#I've already conceded that I will be never finishing that first piece

[traulisms]

mieko and bria reporting for yuri

[shurisasthmaticgf]

Back In Your Arms: Shuri x Black! Fem! Reader

warnings: spoilers, mention of death, yelling, swearing, angst, lmk if i forgot anything

a/n: it's literally semester end for me and my brain is beyond fried so im sorry if this is ass lmao

The minute you found out Shuri was planning an attack on Namor and the Talokanil, you were already readying yourself to join. Although you never verbally told her, she already knew by the way you spent extra time training in the early mornings and late nights. It was only the night before that Shuri told you that you were not included in the attack on the enemy.

You paced around her lab growing more agitated by the second, "What do you mean I'm not going tomorrow?" Shuri repeated herself firmly, "Exactly what that means. I do not understand why you are making this so difficult." You stopped pacing and faced her, throwing your hands in the air, "So what do you expect me to do?" Shuri didn't look away from the monitor in front of her as she added finishing touches to something she'd been working on, "I have arranged for you to stay in Jabariland until we have finished business with Namor. You will be accompanied by Noxolo and Taji, per General's recommendation. M'baku has also ordered two Jabari warriors to stay back as well for you."

Hearing her plan of making you sit around and do nothing only frustrated you more. You brought your hands up to your head then exclaimed, "I'm supposed to just sit around holed up in a goddamn cave while you and everyone else go save the world?! Are you fucking kidding me Shuri?! T'challa and Queen Ramonda would allow me to-"

"YOU DO NOT SPEAK THEIR NAMES! YOU DO NOT GET TO TELL ME WHAT THEY WOULD DO. THAT DOESN'T MATTER! THEY AREN'T HERE- THEY'RE GONE. " Shuri's voice echoed through her lab, the force of her voice reverberating in your chest. The queen took a deep breath and slowly walked over towards you with narrowed eyes. A pit formed in your stomach as you stared back at her, the light that shone behind those deep brown seas was gone. There was nothing but hatred and anger as it consumed her from the inside out that you could only bear witness to.

Shuri stood eye level with you and she spoke through gritted teeth, "You are staying back. That is an order from me as your queen. Do you understand?" You lowered your head and answered, "Yes...your highness." The title taste bitter on your tongue and it was clear by the slight sarcasm in your voice. Nonetheless you conceded to her order, and satisfied by your reply Shuri turned back to what she was working on, not even bidding you goodnight like she usually would.

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Nearly six hours had passed since you first arrived in Jabariland for the time being. You were being sheltered in a den far within one of the mountains. A small fire burned in the center of the floor and small wooden furnishings adorned by furs perfectly place around the room. You sat upside down with your legs over the back of a chair while your head dangled above the floor.

From the entrance of the den, Olaitan, one of the Jabari warriors on guard insisted, "There was no space on the door for Jack. If he got on the door then they both would have died!" You shook your head in refusal and the mix of beads and shells that adorned your hair clicked together. You swung your legs back onto the ground and sat up straight, closing your eyes for a moment as the blood rushed back to your head.

Before you could reply, Noxolo, one of the Dora Milaje who accompanied you, cut in, "I refuse. Rose let Jack die. There was room on that door, she was just selfish." You listened to the young warrior, watching how the large scar over her white eye crinkled when she narrowed her gaze. You pointed to Noxolo and chimed in, "See that's exactly what I've been saying."

Across from you, Taji, another Dora Milaje shook her head, "How could Jack and Rose fit on that tiny piece of wood? There is no way that both of them could have survived! Olaitan and I are right- Jack wouldn't have made it if he wanted to save Rose!" Her deep brown eyes sparkled with delight of thinking she was right. You and Noxolo looked at each other with exasperated expressions. It had been two hours of this debate and neither side was willing to admit that they were wrong or right.

You slapped your hand against the floor and said, "Jack could have fit. There was an entire MythBusters episode on this!" Noxolo snapped her fingers and confirmed, "Yes, and they confirmed that Rose and Jack could have fit on the door in five different ways." Taji asked, "Did they do this experiment in the Northern Atlantic Ocean in April at night time? With individuals who measure exactly the same to Rose and Jack?"

At that argument you and Noxolo fell silent, making Taji and Olaitan laugh at you both. Desperate for a tie breaker you turned to the last person in the room who had yet to add their two cents into the debate. With a cheeky grin you asked, "Adisa, you're the deciding vote." The large Jabari warrior looked between you, the two Dora Milaje, and his fellow warrior.

A thick tension fell over the entire den, only the sound of the crackling fire at the center of the room could be heard. Adisa looked at you and Noxolo giving you a hopeful grin, but he responded, "I have never seen this 'Titanic' you all speak of." The four of you threw your hands in the air in defeat and annoyance as Adisa laughed heartedly at the disappointment he caused.

Purple flashes from your Kimoyo beads drew your attention from the rest of the group. You turned your back towards them and hunched over your wrist, waiting for a call to come through. It took a moment then you heard a familiar voice, "Ayo, Y/n." You held your beads closer and asked, "Riri? Why isn't Shuri the one calling me?" The student paused as if she was debating on telling you something before she simply replied, "She told me to call you." Your heart raced in your chest and you asked, "Why? Why would she ask you to do that? Is everything okay? Where is Shuri?"

Riri let out an exhausted sigh and told you, "Wait chill out. Take a breather, your girl is fine. She just has something she's doing right now aight? I was just calling to tell you they sending a flyer to pick you up. I'll see you when you get here, okay?" You but your lip nervously and answered much quieter than before, "Mhm. See you later." The call ended and you rested your head between your knees while taking deep breaths as you waited for the flyer to come get you.

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The entirety of the ride back to the Citadel you were dead silent. Your leg bounced anxiously against the floor while you pulled at the coils along the nape of your neck. In your mind you replayed your last moments with Shuri before you left for Jabariland:

You step foot onto the flyer to see Shuri waiting for you with Riri by her side. While Riri grinned from ear to ear at seeing you, the queen did not wear the same expression. Exactly the same as the past few days, Shuri's face blank and emotionless, and her eyes looked empty. Your heart broke at the sight but you told yourself this was part of her grieving process.

It was as if Shuri was present but distant at the same time, just standing before you not making any motion towards you. Until you closed the space between the two of you by pulling her into your arms. Shuri then wrapped her arms around your body and rested her head on your shoulder. After a moment you pulled away from her and attempted to look her in the eyes. The queen turned her head slightly so she was looking just past you. A frown tugged at the corner of your lips and you held her face in your hands, "I'll see you when we get back, yeah?" Still refusing to look at you Shuri nodded ever so slightly in response but remained completely silent.

Your thumb grazed the side of her jaw and you placed a chaste kiss against her lips that she reciprocated. Slowly, your palms dragged lower, holding onto Shuri's neck gently and you quietly spoke so only she could hear you, "Sthandwa."

Finally, the queen's eyes met yours and you told her, "Be smart. Don't forget who you are." She nodded in understanding and you kissed her once more, "I love you Shuri." She held you tighter in her arms, squeezing you so hard it almost hurt- almost as if she didn't want you to leave. Your girlfriend pressed a kiss to your forehead and murmured against you, "I love you, y/n."

Shuri released you from her embrace and you walked further down the ramp to exit the ship. The queen stopped walking in front of the two Dora Milaje she'd assigned to accompany you. The two young women, Noxolo and Taji, were the youngest warriors in the group, but Okoye and Ayo recommended the two for the job.

The queen stopped the two warriors with a hand to the sterum, "You understand what is expected of you both, correct?" Noxolo and Taji replied confidently, "Yes your highness." Shuri lowly whispered to the two Dora Milaje, "Protect her at all costs." The two warriors once more answered in unison, "Yes your highness." Shuri stepped off of the flyer but not before looking over her shoulder to see you and Riri.

At the sight of Riri you cocked your head to the side and smiled. You pulled her into a side hug and told her, "Go kick some ass but promise me you'll be careful out there, aight?" The student gave you her word, "I got you, don't worry." You gave her a knowing look and she put her hands up in fake surrender with a laugh, "I'm being for real!" You punched her arm lightly and admitted, "I'm just teasing you don't worry." Riri turned to walk off the ship and said, "I'll see you when you get back!" All you could do was give a very convincing fake smile, because anything else and you would have ran back towards them and tried to stay. The flyer began to close and Shuri watched from the ground until it was no longer in sight with you in it.

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The moment the flyer touched the ground and opened you were already trying to make your way to see Shuri. When the door opened Nakia was waiting for you while Ayo waited for Noxolo and Taji, pulling them aside immediately. You looked around to see many Dora Milaje missing. Slowly you turned back towards Ayo and noticed the paled look on Taji's face. The young warrior was out of earshot but the way she swallowed thickly and remained silent, accepting whatever Ayo was telling them made your stomach drop.

Whatever Nakia was trying to tell you started to sound like jibberish until you ran a full out sprint. You dashed up two flights of stairs and the long corridor leading to Shuri’s chamber. The beads and shells on your front braids smacked against your cheeks and eyes but you couldn't care less. The sound of running footsteps echoed behind yours and a woman called out, "Y/N! Stop!" Turning on your heel you faced Nakia, watching as she jogged up to you.

Tears burned your eyes as you shook your head in denial from already thinking the worst case scenario. Nakia held you by the shoulders and calmly spoke, "She is alive. She will be okay, Shuri will be alright, Y/n." Her words took a moment to register but soon you found your breaths slowing and tears stopping. Nervously you questioned, "What happened?" The older woman explained slowly, "While the rest of us were fighting on the ship, Shuri and Namor went off alone. I do not know the entre story, but all I know is they were battling on an island. Shuri has sustained multiple injuries that are being treated currently." As if she could read your mind, Nakia added, "You will be able to see her shortly. The healers must finish with her before then. You cannot get in their way."

