#Sorry that this is not a Recompense update

[swannposting]

this writing shit is easy!

(shoves one of my main characters into a cargo hold for several chapters)

[natsury-kazuki]

Valentine’s Gift Messages 2022

Here is the message of the 2022 Valentine's Day cards.

Last update : 28/08 I’m soooo sorry I’ve so much work, but now it’s complete ! Enjoy

08/06 Haaaaa I found Carter, Azul and Kalim but half cut 😭😭😭

-

HEARTSLABYUL

 

My dear friend─

Your gift is warmly received.

That you should spare such thought for the Heartslabyul housewarden despite our differing affiliations is surprising.

Come to my dorm lounge after school tomorrow for a spot of tea.

I'll look over your homework while we're there.

Riddle Rosehearts

-

Hello friend ─

I admit, I'm not used to surprises like this one. I'm a little taken aback, but grateful regardless.

I just wish I had something thoughtful to offer in return...

Actually, I know! I'll meet you in your classroom once lessons are finished for the day.

That way, I can learn what sort of thing you like.

Trey Clover

-

Eyyy, friend!

How’s it going?

Thanks fo the present.

This is a Cay-Cay-certified banger!

Haave you been chekin’out my feed or something? Haha.

We gotta make another vid for Magicam sometime ; )

Cater Diamond

-

My good friend─

First, thank you SO MUCH.

Make me wonder what I’ve done to deserve a present like this from you!

I really appreciate it, though!

We should go blastcycle riding on one of our free days sometime soon.

See you in class.

Deuce Spade

-

Heya, pal─

I was floored when I got a gift from you outta nowhere!

And even MORE floored when I saw you'd picked out something I really like. Thanks!

If I can get my hands on a deluxe ham and cheese sandwich today, it's all yours.

Least I can do, right?

Ace Trappola

-

SAVANACLAW

Hey─

I'm no stranger to lavish gifts, but getting one from you was unexpected enough to pique my interest.

So here you go, a proper message of gratitude:

Thank you for your considerate gift.

Leona Kingscholar

 -

Welp─

I woke up from a snooze to find a package sitting in my room,so I helped myself to what was inside.

Thanks a ton!

Shyeeheehee.Getting something this nice for free is a seriously lucky break!

And don't worry, I won't pawn it or nothin'.I’ll take reeeal good care of it.

Ruggie Bucchi

-

Hi.

Getting a present delivered out of nowhere scared the daylights out of me.

Thanks, really.

But couldn’t you have just given it to me in person during class tomorrow?

If there’s anything you want in return, let me know. I always repay my debts.

Jack Howl

-

OCTANIVELLE

My boon, companion─

What a lovely gift this is. Thank you kindly.

If you’re ever in need of anything, don’t be afraid to reach out.

And just to be clear, that’s not in return for the gift─ after all, I’ve accepted this as a token of your sentiment.

That said, I’m willing to take it somewhat into account with any future bargains we might make.

Azul Ashengrotto

-

My good friend─

I am humbled─and date I say it, awestruck─to receive such a thoughtful and delightful gift.

Thank you.

Now I know how land-dwelling schoolmates express their mutual appreciation.

This experience has been well and truly fascinating.

Jade Leech

-

Dear little shrimpy─

Is it a thing for land-dwellers to just randomly gift each other stuff? I don't see the point myself, but hey, thanks!

I'll give you a surprise of my own one of these days.

If the mood strikes, I mean. Just you wait!

Floyd Leech

-

SCARABIA

To my dear friend─

Thank for the gift! It’s flattering to know you picked this out just for me!

I’ll treat you to anything you like in return─ food, live entertainment, an item you’ve been pining after… You just say the word.

…On second thought, no. I’ll come up with something myself!

Just like you came up with this gift to give me.

Kalim Al-Asim

-

Hello

I'll admit it. I'm beyong surprised.

I suppose a heartfelt "thank you" is in order.

In fact, why don't we meet at the school store after class tomorrow?

Hopefully I'll be able to find you something to return the favor.

Jamil Viper

-

POMEFIORE

Dearest friend─

Your gift was lovely. Thank you.

This cll for fitting recompense.

Hence, I’ll be handpicking a personal fragrance for you.

May you sleep well tonight dreaming of the possibilities.

Vil Schoenheit

-

Bonjour─

My, what a thoughtful gesture! I am a hard person to surprise, but you have done so all the same.

How long it been since I felt the urge to spring into dance on the spot?

Merci beaucoup !

Rook Hunt

-

Dear classmate─

Than you for the amazing present!

It seriously caught me off guard in the best way.

Just you wait─ I’ll get you an even cooler gift in return.

See you in class!

Epel Felmier

-

IGHIHYDE

@YOU

what

who in their right mind would send a present to me

wait,isn’t this … did u check my wishlist for this?

uhhhh nvm,nbd

thx 4 gift ig

Idia Shroud

-

Hello, Perfect─

Thank you for picking out a gift for me.

It’s exactly what I wanted!

How did you predict my thought data so accurately?

You should share your logic with me sometime.

Maybe then I can whip up whatever it is that YOU want!

Ortho Shroud

-

DIASOMNIA

To my good friend─

A gift? For me, of all people?

Tour taste are…distinctive, I must say.

Worry not, thought─I enjoyed it, of course.

What should you like in return, I wonder? I shall take great pleasure in speculating the answer to that question.

Malleus Draconia

-

Greeting!

Thank you for the most excellent gift!

You know, I am told that in some cultures, giving someone a gift is a sign of friendship.

I hope you’re ready for me to give something special in return.

In fact, I suggest you clear a good square meter or so of space in your dorm!

Lilia Vanrouge

-

Salutations

You picked out a gift specially for me?

The sentiment is greatly appreciated. Thank you.

I've selected something for you in return.

Come to my classroom after school tomorrow.

And feel free to wake me if I've nodded off.

Silver

-

Human─

Heh. You thought a gift would be enough to worm your way into my confidence?

Well, I can hardly fault your ambition.

Isuppose in return, I could regale you with a few tales of Master Malleus’s martial might!

You have part I thought XI to choose from.

Sebeck Zigvolt

-

NRC STAFF

Dear esteemed student─

Thank you for the delectable gift. I finished it all in one sitting as soon as I opened the package!

What? You say it wasn’t food?

…I was joking, of course.

I’m ever so grateful for the job you do every day as perfect.

Do keep up the good work.

Dire Crowley

-

Dear juvenile─

First, I should thank you for the gift.

However, if you want to ensure your teachers view you charitably and grade your test favorably, I’d advise being a good student and showing up to class punctually rather than giving gifts.

But perhaps a thank-you note isn’t the place for a lecture.

The sentiment is appreciated, at the very least.

Mozus Trein

-

Dear pup-

Thank you for the present.

However, this is highly inappropriate, and I wouldn't hold my breath for a return gift if I were you.

All I have to offer you is discipline.

That said, I wouldn't be averse to joining you for a (single) cup of tea sometime.

Do restrain yourself from howling for joy.

Divus Crewel

-

Dear student─

Wow! A gift for me?

I guess I was just born popular…though I don’t normally get gifts from students.

Tell you what─I’ll let you in on the secret behind my incredible bod.

You ready? Here’s the trick: eat four dozen raw eggs a day!

Ashton Vargas

-

Heay, my little imp!

What’s up? Usually, I’m the one doing the giving, not the other way around!

Thanks for the nice surprise.

How about I guess what you’d like?

Bet it’s something already in stock.

Feel free to drop by Mr.S’s Mystery Shop anytime!

Sam

-

OTHER

Dear minion─

I found a package next to my pillow when I woke up this morning.

Figured it was one of the ghosts pullin’ a prank, but nope. It was a present from you!

You picked this out just for me, huh?

That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy! I mean, more than usual, on account of all the fur.

Feel free to do this kind thing every day, sidekikck!

Grim

[alagaesia-headcanons]

Snippet #3~

...

Quick, intense emotions flash across her face at that, too quick for him to understand, before settling into something strained. “What are you doing here?” she utters tightly. It’s a good question, one Murtagh isn’t sure he has a good answer to.

His and Thorn’s plan to find a home has had a rocky start over the past few months, the practice challenging to adjust to and managing to trip him up at every obstacle. It’s discouragingly difficult, though Murtagh has no intention to give in; he’s sure he’ll get used to things and make progress. Fear makes it hard to do what he knows is right. But in order to take a step back and try to shake off the disappointment of continuously fumbling, he had shifted his focus to another matter he needed to settle and decided to return to Uru’baen. “To see you,” he tells her. “To see that you’re well. To apologize, I suppose.”

Nasuada releases a loud breath and drops into a chair, resting her head in her hand as though his words have made her indescribably weary. He understands the feeling, and his guilt prickles even more over the back of his neck. But she looks at him and there’s sorrow in her eyes, but not anger, and he steadies himself when she asks wryly if he’d like to go first. “I am so sorry, Nasuada,” he declares. “I’m sorry for everything. I’m so sorry for all the way I hurt you,” because there are so many ways. “I’m sorry for the torture I inflicted on you, I’m sorry I fought against you and the Varden, I’m sorry I didn’t fight the king harder... I’m sorry I couldn’t save your father.” She jolts at that and Murtagh bites his lip, picking at his knuckles. Still, he forces himself to add, “If there is any recompense I can give, I will try to give it.” It’s a hard promise to make, but he knows he must. He fears the possibility, no matter how unlikely, that Nasuada might ask him to stay and serve as her vassal. That, he could never do.

After a long minute, Nasuada says quietly, “You don’t have to feel guilty, I hold none of that against you. You hurt me and my forces, but you did not want you, and you also helped me and my forces and that had far more consequence in the end. The rest is forgiven. I’ve already had justice from the ones who truly caused all that suffering, suffering that you endured too. As for my father...” She pauses, then shakes her head. “You hold no blame. If anything, I’m sorry no one was there to save you when you needed it.”

That makes his chest twist. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“Aye. I’m sorry anyway.” And the meaning is clear then, not apologizing and assuming responsibility, but sharing empathy and remorse. It makes Murtagh’s eyes sting.

...

[I'll update this post with a link here when the fic is published ❤]

[nancywheelrrs]

as you wish — chapter three now available

a hellcheer the princess bride au [ explicit ] multi-chapter

“ Of course he’ll always come for her. It’s true love. That’s how it works. Like clockwork or tides or the running compass leg, he’ll always come back for her. ”

sorry this took so long to update! the next chapter is going to be aggressively long. as recompense, please enjoy a remixed moodboard xoxo  haven’t read? start from the beginning

[featherwriter]

Fandom: Destiny Point of View: 3rd Person Past Tense, Female Warlock Characters: Sylvanni Duv (Female Awoken Warlock Guardian), Brother Vance, Osiris Rating: SFW Chapters: 1 - Complete Words: 4,426 Warnings: Spoilers for Destiny 2 story campaign

Read On AO3 // Read on FF.net

Life begins to return to normalcy in the Last City after Ghaul’s invasion. When a fellow Warlock offers to purchase a bowl of noodles as a gesture of thanks for the City’s savior, what begins as a simple meal quickly becomes far more complicated, as tangled acquaintances from the distant past emerge and a Guardian’s will is forced to face the truth of her heart.

“Lady Restorer, please, may I buy you a meal?”

Sylvanni had to force herself not to grimace at the title as she looked up from the menu the waitress had just handed her over the counter. Ever since the City had been retaken, she’d started becoming a bit of a celebrity as Guardians and citizens alike heard the story of what she’d done. There were many impressive achievements over the course of her long second life, but none had netted her the same level of notoriety as defeating Ghaul.

They called her things in the streets now. Restorer. Light-bringer. Champion of the Traveler. Some of the more passionate had started using the epithet Red Breaker.

She still found the notoriety uncomfortable.

Still the man who’d walked up to the counter beside her had a kind air about him, someone grateful for her service to the City who wished to give a small token of his gratitude. He was a Warlock, like herself, if his robes were any indication. They were well-made, of a solid black with gold trim, hung with draping fabric and tied with cords.

