#but then i watched one of her videos about mismatched expectations between men and women

[gimmeacupcake]

Uhm... so ... my ex?boyfriend that I still live with until he graduates in October (and hopefully goes on to find a job soon so he can move out) is starting to blackpill himself with questionable relationship and men's issues content on yt

and also refuses to sit down and talk about my problems with the kinda content he watches

This worries me.

[multiverse-in-archive]

Awesome, Helpless

((Sequel to this and based off of the Addict music video. Buckle up, this is a long bitch it gets heavy at points because that video was heavy as fuck and this is how I cope-))

After sweeping up the last dollar bill into his hands, Angel stood up straight, making sure to trail his fingers up his thighs with the motion. Then he turned on his heels, walked up the catwalk and to the main part of the stage. He shot the crowd one last seductive look before the curtains closed and the stage lights went out.

“Well, I can’t say that was really my taste in entertainment,” Alastor spoke up from his seat at the table, “But he did certainly put on a performance. Brava!~”

Husk slammed his glass down on the table with a muffled thunk against the table cloth.

“Yer jus’ glad it’s over, aincha?” the winged feline piped up.

“Certainly!”

“Even with his voice, I still get his gender confused. Why does he do that with his chest floof?” Nifty added.

“Because his audience is gross and he knows it,” Vaggie said flatly.

Charlie was immediately scanning around the scrambling crowd for the spider demon.

Yes, she was aware that he’d need to get dressed after his show, but she wanted to be able to spot him as soon as he came back.

Soon enough, there she spotted him, emerging by the stage. It wasn’t hard to notice him, he was nine feet tall and almost pure white. He was practically a beacon.

“Come on, guys! Let’s go congratulate him!” the blonde said, immediately standing up.

The princess rushed off with the sinners in towe. 

It didn’t take long for Angel to take notice of the approaching group and grin. He walked towards them in wide strides

As the space between them closed, Charlie’s nose twitched and wrinkled a bit. Her sensitive nose had picked up something rather sickly sweet coming off of Angel. It was a scent that already subtly wafted in the establishment enough that no one else would notice, but it smelt more concentrated off of the pornstar. Like perfume. But it wasn’t his usual perfume, that was for sure.

At the very least his sweat dulled down the scent some…

“What’s with the face, toots?” Angel prodded as soon as he and the group stopped in front of each other.

“You smell funny,” she answered without thinking.

Alastor chuckled behind her, clearly amused.

“Well, yeah,” Angel said with a snort, “I jus’ got finished dancin’ a storm up there, baby. ‘Course I’m gonna be smellin’ a bit rank.”

Charlie opened her mouth to reply to that, but decided against it. Instead, she smiled wide and grabbed him by the hand excitedly.

“You were terrific out there!”

“You certainly know your audience. I’ll give you that,” Vaggie added, a hand on her hip and a half smile on her face, “I guess I can see why you’re popular now.”

“I knew you were fluffy, but I didn’t realize you were this fluffy!” Nifty added.

Angel gave an amused and cocky grin.

“Thanks, gals~” he rang before his mismatched eyes trailed up to the men of the group, “And you...?~”

Husk rolled his eyes.

“It was fine, I guess.”

Alastor, meanwhile, chose not to comment, favoring just tilting his head to the side instead.

The spider demon merely shrugged.

“Eh, I’ll take those as compliments~”

The Radio Demon’s neck then straightened, eyes flicking past Angel.

Charlie’s sensitive black nose crinkled again. That same sweet smell from Angel. But much much more potent. And coming right towards them. That prompted her to turn her head to the source, the rest following suit.

Angel pulled away from her, the grin and pep all but fading.

A blue skinned moth demon, nearly a foot taller than Angel and wearing a bright red fluffy coat and hat, was walking towards the group. Rose tinted heart shaped shades glinted against the light of the club, and a golden tooth gleamed in that wide grin among the otherwise pink teeth. Accompanying him were two scantily clad demonesses, one cat like, and the other may or may not be an imp. Her eyes weren’t glowing in the dim lighting, so she may not have been.

“Angel cakes~” a rich, velvety voice greeted from the tall moth’s lips, “Do ya have my money?”

“Yes boss…” Angel muttered as he began digging around in his pillowy “cleavage”.

Ah. Boss. So this was Angel’s employer, then. Made sense.

The blue demon then looked at the others.

“I definitely recognize the Radio Demon, and one looks vaguely familiar. New friends of yours, sugar?”

Angel tensed up a bit at that but handed him the stack.

“No sir. They just work at the hotel I’m stayin’ at now,” he explained, “They’re more landlords than anything.”

Vaggie could only cock a brow at that.

“Sir”? This is the first time she’d ever heard Angel say that… unironically that is. So formal and polite… And yeah, this is his boss, but still. With how he behaved usually, she expected him to be bratty, or at least casual. It was… surreal…

Charlie extended a hand to shake, even despite the overwhelming scent assaulting her senses.

“I’m Charlie, the founder and owner of the Happy Hotel.”

Angel’s boss stared for a moment, gears turning in his head. Then, he started laughing. Low and slow for a moment, and then building it’s way up up up, all the way to gut busting. Even the two women with him started giggling.

The demon princess lowered her hand slightly, a tad discouraged now.

Vaggie, however, was more miffed than anything.

“What’s so funny?!” she growled.

“Holy shit, I remember now!” he blurted out, “You’re the princess from that interview! God, I haven’t laughed as hard as I have when I watched that shitshow in ages!”

“Well, at least we can both agree that it was quite entertaining,” Alastor chimed, “Don’t get used to that, however.”

The silver haired demoness looked about ready to blow a gasket. What stopped her from going around her girlfriend to punch this fucker in the face was a hand on her shoulder. Angel’s hand.

She looked up to see said spider demon looking down at her and shaking his head from side to side slowly.

She’d… never seen him look so… serious…! What the fuck!?

Charlie was about to completely lower her hand in defeat, but the laughter suddenly stopped, and one of the man’s own hand shot for hers, partially grabbing her wrist when he’d caught it in his grip.

“You can call me Valentino, baby doll~” he said cordially.

Charlie didn’t even have time to express any discomfort at the pet name before she was suddenly pulled closer to the pimp.

“Charmed!~” he added, his voice breathy.

At the “charmed”, bright red smoke rushed out of his mouth and into Charlie’s face. They saw it a few times during Angel’s show, but neither Charlie nor Vaggie knew where it came from. They just figured it was part of the show with how it interacted with Angel. At least until now.

That overly sweet scent again. But much more concentrated. Powerful. Overwhelmingly so. It blocked out all other scents, violently assaulting her senses. It was dizzying. She normally loved sweet smells, but there was such a thing as too fucking sweet! Too fucking much! And it was already too sweet in the air, and too much coming off of Angel. Even more so from Valentino. This. This just made her feel ill. Made her want to retch.

All the while, Angel was deathly stiff as he watched, his grip on the by now furious moth demoness much tighter. He had no idea what to do, what to say, all he could do was internally freak out-

Shit shit shit shit shit- Val, no! Not her! Don’t fuckin’ do this to her!

“Hey, what the hell!?” Vaggie snapped at her fellow moth.

She didn’t know what he was doing or why, but damn was she itching to bring out her spear-

Husk, Nifty, and Alastor exchanged knowing glances before, with a swish of the chimera demon’s large wings, the red smoke was fanned away and towards the two women with Valentino. Both of whom gladly inhaled it. The two then stared at each other, eyes half lidded.

Valentino’s smile ebbed slightly.

Huh… He was sure she inhaled at least some of it… and yet...

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that blowing smoke in someone’s face is rude?” Nifty chastised from below, “Shame!”

Alastor gently pulled Charlie away and out of the pimp’s grip by the shoulder in a casual motion.

“Then again, can’t expect any manners from someone who associates with Vox of all people.~”

Valentino’s attention was pulled away from the princess and onto the Radio Demon behind her. That let Angel relax enough to finally release Vaggie, who promptly moved to gently hold her girlfriend by the arms.

“Are you alright, Charlie?”

The blonde could only nod, still reeling from the assault on her senses.

Fuck, she could still taste it in the back of her throat. It was like being force fed cups and cups of nothing but pure honey. It stung!

“Speakin’ of Voxy, a shame he already left. He would have loved to have seen you, dear~” the pimp said.

“Rather fortunate that he did leave, because I do not share such sentiments,” Alastor responded rather curtly as he released Charlie’s shoulder once he was certain she was safe from anything further from Valentino.

“What does bring ya here anyways, baby?” the red clad moth continued, “I thought this wasn’t your scene. Didja finally decide to have some real fun?~”

“I would hardly consider this my definition of ‘real fun’,” the radio host scoffed, “I only came by Charlie’s insistence.”

Valentino snorted at that.

“I’m sure ya did, sweetheart…~”

The deer’s red eyes narrowed, his grin sharpening.

“You find yourself quite fortunate that I am temporarily sworn off of non self defense violence for the sake of my entertainment, or I would have made certain that you are no longer able to make such disgusting innuendos.”

After all, what sane person would check in if they felt the people working there were dangerous?

“Awwww… Learn to have fun…~” Valentino teased.

“Big Veeeeee…” the feline demoness whined, “Can we go back to the studio?~”

“Yes, daddy, I want to play, and there’s no good place to do so here~” the other agreed.

“Awh, you bitches needy?~ Alright, alright, we’ll head back…~”

The pimp’s attention finally returned to Angel.

“Angel baby, come on now.”

“W-Wait a minute,” Charlie spoke up without thinking, “Didn’t you get your money already? Shouldn’t he come back home with us now that he’s done?”

Valentino cocked his head to the side at her, his mostly pink grin quirked in amusement.

“Awh honey, donchu know how this works?~” he asked, his tone condescending, “I need to make sure that he has given me it all… Can’t have a sneaky lil’ whore tryna siphon more than their earnings off of me, you know~”

Angel hesitated, looking between the group and Valentino.

“Can’t you just count your money here?” Vaggie piped up, “It shouldn’t take that long, should it?”

Red eyes narrowed from behind heart shaped rose tinted lenses. He seemed to be struggling to keep his grin up.

“Didja not hear my bitches, sweetie? They wanna go now,” his face then softened when he looked at the spider demon, “Besides, we need to talk about his upcomin’ shoots. Don’t we, sugar?”

“... Yes mista Valentino,” Angel sighed out.

