#that was a fun nest of vipers I had my hand in for a hot second

[girlwholovesherwords]

Reading the article about the HIV research breakthrough. Reading the comment from the Oxford HIV guy at the end ungraciously saying “it’s not that big”.

Oh boy the things I could say about Oxford’s HIV research. RIP my husband who got half an hour of chat he’s heard before.

[endlessmidnightcreates]

Finally was able to finish the character sheet of my girl, Opal Skai for my most recent DND campaign. It's going super well so far!

Can you see all the lil notes I made, I had a lot of fun doing those :3

Here's the low down on her below the cut

She is a Fire Genasi Druid who is all smarts and like 2% fight despite her ferocious appearance (some would say). She is sometimes seen smoldering or glowing. But she is a Huge Nerd and Babygirl and a bit odd.

Opal is a Bookshop Keeper in Baldur’s Gate. Even though the town is regarded as a nest of vipers, she values knowledge and community and takes pride in the family library/store that she runs with her mother. People around it respect her and the store and it’s seen as neutral ground and is both used for gang negotiations and occasional toddler reading circles, sometimes in the same day. 

She Spends 50% her time in the store, 30% in nature and doing #HotDruidShit (like hot girl shit but with druids) and then the other 20% vibing. She’s quiet, but not shy and actually quite talkative when the moment is right (someone asks her a question about a book–or she’s drunk). She will talk and say hi and bye to people on the street. When it comes to fighting, she prefers not to but that won’t stop her from slapping a bitch (with her hand or staff). But like she reeeeally prefers not to (int. modifier Is -1). Mainly cus she’s Genasi and she is mostly untrained so she would rather not kill someone. But she’s capable.

More Deets

Occupation: 

She owns a small bookshop specialty store. Well, technically it belongs to her mother, but it will go to her once she retires or dies (god forbid).

Denizens of Baldur’s gate can get a wide range of books and scrolls as well as several common herbs and spell components. Everything from eye of newt to various animal bones. She partly keeps it stocked with her own foraging as well as having a supplier and an elderly mother (human npc) who watches over the shop and manages logistics. She manages the front of shop. Having read all the books and catalogued everything in the store, she has begun to work on her every-expanding growing “To buy” list that consists of various rare books and magical items. 

She has started to take on minor mercenary/adventurer jobs to build up capital. There are expensive texts and components in Elturel that she wants to get her hands on. These jobs have ranged from delivering 20 rabbit pelts to serving court papers in creative ways (read: transforms into a cat and tricks them into letting her in). Though, for some of the more rare artifacts, she figures, the easiest way is to tag along with one of the many Adventuring parties in BG to gather information on its whereabouts. 

Class: Druid

Why is she a druid. Druidism runs in the family. Opal’s mother and a few aunts and uncles are and were druids. Her grandmother was as well. It was only natural that Momma Opal taught the ways to her flaming baby. But Opal was resistant to the lifestyle as a young one. The spells, the philosophy, heck, being around leaves as someone whose average body temperature could easily reach 300°C made it difficult for her to find the value of the practice. She figured that blacksmithing would be more useful. Being a Druid helps her live more in harmony with the energies and elements that swirl around in her blood. She’s a valued member of the Druid Community in Baldur’s Gate because she’s just a cool gal, but also because she has helped many a druid get lava flowers (a flower that grows inside volcanoes)[i also literally just made that up] 

Combat 

Opal has only ever unwillingly killed once. She was on one of her many quests. She was an ox, lugging a massive stag carcass behind her. Bandits attacked her and she fought them off, maiming a few and kiling one instantly. The others escaped. She went straight home, fleeing the scene. That was the first time she had ever been attacked. She was rarely provoked or approached in human form because of her stature. But as an ox, people didn’t recognize or fear her. She missed a big payday that day. She doesn’t know if they survived or not. She tries not think about it often. 

Fighting and killing are not things she often does. She’s the type of gal to grab a spider and let it outside rather than smush it. But– She CAN do it. She CAN fight (in humanoid form) and she CAN and WILL hurt someone if they hurt or try to hurt her. She will turn into what the situation needs and act accordingly - need to make a quick getaway? HONSE. Need to serve court papers? KITTY. Need to slap a bitch? HUMANOID

She will not attack unless provoked physically. Her moral code is fuck around and find out but reeeally hopes that they don’t have to find out, cus she doesn't know herself tbh.

Childhood:

Opal doesn't know much about her Genie father’s side, though he comes to visit often enough from the elemental plane. She also has a way to contact him whenever she wants.

She has 12 aunts and uncles who are scattered throughout the country, quite a few of them are druids and frequent their local bogs while the others reside in normal villages and have average families and lives. Opal has ALOT of cousins.

She has an aunt and uncle who live in other parts of Baldur's gate. they sometimes take shifts at the shop. All of them contribute to building the shop’s library and maintaining goods. Her aunt is an adventurer while her uncle is a cook at a tavern.

Religion:

She believes in the spirit of nature. Thus she tries to respect it whenever she has the opportunity. Aside from that, she tries to be respectful of everyone else’s gods, except the evil ones (like bal) or the ones that expect an unhealthy blind devotion. She’s not a devout worshiper. Prays on occasion to the universe but other than that, she focuses on her own actions.

[imaginepirates]

Pirate

For the anon who wanted a James x reader where they meet on the Pearl, but James doesn’t have the guts to admit that he’s falling for them. Later, (we’re pretending his death didn’t happen), they meet again at Shipwreck Cove, and James confesses his feelings during the battle on the Dutchman.

@emdrabbles​ @tesserphantom​ @paljonkaikenlaista​ @viper-official​  @hellspawn-brownies​ @groovyfluxie​ @wordsinwinters​

~3760 words. Long again. 

~~~~~~~

           His hair hung in wet strings around his face. Whether they were matted together with water, alcohol, or vomit, you weren’t sure you wanted to know, though you suspected it to be a mixture of all three. A guard rail was all that kept him upright. He was a disaster, even for a pirate. Not that he’s a pirate, either.

          The former Commodore looked a wreck. You would be, too, you supposed, if you’d drunk yourself into complete oblivion. And someone needs to take away that damned wig. Currently, it sat on his head much like some bird’s nest, and you half-expected a gull to land in it at any moment. Pity mingled with your disgust. There had been a time when his name alone had struck fear into you. Now, he was a pathetic image, unable to do so much as hold himself up on two feet. He couldn’t strike fear into a fly.

          You were a bit surprised that Elizabeth, of all people, showed him no sympathy. Even Jack looked a bit repulsed, which was saying something, given that Jack himself was never in a prime state. He staggered upright, puking over the side of a railing.

          You sighed, walking brisky over, snatching the wig off the top of his head and tossing it overboard. He looked up at you through bleary eyes.

          “What the bloody hell was that for?”

          “You look awful.”

          “Thank you for your astute assessment.” Even drunk, his tone dripped sarcasm, and you were a little surprised.

          He’s still in his wits, then. You looked him over again. Somewhat. “You look marginally less awful without the wig.” He grunted. You grabbed the bottle he was holding, too, and threw it over the side.

          “Now that’s just a waste.”

          “You need to sober up.”

          “And who exactly are you, that it’s your job to police me?”

          “You’re embarrassing, is all, and it’s no good to be embarrassed by crewmates.”

          He snorted. “You should write to the admiralty. That sort of thinking would have spared me many of my own crewmates throughout the years.” He stared down into the waves, where his water-clogged wig had begun to sink under the surface.

          “Well, you don’t want to be that person, do you?”

          “At this point, I don’t particularly care.” His wig finally lost the battle, disappearing into the murky depths.

          “Have some pride.”

          “Pride?” He pushed himself up, looking coldly into your eyes with his own. “I’ve lost my title, I’ve lost my station, I’ve lost my livelihood. I have no house, nor family, nor friends. I’ve lost everything I ever held dear, including the woman I love, because despite being with her,” here he gestured with his chin to where Elizabeth stood at the helm, “I’m further from her than ever before. Now please, tell me again why I should have pride.”

          If you were being honest with yourself, it was hard to give him an answer. “You still have your life, and for however little that’s worth right now, things could be worse. You could be dead. Take pride in the fact that you didn’t let things get that far.” He scoffed, but you continued. “Go clean yourself up; splash some water on your face, and do something about the vomit in your hair. Things can get better. Clean up, and you’ll be one step closer.”

          He looked at you then, a vulnerability in his eye that wasn’t there before. Hope. He stalked off then, stumbling a bit, but trying admirably to, supposedly, follow your advice.

          Norrington carried out his tasks admirably and without complaint, no manner how demeaning for a man of his previous station. He was watched with suspicious eye; but why wouldn’t he be? He had been a ranking officer, after all, and an effective one at that. Too many pirates had been lost to his scouring of the Caribbean. Just how far can you trust a member of the navy, former or otherwise?

          The way he looked at Jack’s compass didn’t escape your notice. He knows. “Not thinking of stealing it, are you?” His neck craned to look up at you from his position kneeling on the deck, a wet cloth in hand. He stopped his scrubbing to glare.

          “I’m not a thief.” He looked back down, returning to his task.

          “You are a pirate.”

          His head whipped up at that, jaw working in annoyance. “I’m not a bloody pirate,” he hissed.

          “Then what the hell are you doing here? Top secret mission? I’m surprised you were chosen; I wouldn’t believe your fall from grace if I weren’t here to see it myself.”

          Norrington was showing clear restraint, obviously wanting to hit you with something. You watched him breifly consider using the wash-rag as a projectile before deciding against it.

          “Commodore Norrington. That was a name to fear, once.”

          The ferocity in his eyes vanished, replaced by sadness, his gaze dropping from yours. “I haven’t been that man in months. I never will be again.”

          “Good.” He shot you a questioning look. “It’s no use to be afraid of you. And, if what I hear from Elizabeth is true, you might learn to have some fun and not be so stiff all the time.” Offence flashes across his face, but you only smiled. “I blame high society. Welcome to freedom, James Norrington. I hope you get a taste for it.”

          He turned to look out over the steadily changing horizon, a soft pink beginning to dust the sky. “So do I.”

          The days wore on, and the crew steadily adjusted to James’ presence. He no longer ate alone, though he ate in silence, and the crew was more willing to interact with him. Elizabeth, you noted, had barely paid him any mind since his arrival. How she could be so callous towards him you didn’t know; you had expected her to at least talk to him, but she barely even looked his way.

          Not that he didn’t look hers. His gaze would fall upon her, sometimes, while he worked, and there was a sadness there that tugged at your heart. He was confused, too, as to her treatment of him. He wanted, more than anything, to be close to her. Even if she could treat him like a friend. But she refused to give him even that much.

          You were tired of watching it. “Come on,” you walked up to him, “let’s do something about that hair.”

          “You haven’t grown tired of telling me what to do, have you?” he drawled. He was propped against a railing, eyes following Elizabeth as she walked across the deck above them. With Jack, you noted. So, it seemed, did James.

          You sighed. “It can only get in the way, hanging down by your face like that.” You turned away, heading down belowdecks. He needs to get away from watching her.

          James followed, pushing off the railing and heading after you. Good. You found a spot with a few barrels—full of apples, you assumed; you never had gotten rid of all of Barbossa’s cargo—that would be suitable for sitting on. You motioned for James to do just that, moving behind him.

          You found yourself at a loss for words. What was there to say? You had little in common, and less that wouldn’t bring back poor memories for him. You kept silent, instead running your fingers through James’ hair. It’s longer than I expected, for a naval man. I wonder if he always kept it like this, or if it was close-cropped, once.

          “What exactly are you doing?” He turned his head a little to look back at you.

          “Braiding.” You separated his hair into three parts, beginning to twine the strands together.

          You expected him to ask you why, or to move away, but he stayed put. “I haven’t worn my hair in a braid since the navy.” It was almost a whisper. Somehow, in the low light of the hull, it seemed appropriate.

          You almost pulled away and apologized, but he went on. “I used to braid it to fit it under that damned wig. It could get so insufferably hot in the sun, though I was always glad to have the hair off the back of my neck. I don’t know how Elizabeth ever managed, in those dresses.” A soft smile sat on his face. “How did any of us manage, back then?”

          You knew he wasn’t speaking of the heat. You tied his hair off with a small strip of ribbon from around your wrist. It was interesting, to see something of yours on him, and you stared at it a moment before moving. “You’ve always kept your hair this long, then?” You moved to a barrel across from him.

          “For years. My mother hated it.” He smiled. “She told me it would be easier if I just cut it off.”

          “Good thing you didn’t.” He looked at you curiously, and you felt yourself beginning to flush. “It suits you.”

          His eyebrows raised in surprise. Even in the dim light of the lanterns, you could see his cheeks turn pink, the color extending down into his collar. You sat in awkward silence a moment, James fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves while you looked down at the black deck. “A name to fear, you said.”

          James was still toying with the cuff on his left wrist when you looked back up. “I think I like you this way better.”

          “I’m not sure I do.”

          You got up, moving to a barrel next to his. “I’d rather not fear you.” You grabbed his hand, taking it gently away from its fiddling. He scanned your eyes. “Like most people, you aren’t as terrifying as the stories make you sound.”

          “I never thought of it that way.”

          “That you struck fear, even into the best of us?”

          “I…” he trailed off. “It seems so ridiculous, that anyone feared me. I know I was good at my job—it was all I was good for.” He scoffed. “But I was so out of place in society…I always felt horribly awkward at all those social events. I was much more afraid of those people than they were of me.”

          “You were like…” you wracked your brain for a parallel. “You were told stories about Blackbeard when you were a child, right?”

          “Yes, of course. Upon reflection, I’m sure they were too dramatic to be true.”

          “That’s how you were to us. You were a reverse Blackbeard.” James laughed aloud at that. “I can’t even tell you how I pictured you. Larger, maybe. Older. And with a horrible, mean beard that took up half your face.”

          James smiled, and you found you quite liked the expression on him. “Am I as scary as the stories?”

          “Not even close. Though I’m sure I wouldn’t want to meet the business end of your sword,” you added.

          “Is Blackbeard as frightening as the tales?” James questioned. Then, more seriously, “Is Davy Jones?”

          You sobered. “Aye, he is.” You found that his hand was still in yours—he hadn’t pulled away. “But it’s mixed with disgust. He isn’t human, anymore. It can be revulting. And sad,” you said, upon reflection. “I can’t imagine; losing your humanity like that.”

          James said nothing, his eyes on your entertwined fingers. He ran his thumb over your knuckles. “Why do you talk to me?”

          You shrugged. “There’s no reason not to.”

          “That doesn’t seem to be the common belief.” He continued to rub gentle circles in the top of your hand. His fingers were calloused from years of hard work, but so were yours. He traced over your knuckles and each finger in turn. His brows furrowed. “It’s pity, isn’t it?”

          You could see how disgusted he was with himself. “Some, yes,” you admitted. “But you’re not half-bad to be around. This was…nice. I haven’t had a quiet moment with someone in ages.”

          He looked at you thoughtfully, using his free hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re not half-bad either, for a pirate.”

          You smiled, and he looked like he might say something more, but he stayed quiet, a soft smile of his own gracing his features. When he left, you knew he was in a better mood than when he came. I wonder if I’ll occupy any of the space in his thoughts that Elizabeth does. It was a silly thought, and you didn’t quite know why it came to mind, but there was a ghostly touch where James had brushed your hair aside, and you realized that you liked the idea of his thinking about you. Wishing for the attention of a naval man. Who would’ve thought?

