#‘we meet at the gallows to do battle’ and just leave

[flashhwing]

hey uh. so Meredith and Orsino both had to like. take the ferry to the Gallows during the last straw to like. get in place before the real fighting started I guess. what. do you think that ride was like. did they take the same boat. did they take separate boats at the same time and just glare at each other on the way over. did they get to the docks and there was only one boat so they rock-paper-scissored over who got to go first

#like the scene starts in like lowtown or whatever and then they’re both like #‘we meet at the gallows to do battle’ and just leave #and I think they’re both there hh the time you get there #I’m #what kind of coordination dhsksjsh #dragon age #dragon age 2 #knight commander meredith #Orsino #this has been a post

[goth-surana]

Different Violence

Main Pairing: Anders/Male Hawke

Main Tags: hurt/comfort, whump, aftermath of torture

Chapter 1/2

Summary: Anders opened his eyes just a fraction, but enough to let Hawke know he was alive. Hawke breathed out a sigh of relief that was short lived because Anders was still beaten bloody. There was a gash across his forehead and his lip was split, there was a dark bruise forming on his cheek.

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

The apprentice slated for tranquility had gotten away, that was what mattered. That’s what Anders told himself as his face was pressed into the tunnel floor. 

His mana was gone, he had been smited so many times that even Justice was only simmering under his skin. 

The Templar on his back twisted his arm up, making him hiss in pain. Anders tried to avoid panicking, tried to think of a way out of this. What if they took him to the Gallows? What if they made him tranquil? 

Anders struggled harder, causing his captor to chuckle and twist his arm again. This time Anders avoided making any sound, but the sharp pain still stabbed through him. 

The Templar then felt a hand up the back of his head, twisting his gauntleted hand in his hair. The man yanked his head back and the smashed it into the ground, breaking a scream out of Anders this time.

Blood gushed from his forehead as he distantly heard another Templar chastise him.

“That’s the Champion’s man, idiot,” the other Templar said. “We can’t kill him, Knight Commander’s orders.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t have our fun,” came another voice. This man was amused, and his tone sent a chill down Anders’ spine. 

“Hold him up,” the man ordered the others. He spoke with authority, making Anders guess he had a higher rank. 

Anders was turned around so that two Templars were holding him sitting up, and the commanding man knelt down to leer at him. His eyes were an almost unnatural blue, and Anders tried to meet his gaze without fear.

“My my,” the man said, smiling. “You’re quite the defiant one. Your kind are always my favorites…”

The man reached forward and stroked a hand down Anders’ cheek. Anders tried to pull away unsuccessfully, amusing the man. 

“You would break beautifully, if I had the time with you…” the man mused, almost wistful. “Shame we don’t have that time. We do need to be returning you, after all. That doesn’t mean the two of us can’t have any fun, however.”

Before Anders could begin to worry even more, the man slapped a metal coated hand across his face. Anders recoiled but the other Templars held him steady. There was no escape. 

The man then grabbed onto Anders’  jaw and dug his fingers in painfully. He produced a vial of pink liquid that Anders immediately recognized as magebane. 

“Either drink it, or I cut it into you,” the man told him calmly. Anders chose the latter, refusing to just give in. He chose to struggle while the Templars held him down and pulled away enough of his coat to find a patch of skin and cut. Anders didn’t scream, refused to give them the fucking satisfaction until they actually began to pour the bane over the cut. Then when he did let out an involuntary yell, the of them took that opportunity to pour the rest down his throat anyway. It tasted vile and Anders spluttered as he choked.

The Templars just laughed. Anders could feel the meager amount of mana he had left being drained away, began to feel lightheaded. He had never been poisoned with this much magebane before, didn’t know if it would make him pass out or throw up or even if it would kill him. 

No, it wouldn’t kill him because they had just said they needed him alive. But they also said that they would have their “fun” first, so Anders supposed it would probably be better if he did pass out. If he could just close his eyes and wake up in Hawke’s estate, safe. 

Unfortunately for Anders, he did not fall unconscious. He tried to will himself away from the things they did to him, from the kicks and punches and the cuts, but no amount of thinking could make them stop hurting. He took solace in the fact that they did say they had to return him...he would see Hawke again, this pain would end. It was only pain, he had lived through pain before and he could live through it again. 

They did make him scream and cry, they made him yell in agony, but he knew it would be over soon. He just had to wait. It would be over soon...it would be over soon.

——————————-

Hawke was at his estate in the company of friends, but missing the company of his lover. Anders had some important mission to run for the underground, but he said as soon as it was over he would head back home. 

