#never ever under no circumstances ever read this abomination

[ooachilliaoo]

Sloth

Today, Elissa reflected as she pulled her blade free from the abomination that lay dead at her feet, was turning out to be a really weird day.

Once upon a time, that would have meant very little. But given that the last few days had seen her stave off an army of the undead, thwart a demon possession (well, almost), and manage not to punch Lady Isolde in the face, all amongst numerous darkspawn attacks… She thought that her barometer for weird had been sufficiently recalibrated. So now when she called something weird, it was significant.

“This is such a weird day,” Alistair said.

She grinned. It had only been a matter of months since they’d first met, yet she felt like she’d known him for years.

And she’d never met anyone who thought so much like she did.

“I would have thought this was par for the course for a templar,” she teased, because, Maker, they could use some levity.

They’d come to the mages, seeking help for Connor and an alliance against the blight. Instead, they’d found that half their army had already been turned into abominations. To protect the other half, they’d had to slaughter their way through said abominations, before the templars just up and killed them all.

“Ex- templar,” Alistair corrected. Given the circumstances, she could well understand his emphasis on the ‘ex’ part. “And no… This is pretty much the worst case scenario for any Circle. Most of the time you just stand around and look intimidating.”

Elissa grinned but when she glanced over to share it with him, she caught sight of Wynne’s ever-so-slightly affronted expression and quickly wiped the smile off of her face.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s keep climbing. The longer we take, the less likely it is we find Irving alive.”

Wynne nodded. “The stairway is this way,” she said, leading them all through a nearby door…

To face the ugliest thing Elissa had ever seen.

“Oh… look,” the thing drawled, and it was definitely a drawl. She’d never heard a voice speak so slowly. It was almost melodic. “Visitors. I’d entertain you, but… Too much effort involved.”

“Good. That will make you easier to kill.”

Because this thing – whatever it was – was most certainly a demon of some kind. And a pretty powerful one, if the body on the floor was anything to go by.

“But why?” it said in that same drawling tone. “Aren’t you tired of all the violence in the world? I know I am.”

Now that it had been mentioned, she found that she was kind of tired of fighting every day. Of spending so much time amidst blood and gore.

“Wouldn’t you like to just lay down and… forget about all this? Leave it all behind?”

The weariness hit her like a bolt of lightning, an ache in her bones so deep and all-consuming that her knees almost buckled. Her eyelids were impossibly heavy, and, before she could even think, she’d closed them for a few seconds.

It was really hard to open them again. She only did so because – through the fog of exhaustion building in her brain – she realised that this was some sort of trick.

“Can’t… keep eyes open,” Alistair said from behind her. When she turned to look it was to see him swaying on his feet, blinking rapidly. “Someone… pinch me.”

“I’ll not listen to your lies, demon!” Leliana said, somehow managing to lift her arms in order to cover her ears. “You have no… power over… me…”

“Resist,” Wynne told them, surprisingly seeming more awake than anyone. “You must resist, else we are all lost.”

She took a step towards them, towards the door. If they could just get out of its influence maybe… maybe if she pinched Alistair and he could pinch her, and they could…

“Why do you fight?” the demon continued. “You deserve a rest. The world will go on without you.”

But it wouldn’t… She and Alistair… They were needed… They had to…

The sun shone through the window, waking her before she was really ready. Groaning, she rolled over, burying herself back under the blankets. Her bed was warm, comforting, and smelled of home.

Read the rest on AO3

[in-the-glow-of-a-silmaril]

I've written about Dior, but not about Nimloth so far. Here is how I see the circumstances of their marriage, and her character in general. It is not very romantic, I'm afraid!

Let's start with the mood in doriath, as demonstrated by Turin. So - Thingol took Turin, who is human, in as a foster child in his youth, post the whole Luthien-Beren thing. Turin was compared, unfavorably, to elves constantly, and dealt with micro aggression and condescension the whole time, culminating in vitriolic abuse from a dude named Saeros, who ultimately jumps Turin in the woods, who then snaps and ends up driving Saeros to his death. Thereafter Turin flees Doriath.

So, like. Okay. Imagine this.

Your princess, who you all love and adore, becomes smitten with a species that, like. Ew. They're not very nice to look at, and they die really quickly, and honestly what's the point.

Then she goes on a heroic quest, SPITES MORGOTH, STEALS FROM HIM, AND GETS AWAY WITH IT, all so she can marry her ugly bf. Obviously, she must be praised and revered for her great deeds. ALSO, she convinces Namo to return her man from death????? But also gives up her own birthright of immortality?

So now you're kinda stuck. You can't, like, NOT praise her. And also this is an abomination. Humans suck, and now your princess is gonna die. So what do you do? You dehumanize her - by putting her on a pedestal. You make her the exception that proves the rule. Yeah, she's in an interspecies relationship, BUT LOOK AT ALL THE INSANE SHIT SHE DID TO GET IT. true love. 🥰 Also if you try that shit and you're NOT Luthien??? Good fucking luck. Go kiss a silmaril.

I imagine this is all bubbling under the surface, and explains a lot of Turin's experience.

And Dior's.

Enter Nimloth. An arranged marriage that everyone insists is for the best. Nimloth is a dignified, proper lady. She genuinely means well but also she does regard the whole...human...thing...as a one time deal best left in the past. Dior's mother was so heroic! And now Dior is keeping things on track, by marrying her (read: an elf. A noble elf. The safest, most correct, least controversial choice possible.) And their children are regrettably a little mortal, getting pregnant twice very quickly is a deliberate Sacrifice (tm) Nimloth makes, but she's not sure what Dior's lifespan will be (another sacrifice she's making, to marry someone whose fate is uncertain) and doesn't dare wait the normal span.

Regardless, her children are beautiful. Nimloth is very proud. They will be proper elves, proper royalty, and they will honor their ancestors (but NEVER emulate them). Nimloth may even have some ideas for arranged marriages already, just to be certain everything stays on track.

She is - really, truly, genuinely - not a bad person. But she, like many elves at this point, doesn't see the "point" of humans and thinks interspecies mingling will only lead to tragedy.

She's a very proper lady with a narrow view of the world and limited perspective. She is well meaning. But I do think she sees humanity in Dior as a flaw to be lovingly corrected.

Also: She had to kinda force the marriage bond. She considers this embarrassing and never speaks of it for Dior's sake. Her love language is safeguarding a person's reputation. She thinks the reason it was hard is because of his human father, but actually it was hard bc Dior was too young and wasn't ready (see my other posts about him - you don't have to dig, they're linked in my pinned post). Nimloth, should she ever find out, will be horrified.

[bicsbec]

I never did post the rest of Natural Melodies 's chapters, but the story is completed so y'all can check it out and read in a single sitting.

I did, however, finish the first one-shot from The Noceda House fic and I'm pretty excited about it. It's a little longer than I thought, but we already know I'm terrible at estimating so!

I happily bring you The Most Mudane Slice-of-life Date Ever, a lumity centric fic about that date Luz promised Amity, taking place in the Human Realm as they make the best out of a crummy situation.

There's a snippet under the cut of this post.

I'd also like to soft launch the next fic I'm working on, which is Gus-centric. Exciting stuff, I'm really looking forward to it. Until next time! (I'll be posting the raeda chaps soon)

Luz had been planning this for months. Well not this particular date under these particular circumstances, but a date with Amity. Any date with Amity.

Planning was a big word, too. It was more like daydreaming. She had a list she went through in her head of different dates.

Bowling, brunch, a movie, a picnic, the beach, roller skating, going for ice cream or milkshakes like in those old teen romance movies, or going to a bookstore, or—

"Luz? Hey, hello, where are you?" Hunter waved a hand in front of her face. She swatted it away.

"I'm right here."

He raised an eyebrow. "Right. Stop thinking about Blight for two seconds and focus. What can we get Camila?"

Luz scrunched her nose at that. "Just call her Mom already, sounds weird when you use her name."

Hunter blushed at the suggestion. "That's—that'd be disrespectful."

"You calling her Mom would be better than getting her something," Vee said from the cutting board. "Or we could make her dinner, like a nice one."

They were already making dinner, but it was just because it was their turn to cook that week. Gus and Amity had cleaned the common areas and Willow had been hanging up the laundry. Mamá would find the house spotless once she got back from work.

"If that's the case, Hunter should stick to peeling and cutting, and only what we hand you," Luz said, pointing a spoon in his direction. Last time he and Gus had been left in the kitchen alone, they'd created an abomination, the affront to nature kind not the magic kind.

Hunter shrugged. "It wasn't that terrible."

"Glad you could digest it," Luz shot back. "Now, el cumple de Mamá."

"I think it should be a small thing," Vee said, bringing Luz the diced potatoes and pumpkin for the beans. "We're already a handful, don't wanna stress her out more than necessary."

"Right, so dinner, maybe game night? Or a movie. And cake."

"No ghouls?"

"No ghouls, Hunter. She doesn't need one to follow her around the whole day, telling her how many years she's got left."

He raised his hands defensively. "It helps you appreciate your remaining days, that's all I'm saying."

"It is effective," Vee agreed. "But it might give Mom a heart attack, so no."

"Thank you, I like my mothers alive," Luz said playfully. But the phrase only made her think of Eda. Her stomach swooped anxiously, an itching desperation crawling down her nerves. She could only hope that Eda was okay. That King was okay.

She ran a hand down her face, trying to ground herself. It was easy to spiral. Her friends were safe. She was with Mamá. They were doing everything they could to get back. These things were enough.

They're not, but they have to be.

[jeanmoreaux]

28. The first book that comes to mind, tell us about it. Rant.

hey!! sorry for my late response, hon! this ask has been sitting in my inbox for close to 2 weeks due to multiple reasons, two of them being my terrible time management and my limited amount of spare time to waste away on tumblr. mainly, though, i just didn’t know what book to rant about bc i feel like if i rant about a book there has to be a good justification as to why this book deserves my bashing. so i tried to think of a rant-worthy book and i came up empty. but then the other day, i walked into a book store, unknowing of the inspiration that would hit me and help me to finally answer this ask. as i made my way through the numerous shelves full of great books, a familiar cover caught my eyes and filled me with abhorrence. the book i am taking about is Adam by Ariel Schrag. 

for all of you who haven’t read this book yet; good, keep it like way. it’s the most utter piece of garbage i have ever laid eyes on. honestly, i have never hated a book with more passion. It’s beyond me why it has a 2.87 star rating on goodreads. apparently, it was initially praised as a revolutionary, subversive queer story, but actually it’s a homophobic, transphobic, racist, and misogynist disaster that is not worth the paper it was printed on. seriously, it physically hurts me to think about how trees had to die for this dumpster fire of a book to exist in physical form in bookshelves around the globe.

i conjecture the author’s intent was to promote the idea that sexuality and gender can be fluid and that love knows no gender, which is in itself a great message, but, oh boy, the execution was just horrendous. worse than anything i have ever seen, and ten time as problematic.

*spoilers ahead*

((my brain tried to erase this book’s content form my memory, so i forgot the names of every character except for the protagonist’s one since his name is in the title lmao)) basically, this story follows this cis boy, adam, who’s nonstop horny and would literally do ANYTHING to get laid, which shows in the questionable decisions he makes throughout the story. he spends his summer at his sister’s apartment in new york. through his sister, who is a lesbian, he comes into contact with various other lgbtq+ individuals, of which some are trans. he meets a cute lesbian at a party, and decides that she is his one true love (yikes), the-girl-of-his-dreams (quite literally! he dreams of her and later meets her at this party and it’s supposed to be an adorable dejà vu kinda thing but it is NOT. it’s just cringy and uncomfortable). he then sets his mind on seducing her. since she’s a lesbian, he decides to pretend to be a trans guy ((like what the fuck, dude????!!!?)) so she’s willing to go on a date with him ((which does not make any fucking sense to me bc she’s still a lesbian and he’s still a guy, but whatever)). in the mean time, his sister has some drama going on that’s quite yikes, if you know what i mean, and there is also a lot of other horrible stuff going on, such as fetishizing various minorities and reinforcing harmful stereotypes, that makes you wanna bury the book somewhere no one will ever be able to find and read it. 

adam keeps telling people he is trans, and is quite proud of his “performance” as he keeps lying to everyone’s faces about being trans. there is a lot of drama happening, but i forgot most of it. what i do remember, though is that eventually adam and the-girl-of-his-dreams start officially dating and, consequently, they start having sex. adam insists that they only have sex in the dark, using his made-up gender dysphoria as an excuse. at first he use a strap-on to keep his masquerade up, but at a later point in the story adam just tells himself “fuck it, i wanna have REAL (uhhhm, wtf as if only penetrative sex is real sex), UNPROTECTED sex with this girl who still doesn’t know i am lying to her about being trans. so i’ll just insert my penis into her vagina without her consent.” i believe he tells her after the fact, and she’s like “i know, it’s chill. i found out that you’re a cis guy a while ago, and what can i say, you’re such an amazing guy i still fell in love with you, despite being a lesbian (!!!!!!!! WTF)”

they keep dating for a few month, and when they break up the girl starts dating an older guy shortly after. suddenly, she isn’t a lesbian anymore (i don’t even think she considers herself bi), and the ending kinda suggests that adam turned her straight, which is hella problematic, to say the least. don’t get me wrong, this change of labels is not intrinsically bad, but the way it is presented in the context of the book suggests that you can “turn people straight” and that being gay is “ a choice” or “a phase” that ends when you meet the right person of the opposite sex. furthermore, the way the characters are crafted and the story is told, Adam also suggests that queer people are annoying assholes whose only defining characteristic is their queerness. this notion of anti-queer character portrayal and conversion is also present in the storyline of adam’s sister.  i think his sister who labelled her lesbian in the beginning turns bi in the end, too, bc she just Can’t™ with lesbians and trans people anymore since their all selfish & self-righteous pricks.

and it’s not like this book judges adam’s actions or critically comments on his bad behavior. there are literally no consequences for adam unless you count the break up as one, which i think you can’t be they still happily dated for a considerable amount of time.

i hope you get the gist of why i loathe this book so much. there is nothing subversive or revolutionary about this sort of portrayal of lqbtq+ issues and characters. the representation & messages contained in this story are damaging as fuck. i have no idea how this book was repeatedly approved of by several instances in the process of publishing and no one in this chain of decision making voiced concerns and was like “i’m sorry but this is a really shitty book”??!!? HOW IS IT POSSIBLE SOMETHING LIKE THIS GETS PUBLISHED??!!? after this massive fuck up, ariel schrag probably can’t ever again publish a story under her name.

frankly, i desperately want to throw Adam into the destructive, all-consuming flames of eternal hell fire so it vanishes into ever-lasting oblivion. 

[neoyi]

Define Dancing

*shrugs* Oneshot prospecter fanfic I wrote. Largely safe for general public. Read under the “Keep Reading” tab.

The kind of rage Specter Knight held for Propeller Knight was different from the kind of rage he had for King Knight. That is, he was not filled with the sort of malice - such as a hair-trigger need to strangle that fleet-footed menace - as he did for that gold-riddled goon. 

No, the kind of rage he felt for Propeller Knight was irritation and bafflement. He couldn’t help it, Specter had carried it from as far back during his days when he was still alive. Back then, he was Donovan, the “Greatest Adventurer Alive” (his words, his claims.) He'd read newspaper articles detailing the epic, glorious- and depending on the publisher, derogatory- stories of the heroic, charismatic, and devilish sky pirate who saved the local town from corrupt nobles. Or vanquished a gang of horrible trolls from doing wanton damage to the local ecosystem. Or how he stopped a terrible marriage between a kindhearted princess (who almost always fell for Propeller Knight in these stories, of course) and a despotic duke. 

Donovan would grip every article until the paper crinkled, his gaze intensely bitter. He had a low opinion of flashy, glittering types and Propeller, what with his expensive jacket and matching golden helmet and rapier, reeked of elitism. And to think he called himself a thief!

A thief values quiet solitude and subtle movements; this...this so-called pirate was disgustingly flashy. No substance, no love for the craft that was grifting. He barged into casinos and museums with a grand announcement before pulling off his heist, beaming a metaphorical spotlight on his presence at all times. He was foolish and shallow, possessing a pompousness that validated Donovan’s theory that he was simply a bored noble who decided to play pirate. 

"You don't have to read anything with him in it, you know," Luan advised, and quite frequently, too. “Kind of unwise to focus so intently on someone you seemingly dislike.”

“Seemingly?” Donovan scoffed, “He’s competition, I have to keep track of his progress.”

“We’re a blip and it’s what we want, Donovan,” Luan reminded him. 

Still, Donovan kept reading because it was inevitable that Propeller would strike again and he had to know. (Surely, Luan didn't know about the secret scrapbooks he kept of all the Propeller Knight news articles he’d read.) It was simply easier to deny than admit to his jealousy that someone could be better than him, more likable than him.

But yes, Specter Knight did hate Propeller Knight because he was flamboyant and flashy and hideously, hideously smug. While he took little pleasure recruiting him into the Order, he relinquished the raw opportunity to fight him into submission. Nothing brought such a visceral rush of cathartic reckoning then when his fist first contacted Propeller's face (actually his helmet, but close enough.)

As the Enchantress’ second-in-command, Specter Knight’s duty was to maintain order amongst the No Quarter members, ensuring Things Went To Plan, as it were. That meant he’d have to spend an inordinate amount of time with Propeller Knight, a prospect that only King Knight’s presence could worsen. He was prepared for the pomp and circumstances, it was everything else about that man that caught him off-guard. 

                                                                                                                                                  *~~~~~~~~~*

"I see you fly, but I never see you dance," Propeller observed. The captain was a notorious chatterbox and inane, unrelated conversations came out of the blue quite often. He was an endless source of useless anecdotes, switching subjects at the drop of a hat as often as he is prone to prattling on and on about specific topics relevant to his interest. (Had he not been a pirate, Specter would consider it worrisome that he knew so much about the delicacy of poisons.) His first mate informed Specter once that he could not be tied down either verbally and physically for if Propeller Knight should ever stop, it would mean he has perished.

