#me even though i am literally fighting my binds to try and stab him and rip his throat out graphically.

[jackalhadrurusluvr]

i need to speedrun finishing bg3 so i can be over it but i just had the Big Romance Scene with astarion and i have to log off to combat the nausea (/pos)

[brutal-nemesis]

Arthropod Day 2021: 🦀Time For Crab 🦀

Malacostraca Moment 😳🦀

So fun story I wanted this to be on a Saturday because SIDEWAYS SATURDAY but when I was deciding on the date I looked at the calendar for July without realizing it. Happy Sideways Stuesday I guess? 

Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: drowning mention, animal attack (kinda chill tho it’s not really violent), dehydration, autocannibalism mention, parasitic insects, partial nudity, heckin surgery (but it’s CONSENSUAL (⊙ˍ⊙) who am I), suicide for convenience (immortal)

“This looks like a lovely spot for a vacation; thank you guys so much for finding it for me.” The small dingy had just landed on a sandy beach enclosed by dark rocks on either side, a lush forest leading deeper into the island. Casyts’s captor glared at him before harshly tugging the rope tied to his wrists, trying to get him to stand and step onto the beach with her.

“Shut your trap, Ragnarok, or I might change my mind about gagging you. Now get up or I’ll have my men drag you.” 

Castys sighed and rolled his eyes, getting up and following her so his rope burn didn’t get any worse. “Aye aye, Yvonne.” 

“That’s Captain Veldna to you,” she growled, jerking him forward. He stumbled a bit, but he was able to catch himself before he got sand up his nose. He debated trying to yank the rope out of her hands and running away or stealing the boat, but her very strong men were right behind him and that would probably just end in him having extra bruises. So he just followed her like a stupid little goat as she led him towards the rocks, hoping she wouldn’t leave him tied up so he could at least enjoy his time being stranded. But no, this was about sending a message to his crew or making him suffer or something. He didn’t really remember, he’d been dazed as hell when he’d initially gotten captured during a fight between their two ships. Blood loss was a bitch sometimes.

They forced him to sit with his back against a large rock, yanking his bound hands above his head and worming a large nail through the knotted rope before hammering it into the rock. “Not gonna lie, this seems a little extra. I’m not going to go anywhere, so, like, just let me-” Yvonne slapped him harshly across the face.

“You’re not here to have fun, you annoying little parrot.” She looked over at her men, who had just finished tying his ankles together and nailing them down in a similar fashion to his wrists. “If you lot are done, let’s leave.” She turned back to Castys, a wicked grin on her face. “I wonder how many times you’ll die before your crew finds you?”

“My money’s on eight. Do you want me to keep track and tell you next time we see each other? If only I could write in a diary what horrors I suffer sitting on this warm rock that you tied me to during high tide so I won’t even drown later. Now that-agh!” Yvonne stabbed him in the stomach, and Castys bit back a scream as she twisted her blade. 

“The sound of your silence is something I could get used to.”

“Well, the real question is, is silence actually a sound-” Castys’s very valid observation was cut off by the bitch yanking out her sword and promptly kicking him in the stomach. He couldn’t help but cry out, doubling over as far as he could. Yeah, yeah he should probably just shut the fuck up and let them get on their merry way before he got more unnecessary injuries. 

“Enjoy your vacation, Ragnarok,” Yvonne spat. As one last gesture of maturity, she kicked sand at him before walking off, and some of it definitely got in his stab hole, so that was nice. He watched them row away, sighing. Now it was just boredom city, but hey, at least he had a nice beach view. The sun was a few hours away from setting, not that it mattered that much since his skin was dark enough that he probably wasn’t going to get sunburned. 

Being tied to a rock on the beach was...just about as boring as he expected. His arms got all tingly after a while from being stuck above his head, so he couldn’t even properly relax, and a man could only watch little waves roll for so long. He had a nice view of the setting sun, and hey, that means the light of dawn wouldn’t be shining in his face. While the sun was still a little ways above the horizon, he heard an odd rustling noise over in the vegetation, different from the background sounds he had gotten used to. He looked over, hoping it was a friendly man with a knife.

It was not a friendly man with a knife. But it wasn’t something bad, either. “Oh shit hello crabs!” Castys watched as they scuttled out of the treeline onto the beach, glad to have something fun to watch. One of them was slowly making its way towards him, and Castys wondered if he would be able to convince it to snip his bindings. “Hey there mister crab man, come on down, and please for the love of god untie me.” Yes, yes he was talking to a crab, because why not go full send on the insanity right away? It would be so much more fun, and it’s not like anyone else was here to judge him. “Yeah crab get in my zone-wow you’re kinda big.” He’d thought the crab was closer to him, but nope, it had been farther away but giant. Not like giant giant but not, like, normal crab size. It was almost as big as his torso maybe, but he was never great at estimating the relative sizes of things. 

“You’re large but you’re a gentleman, ain’t ya? I don’t know why, but you just seem like a polite fellow.” The crab stopped not too far from Castys and just looked at him blankly. Or maybe it was making a face at him, but he couldn’t read crab body language. Could anyone read crab body language? Crabs, he would hope. “Could you bring me some tea, good sir? Or just...water. Water that’s not salty. I don’t actually like tea it literally tastes like nothing but you know what I would drink it now because I am thirsty.” There was a moment of silence. “Not like thirsty in the weird way some people are. I have no idea what that’s about. But like, I want water. Or...oh my god, Mr. Crab, bring me a coconut!” Castys closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Yeah… that would be nice. Food and water and it’s prepackaged and I don’t know how I would eat it because my hands are tied but I’ll figure it out.”

A sudden sharp pinch against his wound jolted Castys out of his daydream. He looked down in horror to see that the crab was holding something in its claws. Something pinkish-red that was dripping blood down onto the sand. The bastard. The crab brought the piece of his flesh to its mouth and just ate it while staring right at Castys. “That,” he blinked in surprise a few times, “was incredibly rude.” The crab stayed still, watching him as it did its weird mouth movements that were maybe chewing. “You are absolutely not a gentleman. I rescind everything. You little garbage boy. Rapscallion. I bet you never get invited to the crab raves.”

And the crab. Had the audacity. To reach out its stupid pincher. And do it again. “Little bitch!” Castys yelled, squirming against the ropes in an attempt to scare the thing off. Shockingly, it did not work, because wounded, dying prey squirmed all the time, and...that’s pretty much what Castys was in this scenario, wasn’t he? He was just stuck sitting here while that stupid crab ripped off little pieces of him with its stupid crab pincher and put them in its stupid crab mouth. If he was lucky, this would make him bleed out and die faster and then he wouldn’t have an open wound anymore, which would be a bonus. Though, it had sand in it, and then if it healed…

A problem for another day.

Not the next day, though, or the one after, because, hooray, he was still tied to a rock, so even though he did die a few hours later, he couldn’t do anything about the Sand In His Insides. He made up a song about it, but singing it loudly did absolutely nothing to scare away the crab, whom he had named Crabstard (Crab Bastard). Crabstard seemed to think Castys was his new best friend, coming back regularly for meals. Castys liked to imagine killing and eating Crabstard as a show of dominance, but that made him wonder...would eating Crabstard be a form of autocannibalism? Because Crabstard had eaten him...

He wasn’t sure what was worse, Crabstard and his stupid giant pinchers, or the mosquitoes. There weren’t a ton of them, but their bites were just awful, littering his arms and legs with swollen, white boils, which were unusual and also very concerning but what the fuck could he do about it. Because of course he couldn’t scratch them, and they itched so much it hurt and he just had to endure it. Just like he had to endure fucking everything. The heat of the sun, the awful tingling in his arms, the soreness of his wrists, Crabstard pinching off bits of his flesh, the maddening pain and itch of all his bug bites, the hunger and thirst, the boredom, and the...the loneliness.

No, he was fine, he was fine with just himself, it was always just him anyway. He wasn’t imagining his crew rowing to shore and untying him and tending to him in his cold, dark cabin, because he couldn’t get his hopes up, because they probably weren’t even coming for him. They were just going to leave him behind like everyone else and fuck he was wasting water like a useless idiot and he couldn’t stop or even wipe them away and he probably deserved this for everything he’d done so what did it matter?

And, great, the next day he started hallucinating a passing ship and a rowboat coming for him. Thank you, dehydrated whore brain! Let’s get our stupid little hopes up! Dang, the people on the boat kind of even looked like some of his crewmates, which was rude of his brain to make this so realistic looking.

It wasn’t until his first mate, Kaveri, was untying him that Castys realized that this was real, that they’d really...really come for him. “I’m so glad we found you, Captain.” She pulled him into a hug as soon as he was free, and he hugged her back as best he could with his sore arms. 

“I’m glad y’all did, too.” He leaned back when she let go and looked down at himself, wincing. “Well, before we get back to the ship, I am going to deliver a much needed death upon mys-“

“Captain, Captain, wait,” the ship’s medic, Sixtus, called as he ran over. He knelt beside Castys, taking his arm and examining the bug bites closely. “I knew it. These bites all over you are...they contain fly larvae. We’re going to need to dig them out before you heal yourself.”

“...what if I’ve died since I’ve gotten bitten. Like, earlier.”

“Well.” Sixtus breathed in sharply. “We will just have to wait for them to, uh, let us know where they are.” He sighed. “For now, let’s get you back to the ship and I’ll get out the ones I can. I don’t have the tools for it with me.”

“Can I kill Crabstard first?”

“Crab...stard?” Kaveri gave him a concerned look, and Sixtus felt his forehead.

“He’s a very impolite giant crab. He is my rival. I wish to vanquish him.” The other two shared a look.

“Do you know where this...this crab is?” Sixtus tried.

Castys held up a finger and opened his mouth, pausing for a second before shutting it and blinking a few times. “I. I do not. He just scuttles out of the trees to commit crimes every now and then. He has no friends.”

“Alright, in that case, no. You’re in no condition to wander around the island looking for a crab.” Sixtus held out his hand. “So, come on.”

“Fiiiine,” Castys groaned, letting the taller man help him to his feet. He was a little unsteady, but he was able to make it to the boat with Kaveri’s help. As they rowed away, he turned back to the island one last time, cupping his hands around his mouth as he yelled, “Fuck you Crabstard I hope you starve and die in a pit and the other crabs eat you!” 

Once they made it back to the ship, Sixtus ushered Castys into his office, instructing him to sit up on the examination table and take his shirt and pants off. Kaveri helped him, opting to stay in case Sixtus needed a hand. He examined Castys thoroughly, using a lightstone to get a good look at the swollen bug bites littering his body as well as the number of small wounds in his side.

“These from the, uh, crab?” Sixtus asked as he gestured to them.

“Yup. Him and his stupid pinchers.”

“Alright, I know you don’t really get infections, but I’m going to clean these out just to be safe.” He paused. “Also it just feels. Really wrong not to. It’ll bother me if I don’t.”

“Do whatever, doctor man.” Castys did his best not to let his pain show as Sixtus dabbed at his wounds with a stingy liquid. It really didn’t hurt that much, but when Kaveri placed her hand on top of his as he gripped the edge of the table, he didn’t wave her off. He’d let it be Fuss Over The Captain Day. For their sake. Because they seem to have been worried about him. 

“Alright, I’m all done with that, so if you could lay down, Captain, I’ll get started with removing those larvae. Kaveri, get him some rum and then hold him down.” She nodded, leaving and returning soon after with a small cup.

“You know, I haven’t had water in days,” Castys mused before winking at her and downing its contents. Kaveri shook her head.

“You literally emptied my waterskin while we were rowing back.”

“Oh dang, I forgot. Nevermind I’m actually not funny and am just stupid.” He scooted a bit and laid down with his hands behind his head. “Get rid of my worms.”

“They’re not-they’re not worms, Captain, they’re insects, since-” Sixtus stopped himself, folding his hands in front of his mouth. “Nevermind.” He cleared his throat. “Arms at your sides, please. Kaveri, if you would.” She nodded, holding down his shoulders as Sixtus turned Castys’s arm, locating the first larva he was going to remove. Castys breathed in sharply as the knife sliced into his arm, doing his best to keep still as Sixtus slid a pair of tweezers into the wound. The rum dulled his senses enough that it didn’t hurt as much as it could, but it certainly wasn’t painless, and he couldn’t help but gasp as Sixtus slowly pulled a small, wriggling grub out of the incision. He dropped it in a metal tray, cleaned the wound, and picked up his knife.

Then the process started all over again.

Castys didn’t bother counting how many times those tweezers probed around inside him, how many wet little plops he heard as another larva dropped into the tray. He focused on staying still, on the prickle of the rough wood table against his bare back, on the feeling of Kaveri’s hands on his shoulders, more comforting than restraining. They reminded him that he wasn’t alone in his suffering, for once. But he wasn’t supposed to need comfort, he was their immortal captain, the one who’d been through everything before and was strong enough to go through it again, the one his crew could always depend on to be strong. And here he was, teeth gritted against the pain, his forehead resting against Kaveri’s arm, fists clenched to mask their shaking, all over a few cuts and some little maggots.

“Alright,” Sixtus wiped his brow with the back of his hand, “I think that’s all of ‘em. That I can see, at least.” He looked down at Castys. “You had seventeen of those things in you, Captain.” He grimaced. “And possibly more, so please let me know if you feel anything, uh, wiggling. But for now, you’re free to...die.”

“Can’t believe I got a new world record for worm friends.” Castys grabbed the small leather pouch that usually hung around his neck from his pile of clothes, pulling it open.

“They’re not worms-”

“Thank you, Sixtus.” With that, Castys stuck his finger in the pouch and touched his death stone. He came back to life feeling infinitely better, but Kaveri and Sixtus still insisted he rest after he cleaned himself up. He grumbled, but he let Kaveri force him into his bed and bring him something to eat. Once he was finished, she collected his plate and stood awkwardly by his bedside.

“Do...do you want me to come back, Castys? Will you be alright?”

“Look, I’m honestly fine, you’re good. I’ve been through a lot worse, and I’m all healed up now so it doesn’t really matter.” 

She pursed her lips. “I suppose, but that doesn’t mean that that didn’t still take a mental toll on you, and…” she sighed. “Just...call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Will do.” She nodded, but as she started to walk away, Castys realized there was something he’d rather not leave unsaid. “Wait, Kaveri?”

“Yes?”

“Th...thank you. For, uh, finding me.”

“Of course, Castys. We’ll always be there for you.” Castys opened his mouth to reply, but he stopped himself and just smiled and nodded, his shoulders only falling once she’d left.

He wished that were true.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ @starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch

[carewyncromwell]

The POTC AU is continuing, and with it, the reveal of the Brethren Court at Shipwreck Cove! Above we have six out of our seven Pirate Lords -- you’ll be meeting all of them in this section one by one, but to list them off, we have Merula Snyde; Arjun Singh (pictured with Aishwarya Mehra) @hogwarts9; Ellie Hopper @that-ravenpuff-witch; Jacob “Black Jack” Cromwell Roberts; Orion Amari; and Jae Kim.

Merula’s outfit is modeled slightly off of Angelica Teech’s from the fourth Pirates film, though with an oversized 18th century-style men’s undershirt rather than the “Renaissance Fair”-style shirt we get in the movie, while Jae’s most closely resembles Elizabeth Swann’s Pirate King ensemble from the third movie. Ellie’s is most closely modeled on Carina Smyth’s from the fifth Pirates film, though I did make some more period-worthy adjustments like the sleeve length and the light-weight scarf underneath the neckline, which were often worn by women of the time to obscure any deep cleavage and/or for warmth. Arjun and Jae, like the rest of the male pirates, I also gave facial hair because it was considered bad luck to shave while on board a ship, and so most pirates would invariably have beards of some variety, since they would be at sea much more than on land. In the 18th century in particular, beards were kind of “out of fashion” for men on dry land -- were you to have one, you were generally presumed to be eccentric, wild, uncouth, or just flat-out insane. (Which honestly kind of fits the traditional image of a pirate. XD)

The song “Hoist the Colours,” in the original Pirates films, actually refers to Davy Jones and the Brethren Court “binding Calypso in her bones” -- but since in this version of events, Finn McGarry/Davy Jones @theguythatdraws had no part in the Court binding Calypso (because seriously, OG!Jones?? Dick move), the “King” in the song is the original Pirate King, not Jones. It’s actually a rare case where one can take a lyric more literally than metaphorically. XD

A kumiho is a nine-tailed fox spirit from Korean mythology, rather like the Japanese kitsune. One of my personal headcanons for Jae Kim is that his Patronus is a fox. *grins at @kyril-hphm* 83

Previous part is here; whole tag is here; and also featured in this section are Jules Farrier-Weasley @cursebreakerfarrier (happy belated birthday, mon couer!) and Samantha O’Connell @samshogwarts!

x~x~x~x

Shipwreck Cove was a settlement made out of hundreds of wrecked ships, all stacked on top of each other inside of a dead volcano. It was an imposing fortress, lit by thousands of lanterns in the night. Even its location at the end of the treacherous Devil’s Throat gave it a sense of impregnability -- it needed no tall walls to keep its enemies out.

As soon as Charlie arrived on the island, his new First Mate Barnaby Lee cheerfully showed him and the rest of the Phoenix’s crew around before he guided them to the Hall of the Codex, the room where members of the Brethren Court gathered, whenever they convened. Barnaby advised Charlie to make sure he stuck his sword in the globe before approaching the table -- it not only signaled his status as Pirate Lord to the other gathered Lords, but it also was a sign of respect to the others, indicating that he would not incite violence at the meeting.

“You can bring other weapons to the table, though, so you could still start a fight if you really wanted to,” Barnaby added rather brightly.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” laughed Charlie.

“CHARLIE!”

The new captain of the Phoenix looked up, and his face lit up at the sight of a familiar freckled face racing towards him.

“Bill!”

The two Weasley brothers latched onto each other, squeezing each other in a giant hug.

“Thank God, Charlie!” Bill mumbled as he clutched at the back of his brother’s coat.

Jules ran over too so she could also bring an arm around Charlie, resting a hand on the back of his head as she and Bill both hugged him tight.

“We were so worried about you,” said Jules, her voice a bit more level than Bill’s but no less relieved.

She glanced curiously at the new hat and coat his new crew had lent him.

“...Is there a story behind the new clothes?”

Charlie grinned a bit sheepishly. “Uh...aye! Actually...”

“Can we send Weasley and her crew out so we can call this meeting to order already?” came a rather impatient female voice from the table.

“Captain Farrier-Weasley and the crew of the Revolution are my guests,” said the level, patient voice of Orion.

“This meeting is for Pirate Lords, Amari,” said the impatient voice irritably. “You can’t just invite non-Lords to it -- ”

"Jules’s father is the Governor of Port Royal,” said the logical voice of McNully. “Since Port Royal’s the current base of operations for Cutler Beckett and the Navy, there’s a 65% chance she’ll have some good insight about how to approach this whole thing.”

“And considering we’ll likely be missing a member of our Court, I thought it might be helpful to have another captain present who could fill in for our seventh Lord,” Orion added calmly.

"You can’t decide that all on your own, Amari!”

“He’s not trying to!” snapped Skye’s voice. “At least Orion’s trying to bring something to the table besides tantrums -- !”

“Skye, please,” Orion soothed quietly. “Samantha, is it against the Code for Pirate Lords to invite other captains to meetings?”

Charlie’s ears perked up. Samantha O’Connell was there too?

Jules beckoned Bill and Charlie with a jerk of her head to follow her into the Hall of the Codex properly.

There was a large, stained, circular table set up in the middle of the room, around which two women and two men --  presumably four out of the seven Pirate Lords -- were already seated with Orion. One of the Lords -- a young man with tanned skin, bright blue eyes, and a black ponytail -- had a dark-haired woman who closely resembled him standing behind his chair with her arms resting on top of the back. Charlie guessed they must be related.

“...The Code does state meetings of the Brethren Court are to be attended by the Pirate Lords and their crews,” said Samantha. She was sitting with her legs slouched over the right arm of a high-backed chair in the corner of the room, a gigantic, dusty, leather-bound book open in her lap. “But it doesn’t say that it can only be attended by those people...so any dispute to the rule could be settled by popular vote. If any other Lord wished to co-sponsor your guests, Orion, they could stay.”

Samantha then flashed a beady look at the brown-haired female pirate -- likely the one who’d been arguing with Orion -- across the table.

“What is stated, though, is that all active Pirate Lords must be present before a meeting starts.”

The blond female captain sitting closest to the door nodded in agreement. “And we’re still missing one Pirate Lord.”

“Technically we’re missing two Lords,” the tanned young man pointed out in a rather charming, amused voice.

“I doubt the Lord of the Pacific Ocean will show up, Arjun,” said the woman leaning against the back of his chair. “I mean, there hasn’t been one since the first Brethren Court...”

“You’ll have one for this meeting.”

Everyone turned around in surprise as Charlie strode forward toward the globe, stabbing his dragon-hilted blade into it just as Barnaby instructed.

“Charlie?” said Bill, perfectly stunned.

Charlie walked up to the table, the crew of the Phoenix following along behind, and stopped in front of the empty chair beside Orion’s. He shot Samantha a smile and a little wave, before he glanced around at the other Lords more more seriously.

“I’ll second Captain Amari’s sponsorship of Captain Farrier-Weasley and her crew,” he said firmly. He tapped his hat to indicate the S-and-anchor-trimmed “Piece of Eight” button he’d sewn onto it, before removing it and setting it down on the table as he took a seat. “The crew of the Revolution is welcome to attend this meeting.”

He shot a cheeky grin over his shoulder at his brother and sister-in-law. Bill’s mouth had dropped open in shock and disbelief. Jules looked rather stunned too, but she recovered more quickly and soon smiled broadly herself, coming up to stand between Charlie and Orion the way the woman with Arjun stood behind him.

Orion gave Charlie a muted, but still very pleased smile.

“Captain Charlie Weasley...allow me to introduce Captain Merula Snyde of the Blackbird, Pirate Lord of the Adriatic Sea -- ”

He indicated the impatient pink-eyed brunette, who was now slouching in her seat and crossing her arms irritably.

“ -- Captain Ellie Hopper of the Treasure, Pirate Lord of the Mediterranean Sea -- ”

The blonde pirate wearing the thigh-length teal dress and brown tricorn hat nodded politely to Charlie and smiled. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“ -- Captain Arjun Singh of the Naga, Pirate Lord of the Indian Ocean, and his cousin and co-captain, Aishwarya Mehra -- ”

The man called Arjun and the woman behind him both smiled and inclined their heads respectfully to Charlie.

“ -- Captain Jae Kim of the Kumiho, Pirate Lord of the South China Sea -- ”

A pirate with a long black braid dressed in a beautifully patterned gold silk tunic, who was slouching casually in his seat, raised his hand in an off-hand wave. “Hey.”

“ -- and last but certainly not least, Samantha O’Connell, Keeper of the Code.”

“We’ve met,” said Charlie with a cheeky grin.

Samantha’s lips were tugged up into a broad smile too as she closed the large book in her lap and got to her feet.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And of course you already know Orion -- Pirate Lord of the Caribbean Sea.”

“So the last Lord is for the Atlantic Ocean?” said Jules after a moment, once she’d mentally listed off all the seas she’d heard.

“Aye -- that I am.”

Everyone looked up as a man with a long mane of dark curls and hollowed-out, almond-shaped blue eyes strode up to the round table.

“Black Jack!” said Barnaby in relief.

The rest of the Phoenix chattered happily at the sight of the Tower Raven’s captain. Charlie was relieved too, seeing that Carewyn’s brother was all right after all. Unlike the rest of the captains present, Jacob only had Ashe accompanying him instead of a full crew, and both men were also missing their hats and dressed in sopping wet clothes.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” muttered Jacob as he sidled into the seat next to Merula’s. “Ashe and I had to swim most of the way here, as that twat Rakepick decided to blow up my ship -- ”

“Swim?” repeated Merula, sounding both perfectly scandalized and disbelieving. “How could you have swam all the way here from...wherever the Hell you were?”

“Very strong lungs and muscles,” Ashe said in such a cool voice that it put an end to the train of conversation. He stood over Jacob much the way Aishwarya stood over Arjun, draping his arms around the back of the chair so as to hug Jacob from behind, and shot beady looks at the remaining Pirate Lords. “Seems they’re all in attendance, Jack.”

“Aye,” said Jacob. “Shall we begin, then?”

“Aye,” agreed Samantha. “Now, as per the Code, we can call this meeting of the Fourth Brethren Court to order.”

“Finally,” growled Merula.

She immediately shot to her feet and addressed the others.

“All right -- for those of you who aren’t aware...the Flying Dutchman, cursed ship of the damned, has been impressed into service by the British Navy. Then, under that arse Cutler Beckett’s orders, it attacked Tortuga.”