“We’ll have him back to your little joke- I mean hotel once we’re done with our business, ‘kay?”

He tucked away his stack of bills before wrapping his lower set of arms around the waists of the girls and using one of his top hands to make a beckoning motion with his finger.

“Come along, baby~” he cooed.

Before either of the girls could protest this further, Angel obediently followed after him, looking over his shoulder with an… unreadable expression.

“Well, see ya fuckas late-a, I guess.”

Once the four were gone, Charlie looked at the others anxiously. Something rubbed her the wrong way, and she couldn’t put her finger on what.

“Well! I think it’s about time we made ourselves scarce as well, wouldn’t you say!?” Alastor suddenly exclaimed.

Before anyone could respond, he ushered the group out the exit. 

They didn’t have to wait in the night long before the limo pulled up. Out of the front seat Dazzle emerged, floating to the door to open it and allow them inside. Everyone crawled in to find their places. Charlie and Vaggie sat in the back seats while Alastor and his little crew sat across from them. Nifty was seated in the lap of Husk, who had to position his large wings awkwardly to fit in his seat.

Onces everyone was seated, the red goat shut the door. Moments later, the limo started moving.

The ride was quiet for a while, everyone trying to process the encounter after the show.

Then, the silence was broken.

“Charlie…” came Alastor’s voice, his tone uncharacteristically sober.

That was enough to pull her and the others out of their thoughts and bring their eyes to him.

His usual smile was still there, but he was leaning forward, eyes hard focused on the princess across from him.

“I need you to answer me something, and I need you to do so honestly… Could you do that for me, darling…?”

Charlie nodded slowly, a brow raised. Where was this coming from?

“Are you feeling an unexplainable warmth? Perhaps some sort of strange craving?”

That only confused her more.

“N… No…?”

The Radio Demon hummed in thought for a moment.

“Are you feeling anything else, then…? Anything out of the ordinary…?”

“... I’m still having trouble getting that taste and smell out.”

Alastor raised a brow.

“Smell and taste…? From that smoke?”

“Yeah…” she said with a nod, “I don’t know how strong it is for you guys, but...”

“Charlie’s nose is really sensitive,” Vaggie explained, “While we may smell something subtle, it’s a lot stronger to her. And she can pretty easily pick up scents we probably would not be able to smell.”

“It… got my throat stinging…” the princess added.

Husk nodded.

“I have a pretty good sense of smell too. One of the only useful things of bein’ a giant fuckin’ cat…” Husk mumbled, “I ain’t still got it stuck in my nose or mouth, nor got my throat stingin’. Then again, I also didn’t get shit blown in my face.”

“... I see…” Alastor finally said softly.

There was another moment of silence before Alastor snapped back into his normal postured, the jovial lit in his voice returning.

“In that case, I know the best cure for this! Who’s up for gumbo!?”

“We already ate dinner in that club, Alastor…” Husk groaned.

The Radio Demon scoffed.

“Like that bushwa they serve can compare to what I cook! What a joke!”

A laugh track punctuated Alastor’s sentence.

When we get home, everyone is getting a bowl!~”

---

Charlie refused to go to bed tonight. Not until she was ensured that Angel was back.

Every hour she would leave her office to check the lobby. And when she didn’t see him there, she would go back to her office and busy herself to keep herself awake. She had given instructions to Husk at the bar that if he ever returned in between those times, he was to give her a shout.

It was five in the morning when she went to check again. Husk had been dead asleep three hours ago, and she didn’t have the heart to wake him up.

When she drew closer to the lobby, she could hear… singing… Soft, sad singing...

And when she emerged out into the lobby, what she saw… surprised her…

Angel at the bar, singing at a sleeping Husk.

In one his hands was a cigarette. It was strange, though. It was producing that same red smoke that she’d seen at the club they came back from.

“I’m addicted…

“To the sorrow…”

Angel was startled, nearly startled out of his melancholy song, when feeling a hand on his shoulder. He swatted at it briefly in irritation, nearly slapping it off of him. He only missed because the hand moved off of him just in time. He glared over his shoulder at the source to see…

… Charlie…

Son of a bitch she moved quietly!

… He was too tired to care enough to feel guilt for the look of hurt on her face. Just… too damn tired… So yes, he was giving her that fuck off look as she stared at him. He was in no mood for her happy sappy shit. None of it! And no amount of that kicked puppy look was going to change that.

Plus… he still had one of Val’s little… “gifts” with him. A brand new pack as thanks for… showing him a good time…

And he still wasn’t entirely sure it was safe around her. Nor did he want to take that chance. That is heart attack inducing, god dammit.

So he walked off, regarding her one last time with a glare and a middle finger as he made his exit.

The sweet smelling smoke and his voice trailed down the hallway with his pace.

“When the buzz ends…

“By tomorrow…”

And all she could do was just… stare after his retreating form and watch it steadily disappear until the only trace of him left was the fading red trail of smoke...

“What’d I miss…?” came a groggy gruff voice, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Charlie looked over at Husk to see, yup, he’s awake now.

She rubbed her face to relax the muscles before smiling at him.

“Angel just came back home…” she said gently, “Go back to sleep, alright…?”

Husk mumbled something or other before drifting back off to slumber, right on top of the puddle of drool he made in his sleep previously.

With that, she made her way back to her office. She could go to her own bed, but that was about the same direction he went, and she didn’t want to come off like she was following him. It was… clear he wanted his space...

… Why did Angel react to her like that…? Did… did she do something wrong…? She thought that… going to his show would bring his trust in them up, but… He’s shut her out more than ever… It was like she had taken one step forward and then jumped ten steps back. He wasn’t even holding her at arm’s length at this point, he was pushing her away. Far far away from him.

Her thoughts drifted back to Valentino, the reason he wasn’t home immediately…

What happened…? Should she have fought harder to ensure he immediately went home with them…?

Maybe she could ask for advice on how to help? But who could she ask? Her first thought was Vaggie, but she had the feeling that said demoness would go off on him if she mentioned the slight hostility he demonstrated. And that was the last thing he needed on top of… whatever he was going through right now... She doubted Alastor would give all that great advice. Husk was a tad… apathetic to be of much help here… And Nifty… she wasn’t sure about Nifty’s qualifications on that front either.

… She can talk to him in the morning… Not about what’s wrong if he doesn’t want to, but something to make him feel better? Maybe???

---

Charlie woke up on her desk the next morning.

… Or… well… Afternoon. It was already past lunch time.

The blonde stood up and headed out of her office and to the lobby.

… No Angel yet… And Husk has confirmed that he hasn’t come down for a drink yet. So maybe he was still sleeping… or healing… or both…

So she decided to wait on the couch, occasionally seeing Nifty zip by on her duties.

She’d passed the time texting Vaggie, occasionally glancing up to see if he was here yet.

[TEXT]: Hey love. I just woke up. Afternoon. <3

Apple of my Eye <3 [TEXT]: Hey, sleeping beauty. How did you sleep?

Probably shouldn’t mention that she slept in her office…

[TEXT]: I slept fine, thank you. <3

Apple of my Eye <3 [Text]: Did you see Angel come back to the hotel?

Apple of my Eye <3 [TEXT]: What time, if you did?

Charlie’s thumbs hovered over the keypad, hesitating.

[TEXT]: About 5am.

Apple of my Eye <3 [TEXT]: Was he okay? Something about him going back with that sleazeball of a pimp did not sit well with me.

More, longer hesitation.

That’s the thing. She didn’t know. She wasn’t entirely sure. He was in a significantly sour mood, that was for damn sure. And before he knew she was even there, he sounded so… sad… Looked so, too… But she couldn’t wrap her head around what could have possibly happened between leaving with Valentino and coming back to the hotel. And that… scared her…

Little to say, she… didn’t know how to answer that.

She swallowed before typing.

[TEXT]: All I know is that he was a bit cranky… I’m sorry… I’m hoping to catch him in the lobby so I could talk with him about it.

Again, she’d rather not bring up him slightly lashing out at her. No need to make things worse for him. She just hoped Vaggie didn’t figure that out.

Thankfully, she didn’t.

Apple of my Eye <3 [TEXT]: I guess that’s to be expected…

Apple of my Eye <3 [TEXT]: Did you notice how he was behaving with that Valentino douche? It was almost creepy how his attitude just shifted like that.

[TEXT]: I noticed that too. It’s kind of scary…

Apple of my Eye <3 [TEXT] And I thought Alastor had the most punchable face in Hell.

[TEXT]: Vaggie, no! We do not solve our issues with violence! >=0

Apple of my Eye [TEXT]: Hey now, I never -said- I would. I just said that he just has one of those faces that would be fun to punch. [smug side eye emoji]

Charlie laughed lightly despite herself.

[TEXT]: So what did I miss anyways?

Apple of my Eye <3 [TEXT]: Nothing much. I decided to ask Razzle and Dazzle to take some of your paperwork out of your office so they and I could get to working on them. Figured it would keep us from falling behind.

[TEXT]: Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, Vaggie! I didn’t mean to put that on you! D:>

Apple of my Eye <3 [TEXT]: Hun, it’s fine. You were up trying to make sure Angel was back home safe, and you needed your sleep. Any one that tries to fault you for that is a dick.

Then, the clacking of big boots against the hardwood floor. Charlie looked up to see Angel heading to the bar.

Alright… There he is…

[TEXT]: G2G, Vaggie! Angel’s here! I’ll get to my paperwork afterwards!

Apple of my Eye <3 [TEXT]: Alright, Charlie. Good luck.

Angel plopped himself on one of the stools, propping his head up on his elbow.

“Hey, Husk…”

The feline raised a brow. Huh. Lacking the usual pep. The smile looked tired, forced. He thought he could see bags under the pornstar’s mismatched eyes. His features in general seemed to… sag… like he was somewhat deflated…

“... What’ll it be, bud…?”

“I’m thinkin’...”

He heard a weight plop down on the stool next to his. It took one glance to see…

Oh boy… Charlie…

This was awkward.

He was starting to wonder if she was a cat or something with how she just kept sneaking up on him like that.

His eyes went back to staring out in front of him.

“... Some wine…”

Dammit, he was hoping to get some of the harder shit!

“What kind?”

Angel waved at that.

“Don’ matta, babe. Ain’t picky right now.”

“Rosè it is.”

Angel chuckled weakly as Husk grabbed a wine glass and poured the wine in.

“It’s ‘cuzza the pink, innit...?”

