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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 4 years

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what do you think of aang's comments in "the southern raiders" and what they meant to katara? I watched that episode recently with my sister who dislikes atla, and assessed similar things to what certain people of the fandom are saying: "aang didn't understand her", "aang was pushing his beliefs onto her", "it didn't seem like he knew her", etc. she was more fair than those people of course because she did say it was realistic that he'd be so worried since she recognizes that he does love her.

Honestly those arguments are all,, tired. They’re outdated. They’re boring. They’re wrong. They’re a result of a fundamental misunderstanding of A:TLA canon. This isn’t to say that those who genuinely, truly believe these arguments are terrible people (obviously not lmao), but somewhere along the line they had a seed planted in their mind that posits them to have inherent dislike for Aang. And honestly? I just feel sorry for them, because not understanding and appreciating Aang means their A:TLA experience really can’t be that great. But I digress!

“aang didn’t understand her”

Oh, what’s the post? Right - “Fandom once again forgets that Aang is the sole survivor of genocide.” Aang understands better than anyone else what Katara is going through*. There is a direct parallel between Aang finding Gyatso’s skeleton and Katara finding Kya’s body. I’m not going to sit here and argue which was more traumatizing (literally can’t stand when people do that) because you can’t quantify grief like that, but it cannot be denied that Aang has experienced something incredibly similar to what Katara has gone through: the loss of a close parental figure followed by finding said parent’s corpse. Not only that, but Aang and Katara both share a unique sense of helplessness intertwined with their grief regarding their parental figures’ deaths. For Katara, there are the questions of:

- what if I wasn’t a waterbender

- what if I had run a little faster

- what if I had fought against Yon Rha back then

All leading to “Could I have saved her?” For Aang, there are the questions of:

- what if I wasn’t the Avatar

- what if I hadn’t run away

- what if I had stayed to fight the Fire Nation back then

All leading to “Could I have saved him?” Both of them feel incredibly guilty on a personal level about the death of their parental figures, thus blaming themselves. Katara tries to push it off onto Zuko/the Fire Nation and Aang tries to suppress it entirely, but ultimately it is revealed how closely they hold responsibility to their chests. For Aang, it comes out in “The Storm.” For Katara, it comes out in “The Southern Raiders.” So, bullshit that Aang doesn’t understand Katara! He understands her grief better than anyone.

Also, many, many people have gone into this before, but Aang’s example of Appa being stolen was not callous/rude/etc. Appa was the last living piece of his culture. Appa is not “just a pet.” People who insist so are the actual ones being callous, not Aang. And, as Aang himself says, “How do you think I felt about the Fire Nation when I found out what happened to my people?” Aang has experienced more hurt at the hands of the Fire Nation than anyone. There’s a great meta here that delves into Aang’s experiences as the sole survivor of genocide. I don’t understand how someone could acknowledge all that Aang has lost (read: he has lost everything) and then argue that he doesn’t understand Katara’s pain. Like, what? Do you have no sense of empathy?

But most importantly, from Katara herself: “Thanks for understanding, Aang.” She says this after her initial dismissal of him. So take it from the source, my friend - Katara believed Aang understood her. Who are we to argue?

*The only exception perhaps being Sokka, since Kya was indeed his mother, too, but it is worth noting that Sokka did not have the same experience of seeing Kya’s dead body or feeling the intense self-blame that Katara did.

“aang was pushing his beliefs onto her”

It is SO funny how those SAME people have NO problem with everyone in the Gaang telling Aang to kill Ozai the finale! Y’know, when they were disregarding the pacifistic beliefs of his people in exchange for emphasizing their, ahem, more aggressive ones? SO funny! I’m laughing SO hard right now!

Heavy sarcasm, in case it wasn’t obvious. They’re hypocrites and they know it.

But, more importantly, Aang was not pushing his beliefs onto her? At all?? Tell me where in the episode Aang:

- refused to let Katara go after Yon Rha

- told Katara what she was doing was wrong

- told Katara that HE was right and that SHE needed to listen to HIM

Here’s the thing: none of that ever happened! Not only does Aang accept that Katara needs to go (see: “I wasn’t planning to [stop you]. This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man.”), but he allows her to take Appa on her journey. Appa, the last living piece of his culture. Aang has incredible trust in Katara, and his choice to send Appa with her (essentially sending a piece of himself with her) demonstrates this fact clearly. That should end the discussion point blank, but I guess I’ll break down the lines people seem to have issues with:

1) “It’s okay, because I forgive you. [Pauses.] That give you any ideas?”

Honestly, the criticism this line gets is laughable to me. People use it to argue that Aang was being disrespectful to Katara’s feelings and?? I hate to break it to them, but you HAVE to look at the context a line is in if you’re going to judge it. That is Analysis 101: Context is Everything. This moment is used to break tension. That type of scenario is an entire literary trope, okay? A:TLA did not invent it! Shakespeare literally did it in Romeo and Juliet when he had Peter argue with musicians about something stupid after Juliet’s “death.” The whole point is to break tension before more serious scenes. In R&J, it is before the lovers kill themselves, and in A:TLA, it is before Katara leaves with Zuko to confront Yon Rha. That’s why there’s another moment just like it at the end of that scene! Y’know, Sokka asking to borrow Momo for no reason? It breaks tension! It’s a moment of respite before weighty scenes! It’s incredibly common in every form of media! This is what no Humanities classes did to some of y’all, I swear to God. So yeah, Aang was not disrespecting Katara’s feelings with this. It’s just a tension-breaker. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news for those who devoutly believed it was a sign of Aang being a Horrible Person. You were wrong, ain’t no big thing, go drink some water and stay hydrated okay darlings?

2) “I don’t think so. I think it’s about getting revenge.”

Um, a major point of “The Southern Raiders” is that Aang was right about Katara’s initial drive to face Yon Rha? It was a quest for revenge? Katara literally bloodbends, an ability she was forced to learn and essentially feels cursed to bear? Also, nowhere here does Aang tell Katara she was a horrible person for feeling angry and wanting revenge. He simply brings her attention to the reality that what she’s currently seeking is revenge. He’s worried about her. She’s his best friend! He loves her! He doesn’t want her to kill Yon Rha because he knows that for Katara to have blood on her hands from a revenge quest would hurt her tremendously. (As a matter of fact, the audience knows - or should know - this, too.) So, sorry that Aang expresses concern for her? Apparently not wanting your best friend to murder someone is forcing your beliefs onto them? Damn. Y’all are harsh these days.

3) “The monks used to say that revenge is like a two-headed rat viper. While you watch your enemy go down, you’re being poisoned yourself.” // “Katara, you do have a choice: forgiveness.” // “No, it’s not. It's easy to do nothing, but it’s hard to forgive.” // “But when you do, please don’t choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.”

I put all the forgiveness quotes together since people tend to complain about them as a whole. But like,, I really don’t see how this is Aang forcing his beliefs onto her? He asks her to choose forgiveness. And just speaking plainly: on an emotional level, it is better for someone to forgive than to murder. Killing someone is not easy, even if you hate that person with every bone in your body, and it will mentally scar whomever does it. Y’all know this! It’s obvious! I shouldn’t have to say it! But Aang knows this, too, and thus he doesn’t want to see Katara kill Yon Rha and perhaps kill a part of herself in the process. Katara is not a killer. I’m not arguing about whether she could have or even if she wanted to, because you know what, she admits she was tempted, but Katara is not a killer. An FMA quote is very fitting here:

“Your hands weren’t meant to kill. They were meant to give life.”

Why should Katara have to live with a man’s murder on her conscience, especially when his death would be a result of fruitless revenge? The answer is simple: she shouldn’t, and Aang doesn’t want her to. Katara is a warrior. A healer. A leader. A friend. But not a killer.

Anyways. Back to my point: Aang is not forcing his beliefs onto her here. He’s offering her another option, the option she ends up choosing, albeit she extends forgiveness to Zuko instead. And Prince Holier-Than-Thou (jk love you Zuzu) acknowledges it himself: “You [Aang] were right about what Katara needed.” Aang didn’t force anything on Katara here. He reminded her of her choices, he reminded her about the consequences of revenge, and he reminded her about the value of forgiveness. Never once did he tell her she had to forgive Yon Rha or else. And when it came down to it, he stepped aside, and he let her go, because he knew this was a journey she needed to take. So… He actually did the exact opposite of forcing his beliefs onto her! He respected her feelings and let her make her own decision! Seriously, how many pairs of anti-Aang goggles do people have to wear to genuinely believe otherwise??

“it didn't seem like he knew her”

Ohhhhhh my God this is SO close to one of the actual points of the episode! So close!! It’s not that Aang didn’t know her; it’s that Katara wasn’t acting like herself. I’ve talked about it before here and here, but Katara was incredibly consumed by her emotions in “The Southern Raiders.” It’s why she ignores Zuko the entire time before they leave on Appa! It’s why she makes that callous comment to Sokka about their mother that we know she never would have made normally! She is drowning in grief about her mother’s absence, guilt regarding her mother’s death, and anger about Zuko (she still does not trust him, and yet he can lead her to her mother’s killer; I don’t know about y’all, but that is really freaking difficult to reconcile). So when Aang compares her to Jet, it’s not a far-off description. She is acting like Jet, because she’s consumed by grief and hurt and anger and she’s not acting like herself. It is instrumental, too, that Katara isn’t acting like herself, because it makes her decision not to pursue revenge and instead offer a second third chance to Zuko even more profound. “I’m proud of you,” Aang tells her, and damn! The audience is, too! I was incredibly proud of her for finding her way out of what can be a bottomless spiral for some people. So again, it wasn’t that Aang didn’t know her. It was that Katara wasn’t acting like herself (I guess meaning… no one knew her?).

In conclusion, literally all of these anti-Aang arguments regarding TSR are exhausting and so easily disprovable. The fact that they somehow manage to live on is evidence that people just want excuses to hate Aang, plain and simple. Like, it’s so easy to just say you don’t vibe with his character? You don’t have to pull BS excuses to “justify” it? I don’t vibe with Ty Lee as much as I do other characters (although I have recently grown much more fond of her; bless the Renaissance for more Mailee content, even if some of it is just a Zukka byproduct), but y’all don’t see me twisting her sacrifice in “Boiling Rock” to make it seem like it was selfish or something (mostly because, spoiler alert, it wasn’t). Like, you can say Aang isn’t your favorite and move on instead of using the same boring rhetoric over and over and over that just makes it look like you lack critical thinking. :/

TL;DR - Aang’s comments to Katara in “The Southern Raiders” came from a place of concern. A place of wisdom. A place of love. And honestly? I think Katara realizes this, and she’s grateful to him all the more for it.

#if y'all even mention zuko on this post i will stomp you to death with my hooves. this is not about who understood katara better!!#this is solely addressing bs anti aang arguments #aang #katara #atla #avatar the last airbender #adding line break after i post btw!!#atla meta #atla analysis #the southern raiders #yon rha #amy answers #amy analyzes #queenaleesbiggestfan-writes

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reylofanfictionanthology · 4 years

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TO FIND YOUR KISS - AUTHOR REVEALS!

Here are your authors for this year’s exchange!

To Find Your Kiss collection on AO3 | Treats Masterpost

GIFT FIC MASTERPOST

- Reap the Stars by XarisEirene for abbytheatre08

The prompt: After Ben's death, Rey goes mad and turns to the dark side. Only Ben's not dead anymore. ----------------------- She is consuming fire, magnificent in her rage. She will burn the galaxy to its foundations, until the ashes rain down and pile high as mountains. She will gather them into bouquets and scatter them like petals upon his grave.

He will be remembered, and they will not.

Call him The Light Bearer and Joy Giver. Call him He Who Loved and Laid Down His Life. Call him Ben.

- we are question marks that hang above the endless unexplained by LittleLostStar for AlwaysEverlark

The first time she walked into his club, she was looking for a job. Kylo took one look at her—the stubborn pout of her lip, the determined glint in her eyes, the ruddy glow of her face where the sun had kissed it—and swallowed a lump in his throat that was shaped like the words you’re too good for this place.

They needed a singer. Kira Johnson could hold a tune, knew the old standards, and had a knockout pair of tits to boot. A few slinky ballgowns and a touch of lipstick, and she’d more than do the trick of distracting suckers long enough to part them from their money.

The club solely needed to break even; anything they made on top of the Syndicate’s cut was gravy, and Kylo Ren had been lining his pockets with his own take for long enough that he could see Kira for the lump of clay that she was: rough-hewn, misshapen, but soft and supple and sure to curve under his touch.

- Eighty Bucks Says Sweetheart by strangeallure for Amoreusou

Ben likes puzzles. Rey needs help with a bunch of them. Good thing it's a slow day at the office.

- Seldom Visions by SpaceWaffleHouseTM for Andrina_Nightshade

After visiting an old Sith temple, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren has fallen into a deep sleep when he pricks his finger on the point of a red crystal. Rey become is the first to find him, but his rescuer isn't just any general or pilot, it's the woman he shares a soul with, who haunts his waking hours, who still sees him even in his sleep.

- The Dyad by Lady_of_Haven for aneighthdomain

Based of the Prompt: Groundhog Day scenario. Ben and Rey keep getting sent back to the first time they met and no matter what they do, Ben always dies so they stop trying to change events and just live a life time in the year between and couple of weeks and run away together.

- The Delegation by Vivien for aNerdObsessed

A humanitarian delegation from Naboo arrives at Niima Outpost. Rey is skeptical, to say the least.

- Saudade: The Love That Remains by shipperofdarkness for AnneAnna

Saudade (n.) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; "the love that remains"

In those first few weeks, everything had been muddled in a haze as the Resistance tried to rebuild all that had been lost. Rey had buried herself in the work. It’s what she’d always done. Don’t think of your parents, don’t think of waiting, scavenge and repeat.

But it’s different.

Her parents hadn’t wanted her.

He had.

Her parents hadn’t loved her.

He had.

And in his wake, the wound had split Rey’s soul to the bone, like the scar she’d given him all those moons ago. It's a blessing. And a curse. And all she has left. It’s the love that remains.

- i don't want you like a best friend by irridesca for anopendoor

It’s not like she hadn’t seen this coming—Rose told her weeks ago that he was invited. It was an inevitability Rey was always going to have to face, she just didn’t think that Rose would be so merciful as to also give every guest a plus one.

But Rey can’t really be upset—and she is totally, unequivocally not upset—that Ben's bringing someone because, well.

She is, too.

- Love is Weakness by crossingwinter for bittersnake

“He’s someone I found on my recent trip to Corellia,” Rey replies placidly, her face practiced in its boredom. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Love is weakness,” her grandfather reminds her, the way he has for years. It’s why he doesn’t love her. He will not be weak. It’s why she doesn’t love him, either.

- in sickness and in health (with health being less likely) by thehobbem for BlueButterflyKisses

Deciding to spend the rest of their lives together is the easy part for both Rey and Ben; the trouble is in how to propose.

- Snowed In by darlingreadsalot for Blueyedgurl

Never in her wildest dreams did Rey Johnson think she would ever get to meet her favorite other Kylo Ren. She also would have never entertained the idea of the scenario she found herself in. How did a hike in the woods lead to a snowstorm and taking shelter in a remote cabin in the woods? The idea was so ridiculous but had become reality. Stuck inside with a handsome stranger surrounded by a winter storm, Rey wonders what will happen with no power and only one bed. Will they be polite co-habitants stuck in a strange set of circumstances or is there room for something more?

- Curses, Comforts and Capybaras by Andrina_Nightshade for Bombastique

Arrogant CEO bites off more than he can chew when he angers a witch... And suddenly finds himself transformed into a capybara. Can kindhearted wildlife rehabber Rey Niima help him break the curse?

- To Heal a Broken Soul by Reykenobi68 for Cat2000

Ben survives the fallout of Exegol, but his connection to the physical world is in danger. Rey tends to him as she searched for a way to heal him.

- holding me like water in your hands by literallynoonecares for Ceallaigh

After Hux finds out Ben killed Snoke, Hux encases Ben in Carbonite. Rey refuses to let Ben stay frozen forever so she mounts a rescue.

- Like a Thief in the Night by firelord65 for chagrins

Their bond won't let them be alone. At least this time it's the middle of the night and they can't get into a shouting match.

- The Chance by darknessvisible for Crysania

When Rey and Ben, long time co-workers who have never been able to admit their feelings to each other, go on a weekend retreat to work on a movie adaptation script together, a Nor’easter leaves them snowed in. On Valentine’s Day.

- Awake by QueenOfCarrotFlowers for cuddlesome

Something inside him is awake, and something inside her is about to wake up.

An alternate interrogation scene.

- darkness rises, and light to meet it by politicalmamaduck for czechia

After the throne room, Jedi Ben Solo and Kira Ren meet again a year later.

- Not Quite a Fairytale by Crysania for DarkMage13

Rey lets a stranger use the phone of the café she works at late one night. It changes the whole course of her life.

- The Canvas of Your Skin by tearoomsaloon for darlingreadsalot

She was incapable of touching him without drawing blood, it seemed. Lines like vermillion paint streaked where her fingers sketched down the contours of his face, his back, and now his chest.

In which a Force bond is splintered, a resurrection goes wrong, a kiss is forgotten, and two almost-lovers avoid speaking for the better half of a year.

- You Won't Escape Me ('Cause I Set You Free) by DarkMage13for DoorKeeper9

“W-What are you doing?” She would have been more irritated if she wasn’t shivering.

Kylo rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to let hypothermia kill you.”

“S-Stripping me is not going to kill me? That makes n-no sense.”

Rey needs a kyber crystal and Kylo is trying to prevent her from getting into more life-threatening situations. It's definitely not because he cares about her. Nope.

- Fleeing the Storm by Padawan_Writer for driverfever

As the granddaughter of an merciless aristocrat, Rey’s life hangs on a thread at the hands of the French Revolutionaries. When her childhood friend, Ben, offers to platonically marry her in order to take her to his home in England to safety, she has no choice but to accept.

But her suitor and revolutionary Hux won’t give her up so easily. Hounded by revolutionaries and falling in love, Rey and Ben must use all their wits to flee Paris and make it to England.

- Equal Measure by misszeldasayre for dustoftheancients

When Princess Rey of Coruscant calls upon the cursed Sir Kylo Ren to help her escape her grandfather the emperor’s political machinations, she discovers freedom in the ancient familial magic that binds them together.

- Benimina Solo's Late On-Set Force Ability by MissCoppelia for Evangel10n

Benimina Solo has never, not even once, had an ounce of Force Sensitivity. She's done a great deal to move on with her life after failing out of her uncle's Jedi training school. So when Rey Palpatine comes into her life and suddenly everything changes, she's not a happy camper.

- Splatter by DoorKeeper9 for expendable

“You’re Palpatine’s girl,” he says coldly.

“His chief of staff, yes.” Rey’s eyes narrow. “And you have your hand on my ass, Kylo. Kindly take it off.”

“Or what?”

AKA powerful corporate rivals Kylo and Rey put the hate in love/hate.

- The Haunted Mirror by AlwaysEverlark for FangirlintheForest

When Rey travels to UK to attend the reading of his grandfather will, a grandfather she didn't know existed until that very moment, she finds a house, and a old story that will haunt her...

- i'm your secretary by OccasionallyCreative for firelord65

Kaydel pressed her lips together in a thin line, passing a pile of datapads over the desk. “I don’t know what that pretentious nerf herder has put into your brain, but these are tales of the key roles women have played in past rebellions.” She stood, tapping the pile. “They’re great reads,” she added, with a pointed raise of her eyebrow.

- and they danced across the sky by chagrins for flipflop_diva

When he was still a child, he constantly watched the blue butterflies as they danced in the sky.

They seemed to be calling him, aiding him each instance that icy-cold darkness flowed through his very veins. The magnificent creatures saved him from the voices. They drowned out the incessant chatter in his head. Temporarily cleared away all the anger. During those brief respites, watching those blue wings flutter in the sky, Ben felt free.

But that’s another life. Another world. Another time. Another, another, another.

And Kylo's no longer a child.

No. He welcomes the darkness now. Embraces it.

- Finding The Answer by Cat2000 for FrenchMartiniPlease

Rey pines for Ben Solo…so why does her soulmate mark always drain of colour whenever she gets close to him?

- Almost Unforgettable by maq_moon for HopeRebel

The woman in the mirror has blood on her clothes, cash in her bag, and a letter from her husband telling her it's better to forget. Well, he got his wish. She forgot everything-- including her name. And she wasn't the only one afflicted.

It'll take the combined efforts of gumshoes, a flatfoot, a washed-up Hollywood starlet, and more to get to the bottom of this bad business. In the end, these things always come back to the beginning.

- The Curl of a Sigh by okpianist for irridesca

During the last song in Maxine’s set, a song she announces is called “Soul Companion,” Ben heads back out to the lobby to look for Rey. He finds her not with his eyes but with one broad shoulder, when he bumps into her and knocks her gig bag out of her hands and onto the plush carpet.

- and they were roommates by myownlittleinfinity for Lady_of_Haven

When Ben loses a bet to his roommate, Rey, he has to eat her out for 30 days.

