#sully thinking real hard about his life choices

[nestingfoxx]

But wait there’s more

[byunpum]

More moments in the life of AUNT sully.

Pair: Aunt human reader x sully family x mate na'va x friends

Warning: none, Mention of trauma, death, nice ending

Note: This one was really hard, I was debating too much, but I still hope you like it. This was a compilation of 3 request. They were very similar, so I decided to put them together. I leave them here so you can read them "HERE". By the way, in one part of the reading the reader can breathe pandora's air? sorry, I forgot she was human and not the hybrid version. So pretend she can breathe xD

Request: @ilovechickenwings Maybe aunt series she find love and gets pregnant and all of the kids gets sad because they think she might forget them.

AVATAR MASTERLIST  (check all my auntie sully series)

Life had been very quiet for you the last 3 years, you had a great family, your son and a quiet place to rest. Little by little you had found your place in pandora, being a human was something very difficult to do but not impossible. Or so you said, since you had no choice. There were 3 types of humans in Pandora, those who had their avatars, those who didn't have avatars because they didn't want to or weren't part of the avatar project and on the other hand there was you… the only member of your group. The humans who could not have avatars because of their genetics. You could be Tom and Jake's sister…and they could be compatible with an avatar body. But your genetics were not compatible, and when it met with that of a navi. It practically broke the lifeline. Grace tried many times, she even came close, but always failed. You must admit that you were very jealous when you first saw Jake in your older brother's navi body. You wanted that…grace even tried to see if you were compatible. You didn't care about being a man in a navi's body, you just wanted to be one. But it didn't happen.

You got used to the fact that you could never experience what it was like to be a real navi. You had prepared yourself so much. You knew everything, from the language, to their customs. And the fact that you lived with them made you a very wise person on the subject of the Navi. So life in these last days had been easy for you, you were so happy. And even more so now… you were getting closer to a certain navi, who had taken an interest in you. No, you hadn't planned it… it had never crossed your mind to fall in love with a navi man. You were of different species and that was very clear to you…but with him. It was impossible. Ruk'e… was a very quiet navi, too quiet to be true. He was the storyteller of the Omaticaya clan. A serene navi, who was in charge of taking care of the farming, telling stories of the travelers. He was not a warrior, or someone who caused trouble. His presence was almost unseen by others, he liked to spend time in the forest with nature and devote time to himself. And for some reason, he had grown very fond of you. You used to go and sit by the campfire, while he told the old stories of the clan. Stories about the warriors, battles and many other things. Usually after three stories, the omaticaya who were listening would leave. But you were staying, looking at him with enthusiasm.

You loved to hear about the clan's past, and about other clans. You looked like a little girl, sitting with your legs crossed waiting for him to continue. At first it was strange to him, he had contact with humans but it was always at a long distance. The things that were said about humans were not very good…so at first he kept his distance. Picking up his things as he finished, he said goodbye politely. Leaving you alone at the campfire, but it wasn't until one night you got up the courage to ask him.

See how he is getting up from the floor, picking up his materials. He liked to use hand-carved wooden animal figures. To make his stories more entertaining. You approach him carefully. "Hello" you speak, you looked nervous. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable, you always sat backwards in the back corner. "Hello" says ruk'e making the gesture with his hands. You copy his movements. "I wanted to… I wanted to" you stutter, he laughs a little. And with all the patience in the world he waits for you to feel comfortable to continue. "I wanted to ask…if you could tell me more about the mountain clans?" you ask, you had your head down. You feel someone take your chin and lift it, you lift your face. And you see how he has a sweet smile on his face, it was so charming. "Sure little flower, it would be my pleasure" he speaks, his voice was calm and sweet. It was like a quiet melody. You sit down in front of him. He watches you settle in and you look at him intently. From that moment on… you were never apart again. He used to come looking for you, and you always went to listen to him every night. Things came naturally and your feelings for each other grew quickly.

Eventually after a while, you and ruk'e became a pair. This surprised everyone…first because ruk'e was very traditional and second because you were a human. But this didn't matter to the two of you, you had your own little world in which this spider. You had introduced him to the man, not long after he started courting you. The man was surprised that you did not have the father of the child by your side. Omaticayas are very monogamous, and it is very rare to see a woman alone with her child. But you explained everything to him…from the beginning to the end. You thought he wouldn't understand, but thanks to eywa he did. And you were even more surprised when he hugged you and kissed you on your forehead. "You are brave my yawntu" says ruk'e.

Spider fell in love with ruk'e. He had become his father, of course… he was not a normal Navi father. Hunting? Spider had to kill only what was necessary, there was no reason to kill a creature to show off his talents. Ruk'e thought hunters were sometimes a bit silly. Fighting? Why do you have to fight…violence begets more violence. This was a direct joke to tsu'tey, who was always making comments about ruk'e. Of course, spider never cared about any of this…he always obeyed his father. And thanks to that he was the kindest and most lovable boy in all of Pandora. And that's saying a lot, because the mo'at itself praised spider's upbringing. "His parents are raising a beautiful child," said the woman, watching as spider helped a pregnant woman, and he was only 5 years old.

The need for your family to grow was very evident in your eyes. You wanted to have more members in your family, all three were fine. But you knew that ruk'e wanted to have a child, but you were hurt to know that you couldn't give him that. You couldn't get pregnant by him in the first place, could you? You weren't sure…no one was. You could be compatible, sexually, and have no problem with that. But creating a baby together? Mmm you don't think it's possible. And having an avatar? That was history. Or so you thought, because someone gave you a surprise.

"Spider honey…come here!!!" you yell a little, while calling the little guy. You needed to clean him up, his mouth was all dirty. Spider was in the hammock playing with his father. "Honey…leave him alone. He looks cute like that," says ruk'e, while he blows a trumpet on spider's cheeks, and spider laughs. You start to look up at him. You hear someone approaching and calling you at the edge of your hut. You had moved in with ruk'e days after joining as a couple. The hut had been arranged to your liking and comfort. It sure was different from the other traditional huts, but ruk'e didn't mind. "Hey…Y/N can I talk to you for a second?" says norm, you could see he had some papers in his hands.

"Something wrong?" you approach, stepping out of the hut a bit. Spider signals to his father, for you both to go peek in. "I have very good news," says Norm, with a big smile. "What happened? Say it already!" you speak. "I think I managed to create an avatar for you," says Norm. For a moment you felt like all the air in your body was gone, you even felt dizzy. You stare at norm in surprise. "You're not kidding? Are you?" you couldn't believe it, finally. "No…I just need to run some tests and take blood samples. The avatar will grow in one of the capsules we have free. It might take about 5 years to grow, but…I think we can do it" Norm is so excited. Secretly he had been working on this project in secret. You jump up, and hug Norm, "By eywa…I am!!!! Ahhhh RUK'E!!!" You scream, running towards the hut. To your surprise, you see that your mate and your son were standing there, with a giant smile on their faces. "Did you hear everything??!!!!" you speak, you see as ruk'e nods his head smiling even bigger. He kneels down so you can hug him. "Finally…finally!!!" you feel like you could explode, this is really happening? You couldn't believe it.

Days and weeks went by, you went every day to the lab to see your avatar. She looked so much like you. Your excitement was so great, this was really happening. Jake was next to you looking at the avatar's body in the capsule. You were both silent as you watched the avatar make involuntary movements. "Are you sure about this?" says Jake, you look up. "Yes…I've never been more sure in my life about something like this" you speak, jake can see your smile widen and you continue to stare at your future body. He knew how much you wanted this. That same night, you were lying on your partner's chest. Ruk'e was stroking your hair, while singing a lullaby. "at last I can give you a son" you speak, you can hear ruk'e's voice stop. You lift your head slightly from your chest to see him. He was looking at you and had a serious expression. "Y/N I don't mind having a child. Sure…I want to. But it's not important to me. I don't want you to do this 'new body' thing for me. If you do it I want it to be for you" says ruk'e, his voice sounded distressed.

"But…you know I can't, and it's almost impossible that" you start to speak, but ruk'e takes your face in his hands and gives you a soft kiss. "I know…but we have spider, he's enough. Don't worry about it" he laughs. You settle back into his chest, hugging his chest tighter. "I want you to know that no matter what happens…I will always love you" ruk'e speaks, pulling you closer to his body. They both fall asleep quickly. That same morning, norm's scream jolted you awake. The man was agitated and from the look on his face. Something bad had happened. You get up quickly, and run to Norm, "You have to come to the lab" says Norm, you don't even get ready and run away. "Ruk'e stay with the boy…I'll be right back" you yell. Taking one last look around, watching as your partner is worriedly trying to calm the anxious spider.

You and Norm hurry to the lab. He didn't want to say anything to you on the way, nerves were killing you. What could be so bad that Norm would arrive at your house worried like this. As you enter the lab, your eyes widen. You see some of your friends surrounding the capsule where your avatar was, trying to stabilize it. You rush over, peering through the glass to see how it's warping. The scientists were doing what they could. "Get her out of there!!! " you shout, looking at norm in desperation. "We can't…she would die!!!" says norm, trying to install a tube so we can give her some medicine. All was chaos in the lab, you could see your friends running from one side to the other. While others were trying to stabilize her. You were a bit far away, this was not your field. So you decide to stay away and let them do their job. Out of nowhere, you hear a silence and see how everyone starts to look at each other. The machine that was checking your avatar's pulse had stopped and you noticed this. "Norm? NORM WHAT'S GOING ON?" you approach the man, who is looking at the capsule. You can see a tear come out of his eye. "I'm so sorry…I swear I tried" says Norm, it couldn't be true. This wasn't happening to you. "No, no, no…why? Why" your voice breaks, as tears well up in your eyes. You look at your avatar, she had stopped moving and looked a little pale. You start to cry and fall to the ground. You couldn't stop… you were so close. So close. Norm sits down next to you, and pulls you into his arms to hug you.

"Love…take it easy. I need you to breathe" ruk'e says as he holds you between his legs. Everyone was in the lab. Jake, Neytiri, ruk'e, norm, max…everyone. Norm had called them after the event, he thought it would be best. You were very upset. "And what happened? I wasn't well?" asked Jake, he was worried. "There was a glitch in her system… I thought the Y/N DNA had finally come together. But no…there was a break in her genetics. This caused a heart attack" says max. Neytiri takes a deep breath, she couldn't understand much of what max said, but she understood that your avatar had died. She was holding spider in her arms, she had told ruk'e that she would take care of the child that night so that he would take care of you. "He's a very young avatar…it's a shame," norm says. Everyone falls silent. While you are still crying, hugging your mate's neck. Ruk'e was doing his best to calm you down, but he knew you had to let all your emotions out.

Norm said he was going to take care of the body, that there was nothing to do. Your avatar was still too young, so he couldn't handle the whole process of genetic acceptance. You were devastated, ruk'e had taken you home. You were both sitting in silence, while your mate cut up some fruit. Your gaze is lost to anywhere in the hut. "Where is spider?" you ask, your voice sounded so sad. "He is with neytiri and jake…they will take care of him for the night" he speaks. You just answer him with a "mmm". Ruk'e walks over to you, taking your hand to kiss your palm. "everything will be fine" you raise your gaze, it looked lost. Ruk'e had to look at you for several more seconds, to be able to find you because you didn't seem to be there. He knew how hurt you were, you had put all your hopes in this. And now he was gone.

"I failed…again I failed. I failed in everything, what have I done to create all this" your tears begin to fall. "Why don't things work out for me? I'm a fucking failure" you cry, as ruk'e comes closer to put his arms around you. "Love you are not a failure" he speaks, you pull away. "Of course I am… he was right. I'm a fucking failure, I didn't make him happy. I'll never make you happy. I'm never going to get what I studied for so many years. I'll never… and it's all because of me. It's all my damn fault" you lower your head as your moans are heard throughout the hut. Ruk'e lets you cry, and respects your space. He doesn't usually get upset, but now he had a feeling of rage. He knew the damage that man (quaritch) had done to you. What he had left in you, so many years of mistreatment and you being so young destroyed you. Ruk'e turns to you, taking your hands and giving them a squeeze. You look up, and you can see tears welling up in his eyes as well. "I know you are hurt…I understand. I can't heal that wound. But I can be your support while you do" ruk'e takes a deep breath, and wipes away a few tears.

"I told you the story of the Binary sunshine flower?" ruk'e says, moving closer. To now stand next to you, draping one of his arms over your shoulder, pulling you closer to his body. "Ruk'a love…" you start to moan, but he continues.

"Once upon a time there was a Binary sunshine flower called Hewngea. Unlike the other flowers, Hewngea could not bear fruit or seeds. This made her feel left out and rejected for not fulfilling her traditional purpose. Hewngea felt sad and believed she was a failure compared to the other flowers. However, she was unaware that its beauty and fragrance attracted butterflies, which were key pollinators in the garden. One day, Hewngea saw how the yayo fluttered around her, collecting pollen on their wings. She realized that, despite not fulfilling the commonly accepted floral purpose, their existence was vital to the butterflies' life cycle and to maintaining diversity in the garden." Counts ruk'e, as he hugs you more.

"Ruk'e don't be like that…" you start to speak, but he ignores you and continues telling the story. "As the yayo flew from flower to flower, they carried Hewngea's pollen with them, helping to pollinate other plants and ensuring the reproduction of the surrounding flora. Hewngea realized then that, although she could not bear fruit or seeds, her role in the yayo colony was essential. From that moment on, she embraced her uniqueness and took pride in being a source of life and beauty for the yayos and her colony" spoke ruk'e, maintaining his silence for a moment.

He makes a quick movement, for now he is in front of you. His tail wagged from side to side, while his eyes searched yours. You pet the side of his face. "You are so important to me…you are my whole life. You are spider's mother, his mother. You are the best sister and the best aunt ever. You have a family that loves you, and if you were gone they would fall apart. I would fall apart. You are not a failure love…you are everything that is good and beautiful in this family" says ruk'e. You wipe away your tears, and move in for a kiss. For this reason you had fallen in love with him, how could he be so adorable? How could he be so… him?

"I see you" you speak, watching as he moves closer to your face. Leaning his forehead against yours. "I see you" there was a comforting silence. You knew he would be there for you, you knew he wouldn't fail you. That he wouldn't claim you for anything…he wasn't that man. No one was that man…you no longer had to meet his standards. Now you could be you. "Why don't we finish eating and then rest" says ruk'e, you laugh a little. "Yes…I agree" you say, coming closer to give him a big hug.

It had been three weeks since that event, and little by little you had recovered. It wasn't easy to say goodbye to your last chance to have an avatar body. But you were working it out. After all, you had everything you had asked for. You had your son, your mate and your family. What else could happen? Neytiri had asked you with her to go to the nearest lake to take the children to play. They were all between the ages of 2 and 6 years old, and they did not sit still and got bored easily. You agree, you didn't want to be alone for too long. They are both sitting on one of the rocks near the water. They were talking about everything, about the latest events that had happened. They might live nearby, but they both had lives of their own, so they were making the most of this time as friends.

It wasn't long before you started to feel sick. You swore that you saw the water in the stream and you saw it was white and your eyesight was a little blurry. Neytiri noticed how you were rocking back and forth, the movement was slow. "Y/N are you okay?" she asks, holding your shoulders. You were fainting, and just like that, you were in Neytiri's arms. "Y/N!!! no!!! Wake up!!!" was the last thing you heard, after that. You didn't know anything else. When you were finally able to regain consciousness, you could hear several voices in the distance. You could hear your brother jake, neytiri and ruk'e. They were a little upset but their everything was fine. They were a little upset but their whole mood was one of happiness. Even norm's voice, this made you open your eyes quickly.

You hadn't spoken to Norm since the event in the lab. Everyone saw your eyes widen. "You are awake" says mo'at, who was doing several massages to get you up. You see that you have something on your belly, and several wet cloths of a paste on your forehead. Thank eywa that you were now wearing na'vi clothes, otherwise this would be a disaster. Everyone comes around you, and ruk'e kneels down to stand next to you. You see everyone is looking at you with that stupid grin. "What the hell is going on? Jake?" you look at your brother, and you just swear you see him crying. "We have to tell you something" says Neytiri sitting on the other side of you. You look at her with concern. "What? Am I going to die?" you ask. Norm laughs. "You are pregnant," says Neytiri, very happy. Squeezing your hand, while you open your mouth in shook. "WHAT?" you shift your gaze to look at your partner. Ruk'e ascends with his face, and you turn to look at jake, and he copies ruk'e. You almost faint again, but mo'at holds you up. "Easy…we're here" says neytiri, you turn your gaze to her. She looked so happy for you.

You couldn't understand how you had become pregnant. It was almost impossible, if you couldn't with a human, why with a na'vi? What if you hurt your baby? Since your genetics are not compatible? Oghhhh you were going into crisis. After you recovered and felt better. Norm stopped by your home, he wanted you to go to the lab. But you didn't feel ready to visit that place yet. "How did this happen? How is this possible?" you ask. "Mmmm I don't know…I really don't know what to tell you. This is a one in a million chance" says Norm, you can see how happy he is. "But if I…I hurt him. That I wouldn't stand for" you speak, norm takes your hand. "I'll be there to help you and take care of you. I promise you everything will be okay" norm speaks. You laugh, and squeeze his hand. He always keeps his promise…always.

4 months of pregnancy had passed and everything was happening just right. It still felt so unreal to you. Sometimes when you are alone you swear it was eywa who blessed you with this pregnancy. Everything was calm again, you were sitting in the hut. You felt tired, it was a na'vi baby inside you. You might be 4 months, but you felt 7 months. Norm was always monitoring you, keeping an eye on everything. You were grateful to have your friends and family all together. You sat there resting while you watched spider and lo'ak play in the hut. Lately lo'ak always wanted to be by your side, so it was normal to see him at your house early in the morning. You watch as the two children approach, while spider leans down and places his face on your belly.

"I hear his heartbeat!!!" says spider, excited. The child had recently turned 6 years old, and is very active. Lo'ak mimics his movements, you stroke his hair while your nephew listens carefully to what is in your belly. See how his little eyes open, lo'ak has na'vi hearing so he can literally hear everything clearly. "Wowwwwwww" shouts lo'ak. "It's great?" you speak, stroking lo'ak's cheek. " Aunt Y/N…it's going to be a girl" lo'ak says, you look at him curiously. While spider nudges him a little. "How do you know!!!"? spider is already getting annoyed. "I just know," lo'ak says, rolling his shoulders up. "Lo'ak has magical powers" you joke, tickling both children. You were anxious to be a mother to your second child, finally.

Dictionary: Yoya [bird ]

p.s: I know that in the request they want aunt sully to have a na'vi body, but I decided not to do it. Since in other requests she is always represented as human. So leave her as human, I see no reason to change her. Being human and being the weird Aunt of the family is her job.

I am gradually answering all the requests. Wow…thank you very much, I love you very much <3

[ghoul-bonez]

~Through the Wind and Rain~

Chapter 4 (Promise Not to Leave)

OC x OC set in the “Avatar: The Way of Water” universe…

Summary: Jake Sully has always been an intimidating man, so when he asked Niri’te to talk with him she feared the worst.

Word count: 1.2k

Author's note: Life has been crazy so this took 2 days to edit…

Last - Next

Masterlist

Chapter 4 (Promise Not to Leave)

I knew the Sullys enough to call them by a first name basis. Jake's attempts to get his kids to be friends with me had failed because I refused to let them in, but for some reason they still seemed to like me.

They would call us friends, even after the many times I would try to correct them, denying our friendship. I had always liked Kiri more than the rest, but saw a lot of myself in Lo’ak which I think is why I fought so hard against their attempts at being friendly. I was already a troublemaker. I would not turn the Olo’eyktan’s son into one like myself.

Walking towards the Sully’s marui I knew Jake wouldn’t do anything to harm me, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t extremely worried about what would lay past the doorway, many outcomes came to mind, only about half seeming good. As soon as I entered their home Neytiri immediately stood in front of me, she hissed frustratedly while Jake rubbed her arm, “How could you abandon your own kind!?”

Jake seemed just about as upset and I finally had my first real doubt about my choice to come, I was so screwed if I messed absolutely anything up, “Yeah, what sort of idea wormed its way into your head that made you want to leave the Omatikaya people.”

I didn’t want to explain my whole story to the Metkayina who I barely knew, but I felt I owed Neytiri and Jake an explanation, “It didn’t feel like I was among my own kind.” I sighed, almost just as frustrated as Neytiri, “My parents died alongside you fighting the Sky People, and after they passed I had my aunt who basically counts as nobody. Nobody came to my side. I was essentially the clan’s pet, you should know that of all people. I know you tried your best to help, but I was stubborn and didn’t accept it, but when you left I truly had nobody. So I left the forest. Here I won’t just be “the orphan” that people feel the need to be kind to. I won’t have to mostly fend for myself. I will be my own person here.”

It was once the Sully children started to really stare at us that Jake sighed and spoke again, “Let’s go have a conversation outside.” I knew I didn’t want to be a part of the conversation that was about to happen, but I accepted it.

Whatever he had to say to me had to be better than the tongue lashing Neytiri would give me. We walked outside, him guiding me to the edge of the pathway and sitting down. I awkwardly sat next to him, making sure to keep my distance.

Jake sighed, “I want you to realize no matter how much you hated your aunt, or how little she did to show her love for you, your decision hurt her. I have felt the pain of losing a family member, I know how you feel with your parents, how long the grief sticks with you. I have promised the clan leaders that I will take care of you. I want you to succeed here, I want you to grow. I don’t want to watch you go back home with your tail between your legs. I know you don’t want to go back either. You will follow the same rules as my kids, you will adapt, and learn fast. You will pull your weight, and stay out of trouble. Got it?”

I let out a relieved sigh, happy that this was an accepting conversation, not a “go back home” one, “Yes sir. I know she is upset, but I did this for myself, and you of all people should know sometimes you have to be selfish for yourself to thrive.”

Jake placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing slightly to reassure me, “I get that kid, but you need to learn that you can’t run from your problems. I need you to promise me one thing.”

I frowned, I was never great at keeping promises, “I’ll try.”

He smiled at me, “Alright, I need you to promise me that you will not leave. No matter what happens, no matter how much you struggle to learn or adapt. You will stay.”

I smiled back at him, that was a promise I could keep, “I can promise you that. Also you do know you don’t have to feel obligated to watch out for me, right?”

“But I do, I was your Olo’eyktan. My job was to watch over my people and keep them safe. I may not be Olo’eyktan anymore, not with the Omatikaya, and definitely not with the Metkayina, but that spirit still resides in me. To care for my people, you are still one of my people.” He seemed a lot more relaxed now, “Alright, back inside. It's time to eat.” He ruffled my hair before heading back inside with me following behind.

When we got inside Neytiri was still visibly upset, but she seemed to not want to skin me alive anymore. I quietly took a seat between Lo’ak and Tuk, trying to not draw much attention, and after a couple minutes the food was served.