“Yup,” Husk said simply as he handed it to the pornstar.

“Well thanks…~”

Golden eyes then looked over at the princess, who’d just been sitting there quietly, patiently.

“Didn’t know ya drink, blondie.”

“Oh, no no, I’m not here for a drink. I mean, unless you have any-”

“-Virgin drinks?” the winged cat finished, “What kinda fuckin’ bartender would I be if I didn’t know how to make ‘em. Gimme a sec…”

Silence permeated the air for a second, aside from the clinking of glass of Husk doing his work and Angel occasionally sipping from his glass.

Charlie glanced up at him.

He wasn’t even looking at her. Just staring straight ahead…

It felt like an eternity before Husk handed her her drink.

“Hope ya like er whatever. Figured ya were probably sick of sweet shit from last night, so figured somethin’ more citrusy would be more to yer likin’ right now.”

Angel stiffened slightly but said nothing.

The blonde smiled gently as she took it.

“That’s very thoughtful, Husk. Thank you.”

“Don’t fuckin’ get used to it.” he huffed as he grabbed for his bottle and took to drinking from it.

… More silence, this time without much to fill it other than the occasional sipping of drinks from one of the three. The silence would have been deafening otherwise.

He still wasn’t looking at her.

… Maybe if they were alone…

Husk should know morse, right?

Gently, she knocked on the surface of the bar, looking up to see his ears twitching with each beat.

Perfect.

-H-u-s-k---p-l-e-a-s-e---g-o---t-o---t-h-e---o-t-h-e-r---r-o-o-m-

Husk straightened up, folding his bright scarlet wings on his back before moving out from behind the bar.

“Gotta go grab a snack… be right back…”

Angel’s grip on his wine glass tightened at that.

Wait yor jus’ going to leave me alone with her?!

He couldn’t come up with a natural excuse fast enough to either keep Husk here or follow him before the feline had left towards the kitchen.

Dammit!

… More awkward silence… More Angel refusing to look at her…

The blonde gently drummed her knuckles against the bar’s surface as she tried to think of what to say.

“... Ya in a percussionist mood today or something?” he asked, still not looking at her.

Charlie scratched her cheek awkwardly.

“I guess you can say that… Yooouuuu know me.”

The spider demon snorted slightly.

“Yeah, you live yor life in a fuckin’ musical.”

… A bad habit that seems to have rubbed off on him a bit…

Charlie laughed softly.

There was a moment’s hesitation before she looked up at him.

“... Uhm… You have a beautiful singing voice by the way…”

… Son of a bitch, speak of the devil. Or devil’s daughter- wait didn’t she say her dad wasn’t the- Ah fuck it.

Okay, but to be fair, he was singing during his performance last night too. He’d give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that that’s what she meant.

“... Thanks, toots…”

More silence. Charlie stared down at her hands before deciding to speak again.

“... Soooo…” she started, hoping it sounded casual, “How did you sleep…?”

“Fine,” the spider demon responded.

She smiled gently.

“That’s good. You seemed like you had a rough night, so…”

Angel just sighed.

“I was jus’ fuckin’ tired toots. It was nothin’ personal.”

And apparently that’s all he had to say on that. Fair enough. At least he said that much.

“No, it’s okay, I get that. I’m not upset about that. Honest. Just… worried…”

… Yor worried…?

He finally glanced down at her for the first time since she took the seat beside him.

… He had to know…

“... ‘Nuff ‘bout me, though, sweetheart. I wanna ask you somethin’.”

The princess perked at that.

“Anything.”

He took a sip of his wine as he tried to think of how best to ask his question.

“So how are you feelin’? Ya got any headaches, or feelin’ weaka? Maybe feelin’ any shakiness or anything like that?”

Charlie seemed to grow more and more confused the more he spoke.

“N… No…? I’m fine… Why…?”

First Alastor, now Angel. What was up with asking how she felt?

And just like that, Angel felt the tension melt away from his relief.

Thank god!

He had a love… mostly hate relationship with Val’s shit. On one hand, damn did it feel good. It was a hell of a high. Practically like you were floating. Made getting it up easier and more fun, made you more sensitive… Hell, even the smell and taste grew on you after a while, became delicious. It just gave an overall liberating feeling.

On the other hand, the liberating feeling it gave was a facade, a trap. It was a highly addictive substance. One full hit, and it was over. Your body would want more. More more more more- and it was never enough! And god were the withdrawals awful. Your body would be convinced it would fucking die without it. It was quite possible it would. It made you desperate for more. It made you reliant on the provider. Made you come back to them. Gave you no choice but to stay with them. It was a never ending cycle, a whirlpool you’d have no chance of escaping except to concede and drown.

He would know. He’s tried. He’s tried to quit it. One day and he was desperate to satiate that craving his body demanded. He’s actively trying to figure out how to wane it. No such luck so far. And going clean has not been helping.

And fuck did Val take advantage of it. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? It made business good for him. All he had to do was pay them the bare minimum and a hit from him or drugs laced with it, and that would be enough for them. Sometimes to make a job go by smoother, he’d give it to them to make them nice and ready. He could do anything he wanted to anyone hooked on his shit, and they would never be able to do shit about it…

So little to say, Angel was glad. He was glad Val didn’t manage to pull this one in. He wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Let alone…

“... That’s all I wanted to know…”

Charlie looked up at him, inching a hand to one of his arms before pausing.

… After his reaction last night… probably not a good idea…

She pulled her hand away before finishing off her drink.

“Well, you should probably go get you something to eat. I don’t think you’ve had anything since lunchtime yesterday. There might still be gombo left.”

He looked at her, a brow raised.

“Since when did we have gumbo yestaday?”

“Since we came back after your show. Al’s idea.”

Ah… made sense…

Charlie then stood up from the stool.

“... And.. hey… if you ever need to talk about something… anything at all… I’m here, okay…?”

Oh yikes-

Angel had to keep from rolling his eyes. Instead, he took a sip from his wine.

Wow she just went straight for that, didn’t she?

“A-And I mean anything at all. When you’re ready. I want to be here for you anyway I can… If you’re not ready yet… if we’re not there yet… that’s fine… there’s plenty of time… But I just want you to know… anytime… okay…?”

“... I’ll keep that in mind, sweetheart…” he said, noncommittal.

If it would get her to shut up. Not that he was thinking of ever considering it.

Charlie gave a hopeful smile at that.

“Now go feed yourself! I’ll be in the office area. Uh… Just uh… Just in case you need something… something maybe not as heavy like… Like to borrow a CD or something.”

He huffed out a small laugh at that.

“Alright…”

And with that, she bounded to the office area.

Yes, there was absolutely no commitment to him saying he would keep it in mind. She would have to be blind to not notice that. But the seed was still planted. She won’t expect him to talk about whatever he’s going through today, tomorrow, next week, or even next year. But that’s fine. They had all the time in the world for him to feel ready to open up. And when he was, she’d be right here waiting for him.

Angel sat there and watched her leave before standing up, still holding what remained of his wine in one hand as he made his way to the kitchen.

God this bitch just keeps getting weirder and weirder. Yeah, let’s divulge all the gorey details of his afterlife. That’ll be fun for everyone. The sentiments were nice for sure, but she knew nothing about him. And a large chunk of him was convinced it was better that way. This isn’t a fairytale. This was reality. Ugly, brutal reality-

We want to help you.

… Then again, this wouldn’t be the first time Charlie has tried to give the metaphorical finger to reality. That’s exactly what this hotel was, after all. Not out of the ordinary for her, really.

… Silly...

[beeexx]

The concept of friends is still very strange to Theo. He’s not good at it, he doesn’t know how to do it. “I don’t do friends Boris.” He complained to Boris one evening, and Boris had scoffed. “No you don’t do friends Potter, you do me.” But the truth is, even before his mother he was bad at it. He’s never had many friends in his life, he’s always been rather awkward about it. And when his mother died, well after that everything seemed pointless. Who wanted to be friends with the motherless, angry, odd boy out anyway. Except it seemed, Boris. And Boris and him have never really been just friends, have they. But New York after Amsterdam is different. It’s almost like he’s living a completely new life. And with that, friends are included. It starts one evening when he and Boris take shelter under the nearest café they can find, hiding from the heavy downpour. “I told you we should have brought an umbrella.” Theo says as he shakes the water off his very expensive coat (Burberry), he eyes it with disdain, it better not ruin it. “Is just water Potter.” Boris says happily. Theo eyes their surroundings. It’s one of those cafés that turns into a bar after a certain time. It’s well... actually cozy. Candles on each and every table, and the chairs are mismatched. There are couches and armchairs spread about and the floor is dark wood. It’s a strange place but Theo finds that he can accept it. It’s far from those hippstery new places that seem to pop up everywhere in New York. With stupid white lighting and walls, fucking ikea furniture with plants on every table. It’s like a jungle and then of course the option for vegan food everywhere. It’s all new and modern and it has no fucking charm. Theo hates them. They get a table, because they might as well. It’s surprisingly busy, a mismatched of people of all ages. Theo kind of likes that too. 

And that’s how they meet Valerie. She’s in her early 50s and she’s sat on her own, reading a book. Boris’s being, well Boris is unable to not engage in conversation with her, Theo wants to die. He remembers the book she was reading very clearly. The Waves by Virginia Woolf. Theo rolls his eyes. But she surprises him. She teaches at NYU, introduction to feminist studies. Boris’s already embarrassed Theo by claiming that women do not need to be studied, they are easy, it’s men who are the big mysteries in life. But Valerie chuckles and kindly asks Boris to develop what he’s just said. It turns into an engaging discussion that even Theo can’t help but in engage slightly in. By the end Boris is genuinely considering signing up for a course in women studies and Theo’s surprised to find that Valerie is not too bad as company. She has white long hair, almost down to her waits and she wears jumpsuits, always a different colour when they meet up. She’s cool, even though Theo kind of hates to admit it. She lives on her own, she has two cats. It’s a bit too cliché but Theo’s not one to judge, too much. Their group grows after that. There’s Bea who joins shortly after. She’s short and can’t seem to ever decide on her hair colour. Sometimes it’s bright pink, it’s been blue and green once. Now she seems quite settled on red. She’s always angry. Theo likes her immediately. She scowls and mutters and has it out for the world. She’s intelligent though, and Theo’s not actually sure which one out of the two of them is worse. She works with rescue dogs and on the side she designs websites. She has a girlfriend, Tessa, a nurse who works weird hours but is possibly one of the kindest people Theo’s ever met. They met after Bea had overdosed, it comes up once during conversation, and Theo says, surprising maybe all of them. “Yes, I have first hand experience with that too.” Bea looks at him, something passes between them and Theo thinks they might understand each other a little better after that. The last one to join them is Hugo. A trust fund, ‘daddy paid my way into Stamford’ baby. Who would normally be the last person Theo would ever spend time with. But Hugo’s sweet, too sweet maybe. Trusting but also nervous. Theo’s never seen a person as anxious and nervous as he is. He works for a bank on Wall Street. He hates it, but he’s too scared of everything to quit. By the age of 25 he’s burnt out twice already. He suffers from severe performance anxiety, to the extent that it is becoming hard to do a normal task. It doesn’t help that he’s a perfectionist either. He’s an overachiever without being arrogant. He’s the youngest of them all and yet he already has a soft spot in Theo’s heart. 

