#handing him a script that's just a sheet of paper w the words u better hold on tight spider monkey written on it

[soudam-appreciation]

Study... date?

Gundam sighed, shrugging his overweight backpack over his shoulder. He had not planned for today to become a social one, though he supposed it was not quite unwelcome. The mortal known as Kazuichi, Tamer of Automatons, had requested his presence here, though for precisely what ritual, Gundam did not know.

Kazuichi leaned back in his chair and rested his legs atop of the table as he inhaled the overwhelming (and honestly, kinda gross) scent of old and new books as he waited for Gundam to hurry the fuck up and get to the library, because he really didn’t have all day. 

He perked up, though, when he saw a small flash of purple and black move by one of the bookshelves he sat next to. Souda stood, waving his hands frantically in an attempt to catch the goth boy’s attention, not wanting to call out and cause more of a scene than the literal highlighter waving his hands sporadically like he was at a concert.

The neon blur tugged at Gundam’s peripheral, and he crossed his arms before him. Facing the boy, he began a usual greeting. “At last, you have been found. Do you not fear this meeting, Fool?” His voice boomed and echoed through the stacks, inciting an annoyed rustle and collective whisper.

Kazuichi’s eyes went wide as he started rapidly shushing him, because if him basically jumping up and down trying to get Gundam to notice him didn’t draw attention to the two, Gundam basically shouting definitely did. Speaking as softly as he could considering how badly his heart rate spiked, he tried to get him to quiet down.

“D-dude! Shut- shut the- Don’t! Stop fuckin’....fuckin’ screaming like that! Jesus! Shudda’...shut the- shut the fuck up! Shhh!” 

Recollection of the location at hand hit Gundam with a hell-strength impact. Clearing his throat, he hurriedly glanced around, mumbling fractured apologies for his forgetfulness. If there was one thing that would make even the Dark Overlord himself bow, it would be intense embarrassment as a direct result of his own foolishness- not that he would even say such a thing. To allow enemies access to his weakness?! Preposterous. He whispered a short apology to Souda as well, for the mortal seemed far more distraught than he. 

Souda groaned softly, rubbing his face with his hands for a few moments before bouncing back almost as fast, a lazy grin plastered across his face. That didn’t stop the drop of malice and embarrassment showing through in his cheerful voice as he pushed out a chair next to the one he was leaning on before to invite Gundam to sit with him. 

There were a lot of books, papers, pens and one lone computer scattered across the table. Souda easily pushed these aside as he sat down to take a sip of his…something. 

Gundam followed suit, dropping his bag on the floor beside him as he took his seat. He was not entirely sure what they were to do on this day, although crawling deep underground was an option he prayed upon. Unzipping his backpack as soundlessly as he could, he retrieved a notepad and slid a simple message to his companion.

What, pray tell, have you summoned me for?

Kazuichi read it over before snatching the notepad from Gundam’s hand, as well as the fancy pen he had (despite there being many writing utensils of his own he could’ve used, he honestly just wanted to be a bit of a dick to his past rival). He scrawled something quickly on it and slid it back nervously, despite there being no teachers nor rules against slipping each other notes. 

ok, well, i asked u 2 come here bc i am fucking failing math and biology and there r these 2 tests cming up i need u 2 help me study for. i thought u’d know a lot abt biology and u seem smart ig so-

He ripped another blank note out to write on more.

-so i thought u could help with, math too. hinata won’t help me he’s mad i spilt monster on his laptop still even though that was a whole day ago :(

The writing was barely legible and Kazuichi seemed to shorten words as best as he could, since he also wrote very large on the small sheet of paper. He slid the second note to Tanaka for him to read.

Squinting, Gundam managed to make out Souda’s print. He sighed, briefly wondering how incompetent Souda actually was, and where to even begin studying. Retrieving his pen, albeit a bit forcefully, he turned to a new page and began his transmission.

Where should we begin? Is there a specific field in which you have little expertise?