I ate happily, except for having to smack both Tuk and Lo’ak’s hands away from my food which they were trying to steal. Eventually they gave up though after Kiri pestered them.

It felt a bit empty without Neteyam, but I silently worked through the feelings I was having on my own. It led to me being quieter than usual, which I’m sure everyone noticed, but thankfully nobody brought it up although I would easily be able to pass it off as exhaustion after my trip.

Eventually we split ways and I found my way to my own marui which Leyra had shown me to earlier. I was exhausted so I quickly set up my hammock, hanging it from two support beams across from one another. I sat down in it but before laying down and going to sleep I decided to pray to Eywa as I added a bead to my song chord.

A bead for my new life in Awa’atlu. I felt this was a big enough occasion to add to the song of my life. I gathered my song chord and rifled through my things looking for the perfect bead, but as I came up short I looked around my marui.

Hung on one of the walls was a net with little shells weaved into it. I slowly went to it, exhaustion weighing down my bones, and used my knife to snag the net, cutting it and releasing the shell into my hand. It was perfect.

As I sat down to tie the shell into my song chord I spoke, “Eywa, if you are listening, I would love a sign that I am truly meant to be here, I don’t really have the choice to leave now, but I would like to get confirmation I made the right decision. I want to make sure I am on the right path. I will be watching for your sign, Great Mother. Thank you.”

Once I was done praying I heard a noise, once, twice, then more times than I could count. The rain had come once again. I knew that was some sort of sign, it had to be, but it wasn’t enough for me.

The rain will never be enough for me, and someday that will be my downfall.

After the rain began I felt at peace, and laid back, falling into a peaceful sleep. I will be looking for her sign.

Word Bank:

Olo’eyktan (Clan leader)

Marui (Metkayina homes)

Omatikaya (Forest Na’vi)

Metkayina (Ocean Na’vi)

Sky People (Humans)

Awa’atlu (Metkayina village)

Eywa (Na’vi goddess)

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

HIIIIII ARIIIIII>:33333333 i am here to inquire abt sashisuri and getting married!!!!!!!!! how would all of your weddings look like????? would you even have a wedding, maybe just a reception? maybe you just wanna exchange rings and that'd be enough? TELL MEE TELLL MEEEEE PLEAAASEEE<333 and omg.. how does kenny feel about a wedding? how does laios?

and again if you (or them for that matter) aren't one for weddings and all that, is there any other way you guys show your everlasting love to each other?????

HEHEHHEEE ARIIIII I WANNA HEAR ALL ABOUT YOUR SELFSHIPSSSS PLEASEEEE you're all so cute i need to kiss your foreheads go on get in line everybody<3333 I HOPE UR HAVING A GOOD DAY AND I HOPE THAT YOU ARE TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF!!!! i know you said that you're gonna be quite busy, so i hope you're still getting your rest!!!!!! mwah mwah mwah i love you sm angel<3333 - @teddybeartoji

MICKEY ……………..

this ask….. has been Spinning in my brain since you sent it </3 we already talked about it a bit but aaaaaa sashisuri has been………… making me a little insane lately . sniffle. thank you for indulging me my love <3333 i have a feeling this will get long but that’s the arimickey standard, here’s a cup of coffee and some treats while you read :3 ☕️🧁

OK SO ……. just . generally speaking!!!! i am Not a marriage person lmao….. i’d prefer not having a wedding at all. or even getting legally married? just being engaged for the rest of my life sounds like a dream honestly…… buuut with that being said i do think some of these guys (one guy in particular😒) would want me to compromise 😭

satoru is like me i think <33 he doesn’t have any real desire to get married, and arigojo is also a mega slowburn so??? yk. it’s not exactly a standard relationship!! i also feel like he’s turned off from marriage because of how awful most clan marriages are in jjk…… he doesn’t want me legally becoming a gojo. :((((( but like we talked abt…. i think he still ends up asking me if i’d like to be with him forever 🥹 and he buys rings!! because he likes it when we match…. super expensive and custom made. maybe a sun/moon motif? the issue is that we both see each other as the sun so???? it’s . a week-long debate. buuuut yeah he just buys us the rings and everyone else is like …. did you . get married to gojo 🤨🤨 ………….. and it’s not Exactly true but we’re married in spirit yk??

anyway just to tie this back to the first point…….. even though we aren’t legally married he takes my last name :33 and gets upset when people refer to him as gojo . he’s lenient with the students but poor ijichi gets the MEANEST side eye (nobody told him 💔💔💔)

ANYWAYYY TGAT WAS. a lot of gojo. next is suguru and like we discussed <3333 i think this guy is very much the marriage type. he daydreams about it. he loves the idea of being my husband and loves the idea of me being his spouse……. silly little sappy loser. thankfully he’d prefer a small, private wedding, which is the only kind i’d be comfy with 😭 we end up reaching a compromise and only inviting the most important people (satoshoko :333) it’s cozy and intimate and we both cry LMAOOO i hate him actually take him away from me mickey….. he cries while proposing too…….

i doooooooo . also. want to mention cult leader geto…… the alternative arisugu flavour. this guy 😔😔😔😔 SIGH…… he wants a traditional japanese wedding. wants to see me in a kimono…… i don’t have a choice (i Do but he’ll pout ://) he doesn’t want any non-sorcerers around to ✨sully the atmosphere✨ so it’s just us, his family and my closest friends :33 he cries a LOTTTTT. he tries so hard to keep it together but he cries when he sees me and cries while saying his vows…… cries when he’s laying next to me in bed once the festivities are over………… makes me pinkie promise not to regret my decision because he’s silly and stupid. i do it anyway because i love him :(((( stupid fox…

ok enough abt the loser men let’s talk abt the loser Women <3333 shoko is just like me fr i don’t think she’s interested in marriage at all but for some reason i do feel like we’d end up legally married??? like…… we just kinda sign the papers one day and that’s that. i propose to her with a ring pop and she’s like okay let’s do it???? and who am i to deny my wife…….. she does eventually get us proper rings and only then do the people around us realize we’re married LMAOO (gojo owes suguru 20$) she also wants to see me in a wedding dress i think… just once………..

OHHH AND AND AND if we’re talking abt sashisuri as a polyship then i think we do get married :33 um. we might have to legally get married in pairs though…. not sure if polyamorous marriage is a thing in either of our countries……… no idea who marries who but it doesn’t really matter because we’re All married, y’know?? it’s either a full-on wedding with lots of our shared friends or just the four of us lol, no inbetween <333 it feels more like a cozy party than anything!!!!!

KENJAKU ……. well 💀 . hmmmm. arikenny is a very unorthodox relationship mickey i’d call it a lifetime companionship more than anything??? if that makes sense???? 😭 kenny never actually says we’re dating so i think it’s safe to say marriage is never brought up . BUT they do verbalize the sentiment at some point!! either in a really casual way (”we have a whole lifetime to figure it out,” or something else that implies they want me around forever) or something more akin to a proposal…… ”wouldn’t it be nice to do this forever? what do you say?” or maybe just ”you’ll be by my side until the moment you die.” which . sounds pretty awful right?? they mean it in a romantic way though. idk mickey they’re severely ill idk what to do with them

this is already long so i’ll keep laios short hehe :3 but i don’t really think he’s much of a marriage guy either!!! though i can see him proposing…. kinda casually…… he doesn’t even realize it’s a proposal (meanwhile i’m 0.3 seconds away from exploding)…… if we had a wedding it’d for sure be monster themed <3333 i just want him to be happy!!!!! he buys me . a kitten. as a wedding gift…. and we have a tiny little cozy get-together with the other guys in our party :333

OKAY THAT’S ALL LMAO selfships will have u spilling your hypothetical life story like it’s nothing……. I LOVE YOU MICKEY MY DEAREST!!!!! thank you for being so sweet hehe, i’d love to hear abt your own selfship marriage thoughts too!! 🥺 though i already know abt some of them….. what abtttt misu and mikuna? :333 obsessed with you three btw…… kissing your noses one by one pls protect me from sukuna’s cleave ok???

[marshmallowprotection]

Do you think SE Saeran will get rid of the tattoo someday?

SE Saeran wears his tattoo as a reminder at first. He can’t forget what he’s done or what he went through. He has to face that when he looks in the mirror. He can't run away from his reflection. He knows that like the back of his hand, and you can say that given how he tried to remove the red from his hair to make sure he could even stomach that reflection.

This is his way of coping with reality and knowing that he went through something that cannot be erased. Since his memory isn’t the best, he hates to think that there is something he’s forgetting. He can’t forget what he’s gone through, but there are times when it feels as though reality isn’t what it appears to be. He questions the world around him.

What is real? What isn’t real? Is he real? Is he fake? All of those questions can seem overwhelming when they hit him. That’s a hard feeling to face. It's not that hard to imagine why. Put yourself in his shoes. His reality was constantly put into question. Things that he thought he knew were made to feel wrong all the time. How does he know what's real? Those kinds of questions don't leave him. They stay with him no matter where he goes. How can he trust himself?

Do you know the one thing that's real? His tattoo. The choice he made in that place to get a tattoo to prove his commitment to something that was built on a lie. At least, he understands it to be a lie now. All of that was a lie and he can see that now, but if he knows anything as he is now, it's that no matter how he feels, that tattoo was always going to be looking back at him.

His tattoo is a testament to the things he has gone through.

The good, the bad, and the ugly. He wears it as a reminder. You can't forget when it's on your body forever. He can't forget what he has gone through, the things he's done, or where he is today as long as he knows that the tattoo is looking back at him. It's almost mocking him sometimes because while it helps him remember he's no longer in that place, it is also a testament to the things he did wrong. To the blood on his hands that haunt him when he tries to sleep.

Whether people want to talk about it or not, it haunts him to know that he took a life. It doesn't matter who that life belonged to, he has to live with the fact that his hands are sullied with blood. V’s blood. That moment when everything went wrong was truly the lowest point of his life. The gun was in his hands to protect himself from being destroyed, and in his fit of fear and confusion, the gun went off and his mind went blank. It doesn't matter if it was intentional or not, he has to live with the weight of that on his chest. On his shoulder, even.

The blood might not be on his hands but you know what is? His tattoo.

I don't think he will get rid of the tattoo anytime soon. I see it as something that weighs on his guilty conscience and keeps him feeling like he can't forget what happened. It's the same way that his brother carries around a cross around his neck so he never forgets the weight of his choices. Those two are very similar in that sense. That may change in the future, though. He may get to a point where he doesn't feel afraid of forgetting. He may even get to a point where he can look in the mirror without feeling disgusted. We have no way of knowing for sure the way he'll feel in the future so we can't define it with a definite answer.

Maybe he'll get rid of the tattoo or maybe he'll cover it up when the time feels right. The tattoo doesn't always have to be something that's a reminder of all the bad things he's gone through. Someday it could be more like a testament to his survival. It could be a reminder he went through all of that but he came through on the other side with things he never imagined. Perspective is a hell of a thing that takes time to figure out.

But for the time being, the tattoo stays because he doesn't want to forget. If he never forgets, he can't repeat it again. He certainly doesn't want to repeat the choices he made in the past. After all of the things he's gone through, he doesn't want to pick up any technology or get close to weapons that could cause harm that can never be taken away. The only thing he wants to do is look at the sky all day and treat himself to some ice cream if he feels like he's earned it. Even that much doesn't feel like he has the right to enjoy it, but it's the small luxury he allows himself as he goes through recovery.

[radama-zard]

Dungeons & Drabbles - 2022

Day 24 - Mellifluous

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

FCG / Anni Aughta (Modern Human AU)

Everything about Anni was musical.

Her passions, her laugh, the way she always stepped in time with the beat.

To many she was a boisterous and nasty punk, with all the social graces of a bag of flour and a bite far worse than her already rancid bark.

To Fresh Cut Grass though, and by extension the rest of the Krook House Crew, she was a complete and utter delight. What made her an outcast to society just made her fit in here with them all the more. Her argumentative nature gave Ashton someone to safely banter and bicker with. Her more solitary nature gave Milo the space to work on their passions without worrying that they were ignoring her. After all, if Anni wanted their attention she’d make that known, loud and clear.

And with Fresh Cut Grass?

Well, he loved the music she played. Nothing was more soothing after the average death charred 3am nightmare than the sweet melodies lofting from Anni’s bedroom. Usually the violin, her weapon of choice, so to speak.

A pleased sigh slipped forth, as Fresh Cut Grass shifted their head safely in Anni’s lap, letting the gentle strokes of the bow melt their anxieties away.

“Thanks for lettin’ me listen again, Anni,” they whispered during a particularly long lull in her private bedroom performance. “I know you don't usually like letting anyone in when you're practicing, even if I think it always sounds real pretty and all…”

Anni rolled her eyes, failing to hide the affection behind the gesture from the blue eyed delight in her lap. Like she could ever be truly annoyed with them for even a second.

“You were sobbing so loud that I'm surprised you didn't wake Mi and Ash. How drunk did those fuckers get to sleep through that?”

“They're certainly due for some nasty hangovers in the morning… I’m sorry if my crying disturbed you.”

“Cut it with the apologizing bullcrap! We don't say sorry for fucking crying in this household, okay?”

“I- I know, but I was very loud, and you were trying to practice…”

“And look! I still am! Wow! It's like you didn’t disturb shit!”

Well, that was true. Sure, Anni had taken a 15 minute break to pull them from their bedroom (gosh they hated sleeping alone… but Ashton, with Milo in their lap, had fallen asleep in front of his door, blocking Fresh Cut Grass from getting in), and into her own. Had had to comfort and hold them and he shook and sobbed and sullied her favorite Metallica t-shirt.

But once they'd calmed down she'd motioned for him to lie down and had picked her violin right back up. Anni allowed him to lay their head upon her lap, and well, everything had been fine from there. She hadn't even complained once, something they knew was hard for her.

Anni really was trying her best for him.

“... Thank you, Anni. Really.”

“For what? For the great tunes? ‘Cause that's the only thing you can thank me for. The rest…” Anni paused, slowly turning a peg to adjust a string. “... It's what you've done for me before. Without a single fucking complaint, even when I'm bein’ a fucking bitch about it. That means a lot. So it's no big deal. I don't like seeing you upset, Sunshine.”

Oh.

They hadn't realized it had meant so much. Fresh Cut Grass had only been doing what they thought was right, had only wished to make her feel better. They didn't like seeing her in pain, not one bit. Anni deserved so much more than life had given her.

Everyone in this beat up little house did.

“The music is beautiful, as always. I saw a word a few days ago that I think describes you pretty well. Mel… Mel-li-flu-us? Mellifluous!”

“What's that mean?”

“It's a sound that's pleasingly smooth and musical to hear! Like your violin, or when you hum along to show tunes or just your voice in general. It's a very fitting description, don't you think?”

“.... Fuck you’re a sweetheart.”

A deep red spread from Anni’s cheeks, glowing as soft and pretty as the moonlight that filtered through her bedroom window. Fresh Cut Grass thought it only added to her charming loveliness.

“You are too, Anni. But don't worry! I won't tell another soul!”

“You damn well better not! This shit is for you and you only, got it?”

“Yes mam!”

“Uck, don't make me regret my soft spot for ya…”

Fresh Cut Grass laughed, and Anni couldn't help but think how mellifluous it sounded as well.

Fuck. She really was going soft, wasn't she?

[stevesharrlngtons]

hi i don't know if anyone still cares about true blood but i'm rewatching season 4 and i would like your unfiltered opinion on sookie/eric pls

…. Honey you got a big storm coming

This will be a LONG post and likely need a read more so brace yourself. LETS GET UNFILTERED

First and foremost, I do ship Sooric. In the early books and in the entire television shows run they have OUT OF THIS WORLD chemistry. I loved the will they/won’t they, the angst, the sexual tension, and the yearning we got out of them.

Now, unfortunately, in both the show and book series, Sookie does not deserve Eric or his love and devotion. As much as I tried to fight this fact while watching the show, it is just true. Time and time again, Eric proves to her that he is trust worthy, that he adores her, listens to her, makes an effort to change for her, PROTECTS HER WITH HIS LIFE, and she is just too stubborn to let herself love him. Why? Bc he was an asshole to her??? Bc her abuser doesn’t like him??? It’s a hard pill to swallow while watching the show, bc it is so clear that Eric is the better man between him and Bill, but Sookie just can’t accept that. She can’t see past his past (even though Bill’s is just as murky) and writes off all of his change as deception or willfully chooses not to acknowledge it (We do see her stay continually warm toward him for s4-7 though, but still)

Obviously s4 is the best Sooric content we get (aside from the books which I will try not to mention much in this post, for all your Eric/Sooric book needs see @skarsgard-daydreams) which is pretty disappointing bc if you boiled down the season to just their scenes, it would last maybe a half hour? Forty five minutes? Maybe? And this was the big lead up we got after four seasons of Sooric being one of the most talked about and favored relationships in the series and pop culture at the time. It is very disappointing that the only real Sooric “relationship” moments we get in the entire series are when Eric had his memories erased and he wasn’t his true, authentic self. We do get Sookie admitting that she loves Eric in s4 which was great progress, and that she thinks she always had loved him (after how many gestures from Eric at this point tho? 🤔) but one constipated look from Bill and suddenly she can’t choose between them.

It is hard to watch the ending of s4 bc it is clear thay Sookie loves Eric, but she will never let herself be in love with him. Something that Eric struggles with for the remainder of the seasons (even though he respects her choice unlike someone else we know)

Those are my quick sooric/s4 thoughts

BUT

Bc I am currently binging Jenny Nicholson videos, let’s break down the rest of my thoughts about Sooric shall we? Let’s have three bullet points: Why I think Sookie rejected Eric in s4; What I would have done if I had written the show; and Why the writers broke them up/never gave them a chance.

Why did Sookie reject Eric in season 4?

The show tells us in s1 that because of her powers, Sookie has never had a boyfriend and is a virgin. She lives in a very small town and while she is desired, she hasn’t really found anyone to desire in return.

So, when Bill shows up and he is a vampire, (a concept she is fascinated with) good looking and charming, she falls for him without a safety net. I think even if Bill hadn’t given her his blood and therefore manipulated and sullied their entire relationship, she still would have been obsessed with him and would have wanted to pursue something with him. Just because he was something entirely different for her.

Sookie is sheltered, lacks any relationship/sexual experience, is a romantic, as well as largely isolated. Bill is the man of her dreams in many ways because he is new, he is exciting and worldly, but he is a man from the past who still believes in chivalry and courting and who her Gran likes and blah blah blah you know what I mean. Bc of the circumstances of which she meets Bill and how their relationship plays out (the ups and downs, love bombing, the grand gestures of love, him being her first everything, most importantly her first love, etc) she can’t let go of him, not only because of his blood in her system, but because of the weight and importance she put on their relationship in the first place. Her life was leading up to the point of meeting someone she could connect with like Bill, so her mind fixated on him hard.

After their break up, Sookie doesn’t think she can trust any other man (or vampire) ever again bc the one she had put so high on a pedestal had mortally wronged her. This is a fatal flaw for Sookie, she will not accept change or new information. Everyone is as they were when she met them. Such as Bill = good Eric = bad (even when both of their actions speak otherwise).

Sookie’s stubbornness shoots her in the foot time and time again, not just in her relationship with Eric, but with lots of the other characters. But to focus solely on Eric, her preconceived notion that Eric is the foil to Bill’s heroic lead never changes even when she knows that Bill is not the great man she thought he was, and when Eric proves that he is not the monster she thought him to be.

In the end of s4, after Eric has his memories back and Bill is saved (or whatever who actually cares about Bill?) She tells Eric that Bill is the reason why they can’t be together. She loves Eric. They have just gone on a passionate and specular love affair that she very much enjoyed. Then why can’t she just choose Eric and get over Bill? To me, it feels like even her subconscious is too stubborn and refuses to let go of the weight Bill once held in her life — tied with her inability to see Bill as anything other than the “good” one. She does say that her love for him is something “chemical” (and unhealthy but that’s just me) bc he gave her her first taste of vampire blood, which does make sense. But it’s still stupid and I hate it ok??? Just another example of Bill ruining her life

In the end of the season, when they are both in bathrobes and finished feeding off Sookie to recover, Bill tells Sookie to be with Eric, but she still rejects Eric (but Bill too so, hey! Silver lining) Which was heartbreaking to watch, especially because of Alex’s performance.

I do think that in her own way, it was the right thing to do. She recognized that a part of her still loved Bill and couldn’t love Eric with her entire heart. Along with her explained hang ups on Bill’s importance in her life and her stubborn mostly irrational fear of her original interpretations of Eric being right and getting hurt again. I do think she truly loved him, but just never enough (but at least had the heart to not leadhim on like book!Sookie but I digress)

Eric always deserved better than someone who was so wishy washy about their feelings for him. Which I know is a weird thing to say when I do ship Sooric but things don’t always have to make sense lol

What I would have done if I had written the show

Sookie not being with either of the people in the show’s love triangle (yknow, pretty much the whole premise? The whole selling point??) is boring. If you don’t like that sentiment, I know you will at least agree that not having Sookie even interact with the two other people in the show’s proposed love triangle — who are both still very much around and alive — is boring AND stupid. So if I were a writer on the show, what would I have done? Well, I would have had Sookie choose Eric in the end of s4 (duh) but keep most everything else exactly the same. I don’t want to say I would give the show an entire overhaul bc there is a lot I like about the later seasons (and a lot I don’t but ok) so I would just want to focus on the once main focus of the show, romance; and the main focus of this ask, Sooric.

In the end of s4 Sookie chooses Eric. She is able to let go of her past with Bill and wants to learn to grow with Eric. And while she knows a part of her will always love Bill and care for him, she knows that what she has with Eric is real and wants to be with him. They embrace, it is very emotional, tears on both ends and they declare their love once again.

I don’t remember when Eric and Bill are kidnapped, if it was the end of s4 or the beginning of s5, (keep in mind I haven’t watched this show all the way through in almost a year) but that still happens. Bill and Eric are kidnapped by the authority and blah blah blah again. BUT! In my rewrite, now Sookie is distraught and heartbroken and PISSED and will do anything to find Eric. The rest of the season is spent not only trying to deal with vampire Tara, but trying to get Pam on her side to go find Eric. Lots of crying and love lorn yearning ensues. Maybe a few flashbacks from missing scenes from other seasons.

All the while, Eric is basically going through the same thing. Scratch the vague Nora incest plot line and just give us lots of Eric bragging about his bad ass fairy girlfriend so much that Bill and Nora are gagging. Lots of anger and love lorn yearning ensues.

In the end when Sookie, Pam, Tara and Jason find the authority, we just get a much more emotional and make out filled Sooric reunion. The elevator scene after they escape Bilith? Lots of Alex’s big ass hands cupping Anna’s face as they have a tender and exhausted moment.

Maybe in s6 they go on a good vacation over the break and in s7 we get lots of good angst with hep-V Eric and then more emotional reunions between the two. Hell, I will thrown in Pam learning to begrudgingly love Sookie over the seasons like she did in the books, bc I’m writing this now and I want that too!

