#back to anders pov

[gales-big-naturals]

I take back my earlier apology, I'm contributing to this fandom again and this time its significantly worse

bonus round because I couldn't decide what was funnier, Anders and Fenris both complaining or POV: You are Sebastian Vael

[blessedbucky]

ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕍𝕀𝕀𝕀

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 8.9k (this actually might be the shortest i've written to date)

summary: satoru has been naively thinking that his world hasn’t been on the edge of collapse for a long time.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, not sure if it's suicidal ideation or what since suguru wants to die for what he did to reader, definitely probably some unhealthy codependency because everyone here is a teenager going through traumatic shit, uhhhh let me know if there's anything else but I think those are the big ones, hurt/like minimal amounts of comfort, gojo is disgustingly in love please help my boy he's struggling with his depressed s/o's

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @lexlibrary, @ziggy0stardust

author note: really wanted to write the fallout of the last chapter in satoru's pov, like how it goes in canon. not sure if it's my own depression on some fuck shit or a genuine struggle, but i got stuck in the middle of the chapter. i really hope it has the emotional impact that i was going for. i was channeling my depression here since my annual seasonal big sad is coming up. brains are great (:

Story Masterlist

[YEAR THREE]

[PART THREE]

No, I don’t know who you are. Should I?

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. No, that’s mean and unfair. You don’t deserve that. Satoru is the stupid one. Him and his traitorous heart that had fluttered like some blushing maiden when you completely dismissed his identity up until that point, ignored his immense strength that anyone with a shred of cursed energy could feel, and treated him like an actual human. Do you even know how much time he spent hunting down an exact replica of those cheap sunglasses you offered up to him during that first meeting? After Suguru broke them when he was punching Satoru in the face?

Yeah, Satoru is a moron. Because he’s happy that he hadn’t learned Reverse Cursed Technique yet and that Shoko had been away long enough that his nose would never sit totally right ever again after it was broken. Just like your sunglasses, his crooked nose is another reminder that two country bumpkins have rocked his shit so wholly that it’s kind of insane.

That night had been embarrassing and confusing. He hadn’t been able to stop pressing against the tender bridge of his nose, making pain shoot across his face. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was Suguru standing over him with sharp, furious eyes and bloody fists. All he could feel were the phantom touches of your soft yet unflinchingly steady fingers on his cheeks and chin. Never an ounce of hesitation from either of you when it came to Satoru. He’d rocked against his mattress, coming way too many times for him to ever admit. The second time that he’d touched himself to the thoughts of you two.

People have always been terrified of Gojo Satoru and his unfathomable strength. Little do they know that he’s no longer the strongest sorcerer in the world. He hasn’t been since the morning after his seventeenth birthday when he woke up in the early dawn, your head weighing down his chest, Suguru’s breath warm against the skin of his neck, and Satoru thought, I love you. Because he worships the ground that you and Suguru stand on. If either of you came to him and asked him to burn the world down, he’d do it. The only thing that held him back from blowing up a room full of batshit crazy cult followers is because Suguru told him there’d be no meaning in it.

But Satoru is still the same boy god as he’s always been. Thinking that his strength alone will be enough to protect himself and everyone else from problems. Pretending that plastering a smile on his face and never taking anything seriously will be enough to infect everyone else. Forgetting that his childhood of being raised as a weapon has dulled his sense of what’s horrifying and what’s not.

Naively thinking that his world hasn’t been on the edge of collapse for a long time.

No. That’s not totally true, either. Because he’s noticed. He sees everything, right? He’s been with Suguru on his trips to buy cigarette packs, becoming increasingly frequent. Satoru’s wondered, more than once, if Suguru is smoking more than eating these days. The bags under Suguru’s eyes and yours are getting darker. The windows and doors of your rooms have been locked more than ever before, a silent warning that you’re not up for spending the night with anyone. Both your tempers are shorter, especially with each other. He doesn’t think you’ve ever shrugged off the touch of others as much as you are now.

In the back of his mind, Satoru has known for a long time that you and Suguru are not okay, but he looked away. That’s his biggest sin. Because he’s been afraid that if he accepts that, he’ll have to accept that it’s because you and Suguru are not cut out for the lives of sorcerers, and that would mean you’d have to walk away from this world.

You’d both have to walk away from him.

This has been his blue spring. That’s what the adults call it, isn’t it? At some point, his spring turned to autumn without his realizing it. Now, he faces the daunting reality of his love turning into a brutal, deadly winter.

“…huh?”

It’s the middle of the night and Satoru has literally just walked into his dorm room when Suguru calls.

He doesn’t understand, at first. It’s hard to when the connection is in and out. There’s so much static. And between all that, Suguru isn’t making any fucking sense. He’s incoherently babbling. And Satoru prays that he’s wrong, but it sounds like Suguru is crying. Satoru thinks that he hears your name in there somewhere, making his stomach twist. There aren’t many reasons why Suguru would be this upset, but Satoru is trying to make Suguru calm down enough to explain.

“…hurt…so much…blood…blood everywhere…sorry, so sorry…”

“Please…need you…Shoko…get here…”

“…Squid…dying…”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Satoru remembers the prefecture that Suguru mentioned he was going with you to. Sensei would have more specific information on the village in his office, right? A primal panic, one that he’s not felt since last year, fuels him to flicker across campus. If he can get near the village, he’ll be able to sense someone’s cursed energy. He tears Sensei’s office apart, trying to find where he keeps mission details.

As soon as he’s got the location, he’s honing on Shoko’s energy, and then he’s there. Next to her bed. She’s still awake, hunched over some medical textbook. She yelps when he snatches her by the upper arm. He’ll apologize later for the rough treatment, but all he can think is Sketch is dying, Sketch is dying, Sketch is fucking dying.

“Run Reverse Cursed Technique,” Satoru demands as he physically prepares himself for this trip.

“What? Why? Where did you even come from? Why are you in my room—”

“I haven’t teleported with anyone.” He’ll also apologize later for making her his first guinea pig. If it’s going to be someone, though, it’s good that it’s the person who can heal herself. “I haven’t even taken myself more than a prefecture away.” This is going to hurt.

Shoko’s voice pitches higher with panic. “What the fuck is going on, Gojo?!”

“Sketch is dying. Start healing yourself.”

Satoru doesn’t even give her the chance to start running it.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

Wrong. That’s wrong.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

For the first time in the course of the Gojo clan’s history, the Six Eyes are wrong.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

They have to be wrong.

Or…Satoru is overthinking it.

There has to be another explanation for why, buried deep in the gash across your torso that’s almost a mirror image of Satoru’s own scar, Suguru’s residuals linger. Suguru is crying and drenched in your blood because he wasn’t able to help you in time. The cursed spirit that did that to you was absorbed by Suguru after the damage was done.

That’s not how that works.

“What happened?” Shoko asks in a tone that Satoru has never heard out of her before. He tries to find his voice, tell her to shut the fuck up, because he knows what she’s thinking. The way that she’s curled over Sketch’s body, body tense, cursed energy flaring with emotion gives her away. “Suguru!” Shoko shouts, trying to reach him through his tears. “Tell me what happened to her!”

“I’m sorry.” Suguru hunches over. Digs bloody fingers in the dirt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Why are you sorry?”

Satoru knows the truth. He does. It’s the reason why it feels like the world is about to slip out from under his feet. He wants to shut Shoko up because he doesn’t want to hear the truth. When Suguru, through his tears, manages, “I didn’t mean to,” Satoru wants to cry with him. There’s no stopping it now.

“What didn’t you mean to do?”

Suguru’s next cry is gut-wrenching. Satoru is trembling, more terrified than he’d been staring down the sharp edge of Zen’in Toji’s blade. “I didn’t mean it, I swear. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. Please, believe me. I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

Shoko, the stone-faced judge, has no mercy for either of them. She demands the truth, no matter what hell it’ll bring. She says your name, knowing Suguru can’t deny you your justice. “Did you hurt her?”

Satoru, the unintentional jury, has to witness Suguru become his own executioner when he chokes out, “Yes.”

A crack splits Shoko’s indifferent mask. Twisting her body around, she stares at Satoru with wet and shining eyes. “Goddamn you, Gojo,” she curses before quickly turning back around toward you. She ducks her head, but he catches the stray tear roll down her cheek before her hair fully hides her face. “You didn’t even give me time to get my smokes.”

The more time that passes where Satoru is forced to stand there, unable to do a goddamn thing for you or anyone else here, the more that he has to wonder what the worth of his strength even is.

Because, right now, it’s nothing.

His eyes have never left you after Suguru’s confession. He doesn’t think that he can face the implications of that yet. It’s so slow, the rise and fall of your chest, but he can see how rapid your pulse is under the delicate skin of your throat. Even from his vantage point and in the low light, he knows your skin is clammy. And the gore. It’s not like he hasn’t ever seen the result of a cursed spirit attack. He thought he was desensitized to that. But…things are different when it’s like this.

Guess this is what people mean when they talk about things hitting close to home. Seeing you there, your skin all torn open, blood so red…it makes him sick. His stomach has never rolled quite like this, not even when he was blearily watching his own skin stitch itself back together after getting shredded apart himself. He’d been…detached before he was totally healed and then the overwhelming euphoria poured in.

There won’t be any of that for you, he realizes. If Satoru is on the end of the emotional spectrum where he struggles to pinpoint feelings—even in himself—then you’re on the other side where you get it all. Your heart is too big. Always bleeding. Sitting there on your fucking sleeve, getting stabbed at by everyone and everything. Is this what you feel like all the time? Satoru’s brain is struggling to comprehend it all.

Aah, this is what it feels like to be weak, he suddenly understands. And he remembers how he’d felt it when that spear pierced his Infinity, right before metal sunk into flesh and he had to focus on survival. There was nothing he could do then and there’s nothing he can do now. This sucks, he thinks with the corners of his eyes stinging. No wonder you’re always undermining yourself and saying you’re weak.

How can you think you’re strong when your heart is always bleeding?

Nails digging into the skin of his palms, blood trickling through his fingers, he tries to think about anything else. He doesn’t want to cry. He never wants to feel like this ever again. He never wants anyone to feel this way again, actually. If he could go another day without ever having to hear your gut-wrenching cries when you were in the morgue with Haibara’s body or hear Suguru tonight, then he’d trade his soul away. He’d give his strength away. He’d pluck his eyeballs out and throw them to the highest bidder.

How can he do that, though? Satoru could throw his Infinity around your bodies, but it won’t protect your hearts. The two of you would never let him whisk you away to Kyoto and hide you away from the world forever, as much as he desperately wants to do that right now. Part of the reason that Satoru and every-fucking-one else loves you idiots so much is because of how fucking kind you are.

For some reason, Satoru thinks about that day near the start of the term, under the cherry blossom tree. This just isn’t a sustainable system, you’d said. I wonder how many Special Grade sorcerers there have actually been, but they just couldn’t reach their full potential because old men sent them off to die.

If he can’t make your hearts stronger, then he has to make everyone else stronger.

Satoru knows what he needs to do now.

The settling of Shoko’s cursed energy has Satoru lifting his head. It’s taken a lot of strength out of her. The healthier you look, the worse Shoko does. “We need to get back to campus.” Her hands are trembling, and she drops back on her ass, trying to catch her breath before she’s forced to move. “She’s stable now and I can take care of those kids back at school. I need to eat before I do, get my calories up,” she adds. “You didn’t hurt me on the trip here. Do you think you will hurt us if we go as a group?”

Right. The kids. They were hidden in the bush when Satoru and Shoko got here, but seeing Shoko healing and Satoru’s inaction must’ve been enough to coax them back out. They’ve been beaten. Satoru wondered, briefly, if they were the catalyst for what set Suguru off.

One of them, the one with dark hair, whispers your name. “She’s gonna be okay now?”

“Yes,” Shoko answers softly. “And so will you when we get back to Tokyo.”

“You’re…you’re Miss Shoko…right?”

“That’s right. I guess she told you about us?” The girls nod. “You know our names. What are yours?”

“Mimiko,” the brunette answers.

The other, the blonde, steps beside her sister and takes her hand before introducing herself as, “Nanako.”

Shoko nods in acknowledgement, slowly rising to her feet. “Okay. Well, Satoru over there knows how to move between places,” she explains while pointing over at Satoru. “He’s going to take us back to the school we go to. For people like us.” The girls nod again, eyes alight with understanding. “Don’t be scared. You’re safe now.”

“We’re not,” Nanako mumbles. “She told us we didn’t have to be scared with Mister Suguru around.”

Suguru had calmed down, his sobs quieting to silent tears, but hearing the kid say that has him hunching back over and covering his face in shame.

Shoko watches him, lips pressing into a thin line. “Take those kids first, Gojo,” she orders lowly. A complete turnaround from her earlier decision for them all to go at once. “It’ll be less of a strain on your body and ours. Do it in batches.” It’s a bullshit excuse. Right now, he’s scared of her. Those healing hands of hers can so easily become weapons. He’s seen it before. And, sure, she normally wouldn’t be a threat to Suguru, but there’s no fight left in him. “Now.”

In the end, though, she’s still right. There was no strain on her on the trip here, but he sure as fuck felt it. While future trips tonight will be easier in the fact that he has the two landing points in his mind, adding more people would ramp up what reprieve that gives. It’s more cursed energy, more brain power, more finely tuned control to keep the other bodies all in one piece.

What other choice does he have?

Satoru leaves the kids in his room. It’s comfortable, you’ve told him as much. He marches to Nanami’s room, but he’s already opening the door of his room when Satoru gets there. Apparently, the sudden absence then reappearance of Satoru’s massive amount of cursed energy woke Nanamin up. Satoru is in a rush, so all he can do is demand Nanamin watch the girls while he goes to get you because you got hurt.

Then, between one blink and the next, he’s back with you, Suguru, and Shoko.

The only hint that something happened between Shoko and Suguru is a dark mark on Suguru’s cheek and his split lip. Also, she’s got a lit cigarette in hand—probably stolen from Suguru. Satoru has never given thought to smoking. He’s never really seen the appeal, but he thinks he does now. Especially when Shoko beckons him over and he knows that he’s going to have to carry you on the second trip back to campus.

Bile rises to the back of his throat when he carefully lifts you up in his arms. He’s never been squeamish until he’s had to touch your blood-soaked clothes before. It’s disgusting and now, it’s sinking into his clothes. Satoru hates that. He knows you hate it, too. Wet clothes. You hate being sticky even more. It’s why you’re always so careful when you eat desserts with him. He hopes you blacked out as soon as you were hurt. He doesn’t want to think about you having to lay there, pained by more than the gashes themselves.

“Gojo will be back, Geto,” Shoko explains as she grabs Satoru’s upper arm since he can’t hold on to her right now. “Don’t you dare try to run. If I found out you tried, I’ll do a lot worse than punching you in the face.” To Satoru, she says, “Drop us off at my room.”

When they land and Satoru has gently placed you on Shoko’s bed, he collapses next to it, needing to catch his breath and run his own Reverse Cursed Technique. Not only has he gone the furthest he’s ever warped, but he’s done more trips than ever before, too. There’s still one more round-trip that he’s got to make. There’s a strain on his muscles that he’s never felt before. There’s a blossoming pain behind one of his eyes.

Shoko starts rummaging around in her pantry for something to eat. “I have some protein bars. You should eat one, too.” She throws one over her shoulder when she finds the box and he catches it without looking and pockets it. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have the stomach for much right now. “Clean him up when you get back. Burn his clothes. We need to hide the evidence.”

Satoru bristles. “Stop treating him like a criminal.”

“Take off the rose-colored glasses and stop being naïve,” she snaps back. “You heard him.”

“Yeah, and he said he didn’t mean to. It was an accident—”

“Hurting her? Yeah, I believe that. It’s what led up to it that’s the problem.”

He stumbles to his feet, still glaring at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Geto just doesn’t lose control like that,” Shoko hisses before pointing at you. “She wouldn’t be hurt by one of his spirits unless he wanted it. He has to give them specific orders, you know that as well as I do. Maybe he didn’t intentionally have it attack him, but if he was pissed off enough, if he wasn’t careful enough with his order, then a spirit would consider her a threat.”

“Shut up.” Satoru wants to put his hands over his ears like a child. He’s in denial. She’s making sense, but he doesn’t want to admit that because it feels like acceptance. If what she’s saying is true, it doesn’t matter if he accidentally hurt you or not. If he was acting out of anger towards someone else, he’d be branded a curse user and there’s only one person strong enough to kill Suguru. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking about? The guy always riding on his moral high horse?”

“Stop pretending you’re both the same people after last year.” She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes. “Just leave me alone. I can’t deal with you right now. I’m saying that we don’t know, but you need to be a fucking adult and think about all the possibilities here. Also, you’re such a selfish asshole. Do you think I want to think about this? No. That’s why we’re hiding the evidence from Yaga.” She whispers your name. “If we had Suguru declared a curse user before she’s awake, it’d push her over the edge.”

Satoru feels less…panicky than before. He backs down. Glances at you while he asks Shoko, “What’s the story?”

“My residuals have covered up evidence of his on her,” she whispers. “Suguru got there too late. It’s why he keeps blaming himself. Any idiot at headquarters knows how close they are, so it won’t be hard to convince them that their relationship is what’s got him so hysterical.”

“Okay,” Satoru answers as quietly. “What—” his voice cracks. “What do we do if she wakes up blaming him?”

“That’s not something we can answer for each other, Gojo.”

“Explain yourself, Suguru.”

Just like Shoko said, Gojo Satoru is a selfish asshole. Somewhere between Shoko’s room and here, with Suguru, rage overcame Satoru. Because Suguru ruined everything. Instead of trusting Satoru or even you enough to talk about the things bothering him, Suguru let everything fester.

(But you didn’t, either, a nastier part of his brain reminds him.

Is there something wrong with Satoru?)

Suguru hasn’t moved. He’s still there, on his knees, staring blankly at your blood left behind in the grass. It’s like Satoru doesn’t even exist. It pisses him off more. What? Does Suguru think he can give up? He thinks he can sit around, crying over what he did to you, while everyone else has to clean up his mess? No way. Fuck that.

“Why?”

“Huh?!”

Suguru still hasn’t looked away from the place your body had been. “Why does it matter? I hurt a fellow sorcerer. That’s all you need to know, isn’t it?”

Satoru grits his teeth. “Why the hell are you being so vague now? Ten minutes ago, you were apologizing for hurting her!”

While saying your name hoarsely, Suguru reaches out to dig his fingers in the bloody grass. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t. But those…those goddamn monkeys…that’s who I wanted to hurt.” He squeezes his eyes shut, tears falling no matter how hard he tries to keep them from doing it. “I hate them, Satoru. All our suffering is because of them. They create curses. We exorcise them. Over and over until sorcerers die. First, it was Riko. Then, Haibara. When will it be you? When’s it going to be her on a metal slab?”

Under the weight of all this suffering, the anger quickly rushes out of Satoru. No, it’s still there, but he’s so stupid mad at himself for not seeing how bad things have gotten. He pretended that everyone else could separate themselves from their pain like Satoru has always done. He loves you. He loves Suguru. Why couldn’t he just see how much you two have been hurting?