- torn away from you (my heart is broken) by bittersnake for lakerose

The Force binds more than minds.

- 3 Days in Vienna by anopendoor for Like_A_Dove

Kylo Ren, trained mercenary Alpha assassin, is on a mission—assassinate Chancellor Palpatine and bring his underground authoritarian regime to an end. It’s what the First Order demands, for the better of society.

It should be an easy task. He’s been getting close to the Chancellor and his cronies for years. So how is it that the unexpected appearance of an Omega, with a seemingly similar mission—and a wholly inconveniencing scent—become a distraction he hadn’t accounted for?

- If You Take Me flipflop_diva by literallynoonecares

Rey sighed wistfully as she watched her two friends lean in toward each other as they danced, their lips meeting and melding together as they seemed to become one person instead of two separate beings. She had seen them kiss so many times, but this kiss … it was special.

“I just want someone to kiss me like that,” she mused softly to herself, her eyes not leaving her friends.

“I could make that happen if you wanted.”

- Confidence and Desire by MBlair for LittleLostStar

“Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually, the confidence will follow.” - Carrie Fisher

- Love brightens even the most monstrous parts of ourselves by Lutrosis for LRRH17

No one knows since when the giant, black bear has lived in the forest near Theed. Many stories about the origin of Kylo Ren circulate in the small village. After Rey has run away from Jakku, and arrived in Theed she has heard them all of, but has never actually meet the creature. This changes when her and her friends get attacked by bandits on their way back from Otoh Gunga.

- Your Sweetness Comes With Sugar on the Side by AnneAnna for Lutrosis

Rey's daughter loses her mother as she wanders around the Supermarket. Ben finds her and the two connect over both being Type 1 diabetics. They find Rey, and Ben and Rey are instantly smitten. As they date and fall in love they discover that Jade and Ben are connected more than they thought and healing is brought to the Solo/Skywalker clan.

- Allegories, or Allusions to Real Life by czechia for maq_moon

“Boys, please stop arguing.” Rose rubbed her temples. “Poe, we get it, you’re childhood best buddies, you’ve got a better grasp on his character than some rando of a rando you met at a party. Finn, for fuck’s sake, we’ve been working with Ben for months. I’m pretty sure if he’s a serial killer or whatever, it would have come out by now.” Finn sat back in his seat, grumbling. “Not how serial killers work.” Rey was going to have a headache if this continued any longer, so she lied through her teeth at the reality of a new player joining their D&D party. "He seems nice." She didn’t trust a single inch of skin on that man. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

- We’ve Met Before by PoliticalPadmé (magnetgirl) for MBlair

Rey and Ben meet, move in together, get engaged, and marry.

- Invite the Wild In by thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily) for midwinterspring

Kylo Ren, the mysterious senator who appeared from out of the deserts of Jakku and somehow brought them back to life, has spent a long and unproductive session on Hosnian Prime. Now, it's time to go home. After all, there's someone waiting for him and so much for them to do together.

(The ancient Sith had some interesting rituals.)

- Purim Party by Lorelei713 for MissCoppelia

Rey goes back to visit her foster mother for a Purim celebration. She meets Ben Solo who's visiting his parents, who are friends with her foster mother. They have an attraction to each other right away, but try to play it cool.

- The Banished Heart by stellardarlings for misszeldasayre

On Rey of Niima’s nineteenth name day, Jakku gains a new wizard.

Jakku is a withering outpost of the kingdom, and its people hope the new wizard - the mysterious Kylo Ren - will bring them the rains the land needs to heal. Rey is a lonely, clanless girl living in Niima, and she has a secret. One she hopes the wizard will be able to help her with too.

- The Smuggler's Bride by tmwillson3 for MyJediLife

Miss Rey Nemo is the new mistress of Manor Takodana, left to her by the late Lord Skywalker. When a strange man named Kylo Ren appears on her doorstep, she decides to hire him as her new groundskeeper. As Rey faces sinister threats and secrets are revealed, Kylo Ren may be the only person who can save her.

- Annabel Lee by driverfever for myownlittleinfinity

Rey keeps finding these ... notes in her locker. She doesn't quite get them. They seem like love notes, but she doesn't know who they could be from. Meanwhile she's paired up with Ben Solo (who hates her despite her gigantic crush on him) for this English assignment. Who knows how THIS will go.

- with my body i thee worship by yodalorian for niennathegrey

- the losing game by KoreRosemarinus for no_big_deal

Sith Princess Rey Palpatine is given a peculiar gift for her Life Day: a Jedi. Not only that, one who is boorish, spirited, and stubborn. But, he presents an opportunity: one that could liberate her from a life under the thumb of her grandfather. She has seven weeks to change his heart before all her freedom is taken from her - forever.

- standing right in front of you by reylotrash711 for notkellymarie

When Senator Solo's engagement is pushed forward, he and his Jedi bodyguard, Rey, travel to Naboo alone for the announcement ball. The pair despise each other, constantly bickering and disagreeing with each other, which makes spending extensive amounts of time alone together all that more difficult. Until of course, one of them breaks...

- the good, the bad, and the smuggling by Priestly for OccasionallyCreative

Ben Solo is a seasoned smuggler. And he’s not bad at it, either. But when bounty hunter Rey offers him a temporary partnership he can’t refuse, Ben will find himself pushed to the limits of his skill, patience, and resourcefulness on a job that’s dangerous enough to be his last.

It’s like his dad used to say: bounty hunters are nothing but trouble, kid.

- Whatever our souls are made of...his and mine are the same by writergenie for Padawan_Writer

Ben and Rey meet only after Kylo has defected from the First Order and returned to the Resistance and his mother. Will the dyad still find a way to be?

- You're My Dark Princess by Evangel10n for persimonne

Five years after the defeat of the First Order, Rey is no longer the woman we knew. Having no war to fight, Rey turns to contract killing. Not quite a bounty hunter, no, an assassin is not that honorable. She no longer relies on the Light side to guide her or the Dark, not claiming either side. She is a completely different person, lost, angry, numb. One day she is hired to kill a man she knew intimately, but he doesn’t remember her. What is she going to do? She has two choices here, kill the past or save a man she thought was dead.

- They say that only the dead have seen the end of war by Juulna and Annaelle for politicalpadmé

“He traded his life for mine,” Rey choked, stomping back and forth in front of him so fast he could barely keep track of her. “He died. He died so I didn’t have to—and it’s not—it’s—after everything he’s gone through—it’s not fair.” Tears were running down her cheeks now, and Poe wanted to do nothing more than hug her, but there was nothing he could say—nothing she would want to hear. Poe remembered all the people he’d lost, all the times he had raged and screamed and cried about the unfairness of it all. “Leia sacrificed herself to bring him back,” Rey declared suddenly, ceasing her constant pacing around the fire as she looked straight at him. “And he sacrificed himself for me—and now no one’s going to know. All he’ll be remembered as is Kylo Ren, but he was—he was so much more.” She exhaled with a shudder and whispered, “He was a part of me, and I—I don’t feel whole without him.” ~

A Force Ghost Ben/Rey love story, with a side of rebuilding the galaxy.

- Cicatrix by cuddlesome for Priestly

Getting cut up by Rey on Starkiller awakens something in Kylo.

- I Will Always Be With You by Ceallaigh for Prix

But she wouldn’t be able to hide her pregnancy for much longer. She was starting to show, and her friends would start asking questions. She would have to give them answers, some of them would not understand, and none of them would accept.

She carried his child. The tiny spark of light woven with darkness, just like her. Just like his father.

—————

The world has gone dark More times than you Or your mother Or your grandmother Can remember. And every hurricane That was meant to be The end of it all Had instead ended In sunshine again.

So believe me When I say; You will survive this And the next one too.

World’s End—Nikita Gill

- all my daydreams are disasters by persimonne for QueenOfCarrotFlowers

During her search for the infamous Luke Skywalker — the man who predicted a devastating earthquake in New Madrid, Missouri — Rey finds herself entangled in Luke’s family history and with his brooding nephew, Ben Solo.

- on what ground I was founded (when I first saw you) by midwinterspring for redbelles

Kylo dreams of Rey after the Battle of Crait. And the yearning is mutual...

Some Force Bond dream smut inspired by "Shrike" and "NFWMB" by Hozier.

- Last Summer by Abbytheatre08 for Reykenobi68

Rey had started to get used to Ben not living next door anymore by the time the holidays came around. Then he's back for the holidays. Rey is really expecting things to go wrong after the way he left at the end of the summer. ut is it really going to be that bad.

- The Long Way Home by VR_Trakowski for reylotrash711

In the aftermath of Exegol, Ben and Rey are divided by misunderstandings. It will take time and danger for them to work things out.

- Under the moonlight by Takekurabehime for shariling

I don't know why I followed you here. She wanted to reply. Maybe because you're so tall I couldn't help but notice you. Maybe it's because of your hair or the way you move, or maybe it's because of that kind of melancholic look in your eyes. There is something about you that I find terribly attractive and I don’t know what it is: maybe the moon or the alcohol or the wolf I have met before infected me with some strange parasite and now I am hopelessly attracted to dogs, I do not know. She could have said one of these things, any of them, instead she said: “I've never bitten anyone before, and I want you to be my first.”

- Fallen by Reykenobi68 for shipperofdarkness

Prompt: Devil!Ben and Angel!Rey or Angel!Ben and Devil!Rey. How do these two on completely opposite sides fall in love and defy worlds to be together?

- come away with me by HopeRebel for silentfleur

Rey owns a tinker shop, but her life changes when she meets Ben Solo and is cursed by a witch. Not necessarily in that order.

- A Picture of Me Without You by the-reylo-void (Anysia) for SpaceWaffleHouseTM

"I suppose I'd somehow struggle through / But I'd hate to picture myself without you."

It's impossible not to have a soulmark. It's not a big deal, not in the lax and gin-soaked speakeasies of 1920s Manhattan, but it's still a heavy weight to bear, as Ben Solo and Rey find out side by side.

- Lips Raw With Love by MyJediLife for stellardarlings

Their kiss on Exegol wasn't their first kiss...

Nor would it be their last.

- Everyone Makes Divine Mistakes by no_big_deal for Takekurabehime

Jedi Knight Ben Solo is sent to Naboo on an errand of mercy (and to visit his grandparents). He arrives in springtime; but will he be able to complete his mission without finding himself distracted and bewildered when love and intrigue waft through the fragrant air?

- Glitter & Gold by aionimica for TearoomSaloon

Rey is lead singer in an up-and-coming glam metal band. They've finally got steady performances, but that means playing at the same club as the Knights of Ren, whose lead singer definitely isn't interested in any competition.

- To kiss like lovers do by FrenchMartiniPlease for the-reylo-void (Anysia)

Ben and Rey spend their formative years growing up together in Medieval Scotland and it looks like they will end up together. Circumstances intervene and Rey loses her chance to be with him. Devastated, she carries on until the day clan Ren attacks Castle Jakku lead by the notorious killer Kylo Ren.

- Snow Turns To Rain by aneighthdomain for thehobbem

For a moment, he wanted to ask what she meant, but if he was being completely honest, he already knew. He asked himself that same question over the years, and none more often than tonight, since seeing her again. Was leaving worth it? Was going their separate ways worth leaving each other?

“I’m not sure,” he said finally, shaking his head. “I’m happy...” he said, and she tensed a little, so he continued, “with my work. I’m glad I’m doing what I love, but....”

“But?”

“But it wasn’t the only thing I loved.”

- Change the Dance by expendable for theresonatinglight

- Meet Me in the Woods by FangirlintheForest for thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)

“What do you mean no one goes in there?” A chuckle. “It’s haunted. People see all sorts of weird things in there and some don’t ever come out. You’re better off living with your curiosity.” Rey wakes in a shadowy forest with no memory of where she came from, only her name. With the help of the resident guardian she takes a journey to figure out her past, and maybe even discover her future.

- permanent calligraphy (your name on me forever) by theresonatinglight for Thursdaygirl

As they continue to work together, two things become clear. One: Ben Solo is an enigma. He’s preppy yet humble, privileged yet introspective. He’s the opposite of lazy; she kicks herself every day for assuming otherwise. And two: Ben Solo will never love her.

- show me the stars. by shariling for tmwillson3

“I don’t hate Christmas, I just don’t love it the way you do.” Lifting his head, he pulls a face, loosening up a tangled ornament of a poodle with pink, curly fluff. Rey snatches it from him possessively, tossing it back to the cart. “No one loves it the way you do, to be fair.”

“Now that’s the truth,” says Poe, who Finn invited about half an hour ago to keep him company.

“People have bad taste, I don’t know what to say.” Huffing, Rey scrolls through her phone with more intent. “Neither of you are helping me, anyway.”

“What’s the problem?” says Poe.

“Rey thinks her hot neighbor hates her —”

“He does hate me.”

“ — When really he’s been flirting with her for the past, oh I don’t know, how long have you lived there?”

- I realized that I need you, I wondered if I could come home by Blueyedgurl for VR_Trakowski

Rey is doing exploration work for the Resistance, searching for force sensitive planets so any force sensitives that they find have a place to train.

One day, midflight she finds a slip of paper with the elegant scrawling words of the ones that came before. The ones that she found when Ben still roamed the galaxy.

When she lands on a dark and barren planet she is forced to face the feelings she thought she buried.

- Shadows of the Moon by dustoftheancients for walkingsaladshooter

The hallways got darker, the corridors grew longer. Shadows stretched across the walls. The ghosts of Breha Manor grew each night.

Rey clutched her necklace. Ben met her gaze.

And every night, there was weeping.

- show the way (the world could be) by niennathegrey for writergenie

In the aftermath of the Battle of Crait, Rey struggles to find her place among the Resistance. However, her lingering Force bond with Kylo— Ben— whatever name he calls himself— complicates things, blurring the line between friend and foe.

When the tension threatens to boil over and a desperate plan goes awry, Rey begins to wonder whether there really is a line between light and dark after all.

(Stars do burn brightest in the blackness of space.)

- why don't we go (somewhere only we know) by LRRH17 for XarisEirene

The bond snaps back into place, even stronger than before. He is here. With Rey, yes, but with Luke - Luke, who is looking at them now with that same dangerous glint in his eye that haunts Ben’s dreams.

- renewed, transfigured, in another pattern by midwinterspring for yodalorian

Rey mourns on Tatooine while Ben is stuck in the World Between Worlds. But neither of them are alone, and blue butterflies light a path back to each other.

#reylo #reylo fanfiction anthology #rffa writers #reylo fanfic #reylo fic #to find your kiss #master post #mod post #photo edit

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a-world-in-grey · 3 years

Text

Sola/Calling for Rain

@secret-engima and, months later, the snippet I promised!

Karin’s first memories are her mother’s grave and her sister’s sick bed.

She knows more than that of course. She knows how her mother died, forced to use their family’s healing ability until they’d drained her chakra dry. She knows her older sister nearly followed their mother that night, eight years old and already scarred across her arms and shoulders.

But that knowledge isn’t seared into her memory the way her mother’s gravestone is, the bamboo marker plain and unmarked, nothing like the stone markers bearing carved names for the village shinobi. That knowledge doesn’t paint itself across her closed eyelids like Kyoho’s frail form, skin too pale, breaths too shallow, wild hair tumbling across the pillows like a splash of blood.

Karin remembers when Kyoho first opened her eyes, how her sister had looked to find Karin first, and hadn’t settled until she could clearly see Karin was well.

Karin doesn’t know how much Kyoho’s near death changed her older sister. She can’t remember what Kyoho was like before, can’t remember a time when Kyoho didn’t braid their hair with little painted beads and thin cords of braided thread. Can’t remember a time when Kyoho didn’t hold her close at night and whisper bedtime stories in words that sound like thunder and rain.

Stories and Songs and meanings just for the two of them. Braids and beads hidden beneath hair and cloth, Clan secrets told in the dead of night in a tongue only they knew. Teaching Karin to dance, to fly.

Teaching Karin to survive.

Kyoho trains with the determination not to learn, but master every skill she can. Taijutsu, weapons, healing, ninjutsu. She claws her way up the ranks of Kusa’s shinobi, genin at nine, chuunin at eleven, jounin at fifteen.

Kusa’s own little prodigy. A match for Konoha’s Uchiha Itachi or Hatake Kakashi. Or so Kusa likes to think.

There’s a lot Kusa doesn’t know.

They don’t know of the fuuinjutsu, of the basics learned from their mother that Kyoho took and reinvented on her own. The black tattoos spiraling across Kyoho’s skin hidden from sight under dark green clothing.

They don’t know about the chakra chains Kyoho painstakingly learned to use. Chains Kyoho learned to modify, to shrink to the size of a fine gold chain, to enlarge to the size of the massive chains that once rose from the waves to close Uzushio’s ports.

They don’t know of Kyoho’s sensory abilities, so fine tuned she can pick out a shinobi’s specialization from the feel of their chakra alone. They don’t know of the weapons Kyoho can wield beyond her glaive and curved shortswords.

They don’t know Kyoho’s taught Karin everything she knows. They don’t know Karin isn’t the fumbling, lackluster genin overshadowed by her prodigal sister’s brilliance.

“My name is Uzumaki Naruto, and I’m going to kick all of your asses!”

The room goes silent, every genin present turning to stare, and Karin feels her breath freeze in her lungs as the chakra signatures around her spike with anger and disbelief.

Karin buries her own chakra, smothers it down to a spark so small even Kyoho has difficulty detecting, hiding the surprise and recognition and the tangle of emotions she can keep off her face but not out of her chakra. And she knows she shouldn’t focus her attention solely on the loud Konoha genin as his teammates and comrades converge to scold him for his recklessness. There are others in the room far more dangerous than the rookie too dumb not to draw the ire of the rest of the competition before the Exams have even begun. And yet-

Uzumaki.

He doesn’t have the red hair. But that’s the mon on his shoulder, black and purple instead of the black and blue variant Kyoho’s stitched into their clothes, in places easily hidden because there’s Clan Pride but then there’s announcing to all the Elemental Nations that they’re female kekkai genkai bearers.

Karin lessens her hold on her chakra, reaching her senses past the thunderstorm-shadow-river feeling of the three genin standing beside him.

Warmth. Bright encompassing warmth, intense but not painful, the ocean breeze across her skin on a clear sunny day. Swirling reserves deeper than she’s ever sensed, even deeper than Kyoho’s hearth-fire chakra.

Karin suppresses her chakra the moment the blond’s thunderstorm teammate glances her way, glancing away and digging her fingernails into the back of her hand so hard she’s surprised she doesn’t break skin.

She swallows back a sob.

Uzumaki. He’s Clan.

But not Galahdian. Not a child of the Storm-Father, not someone who grew up with the Clan Laws and the certainty in their bones that even if the world fell apart, the Clan would always have your back.

The Uzumaki are a shinobi clan. Karin can’t… how can she know if she can trust this wayward Uzumaki? How can she know if he will hold that same fierce loyalty that blazes in her and Kyoho’s souls?

She shouldn’t. Oh, but by the Storm-Father, Karin wants to. This long lost kinsman who wears Freedom and Protection across his shoulders. Who looks at the world with Protection in his eyes and crowned with Love.

Karin knows the Colors don’t apply to the natural world. To things that are mere happenstance and genetic chance. But-

(‘Sometimes the Gods paint us with specific Colors,’ Karin remembers Kyoho telling her, ‘A message and a warning, for souls so strong the physical has no choice but to reflect it.’

Karin had looked into Blue eyes framed by Red hair, and never asked if Kyoho spoke from experience.)

For the first time in nearly ten years, Karin hopes.

She has to try.

And that means staying in Konoha long enough to get a measure of Uzumaki Naruto.

Karin is perfectly happy not knowing how something gets named the ‘Forest of Death.’

Unfortunately, as the location of the Second Exam, Karin’s not going to get a choice.

Kyoho would love it, Karin thinks as she miserably fills out the liability waiver. Kyoho had spoken of many places in her past life, but none so fondly as Galahd, deadly and wild and all the more beautiful for it.

She lets her ‘teammates’ take the lead as they scout through the forest. Her head’s busy planning her next step. Should she focus on passing the Second Exam? Kyoho told her how the Third Exam was always an exhibition for clients, so she’d have plenty of time during the preparations to track down and try to get to know her kinsman. Perhaps with Kyoho’s help even - surely her mission would be finished by then?

But that assumes Karin and the two idiots she’s assigned to play chakra-battery for can pass at all. They aren’t the weakest team in the forest, even counting Karin’s careful pretense, but there are a lot of teams stronger than they are. Stronger, and all too willing to kill.

Karin could ditch the idiots. She’s kept track of where she last sensed Uzumaki Naruto’s chakra, so she could find him and get to know him in the time before the Second Exam ends. Maybe even steal the Earth scroll and bring it as a good faith gift.

But she’d be on her own, carrying a high value target, and gambling on her kinsman caring enough about a cousin he didn’t know to trust and protect her.

Karin tugs on the loose ends of her hair in frustration. Why is this so hard?!

Kyoho would know what to do.

Kyoho’s not here, Karin firmly reminds herself. She has to figure this out on her own.