He waved for her to enter the little shop before him, which she hesitated to do, as she’d originally planned to sit outside at the window counter. Still, he was buying her meal, and perhaps it would be nice to sit in an actual padded seat indoors rather than on a tall stool. He held the beads covering the doorway aside and she ducked into the depths of the little steam-shrouded shop, making for one of the booths.

“It’s very kind of you to do this,” she said as she slid into the booth.

He sat down across from her, having acquired a menu of his own along the way. “Please. It’s an honor after everything you’ve done for us.”

Sylvanni offered an empty smile at the compliment, placid and polite, because that was what one was supposed to do when a stranger said something nice. After weeks of attention, however, she was truly beginning to miss her anonymity. She could play the part of the heroic yet humble champion if that was what people needed her to be, but the mantle was too heavy and the mask of it chafed in its insincerity.

A part of her wished she could just go back to being herself, just Sylvanni Duv. Another part of her cruelly reminded her that she hadn’t really known who that was anyway.

The waitress stopped by to take their order, an Exo with forest green plating in a short sundress. Conscious of the fact that she wouldn’t be paying, Sylvanni ordered one of the less expensive noodle bowls, beef with scallions and spicy broth. Guardian hot, the kind that required Light-based healing to not damage one’s mouth. A good dose of spice always helped clear her head.

Her companion’s generosity continued, as he ordered not only noodles with chicken in a sweet peanut and kiwicumber sauce, but also a plate of steamed buns, no coriander leaves, presumably for them to share. As the waitress left, Sylvanni frowned as the order pulled up old memories.

He noticed. “I’m sorry, is that okay? I should have asked.”

“It’s fine,” she said, waving off his concern. “I just used to know someone who ordered buns the same way. Made me think of them.”

He folded his arms across the table in a relaxed posture. “I appreciate the chance to speak with you. I have heard stories of how you brought the Light back, each one more stunning than the last.”

“To be honest,” she said, nodding in thanks as the waitress brought glasses of water for the table, “I just held the gun. The Traveler brought itself back. Or perhaps something Ghaul did restored it.”

He chuckled. “Forgive me if I don't thank him with a bowl of ramen.”

That pulled a smile from her. “Were you in the City during the fall?”

“No, though we felt it all the same. I thought it was the end of everything, losing the Light like that.”

“I know the feeling.” Sylvanni looked out through the curtain of beads, watching people pass outside. “He was right there when mine was taken. Ghaul, I mean. Zavala sent me to disable the flagship's shields from the inside and I was standing on the top deck as the cage constricted around the Traveler for the first time. Ghaul and his retinue just watched as I crumpled in pain, as my Ghost fell to the ground with a hollow clink.”

Her dining companion seemed content to let her continue, and so she let her mind drift back to the terror and pain of those moments, putting herself back in the thick of remembrance. There was something meditative about it, experiencing the emotions from a distance.

“He seemed so dismissive, so utterly unthreatened by me as he walked up and kicked me across the deck. I barely felt it, even though I'm sure he broke bones. The pain of that just seemed so insignificant compared to the agony of having my Light ripped away from me.

“He said I needed to be reacquainted with the fear of death, then planted a massive foot against my helmet and shoved me over the side. I assume the last bits of Light I had saved me from the fall, because I woke up broken and beaten in the ground.”

The other Warlock nodded along. “It’s brave of you to have gone back to face him again after something like that.”

Sylvanni pursed her lips. “I’m not certain I would call it brave, exactly. It was simply something that needed to be done, and I had Light, so I was the one to do it.”

“Very humble of you,” he said, shaking his head. “He mentioned that and yet…”

“Wait,” Sylvanni said, frowning. “Who mentioned something?”

He was spared from answering her by the return of the waitress with their food, two steaming bowls and the plate of soft buns. Sylvanni eyed him, her intuition starting to make her suspicious, something familiar pricking her instincts.

Before she could say something, he nodded his head toward her slowly, an approximation of a bow. “It’s been an honor speaking with you, Lady Restorer. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

“You sound like you’re leaving,” she said, narrowing her eyes. Something golden flashed on his finger, a signet ring of a sun inside an eye that she hadn’t noticed before. “Hold up, I do know you! I’ve seen you in the Reef. You–”

“Thank you, Brother Vance,” a smooth voice said behind her, “I can take over from here. Would you watch the street for us? I’d hate unexpected company.”

Sylvanni’s blood ran cold.

She wanted to scream, to run, to fight, to do something, but she was so stunned she found she couldn’t move. Once Vanguard, now exiled pariah, Osiris himself patted Vance on the shoulder as the cultist stood and slid into the booth seat across from her. He had picked up the chopsticks and was lifting the first bite of noodles to his mouth, watching her all the while, before she managed to find her voice.

The hissed snarl of words that finally escaped her would have impressed the Fallen. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His mouth quirked slightly, trying not to smile. “Hello, Sylvanni.”

He seemed utterly unperturbed, sitting in the middle of the City he had been explicitly forbidden to return to. Then again, he’d always had a way of seeming in control in any situation. It had made him a good leader during his time in the Tower, a handsome charismatic who drew followers like moths to a flame.

The problem had been, of course, where he’d chosen to lead them.

She was surprised—though she shouldn’t have been—how unchanged he seemed from his years of exile. For a moment, it was like no time had passed. They could have been back more than a century ago, with him, still the Vanguard, meeting up to talk about her research into the Ahamkara, or telling her about latest project he’d been working on. His smile was still kind, his sun-dark skin smooth, eyes as black and fathomless as the void. A dangerous kind of beauty.

“How did you get into the City?” she demanded.

He shook his head, tsking softly. “Such an uninteresting question. There are many Guardians returning to see the Traveler reborn. It’s a simple thing to stow away.”

He, like Vance, did not wear the customary bright yellow robes of his order, but was instead clad in similar nondescript black with golden trim. Perhaps it would have made him noticeable to wear his own colors, but there were many among the Guardians who flaunted the gifts they’d won in his Trials, those who carried gifts from Osiris’ followers as a trophy without truly understanding what they meant.

“The Traveler’s rebirth didn’t lift your exile,” she said coldly. “The Vanguard will come down on you if they discover you here.”

“Ah, the Vanguard are so fond of ignorance,” he said, twirling another tangle of noodles around his sticks. “It would be cruel of me to disabuse them of it. They cast me out because I wished for knowledge. I must assume then, that they prefer things left unknown.”

Sylvanni’s brow drew to a hard line. “You were exiled because you threw away lives and resources at a time when they could not be spared and you know that. You let your selfish curiosity get in the way of doing what needed to be done.”

“‘Selfish curiosity?’ What an interesting oxymoron.” He watched her with that gaze that seemed to understand too much, to be able to see things better left hidden. Beneath it however, his smile was fond. “Dear Sylvanni. Ever dutiful. You have not changed.”

“Unfortunately,” she said flatly, “I must say the same of you.”

He picked up one of the buns, holding it towards her before taking a bite. “You should have some. They're very good.”

She ignored him. “What are you doing, Osiris? Sneaking into the City? Sending messages through the Vex networks?”

“I might point out that you were also in that Vex network.”

She grimaced, feeling her confusion over this whole situation turn her stomach. “No, no, this is wrong. I shouldn’t be sitting here talking to you. You shouldn’t be here at all. I should call the Tower Garrison and have you arrested for breaking exile.”

“Over a bowl of noodles? I wasn’t aware a meal was such a threat to City security.” He gestured toward her bowl again more insistently. “Please, it’s just dinner. I promise I won’t topple the infrastructure of the Tower or stage any violent revolutions from this noodle shop.”

With a terse sigh, she relented, picking up her own chopsticks while glaring at him. “You're mad. But fine. One meal. Then you leave again.”

“Very well.” He seemed saddened by her hostility towards him, as if somehow he’d expected she’d be pleased to see him. “You’re quick to quote the Vanguard’s rhetoric against me, but I cannot believe these things you say. We worked together for decades. Look me in the eye and tell me you think I’m the madman they claim.”

She did meet his eyes, but she couldn’t quite say it. There had always been something powerfully manic to Osiris, but never unhinged. He believed everything he did deeply and ignored logic and common sense in pursuit of his goals, but the true threat that Osiris posed was not insanity, but rather a dangerous level of sanity.

It wasn’t that he was manipulative, per se. It was simply that he understood people in a way that gave him the ability to make them listen. He connected with others in a way that made them feel important, that validated their thoughts and insecurities. He could speak with such passion that one couldn’t help but start to see things his way.

That was something far more perilous than a lunatic.

“Fine,” she admitted. “I don’t believe you’ve lost your mind, no. But you insult me if you believe I’m simply parroting the Vanguard. My words and thoughts are my own, no one else’s. You are many of the things that they say.”

The bun grasped in his chopsticks threatened to fly free as he gestured with that hand. “What threat do I pose to the Vanguard? I’ve attacked no one. I make no actions against the Tower. Guardians who choose to follow me do so freely, because they’re tired of getting missions and targets instead of answers and truth. They understand that there is knowledge worth seeking beyond what you find at behind the trigger of a gun. They’re tired of feeling more like a weapon than a person.”

“No one’s saying that knowledge is bad,” she said, after finishing a bite of her own meal. The burning in her mouth was a mild counterpart to the burning frustration within. “There are things that are more important than answers! There are duties you failed to fulfill as Vanguard because you put your questions above everything else. And there are things out there, like your precious Vex, that are too dangerous to be used! The damage you’ll cause far outweighs any meager benefit you might glean from it!”

A thought began to coalesce, like a matrix of data lattice branching from thin air. The more she spoke the more she realized what this was reminding her of. Osiris opened his mouth to respond, but she continued on, not letting him have a word in edgewise.

“You’re… Osiris, you are an Ahamkara to the Tower. You and your cult are that mysterious, distant thing that lures in the unwary with the promise of granting wishes and giving the answers everyone’s always wanted. You are a temptation, a seduction–” His eyebrow raised at her word choice and she instantly regretted it. “–a siren call that steals away needed fighters from the front lines. That is why you’re a threat. Because of that, you must be stopped, just like the Ahamkara were.”

He mulled that over for a long pause, not denying her accusations, but neither did he concede to them. Finally, he gave her a long, steady look. “Do you still question? Wonder? I remember a newly-raised scholar, desperate to learn, fascinated by the world and its secrets. What happened to the woman I knew, that relentless seeker? What have they done to her?”

“She grew up, Osiris. She realized there were things more important than secrets. She stopped questioning and started doing because there were things that needed to be done.”

He shook his head slowly. “You may have convinced others here that you are this hollow creature of orders and laws that you pretend to be, but I don’t believe you. You and I are birds of a feather, cut of the same cloth. You think like I do. You question, and the questions haunt you, demanding satisfaction. You always have always been as I am, and you always will be. You cannot deny your nature, Sylvanni.”

The words stung with a truth she’d long tried to deny about herself. That was the problem with Osiris: he’d always known her far too well.

“Perhaps you’re right and I am like you, deep down,” she quietly admitted, looking down at her bowl because it was easier to face than his eyes. “The difference between us, Osiris, is that I’ve learned that wandering curiosity is a weakness, something I shouldn’t indulge.”

His voice dropped quietly, as he slid a knife of words through her armor and plunged it deep into insecurity. “Don’t you still wonder if we’re real? Don’t you still question if we are people chosen or things created? Aren’t you worried that your obedience is because It created you to obey?”

She stiffened, every existential doubt she’d suffered clawing at her, begging for acknowledgement, seeking to tear her apart. Her thoughts attacked her in the dark, empty hours of the night when there was nothing to distract her from them. And he knew, because he was right, of course. She was the same, deep down.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, gritting her teeth, as though doubt were something she could kill with force of will alone. “It doesn’t matter if I’m a real person or a clever weapon. It doesn’t matter if my obedience isn’t a choice when the orders given are to protect people.”

She swept a hand toward that beaded curtain and the City beyond, still looking anywhere but at him. “That, out there, is what matters. Saving lives, stopping our enemies, keeping the City safe. Nothing else. Not what I want, or what I feel. Not who I am or the things I still wonder. I will be whatever the City needs me to be. If all the Traveler needs is a weapon, then a weapon I shall be. Caring about anything else is indulgent selfishness. If my heart seeks to pull me astray with questions, doubts, wishes or dreams, I will smother it until its insubordination is silenced.”

