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demivampirew · 4 years ago

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I would give up everything for you.

A Charles Brandon x Mary Tudor (written as reader) (Henry’s sister) one shot

You can find more of my writings in the Masterlist

Warnings: Death, heartbreak, crying, unwanted arranged marriage (and talking about being consummated).

Summary: Shortly after becoming a widow, Henry summons you back to England for he has arranged a new marriage for you.

A/N (Important to understand the story): For those who don’t know, in the show they’d merged both Henry’s sisters into one: Margaret. In reality, he had two sisters, the one mentioned who ended up marrying the King of Scotland, James IV, becoming the Queen consort of said country (and after the death of her husband, Queen regent in name of her son for two years). Mary, the other sister, was married to the King of France, Louis XII for a few months, until his death and soon he was succeeded by his son-in-law Francis I -the King of France from the show, and his daughter Claude as Queen Consort- she couldn’t reign for the law forbid a woman to rule the country back at that time. Shortly after the death of the King, Charles was in charge of bringing Mary safe back to England, but in reality that was a secret plan for them to marry in secret in France, as Mary confessed to King Francis. It isn’t known when and how exactly they fell in love but it surely was before her marriage to the late King of France. They married in secret but then they had a public wedding because they suspected Mary to be pregnant and they wanted their kid to be legitimate.

For my story, I mixed a bit of the show’s plot with actual events. The main characters are the same from the show, except from Mary, written from a perspective of reader, who wasn’t on the show (Margaret’s story in this one-shot is the same from history and not the one from the series). I used the arranged marriage with the King of Portugal’s plot from drama purposes (this never happened in reality, because like I’ve said, Mary married Charles before going back to London, and she had married the King of France with the promise that she would marry who she wanted after that or she would become a nun - which Henry did not want because he would lose the Dowager’s money if she did that. -although in this story she doesn’t threaten him with becoming a nun.)

Disclaimer: English isn’t my first language and write in another period of time can be a bit difficult. I tried my best, so I apologize if I made mistakes.

Tag list: @lunedelorient @henrythickcavill @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @mary-ann84 @desperate-and-broken @peakygroupie @summersong69 @ivvitm1109 @madbaddic7ed @iloveyouyen @the-soot-sprite @hell1129-blog @whyyoudothistomecavill @thetaoofzoe @thereisa8ella

"The Queen of France, Your Majesty" announced one of the guards as you enter the room. Henry was sitting on the throne. There were a few guards there as well as Charles and William Compton, who were standing next to the door. - Dear sister! - your brother exclaimed as he stood up and approached you, grabbing your arms and placing a kiss on your cheek. - My poor sister, I'm terribly sorry for the lost of your dear husband.- "dear husband"? It felt as if he was mocking you, after all the only reason you married the late King of France, Louis XII was because he forced you to for that marriage forced an alliance between the two countries.

Being married to an old man was not a pretty thing. Being forced to consummate that marriage and with a crowd of people to witness it. Luckily, it didn't last for long because not long after your coronation as the new Queen, on Christmas' eve your husband died for an illness. After his death, his son-in-law, Francis I, inherit the throne with his daughter, Claude as Queen Consort. Even though your marriage was short, you were a loved Queen and you could have stayed in France if you desire it, but your brother had other plans for you. For you to agree to marry the late French King, he promised you that you were going to be able to marry whom you choose after his death, but sadly for you, he had no plans to keep his word. He ordered the Duke of Suffolk to escort you safely back to England. Charles was a loyal friend to Henry, but you succeeded to confess your brother's intentions for your return to England - you knew that if he wanted you back so quickly was not because he missed his beloved sister, but because there was something he needed from you. "He wants you to marry the King of Portugal" he confessed finally succumbing to pressure. After finding out that your worse nightmare was a reality, you ordered everyone on the ship to leave you alone and you cried on the way back.

- As sorry as I am for your loss, I must admit sister that I would need you to put aside your grief and take the King of Portugal as your new husband. With the rise of power of the Holy Roman Emperor, we need new alliances and he is more than pleased to become out ally if you marry him. He's seen your portrait and is enchanted by your beauty.- he informed you with a smirk. You remained silent and made no gestures. - So, my dear sister, would you consent to marry the King? - My consent is not needed, Your Majesty, for the King always does what he wants.- you finally said, your voice emotionless. There he was, your older brother. He could be charming for a moment and a second later be the devil himself if you crossed him. He didn't like when anyone defied him, especially women. His face showed no signs of rejoicing anymore, just contained anger. - We are at war, my dear sister.- he explained angrily. - We could face an invasion from Spain and if that would happen, we will need soldiers and money and he could provide that to us. - You are at war, brother. This is all because of you. If the Holy Roman Emperor is planning to attack England, it is because you broke your promise, like you always do, and set aside his aunt, humiliating her all. And that's because you had fallen in love with another woman. In your eyes, dear brother, you are the only one allowed to marry for love and you do not care who has to pay for your desires.- you replied bitterly. -If you want me to marry that old man, breaking the promise you once made me, at least you could have avoided me the displeasure of seeing your face and should have asked the Duke of Suffolk to escort me directly to Portugal since you know that no matter what are my choices, at the end I must be a loyal subject and obey you or I'll suffer the traitor's faith.

His hands were closed forming fists; he was containing his rage. If there was something Henry hated more than anything else was being defied. If it was not for the fact that he needed your Queen Dowager's money and the perks that your new marriage would bring to him, he would have you banned from court.

- Charles, take her to her chambers immediately.- he ordered and walked away, returning to his throne.

You bowed to him and allowed Charles to escort you back to your bedchambers. Once in the room, he closed the door to be sure no one would hear you speak.

- The Queen would be wise not to cross her brother.- he advised you. He spoke softly, surely it was because he did not want to be heard, but there was another thing in his voice: worry. - Why not?- you asked; it was a sarcastic question, you knew exactly why you should no speak to Henry that way for he was a King before your blood. - He could vanish you from court or worse.- he explained. - Great! I would rather be banned from court or dying to have to marry another old King.- you admitted, sighing bitterly. - You should not say that Your Majesty.- he pleaded. - Charles, would you stop calling me Your Majesty? I have known you my entire life. I'm still the same Mary I have always been, just less trusting and much more unhappy.- you confessed. - But now you are the King of France, Your Majesty. I should treat you with nothing but the proper respect. - I am Queen Dowager, I don't have the same importance that an actual queen has. - You are soon to be Queen again.- he reminded you and a tear fell from your eye; you wiped it away quickly. He stared at you with sadness on his eyes. He was probably hurt that you had to go through that again. - I rather die.- you repeated and look to the floor -You are lucky Charles, you could marry whom you choose.- you sighed. - I cannot.- he said with sadness. - Who is that you want and can't have, Charles? -you asked sarcastically.

The Duke of Suffolk looked you directly into your eyes, giving you the answer to your question without even saying a word.

Before leaving England, the two of you were close. He was this ladies' man and you were the King's little sister, but you started to see him differently in the year previous to your marriage. He was sweet, funny and protective. It was clear that you were not a just his friend's sister anymore, but a smart, funny and delightful woman. You had long talks while you played with carts and spent a lot of time together before your departure.

Charles excused himself and was about to leave. You called his name and when he turned to face you, you ran into his arms and kissed him. He pulled you closer to him as he stopped fighting his conscience. He probably felt that it was wrong, but he couldn't keep denying his feelings. After the long and awaited kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours and sighed.

- Escape with me.- you pleaded. - What? -he asked confused. - We could go to France. Francis is not a fan of my brother and he had nothing but sweet thoughts about me. He will be delighted to have me back there and surely he will support us and protect us if Henry decides to seek vengeance. - you assured him.- Please, Charles. - I... I cannot do that, I am sorry.- he said avoiding to look at you. - I will not betray my King. - Is it because he is your childhood friend or because you do not want to lose your lands and titles, Duke of Suffolk? - you questioned bitterly. He did not say a word, but it was not necessary; his shameful look said it all. Your poor heart broke into a million pieces. Not only you would have to marry an old man once more, but the man you loved preferred his nobility and money over you and your happiness. No matter what the future had set for you, it surely would not be a happy one.

A month passed before you were set to leave for Portugal. As you demanded, Charles stood away from you. The days passed and all you could do was crying about your cruel destiny. If at least you could have the luck that your sister Margaret had of marrying a young King whom she fell in love with, but no, that was not your fate. You were meant to be unhappy for the rest of your days.

Charles' eyes met yours. You could feel his pain but you could not be sorry for him, after all, he could have had you if he would have been brave enough to fight for you and, surely soon he would forget all about you and find solace in another woman's arms while you had to be with a man much older than you whom you didn't know. You quickly look to other side making sure he noticed that you were ignoring him and stood there, waiting in the room full of people for your brother to show up to say goodbye.

Henry appeared shortly with Cardinal Wolsey by his side. He approached you a kissed you " My dear sister. Fare you well on your journey. Remember the King of Portugal, your future husband, loves you and respects you. You must love him in return." - he said faking affection when in reality it was a command and a warning. He looked into your shiny, watery eyes but that didn't seem to have any effects on him. After crossing him the day of your return to England, he must be more than happy to see you gone.

The King was about to leave the place when the Duke of Suffolk called his attention.

- Your Majesty, I would like to have a word" - Charles pleaded. Henry looked at him with confusion but gestured him to speak. He walked a few steps forward and got on his knee in front of his best friend. - My heart forces me to beg you to save your sister from this marriage for that would make her unhappy.- he said firmly. There were gasps among the people present. You were breathless and your heart was beating an at exhilarating speed. Henry stared at him, his eyes showed both shock and anger. - As a sign of gratitude for your kindness towards the Queen of France, I will resign to my title, renounced to my lands and accept to be banned from court and any other punishment Your Grace sees suitable for my outrageous request.

For the first time since your mother's death, you saw tears fell from your brother's eyes. It didn't come as such as a surprise to you, you might be his sister by blood, but Charles was his brother by choice; they grew up together and he was his most faithful companion and now he put him in a position Henry must have surely hated. If he agreed to let you escape from this marriage, he would have to punish Charles from defying him in front of people from court. If he rejected his plead, people would know that he forced you into a marriage you didn't want to and he would further loss the affection of his subjects, who were already unhappy about his decision of leaving the beloved Queen Catherine for Anne Boleyn. Whatever decision Harry took, surely it would not have a happy ending for Charles. You knew you were right at the moment your brother stormed out of the room without saying a word.

Anthony Knivert, one of your brother's closest friends, walked you back to your chambers after Cardinal Wolsey ordered him to do so. The trip to Portugal has been postponed until after the King came with a resolution about the matter. As impossible as it seemed, you were even more heartbroken than before. There was no way Charles could cross your brother like that and no get punished and all because of your fault. If you just accepted your destiny quietly and had not made him feel guilty for choosing lands and his noble title over you, this would not have happened. Now, because of your stubbornness, he could face death.

It was around midnight when you heard someone knocking at your door. After permitting to enter your bedchambers, Charles walked in. You got up quickly from your bed and ran into him. He hugged you tightly for a moment and then softly pressed his head against yours. You could feel his warm breath. His hands grabbing your face provoked you chills. - Charles, you should not have done that.- you regretted. - I should have done it before, but it is ok. I would do it again if necessary.- he assured you and tears rolled down your cheeks. His thumbs clean the tears and then he kissed you. - You are not only the Queen Dowager of France but also the Queen of my heart, Mary.- he confessed. You smiled at him and your lips met his again.

After a knock, the door opened and Will Compton warned Charles to hurry for someone was coming. He kissed you once more and disappeared.

The King summoned you a few days after. There were some noble people present, Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk among others. Charles was already there waiting. About half an hour later Henry appeared with Wolsey and sat on the throne. He remained silent for a moment, as he inspected you. He knew; he knew his friend loved you and his love was reciprocated.

