#but what’s up with the tall frank illusion

[bongwateriero]

this picture is so bad for me for so many reasons

[acrazybayernfan]

heyyy bestie do you think you could pls write a lil something something for mullendowski mayhaps 😳😳

Heyyy omg of course yes, a hundred time yes !!! They are my main source of inspiration (sorry guys I'm not doing you any justice but you're my muses anyway).

So here we go !

I'm sorry for taking so much time but I'm always slow when write in english and I also got a bit carried away by my imagination (long post warning). Also i have to apologize for my english, it's so bad 🤦🏻‍♀️ However, I really hope that you'll enjoy this, it's a theme that have obsessed me for the last months so... I'm using you to free me from it : )

It was summer; the sun shinned in a perfectly blue sky, the air was hot and the ground dry. Robert was oppressed by the heat, he was barely able to breath and was suffering from a terrible headache, and yet he was letting his horse galop aimlessly in the prairies while tears were felling freely on his cheeks. Each stride of his grey stallion created a cloud of dust that enveloped them and dried his throat even more but he wouldn’t stop because all this was giving him the precious illusion of liberty. 

Was it a quarter of hour later, or only five minutes or an hour, he wasn’t able to say, but Robert entered into a wood and consequently slowed down the speed of his mount. The peace and the freshness of this world under the foliage, brought a certain to form calmness to his tormented heart and his tears of rage were replaced by soft tears of sadness, less violent but perhaps more hurtful. 

He wandered in this wood for some time, unable to see where he was going and not caring about it when, all of a sudden, his horse abruptly stopped. The shock almost making him fall but Robert was an excellent horse rider and he instinctively regained his balance. In front of him a young man was standing in the middle of a cow herd, he was tall and skinny with hair of the color of honey. 

At this moment he most unexpected thing happened, the cows suddenly bowed before Robert while his own mount was doing the same but for the attention of the young herdsman who- in front of this situation- let out a loud laugh and then slightly bowed himself but not enough to hide his amused face.

“May peace be with you, Prince Robert. What are you looking for in these remoted woods?” There was a hint of cheekiness in the young man’s voice who was manifestly pleased with the context and with himself.

Robert, on his side, was way too taken aback by all this to see the funny side of this strange encounter, so he only asked, surprised, “How do you know who I am?”

The herdsman smiled again and answered: “These cows are sacred animals of Veles’ temple, they would only react like that in front of the god or in front of one of his descendants, and the royal family members are sons of Veles, since the king only has one son then it had to be you. Plus, you do look like a prince. “

The stranger lifted up his eyes to study Robert more closely and suddenly his smile faded away, replaced by a concerned expression. The young prince had never seen such an expressive, frank and open face before; his eyes, his mouth, his cheeks…were the perfect reflect of the strong feelings of his heart and of the quickness of his wit, which gave them a unique and fascinating sort of beauty. The cowherd walked closer to the prince, still attentively observing him. “Your face is so pale, my lord. Are you unwell? You should stay here for a moment and get some rest.”

Robert hesitated, making conversation to strangers had never been one of his strong point, neither was he willing to let someone see his weakness and his sufferance, yet there was something in the look, the voice of this young man that made all resistance vain and Robert complied. He prepared himself to slide of his horse’s back when the herdsman offered him his hand to help him to get down. As the heir of the throne, he had been trained to horse riding since his childhood, he was perfectly able to get off his mount without any assistance but, nevertheless, he grabbed the other man’s hand. 

As soon as Robert’s feet were on the floor, the strange cowherd exclaimed himself: “Your hands are so cold my lord!”. And without asking for any permission he started to rub Robert’s hands between his, and to gently blow on them. The young prince could have told him that it was pointless, because he was not only a son of Veles but also, by his mother, a descendant of Marzanna, the winter goddess, and no amount of heat would ever be able to warm up his body, yet the sensation was too agreeable for him to do that. The stranger’s hands were hot, hotter than man’s hands usually are, but their hotness wasn’t aggressive, like the heat that made him suffocate, no it was soft and comforting.

After a few minutes, the handsome herdsman looked up at him with a childlike expression, almost pouting and he said, disappointed: “It’s not getting better, my lord…” Robert repressed a smile, and gently pulled back his hands. “It’s normal, no one can do anything about it, it’s the nature of my body to be cold.”

This sentence was scarcely over, that the young cowherd exclaimed himself, with the most genuine and naïve voice: “You have such beautiful eyes, my lord! They have the colour of an iced river in which the winter sky reflect itself… But why are they so red and wet? Were you crying? Why?” Since the end of his tender age, no one had ever showed so much concern for him, it was almost overwhelming, and all of a sudden, Robert felt a strong need to pour his heart out to this stranger. 

“My father wanted to beat me with his whip and then to lock me in the kitchen with a fire in the hearth to punish me and to train me, so that I will finally learn to resist to the heat, but I’m such a coward, I got scared, so I jumped on my horse and escaped.” Memories were coming back into Robert’s mind and tears appeared in his eyes again. “He was so enraged after me, so disappointed by me. I have lost a training fight…again… but the sun was so strong, my legs were shivering, I was barely able to stand on my feet, I couldn’t breathe and my head… Oh my head was hurting so much… I’m such a bad son, so useless and so we…” 

A sob stopped him. The herdsman kindly took him in his arms and forgetting all sort of etiquette, he said: “Robert you’re not weak, you lasted during the all fight even if you were sick. You’re not a coward for escaping an unfair and dangerous punishment, you just have common sense. And you’re not a bad son, he is a bad father.” The young prince let these words filled his heart like the consoling heat of the other man was filling his body. After a moment, Robert clutch his arms around the cowherd to get the strength to continue his confession. “I’m so lonely. I haven’t been able to see nor to speak to my mother since I’m eight years old. I have no friends because I don’t know to speak with men of my age. All the other persons at the castle, either despise me or are afraid of me and I… I’m so scared of my father! No matter what I do, no matter how much I try, he is never satisfied, never content, never proud of me. I’m a permanent disappointment for him.”

His companion let him weep freely for some time, then he pulled back a little and with his thumb he wiped the tears that were rolling on Robert’s cheeks. “You’re not alone anymore, I am here, I am your friend, hum?” The young prince nodded. “Look!” said the cowherd while he pointing to their surrounding “Look at how beautiful is all this. The smallest flower is already a piece of art. Look at the trees, look at the sky, look at the grass, listen to the birds… All this is a testimony that the gods are good and that life is beautiful.” The lyrism, the enthusiasm, the conviction in the young man’s voice were contagious. 

Robert took a deep breath and looked around him, he looked at all this beauty -never had the world appeared so enchanting to him- he looked at his new friend, even more beautiful than the rest, his face was enlightened by a rapturous expression and his eyes- similar to nature itself with their mix blue, and green and brown- were shining with admiration. At that moment the young prince was hit by the nobleness of the other man’s feature. “Who are you?” asked-he, speaking almost unconsciously.

“My name is Thomas, and just Thomas. I don’t have a surname, I don’t know what is my family, my clan, nor do I don’t know where do I come from. The priest of Veles’ temple, found me one day in this wood when I was a baby, and since then I have worked for him in the sanctuary.”

“Are you happy?” Robert would have been unable to explain why he asked that, perhaps was it because of the different between Thomas’ attitude and the sad story he had just tell. 

The beautiful herdsman smiled, a complex smile that Robert didn’t fully understood and then he turned himself toward the young prince, he looked at him in the eyes and said: “Today? Yes I am.” At that moment, the wind made the foliage dance above their heads and an unexcepted sunray landed on Thomas, making his messy hair shine like gold, encircling his face in a halo of light. It was an epiphany for Robert, he had seen that person before on tapestries and sculptures, he had even seen him in his dreams, this young man was Jaryło, or a son of Jaryło, god of spring and summer.

Robert smiled back at Thomas and he agreed to his friend words with a nod, now he was happy too, he was happy because now he knew that their fates were intertwined together and that no matter what -despite his father, despite the distance between them- they were going to meet each other again. 

[sunnykeysmash]

I haven't ever been sure what to make if clip show so I'd love to hear your thoughts about why it's in Dennis's head. And other than the inception reference, why doesn't the top stop spinning?

Okay, this is gonna be long, so I'm gonna have to divide it in sections. This is all obviously my own opinion, feel free to disagree (obligatory disclaimer).

I'll treat these sections sort of like layers, going from the ones that are most on the outside, the cosmetic observations, and slowly get more into the episode itself and my own thoughts. So, here goes.

1. The promotional art

Pretty self explanatory, but the episode was promoted with this drawing.

There are two main school of thoughts about this episode from what I've seen, with valid arguments on both parts. "It's all in Charlie's mind", and "It's all in Dennis' mind".

The drawing is done by Charlie, so technically this can go either way, but notice that the action depicted takes place in Dennis' head.

Other points towards the "it's all in Charlie's head" side that I've seen have been that he manipulates the space by having two of himself, he's the one opening the door at the end and looking up. And these are really valid, so I can't in good conscience say 100% it's one or the other, BUT...

2. The framing

Dennis is being centered here, as the only one behind the counter with the gang on opposite side, they're all gathered around him, with Mac (conveniently?) sitting at the counter, nearer but still not behind the "barrier" of the counter.

He looks like he's being singled out as protagonist just from where he's placed. Then again, it's noteworthy to add that Charlie is at the center of his own side. He's also the one who'll confront Dennis later.

3. Change of position

When said second Charlie enters, Dennis finally comes out from behind the counter, and aside from Charlie, is the only character who substantially moves from his initial position on camera. As far as I remember, Dee, Frank and Mac never even get up (well, aside from Dee falling and then getting ice off-camera). I will get more into why I think this is important in a second, for now just keep it in mind.

4. Grounding and inconsistencies

When Dennis attempts to bring everyone back into reality, the same time-section where he later on will be accused of "attempting to change reality" by "having Mac not live with him", he himself actually first breaks the illusion that they're in reality by questioning Dee about the cut on her forehead.

Now, if Dennis was actually attempting to manipulate reality on purpose, instead of simply losing sight of it, he wouldn't have done that. He would've kept his mouth shut. Instead, this happens: Dennis asks about where the cut went, is confused about what's real and thus attempts to orient himself by asking questions that are supposed to have static answers in his mind.

The questions he poses are as follows:

To Frank: Are you tall and handsome with a full head of hair?

To Charlie: Is the waitress in love with you?

To Dee: Are you a successful actress?

And to Mac: Are you my roommate?

These are the questions Dennis chooses that he believes will have the most obvious and easily determinable answer, the ones whose status stays pretty much unchanged, the ones with the most static answer possible, the ones that determine reality. Not only that, but questions that reflect the receiver's strongest desires and wishes. Something they would think worthwhile to alter reality for.

And when Mac answers "No, of course not", Dennis' immediate interpretation of it is, "there you go, we are in Mac's head." So if the answer is anything but a "yes", then they MUST not be in reality... according to Dennis.

But back up a second... how could we be in Mac's head according to Dennis? We - the audience - are very aware of how painfully in love Mac is with Dennis. But Dennis is not, not post ND at least. So for him, the answer to "are you my roommate?" is supposed to always be "yes" in reality, and he thinks it's Mac that would want otherwise.

Dennis is certainly not altering reality on purpose here, or he wouldn't have asked any question whatsoever. But he thinks Mac doesn't want to be his roommate.

That's a very Dennis centric way of interpreting things post ND.

Not to mention he gets basically overwhelmed by the gang (or what they represent in his mind) asking "Everyone knows that the most annoying person in the world is Mac, so why would you ever want to live with him?" and instead of answering, which he can't since I interpret this is literally him processing complex feelings about the recent events in his mind (more on this later!), everyone gets booted out and back into "reality". Which isn't reality, because as you mentioned, the top keeps spinning, because the entire episode takes place inside someone's mind, and we are just back to a normal basis of it.

"But hold on" I hear you counter, "yes we were in Dennis' head in this specific segment, but how does this say anything about the rest?" and to that I say, good question, let me proceed.

5. Importance and subjectivity in memory altering

As Dennis futilely attempts to ground everyone (and himself) constantly by trying to keep facts straight, reality itself, which we know is still not reality but rather the inside someone's mind, doesn't really reflect what's true.

The gang insists they don't remember Dennis leaving for North Dakota.

Pretty hurtful thing to hear... except we know it's not the truth.

From The Gang Makes Paddy's Great Again:

MAC: "I was super sad about my old roommate leaving, and you said I needed something Dennis-shaped to fill my hole."

CINDY: "No, Mac, I said that you obviously had a Dennis-shaped hole in your life that you needed to fill."

MAC: "How is that not the same thing?"

CINDY: "Okay, I obviously wanted you to, I don't know, maybe start dating or do something, not get a sex doll of your best friend."

DEE: "No, not best friend."

CHARLIE: "Oh, whoa, whoa. Yeah, sorry, not best friend."

DEE: "He didn't like him much. He left him a contact number for where he was gonna be in North Dakota, but it ended up being a mental health line."

CHARLIE: "Yeah."

MAC: "He miswrote one of the digits, and that..."

CHARLIE: "Naaah, he knew what he was doing."

FRANK: "He was avoiding him."

From The Gang Gets New Wheels:

DENNIS: "All those questions that you've got for me about what's going on, go ahead and ask them to me now. You want to ask me if I'm gonna stay or if I'm gonna go."

CHARLIE: "I don't care. Do you?"

DEE: "I mean, it doesn't really..."

DENNIS: "I may go back. Yeah."

FRANK: "Okay."

DENNIS: "So, you guys want to ask me questions about my family."

MAC: "I don't."

