#A Light that Leads Home

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday!

Here is a bit of fun from the new chapter of the Hawke in the fade fic.  This is admittedly silly, but it’s not every day I can cook up an excuse to do some noir-style detective writing.  It is one of my favorite things.  I will tag @oxygenforthewicked and @kirkwalls-dumbest because they have not yet told me to stop!  But I also tag anyone who sees this :)

...

“What the hell else am I supposed to do?  You tell me, Champion.  Tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do when these city streets are my veins, and the rumble of wagons on the cobblestones are the beat of my heart.”  His voice trailed off.  He stood in the mouth of the alley, silver slashing across his back, but otherwise leaving him cloaked in shadow.

He lifted the cigarette, inhaled, and the ruddy glow briefly made him visible before he was plunged back into blackness.

“The rain falls like blood here; every puddle stained red. I’ve been betrayed, chased away– I was a week from retirement when they framed me for that murder.  Even though I cleared my name, I…”  Rain began to fall, a light pattering from the sky.  It splashed into tiny puddles forming in the dishes in the cobbles, worn there by the passage of feet.

“I can’t leave her.  She’s hell, she torments my waking hours and my dreams…but I can’t leave her, Hawke.  She’s the poison in my veins but she’s the antidote…and the drug, all in one.  She sings like lyrium and hurts like a Darktown alley special.”

“Hmh.  Not bad,” Varric muttered under his breath.

“So what, that’s it?  You give up on helping people because life handed you a few bad turns?”  I asked, disgust welling like tar, viscous and bubbling.

“You don’t understand.”

All right.

The sad sack had pissed me off.

I grabbed him by the neck of his filthy cloak and pulled him down to me.  His breath was rancid, and the stink of liquor coming off of him could have downed a charging bronto.  I stared him in the eyes.  “You listen to me, Donnen Brennokovic.  I’m on a mission and I’m not backing down, so you either help me find someone or you get the hell out of my city.”

My fist was itching for his face, so I laid one on him.  His head jerked to the side, the impact stinging from my knuckles to my elbow.  Not a hard punch.  Just a love tap, hopefully to wake up the pathetic slob. 

I dropped him; he hit the cobbles like a sack of rotting meat.  I’d dragged him into the light; I could see a moonlit glint under his askew cloak.  Kneeling down, I reached for it.  He grabbed my wrist but I was stronger right now.  I ripped it off; his guardsman’s badge.

He kept it polished.

“Don’t you ever fucking tell me I don’t understand,” I told him, keeping the threat in my voice like a knife to a neck.  I held up his badge in two fingers, and he stared at it resentfully.  “You know I do.  And I also know why you still have this.”

I rose, looming over him.  With a flick of my thumb the badge was spun from my fingers, hitting the cobbles with a chime and rolling into a puddle where it lay, gleaming in the moonlight so brightly that it looked like a star no longer seen in the miserable sky.

“Get the hell up.  We’ve got work to do, Brennokovic.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

The Kid of Candles

Jason Todd has been living on the streets for a while now. Ever since his mom overdosed, he's been struggling to find shelter. He was doing better in the summer and fall, but now bitter winter had come to Gotham, and it was taking everything he had not to freeze to death.

There were a lot of kids like him and even more that went to sleep but never woke up after a snowstorm. Jason is still tiny, and very new, and that means he's an easier target. He has met kids who pretend to be kind in order to steal from him but he's also met some who were willing to share what little they had.

He wouldn't call them friends. Just other survivors. He is currently in a camp created by these survivors. Street kids have carved their own place on the streets simply by staying alive the longest, and casually they allow the smaller ones in for the bad weather with the understanding that the younger ones were to leave as soon as the sun was up.

He is trying to warm up next to the lit fire by one of the older street kids when a teenager stands on a little crate. The teenager starts tapping a piece of wood against a small amount of metal like they are trying to make a toast.

He's unsure about their gender; they always tell people they are not a girl or a boy, but they are the leader of the little pack of street urchins and the only ones willing to share the small blankets.

They go by Rowan, and Rowan adores campfire stories as if they were just some rich kids paying to go out into the woods and sleep in tents instead of shivering unwanted brats sleeping on rolled-up newspapers. Some street kids groan and roll their eyes, but not Jason.

Rowan's stories are the closest he can get now to books. Before, he would read and escape to the magical world found among letters away from his mother's addiction and the worsening living conditions. Books were his comfort and one of the things he missed the most from his home.

"Gather around, gather around children, and listen to the tale of the Kid of Candles!" Rowan starts, cracking their voice into a gleeful cackle. The older ones scoff, but the younger kids all turn their attention to the ringleader.

Jason moves away from the fire to sit right in front of the crate, pulling his knees to his chest as he settles. Someone takes his spot by the fire, and he hopes the story is worth the loss. "Long ago, when Gotham was first founded by Captain Jon Logerquist, he claimed to follow a bright white light that led him right to Gotham River after suffering the loss of his entire crew to a sea storm. He would have died had he not lit the last candle on the ship- a black candle. The candle attracted the attention of a unique child, who appeared on his deck among the bright light. A boy with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, and sharp teeth pulled into a kind smile."