- Dear sister, I would like to apologize to you, for I did not know you were unhappy with the marriage proposal.- he said with conviction as if that would make it true- I desire nothing more than happiness for you, my beloved Mary. So I have decided that it should be you the one to decide who your future husband will be. You have my word and my blessing. Of course, he would make it seem as if you pact before marrying King Louis XII was his idea, but you did not care, as long as he granted you that you were not mad about him credit it to himself. - As for Your Grace.- he said looking at Charles- Your title and lands were given to you as a reward for bravely fighting by my side to defend your country and should remain at your disposal. Furthermore, as a sign of gratitude for enlightened me about my sister's displeasure for her now announced marriage, I would like to grant you my blessing to marry her, if that is her heart's desire and I hope you live the happy quiet life you desire away from court.

There it was, your punishment was being banned from court, but it was a slight price to pay for all the great things you had achieved. You were now allowed to marry Charles and live happily with him.

Maybe it was the fear that Henry would change his mind that made you marry that same day. In a private ceremony, with a few maids and his friends Will and Anthony to witness it, you promised to love each other forever.

You had the opportunity to have another wedding since you have not bled and you were sure with child, you had a public wedding to show the legitimacy of your future child. This time, you had it at court. Henry was a proud man, but even if Charles did what no other man would have dared unless they wanted to lose their heads, your brother loved him too much and trust no other like he trusted your husband.

Henry Brandon. That's the name Charles choose for your newborn. He was the living image of his father.

Not everything in your remaining life was happiness. Even though you had been blessed with another two children, Frances and Eleanor, by God's will your little Henry died when he was six years old. A year after that, another baby joined your family, honouring his late brother by carrying his name.

Charles was nothing but a loving husband to you. He stood by your side when tragedy hit your family and later when you got ill. You survived the sweating sickness but never fully recovered from it, and five years later you meet again with your loving son. It must have hurt your love, who never left your side until your heart stopped beating. He loved you much and would be sad for losing you, but you were glad he had your loving daughters and son to keep him company and help him move on.

#charles brandon #charles brandon fanfic #charles brandon fanfiction #charles brandon one shot #the tudors #the tudors fanfiction #henry tudor #henry VIII #mary tudor #mary queen of france #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #charles brandon x reader #charles brandon x mary tudor #demivampirew

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witchcraft-in-wonderland · 4 years ago

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Logan's Birthday (1/7)

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Logan was a smart man, he always had been, top of his class since he was little. But being smart only got you so far, there always came a time when you just werent smart enough.

For Logan, that time was adulthood. So many years worth of studying, gone at the slightest notion that someone else was- better. And of course, Logan knew exactly what made his competitors better, but saying it out loud, that was paramount to insulting the company.

So here he was, twenty-two years of age and stuck in an apartment, sifting through job applications and bills, as if he'd ever have enough to pay them off.

"Oh yes Logan go on take only honors and AP classes for the rest of your life, I'm sure it'll all turn out fine," Logan muttered bitterly.

He let out a groan of annoyance as the tv flickered through one of his least favorite commercials.

He'd always despised fashion and makeup companies, but the Kingsley company was another story on it's own. He couldnt explain it, for all he knew it was some odd combination of self hatred and toxic societal expectations, he just couldn't stand those twins, with their overly wide smiles and stupid overzealous compliments. But of course, most other people bought it. So Logan always assumed there was something wrong with him.

Eventually Logan finished with the papers, setting them aside and walking to the kitchen.

"Like anyone would pay thirty bucks for a makeup set that's going to fall apart two days afterward," Logan muttered, glaring at the tv. He walked over to the coffee machine and got started on his fourth cup for that day. It wasnt healthy, Logan knew that, he'd done an entire report on it in sixth grade, but it was the only way he could seem to stay up without having a breakdown.

Logan looked over at his to-do list for that day, he never seemed to finish them, so he had no idea why he bothered. He checked off the section labelled "bills and applications" before walking back to the coffee machine and picking up the mug. He watched the sunrise outside the window, he always liked sunrises more in the colder months, they were much brighter.

Logan finished his coffee and set the cup in the sink, checking his watch. His mother had set up a job interview for him, but all she'd given him was an address and a time, he certainly didnt want to be late. He walked to his closet and pulled out a blue sweater, black vest, black pants, and dress shoes.

"5629, Ridgeport Avenue, should be interesting," Logan muttered as he fixed his tie. He'd never exactly liked Ridgeport, it was a rich people and idiots thinking they could make it big on stupid ideas.

But what awaited Logan when he reached the location was far worse than what he was expecting.

"Mother I told you I dont want anything to do with this company!" Logan hissed over the phone, currently hiding out in the bathroom, he may have hated the Kingsley company, but he wasmt stupid enough to insult them where someone might hear.

"Its good pay! You can suck up your pride for once in your life cant you?" His mother replied.

"Me, a secretary for those- those-" Logan couldnt seem to find the right words for it, all he cod think was 'Ew' and 'Not in a million years'.

"I'll call you back after the interview," Logan said, hanging up and stuffing the phone back in his pocket. He fixed his hair in the mirror before rushing back out, after all, he did have a meeting in thirty minutes.

"Logan Sanders," The intercom sounded, the voice of Remus Kingsley flooded the room. Logan felt his stomach lurch as he stood up. He trudged down the hall, fiddling with his tie. He finally reached the door to Remus' office, and knocked twice.

"I'm not naked if that's what you're thinking," Logan held back the urge to vomit as he processed the sentence, and then he opened the door.

Remus Kingsley was a tall man, with a white striped birthmark in his hair, and a mustache that gave him the impression of a man who'd gorged himself on mud. His clothes didnt help much, a ripped jacket paired with a green shirt and twice as torn black jeans, his feet were even propped up on the desk for gods sakes.

"I'm here for the secretary position," Logan said as he closed the door.

"Well secretaries arent supposed to stand are they?" Remus said, moving his feet and gesturing toward the chair in front of the desk. Logan took a seat and finally let go of his tie.

"So what sparked your interest in the position?" Remus said, very obviously reading off notecards.

Logan bit back the urge to say 'brute force and a ransom note'.

"I've seen a lot of your commercials, the name was recognizable," Logan said.

"Oh so you've heard of us?" Remus said, now checking his nails. Logan was getting more annoyed by the minute.

"Yes, I have," Logan replied, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from growling.

"Great! You're hired! You can start tomorrow," Remus said with a grin, Logan noticed he was missing one of his front teeth. He slid a sheet of paper across the desk, Logan looked it over and pocketed it before getting up.

"Very well, I suppose I'll see you tomorrow," Logan said as he walked out.

"I could get used to seeing that face every day," Remus said, Logan felt his face heat up slightly, though he could scarcely tell if it was from rage, or from something else. He merely nodded and closed the door behind him on his way out, rushing through the lobby and out into the streets of Ridgeport.

"This is it- my life is over, this is how I die," Logan had decided to meet up for coffee with his friend Remy, and the conversation had turned very quickly to Remus' comment at the end of the meeting.

"I mean it could be worse, at least you're both in the same age-range," Remy replied, taking a sip from his iced coffee.

"I dont know how you're drinking that when its 27 degrees out," Logan said with a laugh.

"Nothing will ever be as cold as my heart," Remy said, grinning.

"Oh? Cold-hearted are we? Then please, do tell me where all those photos of Emile huddled up under your arm with his head buried in your chest came from,"Logan said sarcastically.

"Oh Em, the only person warm enough to melt my poor icy cold heart," Remy said, bringing a hand to his forehead and falling back slightly.

"Gods you're so cheesy," Logan said, rolling his eyes.

"You're just mad because you dont have a queerplatonic partner to give you forehead kisses every night before you go to sleep," Remy said.

"I dont need a partner of any kind, I'm fine on my own," Logan replied.

"Sure you are bud, sure you are," Remy said.

And that stuck with Logan the rest of the week. He had a lot more interactions with Remus than he'd expected to, sometimes they felt- planned. But Logan could swear up and down he was imagining things, there was no way someone as influential, nor as self-absorbed, as a Kingsley would've spared him a second glance.

And he carried this thought process with him, that is, until he found a letter on his desk. A letter, inviting him to the company Christmas party, from Remus.

"Did you get my letter?" Remus leaned on Logan's desk, that same grin he always wore plastered on his face.

"Yes, though I dont think you specified the office you want it delivered to?" Logan replied.

"Oh! My bad, I think it was right abooouuuuttt- here," Remus pressed a finger to Logan's nose, Logan tensed slightly, his cheeks flushed red.

"You turn a very pretty red when you're nervous," Remus purred, resting his head on his arms, which were now crossed over Logan's desk wall.

"I-" Logan wasnt sure what to say, here was all the evidence, right in front of his face, and yet he still didnt dare believe it.

And he didnt believe it, not until the day of the Christmas party, where he arrived in a limousine, hand in hand with the man, to a cruise ship of all places, wearing, for the first time in his life, a stunning midnight blue dress, that made him feel like he was worth a glance.

Though of course, no amount of party dresses could top that which he wore on his wedding night, a floor length gown of Remus' own design, studded with pearls and sequins, reflecting blue lights everywhere he walked.

"Remember how I said I wouldnt mind seeing a face like yours every day?" Remus said, smiling as he moved Logan's veil.

"Well, you wont have to worry about that now, will you?" Logan said, smiling, and he relished in the kiss that Remus placed on his lips, Remus' arm pulling Logan closer and closer by the waist, until the space between them was so thin that they were almost attached.

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#cori writes #long post #birthday fics #intrulogical #romantic intrulogical #remile #queerplatonic remile #ts logan #ts remus #ts roman #ts remy #ts emile

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enby-hawke · 4 years ago

Text

For I Have Sinned-Chapter 7

Chapter 7- Renewal

Word Count: 14,555 (lol shoot me)

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

Ships: Malcolm/Leandra, Maurevar Carver/Mara Hartling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Carver was scared for them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what do you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carver waited in patience, his gaze expectant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course. Trust me,” Malcolm nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Actually come to Mara’s.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leandra chuckled nervously as she ducked into the car.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I do! Do you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie grabbed it without hesitating. “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Malcolm wished that didn’t sound so sarcastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Malcolm blinked. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carver nodded humbly. “Only doing my duty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No fucking way,” Malcolm snorted.

Carver cleared his throat, glaring at Malcolm.

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

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

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

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

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

With that Carver abandoned him to class.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And nothing he has wrought has been lost.”

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

“For she was reborn to us in flame

And so flame we consume to be reborn

May, He Who Burns The Brightest

Purify the sins we hide in our hearts

So that we may know true peace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve just been stressed, Amelia.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#da fic #dragon age fic #malcolm/leandra #hawke #da2 #my writing #homophobia tw #elf fetishization tw #non-con language tw #lady de lancet is a demon but malcolm is ok

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astralaffairs · 4 years ago

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voltaire to versace 03 | thomas jefferson TEASER

title: voltaire to versace 03 TEASER

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: a lil over 10k

warnings: sex jokes n references again, dolley simping for james again, but probably more this time, implied sex except dolley’s having it instead of mc, maria and angelica are girlfriends, lafayette is basically everyone’s plug for weed so like,, drug references and alcohol references??

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

tags: @lunariasilver @tinywhim @nyxie75 @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @cubedtriangle @lunariasilver @lexylovesfandoms @fanfic-addict-98 @stephyra17 @notebookgirl30 @exorcisms-with-elmo @kmsmedine @itshaileyn @honeyand-roses — let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

"Are you sure I was included in that invite?" Y/N's voice was skeptical as she crossed the green toward Thomas's office. Apparently, Dolley and James had spent their afternoon together, taking a walk through the city. (When Dolley told Y/N that the two-mile loop near the Lincoln Memorial had taken them two hours to walk through, she had a sneaking suspicion walking wasn't all they were doing. Hopefully, they'd at least escaped the watchful eye of our oversized 16th president.)