Satoru doesn’t know what to do with all this sadness. He sprints forward, dropping and sliding in on his knees right in front of Suguru. He throws his arms around Suguru’s shoulders and Suguru seems to almost resist. He clenches his fists around the fabric of Satoru’s shirt. Then, he ducks his head down, pressing his head against Satoru’s sternum, trembling and giving another one of those sobs that’s just a gut punch.

“I wanted them dead. It was all I could think. I want them all dead. I want us to have a better world. I would start here. But I made the order too vague when I summoned them. I wanted to kill all the monkeys in this goddamned village and anyone that tried to stop me. She wasn’t even in the way. She said my name. She said, ‘Suguru, stop,’ and that was enough. They knew her because I know her, but I was so blinded by my rage. It was like nothing else existed but that.”

“It was an accident.” Satoru cups Suguru’s face with his hands, trying to get Suguru to look at him, but Suguru won’t budge. “It was an accident, Suguru. It’s okay. Look at me. Just look at me. It’s gonna be okay. We’re already figuring out how we can cover it up.”

Suguru just cries harder. “I can’t live like this, Satoru. Exorcise. Absorb. Exorcise. Absorb. Swallowing their shit. I want a better world, but I can’t do that, either. Because the people at the end of that road, standing in my way…it’s gonna be you and her.” He gives one sharp, hysterical laugh. “The people that I’d be doing it for, the only two fucking people that I love enough to make the world better for are the people that I’d need to hurt to get that utopia. How fucked up is that?”

“We’ll fix it,” Satoru whispers desperately. “It’s okay. We’ll figure out a way to fix it. The three of us, we can make this world better together.”

“Kill me, Satoru. Put me down. I’m begging you. I can’t live in this cycle anymore.”

“Stop! Stop it. Don’t you fucking ask me to do that.” Suguru finally loses the strength to fight Satoru’s hands. When Satoru lifts his face up, he goes. “Just listen to me. We’ll come up with a plan. We can make this world better together the right way. But you can’t give up on us. Me and Sketch, we can’t lose you. We can’t.”

“You don’t need me.” Satoru’s heart skitters in his chest when Suguru reaches out himself, hand on Satoru’s cheek. “I’m not good for either of you anymore. I can’t go back to being the person I was before.” Satoru shakes his head. He refuses to accept that. Suguru is the one holding Satoru’s face in his hands now, trying to make Satoru see his light. “You’re the best for her. I know you love her as much as I do. Take care of her. You can forget me and live a happy life together.”

“I can’t. I’d never be able to forget you. The only future I can see is one with Sketch and Suguru.”

“I don’t have a future anymore. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t accept that and neither will she.”

Suguru laughs bitterly, pulling away from Satoru completely. “Even now, after everything that’s happened, you’re still so damn arrogant, Satoru. What are you going to do if she wakes up condemning me? What will you do, then? Is the strongest sorcerer going to impose his will on her, too?”

“No! I’d never do that!”

“So, if she asked you to, will you kill me?”

“She wouldn’t!”

“I betrayed her,” Suguru whispers. “Weren’t you listening to those girls? I heard her say it myself. You never have to be afraid when Suguru’s around. Suguru is going to protect us all. She’s always trusted me. She wanted to leave all this pain behind, and I asked her to stay. I’ve been actively drowning her, but she couldn’t see it.” There’s a defeated slump in Suguru’s shoulders. “And neither can you, Satoru.”

Satoru doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been good with words. Not like you. But he does know that when you wake up, you’ll understand what Satoru does. You’ll say something along the same line as Satoru when he tells Suguru, “You’re hurting.”

“My pain doesn’t matter. I did what I did, and I need to be punished for it. I still believe in that. Justice.” Suguru stares Satoru dead in the eye before declaring, “I’m going to confess.” His features soften. “I know you’ve got a gentle heart, Satoru. You don’t need to worry. I’ll stick my neck out willingly so that you’ll never have to choose between me and her.”

When Suguru leans forward to press a chaste kiss against Satoru’s forehead, right over that tiny scar left behind last year, Satoru realizes that, yeah, maybe he is a little gentle. Because that gesture alone is enough to break him.

Satoru didn’t know what else to do with himself after everyone kicked him out—Shoko, so she could wipe away the blood and re-dress you, and Sensei, who needed to talk with Suguru about the details of what happened. He showered, desperate to be clean, but it’s like your blood left a stain on him even when he’d rubbed his skin raw. He put on one of Suguru’s hoodies because he’s broader than Satoru and the sleeves will cover his hands. He can’t look at them right now.

The sun is rising when Sensei tracks him down where he’s sprawled out on a staircase. He’s got a lit cigarette in one hand. Sensei has always been pretty good on keeping his habit on the low, wanting to be an excellent role model for his students, but even he has his limits, Satoru guesses.

“Suguru asked to be put in one of the cells.”

Figures, Satoru thinks bitterly.

“Should I?”

“You’re actually asking me that?” Satoru mumbles, no energy left to put any heat behind it.

Sensei sighs, as mentally exhausted as Satoru is. “My bad.”

Satoru straightens from where he’s been hunched over. After everything tonight—last night…something opened up in him. He’s got to stretch himself beyond the little world he’s cultivated. It shouldn’t have come to this, but he’s got a really shitty personality. He’ll always have one, probably. But he’s willing to learn now. It can’t be about him anymore.

“Sensei, I’m strong, right?”

“Yeah, brazenly so.”

“But apparently, it’s not good enough for just me to be strong.” Sensei’s a good dude. He listens. Doesn’t tell Satoru that he’s a dipshit for not realizing this sooner. Satoru throws Sensei a bone and says it for him. “Sorry, old man, for being a dumbass and not listening sooner.”

Sensei takes a drag of his smoke. “Don’t apologize to me for being a teenager. If anyone’s at fault, it’s us. The adults. The weight of the world shouldn’t be on your shoulders.”

“Not only on mine, though, is it?”

“No,” Sensei admits quietly. “Adults are forgetful. Not only do our days pile up, but so do our regrets and fears. With all that, it’s hard to remember that there was a time when we weren’t used to the weight of others’ lives on our shoulders. It’s just another one of those burdens that we carry.” He finally stoops down to sit next to Satoru. “At the end of the day, you’re all children. And to a child, it really is like having the world on your shoulders.”

“I know my shoulders can handle it, but…that’s only those of us that are born into it. Most of the school’s enrollment comes from scouting, doesn’t it?” It’s not only your face and Suguru’s that flash across his mind. It’s Nanami, too. Haibara. “We’re not giving anyone else the time to strengthen their shoulders, y’know? There’s not much fostering going on here. And that’s not a diss on you. No offense or anything, but you just don’t have the strength to keep us all safe enough to get that thick skin.”

Sensei exhales a cloud of smoke. “I know I don’t.”

“It’s not like we can add more teachers, though. Not enough out in the field to spare. But…hey, you ever read Fullmetal Alchemist? Nah, probably not. What about an ouroboros? Heard of that? It’s like this snake that eats its own tail. That’s us right now. Kids enlist and get thrown to the wolves before they can fend for themselves. Most of them die, so there’s few to go out in the world. Even fewer to stick around and teach. And that cycle goes on and on.”

“I agree.”

“We gotta break it.”

“I know we do, but how?” Satoru turns to stare at Sensei who is, in turn, studying Satoru in the same way. There’s this familiar spark in his eyes. Satoru thinks he’s seen it before. “You said it yourself. There’s not enough of us.” Oh. Wait. Yeah, Sensei is asking these pointed questions because he knows the answer already. He’s waiting on Satoru to figure it out himself. “How do we change things?”

Satoru knows what he needs to do. Last night, he knew that he needed to change things. But he understands how he’s going to do that now. “Make someone like me a teacher.”

A large hand suddenly drops on top of his head. “You’re going to be terrible at it,” Sensei whispers. He’s no longer looking over at Satoru, but he ruffles Satoru’s hair. “I look forward to working with you in the future, Satoru.”

Shoko crashes when everyone’s healed. Took those kids with her to bed.

Suguru…he’s holed up in his room when Sensei refused to put him in a cell, no matter how bad Suguru wanted it. The old man said that until you, the victim, corroborate Suguru’s story, there’ll be no imprisonment. Satoru asked Nanami to keep an eye on Suguru. Not that Satoru thinks he’s going anywhere. It’s like the fight left Suguru as soon as Sensei denied his request.

Nothing else for Satoru to do but keep vigil at your side. He’s seated on the floor next to your bed, cheek pressed against the mattress. He doesn’t do anything else. He doesn’t think he could focus on a game or manga or anime right now. Shoko’s always told him that Reverse Cursed Technique can do a lot, but it can’t wipe away the emotional weight of an experience. He can refresh his brain all he wants, but not his memories.

Before she went to bed herself, Shoko warned Satoru that this could break you in a way that you can never come back from. If they thought it was bad after Haibara’s death, this’ll be worse. Because it’s piled on for you. The incident with the Zen’in, the death that you blame yourself for, and even if Suguru didn’t hurt you, this is the closest you’ve come to death.

You can’t do what Satoru does—disassociate from the trauma. There’s no Infinity for you to keep people at bay when they start to close in on him the way all those fly heads had. If you’re scared the things that haunt your dreams, you’ll have to face it because you can’t wipe away the need to sleep with a technique. For the last two weeks, he’s watched you try to train yourself to smile, to try and distract yourself away from the thought constantly pressing in, but you’re not built for that like he is.

With every passing second, it gets harder and harder for Satoru to resist the urge to grab you and Suguru and flee to Kyoto. All he wants to do is protect you both. More than anything, he wants you to be happy. Neither of you have to be sorcerers anymore, he’d make sure of it. It doesn’t wear him down like it does you and Suguru. Or…maybe it does, but you two make it better.

It doesn’t take much for Satoru to be happy. For him, it’s as simple as the scratching of your pencil against paper. It’s the slide of Suguru’s fingers against the pages of his books before he flips them. It’s a gentle breeze that floats through your room when you open the window to get better lighting, carrying away the smoke of Suguru’s cigarettes. It’s the sunlight on his face and the press of your shoulders against his as you all lay on a blanket in the park.

Satoru doesn’t want to be lonely anymore.

As if between one blink and the next, the press of a hand on his cheek is pulling him from his doze. His vision is blurred when he opens his eyes, and your thumb is wiping away one of his stray tears.

You’ve rolled on your side to face him. There’s nothing on your face. Nothing in your eyes. It’s like your body is moving on autopilot. And none of that changes when he reaches up to return your gesture except that the breath in your chest shudders before tears roll down your own cheeks.

Satoru sees it for what it is. A war inside yourself—one side desperately trying to flee from the memories and emotions that come with them. Your body betrays you, though. Tear after tear slips from your eyes and soon, your bottom lip wobbles. You squeeze your eyes shut. Wordlessly, your hand moves down, fisting the fabric of his shirt, and you start tugging while shifting back on the bed to make more room.

“In the bed?” Satoru checks quietly.

You nod fervently in answer.

Satoru crawls up into bed with you. Your hands are greedier than they’ve ever been. He tries to be careful to not overwhelm you with touch, but you yank his arm to drape it over your waist so you can press yourself fully against him. You tremble in his arms, on the edge of collapse.

Right before you bite his shirt to muffle your gasps, you confirm what he’s known all along.

“Suguru hurt me.”

“Come again?”

You don’t repeat yourself, instead staring at Sensei with those lifeless eyes.

Sensei stares you down, waiting for words that aren’t going to come. He glances over at Shoko and, when she looks away, he then moves to Satoru. All Satoru can do is shrug helplessly. It’s not like either of them can make you talk. Satoru wouldn’t want to, anyway. He’s shocked you’re talking at all. This is the most you’ve spoken since you woke up two days ago. You haven’t had the energy for it…

Or anything else, for that matter. It’s been keeping Satoru up at night, stealing what little sleep he was getting before. It’s worse than it was after Haibara. You’d been a shell of yourself, but…you ate. A little. Once a day. Now…it’s like you’re a ghost. Shoko had threatened to pour some toxic sludge posing as a protein shake down your throat. She’d been so frustrated with you that she grabbed your chin, and you just gave her the same look as now. Not defiant. Not upset. Just…nothingness.

There’s not supposed to be smoking in the dorms, but Sensei lights one, anyway. “Explain what happened, then.”

“I wasn’t ready.” Your voice cracks from disuse. “The Grade 1 hurt me.”

“Suguru said it was under his control.”

“Not before it hurt me.”

Sensei presses a hand against his forehead, sighing. “Why would Suguru confess to something so serious?”

“Because it’s who he is. He’s upset he didn’t get there fast enough.”

For a long time, Sensei stares at you. “I need you to understand that our laws aren’t like normal ones. There’s no decision on whether or not to press charges against someone for a crime against you. If he hurt you, jujutsu law requires you to report that. If the official investigation results find that you lied to cover for him, you’d be charged as an accomplice and sentenced to death alongside him,” he explains carefully.

“I understand.”

“Good. So, knowing that, do you want to change your answer?”

“No,” you reply with no hesitation whatsoever. “Suguru didn’t hurt me.”

“There’s most likely going to be an official investigation.” Sensei is trying to get you to change your mind because he thinks it’s going to save your life. He knows you’re lying. Everyone that knows you and knows Suguru knows you’re lying. Suguru would never confess to something like this unless he actually did it. “I won’t be allowed to interfere.”

“Suguru didn’t hurt me,” you declare with an air of finality.

It’s a few days after you told Sensei your side of the story. Privately, Sensei confirms to Satoru what they all knew would happen. There’s going to be an official investigation. There’s no way they’d let something like this slide. The higher-ups are terrified of Suguru. Maybe more than Satoru. Satoru is a familiar threat. He’s a one-man army. But Suguru…as long as he’s alive, there’s no limit to how many strong his army can be. So, if there’s a chance that he’s gone off the rails, they’ll put him down. And you’ll just be collateral damage. You were always replaceable. A pet project. Nothing more.

“For the time being, you’re off assignments,” Sensei says to Satoru when he’s on his way out the door. Satoru glances over his shoulder at Sensei. He’s looking away. “You’re to keep your eyes on Suguru until the investigation is over.”

Satoru scoffs bitterly before leaving Sensei’s office without another word.

Shockingly, you’re not in your room when Satoru goes looking for you. You’re at the edge of the forest that they use for the Goodwill Event. Just sitting down in the grass, legs crossed, staring intently at some low-level cursed spirits who’d been lured to the tree line by your presence. He plops down next to you, ready to do the same thing he’s done since you woke up which is to be a steady presence.

“What do you see when I use my technique?”

Satoru is so startled by the sound of your voice that it makes him jump in place a little. His head snaps in your direction, but you never look away from the forest. “Uh…what?”

“Last year, when I influenced that old man…you said it was like there were two of me. It was like it was something you’d never seen me do before. But how was that different than what I do with a cursed spirit?”

It’s a weird thing for you to ask, but he’s desperate to hear more of your voice, so he tries to explain it. “Oh. It’s…normally, it’s kinda like…eh, a blanket? Yeah. When you pacify spirits, it’s like a blanket getting put over them. More than Suguru’s contract that looks like chains on them. With that geezer…” He hums. It was close to the blanket, is the thing. “It was like an infection, I guess. It was like there was this shot of your energy through his brain and it seeped through everything else. Does that make any sense?”

Your brows are knitted together in thought. “Yes,” you whisper after digesting all that. “Why is it different, though? What is my pacification but just another way to order a spirit around?”

“Maybe because the pathways are all different?” He crosses his arms over his chest, thinking about this harder now. “Spirits are just huge lumps of cursed energy. Cursed energy in sorcerers has a whole network to go through. Yeah, if you think about the shape of it, that might actually be why. Blanket for the lumps, an infection of sorts for sorcerers.”

You nod slowly. “Why do you think I didn’t have a brain bleed when I influenced Zen’in Ogi?”

“It could be a few different reasons, but the main one is probably time. The point behind this school is to hone your technique, y’know. They don’t really have a Sorcerer Biology 101 class, but our power grows as we do. You kind of peak after your body is done growing. Everyone, though, has this explosive burst of power when they hit puberty that lasts through the rest of your body’s development.”

“I’m still in sorcerer puberty?”

Satoru laughs a little. “Yeah, I guess that’s the best way to put it. It’s like your body is in the home stretch. C’mon, Sketch, I know you’re not dumb. You’ve noticed that your technique has developed over time, right? Why’re you asking such an obvious question?”

“But you said there were other reasons,” you remind him.

“It’s not obvious? C’mon, think about the basics here. How emotional were you? You were the angriest I’d ever seen you when you broke that geezer’s hip. How were you with Zen’in? Also, Zen’in Ogi loves to act like he’s hot shit, but he’s nowhere near as strong as he thinks he is. That guy never would’ve cut it as the head of the Zen’in. That higher-up is the stronger of the two.”

“But…you’re stronger than all the higher-ups combined, right?”

“Duh.”

“Do you think the action itself can cause more strain on me?”

“Huh?”

“Does it expend more energy for me to force an action than force a thought?”

“Oh. Probably, yeah. The Inumaki clan are like that. The more damage they cause to their opponent with their cursed speech, the bigger the blowback on the sorcerer themselves. It’s all about balance in sorcery.”

“Right.” You sigh softly. “I wish I had as much cursed energy as you.”

He rubs his ear absentmindedly. “You’re already halfway there. Once you pierce that barrier inside them, it’s really just a waiting game from there. You just need to finish letting your cursed energy flow through them.”

“Easier said than done. That’s probably where most of my energy is burnt up. If only there was a way to infect them faster…”

“Too bad you’re not like a snake or a spider and can just inject yourself in their veins, huh?” You don’t respond to that. You duck your head, staring down at your hands in your lap. Satoru doesn’t want you getting lost inside your head, so he tries to redirect the conversation. “How’d you like my explanations? Good? I’m gonna be a teacher, so I have to start working on that kinda stuff, right?”

You raise your head, turning to him with raised brows. “A teacher?”

“I’m gonna change things,” he swears. “Last year, when you said this system isn’t working, you were right. But there’s never been anyone strong enough to shake things up, not until me. What if that’s because of what you said? They were never allowed to grow before they died. The future needs someone strong enough to protect them, to let them grow. I’m gonna be that person.” He nods to himself. “I’m never letting anything like this happen ever again.”

For the first time in a really long time, you smile. It’s that small, genuine one that does what it’s always done—make his heart skip a beat. “You won’t be alone.” The back of his neck is getting warm. Why didn’t he bring his stupid sunglasses so he can obviously look away from you? Why can’t he stop blushing, damn it? “Let me be your spy on the inside. They’ll probably ask me to work at headquarters. I want to help you, too.”

As much as you hate dealing with people, that’d be the best course of action for you. It keeps you in this world, but you’re out of the line of fire. And…he doesn’t think you could cut it as a teacher. Kids are still going to die. Not as many as now, he hopes, but he knows the higher-ups won’t be happy with him. They’ll work to keep things the way they are. He can try his hardest, but he can’t be everywhere at once. You’d get too attached to the students. It’d break you.

“I’m going to make things right, Satoru,” you insist.

“You make it sound like it’s your fault.” Satoru leans sideways, his head butting against the top of yours. “Besides, the one in charge of fixing everything is me, isn’t it? It’s alright, Sketch. You don’t have to worry about things right now. I’m gonna figure something out. I promise that nothing else happens to either of you anymore, okay?”

