenon that is Logan’s Luscious Locks! How exactly does such a busy man manage his miraculous mane? We’ve all got our theories, from flaxseed oil to conditioner laced with bloodstone dust, but what this writer wants to know is who does Queen Jenna’s hair? Is it really patriotic or romantic devotion that keeps Captain Thackery so glued to her side? Or is it an excuse for an extensive beauty regime, known only to the Divinity’s Reach elites? We may never know, but I know I for one would split a lot of ends to learn that secret!

Title: Upcoming Tyrian Weather Advisories

Story: Reports have been coming in from Central Tyria that branded rifts have still been appearing periodically. The areas where the predicted rifts will be opening are : Rancher’s Wash, Vitpeln Hills and Giant’s Passage. If you have any plans to be in these areas within the next day we advise caution as the it will be dangerous until the rifts are sealed. Recommendations state that if you can use the detour to get to your destination that it is highly recommended to do so, if not The Lion Guard highly recommend carrying a weapon to fend off the branded that will be escaping through the portals. As mentioned in previous weather reports, improvised weapons are ill advised and experts recommend exotic or better weaponry to be used in the case of brandstorms.

Title: A spicy review from the Black Citadel: too hot to handle 

Story: I recently toured the Black Citadel to see how it was. I grew up in Divinity’s Reach and this was a culture shock! It was so dark and drab! And worst of all, there was so much LAVA! Lava of all things! In the middle of the biggest city in Ascalon! I don’t know how people live here! Someone named Pove the Sleepless even told me they have accidents in the area the lava was in! It’s not safe! I even saw a cub running around! I also talked to a gentleman named Unglot Sootmane who told me the area was named after his mother, which is actually kind of sweet. If you want to check out the Lava it’s in the southeastern corner of the city near the scrapyard, though I don’t know why you would. Editor’s Note: Kittyblog was informed multiple times that the “lava” that she observed were actually forges filled with molten metals used by the charr legions. This however did not persuade her away from her opinions on the Black Citadel. We must also point out Kittyblog’s potential bias within this story, we aren’t quite sure what that bias is but...it’s there so please read this article with a bit of salt.

Title: Boasting Hall: The Superior Salt

Story: In your last issue, a writer at the Lion’s Arch Chronicle said that they drank bloodstone coffee, “which packed a punch so powerful that I was afraid my soul may have left my body. I think my skeleton may still be suffering the aftershocks and I would recommend avoiding all foods laced with bloodstone dust.” The argument that avoiding all foods that have used bloodstone dust as a spice is absurd! Starting your week off with a piping hot cup of bloodstone coffee is just what every Tyrian needs. The energy that you obtain when you combine coffee grounds with bloodstone dust is without compare! Sure, the after-effects and potential heart failure are a downside but consider how productive you’ll be before then!I always say that bloodstone dust is the most versatile cooking ingredient, and if The Commander has given my bloodstone food their seal of approval, then that should speak for itself.

Title: Skritt Union Recognized by Lion’s Arch Chronicle

Story: The Lion’s Arch Chronicle is happy to report that negotiations with Skritt Harmony in Negotiating Employment, or SHINE for short, has come to a successful conclusion in which the needs of our skritt coworkers have been met. There was an outpouring of support from the local community in support of the skritt seeking fair treatment by their employers. One such voice was popular skritt based blog Skrittposts who made the statement, “We at skrittposts would like to express our sincerest solidarity with skritt and support their demand for fair wages and equal opportunity shiny insurance!!” They continued their statement clarifying their lack of a formal petition as well. “We do not have a signed petition, as most individual skritt cannot write; however, the perceived eloquence of this elocution should suffice as proof that many skritts support #skrittrights!”The demands of SHINE were presented to Editor-in-Chief Courica and owner of the LAC and the Black Lion Trading Company Evon Gnashblade and were accepted after a week of debate and compromise between both parties. Our skritt coworkers will now receive salaried positions equal to their writing and editorial counterparts along with vacation hours, dental, and the highly sought after yet controversial shiny insurance that will be provided by the Black Lion Trading Company.We are extremely happy to report that skritt produced content will resume next week with the first installment of Kuritata’s Fashion Review thanks to the several wonderful submissions that we have received thus far. 

[enby-hawke]

Summary: Leandra decides to visit her nephew Isaac in the Circle now that she's been cleared to see him, and maybe sneak away to see Malcolm if she can help it. She gets a lot more than she bargained for.

Notes:Tw for elf slur, misogynistic slurs and language, parent nastiness and fantasy capitalism Please let me know if I'm going to heavy with it.

Wordcount: 11127 lol sorry

“A binding contract?” Scholar twisted its neck as it gobbled up the rest of a canape it held in its claw-like hands. “I thought I told you I was not interested in fighting.”

“You won’t be fighting. I need your magic to help me heal, instead,” Malcolm’s legs dangled off the hard frame of his bed, staring the spirit down. It wasn’t Malcolm’s idea. He thought he was a pretty decent healer in his own right, but he found that calling upon random energies of the Fade was draining his reserves of mana much faster than his new classmates and he was constantly casting rejuvenation spells to keep up with the demand at the healer’s clinic which left his mind like a fried circuit by the time his duties ended.

Malcolm was not used to using magic for such long periods of time, and though he was still able to knit wounds together, and ease panic attacks, relying on his own strength was quickly depleting him.

It was a conundrum. Before Malcolm could be fully recognized as a Spirit Healer, he’d need well, a spirit, but most spirits still fled in sight of him, and though that was his preference, if he couldn’t find a spirit that would agree he wouldn’t be able to heal serious injuries without diving into his own life force, not something he wanted to make a practice of.

Scholar paused mid-bite, and the way his sharp teeth twisted made him look like they were frowning. “Healing is beneath me. You should ask a spirit of Faith or Compassion.”

“Are you saying you can’t?” Malcolm said in a taunting tone.

“I can,” the spirit poked at him with the canape. “My memories may be fragmented but I know I once had power greater than yours. You fumble with your magic, flinging spells with no understanding of how they are powered, but in another time I had the knowledge to shape the heavens, to unite the land and sky. You are but a fragment.”

“But aren’t you, too?” Malcolm grinned. “All washed up and scavenging for memories of tastes like a starved vulture?”

It looked like steam was coming out of the spirit’s ears, and Malcolm knew he had hit a nerve. The truth was Malcolm didn’t want to get to know any more spirits than he had already met. Scholar at least seemed uninterested in possessing his mind, even if he was very keen to poke around in it. An old annoyance was better than getting used to something new.

“Such a mouth on you,” the spirit gobbled up the canape angrily and grabbed another. “I told you I would aid you in knowledge of Zelophehad and you agreed to get me a tongue and you haven’t even done that.” The spirit shook the next canape from the platter he held. “I am not interested in being bound to one’s soul. I am a Scholar of the Fade. I seek knowledge, conduct research and experiments and impart wisdom but I do not want to be at someone’s beck and call, especially to a somniari idiotic enough to anger Zelophehad. Do not ask again.”

Malcolm pouted, “but I’m a somniari. Didn’t you say you haven’t found one in ages?”

The Scholar laughed. “I am not as impatient as you, young one. You answered one question, and you may answer a few more, but you will die soon. What happens when Zelophehad possesses you? I do not know but it might make an interesting change.”

Malcolm grumbled. He didn’t expect Scholar to say no or that he'd be so callous. “Well forget about the taste deal, then. I’ll find Zelophewad on my own.”

Scholar gasped, dropping his tray, the rest of the canapes floating down and sticking in the air as the platter clattered to the ground. “You’re going back on our deal?”

“You didn’t sign anything, so technically no deal,” Malcolm shrugged.

The spirit quivered in anger. “Mortals. You’re as deceitful as demons.” The spirit crossed its arm, it’s torso swirling at its midsection, where his body was cut off at the legs.

Malcolm glared. “You don’t understand. I have to pull my grades up and kill a demon at the same time. I don’t have a lot of options.”

“Well coercing me is not going to get you anywhere,” the spirit huffed. “I am not suited, but I know those that are. I may introduce you to them but only if you keep your promise.”

Malcolm sighed. “I guess I can work with that.”

“But I need a tongue. You promised that, too,” the spirit pointed.

“That I can’t help with. It’s not like I can get away with cutting off someone’s tongue. Also that’ll get me accused of blood magic in two seconds.”

“Then how will I understand taste?” the spirit whined.

“There are other ways,” Malcolm said. “I’ll lend you my memories,” but he put up a finger, “but first, lead me to a spirit who will help.”

Scholar looked hesitant. “I have a friend of Compassion who may agree.” The Scholar stooped over, the platter floating up as he plucked the canape’s from the air. “But I must fetch her. Your aura repels Compassion spirits.” He focused his hollowing gaze on Malcolm. “You have to ask her, not demand, and if she says no, you must respect that, and ask someone else.”

Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck feeling ragged and annoyed. “Fine, fine, just introduce me.”

Scholar snapped his fingers. “She’s very sensitive so keep those foul emotions in your head.”

Malcolm felt more irritated, but at the spike of emotion the spirit snapped again. 

“No! No! The opposite of that. Think of something different, like when you’re tasting that girl’s lips.”

Malcolm’s face burned in embarrassment, wondering how many spirits were peeping into those private thoughts. He spent a lot of his idle time thinking of that night with Leandra, but he guarded that memory, not wanting the spirits to sully it.

Scholar sighed. “That is better, I guess.” Then Scholar blinked away.

Malcolm leaned into the brick wall of his bedroom. His sanctum looked a little different. For one, there was homework from his previous classes that he was catching up on, though the pile he had to go through seemed impossibly larger each day. He found the stress easier when he could text Leandra in between questions. They were slowly getting to know each other, often chatting until long after midnight. When the Fade interference allowed it, they snuck in a video call, and Malcolm had to say he was grateful he could at least see her face at least once a day.

All contact remained tame and almost chivalrous. Malcolm told himself he was being a gentleman, not a coward. Still, he couldn’t deny that he did want to know all about the woman whose dream he stumbled into. She was smart for one, and though she seemed to take herself rather seriously, she did have a sharp sense of humor and he did love making her laugh.

Malcolm also learned Leandra was not only valedictorian with honors but she happened to also be an award winning lutist, just one of the half dozen instruments she played. She was currently first chair at Sacred Heart’s Symphonique Orchestra at Kirkwall’s Opera House. Real fancy stuff. What she saw in a flunky like him, he didn’t know, but the more he learned about her the more he was in awe of how incredible she was. And he made a promise to himself to do everything in his power to deserve her.

He had a frame of the picture Leandra took on his dresser, though in his real bedroom that could never happen. It was something he added to his Sanctum the night after the Cleansing after Leandra claimed him as a House Mage. 

There was nothing official yet, but Enchanter Jakoby was already preparing him for the role, teaching him the common spells requested, as well as assigning him more reading about demons and curses. Malcolm had to admit he was a little worried about who would win the bid. The thought of being in Lady De Lancet’s clutches put a pit in his gut, but on the other side of that coin was a chance to be by Leandra’s side. He couldn’t fail. 

He needed a spirit that would help him and trudging around the Fadescape had turned up nothing and so Scholar seemed the logical choice, but even he refused Malcolm.