So clearly, the take away here is they do remember, they just don't care to bring it up. And who would interpret the second as the first?

The same person who misremembers leaving for North Dakota twice. In fact, that is the only memory to be altered twice. So clearly, it's a memory on which has been placed great importance... by Dennis. The gang saying they don't remember Dennis leaving reflects his feelings on how they reacted to it more closely than the reality of it (which is that they don't care, not that they don't remember, an excuse his brain is making up to cope with it).

And since the gang doesn't care, they also wouldn't bother altering the memory of him leaving twice.

This also explains the belief that Mac doesn't want to be his roommate, as the whole episode is him trying to process everything related to North Dakota. The same way Dennis thinks they don't remember, and this belief bleeds into their reactions, so does he think that Mac didn't stop him because he doesn't actually want to live with him, and that he (Mac) would go as far as to alter reality to make that happen. Once the table is turned on him, he can't answer "why do you want to live with him?".

Because he's not altering any of this on purpose, it's happening on its own as he fails to process the reality.

Additionally, the gang remembers stuff that only Dennis would know about, I'm talking about the doctor which Dennis actually SAYS was just "a figment of his imagination", so how can THEY know about him?

6. Charlie's Double Life

And finally, the core of it all in my opinion. Those two times where I said "more on this later"? This is later.

The two Charlie's presented to us actually represent Dennis' attempt to process, and failure to reconcile, his two lives. Brian, with the child and the girl. Dennis, with Mac, his roommate.

He thinks he can't have both and has to make this impossible choice between the two. They actually are both "selves" that represent him, but he can't reconcile them, as they are two distinct identities that to him exist separately and actively negate each other.

It's clear to me that the episode is blurring things between Charlie and Dennis on purpose, and this whole debate of "is it in Charlie's head?" "is it in Dennis' head?" was crafted pretty much on purpose.

Anyway, seeing the second Charlie enter is the only thing that gets Dennis to exit the confines of the counter, further showing its significance to him.

DENNIS: "You know what, we're in [Frank's] head right now. That's why Charlie was talking about wanting to go back to living with him."

FRANK: "It's insane; Charlie already went back to living with me."

This is presenting us with a situation that pretty much represents Dennis to a T but... not so much Charlie! I don't even think Charlie moved out for any significant amount of time?? Nor did anything about the Waitress being pregnant get brought up past Dennis' Double Life when they attempted to have a child, and by the time Clip Show happens we know it has been a year, thanks to Big Game being a flashback to a year back, with Dennis already absent.

It can't be Charlie wishing he actually had a child with her, because already in DDL and Great Again he is fed up with her attention. Not to mention, at this point in time he would supposedly know the information of whether the Waitress ended up pregnant or not. He also wouldn't imagine all of this to make Frank jealous, because he has no reason to.

It also can't be Frank, because as far as we know, they are currently living together, him and Charlie.

I mean, if there is one person who hasn't been around and would be unsure of whether the Waitress ended up pregnant or not (outside of the audience, which still didn't know at that point, either), it would be Dennis. Whether she is or isn't is not really relevant to the purpose of the scene though, imo.

Because watching his own situation through someone else is probably what Dennis is doing here.

To me, the entire episode makes much more sense if we consider all of it as happening inside Dennis' mind, and as being his growing attempt to process and rationalize complex feelings, such as, in order:

Why doesn't anyone care that I left? ("they don't remember")

What do I really want? ("live with my kid or with my roommate?" he wants both, hence the two Charlies)

Why didn't Mac stop me? ("he doesn't want to be my roommate"; —additionally "Why didn't the gang stop me?" since he also imagines that, which anyway goes back to "they don't remember")

Why did I want him to stop me? (aka "Why do I want to live with him?", he is unable to rationalize this one, despite being cornered by the entire gang, which now I can mention are representing his own internal debate, so he gets booted out of the alteration before he can answer and instead lands on the usual "mac is annoying, I don't actually want to live with him, I was trying to make it stop by leaving" which we know isn't true but it's what he believes to cope)

New Wheels showed us that leaving for ND was a situation which impacted Dennis deeply:

DENNIS: "I know that a lot has been on your minds these last couple weeks since I've been back. Burning questions about my personal life, yeah. I was gone. Now I'm back. That's been confusing for you. It's been overwhelming. The whole thing has been overwhelming for you. And you've danced around the topic for a while now out of respect for my privacy. And I-I really do appreciate that, but I would like for you all to know that I am ready now, and I think it's time to open it up to questions."

Dissecting the obvious projection here for a moment, it has been confusing and overwhelming.

So to me Clip Show is just him trying to work it out in his head, to navigate these overwhelming and confusing feelings regarding his reality. It just makes more sense to me that way, as I don't think Charlie has much to process in regards to the Waitress and all.

6. Except...?

Yeah, I am still not sure why the second Charlie pops up at the end. Charlie looks directly at Dennis though, so that's... something.

I mean, Charlie says "that's how everyone remembers" (watching yourself watch yourself) hence the assumption that this is all in Charlie's mind... but I don't know. It doesn't add up for me personally. It might just be that misremembering that memory of the pregnant waitress ("making stuff up" as Dennis calls it) still affected his mental reality because that's what happens with memories. They become your truth if you believe them, even if they're false.

Dennis seems particularly disturbed at this turn of events. He's been the most preoccupied with keeping things straight.

Another point of debate in my head has been. "Okay, say it takes place in Dennis' head... but when?"

Because as soon as you accept that the whole episode happened inside someone's head just in general, it gets harder to place it on a timeline. It could potentially have happened at any moment.

A part of me sometimes likes to speculate that this could be happening while Dennis himself is still in North Dakota. Maybe he's dealing with the rejection of not being stopped. He's imagining himself back at home. Maybe it's something he did often. Imagining himself at the bar, everything back to his normal, all the important people in his life surrounding him, some (Mac) nearer to his core than others, he still doesn't know how the Waitress thing resolved (hence why two Charlies at the end), and most importantly, in this reality, Mac is his roommate. And when Mac says he isn't, it's destabilizing. There is no conceivable reality where that's not the case.

"All right, Mac, it's clearly you, so snap us out of it, man." he says.

"No. We're not in my head. I swear." Mac answers.

But Dennis insists. "Yes, we are, man. We're in your head. You're trying to alter reality."

Except there is a conceivable reality where that's the case. Because he left. But he doesn't want to believe that there is. And so we get kicked out from "inside his head" and back to the reality where they are roommates.

This is Dennis' unchanging reality: where Frank doesn't have air or is tall, where the Waitress isn't in love with Charlie, where Dee isn't a famous actress (and has the cut on her head), where Mac lives with him.

"Thank God we're back to normal." Dennis says at the end.

Except we aren't in reality, because the top keeps spinning.

[camusscigarette]

Violets for Roses:

Le Prologue:

{The one where Hannibal catches a glimpse of Bedelia's old life}

TW: Fainting(?) If continued more trigger warning will be mentioned!

❦

It was a quiet evening. Colder than usual but none the less pleasant. With the flames crackling in the fireplace, eating away at the dried wood. A bottle of Champagne 'Taittinger' left open in a bucket of ice, with a tray of charcuterie well presented rests on the coffee table, barely touched.

Hannibal observed Bedelia as she holds the crystal tall glass of champagne by the flute, in-between her index finger and her thumb. She was slightly more dissociated than usual and less guarded, even in his presence and her own home. It intrigued him. She was never this dissociated nor careless. He knew her as a smart woman with wits and seductions to her ploys and her traps. She was like a Black Widow. Dangerous and Beautiful. Yet deadly somehow.

He couldn't call her a Siren because Bedelia did not play on Illusions nor did she play with her looks. She was more than beautiful and her aura radiated coldness and that is all. She wasn't a Coquette because Bedelia never offered him Satisfaction and delayed it. She wasn't a Charismatic because she showed no interest on Playing the role of a God. Showed no interest in swaying someone off their feet. No aura of sexual energy in the air. If he were to describe her as a seductress, she'd be 'The Star'.

“The Star is a fetishized object. Most people are too complex, reactive, and moody to let us see them as objects. The Star’s power is that they can become an object, and see themselves as one.” He recalls reading once.

And what terrified him about it was that..an object can be used to kill. And Bedelia had proven to him that if pushed far enough..she wouldn't hesitate to fight back and win. He has seen it with Neal Frank, and it both excited and terrified him that she somehow managed to fall into trap and give into her bloodlust. So she reminded him of a Black Widow. Easily crushed yet lethal when stung by it.

"You have a fascinating book collection" He noted, looking now over her book shelves in the living room. His eyes skimming over the book covers before they stopped on a certain collection. "You have Dostoevsky, Nietzsche and Camus all stacked by one another. Existentialism, Nihilism and Absurdism. What I consider to be the three stages of life" He chuckled quietly as he stood up and walked closer to the shelf, his fingers lightly caressing the hardcover of a certain boom. "You have them each in their respective language." He noted again, slightly surprised as he read the russian titles for Dostoevsky, the german for Nietzsche, and French for Camus. "Impressive. You speak all three?" Turning around to face her, he found her lip corners slightly turned upwards.

"I was fluent in all three. Now I can only speak French" She said quietly as a small smile graced her lips.

"I did not know you spoke Russian" To say he was intrigued is quite the understatement.

"I had a Half Russian, Half German Nanny growing up" She lied smoothly, he had to give it to her it was quite believable with the way her body language was relaxed yet her eyes held a sense of nostalgia seemingly triggered by her words. But he knew better. "She taught me quite a lot , and after she died I tried to learn more by reading Russian Literature as well as German Literature. Eventually reading Nietzsche in German was tiring enough so I replaced the books to English but the few ones I had that were in German are stored here. Russian was much easier because I spoke it more than I spoke German. And french..well..My father is french as you already know, so.. It's quite the easy language and the only one I still speak fluently in" The backstory added to her lie was the cherry on top, and he would've applauded her if he didn't want to play dumb.

"May I borrow one of your books?" He asked, picking 'La Mort Heureuse' off the shelf, a rather interesting yet absurd book written by Albert Camus. The original version of 'The Stranger' if you wish to see it that way.

"Sure. As long as you take delicate care of it" She murmured against her glass of champagne before downing it in one shot. She stood up surprisingly on steady feet, despite having had mixed wine from earlier session that day with champagne and ha d drank it all on an empty stomach. "If you'll excuse me" Her voice slightly hoarse as she walked towards the bathroom, leaving him all alone in her living room, Infront of all those books.

He began to look at each book, flipping through the pages carelessly until a picture fell from one of them and it was a picture of a woman holding a small child in her arms, Black and white, the faces barely visible but the woman whom he assumed is the mother of the babe had some similar face features that reminded him of Bedelia's. He flipped the Picture over and to his surprise..

Stalingrad, December 3rd 1928.

It read. A sense of dread filled him for the first time and he flipped the picture almost immediately, his eyes analyzing the faces as much as he could, but the picture was far too old for him to decipher a thing. He returned the picture to the book it fell from and picked another, flipping through the pages hoping for something until..

‘James,

I am writing you this letter to inform you that yet again I have given birth to a daughter. It terrifies me to the core that I had given birth yet to another weapon , once again, for Ivan to use against me and the world. I pray to our Most Holy Lady Theotokos and Ever-Virgin Mary that he shows them mercy. You know how our world is. The Red Room won't stop until they are ontop of the world. They won't stop until their reign returns, and that itself terrifies me.

I can not decline the fact that the birth of my newest daughter didn't make me a bit happy. Natalya is excited to have a sister, and I'm considering naming her Yelena. She has Ivan's blond hair, unlike Natalya whom has my red hair. But none the less she still has some resemblance to me. I can only hope that she turns out strong like her sister, or I'll have to lose her like I lost Anastasia. In a week I am expected to return to the field while Madame Boleslava watches over the babe, and Natalya is already in training. I can only hope that one day, you and I, my dearest soldier can escape this hell hole before it'll be too late. And my worst fear will come true. The Red Room would've won and we have become slaves.

Yours faithfully,

Dahlia’

He was confused. He was more than confused as he re-read the letter once more. Who was James? Who was Dahlia? Why are they mainly russian names in this? What is the Red Room? Who is Ivan? Slaves? What does it even mean? And most importantly...What did Bedelia have to do with all of this and why does she have possession of such a thing?

His usually high functioning brain and his unique intellect seems to have given up on him, as he couldn't even put two and two together, and to make it worse, he flipped the letter again and it read.

Stalingrad, May 17th, 1939.

He closed the book immediately and put it back in place as he heard the sound of Bedelia's heels getting closer. The letter folded neatly and tucked away into the inner pocket of his blaze as he took back his seat and grasped the glass of champagne, downing a full shot of the drink as he kept the book he chose in his lap. He looked un-bothered. His body language not betraying a thing as Bedelia approached him, fixing her skirt, pulling at the hem of it as she sat back down in her seat.

A moment of silence reigned over the room before he eventually broke it.

"I never thought you to be the kind to speak multitongues" He said carefully, pouring himself another glass of champagne.

"It's nothing interesting" She said dismissively.

"Am I right to assume you grew up wealthy, no? It would explain the lavishing lifestyle you have about yourself and your exquisite taste in dressing" He couldn't hide his smirk as he eyed over her form in that Channel suit she was wearing.

A dry chuckle escaped the blond woman's throat as she offered him the faintest of smiles. "You are right to assume so"

"What was your father's work that made him the wealthy man he is?" His curiosity was getting the better of him and if Bedelia suspected a thing she did not comment on it, only offering him a raised brow at the sudden questioning.