In the series finale, I don’t think we need any confirmation about whether or not Sookie would be turned into a vampire. She made it clear with Bill she wasn’t keen on it, maybe she has changed her mind, maybe she hasn’t. Maybe we get a good few episode conflict between Sooric about her turning to spice things up. Who knows! But it would be good, ok.

I think we could sprinkle in some marriage and adoption/sperm donor conversations between the two throughout the series (played straight, for angst or for laughs) and in the end still have Sookie with her husband and pregnant belly, just have Eric be the one by her side.

Would it really change the outcome of the series plot wise all that much? NOPE. And yet? So much better, more fulfilling, interesting and actually makes sense in my opinion.

Lastly, why did the writers break up Sooric/never give them a chance?

If you don’t know, the first four seasons of True Blood follow the book series pretty accurately. Obviously there were changes and things kept out/put in, but the over arching plots and story are the same. After s4, I am unclear on why, but they did not continue to follow the book series as they had. Dead as a Doornail (the book that s5 would have been based on) came out in 2001 and the fifth season came out in 2012, so it wasn’t a GOT situation. The book series is convoluted and mostly stupid. Ch*rliene Harris fucks up her own stories and characters so royally that it makes no sense as to why she would sabotage herself so bad and so embarrassingly (but again for the books, go to Marie). In the fifth book, that would have coincided with the fifth season, Eric and Sookie are together. They are together for bulk of the series which is like 13 or 14 books. So, was this the reason the writers veered away from the books? Because they didn’t want Sookie and Eric together for the rest of the TV show’s run? It’s one of the things I can think of (I just did a quick Google search and couldn’t find anything on why they diverted from the books but if you know PLS comment) that they thought a stable couple after the drama of the love triangle would be too boring or safe.

This would make some sense if they had absolutely no knowledge of the books other than someone telling them that Sookie chooses Eric. Because the fucking drama between those two in the books is of epic proportions. They could have had them fight, break up, get back together, be apart with miscommunication, have big romantic gestures, fight scenes with lots of screaming for each other, the list goes on. But no. We get another three seasons of our three protagonists almost never all in the same room, never interacting or even liking each other. We get lots of meandering nonsense of side characters and plots that fizzle out. It made little to no sense to me why they would keep making the lore of TB more confusing and complex when they really didn’t need to. As much as I HATE Harris, she gave them more than enough vampire source material to make a series only about vampire bullshit. There was so much interesting stuff they never touched! No need for werepanthers or Sam’s brother.

I think the writers sorta got on their HBO high horse and thought they could make plot lines that were as strong as the source material (which was sorta just meh to begin with) and failed pretty miserably. They gave us some GREAT Pam and Eric moments (I like television Paric better than book Paric so thx I guess) but not much else. I do think they wanted to shock (?) fans and throw a wrench in things for fans who had read the entire book series. I am all for innovative thinking but like…… when it’s done well.

I know fan service is highly contested in fandom/non fandom spaces, but like….. in a show about vampire romance, you can have three seasons of no main character vampire romance. It’s a let down, and while I would have wanted it to be Sooric, it at least would have made more sense if Bill/Sookie played with getting back together or something in the later seasons (which I need you to know I am happy didn’t happen bc I HATE Bill and Sookie with him, but you get where I’m coming from)

So yeah sorry, I actually have no idea why they didn’t have Sooric end up together, so this wasn’t really an answer 😅

OK!!!!!!!!!!!!

there you go, some very unfiltered and very scattered Sooric thoughts. I hope you liked it! And don’t regret asking me this 😂 I wasn’t expecting it to be this long so uh sorry lol. But anyways!!! If you read this far PLEASE comment your own Sooric thoughts in the comments. I love to hear other people’s thoughts and theories ♥️

Smooch smooch kiss kiss I love you anon and all my TB babies!! 🧛‍♂️

[janetbrown711]

Princess Angelina II was never fond of being told what to do.

Ever since she was a little girl, she loved being defiant. However, her parents were strict and had their ways of forcing her to do things anyway, so she adapted. If her parents wanted her to study? Fine, then she would read every book in the library and become far more intelligent than most of her teachers and would “smart ass” them constantly. Of course, her parents disapproved, but Angelina knew they technically couldn’t punish her this way, as she was doing what they asked after all. Still, she was aware that she was treading on thin ice, but she continued anyway, as it felt like the only thing keeping her sane. 

It was this mentality she carried with her during her least favorite activity of all: 

Meeting Suitors. 

The moment Angelina turned 16, her mother began arranging meeting after meeting with different princes and noblemen, all of which she hated. They were always so prideful and stuffy, they never had a sense of joy or humor in them. So, as was natural for her, she never refused to see them, but while they talked she’d always attack their pride and make sure they never wanted to see her again. She had hoped her actions would’ve given her a reputation as an “ineligible princess” but alas, rumors of her beauty and singing kept them coming. 

And so today Angelina found herself preparing yet again to meet with another boring suitor, this time a prince who was soon coming of age and was to rule the neighboring kingdom fo Ticktockia. Angelina spent several weeks reading up on the history of the country, as well as learning their customs, and knew she was ready by the time he arrived. 

“I don’t want you to play any funny games this time, Angelina. Ticktockia is a very important ally, and I don’t want you embarrassing my good name,” her mother, Queen Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca I, was quick to remind her right before the doors of the throne room were to open. Angelina wanted to roll her eyes, but didn’t have the energy or the time, as the doors were opened, and the prince entered. 

The prince of Ticktockia was a human, which she had expected. He was a particularly... interesting piece of work. He was growing a mustache, but he was very bad at it, and so it looked wispy and gross. his fashion sense was something else entirely, and he wore a giant clock on his chest, which Angelina recalled as the symbol of Ticktockia (as it was the meaning behind their name). 

“Hello,” He greeted her, but didn’t bow. Angelina rolled her eyes internally and curtsied. 

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” She said. He only nodded in response. 

This was gonna be fun.

“Well, off you two go then,” Angelina the First waved the pair off, and Salazar held his arm out and Angelina took it, and they went off into the halls of the castle. 

“So... Prince... Salad bar is it?” Angelina asked. 

“Salazar,” He corrected, snappy. Angelina smirked. 

“Right, right, right, my apologies,” She said. “So... where are you from again?”

“Ticktockia, one of Warnerstock’s most important allies..? Surely you’ve heard of us,” He said, annoyed. 

“Not really, no,” She shrugged, removing her arm from his. 

“Oh please, we’ve made all of your clocks,” He pointed out. 

“Oh, those old things? They break every other week, we honestly should replace them all,” She lamented, internally pleased when she saw his anger rise and saw him desperately try to hide it. 

“Well then,” he huffed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t blame you, you are just a woman after all. I shouldn’t expect you to know the history of such an important country.” 

Oh he did not. 

“I can assure you Salazar, I know more of Ticktockia’s history than you do,” she warned. He smirked. 

“Sure you do,” He said. 

“Who was the 17th king?” She quizzed. Salazar paused to think. 

“King... Edmund?” He asked. Angelina shook her head. 

“King Raymond the Beloved. He helped create an era of peace in the land and helped create new trade routes for kingdoms all across the lands,” Angelina said. 

“Everyone knows King Raymond. I was simply... pretending not to know,” He so obviously lied. 

“Alright... who was the 20th king?” She asked. Salazar thought once more, stroking his gross wispy mustache. 

“Easy, King Walter,” He lifted his chin in the air. 

“Wrong. It’s your father, King Jonathan,” She said with a condescending smile. Salazar glared at her. 

“Well I never,” He huffed and crossed his arms. 

“Never what? Studied anything in your life? Because that’s something I’d believe. I mean, come on, who doesn’t know their own father?” She snorted. Salazar looked at her with disgust. 

“You are very unladylike,” He said. 

“It’s an art,” She replied.  

“Mhm,” He mumbled, continuing their walk through the castle once more. 

“So.. tell me... what about your kingdom do you know?” She asked. 

“We’re the number one supplier of clocks in the world,” He stated. 

“Right, but other kingdoms are coming up close behind, so I’d keep a close eye on that if I were you,” Angelina pointed out. 

“Ridiculous,” He scoffed. 

“Oh, but it really isn’t. Your methods are old and outdated and so people from the outside have worked on improving your old designs and they’re only becoming better and better,” Angelina said nonchalantly. Salazar’s eye twitched. 

“You know, this really isn’t the way you should talk to your betrothed,” He snarled. 

“Betrothed? What on earth makes you think we’re betrothed?” Angelina jumped in surprise. 

“I was invited here, no?” He eyed her up and down. “I was promised a bride, and seeing as you’re the prettiest one around and I was invited, we’re betrothed,” he said, placing a hand on her waist, to which she then jumped back and away. 

“Hate to break it to you, dimwit, but that’s not how this works.” She outright glared at him. 

“Oh please, there’s no sense in fighting it,” He rolled his eyes. “I want you, and so you’re going to be mine. Nobody says no to me.”

“Oh I’m sure they do, you probably just ignore it or are too much of a moron to see it,” She spat. 

“I am not a moron.” He raised his voice, but Angelina wasn’t frightened. 

“Sure. And my name isn’t actually Angelina,” She rolled her eyes. “Get real, you know almost nothing about your own kingdom’s history, and I’m sure if I wanted to bore myself further I’d discover you know nothing of Warnerstock, and it’s very apparent you haven’t a single clue of manners or decency in front of a princess.” 

“I. Am. Not. A. Moron,” He clenched his fist. 

“Oh please! If I were to look up the word ‘moron’ in the dictionary, it would have a picture of you. I mean- assuming you’re betrothed to me just because my mother invited you here? My mother may hate my guts, but she’d never do that,” Angelina smirked.

“I can have anything I want, just watch me,” He growled, stepping towards her, and Angelina realized just how much taller he was than her. 

“You’re nothing more than an arrogant, stupid, brainless, spoiled baby that hasn’t heard ‘no’ nearly enough in his life,” She defied him, and he raised his hand and struck her across the face so hard, she fell to the floor with a loud thud. 

Angelina laid on the ground a moment, realizing what just happened, feeling the sting and burn in her cheek. Slowly, she sat herself up. 

“You hit me,” She looked up at him. He dusted off his hand. 

“You’re truly a disgusting creature, Angelina.” he scowled. “I showed you nothing but decency, and you lash out like the vicious animal you are.”

Not even wanting to dignify his bullshit, she instead called for the royal guards. Salazar’s eyes widened as four guards came into the room from their posts, and upon seeing their princess on the floor with a newfound bruise and the neighbor prince red in the face with anger, they were quick to separate the two. 

“I won’t forget about this Angelina. I’ll be back, and I’ll make sure to give you hell once I’m in charge,” He declared for all to hear as he was escorted out. Angelina shuddered as she was helped up by one of the guards. 

“You alright, Princess?” He asked. 

“I’m fine,” She said, not wanting to get into it. 

Despite the stinging in her cheek, she had done what she had to. 

“Just take me to my mother, I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear about this,” Angelina sighed. The guards nodded and she was escorted to her mother’s private study. She knocked on it once before entering. 

“Angelina, why am I not surprised?” Her mother didn’t look up from her paperwork, shaking her head. “What happened?”

“He had to leave early,” Angelina said. 

“He just barely arrived,” The queen remarked, before looking up at her daughter’s face and frowning. 

“Angelina, what did I tell you? I told you you had to be on your best behavior and you deliberately disobeyed me,” She set down her work. 

“Well gee, I’m sorry alright?” She rolled her eyes. 

“You and I both know that isn’t true. Honestly Angelina, why do you feel the need to sully the kingdom’s good name like this?” Angelina the First rubbed her forehead and stood. 

“Because it’s dumb. All of this is. The suitors, the manners, It’s just so dumb,” She complained. 

“Angelina, I’m not having this conversation again,” The queen stated. “These rules and rituals are tradition. You don’t have a choice. One day you will marry a suitor I picked out for you, whether it makes you happy or not.”

“I’d sooner die,” Angelina glared. 

“If you had any sense in you, you’d learn to bite your tongue, Angelina. Or do you want to be hit a second time today?” The queen raised her hand with her wedding ring on it and Angelina flinched. The queen smirked a little. 

“That’s what I thought,” She said, before sighing and returning to her paperwork. 

“We’ll have to reschedule the other suitors I had planned to visit this month until that bruise heals. We can’t have rumors spread,” She said, writing something down. If she had been feeling better, Angelina would’ve smiled. Her mother went silent a long moment, the only noise being the scratch of her quill touching the paper. Eventually her mother looked up at her, with an expression that looked like a mix of disgust, tiredness, and annoyance. 

“You can go now,” She said. Angelina curtsied for her mother, and then left.

For a while, Angelina found herself wandering the halls of the castle as she rubbed her bruise lightly. She knew she had done what she had to, but she still felt dazed. Perhaps it was from hitting her head, but she felt... odd. Light headed was the best term she could think to describe it. 

It wasn’t too long before Angelina noticed that she had wandered into the garden. That was good. The flowers and fountains did a lot to clear her mind on days like these. Eventually, she made her way to the middle, and sat down on the bench and watched fountain and birds that stopped to bathe in it. She couldn’t be sure of what she was feeling, but whatever it was, it was a lot.  

After awhile of just sitting there, a familiar voice called out, and Angelina looked up and felt herself revive a little. 

“Angelina! There you are,” William smiled and ran to sit down next to her. 

“Hi,” She smiled and scooted over so there was room. 

“How was your- oh my... what happened?” William gasped, referring to the bruise. 

“O-oh it was nothing, really,” Angelina brushed it off. 

“You’re hurt Lena,” He frowned with concern. Angelina took in a deep breath and sighed. 

“A suitor visited today- Prince Salazar of Ticktockia. I pushed things a little too far this time and well... he got pretty mad. And now my mother is pissed that I managed to make one of our strongest allies hate my guts,” Angelina chuckled sadly. 

“Lena... I’m so sorry. That’s terrible,” William said, his eyes watering. Angelina didn’t know how to respond. 

“William- I’m okay. Really. I’m used to it,” She tried to laugh it off. 

“You’re used to it?” His concern only grew and Angelina bit her words. 

“I-i mean...” She sighed. “You know my mother by now. I’m used to this.”

“Lena, I’m so sorry. Nobody should ever, ever hit you, especially your own mother,” William said. 

“Thank you William,” She smiled tiredly at him. 

“Lena, I swear to you, so long as I live, I’ll never let anyone hurt you like this ever again,” He held her hand and kneeled on the ground. 

“W-william, I-i don’t know what to say,” She sniffled, and realized her own eyes were starting to fill with tears. Quickly, she wiped them away. William then stood and pulled her into a tight and loving embrace. At first, Angelina was hesitant, but she chose to embrace it, and she hugged him back, and found herself quickly sobbing into his shoulder. 

“It’s okay Lena, I’m here. It’s okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore,” he promised, and Angelina believed him. She felt safe in his arms, and never ever wanted to let go. She wanted to stay with him forever, safe and happy and secure. She knew he’d never hurt her, ever. 

She loved him. 

Princess Angelina the Second was in love with William. 

She smiled a little and embraced him even more. 

No matter what her mother tried to do or who she tried to set her up with, Angelina knew she was in love with William, and nothing was ever going to change that. 

[a-gorgeous-george]

Basic Questions

First name? Georgette

Surname? Foxworth

Middle names? Luciana

Nicknames? Gigi (by her     mother)

Date of birth? August     7th

Age? 22

Physical / Appearance

Type of clothes?

Georgette’s style is all about femineity and luxury. She wears a lot of dresses, a lot of skirts, but even her workout clothes are designer. She swears “cheap” clothes give her a rash – and who would want to mar her perfect skin like that.

How do they wear their     clothes? Tight and tailored.

What are their feet     like? (type of shoes, state of shoes, socks, feet, pristine, dirty, worn,     etc)

Georgette is rarely seen without heels on, and thanks to regular pedicures and lack of abuse, her feet are soft and pretty always.

Race / Ethnicity? Spanish     and Indonesian

Are they in good health?     Oh yes, she has a strict workout schedule and diet she sticks to… well,     actually, perhaps not, because alongside that she also lives a life of high     stress and nicotine.

Personality

Are they more optimistic     or pessimistic?

It really depends on the source of power in a situation. If it is something she has control over, she is optimistic, can’t see how something would ever not work out, but if someone else is in control, her view changes considerably and she is usually fairly certain it will fail.

Do they ever put on     airs?

When is she not putting on airs?

What bad habits do they     have? She has a serious nicotine problem.

What makes them laugh     out loud?

She isn’t really a laugh out loud type of person. She might chuckle or smile in amusement, but laughing out loud indicates a level of ease that she just does not feel around people. Also Al.

How do they display     affection?

She is very physically affectionate… I think. She has never been in a position where she felt comfortable being affectionate with a person in that way. Besides that, she shares her wealth in ways that benefit that people she cares about, shares her privilege with them. She is happy to be her friends’ sugar mama.

How do they want to be     seen by others? Beautiful and in control.

How do they see     themselves?

She very much sees herself as a lone wolf. She knows she’s beautiful, smart, capable, hardworking, but she’s alone and absolutely terrified someone will recognize it. She is also very much aware of her inner rage.

·       How are they seen by others?

Because of her past with her family and the lack of ties it provided her, Georgette was left defending herself. Her arrogance and obsessive need to believe in her own importance is directly tied to the lack of importance anyone else gave her.

Strongest character     trait?

For all her bravado and arrogance, Georgette is 100% unafraid of hard work. From her work on her blog and marketing it, her history as a beauty queen, her strict adherence to her diet and exercise routine, every aspect of her life, she has no issue knuckling down and putting in the time and effort to succeed.

Weakest character trait?

She is incapable of asking for help, as if it somehow undermines her own achievements if someone else must assist her.

How competitive are     they?

Extremely. If you want to manipulate Georgette into doing something, make it a contest. She’ll probably even know what you’re doing and still be unable to resist.

Do they make snap     judgements or take time to consider?

Snap judgements all the way, baby!!

How do they react to     praise?

Smug agreement.

How do they react to     criticism?

Strong commitment to your character’s delusion that she is anything other than amazing.

What is their greatest     fear?

Dying without ever achieving anything of substance.

What are their biggest     secrets?

Georgette is crushingly lonely. Her whole life has been spent pushing people away, trying to protect herself and prove herself, full of anger, and it has left her without anyone she can be close to.

What will they stand up     for?

Once her blog is up and running and successful, once the magazine starts to take off, she will have real issues with people saying she’s self-made. She is fully aware that even without her father’s money, her name alone carries a certain currency most people do not have. She is well aware of her own privilege in that area and will stand up against anyone who compares her achievements against someone who didn’t have that head start.

Who do they quote?

She’s a closet book nerd and might not quote directly but will frequently make allusions to literature.

Are they indoorsy or     outdoorsy? Indoorsy.

What is their sinful     little habit? Cigarettes.

What sense do they most     rely on?

Sight – how someone/something looks dictates more of her life than it should.

How do they treat people     better than them?

What people better than them?

How do they treat people     worse than them?

That seems like an unfair question when everyone is worse than them.

What quality do they     most value in a friend? She wouldn’t know.

What do they consider an     overrated virtue? Niceness.

If they could change one     thing about themselves, what would it be?

She would have people who cared about her.

What is their obsession?     Herself?

Friends and Family

Is their family big or     small? Who does it consist of?

Her mother and stepfather, father and stepmother, Jenny and Oliver (Yes, she considers Oliver as part of her family)

What is their perception     of family?

When she was barely cognizant of life, her father had an affair, had a baby, split up her family, quickly destroying the idea in her head. It is an outdated concept made to make people feel like belong to a group, no loyalty or love.

Describe their best     friend.

………. Let me get her just a friend first.

Ideal best friend?

Someone who understands her hustle. Someone she can see the inherent importance in. Someone that can still pull her out of her head and get her to have fun.

Describe their     acquaintances.

She is jealous of the closeness of Dodger’s gang, watching as an outsider and wishing desperately to be a part of it all.

Do they have any pets?

She is a massive dog person! (Get it?) But yes, she has a little doggo, Valentina.

Past and Future

What was your character     like as a baby? As a child?

Awful? Spoiled? She was raised spoiled, but after her father’s betrayal, she sought to teach him a lesson. Even as a child, she would blackmail and torture him, threatening to reveal his dirty secret to the world. She was worse to Jenny even, more easily able to take out her anger over the affair and her birth on the younger girl than the truly guilty adults.

Did they grow up     nurtured or neglected?

Neglected – but that is partly her own fault. She is as much at fault due to her reaction and actively hurting her family and her father. She lashed out and did truly awful things and crushed what bond there might have possibly been.

What is the most     offensive thing they ever said?

Oh, I don’t know… in my head, I feel like she can be a very problematic person. Add that in with her natural meanness, I am sure she has said some awful stuff.

What was their first     kiss like?

It was awful. Some other 7th grader when she was in 7th grade. Too wet. Thought he was trying to drown her.

What is the worst thing     they did to someone they loved?

Repeatedly blackmailing her father for her own benefit.

What are their     ambitions?

She wants to outshine her father, claim their last name as her own and not the sullied version her father left in the wake of his controversy. That is why her blog and future magazine is named after her.

What advice would they     give their younger self? It’s not Jenny’s fault.

What smells remind them     of their childhood? Perfume and peppermints.

What was their childhood     ambition?

Growing up, her mind stayed on the pageant world. Her ambitions usually stayed just one pageant ahead of her.

What is their best     childhood memory?

She doesn’t know if it’s real or not, just this soft memory of her father grinning and spinning around the living room with her, dressed in his coat and tails.

What is their worst     childhood memory?

Listening in from the hall as his father confessed everything to her mother, hearing her mother sobbing as he threw clothes into a suitcase.

When was the last time     they were crushed with disappointment?

The last one? She still hasn’t got over her first one.

Love

Do they believe in love     at first sight?

She only barely believes in love in any form.

·       How do they behave in a relationship?

Georgette really doesn’t do relationships, thanks to that whole “love isn’t real” thing. They usually last a month or so, but she gets bored and has no issue telling him to get lost after that point.

When did you character     last have sex? Perhaps a couple weeks ago.

What sort of sex do they     have?

She is looking for something hot, passionate, and with someone she doesn’t have to worry about calling back.

Conflict

How do they respond to a     threat?

Georgette doesn’t back down from a threat, though her means for fighting usually involves $$$ instead of doing any sort of fighting herself.

Are they most likely to     fight with their fists or their tongue? Tongue.

What is your character’s     kryptonite? Point out her lack of backup.

If your character could     only save one thing from their burning house, what would it be? Say it     with me… diamonds.

How do they perceive     strangers?

Her trust or lack of trust in them is based solely on how they look.

What do they love to     hate? Oh, that is way too long a list to put here.

What are their phobias?     Bugs of any sort.

What is their choice of     weapon? Poison.

What living person do     they most despise? Her father.