The evening before the unofficial trial, when the sun is setting, you ask Satoru and Suguru to meet up with you. It’s at your favorite koi pond. The one where him, you, and Suguru named each fish. There’s a stone bench that you’re already seated at, posture straight and stiff, facing away from the pond. There’s a determination in your eyes that he’s been watching grow from an ember to an inferno over the past week. With that fire, though, is an edge.

“I know I don’t have any right, but…I’m glad you reached out,” Suguru admits softly. “I wanted to see you,” he adds again, even quieter than before. “Just one more time.”

There’s a bitter twist to your mouth. Before you rise to your feet, Satoru watches with a sinking stomach as that iciness forms in your gaze. Suguru flinches backward. Satoru resists the urge to do the same. No matter how mad you’ve been at them, you’ve always forgiven them. Were you finally pushed too far? Is what Suguru did unforgiveable to you?

“We both go, or we both stay. You remember when you said that, right?”

Suguru ducks his head. His shame never lets him keep it high anymore. “I do.”

“You’re as selfish now as you were then.” It’s not said as an accusation, no anger behind it, but it’s got Suguru hunching in on himself, anyway. “I keep finding myself here. Having to decide your future. If there’s anything I resent you for, it’s that. It’s worse now because it truly is life and death.”

“I’m sorry. I know it means nothing, but I am.”

“What about you, Suguru? Is there anything you resent me for?”

Satoru knows the answer even before Suguru confirms it with, “No. Nothing.”

“You will,” you whisper cryptically. “Do you remember the rest of that day? What happened when we made up? I told you what scared me most about coming to Tokyo. I don’t want you to leave me behind when we get there. Remember that?”

“I’m breaking that promise, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Your words sharpen. “You keep saying that, but you begged me the other night to change my mind. You keep doing that. Wasn’t it enough hearing the first time that I didn’t blame you? Do you care that little about me? I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

Suguru sighs your name. “I need to be punished.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that?”

“You don’t want to punish me. That’s the problem.”

“Who says I don’t?”

The tension in Suguru’s shoulders loosens and there’s relief on his face for a moment before he straightens to his full height. He’s serious about receiving your punishment. He’s happy, too. Satoru feels stuck between you two. This…it’s your right, but…but he’s scared to lose you both.

“What is it? I’ll do anything.”

“Live.”

Suguru’s brows furrow. “What?”

“I’m making you do the thing that you clearly don’t want to do. I’m forcing you to live. You’re going to live with what you’ve done and you’re going to learn to live with non-sorcerers. I won’t make you stay a sorcerer, but I’m not letting you die. I’m not living in a world without you in it.”

He barks out a sharp, harsh laugh. “You can’t guarantee that, Squid.”

“I already have.” You raise a hand. Satoru had noticed a bandage wrapped around your palm last night, but you’d brushed him off like it was no big deal. That bandage is gone, showing a jagged gash. “I’ve already influenced them.”

Satoru’s stomach drops. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should’ve asked more questions when you came back so exhausted from headquarters after they called you in to give your official statement. You’d told him that you wanted to study some cursed spirits, clear your head doing something you like. “What did you do?”

“It was easier than I thought it would be,” you start slowly. “All it took was a cup of tea. They trusted me too much. They trust us all too much, honestly. They left the kettle unattended. They didn’t look at the water before they let their tea steep. None of them noticed my blood in the water.”

“Blood?” Suguru repeats incredulously. “What?”

“I needed a quicker way to get my cursed energy flowing through them. I’d already tested it on the pencil pusher that drove me to headquarters. Coffee hides the taste better. It was harder with him than it was the higher-ups. Orders require more energy. It was just suggestions with the higher-ups. It took, though. They agreed.”

“Agreed to what?” Suguru asks hoarsely.

“You and I are going to make a binding vow. If a non-sorcerer should ever die by your hand, I die with them.” That look of horror on Suguru’s face is mirrored on Satoru’s own, he knows. “Even if they eventually realize that I influenced them, I doubt they’ll do anything. It’s a perfect deal. I’m a hostage. Neither of you would risk my life.” You pause. “That’s if you agree to the deal, of course.”

“I won’t,” Suguru spits.

“You will. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell them what I did. I’m an accomplice now. Binding vow or not, if you die then I die. You forced my hand.”

Suguru’s hands slowly ball up into fists. They’re clenched so hard that he shakes. You’ve trapped him. You’ve saved his life and he’s furious about it. This was the best possible outcome and Suguru has never looked so betrayed. “I will never wear a heartfelt smile in this world.”

“And I can never live in a world without you in it,” you state just as bluntly.

Tears well up in Suguru’s eyes. “For as long as we both live, I won’t forgive you.”

“I know. I’m doing what you wanted me to. I’m deciding what to do with your life. But I understand. I’ve accepted the risk. I’d rather you resent me for the rest of our lives than watch you die.”

“You’re cruel.”

“No crueler than you.”

[librivore42]

Dragon age fic masterlist

It appears it's DRAGON AGE DAY (perhaps a day late, who cares, time is an illusion)

Thanks to the @dacreateathon I've not only written so much Dragon Age fic in a matter of months, but I've probably written more in these months than I have in years! The desire to create is back, alive and well!

I never shared most of the fic on tumblr so here's a list! Not including what I've written for @dragonageterminuszine YET but oh boy it's pretty special.

Blood of my Blood

Some Bann Teagan angst. Poor man has to just stand there and watch people walk out of his life and never return.

You Call, you Call

Somewhat horrifying 'Warden's last days' in first person POV.

Ten Ways to Home

Ten character-centric poems!

Friendly Overtures

Brennan Hawke gets a gift from the Arishok. Much confusion and comedy abounds.

Lasting Legacies

A letter from one of the first Wardens, detailing the horror of the Calling but the hope of the Wardens.

Tracing One Warm Line

Eluvian Shenanigans, a Warden who lost her Alistair and an Alistair who lost his Warden cross paths and find strength and kindness.

Ye Olde Fade Tourism Service

A very silly, Pratchetty pair of mages decide to set up Thedas' very first Fade Tours!

Sing me to Sleep

A graphic novel collab of Warden nightmares, where I did the script! Delightfully gory and sad, with a soft epilogue I've written here.

Dying in Slow Motion

A very small interactive fiction about being in the Legion of the Dead and the Grey Wardens. Choose your own adventure? More like Choose your own method of coping with your impending doom.

Heart of Stone

Another collab, this time I wrote lyrics for a song! It's a melancholy thing about exiled dwarves and their enduring love for Orzammar

everything changes (some things stay the same)

A happy epilogue to @full---ofstarlight's fantastic and very sad fic about Hawke's Mabari, here.

A Soul All in Armour

A much longer fic than all the rest, focusing on Anders and a Templar and their escape from the Circle and Order systems.

Ready to Rise and Fall

A companion piece to THIS amazing illustration by @dalish-rogue, you've got to see it!

Faded Music, Soft and Low

A companion piece to this music written by the talented @maebird-melody!

One Faint Light

An epilogue to @winebearcat's heartbreaking Handers fic, find it here.

Brighthawke

This? This might make you cringe but this is a masterlist for the writing, and this has written lyrics, so it has to go here. I tried to do spoken word poetry for the first time. Inspired by this fic by @breitweisergallery which is much better.

[skadilothbrok]

Given The Chance - Chapter 9

This mission had started off well enough, but things had gone a little pear shaped about halfway through. “For saying Hitler has jumped off the playing board, you’d think the Nazi’s would be more eager to surrender” you called across to Freddy as he crouched down across from you.

“You wanna try reasoning with them?” he called back as he reloaded his gun.

“I’m just saying” you shrugged as you pulled the pin from a grenade and threw it over the crate you were taking cover behind. The explosion sent dust falling over you and you waited a moment longer before popping your head up.

“We need to set these quick” Freddy quickly stood from his position and started to run towards the hangar that should’ve been taken care of before anyone knew you were there. Breaking into a run behind him you continued to hear gunfire across the other side of the base. Good. That meant the others were still holding their own.

Upon reaching the hangar you and Freddy did a quick sweep before setting about placing the charges on all the planes. You both worked quickly and met up back near the way you’d come in. “Let’s go” Freddy hurried for the door but as he pushed it open a shot rang out and he stumbled backwards.

“Freddy” you panicked as he dropped to the ground. Keeping low, you pulled him back inside the door and dragged it shut once more. Looking over your friend, you saw the blood pooling out of his thigh. “Shit” you quickly pushed pressure onto the wound before looking around for something to help patch him up with.

“The fuses only have a few minutes on them” Freddy was gritting his teeth against the pain “you need to go”.

“I’m not leaving you, you idiot” you left no room for argument in your reply. “Keep pressure on it” you moved his hands to the wound before moving to undo your belt.

“Seems daft for us to both die here” he tried again.

“Neither one of us is dying here” you snapped as you used your blade to cut some of the fabric from your shirt. You folded it over a few times to make it thicker before pushing it against the wound and then using your belt to keep it in place and apply pressure. “Did you see the shooter?”

“Not properly” he managed “shot came from the left”.

“Right” you stood up and moved to the door, gun at the ready. You took a few steadying breaths before kicking the door open and turning to the left. A shot rang out and you felt a bullet graze your shoulder, but you’d located the shooter. He was dead seconds later.

“You’re hit” Freddy complained as you went back to drag him to his feet.

“Barely a scratch” you assured him as you moved to take most of his weight from his injured leg “now let’s go”. You hobbled through the door with him, making a beeline straight across the tarmac and for the cover you’d taken on the way inside.

The explosions started to ring out in a chain reaction. The ground shook beneath you and you felt the heat against your back as you finally got to cover. Freddy hissed in pain as you lowered him back to the ground and you checked on him quickly before checking nobody had seen your position.

“I need to go and deal with the radio tower” you told Freddy “have you got enough ammo for me to leave you here?” He nodded. “You’re not going to faint or anything?” the image of some enemy finding him unconscious and easy to kill flashed through your mind.

“I’ll be fine” Freddy insisted “don’t worry about me”.

“I have to worry” you smiled slightly “who else could me and Anders have so much fun flirting with?” He scoffed at your comment and once you felt assured he would be okay, you checked your weapons before checking the coast was clear.

Freddy handed you his pack with the charges still to be used and you threw it over your shoulder “be careful” he told you.

“I’ll be back in no time” you winked before heading for the tower.

~Anders POV~

They’d done all that they came to do. All they had to do now was get back out. He and Gus met up with Hayesy, Marjorie and Apple on the way out. They were all running high on adrenaline as they made it towards the fence where they’d come in.

“Freddy” Hayes spotted him first and the four of them hurried over to their teammate. “What happened?” Hayes asked as he took in the blood covered cloth belted to his leg.

“I’ll live” Freddy gritted out.

“Where’s Y/n?” the words came out steady, but his heart was caught in a panic at that point.

“Taking care of the tower” Freddy replied.

“On her own?”  he asked.

“She knows what she’s doing” Gus turned and assured him. Not that it did anything to ease the anxiety clawing through him. There were too many things that weren’t as the intel suggested about this base already. What if you ran into more trouble than you could deal with?

It was a battle to remain where he was and not charge off in the direction of the tower. Even more so when shots rang out in that direction. When the fire continued for a good long while, he couldn’t do it anymore.

“Anders” Gus placed a hand on his arm to try and stop him.

“Get Freddy back to the truck” Anders told him “me and Y/n will meet you there”. He could tell by the look in Gus’ eyes that he wanted to argue but the look he gave him in return had Gus backing down. He gave a brief nod before moving to help get Freddy up.

[unexpected-character]

Butter Knife and Blake Time

Fallon Carrington x Reader

CEO!reader and Fallon meet after all these years, what do you think would happen next…

Warning: implied sexual themes, kinda toxic old relationship, rivalry (if you think there’s more, kindly tell me so I can it here)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fallon's pov

"Who are we meeting again?" I told Kirby while scrolling through my phone looking at news and articles about what people are saying with Dad's fiasco.

"For fucksakes Fallon! Do you even listen?! This is like the hundredth time. We're meeting Y/N Y/L/N. She's the CEO of Y/L/N Industries." I can feel her irritation but I ignored her. I know who we were meeting but I was bored and she annoys me so I annoy her even more.

"Fine. What time do we have to go then?"

"We have to leave in 30 and Culhane is ready."

I followed her to the car, closed my phone. Tried drowning out everything to try to make me relax before this meeting with y/n. I haven't seen her in years, and now because of my stupid father, we will see each other again. How can my father be such an idiot and announced to everyone in Atlanta that he’ll have a "Blake time" what the hell is it even about.

Ugh! The audacity of that asshole to fucking give up everything he built. He really is a selfish imbecile.

—————————————

Y/N's pov

Mean while in Y/L/N Industries, you were in a meeting with your own mother because she bought the Carrington Atlantics. It is now one of your subsidiaries.

"For godsakes mother! I told you I didn't want to do business with CA because of the scandal they have." I said to my mom, not even hiding how frustrated I am with her.

"Could you just calm —"

"Calm down?! How would I fucking calm down with this? I don't even see why you'd even want it." my secretary knocked on my door, signaling that my next meeting is in 5 minutes.

"You have to go, mom. Let's talk about this at your home. I'll be there for dinner and will continue everything." I gave her a curt nod, didn't even look at her when she left.

I smoothen out the imaginary wrinkles on my suit and looked if my blouse was tucked well. I made myself presentable for my next meeting. I made them wait to the last second of the 5 minutes and pressed the intercom and spoke,

"Donna, show them in." You've been dreading to see her again after so many years.

The woman you didn't want to see entered your office as if she owned it. Still as beautiful and sexy as ever with her a redhead following her. You didn't even sat up your chair to greet them, not because you didn't have the etiquette but because it's Fallon and you just didn't want too. You looked at the red haired woman seeing as she's checking you out not as subtle as you may add. You raised your brows and got up and introduce yourself to her,

"Hello, I'm Y/n. To what do I owe such pleasure Ms.?"

You told the redhead completely ignoring the other woman inside your office who has been studying you closely and staring at you as if she wants to kill you. Jealousy ah green is a beautiful color on her.

"Anders, Kirby Anders, I'm Fallon's executive assistant among others." She told you, slight pink covering her pale face.

"Anders? Like Jo's daughter or something?"

"Yeah? You know him."

"Of course. He's an amazing man, very organized even the smallest of details."

"Yeah that's Dad." Before you were going to reply, the bubble you both had was burst by the ignored woman in the room.

"Have you both forgotten that I'm here too." She looked at you annoyed. If you didn't know her well, which you do, you wouldn't catch the small hurt in her facial expression that suddenly was schooled like it wasn't there before, bug you caught it. You look at her and raised your brow letting her know you saw it too. It's been years and she still thinks she had a claim on you.

"We didn't, we just decided we want to ignore you. What do you want Fallon?"

"I want to buy the company back."

"As much as I want you to have it so I don't have to see you. The contract stated you can't. I seriously don't know how your family sign such without reading the fine print."

"Well why didn't you?"

"I wasn't here you idiot. I gave mom the ropes as I had personal matters to attend to. She fucking accepted the deal. Hell, I didn't want what was written in it."

"Then give it back."

"I can't Fallon and you know it. I'd let hell freeze over before I'd work with you again, we both know that."

"What? Work together?"

"You didn't know? What happened to you? You just don't do stuff without knowing. Are you sick or dying?"

"Stop being dramatic, y/n! I'm trying to think. This can't be it."

"Well that's hopeful. You don't think, you scheme."

"Fucking shut up, Y/n! You don't know me!" She yelled. Kirby flinching as she haven't seen Fallon to be this enraged at someone other than her own family.

You clenched your jaw and looked at the redhead that's been standing awkwardly among you both. You walked around your desk and stop in front of Kirby and said,

"Ms. Anders, would you be a dear and let Ms. Carrington and I have a moment alone. You can ask Donna to show you around or get whatever you want." You smiled at the woman sweetly as if nothing is bothering you at all. You directed the redhead woman to the door. She nodded and smiled, leaving you both alone in your office. You locked the door after she left.

You studied the brunette woman facing away from you. Even after years of not seeing each other. She still has the same physique. Looking like a work of art. You admire her features. Maybe more defined ass but still the same old Fallon you know years ago. You approached her from behind. Your breath so close to her, her breathe hitching. It's been years but you still have that affect on her. She has an effect on you too but you know how to school yourself with all the years of practice.

"You still haven't change, have you pretty girl." you whispered close to her ear. She let out a breath as she felt you nibbling her lobe.b"Y/n..." she whimpered, trying to move away from your proximity. Yet you left open mouth kisses along her ear, neck, and jaw. The sexual tension in your office could be cut with a dull butter knife.

"Still bratty aren't you, love?" You put both your hands on her hips and gave it a hard grip. You heard her groan, finally having your hand on her body. Leaning her body over yours trying to feel anything to help her in her predicament. "Y/n, please..." she tried grinding her ass to your front. She was so frustrated and you can feel the heat. She needed relief and fast. She wants you. You both want each other so much.

"Be a good girl and bend over baby."

To the people outside, they thought nothing of it. As they thought that it was you getting frustrated due to your mother visiting you. It wasn't unusual for them to see your cold demeanour after being in a meeting with her or with old stupid men. Maybe you were angry again and the loud scream they heard and the banging that they can hear from inside was just that. Kirby on the other hand, knew what was going on. Her face looking like a tomato, knowing what's happening but a bit confuse on why it's happening now. Did you both know each other since back then?

[pollunam]

Flaws. Part 8. Lassen POV

Early in the morning, I woke up to the smell of burnt coffee—not exactly the most pleasant start to the day. Y/N stood by the stove, looking extremely upset, with a nearly frightened Apple beside her. Curious.

"I stayed up all night because of you, to hell with all your advice, and this damn coffee too," she practically growled.

"Listen, what does this have to do with me? Again? Is this some cursed ship? What's gotten into you?"

"I don't even know," Y/N suddenly said with a resigned tone. "I don't know, that's all. I wish I could be calm, unflappable, and all that, but I can't."

Jeffrey threw up his hands. "So, something did happen, I get it." He started pacing back and forth. "I get it. I'm going to kill him."

"What?"

"And don't even think about stopping me!" Jeffrey suddenly halted, pointing a finger at Y/N.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes and trying to find my glasses. "Good morning, what happened?"

Apple hovered over me, blocking the rays of sunlight. He shook his head. "You’re not going to like it."

"Jeffrey, you're losing your mind," Y/N said, standing beside him. "Explain yourself, please."

"Fine, but first, I have to take care of something." He grabbed a frying pan lying nearby.

I dodged just in time, wide awake now. "What are you doing?"

"What a scoundrel you are, Lassen."

Now, imagine the scene where I'm forced to run away from a crazed Applyard, who’s swinging a frying pan like a baseball bat. He stomped right over my sleeping bag. "Anders, you're a man, why are you running away?"

"I'm not going to hit you! I was even ready to laugh, but it wouldn't have been polite. "Don't step on my glasses."

"I'll eat them if I have to," he hissed.

At this point, the attempts to clobber me with kitchenware had exceeded all conceivable limits.

"Stop it already," Y/N said, "or I'll grab something heavier, and neither of you will like it."

Jeffrey swung again; I ducked, intending to turn around, but those damned lost glasses made some objects almost invisible. I sprang up, took a step, and fell straight into the cellar, landing spectacularly on the dusty floor.