Jacob looked stricken. “Tortuga?”

Merula nodded. “Two hundred people have now been hanged in Port Royal, all for supposedly aiding and abetting pirates -- men, women, and children.”

Ellie looked back at her crewmates, visibly disturbed by the news. Arjun and Aishwarya exchanged a grim look.

“Both of the Captains Weasley and I were on Tortuga at the time of the attack,” said Orion, indicating Charlie, Jules, and himself. “I’m afraid the Flying Dutchman has burned the settlement to the ground. It’s no longer safe to return to.”

“It’s worse than that,” Charlie said lowly. He glanced from Jacob to Orion. “...Commodore Carey Weasley...warned me that Beckett is on his way here, to Shipwreck Cove.”

Orion’s dark eyes widened. Jacob stiffened sharply.

“You saw Carey?” said Bill, his voice strained with desperation.

Charlie glanced at his brother uneasily. “Yeah. ...He’s aboard the Flying Dutchman.”

The pronouncement made Jacob lunge to his feet so violently he knocked his chair over with a clatter.

“What?!”

His face was as white as a sheet as the rest of the Pirate Lords and their crews muttered amongst themselves. Ashe squeezed his lover’s shoulders that bit more tightly, his own brown eyes narrowing in concern. Bill had also blanched, his freckles sticking out sharply on his face. Orion’s gaze dropped onto his hands as he clasped them together on the table in front of him.

“Sh -- he can’t be on that ship!” Jacob shouted. “I explicitly told him to stay in Port Royal, away from the sea -- !”

“Carey had to have been ordered to go,” Jules cut Jacob off as gently as she could, even if she looked just as anxious as Bill and Charlie were. “If he got the order, he wouldn’t have been able to disobey it...not if he wanted to keep his position as Commodore -- to protect all of us.”

She glanced at Bill and reached out and took his hand, squeezing it empathetically.

Arjun exchanged a confused look with Aishwarya.

“I’m sorry -- but I think we’re missing something here,” said the Pirate Lord of the Indian Ocean with a bit of a sheepish smile. “Is the Commodore of the British Navy our ally now?”

“Of course not!” scoffed Merula. “Beckett’s been puffing his chest out for weeks, crowing about how he’s roped ‘the great Carey Weasley’ into his anti-piracy campaign. Rumor has it that the Commodore himself was the one who suggested sacking Tortuga in the first place!”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Jae.

Everyone turned to look at him, startled.

“Amari here captured Carey Weasley to send a message to the British Navy and the East India Trading Company, didn’t he?” said the Lord of the South China Sea. “Yet Weasley escaped him. Then, only a short while later, Amari got arrested in Weasley’s hometown of Port Royal, only to be ‘liberated’ by Weasley’s own brothers and the Governor’s daughter, who has now become his sister-in-law.” He nodded curtly at Jules, Bill, and Charlie. “...It seems clear to me that all of it must’ve been planned. There’s no reason I can see for Charlie, Bill, and Jules Weasley to break Amari out of prison unless he and the Commodore were allies.”

The Pirate Lords’ crews excluding Orion’s starting muttering again. Charlie glanced at Orion, but the Captain of the Artemis’s gaze was still solidly on his clasped hands on the tale.

“...That’s true,” the second eldest Weasley said at last. “Captain Amari and my twin staged the escape. That was the reason Jules, Bill, and I helped Captain Amari escape prison, so he could help us rescue Carey from Charles Cromwell. Carey may be with Beckett...but he’s only agreed to it so that he’ll be in a position to protect us, now that we’ve been branded pirates.”

“Your twin’s smart,” said Jae with a nod. His black eyes then flitted over to Jacob. “What I want to know, though, is how you know the Commodore, Black Jack?”

Jacob’s skull-like blue eyes narrowed very coldly upon Jae’s face. “My history with the Commodore is none of your business. Nor is it relevant.”

He turned his focus back to the rest of the Brethren Court, his eyes blazing. “If that bilge rat Beckett does know where Shipwreck Cove is, then we’ll need to make preparations.”

“What preparations?” said Jae. He looked oddly unconcerned as he slouched back in his chair. “Shipwreck Cove is a fortress. It would take ages for anyone to penetrate our defenses.”

“The British Navy has broken out their Man O’ Wars from the War against the Spanish,” said Jacob grimly. “No pirate I know of has a ship that large and heavily armed.”

“Even so,” said Arjun bracingly, “it would take at least a month for them to reach us here, even if they found Shipwreck Cove. Would Beckett really want to waste that much time?”

“And money too,” Ellie pointed out. “That’s always what men like him worry about most.”

“Not to mention all the lives of the men he’d lose,” said Aishwarya.

“I’m afraid those things mean little.”

Everyone looked at Orion. He slowly raised his gaze from his clasped hands at last to look at them all.

“Cutler Beckett may be a man of business,” the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean murmured, “but he’s also a vengeful, close-minded, and ambitious person. He seeks status and wealth, and he has no compassion for those who might stand in his way of achieving them. And right now, in his eyes, what stands in his way -- in the way of the East India Trading Company’s profits and his own personal ambitions -- is every person who sails under a pirate flag or who shows any sympathy for our plight. Beckett may be crafty enough to manipulate others rather than just using his own physical strength...but he only acts like a gentleman when he doesn’t have absolute power over another person’s life. When he does have that level of control over someone...he can be as ruthless as the Kraken itself.”

Despite the calm, serious expression on his face, there was an odd flash of cold emotion that crackled through his dark eyes. No one doubted Orion’s testimony.

“If the fleet Beckett’s assembled does contain Man O’ Wars,” said McNully, as he rolled his wheeled chair up beside Orion, “then there’s a 73.2% chance this could turn into a siege.”

Jules’s dark eyes became a little smaller and she set her jaw tightly.

“...Then we’ll just have to assemble our own Navy and fight back,” she said firmly after a moment.

The other Pirate Lords’ crews started to laugh.

“‘Navy?’” repeated Arjun. He wasn’t laughing, but he did look a little incredulous. “Captain Weasley...we pirates may have a Court and Lords, but we’re not a country. Even those of us who have fleets -- or had fleets,” he gave a nod toward Jacob, “don’t answer to anyone else.”

“Even Shipwreck Cove isn’t a military fort or town,” said Aishwarya. “People stay here, and it’s very well-protected...but it’s no one’s home.”

“No pirate has a home,” said Samantha solemnly from the sidelines. Her emerald green eyes had drifted off toward the wall absently. “Just a ship, if we’re lucky.”

Charlie’s eyes lingered on Samantha’s face, clearly struck by how grim and oddly sad she seemed, saying this.

Jules, however, didn’t falter in her conviction even slightly. If anything, her dark eyes grew sharper as she put a hand down on the table and leaned over it.

“Cutler Beckett is an ally of my father’s, so Beckett hates pirates just as much as he does -- likely more, if we take Orion’s word -- and we’re all pirates. There’s no way any of us could defeat Beckett on our own, and if he reaches Shipwreck Cove, it’s likely he’ll treat it the same way he did Tortuga. If that happens, where else will anyone branded as pirates be able to go? Where else will we be able to go, if we decide to run instead of standing our ground? Even if you don’t have a home, we all need a safe place to rest and resupply...”

Bill nodded in agreement. “We all need a sanctuary to escape to, now and again.”

Jacob rested his head in his hands on the table, interlacing the fingers over his lips thoughtfully. Ellie Hopper placed both of her hands on the table so as to hoist herself up and out of her chair to her feet.

“You bring up a good point, Captain Weasley,” she said to Jules, “but it’s as Captain Roberts said -- none of our ships are comparable to a Man O’ War. And although there are pirates who were once soldiers...” she inclined her head respectfully to Bill and Charlie, “...there are quite a few of us who never were. Most pirates who were once in the Navy were privateers -- sailors who only ever attacked merchant vessels, not war ships -- and others, including both you and me, have no military experience at all. We don’t have the strength needed to defeat an entire fleet of Man O’ Wars.”

“We don’t,” said Orion very softly. “But there is someone who does.”

He glanced at Charlie. “Charlie Weasley...is Chia Dalma still with you?”

Charlie blinked. “Aye...she didn’t seem to like the thought of meeting the rest of the Court, so she stayed behind on the Phoenix.”

Orion nodded, but seemed unconcerned -- likely he’d presumed as much.

“You all recall, I hope,” he said, “that the Brethren Court was first formed when the original Pirate Lords decided to steal control from the goddess Calypso?”

Most of the people in the room nodded and murmured in assent. Charlie, Bill, and Jules did not.

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that story,” said Jules.

“I’ve heard of Calypso,” said Bill slowly. “She’s supposed to be a goddess of the sea, isn’t she?”

“She was, once,” said Orion. 

“There’s a song that tells the tale,” Skye added.

They both glanced at Merula, who straightened up in her seat and sang in a rather lovely voice,

“The King and his men stole the Queen from her bed

And bound her in her bones --

The seas be ours, and by the powers, where we will, we’ll roam.”

The tune immediately sounded familiar to Charlie, Bill, and Jules -- it was the same one Carewyn had sung for Pearl, just before she died.

“You see, the original Pirate King, Henry Morgan, and his allies were buccaneers who were scared of how dangerous the sea was,” said McNully. “Because their livelihoods depended on their ability to sail, they all decided to tame the sea enough that it’d be safe to travel on, without them needing to appeal to the whims of a ‘heathen goddess.’”

Jules’s eyebrows came together tightly.

“And how did they ‘tame’ her, exactly?” she asked, her low voice betraying some cold disapproval.

“They ‘bound her in her bones,’” said Jae, “or, more simply, trapped her in human form. The transformation restricted the use of her powers significantly, making the seas less turbulent to sail on and therefore making it safer for the Lords and other pirates to evade the Navy and ‘ply their trade.’”

Jules looked furious. “So they cursed a goddess, just to help themselves?”

“To protect themselves,” Merula shot back a bit defensively.

Skye nodded in passionate agreement. “Calypso was terrifying at full power. She could create maelstroms out of fat air, send wild sea creatures to attack ships. She was the one who created the Kraken and the Flying Dutchman in the first place. Davy Jones was her lover, so they say...”

“The decision is more complicated than you think, Captain Weasley,” said Jacob, and his skull-like blue eyes drifted absently off toward the ceiling as his voice grew more thoughtful. “The Pirate Lords, much like us, could only support themselves and their families through their buccaneering. They did not come from wealth as you have. There was no other good way for them to make a living or a better life for themselves and their loved ones, as they weren’t land-owners and didn’t have any financial collateral. Not to mention many of them were God-fearing Christians who were intimidated by what they thought must be a servant of Satan, since there can be no other God before Him. What they did was cruel, of course -- no question...but it was made out of self-preservation and fear, not just greed.”

Jules crossed her arms, clearly unmoved. “It seems to me that people who so clearly value freedom shouldn’t try to justify why someone else should be denied theirs.”

“I agree,” said Orion, and although his voice was much softer and more level than Jules’ was, his eyes twinkled with something like approval in response to her words. “And that is why I propose that we reverse the First Brethren Court’s decision, from all those years ago...and release Calypso from her bonds.”

There was a silence. Then, very abruptly, all of the other pirates started shouting and arguing.

“Are you insane?!”

“That’d just make everything worse!”

“Cut out his tongue!”

“Calypso has no reason to help us -- she’d no doubt hate pirates, for what we did to her -- ”

“Give him a good shot to the head!”

“We’d be fighting both a sea goddess and the entire British Navy, if we did that -- !”

Even Skye and McNully looked at Orion with notable trepidation.

“Orion, I’d say you might want to pull back on that idea a bit,” McNully muttered to him.

Even if the volume and anger in the room did take him aback slightly, Orion kept his cool. He rose to his feet, holding up a hand for calm, but many ignored him and instead shouted louder. Seeing this, Charlie got to his feet too and, pulling his pistol of his belt, pointed it at the air and shot at the ceiling. The loud BANG scared everyone enough that they fell silent and the Lords who were standing all returned to their seats.

Orion nodded to Charlie in mute gratitude and addressed the rest of the pirates again, his hands clasped in front of him.

“We currently don’t have the force needed to overcome Cutler Beckett and his Company. We do not have the force needed to defend Shipwreck Cove, or even to ensure that we all escape this storm alive. We could hole up here for a month or so and hope that the Navy tires themselves out -- but as McNully stated, that could easily become a siege, at which point this place would become our tomb. We could all evacuate the island before the Navy arrives -- but as Captain Farrier-Weasley said, we’d lose the last sanctuary we have remaining in the world, as well as the last place from which we could plan a counterattack. We would all be out for ourselves at that point...leaving us to be picked off one by one by Beckett’s greater forces.”

His dark eyes grew a little smaller and more solemn.

“Therefore...the only path remaining to us is to stand our ground. And if we don’t wish to die on that path, we’ll need to gather whatever strength is available to us. Uranus and Saturn are set to collide in the Heavens...hinting to a climatic battle between order and chaos. We cannot know what the outcome will be unless we decide not to fight at all...but if we did that, then we’d only know the outcome because it would indisputably be failure.”

The other Pirate Lords exchanged wary looks among themselves. Jacob then gave a loud sigh and gave a reluctant nod.

“Amari’s right,” he said lowly. “Regardless of what your positions on releasing Calypso are...we don’t have a choice in whether to fight or fly. We will have to fight...and it’d be stupid and pointless to try doing it on our own.”

He glanced at Ellie, who nodded in agreement, and Merula, whose pink eyes narrowed disapprovingly.

“We can’t declare war,” the Pirate Lord of the Adriatic Sea pointed out in a rather arrogant sort of voice. “Only the Pirate King can do that.”

Orion actually blinked in surprise. “Really?”

He turned to Samantha. “Is that true, Samantha?”

The Pirate Dragon’s emerald eyes narrowed slightly as she reopened the large leather-bound Codex in her lap, flipping through the pages and scanning each line to find the proper section.

“...As per the Code,” she said lowly, “‘the Pirate Lords shall select a captain by popular vote to serve as Pirate King, who shall represent the entire Court when all cannot be present. The Pirate King alone can declare a state of emergency; declare war; take custody of the eight Pieces of Eight; take governorship of Shipwreck Cove; and give commands to ships that he himself does not sail.’ Looks like Merula’s right.”

Charlie frowned and turned to glance back at Barnaby, who’d been standing on the opposite side of him as Jules.

“The Pirate King is the leader of the Brethren Court, right?” he muttered to him.

“Aye,” Barnaby whispered in his ear. “Only, there hasn’t been one since the first Brethren Court.”

“Why?”

“Everyone from the other Courts just voted for themselves...so there was always a six-way tie and no one could decide on a winner.”

“I call for a vote,” said Orion serenely.

A lot of the other pirates in the room sighed in frustration or covered their faces and shook their heads. Jae himself plopped his chin down on his hand and rolled his eyes.

“Amari, are you serious?” he said tiredly.

Orion looked perfectly nonplussed. “Captain Roberts, would you start us off, please?”

Jacob raised an eyebrow at Orion and exchanged a suspicious look with Ashe, before he shrugged and nodded.

“I vote for Black Jack Roberts,” he said coolly.

He glanced at Merula sitting next to him.

“Captain Merula Snyde of the Blackbird -- most powerful ship on the seven seas,” she said, her lips curled up in a dry smirk.

“Ellie Hopper,” said Ellie uncomfortably, exchanging looks with some of her crew members.

“Captain Jae Kim,” sighed Jae.

“...Arjun Singh, of the Naga,” Arjun said after he’d exchanged a bemused shrug with Aishwarya.

When it was Orion’s turn, the Pirate Lord gave a quick sweep around the table with his eyes, before they shifted to his left, twinkling with something almost like mischief.

“Captain Juliette Farrier-Weasley.”

“What?” said Jules.

“What?” said Charlie and Bill, just as taken aback.

Orion’s lips actually spread into a full, broad grin seeing how much his choice had blindsided everyone.

“The Pirate Code said that the Pirate Lords must select ‘a captain’ to be the Pirate King,” he said airily. “It never said that captain had to be a Pirate Lord. So I vote for Captain Juliette Farrier-Weasley of the Revolution to be our Pirate King.”

He then nodded to Charlie. “Captain Weasley -- your vote?”

Charlie grinned broadly from ear to ear and he shot a glance over his shoulder at his sister-in-law, who had flushed a dark shade of red and looked very stunned.

“Captain Juliette Farrier-Weasley,” said the Lord of the Pacific Ocean.

The other Pirate Lords and their crews all started chattering at once.

“What?”

“If I’d known you could pick any captain, I would’ve voted for Aishwarya -- ”

“Choosing your own sister-in-law -- ”

“I call for a recount -- ”

“How long has she even been a pirate?”

“Pure nepotism, that’s what it is -- ”

Orion raised his eyebrows very coolly. “Am I to take this to mean you all will not be keeping to the Code?”

Everyone almost as a unit turned to look at Samantha, who was glaring very pointedly at them as she rotated a pair of grenades in one hand.

Ellie, the Pirate Lord who had reacted with the least hostility to the decision, turned to Jules with a solemn look.

“The votes have it,” she said. “So Pirate King Weasley -- what say you? What shall we do?”

Jules, her face still very red, glanced hesitantly at her husband. Bill looked at her with pride, his eyes sparkling fondly as he squeezed her hand. Her lips spreading into a comforted smile, Jules raised her head and faced the Court with new confidence.

“Gather together and arm every vessel that floats,” she said firmly. “At dawn, we’ll prepare for war.”

With the meeting having come to a close, the Pirate Lords departed one by one to begin their preparations for the battle to come. Jules (knowing that, even though she was now Pirate King, she lacked military experience) immediately asked Bill, McNully, and Charlie to help her with figuring out what strategy would work best to defend the Cove. Orion himself seemed very pleased with the final outcome -- Charlie had asked him why he didn’t vote for himself, but Orion merely smiled and didn’t reply. Bill, however, thought he could guess.

“I don’t reckon Orion’s the sort to want to rule over anyone,” he said with a knowing smile. “Guide them, yes -- lead them, maybe -- but not rule.”

Orion looked at Bill, his eyes as calm and unreadable as ever.

“Interesting conclusion. What made you draw it, Bill Weasley?”

Bill’s smile faded, but his brown eyes lost none of their warmth. “Because Carey’s the exact same way.”

There was a strange spark in the back of Orion’s eyes -- something almost like surprise, which then morphed into something warmer and softer...fonder.

“...True,” he murmured. “Although she may have the heart of a queen, and all of the grace...Carewyn Cromwell would never choose a crown for herself.”

Bill’s gaze softened. Before he could say anything, however, there was a very loud WHAM.

Jacob, who was still in his seat and had been talking to Ashe, had abruptly slammed the large table across the floor with all of his strength, nearly knocking it over as he barreled over.

“YOU!”

Out of nowhere, the Pirate Lord of the Atlantic seized Orion by the collar with both hands.

“Jacob?” said Bill, completely taken aback.

“Jack!” said Ashe, his eyes narrowing in concern.

But Jacob didn’t seem to hear either of them. His blue pupils were dark, irrational slits of rage.

“IT WAS YOUR VOICE! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO CALLED MY WYN BY HER NAME! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO SPOKE OF HER IN THAT SOFT VOICE, YOU MAGGOT-INFESTED BASTARD -- !”

“Jacob, let him go!” said Jules. 

Orion amazingly didn’t look the least bit scared -- instead his expression was rather tense as well as a bit confused.

“Captain Roberts,” he spoke quietly in an attempt to soothe the other man’s anger, “I understand what Carewyn means to you -- what you mean to her. I would never harm your sister. I could never hurt Carewyn, nor could I ever wish to -- ”

Bill was reminded of when Orion was trying hard not to fight him, back in Port Royal. Jacob, however, was just as unmoved as Bill had been.

“STOP CALLING HER BY HER NAME!” he roared.

Jacob yanked Orion around by the collar, slamming him roughly into the wall.

“IT’S BECAUSE OF YOU THAT JONES IS AFTER WYN! SHE WOULD BE SAFE NOW IF IT WEREN’T FOR YOU -- I’LL KILL YOU, YOU SCABBY, BILGE-SUCKING SON OF A -- !”

“Jacob, stop!” Charlie bellowed.

“Get off Orion NOW!” yelled Skye.

Samantha, Barnaby, Skye, Jules, and Charlie had all grabbed onto the back of Jacob’s coat and onto his arms, trying in vain to pull him off of Orion. Jacob, however, was ridiculously strong, and his grip tightened around Orion’s collar and throat, making the taller man wince.

Bill, his expression darkening more than anyone had ever seen before, very sharply skipped grabbing onto Jacob and instead stepped right between Orion and Jacob, taking his pistol out of his belt and pointing it right at Jacob’s temple. The move prompted Ashe to make an angry move toward Bill, but the eldest Weasley put out his other hand to hold him at arm’s length.

“Jacob, Carey’s not here, so I’ll say this for her,” Bill said very icily. “‘I’ll never forgive you if you hurt him.’”

Jacob gave a sharp flinch. His mad, hollow, slitted pupils never left Orion’s face, but they seemed to lose some of their focus -- almost as if he was looking right through Orion.

Ashe, furious at Bill having held him back, grabbed the red-haired man’s wrist and twisted it painfully out of the way so he could run over to Jacob himself. He brought both of his arms tightly around his lover’s neck, his face resting in the dark curls over Jacob’s brow as he hummed something under his breath. The sound seemed to calm Jacob little by little, making his shoulders loosen and his grip slacken. Light gradually returned to his eyes as he slowly removed his trembling hands from Orion’s throat, breathing shakily.

Jules immediately moved to Bill, bringing up a hand to his wrist to make sure it wasn’t too badly hurt. Once she’d confirmed he was okay, she turned to Jacob with a fierce look.

“Jacob, what do you mean Jones is after Carey?” she demanded. “Why is she in danger?”

Jacob’s gaze had fallen to the ground, throwing his eyes into shadow as he continued to take heavy, labored breaths. Ashe, still holding Jacob tightly, turned around, a very hard, grim look on his face as his eyes flickered from Orion to Jules.

“Jones aims to force someone into servitude on his ship,” he said lowly, “and he’s decided that person is Jack’s sister.”

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 25: To Want and To Have

Some want what they can’t have. Others have what they don’t want. And there are some that wish they could let go of what they want the most. 

Warning: Smut under the cut :)

(Art is by @le-mooon)

Read here or on AO3!

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

Dorian squinted at the papers before him. His desk was full of them, so full, in fact, that he could barely see the dark mahogany wood underneath the layers of parchment spread out in a messy array. He had been at this for days, weeks, it felt like, ever since they had all returned from the Emerald Graves. His head was heavy, the diagrams and glyphs he had copied from the Venatori ritual dancing behind his eyelids, even when he closed them for the night. Most of them were confusing and incomprehensible, but there was something so familiar in them that Dorian couldn’t help but wrack his brain to find it. It was driving him quite mad.

With a heavy sigh, he glanced outside the library window, overlooking the training grounds. Too often had he stood there, watching Trevelyan practice with Heir. Hours could pass without him realising it, following with keen eyes as Trevelyn flowed through the various poses, tight muscles flexing and relaxing under his pale skin, flushed from the sun and the exertion, blonde strands clinging to the sweat at the nape of his neck. Dorian’s heart thrummed with longing when he looked down to find the grounds void of Trevelyan’s presence. It felt to him like they had been apart for ages, although it was little less than a week.

It was with a hint of reluctance that he turned back to his research. He smoothed his fingers over a yellow and wrinkled piece of parchment, one he had found in a dusty corner of the library. It was a thesis on mind-control spells and their effects on small rodents by one Marcellus Tulius, that Dorian hadn’t at all expected to find there. It seemed unlikely that even a sliver of Imperium research had found its way to Skyhold, yet there it was, right before him. Unexpected discoveries like these always excited him, and this time was no exception. Still, he wasn’t sure how much of help this would be in his current research.

He was about to gather all of the papers and call it a day, when a memory tugged at him as his eyes fell on the old parchment again. He remembered the last time he had found something like that, when he was still under Alexeus’ tutelage. It had been an exceedingly hot day, a scorching western wind blowing from the dessert. Sand and dust hung over the tall marble spires of Minrathous, the sky tinged in hues of blue and muted yellow as Dorian had weaved his way through the crowded streets on his way to the Grand Library.