Have they ever been     bullied or teased? That would not go well for that person.

Where do they go when     they’re angry? Home, to seethe and plot.

 Work, Education and Hobbies

What is their current     job? Blogger.

What do they think about     their current job?

She has dreams of something bigger, more substantial, but she’s thankful for the success the gossip blog has had and excited to grow it.

What are their hobbies?     Painting, reading, dancing.

Educational background?     Some college.

Intelligence level?

I believe she is fairly smart, but her work ethic covers a lot of distance for her.

Favorites

What is their favorite     animal? Doggies.

What is the most     beautiful thing they’ve ever seen? Her face in the mirror.

What is their favorite     song? Ego by Beyonce

Music, art, reading     preferred? Ooooooh… probably reading

What is their favorite     color? Gold

What is their password?

Honestly it is probably a secure combination of letters put together by a professional.

Favorite food: Lasagna

What is their favorite     work of art? Judith and the Head of Holofornes

Who is their favorite     artist? Gustav Klimt

What is their favorite     day of the week? Saturday

Possessions

What is in their fridge?     A lot of water, veggies, meal prepped chicken

What is on their bedside     table? The current book she is reading, a bouquet of pink and white roses,     a gold lamp, a rose gold silk eye mask

Spirituality

Who or what is your     character’s guardian angel?

If she has a guardian angel, she would really like a word with it.

Do they believe in the     afterlife? I mean, she now knows Hades, so yeah

What are their religious     views?

Once you meet a god, you kinda realize which system of beliefs is the right one

·       How would they like to die? Painless and pretty

What is their zodiac     sign? Leo

Values

What do they think is     the worst thing that can be done to a person? Abandonment

What is their view of     ‘freedom’?

Able to make your way through life on your own two feet without having to rely on anyone else to support you.

When did they last lie?     Probably an hour ago

What’s their view of     lying? It definitely can make things easier.

When did they last make     a promise?

She doesn’t really bother. You either do things or you don’t. The rest is just extra words.

Daily life

What are their eating     habits? Healthy food prepared by a chef.

Describe their home.

Luxurious home in a gated community bought by her father.

Are they minimalist or a     clutter hoarder? Minimalist.

What do they do first     thing on a weekday morning? Drink a glass of cold water.

What do they do on a     Sunday afternoon?

She can be found putting the finishing touches on her blog post for the week.

What do they do on a     Friday night?

She can just as easily be found out dancing as home alone working.

What is the soft drink     of choice? She doesn’t drink soda.

What is their alcoholic     drink of choice? Merlot.

Miscellaneous

What or who would your     character dress up as for Halloween? Anything sexy.

Are they comfortable     with technology? She can do basic things.

If they could save one     person, who would it be? Jenny.

If they could call one     person for help, who would it be? Over her dead body.

What is their greatest     extravagance? Jewelry

What is their perception     of redemption? She hopes it’s real.

What would they do if     they won the lottery? It would change her life 0%.

What is their favourite     fairytale?

She isn’t really big on fairytales, but definitely prefers the darker original versions. So much more realistic than that happily ever after in love bullshit.

Do they believe in happy     endings?

She believes in the ability of a person to make their own damn happy ending.

What is their idea of     perfect happiness?

Surrounded by a family that loves her

If your character could     travel through time, where would they go?

She has it on good authority that life gets more uncivilized the farther back you go, so she’s good, thanks.

If they could have a     superpower, what would they choose?

Full on mind control. She’ll make you do what she wants and feel no guilt.

[stefciastark]

"Please! I-" ~Webpril Day 20

A/N: Today's is short and sweet, but I enjoyed writing out a bit of an argument scene :) Dialogue scares me to write, weirdly enough, but I think it's because I'm so afraid of writing the characters out-of-character, so this was a fun but slightly anxiety inducing exercise. Peter really is going to be the death of Tony. Hope you enjoy xx Only 10 days left!

~Read it on AO3

~Read it on FFN

“Please! I-”

“Zip it, I don’t want to hear it.”

“But-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Tony dragged his hand down his face, taking deep and measured breaths to hold on to whatever semblance of reason and sanity he had left. “You could have died. Did that even cross your mind for a second?”

“But I didn’t.” Peter’s voice was small, shrinking back against the cold fury that pulsed off of Tony in waves. It felt worse than the post-Ferry altercation between them months prior, and Peter had promised himself he wouldn’t screw up like that again. Well, the promise didn’t last long, and Peter - as Tony put it - screwed the pooch, hard. Again.

“You don’t even know how to fly a plane, Peter, you’re not Captain Sully. This isn’t ‘Miracle on the Hudson’, you could have killed people!”

“People would have died if I didn’t do something, Mr Stark!”

What had started as frustration turned to anger, and what was anger was now turning into resentment.

“I expected more from you, kid.”

Tony’s disappointment felt like a slap to the face, and the anger and indignation Peter had been holding in for months finally exploded.

“I’m so sick of you underestimating me! You tell me how much you want me to be better, about how now that I’m an Avenger I need to step up from just protecting the ‘little guy’, but you never give me the chance! At every opportunity or sign of real danger you bench me, so when I saw my chance to prove myself, I took it.”

Tony’s tone dropped to a frightening level of calm, and Peter clenched his fists against the faint trembling that had started.

“Everything I’ve done has been to protect you. Do you understand that? I don’t need you chasing the life of a martyr.”

Despite himself, Peter felt his head nodding, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to retaliate. Tony reminded Peter a lot of Aunt May sometimes. They both had an innate ability to scare the living hell out of him. Their anger was like a hurricane and reminded Peter of an Eye of the Storm. It began with chaos, lulling to a stillness and silence that gave Peter one last chance to backpedal, followed by more chaos. Backpedaling seemed like the most viable choice this time around; Peter was more afraid of losing the suit again.

“I just wish you’d give me a chance…”

Tony sighed, an exhausted sound that drifted past his lips into the tense air between them. “I know. Do you remember that little talk we had after the ferry incident?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t lose you, kid. Every time you swing from a building, I’m afraid the cord will snap. Every time you go up against bad guys with guns, I’m afraid the bullet won’t miss. Bottom line is, I can’t have you giving me a heart attack every mission. Now this? This was almost a cardiac arrest.”

The aggravation Peter had been experiencing slowly transformed into a sickening feeling of guilt. For the first time, he really saw the circles under Tony’s eyes, the very faint and almost imperceptible trembling in his hands - although that may have been from anger, Peter couldn’t tell - and the deepened frown lines on his mentor’s face.

Peter’s heart was still pumping with adrenaline from the incident, the rough jolts as the aircraft hit the water still vibrating through his body. He had managed to land it in the Upper Bay area between Manhattan and Staten Island. Why the hell did it always have to be in the Upper Bay? First the ferry a few months ago and now a plane. Peter mentally vowed to steer clear of the whole area; in all likelihood, the next crisis in line would be a bus incident where it would somehow end up in the water, and he would somehow be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Third time’s the charm.

“I’m sorry, Mr Stark.” Peter closed his eyes, not wanting to see the expression - Peter almost wanted to call it ‘regret’ but he quickly shook that thought away - on Tony’s face again. He felt like ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t quite cut it. In all actuality, he wasn’t sorry in the slightest for doing what he did. Peter was more sorry that he was the one causing the slightly premature grey hairs on Tony’s head.

Peter felt the movement of the space in front of him as Tony moved closer. The anger from the atmosphere had dissipated, leaving behind only an air of bone-deep weariness.

“I’m not going to take your suit, so don’t give me that whole ‘deer in the headlights’ thing.”

Peter swallowed against the lump in his throat. The weight of the snowballing pile of emotion lifted off of his chest and ironically made him emotional once again. This time, relief won out. “Thank you Mr Stark. I just really want you to give me a chance, y’know?” He really hoped his voice wasn’t wavering.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in you, Pete.” Tony placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder and worried his bottom lip for a second before continuing. “You did great today.”

The conversation came to its end as the warmth lifted off of Peter’s shoulder, and he turned to watch as Tony walked towards his portion of the Avengers facility.

Tony smiled inwardly as he approached the hallway that led to his segment of the facility, the smile a reaction to Peter’s heroic performance that he’d never let the kid see. He didn’t want to send the wrong message that impulsivity and recklessness should be the default. Then again, who was he to talk? He felt a deep-seated sense of pride, and he had to shake away the accompanying intrusive thought that asked him whether or not Howard had ever felt that way towards Tony’s triumphs.

As he caught sight of himself in one of the passing reflective surfaces, the image of salt and pepper hair and bags - that sure as hell weren’t designer - under his eyes greeted him. Peter really was going to be the death of him.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 20

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: Being a sticker for the rules is all well and good until someone uses said rules against you. Also, thanks to @lunaescribe​ for her help brainstorming for this chapter - she came up with a lot of what Sofía says in it! Art by @swanpit​ and @lunaescribe​!

***

“Well. It seems you are well and truly fucked.”

“That is not helpful.”

“I mean, I may be wrong. In case I’m not, I want you to know it was nice knowing you. Biblically and otherwi--”

“I beg you to spare me more nonsense,” Imelda groaned, still rubbing her temples. She had started almost as soon as Ernesto had opened his mouth to explain the situation, and had yet to stop. Either she was being dramatic, or there was a colossal headache on the way. “Last thing we need right now is for word to get out that we sheltered a deserter.”

Beside her, Héctor swallowed. “Well, if we say we didn’t know--”

“And you think Federales would care?” Imelda asked, her voice barely cracking a moment, giving a briefest glimpse to how scared she truly was at the prospect. Ernesto crossed his arm, the thing gnawing at the pit of his stomach - terror, and something that felt a lot like guilt - becoming almost painful.

The men lined up in plazas for the firing squad to execute. The hangings of those we did not shoot. The wailing children, the screaming women. Some were shot too, soldaderas, aiders like Imelda and Sofía. And even the holy cloth will not be enough to save them if they find out. 

“They won’t care,” he said, looking away. “I would know.”

A few moments of silence, and Ernesto barely dared to breathe; he wasn’t so naive not to know that spontaneously surrendering him before the gringo had a chance to speak would be their best chance at avoiding all that. If they gave any indication of planning to do that, then he’d have no choice but to make a run for it. If only he still had his horse--

“Well. It seems we must make sure the gringo never speaks, then.”

Imelda’s voice was firm, cold. Ernesto blinked, looking back at her. “What?”

“... Is it not what you have been trying to do? If he unmasks you, he will be calling down the wolves on every one of us. Whether he means to or not.”

“I…”

“Wait, wait!” Héctor spoke up, lifting his arms. His eyes were wide, his face ashen pale. “Let’s not-- there is no need to hurt him. He did tell Ernesto to leave, no? So say that we hide him, and we let the gringo think he did leave--”

Ernesto scoffed. “He’ll still denounce me, at this point. He only conceded me a head start before he does. It won’t help you when the Federales come asking questions.”

“Ah.” Héctor faltered a moment, then he shook his head. “No, it’s not right. We don’t need to harm him--”

Sofía raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think we’d be so lucky to have him just drop dead of a spontaneous heart attack within the next twenty-four hours.”

“No, look. He... doesn’t need to die. We only have to win him over.”

Ernesto opened his mouth. Héctor gave him an exasperated look. “Not that way.”

Ernesto closed his mouth. 

“What I mean, is-- he is a man of God. If we tell him what the Federales do to deserters… surely he’d know what is the charitable thing to do, saving someone’s life. That's the point of the Church - giving shelter to the helpless and... and he's helpless and needs shelter, right?”

“A helpless broad-shouldered ox?” Imelda muttered. 

“Broad shoulders won’t save me from hanging,” Ernesto snapped, pacing back and forth, dread growing in his chest. “This isn’t about my shoulders, anyway. This is-- this is--”

“This could work.”

“Huh?” 

Three pairs of eyes turned suddenly towards Sofía, who in turn gave them all the sweetest smile to ever grace a nun’s face. Well, as long as one ignored the glint in the eye that was more reminiscing of a fox approaching a wounded mouse. “Look at it this way - what is it the gringo loves more than anything?”

Ernesto opened his mouth. 

“Aside from that.”

Ernesto closed his mouth. 

“... God?” Héctor suggested tentatively. 

“Hah, as if. Imelda?”

“Being obeyed?” she said drily, and Sofía’s smile widened. 

“Close, but no. He loves being right. Being in the right. Or rather, believing he is. The holier than thou teacher, doing everything by the Book.”

Ernesto quickly glanced around, and was somewhat relieved to see the expressions on Imelda and Héctor’s faces were about as blank as his mind felt. In the end, he cleared his throat. “Can you speak in plain Spanish?”

The smile on Sofía’s face turned into a grin. “What I am saying is that one of us, whoever can act the best, needs to go to our dear leader Father John, and ask for him to confess them. And anything we say in confession…”

“He cannot say to others,” Imelda spoke, her expression brightening. “The seal of confession.”

“Exactly! Now, in the confession, we express our distress over something we learned by listening in to a prayer - where we heard Padre Ernesto say to God he was an escaped soldier terrified to die  - and oh no, Padre John, what do we do?” Sofía sighed, bringing a hand over his heart. “It's a crime, but what would Jesus Christ do, Father John? Surely he’d offer shelter?”

Ernesto blinked. “But he… already knows.”

This time, Héctor seemed to have caught on and grinned, showing off his brand new golden tooth. “But he cannot admit that, because it would make him look bad,” he said. “Either he admits to knowing of the crime for days before confession and keeping quiet, or he admits to being guilty of breaking the sacramental seal. Neither would make him look good. Neither would make him feel like he’s in the right. Plus, Jesus would frown upon sending a man to his death.”

Ah. Ernesto hadn’t thought about it that way at all. “And-- you think that would work?”

“It just might,” Imelda said. “Might be worth a try before other solutions are considered.”

More permanent solutions, her tone made it clear enough. Ernesto swallowed and nodded. 

“All right. Then, who…?”

“Héctor could do it,” Sofía said. “Though a woman’s tears might work better. Make him feel like the protective Padre. In that case, I could do it.”

That gained her a slightly dubious look from Imelda. “You can cry on command?”

Sofía burst sobbing, so suddenly it caused Ernesto to nearly jump. It was a little terrifying how quickly it happened, really: she was full-on wailing, face streaked with tears. Imelda raised both eyebrows, clearly impressed, while Héctor stood so quickly he caused the chair to fall back with a bang. 

“Hey are you all right-- please don’t, I’m sure Imelda didn’t mean to--”

Sofía’s crying stopped, as quickly as it had begun, and she gave a stunned Héctor a very, very wide grin. 

“Yes,” she said, voice sweet as honey. “I think it should be me.”

***

John’s walk back to the parish was slow, and full of dark thoughts. 

Part of him worried that he had been seen, because he was almost certain he’d heard at least a voice, but it was hard to muster the willpower to focus too much on it. What did it matter if someone saw him weep, saw him with the lit cigarette in his hand? His greatest weaknesses and vices were already laid bare before the Almighty. 

I will not remain for long. I cannot bear it. Once I have informed the Archdiocese of that man’s deception, I will ask to be reassigned.

Of course he knew there was a chance he may find himself defrocked, if he grew spiteful enough, desperate enough to drag him down with him, to tell. If he did, John would not attempt to lie. He would admit his sin, accept the punishment-- but God, oh God, he had worked so hard to the cloth he wore. Too hard to allow that sinner to… to ruin everything. 

I deserted and ran, he had said. If the Federal army finds me, I’ll hang.

God willing, that will happen before he can talk. 

It was a horrible thought, far beneath a servant of God - but it had still come unbidden to his mind, and shamed filled him the next moment. Look how low he’d sunk, how much he had sullied him. He truly was ruined. 

He would never be a true man of God. 

John’s eyes stung once more, but he refused to shed more tears that day. He stopped in the middle of the orchard he was going through to approach the church unseen, leaned against a tree, and drew in a few deep breaths. Nature walks used to bring him such peace, and now he was desperately grasping for scraps of it. He tried to focus on the rustling leaves, the wind, the birds, a dog whining…

… A child sobbing?

John recoiled, opening his eyes and turning to glance around. He couldn’t see anyone, but sobbing it was, and clearly a child’s. Was someone hurt? He frowned, and followed the noise. “Who’s there?”

A small gasp, a hiccuping sound, and there was the source of it - Miguel, sitting beneath a large tree and hugging the hairless stray dog who’d follow him anywhere, apparently unaware of the copious amounts of drool dripping on his shoulder as the beast let him hold onto it. What… had happened?

“Miguel?” John stepped closer, only to pause when he realized Miguel was looking at him the way a child only looks at you when expecting a scolding, some sort of punishment.

“It’s nothing,” Miguel said quickly, standing up and wiping his face with his sleeve. He was clearly in a rush to get away from him. It stung, truly, to see the boy mistrust him so. Only days ago, he’d liked him. He’d smiled at him. It had taken so little for that to change again.

I’m meant to be their shepherd, but they once again look at me like I’m the wolf.  

But they didn’t understand, he was trying to do things right by God - he was guarding their souls, he was trying to save his own, he… he…

“Miguel,” he called out, reaching out tentatively to rest a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I am here to help. Whatever is bothering you, you can tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“You may tell me as a confession, and it will be under sacramental seal. You can trust--”

“No,” Miguel snapped suddenly, jerking away from him. He looked up, scowling, but he failed to come across as angry. He only seemed so very sad. “I can’t. Any of you.”

Normally, John wouldn’t have let such behavior stand - he would have at least demanded to know the reason for such an outburst, lectured him on how to properly address his elders and most of all a man of God. The implication he may not take the sacramental seal seriously was nothing short of an insult, but he was so drained, with so much on his mind and such as weight on his soul. In the end, he simply nodded and folded his hands. 

“All right. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

A long, suspicious look - both from the boy and his dog. “What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch. It simply feels as though we may both use some company,” John replied, and sat beneath the tree. Miguel stared at him, his expression softening a little, causing John to wonder if perhaps he’d failed to conceal signs of his earlier breakdown as well as he’d hoped.

Bit late to worry about it.

He averted his gaze, saying nothing, and heard Miguel sitting down by his side. The dog wandered around, nosing at leaves, probably looking for something edible. After a brief silence, it was Miguel to speak. “... Is something wrong? You’ve been-- weird.”

John swallowed, trying to ignore how his heart seemed to be beating in his throat. No, he had to stay calm. Surely, there was no way a mere child may know of his sin. “Have I?”

“Sí. I mean, you act--” a pause, probably looking for a polite way to put it. “Different.”

“Well--” John began, about to explain how he only had the salvation of their souls at heart, but Miguel spoke before he could.

“Kinda scary.”

Ah.

I’m meant to be their shepherd. They should not be afraid to seek me out.

“I… suppose I have not been in the best of moods.”

“Did something happen?”

“My faith is being tested. It is not for you to concern yourself about,” John replied, his voice soft. “You are a child.”

A scoff. “I’m not dumb.”

“Ah, that is not what I mean. You are one of the innocent. Yours is the Kingdom of God.”

“Ah.” Miguel paused, clearly unsure how to respond to that. In the end, he shrugged. “Well, I’m not going to be a kid for long. I’ll get older, they’ll kick me from the orphanage, and that’ll be it.”

Oh, John thought, so that was what was bothering him. The memory of the night he’d stumbled out of his home into the night, his clothing torn and blood seeping through the fabric, terror in his chest and despair in his mind, tried to make a comeback. He forced it away.

No such thing will happen to him. He is a good child. He is home here.

“But no one will be forcing you out of Santa Cecilia, no?” John asked, smiling. “Your friends will still be all here.”

A snort. “Some friends,” he muttered, hugging his knees. “I don’t need them. Someone told me he was gonna take me out of here, but he won’t either. Fine. I don’t need anyone.”

“Whatever gave you such thoughts?”

Miguel shrugged, looking away. John supposed it was a clear enough cue that he still had no intention to talk about it. He decided to remain quiet, and wait. It didn’t take too long for Miguel to speak again; he was, after all, a child in need of comfort. 

“He didn’t even come after me when I ran off.”

“This... person you’re angry at?”

“Yes. He would have come after me, before. But now he doesn’t care anymore.”

Truth be told, it wasn’t excessively difficult for John to figure out who Miguel may be referring to. He and Brother Hector were usually joined at the hip. “Well, perhaps he has concerns--”

“Oh, I know what concerns he has,” the boy muttered, his voice dripping sarcasm. John raised both eyebrows. He certainly did not approve of Brother Hector harboring… affection towards a woman while a novice, and he’d rather he made up his mind soon instead of keeping up that mockery, but none of it was something to burden a young mind with. 

So he drew in a deep breath, and tried to be as accommodating as he could. “If it is who I am thinking, he is… a young man himself. And possibly struggling with faith, and-- these are difficult times. I’m certain he cares about you deeply.”

Miguel seemed to hesitate a moment, then he glanced up at him. “... How would you know?”

Father John Johnson gave a small, pained smile. “I was the oldest of four siblings, and I loved my sisters and brother dearly. I had duties, as the oldest - I won’t bore you with the details - but from time to time, both Sarah and Michael complained I wasn’t paying any attention to them. Perhaps they were right to say so, and I do regret it to this day.” I’ll never see them again. Ruth won’t even remember me. “I cared about them, as much as I always had. But I was trying to be the best example I could be, and did not realize they felt left out.”

“Oh,” Miguel said. He seemed to mull on his words for a few moments before he sighed. “It’s not the same thing. He-- I told him something, and he promised me not to tell, but he told and now… someone else is mad at me. Why would he do that?”

John didn’t know what he precisely was referring to - probably something like having stolen an apple from the market stand, or eaten the last candy, what other secrets could a child have? - and he hummed. “You know, my sister Sarah once showed me she could jump from her window on the tree branch right before it, and climb down to the ground.”

A faint chuckle. “That sounds cool.”

“She made me promise not to tell our Father.” John smiled faintly. “I told him that evening.”

“Ugh.” Miguel rolled his eyes. “Why were you such a spoilsport?”

“I worried she may hurt herself. I had her best interest at heart, even if she didn’t see it that way. Not that day, but-- no. No, she really never forgave me for that.” He smiled, the memory bittersweet in his chest. “But I can promise you, my intentions were good. Sometimes we may be misguided, but… don’t you think that, perhaps, it was the same for Br-- your friend?”

“Well…” Miguel paused a moment, and seemed to be musing on that. He bit his lower lip, feet shuffling a little in the dirt, and finally sighed. “Yes. Maybe. I mean, I was also not supposed to say something, but I told because I thought it was-- the best thing to do.”

“There you go. I am sure he feels the same.”

He nodded and finally looked up at him, tears gone from his eyes. “... Why aren’t you always like this? You know, not a cab-- I mean, nice?”

Ah. “I… understand I may come across as harsh, but I only wish to keep your souls from harm.”

“Yes, but if you just scare everyone…” Miguel made a vague gesture with his hand. “You said people can mean well but be misguided. So, uh… maybe… you know?”