"He was a Doctor. Neurosurgeon to be exact. He worked in France, Lebanon and Italy. He stayed more in Lebanon because during the Mid 70s till very early 90s a Civil war had broken through and he made lots of money there" She said simply, almost nonchalantly.

"So you spent your childhood in Lebanon?" He asked curiously.

"I was in a boarding school in Switzerland." She said again. Her answers to him felt overused. As if she had prepared this conversation long ago and a sense of dread filled him once more, thought he masked it pretty well.. something in Bedelia's eyes terrified him yet intrigued him more and more.

He felt the urge to reach for her.

To caress her cheek before his hand would soon wrap itself around her throat and squeeze out the answers he desired out of her.

But he knew that it was a dangerous move of him to commit. As the lies and stories she could be hiding behind her tales could be quite.. unfathomable.

Yet, his feet carried him to her and he sat besides Dr Du Maurier on the couch. His hand reaching out for her cheek, thumb caressing her under eye.

"What games are you trying to play, Hannibal?" She asked him coolly, her eyes searching his though no signs of emotions nor an upcoming reaction was portrayed on her face. Everything hidden behind her cold mask.

"Who are you, Doctor Du Maurier?" He asked leaning his face closer to hers as she did not budge."What secrets do you hide my Dearest Bedelia?" He asked again, their lips mere inches apart.

She knew that he was trying to seduce her into speaking, but she was far smarter than he'd give her credit for. Her hand rested on the back of his neck, eyes staring deeply into his, letting her grey blues portray a sign of faux fear and before she struck him.

A tight pinch to the Vagus nerve and he was out in seconds.

"Crétin" She mumbled as she pushed him off of her. Grabbing one of his arms and his leg before she threw him on her shoulders and carried him to her bed with ease. Removing his clothing and keeping him in his boxers she did a fast job of removing her own clothes and putting on a nightdress as she sat on the other end of the bed.

Tucking the gun beneath her pillow she turned to face his unconscious form before she said quietly. "Doux Rêves".

And her eyes did not fall shut.

She remained awake. Observing him. Until the Sun rose eventually.

[pearwaldorf]

Gaza, Holocaust, genocide

Do you know the other time in my life that I've seen lists of names like this? At the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam. There were so many and the type was so small there was a magnifying glass in the exhibit so you could see Anne and Margot's names.

Yad Vashem put together a life sized Book of Names. 4.8 million known victims, and blank pages for 1.2 million victims who have not been identified. There are two banks of names. Each is six feet tall and 26 feet long.

How the fuck does a country founded partially to ensure something like this never happens again turn away from an atrocity within living memory to do the same thing to another population?

There is a word a Jewish professor of mine used to describe Hurricane Katrina and the aftermath, but I can't remember what it was. It means something like "a grievous sin" or something incredibly shameful*. That is what is going on in Gaza**.

This year has felt like it is intent on shattering every illusion I have ever held about lines in the sand, the hope that there is some inherent threshold where people go "This is too far, and we will push back against it." And I'm sorry to say there isn't one.

I wish I had something comforting to say, I really do. I wish I could tell you that all we have to do is keep working for good things and it will happen. But I don't want to set people up for disappointment.

We live in a society where we don't think something is worth doing unless we think we're going to succeed. That is the wrong way to approach it, imo. There are things that are worth doing, even if they're difficult, because it's the right thing to do. Success is, of course, the end goal, but I don't think it's what you should focus on to the exclusion of other things.

Maybe this is a coping mechanism for me to deal with the possibility a lot of things I work towards won't succeed, I don't know. But at the end of the day, I tried my best, and I have to hope that's enough to help push things forward.

--

* It wasn't "shande", which to my understanding has implications of people not acting right and thus embarrassing everybody Jewish. This is much much worse.

** I have no opinion on whether a Jewish state should or should not exist, although I understand why people would want one. But I do not think this particular Jewish state should exist if this is what is "required" to maintain it.

[indiangigoloclubin]

Recommendations when hiring Gigolos

You must know what you are looking for: If you are considering hiring someone to have a good time and have fun with, then you must know who you are looking for. You know how you want it to look, what treatment you want it to give you, and so on. This is important because, when searching among the different options, you can choose the gigolo that best suits what you want.

Don't worry about discretion: their job is to be discreet, so you can be sure that your secret will be safe. Your instinct: if you need more clarification about which guy to choose, try to select a gigolo you like who catches your eye.It's normal to be nervous: The feeling before an encounter with a gigolo can be much like the feeling you get before a date. But do not worry. They are men who specialize in making you feel good and, especially, making you feel comfortable, so don't worry.

Benefits:

1 A Huge Choice Ð A woman who wants to contact a gigolo through Gigolo. Cloud has a huge choice. You can choose from thousands of subscribers with different characteristics. You can select him as tall, short, long hair, bald, muscular, paunchy, hairy, hairless, etc.

2 A personal confidant or advisor Ð Another benefit of calling a Gigolo Service Pune has a personal confidant or advisor that you can tell all your doubts. A Gigolo, you can open up and confess without shame just because it is unknown and not part of your closest friends. With him, you can talk about everything and, in exchange, have the point of view of an expert who will be able to give you, as a man and an expert, the right advice on every topic, both sentimental and sexual.

3 Protection of marriage - Choosing to Call a Gigolo Pune rather than an occasional lover means protecting the husband and the marriage. A Gigolo will hardly fall in love with you, and this is already a great guarantee not to destabilize the marriage. If the husband discovers you, it will always be better for him to discover you with a hired gigolo than with a chatty neighbour.

4 Protection of privacy РGigolo Club Pune protects your privacy. He is discreet, confidential, and never intrusive, you contact him, and only you decide when and where to see him.

5 Non-invasive lover - A woman calling a gigolo won't risk meeting an irritable man, who falls in love, who sends text messages every day, or worse, that you find yourself at home or who insists on seeing you again even if you don't want to.

6 Freedom to meet Ð You can meet a Gigolo whenever and wherever you want. You will decide the appointment and not the other way around.

7 Meeting without illusions - Gigolo Service Pune doesn't delude you, doesn't promise you, doesn't call you love or say I love you to get you into bed. He is sincere, frank, and honest. The cost of the service is to avoid creating misunderstandings.

[loth-wolffe]

Hello hello! Congratulations on your milestone!! So happy for you!!

I really like your blog and your writing! I LOVE how you write soft crosshair.

I wanted to know if I could request a fic with the one and only Captain Rex?

With number 9 and 39 from the lyrics prompt list, pretty please?

Something along the lines of them not having seen each other in a while, cuz you know, the clone wars.

they are kinda nervous, afraid the other doesn't feel the same way anymore :'(

BUT THEY DO LOVE EACH OTHER SO SO SO MUCH IT HURTS AND IT'S LIKE REUNION, HAPPY TEARS, LONG AWAITED KISSES AND HUGS.

I JUST- WHAT THE HELL I- THANK YOU SO MUCH??? youre so kind! *sends a kiss to a planet Earth image* for u, wherever u are. anyways this ask is FANTASTIC OMG. thank you so so so so much for requesting this.

also added my sweet @intergalactic-padawan request that was prompt 43 bc I realized I was writing pretty much the same thing so yeah.

hope you guys like it!

It's been a long, long time.

Pairings: Captain Rex x reader (no y/n)

Prompts: 9. Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do. - Like real people do by Hozier, 39. I thought that I was dreaming when you said you loved me. - Ivy by Frank Ocean and 43. Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again, it's been a long, long time. - It's been a long, long time by Harry James

Warnings: a bit sad I think? reader feels very anxious bc they don't know if rex loves them still. but it's fluff I swear. like, very very very fluffy.

Word count: 1,1k bc I can't control myself and make actual drabbles.

He had been away for too long. You had begun to forget his touch, the sweet taste of his lips, the goosebumps his fingers left on your skin, the warmth of his caress. Days blurred together with the only constant thing being how much you missed him, heart longing, aching quietly, mourning for the emptiness it feels, tired, desperate, for the day Rex comes back to fill it again.

There were nights where you fell asleep with tears running down your cheeks, afraid you might never see him, trying to forget the dull ache your heart felt with every beat it gave, breaking just a little bit for him, swelling with love for a man you barely saw.

You hated him sometimes, just to justify the torrent of emotions that slowly consumed you with every day that passed, a filthy lie you told yourself to push away the pain, the tears that gathered in your eyes, how the memory of him fogged your mind and couldn't, wouldn't, let you rest. You hated how much you loved him, and in the anger of it you wished he felt the same, but then again you didn't, because maybe the ghost of you distracted him enough to make him sloppy, careless, maybe your ghost stopped him from coming back to you, took his hand and dragged him away.

It became a habit, to wake up in an empty bed, make your own caf, and wait for the day to end. The empty spot he left always following you around, and you learned to dance around it, never touching it, never moving it, but letting it be, becoming one with you because you'd rather have that than nothing at all.

It was all routine, one that slowly stuck to your nature, with him becoming a presence you that scarred you, probably, for life.

Quick texts and short conversations was all you got from Rex, unable to give you more, and for you to ask for more, leaving you both in a limbo, not knowing where you stood anymore.

Which led you to this moment, nervousness bubbling in your chest like some sort of venom, thick and foul, spreading through your body fast and corrosive.

His shuttle had just arrived, and between the many troopers you were looking for his distinctive uniform, the pauldron standing tall and the Jaig eyes making the search easier.

You feel sick at the mere thought of having him in front of you.

Does he looks the same? Same hair, a new scar maybe? Will he still like how you laugh, or call his name? Does he kiss, touch, feel the same? Do you?

Does he love you still?

It's been too long, too long.

You fidget with your shirt and your eyes sometimes find the floor, flickering through the different buckets, a couple of Jedi pass by, some pilots, a few droids. No one is your man.

Anxiety starts to make you feel dizzy, sound begins to feel too distant, and has your heart always been beating this quick? You can't breath properly.

Where is Rex? Is he–

Tears fill your eyes as a sigh leaves you, relief washing over you as find him, uniform a bit dirtier than the last time you saw it, blasters at both his sides and the kamas move matching the confidence he carries himself with as he comes to meet you. You can't see his face and the fact stirs something unpleasant in you, self doubt slowly poking it's ugly head.

Are you still beautiful in his eyes?

You always hated the way his helmet shields him from you, not letting you know what he's feeling, is he disgusted, happy, sad? Is he as nervous as you are? You can never tell.

Your head falls slightly once he's in front of you, and you're glad he can't hear the frenetic beat of your heart.

He calls your name with a formality that surprises you, you look everywhere but him, searching new scratches in his armour, finding a few stains that weren't there before.

He doesn't make any sign that he might want to hug you or touch you, and neither do you, standing at a safe distance that it might look like you're just co-workers or less.

Your hand itches to feel him.

"Rex." You let out, trying to find his eyes behind the bucket, he looks stiff, frozen, like something weights on him heavy and awkward.

Your mind wanders to the worst of places.

He lifts his bucket and tucks it under his arm, shy eyes search for something in yours, and yours searching for anything that might be different from the last time you got to see his pretty face.

No new scars –not visible at least–, same short blond hair, same irises that remind you of the sun and that matches it's warmth. He looks just the same, yet you don't know if his feelings stayed.

Maybe... maybe he met someone else, what if he–?

"Hi." He says in a breath, as if he had been holding it for far too long, and is enough for your tears to cascade down your cheeks as a smile breaks through your face.

"Hi yourself, trooper."

Rex wraps your body in his arms, pulling you flush against him, face hiding in your neck as he breathes you in. He almost cries, right then and there, you smell just like he remembered, like something sweet, something like home.

It's comforting, really, to know nothing has changed between you two in a galaxy that always seems to be.

And just like that, you know you're fine.

You whisper his name, and when he looks up he wastes no time in pressing your lips together, a tender little touch that is just a taste of what's to come, of what words can't express, and you find yourself holding him tighter, afraid he might be an illusion, a dream, a distant memory you thought forgotten. But it's still there. He is here. Kissing you like real people do, not a vision, not a wish nor a dream.

It is him in your arms, and you in his.

"I love you," Rex blurts when you pull away for air, in a whisper, as if he didn't want anyone but you to hear, scared of rejection but even more scared of you never knowing. His lips brush with yours, uncertain, timid, foreheads touching.

You feel like dreaming, like you're walking over the clouds, floating away in a perpetual state of pure love, heart feeling so full you might think it's about to explode.

"Kiss me." You plead and he delivers, pushing you to the closest supply box, inhaling sharply when your nails softly scratch the skin at the nape. It's filled with a longing that had been caged for too long, and it's messy, teeth clashing and noses bumping, tongues re-exporing and you don't think you have felt this good in a long time.

Before he can pull away properly, you connect your lips again, and again, and again, until they are swollen and you're panting for air.

It's been too long, and you have missed him so much, and you don't know how to tell him, how to let him know all and every emotion that has tormented you since you met him, so you try to summarize it in four simple, but powerful words.

"I love you too."

taglist: @foodandbooksplease @dottiechan @ladykatakuri @tacticalsparkles @lightning-wolffe @baroclinicinstability @murdertoothpick @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @space-girl-and-droids-art @shygirl268 @hellothere-generalangsty

[frauleinfunf]

I'm currently writing a fic with Gwen's parents meeting Kevin's mom for the first time bc I just think that's such a fun dynamic, and I'm going against every advice on writing by posting a snippet here bc I'm an attention whore and also I just had fun describing the Levin house lawn and Deb Levin herself from Natalie Tennyson's point of view

Walking towards the door, Natalie was certain there was no HOA here. The grass on the lawn was at least three inches taller than what she would consider acceptable. The pathway was a plain, cracked concrete, accented by a chain link fence only on one side of the house. What fresh hell had her daughter dragged them into?