He didn’t know who else to turn to.

Scholar blinked back with a shimmery figure of a woman made of white light. She had long hair kept in a braid and heavy robes that hid her figure but her gaze was piercing as she glared at Malcolm.

“Murderer,” she spat.

Malcolm was taken aback. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from a spirit of Compassion but hard anger was not it. She had a fierce snarl and Malcolm wondered if she would attack but she kept her balled fists at her sides, shaking.

“Warping, wailing, withering. Why? I hear my friends’ last moments on your blood-soaked hands. You reek of death and destruction, you want to face the embodiment of fear with that darkness in your heart? You will only be swallowed by him. What point is there in helping you?”

Malcolm wasn’t sure what to say, but he remembered Scholar’s warning to stay calm, even though everything screamed at him that he was in danger. 

The Compassion spirit flinched.

“I’ve only killed demons,” Malcolm said, “If your friends turned that’s not my fault.”

Her eyes flashed out flames. “You do not even see your hand in this? Part of me wishes to warp just to avenge them, but Zelophehad will consume you and perhaps that will be justice.”

Malcolm gaped at Scholar who was just busy finishing off his canapes. “Are you really a spirit of Compassion? How many will that monster kill mercilessly if no one stops him?”

“You have provoked him most of all. They will all die because of you. Stalking in the mists, slinking in the shadows. Zelophehad is patient and is waiting. You have put us all in danger by rousing him.”

Malcolm gaped at this news, feeling the raw fury emanating from her walls soften just a bit as she looked at him with what looked like pity. 

“You are raw with pain and I see that Zelophehad has been mapping your wounds. I see his marks on you. If you were smart you would fortify these walls and never leave.”

 Malcolm felt himself whirling. This wasn’t his fault, this was the demon’s and he wouldn’t accept her blame or her pity advice. 

“Great,” Malcolm said sarcastically. “But I think I’ll stick with the ‘kill the demon’ plan.”

“Mortals. You can find no other path. Your blood sings of war,” Compassion spat, and took a step forward a flower blooming before her bare foot. “Life is precious. Even Zelophehad has his place in this world. Fear, as ugly as it is, is sometimes necessary.” Then the flower decayed and fell to the ground disappearing in a sliver of light.

That sounded like bullshit. “A world without fear sounds actually nice. Might be more peaceful.”

Compassion shook her head. “A man must fear fire or be careless and get burned. Fear teaches. Fear makes one wise.”

“Really?” Malcolm drawled finding the irritation crawling up his spine like a spider. The rant that had been building in him started spilling out like a rushing waterfall that he couldn’t reign in. “Because I think fear makes men stupid. I’m locked away from the whole world and if anyone finds out what I am they’ll tranquilize me, because they fear what I’m capable of. Humans lock away elves in alienages because they fear the retribution they deserve for how they treat us. Then mages are locked away even though there’s so much good we could be doing with our powers. Fear divides us, makes us enemies when we could be allies.”

“Then why did you kill my friends in fear?”

It was then Malcolm noticed that Compassion was trembling, crystals forming on her skin and icing over her balled fists. He then remembered to reign in his anger and she seemed to breathe easier, but her skin was glittering in crystal tears. “You killed Prudence, Patience, Benevolence, Temperance. Even Fortitude. So many fell because of your fear. This land was filled with life and now it lies barren and only their wisps remain thanks to you. To us you are as great a calamity as Zelophehad.”

The words echoed inside Malcolm, feeling like a rock rattling in his head. Malcolm often felt like a monster, the Chantry made sure of that. But in this moment, he felt like he really fit the word. Chantry rhetoric said spirits weren’t people, but now they had friends? Until recently, Malcolm believed the Chantry rhetoric that spirits and demons were just mindless dangerous beasts. Sure they had personality, but their minds always seemed so simple and foreign, their needs one-sided and bizarre. And slaughtering them would keep his Circle brethren safe from possession.

But he acted in fear so often were the demons actually demons? Was he a murderer like Compassion claimed? He thought he was protecting himself, but her accusations made him stop and retrace his actions in new thought.

The way Compassion was trembling looked like she was expecting him to strike out at any moment but she held her head high and defiant, her azure eyes burning brilliantly straight into him. Her pain was radiating from her like an open seeping wound, still fresh as if he had just stabbed her in the chest.

Malcolm didn’t know how to fix this.

He looked at his hands and found they were also trembling, as the choking guilt closed up his throat. He didn’t know the lives he took would be missed. Didn’t know that tears would fall because of him.

“I’m sorry…” Malcolm knew it was not enough. “I…didn’t know.” It was a lame excuse and he knew it, but he didn’t have the words. 

Still, Compassion could feel the new hollowness in his gut at the news and she absorbed it looking more at peace. 

Compassion closed her eyes, a crystal droplet falling from her chin. “Are you sorry enough to make amends or is that another hollow mortal word?”

Malcolm felt uneasy, not sure what she would say, but he felt shitty enough that he asked, “How?”

Compassion put a hand over her heart. “You seem intent to stop Zelophehad even at risk of death. I, too, have that common goal, but I offer another path.” Her robes started to billow slightly. “Zelophehad will thrive if you start a war against him. You must offer him peace.”

“Peace?” Malcolm snorted. “With the demon that wants to ride my head and destroy reality?”

Compassion glared, continuing. “I offer a Bond with you on three conditions.”

Malcolm perked up. That’s what he was after in the first place so he shut up to listen.

“First, you will release me when Zelophehad has been put to rest. I do not wish to be on your tether forever.”

Malcolm didn’t plan on staying a Spirit Healer forever either, so that suited him just fine. “Sure, what’s number two?”

“You must listen to whatever I say when Zelophehad strikes,” Compassion said strictly.

That was debatable, but Malcolm said, “As long as you’re making sense, sure. What’s three?”

She looked at Scholar who was busy gnawing at the bone of his ham hock. “Scholar, you must teach him, because I for one cannot stand to be around the somniari’s aura.”

Scholar dropped his shoulders. “Well, I guess we are doing the taste studies together.”

“Precisely,” Compassion nodded. “Which means it won’t be a hassle. Only call upon me when you need me.” Then Compassion blinked away without even saying goodbye.

Malcolm glared at Scholar. He really thought it was a good idea to put the two of them together? “That’s your idea of help?”

“You’re lucky she said yes,” Scholar gestured with his bone. “Everyone else said no.” Then he swallowed the bone, choking it down like a snake ingesting a mouse.

That was just his luck wasn’t it? But mission succeeded. Malcolm could tell Enchanter Jakoby he was successfully a Spirit Healer. Or at least on the way to becoming one.

It was the first Mass since Mara and Gamlen had been announced a couple, and though Leandra hoped church would be a uniting place for the family it was announced at dinner the night before that Gamlen nor Mara would be welcome to accompany them. Leandra tried to argue that this was too harsh, but her parents doubled down, insisting that Gamlen had a choice to make about what was really important to him. Gamlen said he was happy to sleep in and Mara said it would be nice to get the day off. Their shunning didn’t seem to phase either of them, which only infuriated her parents more which meant they zeroed in on Leandra more than ever, acting as if she was an idiot for defending them.

“You can’t possibly think this little fling your brother has is a good idea,” her mother was adjusting her lipstick in her compact, the foundation a few shades lighter than her own skin tone which she also applied to her hands neck and arms like a mask.

“They’ve actually been dating for two years,” Leandra said impatiently, keeping her eyes to the car window. She wouldn’t give them more fuel by saying they were currently tense. She didn’t need to give her parents more ammunition. It already felt too stifling to be trapped in the car with just her parents. Every interaction seemed to be an argument now, and she was getting tired.

Her father shook his head, his glasses reflecting against the morning sunbeams. “It’s one thing to dally. It’s another thing to make a claim. She’s a gold digger. All he needs to do is knock her up and where will our money go?”

“Mara’s not a gold digger,” Leandra snapped. “How archaic can you be?” Then she pointed with a perfectly painted nail. “She’s no one’s dalliance or property. If Gamlen and Mara get pregnant you’ll have a grandchild, another heir. That’s a blessing from the Maker and you’re twisting it into something ugly!”

Both of their parents shared a heavy sigh looking at the other, communicating their frustrations in their own silent language.

“You’re so naive, little girl,” her mother sniffed delicately. “You see a friend. But you’re just an easy paycheck. If you had no money to your name I assure you that slut would drop you and find another hog to suckle.”

Leandra’s face reddened and she bit her tongue, withholding a scream. “Senhel!” she said sharply. “Stop the car!”

They were still a stop from the Chantry but Senhel dutifully pulled out of traffic with a sharp right and pulled into a bus zone. Leandra hopped out of the car practically kicking the door away and started walking on the sidewalk, her heels clicking as she marched to the Chantry.

“Where are you going?” Her father’s voice boomed as he rolled down the window. “This conversation is not over.”

“Yes, it is, because it’s inappropriate talk for the Maker’s day,” Leandra sniped back. “And if we continue talking I’m going to say some words that Maker might not forgive me for.” She held her head high, not bothering to look at her parents as the car strolled lazily along the road to follow her.

They caught her at a stoplight where she was forced to wait at a crosswalk. Her father pushed the door open. “Leandra, stop making a scene and get in the car.”

“Who’s making a scene?” Leandra glared. “Get your priorities straight. Family is more important than reputation or money.”

Her father’s face burned as people dressed up in their Sunday best looked at the Amell’s stretch and Leandra who was busy trying to pretend that everyone wasn’t staring. Still, Leandra wouldn’t put her head in the sand. The light turned green and she went across the sidewalk, but rather than the car jetting across the street like the stretch should, it followed Leandra like an obedient dog, slowing up Mass traffic.

“Leandra, get in the car,” her mother said impatiently.

“I’m enjoying my walk,” Leandra smiled brightly, and truly the sunbeams felt rather warm on her face, so different from the biting breeze.

“Now, you’re being ridiculous,” her mother growled. “We’re going to get a traffic violation. Get in.”

“Who’s we?” Leandra quipped. “I’m a pedestrian right now.”

Soon the vehicle was trapped with the shuffle of cars choking out the way for the Chantry parking lot and giving Leandra the distance she needed. She quickened her pace, walking the rest of the block and turned into a grand staircase that carved into the hill, the grand emblazoned stained glass sun glittering in the light of the towers above. She usually found Mass a time to contemplate, reflect, but she was rather impatient to get it over with so she could see Isaac.

Carver had contacted her letting her know the paperwork was rushed through and now that Aunt Revka was in Markham visiting Robert it would be a nice surprise for Isaac. She clutched her purse, rustling with her secret goodies, wondering if the templars would find and confiscate them, but she would just bring more if that was the case.

She thought her day couldn’t get any worse when at the top of the stairs she saw Guillaume and his parents deep in conversation with the Chantry sisters between the grand arch of the bronze templar statues. She tried to sneak past them but Guillaume instantly spotted her and waved, “Mon amie!”

Leandra straightened up with a smile, reluctantly approaching Guillaume and his family. “Guillaume, good morning. I didn’t see you.”

They kissed each other on the cheeks, his lips lingering a tad too long, as he folded his hands into hers. Leandra let her hand go limp in his, not able to let go but not able to reciprocate the warmth either.