Small beads of sweat had clung to his brow when he was finally away from the stifling heat and into the magically induced coolness of the Library inner. His feet had taken him down the narrow marble stairs towards the underground library, reserved for high ranking members. He had been looking for a certain thesis on time magic, but as usual he had veered off that to brush the tips of his fingers over ancient scrolls and documents. It was there that a scroll had fallen from the shelves, the leather binding around it almost crumbling with age. The glyphs etched on the smooth surface were unlike any he had ever seen. Eleganty, flowy lines, precise to the point of madness, incantations in ancient languages lost to time. His eyes had widened so, he had thought they would pop out of their sockets. Blood magic at its finest- if it could ever be called that- and so terribly similar to the ones the Venatori had been using that it could not be a coincidence.

Dorian’s pulse quickened as he snatched his notes from his desk, trying to compare them to the glyphs of his memory. Yes, they looked vaguely similar. Unless his memory betrayed him, which was very rarely the case. If this ritual was based on the one he had seen on that scroll, then that would mean… No, it was impossible. The magic described in that scroll was powerful enough to subdue a dragon to the caster’s will. A dragon filled to the brim with lyrium, at that. The Venatori mages had done much to reduce the spell’s potency, but even so it was no surprise that the poor people they had used it on perished almost straight away. What in the Void could the Venatori possibly be doing?

He stood up abruptly, clutching his notes close to his chest. He had to tell Trevelyan. He had to tell him straightaway. This couldn’t wait. He would pull him out of whatever meeting he was in, even if he had to fight his way through his armoured guards. He would-

Oh. Yes. Of course. Trevelyan wasn’t there. How could he forget?

He sat back down with a soft exhale, absently arranging the papers in neat stacks. He would need to send a letter to Maevaris, asking her to look for the mysterious scroll, or any other work written by that mage, even though he Dorian wondered how easily it would be found again after so long. Maevaris had always been thrifty with her resources, but even she couldn’t work miracles.

A calloused hand with ragged, bitten nails flew past his shoulder to snatch the paper Dorian was holding, startling him from his thoughts.

“Oi,” Sera’s voice said. “What in the frigging Void are those squiggles?” She tilted her face this way and that, features smushing in a confused frown. “That what you stare at all day?”

“Give that back.” Dorian stood up, taking a step towards her as she backed away, giggling, holding the paper out of his reach. “Sera.”

Sera let out a shrill laugh, perching herself on the back of the armchair in the corner. “And here I thought it would be a naughty letter. Must have loads of those, right?”

“Whatever are you talking about, my dear?”

“You and Quizzie-butt, ‘course!” she explained. “I bet you send all sorts of notes to each other. Telling him how you’re going to stab him. Or is it him that does the stabbing? Do you draw him pictures of your staff, too?” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Sera, I’m going to need this paper back now.”

She pretended not to hear him, curiously examining the glyphs on the parchment in her hands, squinting. “If his bits look like that, it’s no wonder you act like you have a bloody stick up your arse all the time. Yeesh.”

“Sera-”

“Fine, fine, here you go. Wouldn’t want that thing anywhere near me, anyway.” She handed the paper back to him and Dorian snatched it away, huffing in annoyance. She slid off the armchair, hands- for once- clasped behind her back as she perused the neatly arranged books on his shelf. “I heard His Inky-arse-ness will be back within the week. Can’t wait for a proper round of jousting, eh? That might brighten up that sour mood of yours.”

Dorian gritted his teeth, shooting a cautious glance around the rotunda. Thankfully, there weren’t many researchers on the floor at that time of day, most of them having left for lunch. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Any buckets of water to fix above someone’s door? Any lizards to hide under someone’s mattress? Quite literally anything else other than pester me?”

“Done that already,” Sera shrugged, leaning forward to squint at a vial by his windowsill. She touched it gingerly with the tip of her finger, then recoiled in disgust, wiping her hand on her stained vest. “How does it work with you two, by the way? I’ve been wondering.”

“What, the jousting? Less horses, marginally. More cheers, definitely.”

“Nice,” she said, smiling wickedly. “But I wasn’t asking about that.” She shot him a curious glance over her shoulder. “How does it work, being the Inky’s man?”

Am I? he wondered, his gut clenching uneasily. Ever since they had returned from the Graves, it hadn’t been clear to him what they were exactly. Dorian may have left it vague on purpose himself, but it wasn’t as though Trevelyan had been overly eager to define what it was they were doing. Oh, he was thoughtful and caring with him, of course, and seemed to be very fond of him, what with those lingering glances and tender touches, and all the nights they had spent together in his room. Not to mention the poems and the flowers -flowers!- he kept leaving by his pillow before slipping away in the mornings, before Dorian had even opened his eyes. It had startled him at first, confused him, turned his otherwise carefully arranged thoughts into a jumble. Which seemed to be the case more often than not when it came to Trevelyan. What was going through that man’s mind was nobody’s business, yet even so Dorian could see that he cared, he cared… yet where did that care end? How far did his affection extend? And where did reality kick in, with Trevelyan being the leader of the Inquisition, all eyes in Thedas turned to him, and Dorian simply being an adornment on his arm at best, a pretty on the side at worst?

Dorian’s lips tightened in a line, his heart even more so. “Fine. Everything is fine. Splendid, actually. Yes, it’s quite fantastic, indeed.”

Sera looked at him under furrowed brows, chewing on a fingernail. “That bad?”

Dorian blinked at her. Opened his mouth. Shut it. He slumped against his desk, crossing his arms before his chest. “... Maybe.” He rubbed his temples, sighed. “Worse, probably?”

“Right.” Sera strolled towards him, sitting on the desk beside him. “He does make puppy eyes at you too when you’re not looking, you know. If it makes you feel any better.”

He chuckled breathily, looking away. “I’m not sure it does, right now.” His mind drifted to the last time he had seen him in his quarters. Trevelyan’s eyes, dark and blue like whirling pools, gazing up at him with so much tenderness, his arms wrapped around him, and Dorian feeling suspended in a moment of bliss that seemed never-ending. Of course, the moment had soon shattered when Dorian had put his foot in his mouth and started talking about exclusivity or whatever other nonsense had crossed his mind right then. And then ran away in a panic. Dorian Pavus, Scion of House Pavus, had panicked. As simple as that. They hadn’t exchanged so much as a word before Trevelyan left for dratted Crestwood, and Dorian had been steadily boiling in a stew of his own making ever since.

“I’m not sure where I fit in this whole thing,” he muttered, more to himself than to Sera. “Or if I do at all, in fact.”

“It’s never easy being with someone like him,” Sera said, nodding thoughtfully. “I would have ran for the hills long before if I were you. Wouldn’t want that kind of attention on me, if you catch my drift. But I’m not you. Thank Andraste for that, right? Friggin’ sparkly shite all over the place.” Dorian glared at her, and she laughed. “Look, if you want him, better just tell him, yeah? If it’s not meant to work out, it won’t, and that’s that. At least you can say you tried.”

Dorian sighed softly. Perhaps Sera, despite her usual gibberish, had advice to impart that could almost be considered wise. Perhaps he really should talk to Trevelyan and clear the air once and for all. Or… he could come up with a way to make up for his blunder. A particularly creative way.

"Why are you smiling like a fecking dimwit?"

Dorian snapped out of his thoughts to give Sera a cold glare. "I am not smiling, I am thinking. This is what it looks like when people think."

"Thinking about how to include sword swallowing in your magic trick routine?"

"Right! I think that's enough chatting with you for one day." He stood up, herding her towards the stairs. "Off you go now. That's marvelous, yes, one foot in front of the other. So long. Give the Iron Bull my regards." Sera’s high pitched cackle echoed around the rotunda as she hopped down the steps.

***

The headache that seemed to split his head in two as soon when he opened his eyes the following morning was amongst the worst Tristan had had in months. Years. Perhaps ever. Probably ever.

He groaned as he swung his legs over the side of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck. He had been so drunk the previous night when he went to bed, almost to the point of blacking out, that he couldn’t quite remember walking up the stairs. On the bright side of things, with that amount of whisky, he had managed to get something close to a full night’s sleep for the first time in weeks. The mark flared ever so slightly, a sickly, fluorescent green that cut through the dimness of the room. A soft sound, like hushed whispers, a sussurus of distant voices pulled at the edges of his consciousness, and Tristan shook his head weakly. He must still be drunk, he supposed.

The aftertaste of that terrible whisky he and Hawke had drunk still clung to the back of his throat when he pushed himself up, his stomach roiling painfully. Had it even been whisky? He highly doubted that now. His taste buds had been so blitzed the previous night he probably wouldn’t have been able to tell stale beer from Antivan wine, but now he was thoroughly regretting his choices. Some of them, at the very least.

He made his way down the stairs, cursing under his breath as the world still swung every time he made an abrupt movement. Everybody was already up, breaking their fast on what looked like sweet, milky porridge. Tristan was sure he would vomit.

“Blondie!” Varric said cheerfully, raising his mug. “Come, join us.”

“We thought you’d be dead or passed out. Was about to come wake you,” Blackwall added.

“Who told you he wasn’t?” Hawke chuckled, sipping from his mug. “With the amount of berig he drank last night I’m surprised he’s still standing.”

“You drank way more than I did,” Tristan grumbled, sitting beside him. He leaned forward to glance inside Hawke’s mug, wrinkling his nose when he found it was honeyed tea. “If anyone were to die, that should have been you, don’t you think?”

Varric laughed. “Him? Die of drink? No, Blondie. He could drink a boatload of whisky and still be up swinging his sword the next morning. I don’t know what his liver is made of, but he can drink like no one I’ve ever met.”

“I’ve told you time and time again, Varric. I have my Fereldan roots to thank for that. You born and bred Marchers couldn’t handle your liquor if your life depended on it.”

“Hey,” Blackwall cut in, shaking a finger before his face, eyes narrowed. Even so, Tristan could see that he was only half serious. “We Marchers are a proud lot. Watch your tongue.”

“Or what?” Hawke retorted, shooting him a wry grin. “You’re going to pelt me with Grand Tourney trivia until I fling myself out the window?”

Tristan scoffed. “Not all Marchers are obsessed with the Grand Tourney, you know.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell me who won the title in 9:31 Dragon.”

Tristan, Varric and Blackwall exchanged awkward glances. Varric’s brows were already climbing up his forehead, warning them not to fall in Hawke’s trap, but Blackwall was the first one to cave in. “Ser Abel Kaylen the Brave,” he grumbled.

“....from Denerim.” Tristan added half heartedly.

“....sword and shield category,” Varric finished, eyeing him sideways.

Hawke leaned back in his seat, mirth playing at the edges of his lips. “What a pretty picture you all make. Add a dash of superiority complex, mage antipathy and a weird obsession with Antivan spiced cakes, and you’re all the perfect example of the average Kirkwaller.”

The three of them groaned, rolling their eyes while Hawke’s booming laughter echoed around the small room. From his table at the corner, Solas eyed them over his book, one brow raised.

“Hey elf,” Blackwall said, turning to him. “Your travels must have taken you to the Marches at some point. Care to give us your insights about the people there?”

Solas’ expression became stony for a quick moment, before he adjusted in his seat, discreetly clearing his throat. “I’m afraid I would have nothing to contribute to this conversation. The Marches are as lackluster a place as any, and the inhabitants even more so.”

Blackwall glared at him, just as Hawke let out a loud guffaw. “I think I may have found myself an unlikely ally, Blackwall.”

The rest of the breakfast flowed in a similar vein, Hawke’s teasing jokes and clever quips making Varric and Blackwall laugh until there were tears in their eyes. Even Tristan laughed once or twice, taking care to hide the sound within his mug. It felt like hours later that they gathered their things, walking out into a day that was as miserable, grey and rainy as the rest. The inn’s stables were humble, but at least the horses had been given fresh hay and water. Almond wickered softly when she saw him, tossing her head back when Tristan reached inside his pocket for a piece of dried apple he always kept for her.

“Good girl,” he whispered, stroking her forehead as she chewed.

“That’s a fine horse you have there.”

“She is,” Tristan agreed with a small smile, glancing at Hawke over his shoulder. “So is yours.”

“You’re in a fine mood today,” the other man said, leaning against the door of the stall. “You should get plastered more often.”

Tristan huffed a laugh. “I really should.” He walked around Almond, his palm brushing her shiny coat as he moved to fix the saddle on her back. “My advisors wouldn’t be particularly pleased if I showed up to my meetings reeking of booze, but I think I can get away with it every once in a while.”

“You can. The world will still be there if you let loose every now and then, of that I can assure you. I’ve found that a few drinks and good company can solve just about anything.”

“I wish I shared your optimism.”

“It’s only common sense. Good times and good people are always needed, even in the most dire of circumstances. Perhaps especially then.”

Tristan sneaked a glance at him from the corner of his eye. “Why are you telling me all this?” He moved to Almond’s other side, turning his back to him.

He heard the brush of Hawke’s hand against the dark stubble of his cheeks. “Our conversation last night got me thinking. When you are elevated to such great heights, it's easy to forget that you're only human sometimes. Humans are not meant to handle so much on their own.”

"Right." The familiarity in Hawke's tone made Tristan bristle. He kept fixing the saddle about Almond's back, checking and rechecking straps and buckles that were already tightened, stubbornly refusing to meet the man's gaze.

"You probably don't need any more of my advice, but I'll still give it to you." Hawke paused, letting out a soft exhale. "Don’t push away those that care about you. There may come a moment when you'll regret it.”

Tristan’s fingers stilled on the leather straps for a moment before resuming their work. His back straightened up defensively and he clenched his jaw. “Why would I do that?”

“You look the type.”

Tristan turned to find dark, considering eyes regarding him thoughtfully. The concern in his gaze made his gut twist uneasily, and he looked away, pretending to be absorbed in securing the straps on Almond’s bridle. “I’ll… be sure to keep that in mind.” When he said nothing more, Hawke nodded sharply before walking away. His footsteps stopped short when Tristan spoke again. “Hawke.” The sound of gravel under his boots as the other man turned back, then silence. "Thank you."

“Nothing to thank me for,” Hawke said simply. “Just stating the obvious.”

“Yes. Of course. Yet, even so… Thank you.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then Hawke inclined his head. He disappeared behind a stall, only to come out a moment later, guiding his tall, dark stallion into the pelting rain outside. Tristan followed soon after, gently tugging Almond’s reins. The others were waiting for him already, mounting their horses. Tristan drew the hood of his woollen cloak over his head as he hauled himself up on his saddle.

“Right,” he said, glancing at his companions. “Time to get back to Skyhold.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be joining you, Inquisitor.”

Tristan turned to look at Hawke, startled by his own surprise at the man’s words. He hadn’t really given it much thought, yet now he realised that he had actually expected Hawke to return with them to Skyhold. Why he would ever expect that, he could never know. His departure made their earlier conversation ring in an entirely different manner.

“I have… pressing business to attend to,” Hawke continued, noticing his silence, and Tristan nodded knowingly. “I will be informing Varric of my location whenever I have the chance. As soon as I have more information regarding the Grey Wardens, I’ll let you know.”

“Very well,” Tristan said. He gazed into the distance, at the grey horizon that stretched over the mountains. “I guess this is farewell, then.”

“Only until we meet again.” Hawke smiled his usual wide smile, but there was warmth in it now, and it was directed at him. It became even wider when he reached out, patting Varric on the shoulder as he sat on his saddle next to him. “I’m off, old pal. Take care. Keep your socks dry. Don’t get killed.”

Varric craned his neck to look up at him, returning his wide smile, though it felt a touch forced. Perhaps more than a touch. “I’ll try not to get killed. Though you know I can’t make any promises about footwear.”

The tall man laughed, giving Varric’s shoulder a small squeeze before grasping his reins again. He kicked his horse forward, giving them a sharp wave over his shoulder before disappearing around the bend of the road. They all stayed there for a long moment, the rain and wind whirling about them, the distant thunders and the crackling of the rift in the lake the only other sounds.

Tristan let out a soft sigh, urging Almond in the opposite direction. “We have a long way ahead of us,” he said flatly, eyes set on the path that stretched before them. “We shouldn’t linger.”

***

“Welcome back to Skyhold, Your Worship.”

Maighdin’s expression was stern and aloof as always when she greeted him, her back stiff when she bowed her head to him. Tristan nodded sharply in acknowledgement as he dismounted and gave Almond’s reins to a lanky stableboy. His gaze lingered on the boy only momentarily before he turned away. There were so many new faces in Skyhold these days, it was impossible to recognize them all, let alone remember their names.

He walked ahead of Maighdin across the now empty yard. The moonlight fell stark and grey on the dark stone walls of the keep, the hushed whispers of the guards on patrol on the battlements drifting with the wind. Everyone else had retired to their beds long before, it seemed. Tristan couldn’t wait to sink in a tub of hot water and wash the road off him, and then plunge in his soft feather bed himself. Travelling through the pouring rain and mud soaked roads was not enjoyable, to say the least. He had hoped he would return early enough to visit Dorian, perhaps even have some dinner and wine, spend some much needed time with him. Especially after the way things had been left between them before his departure for Crestwood...

Tristan’s lips tightened at the sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. Exclusive. That was the word Dorian had used, and according to him, they weren’t it. Did that mean that… that he had been sleeping with others, all this while? Who could it be? Was it someone he knew? Had Tristan been so big a fool to think that Dorian would limit himself to him when he could have literally anybody he wanted? When he could be with someone better, stronger, more handsome, more clever, more… normal?

He shook his head to brush the thoughts away. This was no time to be thinking about all that. It was late, and he was tired, and he only needed some sleep. He could feel his leg muscles cramping from all those days on horseback as he climbed up the steps to the throne room. The guard that was outside his quarters was a tall and fair haired man, his pointy elf ears half hidden under a dusty blond mop of hair. He bowed eagerly to him, then stood at attention.

“Your Worship,” he said, knuckling his forehead.

Tristan gazed at him under furrowed brows. “Who are you?”

“M-mathras, my lord,” the elf said, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

Tristan waved him at ease, then turned to Maighdin. “Where is Nhudem?”

“Change of guard, ser,” Maighdin replied. “He starts after the midnight bells have rung.”

So, Cullen had taken the liberty of increasing the number of his guards, having people follow him and guard his quarters at all times. It seemed what Hawke had said was true. There were evidently lots of people that wanted his head, and his advisors knew that too. He wondered what Leliana and Cullen knew that perhaps he didn’t. Information that they may have kept from him on purpose. The way those two were headed, he would soon have guards in his bed, and the way he was headed, he would be thankful for it, too.

Well. At least those guards he had could take breaks from handling his foul tempers. That should be a good thing, shouldn’t it?

He let out a soft sigh as he opened the door to his quarters, when Maighdin’s voice stopped him. “Lord Pavus is waiting for you upstairs, Your Worship.”

Tristan’s eyebrows shot up, and his heart fluttered with anticipation in his chest. Perhaps Dorian had missed him just as much as he had. Perhaps Tristan had misjudged him, as he was wont to do. He nodded sharply to Maighdin as he closed the door hurriedly behind him and hopped up the steps.

The dancing flames in the hearth suffused the large room in a soft, tremulous glow. A bottle of wine was set on the low table, two crystal glasses next to it. And sprawled on the large sofa was… he.

Dorian’s head was on the arm rest, eyes moving gently under closed lids in his sleep. The flames from the hearth painted the side of his face amber, shadows playing across features that seemed as though carved in marble. Black hair falling over his smooth forehead, immaculate even when uncombed. The laces of the violet silk shirt he was wearing had come slightly undone, and a swath of velvet bronze skin peeked from within the folds. He was perfect, and perfectly serene in his slumber, beautiful beyond compare, and Tristan simply stood there, gazing at him for what felt like an eternity.

Silently, on tip-toes, he approached Dorian’s sleeping form. He stirred when the cushion dipped under Tristan’s weight, dark eyelashes fluttering open to reveal a pair of eyes like polished silver gazing blearily at him.

“You’re here.” His voice came out croaked, and he cleared his throat, brushing the back of his hand over his lips.

Tristan smiled. “So are you.”

“Your guards let me in. Apparently, you’ve ordered them to let me enter whether you’re in or not.”

“I have.”

Dorian huffed a soft laugh. “I must have fallen asleep. Way to spoil the dramatic welcome I had prepared for you,” he said as he made to sit up, but Tristan stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, brushing a stray lock away from his forehead. “You needed the rest.”

A soft smile curled Dorian’s lips, and his eyes glided gently over his features. There was so much warmth in his gaze, that Tristan’s breath hitched in his throat. He looked away, nodding at the decanter and the glasses. “What’s all that?”

“Consider it my way of making it up to you after letting you trudge all those days in that rainy bog on your own.” He reached out to him, a long finger running down the side of his face. “It must have been terribly dull without me,” he whispered teasingly, but Tristan thought he heard a tinge of regret in his voice.

“Oh, it was alright,” Tristan replied in a non-chalant tone. “I daresay Varric did his best to fill in for you.”

Dorian’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Ha! The nonsense you speak. As if Varric could ever stand as a substitute for my dashing presence.”

Tristan laughed softly as he leaned forward, brushing his nose over his. “No one ever could.”

Dorian’s mouth opened eagerly, pulling him in, the taste of red wine lingering on his tongue as it glided over his own. Warmth spread all over his body, seeping into tired limbs and knotted muscles, a need so intense it turned into a dull ache. He had missed the feel of his lips, the taste of his mouth, the smell of his skin, the softness of his hands as they threaded through his hair. He had tried his best not to think about him the time they were apart, kept the images away, carefully out of reach, yet now the sensations hit him all at once, like a storm. He returned Dorian’s passionate kisses, bringing up no resistance as long, beringed fingers started working the latches of his leather armour open.

“I missed you so much,” Tristan blurted out in a breathless whisper.

Dorian chuckled against his lips, pulling the top of his armour free. “I can’t blame you. I’d miss me too, if I were you.”

Tristan edged back to frown at him. “I mean it.”

“So do I. My company is irreplaceable. Oh, stop giving me that look, will you?” he said when Tristan’s frown deepened. Then, he rolled his eyes and let out a sigh of mock exasperation, lips pursing slightly. “Fine. I may have missed you, too. A little.”

“Just a little?”

Dorian’s expression softened. “Perhaps a bit more than that.” His fingers tangled in the fabric of his cotton undershirt, pulling gently. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Tristan’s smile was wide and teasing when he kicked his boots off and slid between Dorian’s legs. “Can’t make any promises.” The couch was far too narrow for the both of them, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about being comfortable, not when Dorian sighed underneath him, rolling his hips over his, igniting the flame that quivered inside him.

Tristan groaned, closing his teeth over Dorian’s bottom lip. They rocked against each other until the final latch on Tristan’s armour popped open. He paused for a breath, sitting up to slide it off his shoulders and throw it carelessly on the floor beside them.

Dorian’s palms slid underneath his cotton undershirt to caress his stomach, silver eyes blazing under heavy eyelids. “Come back here,” he rasped, hooking two fingers under the waistband of his breeches to pull him back to him. Tristan tilted his head up when Dorian planted soft kisses along his jawline and down to his neck, breathing deeply.

“You stink,” he announced.

Tristan pulled back a hair to look at him, embarrassment tinging his cheeks. “Do I?”

“Oh, yes. You smell of sweat, dirt, and just a hint of cheap whisky. So very manly.” He took another deep breath, running his tongue over the tendons of his throat. “I love it.”

Tristan huffed a laugh, a shiver running down his spine with the feel of Dorian’s wet tongue on his skin. “I should bathe less often, then.”

“Don’t push it.”

Tristan kissed lips curved in a smirk as he slithered a hand underneath Dorian’s silk shirt, the slippery fabric retreating easily. His heart pounded in his ears as his fingertips ran over warm skin, soft and supple over taut muscles. The shirt slipped easily over Dorian’s head, messing his hair up only slightly before falling to the wooden floor with a hiss.

The moan that left Dorian’s lips when Tristan’s mouth slid to his neck was low and breathy and just a touch pleading, sliding down his spine like warmed, spiced honey. A shiver ran through him as he brushed his tongue over a stiff nipple and inhaled the distinct scent of Dorian’s skin. Heady, deep, intoxicating; an earthy sweetness that lingered at the back of his throat when he breathed.

“Cardamom,” he whispered softly.

“I beg pardon?”

Tristan raised his gaze to see Dorian looking at him curiously. He hummed as he trailed lower, following the dip under his ribs. “You smell like toasted cardamom,” he said. “And oakmoss, and sandalwood… and is that star anise?”

Dorian laughed, but it was a tad huskier than normal. “It wouldn’t do if I gave out all my secrets, would it?”

Instead of responding, Tristan’s fingers slid underneath the waistband of his breeches, drawing out a gasp from Dorian as he curled his palm over his hardened length. “There’s one secret I’m interested in in particular.”