Hawke knew his friends often clashed with Anders, but there was a shared camaraderie there and at least Varric and Isabela were disappointed he wasn’t showing. Hawke also felt like if Anders would stop giving Merrill a hard time they could get along. It was a little hopeless for Fenris, but Hawke could keep hoping anyway.

Everyone was drinking, but Hawke had stayed sober. If he was hosting, he wanted to stay presentable for at least a little while. So he only took small sips and just enjoyed the atmosphere. 

Right now he was losing at Wicked Grace to Merrill of all people, who had also stayed sober and had evidently began taking lessons from Isabela. The woman was looking at Merrill with open pride, taking as much joy in Merrill’s victory as she was.

“I hope Blondie doesn’t miss all the fun,” said Varric, who was at least a little drunk. “Your guy needs to lighten up a bit, Hawke.”

“A lot’s been going on,” Hawke responded. “And he’s not all doom and gloom. He can have fun.”

“Oh I’m sure he can when he’s with you,” chimed in Isabela. “In fact, you’d better be making sure you’re pulling your weight there. The man deserves it!” Isabela was also a little drunk.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” laughed Hawke, giving her a sly look.

“She’s saying she hopes you’re good at having sex with him,” said Merrill very seriously. The whole room erupted in laughter. Even Fenris giggled a bit, which was just delightful. 

“What did I say that was funny?” Merrill asked with a raised eyebrow. “Is Hawke bad at sex?”

More laughter, which was then cut off abruptly by a loud knock at the door. 

Hawke got up, confused. Who in the Maker’s name would be bothering him at this hour? It couldn’t be Anders because he would have just used the cellar entrance. 

“Let Bodahn get it,” said Varric, waving a hand. “If they want your attention they should have come at a reasonable hour.”

Hawke considered this. He could hear the pouring rain outside and didn’t like the idea of leaving whoever it was out in that, but he also didn’t really want to talk to some noble begging him for help. 

A knock rang out again, this one louder. Hawke heard Bodahn’s footsteps, and figured he would let the dwarf answer it if he was already on the way. 

Distantly, he heard the creak of the door opening. Then Bodahn’s frightened voice rang through the halls. 

“Master Hawke!” 

Hawke was up at once, grabbing his sword on the way in case danger had arrived. Good thing he’d stayed sober, nothing good could have come knocking at this hour. 

Hawke’s friends all followed him with equal urgency, sensing the danger too.

At first Hawke was confused, seeing only Bodahn standing in an empty doorway. But then he saw the figure slumped on the steps in the pouring rain. 

Hawke approached with an almost cold efficiency, going into his warrior mindset he had to don in battle. That all slipped away in an instant when he saw who the figure was.

Hawke now crashed to his knees in a panic on the steps outside, not caring about the pouring rain as he pulled Anders into his lap.

The man’s head fell backwards revealing his bruised face to Hawke. 

“Love?” Hawke asked, the fear he felt pulsing through his veins evident in his voice, as he ran a thumb along Anders’ cheek. What the fuck had happened? Who had done this?

Anders opened his eyes just a fraction, but enough to let Hawke know he was alive. Hawke breathed out a sigh of relief that was short lived because Anders was still beaten bloody. There was a gash across his forehead and his lip was split, there was a dark bruise forming on his cheek.

Hawke also realized his coat wasn’t on properly, instead wrapped loosely around his shoulders. Hawke did not let himself think too hard about all the worst reasons there could be for his clothes to be in disarray. 

Under his coat his light tunic had bloody spots seeping through it, but no rips in the material. Again, the worst did not need to have happened, but the fact was that Anders had either redressed himself or been redressed by his attackers. Given the state he was in, probably the latter.

“Someone help me lift him,” Hawke said, talking through the cloud of panic in his head. He had to keep calm long enough to make sure Anders was stable, at least to get him out of the rain.

Aveline reached him first, helping lift Anders into Hawke’s arms. It must have jostled some injury because Anders let out a small whimper that pulled on Hawke’s heartstrings.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke whispered even though he suspected Anders wasn’t aware enough to hear him. “I’m sorry, love.” 

Hawke strode into the mansion, both of them soaking wet and tracking water all cross the entrance hall. Hawke didn’t want to go up the stairs before he knew what kind of injuries he could aggravate, so he headed straight to the living room and set Anders down on the sofa. Hawke gingerly brushed a wet strand of hair out of his face, trying to calm his beating heart. He had to stay calm, figure out what was wrong.