It’s strange, but he likes them all. He’s even found he enjoys spending one on one time with them. They usually meet at the café, at least once a week. But sometimes they’ll meet up for dinner and game night. Bea and Tessa has an apartment in the village where they once made the mistake of playing Monopoly. It turned vicious, drinks were thrown, words were said and Theo swears he was ready to break up with Boris. They had some great make up sex after that but they will never play Monopoly again. “Capitalism is the devil, it has made America greedy.” Rings in Theo’s ears still. But yes, Theo is now a person that has friends, people he actually likes. It’s fucking weird. And they all come with their own sets of problems and not so squeaky clean pasts. It makes them interesting Theo’s realising. Not stupid and something that would take time out of his life. No, he finds that it’s nice. He’s learning to open up slowly, with people who don’t expect that much back from him. Who understands him in some ways. They’re carving out their own space in his heart. He didn’t know he even had the capability to care about more people than he did before them. But he does, and it’s a good feeling. Pippa’s so proud though. And she is the best friend (he hates the word) but she loves it and she even bought them a matching set of bracelets that he actually wears. She’s delighted. “I think I am his favourite.” She said jokingly to Boris once. “Potter, should I be jealous. You never wear anything I get you.”  “You buy me a ring Boris and I will wear it.” Boris is actually speechless and Pippa spits out her wine. Theo smirks smugly. It’s not often he one ups Boris. The gang all love Pippa too, it’s not surprising. She’s just that kind of person that everyone likes. Theo really wishes she would spend more time in New York. He misses her always. But they video chat and they send each other memes and books and keep each other involved in their lives. It’s like before, but better. Much better. “Shit!” Theo hears Bea swear. He looks around. They’ve all frozen, some cheese dip have just ended up on the couch. “For fuck’s sake this is an expensive couch.” Theo says. “There he goes.” Boris says. They all look sheepishly at Theo. And he rolls his eyes. “You will all clean this with your bare hands later.” He warns but throws himself down anyway, his feet in Boris’s lap. The group collectively let out a sigh, Theo smirks. Damn right. They’re watching reruns of Bachelor in Paradise. Theo hates it, because they are all stupid. Who would even want to go to a nice paradise island to find the love of your life? But he competes with Bea over who can say the most outrageous sarcastic thing and the rest of them, well Theo hasn’t figured out if they like the show or if they love listening the the bitching. They stay late, and before they all leave they thankfully clean the couch. 

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Candlelight: Part 3

(Fight between Haname and Yimir in true fighting game style.  Hope you all enjoy! :D  Warning, long. Lol.  As always Haname is @repose-and-run char) Yimir rose from his feet and studied the man before him.  Not a bell ago, the man had rested at the feet of Nald’thal, ready to enter the god’s domain of death. The man in question was an old regular of Yimir’s, back before he’d entered into negotiations with Ostreaux about working for the elezen’s organization and his alone.  Yimir would be joining a organization for life and he was still uncertain what he’d do; but for now he was here, aiding an old friends soul.  A soul that was not for collecting today.  Yimir had pulled the man from the great beyond and allowed him to live a bit longer.  Yimir took a long sip of water from a flask.  The effort of healing the man’s wounded form had taken a lot out of him and he was weary now.  He slowly pulled his grey robe up over his bandaged arms and shoulders.  The healer looked at his own, bandaged hands and marveled at how someone as insignificant as himself somehow could keep life inside a ruined form through will and aether.  Did he defy the Wheel of Fate, or was he a part in its great machinations? He doubted he would ever know.  He glanced out the window of the small apartment that overlooked Pearl Lane.   It was night already…

The night was dark and full of terrors. Not really, but it was full of crime and shady individuals. The Masked Moogle crouched atop an old, rundown building in Pearl Lane, face hidden behind a Magitek mask and Moogle katana strapped to her side. She wore a gaudy white coat and boots, true to her namesake, and what looked like a Moogle plush dressed as a Taoist floated around her. She didn't have her signature pigtails. No, that'd be way too obvious. After all, how many other grown women wore their hair in pigtails? Not many. It was the perfect disguise. The mask she wore warped her voice and hid her aetherial signature. And the outfit she wore was way too flashy and cool compared to her usual wardrobe. She was a real vigilante now-- No. She was a superhero, stalking the alleys of Ul'dah to fight crime.

"He'll need a few days rest an' den needs tuh take it easy all healed up meow." Yimir said as he stepped out the door of the small, building into the Lane. "Just keep him relaxed." With that, the blonde shut the door and turned to walk down the street. He was dressed in a white, cotton shirt over which was a large, grey robe and a polished, leather bandolier across his chest. Thigh-high leather boots covered brown riding pants and a large yellow-and-black plaid scarf was wrapped around his neck and lower face. He moved slowly, keeping an eye out for any patrolling Blades. They were a rare sight around these parts but anyone moving in the lane past sunset was up to no good.

The Masked Moogle noticed movement from the corner of her eye. She tapped the side of her mask and the screen of it zoomed in to the area she turned her head towards. She couldn't quite make out a face due to the large hat and scarf, but she knew the area well enough back in her moko smuggling days where each crime den was. And that was definitely a crime den. She looked the suspicious figure up and down, and judging by their conversation, he was probably a medic. Getting up from her crouched position, she followed after the man from the rooftops, pausing only to send her Moogle companion out. The Moogle plush fluttered down and twirled happily around Yimir, its little Taoist robes fluttering in the desert breeze. "Where are you going, kupo? What have you been up to, kupo?" It asked in its irritatingly adorable voice. "My name is Gohan, kupo! You look suspicious, kupo!"

Yimir stopped and waved his left arm to shoo the moogle away. He couldn't believe he was running into a moogle of all things! What was the world coming too? "Begone ye little one." Yimir ordered in a mildly annoyed manner. Certainly he felt no threat from the intrusive creature as they were known to be silly drunks more than anything else, but the creature was loud and could garner him some unwanted attention. "I ain't done nuttin' but take a walk. Shoo!"

 "Ain't done nuttin', kupo?" Gohan quoted, floating down so it was almost nose to nose with Yimir. "What kind of nuts, kupo? Kupo nuts? There were some shaaady men back there, kupo. Ah! Watch out, kupo!" And then Gohan zoomed off, flying several feet up into the air above Yimir. The distraction was provided and the Masked Moogle leapt off the building right above the blonde Mi'qote, nearly landing on top of him with her katana drawn. "Alright, kupo." She said in a low voice, which really wasn't needed since her mask warped her voice to a much higher pitch anyways. "Hands up in the air. I know what kind of shady business you've been dealing with, kupo. I need you to come with me. Peacefully." She paused. "Kupo." She added to the end.

 "I said buzz off ye-" Yimir's ears perked as he heard something above him. He couldn't tell what it was but his tail poofed in a sign of danger and he leapt backwards, pulling a small kukiri made from bone out of his robe. He landed on both feet and tensed his entire body as he held his weapon at his side. He peered at this new arrival as if it was a coiled viper. There was no joy in his mismatched eyes as his tail swished behind him. The vigilante's words further soured his impression of her. He had no intention of complying with her orders and he spun the dagger around a finger by its o-ring. "I dun know who ye are, but I ain't goin' anywhere with yeh. So either ye move out de way or...we gonna have ourselves some trouble."

Yes Yimir. Sound tough. You are sooo badass.

 "Heh, so you really won't come peacefully then, huh kupo?" The Masked Moogle said with a small tilt of her head. "Well then.." She sheathed her sword. "I am the Masked Moogle, Champion of Justice!" She struck a pose. "In the name of the Mog, I shall punish you!" Another pose. Was that necessary? No, but she had been wanting to do it for a long time now and what better opportunity to than now? She held the pose for a moment longer as Gohan slowly descended back down, shaking its big, fat Moogle head.

 The blonde male stopped spinning his knife, almost cutting a finger off as he stared in dumbfound wonder at the woman's posturing. Was...was this for real? Was this seriously happening? Was this person really challenging him to a fight while acting like a gosh darn moogle and posing like she was a power ranger? He blinked and it took him him almost a minute to manage to form som sort of reply. "Are...are ye for real? Ye seriously want...but…Do ye do this often or sumfing? First time? Cause aint heard of ye." FIGHT BEGINS! QUE MUSIC!

"Hah! And clearly your first time if you've never heard of me, kupo!" The Masked Moogle was bluffing. But she had been down Pearl Lane enough times to know she had never seen this loser around before. And the fact that he hadn't straight up shanked her. "You're as green as they come, aren't ya kupo?" In a flash, she drew her katana again and well... threw it straight at his head.

Yimir had been expecting her to do something. -Throwing- the gosh darn katana, however, HADN'T been near the top of that list. He was saved by muscles and sheer instinct alone. He leaned back, flailing his arms behind him and sensing the world in slow motion as if he was dodging bullets in a video game. The weapon sailed over his head, the blade gleaming along it's polished edge in the moon's light. The healer watched it sail a mere ilm over his nose. And then it was gone. Yimir pulled himself upright and stood there, honestly surprised his himself and actually thanking his dad for making him do yoga. He was very bendy. But his wonder didn't last long. He glanced at the woman and clicked his tongue. Using his aether, he connected with the elements instead of his normal spells. His holy flames would be too obvious. Instead, he waved his hand and a gust of wind blew down the Lane and tried to slam into her feet and knock her onto her butt.