Lady De Lancet eyed her head to toe in an approving manner, her hands stretched out in greeting as she placed a fond kiss on Leandra’s cheek. “Ah, my dear girl, it’s so good to see you. Don’t tell me you wore that fetching ensemble for me.”

Leandra in fact did, even as that twisted her insides. She had been trying to courteously convince Lady De Lancet to drop the bid on Malcolm and had spent the better part of the week in soirees and luncheons bargaining for his life like it was a game. Maybe to Lady De Lancet it was a game, one she found very amusing, but for Leandra it was a match she couldn’t afford to lose. 

Leandra curtsied politely in greeting allowing the lady to inspect her outfit, lilac colored, in honor of the De Lancet’s house, with a rather daring cut that skimmed the edges of modesty with how the thin fabric clung to her curves.

Lady De Lancet touched the fabric of Leandra’s arm fondly. “These sleeves are darling.”

They also had giant holes that let in the chill. She was thankful that the winters in Kirkwall were rather mild because Orlesian fashion didn’t account for cold. “You were right about that Boutique on Oak Avenue. They do have great dresses.”

“We should go together and pick up some more,” Lady De Lancet offered.

Leandra bit her tongue, not wanting to freely admit that she didn’t have the budget anymore to go splurging on vogue dresses, but before she could find a tactful way to turn her down, Guillaume said,

“Of course, it will be my treat.”

A thoughtful offer but Leandra still had to force the smile on her lips. The idea of spending more time with Guillaume or his mother was not what she had in mind. Still, she said, “that sounds lovely,” and allowed Guillaume to kiss her chastely on the cheek.

“You two are adorable,” an older sister with dusty spectacles said with a smile in her voice.

“Not too much longer until we chime that bell for you,” the younger initiate smiled.

Lord De Lancet patted Guillaume’s shoulder. “They’re all grown up now.”

“Yes,” Lady De Lancet looked like she was tearing up. “And they’re going to give me beautiful grandchildren.”

The panic coiled inside Leandra. Everything was so perfect with Malcolm and yet did any of it matter? Her whole life was structured around Guillaume. Trying to tear it apart seemed like breaking her foundation. Suddenly she was picturing tea parties with nug children all over again.

The conversation carried on without Leandra. Lady De Lancet soon was bragging to the sisters about all the changes that they were planning to make to the wedding to give it an Orlesian touch, Leandra just nodding along to confirm the details. That was part of the deal for backing out of the bid, something Leandra wasn’t sure Lady De Lancet would keep to, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep her in good humor. 

Apparently Lady De Lancet was losing interest in the wedding because she felt like her culture wasn’t being represented enough and so she dangled Malcolm over Leandra, bargaining for more say of how it all should look like or maybe just to see what she could get Leandra to do. First, she just had a problem with the color scheme. Red was “too angry” and turquoise would match winter. Then they were updating the bridesmaids dresses to be from Princess Evangeline’s new fashion line. Then that led into them talking about Leandra’s dress. 

Leandra had originally told Lady De Lancet that unfortunately her gown had been finalized but it didn’t stop the lady from telling the sisters in rapt glee, “We’re going to bring that old thing into the modern age, cut a little off, give it a new look,” Lady De Lancet made a snipping motion for emphasis.

Leandra’s eyes widened. Did she hear right? 

“You’re going to WHAT?” Leandra’s mother stood on the steps cutting off Lady De Lancet’s conversation short.

Leandra’s shoulders tightened. Now her day couldn’t be worse.

Lady De Lancet and Leandra’s mothers met each other’s eyes like they were in a match. Her mother stepped up the steps leaving her husband behind as she picked up the hem of her modest cream dress, her complimenting cardigan as sharp as her power suits. “That dress was my mother’s and her mother’s before me down to the founding of my line. It is a priceless antique with a rich history of powerful women who wore it. You are not going to touch one thread.”

Lady De Lancet looked smugly at her mother, knowing she had her claws in deep. “Leandra has agreed that if I’m going to accept the loss of the protection of such a pristine mage from such a nasty family curse, I should get some perks, no?”

Leandra was about to say she did no such thing, but her mother beat her to it, saying, “We don’t need that knife-ear’s foul magic. We have the Maker’s protection!”

Leandra’s mouth gaped and the air sucked out of her. This was the first time she had ever heard that word come out of her mother’s mouth. With Gamlen and now her mother, it was like an ugly wake up call about the deep prejudice inbred into her family that she had been be blind to. Or maybe as she looked back on how they reacted with Mara, perhaps she chose to be blind to it. 

The whole room shifted uncomfortably as if something foul was in the air. Each looked to the other unsure of what to say.

Then Leandra recovered herself when Guillaume covered his reddening face with his hand, looking uncomfortable and said, “Bethann, please. We’re in the Maker’s house.”

Her mother lifted her chin indignantly. “As if the heathens even pray to the Maker.”

“You know what,” Leandra smiled all teeth as she decided it was time to change the subject. She turned her attention, batting her eyes at Lady De Lancet, “I think it would be lovely to update the dress a little. Lady De Lancet, did you have thoughts on the design?”

“Oh, so many,” Lady De Lancet clapped her hands. “Merveilleux! I’ll send the number of my seamstress. We have binders for you to look at.”

“Amelia, absolutely not,” Leandra’s mother’s face went rigid in fury, more furious than when Gamlen had crashed his new car in a DUI and yet Leandra was still more angry over the word she had called Malcolm. 

Ugly wretched shame sank Leandra’s gut into a pit. She didn’t know how to process the deep hate rooted within her family’s heart. She wasn’t sure how to get them to see Malcolm like she did. She questioned at this point if they were capable of it. Her mind started tracing over every cruel comment, every power trip, every backhanded compliment. There was all this posturing of appearances of perfection. If there was any curse on her family is that they had forgotten how to love and care for people. Her parents paid good lip service, donated their money to charities that they then wrote off in taxes, but it was all a pretty play. They had all forgotten warmth. Love even.  

At the end of the day, she didn’t care about a stupid old dress or the color scheme or any of the damned details of the wedding. None of that seemed important ever since Malcolm came into her life. 

Leandra had never been so disappointed in her mother or anyone. So when Lady De Lancet said,

“Bethann, relax. This is Leandra’s wedding. It should be her decision.”

It seemed natural to respond with, “That’s right. It is my decision, and I think I’m going to be open to possibilities today,” Leandra smiled, turning it to her mother and father who were both taken aback by this new tactic. “And I hope you will be more open minded in the future.”

“Leandra, how dare you-”

And then Leandra did something she never did before. She shushed her mother as if she was hushing a child having a tantrum. “This is the Maker’s House. Let’s not focus on our petty disagreements but on His Grace and Wisdom.”

“Wisely said, child,” the dusty spectacled sister adjusted her glasses with a thin smile.  

Leandra smiled as her mother turned to her father in embarrassment but he seemed just as baffled. “Shall we go in?” he offered his arm to his wife, not seeming to want to take up the argument with Leandra.

Lady Amell chewed on her lip and took her husband’s arm.

“Always good to see you, Aristride,” Lord De Lancet nodded to her father cheerily.

Her father made a tight-lipped nod at the man as they passed, but that was all he mustered in greeting.

The service passed by, the time stretching on, and every second was uncomfortable. Leandra sat between Guillaume and her mother, singing the Chant, and she felt the words ring hollow in her throat.

And yet she couldn’t help but think of Mara’s words.

Yes, the Maker had sent Malcolm on her path, but she was not being honest. With her parents. With Guillaume. Maybe not even herself. She was a cheater now and Leandra never thought she'd be that. Yes, she was bound by a vow she made as a child to marry Guillaume, and yet she couldn't find it in her to resist Malcolm’s pull. She felt like the Maker had crafted his hand to fit in hers. 

Or did she just want the Maker to have sent him? Was he actually the temptation she was supposed to resist? It seemed like fitting him into her life was an impossible dream. His kisses were like heaven but they left her with desires that were all too sinful. So sinful that they kept her awake and aching long into the night. 

“It was Andraste’s purity that was what

Drove the Maker’s Eye

Her devotion to her husband

And to Her Duties and to her Faith

She Drew His Grace into the World

Only for Sin of Man to Drive Him back.

When all of Man is pure will we see His Return.”

All Leandra’s life she had taken that verse to heart, but that didn’t stop her mind from wandering. Didn’t stop her from remembering the feel of his tongue on hers and how it stoked a fire in her that still burned. Last night, she dreamed that she was back on the balcony of the Viscount’s Palace. Malcolm fell on top of her again and she felt his hardness form on her thigh. That hardness that sparked that aching need deep inside her. Instead of being a gentleman, he gave her that wolfish smile and stripped her like a present, his hands like electricity on her skin, careless with her wrappings until she was bare in the moonlight. His gaze left her hollow and ready to be filled by him. His lips ghosted over her mouth, his breath tickling her skin until his mouth trailed lower and lower, until he had her spread wide, his head between her legs. Those honey eyes met hers as that half-smirk lowered his mouth.

But the dream ended. She didn’t know what that felt like, where that would lead. And would it be salvation or ruin?  

Her face burned as she sang, sweating under her dress even in the chill of the chapel. As she sang she found herself asking the Maker for guidance. She knew what her heart said, and yet she wasn’t sure what the right path was. Coming clean to her parents sounded so frightening. Would they threaten to disown her like Gamlen? 

She wondered if loving Malcolm would mean giving up everything, and she was selfish. She wanted her parents to watch her children grow up, to be able to baptize them in this Chantry, to have family dinners and holidays. Plan month long vacations in Antiva and Rivain where they would learn about different cultures and try different cuisines and learn about the world like she did. Was it too much to ask for it all? She made the wish in her heart, even as she held the hand of the wrong man. She prayed for a way they’d all find happiness, even in the face of the odds.

Grand Enchanter Elthina stood under the Everlasting Fire, her silhouette giving the impression she was being burned like Andraste. She had her blonde hair in a braided bun, looking much like the statues of Andraste behind her. “My children, a great evil has visited us recently. It is truly a Blessing of the Maker that we all have been delivered unscathed.”

A chorus of voices called out in “By the Maker’s Will,” the relief palpable in the room.

“The Knight-Commander assures me that all is under control. Still, the Veil has grown more restless, and so we must do our part to help. All of us must confess the evils in our hearts before they become sins. Out of sin, demons rise. It is our own hubris we must save ourselves from. I invite you all to join me on a fast and pray with me for contrition. May He spare us from more evil by seeing the pureness of our own hearts.”

And there Leandra felt trapped. Lying was a sin, and yet the truth would unravel everything. Still, she wondered how long she could keep up the act around Guillaume, with every detail of the wedding reminding her that she would soon be tied to him on a timeline that was soon running out. 

She knew she would make the vow with the Grand Cleric, even as she knew she would not let Malcolm go. 

The closing hymns echoed through the stone as the tithing basket passed around, both Guillaime’s parents and her own matching their sizable checks to which they left open faced in the basket for all to see. Soon the hymns bounced off the stone, the echo keeping the song for a moment. The Grand Enchanter said her final blessing and then the bell rang from the tower in a deep clanging sound that echoed in the ribs. Everyone rose, a cluster of voices rising as everyone started dispersing.