“Anders?” Hawke asked again, placing a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t want to do anything first if Anders could tell him what was injured. How to help him. 

Brown eyes blinked up at him as a drop of water ran down his bruised cheek.

“Love, what do I need to do?” Hawke asked. He would not panic. 

Anders only looked at him blearily, then smiled. Why was he smiling? There wasn’t anything to fucking smile about here.

“They did return me,” he breathed out. “Thought they might have been lying about that one…”

They? Hawke thought, who are “they.” He would have to ask that of Anders later, so he could find out who deserved retribution. Find out who did this to his lover.

“Anders,” Hawke asked again, patting his face. He needed to focus. “What do I do? How do I help you?” 

It took a moment for Anders to reply. Hawke waited with bated breath, listening to only the sound of everyone’s silence. 

“Dress the wounds,” Anders said, closing his eyes again. “I can’t heal them right now…”

Hawke didn’t have anything for wounds at his mansion. Why the fuck did he not, with the way he lived?

“Someone go to his clinic and get supplies!” Hawke said to the room behind him. He heard footsteps but didn’t stay looking long enough to know who had gone. That wasn’t important.

Anders shivered, then winced when it aggravated some unseen wound. 

“Wet clothes… won't be good if I freeze.”

Anders tried to sit up, but quickly recoiled in on himself and fell back. 

“Shit,” he muttered through ragged breaths. “Hawke, help me sit.”

“Right,” Hawke said, placing a hand under Anders’ back and another on his shoulder. He pushed him up and kept pushing even when Anders started shaking again. 

His eyes blinked slowly, like he was slipping away again. 

“No!” Hawke cried, “no, stay with me!”

Anders looked at him as he closed his eyes, slipping back into unconsciousness.

“Shit,” Hawke muttered as he propped Anders’ limp body against some pillows. 

“I’ll have to cut his clothes away. Someone go grab one of my house robes.”

Hawke worked quickly, grabbing a knife that Isabela handed him. First he unwrapped the coat from Anders, and his heart sank. Blood had seeped through the clothing in multiple more places, an entire night sky of violence inflicted. 

Hawke cut away the clothes quickly and what he found was somehow even worse. Across Anders’ chest were multiple intersecting cuts, done evenly and methodically. This wasn’t a battle, this has been slow torture. 

The same cuts were present on his arms, but not his legs. Although by the time he had Anders down to his smallclothes, he had found a deep cut on his thigh. This had been a gouge rather than a slice. 

Hawke was even more grateful that he hadn’t left the door unattended, because Anders was bleeding out fast and looked even paler than usual. 

In order to preserve his dignity Hawke draped a blanket over his hips as he removed his smallclothes. Dignity wasn’t the most important thing right now, Hawke knew that… but he still wanted that for Anders. His companions were still rushing about gathering supplies and setting them out, all of them pulling their knowledge of healing together to figure out what they would need. 

Anders blinked his eyes open, then shuddered.

Hawke brushed a strand of hair from his face, carefully avoiding the bruise. 

“H-have you cleaned the wounds?” Anders asked in what was practically a whisper. 

“Not yet,” Hawke said. 

“Okay… you’ll…want to do that now. The tunnels aren’t the most s-sanitary.”

Anders’ whole body was trembling as he spoke, either from the cold or the pain. 

“G-get this o-one first,” Anders managed to say, twitching his thigh weakly. 

“Right,” Hawke told him, feeling sick. How messed up was it that Anders had to direct him in the manner of healing himself? Shouldn’t Hawke know this, shouldn’t Anders be able to relax his mind as his body went through trauma? 

Hawke vowed to pay more attention to the knowledge Anders shared. This was never going to happen again, not under Hawke’s watch… but if it did, he would be prepared.

Someone handed Hawke a bowl of water and a clean rag, and Hawke set to work cleaning the blood from around the wound. Anders hissed in pain as his body tried to seize up, but held himself still and only twitched weakly.

Hawke ran a hand over his thigh as he cleaned, needing to know he was offering some kind of comfort. It was as much for him as it was for Anders. 

“Get alcohol next,” Anders croaked out, his hands tense fists at his side. His face was so pale he looked like a ghost, sweat beading on his forehead. 

Hawke dipped the rag in and brought it to the wound, causing Anders to muffle a cry and twitch again. Hawke never wanted to hear that sound again, the sound of Anders trying to hold back pain. 

“You can yell if you want,” Hawke whispered as he tried to work quickly. “No one will judge you for it.”