"Serves you right—fate is punishing you," Jeffrey said, closing the hatch.

What a day… I'd love to see Y/N's face right now.

"What's going on here? Why are you holding a frying pan, and where's Lassen?" Hesse appeared on the stairs.

"He went to get supplies."

"Where?"

"In the cellar."

Turns out Applyard is quite funny.

"And you locked him in there?"

"Don’t you dare go near it," Jeffrey warned Edith. "Or you either. We're about to have an important conversation."

"You can't keep him in there."

Thanks, darling, for stating the obvious; I couldn't help but snort.

"Just because I'm silent doesn’t mean I agree with this." I stood up, peering through the slats of the hatch.

"As if anyone doubted that. Fine, Y/N, now tell me. You had a chance yesterday, and maybe no one would have gotten hurt."

"Jeffrey, don't make me angry," her voice now truly menacing.

"I'll go get Gus; you two try not to kill each other in the meantime."

"You're overplaying the big brother role, Apple; it's too much."

"Not true—he's alive, he fell on his own, and a frying pan isn't a gun or even a knife. I knew what I was doing."

"So, why is Lassen in the cellar?" Gus asked calmly.

"We're in the process of finding out," Jeffrey replied, then stepped closer to him and whispered something.

Y/N leaned over the cellar, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, considering the situation, I'm fine. But what did I do wrong?"

"I don't know, Jeffrey thinks…" Y/N bit her lip. "In short, he believes that you're the reason I'm not myself."

"And are you not yourself?"

"That's more of a philosophical question, but overall, I guess I’m just slightly different than usual."

"And do you see this as something bad?"

"Not exactly."

"Maybe you should have just talked to me directly?"

She stood up, opening the cellar.

"Thank you."

Three pairs of eyes stared at us.

"Gus, tell me, as a friend, have you noticed anything strange between them?"

The captain gave us a sly look, mischief sparkling in his eyes. "No, I think the only suspicious one here is you, my friend."

"Alright, let's ask Freddie. Someone must have noticed, besides him, of course," Jeffrey pointed at Hesse, who immediately put on a hurt expression.

I finally found my glasses, safe and sound, and the world regained its familiar colors. Y/N sat on the bed and sighed. "This really is one crazy ship."

"You guys are going to push your luck too far next time," Gus said, lighting a cigarette.

"So, Jeffrey didn’t lose it, and it’s true?"

Y/N and I exchanged glances, and I realized it was time to come clean. After all, I couldn't think of any reason to hide if everything was honest.

"It’s true, and we’re going to tell everyone."

"I knew it! I knew it!"

"Knew what?" Freddie asked loudly, probably trying to cover for us.

"I knew there wouldn't be coffee today. I had a dream, and it was prophetic."

Jeffrey looked at everyone. "Alright, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I was wrong. Sorry, Lassen."

"No, listen, can we be left alone?" I peeked out from behind Applyard’s back at the others, who were closely watching the unfolding scene. "Please."

They left, clearly unhappy about missing the show.

"And you too, Y/N. This is a one-on-one conversation."

She furrowed her brows, as she often did, but left the room.

"Listen to me, and stay calm."

"Alright, agreed."

"I understand that you’re worried about Y/N, and you have the right to know the truth."

"I don’t like where this is going."

We sat at the table, facing each other. I cleared my throat—this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

"What you thought… it’s true."

"Let me tell you what I thought before I grab something accidentally. I thought that you, how should I put it, used her and left. You know?"

I laughed at the absurdity of it but stopped when I saw his scorching gaze. "No, of course not."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Then what’s going on?"

"How should I say it… we're together."

"You’re dating?"

"It seems so. At least that’s what I think."

Jeffrey leaned back in his chair, studying me.

“And it’s serious?"

"Yes. More than serious."

"Then what’s wrong with her?"

"I’ll figure it out, and it’ll be a lot better than locking me in the cellar."

"Sorry, I overreacted. If you were in my shoes, you would’ve knocked me out, you know that."

"Probably," I said, adjusting my glasses and recalling the situation at the pub.

We shook hands as a sign of reconciliation. What a weight off my shoulders.

"But I’m still watching you, remember that."

"Oh, yes, hard to forget now."

Jeffrey got up and left, and Y/N appeared right after him. "What happened?"

"Good timing. Now it’s your turn to talk."

She reluctantly sat down across from me.

"Tell me everything that’s bothering you. You know that if it matters to you, it matters to me too. You don’t have to go through it alone, not anymore."

She squirmed in her seat, not meeting my gaze. "Yeah, probably, but it’s not that easy."

"Alright, if you’re not ready to talk now, you don’t have to. Just know that I’m here," I said, standing up and kissing her on the forehead. "And good morning."

Y/N avoided me the entire day—no eye contact, no crossing paths. At first, I thought the awkwardness was still lingering, but the more time passed, the worse it got. I was completely bewildered; everything was falling apart, and all I could think about was her. She was noticeably nervous, constantly tucking her hair behind her ear. She stayed silent during lunch and later sat on the bow of the ship for a long time, dangling her legs and drinking what was clearly terrible coffee.

"Here, take this," I handed her a cup. "Just brewed it."

"Thanks," Y/N replied, taking the hot drink cautiously. "I can never get my coffee right."

"How are you?" I leaned against the railing, facing away from the ocean.

"I’ve been thinking all day, thinking and thinking. I’m sorry I shut down so abruptly."

"You gave me a scare, no doubt about that."

Y/N slightly smiled, breaking through my annoyance. "I didn’t mean to; I just needed to think about how to tell you everything, explain how it all should look. But the most important thing I realized is that I want to open up to you."

"That’s really good to hear, truly."

"Jeffrey talked to me and said you’re a great guy. What did you tell him? Or do these secret charms of yours work on everyone?"

I smirked. "Just the truth, that’s all. And it turned out to be much better than what Apple thought."

"It's scary to imagine what came to his mind. Alright, Viking, let’s meet here tonight," Y/N smiled, jumping back onto the deck. "And thanks for the coffee. You probably slipped something into it and enchanted me."

I laughed. "I’m more inclined to believe you could’ve done that, maybe even by accident."

"You know, Lassen, chance decides everything."

"I believe it, Y/N."

We stood there, looking in the same direction. I covered her hand with mine as the sky changed into a rosy sunset. The last rays of the sun were glowing in Y/N's eyes. She stood, open to the wind, mysterious and genuine, incredibly beautiful and alluring with an unknown charm. Y/N was like the ocean—one moment warmly embracing, the next knocking you off your feet with its wildness. It seems that's her secret.

"So, lovebirds, how’s the mood?" Gus approached us.

"Great. How did you figure it out?"

"I knew before you did. It’s obvious."

"Everything became clear to me too, and you’re still denying it," said Y/N, tilting her head slightly.

"I still deny it."

"Whatever you say, Captain," she smiled. "No means no. But maybe I’ve noticed something else. Let me know if you're interested." She left, waving.

"Look at this beauty," Graham said, coming closer and gesturing toward the horizon. "It would be nice to go for a swim."

"Are you suggesting we drop anchor and forget all our troubles?"

"It already sounds like a bad idea."

"Exactly!"

Y/N chuckled. "You could always jump overboard and fake a failed attempt?"

"Do you mean a failed accident?"

"No, we don’t need misfortune."

"Gus, she’s giving me bad ideas, and I like them," Graham laughed.

"I’ll be ready, just in case."

The evening deepened. Twilight thickened, closing in around the sparse lights on the ship. The crew gradually settled down to sleep. Once Graham started snoring—a sure sign of deep sleep—I went out onto the deck. I heard footsteps behind me.

"Here," I handed her my sweater. "And what’s with coming out here like we’re in the tropics?"

"It’s going to get really hot soon."

"Mmm, I wasn’t expecting that from you," I smirked.

"Hey, I’m talking about the weather."

I raised my hands. "Of course, of course."

She frowned, a sign she didn’t trust me. "Alright, let’s get straight to the point."

"Please, are you ready for confession?"

"Lassen," Y/N hissed, "you're wasting your breath, that’s not even funny."

"Yeah, I’d make a bad priest."

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. "When you’re done flaunting, alpha male, then we can talk."

I laughed. "I just want to ease your nerves. There's no need for them. Alright, I’m quiet now."

She sat down on some wooden crates. "You know, I never came up with a plan for what I wanted to say. So, I basically wasted the day, but I decided to speak from the heart."

I nodded, managing to hold back a comment as I immediately caught her angry look.

"So, here’s the thing: I thought that all this," she waved her hand between herself and me, metaphorically avoiding the word 'relationship,' "was foolish. And I had a few reasons. First, I don’t really know you. For all I know, you could have a shady past. Of course, it’s probably quite shady, but I’m talking about relationships."

"So, like the possibility that I have a wife and kids, and maybe even ten mistresses on the side?"

She nodded, pressing her lips together, and I laughed. "Alright, what’s next?"

"I’ll pretend that’s no longer a concern, based on your reaction."

"Thank God."

"Second, I really don’t know you. I mean, all my observations are quite insignificant, and while your childhood was certainly interesting, it doesn’t seem reliable."

"You can’t trust me, but that’s your problem." I shrugged.

"Basically, yes," Y/N responded quietly, "but I really want to."

"Stand up."

"What?"

"Come up here," I pointed to the railing, which was wide enough to stand on.

"Why?"

"And jump."

"Oh my God, you might as well point a gun at me," she looked at the water in disbelief. "You want me to jump there? And why on earth?"

"Of course not there. You know how kids play, they lean back, trusting the person behind them. Jump backward onto me."

"Lassen, this is some silly trust exercise."

"You’re wrong. Do you know why?"

She looked at me questioningly.

“I’ll tell you if you do it. Understand, I can’t convince you with words alone. If during all this time, you haven’t once felt that you can rely on me, then it’s just for show.”

“Alright,” Y/N climbed up onto the railing, holding onto my shoulder.

“Just, please, not that way,” I pointed to the water. “Keep your balance.” I continued to hold her hand, stepping back.

The ocean splashed below, sending up sprays of water that reached Y/N, while the wind tousled her hair. It seemed as though I couldn’t picture her in any other element. She gripped my hand tighter and nodded.

“Wait, don’t, you’ll fall. The weather isn’t right for this.”

She smiled fleetingly, almost imperceptibly, before jumping into my arms.

“I don’t need to prove anything. I even know what you’re going to say.” Y/N was silent, looking into my eyes. “I already trust you; otherwise, I can’t explain why I climbed up there in the first place.”

I smiled, pulling her closer. “I know we can’t even imagine how this will all end, but believe me, no matter how it turns out, we’ll keep going.”

She nodded, resting her head against my chest.

[luvo27]

tagged by @mintchocochipsposts!!! i love love love talking about things i'm reading so thank you!!!

If you have a To Be Read list/pile (comics, books, whatever):

What title(s) are you currently reading?

All the Birds in the Sky by Charlie Jane Anders

With My Back to the World by Victoria Chang ( this one's a poetry collection!!! i've been enjoying it a lot!!)

and ok i feel like i'm reading five hundred different comic runs very slowly at the same time so here's a few:

Wonder Woman (1986)

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight

Uncanny X-Men (1981)

What title(s) are up next on your reading list?

Gravity Lost by L.M. Sagas (sequel to a novel i enjoyed!)

Doom Patrol (1964)

Titans (1999)

Green Arrow (2011)

What title(s) are your emotional support TBRs and you’re planning to get around to them. One day. When the stars align?

Every comic run I'm currently reading falls on this list because of the way i switch between things all the time!! but I definitely want to read more of kamala khan's ms. marvel. oh also i've been told I'd enjoy silver surfer. and i want to get more into green lantern. I've also been meaning to get around to On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong for ages. also i've been recommended Dead Astronauts by Jeff Vandermeer. oh, also, Elaine Lee's Starstruck.

Have you taken anything out of your TBR pile recently, and why?

I borrowed Please Stop trying to Leave Me by Alana Saab from the library, and the formatting of the story wasn't for me. also, I started reading The Sandman maybe a year ago? took a break to read something else shortly after and i always figured i'd come back to it eventually, but well. yeah nah officially off the list. also, not recently but i think about it all the time so i'm going to talk about it: Swamp Thing (1982) because there are some strange comic book things that you just can't move past, and for me, Swamp Thing getting pregnant with and giving birth to himself (with fetus!Swamp Thing pov) clears that bar. by a lot.

no pressure tagging @alfalfairy, @rrat-king, @gnomewithalaptop, @shoot-i-messed-up, @spoilerqlert, @remidyal, and anyone else who wants to play!!

[jazzmckay]

wip wednesday!

tagged by @broodwoof (....last week. shhh) 💜

tagging, without pressure: @starstruckkittyface | @inscrutable-shadow | @lottiesnotebook | @tobythewise

here is a snippet from a davg!era kirkwall crew fic i started. it's a bit on the backburner atm as i'm focused on shorter things but i do hope to return to it. some anders & merrill, in fenris pov!

*

Aveline and Merrill are in the war room, going over the map together.

“This trail here will cut travel time by three days,” Merrill says, drawing her finger around the inked edges of a mountain range. “I still haven’t heard back from the group over—”

She cuts off as she notices them entering the room, then she gasps. “Anders!”

While Aveline goes straight-backed and narrow-eyed, Merrill flies forward to throw her arms around Anders’ shoulders, bouncing in delight along the way. Out of all of them, she’s the least changed by the passage of years, not yet greying and still possessing the same enthusiasm as ever. Fenris has learned to appreciate that about her; it isn’t for lack of hardship that she can remain bright and unwavering, but in spite of hardship.

Anders lets out a surprised sound as he catches her, his blue glow sparking brighter. “Good to see you too, Merrill.”

His tone pitches slightly higher at the end, like he’s struggling to keep his words from becoming a question. Understandable; back in Kirkwall, he and Merrill argued almost as much as Fenris argued with them both.

“Is this what it takes for you to get in touch? An entire Blight?” she scolds, but with a chuckle to soften it.

“Ah, well…” Anders replies awkwardly. “I didn’t know where most of you were. Except for those of you who wouldn’t be happy to see me anyway.”

He tips his head towards Sebastian, who sighs and strides forward to speak with Aveline. “I will entrust your guard with keeping eyes on him,” he tells her.

Aveline nods, no hesitation. But when her gaze returns to Anders and Merrill, something does soften in her eyes.

Time has hardened them all in some ways, but soothed them in others, Fenris thinks.

[thewardenisonthecase]

tell me about any WIPs you have!!

anything even if it's just a title/blank doc/one line

i have...so many wips, im gonna talk a little about each

DA LOVE PROMPTS - this is the document where i'm writing the prompts for the love of dragon age event (in theory, there's two more prompts I wanted to do but with the emotional damage getting in my way i'm not so sure)

bryce as king AU - i talked about it last night here but its basically an AU where cailan turned down the crown and bryce cousland became king, and its dual POV. I wrote the prologue and first two chapters, tho i think i'll only get back on it next month (i have 3 separate documents for this fic y'all its insane)

small thingy for valentine's day - i was going to do this thing for Valentine's (even tho its not a thing from where i come from) and i wrote a line or two i think. hopefully i can get back on it before next week

an untitled document about alistair being horny for anneliese being a badass in combat

there used to be five of us - character study fic about hawke and her relationship with her family. i only wrote the outline so far

modern preggo au - modern au where dawn (rook) and lucanis ger pregnant, featuring anders as a doctor/obgyn for people suffering with the taint and other shennanigans. i wrote a few paragraphs and then deledted it and then wrote one phrase

the other two are for fics that i have taken down bc i plan on rewriting them and then re-uploading once i've finished everything, on is weathering the storm (veilguard fix it fic about the south) and the other one is fic do fenris (fenhawke rewrite)

i think that's about, if you discount my bg3 WIPs

[kal-theravenquing]

Taking another writing break this week to prevent burn out, but this is the current progress on all of my active fanfics right now;

Below will be a bit of information about each fic, please feel free to send an Ask if you have any questions about any of them!

Separation Burns -

Separation Burns is a fic about Vax'ildan and Vex'ahlia where they were permanently separated as children after they split up during a fight while running away from their father and Syngorn.

Vex'ahlia finds out that Byroden was destroyed, their mother being killed during the attack, and finds herself being taken in by the local temple of The Wildmother in New Byroden.

Meanwhile poor Vax'ildan is accidentally hurt and then taken in by Professor Byron Anders while the man is out hunting, his future uncertain and Ander's intentions for him quite dubious.

Read the story so far on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44830597

Chapter 8 follows Vax & Anders' developing relationship while they prepare for the journey to Byroden to try and reunite Vax with his mother, unaware of her already being dead. No Vex POV.

(current word count for chapter eight so far = 1,493 words)

Growing Pains -

Growing Pains is a fic about Vox Machina investigating the cult Delilah Briarwood was involved in before they killed her and her husband Sylas under Whitestone Castle, freeing Percy's sister and Whitestone City from their evil.

But everything goes wrong when Vax'ildan is captured to be used in a ritual meant to bring Delilah back from the dead, though Vox Machina luckily interrupt the ritual before it can be completed.

However, the ritual spell misfires and alters Vax's body... Turning him into a newborn baby again.

Vox Machina have to rush the aged down rogue back to the safety of Greyskull Keep and figure out how to reverse this spell before the Briarwoods can be brought back by the cult, but things may be more difficult and complex than they had realised.

Chapter 1 follows Vox Machina as they track down the cult and Vax finds himself captured, with Vox Machina crashing the ritual before it can be completed.

(current word count for chapter one so far = 2,605 words)

Not My Mark -

Not My Mark is a fic that explores the darker side of Alpha/Beta/Omega universes, following the journey an Omega Vax'ildan goes on when he's caught by the Briarwoods and assualted by an Alpha Sylas Briarwood, resulting in him falling pregnant and navigating this with the help of Vox Machina and their friends.

Dealing with the trauma, trying to adjust to parenthood and having to rebuild his friendship with an upset Alpha Percy, Vax has a lot on his plate and he's struggling.

In trying to prove that he's more than just his secondary sex and his trauma, can he learn to love himself and his baby? Or is Vax destined to prove his father right and fall short at the first hurdle?

Read the story so far on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62872828

Chapter 2 explores the aftermath of Vax's assault, where a tense standoff with an angry Percy forces Vax and Vex to reveal their secret Omega nature after they have pretended to be Alphas ever since their early teens.

(current word count for chapter two so far = 1,676 words)

Truth Unclasped -

Truth Unclasped is a rewrite of Vox Machina's reconnaissance mission in Emon before they go there to battle Thordak at last.

Vax'ildan is blindsided when The Clasp show up looking for him, and his past with the criminal guild is revealed to Vox Machina when communication goes awry.

How will Vex'ahlia and the others react to this new knowledge about their resident sneak theif?

How will Vax handle his truth finally coming to light after years of keeping it all bottled up?

(current word count so far = 3,089 words)

The Cost Of One Soul -

The Cost of One Soul is a rewrite of the resurrection scene in "Souls In Darkness", S3 x E12 of The Legend of Vox Machina, where things go wrong and Orthax captures Vax's soul.

Can Vox Machina save him or has the champion of The Matron of Ravens been lost for good?