“Shall we do the usual family luncheon, then?” Lady De Lancet fluffed up the new curls she added to her usually limp red hair, already forgetting the fast she had audibly promised.

“Actually, I’m going to visit with Isaac at the Circle, but do have a lovely visit without me,” Leandra feigned an apologetic tone as she gathered her purse trying not to seem like in the hurry she was. Malcolm knew she was coming. Would he manage to get away to see her?

Her father’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You got past regulations?” Her father sounded impressed which brought a scowl from her mother.

Leandra couldn’t help the secret smile on her face. “Like you said, Daddy. I always get my way.”

Guillaume and her father shared in a fond laugh which caused his mother’s scowl to deepen. She was silent, social etiquette keeping her usual claws to herself, but the way she was glaring at Leandra, she knew that she was in for it later.

But Leandra didn’t care. The worst of her day was over. She could see Isaac and hear his laugh for the first time in half a year. And she could thank meeting Malcolm for that. Surely that meant something good.

She would walk this path towards Malcolm with unsteady steps, even as she knew that all these threads would unravel one day.

Malcolm would normally sleep through Mass, but today he had several books on his lap, scratching his head as he tried to put together the puzzle he was clearly struggling with in his mind. Taylor and Charlie sat on either side of him exchanging looks as Malcolm muttered to himself and it appeared like something was distracting him, though that could have been the chorus of singing that he was opting out of.

Charlie looked over Malcolm’s head at Taylor who was trying her best to sing along to the Chant, and Taylor tried to pay attention, but she was just as puzzled. The books Malcolm were reading were advanced, alteration magic theory along with complex anatomy books. He had one page turned to a detailed diagram of a tongue and he kept flipping back through the index and glossary as he wrote notes he adamantly hid with his arm and flipped over when he wasn’t writing in it.

Everyone had noticed the change in Malcolm and though there were a lot of theories, an elaborate prank yet to be unleashed, a chance to walk outside the Circle, that the Knight-Commander threatened tranquilization, or that Carver finally had some serious dirt on him. Malcolm barely noticed the gossip as he worked through his lunches, often falling asleep on his homework. Still, by all standards, Malcolm had become a model student, minus the sarcasm and arrogance. He wasn’t shy about boasting how he graduated without trying, but no one could explain why he was. Trying.

Sure, being a House Mage was an esteemed position, and the fact that he had earned the bid of not one but two major houses was enough reason for some, but those that knew Malcolm understood that he didn’t obey or bend his will for anyone.

At least not without ulterior motives.

But as his friends looked over him they weren’t sure what those motives were.

The Chant died down and so Sister Margaret took over the sermon. It was the usual. ‘Repent thy sin for being born of sin.’ The same as last week and the week before.

“Are you finally doing it?” Charlie whispered over with a sad look.

“Hmmm?” Malcolm answered, only half paying attention.

“Escaping,” Charlie said hushedly.

“What? No!” Malcolm snorted a little too loudly, which brought an annoyed glance from Sister Margaret, but since she was used to Malcolm snoring through her sermons she quickly moved on.

Malcolm suddenly pulled out a dictionary from his backpack, flipping through for a definition. That was when Taylor leaned forward, her eyebrows raised. “Not that I would normally deter studying but can’t this wait until lunch?”

“Might be busy at lunch,” Malcolm crossed out what he was writing as he shook his head. At least he hoped to be. Carver said that it was possible for Leandra and him to have a little window together today. He didn’t know when but he was just waiting on his summons.

“Might?” Charlie repeated. Then he looked between the elves. “Oh, I get the studying now! You’re finally dating.”

Malcolm’s laugh filled the small cramped stone room that served as the chapel drawing shushes and an outraged scowl from Sister Margaret.

Taylor looked mortified to be associated with Malcolm, let alone dating him and she looked apologetically to the Sister imploring her to go on. When the sister finally did, Taylor leaned over and whispered to Charlie, “Maker preserve me, will you get that out of your head?” 

That’s when Taylor looked down at Malcolm’s backpack and saw something strange peeking out between the pages of his homework. She pulled it out with wide eyes. “But maybe Malcolm’s dating someone else?”

“What?” Malcolm looked up from his work, only to notice too late what Taylor was staring at.

“What’s that?” Charlie snatched it from Taylor before Malcolm could grab it.

Malcolm wrestled Charlie for the paper, tearing the page in half, making a loud riiiiiip that echoed through the chapel. Charlie’s face paled as he held the other half in his hand. There stared half of Leandra’s face in graphite, a mole dotting under her starry eye creased in a laughing smile punctuated by dimples in her apple cheeks, her hair drawn in careful loving strokes framing her bare neck and delicate collar bones, shapely lips rendered done with care.

     “You motherfucker!” Malcolm shoved Charlie angrily into his seat, scattering the books on his lap.

“Sorry, dude!” Charlie handed the other half back but the damage was already done.

“Malcolm, that’s enough!” Sister Margaret shouted paying no attention to Charlie. “If you’re going to curse in Maker’s house you are not welcome here.”  

Malcolm held both halves, noticing that others were staring and he quickly crumpled it up before anyone could get a good look. He cursed himself and Taylor and Charlie. What use were friends if all they wanted to do was pry into your private life and spread all your secrets? Now his surprise gift was ruined, and his good mood with it.  

He threw the ruined art piece back into his backpack with a huff gathering all his stuff and shoving it all in so it all crumpled into one wad. “That’s fine, you’re a broken record anyways.”

Malcolm stormed out of the chapel, the templars usually stationed outside strangely not there to escort him out. He was going to head to his room but Taylor and Charlie followed him, both with remorseful looks on their faces. He made his way through the hallways which were emptied since everyone was left at Mass.

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” Charlie repeated.

“It’s fine, drop it,” Malcolm spat, not looking back. They descended to the stairs and back into the lower chambers, not noticing that even the halls were barren of the usual templar or two.

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t shut me out like that,” Charlie jogged up and caught Malcolm by his backpack, pulling him back. “I messed up. That’s on me. You would have won major points for that gift, I’m sure. But don’t I have a right to be mad, too?”

Malcolm turned around with a glare clenching his fist into a ball. “Why, you picking a fight?”

“No, but you can punch me if it’ll make you feel better,” Charlie offered his cheek and Malcolm found his hand unclench on it’s own.

When it was apparent Malcolm would neither leave nor punch him, Charlie shoved him and said, “Dude, who is she? She was hard to recognize with half a face but she’s a babe. You’re holding out on me.”

“I can’t tell you,” Malcolm’s eyes flicked around the halls for people listening but though he didn’t see anyone that didn’t mean someone couldn’t overhear.

“Why?”

Malcolm glared, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You told Mandy McConnells I wet the bed in 7th year and that’s why no girl will even look at me.”

Malcolm shifted his glare to Taylor who barked out a short laugh before she bit her bottom lip to contain her smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just you think that’s why? Not your ogreish personality?”

Malcolm’s nostrils flared, ignoring that point. “I’m NEVER trusting you with a secret, again.”

Charlie placed his palms together in a prayer as he pleaded to Malcolm. “It slipped out, dude. You kept doing it.”

That’s when Malcolm swung at Charlie but he ducked instinctively, a habit he had grown used to being friends with a Ferelden.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this!”

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry! I’ve given you tons of back and foot massages and I was your personal servant for like a month. I swear I won’t tell anyone about it like no one knows about my secret diary.”

“Dude,” Malcolm snorted in disbelief, his fist full of Charlie’s robe, “you’ve read me poetry from your diary.”

“Like you should tell me who you’re dating. It’s vital bro info.”

Taylor pushed them apart putting her back to Malcolm as she placed a hand on Charlie’s chest. “In this instance, I think Malcolm’s right. You should just let it go.”

Charlie looked confused, watching Malcolm’s anxious breathing in renewed light. “What’s wrong? It’s not like you’re dating someone outside the Circle?”

Malcolm’s and Taylor’s dead silence answered the question for Charlie. He dropped his jaw. “Holy shit. You’re dating someone outside the Circle?”

Malcolm reached around Taylor and grabbed Charlie’s head and wrestled him into a headlock. “Will you not say that so fucking loud?”

Still, Charlie’s muffled ecstatic laughter could be heard from Malcolm’s death grip, the sound soothing his anger. So Charlie finally got the whiff of his secret. He hoped he had a little more time.

Malcolm dragged Charlie by the head through the hallways until they came out into the courtyard, Taylor following like this was a normal thing cause it was.

“So I can’t even know her first name?” Charlie continued the conversation. “I mean what’s the harm in that?”

“It’s too obvious once you put it together,” Taylor explained for Malcolm. “She’s not just anybody. This can get Malcolm in a lot of trouble.” She then added with a shake of her head. “You’re not hiding it very well.”

“Well I didn’t plan on people going through my private things.” Was he relieved that he at least had someone in on the secret other than Carver that could keep their mouth shut? 

Malcolm found that without Charlie fighting back, this wrestle really wasn’t going anywhere, so he shoved Charlie’s head away.

Taylor walked ahead of him, her mood seeming impish with the way she stopped in front of him and started walking backwards so her dark skin reflected the sunshine like stained glass. “Tough tiddies. It’s the Circle. You’re not going to get privacy.”

As if to answer that the train of thought the real train that connected from the mainland pulled into the station, it’s gears squeaking against the rail and no sooner did they stop did a squadron of templars came rushing past the mages and towards the upper chambers in a rush. One of the templars in a helmet broke rank and stopped before them. It was hard to tell who exactly, but their armor marked them as a ranking officer.

They pointed to the three of them and with a deep voice, he said, “What are you doing in the courtyard. It’s out of bounds.”

“Sister kicked me out of Mass for saying fuck on the Maker’s day,” Malcolm said like he was commenting on the weather. 

Both Taylor and Charlie exchanged uneasy tense glances, unsure what would happen.

But this templar seemed more used to Malcolm’s snark and didn’t acknowledge it other than to say, “Everything’s on lockdown. Back to the cafeteria or to your rooms.”

Lockdown? What was going on?

Taylor frowned. “Is the library on lockdown?”

But Malcolm waved his hand and said. “Wait, more importantly where’s Carver?”

Taylor flashed a violet glare. “My question is just as important.”

“Carver’s in an emergency. Library’s not restricted,” then the man marched off back towards the hallways where the upper levels reached. The only thing up there other than the Chantry hall was the restricted areas like the Harrowing Chamber.

Malcolm couldn’t help but feel something queer was happening and he feared that the terror demon made his move. He nodded to Taylor and Charlie. “Well I’m off to grab lunch before my nap. Want to join me?”

As if to answer him, the lunch bell finally rang, echoing through the courtyard.

Charlie hopped on the balls of his feet, excited at the prospect of lunch and they all headed towards the mess hall. Sunday was the chefs day off so all was served all day was things that could be made the day before which usually consisted of soup you had to warm up yourself and dry cold cut sandwiches but that was no longer a problem for the mages now that Charlie blabbed the whole taste illusion spell to the Circle.

“Dude, I almost got tacos right. Taylor helped me.”

That brought a warm smile to Taylor’s full lips. “Oh, I also tweaked the spell so it has crunch now, too. I’ll show you,” she added enthusiastically.