As Souda read over the note in the pretty cursive handwriting, he let out a small giggle. He couldn’t help it, reading Gundam’s dumbass Overlord-victorian speak was somehow funnier than hearing it out loud. Snatching the pen and paper back, he started writing.

uh um well i never ever got algebra the little letters always confused me and in biology kind of everything. man i’m not good with that kinda shit like u i’ve seen ur grades you don’t know how 2 whisper when ur flaunting them to sonia lol

Gundham’s ears got hot, and he fidgeted with the end of his scarf. Grabbing his pen, he scribbled out, I do no such thing. I simply share because I am asked, that should be a simple concept to grasp. His scrawl was messier, his haste blurring his senses. Deep breaths stilled his hostility, and he turned to a new page.

So shall we begin with variables, then? You may need to work exceptionally hard to recall these, as no doubt it will be of importance. 

Once again, Kazuichi laughed as he watched Gundam get a little pissed at the Sonia comment. Even when they were slowly getting closer, messing with the guy still yielded hilarious results.

come on man!!!! why r u getting so pissy i’m just teasing u. u know i know that u know we aren’t rivals anymore so calm down!!!!! >:3

anyways uhh ya sure we can start w, variables ig. i don’t remember a lot of this stupid ass math lingo so ur gonna need to remind me some of it.

Variables are those “little letters” you spoke of. If something I mention confuses you, alert me at once. 

Gundam chose to ignore all of Souda’s previous statement, focusing instead on the task at hand. There did not seem a logical reason to become so frustrated when Souda spoke of her. So why did it ignite a hellfire in his chest? 

He shook off the thought, selecting a standard textbook from his oversized backpack and placing it on the table with a thunk. Opening to a page about Variables, the most annoying of unknowns, he slid the book across for Souda’s viewing ease. 

We should begin here, page 28. Do you have a journal for notes?

yeah that’s fine also do u mind me keeping our notes or atleast yours please plz plsssss

Sure enough, the smaller boy was already making a pile of the discarded notes they had forgotten about. Mostly Gundams. It was the only neat thing on the table thus far.

Sighing again, Gundam ceded. He had no use for them, anyway. It caught his attention as slightly strange, but he chose to pay it no mind. Scratching out what information he could on such a small surface, he quickly realized that simply would not work. He slid a mostly-empty notebook from his bag and selected a blank page to share with Souda. It wasn’t as if he really needed the pages in this notebook either, so he added a small note at the top offering the torn-out pages for outside studying.

Souda took the page and studied it, before brightly grinning up at Gundam and quickly nodding. This was fancy shit, definitely not something extremely expensive (he knew Gundam definitely wouldn’t dare share that kind of paper, seeing the small slightly-faded stains of car oil on his hands that he just couldn’t scrub out) but Souda probably wouldn’t be buying these things, especially for every class, without at least a week of ramen dinners to make up for the waste of money working at his Dads mechanic shop.

Souda suddenly realized that ‘fancy shit’ to a slightly broke kid like him was definitely not ‘fancy shit’ to Gundam “I don’t know how to dress casually Ever” Tanaka.

Gundam continued to script line after line, attempting to explain these subjects in terms Souda would understand. The look in Souda’s eyes gnawed at him, such excitement on display over some math notes. He wasn’t certain what rubbed him wrong about it, so he brushed it aside. Reaching the bottom of the page, he printed a small question. 

Do you still understand thus far?

Souda finally grabbed one of his own pens that lay discarded on the table instead of stealing Gundams.

yeah i get it u explain it a lot better than the teachers or chiaki despite ur little demon talk r whatever lol. chiaki use to help me like all the time but she kept falling asleep on me we never got anything done

Reading Souda’s message tempted laughter, and Gundam bit his cheek to silence it. Nodding sagely, he scrawled, As likely as you are to bend truths pertaining to women, this account does seem trustworthy. He knew just as well as anyone how exhausted Chiaki constantly seemed. 

Tugging the newly completed page from its binds, Gundam offered it to Souda as well. 

Souda looked almost offended by the note (he still took it, because of course he did) and hastily scribbled another and shoved it in Gundams chest with a grin.