In the end, she chooses to stay with her teammates. There's too many unknowns for her to risk running now.

Two days later, staring up at the bear taller than her house, Karin's regretting her decision to stay.

They left me!

Stay and hide, they said. You'll be fine.

If they're still alive when Karin finds them, she's going to throttle them. Hiding her chakra doesn't matter when enemies can find her by her scent! The bear snarls, and Karin gives up any pretense of hiding her abilities. She's out of her depth, anything less than her full skill will only end up with her dead-

("Above all else," Kyoho had whispered the night before Karin left for Konoha, "survive.")

She reaches for her supply of explosive tags (way more than anyone thinks she has, way more than she probably needs, but they're the easiest seal to make and Kyoho always says there's no such thing as overkill) and prepares to turn the bear into a pile of charred meat and fur.

Only, there's movement above her, a blur of black and purple, a flash of silver-

Thunder. Lightning and rain and the howling storm as she huddles by the warmth of hearth, each flash of light in the sky accompanied by the rolling drums that echo in her chest; an invitation, a challenge, to face the storm and laugh in the embrace of the sky.

Uzumaki's dark haired teammate lunges from the trees like one of the jungle cats of Kyoho's stories, dropping down onto the bear with a spinning, flying kick, and Kyoho freezes.

Kyoho knows that kick.

(Karin stares wide-eyed as Kyoho all but flies through the air, leaping and spinning with the grace of a breeze through the prairie grasses. Kyoho's been teaching her how to dance, but those jumps have nothing on the ones Kyoho is doing!

"Will I learn to do that too?" Karin asks. Nerves flit in her gut like butterflies. She's trying to learn everything Kyoho can teach her, but those leaps are so high.

Blue eyes soften as Kyoho ruffles her hair. "You don't have to - it's not part of the Ostium Dance."

Karin blinks. "It's not?"

"It's Ulric, our sister Clan." Kyoho says. Her gaze grows distant. "Clan of Sky and Storm, Coeurl-kin, first of the Storm-Father's children."

Karin's touch on her arm brings her back to the present. "Were you Ulric first, before you were Ostium?"

Kyoho laughs. "I was Furia, Clan of Sea and Horizon, but I learned the Ulric Dance because I was Sky-born instead of Sea-born.")

She can't see a braid, but- Black and purple. A pair of well worn kukri at his back. The aerial combat she's never seen anyone but Kyoho use.

Her fingers tremble around the string of explosive tags as the genin checks to make sure the bear is dead. Then he turns to her with an easy grin. "You're an Uzumaki, right? Do you want to meet your cousin?"

And Karin has been so keyed up over possibly having Clan, over being in hostile territory with no one to watch her back, with desperate hope dogging her heels for the past three days of finding someone she can trust-

(“You can always trust the Clans. Even the most bitter rivals will protect a Clan child, if they are threatened by Outsiders.”)

"Are you Ulric?" She blurts.

Dark eyes sharpen. "How do you know that name?" But his gaze flits to her temple, to the black braid joiner peeking out from her hair. Karin removes the grey hitai-ate and pulls her hair back to show him her braids. The Ostium Braid and the Mourning Braid for her mother, unlike Kyoho who also wears Marriage, Hero, and Revenge Braids. Braids Karin and Kyoho have never shown anyone but each other.

But the boy's eyes widen in shock and recognition, and pale fingers pull the Ulric Braid threaded with the purple ribbon of a Chief from its hiding place behind his ear.

("And if you get the chance, run. Before Kusa kills you too.")

Karin sobs.

This boy is Clan. He's safe.

#A Shadow of Heaven's Light #fusion #naruto #Calling for Rain verse #Uzumaki Karin #Uzumaki Kyoho #Nyxsuke #Kusa doesn't know how badly they screwed up #Kyoho's worn a Revenge Braid since Kusa killed their mom #she's just been waiting until Karin is safe to be able to take that revenge #Kyoho's not had a Braincell for almost ten years #she might be a touch feral

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redstainedsocks · 3 years

Text

So, you want to read my Weight of Earth series but you have no idea what’s going on or why? Here, let me help with that!

The players:

Adria

An immortal being, with powers of fire and earth, her touch burns—more when she’s angry, and less when she bothers to think about holding her power in check. She very rarely thinks to keep her power in check.

Centuries ago some annoying do-gooders took it upon themselves to rid the world of her wickedness and she was trapped in a cave for crimes of murder and demonic destruction being too sexy. Until she found a way to extend her powers outward and her followers were able to send sacrifices that give her the ability to leave as long as someone remains in her place. Now she lives in relative luxury in a cavern filled with beautiful things… and a little lovely human thing who begged to be her Good Boy, honest.

Jasper

Caught by Adria years ago and forced to be her current mark bearer. After hearing that the previous mark bearers never lasted long because she got bored with their dislike of the situation, he made a bargain to stay by her side and do exactly as she wanted. At the end of this bargained time she would offer his freedom, and he could go back to his life. He’s very good and obedient, an artist who uses his time to create, and to be, beautiful things for his Mistress.

He’s very lonely and touch starved, and this never bothered Adria much until oh, what’s this…

Alex

Just some guy! Literally just a random dude! Adria saw him, liked his face well enough, decided she was tired of her boy back home being sad and despondent all the time and thought “hey, this guy will do” and took him home to be a friend for her lovely pet. Alex is angry and scared and fighty and just as trapped as Jasper but with none of the leverage Jasper has to get in Adria’s good books.

[Redacted]

Some of you may have seen me tag some posts with this, and you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?

Background and other details:

Adria was born in Ancient Greece (though, y'know, it was just Greece back then) and has been causing havoc most of that time. When did she get trapped? Oh, a few centuries ago, time blurs together without sunlight to mark it by.

Jasper has been with Adria for ten years, but he’s fine, it’s fine. He’s okay, please don’t ask him to tell you how okay it is, he’ll make it very believable.

Adria expects Jasper to help keep Alex in line, so it’s a forced-to-whump situation at times. Everybody hates this. Except Adria who finds it very entertaining, actually.

At the point I’m writing now, Alex and Jasper aren’t exactly friends yet—especially if you asked for Alex’s opinion which he’s aware nobody is thankyouverymuch. He does have a grudging realisation that Jasper is his best chance of not going completely off the rails with boredom and loneliness and despair. But don’t touch him, he doesn’t want to be touched. Jasper otoh… really, really wants to be held by someone whose touch doesn’t hurt.

The transfer of the mark from Adria to her chosen human carries some benefits, a little bit of her immortality given to whoever it marks, so Jasper heals very quickly. He still scars but he heals quickly enough that he can, if needed, be hurt over and over again in quick succession

Because the cavern is contained underneath the earth (she had to be trapped by the thing her powers are drawn from, that's how magic works, I decided) only Adria has the means to—for want of a better word—portal her way out of it. She can bring other people with her as she comes and goes, but neither Alex or Jasper can leave on their own. They are Literally Trapped…. or are they? maybe the author knows something they don’t

The cavern is sort of a pocket dimension that sits out-of-time, so time is frozen there and neither Jasper nor Alex age or change. If their hair gets cut it won’t regrow, for example, which is nice for Adria because she doesn’t have to worry about shaving beards or giving them “weapons” to do so themselves

General warnings for the series: long term captivity, intimate whumper, implied noncon (which may change to explicit, depending on how writing goes), dehumanisation, torture, ongoing trauma and lots of other juicy things.

I’m open to answering asks and questions about the series or characters, past, present, or future—though I reserve the right to withhold some spoilers publicly, if there’s something you want to know before deciding to read, my DMs are open and I’ll do my best to answer!

#weight of earth series = woes #weight of earth #Alex and Jasper #series catch up #OC whump #whump series

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mountphoenixrp · 3 years

Photo

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

Lee Minho, who is also known as Min; a 22 year old son of Akbul. He is a security guard at Babylon.

FC NAME/GROUP: Lee Minho (Lee Know), Stray Kids CHARACTER NAME: Lee Minho, goes by simply “Min” AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 22 | October 25, 1998 PLACE OF BIRTH: Gimpo, South Korea OCCUPATION: Security Guard at Babylon HEIGHT: 5’8” WEIGHT: 120 lbs DEFINING FEATURES: Round scar on the front and back of his left upper arm from a through-and-through bullet wound.

PERSONALITY: To strangers, Min seems cold and untouchable; a quiet figure who sticks to the shadows. He almost seems like a shadow himself, the way he sticks close to the few friends he has. He isn’t one for small talk and is rather snarky by nature, so he can come off as a jerk at times.

However, once you get to know him, he is more sassy and funny than you would have expected. He has a strange sense of humour, often employing self-deprecating or threatening jokes that he can deliver with a very straight face.

HISTORY: [ TW: death, gun violence, blood ]

Lee Minho was born to a struggling single mother. The first ten years of his life were happy, but not exactly easy- marked by tattered hand-me-downs from his slightly older cousins, meager school lunches and a shabby apartment that always seemed to have something wrong with it. But it wasn't so bad. He was very close with his mom, and he would later credit his upbringing for teaching him to be scrappy and resourceful and clever.  Then, his mother met Kwon Wonyoung. They had a whirlwind romance, which essentially meant that one day ten-year-old Min was being introduced to this man who seemed very successful and kind and fun; and within five months, he was the ring bearer at their wedding.  From then on, life was a lot different. They moved into a nice suburban house. Min was enrolled in a private school where he thrived. His mom started working with Wonyoung at his company. For the first time in his life, they were living carefree and comfortably. Min was able to focus on his studies, proudly proclaiming that he wanted to go to business school like his step-dad had.  However, Min did begin to become suspicious as he grew older. Wonyoung's vague company seemed to do business at odd hours, and worked with a lot of cash. Sometimes, people who made his skin crawl came to the house to have hushed conversations with his parents. His mother, who had once been like his best friend, had withdrawn from him- still loving, but distant and distracted. It all seemed very fishy, but he was not sure what to think about it. He did not want to jump to drastic conclusions.

then, one chilly autumn day when he was sixteen, Min came home from a study group to find the front door ajar. He did not even have time to take a step closer before something hard collided with the back of his head and everything went black. When he woke up, he and his parents were tied to their kitchen chairs. Something cold and hard was pressed to his temple. He stayed quiet as his parents and the strangers in their home exchanged words.

“Tell us where the money is, or I’ll blow your son’s head off!”

“We don’t have it! It was… stolen!” Even to him, his father did not sound genuine.

“Awfully nice home for someone who lost everything. Isn’t this kitchen new?”

He saw his parents’ faces blanch, tears streaming down his mother’s face, as the man holding the gun to his head switched the safety off. He grit his teeth, hands gripping the arms of the chair so tight that his knuckles were white. His heart was hammering in his chest, the rush of his blood so loud in his ears that everything else seemed muted.

“Did you really think that you could double-cross the Bang Family and live to tell the tale? You’re not that stupid.”

“P-Please… Please don’t hurt my s-son!” His mother screamed, struggling fruitlessly against her restraints.

He saw a small movement from his periphery. The man’s trigger finger flexing. He clenched his eyes shut— but whatever he had been expecting didn’t come. Just a small, hollow click. The gun was empty. He did not know whether he wanted to laugh or scream.

“I know where the money is.” He heard himself say. It was a lie. He hadn’t even known that there was money— drug money or whatever the hell it was. But he had to do something, and he had always been a good bluff.

Maybe too good.

“That’s a good boy.” The gun lowered, and a rough hand came up to pat his head. And then the other two men in the room raised their weapons and shot his parents in the head.

Min let out a small, strangled cry just as all the lights in the house went out, leaving it pitch black. Even the glow of the moon and streetlights didn’t seem to filter in through the windows. He went to pull against his restraints, but they were suddenly undone, falling away from his limbs easily. He ran in the direction of the front door, his movements somehow soundless. When he reached for the handle, it was right where he thought it was. And then he was out in the yard, scrambling toward the road.

That was when a small group of people came out of no where, rushing past him and shooting at the men who had killed his parents as they stumbled out of the dark house. He stopped in his tracks, turning to watch the men fall dead on the porch. His legs buckled beneath him and he fell to his knees, tears streaking his cheeks. Through blurred vision, he watched a few people go into his house while another approached him and crouched at his side. A warm hand touched his shoulder, a reassuring voice saying something he couldn’t quite process. He just nodded numbly, his eyes still on the front door.

He had been by Vincent’s side ever since. Fiercely loyal to the man who had saved his life, he committed himself to helping take down the people who had ordered the deaths of his family, driven equally by a desire for revenge and a need for justice. He was basically living on borrowed time, so why not become a Dark Angel and make sure that no other families were torn apart like his was?

It took years, but eventually he got to face the people who had had his parents killed. Now an adult with some handle on his strange power over the dark, he felt confident and strong and ready. But things went wrong. One of their own was killed, a girl who had been like a big sister to him. Knelt beside her body, trying to stop the blood flowing from her wounds, he hardly even noticed when Vincent dispatched his parents. Suddenly, seeing them dead didn’t matter to him anymore.

The group drifted apart after that. Min was directionless, listless. He returned home to Gimpo and worked to dismantle another petty drug ring, but it did not feel the same as when he had been part of a group. He felt like he did not have a purpose anymore.

And then Vincent mentioned Mount Phoenix while they were chatting on the phone, an island not far from Incheon that Min had never even heard of. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so useless with Vincent around again- and besides, he still owed the man a life debt.

“Where’s this place? You mind if I crash on your couch for a bit? I’m bored out of my fucking skull.”

PANTHEON: Mayan CHILD OF: Akbul POWERS: Min has the ability to manipulate darkness- summoning it and bend it to his will. Additionally, he can move completely undetected within darkness/shadows. STRENGTHS: Street-smart, sassy, observant, stealthy, loyal. WEAKNESSES: Can come off as rude or aloof, tends to punch first and ask questions later, easily bored, lacks purpose.

#kpop rp #krp #stray kids #lee minho #lee know #mp; welcome

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author-morgan · 4 years

Text

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

twenty-eight - honeyed thoughts

masterlist

But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.

Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.

They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

SILANOS GRIPS THE edge of the ship’s rail, his eyes wide. He stares at the two approaching ships’ decks and can see the disgraced champion perched on the railing at the helm of one —the copper hair glinting in the midday sun is unmistakable. The other is the Adrestia, bearing both the sister and mother. Three obstacles in the Cult’s plans in a single place, ripe for the taking. Silanos imagines the sizable reward Kosmos will grant him for returning to Phokis with the heads of Myrrine, Kassandra, and Enyo. Should he return with them either in chains or dead, there would do no use in keeping Deimos and his increasingly dissident behavior.

“They’re building up to ramming speed,” one of his crew announces, looking between the two triremes flanking the Amber Dawn, a twinge of fear rising in the man’s voice as the two warships speed toward their sides —bronze rams shining.

The Cultist laughs, confident in his fleets’ ability to face the oncoming storm —the Amber Dawn has never known defeat. “Let them draw near,” Silanos tells his men, “we will destroy their ships like pincers.” But a clamor of confusion from his crew and soldiers arises behind him. “What’s wrong?” he snaps at them, twisting around. Silanos sees for himself before they can answer —the fore and aft ships are nowhere to be seen, only deserted waters. The Amber Dawn is alone, cornered into a blind spot along the Naxian coast. Silanos feels his confidence crumble like a pillar of wet sand struck by a wave.

Racing back to the helm, Silanos shouts for the keleustes to row faster, and the low beating of the drums fills the air with a frantic rhythm. He looks between the two oncoming triremes as they slice through the waves —moving as an ax toward his flagship’s sides. There is nowhere to go. “Brace!” Cries on of his crew over the roar of the roiling water and drums. Some grip onto the rope running the length of the deck. Others move to abandon ship.

The rams of the Adrestia and Ippalkimon plunge into the Amber Dawn in an explosion of timbers —smashing through the rails at the stern and bow. Silanos looks up as the deck disintegrates beneath his feet with a wail. Wide eyes meeting the malevolent laurel gaze of Enyo for only a trice before the sharp edge of the bronze ram strikes his belly. With a dull snap and a moment of weightlessness, Silanos falls into the cold, roaring waters in a cloud of red. Sinking further from the promise of air and into the dark, crushing depths —the last heartbeats of a drowning man drawn into a lifetime.

RETURNING TO PORT, Tundareos clasps onto Lesya’s shoulder, knowing he must depart soon to attend his duties in the Pirate Islands. “As much as I wish to stay with you, sister, I must return to Keos.” He still holds allegiance to Xenia and has neglected his superior for too long in favor of spending time with Lesya. “Should you need me–” his scarred lips twist into a smile, blue eyes glinting like the shimmering water around the trireme “–send word.” Lesya nods, embracing her brother before stepping off the Ippalkimon as Tryphena begins shouting orders over the crew, preparing them for imminent departure.

Lesya turns from the harbor, retreating to the leader’s villa, where Myrrine convenes with her councilors to prepare Naxos for her absence. Kassandra leans against one of the painted columns as her mother and the general, Timo, continue their discussion. Myrrine intends to depart at dusk, returning to Sparta for the first time since her family was torn apart on the slopes of Taygetos many years ago. It will be the Eagle Bearer’s first time returning since killing an ephor —forfeiting her life.

“Have you ever been to Sparta?” Kassandra asks, arms crossed. The memory of Sparta stirs both anger and bittersweet longing within her. Even after the years that passed, she can still picture the crimson banners emblazoned with golden lambdas of the Temple of Athena Chalkioikos dancing in the evening breeze.

“No,” Lesya answers, “but I have been within the borders of Lakonia.” And I will not be welcomed back there. They called her Enyo, after the war goddess and sacker of cities —the Cult did not dare send her into the seat of one of the most powerful city-states in Hellas. When last she ventured into Lakonia, Deimos had been at her side and a trail of blood and destruction in her wake.

Under the moon, Lesya lays back against the scorpion tail of the Adrestia and draws a thin blanket around her shoulders to keep the damp chill of the sea breeze at bay. Barnabas and Herodotus remain deep in conversation over the authenticity of tales regarding beasts from legend, and Kassandra listens, leaning against the mast with Ikaros perched on her knee. Reza hums a tune from one of the benches, arm resting on the great rudder as they cut through the white-capped swells. “Rest your eyes, little lamb,” he says, smiling while watching Lesya struggle to stay awake under Hypnos’ trance.

Deimos mounts behind Enyo on the dark mare, spurring the beast into motion. The autumn breeze bathes him in her scent —lilac and lemon balm. He takes a deep breath and lets one of his hands on the reins stray to her waist. Routine had guided the day until now, training with each other and recruits. “Where are we going?” Enyo looks back over her shoulder —glimpsing the scabbed cut on his cheek turning into a scar.

“Kirrha,” he answers, lips kinking into a smile. Almost a fortnight passed since the Cult last sent them to the Megarid to quell an unwanted gathering of Athenian troops. A potential obstacle in their plans to stir a war between Sparta and Athens. After hard days spilling sweat and blood, Deimos takes the advice Lykaon had given him months ago for a leisurely evening in the harbor polis.

Her brows furrow. They rarely have need to venture to Kirrha. Most visits into the city are at the beck-and-call of Elpenor for a good meal before being issued new assignments. “What’s the occasion?” She asks, knowing the Cult’s merchant of war had not sent for them.

“Does there have to be one?” Deimos challenges, tying off the dark mare’s reins at a post next to a silver mount before turning back to her. Seeing her without armor is still a strange thing. Instead of white-and-gold, she wears a lilac peplos and pale green shawl —almost the same color of her eyes— around her shoulders. Enyo offers a smile reflected in her soft gaze, tucking a loose curl of copper hair behind her ear. He could start and end wars singlehandedly and bring nations to their knees in a night. But Deimos thinks his greatest victory is being the one to spark Enyo’s smiles.

They walk side-by-side, Deimos’ hand resting on the curve of her back as they venture through the crowded streets to the agora. “Samian wine for the lady?” One merchant asks, holding an amphora of sweet red wine —the nectar of the gods some called the wine from Samos. “Finest fabrics in all of Hellas!” Another shouts, gesturing to tables piled high with dyed wools and patterned linens.

With a basket of spoils from the agora, they pass through an olive grove south of the leader’s home and to a narrow beach along the Korinthian Gulf, sharing the watered wine and treats with one another. Honey glistens on Enyo’s lips from the last of the teganites —Deimos cups her cheek and cranes his neck down, lips brushing against hers. She shifts, sliding a hand into his half-matted hair to pull him closer. The honey is sweet, but her kiss is sweeter. Deimos breaks away, resting his forehead against hers with a long sigh. The rough pad of his thumb running across her rosy lips and jaw. “Let’s stay here for the night,” Enyo breathes, the words dancing across his cheek.

“And if we’re caught?” he asks. Chrysis disproved the time they spent together and her worries planted a seed in the minds of many Cultists about the relationship between their champions. Neither of them understands why it is an issue —they still reap victories in the name of Kosmos whether apart or together.

Enyo drapes her legs across his, defiance glinting in her laurel gaze. “No one can best us, Deimos,” she says, tracing the jagged scar on his side through the dark linen chiton. He smiles because he knows Enyo is right. No one in Hellas could hope to defeat the two of them together.