No. Not now. I was misguided before, when I was too soft. Now I’m doing the right thing. I am.

“... I will give the matter some thought,” John found himself saying instead. Miguel smiled, and he smiled back - knowing full well that, once he revealed the truth about the man they believed their beloved parish priest, the boy may never smile at him again.

***

Looking back later on Sofía would think that maybe, just maybe, she had exaggerated a little bit.

Perhaps it would have been best to approach him looking anxious, letting her voice crack a little as she began speaking, and then letting the waterworks start as she got to the meat of it. However, as much as she liked to mock Ernesto over his dramatic flair, sometimes she simply couldn’t resist… and the gringo’s face as he opened the door to the room he had elected as his office to see a nun bawling her eyes out was well worth it. Priceless. 

If not for the fact it was a literal matter of life or death, Sofía probably wouldn’t have stopped laughing until Día de los Muertos. Instead, she turned the snicker threatening to leave her in yet another sob and grasped Padre Juan’s cassock, faintly wondering if she could get away with blowing her nose in it. Maybe she would, he seemed stunned enough not to question it.

No, not the moment for that. Focus. 

“For the love of-- Sister, what in the-- what has happened-- are you hurt…?” the gringo stammered, and immediately moved aside to let her in, a hand on her upper back - a gesture he certainly wouldn’t have even contemplated under normal circumstances. “Here, here. Please, sit. Dry your tears - what is it, Sister?”

Ah, Sofía thought, men. Mexican, gringo, maricón or not, there really were few who wouldn’t immediately feel obliged to do their utmost to comfort a sobbing woman. She’d had some doubts over the gringo, considering how harsh he had been to Fernanda when she had come to his confessional months ago, but it was working now. Maybe being a bride of Christ helped her there, or maybe the hard work Ernesto had put into mellowing him hadn’t gone entirely wasted.

That, and he was finally getting the chance to act like the saviour he thought he was; of course he wouldn’t let it pass by. It wasn’t often people willingly turned to him for confession.

“Gracias, Padre,” she choked out, sitting down and taking the handkerchief he was handing her. She dabbed her eyes as delicately as she could, holding back from noisily blowing her nose and letting her shoulders shake. The gringo hurried to pour her a glass of water from a pitcher. 

“Here, drink. Tell me what’s troubling you,” he said, sitting before her. 

He looked pale - well, paler - himself, with dark shadows under his eyes. If he hadn’t been such a cabrón, Sofía might have felt bad for him. She drank half the glass in one gulp before she spoke. “I… I need confession, Padre. What I tell you cannot leave this room.”

The gringo’s forehead scrunched up some, and Sofía could very easily imagine the sins he was mentally accusing her of. He was probably right on several accounts, really, but he needed not know that. In the end, he breathed out and nodded, sitting before her, hands folded. 

“Of course. Anything you tell me will be under the seal of confession. God hears you, sister.”

Well, it was time. Sofía drew in a shaky breath and straightened her back just a little, mindful to keep her gaze low, fixed on the handkerchief in her hand. It looked expensive but old, with his initials exquisitely embroidered in a corner; she wondered, in the back of her mind, if it was a memento of his life from before being found out, before being disowned.

“Forgive me, Padre, for I have sinned,” she began, her voice trembling. “I have… I have listened in to something I never ought to have and… and I don’t know what to do.” Another sob. “I don’t want anyone to be harmed on my account.”

“No one will come to any harm,” Padre Juan said, his voice soft. “Tell me what has happened.”

“It… it’s about Padre Ernesto,” Sofía said, and she didn’t need to look up to know the gringo had stiffened: the glimpse at his folded hand suddenly clenching was enough of a clue.

She had expected that. What she did not expect were his next words, quiet, cold as ice. 

“... Has he harmed you, Sister?”

“What!” Sofía looked up, stunned at the notion he really believed Ernesto could do something so utterly stupid. Juan blinked, taken aback by her sudden exclamation, and she was quick to lower her gaze again, shaking her head. “No, good Lord, no, he-- he never!”

“Ah.” The gringo cleared his throat, rather embarrassed for jumping to the wrong conclusion for seemingly no reason. “Well, that is-- good. It’s good. Then what has happened?” he asked, sounding… just a touch hesitant. It wasn’t hard to guess he now expected her to confess she had fallen in love with the parish priest or something equally saccharine. It took all of Sofía’s willpower not to roll her eyes. Instead, she swallowed. 

“I was in the chapel, it was my turn to clean the pews, and… and I was running late, I was not meant to be there at that time-- I heard Padre Ernesto praying. He didn’t hear me coming in and… and I… listened.” She looked up, eyes huge and brimming with tears. His expression was stony now, but it was clearly not her his anger was directed at. “Oh, Padre, he wasn’t quiet - he was shaking, and weeping, and begging for forgiveness.”

Padre Juan stared at her, the stony expression turning into obvious astonishment. She may as well told him she had witnessed Ernesto flying over the parish.  “He-- what?”

She sobbed again, covering her face with her hands. “He said-- he said-- oh, Padre, he is not who he says he is. What I heard, I… I think he escaped from the Federal Army.” A pause, just enough for a shake breath, taking note of the fact that Padre Juan was… not speaking just yet. “He's terrified they might find him-- they will kill him, Padre!” Sofía tore her hands off her face with perfect dramatic flair, looking up at him in what she hoped was a look of utter despair. 

Padre Juan… stared at her, his expression blank. And then he stared. And stared some more. 

… A little unnerving, that. “Padre?”

“Ah,” he finally said, recoiling as though snapped back to reality. He then proceeded to make the poorest attempt at feigning surprise Sofía had ever seen, and she had seen Imelda trying to pretend she was unaware of Héctor’s obvious pining. “Yes, I… my apologies. You just said-- what you said--” he trailed off, a look of alarm on his face. “Did he admit to-- anything else?”

Sofía fought with all her might to keep herself from cocking an eyebrow at him. “No, only that,” she said, her voice a little more dry than it should have been to keep up the Distraught Damsel Act, but he seemed far too relieved to notice the slip. He cleared his throat. 

“Ah, yes. That is. That is indeed. Concerning,” the gringo muttered, his voice rather forced. He wasn’t even trying to go down the ‘you must have misheard’ route. God, he was such an awful liar. “If he indeed is a… an imposter, and a deserter, the appropriate authorities should--”

Sofía gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth in sheer horror. “No! Padre, you said this would be covered by the sacramental seal! The holy secret of confession!”

“I…” Padre Juan opened and closed his mouth for a few moments like a fish out of water, his pale skin suddenly flushing red. Last she’d seen a face like that, the man in question had been trying to pass a kidney stone. “Yes, I… of course… the secret of confession is sacred,” he repeated. Every single word seemed to be causing him pain. Much like kidney stones.

“I heard the things Federales do to deserters, it doesn’t bear to think about!”

“Regardless he-- er-- the Church is not to be mocked, he blasphemed and something ought to--”

“He must be so scared, Padre. Desperate men do desperate things.”

“Of course, but… but…” he stammered, too taken aback by the turn the situation had taken to be his usual sanctimonious self. Sofía had no intention to let him recollect his thoughts.

"I have seen men hang and left to feed the crows for trying to avoid service - we must help him, Padre, por favor, I cannot bear-- the Church cannot stand by and let a man be killed...” a fresh round of tears, hands over her face, but she kept her fingers spaced out just enough to catch a glimpse of him. He looked stunned, frustrated, angered and concerned at the same time. 

He knew exactly the position her confession had just left him and oh, he clearly did not like it, but neither would he willingly break something as sacred as the secret of confession. Just as expected. Sofía highly doubted Pope Innocent III was anywhere near innocent and therefore anywhere near Heaven at the moment, but right there and then she could have kissed him with plenty of tongue for enshrining the sacramental seal in canonical law.

In the end, his tense expression melted into a long sigh. He reached over to put a hand on her shoulder. "Cease your crying, Sister. I can tell this has disturbed you greatly, and that you...you care deeply for Fath-- for Ernest."

… Well. That sounded suspiciously like he’d just gotten the wrong idea about her pleas to protect the man she had supposedly believed to be their beloved parish priest up to that afternoon, but if it helped her, so be it. Sofía grasped his free hand with both of hers, looking up with a sniffle. “Please, help him,” she choked out. “He was so distraught.”

His expression hardened one moment in anger, pain, and God knew what else; he clenched his jaw a moment before, finally, his expression turned blank again. “Of course,” he said, his voice a little distant. “I suppose desperation explains such… intense deception.” 

And he did deceive you for a good while, Sofía thought. Longer than you’d like. You were in the best position to see all the things that didn’t add up. But you just didn’t expect a Mexican to be that good a priest in the first place, did you? You’d have clocked a gringo imposter much earlier.

“Sí, Padre,” she said instead. “And the way he prayed, oh, he repents. I am certain that if we have mercy, he will repay the Church for what he did.”

Another pause, a clench of his jaw. It was easy to see he didn’t quite buy Ernesto repenting, and yet he seemed to hesitate. “Are you certain he didn’t hear you coming?”

“Sí, Padre. He had no idea I was there.”

A long breath. “I see. We must… keep this a secret for time being, Sister Sophie.”

She ignored the butchering of her name, as always, and nodded fervently. “I will tell no one.”

“... Very well. I will confron-- talk to him, and… figure out the best way forward,” the gringo said, and let out a long breath. “Is there… anything else you wish to confess?”

“No, Padre,” she replied. He nodded, gaze a little unfocused, and gave her absolution, and his  blessing. Sofía thanked him time and time again, mentally patting herself on the back; she had a foot already out of the door when he spoke again, suddenly. 

“Sister. He has confessed you in these past months, I am sure, as he did many others. Does it not concern you, to know those absolutions were worth nothing?”

Ah. Sofía turned, her expression somber. The gringo was looking back at her, and he looked haunted. It was easy to guess what that was all about - it concerned him, and a great deal. Her next lie wasn’t for her own benefit, not really. It was for his own. “... Not terribly, Padre. I was sincerely regretful, confessed in good faith, and I am certain God knows as much.”

“I see,” John Johnson murmured, thumbing at the golden crucifix at his neck. “You say he prayed for forgiveness and truly repents. In that case, I’ll talk to him and… see for myself.”

Sofía nodded. “Thank you, Padre,” she said, her expression as grateful as she could make it.

The gringo just nodded back, looking away, and closed the door behind her without a word.

***

“And he actually-- believed all of that?”

Héctor hadn’t meant to sound that stunned - he’d seen first hand how good an act Sofía could put on - but it really sounded… a bit of a stretch. Mostly because he couldn’t imagine Ernesto sobbing out of guilt in the chapel of all things. 

Sofía shrugged, finishing her glass of wine. “At the very least, he didn’t reject the possibility. Getting him to entirely believe it is up to him now,” she said, and turned to look at Ernesto, who had been quiet throughout her account of the meeting. Almost eerily quiet, really. “And you better not mess up. Remember, you are extremely repentant and prayed for forgiveness, wish you could undo what you did in your desperation to save yourself and all that.”

Ernesto made a face. He was learning back on his chair, arms folded over his chest. “If I throw this sob story on his lap when he asks, he won’t buy it.”

“Then find a way to sell it. I did,” Sofía replied, rolling her eyes. “Where’s Imelda, by the way?”

“Covering up for your duties while you are ‘indisposed’,” Héctor replied. “She figured this would come across more believable if she told everyone that you told her you were not feeling well.”

“Ah, fair point. I was so terribly upset,” Sofía chuckled, and stood. “We’ll, I should retire and rest, then. If he asks, tell the gringo that I told you I was feeling terribly tired and did not come out since afternoon.” She paused a moment, and reached to put a hand on Ernesto’s shoulder. “Look. I think he is willing to hear you out. So please, don’t mess this up. I don’t hate him quite enough to want to move on to plan B and plan out his murder.”

Ernesto looked up at her, let out a long sigh, and nodded. “I won’t mess up,” he muttered, and looked away. “Thank you.”

Héctor turned to follow Sofía with his gaze as she left, then he bit his lower lip and looked back at Ernesto. His gaze was oddly distant, arms still tightly folded. “... You can do this, all right?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Well…” a sigh, and Héctor decided to drop the matter. He finished his wine glass and stood. “I guess I’ll go looking for Miguel. He was really mad at me when I saw him, for letting you know that he told me about you. What did you even say to him?”

A grunt. “He caught me in a bad moment, is all.”

“Well, you owe the chamaco an apology.”

“Chingate.”

“That was not a request, Ernesto,” Héctor snapped. “Miguel kept the secret longer than most  kids his age would have. He’s eight, por Dios. You can’t blame him for caving in.”

“He wouldn’t have had to if he weren’t the only one with the brains to find me out right away!”

Héctor - who did not know, and would never know, how seriously Ernesto had considered silencing Miguel permanently that day - scoffed. “What, now you’re mad because I didn’t find you out? You shouldn’t be. If we had before we got to know you, I… I’m not sure what we would have done.” His voice grew a little weaker as he finished, because it was true and the thought had kept him awake a couple of nights. It caused Ernesto to fall silent, too, before he sighed.

“... Well. I guess I lucked out, the--”

“Father Ernest.” Father John’s voice caused the both to recoil and turn to see him standing in the doorway, hands tightly clasped together. His voice was firm, and rather chilly. “A word, if you please,” he spoke again before either could respond, and then he was walking off again, clearly expecting Ernesto to follow. And, with a long breath, he did, leaving Héctor to anxiously wait. 

After all, as he’d put it earlier, what choice did he have?

***

“Sit.”

It was an order, delivered in a rather cold tone, but at least this time around he wasn’t screaming or sobbing. Ernesto found it easier to deal with, however little he liked being ordered around. He did sit, and heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. 

Until not too long ago, having a locked door between them and the rest of the world meant Ernesto was about to enjoy what was to come. He suspected it wouldn’t be the case now, unless Juan had changed his mind rather dramatically, which he doubted. 

He was dashingly handsome, but not that dashingly handsome. 

“I gave you a chance to leave with your life.” Juan spoke up, and went to sit behind the desk. He looked at him, hands folded and eyes narrowed, remarkably in control. It made Ernesto nervous, but at the same time it was a relief. He had no wish to see him as shattered as he’d been. “You claim you’ll hang if the army gets to you, and yet you did not take that chance.”

“There is no place in Mexico that is safe,” Ernesto spoke, his voice just as firm. “I’m done for the moment you speak.”

A long silence as Juan kept staring at him, expression unreadable. “... Do you repent at all?”

Well, that was it. What Ernesto had told Sofía was true - there was no way he could immediately throw a sob story at him and expect to be believable, because Juan knew him far better than he knew her - so he had to be careful with his reaction. He paused a moment, and then turned away. “I did what I had to do to survive.”

“Even if it meant you’d soil me.” The hurt in Juan’s voice was plain, and it struck a chord Ernesto didn’t even know was there. He clenched his jaw a moment before he spoke again. 

“I hadn’t-- thought it would get so far,” he muttered. “All I knew was that I couldn’t let them find me. If you left Santa Cecilia, and mentioned me to anyone who’d know the name of the priest who was supposed--”

“That’s your justification, then. You were afraid of death.”

“What sane man isn’t?”

A long breath. “Answer my question. Do you repent, Ernest?”

“Not leaving the army, never,” Ernesto crossed his arms, forgetting he was supposed to act. But, up to that moment, he did mean every word. “I couldn’t spend one more night in the barracks, or march one more day under the sun, gun down one more civilian or risk my neck for Huerta, or--”

The firing squad. The hangings. The wailing. The battles and the bullets and the death, it all came back at night and we tried not to think, me and the others, and in the dark a body is a body and we only wanted to feel alive again. 

Ernesto’s voice died in his throat. The pause that followed was not planned, nor the breath he forced in and out of his lungs, or the words he managed to choke out afterwards. “I only ever wanted to be a musician.”

Another silent, long look. Juan’s expression showed nothing; if not for the dark shadows under his eyes, he’d have looked everything like the insufferable gringo who’s first walked in the parish to immediately criticize everything he did or said. “It has come to my attention that you’ve been praying in the chapel.”

Ernesto looked away. “And…?”

“Praying for forgiveness. Expressing remorse.”

“Nonsense,” Ernesto snapped, both because it was and because it was the only believable answer. “I don’t regret leaving the army, or taking advantage of some gullible parishioners. I--”

“You were seen and heard.”

Now.

Ernesto reared back as if slapped, letting his jaw go slack as though in shock. It was a reaction the gringo had been expecting, clearly, because he could see some of the hardness in his gaze fading. If he’d suspected Sofía’s confession had not been entirely truthful, that ought to have taken care of it. “What--” Ernesto stammered, his bravado gone. “Who…?”

“It is not for you to know.” Juan leaned forward, just a little, eyes searching Ernesto’s. “If not leaving the army, if not deceiving the Church and these people, what is it you regret?”

“I…” Words died in Ernesto’s throat, and it was not an act. Suddenly, holding Juan’s gaze was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Something was there that hadn’t been before, an odd sort of hope that could be snuffed out with mere words. Words Ernesto couldn’t utter either way, because his tongue felt heavy as lead in his mouth. He lowered his gaze, saying nothing. 

“... Ernest. I am owed an answer. I am no longer pure on your account, a sinner, unworthy of the cloth I wear. I chose this path in hope to redeem myself, to…” his voice faltered. “To perhaps be worthy of seeing my family again, and you took it from me. Everything I toiled and hoped for may be nothing but ashes now, and--”

“Lo siento,” Ernesto blurted out, and Juan fell silent. Gaze lowered, a weight on his chest-- “No choice! How did you have no choice but to defile me! You ruined me!” -- Ernesto did not look up to see his expression. He heard a sharp intake of breath, then a long sigh, and the sound of a chair being pushed back on wooden boards, followed by steps. He dared look up to see John walking up to the window, giving him his back. 

Ernesto opened his mouth to speak, unsure of what he’d even say, but the gringo spoke first. “God has spoken to me,” he declared. Ernesto closed his mouth. 

Oh, por Dios. He’s lost it.

“If you were a test put before me, I have failed - but I see now that in His mercy, the Lord is giving me a second chance. I will be an instrument of His will, redeem myself not by being the one to throw the first stone - but by being the shepherd who brings the lost sheep back to the flock.” He turned, reaching up to thumb at the golden crucifix at his neck. “As my mentor did for me when I arrived at his parish as a runaway. I was lost, too, and I was found.”

“Huh,” Ernesto muttered. Not his cleverest ever retort, but-- what else was he meant to say? He wasn’t sure what turn he had expected that conversation to take, but that was not it. 

“Now. Of course, it is regrettable that the good people of Santa Cecilia are to be deceived any longer than they already have been, but given the situation, I am certain God will be forgiving. It goes without saying that I am to take on the most important duties,” Juan continued. “Sunday Mass, confessions, blessings and such. It is paramount that a real priest performs them.”

Ernesto suspected the parishioners would be less than thrilled by the change, but he knew he had no grounds to argue. “I-- of course. But what am I supposed to do--”

“... And of course, it is also paramount that you spread the true word of God for however long this has to keep up,” Juan cut him off, and dropped something on the table - an old, heavy-looking Bible. Where had he been keeping-- no, wait. He didn’t want to know. “You will study the scriptures, and better yourself through them. We shall be both redeemed.”

“It’s… in Latin,” Ernesto said, looking up. The gringo gave him the slightly manic smile that could only possibly be seen on the face of a missionary with… well. With a mission. 

“You’ll learn, Ernest,” he said, and Ernesto suddenly wished he had, after all, taken the chance to run off when he could.

***

[Back]

[Next]

[enby-hawke]

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

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

Wordcount: 11127 lol sorry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t know who else to turn to.

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

“Murderer,” she spat.

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

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

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

The Compassion spirit flinched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Malcolm didn’t know how to fix this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, it will be my treat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leandra’s eyes widened. Did she hear right? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leandra, how dare you-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was Andraste’s purity that was what

Drove the Maker’s Eye

Her devotion to her husband

And to Her Duties and to her Faith

She Drew His Grace into the World

Only for Sin of Man to Drive Him back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least not without ulterior motives.

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

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

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

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

“Escaping,” Charlie said hushedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry doesn’t fix this!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lockdown? What was going on?

Taylor frowned. “Is the library on lockdown?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Malcolm coughed which broke the spell, pushing them apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Malcolm’s dare hung in the air unanswered.

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

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

Poor Taylor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you Hawke?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie rolled his eyes and pretended to ignore him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[kumeko]

A/N: For Crossed Realms zine! I decided to crossover with FF15 and do the rewrite I always wanted to fix the tonal issues I had with the game.

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i. Dedue

The prince was angry. Dedue knew that intuitively, could feel the rage rolling off Dimitri in waves. It was not obvious to most people—even his retainers and childhood friends couldn’t always recognize the conflicting emotions that constantly shimmered under the prince’s skin. Then again, Dimitri tended to hide his true emotions behind his manners. Even now, as they walked through the halls, the maids and household staff bowing as they passed, Dimitri didn’t let his rage show. He greeted each one with a smile, thanking them for their work. It could be forgiven if they thought he was in a good mood.

Yet, Dedue knew better. Dimitri’s hand was curled into a fist, his shoulders square, his footsteps slightly louder than they needed to be. All of his innate strength seeped out of him in the smallest of ways, barely restrained. Dedue had often wondered just how much minuscule damage the castle could take, how many generations had released their anger onto its sturdy bricks.

Still, there was no point in asking his highness about it. Experience had taught him that Dimitri wouldn’t talk about it until they were alone. Fortunately, it didn’t take them long to reach a deserted hallway, utterly clear of any eavesdroppers.

Immediately, Dimitri’s smile dropped, his pace slowing slightly. His brow furrowed and each step sent off a wave of tremors. “This is ridiculous,” he finally uttered.

This was the chance he’d been waiting for. Dedue clasped his hands behind his back. “What is, your highness?”

Dimitri gave him a sharp look. “I thought you agreed to drop formalities when we are alone?”

“I...” Dedue swallowed, remembering. His tongue felt heavy as he repeated, “What is, Dimitri?”

He smiled sunnily before the clouds reappeared once more. “This sham of an engagement.”

Dedue blinked, surprised. Over the years, he had occasionally caught Dimitri in a forlorn mood, longing staring out his windows in the direction of Garreg Mach. It hadn’t taken long to guess just whohe had thought of in those quiet moments or why he would smile sadly when alone. “I thought you wanted to marry Byleth.”

Immediately, Dimitri coloured. “That…it’s not that I don’t…” Utterly red, the anger washed off him for a moment and he ducked his head bashfully. His voice softened. “It’s not that.”

“Then…what is the problem, Dimitri?” He could live to a hundred and not be used to saying the prince’s name, to acting like their positions meant nothing.

The smile dropped, though Dimitri’s cheeks remained slightly flushed. Clearing his throat, he stood straight once more, though his anger was far less palpable than before. “I shouldn’t leave my country. Not now, when the Empire could crush us at any minute.” His jaw tightened. “I should stay and protect my people. My marriage…it is nothing compared to my duties.”

