#to either put a neat little bow on what came before or (depending on the type of fic) aim one last good kick. you know

[itwoodbeprefect]

Writing patterns tag game!

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

i was tagged by @flownwrong - thank you!! for the sake of the experiment, i skipped the two notably older fics that i posted to ao3 recently enough to show up in this top 10. it was a different time, man. (i mean, hardly, but i'm skipping them anyway.)

-

1) “Your hair smells nice,” Pa says.

2) Of course Pat takes notice when Pran gets his guitar out of its bag and takes it to the couch, but there’s an art to these things.

3) After all of the commotion, all of the stress, all of the dread, Steve finds the one face he’s looking for in the crowd of teens in formal wear.

4) Billy keeps saying fucking no no no to Joe about the working girls, until eventually the girls get bored and leave.

5) For three months, there’s a girl.

6) Hutch wakes up alone, but only nominally.

7) They fall into his apartment with Jill’s hand in his back pocket and his mouth attached to her clavicle – but they do fall, and when he adds a habit-driven attempt to kick the door shut, he ends up with a mouth full of her soft brown hair and she has to grab his shoulder to avoid being tripped by the doormat.

8) After they sell the restaurant, Kamekona doesn’t keep the name they gave it.

9) Most stabbings, Starsky has found in his years on the job, happen either out on the street or in the kind of apartment building mothers wouldn’t want their sons to live in.

10) When Hutch hops down the last few steps and exits the building door, there’s a familiar red car already waiting for him.

-

i think the main thing about opening lines for me is that i often try to cram in as much setup as possible, because there's a good chance the fic is mostly one dialogue scene and i've already written that part and now i'm forced to explain to my reader that they're not just voices hovering in indefinable darkness (and the easy way is to do that up top if i can, so it doesn't have to interrupt the flow of the dialogue). and then sometimes (1, 5, 6, maybe 8) i attempt to avoid throwing everyone headfirst into a soup of words (i love a ridiculously long sentence! 7, my beloved) by keeping it intentionally short and snappy. there are lots of signal words, too! two afters, when, of course, for three months. i still like "most stabbings" (9) as opening words. 4 and 5 both have the "girl" in them, which means nothing, but is still a fun coincidence in this sequence.

i'll tag (as always, with no pressure!) @redgoldblue @actingcamplibrarian @luredin @dedkake @stephmcx and anyone else who writes fic and feels like doing this. this is a fun thing to read! i'd like to see them!

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 79: The Rites of Blood and Knowledge

Chapters: 79/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg 13(Blood)

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),Thor(Marvel) Wanda Maximoff, vision, Bruce Banner

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time, In Reference To Blood Mixing Mentioned In The Eddas

Summary:  The great ceremonies begin.

The dreams were powerful that night, whisking you off to far away places, off to the increasingly familiar form of the gargantuan space artist. There was a strange nostalgia out here that you were slowly coming to recognize as being not your own. How could it be? You had never physically been here, only visited in dreams.

With green and blue sparkling at your right and left, you drifted along in their orbit, yet another asteroid in a primordial star system.

First Wielder.

The concept filtered through your mind, trailing a warm and wistful longing behind it.

Peace. Eternity. Creation.

Before battle. Before separation. Before imprisonment.

Before all.

The star system was strange: every time you came here, the sun was a little different. A variable star, its brightness oscillating, it was still young and new.

There was only one planet in this system, located fairly close to the star. The presence of the colossal giant perturbed the asteroids and gas around the star, but their great mass prevented them from coalescing.

Comets formed in great numbers from the gas and ice beyond them, whizzing past them, inspiring new drawings. Asteroids clumped up against them; a brush of their great hand sent them flying, to collide into one another, to spin away from their unstable orbit, and join the comets on their cross-system journey, to crash into the singular planet.

The colossus watched with the patience of true immortality, as the planet burned and erupted, filled up with water, and clouds, and sky.

Thoughtfully, they regarded an asteroid they held in one hand, then, with their color-stained fingers, they began to draw.

The wistfulness and regret reached their peak, and you woke up in the empty bathtub, with a thought ringing in your head.

The Wielders always came to a bad end.

                                                                            ******

Loki was somewhat disgruntled to discover that you'd been having these dreams without him. He didn't scold, but his concern was clear. You described them in as much detail as you could, but, to your dismay, he didn't have any explanation for what you'd been seeing while you slept.

It would just have to remain a mystery. The upcoming day was going to be far too busy to dwell on it.

Both you and Loki had dressed in your absolute finest, your armor polished bright, your skirt covered in embroidery, your chest and neck festooned in beads of carved gold and pearl. You still felt a little bit like you were so buried in finery that you became invisible, but you tried to carry it with pride. All of this had been put together especially for you, and that hard work deserved to be shown off.

Loki was so magnificent in his fur-trimmed cloak, and elaborate helmet, you had to firmly tell yourself not to spend the whole day just staring at him all moon-eyed.

Maybe just a few hours.

Today, the Second Feast, was really the main event, as far as this Buridag was concerned. At noon, you would participate in the Blood Taking ceremony, wherin you would 'mingle blood' with the royal brothers, in order to be formally adopted into Asgardian high society. This would cement your status as high enough to advise Loki as one of the most important members of his personal entourage. And before the evening feast, you would perform the ritual that would confirm you as an official Seidkona.

But before that, you would have the time to run around and enjoy the festival.

It was set up like a combination job fair and reenactment fest. Stalls lined the streets and filled courtyards, peopled by the crafters of Asgard. Smiths, armorers, and carpenters, goldsmiths, lapidaries, scrimshanders, and glassblowers. Weavers, spinners, leatherworkers, and dyemakers, artists, musicians, chefs, academics, mages, stonemasons, construction workers, scribes, dancers, and cheesemongers. All the sights, and sounds, and scents, and flavors that made up Asgard were being demonstrated and celebrated.

Your Father and Tara joined you in the streets, and Loki reluctantly released you into their care, having some preparation left to do.

Tara, flouncing around in an apron dress and domed brooches very much like your usual style, gushed over how beautiful you looked, and your father, rather sheepishly dressed in an Asgardian greatcoat and cowl, agreed openly.

“You look like a princess.” he said. “A real one. You...You walk different now. Talk different. You look so strong.”

“Is it me, or are all these people following us?” Tara asked, not very quietly. A few chagrined people in the crowd that flowed in your wake down the street peeled away, and wandered in different directions. The rest either had less shame, or had orders to keep watch over you.

You spared the group a glance. There appeared to be a solid mix of Asgardians and humans, several of which had their phones out. You surmised there would be a new wave of photos of you on the internet over the next few days.

“Keep your cowl up dad.” You advised.

“Want me to run them off?” he offered.

“Nah. I don't really mind if they take pictures of me. Can't really hurt anything.”

“Wasn't so great last time.” Tara pointed out. “I spent a lot of time stanning for you.”

“Well, last time was sensationalized bullcrap. This time is a nice festival. I mean, check out that guy!”

That Guy was a glassblower in his stall, spinning a huge, bubble thin amphora of rose pink glass. You had seen its like before, but never seen one made.

“Oh, they age crystal mead in those! The pink lets in the right wavelengths of light that give it it's shimmering quality.”

“What's crystal mead?” your father asked.

“Don't try more than a few sips, if anyone offers.” you warned. “Asgardians have iron guts. Their booze is way too strong.”

“Yeah, they warned us about that on the plane.” Tara said. “And yesterday, it looked like they had everything divided up by species, so no one got the wrong thing.”

You took them around to various demonstrations: spinners spinning yarn, brewers preparing several of Asgards many alcoholic beverages, apothecaries showing how basic medicines were made, a cobbler putting together a nice pair of boots.

“So, Asgard's really advanced, right?” Tara asked. “Why is everything like Ye Olden Times?”

“Asgard's never had that big a population, even at it height. There just isn't that much demand for mass production. Most things are bespoke, or self-made. Quality depends entirely on the maker, so that, of course, becomes a competition. And that, in turn, becomes a matter of cultural pride. Also, they have thousands of years to get good at what they do, so Asgardian made goods are super high quality, and they judge personal worth by that. I don't think they'll ever automate; it would go against a lot of what they stand for.”

You snagged the three of you a traditional Asgardian snack; fat sausages, wrapped in savory pastry. You thought it might be good to have something else in your stomach before the first ceremony.

Tara called them Asgardian corn dogs, which you couldn't wait to share with Loki, if only to watch his nose wrinkle with disdain over the undignified term.

“So when do we have to let you go?” Tara asked.

You checked your phone for the time, stuffing the last of your sausage into your mouth.

“Eh, I've got a few minutes left. Better start heading over though.”

Your winding path through the courtyards took you past minstrels, impromptu dances, and games, to a large, tall dais that had been put together as a temporary mirror to the throne room. It towered over the City Hall courtyard like a ziggurat. You'd be up there soon enough, but currently...

“Who's that?” your father asked, pointing at a man standing at the top. “Doesn't look like Thor.”

You squinted up at the figure, his bright armor shining in the rarefied sunlight.

“Ah, That's Heimdall. He's the Guardian of Asgard, and god of...uh, sight? I think? Vigilance? It's not quite that neat and simple, you know? The whole 'God Of' thing is a bit more complicated than that.”

“So that's a god?” your father asked. “How can you tell? Are they all gods? What does that even mean?”

“All good questions. Mostly because they are very hard to answer.”

Your father and Tara jerked at the sudden new voice, and, not for the first time, you found yourself amazed at how easily a man of the sheer size and importance as the king of Asgard could sneak up on people.

“Your Majesty.” you said calmly, inclining your head. Your father and Tara dipped into awkward bows, a little awed by the mythical figure before them. Thor didn't necessarily demand obeisance, but he didn't exactly discourage it either; he let people act as they felt appropriate.

“Not every Asgardian is a god.” Thor explained. “Those that are go by the term 'Aesir', a common name through most of the realms for beings of that type. You are born Aesir; you cannot become one by outside influences. However, Aesir nature doesn't always become apparent at birth, it often doesn't manifest until adolescence. As for what it means to be Aesir...that doesn't have so straightforward an answer. I leave it to the philosophers, who, incidentally, are in booth seventy-eight.

Anyway, I have come to collect your daughter for the ceremony. There isn't much time left, so we'd all better get in place. If you go through those two poles there right now, you can get very good seats.”

“This could get a bit weird.” You warned. “It's a ceremony more ancient than any recorded human practices, so it's probably going to seem archaic.”

“Oh, it's not so bad.” Thor said. “It's been updated and refined over all those years. For instance, everyone remains clothed now, and there are at least seventy percent fewer entrails used.”

Your father coughed, and you rolled your eyes. Thor's sense of humor was difficult for you to understand, considering how serious he was about everything. The thing about Thor's jokes was that he might have been joking about something that had really happened, or he might have been joking about something he'd completely made up, but he would never specify which.

“On that note, I've got to go.” you said. “Entrails to sort, and all that.”

Your father coughed again, Tara patting him compassionately on the back.

“Good luck!” she called to your receding back.

                                                                                ******

“Now, you've been fully briefed on what will happen during this ceremony, correct?” Thor asked, as the two of you loitered near the back stairs of the temporary dais. People were filtering in to seats and standing room around the courtyard, waiting for things to start.

“I think so.” you said. “If I've got this right, there's going to be a special dance-”

“The Alignment of the Celestial and Worldly bodies, yes.” Thor said. “It symbolizes everything that must come together to bring the 'adoptee' to the greater 'family'. In this case, it will tell the story of how you came here to join our family.”

A soft warmth crept up your neck, and heated your ears beneath your helmet. You knew it was all socio-symbolism, but the notion of 'joining the family' hit differently now that you were on intimate terms with Loki.

“And then all the braziers will have some kind of incense thrown in, and in the smoke, we'll all go up the stairs like we're magically appearing. Honestly, it sounds like it'll look really cool.”

“All ceremonies contain a bit of theatrics.” Thor agreed. “Perhaps that is the most important part. Or that's the part that makes it important. I wish we still had some of the traditional ceremonial incense, but we just don't have access to the materials anymore. You would have liked it; it was much more floral than most of what you have here. We did manage to get some lavender though. That should be nice.”

“Maybe one day, when the Bifrost is more stable.” You said. It did sound very nice. “Loki said that you, and he, and Heimdall will sing a blessing song?”

“Yes, a divine blessing from a trio of Aesir. It's got to be three. And then...”

“Yeah. And then.” Loki had told you about the bloodletting. He had been very frank about it. “I know. I'm nervous, but not afraid.”

Thor nodded. “Sometimes there are unforeseen effects, but never anything bad. You'll be perfectly safe.”

“I know. The nervousness just comes from knowing it'll hurt. Even if just for a short time.”

You buckled under Thor's hand when it came down on your shoulder, enveloping the whole thing.

“Loki would rather slice out his own guts than draw your blood, trust me. He's been trying to figure out how to get around it for weeks. Unfortunately, the blood is the most important part of the magic. It carries all of the power. It's very old magic: according to him, this is practically the only part of the ritual that has remained unchanged from the beginning.”

“Did there really used to be entrails and naked people, or was that a joke?”

“Ehhh, well, yes and no. This ceremony originated with the Vanir, and they are not opposed to nakedness under certain circumstances. In this case, everyone who attended was expected to leave the clothes they came in at the door, and wear a special loincloth instead. This was actually to prevent violence, by barring hidden weaponry from being brought to ceremony grounds. So rather than pure nudity, everyone was dressed as scantily as was possible.

As for entrails...unfortunately yes, that was also a part of it. A seer would perform a divination using the entrails of a slaughtered animal. That practice was going out of fashion, even before the war, and I don't think anyone today even remembers how it was done.”

You shuddered. Yes, it was a different culture, and a long time ago, but it still grossed you out.

“I'll have to remember to thank Loki for trying to get me out of it, even if he wasn't successful.” You said. He really did put in a lot of effort behind the scenes. If only he were more open about some of that effort, so you could appreciate it more.

“He was adamant about the bull.” Thor said. “Demanded a private ritual the night before. Put your helmet up on the pillar, then sacrificed and butchered the beast himself. Insisted on it. Did our ancestors proud, but you know he knows his way around a knife.”

“I wish he'd told me. I was really stressed about that whole thing. I'm glad, in the end, that he was thinking of me, but I really wish I'd known. I wouldn't have lost so much sleep!”

“It was a little last minute.” Thor admitted. “I approved it the instant he explained, but we had to do it pretty much immediately afterwards. He really should have told you, but I fear my brother is usually more invested in the making of plans, rather than what to do once they come to fruition. I feel you will be a positive influence on him, though.”

Even though he was wearing his eyepatch, rather than the mismatched prosthetic, his one blue eye was open and sincere.

“I think so too.” you said. You already were influencing each other. It was impossible to live so close, to sleep in the same bed, without doing so. But Loki did have a bad habit of assuming things, a by-product of his upbringing as a leader, you supposed. You would simply have to speak up more.

Perhaps you had gotten too comfortable. But perhaps you wanted to be too comfortable. It might be a holdover from your year of struggle, but having someone who wanted to do so much for you was very tempting. You knew it would be better to strive for a balance, but you also knew that, unless Loki somehow diminished himself severely, the two of you would never truly be equals.

But you admired that greatness, and somehow, those all too common flaws in him made him easier for you to love. They made him so real.

An ambling drum beat started up, accompanied by the brassy ting of zills, and a flute. Loki joined you and Thor in peeking out around the dais, just as a group of dancers spread out around the courtyard.

You'd been told that the dancers represented personages from history and legend. You were pretty sure that the three women who orbited the dance stage equidistant from one another must be the Norns, and you assumed the cluster of people standing beneath a glittering tree branch and clanging their zills were probably meant to be the ancestors of the royal family.

The dance told a story of a woman dressed like you, and a man dressed like Loki, wearing silver bells at their wrists and ankles that jingled with every step. They made everything look so much more graceful and sensual than it really had been: Holding hands like the rune branding had been on purpose, dancing circles with each other, like everything had been friendly and not at all awkward from the very beginning. How elegantly 'you' swooned into 'his' arms, while the assassin was caught. How triumphantly 'you' defended 'him' against the Huldra. And how beautifully 'he' clasped 'you' in a romantic, yet properly chaste embrace.

There was none of the blood, none of the fear, or anger, or petulance, or confusion. No loss, or loneliness, or uncertainty.

But that was how it worked, wasn't it? None of those things could be shown to the general public. This was ceremony. This was spectacle! This was what would be remembered.

The pair danced away, out of sight, the ancestors retreated, and the Norns raised their arms in unison. All around the courtyard, attendants dumped incense into the torches and braziers, sending thick smoke and mysterious perfume wafting over the entire area.

“Show's on, darling.” Loki said, grasping your shoulders, and leading you up the stairs. A new wave of anxiety washed over you as you rose above the sweet smelling clouds like a legend. Heimdall stepped aside to let you pass, Loki and Thor leading you right up to the edge of the elevated platform, where waited a podium, upon which rested a brass bowl. An unfamiliar rune was stamped on its bottom. So that was where the magic would happen.

Thor held his hand out over an unlit brazier just in front of the podium and concentrated. Scarcely a moment later sparks danced between his fingers and jumped to ignite the fuel. The light illuminated the clouds of incense, obscuring the audience. Cut off thus from every other person out there, you didn't flinch as the trio of gods each placed a hand on you, and began to sing.

You couldn't help but wonder if they had done this before. It was a complex song, with rising and falling harmonies, parts layered over one another, something that couldn't have been easy to learn. As their voices dipped and flowed, you felt the power rising, just like out in the camp, months ago. Why could you sense divine power? Was it because of your magic? Was there anyone out in the crowd that could feel it too?

Thor's good eye had begun to sparkle with crackling white energy, the power of the blessing he was singing into you. You assumed Heimdall, behind you, was lighting up orange, and when you turned your head to glance at Loki, you were suffused with the gentle glow of the blue light from your dreams.

All of the anxiety drained out of you at the touch of that light, your arms dropping to your sides as relaxation took over.

Everything was all right. Loki was right beside you. Thor and Heimdall were with you, their voices reverberating through you, their blessing upon you. The rare winter sun filtered down over you like a blanket, as the last notes of the Aesir's song filled your head.

Loki gently took your hand, gazing earnestly into your face as the calming light faded from his eyes.

“Forgive me, my love.” he whispered.

A sudden, painful jab, ripped you out of your cocoon of sunny calm. With a sharp cry, you turned to stare at your fingertip, pierced deeply by the tip of one of Loki's knives.

Loki held your hand over the brass bowl, letting the blood drip, enough to cover the rune at the bottom. Then he tenderly bandaged the tiny wound, lines of regret around his eyes. Thor held his hand out for a slash, and then Loki turned the blade on himself. Blood slowly filled the little bowl, as a light throbbing started in your head. Every drop that rippled its surface was like a giant heartbeat within you.

Once it was full, Thor and Loki began singing again, lifting the small bowl between them. They held it up to the sun, and then poured it onto the burning brazier. The fire sputtered, sizzling, sending a huge cloud of smoke directly into your face. You gagged on the scent of burning blood, practically bathed in it, a layer of death-scent on your skin. The song cut through it, thrumming in your ears, an echoing promise of cherishment and fidelity.

The blood burned down into nothing, the smoke slowly clearing. All of the people in the courtyard came back into view, the upturned faces solemn. The dancers below picked up the chorus.

And you understood them.

Loki took your hand and lifted it up, flourishing to the crowd. They cheered, while you stood there, stunned. You understood what they were saying, their enthusiastic calls, their songs. The blood smell lingered in your nose, the throbbing swiftly receding from your head.

He led you to the stairs down as you wobbled, but you never made it all the way down. Dizziness overcame you, and you collapsed into Loki's arms.

[wwwafflewrites]

A Rewrite of History

Chapter 3—Dead in the Water (Part 1)

You had read once or twice that drowning was one of the worst ways to die. You couldn’t disagree—it probably was. Which is why you were seriously considering skirting the next hunt.

Not that doomed airplanes were any better.

You were crossing your fingers that it would take the Winchesters at least a day to recoup. It was a feeble wish and you knew it; the most you’d probably given them was a headache, irritated eyes, and a greater desire to kill you.

You were going to have to try and wrap this case up quick, or you would be evading the Winchesters constantly.

Dead in the Water was an episode that didn’t wrap up in a neat little bow like the others did. There was nothing easy about a vengeful ghost without a body to burn, searching for vengeance by drowning the family of its killers. Nothing was really resolved; the Winchesters just shielded Lucas and his mom from suffering due to the sheriff and his friends’ mistakes.

This was going to be an impossible mission.

You thought back to the note that now crinkled in the bottom of your bag. To them, this wasn’t about getting it done right. This was about getting it done differently. And, God, if that didn’t just make you feel sick.

You needed to take a breather.

Fortunately, there was an exit just ahead, where you could take a small break at a gas station, maybe get a new water bottle at a nearby store.

Was your being here the work of angels, or the plot of something darker? More sinister?

Hell if you knew.

Every time you filled up your tank, that already small wad of money became smaller. There was only so long before you ran out—and what then? Would you become more than a car thief? Turn to pickpocketing? Credit card fraud?

Pshh. First of all, you had the grace of a rock, so pickpocketing was definitely off the menu, and second, who were you even kidding? You didn’t have the resources or the assets one needed to pull off credit card fraud. The Winchesters had Bobby Singer, for the love of all that is pure and holy. You had nobody.

You were dependent on the bastards that put you here, and you hated it.

Not five minutes later, you decided you had had enough of a rest. You needed to get to Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Preferably before the Winchesters. So you started up the car and took to the road again.

Just seven more hours to go.

///

When you finally arrived, you parked yourself at a local playground. It was vacant. The sun was setting, and it was probably curfew for most children.

You got out, stretching your legs and cracking your tightly wound back. You walked over to the public drinking fountain. Skeptically, you watched it as you filled your water bottle, making sure the water didn’t turn that nasty, haunted brown.

It didn’t. And… why would it? You weren’t the cursed one. The water wasn’t going to assault you. You were just so keyed up that it was making you paranoid.

Scoffing, you walked back to your car, climbed back into the driver’s seat, and grabbed a granola bar from the glove compartment. Then, you got to business. You snatched the notebook and pen.

You were going to need to make a plan.