Despite knowing better, Specter responded, “I don’t understand.”

"You do not twirl or spin or...or kick your legs up in ze air!" Propeller dramatically raised his arms. He had a habit of gesturing his upper limbs with particular emphasis on his hands as if pantomiming. "Even your ragged cape, with its holes and common cloth, flows beautifully when you fly, but it'd look divine in dance!" 

"I'm sure it would," was all Specter said. He restrained himself, for anything beyond the laconic would be indulging this man.

To Propeller Knight's credit, Specter eventually downgraded from a fierce desire to perform violence unto the man and instead sought to avoid him outside of mandatory Order missions. It worked well for the most part. Propeller was remarkably respectful of his space, and only ever dropped by in passing for friendly exchanges and casual conversation. It was at this point Specter started to peel the layers off of Propeller’s persona. To his horror, he found something far worse than arrogance. ("I never get helmet hair, you see, for I've perfected my hair. Sleek and handsome, non?").

No, Specter’s motivation for quick retreat occurred because Propeller Knight was kind. And he hated it. 

                                                                                    *~~~~~~~~~~~~*

It was contradictory! He'd seen that abominable sky captain throw a tantrum over slightly off-tasting wine, foot rapidly stomping in petulance. He would constantly gripe about the living conditions of the Tower. ("How dare I be subjected to a room with a window that has no glass! The humidity from ze rain ruins my hair!") And on days when he was of a particularly nasty mood, Propeller's insults could cut the very gaze out of a Liquid Samurai’s stoicism, as Specter has been witness to and victim of countless times. 

"Why are you talking to me, Monsieur Reaper? As you can see, I am very busy and very cross, so take your hideous sense of fashion and go brood in a corner, as one does."

“All I said was ‘excuse me.’ I was just passing b-”

"Do you have an important message to deliver or have you come to haunt me or something?”

"...I have nothing to deliver."

"Very well then, be a good little Cabana Boy and return from whence you came until you actually have something from the Enchantress worth my attention.” Propeller could have ended there, but he didn’t, of course. "Go and, I don't know, play Joustus or something. Yes, yes, we've all played it, but some of us aren't as partial to it like the others. So go play your baby card games."

Specter had no idea why he felt compelled to defend himself that day. Perhaps he was reminded of his indentured services to the Enchantress. Maybe a glimpse of Dark Reize shouting commands a couple of hours ago stressed him out. Or perhaps it came from the morning reports he received detailing the ruination of the Tower’s entire southern west wing because of Plague Knight’s latest experiment (“Hey! If you didn’t want this to happen, then maybe you should have gotten insurance for Evil Towers or something!” Plague defended.) He didn’t know, and right this moment, he.

Did. 

Not.

Care.  

"I'm the Enchantress' second-in-command. I outrank you. I suggest you show me a measure of respect, you arrogant, superficial, piece of shi-”

"Are you still here? I said ‘shoo’. Shoo!"

Specter Knight left the room with Propeller Knight on his bottom, having punched that braggart on the face. Nothing he couldn’t shake off (again, the helmet helped), but Specter’s fist had been shaking. He would not take that kind of bullshit today and most certainly not from that haughty, pretentious asshole. 

And yet the very next day, Propeller waltzed in, one arm raised in a waving motion and the other carrying a bouquet of roses that were an uncanny bright red. It was unearthly and almost a match-for-match color of Specter’s cape. 

"Bonjour, Specter! Bonjour! What a glorious morning!" Propeller sounded so joyous, as if their interaction yesterday was but a speck. 

He stood inches from Specter and practically threw the bouquet at his face. "Look at these! Our gardener has succeeded: Everlasting Roses. They will last ten times longer than the average flower. Look at ze red coloring! Zey are so magnificent that zey are almost magic! Oh, I am thoroughly blessed today!”

With such casualness and no forewarning, Propeller took one out and delicately pinned it on Specter's scarf.

"For you, because everyone deserves something beautiful," Propeller spoke with- and this was important- a hushed, gentle, reassuring tone, "May we all have a good rest of the day."

And just like that, Propeller skipped away, leaving a stunned Specter.

This wasn't the first time Propeller had pulled this kind of stunt. He could be cruel and cutting with his words and gestures (never let it be denied that even a clown like Propeller had his share of bodies he left in his wake for he was, above all, a pirate) and then mere hours later, hospitable and concerned. 

It would be sometime before Specter realized this was Propeller's way of apologizing for his behavior the other day.

Whenever a denizen of the Tower asked where he gotten the rose and especially why he had it, Specter harshly spouted, "None of your business! Resume your duties!" Not that it was a mystery, every mook, minion, and employee saw the sunny pilot giving out flowers to those he felt needed them all throughout the day. But it was notable that their boss, Specter Knight, wore it all day, let alone at all. 

                                                                    **~~~~~~~**

It was hard to tell how sincere Propeller's feelings were. He was so prone to dramatics that his concern might have rung false, but again there was that feeling of contradiction. 

“I am a Ringmaster and the public, my crowd,” Propeller was prone to saying. And for sure, as Captain Propeller Knight- most dashing and charismatic, played his part with grandeur and pizzazz. But eventually observation revealed cracks and, like Specter himself, Propeller hid his vulnerabilities and true feelings behind his helmet. 

"So, where's your locket?" 

"Excuse me?"

"Your locket. I’ve seen you stare at it so longingly until recently.” 

Propeller’s emphasis on "longingly" caused Specter’s insides to squirm. He did sit on a very visible part of the Tower, tirelessly gripping the locket as he kept a contemplative gaze upon it, the red of his cloak strikingly visible against the Tower’s cool colored walls. 

"It's not with me."

"Oh, dear, why not?"

"Because."

"Did you lose it? Oh no! Do you need help finding it?!" 

"N-No-”

Specter did not get another word in, Propeller grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him along on whatever nonsense was about to happen now.

“I shall send the Search & Rescue Division of my crew. They will help us find your most precious thing!”

Thus, Specter endured a comical day of over twenty members of Propeller Knight’s crew scouring every nook of the Tower (that they could possibly reach anyway, the place was a labyrinth of chaos and uncertainty) for a teeny, needle-in-a-haystack, heart-shaped trinket. 

He said nothing. Specter wasn’t sure why he was silent, preferring to let this man swoop in like the heroic rogue he branded himself as. This was indulging him. Yet amusement formed inside of Specter Knight’s head as he saw the gyroscopic jester frantically asking questions on the locket’s whereabouts, sometimes roughly grabbing minions by the collar and shaking them as he demanded an answer, as if he were a king who would not be denied. 

When blue skies turned orange, Specter’s amusement turned to...to...well, damn, he wasn’t too sure how to describe this. Elation? Excitement? Warmth? Somehow this fruitless endeavor was endearing and uplifting and he was sure he felt his heart rapidly beating against his chest, even if that was impossible for a creature like him.

Propeller constantly held his hand in reassurance, repeatedly telling him everything would be alright, while at the same time trying to calm himself down whenever his writhing anxiety seeped through the cracks. By nightfall, Propeller was far more crestfallen than Specter Knight was expected to be. He mumbled under tears like a child who broke a lamp, “I’m so sorry. I’m… we tried. My crew...they have never failed. I’m so sorry.” 

Specter was incredulous. Propeller acted as though he carried the world’s weight on his shoulders. It dawned on him that Propeller wasn’t holding his hands to reassure him, but to comfort himself just as much. Something had happened to this man, something similar and his reactions... he was empathetic. 

Specter burst into laughter. 

“Wha- What’s so funny?!” Propeller screeched. “Have you lost it? Why are you laughing?!”

“You’re so… You’re… God, congrats. You did it, you captivated me and sold me on your show,” Specter clapped his hands. “Truly you are a fine entertainer!”

“I beg your pardon?!” 

“My locket is safe. I placed it away a while back,” Specter spoke, almost triumphantly. After all, he essentially had “won” this day, unintentionally tricking Propeller into an impossible chase. 

Propeller reacted with an audible noise that at best could be described as a high-pitched, squirrel-like squeak of unfathomable wrath.

“I hope there’s another afterlife for the undead because I am going to send you there right ziz instance!” 

Specter couldn’t stop laughing as Propeller pinned him to the ground, cursing in his native language. He shook the cackling reaper until he tired himself out. He released Specter and took several deep breaths, then got off and sat next to the lying reaper, growling all the way. 

“I didn't peg you for ze type to have an abhorrent sense of humor!” Propeller crossed his arms, “It ...It feels me with rage!”

“You know your accent gets really heavy when you’re at peak emotion.” Specter sighed. “It’s cute.” 

In an euphoric rush of unchecked happiness, Specter felt free to admit what he carried for so long: his growing admiration for this loony pirate. His compliment instantly placated Propeller, who sighed and lied next to Specter. They lazily gazed at the stars, their hands centimeters from each other. Specter was too terrified to go any further and Propeller too much of a gentleman to do the same. Their fingers lightly grazed each other and that was it for the night. 

Damn it all, it was getting harder to stay mad at this man. 

                                                                                                                        *~~~~~~~~~~*

If he was going to compromise and willingly talk to Propeller without an order from the Enchantress attached to it, Specter would pick the hour that befitted him and it would not be during a goddamn sunrise or sunset- Propeller's proud, naked symbolism. No, it would be when the moon was full and the stars barely a twinkle for the eye to see. His time. 

Propeller was often in bed by ten (his usual wake up time being at the crack of dawn or just as frequently before it), sometimes midnight if he had a lot on his plate or felt in a particularly gregarious mood (drinking, partying, lovemaking, etc.) 

Tonight, at nearly half an hour before midnight, Specter Knight found Propeller Knight on the edge of his magnificent and comically large airship, sitting in blissful contemplation. It was rare to see him still for so long. His helmet temporarily off, Specter could see the subtle curve of his smile, at once peaceful and perhaps somber. His eyes were half closed and his perfect (yes, it really was) hair blowing in the wind. Specter’s cheeks turned beet red. 

"I'm awake tonight," Propeller started the moment Specter approached him, not even facing him, but already having sensed his presence, "because the Floatsomes migrate this time of year." 

Specter stood still and said nothing, knowing Propeller had more to say (and often he did; Specter was reasonably sure- eighty-five percent sure- that he came from nobility; only they would make the kind of long winded speeches the way he did.) 

"It's especially breathtaking during this hour; the light of the moon casts a divine glow that causes the Floatsomes' transparent bodies to shimmer in response." Propeller lifted his arms in awe. "And the most magnificent of rainbows cover every inch of their bodies. It's sensational."

So the two waited, Specter standing besides a still sitting Propeller. Aside from idle conversation (Joustus, the books they’d read, silly antics from other Order of No Quarter members, etc.), they mostly kept to themselves. They were thousands of feet above the air, with the mountains below, and only the Tower threatening to reach the Flying Machine’s altitude. The cold did not bother Specter for he was dead. Propeller was dressed warmly, but he was content to endure such a harsh climate- possibly preferring it. Specter did recall Propeller confessing that he loved to smell the wintry, snowy air because it was pleasant to him.

Specter was the first to spot the first wave of Floatsomes. From a distance, their pellucid bodies kept them almost camouflaged from wandering eyes, but the luminescent sparkling the moment they touched the moon’s light was unmistakable. Soon, the Flying Machine was surrounded by waves upon waves of crystalline jellyfish consuming the skies. Were Specter Knight to have breath, this would have been the moment where he’d lost it. 

He stood beside Propeller and stared, unblinking, never wavering. Without a thought, their hands reached and the two held firm. Propeller slowly rose up and turned his head until they were facing each other. He held his helmet with his other hand and gingerly placed it over his head. They said nothing as they both inched closer to the edge of the ship. 

With inspired synchronicity, they both jumped off to begin dancing together. 

[evildisneydorks]

Ursula/Maleficent Headcanons! (Sea Dragon)

CW: A bit of angst, and a biiiit too long.

How they met:

-Their meeting took place before the events of their respective movies.

-Maleficent had briefly join the search for Aurora, and travelled very far from her home in France, all the way to the coasts of Denmark

-That’s where she had the honor to meet the Sea Witch.

-They had both heard rumors about each other prior to their meeting, as well as tales about what kind of cruel acts they had done.

-Maleficent was expecting Ursula to be a ruthless and highly aggressive sea abomination, not the charismatic octopoid lady she found relaxing on a rock near the beach. 

-Ursula straight up thought Maleficent didn’t exist, she believed the “evil fairy” was just a bed time story made to scare little humans. She never imagined being in presence of the Mistress of all Evil in the flesh…

-But that doesn’t mean they were disappointed to see the reality behind the myths; in fact, it was a pleasant surprise from both parts

-They were also surprised to find each other’s company rather enjoyable, knowing that they were both a pair of loners who loathed almost everyone else from their respective kingdoms.

-That’s how they noticed that, even though they came from completely different backgrounds, they still had a lot of stuff in common: Grudges against pitiful rulers, being practically banished from society with nothing but their henchmen/pets, and a very strong connection towards darkness~

-Maleficent ended up staying a little longer than what she originally had planned, saying that she was curious about the magic Ursula practiced. Ursula found Mal’s company fun, so she was okay with this arrangement

-The first magic demonstration was temporarily turning Maleficent into a cecaelia so she was able to visit Ursula’s lair. The fairy was impressed by the aesthetic and even more by Ursula’s little garden, she liked Ursula even more now~

-Maybe a bit too much, maybe she was liking her a bit too-…Oh no, oh no! Love is for fools! This couldn’t possibly be love, could it?

-Mal is having a bit of a crisis right now. She had never had this type of feelings before, and she doesn’t know what to do with them and she’s getting frustrated.

-Meanwhile Ursula knows, she knows what the fairy is feeling. In normal circumstance she would have probably come up with a scheme to use these feelings to her advantage… but this time, she doesn’t desire to do so.

-She’s being genuine when she takes Maleficent’s hands between hers, she’s being genuine when she hugs her, and she’s being genuine when she kisses her for the first time.

-The fairy doesn’t even try to resist at this point, and gives in for the long overdue kiss. It feels electric, and never wants to let go… she just feels so safe, and so does Ursula~

-Maleficent eventually had to return to her castle and Ursula had to reassume her business, but seeing how well they got along they decided to become “associates” and keep in contact, until they meet again.

-Oh my god they were associates

-Sadly, that meeting would take a long time to happen.

-When news of Maleficent’s death reaches Ursula’s ears she’s devastated, and has to stop her business for a while because she’s inconsolable. Even the eel brothers are worried about their mom…

-After a couple of weeks she seems better, but in the bottom it still hurts very much and she missed her.

-Ursula dies shortly after, a humiliating defeat at the hands of Prince Eric… but hey! Guess who’s waiting for her? Her dear evil fairy.

-They reunited in a little spot in the Underworld, specially made for the villains while Disney Ville was under construction. They were confused, a bit angry even… but at least they got each other now, and they are not parting ways ever again.

 Being together

-Overall, their dynamic could be described as “power couple who could curse you and your loved ones without hesitation”.  

-They just t enjoy being a pair of bitches, and believe me, they have a blast at parties!

-Ursula is the one who’s never afraid of some PDA and is also more vocal about her feelings, whether is just a little peek on Maleficent’s cheek, an arm or tentacle around her waist, a compliment here and there, or just holding hands.

-Maleficent may be a little more reserved in public, but corresponds to Ursula’s affections when they are in private or around close friends. She can get a bit clingy with Ursula sometimes, but the cecaelia doesn’t mind the extra affection~

-Scheming together? Absolutely

-And practicing evil laughs while they are at it.

-Ursula is the only one that has heard Maleficent singing and she describes her voice as “more beautiful and ethereal than any of those pitiful half-fishes”

-Flotsam and Jetsam love Maleficent and pretty much consider her their “step-mom’ at this point. Same can be said for Diablo, who pretty much sees Ursula as another mother figure of some sorts.

-Even though they are not officially married, they refer themselves as “wives” because “girlfriend” is too sugary for them.

-Yes, marriage is definitely on the table~ 

-They sleep together as much as possible, but Ursula mostly uses the bath tub  since she still needs to keep herself hydrated as much as possible. However, sometimes she does a bit of magic and gets herself a couple of legs; potions exist for a reason, right~?

-Maleficent is the big spoon and I will die on this hill.

-Their ideal date is a walk on the beach, preferably at dawn. They enjoy the peace of an empty beach, where they can talk about anything they want for hours and hours.

-I have a very vivid mental image of these two on a couch, Maleficent reading a book while Ursula rests her head on her lap and feels how Mal is caressing her hair with her long nails and ijoihfeuiwgwg

-Just thought ya’ll needed to know.

[morganaseren]

OC Introduction

Tagged by: @illusivesoul Thanks! Sorry this took so long!

Tagging: @this-is-something-idk-what, @noeldressari, @alessandramortt, @theherowarden, @jellydishes​ As per usual, I can never figure out who has or hasn’t been tagged by this. No pressure if you don’t want to participate though! Below is the template you can use.

My answers will be under the Read More.

---

Fandom:

Role:

BASICS

Full Name:

Nickname(s):

Pronouns:

Sexuality:

Occupation and Titles:

Birthday & Age:

Physical description:

Clothing style:

BACKGROUND

COMBAT & SKILLS

Preferred fighting style:

Special skills:

RELATIONSHIPS

Family:

Love interest:

Best friends:

PERSONALITY

Positive traits:

Negative traits:

Likes:

Dislikes:

Fears:

Guilty Pleasure:

Hobbies:

Fandom: Dragon Age

Role: Inquisitor

BASICS

Full Name: Niamh (pronounced “Neev”) Cousland

Nickname(s): Neevy (from Sera), Brat (from Leliana lolol), Storm Pup (mostly from her late mother’s side of the family)

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Lesbian

Occupation and Titles: Niamh is the leader of the Inquisition forces and is also hailed as the Herald of Andraste. Although all her rights to the Cousland estate along with any titles associated with it were forfeited the moment her magic manifested, her ties to her family name are still recognized and vice versa--perhaps especially so now with her being Inquisitor. Thus, in accordance to an older tradition from her late mother’s family, she is also titled the Storm Wolf of Highever per her brother Teyrn Fergus Cousland.