@wallsarecrumbling @novastale @fjor-ok-skadi @fucking-dip-shit @elizabethroestone @maximalblaze @balmacedapascal @khaoskrossed

#Alexios #Deimos #Alexios x OC #Deimos x OC #Alexios Imagine #Deimos Imagine #Alexios Fanfiction #Deimos Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Imagine #Assassin's Creed Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Odyssey #story: Kryptic #my writing

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dailudannos · 4 years

Text

Reverse Role P2!

I have more developed spreadsheets and character builds ready. So now I feel confident in sharing a part 2 of my very special AU.

{TW: This talks about causes of death; I'm incredibly sorry if anyone is not able to handle it}

(This is very long, working on mobile sucks)

Pariah Dark is a wild child and more of the wild card than what Fright Knight is

Peter Moore grew up as another rich kid next door to Arthur, and cherished his bromance with him in his best friend's time of need. But he acts more of a frat boy when it comes to high school

Freshman year and he already gets in detention for reasons he doesn't even know. No bad grades, just bad conduct is all. Arthur usually has to keep him in check when it comes to keeping a low profile as a ghost superhero

Before his halfa beginning trying to save Arthur from a house fire, he went inside and his eye was slashed by the bearer of the sword protecting Arthur's body, and has a scar on his left eye, trailing down his face

Sidney Poindexter is alive and well in this alternative universe. Very intelligent and extremely smart, he could've been a scientist, but instead became a high school teacher to help the other kids out

He's young in this AU, as he was young in the show. Only 25 years old and he can kind of relate to the kids. It's mostly forms of science that are best with the students

Penelope; human biology, Damien; botany & biology, Nicolas; study of atoms & molecule studies, Amber; Study of sound and soundwaves, Jeremiah; Biology & genetic mutations, Braden; Marine Biology, and Arthur/Peter are good test students to use for an experiment

Although he can be strict sometimes, he still helps his students to the best of his ability

Youngblood is all grown up as well, and has a lot to show as mayor of Amity Park

Taylor Elizabeth, aged 28, good-looking, and wishing for the well-being of the next generation of hard working citizens of Amity Park. He got “youngblood” as a nickname bc he’s lived in Amity for almost all his life. He loves it here, even if it is weird with its ghostly residents

The kids call him Mayor Youngblood, cause it’s just fun to say. Taylor doesn’t mind, because they’re only kids, you only live once (right?)

Lunch Lady is your every day, average...well...lunch lady! She loves her job as a chef at school. And enjoys having her time spent with the kids that she’s come to know over the years.

Lucille Landerman, just like a mother hen, she dotes on the boys when they compliment on her cooking. She’s not just MEAT MEAT MEAT, and makes meals for kids with specific allergies. She looks at JJ like the sweet little boy she thinks he is, and he smiles awkwardly as she pats him on the shoulder

Sometimes, when no ones looking, she give extra dessert to Damien and Braden, and cookies to the rest of the kids.

And she’s no granny, let me tell you. When she was younger, she use to fight on rooftops and be super big for her age. But when a ghost or attacker tries to hurt the kids she feeds, you bet she’s gonna hit them with an iron skillet on the head

Box Ghost is the same as Lunch Lady, very caring and usual easy going with the kids, even if they are having a bad day, he'll pull out a pun or two to cheer anyone up

Bejamin Boxmore; early 40's, school janitor/custodian. He likes having Damien around, especially when he needs help with a heavy load of boxes coming and going into the supply closet. At the end of the day, he'll give the good-natured boy a little gift-wrapped box, usually with a trinket or a tiny flower pot as a thanks

And he's not at all going to deal with the tomfoolery of some ghost that wants to hurt the good students of Casper High, so he always carries at least a broom or a mop with him at all times

He has a little girl from a past marriage named Lucy; he adores her everytime she comes over to his house on the weekends

Siblings Dorothea and Aragon are always by each other's side, stuck to one another like glue. They have their backs covered, and defend anyone who can't defend themselves

Dorothy and Alexander Pendragon come groom a long line of royalty, and their wealth says so. Born twins, Alex usually takes the lead as the older twin, but Dorothy takes charge with a plan in mind. They've both known Penelope and Arthur for a long time, and became friends based on their hatred for being the rich kids on the block

Dorothy is extremely intelligent when it comes to engineering and technical difficulties, which makes her a good study partner

Alex is the bronze of the two, thinking mostly with his fists rather than with his head. Dorothy usually has to keep him from getting into trouble, and even then that doesn't help

They both came into their powers when they inherited strange matching medallions from two great grandparents, that were also twins. When they finally put them on, they couldn't handle the powers the jewels possessed, and their lives were forever changed

In their ghostly forms, they have a reptilian appearance reassembling a dragonborn child, but with wings and a tail. They have abilities the same as a ghost, with fire breathing and a dragon form

They're referred to as "The Dragon Twins" as they're forms look exactly the same, except Alex is black and white, and Dorothy is blue and green

Clockwork is a teenaged genius with the mental capacity between a child, a teenager and a 42 year old man. He's the top of his class and an intelligent young man

His ADHD can leave him acting like the total opposite of what he normally acts like. First a mature, composed 15 year old child genius, to an adrenaline junkie for a taste of fun and cotton candy

His coming-of-ghostly-status resulted from multiple gunshots in the legs, which were almost fatal if the angel of death had not intervened. He woke up in the hospital, paralyzed to the waist down, and being able to slow down time at will

The name "Clockwork" was strung together by JJ, who insisted his time controlling powers were amazing, and he needed a name to match such cool abilities

Nocturne is the weird kid from middle school that turned the hot guy that can literally SHAPESHIFT FROM BOY TO GIRL-HOW DOES HE DO IT???

He's also really laid back and goes with the flow of things. He's known more as a gentle giant bc of his height. But he also loves to help some of the shorter teachers out in case they can't reach anything

Nova Lewis is one of the few very mysterious kids in school. Nobody knows if he is a he, a she, a they??? It's confusing to everyone at school, but only Nova knows that

They're great friends with Charlie and are exceptionally great with the other kids too. Arthur and Peter welcomed him with bear hugs when they found another ally in the ghost half team. The girls love to take fashion advice from them based on their own style, and being that he's tall and lanky, he helps JJ with annything taller than 5'9"

How they came to be was really twisted and horrible. Nova's parents had been in a cult for years, hiding from him in secret, worshipping to one and only 'dreamer god' who would whisper sweet nothings to make the pain of reality go away. One day, in order to 'summon' his great god, there needed to be a sacrifice; someone who was young, and free, and had the most innocence

Bingo! Nova was taken and blindfolded, deep into the woods, on a starry night, when the moon was full, and brought into a circle of concrete with symbols on it. The deed was done, blood had been spilled from the mouth of the young child, but nothing happened. The followers left, leaving the body behind, when Nova gasped once more for life

The very next day he went to the police and filed an attempted cult killing by his parents, and they were arrested for attempted murder; now he lives with his aunt in Amity

Omg I am SO gonna do origin story comics because I love doing every single back story for these characters

#danny phantom #reverse role au #dp pariah dark #dp dorathea #sidney poindexter #dp youngblood #dp lunch lady #dp box ghost #dp aragon #dp clockwork #dp nocturne #I think I went into more depth with nocturne than anybody else #more depth more story I guess

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neverwatchedonepiece · 5 years

Text

650-651: "Luffy and the Gladiator of Fate - Rebecca!" and "Protect You to the End! Rebecca and the Toy Soldier!"

NARUTO-KUNNNNNN

So Bartolomeo is basically Hinata.

He collects Strawhat posters.

He is their biggest fan.

You guys were right.

This is hilarious.

I love him. xD

“I SENT YOU MY BLOOD, LUFFY!”

Once Luffy and Don Chinjao left the ring, the clean up and reconstruction team moved in. As of now, three contenders could potentially move forward to challenge Diamante: Jesus Burgess, Bartolomeo and the Not-So-Mysterious Lucy.

I say “not so mysterious” because everyone and their gran fighting in the next round knows who he is now.

And I have a theory: Bartolomeo, Rebecca and Luffy will team up against Burgess in the next round.

Why do I think this?

Well, once Luffy left the ring, pursued by Cavendish, two fodders happened to pass by Bartolomeo. He overheard them talking shit about Luffy.

“Why does Cavendish keep yelling Strawhat? As if he’d be here. That’s the guy who couldn’t even save his brother’s life. Anyone could do what he did if he doesn’t have to save anyone’s life!”

For some reason, Bartolomeo Did Not Like This. He pinned the fodder and almost crushed him with a barrier. At first I thought Bartolomeo’s reaction was something to do with Ace. Maybe they were friends once?

Nope.

The real reason was Even Better.

“What was that joke you made so lightly?” Bartolomeo growled. “Listen, Luffy-senpai will become the standard bearer for this era. He will become the Pirate King!”

No, I thought. No way. Bartolomeo was a Luffy supporter? How? And why Luffy-senpai? Had Luffy unknowingly taught him along the way?

The answer? Sort of.

Bartolomeo was there at Loguetown.

“I saw it with my own eyes. Over two years ago. At Loguetown in East Blue. On the legendary scaffold where Roger died, Luffy-senpai shouted it out then. At that moment, straight from heaven, came a bolt of thunder which saved his life. What I saw was a miracle!”

And thus Luffy’s Biggest Fan was born.

Seriously, this guy used to be a gangland boss (had taken over about one-hundred and fifty towns). But he began to follow the news stories. Alabasta, Enies Lobby, Impel Down and Marineford. He made a fan shrine with his bounty poster collection! In the end, Bart’s hardcore fanboy status reached the lofty height of emulation. Inspired by Luffy, he sailed out to sea.

And it turns out Bart does not take kindly to anyone talking shit about his idol.

While Luffy dodged Cavendish, Bartolomeo peeked round the wall and watched. “I can’t approach him. When it comes to it, I can’t do it. I’m too nervous to go anywhere near him. The scar under his left eye. It’s real! He’s so cool! Oh... my eyes are suddenly blind with tears. That stupid Cabbage shit. I want to beat him to death and save Luffy!”

It’s nice to know Luffy has such a dedicated in-universe fanbase.

And Don Chinjao can be added to the club too. He joined Cavendish in thundering after Luffy because he wants to place his grandson’s Happo Navy under the command of Garp’s Illustrious Grandson. What a result, right?

Except Luffy was thoroughly weirded out, wondering why these three crazy guys were chasing him.

Luckily for him, Rebecca was around.

Teach Takes Another Level in Scumbag

She grabbed his arm and hauled him off. There was a more private place nearby where no one else went.

On the way, they passed Jesus Burgess. He was in the middle of a DDM call. A very familiar voice was on the line. So familiar, it caused a visceral reaction in Luffy. He screeched to a halt immediately.

It was Blackbeard. And they were having a weird conversation.

“By that logic, Shiryu is no different,” Teach said.

“But I can’t trust Aokiji!” Burgess complained. “Uh... Hold on a sec, Captain. Strawhat is here.”

This piqued Teach’s interest. “Eh? You there, Strawhat?”

“You’re Blackbeard, aren’t you?” (You know when Luffy remembers you straight away that you must either be A) Really Good, or B) A Real Asshole.

“Yeah, it’s been awhile. Heard you’re fighting in the competition, Lucy. But my man, Burgess, is gonna win the Mera-Mera Fruit. I can’t wait because it’ll be like having Ace in my crew. He turned me down in the past.”

OOOOFT.

Wow, that one was a low blow. To be honest, I really like how Oda employs Teach as a long-term adversary to Luffy. Teach’s panel/screen time is economical but every time he appears, Oda really ramps up the enmity between him and Luffy. No exchange is ever wasted.

I was pretty proud of Luffy for keeping his cool here. It shows how much he’s matured as a person and as a Captain.

I am also intrigued by why Burgess is worrying about Aokiji? That was pretty random. Is our favourite ex-Admiral really operating in the underworld now? Is he trying to wangle information from the Blackbeards? Hmm... Don’t think Smoker would like that. Then again, he has had a hard lesson on Punk Hazard. Maybe he will be a little more cynical in future and won’t dismiss intel from pirates out of hand.

Justice for Toys!

Post Blackbeard Encounter, Rebecca led Luffy further away from the chaos. On the way, Luffy was distracted by free food samples. Just before he cleaned out the stall, Rebecca offered to buy him lunch, even though she didn’t have much money.

What a nice gesture, right?

Rebecca found a deserted looking area and Luffy smashed into his bento like it was Blackbeard’s face. Through mouthfuls of food, Luffy asked where they were. Rebecca explained it was quarters for the gladiators. They called it “a prison” (which, we learned later, it literally was).

Since Luffy’s life revolves around piracy and food, he asked Rebecca if she was hungry and if she wanted some food.

This triggered an Obvious Trauma Flashback. Smol Rebecca and her mother beneath the tree in Flower Field. Smol Rebecca saying, “I’m hungry.” Her mother replying, “Okay, do you think you can stay here alone for a while?” Then suddenly... dead mother.

Rebecca said tightly, “I don’t get hungry.”

Although I figured there was guilt here, I didn’t link Smol Rebecca’s food request directly with her mother’s death. Not until the big reveal of Rebecca’s past.

That unwitting conversational misstep must have pushed Rebecca into enacting her plan. She had intended to lure Luffy into a quiet area and kill him. When she turned on him, to my surprise, some randoms in bandages piped up from behind bars. “YEAH, GIT HIM, REBECCA!”

But Rebecca had picked on the wrong competitor.

Or, when you look at it from another angle, exactly the right one.

Luffy was able to fend her off while still tucking into his delicious meal. It was an embarrassingly easy win. The gulf of ability between them was so wide, she was never on Luffy’s radar. Right now, beating Rebecca would be like swatting a fly. (Not disparaging her general fighting ability, but compared to Luffy, most people would come off worse.) She was no threat, therefore Luffy wasn’t angry about the assassination attempt.

Luckily, she bought Luffy lunch. Especially since she didn’t have much money. He loves food and would appreciate that. Any other offence would pale in comparison to that act of generosity.

“I’m not gonna do anything to someone who bought me food,” Luffy said when Rebecca insisted he just kill her and get it over with.

Then Luffy noticed the “mummies” - the prisoners in bandages in the background. Rebecca explained the situation. She and the other guys in the room are “convict gladiators”, pretty much like the system in ancient Rome where slaves and criminals could be slung into the arena and ordered to fight to the death.

To ramp up Doflamingo’s evilness, they also said, “The king says we can be released if we win a thousand times. Everyone who tried to escape got shot. There’s nowhere to run for us. Before Doflamingo became king, gladiatorial matches were not to the death. In this kingdom, there are very bright and very dark sides.”

So Doflamingo brought in the Delayed Death Penalty for criminals. I guess it’s a way of ushering capital punishment through the back door. Entertain the masses and get rid of undesirables in one go. Few will object because most love the Colosseum games. The ones who won’t fight, or the really dangerous ones likely to talk too much, are turned into toys. That’s iron control of Dressrosa right there.

And Rebecca is not a fan.

“Today an army led by Sol will come to let us out by provoking a battle against Doflamingo. He is willing to sacrifice his life to destroy the kingdom. But I’m gonna do it before he does. I don’t want to just be protected anymore. I want to protect Sol this time! I’ll win today’s competition no matter what and will kill Doflamingo with the Mera-Mera Fruit power.”

I thought I’d figured out Rebecca’s motive to fight. Poor kid with no food, no family, maybe resorted to petty criminal activity, was arrested and now she wants to escape. Amongst all the crap that happened to her, maybe Sol was her only friend.

Luffy was like, “Why are you worried a toy is gonna die?”

Rebecca just smiled and said, “You’re not from here, so it’ll be hard for you to understand. Toys are the same as humans (wait til she finds out they *are* humans. She’s gonna flip tables). They are friends to the friendless. Siblings for those who have none. Lovers for the loveless. I don’t understand why they’re not able to live with us. Since I lost my mother, Sol-san raised me. He’s like a father to me (I bet he is).”

Luffy actually listened to this (which is a huge accomplishment, Rebecca. You should be proud of that) and said, “You don’t look like a prisoner to me. Buy me lunch again sometime!”

Rebecca walked out to the ring and said, “See you at the finals.”

I like her confidence.

Then a flashback kicked in that showed me how wrong I was about Rebecca’s motivations.

Oda Really Likes Princesses, Doesn’t He?

The sad tale of how Sol came to raise Rebecca opened with a scene of Smol Rebecca and her mother living quietly on Flower Field, picking flowers to sell in town. They had a lovely house. An idyllic life. But don’t think I missed that one empty chair at the table. (Sol is totally her dad.)

Then there was fire. The King Riku army was setting town on fire. This really puzzled me. (I’m still not one-hundred percent on this. Are we talking the actual King Riku or the Resistance King Riku Army here?)

Soldiers chased Smol Rebecca and her mother, Lady Scarlet. Diamante headed the charge. Sol stepped in and defended them. After the battle, Smol Rebecca and Lady Scarlet hid out in Flower Field. Rebecca said she was hungry. Lady Scarlet knew it was a risk but she sneaked into town to buy food. She was shot and killed. Sol brought her body back, along with the food she’d died to buy Rebecca.

Smol Rebecca nudging her mother’s dead body and telling her to get up was like post-stampede Mufasa and Simba all over again. It was Very Sad. ;_;

She almost cried but Sol clamped his hand over her mouth. Enemies were still looking for her.

“Your mother was high-born. Do you know we have a new king now? The new king wants to capture all the former nobility. He even wants to capture you because your mother’s blood runs through your veins. I’m gonna protect you unti the end with my life. Until the day you are filled with happiness, I will always be by your side.”

Wait... I thought. Rebecca is a noble???

What the hell?

What was going on?

Was the battle the night before a civil war in Dressrosa? One that Doflamingo won against King Riku?

Who Says Politicians Never Keep Their Promises, Eh?

Because here he is. On a podium. A shiny new king wearing his all time fave feather jacket. The adoring crowd chanted his name. “Doflamingo! Doflamingo!”

He made a speech. Par for the course with new kings.

“The Riku Family has been running this poor country for centuries! In the end they became shameless and robbed money and goods from citizens for themselves. I’m gonna make this country wealthy, instead!”

This is where I lost track of the situation. From what has been revealed about people turning into Toys, I thought Doflamingo “brought someone in” to do that. I figured that would have been *after* he gained power. But Toys were around before that. Sol is proof.

What gives?

And the people of Dressrosa *really* hate King Riku and anyone associated with his bad, corrupt family. Unfortunately for Rebecca, not only is she a noble, she is also King Riku’s granddaughter. Her status is also well-known in the Colosseum. When she walked into the ring, the commentator introduced her as the Phantom Princess of King Riku’s line. She was booed and vilified by the audience. “BURN IN HELL! CORRUPT FAMILY!”

I get the feeling Doflamingo engineered this somehow. It’s all too perfect a narrative. Doflamingo, the saviour, sweeps in and saves Dressrosa from the evil, corrupt family, while he is as bad, if not worse. Or maybe Doflamingo did have good intentions, but, as always in life, matters snowballed and he became hella corrupt himself. Leaning more towards deliberate coup at the moment.

I am also highly suspicious of the gladiator Ricky. It’s very close to Riku and there was definitely an older gent under that mask...

“SELL THEM FOR STRAWHAT MERCHANDISE!”