He understood what she meant, and that was the worst part. He knew that when she spoke of her traitorous heart that the halcyon past between was the thing it longed for most. He knew that his allure was so much more than simply his ideals. He knew and he sat there and looked at her with that sad gaze that she couldn’t meet, lest his eyes convince her of what her heart could not.

He leaned forward—the table narrow enough between them to allow closeness—and it was a motion that she felt, more than saw, with her head still down.

“Sylvanni Duv, I believe you may be the greatest tragedy of my exile. To see a mind such as yours, locked away in blank, unquestioning service to them, to It, is a failure for which I must blame myself. You deserve to think, to feel, to question, and to dream, and no one should have taken that from you. Not the Vanguard, not the Traveler, not even you yourself.”

Before she’d sat down at this table she would have sworn that she was stone from her skin to her core, her insecurities locked away deep where they couldn’t sabotage her. But now Osiris was shattering her walls, her prohibitions, her self. He’d done it centuries ago and he was doing it now. Never malicious, never manipulative, but so intensely earnest the words couldn’t help but be compelling. He won souls because he made you see things his way.

It was why she’d been both heartbroken and relieved to see him leave the Tower in exile, hundreds of years ago: He was the most dangerous temptation she had, the thing she desired most to have and be and trust, and the thing which she could never allow herself to have. His pursuit of his own ideas had nearly broken the Tower. She had sworn to herself that she would be stronger, that she would never become what he was.

Never let him turn her into the thing he’d longed for her to be.

And she knew, if she gave him an inch now, she’d give him everything.

Her confused nausea became a tangible weight in her stomach, and though she’d never had claustrophobia, she suddenly felt as though the walls of the shop were closing in on all sides. She needed to be away. It didn’t matter where, so long as it wasn’t here.

She stood, suddenly, banging her hip on the table in her haste to free herself from the booth, speaking with an almost frantic desperation. “I can’t… Osiris, I can’t do this. I can’t just pretend everything hasn’t happened. I have to… You shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake, and I’m leaving. I should have left the moment you appeared.”

She took only two steps before his hand wrapped around her left arm like a second bond, holding her in place.

“Sylvanni, wait. Please.”

She could have pulled free, kept going, run to the side of the railing and flung herself over just to feel the wind in her face and hope she would wake up from the resurrection and find that none of this had been real. But she hesitated, and damned herself instead.

“I didn’t tell you why I came,” he said softly. “You asked why I was here, and I didn’t answer. Allow me that much at least.”

His fingers might have been tongues of fire, flames eating through her sleeve, for the heat they brought to her skin. She could feel each finger individually. The whorls of his fingerprints would be burned into her skin, she was certain of it. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to break away.

She looked back, hating herself for it.

He was so beautiful in sincerity. “The Light. When it was suddenly ripped from us, I feared it could be the end. Yet you returned it. Every Guardian is indebted to you for it.”

She shook her head, confused that he would come so far for something so simple. “What?”

“I came to thank you, Sylvanni Duv, for saving us all.”

Their eyes met and she felt the moment upon her, her chance to pull away, to run and flee back to safety.

That moment passed.

Osiris pulled her gently forward and pressed his lips to hers. And she let him. She stood in that moment and kissed him, hearing the person she’d tried to be screaming in her head. He tasted of sunlight and salt, and as his grip on her arm relaxed, his other hand moved to cup the back of her head, keeping her close.

It was horrible, and it was bliss. The former Sylvanni, a silly girl from centuries ago with silly ideas about her handsome Vanguard, was resurrected within her again, just briefly, when that naive optimist should have been long dead. The current Sylvanni, the the logical pragmatist she’d built herself to become, wailed in silent agony that she was tearing down everything she’d worked so hard to achieve. Decades of discipline, destroyed in one moment of emotional weakness.

But Traveler’s scars, how long had it been since anyone held her?

For a few precious heartbeats, right and wrong fell away and she simply let herself feel something, let her breath mingle with his, let her thoughts twirl aimlessly around nothing but the pleasure of the moment itself and nothing further than that. Duty, consequences, within that embrace, those foundational pillars of her life had no purchase on her and she floated on the ecstasy of it all.

Reality though, was far too weighty to be held at bay by something so fragile as a kiss.

The pragmatist won the fight in her mind, the idealist struck down and locked away once more where she could cause no further damage. Just as quickly as the wonder of the moment had consumed her, crippling guilt washed over it, drowning everything. The nausea returned once more, now arm in arm with a new companion: disappointment in herself, that she’d succumbed so easily.

She broke away, the taste of him souring already, and pushed herself back, suddenly desperate for space between them. “Osiris, I can’t… This was…” The steel mask began to slide back into place, the walls repairing, traitorous emotions executed for their treason. “This was a mistake. You coming here. Me not leaving the moment I saw you.” Her heartbeat still pounded in her ears. “Nothing but a string of mistakes.”

He didn’t seem hurt by the words, though there was that twinge of sadness in his eyes again. He’d expected this, though he’d hoped for something different. She turned away, intending to leave before she could fall any further—before he could drag her further down—but this time he caught her hand instead.

“Wait, before you go,” he said calmly, pressing something small and metalic against her palm. “Take this. A symbol of my favor. That any of my order who see it will know you are to given every courtesy.”

She gritted her teeth, not trusting herself to look back at him again. “I don’t want your favor. Keep it.”

“Please,” he said, stepping close to her again. “For my peace of mind if nothing else.” With his hand wrapped around hers, he folded her fingers around the little object. “It’s a gift.”

She snatched her hand from his, clenching it to a fist around the coin as she kept her back to him. “Leave the City, Osiris. Within the hour. Do not return.”

A sad puff of a laugh escaped him, an amused resignation. “As you command, Lady Restorer. The journey begins with doubt, but ends with solace.”

“Leave.”

“It was good to see you again. Our paths will cross again soon,” he said, still so casual about it all. “I’m looking forward to it. I think I’m going to need your help, though it’s always hard to tell with things like this. Vex minds are, ah, how was it put? ‘Not quite as intuitive as you might think.’ But, then again, that’s what makes these things interesting, isn’t it?”

Sylvanni froze as she recognized the phrase—Cayde’s words—from a conversation Osiris shouldn’t have known about. Meeting again? She spun, a demand for an answer already on her lips.

There was nothing there but empty air.

The table looked lonesome. Two bowls, still slightly steaming, a plate of buns, half eaten, and a glimmer credit in the middle as payment. She stood, stunned. There hadn’t even been a sound as he vanished, no telltale shimmer of a transmat field. A thought occurred to her, and she pushed her way to the front of the shop, emerging into the street. Vance, too, was nowhere to be found.

Guardians and civilians parted around her as Sylvanni stood in the midst of it, a stone around which the currents broke. The world continued on but she stood still, trying to make sense of what had happened, what it had meant. What it had revealed about who she really was.

No answers came, only further questions. The endless, dangerous questions, distractions that she couldn’t ever fully banish. She’d gotten so good at keeping those in check, ignoring their call over the years.

Now she felt lost within them once more. Of course, she thought, that was what he wanted, wasnt’ it? Osiris always gets what he wants.

Always.

[jaysdoodlehell]

Hi everyone! I've kinda missed the Friday update and for that I'm sorry :< Here's a lil comic to recompense for that (and a lil update below).

Cause sometimes it's just better to stay alone together ;3

And here's a lil update from me regarding our Dancing with the Devil comic:

Along with @reallyangryhawk we've decided to make another update a bit longer, and for that we need more time (plus personal stuff starts to get in the way of non stop drawing and writing XD). We want to assure you it's not the end, we just need more time to focus on improving the story and so on.

That's why we think the best idea would be to give you a little update the week before the release of the proper part of the comic.

In the meantime you may see some random artwork from me tho, so don't worry about the complete lack of content. Friday updates are still relevant ;3

[marbled-polecat]

Sorry, I haven't posted any art lately. We had a broken air conditioner and then I got side tracked with my cosplay helmet. Here is an update for the Domino cuddle pile as recompense!

I'm having a hoot drawing all of the little curls! Eeeeee!

Anyway, this is based on the latest chapter from Meridianpony on ao3. I adore the fic and can't wait until I have time to reread it . . . Again! Poor DB! He will be fine! A-okay, peachy-keen, right?

[grainjew]

for those of you who follow ash & kiawe do kanto!!!

no update today, sorry.

and, on the same note, i am changing the update schedule to every other wednesday for the sake of me not going aaaaa as much. look forward to next week, wherein we go to saffron city!!!!

as recompense, actually, here’s a preview

The gym leader was in her room, sitting in a sort of throne-like chair at one end of it and reading a book. “I’m on lunch break,” she grumbled when the door opened, without looking up. “Can it wait?”

“Hi, Sabrina!” said Ash, ignoring her.

“Pika pikachu!” said Pikachu, waving.

“Wh—” she said, and finally shut her book and looked at them. “Ash?”

“It’s me!” said Ash. “It’s sure been awhile, hasn’t it? How’s Haunter?”

“You’re perky,” said Sabrina. She got up from her chair and put the book down, stretching out her arms. She was tall, and serious looking. Ash had said she was a powerful psychic, hadn’t he? He wondered what that meant, exactly. “Haunter’s great! And so am I. I presume you want a battle?”

“Mhm!” said Ash, nodding. “And that’s awesome!”

If Kiawe didn’t get his foot in, Ash would be having a gym battle instead of Kiawe. “I’m Kiawe of Akala Island, and this is Marowak,” he announced. “And we challenge you to a gym battle! Also, here’s Litten.”

“Litten!”

[sarcasticfina]

Hi Fina - I'm a huge fan of your TVD fics, it's been such a long time since I've read anything on FanFiction (probably well over a year) and then I got the notification that you had added a new chapter to your 'you know I will adore you (till eternity)' Bamon fic and decided to re-read the whole thing. And this has led me to decide to re-read all your old TVD fics. I was just wondering if you had a list of which ones you'd definitely be continuing with or not continuing with? - Raech xx

Progress, listed in order of most likely to get updated:

you know I will adore you ('til eternity)  - chapter 20 - 16k+ pre-edit, to be updated soon

the fire that was starting to spark (is starting to go out)  - chapter 4 - 4k+, there’s only about 2 chapters left of this story. i just waffle back and forth on whether i want her to forgive him or not, lol. 

love bites & recompense (i'll be with you until the end)  - epilogue - 6k+, choppy, needs a lot of work, had a few too many ideas of where i wanted it to go and now i feel weirdly blocked on it

it's the end of the world (as we know it) - chapter 16 - has not been started. i know the ending i want, but unfortunately i’m blocked on this one currently. i tend to re-read stories to get motivation but i also want to get ‘til eternity finished up before i get back to this one. 

to be the man who walked 1000 miles (to fall down at your door) - chapter 6 - not yet started - rewrites are a bitch and for a while there i actually had zero access to season 1, but i think it’s up on amazon prime again. this one is on the back burner for a bit while i focus on stories that are a lot closer to their finale. 

one day soon (I'll hold you like the sun holds the moon) - chapter 6 - 5k+, choppy and disorganized. i wrote myself into a corner covering so much history and trying to cover such a huge length of time so sometimes it feels a little too big to take on. this one’s on the back burner for a while. i think it’ll likely be something i work on more when i’m rewatching the series to write ‘1000 miles.’ 

again, sorry for the long waits in between stories. motivation for writing literally anything has been harder to come by in the last year, between an injury and mental exhaustion around covid, it’s been an uphill battle. but i do have plans to get back to each of these, it’s just going to take a while to tackle each. thanks for sticking around!

[deanwinchesterswitch]

I am participating in a reblog challenge hosted by @beccaanne814. This is my weekly update for the challenge

This is the final weekly update for the challenge! I read so many wonderful fics last year. Thank you to all the writers for sharing your glorious creations.

Dean Winchester’s Witch Reblog Masterlist

28)

All is Bright - @idreamofplaid. Author’s Summary: Dean is enjoying the first real Christmas of his life and all the joy that comes with it.