Birthday & Age: Niamh was born on the 3rd of Cloudreach in 9:08 Dragon, so she’s 33 as of Inquisition and 36 as of the Trespasser DLC.

Physical description: She’s a woman of middling height (5′6″ or 168cm). Niamh’s hair is pitch-black, which settles asymmetrically around her face with a longer fringe covering one of her eyes--a pale, misty-grey hue. Physique-wise, she’s full of wiry muscle, especially along her arms, shoulders, and back--testament to years of heavy staffwork.

Clothing style: This is more dependent on what setting she finds herself in. Around Skyhold or in more official circumstances, she tends to garb herself in formal wear such as the one seen below.

When she’s out and about on missions, her attire consists more of cloth and leather as depicted in the screenshot above. As a native Fereldan, she has a tendency to favor fur in her overall field outfit, which is evident in the black Great Bear fur seen along the spaulders atop her shoulders. Then, as an occasional artist, her sketchbook is ever present, constantly hanging from her belt as she draws flora, fauna, and anything of interest in her travels to properly document later. Littered amongst the sketches are also occasional plans for whatever project she’d like to work on back at Skyhold.

Art and crafting is ever her way of relaxing.

Despite being an artist, her color palette in terms of clothing remains relatively simple even if the cut of them are always finely-tailored. She favors darker colors overall with white and varying shades of grey. Occasionally, a splash of color is thrown in every now and again for visual emphasis.

For instance, the red scarf you see on her is a gift from Bethany Hawke. ;3

BACKGROUND

Niamh is the youngest child of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland.

She was born beneath a violent storm that only settled as her newborn cries filled the world--a telltale sign perhaps of the destiny that would later be laid out before her.

She was taken away to Ferelden’s Circle when her magic manifested at the age of four. Niamh was the youngest to enter Kinloch Hold that year, and she was inconsolable for several months as she struggled to adapt to her new surroundings and the many strangers that were meant to be her new family of sorts.

Of all the mages present, she was closest to Jowan since he was only a year or two older than her, and the then young boy was responsible for drawing her out of her sullen shell--enough to where she could finally be comfortable with interacting with others after months of frightened silence. The two children did everything together and were otherwise inseparable. Unfortunately, their relationship would later become strained as they entered into adolescence, especially as Niamh grew into her magical abilities and surpassed him entirely in power, astounding the likes of First Enchanter Irving and Wynne--both whom became her respective mentors--with her command over the elements. 

Niamh was able to successfully undertake the Harrowing at the age of seventeen, earning the right to be recognized as a full-fledged mage. She was never designated an Enchanter throughout her time in the Circle, for she had no personal apprentices of her own. The few new ones to arrive at the Tower were assigned to those who had passed the Harrowing before her, but she was content to help them and the Senior Enchanters however she could. Her kindness, patience, and calm diligence earned her easy friendships.

...or at least she thought so until some of her colleagues turned on her with Uldred’s coup following the onset of the Blight.

Caught between blood mages and Templars who believed she had a hand in Uldred’s machinations, she likely would have succumbed to either party eventually had her sister Saoirse--now a Grey Warden--not arrived to help cleanse the Tower of abominations and save First Enchanter Irving and the remaining Senior Enchanters.

For her efforts in saving them, Niamh was allowed to accompany her sister on her travels across Ferelden along with Wynne. She formed a fast friendship with Leliana early on, and it eventually led to heavy infatuation on Niamh’s end, but it stuttered to an abrupt halt when she realized her sister was also in love with the bard. Believing that she had nothing of worth to offer to Leliana as a mere mage, Niamh buried her feelings for the other woman, watching from afar as she fell for Saoirse.

Saoirse was as bold as all great heroes could ever hope to be, and so she was well-suited for Leliana, but it was Niamh who tempered much of her sister’s impulsiveness, especially when it came to matters of diplomacy.

---

"Can't we just--"

"No." Niamh just kept her gaze forward as they walked out of the Deep Roads, refusing to look at her sister.

"But it's a good idea!" Saoirse insisted earnestly.

"Saoirse, in no world where you throw the crown at the two candidates for Orzammar's throne and expect the least most concussed to be King can ever be considered a 'good idea,'" Niamh deadpanned.

---

Yet, for all her brilliance with tactics and matters of negotiation, Niamh was unable to convince Saoirse to allow Morrigan to use her Dark Ritual despite knowing it would have saved any of the Grey Wardens from being sacrificed. Worse, her sister made her promise not to tell Leliana of Saoirse’s own plans to slay the Archdemon in the final battle.

As expected, it resulted in Saoirse’s death.

Racked with guilt over never telling Leliana the truth of the matter, and believing she had been left the last of the Couslands--a mage that Thedas would have never recognized--she disappeared following the end of the Fifth Blight. Niamh placed herself in a self-imposed exile abroad for over a decade until news of a Conclave by Divine Justinia was brought to her attention. The Divine had hoped to bring together both sides of the Mage-Templar War and negotiate its end.

For Niamh, this led her to return to Ferelden. It was her last hope to see if the world could finally begin to change for the better.

Instead, she was given a far different destiny...

COMBAT & SKILLS

Preferred fighting style: She prefers keeping herself at range on the battlefield, for it allows her to better survey it. She sees everything like an intricate chess game, and she always tries to place herself and her team at the best advantage to overcome their opponents.

As a mage, Niamh incorporates a lot of staffwork in her fighting, especially when it comes to casting magic. However, when she was living abroad, she had to learn to adjust her fighting style altogether so that she would never be suspected of being a mage. As such, she taught herself to fight with spears and polearms, as they were still similar enough to normal staff-fighting that it wouldn’t require a completely new foundation with which to work from.

Because the new style of fighting required her to be within relatively close quarters of her enemies, she learned to try and limit the time of the engagement with them as much as possible with quick, brutal strikes. That methodology happens regardless of how many opponents there are. A quick takedown means a much quicker escape after all. As a runaway apostate, she couldn’t risk leaving a trail of bodies behind her wherever she went.

Special skills: Niamh is specialized in all the elemental houses of magic although she favors lightning the most. During her time with the Inquisition, she also specialized in necromancy--much to the surprise of many.

RELATIONSHIPS

Family: Of the renowned Couslands, only she and her older brother Fergus remain, but despite their years apart(she honestly didn’t know that he survived the Battle of Ostagar until she returned to Ferelden in 9:41), they remain loving and supportive as always toward one another. Of her late mother’s family, the Mac Eanraigs, she gets along well with them, especially her Aunt Eithne (who will be making her first official appearance in chapter 24 of OtSttCA).

Love interest: Leliana (although they won’t be an official couple until close to chapter 30 or so)

Best friends: Dorian, Sera, and Cole. She views the three of them like younger siblings, which was an admittedly odd feeling for her at first, given that she’s the youngest of her own siblings.

Of her other companions, she is also closest to Vivienne although Niamh sees her more like a fond, maternal figure than a best friend. She greatly respects how the older woman was able to take her status as a mage and turn it into a position of power within the Orlesian Imperial Court, especially when so very little of it was ever afforded to their people. When it comes to the mage allies she gathered from Redcliffe, she trusts Vivienne’s judgment in overseeing them along with the Knight-Enchanters Niamh requested of her back in chapter 13, especially since Niamh travels so much between missions. Then, when it comes to just about anything regarding Orlais, she goes to Vivienne as much as Leliana or Josephine, mostly wanting the insight of a mage in regards to the culture and politics seen there.

Then, of her War Council, Leliana and Josephine are her absolute favorites. Niamh and Leliana have so much history between them that it’s impossible to separate themselves from one another, and she appreciates Josephine’s sweet nature as well as her diplomatic acumen.

PERSONALITY

Positive traits: Her adaptability. There’s an almost... chameleon-like nature to Niamh at times. As such, she can acclimate herself to whatever her environment asks of her and find a way to thrive in spite of it all. She’s also quite intelligent. Ever the eternal student, she constantly looks to expand her wealth of knowledge. Had she not been born a mage, she likely would have done well as a scholar in the world of Thedas. Niamh is also benevolent, always seeking to place more kindness into the world rather than contributing to the bad already within it.

Negative traits: After years of being taught rather toxic, religious doctrine from the Chantry in regards to mages, Niamh has rather low self-esteem, especially when it comes to the subject of love. She doesn’t believe herself worthy of Leliana for instance. As brilliant as she is, her mind can be rather restless at times. This can lead to overthinking outside of any tactical or official setting, which tends to feed back on her latent anxiety as a leader. Then, having spent a decade constantly on the move, she’s not used to staying still for long periods of time, which lends itself to some trouble, especially if she’s injured. She is quite literally the worst patient ever. :P

Likes: Storms, the ocean, mabari, tea, strategy games, sweets, books, art

Dislikes: The Chantry, Templars, discriminatory behavior, incivility,

Fears: The Rite of Tranquility, outright failure as a leader

Guilty Pleasure: Niamh has the most terrible sweet tooth. If given half the chance, she’d get her entire day’s sustenance through sweets alone. She actually does like fashion; she just couldn’t allow herself to indulge in it since her nomadic lifestyle before joining the Inquisition didn’t permit such luxury. She’d happily window-shop the entire day away if given the opportunity.

Hobbies: Sketching, painting, crafting, reading, chess

[queen-scribbles]

Vigilance

Post-Echoes of Oblivion Keme/Jorgan, because why not?

---

Keme was trying to be quiet.

And all it took to undo her efforts was a shape darting past the balcony in her peripheral vision. Likely just a flutterplume or something else innocuous, it nevertheless provoked a reaction in her hyper-vigilant state. She managed to bite back the yelp, but her knee banged the table when she jolted. Hard enough to bruise and rattle the blaster rifle component spread in front of her for cleaning.

Dammit. She grimaced and tensed when she heard movement from the bedroom. That was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid, but military careers did not heavy sleepers make.

There was a moment of silence, where she pictured Aric noting her side of the bed was empty(and had been long enough the sheets were cool) and then, just loud enough to carry, “Keme?”

“Out here,” she called back, rubbing her knee and scowling at the window, now empty of whatever had startled her and showing only purple-black sky.

The bed squeaked. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Keme sighed. “I was trying not to wake you, sorry.”

Another beat, another squeak, followed by the shuffled of footsteps and Aric’s voice from the open doorway to their bedroom(she should have remembered to close that). “So if everything’s alright, what’re you doing up?”

She fiddled with the vibration cell for her rifle and didn’t turn to look at him. “Just couldn’t sleep.” Didn’t want to sleep. “This seemed more productive than staring at the ceiling.”

He huffed a quiet laugh as he moved to join her. “You didn’t drink Theron’s caf, did you?”

“Hell, no,” Keme chuckled in return. “I get wired enough off the regular stuff; I think that high-octane abomination he and Hylo drink might kill me.” She let her gaze settle on the scar across his chest as he sat on the couch, ‘looking at him’ without making eye contact for fear he’d read her like a holonovel. 

Unfortunately, he could read the avoidance just as well. “Keme. What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing, you only do this sort of thing when something’s bothering you.”

Her sigh was tinged with a growl. “It’s not... just that I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, meeting his gaze with lingering reluctance. “I don’t want to.”

Aric’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

Keme wrinkled her nose and ran one hand through her hair. “It’s silly...” Part of why I didn’t want to wake you...

“I doubt that,” he scoffed. “You have good instincts, Commander; if it’s bothering you enough to prompt midnight weapon maintenance, odds are it’s not silly.”

She smiled wryly at the confidence in his voice, even rough with sleep, but hesitated a moment before the words finally tumbled out. “I’m worried he’ll still be there.”

“Valkorion?” Aric asked gruffly after a beat.

Keme nodded, tucked back hair the movement freed.”I know he’s supposedly gone for good, but...” She bit her lip and sighed. “I’ve thought that twice, Aric. Twice he was gone and twice he came back.” Her fingers curled into the rug beneath her. “And now even with everyone from Satele to Lana to Senya telling me he’s gone, the Force feels different, I don’t believe it. I’m not connected to the Force like they are, I can’t be sure.” Her gaze dropped to the rifle spread across the table. “I feel like I have to be ready, have to be vigilant, so if he comes back again, I can end him again. However many times it takes.”

He didn’t say anything, but she could feel him watching as she started slotting the pieces of her rifle back together.

She didn’t make it far before setting the half-assembled weapon down and meeting his gaze again. “And I’m afraid even if he never... physically comes back, I”ll still see him in my dreams.”

“Hey. Come here.” Aric reached down and tugged her arm to move her from her spot on the floor to sit next to him. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders to pull her close. “He was in your head, Keme.” He pressed a kiss to her hair.  “While I absolutely believe you’re capable of destroying him for good, it makes sense to worry he’ll pop back up. It’s the furthest thing from silly to consider a devious and powerful enemy having an escape plan; that’s just good tactical sense.”

Her lips curved in a smile at his reassurance and she traced her fingers along the scar on his chest as his thumb brushed over one on her shoulder. “Nice to have someone who doesn’t think I’m just paranoid.”

“Never, boss.” There was a heavy dose of amusement in his voice. “Feel like you’ll be coming back to bed soon, or do you want company out here?”

Keme pulled back enough to shoot him a protesting look. “Jorgan, I can’t ask-”

“You’re not,” he cut her off, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “‘Sides, the Special could prob’ly use a good once-over. It’s been a while.”

She doubted that; he took better care of that rifle than some people did their children. But she also knew what his offering meant, so, “Company would be kinda nice. If you need to clean it anyway...”

He nodded, smiled, and extricated himself with one last kiss to the top of her head. “Be right back.”

Keme eased herself back to the floor as he ducked into the bedroom and resumed reassembling her blaster rifle.

Aric reappeared after a little over a minute, the well-loved duranium-barrel special held in one hand while the other finished yanking on a dark grey t-shirt. He paused a moment to make mental calculations about space, then sat on the floor next to her to start disassembling his sniper rifle for cleaning.

They worked in silence, but just his being there helped settle her frayed nerves after today. He had her back, trusted her instincts, and she trusted him. Thoroughly and implicitly. It didn’t take long for them to finish--she’d been half done when he woke up, and the Special really didn’t need the once-over he gave it.

“Still not tired,” Keme muttered, setting her rifle on the table and rubbing her eyes with thumb and forefinger. She managed to swallow the threatening yawn, but it still stretched her words on the way down.

“Keme.” Aric shot her a skeptical look as he rested his gun across one of the chairs.

“Still don’t wanna sleep,” she corrected herself. She plunked on the sofa, leaned her head back to stare at the ceiling. Much as she hated it, she couldn’t shake the sick dread she’d see him if she fell asleep.

Aric sat next to her, shifting to lean against where the couch arm met the back, and tugged her close again. “Alright.”

The angle had her reclining, and his heartbeat in her ear, and she knew exactly what he was doing. She smiled wryly into his chest. Every time she thought she couldn’t love him more he went and proved her wrong. “You don’t have to stay out here, y’know,” she murmured as she settled in on top of him.

He slid an arm around her and his chin pressed lightly to the top of her head. “I spent five years sleeping without you, like hell that’s happening ever again if I have any say in the matter.”

She laughed against his shirt. “Love you.”

His arm tightened around her briefly, and she’d bet her favorite boots he was smiling. “Love you, too.”

Under the circumstances, Keme wasn’t really surprised when she started drifting off. She was, a little, in that muzzy, half-aware sense, that she didn’t fight it. The steady rhythm of her husband’s heart was an alluring lullaby, and the weight of his arm around her a silent promise it was safe to let her guard down.

So she did. 

Her dreams were much more pleasant than she’d anticipated.

[rohad93]

Moonlit Masquerade: Fall Showers

Part 8 of the Moonlit  Masquerade Series

She hears about it at the market on Monday after school.

Amity has to go home straight after school, so Luz teleports herself to the market, in no rush today to head straight home. She's browsing a stand, looking over an assortment of magical trinkets curiously when she happens to overhear two people standing nearby talking.

"So are you taking her to the 'fall shower' tomorrow night?" One asks.

"She'd never let me hear the end of it if I don't. It's the 'most romantic thing a couple can do together'," the other quotes, rolling his eyes.

Luz pays closer attention to those words.

"Girls are so sappy…," the first chuckles and they walk off.

Luz hums to herself and finishes her browsing before hurrying home to ask Eda about this 'fall shower'.

Her pseudo mom is strewn haphazardly across the couch with a magazine laying open over her face when she gets home.

"Hey, Eda!" she calls when she bursts through the door.

"What?" she grumbles, but otherwise doesn't move from the couch.

"What's the 'fall shower'?" she asks as she sets her bag on the floor by the door.

She reached up and pulled the magazine down to her nose to regard Luz with tired, dual-colored eyes.

"Where'd you hear about that?" she asks, voice muffled by the magazine still sitting halfway on her face.

"In town, some guys were talking about it being some big romantic thing," she says. Eda grunts, head lolling to the side to better look at her.

"Yeah, it's a couple… thing." She waved a hand, before pulling the magazine back up over her eyes.

"That didn't tell me anything…" Luz frowned at her.

"Go ask Lily." is the muffled reply.

"Ask me what?" Lilith chose that moment to walk into the living room, some books held under her arm.

"What's the ‘fall shower’?" Luz turns to her.

"Ahh, you heard about that." Lilith smiles, walking over to the couch and using the books to sweep Eda's feet out of the seat on the end to sit.