WOW DICK i’m not gonna go after every girl that falls asleep on me!!! sonia hasn’t fallen asleep on me yet and you know!!!!! >:(((((( 

Gundam stiffened, bandaged hand safely out of sight under the table. If it had been visible, Souda would have a clear view of numb fingers folding against his palm before stretching into claws, over and over. Another deep breath was necessitated by his pounding heart, and he stilled his mind. There was no reason for this feeling. What possible purpose could this rush of adrenaline serve? Certainly nothing pertaining to math. He cleared his throat again, which ended up sounding a bit more like a growl, and took up his pen.

You say “yet”, as if there is even the slightest chance of such an occurrence in the future. This, I do know. A smug smirk crossed his face, daring to settle on his lips.

Souda pouted as he read the note, a somehow adorable sight as he quickly snagged Gundams pen again (once again ignoring his own) and scrawled something on a new note and shoved it back to him. 

nuh-uh! u don’t know shit. unless u can see the future!!! tell me tell me tell me. maybe ur freaky demon shit is real after all ANYWAYS do i end up w miss sonia plz please tell me??!?? :3

Gundam tasted blood as he bit his lip hard. Why was Souda so insistent on her? No, he knew why. She was aesthetically pleasing to someone like him. This was not new information, but it still irked Gundam like hell. He pursed his lips. The last thing he was going to do was tell Souda his pathetic simpering dreams would come true in the end. Or perhaps, the last thing he wanted would be to admit to Souda that he cannot truly see the future? Grumbling, he snatched his pen back and tapped it against his knuckles. Neither option was preferred, though one was a clear admission of weakness…

He settled on a third choice. Of course not. I know precisely who you shall fall for in the end, although I cannot tell you. That is the Law of Causality.

actually it’s the law of cASSuaslity because ur an asshole who the fuck cares why can’t u just tell me!!! if i don’t get with miss sonia or whatever u say i don’t even know if i completely believe ur bonkers shit why can’t u just tell me their name or anything i just!!! want a hint. please 

Kazuichi’s handwriting grew sloppier as he grew more desperate. Why the fuck was Gundam hiding it? It’s not like he’s gonna get suspended for some random ‘law’ or whatever he probably made up. He didn’t even know what the word Causality meant but it sounded exactly like a freaky word Gundam would say.

All I may tell you is that… Gundam paused, wiggling his pen between thumb and forefinger to come up with an excuse. …you have likely already made their acquaintance. All trace of smugness had dropped from his features, now replaced with stale indifference. He locked his worry deep in his chest, buried it. The last thing he needed was Souda to call him out on such a ridiculously big lie.

Souda didn’t know why, but he grinned at that. He grinned at a lot of dumb shit, and Gundam telling him some vague dumbass answer like that was apparently dumb enough to get on his list of Dumb Shit That Made Him Grin. He flicked Gundams note into his ever growing pile and chugged the rest of his drink, his eyes blown wide with the sudden rush of, apparently, sugar. He tapped the textbook again, trying to remind them both to stay on task. His hands were starting to shake too much from the sugar high to make writing any good.

Gundam nodded. They needed to focus on the task at hand.. Which was math. Boring math. Another sigh settled in his chest, and he thought fleetingly on how he would much rather talk about silly magic business. Shaking dramatically dual-toned hair from his eyes, he set to scribbling some more numbers. Stupid, boring numbers. 

Kazuichi watched with interest as Gundam quickly drew out complex strings of numbers and occasional letters. However, his mind quickly drifted as well as his eyes. Higher and higher until he was watching Gundam’s facial expressions shift as he tried to help Souda. How he bit his lip as he hesitated before continuing to keep writing, how his eyes narrowed, Souda half-mindedly thought of how pretty Tanaka’s eyes were, he could get lost in them if he really wanted to, and he did. So he simply tuned out the sound of pen against pencil, rustling of paper and the occasional whisper between others in the library and just stared into his eyes.

Sliding another page across the table, Gundam glanced up at Souda’s face, before they quickly flicked away. On the quickly growing list of things he did Not Want to happen today, was for Souda to catch him staring. Or- he paused. To catch… Souda staring? He didn’t want to look again, even if he was right, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as if he could feel Souda’s gaze. Ears growing red, he scripted a small note back, faltering slightly as nerves made his fingers stiff. 

Do you still understand well enough?