The gust of wind was strong. But not strong enough! The Masked Moogle had been hit by things worse than a little gust. Like boulders, shovels, and angry Highlanders. She butterfly-kicked into the air, doing a little spin like a Moogle would. Speaking of Moogle, Gohan was chanting "fight, kupo, fight, kupo, fight, kupo" the whole time. Landing on her feet again, she raised her hand and whistled. Unbeknownst to Yimir, her ridiculous looking katana was Magitek -infused and came boomeranging back around towards the back of Yimir's head a second time.

 Yimir twirled his kukiri a few times and had taken a step forward when the pommel of the katana smashed into the back of his head. He jerked his head forward as a loud thwack filled the air from the impact. He used his free had to hold the back of his skull as he glanced between his golden locks at the bizarre sight. A magical katana... This was turning into a very weird evening. "Alright buttercup." Yimir muttered, rubbing his sore skull as he stood up. "Let's wrap this up." Yimir snapped his left hand. Two chains of gold would spring from the ground like twin pythons and try to wrap themselves around her torso and pin her arms to her sides.

"Hah! Not today, 'cuz I'm not here to stay!" The Masked Moogle rhymed as she leapt up just in time for the chains to miss snagging around her. She paused briefly and added, "..Kupo." She caught her katana midair and dashed forward in an attempt to shoulder-tackle the Mi'qote with.. well, not quite full-force since that would be a dead giveaway, but with at least strength to knock the air out of him if she landed a hit.

"Oh great, and it rhymes." Yimir muttered as the moogle warrior came at him with her weapon drawn. Her bravado how made it clear what her goal was and he simply side stepped her raging charge. As she ran past, he very casually stuck his foot out to trip her.

"KUUUUPOOOOOOO--" Followed by a loud, audible thud as the Masked Moogle fell face first into the ground and with the speed she had been charging at, she tumbled several feet away. Her mask nearly slid off from the accident as well but fortunately, she had her back to the medic and quickly adjusted it before ripping the Moogle adornment on her katana and promptly hurling it at Yimir. It made a little 'kupo' squeak and as it sailed through the air, the Masked Moogle pressed a button on her mask. Soon after, sparks of lightning began to fizz out from the ornament. If it successful in landing on the blonde, it would send him into quite a shock! Literally.   Yimir was very smug as he heard the vigilante eat it on the stone street. Not that he looked. No he turned his back and began quickly shuffling away, eager to put this odd person and their moogle obsession far behind him. This desire for an expedient exit, however, proved a poor idea. A few moments later, he sensed the electricity behind him. The hair on his tail poofed again and he yelped out loudly: "Don't taze me bro!" But, alas, Haname did not listen and the blonde was tazed. His entire body convulsed and his muscles tensed. He collapsed in a heap as the moogle adornment bounced away.

"Hehe! Watt did you think of that, kupo?!" Horrible puns are horrible. But that didn't stop the Masked Moogle. "That one was on the house, no charge! Or maybe there was a charge.. of the shocking kind, kupo!" She laughed obnoxiously and proudly at her first feat as a superhero, dishing out justice and puns in equal measure. Stepping forward, she picked up her Moogle adornment and attached it back onto her katana before reaching down to drag the shady looking medic up by the back of his scarf and attempting to snatch off his hat to get a better look at her victim.

"What's going on here!" came the call of a tall, broad hyur. A moment later two armored Brass Blades clanked around the corner and into sight. They had been drawn by the sounds of illegal justice. Yimir looked at them with grateful eyes as he wiggled away from Haname as she tried to pull his scarf away. "Officers!" Yimir wheezed. "Help! This crazy person assaulted me!"

"Officers! I'm just doing my due diligence here in helping enforce the law, kupo!" The Masked Moogle claimed, loosening her hold on the scarf though she didn't quite let go of Yimir yet. "There was some criminal activity here, kupo! Arrest this Mi'qote!" Gohan floated itself around, adjusting its hat. "And if worst comes to worst, kupo, officers will make some nice bail money!" The plush piped in.

The hyur and lalafel looked at the scene, then one another, then the two unaware family members. They drew swords and pointed those pointed ends at duo. "Alright you weirdos. I don't know if you are Quicksand fuck buddies or fighting for gil or what, but both of you, drop your weapons, put you your hands in the air, and we'll go down to the station and sort this all out nice and easy. Sound good?" Yimir did not think that sounded good. Not at all. Seriously. He'd just gotten a big ol' Yakuza tattoo on his arms and was willing to wager things would not go well for him. Especially seeing as this was technically terf belonging to a different 'Little Star' and might rub some of his superiors the wrong way, supposing he lasted long enough for word to get out. Brass Blades did have their reputation after all.

"Officers, you got it wrong, kupo! I'm a good person, kupo!" The Masked Moogle threw her hands up defensively. Somehow, she knew it'd go something like this. After all, she had dealt with plenty of Blades before, on Frandrin's payroll or not. And with this knowledge, she knew this would not go down well. She quickly gave another whistle and suddenly, crashing down from the rooftops came a Magitek motorbike. It vroomed and roared and she hopped onto it without a second thought and promptly zoomed off, leaving the Mi'qote to fend for himself.

Yimir covered his head as the Brass Blades threw themselves aside as the bike slammed down onto the earth. A roar of the engines and a moment later the mysterious kupo crusader was gone. Yimir, coughed as a blast of moogle exhaust hit him as he got to his feet. He took a few steps when one of the Blades blew a whistle. The young miqo'te groaned as he turned and waved his hands. A powerful sleep spell slammed into both Blades. But it was too late. Even as the pair of Blades fell over in a heap, the sounds of incoming boots could be heard. Eager to not be here when the Blades arrived, the blonde took off down a long hallway that entered the palace. Soon, the male vanished among the many long, weaving corridors, left only to dwell upon his very strange evening and the very strange silly person out hunting down criminals.

[kaoruyogi]

How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 21)

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content!

Check it out on AO3!

You’d think a video game lawyer could just drop into a pseudo-medieval universe filled with magic and demons and be totally okay with it, right?

Nah.

In the wake of her brother, Spencer’s, disappearance, Belle dropped into Thedas with luggage, but without a clue. After a brief but memorable panic attack, she resolved to be the best goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. Even if she was the only goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. And even if that obstinate asshole, Cullen, wouldn’t stop giving her the side-eye every time she walked into a room…Or every time he walked into a room with her in it…Or every time they walked into a room together…Or–Fuck it. You get it.

Chapter 21: Nerves of Shit

A person might have been persuaded to believe that when the Inquisition defeated Corypheus, there would be less work. This person might have been persuaded by those around them, or they might have persuaded themselves. This person would never really know who had been quite so convincing.

Belle might have been this person. She’d been certain that there would be less work dropped onto her desk in the month following Corypheus’s defeat. If anything, she thought the work load might be about the same. It might break even, at best. Never in her wildest speculations did she imagine that her workload would nearly double.

Since Max had returned victorious from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, requests and demands from the Thedosian nobility began flooding into Belle’s office, piling higher and higher every day. And she only got half of them. Nobles from Rivain to Tevinter to the Anderfells began pressing the Inquisition for its involvement or abstention in matters to the north, and every arranged marriage on the entire continent seemed to require some official decree or sanction to sustain its validity. So much work hit Belle’s desk that it was becoming difficult to see even an inch of the dark wood grain that held it all up.

Belle was not the only one for whom the work continued to multiply. Max was still needed all over Orlais and Ferelden, as rifts continued to open and darkspawn began popping up in both expected and unexpected places. Belle never really garnered a full understanding of darkspawn, only the gist that they were unnatural and bad, like sentient zombies. Within several weeks of his victory, Max was already on his way to someplace called “the Deep Roads” to help investigate the cause of a number of unusual earthquakes. He wasn’t a geologist, and he didn’t even know what tectonic plates were—not that Belle was such an expert, but, having lived in Southern California her entire life, she knew a thing or two—so she couldn’t understand why he, of all people, just had to be there.

Leliana had been elected Divine, which Belle surmised was the Thedosian pope, but she still had her fingers in every kind of pie under the sun while her transition was underway. When it came to shifts in social issues, mysterious deaths, or colossal religious reform, one needed look no further for a source than Leliana, or Divine Victoria, as she was to be called. Josephine was just as busy as Belle, dealing with the other half of the deluge of requests and demands. Cassandra embarked on a furious letter-writing campaign to rebuild her order of not-Templars-but-kind-of, the Seekers of Truth. Sera flitted in and out of Skyhold like a devious hummingbird with all her Red Jenny business, occasionally dragging Dagna along with her. Varric turned down bi-weekly requests to return to Kirkwall, and from what little Belle knew of the place, she couldn’t blame him. Cullen went to Edgehall to help the locals establish a new city guard in the wake of a massive pseudo-political upheaval.

The Arl of Edgehall had died, thereafter leaving several interested parties to engage in about ten or twelve years’ worth of infighting and shenanigans that left the Edgelhall Arling without a clear Arl. Hundreds of people died, walls rose and fell, and orphans were misappropriated. In the end, all it took to settle the region was a little elbow grease from Belle, Josie, and Leliana and a series of witty, dad-joke-filled missives to and from King Alistair. A new Arl was appointed with deference to work done to aid Ferelden and the Inquisition, and everyone seemed satisfied with the choice.

Cullen only agreed to help set up the city guard in person after Max did everything short of issuing a signed order. It should have been done by the locals, Cullen contended in his protests. They understood the needs of the people. But Max was dead set on presenting support from the Inquisition after all the organization had done to stabilize the Arling. Cullen begged Belle to accompany him before he left, and he made some good points in his pleas. There was still a little unrest in Edgehall, and it would serve everyone’s interests to have an attaché from the Inquisition visit with the new Arl while Cullen helped with the guard. Belle’s justification for staying was stronger. She had too much work to do in Skyhold. A heavy workload was Cullen’s kryptonite, his opposing element. It never failed to snuff out his resistance in a dispute.

He went to Edgehall without her, dragging his metaphorical feet the whole way. He planned to stay for ten days, though Belle persuaded him that he could stay longer if the new Guard Captain needed help after that.

Belle hadn’t convinced him to go because she wanted him gone. She wanted him near her, but she knew beyond her own desires that he needed to go for the good of the Inquisition and the people of Edgehall. They deserved a city guard trained by the best. Cullen was the best. When he left she smiled and waved him out of the portcullis, miserable as she watched him take a piece of her away. Her heart in his saddlebag. He wrote every evening so she would wake up to his letters, and she wrote every morning so he could fall asleep with hers. It was sweet and disgusting, according to Cassandra and Dorian.