Golden Cage -Chapter.29 - @smol-and-grumpy. Author’s Summary: She’s a spoiled little princess — at least that’s what people say. Her father is the King of all Kings, the man who everyone fears. Then, along comes Dean Winchester, the one guy who manages to see into her soul, but —   — is Dean really who he says he is?

Golden Cage -Chapter.30 - @smol-and-grumpy. Author’s Summary: She’s a spoiled little princess — at least that’s what people say. Her father is the King of all Kings, the man who everyone fears. Then, along comes Dean Winchester, the one guy who manages to see into her soul, but —   — is Dean really who he says he is?

29)

Golden Cage -Chapter.3 (FIN) - @smol-and-grumpy. Author’s Summary: She’s a spoiled little princess — at least that’s what people say. Her father is the King of all Kings, the man who everyone fears. Then, along comes Dean Winchester, the one guy who manages to see into her soul, but —   — is Dean really who he says he is?

Good Morning-Chapter 14 - @smol-and-grumpy. Author’s Summary: Dean Winchester, owner of Dean’s Beans is living a humble and quiet life. Roasting beans and selling coffee in his little shop is what makes him happy. When she walked into his shop four months ago, his life changed, but is it for better or worse?

Good Morning-Chapter 15 - @smol-and-grumpy. Author’s Summary: Dean Winchester, owner of Dean’s Beans is living a humble and quiet life. Roasting beans and selling coffee in his little shop is what makes him happy. When she walked into his shop four months ago, his life changed, but is it for better or worse?

30)

Golden Cage -Epilogue - @smol-and-grumpy. Author’s Summary: She’s a spoiled little princess — at least that’s what people say. Her father is the King of all Kings, the man who everyone fears. Then, along comes Dean Winchester, the one guy who manages to see into her soul, but —   — is Dean really who he says he is?

Erotica - @thoughtslikeaminefield. Author’s Summary: He always makes me come.

Good Morning-Chapter 16 - @smol-and-grumpy. Author’s Summary: Dean Winchester, owner of Dean’s Beans is living a humble and quiet life. Roasting beans and selling coffee in his little shop is what makes him happy. When she walked into his shop four months ago, his life changed, but is it for better or worse?

31)

Recompense - @thoughtslikeaminefield. Author’s Summary: Dean is sorry for hurting the ones he loves.

From The Hunter To The Hunted - @mummybear. Author’s Summary: Dean and Damon are being hunted, but when they track the woman down, how will they handle the situation?

Miles of Memories-1 - @carryonmywaywardcaptain. Author’s Summary: Feeling anxious about heading off to college, you make the most of your last night in town with the help of your best friend, Dean.

[uncontainedkc]

Necessary Disruption: Housing Reimagined

“There’s no place like home!”, is more than a popular line from the classic movie - The Wizard of Oz. Home is a safe place, a place to grow and create a lifetime of memories with your loved ones. Home is an ideal.  It is the American Dream. Sadly, home has been an unfathomable circumstance for millions of humans that lived and died through various tragedies on American soil throughout our troubling history with racism, slavery and discrimination. Home continues to be a mere illusion of a reality that is completely unknowable and out of reach for some. Specifically, more than 500,000 Americans are unsheltered today. Millions more are housing insecure, including 2.5 million children. Despite the fact that housing is a basic physiological need for human survival- “home” evades millions of people in the wealthiest nation on earth, America.  

The long-standing traditions of limiting generational wealth and status by prohibiting land ownership coupled with rampant housing discrimination are ever-present even today. Housing in this country is treated as a luxury and not as a human right. That is a problem.

A disruption is necessary.

LIMITING WEALTH BY RESTRICTING ACCESS TO OWNERSHIP OF LAND AND REAL PROPERTY IN THE UNITED STATES.

Understanding the shift we must make requires we understand the roots of our current land ownership and housing system. Historically, housing in the United States has long been an area of explicit, strategic discrimination and oppressive practices. These practices were implemented and maintained as a way to control mobility, status, and life opportunities of populations that were deemed inferior or less desirable. It was also the most effective way to concentrate power and wealth in a select group of people- white men and by extension white women.

From the time Europeans landed in the Americas, there has been a race for land acquisition.  Once the Native Americans and the Mexican states were forcibly removed from their lands and homes via murder, enslavement, or cultural genocide, that made way for what has become The United States of America. The stolen parcels, stained with fresh blood of the rightful inhabitants that gave their lives defending their homes, were divided up for the new owners. When it came time to distribute the stolen land parcels the privilege of ownership was available almost exclusively to a select class- white male immigrants.  

In this country, at least fifteen generations of land ownership was the currency by which one built and maintained their family wealth and passed down such wealth to future generations. The institution of slavery ensured that ownership was a privilege specifically denied to most Black, Native and Mexican people, and their children for fifteen plus generations. For centuries, they built wealth for landowners while themselves owning nothing and having nothing to pass down to future generations.

There are some significant legislative landmarks that had lasting impacts on current day US housing:

40 Acres and a Mule

When blacks legally gained citizenship via the Civil Rights Act of 1866 which was ratified by the 14th Amendment in 1868 and after the Civil War, Congress passed the Southern Homestead Act. The stated purpose of the act was to allow for land in southern states to be acquired by formerly enslaved people. Hence, the expectation of 40 acres and a mule as recompense for generations of depravity and abject poverty imposed.  This was also seen as a way to stabilize black families and allow for a basic opportunity to build a life after the horrors they endured.  However, specifically excluded from being beneficiaries of the act were people holding two specific occupations: domestic servants and agricultural workers. As coincidence would have it (insert sarcasm and a major eye roll), formerly enslaved people, Native Americans, and Mexicans just so happened to occupy those roles in society. So white males were again, legally allowed to say “Sorry, no land for ‘you people’- still ”. The inability to own anything in addition to meager wages did not allow for wealth transfer in the form of land or money to be passed down to the children of Black, Native and Mexican families for another 5-8 generations.

Creating the Ghettos- Redlining

The National Housing Act of 1934 was passed by Congress which introduced the concept of redlining. Security maps for residential neighborhoods were created across the country. The security maps designated areas of high risk- which were majority black and minority communities.  These maps were created by the Home Owners’ Loan Cooperation as a way to outline the neighborhoods in red (hence the term redlining) so that banks would know exactly the areas to deny mortgages or improvement loans. The lack of loans prevented home ownership, community improvement or updating which lead to crumbling infrastructure and devaluing of those neighborhoods. The domino effect of crumbling infrastructure, no maintenance or upkeep by landlords and  more crowded environments led to devaluing of the property.  Since the properties were in disrepair the property taxes collected based on their value were insufficient to fund schools at a reasonable level. Resulting in a collapse of the school system. By design, the infrastructure of these redlined areas imploded- making it easy to shove minorities in but nearly impossible to get out.

Public Housing- Redlining 2.0 the new Ghettos

Low-income housing and further segregation was the end effect of The Housing Act of 1937. The intent was to provide relief from the Great Depression for standard low and middle-income families. Over time the housing units were only provided to low income, mostly minority families. The units were built intentionally in segregated parts of town. This further resulted in segregated housing for Blacks, Hispanic and Asian populations.

Black WWII soldiers denied GI Bill benefits

The GI Bill was signed by FDR in 1944 to provide soldiers returning from WWII with education, training, loans for farms, businesses, employment assistance and houses.  The low-cost mortgages lead to the rise of the suburbs. The problem, blacks couldn’t live in the suburbs although blacks were technically included in the benefits of the bill. The discrimination was upheld because whites did not want minorities moving to their neighborhoods.  They believed that minorities drive down property values. It was also considered unethical to sell a home to a black person in a predominantly white neighborhood.  There were covenants and clauses to ensure homes in most suburbs could only be sold to white families.

Civil Rights Act of 1964

Enduring 250 years of chattel slavery then 99 years of slavery in a different form brings us to 1964 when the Civil Rights Act was passed. (Of course, we are not detailing many of the tragic and important details during this time frame. It is worth noting that these years were hell for non-white people in nearly every way shape and form!) The Civil Rights Act was passed in 1964 and it prohibited discrimination on the basis of race, color, religion, sex, or national origin. So, finally, after dozens of generations of racist and discriminatory practices, we will get some housing justice and equity, right? Nope.

Even since civil rights were passed, discriminatory practices have continually affected who owns property as well as land.

Racial home ownership gaps were at the highest levels in 50 years in 2017. Statistics of home ownership:

79.1% of white Americans

41.8% of black Americans

This gap is even larger today than it was when deliberately racist and discriminatory redlining practices were rampant. Redlining was an effective systemic method to maintain social hierarchy and we still feel the effects today. This has kept blacks in certain neighborhoods and prevented them from owning land or real property. This practice resulted in another three to five generations of limiting opportunities, quality of life, and generational wealth for non-white Americans. This isn’t ancient history. A person that is 56-57 years old has lived this reality.

First Generation of Legally Free and Fully Equal Human Beings

In 2020, we are now living with the first generation of African Americans deemed to be legally, fully free, equal human beings in this country. I am one such African American born to parents that lived through segregation with no basis of wealth and systemically limited opportunities.  The lack of generational ownership or wealth is critical to understanding wealth disparity in the black middle class today.  The lack of generational wealth also contributes to the lack of mobility of lower-class black Americans. This reality makes it harder- if not impossible- to accrue and pass along wealth to any future generations.

Land ownership has been held as the mechanism by which wealth and status are transferred.  The deliberately exclusionary nature of land and real property ownership over the past 400 years has led us to our modern-day housing crisis.  Our current housing circumstance in the US is precarious but we are here by design.

A disruption is necessary.

https://www.uncontainedlivingkc.com/post/necessary-disruption-housing-reimagined

[flywolfwriting]

Recompense (2 - The Run-In)

I'll be updating this every day, so keep an eye out! I'll also have links to each charter at the bottom <3

Annie had wanted to go to London for the day to meet up with a friend who’d moved a few months prior. Since Jeremy was visiting that weekend with Bran, Aziraphale offered to take both children to the city and give their parents time to catch up. Annie, who was sixteen now, wanted to drive, but her godfather resolutely refused.  There was no way he was letting her take the Bentley into the city, even with him on hand to avert disaster.

After dropping Annie off at her friend’s place, Aziraphale found a place to park and decided to walk Bran through Soho.

“I never brought your parents here,” he told the boy, who had been incredibly disappointed he couldn’t go with his cousin to the zoo. “It’s the first time I’ve been back in…” he thought for a moment. “Almost fifty years.”

The eight-year-old bounced in excitement tugging on the angel’s hands as they made their way up the sidewalk. Aziraphale’s chest ached with both the familiarity and difference.  His favorite sushi restaurant had been replaced with a café. His barbershop was still there, though he knew the man he used to see was long dead.

And there, on the corner, his bookshop.  Aziraphale had to stop and catch his breath when he saw it.  It looked the same, except the name above the door had changed and it had regular hours posted clearly on the glass.

“Papa Fell?” Bran asked, staring up at his godfather with wide eyes.  “Are you okay?”

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded.  “That was my bookshop,” he said softly.  “I lived there for a very long time.”

“How long?”

He hummed.  “About two hundred years? I opened it in 1800.”

Bran’s eyes grew wider and he looked back at the shop across the street. “Why did you leave?”

A pang shot through the angel. “Things change. Come along; let’s go to the park shall we?”

It was on the way that a wave of unease washed over the angel and he caught a flash of white hair from the corner of his eye.  He whipped around, searching the crowd until he saw a tan coat slipping into an alley.

A combination of panic and rage swelled in Aziraphale’s chest.  He wanted more than anything to follow the demon and smite him where he stood, or demand to know where Crowley was, but he had Bran with him.  The trusting boy’s hand was warm in his own and grounded him, holding him back even as he took a step after the Duke of Hell.

“What is it?” Bran asked.

Aziraphale ground his teeth.  He could still feel Hastur there, lurking; it was almost as if he wanted the angel to come after him.

All the more reason to get Bran to safety.