The children gasped as even Jason leaned closer, captivated by Rowan's smooth voice. "Captain Jon Logerquist was able to rebuild his ship and return home to report the ideal location for a new city. The founding families, the Waynes, the Kanes, the Elliots, and the Cobblepots, all agreed to take the Logerquist's request and loaded their four family ships with volunteers to start Gotham. Still, they soon became lost when Captain Logerquist tragically passed along the trip. As he was the only person who knew the way, the new crew and civilians quickly panicked, getting further and further away from the location that would later be Gotham. They attempted to turn around, hoping to return home, but navigation tactics were not working. It was almost as if the waters and stars moved, wanting to claim as many victims as possible. This would later be known as Gotham's Orginal Curse."

Rowan paused to wiggle their fingers at the crowd of ten children and a few teenagers- the ones from Rowan's original gang- all made the appropriate ooooohhhhh sounds. Jason shivers as a storage sense of pressure settles around his shoulders. It felt like the city itself was listening to the tale. He wonders if anyone else felt it.

"They quickly ran out of food, and the passengers even began speaking of eating each other to survive. A young Wayne boy, one of the few who could read, found Logerquist's journal in his cabin and decided to try lighting a black candle while the adults argued." Rowan continues mimicking, opening a book, and lighting a candle. That's another thing Jason liked about Rowman's stories. They tended to act out some scenes, and it was highly entertaining.

"Just like before, a bright white light appeared before the lite black candle, and a boy with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, and a kind, sharp smile told the Waynes to follow him, which they agreed to. The three other family ships reluctantly followed when the Waynes broke away from the formation and arrived at Gotham. There, they found all the resources they needed to survive and riches beyond their wildest dreams. Since then, the Kid of Candles has appeared throughout Gotham's history, leading those who are lost to their homes whenever a black candle is lit. It is said to this day if you are genuinely lost and light a black candle, the Kid of Candles will appear but be warned, his assistance always comes with a price,"

Jason gasped as the pressure increased around him. Seriously how had no one else felt it yet? "What is the price?"

Rowan snaps their fingers at him with a sinister smile. "Death. When you ask the dead for help, they will ensure you join them as a repayment. Maybe not the same day, maybe not for years, but he will claim you eventually."

A few kids whimpered.

"Oh, knock it off, Rowan," A teenage girl snaps. "You're scaring the little ones with your stupid urban myths."

"Gotham myths are not stupid!" Rowan's gasps hurt. "They are the closest accurate account of Gotham's real history!"

"Sure, just like the Court of Owls and their Talons." the girl rolls her eyes.

"Those are real. The Court's Talons should not be taken lightly. They are far worse than the Kid of Candle. At least he is benevolent enough to help you home!"

Jason retreats to his corner of the abandoned warehouse factory, ignoring the bickering of the teenage gang. He sits with his back to the wall, his feet tucked close to his chest, and all his things squished between his body and a second wall on his right. It's uncomfortable but ideal for keeping what little he has safe and making it easier to get up and run should the need arise.

He found that the need came a lot more often than he liked. He nods off after trying to squeeze his body closely together to hopefully gather warmth.

The following day, a teenager kicks him in the side, sneering that the free space-time is over and Rowan wants him out in ten minutes. Jason doesn't have to be told twice, gathering his things and scurrying to the exit. As he passed Rowan, he offered the elder a nod of thanks, and the storyteller gave him a wink and grin.

They also press a black candle into Jason's palm. "Hey he brought me to my gang, so why can't he lead you?"

Jason smiles, no commenting, and pockets the candle without hesitation. He may need to sleep here again and doesn't think calling bullshit will be a smart move.

It's best not to offend the crazy leader. A day goes by where he panhandles out of the cop's sight, wandering around the city looking for some food, and even gets a rich guy to give him fifty bucks after asking politely, but he runs when he asks if he has somewhere safe to sleep.

All in all, not the worst day. That night, he returns to Rowan's place but is told they already have too many. Disheartened, Jason wanders to sleep under a bridge by Gotham River. As he shivers near the frozen water, he thinks of the black candle.

He has a few matches on him, and maybe the small candle can help him start a bigger fire to keep warm. Jason strikes his match The pressure from before returns making him waver for only a moment before he dares set the wake aflame.

A few seconds go by with nothing happening, and he's just about getting embarrassed for believing in a stupid urban legend when he's blinded by the brightest light he's ever seen. A floating boy with white hair, green glowing eyes, and a broad smile appears before Jason.

He screams, stumbling back to fall on his butt as the boy floats to touch the ground before him.

The boy smile widens. "Hello Jason, it's time to go home."

Jason runs, but it gives chase, throwing out directions. He attempts to do whatever it is- by going the opposite direction, but it's to no avail. Jason knows Gotham like the back of his hand and swears the streets are moving. Roads that are blocks away from each other are right around the corners he takes.

Soon, an unnatural light blue fog surrounds him, blocking his view of anything more than two feet before him. He glances over his shoulder, confirming the mist is coming from the glowing figure that flies behind him at an easy, steady pace.

He picks up his speed.

Jason doesn't understand what's happening, but he remembers Rowan's voice as he pumps his legs to go as fast as they can to the point they burn. This would later be known as Gotham's Orginal Curse."

Oh god, he's been cursed by the Kid of Candles!