~~~~~~~

          The news about Isla de Muerta came hard. You had been anxious the entire time, confined to the Pearl on the account that Davy Jones could make an appearance, and the ship would need to be crewed if he did.

          You weren’t prepared for the eventuality that James wouldn’t come back. You had worried, of course, wringing your hands with it, but you hadn’t actually thought…

          You kept your tears for him to yourself. Nobody else was bothered—not even Elizabeth. A man she’s known her entire life, dead, and she has no sorrow to show for it. How can she be so heartless? It was as if nothing had happened at all. The crew ignored it; they were used to that, you supposed. Half your number had been killed by cannibles, after all. But even Gibbs seemed unbothered by the prospect of James’ death.

          Only later did you realize that James had taken the heart. You didn’t believe it, at first, but slowly came to reconcile yourself with the idea. Elizabeth thought him a traitor. But was he ever really on our side? You thought back to your conversations with him. I like you this way better. It had been true. I’m not sure I do. That was true, too, and now he’d shown it.

          At first, none of it mattered to you. He was dead, anyway. Slowly, you began to realize that Jones didn’t have the heart. After all, he hadn’t quit pursuing the Pearl, even if you didn’t have the heart. When you learned that the heart was in possession of Cutler Beckett, damn his eyes, your heart leapt with joy. James is alive! No matter the mood of Jack, or Gibbs, or Elizabeth, or the crew, you could only think of James. He wasn’t killed, then. He used the heart as leverage to secure his old position.

          You pondered the thought. If ever you met him again, would you be afraid? Or would you just be sad?

~~~~~~~

          Shipwreck Cove was just as you’d remembered it. Dimly lit, ships stacked one on the other, whispered conspiracies in every corner. Every sailor’s legend had its place in these ships. There wasn’t a legend that hadn’t been speculated within the fortress, and not a pirate who hadn’t chased them without.

          You had fond memories of the Cove, but less fond memories of the Court. The Brethren Court convened on only the deepest of issues, and you still remembered some of their gatherings from when you were a child. It was loud, and there was no order, and the Court couldn’t meet without at least one death per session.

          It was that way now. Jack toyed with the swords stuck in the globe at the front of the room while the other pirate lords surrendered the miscellaneous junk they deemed their pieces of eight. The end result was a dish full of random trinkets. Not that you didn’t understand; the idea that pirates obtained mass amounts of wealth was a myth. Most of the time, you barely had a shilling to your name. Working with Jack was especially non-lucrative, but it was certainly more entertaining.

          Jack’s hand strayed briefly to the piece of eight at his temple. “Might I point out that we are still short one pirate lord and I’m as content as a cucumber to wait until Sao Feng joins us.”

          “Sao Feng is dead.”

          You recognized that voice. You whipped around to see Elizabeth, clad in full Chinese armor, sword in hand. You smiled to yourself; she was always full of surprises.

          The best surprise, however, was the man standing at her side. You mouthed James’ name, and his eyes locked on yours. He stepped forward, as if to greet you, but you were interrupted by further discussion of the Court. He’s alive, and he’s here, and I never thought I would see him again. You glanced over your shoulder. And he’s in full uniform.

          The Court was chaos. Barbossa’s plan to free Calypso was not taken well by the others, and you couldn’t blame them. Your mind was preoccupied, focussing on the man somewhere behind you. You wondered if he had seen the relief in your eyes. Had he felt the same?

          A hand settled on your shoulder. You turned to see James, worried eyes staring into your own. He pulled you back, leading you out of the room.

          “James?” You felt your eyes beginning to water. “For the longest time, I thought you had died.” Your voice cracked, and you were unable to stop it.

          He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only reached out to you, pulling you into a firm embrace. “I’m so sorry.” His breath tickled your ear. “I’ve done horrible things.”

          You held tightly to the back of his coat. “I’m just happy to see you again.”

          He stepped back, pain blossoming across his features. “I know you can never forgive me, for what I’ve done. I can only hope you-”

          The doors behind you opened, and the Court flooded out. The consensus is war, then.

~~~~~~~

          The rain made it hard for you to keep a good grip on your sword. The Dutchman pitched and rolled under your feet, waves crashing rougly into the sides of the hull. Its mast, tangled with the Pearl’s, loomed above you, a towering dark figure in the haze of the monsoon.

          These damned fish people. The Dutchman’s crew fought more viscously than even Barbossa’s undead pirates. Who knew starfish could be so angry? You feared that their weapons, often tarnished and jagged, would catch on your own and leave you defenseless. I should’ve stayed on the Pearl. But there are fish people there now, too.

          At least you weren’t alone. Elizabeth and Will were with you, as was Jack, though he seemed to be having difficulties of his own. If you hadn’t been fighting for your life, you might have been more amused. You had lost sight of most of your crew mates. You were too focused on the eel-headed freak in front of you to give your fellows much thought. With your swords locked, you had no other way to grapple with the beast. It hadn’t occurred to you that the eel could elongate its neck, which was exactly what it did, arching forward to bite at your face.

          A moment later, the head lay at your feet, the slimy body collapsing beside it. James was there, sword in hand, looking at you with concern. That, or he’s squinting to keep the rain out of his eyes. You gave him a nod, stepping in closer.

          “There are too many of them. We’ll never get to them all. Some of them are coming right out of the walls!” You both looked around yourselves at the endless numbers in the Dutchman’s crew.

          “We only have to kill one.” James gestured towards the other end of the ship, where Davy Jones stood, lobster claw digging into the wood of the deck.

          “We don’t have the heart.”

          “But we both know who does.” James’ face was grim. “I should’ve stabbed it while I had the chance.”

          You grabbed his arm. “No. You would be just like Jones, then, bound to this ship for eternity. You’d have no humanity left.”

          “I’d be better than I am now.”

          The comment broke your heart, but there were too many enemies around for you to focus on it. You slashed at a shark-headed monstrosity before James pulled you in close, stabbing something just behind you. Now isn’t the time for blushing. But James was holding you tightly to his chest, and you heard him shoot another member of Jones’ crew.

          You hated to let go, but you had to duck under James’ arm to go after another, and another. Your back ended up pressed against James’, and you could feel each others’ heavy breathing.

          “I don’t think we’re going to make it out of this alive.” You had to shout to be heard over the thunderous racket. Between the rain, the gunfire, and the sharp clanging of swords, there was little room for words.

          “It doesn’t seem likely.”

          “You were trying to tell me something earlier.” Rain ran down your face in streams. “Now might be your only chance.”

          James put a hand on your shoulder, turning you around to face him. “I wanted to apologize, for it all. I hope you’ll accept it.”

          “Of course.” You grabbed the pistol from his side, leveling it at a creature behind his shoulder.

          “You didn’t deserve what I did.”

          You cupped his face with a hand. “I understand why you did it.”

          “You were the only one who treated me like a person, then, on the Pearl.” He had grabbed your arm, keeping you close. It occurred to you that you were both going to die like this, paying too much attention to each other and not enough to your surroundings. “I can’t…” James took a steadying breath. “I can’t help but love you for it.”

          You barely had time to process the words before his lips were on yours. Despite the storm, and the gunfire, and the clanging of swords—despite the knowledge that neither of you were going to make it out alive—the kiss was achingly tender, with so much softness and vulnerability that tears began to slip down your already soaked cheeks.

          This won’t be such a bad way to go.

          There was a sudden shuddering of the ship, and you and James had to cling to each other to keep upright. You looked up, only to find that the Pearl had broken away, her masts now untangled from the Dutchman’s.

          You tugged at James’ arm. “We have to go. I think the ship’s going under.”

          He nodded, and you found a loose line to swing over to the Pearl. The Dutchman sank not long after you hit the deck. The ship fell beneath the waves, sucked under by the storm.

          “We still have to face Beckett.” James looked out over the water to where the British armada was advancing.

          You could already feel some of the fight leaving you. How could you withstand an armada, when you’d barely defeated the Dutchman? “At least we have each other, now.”

          James looked down at you. “Yes.” He cautiously wrapped an arm around your waist. “And after? If there is an after.”

          You smiled teasingly. “I hope you don’t mind returning to piracy.”

          James smiled back. “I don’t think I’ll mind at all.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Crybaby.

Word Count: 1.5k

Pairing: Yandere!Bakugo/Reader

Synopsis: Your boyfriend has a savior-complex, and while you wouldn’t call yourself ‘sensitive’, you’re certainly not the most confident person around. What could go wrong?

TW: Emotional Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships, and Abuse of Power. 

You always felt like a voyeur, at these kinds of things.

You weren’t new to galas, events, glorified parties stocked with Pro-Heroes that were held for no other reason than to prove how rich and beautiful and charitable they all were. Hell, you’d met Katsuki’s stylist before his parents, and you’d like to think you’d gotten good at navigating the dark, confusing terrain people like him treated like a second home. You were comfortable here, but you were still cautious. You were one of them, but you weren’t. You were surrounded by heroes, suffocated by heroes, but that didn’t make you a hero.

You were a sheep among wolves, a hare in a nest of friendly, smiling vipers. You doubted they would attack, but you still made an effort not to look more edible than you had to.

Currently, you were using a tall glass of something red, cherry flavored, and still partially on fire as an excuse to put a hair’s width of distance between yourself and the rest of the party, eager to get a breath of fresh air before you went back to ingratiating yourself with the professionally elite. You’d barely let yourself relax by the time your small reprieve was cut short, ripped away from you by a pair of arms that easily found their way to your waist and pulled you into a broad chest before releasing you, letting you turn around to face your aggressor on your own. You weren’t surprised to find Katsuki behind you, a grin painted across his lips and his hair attempting to free itself from his attempts to slick it back, but his eagerness caught you off-guard, coming as a shift away from his usual noncommittal disposition. You didn’t mind, though, only laughing as he buried his face in your neck, pinning you between his body and the bar’s counter as if there was no one around to gawk and stare. It was hard not to love him, in moments like that, when he treated you like you were the only other person in the world.

“You got lost,” He explained, as if you hadn’t been there when you made the mistake of wandering off, assuming you’d be able to find Katsuki or, more realistically, he’d be able to find you. It’d taken him a little longer than you’d expected, but if the ferocity of Katsuki’s greeting was a sign, he’d been far more affected by the time apart than you. “I thought I’d have to wait until you washed up in the parking lot before lugging your drunk ass home, again.”

“My ass is tragically sober, I’ll have you know,” You huffed, stringing your arms around his neck, letting him lift you onto the bartop without argument. He didn’t try to pull away, but even if he did, you wouldn’t have let him. You were content to use him as a rock, a means to ground yourself in the ever-swirling room. You weren’t drunk, but you wished you were, if only because an ungodly amount of alcohol might’ve helped you separate yourself from the noise, the heat, the faces you vaguely recognized but failed to put a proper name to, out of costume. It was hard not to let it overwhelm you at the best of times, and although you desperately, desperately wanted to think you’ve gotten used to moving through a world so separate from the one you were used to, no amount of discipline and familiarization would make you any less disoriented. It wouldn’t make you belong here. “Midoriya took care of me,” You said, rather than trying to contemplate your situation in any more depth. “He kept me out of trouble while you got to make it. It’s a crime, really, an injustice. If I didn’t like you so much, I’d be tempted to storm off again.”

He chuckled, straightening his back, but not pulling away. “You look awfully happy for someone who just spent the last two hours dealing with Deku’s bullshit.”

“What can I say?” You shrugged, fighting not to smile. Katsuki’s fingertips drummed against your side curiously, and you went on before you could think better of it. “It’s not every day your favorite hero volunteers to babysit you.”

You realized your mistake the moment the words were off your tongue, the implication of your bais. Reflexively, you pulled away from Katsuki, your hands dropping to the collar of his suit as you moved to correct yourself, but surprisingly, Katsuki’s grin only broadened, his stare sharpening, taking on something other than the bleary affection it’d contained before. “I won’t take it too personally,” He assured you, his tone anything but comforting. “I know how much Deku loves his fans. I didn’t think you like that kinda thing, though.”