The Principality looked around desperately and his eyes landed on a café.  He tugged Bran inside despite the boy’s noise of protest.  He sat him down, ordered him a cocoa (which miraculously appeared on the table moments later) and commanded him to stay put.

The boy’s eyes were wide with fear now.  “What’s wrong?”

“Just stay here and don’t move.  Don’t go with anyone.  I’ll be back soon.”

Bran licked his lips, glanced between his godfather and the street outside, and nodded. He clutched his cocoa tightly.

“If you’re good, I’ll buy you an ice cream at the park,” Aziraphale promised before rushing out the door.

Hastur was still there.  Aziraphale could feel his power, tempting a man in a business suit to push that young lady behind the dumpster and…

The angel snatched the demon by the lapels of his coat and slammed him against the alley wall, raising wards around them to shield them from human eyes.  One hand wrapped around the demon’s throat, pinning him in place.  “What are you doing here?” he snarled.

Fear flickered over the demon’s face before he started laughing.  “Somebody had to take over Crowley’s position,” he snickered.  The sound grated on Aziraphale’s ears.  “Since the bastard is too busy to take care of it these days.”

“You know where he is?” Aziraphale asked, hoping Hastur couldn’t hear the pounding of his heart.

“Of course I do, I put him there!” he said. His black eyes twinkled with malice.  “He knew what was coming; honestly I’m surprised he didn’t put up more of a fight.” He looked the angel pinning him to the wall up and down. “Now I can see why.”

Aziraphale tightened his grip, causing the demon’s laughter to choke off.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You think we don’t know what you two did? We really expected you to come looking for him.  All that work to cover our tracks… just wasted effort.” He giggled again. “All that suffering for an angel who really didn’t care for him after all.”

The air was punched from Aziraphale’s lungs. Hell had Crowley.  Hell had Crowley and they knew… “I do care,” he snapped, power surging within him enough to make the Duke flinch.  “What have you done with him?”

Hastur looked at him, calculating.  Aziraphale expected him to lie, to push back; he was a demon after all.  He seemed to reach a decision, a slow, insidious smile splitting his nasty face. “Exactly what we told him we would do. One from list A, one from list B, repeat until squishy.”

His horror must have shown on his face because Hastur started cackling again, reaching up to grip Aziraphale’s hand with both of his own.  The grasp hurt, but the Principality would not be dissuaded.  Anger overtook him and he swelled, standing up straight and calling upon all his righteous fury. Power surged through him and there was a high-pitched screaming, then all that was left of the Duke of hell was a dark blast stain on the brick wall.

Aziraphale stood there panting, staring at the spot.  He hadn’t properly smitten anything in millennia. It left him feeling drained, in more ways than one.

Crowley wasn’t on earth.  He hadn’t been hiding from him.  He’d been taken by Hell and… well, the angel had read his reports on the various interrogation tactics used throughout humanity’s darkest times.

And Aziraphale had stopped looking for him.

Bran leapt from his chair and raced to wrap his arms around his godfather as Aziraphale entered the café. “There was an earthquake,” he said into the angel’s stomach before looking up at him.  “Why are you shaking?”

Aziraphale held up his hands and was surprised to note the boy was right. He hadn’t even realized.  “It’s nothing,” he murmured, hugging Bran tightly.

“I was scared.”

“I know.  I’m sorry.”

Bran sniffed and stepped back, hand seeking out the angel’s again. “What was it?”

Aziraphale swallowed. Bran was old enough that he knew his godfather was an angel and that Heaven and Hell were real.  Actually faced with the reality of the conflict, however… “It was a demon,” Aziraphale said, deciding the truth was better, “and I killed it.”

Brown eyes widened again, and his grip tightened. “Can we go home?” he whimpered, pulling close to bury his face in Aziraphale’s waistcoat.

“Okay,” the angel murmured, resting his free hand on the back of the boy’s head.  He regretted frightening him, but he had to take care of Hastur while he had the chance. Catching a Duke of Hell unaware wasn’t an easy feat.

Aziraphale called Nora when they returned to the car to let her know they were coming back early.  She could tell by his tone something had happened, but beyond ensuring the children were unharmed she didn’t push.  “I’ll let Annie know she can stay the night,” she said, and hung up.

The drive back to the South Downs was quiet; even the Bentley didn’t seem up to playing music.  The moment they got home, Bran was out of the car and flying into his father’s arms.  His second father was quick to wrap the pair in a tight hug.

“What happened?” Nora asked, watching her brother try to comfort his son.

“We ran into a Duke of Hell. Hastur.”

Jeremy’s head shot up.  “Did he see Bran? Annie?”

Aziraphale shook his head.  “I don’t think so, but it doesn’t matter. I smote him.”

There was a shocked silence.  Arthur – whose father was the antichrist and therefore not unaccustomed to such oddities – shared a look with Eric, who was still standing on the front porch.

“You… smote him?”

The angel nodded once, jaw working.

“You…” Nora said again, “smote him?”

Aziraphale eyed her, trying not to be offended.  “Just because I prefer a quiet life does not mean I’m not capable of taking care of myself.  I was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate for a reason, you know.”

They all stared at him a moment more before Arthur lifted his son.  “Why don’t we get you some lunch?” he murmured, carrying him into the house.  He nodded to Eric, who dutifully followed him, leaving his wife and brother-in-law out front with the angel.

There was silence for several heartbeats before Aziraphale finally broke it.

“They have Crowley.”

“Who?” Jeremy asked.

“Hell,” Aziraphale said.  “They’ve had him this whole time, and I-” he shuddered as a sob tore its way up his throat. “I didn’t look for him.”

Both of his godchildren looked startled; neither had ever seen him cry, and here he was, doubled over and sobbing his heart out.  They shared a look and Nora very gently rested a hand on his back. “Let’s get you inside,” she murmured.

Aziraphale wasn’t even fully aware that he’d used a miracle, but the trio were abruptly in the middle of his sitting room. There was a strangled gasp from Jeremy, and Nora stood frozen for a moment.

Neither of them had ever been teleported before either.  In fact, Aziraphale had kept his miracles to a minimum while they were growing up.

The humans were quickly pulled from their shock as Aziraphale’s legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor, face in his hands as he cried.  They were both suddenly kneeling beside him, trying to comfort him.  Aziraphale could hear their voices, but whatever words they were offering him were lost.  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, beyond repeating I didn’t look I didn’t look I didn’t look like a mantra as he succumbed to his grief.

It took a long time for the angel to come back to himself, but when he did, he found he was settled on his sofa with his softest afghan wrapped around him.  It was dark.

Aziraphale shifted, muscles surprisingly stiff. 

“You’re awake.”

If he’d had more energy, the angel would have jumped at the unexpected voice, but as it was, he felt too empty to be surprised.  It was like when he’d first lost Crowley all over again; he was numb.

He looked over to see Nora uncurling from her favorite of his plush reading chairs.  She had a blanket of her own thrown across her lap and way her hair stuck up in the back, combined with how she rubbed her eyes, informed the angel she’d been sleeping.

“What time is it?” he croaked. Why was his voice hoarse?

The woman looked at her phone.  “A little after one in the morning,” she said. “How do you feel? Would you like some tea?”

She was already moving, stretching as she stood and heading for the kitchen while casting a concerned glance at him.

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, looking back down at his hands, which were in his lap. It didn’t take her long to return; she must have had the water warmed already. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she crouched down before him, searching his face as he stared into the mug of steaming tea.

He didn’t have an answer.

She sighed after a moment, rubbing the bridge of her nose.  “I wish mum was here,” she stood back up.  “She said this is what you were like at first, but… I don’t know what to do.”

And suddenly Aziraphale understood.  He understood why Anathema had fought so hard for him to move with them, for him to live so close.  Why she had ensured he was involved in their lives and the lives of their children.  Why Nora and Jeremy made sure to keep in touch and keep him from being alone too long.  Why they’d insisted he joined them for dinner every night and made sure he ate, even though as an angel he didn’t need to.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, this time looking up to meet Nora’s gaze, “that I’m broken.”

Her brown eyes widened before her expression softened.  She dropped onto the settee next to him, torso turned to face him completely as her long fingers wrapped around his own on the mug.  “You’re not broken,” she said softly but firmly. 

Aziraphale couldn’t stand the love he saw in her face and looked back down to his tea. “I’ve been nothing but a burden on your family.”

“How dare you.”

The trembling rage in Nora’s voice made Aziraphale look up again, startled. The quiet fury in her face broke through his apathy and pinned him in place.  He wasn’t sure he could look away again even if he wanted to.

“How dare you call yourself a burden.  How dare you suggest that you’re anything less than our beloved godfather, who looked out for us as we grew; who told us the best stories and showed us the best games; who’s only crime was loving humanity so much he stopped Armageddon and loving a demon so completely his absence made the world bare.”

Aziraphale flinched away from her words, but he couldn’t break his eyes away from her heated gaze.

“How dare you discount how much you mean to us,” she finished, whisper quivering with emotion.

Aziraphale licked his lips and opened his mouth to reply.

“And don’t you dare apologize,” she added severely.

His mouth snapped shut.

Nora glared at him for another full minute, tears glinting in her eyes, before relenting and pulling him into a hug. “We love you, Papa,” she murmured into his ear, voice thick.

Very slowly, Aziraphale wrapped one arm around her and patted her back. “I love you too, my dear,” he sniffed, eyes burning.

Nora sat back and gave him a watery smile.  “Now,” she said, “what can we do to get Crowley back?”

Aziraphale blinked.  “What?”

“Crowley. We’re going to get him from Hell, right? What can we do?”

He shook his head.  “There’s not…” he stopped.  Was he really going to let it be, knowing what his best friend was going through? No way.  He’d already given up on him once; he wouldn’t do so again. He straightened in his seat, the last of his apathy draining away to be replaced by cold determination.

Nora noticed the change and smiled.  “There we go.”

“I need to do some research,” Aziraphale said, placing his tea on the end table and standing. He glanced back down at his goddaughter, who was in the process of trying to stifle a yawn.  Affection bloomed in his chest.  “Go on home and get some sleep,” he told her gently. “I’ll be fine now.”

“Promise you’ll come get me when you find something?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course, my dear.”

“Good.” She stood and gave him a peck on the cheek.  “See you tomorrow, Papa.”

Aziraphale watched until Nora was safely back in her own house and then locked the door and ascended to his study. He stared at the shelves, so full of books by all rights they shouldn’t still be standing, and sighed.  “I’m coming, Crowley. Just hold on; I’m coming.”

1/2(you're here)/3/4/5/6/7/8/9

AO3/Website

[cakelanguage]

Can you believe it? I’m not dead and I’m updating the “Dorian as a young boy” fic that I’ve been neglecting for God knows how long. But chapter 5 is finally here!