Anders shook his head, jaw tense. “N-not going to give them the f-fucking satisfaction…”

Again, this them was mentioned. Whoever they were, they would be dead by this time tomorrow if Hawke had his way.

Hawke finally finished disinfecting the wound and began to apply bandages. Anders was shaking, hands grasping the couch cushions in a white-knuckled grip.

Hawke placed a hand on Anders’ shoulder, rubbing small circles as he spoke. “Chest next, is that okay?”

Anders nodded, eyes now screwed shut. He took a long breath in, then out. 

The second Hawke touched the wet cloth to a wound Anders’ whole body shuddered violently. Hawke wasn’t sure if these wounds hurt worse or if the cumulative pain was just catching up to him.

“Shh, shh,” Hawke muttered, running a hand through his lover’s hair. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Hawke tried to steady Anders with a hand to his shoulder as he worked but the shaking and shuddering kept getting worse. 

“I’m sorry,” Hawke muttered every time Anders cried out, “I’m sorry.”

The alcohol was worse. Anders reflexively flinched away, once actually screaming. 

Hawke flinched away himself when this happened, his frayed nerves slowly unwinding. His own hands shook now, unable to handle the fact that as he was healing him he had to hurt Anders all over again. 

Varric brought over a cloth for Anders to bite down on, which he took quickly. Hawke’s hands kept shaking, he could tell this was now going slower than it needed to. 

Anders’ shaking body and his unsteady hands were making this bloody impossible. 

“S-someone hold me down,” Anders said after taking the cloth away.

Isabela stepped in, leaning over the couch arm to hold his shoulders. Hawke kept going, but the image this was producing to him was too much. Had Anders looked like this then, being held down and hurt? Had… had… 

Hawke felt his stomach turn violently, and just managed to avoid throwing up from sheer stress. 

“Shit,” he muttered, still turning away. “I can’t… I can’t do this.” Fuck, his head didn’t feel right either. 

“We’ll switch,” said Isabela in an authoritative voice she must have used while captain. Hawke nodded numbly, sliding onto the couch behind Anders and propping him against his chest. He could feel how cold Anders was, how fast his heart was beating. 

“Steady, Hawke,” said Isabela. Hawke did as he was told and held on tight, grasping Anders’ shoulders as he whispered stupid assurances in his ear. It would be over soon. 

It wasn’t over soon. It felt like forever as Isabela disinfected the wounds and Anders couldn’t even contain his cries of agony. 

“What did they do to you, sweet thing?” Isabela muttered as she worked. Anders was too out of it to respond, and Hawke just kept holding on tight and trying to keep it together. Hawke had never been good at staying calm when someone was hurt, much less someone for whom he cared so deeply.

Tears slid down Anders’ face as he sobbed into the rag, and all Hawke could do was keep holding him and keep talking. 

Finally Isabela was applying bandages, more efficiently than Hawke would have expected of her. Anders continued to cry, but softer now. Hawke held on tight, feeling his own eyes well up. 

Who had done this? Who did Hawke have to kill?

When the last bandage was tied off, Anders shuddered in Hawke’s arms and reached up to remove the cloth from his mouth.

“Th-thank you,” he said quietly. “I-I should be a-alright now…” 

He didn’t look bloody alright. 

“Shh, don’t talk, just rest,” Hawke said. 

Anders normally would have came back with some smart remark about nothing ever being able to shut him up, but now he just fell silent. This wasn’t a good sign.

He was still shivering, still cold to the touch and pale. 

“I’m going to take you upstairs, okay?” Hawke asked. Anders nodded.

Hawke bundled Anders in the blanket to preserve his modesty and gently lifted him. Even this much caused some amount of pain. 

Hawke’s companions were all silent as he ascended the stairs and made his way to the bedroom. It was warmer in here, and safe from prying eyes. Hawke set Anders on the bed, and sat down next to him. 

Anders was breathing unevenly as Hawke pulled the covers over him. 

“Thank you, love,” Anders said softly. He still looked so pale. 

Hawke’s own hands were shaking again, his chest felt almost too tight to breath. His head was flooded with stress like he had just finished a hard fought battle. 

Hawke looked over to Anders, about to ask if there was anything he could do for the pain, and saw that the man had fallen asleep. 

Hawke tried to let out a breath, but a sob came instead. Shit. 

Anders twitched at the noise, and Hawke left quickly with a hand over his face. He shut the door, walked a few paces down the hallway, and sank to his knees and cried. 