Charlie’s jaw dropped in awe stopping in the hall. “No joke, you are the most incredible woman to exist.”

Taylor tripped on her feet sputtering, clinging to Charlie so she wouldn’t tip over. He caught her by the waist easily pulling her small frame against his chest before she tumbled to the ground. They stood there stunned, clinging to the other awkwardly as if they weren’t sure what to do next.

Malcolm coughed which broke the spell, pushing them apart.

Taylor looked embarrassed as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands and she kept shifting positions, finally balling them up and placing them on her thighs.

Charlie scratched the back of his head looking at anywhere but Taylor. He was trying to play cool, but Malcolm could see that Charlie was now a nervous wreck, hiding his eyes under his dark bangs as if that would shield him from scrutiny.

Malcolm wondered if they would ever stop focusing on his love life and actually admit they liked each other. They seemed to have these weird moments more and more often. Projection, maybe?

“Hey, you have to pay homage to the genius. I made the spell,” Malcolm joked trying to lighten the mood.

“But Taylor’s an artist. She makes everything she touches better,” Charlie said, his voice sounding shy, the picking of his nails adding to that effect, and Malcolm couldn’t help but think how soft Charlie looked as he said that.

Taylor crossed her arms, huddling into herself as if she needed to hide. “I don’t know about that.”

Malcolm suddenly felt like there was one too many people in the room and so as the other uncomfortable party he did what any good friend would do. Tease them.

“Dude, why have you been trying to pawn Taylor off on me all these years? You’ve clearly got a thing.”

This time Charlie sputtered, Taylor watching in a careful seriousness as his eyes went wide and he backed away as if he was going to run. “I mean we’re just really good friends. Brother. Sister.”

“Sure,” Malcolm’s voice lilted. “That’s how I’d look at my sister.”

This time Charlie swung at Malcolm which Malcolm darted out of the way. “Dude. Shut up. You’re making things weird.”

Taylor said nothing, still watching Charlie, unsure if this was another joke the two of them were playing.

 “Ask Taylor out and maybe I’ll tell you her name,” Malcolm challenged, making Taylor audibly choke.

“So there is a girl,” Charlie grabbed at the subject, desperate for the change. “We’re establishing that.”

Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh. The reach was so pitiful. “Dude, been established.”

”Just checking,” Charlie scratched his arm. His gaze kept flicking to Taylor who looked at him unwaveringly as he fumbled.  “Just checking…”

Malcolm’s dare hung in the air unanswered.

“Well I guess if you never ask the question, you never find out,” Taylor clicked her tongue as she tucked a curl of hair back in place and then walked into the cafeteria leaving Charlie blinking dumbly.

Charlie looked at Malcolm for an explanation. “Why would she say that?”

Poor Taylor.

Malcolm slung his arm around Charlie feeling the brotherly need to help him out, even though he felt he knew as much about romance as Charlie did, but he needed to call upon Scholar somewhere safe and figure out if there was a problem that needed his attention, so he said, “When you figure it out, dude, come talk to me.”

Charlie contorted his face, looking more lost and confused and he jutted out his lip. “Aww, now you’re picking on me.”

“Well you deserve a lil’ payback for ruining my girl’s portrait,” Malcolm chuckled. Saying that aloud did make him feel lighter.

Charlie seemed to be giddy that Malcolm admitted that, too. “Can I tell people you’ve got a girl at least?”

“Dude,” Malcolm’s smile dropped back into a deadly expression. “I’ll haunt your dreams.”

Charlie’s shoulders dropped in disappointment. “Fine.”

Malcolm and Charlie broke apart and got in line for lunch. 

They noticed that Taylor was several people ahead, Arth Elliot in deep conversation with her. He kept brushing his blond bangs away from his face, a flirtatious smile on his lips and for once Taylor was actually giving him the time of day. 

Charlie immediately made an ugly grimace. “What’s she talking to that idiot for?”

Malcolm nudged Charlie’s shoulder with a smug smirk. “Do something about it.”

Charlie immediately balked, rubbing the back of his head. “She can talk to who she likes. It’s fine,” but then he crossed his arms sulkily. “Arth’s still a jerk and a playboy. She should be careful.”

Before Malcolm could agree, a templar on a walkie talkie walked up to them from her guard post pointing straight at Malcolm. 

“Are you Hawke?”

Malcolm looked over the templar not recognizing her face. She was tanned from the sun with a scar on her right cheek that looked like it had been sliced through and her eyebrows were sharp and rigid in contrast to her bald head that had black stubble growing out. She was built like a chiseled warrior that most of the templars were demanded of, and yet Malcolm could not place her face among the recruits. She wasn’t one of Malcolm’s harassers, nor one of Carver’s friends. Was she new, or just very unremarkable?

“Am I in trouble?” Hawke cringed, knowing that was usually the reason. 

“I am to escort you to the Knight-Commander immediately. Please, come with me.”

Malcolm groaned. “I mean, can I get a sandwich first?”

Malcolm expected the templar to snap at him or start dragging him by the collar, but the woman actually considered his rather reasonable request. After a moment, she nodded and said, “It would probably be best if you have your strength. Do hurry, please.” 

Malcolm blinked, actually amazed. A templar that said please not once but twice. A third and it wouldn’t be an accident.

Malcolm’s smile turned smug as he left Charlie in line to cut it with the templar’s permission, and snagged a sandwich not really caring which flavor. He stuffed one in his mouth before grabbing another still chewing, deciding today he wanted to feast on lechon. He had been feeling extra famished lately and the taste of the suckling pig was extra filling and he could feel it reawakening him. By the time he had strolled back he had polished off one of the sandwiches and was savoring the next one bite by tiny bite.

He saluted Charlie with a sandwich on his way out. "Let me know when you finally grow some balls."

Charlie rolled his eyes and pretended to ignore him. 

The templar silently led him to the templar quarters, the spaces tight as most templar initiates slept like apprentices, in communal bunks with absolutely no privacy. Templars, though, did not have to live in bunk beds, smelling each other’s body odor and tripping on each other’s laundry. Many templars only used the beds on shift and could carve their little slice of home somewhere in Kirkwall away from the Circle. 

As they walked down the hall they passed by the highest ranking templar’s office, passing Carver to the Knight-Commander’s on the end, marked by the Chantry’s sun being pierced by a blade engraved into the door and two suits of ceremonial templar armor that decorated each side.

The templar motioned for the door unceremoniously. “Go in, please. The Commander is waiting for you.” 

And with the third please that became a pattern. Malcolm remarked upon the fact he managed to walk beside another templar that wasn’t Carver and didn’t end up in handcuffs part of the way for his attitude. But she hadn’t given him any lip, so he decided to keep the goodwill going and nodded. “Thanks for the escort. And lunch.” 

The templar looked surprised to be thanked. She nodded, attempting a smile too tense to not have nervousness behind it. “And thank you for not being difficult.”

Malcolm blinked as the templar reddened, as if she only just realized that could be considered rude. But Malcolm just shook his head with a chuckle as he placed his hand on the brass knob. He’d rather make templars nervous than bold. “Back at you,” he said and pulled the heavy door open.

He was expecting to see Leandra today, but he didn’t expect to see her in the Knight-Commander’s office, nor did she expect him to see her red eyed with a pile of soiled tissues upon the Knight-Commander’s desk. She stood up when she saw Malcolm, as if she wanted to rush over to him before she realized that it wasn’t only Carver there, but the the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter Elric, a short pinkish man that shared Malcolm’s fondness for napping, though his love probably stemmed from the fact that he was approaching 80. He was looking rather comfy snuggled into the arm of his chair next to the Knight-Commander, looking oddly like he needed a blanket.

“Thank the Maker you came,” Leandra crumpled up the tissue in her hand.

“I wouldn’t thank the Maker, yet,” The First Enchanter stroked his long wizardly beard. “Like I’ve told you, my lady, I’m not sure much can be done.”

“At least let him try!” Leandra’s voice was desperate and hoarse, as if she had just been yelling.

If Malcolm had known it was Leandra that needed him, he wouldn’t have dragged his feet or stopped for lunch. He quickly stepped closer into the room, Leandra like a magnet he had to pull away from with force. He didn’t know what happened but he couldn’t stand to see her like this, mascara running down her cheeks, her face a red splotchy mess. Seeing her in such pain awakened a fierceness in him he didn’t realize he had. It took everything not to fold her into his chest so he could comfort her.

So instead he bowed his head with all the respect afforded to a noblewoman and said, “If I can be of service, my lady, you need only ask. Just tell me what to do.”

The Knight Commander and the First Enchanter shared a surprised glance at the other at Malcolm’s response before the corner of the wizard’s mustache tugged into the smallest smile.

Leandra nodded, grateful tears running down her cheeks as she tore up the tissue in her hand tearing it into little pieces. “It’s Isaac. He has meltdowns...They can get ugly. He needs structure to help keep him calm, toys to soothe him and...and…” She repeated ‘and’ again and again as if she was stuck, unable to continue the next thought.

“The boy threw a tantrum when we told him today wasn’t the day his mother was coming,” the First Enchanter finished in a tired ragged tone that sounded callous and bored, “It is rather unfortunate but in the emotional distress he inflicted upon himself he fell prey to demon and is now an imminent threat to us all. We know what must happen.”

His croaking voice said the last haunting words with such finality that Leandra renewed her wailing, the sound tearing apart Malcolm’s heart.

“No,” he said and he squared his shoulders facing the Knight-Commander. “Send me into the Fade. That’s what I’m here for, right? To kill the demon?” 

Both the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter seemed pleased that this was Malcolm’s response.

“Well that is true but we still need to go over...business,” the First Enchanter ruffled through a stack of papers he took from a folder he had in front of him and slid them across the desk before Leandra.

Leandra blinked through her tears as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “My nephew’s life hangs in the balance, and we’re talking price? Now?”

The First Enchanter shrugged. “It’s ugly but the Circle is not a charity. To send your chosen mage into the Fade to rescue your kin will need a vast supply of lyrium, which unfortunately there is currently a shortage of. We need to keep enough on hand to supply our templars, you know,” then the wizard placed his wrinkled hands to flip through the pages. “There is also upkeep of the mages; boarding, food, education and so that has to come from somewhere. Renting this mage’s services will help absorb some of the debt we incur.”

Leandra looked at the giant price tag at the bottom. She tried to do the calculation in her head but if she were to try to cover this herself it would wipe out almost her entire savings. She would have almost nothing left to cover Mara’s salary. “Excuse me a moment,” she bit her lip and dug through her purse for her phone, unblocking her father’s number, and called. 

The dial rang twice before he answered and said, “I’m surprised to hear from you, Sweetpea. I thought we were not communicating anymore by phone.” She could hear restaurant music being played in the backgrounds, the rush of conversation and clutter muffling up his voice.

Leandra ignored the obvious attempt at an argument and said, “Father, Isaac’s been possessed and we need to make a payment of 10,000 sovereigns to send a mage into the Fade to rescue him.”

Malcolm coughed, choking on his own spit. “How many bottles of lyrium am I chugging?” 

“The average mage needs to ingest about 5-8 bottles, though we don’t know your tolerance. Most of that cost is you,” the First Enchanter said flatly.