Whereas his expression darkened, yours seemed to fade. Not falling away completely, but receding at the slightest hint of information you didn’t want to know, instead. You weren’t sure which response he’d been aiming for. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, it’s nothing you should have to worry your pretty little head over,” He started, in a voice that was more than enough to assure you that this was exactly the kind of thing you would worry your pretty little head over. “He’s just… affectionate, y’know? With civilians - his groupies, especially. I’m surprised you didn’t get the chance to see it for yourself. I figured you’d already been to one of his hide-outs, by now.” He paused, absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair, acting like he didn’t care whether or not you were paying attention. Acting like he didn’t know he was making a threat. “It’s funnier than you’d think. Sometimes, one of us will bring an extra for ‘im. No one special, of course, but Deku’s standards aren’t set too high.”

You felt yourself go still, and abruptly, you were aware of every place Izuku had touched you, every glance out of the corner of his eye, every time he stood a little closer than he had to or let his fingers brush against yours when he could’ve kept his hands to himself. He’d been nothing but polite, nothing but pleasant, but… Katsuki wouldn’t lie, would he? He didn’t have a reason to.

It wasn’t like he wanted to scare you, right?

“It’s a good thing you got yourself away from him,” Katsuki went on, his eyes following the shape of your jaw lazily, eventually settling on your mouth. “I hear he likes the sensitive ones, y’know? I’m sure he would’ve liked you, too, if he knew how much of a…” He trailed off, finally meeting your stare. “Well, I don’t have to say it, do I?”

He didn’t. As soon as he felt silent, something sharp and hot began to prick at your eyes, sparsely at first, but the jabs grew more violent the longer you failed to drive them away. In a second, your head was bowed, and you were conscious of just how crowded the venue was, of just how distant Katsuki had gotten. In two, you were rubbing at your eyes and biting your bottom lip, and in three, you were sobbing, not prettily and not gently and certainly not quietly, your stifled cries and heavy breaths earning a handful of coos and hums from Katsuki, a hand soon cupping the back of your head, encouraging you to bury your face in his chest and hide yourself away from the rest of the party, your reputation be damned. It wasn’t like it mattered, it wasn’t like you mattered.

You could disappear, and no one here would care. 

Katsuki was the only person who’d even notice you were gone.

You didn’t try to hold yourself back, not from him. You clung to Katsuki the way a shipwrecked sailor might cling to a liferaft, your fists balling around his jacket and wrinkling fabric you’d almost forgot you’d never be able to afford, not on your own. He gave you a moment to pull yourself together, to prove that you didn’t need the stability he provided, and when you failed to, Katsuki sighed, contented. When he spoke, he was nothing short of calming, soothing, tender. Ever the caretaker, albeit a caretaker you shouldn’t need. “It’s alright, baby. That’s why I’m here, yeah? I need to make sure you don’t get in over your head.” He pressed a slow, languid kiss into the top of your head, but the gesture was far from comforting. You had a feeling he wouldn’t try to pacify you, not so soon. “Let’s get you out of here, alright? I think you’ve had enough fun for one night.”

You nodded, weakly, letting Katsuki tug you onto your feet despite your unsteady legs. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, never daring to check if your muffled outburst had done any damage, nor did you try to reassure Katsuki or give any kind of verbal response, not when you already knew you’d be hushed and soothed into submission. You didn’t object, though. You didn’t have the right to.

Not when Katsuki always took such good care of you.

[scolopendress-tag]

Have some Asra n Muriel disorganized headcanons: animal themed!

Asra's most likely to answer quetzal if you ask for his favourite bird (he had a close up encounter with one his first time in nopal and had never seen a bird like it so it's a special memory), but he also appreciates all others. He also loves dart frogs and his favorite reptile would of course be perfect lavender angel baby fictional fantasy pythons. I'd also see him loving dragonflies as well.

He will see literally any animal generally and always say "they're one of my favourites!", though. It doesn't matter how many times he's said it that day or how many animals he's said it about. It's almost without fail he'll point one out and say it's a favourite.

One of his favorite animals is always the one in front of him Right Now, as a quick reference.

Plus, he loves to point animals out on travels or when out and about Vesuvia, so get used to hearing it!

He may attempt to catch critters occasionally too, or just pick them up, these will be mostly bugs usually. He just likes to cup moths in his hand on occasion and the watch them flutter out and I think he should be allowed to! Or just cradle bugs in his palm and watch them walk around for a bit. If it's a reptile or amphibian somewhere it could get stepped on or dried out or eaten he will still scoop them up and carry them to the brush.

[Cont. after cut]

Nothing he ever handles seems to get too upset or stressed, even when it's an animal that otherwise would. They just seem to be more relaxed if it's Asra who's touching them. Sometimes reptiles just come up to him (or even crawl onto his hand, as a few lizards have,) curiously enough. Though they may still refuse to be touched even then, they're notably not bothered by his presence when for others they'd run away. It's not something Asra's ever noticed to be odd, nor would it be overly noticeable to most people, but it's definitely something you can recognize if you pay attention.

Asra would also love to run on the beach sometimes, namely as a kid, maybe making himself invisible or otherwise undetectable until he's right up on a big flock of seagulls before giving them a hearty boo! And watching them all fly away all giggly. As an adult he may still stir up flocks for fun sometimes, or just to see how pretty it is to watch them all fly at once.

In general he just loves watching birds or bugs or whatever be it fly, always so effortlessly. Maybe he wishes he could fly himself. It certainly would make things easier he would come to think time to time growing up in Vesuvia.

Plus, he likes to collect the feathers that flutter down. Back when he sold masks, they were something he incorporated into them often. Then, too, he would also sit by the river after wearing himself out practicing hydromancy or what not, and a few times dragonflies would perch on him. He'd always gasp n grin all big and goofy when they did.

Muriel doesn't pick favorites really when it comes to animals (barring wolves and bears), but he does mirror Asra's 'one of my favourites' statements by saying "they're one of Asra's favorites," Occasionally.

While Asra's animal encounters or observations are typically brief, Muriel is more than content to just watch animals long periods of time. He can spot or at least know where to find some seriously elusive ones. The only one such animal Asra seems to have luck like that with seems to be foxes.

If you want to see an animal, local to the area around Vesuvia namely, Muriel can probably help you with that, granted he trusts you. This includes dens, hives, and nesting sites of course, things he will stop by occasionally in his forest to check on. His luck/skill in finding these things can't seem to be mimicked by even the most skilled animal trackers, you'd think they were practically just showing themselves to only him.

Muriel is also content to let animals do their thing and not interact with them much. Birds, butterflies and similar may land on him occasionally and he's always enchanted by it though, and will make no move to prevent an animal being on or touching him. Similar to Asra, he will also remove any animals in bad spots and put them somewhere better. He's a bit more effective at this though, as he tends to be looking down anyways, while Asra has probably smooshed a few pillbugs and snails before while doing his own thing- eyes elsewhere.

If Muriel did ever nerf a bug accidentally he would probably feel pretty damn bad, and if it wasn't reduced to a mere smear he would return its poor bug corpse to nature so that it might reclaim it. He'd get over it quick though if he was in a good mood prior, just give him a moment. If he was upset over something else already and he killed one, I could see it even pushing him to tears or rather making it worse if he was already at that point.

Asra would probably be like 'awh.... :( oof, I'm sorry lil guy...' and sweep it into nature if he could, but otherwise he would not be impacted too much.

Asra would purposely kill bugs on a few occasions even, pest bugs namely - like flies or mosquitoes or, of course, plague beetles. He may even instinctively lash out and flatten a bug that simply resembles a plague beetle enough, particularly if something had his anxiety or panic (ptsd trigger from the plague??) going. Otherwise plague beetle resembling beetles he'd be a little unsettled by, or uncomfortable to be around, but not enough to necessarily kill. He'd either move it somewhere else, try to scare it off, or move away from it. Muriel doesn't have many hang ups on plague beetle resembling bugs, though he would probably kill the real deal readily.

Any dead animals not in a wild area (like left in the city or on a road,) Muriel would move as long as it wasn't yknow. Too nasty. Birds that hit windows, starved or sickly scavengers, anything that dropped in a heatwave or was claimed by a flood, things like that, recent deaths. It pains him to see at all, but pains him more to leave them just.... There. Some he may bury, others he may leave out in places where there's animals he know will take it for food.

Injured or sick animals Muriel would try to help best he could, and he's successfully done it a few times. If it's blistering hot he'd also likely leave water out here and there for the animals of the forest, and he may enlist Asra's help with this to replenish water in natural water basins as well in droughts.

Muriel can handle animal death okay, hunting and fishing is a thing he does to some degree, it's just the preventable or senseless ones that hurt, it's worth saying here. It's just sad. He'll be okay after though, unless there's something more nefarious and upsetting at play.

Asra helping unwell/hurt animals would mostly consist of magic healing, but beyond that he wouldn't know what to really do besides bring it to Muriel or any animal experts near him. He doesn't come across these situations too often thankfully, though. Domestic animals he would take in more readily, and would let crash at the shop for a while if he can. If it's a livestock animal he'll ask if Muriel wants to take it in, or even in the case of an ownerless pet animal. If not, he can ask around. See if anyone wants a new dog or cat or... Goat. I just imagine those are the kinds of animals he's most likely to find in need, being in the center of Vesuvia.

Moving on from that....

Animal knowledge!

Asra likely doesn't know a ton about animals outside of ones that feature prominently in magic and myth, he's just good at identifying them and overall tends to appreciate their presence. Identifying animals can make for good pass times on long travels, or if he just sees something particularly neat he may simply want to know what to call it. He also probably learned most the common local Vesuvian species names growing up, probably through reading, though the bulk of his knowledge of the nature he grew up around is probably botanical- foraging can be dangerous! Plus, magic knowledge probably leans more heavily on plants than animals as well.

If Asra can't identify an animal, though, he will simply make up a name for it on the spot. If he finds out it's ID later he will still refer to it as his made up name followed by AKA/sometimes called/locally known as [real name]. He also tends to refer to tons of animals as the infamous, famous, legendary, revered, etc. Regardless of relevance, commonality or obscurity. He just thinks they all deserve such titles, and when has a little flair ever hurt?

"Ah, MC, look! It's an Abramesmerwhymsical Zadithi midnight-billed stilt-wader! Though it's sometimes also known as the famous crab-plover," Kinda shit. He enjoys it.

Muriel doesn't actually know the actual names of a ton of animals species. He knows of a few though, not to mention the Asra-given names that stuck with him. Despite not knowing their names sometimes still, he can tell most all species apart readily, and juveniles from adults, males from females, things like that. He watches animals of the forest regularly and is in tune with the local species life cycles, breeding or rearing seasons, migratory patterns, unique behaviors and everything else. Though his knowledge is probably limited to Vesuvian species, he's able to quickly pick up on other animal's traits and such when outside of Vesuvian territory, and is generally good with animals as is.

He knows what doves/pigeons and owls and vipers and mice and geckos etc are. He may not know that a specific species of such is called like, namaqua doves, omani owls, ocellated mountain vipers, cario spiny mouse, kotschy's middle-toed geckos n shit. It's not like he has NO idea, species names are weird and can be long winded so....

...He just doesn't know that dunnocks aren't actually called stripple-caped tseepers.

But he doesn't need to. <3

If he does learn the real names for them though, he is quite glad and will use the name readily. If you're looking at a Muriel who's in the city more, he will probably read up on this information himself, but otherwise he would of course treasure it if MC told him.

The only reasons he doesn't even know the names to begin with is mostly because the names you'll hear out and about most commonly only cover a fraction of species to start, and everything else youre mostly going to have to study via reading or classes. Neither of those seem to be things a young homeless Muriel would care to pursue lmao.

Annnnd

I forgot what else I was going to add and lost track so, I'll maybe add more later. I'll probably also amend this as I may find I don't agree with my own statements the next day and also I don't proofread so. I hope u enjoyed these feel free to add on or add differing opinions!

[rileymcdaniels]

Dear Winter, I hope you like your name.

@magicaltalents

“I promised Felicity that I would go with her and Sam today. Is that okay?” Eden nearly hops with excitement as she walks next to her papa, grinning up at him.

It’s the Harvest Festival, which is her favorite time of year and not just because her birthday was last week. Their town’s main thoroughfare is lined with vendors selling everything from apple candy and autumn beer to fine woolen clothing for the winter. There are entertainers of all kinds playing music and telling stories.

“Sure,” Papa says. “Here.”

Eden holds her hand out, surprised when two gold pieces are dropped into her palm. She beams. “Thank you!” she chirps, putting the money in her pocket for safekeeping.

“Don’t tell your mother,” he warns, but he’s smiling.

Eden giggles as Mama catches up to them, Eden’s little brother at her heels. Her brother is five and has recently decided to become very annoying, so she ignores him. Eden much prefers Alara, who is six months old and asleep in Mama’s arms. Eden goes up onto her tiptoes to peer at Alara’s face and kiss her round baby cheeks.

“Wait before you run off,” Mama says as she passes Alara to Papa, who cradles her with his arm.

Mama refastens Eden’s cloak as Eden stands still, impatient with excitement but obedient. “There,” Mama says as she looks Eden over. “I know you were disappointed we wouldn’t be able to stay as long as usual.”

“Alara’s too little,” Eden says, shrugging like she has never been bothered by anything in her life. “I don’t care.”

Mama smiles. “Your papa and I decided you’re old enough to stay a little longer. Be home before supper, alright?”

Eden bounces, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt, waving at her parents as she dashes off. Felicity and Samantha, twins with bright red hair, are easy enough to find, and together, the girls go off to enjoy the festival.

They split the cost of one of Miss Turner’s famously sized pumpkin pastries and eat it sitting on a bench near the blacksmith. With the rest of their money, Sam and Felicity buy real silk ribbons so the dresses they wear to the Chantry each week will not be so boring.