"Yes, I'm certain you were," Dolley insisted from the other end of the phone's line. "He said it'd be great if I brought you."

"... This sounds suspiciously like a pity invite."

"It isn't a pity invite!" Y/N could hear the indignance in her voice.

"Dolley, why, exactly, would he want me there if it wasn't a pity invite?"

"... Because you're my best friend, and he's decided to make an effort to get to know you better?"

She laughed. "As much as I appreciate this idealized James Madison, I have a feeling it was more to the effect of 'I just saw your roommate and feel obligated to invite her'," Y/N corrected her. "But go to the party without me! Don't let me hold you back from having your fun, alright?"

"Please come? It wouldn't be the same without you." Dolley's voice was high, containing traces of what almost smelled like desperation. "It'll make me much more comfortable to have you along."

Y/N groaned. "So when you and James go make out in the bathroom, I'm supposed to, what, play truth or dare with all the other PhD candidates?"

"Why not?" Dolley's tone was mild, which made Y/N roll her eyes.

"No offense to James's friends, but I'm not sure I want to spend an evening making stunted small talk with them."

"You're such a warm person, though! You'd be quite alright."

"It'd be awkward!"

"Please, Y/N? I'll beg you if that's what it'll take."

She scowled at how soft, forlorn Dolley's voice had become. As far as she was concerned, this was akin to emotional manipulation. "Does it really mean that much to you?"

"Yes. I like him so much."

She sighed. "I'm gonna say yes solely because I have somewhere to be and can't deal with this argument anymore. But you owe me."

Y/N could almost picture Dolley’s sappy smile. “Thank you so much, dear. You’re too good to me.”

"Yeah, yeah, what else is new?" Her words elicited a laugh from Dolley, and Y/N continued, “But you know I’d do pretty much whatever you asked if you asked it in that I’m-about-to-cry voice, so I’m not sure this relationship is healthy for me anymore.”

“Oh, of course; I’m truly a parasite,” Dolley sighed. “Taking you in as my roommate, paying for your ramen — how evil of me.”

“I pay half the rent, and ramen costs fifty cents!” Y/N defended, but the words were lighthearted nonetheless. “Next time you give up five perfectly good hours of a Friday night so that I can get laid, we’ll call it even.”

“Don’t make any calls about Friday just yet. You haven’t even seen James’s friends.” Dolley’s voice was just teasing enough to placate Y/N. “I may not be the only one having some fun.”

“Have you even seen James’s friends?” Y/N asked dubiously, and Dolley’s silence told her all there was to know. “That’s what I thought. He’s an econ student, so it’s probably gonna be about eighty percent entitled rich men attending school on family money.”

“Or they could all be just your type,” Dolley reasoned, but by then, any efforts to talk Y/N out of her convictions were futile. “Tall, hot, and older.”

“First off, I don’t have a type, and second, just because you’re dating an ‘older man’,” — The final two words were said mockingly — “doesn’t mean that his older friends aren’t still douches.”

“I hate to have to be the one to break it to you, but that is absolutely your type.”

“Based on what?”

“That professor of yours?”

“Dolley!” Y/N scowled, turning down the volume on her call just in case some passing pedestrians were notorious gossips with super-hearing. It was certainly possible. “Can you please stop talking about him like that? Don’t make it a thing,” she murmured, jaw tense.

“Oh, we’re well past that, dear,” Dolley said matter-of-factly, and Y/N could only roll her eyes. “But if you’ve agreed to the party, I won’t push my luck.”

“Smart choice,” she muttered bitterly. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Talk to you later tonight?”

“Of course.”

With that, she hung up the phone before Dolley could take advantage of her giving mood and start making further outlandish demands, tucking it into her coat pocket as she pushed open the door to Melos Hall. Unfortunately for her, the elevator was broken, and Thomas's office was several flights of stairs above her.

After at least eight long pauses for her to catch her breath, heaving as she leaned against the railing in the stairwell, and three stomach cramps, Y/N knocked on his door. "Anybody home?"

"C'mon in." His voice was soft, muffled through the door, and she opened it to find him all but slumped on his desk, resting his head on his hand as he graded papers he appeared to be rather cross with, and with more of said papers covering the entirety of the desk’s surface (and much of the floor). He glanced up when she entered, and a soft grin split his expression. "Hey, I thought that was you."

"I'm in absolute awe of your pattern-recognition skills, really," she replied, tone dry as she let the door fall shut behind her, and despite the playful smile she wore, Thomas rolled his eyes.

"You actually here for anything, or am I gonna have to kick you out?"

She laughed. "I'm not here to derail your work, I swear." He raised a dubious eyebrow. "I was just stopping by to let you know that, assuming it's still on the table, I'd love the TA position."

"Oh, yeah?" His smile widened almost imperceptibly at her words, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "'M glad to hear it. Could've just shot me an email, though."

She shrugged. "I was headed this way anyway. Figured I may as well stop by."

"I'm not complainin'." She let out a soft huff of laughter at the words, but she could feel heat beginning to creep up the back of her neck. "'S good timing, anyway. Intro to IR just turned in an essay on Kant."

The soft groan she let out only served to amuse him further as she surveyed the wreckage of his office. "That's what all this paper is?" He nodded in confirmation, and she scrunched up her nose. "I'm not sure if I feel worse for the freshmen who had to write them or for you having to read them."

"Well, I should hope it's the freshmen," he said matter-of-factly, sitting back in his chair. The smile he wore was concerningly self-righteous. "'Cause, now, readin' these is your job, too."

Her eyebrows shot up; the dread in her gaze was the furthest thing from contrived. "... Is it too late to rescind my application as a TA?"

He shook his head. "Mm-mm. You're welcome to abandon ship."

She didn't like the satisfaction which grew in his gaze as she weighed her options; they both knew she wasn't considering turning down the position in earnest — that simple fact left Thomas unnecessarily smug. Another beat passed, and she sighed. "You're lucky this is going to look good on my grad school applications."

He laughed. "Sure am. I could use all the help I can get, right now."

"I can see that," she replied, voice laden with amusement at the state of his office.

However, Thomas said nothing more, and she shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the drawn-out silence. He raised an expectant eyebrow, and it took her a moment to grasp his intention. "Wait... d'you mean, like, right now?"

"Unless you're busy." He shrugged. His gaze was hopeful as she eyed warily the small stack of papers she'd spent the past few minutes trying not to crush under her boot. She sighed.

He grinned when she bent over to pick up the papers that'd floated to her side of the desk. "As depressing as it feels to say, I've got nowhere else to be on this fine Friday night."

"That's the spirit." He winked, and though she rolled her eyes, her amused smile was deep-set. "So, you're gradin' for accuracy and watchin' out for grammar, of course, but the points are really earned for analysis. The paper's on changes in the international system. They’ve gotta connect ‘em back to Kant's maxims."

She let out a low whistle as she took a seat across from him, plucking a red pen from his cup and dropping her bag onto the floor. "That certainly sounds pretentious."

He laughed lightly. "You really tellin' me you didn't have to do anything like this as a freshman?"

"Oh, I wish I could say that, but unfortunately, my professor was apparently every bit the pseudointellectual you are.” She nodded sadly, and Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Hilarious, sweetheart, really." In the dry sarcasm of his tone, the casual pet name didn't seem to register with him, but Y/N couldn't help but notice, and her breath caught. "Here, lemme get you a copy of the rubric. 'S nothin' too complicated; go easy on 'em. Got some STEM majors in the class who're just takin' it for the graduation requirement, so I'm not expectin' much."

She pursed her lips. "Are the essays that bad?"

He deadpanned as he turned back to her, sliding the rubric across the desk. "At least as bad as I'm makin' 'em sound."

Y/N let out a long, dramatic huff, rubbing her temples, and Thomas looked thoroughly entertained at her reaction.

"I'm in for a long few months, aren't I?"

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darth-bagel · 4 years ago

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OC Interview -- Sylvas Sha’ael (1/4)

I was tagged by @swtorizz @inventedbyawriter @shanfamilydrama and @theniveanlegacy (that's why there will be 4 parts, get ready xd)-- thank you all for tagging me 💙✨

Hello there! My name is Bagel, and I have some interesting people coming in today to answer questions, our first guest is an already infamous chiss smuggler!

(Artwork by @sentinelapologist 💙✨)

► Name? ➔ They smile charmingly as they plop down in their proper seat “At this moment in time? Sylvas Sha’ael.”

► Are you single? ➔ They chuckle “Hah, it’s complicated, but I’d say yes”

► Are you happy? ➔ “I’m good, there are refreshments, and no one’s shooting at me yet”

► Are you angry? ➔ “Nah, you’re good”

► Are your parents still married? ➔ They cock their head to the side, calculating for a few seconds “Pret-ty personal there, huh. I don’t know, you tell me”

NINE FACTS

► Birth place ➔ They shift a bit to sit cross-legged “Corellia, or so I’m told”

► Hair color ➔ “Black. Mostly. ”

► Eye color ➔ Their eyes narrow a bit “...Red”

► Birthday ➔ “29th day of 6th month, and yes I stopped paying attention to years a while back”

► Mood ➔ They flip their legs up on the armrest and sit sideways, more lounging at this point “I’m peachy, thank you~”

► Gender ➔ “Nah”

► Summer or winter? ➔ “I hate when it’s too hot so, winter. Easier to counter-act too much chill than the other way around”

► Morning or afternoon? ➔ “Morning. Surprisingly, considering I love sleeping in. But on the rare occasion, I vastly prefer it”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE -- “Dear gods, okay” They laugh and stretch a bit more.

► Are you in love? ➔ They raise one eyebrow and smile knowingly “Maybe”

► Do you believe in love at first sight? ➔ “Not really, no. Attraction or infatuation at first sight? Yes.”

► Who ended your last relationship? ➔ They wince and smile bitterly “A sniper. No, I won’t elaborate”

► Have you ever broken someone's heart? ➔ “I wouldn’t put it past me, I always try to be upfront about my feelings in those situations but-- probably”

► Are you afraid of commitments? ➔ “Not really. It is complicated tho, considering I like having multiple partners-- takes negotiations”

► Have you hugged someone within last week? ➔ They straighten up and sit normally for a second to think “I didn’t actually. That’s unacceptable!” They jump out of their seat and run backstage. There is some commotion, a muffled yelp, and laughter following it. Sylvas returns to their seat after a few moments with a huge grin and after cleaning their throat they continue “Yes”

► Have you ever had a secret admirer? ➔ “Oh yeah, multiple. And usually not that secret honestly. I still get messages and gifts from time to time. It’s very flattering, my ego loves it”

► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ Their wide smile recedes slowly into a thin line “It’s hard to say. Let’s skip this one”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust? ➔ “Both is best. I let my lust be tinted with love, even for passing partners, or maybe not love. Adoration, infatuation. I really like making people feel good in my company. Am I romantic at heart? Maybe” They wink at the camera and lean back more comfortably.

► Lemonade or ice-tea? ➔ “Mix them!”

► Cats or dogs? ➔ “Droids” They keep a straight face for about 10 seconds before starting to chuckle “Joking! Both are great, but I’d skew towards cats”

► A few best friends or many regular friends? ➔ “A few best friends, I like having a limited, trusted circle. Safety reasons” They smirk but it has a sharp edge to it.

► Wild night out or romantic night in? ➔ “ A wild night out followed by a stay in, possibly even a sleep-in” They shrug “I like both, it’s a theme”

► Day or night? ➔ “I like day. Nights are great but, I tend to stay up late with occasional insomnia and it gets lonely… too much space to overthink things. Days are full of movement, I prefer that.