First//Previous//Next

You can also read it on AO3

~~~~

While going with the Herald and his party was the safer option, Dorian felt dread trail his steps. As they moved further from Redcliffe, so did Dorian’s bit of safety. The insurance that at least Felix would treat him right and not as if he were a speck of dirt or a snake slithering by were getting slimmer and slimmer with each passing moment. Out here he was going to have to fend for himself.

Not that he hadn’t been fending for himself since he left Tevinter. He’d gotten here in one piece, though he’d lost quite a bit to get here. He was well in-tuned with the loss of gold that had pressed against his chest for the majority of his life. It wasn’t big in the grand scheme of things, especially if it meant he could help Felix, but he still privately mourned the loss of his birthright.

If he lost his birthright to get here, what else was he going to have to give up now that he was out of Redcliffe without Felix to help him? While the Chantry sisters barely tolerated him, they did give him small portions of food when he’d looked “particularly pitiful,” as one of the sisters would point out. Felix himself would always try to sneak food that he could without arousing suspicion. Would the Herald and his party do the same? They had agreed to let him come with them at Felix's request but he didn't know if he could trust their word.

“You’re thinking pretty loudly back there, kiddo,” Varric commented, slowing his pace to walk beside him. He actually was only a few inches shorter than Dorian was and he longed for puberty to give his height a well-deserved boost. “Care to share?”

Dorian worried his bottom lip between his teeth, shaking his head. “Nothing important,” Dorian replied.

Varric shook his head. “Kiddo, I’d like to say everyone here believes you,” the dwarf sighed, “but right now we don’t. We don’t have all the information and we’re running off the inconsistencies between Grand Enchanter Fiona’s offer and the mage rebellions current status and the word of two Altuses who are willingly going against a Magister, who happens to be one of said Altuses’ father.” Varric’s mouth quirked up in a sheepish smile. “It’s a little hard to believe.”

“So think of myself as insurance that if one of us were lying you have recompense.”

Varric looked at him sharply. “Hey, no kiddo, just wanted you to share what was going on in that head of yours.”

Dorian was silent for a moment as he thought of what to say. Should he lie and make up something? Or should he just be forthright with his feelings on what was going on? Lying probably wouldn't do him any good besides create a mask that he doubted he could keep up for long.

He sighed. “I was thinking about the fact that I’m leaving the last place I had any insurance of kindness.” When Varric didn’t say anything he took it as a nudge to continue. “I left my home, gave up something I never thought I’d have to in order to get here, and I was… sad to leave my country.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “I don’t expect you to understand. Tevinter is horrible how it is now, I’ll be the first to admit that. There isn’t enough acceptance, too much deceit hiding under honeyed tongues, and the slavery- don’t get me started on how awful that is. And no one’s doing anything or done anything about it. And Father always tells me that my beliefs would get me killed and that I will grow to accept it, but I haven’t.” He took a deep breath to halt his potential tirade. “But it is still my home, and I miss it.”

“No one is going to fault you for missing home. Hell, I miss Kirkwall and that place is sometimes like a steaming pile of nug shit.”

Dorian actually laughed at that. “Of course they will! They’ll think ‘of course he misses Tevinter, misses the slaves, the pampering, what a spoiled little snake!’ But I can handle missing home, that longing doesn’t come up often.” He sighed again. “But I had Felix back in Redcliffe, even if it was for only short spans of time when he could sneak away. But it was freely offered kindness and love that I had to leave behind.” He hiked his pack up on his back. “That is what I was thinking about.”

Varric didn't say anything more but he did clap Dorian on the shoulder giving it a squeeze before the dwarf let his arm fall back to his side.

“You both okay back there?” the Herald called back to them, a playful smirk playing at his features. “You're looking awfully serious.”

“Don't worry about it your Heraldness,” Varric said lightly.

“Now I’m worried,” the only woman in the party said.

The Herald waved his hand. “I trust Varric, Cassandra. If Varric says it was nothing then I believe him.”

Varric grinned. “At least someone in this party trusts me.”

The booming laugh from ‘Bull’ made Dorian jump. “Awe Varric, I trust you as much as I trust Rocky, you're fine.”

“Isn't he the one who blew up-"

“Yup,” ‘Bull’ interrupted proudly.

Dorian listened to them banter good-naturedly with each other with a detached longing. He had never really made any friends in the Circles, always too smart or just too much. He had never regretted not being able to before, he had Felix and Alexius and Rilienius when the man would indulge in hanging out with him. He even had Maevaris who was a delight when it came to discussing fashion and makeup; she was the one who suggested the kohl around his eyes to make him appear a little older. But he didn't have this easy banter, this camaraderie and it suddenly made him feel bereft of something special.

“-Kid? You still with us or did you go to the fade?”

Dorian came back to the present to Varric’s hand waving in his face. He shook his head to clear the fog of his thoughts, he could think later. “Yes, sorry,” he said. “What was it you were asking?”

“I thought it’d do us some good to actually introduce ourselves since we kinda jumped over that portion of our meeting.” the Herald said sheepishly.

Dorian stared for a moment before nodding his head. “That’s true, it would help if I knew all of your names.”

The Herald clapped his hands excitedly, like a child. “Excellent! I’ll go first, the names Aeren. Just call me Aeren, everyone else just calls me the Herald unfortunately.” He pointed his finger at the woman next, his grin never faltering even when the woman was giving him an icy glare.

The woman scoffed before leveling that stare on Dorian. He felt like he was about to be scolded by his mother when that look was directed at him. “Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast,” Cassandra said shortly.

Dorian's eyes widened and he clenched his teeth together to stop his jaw from dropping. “A Seeker? I haven't met a Seeker before, what do you-"

“Don't,” Cassandra interrupted.

Dorian wanted to insist and keep asking questions but held his tongue, instead just giving her a nod.

Varric elbowed him playfully. “You might already know my name, but I'm Varric,” Varric said with a smile which Dorian found himself reciprocating. He liked the dwarf, and could see them becoming friends. “Nice to meet you, kiddo.”

Dorian fought the urge to pout and instead playfully bumped the dwarf's shoulder with his own. “I’m nearly fourteen,” he insisted.

Varric shrugged. “Right now just about everyone out-ages you by ten years.”

Dorian huffed but he let himself sink into the banter.

The Tal-Vashoth cleared his throat, effectively halting Dorian’s lighthearted conversation. “I’m the Iron Bull, leader of Bull’s Chargers,” Iron Bull said evenly,

“‘The Iron Bull?” Dorian asked.

Aeren laughed. “The ‘the’ is important to remember.”

Dorian felt even more confused by that response. Why include the article in his name?

He must have said that aloud or the qunari was very good at reading people because he went on to explain. “The article makes it seem like I’m an object or a tool, not smart enough to do a lot of things. Makes business boom for my company.”

“That's actually very smart,” Dorian commented.

The Iron Bull snorted and shot him a smirk. “Not expecting a Qunari to be smart?”

Dorian shook his head. “The Qunari are matching the best of Tevinter,” Perhaps beating some of the best of Tevinter, “they, and subsequently you, are intelligent. I’m not so stooped in Tevinter’s ideals to think that you are all stupid beasts.” Although Dorian can’t deny he’s still uneasy around the Qunari.

The Iron Bull made a humming noise but didn’t say anything else to him on the subject.

 Battling with the Herald and his party was… an experience. Aeren himself was a force to be reckoned with. He hefted twin axes around with an otherworldly grace, cutting through darkspawn and wild animals alike. Aeren also didn’t seem to care about getting dirty as he did nothing to wipe away the grim and blood that splashed across his body and face. No one should look that good with blood splattering their face and Dorian had a newfound appreciation for the way the Herald’s blood-stained face would quirk up in a grin when he found something amusing.

Damn hormones.

Cassandra was a powerhouse that seemed to withstand every blow that was inflicted on her and then dealt back the same damage. She had no problem standing her ground in the face of any adversary and didn’t hold back her blows. Though she had a tendency to make sure she covered the Herald’s back at every turn. Dorian felt a bit awed by her attacks. So this was just a taste of a Seeker's power.

Varric, for all his jokes and talk of being a simple storyteller, must have the eyes of a hawk based on his accuracy with Bianca. Dorian thought he himself was excellent at accuracy when it came to his spellcasting, but he felt like an absolute novice after he’d seen Varric literally do a flip before firing off two shots consecutively. Varric provided great support on the field that he, and he assumed everyone else, was thoroughly thankful for.

And then there was the Iron Bull.

A force of nature, with raging battle cries and heavy swings of his axe sinking into the flesh of every enemy they came across. Dorian definitely could see what some of his countryman were talking about when mentioning the raw power Qunari possessed. But the Iron Bull also had an almost childlike excitement when it came to battling literally anything. It was almost endearing to see the excited grin and booming laugh the Qunari would let out after a successful battle.

The only problem was that the Qunari seemed to make sure Dorian was put safely out of harm's way. More than once, he’d been picked up by the collar and put safely behind the warrior. Which was all well and good and perhaps he’d be thankful if he actually needed it.

Which he very much didn’t.

It was insulting to be underestimated like he was. As if his title meant nothing, his skills meant nothing. For Maker’s sake, he was nearly an Enchanter, well on his way to officially receiving that title and that meant absolute shit to the Iron Bull. Was he supposed to feel thankful? Being protected like he was a helpless child, a mage still training for their harrowing having to be protected when faced with real combat.

He shouldn’t feel this upset about it. He was providing good support with his shields and healing the party when they needed it, but he still felt upset. Maybe he was just feeling stressed out by the unfamiliar environment. Maybe it was because he was alone and he felt like he needed to prove himself to the Herald and his party and yet he wasn’t being given the chance. No matter how much he told himself that they were doing it for his own good, the frustrated feeling grew larger making his lips purse into a thin line.

When it happened for the fifth time, Dorian had to resist from stamping his foot on the ground. He observed the battle going on in front of him, at everyone fighting against the foes who’d chosen to attack their party. He wasn’t going to let himself be shuffled to the background any longer. Carefully channeling the power through his body, planting his feet firmly on the ground to act as further grounding for the storm magic he felt crackle through his body. The familiar crackle of electricity gathered around him before he slammed his staff against the earth, releasing the chain lightning on the parties’ attackers.

The lightning arced from enemy to enemy and he watched with satisfaction as two enemies faltered and collapsed under the assault of the electricity. He followed it up with a fireball and a roar, channeling his frustrations through his attack.

Fire licked at the outlaw’s clothes, indiscriminately searing flesh and scorching armor. He blocked out as much of the cries of pain as he could, focusing on taking down the next target. Letting himself fall into the rhythm of battle that he’d grown used to since leaving the safety of his home, he kept casting.

He tried to stay out of reach of any of the men attacking their party, but when one got too close Dorian fade stepped away, extricating himself from the location and putting enough distance between them to let a bolt of storm magic strike his opponent.

It didn’t take long to defeat the group, especially with an additional fighter now that Dorian had joined the fight. He felt proud of himself, for entering the fray even with the Iron Bull’s overbearing protective streak attempting to keep him on the sidelines. Perhaps he’d finally acknowledge that he could take care of himself.

“Kid, you finally decided to join us,” the Iron Bull commented as he slung his axe back onto his back. “Was wondering when you were going to.”

Dorian gaped at the Qunari. “What do you mean?” Dorian asked, “You were the one making sure I had no opportunity to join the fight!”

The Iron Bull shrugged, scratching his head and smearing blood on his ear. “Figured you’d join eventually, thought I should cover you in-case you weren’t ready.”

“You saw me fighting all of those demons back at the Chantry in Redcliffe!” Dorian threw his hands up, squinting at the other man. “Did that mean nothing to you?”

“I think what Tiny’s saying is that he didn’t know if you were ready to fight people,” Varric interjected as he checked over Bianca for any damage.

Dorian crossed his arms “Of course I was ready.” He jumped as a sudden hand clapped his shoulder in a reassuring grip.

“In Bull’s defense, he was just looking out for you,” Aeren added warmly. “The big guy is hired as a bodyguard, so technically he’s just doing his job.”

“He’s your bodyguard,” Cassandra muttered with a roll of her eyes.

Varric waved his hand as if to knock that comment aside. “The point is, we didn’t mean to make you feel like we didn’t trust your abilities.”

Aeren nodded. “Yeah we just…”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “You just didn’t trust my abilities.”

The Iron Bull snorted. “I guess you proved us wrong.” Dorian sniffed and gave him a look which only made the Iron Bull laugh. “I’ll try to tone it down, Dorian.”

“See that you do! I’m perfectly capable of taking on my fair share of enemies.”

Aeren breathed a sigh of relief and holstered his axes. “Thank goodness, maybe I can sit back and watch for a bit.”

Cassandra gave him a piercing look. “That’s not funny.”

The Herald’s head hung. “Worth a shot, I suppose.”

 They crested over the mountain before Haven not three hours later. Dorian's feet ached in his boots and even with the warmer clothes that Felix had given him he felt like his bones were made of ice. He wasn't used to this sort of weather at all, not when the climate in Tevinter was always warm and just the slightest bit humid as you got closer to the coast. But he didn't bring this to anyone's attention, instead keeping his complaints about the weather to himself. 