Gently, Dedue squeezed Dimitri’s stiff shoulders. “This will protect your people. Byleth is the archbishop, after all. Once she arrives in Faerghus, we will be under her protection.”

“I…” Dimitri softened once more, no doubt thinking about her. “I wish I didn’t have to rely on her for this, that I could protect us with my own strength.”

“You have,” Dedue replied firmly, shaking his head slowly. He would never be able to describe how he felt when Dimitri had grabbed his hands all those years ago, dragging a poor refugee from the slums to the castle. “And you will. This will reduce bloodshed and possibly deter the empire. There might not be a war.”

“Still...” Dimitri shifted uneasily before stilling entirely. “I wish I did not have to involve her in this at all. That our marriage was not based on this need. Besides, while this is all true, Ido not need to escort her here. You or Ingrid could guide her here—I do not want to leave my people in a time like this.”

Dedue shook his head. He never understood why Dimitri always complicated matters like this, why it was always so hard for him to accept the simple truths in life. Then again, the prince had often said the same about him, and perhaps they were both obtuse in their own ways.

“Her archbishop needs protection to reach here, protection that only you can give. I am not strong enough to protect her.” Dedue smiled sadly, more than aware of how weak he truly was. Compared to the strength of Dimitri’s other guards, nobles who had trained their entire lives to protect the crown, his own powers were paltry. The most protection he could provide was as a shield.

Dimitri’s frown grew deeper, unable to refute that. “I suppose.”

“I am certain she is looking forward to this too. She wants to see you,” Dedue added. It was a half lie. From what little he’d heard and seen of Byleth, it was impossible to read her emotions. But he’d seen the letters they’d exchanged, carried by an invisible, sardonic goddess. Dimitri’s safe was full of them, biweekly letters carried throughout the years.

That had to mean something.

“That’s not why I—” Dimitri flushed once more, the red reaching his ears now.

Dedue rarely disagreed with Dimitri if he could help it. Yet, in matters of his prince’s happiness or safety, he had to intervene. “Despite the pretenses leading to the engagement, it is also real.”

For a second, hope crossed Dimitri’s face. Then, just as quickly, it disappeared, leaving behind a cold expression. Teeth clenched, lips in a straight line, eyes hard—Dedue felt a shiver run up his spine as he slowly looked down the hallway. There was only one person in the castle who caused such a reaction.

Dimitri’s uncle walked toward them, his steps echoing in the hall.

Another good reason to get Dimitri out of the castle. Dedue wanted to take him as far from that man as possible.

ii. Felix

Under a blazing sun, crystal clear waves lapped a sandy beach. Birds trilled as they flew from palm tree to palm tree, and fish swam under the sparkly waters. In the distance, sea gulls cried.

This was paradise.

Felix hated it. An utterly frivolous tourist destination, Rhodos Coast wasn’t the kind of place he’d visit on his own if he had a choice. If he wanted to relax, he’d have stayed home. There was nothing calming about the way the sand burned beneath his rear as he sat. Unfortunately, he was alone in this thought; the rest of his companions were happily scattered along the beach.

“How can you be so grumpy even here?” Sylvain bemoaned, crouching in front of Felix. Dressed in swimming trunks and with a fruity drink in hand, he looked like he was at a party and not part of a prince’s guard. “This place is beautiful!”

The bastard was just out of reach for punch, but not for a sword. Felix contemplated the merit of sullying his blade with the wastrel’s blood. “This is a waste of time,” he growled.

“How?” Sylvain’s eyes widened, his expression guileless. Felix knew better than to believe that. “We’re relaxing.”

“We are supposed to get the archbishop,” Felix replied sharply, irritated. It wasn’t like this pretense of a mission wasn’t a waste of time anyways. No matter how important Byleth was, she didn’t need five people to retrieve her. Even if she did, with the boar prince around, they didn’t need the sword, spear, and shield of Faerghus all gathered together. “Not party.”

“We’re here for an engagement, this is a bachelor party,” Sylvain corrected smoothly, rolling his eyes. He stood up now and stared down at Felix. “You can have a little fun without the world ending.”

“And you can have a little less fun without dying,” Ingrid retorted, standing behind him. Her sleeves were rolled up, her usually neat braid slightly mused. She held a crab in hand and he didn’t have to ask to know she’d caught it herself. Unlike the idiot, she at least was still in her uniform, albeit a more relaxed version. Her jacket was nowhere in sight, her collar loosened, and with her sleeves and pants all rolled up, she might as well have changed clothing.

Sylvain groaned, turning his head as Ingrid dropped the crab into Dimitri’s fish bucket. She’d probably catch more than the prince did, considering how impatient he was.

“Come on, Ingrid, not you too.” He looked at her pleadingly, eyes wide, lip jutted out in a pout. It was a look that worked on most. “We’re at the beach! It won’t kill us to have a little fun.”

However, a lifetime had given Ingrid immunity to Sylvain’s begging. She rested her hand on her hip, frowning. “Look, Sylvain, this isn’t a vacation. We’re catching the ferry for Garreg Mach tomorrow. Could you please take this a little more seriously, before you offend some noble?”

“We’re going to war anyways,” Felix replied, shrugging at the worry. “Who cares how it was triggered?”

“Felix.” Ingrid changed her focus to him and gave him the grumpiest look. At least it wasn’t her glare.

“You two are terrible, I would never start a war.” Sylvain clutched his chest, faking shock. Getting over the betrayal rapidly, he smiled sunnily at them once more. “We’re taking a break today, remember?”

“Just because we’re waiting for the ferry,” Felix corrected.

“And this is Dimitri’s last day as a bachelor,” he continued, ignoring Felix entirely. “We have to throw him a bachelor party, guys—sure, maybe he can’t have a stripper or any of those fun things, but still. It’s the principle that matters.”

“This is what you preserve your principles for?” Ingrid hissed, unable to contain herself.

“You’re the only one who cares,” Felix replied at the same time.

“Dimitri cares,” Sylvain argued back, gesturing at the prince. “He’ll only get married once. Probably. And shouldn’t we make this a memorable time for him?”

Felix and Ingrid followed Sylvain’s arm to where Dimitri stood in the shallows of the lake, his pants rolled up as he slowly walked parallel to the shoreline. Noticing their stares, Dimitri waved at them invitingly, a smile on his face. By his side, a slightly tense Dedue glanced around warily, as though a monster would pop out of the depths and eat Dimitri alive.

“Well…” Ingrid softened. As usual. Sylvain’s charms might never have worked on her, but he’d always been good at persuasion. “I suppose it’ll make him happy…”

Felix rolled his eyes, not falling for his childhood friend’s usual tricks. “This is a waste of time,” he repeated. The prince would also smile when he saw Byleth, if that’s what they were after.

“Party pooper,” Sylvain sniped, and that was the only warning Felix got before a bucket of water showered him from above, drenching him entirely.

Felix sat there for a long second, his clothes clinging to his body like a second skin, before leaping to his feet. “SYLVAIN.”

No one would complain if they ‘lost’ Sylvain. It wasn’t like they needed him to protect the prince after all.

iii. Ingrid

Ingrid knew the sound of death. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t choked tears or heart-wrenching wails. Those came after, when a person processed what had happened, when people tried to put words to their feelings. The sound of death was just this: utter silence.

She had experienced it once, long ago, when the Empire had attacked. They had fended off the soldiers, protecting Dimitri, but not before his parents died. Not before Glen, Felix’s brother, her fiancé, died. It had been silent then as well, when she’d received the news. Everything froze, time stood still, and Ingrid had heard the deafening roar of silence before Sylvain had grabbed her, hugging her tight.

Her ears rang now too as she stood on a ridge overlooking the Faerghus capital. Sylvain was saying something, but she couldn’t hear him, couldn’t hear anything as she stared at the smouldering ruins of her home. When she’d heard the news at the docks, that the Empire had attacked, she hadn’t believed it. How could they have struck the heart of Faerghus again? After everything they’d done to bolster its protections?

And yet, it was true. Ingrid didn’t blink, unable to tear her eyes away from the destroyed city before her. Whatever buildings still standing were broken, their walls scorched black from explosions and fire. An acrid scent assaulted her senses, the smell of burning bodies, and suddenly time moved once more. On her right, Dimitri stared in horror, his feet rooted to the ground. Dedue glanced at him worriedly. She should help. She should go to him.

Her feet wouldn’t move.

Felix didn’t move either, but not for a lack of trying. Sylvain had somehow sensed it ahead of time, locking him down by tightly winding his arm around Felix’s in a desperate attempt to get him to stay. He pleaded, “We have to go.”

Felix didn’t bother to reply, his eyes flashing with fury as he strained tor run forward. No doubt he wanted to fight whatever enemies remained, get revenge for their people’s deaths.

Ingrid covered her mouth, realization dawning. Felix’s parents. Her own parents. It was impossible to believe they survived but she refused to think otherwise. They had to be alive. She stepped forward, and Sylvain turned to her, eyes wide as he tried to grab her arm. “Ingrid! Don’t!”

“There could be survivors,” she shouted back, already scanning the ridge for the quickest way down. The slope to the city was too steep to walk, but if she tied a rope around her waist, she could scale it. “We have to save them!”

“We have to protect Dimitri,” he argued, struggling to keep a grip on Felix and stop her at the same time. “We have to leave!”

“I’m going down there,” Felix growled, trying to yank free. There was murder in his voice and any other time, she would have been on Sylvain’s side, keeping his rage in check.

“You’ll die!” Sylvain snarled, his temper no longer in check. “You’ll both die!”

“If we can save someone—”

“THERE MIGHT NOT BE ANYONE!” Sylvain roared, cutting her off as he said what they were all thinking, what they all knew instinctively.

For a long moment, she and Felix stared at him, eyes wide. Before she could reply, there was an almost inhuman cry from her right. Her head snapped to her right to find Dimitri crying out, a strangled sound escaping his lips. With his wild expression, it was like something in him snapped. Nothing about her childhood friend looked princely right now. No, he looked more like a rabid animal, barely restrained.

The second he stepped forward, Ingrid knew that if she didn’t stop him here, there would be no saving him. She didn’t spare a second glance at the city, at the direction her house was, and instead dashed toward Dimitri. “You can’t!”

“Don’t!” Dedue shouted at the same time, grabbing Dimitri by the shoulders.

Enraged, Dimitri tried to shove him away, his monstrous strength directed at them for once. Ingrid grabbed his other arm, gritting her teeth as his rage turned to her now. “We have to go!” she begged, echoing Sylvain’s words. Behind her, the city burned, and she swallowed down her sorrow. “There’s nothing for us here.”

Only death, and she couldn’t stand the sound of it anymore.

iv. Sylvain

Sylvain was used to being the joker of the group. When his friends consisted of the serious Ingrid, the noble Dimitri, the stoic Felix, and the silent Dedue, it was almost a matter of survival. They spent too much time in their heads, overthinking things, refusing to crack so much as a smile. It was a dreary way to live, and Sylvain had enough of that with his own family. If someone had to remind his friends how to loosen up, how to have fun, well, he’d gladly take the job.

Yet, despite a lifetime of practice, his silver tongue failed him now. There wasn’t a joke or a flirt that could change the fact that Faerghus was gone. There was a smouldering crater where their capital used to be, the Empire was invading any smaller cities that haven’t surrendered already, and who knew where their families were. Smoke continued to rise from the capital, mixing with the stormy clouds above.

Even now, he could smell the charred bodies, hear Dimitri’s pained cry, feel Felix’s muscles strain as he tried to charge off into a doomed battle. It might have only been days since the incident, but Sylvain had a feeling he would remember this sensation even years from now. A feeling of helplessness washed over him and Sylvain forced it down.

There wasn’t time for that, not when everyone else was moping around. Sylvain slapped his cheeks, forcing himself to focus on the present. Around him, survivors bustled, and Sylvain was grateful for this small miracle. Not everyone had died. There were enough survivors for a small camp. Sprawled around them was a tent city, with no more than about twenty in it. A small number, in all honesty, but it was better than nothing. He wasn’t sure how Jeralt had rounded them up, but it seemed the ex-captain was more skilled than he let on.

Plastering a broad smile on his face, Sylvain walked over to his closest friend. “Hey—”

“Don’t.” Unfortunately, the closest friend was Felix. Seated on a rock, he sharpened his sword tirelessly, not even looking up to acknowledge anyone’s presence.

“Come on, you don’t know what I’m about to say,” Sylvain replied lightly, though the words sounded forced even to his ears. Even his grin didn’t feel natural. “It could be anything.”

“Unless it’s about how we’re going to beat those bastards, I don’t care.” Felix looked up now, giving him a flat glare. His eyes were slightly red-rimmed and now that Sylvain was paying attention, his voice sounded hoarse as well.

“Felix…” Sylvain swallowed, reaching out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder. “I…I’m sorry. I know—”

Before he could say Rodriguez, before he could so much as touch him, Felix pulled away, his glare hardening. “Don’t,” he hissed, but it sounded more like a plea than an order.

Sylvain had never been close to his family and in all honesty, he never wanted to be. But Felix—he knew the relationship between him and his father was strained, was muddled and confused and with time, perhaps it could have been fixed.

It was time they never got. He had never thought of Felix as fragile before, but every part of the man before him looked like glass, ready to break. And Sylvain had always been a bull in a china shop. He stepped back for now, dropping the smile entirely. “Okay.”

There was something else he should say, but he couldn’t find the words. Looking around, it wasn’t hard to find the rest of his friends. Ingrid flitted from tent to tent, her hands full of supplies and expression determined. Sylvain watched her for a long moment, noticing her tear-stained cheeks and the tiny tremors of her hands as she forced a neutral expression.

Had his friends always been this fragile? This easily broken? He wanted to pull them both into a tight hug, force them to cry it out, but he knew he’d be the one crying. That as responsible as Ingrid was, she’d hold her feelings at bay while she dealt with him and Felix.

She looked at him, her green eyes watery, and Sylvain flinched. He knew her almost better than he knew himself, and he didn’t have to ask to know the question running through her mind, Could I have done more?Because Ingrid always blamed herself when things went wrong, always saw it as a failure on her part instead of others.

And if she asked, he wouldn’t know what to say. Before she could so much as step toward him, he spun on his heels and all but ran to the edge of the camp. Dedue’s hulking figure was easy to spot even from a distance.

His voice cracked slightly as he greeted, “Dedue.”

“Sylvain.” Dedue offered a half-smile, his expression weary.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked, coming to a stop next to him. Sylvain rubbed his arm, trying to force his heart to calm down, to keep his voice from cracking.

“As well as expected, thank you.” Even now, he kept a formal tongue, as though to force a wall between them. “And you?”

“Alive, I guess,” Sylvain half-joked, not sure how to answer that question at all. Really, this whole line of questioning was stupid, why had he even asked that. He rubbed his neck. “How’s Dimitri?”

Dedue sighed, gesturing at the field in the distance. Barely visible was a blue-clothed man in battle. Sylvain tensed, almost about to run after his prince, when he realized there was no enemy. Just a man, in a field, spearing countless invisible foes. Dimitri roared with each thrust, sounding like a wild, rabid animal instead of the gentle prince he’d known for years.

Just where had that rage been hiding, all this time?

“He has not stopped for the last two days,” Dedue answered his unasked question. “He barely rests, barely eats, and I fear for his health.”

“I…” Sylvain’s shoulders sank, and just who did he think he was going to cheer up? He barely knew how to react. “How do I help?”

“I’m not sure if anything can help him right now.” Dedue’s brow furrowed.

“Then what should I do?” His voice cracked.

A heavy hand rested on his shoulder, and he looked up at Dedue’s impassive face. His eyes crinkled kindly, his voice soft. “You live.”

“Live?”

Dedue nodded. “Yes, that is what Dimitri, what all of you have taught me. Even if my people are gone, I am here.”

Suddenly, Sylvain recognized Dedue’s expression for what it was: a man who had lived through this before, who was seeing nothing new. He’d almost forgotten that Duscur was amongst the first to be conquered by the Empire, its people all but wiped out. No wonder Dedue always looked older than he was.

“Living is harder than it looks.” Sylvain cracked a smile, and this time it didn’t feel faked.

v. Dimitri

Dimitri was used to ghosts. He’d had his since he had been a child, watching his parents die in a burst of flames and gunpowder. Their voices had never left him—his father screaming at his enemies, his mother begging to be saved. If anything, the ghosts had piled up over the years, the faceless citizens he could have saved, the people he should have protected.

He was used to his ghosts, and in retrospect, seeing his home wiped out shouldn’t have affected him as it had. What was the weight of millions more, their voices drowning out one another as they all asked him for the same thing: justice.

No, not justice. His blood boiled too hot, his skin itched too much for this to be as cool and neutral as justice. They wanted revenge.

He wanted revenge.

“What are you thinking of?” Gilbert asked, his voice so low and quiet that Dimitri almost mistook it for a phantom’s. The man’s presence was as invisible as one, anyways, and Dimitri wouldn’t have noticed him in Jeralt’s camp if he hadn’t called out. Even now, following him through the abandoned caverns near the capital, it was like following a wraith. It was easy to lose him in the gloom.

Dimitri looked at the older man, at the wrinkles lining his face. They’d known each other for years, but he hadn’t realized how old Gilbert was till now. “You should be with your family,” he replied automatically.

Gilbert’s eyes widened before he shook his head. His huge frame almost curled into itself, shame radiating off him. “I cannot.”

“You will not,” Dimitri corrected harshly, no longer willing to mince his words.

Gilbert’s breath hitched, and he nodded. “No, you are right. I will not.” His hand curled into a tight ball as they walked, his nails digging into his skin.

Perhaps it was a good thing that he had left the others behind, ordering them to keep watch at the cavern’s mouth. There were some conversations Dimitri wasn’t ready to have in front of them, some words he wasn’t ready to hear from them, and a trip through the dark was preferable than having to process the past week.

“Why?” Dimitri asked. The words came out louder, rougher than he’d intended.

“I do not deserve to see them,” Gilbert replied simply, as though that made sense. He gave a resigned smile. “Not after what I’ve done to them.”

And what was done to us?

What do we deserve?

“You can still say that, even now? After the capital was destroyed?” Dimitri asked, resisting to cover his ears. It never stopped the ghosts before, it wouldn’t stop them now. He wanted to get through this conversation without rage spilling out of him like lava from a volcano.

Gilbert frowned, his heavy brow furrowed. “That is a fair point.”

“Then—”

“However, we will have to discuss it when you return, your highness.” Gilbert came to an abrupt stop.

Dimitri looked ahead now, eyes widening as he took in a massive door. Elegant script covered it, a tribute in a dead language, and faintly he could recognize some of the magic ruins covering the stone slab. “This is…”

‘Your ancestral tomb.” Gilbert paused. “One of them, at least. Inside, you might find the help you seek.”

Perhaps there was something wrong about seeking the dead for help, but Dimitri had heard their voices for years. They had guided his hand, whether he liked it or not, and what was one more voice added to the collection.

With no hesitation, he touched the door. It groaned as it slid to the right into a crevasse, revealing a small, circular room with a domed roof. Inside, several statues lined the walls, and he recognized the biggest one as Loog, founder of his country and his first ancestor. In the center of the tomb, a long coffin stood alone.

His feet automatically moved toward it. Dimly, he was aware that Gilbert had stayed outside. Dimitri’s footsteps echoed softly in the room. It threw him off slightly and he stopped, looking around. There was no one here but him.

Dimitri froze. There was no one here but him. He had almost forgotten what it was like, utter silence. To be alone with his thoughts. Not even the ghosts were willing to enter this sacred area. Swallowing, he turned back to the coffin, his hands brushing the lid reverently.

What would the King of Lions have done in his place? Revenge? Justice? Or walked away from it all?

A flash of green crossed his sight, the memory of a slight smile, a soft touch. Byleth.

Peace.

As though to answer him, a sword materialized in the air, identical in form to the one decorating the coffin. Loog’s sword, he knew instinctively. The sword hovered in the air in front of him, waiting to be claimed.

His ancestors had spoken.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, banishing any thoughts of a green-haired woman as he reached for the hilt.

The path before him was one of vengeance. Love had no place there.

[prettyinlimegreenboots]

“My nephew wants us to take him trick or treating this year.”

Jack grinned, as he snuck a Kit Kat from the secret stash in the kitchen. It was a week until Halloween and all was right in the world …. until Kat brought up something he hadn’t anticipated.

“My nephew wants us to take him trick or treating this year.” Kat mentioned as he stood at the stove, eating the last of his Kit Kat.

Jack’s eyes went wide at her statement. “Your nephew is a holy terror. I thought he hated us.”

“Jamie wants us to take him, not Frankie. I told my sister we wouldn’t take Frankie unless she went with us. She quickly agreed that would be best.” Kat gave him a look.

Jack sighed, looking at his wife. “Why?”

“He looks up to you, Jack.” She grinned, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, placing a kiss on his lips. “Besides he loves hanging out with you.”

Jack kissed her again. “So we’re taking just Jamie, right?”

“Maybe Ella too.” Kat bit her lip, smiling softly at her husband, rubbing her ever expanding belly. “Besides, it’ll be great practice for the little one we’re expecting.”

He scoffed, chuckling. “Our child will not be parading up and down the street as soon as they’re born. We’ve got 2-3 years before that happens - plenty of time for practice.”

“I didn’t want it to come to this ….” she muttered before tears and a wobbly lip soon found their way on her face.

A panic look came over Jack’s face as he watched his wife succumb to tears. “I’ll do anything … please stop crying. You know I can’t handle tears.”

“So we’ll take Jamie and Ella?” Kat asked, wiping her eyes.

Pulling her into his chest, he sighed, nodding. “Yes we’ll take them. You play dirty, Mrs. Kelly.”

“Oh you haven’t seen anything yet, Mr. Kelly.” She grinned, popping up on her tiptoes for a kiss.

Which is how he found himself dressed as James P. Sullivan from Monsters Inc while Kat was Mike Wazowski. He did have to admit they looked cute together. Meanwhile, Jamie was a cowboy and Ella was Boo from the movie.

“Why does Jamie have to be so lame?” Ella asked her uncle as he held her as they walked down the street. “He could’ve been one of the other monsters from the movie.”

Jack chuckled at the 4 year old’s question as he bounced her. “Leave your brother alone, Ella. He can dress as whoever he wants.”

“Yea but he’s still lame.” She stuck her tongue out at her older brother. Jamie sighed, shuffling his feet along as he held Kat’s hand.

Jack rolled his eyes as he heard his wife huff. “Ella it’s fine. Are you ready to trick or treat?”

She screamed her agreement as Jack put her on the ground as she skipped beside him. Coming up to the first house, he felt Kat’s arm around his waist as they watched the two run up to the house. “Thanks for doing this!”

“As if I had a choice.” He murmured, leaning over and kissing her. “But it should be fun. I can raid their candy buckets at the end of the night, right?”