Eda grumbles, shooting her sister a dirty look as she sits up.

"The Fall Shower is a meteor shower that takes place around this time each year," Lilith explained as she arranged herself on the couch.

"So, what makes it so romantic?"

"The legend behind it is that long ago two lovers, kept apart by circumstance would meet under cover of night, only once a year to be together, and after many years of this, and watching it, the Titan was so moved by their dedication and love, that it made the very sky weep," she gladly explained while Eda rolled her eyes.

"It's a bunch of sappy gobble de gook," Eda gruffed but frowned when she saw Luz was looking at Lilith with wide, starry eyes.

"That sounds awesome!"

"It's a widely watched event by lovers all across the Isles. Specifically from the Eastern forest where the lovers were said to meet," Lilith finishes happily. Luz is always willing to listen and learn from her, which does do something for her ego and the teacher in her.

"You and Amity gonna go?" Eda asks, cocking her head curiously.

"Oh… I dunno…" luz hesitates.

"Why not?”

"We're together but we're not… ya know…," she says, waving a hand, cheeks pink. She finds it hard to say that word. Eda gives her a wicked grin.

"You love each other dont'cha?" She cocked her head, smirking  "You're lovers." It took everything the owl lady had to keep a straight face as she said this, but it broke the second Luz began to turn crimson.

"That's not what the word…. 'lovers' implies, and you know it!" Luz squeaks, red-faced as she finally gets the word out.  Eda threw her head back and laughed maniacally.

Sometimes she forgot that Luz was still pretty innocent by most counts.

"It's an event many couples go to, regardless of their… um, stage of relationship" Lilith tries to supply helpfully. "It's quite beautiful, I would recommend it."

"You've been?" Luz and Eda both ask, surprised.

Luz watches in fascination as the former coven leader's face tints pink.

"I have," she says.

"With who?" Eda is looking at her, grinning.

"Never you mind!" Lilith growls. "The point is, regardless of the state of your relationship, it's something worth seeing."

"I'll ask her tomorrow." Luz nods.

She picks up her bag and heads upstairs, listening to Eda prod at her sister.

"Come on, who was it?"

"I'm not telling you!"

"Was it that snot nose boy from the bard track you had the hots for?"

"Edalyn!"

Luz just laughs to herself.

~

Tuesday, she's sitting next to Amity in class and the teacher has stepped out to see to something, so Luz takes the opportunity to slide a note across the table to her.

Amity looks at the folded slip of paper with a cocked brow before looking up at her, but Luz is carefully not looking at her.

'You busy tonight?'

Her eyebrow arches higher at that.

'No, why?' she slides it back.

'Wanna go somewhere with me?' it reads when she's passed it back.

'Where?'

She can practically hear her girlfriend's wary tone in the written words and grins.

'The eastern forest.' she's being intentionally vague and Amity knows it.

"Why?" She finally just whispers and Luz shakes her head making a 'shhhing' motion and Amity makes an annoyed sound and simply pushes the paper back to her. Luz can sense she's quickly reaching the end of her girlfriend's patience for her game and jots down a reply before sliding it back.

'Want to go watch the 'fall shower' with me?'

Amity's head whips up to look at her with wide eyes the second she finishes processing the words on the paper, looking at Luz, who is looking back at her, both brows raised in silent question.

"The…" she starts but manages to stop herself, remembering where they are and starts scribbling furiously on the paper before shoving it back.

'The fall shower? How do you even know what that is?'

'Heard some guys at the market talking about it. So, mi amor, up for a romantic night under the stars?'

Amity pursed her lips, glancing at Luz out of the corner of her eye and she feels herself smile when she sees Luz looking at her in that adoring way that is much too telling of a way for school.

She hesitates a moment before putting something down and pushing it back.

'It's a school night.' is her weak argument.

'so?'

She shoots Luz a look but she only grins back.

'Okay'

"Passing notes in my class, Miss. Noceda?" The professor returned while they weren't looking, his abomination looming over their table. "On principle, all notes are read aloud in my class." He holds his tiny hand out for the paper.

Luz glances at Amity, who's gone pale as a ghost, gold eyes filled with panic and fear at the declaration.

Knowing the nature of their relationship is written plainly on the paper for all to potentially hear, Luz makes a desperate decision and shoves it into her mouth.

The teacher and the whole class look at her with wide eyes and hanging mouths, including Amity as she chews it, wincing at the sharp edges. It's the longest hand full of seconds ever as the whole class watches her eat a piece of paper.

But Luz is nothing if not committed and swallows, eyes watering.

"No, sir," she rasps. "No notes here."

"Well then… on with the lesson…,"  he says numbly at what he'd just witnessed and returns to the front of the class.

Amity is still looking at her with wide, unbelieving eyes.

Let it never be said that Luz Noceda wouldn't do whatever it took to protect her girlfriend, whether it be eating a punch or a piece of paper.

She grins, though it looks queasy, and Amity slaps her palm against her forehead.

~

"You ate it?" Gus says disbelieving at lunch but then turns thoughtful. "Do humans usually eat paper?" he asks curiously.

"No, no, they do not…" Luz makes a face and smacks her lips. She can still taste it, paper on the Isles tastes different. Willow has her head in her hand and is shaking it.

"I'm torn between calling you an idiot and finding it endearing that you ate it, so it wouldn't be read out loud," Amity mumbles.

"Yo también te quiero." Luz winks and Amity grins back at her. The way they're looking at each other makes Willow sigh.

"You two have been kind of bold lately. You've got to be more careful at school," she mumbles. "Unless you like eating paper…" She looks at Luz, exasperated. Her friends are too much sometimes, on a good day, much less when they're being all… coupley. They're sitting in the back corner of the cafeteria, Luz and Amity sitting against the wall so no one can see them holding hands under the table

"She's right," Amity says quietly, and Luz sighs.

"I know." She mopes. "There's just not enough time in the day…," Luz laments and Amity squeezes her hand under the table.

Gus and Willow share a look. They feel for their friends, they really do, the two just want to be so sickeningly in love whenever they're together. Even though they don't want to be subjected to it all the time, they also wish their friends could just be a couple in public.

"Well, fall break is coming up, that's a whole week off coming up soon." Gus piped up helpfully.

"That's true, we'll have to all hang out together during the break," Willow suggests and the couple was quick to agree as they discussed possible plans for the coming break.

~

It's well and dark when Luz pulls on her new Hexside hoodie. An apology offering from the twins after she'd bled all over the other one, and steps out the door with Owlbert on her shoulder and the staff in hand.

"Be careful, and have fun," Eda calls.

"I will. love you!" she calls, closing the door.

"Ready, buddy?" She smiles and the palisman hoots happily before hopping atop the staff and fusing back with the wood, wings spread, and she hopped on before flying away from the owl house toward Blight Manor.

It's colder and colder with each passing day as they move into true fall. Leaves have fallen everywhere across the Isles, starting to give it an even more barren look in some places then it usually had, though in others the forest is awash with color of every shade and hue Luz can imagine.

The moon is full and the sky is clear. It couldn't be a more perfect evening for watching a meteor shower.

Blight Manor comes into view after a few minutes and Luz makes sure to hover down in the woods, well outside the wrought iron gates, just in the tree line.

Luckily most of the trees outside Blight Manor are of the coniferous variety and their branches are still full of green needles, shielding her from view.

She pulls out her scroll and sends a message.

'I’m outside, flash your light.'

She slipped it back in her hoodie pocket and glanced over the windows, most of the lights were on, then suddenly a light on the far side of the house began to flicker. Luz grinned and spurred the staff into motion toward the side of the house and over the fence to hover outside the second-story window.

She could see Amity inside, sitting on her bed and tapping her foot anxiously. She was wearing the white and purple hoodie she'd borrowed from Luz three weeks ago, which the human had completely forgotten about till now.

She definitely liked that hoodie on Amity.

Luz grinned as she flew in close and tapped the glass quietly. Amity jerked, gold eyes wide as she looked up to see her girlfriend hovering out the window, waving.

She smiled brightly and jumped up, opening the window.

"Buenas Noches, mi amor. Your chariot awaits." Luz grinned and hoped it came out as dashing as it did in her head.

"You certainly know how to make a girl feel special, querida," Amity giggled at her behind a hand and climbed onto the window sill. Luz held out her hand, taking Amity's to help steady her as she slipped out the window and onto the staff, hands wrapping around Luz's waist.

Just as she's about to close the window the bedroom door opens and before Amity's heart can come out of her throat, Edric sticks his head in and looks around a second before spotting them, hovering, outside the window, looking back at him with wide eyes.

They stare back at each other before Ed's face morphs into a wicked grin as he steps into the room, closing the door behind him.

"I never knew you had it in you, Mittens." He smirked, crossing his arms.

"Ed!" Amity hissed at the only Blight son as he walked over to the window and set his elbows on the sill, setting his head in his hands.

"Where are you two off too?" he asked, looking between the two with glee.

"We're gonna go watch the fall shower," Luz said with a grin before Amity could tell him to buzz off.

"Oooh…, and if mom or dad should happen to pop their heads into your room and see you're gone?" He cocked a brow. Amity frowned at that, suddenly doubting the brilliance of this plan.

Edric saw it and smiled, he twirled his finger and in a pale blue flash, a duplicate Amity appeared in her bed, appearing to be sleeping.

"I got ya covered." He winked, and Amity smiled at him. "Don't stay out too late, you two" He grins, wagging a finger.

"Thanks, Ed!" Luz grinned before they pulled away from the window and flew off into the dark.

Amity clung tightly to Luz's back as they flew over the island, she was downright hot in comparison to the cold air that whipped past their faces.

"Where are we going exactly?" She leaned forward, lips pressed against Luz's ear so she could hear her over the wind.

Luz shivered at the hot breath in her ear.

"Lilith told me about a spot on a cliff at the edge of the forest that was perfect when she went," she answered back, as she steered them.

"Lilith's been?" Luz can hear the surprise in her voice.

"I know, crazy right? She wouldn't say who with, Eda bugged her all night about it." Luz shrugged.

When they’re flying over the forest they can see the faint glowing of lights dotting the area.

"I don't think we're going to be the only ones here…," Amity mumbles and Luz nods, bringing them down away from any of the other couples that appear to be in the woods tonight.

They hop off and Luz leans the staff against her shoulder and pulls up her hood.

"We don't wanna be recognized if anyone we know is here. It'd be hard to explain why we're here together," she reasoned when Amity looked at her curiously.

"Right," she said, pulling up her own hood. "Nothing you can eat would fix that." She smirked as Luz pulled out a light glyph and lit up the area around them.

"I thought we agreed that that was endearing!" Luz yelped at the teasing. Amity just chuckled as she walked through the forest, Luz hot on her heels.

"A true labor of love," Amity agreed, though the way she was giggling told a different story.

"That's the last time I get a paper cut on my tongue for you," Luz huffed, grabbing Amity's hand. The witch's fingers laced between her automatically even as she rolled her eyes.

"What do you want me to do, kiss it better?"

"Maybe…," Luz grumbled, and they both turned bright red beneath their hoods.

"Come on, you dork," Amity mumbled, glad most of her face was hidden by the purple hood.

They walked quickly through the woods, hand in hand as they searched for a relatively private spot from which to watch the sky.

"It should be just over this way…," Luz said quietly as they walked, their breaths coming out in little clouds.

"Did Lilith say exactly where it was?" Amity glanced around at all the trees, their feet crunching in the leaves.

"No, but she said around here, and that we'd know it when we saw it. There should be a bunch of rocks with initials carved into them," she said, holding her hand up, the light out in front of her.

A few more yards and she stopped, jerking Amity tp a stop as well.

"What-," she started.

"Shhh," Luz hushed her and tapped the staff to the ground, snuffing the light out, casting them in darkness before pulling Amity against her and pressing her back flush against a wide tree trunk. It took a few moments before their eyes adjusted to the dark, the light of the moon filtering through the trees cast a faint, but low, glow over everything.

They stayed perfectly still and quiet. All Amity could hear was her own heartbeat in her ears.

Then, the crunching of leaves approaching, followed by voices growing steadily louder. A moment later they could see the light bobbing between the trees a few yards away.

"How many more of these losers do you think we can catch on camera?" A voice cackled.

'Boscha' was the thought going through both girls' heads. Amity's grip on Luz tightened and her heartbeat sped up. Luz pulled her closer, as though trying to sink into the bark of the tree and make themselves disappear.

"There were a bunch down by the river." Skara's voice answered.

"Perfect, my penstagram followers could use a laugh," she snorted.

They were walking past them, through the trees, and both girls held their breath as they walked by.

Their voices and the light growing steadily more distant along with their footsteps in the crunching leaves. Eventually, the sounds faded entirely, replaced with the ambient sounds of the forest and Amity sighed in relief, her head sagging against Luz's shoulder.

"That was close…," the witch mumbled once she was sure they were far enough away.

"She just came out here to make fun of people…" Luz frowned, and Amity pulled back to look at her girlfriend's face.

"That's certainly something she would do…" Amity agreed.

"She's such a…" Luz chewed on her words, face screwed up with anger.

"A bitch," Amity supplied and Luz looked at her with wide eyes before a grin broke out across her face and she snorted, slapping a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughing and Amity grinned at her.

"My, my, what strong language, Miss Blight." Luz grinned once she got her giggling under control.

"You were thinking it," she argued, still grinning.

"I would never." Luz held a hand to her chest, but her own grin betrayed her.

"Come on," she laughed, tugging Luz away from the tree and spelling a light orb into existence as they continued on in the same direction as before.

They pushed through some bushes and in front of them were an outcropping of rocks.

"I wonder if this is it…," Luz hummed as they pushed through and rounded one of the large rocks only to smack directly into someone.

"Ahh!" Four yells echoed through the woods.

Luz holds the staff out in front of them defensively before she realizes who it is they’ve run into.

"Amity!?"

"Emira!?

The sisters stared at each other.

"What are you doing here?" they both asked.

Amity blinked, then noticed the other person standing at her sister's side.

"Viney?" Luz cocked her head, looking between the two older teens.

"Sup?" She smiled, not looking at all bothered by the events going on around them. Amity looked back and forth between her sister and the other multi-track student.

The older Blight's face turned panicked.

"I can explain!" Emira practically shouts at them. Her sister's mouth is hanging open as the scene in front of them begins to sink in.

"I knew it!" Luz points, grinning wildly at the other two girls. Amity blinks at that, head whipping to look at her girlfriend.

"What do you mean you knew it!?" she yelps and Luz chuckles, scratching the back of her head.

"Well, yeah, after Viney fixed my face and was so weird about how she knew Em, I kinda started paying more attention, and saw Em head into beast keeping one day after school when I had to go back because I forgot my bag, so I just figured." She shrugged. The older teens stand there, red-faced at being so easily figured out.

"Them, you figured out in two weeks, but you didn't know I liked you till I said it to your face after almost two months…" Amity frowns, crossing her arms. Luz turned red at that and grinned sheepishly, shrugging.

"Lo Siento, mi amor."

Viney snorted at that, drawing the two girls’ gaze.

"That sounds like, Luz," she agreed, and Amity sighed.

"Are you guys here to watch the fall shower?" Luz grins.

"Of course," Viney smiles back, hand on her hip.

The sisters are still looking at each other. Emira looks embarrassed and Amity can't help but feel betrayal sinking in her gut like a stone.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this…," she finally managed to mutter and the betrayal she feels must be clear on her face because Emira blinks at her and grimaces, rubbing one of her arms.

Luz and Viney share a glance.

"I can't believe you!" Amity frowns and Emira jerks but then glares.

"It's not like you told me about, Luz!" she bites back defensively.

"You already knew!" she argued.

"Anyone with one eye and half a brain could tell how bad you had it for her!" she barked.

"Hey!" Luz jumps in, offended by the implication.

"Babe..." Viney rested a hand on Emira's shoulder and she relaxed, sighing.

"Look, Amity, it wasn't anything personal… it was just that the fewer people that knew the better. I shouldn't have to tell you that." Her eyes darted to Luz before focusing on her sister.

Amity continues to frown and Luz nudges her with her hip. She glanced at the human, smiling at her in that way, egging her on. Amity sighs, looking back at Emira.

"You're right… I understand."

"I should have told you though… there just hasn't been a good time lately," Emira admitted.

"I don't understand…," Luz said, drawing everyone's gaze. "I know why your parents wouldn't like me… being all human and everything, but what's wrong with Viney, why keep it a secret?" She held her hand out at the other upperclassman.

"Besides being a multi-track student, formerly of the detention track, and bottom of the barrel social class-wise?" Viney chuckled, seemingly not at all bothered by this characterization of herself.

"Our parents are very… traditional," Amity hedges.

"Anyone who falls outside the norm, someone studying multiple tracks, like you," Emira pointed at her. " Or aren't of the right social class, they are not going to be fond of." Emira frowns, resting a fist on her hip.

"Wow, I think that's the first time I've checked every box on a list…, and not the list I wanted too..." Luz frowned, crossing her arms.

"I still love you." Amity nudged her, making her smile.

Emira cleared her throat and they both turned red as they focussed on the two grinning teens in front of them.

"So yeah," Emira said with a grin at her sister's bright red face. "That's why."

"Blight's just have the hots for trouble makers." Viney winked and Luz laughed as they high fived, making the sisters roll their eyes, but both their faces are pink.

"I'm surprised though, never thought you'd have the guts to sneak out, Mittens." Emira looked at her sister appraisingly. "Then again, you do a lot of surprising things these days…" she smiled, glancing between the two younger girls.

Amity stood a little taller, chin jutted out.

"How'd you guys get here?" Luz asks.

"Puddles" Viney grinned, pointing her thumb over her shoulder at the young griffin laying curled up in the grass.

"I want a griffin…" Luz pouted, making her fellow multi-tracker chuckle.