Most of the episode, Sam and Dean had tried to get a sense of what was going on, what and why it was killing people, and how to stop it. You really only had to enact step three, which would hopefully save a lot of time.

So, with said extra time, you wrote down some proposals.

First off, you could just destroy the dam. It would rid of the obvious problem: the ghost itself. And it was already half done for you, right? If you could just blast the dam, wouldn’t it drain the lake faster?

You’d have to scope out the area and determine the consequences of it. The show never covered the full extent of the dam’s damage. You didn’t want to go and blow it out on impulse, and then destroy the town with flooding. That would be doing more harm than help.

And if you were going all out here, you could save Will from drowning in his sink. Not that you were sure how you’d pull that one off. By then, the Winchesters would already be in town.

The third most obvious idea was to stop Lucas from reaching the lake. If he hadn’t been there to touch the water, then the sheriff wouldn’t have sacrificed himself for the child in the first place.

And… lastly… god, maybe it was a stupid idea, but you could just salt the lake. You weren’t sure how productive that would be or how expensive, though. You’d need a lot of salt. Plus, you didn’t know the consequences of it. Would it affect the natural wildlife in the area? Would it impact drinking water? You weren’t sure.

If you had the time, you’d try and research it. But you weren’t Sam Winchester with a laptop under his pillow and endless wifi at his service. You just didn’t have the time. The Winchesters would be here by late morning, at the very least. That gave you the night to work in peace.

Noting that, you reviewed your list:

A. Destroy the dam.

B. Save Will from drowning in his sink.

C. Stop Lucas from touching the lake.

D. Salt the lake?

It wasn’t much to work with.

///

The dam turned out to be a bust. Figuratively and literally.

The dam was smack dab in the middle of the town. There was no way you could blast it without drawing unwanted attention, nor could you do so without flushing out half the town.

Besides, the floodgates were practically already opened. They were draining the damn thing already, just like the sheriff had said. Six months and there wouldn’t be a lake anymore. Except, you didn’t have six months. You had two days if you were lucky.

You left the dam pretty quick after that, your heart heavy in your chest and your mind battling over what to do. The worst thing? The only option was to wait until daylight. So much for avoiding the Winchesters. You’d have to be extra careful tomorrow.

It was like something was pulling you together.

Shaking your head, you dug out your list again, scribbling out Plan A.

A. Destroy the dam.

B. Save Will from drowning in his sink.

C. Stop Lucas from touching the lake.

D. Salt the lake?

Plan B, save Will.

It came to you then. Tomorrow, you could go and speak with the Carltons yourself. If you could befriend them, maybe you could weasel your way into the house and save them from the inside: something that the Winchesters couldn’t ever quite do.

But first, you needed a damn shower. You smelled of B.O. and smoke, and you’d have to clean up if you wanted to look at least presentable. You knew there was a truck stop on the outskirts of town with some showers.

It didn’t take long to get there. Two miles of dirt road led you to a solitary building with white concrete walls. The facility was quiet and tidy.

And, thank god, it supplied shampoo and conditioner. You had seriously forgotten the luxury of it all. You cleaned up and dried off pretty quick, though, knowing you still had a long night ahead of you.

You were going to need some better clothing, if you wanted to look the part. So to the supermarket it was.

You could feel the stares on you when you walked in, not that there were many shoppers this late at night. Clearance aisle wasn’t horrible. It wasn’t great either, but you found some cheap, acceptable clothing. It felt amazing to get out of those rags.

Your mind kept nagging you with one weird analogy: you to parking lots, was like the Winchesters to motels. Wasn’t that just peachy?

///

The next morning was a rough one. It was late, almost eleven, and your back was crying for you to sleep on a smoother surface. Even with the seat leaned back, it was no match to a bed. Not even close. It was cramped, uncomfortable, and restricting.

Vertigo was a bitch. A dull headache swam through your head and punched a heartbeat into your eardrums. It was probably a result of only eating pbj’s and granola bars, and relying on cheap daily vitamins for nutrients.

When it got to be around four o’clock, you decided to hit the road. Not that you wanted to. You were beginning to dread the sound of the car’s engine. It always meant you were driving yourself into dangerous or unsavory situations.

You missed home. So much that it physically hurt. It was like the world was against you: the bastards that put you here, the monsters, and even the Winchesters. No, especially the Winchesters.

At that moment, you really just wanted to drop the ball and quit. Flip off the angels or whatever the hell placed you here and screw everything. Screw the Winchesters. Just…

No.

Your best friend needed you, damn it. You had no idea what situation they were in, or what they were being put through—or they would be put through if you tried anything. The note had offered you limited information, and you had absolutely no leads on what put you here. Your best hope was the Winchesters.

And how well is that working out?

You drove past the park, which was now stark full of kids skipping and swinging around. You did a double take when you saw the Winchesters. Dean was speaking with Lucas while Sam was speaking with his mother. Well, that told you where you were in the show. Fortunately, that meant they were done talking with Will for the day. You were in the clear.

You pulled up to the Carlton’s a couple minutes later. He answered the door and offered you a halfhearted smile. “Oh, hi,” he said.

“Hi, um, I just wanted to say that I am so sorry for your loss. I heard…” You pointed toward the town, which was general enough to be just about any house. “I live a little while away, but I just wanted to say we’re praying for you and your family.”

“Oh. Um, thank you.” He shuffled in the doorway, a little flustered. “That means a lot to me. Would you… I’m just about to make dinner. Would like to join us?”

Well, that was unexpected. “Oh, no, I couldn’t disturb you like that. I’m sure your father is so torn up… I couldn’t imagine.” You were crossing your fingers that he insisted you come in. A real meal sounded like heaven.

“It’s really no trouble.” Then, he stammered, “I mean, I… I could kind of use a friend right about now, if you don’t mind.”

Your heart hurt. This poor kid. “Oh, sure! I’m not too busy. I can certainly stay if that would make you feel any better.” You fully intended on keeping your word this evening. You knew exactly what it was like to need a friend right about now.

He opened the door wider to let you in, and you shyly entered. “You’re sure this isn’t any trouble?”

“I’m sure,” he said, smiling at you a little. Then, he walked off into the kitchen.

You peeked around to see the living room. His father, Bill, was staring dead into the television screen. The living room was cluttered, and you could tell the family was grieving.

You wandered into the kitchen, sitting at the table.

“Sorry for the mess,” Will sighed, bringing out a fish and a cutting board.

Your heart spiked. “No, no, that’s fine.” You had to say something. “I’m, ah—” he turned to look at you and you choked on the words a little. “I’m allergic to seafood,” you confessed. You bit your cheek, hoping the lie would keep him away from the sink for the night.

“Oh,” he said. He fidgeted with the fish in his hand for a moment. “I guess I could make pizza. Is that cool?”

You relaxed, your shoulders sagging. “Yeah! Yeah, that sounds… that sounds fine.”

///

The pizza was amazing. You’d almost forgotten the taste of comfort food. Although you certainly didn’t forget about it; just entering stores was enough to make your stomach snarl.

You thanked him for his time, wished him well, and made your leave.

You’d done it; you’d saved him. It felt good, too. Your past two ‘hunts’ had been draining and useless: you hadn’t saved Jessica, you hadn’t been the one to save Tommy, either. Not directly. Although you did get some points on Roy. He would have died if you hadn’t been there. And now you had actually saved Will: an innocent young man who nearly suffered because of his father’s past.

When you got to the car, the moonlight was thin and veiny through the trees. Your car was like a mirror of the sky, and you see your silhouette in the reflection of your window as you unlocked the door.

Time to head to the park again. Get some shut-eye.

Honestly, you felt better than you had in awhile. You were well-fed, and you had the light feeling of having saved someone. You, someone who hardly was cut out for any of this, had managed to pull someone out of harm’s way. It felt good. Impossibly good. Too good to be true.

The park wasn’t far from his house. You pulled into the empty lot, shut the car off, and thought in the heavy silence. Today wasn’t half bad. You stretched your shoulders, then pulled yourself into the back seat to lay down. It wasn’t much better than the front, but you had some room for your legs now.

You prayed for the Carltons that night, even if the angels listening probably didn’t care. You cared.

You fell asleep in the back seat with dreams to accompany you. Something in the air shifted. Your dream flashed silvery blue, and your peripheral vision went fuzzy. Your eyes could only focus on what was ahead of you, like a tunnel.

You saw a door open, and in came Sam Winchester. You wanted to recoil, but you had no physical body to move. You were just spectating.

Sam’s lips were moving, but you only heard half of it. “—safely rule out Nessie.”

Your vision lurched as if it was on a bungee cord, snapping back before you could hear the entire sentence.

Dean’s words faded in and out. “—do you mean?” He was just a blur in the corner of your eyes.

“—Carlton house—ambulance there.”

“Will Carlton is dead.”

“He drowned?”

“—the sink.”

The world snaps and twists, hissing as the scenery changes. You see Bill Carlton, grieving his children on the dock.

“Mr.Carton?—few questions—don’t mind.”

“—with the Department—”

Bill has a quiet and sad voice.

“—don’t care—with. I've—enough—questions—”

Trying to piece the words together was making your head swirl, but something was forcing you to watch.

Finally, the words cleared out, and it didn’t feel like you were watching time fly past in fast forward. The narrow window of your vision broke away and you were able to relax and take in what was being said.

Sam was gentle when he pried at Bill. “Did you see anyone? Anything?”

Bill worked his teeth. “He had a girl over. A neighbor. She was gone before anything happened though.” He told them because he just wanted to be alone, and he wanted the men to leave.

The Winchesters stiffened, and if you had a body to move, you would have as well.

“Bill, what did the girl look like?”

Bill’s words were garbled by another hissing sound, but you knew what he was saying anyway. The Winchesters turned and looked you dead in the eyes, and then you woke up.

You flailed, jamming your elbow into the door behind you. Your funny bone gave a sharp tingle. You sat up, your hand pulling at your sweaty shirt collar. Just a dream. Damn awful dream.

You composed yourself. It was five a.m., and you didn’t feel as great as you did last night.

A high pitched wailing could be heard in the distance. You paused, tilting your head. The wailing siren neared, and you saw an ambulance race toward and then past the park.

What? You sat up.

There was a crinkle of paper and you froze there, hands slowly reaching at your lap, where a note lay.

It read:

You still have time.

You glared at the note. What the hell did it mean? Will was already dead. What did it mean—

You shot up, grabbed the front chairs, hauled yourself into the driver’s seat, and buckled in. You couldn’t believe you had forgotten.

Bill was next.

///

The Carltons’ place was crawling with police. There was no way you were getting over there until later, but it confirmed your worst fears: Will was dead.

The only thing you’d accomplished last night was eating his food and having given the police a reasonable argument to arrest you. Great.

You really weren’t cut out for this hunter stuff. It felt like every time you tried to help, you only were setting yourself up to look like the bad guy.

Every. Single. Time.

And as if things couldn’t get worse, you saw Sam Winchester. He was more focused on the light show of red and blue lights, but he glanced around a little, and eventually his eyes lined up with yours. He was too far away to read, but you didn’t need to be a genius to see the hostility in his eyes.

You backed away, about as shocked as he was to see you, and you took off in the opposite direction. Lucky for you, you were used to being invisible.

You were running for your life. Again.

You had a ten yards head-start, weaving behind trees and buildings to disappear from his line of sight. With this tactic, you managed to position yourself behind a dumpster. You were damn lucky he thought you’d gone left and not right. At this point, you’d offered him too many routes to take. He’d lost you.

His nostrils flared before he finally admitted to himself that he lost your trail. He headed back to his motel room looking tense.

You released a breath. You needed to talk with Bill before the Winchesters did. You knew what he was going to do, and this is time, you couldn’t afford to mess it up. Not with the Winchesters around.

///

Tag: @rosaren2498​ , @pillowjj​ , @busy-bee-angel-misska​ , @elle-r​ , @dagnylokisdottir​

[stealinghero]

This blog seems cool! For a scenario: I'm a visiting detective from America with a diplomat traveling with me. I thought it'd be neat to be seduced by Lupin so he can impersonate me while Fujiko does the same for the diplomat woman. For bonus, they have to tie us up and keep us quiet with no drugs when Zenigata and Goro show up for a chat (and flirting)! And I think a headcanon: do you think Fujiko or Lupin would be the type to "sign" their work on a tied and taped person they'd step in for?

I still don’t know what to think about it. Your request is so great and induced so many images in my mind but it came out like that. Not so much flirting and seducing in the end but a smart little Lupin. ^^”   I hope it’s still okay?

For the hcs: Lupin would leave them in a comfortable way, mostly leaving a small card with a pun and his name/drawing. With a person he likes he might steal a kiss or two before leaving. (Once he left a rose with a special lady.)

Fujiko will just leave her victims whenever they fell down. Only the cute ones get special attention. She loves to bind them to any poles and calls them her pole-dancers on an attached card, signing it with F. and a little heart.

The scenario is under a cut for length:

“You must be our guests. And such lovely guests, too! Welcome to France!”

You hesitated for a second as the ambassador hugged you and kissed your cheek. Your accompaniment wasn’t happy about if either, but you both let it happen. You knew from movies that this practice was common in France.

“I will bring you to the office soon. But first: You must be so exhausted, my friends! Let us enjoy the best cheese and wine France has to offer.”

You nodded eagerly but remembered your position and gave the diplomat travelling with you a curious glance, grinning as she nodded in acceptance.

“Let us bring your baggage into your hotel and we will eat there. Security reasons.”

It seemed great. During the flight and everything your nerves had worked overtime for two reasons: first – you had to work and to protect the diplomat on her journey to France; second – you were afraid of flying. You had been afraid of it a long time ago, but being an American it had worsened after 9/11 and you weren’t able to fly without heavy medications. A good sleep would get those out of your system. For additional security a colleague would be coming from Interpol.

While you were getting in the car with the diplomat, you went through the schedule of the day. Eat, take a nap, in the evening bring the woman to a grand opening of some jewel museum, fly back the next day.

“Are you feeling better?”

You nodded and blushed a bit from embarrassment. She had to learn about your problems the hard way and had since then cared for you during the flight.

“Thank you. I really feel better now. And after a meal I will be back to my best form,” you told her. Normally this would be the death of any trust between officer and diplomat on such a mission, but you knew her for a longer time now and she had specifically asked for you to bring her to Europe.

“It’s really nothing. We will be opening the exhibition on Africa’s long and bloody diamond rush and have a nice evening. After that you can sleep in and tomorrow around midday we will be on our way home,” she said, patting your shoulder. It sounded too good to be true.

 ~~~~

“We will be protecting you from now on.”

You eyed your French colleagues and were a bit uneasy. One was big and seemed clumsy. He had too big eyes and was wearing a trench coat like a detective from those old movies. Really bad taste. The other was a bit smaller and had trusting eyes. What a pair. The old detective – the bad cop- and his younger partner – the good cop.

But still, you nodded in agreement and held the door open for your diplomat friend and the two officers.

“My name is Koichi Zenigata, Inspector from Interpol. This is my assistant Goro Yatagarasu.” They showed you their badges briefly.

The younger man bowed in a sheepish fashion. He seemed to adore his older partner.

“While in France, we will accompany you on any way and later to the museum. Any objections?” The old man seemed to do at least a good job, even if he had to suffer from bad taste.

I shook my head and introduced us.

 ~~~~~

The food was great and with a full stomach now I really felt tired. When my eyelids grew too heavy to be opened again, I got up from my seat, ready to leave in the direction of the couch I would be sleeping on.

“Let me help you.” The Inspector got up and let me lean on him and I had to stifle a yawn.

The other two watched us with a grin and I heard my friend tell the assistant about my problems with flying. I was too tired to be ashamed now.

“Here we go.”

You let yourself fall on the couch and went to Dreamland immediately.

 ~~~~

A gentle shake on my shoulder woke me up. A young man smiled in my face when I had opened my eyes.

“No time to sleep. I still need you to tell me some information.”

You immediately got up but it was too late. A woman was holding on to ‘my’ diplomat, holding a gun to her ribcage.

“Don’t worry! Fujiko won’t harm her. But we are a bit in a hassle, you know? Normally I would just put you to sleep but I simply forgot the gas.” He laughed.

“Me! Forgetting something as simple as that!”

You raised a brow, unsure how to react. How fast would his accomplice use the gun?

“Fujiko Mine,” you muttered the name as a document appeared before your inner eye. The exhibition was said to be a possible target for Lupin the thief and she was one of his partners in crime. So this young man would be…

“But I got this pretty little thing here.” He smiled apologetically and held up your handcuffs.

“I don’t really want to do this, but I think you might hurt me if you are not restrained,” he told you, giving them to you, motioning you to go into the bedroom.

“However, he won’t hesitate to kill you if you make a sound.”

You recognized the… well, you didn’t see enough of the face to recognize it, but you knew the gunman from the documents. Daisuke Jigen, a henchman of Lupin’s gang.

“Cuff yourself on the bed and I will even be such a nice man to bring you guys some snacks and drinks.”

What the fuck?! Slowly you stepped on the bed, walked to the headboard and sat down. The diplomat was brought in and you had to hold back as Lupin leaned over you two and cuffed your hands together around a thick board of the headrest.

“That’s great. Remember: Make a sound and… well, it depends on him.”

Jigen grinned a bit under his hat and showed you his Magnum. Show-off!

“Why didn’t you cuff me when I slept?!”

The thief smiled at you.

“Because I wanted to show you my work. You, my dear, will assist me in a magic little trick.”

With a curious glance you watched him putting a headset in and taping the sender on your cheek.

“You will listen and you will reply if anything is worth replying. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Like what?” you asked.

His grin was broad and pride showed through it.

“Like your rank, any police special things. And the most important: The code words at the museum.”

Fuck. How did he know?! Those papers had been completely confidential! In case of Lupin attacking the museum and posing as one of them, Interpol and his boss had made a list of words to make sure Lupin couldn’t just wear a mask of them. A good twenty words were made to ensure the safety of the diplomat and the heart of the exhibition: A gigantic diamond, as a special gift for the opening ceremony.

“Ah, I see you are a quick thinker. Don’t worry, I haven’t got hold of the list. If I had, I wouldn’t need you, right?”

How could be such a petty thief like this be so intelligent?! Somehow it made sense that no one seemed capable of catching him.

He checked the connection and suddenly you could hear his voice in your ear as he went into the other room.

“The connection is perfect. It’s time for the magic to happen.”

 ~~~~

You flinched a bit as the static noise flooded your left ear.

“I hope you can hear me loud and clear,” Lupin’s voice seemed cheerful.

“I do,” you answered.

“That’s great. I will tell you what’s happening right now. My lovely Fujiko and me are posing as you and your little friend. It’s so fun to be you. And you wanted to know why I let you sleep, right?”

You hesitated a bit but nodded and answered with a yes.

“Because you are quite the cute one when you sleep. Your hard face suddenly grows soft, giving you the sleeping face of an angel.” He laughed and you could hear Fujiko laughing, too.

“I know it sounds stupid, but I simply didn’t want to wake you up, my dear.”

“But still you had to kiss this detective!” Fujiko seemed to be pouting?

Lupin laughed. “I couldn’t resist those lips.”

He had kissed you when you were sleeping?! Jigen was snorting to stifle a laugh. So he listened to the whole conversation, too? Great.

 ~~~~

Time slowed down as Lupin and Fujiko acted like you and your friend. They had a small playful banter on the way to the elevator and together they went to the underground car park to meet up with the real Zenigata and Yatagarasu. You bit your lip. How could you have been so careless?! Why didn’t you had any suspicions about them when they met you at the hotel earlier than planned?! Why had you believed their lies so readily?

You heard the ping of the elevator as they arrived at the car park.

“Detective?” A low rumbling voice was heard through the connection.

“You must be the famous Inspector Zenigata!” Lupin said with a happy voice. He was a good actor, you had to give that to him.

“Famous? Well…” A pause, then: “I am here to guarantee your safety at the museum. As soon as you leave and take the diamond with you, I will accompany you to the airport.”

Change of plans?! You wished you were there. Why did they change the plans so suddenly? No night in Paris? And why did you have to take the diamond with you?! Slowly it dawned on you. That’s why they had introduced the code words. Because you were destined to take the diamond back home with you with the diplomat. And that was why the hurried departure from France. To not give Lupin a chance.

You bit your lip. Somehow you had to warn the Inspector that Lupin was already there, right in front of him.

“You drive a really nice car,” the thief suddenly said.

“It’s from work,” Zenigata answered.

“I know those from America. Huge and heavy cars to protect the most fragile lives. What car do you use in your free time?”

“Uhm… I have a small Volkswagen beetle.”

“I love those! They are so classic. And you know what they say about men driving fast and big cars, right?” Lupin laughed.

“I doubt the truth behind it. Doesn’t every American drive a huge car?”

You grimaced. This wasn’t true!! Stereotypical and discriminating!

“Well, I never said we Americans didn’t have a lot to compensate! But it seems the total opposite for you.”

Both men laughed and you heard a car door open.

“This is my assistant Yatagarasu. He will be our driver. The best in the force.”

“Yatagarasu? My, what an exotic name. Does it have any meaning?”

People got into a car and closed the doors.

“It’s a mythical crow.”

“But you seem so much nicer than a crow!” Fujiko told him.

So this was the plan? Lupin would be working on Zenigata and Fujiko on Yatagarasu? But why? They just had to survive the evening and the diamond would be theirs to take away without any problems. You grind your teeth. What a disaster!

 ~~~~

The whole drive had been a long flirt and you were tired of these stupid policemen. How could they not notice that they were played?! It was so…. You stopped your thoughts and let out a sigh. It didn’t occur to you either that they had been fake.

The car had reached the museum and they left it at a car park to walk the last metres to the entry.

“It will be a great evening,” Fujiko said.

Something in the bedroom changed as Jigen got up from his chair and pulled it closer to the bed. To the side of your companion.

“Listen up now. You will answer to any codeword in the right way. Hesitate or answer wrong and the lady will pay.”

His voice was calm as he lifted the gun to her forehead. You had nothing left to do but to nod.

“Detective, isn’t this weather great?”

Something in your mind began to work as you heard Zenigata’s voice asking that specific question. You had to think about that. What was the right answer?

“It’s a good day for a good start of this wonderful exhibition,” Lupin answered. Silence followed.