Eden does not need ribbons. She has never attended Chantry services in her life. And after last week, she isn’t even curious anymore. Eden’s palms itch as she thinks about watching her brother tumble out of a tree and the crackling energy that exploded from her hands to form a protective bubble around him so he hit the ground without a scratch on him.

Once the twins tuck their new ribbons into their pockets, Eden buys apple candy and hot apple cider for all three of them. She puts the handful of silver pieces she has left back into her pocket with her apple candy. Sam leads the way to a bard with the largest audience.

The bard is a stout human woman whose glorious textured curls fall down to her waist, and the bard begins a story just as they walk up.

Eden hears the story of the Inquisition and of Corypheus and of an end of the world that never came to pass that afternoon. It’s not the first time she has heard the story. She doesn’t remember the first time she heard it. She knows most of the names.

Seeker Cassandra is her Aunt Cassandra, who taught her to throw a punch when she was six. Magister Pavus is Uncle Dorian, and Eden makes a face to hear someone talk about him so seriously because Uncle Dorian is absolutely ridiculous. Eden has never deigned to call Uncle Bull The Iron Bull in her life. Her parents still do not know about the copy of The Viper’s Nest by Uncle Varric that she keeps under her pillow, and if her brother knows what’s good for him, they never will.

The archer with deadly aim – although the bard seems to knows more about the archer’s love for the Herald than anything else – is her mama.

And to her, the Lord Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, is just her papa.

But – the bard’s telling is not the story she knows. Her mouth tightens as she looks around and watches people’s faces. When the story is over, Felicity and Sam chatter excitedly, but Eden follows a step or two behind, head heavy with questions.

“Are you okay?”

Sam and Felicity are looking at her with concern.

“What? Oh, yes, sorry. Um. I think I’m going to go home. I promised my mama I wouldn’t stay too late.”

The twins nod and say goodbye as Eden takes the path away from town towards her house. It’s not far, only a few minutes, but it’s not even close to suppertime, so she takes it slow.

The story she just heard is a lot bigger than the one she’s heard before. Maybe she used to just be too little to understand it. It’s not like she thinks about it everyday. And Corypheus had been dead for ages by the time she was born.

The world had almost been destroyed. She almost was never born. But she was. She’s eleven years old. Just this morning, Papa had asked her, in a long-suffering tone, to be a little kinder to her brother. Mama nagged her about picking up her books yesterday.

They saved the world.

And then, as the house comes into view, it occurs to her that Papa is more powerful than empresses and kings. Or he was. And the bard said Papa deliberately left all of that for a quieter life. It didn’t end naturally like Mama used to say. It occurs to her that Papa and Mama would have known that they were having her when Papa left the Inquisition.

Papa had been greater than an emperor or king or Archon, but he and Mama came here, to their little house and farm, a few months before she was born. She hesitates before opening the front door. Papa didn’t have to do that. Lots of important people have kids but stay important. But unlike those kids, Papa is there to ruffle her hair and remind her to be nice to her brother and kiss Mama everyday.

“I’m home!” Eden calls out as she opens the door and hangs up her cloak, kicking her shoes off. She only just remembers to nudge them out of the walkway before going further into the house.

Mama comes down the stairs, smiling. “Hey, little love. You’re back early. Everything okay?”

Eden nods and looks down at her stocking feet to avoid seeing the skepticism in Mama’s eyes. “Nothing’s wrong. Felicity and Sam were bickering and I didn’t want to listen to them,” she lies. She swallows around the lump in her throat, and she pops up onto her toes to kiss Mama’s cheek. “Where’s Papa?”

“Getting Alara to sleep,” Mama says. “He’s going to start supper soon.” Mama pauses and looks at her. “I love you, Eden. I am so proud to be your mother.”

Tears threaten Eden’s composure, so she just nods. Mama always seems to know what she means even when she can’t say it, so she probably understands.

Eden goes up the stairs to her parents’ bedroom and peeks in. Papa is looking at Alara in her crib with soft eyes, and Eden taps lightly on the door to get his attention.

He looks up and smiles when he sees her. “Hey. Did you have fun today?”

Tears burn at her eyes again, but she nods. “It was good.” There are more words she wants to say, other words, but they get all tangled in her mouth. And she’s shy all of a sudden. She hesitates at the door.

Her papa saved the whole world. He was more important than the empress of Orlais. And now, instead of being the most important person in the world, he’s leaning down to kiss Alara’s forehead as she sleeps.

Eden crosses the room to him, and he rests his arm around her shoulders when she wraps her arms tightly around his waist. She presses her face against his chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, rubbing gentle circles on her back.

“I love you, Papa,” she says, mouth pressed against his shirt’s fabric. A couple of tears slip out. “I’m so glad you’re my papa.”

[kmseokjins]

Thunderlight (Chapter 6)

Fandom: BTS Pairing: BTS x Reader / Poly!OT7 x Reader Warnings: n/a this chapter Chapter Summary:  Dead end after dead end, Hoseok finally seems to find the answers they seek...but at what cost?

Archive Of Our Own || Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Notes: This is chapter features Hoseok & Yoongi; no one else makes an appearance! A bit of a cliffhanger at the end, but nothing too drastic!

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“You should let me go in alone, Hyung.” Hoseok knows that as soon as the words leave his mouth that he’s fighting a losing battle. For the sake of his sanity, he has to at least try.

Yoongi fixes Hoseok with an incredulous look at such a request, eyes narrowing. “No.” His answer is sharp and final, arms crossed across his chest as if to make his opinion on the matter that much more obvious.

Hoseok groans, “It’s bad enough I’m going to draw attention. You’re going to draw even more attention. Why did you come?” The hellhound hadn’t even asked Yoongi to come with him; his elder had apparently followed him out the door when he’d tried to leave discreetly. One minute Hoseok was silently celebrating his victory, and the next, Yoongi was nonchalantly following behind him.

At least he had avoided drawing the attention of Jimin and Taehyung. Those two shouldn’t be allowed to leave the dorms. Ever. Especially not together. Hoseok would have ditched them back at the dorms if they had been the ones to follow. Yoongi? The man was stubborn.

“We’re not supposed to go anywhere alone.” A pause. “Hence why I’m here.” Yoongi gestures at himself, clad in black pants, a black hoodie, and a black headband pushing his hair back. “Incognito.”

“That’s…..that’s not what I meant by drawing attention.” Hoseok sighs before he continues towards the building he had been leading Yoongi to. He was dreading this; exposing himself to a bunch of possible demons. Not to mention exposing Yoongi as well. That made his skin crawl. Yoongi’s mind was already made up, and Hoseok knew he shouldn’t waste his breath any longer trying to convince him otherwise. The hellhound could abandon his mission tonight, but there wasn’t a guarantee he would get this opportunity again.

The smell of sulfur enveloped him as soon as he stepped inside the bar. It was disgusting. The smell wasn’t overly potent, but Hoseok was still disgusted all the same. God, he hated dealing with demons. His hound felt much the same, giving the impression of his hackles raised as soon as he stepped foot inside.

A look thrown over his shoulder to his mate behind him gave Hoseok no indication if Yoongi cared about the smell; his expression was as stoic as usual.

No sooner than they approached the bar did the chatter of the patrons taper off; the once muffled music over the speakers much louder and more distinctive to make out now. Hoseok wasn’t surprised; he hadn’t been expecting a warm welcome to begin with, although he wasn’t quite sure if it was because of him or Yoongi. Perhaps even both. It wasn’t every day two species like them came into a place crawling (mostly) with demons. The hellhound gritted his teeth; his contact had chosen this place specifically for the reason that she would be surrounded by her own kind.

It was only a few seconds longer before the previous chatter started up again, somewhat drowning the music as it had before. Glancing around again, Hoseok focused on a short, squat man approaching them. As he neared, his eyes flashed green for mere seconds as he looked between Hoseok and Yoongi.

“Hoseok.” An eyebrow quirked upwards as the man practically spat out his name, lips peeling back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. Goblin. As Hoseok nodded in confirmation, the goblin flicked his attention to Yoongi, standing just behind him at his shoulder, “Not him.”

Hoseok stiffens, gritting his teeth as his eyes flash golden, “He comes with.” Like hell Hoseok was leaving Yoongi alone. The goblin’s eyes widen slightly at the aggression before he scowls and mentions them both to follow, muttering in a forgein language under his breath. He leads them deeper into the bar, the crowded dance floor parting to let the three pass. Hoseok wrinkles his nose at the stronger stench of sulfur due to the cluster of demons they pass. The goblin stops at the third door on the left down a hallway. He knocks three times in rapid succession before he turns the knob and pushes the door open, mentioning the two inside.

Hoseok steps through first, Yoongi close behind although neither react when the door shuts behind them a little harder than needed. The room is almost set up like a lounge; a large tv hangs on the wall, two black leather couches face the tv, and a mini bar takes up the back right corner of the room.

The only other person in the room stands at the mini bar, her back to them, although she’s well aware they’re there. She finishes pouring wine into the wine glass before she snatches it up and turns to face the two men. She’s tall and slender, the white dress she wears clings to every curve, flowing down around her ankles, barely reaching the top of the white three-inch heels she wears. Her jaw is sharp, her cheekbones high. Her soft, blonde hair is loosely curled and flows down to the middle of her back, her lips are painted blood red, and her eyes are entirely black.

Hoseok isn’t surprised when he feels Yoongi press close against his back, his chest rumbling with a growl. It’s hard to feel safe when you’re trapped in a room with a high level demon, not to mention when soulbond is close too. Hoseok swallows the snarl threatening to slip from himself, reaching a hand back to intertwine with one of Yoongi’s. Hoseok trusted that Yoongi would behave himself, but Hoseok felt the need to be grounded as well.

“Jung Hoseok and guest,” The demoness purred as she crossed the room, sitting on the closest couch she reached with a flourish, left leg crossing over her right. She waved a manicured hand in the direction of the other couch, “Please, sit.”

Her eyes tracked them both as Hoseok pulled Yoongi to sit down. Hoseok set on the edge of the couch, while Yoongi settled on the arm of the couch, knee pressed against Hoseok’s side, eyes zeroed in on the demon with suspicion.

Her gaze remained on Yoongi, head tilting as she regarded the blond before she focused back on the hellhound, “It’s not everyday someone like myself gets the pleasure of your company, darling.” She flashes her pearly white teeth, “Your message was cryptic. You need information. On what, exactly?”

Hoseok hated that he had to contact her. Lilith . All his other contacts had lead to nothing, nothing more than rumors. He had been half-tempted to tell Namjoon that he couldn’t find anything on the demon called Asa, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell such an untruth to his mate if he had another lead to follow. He would have understood. This is dangerous. She’s a viper. His hellhound was seething, ready to fight his way out at the first sign of anything suspicious. It wasn’t just himself to protect either; Yoongi had been dragged into the viper’s nest too.

“A demon. I was hoping you could tell me about him.” Just saying the words, asking for a favor, made bile rise in his mouth.

Lilith’s grin is wolfish as she raises the wineglass to her lips and takes a sip of the blood red liquid within. “If you wanted a master ,” The word is purred, head tilting as she flicks her gaze up and down his body, “you could have asked me. We could have so much fun..” Lilith trails off, her attention shifting to look just past him with surprise.

Her attention on Yoongi makes Hoseok realize how cold the room has gotten and the anger beating at him. No longer stifling hot like it had been when they first came in, the temperature had plummeted sharply in contrast. Hoseok twists in place, a hand reaching out to grab one of Yoongi’s clenched fists, prying his elder’s hand open before lacing their fingers together.

“Yoongi-hyung.” Hoseok murmurs to his agitated mate, squeezing his hand in an attempt to get his eyes from Lilith and onto him. Yoongi resists briefly before his eyes flickering to the hellhound, and Hoseok almost shivers at the silver receding from Yoongi’s eyes. Yoongi keeps eye contact with Hoseok while he takes a deep breath before he slowly exhales.

-and just like that, the temperature in the room starts to rise.

Satisfied, Hoseok turns back to the demon, who looks like she’s the cat that got the cream, “You never said you had a dragon,” She giggles, attention fully focused on Yoongi, who bristles immediately, “An ice dragon at that! My, my. You are rare indeed..”

“No.” It’s a snarl, and Lilith raises her eyebrows as she finally settles her attention back on Hoseok, “I’m here for information, nothing more, nothing less.”

The demon pouts for a moment before she sighs, “Very well. Do you have what I requested?” Another sip of her wine passes her lips before she watches him over the lip of the glass.

Reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, Hoseok pulls out the vial he had safely tucked away before he left the dorms. The vial was about the same length and width of a pencil, filled with an iridescent liquid that shimmered in the light of the room. Hoseok stared at it for a long moment before he tossed it towards Lilith.

She caught it easily, holding it up to examine it like she was assessing a diamond before she hummed in satisfaction, “Excellent. Tell me his name.”

“Asa.”

Lilith clutched the vial in her fist as she glanced sharply at the hellhound, “Asa.” Head tilting, she narrowed her eyes at him, “You’re either very stupid or very brave for wanting to tangle with him.”

“I have no intention of contacting him. I only want information about him.”

“He’s a high level demon, like myself. As powerful as he is cruel. He’s a demon of many, many talents.” Lilith sighs wistfully, “He’s typical for a demon, really. Apparently he collects creatures like yourselves, the rarer the better.”

“Does he have a special interest in humans?”

“Hmm, he’s more smitten with witches. At least, that’s what I heard years ago. Apparently a witch caught his attention and he became obsessed. More than we usually do.” Lilith raises her eyebrows, “Are you attempting to protect a human from him?”

Hoseok ignores her, “What happened with the witch?”

Lilith frowns at his blunt dodge before she shrugs her shoulders, “Some say he consumed her soul, others say that he’s got her tucked safely away as his personal pet. I say she slipped through his fingers, but that’s just my observation. We may be in the same circle, but he tends to be the thorns on a rose. Other than what I’ve told you, I don’t know any more on the demon. He keeps to himself unless he’s pissed off. Then everyone knows it.”