"Ah, there she is," Aeren said with a sigh of relief. At least Dorian could take comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only one who was tired from their long trek. "Welcome to Haven, Dorian."

If Dorian were being honest, Haven wasn't much. The tiny village if he could call it that had no more than ten houses with the Chantry taking center stage in the back. He could see how bustling it was and for the first time Dorian really thought about the panic and unrest that infected the masses when the Breach had appeared. These people had lost their Divine and the peace talks were in shambles after the destruction of the Conclave. They'd banded together to try and stop what was going on and others had joined to help. He didn't know if there had been any instances where Tevinter had done the same. 

"We should be there soon," Varric said, carefully making his way down the steep slope. "Watch your step, it's easy to lose your footing with all this snow blocking our view."

Dorian nodded absentmindedly, switching his gaze from looking at the ground and what was in front of him.

Cassandra cleared her throat and Dorian turned his head to look at her. "Just so you are aware, a scout has already made the other advisors aware of our additional company," she informed, shifting the shield on her back to a more comfortable position. "I'm sure they'll want a full report from the Herald."

Aeren groaned loudly beside the Iron Bull. "I suppose they'll want to talk about the situation in Redcliffe."

Cassandra nodded her head. "To discover that the rebel mages have sided with Tevinter, especially after Grand Enchanter Fiona came to us to ask for our aid… well let's just say Commander Cullen and Leliana are most likely chomping at the bit to find out the details."

"Very well, I'll meet with them right away," Aeren said.

"I should be there as well," Dorian spoke up. "I know the details of what's going on."

"Which you told us," Aeren said turning his full attention to Dorian. "Unless you and Felix left something out when you were explaining the situation."

Dorian resisted the urge to flinch under Aeren's sudden hawk-like gaze. "N-no I did but I can clarify any confusion that might occur after your advisors hear about the situation."

"Somehow I doubt that will go over well with them," the Iron Bull commented. 

"I know that for a fact," Cassandra said. "It would be best if after the meeting, if any of them had further questions, they could ask you, Dorian."

Dorian wanted to argue with Cassandra but held his tongue. He was still an outsider; for all they knew, he could still be gathering information- have an alternative motive that would cause disruption within the council. Dorian finally nodded his head and started thinking of ways to listen in on the meeting. It'd be highly suspicious behavior, however, he'd be able to hear what the Herald's advisors really thought about the situation in Redcliffe.

"Don't think too hard about it, kid," Varric reassured, clapping him on his back. "I can show you around, introduce you to the rest of the gang."

Dorian made a noise of affirmation and started planning how he was going to now sneak away from Varric of all people. "Perhaps it'd be best if I ate something first?" Dorian asked.

"I could go for a drink myself," Bull said. "Gotta get a report from my crew but then I could meet you at the tavern."

Dorian shifted awkwardly at the mention of the Iron Bull's crew. There were more Qunari here in Haven? "Your crew?"

Bull laughed. "The Iron Bull's Chargers. Bunch of assholes, but they're my assholes."

For some reason hearing Bull sound so jovial about his crew made Dorian feel more comfortable. But it didn't deter from the fact that Dorian now realized he had a small window of opportunity to get away from Varric and to the Herald's meeting with his advisors because once the Iron Bull joined them Dorian knew he wouldn't be getting away so easily. 

Aeren clapped his hands. "So Cassandra and I'll be off to the Chantry for that simply delightful meeting that I'm so excited about attending, Bull is going to his Chargers and Varric and Dorian get to eat," his lip quivered as he turned towards Cassandra once more, "are you sure I can't at least get something to eat before this thing?"

Cassandra scoffed and Dorian wondered if it was Cassandra's default expression. "You should still have that goat jerky you purchased before we left the Hinterlands," she said.

"But Cassandra," Aeren drew out the vowels of her name in a whine, "that's emergency food in case we can't get some."

She gave him a blank look as they reached the end of the slope. "Seems you've found your emergency."

Dorian split his attention between listening to Varric point out different locations in Haven and taking in all the stares he was receiving from the village folk. He didn't look terribly different from them at first glance but Dorian could quickly see the differences. His clothes were a higher quality; having unnecessary decorative belts and bits of leather and fur while definitely Dorian's style, wasn't abundant in the people of Haven. It could also be the staff strapped against his back. Mages were still being oppressed and were always watched warily as if they were going to turn into demons at a moments notice.

Or they could tell he was from Tevinter, it could always be that. His safest bet was to stay close to Varric until he found an opportunity to leave and try and listen in on that meeting.

"-And that's the merchant here in Haven, he's an ass and jack's up his prices but he does have some good quality stuff if you can afford it. But if you ask me," Varric laughed and pointed back outside the gates, "just buy some schematics from Seggrit and take them to Harritt and have him make them. Takes a while to collect some materials but the Herald stops for elfroot every five minutes so you'll have plenty of time to get stuff." 

Dorian's ears grew hot and he turned to look away from the dwarf. "I did notice Aeren's… affinity to collecting elfroot but I thought it might have been an elf thing."

"Are you kidding me? Every time he stops I can hear Sera's complaining and Solas looks physically pained."

"Well that's different."

"Different strokes for different folks. Guess plants don't get 'em going." Dorian snorted and shook his head. Talking to Varric was easy. "Now, you want to actually eat something?"

"Oh um- sure?" He needed to sneak away, but this was his chance. "But I have to… relieve myself first."

Varric snorted and shook his head. "Say no more, pretty sure there's a chamber pot in the tavern somewhere in the back. Or you could pick a tree."

Dorian forced his grin to look relaxed. "A tree sounds a bit better to me."

"Well I'll be in the tavern getting some grub, come join me when you're done." Varric patted him on the back and started walking away. "Gotta introduce you to Sera, she spends all her time there."

Dorian wasted no time before he was headed for the Chantry. He tried to look as calm and confident as he could manage, refusing to make eye contact with any of the people who might've been looking at him. He saw a livid looking Grand Chancellor speaking heatedly to a harried group of soldiers who looked like they wanted to be anywhere else.

"-it's bad enough that this Inquisition is allowing for the Divine's killer to walk around freely without even a slap on the wrist but to have the audacity to-" 

Dorian blocked out the rest of the man's speech as he reached the large double doors. He felt oddly proud of himself, that he managed to get this far without any issues. Perhaps he had gotten lucky.

Shimmying in through the small space he created he made his way inside. It was dark and smelt heavily of musty paper, wax, and potpourri; exactly how the Chantry in Redcliffe had smelled. He hoped Felix was doing alright. He could almost see the teasing grin on his brother's face when they’d get up to mischief and his fake reprimands to appease Alexius while he gave Dorian a thumbs up once Alexius looked away. He missed Felix so much.

He confidently walked to the doors on the far wall. He knew that confidence fooled plenty of people that you knew exactly what you were doing and that you were supposed to do it. He did notice a woman dressed extravagantly in the finest fashion from Val Royeaux giving him detached curious looks but she didn't make any moves toward him so he counted it as a win.

Once he was at the door he absentmindedly leaned his head against the door, pressing his ear against the surface to try and hear what was going on. It was obvious he was listening in on the meeting but he hadn't thought of what he was going to do once he had gotten this far. And no one had stopped him yet. Perhaps his age for once might be an advantage rather than a hindrance and people would brush it off as a curious child. 

Then again, he hadn’t recalled seeing anyone remotely his age since he’d entered Haven. He shoved his worries aside and pressed his ear harder against the door. 

“-Either we find another way in, or give up this nonsense and go get the Templars,” A man argued. Dorian grimaced, he wasn’t liking how this was sounding.

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister. This cannot be allowed to stand,” Cassandra said firmly.

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name. It’s an obvious trap,” Another woman interjected, her voice heavily accented.

“I was actually wondering about that, why does he know my name?” Aeren asked. “Didn’t even think Magisters bothered to learn elves’s names.”

“Perhaps not in most cases, but you aren’t most elves,” The heavily accented woman said. 

Aeren didn’t give a verbal response to that statement, instead letting out a sigh to show his displeasure. “Whatever, what’s important is coming to an agreement on this. We’re just wasting time fighting among ourselves.”

“A Tevinter controls Redcliffe, invites us to the castle to talk, and some of us want to do nothing.” This woman’s voice was accented as well, but this one he could place geographically. Those from Val Royeaux had a very distinct accent.

“Not this again,” the other woman muttered.

“It’s like I’m dealing with children,” Aeren mumbled. He must have been standing closest to the door because Dorian doubted he would have heard the elf otherwise.

“Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults,” the man stated simply before lowering his voice. “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it.”

Dorian could understand the man’s hesitation especially with the fate of the rest of humanity relying on the Herald’s mark to close the rifts. That didn’t mean he agreed with the man though, especially with how quick the man was willing to cast the mages aside in favor of the Templars. 

“And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep!” The Val Royeaux woman insisted. At least someone understood what was at stake if they ignored Alexius and cast aside the mages. 

“Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught,” the accented woman spoke up again, “An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

Cassandra didn’t seem to agree. “The Magister-”

“Has outplayed us,” the man said sternly.

Aeren seemed to be at his wits end with the discussion as he spoke up. “The Magister’s son, Felix, told me Alexius is in a cult that’s obsessed with me.” The Herald’s amusement was clear in his voice. “I doubt they’ll graciously receive our apologies and go about their business. Typically not how cults are usually run.” Dorian doubted Aeren knew much about what cults were really like, but his comment did seem to lessen the tension that was going on in the room the group was in.

“They’ll remain a threat, and a powerful one, unless we act,” the Val Royeaux woman plainly said. 

Dorian was nodding his head at what he was hearing. Finally the meeting seemed to be on the right path to coming to a decision in the mages’s favor. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if the Inquisition decided that they would side with the Templars over the mages. Try to take Alexius down himself he supposed, try to wriggle himself back into Alexius’s favor to get the man’s defenses down so that he and Felix could take care of him. 

He was stopped from his eavesdropping when a shadow loomed over him. For a moment his heart stopped and he wondered if it was the Iron Bull that’d found him somehow, but the shadow was much too slim to be the Qunari. He tilted his head up and met the gaze of the fashionable woman he’d seen near the front of the Chantry when he’d entered the building. She didn’t seem too interested in what he was doing, but Dorian didn’t believe that disinterest for a minute. He’d worn similar facial expressions at numerous parties he hadn’t wanted to go to until he’d discovered that he could slip away with Felix or Maevaris if he pretended he didn’t want to be there. 

“And what are you doing all the way back here, child?” the woman asked.

Dorian looked at her imploringly and tried to put on his most innocent face. “I was just… curious. About the Herald. He uh… Varric mentioned that he and his advisors were having an important meeting and well I um… wanted to hear it from the source?” He was a fool and wished he’d learned how to be a honey tongued snake like his peers had been. 

She seemed to ignore his verbal stumble and gave him a small smile, like one gave a particularly amusing animal. “In other words, you’re the company the Herald brought back with him after his trip to Redcliffe.”

“H-how-?”

“Oh dear, people often forget the walls have ears and that fashion is an instant identifier.”

Oh she was good. She played the game with the grace of one who was well versed in all the ins-and-outs of the rules. “There was no point lying to her at this point. “I know exactly what is going on in Redcliffe and how crucial it is that the Herald side with the mages.”

She nodded. “The mages have their leashes too loose in Redcliffe. They feel too invincible. To allow that to continue and further excommunicating them to this freedom would be detrimental to getting things back into order.”

Dorian stared at the woman. “A-are you implying that the Inquisition should side with the mages to reinstate the Circles?”

“Hm, at least some sort of control needs to be put into action, but I doubt the mages will stand to go completely back to the Circles.”

With good reason, Dorian thought but didn’t voice. “Not that this isn’t a riveting talk, but I was busy listening in on the meeting.”

“Which you aren’t supposed to be doing.”

“Be that as it may, I would appreciate being able to continue listening if it’s all the same to you…”

“Madame De Fer, Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais.”

Dorian stood a bit straighter and nodded at her respectfully. “Dorian of House Pavus.”

She raised an eyebrow at his name. “You are a far way from home, Dorian.”

“I’m here to do what needs to be done.”

She sent him that amused smile again. “See that you do.” And with that she walked away as if their conversation had never happened. He didn’t waste anymore time and instead tuned back into the meeting behind the door. 

“-their focused on Lavellan, we break the magister’s defenses. It could work, but it’s a huge risk,” the man said. He sounded much calmer than he did previously.