"We're here. I hope you have a lovely life with your new family." The being suddenly says hand on Jason's elbow, causing the boy to trip over and hit against a large metal gate. The fog disperses like a blown-away candle, and the Kid of Candles vanishes in its smoke as the gates of Intercon turn on.

"Wayne Manor. Who might you-" a voice with a British accent speaks over the speakers, but Jason cuts them off with a frightful yelp.

"Help! Help! Please, he's going to kill me!" He shouts, eyes swinging around the new place he is. He thinks he doesn't recognize this place at all, which means he's somewhere out of the city- the outskirts. Where the wealthy live.

It would take a good two hours by car to get here, and The Kid of Candles got him here in ten by bending reality or something. And now Jason owed it something.

He owed it his death.

He crumbles into sobs, so terrified his heart feels like it will escape from his chest. "Please. I don't want to die. I don't want to die."

There is a long pause, where all Jason can hear is his own uneven breathing and the beating of his chest, before the gates swing open, and a slightly older teenager- probably around Rowan's age- is offering him a hand.

"Hi, I'm Dick. I think I can help you if you come inside."

Jason stares at the hand for a few seconds, but from the corner of his eye, he swears he sees a boy watching them and quickly takes the hand.

His right elbow has a new tattoo he never paid for. It's a burning black candle, right where the Kid had touched him. It's also the same tattoo on Rowan's right hand. Jason cries for hours when he finds it.

Years later, Jason will admit that the Kid of Candles truly did help him find a home. He would come to love Bruce like father, as the man took him in, mistaking Jason as an escapee of human trafficking, and was there to buffer the misunderstanding between him and Dick.

He would point out that Dick called him dad outside the house, and Bruce would sit his eldest down to ask if he was okay with an adoption. Dick would settle with the knowledge that Bruce didn't keep him around to fight crime, and he would open his heart to Jason as a brother.

He would grow to follow in his brother's footsteps and become Robin- after making sure Dick was okay with it- and would help his new father fight crime. When Jason is fourteen, he finds out his mother is not his biological, and he learns his real mom is still alive.

He asks Dick and Bruce for help to find her, so the three load the plane as the Waynes instead of the Bats, and thus they help put her away together when the met-up goes south.

She tries to sell them to the Joker, but Bruce overhears her and gets authorities to him in mere minutes, long before the Joker can meet up with her.

She is in cuffs and being led away from the warehouse where the Joker was going to wait for her.

In the chaos, Jason notices the glowing white-haired boy smiling at the warehouse entrance, but Jason doesn't go near it. Not even after it explodes, killing the Joker who was inside. Not even when Bruce holds them close, horrified that they could have been so close to the explosion- they were in civilian identities and needed to put up a show- but he does notice that the Candle on his elbow is shorter.

That night Jason traces the shorter melted candle and he knows he escaped death once more. He doesn't know how he knows but something deep within him knows the Kid of Candles hand something to do with it.

He would swing by Rowan's place as Robin and Jason Wayne to help them and their gang get off the streets.

Rowan would one day open a bookstore, where they would hold weekly storytelling, naming the store the Black Candle in thanks to the spirit that led them to his lifelong friends.

Jason will, however, never get over his fear of ghosts, not even when the same green fog would one night lead the neighbor's boy right to their yard. His little brother, Tim, thought The Kid of Candles was kind, handsome, and awesome (might be a crush in all honestly) but Jason will always know it was much more dangerous than meets the eye.

All things in Gotham are deadly beautiful like that.

The Waynes still have a drawer full of black candles they take out in the field, just in case.

(Danny Phantom watches Jason sleep, his protection core warming as the boy cuddles with Tim after his little brother admitted to a nightmare. He's glad they found somewhere that could offer everything they needed in a home.

A house and a home are two very different things, after all.

It reminds him of when he was alive.

A candle is flickered on somewhere in the city, and he blinks out of existence, ready to help- Steph- get away from her father. Hmmm, well, Bruce does have the space for more kids)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

do you ever just sit there thinking about your favorite ocs while violently shaking. god. clenches fist. They're So.

[darleenjade]

Get lost in the dark...light leads me home

[riacte]

❄️🏁Just between us, do you remember it all too well? 🏁❄️

Hurriedly (and I do mean hurriedly) grabbed a few screenshots <3 BRR you are so beautiful and big and ambitious and so glad to see it finished <3

[boyfriaends]

what if you could date a ghost?

[twiyke]

uaghh evening city in the rain my everything. world so beautiful.

[biscuitsarenice]

[zorkaya-moved]

There is a firmness in the way Kaveh's hand allows itself to claim the surface of her neck, thumb stroking the front of her throat as deep maroon settle on bright golden, distance between them closed when he settles a hand on the woman's lower back. A coy smile remains on his lips, hers tilted upwards as the hand on her neck coax her in doing so. It's not tight, but it's present, determined as fingers sense her pulse beating against them.

He is admiring her. Taking in the sight of her face once more, drowning in the striking gaze that meets his own, the architect closing their distance further as he brings their chests together upon sinking his parting lips towards her as he allows them to graze... subtly, slowly.

But not close enough to seal into a kiss.

"I have a client in fifteen minutes," Kaveh whispers against Zarina's plump lips, "get on your knees."