Kazuichi’s gaze didn’t move until he finally noticed Gundam actually wrote words down. He did a double take back at his face before he picked up his pen, his cheeks heating up. Shit, did Gundam catch him looking? His hands trembled slightly from the sugar and caffeine as he scribbled on the paper.

yeah i understand completely ur a good teacher  i already said that didn’t i sorry

He slid the note over, now doing his best to keep his eyes on the table and not on Gundam.

Do not fret, I am pleased you understand. 

Clearing his throat as quietly as he could, he returned to numbers. Gundam really tried to focus, he did. But he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering… Muscle memory served him well, and he continued to write, but his mind’s eye strayed from questioning Souda’s gaze, to wondering why keeping their notes tidy was so important, to the way Souda tapped his fingers on the desk ever so slightly, the sugar and caffeine running rampant through his veins. It soon became impossible to focus, and he started mixing up numbers and crossing them out. He shook his head, hard, mumbling apologies for scrambling up his figures. 

Kazuichi easily picked up Gundams distraction and yanked an empty note from him to write on.

do u wanna stop for today

He slid it over, giving Gundam a small smile as he did. He wasn’t unfamiliar with his brain getting jumbled and melting into mush and before he knew it, the day was over and he hadn’t got shit done. So he didn’t mind giving up for today, starting again tomorrow or next week. He just liked being with Gundam, kinda. As weird as that was. 

Gundam nodded. 

My sincerest apologies, I seem to have lost my senses…

What the hell had gotten into him? This was highly unusual for him. Gundam mumbled another quiet sorry, sliding the incomplete and jumbled page across to Kazuichi just in case he needed it anyway. 

Souda tidied everything up on the desk, sliding his books, computer and the notes into his black backpack. As he stood, he bounced on his heels, the caffeine suddenly taking full effect as he finally got out of the chair and could move around to his heart's desire. He slid his backpack over one of his shoulders and didn’t hesitate to start playing with one of the enamel pins of a vocaloid character that hung from the zipper, needing something to occupy his hands with.

Gundam stood as well, fumbling as he slipped the last notebook into his bag. Offering a hand, he gestured towards the door. He whispered, “Shall we meet again tomorrow, then? I swear I shall do better at my job.” 

Kazuichi laughed softly at that, nodding. His hands fiddled with his jumpsuit pockets as he made his way over to Tanaka, a small bounce in his step. He would definitely blame that and what he did next on the overload of caffeine in his system the next day. He put his hands on Gundams shoulders, slightly dragging him down as he stood on his tippy-toes, kissing him sweetly on the lips before he was already skipping towards the door, waving him bye as he exited, most likely to his dorm on campus.

Blood froze in his veins. Gundam’s heart pounded, throbbing in his ears. His face was beyond red, and his stiffened fingers twitched in surprise. Mouth opening and closing like a fish, he could not even will his feet to carry him after the boy. What… What just… happened? His mind felt as slow and sluggish as if it was buffering through a torrented movie file. 

Finally gathering enough control of his own limbs, he pulled himself through the door. He wanted desperately to give chase, to pull Souda into his arms and kiss him back, but he knew there was no possible way he would keep his courage. So he settled, simply deciding upon returning to his own abode. He would have to speak to Souda at their meeting tomorrow. Just thinking about it gave him… butterflies? Oh dear, what an unpleasant sensation.

. . .

Thank you @kazudam for writing with me! This was so much fun, and something I’ve always wanted to do :’) 

[forloveoflibertea]

To Be Remembered | o n e

[ originally published on Wattpad : May 23rd, 2017 . unedited . word count: 2,196 . updated January 23rd, 2018 . ]

o n e

« w h y d o y o u w a n t t o k n o w w h o i a m ? »

'"Who am I?"

'"Only you can know who you are, child; no one else can command you to become someone you are not. You are, at your innermost core, who you truly are—only you can know, only you can choose to bare your truest self to the world."

'"And if I do bare my true self? What then?"

'"The world is beautiful, but cruel. It does not know us, in the same way that we do not know its truest extent. To bare one's true self—to bare one's heart—makes us vulnerable. If you bare your true self to the world, there is no telling to the extent of the pain you will go through. I tell you, my child, only bare your truest self to the one that you love, the one who can accept who you truly are."'