“I can definitely do distractions,” Aeren cheered. 

“It’s a huge risk,” the man emphasized.

“Come now Commander, ye have little faith in my ability to get on people’s nerves.”

“Trust me we’re plenty aware of this ability of yours,” Cassandra said blandly. Dorian had to bite his lip to stop himself from barking out a laugh. Cassandra didn’t hold back her opinions at all.

He was waiting to hear more when he felt a hand against his shoulder. Dorian tensed and turned to look at the soldier who looked at him with confusion. “You’re not supposed to do that,” he said. “This is a meeting between the Herald and his advisors, he’ll give his orders once everything’s been sorted out.”

Dorian shook his head. “I have information about the magister in Redcliffe and his methods.” He prayed that this was one of Leliana’s scouts who knew about the situation in Redcliffe. The soldier blinked at him and looked between Dorian and the door like it held a complicated problem that he was trying to solve. “I just want to be able to offer my aid to them.”

The soldier warred with himself for only a moment more before he pushed open the door to the meeting room. The room instantly quieted and Dorian forced himself to not shrink away from suddenly being the subject of everyone’s attention. He could feel Cassandra’s glare and the exasperated look being sent his way by Aeren. 

The soldier cleared his throat and gestured to Dorian. “He says he has information about the magister and his methods, Commander.”

The Commander didn’t seem to know how to take him his face going from a stern gaze to outright confusion. But he gestured to Dorian to speak.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help,” Dorian said. It was true, Alexius had always been good at wards and he doubted any old mage would know how to create a hole in them without disrupting the whole spell or attracting Alexius attention. “So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

“This mission could mean life or death for the entire Inquisition, and you’re a child,” the Commander said, not unkindly. 

“I’m fully capable of holding my own.” He wasn’t going to budge on this. He was coming along whether they wanted him to or not. “I’m coming along.”

The Commander seemed to want to argue further with him, but he turned his attention to Aeren who was pinching the bridge of his nose. “The plan puts you in the most danger. We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this.” The Commander paused before continuing on, his focus completely on the Herald. “We can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you.”

Dorian opened his mouth to argue, but was silenced by an elbow hitting his shoulder. He turned to see Aeren giving a manic grin to the room. “And pass up the opportunity to be asked to be annoying? I think not.”

The rest of the group nodded and started to sort out the finer details. Dorian quietly took steps to the door only to be stopped by a hand grasping his shoulder. He was getting tired of being stopped like that. 

“If this meeting is adjourned, I think Dorian and I will grab something to eat, won’t we Dorian,” Aeren said. It wasn’t a question but rather a fact that Dorian wasn’t going to get away from. The Herald walked with him out of the room, his hand never leaving his shoulder. 

Dorian squirmed under Aeren’s hold. “A-aeren I-”

“I understand why you did it, but you really could’ve gotten in trouble.” The Herald sounded tired. “I really was going to let you know what the verdict was when the meeting concluded.”

“I couldn’t guarantee that you’d choose the mages.”

“You couldn’t do that eavesdropping either.”

Dorian shrugged. “I figured if it was going badly and sounded like you were picking the Templars I could burst in and try to convince them otherwise.”

Aeren laughed. “You think causing a scene would change their choice?”

“Felix always said that I had a nact for dramatics, I felt it wouldn’t hurt my chances.”

Aeren looked considering. “Huh, I guess that might have worked a little. But you’re still in trouble.” Dorian sputtered but Aeren plowed on. “For what you just pulled, I’ll be taking you to the Tavern with me, have Varric and Bull scold you some while I eat. Then I’ll introduce you to the others.”

Dorian supposed he could live with that.  

[rampantram]

This idea came to me one night while I was trying to go to sleep...the only difference is Tori and Freeza get engaged as kids - not possible timelime-wise, but we're here for fun anyway. Also sorry to those of you who were waiting for an update this last Thursday; I was sick during the week and couldn't finish what I needed to to get it posted. I promise an update is coming this Thursday as scheduled - please accept these humble doodles as recompense in the meantime! If you'd like to read the fic, you can do so here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701190/chapters/41755640

[masterpieceofturkeycleverness]

Sorry for the delay in updating my fics; first, there was the Sabriel incident, and then I had to get my rough draft for the SPN Ace Mini-Bang in.  That is done now, though, so *hopefully* I can update Trials and Errors later this weekend sometime.  I say hopefully because the next chapter is turning out to be Very Long (TM), so it may take me longer than normal to edit it (it’s /mostly/ drafted).  

And The Rope fans?  I have not forgotten about you, I swear.  I will get back to it at the latest after I finish Trials and Errors.  

In partial recompense, have a cute but slightly fuzzy picture of Sabriel the cat:

[amazonjax]

The persisted concealment of intersex historical artworks within public places of exhibition: 2019, The British Museum, London.

Despite global activism for museums to reveal true records of human history, depictions of intersex historical figures are still considered too ‘lewd’ or ‘inappropriate’ to validate public viewing alongside all of the male and female artifacts blatantly displayed. Such acquisitions are purposefully veiled within the secret catacombs of museum depositories, available for private viewing by appointment only. It could be argued that this persistent Interphobia within museums is a reflection of the medical and cultural attitudes towards this marginalised area of our society today: Intersex anatomies and identities depicted through art are masked, hidden, and sometimes even mutilated if they do not conform to the ‘Adam and Eve’ socially constructed, patriarchal archetype of sex and gender (as is the case with many of the historical Intersex and Transgender artworks that remain in existence today). 

For too long intersex existence has been pinned with hands tied, to the binary wall that has been catastrophically and socially constructed around us. 

Activists still fight to lift the disguise of male and female sex as the be-all and end-all of human existence, in the hopes that society can unburden itself from the weight of these statue-concealing tarpaulins which conceal our true history.

Our identities have always been a part of historical art and human cultures. The difference is, in the age of international communications and social media, we are now creating unification and safe spaces for our true human footprint to finally emerge, and the message is becoming clear as the volume is increased: 

Intersex people will not allow their identities, or their histories, to be erased any longer.

A pure example of intersex erasure:

The British Museum currently has 71 artifacts listed as "Representations of Hermaphroditos" in its inventory. Unfortunately, after checking all pieces online, I found that only five items are currently on public display within this colossal museum. Furthermore, the pieces they have chosen to exhibit are all small broach like cameo's and gems that show vague or obscure representations of the intersex deity - a tiny little nod to the invisible specs of dust they continue to sweep away.

Amongst the many shrouded prints, carvings, playing cards and etchings laying dormant until the scholar calls, are two physical statues which on both occasions have been decapitated. This is something the museum should be highlighting as part of their Ancient Greek collection: the execution, denial and erasure of Intersex identities throughout history as well as showing depictions of intersex history through statuesque art. There are no features or markings to suggest any deity or historical figure is associated with these two statues so they are simply listed as 

‘A depiction of an hermaphrodite'. 

Hermaphroditos is a Greek deity; a hermaphrodite, in human society today, is what we would call an intersex person, or a person with variations of sex characteristics. The Museum needs to check itself on this one and perhaps add a further description to these pieces to help shed a light on what the word means when applied to an unknown identity in modern-day language. This would help to dissipate the conflations and enable better understanding away from the stigma and shame of a mostly-misleading word that still incites ‘freakish’ or ‘abnormal’ connotations for most members of the public who do not have any knowledge of intersex people existing outside of these false notions. Something polite yet with slightly condescending overtones to match the Museums’s general attitude should suffice: 

“Although historically we have used the word ‘hermaphrodite’ to describe all intersex people, there are over 30 different bodily variations, and a spectrum of unique human characteristics that could apply to the 1.7% of our population born with intersex traits. Therefore we no longer generally use the word hermaphrodite to describe these identities as it is considered misleading. Unless the word is being reclaimed by an intersex person themselves, when referring to intersex people or their bodies in the future, we should always use the word ‘intersex’”.

Then again, what is the point of trying to be accurate and informative when these grotesque, anomalous ‘who-knows-what’s’ are safely locked away from the Museum’s tapestry of truth?

A couple of weeks ago I visited the Museum and spent time looking through their collections before eventually asking at the information desk for representations of intersex deities within their collections. The person trying to help me seemed quite perplexed by my initial request yet eventually this friendly faced assistant managed to find two prints on their computer that unfortunately weren’t on display. In recompense I was handed their alternative: a leaflet the Museum has to cover such awkward questions entitled "Desire, Love, Identity, Follow the LGBTQ History Trail".

The online version is here 

There are mentions of possible identities that could be deemed ‘intersex’ with notions of forbidden sexuality or figures having ‘gender identities that were regarded as in some way irregular’ or ‘gender dualities’. There are also details of deities that could change sex themselves or affect the sex of other people and descriptions being used such as ‘androgynous mask’. However, the general consensus I took from this guide is that when non-binarised identities are alluded to, there’s always a sensationalist, dark approach towards sexuality and gender, with beings and notions depicted as having the ‘wrong’ type of body; the ‘abnormality’ that exists away from what we have become accustomed to within the male/female binary lie of Human existence. No mention whatsoever of Hermaphroditus or Cybele or The Galli in their ‘LBGTQ’ teachings whatsoever.

As they point out while ignoring their own ignorance:

“Gender and sexual diversity was suppressed by colonial administrators and has often been forgotten, creating the impression that it never existed.”

The Museum anathematizes colonial administrators while falsely claiming diversity itself.

For the record, lots of intersex people identify with the LGBTQ acronym, yet it is clear from the Museum’s stance on this controversial decision to exclude the I or the + from the acronym and their failure to mention the words Intersex, Non-binary or Transgender to speculate on possible identities speaks volumes about how these areas of our society are regarded currently by the British Museum.

Recently, the artist Ela Xora and other supporters around the world protested as it was revealed last year that (to quote directly from the Artlyst article): “religious curators in Cambridge Museums banned ancient non-binary deities like Hermaphroditus and Cybele because their bodies “were not fit for public viewing”, as well as covering naked statues in sheets when certain religious groups of children visit. The worlds most famous classicist Professor Mary Beard, issued a curt one word apology to intersex people for erasing non binary history within the Roman Empire at the University of Cambridge, after Xora publicly challenged her through a performance art piece called “Sleeping Hermaphroditus Hunger Strike”, which saw the artist reenact the most famous non-binary sculpture in the world for 8 days without food, until Professor Beard said “sorry!”. However like Lewis Hamilton, soon after apologising she began to ‘love’ tweets from her fans telling her not to apologise for hiding transgender and intersex history, including one which contained an image saying she should behave like a dog saying “If you can’t eat it or play with it, just pee on it and walk away”

Sadly this persistent attitude from scholarly figures and classicists insulates the ignorance we fight to overcome this oppression. 

As more and more intersex people and allies join the fight for greater understanding, we are all starting to realise the need for an end to the harmful non-consensual, un-necessary medical surgeries and procedures performed on intersex children in order to cosmetically define their body’s into the male/female binary. Intersex people born with variations of sex characteristics have a right to be treated like any other human being, with dignity, respect, and accuracy. It is why we now ask the British Museum to adopt a new perspective on how it records and displays its inventories; this fine, leading institution of world knowledge should fully examine the details of our past, so that we can present the truth fully to the many generations of our future.

You have 8 million items in your inventory, you display 80 thousand. The worldwide estimated population of intersex people is almost 2%. Surely we need to be seeing more than 5 intersex items on display amongst the 80 thousand exhibits, if you apply my non-maths-person, simple ratio.

Please, British Museum, join the campaign for awareness. That’s all that we ask. 

(Link to British Museum online gallery listing ‘representations of Hermaphroditos)

Final note:

The Museum explains in its LGBTQ pamphlet:

“The Museum is beginning to update its collections database so that objects with an LGBTQ connection are more easily identifiable, and language used is more suitable and relevant. Please share with us your own selection of objects from the Museum that you feel have an LGBTQ connection. Help us with our ongoing exploration of LGBTQ narratives in the collection by sharing your thoughts and images using #LGBTQ_BM.“

If you agree that our Human history deserves honest visibility, please retweet/share/Tumblr-ize this post with the #LGBTQ_BM hashtag and let’s all try and affect change where it’s needed.