#one piece #neverwatchedonepiece #nwop #never watched one piece #monkey d. luffy #donquixote doflamingo #bartolomeo #rebecca sugar #sol the toy #lady scarlet #king riku #diamante #cavendish #don chinjao #dressrosa

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chorusofravenousangels · 6 years

Photo

Here they are! I got these D&D character commissions for my D&D group in secret! Three of the artists I met at Otakuthon, one I met through a friend online (thanks @gluethegrue for the hookup!), and one was a gift paid for by a friend a long time ago. I’ve had my tiefling Bright for a long time, but the others didn’t have any visual representation - so I finally started scheming! I texted each party member asking them for a physical description, and got commissions based on those descriptions and my own knowledge of the characters. When one player asked me a week later whether I was getting commissions, I lied. “No, sorry!” I said, “It’s not in my budget! I know that some characters have gone through some kind of intense physical changes lately and have had trouble finding moments to bring it up to the party, so I thought it would be good if everyone updated their bios at once, without knowing why!” They bought it! I hid the truth for over a month before I finally had prints of all four new characters. In our next session, when the players were investigating a room after a fight, I pulled out an envelope with a symbol of the god Vecna on it (their arch-enemy for this campaign). They were dumbfounded when they opened it and found, instead of carefully crafted props, pictures of their characters! I’m proud to say that everyone was really pleased with their pictures and how the characters were captured by the respective artists. We’re playing D&D 4e, and the characters are level 18/19 at the time of these pictures. Going top to bottom... Bright the tiefling ranger was drawn by longtime friendly acquaintance @envyhime a couple of years ago, so this is lower-level Bright, but the confidence in this picture is something he has grown into even more lately. He grew up in the wilderness as a slave to a goblin tribe until his teenage years, when he orchestrated his own escape. Spending years in nature on his own, he felt the protection of Melora (goddess of nature) without knowing who she was. He still loves nature and is uncomfortable around cities and people, but he’s learned from his hawk companion Dagger a confidence in knowing his capabilities and being satisfied. He uses a fighting style also learned from Dagger - small weapons, daggers of his own, used to throw or slash with great ferocity and full-body commitment. Lo-Kag the goliath warden was drawn by @rhodathepomelo , friend of a friend. They were amazing at taking feedback, and I was recommended specifically because they were good with big, beefy characters like Lo-Kag. Lo-Kag is almost impermeable as a character, rushing into the midst of battle and keeping enemies close to him so that they don’t hurt anyone else, his skin stone-hard against enemy attacks. Lo-Kag is a variety of goliath known as Stoneblessed; he is taller and lankier than normal, already tall goliaths, and his arms seem especially distorted as a result. In addition, wardens use natural or primal forces to transform their body, and Lo-Kag has gotten almost too attuned to this, regularly stretching himself further, taking on the space-warping gravity of mountains or bursting into flame as he’s struck by lighting. In the image, you can see vines writhing under his skin in the heat of battle, another transformation. Finally, Rhoda put special care into his maul - on one face, you can see a simple scene, meant to represent Lo-Kag himself in triumph. The weapon was made and enchanted for him by the drow after he helped save a number of their soldiers from a wave of undead. Chaedi the elf cleric was drawn by @elzeoredraws - I met the artist at Otakuthon and was really impressed with her portfolio! Chaedi is a cleric of Melora who is somewhat at odds with her god: while Melora champions the natural cycle of life and death, Chaedi hates suffering and wishes to alleviate it whenever possible, hoping for goodness in even the bleakest hearts. Her compassionate healing style leads her magic to wound her in exchange for healing others, leading to the network of scars visible on her body. The artist also did a great job capturing her physicality: her big eyes, approachable, friendly face, and the “Renaissance woman” body that carries more weight around the hips, neck, and so on. She carries no weapon, preferring to use prayers that hinder, but do not wound enemies. Riii the eladrin warlock was drawn by @hoodyrooster , who I also met at Otakuthon - her work was really eye-catching in its colour and angular, stylized figures, and I thought this would be perfect for Riii. (I was right - the player loved her!) Warlocks, as a class, have made bargains or deals for their power, and Riii is no different. At the beginning of the campaign, almost a decade ago (!!!), Riii came in with amnesia, including about where her powers came from. This proved to be quite the plot hook, as Riii discovered: -she couldn’t enter the Feywild; -this was because she had been cursed by someone; -this person was on the other side of the continent, a seer named Miranda. The party journeyed across desert, forest, and mountain in order to find her, and discovered: -she was possessed by some sort of fire spirit; -when defeated in Miranda’s body, this fire spirit in turn possessed Riii; after they defeated it, the party discovered Riii’s body had lost the ability to thermoregulate, and so they had to craft an elemental fire amulet for her (not pictured here). After this, she could journey into the Feywild, but more began to become clear as she met the Archfey Summer Queen and afterward: the fire spirit had not fully left her body and been killed, it had only been slumbering inside of her, weakened. In fact, it is the King of Summer, Moreth, betrayed and nearly killed by his Queen, who chose her as a host for his recovery, giving her power and safety *in exchange for her memories! Riii has a history of irritability, impulsiveness, and mild arson. As she embraces once-King Moreth more and more as a partner instead of as a parasite, he in turn grows in strength and aids her more. The fiery tiara around her head is emblematic of his influence joining hers, and the combination of smug poise and sex appeal in her bearing is perfect for the character. Also note the outline of a crooked staff in the background, an unusual weapon for a warlock but Riii’s implement of choice, and the magic tattoo on Riii’s chest that blinks when she curses enemies. Tayschrenn the eladrin wizard is drawn by Orly at http://twitter.com/orlysaurus/ - she shared a booth with Elzeore, the artist who drew Chaedi, and when I got Tayschrenn’s description mid-convention I was super pleased that I could give them both business! Orly’s colour work is fantastic, and she happily changed sketches several times on my request as well, finding a finished work that both I and the player were happy with. Tayschrenn is a 16-year-old eladrin wizard, young and idealistic; he was an excellent student, educated by a fascist regime, but in his first battle against the rest of the party, he realized he was fighting good people and began to question everything he was taught. Despite his naïveté when it comes to worldly matters or truth, Tayschrenn is possibly the best-read member of the party, having spent his youth in study and training. He is a Spiral Tower-trained wizard, using his longsword (here at his hip) in eladrin tradition to channel his magic or to slash away enemies who come too close. He is also a summoner, one who gets to know his summoned creatures as friends. In this excellent illustration, you can see him summoning a chain bearer from a portal behind him, young and with the lanky proportions of a teenager having just survived a growth spurt, but with training in arcane and tactical knowledge rendering him calm and certain in battle. If you enjoyed these images, please consider following the artists - I am not sure who of the five are currently accepting commissions, but my group was very happy with the results and I’m sure you will be too!

#dungeons and dragons #D&D #characters #eladrin #elf #tiefling #goliath #ranger #cleric #warlock #warden #wizard

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blarfkey · 6 years

Text

Thick as Thieves Chapter 5 Update!

Chapter five is up and ready! Link to the fic is in my sidebar of my blog, in case tumblr is still screwing with links not showing up in the tags. Chapter one is included below for anyone new who wants to check it out.

title:Thick As Thieves

fandom: Dragon age

Pairing: Solas/f!Cadash

Summary: Everything he had planned for the last several centuries has gone up in the literal smoke still billowing from the Conclave and his only hope lies embedded in the hand of a petty criminal dwarf who looks barely old enough to buy a mug of ale. It takes all his self control not to cackle in some forgotten corner like the mad Fen'Harel of Dalish infamy.

Rating: PG - PG 13

Tags: slow (slooooowwwwwww) burn, enemies to friends to lovers, culture clash, Solas has a judgey mouth and it gets him in a lot of trouble

The dwarf who bears his mark is not in any way intimidating. She reminds Solas of a child, not just in stature (though the top of her head barely graces his shoulder) but in her countenance. With round cheeks splattered with freckles and eyes like a fawn, she carries an air of innocence. In fact, the most frightening thing about her is the pair of wicked daggers strapped to her back and even they look out of place, a child playing dress-up. It makes Cassandra’s caution look almost comical.

He can tell from the bewildered expression on her face that she has had few interactions with powerful magic. She has no issue stabbing demons, yet stalls in front of the rift, forcing him to grab the mark and do it for her. Afterwards, she stares at her in hand in morbid fascination.

“What did you do?” she asks.

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.” Millennia of practice allows him to speak these words with a smile as he swallows bile.

Noticing Cassandra’s agitated pacing int he corner of his eye, he launches into an explanation of the mark and it’s abilities, based on his “theories.” The lies fall easy from his lips, a skill he is not proud to have. Cassandra, desperate for hope, swallows them without question.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he tells the dwarf, and the bitter irony of that statement nearly chokes him.

She just looks at him, lost and perhaps a little horrified. He almost feels pity for her, this simple creature who stumbled into magic far beyond what she can handle. A protective urge wells up in him and he stamps it back down.

“And here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.” Varric pipes up, unable to handle not being the center of attention for more than a few minutes. "Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and, occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.“

He throws Cassandra a wink, who rolls her eyes. Solas secretly wants to join her.

"Are you with the Chantry, or …” she trails off.

Solas laughs, he can’t help it. The thought of Varric praying piously in front a statue of Andraste, his chest hair on full display – "Is that serious question?“

Her deadpan tone says yes, but there’s a gleam in her eye, a spark of levity that suggests otherwise.

"Technically I’m a prisoner here – just like you,” Varric says, which immediately offends Cassandra.

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that’s no longer necessary.”

“And yet here I am. Lucky for you, considering current events.”

The prisoner graces Varric with her first smile. It’s small and weak – barely more than the twitch of her mouth – but the spark of warmth it brings promises that the full effect could be dangerous indeed.

“It’s good to meet you Varric,” she says.

“You may reconsider that, in time,” murmurs Solas. Despite the shortness of their acquaintance, Varric and Cassandra bicker more often than most married couples that Solas knew.

“Aww, I’m sure we’ll become great friends int he valley, Chuckles,” Varric shoots right back to him. It took him approximately half a day to bestow an ironic nickname for Solas that, unfortunately, shows no signs of dying down.

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra steps in between them, lording her height over Varric, who does not back down.

Solas braces himself for yet another one of their spats.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” he says to the prisoner as they argue in the background. “I’m pleased to see you still yet live.”

But not for much longer. He stopped the mark from killing her instantly, but he can only hold off it’s effect for so long. Eventually it will destroy this dwarf, devour her like dry firewood.

“Shay Cadash,” she says, turning that small but dangerous smile on him.

“What he means is, ‘I kept that mark from killing you as you slept’,” Varric interjects, surprising Solas at how quick he is to give others credit.

Her smile drops immediately. A strange look replaces it- like she swallowed something bitter. But she covers it up quickly enough to make Solas wonder if he had seen it at all.

“Then I owe you my thanks,” she says, turning towards him and giving him a solomn bow of her head.

She looks anything but grateful.

“Thank me if we manage to close the breach without killing you in the process,” he says. He has no need of her gratitude. He wants to get rid of the Breach and get his orb back – and if the dwarf dies, well that makes getting his mark back remarkably easier.

He assures Cassandra that no mage, much less a dwarf, could ever have the power to create the Breach. And though he has nothing to recommend him – no allies or education or background to vouch for him – Cassandra accepts them without protest. He does not know if she is merely naive or has an innate judge of character, but her trust in him will be easily exploited.

“We must get to the forward camp quickly,” she says and they move on, the dwarf trailing behind them.

“So let me guess: Surface dwarf, maybe part of the Carta?”

They’ve headed into the forest, snow drifting from the pines overhead at the slightest breeze. Varric walks beside the prisoner as if they’re on a leisurely stroll to admire the scenery, his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

“What makes you say that?”

“I can tell a proper Orzamarr dwarf from fifty paces. Also you got that shifty smuggler look to you.”

Solas raises an eyebrow. He has seen shifty smuggler dwarves – eye-patches and rough beards and scars. The prisoner's guileless brown eyes and freckled cheeks does not resemble them any more than Solas resembles the Dalish.

The prisoner certainly stiffens at the remark. "Are you calling me a criminal?“

He can tell she is fighting to sound nonchalant.

"You are a criminal,” Cassandra says, disgusted.

“Now now,” says Varric in a condescending tone that is sure to grate on Cassandra. "There’s nothing wrong with being a criminal. Keeps the guards in business.“

If Solas had any doubts that Varric dabbled in illegal ventures, they have all but disappeared.

"Well I’m not the only one with the shifty smuggler look,” says the prisoner, looking at Varric pointedly.

“Varric didn’t destroy the conclave,” Cassandra snaps.

“That you know of,” says Varric. “We shifty smuggler types can be tricky.”

He winks at the prisoner. An hour into their acquaintance and Varric is already trying to adopt her. Solas wonders how long it will take for the prisoner to gain an embarrassing nickname. He had “chuckles” in two days.

It does not escape his notice, however, that the prisoner does not deny her Carta associations. It seems almost unbelievable, looking at her, but that might be the point. She might use her youth and air of innocence as tools to make her enemies underestimate her. He can’t deny their effectiveness – he fell for it himself. It makes this entire mess of a situation even more complicated and Solas bites his tongue to keep the hysterics down.

Everything he had planned for the last several centuries has gone up in the literal smoke still billowing from the Conclave and his only hope lies embedded in the hand of a petty criminal dwarf who looks barely old enough to buy a mug of ale. It takes all his self control not to cackle in some forgotten corner like the mad Fen'Harel of Dalish infamy.

Every aspect of Fen'Harel he crafted to be a spectacle, from his dress to his mannerisms to his speech. His name alone summoned dread in his enemies and strength in his allies. Even a thousand years later, the Dalish fear to speak it.

Solas, by comparison, must be invisible. Mild. Polite. His clothes simple, his voice pleasant, his words comforting and informative by turns. Solas the humble apostate is no less a fabrication than Fen'Harel and compared to Cassandra’s intensity and Varric’s quick wit, he melts into the background, forgotten. Free to watch the bearer of his mark and what he notices does her little credit.

They call her the Herald. Cadash either confirms or denies this, depending on who she is talking to. Much of the Herald’s disposition changes with her surroundings and companions. It makes it difficult to pinpoint exactly who she is. The only constants are her levity, a trait blooming to life now that she has grown more comfortable and the threat of execution no longer hangs over her head, and her ability to win over each and every person in the Inquisition with a systematic determination that disturbs him.

Cassandra’s suspicions lasted barely the first night. Part of this stems from her own intelligence, for not even grief or anger can blind her from seeing the truth of a situation. She lives up to her title in that respect. But Cadash’s continual expressions of respect for Cassandra, discussions of her faith, her immediate loyalty to the Inquisition’s cause certainly helped that forgiveness along.

Cadash speaks tactics and shares underworld contacts with Leliana. She compliments Cullen’s leadership and spars with his soldiers. She trades quips with Varric and insults Orzamarr Dwarves and of course she has read all of his books.

She doesn’t quite know what to make of Solas – no one here does – but she always offers that dangerous fragment of a smile for him and combats his formality by trying to make him laugh. In fact, she goes out of her way to acknowledge him, even if it’s just offering up a “good morning” or asking how well he slept. No matter how much he tries to stay in the background, he always attracts her attention.

It would all seem coincidental if Solas has not witnessed the calculating expression that creeps on her face when she thinks no one is watching her. No matter how genuine she may seem, it’s clear her interactions are charades, carefully calculated and flawless executed to secure the people’s loyalty.

It leaves the truth of Shay Cadash a mystery, but one Solas will piece together.

“Good morning, ” she greets him the day before they head out for the Hinterlands.

“The Chosen of Andraste,” he says, a hint of bitterness he can’t control seeping into his tone. “The blessed hero come to save us all.”

She looks over at him, her lips quirked and that gleam in her eye, as if they two of them are sharing an inside joke.

“That sounds a lot flashier than Freckles,” she says, citing Varric’s nickname for her. “Tell me, am I riding in on a shining steed?”

A smile twitches on his face before he can stop it. He must admit, it’s hard not to be charmed by her at times. Parts of her interactions are genuine. But her sincerity to makes her insincerity all the more believable.

“I would have suggested a griffon. But sadly they're extinct. Joke as you will, but posturing is necessary.”

As if she needed such advice, but Solas needs to find a role to play if he wants to stay in the Inquisition and Mentor gives him a perfect amount of influence.

The Herald rolls her eyes and leans closer to her him, lowering her voice.“This whole thing sounds like a farce, to be honest. Some great joke of the universe. All I wanted to do was find out how the mange/templar was going to screw with Lyrium sales. Trust me, I did not ask for any of this.”

She glances down at her gloved hand, the light of the Anchor barely imperceptible through the leather. Rather than parade it around, the mark stays hidden, as if she cannot bear to look at it.

“But someone has to seal the Breach and no one else’s hand has been possessed by ancient, unknown magic, so I guess everyone is stuck with me.”

For a brief moment she looks lost, uncertain, a dark cloud stolen over the sunlight of her disposition. Needles of guilt prick him, but Solas ignores it. This is nothing but an attempt to make him feel protective of her and he cannot be manipulated.

“Spoken nobly indeed,” he says instead.

Judging by the raised eyebrow he gets from her, he did not entirely suppress his sarcasm.

“You think I’m mocking you. This age has made people cynical.” He turns and looks over at the cage of mountains that surround them. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade and ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.”

He turns back to her. "Every great war has it’s heroes. I’m just curious as to what kind you’ll be.“

He allows his words to linger, to settle like heavy fog between them. Let her know that he is watching. Let her know that her every action is being weighed and judged. She may not care what an apostate thinks of her, but Fen'Harel’s conclusion will be a matter of her life and death.

If she notices the weight of his speech, it does not show in her face. The cloud has passed and her eyes are bright.

"Hopefully the kind that chases kids off my farm with my cane and rambles on endlessly about the glory days to anyone who makes eye contact with me in a bar.”

Despite his best efforts, the corner of his lip tugs up. "I can think of worse fates.“

She takes her leave then, to finish packing for the Hinterlands and finalize plans with Cullen. Solas watches her go, frustrated. Her jokes give him nothing of substance to analyze, tell him nothing about her save perhaps an aversion to taking anything seriously. (No wonder she and Varric get along so well.)

He cannot shake the feeling that she did so on purpose.

Solas keeps his suspicions of the Herald to himself. It’s clear now, after gaining three more recruits, that Cadash is very good at what she does: she systematically finds a point of commonality between her and any given member of the Inquisition and exploits it. It doesn’t matter if they are a Qunari spy, a Grey Warden or a street urchin with a bow – Cadash won them over in the time it takes Solas to choke down a cup of tea.

Only he remains unaffected from her guileless tactics, perhaps because his situation so closely mirrors hers. They are both outcasts, pretending fealty to the Inquisition to secure their own survival, manipulating the people around them to hide the truth of their identity.

Shay Cadash isn’t the chosen messenger of a goddess any more than Solas is a humble apostate. The hypocrisy of his disapproval is not lost upon him; yet Solas finds something dishonest in how far she will take her manipulations. He keeps his companions at a polite, but firm, distance with strict boundaries – he would never go so far as to fabricate camaraderie.

The Herald has no such compunctions; Watching her trade stories with the Iron Bull, or prank ideas with Sera or discussing Grey Warden history with Blackwall – watching them slowly open up to her, while she plays them like puppets on a string, leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He refuses to join them, keeping up his rigid formality in the face of all her questions and humor. It frustrates her, he can tell. She drags him all over the Hinterlands for weeks as the sole mage of the party, peppering him with question after question. The Fade fascinates her. A part of Solas would like to believe in her insatiable curiosity, but he knows that if he did not value the Fade so openly, she would have lost interest in it weeks ago.

That does not stop him from enabling her behavior, if only for the pathetic reason that he dearly wishes to have someone with whom to discuss it. She may raise some eyebrows at his ideas, but she never openly passes judgement upon them and she listens to them with a seemingly open mind. He wishes everyone else had the open-mindness she appears to have and he wishes, secretly, that it wasn’t an obvious ploy to win his loyalty.

It’s almost enough to make one forget that she’s the member of a ruthless crime family. But she gives herself away in her deft hands, able to pick any non-magical lock, or in her silent footsteps, the way she can sense even the subtlest traps. No matter how enthusiastically she embraces the Inquisition, Solas has no doubts that she schemes for ways to give herself power and influence through it.

Unfortunately, just as he can sniff out a fellow deceiver, so can she. Cadash has been sniffing him out with less subtlety than she believes. Cloaked in flattery, in the fascimile of friendship, in the nonchalant air of a joke, she keeps him close, prods him with questions, tests his answers. She neatly side-steps all questions about her life in the Carta and yet has no issue probing into the depths of everyone else’s personal life, most notably his.

It’s on one such occasion that his polite veneer finally cracks. She is plying him with questions about his origin. He counters them with the same vague, inconclusive answers she gives everyone else, but inside his temper boils. He’s sick of her distrust, her false overtures of friendship, her hypocrisy.

"You said earlier you’re from the north, Solas. How far north? Are you used to snow? Is that you can walk around with bare feet all the time? Or is that magic? Or is it just an elf thing? Do elves have special feet?”

The questions pop out like fireflies, as if one question in turn inspires another and she must ask them all before she forgets. Her child-like curiosity is almost winsome, but Solas refuses to be charmed by it.

He is sick of playing this game with her while she thinks she can charm his suspicions away like she has done to everyone else. As if he’s as naive as a toddler.

“I know what you’re doing, Herald,” he says. “And I must warn you, it will not work on me.”

Shock flickers across her face, quick as as candle flame before she snuffs it out. He treasures it all the same, a mark of triumph.

“Oh God,” she says, closing her eyes in mortification. “I’m being really annoying, aren’t I? I didn’t mean to intrude, you're just literally the most interesting person here. You can tell me to shut up if I get to be too much. It won’t offend me. My cousin’s done it a hundred times.”

Oh, she is good. In the face of her sudden embarrassment, Solas almost feels guilty for calling her out.

Almost.

“You’re probing me. Trying to catch me in a lie. Testing my loyalty.”

After a moment her features relax into something more sheepish – but not at all regretful.

“You caught me,” she says with a rueful smile. “But you can hardly blame me. You’re so distant and mysterious. It’s hard not to be curious about you.”

How tightly she still clings to pretense, as if she still had a chance to deceive him. She has no idea who she’s dealing with.

"And the fact that I’m both an elf and an apostate mage has nothing to do with your curiosity?” He struggles to keep his tone neutral.

Her eyebrows raise. "I don’t know. Does the fact that I’m a Carta dwarf have anything to do with the fact that you don’t like me?”

Her words leave him floundering for a reply.

“It’s not hypocritical to be distrustful of a criminal,” he snaps, his control breaking. “It’s just common sense.”