As Frank rang the doorbell, he pointed to a titled oblong on the doorframe. “That’s a mezuzah,” he said, clearly pleased with himself for remembering that. Natalie, however, was too distracted by the stained and broken plastic that housed the doorbell.

The door opened and Natalie found herself face to face with who had to be Mrs. Levin. Without the heels, she probably could barely clear five feet. Her dark curly hair that was currently in a messy bun, however, did aid in the illusion of height. Instead of some sensible makeup like a light berry lip, Mrs. Levin instead had opted for a crimson lip with heavy eyeliner that would make Priscilla Presley pause. Natalie was sure she had seen the black dress she was wearing in a Walmart flyer the mailman had mistakenly given her last week.

Behind her was the boy, and Natalie was surprised to see he was capable of dressing decently. He had managed to not roll up the sleeves of his light blue button up, and was wearing proper pants for once instead of jeans. She had known the boy was tall, but he was practically Lurch next to his mother’s petite Morticia.

Natalie smiled demurely and held up her hand. “Hi, Natalie Tennyson.”

Mrs. Levin eyed her hand before slowly shaking it. “Deb Levin.”

[scapegrace74-blog]

In Dreams

A/N  I don’t do Twitter, but roughly once a year I wish I did.  A few weeks back, some clever Outlander writers there came up with the idea of the Eye Sex Chronicles, in which various pre-relationship scenes between Jamie and Claire are re-imagined in a less PG way.  I asked Catrin Writes if I could join the party, and she kindly agreed.  And because I like nothing more than a challenge, the scene I chose is when Jamie comes for Claire after the Redcoat ambush in 1x01.  Rated mildly M, in case you care about that sort of thing.

Since he was a lad, Jamie had been visited by a recurring dream.  In it, he was chasing a figure through a forest.  His quarry materialized and dissolved like mist in the dappled light, with limbs as pale as bone and a thundercloud about its head.  A sidhe, perhaps, come to deceive him.

The details of the dream shifted, but the ending was always the same.  At the edge of a burn, he caught up with the apparition.  Staring into her peculiar golden eyes (for it was indeed a woman), the dirt beneath his feet gave way and he fell headlong into a bottomless unknown.  Then, he woke.

***

She had to be dreaming, Claire rationalized.  Or at least hallucinating.  It was the only explanation that fit the facts.  Redcoat soldiers wielding muskets.  Coarse ruffians speaking Gaelic and tossing her from horseback like a sack of laundry.  A Frank doppelganger trying to rape her.  Her subconscious must have muddled together her husband’s obsession with Scottish history and the emotional turmoil of their second honeymoon to produce this elaborate fantasy.  Sigmund Freud would rub his hands together with glee.

It didn’t explain, however, why she could feel every nettle and branch as they lashed against her limbs, or why the icy water of the stream she was following numbed her toes.  If she was only dreaming, she should stand still and wait for consciousness to return.  And if she were hallucinating, she doubted she’d be capable of analyzing her circumstances.  She ran because she was afraid to find out what might happen if she was wrong.   She ran because it was only a matter of time before her captors gave chase.

***

The ambush by a small patrol of Redcoats ended abruptly in the way of most skirmishes.  One minute he was fighting for his life, and the next he was leaning on his sword, sharing a flask of whisky with his brothers in arms.

Dougal had a ribald glint in his eye as he ordered Jamie to round up the Sassenach lass.  He thought he’d kept his reaction to her lovely face and near-nakedness well hidden in the dim firelight of the croft, but his uncle’s smirk said otherwise.  The men hooted as though it was a great joke - sending the virgin after the mettlesome wench.

It was only as he was retracing his steps to the strath where he’d thrown their captive from Donas’ back that he realized he was injured.  The muscles of his shoulder joint were still tender, just as she’d predicted after she’d manipulated the bones back into place.  This new pain was sharper and accompanied by the coppery tang of blood.  Compounded by the fact that he hadn’t slept or eaten more than a crust of bread in nigh on a day, it was no surprise that his head was feeling light and empty as a cloud, with a persistent buzzing sound filling his ears.  He continued his search, determined to find the lass before continuing on their way.  She’d mended him.  He at least owed her that much.

An ivory figure dashed between the trees, bringing to mind his dream.  Deja vu, the French called it.  The sense that he had lived this moment before, perhaps countless times.  Reality tilted sideways, and he could no longer discern what was true and what was illusion.  The memory of both his dream and his objective compelled him to give chase. He spurred his horse forward.

***

Damn it!  For a figment of her imagination, the tall red-headed Scot was annoyingly persistent.  Seumas.  Jamie.  Mowgli.  She’d heard the other men call him by many names, further evidence that this illogical adventure was just an inventive delusion.  She’d certainly conjured an attractive antagonist, with his raw potency and soulful blue eyes.  He was a bit too chiseled for her taste, and good lord he was gigantesque, but somehow he pulled it off without seeming a brute.  Despite the driving rain, the night spent on horseback wrapped together in his plaid hadn’t been unpleasant.  Unlike every other character in this illusion, he didn’t feel threatening.

He leapt from his horse and was approaching with his arms spread wide, a bloodied sword dangling from one hand in an offhand way.  She’d seen men approach unbroken horses in much the same manner.  Well, she was no docile mare, willing to accept the bit.  If he thought he could subdue her with sonorous words from his pretty lips, he had another thing coming.  She lifted her chin defiantly.  Maybe the way out of this nightmare was to refuse to play along.  She spat defiance in his direction, daring him to accost her.

***

Christ, she was beautiful.  It hadn’t escaped his notice when they’d first met, despite his dislocated shoulder.  But out here in the forest, with smudges of dirt marring her luminous skin and cockleburs matting her hair, she was every cautionary tale he’d learned at his father’s knee.  A bewitching siren come to lure his soul to sin.

If her foreign ways and total lack of meekness wasn’t evidence enough that she was the otherworldly creature from his dream, the violent mystery of her agate eyes confirmed it.  They were unforgettable, calling to him from across the ages.

Despite his better judgment, he stepped closer, saying something daft about throwing her over his shoulder, as though he’d ever demean her in that way.  Her breath came into short pants that caused her unbound breasts to rise and fall beneath her thin shift.  His fingers twitched, aching to touch her, to confirm that she was real.  Some lucid corner of his brain that wasn’t starved of blood and delirious with bloodlust argued that he’d spent many hours pressed up against her very mortal and lovely arse.  He ignored it in favour of another step in her direction.  Like a mindless beast, he sniffed the air.  She smelled like his mate.

***

She’d spent enough time around soldiers returning from the front to recognize the half-crazed look, the dilated pupils, the waves of sexual energy wafting off his skin.  The male animal confronted death and procreation with much the same physical response, opposite sides of the same coin.

She should have been frightened by his proximity, but instead she drew back her shoulders and stared directly into his marine gaze, daring him to take another step.  Delirious with disorientation and lack of sleep, she flirted with the combustible element that arced between them from the first.  She’d never behave so wantonly if she thought for a moment this was real. It was a harmless fantasy, made all the more appealing by the combination of artlessness and virility exuded by the man in question.

***

He dropped his sword, a useless defence against temptation.  His feet carried him forward of their own volition, answering the urgent summons in her eyes.  So close now, skirting the very edge of a precipice.  Surely his dream had been a prophecy, a foretelling of a critical juncture in his life.  Temptress or Sassenach healer, their paths were fated to cross.  There was nothing he could do to deny the hand of fate.

She’d backed against a tree and his palms came to rest on the ample swell of her hips.  He’d never touched a woman so close to her skin.  It was intoxicating, warm and supple.  She was no longer speaking, watching him instead with those predator’s eyes, wary but not afraid.  Her lips were pressed together, and he longed to pry them apart with his tongue, to taste her soul and share his own.  Bending slowly forward, the muscle in his beleaguered shoulder seized in sudden pain.  Bubbles of dizziness flooded his vision and he slumped forward, momentarily boneless, landing against her lush curves.

***

Christ, he was heavy.  One moment she had been certain he was about to kiss her senseless, and then he sagged forward, pinning her between his bloodstained torso and a tree.  Her nursing instincts sprang to life as she attempted to soothe him.  She ran her fingers through his tangled curls and over the abutments of his face, searching for a contusion and finding only tacky blood and prickly stubble.  She could feel his deep breaths echoing against her breastbone.  He groaned a word in Gaelic that made her wish she understood the tongue.

***

Pressed against her as he was, he marveled at the brilliance of God’s design.  She was soft where he was hard, a perfect counterpoint that answered the question his body had been asking since adolescence.   He wasn’t ignorant of carnal matters, but nor had he imagined that he could derive such pleasure merely from cleaving his body to hers.  In his previous trysts with with the young maids of his youth, it had never been so.

Her hands were surprisingly strong as they prodded his skin, seemingly drawn to the places that called out for her touch.   They skimmed gently over his shoulders.  The lancing pangs had faded like the morning mist, leaving him conscious only of the pulsing ache radiating from his groin.  He’d been hard beneath his plaid since fighting the Redcoats, but it had progressed to the brink of pain.   Certainly she could feel it, barely clad as she was, but he felt no shame in the knowledge.  There was a deeper magic at work here, far outside the laws of propriety.

***

Her fingertips touched the bands of muscle along his flank, having snuck unawares beneath his filthy shirt.  Her arms opened to span his torso, no longer pretending to minister to his wounds and instead holding him tight, in case he was considering retreat.  It helped that she couldn’t see his face, hidden as it was beyond her hair, but she could read the impulse on his dewy skin and through the vibration of his every sinew.  He wanted her.  Not only because she was a female body close at hand, but on some more fundamental level.  She wanted him as well, but that was the dream talking.

***

The thinnest filament held back the raging storm inside of him.  What few thoughts he could maintain circled around the inscrutable riddle of her identity.  If she truly was the vision from his dream, then what was her purpose?  And if she was flesh and blood, then why did she tolerate his trespass?  His answer came in the form of a whimper, sneaking from her lips to his ear and straight to his cock.  The cord snapped, and he began to rut against her in earnest, the coarse wool of his plaid scratching his swollen flesh.  

Dhia, it was a thousand times greater than any pleasure his own hand could inflict, and yet it was woefully deficient. His hips pressed forward with more force, grinding their bones together, seeking a home inside her warmth.  Rather than retreat, she answered with advances of her own.  She shuddered and moaned, her nails biting into the scars across his back.  He had no language to describe what her body was demanding.  He hurtled towards an unknowable point, both hunter and prey in a breathless pursuit.  It was bottomless and inescapable, just as in his dream.

***

She’d lost all sense of herself.  There was no Claire.  No Frank.  No everlasting dream about Scottish outlaws.  Even the rough bark of the tree against which she was pinned was gone.  All that remained was the bitter agony of incompletion and the solid male form that could deliver her from it.  She whimpered, tears of frustration leaking from her eyes.  She wanted... no, she needed more.  More contact.  More friction.  More of his sublime body that answered every question she asked it wordlessly.

Broad palms slipped down to cup her ass, then lifted her as though she was made of feathers.  At that first perfect moment of connection, she cried out.  The depths opened up beneath them and her only fear was that she would fall alone.  Clamping her thighs around his hips, she circled and writhed directly over the defined prominence of his cock.  They both groaned as twin spasms spun outward from where they were fused together.  The hot rush of his eruption warmed her belly, shaking from the force of her own contractions.

The fever crept away as inexplicably as it came, leaving her stippled in gooseflesh and drowning in turmoil.  What had just happened?  Had she really allowed this stranger, this walking paradox, to bring her to gratification, fully clothed, against the trunk of some bloody Scottish tree?  And oh, when would she wake up and return to the mundane struggles of her real life? This, whatever it was, was too much to endure.

***

At the first twitch of her body after endless moments of utter stillness, he lowered her gently to her feet.  He could feel his release trickling down his thigh.  Rather than address him, if only to slap him as he deserved, she turned towards the burn.  She knelt for a long time, drinking from her cupped palm and splashing water over her face.  Doubtless, she was also rinsing his seed from her skin.  He burned with remorse.  Sidhe or not, he’d treated her contemptibly.  

The rush of blood between his ears was slowing, leaving him shaky and weak.  He bent to retrieve his sword and the ground tilted aslant beneath him.  By the time she returned from the burn, her eyes demurely focused downwards, he had mounted Donas and was able to lift her over the withers with his good arm.  He tried in vain to keep from pressing up against her, trying to atone for his previous behaviour.  They set off in search of Dougal and the others without another word.

***

The further they rode, the more Claire became convinced she had hallucinated the entire thing.  The young Scot named Jamie was still kind and solicitous, offering her a slug of whisky and sharing his plaid as the night air grew cold, but he betrayed no proof of their intimate encounter.  Along with everything else that was happening, it was too much to contemplate, so she pushed it to the back of her mind.

Well past midnight, she felt his bulk behind her slide sideways as he started to topple to the ground.

“Stop!  Help, he’s going over!”

Leaping to the ground and ordering the other men about like a petty general, she poured whisky into the newly discovered wound that pierced the trapezius muscle.  Yet more evidence, if she was looking for it, that their union in the forest had all been in her head.  Who could please a lover while bleeding out from a gunshot?

Jamie sputtered back to consciousness beneath her hands.

“Welcome back,” she commented pertly.

***

The blank screen in front of his eyes reassembled around the familiar faces of Murtagh, Dougal, Angus and the others, peering down at him in the gloom.  He must have fallen deep asleep while they fled to Leoch.  His memories were foggy, but he recalled a dream of chasing a mysterious woman through a wooded strath, catching her by the edge of a burn, and then...  well, it wouldn’t be the first time his sleeping mind brought him gratification, although generally not on horseback.