@avaere

Hands were broken when they would so much as graze her neck, attempts to do anything with it. The first time Kaveh did this, she remembers how her body tensed and she warned him not to do anything else but since then? It's been long enough that her trust in his touch doesn't make her body tense, doesn't make her mind go into defensive mode, doesn't make her think that someone's going to be stupid enough to try to wrap their fingers around her neck. No, the architect's touch is still warm and safe when he claims the surface of her neck, that light caress causing her to swallow. They're both well aware this is as far as she'll be comfortable to go when it came to her neck.

Though, it's exciting how he changes based on what he feels like, he can switch between asking for her touch to making her yearn for his.

No one has a collar around her neck, no one but Kaveh, even if he wouldn't wish for that to be an actual metaphor symbolizing a shackle. She's well aware how they both treasure each other's independence and personal life, but the collar around her neck is a comfortable one. One she wanted someone to puts her neck to keep her beast tamed, even if it was a false taming.

Perhaps, that's why now she holds back from smiling triumphally at his change in behavior. Did she really tease him too much? He's been so busy and she's leaving soon for two weeks. She'll take a bit of teasing to make him crave her more, even if it's a bit risky. And viola! Her plan works perfectly.

Golden eyes gleam with mirth and excitement when he moves closer, his hands warming her up and the anticipation of fun sending tingles down her spine. But oh, he can be so alluring when he doesn't give her what she wants. If anything, this tease only makes her body feel hotter from how excitement was making blood rush through her veins. Zarina cannot deny she's just as wrapped around Kaveh's finger as he seems to be around hers. Love is a terrifying power, isn't it?

15 minutes... So he's not going to cancel on them to have fun with her. Tch. But then he tells her to get on her knees and her eyes widen just a bit but her gaze then changes to have flickers of anticipation, excitement and adoration mixed with lust. He's ordering her? Ah, she can feel the reaction he's had to her body, that 'fault' is for her to 'apologize' for by dealing with it. Zarina has to bite back a giggle over that, finding the architect's 'order' to be delightful to follow. Whenever he used those dominante tones with her? It was hard not to have that perverted enjoyment, especially in a situation like this.

Zarina kisses his lips herself, a slight peck to not waste time:

"It's less than fifteen minutes if you want to meet your client with your pants and belt on," she smiles but wishes not to spend any more time talking. Her mouth is salivating at the thought of urgency in this scenario, she feels that tingling sensation of arousal between her legs at the possibility of not making it in time or making it just in time. Her tongue wets her lips in impatience, hands working on his belt and pants. Her breathing is a bit more ragged, she had to ask him to do this before but now he asks her himself. Her joy is overriding the plain lust, mixing her delight in with the sprinkles of adoration and so much love.

Eager and fast, she skillfully deals with his clothes (it's not the first time she's been trying to undress him fast) but it's a different reason right now. There was an actual urgency and time limit. Her breath hitches when she takes off his underwear, freeing his cock from the constraints. He's been turned on by her whispers and touches, hm? She's proud but cannot let those thoughts take over to tease him. She doesn't even have time to admire the prettiness of his dick, noting on each veins and the color of his head that she finds utterly adorable to suck on to drive out those familiar whines, but no, not the time!

They have less than fifteen minutes now! Thank the Archons she kept her hair braided today.

"Use my mouth as you please," she lets him know in advance while glancing up at his face, fingers wrap around his length to give him a few pumps, but they are a bit on the rougher side solely to underline the urgency and how rough he can also get with her. The next words are spoken so close to his leaking tip, her hot breath must be affecting Kaveh as well as she felt that slight twitch (it almost makes her smile again if not for concentration). "Cum inside my mouth, too, I missed your taste."

There are no more words followed as her lips wrap around his tip first, tongue licking off his arousal but she doesn't go as slow and engaging as she usually does. He'll need to guide her to make sure he gets to cum fast and hard, so she relaxes her jaw and closes her eyes to concentrate on the sensations. Instead of going slow, Zarina moves her head forward to take all of him in one move. The lack of gag reflex prevents her from gagging, she thanks herself for her experience in being able to do it as well as she does right now. Tongue flattened against his shaft, she can feel his hand on the back of her head (but no pressure yet).

His taste, his scent, his warmth... She moans with her mouth full of him, sending vibrations of pleasure. The usually careful moves are replaced with faster pace, moving her head back to let herself suck and lick at his cock. Each veins already memorized, each weak spot already remembered, each pleasure point already known. They have to be fast, they have to be faster. So her sucks are just a bit harsher, the way she takes him is more selfish and eager. Despite her usually cold touch, her mouth feels hot around him and her tongue teases and urges.

The sounds from Kaveh are always heavenly, no matter what situation they're in. Be it his whines or moans or subtle groans. What makes it even better is how she feels his hand on her head give her guidance, setting up the pace himself to reach his high and to use her mouth as a way to reach that climax. Each order, each word, each praise gets to her core as well. Saliva runs down her chin as she takes him deep into her mouth once again, encouraged by Kaveh himself. Does he like when she deepthroats him? Does he want to fuck her mouth? She wants to drive him insane about her, about this, about everything he'll miss because of that pesky client. So he can run back home to her, into her embrace, and make her instead a teary eyed mess begging for him to let her cum.