“Yes, it is. But the weather is great, isn’t it?”

You had to think now!

A shriek next to you got your thoughts all tangled up as Jigen began to take the diplomat’s free hand and broke a finger without flinching.

“It seems I brought my umbrella for nothing!” you shouted at him, giving away the correct phrase for this codeword.

“It seems I brought my umbrella for nothing,” Lupin repeated your words and you could hear Zenigata laugh.

“Perfect. Keep up the work, detective.”

Jigen grinned at you like a hungry hyena.

 ~~~~

If there was one thing you had to praise on their work, it was their dedication. You listened to a heartfelt speech at the opening of the exhibition, delivered by Fujiko without any notes. Your friend next to you had learned her speech by heart and so now the thieves had no notes to work with. And still the speech was great.

The other three seemed to stand offstage as they were talking about this and that.

“Inspector, if you ever come to America, we have to drink a beer! I will invite you to the best restaurant in the town! Bring your assistant, too!”

“That sounds good, but I am always working to catch Lupin.”

“To no avail.”

“For now. But we will get him soon. He has announced he would steal the diamond tonight and there’s no way he can pull it off now.”

You had listened to this conversation and flinched as you had heard another codeword.

“He couldn’t even steal the Eiffel Tower!” you told Lupin through the headset.

He repeated your words, dripping with malice.

So he was a proud man but also vain. It would be of use later, you hoped.

“Come on, Lupin, you couldn’t. You are nothing but a petty thief,” you told him, knowing he couldn’t answer you even if he wanted to.

Zenigata laughed again.

“He will fail tonight. And we will catch him for sure this time.”

“He might be a petty thief, but he is still a free man, Inspector.”

You grinned. He was really conceited!

“Tonight will be his last night in freedom.”

“Don’t fight.” Fujiko’s voice was heard.

“We weren’t fighting. Just checking a few facts,” Lupin told her.

“Facts that might change soon,” Zenigata added.

“They were fighting,” Yatagarasu admitted.

Fujiko laughed and you could hear glasses clinking.

“To a wonderful evening with three strong officers to protect me.”

Zenigata stuttered something and Lupin stifled a laugh.

“Do you want to take the Diamond back home or the Inspector?” he asked her.

“Maybe both?”

Lupin laughed.

“We have nice company at home.”

You growled. Nice company?! Sure! Handcuffed and threatened by some psycho!

“I hate you,” you told him.

“We could let them wait and go for drinks after this.”

“The orders are clear. With the last guest you will be leaving with the diamond.”

A side-glance to Jigen to make sure everything was alright. Hopefully the Inspector would get the wave now…

“Too soon, I fear.” Silence followed Lupin’s words. Then:

“Maybe we could go out for a drink later. Just us four,” Zenigata said.

You smiled. He had gotten behind the meaning of the missing answer to the codeword “last guest”.

“That would be great,” Fujiko chimed in.

 ~~~~

“Do you want something to drink?” Lupin was alone with Zenigata. Fujiko had taken Yatagarasu to wander around the museum to see the exhibition.

“A red wine would be nice,” you said. Lupin repeated your words.

“Sure. Just wait here.”

Lupin was left alone by Zenigata.

“You are doing good work. Keep it up and you are free to go when this is over,” he told you.

You leaned back on the headrest.

“How do you plan on escaping? Zenigata will escort you to the airport and you will have to fly to the States. And there my colleagues will be already waiting.”

He laughed a bit.

“Don’t worry. I know how to fly a plane.”

Damn, he was good. Surely he would throw out the pilot and steer the plane himself.

“They will check the flight route.”

“They can. We will be flying towards the States long enough. And maybe even landing there.”

So his plans were to escape by plane to the States. He would find a way to land there without a permission or fake some emergency? You had to tell Zenigata in some way.

“Here’s your red wine.”

“Thank you.”

“What are your plans when you get back home?” Zenigata asked in a happy voice.

“I don’t know. Deliver the diplomat and the diamond and then mostly sleep and watch TV. I have a few days off.”

“If we catch Lupin tonight, maybe I’ll come with you and take up the offer of yours.”

Lupin laughed.

“Sure, it would be nice to have you around.”

“Is your family okay with a sudden guest?”  

You coughed. He really had it worked out!! All your colleagues had told you about the stupid Inspector, but he seemed to be very intelligent to react like that to your vague clues.

“I’m single,” you said and Lupin repeated the lie. The truth was you were happily married for a few years now.

“What a shame! A person like you?”

“I’m a workaholic,” you told Lupin. He told Zenigata another codeword without anyone realising it.

“I know your problem. A single fighter has just his work.”

“But in the end I’m alone,” you replied.

“But in the end, I’ll have my friends,” Lupin answered. Jigen grinned and got up to free the diplomat besides you only to drag her into the living room. Behind the closed door you heard muffled screams and closed your eyes. You had fucked up.

With half an ear you heard Lupin excusing himself for a toilet break.

“You really had to tell him, right? What was it? The red wine?” his voice wasn’t angry, just disappointed.

“Does it matter?” you asked him.

“No. Not to me.”

“You will never get the diamond now.”

“Who says I don’t already have it?”

You paled and shivered. Your friend had to suffer because of your stupidity and all because of nothing?!

“You are right. I had the diamond already when I left the hotel. Your lovely little friend lied to you. She had it in her handbag.”

She had told you the diamond was already in France!! You had worried about its safety before the flight and didn’t want to take your tablets to be ready if someone wanted to steal it.

‘It’s in France already, don’t worry. Take your pills’, she had said. Said to help you with the fight against your anxiety because of the flight. You had messed this mission up from the beginning!!

“Lies!”

The door opened and Jigen dragged her inside the room. He left her whimpering on the floor and watched you.

“Ask her.”

“Michelle… you didn’t have the diamond with you, right?”

Her silence was answer enough. Your heart sank.

“We will leave now. Don’t worry. I’ll call the room service once we are in a safe distance.”