Adding to Belle’s daily misery, on top of the crushing workload and the faraway boyf—partn—Cullen, her MP3 player’s battery finally gave out. It died four days after Cullen left, and Belle panicked. On a strange and silly kind of instinct, she rummaged through the months-untouched luggage encapsulating her former life, seeking her charger. School House Rock and Little Mermaid graphic tees and pair upon pair of yoga pants and denim jeans flew around the room amid her frenzy. Her charger was nowhere to be found. Not only was the micro USB cord missing, but every cord she’d packed seemed to have grown legs and meandered off. Her laptop power brick and cables were missing. Every wall and cigarette lighter plug was gone. Every tiny micro USB or USB-C cable and every miniscule adapter was lost. Belle crumpled and cried that morning. She cried for too long over the deprivation of menial things she could no longer use and could no longer have used. She returned to her duties after a brief eternity, puffy-eyed and lonely, and her paperwork swallowed her for another four days.

She was reading over the fiftieth or hundredth or seventeen billionth marriage contract to cross her desk when her door creaked open. She’d lost track of the time, and a rumble of her stomach led her to believe that someone might have brought her lunch. She flicked a glance at the door with a modicum of hope lifting her spirits only to see Jim standing in the opening. His bland face wore a bland expression of bland trepidation, and Belle’s shoulders drooped. She had come to expect nothing of import from the scout, and he had always delivered.

“Leave whatever it is right here,” said Belle as she placed an absent hand on the lowest pile of papers. Her incoming and outgoing document stacks stood in mismatched heaps in jarring favor of the former.

As she resumed her writing, Jim said something that she assumed was inconsequential, until “Rutherford” and “here” interspersed with the rest of his nothing words. She perked up at Cullen’s surname, though it was unlike Jim to refer to him in such a way.

“He’s back?” Belle set down her quill pen and flexed her hand. She ran her thumb over the groove on the last knuckle of her ring finger in a futile attempt to smooth it away. “He didn’t say anything about coming back early.”

“N-No, my lady. I said that the Rutherfords are here. In the courtyard.”

“Rutherfords?” She overenunciated the S to the point that it sounded like a series of Zs. “Plural?”

“Yes, ma’am. The Rutherfords are here. Your brother is greeting them, since he and his men were training in the courtyard when they arrived.”

“What?” The word came out long, low, and dumb. Jim fidgeted in the doorway. “Rutherfordzzz?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Belle’s expression dipped between perplexed and worried as she stood. She walked toward Jim, knowing she could see most of the courtyard from a spot on the battlements behind him. He opened his mouth, but a flippant wave of her hand and a vague shush shut it for him. Her fingers came to rest in star shapes in a low, rough crenellation.

In the courtyard, someone stood in the way only a twenty-three-year-old, too smart for his own good or anyone else’s, easy breezy brother of hers could stand. Across from him milled a sea of golden blonde curls in varying lengths and styles in front of a two-horse wagon. Two women and a man, cloaked and beleaguered, smiled as they opened and closed their mouths at Spencer. The shorter of the women turned to a man with dark hair and the two miniature humans tucked at his sides. The man reached over to clasp arms with Spencer. Another miniature human, bigger than the other two, emerged from the golden blonde sea with a mop of curls to match his full-sized counterparts.

Belle knew their names without hearing the introductions underway below. The tallest of them was Branson, Cullen’s younger brother. From this distance, they could have been the same man. The miniature human beside him was his son, Alden, born of a mother who died in the days following his birth. The tallest woman was Cullen’s youngest sister, Rosalie. She beamed, making wide gestures at the grandiosity of Skyhold all around her. Then there was Cullen’s older sister, Mia. She smiled a polite and tepid smile, though her head swung about from time to time. Her husband, Marcus, clutched their son, Owen, who had dark hair to match his father’s. Marcus also restrained their daughter, Dawn, by her tiny hand while she attempted to run off to explore, as four-year-old little girls were wont to do.

“Shit,” said Belle under her breath. She marched back into her office, fussing with her hair. “Fuck.” She fussed with her clothes, tugging and smoothing away imagined wrinkles until the garment no longer held its natural shape. “Oh my God. Shit.” She fussed with her neck, digging her ugly, naked nails into the flesh above her high collar while she tried to think of a way out of the inevitable situation into which she was about to be forced.

“M-My lady?”

“Fuck!” She jerked. She’d forgotten Jim. There he stood, staring at the nervous wreck of a woman she’d become in less than a two minute span of silence. Her nerves of steel had gone to shit. Nerves of shit.

“He’s not here,” she said. “They’re here, and he’s not here. I don’t know them. I don’t know if they know about me. What the fuck, dude?” Her voice went whiny, and she stamped her feet. She hated herself in these states of peevish fretfulness. “I’m so bad with siblings. I’m great with parents because, well, I mean, hello? Shit. I-I’m halfway to smart and I don’t have any crazy piercings or anything, and, like, how much more can you hope for at first sight, right? But I’m, like, never as cool as the siblings. They always think I’m a nerd. Big ol’ dork. Shit! And I’m dressed all weird…” She swept her outstretched hands over herself in demonstration. “But I look okay today, right? I look okay?”

“You look l-lovely, ma’am.” The sweat on Jim’s palms became obvious with the manner in which he opened and closed his gloved hands in front of him.

“Thank you. I don’t know why I’m asking you. This is stupid. I’m being stupid. I mean, I should just go down there, right? Just go down. Just, like, introduce myself, right? Yeah. Okay.”

Without waiting for another unnecessary word from her accidental sounding board, Belle exited her office through the door she used to get to the kitchen. Cartoon tires screeched in her ears when she stopped a few feet from her tower and pivoted to run back inside. She tore a piece of parchment and set to scribbling.

I know what I said. Come home NOW. Family’s here.

Belle rolled the paper up with the flat of her hand against the desk. She handed the small tube she’d made to Jim, who still stood dumbfounded in her doorway. “Get this to the Commander, ASAP.” She said it like she always said it. Ey-sap. Again, she made for the courtyard. Quiet stretched its vacuous fingers from where she left Jim. “That means now. I don’t hear your fucking feet moving.”

“Ah! R-Right away my lady!” His shuffling feet left a momentary respite in their wake. Cullen would be home soon. He would be there with his family, and he would sing Belle’s praises to his siblings, and they wouldn’t think she was a big ol’ dork.

Nerves and hunger mixed in her stomach, forming noisy butterflies to nauseate her. She had a terrible look on her face while she half-trudged toward Cullen’s family. She thought of all the things she should say, all the things she shouldn’t day, and all the things she didn’t understand. She settled on a simple greeting and hoped the milieu would drum up appropriate topics of conversation.

Belle was not an inconspicuous person. Red hair and a wardrobe composed of bright colors made her less than subtle. She could not sneak up on people from anywhere in their line of sight. It came as no surprise when the Rutherfords spied her coming from halfway across the courtyard. They watched her with furtive glances, still giving their halfhearted attention to whatever Spencer was saying to kill time.

Once they deemed Belle close enough, Rosalie was the first to break with social protocol. She turned her full gaze and her full body toward Belle. Belle smiled, casual as she was able, and waved. “Hi. I’m—”

“Belle!” Rosalie almost shrieked. She squealed as she ran the few short steps toward Belle with her arms outstretched. Belle grunted at the impact of their bodies, and she laughed out of an uneasy blend of amusement and compulsion.

“Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” said Rosalie, squeezing Belle’s body in a vicelike grip too firm for someone her size. “Oh, I’m so happy! Oh!” Rosalie released Belle to hold them apart at arm’s length. “You are Belle, right? I would feel so terribly stupid if you weren’t Belle. It’s just you have red hair and I could only assume—Oh, but the Nightingale—the new Divine—has red hair too, doesn’t she? Are you the Nightingale? The Divine? Oh dear, I—”

Belle laughed again, this time out of relief. “I’m Belle. You had it right the first time, don’t worry.”

Rosalie squealed again and bounced, sending her long blonde curls into the air for a split second before she wrapped Belle up once more. “Ah, Belle! It is you! Thank the Maker!” Rosalie did not sound like her brother. Her dialect, if Belle had to place it, sounded more like Sera’s.

“It’s very nice to meet you, too. You must be Rosalie, right?”

The youngest Rutherford sibling pulled away again, aghast. “Oh no, I forgot to introduce myself. Ohhh…” She fretted and shook her head. “I’m so sorry. Yes. Rosalie Rutherford.” She released Belle altogether to curtsey. She took Belle’s hand in the way someone must have told her women of high society take other women’s hands. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Dolan.”

Belle curtseyed in answer, a gesticulation she’d never liked much. The practice of appearing both benevolent and unyielding was made exponentially more difficult by bending. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Rutherford.”

Rosalie giggled and blushed. Though she and Cullen shared a nose and some of their expressive features, she looked most like him when she blushed. Her eyes were blue, and the rest of her face bore a delicacy foreign to the other Rutherfords. “I’m about as far from a lady as a woman can get. Nowhere near your stature. But thank you.”

It was all Belle could do not to guffaw when the young woman mentioned stature. Everything Belle had was made up to suit the needs of the Inquisition. Leliana’s suggestion that Belle’s background be left vague enough for gossip to spread was adopted without argument. Rumors flew about her being the bastard daughter of King Maric, half-sister to King Alistair. Some people assumed she was the last child of a noble house in the Free Marches, adopted by a new family to keep her safe from the murderous intent of the unknown assailant still at large in Thedas. The Inquisition did nothing to quiet this scuttlebutt, and not even the drunkest noble would forget his manners enough to ask.

Rosalie’s blue eyes widened. “Oh!” She turned and waved behind her, motioning for the rest of the family to join them. “This is my brother, Branson,” she said.

Branson leaned forward, took Belle’s hand, and kissed her knuckles. Belle pressed her lips together to stop the amalgam of emotions from flying out of her face. He also had blue eyes, and they watched her as he stood. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Dolan.” His voice was like Cullen’s, but not like Cullen’s. The pitch and cadence were different, and he had the same dialect as Rosalie.

Branson ushered his son forward. There might as well have been neon lights flashing over the kid’s head, buzzing and screaming their proclamation. This was what Cullen looked like when he was nine years old.

“This is my son, Alden,” said Branson.