He blinked tiredly at the screen, the light reflecting off of his reading glasses. With a huff, Arthur shut off his laptop directly after saving and closing the file. He pinched the bridge of his nose, blindly pulling off the glasses and placing it atop his nightstand.

Green eyes gazed at the ceiling, glazed over in thought as they idly followed the white pinpricks which were supposed to resemble the stars in the night sky. He'd long finished his homework, the papers neatly tucked into his binders, which were, in turn, carefully stashed into his messenger bag. That wasn't the problem, nor was his elder brother's distinct absence from his own house.

Arthur had met Antoinette, Camden's wife and his sister-in-law, as he'd tried to silently stalk up the stairs as soon as he'd come back to the house that afternoon. Or it was more that Antoinette, the French bitch she could be, successfully ambushed him after fifty tries ever since he'd traveled across the pond to live with his brother and his wife, and had persuaded him to join them for a disastrous dinner. (A cynical Briton forced to sit before an eccentric French woman do not a successful heart-to-heart over dinner make.)

The problem was that, as much as Arthur tried, he couldn't seem to get rid of that look in the American boy's eyes during that History class. There was incredulousness there—that was already a given—but what bothered the Briton was the smallest glint of sadness he'd managed to get a glimpse of in that tiny moment that their eyes met.

He didn't understand why that bothered him—after all, he didn't know the boy personally, aside from the occasional rumours he overheard.

"Alfred F. Jones," he muttered under his breath, the name rolling off of his tongue. The American was rather popular in the campus populace—both with the females and males, what with the widespread 'fact' that the boy was bisexual. (Although, with hearsay from the popularity-crazed teenagers who went to World Academy, Arthur could only take what they said with a grain of salt.)

A stereotypical all-American cliché—high school American football quarterback, energetic, and an everyone-loves-me kind of bloke, from the Briton's occasional (unintentional) eavesdropping on the rumour mill. But there were odd occurrences: the first was that the boy—now a Junior, like Arthur—had quit the football team the school year before, when he was a Sophomore, after building up a reputation of being the 'Golden Boy' of the academy. (Or, as Arthur could gather from what he heard through the grapevine, as the 'Crown Prince' of the social hierarchy.)

It only proved to become even stranger by the fact that no one really knew what the true reason was behind the sudden—and completely unexpected—event. The second odd occurrence was that Alfred F. Jones seemed to join the so-called 'Suicide Squadron' shortly after what was widely known in the campus as 'The Tragedy' and 'The Apocalypse'.

The third was that no matter how much Arthur tried to dig deeper into the true essence of those two events, he couldn't get a single clue from every student he came across. Each one had their lips zipped tight, and immediately left after he posed the question.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his messy blond hair.

What a troublesome web of mysteries.

—

In World Academy, there were three unspoken rules which every student—both in the Social Hierarchy and out of it—already knew by heart, and the corresponding punishments labeled to each.

The first rule: Each student must be subject to one caste only.

There were two primary castes: the Royals and the Commoners. The Royals consisted of the highest-ranking in the Hierarchy, and were made up of the most popular and the richest students. The Commoners were neutral students, or those who were average in everything a high school student considered to be important: looks, luxury, and intelligence. The Commoners were the middle class in the Hierarchy.

The second rule: No student should ever associate with one who is not from their own caste without permission from the King.

To be allowed communication with a Royal for a Commoner was treated to be a special privilege. There was a strict criteria that the current King of the Hierarchy, Ivan Braginski, followed, and thus there were limited allowances for a student to mingle with someone who wasn't from their own caste.

And the third: Associating with the Suicide Squadron or anyone rumoured to be in cohorts with the Bad Touch Trio will immediately be punished.

These were the three unspoken rules of World Academy—and Arthur Kirkland, being a newcomer to the lions' den, unwittingly branded himself a 'Rogue' as he broke the rules.

—

"Say, Arthur, why do you always want to remain anonymous?"

The addressed Briton turned around, catching the stare of the green-eyed brunette. He offered a polite half-smile as the girl tapped at the printed sheets of the articles he had left upon her desk for her perusal.