Jigen left the room and locked the main door behind him. You were trapped in the bedroom, on the bed, cuffed and had to watch your friend cry over her superficial wounds. All because you had fucked up.

 ~~~~

He was true to his words. When the hotel manager burst in with Inspector Zenigata in tow, you had already written your resignation in your mind. Maybe your boss would accept it before beating you for this mistake.

“Don’t beat yourself up for this. He plays us like he wants.”

You shook your head. How could the Inspector keep his cool in this situation?! Lupin and his gang had escaped with the diamond.

“Hey, I get that once in a week. It’s annoying but there’s nothing you could’ve done. Your clues were great.”

Medics were helping the diplomat to her feet and a fire-fighter freed you from your own handcuffs.

“I feel like shit. And I will lose my job for this,” you told the older man.

“You might. And if this happens, call me.”

He left his business card with you and got up.

“I will need to file a report with my office soon. Don’t worry, everything will be alright.”

There was just one thing on your mind.

“You asked him the weather thing a bit too late. Not at meeting.” It was in the script that this would be the first question asked after getting introduced.

He laughed and leaned down to you sitting on the bed.

“Only Lupin flirts with me like that.”

He winked and left you puzzled. Why hadn’t he acted sooner? Unless… well, it wouldn’t be your problem anymore.

[this-is-where-i-put-my-dark-shit]

Your Savior is Here! Ch 1

I don’t know if anyone is going to read this but I wanted to write it so here it is.

Natasha was fine where she was, squatting in an abandoned building, barely sobering up from drugs and living day to day. She does not want anyone to save her, but the most unlikely hero does not care what she wants.

Homelander has been lied to by the person he depended on most and is more alone than he has ever been. Everyone is trying to control him and in a unhealthy attempt to reclaim a small amount of control he decides to go against orders and help a random girl, but she doesn’t want him to. Too bad for her, he does not care.

Or Homelander picks up a random homeless girl and brings her home to make up for the things he lost. And finds out he’s over his mommy kink but may have developed a daddy kink

Spoilers for the boys if you haven’t finished the season! In this Homelander doesn’t kill Madelyn and Becca and the baby actually did die.

Now you may read

.......

Natasha’s POV

“Please don’t! We’re sorry! Please! I have a family!” Someone is begging. Then someone is screaming before going silent. It barely registers in my head in my sleepy haze but my body is already moving. I stumble to stand, needing to find a hiding place or an easy exit. The voice was slightly muffled, they must be in another room. As I get my bearings I look out the window for a swat van or a suspicious amount of black SUVs but find nothing other than the usual few cars that belong to the dealers that have been messing around on the lower floor of the abandoned building I’ve been squatting in.

Another voice, this one coming from the stairway to my left, sends a shiver down my spine, “Maybe you should have thought of your family before you joined this little ‘gang’.” I can imagine the creepy grin on his face as he speaks.

Homelander. That’s just fucking great.

Supes are nothing but fucking trouble. What the hell have those guys been doing to gain his attention? It’s none of my fucking business but I need to get the fuck out of here. The last thing I need to be is on a supes raider, I’ve got enough things going on. I glance down the stair way, hoping and praying that they would be far enough away I could at least go down to the first floor. I find a man, pressed against the wall at the bottom of the staircase, Homelander is holding him by the throat with that fucking smirk that is plastered everywhere. Not a single thing is out of place on him, his blond hair is combed out of his face, his uniform is as neat as could be. He looks like the perfect super hero. The body sliced to pieces on the stairs tells a different story.

“Please don’t do this! I won’t tell anyone about this! I swear!” The Latin man against the wall pleads helplessly, just like the other man had done. I’m sure it will work out just as well, I roll my eyes.

I walk back to the window, sure I would be fine if I jumped but I would also catch the man is stars’ attention. Fuck. I might as well just wait it out and hope he doesn’t search the place. On quiet feet, I make my way back to my makeshift tent and hide inside. I sit up against the wall, pulling my ratty blanket over me I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. The whole time the man is begging for his pathetic life until suddenly he just stops.

Homelander sighs, “If I let you go will you become a better person? Will you leave this kind of life behind and focus on your relationship with God and your family?”

“Yes! I promise I will!” The man responds immediately.

“Okay than, I’ll give you one more chance at life. You are free to go.”

Then there a rushed foot steps retreating away from the stairs followed quickly by a wet thunk and a shrill scream. Yea, that went well.

I sigh. He should have known not to trust a supe. I sit and wait.

The tarp hiding me is suddenly ripped away and I am face to face with that fucking smirk. I don’t know what he was expecting to be hiding here but from the way his brows raise, I’m assuming he didn’t think it would be me. He stares, eyes scanning over me and the shit surrounding me before landing on my face. I know I look disgusting and probably don’t smell the greatest but the way his nose crinkles is just rude. He looks upset the more he stares, his face scrunches and his mouth curves into a tight frown. That is until he realizes I’m staring back, all emotion seems to fall away, leaving just his perfect fucking face.

I’m not scared. I’m annoyed more than anything that my nap had been interrupted, I raise my brows back at him, “Can I help you?”

He chuckles casually, “Not the usual reaction I get. I’m here cleaning up the cartel that has been running drugs through this building. Are you involved with them?”

“Nope. Do I look like a fucking gang member?”

“You look like a fucking junky.”

I sneer at him as I attempt to calm the massive mess of curls on my head, “well you aren’t wrong. I was.”

“Let me guess, you are clean and trying to get back on your feet.”

“Clean? Yes. But I ain’t getting back on my feet, I’m just fine where I am. Now if you could throw that back on so can I can get back to my nap, that would be great.”

“Trash like you disgusts me. You homeless are just pathetic.” Those perfect blue eyes just stare at me, so cold for a hero.

I roll my eyes at him, “Do I have to listen to you insult me or can I fall back asleep while you are talking?”

“And you are fucking rude at that.”

“Am I supposed to be praising you right now? Bowing down? You murdered a bunch of criminals, great job! Happy?”

His chest puffs up, his lip curls up into a snarl, “You should be begging for your pathetic life!”

“That worked out great for those guys downstairs and considering how you’ve been looking at me I’m assuming I’d have even worse chances. If I’m such an eyesore just fucking kill me.”

His eyes start to glow a warning red, “Do you have a death wish?”

“No!” I snap, “I just want to go back to sleep but you felt the need to be all high and mighty and destroy my tent!” He huffs and mumbles under his breath as he struggles to explain himself.

“You saw me down stairs!” He accuses, “I heard you moving around.”

“Yes, cause I thought you were the Feds or something. Why does I matter that I saw you? Don’t you want people to see you being a hero?”

Homelander stiffens a bit.

I raise a brow at him, “Unless you aren’t supposed to be here? Is America’s greatest hero becoming a vigilante?” The irritation on his face has me chuckling. “You are! I’m not judging, just surprised that Vought is letting it slide but whatever, it isn’t my business. I won’t tell anyone if that is what you are worried about.”

“How could I believe a single word out of your mouth? You are a dirty, probably on some kind of drugs, fucking rude, and completely helpless.”

“Fuck off! If you need to take care of loose ends just do it. But if you are just going to continue to judge me and stare we are done here.” I rip the tarp out of his hand and half assly fix my tent before curling up underneath, fully expecting him to laser me to pieces too. But he doesn’t. When a few minutes pass of nothing but silence I open my eyes. He’s gone.

…..

Homelander’s POV

“Where have you been?” Madelyn snaps the moment she sees me, clicking her way down the hall after me. “I have been looking for you everywhere!”

I roll my eyes as I turn to face her, “I was out patrolling.” She stops in front of me with a exaggerated sigh as if I made her run to reach me when we both know I was the jumping through hoops for years for this old blonde witch.

I want to bang my head against the wall for being such an idiot for her. After years of her manipulation, her sweet words and gentle touches, I was able to break away after her lies came crumbling down around her. After I found out that they had killed the woman who was carrying my child they have the balls to pretend that nothing happened and continued on with business as usual. As if I’m not a person with feelings, I never thought I would want child but knowing it was going to happen only to find out I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Madelyn places a hand on my trembling arm, I pull away, the look on her face is more than a little surprised, “Is everything okay?”

I laugh, forcing myself to smile, “I’m fine! I’m just tired of the lies that pour out of your mouth. So, if you don’t mind I have things to do and people to save.” It takes all of myself control not to rip her to pieces when she reaches for me again.

“You don’t actually. I cleared your schedule for the next few days, you had a stressful week and I think it would be best if you stayed quiet for a little while.”

“Excuse me?” I scoff, “I’m fucking Homelander! You can’t ground me.”

She puts her hands on her hips and gives me this look, “You need to focus on yourself. Go for a quick trip somewhere, stay in and catch up on TV, get a fucking pet! I don’t care, just do not cause trouble. I know you are upset about the baby but I need you to listen and,” she pauses as she glances up and down the empty hall before coming into my space, “and to be good for me. Can you be good for me like you used to?” Her hand caress my cheek like she’s done a million times before, though this time it lacks the same warmth, if there was ever any warmth to begin with.

“Fuck off.” I spit the words into her ear with a smile, enjoying the pissed off look on her face when I pull away.

The witch huffs, “I swear Homelander, no trouble!”

“I already got into a bit this morning.”

“What did you do?”

I shrug, “Destroyed millions of dollars worth of coke and killed a few cartel members, no big deal.”

“Did anyone see you while you were out saving the world?”

“Some junky but that’s it.” I do my best to sound casual about, as if that junkie’s green eyes aren’t engraved into my brain. Before this harpy pulled me out of my own head that junkie has been on my mind. Her ‘fuck off’ attitude was refreshing compared to every single person who is either blinded by my achievements or too terrified to do anything but smile. I’ve been fighting the urge to go find her again just to talk to someone who doesn’t want something from me. A fucking selfie or for me to behave. She just wanted me to leave.

I find myself smirking at the memory of her harsh words, our playful banter has been on repeat in my head. That along with her matter curls, dirty skin, and ratty clothes. She could have asked for money after what she saw but she didn’t she just wanted to sleep. She looked so tired so I let her continue with her nap as if there aren’t half a dozen bodies the floor below her. She looked so helpless, I’m sure she has no where else to go. No one to take care of her. I feel a unfamiliar pang of guilt in my chest that I left such a mess there. Even in the cold weather of the late fall it shouldn’t take long for that stuff to start smelling. Where will she go then? How will I be able to find her is she moves? That is if she hasn’t moved already.

“Homelander!” Madelyn screeches, I look down at her with my brows raised. “Have you been listening to me at all? You need to find that junkie and take care of them! I’m going to call a few people, get the media and swat there. We’ll say you had to leave the scene to chase another lead but that person can’t be interviewed. We don’t need them saying you were on a rampage just out of spite.”

“You want me to take care of her?” I repeat, nodding at the idea. I mean the girl obviously needs someone to do it, she can’t. I don’t fully understand my sudden interest in a normal person but for the first time in a long time I want something other than to impress this woman next to me. I nod again, “I’ll take care of her. I just need to grab a few things first and then I will!”

She says something else but I’m already rushing down the hall in search of some intern. I find one two floors down and shaking in their boots at the sight of me. By that time I have a list in my head of things I should need to do the job right. I ramble off what I need, tell them to charge it on some expense account and head off to find this girl, my girl.

There are police on the scene, the media is rambling off behind the yellow tape around the building. I sneak through the back side of the second floor away from the cameras and weave my way around the floor to where the girl was hiding last time. Her tent is ripped down. There is the same garage on the floor but a water bottle, the blanket and the tarp are missing which means she packed her stuff up and ran.

Fuck!

There is still a chance the police found her too. I rush out the way I came in to do my usual dramatic entrance on the street. I wave to the usual on lookers before finding the closest police officer who didn’t look like a fucking dumbass.

“Homelander!” The officer greets enthusiastically, beaming at me through all of this gear. “Did your lead get you any extra information?”

I nod, “Yes sir. Thank you so much for your work. I passed that information up to my headquarters so they should be getting it to you soon. I just have a question for you, did you happen to have seen a young homeless woman around here? I saw her earlier and did not get the chance to make sure she was okay.”

“Yes! We interviewed her and she said she slept through it all. She didn’t even know you were here!” He chuckles.

I nod casually, doing my best to pretend that panic is bubbling uncomfortably under my skin. “Do you still have her in custody?”

“No, they released her.”

“You guys continue your good work, I’m going to do a quick check over the area to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

We salute each other before I take off into the sky in search of my girl. I get above most of the buildings, using my X-ray vision I scan over the area nearby, spotting a few homeless people here and there. My girl is tucked behind a dumpster half a block down. I’m less dramatic with this landing, doing my best to go unnoticed so she can’t run, not that I couldn’t catch her. She is sleeping again, curled up tight using both her blanket and tarp to cover her.

Poor thing.

I crouch down in front of her. She’s much prettier up close. I can’t wait to have her all cleaned up so I can see her in her fully glory.

“Are you back to insult me?” She hums without even opening her eyes.

I smile at her teasing tone, “How did you know it was me?”

Her golden green eyes open to me, glimmering beautifully in the natural light. “I didn’t tell the police if that’s why you are back.”

“I know. Why didn’t you?”

“It’s none of my business.”

“You are such a good girl,” I beam at her. “But I almost couldn’t find you, why did you move?”

“Because the police came busting in and kicked me out.”

“It’s fine, I found you anyway! Now let’s go.”

She raises a brow at me, “Go where?”

“With me. I’m going to take care of you.”

“Can’t you just do it here? I mean I guess it wouldn’t look good for the police to find me dead nearby when you already asked about me.”

I can’t help but chuckle, “I’m not going to kill you silly girl. I’m taking you back to Vought to take care of you, feed you and bathe you and all that Jazz.”

“Why?” She questions, more hesitant about me taking care of than killing her. It makes sense I guess, she’s obviously never had someone take care of her and since she wasn’t lucky enough to be chosen like me, no one cared to even look at her. I will take care of her better than any normal person could, I’m Homelander! I can give her all the things I never had, all the things I can never give my child, this girl can have it all. The structure, love and affection we all deserved but never received. And it will be genuine, unlike that shit Madelyn gave me.

“Because! Now get up,” I offer her my hand but she refuses to take it.

Her glare is set, “Fuck off.”

I resist the urge to just grab her, this is a perfect time to show her some tough love. “Very funny but enough of the swearing. The attitude is fine for now but the swearing has got to go.”

She just scoffs as she gathers her things and stand up, but instead of stepping into my arms she heads farther into the alley.

“Where do you think you are going?”

“Away from you!”

I shake my head at her, “I’m giving you to the count of 5 to come back here and apologize.”

She stops, “or what? Are you going to threaten to kill me again? I’m not scared of you.”

“Oh sweet girl, there are a lot of bad things I can do to you without killing you,” I give her my best smile. “Like for each second you make me wait past the five, I will break one finger. It’s really cute that you think you have an option with this, and you kind of do I guess. You can do this the hard way or the easy way.’’ She just stares at me dumbstruck, god her eyes are just so beautiful. The dark circles around them are less charming, we will have to work on those. But first I need to get her back to my apartment at Vought.

She takes one step backwards, her eyes on me to see if I notice.

“One,” I start.

“This is a fucking joke right?”

“Drop the swearing and I would like an apology for the attitude. Two.”

To my surprise she stomps her foot like an actual child, “why should I go anywhere with you?”

“Three.”

“Stop!” Her internal battle is obvious on her face.

“Four.”

“I’m sorry!” She blurts out.

I smile , “Come here and apologize like you actually mean it.”

She listens. In her dirty boots shuffle towards me, her head hanging low with shame. With her in front of me I can barely breath, the helpless thing is at my chest. She looks up at me with those bright green eyes, “I’m sorry for the attitude.”

My heart is racing.

There is fire dancing behind her eyes, she’s a strong one for a normal human. But I can’t let her know how just a little look can effect me, I need to keep a brave face.

“Lets go.”

She continues to stare at me expectantly.

“Oh yes, come here,” I open my arms to her.

The girl blanches, “We are flying?”

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Spop magic and classifications and stuff but honestly the main point of this is the thing with Glimmer at the end

also this is mainly based on season 1 since i can’t really watch s2

Etheria’s got, as far as I can tell, two basic kinds of people who can do magic in some form or another

There’s the Sorceresses like Glimmer’s dad and aunt who’s magic we haven’t really seen much in action yet, but who I’ll have some BIG guesses for anyways, and then there’s the Princesses like Queen Angella and Mermista/Perfuma/Frosta

And there’s also Razz, but I lowkey get the feeling Razz is a category unto herself

- Let’s start with Sorceresses

Shadow Weaver counts as a Still A Sorceress since she’s using a Rune Stone but doesn’t seem to have a normal connection to it, has trouble forcing the connection sometimes, needs her nifty red mask control gem thingy to access it, and could probably pick someone else to draw power from if she had to. She’s just draining it like a giant magical mosquito, fitting since she too is annoying as hell

Castaspella is a Sorceress who currently leads Mystacor, like both Light Spinner and Micah also used to do, but the way the hall of former leaders is set up-

(non-linear I presume and more of a memorial to the fallen/dead Greats)

[I like to headcanon Micah installed Light Spinner’s statue after he became a leader, in monument to the good that she used to be, and Castaspella later wrecked it sometime after he was killed]

-and the little I’ve heard of Light Spinner’s fall flashback in s2 makes me think Mystacor is ruled more by a council than by one single person, even though the council might have an unofficial leader who most of them trust and defer to. And this council is probably made up of masters of magic or the equivalent of teachers- People so good at magic and guiding others in learning how to use it and be responsible with it that they are given a say in how Mystacor as a whole is run  

This would mean there’s another class of magic user, Sorceresses lite, that aren’t at that level yet and haven’t been accredited as experienced enough to lead/teacher others. They’re main job is to keep studying magic until they are, OR leave Mystacor and start their own lives once they’ve learned enough to not cause mayhem with their powers

THIS would ALSO mean there are people who have magic or the potential to use magic but who haven’t yet or choose not to be trained as a sorceress. Once again going off my very limited s2 info, I’d guess Adora fitted into this slot before becoming She-Ra, and it was her potential for magic that Shadow Weaver was drawn to. Maybe she was hoping to steal it or could tell it was linked to a Rune Stone or some other power she’d never felt before. Maybe she just likes collecting powerful people and brainwashing them. Whatever  

And then there’s Razz. Razz might be magic. Razz might be friends with a magical broomstick that comes to her hand when she beckons. Razz has lived longer than the immortal queen of Bright Moon, long enough to know the previous She-Ra was disappeared/died over a thousand years ago. Razz is a beautiful mystery and I hope she’s stays that way

- So that’s the sorceresses, but what about Princesses?

The classic Etherian Princess has a natural connection to one Rune Stone that seems to be passed down genetically from parent to child. The Rune Stone on a global scale is important to keep Ehteira the planet alive and habitable, and the Princess’s main job is to correctly maintain, use, and protect it, which on a local scale means the area near the Rune Stone would ALSO be protected. This makes for pockets of safety and stability that people would over time flock to and populate, and the Princess’s power to protect that land would then make them the protector of the people now living there to, and thus Princesses as rulers comes to be  

She-Ra is a Princess but can’t be a ruler since her whole point seems to be acting as Etheria’s referee/IT troubleshooter for all things Rune Stone related. She needs to stay impartial and has to be able to move around freely, so her Rune Stone is small and portable and has some powers but gets its real importance from how it can boost and heal the other bigger Rune Stones

On the other hand, Entrapta is a princess, a sovereign ruler, without a Rune Stone and frankly I can’t imagine what kind of Rune Stone her family would have anyway. Maybe one linked to earth and metal or magnetic force? Their land is in the mountains and does operate mines- Point is though, she has no such Rune Stone and doesn’t mention having lost one, so I’m going to assume that Entrapta at least has never heard of Dryl having a Rune Stone at all. She ‘rules’ because her family ruled, though there doesn’t seem to be much left to rule and she mainly just does her own tech related stuff anyway. But she IS considered a ruler by Bright Moon and her family has a big throne thingy at the rebel council table

Considering the crowd at the Princess Prom and the ridiculous number of Rune Stone that’s translate into, I’d bet most of Etheria’s princesses are like Entrapta, princesses without and uppercase ‘P’ or a Rune Stone. They’d be more like normal royalty or officials who use the term ‘princess’ thanks to cultural tradition made by the actual Princesses  

Oh and Spinerella and Netossa don’t have thrones in at the rebel council table and don’t seem to represent any sovereign lands like Entrapta would have, so I’m assuming they either aren’t the direct heirs to their Rune Stones OR they’ve lost both Rune Stones and homelands to the war (explaining why they never left the Alliance, since they have nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but fight the Horde) OR they fall into another category of princesses, in their case meaning “someone with no Rune Stone who isn’t currently a ruler but who might come from a royal line and does have powerful magic and may have trained at Mystacor so back off”.    They might be princesses in title, but i think that magic wise they sorceresses- Sorceresses who chose to focus all their skill on one thing, or have some weak blood tie to a line of Princesses which makes them more attuned to one kind of magic over all others. Could also explain how they met, with both of them going to Mystacor for training and getting put in the same ‘class’, maybe under Casta, seeing as how she likes knitting so much and their powers have to do with nets and spinning.... or maybe that hobby came after she had to figure out how to teach them.. i dunno. To paraphrase Bow, I still have no Idea what they do 

Lastly we’ve got Scorpia who has the potential to link to her family Rune Stone but that link was severed/never activated, she doesn’t seem to have any other magic, and she comes from a royal family but neither she nor her family are in rulership positions anymore. She’s a princess in title only at the moment

- To sum up, Etheria may have:

Princesses (rulers with Rune Stone)   Angella, Perfuma, Mermista, Frosta, various unknown others 

/Princess/ aka the current She-Ra (not a ruler but has a smol and very important Rune Stone)   Adora, formerly Mara

princesses (rulers with no Rune Stone)   Entrapta, most of the people at the Princess Prom

?princesses? (not a ruler and no Rune Stone but still titled and has magic)   Spinnerella?, Netossa?

‘Princesses’ (not a ruler and not currently connected to family Rune Stone but has Princess lineage)   Scorpia

High Sorceresses (a ‘ruler’/teacher who co-leads Mystacor and has magic)   Castaspella, Micah formerly, Light Spinner formerly

sorceresses (someone who has magic and is trained in its use)   ^ plus Shadow Weaver, most of the background characters at Mystacor, and (spoiler character)

mage (untrained person with magic potential)   Adora formerly

Razz (has magic? Probably?? Maybe the magic’s different or she just as her own style of using it???)

everyone else (people with none of those things)    Bow, Seahawk, Catra (unless she turns out to be a Princess), most of the Horde and Etherians

-

Okay so that’s a lot but pretty simple! Sure would be a shame if something flipped it on its head :D :D

Hmm

- Princesses ARE sorceresses. Kinda. It’s complicated

What is a sorceress? Someone who has magic and has been trained to use it. But what does it mean to ‘have’ magic?

Well considering how the Rune Stone system is set up-

Rune Stone: (im guessing) Crystalline structure apparently anchored to a fixed point that contains vast amounts of ‘elemental’ magic capable of manipulating/generating a narrow range of Etheria’s natural features, such as it’s water, it’s moons, ice caps, forests etc. Rune Stones seem to located at, and draw from, nexus points in Etheria’s magical ley lines, which means they are also linked to and capable of drawing on each other if a certain genius should happen to get her hands on First Ones’ tech and decide to try hacking the entire damn planet for fun (thanks Entrapta)

-and if we don’t want to make a magic system that is silly, overpowered, and broken, then I’d say having magic means being able to sense the power innate to a world and potentially being able to harness it to create all sorts of neat effects, depending how you train and how much you can stand to pull into yourself at a time without exploding or fainting from pain

The main difference between a sorceress and Princess in that scenario?

Specialization

- So in the beginning there were NO Princesses or Rune Stones on Etheria

Either A: Etheria was a barren rock floating in the middle of nowhere that the First Ones decided to terraform and inhabit- Or B: Etheria was a normal planet before some First Ones’ related event caused it to start dying and the First Ones felt bad about that and made the Rune Stones as a sort of planetary life support system, which was super convenient when Mara ended up banishing the place to the empty pocket dimension of Despondos for whatever reason

In any case, if there was once no Rune Stones or Princesses naturally aligned to them, then how were the Rune Stones used? How were they maintained?

By sorceresses of course. And with the help of the only Princess of any kind at that time- She-Ra, Princess of Power and Castle Greyskull, who made/helped to make the Rune Stone system based on her own portable Rune Stone, and who the other later Rune Stone users titled themselves after, because mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery  

When Glimmer’s link to the Moonstone is disrupted and when the link between the Sea Gate and the Sea Pearl is on the point of breaking, She-Ra’s powers are able to fix it. Makes sense that she was also the one to originally forge the links between certain sorceresses and Rune Stones- Sorceresses who gained control over incredibly powerful magical storage tanks and refineries, but at the cost of being able to use their magic for anything BUT accessing their one Rune Stone

Basically I imagine a Princess’s magic being shaped like scaffolding or pipe system, compared to sorceresses having hammers and pillars

- Princesses can hold and channel a lot of magic, but not change what kind of magic it is or it’s general effects (Water, moonlight, plants, ice, ?storms?) and effectively have NO magic without their Rune Stone

- Meanwhile sorceresses have less power to work with because no Rune Stone but can change it into this or that as needed and draw it from potentially any source EXCEPT Rune Stones (usually, see Shadow Weaver’s painful shenanigans for how trying to force a connection to one works out) though they normally just get it from the smaller branches of Etheria’s ley lines