“You do not need a griffin…,” Amity mumbled.

"You guys better find a spot to watch from, the shower should be starting soon," Viney reminded.

"And this is our spot," Emira said.

"Oh, right. Come on, Amity." Luz grabbed her hand and tugged.

Amity sent a last glance at her sister who seemed to read the look.

"Later," she promised. Amity nodded and let Luz drag her away.

"Stay close and we'll warn you if anyone's coming our way!" Viney called to the two's retreating backs. Luz waved over her shoulder.

"We can still find a good spot." Luz smiled at her as they walked. Amity nodded. The cool night air had made her nose and the tips of her ears red, Luz looked much the same.

They followed the edge of the cliff till they pushed through some bushes as tall as them and stopped.

In front of them was a small clearing of grass surrounded by large stones on one side and the edge of the cliff, hanging out over the ocean on the other, providing perfect shelter from any onlookers and a clear view of the night sky and moon above them.

"This is perfect." Luz smiled and Amity nodded in agreement.

They glanced around and Luz perked up. "Hey check it out!" She trotted over to the rocks and the light spell lit up the rocks, casting long shadows against their jagged shapes and the many initials carved across their faces. "This is it!" Luz grinned.

"Lilith was right, this spot is perfect," Amity admitted, looking around. The moonlight reflecting off the ocean amidst the starry sky was beautiful.

Luz glanced around before her eyes lighted upon a sharp rock and picked it up, resting the staff against the rocks and immediately going to work on a free space on the rocks face, tongue poking out between her lips in concentration

All the scratching and chipping noise brought Amity's eyes back to her, hunched over one of the large rocks.

"What are you doing?" She tried to peek around her, but Luz covered her work with her arms.

"Hold on, I'm not done!"

Amity can practically hear the grin in her voice, and stood back, waiting. After a few minutes, Luz leaned back, eyeing her work critically before smiling and standing up to move aside.

"Ta~da" She held out her arms at the rock.

There, chiseled forever into the rock's surface, deep enough to never fade is: 'L+A' Inside a slightly misshapen heart.

Amity's face warms, and heat blooms in her chest in a way that only Luz is capable of eliciting. She can't stop the smile tugging at her lips even if she wanted too; and she doesn't.

"You're a dork," she says, but the adoring tone can't be mistaken for anything else.

"But I'm your dork, mi amor." She grins wagging her eyes brows and Amity snorts into her hand.

"Yeah, my dork," she agrees, grabbing the sides of Luz's hood and pulling her in for a kiss.

Luz laughs against her lips and she pulls back, shaking her head.

"Come on…," she mumbles, still smiling as she tugs Luz over to the grass. Luz dropped her hand to plop down on the ground, flopping onto her back in the grass, one arm outstretched in invitation. Amity sat down beside her laid back in the grass atop Luz's arm, letting her tug her in close. Her warmth immediately soaks into her, and Amity shuffles closer, throwing an arm across Luz's waist, humming contently and Luz is happy to oblige any and all snuggling, her free hand reaching across to entangle her fingers with Amity's. Their cold and Luz just squeezed tighter, trying to warm the digits in hers and Amity smiles against her.

It's quiet, the sounds of the ocean crashing against the shore and the slight breeze in the trees are the only sounds for a few minutes, but Luz and quiet never did mix for long.

"So, when is it supposed to start?" Luz mumbles against a pointed ear, hot breath making it twitch. Amity half shrugs.

"Anytime now," she hums.

Honestly, she doesn't even care if it ever starts, though she's sure Luz would be disappointed if it didn't. She's happy to just be right here, her girlfriend holding her close, alone in the calm quiet of the night. It's only ever here, wrapped up in the unending warmth and affection the other girl exudes, that Amity is ever truly at peace, unworried by everything else going on in her life, whether it be school, her parents, or anything in between. Here, above all else, is where she's happiest.

She lets her eyes slip closed for a moment, and the warm earthy smell she would know anywhere fills her senses, so much stronger then on the hoodie she's been wearing to bed for two weeks. She doesn't pretend to understand what Luz is thinking half the time, but her thoughts must be of a similar vein because she feels her nose bury in her hair.

It's probably only a minute before she hears Luz gasp.

"It's starting!" Is the excited whisper against the shell of her ear, and her eyes pop open.

First, it's just one, then two, then three more, and before she knows it, stars are streaking across the sky leaving bright trails of light in their wake as they flash and vanish almost as quickly as they appear, but are quickly replaced by more.

"Wow…," Luz breathes as she watches with wide eyes. It reminds her of rain on a window, or tears falling, like in the story.

Amity watches silently, but no less entranced by the spectacle.

"Totally worth it," Luz says and Amity can see the cloud it makes before it evaporates against the sky above them. She hums in agreement.

The stars continue to flash across the sky in bright flecks of whizzing light, slowly fading out against the inky blacks and deep blues and purples of the nebulas above. Amity’s thumb runs over the back of Luz’s knuckles slowly.

The sky is alive with the bright streaks for a long while before they begin to slow, and as they do she can feel her eyes droop, the quiet, and Luz's warmth slowly lulling her to sleep.

After a while, Luz notices the constant rubbing of Amity's thumb over her knuckles has stopped and she glances down to see her eyes closed and breathing soft and even as she sleeps, curled against her. Happiness, hot and searing, fills her whole being; beyond words to describe it.

She smiles to herself, and buries her nose in mint hair, letting her eyes slip closed, just for a second, listening to the calming sound of Amity's breathing and feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest against her.

Then she's asleep.

The next thing they know, they're being shaken awake.

"Huh, Wha-" Luz blinks drowsily.

"You two gotta get up, and Mittens has to come home with me," Emira chuckles as she and Viney stand over the two, smiling, Puddles standing behind them.

Luz grumbles, clutching her girlfriend closer.

"No…," she mumbles thickly. She feels the hot puffs of air against her neck as Amity sleepily laughs at her.

"We have to go…," she says thickly, pressing a drowsy kiss to Luz's neck without thinking, unaware of the jolt it sends through Luz’s system, before extracting herself from her. Luz just whines and makes needy, grabby motions with her hands; she’s colder now.

Amity chuckles and holds out her hand.

"Come on, you dork." She smiles down at her.

Luz takes her hand and lets herself be hauled to her feet. She walked over to the rocks and picked up the staff. The wings spread and she hops on, hovering off the ground and looking at Amity expectantly.

“I better go with Em,” she says sadly, and Luz pouts. Amity smiles and takes a step forward and kisses her goodnight, and it if lasts longer than it really needs to, the other two teens don’t say anything, just wait for Amity to extract herself from Luz.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she promises quietly, and Luz hums in agreement. “Goodnight, querida,” she mumbles.

“Goodnight, mi amor,” she says quietly, and then is flying off over the trees and disappearing from sight.

Viney jumps on Puddles back and Emira climbs on behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“Let’s go, Mittens,” her sister calls. “We have school tomorrow.”

“When did you suddenly become the voice of reason?” Viney chuckles.

“Cuz, she’s too head over heels in love with Luz, someone has to do it,” her sister teases, and Amity huffs, climbing on the griffin’s back behind her sister.

“Shut up,” she grumbles as they take off back toward Blight Manor.

“I’m curious…,” Emira starts after a few minutes, looking over her shoulder at Amity. “What’s ‘mi amor’? I’ve heard her say that before,” she asks, and Amity’s cheeks pink.

“It’s Spanish…,” she grumbles.

“Yeah, but what does it mean?” she stresses, almost knowingly. Maybe she doesn’t know exactly, but she knows a term of endearment when she hears one, especially the way Luz says those words to her; soft and meaningfully.

She mumbles something.

“What?” she asks and Amity sighs to herself.

“It means ‘my love’,” she finally says, and predictably, Emira coos at her.

“Aww… so ‘querida’ is like…,” she trails off and Amity scowls at her, of course, she heard that.

“Dear or darling,” she grumbles.

“You two are too cute.” She grins.

“Like you don’t call me ���honey’,” Viney pipes up, and it’s Emira’s turn to blush and grumble something under her breath. Amity snorts, grinning. She likes Viney more and more by the minute.

They land in the woods, just beyond the house and dismount, there's no way to get the griffin as close and quietly to their windows as Luz could get on a staff.

Amity turns away as Viney and her sister say their own goodbye’s, and then the multi-tracker is flying off into the night and the sisters make their way to the door. It’s late and all the lights are out, their parents are definitely asleep by now.  

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Emira says after a minute. “About Viney,” she clarifies, glancing at her sister.

Amity shrugs.

“I get it… I’m... terrified, about mom and dad finding out about Luz, and never being able to see her again,” she says quietly. Emira wraps an arm around her shoulders and squeezes.

“Ed and I have your back.”

Amity smiles to herself and nods before it turns into a grin.

“And I’m sure if Luz starts inviting Viney to things it will be just a coincidence,” she teases, and Emira scoffs, shoving her away, but her flushed face says it all and Amity laughs.

“Whatever…,” she gripes, but she’s grinning. It would definitely be less conspicuous if the four of them hung out together. They love hanging out with Gus and Willow, but she’s sure their friends get tired of them being all lovey when they're together.

They silently open the door and walk in.

The kitchen light is on and they share a look before tiptoeing down the entryway and peek their heads around the corner, the fridge door is open and someone is scavenging through it. They stay perfectly still.

Then, Edric steps back, fork hanging out of his mouth and a piece of cake in hand, and closes the door.

“Ed,” they hiss, and he jumps, nearly dropping the plate.

“Shit! Don’t do that!” he huffs as they walk into the kitchen. “Wait, where were you?” he points at his twin.

“We were both at the Fall Shower,” Amity says and Emira pinks as her twin looks at her with narrowed eyes.

“With who?” he asks.

“Her girlfriend?” Amity says obviously, and Edric’s eyes widen.

“You have a girlfriend?” he hisses, and Amity blinks, looking from one twin to the other.

“You didn’t tell Ed?” She blinks. Amity had always assumed that the twins told each other everything.

“Who’s your girlfriend?!” He leans forward and Emira turns red.

“Viney…”

“Your multi-track friend?” He blinks and she nods. “Huh… I shoulda pegged her as your type,” he hums before taking a bite of his cake. “So, how was it?” he asks, mouthful. The sisters glance at each other.

“Perfect,” they say, and Edric just nods sagely before he stops, looking thoughtful.

"So… wait… I'm the only one without a girlfriend!?" Edric yelled, throwing up his free hand.

Amity snorted, and Emira just shrugged.

"Sorry, Bro." She smirked, not looking sorry at all.

"Whatever, I don't want one anyway. I have this cake," he huffs, sticking his nose in the air and walking back upstairs with his treat.

The sisters share a look before they start laughing.

~

Luz hops off the staff and pushes open the front door of the owl house, careful not to wake Hooty as she steps inside.

“Hey, Kid,” Eda greets her when she steps inside. The sisters are sitting on the couch when she walks in, and she smiles at them. Eda doesn’t even need to ask how it went by the dopey smile Luz can’t seem to rid herself of. “You’re home late for a school night,” she scolds but is given away by her grin.

“How was the shower?” Lilith asks her, smiling, she too can see the giddy aura that surrounds her sister’s apprentice like a fog.  

Luz clutches the staff tightly in her hands, well aware of how dopey she must look.

“Magical” she sighs and Eda chuckles.

[dottiechan]

Tempest (Pt. 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 

 Read on AO3

Pairing: Ava Du Mortain x f!Detective

Wordcount: 2031

Warnings: murder, mentions of prostitution & drugs

Summary: Ava and the Detective must pull an all-nighter working on a case on Christmas Eve, 1896.

A/N: Happy Holidays! What better way to celebrate or relax this December than with some soft Ava? Huge thanks to @sparkedupsilver​​ for being an absolute delight and giving me brilliant ideas about locations! <3

Image credit: Pixoloid Studios, Alienist: The Angest of Darkness concept art

London, Christmas Eve, 1896

A woman appears on the street, retreating into the shadows as she heads into the heart of the district, avoiding the light of the gas lamps illuminating the road in yellow circles. She is barely wearing anything to fend off the chilling wind and the snow - a torn shift several sizes too big for her underneath a corset, the sleeves spilling down her upper arms to reveal a set of bony shoulders. Even through the darkness, Ava can see the way she shakes, the dried blood sitting on her upper lip she haphazardly tried to wipe off with the back of her hand. She can almost smell her craving.

She’d put her money on cocaine if she had to guess what’s left the young prostitute in such an abominable state. That is, if she gambled, of course. Or cared much about the poisonous substances humans consumed for medicinal use or - as in this young woman’s case - their temporary bliss. The most accurate label for her as a whole would be a misanthrope, as Nate has so eloquently stated it on many occasions before, but she finds herself shifting and morphing into something else – she can feel it. She cares what she puts in her body. She cares what she does to herself. What is the term for a woman who would give herself up in a heartbeat solely to ensure the safety of another?

Her eyes shift from the window as she dares a glance inside the office. She snaps her head back in an instant when she realises what she’s doing. Don’t be a fool.

It’s her personal mantra these days.

Instead, she focuses on the woman outside, watches her as she leaves High Street and hurries down Whitechapel Road. She takes a sudden turn left, and disappears down an unlit alley. There are conventional ways to celebrate a white Christmas, and many of the Whitechapel residents seem to re-think what that festivity means for them. Not that Ava can particularly blame them - the circumstances in the worst slums of London are hardly its residents’ fault, and more so that of the authorities’. This area is relatively safe, but that is only because the recurring police patrols end with High Street – a necessary but superficial effort to quell the legacy of terror Jack the Ripper had left behind. (As if mere policemen could keep anyone safe from a werewolf like the Ripper was, Ava scoffs inwardly.) Beyond High Street is chaos and misery, and unfortunately cesspools like that offer the rot of rogue supernaturals a place to fester and spread quickly. Despite Ava’s best efforts, the detective has refused countless times to even consider selling the small flat she uses as her office to relocate to Chelsea or Marylebone or even Westminster.

And the thought of another rogue element potentially rising so close to the private detective’s office upsets Ava more than she cares to admit.

While other agents pursue the rogue supernatural, Ava is still assigned to her protection, loaned as a partner to her small detective agency she’s inherited from her father - at least that is what the detective thinks this setup means. Normally, Ava would be deeply offended by such a role. A mere bodyguard, compelled to deal with the crimes of mortals, a true retrogression in her career. But she finds herself caring, and that alone is more alarming than the Agency’s decision to keep her in her current position. This little act she puts on, the game she plays that plants the fallacy of their partnership in the private detective’s mind, it rings truer than it should, means more than what is allowed. It has been like this for months now, and with each passing day, the lie grows a little heavier. She wonders when it will finally crush them both.

She listens to the detective bustle in the tiny kitchen of the office, and the moment - heavy with the honeyed comfort of quiet domesticity - is enough to make her heart ache. She would never in a million years admit it, but leaving this place, this job, this woman... It would be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do.

So when she joins Ava by the window and offers her a cup of steaming, strong coffee - she doesn’t even like it, and she doesn’t understand why the detective would drink it to keep her awake, let alone consume it on the regular - she accepts wordlessly. The night casts long shadows across the office, hiding them both in a world where no one else exists other than the two of them. Ava never had neither the heart nor the mind for poetry the way Nate does, but in this moment, as their shoulders absent-mindedly touch, her skin burning up with the heat of her body even through her shirt and the detective’s soft leg o’ muttons sleeve, she could attest to her fatal attraction in a fashion that would shame even the great poets of old.

But that is all it really is. Fatal in every sense of the word.

Ava contemplates speaking to her about what is on her mind, but the words get stuck in her throat, and she forces them back down with a sip of strong coffee.

“There’s work to be done.” Too  callous, she scolds herself inwardly, even if it is true. There are many old articles about relating murders they have to revisit, along with what they know of previous victims through the morsels of information Commissioner Bradford has loaned the detective out of respect for her late father with whom they served together in the military. The woman on her right mistakes her tone for annoyance, and Ava finds herself steeling her insides when her concerned gaze finds her deceptively pallid face.

“I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into this. It’s Christmas Eve, I understand if you wanted to be anywhere else than here.”

I don’t. I really don’t. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. “I have nowhere else to be.”

“No family?” the private detective asks, eyebrows raised in a way Ava knows she has her undivided attention. She never wants this moment to end, never wants her to look at anyone else like this other than her.

“Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Silence settles on them for a while, and they watch the snowfall in a quiet trance. They have work to do, and yet they stand side by side, unable to move, unwilling to break this moment of silent admission that yes, yes, this can work, this can be home, you can be home...

Ava is shocked when the detective’s fingers - scorching hot from the cup of coffee she’s been cradling - graze her knuckles lightly, so lightly that she’d wonder if it was even on purpose if she couldn’t feel her eyes on her once more.

“I don’t have anyone left anymore either. I know what it is like. Which is why I’m thankful that you’re here now,” she begins softly, her bare honesty so alluring Ava finds herself turning to her. She knows she shouldn’t. She knows she will force herself to punish her for this open admission with coldness and retreat, but for a second, she wants to pretend that this is allowed, that this is as right as it feels in her no longer trustworthy bones.

“You’re thankful you’re chasing a murderer on Christmas Eve?”

“I could do without that,” the detective snorts, deciding to take Ava’s blunt question as a joke. Her face grows serious too quickly, and before Ava can react, her hand is in her gentle grasp as the woman closes whatever little distance is left between them. “But not without you. Not now.”

Ava opens her mouth to say something, anything other than the truth, ready to take a full step back when the detective raises her eyes, poorly masking the pain that finds itself on her beautiful features. The agent feels cold dread seize her spine, like icy rain slipping down and over each vertebra - for a split second, she thinks the detective can feel her inner turmoil. That she always pulls away and retreats because she is terrified of her desire to do the very opposite.

