we were a fresh page on the desk
filling in the blanks as we go
as if the street lights pointed
in an arrowhead leading us home
- cornelia street, taylor swift
I've been wanting to post this for a few days, but I'm so happy with this commission of Hunt and Sadie from @hsslilly-blog!! I heavily relate a lot of my work to Taylor Swift in one way or another, with Sadie having her as a faceclaim and sharing her penchant for some of the same aesthetics, while Hunt shares a lot of similarities to Taylor as an artist and as a person.
I'm excited to write more about them so that I can expand on their story!!
“I cannot believe of all the people, you had to go for the guy who brings people back from the dead.”
“He’s not a Mortalitasi.” Arn argued.
“No, he’s a fucking necromancer. Not a fucking neck-romancer. Those two a very different things.” Thomas raised an eyebrow at Arn. All his life getting thrown from Circle to Circle, he lands with the inquisition and dealing with some rather dense lad.
Arn looked at him blankly.
“Inquisitor Adaar, you are afraid of the dead. The Fallow Mire really reinforced that.”
“I don’t-- That’s not the same.”
“Inquisitor I hate to speak out of turn, but how the fuck isn’t that the same?” Thomas was blunt, he was too tired and too old to give a damn how people viewed him, Arn apricated that.
“You bedding a bloke that could kill you and then bring you back to make you his fucking puppet and shit.” Sera interjected from her comfy spot at the table. The Tavern was lively so no one would here this conversation. “I can’t believe I'm siding with the mage here, but you thinking right?”
“He’s not gonna do it to me!” Arn argued.
“Yes he will!”
“If he would, he would have done it already. He actually heals me rather than bringing me back from the dead.” Arn argued.
Both Thomas and Sera stared at him, bewilder that he didn’t see their point.
“Look, if you two are just going to attack me for a friendship with Dorian--”
“It’s not a friendship.” Thomas scoffed. He knew a man head over-heels for someone. He’d been there more than once in the last 40 years.
“If you’re just going to keep poking me for an answer you want, you need to stop.” Arn left the table. Thomas and Sera watching him as he went.
Arn found himself wondering, following his usual path to the Library. Dorian sat there, in his large pink chair, book in hand, ignoring the world around him. However he was the first to speak.
“What brings you here, Inquisitor?”
“You don’t have to call me that, remember?” Arn sighed.
“Darling, we are out in public. If I don’t call you by your title, a loud hen will run up the stairs to cluck at me for hours.” Dorian quipped.
“I’ve never seen the Chicken come into the library before, the furthest she’s got was the Tavern.”
“Arn...” Dorian said in a low, quiet voice. Arn realized he wasn’t talking about the chicken they had found on their way back from Redcliffe that one time, it was about a chantry mother in the gardens below.
Arn snapped back once he processed Dorian’s tone. The way Dorian said his name though, oh did that make him pay attention. His smile under his mustache, the way he would fold his book up. But it wasn’t about that. While Arn moved close to some seclusion in Dorian’s little alcove, he remember why he came.
“Dorian, I need to ask you something.” He asked as Dorian’s arms snaked around his wait.
“Oh?” The tone was questioning, lingering with something else, Arn couldn’t quite place it. “Did you want to do something together?” Dorian’s tone changed back. Arn noted that.
“No-- I mean yes, but not now. Maybe.” Arn sighed, straightening up. “Dorian. I need you to promise me something.”
A look a dread flashed over his face. Arn steeled his nerves.
Please don’t ask me what I think you’re about to. Dorian thought to himself over and over. He wasn’t ready for anything like this, there was too much going on, he had no time to think. Arn held Dorian shoulder firmly. Oh Maker, please don’t tell me you're dying. Well maybe that then the other thing. Maybe neither, hopefully NONE.
“Please don’t bring me back from the dead.”
Dorian waited for an ‘and’.
There was nothing, only Arn with a worried look on his face.
Dorian nodded, “If that’s what you want, I will comply.”
“You will?” Arn was shocked.
“Of cause! I don’t think Lady Seeker will be too happy to find that I, not only got the Inquisitor killed, but also doing the thing she hates the most and bringing you back to life.”
“She would get very mad.”
“I would bet my life she would kill me. Besides what brought this on?”
Arn let out a long sigh.