Read the story so far on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60076099

Chapter 2 follows Percy's side of the ritual and follows his escape from Orthax's clutches, as well as the initial aftermath of the ritual when it's revealed that something is severely wrong with Vax.

(current word count for chapter two so far = 3,231 words)

Homecoming -

Homecoming is a fic that takes place after the end of Campaign 3 of the actual play, exploring what the early days of Vax's return to Exandria may look like.

This fic is on thin ice and may not be finished as I'm having a hard time getting into the groove of it.

(current word count for chapter one so far = 1,266 words)

[sweetmage]

for anders, garrett, and victor: anger born of worry from your bthb card, or cooking together from the domestic prompts? either or, or both >:)

HI!!!! Thank you so much for the prompts, I did both :D I was really excited for this one 💗

@dadrunkwriting

Tags: Fankid, no children harmed, house fire, Anders trauma, Anders/Hawke fighting, 3rd person pov, past tense, fugitives ending, hurt/comfort, making up, implied trans male Hawke

Summary: After waking up to smoke from a house fire, Anders and Hawke frantically searched for their son in the blaze, at each other's throats in their panic. Something about this situation felt familiar to Anders, like he'd been on the other side before...

The sun had barely begun its ascent when an odd smell reached Anders' nose, rousing him from a dead sleep. He rolled over to bury his face against Hawke's side, wondering why he wasn't holding him, then slowly opened his eyes, blinking back the grogginess... and the sting.

"Smoke," Hawke said quickly, already bolt upright and alert.

They were both out of bed in a flash, scrambling to gather their robes, boots, and staves, before Hawke threw open the bedroom door and the smell turned to a thick fog.

They must have forgotten to put out the hearth that night because that seemed to be what set their small sitting room ablaze.

"Where's Victor?" Anders spoke of their boy, only seven, who should be sleeping in the bedroom just across the hall.

"Get the cats, I'll grab him," Hawke replied, voice low and steady despite the panic evident on his face.

"Be quick," he urged and took a deep breath, rushing down the hall, grabbing two kittens, and tucking them into his robes. They were young and didn't have a clue what was going on, so he couldn't trust that they wouldn't run off and get themselves into danger.

He clicked his tongue for Ser Pounce-a-lot, trying to draw the old boy out. "Here boy, come on, Pounce." Thankfully, he skidded to Anders' side quickly, feareless as ever.

Anders rushed them all, out, coughing as the fresh air hit his lungs. He let the kittens down into the grass then turned back to the house when he realized Hawke hadn't yet returned.

"Love? Vic?" He called into the house, stepping back inside as the smoke poured out.

Hawke was empty-handed in the living room, eyes wide and wild. "He wasn't in his room," he said, voice frantic. "I checked everywhere. He's not here, I can't—"

"Stay calm," Anders instructed, though he himself felt anything but. "Where have you checked?"

"Everywhere," he insisted, a tremble in his hands. "His room, our room, the washroom, the pantry— we're wasting time!"

"It's not wasting time if it keeps us from panicking and running headfirst into the blaze," Anders snapped.

"What in the Void else are we supposed to do? Does 'I checked everywhere' not speak for itself?" Hawke shot back, still scrambling around.

"Clearly you didn't or he'd be here," Anders argued back, feeling his magic swell, his skin grow hot.

"You don't think I'm trying?!"

"I think you're not thinking," Anders snapped, trying not to lose his head as well.

He whirled on him, furious. "Don't you fucking start with me!" He shoved him out of the way to check beneath the tables.

Anders got away from him quickly, this was not the time to be getting into it. Though he claimed to have checked everywhere, Anders had to be certain with his own eyes. Though the flames had spread and now licked at the hallway, he rushed ahead to brave them.

"Stop, what are you doing?" Hawke cried, rushing after him, but Anders did not relent. "Are you mad?"

"I thought that's what we were doing," he replied through clenched teeth, not sparing a glance back at him.

Hawke grabbed his arm, trying to drag him back, but Anders was quicker, ripping his arm from his grip. The flames lapped at the end of his coat so he shed it quickly, letting it fall behind him as he rushed back into Victor's room and shut the door behind him.

The bed had been overturned and the wardrobe upended, Hawke hadn't been lying. Anders searched the floor, beneath the bed, and the cupboards in the washroom but came up empty-handed.

"Victor, come out if you're in here! It's okay, come on," he urged, voice cracking. He raised a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the sob that clawed its way out. There was no time for that.

When he opened the door again he couldn't see a thing, the smoke was not just smoke but steam. Hawke must have tried to extinguish some of the flames with what ice magic he knew. He'd thank him later for his efforts, but for now he continued down the hall to their bedroom.

He checked under the bed and in the cupboard, feeling sick as he pulled back the curtains to find nothing. The only place left to recheck was the washroom.

He tossed around linens and a stack of clothes, heart plummeting when he didn't find him here either. He found himself succumbing to a coughing fit, each breath failing to bring in enough air, but he couldn't leave without finding his son.

A heavy hand clapped over his shoulder, startling him. He shook himself free of Hawke who stood behind him, trying to pull him back.

"He might be outside, we need to leave," he shouted, trying to steady Anders who was not well from the smoke.

"Go look outside then! I can't, not until I know!"

"You're not listening," Hawke insisted. "I've checked everywhere. Go or I'll drag you out."

"Get your hands off of me," he warned, shoving him away to check the rest of the room.

"I told you, I checked," Hawke repeated, more urgently. He grabbed around the waist and attempted to lift him but caught himself on the wash basin that was propped against the wall, toppling over it and both of them with it.

His vision as he hit the floor, but when he looked up he caught a glimpse of blonde waves and red cheeks.

"Victor!" Anders scrambled to his feet at once, rushing to the corner where he'd tucked himself.

He shrank away from him, hands over his ears. Shaking his head, Victor flinched away from Anders's attempts to touch him.

"It's alright, you're... you're safe..." He found himself still struggling to get enough air, each breath a fight. "Walk with me?" He offered a hand him, hoping he could reason with him. But Victor would not relent.

Hawke had no such patience, scooping Victor up under one arm and all but dragging Anders out of the scorched house with the other.

Back in the open air, Anders collapsed, coughing and gasping but still reaching for Hawke to place Victor in his arms.

"Anders, are you alright?" Hawke fretted, all of his earlier anger and frustration gone.

He nodded, still opening and closing his hands until his son was in them. He promptly curled himself around him, kissing the top of his head and cradling him against his chest.

"Maker, Victor, do you have any idea..." He was sure he did, the poor thing looked positively frightened.

For a boy so loud and boisterous most hours of the day, he had scarcely uttered a word, he wouldn't even look at them.

"What were you doing?" Hawke asked softly, kneeling beside them. "What happened?"

"I don't know, it just... got on fire," Victor finally managed, voice trembling.

"You saw the fire start?" Anders asked, surprised.

Victor seemed like he regretted saying that, suddenly shaking his head.

"What happened?" Hawke gently prodded.

"It just got on fire, I didn't do anything," Victor repeated, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to."

Anders and Hawke shared a glance, and he knew they were both thinking the same thing. "Did you try to use magic?" Anders asked.

"No!"

"Are you sure?" He pressed.

"I swear, I didn't! I swear!" His face was all screwed up, hands balled like he wished to fight, though the bulk of his frustration spilled over as tears down his rosy cheeks.

An ache overtook Anders' chest as he gazed upon him, fearfully defiant. It was as though he were looking back upon him, standing in the charred remains of the barn he'd set aflame so long ago.

His father had not been kind. He'd made every moment a nightmare for him from that moment onward, until the day he had him taken him away.

He looked down at Victor in his lap, wondering how it was a father could ever think his own blood a monster. The smoldering house behind them meant little, but that Victor was safe within his arms meant everything.

"We're not angry with you," he said decidedly. "But what were you trying to do?"

He cheeks puffed thoughtfully. "You were in trouble," he said quietly. "I was trying to help."

"What do you mean in trouble?" Hawke asked.

Victor looked up, shrugged, then looked away. "You told Papa he doesn't eat enough. You sounded sad... I didn't want you to be sad or for Papa to be in trouble. I thought you would be proud of me for using my magic but... but..." His shoulders began to shake, the back of his hand scrubbing his eyes. "Now you won't be. Cause I burned it all up and... and now... I don't wanna be a mage..." A sob tore itself free, words lost within his wailing.

What would he have liked to hear when he was a boy, scared and looking to his parents for reassurance that he was no monster, that they were still proud? That there were consequences but he was still loved, he was still good? That even if they were disappointed or worried, their adoration would never falter?

"You know, when I was small, I set fire to a barn. I'd never seen a mage before, never even heard of one, but next thing I knew I was shooting fire from my hands when no one was looking. I was playing in the barn near my home one day pretending I was a dragon. Things got a bit out of control and the whole thing caught fire, my mother just barely dragged me out of there. She was furious, but mostly she was scared. I could have been seriously hurt, or worse."

Victor listened intently, sniffling. Anders smiled weakly and brushed the mess of golden locks from his eyes, still wiping at stray tears. "Back then, they'd take mages from their parents and lock them away where they'd never see them again. She was afraid of that too so I had to hide it as long as I could, pretend nothing was wrong. I did a pretty good job... for a while. But things are different now. There's nothing wrong with being a mage, in fact it should be celebrated. There's so much we can teach you, but you need to promise you won't go setting things on fire anymore without one of us there to guide you."

He nodded solemnly as his lower lip trembled and his brows knit together once more. "Are you sure I'm not bad?"

"Ha! You think I've never burned anything down?" Hawke piped up, a smirk quirking his lips. "Why do you think Aunt Mari cuts her hair so short? She got tired of me singing it off once a week and just kept it that way." It was a lie, of course, but Victor ate up, a small smile ghosting his lips.

"Of course you're not bad," Anders concurred. "I suppose we were due to move soon anyway. The important part is that everyone is alright. Don't do that again, though. We like to help too, you know. If you want to help with something like that, ask us. Promise?" He asked again.

"I promise," Victor nodded slowly, easing in his arms.

Anders had more to say, but Victor, satisfied that he wasn't going to be scolded again, climbed out of Anders's lap to take off after the kittens that played not far from the cabin. Hawke watched him go with a sigh.

"I'm sorry Anders," Hawke said quietly, kneeling next to him to brush his hair back and look him over. "I swear I thought I'd checked everywhere but... I don't know how I missed him. Maker, if I'd have known..." He ran a shaky hand over his face.

"That doesn't mean I should have shouted as you," he said, taking Hawke into arms, pressing him against his shoulder. "I was scared..."

"Me too," Hawke breathed, holding him tight. "Are you alright? I think you should see a healer, you don't sound very good."

"I am a healer," he reminded.

"A different healer. I don't want you exerting yourself until you can breathe easy." The hands that came to cradle his face were gentle, his thumbs caressing over his cheeks. "I love you. I'm not angry with you," he said, much as Anders had assured Victor, much as he'd wished to be assured all those years ago.

He smiled softly, pressing his forehead to his. "I love you too, love. And thank you." For being willing to search, for taking the risk, for putting up with him and putting it all behind them so quickly.

"Vic, c'mere!" Hawke called over his shoulder, waving him back in. "Want to go get breakfast in town?" It was a rare offer, but the healer would be there so the risk would already be taken, may as well take advantage while he had the chance.

The eager smile that graced their son's lips dashed any worry that crept its way forward. It would all be alright.

[blessedbucky]

ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕏

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 6k (okay no THIS one is the shortest i've written to date yet it's gotta be)

summary: suguru doesn't know how to bridge the gap between you and him. haibara helps.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, everyone in this is so traumatized and mentally ill get these teenagers some therapy and hugs!, how is this chapter suguru's pov but satoru is still yearner of the year?, suguru being absolutely depressed as fuck, reader is also definitely depressed as fuck and autistic, idk what else this is just a yap session

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @lexlibrary, @ziggy0stardust

author note: if satoru gets a chapter, it's only fair that suguru gets one. this is kinda more of an interlude (though @theskyisbrighthere says 6k is too long). i just didn't wanna go from the breakup in last chapter to everyone suddenly talking again y'know?

Story Masterlist

[DROPOUT]

It’s been four months and five days (18 weeks, 127 days, 3048 hours, 182880 minutes, 10972800 seconds) since that night.

Geto Suguru turns eighteen (216 months, 939 weeks, 6574 days, 157776 hours, 9466560 minutes, 567993600 seconds) today.

For the first time in nearly twelve years (144 months, 626 weeks, 4383 days, 105192 hours, 6311520 minutes, 378691200 seconds), he doesn’t hear your voice wish him a happy birthday.

Because you two haven’t exchanged words in exactly three weeks (21 days, 504 hours, 30240 minutes, 1814400 seconds).

Not that he’s counting.

Suguru pulls back the curtain to stare outside the window of his three-bedroom apartment. Nanako and Mimiko are sprawled out on their bellies, hunched over their sketchbooks, plucking from their boxes of crayons every now and then, staring intently at the trunk of the tree they’re under before coloring whatever it is that they see there. At the picnic table, Nanami and you are seated with sketchbooks of your own.

You don’t draw.

She doesn’t do that anymore, Satoru had whispered when he was sticking around after dropping the twins off from their weekly art session. He’d had his own sketchbook, flipping through it while he stared morosely at his terrible drawings. I draw and hope she will, too, but she doesn’t. She’ll work on something official, so the girls don’t get self-conscious, but she stops when they’re not looking anymore.

The park is right across the street. You always sit at that spot. After the first weekly art session, Nanako had informed him that you told her the shade offered by the tree is best for drawing because sunlight against white paper strains the eyes. He knows you actually just sit there so that Suguru doesn’t get anxious by the girls getting out of his sight.

You look gaunt.

Good to know you’re putting some weight back on along with the girls, Shoko had remarked when she brought the twins back from their appointment at the doctor. Just after he and the twins moved in, not even a month after they were saved, Shoko insisted on handling their medical care instead of Suguru. Having someone with medical knowledge, preparing to go to medical school, speak with the pediatrician got them healthier more effectively and much faster. Wish someone else around me would do the same. And he knew that she meant you.

You haven’t slept.

You rest your cheek against your palm and Suguru knows you’re going to fall asleep right there at the table. It happens almost every time that you’ve got another person with you for the day. He thinks that everyone around you has started to try to come with you for that specific purpose—because it’s one of the few times that you can sleep. You have perpetual bags under your eyes. He’s seen you knock back two cans of those awful American energy drinks in less than an hour.

On his worst days, he hates looking at you.

Just before it’s time for the girls to come home on those particular days, he’ll send you a clipped text saying that the door is open because he can’t stomach even looking at you. He’ll be overwhelmed with disgust over just how pathetic you’re looking, as if you’re doing it on purpose to make him feel guiltier. This is what you wanted, isn’t it, he’ll aggressively think as he watches you through the window. You forced him to live. You got everything your cruel little heart desired. Aren’t you supposed to be happy now? What right do you have to wither away like this?

Those days are few and far between now. It’s hard to think hard about much when he’s so busy. Between enrolling and preparing the twins for kindergarten, getting them to therapy appointments, and studying and attending night classes because he officially dropped out yet wants a degree still, he doesn’t have time to be mad anymore. That’s for the best. He’s learning that Nanako and Mimiko are extremely sensitive to his moods.

Suguru has been thinking about you a lot more lately, trying to untangle the complicated knots in that string that binds you two together in his heart. Even at his angriest, when the thread was surely fraying, it never totally snapped. He doesn’t think that he will ever stop loving you and, sometimes, that made him angrier. Cruelly, he thought to himself that you were the last curse he ever swallowed. It makes him guilty now, but he tried to convince himself that you were the same rot festering in his stomach. He knows better now.

The real curse is Suguru himself.

He became a vengeful spirit tethered to you. So many times, you tried to run, and he kept pulling you back in. He buried himself inside you—literally, at one point. Desperately, he clung to you, the purest thing left in the world, and it just infected you. He became the rot on your tongue. Like a smoker, you became addicted to the poison. Suguru finally realized he was killing you and tried to exorcise your curse.

Suguru has never had agency over his life—he understands that now. You always understood that, too, and always supported him however you could. This was supposed to be his final choice, and you took that away from him. Knowingly. Happily. All you had to do was tell the truth. Why couldn’t you just be angry at him for the right reasons? Justice demanded blood for blood. Why couldn’t you accept that?

There had been no remorse on your face, either. You’re wasting away right now because you miss him. Not because you regret how much you upset him. And, fuck, if he doesn’t miss you just as goddamn much. Sometimes, he aches so much that it keeps him up at night.

But Suguru doesn’t know how to bridge the gap.

And he shouldn’t.

He can’t.

You’re not good for each other anymore. Suguru’s hatred and resentment poisoned the well. He’s reminded of it every single time that he goes to class, seeing the cursed spirits skittering along the halls or clinging to the other adult students. Being surrounded by all those pathetic non-sorcerers…it never fails to remind him of that bitterness he holds towards you. Maybe you don’t feel that for him right now, but you will. It’s only a matter of time. He deserves it, too.

Soon, he convinces himself whenever he watches you now. Soon, your grief will turn to rage and that heat will cauterize your wounds. It won’t hurt as much to be separated from him. Your mind will clear. You’ll see that things are better without him in your life.

For so long, you wilted in the shadow that Suguru cast over you. Once upon a time, it was a shadow meant to protect you. It was because he loves you. But a shadow is a shadow, and you suffered for it. You’re in the sunlight now. It’s a shock to your system, but you’ll grow to love it.

Right before Suguru closes the curtains, he watches you slip on a pair of sunglasses.

It’s almost midnight when there’s a knock on the door. Suguru already knows it’s Satoru because he’s been aware of that massive amount of cursed energy steadily growing closer as he walks toward the apartment. That’s also how Suguru knows that Satoru is upset. If he knocks on the door like a normal person, there’s something really bothering him. Otherwise, he’d simply just pop up in the middle of the kitchen and start helping himself to snacks. Satoru uses walking as time to think and try to process what he’s feeling.

Satoru immediately goes for the couch, curling up at one end silently. Suguru is worried. Satoru didn’t even greet him or raid the cabinets for sweets. There’s also the late hour. Satoru hardly ever sleeps himself, of course, but he respects that other people need it. Actually, he tends to use spending the night with you or Suguru as time to catch up on missed sleep. So, why isn’t Satoru with you right now?

“Want to talk about it?” Suguru hesitantly asks.

“Doubt you want to,” Satoru mutters. “It’s about her.”

Suguru slowly sits down at the other end of the couch. Satoru has been surprisingly considerate of the rift between Suguru and you. He tries to bring you up as little as possible around Suguru and vice versa. Suguru thinks that Satoru is being patient in hopes that things will eventually heal if he stops rubbing salt in the wound. Or he doesn’t know how to put the broken pieces of you two back together so he’s just doing damage control.

“It’s okay. I know it must’ve been bad if you’re here.” Satoru has been patient with Suguru. It’s only fair that Suguru start giving back. “What happened?”

Satoru crosses his legs, tugging at the cuffs of his pants. “You’re gonna feel guilty.”

“I always feel that way, Satoru,” Suguru bluntly admits and shrugs when Satoru cringes. He’s accepted that this is now going to always be a part of him. No matter what emotion there at the forefront of his mind currently is, there will always be a layer of shame and guilt simmering underneath. It’s fouler than the taste of a curse, but he’s…adjusting. “Go ahead. I want to be your shoulder to lean on.”