So this was how the Circle worked. Malcolm felt like it was stupid to keep good talent locked away to fester and rot, but when he could be rented like this to the highest bidder, it all seemed to be just parts of system placed there by design, not some random accident. 

Malcolm fumed, he would not be anyone’s tool. “Well, knock some of those zeroes off because I need only one bottle. Right, Carver?”

Carver bugged his eyes out before he blurted out, “Yes, right.”  

The First Enchanter widened his eyes impressed but seemed to take this in stride, as if this was just part of the negotiation. “We’d have to check the current marketplace value, but by our last estimates a vial of lyrium has been driven up to...” 

He trailed off looking to the Knight-Commander for help who blurted out, “50 sovereigns now.”

“Which would leave you with a savings of 200 sovereigns, that is if the mage can back his claims,” the old mage adjusted his wire frame glasses. 

Malcolm scoffed at the First Enchanter. The old bat knew his name because he had signed plenty of Malcolm’s detention slips. 200 sovereigns was still nothing to sneeze at, but compared to 10,000, it seemed like he had only chipped at a mountain. 

Still, Malcolm remained silent as Leandra relayed all of this to her father. Then she frowned deeply as she said, “What, why? Is that really necessary?”

He could hear the man’s stern voice lecturing but the speaker obscured most of his words.

Eventually she hung her head and she walked up to Malcolm outstretching her phone with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry. My father wants to talk to you.” She looked truly scared to hand the phone over, her hands trembling.

Malcolm audibly gulped, unsure if he really wanted to take that call but finding no other choice left to him he took the phone from Leandra’s shaky hands and put it up to his ear.

“You’re not talking guff? You can save me 200 sovereigns?” 

Was that really what warranted a one-to-one conversation? Still Malcolm kept his tone respectful and short, “Yes, ser.” 

“And you can save my sister-in-law’s son? You guarantee it? You’re still costing me a king’s ransom.” 

Malcolm felt his mouth go dry, but he promised, “I’m worth it. He will not die under my watch.” 

“Good,” he grunted satisfied. “You gave your word. That means something. If you can manage this, then maybe there is a future here for you. Maybe.” 

It seemed a hollow promise, from a hollower man and yet when he looked at Leandra’s tear-brimmed eyes full of hope he knew he couldn’t afford to fail.

Malcolm slapped on his usual cocksure smirk. “You can count on it.” 

[danyka-fendyr]

Absence of Good - 10

Chapter 10: 126 Kisses

Alright everybody I’m back! Finals are over and I’m officially free to write as much as I want until I can get a job. Hopefully that will be soon, but it’s not looking great. This chapter things sort of slow down and our heroes get the chance to relax for a minute. I figured they deserved it after their last case. Also this is just really fun for me.

Taglist:  @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli @alwaysadreamingoptimist

AoG Taglist:  @pancakefancake @prettyboyspenerrr @youreasnack @alioop3818 @newtslatte @rathersuspiciousbumblebee @andiebeaword @stalker83005 @lotties-journey-abroad

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings: None! This is all fluff. If you aren’t scared of a little making out, you’re safe here.

“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.” ― Jane Austen

           Trying to decide what your favorite thing about Spencer was was like trying to decide what flavor to pick at a Baskin-Robbins in hell, the options stretching to infinity. His lips, his brain, his hair, his really terrible but also really cute jokes, his hands, his magic tricks. There were a lot of options. There were so many options.

Right now though, the lips were taking it in a landslide.

“Do you really think,” you gasped, “that now is a good time for this?”

Spencer didn’t look up from where he was diligently making his way down your neck, fingers tracing little circles into the space of skin between your blouse and your slacks. You were in a supply closet, which felt very, extremely, incredibly high school, although admittedly you had never actually done anything that edgy in high school. That being said, if you were going to act like high schoolers you thought making out in a library was a much sexier choice and should probably involve fewer mops.

“Can’t wait,” he mumbled, pulling you just that little bit closer to him.

“Can’t wait 30 minutes till we’re off the clock?”

You laughed at him, but he swallowed it with a kiss, making you far too breathless to laugh anymore.

“This is our first full day of work back since the case where I didn’t see you for a full week. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but I forget nothing, and I remember every. Agonizing. Moment.” He punctuated the words with kisses.

“I remember,” you breathed out, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I also remember that despite that, we like our jobs. We would like to keep our jobs. Which is why this is a bad idea.”

You stepped away, disentangling yourself with more restraint than you had probably ever exercised before. 30 minutes. 30 more minutes of paperwork. 30 more minutes of explaining to some desk jockey how to put a man in handcuffs. Then you were free.

You gave him one last kiss, just as a reward for the fact that you were miraculously managing to walk away from this.

“Meet me at the library after work.”

You reasoned you deserved to indulge your childish fantasies if you were going to be a responsible adult right now.

Before he could kiss you again and make you rethink your decision, you slipped out of the supply closet, straightening your shirt as you went. You stopped to check your appearance in the bathroom mirror, touched up your lipstick a little, then went back to work hoping nobody would notice your pupils were still dilated. The only person truly likely to notice that, however, was Spencer, and you didn’t have to worry about him. All you had to worry about were these forms.

The next half hour of your life was grueling. You had been literally tortured before and somehow, this seemed worse than that. You would have said it was impossible for anything to be worse than that, but now you knew better. It was simply improbable.

Finally, it ended. You let Spencer leave first, because clearly you were the one showing restraint today. He booked it out of the building, but you, on the other hand, took your time packing up. Stopped to chat with Emily, figuring she would be a safe bet considering she was either oblivious to your relationship or just so good at hiding her emotions she would never give away knowledge of it. You valued that in her as a friend. Her ability to not call you on your blatant lies when she knew the truth was better kept a secret.

You kept the conversation brief and lighthearted, and soon you were out the door too. You were aware Spencer knew your favorite library because he had confessed to you that the moment he knew he was in love with you was when you told him you even had a favorite library and that it was your happy place. You couldn’t help the fact that not only was it superior to all other libraries, but it was also superior to all other locations in general.

You wasted no time getting inside once you were there, scanning the shelves for him, and…there he was, freaking out some librarians with the speed at which he was reading. Was that the book you thought it was?

“Is that my favorite book?”

Spencer looked up, face forming a smile before his eyes even registered that it was you who had approached him.

“Yeah. You mentioned you liked it so I thought I should read it.”

“I think you’re concerning the librarians, my love. You’re going to put them out of a job.”

He blushed, and you assumed he was feigning modesty, but he quickly made the real reason for his sudden intense interest in the same page clear.

“My love?” His voice cracked softly. “We use nicknames now?”

Your face turned shades to match his. “Only if you want to.”

Wow, the books were fascinating. In fact, you could stare at them all day. Just look at bindings and never move or speak again ever for the rest of your life.

“Yeah, I do. I think it’s cute. Sweetheart.”

You stared down at your shoes, toes curling inside of them. Something about the way he said it made you go all melty inside. You definitely liked that.

“Okay, well,” you said, clearing your throat. “Considering you’re about 75% of the way through the greatest novel of all time, I have to ask. What do you think?”

“Well, I’ll admit it’s not my usual taste, but the author is certainly talented. I mean, the parallelism between certain characters, the perfect use of narrative tension, it’s all very well done. You have excellent taste.”

“And you’re not just lying because you like making out with me?” You teased.

“Well I do like making out with you.” Spencer grinned slyly. “But no. I never lie about books. Literature is sacred.”

“Agreed.” You nodded.

“That being said, I hardly think this counts as a holy place,” Spencer said, his voice dipping lower so that only you could hear, “so I think we can defile it guilt free.”

You were about to agree when you caught sight of the new arrivals shelf over his shoulder.

“Oh my gosh I’ve been trying to get my hands on that forever but I was too cheap to buy it!”

You shove past him, disregarding any apologies that might have been necessary. Not that he would require them. He had been ignoring you for books for the past week. He totally owed you.

“Can I read it first?” He asked, just as fascinated.

“Absolutely not.”

“But I’ll read it faster!”

“You’re not even done with the book you have now, slowpoke. Catch up with the big kids then you can read.”

You snatched the book of the shelf, holding it close to your chest. Spencer, meanwhile, appeared to have finished the book. You really hated him sometimes.

“Done. Now can I read it first?” He raised an eyebrow at you in challenge.

“Fine. But you owe me 126 kisses.”

“I’ll remember that.”

You snorted, not taking him literally as he took the book out of your hands and you paused to admire the architecture. Part of the reason this library was your favorite was that it was multiple stories. Books upon books not only stacked over shelves but over floors of a building. Multiple stories in multiple stories, if you wanted to be witty about it. The large glass windows in the front allowed plenty of light in, and you liked to bathe in sun pools while curled up with your books. You never liked to just be in and out of a library. One had to take time to bask in a library, to appreciate its unique atmosphere, to perhaps soak up the knowledge of its books through osmosis. Libraries were both underappreciated and important.

“Can you walk and read at the same time?” You asked.

“Of course I can, what kind of question is that?”

“Then follow me. I’m taking you to my favorite reading nook.”

You wound up the stairs, Spencer in tow, hardly glancing up from the book to see where he was going. You wondered if his genius brain came with hyperdeveloped peripheral vision.

The sun dappled blue carpet of the steps lead you to the second floor, coming to a spiraling stop across the room from your favorite spot. You made a bee line for it, sinking down into the plush curve of the couch. It wasn’t particularly busy on this floor of the library at this time of night, since this was where they kept most of the more obscure research literature. This floor was more geared towards the serious scholars, while the first floor was designed for university students and casual readers. You enjoyed all three categories of reading, yet another reason this location was so optimal.

“C’mon.”

You gestured for Spencer to join you, and he easily flopped down next to you, leaning into your side. He looped an arm around you, passing you the book with his free hand.

“Done?” You asked.

“Done,” he confirmed. “It’s kind of dead in here, isn’t it?”

“This is their slow day. We’re almost guaranteed not to be interrupted up here right now. Part of why I like it. I like to read in peace. There’s probably some research papers up here you’d like.”

You idly flipped open the pages of the book, ready to relax and read for an hour or two. Spencer had other ideas though.

“Guaranteed not to be interrupted, huh?” He said, nose slipping into your hair as he whispered the words low in your ear.

“Baby, I’m trying to read,” you whined.

That was the wrong choice of words. His hand slipped from your shoulder to your waist, pivoting you to face him as his fingers dug into the soft flesh that curved over your obliques.

“Have I mentioned that I really love the nicknames?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer before his mouth was on yours, and you were abruptly incapable of rational thought. No unsubs, no paper filing, and certainly no books. The room could have been on fire and you probably wouldn’t have noticed seeing as it already felt like you were on fire with the warm skim of his hands against your skin.

“Maybe I should have just taken you home,” he said, already a little breathless. “As nice as this couch is, yours is more comfortable, and you look very good in a t-shirt.”

“And jeans?”

A mindless comment, a meaningless clarification as your head spun.

“No. No jeans.”

He went back to your throat, which seemed to be his favorite spot. You inhaled sharply, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Besides, I still owe you 126 kisses.” You felt him smile into your skin saying it.

Oh, he was enjoying himself entirely too much.

Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “Yes, please.”