“I’m all right.  Just a wee bit dizzy,” he tried to convince the assemblage, eager to get back on his horse.  They couldn’t afford a delay.

“You're not all right,” an oddly familiar English voice pronounced.   Without waiting for him to respond, she launched into a tirade.

“Couldn’t you tell how badly you were bleeding? You're lucky you're not dead, brawling and fighting and throwing yourself off horses.”

He stared up in disbelief at her fiercely beautiful face, the one he recognized from his dreams.

She was here.

[theblackqueen-ofmyheart]

I was suddenly struck with the desire to do this. Write your favourite ships, crack, rare pair,popular I don’t care just lemme see your ships. Add a reason why if you want....then tag a few people if you wanna

Charles Xavier x Erik Lehnsherr. (X-men universe) have you seen their interactions in X-men first class, days of future past, apocalypse and dark Phoenix? I think that’s all the explanation needed. Plus with how hard Michael Fassbender and James McAvoy work to make this happen I can’t help but ship it.

Matt Murdock x Electra natchios ( Netflix daredevil and Netflix the defenders) “his is name is Mathew” SHE GOES TO HIS APARTMENT. She defends him even when she has no memories of him

Foggy Nelson x Karen Paige (Netflix daredevil) I’ve seen a lot of Kastle fans and I just can’t get behind that, Frank’s whole thing is avenging his family I think he’s still pretty tied up with them even if burning the house can be symbolic. Karen and Matt never really sat right with me. Especially because she was all “you gotta stop being daredevil.” Karen and foggy however? *chef’s kiss*

Frank castle x Clint Barton (marvel ) yeah....this is the one odd out for Frank ships. Born from an RP and it’s definitely a crack ship, which is probably why I like it. Just the idea of two coffee addicted shooters being like “yeah...I suppose I like you.” Definitely introduced to each other by Matt. He definitely regrets it.

Nasuada x murtagh (the inheritance cycle) excuse me while I scream about these two. HIS LOVE FOR HER WAS STRONG ENOUGH IT CHANGED HIS TRUE NAME AND THORN’S. galby tried to trick her with an illusion of the two of them married with kids. She liked that illusion until she realized something was wrong. They are so cute.

Ororo Munroe x T’challa (marvel comics)

Ororo Munroe x Kurt wager (marvel comics)

Ororo Munroe x thor (marvel comics)

Ororo Munroe x Logan Howlett/wolverine (marvel comics) seeing a pattern yet? Yeah, I love this literal fucking goddess and pretty much every ship with her is great. Plus she brings the Tall in the Tall and Smol ship when it’s her and Logan and that makes it all the better.

Hermione granger x Draco Malloy (marry potter) ooooh boy I can already hear the hate messages over this one. Anyway. Hogwarts them or fresh outta Hogwarts them is not going anywhere obviously. He’s still too caught up in the pureblood teachings of his parents. But give it time, especially because we do see in the movies he’s horrified by what the dark side is bringing and he lies about who Harry is rather than tell everyone “yeah, we got him”. So he has the potential to change and the idea of him going to the trio and saying “hey...listen I know I was an ass and I know what I did was terrible but I want to change and I’d like to learn” is appealing. Especially with hermione giving him hell over his actions and him taking it and just “yeah...I deserve all this” and it ends up developing from there..... now before anyone says anything I extend this same curtesy to all of the death eater kiddos. They were raised in that environment and they have the potential to change their views and learn. (No...I don’t extend this to Snape because as a whole ass adult he bullied children to the point of being a 13 year old’s worst fear over the witch who helped torture his parents to insanity. One of the people who tortured his parents was nicer to him than Snape was. Granted they were disguised but still! )

Blaise Zabini x Ginny Weasley. (Harry potter) I can also hear the hate messages over this one but oh well. According to his wiki page he is possibly half Blood. His mother apparently isn’t a blood purist (just a black widow). And he’s just hoity toity, though his wiki says he’s more withdrawn than anything. I love the idea of Ginny totally fucking with him over something or snapping at him over something and him retaliating and it just ends up going back and forth until whoops....they suddenly find themselves learning more about each other than they wanted and catching feels? Whaaaaat?

@ariminiria @dashingdetectivetimelady

[werezmastarbucks]

more like honeymoon [3]

previous part

word count: 2279

warnings: idk why I keep making Damon the butt of the joke

music: in the text

SMITHEREENS by twenty one pilots segment

You were exhausted beyond belief as you sped down the road. Soon, there’s a very familiar turn that leads towards the Salvatore mansion. And from there, the exit into the normal, moving world. You couldn’t believe you’d see them again. Even Damon, whose guts you came to hate over time, even before he threw you into prison. That’s what isolation does to a person. That’s what the illusion of freedom does to a human. Prison was prison after all.

You nearly crashed into the tree that stood lonely on the turn, the landmark Salvatore oak. It would’ve killed you, and that was unnecessary now.

There were three shadows on the lawn as you left the car. It was almost midnight. You limped across the yard, feeling ribs poke your lungs. Kai must have cracked at least one from how hard he punched back. He never held back, in anything, and for that, you respected him. Because he respected you enough to inflict real pain, like you were equal. Although you clearly weren’t.

Elena didn’t stand the tension and ran towards you, got you in her arms, and you suffocated on her Elena smell. The smell of home. You couldn’t believe you were going back now. Damon was the same. Why wouldn’t he be? Dark and ironic, a little concerned, he evaluated you with his careful glance.

“How did you get away from him?”

“I killed the motherfucker”, you grumbled. The wounds were fresh, both physical and mental. Realizing that you’ve technically been his prisoner all this time... That is something yet to digest. Here you had the honors to finally be the last of Kai’s archtypes: the victim. You had been a lover, a friend and an ally already. Like an invisible hand was dealing Tarot cards, now you had to get a mouthful of bitterness. You brushed it aside.

“So I had some time ahead”.

“How have you been?” Elena asked, without letting go of you. You eyed the third silhouette, almost blending in with the night darkness. The witch, to do the spell. It was somebody you didn’t know: a tall, dark guy, a little menacing. Who knows what changed in nine months.

“Does he know where you went?” Damon asked.

“Of course he does. But he’s there, and I’m here. Can I go sleep now? We have to do it tomorrow, or he’s going to catch up with us”.

Damon narrowed one eye. The prick didn’t trust you. Perhaps the memories of you opposing him were too fresh.

“You sure you’re ready to leave your boyfriend here?” he asked. Elena shot him a warning glance.

You lifted your shirt, wincing painfully, to show the blue bruising on your ribs. You could swear it was the shape of Kai’s loving kiss.

In the house, you were turning your head right and left as if something could change here. Virtually everything was the same, except three (!) new people inside. The witch boy was quiet. He looked like he was cautious, and you thought, he should be, in case Kai catches him.

Elena brought you a cup of coffee. You noticed a hip of winter coats in the corner of the room, piled up on the couch. The fireplace was blazing as if it was cold outside, too.

“What month is it?” you asked, dizzy with exhaustion and pain.

“It’s Christmas”, Elena said.

“Are you going to be okay? Do you need... blood?”

“I’ll be fine at midnight. The day starts again, and my body is the same as when I first came here... well, you know”.

You looked at Damon, tried to picture him here, when he was stuck here with Bonnie and Kai. He must have been going crazy in this cage with two people he found hard to tolerate. His eyes were flickering thoughtfully with the flames from the fireplace.

“Hey”, you looked at the witch guy. You realized you didn’t know his name. You reached out to him, and he accepted your hand.

“I’m Frank”, he said gloomily. Elena looked at her wristwatch.

“Oh”.

“What?”

“That’s a funny name for a witch”, you said, “all the witches I know have extra names”.

Frank shrugged like it was a punch at him.

“Frank, I’m scared Kai will come. He knows I’m going back, and he doesn’t want to let me go”.

“Yeah, what are we going to do if he comes?” Elena asked, fear in her eyes. She really was afraid of Kai. That still impressed you. You still felt like a child, amazed at something. He scared somebody like this. So that they look out the window, small shivers on the back of their necks, their eyes darting from side to side. He creeped someone out so hard their lips went dry as they sucked the air in, listening hard, listening for his steps approaching. Your Kai.

“Don’t worry, I’ll put a signal spell. It will shield the territory around the house. If someone approaches - anybody at all - we’ll know”.

The three of you looked at Frank. He looked grave, like he was taking this whole thing too seriously. You wondered how long he’s been in this Mystic Falls mess. How little he meant for the rest of them that they decided he’d be fit to go here and face you and Kai Parker.

You blinked tiredly.

“I’m blacking out. I need some sleep”, you muttered. Coffee did not energize you; quite the opposite. The soft warm liquid made you want to sleep badly. Your mortal yesterday’s body was almost collapsing.

Elena helped you come upstairs into Stefan’s room, and you nested on his bed.

This whole rapid trip over the whole country almost got you dead. It was crazy. In the morning, you were back in Hawaii, in your spacious, beautiful house on the North Shore of Oahu, and now you were back here on the edge of Virginia, trying to fight your way back into the usual world where living and traveling cost, where there were rules and people ready to stop you when you get too carried away with having fun... You wondered what you loved so much about that outer world, and it was your last thought before you fell asleep.

In the morning, everybody looked much better and more relaxed. You stretched your back, hearing the bones crack healthily, and the only pain you felt from yesterday was ghostly. It would pass soon, just like hurt from being deceived by the person you loved the most in the world. Once you get out...

The time of eclipse was coming. You felt weird, hollow as you sat at the breakfast table, and thought of all the breakfasts Kai made you. He was so inventive. Nine months is thirty days nine times. Not once you had the same breakfast. He had all the ways to cook food in his head, and it horrified you. He had spent so much time alone he has learnt literally everything one can learn. It was wrong.

You packed your bag and brought it downstairs. Damon eyed it judgingly. You reckoned he was being so cold because he felt extremely guilty. You could bet your own life that the moment they did the spell he was sorry about being harsh. He wished he could get you back. Inside, Damon was soft, but outside, he had this thick, hard skin that was almost like scar tissue.

“What’s this?”

“These are my things”.

Damon’s eyes narrowed, and he was about to say something sarcastic, but Frank rushed in between you, pushing you away and out of the house.

“We gotta go”, he said shortly. And nodded at the bag.

“Damon, you’ll get it? Let’s go”.

Elena was carrying the coats in her hands as disgruntled Damon walked side by side with her with your bag.

“The witch boy is getting too bold”, he thought out loud.

“I just want to get away from here before this guy comes here and kills us all”, Frank replied without changing the pace. He was walking through the forest, leading the way.

“We won’t get out of here before eclipse either way”, you reminded him.

“Uh-huh”.

“Is it cold there?” you asked Elena. She shook her head to throw the hair away from her face.

“This winter is very cold. Just like when we were little kids”.

You could feel excitement rise in you. Christmas. Snow. Changing days. It was good before, and was about to get even better. You almost shone from the inside.

The witch observed the forest. He was very quiet. You looked through the trees too, bringing the last look on this strange world that became not what it was supposed to be to you.

You descended into the well of the cave, Damon threw your bag on the ground right into the circle of the sun.

“What’s inside anyway?”

“Clothes”.

“Clothes?” he repeated, apalled.

“Listen, there’s things you can’t get back in 2010s. Rare things. And expensive jewelry, okay? I got diamonds there, Damon, I’m not throwing them away”.

Damon was silent for some time. He was trying to figure out, inside his brain, what life has been like for you, for the last nine months. He would never guess right, even though he must have been pretty close.

Everybody looked up at the sky and the dark ring coming to consume the sun. Palpable nervousness filled the air. You stepped towards each other. Elena pursed her lips like she was pondering something.

“Isn’t it bad we’re leaving him again?” she asked.

They all looked at you like you could give them a prognosis on Kai.

“Fuck that guy”, you said gloomily. Frank shook his hands like a surgeon before the operation. Damon was eyeing you with dark satisfaction.

“He wasn’t what you expected?”

You kept silent.

“Did he hurt you?”

You thought of all the times Kai accidentally slapped you on the head while he was cooking. His damn hands always flying all over the kitchen. After being slapped around like a junior dish girl, you learnt to stay away when he’s busy with the pans and plates. The only thing you did was chopping.

“A lot”, you replied.

Elena squeezed your hand.

“Isn’t he going to be much worse once he gets out?” Frank asked suddenly, “If you said he was that mad before... now that we’re taking away Y/N and leaving him behind. And if he has the spell and the ascendant, that means he’s going to get out on his own, and he’ll be vengeful”.

His words echoed in the cave like hammer.

“Bonnie’s destroying this world as soon as we get out”, Damon said. Your head snapped to him.

“What?”

“He won’t have time to get out. He’ll need to wait until tomorrow, and by that time, this prison world will be gone. And Parker will be gone, too”.

There wasn’t much more time for talking; the eclipse was almost full. You took the witch’s elbow as he chanted and lifted the new ascendant, letting it levitate. Elena held your hand on the other side. As Frank’s hand got free, he took your palm and squeezed it, too, and you finally realized you’re going home.

The white light shone upon you, carrying you and your bag away.

The forest was white, too. Your ankles slowly got cold and, as you looked down, you saw snow. It was closing to evening in the woods in Mystic Falls, and the light was slowly draining from the sky. From the first look it seemed like the real universe wasn’t as brilliant as the magical prison world.