Satoru’s face twists in bitterness. He doesn’t speak, at first, and stares at Suguru blankly instead. “You guys are too nice to me,” he says cryptically before quickly moving on. “We got into a fight.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m worried about her, man. Seriously worried.” He sighs in aggravation. “It’s different than it was after Haibara. It was like she was a zombie.” He bites his lip. “Now, she stretches herself thin. Pushes and pushes and I know she’s at her breaking point. She won’t let anyone touch her and she’s wearing sunglasses more than me. I…I thought she was doing better, but I don’t think she’s eating at all anymore. She doesn’t let me spend the night because she wakes up from nightmares puking her guts out. Oh, but that’s if she even sleeps at all. If she’s not forcing herself to go in public with the girls, she’s on missions or working on her technique.” All his worries spill out in a rush. “It’s what she was doing tonight. I couldn’t take it anymore. I tried talking to her about it, like she’d do with anyone else, but she snapped. It’s all she does if I worry about her. So…I blew up…and then she blew up…” There are actual tears in his eyes. Suguru can’t help but reach out and take his hand, sympathetic. “She’s never yelled at me before.”

Yeah, Suguru understands how awful that felt for Satoru. The sting of it went deeper with Suguru because of that shared history, having the knowledge that you have never yelled at another person. Raised your voice when arguing with your parents, maybe, but never shouting.

That day, in the showers, the crack in your voice had splintered him. He’s still never told Satoru about it. Another shameful act that hurt you. It was purposeful, too. He knew it’d hurt you and he’d wanted that until you started to back yourself into a corner, covering yourself, sobbing and trying to hide away like a wounded animal. That look on your face haunts him. Just as much as that night in September.

“I don’t know what to do, Suguru,” Satoru confesses hoarsely. “I can’t…I don’t know how to beat this…”

“Because this isn’t a fight, Satoru,” Suguru gently corrects him. “Emotions are too complex for you to box them up as a villain to be defeated. Listen to your own right now. It’s hard to make sense of the mess of them, right?” Satoru nods miserably. “Now, try to imagine how much bigger it is for her.” Satoru hunches over, putting his elbows on his knees, and covering his face with his hands. “You ran from her after your argument. It’s what she’s doing right now. It’s what she’s always done.”

“Can’t you just help her?” Satoru asks, voice muffled by his palms.

“I…” This is the first time that Satoru has confronted him about Suguru breaking his silence. “I always chased after her. I thought it was being a good friend, but I just made her dependent on me. She has to learn to live without me.”

Satoru raises his head, staring at Suguru with those eyes. They’ve never been so unnerving as they are now. “So, you want her to be reliant on me instead?” He shakes his head. “That’s bullshit, Suguru. No, you’re not choosing now, when she needs you the most, to cut your imaginary umbilical cord or whatever. Why won’t you just talk to her?”

“I’ve tried. Last week was the first birthday I’ve ever had without her since I was six. But I can’t pretend that everything is the same as it was. The words keep getting stuck in my throat. That was supposed to be my choice. My final choice. And I remember how she stood there, not an ounce of regret on her face, as she took it away from me.”

Satoru laughs bitterly. “You’re really something else, Suguru. Just a selfish piece of shit.” Suguru’s temper flares and he returns Satoru’s glare. “You can’t beg to be punished and then decide it’s not the right way. And you wanna talk about choices getting made for other people? You did it first. You just wouldn’t leave it be. You had to confess, knowing it was putting your life in her hands.”

“Call me a piece of shit all you want, but at least I’m not blind. What are those Six Eyes worth if you can’t see the truth? She had to say the words. That’s it. It was my own life. I hung the axe over my own head. You two keep acting like I was putting the axe in her hands.”

“I didn’t put a bullet through Amanai’s skull, but I still feel pretty fucking responsible for her death,” Satoru snarls before snapping his mouth shut so fast that his teeth clack together. He sits there, silently, fists on his knees clenched so tightly that his knuckles are turning white.

“I do, too,” Suguru agrees softly.

“Right. Like I said, you’re being selfish, then. Objectively, it wasn’t our fault. We got beat. He took his prize. We didn’t even know her but for three days. But we still feel guilty about it. You understand that. You feel that. But you suddenly forget all about that when you want Sketch to throw you under the bus?”

“It wasn’t about feelings. It was about justice. Amanai got hers. You blew a hole in Zen’in Toji.”

Then, all the emotion on Satoru’s face vanishes. It reminds Suguru too much of when he found Satoru, surrounded by all those clapping monkeys who celebrated the death of a teenage girl. “Justice,” he repeats flatly. “Who decides what true justice is? Is it the higher-ups? Because if we’re going by those standards, I should tell them about what she did.”

Suguru presses a thumb to the center of his forehead, frustrated. “You’re being purposely obtuse. You know it’s different. She’s not a threat to non-sorcerers.”

Satoru scoffs. “Don’t play dumb. Higher-ups don’t give a shit about the non-sorcerers. They never have. You know that. It’s always been about tradition and control with them. Sensei told us, right? Special Grade isn’t something to be proud of, no matter how much money higher-ups throw at us. It’s something to fear. We could demolish cities without breaking a sweat. And Sketch is one of us now.”

Gentle heart aside, there’s another obvious flaw in Satoru’s logic. “Her technique only works on those with cursed energy. And she doesn’t have enough cursed energy herself to control that many people.”

“Either you’re being the obtuse one now or you’re being super naïve.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you control the king, you don’t need to worry about the grunts. I don’t think I need to remind you that the two strongest people in the world are in love with her,” Satoru says slowly, as if Suguru isn’t painfully aware. “She’s a threat. I know you don’t wanna think about her that way, but she is. The only reason she isn’t an active one is because she’s scared of herself, bogged down by what other people tell her she is, and stupidly kind. If I was the good little weapon that I was raised to be…no. If I was smart, I’d kill her.”

“Stop,” Suguru demands harshly.

He hates that Satoru is right. Suguru doesn’t want to face the reality. You’ve always been his lighthouse, shining bright in the darkness plaguing his life. He doesn’t want to admit that his selfishness and carelessness is the reason your light dimmed. He doesn’t want you to be so hurt that you poison your own well, but you were. You are. You’re still hurting.

“I will. I’ll stop now because it’s you that’s asking, Suguru. If it’s you and her, I’ll listen,” Satoru whispers. “I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but that night…I’ve never felt as weak as I did then. Not even when there was a blade in my neck. And it wasn’t because of only her. You had been in pain for so long and I didn’t do anything about it. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you needed it.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Suguru pleads. He scoots over on the couch, putting his hand on Satoru’s knee. “I wouldn’t have talked about it.” Satoru flinches and Suguru mentally curses himself. That came out wrong. “Not because I don’t trust you. I just…how could I put another burden on your shoulders? You’re the strongest and you’re already carrying the world on your shoulders.”

“But I’m not,” Satoru protests. “I’m not the strongest. Not without you and Sketch. Don’t you get that?” He subtly rocks back and forth. His nervous habit, though Suguru rarely sees it. “You know jujutsu is all about balance. Something big is coming. Big enough that four Special Grade sorcerers were born around the same time. And they’ve said that ever since I was born, curses have been exploding in numbers. So…so, I want to think that you and Sketch were supposed to be born. I think we were meant to meet. Because we keep each other balanced.”

Suguru looks away, corners of his eyes stinging with tears. “You don’t need me.”

“I was never going to have a purpose without you two. I was only ever going to be a tool. And more would come after me. This system has to change. I see that now. I’m going to foster strong allies and we’re going to burn it all down before we build it back up. It might take a long time, but I swear that I’m going to make things better for you both.”

Kind, Suguru thinks as he tilts to the side, letting his forehead fall against Satoru’s shoulder. So, so kind. Through blurred vision, he watches his tears fall on Satoru’s shirt, the fabric darkening as it soaks them in. Can’t you see that I don’t deserve this much kindness? Satoru’s hesitant hand touches the top of Suguru’s head., petting him as he starts quietly sobbing. You’re breaking my heart.

Stop, Suguru’s heart weeps. He can’t open his mouth to speak. The words are lodged inside his throat. Just stop. Please. You, of all people, should be mad at me. Why can’t you curse me? It hurts. This all hurts. Anger would be so much easier to deal with than this gentleness. Oh. So, this is what they mean by killing with kindness, he thinks blearily. I guess this truly is the most fitting punishment for me.

A week before the start of what would’ve been his fourth year, Suguru is staring at his scowling reflection in the window of a konbini. He’s not sure what pisses him off more—that this torrential downpour seemed to come out of nowhere or the that the konbini is out of stock for umbrellas. They were probably all bought out because everyone else knew this was coming. You would’ve known this was coming. Suguru’s never had to look at the weather because he just shared an umbrella with you.

You, who always carried an umbrella ever since that day in kindergarten. Suguru hadn’t talked to you yet, but he remembers because it was the first time his mother made her distaste of you known. She’d muttered under how breath about how unruly a child you were after your feet got soaked in your too-tight school shoes and you had a breakdown. Everyone in class started to make fun of you after that.

You’ve never gone anywhere without an umbrella after that day. It’s why you carry a little backpack instead of a purse. Why you have an extra pair of socks along with the umbrella. Why you dance gracefully to avoid puddles that could potentially soak through your shoes.

It's been almost six months and after all the rainy days, Suguru still reaches for a backpack that isn’t there anymore. Good thing I watched the weather this morning, he waits to hear but those words never come. Not anymore.

You haven’t been to the apartment in two weeks.

Suguru is so fucking irritated.

Everything has gone wrong today. As soon as he woke up to Satoru’s text saying that there’d be no art today, he knew it’d be a terrible fucking day. It took everything in him to not send you a nasty, passive aggressive text after calming down two little heartbroken girls. Stupidly, Suguru thought that Shoko would be on his side when he demanded what you were so busy with the last two weeks when she showed up to babysit while he was at night classes.

She wasn’t.

(“Why do you care?”

“Because she doesn’t have to deal with the fallout. I do.”

“That’s on you, then. You know we’re about to start the year. You’re their guardian. You should’ve been preparing them to see her less.”

“She can’t just walk into their lives and then leave without a word.”

“She can, actually. She’s been doing it to everyone. The only time anyone’s heard her speak in the last two weeks is Nanami on a mission. You’re not special, Geto. This is her being dependent. That’s what you wanted, right? I don’t know what else you want from her.”)

Suguru had been so pissed off that he forgot his cigarettes. He’d been late to class because he needed to smoke before he forced himself to sit in a small room full of non-sorcerers. His teeth were gritted the entire time the teacher reprimanded him for his tardiness and his thoughts murderous. The auxiliary manager at the back of the class meant to watch over him was the only thing keeping him from tormenting someone with a curse.

Fuck, he hates rainy days.

“Geto?”

Suguru blinks away from his darkening thoughts. “Nanami?” His brows knit in confusion. “What are you doing here?” Nanami, deadpan, holds up the onigiri and drink between them as an obvious answer, but that’s not what Suguru was asking. “No. Why are you here? In this area?”

“I was meeting with enrollment at your night school. I told them I’m going to stick it out for my third year and apologized for wasting their time.” Nanami glances over Suguru’s shoulder, at the cashier. “I’m going to checkout now. Is it alright if I walk with you to your apartment? I won’t be long, but there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Suguru is still reeling over the fact that Nanami, straitlaced Nanami, was thinking about dropping out. “Uh…sure…”

“Would you like some tea?” Suguru asks as they’re toeing off their shoes in the genkan.

Shoko was there to meet them at the door, took one look at Nanami, and left without a word. It was suspicious. Had Suguru thinking that this was some kind of setup. Then, he decided that it didn’t matter if it was. Suguru will hear Nanami out. He respects his former junior too much to turn him away. Also, despite all his awkwardness, he’s been kind to the girls and tries to teach them sensible lessons.

“No. Like I said, I won’t take up too much of your time. Thank you, though.”

Nanami waits at the table while Suguru makes himself a cup of tea to warm up. He offers Nanami some of his clothes because their big bodies couldn’t totally fit under the umbrella they shared, but Nanami turns that down, too. Those will just get wet on his way back to campus. So, Suguru goes to change. He pokes his head in Nanako’s room, not surprised at all to see Mimiko curled up with her.

Once Suguru is seated across from him, sipping at his tea, Nanami stiffly explains his purpose. “I’m here to invite you to the cherry blossom viewing party. It’s three days from now, in our usual place. It goes without saying that Nanako and Mimiko are invited. The new student is going to be with us, too.”

Suguru tilts his head to the side, curious. “I appreciate you coming in person, but…why couldn’t Satoru just text me?”

“Senpai will be there. I’m here to ask you to stop being childish and talk to her.”

It’s so unlike Nanami to be defensive of anyone that it pulls a laugh of disbelief out of Suguru. “Childish?” Suguru repeats incredulously. Then, he remembers Shoko. “Did Shoko put you up to this? Satoru?”

“No. They don’t know I’m inviting you.”

Suguru tries to tamper down his annoyance. It’s not Nanami’s fault. He only knows the surface level of what happened that night, given the same half-truths as Yaga. You were hurt, Suguru felt so guilty that he tried to take the blame, but the higher-ups cleared him after their official investigation, and Suguru dropped out because he couldn’t handle the mental stress anymore. In the fallout of that night, Suguru and you stopped talking.

Out of all the upperclassmen, Nanami respects you the most. It’s why you’re the only one he calls senpai. Nanami is only trying to help you. Suguru can respect that. So, he doesn’t snap. He tries to be patient and carefully explain, “I appreciate your concern, but you don’t have all the details—”

“I do. Gojo told me what happened. Everything.” Suguru sets the cup down with more force than necessary. Nanami wears that same indifference. “Gojo didn’t tell me because he wanted me to stand in on her behalf. It was to help me understand why she’s been so…overbearing, to put it bluntly.”

“Overbearing?”

“I’m never alone. She requested to be my partner. I haven’t killed a cursed spirit in months because she’s forced them to destroy themselves by the time we make it to the scene. Gojo gave me his MP3 player to pretend to listen to music on the train or bus because, otherwise, she won’t use hers whether it’s a bad day for her or not. She asks if I’ve eaten or if I want to talk and dodges the questions when I ask the same.” Nanami takes a deep breath. It’s…a lot like how you were with him and Satoru after their failed escort mission. “I…just want her to stop. I want her to take care of herself. And…I snapped at her. I told her to leave me alone and…I think that’s why she hasn’t been talking much. So…I’m here to ask for your help. I think you’re the only person that can help her now.”

Suguru rubs his aching temple. “I’m the reason she’s in the shape she is.”

Nanami stares at Suguru in silence for an uncomfortably long time. Minutes pass and his gaze gets icier and icier. “Have you forgotten about Haibara?”

Suguru flinches with his whole body. The blood drains from his face, along with any lingering anger. “No. Of course not,” he says, quietly yet sincerely.

“And have you forgotten that she was there, too?”

“No.” It’s a half-truth.

When Nanami mentioned Haibara, Suguru immediately reprimanded himself for being so hostile so quickly when it’s only been over six months since Haibara’s death. But…fuck, Suguru is a selfish bastard. Somehow, his mind separated you from that day, assuming that his crime against you had somehow buried the trauma of Haibara’s death. But that’s not how trauma works.

The worst thing is that Suguru has always known that. Putting aside that the brutality of swallowing curses and witnessing the worst of the world that weighed him down until he snapped, there’s also his childhood. Did he magically forget the last beating when his father came with a new one? No. Suguru remembers them all.

Trauma piles up—more weight added to the crushing weight trying to bury you in the ground.

“I can’t know for sure, but I think she’s getting worse the closer we get to the start of the year. I’m going to be the only one in my class. She blames herself for that. She blames herself for it all. I’ve tried telling her that it’s not her fault, that she almost killed herself with the strain of her technique so there was nothing else she could’ve done, but she doesn’t believe that. She’s kind enough to not call me a hypocrite, at least. Because she says the same thing to me, and I don’t believe her. Neither of us can forgive ourselves.”

Suguru’s expression softens. “Haibara wouldn’t blame either of you.”

“Haibara is dead,” Nanami snaps back harshly. “And you’re angry that she saved your life.”

Suguru, cowed, fumbles for a response to that. He weakly tries with, “It’s more than that—”

“It’s not. You wanted to die for what you did.” Nanami’s mouth thins. “I have to be honest—I lost all respect for you when Gojo told me the truth. It’s for the best that you quit sorcery. This kind of work isn’t suited for cowards.”

“Takes one to know one.” Suguru can’t resist making the dig.

“I know. More times than I can count, I wish that it was me in his place, but it wasn’t, and we were all left behind to pick up the pieces. I have to live, knowing what it was like to get my friend’s blood in my eyes. Why can’t you do the same? That’s why I say you’re being childish. You think the world revolves around you, that no one else can understand how you feel when you’ve been surrounded by people who do know. One of those people, someone I know you cherish, was right there the whole time and you pushed her away.” Nanami takes a deep breath, steadying himself after his emotional outburst. “I want to do something kind for her as thanks before I leave sorcery behind at the end of the year, so please come to the party.”

Numbly, Suguru asks, “Have you told her?”

“No. Don’t tell her, please. I’m trying to figure out how to do it in my own way. I’m…stalling, but…I don’t want to disappoint her.”

Suguru laughs bitterly. “Nanami, I almost killed her and she’s not disappointed in me. You’ll be fine.”

“Logically, I know that’s true.” Nanami pauses. “I don’t want to admit it, but it’s my guilt that’s making me hesitate. I’m leaving her alone with the burden of Haibara’s final words.”

Suguru straightens. “Final words?”

Nanami, kindly, doesn’t ask the obvious she didn’t tell you? Suguru doesn’t need reminders that his relationship with you has been fractured for a very long time. Instead, Nanami nods. “Yes.” His voice cracks with emotion. “He looked right at us as he cursed us.”

Emotions get lodged in Suguru’s throat. He doesn’t want to know this, not really, but he feels as if there’s an obligation for him to know, so he asks, “What did he say?”

You take it from here.

It truly is a curse. The words have been on Suguru’s mind for the last three days. And you…you’ve been doomed to an obligation to Haibara. Suguru knew that Haibara wouldn’t be the type of person to say that maliciously. Even in the end, he wanted to be an encouragement. It was his way to tell you and Nanami not to dwell on his death, not to let it drag you down and keep you from fighting the good fight. It had the opposite effect with Nanami.

All your behavior in those two weeks between his death and Suguru hurting you makes sense now. Just like the bits and pieces he’s picked up from Shoko and Satoru over the months do, too. You’re desperately trying to do as Haibara asked, even if it burns you up in the process.

Suguru doesn’t think he’ll ever stop having nightmares about that night. He’ll never stop scrubbing under his nails a little harder, never stop feeling the phantom pain of your blood on his hands. But…you’re still here. You’re alive. Shoko made it in time. The same can’t be said for Haibara. A dead boy’s blood is on your hands, and he can’t imagine how maddening that must be for you, a person that never forgot the embarrassment of melting down in front of your elementary school classmates.