"It's better this way." He said, and the girl—Elizaveta Héderváry, the Editor-in-Chief of the campus paper—frowned heavily. She stood from her seat, sweeping up the papers to wave them in front of the mildly startled Briton as she approached him.

"Don't you know how many of the students love the works you've been submitting to the paper ever since you came in that first week?" She demanded, advancing towards the uneasy Briton, who backtracked a step with each inch she moved forward.

He remembered the first time he'd gone to the school paper office with remarkable clarity. (And an underlying embarrassment.)

It had been the Friday afternoon of his first week at World Academy, just after his final class for the day. He'd planned to spend it the way he had the entire week after school: hiding out on the rooftop of the main building, writing and discarding what he wrote until the sun lingered just above the horizon in the few moments before it finally sunk and gave way to the night.

Arthur never liked to go back to his brother's house; the layout of the entire edifice reminded him too much of their home back in England. Camden had even tried to recreate the look of Arthur's own bedroom back at the old house, perhaps to alleviate the 'homesickness' the teenager didn't have. But there were too many memories lingering in every nook and cranny which resembled the old house, too many voices crowding his mind and begging his attention.

Too many regrets he could never erase.

So he spent as much time at the campus until he was forced to go back to the house. And that afternoon, as he was heading out of the main building, he met Elizaveta, who had been locking up the school paper clubroom. Or it would be more accurate to say that he literally bumped into her, and the impact sent his papers flying every which way.

He had apologized, of course, and had almost regretted doing so when she grabbed him by the shoulders and screeched, "I found you!" (Later, Arthur would realize that she had found out from whom the anonymous poem he'd left at the school paper office's submissions box earlier that week came from due to the similar handwriting both pieces—the one he'd left and the one she was clutching that day—had.)

"Your poems alone garnered so much praise, Arthur," her voice quieted, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief. When Elizaveta got going, it was extremely difficult to stop her. "Why don't you want anyone to know who's the writer behind these beautiful pieces?"

The brunette held up one of the articles, and Arthur glanced at his own looping script.

"I wait on these shores for one who'll never come back;

I wait beyond seas, beyond oceans of tears I lack."

"'And I turn away from hope, from hope that's gone,'" Elizaveta whispered, as the Briton looked away, "'And I turn to these lands, where forever I wait alone.'"

"It's better this way," Arthur repeated firmly. "Who would want to know someone like me, lass?"

Who would want to know someone who's given up on himself long ago?

The Hungarian girl smiled, and she turned around, walking towards her desk, upon which she perched herself with a knowing grin. "Oh, you never know, Arthur."

She jutted her chin in his direction, to which he elegantly raised a brow in questioning. Elizaveta merely grinned even wider, raising a hand and waving towards someone in the boy's general direction.

"Hello, Alfred!"

Arthur immediately turned around, and guarded green eyes met with amused blue. He forced himself to maintain his usual façade, crossing his arms across his torso as he regarded his fellow Junior.

The American strode into the room, nodding his head in recognition to the only girl in room with a bright grin. "Hey, Liz. Mattie's been looking for ya'; apparently, he needs your help with keeping a tight leash on the BTT again."

The Hungarian sighed, shaking her head as she hopped off of her desk, smoothing out her black Fall Out Boy tee, which was paired with a checkered skirt and ankle-high boots. (Arthur internally approved.) "Let me guess: Gil's at it again with some of the Royals, isn't he?"

Alfred nodded, stopping just a yard or so away from the Briton with his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his jacket. "Pretty much." He agreed, tilting his head in the direction of the door. "Also Franny's been flirting with the King's sisters again, while Toni... Well, I haven't seen him anywhere today."

"When will that French idiot learn that Natalya can turn his skinny ass into a freaking shish-kebab?" Elizaveta grumbled as she slung her bag over her shoulder, stomping her way to the door. (The Briton carefully kept his distance.) She turned to look at the two, tipping her head in the direction of the door. "Better get out while I'm still here; the lock on this door's been busted for a while now, which means that if somebody closes it with too much force, anybody who's still inside might get stranded for hours, and you do not want that to happen to you. Just ask Kiku—that happened once."

Arthur immediately sped out through the doorway, waiting for the Hungarian to follow suit as Alfred did the same. He kept his head turned away as Elizaveta passed by with a wave, which he returned, rather reluctantly.