"Mhmm!" Her eyes are tearing up from such rough pace, but she loves it. She loves the urgency, the way he lets her know what he wants and what he craves, the way he uses her to please himself right now. It's dirty, it's perverted, it feels so good to know he'll sit on a client meeting right after coming undone into his girlfriend's mouth cool as cucumber while discussing business. Zarina keeps her hands on him to keep steady, but her nails dig into his skin just a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to show how this is affecting her (but also to use in case it gets too much, but really, when does it?)

The fingers in her hair hold just a bit tighter, pulling her silver locks just a bit and she can hear and feel how lose he was getting. The whispers of her name, the familiar change of pace, the pitches in his voice she's come to know by now. So she answers eagerly, doing everything to ensure his climax reaches heavens and he'll gift her with what she wants so much. The noises are lewd, even if they are repressed to keep quiet so if a client does come early - they won't hear a thing behind those doors. They won't see how the architect gets his cock sucked by his lover, two of the prettiest people in all Teyvat enjoying each other a bit too much.

The decadent delight of being caught almost makes her want to slow it down but she cannot. He's so close, she loves how he whispers her name and gives her praise.

Good girl, just like that... Fuck, that feels so good, keep doing that...

Fuck, she knows she's dripping down below, soaking her panties and possibly her tights as well. She'll have to walk home in this state...

No words can be uttered as she feels him push her head closer to himself and she shuts her eyes when she hears his warning. She has only a moment to prepare herself before she feels Kaveh cum - as she asked - into her mouth. The taste on her tongue is familiar, missed even. Her nails dig just a bit deeper, leaving half-moon marks on his thigh. It's hot, it's so hot and she wants more. Her eyes are watery as she blinks the wetness away, waiting for the architect to come down from his high but he lets go of her hair and she pulls back, ensuring that none of his cum slip out of her mouth. It's her reward alongside seeing Kaveh like this.

Even if there was a place to spit out, Zarina rarely did this. Instead, she swallows and makes it a show for Kaveh to know that nothing was wasted. Her eyes are misty, her breathing is hard, and her lips are glossy, pink and slightly open to get more air. She needs to wipe off the trace of drool from her chin with a napkin.

"R-record time," she jokes, but her voice is thick with lust and still untapped desire. It's so unfair he has to meet a client in a couple of minutes, but even like that, she helps Kaveh to put on his pats and belt back on, glancing at the time and seeing that they have mere three minutes before the client will be in. After standing for a while on her knees, Zarina notices takes her lover's hand to get up, sharing a smile with him before letting out a soft whine when she feels the wetness between her legs. It's a soft noise only for Kaveh to hear and also a sight for him to see, the slight pout and the sad expression of knowing she'll have to wait for him to satisfy her. Her fingers aren't really doing much anyway but maybe he'll catch her in the act of trying so desperately to please herself enough until he returns.

"No, no." She suddenly stops him from approaching, well, specifically stops him from kissing her on the lips. "Better finish up here and kiss me at home or you'll have to fuck me on this table in front of your client," her hand rests on his chest right where his heart beats and she knows she wouldn't mind anyone catching them in the act of him bending her over his table, fucking her brains out and making her moan so loudly it'll echo in the hallway. "I didn't... quite learn my lesson yet," her index finger teases the open skin on his chest, head tilting to give him another sultry look. "That wasn't a punishment enough for making you hard right before a meeting. Please order me more when you get home, Kaveh. I'll be waiting."

There is a knock on the door that startles the couple. Zarina's hand pulls away from her lover's chest, undoing her braid that went too loose to look presentation from Kaveh's 'guidance' and she wipes away the drool from her face with the fabric of her skirt before walking around the table. She notices how Kaveh also looks over himself to ensure he's presentable for the meeting. The flush on his face seems to slowly go away, he no longer looks disheveled.

"Master Kaveh?" The voice is head and Sokolova playfully rolls her eyes so the blonde could see her clear dissatisfaction over being interrupted. 15 minutes flew by in seconds and she hadn't nearly had enough. "May I come in?"

Before the question is answered, Zarina opens the door herself and greets the client with a gentle and polite smile.

"Good day. My apologies, I had a meeting with Master Kaveh just a moment ago," her voice doesn't shake or tremble nor does it show any fault in her role. "

"O-Oh, please, don't worry, Miss Sokolova. I didn't know you also worked together."

"No, no," she waves her hand, glancing at Kaveh with a knowing smile. Fuck, she wants to cross her legs and rub her thighs together. Her core is aching, begging for some stimulation. "I was simply trying to persuade him to help me with my project." Sure, project. Project of getting fucked during work time. "But Master Kaveh said he's too busy with other projects. So that's why I won't be taking more of your time. If you require any help from me, please let me know. You are aware of my hours."

And with a polite bow, she exits the room only to hear the last words of the client being:

"Good day, Master Kaveh! I'm excited to work with you..."

Oh, maybe that client won't be so annoying and he'll finish early.