Alden had an endearing confidence about him. Swagger. He mimicked his father, taking up Belle’s hand and kissing it. “Pleasure to meet you, my lady.” He bowed too deep, wobbling a little to keep his feet beneath him.

Belle bit back a grin and gave him an exaggerated bow in return. “I’m very pleased to meet you, too, Ser Alden.” The boy snorted. “And you, Branson.” The father smirked. Belle looked anywhere but at that smirk.

“This is our sister, Mia,” said Rosalie.

Mia stepped to the forefront, the matriarch of all that remained of the Rutherford family. Her married surname was Welles, but her face and build ensured she could never be mistaken for anyone but a Rutherford. Despite being shorter than Rosalie, Mia was by no means a short woman. Her hair hung behind her in a braid that peeked out from behind her cloak when she curtseyed. The movement was not a practiced one. Mia held none of the puffery or bluster displayed by her siblings. She had a fire and a humor in her chestnut eyes and a boldness in her carriage that communicated to anyone looking at her that she had seen what the world had to provide to people in her position, and she was undaunted.

“I’m glad to finally meet the woman who’s stolen my brother’s heart away,” said Mia in a voice more robust than her sister’s. She had a coyness in her grin that set Belle at ease by a small margin. She swept Belle into a gentler hug than Rosalie had provided.

“I’m thrilled to meet the sister that helped shape the man whose heart I may or may not have stolen away,” said Belle. The two women shared a short laugh, and Mia backed away.

“This is my husband, Marcus.” Marcus shook Belle’s hand, and they exchanged pleasantries. “And these are my children, Owen and Dawn.”

Owen had his father’s hair and his mother’s nose. That Rutherford nose. It unified the family, leaving Marcus looking a bit out of place. The boy took her hand and bowed a little. Belle appreciated the gesture from the shyest of the young cousins.

Dawn, every inch of her the picture of her namesake, tottered up to Belle. She looked back at her father for approval. When he nodded, she said in the smallest caricature of a little girl’s voice, “It’s nice to meet you. Do you want to be friends?”

Belle melted. She let the flow of her newly liquid body drop her into a crouch, as close to eyelevel as she could get to the sweet girl. She put a hand on her chest in an embellished gesture of shock. “Friends? You want to be my friend? Me?” Dawn nodded. “Thank you! Let’s be best friends, okay?”

Dawn giggled like a golden windchime before slamming back into her father’s leg to grip it tight. Belle stood. “You’ve all met my brother, Knight-Captain Spencer Dolan.” Spencer thumped a fist on his chest and bowed, wide smile displaying his orthodontically perfect teeth. Belle remembered that smile studded with silver braces and lime green rubber bands, somehow still charming.

“Yes,” said Rosalie. A timid and predatory grin took hold of her expression, all too familiar on the faces of people looking at Spencer. “We’ve had the pleasure.”

Belle rolled her eyes to herself. “He told you that Cullen’s not here, then?”

“Yup,” said Spencer. “I told them he’s in Edgehall on Inquisition business. I also told them I’d be happy to keep them company until he gets back.” He pointed his smile at Rosalie.

Belle rolled her eyes at him then. “Thanks a heap. I just wrote to him before I came down, and he should be back sometime tomorrow. I’m sure you’re all exhausted and probably about as hungry as I am right now. If it’s okay with you, I can have someone get your things and stable your horses, and I can take you to your rooms.”

“Rooms?” asked Mia. She overenunciated the S to the point that it sounded like a series of Zs, and Belle smiled.

“Yes.”

*****

“This is too grand,” said Mia, neck craned as her eyes fluttered over the intricate details of the room Belle chose for her and her husband. A Bann vacated only days before, and it was rather grand, indeed. Belle placed Branson and Rosalie in somewhat smaller rooms nearby, and they seemed happy enough for the space.

“It’s just grand enough, in my opinion,” said Belle. “You came a long way, and you’re on vacation.” She sang the final word, coupling the impromptu tune with her vacation hands—loose cha-cha fists swung in time with a couple awkward bobs of her head. Marcus snorted, and Mia looked at her like she was nuts. Owen had already taken a seat by the massive window and opened a tired book, and Dawn ran in itty bitty circles over the round rug in front of the fireplace.

Belle began to second guess her impulse to give the Rutherfords the finest the Inquisition had to offer. She’d done something like this before, and she watched an entire family shift its estimation of her from sweet to snobby. Buying a block of rooms in Las Vegas, a place Belle abhorred for nearly every reason people loved it, so her boyfriend’s family would be happy had backfired. They didn’t understand the gesture or her reason for making it. It wasn’t meant to show them that she had so much money or so much privilege that she could do something extravagant, but to show that she was willing to spend so much or use her pull to make them feel special.

“We can’t accept such generosity,” said Mia, too serious for Belle’s comfort.

“Well, I-I could only put you in so many places, and I won’t have you sleeping in the servants’ quarters or the barracks. I just—I meant no offense. I just wanted to show you how important it is to me that you feel comfortable with us. You came a long way, and you’re Cullen’s family. Hence—” Belle put her hands up, helpless against her own logic. “Grand.”

“But we don’t want special treatment. If this room is needed—if we’re displacing someone of greater importance, that is—we’d be happy to sleep elsewhere.”

“No, no, no. You’re not displacing anyone. And if you were, well, frankly, most of these people could stand to be taken down a peg or two. In any case, you are important. You’re very important, and I want you to be as comfortable as I can help you be while you’re in our home, as big and weird as that sounds. I won’t force you to stay in this room, but I’d be grateful if you would.”

“I like it in here,” said Owen. His voice was soft, but his tone was firm. Hallmarks of a boy who was an introvert not because he disliked people or because they made him nervous, but because he believed nothing should be said when it didn’t need to be said. His uncle hadn’t had a hand in raising him, but he’d turned out a bit like the man anyway.

Marcus cleared his throat. “We’d be delighted to oblige, Lady Dolan.” He gave her a cheeky bow. Belle smiled.

“You’re sure?”

“We are.” Marcus said it. Mia didn’t look it.

“Awesome. And please call me Belle. I still have a bit of work left to finish for the day. Do you mind if I send someone up with some lunch for you when I stop off in the kitchen?”

“Send someone up?” asked Mia. The couple glanced at each other.

“Yeah.” Belle was already walking out of the room, her urge to flee betraying itself in her harried strides. “Yeah, I’ll just have someone bring something up in a couple minutes. I’ll let you get settled for a little while, but I’ll be back for dinner. Okay? I’ll see you in a bit.” The door closed behind her, and her gut fell into her feet.

She fucked it up. Fucked it all up. She was certain as she walked down to the kitchen to make a sandwich and have food sent to Cullen’s siblings that she’d done everything she could to fuck it all up. They hated her. They had to. She was a spaz and a half. Who could abide a spaz and a half, especially a spaz and a half that was shtuping their estranged brother? No one in their right mind, that was who.

Belle stewed in her perceived failure for the rest of the day. It made her work more tedious, it made her snippier with scouts and messengers, and it made her bowls irritable. She still felt green when she left her tower to meet the siblings for dinner. What a feather it would be in the cap of her horrid first impression if she shat herself right there at the table.

Spencer had already made his ass right at home next to Rosalie by the time Belle arrived. Belle glared at her brother as she sat, and he flared his nostrils at her in a silent wisecrack. Branson and Marcus stood when Belle moved toward the table, and sat when she sat. She did her best not to allow her queasiness to manifest on her face as dinner was served. She needed everyone to enjoy the roasted goose, not think she was trying to poison them all with fetid fowl. In their mercy, the Rutherfords ate it. They heaped meat and vegetables onto their plates and thanked Belle and the Maker for the food. Belle smiled and watched, and she took a bite or two while everyone fell into conversation.

The group’s discussion flowed easily after the first few tense moments. The topics were perfunctory, filled with surface information most of them already knew about one another. Belle and Spencer bounced off each other, as they had always done. Branson, much to Belle’s surprise, kept pace with them, matching wit for wit at every opportunity. Rosalie tittered and giggled through it all, dropping in a few key words in a few key moments. Spencer watched her too much, and Belle kicked him under the table. Her swinging feet only served to embolden her brother, however, and every time she connected, he smiled broader and charmed the youngest Miss Rutherford harder. Belle wasn’t concerned with Rosalie’s virtue. She could handle herself from what Belle knew of her. Belle was more concerned with what might happen if Cullen caught wind of their flirtations.

Across the table, Marcus and the children laughed and ate, participating in the chatter and rabble when they saw fit. Belle knew the least about Marcus at the beginning of the evening, and she knew the most about him by the end of it. He had been a member of South Reach’s city guard when the Rutherfords fled there from Honnleath. He became a farmer only after Mia agreed to marry him, which she refused to do for years because she believed her siblings were too young. Meanwhile, Branson wedded and bedded another young woman in secret, and she was pregnant within a matter of months. Marcus was quite animated when he told the story of Mia throwing up her hands and saying, “Fine, I suppose I can finally marry you,” much to the delight of her affectionate sister. Everyone at the table laughed.

Except Mia. Belle watched throughout the meal, and Mia never crossed over from courteous to jovial. She wore a lukewarm smile for two hours. She picked at her food, moving it around the plate like a child trying to convince her mother that, yes, she had eaten her broccoli. No one else seemed to notice, or no one said anything. Belle, situationally self-absorbed as she was, wondered if she had done something wrong. Maybe it was their greeting, or maybe it was the room. Maybe Mia hated goose and was too polite to say anything. Whatever the reason for Mia’s reticence, it plucked at Belle’s anxiety until she couldn’t eat either. It was all she could do not to leap up and flee the table to wreck the communal privies.

The party parted with cordial farewells. Belle prayed to God and whoever else might be listening that Cullen could repair whatever she had done to offend Mia. She returned to her tower dejected and ill, despite the seeming success of the dinner. She set about the work she’d shirked to meet the siblings and dine with them, and she worked until the growling in her gut shifted from sickly to hungry and a headache began to blossom in her right temple. It was late enough that the cooks and kitchen workers would be gone for the night, so she made her way across the battlements and down the stone steps. The brisk night air cooled her airways with each breath, and the cold splintered and spread to her nerve endings to make her shiver once. She enjoyed the sensation. It made her feel tangible.