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out? ➔ “Yes, I did. Multiple times. That’s why I now have a stealth generator”

► Fallen down/up the stairs? ➔ “... Yes. Once, and then out the window. It’s a long story. No, I won’t tell it” They have a shit-eating grin on their face.

► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “I’m not used to denying myself what I want but, there were a few times…” They trail off for a few seconds, eyes unfocused, before smiling apologetically.

► Wanted to dissappear? ➔ “Few times. Curiously I actually did manage to disappear for real”

FOUR PREFERENCES -- “Wait, wait, wait! Where’s the fifth ‘Have you ever’? I’m not that bad at counting you know…” They lean in and smile wider “Are you blushing, Bagel?”

--TECHNICAL TROUBLES -- WE’LL BE RIGHT BACK--

It pans back to Sylvas very happy with themselves, back to lounging across their seat. “Let’s continue~”

► Smile or eyes? ➔ “Ugh, decisions, decisions-- I like both, kay?”

► Shorter or taller? ➔ “Either is fine. I do appreciate taller tho, can be lots of fun~”

► Intelligence or attraction? ➔ “Attraction at first, but damn it-- both again. I’m predictable I know”

► Hook-up or relationship? ➔ “I do both, at the same time too. With everyone involved in the know, alright? Both is a different kind of fun and let’s leave it at that” They scoot around a bit, ending upside down with legs over the back of their seat. “What? Continue~”

FAMILY -- There’s a prolonged whine “Do I have tooooo?”

► Do you and your family get along? ➔ It’s hard not to smile at them sitting like that “I guess we don’t really talk. Becuz, ya know-- I don’t know them. But I do consider Liz and Rilfaen my family so we are pretty good. Didn’t see them for a while but we write and holo-call, they are busy ladies after all”

► Would you say you have a 'messed up life'? ➔ “My life is… interesting. But nah, some had worse”

► Have you ever ran away from home? ➔ “I did quit my apprenticeship to jump ship with some smugglers out of Corellia-- but I already was an adult, well. Kinda. And just sneaking out doesn’t count”

► Have you ever got kicked out? ➔ “Not from home!” They laugh and nearly fall over, but catch themselves on the armrests.

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends?➔ “Nah, I have a handy name for people I hate. Enemies, ya know. I usually have trouble with hiding my ire towards someone, so yeah”

► Do you consider all your friends good friends? ➔ “Yes, I do”

► Who is your best friend? ➔ “Again split between Liz and Rilfaen, they are very important to me”

► Who knows everything about you? ➔ “I’d like to say no one, I try to keep some secrets to myself-- keeps things interesting”

“Are we done? Lovely” They stand up and stretch, sure to make their shirt ruck up a bit as they wink at the camera. Music starts playing over the footage but Sylvas and Bagel talk and smile, laughing at something or other. In the end, they scoop Bagel into a tight hug, picking them up.

NEXT IN LINE -- GRAZ’ZT TENAR’RI, LORD OF THE SITH-- STAY TUNED

(I’ll tag @whoever-would-like-to-do-it @chaoticspacelesbians @kyber-heart @dragonheart-swtor -- if you want obviously, no pressure from this Bagel~)

#swtor #my swtor #darth bagel writes #oc: sylvas sha'ael #swtor smuggler #smuggler #chiss #i am writing those tags third time because tumblr is stupid #but!#this was hella fun to write #get ready i have three more #but i'll space them out a bit #at least now i have a nice template #anyway #again thank you all for tagging me on this one #enjoy the chaotic blueberry~#Graz'zt is gonna be nexxxt

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tintinwrites · 5 years ago

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what kind of fool am i | Poe Dameron x Reader | Part Two

A/N: NOW YOU CAN ALL LEAVE ME ALONE. Nah I’m kidding I loved the response to this story but I am glad I kept you guys waiting to allow myself to write something I kind of like.

Rating: T

Warning: Naughty words. Mentions of sexual assault. Hints of PTSD. Lots of general dark emotions here, friends.

Word count: 2,888, apparently!!

Summary: You and Poe are safe now, but perhaps not okay. You won’t even talk to each other until Finn decides to step in.

Part One

GIF credit: I have no idea, but it isn’t mine.

Tags: @the-omni-princess @depresseddarth66 @ginger-swag-rapunzel @lcandothisallday

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

Poe tore a muscle in his right shoulder and broke two of his ribs on that side, but he didn't notice it at all.

He watched you on the bed next to him in the med bay, watched you cling to Finn's side as a med droid tried its hardest to analyze your injuries.

You needed to be heavily sedated and he hated himself for it.

It wasn't only the initials on your hip or the injuries to your face that turned you into a terrified mess; it was what he almost let them do to you that broke you.

Everyone was curious to know what you two had witnessed, asking mostly Poe what happened to you, and Leia snapped at them to leave you both alone.

But there was going to be a debriefing.

Poe knew that he would need to tell everything that happened.

He woke the next morning with pain searing in his shoulder and he didn't think he had the right to be taking medicine when you were scarred — physically and also mentally — but Leia ordered for him to come for the debriefing.

It wasn't possible for him to think let alone talk with his muscle burning.

There was a container of pain-relieving capsules on the end table in his quarters and he spilled half of them in his desperate attempts to open it, muttering kriff and downing two of them.

The pain dulled some and he didn't even dare take off the sling on his arm to change clothes, walking to the command center in the shirt he'd fitfully slept in.

His eyes scanned the room for you, but you were nowhere to be seen.

Finn was there, though. And Rey.

He didn't want to say all this in front of Rey, considering her to still be innocent in some aspects that didn't involve the war.

He considered Finn innocent as well, but he knew enough.

The gentle conversations in the command center hushed the moment he stepped into the room, everyone staring at him in ways he hated.

Rey's gaze was soft, like she could cry at any moment.

Finn's knowing, which was why he was not the first of people Poe was hesitant to debrief in front of.

Leia looked to be rather calm, but her eyes held the pity of a mother in them.

And then Jess— fucking Jess who'd punch his injuries and tell him to walk it off was looking at him with pity.

He wanted to walk the hell out, but he was more courageous than this.

His eyes landed on a toggle switch on one of the consoles as Leia began the meeting, only paying attention when she gently asked him to tell her everything.

In what galaxy was he ever courageous? He was an idiot. That's why he was able to fly any ship, and fight, and sass his enemies, and show off. He was never brave.

"We were laying low on the planet and everything was fine," Did his voice sound as flat to them as it did to him? "Me and Y/N were eating dinner when we noticed some commotion in the village...this group of guys were rounding everyone up and threatening to kill them if they didn't tell them where we were. Their leader saw Y/N and I revealed myself to save her, but...but the guy knew..."

He needed to pause, staring hard at that little toggle switch instead of daring to see the expressions of his friends.

"These really huge guys took me into a house they'd set up camp in and tied me up, and then Ric...the lead guy...he brought Y/N in. He grabbed her face real tight, and, um...he asked her name...said we'd have fun..." His brow was furrowed in his attempts not to tear up.

"He punched me when I said it'd be fun to bash his face, and then he...he knew I was trying to protect her and he cut open her shirt with this dagger. He slapped her when she tried to talk and told her she couldn't speak unless she was spoken to, like she was some— a fucking thing for him to play with or something. Then he started hurting her every time I said something he didn't like and he said...he told her that I want more than friendship with her and that she owed me, and he'd give me something fun to 'tighten my pants'. That's when he used the dagger to carve my—" His voice cracked then, the switch blurring in his vision as he wasn't really staring at it and tears entered his eyes.

“—my initials on one of her hips. And I’m an idiot and I insulted him, and he hit her and she—she was knocked out for a second, but he woke her up to...he asked if I wanted to kiss her and he was going to choke her if I didn’t answer him, and I did want to kiss her and he...he woke her up and he kissed her, then he kissed me.”

He chanced a glance at his friends to discover that tears were steadily streaming down Rey’s cheek, Finn’s gaze was entranced by a non-existent speck on his shoes, Leia’s lips were pulled into a frown, and Jess wouldn’t look at him. “He threatened to make her, uh...pleasure me.” He, a man who’d never really been shy when it came to conversations of a sexual nature, stumbled over the mere idea that you might’ve been forced to do that for him. “Then he asked if I wanted to have sex with her and I said no.”

He paused. Smiled bitterly. “I’ve always been a shit liar, you know? Because I did want to fuck her and he knew, and he and his buddy took her into another room to do it for me. That’s when Finn came.”

A weight lifted off his shoulders at his part of the debriefing being over, switching over to Finn.

The smallest weight there’d ever been; he would’ve sank to his knees were the weight he still carried physically on his shoulders.

“I stayed hidden when they took them and tried my best to get to them, but the rest of the men were...killing all the villagers. By the time I found them, one of the guys was on top of her in a bed and....I shot them both.”

“Thank you, Finn. Y/N will probably be waking up from her sedation soon and I’m sure you might be needed.”

You were sedated then. Too terrified and sedated.

Finn looked at Poe with sympathy, then turned to walk out of the room.

And Poe moved to walk out when everyone else was dismissed, but turned when Leia softly called his name.

He thought she might slap him when he moved to stand in front of her and all she did was look at him with a gentle gaze.

“Don’t blame yourself for what they did, Poe.”

“It is my fault.”

“Did you want them to force her to pleasure you?”

“No.”

“Did you want them to hurt her?”

“Hell no.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But you don’t understand.” His voice cracked again, the tears he kept at bay starting to fall from his eyes.

Leia tried to touch his good arm and he yanked away, finding himself unworthy of a caring touch.

“I didn’t stop them! They were doing it to her because of me! He kissed her because I wanted her and they were going to fuck her since I wanted to fuck her.” He emphasized the derogatory word as if it might convince the general that he was truly a depraved person.

“Poe—”

“My initials are going to be scarred on her skin for the rest of her life and you know what? I don’t even fucking blame her if she hates me. Let her hate me.”

“Poe.”

His breaths were quickening until Leia managed to put her hands on either side of his face, making him look down into her sympathetic eyes.

Part of him wanted to fall into her arms right there.

“I want you to calm down and get cleaned up, alright? You’re frightened and you’re very tired.”

“I— okay.” He mumbled in defeat, if only at the idea that getting cleaned up sounded nice.

He went to the refresher in his quarters and turned the sanisteam on, caring very little that the water was even colder than usual since a warm steam was a comfort that you needed and not him.

Washing his body and hair was completely mechanical this time around as his thoughts were centered on everything else.

Those initials.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see them etched into your skin.

He could hear your screaming and weeping.

And he could only imagine your tears as you were reminded any time you changed your clothes or washed yourself; the implication that you belonged to Poe Dameron.

He despised himself when his mind floated to what would happen if you had sex, if your partner asked what the letters meant and if you’d tell them.

Your entire life was ruined thanks to his desire for you being discovered.

The two of you and Finn were blacklisted from missions for the time being, and Poe was half-grateful and half-itching to get in his ship and do something other than walk around wondering about you.

You started appearing outside of Finn’s quarters — though still close to his side — a few days later and he wanted to go fly somewhere even more than before.

Leaving the room to keep you from seeing him and remembering all he’d done to you didn’t seem to be enough, and he wanted to be on another planet to save you the trauma of his very existence.

But he was grounded until further notice and all he could do was make his way carefully through the base to be sure you didn’t see each other.

He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep one night without sneaking out to get food from the dining hall when he knew you wouldn’t be walking around until he jolted awake to a knock on his door.

Confused at first that he’d been sleeping, it took him a moment to realize that there really had been a knock on the door and he rolled onto his feet at the second one, blinking to clear his vision to press the button.

Finn was standing there, looking contemplative and then relieved when his eyes met Poe’s.

“What’s up?”

“Y/N asked for you.”

“Asked for me to do what? Crash into the worst planet nearby? Where the inhabitants will kill me if I don’t die from the impact?”