Hoseok was disappointed. He’d learned some things, but not nearly enough to satisfy himself. If anything, he had more questions about this demon, Asa. Why would you be so afraid of him? You were human, and unless you had something of value he wanted, he didn’t seem like he would waste his time with a human. Then again, perhaps you had made a deal with him and the time was drawing near for him to come collect. The thought made Hoseok bristle. If that were true, just what kind of deal did you make with a demon? Nothing about you screamed “I MADE A DEAL WITH A DEMON!!!” .

We’ve stayed long enough. His hellhound was growing restless, and Hoseok couldn’t help but feel the same. They’d been here too long already and he just wanted to go back home to the rest of his mates and take the hottest shower he could stand. Being around a demon always made him feel like he needed to scrub his skin raw.

Standing without a word, Hoseok simply inclined his head towards the demoness before urging Yoongi towards the door they had entered from.

“A word of friendly advice, hellhound.”

Hoseok stops at the sound of Lilith’s voice, turning to glance over his shoulder at her.

“Watch your back. Asa doesn’t know the meaning of the word mercy.”

Yoongi promptly drags Hoseok from the room no sooner than the demoness stops talking, ignoring the dozens of eyes that follow their movements towards the exit. Hoseok doesn’t blame him, and he inhales deeply when they step out into the cool, night air seconds later. Silence envelopes them until halfway back to the dorms:

“When we get home, you’re going to explain everything.”

[blustersquall]

Only Make Believe // Chapter 31: New Year’s Eve

Hi everyone! Hope you had a nice October, and you're enjoying the start of November! Here's a new chapter for you. Want to give you a fair warning, this chapter does contain mentions of (or hints at) the following: familial abuse, physical abuse, sexual coercion, sexual assault, sexual abuse, mental and emotional abuse. So, please be aware of that and keep yourself safe. Take breaks. Practice deep breathing and other grounding methods. If you feel yourself getting overwhelmed, step back and take some time. The chapter will be here when you're ready. Your wellbeing is far more important, okay?

December 31st, New Year’s Eve

-

It was well into mid-morning when Cullen emerged from his bedroom, well rested, washed and dressed comfortably for whatever the day would bring. From the kitchen and living room below he could hear music, the clattering of pots and pans, and Cassandra muttering in her native Nevarran tongue. Her habit of talking to herself was one Cullen found amusing and often teased her about; though he knew if she was speaking Nevarran the reason was probably not a good one.

Making his way down the hall he passed Nevena’s bedroom and saw the door ajar. He took a quick peek inside, saw it was empty and closed the door continuing downstairs. He chose to avoid the kitchen for as long as possible, despite the thought of a hot mug of coffee calling out to him. He ducked into the living room before Cassandra spotted him and roped him into helping.

Varric’s office was a small room that was just off the living room and the door was half-open. Cullen saw his friend in his chair, phone to his ear, two screens alight in front of him. He was talking to someone in a low tone and Cullen couldn’t make out the words. His reason for stopping – Nevena – sat curled comfortably in a large plush armchair, settled in like a cat who had found a sunny spot in which to bask. In one hand she held a stack of papers, what Cullen could only assume was Varric’s newest manuscript, and the other a red mug where she tapped an irregular rhythm with her fingers.

She didn’t notice his arrival, her eyes moving back and forth over the page rapidly. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, eyes wide and gleaming, while she nibbled her bottom lip. Cullen wondered if that was how she always looked when she was reading. So engrossed and as though she was memorizing and absorbing every word and detail on the page. She looked happy, and at home in the big chair that threatened to swallow her. Cullen realised; this was where she belonged. Surrounded by books in warmth and safety, where she could gorge herself on as much literature as she wanted, without the threat or fear of being bullied looming over head.

Cullen approached her, slipping his arms and hands down over the top of the chair to rest upon her shoulders. Nevena jumped slightly, and tipped her head back to look at him. Cullen took the advantage to press a quick kiss to her lips.

“Good morning,” he murmured, lips brushing the end of her nose and her forehead.

Nevena’s expression crinkled into one of contented pleasure. “Morning.”

Not for the first time, Cullen was struck by how easy it was. How simple their relationship had become, and how comfortable he was giving these touches and moments of affection. He loved how openly she accepted them, and how much joy they seemed to give her. He thought if they could begin all their days in this way, with him greeting her like this, then they would be happy days.

“What are you reading?” Cullen came and sat on the arm of the chair. Nevena rose onto her feet and nodded to the space she just occupied. Curious, Cullen slid into it. She started to climb into his lap and he welcomed her doing so. He supported her back with one arm, while she dangled her legs over the opposing arm of the chair. He clutched her waist when she bent to put her mug down on the floor.

“It’s Mr… uh, Varric’s newest book. It’s only a first draft, but he’s letting me to have a look.”

“And?”

“So far, so good.” Nevena shrugged a shoulder. “It’s the next volume of his Swords and Shields series. The last one ended on a cliff hanger, so it’s nice to find out what happens next.”

“Before everyone else.”

Nevena grinned, swinging her legs and returning her gaze back to the pages before her. Cullen reclined against the seat back, casually trailing his fingers along the base of her back beneath her jumper where it had ridden up. He skimmed a few of the sentences on the page in front of her. Despite being close friends, Cullen had only ever read one of Varric’s books. His most popular, Hard in Hightown. And while it was enjoyable, he found it a little farfetched for his tastes. He thought if Nevena owned all of Varric’s books then perhaps he might try reading them again to see what it was about them she enjoyed so much. At least, it made sense for him to read The Viper’s Nest.

“Did you sleep after I left?” Cullen asked after a few minutes of quiet.

“Mhn…” the corner of Nevena’s mouth quirked.

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

“Cassandra came to visit me.” She put the manuscript down in her lap, her expression growing thoughtful. “She went to return something to your room last night and put two and two together when you weren’t there.”

“Oh?” Cullen arched a brow, leaning back. Given Nevena was under the impression Cassandra didn’t like her, he expected more of a reaction from her visiting. Nevena was calm, thoughtful, if anything. “Was she angry? Did she say anything?” He pressed, hoping the answer was no. Or at the very least, they briefly exchanged ‘good mornings’.

Nevena pursed her lips, manuscript now forgotten in her lap as she turned her head to face him and combed her fingers back through his hair. With her head tilted to one side, her expression drawn into one of contemplation she leaned forward and kissed him, curving her hands around his jaw to lift his head. Surprised, but only momentarily, Cullen melted into her, his eyes closing and his hands and arms curving around her body to pull her closer. He breathed steadily, relishing the warmth of her lips and the way she felt in his hands. Each kiss seemed better than the last, and Cullen found himself anticipating them - not wanting them to end.

“That’s…” he chuckled, smiling against Nevena’s lips as she pulled away, “not an answer to the question I asked.”

She brushed her nose against his. “You’re a very lucky man to have someone in your life who cares about you as much as she does.”

“I know.” Cullen cleared his throat, “though I’m now even more curious about what passed between the two of you for you to say such a thing?”

“It’s a secret.” She tapped his lips with her index finger in a gesture of silence. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

“Looks like you’re really enjoying the new book there, Freckles.” Varric’s low laughter broke the warm and cosy atmosphere between Cullen and Nevena. She leaned away, grinning in Varric’s direction. “Not that I blame you, Curly is quite the distraction.”

“M’sorry Varric,” Nevena said, “he wanted to read it.”

“Did he now?” Varric arched a thick brow, “well, sorry to disappoint you Curly, I only allow one person at a time to read my first drafts. Plus, you wouldn’t know what’s going on.”

“I’ll try not to be disappointed.” Cullen retorted with a small, sarcastic grin. “I’m sure your books are a bit too high fantasy for me, anyway.”

“You might find you enjoy them.” Nevena chirped, retrieving the manuscript from her lap. “They’re fun, light-hearted.”

“And there’s some sex thrown in there, too.” Varric added.

“Wonderful,” Cullen sighed through his nose. “Were we disturbing you, Varric?”

“Not at all,” he leaned on the door frame to his office. Cullen realised Varric hadn’t stopped grinning since he entered, and that his expression was smug more than anything else. “Just wanted to make sure you two love birds were comfortable.”

“We’re fine…” Cullen forced back the heat that he could feel beginning to lick up his face.

“Although,” Varric straightened, snapping his fingers as if remembering something, “Freckles, do you mind if I borrow Curly for a minute?”

After a beat or two of surprise, Nevena shook her head. “No, not at all.” She climbed out of Cullen’s lap with his help. He missed her weight immediately, but took solace in the thought he’d return to that comfortable, domestic setting after talking to Varric. “Can I ask a question, though?”

“Of course. Anything for my new favourite proof-reader.”

Cullen got to his feet, “don’t believe him. He says that to everyone.” He told Nevena, smirking in Varric’s direction.

“Don’t lie to the girl, Curly!” Varric jabbed him with his elbow good-naturedly.

“Why do you call Cullen ‘Curly’?” Nevena asked, tapping her bottom lip after settling back into the armchair. “I’ve seen his natural hair, it’s not that curly. I mean, it has a curl to it but it’s hardly his most defining feature.”

“Oh?” Varric laughed, glancing up at Cullen. Cullen quickly rubbed the back of his neck, disliking the glint in Varric’s eye. “What do you think is his most defining feature?”

“Eyes.” Nevena answered, “the day I met him I thought his eyes were kind. That hasn’t changed.” She smiled sweetly at Cullen, meeting his gaze for a moment before dropping her eyes in a coy expression and teasing her hair behind her ear. Cullen felt the flurry of butterflies rise in his stomach, and the dopey smile that took hold of his lips before he could stop it. She liked his eyes… and somehow that was one of the sweetest things he’d ever been told.

“Eyes, huh?” Varric cleared his throat, “well – I’ll bear that in mind. But the Curly thing… Do you want to explain?” Cullen felt Varric’s eyes on him.

“It’s… Varric had the…” Cullen huffed. He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, “you haven’t seen my hair when it gets humid. It becomes rather… difficult to manage.”

“It turns into a lion’s mane.” Quipped Varric.

“It does not!” Cullen bit back. He took a sharp breath, his cheeks warming when he heard Nevena stifle a giggle. “It… All my family have curly hair. Lots of people do. It’s not exactly unusual.”

“I know it’s not, Curly.” Varric patted him, “but it’s so easy to tease you about it.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Wish not granted,” Varric gestured Cullen towards his office. “You can have him back in a minute, Freckles.”

Nevena was already settled back into the armchair and finding her place on the manuscript. “Take your time!”

Varric’s office was a room Cullen had only been in a handful of times. One of the smaller rooms in the house, it was lined wall-to-wall with reference books and first edition hard back copies of his own work. There were framed prints of the different book covers neatly displayed in frames above the shelves and a few framed rejection letters that Varric kept to remind him of his roots. His desk looked out over the front garden, the two computer monitors – one currently blank and one showing a webpage – took up most of the space on the desk. There were dried coffee rings covering one specific part of Varric’s work space, too. Cullen knew when a deadline was approaching Varric was no stranger to pulling an all-nighter.

“Y’know, you could have said you guys were a couple.” Varric laughed moving past Cullen to his desk. “Would have saved me an’ Cass setting up a second guest bedroom.”

Cullen felt his face grow hot and quickly averted his gaze to the prints on the wall. “We’re not… I mean, we are but I—It’s early days, Varric.” He cleared his throat, “and I didn’t want you or Cassandra thinking I was taking advantage of her.”

“I don’t think that.” Varric shook his head and sat back in his chair touching his fingertips together. “I knew from the minute you asked about the copy of The Viper’s Nest there was more going on than just a typical client.”

“Hm,” Cullen was still blushing, so he continued to avoid looking at Varric, instead moving around the room and scanning some of the books on the shelves. “Well, it was more Cassandra I was worried about. She… After the phone call on Christmas Day… I didn’t want her to think her advice had fallen on deaf ears.”

“I guess I understand that. She is pretty protective of you… Though whatever Nevena said to her this morning after her run clearly had an impact.”

Cullen faced him. “What did Nevena say? She only said Cassandra went to visit her after I left her room this morning.”

A slow, Cheshire-cat smile came to Varric’s lips, lazy gaze on Cullen. “That’s confidential, Curly.” He said, far too smug. “Needless to say, she’s pretty damn taken with you. Clearly cares about you a lot.”

Cullen glanced at the door to the office. The butterflies returned. “I care about her, too.” Running a hand back through his hair, he laughed. “This is so unlike me. I never go with fast with someone. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“If I was a cynical man, I’d say it was hormones. But, given that I’m a true romantic at heart, I’m willing to place my bet on love.” Grinned Varric, “but that’s just me.”

Cullen swallowed hard, his throat suddenly going dry. Was it really that obvious? Was it so clear how deep his feelings for Nevena went that his friends could see it? Did that mean she could see it to? Did she know? Did she know, and was she just staying quiet because she didn’t feel the same? His palms were sweaty when he flexed his hands. “Varric— “

“That’s not why I wanted to talk to you, though.” Varric interrupted turning to the screen on his desk that was alight. “You can go back to cuddling in a sec.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?” asked Cullen forcing his anxiety down into his belly. He could dwell on that later. Or not at all, if he had his way.

“There’s some people coming tonight I think you should meet. They’re friends of mine, and I think they could be helpful in either getting you some information about Nevena’s mother, or at the very least, giving you an opportunity to find out information without there being a lot of members of public around.”

“Oh?”

“Their names are Josephine Montilyet and Dorian Pavus. They both work in the Ostwick library archives. Josephine’s the head archivist, and has a background in politics. Dorian is… a bit of a jack-of-all-trades. Knows a lot about everything. Man’s a sponge. Has about four degrees, working toward a fifth.” Varric clicked a few times on the page open before him. Two posed and professionally taken portrait photographs appeared. The first was an attractive young woman with black hair tied back, and gold rimmed glasses on. The second was a man, styled black hair which was shaved at the sides, perfectly curled moustache, and a winning smile.