“Ava, just... Please don’t say anything. I know what you want to say now. I know. But I don’t want to hear it,” she whispers, paralysing the vampire with mere words. “I know we don’t think the same way about voicing what we feel for each other. It is plain. I understand. But for a second I want to pretend that us holding hands and sharing a tender moment is just as innocuous as anything else.”

“But it isn’t,” Ava quickly speaks, the lie coming out almost seamlessly as she pulls her hand back slowly, clutching her now cool cup of coffee with both hands to prevent any further contact between them. “It is harmful. Can’t you see that?”

“I can.”

“And yet you don’t much care for it.”

“Do I look like a woman who cares much for societal conventions?” the detective asks as she finally steps away from Ava, gesturing around the room. The agent can’t help but silently agree - a woman who’s also a private detective, well, in a way she should have seen this argument coming.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have to abide the rules,” Ava breathes, her usual strength still annoyingly eluding her as she takes a seat in one of the armchairs, the files and newspaper clippings once more within reach as she sets her cup down on the side table.

“You do not have to go to such lengths to prove what I already know,” the detective sighs in defeat, retreating behind her great mahogany desk, the only piece of furnishing aside from the once elegant, but now rather decrepit chaise longue that is worth something in this office. There’s a painful distance now between them, one that hurts them both, especially when put in stark contrast with their earlier close proximity.

“And what it is you think you know?” Ava means for her tone to get under the detective’s skin, to dislodge this idea stuck in her head that there’s something going on between them - instead it comes out too slow, too pleading, too deep and raw. A dead giveaway that perks up the woman like a hunting dog picking up on a scent. But she soon deflates - what she thinks a momentary victory is gone the second Ava looks away and focuses on the neat stack of folders she insisted on organising herself.

“That you’re afraid,” she replies anyways, opening a folder on top of her own stack and peering at Ava over it in a way that makes the vampire swallow her quip in an instant. There is truth in her words, and while she cannot, will not confirm it, she silently wants to speak to her. She silently wants to tell her the twisted things she makes her feel after 800 years of blessed solitude.

“But one day, you won’t be, Ava. And when that day comes, don’t be too surprised to find me waiting for you still.”

I am immortal. By the time I could rid myself of all my fears and stand in front of you as the uninhibited and unapologetic woman you deserve, you’d be long gone.

Immortal doesn’t mean infinitely wise, that is something Ava learns in another 365 days. Afraid doesn’t mean not being uninhibited. Cautious doesn’t mean not being unapologetic. The detective blurs the black and white of her world, and with this action the confining borders are gone too.

Four months and she won’t pull her hand away.

A year and she’ll let the detective tilt her face down to meet her lips with a kiss.

Two years and she will be long gone, four and the detective will be dead.

But now, she doesn’t know all that. Now, she buries the confusing conundrum of her love for the detective deep inside her and sets out to work in blissful ignorance.

[blancheludis]

@whumptober2021 Day 3: Taunting, Insults

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Characters: Dorian Pavus, The Iron Bull Tags: Assault, Mage-Templar Conflict, Self-Worth Issues, Hurt Dorian, Holy Smite, Protective Iron Bull Words: 3.484

Summary: Dorian can count on one hand the times he was hit by a Smite and it was always during training, leaving him shaky and sick the rest of the day. This feels so much worse, done out of malice, meant to cripple instead of teach.

“You were saying, mage?”

- A few Templars attack Dorian in Skyhold. Bull comes to the rescue.

---

It has gotten late. Dinner is already over and while there is faint music to be heard from the Herald’s Rest, the rest of Skyhold is eerily deserted. Dorian curses himself silently as he hurries through the dark corridors. He lost track of time in the library, which should not come as a surprise, really, but he knows better than to walk alone after dark.

He is not afraid. Dangers lurk around every corner, but he trusts in his ability to defend himself. The thing is, that he is not certain whether he should defend himself. The Tevinter Mage far from home, shrouded in mystery. People do not trust him here, but the reasons are so laughably threadbare. He is neither a blood mage nor does he want to overthrow any kingdoms.

“Mage,” a voice calls out, harsh but slightly too loud for the late hour.

Dorian hastens his step. He knows the distaste in the tone intimately, even if it is only since he left Tevinter that he learned it paired just as well with mage as it does with slave or son.

He keeps his head up, makes it look like he is not running away. Running never helps. While most of the soldiers here are cowards, some do like to hunt, and Dorian knows better than to give them a reason to.

“I’m talking to you.”

And Dorian is trying his best not to hear him. One of these days, he is going to accidentally incinerate a hapless Templar trying to waylay him. The uproar that will cause. Perhaps that will still better than this cat-and-mouse game that he always, always loses.

A hand grabs Dorian all of a sudden, appearing out of nowhere in the dark. Dorian, who was concentrating on the yelling man in his back has not been paying attention to what is ahead of him.

Another Templar. Even out of uniform they are unmistakeable. That fanatic fire in their eyes that burns brightest when Dorian is near. They like to leave their hands hovering over their hips, even when they are not wearing their swords, constantly following that urge to be ready, to cut down a mage, no questions asked.

“Is there something wrong with your ears, mage?” the Templar in front of him asks, his grip tight enough to leave bruises. Alcohol clouds his breath, almost as potent as hate.

“Nothing at all,” Dorian answers brightly, trying to tone down the sharpness of his voice. “Nobody was calling my name, though.”

He bites his tongue. So much for holding back. It is high time to get out of here before the stragglers reach them. But no matter how much he twists his arm, the Templar’s hold remains strong. He could put the man on his back, but mages are not allowed to defend themselves and he does not want all of Skyhold’s guards to be called down on him because these guys are screaming murder.

“You bloody ‘Vints, always thinking you’re better than us good folks.”

Dorian barely manages to keep his face from scrunching up, but some of his contempt must have slipped through anyway because the man’s scowl deepens. Definitely time to get out.

“Well, I better relieve you of my presence then. Wouldn’t want to ruin your night,” Dorian says and calls fire to his hands, not enough to burn but to warm his fingers in warning. To his dismay, the Templar’s grip only tightens and he pulls Dorian closer.

“The Inquisitor should have never let you in,” he snarls, his foul breath warm on Dorian’s cheek. “We’re trying to save the world, not break it.”

Unable to help himself, Dorian laughs. “Did you read that in one of Master Tethras’ novels? Mighty impressive, I didn’t think they wasted the energy on teaching war dogs to read.”

Dorian should shut up. The drunk guy behind him is coming closer, leaning on a friend’s shoulder. Three on one are not odds Dorian would think twice about in the field. Things are different here. Even drunk and clearly hoping for a fight, people will listen more closely to these three than Dorian.

He is just a mage, barely a friend of the Inquisitor, neither trusted nor even a real asset because who would want a necromancer in their back when they could have him dead and buried, safely sealed away. It grates at Dorian’s pride, but he has practice in being not wanted and sneered at. He does not think it will ever stop hurting but that does not mean he will let them see.

Dorian twists his hand, determined to scare them off even if he does not dare to actually attack them. But before he can do much of anything, the Templar takes an abrupt step forward and shoves Dorian against the wall behind him. The force rattles his ribcage, upsetting a bruise he got while training with Bull. He does not let the pain show but raises a hand and lets a flame dance on his palm, bigger now and definitely a threat. Hopefully, the reminder that he could fling a fireball at their heads will be enough to get them to back off.

What Dorian does not expect is the wave of sudden coldness slamming into him, making him double over. The energy crackling under his skin, ready to be called forth, vanishes, drained by the Smite, leaving only nausea in its wake.

It is a terrible feeling, beyond words. Wielding magic is like breathing, but the Smite is more than a chokehold. It feels as if boiling silver is poured down his throat, charring his insides and leaving nothing but a barren wasteland and the painful memory of greatness.

He can count on one hand the times he was hit by a Smite and it was always during training, leaving him shaky and sick the rest of the day. This feels so much worse, done out of malice, meant to cripple instead of teach.

“You were saying, mage?”

The drunk guy sounds much more sober now if no less disdainful.

Panic unfurls in the pit of Dorian’s stomach as he realizes he is cornered. He cannot run, he can not access his magic. He is helpless in the middle of the Inquisition’s stronghold.

Perhaps they will be happy with simply roughing him up a little, with teaching him his place. The drunk guy is leering at him, but Dorian has gone to his knees under equally terrible circumstances before. If they want to kill him, though, there is little he can do. This is not how his story will end. It cannot be. And yet, Dorian has his hands full with staying upright.

He barely feels the first punch. It rattles his body but the pain is a mere echo, lost in the void that has suddenly opened in Dorian’s very core.

The men are still talking, all three of them now towering over Dorian, but he just hears the hate in their voices, no actual words.

A punch the face snaps him out of his stupor, the acute sharpness of it enough to penetrate the fog that has settled over his senses. With consciousness, though, comes more fear.

“You mage scum are good for one thing, though,” one of the Templars says. Dorian is far beyond being able to recognize faces, but his wide grin reveals a missing tooth. “And once we’re done, we’ll bury you outside in the snow, do a favour for all of us.”

Dorian hates the cold and he really, really does not want to die in it. He does not want to die at all, but the how has suddenly become a far greater concern then the when. He opens his mouth, not sure whether to say something or to just scream, but he does not get to do either because another hit to the head makes his vision swim and his thoughts scatter.

“What is going on here?” a new voice interrupts, making the three Templars jump.

The sudden lack of contact between them has Dorian slumping against the wall, his legs shaking too badly to keep him upright. His mind, however, whirs into a panicked chorus of denial. Three men are more than enough, he cannot have even more join the apparent free-for-all he has become this night.

Then, though, he sees the men back away, and when he looks at the newcomer, he finds too broad shoulders and horns and - Dorian has never been so glad to see Bull. It does not matter that he is a mage or a ‘Vint, Bull will not leave him to his fate.

“We were just having a friendly discussion,” one of the Templars says.

Dorian’s brain is slowly sorting itself out again as no new pain comes forth, and he scoffs. It tugs at a fresh bruise on his face.

“The Inquisitor is making a mistake trusting these abominations.”

Dorian is pretty sure that is the one who used the Smite. He shivers, pushes himself further against the wall. The Templars are no match against Bull, but they are still standing like a wall in front of Dorian.

“I suggest that you run,” Bull says, his voice vibrating with something dark. “And if you’re smart, you’ll leave Skyhold tonight and never look back.”

“We don’t take orders from beasts,” the gap-toothed one spats, no ounce of self-preservation.

Dorian has seen Bull on the battlefield, bloodied and hungry for a fight, an unstoppable force. Right in front of their eyes, Bull transforms into something worse than that. His back straightens, making him grow even taller, and his eyes gleam with that same battle madness, focused unflinchingly on these three, puny men.

“Run,” he bellows and takes a swing. Even armour would not have saved Gap-Tooth for Bull does not hold back. His fist slams into the Templar’s jaw with a sickening crunch, throwing him through the air as if he weighs nothing.

That is enough of a demonstration that they do not question Bull again but run, stumbling over their own feet in their hurry to get away. Dorian would laugh at their turned backs, relishing in how the situation was flipped on them, but he is still too busy with just breathing.

He closes his eyes and catalogues the pain. The throbbing, familiar ache of bruises is easier to deal with than the terrifying void inside of him. He reaches for his magic and nothing answers. His skin is just skin and not a conduit. His body is just blood and bones and nerves, full of pain and longing now, nothing greater.

“Are you all right, big guy?” Bull asks, sounding way too close.

When Dorian opens his eyes, Bull is crouching next to him, the madness replaced by blatant concern.

He will live. Nothing feels broken and there are potions against the pain. This is not his first rodeo.

“Of course,” Dorian lies. He is not sure he can stand up, much less make the way back to his quarters. He does not particularly want to be alone either – he has never been this weak before. Or, well, he was once, when his father – better not go there. This evening is ruined enough.

“You were assaulted –” Bull says but trails off when Dorian pushes to his feet.

Shaking legs or not, he is done cowering and he does not need Bull’s pity. Bad enough he had to be saved.

“Merely a misunderstanding,” Dorian says and puts in the effort to regain control over his expression. “Although I appreciate you stepping in.”

He has some experience with putting himself back together. And being alone in his room does not sound so bad if he thinks about it. There, at least, will be nobody to act tough for.

Bull nods but Dorian knows him well enough by now that this battle is not won. Coming another step closer, he his hand on the crook of Dorian’s elbow, never bothering to ask whether Dorian even wants help.

“How often does this happen?” Bull asks, his tone just conversational enough to almost hide the simmering anger beneath.

Deep down, Dorian is flattered that Bull would be upset on his behalf, but if he lets this happen it will only lead to more complications down the road. So, while he does not push off Bull’s hand, he takes care not to lean on him and begins walking towards his room. It is slow going, at first, because his body feels wrong, missing something vital, but he is walking.

“Do you think there’s someone waiting around every corner trying to trip me up?” Dorian says, falling back on his old friend sarcasm. That at least is familiar. “They were drunk.”

Drunk and ready to kill him. That is definitely a step up from mere insults and the occasional try to trip him in the hallways.

“And yet you don’t seem surprised.” Bull looks at him from the side, with an intensity in his eyes that reminds Dorian that bull is not just a formidable fighter but also a spy. “This actually explains quite a bit. You love your wine, but you never get drunk. You always leave the tavern early and never alone. You -”

Dorian pulls his arm away from Bull, very aware that people keep touching him. The momentum of that almost throws him off balance, but apart from the sheer wrongness of being without magic and the exhaustion weighing him down, Dorian almost feels like himself again. Half of himself, covered in bruises, but not a victim anymore.

“Are you done analysing me?” he snaps, knowing that his glare falls flat. “Nothing happened.”

Bull does not visibly react to Dorian refusing his help but looks decidedly unimpressed. “You’re shaking.” He does not move further away but somehow manages not to crowd Dorian either.

“Well, let someone cut one of your limbs off and see how you like it.” It feels like that, only that the loss is not located in just one limb but all of him at once. Magic is always there, waiting just for his call. His entire skin prickles with it, his lungs draw it in alongside the air to breathe. Without it, he barely feels human.

“A limb?” Bull asks, confusion interrupting his casual interrogation. Did they – oh. They took your magic?”

Bull’s realization does not sit right with Dorian. There is no malice on his face, no relief. One of his Chargers is a mage and Bull never gave the impression he minded Dorian using magic, on or off a battlefield. But Dorian is only too aware of how Qunari view mages. It is probably unfair, but he still cannot quite think clearly. And part of him will always be wary of Bull’s loyalty to the Qun.

“One used the Smite,” he says, trying for nonchalance, although it is hard to fool Bull even when he is not exhausted and in pain. “I’ll be right as rain in a minute.” Or a few hours, if he can only lock his door and lie down.

“Dorian.” Bull pulls him to a stop, just the briefest of touches before he lets his hand fall again. “This is not okay. You need to talk to Cullen about this.” It is a miracle, how he can sound so serious while saying something this ridiculous.

Dorian is already walking such a fine line with the Inquisition. It does not matter that he very much wants to rid the world of Corypheus and that he would keep hunting Venatori on his own, that he wants to reform his homeland until it is something to be proud of again. The Inquisitor likes him and trusts him not to betray them. The rest of the Skyhold’s inhabitants? Not so much.

Cullen is always civil to Dorian, the same way he is to foreign diplomats and nobles. Their conversations have gotten a bit warmer since they started playing chess together. That does not mean that Cullen would go against his own people for the sake of a mage telling tales.

“I most definitely do not,” Dorian says with a glare. “I can handle myself.” He has done so a thousand times before and likely will a thousand more.

“That’s what it looked like.”

It is not like Bull to mock him. About his clothes or the way he drinks his wine, yes. But about losing a fight? A minute ago, he called it assault but now the blame has shifted to Dorian. It always does. Time to go so he can lick his wounds in private.

“If you’re done insulting me, then –”

Bull reaches out and Dorian flinches instinctively. It gives them both halt, so much more telling about Dorian’s state than his threadbare lies.

“What about the other mages?” Bull then asks, his tone gentle, reasonable. “What if they’re going for someone a little less noticeable next? Who doesn’t play chess with the Commander and has his ear?”

Dorian has thought about that before. The other mages usually do not go out alone, too used to be wary of Templars. And he doubts anybody would dare to touch Vivienne or Solas.

“They hate me because I’m from Tevinter.” It is certainly true. And he is never quiet about his disdain of Ferelden either. The weather, the dogs, the food. He will not be forbidden to speak the truth.

But Bull does not seem to buy it. “Is that all?

Dorian stays silent. He is loud and flashy and unrepentant, so that is what might have drawn their gaze. There is little about him that does not offend people here. But that is not what their main issue is with him, but the fact that he commands a power they do not understand and never will because they cower from it.

Being a mage is not a choice, though. In most parts of Thedas, magic is treated as something to be contained and caged. Control is important, certainly, but magic is in everything and cutting it out means going through life half-blind.

Dorian turns and starts walking again. He is done with this conversation. People will always come after him and making him a fool of himself in front of the Commander of the Inquisition forces will not change that. In fact, he might just get another enemy out of this.

“I can talk to Cullen, if you’d prefer,” Bull offers, keeping up easily with him.  

“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” Dorian bites out. He will have to talk to Fiona and perhaps Vivienne to make sure that the other mages are not harassed too. He can deal with it, has done so for as long as he remembers, even if the insults change wherever he goes. But Bull is right, he will not let other experience the same.

“Never said you weren’t capable,” Bull says, his placating tone falling on deaf ears. “Do you know who they were?”

Dorian has no ideas. If he remembered every face that looked at him with disgust, every person who spewed insults or spat at him, he would not be able to cram anything else into his brain. It was never that important.

He shakes his head. “Cullen trusts the Templars that came with him.” And, despite the progress Cullen has undoubtedly made, he does not trust mages.

Bull nods but argues anyway, “We’re getting more refugees every day. He doesn’t know all of them.”