“Uh...she asked to talk to you?”

Poe shook his head at Finn’s dumbfounded look. “She doesn’t want to talk to me and she doesn’t want to see me. She’s probably talking in her sleep.”

And Finn shoved his hand between the doors to trigger the sensor when Poe tried to shut them in his face. “She asked for you!”

“I’m guessing Leia told you to do this?”

Poe let out a rather undignified yelp as Finn grabbed him by the collar and turned to push him against the wall.

“What the hell, Finn—”

“Look, Poe, I get it, okay? You witnessed some pretty intense shit and I understand that, and I have been doing my best to help Y/N through it, but you’re the only person here who actually understands what they did to her. Do you know what she said to me when she mentioned wanting to talk to you? Why I had to come over here to be the messenger for her?”

“Finn—”

“She said you wouldn’t talk to her because you hate her now.”

The fear in Poe’s eyes at his often gentle friend’s outburst slowly faded into something far more painful at the information that you thought he hated you.

He didn’t want you to have to look into his eyes when he’d let everything happen to you, but he couldn’t let you walk around thinking that he hated you.

Finn released him when he muttered a soft and reluctant okay, brushing off his shirt and sling almost as if he was apologizing for losing his temper. “I didn’t hurt your shoulder, right?”

Poe shook his head and watched as Finn left the room to find you.

He sat on the foot of his bed, planning in his head exactly what he could say to you.

I’m sorry I let them carve my— no. I don’t hate you, I hate myself for nearly letting them assaul— no. I shouldn’t have let them touch— no. It’s my fault for being attracted to you like this, I didn’t want them to make you pleasure— no.

There were a lot of words and moments he didn’t want to hurt you with by mentioning them and upon crossing out all of those words and moments, he was left with quite a short and possibly ineffective speech: I’m sorry.

When the door opened and he lifted his head from where it was laying sullenly in his hands, anything either of you might have said died on your lips.

An awkward tension pulled taut between you upon seeing each other for the first time since you’d been out of your mind being checked by a med droid.

You walked to the bed like you wanted to leave instead and sat next to him, and he gripped onto the edges of the mattress to keep from moving away and hurting your feelings.

It was probably only a minute that passed by in tense silence, but Poe would’ve believed you if you told him it was a year.

“Why would I ever hate you?” He finally asked softly, almost too quiet for you to hear.

“—everything that you saw. The initials...the kiss...what they were going to do to me.”

“You mean what I let them do. If anybody should be hating somebody, you should hate me. I didn’t stop them.”

“You were tied up.”

Poe scoffed, looking away.

You tilted your head and furrowed your brow in concern for him, reaching out to touch his hand only to draw back at the last second. “I don’t hate you. I don’t blame you.”

“You should.”

“Why?”

“I already told you.”

“And I disagreed already.”

“That’s because you’re a good person.”

“No, Poe, it’s because you were there with me! You screamed for me! You pleaded for me. You offered to let yourself be hurt for me. They hurt you too...and you sat there and were forced to watch as they tried to do unspeakable things to me. I thought you would hate to be around me with all you’d seen.” You didn’t realize you were crying until you saw a tear fall from Poe’s eye yet wetness on your own face.

“I should’ve protected you.”

“You did your best. I saw you try. And...and Finn has been really sweet to me, but I need you. I have these dreams where they...kill you and…”

Now your hand did slide over his and his grip loosened on the mattress. “All I wanted to do was make sure you were okay, but you left the room whenever you saw me and I was terrified that you couldn’t bear to look at me anymore.”

He looked at you with his eyes teary and sparkling at once. “I could look at you for hours.”

It wasn’t intended to come out as flirtatious and you didn’t take it like that anyway, moving a little closer.

You hesitantly slipped your hand under his to intertwine your fingers.

“I didn’t want to come here. I was too scared you wouldn’t want to talk to me. But Finn...he told me how much he loved me and that he didn’t mind helping me, but that you and I needed each other to heal. And I...I’m not too sure about you, but I haven’t healed one bit. And I would like to try with you. Maybe we could try? Even though I think you should hate me and you blame yourself, we could learn to heal from that.”

“I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t help to have you around when my thoughts are too much, someone who can understand what I mean when I need to talk about what hurts.”

“And it might be nice to wake up and find you’re perfectly fine.”

“Not perfectly. We’ll try.”

Even though you couldn’t believe Poe was squeezing your hand instead of refusing to touch you.

Even though Poe couldn’t believe you didn’t view him as a monster who didn’t protect you.

You needed each other.

Sulking alone was never going to heal you from what you’d been through together.

As Poe looked down at your trusting gaze, he almost kissed you; but he did not earn such a privilege from someone he failed, and images of the kiss he could still taste flashed through his mind.

But he pressed a light, uncertain kiss on the top of your head, and that was definitely a start.

#poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x reader #star wars imagine #poe dameron fic

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d4rk3stn1ght · 4 years ago

Text

Haunted Playmate

Happy Holidays @houser-of-stories ! I was also your gift giver for @sanderssidesgiftxchange and I hope you enjoy your gift

Ships: Platonic Prinxiety, mentioned Analogical and Royality

Warnings: Past character death, cursing, mentioned murder, not meant to be unsympathetic Remus but it kind of comes off that way, if there’s anything else needed to be tagged please tell me

There was a creak on the floor that hadn’t been there before. Was someone invading his home? Well, what was his home. He looked over the banister of the stairs to see a man unpacking his things in the house.“

“Well hello there.” Roman smiled and gently greeted the stranger. Logically, he knew that the man couldn’t hear him, but it was still polite. He had manners! He was a gentleman, thank you very much! Roman watched him from a bit afar. This man tended to talk to himself. Virgil? Was that his name? He mumbled it under his breath fairly often. Virgil flopped onto the couch with his phone, probably to order pizza. He would too if he were the one moving into be moving instead. He missed being able to eat and do things. Well, he could push things over but he couldn’t leave the house. Roman sighed softly before looking through the house to see what his new housemate had done with it. So far, he hadn’t gone up to the attic. If Roman had his way, he wouldn’t be able to.

Roman hums a gentle song as he peered into Virgil’s room. Oh! He had a Nightmare Before Christmas poster! Too bad Roman couldn’t borrow it or give him his own posters. His were taken as evidence or removed. It sucked but he understood why. He couldn’t exactly stop them anyway, not that he didn’t try. He shook his head at the memories the thought brought. He didn’t need to accidentally cause an inside storm again. It accidentally hurt a small child and he felt so bad for it even though he couldn’t help it. The room itself wasn’t that bad. Yeah, it was a bit dark and dreary, but there was some normalcy from his time. A string of lights to illuminate the room during the night (purple rather than a soft yellow), a corkboard for pictures or necklaces... The desk was cluttered with art supplies. Was he an artist? Did he have any sketches out? A glance over the desk confirmed that that’d be a no. Of course. Why would an emo have anything out in view that could hint at their past? They wouldn’t unless they trusted you. He knew that a bit too well. But ohoho, what’s this? There was a picture carefully placed on the desk with a number with hearts around it. Now that was interesting. Stormy knight had a crush? On this... Logan Omair? The teach? Too bad he couldn’t call that guy at the moment or he so would. He noticed a cup of pens a little too close to the edge and grinned. New game time. How long can he knock things over before the new guy noticed or left? He knocked over the pen cup and laughed at the sound of his new guest jumping up to look.

Roman left the room quickly and headed to the kitchen instead before Virgil could get there. He chuckles at him cursing at the mess but quickly pouts at there being nothing close enough for him to easily knock anything over. Well, he could always knock over the chairs. He froze though at the doorbell. That was really quick or he was losing time again. That tended to happen more recently but it doesn’t bother him as much anymore.

Virgil ran down the stairs and looked out the window before opening the door with an apology. Was he paranoid? Was he running from something? Was he a criminal?! He’d rather side with the law! Maybe he was just anxious. Who knew? Definitely not Roman. He probably never would. The dark and paranormal walked into the kitchen without looking in Roman’s direction. He grabbed two cups, one he set on the counter while he held the other to get ice and soda. Why did he need another cup? Virgil left the cup on the counter while taking his soda one to the couch. When he got comfortable he immediately swiped the cup off the counter before bolting again.

Virgil smirked at catching a glimpse of Roman’s retreating form, “Gotcha.” He was so glad he didn’t take out his glass cups. A after setting the pizza and the cup of soda down a safe distance from the edge, he got up to pick up the discarded cup and set it down on the edge of the end side table. “Try that one you overgrown cat.” He snarks but unpauses the show to finish it as he ate.

The ghost thought he was slick, didn’t he? Virgil knew about the haunted house rumors and was ready for anything. Well, as much as Supernatural taught and the limited research he had. While he hadn’t been there long, Virgil had already attempted salting the doorways and windows. He’d noticed a few things, too. The ghost could both float above and walk straight through it, so salt was a bust.The ghost seemed to only do anything when he wasn’t looking or not even in the room. He doesn’t know anything about him aside from him acting like a cat. It was kind of amusing but the pens were annoying. Empty Solo cup? No problem. A full cup and he’s just being a pain in the ass. Virgil took a deep breath before getting up and put the pizza box in the trash. He froze at the clatter of the cup but sighed in relief when there wasn’t a splash accompanied. Virgil mocked him slightly when he laughed. He was just thankful the ghost wasn’t hostile and was just being a bit playful. He settled into the couch again and sipped at his drink while spacing out in thought.

Meanwhile, Roman was snickering in what used to be his room. This was great! He was playing along. It was kinda disappointing that he wouldn’t put anything full against the edge anymore, but he understood anyway. Roman would feel the same way if roles were reversed, at least. He gently ran his hand across the wall. He knew feeling the paint was impossible, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to try. Roman missed his tangibility, but… nothing could undo what he did. Roman closed his eyes to get his bubbling anger under control. It’s not that Roman hated him, but he was still angry and understandably so. As justified as his anger was, the man downstairs didn’t deserve the backlash it would produce. When he had calmed some, he headed to the stairway to see the poor kid was passed out on the couch with his show running. It was kinda interesting but he couldn’t risk it yet. Maybe the next day but not right now. He nodded in the sleeping form’s direction before heading up to the attic. When he got up there he headed to check on his object. He knew where his body was, but that wasn’t what he was tied to. Instead, he was tied to his class ring from his senior class. He tended to wear it everywhere and it held most of his best memories. That’s why he never let anyone up in the attic. If they were to find it and destroy it, well... that would be it. He would be toast and no one would be able to know the truth. No one had tried to talk to him before but hopefully, Virgil would be the first if he so chose or if he could even hear and/or see him.

A few days later the game was still on. Random cups would fall and Virgil had yet to see anything more than a glimpse of the ghost and the sounds of laughter, followed quickly by a cup hitting the floor. That said, the ghost was getting a bit bolder. He would linger especially when Supernatural was on. Virgil could feel the drop in temperature but if he tried to look, the ghost wouldn’t be there. Virgil had done more research on the property and found a few different murders but he didn’t know which one this ghost was from. Tired of the cat and mouse, Virgil hatched a plan. He needed a job for money and, since this was his second rewatch of Supernatural, he could miss a few episodes of the show and be fine. , Virgil decided that was going to announce he was leaving and leave the show on for the ghost to watch. Then, hopefully, he’d come back from applications and finally see the ghost.

Virgil set his trap the next day, leaving and returning a few hours later. When he got back, he made sure to be quiet as he crept in. His eyes widened. Sitting cross-legged in front of the screen was none other than his ghostly roommate. Dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, he looked a bit younger than Virgil. Unable to see much else from behind, Virgil slowly crept towards the ghost’s side to see any other features so he could compare them to the other murders on the property. Unfortunately, the episode started the credits and the ghost turned, making a shout of surprise and scrambling back,

The ghost almost looked panicked, “Um, hey! You’re back!”