To use another analogy- They drink magic out of a straw, can change what flavor they’re drinking when they like, and would passed out if they tried chugging a whole keg like how Princesses can do

The Princesses can only chug one brand though and no one else can afford to buy it

But wait!

If She-Ra can make sorceresses into Princesses, then why isn’t THAT how new Princesses are picked?

Why not choose from a pool of trained and vetted adults, rather than pass the power down through a family via blood and end up with kids and teens in control of the whole world??

Maybe making Princesses comes at a high energy cost/and or needs both She-Ra and He-Man working together to actually do, meaning it was more of a one time deal thingy when the whole Rune Stone network was being set up

Maybe selecting each new Princess WAS the old system, and imprinting it genetically was just a safety measure in case anything happened to prevent new Princesses from being picked….Something like…. She-Ra vanishing for a thousand years… or Etheria getting cut off from the rest of the universe and Eternia… for example

So yeah, one way or another, some people who could use magic had their magic permanently keyed into just the Rune Stones and managed to pass that trait down through the generations, and the other magic people stayed normal sorceresses

Now to the whole point of this long meandering mush of headcanons and speculation

- Magic and Glimmer -

I must talk about Glimmer

(i love you Glimmer)

Glimmer doesn’t seem to be a normal or ‘proper’ Princess

Her powers are two things and those are fairly small in scope, self-teleportation with a buddy and sparkles. Not exactly on the same level as generating whole forests or summoning giant tidal waves or holding up a castle of ice while it tries collapsing on your heard

Princesses, when their Rune Stone isn’t sick of busy trying to prop up a dying defense system, tend to have pretty large scope powers 

Glimmer? Not so much 

She’s more like Spinnerella and Netossa than Mermista or Perfuma. Powers more narrow, with both her and the Spinnet couple having to get creative with how to use what is basically the same one or two spells. Meanwhile the other Princesses have very fluid control over their one element, basically moving it as an extension of themselves in whatever way they like and on a big scale

So why’s Glimmer’s magic Like That?

Could be that only one person can have main access to a Rune Stone at a time, meaning Glimmer won’t become the real Princesses of the Moonstone until/unless her mom gives up HER link to it and passes one the admin password, meaning Glimmer is stuck with just some really limited powers for the foreseeable future

Could be, but while that makes sense in some ways, like why none of the other Princesses have anyone in their family help them use their Rune Stone-

(though that could also be explained by stuff like, Mermista’s dad being tried of fighting or incapable of using the Rune Stone because he married into the family, or not wanting to risk ending the line by having everyone in it out fighting, or former Rune Stone users being able to sever their connections when they step down and doing that as part of the official transfer of power..)

-but the idea also really doesn’t mesh with a lot else about Glimmer and her relationship to Angella

There’s no resentment between them, not in the ‘Mom why won’t you give me moar powar’ way, and not in the ‘im not sure this person can be trusted with a magical nuke’. There’s no talk of Glimmer training her magic to prepare for someday maybe having to take full control of the Moonstone. Glimmer is scared of not living up to the same level as her mom, yeah, but she’s talking about things like being a good leader, not leveling up magically

So I don’t think her mom being Princess is keeping Glimmer’s magic stunted

Instead, thanks to her dad’s genes, I think Glimmer isn’t actually a Princess. Not in the total sense. Not in the traditional or official sense

Because a traditional Princess, going by the rules I’ve laid out above, WOULDN’T have been able to ‘switch’ from Moonstone to Black Garnet, even partially, the way Glimmer’s escape in ep 9 and resulting glitches make it look she did 

(more on that in a second) 

So. What if Glimmer is a sorceress?

A sorceress who, through sheer will and stubbornness and her desire to help people and make her mom proud and not be a failure daughter, managed ON HER OWN what Shadow Weaver needed a forbidden spell to get

What I’m saying is, Glimmer unknowingly figured out how to feed off the magic of the Moonstone

Just like with Shadow Weaver, staggering to the Black Garnet to recharge, this has made Glimmer dependent on its power in a dangerous that way other Princesses haven’t shown to share yet. Angella’s fear when Glimmer comes back nearly drained of magic in ep 3 is very real, very much a parent scared their child might be about to drop dead if they don’t get them treatment in time, mirroring Bow’s fear when Glimmer runs low on magic in Thaymor

They were both scared she could die if she got too low on magic. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t, but running low on it definitely does seem to be painful for her, just like it is for Shadow Weaver

Glimmer can drain magic and specifically knows how to do it from a freaking RUNE STONE

A skill she used to pull the Black Garnet’s power INTO herself and her teleportation in ep 9, creating a paradox that made impossible for it to imprison her, and accidentally overwriting her link to the Moonstone with a new one with the Black Garnet

And her Glitches? If she linked with the Garnet, then why the Glitches?

Her glitches were caused by two different Rune Stone links bleeding into each other, something that isn’t supposed to be possible and they aren’t set up for and turns out doesn’t work so well when the person dealing with this has never even TRAINED to be a sorceress

Speaking of the Glitches, that’s the main reason why I think Glimmer could have figured out the whole Drain Magic spell on her own without realizing it

During the battle for Bright Moon in ep 12, Glimmer fights with Scorpia on her way to protect her mom. In that fight with Scorpia, Glimmer has a lightbulb moment

She has a moment when Scorpia has her pinned, keeping her from her mom who is need help right now, which makes Glimmer pissed enough she starts Glitching and somehow SHOVES Scorpia back with brute force (pls rekt me Glimmer)

Then Glimmer, who’s still Glitching, looks down and sees how her Glitches and red lighting are now running up her dad’s old staff

and she goes ‘OH’

and smiles

And she deliberately uses her Glitches, the Black Garnet’s red lightning, to blast Scorpia away

also look. The last frame after she zapped Scorpia. Glimmer isn’t Glitching anymore, but the red lightning? The Black Garnet’s magic??

it’s still there

and that could be animation wonkyness but hey this is speculation, and also also- Compare the first time she stabbed a Horde bot at the start of the battle, before she learned her new trick, to the one she stabbed right AFTER

The electricity on the first bot is blue. Maybe it’s normal and just a sign Glimmer managed to hit the right spot to make it explode. Maybe it’s the last drops of magic her dad stored in the staff when he was a alive

but when she stabs the bot attack her mom? the electricity's a different color

this time it’s red/orange  

So maybe she didn’t just stab it that time. Maybe Glimmer had figured out how to zap things even when she wasn’t Glitching, and hit the bot with everything she had

Glimmer took new magic, magic she has no experience with and no training in, magic that has been HURTING HER, and in the course of one battle, she found out how to use it to her own ends anyway

She harnessed the damn Glitches and weaponized them

Now imagine her as a kid going to the Moonstone day after day, lying under and glaring up at the Rune Stone who’s magic she can’t use yet. Imagine her promising herself she’d prove herself worthy of it, as any daughter of Angella the immortal queen, in Glimmer’s mind, should and NEEDS to be worthy

Especially during a war. Especially with the Alliance broken and the Rebellion left on the defensive against the Horde. Especially when Glimmer is already unsure if she can be a good enough leader or Princess in any other way, and needs every tool she can get if she’s going to help save more innocent people from dying like her father did

I can totally imagine that princess-slash-untrained sorceress breaking a few magical traditions without even noticing it

plus think of the drama if she ever found out that, not only is she not a ‘proper’ princess, but she’s actually been using the same spell that let Shadow Weaver rise to power 

mmm.... delicious angst.... 

or Adora figures out how to She-Ra correctly someday and now Glimmer has to choose if she wants to lock her power to the Moonstone permanently or keep the magic she’s scraped together herself 

and maybe that’s also a choice of gaining ‘immortality’ & wings like her mom, or staying mortal like all her friends and probably someday leaving her mom behind just like her dad did when he died     

anyway yeah, both canon and headcanon Glimmer own my heart and soul and i cannot stop thinking about her 

[the-citrus-scale]

The Art of The End

written by @robinwritesallthethings

It’s hard to see the things we love come to an end. This is true of fans, but it’s also true of creators. For creators, endings are honestly kind of terrifying. And once you’ve created something popular, people have expectations, and there’s a lot of pressure to get the ending just right.

The problem is that how a story should end and how we want a story to end aren’t necessarily the same thing. Creators might have multiple endings in mind, and fan desires also pull more endings into play, since fans tend to hang their endings on the fates of their favorites. Really, there’s no way that everyone is going to be happy, so as a creator, how do you decide what’s best for the story you’ve put so much time and effort into? This is especially nerve-wracking when fan reactions to an ending they don’t like can be so extreme these days.

The important question is how do you know what ending is right for your story? As a creator, you really only need to ask yourself three basic questions to decide. First, what genre is your story? This reminds you of what endings are traditionally expected in that genre, and therefore, helps you decide if yours will deviate from that tradition or not. Second, does your ending tie up all loose ends that are left in your story? If your story is ending, you don’t want to leave your fans with any questions. Third, does your ending make sense based on what came before it? Everything should come to a natural conclusion that isn’t contradictory, and you certainly shouldn’t introduce any new elements that magically fix everything against all odds. The deus ex machina is all washed up, and no one’s a fan anymore.

Let’s use an example to break down how you can eliminate potential endings from play. I’m going to use Twilight, since it is a fairly simple story with only a few possible endings. The ending of Twilight relies on Bella choosing her own fate. She can choose to be with Edward or Jacob, who are the only logical choices by the end of the narrative. She can also choose to be a vampire or not, a decision which largely depends on which man she chooses. And, after she has become a vampire, the Volturi’s offensive presents two options. One is that the Volturi win and either split up the Cullens or kill them all. The other is that the Cullens win and live happily ever after.

So how do you know which ending is the most appropriate? First of all, consider the genre. Twilight is a romance first. Romance always has a happy ending. If it doesn’t, readers are unsatisfied, so we can automatically take the ending where all of the good guys die off of the table. Of course, that still leaves us with the questions of who Bella should choose and whether or not she should become a vampire. So what other loose ends need to be tied up in order for the story to work? Bella needs to pick someone to be with, obviously, but the person she doesn’t choose also needs to find an appropriate resolution. Edward is in love with Bella, and will be forever. If she does not choose him, he will never love someone else, and will therefore be left drifting. And if Bella chooses Jacob, he could potentially imprint on someone else and leave her behind, despite how much he loves her. In addition, Jacob will never imprint if Bella and Edward aren’t together, because then Renesmee will never be born, giving him no resolution either. The obvious choice is for Bella to choose Edward, and to choose to be a vampire so that she can be with Edward forever.

The only thing left to ascertain is whether or not this ending makes sense with the rest of the story, and it obviously does. Twilight is about Bella and Edward meeting and falling in love. Though Jacob becomes inextricably intertwined with the story eventually, his role is always secondary to Edward’s. It makes complete sense that Jacob still becomes a necessary part of Bella’s life so that they both get to preserve their friendship and he gets closure. And, since we have seen the Cullens stand up to obstacle after obstacle, it’s not hard to believe that they could conquer one more. All in all, whether you enjoy the story of Twilight or not, you have to admit that it’s all tied up in a neat little bow. And it was chosen with fans breathing down Stephenie Meyer’s neck threatening that they would never read anything she wrote again if Bella ended up with Edward, so good for her for sticking to her guns and choosing the ending that was best for her work.

The trick is to not set yourself up for failure before your ending, though. Twilight was so obviously romantic and happy that everyone would have been horribly thrown for a loop if it hadn’t ended well. Avengers: Endgame was recently guilty of this. While the Snap in Infinity War was an awful fandom moment, everyone was hanging onto the hope that all of the deaths could be reversed. After all, this is a universe with time travel, magic, and alternate realities, not to mention Loki, who had supposedly died on previous occasions only to come back just fine later. The Snap may have been reversed, but the results weren’t what fans expected. Not all of the character deaths were undone, and to add insult to injury, Tony died and Cap decided to stay in the past, which many fans were not pleased about. Marvel failed to manage the expectations of what could happen, and while fans will most likely get over it eventually, it was a hard pill to swallow.

You can also be so concerned with surprising your fans that you make the huge mistake of changing the ending to your story to its detriment. This happened recently in the last season of Game of Thrones. Popular rumor hints that a fan guessed how the final season would play out, so the writers changed it so everyone would be surprised. The fan reaction was so bad that there was even a petition to redo the entire season. The writers forgot to ask themselves those three basic questions. They forgot that a high fantasy genre is one of the most predictable there is, especially when there are only a few outcomes left to work with. They introduced far more loose ends than they wrapped up, and the chain of events didn’t match what had come before in previous seasons. Perhaps they could have gotten to a point where their new ending made sense, but they needed a lot more time and character development to pull it off. They shot themselves in the foot, basically, and now their reputations are suffering for it. Hopefully it’s a lesson they learned from, but we’ll have to see.

Everything has to end, as much as we don’t want it to. As a creator, the most important thing to remember is to give your story the best ending that you can. As fans, we have to learn to accept the good endings to the stories we love. For the bad ones, never fear. There’s still fanfiction. And remember that the best part of one story ending is that it leaves room for another to begin. You’ll be lost in another new world in no time.

[amuletrebel]

My FE3H OC

Sooo I don’t know how to draw so I tried to find something close to the image in my head. Anyway, I had this OC in my head for a bit and wanted to share her. I may have put a lot of thought into her and how she would act within Fodlan.

Full Name: Liliana von Markove

Known Aliases: Lily, Petal, Gem

DOB: 21st of Harpstring Moon

Age: 18 (23 after time skip)

Height: 5′3″ (5′7″ after time skip)

Crest: Minor Crest of Markove (grants Def +10 if HP is less than half)

Likes: sweets, wyverns, riddles, stars, collecting things

Dislikes: nagging, neat & tidy places, bringing up the past

Unique Weapon: Galligur, the Phantom Sword

Strengths: Sword, Brawl, Flying

Weaknesses: Bow, Heavy Armor

Budding Talent: Axe

Class Change Order: Myrmidon->Brigand->Wyvern Rider->Wyvern Lord

Background: A house shrouded in mystery, yet still standing proud. At least, that’s what the rumors like to tell. No one knows her parents are long gone, already buried in the place her home once stood. Lily is the sole survivor of House Markove. If people found out this fact, no doubt they’d expect her to carry on the bloodline, try to force their sons or daughters on her. So she ran as far as she could, hiding out in little villages. One day, as she was going to a village to trade for food, Jeralt and Byleth arrived. She latched onto Byleth pretty quick, proclaiming she’d become a mercenary so they could always travel together. Unfortunately, Jeralt and Byleth had to move on. But Liliana promised to see them again. And she does, at Garreg Mach. Since she has no ties to any of the three lands of Fodlan, seeing as House Markove strove for neutrality, she chooses the Golden Deer House. She notices the leader, Claude, had some big ambitions, ambitions of a bright new world. She can respect that. And if she does wish to bring a child into Fodlan one day, she hopes it’ll be a peaceful place full of love and joy. And more time at Garreg Mach means more time with the one she proclaimed her best friend/new professor, Byleth.

Tea Time

Favorite: Sweet-Apple Blend (she has simple but sweet tastes)

Phrase(s): “A tea party, eh? I guess it would be nice to try some fancy new things.” “I like you. You really keep my mind active.” “I can’t tell what you’re thinking. It’s like a fun little guessing game, huh?”

Support Conversations (not all with player)

“You want honesty? Fine. I don’t like you. I don’t even not like you. I think the way you think you can flaunt a stupid crest and a title makes you an insignificant little nothing in my eyes. Goodbye.”

“Oh, that. I realize I don’t act much like nobility. Well, House Markove might have the title, it had nothing to back it up. Basically, we’re just commoners with slightly more land.”

“Why I came here, huh? I don’t even know myself. Maybe there was someone here I wished to see. Or a thing I wished to do before moving forward. I’ll figure it out, one day.”

“I’m not a fan of Crests. They only make life difficult. Besides, I’d rather see if you can make me laugh over seeing a bunch of squiggly lines that aren’t supposed to show me what kind of ‘legacy’ you’re so-called destined to create.”

Everyday Phrases

Getting a gift: “Sweet! This is so going into my new collection!”

Receiving lost item: “Oh, thanks! I didn’t even notice that was gone!”

Battle Stance: “I’m ready to go!” “Whatcha need?” “Use me well.”

Injured: “Just a few scratches...”

Victory: “Well that was nothing interesting.” “I’m too stubborn to die.”

Critical Hit: “Nothing personal!”

Retreating: “Ugh! That’s gonna leave a nasty mark...”

Death: “Why was I...so useless...?”

Extra Facts

Lily’s loyalty to Byleth is second to none. Much like Sylvain acts when Female Byleth recruits him, she will always join whichever house Byleth chose when asked.

If never recruited, Lily fights for Golden Deer. If spared, she will turn on Claude, with him understanding that her loyalty to Byleth is something even war can’t change.

If she ever fights Claude in the war, she says “You know my loyalty will always lie with my dearest friend. Your silver tongue can never change my heart!”

There is a way for Byleth to fight Lily in the war. Never recruit her. “I don’t want to kill you, or even hurt you. I would’ve handed you my heart straight from my chest if you asked. But I see you didn’t feel the same...”

Depending on the character, he supports convos will often bring up her family and her loyalty to Byleth. Which you can see from how the supports go up that she is very selective about who she’ll talk about herself to.

She asks favors only if the person isn’t going out of their way to help her. For example, she’ll ask Sylvain to have lunch with her only because she believes it’ll get a student who’s been pestering her in her free time to leave her alone, or at least long enough to eat in peace.

She can be romanced by Byleth no matter the gender.

She is often found either in the training grounds or the dorms.

She lives on the dorm’s 1st floor, opting out of receiving the noble quarters.

She only enjoys sweet things that the dining hall serves.

When dining with another, she mocks Ferdinand, jokes with Claude, and teases Felix.

Art credit: Original art found here

[ill-doc-s-personal-nurse]

Dinner Night - Jakurai x Miho (Drabble)

After a week after their time at the cafe, Jakurai was finally visiting Miho’s home for the weekend. But one thing was for sure…

It was a mess.

With hair up in a bun, exercise clothes on, and a rag in one hand and spray in the other, Miho was tackling the place. After polishing the kitchen it was time to carry out cleaning the furniture in the living room, mainly of cat hair that had accumulated that week.

The lanky white and cream spotted cat that had shed its fur all over currently lounged in her small enclosed bed, watching every move Miho made. She set down the surface cleaner and rag on the kitchen counter before picking up the lint roller and proceeding to the couch. It took a few strips of the roller before the fabric couch was free of mainly white fur. The blanket took at least ten strips.

“There, now there’s less chance of him being stuck in cat hair,” Miho spoke to herself. While she had gotten the note from Jakurai that he didn’t mind, she knew any cat hair was a pain to remove from clothes regardless.

The next plan was to vacuum the rug. Miho picked it up from its place in the small closet and went back to the rug before she checked its battery: 75%. It was enough to clean without dying on her.

In the next moment of it turning on, Tenshi jumped out of her bed and up onto the couch. She was quick to hiss at the small red device and set herself in a defensive position.

Miho ignored her aggression at the vacuum and finished up quickly. She knew if she took too long, the cat would lunge at the electronic. Once finished with that task, Miho took care of the vacuum and visited the couch again to see the startled cat.

With Miho’s hand extended to Tenshi, she let her cat sniff her hand before moving in to scratch her ears. “You’re such a moody little girl, you know that?” A smile brought itself on Miho’s face as Tenshi headbutted her hand for more affection, which was willingly returned. Miho soon was able to get the cat in her lap and stroked Tenshi’s body, the cat purring.

“You better be on your best behavior tonight.”

◾️◽️◾️◽️

A text appeared on Miho’s phone, one from Jakurai. Miho had to move from her position on the couch in order to bring him in. Tenshi hopped off of her lap as she moved to stand up. In the time after cleaning, she made sure to change into something not as homey, but kept her hair up in its bun. She proceeded out of her apartment with keys and phone in hand, giving a quick text back to say she was on her way.

Soon she was in the lobby area and spotted Jakurai sitting in one of the chairs available. Once they made eye contact, Jakurai stood up from his seat. “Good evening,” he spoke with a polite bow.

“Good evening,” Miho greeted back with a bow of her own. “Was travel here okay?”

“It was doable. Nothing extreme.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear.” Miho paused and spoke again, “Well, we can go up to my apartment. The stairs are faster there.”

“Lead the way,” Jakurai spoke with a small smile.

They both went toward the staircase, Miho in the lead. They went up two flights before going down the hallway and stopping at a door where the hallway changed to the right. Miho unlocked the door and let Jakurai in first, him thanking her for the kind action. Miho then entered and closed the door behind her.

While the place was still tidy from the earlier clean up, Tenshi sat just a few feet from the front door, her eyes trained on the new human in her sights.

“This is Tenshi?” Jakurai asked as Miho stepped up next to him.

“Yes, she is a very sweet girl but is not that fond of new people. It may take her a while to trust you.”

Miho glanced at the jacket Jakurai was wearing. “Would you like me to take your jacket for you?”

Jakurai started to take his jacket off and spoke a thank you to her. Miho took the jacket to the closet and hung it up before walking back to the couch where Tenshi had now moved.

She gave the cat a few pats and spoke, “I did just do grocery shopping yesterday, so there should be enough options for making something.”

They both went over to the small kitchen and proceeded to look at the ingredients before deciding on a dish to make. While they were able to pull out the ingredients, it was up to Miho to retrieve the necessary cookware from the cupboards.

“This is a bit more than the general recipe says for,” Jakurai commented.

“The extra I will give to Tenshi. She eats at about this time.” Miho spoke as she washed the vegetables. She then moved them into a metal bowl and set them next to the cutting board before drying her hands. “Is that knife okay for the chicken? I haven't sharpened them recently.”

“It’s working alright.” Jakurai kept his focus on how to cut the meat with the bone still present in it.

They both worked on preparing the ingredients before moving onto the stock for the dish. While it was simple, Miho’s general habits stopped Jakurai for a moment when he saw her pull out a small stool.

“Is the powdered stock all the way up there?” Jakurai asked as he looked at where Miho set the stool.

“It is.” Miho got up on the stool and opened the cabinet. “I don’t make soup based foods often, so I put them up here…” She trailed off as Jakurai’s hand reached in before she could and pulled out the desired packet. Despite the bit of agitation she now felt, she didn’t make comment on it. “Thank you.” As she got down, Jakurai offered her a hand so she could keep balance.

Both of them continued on, the large pot being for their meal while Miho had set a much smaller pan down to cook the extra chicken and carrots she had out. While it would take a while before any of the items could be put in, there was at least one part of dinner Miho could get completed.

“What would you like to drink?” Miho asked. “I have orange juice, milk, cranberry juice, and water.”

“I’m fine with just water, thank you.”

Miho went to grab two glasses and filled both with water. She handed one to Jakurai and they both took a sip at the same time.

“I’m a bit surprised,” Jakurai spoke. The questionable look from Miho gave him the indication he could go on. “Most of the time when we’re with Doppo-kun and Hifumi you have wine or sake.”

“I do enjoy those, yes, but I don’t want to be drinking that all the time. It’s not healthy,” Miho spoke before taking a sip of her drink. “Plus those nights where we’re all together only happen about once or twice a month.”

Resolve came to Jakurai’s face after hearing that answer. “That’s good you don’t do it daily and that you are caring for your body.”

Miho gave a smile in a silent reply before it changed to one of thought. She had a question of her own to ask. “Say, may I ask why you don’t drink? I know that one episode happened on game night two months ago, but Doppo never explained to me the situation.”

A sigh left Jakurai’s lips. He wasn’t sure himself and had to think about how to explain the strangeness about the situation.

“All I know is if I take a sip, I become drunk. I don’t remember anything that happens during that period either.”

“So, your body acts as if you’re lightweight with any drinking alcohol as well?” Miho questioned.

“From what I know, yes,” Jakurai nodded his head in confirmation.

“Ah, alright.” Miho set her glass down and went over to the pot to check on its status. She looked up for a moment at Jakurai to make one more comment. “Then I’ll be more careful with drinks next time. I’m sorry about that slip up.”

“Don’t blame yourself.” Jakurai came over and stood next to her, a caring expression on his face. “You didn’t know, so don’t feel like you did wrong.”

The two of them continued on talking, Miho working on maintaining the food as it cooked as well. Much more was shared as they conversed. More about things from life were shared, mainly parts of their past that were fun and enjoyable. Soon, it was time for the food to be served and was done efficiently with both of them working together to serve it.

“Jakurai, could you please hand me one of the small bowls from the cupboard right there?” Miho pointed to the one she was asking for, which Jakurai willingly got a small ceramic bowl out of for her.

When she thanked him and took the bowl, Miho took the chicken and carrots from the small pan and put the contents into the bowl. The chunks of chicken were shredded with the cooking chopsticks efficiently before Miho walked over to where the small mat with Tenshi’s water bowl rested. She set the bowl down after it had cooled a bit as Tenshi went straight to devouring its contents once her head could reach the food.

The two of them then sat at the small dining table just on the other side of the half wall that divided the kitchen from the living room area. Their conversation started back up as they ate through the meal together.

“No, I didn’t really participate in clubs during high school,” Miho spoke.

“Why not? They’re great ways to build more friendships for sure.” Jakurai picked up some of the leek and chicken together after that.

“I had a lot of work around the house helping my father.” Miho picked up some of the food with her chopsticks but didn’t eat it just yet. “Since my mom was gone, it was up to my dad and I both to keep the place neat. He was a busy man when he still had a job too, so it was mainly me managing the house.”