Although your tears stopped falling you felt like you were going to fall apart all over again. Nakia gently placed an arm around your shoulder and led you away from Shuri's bedroom door. The chamber door opened and Nyakallo, the head healer, exited the room and waved you back over.

Nyakallo told you kindly, "Miss Y/N. You are able to visit her, she is resting now. If she needs anything you know how to call me." You thanked the older woman and burst into Shuri's room. Your girlfriend lay in her bed surrounded by pillows which made her look smaller than normal. Her lips were pale and chapped and her eyes shut with her hands resting over her chest. The concern on your face went away when Shuri cracked a smile and chuckled lightly. You groaned in annoyance and whined, "Even when you're seriously injured you still find the time to play with me huh?"

Shuri's eyes remained shut as she quietly answered, "I got speared to a rock. Let me have my fun...plus it's fun to mess with you." She could tell without looking that you were giving her an annoyed glare. You chose not to acknowledge the whole getting speared to a rock thing- that was for another time.

Your girlfriend hummed then requested, "Lay with me?" You pulled back her blankets and climbed into her bed next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Shuri slowly moved herself closer to you, and in the process you noticed how she was moving extremely stiff. The familiar and comforting smell of vanilla and ylang-ylang that clung to her sheets filled your senses. She rested her head on your chest and let out a breath that she seemed to have been holding for some time.

The two of you laid in silence until the queen let out a shaky breath, "I'm sorry. I yelled at you and I pushed you away recently when you were trying to be there for me. I'm sorry." You held onto Shuri's hand as she took another breath so she could continue, "I couldn't lose you too. He- he promised me he would-" Her voice broke as she remembered the promises Namor made and kept, resulting in her own massive loss. You gently shushed her, "Shhh. We don't have to have this conversation right now. You are supposed to be resting remember?"

Your girlfriend held back the tears that welled up behind her eyes, "Yes." She turned her head into your chest and you held her head closer to your heart. You stroked her head gently while whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Shuri's body started to relax against yours and soft snores fell past her lips. You kissed the top of her head and squeezed your eyes shut, thanking the ancestors and gods above that she was back in your arms again.

[gorematchala]

I came back to Elden Ring for the first time since April last night and after giving it a lot of thought, I just dont like that game and I probably won't finish it. A lot of the problems I have are because of how I want to play the game in particular but theres some core design issues that bother me too.

I'm a DS3 lover but my biggest gripe with that game was that by the time you hit the Ringed City enemies do so much damage that theres no point in even having a health bar, and they take so many hits to kill they dont feel worth fighting. Elden Ring is the ringed city as a full game.

I had been trying to play the game as a dex/faith character with light arcane. Like just enough arcane to use dragon miracles and for the blood damage. The problem I ran into is that you need like 50 points in vigor minimum to play the game at all. Which at level 94 doesnt leave you much room to get creative with your stats. But theres no need to be creative anyway because I want to use the frenzy flame incantations, and they only work against other players. So I went on a big side journey last night to get the frenzy talisman, I met the 3 fingers, they taught me the truth of the universe, I promised to incinerate all that divides and defines, and then I redid my stats and shot eye lasers at an enemy in the beginning of Limgrave and did like 20 damage. Frenzy incantations are not viable for an offline playthrough. So why are they in the game at all?

We've been doing cosmic horror for a bit, and the King in Yellow has been around, so now you combine the two and let me embrace the chaos of a universe without order and you introduce this new type of magic as a completely worthless set of like 5 miracles. I get that its for PvP but I dont remember ever being completely barred from using something cool because it was meant for PvP before. I've played all the other souls games and never ran into this issue.

So okay, I concede and I give up on the fun stuff I wanted to do and I respec to all health and dex. And as I'm playing I'm like man it sure would be nice to have fireballs. But if I wanna add faith to my mix theres no room cuz I need to have 50 health and at least 40 dex and 20-25 stamina, but then I'd need a decent amount of faith; and mind in order to have enough bar to cast.

But then the "I hate open world games" kicked in and I was like wait why am I doing this

At 100 hours in I dont give a fuck about the story, at all. Half of it is too vague or confusing to mean anything to me, and the other half has been spoiled either by twitter or by me having to look up where on the giant map one specific spell or sword is. I dont know what a tarnished is or what the elden ring is or why I want to be elden lord or any of that shit. But i also did the whole Ranni side quest already, and before meeting the 3 fingers I was all on board for that ending. So like you get an ending in the first 50 hours and then you get to see that ending like 100 hours later? After going to gather great runes which are something, in order to repair the ring which is something? All just because Godwyn, Godrick, Goddamn, Godmeyer, Godfuck, Mequelliea, Mycelia, Micolash, Myrecideia, Melania, and the dung eater had beef with eachother 5000 years ago?

In DS1 an old lady tells you here's what happened, here's why its happening now, here's what u gotta do. And I go okay got it. Age of fire, rekindle that shit, say less. Elden Ring says okay youre a tarnished and I'm like what does that mean and the game is like ;)

The ultimate result of games telling you that you can go anywhere and do anything is that going places and doing things either ends up being overwhelming or pointless. Especially in a Souls game where I'm trying to piece together lore that I'm receiving out of order because of the open world. So I cant play the way I want, I dont understand or care about the story, I dont feel that seeing things is a good enough reward for playing a game like this, and I dont think I'm having fun at all anymore. I really just wish they would put Bloodborne on PC.

[hermannsthumb]

I've read fics where Hermann disapproves of PDAs but what about the reverse? As in he's so stunned at winning the most amazing man in the Shatterdome (6 phds, literal rockstar, gorgeous Newt) that he deliberately provokes contact and shows of affection. Just to show off to people and send a clear back off signal. And Newt just dotes on him obliviously.

ok this one is another super old prompt and when I was writing it this week it KINDA got away from me. but I hope everyone enjoyyyys. partially inspired from conversations with @k-sci-janitor 👀 totally sfw, except for one brief reference

anyway, a fic about hermann being all affectionate with newt and also discovering what relaxation is 

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The day after the world doesn’t end, Hermann brings Newt breakfast in bed.

Honestly, it surprises Newt more than the whole world not ending thing. Up until the previous evening, after all, Newt was pretty damn sure the guy absolutely hated him, and that if Hermann was gonna do something as out of character as bringing him breakfast, it surely meant he’d spat in it first. Or maybe poisoned it. If hated isn’t the right word, Newt would say Hermann at the very least barely tolerated. And then the whole sharing the neural load thing happened. And, after that, hugging, not once, but twice, and then falling asleep in bed together. And now Hermann’s perched on the edge of his bed (which they shared while they slept) and handing him a plate.

“You had quite the busy day yesterday,” Hermann says kindly. Hermann has never spoken to Newt kindly before. Atop the plate are two pieces of toast, a soft-boiled egg, and a mug of coffee. The coffee and toast (Newt notices) are exactly the shade he prefers. He wonders if Hermann picked up on it before or after the whole mind-melding thing. Before wouldn’t surprise him—Hermann has always been weird about noticing details like that. The egg, however, is something purely Hermann in taste. “I imagine you could use a nice spot of breakfast,” he adds.

Newt shoves his glasses on and blinks at Hermann groggily. He struggles to sit up, partially tangled in his sheets, and then takes the plate. A little bit of coffee sloshes down onto one of the slices of toast. “Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” he says.

Hermann smiles and looks down at the ragged old MIT sweatshirt he’s tossed on. He may have a few inches on Newt, but he’s still one skinny motherfucker, and it hangs almost comically off his frame. “I am,” he says. “I poked around in your closet, I hope you don’t mind. My clothing was in a rather sorry state.”

Sorry state is an understatement for both of them. Newt’s surprised they haven’t been formally ordered to burn the shit they wore to the bone slums yet. Blood, dirt, and kaiju guts aside, Newt’s, at least, reeks to high heaven with sweat. “No worries,” Newt says. He picks up the coffee and blows on it. He wonders where Hermann got coffee that smells this good. It’s been hard to find anything decent and non-instant on the base these days, and (thanks to limited rations) chain shops like Starbucks cost an arm and a leg for even a small. He also wonders what people thought when they saw Hermann strutting around the base with bedhead in a sweatshirt that obviously wasn’t his. Newt almost wants to blush on his behalf. Scandalous.

Before Newt can so much as take a sip of the coffee, Hermann is suddenly unbuckling and shucking off his grey slacks. “Dude!” Newt yelps, flushing bright red to the tips of his ears. Hermann blinks at him innocently. “What are you doing?”

It’s not so much that Newt is upset as it is that it’s so wildly out of character for Hermann that he feels he owes it to Hermann to act at least moderately scandalized. In all his years of knowing and working alongside Hermann, he’s never so much as seen Hermann’s bare wrist before. Now he’s in Newt’s goddamn bed flashing calves, and thighs, and neatly-pressed little white briefs… Hermann rolls his eyes and tosses the slacks (unfolded!) onto Newt’s desk chair. “Making myself comfortable,” he says. “Would you like me to stop?”

Does Hermann iron his underwear? It would be at odds with the rest of his clothing if he did, which is usually in various stages of frumpy to outright wrinkled, but Newt can’t think of how else it would look like that. He wonders if Hermann’s stitched his name on the inner waistband. It seems like the kind of thing Hermann would do. Newt suddenly realizes he’s been staring at Hermann’s briefs (and, worse still, considering how cute Hermann looks in just them and Newt’s sweatshirt) for an uncomfortably long time, so he quickly shakes his head and drags his eyes to Hermann’s face. One of Hermann’s eyebrows is quirked up. Newt hasn’t been subtle. “No,” he says. He clears his throat. “No, dude, you’re—all good.”