With a sharp tug, he pulled down his breeches, until Dorian was naked underneath him. He couldn’t help but take a moment to look at him as he lay before him. Relaxed, yielding, palpable, within reach. Within his reach. He let his gaze roam over the smooth stomach and the long, sculpted arms; the deep flush that steadily crept up his cheeks, like a glorious sunrise; the glistening lips and the heavy lids. Maker, but he was the beautiful man he had ever seen.

“Are you just going to keep staring at me, or are you planning on doing something to me? I’d rather you did the latter,” he said peevishly, but the breathiness in his voice made Tristan smile. His mouthy lover.

He leaned down between his legs, planting an agonizingly slow trail of kisses on his thigh before closing his lips over his hardness, taking him in as deep as he could. A gasp broke free from Dorian’s lips and his hips bucked forward, his fingers threading in Tristan’s hair. Tristan lifted his eyes to watch him as his mouth worked up and down, slowly, almost reverentially, tongue sliding over the ridges of his cock. Dorian was watching him too, his breath coming short and fast, lips slightly parted. The firelight was doing wondrous things to his body; making shadows pool in the dip of his collarbone, gather in the contours of his chest and his navel, like rivulets flowing over polished stones. He was warmth and fire and tenderness, all smooth planes and soft angles, and Tristan wanted him. All of him.

Dorian’s hold on his hair tightened when Tristan took him in deeper, the tip of his cock reaching the back of his throat, his tongue moving in broad strokes. The moan that left him was low and throaty when his cock twitched with his climax, and Tristan held him fast as he greedily swallowed every drop.

He had barely taken a breath before Dorian pulled him up impatiently, tasting himself on Tristan’s tongue. Tristan hovered over him, palms running down his exquisite body as they kissed fervently, all tongues and lips and teeth.

“Filthy clothes come off now,” Dorian murmured and pushed him playfully away. Tristan got up with a groan and hurriedly tugged at the hem of his undershirt, when Dorian stopped him with a raised finger. “Slowly.”

Tristan laughed at the teasing glint in his silver eyes, sleepy with the afterglow. Dorian propped himself up on his elbow, watching him. “You’re very demanding, you know.”

“I know. It’s one of my characteristic traits.” Dorian quirked a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him, and the sight of it made a fever swell in Tristan’s chest. He wanted nothing more than to pounce on him and get lost in his welcoming warmth, but he was determined to give him a show. He pulled his shirt off slowly, purposefully flexing his muscles, biting back a smile at the spark in Dorian’s eyes. Next came the laces of his breeches. He pulled at them leisurely, taking his time working each one free, until Dorian huffed impatiently.

“Oh, just take it off and get over here, you tease,” he said, crawling to him and hooking his fingers over Tristan’s waistband, pulling them down, letting his hardness spring free. Tristan couldn’t help a moan when Dorian’s long fingers curled around his length. A small smile curled his full lips when his tongue darted out to lick the bead of moisture that had gathered at the tip, then his mouth wrapped around him in a wet and warm embrace. Tristan threaded his fingers in his luscious hair, shivering as he was taken in deeper, the velvet heat of Dorian’s mouth chasing away every other thought in his mind.

There was something about the sight of Dorian on his knees before him, watching him intently as his lips were wrapped around his cock, that made his blood course that much more swiftly through his veins. He didn’t bring up any resistance when Dorian pulled him down on the sofa, kneeling between his legs. His mouth worked him steadily, harder, faster. He brought his long fingers up to caress him alongside his tongue, until it was a tangle of lips and fingers and tongue, driving him closer and closer to the edge.

The look in Dorian’s eyes was feral and indecent when he slid a long and slick finger inside him. Tristan bit back a moan at the unexpected pressure, pleasure and lust building inside him, spreading like wildfire.

He reached down to cup the back of Dorian’s neck, drawing him up, seeking his hot and velvet mouth. The flat of Dorian’s tongue brushed over his lips as he eased another finger, and Tristan gasped.

Dorian pulled back to look at him. “Good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Tristan breathed. “Yes, ah-”

Three. There were three fingers inside him, yet he wanted more. He kissed Dorian hungrily, moaning against his lips as his deft digits drove deeper.

“I want to feel you,” Dorian rasped. His breath was hot against the shell of his ear when he leaned closer to whisper, “I want to fuck you so hard you weep.”

Tristan nodded eagerly, licking his lips. “Yes. Please, yes.”

The soft feather mattress sank under their combined weight as Tristan lay on his stomach, Dorian hovering over him. His breath hitched when he felt Dorian’s cock brushing against his entrance, then came out in a soft hiss when the tip of his hardness slid inside him. Dorian leaned down, placing soothing kisses between his shoulder blades as he sank, inch by agonising inch, inside him.

“You feel so good,” Dorian whispered, burying his face in Tristan’s neck. “So warm, so wonderful…”

Tristan felt full. Unbearably full and uncomfortably stretched, but he dug his fingers deeper into the plush pillows, taking a deep breath. Soon, as they gently rocked together, the pressure gave way to pleasure, deep and slowly building. His moans were muffled by the pillow as Dorian thrust harder and faster, deeper, as deep as he could go, hitting that spot again and again. Dorian’s gasps and the garbled Tevene that crashed against Tristan's skin like waves made the already burning fire inside him unbearable.

The seconds stretched on languidly, seemingly endlessly, as Dorian fucked him hard. Everything was him; he was on him, behind him, around him, inside him, his scent and the feel of his cock and the softness of his hands blocking out anything else. It felt odd, losing himself into someone else like this, not being in control for once. It was with some surprise that Tristan realised that it felt… good.

Dorian leaned forward over him, and Tristan twisted his head, searching for his lips. They kissed deeply, Dorian’s tongue brushing the roof of his mouth as he drove himself deeper still, faster, burrowing as much of his cock inside him as he could.

“Fasta vass,” he moaned, deep breaths expanding his ribs where they touched against his back. “Amatus-”

Tristan met him, thrust for thrust, his tongue twining with his, seeking more, more, more. “Yes,” he whispered. “Fuck, yes, yes-”

Dorian hooked an arm underneath him to stroke him firmly, thumb brushing over the weeping head. Blinding white light exploded behind Tristan’s eyelids, all the warmth and ecstasy and tension that raked his body and clouded his vision finding their release on Dorian’s curling fingers. Dorian followed him soon after, shuddering with his own climax, his guttural groan drowned against Tristan’s skin when he sank his teeth in his neck.

With the rapture of the moment easing away slowly, albeit steadily, Tristan was soon lulled into an unusual sort of calmness by the beating of Dorian’s heart against his back. He felt warm, content, sated. Dorian’s weight on him was comforting, his breath on the back of his neck even more so. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this in the presence of another person. He couldn’t even rightly remember how long it had been since he had slept with someone before Dorian - the last few years of his life before the Inquisition seeming like a dark, unending, agonising dream. He had probably managed to sleep with a few people when nigh on black out drunk, not that he would be able to recount much now. He had felt empty, so empty back then, and those encounters had left him emptier still, and it hadn’t been long before he had written off any thoughts of companionship or affection or… or love. Was that what he was feeling now? Was that what he and Dorian had? Love?

His heart was suddenly gripped in a vice, and his breath felt constricted in his lungs, pinned as he was under Dorian’s body. He dug his palms in the mattress, gently shrugging Dorian off as he pushed himself up. Dorian eased himself off him with a sharp inhale, his palms lingering on Tristan’s hips before pulling away. Tristan rolled on his back with a sigh, resting his head upon his curled arm. He took a deep breath, stretched his legs. Stared at the ceiling.

Dorian shifted on his side to look at him. Soft fingertips glided down his chest, following the lines of his muscles, making the hairs on his body stand on end. Tristan hummed softly, closing his eyes. “That feels nice.”

Dorian exhaled a soft chuckle through his nose, smoothing his palm over Tristan’s stomach. He slithered closer to him, nuzzling his ear. “How does that feel?”

“Even better.” Tristan turned his head to him, their noses brushing. Dorian’s lips parted on a sigh, his warm tongue darting out to explore the contours of Tristan’s mouth, as it had done so many times before. Tristan kissed him back, palm gently running over his sides. There, in the half dark, in the comfortable silence, it felt like nothing else existed beyond them. It was just them, and the warmth of their bodies as their limbs tangled once more, and the sounds of their breaths when they met and mingled.

Even in that moment, though, doused in the golden light of the afterglow, Tristan couldn’t help the thoughts that slithered in, cold and invasive; was it really just them? Had it ever been? Did Dorian feel the same way, or was Tristan simply chasing an impossible dream, one that he stretched bodily to grasp yet was never meant to have?

The bitterness that he had been trying all those days to suppress rose to the surface in a wave, choking him. He pulled away, untangling himself from Dorian’s embrace. He lay on his back again, resuming his thorough examination of the high ceiling of his quarters. The moonlight slithering through the tall windows played along its surface, illuminating the swirls and knots in the grain of the wooden beams.

Dorian’s gaze on him felt as keen and sharp as a metal object piercing his skin. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Tristan gave a sharp nod, eyes still fixed above them. Dorian stared at him for a long moment before clearing his throat. “That’s an excellent ceiling you have here. Very sturdy. Fascinating, really. They don’t make them like that anymore.”

“Mm-hm.”

Another long stretch of minutes where no one spoke. A soft click of his tongue, an exasperated huff and Dorian sat up to glare at him. “Will you tell me what is wrong, or do I need to pry it out of you by force?”

Tristan glanced at him, throat constricting painfully before he looked away again, pursing his lips. “There’s nothing wrong," he said, his tone sharper and far more curt than he intended. "I’m just tired. I’ve been travelling for days.”

Dorian gazed at him for a moment longer, silence stretching heavy between them. “Perhaps I should let you rest, then," he whispered. "It’s late as it is.” He waited for a breath. Tristan never answered.

With slow, unhurried movements, Dorian rolled out of bed. Tristan’s eyes followed him as he padded across the room, around the couch where he had left his clothes. He was retrieving his shirt from the floor, when panic, deep and visceral, rose in Tristan’s chest.

“Dorian, wait.” Sterling grey eyes snapped to him, blazing with anger. Tristan swallowed thickly, sitting up on the mattress. “Please stay.”

Dorian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, then crossed his arms before his chest. “Whatever for? You seem quite over my presence already. We haven’t even been together for an hour and already you’re making it very clear that I am not wanted here. I think…” He paused for a moment, looking away. “I think it’s best if we just let things be.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means…” Dorian gazed sadly at him, the distance between them suddenly seeming wide enough to engulf them both. “It means that I’m not certain whether this can work,” he whispered.

Cold tendrils slithered through Tristan’s stomach, freezing him to the core. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’m afraid I do.” Dorian’s eyes were soft, gleaming eerily in the waning light. He seemed so tired all of a sudden, bone weary, but his movements when he pulled his trousers on were steady and precise. Tristan watched him motionless, numb, sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress, like a stone sinking in dark waters. Drowning. He should just let him go, he knew. It would probably be for the best. For both of them. It wasn’t like whatever they had could possibly last. Everything fell apart in the end, and this was no exception. Better to end it then, while it was still early. While there was still time.

Don’t push away those who care about you. There may come a moment when you’ll regret it.

Hawke’s words echoed in his mind, jolting him awake like a cold shower. Dorian was halfway to the stair landing when Tristan stood up abruptly. “Don't go,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. He raked a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. "Please, just… wait. I-” He paused, worrying his bottom lip. “I need to talk to you.”

Dorian turned to glance at him over his shoulder. Tristan’s hands opened and closed at his sides as he tried to arrange his thoughts. His face felt hot like a pan on the stove. “The other day, when you were here... Before I left for Crestwood. You said that we- that I, uh... That you- we aren’t-”

The flush in his cheeks grew warmer and warmer as Dorian’s frown grew ever more perplexed. Tristan let out a sharp exhale, dragging his palm over his face. “Perhaps I should start over.”

Dorian tilted his head to the side. “Yes, I think you should. You’re just making noises at this point.”

Tristan shifted uncomfortably on his feet for a moment before gingerly walking towards him, closing the distance between them as he came to stand before him. He cleared his throat and looked up into his eyes, trying to appear as composed as he could, despite the fact that he was stark naked. “Before I left for Crestwood, you said that we… that we aren’t exclusive. That we’ve had our fun, and we are both free to do whatever we want, with whomever we want. That was the way you put it, wasn’t it?” Dorian’s lips tightened as he gave him a slow nod. Tristan took a breath to steel himself. “Is that what you want?”

“Is that what you want?”

No. “I…” Tristan looked away, clenching his jaw. The evening cold slithering through the windows was making his skin prickle, and he hugged himself tightly. “I don’t know.”

He heard Dorian inhale sharply, drawing himself up. Tristan glanced at him just in time to see him squeezing his eyes shut. “Then what else is there for us to say?” he snapped. He looked angry, yet his voice sounded at the edge of breaking. He turned to leave again, when Tristan reached out, catching his arm.

“I don’t know,” Tristan started, a whisper so low he could barely hear it himself, “how to be with someone.”

Dorian brows were furrowed in confusion when he turned his body to face him. Tristan held on to his arm with both hands, as if afraid he would float away if he let him go. For a moment, it felt like his entire life was whirling in his mind, a torrent of tangled images and thoughts that he struggled to put to words. He took a deep breath, willing his voice to stay level. “I’ve been on my own for too long. I don’t know what it’s like, having someone so close to me. After my sister died, I… I could barely live with myself. I thought I didn’t deserve to be happy, not when Tilly wasn’t around anymore. I wasn’t even sure if I deserved to be alive. Bloody hell, some days I still don’t.” He paused, blinking as his eyes burned like coals under his lids. His heart was beating so hard he could feel his pulse in his throat, but he made himself hold Dorian’s gaze. “I vowed that I’d never let anyone get too close. That I’d never let myself be happy, or in love. And I had succeeded in that, until… I met you.”

Dorian moved closer to him, and Tristan's hold on his arm tightened ever so slightly. “I don’t know what it is. About you. About us. But I feel like… Fuck, I’m drawn to you. I can’t explain it. I want to be close to you. I’ve tried to fight it. You know that better than anyone. Yet I always come back to you.” His thumb brushed over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the pulse beating underneath it. "I want you, Dorian. I don’t want anybody else. Void take me, it’s never even crossed my mind. Not since the moment I saw you. I don't know how to be or how to act around you, but I still want to be with you. More than I’ve wanted anything before.”

He reached out, fingers hovering only a breath away from Dorian’s cheek, when a sharp pang of panic made him draw his hand back. “I-I can’t expect you to want the same things I do. If you want to sleep with others, then… Then I can’t stop you. I wouldn’t even dream of it. And, let’s be honest, you’d probably be better off with somebody else. I know that this, all of this, the Inquisition, my predicament-” He stopped abruptly, closed his eyes, opened them again. He exhaled slowly, swallowing through the knot in his throat. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Least of all you. I want you to… I want you to have everything. Maker knows you deserve it. I’m not sure if I could even give you half of that.” He let out a quiet, defeated laugh.“Selfish, isn’t it? I don’t know if I can ever make you happy, yet I want to be with you all the same.”

Tristan lifted his eyes to Dorian’s once more, searching his face. Dorian was still watching him carefully, his expression unreadable in the shifting light of the fire. He hadn’t uttered a word, simply listening as Tristan talked on and on. Tension coiled in his gut like a snake, and he bit the inside of his lip down hard. “I understand if you think me a fool. I would too,” he mumbled. He ran his fingers through his hair, eyes burning. He let Dorian's arm go, taking a step back.“Let’s- let’s just forget everything, alright? I’m probably not making any sense. I just- I’ll…”

Dorian’s fingers closed about his wrist, pulling him close. He leaned forward, his velvet lips finding Tristan’s, drawing him in like a magnet. Relief washed over him in waves, enough to make his head swim. Tristan kissed him back eagerly, savouring the sweetness of his mouth, breathing in the scent of him, his fingers tangling in his shirt as he held him. He clung to him, as though he were a piece of driftwood floating on stormy seas. His only chance at keeping his head above water.

Dorian pressed their foreheads together, taking a deep breath. “I want to be with you, too.”

“Y-you do?”

Dorian nodded, a soft smile curling his lips. “Of course I do, you idiot. Couldn’t you tell?”

Tristan’s heart fluttered in his chest with the gentleness in his voice, but he shot him a sullen frown. “Couldn’t you have said so before I spilled my guts?”

“And stop you when you were finally talking for once? Perish the thought.” He held him close, fingers sinking in his hair, holding, pulling. "I didn't really intend to leave, you know. Or if I did, I'd probably come back. If only to kick some sense back into you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes." He let out a soft sigh. "I've told you before that I can't stay mad at you for very long. You have that effect on me."

“Oh.” Tristan laughed weakly, rubbing the dampness from the corners of his eyes. “Good,” he breathed. “That’s good. I hope.”

“It is good.” Dorian’s thumb ran in a smooth semicircle over Tristan’s cheek, brushing a stray tear away. “It is for me. You are the one that I want, amatus. You will have to do a great deal to change my mind about that. I...” He paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. There was a tinge of sorrow in his eyes when they met his own. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

Tristan couldn’t describe what it was he felt when Dorian’s gaze swept over his features, sadness mingled with care and so much tenderness. Even if he could find the words, he didn’t think he had any strength left to breathe them into being. He wrapped his arms around Dorian’s waist, pulling him flush against him, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Dorian hugged him tightly, pressing kisses on the top of his head, his temples, his cheeks, the shell of his ear.

“Now,” Dorian whispered after what felt like an age and a blink of an eye, “let’s get the stench of horse and dirt off you, shall we? It’s quite overpowering.”

Tristan hummed with amusement as he pulled him towards the bed again, deft fingers tugging at his shirt. “Not just yet.”

[canumoveurseatup-no]

Ready

Summary: you’re going through some personal battles and don’t want to talk about it. Tony realizes something is wrong when it’s too late.

Pairing: Tony x Black!Daughter!Reader

Warnings: this is a personal emotional purge so beware because this is what I am feeling and fighting and so this is a TRIGGER WARNING⚠️ as it will contain mentions of depression, anxiety and self harm so PLEASE BEWARE!! I’ll just say this is 18+

A/N: Just honestly tired of putting on a brave face but I know I’ll make it and that’s what matters because I’m gonna keep fighting. Know you’re not alone, especially to my fellow black peers because in our community mental illness is seen as a myth and I’m sick of not being able to talk about it.

~italics means flashbacks/thoughts~

Being an Avenger took a toll on your mental health, be the daughter of an Avenger took a toll on your mental health. Hell, just living took a toll on your mental health. It was a constant battle everyday and you felt like you couldn’t speak up about it. No one ever said it to your face, but it was kind of a known stigma that black people “don’t” suffer from mental illness because you were always seen as strong and independent but this isn’t something you can toughen out. It’s a constant everyday battle and you have no idea how to ask for help. How do you tell someone you need professional help because you feel yourself spiraling again.

One thing that sucks about being self destructive and being self-aware is that you literally watch yourself unravel but you won’t stop it. Can’t... stop it. You were tired of being sick and tired. You internalized a lot only for it to crash down on you when you least expect it. You had to be strong though. You had to be strong for your dad. He was going through a lot and you didn’t want to add to it. You always fought beside him and for him despite what was going on inside your head. You felt so much on a daily basis yet had no idea which feeling to focus on.

That’s why you were at the park with your dad and Pepper, trying to clear your head, but they didn’t know that. You were slowly tracking behind them as they talked and acted like the poster child of happy couples. There was talk of him having a dream about kids and asking her if she was pregnant which, to his dismay, she was not. You weren’t paying attention to much when an orange ring appeared from nowhere and a wizard looking man stepped out causing you to trip.

“Tony Stark?,”

You mumble an “Uh oh,” under your breath because with the way the man said his name, you knew it wasn’t good.

——-

You were stuck on an alien planet with your dad, Peter, Doctor Strange and group of space weirdos that were after Thanos just like you were. You were all trying to come up with a plan to defeat this... guy? Monster? Alien? You weren’t sure what to call him... he’s just.. the villain.

In the midst of your dad trying to get the others to cooperate you found yourself sitting beside Doctor Strange and regressed into a memory, why this specific memory? You weren’t sure?

———-

Everyone was sitting around the table, talking about close calls they’ve experienced while out in the field. Some stories were horrifying and while everyone had a story, you didn’t. You were more cautious than the others so that’s never happened to you. The conversation then turned to how they would want to go while on the job if it came down to it.

“How about you, Y/N?,” Nat asked. Her voice pulled you out of your own head as you stared out the window behind Bruce’s head.

“Huh?,” you sat back in your chair and looked at her, waiting for her to repeat herself.

“When you go... how would you want to go?,”

“Quickly and Painlessly,” you answer without hesitation. Everyone else had to think about the specific hows and whys but you’ve ran over this in your head so much that you didn’t need to do all of that. “So fast and painless that I don’t even know I’m going. Doesn’t matter who does it or how it happens... I just.. would want to go in a way that was peaceful and didn’t leave me in pain or scared.”your voice got lower as the room got quiet.

“Can we stop talking about this? I don’t want to think about my daughter dying,” Tony awkwardly laughed and drank from his cup. He was such a great dad. That man loves the hell out of you, he would do anything for you. But that didn’t keep the depression away. It didn’t keep the anxiety away when you tried to sleep at night and had to keep the tv on to dull down your own thoughts so you didn’t scare yourself into an anxiety attack.

Many times you’ve written notes to leave behind for when you were ready. But each time you tried or planned to leave everything behind, the method was too painful.

“I love you too much to even think about it in the slightest,” he shook his head.

You smiled slightly and nodded, “And I love you too much to think about you leaving,”

————

You were all fighting this giant with all your might and mid-fight you wondered if it was even worth it. Maybe this guy had a point. He said it would be mercy being placed on you all if he carried out his plan. The idiot named Star Lord had fucked up your plan though and you knew he was hurt, but now was not the time to fuck up. That could have came after you got the gauntlet off but no. No...

Peter was webbing himself in and out of different portals thanks to Doctor Strange but was soon caught and slammed to the ground.

“Y/N!,” your dad called for your help and you flew over to him, helping him fight but you were losing your will to fight hard. You didn’t want to fight, you wanted to let him win. Maybe this was your way out.

————

You sat in your bathtub full of water. You didn’t even take your clothes off, you just sat in the cold water and stared at the faucet. Right beside you on the rim of the tub was a blade. You were contemplating hard, you knew your disorder couldn’t be cured by a bottle, blade or dose, but it helped you keep a grasp on your own pain, you controlled what you were feeling in this moment. You grabbed the blade so quickly it. I nipped at your finger tips, causing little red bubbles to seep through the small openings it created.

You had a letter on the toilet seat just in case this was it. Maybe this could be the final time. Maybe you could finally rest but. Though you didn’t want to live, you were too scared to die. You rolled up your wet sleeve and didn’t even look at your arm as you started moving the blade across it. You numbly stared at the dripping faucet, feeling the sting of your skin opening and soon you saw the clear water become tinged red with your blood. You weren’t sure how many marks you made but you rolled down your sleeve against the stinging, raging cuts and just sat back in the tub, sliding down. You turn your head to eye the note. You know what you wrote in that note specifically.

You were apologizing to your dad, telling him you’re sorry you couldn’t make it and push through for him. You told him how long this has been happening and were sorry you didn’t speak up. You told him how scary speaking out about it was because in society, people believe black women can’t suffer from anything other than fucking heat damage! But no matter what is said you can not “strong black woman” these illnesses out of you!

So you suffered in silence... especially when you slipped into a slumber just for you to wake back up.

———

Your distraction caused your father to get stabbed and you screamed out for him.

“Please! Stop! No no no, not him,” you cried. Your father sat wide eyed at the fact he had an open wound and was bleeding out, “Not him!,” you begged the titan. You tried to tend to your dad but nothing was working.

Then Strange took it upon himself to give Thanos the time stone. Which was shocking considering he said he wouldn’t trade lives for the stone. The stone always came first.

“No!,” you and your dad yelled. But Strange ignored you both and gave it to him anyway. Then the titan vanished and you helped patch your father up, he fell back in relief and wiped your tears.

“I’m not leaving you, not yet,” he sighed with a stupid smirk on his face.

“Dad... we need to talk. If this doesn’t work and he finishes what he started, I need you to know something.

—————

You shouldn’t have to be afraid to speak up about what you’re feeling. You shouldn’t fear the looks of others when you admit you’re suffering from mental illnesses. No one should look at you as if you said you had a talk with Santa to discuss your behavior this year when you finally admit you need help. But you knew those were the looks you’d get, you knew that.

As if mental illness was as racist as the people out in the world. Your melanin didn’t get the memo if that was the case but it’s not. Each day your depression would wrap its arms around your chest and bind you to the mattress which in turn would make you seem lazy or that you had no work ethic, that you just wanted to be catered to.