A small gasp startled her when she opened the kitchen door. She jumped, bringing one hand to her chest and bracing the other on the table beside her to keep from falling. Mia hovered over a semi round loaf of bread with a large knife sticking out of it. One of her hands sat on her chest, the other braced against the table. The two women stared at each other for a moment, eyes wide and bodies mirrored, until they let out a cumulative breath.

“I’m sorry,” they said, their voices overlapping.

“I’m sorry,” Mia said again. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I know I shouldn’t be here, I only—I can leave if—”

“No, no! Please stay. I just came down to do what it looks like you’re doing. Do you mind if I have a slice?”

“Of course not. It’s the Inquisition’s bread, after all.”

Mia cut the loaf and handed a piece to Belle before taking one for herself. They bit into the dark and doughy bread in unison, each chewing in silence. Belle distracted herself with the flavors rolling over her tongue and with thoughts of why she’d never liked pumpernickel before coming to Thedas.

“I have trouble eating food I didn’t have at least a hand in making,” said Mia. “I’m not accustomed to being served.”

Belle hadn’t considered that. It occurred to her then that she hadn’t considered much in the way of how Mia must have felt. She and her husband, children, brother, sister, and nephew had all made the journey from South Reach to Skyhold with the probable intent of seeing Cullen. They’d left their lives that were so different from Belle’s only to be greeted by a stranger upon their arrival and left alone in strange rooms that must have been alien when compared to the repose of their family home. Belle knew the feeling too well, and her guilt weighed heavier for it.

“I had trouble eating when I first got here, too,” said Belle. “It took a while for me to get used to it.”

“But I’d imagine you’re well accustomed to eating food prepared by other people. I feel silly even bringing it up.”

Belle recalled four star restaurants, then she recalled McDonald’s. “Not in the way you’d think. Don’t feel silly, though. I feel terrible for not even thinking about it. That was really thoughtless and ignorant of me. I apologize.”

“Oh no, don’t feel bad. It’s only—” Mia paused for a long while. She looked at the floor as if the words she’d thought to say had fallen onto the smooth cobble. “You know, I thought I had a good idea when I told everyone we should come and surprise Cullen. It’s been so many years since we’ve seen him, and he was finally writing more, and the Inquisition did so much to keep us safe. Perish the thought that he might not have wanted to see us or, Maker forbid, that he might actually be away when we arrived. Such is the nature of surprises, I suppose. Surprises and my silly, stubborn brother.”

“I know he would have wanted to be here. He loves you all very much. He’s been talking about when we might have time to come and visit you.”

Mia smiled. “He loves you too, you know. He writes about you more than he writes about himself sometimes. I suppose that’s why Rosalie thought she knew you so well.”

“She probably does.” Belle laughed, and Mia’s smile widened. For the first time since they’d met, peace settled over them. “I should have been more hospitable when you arrived. It’s just I’ve been overloaded with work since Max—I mean the Inquisitor killed Corypheus. That and I was terrified none of you would like me without Cullen here to sort of soften the blow of…well, me, I guess.”

“Nonsense.” Mia spoke with her mouth full before shuffling some of the chewed bread to the side. “You’ve been very hospitable. You’ve already fed us twice. Three times.” She held up what was left of her slice of bread. “And you gave us nicer rooms than we ever thought we’d see in our entire lives. The room you put us in is nearly the size of our entire house! It’s a bit daunting, honestly. How does one person take up all that space?”

“I think their egos take up most of the space.”

Mia chuckled. It was a pleasant sound that reminded Belle of Cullen’s laugh. Three soft chuckles, lined up and spread out. “I can only imagine. But I appreciate everything you’ve done. For us and for my brother. He sounds different in his letters now than he did a year ago. Not that he was writing much a year ago. I’ve had to search halfway across Thedas for that man more than once, but this is the first time in years I’ve felt like I won’t have to do that again.”

“I’m really glad to hear you say that,” said Belle.

“So am I.”

They left the kitchen with fond good nights uttered between them. Belle’s fears, although still heightened and vibrant with every thought of every possible outcome of the rest of the visit, began to dissolve. By the time she shed her clothes and laid down for the night, she almost looked forward to the following day. Cullen would come home, and she would see the joy on his face when he reunited with his siblings and met his niece and nephews. Belle thought of all their faces, picturing them in the soft light of a Hallmark world or a holiday commercial for something other than Lexus SUVs topped with ungainly bows. They would share stories and be a family, and she would see every kind of love that Cullen had to offer. It would be beautiful.

Then Cullen would kill Spencer.

*****

[biofunmy]

Iranian Women Allowed to Attend Soccer Game for First Time Since 1981

One woman said she wanted to hug her ticket and cry. Another clasped both hands over her mouth at her first glimpse of the field’s lush green turf. Others painted flags on their cheeks and used their cellphones to document their presence.

When Iran’s national soccer team took the field on Thursday at Tehran’s Azadi stadium for an otherwise humdrum World Cup qualifier, the outsize interest in the game was not in the action on the field but on who was seated in the stands.

For the first time in almost four decades, women were allowed to buy tickets and attend a match in Iran.

“Finally,” one fan said, “the gates are open to us.”

Women started gathering at the stadium several hours before the game, and many were already in their seats two hours before kickoff. Others arrived without tickets — several warnings were issued over loudspeakers telling ticketless spectators stranded outside that they would not be able to gain entry — after the authorities limited the amount of seats available to women to a few thousand.

That made for a strange scene inside the stadium, with the one corner of the stands reserved for women packed to capacity while almost the entirety of the rest of the 78,000-seat arena remained largely empty. So new was the experience for many of the women that a small group of their colleagues was tasked with demonstrating to those in attendance — a mix of fans in Iranian colors and traditional chadors — how to chant.

The game between Iran and Cambodia would typically merit little interest as another mismatch between a regional heavyweight and an also-ran in an early qualifier for the 2022 World Cup. Iran needed only five minutes to open the scoring — celebrating only yards from the thousands of delighted women in the stands — and led by 7-0 at halftime. It ended, 14-0.

But despite its lopsided nature, the game was among the most consequential sporting events to be played in years, as it marked the end of a prohibition that had been bitterly opposed. The decision to allow women to watch came only one month after a soccer fan died after setting herself on fire in protest of a six-month prison sentence for attending a club game this year.

The ban itself dates from 1981, introduced by hard-line conservatives, and is an unwritten rule that has denied women access to stadiums since then. In recent years, it has been extended to volleyball and basketball as the popularity of those sports has grown.

Iranian women and girls have long tried to overturn — or evade — the ban by organizing weekly protests or disguising themselves as men to slip inside stadiums. While government and soccer officials were unmoved, the activism gradually grabbed the attention of international rights groups and the Iranian public. It was also the subject of a 2006 movie, “Offside,” by the famed Iranian director Jafar Panahi.

But it was the September death of the woman who set herself ablaze, Sahar Khodayari, that had the biggest impact. The news of her death at age 29 spread widely online with the help of the hashtag #bluegirl — a reference to the color of the Tehran club she supported, Esteghlal.

The outcry quickly grew to include Iranian and international soccer players. Many Iranians — including a former national team captain — called for a boycott of all soccer games until the ban on women in stadiums was lifted.

Within weeks, the president of FIFA, soccer’s global governing body, said the Iranian authorities had assured him that women would be allowed to attend international matches, beginning with the World Cup qualifier against Cambodia. For years, FIFA had avoided taking a hard line on Iran’s exclusion of women, but as public pressure increased, it left open the possibility of banning Iran, an Asian soccer powerhouse, from qualifying matches for the 2022 World Cup.

In a speech at a women’s soccer conference in Milan in September, Gianni Infantino, the FIFA president, told delegates that his organization could no longer wait.

But even as women gained access to the game, activists noted that FIFA appeared to have extracted no assurances from Iran that women would be allowed to attend future domestic matches. They also pointed out that Iranian officials had placed an arbitrary cap on the number of women who could attend Thursday’s game.

“Part of me is happy, but they have basically created a wall,” said Maryam Shojaei, the sister of Iran’s national team captain, Masoud Shojaei, and one of the leaders of the campaign to allow women into stadiums. “It’s not what we’ve been asking for. It’s not like everybody can go and sit freely with their brothers, fathers or husbands.”

While Azadi stadium holds more than 78,000 spectators, only a few thousand tickets were reserved for women. Those sold out almost as soon as they became available.

Despite the demand — and the size of the stadium, which remained largely empty on Thursday — Iranian officials made little effort to increase the allotment.

Once inside, the women were segregated from men by both empty stretches of seats and metal fencing erected around the sections reserved for women. Fans criticized the enclosure as a “cage,” and monitors kept watch on those inside. In one video posted online, a woman who had help up a sign paying tribute to Blue Girl was soon in a struggle with female police officers who had taken it down.

Minky Worden, the director of global initiatives at Human Rights Watch, who has for years lobbied FIFA to pressure Iran to lift the ban, said the soccer body should be criticized, given its failure to open the entire stadium to women.

“The women are eager to finally have the ban fall, so much so that a number of them will show up to purchase tickets at the gate and they will show up to protest,” Worden said in a telephone interview. “That creates a really unacceptable situation, an unacceptable risk.”

Still, even the limited concessions to female fans resulted in counter protests by Iranian hard-liners. One group rallied on the streets of Tehran this week holding banners denouncing what they said was capitulation in the face of pressure from the West.

The hard-liners’ opposition did little to darken the mood at the stadium, though. The fans in the women’s sections sang and chanted throughout the game, and the persistent hum of vuvuzelas — the plastic horns that are a regular feature at Iran’s games — filled in any gaps in the noise.

After the match, Iran’s captain, Masoud Shojaei, led the team to a spot in front of the sections where the women had been corralled to applaud them for coming.

Still, there were indications that easing the restrictions will take more than allowing women to attend one game. Media credentials were denied to female photographers applying to document the match, and FIFA’s Infantino released a statement in which he hailed the day as a positive step but said that he now “looks more than ever towards a future when ALL girls and women wishing to attend football matches in Iran will be free to do so, and in a safe environment.”

Those concerns about safety, and fears of arrest, kept some fans away. Expecting a large number of security forces, some activists stayed away from the game. But at least one said she was willing to take the risk.

The woman, who runs the Open Stadiums network and uses the nickname Sara to conceal her identity, left for Europe over concerns for her safety but returned to Iran this week. She said she planned to take her mother to the stadium.

“After everything we’ve been through,” she said, “I just couldn’t not go.”

Farnaz Fassihi contributed reporting.

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