He chokes down a too-hot sip of coffee to have something to do with his mouth.

Hermann smirks.

The bedcovers are drawn back. Hermann slips under them and drapes an arm across Newt’s chest, his hand curling protectively over Newt’s hip. With his other hand he snags Newt’s coffee from his grasp and takes a sip. Newt watches his jaw and throat work as he swallows it, a funny feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. The mug is handed back over, Hermann’s fingers brushing against Newt’s, which make Newt feel even funnier. “Newton,” Hermann declares. “I think we ought to have sex.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Can I finish my breakfast first?”

“Certainly,” Hermann says.

Newt’s heart pounds as he spreads a little packet of margarine across one of the pieces of toast; he can feel Hermann’s eyes on him, never straying once. Hermann’s hand draws little circles on his hip. Newt drops his toast twice to the plate before he can successfully take a bite, and even when he does, he doesn’t taste it. Hermann’s fingers dip under the hem of his t-shirt. Newt swallows his toast. “Why?” he says.

Apparently it’s the right question. Hermann nods, like he’s pleased Newt has asked. Like they’re talking theories or something. “I came to the conclusion while I fetching your coffee,” Hermann says. “It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have gotten up at seven in the morning to get coffee for just anyone. Then, of course, there is the whole drifting business—”

“You realized you wouldn’t have done that for just anyone too, huh?” Newt says with a smile. Hermann’s hand on his hip stills, and his cheeks go pink. Newt’s relieved to have gotten some ground back here. “Hermann, that’s sooo romantic.”

“The world was at stake,” Hermann sniffs.

“It’s okay,” Newt says. “I won’t tell anyone the great Dr. Gottlieb has feelings. So, what, you realized you have a big ole crush on me?”

Hermann takes the unfinished piece of toast from him and sets it down on his plate. He pulls Newt’s glasses off, kisses him soundly, and then puts Newt’s glasses back on. His mouth tastes like toothpaste. “On the contrary, I’ve always suspected it,” he says. “It’s just that now I have the time to confirm it.” He reaches up and strokes at Newt’s hair. “We have the time for lots of things, now, Newton. Whatever we’d like.”

Newt finishes off his coffee quickly, not even caring when he burns his tongue, and then tosses the remainder of his breakfast to the floor. His egg spills onto the massacred skinny corduroys he wore yesterday. Whatever, Newt’s burning them anyway. “God, get overhere already, man,” he says, tugging at Hermann’s borrowed sweatshirt. He needs to help Hermann confirm his crush or whatever, pronto.

--

It’s a few days before Newt and Hermann finally drag themselves out of bed and to the lab to tackle what little work remains for them to do—cataloguing what are apparently the last kaiju samples known to man (Newt), recording and backing up their drift data (Newt’s solo drift, and then their joint data), drawing some random scribbles on the board and pretending they’re important calculations about the possibility of the Breach reopening (Hermann. Okay, whatever, maybe they are important). Unfortunately, the delay isn’t for any sexy reasons, as much as Newt would’ve liked it to have been. The events of the last day of the war caught up with them pretty quickly after that morning in Newt’s bed, and they mostly just slept, ordered out dinner, popped ibuprofen for their various aches, and avoided medical at all costs. (Rumor had it the medical staff on base were looking for him and Hermann so they could do some brain scans. Apparently drifting with a kaiju brain is potentially dangerous, who knew.)

A rancid smell washes over them the second they push the heavy lab doors open, and Newt spots several hunks of kaiju organs rotting away on his workbench. Hermann clamps a hand to his mouth. “Oops,” Newt says, turning to Hermann sheepishly. He can’t help but cower as he does. He and Hermann got along swimmingly the past couple days—it’ll be sad to see all that hard work go down the drain over this. “Guess I forgot to clean up the other day. In my defense—we were kind of busy.”

But Hermann doesn’t snap at Newt, or thump his cane on the ground, or call Newt an idiot, or even look annoyed; he lowers his hand from his mouth and laughs. Albeit a terse laugh, but still. Newt gapes at him. “We were rather busy,” Hermann concedes. “So long as you clean it up in the next ten minutes, I—what, Newton?”

“Nothing,” Newt says, quickly. “I’m gonna—um—deal with it now.”

Hermann disappears from the lab while Newt is digging around in the storage closet for extra heavy-duty trash bags. When he comes back an hour later, he’s holding a cardboard tray of small plastic cups, and Newt has just hefted his last spoiled sample into the lab’s airtight biohazard bin (a bit mournfully, if he’s being honest, since he’s sure there’s still more to learn about the kaiju from them). Newt squints at the cups in the tray while he rips his messy disposable work gloves off. “What’s that?” he says.

“Iced coffee,” Hermann declares.

The gloves slap, wetly, into the biohazard bin, and Newt lets out a low whistle. “Dude. No way. From where?” He’s not sure when he gave off the impression that the way to his heart was good coffee, but maybe it’s true. Then again, Hermann could probably win him over with a cup of lukewarm tap water. Not because Newt is desperate or anything. He just really likes Hermann.

“A little shop a bit away from the base,” Hermann says. “I took the bus.” He draws back his chair and sits down with a soft sigh, setting his cane against his desk. Then he draws out a small brown paper bag from his parka pocket. He tosses it to Newt; Newt catches it with one hand. “They had these funny little cakes on sticks. I thought you might like one.”

“Cake pops?” Newt says.

“I presume,” Hermann says. While Newt inhales the little chocolate-dipped cake pop (which is so good, oh my God, Newt hasn’t had dessert that didn’t come from a vending machine in plastic shrink wrap in years), Hermann adds, “I wasn’t sure what sort of iced coffee you liked, so I made sure to get a variety.”

“Sick,” Newt says, spewing crumbs on his shirt. “Um. But, like, why though?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermann says. “I suppose I wanted to do something kind for you.” He carefully slides a straw out of its paper wrappings and pokes it into the lid of one of the coffees. Once he crumples up the wrapper and tosses It into his train bin, he grips his cane, and uses the handle to nudge Newt’s desk chair towards him. “You worked awfully hard cleaning the laboratory.”

Newt preens a little, even as he privately wonders why Hermann’s acting so weird. Well, nice. But nice is weird for Hermann, so they’re basically the same thing. Is this part of his whole deciding whether or not he digs Newt thing? Newt just assumed the awesome morning they spent together would be proof enough of that. Then again, Hermann’s pretty thorough. “I guess,” Newt says. “It was kind of my mess, though.”

Hermann pats at the empty chair with a smile. Hermann’s smiles are so rare—crooked, and stupid cute—that Newt’s heart gives a painful little twist at the sight of it, and he realizes he doesn’t actually give a shit about why Hermann’s being all weird, actually. “You’ve earned a break,” Hermann says. “Besides, I’d like to spend time with you.”

Newt’s too stunned to argue with that one. When he sits down, Hermann inches their chairs together until their knees are touching.

--

They don’t necessarily fall back into their usual habits by the next week, but the better ones they’ve picked up (being a little kinder to each other, a little more patient, a little more respectful, and also the fact that Hermann can’t seem to stop touching Newt) all but fall into the background as Newt throws himself into his work with renewed determination. Unfortunately, his desire to get it all done as soon as fucking possible speaks less to his awesome work ethic, and more to the fact that he’s just not sure what else to do with himself now, and he likes that work gives him the excuse to not think about it. Hermann said they have all the time to do whatever they like now. Well, Newt likes working. He knows working. Relaxation is a foreign concept to him, and it was a foreign concept to Hermann up until recently. While Newt is toiling away over his decaying kaiju samples in the lab, Hermann is out—

“Where?” Newt says.

Hermann gives Newt the most serene smile Newt’s ever seen cross his face. “I took a bath,” he says. “It was very nice. I bought some nice soaps, and lit some candles, and looked online to see how to do one of those mud masks. It was very relaxing. You ought to try it.”

“Try bathing?” Newt says.

“Yes. Well, no. I mean taking a bath. Is there something you’re not understanding?”

Newt tries to imagine Hermann with a mud mask on his face and cucumbers over his eyes and fails miserably. Hermann hates messes. He would never stand for mud, let alone on his skin. Where’d he even find a bathtub? Did he break into the rangers’ locker room again? Aren't candles banned on base for being a fire hazard, anyway? “Yeah,” Newt says. “Pretty much all of it.”

Hermann shakes his head with a snort, and Newt catches a whiff of something floral and fragrant—his fancy new soap or oil, he guesses. “I’m not surprised. You know, Newton, you are awfully tense.”

Hearing that from Hermann of all people, the king of having-a-massive-stick-up-your-ass, is probably the funniest thing that’s ever happened to Newt. He laughs out loud and plunges a bare hand into his kaiju sample with a gross squelching noise. “Sure, dude.”

He’s almost too engrossed in his sample to feel Hermann sidling up behind him and setting a hand at his waist. He definitely feels Hermann nose a kiss behind his ear, though, and the hot flush that spreads down across his neck from it. Newt’s hand goes sweaty around his scalpel. One thing he definitely wasn’t expecting from a post-no-apocalypse Hermann is how free he is with affection in any and all forms. “Give it a rest, love,” Hermann murmurs. He nudges at the heel of Newt’s boot with the end of his cane. Love? “Why don’t we head back to my quarters and watch a film? You can pick.”