During second year, Suguru had gone with you to Kyoto’s campus. You’d needed to do some research, and Kyoto is practically the capital of jujutsu. The computers in their library were much nicer than those at the Tokyo branch because Kyoto’s always had a higher number of students. You and Suguru had done more playing on them than research—marveling over how much faster and efficient they were.

My brain is a Tokyo computer, you’d remarked when you’d gone back to your own campus. You wanted to know what it’s like, right, Suguru? This might be the best way I’ve ever explained it. Everyone else’s brain is a Kyoto computer. Mine is like this one here. You’d touched the monitor with that look on your face—the one where you’re frustrated being born the way you are. I’m just on a completely different operating system. Slow. Things hard to process. Buggy. Fickle…

The thing about your metaphor…Suguru has learned to operate it alongside you. He can never truly know what it’s like to be that system, but he’s learned the language, he thinks. He knows what conditions you work best in, that there are days where you’re more likely to stutter, that too much information can crash you completely. That’s happened. You’re broken. He abandoned you, leaving you behind with people who haven’t had enough time to navigate your crashing systems.

Suguru is out on the balcony, smoking, while the girls get their backpacks ready.

You take it from here.

That night, when Suguru snapped, it’d been Haibara’s face on his mind more than anyone else. He’d felt so righteous when he was summoning his curses. He was going to avenge Haibara. Non-sorcerers would never know about Haibara’s sacrifice and that just hadn’t felt fair. Blood for blood, that’s what he believed justice demanded. How many lives had Haibara saved while the non-sorcerers sat back, blissfully unaware?

Suguru hadn’t stopped to think that everyone was going to forget Haibara’s name—non-sorcerer and sorcerer.

Non-sorcerers breed curses, that’s true, but they aren’t the only problem. How can the problem of non-sorcerers be dealt with if jujutsu society is so inept, corrupt, and mismanaged? Sorcerers, specifically higher-ups and traditionalists, are as equally responsible for the things that sickened Suguru to his breaking point. Sorcerers hide in the shadows because they’re forced to do that. Children are sent to die by other sorcerers. Had Nanako and Mimiko been born into a sorcerer clan, there’s no way for him to know that they wouldn’t be treated the same or worse. It’s all broken. The whole system needs to go.

Sorry, Haibara, Suguru apologizes while staring up at the shifting clouds. It took me a while to get there, but I get it now. He snuffs out his cigarette. I get it.

If he’d gone through with slaughtering the village that night, he would’ve stained Haibara’s memory. Haibara knew he’d be another nameless casualty in this war. He didn’t care. The darkness of the world swallowed him whole, but he refused to stop shining until the very end. Saving people was the only thing he ever cared about. He died a hero. It should stay that way.

But there should never be another Haibara.

Suguru doesn’t know how he’ll fit into Satoru’s plan, but he’s going to help. Somehow. Because he wants to protect the future, too. If Satoru wants to make them strong enough to not break, then Suguru wants to remind them of their humanity. No one else should reduce themselves down to machine or weapon. They need to know that if they’re going to die then they’ll do it while being remembered.

It’s going to be a marathon game, there’s going to be more pain, but Haibara passed on the baton, so it’s time for Suguru to get running.

[librivore42]