You weren’t a bitch, as some people thought you to be... it’s just the personality they were talking to didn’t like social interactions and didn’t know how to handle them because they were too much of a burden to bear. As if your illness and compulsions could be neck rolled, bubblegum popped and eye rolled out of you.

Black girls couldn’t be depressed.... black girls don’t get to be depressed.

Right?

————

“I’m not going to ask you why you didn’t come to me about this because I don’t want to seem like I’m guilt tripping you. But we are going to get through this. We are going to win this battle and yours, Y/N,”

He was so hopeful but while everyone else was ready to fight and win, you didn’t want to fight, there was no more battle to fight.

“Dad, you can’t possibly think this is going to go away?... whenever you would ask me if i was okay I’d lie and tell you I was fine because I didn’t have the guts to tell the man who helped give me life that I don’t want it anymore!,” you stood up and held your chest.

He just stared back at you and he felt his heart drop. This whole conversation you’d been trying to avoid telling him what you were really thinking... that you were ready. Unlike everyone else on this alien planet or anyone else fighting back on Earth, you were ready.

“Y/N, please don’t say that,” he felt tears in his eyes. You were everything to him and he would lose himself if he lost you. He stood and took a step toward you only for you to take a step back.

You were about to open your mouth when things got eerily quiet and you got the instinct to turn your head. Mantis disappeared and you gasped turning to look at your dad, “It’s happening, Dad,”

He shook is head defiantly, “No-no,”

Drax looked to Quill and whispered his name before he disintegrated as well. Quill started breathing heavily and your dad stepped toward him, “Be steady, Quill,”

But he just sighed, “Oh man,” everyone was going fast. Now it just left you, your dad, Peter, Nebula and Strange.

You sat back down and stared at your shoes. Just waiting to see if you would all go and if so, what order?

Doctor Strange called out your dad’s name and everyone turned to look at him as he started to crumble and blow away with the wind.

“There was no other way,” he stated before he was gone for good.

You all just stared at each other waiting. You started to feel tingles in your body and you knew it was your turn.

“Dad,” you called out for him and he turned to you, horror in his eyes, “I love you. Just know that okay? Get back home and have that kid with Pepper, yeah?,” tears welled in your eyes as he ran to you holding your face.

“Y/N. Don’t you fucking dare!,” he gritted through his teeth, “You’re fine, you’re gonna be fine!,” he tried to keep a sob down but to no avail, it came through and his voice cracked.

“I’m not in pain, Dad,” you smiled at him, “I’m not in pain, that’s what I wanted remember?,”

His heart broke as he knew exactly what you were talking about, it hurt even more when he realized you were hurting back then as well.

“Y/N no! Stay with me, stay with me please, baby. You can’t go,”

You rested your hand against his cheek and one tear fell as you saw him hurting.

“It’s okay, Dad. I’m ready to go... I wanna go,”

You fell to ash in his hands and Tony screamed in horror. He never screams unless he’s angry but this was different. He just watched his daughter die in his arms and all that was left was ash.

Peter fell to his knees beside him not knowing how to comfort him. It was just him, your dad and Nebula now and no one talked as Tony sobbed out your name.

“He won’t get away with this... he may think he won but he’s wrong. So wrong,”

————

I am going through it right now so I just needed to purge some thoughts and feelings. I’m sorry if this hurt anyone but this is the reality of being a young black woman and having mental illnesses.

This was also somewhat inspired by Black Magic by Jasmin Nicole (it’s a spoken word and I’d recommend listening to it)

I’m always here if you anyone wants to talk. I love you all💕

Tags- @blackreaders-assemble @mbaku-babygirl @vozit @chonisberonica @majikmelanin @sideeffectsofyou @yournonlocalpoc @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @curlyhairclub @mirajanestrauss1999 @babybubastis @blowmymbackout @mokacoconut @fromlia-withlove @livayah @lusty-leopard

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

A Woman of Letters (Getting a Feel for Sam Winchester) - Chapter 35

Summary:  You’ve just opened an occult bookstore in Lebanon, Kansas, when you fall for a tall, handsome customer…literally. You soon find out that there’s more to the world than you ever suspected, including you. Discovering your heritage puts you directly in a witch’s crosshairs, though, so the Winchesters offer to take you in and teach you how to protect yourself. As you discover your own family history with the supernatural and your own hidden talents, you can’t help but wish a certain brother was as excited about your interest as you are.

Total length: 43 chapters, 70,247 words - Read on AO3 - Series masterlist

Chapter word count: 1826 words

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Canon-level angst and violence

You

Afraid to move, you sat on Crowley’s throne and waited for something to happen. Your eyes darted from demon to demon in the room, wondering exactly how much danger you were in given Crowley’s decree that you weren’t to be touched. You squirmed in the throne, in spite of its comfort, wondering what was happening at the fake bunker site with Sam and Rowena. Would Crowley keep up his end of the deal and keep Sam and Dean safe? After a few minutes, a man dressed in formal attire walked in the room and approached you.

“We have been instructed to cater to any needs you may have while the King is running his errand. Do you require anything at the present time? Food? Drink? Facilities?” You shook your head dumbly, too scared to do anything else. The man nodded before continuing. “In that case, is there anything you would desire to help you pass the time until the King returns? Reading material? The King has set up a screening room in preparation of your visit in case there are any movies or television shows you’d like to watch?” You shook your head again, and tried to work up the courage to speak.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to find your voice. “The King prepared for my… visit, you say?” The man nodded seriously. “How long does the King expect me to… enjoy his hospitality?” You took a deep breath and tried to keep calm.

“No time was specified, but preparations have been made for an extended stay.” Your eyes widened as you wondered exactly what constituted an extended stay to a demon. “If there’s nothing else at the moment, then I will leave you to wait for the King’s return. Should you need something, my name is Godfrey. Ask for me, and I’ll return.” You nodded, and Godfrey left the room.

You sat on the throne for what felt like an eternity, waiting for Crowley to return. Eventually, you got bored, and pulled out your phone. You were surprised to find you had a signal. Unsure if calling Sam would distract him from the battle with Rowena, you opted for sending a text.

“Not sure, but I think I’m sitting on Crowley’s throne. Just wanted to tell you that I’m fine and they’re treating me well here. I don’t know what Crowley has in mind for me, but it doesn’t seem to include discomfort of any kind. I miss you, I love you, and I know we’ll figure this out and see each other soon.” You hit send, and hoped the message reached Sam.

After about a half an hour of killing time playing games on your phone to distract yourself, Crowley returned. He approached you, and smiled what felt like a genuine smile, putting a hand on the back of the throne and looking over your shoulder at what you were doing.

“Were you able to reach Moose and Squirrel and let them know you’re okay?” You looked up at Crowley standing over you in confusion.

“Uh, well, I sent a message, but haven’t gotten a response. I wasn’t sure if anything I sent from here would even go, if you know what I mean.” Crowley gently took your phone from your hands and slid it into his pocket.

“As long as you’re sitting here, the phone works fine. Perks of being the King.” Crowley winked at you and smiled, leaving you speechless. “Come now, darling, let me show you to your suite.” Crowley offered you his arm, and in your state of shock, you took it like your grandmother had taught you when you were little. He then led you out of the room and you started walking down the hall. As you moved further away from the throne room, your fear returned, along with your voice.

“What are you doing, Crowley? Where are we? Why am I here, and not back with the Winchesters? Godfrey said you had prepared for an extended stay. How long do you plan on keeping me here?”

“One question at a time, pet. First, I’m keeping you safe. Our deal was that I’d help with the fight against my mother, keep you safe, and in return, I get to keep whatever remains of my mother. This is me, holding up my end of the bargain. This is Hell. Well, the upscale part of Hell with all the modern amenities you could desire. Again, perks of being the King. The Winchesters are alive and well, my mother is enjoying a nice rest in her bindings in a specially-outfitted cell in the deepest, darkest corner of the most uncomfortable part of Hell where I keep my favorite toys, and you are safe. I can’t keep you safe if you’re with the Winchesters, so I brought you here. Here, you are safe, and I can provide you with every comfort you could ever need. Anything you need, anything you want, I will provide it for you.”

“I want Sam.”

“Okay, anything but that. If I bring him here, he’ll just try to break you out, and in doing so, will jeopardize your safety.” Crowley’s right hand was covering your hand on his arm, and he was patting you in a manner that was meant to be comforting. “Relax, Y/N. You are in no danger here.” Crowley paused his walking and turned to you, taking both of your hands in his. “And there’s no point in trying to pray to that traitor in a trench coat. If prayers could leave Hell, angels would go mad with the cacophony. Besides, even he doesn’t have the power to get here.” Crowley saw the distress evident on your face and you could tell he wanted to soothe you. He dropped one of your hands and brushed a lock of hair from your face, smiling comfortingly at you. His hand stayed by your head, cupping your face gently. “There is no need for you to worry, my dear. Your every need or want will be provided, with the exception of the Winchesters.”

Part of you was in complete panic mode. Your heart was beating a thousand beats per minute and slamming against your ribcage. Tears pricked at your eyes, and you forced yourself to take a deep breath and calm down. The scared part of you wanted to rail at Crowley, cry and scream and beg to be let go, but the calm part of you knew that wouldn’t get you anywhere. You added your empty hand to the hand holding Crowley’s and clasped his hand in both of yours. Looking into Crowley’s eyes, leaning your head into his hand just a little, you pushed as you spoke.

“Crowley, please. As much as I appreciate your concern, I love Sam, and I need to be with him. If you have concerns about my safety with the Winchesters, then we can discuss those concerns and how to alleviate them, but I can’t stay here. Please, Crowley, take me back to Sam. Please.”

For a moment, you thought it was working. Crowley’s expression changed ever so slightly, and there was a subtle shift in his stance.

“Darling, you can stop trying to persuade me that way. It won’t work. I know what you are and what you can do.” You couldn’t stop the shock from becoming evident on your face. “I figured it out after you made me save them from your apartment the day we met. You thought you could sway me from my plan and I wouldn’t notice that I suddenly changed my mind for no reason? No one makes me do anything just because they asked nicely. I did my research. Hell has records, too, you know. I know about your grandmother. It’s also why I’ve been careful to never lie to you. You would know before the lie left my lips, wouldn’t you?” Crowley caressed your cheek with his thumb as his eyes roamed your face affectionately. “My guess is that you’ve been reading me and working me since you found out what you could do.” A stab of fear made your breath catch. If he thinks that, what will he do about it? “Don’t worry, pet, I also believe that you had no malicious intent, so all is forgiven. If it wasn’t, I’d have left you to die with the Winchesters.” Crowley dropped his hand from your face, pulled your hand to his elbow, and continued leading you down the hall. “No, instead you’ll be kept safe here and provided every comfort. I want you to be happy, as well as safe, so any requests you have, except for the Winchesters, will be considered and discussed.”

The two of you approached a door, and Crowley led you through it to a huge suite of rooms. There was a living room/screening room, complete with comfortable couches and a huge flat screen TV.  Next, you saw a small kitchen, filled with fancy gadgets and expensive appliances that would make Dean jealous. Crowley started to lead you around the suite, but you soon broke away from him to check out everything. The bathroom was about the size of the kitchen with a whirlpool tub, two-person sauna (you chuckled at the irony of a sauna in Hell), and a huge shower with a bench and a complicated-looking showerhead system. There were French doors that opened up from the living room to the bedroom, where a California king-sized bed took over the room, covered in what looked like a million pillows and blankets. Books of all kinds were lining bookshelves around the room, and there was a walk-in closet that would make any diva jealous. You inspected the clothes, and discovered that everything was in your size, and the collection ranged from simple jeans and t-shirts to ball gowns. There was also a large jewelry box, but it was mostly empty. The few items you saw, though, were simple, and to your taste. Crowley was smiling as you looked everything over, but stayed quiet until you sat down on the end of the bed, looking around in awe.

“Crowley, this is too much. I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, I really do, but…”

“But nothing, darling. I know that staying here, even if it is for your own safety, will be difficult for you. All of this is meant to ease that hardship. I’m the King of Hell, pet. If there’s nothing else I can do, I can at least provide you comfort and style. Now, I have to go attend to matters of state. Feel free to settle in, and if you need anything, just ask one of the guards outside the door to get Godfrey for you.” Crowley bent over and kissed your cheek, then gently brushed a lock of hair from your face. “I do hope you can find a way to be happy here.” With that, Crowley was gone.

[insane-control-room]

Coherence

He really should have thought twice about doing anything that would have made the fusion mad. He already was emotionally unstable, he should have just been obedient and stayed by his side.

Anonymous - 29 = A reason that they lied to a friend

this story was in development before I got this ask, but it fits it very well :).

Chestnut is the fusion of @halfusek‘s joey magenta and @startistdoodles‘s joey hyde, and since there is not much on the fusion yet, I’ve made them as shitty as possible, though I love them :).

A drawing to go with it

Stand your ground, Johan steeled himself, bracing himself for the monstrosity he knew was to come. Don’t let him get past you.

He could not stop the squeak of terror that escaped his lips when Johan saw his shadow.

“Where are you,” he snarled, head slowly moving back and forth, a beast stalking its prey. Johan sucked in a breath as he watched him toss his knives ever so gently. “Come on out….”

“No,” he hated how his voice wavered and cracked. “You need to find me. We’re playing a game of… hyde and seek.”

The man growled audibly. Johan held his breath within his lungs, burning like fire.

“Enough of your shi-... silly puns!”

“Someone’s going nutty.”

“Johan! I’m going to-” the man caught himself, inhaling sharply, running a hand through dark brown hair. Johan closed his eyes tightly when he began to speak again, with such a beautiful soft tone. “Johan, come out here, I want to see you, Johan, sweetie….”

Johan grinned from his hiding place. Chestnut may have been clever, horrifically cunningly so, but not enough.

Magenta was too soft to give him a pet name.

It gave him a bit of determination, and a bit of fear.

The determination stemmed from the resolve that Hyde and Magenta were so closely merged that Magenta would not recognize him and he would be able to fight him without hurting them.

On the other hand, he had hoped to settle this peacefully, without anyone getting hurt at all, and he wanted to be able to reason with Magenta to calm the both of the fusion.

“I don’t want to have to do this, Johan,” the man that once was his friend and the other that had been his darling growled, more animalistic and bloodthirsty than Johan had ever heard. He trembled. He heard the sound of something charging up, and he realized what it was too late -- and the zap from the powersurge went straight to him. He would not be able to hide anymore, firstly from the literal bolt of electricity that had gone directly to him leading a path, and secondly from the scream that tore from him after the lightning shot through him, bouncing through his limbs, hitting each and every nerve in his body. Oh. So Magenta was there. Only he knew about that, the way electricity just seemed to strike him despite his location. The pain was unbearable, and he saw blackness pulse at his vision. Chestnut’s semi angered, semi sadistic, grin came into view. “Found you.”

He slowly, delicately, like a skilled hunter, picked Johan up by his wrist. His head felt heavy. He could make out the blown fuse behind Chestnut, clearly the one he used to shock him.

“This pathetic thing?” Chestnut paused and laughed. “This weak thing?”

Johan groaned in pain.

“Look at me, dear,” Chestnut purred, and Johan hated how volatile he was, how he could go from taunting him to demanding sweet nothings. He could not lift his head. “I said. Look. At. Me.”

A knife was pressed to the underside of his chin, dragging his head up.

“I thought you were on my side, and yet, you go off to darling Snowy and warn him of our coming,” he hummed, using another blade to gently trace over Johan’s skin on his face. A nick slipped against his cheek, warm blood beading out. Johan’s breath hitched. Magenta knew he was afraid of his own blood. Was Hyde doing this? Was Magenta? Were neither? Or, the worst, both? The knife on his chin shifted, resting him on the very tip. Breathe. He probably is not going to kill him. Breathe. “Dearest little Johan, do you forget who I am? You know me….”

“You’re neither of the men I care for,” he forced, putting as much venom into the words as he could, knowing what he was getting himself into. Another knife slit his shirt, right beside his pin, the cold metal pressed to the skin of his chest. Hyde kept looking directly at him, half closed eyed meeting Johan’s terrified ones. The icy blade turned ever so slightly, slowly pushing against his flesh, right between his ribs, like a butcher that knew exactly where to slice the sheep. Magenta flashed in those dark green eyes, followed by a rapid Hyde, then back to both. Johan’s eyes widened, getting the message. “O-oh god… no, please, I didn’t mean t-to….”

“Neither? Tsk, frankly, I’m offended,” the knife under his chin twisted, tugging at his skin. Johan moaned in fear, unable to do anything else, his arm numb from being held up by it, ink dripping and seeping into is clothes from the claw that restrained him, his toes barely brushing the floor, and yet they could raise him even higher with nary an effort to it. “Johan, do you really think I ever even entertained the idea of caring about you? Either of I?”

“I… I….” hoped. Wanted. Begged. Silently worshiped. Vocalized praise. Loved. Loved. Loved, adored, cared for, loved… did he still love them? Did he still want to sing Magenta’s name and poeticize his beauty and perfection from the rafters of the city, so all could know them? Did he still want to gently care for and be there for Hyde, be beside him on his worst days and help him get through them? Could he still love them? He hated himself for the answer, dropping his head. He did. He did, so badly. He would let them do whatever they wanted to him. His throat felt thick and he whimpered. “I know I’m not worth anything to you.”

A smirk slowly inched onto Chestnut’s lips, and he leaned to whisper in his ear.

“You are worth something,” Johan felt chills race over his skin as he swallowed roughly. “You are going to be worth your pathetic, delicious screams and cries when I rip your skin to bits. Every single peep will be so refreshing, a sweet toy that won’t fight back. I won’t kill you, dear Johan, oh no, we don’t want to ruin our wonderful toy, torn right to the brink, and left to heal up. Over and over, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, you masochist?”

“I’m not a toy,” he snapped, feeling anger seep into his thoughts. “I am not a masochist.”

“Oh, Johan,” the thing’s lips and teeth were right on the side of his neck. “So sweet, so naive….”

“I said I was sorry, for telling Snowy,” he was sorry for getting caught while telling Snowy. By the growing grin on Chestnut’s face, he knew that. Johan sobbed, feeling his tears scratch at his throat and eyes, sorrow welling up at not being able to protect either half of the fusion, only bringing more pain. “I’m s-sorry….”

“You’re not forgiven, darling.”

The knife twisted.

Johan breathed.

It was not harsh.

It was not eased.

He was just breathing.

His whole body ached.

He hoped Snowy got away when he warned him.

He hoped Gingie and many others were alright.

And he begged that Hyde and Magenta were not really in control of Chestnut.

He had too many scars for one so young.

They had not added any more, not yet.

Scratches here and there.

Nothing but superficial damage.

His arm throbbed, his wrist burned.

It was tied, tight, to something.

He could not tell what, his head hurt too much.

The door slammed open, a shuffling footstep entering.

Johan winced and curled up, whimpering.

“Good news, darling,” Chestnut murmured, so loud in the empty house. “I’ve found out where Snowy and Gingie are.”

“No!” Johan shot up, ignoring his pain, launching himself at Chestnut. The man smiled down at him when his shackles restrained him, hands outstretched to fight him. Johan struggled and strained against the metal fetters. Tears welled in his eyes. “NO!”

“Hush, Johan,” Chestnut sat to smoke, his long limbs sprawled over the armchair, lazily looking over the incapacitated man. Johan pulled harder at his bindings, gritting his teeth. Chestnut chuckled. “You’re not getting those off for a while, dear.”

Snap.

Chestnut’s eyes flew open.

Johan smiled, exhausted, at him, his chain dragging on the floor off the wall it had been lashed to.

“That’s a Joey’s biggest enemy,” he grabbed the chain, preparing to fight. “Comedic timing.”

“You piece of fourth wall breaking shit!” Chestnut roared, leaping to his feet, his cigarette falling from his fingers and extinguishing on the way to the floor. Yet before it even made it to the ground, the chain whistled through the air. Chestnut rose an arm to block it, it winding around said arm. Johan had the other end in his hand before he could blink, wrapping it tightly around his other left arm, yanking it over his head, tying off the last two arms together. Chestnut was slammed to the floor, knocking the wind out of him. “Johan! Release me right this instant!”

“No!” Johan protested, gritting his teeth. “YOU! Unfuse right this instant!”

“Unfuse?” Chestnut echoed in a grunt, still trying knock him off. “Whatever do you mean?”

Johan felt his breathing freeze.

They had forgotten themselves.

“H-Hyde?”

“From what!?”

“Hyde Drew, please, please tell me you’re in there,” he was shaking. No, he screwed up, not again, not again, he kept fucking things up…. No response. He sobbed. “Magenta? Please….”

The fusion beneath him was perfectly still. He got off of him. It was pointless. He fucked up again. He waited for them to stab him then and there. Instead, he just rose himself off the floor, staring at Johan. Johan, shaking, hugged him over the shoulders, buried his face in his hair, and breathed in their combined smell, ignoring the putrid ink.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, shuddering. “I’m sorry…. Maggie, please, I miss you… Hyde, you grumpy old man, I want you back… come back, please remember who you are….”

“Johan?”

“Yes...?”

Four arms wrapped around him.

Two and two.

They slowly separated.

Two for one, two for another.

“Johan.”

“Johan.”

He did not dare open his eyes.

“Johan, it’s me….”

“Maggie,” he sniffed, crying into his hands. “Please….”

Gentle, hesitant, choppy circles being rubbed on his back.

“Johan,” Hyde’s barely lower and more gravely tones were slow and deliberate. “Johan, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he murmured, relaxing against air, his shoulders slumping. “Jus’... I’m so tired.”

“Johan, we never would have hurt you if we were in control,” Magenta assured him, helping him to his feet and leading him to a bed, Hyde on the other side of him. Johan gripped them both. “What? You clearly have something to sa-”

“Never fuse again,” he breathed. “Not you two together, that is. You forced Gingie and Snowy into hiding, you nearly killed Felix, you attacked so many others, and you… you went directly after me… please never do that again.”

“Of course,” Hyde promised, his fingers crossed behind his back. Johan studied his face with his weary amberesque eyes. He closed his eyes, so tired… he wished he could sleep forever…. “We, I repeat for both of us, never would have done all that we had done if we were in control of ourself and knew what our actions where doing.”

“Okay,” Johan exhaled, putting no effort into his word. “I’ll sleep now….”

Magenta waited for him to fall asleep before going out to meet Hyde in the dining room.

“Well?” he asked Hyde, cocking an eyebrow. “Enough of a power mongering spree yet?”

Hyde scowled.

“You and I both know you were fully coherent,” he snapped at him. Magenta narrowed his eyes at him. “So don’t try to pin this on me.”

“You also were in control,” Magenta grumbled, keeping his angered tones low. “Don’t you dare blame me.”

“Oh, so what are we going to do?” Hyde rolled his eyes. “Keep up the lie that we lost ourselves in it? Oh, sure, that might fly by Gingie, but by someone more perceptive? I doubt it. Even Johan isn't an idiot. I’m certain that he’s giving us the benefit of the doubt, poor boy.”

“Poor boy!?” Magenta’s anger lashed out. “You’re the one that wanted to see how far we could push him!”

“You’re the one who provided the information on how to do it.”

“Listen,” Magenta pinched the bridge of his nose. “The important thing is that, no matter what, Johan never, ever, learns of our…you know. Our awareness. The fact we were coherent.”

“Agreed.”

They never did tell him the truth.

They did not need to.

He already knew.

He knew.

Johan knew.

[camsthisky]

"I'm so proud of you" bruce and dick

Thanks to MJ for donating! Here’s your Bruce and Dick kidnapped content!

A soft call of his name is the first thing thatDick registers through the haze fogging up his brain. He’s at half-processingspeed right now, and it takes him an uncomfortably long time to even recognizethe voice he should know in his sleep. Not enough Batman, but not enough charm to be Brucie Wayne. So that just leaves plain old—

“Bruce?” Dick groans. His head is hanging, andhe doesn’t have enough energy to do anything but roll it sort of in thedirection from where he thinks his name had been called. Maybe. It’s hard toremember anything. Or move. Or think.

“Can you open your eyes for me, chum?”

Dick hums, grimacing when he peels his eyelidsopen.

The world around him is a hazy, blurry mess.Too bright, too dark. Too much, but not enough. He doesn’t recognize anythingpast fuzzy shapes and dark colors, and the effort of keeping his eyes openleaves him absolutely drained. They slip closed again, and he lets out a breathhe hadn’t known he was holding.

“Dick,” Bruce calls again, more urgent than thefirst time.