You heard him muttering under his breath as he kissed your neck, and your brows furrowed in confusion. After a moment, you realized. He was counting. You would have laughed if it wasn’t actually a little bit sexy.

Were you actually going to do this? Were you seriously making out with your boyfriend in a library? A public library, no less? The answer was no, and not because you didn’t want to.

A librarian hovered one shelf away, looking like she really didn’t want to have to come interrupt you but would if you continued. You sighed, pulling away from Spencer.

“I was wrong earlier. We are officially being interrupted. Let’s leave before we terrorize the poor librarians any further, shall we?”

You couldn’t hide your slight disappointment. It had been a long day and you deserved 126 kisses from your boyfriend. Alas, it was not to be.

Spencer was undaunted. “Guess this means I get to take you back to your place.”

“Guess it does,” you said, leading the charge back downstairs.

You ran your library card, checking out the book, before breezing out the door. You knew Spencer had walked here just like you knew he typically took the subway to work. Just as well. Meant you wouldn’t have to be separated on the drive back to your house.

“By the way, I’m investing in some t-shirts for you,” you said as you climbed into the driver’s side of your car.

He followed, sitting passenger side.

“Is there something wrong with my shirts?” Spencer frowned slightly.

“No, of course not. I love the way you dress. However, I want some oversized t-shirts.”

“I’m not following,” he said.

“It’s simple. I buy you t-shirts, let you keep them for like, a month, and then gradually steal them all from you.”

He laughed. “Why not just buy yourself t-shirts that are too big?”

“Because then they won’t smell like you.”

“I would say I’m not sure I fully understand you but actually I’ve been realizing since we got back that I’m sort of obsessed with the smell of your perfume. It would kind of linger in the air after you dropped off my coffees on that last case and that alone could keep me going for hours.”

“Really?” You kept your eyes on the road, diligently avoiding eye contact, suddenly shy.

“Really. You smell so good, all the time. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well I shower on a regular basis, just for a starting point,” you teased.

“Did you know that some experts say you actually shouldn’t shower every day? Apparently occasionally taking a break allows your skin to rebuild the natural oils it needs to be healthy. So while it doesn’t hurt you to shower every day, it can also be beneficial to skip sometimes.”

“I’m making a mental note of that for our next case. ‘Unsub has read same studies Spencer has. Took them too far.’”

You were rewarded with another of his laughs just as you pulled into your driveway. You took a moment to appreciate it, the sound light and happy. It was nice to hear him so relaxed after the case you had just gotten off. You were quickly overcome by the urge to kiss him.

He lead you inside, the two of you practically tripping over each other in your haste. You had never unlocked a door so fast a day before in your life.

You kicked off your shoes in the hallway, and Spencer followed suit, mismatched socks making an endearing appearance.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, heading in the direction of your bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“To change into a t-shirt. And no pants.”

Spencer smiled to himself, settling down on your couch, fully prepared to wait as long as it took. He had 114 kisses to bestow upon you in a t-shirt. A t-shirt, and no pants.

 “Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”

― Robert A. Heinlein

[writing-the-end]

WS Chapter 38: Red Raid

Previous Chapter

Masterpost

I love this chapter, and you’re all gonna hate me after this. I promise, things are better than they seem- i mean, we still have more than twenty chapters to go!

Red Belongs to @theguardiansofredland

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block 

Warning: This chapter contains violence, battle scene, mentions of blood, and character death 

Avon cuts Xisuma free of the vines, letting his elytra open up so he can keep some dignity with landing. Keralis and the other hermits quickly explain why they’re at his base, as well as who the strangers are. 

“I knew that portal was tampering with world magic. At the time I was just happy to think that Doc might become another wizard with me. I could always use a helping hand breaking the natural laws.” Xisuma picks some dirt from his helmet, the yellow mask mimicking that of a bee. Antennae flick dirt away, moving independently of the wind billowing from the savanna. “I just can’t believe it still works. That must be one strong portal.” 

“You know Doc. When he does something, he does something right. GOAT, and all that.” Scar waves his hands flippantly. 

“But I assume you three aren’t really interested in the mechanics of world hoppin’, are ya?” X sighs, looking at the wanderers. The group follows him down the white walkway, entering into a hexagonal building. Red gasps, eyes widening to see that it’s filled with bees, bumbling around busily with butts full of pollen. X offers his visitors some tea- of course with lots of honey. 

“We wanted to ask if you knew anything about someone who attacked us.” Avon states, sipping on the warm drink. It’s a comforting taste, practically healing her from inside out. 

“They came through a nether portal. His hair was like fire, flickering and moving like flames. Anywhere he walked, things would smolder or catch fire. And we always smelled brimstone when things happened.” Ecto recounts, pouring her tea out. She’s focused on the mission right now. 

“That definitely sounds like something from the nether, though...I’ll say I’m thoroughly stumped. I’ve been to a lot of worlds, and never heard of these...these hellspawns you’re talking about.” Xisuma shrugs. “A lot of worlds have something unique, or something that is only shared between a few other worlds. Take these bees for example. In the last world we called home, we didn’t have the little buggers.” 

“Do you think this is something only our world has?” Red questions. “Because he...he looked a bit like me. Short, with similar face structure. But completely different.” 

Xisuma hums. “Y’know, the nether is an unusual place. It’s smaller than our world, a parallel dimension to the Overworld. Distance works different there, as does time. It’s a hellscape, but a mimicry of this dimension. Perhaps in mimicking the Overworld, it also mimics the people that call it home.” 

“This is hurting my brain.” Grian whispers, and all three Wanderers nod in agreement. 

“Sheshwamey, didn't Tango do a lot of work in the nether? Didn’t he spend a lot of time there?" Keralis questions. 

“Ah, that’s right. His base a few worlds back was nether inspired. He knows a lot about the nether. ” Xisuma sets down his cup, eyes blinking rapidly as he begins to piece things together. He stands up, so abrupt that it knocks over his chair and spills his tea. “We have to go talk to Tango. Right now. To the Nether portal!” 

The hermits jump to their feet, Mumbo, Grian, and Stress a lot more careful with their tea than the others. Red and Ecto are also quick to stand, following Xisuma up the vines of a tree. But Avon hangs back, nervous. They’re really going to the nether? After just talking about a danger that could be lurking among it? She’s from the End, the exact opposite place. She hates quartz because it’s from the nether, it’s all unnatural for her. It’s only with Ecto and Red’s help are they able to drag Avon into the hell dimension. 

But luckily for Avon, they aren’t really in the nether. They’re atop of it. The hermits step out calmly, searching the radiating lines of carpet, dirt, and glass for Tango’s path. All across the roof of the nether, in the liminal space between dimensions. The eternal heat of hell below their feet still percolates through the bedrock, causing the group to sweat as they walk on the flat surface. But Avon would rather deal with the inferno than all the monsters that call hell home. 

“How’d you guys do this?” Ecto questions, impressed by the unusual form of transportation. She gazes down a small hole in the roof, the bedrock blown apart. Blast marks still mar the grey material. She was sure that bedrock was unbreakable. And yet these hermits manage to do it. Magic? Science? 

“Get high enough into the sky, and you end up standing on the roof of the nether.” Mumbo states.

“I think it was Impulse that was the first to pioneer this in the new world, but I could be wrong.” Iskall pulls on the collar of his hoodie, starting to sweat against the rising heat. 

“Here we go. If this ain’t Tango’s, then it’s definitely one of the other members of ZIT. Either way, we’ll be close enough.” Xisuma motions, holding his hand into the rift like he’s holding open the door. 

“Such a gentleman.” Stress chuckles, hopping into the open portal. She’s quick to escape the confines of the frame, because a minute later it’s packed full of the boys. Swearing and struggling to all get through at once, they are pushed out when the wanderers come crashing in. Stress was starting to wonder if the teleporting would mix bodies at that point. 

The arguing pauses only when a low bugle mutes their voices. “Does...does Tango have a raid farm?” 

“He wouldn’t have one so close to his iron farm, would he?” Iskall rubs his head, having knocked it against Grian’s thick skull. 

Rockets shoot into the sky, the silhouette of a flying person blasting towards space before leveling out. Red eyes, framed by a mess of fiery hair. “Hey! You guys come to join the party?” 

“Tango! We were coming here to ask questions...but it seems you’re busy!” Xisuma calls, already pulling out his sword and strapping on armor. 

“It’s nothing I can’t- gah!” Tango flutters as a crossbow bolt tears a hole through his elytra, grounding him among more than a dozen pillagers. High up, the hermits and wanderers watch as the raid party swarms towards Tango.

Grian is the first to leap from the platform. “I call the evokers!” 

Everyone else jumps after, even Ecto. Despite being wingless, she manages to survive the fall. And that leaves Red at the top, biting her nails as the battle rages beneath her. She shrugs off her backpack, leaving it at the entrance of the portal. Leaving Fred safe from harm. She’s always stayed far away from pillagers. Most creatures that live in the overworld want no quarrel, even creepers just want to be left alone most of the time.

But not pillagers. They thrive off of the pain of others. Evoker magic is a dark art, relying on the death of others to fuel their spells. Selene told Red that the scholar she learned magic from was raided by pillagers. Any spellbook that they deemed worthy was stolen back to their mansion. The rest was burned. 

Red’s instincts say to stay far away from the raid below, to let the warriors take care of the swarm of illagers. To stay out of their way, out of trouble. But Red grimaces as Ecto barely escapes the fangs, snapping from the ground and ripping at her scarf. He needs to get into the fight, to be helpful. To not be useless. He may not be able to fight, but maybe he can help with distracting the attackers, or bring potions between those that need it. Even Scar, the worst hermit combatant, is in the midst of aiding Tango with ravager wrangling. He should help. 

Avon throws her trident into the tough hide of a ravager, ducking under the iron hatchet swinging for her neck. She kicks the vindicator into Ecto’s awaiting blade. The two may bicker and train by fighting each other, but when it comes to being on the same side they are a masterful team. While Avon waits for her trident to return to her hand, Ecto glances across the battle. “Avon! Red’s falling!” 

At the mere mention of their friend, Avon takes to the sky. Red’s tucked into a small ball, protecting his head from the ground below. The two let out a  simultaneous groan as they collide, Avon’s fingers grabbing onto Red’s vest and landing them both on the ground. “What are you doing?”

“I came to help! Maybe I can kite the pillagers into traps? Or hand out potions and food?” Red winces as Avon raises her wings like a curtain, stopping vex from reaching Red. Iskall leaps from a tree, spearing three of the summoned spirits with a single arrow. 

“You don’t even have a weapon! What if they attack you?” Ecto hisses, retreating behind Avon’s wings. Avon turns, finally grabbing her trident only to throw it back into the mix. Hopefully, it will hit a few raiders on the way out as well as the way back. 

“I’m small! I’ll be fine.” Red squeeze between Ecto and Avon, charging into battle with an armful of food stolen from Mumbo’s farms. She slips between the legs of a ravager and the flanks of vindicators, tossing the heated spuds to the hermits in battle. She yelps as an axe comes terrifyingly close to hitting her, but manages to dodge away with less than a scratch. 

Ecto and Avon can only continue to battle, and keep watch of their friend. Try to stay as close as possible in case Red needs help. But he’s holding his own. His small stature is just under axe swinging height, and he’s creative enough to find passages through the battle no one else would think of. 