“But.” Newt fidgets. “I have—my sample—”

Another little kiss. The soapy-oil smell is stronger now. Newt thinks it might be lavender. He wonders if the mud mask left Hermann’s skin all soft. “It won’t be going anywhere, Newton.”

Newt sets down his scalpel.

When they they pass by a group of LOCCENT staff in the hallway, Newt makes to drop Hermann’s hand (which Hermann had laced together with his own before they left the lab), but Hermann holds fast, maybe even faster than before, and looks at him with his stupidly sweet set of big eyes. Newt waits until they round the corner to say anything. “Sorry,” he says, lamely. “Um. I thought—you wouldn’t want—” Hermann continues to stare at him. His iris is still ringed red like Newt’s. “I just mean I know you’re weird about stuff like that. Public stuff.” Hermann has been a closed and tightly-bound book for as long as Newt’s known him; he can’t imagine that would suddenly change and he would start broadcasting his emotions far and wide in the course of a week just because he’s a little less stressed.

Or, you know. Maybe Newt’s totally wrong on this. “Ah,” Hermann says. He nods, very seriously. “Yes. I have been considering that as well. I see no reason to hide recent developments in our relationship.” He squeezes Newt’s hand. "In fact, I see no reason to not be quite, er, proud of them. You’re quite the catch.”

Newt remembers the stolen sweatshirt. Maybe Hermann wearing it out to get them breakfast was more calculated than he realized. “So if I made out with you against the wall right now you wouldn’t be mad?” Newt says.

“Well,” Hermann says, inclining his head to his door, "seeing as my quarters are right there, it seems a rather unnecessary inconvenience.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Newt smiles as Hermann leads him in. “Can I really pick the movie?”

“Within reason.”

[hawkeyedflame]

Okay! This is all from memory so forgive me if I've forgotten something.

Starting with Roy: while I still maintain that he's a himbo, I think he's more complicated than I initially gave him credit for. When I sent the previous essay I was fully expecting him to go from this morally gray Dirty Harry style government figure to the white knight hero who saves the day and becomes a saint, but he maintained his moral ambiguity, which i REALLY appreciate in a character. A common theme throughout the show is being haunted by your past, and Roy is no exception, while he might have justified his actions at the time with the guise of doing his duty and patriotism he always knew what he did was wrong, and this ate away at him more and more as time went on. And to find out the atrocities you committed were not justified, but in fact utterly evil? Devastating. That's why I think the confrontation with Envy is so powerful, not only did Envy start the war, but they also killed Roy's best friend, and this truly set Roy off the rails. Perhaps he thought that by destroying Envy he could somehow vindicate himself. But that's not true, if Roy lost himself down in the tunnels he would only have spiraled downwards out of control, and it took a guiding hand to bring him back from the edge.

Speaking of, Riza! When I first spoke of her I Thought she was just a cool lady with guns, now I see that she's more than just a cool lady with guns, she's another example of a broken individual just trying to do the right thing. I think she's had a hard life, I can't imagine growing up with an alchemist father was easy, especially when his subject of choice was so dangerous, but then to have said dangerous work permanently marked on her own skin and told to keep it secret is tragic. It must have taken so long to precisely tattoo on her, and longer yet for Roy to study it. She must've trusted him enough to allow him to study it, so I imagine her thinking "did I make a big mistake?" upon seeing Roy use flame alchemy during the war. Speaking of the war, Riza appeared to be very young when she was involved, which is also tragic. It's like she had her youth and Innocence ripped away by forces she couldn't control. And while Roy might have had a higher body count, Riza was a sniper which meant she had a more...intimate relationship with the atrocities she committed. This is reflected in the scene where she buried a person she killed and asked Roy to disfigure her back to rid the world of her father's burden. She felt it was her mistake. Another very powerful, defining scene. Her father's work, the war, that moment, all stuck with her for the years after. Changed her. She clearly became very close with Roy during the war and they decided that they had to stick by one another.

To touch on their relationship very briefly, I honestly don't have the words to describe how just PERFECT their relationship is tbh. Like, their relationship inspired me to alter how I portray the relationship between two of my own characters, so that should tell you how much I like them. The dynamic is just great!

anon i love you, but you understand that himbos are like.. dumb and nice, right? roy is pretty much a genius and like.. he's not very nice, despite being a good person. i concede that, at times, he absolutely radiates himbo energy, but he is NOT a himbo. i will throw hands with you on this hill.

also, yes i completely agree that i prefer he was not relegated to a boring white knight. he is much more interesting as a man seeking redemption than a man absolved of his past. the confrontation with envy is easily the most impactful moment of any piece of media i've ever engaged with, personally. the life-and-death stakes of that moment were so unconventional compared to life-and-death in other stories. in most stories, the danger of death is coming from the opponent the hero is fighting. you're on the edge of your seat because you don't know if your protag is going to dodge the attacks, find the opening to strike, and be able to finish the job. but roy has already won. he has overpowered envy with very little effort and reduced him to his weakest and most helpless state. the danger is not from his opponent here. in this moment, the greatest threat to roy's life is his own hatred. we don't want him to finish the job; it would mean his own undoing if he did. we ache for the pain that he is in, but we also know deep down that riza is right, that what he is about to do will bring him to a place where nobody, not even she, can reach him. and it hurts so badly, because what brought roy to such unbelievable hatred is the unmitigated intensity of his love. because we all love. and to see such love turn into such hate is to see a crossroads in our own souls, the choice between hatred and grief. i am certain that choosing grief is the more difficult path, and i cannot imagine the state of his heart and soul in that moment.

as for riza.. god.. she fucking kills me, man. it's not in the anime, but in the manga when she tells edward about ishval, she tells him that she was brought to the front lines when she was in her final year of the academy. so she was about 20, maybe 21, when she was taking part in a genocide. as a cadet. the unfortunate thing about it is that she didn't actually have her innocence quite ripped away without her control, not as she sees it at least. she maintains that she made the decision on her own to join the military, and she knew she would have to kill people. she says she has no right to see it as a burden. i think this is partially because of her own body count, but also because she feels responsible for every single ishvalan who died at roy's hand. i cannot imagine her feelings when she first sees roy there. in the manga, she actually saves him and hughes from an ishvalan assailant, and then hughes brings roy to meet his savior, and that's how they reunite. it is not clear whether riza was aware of roy's presence on the front lines via rumors, or if that moment where she rescued him was the first time she knew of his being there. either way, it's fucking tragic to realize that the boy you trusted because he told you of his naïve dreams for the future turned out to be using the powers you've given him to kill thousands of innocent people. even after she speaks with him, finds out he feels the same way she does about the war.. i simply cannot fathom the war inside of her over how she feels about him throughout the war. i have to wonder if him agreeing to burn her tattoo off was what convinced her that she could still trust him. and then she goes on to stay in the military, at his side, in spite of everything she went through and knowing there will be more to come. she bears this guilt by his side; even though she could have walked away, she would not have found rest in a civilian life, not after everything she did, the things she facilitated. she tells roy, in the manga when she reports to his office after graduating from the academy, that she likes guns because she doesn't have to feel her victims die. roy tells her this is nothing more than self deception, and she tells him she knows, and that she will continue to deceive herself for his sake, so that he can reach his goals.

and their relationship....god. i could cry. i have never loved a fictional relationship with anywhere even approaching the intensity of my love for royai. it's just so... fucking good ksjdfhgjksdhfksud like... god. the tenderness, the trust.. the fact that they literally have already been through hell and would go there again for one another willingly. the absolute dedication. the fact that they know each other so well, when riza hesitates for only a fraction of a moment, roy knows immediately that something is terribly wrong. all the little looks they give each other. god. just. GOD. damn it. i love their love so much.

[mithranqueersmusings]

I Think I'll Love You Too II

Chapter: 2/?

Rating: U

Summary: George and Ringo have been going out officially for a couple of months. Ringo anticipated that dating a stripper would be complicated, but he didn't understand exactly how complicated it would be.

Tags: Modern AU, Established Relationship

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

The following clean-up from their nocturnal experiment was far from easy, the wax seemed to crumble into tiny pieces and was determined to cover each inch of the carpet. George was insistent on doing most of the work, a struggle of manners ensued in which Ringo was adamant that he should help but eventually gave in and took up George's offer to relax in the bath.

Soaking in the warm water, Ringo's mind began to wander to their first official date. It seemed like such a long time ago now, although it had only been a couple of months at the most. Ringo could vividly picture arriving at George's house for the first time and picking him up for dinner, bruises still dotted across George's pale skin from the somewhat embarrassing but retrospectively rather comical fall at the club. Ringo had struggled to figure out the best place to take George, unfortunately the only advice available was John's.

"He's a vegetarian." Ringo emphasised for the fourth time, John had once again offered up a meat-only establishment.

"Oh, well you could've told me sooner." John scoffed, sometimes Ringo couldn't tell whether he was joking or truly that oblivious.

"What about sushi? That can be veggie, right?" Ringo was fiddling with a bouquet of flowers that had been left on John's kitchen counter, a small card had the name 'Paul' written on it, punctuated with a kiss.

"Sure." John offered "You could always, and hear me out, ask where he wants to go."

Ringo rolled his eyes "Great advice John, thanks. What if he doesn't know either?"

"Then you're both helpless and you belong together."

In the end Ringo had settled on sushi, which only calmed his panic somewhat because he still had to find which sushi place was best. He'd forgotten all about how stressful dating could be, and it'd been a long time since he'd been a proper date. Eventually he settled on a fairly affordable place that wasn't too far from his house, he felt rather silly calling up to make a reservation an hour in advance but he didn't want to risk embarrassing himself by not having a table booked.