Too bright, too bright for anyone

A first person POV piece about some Anders and Andraste parallels. Full text is under the cut, but I'd loooove if you clicked the Ao3 link and dropped a comment or kudos <3 Too bright, too bright for anyone (452 words) by Librivore42 Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Andraste (Dragon Age), Anders Additional Tags: Andraste Anders parallels are alive and well, it's not GRAPHIC depictions of violence but there is mention of Andraste being burned alive sooooo, Anders POV, POV First Person Summary: Anders, Andraste. Andraste, Anders. Both cried for freedom, both ready to die. Why, then, does history only hold one dear?

~~~~~ Troubled dreams in golden heads. Sleepless nights in unslept beds. You heard voices, voices. And so do I.

You were a slave Andraste. Ripped from your bed. Do you weep to see what they do in your name? Do you weep as weeping children do? Ripped from their beds and loving arms. A life of fear, of shame, in your name.

Andraste covers the Chantry walls, where a mother's portrait should be.

Andraste's statues blot out the sun, where a father's roof should be.

Is this what you meant when you sang for freedom?

You heard voices, voices.

And so do I.

Why did the Maker answer only you, when we both sing?

Sing

sing

choking on the song. Ash in the throat as I burn, they burned you still living.

For what? Because they could not hear.

Would not hear.

Why is freedom such a hard song to bear?

It's burned and beaten.

Were you a miracle, Andraste? Or were you as sick as me? Tired and burning, crying for freedom, for silence?

We both hear voices, voices, that no-one else can hear.

Why then are you prophet? Because they could burn you?

Why then am I pariah? Because I burned them first?

Were you a miracle, and all who follow cursed?

You were a slave, Andraste. You fought to be free. You bled for your people. You heard such voices. And people heard yours. The only difference is now. The difference is you. Your voice is too loud for anyone else to scream.

Who would hear me over you? You are stone and glass and ink and paper. I will run out of breath before you do.

You must have been human once.

Was there ever mud and blood in your golden hair, our golden hair? Tired, so tired of fighting?

Were you always sure, Andraste? Or do they just tell us you were?

Were your words always this cruel? Or do other voices speak in your burned throat?

Does anyone hear you? Or is the Chant the sound of you burning?

Tossing, turning.

Troubled dreams. Silent, sleepless screams.

Were you ever this afraid?

When you ran, did you for a moment fear the people that you loved? That they would put you back in chains for the voices you hear, for the miracles you make? Did you ever dream that you'd shape the world to be so?

When you ran, and were free forever.

When I ran

and ran

and ran

ranranranranranran

They watch a child being dragged away.

Did they cheer you for your freedom?

And when they burned you, they took pity. A quick death, a mercy.

And burn us every day, every hour.

In your name.

[kpeverlyfiction]

Before the Dawn: Ezra Talon RO POV

Ezra sat in a quiet tavern in the late night. He was nursing his second mug of mead. He could hold his drink fine due to his size. Ezra stared down into his nearly full mug as if the answers would somehow be at the bottom of his drink. He pushed his drink aside, he was tired of posturing. It was part of his job.

He had received a tip from an anonymous informant that his next mark would be here at this tavern. He had been here at the time he was given. But no one even remotely close to his mark ever showed.

Ezra leaned back into his chair as his blue sleeves on his simple tunic were pushed up. He had discarded his cloak and leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander something he rarely every does.

As an assassin and one of the higher ranking Red Scales, an elite assasin's guild in Solara. He rarely let his guard down. But tonight, without his mark in his sight he just decided to let go for just a moment.

Of course he never had his back to the door, always swept the perimeter of the room out of habit. He rarely slept. He did not like to sleep. With sleep came the dreams...the face...the voice...the laughter.

Your face.Your voice. Your laughter. Everything Ezra ever loved about you...but just as soon as the dream was there...it was gone. Ezra sat up in his chair quickly as the wooden legs of the tavern chair hit the wood floor with a hard bang. He had let himself become too relaxed.

Luckily the tavern was mostly deserted save for Gev the tavern owner. Gev Gevshin was a middle aged balding dwarf with a red long beard and a proud demeanor as all dwarves tend to exude. He and his elven wife Evira had moved with their three boys and another on the way.

Ezra knew all about the Coals district. Most dwarves resided there in the undergrounds of Solara. It was cooler but it was becoming derelict and most dwarves were moving their families out of the Coals for fear of collapse.

Gev being one of them had moved him,Evira his heavily pregnant elven wife and three young boys to the surface. He had saved enough coin to be able to afford to get out of the Coals. Now mostly it was just penchants and dwarves holding onto their old traditions who still resided there.

Rumors had flown like wild fire across Solara to every district. The Blood Red Dawn was coming. Some doomsayers were saying. Some believed it but others did not. But Solara was not the same as it had been when Ezra was growing up with you...

Ezra still brooding as you would call it if you were here, was pulled back into his thoughts. Despite the chair incident, he had not even heard Gev approaching, which was very rare for someone to sneak up upon the second in command of the Red Scales Assassin's Guild. One of the top assassin's guilds in Solara.

Ezra had worked hard for years from the bottom up to become Anders, the Golden Scale and guild master of the Red Scales, Silver Scale. Second in command of the Red Scales. Anders was the guild master of the Red Scales but not even Ezra knew much of what his superior's life was like before establishing the guild. And as the Silver Scale (second in command,) he knew better than to ask.

Gev knew Ezra as a long time patron and friend. Ezra had not outright told him what he did but Gev was not stupid. He had been around the Hell's Rise district long enough to know the shady and sketchier parts of what people did to survive in Solara. He knew what Ezra did was not good. But he liked Ezra well enough and did not mind Ezra spending his off days at the Boot and Shine.

Ezra still was unsure of how the tavern received its name sake. He suspects it had something to do with Gev’s wife,Evira, who influenced the name. She always wanted everyone's “boots to shine" before they step into her tavern.

“Gah! Gev! By the name of Sul, I insist you do not sneak up on me as such. Unless you want a blade to the throat. " Ezra says, his heart pounding in his ears. Of course Ezra would never hurt let alone kill Gev. Despite the older dwarf initially heckling him he enjoyed his company. And Gev was one of the few people that had broken through Ezra’s stony exterior.

Gev just laughs a hearty laugh as he takes a sit across from Ezra. He looks at the young man with a twinkle in his warm brown eyes.

“Looks like the mighty Silver Scale is not as good at his job as his reputation would make him seem." Gev chuckles

Ezra’s deep blue eyes stare up at Gev as he studies the older dwarf carefully.

“How did you find out?" Ezra’s deep voice rumbles quietly echoing only in the silence of the empty tavern. Ezra is very alert now jolted out of his reverie as his fingers twitch for his spear.

“ Easy there Ez. No need to get feisty. It does not take a clouding to figure it out. “ Gev chuckles (clouding is a nickname for a young upset child. Solarans use clouding because it never rains on Solara or has not for ages.It became a slang term in Solara.)

Ezra eases slightly. He should have figured that Gev of all people would know. Gev is established in Hell's Rise, a more prominent and upper societal part of Solara. The Boot and Shine was a regular watering hole right in the middle of the inner district. Ezra had started frequenting there for his more lucrative contracts.

“Would you like to talk to your old friend Gev about what's on your mind Ez?" The dwarf prods gently.

Ezra stares into the still full second mug of mead to take a moment to compose himself. He is not used to being this way. This open, this vulnerable. He spins the mug in his hands as he continues to see his deep blue eyes staring back at him. A boy no longer. An assassin. Someone whom had no heart. Someone who he lost his heart to10 years ago…

“ It's (MC) again isn't it?" Gev asks more gently than his normal boisterous self.

Ezra nods solemnly as he takes a sip of his mead before pushing his mug away.

“I cannot help it Gev… (MC) was my best friend, my partner in crime, and I fell harder and harder for (MC) each day. Today marks 10 years since (MC’s) disappearance…” Ezra says his voice strained which was unusual for the usually stoic assassin.

Gev sighs. He looks at the young man sympathetically understanding of his plight.

“Listen Ez, it's been 10 years son. 10 years without a trace of (MC.) Do you not think it might be time to move on? You're a good looking, kind, young man. Apart from the fact that you kill people for a living.” Gev mutters under his breath.

This warrants a small smile from Ezra. He takes a moment to think over Gev’s words. He knows Gev is right…but for 10 years …he has not stopped looking for you. He cannot. He will not stop searching for you. What happened to you? Where did you go? Why? These words haunt Ezra day in and day out. He has not given up hope. That somewhere out there, in Solara, in the universe you still exist.

He has to believe you would not just vanish without a trace. Without a word to him. Your best friend since you were kids. He has never stopped looking for you. The night you disappeared….the night of your birthday… Ezra had made his way to the usual spot you and he would spend on that same hill. Every birthday at midnight. Just you and him alone watching the stars. Dreaming of something else out there in this world.

Dreaming of traveling together, making plans together, hopefully becoming something more than just friends. That's when the memories come flooding back. Memories that Ezra had tried to bury deep inside the darkness that looms inside him. But in that moment the tavern disappears, Gev is no longer there. Ezra is transported back into a memory he thought he had long burned….but in that moment he is taken back to that fateful night. The night that changed everything for Ezra…

That night Ezra had made up his mind. He was going to tell you how he truly felt…that he was in love with you. As he made his way towards the hill the air was cool for once on Solara. The night was clear and beautiful. The night air was still and quiet. Ezra had paced nervously back and forth in his small village hut…he had rehearsed for hours on end what he was going to say to you. How he was going to say it.

The hours ticked by slowly till it was time to go. He had quietly left his house as he kept rehearsing in his head the words he was about to say to you. The words that could change everything. You and he had been dancing around the feelings you both felt for months now…now Ezra was going to finally do something about it.

He had picked a sunrisa ( a beautiful glowing yellow flower that was so exquisite that at night it would bloom and glow like the sun. It was your favorite flower.) Ezra began to make the climb towards your usual meeting spot. His heart was pounding in his ears, his palms sweaty as he tried not to grip the flower too tightly. As he reached the top of the hill he took in a deep breath as he made his way towards the spot you usually already were there waiting for him.. He expected to hear your voice, your laugh like music in his ears, your smile as if Sul were blessing you himself.

But he stopped and paused. He did not see you anywhere. That was odd considering you always were the first to show up. Ezra had an uneasy feeling in his gut…something did not feel right. He spun around on his heels still gripping the sunrisa, as he looked in every direction calling your name only to hear his own voice echoing back at him. As if some kind of sick joke. His stomach dropped, chills ran down his spine as he sprinted down the hill as fast as his long legs would carry him.

He ran up and down the street of your small village. He ran into the neighboring aristocratic city. He ran and ran not caring about the pain in his ribs, his lungs aching for air, his voice hoarse from calling your name. He probably looked and sounded like a lunatic and probably woke some people up. It mattered not. He kept running and running each moment intensifying his desperation to find you.

Finally as dawn began to rise, he finally ran to your house hoping against all hope you would be there….hoping that you would open the door like you always did and greet him with that smile that even Sul himself would think was the most beautiful smile in all of Solara. He knocked and waited. He knocked and eventually began pounding on your small hut’s door. He was calling your name desperate. But when no one answered. Not your parents, not you. He finally got up the nerve to peek through a small window of your hut to see if anyone was inside.

Gone. Nothing. No one or anything was in your now empty hut. Ezra ran around the small hut looking for any clue but finding none, he decided to take drastic measures. He easily kicked open the wood door as it splintered and went flying across the room. He could hear nothing but the heavy breathing coming from his chest, the blood roaring in his ears. As his adrenaline came in waves pumping throughout his veins.

The exhaustive state he had felt dissipated as he began to search for any sign of you or your family. There was none. Not a trace. You were gone….the sunrisa flower fell to the ground as the sobs came in waves. Ezra dropped to his knees as the tears fell from his eyes like a dam breaking. The sobs racked his whole body as he shook and the aching pain was too much as his voice hoarse from hours of calling your name, the heart wrenching wails echoing through the now empty hut…. With the realization that you were gone.

What was worse was that Ezra had no idea where you had gone too. No note. No secret messages you used to write to each other. Nothing. Gone. As if you vanished out of thin air….

As the memories faded back into the recesses of Ezra’s mind and he was brought back to the present. Back to the empty tavern with him clutching his fists as he felt the tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Fuck. He thought to himself. Assassins do not fucking cry. Especially the Silver Scale of the Red Scales Assassin's Guild. He reprimanded himself.

“Kid, are you alright?" Asked a concerned voice. It took Ezra a moment to remember who he had been speaking with before he was…before he was pulled back into his unwanted memories. Ezra looked up out of his reverie to remember he had been speaking with Gev at the Boot and Shine tavern. His mind seemed to wander a lot these days. Which was unlike him to say the least. He could feel his mask slipping.

He could feel the vulnerability that he masked so well. The memories he made sure were locked behind doors never to escape. Buried along with memories of you. Memories he refused to relive, talk or even think about. But here he was once again for the third time that day slipping. Slipping into the abyss he refused never to go to.

“Yeah Gev, sorry I got lost somewhere in my memories. " Ezra replied putting back on his carefully masked stoicism.

“ I would say so. " Gev replies, looking Ezra up and down, not at all convinced he is fine. “ You were somewhere lost in Solara for a good 10 minutes. I could not seem to snap you out of whatever was holding you back. Are you sure you're ok kid?" Gev asks once more his protective fatherly instincts kicking in. “Because you look like shite and smell like it too." Gev says giving a small smirk. “You know you're always welcome to stay for the night in the inn. Why don't you stay Ez?" Gev suggests gently.

As expected Ezra shakes his nod no and politely declines as he stands up rising to his full height. He begins to put on his midnight blue cloak and wraps it around him as he straps his bow to his back and picks up his spear.

“Thank you for the offer Gev. " Ezra says as he finishes packing up his things “but I really need to find out more about this person or Anders will feed me to his hell hounds. Tell Evira and the boys hello. I'll be seeing you.” Ezra says as he makes his way to the wooden heavy doors of the tavern.

" Alright kid. Stop by whenever you can. You're always welcome here. But hey take care of yourself alright? “ Gev says as he walks Ezra to the door. Ezra simply nods and waves as Gev watches on in fear and concern. He cares for the young man. Like another son. He just hopes that whatever is stewing at the bottom of the pot won't consume Ezra.

As Ezra mounts his black stallion named Phantom, he pats his horse who is almost exactly like Ezra in personality. Except he is a horse. Ezra pats Phantom’s neck gently as he says to his horse soothingly in a deep rumble.

“ Let's go boy. Let's see what mischief we can cause today. " And for just a moment Ezra lets a small smile form on his face as he gently kicks Phantom's flanks and nudges him into a trot.

Before Phantom picks up speed to a steady gallop Ezra spots a beautiful sunrisa blooming that night. The same night on your birthday when you disappeared 10 years ago.

As Phantom gallops on at a steady pace, Ezra stares into the night sky as he silently vows to himself,

I will find you (MC.) You have my heart and I do not want it back until you're safely back in my arms. I will stop at nothing to bring you back home. To Solara. To me. Keep my heart safe. Everytime it beats, it beats for you.

[my-dumb-obsessions]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

Thank you for this! Well, 4 of the 5 are all part of the same series, Under Your Command, so while you should definitely read it in serial order here they are in order of how good I think they are 😅.

Familiar Roads, Forgotten Roads: Part 2 of the series, also the most recently written and I think I got better as I went along. This installment follows Nathaniel's joining into his first several weeks of Wardening, sorting out his feelings about his father, his fate, and this newfound friends. Big emotional roller coaster with action-packed fights in between quiet moments and Warden bonding.

Dream of the Archer: Part 1 of the series, and the second one I wrote, it's the first one told from Nathaniel's POV and he is going through it. From waking up alone in a dungeon cell to outrunning darkspawn to pledging his life to the Wardens, I felt I really nailed his voice writing it.

As the Sun Descends: the smutty one 😂. Part 4 of the series, Carie and Nate are officially together and get to have fun about it, while also getting sucked into the Fade. This one also has multiple fun fight sequences.

Silverite Moon: Part 3 of the series, it was the first one I wrote and has had some semi-significant revisions since writing the others. I especially loved writing about Cariane's history and early memories of her family, Nate being irresistibly romantic, and the little bits of Warden banter.

Fly Away: not a part of Under Your Command, but it takes place in the same timeline. This is my unfinished Anders & Velanna (Gen) shapeshifting fic. The last 2 chapters have a rough outline and I swear I'll come back to finish it someday. While I haven't touched it in over a year, each chapter is a self-contained little vignette. It's really cute, but I got scared when people started asking for more comedy right when it was about to get introspective.

[wendynerdwrites]

Chapter 6 of Dalish Ambition is coming soon. I had holidays, computer issues, and a bunch of personal stuff. Since I hate making people wait this long, here is the first part of the chapter. I find Vivienne intensely interesting. So here is her POV when she joins the Inquisition.

Art by @dr3adlady

~-~-~

Vivienne:

Opportunities are not things the First Enchanter wastes. Indeed, she has made her fortunes from recognizing and seeing them for what they are and choosing the right ones.

When she was first presented at the court of Orlais, for instance, Bastien was far from the only noble eyeing her as a mistress. After all, she was young, beautiful, and, as a mage of the Circle, unlikely to give them any bastards they’d have to tend to. While she loves Bastien passionately and did then, she’d have chosen another if circumstances were different. He had the highest level of power and rank among her suitors, yes, but it went beyond that. He did not expect her to be a prized pet to entertain his guests and warm his bed. He was delighted by her ambitions and interests in politics. While other nobles fretted and feared supporting a mage becoming a powerful member of the court, Bastien delighted in it.

When she was offered the post of Imperial Court Enchantress, she realized that the position had been wasted. Her predecessors allowed themselves to become glorified jesters for comfort and security. She knew she could turn it into something great: and she did. 

That filthy little woods witch may have come along and stolen her position out from under her, but Vivienne knows she can find a way back, and perhaps even higher than she was before. Truth is, she became too complacent in recent years. She’d allowed Fiona to become Grand Enchanter, for one. At the time, Vivienne saw the advantage of it. She wasn’t of sufficient rank yet to be elected herself, but if Fiona ascended, her spot as First Enchanter would be Vivienne’s for the taking. On top of that, it was a position that she could hold alongside the place she’d made at the Empress’s side. Despite her issues with Fiona, she felt it would do no good to be seen as quarreling with her superior at Montsimmard. 

Now she knows she should have put Bastien’s resources at work and quietly undermined her. This whole “Rebellion” is a predictable disaster. Not just for her, but for all mages and the people of Thedas. If Vivienne had been Grand Enchanter when Kirkwall’s disaster happened, she’d have steered the Circles to deal with the problem in an effective manner that didn’t involve staining entire fields with blood. She’d have worked with the Templars she knew to weed out the corruption and abuse and established standardized rules for every Circle. She’d have made sure the filthy apostate Anders was executed in short order. 

The problem wasn’t the Circles. The problem was that there weren’t properly enforced standards. But instead of fixing the issue, Fiona and her malcontents have torn everything down. And what has it led to? Certainly not more freedom or welfare for mages! More mages have been killed in the last three years than any similar period since the Third Blight. On top of that, all too predictably, they’re losing the war.

And what happens after? When they’ve lost. She’s had nightmares about it. Of her and her people being held down, the Rite forced upon them. Of children being made Tranquil when their magic manifests. There was some foul Templar lunatic in Kirkwall who proposed making all mages tranquil to Meredith and Justinia. Even Meredith rejected that proposal. And of course Justinia did. 

But now? After years of mages running rampant and setting fires? Justinia is gone. Who knows what the next Divine will decide after all of the chaos and bloodshed. 

Vivienne blames herself on some level. She got too complacent, too comfortable. She will not make that error again.

She’d counseled Celene to get Justinia to host the conclave. Justinia was wise, measured, good at getting people to trust her, and more ruthless than many gave her credit for. If anyone could resolve the issue, it was her.

Then the disaster happened. Unlike the Kirkwall one, this one was completely unpredictable. 

And of course with every proper institution in complete disarray, there was no one addressing the hole currently in the sky properly.

Another potential threat to Thedas, and one that would further damage the safety and image of mages. After all, one does not tear a hole in the sky without magic. No doubt the rate of abomination has risen even further. 

Which is why she started watching the Inquisition, the only group that seemed to care that the sky is ripping itself apart. 

The problem is, they’re a ragtag group with few resources and weak connections who have much working against them. The Chantry’s denouncement. Their lack of coin, resources, and people. The lack of political support. 

On top of that, their ace card, the person that can actually seal the rifts, the one now beng called ‘The Herald of Andraste’, is not only a Dalish elf, but an apostate.

The fact that she’s a mage could still be a great thing. If there’s anything the reputation of the mages need, it’s one of their own saving the world. But her apostasy causes problems. For all Vivienne knew, she could be a blood mage. Vivienne’s knowledge of the magical traditions of Dalish clans is limited, though not for lack of effort. 

When she joined the Knight-Enchanters, she of course knew that the roots of their techniques were in Elven magic. She’d scoured every resource at her disposal to try and learn more. But even the mages she knew of Dalish origin didn’t know much: the whole reason they ended up in a Circle in the first place was because they were ousted from their clans as children when their magic manifested. They were never taught Dalish magic, and their “Keeper” and “Firsts” kept such arts to themselves. 

She knows that the leaders of each of the clans, the Keeper, is always a mage, and that their heirs, the Firsts, are as well. But the Dalish are intensely secretive, especially towards any sort of organization associated with the Chantry. What reports and accounts she did find were often either contradictory or not particularly credible. It was hard to find a written account of Dalish elves that didn’t insist on some nonsense about drinking the blood of infants or sexual rituals.

The Dalish clearly had a system secure enough to make their mages reliable and trustworthy leaders to their people. For those allowed in the system anyway. 

So, while it was more than possible that the Herald wasn’t an apostate in the worst sense, whatever magic she does practice would possibly be abominable to most of Thedas. And that could be a serious problem.

The fact that she’s a Dalish elf in general is a problem. How could someone sent by The Maker be a person who doesn’t even believe in the Maker? Vivienne may know little of Dalish magical traditions, but everyone knows the Dalish worship a pantheon of elven Gods. Being an elf is enough of a trial - all of them are subject to appalling bigotry outside proper Circles. But the Dalish ones are seen as nothing more than mad savages and heathens. 

From what Vivienne herself has gleaned, the truth of that varies from clan to clan. One former Dalish she knew said her clan used to kill any human who came near on sight and abandoned her in the woods at age seven for being a mage. Another said his clan were merely cautious around humans and traded with any friendly visitor. When his magic manifested, his clan sent him directly to the Montsimmard Circle with an escort. His clan surrendered him on the condition that he be allowed to contact them on at least a weekly basis. Then there was the famed Clan Sabrae, who offered invaluable aid to the Hero of Ferelden and King Alistair during the Fifth Blight. 

Not that these facts often register to the public at large. The Dalish are all the same sort of heathen monsters in the eyes of most. 

A Dalish mage as a prophet and savior is a hard sell, pure and simple.

But the Inquisition and its Dalish mage were the only ones seemingly doing anything useful and the only ones with the right priorities. And, even better: before long it became clear that they were able to be quite effective with what limited resources they had. 

So, when word came that the Inquisition and its Herald were visiting Val Royeaux to try and treat with the Chantry, Vivienne headed to the city herself to observe.

She did not make her presence known, of course. Vivienne knows better. If people saw her there, they’d start making bets on which faction she supported. And she could not have that. The combination of the rebellion, the loss of her position at court, and Bastien’s ill health have put her in too precarious a position for her to allow such speculation. No, she insists on controlling the narrative. No one will guess her position. She will decide and declare it.

So she dressed in regular nobility costuming, went under the name Madame la Croix, and watched the Inquisition encounter Mother Hevarra and Lord Seeker Lucius from a table at a cafe overlooking the Summer Bazaar. 

Before the audience even concluded, she sent one of her apprentices down with an invitation to her upcoming salon. 

It’s been a much easier decision than she anticipated. If the Inquisition seemed useless, she had another plan of course: mobilize the loyal mages to deal with the Breach themselves. But that would have been far more dangerous and possibly ineffective. After all, the only one with the gift to close rifts is the Inquisition’s Herald. Before her own mages might even be able to act, they’d have to find a way to recreate the Herald’s Mark themselves, something that might not even be possible.

Thank the Maker, she has been spared that struggle.

She watched the Herald speak, not only to the Mother and Lord Seeker, but to the crowd. And she performed beautifully. Her clan is clearly not one of the savage ones, for she spoke with patience, eloquence, and with an eye towards human sensibilities. She adorned herself not as an aspiring noble or a fierce warrior, but as a regular young woman. The people of Val Royeaux like elves to be humble. And while there was no meekness in the Herald, she made sure to insist that she doesn’t claim to be of the Maker, but simply an elf trying to help. She did so while calling out the embarrassing and pathetic conduct of her opponents, in some ways voicing the fears of the crowd around her. 

By the time it was over, various city dwellers who had been shunning the Inquisition minutes prior were approaching them. They are desperate, and while Seeker Pentaghast seemed gruff and intimidating, the Dalish woman was welcoming and kind. She did not seem threatening at all.

Which, of course, makes her all the more effective an opponent.

Vivienne has no intention of being the Herald’s opponent. The woman is a delight.

Not that she intends for tonight to merely be an offering of services. Not at all. 

First of all, she will be able to hasten things to get the Breach sealed. Those holes in the sky must be sealed with as much speed as possible. The more demons that are spit out, the more perverted magic is allowed to stick around, the more likely it is that they’ll all die horribly. And it will be because of magic.

She can offer the Inquisition much that it is lacking. And in return, she will be the first advocate for the Inquisition among the Orlesian nobility. And when the Inquisition saves the world, everyone will know her as the genius who saw the writing on the wall when the Chantry and even the palace floundered. People will see the loyal mages of Thedas as a vital part of the solution to all they fear. With her, the Inquisition will grow in influence, and her own clout will grow with it. 

They’ll likely be able to get this rebellion under control once their power rises enough. And no doubt, the leader of the Loyal Mages will rise. Fiona the malcontent will be disgraced, and who should take her place then?

Vivienne sits at her dressing table and stares in the mirror. She hasn’t put her mask on yet. There are faint lines around her eyes. She minds them more than she really should, and more than she did before. What are wrinkles to all the chaos around her? 

She’d started acquiring them a few years ago, when she was still Court Enchantresss, at the height of her influence, before the rebellion. Before Bastien’s gait and posture changed, when he could still outride men half his age. And when those wrinkles first started showing, Vivienne had actually been delighted. She felt it made her look more dignified and wise. Some liked to dismiss her as a pretty face despite her prodigious gifts. So embracing signs of age would be a statement of power for her. On top of that, she liked the idea of matching Bastien a little more. 

But now, Bastien is wasting away. And she is weaker than ever.

Vivienne puts her mask on.

I am not weak, she reminds herself, I am merely at the beginning of my greatest challenge. I am still as strong, as beautiful, as talented, and more clever than I ever was. After all, tonight I won’t just start my newest rise, I’ve even found time to attend to another problem.

And that does make her smile a bit. Tonight, the Herald will not only ally with her, she’ll help Vivienne dispose of that waste of exsAlphonse. 

It was Alphonse who created the faction to support Morrigan’s ascension. It was he who got that wild apostate her first invitation to court. It was he who formed a faction in favor of Morrigan becoming the new Court Enchantress. They undermined Vivienne at every turn, whispering that with the Mages in rebellion, she was the delusional adherent to a bygone, failed institution. 

It was his revenge for the time Vivienne informed his aunt of his “hunting trips.” It was far from the only time he’d embarrassed the Viscomtesse, far from the only time he’d ended up being punished, and it was something his aunt would have discovered anyway. Still, the little shit became determined to destroy everything Vivienne worked for.

Now, it is time for her revenge.

It was fairly easy to arrange this. She’d started corresponding with Solange again, and brought up the Herald and the Inquisition. Lady Mont-de-Glace was neutral to positive in her opinion thus far. Vivienne merely altered one of her letters to read as if she thought the Herald was a heretic. Then she left said altered letter where Alphonse would find it.

The Marquis is on the brink of being completely disowned, so of course he immediately wrote to Vivienne asking to attend the salon that the Herald would attend. Alphonse is foolhardy, has all the subtlety of a terrified chicken, and is desperate to make some bold, heroic statement to get in his aunt’s good graces. He’s also dishonored and shamed, cast from the chevaliers. He wants to regain what he thinks of as honor. Now, all Vivienne has to do is wait.

There’s a knock on Vivienne’s door. Her lady’s maid enters. “Madame, the Herald has been spotted near the gate.”

Vivienne smiles and rises from her dressing table. She pauses before her full length mirror to smooth out her gown and make sure her hat is on straight. Everything shall be perfect. 

She waits and observes from the upper hall. She cannot come out at once. She has to wait until the Marquis embarrasses himself. But she makes herself invisible and goes to the rail overlooking the entrance hall to watch as the Herald enters. 

“Lady Lavellan, on behalf of the Inquisition.” 

The elven woman enters, donning the same blue and white dress that she wore in Val Royeaux, though she has acquired a beautifully crafted silvery white jeweled belt. She looks less fine than the guests, but that’s a good thing. The nobility here find her a fascinating curiosity. All of her mystique could be blown if she was seen as trying to dress like them.

She chats with Baroness de Poir and Lord Devereaux when she enters. Vivienne arranged that too. Both are obsessed to the point of girlish enthusiasm about the Inquisition. Talking to them will undoubtedly make the Herald more comfortable, and it will piss Alphonse off more. 

Right on time, the Marquis charges over. To her delight, he has brought his flashiest rapier - something NOT allowed in any proper party. That’s all the justification she needs to disgrace him, but he’ll go the extra mile to make sure that she will be justified to do whatever she wishes.

“The Inquisition! What a load of pig shit!” He announces, sneering. He crosses the marble floor as he continue to rant. “Washed-up Sisters and crazed Seekers! No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power!”

Vivienne will now enjoy destroying him even more. 

The Herald reacts calmly. “That’s not true. I’m just searching for Divine Justinia’s killer.”

“Of course you are. I’m sure your army is out scouring the hills for her murderer as we speak.” Now he walks up to her, closing the distance between them by inches. Vivienne almost squeals. She drops her invisibility and goes to the top of the steps, marking sure her gown is smooth once more - must look perfect. 

The Marquis continues. “If you were a woman of honor, you’d step outside and answer the charges.”

It’s when he reaches for the blade strapped to his back that she freezes him in place and descends.

“My dear Marquis. How unkind of you to use such language in my house… to my guests. You know such rudeness is… intolerable.”

He reached for his blade with an attempt to attack her guest unprovoked. Ettiquette practically demands his head. She, of course, must leave that to the discretion of the injured party, but she does get to play potential executioner. She walks up to him and unfreezes his mouth.

The panic erupts in both his eyes and his voice. 

“Madame Vivienne! I humbly beg your pardon!”

It’s not my pardon you need to beg, you twit. She is adoring this. His life is in not only her hands, but at the mercy of a Dalish elf. For a scoundrel like him, that’s torture. And even if he lives, he knows life will not be kind to him. Even if his aunt loathes the Herald, she would not abide by this choice of venue and breach of etiquette. It’s a disgrace.

The last one.

“You should. Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” She makes sure he can see the cold satisfaction in her eyes. Then she turns to the Herald.

“My lady, you are the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Lady Lavellan cocks her head and crosses her arms. “I think the Marquis has seen the error of his ways.”

Vivienne grips his jaw briefly before undoing her magic - slowly. “By the grace of Andraste, you have your life, my dear. Do be more careful with it.”

By that, she means never trouble her again. Judging by how Alphonse flees, he got that message.

Vivienne turns back to the Herald. She’s pleased the Herald spared him, and not just because Alphonse has a life of ruin and likely far more awful death waiting for him now. She’d predicted the Herald would do so, and she likes being right. This is a woman who understands that showing mercy at this point is good for her. Now, more nobles will speak of her employing Andraste’s mercy. How she will not even harm someone who threatened her.

“I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering,” Vivienne says, utterly sincere, “I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

She gestures to Lady Lavellan to join her in a quiet spot away from the other guests. They stand by a window overlooking the chateau’s hedge maze. From this vantage point, one can see the extravagant gilded fountain at the center. The entire chateau screams wealth, but the maze screams it the loudest. 

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle and Enchantress to the Imperial court.”

The elf glances back toward the entry hall. She bobs a curtsey. “Charmed, Lady Vivienne.”

Oh, she’s adorable. Her manners are actually quite exemplary, but she displays them without the same old haughtiness that Vivienne is used to. 

“Ah, but I didn’t invite you to the chateau for pleasantries.”

The Herald seems to take this to heart, as she asks, “Is that Marquis going to pose a problem?”

Vivienne suppresses a smile. A good opportunity for her to display her political acumen, and some of her worth. “His aunt is the Viscomtesse of Mont-de-Glace. Not a powerful family, but well-respected. And very devout. Alphonse will be disowned for this. It’s not the first time he’s brought his aunt disgrace, but I’m sure it will be the last. And after such a public humiliation, I expect he’ll run off to the Dales to join the empress’s war effort. Either to make a good end or to win back a modicum of self respect.”

“I see. I thank you for your defense. To be honest, I was surprised by your invitation. I would have never expected to be so well received by a woman of your stature.”

I’m sure, Darling. It’s something the elf will no doubt remember and continue to appreciate. “But of course, my dear. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it is only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

The Herald receives this information with careful deliberation. “You say you lead the last loyal mages of Thedas. Loyal to whom?”

She expected this question, and practiced her answer. She is an apostate, after all. “To the people of Thedas, of course. We have not forgotten the commandment, as some have, that magic exists to serve man. I support any effort to restore such order.”

Vivienne hoped that it would be left at that, but the woman is shrewd. “So you’re in favor of returning mages to the Circle, then?”

But she has an answer prepared for that, too. “Where else can mages safely learn to master their talents? We need an institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows, magic will find neither on its own.”

She does not press further. Instead, she asks about the Chantry. “Are you devout? What’s your opinion of the Chantry?”

An institution that is in dire need of being saved, and keeps turning up its nose at chances for salvation. She is careful with her answer. Dalish elves have little love for the Chantry for obvious reasons. “I was a great admirer of the late Divine Justinia V. The Chantry, at its best, unites the disparate cultures of Thedas and looks after its most vulnerable.” Vivienne pauses for a moment, trying to reel in the disappointment in her voice, “but had she lived, Justinia could have accomplished so much.”

Lady Lavellan nods solemnly. “Well, since I’ll be asked: What exactly can you do for the Inquisition?”

Vivienne doesn’t get offended. Indeed, she likes the opportunity to list her talents and accomplishments. “I am well-versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire. I know every member of the Imperial Court personally. I have all of the resources remaining to the Circle at my disposal. And I’m a mage of no small talent. Will that do?”

“Does that mean you’ll be aiding the Inquisition from the Imperial palace?”

She has no interest in returning to court now and watching that woods witch swan about court with her title. But she doesn’t say that. “Ordinarily, I would be happy to serve as a liaison to the court, but these are not ordinary times. The veil has been ripped apart, and there is a hole in the sky. It is now the duty of every mage to work toward sealing the Breach, and so I would join the Inquisition on the field of battle.”

The Herald smiles. “The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne.”