Now that he was facing Virgil, he could see everything. The gold crown on the breast pocket, the line on his throat from where it had been slit, dull green eyes and tanned skin muted by death.

“You’re Roman!” Virgil exclaimed

“You can see me?!”

“Yes?!”

“That’s awesome!”

“No! Not awesome! I knew you!”

“You did?”

“Yes! Roman Kingston and Remus Kingston!”

“Highschool?”

“Yes. You kept making doll eyes at Patton Amato!”

“I did not! But, uh, uh how is he?”

“Frankly, weI haven’t talked much.”

“Who have you talked to?”

“Logan Omair, Remus, Janus,Remy... But I’ve only Remy and Logan recently.”

“Cool…” Roman slowly unfreezes and shifts to a more casual posture. “So, I saw your little love letter.”

“What?!” Virgil, who had been doing the same, tenses right back up.

“The number? You-!”

“No! Why you?!”

“No idea. You should ask Remus,” he spat bitterly.

“Right… The article said…” Virgil trailed off, rubbing his neck.

“Yeah.” Discomfort is plain as day on Roman’s face. “Let’s not… Anyway, why’d you move here out of anywhere.”

Virgil is glad to change the subject, “You know, settling down and-”

“It’s because Logan lives here, isn’t it.”

“Shut!” Virgil snaps as his face tints pink.

“So it is Logan! Hah!”

“I will kill you again, you ass!” Virgil lunges towards Roman.

“You caaaaan’t,” Roman sing- songs and laughs as he dodges Virgil’s fist

“Get back here!” Virgil chases Roman through the room, thoroughly annoyed by the fact Roman has more mobility.

“Nope! When’s your date?”

“Shut! Up!” He catches up and swings again, hitting nothing.

Roman just laughs at him, “Come oooon!”

“We aren’t dating!” Virgil flops down onto the couch in defeat.

“Not yet!” Roman teases.

“Not anytime soon!”

“Who says?”

“Both of us.”

“Why? You both liked each other in high school.” Roman also calms down a bit, sitting on the other end of the couch.

“Yeah, it’s been a little while.”

“Oh right.”

“Yeah. We said someday but for now, we’re just talking as friends and meeting up with anyone still in town.”

“Like?”

“Patton, Emile, Remus, each other.Remy will pop in someday soon.”

“What about Janus?”

Virgil shrugs, “I haven’t heard from him.”

“Ah.” Roman pauses a moment before speaking again. “When will you talk to Remus?”

“I’m going Wednesday.”

“Can you… can you ask him why for me?”

Virgil looks to Roman out of the corner of his eyes, “I can’t promise he’ll answer.”

Roman nods “...Right.”

“Yeah...” Virgil rubs the back of his neck, sensing Roman’s discomfort.

“Sooo... how’d job hunt go?”

“I’ve applied. They’ll call me to set up interviews.”

“Nice. By the way, what’s up with the emo aesthetic?”

“I told everyone it wasn’t a phase,” he jokes slightly.

“We didn’t think you were serious.”

“Dead serious,” Virgil grinned.

“You did not.”

He just burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe you did this to me! Me of all people! How dare you, sir!”

Virgil put an arm around his stomach as he kept laughing.

“You can’t be serious! No! Don’t answer that you dark fiend! I trusted you!”

He only seemed to laugh harder at his dramatics. Roman only pouted as Virgil slowly calmed down.

“You’re an ass.”

“You still love me platonically anyway,” Virgil teases.

“Sadly.”

He chuckles breathlessly,shakinghis head.

“Hey, did they ever find out why that band split up?”

“The one you listened to religiously in high school? No.”

“Damn. I enjoyed their music.”

Virgil shrugs, “I can play some for you.”

“You look like you know something.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“You tease! I can’t tell anyone!”

“I know,” *Virgil grins, “But this is more fun.”

“Asshole.”

“Nice to talk to you, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“Ahhh, there he is.”

“What?”

“The prick of a prince.”

“Hey!”

“Hello.”

“Why must you be so rude to me?” Roman swoons back, the back of his hand against his forehead.

“No one else can.”

“Rude!”

“I’m not that rude.” Virgil rolls his eyes.

“Yes, you are!”

“Nope.”

“Yes.”

“Not arguing.”

“You’re boring.”

“To you.”

“Exactly.”

“Ah, there’s the brat.”

“So good to be back,” Roman said sarcastically but it soon just turned into them giggling.

“By the way...”

“Hm?”

“Don’t tip over anything full ever again.”

“No promises.”

Virgil looks pointedly at Roman, “Roman.”

With a mischevious grin, Roman turned and ran, phasing away through a wall.

“Roman get back here!” Virgil scrambled to chase after him.

This seemed like a great beginning to a new chapter of both of their lives. And what a wondrous start it was.

#platonic prinxiety #analogical #royality #roman sanders #virgil sanders #character death #d4rkwr1t3s #might make this into an ask blog #idk #we'll see #sorry its late btw

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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 4 years ago

Text

Avatar Zuko Rewrite

Pairings: None yet.

Word Count: 973 Words

Summary: Zuko's left his uncle in hopes that it would mean Iroh's safety from him and how destructive he's gotten with his bending. Things really just never do work out the way he plans them.

Warnings: Death Mention, Injury Mention, Hypothermia Mention, Fighting Mention, Half Blind Character, let me know if I should tag something else

Chapter 2

Getting ashore was easy, with their earlier inconvenient stop to take back aboard him and his uncle. He'd miss Iroh. He needed to protect him, but his uncle was the only person to truly care for him after his mother left, died, whatever she'd done. He was sure he'd never forgive her for what she'd done anyway, leaving him to his hateful, abusive father and his sister who only tormented her brother.

Deciding against going to the village nearby, Zuko began to trek to the Fire Navy ship that was stuck within the ice. It would be a fine shelter, he knew well to avoid traps that would set off. He settled his few belongings onto the floor of the ship, his doll of Roku, the few dagger's he'd taken, and the satchel full of all the money from his part of the storage in the room next to his own on his and Iroh's ship. He'd emptied his portions but left his uncle his own. He could survive like this.

All he had to do was fish and hunt, that seemed easy enough. He went out late, nearing high moon and he caught a few fish to take back. He was used to cooking, he'd done it a lot on his and Iroh's ship to calm down and plenty of times had they cast a net and caught fish for dinner rather than waste money. Zuko may have been raised rich but Iroh had encouraged him to live as much of a normal life as he could, lessons in sewing and cooking and hunting and fishing and making his own clothes.

After he ate, he fell asleep leaning against the wall only to be awoken the next morning to hear feet padding around on the ship and then a large bang suddenly forced him awake. He grabbed a dagger and took down the first moving thing he saw, a person that was shorter than him by at least eight inches.

The blade was against the twelve year old's throat. He was about to draw it away but a tendril of water threw him back against the gears. His dagger fell next to him and he looked at the Water Tribe girl that had waterbended at him. She looked younger than him, but older than the younger boy. She was more scary than the boy.

"Katara! You could've hurt him!" Came the boys response. Zuko was busy slowly inching his hand toward his belongings, ready to run.

"He was holding a knife to your throat! Would you rather have wanted me to let you die, Aang!?" She, Katara snapped at the boy, Aang.

"He's probably just scared, 'Tara." Aang told her.

"He's a firebender, Aang!" Katara snapped.

"I don't think he is. He would have defended himself by now." Aang told her.

"He probably just can't! It's cold and he's not wearing his armor!" She bit out and Zuko flinched at her deadly tone, fingers finally gripping his dagger to put it against his side.

"Then why don't we ask him?" Aang recommended to her. They both looked to him with the unspoken question.

"I um...I'm not a firebender. I mean...my father was but I'm not. I'm an airbender." He easily concealed his lie in his already prevalent nervousness of having been attacked with water.

"An airbender!? What a lie!" Katara snapped at him. He resheathed his dagger against his waist in its holder.

"I'm not lying. My mother was a nonbender and my father was a firebender. I was a nonbender for years but I learned airbending." It really wasn't all a lie, he'd just left out that he had been a firebender. He needed time to think about this and a few hours was definitely not enough. Maybe they'd leave him alone to think and he'd tell them one day that he was the Avatar.

"How are we supposed to believe you?" Katara asked.

"I'm not trained so I'm not that good at it. I've only used it when I was scared but I can do this." He made the air around his hands spin a bit before fading it off weakly. Aang looked impressed.

"Another airbender! What are the chances!?" Aang excitedly hugged him and Zuko was taken a bit off guard by it but let him, albeit flinching away, which made the bald boy let go and pat his back instead.

"What are the chances? How did you get here?" Katara asked.

"The Fire Navy ship. My uncle is the General of the ship so he brought me with him. So I could be out of the Fire Nation and away from my horrible father. The crew didn't want me onboard anymore because I airbended and I didn't want to hurt my uncle, so I left and came here." He was decidedly telling them almost the whole truth, he didn't want to possibly lose their trust if they were to ever find out he was the Avatar.

"So, how long have you been here?" Aang asked.

"Less than a day." He told them.

"Well, we can't just let you freeze out here. Let's take you back to the village." Aang told him.

"Um..." He had no response for that.

"You could also come with us to the North Pole to find Katara a waterbending teacher." Aang offered.

"He'd have to meet Sokka. Sokka won't like him joining us." Katara warned Aang at the bald boy helped Zuko up.

"So, what's your name anyway?" Aang asked as Zuko picked up his doll and re-tied his satchel of money to his right waistband.

"My name is Lee." He told him.

"Okay, Lee. Let's go have you meet Sokka and then we'll head off." Aang told him, taking his hand and leading him to the village as Katara trailed behind, grumbling bitterly.

Taglist: @darkrainbow333 @magic-but-its-green @the-lemonade-artist @a-chaotic-being @wasinotwantedatthisexactsecond @lgbtforeverything @brain-deadx0 @everythingisstardust @emoqueerpan

#avatar the last airbender #atla #half blind zuko #zuko #iroh #aang #katara #sokka #snoweywrites #avatar zuko #avatar zuko au #tw death mention #tw injury mention #tw hypothermia mention #tw fighting mention

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schrijverr · 4 years ago

Text

World it dies, he’s left alive

Mechtober: HNOC & Sunlight

Brian tries to clutch onto the memory of his friends, his family, as he waits for them to get him out the sun Fort Galfridian had orbited. (happy ending)