You couldn’t believe you made it. You sighed to see the foggy air leaving your mouth. And saw Damon and Elena’s mutilated smiles turning into gaping mouths of anguish. The traveling spell wore out almost all magic from Kai, and he turned back into his usual self, dropping Frank skin. In the last blast of remaining magic, he threw his hand forward and sent the vampires away. The leaped through the air, Damon further and higher than Elena. She must have bought him the last second when she regretted leaving Kai behind. You told yourself once again, he was changing. There was a twisted type of rationality in him now. You stood on one leg as the cold snow pierced your feet through your Converse sneakers.

Damon was impaled on the thick outstanding branch on a tree, groaing in pain. Elena was thrown against another tree, twisting in the air, and collided with the shaft with her back, breaking her spine in half. They didn’t manage to utter a word.

Damon was now hanging there, cursing like a sailor he might have been once, many years ago.

“Cold?” Kai asked. You shrugged.

“Should’ve gotten some warm shoes, too”.

“Ah, you weakling. It’s just snow!”

“I’m just going to get sick, Kai”.

He looked at you and smiled. You knew everything would go well, and you were still happy to see him, like it was a crazy stunt he was supposed to pull. Although you knew that by the time you went to bed last night Frank had already been dead.

“Hop on”, he gave up, picking up your bag. You pushed on his shoulders and jumped on his back, clutching his sides with your knees. You pressed your face to the back of his head for a second. Soft, slightly curly hair. Your Kai.

The last things Damon heard from the tree were,

“Let’s nick his car”.

“No”.

“Why not?!”

“Because we’re not scoundrels, Kai! It’s not the magical world anymore, you can’t steal people’s cars!”

“Oh my god...”

[renee-writer]

Redeem My Soul Chapter 12 The Whole Truth

As they head back towards Edinburgh and their new life's, she knows she needs to come fully clean with him. “Jamie, you need to know about Frank.” We raises his eyebrows. “Randall, yah he was a relative of Jonathan, or Black Jack, a cousin. We were together until one of his girlfriends killed him, for cheating. That is when Jonathan came in. He promised to protect me. You know how that ended. So many men have come in and out of my life. My Uncle's Lamb and his lover Raymond. To trust is hard. I trust you. Do not make me ever regret it. Always be honest with me.”

“Oh Claire, I will never hurt you. But I need to tell you something that Colum may try. I told you that I will have to pretend to be a part of his web of ladies of the night and drugs. Well, there is a specific lass who I believe he will use to lure me back in. A lass I was to marry, Geneva Duscany, daughter of William Duscany. You may know his reputation as a Playboy, sleeping with both men and women. He has many children but Geneva is his favorite. He has given my uncles a lot of money. His princess wanted me so she got me. As I said, we were to be married. She was pregnant and gave birth before we were married. The baby wasn’t mine.”

“I’m sorry. How did you find out?”

“She gave birth to an Asian lass. A sweet baby I privately call, Faith. As the baby, even though she was placed in an orphanage, gave me Faith I could work my way out of the mess I had made out if my life. You see Claire, I fell in love with the baby before she was born. So even though she wasn’t mine, I still wanted to be her da. One of the reasons I started working with John, to make myself worthy of her.”

“Oh my love. Let’s finish this and go get your daughter.” They had stopped in front of the safe house. He looks at her with teary eyes.

“Christ Claire, that is one reason I love you so much. You really care about how I feel.”

They enter the house to find Murtagh with a tall red headed man. “Jamie, Claire, this is Sam Heughan, the man we hired to play you.” Claire examines him. It could work. His hair was obviously tied but looks enough like Jamie to fool those watching.

Jamie was also studying him. “This could work Mr. Heughan, you will need to put on some more muscle and will need a wig. No way your hair will take dying it my red long term. What other acting jobs have you done?”

“Just got done filming Island of War, have done A Very British Sex Scandal and Midsummer Night for the telly.”

“Well this job will be different. You will be playing me. Need to be seen moving in and out of my flat, heading to work at the police station. I will be doing my own impersonation to see some bad people brought to justice and protect the woman I love. If we both do our jobs, justice will prevail.”

“Sounds good. When do need me?”

“Around two weeks. Go spend some time at the gym and get a good wig.” Claire watches them talk and thinks they look like an older brother talking with a younger. Sam has a baby face to Jamie's slightly more rough weathered look.

“Grand job. Now about Claire. You will start back to work on Monday. Willie will be driving you there and back and you will be pretending to be dating. Jamie you will sneak back into the house through the hidden back door. That way no one will know that you are together and we keep the illusion.”

“Works.”

“We are all still using burner phones to communicate. We will get you one Sam. You will also need some of Jamie's scars. We will get make-up on it.” He says with a chuckle. “Okay guys that is all for now. We will get out of your way.” They leave.

“So what do you think? Can he play me?”

“Well, he is baby face cute but I would have to kiss him to really tell.” She teases him.

“Oh, are you laughing at me lass?” He says with a smile in his eyes.

“Yes.” She cheekily replies.

“Then you will get what you deserve.” Declared as he lifts her up and carries her back to their room, depositing her on it before starting to kiss her all over.

Meanwhile

Colum looks over at Geneva. “So, can you get him back into the fold?”

“Maybe, but he was quite upset when he found out Willoughby was the baby’s dad. I really didn’t know. We only had that one time, really one night. He was very…”

“Please don’t need those details. Can you get him back?”

“If I can’t, the brat might. I know where she is. Can use that.”

“Good, because I need him. You will meet him in Edinburgh in two weeks. I will sent you the address and meet him myself in a month. I expect him to welcome me.”

Northern Scotland

John and Hector approach a old house in the Highlands. A lady with red curly hair answers their knock.

“Ma’am, I am John Grey and this is my husband Hector. We have information on your son, Jamie.”

“Jamie, I am sorry but you have the wrong house. Jamie is dead.”

“No ma’am, he isn’t. I am from Scotland Yard. May we come in?” Shocked, she moves aside to let them in.

“My Jamie, he is alive?”

“He is. And we need to talk to you and your husband if you want him to stay that way and get your brothers.”

“Brian!” she calls out and a tall man with dark hair comes up. “These man are from the Yard and they say Jamie is alive.”

“Gentlemen, what is this about my son?”

“Let’s talk.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 14)

Her eyes had been so wide with wonder and amazement. Nothing compared to the galaxy’s glimmering spray reflected upon the open ocean. With no city lights to dim them and no bustling tourist noise to break the quiet--no rushing cars with loud basses nor honking horns and loud chatter--Azula felt like she was in space.

The water was so crystalline, so pure. The water met the sky on the horizon giving her the illusion that she was floating in a sea of stars, drifting through the cosmos in a rocketship  rather than the ocean in a small sailboat.

“Dad look!” She exclaimed.

“At what?” He asked.

She didn’t know. She just started pointing everywhere, at everything. “Just look daddy!”

Her mother chuckled as she brushed the hair out of a snoring Zuko’s face. Ozai’s lips quirked into an amused half smile.

“Can we go to space, daddy?”

“Why would you want to go to space when you have stars right here?” He gestures to the shimmering world around her.

That was the first time she’d seen phosphorescent fish and plankton. She leaned over the boat’s railing. Ozai quickly came to hold her steady as she dipped her curious fingers into the water.

“Don’t do that, dear. There are sharks in the water.” Ursa cautioned.

But she didn’t see any sharks so she continued trying to catch one of the fish. She only managed to come up with a handful of plankton. She waited until Ursa was asleep to paint a bioluminescent mural upon her brother’s face.

That was her first experience with a boat and an open ocean. That was her first adventure.

.oOo.

Ozai comes home on his birthday, that is probably a gift enough for him but Azula bough him a gift anyhow and pestered Zuko and Katara help her make a cake.

“He doesn’t deserve one.” Zuko had grumbled the whole time.

Azula is inclined to agree, but she has it on the table for him no less. Perhaps he won’t be so angry with her if she does something to make his birthday special.

She sits herself on the couch and waits for the man to come home. Jet plops himself down next to her and drapes his arm over her shoulder. A half an hour goes by and she spends it by leaning her head into his chest and trying to convince herself that it is okay. That she is allowed to love Jet. That she is allowed to have love. That, should she find Sokka, he would understand.  She lets Jet rub circles on her back.

“I’m sure he isn’t angry with you, he’s just going through stuff.” Jet assures.

She lets him think that, that is the source of her unease. It is easier to explain. “I hope that you’re right.” She mumbles. He squeezes her a little tighter.

“How can he stay mad when you made him a whole cake?”

.oOo.

To be frank, Zuko never liked Jet. He never hated the boy, but there was something about him… Maybe it is that he is one of those pretty boys. That is probably it. Zuko never liked the type. Jet is nice enough but he thinks that he is such hot shit. Really the boy is no different than anyone else their age. He has a car. So what? He’s a smooth talker. Great for him. He’s got a good sense of fashion and can do sports. That’s fantastic. Zuko thinks that a person should have more substance than charming looks, material things, and a handful of talents.

He looks to his sister. She’s a pretty girl, she has to be if so many of the boys and a handful of girls flock to her. She’s got talents upon talents and as far as everyone knows, she still has riches. But that’s just the thing, she has more than that; she’s fun to be around, bold and adventurous. Annoying as hell, rather judgmental, and with a pretty solid mean streak. But she means well and she’s mostly a kind girl. At the very least she is able to keep certain comments to herself.

Jet is just a pretty face. He isn’t like Sokka. Sokka who was a complete and unapologetic dork. Sokka who was hilarious, fun, and always had something exaggerated tall tale to tell. He’s spontaneous and rather disorganized. He is energetic. He was all of those things, Zuko reminds himself.

Sokka is nearly her opposite of Azula in everything save for intellect. For as idiotic as he acted sometimes, the boy had brains. This is probably what had drawn Azula to him. Jet is so similar to her, right down to lost parents. That is why Sokka fit her so much better.

He observes the pair cozied up on the couch and his heart seizes. He never thought himself the type to play the protective brother but seeing Jet with his arms around his sister is...something doesn’t sit right. And maybe it is only because he is used to seeing her with Sokka. Maybe it is just that he isn’t used to it. Jet hasn’t done anything bad to her. In fact, he has been supportive. Supportive and much sweeter that Zuko anticipated. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that the boy isn’t right for his sister. He doesn’t say it, partly because he knows Azula. He knows that she is a creature of spite and will stick her tongue right down Jet’s in front of him if he does. She has been waiting for a chance to pay him back for the one time, in middle school, that he had made out with Mai while she was trying to do homework.

But mostly he doesn’t say anything because it is probably good for Azula to begin to move on. Having her cling to Sokka so furiously that she’d be willing to waste her college fun on some fruitless rescue mission...it isn’t healthy. He looks back at the sofa, at Azula who has turned to face Jet and slip her arms around him. This is healthy. This is one step closer to moving on.

“She’ll be fine.” Katara says. “I know that you don’t like him much but he’s not bad.”

“Then why did you break up with him?”

Katara shrugs. “Promise that you won’t laugh?”

“I promise.”

“He said that he didn’t like turtles.”

“What kind of person doesn’t like turtles!?” Zuko says a little too loudly.

“Have you ever been attacked by a family of snappers?” Jet calls from the couch. “I can show you the scars.”

“That’s how you got those?” Azula asks, trailing her fingers over his right hand and arm.  

“Yup.”

“Not all turtles are like that, Jet!” Zuko tries.

The boy chuckles, “I’m not taking any chances. You wanna go poke around in a snapping turtle nest, be my guest. I’ll be on the other side of the beach.”

Azula snickers and mutters something about protecting him from feral shelled beasts.

“That’s his tragic backstory.” Katara jokes. “Anyways, we just didn’t have much in common, I guess. Pretty cliche, right?”

“A little.” Zuko laughs.

“My point is, he’s a pretty good guy. He’s not much different than the other boys in our school.”

“That’s the problem I think. Sokka was...he was different. And Azula’s different.”

This time Katara laughs. “Yeah I don’t think I’ve met anyone like her before. I haven’t met anyone like you either. Your family is just weird.”

“We live in a lighthouse, what did you expect?” They both chuckle at this.

“That’s why we’re so smart.” Azula calls from the couch.

Zuko tilts his head in confusion.

“Because lighthouses are bright.” Azula explains. “We’re smart because we live in a lighthouse and lighthouses are bright and bright is another word for…”

“Is it rude to break up with someone over an awful joke?” Jet grumbles.

“If I could handle Sokka’s for as long as I did, you can handle mine.”

“Sokka would have loved that joke.” Zuko remarks.

“Sokka would have made that joke.” Katara replies.

The new silence between them is tense. Katara squeezes his hand. “Why do so many things have to remind me of him?”

“Because he’s your brother.” Zuko replies. Again he finds himself peering at Azula, now sitting and swatting Jet with a nearby stack of papers. She is probably the larges pain in the ass he has ever had to live with. But he couldn’t imagine how hollow it would feel to lose her. He thinks of the day that they’d found her, broken and gashed up after being thrown against rocks. He wonders if it had hurt, if she ever thinks about it. She never talks about it. He thinks of her climbing onto the arbor to untangle patio lights. He wouldn’t have been able to handle it if she’d fallen. “You never forget someone who you were that close to.” He hadn’t known Sokka nearly as well as Katara did and it still puts an unpleasant tingle in his belly when he comes across something that triggers the memory.

It is a hollow sort of longing that puts a flutter in his stomach a flutter that reaches his throat and has tears threatening to form. It is a somber yearning as he enters the room he’d last talked with Sokka in, as he visualizes Sokka as he’d last seen him. As he tries to latch onto that memory and make a physical manifestation of it. At the very least he tries to cling to it so that it doesn’t slip. It like being in a room with a phantom. Memories are ghosts.