And they will still be Templars while Dorian is just an enemy mage. But Bull is right. If they are going after a member of the Inquisition’s inner circle, the other mages are not safe.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promises grudgingly. That is not a conversation he is looking forward to. He can already imagine the questions. Are you sure you did nothing to provoke them?

“Good.” Bull smiles as if he never doubted he would win the argument. “Let me walk you back to your quarters.”

Dorian should protest. He is a grown man. But he is tired and shaken to the core, still empty inside where his magic used to reside. He still does not want to be alone, does not want to peer around every corner, waiting for the next attack. The shadows seem to retreat from Bull’s massive form and Dorian is glad for the company.

He does not say thank you, but the corner of Bull’s mouth ticks further up as if he hears it anyway.

“Next time, just find me at the tavern. If I’m not there, the boys will be just as happy to help.”

Dorian nods, even though he does not understand the offer. Bull does not owe him anything. But this is something he has been learning slowly, relying on others. Maybe he can allow himself to get used to it. He can dream, at least.

[colourful-void]

Amity is the Weakest Witch; A theory on magic ability

I was rewatching some episode of the owl house, and I had a thought.

I’ve seen people talk about how powerful Willow is and how much we see her do once she gets moved to the plant coven track. And thats 100% true, Willow is fantastic, but as I kept watching, I noticed, so was Gus. He’s just as impressive as Willow, if not more than. Which made Amity look pretty weak by comparison. That got me thinking, which lead to this theory.

I think that Amity is weaker than the other main kids, and possibly ever other Witch we’ve seen at Hexside, based solely on innate magical ability.

In this post I’ll go over examples of Amity being weaker, what being weaker really means, why that may be, and what this could mean for the story in terms of plot and parallels! 

This one’s gonna be long so under the cut it goes. (tldr at the end!)

First off, let’s talk about Magical Ability.

As Eda explains, all witches have a sack of bile attached to their heart which lets them do magic. My assumption is that by having a larger sack of bile, a witch would have ‘more magic’ than someone with a small sack.

In comparison, let’s say it’s musical talent. If someone is born with perfect pitch and good rhythm, and other things like that, then you can assume they’d be better at music then someone who doesn’t have perfect pitch, and whose rhythm is a bit off. However, if someone trains and works hard for a long time they could become better at music than the person who was born with talent, based on merit of technical skill and dedication.

It’s a common concept, that hard work and dedication are more valuable than talent people are born with.

In the world of the owl house, I believe magic works the same way!

So what’s my proof that Amity is any less magical than the others? She is top student, after all (then again, post that episode the badge literally never comes up again, but for the sake of argument, let’s say she’s still top student)

Let’s compare some magic, according to what each character has done in their respective tracks!

Starting with Gus, some of the most impressive magic he’s done!

- Created an illusion with free will   - Created three unique illusions of him and his friends - Created fifteen illusions of himself while running

That can’t be easy, Gus is really impressive with his magic!

Willow too, is very impressive! Despite being a late bloomer and being teased, she’s done a lot of great magic.

- Creating vines that took over the entire school - Making plants that look like people - and a bunch of other examples (especially in Wing it Like Witches, not to mention all of Hooty’s Moving Hassle)

Willow is really powerful, but powerful at plant magic. She can’t do abominations well at all. Keep that in mind as I move on to Amity.

Compared to what we’ve seen Gus and Willow do, Amity is kind of... underwhelming.

Amity’s top accomplishments include:

- Making an abomination that can follow instructions (twirling, carrying her, high fives) - That but bigger. - thats pretty much it.

While Abominations have their uses, in general they aren’t that impressive, or versatile. While it’s hard to compare different magic, when directly pitted against  each other, Gus and Willow have more going for them.

If Gus, Willow, and Amity all got into a fight, Willow would probably win. In episode 3, Willow and Amity do ‘fight’ with Amity’s abominations (around 3-5 iirc) against Willows vines (huge, wrapping around the entire school, able to move and carry people independently of the other vines) and it’s clear who the victor is. 

While it’s less clear who would win in a fight between Gus and Amity, (Gus’s illusions don’t seem to be tangible, meaning that a fight depends more on the circumstances (planning, trickery, etc) than pure magic.

When comparing Amity and Gus’s magic, the similarities are easy to see. They both create humanoids (however Amity is limited to only monsters while Gus can make projections and objects) that can fulfil tasks. However when we compare their differences, I think Gus comes out on top.

Gus’s Illusions: - free will and thought - can create several unique illusions at once - can form words, witches and humans, and more - can be defeated by being touched

Amity’s abominations: - follow instructions  - can create a few at once - all look the same - can only create monsters - stronger than illusions

While abominations are better weapons, I’d say that illusions are more technical and creative, and have more effort in them.

So compared to the other witch kids, Amity is the weakest in terms of pure magic ability.

Now you might be saying ‘hey that’s not fair! Amity can do more than just abominations’ and you’re right! But there’s a few things to note.

a) we see amity using a training wand to create fire spells, and we can assume this isnt something new she just got. why would she get a wand to learn something new she wasn’t going to need. by need I mean,

b) witches are locked into a single coven, so they can only perform one type of magic. since amity is in the abomination track, unless she manages to get into the emperors coven (which considering current episodes, seems like a scam and impossible) she will eventually be sticking doing only abomination magic.

so the earlier point still stands, at least for the sake of argument.

Sub topic: what does it mean to be weak?

In the context, Amity seems to have less powerful magic then the other witch kids. Despite that, she’s a hard worker (hence being top student) and trains her magic ability to be better than the other students. When I refer to amity as weak, I mean that I believe she was born with less magic than the other students, and is working overtime to become more powerful.

I also have a theory that amity’s brown hair is tied into her having less magic, hence the dying of it and the symbolism in her drawings.

For those who don’t know, in every drawing Amity’s done of herself, her roots aren’t showing. If the green is symbolism of magic abilty (since the colour is associated with Azura, who can be seen as representing magic) then it’s telling that Amity’s ideal versions of herself include being naturally green haired, or in symbolism terms, naturally talented with magic.

moving on the the next part of this analysis: why is amity weak?

My guess is that Amity was just born with less magic. Maybe a smaller bile sack, or something like that. There’s also a possibly that Amity was cursed when she was really young (like sleeping beauty, just been born and got cursed young) by someone, further adding to the parallels between her and Eda.

I’d love to hear other people’s theories as to why Amity isn’t as magical as other characters, since theres a lot of reasons it could be.

How Does Amity Being Weak Affect the Story?

a few reasons!

first off, if Amity has less innate magic then the other witches, than Luz has no innate magic, which further gives the characters something in common and pulls them together

second, if amity’s parents care so much about their reputations as Blight’s then having a ‘weak’ child would be disgraceful, hence why Amity is seemingly pushed harder than her slacker siblings. 

third, it explains a lot of amity’s behaviour. When amity and Luz make up in covention, Luz wins amity over by explaining that she’s working hard to be a witch. for someone that’s worked her entire life to get where she is, that would be the first time that Amity truly understood Luz, for a moment. it also lends a lot more weight to her line ‘Humans have no magical abilty, but I doubt that’ll stop you’

So what’s the point? (tldr)

Amity is likely weaker than the other witches for some reason, either by being cursed or born that why. Her magic is less impressive by comparison to Gus and Willow’s magic. This explains Amity’s commitment to hard work, and also brings her closer to Luz.

If you have any thoughts lemme know, this got a bit ramble and I have no clue if it even makes sense, but thank you for reading it all!

[flow-it-show-it]

You don’t understand. I NEED him to either play Ludwig van Beethoven, or to be recorded reading the “Immortal Beloved” letter-- the text of which is below the cut.  I dare you to read it yourself and not hear his voice in your mind... or feel it in the foundations of your body and soul.

My angel, my all, my own self — only a few words today, and that too with pencil (with yours)… What an abominable waste of time in such things — why this deep grief, where necessity speaks?

Can our love persist otherwise than through sacrifices, than by not demanding everything? Canst thou change it, that thou are not entirely mine, I not entirely thine? Oh, God, look into beautiful Nature and compose your mind to the inevitable. Love demands everything and is quite right, so it is for me with you, for you with me — only you forget so easily, that I must live for you and for me — were we quite united, you would notice this painful feeling as little as I should…

…We shall probably soon meet, even today I cannot communicate my remarks to you, which during these days I made about my life — were our hearts close together, I should probably not make any such remarks. My bosom is full, to tell you much — there are moments when I find that speech is nothing at all. Brighten up — remain my true and only treasure, my all, as I to you. The rest the gods must send, what must be for us and shall.

You suffer, you, my dearest creature... You suffer — oh! Where I am, you are with me, with me and you, I shall arrange that I may live with you. What a life!

So! Without you — pursued by the kindness of the people here and there, whom I mean — to desire to earn just as little as they earn — humility of man towards men — it pains me — and when I regard myself in connection with the Universe, what I am, and what he is — whom one calls the greatest — and yet — there lies herein again the godlike of man. I weep when I think you will probably only receive on Saturday the first news from me — as you too love — yet I love you stronger — but never hide yourself from me. Good night — as I am taking the waters, I must go to bed. Oh God — so near! so far! Is it not a real building of heaven, our Love — but as firm, too, as the citadel of heaven.

Even in bed my ideas yearn towards you, my Immortal Beloved, here and there joyfully, then again sadly, awaiting from Fate, whether it will listen to us. I can only live, either altogether with you or not at all. Yes, I have determined to wander about for so long far away, until I can fly into your arms and call myself quite at home with you, can send my soul enveloped by yours into the realm of spirits — yes, I regret, it must be. You will get over it all the more as you know my faithfulness to you; never another one can own my heart, never — never!

O God, why must one go away from what one loves so… Your love made me the happiest and unhappiest at the same time. At my actual age I should need some continuity, sameness of life — can that exist under our circumstances?... Be calm — love me — today — yesterday.

What longing in tears for you — You — my Life — my All — farewell. Oh, go on loving me — never doubt the faithfullest heart

Of your beloved

L.

Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours.

--The “Immortal Beloved” (Unsterbliche Geliebte) Letter, Ludwig van Beethoven, July 6-7, 1812

[hyena-frog]

Idk about you but Dark Age made me even thirstier for House Augustus content! Virginia is a such ama amzing pov and getting to know about her and a bit about her family through her lenses is amazing. You can say anything about House Augustus, but they are never boring. But I also loved how she sees Darrow's family and how she deals with the ex-love triangle (Darrow stopped being torn between her and Eo even since MS)...what's your opinion now on Virginia and House Augustus?

Hoo boy was Dark Age a treasure trove of tasty House Augustus tidbits. Virginia’s POV was SO good, Pierce absolutely did her justice. But, I don’t know if it’s just because I wanted more from her, and more from the Abomination plot, but it feels like her story was too short. Maybe I’m weird but I always love reading (or watching) intricate scifi/fantasy politics and her POV fed me very well. And we got interesting glimpses into how her mind works and some of her personal issues (namely, her mother’s death) that I would love to dig deeper into.

I was absolutely living for the Nero treats in this book tbh. He was a terrible person but it was a lot of fun to see how he’s still affecting everyone who knew him even 11 years later. My favorite Nero flashback (favorite as in, it was enlightening on the father/daughter dynamic, not that it was a fun scene) is when Virginia recalls how he sought her out after her mother’s death, found her crying, and said: “Self-pity is the plebeian's luxury. All that occurs is either endurable or unendurable. If it is endurable, endure it. If it is unendurable, follow your mother.” YIKES dude. But the lesson got Virginia through her torture so... good job? As Daxo said, Nero’s brand of wisdom kept them alive among predators. I also liked Cicero’s story about how Nero sent Darrow to terrify the Votum patriarch after being slighted. Classic Nero.

I’m glad we got Virginia’s POV because we never would have properly seen how deeply her mother’s suicide still affects her otherwise. Sure, we first got the story through Darrow’s POV in Morning Star but he can only guess and empathize with (since his father died in a suicide-adjacent way but under wildly different circumstances) the emotional damage. Virginia hates being vulnerable and was never going to openly express the whole truth of it. I thought her offhandedly mentioning it to Holiday in Dark Age was a clear sign of how deeply it still hurts. (Holiday, Darrow, and Ragnar were the only ones to hear Virginia’s story in Morning Star, and I’m glad Dark Age remembered that.)

That death surely affected Adrius negatively too. In the absence of an ostensibly loving mother, he developed his complex of needing his father’s approval and well, Nero was just never going to give it. Virginia quickly figured that out but Adrius never did. Even after killing Nero, he still let that need for approval affect his decision-making. And I can see the same desire manifesting in the clone. I’m interested to see where his story goes. As Virginia says, “All my life, I thought my brother was born broken. He wasn't. Perhaps he was just born with an incompatible father.” I don’t feel like he’ll turn out to be a good at all, because Lilath’s influence has already tainted him, and he’s a spoiled little brat, but I do think whatever character journey he goes through will be enlightening on original Adrius at least.

One of my favorite parts of Virginia’s POV was seeing her dynamic with Deanna! Virginia truly loves Darrow’s family and it’s obvious to me that Deanna loves her daughter-in-law. I loved when Virginia said Deanna is the only one who still lectures her and Deanna replied it was because she’s the only one Virginia still has to impress. And one of the many times this book made me tear up was when Deanna held Virginia after she escaped the clone, and how Virginia said it was the kind of motherly love she never got the chance to receive from her own mother.

Deanna said she didn’t care for Eo and Virginia said Eo didn’t love Darrow enough and I’m inclined to agree. I liked Eo at the beginning and still think her ideals are noble at their core but as the books progressed, and Darrow evolved, and the story expanded, it became more and more obvious that, well, Eo was a 16 year old girl pissed off at the world. Not a paragon of virtue. Even Darrow can admit to her flaws, when he thinks of her (which I don’t think he did at all in Dark Age, he was too busy and also he’s twice as old as he was when Eo died and it would be very weird if he was still hung up on her in the same way.) Anyway, my point is, both Deanna and Virginia are known for being very practical in their thinking so I don’t think their negative opinions of Eo are biased to the point of being unreliable.

I will say, I felt awful during the Senate upheaval (for many, many obvious reasons but I’m focusing on this one) when the Vox sang Eo’s song while slaughtering Virginia’s people at the Senate, and executing even more underneath Eo’s image on the pillar. It’s like Virginia can’t get away from Darrow’s first wife even though he’s moved on from it and he was basically a child when he was married to Eo. I know the whole rebellion grew out of her martyrdom but I hate that Virginia is always being compared to a dead girl half her age. My personal interpretation is that despite her logical thinking, Virginia internalizes the comparison at least a little.

Page 457

I’m still puzzling over this passage. It feels like she thinks Darrow doesn’t love her as passionately as he did Eo. Maybe that’s not the right word. I’m not sure how to phrase my thoughts on this. She thinks the way Darrow loves her is fundamentally different from his love for Eo, and she is completely right, but I think in the wrong direction.

Darrow’s whole “Virginia is an ocean and I’m its only storm” monologue clearly attests to the depth of his love for her, something far more complex and meaningful than what he felt, as a 16 year old ignorant of the realities of the world, for Eo. Sure it doesn’t “consume the self” but it’s much healthier imo. Darrow certainly understands Virginia and her complexities better than he ever did Eo’s, by virtue of his evolution as a person and how Virginia has helped shaped that person. I think that is the key difference Deanna sees between her son’s two marriages and why she clearly approves of his second one more. Darrow isn’t blind to Virginia’s flaws and Virginia obviously loves Darrow equally as much as he does her.

My thoughts on Virginia's insecurities about Darrow’s first marriage isn’t to say Virginia in any way thinks Darrow still has feelings for Eo. They both know he’s been over it for over a decade by now. I just think Virginia, like her husband, suffers from a condition called “being too hard on herself.” (See: Keeping Adrius’ puzzles as a reminder of the madness in her family.) The only conclusion I can come to is that when they reunite, Darrow must disabuse Virginia of any insecurities about how deeply he loves her. By words, by actions, whatever gets the message across. I want some soppy romance to balance out the carnage, please.

Those are some of my disjointed House Augustus thoughts. Not much of a centering thesis I’m afraid. But I want to reiterate that I absolutely LOVED Virginia’s POV and I’m so glad Pierce ignored his editor and tried his hand at her POV anyway. He did a lovely job and I cannot wait to read more from her perspective. I think the conclusion to this story will be amazing to experience partially through her eyes. After all her psychological and physical suffering, she needs a bloodydamn victory!

[cyb-by-lang]

Cosmic Escape Velocity

Did a little bit of writing in the whole YYH situation thing! It’s silly. It also takes place during Hell Year in its own branch timeline.

Kei.

Yeah?

I suspect your personal fate and fortune may be… Isobu paused, clearly trying to come up with a single word that would sum up the disaster of Kei’s life. All of his tails swayed uncertainly in her mind.

Unlikely? Hilariously broken? Kei’s suggestions, as always, went over like a fleet of lead balloons. She didn’t react at all when Isobu mentally swatted at her with those tails in irritation, keeping her hands behind her back in perfect parade rest.

We are standing in the office of a thousand-year-old spiritual being that has a pacifier in his mouth, said Isobu, angling his palms as far up as they’d go without breaking his not-at-all-physical shell. He just didn’t have the limb rotation range. I am not sure there is a way to sum up this latest catastrophe without stretching the language.

Kei shifted her weight from her right foot to her left. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with just screaming.

I do not scream, Isobu huffed. 

Too much dignity?

Not enough lung. 

It was Kei’s turn to roll her eyes as subtly as she could.

“Are you even listening?” asked the baby, standing up in his chair to loom as far as he could over the top of his desk. The two mountains of paperwork to each side of him did not care, and in fact made him look even smaller. Despite the added weight of his spiritual energy—not chakra, as had been specified a few minutes ago—Kei didn’t take him much more seriously.