On AO3

Ships: none

Warnings: Brian is kinda sad and self depricating, but not extremely. Tell me if I missed anything or you want me to tag something!

~~~~~~~~~~~

When Brian thought back on his musings now, he wanted to slap himself so hard.

While he had been hanging under a giant light back on Fort Galfridian, he had found himself missing the sun. He, of course, had been the only one there, who knew that the bright light that flickered on and off every day couldn’t tip to the inferno of a giant star.

Galahad had found out, but that hadn’t done him any good, or anyone else for that matter.

Back then Brian had missed the gentle warmth that came with sunbeams hitting his metal skin. Longing for that instead of this fake impostor, who gave him nothing, and the heat of the invisible thing he longed for that wasn’t the same.

He had been stupid back then.

The sun was nothing to long for, nothing to wish for. It was something harsh that wanted nothing more than to kill everything it touched with the heat that was only pleasant from far away.

In a way it reminded him of his crew, beautiful until you got to close then they were just a violent bunch and you would burn yourself on their insanity.

Brian sighed, he missed his crew.

He hoped they hadn’t forgotten him after they’d left him on that spacestation to observe what happened in the hope they could use it for an album.

Well they could certainly use the mess Brian got these poor people in, he thought bitterly.

Sighing again, he felt his body melt and regrow once more. The heat was utterly unbearable and the cycle of dying and reviving restarted again.

It was exhausting to feel yourself trying to reknit the wiring while you knew it was futile. Here in the sun there was nothing, but heat. All consuming heat, whose only purpose seemed to be frying Brian so many times that he forgot who he was.

He hated that thought.

He’d already forgotten himself once before and he wasn’t about to let it happen again, so with molten lips he whispered: “I’m Drumbot Brian, I am part of the Mechanisms. We live on the Aurora, our spaceship. She is in love with Nastya. There is also Jonny, Tim, Ashes, Marius, Raphaella, The Toy Soldier and Ivy.”

The tears that flowed out of his eyes evaporated immediately and he didn’t have a throat anymore for sobs to choke out of.

Still he forced his lips to make the movement as he said their names like a prayer: Aurora, Nastya, Jonny, Tim, Ashes, Marius, Raphaella, The Toy Soldier, Ivy. It repeated itself over and over again until the names didn’t make sense anymore, but that didn’t stop him.

Aurora, Nastya, Jonny, Tim, Ashes, Marius, Raphaella, The Toy Soldier, Ivy.

If he just kept saying them, he would remember. There was a brief moment where he’d forgotten his own name, but it came back to him when a wire reattached itself back to a part of his brain.

Still he forced himself to say his own name: “Drumbot Brian, our Pilot.” that was what Jonny always said, “Drumbot Brian, our Pilot. Drumbot Brian, our Pilot.”

A person, he still was a person. He had a job, he had people to return to. They would come for him, he hoped they would at least.

The heat was killing him.

He chuckled to himself at that, Jonny would like that. Killing him, pff, how literal something like that could become when you’re immortal.

Then he returned to his prayer, this time his own name in there as well, just in case.

Aurora, Nastya, Jonny, Tim, Ashes, Marius, Raphaella, The Toy Soldier, Ivy and Drumbot Brian.

It was important that the Drumbot was there as well. It’s part of him, he needed to remember why that was a part of him. He wasn’t about to have a repeat of the prophecy-incident.

Tim had laughed at him for decades after that. It wasn’t like Brian could help being shocked when he’d suddenly started spouting prophecies, anyone would’ve been freaked out.

Oh, yeah, back to the names.

He couldn't forget

Aurora, Nastya, Jonny, Tim, Ashes, Marius, Raphaella, The Toy Soldier, Ivy and Drumbot Brian.

He barely noticed it when the heat lessened and his skin didn’t melt along with his metal bones as the people whose names he was focusing on got him out.

They had remembered him, they’d come back for him.

Later he would berate himself for doubting them. There wasn’t much they kept, but the promise to stay together was sacred. Everyone needed to know that the only people they could relate to would be there for them, but that would be later, right now there was only movement of lips and whispered names.

He had to focus on the names.

He had to make sure he remembered them.

He couldn't forget his family.

He couldn’t lose his world to the heat like Mordred had.

#RR writing #Mechtober #Mechtober 2020 #drumbot brian #the mechanisms #the mechs #HNOC

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wreckofawriter · 5 years ago

Note

Hey, saw your post about the ships and wondered if you're still doing them.if so, could you please do one for me and tag me? My name's Romi. Dark brown hair and pale brown eyes. House: Ravenclaw. Era: golden trio attending Hogwarts (late years). *Sarcastic & straight forward. *Love technology, astronomy, comics, riddles and books. *Pretty bad at first impression. (Socially awkward). *Deulling club captain. *top student charms class. *excellent in Defense Against the Dark Arts *Muggle born.

I ship you with...

Harry Potter!

You didnt much like him at first, you knew rumors were rumors but he had so much attention surrounding him it made you a but peeved, couldn't he chill for like a minute?

Apparently he couldnt. You did have a common enemy though. Draco Malfoy hated you and you hated him. He stopped picking on you directly as he did other people becaue unlike so many others you werent afraid of him or his father

He used to pick on you straight in your face but then you broke his nose and he only did it around teachers and with his body guards

So you kind of connected over the common enemy, when the prick was picking on Hermione you hexed him

Hermione and you kind of knew eachother you both did well in classes and you would study together occasionally

So you met Ron and Harry. You were awkward at first trying to speak as little as possible to avoid embarrassment

They were easy to speak to though, like really easy.

You started to talk with them more, help Ron and Harry with their studies and maybe Harry wasnt as bad as you thought, he was way more low key than everyone made him out to be

He was stressed constantly you could tell that much, you also knew that he had secrets, a lot of them, but you decied they were his to keep

Harry liked you quite a bit, you were tough and smart.

In the fourth year you ripped Potter stinks badges from people robes not much caring about the consequences.

You would stay up late a lot, just talking, never about anything that serious just stuff

Harry wanted to ask you to the ball but by the time he was going to he learned you had agreed to go with a housemate, as friends but still he was jealous

He was very jealous when you danced with him and laughed with him. He ended up confessing his feelings bitterly at the end of the night, feelings which you returned

He saved you from the lake in the second task.

You would read with him a lot, he would just play with your hair while you did usually.

You helped him through the hell he went through in fifth year, and sixth and seventh.

You were a power couple, plain and simple.

(Not edited)

#harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter au #harry potter imagine #harry potter ships #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n

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ineffable0husbands · 5 years ago

Note

Fic title: A Change of Management in Heaven

Warnings: Crying, breakdowns, anger, alcohol use, blood, glass breaking, possibly a suicide attempt (but the character’s drunk so it’s more of an accident), suicidal ideation, and self-hatred

Ship(s): Ineffable Husbands. Platonic Gabriel & Aziraphale, and Platonic Gabriel & Crowley

tag list: @adoratato @iamdevilantlysatan @bri-cas @that-gender-bender@scum-of-the-earth @pieces-of-annedrew@scampycat4999@elrilsf @my-emo-child @always-reading2 @larrklopp @l-garnxtt @halbarryislife@ninjacatinsanitycrazy@impossiblynervouscycle @audder17 @boredafsposts @i-really-dig-the-purple@mycrappylife01@lostwolf-fandomlover@hamiltrashphannerd@she-who-must-not-be-named@sundry-whovengerslocked@deceitfullyanxiousprince@booklover223@twdlover03@drunkinfandomstuff @nimsy1920 @catsarebestest @sonic-spade@reprehensibleghost @to-dance-among-stars-in-dreams@afternoon-sunlight @danifandxm @oddpopsicle @rise-abxve @shipping–hell

The last person Crowley expected to see in a crowded pub on a Saturday night was the archangel Gabriel, but there he was in all his shining glory, hair a mess and usual pristine suit replaced with an outfit akin to what he’d worn at the Not-Pocalypse. They were darker though, a dull grey color, not their usual white. He was surrounded by empty glasses and bottles and looked about ready to pass out, but he called to the bartender for another beer. Crowley wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“What are you doing here?” Crowley spat, taking his usual seat at the bar and waving for his drink. They knew him well here; he came every day at the same time since the early ‘70s. Of course, the bartenders all assumed he was keeping up some sort of family tradition, much like Shadwell with the witchfinder army (until he figured out the truth). Gabriel looked up blearily, squinting at the demon before tensing.

“Crowley. Fancy seeing you here,” Gabriel said with a stiff smile, trying to remain calm as he leaned against the bar. “Just getting a few drinks, you?” Crowley glanced at the numerous glasses and bit back a smart reply of how it didn’t look like just a few drinks to him.

“Doing the same. Aziraphale wanted to spend some time reading and I’m not really one for just lounging around,” he lied easily. The truth was, the angel was visiting Madame Tracy and Shadwell and Crowley just didn’t want to admit he was lonely; not to Gabriel. Gabriel hummed and nodded, a flicker of sadness in his eyes as he lifted the glass to his lips.

“How is he? Aziraphale?” Crowley scowled.

“Why do you care? You tried to murder him,” Crowley muttered. Gabriel tensed and his grip on the glass tightened so much it shattered. Crowley jumped back in surprise and a few of the bar’s patrons cried out. Gabriel grabbed a napkin and pressed it to his bleeding hand, muttering apologies to the bartender as he grabbed the shards of glass, cutting his hands up more as he shakily went over to the bar’s rubbish pin and threw it away. Tiredly, he healed his hands and went back to his seat.

“You alright? Didn’t get any glass on you?” Gabriel asked, giving Crowley a once-over and checking for broken glass on his clothes. Crowley shook his head and moved his seat a little further away. Gabriel was clearly drunk out of his mind; the angel never showed his true physical strength in public.

“Any particular reason that struck a nerve?’ Crowley asked, quirking an eyebrow at the other man. Gabriel grimaced and chugged his beer, taking down the entire bottle in one go. He groaned and held his face in his hands.

“Let’s just say I apparently fucked up really, really badly in the eyes of God. Heaven is now under new management,” Gabriel said bitterly, moving his hands to grab his handkerchief and wipe his eyes. Crowley stared at him in disbelief.

“They demoted you? Why? Because we stopped Armaggedon?” Crowley asked, shocked. Sure, the Almighty could be unreasonable at times, but why would she strip Gabriel of his position when he did everything he could to stop them. Gabriel laughed, but it was humorless, and the end of it turned into a choked sob.

“Oh, they didn’t just demote me. I fell, Crowley. I’m a demon,” Gabriel said with a sarcastic grin, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m a demon. Yep! All because I didn’t fucking listen to you and Aziraphale. Apparently, you were right! The world ending now wasn’t part of the divine plan! But how the FUCK WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT WHEN YOU DON’ SAY SHIT?!” Gabriel screamed at the Heavens, shaking his fist up at the sky as tears began to roll down his face. Crowley grabbed Gabriel’s wrist, pulling him back down to earth and forcing him to look at, him. Gabriel’s eyes were beginning to turn a deep black, clouding over the whites of his eyes. He looked terrifying.

“You’re drunk, Gabriel. You need to sober up or come with me, or something,” Crowley said desperately. He did not like the ang-demon, but he knew how painful it was to fall. He had experienced it. Gabriel wrenched away from Crowley, still crying. He left his bill and stormed out of the bar, blinded by tears and rage. Crowley paid quickly and ran after Gabriel, searching wildly for him in the bustling streets. He spotted the light gray scarf the demon was wearing and ran after him, yelling his name. Gabriel ignored him, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he walked right into the road, tears falling rapidly down his cheeks. Crowley grabbed him by the back of the shirt and dragged him out of the streets just as a car came barreling towards him, nearly hitting the demon and discorporating him.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” Crowley hissed, grabbing Gabriel by the shoulders. “You could have been killed! it takes a lot more effort to get a new body in hell than it does in Heaven, I can tell you that!” Crowley was starting to get annoyed with the freshly fallen demon. Yeah, he got the whole self-hating thing, but this was getting ridiculous. Gabriel stared blankly at him for a moment before looking at the road with longing.

“Humans are so lucky, aren’t they?” Gabriel whispered. “When they die, that’s it. They go to Heaven or hell. We have to live, again, and again, and again. It never stops. There’s no way to escape it.” The demon was shaking again and his tears returned fiercely. Gabriel looked back at Crowley, his expression so filled with anguish, it made the demon’s heart stop. “I want to go home.” His voice broke and he dissolved into sobs, quickly covering his mouth with his hand as his shook, tears spilling rapidly and sobs making his shoulders jerk. Crowley’s eyes softened and he took Gabriel by the shoulders, heart aching when he flinched, and guiding him through the streets to Aziraphale’s bookshop.