“You can’t forget.” He repeats. “I don’t think that you want to either. I don’t. Azula doesn’t.”

He hears Katara swallow, but before they can get any further, Ozai opens the door. The man looks as hollow as Katara probably feels when thinking about Sokka. Mostly he is put together, clean shaven--for once--and with his hair neatly styled. But his clothing is wrinkled, his cheeks are sunken, and he has bags under his eyes.

“What’s this?” Ozai grumbles. “I told you that I was coming home from the hospital and you bring guests over?”

Zuko catches Azula visibly swallow and goes tense. Just like that he recalls that their father doesn’t know about Jet yet. Jet who tightens his grip protectively around Azula. And just like that, Zuko’s opinion of him changes rather drastically.

Azula pulls out of his grip.

“Tell them to go home.” Ozai says simply.

“Tell them to go home!?” Zuko gets to his feet. “We did this for--”

Azula holds up a hand. He can tell that her optimism is fading fast. “I thought that it would be a nice surprise to…” she gestures to the cake. “I can’t cook so I asked Katara to help.”

“And him?” Ozai nods to Jet.

She shifts uncomfortably.

Zuko’s stomach nearly gives when Jet opens his mouth. “I’m Jet, I’m on Azula’s surf team, remember?”

“I recall.” Ozai answers stiffly. “But that doesn’t tell me what you are doing here.”

Jets simply slips his arm around Azula’s waist and tugs her closer.

“I want them out, Azula.”

“But, I…”

“Out.” He commands more firmly.

Azula bunches her fists. Zuko knows what she is going to do before Ozai does. He praises her for her wit but, lord he wishes that she wouldn’t.

“Fine.”

.oOo.

The lighthouse door slams. It takes a moment for that Jet boy to react but he hastily follows her out.

Ozai sighs. It is long and drawn, he rubs a hand over his face, feeling thoroughly drained. He looks from the doorway to the birthday cake on the table. It is a nice sentiment, but he is not in a festive mood. She means well, they all mean well, but it might be too soon.

“We made all of this to cheer you up and you make us feel like shit!” Zuko accuses. Zuko seldom raises his voice at him. Much less cusses at him. “You make Azula feel…”

Ozai tries to tune his son out.

“She thinks that you hate her!” Zuko scowls. “You know that right? She was trying to give you a good birthday because she knows that you’re having a hard time.”

Katara links her arm around Zuko and clutches him tightly. Ozai wonders if he is frightening her. He must be. “Zuko, I am your father you will not speak to--”

“No. You aren’t.” Zuko hisses. “Azula and I lost both of our parents that night.”  He turns to his girlfriend. “Come on, lets go find Azula and Jet.”

Katara nods, “I’m worried about her, Zuko.”

Somehow the girl’s comment unsettled him more deeply than anything Zuko had said. With a second slam he is alone in the lighthouse. He finds a seat at the table in front of his birthday cake. There is no one left to eat it with.

Also in front of him is a handmade card. ‘Welcome home, congratulations, and happy birthday, father.’ She hadn’t left anything out and that was only the cover page. He is home, but his birthday isn’t happy and he doesn’t feel like there is anything worth congratulating. It is his own fault.

He’d just gotten clean and he is already ready for his next drink. He opens the fridge and curses Azula for her forethought. She’d gotten rid of all of it. He supposes that he has ingrained tough love into her.

He should probably give her space, let her run off to Katara’s house or Jet’s. But he thinks that this time, if he allows the problem to fester, he will lose her. He will lose both of his children.

He rakes his fingers through his hairline and heads for the door. He reaches it and hesitates. He sits back at the table.

[ekaterinakostrova]

How would Cassian react to a friendship blooming between Nesta and Eris?

I want this moment in a very epic way.

At the end of Acofas, Nesta is driven out of Velaris. 

And the last scene was really terrible for me, because I could literally feel the burden of her loneliness and confusion. She realized that nobody wanted her. And how painful it is to realize that you have no longer a place that you can call your home. 

Nesta is destroyed as a person, and I cannot forgive the coldness of the members of the Inner Circle.

Nesta does not tell much to other people about herself, and rarely shares her true feelings. She is trying to overcome her fears on her own. And I would love to see the particular scene of her returning to Velaris, but as a strong and confident person. 

I want her back as a woman, who has influence and power. I want her to return to Velaris, not just as a sister of the High Lady, but as a significant figure. A person to be reckoned with.

Keir is going to visit Velaris in the spring, and at this time of the year Nesta has a birthday, and this is also the time that the Blood Rite passes. I sincerely hope that Nesta would not only tame the creatures living in the very depths of the Illyrian Mountains, but also return, accepting a her new self, accepting her new nature.

And I hope that Nesta would be able to become something powerful and important for all of Illyria and its people.

“A city of night and stars that woke up in the night. 

She walked slowly along the snow-white marble, absorbing the silver light of the moon. The night air chilled her bare shoulders, the amethyst material of her bloody red dress flowed down the bright stairs. 

A diadem with large garnet gemstones was heavy. Long ruby ​​earrings in her ears caught the glimmer of light of the awakening city of night.

She heard the sound of music coming from the ballroom. She saw the light illuminating tall marble pillars decorated with lace murals.

Her heart was beating fast, but the anticipation of war was born within her. Excitement, which she had not felt before rising in her. Heavy jewelry in the shape of wings are woven into the golden braids of her hair. A gift from women of the northern clan of Illyria.

The bodice of her red dress encircled her breasts, was embroidered with a myriad of scarlet stones. A dress that she would have considered too frank before. However, when she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she did not recognize herself.

White skin, full red lips. Pride in a dark silver pool of her eyes.

Something inside her broke off, when she peered into her reflection, because a strong female was looking at her. Black tattoos of Illyria covered her back. Emerie made her tp choose the red dress. The colour of fire, power and revolution.

“Now you are the daughter of Illyria,” Devlon kept his face completely expressionless.

He paused before uttering the following words, speaking them softly so that only she could hear them.

"Welcome to the Windhaven, Nesta Archeron".

His words after the Blood Rite. 

And at that moment, something between them changed, as everything in the Windhaven changed. She felt a change in a whisper behind her. Anger and hatred were replaced by admiration ... 

The first female-warrior, who returned from the bonds of dark forests and mountains, who survived in The Blood Rite. The men in the war camp had looked at her before, but now they looked at her differently. She well knew the meaning of this look.

They all looked at her as if she was something ephemeral.

Velaris is a city of night and beauty, a city of midnight pleasures and sin. The city of black magic and shadows, the city of music and love.

She never allowed others to see her weakness, and because of that, when she came out into the light of the ballroom, she raised her chin higher.

She has no master, just as there is no fear of the darkness that longed to devour the city of night.

Gems and gold shone in her silky hair.

Light covered her naked shoulders. And she allowed every look to freeze in this snow-white palace, even the music was quiet.

She took a step forward, stopping at the long stairs leading down. Her dress is like burning blood.

She did not lower her eyes, feeling the gaze of the High Lord of the Night Court.

Everything has changed now. She knows who she is now. There is no monster that her heart would fear, because she was the most dangerous beast of these lands.

The High Lord of the Night Court knows nothing about the true darkness. 

The Shadowsinger knows nothing about whispers of shadows.

The Lord of Bloodshed knows nothing about the Death. 

She is the Mistress of horrible nightmares and dark illusions, and horrific, beautiful shadows are her minions. The most terrible beasts of Illyria are under her control. All of them. She is the core of pure darkness. 

But tonight, she wasn't a witchcrafter. She was something else, a symbol of beauty, a symbol of desire. 

She went down the stairs, and every look was turned only to her alone.

“I'm glad you were able to accept my invitation’.

Eris.

He smiled and her breath stilled, caught in her lungs as his gaze drifted possessively over her, hot, filled with naked desire.

She has to do it. She will overthrow her enemies, even if it makes all of them hate her. Let them hate, let them despise her.

Eris held out his hand to her.

Nesta remembered what her mother was saying. Always cold, detached... but her hands were warm, when she cuped her crying face. And she vowed that no one would see her tears. No one will hear her suffering, no one will hear her cry of despair. 

She must be strong, she must be stronger than anyone if she wants to protect those, who are dear to her.

She took his hand.

“I'm happy to see you again, Nesta Archeron.”

She looked up at him. 

Eris closed his eyes briefly and then opened them to meet her steady gaze. 

“Nesta”.

His voice was low and compelling, washing through her body like the touch of fingers on skin. 

He whispered then.

"With you, Nesta Archeron, I do not trust myself". 

"There are things you don't know about me, Eris Vanserra".

But then she felt this rage...

She made herself not to turn around, although she felt his closeness. She felt it. He took a deep breath and let it out. She frowned, her pulse thundered in her ears.

Cassian.  

He was here...

Nesta tried to quell the panic rising rapidly. 

Cassian was angry. She could feel the anger churning in his gut, riding him hard as he struggled for control.

"There is no time, Eris".

She reached out instinctively to him, gripping his hand. Eris wrapped his arm around her naked shoulders.

"Do not panic. We'll get you through this together as we planned before".

[wrathfulmercy]

Fantasy aesthetics

Bold what applies

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘.         chipped   nail   polish.   glitter  highlight.   tall   trees   with   smooth   bark.   tangled   hair.  the   taste   of   cinnamon   sugar.   talking   too   loud   and   too   fast.   overgrown   flowers   in   your   hair.  crumbling   buildings   reclaimed   by   nature.    flirting.   walking   home   at   3am   with   no   coat.     platonic   hand-holding.   blowing   smoke   out   of   your   nose.   dragonfly   wings.   chaotic   good.   freckles.   fairy   rings.  secret   meetings. gender   nonconformity.   leather.   smudged   eyeliner.   forbidden fruit.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑.    computer   errors.   a   shiver   down   your   spine. haunting   beauty. hard   liquor.   crowns   of   thorns.   shadowed   alleyways.  decaying   plant   matter. shattered   mirrors   and   broken   glass. corrupted   memories. stopped   clocks.   the   scent   of   stale   cigarettes.   tattered   black   hoodies.  walking   your   friends   home. the   crescent   moon. the   sea.   a   graveyard   on   a   foggy   day. cold   rings   on   cold   fingers.  absolution.   looking   out   the   window   of   an   airplane. soft   kisses.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇.      graffiti.   pretending   to   know   what   you’re   doing. worn   paperback   books.    growing   up   too   fast.   parsley,   sage,   rosemary,   and   thyme.         lace   and   combat   boots.  moth   wings. candles   on   every   surface. a   weathered      deck   of   cards. turning   the   music   up.   fireflies   in   jars. calloused   fingers.  drawing   on   your   skin.   sunlight   filtering   through   clouds.    petrichor. a   dying   rose   in   a   jar.   wearing   a   crystal   pendant. illusions   and   spells. black   cats.   mint   gum.   chapped   lips. dirt   under   your   fingernails.   the   cycle   of   life   and   death.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅.      murders   of   crows.   frost-bitten   leaves.   wolves   howling   at   midnight. knocking   on   your   door.  leaving   food   out   for   stray   animals. the   twang of   an   acoustic   guitar.  honey.  tiny   red   buds   on   trees.   claw   marks   on   the   walls. golden   eyes. slightly   too   long   stubble. sharp   canines. soft,   thick   fur.  hunger.  a small   cottage   in   the   middle   of   the   woods.   knitted   fingerless   gloves.   sleeping   on   the   forest   floor.   always   finding   your   way   back   home.

Tagged by: @dxspereaux 🖤🖤🖤

Tagging: @bcthanygreene @burnslikefire @the-soldier-and-the-reporter (Frank) @tigerincahoots @walkrbait @mercyprevaild @savedpeople and everyone who wants 🖤

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Promise Me (Reprise)

Chapter 64 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3. 

In which the crew head to the Darvaraad and beyond. Also known as the most epic and heart-pounding scramble in any game I’ve ever played, which I love/hate with every fiber of my heart. 

I made a Spotify playlist for this chapter for those who like listening to music while they read; all songs from the Trespasser OST. 

~9500 words; only an excerpt here. Read the whole chapter on AO3.  

*************************

Sera grimaced as she stepped through the eluvian. “Feels fuzzy here. That’s weird. Trees are nice, though.”

Toby whined and tucked his tail between his legs, and Cassandra frowned at Sera. “It certainly does not feel fuzzy here. It feels very strange. Why is it difficult to breathe? And are you talking about those dead trees?”

Sera’s eyebrows shot up. “Dead? They’re not dead! Covered in pretty blooms, more like.” She gave Cassandra a sympathetic look. “I think your hat’s making your brain a bit wibbly.”

Hawke looked up from where she was rubbing Toby’s jowls. “I’m sorry to break this to you, Sera, but only you and Fenris can see those flowers.”

“What!” Sera exclaimed. “Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s true,” Rainier told her. “Only elves can see the flowers on those trees.”

Sera’s face went blank. Then she trotted up to Fenris and tugged his sleeve. “I don’t like it here.”

“Nor do I,” he agreed. “We will be out soon.” He led them to the darkened eluvian and looked at Dorian. “You have the keystone?”

“One shiny magic-soaked gem at your service,” Dorian said. He pulled the cloth-covered keystone from his pocket and turned to Bull. “Amatus, do you want to do the honours?”

Bull shrugged. “Sure, why not.” He waited until Dorian touched the keystone to the mirror, then spoke in Qunlat: “Maraas nehraa.”