He sounds close. Close enough that he wouldhave seen Dick’s attempt to do as he asked. Dick wonders if he’s going to beasked to open his eyes again, and if he’s going to have to keep them open. Hehates to admit it, but he’s too tired. Too exhausted. If Bruce asks, though,Dick’s going to do it. Whether he wants to or not. It’s been beat into him forthe past seven years.

“Dick,” Bruce says. “I need you to look at me.”

And there it is. Dick tries to fight.

“I’m tired,” he croaks, and something bubblesup in his chest. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to look atBruce. He wants to sleep. “Bruce, I’m really tired.”

“You were hit in the head, Dick,” Bruce tellshim, and there’s a softness to his voice that Dick remembers from his childhood.

When he was nine, freshly orphaned andnightmare-ridden, he’d always seemed to find his way to Bruce’s room. Sobshitching in his chest as he watched his parents fall again and again, and he’dthought Bruce is Batman. Bruce will make this go away, and he’d slipunder the covers of Bruce’s bed. Bruce would wake up and curl around him,holding him and whispering reassurances in that deep, gentle voice until hefell asleep.

Better days, Dick thinks somewhat bitterly.Now, Dick’s sixteen and it’s hard to go to Bruce for anything anymore. Dick’snot stupid. He knows Bruce is doing it on purpose. Pushing him away. Dickdoesn’t know why, and he’s angry enough that he pushes back, until the wordsturn to silence.

There are rarely good days, now.

“Stay with me, Dick,” Bruce says.

Dick makes a face. “I didn’t go anywhere,” hemurmurs.

“You did,” Bruce tells him.

There’s a pause, and Dick lets the silence washover him a moment, feeling that haze come back to try and claim his brainagain. The haze is much more welcome to consume him than the pain of the realworld. He’s tired, and he can’t remember where he is or how he even got here,or why there’s—

Is there rope binding his hands behind hisback?

Dick’s eyes slam open, and his breath hitchesin his chest. He takes in the dark surroundings of the warehouse around him.Things are still blurry and hazy, and his brain’s a gigantic mess, but he canmake out the empty space in front of him. The people-shaped blurs across it.The mound of something (boxes?) to his right. Bruce to his left, in much thesame position as he is.

He can’t make out Bruce’s face, no matter howmuch he blinks—can’t get his eyes to focus on much of anything—but he thinksthat Bruce is looking at him a little wary.

That’s when Dick’s training kicks in. He forceshimself to calm down. To take an actual breath. He closes his eyes and lets hischin drop back to his chest. He doesn’t think anyone’s around them, but thereare definitely people—they’re captors, probably—across the room, and Dick doesn’twant them to realize he’s awake quite yet.

Unless they already saw him freak out. Thenthere’s probably no point. But he’s going to go the optimistic route and hopethat they hadn’t. Plus, Bruce hasn’t said anything about them. He’s probably inthe clear to keep pretending.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asks, that soft toneback.

Dick swallows, and he assesses himself. Hishands are tied behind his back. His head is throbbing, making his thoughtsfuzzy, and he can barely keep his eyes open. Everything’s aching, but there’snothing that particularly stands out, so he’s probably in the clear.

“Concussion,” Dick murmurs. “I think. Besidesthat, bruises.”

“Stay awake,” Bruce reminds him. “Help’s on theway.”

Dick wants to laugh bitterly. What help?Batman and Robin are sitting here, in a warehouse, hands tied behind theirbacks. Figuratively and literally. The Justice League is off world,too—and even if they weren’t, they probably couldn’t get away with saving Bruceand Dick out of the blue without good reason—and Barbara’s not in town, either.At some college camp thing she’s been raving about for a good month.

Their only help would be the police, but wouldthe GCPD even be able to—

“FREEZE!” a familiar voice shouts, and Dicksags even further. Commissioner Gordon. The GCPD. Cops. There’s a scuffle thatDick can’t bother to pay attention to, and he just lets himself go for a fewseconds.

He realizes now that he’d been preparinghimself to figure out a plan to get him and Bruce out of here. He’d beenthinking that there’d been no other option but to save themselves, and somepart of Dick feels so bitter about it. When had he stopped trusting thecops to do their jobs?

Maybe. Maybe, he needs to put a little moretrust into the cops. Maybe.

Commissioner Gordon’s always been someone whohe’s trusted without question, never doubting that the man was trying his bestto work with the hand he’d been dealt with, and there’s no way that the manwould ever leave Bruce and Dick to the wolves, right?

And there are good cops, too. Officers he’sworked and chatted with. Ones that send him small smiles every time he cracks ajoke or tries to banter with the dark stone wall that’s Batman.

When had he become so jaded, that hedidn’t trust anyone else to come for them? Is it a product of spending too muchtime with Bruce, or is it because he’s spent the past few months arguingwith Bruce. He’s not sure if he knows, and he doesn’t like the picture eitherpaints.

“Dick?” Bruce says. His name again. It takesanother moment to register, but then Dick jerks his head up, pries his eyesopen to see Bruce’s worried expression swimming in front of his face. Someone’sundone the ropes on both of them, and Bruce is crouching in front of him.There’s blood on his face, and he looks so—scared. He looks scared. “Youwith me, chum?”

“Yeah,” Dick breathes. He doesn’t dare nod.“Yeah, I’m with you.”

Bruce nods, something that almost looks likerelief on his face. Except, that’s too many emotions for Bruce Wayne. ForBatman. He’s got like, three, and Dick’s pretty sure relief’s not one of them.Hasn’t been for a long time.

“I’m proud of you,” Bruce tells him, and it’squiet.

Dick’s lips twist into a grimace. “I didn’t doanything. The police saved us.”

“You opened your eyes.” Bruce’s hand hesitatesjust a beat, and then he’s pushing Dick’s hair away from his forehead. “Youstayed awake.”

“Barely.”

“You still did it.”

Dick hums, and he lets himself tilt forward,burying his nose into Bruce’s shirt. His hands are free, though he has norecollection of that actually happening. But he brings them up, twisting hisfingers into Bruce’s shirt as Bruce hesitantly pulls him in for a hug.

They’re both so bad at this, now. That easinessfrom the early years is gone, replaced with the tension from months of arguing,but as Dick lets himself melt into his dad’s arms, everything from just hourscomes rushing back—

A gala. One where Dick’s expected to play theLucky Charity Case. They’re stormed by gunmen. Gordon’s furious face. Gunmensurrounding Bruce, aiming a gun at his temple. Dick’s heart leaps into histhroat, and he wants to slip away, thinking maybe he could come back as Robinand do something other than stand here uselessly, but one of the gunmen seeshim when he tries to duck away, and he’s told to—

“Stop! Or I blow daddy’s brains out, brat!”

Bruce’s eyes are hard, gaze flicking to thedoor closest to Dick. A clear sign to run and not worry about Bruce. Like hell.Dick doesn’t go anywhere.

Dick only has a second to register the butt ofthe gun swinging at him before his world explodes with pain. He hears distantshouting and there’s this nauseating feeling of being carried over someone’sshoulders.

Bruce’s voice breaks through his haze, just fora moment. Just a burst, of “Don’t you dare touch my son!” and then the darktrickles in, and Dick knows no more.

“Are you okay?” Dick wonders, his voice barelya whisper as he murmurs into Bruce’s shirt. He’s not even sure his words wereactually audible, but Bruce seems to understand, anyways.

“Am I okay?” Bruce asks, something likedisbelief in his voice. It’s hard to tell when Dick still has trouble focusingon anything but the way his heart is hammering in his chest and his breathwon’t stay steady no matter how many breathing techniques he tries.

“Bruce,” Dick pleads, grip on the fabrictightening. “Please.”

Bruce is quiet a moment, and then, “I’m fine.The paramedics are here to look at you.”

Dick feels a stab of irritation. He doesn’twant paramedics. He wants—well. He wants to not move. He wants to sleep. Hewants him and Bruce to stop fighting all the damn time. He wants to have onepatrol where Bruce doesn’t give him a stupid order that makes it seem likeDick’s not trustworthy.

“Fuck the paramedics,” Dick decides.

“Dick,” Bruceis quick to reprimand, but Dick cuts him off before Bruce can go anywhere.

“I just wanna go home,” Dick tells him, lettinggo of the front of Bruce’s shirt to snake his arms around Bruce’s back andshove himself into a proper hug. Bruce, luckily, doesn’t let go. He just sighs.“Bruce, please. Just let me go home.”

“You’re hurt, Dick.” There’s a frown in Bruce’svoice.

“Please,” Dicksays. His head is so messed up and he has about zero control over his emotions,and if this goes on any longer, Dick’s afraid he’s going to start crying. As itis, he’s practically blubbering already. “Alfred can. I just. Please. Bruce.”

Bruce’s hold tightens, one hand going to gentlycup the back of Dick’s head. “Just let them look you over, Dick,” Bruce says,and. There’s a hitch to his breath. A weakness to it that no one but maybeAlfred and Clark would pick up on. “You’re hurt.”

Scared, Dick’s brain reminds him. Bruce hadlooked scared. Probably still is. Dick swallows past a lump in his throat, andhe knows that the only way Bruce is going to be okay is if Dick agrees. Hedoesn’t want to, everything in him wanting to rebel against Bruce again andagain until Bruce stops suffocating him and starts trusting him, but he alsoloves Bruce like a dad. Enough that he can hardly stand to hear that tremble,even concussed as he is.

“Okay,” Dick finally relents. “But you have tostay with me. And then we go home.”

Bruce’s fingers run through his hair again, andDick can feel his movements when he nods. “Paramedics, and then we go home,”Bruce agrees.

[imagitory]

Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi Review [Spoilers]

Hey all! So I just got back from seeing The Last Jedi, so I can finally put my two-cents in on the newest installment of the trilogy. Before getting into spoilers, I will say this film is a worthy addition to the franchise, building upon concepts from previous movies while also creating new, creative imagery for this film that fits alongside the stuff that came before it. While I successfully guessed a few twists this film took, it also surprised me just as much, and I greatly appreciate that. It kept me on my toes the entire time. Overall, I would say every Star Wars fan will get something great out of this, even if they end up not liking the film as a whole.

Now then...spoilers ahead. Beware, all ye who enter here.

The Good!

+These action scenes...DAMN! I think they were easily some of the most creative and thrilling in the entire film series. Rose and Finn’s chase through intergalactic Las Vegas Canto Bight, the opening battle with the fighter jets, the confrontation at the rebel base, and the battle between Rey, Kylo Ren, and the First Order officers were all fantastic. The effects were spot-on, the music matched the movement perfectly, and the choreography of both the CGI and the actors was really well-done.

+Mark Hamill as Luke. I mean, yeah -- what can you say here except “duh?” Mark really went above and beyond here. Yes, I knew I was going to love seeing him as Luke again for nostalgic reasons, but what I love most is how much more depth Mark brought to the character, after all of the trials and tribulations he’s gone through between the films. He depicted a character who most would think would solely be a mentor figure, given his age and his beloved status, but who it turns out has his own learning curve to take on. He needs to acknowledge that while the Jedi were flawed, their philosophy shouldn’t just be completely thrown out and their old religion shouldn’t just be forgotten -- there are pieces that are still of use and should be passed on. It’s something Rey also realizes, and Kylo does not -- Kylo wants to burn everything down, including the past, regardless of the shreds of good there might be in that past along with the bad. And like Rey, as much as I was sad to see Luke go, I felt peace as it was happening. He is now one with the Force. Now he can guide Rey into the future and haunt Kylo for his mistakes -- both of which I will support him in wholeheartedly.

+Carrie Fisher as Leia. This truly was a shining performance -- I feel so beyond blessed that she was able to finish shooting her scenes before her sudden death, because hail to the motherfucking Queen, baby. When the Rebel bridge got blown up with Leia inside (good touch having it be Kylo’s men and not Kylo who did it, by the by), I literally felt myself stop breathing. But then she FLOATED HERSELF BACK TO THE SHIP TO SAVE HERSELF AND HOLY SHIT. It was actually eerie seeing Leia unconscious on the ship, as I couldn’t help but think of how Carrie had also been in a coma just before she passed...it was beyond merciful that Leia survived in this installment, and that she got to kick so much ass here. I do wonder how the filmmakers are going to handle her loss in the next movie...but wow, am I glad we got to see Carrie one last time on film, especially when she gave such a good performance.

+The focus on Poe. Honestly, Poe Dameron didn’t get that much attention in The Force Awakens, and I’m glad he got his proper share of spotlight here. I love the arc he went through and how he came to appreciate Vice Admiral Holdo’s leadership, even despite their differing approaches and distrust of each other. I think he’ll truly be able to step into Leia’s shoes as leader of the Rebellion in the future, now that he’s learned the value of human life over glory.

+The theme of rebellion being a symbol of hope to the oppressed, best exemplified by Rose and the other marginalized citizens of intergalactic Las Vegas Canto Bight. Yeah, I keep referencing Las Vegas when I talk about that planet, and yeah, they clearly modeled the look of the wealthy casinos and buildings off of it...but after having visited Vegas recently, and since I’m living in another wealthy tourist town myself (Anaheim), I must applaud the fact that they modeled the planet’s ugly underbelly to the same one that you can find in Vegas and cities like it, and actually took the time to discuss it. Where there is obscene wealth, there is also sickening, crippling poverty; where there is privilege, there will always be abuse. It ties back into the lesson Luke taught Rey about light and darkness -- how they constantly balance each other. But just like how Rey and Kylo mirror each other, being strong in the light and the darkness respectively, so too can rebellion become an equal to tyranny...and the end of the movie with the children likewise invigorated to take on the fight about to come left me feeling empowered.

+Finn’s arc from solely focusing on his friends and himself to seeing the Rebellion as something just as important to fight for. I’ve always seen Finn as a Hufflepuff or a Slytherin, morality-wise, in that he values his inner-circle over the whole world, but it was really neat to have him learn about how the world must be safe in order for the things he loves to be safe too.

+Kylo Ren killing Snoke. It felt in character and I think it will allow Kylo to go darker and become the real Big-Bad of the trilogy, since he won’t have to skirt around Snoke’s coattails anymore. Plus, admittedly, I always found Snoke sort of disappointing as Star Wars villains go, and I think it establishes how very treacherous the First Order is -- Kylo turned on Snoke, so who is to say Hux or any of his other subordinates won’t turn on Kylo? Unlike the Rebellion, whose bonds are strengthening, we’re already getting the hint of just how fragile the bonds binding the First Order together are...and that means Kylo has no one who he can truly rely on, unlike Rey, who of course has friends she can trust.

+I like that for all of the “mirroring” this film tried to do with Rey and Kylo, Rey still refused to follow him. She’s strong enough in herself and her moral compass to use her head and not trust him, even if he tries to lure her with knowledge of her parents and a promise of companionship. (I mean, seriously, Rey -- who gives a damn about your deadbeat parents, Finn and Poe and Chewie and BB-8 and Leia love you like few other things in this world! They’re your real family!)

+All of the actors gave very strong performances. I can honestly not pick out any weak links here -- they all gave it their all.

+The hacker character DJ I hope pops up again in the next movie. He seems like an interesting chaotic neutral character and since he didn’t get much of a resolution in this film, I look forward to what he’ll get in the next one.

+FINN KICKED CAPTAIN PHASMA’S ASS, HELLZ YEAH, THAT’S MY BOY. (Also, good to see Phasma having more screen time than in the last movie, even if it still wasn’t that much.)

The Not-So-Good...

+All the Reylo shipper fuel. *dodges knives* OKAY -- LISTEN. I do not support Rey/Kylo, and I probably never will, but shipping aside, here’s my problem with it -- the film did not properly convey why Rey has forgiven Kylo enough to let him into her mind. I’m sorry, it just didn’t. Kylo killed his father -- Rey’s mentor -- one of the first three protagonists that we all fell in love with in the original trilogy -- who went to bring his son back to the Light, only to get stabbed through the chest for his trouble. I just didn’t feel anything close to what Rey did when she started going, “Why? Why did you do it?” and questioning why Kylo destroyed the Jedi Temple -- I’m sorry, all I saw from Kylo in this film is that he was conflicted, not that he was sorry or had any interest in fixing his mistakes. It doesn’t matter if killing his father was painful for him -- it should be. He committed first-degree patricide. Feeling bad for your actions alone is not enough -- you then have to do something about it -- and Kylo did not do that. It felt like in some ways they were trying to parallel Padme and Anakin, where Padme likewise fruitlessly implores Anakin to come back to the Light Side even though it’s too late -- but there are a million and one differences between Anakin and Kylo, most relevant in this case being that Anakin’s reason to not turn back was out of misguided love for Padme (and later because he had no choice, since he’d alienated all of his allies and his suit basically left him tethered to Darth Sidious and the Empire), and that Kylo’s was to assert his loyalty to Snoke (and later to take vengeance against those who wronged him and assert his power). Anakin was trying to protect one of the people that meant the world to him after having known so little love in his life, while Kylo had a family who supported him, taught him, and trained him and he decided that Snoke’s approval and his own pride were more important than that. Anakin was raised to think that he was nothing -- a worthless slave -- while Kylo knew likely from the time he was very little that he was special and decided to act out because of it. Anakin’s initial fall was out of ignorance and a selfish kind of love, but Kylo’s was out of active vengeance, teenage angst, privileged frustration, and a toxic need to dominate and control. Snoke was right when he said that Kylo was no Vader, and that he instead was just a child -- he’s too immature to even acknowledge that his rationale for falling to the Dark Side and doing what he did was WRONG AND EVIL AND STUPID. That’s why I still don’t forgive Kylo Ren, that’s why I don’t think Rey should’ve been as open to him as she was, and that’s why I was satisfied by the ending where Kylo proved himself to be just as vile as I always thought he was, by blaming Snoke’s death on Rey so he can take over the First Order himself and go about terrorizing the galaxy. Someone who was truly sorry for what he’d done and had the capacity to change would’ve at the very least taken the “Zuko Alone” route and tried to recollect himself and redefine a new moral code that he can follow. As of now, the way things are now, I hope that in the final movie Kylo Ren burns, leaving nothing behind but a pile of ash, same as the Jedi Temple he burned to the ground.

+Rose/Finn. I know a few other people have said this, but...yeah. It was WAY too rushed. Honestly, the only thing I can hope for is that in the next film, Finn has to politely turn Rose’s feelings down, because honestly there was just not enough romantic chemistry built up between the two characters. I’m not a rabid Poe/Finn or Finn/Rey shipper, but I still think either of those couples had much more behind them than what this film gave Finn/Rose. Maybe this couple could’ve been written better, maybe it couldn’t have been, but regardless, it was a misstep for this film, the way it was handled.

+C3PO and R2D2 were pretty much dead weight in this movie. BB-8 remained relevant and necessary throughout the runtime, but our old veterans were basically props. They didn’t even really get that many laughs.

+Porgs may be cute, but...wow, were they oddly forgettable. I liked the crystal foxes (Vulptex?) much better.

I definitely look forward to seeing how this new trilogy ends. The messages and action of this movie definitely make me eager to see how the filmmakers will follow it up, and I hope that the few problems I did have are properly addressed. The new Star Wars trilogy is truly exciting...the possibility and potential for the next one truly are limitless, as far as I can see.

Overall Grade: B

[ahvarchive]

under the cut are examples of companion banter / dialogue with companion!ahv!!

COLE.

Cole: Blood on my hands.  It’s beautiful in the sun.  She’s beautiful in the sun.  Tuelanen, ar lath ash.  Tuelanen — Ahvir: Cole. Cole: It wasn’t your fault. Ahvir: Stop.  Please.

IF PRESENT:

Varric: Kid, let it rest. Solas: Cole, she does not wish to hear this. Sera: …Shite. Dorian: My condolences.

///

Cole: Want her to be safe.  Mythal’enaste, she’s a mage.  If they think she’s a mage they’ll — Ahvir: Cole! Cole: Smells like sunlight in her hair.  Magic?  Or her?  She looks so bright when she casts.  How could they call that evil?  Won’t let them touch her. Ahvir: Cole, STOP! Cole: She didn’t want you to hurt. Ahvir: [ quietly ] I didn’t want her to…it doesn’t matter.  Let it rest, Cole.  Please.

///

Cole: [ singing ] Iras ma ghilas, da'len, ara ma'nedan ashir? Ahvir: [ singing ] Dirthara lothlenan'as bal emma mala dir. Cole: I’m sorry.  I don’t sound like her. Ahvir: It’s a nice thought, Cole.

IF PRESENT:

Sera: Pfft.  You’ve even got the demon acting elfy. Ahvir: My mamae sang me that lullaby, Sera.  I miss her.  He was trying to help. Sera: — Oh.

///

Ahvir: Cole, was that…were you the one who fixed my bracelet? Cole: You thought it was like losing her.  It didn’t mean you loved her any less. Ahvir: — Ma serannas.

///

Cole: You don’t have to put yourself between me and them. Ahvir: I know. Cole: You do it, anyway. Ahvir: I know. Cole: She wouldn’t want you to want that. Ahvir: — I know.

///

( if the clan was lost ) Cole: There are so many of them.  I’m so glad she isn’t here.  Tuelenan, keep her safe.  One lives. Ahvir: What? Cole: Keeper Deshanna. Ahvir: — Ah. Cole: She was glad you weren’t there when the humans came. Ahvir: I could have done something.  I could have protected them. Cole: Breathing, stabbing, blood in throat.  I’m so sorry, da’len.  So sorry. Cole: She wanted you to live.  She was sorry that she made you hurt.

///

Ahvir: Are you alright, Cole?  You took a pretty bad hit that last fight. Cole: [ surprised ] It doesn’t hurt. Ahvir: [ laughing ] That doesn’t mean you’re not injured Cole: He sounds like her.  I sound like her?  I’m sorry. Ahvir: No, it’s — don’t be sorry.  I’m glad. Ahvir: I’m glad you’re so good.  She was good, too.

VARRIC.

Ahvir: So, Varric… Varric: Uh oh. Ahvir: I haven’t even said anything yet! Varric: If you’re asking for spoilers to books, I’m not giving any.  Not even to you, Dawn. Ahvir: Fenedhis!

///

Varric: Tuelenan.  What does that mean, Dawn? Ahvir: It means CREATORS.  The gods. Varric: Ah.  Speaking of, do you Dalish have any weird curses for them? Ahvir: Like your “Maker’s bursting blackheads!” and such? Varric: Yeah, exactly!  I’ve got a new character in my book, real irreverent elf type.  Wanna know how I can have him curse. Ahvir: Hmm…the closest I can think of is Tuelenan, ha'lam'shir em'an. Ahvir: Literally it means Creators, end us, but in context it’s more like — Ahvir: Creators, just fucking kill me because you’ve fucked me over so much already that you might as well just finish the job. Varric: Andraste’s flaming ass! Ahvir: Mhmm.

///

Varric: So your clans don’t cross each other very often, do they? Ahvir: It isn’t rare, but it doesn’t happen often.  Why? Varric: Just wondering if you might have met another Dalish friend of mine.  She was a first, too.  She reminds me of you. Ahvir: What was her name? Varric: Merrill.   Ahvir: Oh, no.  The one from your book?  I’ve never met her, ir abelas. Varric: Ah, well.

///

Varric: So, Dawn.  You read my books. Ahvir: I do. Varric: Good to know I’ve got a Dalish audience. Ahvir: I would buy the books when we traded with humans.  I liked to read the stories to the children.  Though I…usually changed the character names so they could be Elven. Ahvir: Not that there’s anything wrong with your stories!  There just aren’t many elf heroes that aren’t from centuries ago.  I don’t want the children to think… Varric: It’s fine, Ahv.  

///

Varric: So…did the kids like my books? Ahvir: Yes, though they wondered why the bad guys just kept dropping out from nowhere. Varric: Everyone’s a critic.

IF PRESENT:

Iron Bull: I knew it wasn’t just me!

CASSANDRA.

Ahvir: So you’re basically a Templar, right? Cassandra: [ sighs ] No.  Our abilities are similar, but not the same. Ahvir: I’m more talking about general disposition. Ahvir: You don’t trust mages, do you? Cassandra: I… Ahvir: That’s what I thought.

///

Cassandra: Ahvir? Ahvir: Hm? Cassandra: I could not give you a proper answer before.  I don’t distrust mages. Ahvir: Truly? Cassandra: Distrust comes from fear.  I am not afraid. Ahvir: Are you unafraid because you know we’re not all evil power - hungry maleficar - in - the - making, or because you’ve killed enough of us to know you can do it again? Cassandra: I —…

IF PRESENT:

Varric: Just keep sticking your foot in your mouth, Seeker. Cole: Both?

