#{*threads

@feyxsiwoo

Minho doesn’t have a lot of experience with parents. He thinks back to his mother and is delivered to the mouth of a dark place. A swarm of bad memories waits there. There was the mother of his previous partner, too - the true matriarch of the estate and their lives. She was worse than his own. Her hands, her eyes, everything about her was cold and cruel.

So he doesn’t know what to expect when he meets Siwoo’s mother. He cares for her in a way Minho cannot hope to understand. The way his lips curl into a smile when talking about her, or how his eyebrows twitch with worry. He only wants to see her happy and healthy. Likewise, she dots on him, worrying that he’s vulnerable to the world without a familiar. This bond between mother and son, it’s kinder than he imagined. He doesn’t even have the wherewithal to feel envy.

They’re sitting on the train, side by side, and Minho studies Siwoo’s profile. His face is characteristically masculine, yet at the side, all of his angles soften. He thinks hard; what is it like to be Siwoo, to have someone watch over him and love him? His heart warms, becomes tender and gooey like hot pudding. He scoots over and nudges him with a sharp elbow.

“Look, I even brought crystals with me. The good kind!” he says, opening his palm to show off a polished clear quartz. He can feel the magic beneath the smooth surface, humming, waiting for someone to reach in and pull out its power - someone stronger than him. His own flesh and blood is too weak without the ethereal bond only a witch can give him. It’s something he doesn’t necessarily want, but knows he needs. 

Another semester, another party. It was all the same people, but Maris entered with a sense of anticipation anyways. It’s not like it was a Hollywood party, which she had plenty of experience with, but for some reason, the dingy frat party, a rare mix of all the frats and sororities, was almost more fun to her. Because it was endearing, maybe. She had been filming a project over the break, so she had told most everyone that she wouldn’t be back in time for this semester kick off party of sorts, but yet...she pulled some strings and made it happen. She enjoyed the looks of surprised, the thrilled greetings she was getting - after all, Maris wanted nothing more than to be the center of attention at all times. After Lawrence greeted her with a massive hug with a couple of the other brothers, her feet lifting briefly off the floor as they spun her around, she asked where Jax was, just his name with the lilt of a question enough for them to know what she was asking. After all, while she was extremely close with the whole fraternity, they all knew her and Jax had their friendship/fuck buddy thing/whatever you wanted to call it. They motioned towards the back of the house, and she weaved through the crowd, peeking into rooms until she saw him. Maris leaned against the door frame, waiting a couple beats until she spoke up. “There a reason you aren’t waiting at the door eagerly for me?” she asked, giving him shit even though there was no way he would’ve known she was coming that night anyways.  

“if  i  say  THIS  ISN’T  WHAT  IT  LOOKS  LIKE,  will  it  make  me  look  more  or  less  suspicious?”  she’s  only  got  her  backpack  overturned  and  emptied  out  on  the  pavement,  only  rummaging  through  her  belonging  like  a  rabid  animal.  no  biggie.  not  weird  at  all.

slipping  away  from  the  watchful  eyes  of  guards  has  become  like  second  nature  to  esyllt.  THE  INQUISITION  is  not  half  so  trusted  as  they  once  were;  perhaps  it’s  for  good  reason,  seeing  as  esyllt  has  only  just  finished  picking  the  lock  on  marquis  de  calvis’  chamber  door.  why  an  ORLESIAN  LORD  would  become  an  agent  of  fen’harel  is  beyond  the  inquisitor,  but  it  is  on  good  word  that  they  may  find  something  incriminating  in  his  hand,  if  the  inquisition  works  fast  and  quiet.

it  is  a  good  thing  esyllt  has  become  quite  proficient  at  such  things  -  better  still  is  victor,  who  she  tilts  her  head  at  as  door  swings  open  silently.  in  truth,  she  doesn’t  know  what  they’re  looking  for.  what  marks  a  man  as  an  agent  of  another?  solas  does  not  have  his  spies  wear  anything  signifying  -  it  would  rather  defeat  the  purpose,  wouldn’t  it?  -  and  esyllt  so  rarely  does  this  creeping  about  anymore.  “look  for  ...  anything  out  of  place.”  anything  with  elven  symbols  would  surely  stand  out  in  this  man’s  room,  and  esyllt  creeps  into  the  darkened  space  on  the  quiet  soles  of  soft  leather  boots.

they  need  to  find  SOMETHING.  solas  is  always  a  step  ahead  these  days,  and  if  he  has  orlesian  nobility  under  his  employ,  he  is  gaining  ground  TOO  QUICKLY.