Hurt flashes in her eyes, just a split second before her face shutters into apathy. Solas curses himself and his temper. He is too old and too experienced to allow someone so young and idiotic to get to him. Besides, the Herald has power and influence in the Inquisition now; it’s dangerous to make her an enemy.

“I apologize,” he says, though the words taste bitter in his mouth. “That was uncalled for.”

Her demeanor shifts. The look in her eyes grows sharp and calculating. She stands confidant, chin up and shoulders straight. No trace of her genial, sunny disposition remains. Like a veil lifted, Solas finally sees the true Shay Cadash.

“Oh, don’t bother,” she says sweetly. “You were just being honest. Probably for the first time. I appreciate it, actually, more than that polite mask you wear all the time. And I’m not the only criminal here, apostate. We’re both in a precarious boat and you’re not exactly in a position to be alienating potential allies.”

“And what do you mean by that?” he says. The implication in her words is clear, but it’s impossible for anyone to know of his part in the destruction.

“I mean, if I were going to point fingers at who blew up the temple, I would start with the weird apostate who knows everything about the Fade and showed up out of nowhere.”

Solas keeps his expression very still. He does not allow himself even the tiniest of flinches, for none would escape the notice of her keen gaze. But still, it unnerves him how accurate her suspicions are, how easily she jumped to such conclusions when no one else has.

“You cast suspicion to draw attention away from yourself,” he tells her shortly, aiming his tone for offended and disdainful. “I was no where near the temple at the time of the explosion. Leilana has confirmed this with multiple witnesses. Do you not trust her word?”

Her gaze does not waver, unconvinced and unfazed.

“What’s your last name, Solas?”

A multitude of names, both real and stolen, fly through his mind, but he waits too long to answer.

“That’s what I thought,” she says and her smugness cuts through him like a knife. “See, Solas, here’s the thing. I have just about as much control of being a part of the Carta as you have over being a mage. But at least the Carta taught me that loyalty matters above all else. We might back stab everyone around us, but we’re loyal to our own. Without that loyalty, infighting makes the Carta fall to pieces. By those standards, this Inquisition isn’t any different. And already, people from all races and beliefs and classes have started to unite themselves for this goal. Except for you.”

Her conscious mind knows nothing dangerous about him, but her instincts practically scream his duplicity, he can see it in her eyes.

He is stepping on thin ice here.

“How do you come to that conclusion?” he asks. “I volunteered my services. I’m here because I chose to be.”

Unlike you, the implication clearly states, but if it insults her, the Herald does not let it show.

“You shun all company,” she says, ticking it off on her finger. “You give almost no personal information about yourself, and you distract others from this by being free and open about your esoteric information on the Fade that, conveniently, only you know. Everyone else here has ties and history and relationships. You are a complete unknown, even to our spymaster. If anyone could just up walk away from the Inquisition and sell all our secrets, it would be you.”

In the last year Solas has found himself lost in the remnants of a world unmade by his own hand, with nothing but a paltry shadow of his former power to protect him from the violence that springs up in every corner, and stuck in the middle a powerful organization out for his head.

And yet the instincts of a simple dwarf, this young woman barely out of childhood, this criminal street rat, makes him feel more vulnerable than any of the other dangers combined. It infuriates him. Solas has played the Game flawlessly in a court a thousand times more vicious and bloodthirsty than Orlais could ever hope to be. Yet he cannot fool one simpleminded, magicless dwarf.

“I assure you, closing the Breach is of the utmost importance to me,” he says, not that his words have any impact on her. "The Inquisition has my complete loyalty for that cause.“

She waves his reassurances aside with a dismissive hand.

"Your assurances are meaningless if I don’t know the kind of person you are. And I’ve tried to figure that out by befriending you, but you have too many walls up. Maybe if I were another elf, they might come down. But a dwarf stands no chance, does she? And certainly not a criminal.”

Solas does not know how to respond to that in a way that would not further offend her. His people never understood or agreed with Dwarves, and he carries that with him into this new age. Not all Dwarves are inherently bad, but they lack imagination and have little concern over issues that outside their sheltered world. Both qualities do little to inspire faith in this woman’s ability to handle the Breach.

Something in her gaze shifts, her glare softening into something …tired. “You want honesty, Solas? Here’s some honesty. You frighten me. You saved my life and therefore I owe you a very great debt. I don’t like not understanding the kind of person I owe and what they would ask of me.”

Before he can respond, Leliana appears. Solas would be real coin that she eavesdropped on at least part of their conversation, but she is too professional to let it show on her face.

"Ah, Herald. How did I guess I would find you here?” she says. “If you have a moment, I would like to share with you some information on Redcliffe that’s come in.”

“I have the time,” the Herald says and she leaves without giving Solas so much as another glance.

After their conversation, the Herald changes. She still keeps up appearances, asking him relevant questions about the rifts, taking him with her to the Storm Coast, where she picks up a Qunari spy without so much as batting and eyelash at the dangerous implications of having such an ally.

When the others are present, it is as if the argument never happened. Only Solas can feel the difference: smiles that no longer reach her eyes, questions that are short and to the point without any of her usual curious rambling, ignoring his presence when she passes him in Haven instead of walking over with a greeting and a smile.

He thought he would prefer it.

Instead he finds it nearly intolerable.

Did she ever feel this patronized by his own brand of distant civility, as if he were too stupid to notice how thin the polite veneer was over her dislike? Every murmured “good morning,” every health poultice tossed to him in battle, feels somehow like a slap in the face; a duty rather than courtesy.

To add insult to injury, comparing their interaction with those she has with the other companions makes the chill of her attitude even more apparent. She and the Iron Bull connect near instantaneously, as only fellow liars can. Only because of its absence does Solas notice how often the Herald had tried to engage him in laughter and discussion before.

The most pressing issue is how his position within the Inquisition is now at risk. With each new success, both big and small, The Herald gathers more power and influence within the Inquisition. If she does decide to pursue her suspicions of him, Cassandra would have him banished before nightfall, and Solas needs the power and resources of the Inquisition to reacquire his orb.

Allowing his irritation to push him outside the boundaries of propriety and anonymity was a stupid, reckless move, the kind his younger self would have made. Solas cannot afford any more such mistakes; he walks a precarious line here, as Cadash infuriatingly pointed out.

If he wants any chance of his plans coming to fruition then he must return to the Herald’s good graces. And soon.

But underneath his frustration lies a true kernel of guilt that refuses to stay hidden in the background noise of his thoughts, like a stone in his foot wrappings. In that split second after he called her a criminal, Solas saw a flash of genuine pain. He had hurt her and he could tell its sincerity by how quickly she buried it.

Her words haunt him for days after.

“It’s not hypocritical to be distrustful of a criminal, it’s just common sense.”

Indeed. Such words could be thrown back at him and ring more truthfully. She can’t know. She cannot possibly know and yet her instincts tell her otherwise. Her unerring, perceptive suspicions make him afraid and in his fear he has lashed out and made an enemy.

Three thousand years old and he still acts like a child.

Here’s some honesty: you frighten me.

Solas. Frightening. To others the idea may seem absurd, a reaction he carefully cultivates. The truth of his identity would truly terrify her more so than the blank of the unknown that she despises. But these words haunt him more than the others. She doesn’t fear his magic or his love of the Fade as the others do, but the vulnerability of being in debt to someone who could extract a terrible price for it. And she has no way of knowing that he would never ask of such a thing.

(The bitter irony that she believes he saved her life disquiets him.)

He can tolerate this no longer. He needs the protection that her friendship would provide – and if that means to fabricate an apology and start over, then so be it. Two can play at that particular game.

(Solas ignores the thought that hovers in the back of his mind, that he may have genuinely misjudged her).

He waits impatiently for their return to Skyhold and the opportunity to speak with her privately, finally securing one as she leaves the stables.

“Herald,” he calls, increasing his stride to catch up to her. She stops and waits for him, even though it would take but a moment to for his longer legs to close the gap between them. Her face shifts in a mask of indifference.

“May we speak in private? I have something important to discuss with you.”

A wariness crosses the Herald’s face and Solas feels a pinprick of guilt.

“Alright,” she says.

She must think he has information about their upcoming meeting with the mages to follow him. Not everyone in the Inquisition would welcome such an alliance, but the Herald is adamant for it. She’s sold smuggled to too many desperate, bloodthirsty templars to trust them, or so she says.

He leads her to the shack that houses him, opens the door, and gestures for her to walk inside. She gives him a calculating look, no doubt looking for a potential threat in his behavior, before stepping inside. He follows, leaving the door cracked open and standing so that she is closest to it.

“If it’s something this sensitive, perhaps we should go to Josephine or Leliana,” she says.

Solas shakes his head. “It is something personal, between us.”

" …Oh.“ She shifts her footing, anxiety spasming across her features before she schools it under control. Solas does not like to see her cage her emotions, when she lets her personality fly free around everyone else. He is indeed a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but no one is supposed to be frightened of him yet. Much as she irritates him, Solas does not wish her actual harm.

He underestimated how much pride she has, which should have been the one dwarf stereotype he remembered.

"I would like to offer my sincerest apologies for my behavior the last time we spoke,” he begins. “I had gravely misjudged you, blinded by my own prejudices. What I said to you is unacceptable and I beg your forgiveness.”

Judging from the surprise on her face, she probably expected more abuse from him, and it shames him. But even still, her eyes remain wary, an unwillingness to believe him.

“What brings this on?” she asks. “That argument was a month ago.”

“Your words and my own observations. I initially mistook your camaraderie for manipulation, but I now see that I was wrong.” He gives her a self-deprecating smile, using her tactics against her. "You, however, were completely right about me. I’m used to a solitary life, so I naturally shy away from attachments, but I’ve also made it easy to slip away if I needed to. I’m an apostate mage, surrounded by Chantry forces. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you must understand my caution.“

"I do,” she says, and her shoulders relax. “But you’ve stuck around to help. I’m not going to let anyone use that against you, not even someone as scary as Cassandra.”

“And how would you stop them,” he asks. Despite her easy confidence, she is so very young, not even into her third decade yet.

“However I had to,” she says and it doesn’t sound cocky or self-assured. It sounds like a forgone conclusion.

He’s unexpectedly touched by it.

“Even someone who has hurt you?”

She levels him with an exasperated look. “We’re all on the same team, Solas, and the problem we face is far bigger than any petty squabbles and personal prejudices. You’re a useful ally and I owe you my life. No one is going to lay a hand on you.”

Her ability to see the bigger picture, to put aside infighting for a common goal, sound so far from what he expected from a dwarf. Perhaps he should reevaluate his opinion of her.

Though the situation doesn’t merit it, Solas has to inwardly smile at such defense of his well being. It has been a very long time since someone has underestimated him to such a degree and he finds the untruth oddly freeing.

“Thank you,” he tells her. “And, please, do not worry yourself over your debt. You owe me nothing.”

The Herald graces him with a sad, half smile. “That’s a sweet sentiment, Solas, but a debt is never forgotten or forgiven. One way or another, it’s always paid.”

“That’s quite a cynical view of things.” Not surprising, considering her past, but Solas wisely does not voice this.

“From your point of view, perhaps. But to me, a favor for a favor keeps things equal and honest and everyone knows where they stand with each other. I find that preferable to people who hand wave a debt, only to remind me of it later when they need something from me.”

What situations she’s experienced to have such a pragmatic view so young he can only imagine.

“I cannot fault your logic,” he says. "I will consider your debt repaid, then, when you close the Breach.“

"How convenient, when that’s already my goal,” she says, the side of her mouth quirking up.

He wants to make a joke in return, but his sense of humor (withered and twisted for centuries of disuse) comes up short, especially facing the sudden intensity of her gaze. She studies him, no doubt looking for signs of trickery or insincerity.

Still not trusting him.

He can only look back at her and hope he doesn’t come up short in her scrutiny.

“I appreciate your apology, Solas,” she says softly. “I know how hard those can be and you didn’t have to.”

"Perhaps we can put this whole fiasco behind us, then,” he says.

“I think I would prefer to start over.”

The Herald sticks her hand out and graces him with the full brilliance of her smile and he understands a little why the others follow her so readily.

“I’m Shay, if there are to be introductions.”

His own words from that fateful day, verbatim. Perhaps he made a bigger impression on her than he had thought.

“Solas.” Instead of shaking her hand, he bends down and kisses the tops of her fingers. It’s an impulsive decision, but she deserves a gentleman’s manners, if only to make up for his lack of decorum before.

Besides, she isn’t the only one who knows how to charm.

Judging from the way her cheeks glow, he succeeded. A step in the right direction

#my fic #dragon age #thick as thieves #solas #solas/cadash #da: inquisition #da:i #inquisitor cadash #cadash #female cadash #solasmance

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wasanut · 6 years

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Love and Loss: Preface

This is a bit of destiny fanfiction that I'm working on. However, most of it is pretty far removed from the actual story of destiny. It takes place within the world and has minor interaction with established characters, but that's about it. _______________________________________________________________________ (Copy and pasted from my own Reddit post.) So a Long while back, a friend and I developed a concept for a pair of exotic hand cannons meant to be dual wielded. Love and Loss. (Each would have a five round mag and sport the Eyasluna archetype. Love would heal a small amount of health on a successful hit, although it would not start health regen. Loss would add a very minor damage stack on successive hits. (up to 5) The full stack would be lost on a miss. You are incapable of looking down sights due to the left trigger being used for a second gun. The reload and exotic perks are independent of each other.) I really loved the idea of these guns, so I started to write down something of a story to serve as the lore cards. And thus I began my descent into the rabbit hole. So the story I will be telling revolves around three guardians: Onyx: An Exo Hunter that is so good at killing things out of nowhere, that the Fallen basically treat him like a mythological nightmare come to haunt them. He uses his light exclusively to enhance his ability to use the weapons at his disposal, and his natural agility. (His friends think he is a gunslinger, but they can't know for sure as they haven't ever seen him use a golden gun.) Still alive and yet to be rebooted when granted the travelers blessing, He has yet to actually die. This is quite fortunate since an old injury rendered Onyx's ghost "Spark" incapable of resurrection.As a gunsmith, he was the creator of Pearl and Jaden's primary weapons, the hand cannons that would later be known as Love and Loss. (Yes. he's quite the romantic) Pearl: An Awoken warlock Who invented the Void/Ark subclass of Matter Weaver. Basically what I mean by that is she was smart enough to figure out how to use Void and Arc light to brute force transmat things into, and out of, existence. Pearl thinks herself a healer and she uses her abilities to do things like materialize a brand-new leg out of nowhere directly onto a patient. Thankfully, her terrifying intellect Is sharply contrasted by her gentle nature, exemplified by the fact that she prefers to avoid direct combat and simply heal her comrades. (Just don't piss her off. She is entirely capable of dematerializing you out of spite.) Jaden: A Human Titan who is basically just a walking natural disaster. He once brought down a Fallen Ketch simply by throwing himself at/through its engines. It seems as though he was a soldier before he was a guardian as a lot of that mindset appears to have carried over. He is a natural tactician and understands logistics and intricacies of war more than most guardians. He Can't decide between using the Arc abilities of Striker, or the Void abilities of the sentinel, and he often switches between them the mid-battle. Frankly, he doesn't care, as long as It gets in within arm's reach of the enemy. _______________________________________________________________________ Copy and pasted from my text editor. Authors note

This story was developed in a pre D2 context. At the time, many things were still up in the air as to the nature of many in-universe mechanics. So as such, I made the following assumptions for the sake of telling this story.

Chanel ambient light from the traveler as well as it’s own to it’s guardian

Resurrect it’s guardian when necessary.

Note: A ghost can only resurrect its own guardian, although it can receive assistance.

Manage guardian inventory and transmat.

Note: Similar functionality is easily possible without a ghost.

Wielding the light without a ghost Is theoretically possible under the right circumstances.

Resurrection is possible without a ghost, but not without light. (E.G. Sunsinger)

Light does not dissipate quickly, and can have lasting effects on its surroundings.

Guardians can use the light without a ghost, even if only to a limited capacity. However, the loss of direct light from the ghost can temporarily debilitate a guardian.

That being said, each of the MCs set unique precedents, and that’s kinda the point. They are all supposed to be exceptional. “Well if they are all so amazing, why haven’t I heard of them?” Well, that’s exactly what this story is about. (Also, guardians are all undead demigod space wizards with protagonist powers. Everyone is special. That, and our mute Guardian doesn’t exactly ask a lot of questions.) Preface: Scars that don’t Fade

“He is known to the Fallen as the Old One. “Guardians, they fight, they die, they fight again, as they have for generations. The Fallen may fear death at their hand, but only in the same way that one might fear death in the face of an oncoming storm. In fact, some find solace in besting one of the curse’ed light bearers once or twice before their inevitable defeat. “But the Old One… he does not fight. He does not die. He kills. Many of the Fallen’s most skilled hunters, warriors who survived battle after battle with you guardians, have been judged and been found wanting, without ever seeing the crimson glow of his cold eyes.”

- Verriks

“The Vanguard has heard a few passing references to what seems to be a Fallen boogeyman in their radio chatter. not like Taniks, whose stories are told to scare fallen children, but a living reaper whispered in hushed tones when dregs think their captains can’t hear. Of course, as this mysterious entity was only killing our enemies, Zavala saw no reason to devote precious resources to perusing the matter. (No matter how curious Cayde got.) “it’s killing Fallen. Let it kill Fallen. We have more pressing concerns” Zavala would say. all they knew is that whispers of the “Old one” had been circulating since the Fallen first entered the system. “but not one to ignore a potential threat, or neglect a potential ally, I tasked my hidden with determining the nature of the Fallen’s apparition. As it turned out, the “Old one” was a guardian, and had been a consistent thorn in the side of all of our enemies. The main reason the fallen in particular made mention of him was simply due to the fact that our other adversaries are unlikely to notice a difference from one guardian to the next. The news I received next was particularly pleasant, because when I inquired as to the identity of this Guardian, I was struck with an unexpected pang of familiarity.

“most simply believe him to be a myth. Those that know the reality of his existence fear him. But those of us who call him a friend simply leave him in peace. In truth, he is much less mysterious than many would have you believe. Just an old Exo hermit who happens to be one of the travelers chosen. He fights against the darkness just like anyone else, he just does so on his own terms.

“After losing his fire-team in an unfortunate battle many years ago, my friend, a reclusive Exo hunter named Onyx, begin throwing himself into his work. There is a certain satisfaction that comes from exercising ones mastery over their chosen craft. But while once his imposing skill set was paired beautifully with that of his companions, he was now stripped of anything else that gave his life meaning. All that was left was the the lonely assassin, honing himself and his abilities, becoming increasingly more deadly, as there was nothing else left for him to become. Time now stretched out before him endlessly, empty of purpose, but at least he had an equally endless supply of targets to take it out on.

“As a gunsmith, Onyx always had a knack for designing weapons that matched any desired combat style perfectly. When it came time for his dear friends Jaden and Pearl to get married, that old softy designed matching hand cannons specifically for each them. Each one tailored in a way that reflected what they meant to each other. Additionally, as conduits of light, these weapons became increasingly effective as they used them. Their signature abilities eventually became ingrained in the functionality of the weapons themselves. Understandably, Onyx became proud of the weapons he had created for his friends. Each passing battle serving as a testament to their ability to keep his friends safe.