“Josephine and Dorian?” Cullen squinted at the photograph of Josephine for a moment. “I’ve met her, I think.”

Varric snorted, “yeah. She was there that night we were playing cards. She was the woman wh— “

“Nono—I-I remember… Maker above,” Cullen groaned into his hands. “It would be someone witness to my shame.”

“Yeah,” chuckled Varric, looking at him. “She’s a good sort though – probably won’t bring it up. Dorian has some social and civic specialities. I… might have explained the situation to them already by email.”

“Varric--!” Cullen groaned. He shouldn’t have mentioned Nevena’s past. He knew Varric wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth closed.

“Hold on, hold on!” Varric lifted his hands as if to placate him. “They’re not going to tell a soul, Josephine is too professional for that, and all Dorian said was that he can relate to having a shitty family life. Anyway, I needed to tell them for the favour I asked.”

Cullen arched a brow, “which is?”

“The two of them are going do to a bit of research on the name Soloman and Trevelyan, gather up what they can. The library is closed over Christmas and New Year’s, not due to open again until the 5th. They’ve agreed to open the doors to you and Nevena specifically, for a couple of hours, on the 3rd.  Give you guys a chance to go through anything they find… and if it gets a bit overwhelming for her, then there’s no lookie-loos to stare or watch if she needs a minute or gets upset.”

With a sigh, Cullen ran his hands down his face and then back through his hair again. He wasn’t comfortable with Varric disclosing Nevena’s private history to strangers, but Cullen could hardly blame him. He was doing this out of kindness and to be helpful, and it had been Cullen who talked about Nevena’s past first. The true blame lay with him. Still – having no members of the public around while they looked over information about Miranda would probably be for the best. Cullen wasn’t sure how Nevena would react if they found anything about her at all.

“Alright,” he said after a few seconds. “I’ll tell Nevena myself, I don’t want her hearing this from anyone else.”

“She won’t hear it from me, or Josephine, or Dorian. And Cass doesn’t know.” Varric said, “you can talk to them tonight and go over some of the details I don��t have with them. Then you can spin some tale about how you convinced them to give you and Freckles full run of the library for a few hours.”

“I’m not going to lie to her.”

“It’s not a lie. It’s twisting the truth.”

“She’s been lied to her whole life,” Cullen said stiffly. “I won’t be joining the ranks of people who have been dishonest.”

Varric sighed, “Curly…”

“I’m not ungrateful, Varric. And I know Nevena won’t be either. It’s just a sensitive topic and… I know I shouldn’t have said anything. So… this sits a little odd with me.”

“Pretty sure Nevena will understand. All you did was explain what’s been going on and what brought you all this way.” Varric switched off his screen and stood up out of his chair. He quickly patted Cullen on the arm. “Don’t over think it. Go back to sitting with her and I’ll introduce you to Josephine and Dorian tonight.”

The first of Varric and Cassandra’s guests arrived around that evening. One at a time, and in pairs at first, then a steady stream of people had the doorbell working overtime. Cassandra enlisted Cullen and Nevena’s help in the kitchen throughout the day, and together they managed to put together and lay out an impressive spread of finger food for everyone to nibble on through the evening. Christmas music played from the stereo in the living room, low under the hum of conversation.

Cullen got the impression very quickly that everyone there knew each other in some way. Where ever he looked he saw people embracing and in some cases squealing excitedly when they saw each other. Varric had his hosting hat on, and weaved through the people with himself and Nevena, introducing them to each guest with a quick quip or thoughtful comment. Cullen tried to remember names as best he could, but they began to slip after the tenth or eleventh person he was introduced to.

He was quickly split off from Nevena when she struck up a conversation with a dark-skinned woman about Varric’s books. The woman – Isabela – first complimented Varric on the state of his chest hair which set Nevena off into a peel of giggles. The last time Cullen saw her, she was almost doubled over laughing at something Isabela said.

The amount of people made the whole house feel warmer and Cullen grew a little uncomfortable and sweaty underneath his clothing. The noise didn’t help either, pushing his auditory limits whenever someone talked too loud, or the man with the booming laughter let everyone hear how funny he found a joke. Throughout the earliest part of the evening, Cullen found himself disappearing to the quiet seclusion of the bathroom more than once just to decompress. He was grateful to Varric and Cassandra to their hospitality but was now beginning to wonder if their busy New Year celebrations really suited him.

In the past he either visited his sister in South Reach which was always a simple get together with his other siblings, spent New Year with friends from work, or on his own quietly bringing it in with a beer and whatever he could find on television. Large social gatherings like this were not his forte. He didn’t hate them, he just found them a little draining and his face was already beginning to ache from all the smiling he was doing.

Still, he couldn’t fault Varric for how he and Cassandra celebrated. He wouldn’t. Their way was just different to his. Perhaps the next year he and Nevena could return the hospitality and host Varric and Cassandra for New Year. It would be quieter for certain, but no less enjoyable. Of course, that all depended on where he and Nevena stood in a year’s time. Things were good now because everything was new and exciting and they were still learning about each other. In a year’s time? Six months’ time? That was a mystery to him. He knew there was no point in dwelling on it – no one knew exactly what the future held for any of them. All he could do was hope the next New Year they would be bringing in together.

Around nine o’clock, after reappearing from the bathroom for the third or fourth time, Cullen found himself immediately grabbed by Varric and corralled through the sea of faces, bodies and noise to one of the corners of the living room. Two people stood to one side and he recognised them from the profile photos Varric showed him earlier. The photos did little justice in showing the intelligence behind both pairs of eyes. The woman, Josephine, was smiling and chatting happily with the man, Dorian, but her gaze never remained in one point for long. She wasn’t just looking, she was surveying, measuring up all the guests and learning small details about them they probably didn’t know themselves. The way they stood, or how they held their glass and how those small idiosyncrasies described them to perceptive onlookers. Cullen knew she was doing it, because he did it too – he had done it with Nevena the day they met, watched her as he waited for coffee to measure her up and learn what he could about her from visual cues alone.

Dorian repeatedly held a glass of red wine to his lips but didn’t take a sip, always finding something else to say before he could quench his thirst. He was watching and gauging people just as much as Josephine was, but he attention was more taken by the bookshelf they stood near and the contents on each shelf. He ran long fingers over the spines, the different rings that adorned each finger glistening in the twinkling Christmas lights. The two of them were dressed impeccably, and Cullen found himself wiping his hands on his black jeans knowing he would have to shake hands with them.

Cullen found himself slightly… intimidated as he approached them with Varric. Intelligence was intimidating, and the way these two people looked, in their tailored and likely bespoke clothing had him becoming uncomfortably aware of how untidy he was. He started to consider that perhaps he should have worn a tuxedo to meet them.

It was too late to worry about that now.

“Dorian! Josephine!” Varric called to them over the sound of conversation. The two greeted him with smiles, “this is Cullen who I was telling you about. He can fill in any gaps I left out in the details.”  Varric left with a friendly slap on Cullen’s back.

“Nice to meet you,” Cullen feigned confidence as he shook Dorian’s hand first – though his hand seemed more jewellery than flesh - and then Josephine’s to reacquaint himself with her. The only time they’d met before this had been over a year ago and he had not been at his best when a friendly game of cards turned a serious and she took him for everything he was wearing... Literally.

He hoped she wouldn’t bring it up.

Josephine’s expression was warm and open as she smiled and delicate fingers wrapped around his, though there was a playful expression in her eyes that gave Cullen the impression that, yes, she did remember the card game. Cullen noticed the notch against the knuckle of her middle finger – clear signs of almost constantly holding a pen.

Dorian took a sip from his wine glass. “Good to meet you. Dorian Pavus, originally from Minrathous in Tevinter.” He smiled from behind his glass, grey eyes flitting around observing what was happening in the room beyond Cullen.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Rutherford,” Josephine’s accent was something Cullen had forgotten. It was strong Antivan and it sounded quite melodic.

“Cullen, please.”

“You know each other?” Dorian asked, looking between the two of them.

“Yes,” Josephine’s disarming smile grew. “Sometime last year. We played cards and Mr. Ruther—oh, Cullen here lost a rather sizable wager.”

Cullen forced a choked laugh. “Uh, yes… Though I lost more of my dignity than anything of real material worth.”

“I would agree with that statement.” Josephine quirked a brow in a coquettish way and then laughed behind her hand. “Not to worry, I have no intention of torturing you with what happened last year. Varric brought us together for an entirely different reason, I believe?”

“Yes.” Dorian drained the wine from his glass. “I admit I didn’t think I’d be working during the holidays, but what Varric described to me sounded very… dramatic. Family intrigue and all that – right up my street! So, how could I refuse?”

“I am grateful to the both of you. I didn’t expect him to call in any favours or— “

“It’s Varric,” Dorian waved a dismissive hand. “He collects favours for occasions such as this.” He placed his glass down on a nearby table and regarded Cullen with his sharp, grey eyes. “So, what is this whole thing? Varric gave us…” he looked at Josephine for a moment while searching for the right way to phrase things, “some information, but it’d be nice to hear the full story from someone directly involved.”

“Yes,” Josephine sipped her wine. “Varric does tend to over-embellish things or leave out the details he does not deem important, and yet those details could be vital to the information we’re looking for. So, can you give us a little more to go on than a deceased family member?”

“Not quite as cloak and dagger as Varric made it sound. I admit to being a little disappointed when he explained a little more when we arrived.” Dorian looked a little put out.

“There’s more to it than a deceased family member,” Cullen breathed out sharply. “It’s… a little sensitive. I don’t really feel like it’s my place to tell you. I’m really second-hand information as much as Varric is.”

“Well, then, perhaps Miss Trevelyan can tell us in more depth.” Josephine smiled.

“Uh…” Cullen’s voice caught in his throat. It was hard to know what information he could and should divulge. After all, these were Nevena’s demons. This was her history they were looking into. Her past, and her true parentage. He could and would support her, but the information needed to come from her. It already didn’t sit right with him that he had explained so much to Varric and Cassandra the previous day. At least they were friends, and he trusted them… But he didn’t know Dorian Pavus or Josephine Montilyet beyond them being friends of Varric’s.

“Is she around?” Dorian craned his neck to look among the faces as if he would be able to spot her on instinct.

“Excellent idea.” Josephine said, “Could you go and get her, she can tell us anything Varric missed out, answer any questions we might have.”

“Ah, yes. I’ll—Just a minute.”

Cullen wandered through the sea of guests, keeping his eyes open for a glimpse of Nevena’s hair, or her face somewhere in the bustle of bodies and voices. She’d been wearing a teal coloured dress, and every time he caught a glimpse of the colour he stopped to double check if it was her or not. He circled the room twice, if not more, and worry started to gnaw away at him when he still hadn’t seen or found her.

He found Cassandra, who told him she saw Nevena go upstairs not long before. The upper floors of the house were out-of-bounds for party goers, so Cullen knew it was quieter up there. That, if Nevena was anything like him, she’d gone up for some peace and to decompress. He followed, pausing outside the door to her bedroom where he could see a light spilling out from underneath.

“Nevena?” he called and knocked at the same time.

“Cullen?” her voice came from within, and then a rustling sound. “You can come in, the doors open.”

He closed the door behind him after entering. Nevena was curled up at the top of the bed, Varric’s manuscript in hand, her legs partly covered by a blanket. She looked cosy and comfortable. Calm. She put the manuscript aside, smiling.

“Hi,” she greeted him, shifting to sit up. She put the manuscript aside. Cullen noticed her skin was a little flushed on her cheeks and her neck.

“Hi…” Cullen smiled, relaxing in her presence and under her gaze. “What are you doing up here? You alright?” He perched at the end of the bed.

“Too many people, and a lot of noise. I just… needed some time to de-stress.” Nevena explained, “everyone is asking me how I know Varric, and you and… It’s a bit much.”

“You’re not alone. I’ve disappeared into the bathroom for some quiet so many times I’m sure some of them think there’s something wrong with me... or the food.” Cullen smiled a little, then clasped his hands together in his lap with a sigh, his expression growing some serious. “Varric introduced me to some friends who work at the Ostwick library, Josephine and Dorian.”

“Oh?”

“The library and public records are closed until January 5th, but Varric being Varric has managed to get them to allow us a couple of hours on the 3rd to look into your family history. Into information about your mother, if you want.”

Nevena ran her teeth over her bottom lip thoughtfully. Uncurling her legs, she stretched and the started to fiddle with a thread from the collar of her dress. “That’s kind of them.” Her voice came out soft, almost as though she was speaking to herself. She stared off into the middle distance, eyes wide and unblinking.

“Nevena,” Cullen moved towards her and reached out to take one of her hands. His touch seemed to jolt her from whatever place her mind had gone, and she quickly covered his hand with her own, smiling attentively. His chest tightened, the words he was about to say tasting like ash in his mouth. “I… yesterday, while catching up with Varric and Cassandra I… I told them what had transpired at Haven. About--”

“--everything?”

He gulped, “yes.”

“It’s okay,” she closed the gap between them, shuffling over the covers on her knees and lifting one hand to cradle his cheek. He leaned into her touch, lips touching the palm of her hand in a brief kiss. “After everything that’s happened, I would have thought you needed someone to offload to. To talk to. Someone impartial to everything that’s happened. I’m not cross.” The vice-like grip of the worry in Cullen’s chest weakened a little. Her touch, the warmth of her skin acted as balm to soothe the anxiety inside him.