“Did Thomas by any chance decided to have a talk about my necromancy?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“Florence, the wonder that she is.” Wonder she’s not dead yet, he thought. “Asked me about it the other day. She told me Thomas wouldn't have a bar of it, so I gave her something on it. Thomas is a Circle Mage. He’s not as opened minded about certain Magics as some of us are.”
“You can call him a crotchety old man if you want, I wont tell him.”
“I’ve told him enough times, don’t worry.” Dorian laughed. “And don’t worry, I won’t use my skills to bring you back from the dead. If you’re that way inclined. I know how much you are not a fan on the dead.”
“You too?”
“Darling, it’s not that hard to notice. The Fallow Mire, for starters.” Arn huffed. Dorian cupped his face so gently. “If that’s you’re only fault, I think I will live.”
They say he’s the son of Zeus. Thomas finds he’s disinclined to disagree.
James is wide at the shoulders, skin the color of onyx. He moves with a grace born of the Gods. The stories say that he killed the Hydra with his own bare hands. That even Medusa’s stony gaze wasn’t enough to chill the powerful blood in his veins.
In the cool darkness of his chambers, James whispers the truth against Thomas’ skin. He used a shield, polished to a mirror’s gleam and turned her gaze back on himself.
Strong as Zeus, as beautiful as Aphrodite, as smart as Athena. James truly was a child of the Gods.
Thomas knows this will not last. They both have kingdoms waiting with bated breath for heirs to the throne. For their kings to have enough sons that even a plague couldn’t wrest the strength of their bloodlines from them.
But for now, they’re allowed. They sleep beneath cool sheets with their legs intertwined and no one pauses to think about it because Thomas still woos every woman who comes to his court, and no one thinks twice about the gift of the Gods sitting at his right hand.
At night, when James sleeps, Thomas slips from the bed that they share and he walks on bare feet down to the shrine they keep for Zeus. He keeps it freshly stocked at all times. The best cuts of meat go to the temple as offering. The most ripe fruit, strips of ash and oak.
Thomas has always been a child of Apollo, and he makes his offerings there too. But there’s an underlying desperation when he lights incense for the Father of all Gods.
Thomas knows what becomes of heroes in all the stories. If he can bribe James’ way free of that fate, then so be it.
A day off. He wasn’t sure when the last day off he had really was. Now of course it didn’t really mean a day off of work considering work never seemed to stop for him. But it did mean that he could work from home and that he could take the longest lunches without anyone telling him to get back to work. Sure, he had lived in the city his entire life, but there were still so many restaurants he hadn’t been. Long before he was a cop, his true passion had always been food, seeking comfort in dishes of any shape or form as long as it had good flavor. The one he had picked out today had been on his list for awhile, he had only ever heard good things about it and he could tell just from the aroma in the air outside of the place that it was going to live up to the hype. Though quite honestly, as long as it wasn’t Chinese take-out for the fifth time in a row that week.
He had been escorted to a table by the host, quickly taking a look at the menu glancing at all of the options. Honestly, they all sounded great and it got him salivating at just the descriptions that had occasionally been accompanied by photos of the dishes on the glossy page. It wasn’t long before someone had come over to him ready to take his drink order. He looked up from the menu and gave them a genuine smile. “You wouldn’t happen to have any recommendations of anything would you? I promise I am not a picky eater so anything you tell me I will probably enjoy it. I just seem to be a little overwhelmed by all of the options.”
Thomas, you can save Newt. There’s still time for him. There’s a reason Brenda isn’t sick anymore. It’s your blood. Do you understand? She isn’t sick because..because you cured her. She doesn’t have to be the only one. All you have to do is come back. This will all finally be over.
Please.. just come back to me.
I know you’d do the right-
ur classic local stoner / a whiz at baking drugs into anything you can imagine / could’ve been a michelin-star chef someday but went to a state school to party instead / dropped out with three semesters to go / now works as a waiter at a nice hotel / his old man is his best friend / happy-go-lucky to a fault / hard-pressed to say no to anything / has seven tattoos and didn’t get a single one sober / wrote in tommy chong on election day 2k16 / a surprisingly talented musician / lowkey dyslexic but highkey uses it as an excuse / smarter than he gives himself credit for / everybody’s favorite party friend / has never been in a Real relationship in his life / can’t tell if he’s missing out or not
Bekah walked up to Thomas’ house rather confused and surprised by the invite to a New Year’s Party. Sure she counted Thomas as a friend, but he was her mentor first. None the less she walked up to the door and rang the bell, dressed in a pair of jeans and a nicer blouse.