///

Cassandra: Ahvir, do you truly believe I’d kill you? Ahvir: — No. Ahvir: Because you know me, now.  But I believe you’d be quicker to kill a stranger if you knew they were a mage than you’d be to kill a stranger that you knew to be a warrior. Ahvir: You still think of us as being monsters, somewhere.  We need to earn our way into your good graces.  We need to earn it for you to look at us as people. Ahvir: That isn’t right. Cassandra: …You’re right.  It isn’t.

///

Ahvir: Agh, fenedhis. Cassandra: Ahvir? Ahvir: I’m fine.  I healed this wound in a hurry and it just reopened.   Cassandra: Should we stop? Ahvir: No, I can get it while we walk.  I’m fine. Cassandra: Self - destruction doesn’t suit you. Ahvir: Worrying over nothing doesn’t suit you, either. Ahvir: — Ma serannas.

///

Ahvir: Cass, that was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen! Cassandra: What? Ahvir: You, covered in blood, hacking that monster to bits! Ahvir: I almost swooned. Cassandra: I — do not know what to say to that.

IF PRESENT:

Sera: Can’t believe me and Elfy have something in common. Ahvir: Pfft! Cassandra: Maker help me.

SERA.

( immediately after a battle. ) Ahvir: Fen’harel ma ghilana. Sera: [ mockingly ] Fenny ma gill halla. Ahvir: — What? Sera: It all sounds like gibberish to me, anyway. Ahvir: Weird.  ‘Cause that’s what I hear when you open your mouth, too.

IF PRESENT:

Solas: The Dread Wolf guides BOTH of you.

///

Ahvir: You’re not interested in our history?  Not at all?  Even the little bits? Sera: Nope. Ahvir: Why not? Sera: Why are you? Ahvir: Because it’s who we are!  Who we were!  And it’s all gone — out culture, our homes, our language. Sera: Yeah, exactly.  It’s all gone.  Why hang onto it when we could be movin’ forward, right?  What’s gone doesn’t matter.  What matters is what’s COMING.

///

Ahvir: Sera, you should grow your hair out. Sera: [ suspicious ] Why?  Is this some weird elfy thing where everyone has to have long hair? Ahvir: [ laughing ] No, Sera.  Your hair just looks nice.  I’d like to braid it. Sera: Oh.  I — nobody’s ever done anything with my hair before. Ahvir: …I think I could do little braids even now, or some other design.  Could be fun. Sera: I’ll…think about it.

///

Ahvir: Okay, top this one.  Once, I scared all of the clan’s hunters half to death with a bear imitation.  They all ran crying back to the aravels. Sera: Get out! Ahvir: No, swear.   Sera: Do the bear imitation now! Ahvir: It’s been a couple years… Sera: Just try it! Ahvir: [ clears her throat ] Ahvir: [ ROAR! ] Sera: Shite!

IF PRESENT:

Iron Bull: We could weaponize that. Varric: Just point Dawn at the bears and we’ll never have to fight another one.

DORIAN.

Ahvir: Dorian, you owned slaves, didn’t you? Doran: [ sighs ] Not me, personally.  But yes, my family owned them.  We treated them well. Ahvir: Treated them WELL?  There’s no way to treat someone well while denying them their personhood! Ahvir: Oh, well, how wonderful that you didn’t rape and beat your objects!  You were still making people into THINGS. Dorian: We are not all evil mustache - twirling villains, I promise you.  That’s just me.

///

Ahvir: Don’t brush me aside when I’m trying to talk about things that matter. Dorian: Brush you aside?  Perish the thought. Ahvir: I suppose you probably just aren’t used to having to respect the speech of elves. Dorian: That isn’t — !! Ahvir: Brush you aside?  Perish the thought.

///

Dorian: You were right to be frustrated with me. Ahvir: What?   Dorian: I was being — I was unworthy.  I shouldn’t have just brushed aside your words as though they didn’t matter.  You have my apologies. Ahvir: …Huh.  Wow. Dorian: Is something the matter? Ahvir: I don’t think a shem has ever apologized to me before.

///

Dorian: The — vallaslin.  Am I saying that right? Ahvir: Close enough. Dorian: They represent your gods, correct? Ahvir: Yes.  Each of us takes on the vallaslin of the god we favor, or the one we feel favors us. Ahvir: …Though the process is painful, so some just get very complicated vallaslin to appear tougher to the rest of the clan. Dorian: [ laughing ] Good to know some things are the same across cultures.

///

Ahvir: Dorian!  Your kohl!  It’s smudged. Dorian: Oh, no.   Ahvir: Don’t worry, I can fix it when we get to camp. Dorian: And I have to spend the entire trek there looking like a hopeless wreck!  Perish the thought! Ahvir: [ laughing ] You still look fine, I promise. Dorian: But my eyes aren’t being properly emphasized!

THE IRON BULL.

Ahvir: Bull, do you mind if I ask you something? Iron Bull: What’s up? Ahvir: My Keeper once told me that the Qunari chain their mages and bind them.  But you don’t seem afraid of me at all.  Why is that? Iron Bull: Magic is a lot scarier coming out of somebody seven feet tall with horns, Ahv. Ahvir: But the magic we do is the same.  I could learn to do Qunari magic as easily as Dalish magic, or Circle magic.   Iron Bull: Are you TRYING to make me scared of you?

///

Ahvir: You never told me why you’re not afraid of me. Iron Bull: I did.  It’s because you’re damn short. Ahvir: You don’t expect me to believe that. Iron Bull: [ sighs ] Honestly?  I’ve met a lot more shitty warriors in my life than I’ve met shitty mages.  Spending so long away from the Qun, surrounded by pretty decent mages, you sorta forget they’re all potential monsters. Ahvir: …I think you just insulted me.

IF PRESENT:

Dorian: I’m SURE he just insulted me.

///

Iron Bull: Have you ever burned your eyebrows off doing magic or something? Ahvir: Absolutely.  When I was learning I was always singing hair and eyebrows and such.   Iron Bull: Glad you’re good enough not to light ME on fire. Ahvir: Whoops, my staff is slipping — ! Iron Bull: Ahv! Ahvir: [ laughs ]

IF PRESENT:

Cole: The Iron Bull, a slipping staff wouldn’t cast fire on its own… Iron Bull: I know, kid.  It’s part of the joke. Cole: Oh.

///

Iron Bull: Ahvir, did you leave the flower crown on my bed? Ahvir: What!  So you did get it!  I thought when I didn’t see you wearing it someone must have taken it or something! Iron Bull: I still have it, but I’m not sure it’d look it’d inspire fear in my enemies enough to wear out and about. Ahvir: Krem said that if I made him one, he’d wear it.

VIVIENNE.

Ahvir: So, Viv — Vivienne: Vivienne. Ahvir: Don’t care. Vivienne: Then I don’t care to hear what you have to say.

///

Ahvir: So, Vivienne — Vivienne: Much better Ahvir: If you’re so sure mages need to be locked up, what do you think of we Dalish?  We’re not overrun with blood mages and abominations.  Are we merely flukes? Vivienne: Please, dear, don’t pretend your people don’t fear mages same as anyone.  You force excess mages from your ranks rather than house them. Ahvir: You think we do that because we FEAR MAGIC?  You don’t know anything, you damn SHEM — agh.  If I talk about this I’m going to light you on fire.   Vivienne: You’re welcome to try. Ahvir: AGH!

///

Ahvir: It isn’t because we fear magic. Vivienne: — Then what else is it, dear? Ahvir: Clans get decimated all the time.  Entire clans, murdered.  The shems don’t even need a justification. Ahvir: Rabbit hunting.  It’s easy.  No one bats an eye. Ahvir: You really think we wouldn’t have even more knights eager to kill us if half of the clan was made up of fucking apostates? Ahvir: If we didn’t keep the mages numbers down, we would be opening ourselves up to more violence, and if we want to survive we can’t do that.  We don’t fear magic.   Ahvir: We fear humans. Vivienne: — I had no idea. Ahvir: No.  You didn’t.  So keep your mouth shut about things you know nothing about.

SOLAS.

Solas: Mah’vir. Ahvir: [ laughing ] Solas: Odd that your parents would name you for the future when your people seek to regain what is lost to the past. Ahvir: I came late.  The Keeper and the healers kept telling my mother I’d be born tomorrow, tomorrow.  Mahvir, mahvir. Ahvir: When I was finally born, all she could think was that mahvir had finally come.  “Ma Ahvir has finally come.” Solas: Ah.  It’s a beautiful story. Ahvir: …I miss her.

///

Ahvir: Solas, do you shave your head, or are you naturally bald? Solas: Does it matter? Ahvir: I’m mostly wondering; if you shave your head, does that mean you shave everywhere else?  [ flirtatious ] Everywhere? Solas: Are you twelve? Ahvir: [ laughing ]

///

Ahvir: Such a shame these ruins have fallen apart.  I wonder what this place once was. Solas: Some things are best left to the past. Ahvir: I don’t believe that. Solas: You are still young.

///

Ahvir: Why do you hate my People so much, Solas? Solas: Who said I hated them? Ahvir: You look at them the way my Keeper looked at the human children who called her rabbit.  Angry and disappointed and disgusted, but supposing them too ignorant to be blamed. Solas: …Ah.   Ahvir: If my People have ever called you flat - ear or the like, ir abelas.  But — Solas: It is not that.

BLACKWALL.

Ahvir: Are you hurt, Blackwall? Blackwall: I’m fine, Ahvir, don’t you worry. Ahvir: It must be punishing, drawing all the attention on the battlefield. Blackwall: It’s easy to do with a sword this big. Ahvir: [ snickering ]

IF PRESENT:

Solas: Honestly? Sera: PFFT!! Cole: It is a big sword.

///

Ahvir: So.  Thom Rainier. Blackwall: Yes. Ahvir: You’re a liar and a murderer.  Are you really trying to make amends, or just trying to keep out of trouble? Blackwall: …A little of both, probably.  Much as I’d like to believe myself noble. Ahvir: At least you admit it.  More than most humans.

///

Blackwall: I feel you glaring at me. Ahvir: I can’t stop thinking about you murdering a bunch of children for coin.  About you letting your men suffer for you. Ahvir: You were supposed to lead them and you left them for dead. Ahvir: You’re pathetic. Blackwall: [ snapping ] I know all of this, Ahvir, I don’t need the reminder.  I’m sure you’ve sinned before.  At least I am trying to make amends.

///

Ahvir: …Ir abelas. Blackwall: Pardon? Ahvir: I’m sorry.  For being cruel.  You’ve made mistakes and you’re trying to fix it, and I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry. Blackwall: Not as though I didn’t deserve it. Ahvir: I wonder if we’re more alike than either of us know.

///

( if a battle has just finished and ahvir is at very low health ) Ahvir: Fe — Fenedhis. Blackwall: Are you alright? Ahvir: I’m fine.  Just hurts like a bitch. Blackwall: Should we rest? Ahvir: If you want to carry me in your arms, you’re welcome to.  Then I can get a really good look at your beautiful eyes and plush lips. Blackwall: — You must be injured. Ahvir: I’ll have you know I’m an obnoxious flirt whether I’m close to death or not.

MISC.

( if the inquisitor goes down ) Ahvir: No!  I won’t let anyone else die! Ahvir: Fenedhis!  He/She’s down! Ahvir: Inquisitor! Ahvir: Someone help the Inquisitor! Ahvir: Shit, my barrier failed!

( if ahvir is very low health ) Ahvir: Shit… Ahvir: That’s a lot of blood… Ahvir: I can’t go on like this. Ahvir: Rem…? Ahvir: Tuelenan, ver em!

( upon being revived ) Ahvir: Huh?  I thought I was back with… Ahvir: Thanks. Ahvir: Ma serrannas. Ahvir: Fenedhis, that hurts.

( entering redcliffe the first time ) Ahvir: This is where the mages came?  I’ve read the stories…was this really the best place for a bunch of mages?

( if the inquisitor goes to recruit the templars after speaking to dorian ) Ahvir: You’re just leaving the mages to fall to Tevinter?

( if the inquisitor conscripted the mages ) Ahvir: They’re prisoners again, just like they were in their towers.  I hope you’re happy.

( if the inquisitor allied with the templars / did not disband them ) Ahvir: Good to know you’d throw your weight behind the group literally built to see people like me culled.

( if something is in the area ) Ahvir: Elf…senses…tingling… Ahvir: I thought I saw something over there. Ahvir: Hm.

( destroying red lyrium ) Ahvir: That’s for my clan. Ahvir: That’s for Isenni. Ahvir: Ir abelas, Lehel. Ahvir: Mamae, Bae.…

( killing red templars ) Ahvir: That’s for my family, you bastard. Ahvir: You killed them!

( killing templars ) Ahvir: That’s for her. Ahvir: FUCKING DIE!

( hostile greeting ) Ahvir: Make it quick. Ahvir: What? Ahvir: Do you need my help again? ( if the inquisitor is human ) Ahvir: Did you need something, shem?

( cold / neutral greeting ) Ahvir: What can I do for you? Ahvir: You need something? Ahvir: What’s going on?

( warm greeting ) Ahvir: You’re back! Ahvir: I’m glad to see you again. Ahvir: Aneth ara.

( friendly greeting ) Ahvir: Lethalan / lethalin! Ahvir: I missed you! Ahvir: I’m glad you’ve come to see me. Ahvir: You’re looking wonderful, as always.

( romanced greeting ) Ahvir: Vhenan! Ahvir: I’m so glad you’re here, ara’lin. Ahvir: My heart jumps into my throat whenever I see you.  Isn’t that funny? Ahvir: I adore you.

[linkspooky]

Touka Kirishima and the Rotting Womb

The two biggest pieces of evidence for what is next about to happen to Touka lies in the colored cover art for this chapter of Tokyo Ghoul, and a poem translated by michi here [x] attached to the Yomo, Touka and Ayato birthday art.

Starting with the art, the most immediate eye catching area is Touka’s bloodied stomach.

Starting with the art, the most immediate eye catching area is Touka’s bloodied stomach.

Blood on the stomach is typically a feminine symbol, it does not have to necessarily mean being stabbed through the stomach. It could also mean menustruation and miscarriage, however, what comes to mind with deliberately invoking a symbol of miscarriage on Touka is what miscarriage means in a literal sense “A new life being cut short.”

Returning to the top of the image, those are white sakura blossoms with the phrase “Bloom for me, a flower of my own.”

Cherry or Sakura blossoms in japanese culture have a lot of meanings, but the most relevant to the situation is this one:

Cherry blossoms are a symbolic flower of the spring, a time of renewal, and the fleeting nature of life. Their life is very short. After their beauty peaks around two weeks, the blossoms start to fall. [x]

This meaning of a “beautiful life cut short” could possibly apply to Touka if there were upcoming danger to her, or even to her and Kaneki’s relationship if their sudden chance at growth was taken away by Mutsuki’s interference.  For example in the film 5 cm per second, cherry blossoms were used to symbolize a promising new relationship cut short.

Touka’s even referred to within this same chapter as beautiful, once again.

One thing I will note though is that the words:

“Bloom for me, a flower of my own”

Become foreboding if you realize that flowers in Tokyo Ghoul, and especially flowers blooming have always been a shorthand symbol for blood splatter and tragedy.

They were used here:

and here:

finally here:

Finally though, to the poem. The birthday poem written by Ishida is entitled: “ Her womb smelled like it was burnt.”

Which goes along nicely with the miscarriage and feminine symbolism already being associated with Touka in this image. A lot of the allusions described in this poem also correspond to events that have been happening recently in canon.

To the point where I am now convinced that the narrator of the poem rather than Kaneki, is Touka herself.

The children who were meant to be born, died. The vision of the future convulses. Someone declared that they’ll crush only half of the broad bean. The gene is in a severe bipolar state. The nucleic acid sequence having no recollection of its own actions.

The children who were meant to be born could be referring to the ghouls from Aogiri. Touka herself is witness not only to ghouls and children being born into this world dying early, even herself being subjected to violence early as a child as CCG officers tried to kill her.

Someone declared they will only crush half the broad bean is Kaneki. It’s two of his most famous lines combined together “I’ll only half kill you” and “I’ll pluck the rotted beans.”

The gene is in a severe bipolar state is also Kaneki, somebody who switches haphazardly between his ghoul and human sides even though he claims to be a person who can see both humans and ghouls. Bipolar is usually associated is Bipolar Manic Depression the mental illness, but the root of the word means “Two poles” or two opposite ends.

The nucleic acid sequence having no recollection of its own actions, that’s Haise. He had the same body as Kaneki, and the same mismatch of DNA, however he could not remember what it was he had done and Touka had to witness him in his memoryless state.

All of the fingers that were supposed to be connected from start to end, are scattered around; it’s annoying.

If you look closely at the knot, you can see that it can be surprisingly easy to untie.

This is referring to Touka’s family itself, even the threadbare remaints of it, Yomo, Ayato and herself she has a difficult time trying to keep them all together. All Touka wants is for the people to love to stay around and love her in return, and she feels also that her family should have stuck around, it should have been simple but actually the ties of family aren’t so binding and they easily unwind, both Ayato and Yomo left her at different points.

I was always asked to keep the switch.

Go forward. Go back. Stop.

I can hear my voice from the mouth. That voice gave me a feeling of discomfort and it had become extremely disgusting but, no one noticed that and everyone was under the impression that it was indeed, my voice.

This is the three years of waiting Touka did. ‘Asked to keep the switch’ could refer to Touka having to host Re: and sit back and wait as the rendezvous point for both Ayato and Kaneki to eventually return to while they were allowed to move brashly ahead on their own. Even after they return though, Touka is still asked to hang back and monitor communications rather than allowing her to fight in the field.

The result is a Touka who acts much differently from the Touka we know today, and Kaneki even comments as such. The person who could act decisively and boldly for herself, the one who was always moving ahead of him scared him. It sounds a bit different to the Touka we know now in :Re who is acting as an advice dispenser and a passive source of guidance, standing in the place of Yoshimura.

The Touka that years of loneliness and abandonment has been conditioned into this current state.

Everybody accepts this change in Touka, but does Touka herself accept it? She’s at least still disatisfied with having to hang back, telling both Ayato and Kaneki when they tried to leave her out of critical moments to protect her that they didn’t need to.

Sin is irresponsible. I’m getting tired of being forgiven. My shoulders have even forgotten about my legs.

I open the door with the side of my arm.

The path that I should’ve advanced in is gone and darkness pulled onto the horizon that lay right beneath it.

This is another direct reference, when Touka was in the doorway with Yomo, Yomo explained to her that Koma and Irimi needed to die because their sins were unforgivable, but at the same time she countered why were her sins forgiven then?

“Come on, come on! Come on, come on!”

Go forward. Go back. Stop.

I can hear my voice from the bones.

“Did you know that our voice is the mixed voices from dad and mom? No wonder it’s so disgusting.”

The last part is Touka in reference to her father. Touka’s always had complex feelings about Arata, but lately she has been turning away from him entirely because she sees his decisions as what led to her abandonment.

Touka does not want to acknowledge the actions of a man who fought for a mother she barely remembers, a mother who died because of murders she did a long time ago. Despite not choosing to be, she was born a ghoul who carries the sins of those two previous ghouls as well. Touka’s always dealt with self disgust for being born a ghoul, and also her own actions.

I pinched my nose and jumped down without a pause. Just like how a child would when jumping into a pool.

Even the never-stopping rain, even the never-breaking night, even the never-ending agony.

It’s surely there, it’s just that it wasn’t there until now.

Falling down, falling down. It’s as if right has become left.

And on the brink of collision, I recall Björk’s song,

I think this is where we are at at the poem, Touka has dived in by basically lying it all bare in front of Kaneki. Approaching the point of collision could be Mutsuki, a final collision between those two plot lines.

As for a Bjork song, most assume that song is Hyperballad, the song played during the New Year’s livestream. The lyrics are a bit abstract, but basically it is about a girl throwing away things off a mountain, pieces of herself so she can be happy with someone else. At some point in the song she also considers throwing herself off of the mountain too.

I follow with my eyes 'til they crash Imagine what my body would sound like Slamming against those rocks When it lands Will my eyes Be closed or open?

I go through all this Before you wake up So I can feel happier To be safe up here with you [x]

I would say all of this foreshadowing at least points to Touka’s dissatisfaction and possibly the confrontation causing her to lose consciousness. She might even throw herself in front of Kaneki to protect him, since the person in the poem and the song both willingly throw themselves.

In conclusion though, what does a rotting womb mean in association with Touka? It means that new life that could be born from her, has suddenly hit a stopping point and that stagnation is causing her to rot. What that could mean in literal terms though, we’ll have to see as the events unfold. 

[preservationandruin]

Words of Radiance Part 1 Part 2

This is a long part, okay? It’s gonna take a few chunks to get through, especially if I keep going through things with the detail I have been. There’s just so much interesting stuff in these books, you guys.

Shallan turns a boat to water but not a stick to fire, Kaladin experiments with windrunning, and I have a fucking conniption because I forgot how early a certain antagonist shows up. 

The epigraph is Navani mentioning that they didn’t think there might be Parshendi spies among the Parshmen, which is foreshadowing for the fact that Shen is one of those spies who, mostly through luck, ended up placed in an incredibly fortuitous place. Anyway, we’re back to Shallan.

She’s observing Pattern more--he’s started talking to her. She asks what he remembers, and he says being with her with many plants, reminding her of seeing him in her father’s gardens, causing her to have a brief moment of panic and shut the thought down. Also, she apparently turned the deck green for a moment--probably a shock of uncontrolled lightweaving. Pattern is also showing the beginning of his fascination with lies.

Shallan reads some about the Nightwatcher, who is definitely a spren of some sort and definitely female (and in all likelihood linked to Cultivation, perhaps in the same way that the Stormfather is to Honor, which raises the question of if a Bondsmith could create a Nahel bond with her). Shallan is thinking that her life is coming together, which of course means that something horrible is about to happen, because none of these protagonists have calm lives where everything has come together. Like, if the main character of a book, at the beginning of a book, thinks “She had stumbled into the perfect life, and it was everything she’d wished for,” some shit’s about to go down.

Also, the spheres in her pocket were dun, probably due to aforementioned uncontrolled lightweaving. Jasnah looks haggard and tired, and is actually giving off exhaustionspren and hiding a fearspren. She accurately guesses that Shallan accidentally used the surge of illumination. Shallan also gets the book The Words of Radiance, although she never gets the chance to read it if I remember right.

So then there’s the attack on the boat. Jasnah is stabbed in the chest--I’m not sure how she survived that, but she’s tenacious and we don’t know everything she can do as an Elsecaller--Pattern suggests “sword”--the Shardblade--but Shallan refuses, and manages to use illumination with help from Pattern to distract the men. This may actually have been when Jasnah escaped as well.

And here we get one of the moments where Shallan, her back to the wall, turns out to have an iron spine. She reminds herself that nothing is worse than what she had to do the night her father died, puts her grief aside, and starts thinking about what she can do. Pattern, it should be noted, sees people killing and (much like Syl seeing betrayal) doesn’t understand it. And so she decides to soulcast the ship to save the sailors, which works because the Wind’s Pleasure wants to save its people.

Give it up for that ship, people. It wanted to stay a ship, but it didn’t want its people to die. It wanted to serve them.

And we’re back to Dalinar, on a plateau run. I’m getting a bit antsy, because I know that at some point near the beginning of this book, Szeth tries to assassinate Dalinar. Pretty sure it happens in the camp, though, so not now. Anyway, Dalinar is trying to get other Highprinces on his side while Adolin leads the charge. Also the Ryshadium horses have so much personality. I love them. Also, Dalinar is making it very clear that the highprinces have to toe the line--he invokes the name of a guy who refused to accept the unification of Alethkar, and who Gavilar had Sadeas duel and kill.

Dalinar sees Eshonai again, although he keeps assuming she’s a dude. Also--and unfortunately--the other highprince, Aladar, flat-up says that he won’t follow Dalinar willingly, because he’ll never trust the other highprinces enough. I guess we’ll see if the impending apocalypse changes that--god knows it didn’t for Sadeas. Also, a mention of “an old friend” who was going to arrive soon at the Shattered Plains, and which I know means Amaram, and I don’t like it.

Also, Kaladin’s back down in the chasms, to practice--and to train the new recruits. God, the rest of Dalinar’s army must think they’re weird as hell, but they learned how to fight in the chasms. It makes sense that’s where they teach as well. Syl also mentions that she likes the idea of re-forming the Knights Radiant, and that she’s seen “spren like red lightning” who are dangerous. Syl also gets indignant at the idea she would lie, asking if Kaladin thinks she’s “a Cryptic” before realizing she has no idea what that means. Syl does know she was the only honorspren that came--none of the others must have disobeyed the Stormfather.