“But now he patrols the system solo, his only company being the shadow of severed bonds and the weapons he crafted to keep them. Each weapon echoing with the power of the ones he once called Family. He spends his days alone, wielding the memories of a time when he wasn’t. “To make matters worse, I must live with a truth that, for his sake, he must never know. If only to save the poor man's spirit from potentially being broken beyond repair.” - Ikora Rey

#destiny the game #story #fanfic #love and loss the story

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icedragontamer · 6 years

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A fairy short story

I looked at the image of a coloring in fairy on Pinterest today and this story popped into my head. I don’t know why, it just did really. And I know my grammar and punctuation isn’t great, but may you read through the obvious mistakes :)

~~~

In a world of mermaids and dragons, where wizard rule supreme and magic infuses every particle of the universe, no one notices the little folk. Which is just as well, for they don’t like to be noticed. Their world, so expansive and colourful, can be found between the blades of grass that cover the ground and the bark that peels from the trees. It’s in this world we listen to the stories of the fairy folk.

Around a campfire, so small it wouldn’t have held to the size of a flame on a candle, six little fairies sat and supped by the failing light of sunset. Of these six, five were sitting enraptured while the sixth, a wizened old fairy with battle scarred hands and wings, regaled them with an ancient tale. “… Of all the fairies, these were the most rare and beautiful. It is said that on this green world we live, only six existed. They were called the Moonflowers.” One of the younger fairies, a boy barely grown in his beard, interrupted. “How did they know there were only six? I mean, what if there were places that weren’t checked?” He rushed quickly, and eagerly awaited an answer. While this story was new to none, every time a little detail was added, making the tale more intriguing with each retelling. The wizened old storyteller sat back, inhaling his pipe, lost in thought. Slowly he exhaled the smoke, the cloud in the air bringing in a mystic feel as the man answered slowly. “We cannot completely know, for our intelligence is only as good as our folklore – but these Moonflowers were each placed in a circular ring, spanning the edge of our world. The sites of these still exist, though the flowers have long since perished to history.” A shout of dismay echoed from one or two of the listeners. Bodies shifted around where they sat. This news was not welcomed by anyone. The silence that followed, however, was deafening. A scholar, having kept quiet until now, murmured - more to himself than anyone listening – “What was so special about these flowers, and the fairies that lived in them, that they were recorded in our lore books?” “Surely you know?” cried the old teller. His surprise echoed through the group of the more knowing members. The scholar shook his head, muted. He had only recently joined the troupe at the behest of his cousin, one of the eager members currently shaking his head at his cousins ineptitude. “In this case, let me enlighten you. Each of the Moon fairies had the ability to heal those who were sick and injured, even up until the point of death. Through their healing, they could extend the lifespan of other fairies. As you may be able to tell, this was a very popular trait to have, and the fairies were well received by locals and travelers. Lords and kings built their estates around the dwellings of these fairies, treating them like esteemed members of their community. They wanted for nothing, living in riches and comfort. But….” The narrator drifted off, his eyes clouding over with anger, fists tightening into balls in his lap. His young charges leaned in, their attention so sharp it could cut steel. Anticipation emanated from each of the five listeners and radiated through the air. With the timing of a trained stage performer, the teller took his pipe and inhaled slowly, removed it and exhaled with precise, agonizing pacing. His voice turned as hard as his eyes as he told the next part of the story. “A couple of hundred years ago, a fairy by the name of Ulron took interest in these beauties of creation. He made it a point to visit each one. This was shortly before he became Ulron, Destroyer of Life.” Even though the listeners had heard this all before, a collective gasp issued from the group. One even fluttered up from his seat, before landing back down with an audible thunk. He went on… “His evil, destructive tendencies weren’t known before this, but he was always a large, intimidating-looking fairy. He could even give rats a run for their money, and that was back before he had his army and fortress. No, I digress. Ulron, unknown to us then, took a very eager interest in these moonflowers. This would, ultimately, be their downfall.” He shook his head sadly. This was never easy to speak, even after all this time. “The first three were inside the palaces of the kings the ruled then. He levelled each of the grand buildings and exposed the wilted and empty flowers, no moon fairies in sight. Since the flowers had died, it made sense that the fairies that dwelled within had also perished. He was labelled a murderer.” The old teller took a breath and sighed. “The next was brought out of the manor she had lived in, her throat slit and her body still warm. Ulron had been earlier that day. Another victim on his list of casualties. But that isn’t the worst of it.” Looking around the group, the teller could see a tear rolling down one or two cheeks, and a head bowed. They knew what was coming next. “The second last of her kind, and the last sighted moon fairy in existence, was found in a dungeon. She had been chained to the wall with her arms above her head. Cuts and bruises were visible across her body, noticeable by the lack of any garments. Her wings… sheared off at the base….” Here he choked. No matter how many times he told this tale, he always became emotional at this point. He took a few deep breaths to steady his emotions. “Her ribs were showing, she had been starved. The source of her death, though, was the dagger in her heart. This death was squarely on Ulrons shoulders, as a soldier encountered him in the cruel, cold act of plunging that dagger into her chest. Not only had he tortured this beautiful creature, but he then killed her in cold blood. This was when the world saw his true colours, saw him for the monster that he is. As for the sixth, no one knows her fate. It is safe to assume that she has been dead as long as her sisters, perished at the same hand of the murderer himself. This I know….” Here, he raised his head and looked each listener squarely in the eyes. “… I know, because where her flower once grew, now stands the fortress of Ulron, Destroyer of Life.”

It was a while before the fairies gathered round the campfire could regain their composure. Every time that story had been told – from the cradle of their infancy to the warmth that now surrounded them – the fairies emotions ran high and the grief that filled them towards the end of the story fueled a restless anger, driven by the desire to enact revenge and the sorrow that these beautiful lives were lost to eternity. It would be hours before sleep would find them.

~~~

“So, I get the legend and all that, but why are we doing what we’re doing” A question hissed between two fairies, following the path their comrades were trekking ahead. The fairy at whom the question was directed sighed (as much as one can sigh mid-hike). He stopped briefly, pulled out a worn sheaf of parchment, and handed it to his friend before continuing the walk. The friend in question peered at the lettering on the page, before handing it back with a curt “I can’t read”. “We’re doing this” explained the bearer of the message “because my dad sent me a message a couple of months ago. He worked in Ulrons fortress, because he had no choice you see, and he told me in this –“ here he gestured to the paper, tucked safely back into his shirt pocket “- that he entered a restricted zone one day and caught a glimpse of a white glowing flower. So I asked of whats-his-face up ahead about it and he got all excited, said it was probably the lost moonflower. And here we are”. He finished with a flourish at his surroundings. A raised eyebrow was the initial response he received. “We’re here on a cryptic message with a madman for a leader, based on a tale that’s hundreds of years old? And we’re not flying? Why?” The message bearer known as Jad looked at the other fairy, whom he calls Tyre. “Because Ulron has scouts in this area and we are trying to get there by stealth. As for why we’re here, I haven’t heard from my dad since, so it’s not just to check out this story.” Tyre nodded, he could understand that. He had joined because his friend had asked for his companionship on a journey, and he’d liked the sound of an adventure. The friend in question, Irric, was a few paces behind them, munching on some dried clover he had stashed in his vest pocket. Satisfied with the answer, Tyre continued walking in quiet. It took three days to reach the edge of the barren lands that were home to Ulrons fortress. This assembled impenetrable labyrinth of towers and solid rock walls housed the most feared despot in the region, as well as an assortment of guards and workers.