[mylunajewel]

Hand Painted CHRIST Stained Glass Lead Window Ornament

[benetnvsch]

kunikida plushie quite literally the reason yesterday wasn't the worst day of my life LMAO

[psalacanthea]

A Light that Leads Home- 2

Part 2 of Hawke in the fade with her buddy (maybe) Varric.  At this point it’s probably going to be like 4-5 parts, but definitely no longer than that.  (she said, like a fool).  Here’s where it’s up on AO3 if you prefer to read there.

...

They followed the footsteps of blood.

It should have been ominous, but they both agreed it was the right way to go.  Besides, blood wasn’t always bad.  Sometimes it had to be spilled so that other people could be free.

Eventually it wasn’t one set of footprints, but two.

Elven and canine, they traveled together, Hawke drifting in their wake, pulled inexorably by the current.

And then she saw them, echoes that pointed the way in the right direction.  Blade flashing, teeth bared, throats ripped open and hearts ripped out.  The memories were soaked in blood, but it was good blood, liberating blood, and her ears rang with cries of gratitude and the sobbing of frightened children no longer chained.  

Echoes led to more echoes, stronger each time as they were led onward through scenes of battle.  The ring of steel and silverite, the shouts of fury, they were familiar things that helped ground her back in her own body.  It gave her strength.  When they found the source, finally stopped chasing, it took her a minute to see what it was– warped as the world was around him.  The fabric of everything seemed to eddy around him, following the lyrium lines in his skin, a strange distortion.

There he was; the drop in the center that was sending ripples out into the fade.

She wanted so badly to see his face, but when he moved the fade clung to those lyrium lines, warping everything.  It made sense now how he could do what he could do, seeing it from the other side.  It was as if the lyrium etched into his skin was constantly thinning the veil around him.

Fenris would hate that if she told him.

It was hard to see him now that he wasn’t a memory; Varric wasn’t letting her get too close.  

“I just want to see them,” she said, frustrated.

“It’s not gonna go the way you want,” Varric said, his voice apologetic.  “I realize how damn stubborn you are, but trust me, it’s not going to go well.  He’s going to be asleep soon.”

“Then I can talk to him,” Hawke said with a sudden rush of hope.  “Like I tried to talk to Merrill.”

Which hadn’t gone well either, apparently more than one spirit wanted to be Hawke, for some reason.  She couldn’t imagine why.  But Merrill hadn’t believed it was her, and Hawke couldn’t remember enough to convince her that it was in fact her and not a spirit playing out stories of the Champion.  

“And you think it’s gonna be different this time?”

“I have to try.”

“Well, I can’t go with you.  If you’re gonna have any chance of convincing him, I can’t be there.”

That stalled her, confusion twisting through what was left of her distracted mind.  “Why?”

“Do you remember the time we played a Flip and Whistle on those idiots from the merchant’s guild?  And how I wanted to see it play out, but you…”

“If you were there, the con wouldn’t be believable,” Hawke finished, resigned.  It shouldn’t make any sense at all, but it did, even though she couldn’t remember the thing he was talking about.  The words sounded right, and so her mind just accepted them.

It was…them-ish.  It was what Varric would say to Hawke in this instance, and she would respond with grudging acceptance, and that’s the way it always went.   Even when she didn’t know what he was talking about, it worked.

Because if it didn’t maybe then she wasn’t actually Hawke.

So, being Hawke-ish, she decided to be stubborn, like Varric always told her she was.  “He might listen.  It might be our way home.  I’ve got to risk it, Varric.  You know me.  I got us into this mess and yeah it’s a big one, but I always get us out, too.  Don’t I?”

She didn’t know if she was pleading with him to trust her actions, or her reality.

Varric stared at her, arms folded, and then finally nodded.  “Okay.”

“I’ll be right back,” she promised, despite knowing that Varric would have to be the one to find her.  She turned, heading carefully towards the campfire, the companions huddled together against the darkness.  The closer she grew, the worse the distortion became.  But instead of frustration, it gave her a sudden hope.

Could he use the marks, find a way to push through the veil and take her hand?

If only she could ask him to- but he was there and she was here, and his mind had yet to wander over.  So instead she watched the wavering scene, like water, like warped glass.  She gazed down at them, blobs of living color.  

Fenris and the mabari.

Seeing them brought back some of the memories, took away that terrifying drifting sensation that had been plaguing Hawke.  She was Hawke.  She was.  

If only she could remember her name.

The dog had been Carver’s, and he’d followed Bethany reluctantly when Carver had died.  They all tried to take care of him, but some light had gone out in the old boy’s heart.  Little by little he was dying of a broken heart, only hanging on long enough to take care of his master’s twin.  But then he met Fenris.

When Bethany had left, Fenris just started feeding the dog when he refused, and they’d sit together in front of the fire on the floor, leaning against each other while he oiled his sword.

Hawke had asked him how he convinced the old boy to keep holding on, he’d said…

He’d said…

Shit.

While she was puzzling it over, the night grew darker, and eventually Fenris went to sleep.  She didn’t notice until she felt a presence, the world tugging at her attention.  Heedless of Varric’s warnings, she turned her attention to him.  She was in the Fade, and his mind was in the Fade.  It wasn’t quite so easy as talking to him, but she could at least touch his mind this way.  It was…difficult not to be clumsy about, though.

She didn’t want him to wake up.