This struggle with the restaurant left Ringo only an hour to get himself looking presentable for the date, his closet was emptied onto the floor and bed as he rummaged around for something suitable. He felt like making more of an effort than usual, this was one date he didn't want to screw up, especially knowing how fashionable George was likely to look. In the end he settled on a paisley blazer, it had been a gift from John years ago and had hardly been worn, and a black shirt underneath which he experimented with the buttons of.

He left himself just enough time to brush his teeth, sort out his hair and tidy the room as quickly as he possibly could. Hurrying over to George's in the car, he'd almost forgotten to be nervous about the date itself. Almost forgotten, because as soon as he knocked on George's door Ringo felt a wave of dread washing over him. He hadn't even thought of any conversation starters, or what he was going to order at the restaurant. As he waited for an answer, the dread only festered further. Yet once the door finally opened, revealing George draped in a decorative kimono, all fear subsided.

"Hi." Ringo spoke, suddenly sheepish.

"Hey." George replied with a grin, stepping out onto the street and locking the door behind him.

The two of them looked at one another for a few moments, eyes tracing from head to feet with no words being said. George was wearing makeup: his eyes darkened with liner and mascara, his gaunt cheekbones sparkling with highlight and his lips painted a tempting shade of red. Ringo could see that he'd tried to use foundation to cover over the bruises on his face but it wasn't entirely successful, not that it mattered.

"You look great." Ringo managed to get out without stumbling over his words as they walked over to his car.

"Thanks, so do you." George responded but Ringo supposed he was only trying to be polite.

Passing a shop window, Ringo stole a glance at the reflection and found himself presently surprised at how good the two of them looked together. Ringo was even beginning to believe George's compliment, a surge of confidence arising merely from being stood next to George. He'd anticipated that George would only make him look worse, but there was something complimentary in how the two of them were dressed. It was a small boost that Ringo needed to quash his nerves, he was determined to not ruin the night just because he was feeling anxious.

"So... Where are we headed?" George asked, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Sushi." Ringo replied more curtly than intended "Is that alright?"

"I love sushi." George answered cheerily.

"What a relief." Ringo chuckled "I'm not gonna lie I was struggling to find a place to eat, with you being a vegetarian and all."

George paused for a moment "You remembered that?"

"Of course I did." Ringo panicked for a moment, afraid he'd said the wrong thing and given too much away but the smile that spread across George's painted lips calmed him back down.

It didn't take them long to arrive at the restaurant, it was rather busy but not so much that it would become uncomfortable. Ringo still couldn't believe his luck, that he'd actually been able to get a date with George. Looking back on how their relationship started, it was strange to consider that they'd end up here.

"Is your face alright?" Ringo asked when they'd been seated, it was hard to not notice the swelling on George's lip.

"Oh yeah, it's fine." George provided evidence with a genuine smile "I've had way worse, don't worry."

"You fall over a lot then?" Ringo joked, looking down at the menu and feeling a little intimidated by the amount of choice.

"Only when I know you're there to catch me." George winked "No, I've had my fair share of scraps here and there. That's just life, isn't it?"

Ringo chuckled "Not in my line of work, no."

"Don't be so modest, I haven't forgotten when you beat up that creep in the club." George was studying his menu with far less fear than Ringo "Any idea what you're gonna order?"

"Haven't the faintest." Ringo read the same words over and over again as though it'd help him understand "What about you?"

"Hmm, I think so." George answered with a confidence Ringo envied "Want some help?"

"Please." Ringo smiled sheepishly, laying down his menu and looking to George for assistance.

The date was hardly going as Ringo had anticipated, but while George went through dishes on the menu with a clear expertise Ringo couldn't stop himself from smiling. The intimidating Spike was describing in detail the difference between maki and temaki with such delicacy, it was such a strange moment of realisation for Ringo that made him truly understand how far they'd come. Ringo realised too late that he hadn't been listening to what George had been saying but it didn't matter in the end because George ordered for the both of them.

"So..." George began, drink in hand.

"So." Ringo repeated with a raised eyebrow.

"How long have you been waiting to take me out?" George asked with a knowing smile.

Ringo half expected this line of questioning to begin, he only wished he'd prepared some answers "Does it make a difference?"

"I'm just curious." George leaned in a little closer, a devilish look in his eyes.

Ringo sighed "Now I'm debating whether to lie so you don't think I'm a loser."

"I wouldn't bother with that, I already know you're a loser Ringo." George spoke deadpan, staring without expression then burst into laughter "I'm sorry, I had to."

"And that's meant to encourage me to be honest?" Ringo laughed nervously.

"Come on, tell me." George sounded almost whiny, a tone Ringo had heard before but never in regular conversation.

"Fine, fine." Ringo conceded after drinking his beer "In all honesty it was probably the first time I saw you... Not that I thought you'd ever say yes, of course."

The answer seemed to satisfy whatever itch George had "Really? I'm that good looking am I?"

"Not to sound cliché, but have you seen you? I don't think I've seen anyone more attractive." Ringo spoke somewhat seriously.

George blushed just slightly, having to look away from Ringo's intense gaze "You're sweet. But why were you even in the strip club in the first place? You didn't seem too at home, at least from what I remember."

Ringo felt rather complimented that George even remembered how he'd been acting all that time ago, he'd always supposed he hadn't left much of an impression at all and whatever he did was surely negative.

"John dragged me there. He, uh-" Ringo stopped himself before saying too much "Thought it'd cheer me up."

George squinted his eyes in suspicion "What aren't you telling me?"

Ringo paused, debating the best verbal exit strategy but the good beer and even better food was slowing his thought processes "Uh... Nothing?"

"Oh come on." George kicked Ringo lightly under the table "You think I'm gonna judge you?"

"Well, yes... But fine, I'll tell you." Ringo chuckled, pausing for an anticipatory breath "I'd been going through a bit of a... dry spell, so to speak."

A grin spread across George's face "Seriously?"

"Seriously." Ringo repeated, hiding his shame behind his beer.

"I find it hard to believe that you were having a 'dry spell'." George rested his hand on Ringo's own, his finger tracing around the metal of the rings.

"Well, I'd, er- I'd still be having one if you hadn't come along." Ringo stammered "Shit, that sounds really pathetic, doesn't it?"

"Just a tad." George smiled reassuringly "I'm just glad I could be of service."

"For a while you were making it worse, actually." Ringo had finished his beer and was itching for another "With all my pent up frustration and then I see you undressing on that stage, I nearly lost my mind."

George chuckled, looking rather proud of himself "I can only apologise for being so tempting." He emphasised the word by running his tongue over his top lip onto his sharp canine tooth.

"No need to apologise, it's your job after all." Ringo tried to remain composed "And in the end it all worked out so... No harm done."

"My aching body disagrees." George pouted his still somewhat swollen lip.

"Well... That was your own fault really." Ringo joked, finally catching the waiter's eye so that he could order another beer.

"You're right, you're right." George's hand was still pressed against Ringo's "Hopefully from here on out all the pain will be consensual."

Ringo blushed "Hopefully."

Later that night it was clear that there was no longer any need to be hopeful.

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes

"In my daughter's eyes, I am a hero. I am strong and wise, and I know no fear. But the truth is plain to see: she was sent to rescue me. I see who I want to be. In my daughter's eyes...And when she wraps her hand around my finger, how it puts a smile in my heart. Everything becomes a little clearer; I realize what life is all about. It's hanging on when your heart has had enough. It's giving more when you feel like giving up I've seen the light: It's in my daughter's eyes."

Claire’s husband has abandoned her and their daughter, Faith, because he is unable to handle her diagnosis of nonverbal autism. In order to start a new life, Claire has taken Faith to New York. Desperate for some kind of breakthrough in Faith’s treatment, she decides to try horse therapy, where she meets Jamie Fraser, Faith’s assigned hippotherapist. Claire is overwhelmed and touched by Jamie’s dedication to his work, and his particular dedication to her daughter.

Chapter 1: Four Incidents

Read on AO3

Claire’s nerves were positively shot. The past ten or so hours had been hell for her poor daughter, and, subsequently, for her as well. The first incident had arisen from the fact that four-year-old Faith had never been in such a crowded setting before. Immediately upon stepping through the doors of the airport and seeing the bustling hoards of people, she had begun yanking on her mother’s hand, digging her stubborn heels into the tile, and screaming her head off. Claire had come prepared; she had her noise-canceling headphones for the flight, but she hadn’t anticipated needing them for the airport itself. In actuality, it wasn’t really that loud, and so this tantrum had her absolutely dreading the upcoming flight.

Claire was used to the stares, the disapproval, the tuts of sympathy. She’d even heard her fair share of blatant, verbal criticism of her parenting. So, she let that roll off her back. What she wasn’t used to was Airport Police coming up to her and questioning what her intentions were with her own child. She’d had to stammer to them while her face and neck flushed red, tears of embarrassment stinging her eyes.

“Yes, I am her mother—You don’t understand; she has autism. She’s never been somewhere so crowded before. She’s just overwhelmed.”

Have you never bloody seen a child throw a tantrum before?

Well, perhaps they had, but they certainly hadn’t been privy to a Faith tantrum.

Panic began clenching her gut, remembering the time she’d been asked to leave a grocery store because Faith had wet herself, then proceeded to roll around on the floor, inconsolable. That had been the worst one to date.

This one was quickly rivaling it, however.

They asked her to provide proof that Faith was her child; proof that she was not kidnapping her.

“I can’t let go of her hand—please, she’ll run outside and right into traffic.”