“It seems the whole family gets worked to the bone then?” Jakurai knew Doppo worked way too much, now he had learned even Doppo’s uncle, Miho’s father, also was a busy businessman.

Miho nodded her head and swallowed what food she had in her mouth before speaking again. “In a sense, the Kannonzakas are cursed with being heavily worked.” She took a moment before adding on more, “But I think it also depends on time management and standing your ground too. I do feel with the new government that males in the family are having more of the issue for sure.”

“I can see that,” Jakurai noted. “The new system is supposed to be something to help, but none of us know if it will be efficient or not.”

The conversation continued on a while later. When Tenshi had finished her meal, she had started walking around Miho’s feet and peering up at the table to see what food she and Jakurai were eating.

Jakurai took another bit of his food and went to go eat it before freezing as Tenshi jumped up on the table and put her head out to sniff the contents between the chopsticks. He looked from the cat to Miho, who was glaring at her feline.

“Jakurai, no matter how cute and innocent she acts, do no give her any of it.” Miho started to tap the table with her nail and make small noises with her mouth to get Tenshi’s attention.

Jakurai slowly brought the food to his mouth and ate it, but Tenshi didn’t leave his meal alone. She proceeded to go to his bowl and start to dip her head in. It didn’t last long as Miho stood up from the table and picked the cat up.

“You are very naughty!” Miho spoke to the cat in her face and then looked at Jakurai. “I’ll be back in a moment. She’s being put in the bathroom for now.” Miho walked off with the cat to leave Jakurai in the main room. A door was shut in the small hallway a few seconds later and Miho was back at the table.

“Are you alright?” Jakurai asked.

Miho fixed a stray hair behind her ear and let out a small sigh. “I’m good, just didn’t expect Tenshi to do that, even if she’s a bit of a princess sometimes. We can eat in peace now.”

They continued on with conversation, enjoying one another’s company. One thing that felt great about the time together is how often Jakurai could see Miho smile and let out laughs. They were pleasant and made his own spirits rise even more. This meal together was definitely making his night a great one.

Although it was soon time for it to end.

Dishes were washed and set to dry. Once the last one was set down, Miho went to the small closet and pulled out Jakurai’s jacket and brought it over to him.

“Don’t want to leave without this!” She gave him a smile with it as he picked it up from her grasp.

“Thank you.”

He put it on and went to the door to leave, stopping as his hand rested on the handle. “Tonight was a nice night. Thank you for inviting me over.”

“Thank you for all the help you’ve been doing.” Miho gave him a warm smile. “I hope you have a safe travel back home.”

“Thank you, I hope you have a good night, Miho.” Jakurai bowed and then took his leave.

“I hope you have a good night too.” She was able to say it before he was out of view.

Once the door was shut, Jakurai stood there for a moment. It already felt a little less lively with saying that farewell. It was a wonderful night for sure, but why did Jakurai feel somewhat unfulfilled?

He shook his head. “Maybe I just forgot to do something today…”

And with that, he was off.

[dragon-age-ocs-and-rp]

So, I just watched a Try Guys video where they use their non dominant hands, their left hands because all 4 of them are righties, and it made me realize a few things that can kinda tranalate to Dragon Age Inquisition specifically.

People don't tend to reach for things which whatever hand is closest like I, my mother, and my brother all do. They tend to reach for things with their dominant hands.

They avoid holding dangerous or fragile objects with their non dominant hands, something that, again, my family doesn't do. My stepdad is the only person in the house that has to hold things with his dominant hand, the rest of us go with whatever hand is available and if both are available then whichever is closest to the goal, whether that be defending ourselves from attackers or throwing glass in the trash.

People do not trade off hands just so they can get away with taking fewer steps like we do.

Most people's non dominant hands aren't very strong because they specifically don't use it.

People use their silverware in specific hands, here in america most people will use the knife in their dominant hand, put it down, move the fork from their non dominant hand to their dominant hand, and switch like that constantly as they eat, whereas in other countries and in my household it's common place to just... not put the knife down and simply keep the fork in the same hand the whole time... I have gotten comments from friends about that habbit in the past, but something I personally noticed that they never caught on to is that I don't designate which hand is used for which utensil, I juse go based off of where the utensils are set. If I'm grabbing from the drawer directly, I grab them both with one hand, generally the left in my house due to how my kitchen is layed out with the oven across from the drawer and the fridge to the right of it, and at my grandma's I grab the utensils with my right hand because of how her kitchen is layed out. If I'm not grabbing them from the drawer and they're at the table already, rhen no matter how they're set out I put the left most utensil in my left hand and the right most in my right hand. In my family, if we set the silverware out, we do it properly because my mother is a debutante with ocd. Other people always use the knife with their dominant hand and I actually find that quite strange as it's just a back and forth motion, no complexity to it at all.

People don't just have a dominant hand, but also a dominant leg, which is determined by which side you start all motions with, such as when you start walking you'll almost always start with one side then the other, and when you put your pants on one leg goes in before the other every time. I don't do that. I've noticed the others in my family do, but I don't. And I think the reason for this is because I already have horrible balance and need to lift the less stable foot first to ensure I can keep what little balance I already have. I wasn't able to fully dress myself until I was 12 because I couldn't get my pants on by myself due to how horrible my balance has always been, and I still run into walls I know are next to me and haven't moved the whole time I've lived in this house. My mom avoids moving furniture around too often because I already bump into everything when I walk.

People do EVERYTHING with their dominant hand if they can get away with it. If you can get away with not even lifting your non dominant hand you will, and you don't even realize it. When someone who uses both hands calls you out on it and shouts "you have 2 hands, use them" you'll get defensive before you acknowledge that you were being lazy in not using your other hand. That's not something that's in the video, I noticed it because while I was watching the video I could overhear one of the neighbors yelling at their kids for it. Technically still noticed while watching the video.

Due to how many more people are right handed in the world, very little is designed and produced where you can actually use it with both hands and if it is it isn't very comfortable and it's very boxy, like the wii controller.

You probably can't even write your own name with your non domiant hand.

My brother's hand writing isn't bad because he's neurodivergent, it's bad because his preschool teacher thought it was ok to smack his hand with a wooden ruler every time he used his left hand as a kid and now he's too afraid to use it for single handed tasks. I figured out pretty early on that she was doing this, but it didn't stop when I told other adults and he was nonverbal and I had a tendancy to lie a bit too often about authority figures for my mom to believe me. I eventually said enough was enough and durinf nap time when she had made the mistake of falling asleep in a school with no locks on the doors and my teachers getting drunk in the teachers lounge instead of watching us kids I snuck into her class, used a jump rope to tie her to her chair, and when she woke up she was met by a very angry 4 year old with a ruler, and I had no mercy. Still surprised I didn't get kicked out, but looking back on everything from that school I realize I was somehow in the low functioning class with all the kids who couldn't communicate and half of them still couldn't walk, and I was the youngest. I was in no way shape or form supposed to be in that class, but that's where they put me.

Now for the things I noticed during my Lywin playthrough.

The inquisitor reaches for the orb with their left hand.

Cassandra draws her sword with her left hand if you don't give her a shield.

Varric aims Bianca with both hands depending on which direction he last moved. If he ran to the left, he pulls rhw trigger with his right, if he ran to the right he pulls thw trigger with his left, and if he ran straight forward he does a left handed aim.

Cole gaurds with his left, gaurding referring to which hand is closer to the enemy and more likely to block or pery a blow during close quarters combat. He also gaurds pretty high, which isn't quite neccessary given his speed. It would actually be best for him to gaurd a bit lower and protect his vital organs more incase of a long ranged attack, but that's just nitpicking on my end and not important.

Sera claims to be self taught with her bow, but the way she holds it indicates that either she's left handed or somebody corrected the way she holds her bow at some point and she listened. The reason I say this is because I'M self taught with a bow and for the longest time I held the bow in my right hand, drew the arrow with my left, and knocked it on the left. What that means is (since I had an ambidextrous bow from walmart) I would put the bow on the lefthand sight rather than putting it through the bow and on the right. I did this because to me it made sense, although looking back at it now I realize that the way I actually held the bow was all wrong and I definitely could have avoided the many blisters and cuts I got from the string smacking my arm every time I released. Sera doesn't use a HEMA aproved stance, her footing is secure but not what is considered accurate by gatekeepers, meaning she probably didn't get any advice she listened to and figured out what worka best for her on her own, which makes me believe she's probably just left handed. (A lot of this is just speculation acquired from my own personal experiences with a bow, one of which was learning thay the way Sera stands with her knees secerely bent and slightly turned around at the hips hurts like hell after a few shots because you're putting strain on your spine that it doesn't like being put through. Also, elf anatomy could be very different from humans, I don't know, her spine could be just fine standing like that in a fight)

In the game, throw away dialog is one of my favorite things, I'll sit for hours just trying to find every throw away line the npcs have. One of my favorites is when your blacksmith is getting grumpy about fullers being called blood gooves (which I don't know where that nickname for them came from but it's completely inaccurate for any blade ever), and so I decided to pay more attention to things in the smithy from then on. So far I haven't played a warrior or mage, only rogues, but I noticed that when you make a bow, it's always indexted to the left hand. That's how most people say it should be used, held with your left and drawn with your right (though I don't see why, I aim better if holding it in my right and I feel better aim should make all the difference, not forcing practice with an arm you're naturally worse with). But, kf you make daggers, depending on which hand it gets put in it'll show the handle slightly differently, and that's becaused it's being indexed differently, so it's easier to grab and doesn't slip from your hand. I also noticed that if you look down the spine of the blades, certain ones have tiny warps, which is when the blade is bent, and those are mostly on old and spooky looking blades, while your shiny looking ones are perfectly straight. Might just be my bad eyesight and the way they light everything on an angle, but I thought that was neat.

Dorian wields his staff with one hand and holds books with the other.

Leliana lifts her left hand last from any table she leans against. Probably because the inquisitor is usually to her left but I still noticed that and found it cute.

Official art can't seem to remember which hand the anchor was on, I have found promotional art with text on it showing the inquisitor lifting their right hand to the sky with the anchor glowing, but if you're as obsessed with this game as I am you know it's on the left hand.

Cassandra's sheeth for her swords is on her left hip, which means she has to draw the swords with her right hand, but she uses a left handed swing and if you look at official art where she's holding the sword with one hand and no shield it's usually in her left.

All of this indicates that the people making the game didn't notice or didn't think we'd notice something like handedness, being left handed is just as rare in the world of dragon age as it is irl, and the inquisitor probably has to deal with the same stupid bigotry left handed people did before the late 19th century

[inkybarracuda]

loose lips sink ships - 003

She wrinkled her nose at pants. I figured at first it might have just been she didn’t like the color of it, but she didn’t look impressed with anything spanning from leggings, to jeans, to sweatpants. She’s sitting on my bed with her knees tucked up under her chin, rolled up in my quilt, snug as a bug in a rug, and with a pair of my underwear cutting across her hips. I didn’t ask if she wanted a bra. Finally, I sigh, and I tug open the bottom drawer.

I rotate my drawers around depending on the season. My good clothes, the fancy ones that need to stay pressed and clean, hang up in the closet, but everything else I fold and toss in the dresser. Four drawers, one for each season, and when time comes that I gotta rotate them around , I just tug it all out, drawer and all, and shuffle it up. I dig in the second one from the bottom, searching for my summer dresses. I hold one up over my shoulder first: it’s got a pattern in gold like fishes breaking through the surf, the dress itself a soft gray. I look over at her, and – just as I thought, now she’s interested.

“Not a big fan of pants, are you?” I ask.

“They seem to be like nets – I don’t trust them.”

Fair enough.

I ball the dress up in my hands, and she lifts her arms obediently, like she knows what has to happen. She’ll do this often enough the next coming days to make me wonder when the last time she met another human was. At first, I’ll feel curious about this, and then I’ll just feel jealous, like I had to share her with someone. It’s an ugly feeling, and I’m not proud of it, but she told me once she thinks of me as her human, so I guess we’re on the same page there. She stands up and straightens the dress, tugging it snugly over her frame. She’s shorter than me, but she isn’t thinner. I’m all elbows and knees, but she’s lean muscle and wide hips.

“It looks good on you,” I tell her, and I’m about to say more – ask her if she’s hungry, actually- but then my eyes fall on the nightstand behind her. More importantly, I’m looking at the stack of mail I have to send out today. Shit.

“Shit.”

She looks at me curiously, but I drag a hand down my face. It makes her giggle, and she catches my wrist. She tugs my fingers down in between us to look up at my face, and I can’t help but smile at that. “What?”

“I need to go back into town,” I mutter softly. “I’ll…it’ll only take an hour or so. Are you- I mean- I can stay if you need me to. I’ll figure it out, but I…”

She saves me by pressing her finger against my mouth. She’s like that; she touches freely. It’s another thing I’ll learn over the week. “Can I go to the sea while you are gone?” she asks. I don’t ask her if she’s going to leave. She’s free to, but I know she won’t.

“Yeah,” I grin. “No problem. Oh, but if you do…” I break away from her grasp and head out of the bedroom and to the living room. I hear her pause from the way the floorboards creak (the house is old, what do you want from me?) as she shifts her weight, but then she follows me. I sort through the boots on the rack by the door, tugging free a pair. I hold them up for inspection, the laces coiling around my wrist. “You’ll need these, or you’ll probably hurt your feet on the rocks.”

She shoots the boots an unamused, distrustful glance. I laugh.

“They don’t bite,” I promise.

“I do,” she mutters, but she steps over as I set the boots down. I kneel down before them, and hold one hand out, making an indicative gesture with my fingers. The selkie balances on one, slim, pale foot and she places the other one in my palm. I grip her ankle, and guide her foot in. First the left, then her right, and she stands there frowning down at the boots until I laugh again.

“They have strands,” she snorts.

“Shoelaces,” I correct. “Here, like this.”

I show her how to loop them, and she raises her eyebrows as they tighten around her feet. She makes me show her twice more, and on the second time, she starts running her hands through my curls again. She snags them, twists her fingers through my strands. Usually this sort of entitled inspection would get on my nerves really quickly, but from her – I don’t mind it. I know she’s doing it out of curiosity only, for one, and I’ve also seen seals all bunched together on the rocks before, basking in the sun in huge piles of dark, speckled flesh. She’s used to touch; she’s used to treating bodies like they’re an extension of her own. Otherwise though? If it wasn’t her, it wouldn’t happen.

I rise to my feet, and step back from her. She bends down to pull the shoelaces open, before tying them back up. She’s a quick learner, and a smug, little smile touches her lips. She steps out of them. I call her She a lot, but I’ll never learn her name, and I’ll never give her one. It wasn’t right of me then, it’s not right of me now. I step back towards the door, hooking my jacket and my car keys, bouncing the latter in my hand. “If you get cold, you can use Nan’s cardigan.” I tug on the woolen thing, before heading back to the bedroom to grab the mail.

I stutter, stop. I still by the door. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I ask her. She blinks at me with dark eyes.

“Why would I not be?”

How the hell do I argue with logic like that?

The town’s busier than I thought it would be. I think everyone’s trying to shack up for the storm, and that’s proven true when I get into the post office.

“You should really think about getting some extra supplies,” the girl behind the counter tells me.

“Oh yeah, I went shopping this morning.”

“Uh-huh.”

The look she shoots me has me grudgingly squaring my shoulders against the rain and the wind as soon as I get out of the post office, and I’m heading to the car. I drop my keys into a puddle, because that’s exactly what my luck is. On the one hand, I don’t want to leave her alone in that house for long, but on the other hand…My grocery shopping had been half-assed at best. It couldn’t hurt.

I’m used to the curt looks I get here sometimes. Small towns like these: if you aren’t family, or a tourist, then you’re just here to steal jobs. I haven’t lived here long enough for anyone to really trust me, but it’s not like I’m getting bricks thrown at my house. It’s mostly just a polite form of passive-aggressiveness, and I can’t be bothered to care. Right now, I just want some soy milk.

And for water to stop sloshing into my boots. That’d be swell.

I’m thinking as I drive back. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t be so calm about this, if I should be worrying a lot more. I’ve got a woman in my house, a creature; my brain likes to remind me, that shouldn’t be there. For all I know, once I come back, she’ll be gone, but I can feel in that part of me that doesn’t listen to human reason that that isn’t true. She couldn’t leave without her pelt. She wouldn’t either; she said so. Somehow, I don’t think she really bothers lying. I reach home, wheels screeching on water-slick concrete and I sit in the driveway for a bit, massaging a line above my temple. Nana used to say you can’t have anything forever, eventually all things gotta go back to where they came from. You just have to cherish them while they’re there. Nan said a lot of things; I try to live by most of them.

Except for that one about wearing socks all the time because cold feet makes for a cold cunny. I never quite got where she was going with that.

I shove the door open with my shoulder, closing it and not bothering to lock the car. Car thieves here are about as rare as polite seagulls, only you’d probably want to meet one over the other. I hope the storm passes, but at the same time I don’t, because I know in the marrow of my bones, soon as the rain and the wind comes to a halt, I’ve gotta let her go. I’m met by a curious sight on the way up the porch, and I pause, frowning, standing in a puddle swiftly forming on the wood. She’s asleep in my hammock. I don’t bother taking it down during the fall and winter. It seems too much work, and I’d rather have it to take advantage of any sunny day. I wonder why she’s out here. She’s still wrapped in Nana’s cardigan, her knees tucked up to her chest and I have to smile, because the boots I showed her how to put on are tucked together, side-by-side, neatly on the ground.

She did the laces back up after taking them off, the ends of the neat bows drooping. Clever, beautiful girl.

I carefully pry open the screen door, heading inside. I drop the extra groceries onto the counter and then I grab the throw blanket from the couch. I don’t want to wake her to bring her back in, and she doesn’t seem to feel the cold like I do, but still, I can’t just leave her there. The screen door creaks as I push it open. Although, you know: I should have really given this more thought. I lean over her. She’s breathing through her mouth like a little kid, that splash of dark, mottled freckles across her nose obscured by long, flyaway hair. I throw the blanket over her, and then tuck it in, bracing an arm by her head. Of course I should’ve considered what an animal does if you scare it when it’s asleep. It’ll attack, because it doesn’t know what else to do, and I woke her, and I scared her. Her teeth sink into my wrist and pain shoots up my arm. Her teeth are sharp, sickle-sharp, sharper than any human’s should be, and I jerk back with a cry, throwing blood in an arc. I grip my arm, and I know right away it’s deep. There’s a little whimper at the back of my throat, a faint “oh no.” I’ve never been really good with blood, and watching it drip, dark and ruby-rouge from my arm makes me want to pass out.

I’m in the house before I can think and the water in the kitchen sink is running. I’ve smeared blood on the counter, but I don’t notice because I shove my wrist under the spray. Blood wells up, dilutes, and pours down my skin with the water, the sound discordant as it hits the metal basin. Stupid. So stupid. My own stupid, goddamn fault. I can hear the screen door slamming against its frame, caught in the wind’s embrace and then the sound stills. The door is latched, and I look over my shoulder as she approaches. She either drank my blood, or spat it out, because her mouth is clean, and somehow I can’t find it in me to be mad at her, or worse scared.  She approaches, and then bends down, putting her cheek on the counter next to me.

“I’m very sorry,” she says softly. I wonder at the people who say animals can’t feel remorse or shame, that they can’t love or hate, or suffer or feel bliss like a human can. I’ve always had an abrupt feeling of anger when people say animals are just dumb and simple. It’s made me want to punch them in the mouth. She’s watching me, waiting for me to say something, but instead I just smile. “My fault,” I whisper back, flexing my fingers under the stream. The pain’s a dull throb, and my skin’s gone numb from the cold. “Why were you sleeping outside?” I asked, eager to change the subject, to remove that guilt from her eyes.

“The sea,” she says simply. That’s all I needed to know.

She’ll put a scar through my tattoo. She’ll mar the ink so it’ll never be the same till the day I die. I dragged her out of the ocean and I took her home, so I guess, when all’s done and gone and everything’s weighed on the cosmic scales…we’re pretty even.

[cjwritesfanfiction]

Hidden Voices

Summary: Thomas Jefferson, world renown, critically acclaimed rapper has lost his inspiration. In an attempt to start over and regain his lost inspiration, he made the bold decision to move to New York City. There, he meets a quick witted barista named Alex, who unknowingly becomes the source of Thomas's knew found inspiration. Author's note: Uploaded on mobile (like usual lol) tag list: @katzun my dude! ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Crowds were annoying. If there was one thing that Thomas Jefferson hated, it was crowds. Every time he was in a highly populated area, he was bombarded with selfie, autograph, and hug demands. Mobile phones meant that he was always in the public eye. . . Always being in the public eye meant that there was no escaping his personal hell - overly pushy fans. Thomas Jefferson was a rapper who had recently moved to New York City. He used to live in San Francisco, but he found that he was loosing his touch. He was lacking inspiration, so a move to a new place seemed to be the logical step. He had grown up on a farm in Virginia, but he found his creativity really sore in the city. His agent had recommended New York City because he had an office just blocks from Thomas's lavish, rooftop apartment. It made it easier to get to the studio, but Thomas found it was harder to get away from fans so early in the morning. You see, Thomas was not a morning person at all. He was a self-diagnosed insomniac, who normally wouldn't get up until noon. However, he had to run on New York time and kept a nine to five job, just like his agent and the people who worked at the studio. Getting up at seven in the morning didn't exactly set him up to be the friendliest person. But, he didn't want to upset his fans either, so Thomas did everything in his power to avoid them all together. Currently, Thomas was trying to get his coffee maker working, so that he didn't have to go to a crowded coffee shop where there might be a lot of people. If there was one thing about Thomas that didn't change over the years, it was his old cheep habits. Thomas had owned that same coffee maker since college, and it seemed today was the day it finally died and gone to coffee heaven. Thomas swore under his breath and hit the coffee maker one last time before gearing up to deal with people. He threw on a thick coat to combat the harsh New York winter, a pair of brand new pair of sneakers that he had gotten for free to promote, and a flat bill cap that he had bought during college. Now, it was considered vintage and cool. Thomas took a deep breath and opened the door not ready to face the world outside. As soon as the door opened, Thomas's eyes stung from the icey wind. It was negative four today with wind chills down to negative seven. Thomas trudged along the sidewalk in search of a coffee place. It was times like this where he really missed the warmer winter weather of San Francisco. But, it was also frigid days like this that kept people inside and out of his face. Eventually, Thomas found a coffee shop on Broadway (which was a couple blocks from the studio) called, "Cafe 525 ". The cafe looked ridiculously cheesy. Musical posters hung on the walls and memorabilia covered nearly every other counter, crook, and crevis in the cafe. It was clear that the cafe was musical themed, and being right off of Broadway, Thomas understood why. He was just confused by the name. Thomas walked inside jumping at the sound of the loud bell that rang when he came in. Instead of the Broadway music he was expecting, soft 90's rap played throughout the store. Someone in the back of the store swore, and the music quickly switched to some song Thomas didn't recognize from "Cats". He frowned and walked up to the counter and rung the bell alerting the staff he needed service. "Yeah, yeah keep your pants on! I'm comin'" A voice yelled from the back. Thomas blinked. He certainly wasn't expecting that. No matter, the worker would change his mind after he found out who exactly Thomas was. After a few moments, a short, black haired man worked out. Thomas nearly smiled at how hot the man was despite being what seemed like five foot tall. He had long black hair tied back into a neat pony tail. Facial hair outlined his mouth and accented his lightly pink lips. Chocolate brown eyes stared back at him in annoyance. It seemed his barista wasn't a morning person either. . . Maybe, they had chemistry right off the bat. The man grumbled and took out a black marker from the inside of his purple smock and placed it behind his ear. "What do ya want?" The man asked. Thomas chuckled and leaned over the counter flashing the cute man an award winning smile. "Well, good morning to you too darlin'. You don't sound too happy to be at work. Can I get your name?" The man rolled his eyes and pounded his number into the POS system. "If you're just dying to know, I have a name tag. Now, are you gonna order or just waste my time?" Oh. . . Thomas forgot about that. His eyes drifted down to the man's name tag. Alex. It was probably short for Alexander. . . It was fitting for him. Alex seemed to be quick witted,  and sharped tongue. Thomas liked that in a man. It kept things interesting. "As much as I love flirting with you, I need coffee for the rest of the day. I'll have a venti-" "Let me stop you right there. This isn't a Starbucks. Small, medium, or large?" Alex asked rolling his eyes. . . Tourists. . . Thomas was quiet for a moment. Did Alex really talk back to him? "Large. I'll have a large dark roast with a double shot, and a strawberry muffin." Alex nodded and entered the order into the computer quickly before looking up at Thomas. "Alright, anything else?" Thomas smirked and winked. "Your number." "You're funny." Alex smirked back and took the muffin out of the case, packed it into a bag, and slid it across the counter.  "I'll get your coffee." Thomas took the bag and set it on the nearest table in favor of watching Alexander instead of eating the muffin. "Don't you need my name?" "I know who you are." Alex muttered pressing a button on the espresso machine. "Forgive me for not bowing down or begging to get your signature Mr.Jefferson." He said sarcastically brewing a fresh pot for Thomas's coffee. Thomas grinned and leaned against the counter just looking at Alexander. He had never had someone act like this knowing who he was. It was nice. "And what do you think of my music?" He hummed watching Alex start the second shot of espresso. Alex was clearly a fan of hip hop from what he heard earlier. "I think it's terrible." Alex deadpanned finishing up Thomas's order and ringing it through the computer. "It lacks feeling and passion. I could write a better rap song than anything you have written." Alex smirked. "That will be $5.29 by the way." Thomas clutched his fists and his jaw clenched. His music lacked feeling?! Thomas put his heart and soul into his work! Most of the songs he had written came from his own experiences! How dare this barista insult him like this?! He was going to- No... He couldn't let Alex win. He had to turn this around and use it to his advantage. "If you think it's terrible surely you wouldn't mind a little wager?" He purred. Alex looked annoyed and pissed off that Thomas didn't flip, which is what he was going for. Perfect. "I'll come back in a week. If I write better lyrics than you, than I get to take you on a date." "And what if I win?" Alex asked folding his arms. "Depends. What do you want?" "Sign me as your lyricist. I'm tired of you ruining rap for the younger kids. I can fix it." Thomas should be offended, but there was no way Alex would actually win. He was just a barista. He shook Alex's hand and grinned. "Deal." He said. With that, he made his way out the door. He needed to go to the studio. There was no way he was going to let Alex have the pleasure of winning. As he walked out daydreaming of the potential date he had with his cute barista, he never once realized that Alex had written his number and the word asshole on Thomas's cup. . .