With that worry in her heart, she focused in on his sleeping mind and stopped paying attention to the world around her.  It wasn’t a direction of the body, it was a direction of the mind, but it was easier for her to find it if she envisioned something.  In this case, a road, leading her from one direction to the other.  From a distorted, night-lit world into the one inside his head.

It was hot, drippingly humid, and greenery crowded in around her.  Seheron.  Not a good place to be.

It was his mind, of course, so he was there just through some palm fronds, bodies scattered at his feet as Danarius lorded over him.  But they weren’t the Fog Warriors Fenris had killed, they were slaves, children, emaciated men and women all showing the signs of abuse.  Fenris was kneeling, shaking, his sword and hands drenched in blood.

Hawke moved quickly to intercept, heedless of how touching dreams always seemed to ruin them.  “Fenris, its okay!  He’s gone, he can’t hurt them.  He can’t hurt you!”

His voice was cracked as parched earth, dark and longing for the mercy of the rain.  “I have failed.”

“You haven’t,” she insisted, pulling him away from the bodies, forcing him to look at her.  “You’ve done everything you can, Fenris.  We can’t save everyone.  I saw it.  I saw it in the Fade, what you’ve done.  You may not have saved everyone, but you have saved.”

As his attention turned to her, the world warped and shifted.  She knew it was dangerous to pull him out of his dream, but she couldn’t think of any other way to stop the self-recrimination.  Hopefully it wouldn’t shatter everything.

His eyes were on her face.  “Hawke?”

“It’s all right, Fenris.  I’m here.”  Hoping against hope, she extended a hand to him, praying he would take it, praying she might feel…something.  Some connection to the other side.  It had been so long since the world had been real.

His stare shifted from her eyes to her hand, her fingers gently curling in a beckon, a hopeful grasp.

It had been so long, and she was so tired that her words crashed out carelessly, desperately.  “Take my hand, Fenris.  Please.  I want to come home.”

His eyes slowly dragged up from her hand to her face again, and she watched his eyes harden.  “This is a dream.”

Hoping against hope that it wouldn’t break it, that he could hang on the edge of sleep just long enough, she insisted.  “Take my hand, Fenris, please!”

“Demon.”

The hiss of his voice, the accusation cut through her hope like a blade.  Like the blade he drew, as he rose and pulled back from her, a sword in his hands.  They stood against each other now, her with her hand out, him with his blade ready.  

“I’m not a demon!  It’s me, Hawke!” she said, wishing she could remember her name, anything that would help him believe her.  But all she could do was beg, so tired of this waking nightmare, so tired of walking.

So tired of being awake in a land of dreams.

“You dare confront me wearing her face?  You dare try your manipulations on me?”  His voice was a snarl.

Her mind screamed at her, begging her to think of a way to make him believe her.

“I swear, it’s me.”

He laughed, a scoff, voice taking on a dangerous edge.  “I will not listen to your lies, demon.”

The sword glinted in the sunlight, the firelight, the dream becoming muddy as he focused on her.  She didn’t want to know what he saw.  Didn’t want to know what monster she was now.  How could she stop him?  How could she change his mind?

Her mind still raced, hunting for a solution.

But all she could recall on were those earlier memories, the ones that had surfaced when she’d seen him.  When he’d gotten Carver’s mabari to care again, gotten him to live again when he had no reason to.  The thing he’d said that she couldn’t remember.

“There are battles left to fight!  People left to help!”

Fenris froze, sword upraised, ready to fall upon her.

She glanced down at the hound on the other side, sleeping in the firelight.  Old, but alive.  Still fighting.  “That’s what you told him, to get him to keep going.  I’ll remember, Fenris, I’ll remember.  You don’t have to believe me, but I’m not done.  I’m still fighting.”

Everything rippled, ripping apart as the dream fractured and his eyes went wide.  As it all dissolved away, she could hear his voice following her.  It rang with confusion and disbelief.

“Hawke?”

Fenris awoke, and the dream was gone.

Panic set in, a deep and existential dread; maybe he was right.  Maybe she hadn’t always been Hawke.  Maybe she’d never been Hawke.  Or even worse, she was dead, she’d died and now her spirit was trapped here, to what, become a demon some day like he’d accused?

“What am I?” she asked the nothingness, fingers digging in.

“Andraste’s ass, this is why I didn’t want you to do this,” Varric groused.  Her mind lost its haziness when his hand took hers, anchoring her back again.  He leaned down next to her.  “I know I said we have to keep trying, but part of moving forward means picking your battles.  Not letting yourself get caught up in shit that’s just going to slow you down.”

“Wrong audience,” she said weakly.

He laughed, quiet and rough.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I guess it is.  But we need to keep moving.  All right?”

“Where?” she asked simply, frustrated.  He only ever told her that, never gave her a damn solution!  “Tell me where to go and I’ll fucking go there!”

“You know I don’t know,” Varric said, his own voice heavy.  “I just know we have to.  Okay?  We’ve gotta keep trying.  Keep fighting, Hawke.”

“I’ve been fighting since I left Lothering,” she muttered, bones aching with a weariness that was woven into every part of her.  It’d become the center of her, that exhaustion.  “I just want to rest.  Just…lay down for a while, Varric.  We’ve been walking for so long.” His voice rose with a hint of panic.  He released her, rising to his feet.  Giving her arm a little tug.  “No, no.  Hey.  You can’t do that, Hawke, I need you to stand up.”