He made to walk away, perhaps go up to the rooftop if he still had time, when the American reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened, abruptly whirling around on his heel to face the boy.

"What was that—"

"'Who would want to know someone like you', huh?" Alfred said, and Arthur narrowed his eyes, shoulders hunching defensively. The damn American had the nerve to listen in on a private conversation.

"What's it to you?" He uttered calmly, his tone of voice betraying the underlying current of tension which threaded through his taut muscles. It had been one of his few moments of weakness, a question of bitterness he'd unknowingly let slip in front of the only person he considered an acquaintance in this school, and now this enigma—this Alfred F. Jones had overheard him.

He couldn't have been more careless.

Alfred was a mystery—a mystery he was in the process of unraveling, and perhaps in doing so, he might unravel the mystery about himself that he tried so hard to protect.

He couldn't let anyone know who he really was.

"Well.. I guess you could say that I want to know you." He smiled, and still Arthur remained tense, unable to relax.

"Why?" He finally managed after a brief moment of silence which stretched between them. "Why do you want to know who I am?"

Alfred only smiled wider.

"That's for me to know, and for you to find out, Artie."

It was when the American had started to walk away that Arthur let loose an outraged shout at the bloody insufferable nickname.

—

Notes:

Camden Kirkland — OC! Scotland

Antoinette Kirkland (neé Michel) — Nyo! France

[pestopascal]

the extended hand

“She’s asking for help, Cullen. And Basilia… for her, that’s rare. We don’t know what this could mean.” They receive a letter; Cullen receives a reminder.

cross posted: ao3

late cross post w/e. post here lies the abyss. prior to wicked eyes wicked hearts. when u gotta recruit the hof into the inquisition tho

Cullen hears about the missive before Herald and Inquisitor alone, and that said more than any words on paper ever could. It was quiet in the hall, as he practically runs towards Leliana’s post, not quite sure if what he had heard was true to begin with. There were whispers, of course, as Fereldans were notorious gossips, and the barracks was a prime source, and yet, some part of him believed almost all of it.

Well, he could only hope it was true, even if Cullen would vehemently deny such a thing until the day he passed — the Hero of Ferelden lived, and had made contact herself. Not with him personally, with the Inquisition in general, but it was enough to make his heart lodge itself in his throat.

Early morning meant that he would be undisturbed, taking the steps two at a time. Just barely out of breath as he makes it to the top of the library, one hand on the rail, not realising his free hand had gone to make a fist. Easy, Cullen, he tells himself, trying to get that tension to leave. Now’s not the time.

“Is it true?” are the first words out of his mouth.

Leliana had a look on her face that simply said she didn’t quite know what to express, which was something Cullen didn’t see often enough. Instead, she held out the letter, a distraction for sure, but one that he ate up greedily. After the Circle, their Hero had tried to reach out to him, and he was sure she had appeared fleetingly in Kirkwall a few times, scattered appearances that he could’ve dreamt. But he never returned the letters, and one day they stopped coming, just like he stopped seeing her out the corner of his eye.

“She’s not offering her help?” Cullen can’t help how his tone ends on a question, even if they all should’ve seen this coming. Apparently, rumour had it that Hawke had at some point made contact with Amell, but that was heresy at this point in time. It hadn’t mattered then, and it didn’t matter now.

“No, she’s not.” Leliana’s response is stiff, arms going to fold over her chest. Had she expected something too? Several of the starry-eyed soldiers and mages who had joined the Inquisition had been inspired, largely in appearance of the archdemon during the attack on Haven. If there had ever been anything to summon the Hero of Ferelden from wherever she had hidden herself for so long, a possessed dragon was something they had all hoped for.

Cullen almost crushes the letter in his hands. They should have expected this. It was too good to be true, and Cassandra herself had said they just couldn’t find her. Amell was as elusive as ever, it seemed. Slippery and easy to get away, but instead of just a Tower to worry about, they had perhaps the entirety of Thedas to contend with. “We should’ve known this would happen.” And Cullen has to say it out loud, just to remind himself who they were talking about.

“Turn the paper over.”