She laughed, nodding. “As long as I get a couple of Kit Kat’s, sure.”

“Uh … Aunt Kat?” They didn’t see the two kids run back to their side but heard Jamie’s voice.

Kat looked at him with a smile. “What’s up Jamie?”

“I don’t think Sully and Mike actually kiss in real life.” He deadpanned, as Jack busted up laughing at the 7 year old’s observation.

Kat’s eyes went wide, as she swatted at Jack’s arm for laughing so hard. “Ummm … you’re probably right. So Uncle Jack and I shouldn’t kiss anymore tonight, huh?”

“Nope!” He bit back. “Besides, kissing anyone is gross. Why would you want to swap spit with someone else?”

Jack and Kat traded looks, both shrugging their shoulders. “At some point, it’s not going to be gross, kid. Besides we and your parents kiss you all the time.”

“That’s different, Uncle Jack.” Ella piped up, rolling her eyes at her aunt and uncle. “They sup’osed ta.”

Jack grinned at the girl. “How about we drop the kissing discussion for another time and get more candy?”

He laced his hand with Kat’s as they continued down the sidewalk. “Nicely done Kelly.”

“I try.” Jack shook his head. “Are we ready for those conversations with our own kid?”

Kat giggled, shaking her head. “My sister says 99% of the time she’s just winging it. Besides, as you said earlier, it’s not like the kid is going to come out sassily talking back to us.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Jack sighed. “Besides if the kid is anything like you, we’ll have our hands full.”

She hip bumped him with a shock look on her face. “Me? What about you, Jack?”

“We’re screwed with our kids, huh?” Jack pondered on that as Kat squeezed his hand.

“Pretty much but there’s no one else I’d rather do this with than you.” She murmured, kissing his cheek. “You’re stuck with me.”

Chuckling, Jack watched the two kids run into the next yard as him and Kat followed them. “Thank goodness for that.”

For the next hour, they followed Jamie and Ella around the neighborhood, trying to steal candy from their buckets but getting caught every single time.

When a couple of yawns escaped their mouths, Jack started to navigate the kids and his wife back to the house. Once inside, Jack pushed Kat to the stairs to go relax in a bubble bath while he handled bedtime.

Carrying Ella upstairs, he laid her in one of the guest rooms, not even taking off her costume, but gently took off her shoes. He kissed her forehead before closing the door gently behind him. Going into the adjacent room, he saw Jamie had changed into his PJs sitting on the bed, flipping through a book. “All ready for bed?”

“Uncle Jack?” Closing the book, the seven year old looked at his uncle. “Thank you.”

Sitting on the bed beside him, Jack hugged him with a grin. “For what?”

“Taking Ella and I trick and treating.” He grinned at his uncle. “We had fun.”

Kissing the boy’s head, Jack smiled. “Good. I’m glad you had fun. Now let’s get you tucked in.”

Once Jamie was tucked in, Jack kissed his forehead before heading towards the door. “Uncle Jack, one more thing.”

“What’s that buddy?” Jack stilled, hand on the light switch.

Jamie gave him a stern look, pointing his finger in his uncle’s direction. “Don’t be stealin’ all of our candy. Ella and I know how many pieces we have and we’ll be counting them in the morning.”

Jack’s eyes went wide as he slowly nodded before chuckling. “You got it buddy. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Uncle Jack.” He said as Jack shut off the light, closing the door, leaving it cracked a little before going into the master bedroom.

Kat was still in the tub so he sat on the closed toilet seat. “What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Your nephew is what’s wrong.” Jack shook his head. “He told me that he and Ella counted their candy and know how much they have and told me that I can’t be stealing it.”

Laughing, Kat grinned, shaking her head. “They are their mother’s children. That has Julie written all over it. Well it’s a good thing that I have extra candy, huh?”

“Have you been holding out on me, Katherine Kelly?” Jack’s eyes went wide at his wife’s admission

Shrugging, she motioned him to hand her the towel and a hand out of the tub before grinning. “I never know when the craving will hit. Let me get dressed and I’ll show you the stash.”

Sitting on the bed, she dropped three bags of candy between them with a grin. “You know there’s times I miss the crazy Halloween nights we got up to in high school and college. But tonight was perfect.”

“It really was.” Jack bit into a Reese’s with a hum of satisfaction. “Happy Halloween, babe.”

“Happy Halloween, handsome.” She grinned, leaning over and kissing him. “Go get changed. It’s weird kissing you as a Disney character.”

He laughed, pushing himself off the bed and changing into Halloween PJ pants and a white shirt. “How’s this?”

“Perfect. Now come here.” She giggled as he jumped on the bed, grabbing another chocolate. “I love you.”

“Love you too babe.” Jack kissed her. She was right, those crazy Halloween nights were fun when they were younger, but he wouldn’t trade it for the night he had.

Thanks @wide-eyed--wonderer for sending this in!! 1400 words of pure craziness!!

[borgiin]

               “  she was her father’s daughter but she’d inherited her mother’s                   black anger. it burned through her sometimes like a chemical fire. “

{ cis woman, she/her } ❝ walk like pepper spray, like don’t fucking touch me. walk like the knife in your pocket is in your hands, like you were born with it there, because weren’t you? ❞ huh, who’s KATIE DOUGLAS? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually VICTORIA BORGIN. she is a 21 year old PUREBLOOD witch who is a BUYER FOR BORGIN AND BURKES. she is known for being DUPLICITOUS, IRASCIBLE, RECKLESS, SHORT-FUSED, and LACKADAISICAL but also INDEPENDENT, PROTECTIVE, UNSWERVING, VALIANT, and BEGUILING, so that must be why she always reminds me of the song DEVIL LIKE ME BY RAINBOW KITTEN SURPRISE and A FLIRTATIOUS SMILE USED WITH ABANDON; PUNCHING A HOLE IN THE WALL AND COVERING IT WITH A MIRROR; COFFEE SO DARK AND BITTER IT FEELS LIKE PUNISHMENT; HEELS HELD IN YOUR HAND AS YOU WALK BAREFOOT OVER GRAVEL; SLIPPING INTO THE COOL LONELINESS OF YOUR BED AT FOUR AM. i hear she is aligned with THE DEATH EATERS, so be sure to keep an eye on her. { zoe, 22, cst, she/her }

ADDITIONAL MATERIALS:   victoria’s playlist, stats page, & pinterest board CONTENT WARNINGS:    car accidents, death of a spouse / partner, parental manipulation

one. 

nicholas borgin ii was an exceptionally smart young wizard who was unburdened by the war that had ruled his father’s youth. his father was happy for him, in a way; nicholas sr. thought his son was his most shining achievement. it was easy for him to want the best for his beautiful, clever, perfect son. it was easy to be proud that he could do better than be someone else’s follower. it was easy to be happy that he would get to do better than that. 

well, easy in theory. in practice, nothing was easy about nic deciding that he wanted to continue his education abroad once h graduated from hogwarts. there were several fine magical colleges in the united states and nic was eager to branch out from the british wizarding society he’d known all his life. he’d done all the right things up to that point; he attended all the dinners with his parents’ old friends, he’d been sorted into slytherin, made a prefect, earned the respect of all his professors. enough respect that a few of them encouraged he look to further his studies outside of hogwarts’ walls. 

nic had such a good head on his shoulders. he never once insinuated that he wouldn’t look to take over duties at the shop, one day. when he broached the subject of college in america with his parents, he was certain to assure nicholas sr. that his studying spell invention would only help the shop; after all, he said, wouldn’t it be wonderful if they could sell certain members of their clientele custom charms and spells? 

it was hard for nicholas to find a reasonable excuse to quash his son’s dream. he had a bad idea about him fucking off to the united states to study, but it was unfounded, his wife assured him  —  nic knew he was the future of the borgin name and had only ever done things that helped the family. this would be no different. 

that was that. nic was a smooth talker before he was anything else; he hadn’t been lying to his parents when he gave his big speech to sell them on the idea of a magical college in america. he really did think that there would be a way to incorporate whatever he learned into the shop’s whole, like, business model. at least, he really did think he was smart enough to find a way to incorporate it. no, nic hadn’t been lying. he was a smooth talker but he rarely lied  —  he just knew how to tell the truth in such a way that it was what other people wanted to hear. 

nic wanted to go to leave the country for a little bit before he had to settle down and become old and serious, the face of the borgin name. he was smart enough that college in the united states was an option, the easiest at his disposal. it was simple as breathing to tell his family that it was what he wanted his first step to look like, when step two was coming home and doing something at borgin & burkes for the betterment of the family business. 

two. 

he hadn’t had any real ulterior motive when he left for the georgia college of magical mechanics. nic just thought he was too  —  too young to set off down the path his family wanted just yet. too young, too smart, too pretty; nic was a smooth talker, sure, and a little bit of a narcissist, but none of that was unfounded. he was a hot commodity on campus, and it took almost no time at all for him to fancy himself in love with two fellow students, and for them to fancy themselves in love with him in return. 

helen beauvais and anthony fontaine had been a package deal almost their whole lives. both the fontaines and the beauvais’ were large families of excellent pedigree with a proclivity towards mapping out their children’s lives. the families drafted up a betrothal agreement as soon as helen and anthony could toddle and they all saw how sweetly the two children played together. 

helen and anthony were, by and large, fine with this. they’d had their whole lives to be fine with it. first they were each other’s best friend and later they fell in love and neither really knew if that was nurture or nature; and they’d never know, so it was easy not to care, not when the perfect lives they’d been handed suited them well enough. they’d wanted to go to college before they got married and their families were fine with that  —   largely because all involved knew they would get married, as soon as they were done with school and ready for the rest of their lives. it was a forgone conclusion.

nic was a surprise to helen and anthony (who had always been a matched set; and never thought somebody else could match them, too), but he was a pleasant one. all three of them were equals and all three of them loved each other, dearly. they attended seminars and galas and winged-horse races together, the trio standing off to the side, untouchable; their peers’ envy was an almost palpable thing. they were the brightest things at the georgia college of magical mechanics. no one else came close. 

they were, of course, such smart and clever and forward-thinking individuals, who cared naught for blood purity. the only reason none of them ever interacted with muggles and muggleborns was obviously because they were so smart and clever and forward thinking that, of course, their circles were a little exclusive. 

nic’s parents weren’t pleased with this dalliance; it was nice that nic, at least, wasn’t sullying himself with people of impure blood, but really. the borgins wouldn’t get any heirs out of this extended diversion. fontaines and the beauvais’ weren’t exactly pleased with this wrench in their plans, either. it didn’t look great that their perfectly matched children had sought out a poly relationship. but they both decided to look the other way as long as the pair of them fulfilled their betrothal. the borgins were a little less forgiving. 

after college, nic stayed in the states  —  that’s where his partners were, and he knew his parents didn’t approve of them. it was the first time nic had ever had to take a stand, but it was a hard choice was fine with making. the shop would wait, or it wouldn’t; his father would cave, or he wouldn’t. nic was just fine with the life he’d landed himself in. 

in a short time the fontaines and beauvais’ warmed to nic, or at least seemed to: if not as their children’s partner then as a person. he’d take it. they knew of the shop and what it had done to supply the dark lord during his time in power; they figured, there were worse families to find themselves loosely allied with. 

three. 

helen and anthony got married and everyone remarked on how lucky they were to have their good friend nicholas so close to them during the celebrations. they bought a house and everyone laughed at how fun it was that they decided to let their close friend nicholas move in, too. less than a year after the wedding, the couple had a child, and everyone noted how sweet it was that their dear friend nicholas doted on the baby girl. 

everybody knew the three of them were together, that little victoria was his as much as she was theirs. everybody knew; but helen and anthony got married and polite society breathed a collective sigh of relief at finally having a legal excuse to pretend nic was nothing more than the pair’s very best friend. the younger people in their set were all quick to assure the three of them that they were happy they were happy; but their parents still made the guest lists. 

the big house they lived in saw two sets of invitations, sometimes; always one for mr. and mrs. fontaine, and another for mr. borgin when his presence was necessary. nic’s parents begged him to come home; he and helen and anthony drafted wills when they were all too young to really think of death, deciding that they were better safe than sorry when it came to their daughter’s future. 

the three of them resigned to the awkward dance they had to do to carry on with their lives in georgia; nic knew that helen and anthony didn’t want to uproot their lives, but they all talked about the possibility of relocating to nic’s wales so he could take over the shop  —  his family, he thought, might be so glad to have him back they forgave his choice of relationship. all of them were tired of being told they weren’t living their lives right, but they had time to figure out what to do with that tiredness.  

sometimes it almost felt like they were accepted; other times it was clear nic was being snubbed. he was just the easiest target for it, of the three of them; he was the only outsider. he was rarely left off society guest lists, or those hosted by their fellow gcmm alums, but the fontaine and beauvais made it clear that he had no real place at important family events. helen and anthony rebelled against this as best they could, by leaving victoria at home with her dad whenever all four of them weren’t explicitly invited. 

the three of them said their goodbyes for the evening before helen and anthony left for one such event, and the next thing nic knew, his partners were dead at the hands of some drunk muggle  —  the flashy car the trio used crushed like a tin can into a tree at the side of the road. 

it hit nic really hard. of course it did; he lost both the loves of his life in one fell swoop. he was still so young. he hadn’t had a war like his father had, to prepare him for the reality of death. 

at their funerals, helen and anthony’s families were all grieving too much to keep up the pretense of politeness he’d always gotten from them before. it was one thing to know that they didn’t approve of his relationship with their children and another to feel truly hated for having been close to them at all. nicholas was, at least, morbidly pleased they’d all thought to leave extensively detailed wills; there was no way for either the fontaine or the beauvais families to leave him out of the funeral preparations like they’d tried to leave him out of so many other things. 

it felt like he’d barely buried them before both families started making thinly veiled threats about finding a way to take victoria from him. nic was mourning, still so deeply hurt and traumatized at losing both of the people he loved, and feared that they could find a way. he packed all the things he couldn’t bear to leave in a rush, and hightailed it out of america in the dead of night, landing in entrance to his family’s home in wales before he could think of another option. his mother hugged him and her granddaughter to her chest the moment she saw them; his father tried as best he could not to say I told you so.

(his best wasn’t that hard. borgins were, at their core, stubborn assholes. nic was too hurt to mind his father’s smug righteousness.)

four. 

victoria had never known helen and anthony, not really; but she felt their impact in every little crevice of her life, like a heavy coating dust that couldn’t be swept away. her grandfather had bit his tongue on his harsher I-told-you-so’s by reminding his son that muggles were ultimately responsible for the death of the people of loved  —  whatever it took to keep him close to his family and never want to leave again. almost immediately after nic had returned with victoria, he took over his father’s duties at borgin & burkes. 

it took almost no coaxing from his father at all for nicholas to wholeheartedly give himself into borgin & burke’s mission statement, to protect the legacy of magical artefacts. nic had always thought himself too smart to fall into the trap of blood purity talk, but grief really changed him. seeing his partners’ families really turn on him fucked him up, and he never got over feeling like he’d nearly lost his daughter. the damage was done; he might have left for america as a freer-spirited borgin, a smooth talker with a devil-may-care attitude, but he returned jaded and wary. 

he was a good, devoted father to little victoria. when she was older, part of her wondered if he hadn’t thought he had to be the best dad to make up for doing the job mostly alone when he’d always expected to have two other parents to help with her. he was protective of his little girl  —  over protective, victoria thought. controlling. from the very start of her life, she was not a person to be controlled; it figured her father was the only person who ever really tried. 

she’d been born with her hands formed into fists. all three of her parents had cooed over this, when she was barely born, but the truth of it was there if any of them had cared to look: she was always ready to swing first

victoria grew up firmly under her father’s thumb. she was his miracle, his darling daughter; he looked at her and saw the ghosts of the loves of his life and wanted, fiercely, for no harm to ever come to her. it grated on victoria in a way that she kept tightly under wraps. she wasn’t ever sure if she was a product of nurture or nature. maybe any child raised by her silver-tongued, clever father would have equal mastery over lies. maybe victoria did, because he held the reigns so tightly she’d had to learn how to pretend to abide by what he wanted for her just to steal a little breathing room. 

her father hadn’t wanted to half-ass his life, not when he saw himself as the only person looking out for his daughter. he’d been fine living amongst whispers for the sake of true love when he was young and careless, but he knew now that he needed stability for his family. not just victoria, either; he needed stability for the shop, for the family legacy. 

he married valentina dolohov within a year of his triumphant return home. valya was a widow herself, looking for a little stability for her and her children now that her true love was gone. she and nic understood each other. they were a perfect match; they knew that if they wed their tragedies would stop being gossip fodder. they could fade peacefully into their adulthood, content that their spouse understood them if they didn’t love them. neither of them put much stock in love, now. 

little victoria was a flower girl; one of valya’s children was the ring bearer. everybody invited gushed about how perfect nic and valya were for each other, raved over how lovely the wedding had been. just like that, it was as if everybody forgot about the years nic had spent in america (and forgotten just how little victoria came to be). out of sight, out of mind. he and his new wife both had things they’d prefer to leave in their pasts.  

five. 

victoria didn’t, like, hate her stepmom, or anything. she’d honestly never understood why they were always the villains in fairy tales. valya might have never tried to be victoria’s mom, but victoria thought that was part of why they worked. her father was parent enough for victoria. she had a good relationship with valya, anyway  —  she might not have been victoria’s mother, but she was the only mother-figure she’d ever really had, unless she counted theo’s mom. victoria thought valya always knew when victoria was lying to her father, but she never told on her. victoria loved her for that alone; she lied to her father a lot. it was nice to have someone around who would keep that secret for her. 

feeling things was always a struggle for victoria. she was glad her stepmom never asked her to love her; that wasn’t the sort of thing victoria could feel just because she was meant to. it was frustrating to try. and she did try when she was younger, often, to feel the things she thought she was meant to. she was just bad at it, and that would never change, and she got so angry when she thought of trying so hard at something so silly. it made her want to find something to hit, or somewhere to run, or something to do. anything to do. 

she just knew that she was so bad with feelings that weren’t  ...  anger, maybe. frustration. it was the softer emotions that confused her when they came until she didn’t know what to do with them. it was easier to pretend she didn’t have them, to try and will them away. she hated feeling soft.

valya always understood that better than nic did. victoria’s father loved her so much; it was smothering. he loved his perfect daughter, the tiny, helpless girl that needed his protection. victoria had never been that girl  —  sometimes she wondered if it was doing both of them more harm than good when she pretended to be that girl for him. it was just that it was easier, so much easier, to let him think what he wanted about her so their relationship never had to be even a little complicated. maybe it was doing them more harm than good, but it was easier, too. victoria loved the easy route too much to let it go. 

when it came time for victoria to go to hogwarts, she was a hatstall. the gross looking thing sat on the head of curls valya had carefully set before victoria’s departure and couldn’t seem to get her. what else was new, right? gryffindor or slytherin, green or red. she was a little overly self concerned but lacking in any real ambition, bored with bullies; angry and prone to acting on that anger, quick to stick with the sides she chose, eleven and already tired of existence. she picked gryffindor just to speed up the whole affair, on the reasoning that gold would look better with her complexion than silver.

she wrote back home to share the news and it was true that no one was really surprised. 

six. 

when her father and valya got married, nic brought victoria to the table and valya brought kids of her own who bore the dolohov name. victoria thought that no one but her grandfather would have really blamed the couple for not wanting to add even more kids into the mix. such a pity that grandfather was always the loudest voice in any crowd; victoria might have been the shortest of all her siblings, but she was far from the youngest. 

by the time some of her younger half-siblings started writing home with news of their own hogwarts sortings, victoria’s grandfather started leaving hints that maybe victoria wasn’t the one who nic should prepare to take over the shop, one day. nic had slowly started to get a more full picture of who his daughter was  —  she still only dropped all pretenses of being nice and sweet when she was away from her father. but still, she loved physical exertion. she excelled on a broom and led the complex games she and her siblings played. she loved winning, but more than that, she adored the way her mind fell silent when her body was being forced past its limits. 

victoria was never happier than when she had bruises on her fists and legs and blood singing in her ears, and it was something her father had noticed. he’d started to think about how useful that competitive spirit would be once she was old enough. 

her grandfather, though, thought that even the most ruthless, business-minded disposition wouldn’t make up for the fact that she didn’t have a drop of borgin blood. how lucky for all of them that she wasn’t business-minded in the slightest. he wanted nic to start looking at his younger kids to take over one day. 

he wasn’t shy about sharing this fact with victoria, either; the two of them got together for tea all the time when victoria was home, so they could play wizard’s chess and discuss how she was doing at school. he told her point blank that he didn’t think she had what it took to take over the shop, and seemed to expect her to be pleased with this news. just think, victoria, he told her, now you can set your sights on  ...  professional quidditch, or something more suited to you. 

which was pretty much the nail in the coffin on whatever half-baked dreams sixteen-year-old victoria had actually had of her life after school. no fucking way was she going to let her grandfather push her out of the way and tell it was for her own good. she knew she was one of the only ones in the family who could ignore how hard he tried to impose his will. he was stubborn, but she could out stubborn him. 

the last thing she wanted was to see him pluck one of her younger siblings out of their life and into whatever mold he wanted them to fill. she’d put her ear to the door during enough of his meetings with her father and stepmom to know that the three of them knew things about the azkaban breaks. there was talk of another war, or something like it, and victoria didn’t especially want to fight but she knew as well as she knew anything that it was better her than any of her siblings. 

she might not have had borgin blood, but she was a borgin through and through. no one else was taking the fall for her. 

five. 

she still wasn’t business-minded, but she figured that she didn’t actually need to be, yet. she spent the rest of her time at school doing what she could to keep her father from trying to groom one of her younger siblings for the job or for the cause. it meant cracking a little bit of the veneer she always wore with him; he never stopped doting on her like she was a sweet, defenseless thing, but she knew that he knew better. valya seemed to be proud of her for stepping up, which made victoria feel conflicted in a way she did not want to examine much, thanks. 

victoria had always dug her feet in at the thought of assigning any of her actions innate morals. victoria dug her feet in at most things, but it was true: she didn’t like thinking that she was doing something because it was the ‘right choice.’ no one could ever convince her to do something just because it was ‘right.’ she sure as hell wasn’t going to start feeling like she was looking out for her siblings out of anything but a selfish sense of protectiveness.

yes, she was aware of the hypocrisy. but she thought she’d never needed looking after, not like they did. she’d been born ready to fight and none of them had that same fire in them, not that she could see. she didn’t especially believe in what she’d be fighting for but victoria didn’t think that mattered half as much as anything else. 

victoria had always been competitive when it came to school  —  she’d never been the one at the very top of her classes, but doing well mattered to her. doing well always mattered to her. it’s what always made teas with her grandfather so pleasant; the two of them were well matched at wizard’s chess and she was never afraid to give him a progress report on her n.e.w.t. studies. in her last years at school, she was even more determined to do well, to show him that she was the right choice  ...  that she was the only choice. 

when she got out of school she dropped quidditch like it had been a hot coal held in her hand too long. she asked valya to take her shopping and completely overhauled her wardrobe until she had more crisp, respectable items of clothing than she knew what to do with. she reported for duty at the shop and greeted every customer with her most sugared smile. it took almost nothing from her to get people to sell borgin & burke’s their priceless magical artefacts. a half hour meeting with victoria and they were ready to give her first dibs on their great aunts’ estate. 

victoria was doing so well for the shop and for her family that she never stopped to wonder if she, like, liked the life she had. that didn’t matter; she wasn’t doing any of this for herself, so what the fuck did it matter if she was happy with it? 

six. 

victoria had always needed to stay in constant motion to feel content. there was this listless, restless feeling under her skin all the time that only seemed to calm when she was working herself to the bone over a goal. her goals during school had been simple. she wanted to do well in her classes, to win quidditch matches, to have fun at parties, and to keep her father from finding out too much about her. her goals now were a little more complex; she wanted to do well at the shop, to make herself indispensable. she wanted to pull her grandfather’s focus from any of her younger siblings. she wanted to keep making valya proud of her without doing anything that made her feel too sick to her stomach. 

victoria thought about moving out, getting her own apartment, but she wasn’t quite ready to leave home yet when there was so much going on. she started letting her father dote on her, just a little, when she got back to their home in wales after a long day. she let him bring her cocoa, or smooth her hair back when she sat going over a seller’s information on the couch. she was more an adult now than she’d ever been when she hated being coddled, but it felt  —  nice, to be coddled, just a little. 

things felt less real when she sat back and let her father ramble about whatever spell he was workshopping at the moment. unreality was soothing, now. victoria at sixteen probably wouldn’t have recognized who victoria was at twenty-one, but she figured she needed to make her peace with that. she had let herself turn into this person for a good reason. 