“I’m bringing you to the bookshop tonight, but you can come to my flat after this any time you like. Hell can be pretty bleak,” Crowley said. Gabriel followed him but said nothing, and Crowley found himself rambling on about nothing and everything just to fill up the silence. Gabriel’s tears came to a stop and he slowly relaxed as he just listened to Crowley, leaning into him and bracing himself by putting an arm around his shoulders. Crowley found himself not really minding. Don’t worry, dear reader, Gabriel is far from being forgiven; Crowley was merely sympathetic to the demon’s situation. He knew what falling was like, and he knew what falling despite loving Heaven with everything you are was like. The odd pair soon reached Aziraphale’s bookshop and Crowley helped Gabriel up the stairs, guiding him in through the door and into the small parlor. He sat him down in his usual chair and miracled up a cup of tea.

“You…You said I could sober up. How do I do that?” Gabriel slurred. Crowley nearly forgot that Gabriel had never had alcohol before or any earthly things for that matter.

“Just concentrate and…squeeze? I don’t know how to describe it better, sorry,” Crowley said apologetically, handing Gabriel the cup of tea. The demon screwed up his face and did as Crowley instructed, and back in the pub, the bartender stared in amazement as thirty-something empty bottles and glasses filled back up to the brim with alcohol. Gabriel wrinkled his nose and smacked his mouth.

“Remind me to never get drunk again. Ever,” Gabriel muttered, rubbing his face and sighing deeply. Crowley’s lips quirked into a smile and he sat across from the other demon, watching him as he sipped his tea. Gabriel closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the beverage flood through him. His eyes suddenly snapped open and he groaned as if he’d just remembered something embarrassing. “Did I really try to get myself run over by a car and then get all emo about it?” Gabriel asked, grimacing. Crowley sighed and nodded.

“It was…frightening, honestly. I’ve never seen you like that. I know it’s a dumb question, but…are you alright?” Crowley said gently. Gabriel pursed his lips and set down the cup of tea, folding his hands in his lap. After a moment, he responded.

“No. No, I don’t think I am,” Gabriel answered honestly, tapping his fingers against his legs. Crowley nodded in understanding. “I dedicated my entire existence to Heaven, and to serving Her. Now it’s gone; I don’t know what to do with myself. That was my one purpose. it was the only thing that made me worth something,” he continued softly, his gaze dropping to his feet. “I’m nothing without Heaven. Without Heaven, I’m just a big-headed, egotistical moron,” he spat, tone and words becoming more and more self-deprecating. Crowley frowned and went to respond when the door opened and Aziraphale stepped inside, carrying a bag of Chinese takeout and grinning from ear to ear.

“I’m home dear! Did you miss- What the hell is he doing here?” Aziraphale’s bags fell to the floor and he glared at Gabriel. Crowley quickly stood and Gabriel curled further in on himself, hiding his face in shame. Crowley rested a hand on Aziraphale’s chest, looking him in the eye.

“Angel, sunshine, dearest, my love, listen to me,” Crowley said. Aziraphale scowled.

“No amount of flattery and cheesy nicknames is getting you out of this one, and you better believe it, Anthony Crowley! Now explain your…” Aziraphale’s voice suddenly trailed off and he looked at Gabriel with wide eyes. He sensed a different presence than usual, like when Gabriel had sensed evil in his shop when it was Crowley. He felt that, but more intensely, and he gasped. “Oh, you’ve fallen,” he said breathlessly, clasping his hands and wringing them, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and denial. “W-Why did you…?”

“You were right and I was wrong. God expected me to listen to you and I didn’t which went against Her Divine Plan, so I was cast out,” Gabriel said, answering the unspoken question. Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he moved away from Crowley, hesitatingly standing in front of Gabriel.

“You shouldn’t have fallen,” Aziraphale said softly. “I may not like you, and your methods were very unethical, but…it was all for Heaven. You were so dedicated-”

“I know, Aziraphale. Please, I know you’re trying to be kind, but you’re rubbing salt in the wound,” Gabriel pleaded, looking up at Aziraphale with a desperate look in his eyes. Aziraphale murmured a hushed apology and sat down. Crowley got a third chair and sat next to him. The two of them stared at Gabriel, the tension in the air thick enough to be cut with a knife. “I should be going. I’ve intruded on your hospitality long enough. Thank you for the tea, I’ll let the two of you get on with your night,” Gabriel said, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of thanks and standing, getting ready to go out the door.

“You will do no such thing!” Aziraphale said, voice scolding as he stood as well and blocked Gabriel’s way to the door. Gabriel sighed.

“Aziraphale, this really isn’t-”

“Not none more word out of you,” Crowley chimed in, getting up and joining Aziraphale’s side. “You’re staying here, at least for the night. You’re in no state to be going out in the streets of London alone,” he continued in a matter-of-fact tone. Gabriel’s nostrils flared.

“Says who?!”

“Says common sense! I found you drunk on Vodka and beer and then you tried to kill yourself!” Crowley replied, tone harsh but not angry. Aziraphale gasped.

“He what?!”

“Yeah! He tried to run in front of a moving car! I’m sorry Gabriel, but we are not leaving you alone right now. You’re staying here, and that’s final,” Crowley said firmly. Gabriel grimaced.

“You two are the last people who should even be thinking about helping me,” Gabriel said solemnly, attempting to push past the two of them again. Aziraphale grabbed him by the shoulders and looked at him pointedly.

“If you’re acting this way because you believe you do not deserve our forgiveness, then you are wrong,” Aziraphale said firmly, taking both Gabriel and Crowley by surprise. “Everyone is forgivable, even a demon, and I’ve had worse things said and done to me by the human race than things you’ve said, and I love people with all my heart. You, Gabriel, are no different. That doesn’t mean I like you, but I don’t have to like you to forgive you or help you when you’re hurting. Do you understand?” Gabriel blinked back tears and nodded, his head hanging low in shame. Aziraphale softened and put his arm around Gabriel’s shoulders, leading him up the stairs. “Why don’t you get some sleep? Don’t worry, I can show you how; Crowley helped me learn. It’s a human thing but it’s very pleasant, and when you feel sad like this it’s a good distraction.” Crowley listened to his angel explaining what sleep was with a smile before returning to his seat, removing his glasses and setting them down on the table.

Crowley rarely talked to God. He thought it was meaningless and stupid; she wasn’t listening anyway, so nothing would come of it. He found it comforting, however, to occasionally voice his doubts and concerns to the Heavens. She cared once, and Crowley would pretend that she cared again until the day he died.

“I understand you want to keep your ranks pure, but this is ridiculous. He was doing what he thought was best for Heaven. Why would you make him fall?” Crowley muttered, more to himself than actually to God. “He loves Heaven. He loves You, even now after you’ve forsaken him. He wants to go home. why can’t you just let him go home?” Crowley drifted off to sleep in his chair with a trace of bitterness in his heart, curled up into a ball and muttering about how unfair it all was.

The next morning, Crowley was shaken out of his slumber by a loud scream coming from the bedroom upstairs. Thinking it was Aziraphale, he jumped to his feet and bolted up the stairs. However, he bumped into the aforementioned angel in the hallway, who was blearily stumbling towards the spare room. They exchanged a glance before rushing into the room Gabriel was in, bracing themselves for what they would find inside. Gabriel was standing in the middle of the room, thankfully fully clothed, but mouth agape. His wings were extended to their full glory, lush and white and as Heavenly as the stars in the sky. His clothes had returned from grey to their normal white.

“Which one of you did this?!” Gabriel demanded tearfully, pointing an accusatory finger at the two of them. “This isn’t funny! How could you do this? You know I-”

“We didn’t do this, calm down!” Crowley snapped, cutting the ranting man off. Gabriel pursed his lips and folded his arms stiffly. Aziraphale gazed at his wings in wonder, a thoughtful expression on his face as he looked Gabriel up and down.

“I no longer sense another Fallen presence. Gabriel, have you…was your fall reversed by the Almighty? I only sense holiness from you.” Gabriel shook his head, his hands beginning to shake.

“That’s impossible. Unless I was prayed for and the Almighty listened, which I doubt was the case, I am still a demon,” Gabriel replied. Crowley scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I…uh…may have said a tiny little prayer. Last night, after Aziraphale took you up to the bed, I had a little heart to heart with God. I don’t know why she would choose to listen now,” Crowley admitted. Gabriel blinked and then looked at his wings. His face flushed and Aziraphale could sense a rush of joy that flooded the entire room, so strong it nearly knocked him off his feet.

“Oh my God,” Gabriel said breathlessly, his eyes wide as he ran a hand over his soft, white feathers. “Oh my God, She…She actually…holy shit!” Gabriel exclaimed, shock giving way to a bright grin and shining purple eyes. There was no black, no demonic eyes staring back at Aziraphale and Crowley.

“What are we waiting for then? You need to get back to Heaven!” Crowley said, clapping Gabriel on the back with a grin of his own on his face, feeling a twinge of jealousy but quickly shoving it down. Gabriel nodded vigorously. “We’ll take the Bentley. It’ll get is there faster than walking!”

And fast that car went indeed. Aziraphale couldn’t recall a time Crowley had driven as fast as he had that day. He drove like a maniac, like a…well, like a demon. They had reached the main entrance to heaven in no time, and Gabriel was practically vibrating with excitement as he jumped out of the car. Crowley and Aziraphale joined him, having to run after him as he went up the escalator steps two at a time. By the time Aziraphale and Crowley had caught up to Gabriel, he had skidded to a stop in the middle of Heaven, eyes wide as he stared at the other archangels. They hadn’t noticed him yet, talking quietly among themselves, each of them wearing a grave expression. Nervous and excited at the same time, Gabriel clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat dramatically. All three of the archangels whipped their heads up to look at Gabriel, mouths hanging open in surprise.

“Gabriel!” Michael shouted joyously, flinging her arms around the restored archangel and crying on his neck. Gabriel held Michael in his arms, picking her up and spinning as tears of joy ran down his face. Sandalphon and Uriel practically tackled their friend with pure joy, hugging him tightly and laughing through their tears. Michael and Gabriel shared a kiss as tears rolled down their cheeks, holding one another and crying together.

“How is this possible? A fall is permanent! You…You shouldn’t be back,” Uriel stammered, clinging to Gabriel’s arm, their eyes wide. Gabriel smiled and looked at Crowley and Aziraphale brightly.

“Well, I wasn’t alone. I had some help.” The three other archangels stared at Aziraphale and Crowley with disbelief, until Michael broke away, tears still falling down steadily. She took both of Crowley’s hands in hers.

“Thank you for bringing him home to us. Thank you so much,” she said through sobs, kissing Crowley on both cheeks before doing the same to Aziraphale. She lingered there for a moment though, and Aziraphale wrapped his arms around her in an embrace. When they pulled away she was smiling brighter than Aziraphale had ever seen her smile before. She joined Gabriel at his side once more, grabbing his hand and leaning into his side.

“He didn’t deserve to fall. We both knew that. We’re just happy he can return to his true calling,” Aziraphale said with a soft smile. Gabriel’s eyes were soft and kind as he looked at the couple.

“If either of you ever needs anything, you can always consider Heaven an ally. We will be here if you ever need us,” Sandalphon said, grinning with his crooked teeth and dimples. Aziraphale and Crowley both nodded. Gabriel gave Michael’s hand a squeeze before going to the two of them, eyes flitting nervously.

“You didn’t have to help me, and that makes your actions even more commendable. I’ll never be able to repay you,” Gabriel said, placing a hand on Crowley’s shoulder and clasping one of Aziraphale’s hands in his own.

“Oh, come here you big sap,” Aziraphale teased, pulling Gabriel forward by his hand and trapping him in a hug. Crowley smirked at the surprised grunt that left the angel and decided to join the hug. It was brief, but all three entities pulled away smiling. “You do a good job up here, you hear?” Aziraphale said, wagging a finger at the archangel. Gabriel laughed, his eyes sparkling, and nodded.

“Yes sir, I promise. You two do a good job on earth,” Gabriel replied. More embraces were exchanged, and tearful thanks from each of the archangels were brushed aside by modesty. And with that, they parted ways. Gabriel returned to Heaven, once again in the company of angels and friends and a lover, and Aziraphale and Crowley returned back to their earth, to their bookshops and their vintage cars and Queen.

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