“I’ll hold onto her, ma’am.”

“No—”

It was too late. The man put a hand on Faith’s shoulder, and all hell broke loose. Claire had to tighten her grip on her hand to the point of her knuckles whitening. If Faith was screaming before, now she was howling. The Airport Police were in a frenzy; they had no idea what to do.

“Faith! Darling, please, it’s alright.”

Claire let their suitcases go, dropped her purse and fell to her knees to wrap her arms around Faith’s middle from behind. It wasn’t long before a little fist collided with her lip. At some point in the proceedings, Claire had managed to say: “Look for our passports your fucking self if you really must have proof that she’s mine.”

They did.

“Faith! Faith Julia Randall, if you don’t stop this right now, there will be no dessert tonight.”

Another loud wail.

“Do you hear me? I’m going to count to ten, Faith. By ten, if you are not quiet, no dessert.”

Another cry.

“One. Two.”

Claire tasted blood in her mouth. Seemed that her daughter had given her another fat lip.

“Three. Four.”

By some bloody miracle, her thrashing was finally starting to calm.

“Five. Six.”

The screaming stopped.

“Seven. Eight.”

Faith’s full bodyweight collapsed into Claire, and Claire let out a sigh of relief. “Okay. There you go. Good girl…good girl.”

She rocked her gently, kissed her head. “Good girl, Faith. It’s alright now.”

The Airport Police were still standing there, stunned into silence.

“Uh…ma’am…your lip is bleeding.”

“I’m aware, thank you,” Claire snapped before returning her attention to Faith. “Shh…it’s alright…”

“I’m, uh…sorry for making it worse, ma’am,” the other officer said softly. “Would, uh…this help?”

He held something down to her, pointedly reaching for Claire and not Faith. Claire looked up to see him holding out a set of little plastic wings, clearly some “junior assistant pilot” badge they occasionally gave out to children.

“It might. Thank you.”

“I’m Officer Hansen, ma’am. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

“Just…just watch my bags until I’ve gotten her calm. Thank you.”

He nodded.

“Hey…Faithie…” Claire crooned, stroking her tear soaked cheek. “Look what Mummy has.” She held the little wings in her palm in front of Faith’s eyes. “Do you want to be a pilot, Faith? What about that?”

Hiccuping and coughing through her tears, she reached out for the wings and held them in her hands, examining them closely.

“Do you like it?”

Faith nodded ever-so-slightly.

“Shall we put it on?” She gently turned Faith around and took the pin in her hand, fastening it to a belt loop. Faith did not wear pins or wristbands in a conventional manner. The feeling of something poking her skin through her shirt or something rubbing her wrist caused her sensory overload, so the belt loop is where such things ended up.

“Good girl.”

Claire took her hand and made to stand up, but Faith uttered an indignant noise that froze her in her spot. She sighed in surrender.

“I’m afraid she’s going to make me carry her, or else we’ll all be privy to another tantrum…” Claire said, scooping her up and settling her on her hip. “Could you…would it be terribly inconvenient if you were to help with our luggage?”

“We’re police, ma’am, not busboys — ”

“I’d be happy to help, ma’am.” Officer Hansen cut the other officer off. 

“Thank you, thank you so much.” Claire practically burst into tears, overwhelmed with gratefulness.

She’d underestimated how difficult it would be to travel with a child as special as Faith alone.

Claire shook her head. She didn’t want to think about Frank right now.

Keeping Faith calm by making criss-cross patterns on her back with her fingertips and making a rushing “shh” noise in her ear for white noise, Claire and the officer made their way to the check-in counter. He handled her purse,credit card, and ID as well, and Claire could have gotten on her knees and kissed his feet. She could tell he was genuinely sorry for what had happened as a result of his and his partner’s ignorance, and he was determined to see that they got on their flight in one piece.

He also got them through pre-check, using his privileges to escort them through the faster line. Once they were through, he handed her back her purse and Faith’s carry-on Frozen backpack.

“I’ve put the boarding passes at the top so you can get to them easier. In case you never get to put her down.” He smiled apologetically. “I really am sorry — ”

“Please, it’s alright,” Claire said. “I really, really appreciate all you’ve done for us. You have no idea how hard it is to do this…”

“Alone,” he finished for her.

“Yeah.” Claire nodded.

“If there’s anything else you need, you can ask anybody with a walkie-talkie to page Officer Hansen. Alright?”

She smiled warmly. “Thank you. Truly.”

He nodded curtly and then went off.

The second incident had arisen when they’d come across a kiosk selling mini cereal boxes, and Faith’s eye had been caught by a box of Fruit-Loops that had Elsa on it. Claire had been loath to buy more cereal, being that she already had plain cheerios in Faith’s carry-on that had been much cheaper than the robbery for which the Fruit Loops were selling. She tried to resist, but fearing prompting another tantrum, she yielded. She bought the box and stealthily managed to switch the bag of Fruit Loops inside the box with the bag of Cheerios, knowing full well that the sugar content of the Fruit Loops would make the upcoming flight unbearable. 

So there they sat, waiting at the terminal, Faith kicking her legs and bouncing while clutching her tablet, watching Frozen with her noise-cancelling headphones on with Claire occasionally popping a Cheerio into her open mouth.

The third incident had arisen when it was time to board and Claire tried to put Faith’s pink sequined sleep-mask over her eyes to prevent her from seeing how close-quarters the aircraft was. She’d immediately moaned in protest, unwilling to tear her eyes away from the movie. Claire knew she was taking a leap of faith (and she laughed to herself  at the pun), but with bated breath she allowed Faith to simply walk onto the boarding bridge with her nose stuck in her tablet.

Before long, she was seated and buckled, tablet in her lap, her eyes never having left the screen.

It bloody worked.

Claire could have cried with relief.

Claire had to plead with the stewardess to convince her that Faith’s tablet was not a “large electronic device,” and the stewardess had conceded; as long as it stayed in her lap and the tray remained in the upright position, Faith could keep watching her movie.

The fourth incident, of course, occurred when the plane started to take off. Even with noise-cancelling headphones, the rushing mechanical noise and the feeling of the vibration everywhere was too much for her. She clamped her hands over her headphones, and she immediately began squirming, trying to unbuckle her seatbelt. Then, of course, the sensation of the take-off itself did not help at all. Claire had given herself a pep-talk every morning leading up to this flight for weeks: “It’s not your fault. The people judging you have no idea what you deal with every day. You can’t help her sensory overload. Ignore them.”

But she still couldn’t help the rush of embarrassed heat on her neck as the familiar side-eyes and conspicuous whispers began.

After literally clamping her hands down on Faith’s shoulders to keep her seated for about an hour, Faith finally became engrossed in the movie again. Claire had also prepared in that she knew getting Faith to use the bathroom on the aircraft would be a disaster. Since being potty-trained was still relatively new--even though she was four, potty-training an autistic child was a whole different animal--Claire had put a fresh pull-up on her right before they boarded to prevent as many trips as possible.

Finally, ten or so hours since the initial meltdown, Claire was standing at baggage claim, holding her sleeping daughter. She’d fallen asleep with about two hours left in the flight and slept straight through the descent and the landing, thank God. Claire had never been particularly religious, but she’d had the urge to cross herself upon realizing she’d be avoiding a fifth incident.

When the blaring alarm sounded, signaling that the baggage claim carousel was beginning, Faith jolted awake in her arms.

Fuck.

She began wailing again, clamping her hands over the headphones.

Do those bloody things cancel any noise?

Admittedly, it could have been worse. It seemed that she was just alarmed to be woken so suddenly, because, after about twenty seconds, she was calm again. Claire had to put her down to collect their baggage, and she struggled greatly to get the suitcase off the moving carousel with one hand. Letting go of Faith’s hand was simply not an option.

She was eternally grateful, then, to the stranger who helped her with both bags.

Bloody ironic that you’ve met two strange men today that have done more for you and your daughter than her own father.

Pushing that dark thought aside once more, Claire made her way to the taxi pick up area and strapped Faith into the rental car seat. Their 11:20 departure from Heathrow International had landed them at MacArthur Airport at 2:07 on the dot. After a seven hour and forty-five minute flight, there was only a twenty-two minute taxi drive and then they’d finally be in their new home: an apartment complex only a few miles away from Stony Brook University Hospital, where Claire would be doing her residency.

She’d never particularly imagined herself living in (or on, as they say here) Long Island of all places. After her unconventional and rather rugged upbringing, thinking of herself living in suburbia, only about an hour from those Hamptons she’d heard so much about, was enough to make her chuckle to herself. Gillian had assured her that the entire island wasn’t like the stereotype she’d imagined, which had slightly put her mind at ease. That wasn’t what had drawn her there, of course.

She’d been drawn to the area by a great many things. She wanted to be away from the cluttered, cramped feeling of Europe; away from Frank, quite honestly, as far as possible. She didn’t want to be in a city; she knew the noise would be far too much for Faith. The quiet suburbs of Long Island seemed to fit, and she’d heard excellent things about Stony Brook. Lastly, and most importantly were the amazing things she’d heard about equine therapy for special needs children. There were such places in England, but none had as many glowing reviews as the one that was only an eighteen minute drive from their new home: Harmony Stables.

Faith had always had an affinity for animals, and Claire felt guilty that she couldn’t commit to taking care of a dog so that she could have a service dog. It wasn’t the finances, per se, just the thought of having two lives to look after on her own was an overwhelming thought. Perhaps someday when they were settled. Faith’s psychiatrist in Oxfordshire had suggested some sort of animal therapy, and she spoke of the wonders equine therapy had done for a previous patient. At this point, Claire would try anything. Anything to calm the horrible anxiety that she knew plagued her daughter every second of any given day. The Risperdal was not doing much on its own. As much as the meltdowns fried Claire’s nerves and caused her much embarrassment, she was certain they fried Faith’s nerves about ten times as much. If learning to ride and forming a connection with a horse could take away even a fraction of that crippling anxiety, Claire would pay any amount of money to make that happen.