“Dorian and Josephine want to meet you. To… go over the details about what they’ll be looking for. I think to narrow things down a bit.” Cullen sighed, “I suppose I didn’t specify to Varric not to go blabbing to anyone else. Honestly, I didn’t think he would, but his effort is coming from a good place. He—“

“It’s okay, Cullen.” Nevena moved closer, curling hair behind his ear in an affectionate gesture that had Cullen’s spine tingling pleasantly. “Everyone has been so welcoming and nice to me, it’s kind of strange to get used to, really. Varric and Cassandra have been so hospitable, letting me stay even though they don’t know me – I think whatever he did, or told them, was what he considered necessary.”

Cullen chuckled, “you give him too much credit.” He rubbed his thumb along Nevena’s knuckles. “Really, you do. He’s a terrible cad. He’s just trying to make a good impression on you.”

“I like your friends, Cullen.” She said, her voice teasing and soft at the same time. “Almost as much as I like you.”

She kissed him, or maybe he kissed her… It didn’t matter, because after a moment they were kissing each other. A pleasant mix of lips, and teeth, and tongues which had Cullen’s task flying from his mind and entirely replaced by Nevena’s mouth on his. Her voice in his ears, the scent of her skin filling his head, and her body filling his hands. The fingers of one of Nevena’s hands slid through his hair, while her other hand curled into the front of his shirt. Cullen shifted, for comfort and to be closer. He shuffled up the bed on his knees realising only when he put a hand out to take his weight that Nevena was lying back, that he was lying above her, slightly elevated, one of her legs between his.

The positioning was not lost on him, and he quickly moved, flopping onto his side choosing to lie beside her, instead. Nevena rolled onto her side so they faced each other. She gently raked her fingers through his hair, fingernails lightly moving over his scalp. The sensation delightful shiver to ripple over his skin, and he quivered at the feeling moving through him, making the hairs on his arms stand straight.

“Is it terrible that I’d much rather spend New Year’s like this?” Nevena snuggled closer to him, sliding one of her legs between his and continuing to wind strands of his hair around her fingers. “It’s kind of boring that I don’t really want to socialise, isn’t it?”

“No,” Cullen sighed. He left one arm lazily draped over her waist, the other curled up under one of the pillows and out of the way. He drew patterns on her back with the tips of his fingers. He remembered being like this with his first girlfriends as a nervous teen. Trying to have a moment of privacy in his busy home, with his siblings yelling at each other and his mother singing off-key in the kitchen. The bedroom door always had to be open. “It’s quite tiring, all those people. I’d be quite content to go to bed now.”

“We sound so old.” Giggled Nevena, “I can’t remember the last time I really did anything for New Years. I think the last few years I just watched the firework display in Denerim on TV and went to bed. This is a nice change of pace, if a little…”

“Draining?”

She chuckled, “yes. A bit.”

Cullen sighed. He could quite easily fall asleep with her right there. The room was warm, the bed was soft and deep, he had Nevena in his arms… It was a tempting thought and his body agreed by the way he could feel his eyelids drooping.

“Were you reading before I disturbed you?” he asked, hoping that speaking might keep him awake.

“More of Swords and Shields.”

“How’s it going? Have the good guys won yet?” he smiled at the slightly reproving looking on Nevena’s face.

“There’s a lot more to it, than that!” She chided, batting his shoulder. “In the last book, the Guard Captain was falsely accused of a murdering the High Magistrate, but was proved innocent in this book by one of her subordinates who she’s been in love with for years!”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It is!” She shoved his shoulder again, “he feels the same! They’ve never done anything about their feelings because of their ranking, but he’s just told her he intends to quit being part of the City Guard because he can’t contain how he feels anymore! All this sexual tension was about to come to a climax – no pun intended – before you came in.”

Cullen doubted Nevena realised how much she lit up when she talked about books. As she regaled him with the plot, he saw her eyes brighten, her cheeks grow red, and her smile become an enthusiastic grin. She was adorable when she was excited. And engaging. And animated. And… she came alive when she talked about the books like enjoyed.

“So, I ruined the good bit?”

“Not really,” she shrugged in her lying down position, “I hadn’t really got very far into it yet.”

“Maybe I should read it first.” Cullen stretched over her, reaching for the manuscript beside her head. “Check it’s suitable for your eyes.”

“Hey-- No! Gimme!” Nevena reached up for the pages as he held them up above her. When she sat up to grab them, Cullen moved quickly away, sitting up to keep them out of her reach. He tried to scan the words on the page but was unable to do so while playing ‘keep away’ and laughing at her grunts of frustration with every failed attempt at retrieval. “Cullen! Give me the pages--!” Nevena leaned across him, grabbing for the manuscript. “You won’t even know what’s happening!”

Cullen laughed, unable to find air to give voice to the words he wanted to say. On his back, his right arm extended over the floor, clutching the pages. His left hand on Nevena’s back holding her steady as she leaned over him to try and take them. The blankets and covers were a tangled mess underneath them now, but Nevena remained determined, trying to take the precious first draft back. Without warning, Cullen lifted it over his head and waited for Nevena to change position to try and take it back. When she did – throwing him a quick, annoyed glare in the process – he tossed it towards the door to the bedroom.

“Why would you do that?!” Nevena tried to scrabble to her feet, the sheets and covers tangling around her legs. Cullen grabbed her hand, pulled her down on top of him and silenced her quickly and a sound kiss, winding his free hand back through her hair.

His laughter dissipated and Nevena relaxed against him, kneeling over him and laying one hand against his chest. When she pulled away, she was breathing hard and still looked a little annoyed. Cullen curled her hair back around her ear.

“You’re rather lovely when you’re angry.” He stated, grinning.

She narrowed her eyes, “you threw it. If the manuscript is damaged, I’m telling Varric it was all you.” She prodded him on the end of his nose. Cullen paid no mind to the idle threat, instead sliding his fingers down her back pressing either side of her spine. Somehow, in the space of a few minutes, all his tiredness had receded, leaving him wide awake and feeling as though he had excess energy to spend. Nevena arched into the touch of his fingers, her eyelids fluttering closed and a deep, contented sigh leaving her. Cullen had been close to her plenty of times before, and each time he found himself examining her features, trying to imprint every freckle and follicle to his memory. For the first time, his eyes were drawn to a sliver of skin that was paler than the rest of her. It disappeared into her hairline and he reasoned was normally obscured which was likely why he’d never seen it before.

“What’s this?” Cullen reached up and ran his thumb along the mark. “A scar of some kind?”

Nevena’s eyes flew open and her body tensed. She quickly rose, kneeling over him and sat back on her haunches, covering the marking with one hand.

Cullen leaned up on his elbows, “sorry, did I do something wrong?”

“No, no,” Nevena puffed her cheeks out, playing with her hair in what he could only assume was an attempt to hide the scar he had discovered. “It’s just, y’know, you came up for a reason and we’ve been up here a while. We’re being rude.”

“I’m sure they don’t mind. There’s plenty of people to keep Josephine and Dorian occupied.” He sat up straight. “You know, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you about, since Christmas… but it’s not really come up, or felt like a good time. Now… probably isn’t a good time either, but…”

“What is it?”

“Something you said. I think Ineria went to hit you, you grabbed her hand and told her she’d never lay another finger on you… Or words to that effect.” He tilted his head to one side, his gaze on Nevena’s face as she lowered her eyes and her body seemed to shrink. “In the heat of everything I suppose I didn’t pay them much mind, but… then, when we met with Nevan you mentioned more of it. Visits to the emergency room. More physical abuse…”

“I was serious when I said she was a bully.” Nevena sighed, twisting her fingers in her lap. He watched Nevena close in on herself. Watched as she grew smaller before his eyes. Smaller, and weaker, and more afraid. “It wasn’t just mental or emotional, it got physical a lot, too. And she’s twelve years older than me. She was bigger and stronger than me… And no one ever stepped in.”

“Nev…”

She lifted one hand and touched the thin mark in her hairline. “This was one of her… she threw a rock at me one summer, it was in a clump of dirt, but she knew there was a rock... She knew. I must have been six… maybe seven. I had to have stitches. She told everyone I fell down the patio steps. She pushed me down the stairs in the house more than once. One time I landed and fractured my wrist. She used to scratch, and hit, push me into stuff, and pull my hair or put stuff in it…” Nevena sat back. She’d started scratching the backs of her hands and Cullen reached across to try and stop her. “No one did anything… I was so scared of her when I was a kid. I never understood why she hated me so much.” Her shoulders rose in a small shrug. She looked at Cullen with a grim, mirthless smile. “I guess I do now.”

“You never have to put up with her again, if you don’t want to.” Cullen slid his thumb over her knuckles. On her left hand. “She can’t get you anymore.”

“I know,” a brief smile flickered across Nevena’s lips. “It just… I was a kid. No one ever stepped in to help me. Ineria was just so perfect. Couldn’t put a foot wrong, and it was just Nevena being clumsy. Nevena has another graze on her elbow – must’ve fallen over. She’s split her lip again – obviously biting too hard. Nevena has a lot of bruises popping up on her legs and her neck – she must just be walking into things. I heard all the excuses so many times and no one listened when I said it was her.”

Cullen exhaled, his chest tight and his throat closing as though it was swollen and full. He hadn’t meant to bring up such a heavy topic from something as innocuous as a scar he never noticed before. He was under no illusion that Ineria was nasty and had been physical when Nevena was younger, he never expected the extent of it, or how people around her so obviously neglected to do anything about it.

He kissed her hand and leaned closer, pressing his forehead against the side of her temple. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s funny,” Nevena continued, quickly wiping her eyes with her hand where they had started to water, “well, not really. Morbid, actually – but I always wondered who was worse, Ineria or Rick. I would wonder if I was safer with Rick than with Ineria… I still don’t know, to this day.”

“You don’t need to think about it ever again.” Cullen explained, swallowing thickly, “you’re with me, and you’re safe. Neither of them are ever going to touch you again. Not if I can help it.”

He saw the ghost of Nevena’s smile before she closed the little space between them and kissed him. This time, he knew she kissed him, and he was taken aback by it. By the intensity of it, and how she curled her fingers into the front of his shirt while seeking to deepen the connection caught him off guard. He recognised this… This pattern. This habit. How she used physical gestures like a kiss to distract. Or perhaps she was seeking reaffirmation? He wasn’t sure what the tactic was – a form of defence maybe? – he only knew he didn’t like it. He liked kissing Nevena, that was certain, but not when there was some ulterior motive behind it.

“Holdon- hold on—“ Cullen pulled away, sitting back so she couldn’t simply pursue and kiss him again. Nevena’s gaze was confused and she bit the corner of her lip. “Why do you do that?” He kept his hands to himself, even though he wanted to reach out and offer reassurance when she began to tug at her sleeve.

“Do what?”

“That.” Cullen wafted his hand between them, “I don’t mean… After everything on Christmas day, and when you spoke to your dad… When something… difficult – for lack of a better word – comes up, you resort to kissing me or some kind of physical gesture. Why is that?”

“Why do you think?” Nevena snorted, almost rolling her eyes.

Trying not to bristle at her dismissiveness, Cullen took a slow breath. “My first thought would be it has something to do with your ex.“

“You’d be right. After every… fight, every argument, every blazing row, every event that reduced me to tears he would… The only way he said I could make things better was by… was through… sex, I guess. Eventually it grew to be a constant thing. I guess he conditioned me into it.” She sighed sharply through her nose. “He’s in practically everything I do.”

“That’s not true.”

“You don’t know what it’s like…” Nevena continued as though Cullen hadn’t spoken. She was staring into nothing, eyes wide, her expression one of utter fear as she witnessed something rising from the depths of her memory. “To be forced into-- to perform acts of-- to be… told you’re nothing. To be told that your worth is only in how you can please someone through sex. To have your own body used against you… You can’t know what it’s like to tend the bruises and the soreness and the cuts when he’s finally asleep or when he’s left. To train yourself to cry in silence so he doesn’t get angry again…” Tears in her watering eyes spilled down her cheeks. “What it’s like to hate yourself.”

A sense of disgust over took all of Cullen’s senses. Anger mixing with it, turning into a rage he controlled with deep breathing. Whatever Nevena was remembering he couldn’t take it away. He hated that. Hated how he couldn’t erase the pain of her past. He hated how was the one to cause her to remember this pain and this anguish. More than anything, he despised that man who put her through it all in the first place. The man who drew blood. The man who forced her into anything, who turned Nevena into someone who was afraid and trapped. He made her believe all her value lay in her body and what she could do to satisfy him when nothing could be further from the truth. Cullen swallowed his anger, his disgust, forcing it down like bitter bile and centring his mind on more calming thoughts.

He touched Nevena’s hand, and she started blinking hard and quickly glancing around the room. “Nev—"

“I’ll try not to… If we have serious conversations.” She interrupted, pulling her hand away and wiping her cheeks. “I’ll try not to resort to,” she waved her hand vaguely, “that.”

Cullen wasn’t sure where her head was. Wasn’t sure if she was angry, insulted, embarrassed or afraid. Her expression betrayed nothing, and her voice was still when she spoke, almost robotic. He reached out towards her, but she moved out of his reach as she got to her feet. “I wasn’t trying to—“

“I know.” She replied, picking up the manuscript from the floor.

“Nevena,” Cullen got to his feet and followed her. “Talk to me. I don’t want you to bottle things up.”

“I’m not. There’s nothing to talk about. It’s a thing I do. It annoys you, I won’t do it again.” The sharpness in her voice surprised him.

“It doesn’t annoy me.” He said more gently, following her to the dressing table where she placed the manuscript down. He kept some distance between them, making sure not to crowd her and held his arms by his sides, his posture as relaxed as possible. “I asked only because I was curious if there was a reason.”

“You can pretty much put a lot of my weird behaviour down to Rick.”

“We should talk about it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Hey Freckles, is Curly in there with you?” Varric’s voice came through the door accompanied by a quick knocking. Nevena turned to face the door, briefly exchanging glances with Cullen.