“Scar! Take some potions!” Red croons, holding up a bottle of regeneration swiped from Mumbo’s base. 

“Thanks, little fish!” Scar chuckles, removing the stopper and chugging the ambrosia. “Whoa, watch out!” Scar shoots an arrow, downing a vex from hurting Red. He’s not about to let them get a bad rep among any more of his friends. 

Red smiles, and scampers away. Towards Keralis, holding his own against not one but two ravagers. For such a sweet, shocked face, he’s quite the warrior when he wants to be. Red’s path becomes blocked, grey skin and severe vest of a vindicator between her and her friends. The malicious face only grins at the sight of an easy kill. He laughs, and raises his axe to kill the kipling. 

“Red! No!” Ecto screams, running down a pillager and stumbling through the crowd of fighters. One moment, she sees the glimmer of the sunlight against the iron blade. Her vision is blocked by a ravager, chasing after Tango as he kites it towards a mine trap. And when she looks again, the axe has fallen. 

The hatchet lays useless in the grass, metal dirty but not bloody. The vindicator’s arm is still raised, but he’s frozen. Quite literally. Across the field, water has solidified into ice, capturing a number of illagers within it’s cold grasp. And completely encasing the one about to kill Red. Relief floods across Ecto, and Avon above banks to congratulate Red. For standing up for himself.

Red rises to his feet, brushing off the dirt on his trousers. “I told you I could handle on my-”

The world stops with Red’s voice. The sounds of battle die back for all the wanderers, the only ones who see the sudden charge. Across the plain, Ecto and Avon can hear the ragged breath escape Red’s lips. From over Red’s shoulder, a pillager lowers his crossbow, the cables still humming with release. 

Red’s face doesn’t quite register what she feels. Eyes gaze across the battlefield, to her friends. Hurt, but standing. She sinks to her knees, gasping for a breath but still strung with shock. A blank face, even as a shaking hand reaches up to grasp the tip of the bolt. Red finally looks down, seeing the metal tip protruding from her chest. A perfect hit, blood blossoming like a poppy across her vest. He can taste metal in his mouth again, lips turning a new shade with each breath out. The color of Red’s name. 

Avon and Ecto scramble to reach Red, anything to cross the distance between them and their friend. But no matter what they do, no matter how fast they reach him. It’s already too late. Red is gone by the time Avon crashes into the ground. Gone from life. 

And gone from the battle. All that’s left is the bolt, bloody and broken.

[redbone135]

Fake Dating AU

(I’m posting this here for Swanfire week because it bothers me to have unfinished fics on my AO3 account. It’s the set-up for a fake dating AU that I’m fairly certain will never actually get written. Strap in, it’s a long post.)

“Wait in the car,” Rumple hissed as sheriff Humbert let go of Neal’s shoulder with a resigned shake of his head, disappearing into his back office and leaving the front desk clerk to deal with this mess. The recurring shenanigans of Neal Gold had become way below his pay-grade.

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Neal insisted with a pout.

“I said. Wait. In. The. Car!” His father managed to get out through gritted teeth.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Neal shouted, kicking at the front desk as he passed, causing a heap of papers to fall over onto the floor. 

“CAR!”

“FINE!”

“Can I see his emergency contact form,” Rumple asked with a grimace, “I’d like to add Milah Cassidy to it - that’s Cassidy with two Ss and an I. If you could give her a call first next time-”

“You know,” the front desk woman - who the Gold family was on quite intimate terms with at this point - began while eyeing her stack of toppled papers on the floor, “There’s a juvenile support group for young offenders. Their rehabilitation program is said to work wonders.”

“I’m not an ‘offender’!” they heard Neal shout from the front entryway of the county sheriff’s office before slamming the door behind him. 

Rumple shook his head. His son would never agree to that. And honestly, he knew where Neal got it from. He wouldn’t want to sit in a room with a bunch of other bad decision makers and share stories of his failure while people plied him with cliche platitudes, assuring him he was still, deep down, a good person. He waved the flier away politely.

“We don’t need that.”

She shrugged, “You know, you’re going to run out of bail money eventually, right?”

“Bail money only runs out when he does.”

They both cast a thoughtful glance back to the front window, Neal visibly sulking in the passenger seat of his dad’s car. He’d somehow managed to find a sharpie in the immaculately clean car and was adding to the permanent collection of his ‘artwork’ on the car’s dashboard.

The front desk clerk raised an eyebrow.

“Ok, fine, give me the flier,” Rumple sighed.

*

Rumple had been right, Neal did not want to go to the group meetings. In fact, he had been so vehemently opposed that he had threatened to pack his bags and run away, and that had been the end of that conversation. So they hadn’t talked about it, or his community service, or the fact that he hadn’t seemed to learn his lesson at all. In fact, his family had stayed suspiciously quiet about it up until the day they had decided to all go out for a family lunch at Granny’s diner and Belle’s minivan had pulled up to a stop in front of the little church advertised on the flier. And even though Neal begged them to talk about it then, they hadn’t had much in the way of a discussion as his little brother undid his seatbelt, and his stepsister pushed him out of the car, slamming the door behind him, while his father waved spitefully and Belle promised they’d be back to pick him up in an hour. 

And he had never planned on walking into that church, he’d hitchhike to his mom’s and it would serve them right, but just in that moment a woman had walked by with a box of doughnuts and they had smelled really, really good. So maybe he had time to grab a snack before he booked it to the relative freedom of the Cassidy-Jones houseboat. 

Yes, the plan had been simple. Get a free cup of coffee and doughnut, sneak out the back before anyone noticed, get to his mom’s, and then when stepdad started to irk him - probably around day three - he’d come back to his dad’s and they would have all been so worried about him there would be no more talk about him having to go to these stupid meetings. 

Flawless plan.

And then he saw her.

She was slouched over in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, flanked on either side by two other girls that looked about as terrifying as Neal’s stepsister, picking at the loose threads in a hole in her leggings. She had thick, black-rimmed glasses that made her bright blue eyes look seductively large, and red lipstick that wasn’t her shade but definitely proved her point. 

And a homemade tattoo on her wrist. Intriguing. Neal had done enough homemade tattoos on his friends to recognize talent. His mind began to swim with daydreams of the two of them, stretched out across his bed with a bottle of India ink between them as he added intricate details to the daisy, transforming it into a work of art befitting the masterpiece of a canvas it had been painted on.

New plan.

So he stayed for the meeting, taking carefully timed sips of coffee so that he wouldn’t have to share anything with the group. She didn’t share either, he noticed. Perfect. She also didn’t want to be here.

So he waited for her by the snack table afterwards, watching her put extra doughnuts wrapped in napkins into her purse - like anyone would have cared if she’d just taken the whole box. 

“Neal Cassidy,” he said, extending his hand and startling her into jumping and dropping the doughnut she was holding.

She glared. “You don’t need to know my name.”

“I like your tattoo,” he offered, turning to follow her as she walked away toward the front door. “I have one myself, want to see it?”

“Not if it involves you taking off any articles of clothing,” she said, offering him a smug grin.

“Maybe later then,” he said, speeding up his pace to step in front of her and stop cold, blocking the only door, much to her obvious annoyance. “So, why are you here?”

“Stole a car.”

“Wow! Same, we’re twins!” he exclaimed with a grin, and he thought if he wasn’t mistaken he saw the tiniest hint of a grin on her face. “So why’d you do it?”

“Why did you?” she shot back a little too aggressively.

“My mommy didn’t love me enough,” he laughed, “It’s this whole tragic backstory thing, if only I’d had someone to be proud of me, maybe then I wouldn’t be living this life of petty juvenile crime. I was just one caring parent away from being a scholar and a gentleman. You?”

She definitely chuckled at that, her shoulders letting go of some of the tension as she placed a hand on her hips and shot back with equal glibness, “No excuse. I just enjoy pure, mindless vandalism.”

That was kinda hot.

“Really?” he asked, “No tragic backstory? No evil step mom, followed by one who is way too young for your dad? No little half-sibling that gets all the attention and an aggressive step sister who is just staying with you until her mom gets out of jail? No creepy step dad who hits on your friends and takes money out of your wallet when you’re not looking?”

“Nope. My parents are perfect.”

And the way she said the word perfect told Neal everything he needed to know about her family. There was her reason, beyond enjoying the random chaos of destruction, the slight inflection on the word perfect was her reason. And so Neal adjusted his plan slightly.

“Oh, wow. Well you want any of those things? You can have mine, I wouldn't mind sharing.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks,” she laughed, pushing him lightly out of the way to walk to the church parking lot where a lot of the other teens were climbing into family cars. Of course his family wasn’t here yet. 

“Listen, Anna,” he said, “I know you don’t want to be here. Neither do I. What if there was a way we could help each other with that?”

“It’s Emma,” she corrected before realizing the trap she had fallen into. “And if you’re suggesting some sort of murder-suicide pact then you should know I’m already pretty close to murdering the creepy stalker who just tricked me into giving him my name.”

He grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets as he waited for her to finish surveying the parking lot. Her parents weren’t here, either. What a shame.

“Listen, you need someone to help you convince your parents you’re rehabilitated. It’s not a question. With your attitude, they aren’t gonna buy it without some outside assurance. I’d be excellent at that. What says ‘walking the straight and narrow’ better than a polite boyfriend who also happens to be really good and drawing up fake reports cards and providing alibis. I swear, I’ll have you out of this thing in under a month.”

She turned to look at him skeptically, “You think you can charm my parents? My mom literally calls my dad Prince Charming and you think you can charm them?”

“I know I can.”

She mulled it over, not seeming to hate the idea as he had anticipated. 

“And in exchange? I’m what? The sweet girl next door in a floral sundress who promises your parents she’ll take you to church and make you normal again?”

“Nah. Dad’s on his third wife and mom lives on a boat. They have no idea what normal even looks like. No, I want you to convince them this whole group thing is hurting more than it’s helping. And you look like exactly the kind of girl who can scare the daylights out of my dad. Tell me, how good are you at faking a pregnancy scare?”

“Who’s faking?” she laughed, rubbing her stomach sarcastically.

“Perfect!” he ginned, pulling a pen out of his bag and scribbling his number on a napkin for her. “I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow - wouldn’t want to have you out past dark. Oh, and one more thing, when you finally do meet my dad, I need you to mention how cute it is that he and my stepmom have matching British accents. That will make more sense when you meet them.”

“Goodbye, fake boyfriend!” she waved, as a rusty blue pick-up pulled into the parking lot, jogging over to climb into the cab.

Neal waited another thirty minutes for his family to arrive.

“How was your meeting?” Belle asked over her shoulder as Neal shoved Regina out of the way to get to the back seat. 

“Start any fights yet?” Regina asked, reaching into the back to punch him in the knee, “Light any fires? Get anyone pregnant?”

“Regina!” Belle scolded, “Don’t talk to your brother like that.”

“Step brother!” She and Neal chimed as one.

“And in the spirit of fairness, dearie,” Rumple mumbled from the passenger seat, “Those are all very good questions.”

Neal hoped Emma was as great as acting as he was. Because if his family thought he was trouble now, it was about to get a lot worse.