(to be worked on further, just know there was a battle, monologue “imagine the good she could do in the world!” “I’ve seen your ‘good’ and she will not be used like a THING again!” and Ulron killed them)

~~~

Ulron walked back into his domain, clinging to the wound on his arm, blood oozing out and leaving bright red splotches on the ground as he passed by. His bloody sword had been sheathed after the battle and his focus now was on regulating his breathing, placing one foot in front of the other, and above all reaching the center of his home to check the safety of his charge. He passed faces filled with fear and heard the scurrying of footsteps as his minions scrambled out of his way. Left here… forward through this room… down these steps…. Hard right… his mind kept his singular purpose in mind as he moved through familiar surroundings. He passed into the restricted zone forbidden to all his denizens. No one had been down here, except for the grunt worker, damn him and all the trouble he brought. His execution hadn’t been swift enough. Slowly he turned into a corridor and looked up at five portraits hanging on the wall, name plaques polished and shining underneath each one. He stopped and placed a finger on the names of the first three. Pruscilla, Enamella, Irintina. Three pale, feminine faces peered at him from the portraits of each. They had been taken from the respective castles of the three fairies he never had the chance to meet. For each he remembered the wilted or browned flowers that had shriveled up long before he arrived. Briefly he recalled the meeting that set him on the quest that would change his life forever. The accidental encounter with Katara, her eager interest in him and her yearning for news of her sisters, who had fallen out of contact with her long ago. His journey to the edges of the world, searching out the legends of the moonflowers. Him sneaking into the first castle, excited to meet the sister of his friend, only to find a dead flower and no fairy – alive or dead – in sight. A castle levelled around him as his fury searched for the culprit. Disappointment and anger meeting him at the next two sites where the same fate had met two more of the moon maidens. Ulron stopped at the third portrait and traced the name Sarania below. He looked into the pale visage of a woman draped in jewels and fabric. This picture he had taken from the room in which she had been found locked away. Memories flashed across his eyes. Sarania had been the possession of a rich and powerful king who had kept her locked high away from any other being. She had been separated from the flower she was created with and decked in corsets and stiff finery. Ulron had seen her long enough to rejoice that she was alive and hear her cry out as the king grabbed her from behind and, yelling “If I can’t have her, no one will!”, hoist the jeweled dagger at his hip and slit her throat in front of him. The last portrait was the hardest for Ulron to gaze upon. His eyes blurred as his fingers traced the familiar lettering beneath, making out the name Nascia. Unbidden images passed into conscience, taking him back to the first and last day they met. It had taken a long time to find her, as her flower wasn’t where Katara had remembered it to be. It had taken some investigative skill and sleuth to infiltrate the castle she was being kept at. After searching the castle, he came at last to the dungeons, and at the furthermost cell he found her, chained to a wall and breathing short, raspy breaths. Her life was nearing its end and Ulron could see the evidence of months – perhaps even years – of torture inflicted upon her. Quickly he moved towards her and tried to find weaknesses or releases in the cuffs and chains that held her to the wall. He whispered to her the he was sent by Katara and he would get her out. His fingers slipped on the impenetrable bonds that held her and stopped completely in horror as he heard the only two words she weakly whispered. “…..kill….me…” “No!” He vehemently whispered back. “I’ll get you out, just… give me… a minute” he grunted as he tugged the chains. Behind him, a creaking of a door and footsteps approaching. Nascia lifted her head a fraction, drew a long breath, and groaned. “He’s coming… please…” her head fell back down and a tear glistened as it fell from her cheek. Behind him a shout emanated. His own tears brimming, he placed his hand over her mouth and drew his dagger, plunging it as carefully as he could into her heart to ensure a swift passing. As he drew his hand away, her last breath held a faint, almost imperceptible “thank you” before she stopped moving and he was grabbed from behind. He remembered the rage that had filled his body as he fought off the arms that grabbed him and the fear and hate that propelled him into fresh air and up above the ground. He nearly lost his life that day alongside her.

Ulrons hand dropped to his injury as he continued along the corridor and into the clearing ahead. Light filled his vision as he walked into the grove of lush greenery. Flora and scrub surrounded him, reminding him of the multicolored jewels that some fairies desired. Still, he moved on. At the heart of this hidden paradise was a large white flower, each petal turned up towards the moonlight streaming from above. He climbed the pile of rocks and onto a platform built to be level with the flower opening. Glancing down, he smiled at the translucent white face and milky eyes turned his way. Nestled in the heart of this gigantic, ethereal flower was a fairy as delicate and mystical as her floral counterpart. Her wings were like those of a lacewing, transparent and iridescent. Skin so fragile that her veins could be seen underneath. White hair cascaded down her shoulders, gentle pink color in her cheeks and lips. His gaze was drawn to her eyes, completely milk and as luminous as the moon from which she drew her strength. Sightless, she raised a hand in his direction, smiling. Warmly he reached out and touched her hand with his fingers. “Katara” he murmured fondly. “Ulron! Is that you?” she asked eagerly. She knew the answer already, but this was her favorite greeting to him, as he had to affirm it was he. “Indeed it is, my petal. Were you expecting someone else?” Katara grinned and rolled over, kneeling. “You know I wasn’t, silly!” she chimed. Her hand traced the back of his hand, moving up the rough bumps of battle scars etched into his skin, until she found a wet, sticky patch of blood from his wound. She drew back, gasping. “No!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been in a fight, you’re hurt!” gently she lay her hand on his arm and her hand started to glow. Quickly he lifted it up and placed it back down on the flower petal she was kneeling on. “I’m okay, Katara. There was a small squabble, but it’s sorted now. I’ll be fine, I promise.” Katara scowled. “Why won’t you let me heal you?” she demanded. Ulron sighed. “You know why. I don’t want to be the monster people claim I am. Please, don’t waste yourself on me. Besides, it’s only a nick. I’m already bandaging it, see!” He lifted her hand long enough to feel the rough bandage he had pulled from his hip pocket, then gently placed it back down. Her scowl lessened and she sighed. “I worry about you, Ul, out there with bad people around. I hate it when you get hurt.” Her sentiment touched his heart and he chuckled. “Petal, while I think of you, I can withstand anything. I’m practically invulnerable. Speaking of…” he drifted off and eyed the vegetation surrounding them. “… have you been okay? Are you safe?” Katara felt ahead of her, moving little by little until she was crawling into his lap. She put her arms around his neck and smiled, a big open hearted smile that lit her whole face up. “With you here to protect me? Of course I am!” Sighing relief, Ulron gently placed his forehead on hers and murmured “I’m glad” before gently picking her up and placing her back into her flower, with all the care as if she were spun glass. She rolled onto her back, and he lay down on the rock with his torso facing her. Sightless, Katara raised her arm and reached above her before dropping it back to her side. “Ul, could you tell me about colors again, please?” she asked. A hearty guffaw emerged from his chest and he settled down closer to the smooth surface he rested on. “Of course, petal. You know the light breeze caressing your hair? That’s what light blue looks like. And the warmth on your face when the sun is up? That’s what orange looks like. Silver is the moonlight you feel lighting up your face. The night dew is a deep indigo……”

#shortstory #fairies

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author-morgan · 5 years

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Phobia ☤ Alexios

twelve - first do no harm

masterlist

“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”

Fate decrees two kindred souls from two different empires will find one another, and the spear shall be made whole again.

ZEUS UNLEASHES HIS wrath upon the morning sky in a flash of white light followed by the roaring crackle of thunder. In the wake of Zeus' anger, the Hyades beckon the assuaging pitter-patter of raindrops. The two somnolent travelers break and pack their small camp in the downpour.

They've ridden since daybreak through inclement weather and the approaching gates of Argos paired with slivers of blue sky are a welcome sight. They leave Phobos to rest at the gatehouse stables. "Follow me," Irene says, glancing over her shoulder. Finding Hippokrates' clinic would be easy even for a person who has never seen Argos before. All one had to do is follow those who were sick or injured.

Scores of sick and wounded -both soldiers and civilians- are waiting to be seen by Hippokrates. Others have no room in the main clinic and lay beneath tarpaulins, shielded from the wind and rain. Irene has never seen this many waiting patients before. Several novice healers tend to patients, but Hippokrates is not among them. Among the apprentices is Sostratos –he received his initial instruction under Theophilus in Athens with Irene before departing to seek greater knowledge.

A beldame is confronting Sostratos about something –her croaking voice is both hushed and raised. "Bitter old crone," Irene remarks as the Priestess of Hera leaves the clinic in haste, pushing past her and the Eagle Bearer.

The apprentice shifts his attention to Irene and Alexios, and his trepidatious expression fades, slipping back into a more aplomb composure. He maneuvers through the patients and greets Irene and her companion with a friendly smile. "Chrysis believes Hippokrates methods anger the gods and has accused him of impiety," he confides.

"We need to speak to him. Where is he?" Irene questions, looking around the crowded clinic.

"Near the Cave of Pan," Sostratos answers. Hippokrates had left several days ago to set up a clinic to treat those the Sanctuary of Asklepios had refused. Alexios and Irene exchange looks –they both know where they must go next. The princess thanks Sostratos and follows the Eagle Bearer back to the gatehouse stables.

ATOP A HILL to the southwest of the Heraion of Argos people are gathered before the entrance to one of Pan's caves. Alexios pulls back on Phobos' reins as they set up the winding road –passing a throng of weary travelers. "I thought they were exaggerating when they said people came from all over to see Hippokrates," he comments. Irene glances back at him and shakes her head. She has heard stories of people traveling from Egypt to seek out the famed physician's help.

The princess stops Alexios before he can interrupt the physician's description of the sacred disease and his proposed remedy. Hippokrates does not speak of the god's ill-will, but of impoverishment -proper meals and rest can help cure those not yet beyond his ability to save. A far cry from what the priests and priestesses would tell the sick. "Challenging traditions," Alexios notes, crossing his arms, "you must be Hippokrates."

"Yes," the physician answers, vexed by the interruption. "I am also very busy."

"We won't take you away from your patients for long," Irene amends.

Upon hearing the familiar voice, Hippokrates turns from his workstation, disbelief overtakes his consternation. "Irene!" He greets. She pushes forward the wrapped parcel from the Argos clinic and he accepts the supplies and tools with an appreciative nod. "What brings you here?" He inquires. The physician knows Irene is not here for sickness. She's perhaps the only person he has ever met that has never even caught a mild case of the sniffles. Their last encounter had been by chance, and he'd stitched a wound beneath her arm closed.

Irene glances over her shoulder at the Eagle Bearer. "Alexios seeks your help."

The physician glances at the misthios, eyes darting over him to find signs of illness or injury -he finds none. "He doesn't look unwell," Hippokrates notes, gaze lingering on the scars wrapping around his arm. "More like one of Phidias' sculptures come to life." Irene hides a faint smile, unable to keep her eyes from straying back to Alexios –it wouldn't be hard to believe he'd been carved from marble.

"I'm looking for a Spartan woman," Alexios explains. "My mother," he's quick to add, "she would have come to you a long time ago with an injured baby. I was told you may have helped her."

Hippokrates shakes his head and turns back to his workbench. His mind is burdened with the woes of his patients, and he cannot spare the time to recall every person who had ever sought his help. "Maybe the priests at the Sanctuary can help," he suggests, eager to return to his studies and patients, "they keep detailed records of all those who pass through."

The princess steps up next to Alexios, her hand brushing against his. "We've traveled a long way to find you, friend-"

"As do my patients," he interjects. "They need me." The physician sighs, leaning forward on the wobbling wooden table. "My notes were taken," he admits, turning back to look at the misthios. "If you retrieve them I will help you find what you seek." An Athenian commander had taken the notes –claiming his soldiers were more important than innocent civilians. Hippokrates could remember most of what he had written, but some finer details that slipped his busy mind.

Alexios leaves in search of the physician's notes in Fort Tiryns, but Irene elects to stay with the physician and his patients. "How can I help?" She inquires. Despite her prowess for violence, the princess has a natural affinity for the art of healing and medicine. Hippokrates will not let a spare set of practiced hands be wasted.

"I need a poultice for fever," he tells her, "if you wouldn't mind lending a hand." Irene smiles and goes to work, grinding white willow, elder and yarrow together with rose oil. Kneeling, Irene smooths a portion of the paste over a patient's forehead and lays a cut fig leaf over it. Next, she goes to the child the physician is tending, repeating the same process.

"The mercenary?" Hippokrates asks, curious to know why she was traveling with such unscrupulous company.

She glances down at the fevered girl –nose red and lips cracked. War and disease do not discriminate between the innocent and guilty. "I want to help him find his mother," the princess avows –just because she has no family does not mean others should face the same fate. Irene lays her hand on the girl's cheek and takes a deep breath. A heavy moment of silence passes and the girl's eyes open –a mix of sage and hazel. Her small hands are no longer clammy and the fever that had doomed her to an early grave recedes.

The physician sits back, astonished. "Are you Persephone?" The girl asks in a meek voice. Irene shakes her head and before she can speak a relieved mother is rushing to embrace her daughter. Irene rises and looks into her palms. Hippokrates follows her, filled with questions –though he supposes some are best left unanswered.

Alexios returns with another physician from the fort who claims to have memorized the notes before they were burned during the last battle. Their arrival comes too late for one man, but Hippokrates makes good on his promise. He tells Alexios about the night his mother came with a broken babe in her arms. He had still been young and such feats were beyond his experience. He had told Myrrine to seek help at the Sanctuary.

SHE GOES TO the temple while Alexios seeks out the priests –something innate is calling her there. The temple is void of worshippers and she strides toward the statue of Asklepios, passing plinths of ailing clay body parts and painted images of serpents. Irene approaches a twisted staff held up on a pedestal at the feet of the God of Medicine. It calls to her and though the voice in her head is that of a stranger's, there is something innately familiar about it –as though she has heard it before in dreams. Iron and bronze are cast to look like a crooked branch, a single silver snake curls around the top of the staff, its eyes piercing green jewels.

Her fingertips almost brush the relic when a priest comes to stand next to her. "The Staff of Asklepios," he interposes, and Irene quickly pulls her hand back. "Last wielded by a traitor," the priest vilifies, hands clasped behind his back.

The princess glances at the grey-haired priest –brows set in a deep furrow. "Apollonides of Kos." He speaks the name like a curse and the color seeps away from Irene's face. My father. "They say he is who taught Hippokrates before betraying Greece for Persia."

Her gaze shifts from the priest back to the staff. "What was Apollonides like?" Irene asks. It's the first time anyone has willingly mentioned his name and it fills her with hope.

"He was-" the old priest starts but then thinks twice about revealing anything, else Chrysis will have his tongue like Mydon. They've been ordered not to speak of the traitor or to any eagle-bearing mercenaries and their accomplices. "I don't know," he says too quickly and harshly for the words to be true. Hope slips through her fingers and her heart drops to her stomach. "I never met him," the priest lies, absconding from the temple.

Dejected and alone once more, Irene steps up to the relic and wraps her hand around the staff –all initial hesitancy gone. The emerald eyes of the serpent begin to glow and a surge of power and pain wash over her –flooding her veins as a tidal wave of white heat. Irene.

Strange markings illuminate the back of her hands, creeping up her arms in smooth arcs and lines. It is yours, the voice whispers, take it. She relinquishes the staff with a sharp cry and stumbles before collapsing to the white marble floor, shaking. The markings fade as quickly as they appeared and emerald serpentine eyes still look down upon her, though the light in them begins fading.

Alexios finds her on the floor in the temple, clearly perturbed. He kneels next to her and lays his hand on her shoulder. There's a distant, empty look in her eyes. "Are you all right?" Irene glances at him and nods –an unconvincing gesture. "We should leave quickly," he breathes, helping her to stand. Only then does she notice the blood on his bracers and hands –none of it his own.

#Alexios #Alexios x OC #Alexios Imagine #Alexios Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Imagine #Assassin's Creed Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Odyssey #story: Phobia #my writing

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blarfkey · 6 years

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Thick As Thieves -- Solas/Cadash

Chapter 5 update!

The first chapter is here for you to check out. The link to the fic is in the sidebar of my blog in case Tumblr is still hiding links in the tags.

title:Thick As Thieves

fandom: Dragon age

Pairing: Solas/f!Cadash

Rating: PG - PG 13

Tags: slow (slooooowwwwwww) burn, enemies to friends to lovers, culture clash, Solas has a judgey mouth and it gets him in a lot of trouble

"What did you do?" she asks.

"I did nothing. The credit is yours." Millenia of practice allows him to speak these words with a smile as he swallows bile.

Noticing Cassandra's agitated pacing int he corner of his eye, he launches into an explanation of the mark and it's abilities, based on his "theories." The lies fall easy from his lips, a skill he is not proud to have. Cassandra, desperate for hope, swallows them without question.

"It seems you hold the key to our salvation," he tells the dwarf, and the bitter irony of that statement nearly chokes him.

"And here I thought we'd be ass deep in demons forever." Varric pipes up, unable to handle not being the center of attention for more than a few minutes. "Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and, occasionally, unwelcome tagalong."

He throws Cassandra a wink, who rolls her eyes. Solas secretly wants to join her.

"Are you with the Chantry, or . . ." she trails off.

Solas laughs, he can't help it. The thought of Varric praying piously in front a statue of Andraste, his chest hair on full display -- "Is that serious question?"

Her deadpan tone says yes, but there's a gleam in her eye, a spark of levity that suggests otherwise.

"Technically I'm a prisoner here -- just like you," Varric says, which immediately offends Cassandra.

"I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that's no longer necessary."

"And yet here I am. Lucky for you, considering current events."

The prisoner graces Varric with her first smile. It's small and weak -- barely more than the twitch of her mouth -- but the spark of warmth it brings promises that the full effect could be dangerous indeed.

"It's good to meet you Varric," she says.

"You may reconsider that, in time," murmurs Solas. Despite the shortness of their acquaintance, Varric and Cassandra bicker more often than most married couples that Solas knew.

"Aww, I'm sure we'll become great friends int he valley, Chuckles," Varric shoots right back to him. It took him approximately half a day to bestow an ironic nickname for Solas that, unfortunately, shows no signs of dying down.

"Absolutely not." Cassandra steps in between them, lording her height over Varric, who does not back down.

Solas braces himself for yet another one of their spats.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," he says to the prisoner as they argue in the background. "I'm pleased to see you still yet live."

But not for much longer. He stopped the mark from killing her instantly, but he can only hold off it's effect for so long. Eventually it will destroy this dwarf, devour her like dry firewood.

"Shay Cadash," she says, turning that small but dangerous smile on him.

"What he means is, 'I kept that mark from killing you as you slept'," Varric interjects, surprising Solas at how quick he is to give others credit.

Her smile drops immediately. A strange look replaces it- like she swallowed something bitter. But she covers it up quickly enough to make Solas wonder if he had seen it at all.

"Then I owe you my thanks," she says, turning towards him and giving him a solomn bow of her head.

She looks anything but grateful.

"Thank me if we manage to close the breach without killing you in the process," he says. He has no need of her gratitude. He wants to get rid of the Breach and get his orb back -- and if the dwarf dies, well that makes getting his mark back remarkably easier.

He assures Cassandra that no mage, much less a dwarf, could ever have the power to create the Breach. And though he has nothing to reccomend him -- no allies or education or background to vouch for him -- Cassandra accepts them without protest. He does not know if she is merely naive or has an innate judge of character, but her trust in him will be easily exploited.

"We must get to the forward camp quickly," she says and they move on, the dwarf trailing behind them.

"So let me guess: Surface dwarf, maybe part of the Carta?"

They've headed into the forest, snow drifting from the pines overhead at the slightest breeze. Varric walks beside the prisoner as if they're on a leisurely stroll to admire the scenery, his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"What makes you say that?"

"I can tell a proper Orzamarr dwarf from fifty paces. Also you got that shifty smuggler look to you."

Solas raises an eyebrow. He has seen shifty smuggler dwarves -- eye-patches and rough beards and scars. The prisoner's guilelessbrown eyes and freckled cheeks does not resemble them any more than Solas resembles the Dalish.

The prisoner certainly stiffens at the remark. "Are you calling me a criminal?"

He can tell she is fighting to sound nonchalant.

"You are a criminal," Cassandra says, disgusted.

"Now now," says Varric in a condescending tone that is sure to grate on Cassandra. "There's nothing wrong with being a criminal. Keeps the guards in business."

If Solas had any doubts that Varric dabbled in illegal ventures, they have all but disappeared.

"Well I'm not the only one with the shifty smuggler look," says the prisoner, looking at Varric pointedly.

"Varric didn't destroy the conclave," Cassandra snaps.

"That you know of," says Varric. "We shifty smuggler types can be tricky."

It does not escape his notice, however, that the prisoner does not deny her Carta associations. It seems almost unbelievable, looking at her, but that might be the point. She might use her youth and air of innocence as tools to make her enemies underestimate her. He can't deny their effectiveness -- he fell for it himself. It makes this entire mess of a situation even more complicated and Solas bites his tongue to keep the hysterics down.

Solas, by comparison, must be invisible. Mild. Polite. His clothes simple, his voice pleasant, his words comforting and informative by turns. Solas the humble apostate is no less a fabrication than Fen'Harel and compared to Cassandra's intensity and Varric's quick wit, he melts into the background, forgotten. Free to watch the bearer of his mark and what he notices does her little credit.

They call her the Herald. Cadash either confirms or denies this, depending on who she is talking to. Much of the Herald's disposition changes with her surroundings and companions. It makes it difficult to pinpoint exactly who she is. The only constants are her levity, a trait blooming to life now that she has grown more comfortable and the threat of execution no longer hangs over her head, and her ability to win over each and every person in the Inquisition with a systematic determination that disturbs him.

Cassandra's suspicions lasted barely the first night. Part of this stems from her own intelligence, for not even grief or anger can blind her from seeing the truth of a situation. She lives up to her title in that respect. But Cadash's continual expressions of respect for Cassandra, discussions of her faith, her immediate loyalty to the Inquisition's cause certainly helped that forgiveness along.

Cadash speaks tactics and shares underworld contacts with Leliana. She compliments Cullen's leadership and spars with his soldiers. She trades quips with Varric and insults Orzamarr Dwarves and of course she has read all of his books.

She doesn't quite know what to make of Solas -- no one here does -- but she always offers that dangerous fragment of a smile for him and combats his formality by trying to make him laugh. In fact, she goes out of her way to acknowledge him, even if it's just offering up a "good morning" or asking how well he slept. No matter how much he tries to stay in the background, he always attracts her attention.

It would all seem coincidental if Solas has not witnessed the calculating expression that creeps on her face when she thinks no one is watching her. No matter how genuine she may seem, it's clear her interactions are charades, carefully calculated and flawless executed to secure the people's loyalty.

It leaves the truth of Shay Cadash a mystery, but one Solas will piece together.

"Good morning, " she greets him the day before they head out for the Hinterlands.

"The Chosen of Andraste," he says, a hint of bitterness he can't control seeping into his tone. "The blessed hero come to save us all."

She looks over at him, her lips quirked and that gleam in her eye, as if they two of them are sharing an inside joke.

"That sounds a lot flashier than Freckles," she says, citing Varric's nickname for her. "Tell me, am I riding in on a shining steed?"

A smile twitches on his face before he can stop it. He must admit, it's hard not to be charmed by her at times. Parts of her interactions are genuine. But her sincerity to makes her insincerity all the more believable.

"I would have suggested a griffon. But sadly they're extinct. Joke as you will, but posturing is necessary."

As if she needed such advice, but Solas needs to find a role to play if he wants to stay in the Inquisition and Mentor gives him a perfect amount of influence.

The Herald rolls her eyes and leans closer to her him, lowering her voice."This whole thing sounds like a farce, to be honest. Some great joke of the universe. All I wanted to do was find out how the mange/templar was going to screw with Lyrium sales. Trust me, I did not ask for any of this."

She glances down at her gloved hand, the light of the Anchor barely imperceptible through the leather. Rather than parade it around, the mark stays hidden, as if she cannot bear to look at it.

"But someone has to seal the Breach and no one else's hand has been possessed by ancient, unknown magic, so I guess everyone is stuck with me."

"Spoken nobly indeed," he says instead.

Judging by the raised eyebrow he gets from her, he did not entirely suppress his sarcasm.

"You think I'm mocking you. This age has made people cynical." He turns and looks over at the cage of mountains that surround them. "I've journeyed deep into the Fade and ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten."

He turns back to her. "Every great war has it's heroes. I'm just curious as to what kind you'll be."

He allows his words to linger, to settle like heavy fog between them. Let her know that he is watching. Let her know that her every action is being weighed and judged. She may not care what an apostate thinks of her, but Fen'Harel's conclusion will be a matter of her life and death.

If she notices the weight of his speech, it does not show in her face. The cloud has passed and her eyes are bright.

"Hopefully the kind that chases kids off my farm with my cane and rambles on endlessly about the glory days to anyone who makes eye contact with me in a bar."

Despite his best efforts, the corner of his lip tugs up. "I can think of worse fates."

He cannot shake the feeling that she did so on purpose.

Solas keeps his suspicions of the Herald to himself. It's clear now, after gaining three more recruits, that Cadash is very good at what she does: she systematically finds a point of commonality between her and any given member of the Inquisition and exploits it. It doesn't matter if they are a Qunari spy, a Grey Warden or a street urchin with a bow -- Cadash won them over in the time it takes Solas to choke down a cup of tea.

The Herald has no such compunctions; Watching her trade stories with the Iron Bull, or prank ideas with Sera or discussing Grey Warden history with Blackwall -- watching them slowly open up to her, while she plays them like puppets on a string, leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

That does not stop him from enabling her behavior, if only for the pathetic reason that he dearly wishes to have someone with whom to discuss it. She may raise some eyebrows at his ideas, but she never openly passes judgement upon them and she listens to them with a seemingly open mind. He wishes everyone else had the open mindness she appears to have and he wishes, secretly, that her openmindedness wasn't an obvious ploy to win his loyalty.

It's almost enough to make one forget that she's the member of a ruthless crime family. But she gives herself away in her deft hands, able to pick any non-magical lock, or in her silent footsteps, the way she can sense even the subtlest traps. No matter how enthusiastically she embraces the Inquisition, Solas has no doubts that she schemes for ways to give herself power and influence through it.

It's on one such occasion that his polite veneer finally cracks. She is plying him with questions about his origin. He counters them with the same vague, inconclusive answers she gives everyone else, but inside his temper boils. He's sick of her distrust, her false overtures of friendship, her hypocrisy.

He is sick of playing this game with her while she thinks she can charm his suspicions away like she has done to everyone else. As if he's as naive as a toddler.

"I know what you're doing, Herald," he says. "And I must warn you, it will not work on me."

Shock flickers across her face, quick as as candle flame before she snuffs it out. He treasures it all the same, a mark of triumph.

"Oh God,” she says, closing her eyes in mortification. “I’m being really annoying, aren’t I? I didn't mean to intrude, you're just literally the most interesting person here. You can tell me to shut up if I get to be too much. It won't offend me. My cousin's done it a hundred times."

Oh, she is good. In the face of her sudden embarrassment, Solas almost feels guilty for calling her out.

Almost.

"You're probing me. Trying to catch me in a lie. Testing my loyalty."

After a moment her features relax into something more sheepish -- but not at all regretful.

"You caught me," she says with a rueful smile. "But you can hardly blame me. You're so distant and mysterious. It’s hard not to be curious about you.”

How tightly she still clings to pretense, as if she still had a chance to deceive him. She has no idea who she’s dealing with.

"And the fact that I'm both an elf and an apostate mage has nothing to do with your curiosity?” He struggles to keep his tone neutral.

Her eyebrows raise. "I don’t know. Does the fact that I’m a Carta dwarf have anything to do with the fact that you don't like me?"

Her words leave him floundering for a reply.

"It's not hypocritical to be distrustful of a criminal," he snaps, his control breaking. “It’s just common sense.”

"I apologize," he says, though the words taste bitter in his mouth. "That was uncalled for."

"Oh, don’t bother,” she says sweetly. “You were just being honest. Probably for the first time. I appreciate it, actually, more than that polite mask you wear all the time. And I’m not the only criminal here, apostate. We’re both in a precarious boat and you’re not exactly in a position to be alienating potential allies.”

“And what do you mean by that?” he says. The implication in her words is clear, but it’s impossible for anyone to know of his part in the destruction.

“I mean, if I were going to point fingers at who blew up the temple, I would start with the weird apostate who knows everything about the Fade and showed up out of nowhere.”

Her gaze does not waver, unconvinced and unfazed.

“What’s your last name, Solas?”

A multitude of names, both real and stolen, fly through his mind, but he waits too long to answer.

“That’s what I thought,” she says and her smugness cuts through him like a knife. “See, Solas, here’s the thing. I have just about as much control of being a part of the Carta as you have over being a mage. But at least the Carta taught me that loyalty matters above all else. We might backstab everyone around us, but we’re loyal to our own. Without that loyalty, infighting makes the Carta fall to pieces. By those standards, this Inquisition isn't any different. And already, people from all races and beliefs and classes have started to unite themselves for this goal. Except for you."

Her conscious mind knows nothing dangerous about him, but her instincts practically scream his duplicity, he can see it in her eyes.

He is stepping on thin ice here.

"How do you come to that conclusion?" he asks. “I volunteered my services. I’m here because I chose to be.”

Unlike you, the implication clearly states, but if it insults her, the Herald does not let it show.

"You shun all company,” she says, ticking it off on her finger. “You give almost no personal information about yourself, and you distract others from this by being free and open about your esoteric information on the Fade that, conveniently, only you know. Everyone else here has ties and history and relationships. You are a complete unknown, even to our spymaster. If anyone could just up walk away from the Inquisition and sell all our secrets, it would be you."

"I assure you, closing the Breach is of the utmost importance to me," he says, not that his words have any impact on her. "The Inquisition has my complete loyalty for that cause."

She waves his reassurances aside with a dismissive hand.

"Your assurances are meaningless if I don't know the kind of person you are. And I've tried to figure that out by befriending you, but you have too many walls up. Maybe if I were another elf, they might come down. But a dwarf stands no chance, does she? And certainly not a criminal.”

Something in her gaze shifts, her glare softening into something . . .tired. “You want honesty, Solas? Here’s some honesty. You frighten me. You saved my life and therefore I owe you a very great debt. I don't like not understanding the kind of person I owe and what they would ask of me.”

Before he can respond, Leliana appears. Solas would be real coin that she eavesdropped on at least part of their conversation, but she is too professional to let it show on her face.

"Ah, Herald. How did I guess I would find you here?" she says. "If you have a moment, I would like to share with you some information on Redcliffe that's come in."

"I have the time," the Herald says and she leaves without giving Solas so much as another glance.

He thought he would prefer it.

Instead he finds it nearly intolerable.

If he wants any chance of his plans coming to fruition then he must return to the Herald’s good graces. And soon.

Her words haunt him for days after.

"It's not hypocritical to be distrustful of a criminal, it's just common sense."

Indeed. Such words could be thrown back at him and ring more truthfully. She can't know. She cannot possibly know and yet her instincts tell her otherwise. Her unerring, perceptive suspicions make him afraid and in his fear he has lashed out and made an enemy.

Three thousand years old and he still acts like a child.

Here’s some honesty: you frighten me.

Solas. Frightening. To others the idea may seem absurd, a reaction he carefully cultivates. The truth of his identity would truly terrify her more so than the blank of the unknown that she despises. But these words haunt him more than the others. She doesn't fear his magic or his love of the Fade as the others do, but the vulnerability of being in debt to someone who could extract a terrible price for it. And she has no way of knowing that he would never ask of such a thing.

(The bitter irony that she believes he saved her life disquiets him.)

He can tolerate this no longer. He needs the protection that her friendship would provide -- and if that means to fabricate an apology and start over, then so be it. Two can play at that particular game.

(Solas ignores the thought that hovers in the back of his mind, that he may have genuinely misjudged her).

He waits impatiently for their return to Skyhold and the opportunity to speak with her privately, finally securing one as she leaves the stables.

"Herald," he calls, increasing his stride to catch up to her. She stops and waits for him, even though it would take but a moment to for his longer legs to close the gap between them. Her face shifts in a mask of indifference.

"May we speak in private? I have something important to discuss with you."

A wariness crosses the Herald's face and Solas feels a pinprick of guilt.

"Alright," she says.

She must think he has information about their upcoming meeting with the mages to follow him. Not everyone in the Inquisition would welcome such an alliance, but the Herald is adamant for it. She's sold smuggled to too many desperate, bloodthirsty templars to trust them, or so she says.

"If it's something this sensitive, perhaps we should go to Josephine or Leliana," she says.

Solas shakes his head. "It is something personal, between us."

" . . .Oh." She shifts her footing, anxiety spasming across her features before she schools it under control. Solas does not like to see her cage her emotions, when she lets her personality fly free around everyone else. He is indeed a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but no one is supposed to be frightened of him yet. Much as she irritates him, Solas does not wish her actual harm.

He underestimated how much pride she has, which should have been the one dwarf stereotype he remembered.

"I would like to offer my sincerest apologies for my behavior the last time we spoke," he begins. "I had gravely misjudged you, blinded by my own prejudices. What I said to you is unacceptable and I beg your forgiveness."

Judging from the surprise on her face, she probably expected more abuse from him, and it shames him. But even still, her eyes remain wary, an unwillingness to believe him.

"What brings this on?" she asks. "That argument was a month ago."

"Your words and my own observations. I initially mistook your camaraderie for manipulation, but I now see that I was wrong." He gives her a self-deprecating smile, using her tactics against her. "You, however, were completely right about me. I'm used to a solitary life, so I naturally shy away from attachments, but I've also made it easy to slip away if I needed to. I'm an apostate mage, surrounded by Chantry forces. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you must understand my caution."

"I do," she says, and her shoulders relax. "But you've stuck around to help. I'm not going to let anyone use that against you, not even someone as scary as Cassandra."

"And how would you stop them," he asks. Despite her easy confidence, she is so very young, not even into her third decade yet.

"However I had to," she says and it doesn't sound cocky or self-assured. It sounds like a forgone conclusion.

He's unexpectedly touched by it.

"Even someone who has hurt you?"

She levels him with an exasperated look. "We're all on the same team, Solas, and the problem we face is far bigger than any petty squabbles and personal prejudices. You're a useful ally and I owe you my life. No one is going to lay a hand on you."

Her ability to see the bigger picture, to put aside infighting for a common goal, sound so far from what he expected from a dwarf. Perhaps he should reevaluate his opinion of her.

Though the situation doesn't merit it, Solas has to inwardly smile at such defense of his well being. It has been a very long time since someone has underestimated him to such a degree and he finds the untruth oddly freeing.

"Thank you," he tells her. "And, please, do not worry yourself over your debt. You owe me nothing."

The Herald graces him with a sad, half smile. "That's a sweet sentiment, Solas, but a debt is never forgotten or forgiven. One way or another, it's always paid."

"That's quite a cynical view of things." Not surprising, considering her past, but Solas wisely does not voice this.

"From your point of view, perhaps. But to me, a favor for a favor keeps things equal and honest and everyone knows where they stand with each other. I find that preferable to people who hand wave a debt, only to remind me of it later when they need something from me."

What situations she's experienced to have such a pragmatic view so young he can only imagine.

"I cannot fault your logic," he says. "I will consider your debt repaid, then, when you close the Breach."

"How convenient, when that's already my goal," she says, the side of her mouth quirking up.

Still not trusting him.

He can only look back at her and hope he doesn't come up short in her scrutiny.

"I appreciate your apology, Solas," she says softly. "I know how hard those can be and you didn't have to.”

"Perhaps we can put this whole fiasco behind us, then," he says.

"I think I would prefer to start over."

The Herald sticks her hand out and graces him with the full brilliance of her smile and he understands a little why the others follow her so readily.

"I'm Shay, if there are to be introductions."

His own words from that fateful day, verbatim. Perhaps he made a bigger impression on her than he had thought.

"Solas." Instead of shaking her hand, he bends down and kisses the tops of her fingers. It's an impulsive decision, but she deserves a gentleman's manners, if only to make up for his lack of decorum before.

Besides, she isn't the only one who knows how to charm.

Judging from the way her cheeks glow, he succeeded. A step in the right direction

#dragon age #solas #solas/cadash #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor cadash #da:i #thick as thieves #my fic #solasmance

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