She’d also, of course, done research regarding her education. She was aware of the specific needs of her non-verbal autistic daughter; knew she needed to learn to communicate, either find someone to coax words out of her or learn sign language, knew she needed to learn how to read and how to behave in a public setting. She’d already made arrangements for a private tutor to come to the house like she’d done in Oxfordshire. She’d been in contact with a Mrs. Lickett, a lovely woman. Together, they would decide if Faith would be ready for a special needs kindergarten class come next fall, or if they should wait another year. Mrs. Lickett had assured her that it was common for children like Faith to continue with private instruction and wait to start real school until six or seven.

Claire’s reverie was broken when she felt the taxi stop and she looked up with wide eyes at the building before her. The buildings in the complex were only two stories high, the grass was neatly trimmed, and the doors were all stark white with shimmering gold numbers.

Well, it’s not a cul-de-sac housing development, but it sure still feels like suburbia.

Number eleven was theirs, on the second floor. The cab driver helped with the luggage as Claire tugged Faith up the stairs, eyes still glued to her tablet, which was now playing Sesame Street. Claire’s fingers shook as she pushed the key into the lock, and she exhaled sharply when she took in the sight of the living room. She’d had most of the things she didn’t want to replace sent over about a week and a half ago, along with ordering new essentials like furniture and mattresses. But the movers and delivery men hadn’t bothered to keep anything separated by room like she’d requested, except for the furniture itself. Sighing deeply, she sat Faith on the couch beside a stack of boxes and paid the taxi driver, thanking him profusely.

God…where do I even begin?

Claire supposed she should start with finding and unpacking bedroom items, preferring to have both of their beds made before they crashed tonight. Kitchen stuff could wait; they’d most definitely be getting takeout tonight…and probably every night for the foreseeable future.

She started to rifle through boxes and then she smiled and turned to Faith, intending to let her know how very exciting it was to be in their new home, but she bit her tongue. It would perhaps be better to leave her, for now, completely engrossed in the tablet. If Claire interrupted her now, who knows when she’d be able to get anything done? Sadness tugged at her heart briefly as she watched her daughter, a vague, absent smile on her face. She wondered if she had any idea at all what was going on, if she’d be anxious in a new environment, if it wouldn’t phase her at all, if she was excited. She had no way of communicating her thoughts and emotions, even to her own mother, and it was times like this where that thought pained Claire the most. 

She wanted nothing more than to blast her Disney playlist and christen the new living room with their dancing, to revel in this new beginning with her daughter. But for the sake of productivity, that would have to wait.

With a heavy sigh, Claire returned to her boxes, intent on finding bedsheets and blankets. She wanted to turn on music, knowing that she worked better that way, but she didn’t want anything to distract Faith from her, well, distraction. She settled on humming “Let it Go,” of all things, to herself while she worked to find what they’d need to carry out the rest of the day with some semblance of normalcy.

[smutnug]

What Stays and What Fades Away

My first chapter with the amazing @wardsarefunctioning as beta! A thousand thousand thank yous.

Contains awkward flirting and Drunk!Hawke.

Chapter 27: Juliet

It had been a week since Tanner's abrupt departure, and Juliet still felt ill when she thought about the way things had ended. She chafed to be away in Crestwood, where Hawke was doubtless already waiting for them. 

But the Inquisition had become a large organisation, and large organisations seldom moved quickly. While Hawke could travel alone and in relative anonymity, Juliet's expeditions must be scouted, provisioned and planned to the smallest detail. So instead she was stuck here in Skyhold, surrounded by a thousand small reminders of her indiscretion. 

She sat at a table in the hall poring over a pile of documents that never seemed to get smaller: requisitions, reports, requests for the Inquisition's help from all over Southern Thedas. Scout Harding was already on the way to Crestwood, but she had left Juliet a map and pages covered in her small, neat handwriting: the location of the village and fort, a brief history of the place and its flooding during the blight, even a few credible rift sightings. A potential logging site? That would help in rebuilding - 

"Inquisitor?" The messenger gave a quick salute and handed her a roll of paper. "Plans for the mage tower, milady."

The mage tower. She waited until the man was gone before letting out a groan, burying her head in her hands. 

"Pining for your soldier, Freckles?" 

Juliet spun in her chair to glare at Varric. 

"Firstly," she said, "I'm not bloody pining . Secondly, can we pretend just for a minute that I have some kind of private life?" 

The dwarf threw up his hands. "Sorry, Inquisitor," he said, hopping up into the seat next to her. "You're one of the most important figures in Thedas right now. Definitely the most important in Skyhold. Your inner circle has at least three spies, and a mind-reading spirit boy." He patted her on the back. "Keeping secrets is hard."

She stared at him a moment longer, her lips pursed. "Thirdly -" 

"I'll change your names."

"Do not -" 

"And titles."

"Put this -" 

"And location."

"In a book," she finished. "Or I'll throw you to Cassandra."

"Oh, come on Freckles! It's got everything: deception, mistaken identity, star-crossed lovers…"

"I think you're reading a little more into it than actually happened."

"Of course I am. I'm a writer."

Conceding defeat, Juliet looked back to the documents spread out in front of her; the lines on the vellum seemed to blur and dance, Harding's meticulous text reduced to gibberish. She blinked hard, twice, but her eyes refused to cooperate. 

"Why not take a break?" Varric asked and added, too casually, "Take a walk in the garden."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why the garden, Varric?" 

"Why so suspicious, Freckles?" He grinned, hazel eyes glinting with mischief. "It's a beautiful day. The fresh air will do you good. See how your herbs are growing!" 

"I need to plan this…" she protested weakly. 

"Do you trust yourself to make good plans right now?" 

"Fine." She bundled up the documents, shoving them unceremoniously into a nugskin folder. "I'll go to the garden." In response to Varric's waggling eyebrows, she snapped, "but only because I've got no bloody place better to be."

With a smirk he propped his feet up on the table. "Enjoy the scenery, Inquisitor."

"Thin ice, Tethras," she shot back over her shoulder. 

It was close to midday, and she had to admit that the sunlight on her face and the smell of freshly-turned soil did much to clear her head. The air was fragrant with blooming herbs, all of which somehow seemed to thrive here despite the varying climates from which they had been plucked. She wished she could put down roots so easily.

Male laughter caught her attention; the voice was familiar, if not the sound. Beneath the gazebo a small table and two chairs were set up. Dorian faced the Commander over a chess board, hexagonal in the Northern style. The two men were too engrossed in the game to notice her approach and she took a moment to appreciate Cullen's relaxed posture, his easy demeanour as he rolled his eyes in response to Dorian's gentle ribbing. 

"Why do I even…" He finally saw her and broke off mid-sentence, half rising out of his chair. "Inquisitor."

Dorian flashed a charming smile in her direction before turning his attention back to Cullen. "Leaving, are you?" The mage's voice, much like his skin, was smooth as honey. "Does this mean I win?" 

It was jarring to see the Commander so comfortable in the presence of Dorian, of all people. Despite his wit and charm, or perhaps because of it, he didn't always rub people the right way. Plus he was a Tevinter, and an unapologetic mage. Was there some other reason than magic, then, for Cullen's reticence with her? 

Wary of spoiling the mood, she motioned Cullen to sit and tried to match Dorian's light tone. "Are you two playing nice?" 

"I'm always nice," Dorian lied without skipping a beat. He put his tower down with a decisive thunk and crossed his arms; impressively muscled for a mage, Juliet could never help but notice. If he'd been differently inclined, she was sure she could have put those muscles to good use. "You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory," he declared to Cullen. "You'll feel much better."

"Really?" Cullen pounced, shifting his tower from a black square to a white. "Because I just won," he said with a low chuckle, "and I feel fine."

Dorian raised one perfect eyebrow and smiled, impeccably gracious in defeat. "Don't get smug." He rose from his chair with the fluidity of a cat. "There will be no living with you."

Juliet shifted to let him pass and as she did so, his silken voice reached her in a pitch too low for Cullen to catch. 

"He's all yours, Inquisitor," he purred. "You lucky thing."

She felt her ears burn crimson, unfortunately catching Cullen's eye at the same time. Embarrassment painted a foolish smile across her face and the Commander looked at her with some confusion. 

"I should return to my duties as well…" he said, adding hesitantly, "unless you would care for a game?" 

Me? she nearly said. Did everyone else in Thedas die and nobody told me? Then she remembered the hand that had lingered on hers a moment too long after he helped her onto her horse, and a heat swept through her that had nothing at all to do with embarrassment. 

She maintained her composure enough to give him a tight smile. "Prepare the board, Commander."

Oblivious to the fire that raged inside the woman opposite him, Cullen was conversational as he laid out the carved pieces. "As a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won, which was all the time." He glanced up at her, a rarely seen flash of mischief in his eyes. "My brother and I practiced together for weeks…the look on her facethe day I finally won…" 

Juliet caught a glimpse of the boy he had been in his smirk, before a little frown marred his features. 

"Between serving the templars and the inquisition, I haven't seen them in years," he said regretfully. "I wonder if she still plays."

It was easy to forget that Templars, too, could become separated from their families. She doubted Michael had ever recounted such fond memories of her. But she felt a pang when she thought of Lavinia, and of Alec, whose child must have been born by now. 