(a selfish reason, she reminded herself; she wanted an easy life for her siblings because she was selfish.) 

people were dying. victoria knew she was doing what she had to do to keep her siblings out of this fight, as much as she could; but it hurt victoria a little to see that people were dying and know why. she didn’t want to examine why it hurt. 

she joined a muggle boxing gym and spent hours there once her work at the shop was done. she let everyone at home think she was just spending a lot of time getting drinks with old hogwarts friends. really, victoria just needed to punch something until she felt like a person again. she split her knuckles over and over again, and used healing balms and bruise removal paste to hide the evidence. 

part of her wonders if this kind of existence isn’t entirely sustainable; but that kind of introspection is soft, too soft. victoria shoved it out of her head before she could worry herself over it. it’s not anger and it’s not pride and it’s not frustration, and she really didn’t have the time for anything more complicated than those three things. it didn’t matter if it was sustainable, because victoria would sustain it anyway. she had to. 

[vinodiriso]

Mejika Nikki: The White Fang’s Last Howl.

Mejika Nikki (The Doe Journal) is an on-going series of stories that deals with crucial events in Yoshino’s story. You can navigate its tag here.

Yoshino couldn't think of anything. Her mind was a blank slab of marble, cold, unfeeling, dumb. Her eyes were open wide and fixed on the ground, but she saw nothing: her vision was past that world, spirited away to the realm of remembrance, of grievance.

Sakumo-sensei was dead. There wasn't a man alive able to kill him, so he’d taken his own life. A life he had spent serving Konohagakure to his fullest and for which he had paid the price. Yoshino hadn't been allowed in the room where they found the body. "Spare yourself this," Minato pleaded her that fateful night, when her eyes had looked even more possessed, her breath wild and frantic, "neither Tsume-san nor you deserve it."

She spent that night curled against the warm body of the last person left in the world whom she still cared about. Neither the Inuzuka nor the Yukinohana uttered a single word that night, each too busy walking through the flames of their personal hell: Haru's departure was a wound still too fresh for them to cope with, Sakumo's suicide felt quite literally like a knife in the back. They wouldn't have allowed his death to become about them, but it did feel personal, as if those other students of his had been too blind to realize their teacher's pain, the extent of his sorrow, as day after day he walked away from life. Survivor's guilt was eating away at their hearts already, wondering why he had resolved to this, why didn't he tell them what they could have done to help him, why couldn't they have seen it by themselves.

"Sakumo-sensei, is there something wrong?" "Why, no, Yoshino. I am just happy I could see you both in person after so long." “Are you turning sentimental on us, old man?" "Ah, Tsume, don't be mean. I’ve just missed my girls. I wish Haru could be here too."

"Are you ready?" Yoshino didn't even hear Tsume coming out of her house, Kuromaru showed his support by staying next to her. Her face was so pale, as if she hadn't rested a sole minute the night before. To be fair, neither Yoshino'd had.

The kunoichi tried to think as hard as she could, but her brain refused to cooperate. She was empty. She was spent. So she simply nodded, despondent and in wordless despair.

They walked side by side, never talking once, only the sound of their sandals and Kuromaru’s soft pads squashing the stone chippings accompanied them. It was a first for Tsume and Yoshino to go silent for so long, but every word uttered felt meaningless: those words should have been used on Sakumo to cheer him up, to quieten the screaming voices of anguish, dishonour and dismay which drove him to that insane resolution. But they had been spoken not, so those words deserved to die in their chest, like Sakumo had.

Konohagakure seemed eerie in its dormant state as they ghosted along its streets. It was little after dawn, so probably most of the village was still asleep, but it gave the gloomy impression that the entire population of Konoha was in mourning for the loss of such a great hero. There was a certain grey tint to the air itself, an ashen look that turned even the lively hearth of their home into a gathering of bereavement. Yoshino still could not think, of anything.

The graveyard was close to empty. A few shinobi were scattered across the meadow, Yoshino recognized Minato holding close a young, silver-haired boy. ‘Kakashi...’

Next to him, two other children, one with dark features and the Uchiha emblem on his vest, the other a girl with brown hair.

Yoshino felt eyes on herself and her companion and turned to meet Rou's frightening visage. His gargantuan, white ninrou, Kibone, swayed her tail drearily. He was back from Suna, then? she started thinking, before realising she didn't really care to know. There were few other people, some older folks she had never met and some other representative of her generation, but none could testify the place was crowded or the funeral attended.

"So he hasn't come," Tsume growled from her left, startling Yoshino. Who was she talking about? But again, as soon as her mind started formulating that thought, it stopped. It didn't want to work. It didn't want to know. If it had known, it would have acknowledged. If it had acknowledged, it would have made it real.

Yoshino and Tsume walked to the front rows and stood there, eyes fixed on the tomb just a few steps before them. Yoshino turned to observe Kakashi: he was crying and Minato was massaging his shoulder with a light hand and a tenderness Yoshino did not anticipate from such a ruthless ninja. The girl was touching his other shoulder, while the Uchiha boy just looked at him in grievance.

One sudden awareness hit her like a hammer on the back of her skull: she had yet to shed a single tear from the announcement of Sakumo's death. She had stopped eating, barely drank, laid wide-awake in her bed all night long, couldn't focus on anything, but she hadn't cried. She did realize it, yet she couldn't do anything more, because that would have meant to think, and she didn't want to think. She didn't want to think.

The solemn celebration started and carried on quietly, without making too much noise. Yoshino wasn't paying it any attention, and she would have kept doing so if Tsume didn't whisper in pure bewilderment: "...Sandaime-sama."

Yoshino spun her hear around to see as rustling murmurs started animating the sombre assembly. In the central gap, left unoccupied to allow free passage, stood the imposing, red-and-white-clad figure of the Hokage.

"Thank you, Hiruzen-sama..." there was a trembling unaccounted for in Tsume's breath. Her tattooed cheeks became lined with fresh tears. She sobbed, pain hastily gushing from the fissure in her heart. Kuromaru rubbed his big, canine head against her outer thigh to show empathy towards his owner.

The Hokage being there was retribution against all the spewers and scandal mongers that had gossiped and sullied their teacher's name. ‘So this is who she was talking about before’.

Yoshino couldn't bring herself to be as happy or comforted about Sarutobi's presence: he should have done something to help Sakumo, to protect him. Failing a mission, no matter how crucial, shouldn't have robbed him of all his achievements and destroyed his worth in front of the village. The Hokage had come to naught as long as defending Sakumo was regarded, and now his body was cold beneath the dirt and the earth.

‘Why did you have to save your comrades, Sakumo-sensei? Why didn't you just complete the mission and then come home? Why did you rob yourself of your own life?’

"Hi, everyone, my name is Hatake Sakumo and I shall be your sensei from this moment on! Why don't we start off by introducing yourselves to your new teammates? Say your name and what is your dream." "SURE! I am Inuzuka Tsume from the Inuzuka Clan, and this is Kuromaru. We are partners! My dream is to become the toughest kunoichi in Konoha and kick everyone's ass, so don't make me mad!" "Haha, I like your enthusiasm! Who is next?" "My name is Hyuuga Haru, I am a member of the Hyuuga Clan. My dream is to become strong enough to protect the people I love and this village whole!" "Very noble of you, Haru. You are the only one left, little one." "Mh. My name is Yukinohana Yoshino. My home used to be Yukinohana Shokumin, or what's left of it. I-I don't think I have a real dream..." I just want to survive and be happy, one day. "It's okay not to have clear ambitions at the start. Your path will be revealed to you when the time comes, Yoshino."

‘It isn't clear yet, Sensei. I don't know yet what I want from my life. What did you want from yours? Why did you take away your chance to be happy? Why didn't you let us help?’

"Yoshino," Tsume's voice was soft in ways her best friend had rarely ever heard. "It's time to go."

"Mh."

An intense gust of wind dragged and crushed the flowers Kakashi and the girl –Rin, her name was Rin– had laid on Sakumo's grave. She saw the petals get ripped off, dancing in the cold air, and then collapse, powerless, to the ground. ‘Not even in death will you accept the gratitude and love of those who were close to you, Sensei? Are we so undeserving of your benevolence? Did we fail you so, Sakumo-sensei?’

The attendants to the funeral dispersed a couple of minutes after the service ended. Minato escorted his team out of the graveyard, Rou gazed at Yoshino and Tsume, it was clear he didn't want to leave the latter alone, but he made the wise choice not to meddle just yet and give them some more time to spend in one another's company.

Tsume looked more at peace with herself on their walk back than what she did on their way there. She was still desperately sad, of course, but there was no more hopelessness in her eyes, rather a –shaky, unstable, feeble, but still some sort of– resolve. Yoshino coveted her strength of mind, her will to keep fighting.

Tsume was likely aware of that, so she told the Yukinohana: "you know what Sakumo-sensei would have told us, Shishi. 'Don't cry for what you can't change, strive to improve what comes after so that your pain won't be in vain'. I won't let his death be in vain, Shishi, and neither will you."

Yoshino truly did want to believe Tsume, but she just couldn't find the energy to do so. Her heartbeat felt shallow, her sight blurred and her touch irresponsive. There was a lulling sense of meaninglessness in that narcolepsy of the soul, where the entire world was absent and noiseless because everyone had turned their back on them. ‘Sakumo-sensei… how lonely were you?’

“Sakumo-sensei… you never told us your dream.” “Haha, I didn’t back then, did I? I want to leave this world a better place than what I found it, for my son and the people I love. This is why I strive to be the best ninja I can be, not to win my battles for my personal pride… to make sure that, one day, Kakashi won’t have to fight them himself.”

Yoshino looked up at the sky. “There’s no clouds today. The sky is so gray.”

“Damn, I can’t believe they actually did it in broad daylight,” a ninja they passed on a secondary alleyway to reach Inuzuka Compound hissed to his friend, “they were lucky none went there to give that bastard what he deserved.”

Yoshino halted, Tsume and her were a few meters from them now. “Say that again.”

The ninja turned back to look at her, a complacent grin on his idiotic face. “Why, what are you gonna do otherwise, you skin and bones? You gonna tickle me to death?”

“Say that again,” Tsume laid it on thick with her barking, her face tilted a bit to eye him. Even with her earnest aspirations, Tsume was still Tsume, and Tsume was not to be provoked. Kuromaru growled with her, feeling the pure murderous intent radiating from the two kunoichi.

“They. Were. Lucky. None. Went there. To give that bastard. What he deserved.”

Tsume and Yoshino sprung to action on the very same instant. The Inuzuka young woman started forming the hand seals for Shikyaku, Kuromaru dashed next to her, a black, muddled stain for how fast he was running, and filled the dense, electricity-sparkling air with his blood-frenzied snarl. Yoshino too was advancing rapidly, she had no weapons at her disposal because of her mourning attire, but someone had left a spare wooden board leaned against a fence: it was chipped, rough and too large to be used effectively as a bō, but she would have done with what she had got.

While Tsume squatted to hurl herself against their enemy, Yoshino spun her makeshift staff in her hand to empower her subsequent blow with even more might. She was not even a step from dealing her strike when she felt a tight grip on her waist cutting her breath short, her armed hand squeezed tight to stop her from hitting. At her right, a very tall individual held Tsume for her throat, claw-like nails scraping against the skin of her neck and drawing blood. ‘Rou...’

Kuromaru too had been stopped, his neck bitten down and his limbs pinned to the ground by some larger ones. Kibone, Rou’s ninja she-wolf, immobilized Kuromaru completely, a testament to her raw strength given also by her ridiculous size. The ninken’s pain was clear, stuck as he was into Kibone’s fangs and claws, but that one-eyed terrifying muzzle was still contorted into a ghoulish expression.

The shinobi Tsume and Yoshino tried to attack grew pale realising he had been saved from a very painful – and dangerous – experience. The Yukinohana never stopped glaring at him with a fiery scowl. She was still angry. Her heart still sought revenge, the bitter taste in her mouth reclaiming blood to wash the shaming insult away.

“Rou! Let me go!” Tsume yelled, trying to kick the Jounin in his shins. Yoshino glanced behind her and saw a Kage Bunshin of Rou restricting her. “LET ME GO!”

“Quit it, Tsume!” Rou screamed back at her. “What were you two trying to do, huh?! Kill him?!”

“Were you following us, Rou?” Yoshino inquired, she forced herself to keep her voice low. No movements of her prey went unnoticed as he swerved, nervous and scared, not knowing whether to hold up to his earlier affront and risk a real assault, or to deny it by running away and lose face in front of his comrade.

“Yeah, daisy girl, I was following you. And thank fuck I was, you two were about to make a mess! Tsume, what happened?!”

“That son of a bitch badmouthed Sakumo-sensei… on the day of his memorial… that huge bastard! I will kill him!” Tsume shrieked so loud she could crack a glass, she shook wildly in Rou’s binding grasp.

Rou sighed, his wild, white mane covered his countenance from Yoshino, but she would have betted in that same moment Rou was trying to bridle his own thirst for revenge; he was quite the ‘an eye for an eye’ type, and a passionate defender of responding to violence with violence, especially when those endangered were people he cared about. Moreover, he had a fervent belief in a code of his own – a code which exalted honour above most things. He couldn’t stand watching someone rob another of their honour.

“It’s not right, Tsume,” he spat from beneath his clenched teeth. “Sakumo-san… didn’t die for this. He didn’t die for you two to pick fights on his behalf, he didn’t die for you to turn bitter and resentful!”

Yoshino was taken aback by Rou’s statement. “I want to leave this world a better place than what I found it, for my son and the people I love. This is why I strive to be the best ninja I can be, not to win my battles for my personal pride… to make sure that, one day, Kakashi won’t have to fight them himself.”

“What do you know?! What do you know about Sakumo-sensei?! Nothing!” Tsume cried out, her anguish threatening to crack through once more as she glowered at Rou. “YOU KNOW NOTHING OF HIM! LIKE ANYONE ELSE IN THIS VILLAGE! YOU KNOW NOTHING!”

Rou stared her down. “I know the person he helped raise, and he didn’t raise you to be scum that attacks a fellow shinobi for a futile reason! Grow up, Tsume!”

His shouting took all the vigour away from Tsume as she, once more, broke up crying. Yoshino envied her bitterly, she wished she could have found an outlet for her pain as healthy as those tears, but she couldn’t, she didn’t have enough strength to shatter just to build herself back up. Not once more.

“Yoshino, Tsume, Haru. In your life it will be asked of you to make difficult choices. It’s the destiny of every ninja. Whatever the circumstance… always follow your conscience. Living with a dirty conscience is hell, it’s not living. Sometimes a hard choice is a right choice. Remember this.”

“Kuromaru… at ease,” at last, Tsume gave in. Then – and just then – Rou released his hold on her neck and put his arms around her. As soon as Kuromaru stopped struggling, Kibone let him go and started licking the wounds she inflicted upon the smaller animal. Yoshino looked at the scene and all of a sudden she realized she was alone. Alone in her pain, alone in her bewilderment, alone in her shock, alone in her loss.

“SHISHI, NO!”

The Yukinohana jabbed her elbow in the clone’s ribs. A swing like that would have cracked some mean bone, for sure, in fact the Bunshin disappeared with a puff of smoke. She started running, as fast as her legs allowed, her throat torn apart by a distraught, furious scream, her momentum increased the second she swung the board behind her. Her chest was heavy with despair, with resignation.

‘If I don’t do this, Sensei, what will it be of me? If I don’t let this rage build inside me, it will just be more pain, again. I don’t want to suffer, Sensei. I am tired of suffering. I wish it all went away… I wish you were all with me still, Sensei. Hacchan. I am sorry. I can’t do this on my own.’

“YOSHINO, STOP!”

‘I don’t want to be alone anymore, Sensei.’

The kunoichi was halted abruptly, her improvised weapon a mere centimetre away from the guy’s head. She could not move, her entire body shuddered with tense muscles, yet she couldn’t take another step forward. She looked around, astounded, and noticed a black pool beneath her feet. A dark tendril spiked away from it, climbed back up the fence to her left, then up the side of a house, till eventually connecting with another figure.

“Thank fuck, Shikaku. That was one hell of a scare,” Rou commented, relieved.

Nara Shikaku was kneeling on the roof of that house, his hands united to form the secret seal for his clan’s signature jutsu, Kage Shibari. He stopped her with his shadow, that’s why she couldn’t move.

“Heh, just in time,” he smirked. Yoshino noticed that him too was in black clothes. Did he came to Sakumo-sensei’s funeral? “I was on my way back home when I heard screaming and I came to check. Glad I did.”

“Release me,” Yoshino commanded.

“No. If I do, you will crack that guy’s noggin open.”

“RELEASE ME!”

“None wanted Sakumo-san dead!” the Nara stated passionately. “It’s something we can’t change, it’s the reality we must accept. That anger inside of you is fair, you have every god-damn right to be angry, I would be. I am. But even if you beat that motherfucker to death, even if you beat up all of us, that’s not gonna make him come back and you know it. It’s just gonna get you in trouble and I know for a fact that’s not what your Sensei wanted, for either of you. Don’t insult his memory by forgetting the kinda man he was in life. He wouldn’t want it.”

“Yoshino, you more than Haru and Tsume know what it is like to suffer truly. You lost your home and your family, but you found within yourself the strength to start anew. You are like the flower you bear the name of: if snowdrops didn’t blossom through the cold snow, we would never know spring is coming our way. Never let bitterness spoil your heart. Promise me, Yoshino.”

“...release me.”

Shikaku observed her for a few seconds and established that his words had managed to calm her down enough. He loosened the hand seal, his stretched shadow hasted to return to its normal size.

“You, piece of shit,” the Nara’s voice was filled with disdain as he addressed the ninja that had started the whole fight. “Go die somewhere else before I come down there and choke you myself, you vermin.”

The two of them didn’t need him to say it twice. Screaming for their lives, they ran away and were soon nowhere to be seen.

Yoshino, able to move, observed her free hand. Her fingers were thin, her nails chipped in some parts, her knuckles bruised and filled with small scars never fully healed, her skin white as a cloud. Yet she could see her hand dripping with blood, blood of those she couldn’t save: Haru, Sakumo-sensei. She survived, but she wasn’t sure she could keep on living. What for? What was the meaning of all that? Why was she breathing? No. No. She couldn’t think. She promised herself she wouldn’t think. To think meant to acknowledge and to acknowledge meant to make it real.

But it was real. It was already too real.

‘None can save me, Sensei.’

The kunoichi threw the plank she was still holding all the way down the alley. It impacted against a wall and broke in two pieces. Yoshino was hit with the sudden realization she did want to kill that guy before. She hadn’t considered the implications until she saw that piece of wood abandoned on the side of the road.

“Shishi...” “I am going home.”

Tsume pushed Rou away gently and tried to reach for her friend’s wrist, but Yoshino vehemently pulled away. She didn’t want to hurt Tsume, but she could breathe no more. She needed to be alone. Maybe then her loneliness wouldn’t have felt so acute, so distant from the world around her.

“Leave me be, Tsu. I will be okay. Rou, take care of her, please.”

“Will do,” he said, holding Tsume’s hand in his. “Look after yourself too, Yoshino.”

She didn’t answer. She just walked away, her hazel eyes as grey as the sky above them.

Her last punch against the tree ended with a painful, loud crack. Yoshino fell to her knees, clutching her right hand to the chest: it was a broken knuckle, no way around it. Her entire body was burning, not only with fatigue, but also with unrestrained chakra: she could feel true fire circling through her body, the ache limitless with her muscles overstressed, her chakra not controlled, her leg tendon pulled.

Blood was smeared all across the tree’s dented bark. Blood was dripping down her hands, not wrapped with any sort of protection or bandage, probably some chippings had ended up inside her skin, under her now broken and hanging nails. She was beyond exhaustion, she felt like she could pass out any seconds now.

Yoshino yelled out in pain, a scream so intense and tormented it resembled the calling of a sorrowful demon. None could hear her there, she was alone. She was always alone.

“Sakumo-sensei… is war right?” “Oh, dear. Men invented Hell for those who invented the war, but I don’t think it’s a good enough punishment.” “What does it mean, Sakumo-sensei?” “Hell is supposed to be a place where all evil people go to when they die. Yet war doesn’t discriminate between good and bad… actually, it ends up killing too many good people instead of those who really deserve to die.”

‘You did not deserve to die, Sakumo-sensei. I am so sorry. Please, forgive me for not having done anything. Forgive me, Sensei.’

She could not cry, because to cry meant to suffer and she was not able to suffer any more. But she could feel rage for him, and have that rage fuel her in battle. She would have not taken her own life, she could not, but if she ended up dying in confrontation… there wasn’t a ninja able to help it, after all. To lose their life in combat.

Yoshino screamed again, the pain burning even brighter. Physical pain was better than spiritual. Physical pain would have gone away eventually, but a scarred soul remains scarred forever. Her soul was already scarred enough.

‘Sakumo-sensei… I am not as strong as you thought. I am a coward. I am worthless. If only I’d been there… if only I’d been stronger… but you’re dead now.’

A sob made her chest jolt up. Then another. ‘Don’t cry!’ It was too late. She had thought. She had acknowledged.

Now it was real.

“SAKUMO-SENSEI!”