The eluvian’s surface lit up with a mercurial swirl of purples and pinks and blues. Fenris took a step toward it, but Bull held up a hand. “I’ll go first, boss. If anyone’s guarding the other side, another horned guy coming through will give them pause for a second.”

“Good thinking,” Fenris said. He gestured to the eluvian. “Go on; we will follow.”

Bull disappeared through the eluvian. Fenris followed a moment later to find Bull already embroiled in a battle with three qunari. 

Fenris lit his lyrium marks, then phased behind the nearest javelineer and tore out her heart. Four more qunari were running over to engage, but the rest of Fenris’s companions were stepping through the eluvian one by one, and within a couple of minutes, the qunari were dead and bleeding on the ground.

And Fenris’s hand was frothing with unstable magic. 

“Get back,” he barked at his companions. He took three hasty steps away from them and shoved his focus through the flickering mark.

It exploded with a sickening flare of light. A wave of pain tore its way up to his shoulder, but the pain was blessedly brief before settling back into its usual low-level burn. 

He sighed and flexed his green-stained fingers before looking up. Dorian, Varric, Bull and Rainier simply looked resigned, but Cassandra and Sera looked horrified. 

“Maker,” Cassandra breathed. “Is that what has been happening–?”

Hawke pushed past them and strode over to Fenris. “Come on, let’s go, no time to waste,” she sing-songed. “Qunari to tear apart, Viddasalas to punch in the face – we’ve got a very packed schedule ahead.” She looped her hand through Fenris’s elbow and pulled him toward a long stone bridge that led to the main fortress of the Darvaarad.

“Hang on a minute,” Dorian said as he trotted along beside them. “Why didn’t you want us near the mark when you set it off? Is it not casting barriers anymore?”

“It was casting barriers?” Cassandra said in surprise. 

“For a time, yes,” Fenris said. “But I’m not convinced it will do that anymore. It feels volatile – more so than a few hours ago.” He gave Dorian a frank look. “I’m afraid it will injure you rather than protecting you.”

“Kaffas,” Dorian said glumly. “Just tell us when to duck, then.”

They scurried along the length of the bridge, and Fenris quickly scoped out their surroundings as best he could despite the darkness of night. The fortress ahead was tall and imposing, with a guardhouse in front and a tall stone tower to the left. A few large stone sculptures of qunari warriors decorated the otherwise austere surroundings, and as they neared the end of the bridge, Fenris silently counted the guards that he could see.

Rainier and Bull had apparently been doing the same; as they all hunkered down in the shelter of the bridge’s stone wall, Rainier murmured to them. “Three guards at the stone tower, and I think I spotted one in the guardhouse.” 

“Two in the guardhouse,” Bull corrected. “And four more by the entrance to the keep, so that’s nine in total. We should take them out one at a time, fast, or we’ll have a mess on our hands.” 

“Why one a time?” Hawke asked. “Let’s just plow right in and get this done. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t mind a little mess.” 

Despite her lighthearted words, her fingers were tapping on her knees, and Fenris knew why she was impatient; she wanted to push forward in the hopes that Solas or Fen’Harel or whoever it was would remove his disintegrating mark. 

He lowered his voice. “We can’t risk attracting unwanted attention. We have no way of knowing how many qunari are inside.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. Sneaking it is. Who do you want where?”

Fenris looked at his companions. “Bull, Cole, Varric and Sera: you go ahead and take out as many as you can. Cassandra and I will assist if they detect you.” He looked at Hawke and Dorian. “Barriers only for now. No offensive magic unless there’s no other way. It will be too obvious.” He scratched Toby’s ears. “You stay here with me, my friend,” he murmured. “A mabari will be far too noticeable.”  

Toby wagged his tail as the others moved into their positions. Bull and the rogues spread out while Cassandra, Fenris, Hawke and Dorian hid by some bushes near the guardhouse. Fortunately – and somewhat to Fenris’s surprise – the plan worked out perfectly: they took down all nine guards without raising an alarm. 

They reconvened at the main doors to the keep. Varric was the last to join them as he returned from the tower; he was holding a letter in his hand, and his face was surprisingly grim. 

He handed the letter to Bull. “Probably something important in here,” he said. “I found it next to some red lyrium.”

“Red lyrium?” Hawke exclaimed. “How the fuck did the qunari get their hands on red lyrium?”

Bull sighed. “Could have been from a smuggling operation. Contraband Venatori stock that the Viddasala kept for her own purposes.”

Dorian folded his arms. “So we’re not just expecting a lyrium-powered saarebas, but a red-lyrium-powered saarebas? Well, that’s wonderful news.” He raised an eyebrow at Fenris. “I do so love coming on these journeys with you. They do so much to restore my health and my sense of wellbeing.”

“I’m pleased to be of help,” Fenris said dryly. He raised his eyebrows expectantly at Bull, who was frowning as he read the letter. “What’s wrong? What does the letter say?”

Bull scratched his ear. “It’s from a saarebas to a viddathari who was having trouble getting used to the Qun. But…” He shook his head. “I don’t know magic, but this saarebas sounds like a red Templar at the end. Stuff about ‘the song liquid’... ‘it will be hard to find the wisdom in the noise. The noise is an illusion like the darkness, but the walls are real.’”

Cassandra frowned. “He was driven mad, then. A dangerous mage powered by red lyrium.”

Rainier shrugged philosophically. “At least we know ahead of time so we can prepare ourselves.” 

This was little comfort to Fenris. Fighting a foe amplified by red lyrium usually meant Hawke using her light-cage to trap them while Fenris weakened them with sympathetic magic from his lyrium marks, but Fenris didn’t want her using her light-cage spell. Furthermore, they had never fought a mage powered with red lyrium before. Red lyrium warriors were one thing; a red lyrium mage, on the other hand… They had never fought a red lyrium mage before.

He took a deep breath to quash his anxiety and ushered his companions into hiding on each side of the double doors into the keep. Bull pushed open one door and stepped inside, and a couple of minutes later, he poked his head out again. 

“Clear for this first corridor,” he said. “But I hear some kind of mechanical clanking further in. Not sure what it is, though.”

Fenris nodded and ushered the others inside. They padded quietly through the empty halls – suspiciously empty halls that made his skin crawl – and it wasn’t long before they came upon a storeroom filled from floor to ceiling with a multitude of pristinely labelled books and artifacts.

“Andraste’s frilly underthings,” Dorian said in wonder. “Look at all of this. What an incredible collection.”

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Incredible’s one word. ‘Bunch of weird’ is another.”

“Actually, that’s three words,” Dorian said primly, and Sera stuck her tongue out at him. 

Rainier stepped into the room and ran his fingers reverently over a large animal skull. “This is a griffon’s skull,” he said. He looked at the others with wide eyes. “The last griffons died in the Grey Wardens’ care. How did the qunari get their hands on this?”

Cole tilted his head as he studied an uprooted astrarium. “There’s no pain,” he said. “Just lots of… ideas?” He blinked at Fenris. “I’m not the right kind of spirit for this.”

Fenris slowly shook his head, nonplussed by the overwhelming range of objects in this room. He looked at Bull. “They are collecting this for study?”

“Yeah,” Bull said. “Then they’ll destroy it. Or they’re supposed to, at least. But the Viddasala was using lyrium instead of destroying it, so who knows what she has in mind.” His tone was neutral, but his one good eye was wide as he looked around the room. 

Hawke snapped her fingers. “This must be how they got into the eluvians in the first place! Look at what they’ve got here: rare artifacts, enchanted jewelry, books – Maker’s balls, they have a lot of books.”

“No kidding,” Varric said. “The Arishok sacked Kirkwall over just one book, and here they’ve got hundreds.”

Hawke nodded slowly. “It’s knowledge,” she said. “Knowledge and power: the things Morrigan said you need to open eluvians.” She shrugged and patted Toby’s head. “That’s what they’ve been storing here. This is how they got the eluvians to work.”

Bull grunted. “Hopefully they don’t have any more ancient magic crap to throw at us.” He jerked his thumb at an enormous skull in the back corner of the room. “That dragon skull would make a wicked armchair, though. Maybe we could take it back to Skyhold after this?”

“Don’t you dare,” Dorian warned. “It will spoil Hawke’s decor theme.”

Varric looked at him in surprise. “What decor theme? She doesn’t have a theme.”

“Of course I have a theme!” Hawke said. “My theme is ‘things I like and want to show off in Skyhold’.”

“Uh-huh,” Varric said flatly. “You sure it’s not ‘things that give an impression of total chaos when visiting nobles come to the castle’?”

Rainier nodded. “It really does look like chaos. It’s, er, nauseating, actually.”

“Exactly!” she said. “It’s strategic, you see? They come into the Great Hall and think they’re getting total madness. Then they meet the Inquisitor and realize they’re getting Thedas’s smartest elf instead.” She gestured at Fenris with a flourish. “It throws them off. Puts them on their toes. Needless to say, Leliana approves of my decor.”

“Josephine doesn’t,” Dorian said slyly.

Hawke gasped dramatically. “Did she tell you that? That little gossip! She told me she loved what I did with the Great Hall!”

Cassandra tsked. “Perhaps we should move along. The qunari will have defenses in place. We must not stumble into… into anything blindly.” 

Fenris frowned at her; something on one of the shelves seemed to have captured her attention. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “What do you see?”

“It’s…” She pointed at a book. “That’s a copy of Swords and Shields.”

“What?” Hawke exclaimed. 

Varric snorted a laugh. “You’re kidding.” He wandered over to Cassandra, who was now flipping through the book.

“It’s barely used,” she said. “The spine is not cracked.” She gave Varric a wry smirk. “It does not seem that they considered it to be a source of much knowledge.”

Hawke chuckled. “Oh please, we all know what you’re thinking. You want to take that copy home, don’t you?”

“Of course not,” Cassandra said. “Why would you think that? I have a copy already.”

Her cheeks were turning pink. Varric and Fenris exchanged looks of alarm, and Varric tried to silently indicate to Hawke that she should stop talking, but it was too late. 

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “Because your copy is falling apart from overuse, of course!”

Cassandra’s face turned bright red. “I beg your pardon?”

Bull grinned salaciously. “Overuse, huh? Go on, tell us more.”

“Yeah, go on!” Sera cheered. “Details, details!”

Cole opened his mouth, and Varric held up a warning finger. “Don’t do it, kid.”

Cassandra glowered at them all. “I’m not – how dare–” She whipped around and pinned Cole with a glare. “Have you been spying again?”

“Oh Maker’s balls,” Hawke blurted. “No no, it’s not Cole, it’s – that letter you sent to Kirkwall before the Exalted Council! Your scribe mentioned…” She finally made eye contact with Varric, then clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh shit, that was supposed to be a secret. Never mind. Um… Look at that vase over there. Isn’t that, er, interesting?”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “That scribe! That cheeky little – argh!” She buried her face in her hands. 

Bull chuckled. “Come now, Seeker, nothing embarrassing about it. It’s perfectly natural.”

Dorian stroked his mustache. “A bit strange that you’re personal friends with the writer of your, er, overused material, though.”

Cassandra shot him a scathing look, but Hawke was the one to reply. “How is that strange? I regularly tell Varric which of his chapters get me off.”

Varric tugged his ear while the others scoffed and chuckled, and Fenris shook his head. “Hawke…”

She blithely went on. “My favourites are the ones where there’s fingertip action.”

“Fingertip action?” Sera exclaimed.

“Yes!” Hawke said. “You know, ‘he traced his fingertips slowly over her petal-soft shoulder…’” She sighed wistfully. “So titillating. And he does it in every smut chapter.”

Sera cackled. “What? That’s tame! That gets you going?”

“Yes, because I know where he’s going with it next,” she said with a lascivious wink. “What about you, Cassandra? What are your favourite smutty bits?”

“I have no opinion on the matter,” Cassandra said haughtily, but she was smiling very slightly now.

Bull smirked at Hawke. “That’s definitely not what I thought of when you said fingertip action.” He looked at Dorian. “Did you?”

Dorian casually brushed off of his sleeve. “I have no opinion on the matter.”

Then Rainier piped up. “I think the biggest question is why Varric writes that titillating fingertip action in the first place.”

Hawke snapped her fingers. “An excellent point!” she said. She batted her eyelashes at Varric. “Are you looking for someone to trail their fingertips over that manly chest of yours?”

Varric tucked his hands in his pockets. “I have no opinion on the matter.”

Despite the growing pain in his arm, Fenris chuckled. Hawke grinned at him, then she started to laugh. Then Varric was laughing, and Rainier and Bull as well, and… 

And all of a sudden, all of them were laughing. All of them except for Cole, who was blinking in a clueless sort of way while he patted Toby’s head, and for some unfathomable reason, that just made the situation even funnier. 

Hawke wrapped her arm around Fenris’s waist as she laughed, and for a bittersweet moment, he admired the brilliance of her grin and the sounds of his friends’ unrestrained mirth. But the bitterness soon overtook the sweet when a lightning-sharp pulse of pain began to stab through his palm. 

He abruptly stepped away from Hawke and left the storeroom. When he was a safe ten paces away, he allowed the accumulated magic in his hand to burst. 

The accompanying agony shot through his arm to up his shoulder, and he clenched his jaw so as not to cry out. When the pain and magic had waned and the blood was no longer pulsing in his ears, he turned back to face the storeroom. 

They were all staring at him with varying degrees of worry and sadness and sympathy. All except for Hawke, whose face was white with fear. 

She exited the storeroom and looked at Bull. “Come on, then. Mechanical clanking noises, you said?”

“Uh, yeah,” Bull said. He gave Fenris a guarded glance as he stepped past them, and they followed him down the hallway in a somber silence.

Read the rest on AO3.