"You have siblings?" 

He seemed surprised by her enthusiasm. "Two sisters, and a brother."

"We're the same!" Juliet paused. "I mean, my family. Two boys, and two girls." She shifted, nudging Cullen's foot beneath the table. It went unacknowledged by both of them as they adjusted their postures, but she was aware now of his proximity; she could swear she felt the heat of his knee close to her own. 

"Really?" Leaning forward on his elbows, he graced her with a warm smile. "Michael I know, but…"

Juliet couldn't suppress an eye roll at the mention of her Templar brother. "Alec is the eldest. He's…well, he's unlike Michael. And Lavinia is between Michael and I in age. Terribly frivolous and always has her foot in her mouth, but she means well." Unexpected tears sprang to her eyes as she thought of them; on waking in Haven to the news that she'd been publicly disowned, she hadn't dared to contact them. "Tell me about yours," she said with forced cheerfulness. 

"Mia," he replied with a smile, "is the one I told you of. Branson is my brother, and the youngest is Rosalie."

She wished suddenly, fiercely, that she might some day meet them. "Where are they now?"

"They moved to South Reach after the Blight…" A flash of pain reached Cullen's amber eyes. "I do not write to them as often as I should." Staring at the board, his gaze seemed to come back into focus. "Ah, it's my turn."

"Alright," she said with a grin, "let's see what you've got."

He paused, looking at her for the longest time before shaking his head. Leaning in to make his move, he said softly, "You always seem as if you're laughing at a joke nobody else understands."

"I thought everybody understood," she said lightly. "I'm the joke."

"No." His stare, however glancing, pierced her to the core. "You are far from a joke. You're the reason we are all here."

"And who am I?" she countered. "Someone else would have led. Hawke, if Cassandra could have found her."

"Hawke." His wry smile made a mockery of the idea. 

"Nobody should take themselves too seriously." Pondering a moment, she moved a pawn into the path of his mage. "The more power you have, the lessseriously you should take yourself."

Cullen's gaze raked her. Surely, she thought, he must sense the shifting restlessness his mere proximity woke in her. Finally he shook his head. "Are you sure that doesn't do a disservice to those who choose to follow you?" 

"The opposite." She countered his move. "Power without humility lead to tyranny."

For a moment he looked startled. Then he laughed, shaking his head. "Of all people, I should know that." 

"So you and Dorian…" she began tentatively. 

"Dorian and I…?" Cullen's eyebrows shot up. "I assure you, there's nothing of that sort -" 

"Oh no, I just meant…you seemed to be getting along so well! It's not a friendship I would have expected."

"I ran into him in the library. Varric asked me to find a book for him." At her quizzical look, he chuckled. "I think he's trying to avoid Cassandra."

"I can't say I've ever seen Cassandra in the library."

"No point in taking chances, were his words. Anyway, Dorian…" Considering his next move, he twirled a stone piece in his fingers. Such long, clever fingers…he caught her eyes suddenly and she shut her mouth with a painfully audible snap . "He just seems lost, you know. He's a long way from home."

"Don't let him think you pity him," Juliet advised. "He won't thank you for it."

"It's not pity," he said, surprised. "Sympathy, yes, but I do enjoy his company." He caught her look of puzzlement. "Is that so unusual?" 

"Only," she floundered, searching about for the right words, "because of, you know, what he is."

"What he is?" Cullen's voice held faint disapproval. "I'm not sure I take your meaning."

Oh, Maker, now she'd offended him. "Only that I thought it might make you feel uncomfortable. Threatened, even."

"Threatened?" Cullen sat back in his chair, arms folded as he studied her face. "Why should I feel threatened?" 

Could we build a lesser amulet? she thought desperately.One that would take me back to before this line of conversation began. "You wouldn't be the only one. I know several people are concerned with his presence…" Biting her lip, she trailed off as Cullen drummed his fingers on the chair arm with evident annoyance. 

"I know that some people harbour foolish prejudices," he began, "but I certainly didn't think you would be amongst them, Inquisitor."

"Me?" she answered indignantly. "Why in Thedas would I be prejudiced against Dorian? I'm the same as he is!" 

Cullen gaped. "You are?" 

She couldn't understand his reaction; this was by no means new information for the Commander. "Well, yes. I mean I'm not from Tevinter, but essentially…"

They realised their mistake at the same time. Juliet groaned, covering her face; Cullen rubbed the back of his neck as he grinned sheepishly. "You meant…"

"Yes. And you thought…"

"I did." His grin slipped. "But you're wrong to think Dorian's magic should make me uncomfortable. I mean, you're a mage and I'm not uncomfortable with you."

"You're not?" 

She must have sounded a touch too incredulous, because Cullen looked at her sharply. Then he smiled, staring down at his hands. "I don't know if you've noticed, Inquisitor, but I can be somewhat…awkward…at times."

"No," she answered, laughing. "Really? It had completely escaped my notice."

"If I seem that way around you, please know that it's not because of the fact that you're a mage. It's because, well…"

Juliet's mouth went dry. "Yes?" 

"It's just the way I am," he finished quickly. 

Hope gave way to sharp disappointment. Surprised by the intensity of her reaction, she hid her feelings in contemplating the next move. "Your turn," she said finally. His pawn joined the small crowd of pieces on the tabletop. 

He studied the board, frowning. "You're no stranger to this game."

"My mentor in the Circle, Lydia," she swallowed hard at the memory, "didn't believe in idle hands. Or minds. When the study of magic didn't take up our time she had us learn history, geography, strategy, mathematics…" An opening became apparent and she swiftly dispatched one of his mages. "Chess."

At the mention of her Circle, Cullen's expression became shuttered. "It seems that was time well spent," he said stiffly. "I wish…" He shook his head, apparently clearing some stray thought. "Your move, Inquisitor."

Always Inquisitor. What was it about him - or about her - that drove her to keep needling him? He was too proper, too authoritative. It made her keep trying to crack open that facade of stiff professionalism, even if she felt like a bird hopelessly battering its wings against a window pane. It made her blurt out, even as her rational mind told her it was a terrible idea, "So…tell me about you and Hawke."

Cullen's smile vanished. "How do you…? Never mind," he said, somewhat curtly. "I would rather not." With exaggerated carefulness he finished his move, putting his knight down with the barest tap of stone on stone. Without meeting her eyes, he elaborated, "It was a mistake."

"Oh." A mistake. Her chest suddenly tight, she attempted what she hoped was a smile. "You have regrets?" 

Cullen's answering smile was more of a grimace. "I regret the entire thing. Now, really…I'd prefer if we moved on."

"I'm sorry," she said with forced cheerfulness. "It seems my sister's not the only one capable of putting her foot in it." She saw the opportunity to take his queen, and considered letting it pass; then, with an apologetic smile and a half-shrug, she toppled the piece with her mage. 

"There," Cullen said. "That's Mia's look."

Juliet laughed. "I wasn't aiming for stuck-up, but I suppose I've earned the right to gloat a little."

"It's not over yet," he countered. Thoughtful, he glanced at her through sandy eyelashes. "This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition - or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction."

"I aim to please." Impulsively, she added, "We should spend more time together."

Another misstep in a conversation littered with them. Wasn't Cullen supposed to be the awkward one? But there was no awkwardness in his heavy-lidded gaze. "I would… like that," he said, and his low voice sent a pleasant shiver through her body. She could only smile back inanely, until he shook himself and turned his attention back to the board. 

"We should…finish our game," he stammered. "Right. My turn?" 

They sat in companionable silence. Stone tapped against stone, and the low hum of insects and murmured conversations played around them. Finally Cullen played the only move that was open to him, and it was checkmate. He smiled wryly. 

"I believe this one is yours. Well played." He leaned back, rolling his shoulders in a way that distracted Juliet entirely from her victory. "We shall have to try again some time." Standing, he offered her a small bow. "Inquisitor."

"Juliet," she said. "Please."

"Juliet." It was only her imagination, adding that low, husky timbre to his voice, the flash in his molten gold eyes. It was just her name; there was no reason for it to feel like a caress. 

And yet long after he had taken his leave she sat, fingers playing around her lips as if the memory of a kiss lingered there. 

"Still here?" Dorian startled her from her reverie. He ensconced himself in the chair opposite, fingers steepled and a knowing gleam in his eye. "Do I sense a romance blooming? I would so love to attend a provincial wedding."

"Did you and Varric orchestrate this?" she demanded. 

"Varric?" he said, affronted. "Perish the thought, dear cousin. Our Commander wandered into my library and I took pity on him. He seemed so…" The mage twirled his hand theatricality. "Lost."

"How terribly kind of you to keep him entertained."

"Obviously, darling Juliet, I resent the implication to my very core." Dorian plucked an imaginary piece of lint from his trouser leg, examining it between thumb and forefinger. "But I did rather enjoy the game…and the view."

"You don't find our little garden too provincial?"

"Now, now," he chastised her. "We both know I wasn't talking about the garden. My question remains: are you two delightful creatures going to give all of us, your proud and loving family, the news we wait so impatiently to hear? Or must Varric's prize pool grow ever larger?" 

"Bloody Varric," she muttered. 

"Well?" Dorian crossed an elegant ankle over his leg. 

"I'm going to have to disappoint you."

"Oh." Dorian did, indeed, sound disappointed. "Tell cousin Dorian absolutely everything."

Juliet sighed. I regret the entire thing. Somewhere in the Hinterlands, Tanner would be thinking the same about her. "There's really nothing to tell." She turned her hand palm up; the Anchor pulsed faintly green. "I just don't want to be anyone else's mistake."