“I always do.”  And yet she didn’t, staring at her hands.  The firelight had faded, and the distortion of the world faded; little stirrings of the fade slowly easing out to placid currents as Fenris fled from the demon in his nightmare, moving on to find another camp.  

Running away from her.

Now it was just a dark empty road with nothing but wisps of memory.

“Maybe he believed you.  Maybe…maybe it’s the start of a way out, I don’t know.”

“Tell me the plan, Varric.  You always know the plan,” she said, glancing up at him.  “If it’s the start of a way out, tell me how!  Tell me how!”

He lifted both hands, voice dripping with irritation.  His frustration made things waver, lose cohesion in a way that terrified her.  “I don’t know!  You know I don’t know.  Hell, I don’t even dream, I’m a damn dwarf, not a mage.”

Mage.

Dream mage.

From the strange dark sea of her hidden memories, something rose from the depths, just a scrap.  A boy, a mage.  A mage who could shape dreams.  If only she could remember his name.  But that memory was long faded, and she couldn’t even remember his face, let alone his name or fate.

But she thought…she thought he might be alive.

Where could he be?

“Anders will know the way.  The way to the boy, who might be the way out,” Hawke decided, feeling infinitely better with even a scrap of a purpose.  She clung to it, afraid that if she didn’t, she’d lose Varric.  It wouldn’t be hard to find Anders, she hoped.  He and Justice would leave lots of echoes, wouldn’t they?

Varric knew exactly what she meant without explanation.  He gave a long sigh of relief, and his voice, his figure firmed up again.  “Great.  That’s a great idea, Hawke.  Just…this time be careful, okay?  If you give up…I don’t know what’d happen to me.”

She took his hand and rose, a sardonic smile on her face.  “Oh, so it’s all about you, huh?  Well shit, Varric, why didn’t you just say so?”

“Hey, I don’t want to make it all about me, but sometimes that’s the only thing that keeps you moving, Hawke.  It’s not like you’ve ever done a damn thing for yourself in your life.”  He grinned up at her mockingly.

“Once we’re out of here, no more self-sacrificing crap.  It doesn’t seem to be doing me much good,” she decided.  Unfortunately, to find Anders all roads would lead back to Kirkwall, but she really hoped that once she was on his trail it wouldn’t be so hard to escape.

They reached the crest of a hill and it laid out before them, less on-fire now, less full of shadowy blots of darkness.  It looked more like a home.  But that home was built on an old, dark foundation, and she was afraid one day it would all come tumbling down again.

“Once you get out of here, drinks are on me.  You’ve just gotta get home first, that’s all.”

“That’s the trick,” she sighed.  “All right.  One last big adventure, Varric, and then I’m done.  I think I screwed up every kind of happy ending I could have had, but…I think I’ll just settle for an end at this point.”

“Hey, what am I?  Chopped nug liver?”

“You’re my best friend,” Hawke said firmly, knowing without a doubt that even if nothing else was true, that was.  “Even if you wrote that really bizarre thing where Sebastian proposed some weird chaste marriage?  What was that all about?”

Varric chuckled, voice unrepentant.  “I don’t know.  He floated the idea past me once, thinking about asking you, and I thought it was hilarious.  Besides, I was pissed at him too– the way he ran off when we needed him most.  I’m a writer.  Making people look stupid for all of history is my special kind of magic.”

Hawke smirked, shaking her head.  “He deserved it.  No.  I hate that I understood- that I understand.  I usually do understand, but it doesn’t make the betrayal any better.”

And just like that, her mind looped back to Anders.

“No…it sure as hell doesn’t.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Varric?”

“If not me, who?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in love,” Hawke admitted, shaking her head.  They followed the road down to Kirkwall, gleaming below them with light and fire and red lyrium that highlighted the dangerously crashing waves.  The place where she’d been loved, and betrayed.  Betrayed before she could decide if it was love.  “It sounds nice, but…I don’t think I’m brave enough for that.  Not after everything.”

“There’s still time.”

That wasn’t what Varric would have said, but Hawke didn’t bother saying so.  Everyone else had already left her, and she couldn’t stand it if he left her too.  Sometimes it was better to choose to believe.  

Besides, she knew he would never hurt her.

Not like everyone else.

Together they wandered into the glyph-maze of Kirkwall’s streets, hunting for the trail of a healer with bloody hands.

[basingstokemercury]

Hey now, hey now Don't dream it's over

Hey now, hey now When the world comes in

They come, they come To build a wall between us

We know they won't win

Don't let them win

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

*staring very intensely at the neighborhood* what do you look like when you're not a simplified website map

[joyflameball]

So me and my friend were playing DST and I was playing as Maxwell and they Wilson and I died because I was being a dumbass, and my friend is p new to DST so they weren't sure how to navigate, while I'm more of an expert (tho still not great) and know how to navigate, so it was the middle of the night and I was leading them back to base while they were sticking close to me so they didn't die. Anyway that's a writing concept for y'all to use in your fanfictions

[emberleesblog]

My newest friend. Little window protector. Supervisor of good vibes. Inspiration instigator. Bookend to Pingu, gift from my nephew Little Magpie.

....

She needs a name