[lanonima]

Monsters

Some incredibly weird thing I wrote about Ithea’s childhood also featuring Ithian and Anthem. 1,792 words.

Ithea’s life was defined by fires: the threat of burning that hung over her, the fire that burned the demon, the fire that burned the monsters, and the one that finally burned her.

The priestess said there was a god who ruled, and a goddess who obeyed, and all of the women in the temple agreed. They bowed their heads and murmured the wives’ prayer and confessed their small sins and transgressions to this unseen entity.

Ithea did not believe in gods.

The priestess said there were demons who walked the world, tempting people away from the holy path, and all of the women in the temple agreed. They thought themselves sly, but Ithea always felt their eyes on her.

She did not believe in demons either, at least not until she saw the Gaspar boy again, years after sticking a knife in his gut. But that was later, much later.

The priest said, according to Ithian, that there were monsters in the woods, like the wolves, whose eyes blazed with unholy fire, who sang evil songs in the night and killed the sheep. It was a man’s duty to hunt and kill monsters.

Ithea did not believe in gods or demons, but she did believe in monsters. She did not think the wolves were the monsters.

Gods, demons, monsters, or otherwise, Ithea was practical. She knew the way of things. She and Ithian, with their unnatural purple eyes, were something evil, according to the villagers. And according to their father who, long ago, had taken them onto his knees and implored them to be pious and good because demons, monsters, and witches were burned.

Ithian, submissive and sweet and gentle, did not have many problems being good. Still, he was harassed by the priest, reviled by the villagers, and bullied by the other children.

In some ways, Ithea could be good. She could cook well, and she was gentle and patient with her younger siblings. Her spinning, weaving, and embroidery was neat, and the small room she shared with Ithian was always spotless. But it was impossible to contain her in the house and when she left, any time she left, there would be trouble.

By the time she was ten she was the victor of a hundred childhood brawls, and the village children knew better than to bully her, singly or in groups. Instead they took it out on Ithian and Ithea was merciless in her pursuit of vengeance. She could wait for weeks, seeking just the right moment to pounce. But eventually, sooner or later, every insult, every bruise, every scrape was paid for in full.

Ithian was sweet and nice and not like her at all. Ithea was practical, and she knew the way of things. She was a monster, though not a demon, and Ithian was not. At least, that’s what she thought until after the first fire. But that was later.

It was sudden. The priest caught a demon, and the priestess agreed, and the entire village turned out to watch it burn.

To Ithea it looked like a rabbit, ordinary and scared. It screamed when it died and people made signs against evil even though every one of them had heard a rabbit scream before.

Ithea did not believe in demons, but she did believe in monsters. She saw them there, that day, watching a rabbit die for no purpose at all. But she had always seen them. Not only in her own reflection, but in her mother, whose eyes always wandered over handsome male merchants who came to town. In the priest and priestess, who kept the town in thrall with scathing and judgmental remarks. In all the villagers, and their children, and most especially the Gaspar boy.

She hated him, in particular. His smug grin, the way he lorded it over the other children, and the way the other children begged for him to do so. The bruises his fists left on her brother’s skin infuriated her. He had a particular grudge against Ithian, so Ithea had a grudge against him. Up until the day she came upon him hunting in the woods and put an end to it. At least, that’s what she thought at the time. That was long before the fire.

It was still before the fire when she saw him again, older and more rugged, and up to his bloody elbows in the wayward sheep she had been sent to find. It was not always wolves who killed the sheep. Everything was different – arrogant confidence had replaced the simple cruelty that had motivated him before. The coloring was off, his skin too pale, his hair silvery white, his eyes impossibly blue where they had been dull brown. But he smirked at her, and she knew that smirk, and she knew it was him.

Ithea remembered when the knife had been in her hand, and he had been in the place of the sheep, and that was supposed to be the end of it. He did not seem to recognize her. The moment that held them was infinite, and only a few seconds, and every amount of time in between. Ithea had never believed in demons, but surely if such things existed they would be like this. She felt weak and breathless, and it was not from fear.

But then she saw the bloody symbols painted on the ground, the candles, the herbs, and understood. He was a witch, not a demon, and whatever spell had held them was broken.

“They’ll burn you if they catch you,” she told him.

He only laughed.

That was shortly before the fire. It was shortly after when Ithian tipped his hand.

At first sharing a room was not a problem. At night, Ithian could tend to her wounds and she to his, and they could stay up late whispering hopes and fears and plans. But that was at first.

Ithea loved Ithian, her shadow, her twin, her sweet younger brother. She protected him, coddled and cosseted him, and never refused him anything. When they were children he had looked at her as if she was the sun and he was a flower, wholly dependent on her.

After the fire, for some reason she never understood, he began to look at her differently. The things he asked, no, demanded, were not things she was willing to give him. Ithea had to defend herself, the way she had always defended him, and for the first and last time she admitted to herself that the villagers were right. They were both monsters.

Ithian yielded to Ithea’s superior strength and ferocity, but he never stopped wanting.

Ithea stopped sleeping in their room after that.

The second fire was only a short time after the first. Her sleep was interrupted by the screams, and the roar of the flames and she emerged from her hiding place to watch.

It was glorious, heavenly, to watch it all vanish in flame and smoke. Gone were the bullying children, the cruel adults, the judgmental priests, gone were the monsters. Well, most of them.

The Gaspar boy was there too, calm and collected and surveying the destruction with a critical eye while sparks whirled around him. In the light his eyes glowed like a wolf’s, and Ithea hoped hers did too. Then Ithian was at her side, anxious and pleading.

She never found out which one of them set the fire. In truth, she never cared. It had happened and the village was gone, and the threat of burning had left her, or so she thought.

The Gaspar boy thought he was being charming when he kissed her hand and introduced himself as Anthem Silverwood. Ithea laughed in his face. She did not have to ask if he’d picked out the name himself.

Ithian and Anthem did not seem to recognize one another, but shared an instinctive dislike.

Given enough time, certainly they would have bickered and quarreled and drifted away from one another, three little monsters in the big, unfriendly world.

They were not given enough time.

There were always more monsters.

The man who found them, Lasifar, Ithea did not care for. She did not think he was, as he put it, a close friend of her real father. She did believe that her father, her true father, was someone else, or something else, not human at all but something older and crueler. And the stories Lasifar told, of wealth and luxury, of magic and shapeshifting and running free from the constraints of human laws, those were a far sweeter preaching than anything the priestess had offered her.

Lasifar was a monster too, Ithea had seen him transform himself with her own eyes. But even if not, she would have been wary. How quickly he had found them, how quickly he had brought them all to heel, and to compete with one another for the prizes he dangled in front of them. They did not all want the same thing, and yet he promised each of them what they wanted.

Ithea didn’t trust that.

She had always been practical, but this she wanted. To be powerful, to be feared, to be herself and not be scolded or whipped for it. Wanting, she learned then, was a powerful thing.

She did not trust Lasifar, but she still repeated the magic words he taught her, harsh and unfamiliar. She still drank the potion he offered her, which tasted of honey and cinnamon and other things she couldn’t name. The potion that burned like fire, and turned her body against her.

She hadn’t ever wondered what the rabbit or the villagers felt in the fire. After that, she never needed to wonder. It was the last thing she felt, and the memory of it haunted her. Long after, when ice and fire could no longer touch her, when weapons felt only like pressure and wounds like nothing at all, she would wake suddenly from sleep and could do nothing but wait as echoes of fire traced her blood vessels and burned to the beat of her heart. But that was later.

When she woke up, initially, she knew it had not worked correctly. She didn’t need Anthem’s presence to tell her what her numb and awkward body already could.

She barely listened to Anthem explain what had happened, and what had to be done now. She found out her limitations for herself, later, far away and already making a name for herself as a Lord not to be lightly crossed.

At that point, immediately after waking, Ithea knew what needed to be done. Lasifar had wronged her. He had hurt her and, like everyone who hurt her, he needed to be punished.

She always had been merciless in her pursuit of vengeance.

[dunmerofskyrim]

23

“We lost time this morning — your little red one lurking in the tent, breathing smoke I’ll say… So how much did we lose? How far?” Bandrys trotted to Simra’s side, feet falling heavy. “To the prize, I mean. How far?”

Simra looked ahead, taking a studied view of the horizon. The road twisted headwards, a mud-black bridge of solid ground in a sea of shivering grass. “Hard to say. No telling where they’re based out of.” A lie, but he made it sound reluctant, careful: an admission.

Galgas walked like a bodyguard, always a few strides behind his brother. Footstep, footstep, and on every third beat came the butt of his polearm, tallying out the leagues. Simra took up the lead, walking likewise, Velothi spear in hand. Beside him, Bandrys kept pace, in a leathery flutter of coat-tails.

“If you don’t know that,” he said, “what do you know? Kept tight-lipped on all this long enough that I’ll say it’s time you shared.”

“I know there’s twelve mer at least want taking in or killing,” said Simra. Bootshuffle. Sharp crush of the spike that butted his spear’s blunt end. “Four named mer amongst them. Meidryn Sadoro, Nephtah Themaryb, Tiamtar – what was it? – Dolgrassur, I think. And Moab the Soup… Most of them not so named that I’d heard of more than one before the last couple days, though.”

“Which was it?” Galgas put in. “The one you’d heard of.”

Simra twisted his neck to look back. Every word from Galgas came like an ambush, and questions worst of all. “The Soup. Get a name based on boiling people alive, guess that name’s more likely gonna travel… And far as I remember, his name’s been travelling – what? – two years?”

“The others?” said Bandrys.

“Nobodies, far as I know. Hangers-on. Petties. They’re two drams a scalp. Four for the named mer. Five drams and three for Moab, last I heard. That’s thirty-three drams and a bit, total. Just less than seven drams each in bounties. Might be less in Othrenis. Might be more. More likely more, seeing as it’s closer and the threat’s more theirs than Ouadabridge’s. Add loot to that as well and it’s pretty enough, as pictures go…”

Bandrys’ eyes flickered skyward a moment and he chewed the inside of his cheek. In time he nodded. “Right. And what about how we find them.”

“Like I said, no idea where they’re based from.” Simra put a clip in his voice. It wasn’t hard to ape frustration around the brothers. “Only word I have’s where caravans start going missing.”

“And where’s that?”

“Four days out from Oudabridge at cart-pace. Last stretch before Othrenis.”

A look crossed Bandrys’ face like a downturned grin. The corners of his mouth pulled tight, lowering to show the cram of his lower teeth and the black-red beginnings of his gums. “And you tell us this now?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re knuckles-deep in their territory, and you tell us now? Gods! And you’re just walking!” Bandrys gave a horselike huff. “Gods..!”

“Heard your brother voice some reservations yesterday,” Simra began, calm as cold water. “Sounded like he was uneasy over Tammu’s role in all this. Reckon you’re uneasy too, thinking I don’t look like I’m looking out, watching for threats after that admission. Wanna know why? It’s cos Tammu’s listening.”

“Well…”

“We carry different burdens but we all pull our fucking weight, right? Suggest you look at yourself and ask what yours is — what d’you carry?” A flash went into Simra’s voice, threatening thunder, and then it was gone. “Besides, takes a special kinda stupid to get properly ambushed somewhere like this. Big and broad and flat as a chap’thil board? That’s got a way of giving you fair notice.”

“And that’s your plan, is it?” said Bandrys. “When they ambush us, ambush them right back?”

“Master tracker, are you?” said Simra. “No? Then I’ll take it as read that, far as plans go, you’ve not got a better one.”

They walked a while onward. Simra weighed out the silence, measuring, judging, counting out its contents. Apprehension, sudden uncertainty. That was good. Leave them watching the horizon, not their backs. Leave them doubting his ability, not his honesty. There were truths stitched through all of what he’d said but in the end it hinged on lies: the distance and the day; the nearby threat. This wary new tension was part of his plan. Simra reckoned he’d sown his seeds about right and now he could watch them grow.

“You’re right, though,” he said, stopping to lean with both hands on his spear. “We’ll need edges keen and eyes sharp for all of us.” He paced around the spear-shaft to look backwards at the brothers, the horse and guar, and the two wisewomen. “Being ready for a surprise attack’s a surprise too, and that’s about what we’ve got on our side.”

The others had stopped. Galgas leaned on his polearm. Tammunei shied forward to stand close to Simra, their weight shared unfair between their raggy-booted feet. Around them all, Noor walked a restless circle; small strides and soft-falling feet in her brief simple shoes.

Simra ground his spear into the dirt til it could stand on its own. “Anyone’s got armour to put on, bows to string, I’d say now’s the time.”

He swung his gathersack frontwards on its strap and reached inside to bring out a rolled sheet of kreshweave. A stiff cloth, hardy, a little like linen and a little like waxed paper. He opened out the scroll into a kind of apron and fitted it to the front of his body. A moment’s fumbling as his fingertips searched for the fastenings that would tie it round his neck: a gorget of netch leather, stitched with verticals of steel wire. From there it fell in a ply of shimmering scales, chitin and brass and iron, irregular but overlapping, and threaded onto the tough cloth backing. With a sash that spread out from its sides, it fastened also at the waist.

Flint-eyed, Noor broke the circle she’d been pacing and move to her guar’s flank. She took up the Vereansu bow and belted its quiver round her waist. In her hands she held the bow, but stared up at Simra. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said to him in Velothis.

The tongue had no word for showmanship that he knew. No tradition of play-acting. With no right word to use he fell back on “Performance.”

The bow was a composite: a crooked crescent of blood-dark wood and varnished bone and dried sinew. Noor brought out its string and fitted it to one end of the bow. She began to mutter. The bow flexed and creaked as she spoke. It bent back on itself, straight at first, then further. At her asking it writhed into shape, horning round its arms. Neat and easy, she nocked the string.

“Well…” Bandrys breathed. “I’ll say…”

Noor grimaced and looked up to Simra once more. “Performance.” She hitched up, foot in one of her guar’s stirrups, and threw over a leg to sit on its back.

Galgas untied a helmet from his belt and slotted it onto his head. It was a dome of fluted steel that tapered towards its peak like the root-end of an onion. A curtain of butted rings hung down from its back and sides, decorated with blue cloth tassels, and with open cuts for the tips of merish ears. He untied the cloth cover from his polearm’s head. Beneath was a dagger-thin axehead and a short hammerhead at its rear. Above, following the line of the shaft, a spike jutted upwards.

Tammunei’s eyes were wide and wary. Their posture had stopped shifting and gone stiff, still and brittle as a drawing in pencil. Simra felt it like a vibration to his left.

Bandrys reached into his long leather coat, padded at the arms and shoulders, and brought out what looked to be a bundle of stout sticks. Holding onto one, the bundle fell open. It was a kind of collapsed flail, built like a staff of three sections, each length joined to the last with a few stout links of chain. The middle section was ridged pale hardwood. The outer two were ringed with iron at their tips.

Simra frowned. He’d heard of threshing staffs — read about them, mostly. Field-tools turned to weapons in the hands of farming folk, common before the Red Year but only storied since the start of this era. Since the coming of the peasant-communes and townships that had grown up as the Houses broke down, like mushrooms after rain. Hard to say whether it looked like nothing much, or something simple but deadly. It all depended on how Bandrys used it, he supposed. And in any case, it hardly mattered.

“That better?” Simra asked, troubling over one edge of his chestpiece where a twist of wire stitching had come loose and started to stick him through his shirt.

“I’ll say I’ve worried over worse…”

Through noon and after, on til evening, the waiting worry grew.

Simra began to feel a little of it himself, even causeless and pointless as it was. Fear of the empty horizon, daring it to form up into figures, but dreading it too. He’d made that fear; stitched it together with words and shows. But armoured now, and feeling more than ever the new strange weight of his sword, and edged all round with the others’ alert silence, the tension seeped into him too.

He tried to take it as proof maybe — a sign of work well done. But night fell, and with it the plain closed in. Stars overhead, but the open air immured them, turning black and solid. They stopped at the end of the sunset. Night buried them.

“Nothing…” muttered Bandrys as they laid camp. “All day and nothing. I’ll say, I could stand a fight far better than all this nothing. What are they? Gone? Watching all this time?”

“Could be,” said Galgas.

“Could be,” Simra said. “But they’d need a far-eye or spells to see us while we’ve not seen a thing.”

“Who’s to say they’ve not got either? I’ll say, how would you know?”

Simra didn’t answer. Just kicked together dry grass and dung turned half to fossils. With his soft-soled boots he felt for stones, hidden in the grass, but turned up nothing to hedge the campfire in. He could move the fuel he’d gathered, dig a pit, dump the fuel inside — but that was more work than he wanted.

He spat three times round the fuel-heap, marking three corners as he walked about it, counter-sunwise. He muttered a three-word calling, asking difficult things from the fire he’d light: stability and temperance, both bound together in obedience. Three: a good number for tying things together, strong and staying the same. He shrugged, hoping the spell would hold, but frowned before walking away.

Something had caught. A kind of friction — he’d felt it in his mind as the spell was finished. It formed the start of a shape. He glimpsed it, tried to grasp it, and then with the force of his focus it was gone. He remembered what Noor had said of Velothi sigils: ‘Found things, like spell-songs are.’ Perhaps one had begun to find him…

“And you go about lighting a fire!” Bandrys’ voice broke in on his thoughts. “A fire anyone could see!”

Simra bristled. “Anyone could, but nobody will.”

“Go on. More Ashlander magic, is it?”

“Right. Noor’ll see to it. Hide us.” Simra looked out across their camp – the yurt assembling itself as Tammu sat nearby; Galgas pitching the brothers’ own tent – and found Noor with his eyes. He carried on in Velothis. “Won’t you, Noor? Hide us?”

Noor touched her high forehead in a Vereansu nod. She walked in the night, hands brushing through the grass. Her every move was a whisper, and as she began to sing, soft, the plains whispered back. In time she gestured to Tammu who followed her out of sight.

“Then again…” Simra considered. “If anyone’s already seen us…”

“What? If anyone’s already seen us what?”

“The spell only hides us from stumble-upons. Not from anyone already searching. Shit…” Simra gave a humourless sigh of laughter. “Dunno about you, but I don’t think I’m getting any sleep tonight if I try or not.”

Galgas looked to Bandrys. Bandrys looked back.

“Us neither,” Galgas said. “We’ll watch with you.”

“Was hoping you’d say that,” Simra grinned. Relief made the gesture genuine. A flash of straight teeth through his crooked lips. “They come in the night, reckon we’ll stand a chance after all.”

Above them, the stars blinked out. The night sky turned black and blank as a shadowed ceiling.

Sparks then embers, Simra called the fire to life, coaxing light from the small pile of tinder. All for the better. The day’s cold had deepened. Sun’s Dusk was drawing to a close and the nights would fall in frost. Simra poured from his waterskin into his dark bronze kettle. The skin was slack now, almost empty. For all the rain they’d had, there’d been no standing water but puddles — no way to refill.

“You got water to spare?” he asked.

“Some,” said Bandrys. “What for?”

“I’ve got strong tea. Little bit of alchemy to it. Not enough to be awake all night, we need to be alert all night as well.”

“Tea,” Galgas nodded, walking over to hand Simra a leather water-pouch.

Setting the kettle above the banked flames, Simra took a paper parcel from his gathersack and ate, sparing, from its contents. Dried plum, black dried apricot, dried yellow plum. A dried brown ricecake, flavoured with green herbs.

The water boiled and Simra took it from the fire til the bubbles turned to beads in the flame’s amber light. He took a pouch from his belt. Not the main cake of tea he’d bought in Ouadabridge, but a shaving from it: crumbled black leaves, flecks of blue and flecks of white, speckled through with red and hackle-lo green. He fed half the pouch into the pot, hummed as he considered for a moment, then flaked in the rest to be sure.

“Probably taste like a well something’s died in, I warn you,” he said. “If you reckon you can stay awake without…”

The brothers shared a look again.

“Best not take any chances, I’ll say.”

The tea steeped. Simra brought out a cup. The brothers produced their own earthenware handle-bowls and set them beside the pot.

Simra poured the tea, dark and steaming. In his hand he held another paper parcel, out from his satchel, and poised it over the cups. “Sugar?”

Bandrys kissed his teeth and shook his head. “N’wah.”

“Suit yourself,” said Simra, and sweetened his own cup.

The sugar came out black and shining as jet. Crushed crystals, caramelised to burning, then reset, re-powdered that morning as Tammunei stayed in the yurt. Sugar, spraygrass pods, and whatever else they’d measured in.

‘Clever is the womer who adds always a third part,’ they’d told him. ‘I can’t promise the poison won’t touch you too, but you’ll be spared the worst of it.’

Together, the three of them drank.

[lifestillamazingblog-blog]

//This must be my dream// Find me cause I’ll never find you (3)

They only realized how late it was when outside the pub almost everything was closed but walking in the silent and dark streets wasn't a big deal; and they talked like nothing was about to happen, both surprised at how sober they were or seemed despite the amount of drinks they had. Matty thought that probably one of his gears was off place because of how odd his actions were, but he wasn't a quitter and he didn't want to quit either.

The moment Matty suggested leaving the pub, Jade regretted deep in the back of her head her comment about the place being too hot, yet she was driving her Rover down the street while Matty smoked and hummed a song she couldn't quite get. The sight she had of him was now imprinted in her head; his curly hair all over his face as the cold air was entering from the rolled window, his hand outside holding his cigarette, the gray smoked around him and his well defined profile she admitted to herself she like too much for it to be healthy.

But he had something different, and not just the fact that he was a superstar in it way of rising further into fame; he was smart, witty, philosophical, straightforward and deadly handsome, she had the idea that Matty was like that because she was a fan since the 1975 started, but their conversations just confirmed everything and she was reluctant to find more.

-Lovely place. – Matty whistled when he entered Jade's apartment. It had a vintage air that her grandmother put a lot of time and money; pastel green wallpapers decorated with flowers and humming birds, empty picture frames hanging in symmetrical way, vintage and retro furniture for the living room and kitchen, an old white wooden table and chairs for the small dining area, but Matty's favorite was the big bow window decorated with cushions of various colors, where a nice sight of a small portion of the city could be seen, probably wasn't a good look after all, but something about the glistening lights coming through the glass made it look so neat.

-Thank you. – said Jade while putting her keys and red scarf in the table. – I have wine, do you want some? – Matty heard her from the kitchen, he didn't really give her an answer but she was coming passing the door frame with two wine glasses in her hands. Matty was looking at her vast collection of music, finding how diverse her music was; from old vinyl of Elvis to The 1975' EP's and albums, Korean bands he didn't recognize to Taylor Swift and Arctic Monkeys, he grabbed ILIWYS and put it in the pink retro stereo Jade had. He heard her singing along to "Love Me", and he saw her walking towards him, handing his wine.

He smiled at her to thank her for the wine. - What's your favorite? – Matty asked her, with the deluxe album in the air.

-Oh my god, you did not just ask that. - He found the displeased look in her face delightful. – You can't ask me that, I can't answer.

He laughed. – Why not? – He leaned closer without really knowing, she had lit some candles and the warm lights against her skin made him believe he was seeing stars.

-You just want to hear me saying it, right? – Her voice was low now, an unintentional way to make him go closer to her.

-It depends... I want to hear you saying a lot of things, love. - He said, his smoked and wine breath mixing delightfully with hers. She rolled slightly her eyes, biting her lips as she kept an eye on his.

- "I love all of your music"- She repeated what she had said at one point through the night. – What else? – She asked, taking away Matty's glass of wine he hadn't even drink from and putting both in the coffee table.

- A lot of incoherent sounds from that pretty mouth of yours. – He said before crashing his lips to hers. Jade froze but eventually let him do as he pleased, her mouth moving along his like they were fighting for dominance, both not giving up in their efforts.

He tasted like cigarette and wine and something sweet she liked so much, her lips parted and his tongue slide in, she could felt her entire world burn as Matty's hands travel down her blouse, finding their way up to her skin, and she shivered in excitement when his cold hands touched her, leaving more burning imprints. She lifted her hands to his hair, getting tangled in his curly locks and he was the first one to moan when she played with his scalp.

He broke the kiss because of this, looking like his pride had been hurt, but Jade was smiling, proud of it, and soon, a smile was appearing in Matty's face too. He went down to her earlobe, whispering the dozen of things he wanted to do to her, making her nodding her head in affirmation to everything he said, and then he placed sloppy and wet kisses on her neck before nipping her skin, leaving pretty red marks along his way down. He could hear her biting her lips, avoiding her mouth to emanate any kind of sound. – Don't hold back, babe...- he said against her skin, making her shiver because of the vibrations of his voice.