We get a flashback--Shallan was eleven when she killed her mother is the overall upshot. Meaning she started surgebinding younger than eleven--she’s been doing this for a long time. We also get the lullaby and serious hints that Shallan killed her mother and the other person there. Cut to her waking up on the beach, saved by the santhid. A good friend. And like Jasnah, Shallan’s mind goes to academia first and then to the personal tragedy.

The infamous scene where Shallan tries to soulcast a stick to turn it into fire. I’m not sure there’s anything I can say here other than literally everything everyone else has said, so I’m just going to leave off this paragraph with “It remains a stick.”

But she does find the slaver camp and collapses. And then just decides to act as Jasnah would and just fucking says she will allow them to accompany her. I love this whole section. Back to Kaladin, and the spear motif of the chapters about him’s headings make me think how weirdly ubiquitous spears are as a symbol in the cosmere. I mean, it’s a common weapon, it makes sense, but what with them being a Survivorist thing on Scadrial I feel like i have a tendency to overthink their appearance. Anyway, Kaladin is practicing binding things together now. It’s interesting, the symbolic applications of the surges--I’ve talked about how Shallan changes and illuminates by drawing better versions of people and inspiring them to be them, but Kaladin also binds things and brings them upward--like with Bridge Four. Dalinar brings things together and whatever the other surge is?

Right, Tension. Which, uh, according to the ars arcanum, is “Soft Axial Interconnection.” I got nothing. I am not a physics person.

Anyway, Rock can see spren, which is implied to be a Horneater thing. His term is alaii’iku. Also both Rock and Lopen think chull head is the best part to eat and Kaladin is perplexed. He has Rock, Lopen, and Sigzil all try to attack him, culminating in Rock somehow swinging an entire log at him.

Okay fun fact here I saw the beginning of the sentence, said to Kaladin, “A hero has come to the Shattered Plains! He’s going to meet with Brightlord Kholin, perhaps--”

And, I shit you not, my blood ran cold and I said, out loud, deeply confusing my hapless roommate, “oH NO OH NO OH SHIT OH GOD OH FUCK” because I don’t have to turn this fucking page to know that Meridas Amaram is about to come into this book and I am about to turn into a seething pit of rage.

This series is very much in my interests because, much like the people in it, I consider betrayal to be an uncrossable line, and also, I just loathe Amaram with every fiber of my being.

Anyway, Kaladin also fucking loses it, nearly dropping his spear and just taking off toward Dalinar’s camp.

And then I read slightly further and we get this exchange: “Old friend,” [the newcomer] said. “It’s been too long.” “Too long by far,” Dalinar agreed. “I’m glad you finally made your way here, after years of promises. I heard you’ve even found yourself a Shardblade!” “Yes,” The newcomer said, pulling back and holding his hand to the side. “Taken from an assassin who dared try to kill me on the field of battle.” UH HUH. YEAH, YOU IN NO WAY SLAUGHTERED AN ENTIRE TROOP OF MEN WHO RISKED THEIR LIFE FOR YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE, YOU WASTE OF INVESTITURE.

Look, I know he ends up getting comeuppance, but I still hate him so fucking much, you guys.

ANYWAY, that’s the end of part one, of course, because that’s the kind of dramatic moment you have to end something on. I’m gonna end this liveblog segment on it, because I like trying to have these follow the book’s separation some. 

[iamtooarealdoctor]

Diary 5.16.87

Everything has been happening very quickly.  L’anamelach is dead...or...something.  Taken care of, at least.  So far as Caladon is concerned.  It is probably time to leave.

Straf disappeared briefly last night.  He claims he was summoned back to Quintarra by Raven, who wanted her gloves returned.  That makes little sense to me, but he reappeared without them.  So - no more teleporting.  That will be good for Dyna’s headaches, but is even more reason to tarry as little as possible.  Fortunately Roseborough is only two days out from here, even on foot, and the season remains very pleasant.

The plan had been to take care of some business in town this morning, before proceeding into the sewers to beard the demon in its lair.  The party from Dernholm overnighted at the Sobbing Onion, which continues to hold Straf’s fascination for reasons which escape me.  Dyna and I rose early to call upon Maxim, leaving the elves to meet up with our allies at the Onion, on the hope that they would not have too much time or opportunity to get into really serious trouble.  In this we were wholly wrong, albeit in ways we could not conceivably have predicted.  Maxim is as scattered as ever, and sadly the photographs recovered from the wreck of the Zephyr have done less to repair his reputation than we had hoped, but he seems undeterred, which is good.  He was happy to let us use his workspace and materials to repair the damage to my guns.  I mean, I have plenty of guns, but when one is literally a divine relic, attempts should be made to take care of it.

We returned to the Onion to collect our party to find sheerest chaos - and in the midst of it Straf and another elf stabbing themselves repeatedly with a carving knife for some unknowable reason.  As far as I have been able to piece together, Straf and Wolf found the halfling thief Frondo - the one who had recovered the blade of Xerxes last night - engaged in a poorly thought out game of cards against the strange Elf.  Eventually he wagered, and subsequently lost, the blade itself to his opponent, who turned out to be none other than the demon L’anamelach himself!  If I had thought these adventurers fools last night, how much more imbecilic have they revealed themselves in the light of day.  It was at this point I gather, for reasons which remain entirely opaque to me, that Straf engaged the demon in a game of self-stabbing.  Perhaps his aim was to buy time, since both of them proved largely impervious to injury of this kind.  I have long since given up trying to decipher what passes for logic in the undifferentiated mass of salt that occupies the spaces usually reserved for a brain.

In any event, the patrons had given this scene a wide berth, and the party from Dernholm was blithely oblivious to the implications of what had transpired.  Not just imbeciles but useless as well.  I was able to get off a single futile shot at the demon before being forced to take equally futile cover.  I am now doubly grateful for Lloyd’s fireproofing, without which I would have fared much poorer.  It also saw fit to magickally seal my mouth, which was as uncomfortable as it was frustrating, but at least I was not transformed into a rat again.  I hate wizards.  And demons.  And demon wizards.  

Dyna, by contrast, made good use of the distraction to surreptitiously relieve the demon of its mortal blade.  It had had to set aside its winnings briefly to concentrate fully on Straf, and Dyna attempted to dispatch the abomination as we had been instructed.  Dyna is, sadly, not especially tall - had the demon’s stature been nearer her own, I am sure she would have struck home, but alas the heart is a small organ to hit from behind and below, and there was slightly too much impervious elf intervening for Dyna’s efforts to have quite the desired effect.  Nevertheless, I am confident that given time, and perhaps a stepladder, the day would ultimately have been hers.

Instead, that glory goes to Wolf, if it can safely be called that.  As best as I can understand, knowing the demon’s true name, she was able to summon it and bind it to herself, as she previously had with Dante.  And unlike Dante, her control over it seems absolute - I have only before seen that dead expression in Captain Wheeler’s eyes, when he released Straf from prison in Tarant.  She has renamed it Mephistopheles, and it is wholly hers now.  What implications this has for Dante, I do not know.  My hope is that  that one is safely returned to its infernal home, having been replaced by a more biddable minion, and has not simply been loosed unsupervised upon Arcanum.  L’anamelach’s erstwhile host, though, freed from its possessing essence, is quite dead, and will torment Caladon’s flesh markets no more.  Unless, I suppose, Wolf so wills it.  I...think we will not return the blade of Xerxes to our allies from Dernholm.  It is good to have some insurance against the demon in our midst.

But with that sudden end to an equally sudden confrontation, we are now Heroes of Caladon!  The good captain Henderson arrived to shower us with praise and writs for our reward, although the demons gambling winnings, now forfeit, have already done much to ease our financial situation.  This has been a mixed blessing, though, since our attempts to keep a low profile while in Caladon are now thoroughly undone.  For Henderson has at last recognized Dyna through an unwise word from Straf, despite her careful disguises, and the media presence that accompanied him recognized me, beard, lemon juice, and all, as the now notorious Pervert of Tarant... and while these might have been skillfully talked down, had any among us possessed such skill, among the gawkers at the Onion proved to be none other than Ristezze!

This proved too much for Dyna, who fled in a blind panic.  I managed to catch the newspaper man to try to save what is left of our reputations.  I find I get on very well with reporters.  I was able to convince him, I believe, that we are actors, hired by Sammie White to create disturbances in the normal humdrum of life, and I managed to keep Dyna’s name and role out of his stories at least.  He seemed impressed with my narrative of the earlier fight, which ought to both entertain his readers and give most of the attention to Frondo et al., while downplaying our own role and ultimately eliding the ultimate fate of the demon.  He may not be able to resist his “Pervert of Tarant becomes Hero of Caladon” angle, and I regret that he has my photograph as well, but my reputation is already tarnished beyond repair, and this may be salvaged into a distraction from our current aims and mission.  I also was able to convince him of the value of running a story on Maxim’s Flying Machines, and sold him a copy of the prints.  Perhaps skillful journalism will sway public opinion in despite of the ongoing skepticism of the Caladonian Council, and do some good for a friend, if not for us.

We tracked Dyna to the cemetary, where she had apparently made the acquaintance of the local gravedigger, and had regained some modicum of control over herself.  Norman seems to have imprinted on Ristezze and vice versa, and neither could be persuaded to come without the other.  Also Norman thinks he can fly...but as far as I can tell has only succeeded in jumping thus far.  Dyna was...not pleased at Ristezze’s presence, and Ristezze for his part, seems undeterred in his pursuit of her - although he may be the first person in all of Caladon to be taken in by the fake mustache, and seems to have renamed her “Dino.”  It has been a day for that.  We finally got rid of him with a bizarre scheme to romance the entire Moseley clan, and returned at long last to the Mushroom.

We depart for Roseborough at first light.  We sent out for supplies, and it should only be a few days journey.  I should like to be away before my face is plastered all over the front page of the newspaper.  Also it seems that the Thieves’ Underground has bounties out for us - and mine is insultingly low!  And also insultingly high, since I have never, to my knowledge, done anything to offend them, but folks these days seem no longer to require a reason.  Dyna has been very quiet all evening, but she never enjoys being confronted with her past, and this homecoming has been especially hard on her.  She did say something about Magnus - something about finding his lost clan of ditch diggers?  I don’t know, but I expect we shall find out.

I regret that we had no opportunity to visit the famous Caladonian Zoological Society, or work further with Maxim on guncraft, although I am not sorry that we were spared the inevitable whining from Straf that a trek through the sewers would have entailed.  But a great many questions should be answered in Roseborough - T’sen-Ang, the Black Spire, the Archeon, the Plain of Black Glass and the Great Wheel, and maybe an opportunity to speak privately with Elder Joachim.  And perhaps staying ahead of our enemies a little while longer.

[somniiari]

Days is my favorite Kingdom Hearts game but I haven’t played it in a while and I don’t think I ever watched the movie version all the way through! So I watched it and liveblogged it.

I basically have the Saix’s monologue in the beginning memorized

Axel has said “got it memorized” at least 6 times within the first 10 minutes of this movie

Hayner, Pence and Olette run past these literal cult members without even looking

7! 7 times Axel please!!

Quinton Flynn’s delivery seems pretty weird and flat now, which is weird cause I know he can do really well. maybe it was intentional, cause Axel hasn’t started developing a heart yet?

I forgot that my pronunciation of Xion is technically wrong

Footsteps in The Castle That Never Was sound so strange. like they’re walking on metal suction cups.

Axel: Wait did you want me dead? Saix: ... *walks away*

Ah yes Xion’s creepy hood thing that I thought was a glitch until later in the game

What was Organization XIII doing in the 10 years before a Keyblade weilder was available to them?? I’m sure they had plenty of scheming and experiments and mischief but 10 years worth?

THEY LEFT OUT THE BEST PART

THEY DIDNT ANIMATE IT

“ROXAS THAT’S A STICK” I NEEDED IT

“As long as we keep each other in our thoughts, we’ll never be apart!” yall forget each other

8 times

Axel is so bitter about/to Saix oh my god tone down your salt man

The Chamber of Repose and the Chamber of Waking. I don’t remember which is which but one houses Aqua’s armor and the other is Ven’s body, right? So one’s in TCTNW and the other is in Castle Oblivion.

It just clarified, Chamber of Waking is Ven, and in Oblivion

Can Saix and Axel’s objectives  really be a secret from Xemnas? Saix is norted after all, and even though he has most of a free will at the moment, he’s still possessed.

IT STARTED PLAYING THE OLYMPIUS COLISEUM MUSIC AND I HAD BAD FLASHBACKS

“[the memories of my past] have never done me any good” because they instilled loyalty to a norted jerk?

“i can deal with 7 days maybe” well just break my heart roxas why dontcha

Axel spends his rare days off sleeping #relatable 

9 times

“try not to bungle everything-” WHAT KIND OF WORD IS BUNGLE

ARE YOU GONNA ASK THEM NOT TO RUSTLE ANYONE’S JIMMIES TOO AXEL?

“you’ve changed” i can vividly remember Axel saying “i’m not the one who changed, you did” in response to that, but its not in the movie. maybe it was actually a journal entry?

“why are you dressed like one of us?” Xion, honey, your uniform is the most well known form of protection against dark corruption of the heart

Of course Organization XIII has no way of knowing that, bc they were deliberately lied to

This is the scene that made me hate Riku. Watching it again after i’ve fallen in love with him is quite the trip

“You’re the real sham!” “Fair enough” Riku bby no your self-hatred is showing

*Xion screams* BBY NO

“’Special?’ Isn’t that another way of saying I’m a mistake?” XION BBY NO but also #same

“According to Axel, girls are complicated and there are buttons to avoid pressing” ah yes, i forgot this part. don’t worry Roxas, she’s just upset because she’s a girl and girls are weird, she’s not having an existential crisis or anything! 

“Roxas ate alone after missions.” where’s Axel though??

the love conversation may have been a great thing to animate but that’s fine square, just tell us about it

And so Axel’s lies begin. He was just trying to give Roxas hope, I can’t wait to remember how this all got twisted and horrible.

Did we fight the Zipslasher in this time skip? I think we did. I hated the Zipslasher gdi

Axel bridal carrying Xion is what got me started shipping AkuXi. Don’t ship it anymore though, really. Maybe in AUs when they’re closer to the same age

Saix: “Did it break again?” Me: XION’S NOT AN IT

Roxas: “Xion’s not an it!” oh yeah thanks Rox

“does the past mean nothing to you” Saix you’re the one being an ass

10 times

omg please tell me he does it 13 or 14 times

Almost all the books in the Organization library look the same; plain white binding. y’know, cause aesthetic.

Flying in Neverland would have been a nice animation too but whatever

This is why you dont hang out in high places kids!

the scene with Axel and Xion in Castle Oblivion is one of my favorites

Story time: Axel’s explanation of the sunset helped me pass an earth science quiz, cause i was out sick when we learned about light but i was playing days while in bed

THE MINDSCREW DREAM

i still have no idea what it means!! or even who was having it!

Neither Xion nor Roxas knew Zexion that well, and that seemed like Riku’s memories, not Sora’s! so WHY

aw i was too angry as a child to realize that Riku was looking for a way to save them

what has Saix done that make you think he has any mercy Roxas

Xion, Axel probably wasn’t gonna fight you if you hadnt attacked him, the first chakram was a warning not to stab Roxas

“i’ll bring her somewhere safe” thats all you had to say Axel

So Xemnas did call him Sora. Way back when I thought he may have said Ventus.

now you screwed up Axel

DiZ is the worst

"i know you’re not just a puppet.” ;~;

11 times

“I saw a boy today who looked just like Roxas” i thought she meant Sora but Xigbar was spying so was it Ven? I mean it should be Sora but....

Also, Xigbar spying!

“nor become the person we see” not everyone sees Xion as anything though, not even at this point. What do you see, Xemnas?

just kidding i’m pretty sure its Ven

why wouldnt you want two Sora capable people?

like tbh if you spent your time balancing Xion and Roxas’s powers instead of pitting them against each other they would have both stayed in the Organization at least a little while longer

the older i get the more i relate to Xion, bc i too am afraid that i will wreck everything

“do you hate me for taking your friend away from you?” “nah. i guess i’m just sad.” ;~;

now i see why people ship RikuXi

i can dig it now that i love them both, still a little weird to me though, i gotta warm up to it

Riku is projecting, i never realized

“you have to do what’s best for everybody” cause so does he, even at the expense of his own life

and he doesn’t want to have to tell Xion that, but he does, and maybe he can do it to someday

that illusion would have been a nice thing to animate, especially since i forgot it happened holy crap

leave it to Axel to do his best to save the day

Give me Lea sadly turning in the WINNER stick in KH3

or even better, give me Lea cheerfully turning in the WINNER stick with Roxas, Xion and Isa at the end of KH3

Xion said it this time but i’m gonna count it, 12

im super mad about the fixation on memories making everything okay in the end because EVERYONE FORGETS AND I HURT

I KNOW ITS ON PURPOSE BUT PLEASE

what is Diz’s purpose, just to order these kids around? he’s a huge jerk, why do you listen to him

he’s telling you to murder people

i mean they need to die i guess but wouldn’t both of you feel better if you came to that conclusion yourselves instead of this asshole telling you you gotta

though they are both kids and i guess there’s a comfort in an adult getting a final say

still DiZ is bad news and i don’t like him mistreating all the young’ins

Axel’s dancing between the truth, trying to be gentle and trying not to care too much resulted in literally the worst explanation ever no wonder Roxas got pissed

Why was Riku just chilling outside Beast’s Castle and how did Xion end up in just the right place to portal in front of him

i don’t REMEMBER XALDIN’S VOICE BEING THAT ODD

also #rude Xemnas, Xion is a she!

good to know most of the Organization thought of her has a person though. or a Nobody at least. an equal.

Were there more than 2 Replicas? oooooh that could be a good plot twist

Xemnas was insistent on calling her an “it” but uses “she” again when giving Axel the task of getting her back, a dialogue inconsistency or a deliberate manipulation?

There’s an implication that Demyx and Xion talked a lot thats adorable

At least now we know why they were insistent on having 13 people even before they had 13 Nobodies

Axel walks away from conversations almost as much as Vax’ildan

Roxas: “Could it be that you knew for a long time, and never told me anything?” Axel: I walk away

I still don’t get why Riku transforms without the blindfold, and how “his eyes couldn’t lie” is a valid explanation

Riku was projecting, he thinks he has to die

13 maybe? Roxas said it, but also accusing Axel of not memorizing it

Axel told Xion the truth and she left. Axel kept the truth from Roxas and he left.

That sucks.

~cause i’m leaaaaaavin, never to come back again~

“you’re Kairi as Sora remembers her” come on you can’t tell her she became her own person before she dies?

Namine is being kind in general though

I ship it

“i know. i’m ready” ;~;

they’re solving the problem themselves and DiZ walks in pissed that they’re doing what he asked. Almost like a real parent!

MY FAV SCENE IN THE WHOLE GAME

THE VOICE ACTING

THE BODY LANGUAGE

YOU CAN HEAR MY HEART BEING RIPPED OUT

you can also almost hear Axel’s abandonment issues developing even further!

this day is just titled “Tears”. Accurate

I just realized Xion was trying to get Axel to kill her first

but he couldn’t do it

she got Roxas to do it instead

Memories of Xion going static and fading are the WORST

Roxas did break Riku’s arm or something

yes hello i look eerily like your boss now

I wonder if Axel/Lea ever looks back on his conversations with Roxas and notices a hole. An awkward silence where he and Roxas are just listening to nothing. Laughter after a beat of quiet. Looking at something that isn’t there.

literally why is everyone just okay with DiZ he’s a total jerk

in II DiZ acts like he figures out that Ansem is actually Riku. Here he doesn’t question that Riku is 2 heads taller and his voice is 2 octaves deeper.

The rooms in KH are so nice

Well there it is. the end.

WAIT

“Got it memorized” and close variations were said a total of 13 times in this movie

11 by Axel, once by Xion, and once by Roxas, as a denial.

I’m so mad

[favouriteworstnightmarexo-blog]

The Vow

It's held us together for centuries, for better or worse. Just three, seemingly simple words that have come to mean so, so much even when we have neglected their importance. Century after century we are reminded of a vow made thousands of years ago, a vow that still binds us together like an invisible and impenetrable chord more stubborn than we are. Our lives are like a rollercoaster, with our emotions ranging from one extreme to another. We are violent and we are tender. We love and we hate at an extent that is beyond human comprehension. We plot against one another, we stab each other in the back (often literally) and we fight for one another beyond all reason. No matter the adversities that we face, those three little words bring us closer, they make us stronger. They define us.

Always and Forever - that is what we swear by and sometimes I find myself still believing it. Sometimes I can close my eyes and still see it, the moment Elijah, Klaus and I had stood upon the ruins of a tired, tired world. We were old but unfathomably young with abilities beyond the reach of humans, but our strength did little to quell the fears of abandonment lurking within us. We were made to be abominations by the very woman who brought us life, gifted with eternal life in the aftermath of my little brother's death to ensure that we would always be there to protect one another as a family, always. And yet this woman, our mother, was the first to break her own sacred promise, betraying my brother with a curse that she hoped would hide from him his true identity and thus her infidelities. Even now I can still feel my dainty hands held in my brother's, with Nik's fingers gently drawing circles on my palms while Elijah stands rigid and emotionless like a century on watch duty.

Always and Forever, we say, and sometimes it sounds like a curse, a suffocating curse. Thus I run or at least I try to. I never seem to be able to run far beyond my brother's overprotective, possessive clutches because I know that he remembers, just as I do, the day we made our vow. The day that he murdered our mother in cold blood and the day that we swore to remain by his side, never turning our backs on him as she had. He fears, more than anyone, that we will abandon him, and in turn he is restrictive and controlling, though often mistaking his methods as a form of protection. He sees not the damaging effects of his behaviour, but only the view of us walking away should his possessiveness cease. He is scared and paranoid, he has been for centuries. Everyone he has ever loved has left, or so he thinks. I am one of those people. I too have broken my promise but 15 times. I have hurt him, I have hated him, and I have wished him dead for the things that he has done to me and taken from me in his selfishness. Klaus traps us to keep us close, whether it's for love or hate, loyalty or revenge, it doesn't matter to him. I run and I seek refuge in the arms of others; in the arms of dangerous men, sweet men, men in love with me, and reckless men. I want to be held, to be cherished, and loved by someone who will not betray me. I love those men easily. I kiss them, I let them make love to me, and I dream of a life quite different to the one I have. And eventually I cry for them, kneeling beside their corpses while Klaus smiles at me and the tears that I shed.

There are exceptions, of course. Some of these men were also my brother's men, and so they live. It is a short list, though. Marcel and Stefan, both my greatest loves and yet both men that chose Klaus over me, pleasing my brother's ego enough to convince him not to reclaim their deceiving hearts. They are the ones who have hurt me most, because I had to share them before losing and sometimes even before having them.

Always and forever, we say, and yet I find that I am always the one to be left in the dark. They call me 'little sister' with affection, promising me that everything will be ok, making it simple because they are my brothers and they love me (or so they say) and yet I am the first to be forgotten and disregarded when their heads are turned. They are men. They are weak, easily infatuated, carnal concentrated men. They say that I love too easily and for that they are hypocrites for they too are easily beguiled by the batting of lashes and flashing of tender flesh. More often than not they compete with one another, leaving me in the crossfire in the process and therefore scrapping our vow altogether if it means protecting their pride. I am ignored, taken for granted and left out in the cold while they use and abuse for their own selfish enjoyment. Tatia was just the start. I hated her, perhaps the most out of all the doppelgangers I have had the misfortune of meeting. She enchanted them, she fascinated them. She was my opposite and I hers. She came and she took them from me, she took [my] brothers. She held their hearts in a way that I could not, she intrigued them in a way that I could not. I was their little sister. I was the one they teased, the one they played with, the one they cared for, and the one they told their deepest darkest secrets to. I was all that they needed. I was theirs and they were mine, until she came and she ruined it all with a feud that would fester beneath the surface for hundreds of years after her death.

But they always come crawling back. Elijah kisses my forehead and strokes my hair, holding me close with sweet words and promises that we both know he will eventually break. Klaus kisses my mouth and pulls me close, inprisoning me beneath his frame while whispering to me the few honest words he has ever said to me, the only words in which I do not wish to believe because believing in his love for me is what has destroyed me in the first place.

Always and forever, we say, and we lie. I want to hurt them, to destroy them, to tear them apart with my bare hands and bury them do deeply in the ground that their corpses will never be found again. I want to abandon them as much as they have abandoned me so many times in the past, and I want to rule them as they have ruled me for the entirety of my immortal life. But I hate them just as much as I love them and thus it shall never be so simple...

Always and forever.

And so on, and so on.