“Yeah, he’s in here with me.”

“Okay, well – whenever you two are ready, Josephine and Dorian are waiting to meet you to talk about plans for the library. They’re going to be leaving after the fireworks go off, so you’ve got a bit of time.”

“Alright, thanks Varric. We’ll be down in a sec.”

“Take your time.”

Cullen listened for the sound of Varric disappearing down stairs but any footsteps were drowned out by the music and conversation filtering up the stairs and audible through the door and the floor. He and Nevena stood in a heavy, stagnant silence, Nevena staring at the door while Cullen watched her. After a few moments of nothing but breathing, he saw her square her shoulders and take a deep breath – as he had seen her do before in Haven. Was she putting on the same face here?

“We should go and talk to these people. We’re being rude.” She left the room without another word, leaving their conversation unfinished and unsaid words hanging cold and empty in the air. Lingering in the bedroom wasn’t helping in the least. Cullen could only hope that later, perhaps the following day with the New Year fresh as newly fallen snow, he and Nevena might be able to finish what they started and begin making new habits.

Fun fact of the day: this chapter almost made me give up on this fic. I was stuck on this chapter for what felt like months. In fact, I think it was months. I wasn't sure the direction I wanted to go, and every time I tried to write it, I just got stumped. I eventually had to take a break from writing the fic. I think I was burned out a bit and needed to take time to figure it out. So, it's lucky that I wrote ahead of myself and kept plenty of buffer chapters!

That said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter (as much as you can, at least). The nice fluffy start and the... less fluffy ending. Poor Cullen... and poor Nevena. They never quite seem to get a break, do they? To be fair, it was necessary for Cullen to say something about the way she handled stress. It wasn't the most healthy, but I doubt he imagined it would unleash such a can of worms.

Do you think Cullen did the right thing in bringing up her coping mechanism? Do you think Nevena might have over-reacted a touch? Varric getting Josephine and Dorian involved - helpful or interfering? How do you think this is going to get resolved? Would you want to be a guest at a New Year's Eve party hosted by Varric? I sure would.

Please, please let me know what you think in the comments, in tags or in reblogs or on AO3 if you prefer to read there. 

Your comments and readership genuinely mean the world to me, and I know this fic is a slog. I know the chapters are long and the updates are really sporadic - I really do appreciate the people who come back and read the new chapters, and who reread chapters, and who leave their thoughts. It's so important to me as a writer to get your feedback. Without it, I'm basically screaming into the void, so please never feel like you're a bother for commenting, or that your comments don't mean anything. They do. They keep writers driven and they feed us. And you matter. I mean that emphatically. You matter, not just as a reader and a commenter, but as a person. And when you comment, we get to make a connection, person to person. And that's wonderful!

So, please let me know your thoughts. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you in the next update. - Bluster

[itsworn]

A Week Of Daily Driving, Pie Pickup, And A Goodbye To Conner Assembly In A 2017 Viper ACR Voodoo II

Elana’s Story

The big wing jutted up in the parking lot like a mesa on the edge of Texas flatland. “Drop me off there,” I instructed the airport shuttle driver, and she raised an eyebrow at my schlubby travel clothes and ripped purple suitcase as she opened the bus doors. I was in Detroit for a week of filming with Roadkill, culminating in a Viper plant tour and the Roadkill Nights racing at M1 Concourse. Dodge asked if I needed a get-around car for the visit, and nothing gets you around like a 2017 Viper ACR special edition Voodoo II. The Voodoo first came out as a limited model ACR in 2010, and the 2017 model uses the same glossy black base with accents of red and silver, more black widow spider than snake. “Does Batman know you have his car?” asked my husband when I texted him a photo.

I squeezed my ragged luggage in the trunk and scooted the seat up until I could reach the clutch. I couldn’t really get out easily from that position, but I had a Viper for a week. Why would I ever want to get out? “Oh this car, this car is a man-catching machine!” said the parking lot attendant as I waited for the arm to come up, and she was right. I got two rings waved at me on the highway as I headed for Pontiac, Michigan. “Marry me!” shouted the passenger in a beat-up Cavalier.

Any of you who are regular readers know that if I was in a marryin’ mood, it would be the Viper I’d propose to. I’ve spent some serious daily driver time in various models of the snake, and I’ve enjoyed every second of it. The ACR is a nastier animal than the SRT or GTS configurations. It wanders and argues about low-speed steering changes and uneven lanes. It stops so fast you’ll punch the center display with your downshifting hand if you don’t have a grip on the shifter baseball, and it transmits every pothole and pea of gravel directly to your lower back no matter how many mattresses you’re sleeping on, princess. I loved it anyway, and a good thing, since Freiburger and Finnegan were filming at Milan Dragway, a good 60 miles from my hotel in Pontiac. 120 mile roundtrip for multiple days? Pricey for gas, priceless for joy.

In between commuting to the dragstrip, I also used the Viper for normal activities, like finding the best pie in the area (Achatz Pies in Beverly Hills, MI), creeping it nervously through a thunderstorm, and teaching one of our video guys how to drive stick (he did real good, no clutches harmed). My love for the Viper remained undimmed, and I was happy to get to win a few other people over to it. At the end of the week, Hot Rod Garage host, Tony Angelo, and I managed to fit all our gear into the back, and I offered him the keys for the drive to the airport. “I don’t really like Vipers that much,” he said, but he was willing to give the ACR a try. A few strong pulls later and he was giggling as foolishly as I had been all week. “It’s like a real race car, oh, it’s fun!”

2017 is a bittersweet year for Viper fans. Dodge is ending production, and Viper clubs all over are gathering to pay tribute to the snake. With that intro, let me turn it over to Benjamin Hunting, who took the Voodoo to the closing of Conner Assembly plant–the nest where Vipers are hatched.

Ben’s Story

“What serial number is that one?” I’m asked almost immediately after parking at Detroit’s Conner Ave Assembly Plant and stepping out of my ride for the day. This is the birthplace of Chrysler’s most potent – and most significant – sports car, where Dodge is celebrating 25 years of Viper production, and the front lawn is replete with as many examples of the V10-powered coupe as I’ve ever seen gathered in one place.

“001,” I reply, after hastily checking the dash plaque. This conversation would repeat itself throughout the day, requiring me to repeatedly assert my non-ownership of the black-with-red-striped Voodoo II packages Viper ACR, a one-of-31 edition that loads every single option into the track-ready monster. It’s a testament to the staying power of the Dodge SRT Viper’s over-the-top image that rolling in to a field of over 200 similarly-styled snakes in a Voodoo II package ACR still draws a crowd.

“Oh, I’ve got #006 waiting for delivery next week,” came the reply from the man admiring the car’s “I”LL CUT YOU!” vents on the front fenders and overpass-threatening wing perched on the rear deck. “I’m going to try to see if they’ll let me near it inside the factory. I honestly can’t wait.”

That’s right – they’re still building Vipers here at Conner Ave, although for how much longer is anyone’s guess. If you were to judge by the exuberant atmosphere on this sunny Saturday morning, you’d be hard-pressed to call this gathering a funeral for a friend – or, more accurately, a beloved family member. Dodge may have canceled the Viper after a quarter century of near-continuous production, but judging by the high spirits of the owners gathered here today, the party has no plans of stopping any time soon.

The inside of the plant is almost completely open, letting us wander throughout its massive confines hemmed in only by the yellow safety tape that keeps us from accidentally activating any important Viper-making machinery (or walking out with a souvenir or two). The further down the line you get, the more complete the frames, body panels, and engine assemblies become, culminating in the snake pen at the end of the building where finished rides await the chance to put a smile on the faces of their new owners. I strain to spot Voodoo II #006, but it remains elusive.

Of course, customer cars aren’t the only denizens of Connor Ave, as Dodge has put a number of significant Viper models on display for the faithful. There are Le Mans winners, prototypes, one of the earliest RT/10 models known to still exist, and land speed record holders all sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, along with a single Plymouth Prowler (that easily forgotten son-of-Conner-Ave) tucked way off in a corner. Wall art tracks the development of the Viper from Gen I to Gen V, with unusual, never-produced variants mixed in to catch the eye of the devoted. On my way out the door I overhear an SRT engineer talking about how he snagged one of the six dual-cam VVT Viper engines that were ever built before it could be sent to the scrap yard. As job perks go, that’s a pretty damn good one.

Back on the lawn, it’s time to take a picture and then get this show on the road. After being captured in all their multi-colored glory by the photographer dangling high overhead, most of the cars around me get ready for the next stage in the day’s celebrations, a 15-mile, police-escorted parade from the plant to the M1 Concourse in Pontiac where Roadkill Nights is staging street legal drag races on Woodward Avenue and reserving a paddock just for Viper owners. In a cacophony of choppy cams and flashing blue lights a phalanx of Detroit’s finest sail in on their police bikes, lining up along the side of the road to lead us from the promised land.

Just before getting back into the Voodoo II, I find myself talking to Wes from Maryland, a self-described “military knucklehead” who’s in the middle of transplanting a Gen V body onto a Gen IV frame. “I picked up a wrecked Gen V for $25,000, but I couldn’t get a new frame anywhere,” he tells me. “So I’m here at the plant taking as many pictures as I can of all the chassis and platform details so I can figure out what needs to get cut, stretched, and moved to make everything play nice together.”

He says that ever since he put pictures of the project online, he’s gotten so many questions and messages of support about it that he’s gotten more done in the last 30 days than he did in the first six months. “It was originally a Carbon Edition car, but when I’m done with it it’ll be a T/A.” This fantastic Frankenstein creation will also probably be the most Roadkill Viper on the planet.

Our conversation is cut short by an official looking finger pointed in my direction by someone holding an equally official looking clipboard, directing me to line up two cars behind the Dodge Law Enforcement Viper that’s leading the pack (behind the actual, badge-carrying officers riding in the Dodge Chargers). I’m honored to be at the tip of the fang as we pull out of the assembly plant to begin the slow, raucous, and exceptionally loud convoy to M1. My side mirrors are filled with gearheads of all ages taking pictures and waving from the sidelines, Vipers stretching back as far as the eye can see (it’ll take one and a half hours for all 200 cars to make it to the paddock) police bikes that blaze by with startling regularity to block off side streets and make our lives easier while introducing misery into the weekend commutes of unsuspecting Detroiters.

Suddenly, I’m distracted from the reverie around me by an insist message on the Viper ACR’s gauge cluster. It’s not telling me how awesome the car is, or how incredibly fortunate I am to be given the keys to this beast for a ceremonial cruise: it’s pointing out how stupid I must be to have forgotten to fill the tank before leaving the hotel this morning. LOW FUEL, LOW FUEL the car complains, and it’s with a cold clarity that I realize I’m about to be “that guy” – the one who ran out of gas driving in car he doesn’t even own in a parade of Vipers.

Anxiously, I text Elana, Roadkill EIC and the caretaker of this ACR for most of the previous week to ask how far I can drive with the gas light on. “Maybe 30 miles,” she replies, but at these slow, stop-and-go speeds I can foresee a flatbed in my future should I decide to push my luck. It’s then that fate intervenes. In a bid to bunch up the long trail of cars behind us, the entire parade grinds to a halt at an intersection marked by a Marathon station, its faded logo shining like a beacon to under-prepared idiots like me.

I crank the wheel and screech in to the closest fuel pump, which of course refuses to accept my Canadian credit as a legitimate form of legal tender. Cursing my useless plastic, I run into the gas station where I accost a very confused attendant holding a mop and a bucket. “It’s the car with the giant wing!” I exclaim, stuffing a $20 bill in his hand and spinning on my heel to run back to the pump. Seconds later 91 octane is flowing into the ACR’s greedy tank in my best approximation of a NASCAR pit stop, to the hoots and laughter of genuine Viper owners passing me by at speeds low enough to register the shame on my face.

My twenty bucks spent, the pump clicks and I’m back behind the wheel, angling the ACR’s aero-laden front clip carefully back down onto the street. Eventually, another snake wrangler takes pity on me and a hole opens up in the line, letting me sneak into the parade, tail between my legs. It’s then, however, that I realize I’ve been presented with perhaps the rarest of opportunities: four clear lanes of boulevard, a sympathetic police escort, and a chance to snag my number 3 spot and extend the stock car racing metaphor as much as possible.

Throwing caution, and perhaps my last ounce of reasonable doubt to the wind, I pull out of line and hammer the throttle as much as I dare, blasting past ten, then twenty, then fifty crawling Vipers at a whopping 45-mph, fingers crossed that the cops still zooming down the street in the far lane will ignore my lack of decorum until I can regain my position at the front of the pack. In my mind I can picture scowling faces in imaginary Detroit Race Control screaming into headset mics and commanding my crew chief to send me to the “tail-end of the longest line,” but fortunately for everyone my fantasies don’t ever manifest themselves that fully in the real world. It’s not until the lead car is in sight that a uniformed officer in a patrol car pulls up beside me and suggests commands me to “get back in line!”

Once I’ve obliged, the rest of the trek to the M1 grounds is pleasantly uneventful – or rather, as uneventful as a train belching over a hundred thousand horsepower through sidepipes can realistically be on public streets. Parking the car on the concourse, I look down at the fuel gauge before shutting the car off and realize that had I not made my pit stop, I definitely would still be out there on the boulevard instead of here with the Roadkill Nation, celebrating not just the Viper, but every car out there killed by bean counters, market forces outside their control, or changing tides at the company that brought them into the world. As row after row of ACR, GTS, RT/10, GTC, GT, and T/A cars pull in alongside each other, however, I realize that the Viper family isn’t just steel, glass, and big honkin’ V10s – it’s muscle, love, and heart. And none of that is going away any time soon.

  The post A Week Of Daily Driving, Pie Pickup, And A Goodbye To Conner Assembly In A 2017 Viper ACR Voodoo II appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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