She moved him away, out of breath, finding a confused expression on his face and she smiled, taking his hand and leading him to her room.

It took no time for both to be taking their mouths, kissing like they their lives depended on it. Matty grabbed the hem of her blouse and she lifted her arms to take it off, tossing the fabric somewhere in the room. He glanced at her, making Jade blush at the look he was giving her, finding the black lace bra incredibly hot for his own good. Matty kissed her neck again, pushing her to the edge of her bed and holding her back while his mouth worked down on the bay of her still covered breast.

Her head fell back to the way he was kissing and licking and making her entire body shake with unholy feelings she couldn't remember ever feeling. Jade remembered his velvet voice telling her not to hold back and so she was moaning without caring, feeling Matty's smile against her skin. Her hands worked on his shirt, pulling it up and throwing it away. Matty watched as her eyes glossed over his skin, fingers tracing his tattoos, producing a nerve wrecking twitch in his entire body; he watched as she bit her lips when she reached the "We Are Kings" tattoo, and he couldn't think of a moment he was more turned on than this.

As her hands went down, they worked on the buckle and loops of his belt, then undoing the button of his jeans and sliding the zipper down, his pants then tugged down. Watching Jade sitting in her bed and pulling at his hips, his breath hissed when her lips were leaving kisses along the tattoo she traced before, her fingers were pulling at the garter of his boxers and shit... He wasn't ready at all.

Something was off for her as well; she had no idea where the sudden confidence came from, at least the entire lust she was feeling. She had blurry the memory of the last time she did this to a man, it didn't feel new, but it felt entirely different in a way she liked so much she might do it till he's at the verge of passing out.

Her lips were wrapped around the head of his length and her hands going up and down in his shaft, tracing veins as he got harder in her hand, she would look up to find a sight she would never forget; Matty's parted lips mouthing curses and eyes shut, she was amazed. She licked the head just to tease and could hear him moaning silently, head falling back and his hands holding her head to go deeper, and she did without hesitation because it was Matty Healy and in the back of her head, she wanted him to write a song about her giving him a blowjob.

It hurts a little when he's pulling too tight at her hair, but she enjoyed it way too much as he guides her closer to him. - You look so good. – He mumbled a bit breathless, his stomach muscles contracting at every intake of breath. – With your mouth on me like that. – He whispered, watching down at her less red lips on him. It filled her stomach with something hot and twisted, tears springing in her eyes as she goes deeper and she had to breathe through her nose because her throat was being fucked.

When she pulled away, out of breath, she can't help the curve on her lips as the dazed expression on Matty's face confirmed a little she did great, he might as well considered writing her a song in gratitude. He helped her up, his mouth pressing hers with more force and eagerness; he leans on her, leaning her backwards onto the bed, until she falls. He kissed her neck, tongue lapping her skin, his hands are on her back and he works on her bra, unhooking it fast and tossing it away. He's amazed, delighted and he never felt something like that before, he felt like a teenager again after seeing her half naked and he can't help it. He takes her right breast on his mouth and he's sucking and biting, and the only thing he heard is her moans and the heart beats mixing, unable to separate her to his.

Her moans were like music and it crossed his head about recording her and use it for their next single or something, but then he thought about him being the only one to be able to hear her and he crossed the idea. – Matty...- he heard Jade, her body was shaking under his and he loved that.-...Please...- she said as Matty was pulling her jeans down. Noticing the wetness on her underwear, how ready she was for him and he hasn't even touched her properly. - Please what? – He asked as he went back to her abdomen, tracing a line of kisses down on her. He waited for an answer before pulling her panties down, but she only shivered and moaned.

She felt a cold air between her thighs but was soon replaced by the burning touch of Matty's fingers, she screamed a little, arching her back when Matty circled her fingers in her clit. Her head went crazy as he moved his fingers; slow then fast then sloppy then fast again, but she was moving her hips against him, wanting more, everything seemed like a rainbow and she wondered if she was high because the stars she was seeing were so real in the moment. Out of nowhere, she pulled Matty up to her and her lips crashed on his, she bit them, tongue fighting his and moans escaping her mouth. He was whispering in her ear how wet she was, how pretty she was, what he wanted to do with her, how he would do it, and it only made her closer to reach her peak when he inserted a finger in her entrance, moving fast with her hips. He watched as her breath became uneven and her walls tightened.

He pulled out and she opened her eyes in disbelief, face concerned and blue eyes glistening. - Why? - She mumbled and he grinned at her.

-Not yet, love. – he whispered her, aligning himself to her entrance before giving her anytime to react, he pulls in and he thinks he's high because he loved this too much. He listened as she whimpered and moaned and screamed when he thrust her, every time deeper and strong. He fell on her, one of his arms in one side of her and the other holding her hips, moving her along until she's got the rhythm.

-Matty... Oh my god, Matty! – She felt like her bones crashing, skin melting and the entire room burning in flames as he kept going onto her. Her hands were wild on his back, scratching him and biting his ear because she didn't know what else to do.

- You feel so fucking good, Jade. – He said on her mouth, nipping her chin and moving his hips faster. – So good. – He repeated. She cried out when he reached that sweet spot of hers and when he fingered right above where they connected, she started to lose it.

She's convulsing, but Matty whispered her in a sweet voice that she's alright. – It's good, babe. You're so good, so fucking good...

But their breath was catching and they seemed unable to find oxygen, eyes getting heavier, his fingers and thrust getting slower and sloppier; her grip on her is tights, her nails digging down his neck and Matty groans something wicked in her mouth and finally, she hits her peak, breathing harshly under him, he followed not far behind, pulling out and stroking himself before cumming in her abdomen, reaching the curve of her lips. He's surprised when he watched her licking and tasting his cum. He leans in again, lips pressed to her slightly open mouth, tongue lapping along her lips and she returned the gesture way too intense.

The music in the living room was still on and he found Jade half asleep humming along "This must be my dream", he grinned and fell beside her after tugging covers over them, his arms were around her waist when she turned to the side and whispered a slow "good night" to him with a little smile on her lips, and it's the last thing he saw before falling asleep.

[segadoraa]

Blinded Chapter 9

Summary:  After consulting with a friend, Ellana and the Inquisition test their theories and move forward with their plan.

Note:  Thanks so much for reading! I'm posting this chapter a bit earlier than my usual schedule because I'm going out of town for work and it might be about 3 weeks until I'm able to post more. I'm so sorry to keep you waiting! I'll update as frequently as I can, but I'll be traveling and doing a lot of work on the road over the next few weeks, so I might not be able to post as frequently.

Ellana had risen that morning before anyone else and had promptly bolted from the castle. It was Spring at Skyhold and, despite the great altitude, the ground around the fortress was beginning to thaw. She raced down a familiar path she had made toward a nearby creek. Glancing around, she removed a dagger and the light armor she wore and submerged herself in the icy water. The cold shocked her to her core, but helped numb some of her aches and worries. She was quick about it and scrubbed her skin roughly, knowing she would be missed if she stayed away too long. This, however, was a part of her that the Inquisition was not able to store away in a neat box. Although she frequently resisted, the Dalish girl in her still longed for open spaces, the feel of water flowing over her skin, and the rough ground beneath her bare feet. It was all she had known before the conclave and she clung to this part of herself as if it was all she had left.

Glancing upward at the rising sun, Ellana quickly adorned her armor and grasped the dagger she had brought with her. Her ears pricked at the signs of life stirring around her. She longed for her bow and to lose herself in a hunt again, but she could not properly wield it without the prosthetic arm she had lost. She considered her dagger for a moment and wondered if she could manage to take down something small, like a fennic or nug, but the growing light and pressing weight of the day convinced her to return quickly to Skyhold.

Everything was quiet when she arrived. There was still a light frost on the grounds and the morning’s hush bore over the walls. Despite the strange sleeping patterns she had adopted in the Inquisition, Ellana had always been an early riser; she reveled in the stillness and quiet before the day began. She supposed it was her training as a hunter in her Dalish clan that had her waking so early, but she appreciated the solitude and focus from the morning, regardless.

Walking aimlessly across the grounds, she came to the door of the Herald’s Rest. Sensing quiet movement within, she gently pushed open the door.

“Stones,” Varric greeted her warmly as she came through the door. His boots were on one of the tables and he leaned back on a wooden chair with a drink in his hand, despite the hour.

“Varric,” Ellana replied with a smile. With Varric, her smile was always easy and his warm, reassuring presence washed over her. “Isn’t it a little early for a drink?” she asked, although she grabbed a mug from the bar and settled down opposite him at the table.

“Yeah, well, big day, isn’t it?” He retracted his feet from the table and grabbed the bottle of amber liquid, pouring a healthy portion into her mug. “I’ve got a feeling we both might need some extra courage,” he said with a crooked smile.

She simply shrugged, and took a swig of the whiskey. It burned the back of her throat slightly and she held it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. This is good, she thought. This is real. She regarded Varric as she drank. He had always been so calm and reassuring, even when they faced things that were beyond his comprehension. She had sought him out first when she knew she was spiraling; he always had a way of understanding what she was going through and calming her, even if he had no idea how to help. They sat in silence for a while as the morning light grew stronger and the sounds of life crept slowly forward. The whiskey warmed her from the inside after her ice-cold plunge and she felt her emotion swell inside her.

“Varric,” she said softly, “I cannot put into words how much I appreciate your help with all this. I know it isn’t easy for you, but you’ve done more for me than you know. I’m sorry if—”

He raised a hand, cutting her off, but his eyes were warm and twinkling in the soft light.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said, teasingly. “I knew what I was getting myself into and I knew everyone would be pissed about Merrill. You know me, I wouldn’t have brought them if I thought there were any other options.”

“I know. Cassandra and the others might begrudge you the timing in which you’ve offered your help, but I do not. You protect your friends against what their assistance might cost. I cannot fault you for that. Neither can Cassandra, when it comes down to it. She’s a romantic, you know.”

“Ah yes,” Varric had a faraway look now, “the Seeker has always had a soft spot for age-old emotions. That’s why she isn’t as bothered about you and Chuckles. Star-crossed lovers. It has its appeal; you have to admit.”

Ellana rolled her eyes at him. A familiar sting arose in her chest at the mention of Solas, but it was dulled now by Varric’s presence and the warm effects of the whiskey.

“Do you think they’ll come around?” she asked quietly. Varric sat forward in his seat now and leaned heavily against the table.

“Honestly, I have no idea what they’ll do. I wish I did, but shit…” he ran a hand over his head and clenched his mouth. “If any of them have other ideas, I’m all ears. Until then, I can’t see what other options we have. If it comes down to it, I bet they’ll come around. Between this and the whole world dying, a little blood magic won’t seem so bad. They’ll need guidance, though, and you can’t be everywhere.”

“Blackwall—I should probably call him Thom, shouldn’t I? Anyway, Thom will support us, even if he has some hesitations. Leliana and Josephine will follow orders, if they must, as will Cullen, I think. Dorian and Bull seem apt to help, at least. As for the others, I’m not sure.” Her mind wandered to Morrigan, who had disappeared just as suddenly as Solas had when Corypheus was defeated, and Cole, who she supposed was making himself scarce, although there were still sometimes odd reports that came in, making her wonder if he was still around, helping in his own way. Sera and Vivienne, however, would need convincing.

“Well, it’s a start,” he said, draining the last of his whiskey. “Maybe today’s experiments will convince them. Or maybe it will all go to shit, but either way, we’ll have some answers.”

She nodded solemnly and reached forward, grasping his hand. Ellana was not one to frequently show affection, and Varric looked mildly surprised at her touch, but he squeezed her hand in return and smiled at her. He stood and retrieved their empty mugs, then retreated behind the bar to clean up. She stood and gave him a meaningful look, then stretched her limbs and strode toward the door.

“Oh, and Stones!” he called after her. “When you’re done with your Inquisitor stuff, you’re expected back here tonight for Wicked Grace. Don’t think you can get out of it,” he smiled mischievously. “Tell Curly, too. He still owes me from the last time.” Ellana smiled, wide.

“I’m sure he’s just dying to redeem himself. I’ll make sure he’s informed.”

With a final nod, she retreated from the Herald’s Rest and made her way toward the hall, unsure of what exactly awaited her, but feeling revitalized and focused.

We will have an answer, she thought. At last.

***

Merrill and Leliana had been waiting for her as Ellana strode through the doors of the main hall. Leliana nodded at her as she approached.

“Inquisitor.”

Ellana nodded slightly toward Leliana, then regarded Merrill.

“So, what exactly are we in for?” she asked. “Have you had enough time to prepare?”

“Oh, I could always use more time,” Merrill responded lightly, “but I believe I’m ready enough. Leliana, I assume you have your rune?”

Leliana nodded and retrieved the rune from one of her pouches. Ellana quickly glanced around—a small crowd had gathered, including Varric, who had followed her up, Dorian, Blackwall, and Cullen. Hawke stood far away, regarding everyone solemnly with his arms crossed. There may have been others in the crowd, but she focused her gaze back on Merrill.

“Okay, so…” Merrill began. She grasped her hands, then released them, and shifted her weight back and forth. “The enchantment requires both the runed stone and blood from the one who will wield it. The power of the rune and its reach will depend on the amount of blood drawn.”

Leliana strode forward toward Merrill and presented her rune as well as her bare forearm.

“I’m ready,” she said, without hesitation.

“Hold on a moment,” Ellana glanced around at the growing crowd around them. She found Josephine at the back of the crowd and met her eye. Josephine nodded slightly.

“Merrill, perhaps you could explain more about how the enchantment works and any risks involved? We need to be prepared for anything that might happen,” she said, gesturing around the hall.

Merrill nodded with a knowing smile. This was both a test and a demonstration for the people of Skyhold. They needed to prove there was nothing to fear.

“Of course, Inquisitor. Now, you may know more than I do about the origin of the rune, but as I understand it, they are ancient elven runes that were initially used as a means of punishment. They would block a person’s connection to the Fade and the source of their power. It was a way of making a mage essentially Tranquil, especially since they mostly used blood writing to activate the rune…” She trailed off, looking speculative and staring into the distance.

“Right,” Ellana cleared her throat, “so how will this help protect us now?” Merrill snapped her attention back with a slight blush and glanced quickly around at the surrounding crowd.

“Well, it is supposed to block one’s connection to the Fade, right? And we are anticipating a great surge of power, directly related to the Fade, that will tear down the Veil. The rune should present a barrier, however large we can muster, against this great surge of magic.” Her voice had a practiced ring to it now and she spoke loudly and clearly. She knew these words would carry throughout Skyhold and perhaps across Thedas.

“Anything else we should know?”

“Well…” Merrill picked at a thread on her sleeve. “Blood magic in itself weakens one’s connection to the Fade, but this kind of magic, considering the nature of the runes, could possibly weaken the Veil and even create a rift, if we are not careful.”

At this, Leliana quickly turned to look at the Inquisitor. She hid her emotions carefully, but Ellana already knew what concerned her. Subconsciously, her right hand found the stump of her left arm where it had been severed just above the elbow as the whispers that passed through the crowd did not fail to meet her ears. There were many who did not believe the story that the mark had been killing her and Fen’Harel removed her arm to save her life. In fact, many believed that Solas—the distant, arrogant, and condescending elven mage who did not bother to make any connections with the people of the Inquisition apart from the Inquisitor herself—had reclaimed what had apparently been his mark in an effort to wholly cripple and embarrass the Inquisitor and her forces.

Ellana took a deep breath.

“And, if a rift is created, we no longer have any means of closing it,” she replied in a low voice.

“Inquisitor!”

Dagna rushed forward, followed closely by Sera, clutching a large parcel closely to her chest. Sera smiled and lifted her chin as she approached.

“If I may, Inquisitor, could we have a moment of your time before you begin?” Dagna requested excitedly as she approached. Ellana quickly found Josephine’s eye again and though she looked quizzical, her determined jaw seemed to reassure Ellana.

“Of course,” she responded, gesturing toward the door to Josephine’s office. “Perhaps we can meet through here?” She met Cullen’s gaze and jerked her head, indicating that he should follow, then set off toward the office.

Once inside, Ellana leaned against Josephine’s desk and regarded Dagna, Sera, and Cullen as they each entered the room behind her. Sera, for once, seemed embarrassed and remained close to the door. Cullen was curious and followed Dagna, who stopped right in front of Ellana.

“Apologies for the interruption, ma’am, but you’re going to want to hear this,” Dagna said with a twinkle in her eye. “Dorian sent word to me about your arm after you’d returned and told me your prosthetic had been taken.”

“Bastard couldn’t be satisfied with taking your arm just once,” Sera interjected, rolling her eyes and striding toward the Inquisitor, enough to poke her in the ribs.

“He just had to go and do it all over again. You’d think he missed holding your hand or something. Your left hand.”

Ellana managed a smile through her clenched jaw and elbowed Sera playfully, though it might have been a bit too hard.

“I take it you have something for me, Dagna?”

“Well, yes, that’s just it!” she was working to contain her excitement now. “With a bit of help, I think I’ve managed to craft a new prosthetic for you. It’s a work in progress, but I think you’ll be satisfied with the effects.”

She knelt and unwrapped the parcel. Ellana suppressed a gasp—unlike her other prosthetic, which had been made of dark steel and was rather heavy and bulky, this one was crafted from a white metal and was more slender. Silverite, she thought. Stooping to pick it up, she was pleased to find it was rather light. It had been carved to bear runes that shimmered slightly in the dull light. Frowning, she noticed a few sharp, serrated spikes protruding from the elbow where it would connect to her arm.

“Ah, yes, well, this arm has slightly different abilities,” Dagna said when she noticed Ellana’s interest in the spiked end. “Of course, I can fashion something different if you’d prefer! I’ve been working on this one since the Exalted Council, though, and thought you might need it now, more than ever, considering what we’re up against.”

“Go on,” Ellana urged, still frowning.

“Well, it was based originally on something Dorian said to me, after the Council,” Dagna explained, retrieving the arm. “’Magic is drawn from the Fade, but it lives in the blood,’ he said. You see, this one is mostly hollow, which is why it’s so light.”

As if to demonstrate, she held the middle of the arm out on two of her fingers, balancing it perfectly.

“It’s meant to be a more permanent connection, you see, hence the spikes. They’ll tap into your muscles, nerve endings, and bloodstream to fill out the rest of it. It should feel relatively more normal, once we’ve attached it,” she stopped and grimaced slightly.

“What aren’t you telling me, Dagna?” Ellana asked.

“Well, the arm is runed to amplify any magic it senses within your bloodstream. With all due respect, Inquisitor, you’re no mage, but while you bore Fen’Harel’s mark, it spread past just the mark on your hand. It grew up your arm and I’m told it seemed to consume you for a few moments at the end…” she glanced nervously at the Inquisitor. “The mark might be gone, but I believe some magical traces might still remain in your bloodstream. ‘Magic lives in the blood,’ right? It would explain the spread of the mark and how it overcame you.”

“That… actually makes sense,” Ellana said softly, looking down at the arm. “Solas once said the mark needed time to adjust to me. He asked if it had affected or changed me in any way. I suppose this was his way of wondering how it had interfered with my physical form?”

She looked up and noticed everyone’s surprised expressions. She had not referred to him as “Solas” aloud since before the Exalted Council. She cleared her throat and corrected herself.

“Perhaps Fen’Harel’s mark went deeper than he anticipated. What do you anticipate this new prosthetic will accomplish?”

Dagna recovered quickly.

“Well, I’m not sure exactly. If my hunch is correct, it could restore your ability to control rifts. You’d have the same abilities you had when you bore the mark, although we might need to make a few alterations once we know what we’re dealing with. If not, you’ll still have a fully functional prosthetic arm that should feel as natural to you as your other arm. I’ve already taken your measurements, so you should be able to carry on as normal, and this one will be much more difficult to confiscate,” she said with a slight smirk.

Ellana took a moment to consider this. At first, her missing arm had cost her dearly. As an archer, she could no longer wield a bow. As the supposed Herald of Andraste, she no longer had the mark to heal the world. Yet, she had grown in her role as the Inquisitor. She had learned to fight on the sidelines and had become a stronger player of the Game than she ever thought possible. She knew her leadership behind the scenes was more important now than ever before: convincing figureheads across Thedas to partake in blood magic would be no easy feat. Still, the young Dalish girl ached to have a bow in her hands and a small part of her missed the unquestionable power she had once weilded over the Veil.

“Commander,” she said finally, “would you see if Josephine and Leliana are available to advise on the situation? I’d appreciate your input as well, upon your return.”

Cullen nodded and retreated to find the two. Dagna glanced around the office and Sera leaned against the desk next to Ellana.

“So, I may have passed on some information about you,” Sera said sheepishly. “But I thought it would help! All the big people, strutting around with so much to do. I’m still looking out for the rest of us, meaning you, Quiz. I know… I haven’t been…” Sera trailed off and picked at a hangnail on her thumb.

Ellana was touched. Sera showing any vulnerability was rare and they had been distant lately.

“I appreciate your regard, Sera,” she replied and grasped Sera’s hand. “You look out for me even when I don’t ask you for help, and it means more than you know.”

Sera gave Ellana’s hand a squeeze, then retreated behind Dagna, lightly brushing her shoulder, as Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana reentered the room. Sera and Dagna began whispering quietly as the advisors conferred.  

“So,” Josephine began as she gathered her clipboard, “Commander Cullen tells me you might yet be the Herald of Andraste?”

Ellana rolled her eyes.

“I still wouldn’t go quite that far, but it seems I might recover the power to manipulate the Veil, which means I could seal rifts. I wouldn’t move forward without your input.”

“And what risks would the Inquisitor face if she were to recover these powers? The mark almost killed her. Who is to say this new arm wouldn’t do the same?” Leliana leveled her questioning at Dagna.

“That’s fair.” Dagna replied evenly, “I’ve considered that myself. I believe, if the Inquisitor faces danger from the mark, its effects will be the same regardless of the arm I’ve made. If Fen’Harel’s magic still lies in her blood, the arm will not exacerbate it, only channel its power. The arm is meant to enhance what is already there, not tax the wearer.”

“You think the Inquisitor might still be in danger?” asked Josephine. “From what I’ve heard, Fen’Harel seemed certain that removing the anchor would save the Inquisitor’s life.”

Ellana snorted as she came to a sudden realization.

“My apologies,” she stated. “In removing the mark, Fen’Harel may have effectively saved my life, but when have we known him to act preemptively? He stabilized the mark after it flared up at the Conclave and along the way, after it acted up. He probably knew all along what it was doing to me; he even asked about it on a few occasions.”

She laughed bitterly, surprised she hadn’t thought of this before. Wrapped up in her own longing and foolish emotion, she had been slow, unfocused. Silently, she resolved to quash what remained of these emotions that clouded her judgement.

“Perhaps we were foolish in assuming that since he removed my arm, I am free of danger. He probably still anticipated this, which is why he wanted to keep me nearby when he tears down the Veil. I may face the same danger in the future, but I’ll meet my fate when it comes. What do you think of the arm?”

Her advisors frowned in unison, considering this new threat. All three of them started speaking at once.

“Well—”

“If you—”

“That may be, but—”

Ellana pulled a hand through her hair.

“Leliana?”

“I’ll instruct my agents to investigate what they can find in light of this discovery. We may be able to discover Fen’Harel’s remaining plans regarding the mark’s magic. In the meantime, if you’re sure the arm does not pose a greater threat, I have no objection to you acquiring it.”

“Very well. Josephine?”

“I believe Divine Victoria should be notified, both of our recent discoveries and of our plan to move forward with the runes. I’ll be as discreet as I can, considering the sensitive nature of the topic, but a journey to the Winter Palace to meet with her and Empress Celine might be beneficial in more ways than one. Regarding your arm, I agree with Leliana. There may yet be danger, but if you’re sure it will not be furthered by the prosthetic, I have no objections.”

“I see your point. You may arrange a meeting at the Winter Palace as soon as possible. Commander?”

Cullen hesitated when the Inquisitor regarded him. He frowned at Leliana and Josephine, then folded his hands in front of him and lowered his gaze.

“Inquisitor, I—” he faltered. He pulled a hand across his face, then rested it on the hilt of his sword, gazing at the floor.

“If there is magic that lingers from Fen’Harel’s mark, I cannot help but be cautious. Especially now that blood magic may be involved. I don’t believe we fully know what is at play or at stake here, and I cannot give my approval until we’re sure of all the consequences. Still, I’ll defer to your judgement, Inquisitor.”

He met Ellana’s eye for a moment, then they both looked away. In truth, she felt the same way he did, although she did not yet see any other path she could follow. She clenched her jaw as her resolve formed.

“I understand your hesitations, Commander. Dagna, please continue your research into the effects of the mark. If you need further resources, you need only ask. In the meantime, Leliana and Josephine, please move forward with what we’ve discussed. I will postpone our test with Merrill two days, but tomorrow evening, pending any further insight, I will plan on undergoing whatever procedure is necessary to install this new prosthetic. If any of you have any further hesitations before then, I suggest you meet with me promptly. Until then, we should adjourn.”

The tension in the room dissipated as the advisors left, one by one. Dagna nodded at Sera before retreating and Sera strode toward the Inquisitor.

“Don’t think, just because of all this, you’re excused from Wicked Grace tonight, Quiz. Cullen too. Varric’s got a thing going and you know how he is.” Sera skipped backwards out of the room.

“We’ll see you at the Herald’s Rest!” she called before closing the door.