Looking up, Cullen notes how Leliana seemed concerned, for lack of a better word. She was frowning all the time, but at that moment, there were such deep lines in her forehead, and with the intensity she stared at the paper in his hands, it was as if she was trying to magic Amell into the room alone.

He keeps an eye on Leliana, as he turns it over. Numbers, letters, splattered along the back. Names, Cullen can work out from the way the letters seem to form into sections alone. But deciphering wasn’t his forte, and eventually he had to give up, finally looking back up to Leliana to gauge her reaction. “What’s all this?”

“A script. We made it during the Blight, just in case we were separated. So our letters wouldn’t be intercepted.”

Cullen didn’t manage to hide his surprise at how easily Leliana seemed to give up information like that. At the huff, he managed to convey something that may have been interest, before simple neutrality. “And?”

Leliana still hadn’t quite unfolded her arms, if anything her grip on her forearms tightening. “It’s a location.” So they could find her.

Not names, Cullen thinks, but an actual, definitive location. Reading back over the mess, he can only hand it back, hope starting to fill him. “A location is all we need. We can send out a party to find her and—”

“She’s asking for help, Cullen. And Basilia… for her, that’s rare. We don’t know what this could mean.”

“So? We’ll be able to have her help. It’ll boost morale alone.”

“I respect that she’s powerful, and with her connections now, yes, Basilia is a great ally but—”

Cullen notes how Leliana simply continues to stare at the paper like her life may have depended on it — or was it Basilia’s that did? (Amell, he tries to correct himself, but even hearing her name stirs a tired old demon in him and it was too early in the morning for that). “You know more.”

“I do.”

“Are you going to share, or will this turn into a guessing game?”

How quickly this turned into something like chess, trying to work his way through the defences to the answer. Cullen wasn’t sure he could be able to play the game in his head so distinctly, like he had heard the Iron Bull and Solas do so frequently throughout Skyhold, but he could hold his own at the very least. And right now, he truly had to.

“Cullen, I don’t know if it would be for the best.”

“If you’re not going to tell me, at least send the Inquisitor. Or the Herald. Or the both of them! Amell is an asset we should not lose.”

“And how would you be, after not seeing her for so long?”

“I would live, just like I always have.”

Leliana levels him with a stare, and Cullen finds himself rooted to the spot. So thorough and calm, she kept her eyes on him, as if she may find one of the many cracks he was full of. “I was there. I know what happened.”

He didn’t want to return to thinking about the Tower. It was a dark and dreary place, and no amount of curious Heralds or Inquisitors, who didn’t know just how much they overstepped, would ever make it easier to talk about. “You only know the end, not the beginning.”

“She told me. She took the fall for her student, and it spiralled from there. Cullen, you know that Basilia had to kill so many of them—”

Cullen holds up a hand. No, he was not going to discuss this. And not with her. Leliana was a great ally, and Cullen would go so far as to consider her a friend, as he had seen her there in the Tower, bow in hand, but it was a simple no. “With all due respect, Leliana, you’re not the person I would like to talk to this about.”

There’s not offence clear on Leliana’s face, and Cullen knew better. Not wishing to test the waters, he finds himself rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I just—If we had her as an ally, it would benefit the Inquisition, and that’s my main concern at this very moment. If we did have to talk about… the Tower, so be it. But not now.”

Too much to take in so early in the morning. Cullen wasn’t sure what he should have focused on first, as Leliana didn’t bother to answer, taking a fresh sheet of paper in hand and setting about responding. Fear? Joy? That his head felt so heavy, as did the rest of his body, at how happy he could be at seeing that woman once more, had it not been for the dread there too. An apology is what Cullen owed her, at the very least.

By the Maker, he didn’t even know what kind of person she was now. Those he had tapped along the coastlines of Northern Thedas spilled back some kind of comments about Crows, Wardens and the usual complaints of mages. Nothing that pinpointed exactly what Basilia Amell had been up to.

As Leliana ties the note to the foot of one of her birds, she gives him one last, long look. “I will send the usual people out to help her. Perhaps it would be best for you to… prepare yourself, for what may come.”

“Thank you, Leliana.” And Cullen turns on his heel and leaves just as the bird takes flight.