Look, she had the equivalent of a nuclear reactor implanted in her chest through spiritual surgery. There was only so much comparison to make. 

Still, what Kei actually said was, “Of course, Koenma-sama. Sorry for the interruption.” 

The baby sat back in his chair, frowning around his pacifier. “Then as I was saying, I can’t send you back to your starting point.” As Kei’s hopes for a quick resolution took a dive, he went on, “Going by your spiritual signature, you arrived from a world that has a different wave pattern from our own. Forcing your way through during convergence must have cost tremendous amounts of energy—”

Well, it wasn’t like I passed out in a bush on purpose, Kei thought despairingly, silently cursing her circumstances for the umpteenth time. Koenma’s attendants had picked her up, dusted her off, and plopped her in front of their boss with barely any time to react. 

“—but once the intersection period passes, that cost skyrockets. By a factor of a hundred.” Koenma laced his pudgy baby fingers together as far in front of his face as they’d reach, a contemplative look crossing his expression as he observed her. “How well do you understand the concept of a leyline?”

Kei considered. Then she unfolded her arms and brought her hand to her chin, to facilitate her thinking. It was probably a placebo effect, but it made her feel better. “I don’t know if you’re going for the ‘weak point in reality’ or the ‘source of magic’ version, but I think I get the basic idea.”

She’d only read enough fantasy novels to fill her entire brain with tropes.

Koenma stared at her with his eyes narrowed almost to slits, as though trying to decide if she was being facetious or not. “Well, you must have found a leyline from your home world at the exact moment the waveforms met. And whether you knew it would happen or not, using any kind of spiritual energy near something that volatile has…consequences.” 

Of the wormhole kind, Kei thought.

Your luck is atrocious.

“But this is no time to give up hope,” Koenma said firmly, wagging one finger. “Your world’s wavelength is appreciably short by human standards! The best time for sending you home could be anywhere in the next year to the next four. It’s certainly better than the half-century for some worlds. Some others haven’t come back in my entire lifetime!”

Kei shot a mental glare at Isobu. You were saying?

I stand corrected. It is worse.

Kei took a careful, meditative breath to steel her nerves. No time for freaking out. She could have her moment of wordless panic when she could find a corner to cry in without being observed. Even the emotional deadening of the last few months couldn’t stand up to this. “I see.”

Koenma’s face scrunched into a frown. If it was ever going to be less strange hearing fully-formed sentence coming out of that face, Kei didn’t imagine it’d be any time soon. Then: “In the meantime, would you like to have a job?”

Kei’s thoughts screeched to a halt. “I’m sorry?” 

“It’s not the same as a solution; just a stopgap,” Koenma explained patiently. “But if I understand humans, it’s better to have something to keep your hands busy than to sit around in despair until a miracle falls into your lap.” 

“What kind of job?” Kei asked, careful to keep the suspicion from seeping into her voice. She’d had more than enough contracts go bad in the midst of her long deployment to learn a little caution. Sensei filtered what he could, but now Kei was out of his reach.

And she hadn’t said no, so Koenma leaned forward in his seat with full lecture mode engaged. “I have a new spirit detective—a boy a few years younger than you—undergoing training to improve his combat skills. But while he’s busy getting whipped into shape, I don’t have anyone to handle his workload.” Koenma’s half-hidden eyes gleamed. “Are you interested?”

“What does the job entail?” Kei asked, as most of her sense of humor dropped right out of her body. Even if she didn’t know where she was, some things never changed. It wouldn’t be her first time being hired halfway through a contract, though it was always at Sensei’s discretion. There had to be a reason why a person whose agents had found her in a bush under a purple sky, in the land of the dead, thought she would be useful for his purposes.

Koenma replied, “In your case, it mostly means completing any minor missions he can’t. Stamping out trouble caused by apparitions of all kinds, but especially demons. Your duties will change after he returns.” 

Something in the back of Kei’s head started itching, like a thought she’d forgotten sometime over the last seventeen years. The blanket of emotional exhaustion was too thick to avoid smothering it.

I will look for it.

Thanks.

Kei’s gaze roved slowly around the room, from the stacks of paperwork to the employer offering her busy work. “Let me read and edit the contract before I sign anything. I’d also like any reference material you have on apparitions, and maybe an assistant if you have one to spare.” 

Something in Koenma’s expression softened, at least as far as Kei could tell. Babies did not have terribly suitable faces for adult emotions. “I’ll send for Ayame-san. She’ll also be your contact if you do decide to take me up on this offer.” 

“Thank you, Koenma-sama,” Kei said, because it didn’t hurt to be polite to a god who administered the afterlife. Sure, Kei was a little corporeal to be a resident, but that could always change. 

Kei barely paid attention as the oni attendants bustled around the pastel office and eventually escorted her out into a waiting room. While blue- or red-skinned humanoids registered as unusual, the sheer number of them running around like headless chickens cut down on the unfamiliarity quickly. They were just barely clambering up the slope on the uncanny valley in their tiger-skin loincloths, and most of them ignored her presence entirely. 

I wonder if that is a self-preservation instinct.

If any of them can tell you’re here, it is. Kei, sitting in an armchair no more comfortable than those plastic abominations in a waiting room at a hospital, mostly let the world pass her by. Do you think anyone’s realized we’re gone?

I doubt the nearest jōnin has, Isobu muttered resentfully. Then, more thoughtfully, he said, The crane might have.

Kei’s hand shot to her mouth before she’d even articulated her thoughts. Using her kunai would be more sanitary, but hell, she was in the land of the dead. She bit down on her knuckle with one canine, drawing blood for the contract. Then her hands flew through the hand signs with barely enough time to name them: Boar, Dog, Bird, Monkey, Ram.

For a split second after she slammed her hand into the nearby coffee table, Kei’s nerves jangled with fear. What if this doesn’t work? What if I do this wrong and Tsuruya gets hurt— 

Chakra-derived ink spread across the wood in a familiar pattern. Sure, the drain behind the technique was an order of magnitude higher than anything she’d expected. And sure, that usually meant bad things, and she was probably breaking several interworld rules in one fell swoop. 

But Kei didn’t care.

Because, amid the sudden burst of white chakra smoke and the terrified screaming of oni office workers, she heard a familiar voice say, “Keisuke-sama? Did you call for me?”

Tsuruya beat her wings once, sending paperwork flying through the air along with the rapidly dissipating smoke, much to the dismay of the oni audience as the flailed after their disrupted files. Once she could see, she jerked her dark head to see Kei better with one eye, then the other. Then she folded her huge wings against her sides and bowed low.

Kei launched herself out of the chair and hugged Tsuruya’s three-meter bulk with enough force that her crane companion let out a startled honking noise.

“I missed you too,” Tsuruya said once she regained her balance, dropping her beak to rest against Kei’s back. Her wing looped around Kei, shielding them both with metal-edged feathers. “Though if you do not mind my asking, where are we?”

Kei said, “Probably the afterlife?” but was so muffled by her summoned friend’s feathers that she didn’t get a response.

“My apologies, but I do not think I caught what you said,” Tsuruya said. When this, too, failed to incite an audible response, Tsuruya changed tactics.

“Ow!”

By hitting Kei in the head with her beak, just like old times.

It was at this point in Tsuruya’s fussing that they were interrupted by a polite cough. Kei kept one arm slung around Tsuruya’s neck as the two of them turned to face the interloper.

A dark-haired woman stood amid the chaos of the oni attendants’ panic, expression placid. She wore a black kimono and carried a centimeter-thick stack of paper bound neatly with gold thread, along with an oar strapped to her back.

She bowed.

“Can I help you…?” Kei prompted, after managing a half-assed bow despite her stance.

“Ayame, Gekkō-san. I have your contract.” When she straightened, Ayame added, “If you’ll come this way, there is a side room where we can discuss terms in private.”

“Are you helping represent my interest or those of the spirit world?” Kei kept the obligatory lawyer joke tucked well inside her skull. 

“I only want to help both parties come to a compromise.” 

Well, that was helpful. “Thank you, Ayame-san. Please lead the way.”

-----

An hour later, Koenma received the modified contract and began to read it, while Tsuruya, Kei, and Ayame all stood around. Of the three, only Ayame seemed perfectly in place. 

Ten minutes after that, the oni outside his office were startled to hear a cry of “How many thousand yen per month?!”

Kei stared down his fury with patience born of entirely too long spent alone and nail-biting desperation. “I’m still human. I’ll need to pay rent, buy food, and obtain supplies while living in whichever city I need to cover. And I know what my expertise is worth.” 

Koenma gaped at her for a moment longer, only avoiding the goldfish impression by dint of his pacifier, then glared down at the contact. As he perused it with increasing fervor, he muttered under his breath. 

Kei caught the words “unbelievable” and “never in my life” and “not made of money.” 

Over Koenma’s shoulder, Ayame smiled faintly. 

“FINE!” Koenma burst out at last, throwing down his fountain pen in defeat after almost fifteen minutes of desperate rereading. “It’s legally sound, and you have a point about living world expenses. But when the call comes, you need to be ready to fight! Is that clear?”

Kei bowed in full shinobi style, dropping to one knee with her head angled toward the floor. Koenma didn’t need to know she was hiding a smile for, however tangentially, managing to frustrate a god. “Of course, Koenma-sama.” 

Oh, he may regret that.

“Then get out of my office! Ayame, show her how to get everything organized so she can start as soon as possible!”

Ayame swept Kei and Tsuruya out of the room amid the god-child’s impending tantrum. While Kei sat sidesaddle on Ayame’s oar as they took flight, Tsuruya pumped her huge wings and trailed in their slipstream with deceptive ease. 

“I look forward to working with you, Ayame-san,” Kei said, though even she wasn’t sure how sincere she was. “Please take care of me.” 

Still, Ayame replied, “Like one of our own, Keisuke-san.” 

It wasn’t until they’d landed in some human city that Kei realized, however belatedly, that she’d never told anyone her name. And that to be in the spirit world meant she’d been separated from her real body. Which was, of course, also lying in a bush.

All she could say to that, once she was again on her own two feet, was, “Well, that figures.”

Dead twice she could remember, and all she got out of it was a job.

[anonthenullifier]

You think Tommy & Billy occasionally have to hear their parents get referenced or discussed in classes or school hallways?

I am so so sorry this took a long time. I hope you enjoy it! 

The echoes of the bell are still bouncing through the halls and the room is still teacherless. There are signs that Mr. Byrne, their physics teacher, is around – a coffee cup sitting on top of a pile of their ungraded papers (which is fine by Tommy, he’s tempted to just go knock the mug over and get everyone As) and also the word DENSITY scrawled on the board. “What is it - 3 minutes and we get to leave?”

“Fifteen,” Billy doesn’t even turn to acknowledge his twin, too focused on organizing his notes, “pretty sure that’s only for college and also not sure it’s even a real rule.”

Apparently today his brother is in one of his serious, academically focused moods. “No one asked you, nerd.”

Now Tommy’s earned a steely stare, “You did.”

“Whatever.” Fifteen minutes seems excessive anyway, if Tommy is going to lead a revolt to not have class, he’d rather only wait five minutes, max. Given the make-up of their classmates, he’s reasonably confident he could get at least three-fourths of the back two rows on his side. Definitely not going to garner any sort of sympathy or fealty from the front rows, where they sit, because Billy says he hears better up here. Tommy only sits with him because they are near the door for an easy escape. “Do you think he’s dressing up again?” 

Billy writes Density at the top of a new page before looking at Tommy with disdain finally aimed at someone other than him. “God, I hope not.” 

“Who do you think it’ll be this time?” 

“Probably Carol.” Tommy snorts and then gags at the mental image, also a sliver proud of Billy’s emotionless delivery.  You see, Mr. Byrne is one of those…”cool” teachers, self-described, not student labeled like their kickass literature teacher next period. He’s “up” on memes, pop culture, and slang, though usually only on an academic surface level, the way old people try desperately to relate to the “youths” of the time. Why he tries, Tommy doesn’t know, the man has to be at least in his mid-thirties.* His choice of cultural relevance this semester? Superheroes. It’s awful, every week they have to watch him fanboy about someone else they know. It’s bad enough being the children of Avengers and dealing with other students who either have unoriginal questions (“Why do Hulk’s pants not rip apart?”), want autographs (particularly from Tony), want to prove they can win a fight without super powers (they can’t and Tommy’s detentions prove this), or, his favorite is when they ask sexually explicit things about his parents. That is a topic he never ever ever ever wants to think about ever again. 

Tommy checks the clock – four minutes. One more and then Živjela revolucija!** 

“Good morning class!” Dammit. “Today we will be…,” Mr. Byrne’s entrance is drowned out by sniggering, everyone murmuring around them and Tommy swears he can feel at least fifteen people looking at him.  

“Oh no.” It’s Billy’s voice that worries him the most. 

Tommy finally looks up,”Oh fuck no.” 

“That’s right,” it was bound to happen, they should have seen this coming, should have dropped this class when the whole superhero examples and costumes started. But they didn’t, they had just a bit too much faith in humanity. “Today we will be learning about density from the expert himself,” Mr. Byrne, face painted a too bright red and a plastic gem that he probably stole from a troll’s stomach stuck to his forehead, tries to swipe his Halloween costume store quality cape dramatically, “The Vision.”

A swift kick to the left gets Billy to tear his eyes away from the abomination at the front of the room, “Fuck this shit, I’m out.”

Except a thin blue strand traps Tommy in his seat,, “It’s one day,” Billy’s mouth doesn’t move but Tommy can hear his damn placating voice in his head, “we need this class to graduate and you can’t go to the principal again, so just stay and suffer.” The last part is almost gleeful. 

“Nope, I’ll just get a G.E.D.” Tommy throws his brother and teacher the middle finger as he vibrates his molecules and phases the hell away. 

Dad’s face is not pleased and mom’s eyes are glowing. “I swear this one is justified.”

“Yes,” his dad’s voice matches the tone he’s used on villains begging for freedom, who try to explain that the death ray was just meant to exterminate the rats in the city not, you know, the group of people tied up, “I am certain your detention will be justified this time.”

Well, he’s a lost cause, so Tommy shifts to the more rebellious parent, “Mom, I promise, that man is a lunatic and I had no choice but to skip.”

The Scarlet Witch, feared and revered for her reality warping, is about to tear a hole in reality and kick him out of this existence. “I’m sure.” 

Jody, the secretary, in all her villainess cardigan wearing glory shushes them sternly, “You know the rules.” The reprimand is replaced by a mannequin-esque smile, “The teacher is on his way and then Dr. Bennett will sort this all out.” 

Five minutes of agonizing silence pass, dad on one side in his unassuming and gaudy sweater vest and mom on the other, flicking arcs of scarlet between her fingers, before an out-of-breath Mr. Byrne arrives. He’s changed, now in khakis and a polo and face clean other than a slight tinge of red that looks like a sunburn. The conniving bastard. “The Vis-, I mean, Mr. and Mrs. Maximoff, what a pleasure to meet you.” 

Mom provides a taut, yet polite smile, “It’s too bad we didn’t meet under better circumstances.” 

“I agree,” Mr. Byrne’s voice conveys the same feeling that a patronizingly placed hand on the shoulder would, “Tommy is such a bright boy.” The if only is left silent, thankfully, a phrase he is so sick of hearing. 

This is all bullshit. Mr. Byrne knows exactly why Tommy left and yet, as the way it usually goes, the adults will all believe the adult. Actually, as it usually goes, he’s going to be left out here and not be allowed to speak his piece. 

The door to the principal’s office opens with a, “Mr. and Mrs. Maximoff, Mr. Byrne, please come inside.” 

His fate is sealed now, at least one more detention and maybe, if he’s lucky, an expulsion, though honestly that wouldn’t be luck because then he’d probably be forced to do some community service thing or, worse, have dad homeschool him.  But then, like an Avenger that’s been gone for a way too damn long time during the battle, salvation comes in the form of Billy rushing through a portal in the office wall. “Wait, I have evidence!”

“William,” the principal’s voice is almost the same cadence as dad’s when he’s disappointed, “this is unprecedented.”

Billy is way better at playing along with superiors, his body folding in just enough to show he is ashamed at the breach of protocol, but he remains steadfast against the admonishment. “I know Dr. Bennett, but I have pictures of what happened in class today.”

Curiosity is the prime emotion in the office, but it is not the loudest, that would be the absolute blissful terror draining the last of the color from Mr. Byrne’s face. “Let us see it.” Billy hands his phone over to the Principal who squints with a “Huh,” and then hands the phone to mom who immediately starts laughing while dad, well, it’s hard to read his reaction, but Tommy knows that anytime he stands that still and that impassive it means he has come across something so horrendous, so lacking in social respectability that he is doing everything in his power to not phase through the floor. “Mr. Byrne, I believe you and I need to have a conversation. Thomas?”

“Yes, ma’am?” Whatever kindness may have been on her face is gone. “Um, yes, Dr. Bennett?”

“You should go back to class.”

He salutes her. “Will do.”

Tommy waits just a moment longer to watch the slouched form of his teacher go into the principal’s office before joining his family in the hallway. “That was amazing! You should save me every time…” he’s really confused right now why everyone isn’t celebrating with him. “What?”

“You should get back to class,” mom doesn’t sound mad, in fact, she seems entertained by the whole thing and is only putting on the parental facade because it’s what she has to do as his mom, “we can discuss some better ways to handle these types of situations later,” something he expected, “once your poor father here isn’t so traumatized.” Ah, he sees it now, dad’s still a bit stiff and hasn’t blinked in awhile, it would be rude to rub this in any more, that’ll be for dinner tonight. 

“Sounds good. Won’t skip class again.”

“I’m sure…” 

Billy tugs Tommy away as he counters back, “Have faith, mom,” and he walks away a free man.

*30, according to my own students, is the equivalent of being elderly and about to die. 

**Long live the revolution!