He released all the pent up stress, all the anger and horror and hurt. He wasn’t even the one who had been brutalized, but it felt like his heart was held in a vice grip by whoever had done this to Anders. 

Hawke didn’t notice Fenris approach, but looking up for a moment he saw the man standing silently. How long had he been there, watching Hawke cry? 

Hawke took a deep breath, tried to compose himself. He nodded in Fenris’s direction, prompting him to speak. Hawke didn’t trust his own voice right now. 

“I am sorry for intruding,” Fenris began. “I know Isabela noticed something strange about the mage’s wounds. They hurt more than they should.”

Hawke couldn’t recall Isabela saying anything like that, but this whole ordeal was a horrible blur. 

“It occurred to me that this may be a practice from Tevinter, wherein one pours magebane in the wounds of their enemies. If you are a mage, I am told it increases the pain.”

Another fucking thing done to Anders. As if cutting him wasn’t enough. 

“Wh-“ Hawke started, his voice breaking. He took a moment to get it together. “What can I do? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Apply elfroot to the wounds, after they are somewhat healed. Hopefully the poison will wear off soon and the mage can heal himself the rest of the way.”

Fenris looked like he had something else to say. There was an odd vulnerability about his expression, he looked almost shaken. 

“I…” he said. “I know I do not get on with the mage… with Anders. But do let him know I hope he recovers well. I take no pleasure in my allies suffering torture, especially not with Tevinter techniques.”

Right. That must have been hard for Fenris to watch too. He had his own experience with torture and abuse. 

“Are the others still here?” Hawke asked, feeling more drained than he had all year. 

“Yes. They are waiting to see if you need anything else.”

“Tell them thank you, but… but we should be okay now. I have all the supplies I need, and the worst is behind us.”

A darker thought crossed Hawke’s mind. 

“But soon I will need help. When Anders has recovered enough to tell me who did this.”

Fenris seemed to catch his meaning, and nodded grimly. “You will always have my support, Hawke.”

#anders/male hawke #anders/hawke #handers #m!handers

[kirkshouseplant]

Something a bit awful that I have been thinking of forever. And now will use on others.

Servant of Evil but its with Edelgard and Hubert(yeah they're not twins but just role with it please.) (Also I do love Edelgard, this isn't meant to paint her as cruel as Rin is in the story)

"For reasons we were too young to understand, we were torn apart I I could no longer hold your hand"

They were somewhat separated when they were young. Edelgard being swept sway while Hubert did his best to try and follow her before being captured and taken back to house Vestra.

"Let hellfire consume me if that's what must be done"

There isn't anything that he wouldn't do for Edelgard. Even if it put his own life at risk.

"While running errands in the country to the east, I met a fair maiden with hair of deep green." "Something moved in my chest one might call it love"

Is Ferdinand, in the run that he has decided to leave the Black Eagles and follow Byleth on the other side of the war. Hubert had been enamored with the redhead during their time spent together.

"But we all know that all good things must come to an end." "It is my queens orders the girl must repent" "I will grant your wishes if thats what I live for, but tell me my sun, what causes these rains to pour?"

Ferdinand no longer follows Edelgard and therefore a threat. It pains him deeply that he must cut down the man that he once felt so deeply for. He does his best to make it as painless as possible, but after the battle he remains silent for a long time.

"It appears soon that this country will meet its fate" "torn apart by its people, crumbled under their hate" "the masses claim that justice will be brought upon us this day." "But I won't see it through; I won't let them get their way."

Soon, as if Ferdinand's death was an omen. The tides of the war take a change for the worst. And the fight for the new found empire is starting to crumble, Edelgard's life is now at stake. And more and more of the outer empires that still stand are starting to question and denounce her plans.

“Listen now, my dear, give your clothing to me." "You and I will switch, and away you must flee." "You will be okay, we are twins, don’t you see?" "They won’t know, now dear, don’t look back and just leave.”

As a last resort to protect the queen of the new empire, and his best friend, Hubert makes a bold announcement. The whole plot to overthrow the Church was his plan and he had been dragging Edelgard along against her will the entire time. Edelgard desests at first, insisting that if they keep fighting, they'll be alright.

But Hubert has already made his decision. Plus, the people had reason to believe him, a tall and skeletal looking figure being up to all these atrocious crimes was more believable than the soft and innocent figure of the armies leader.

Despite all of her protests Edelgard is soon sent off on a horse towards a backway out of the country.

"I am only the double; the true queen runs free. Us, a pair of broken twins, damned by cruel destiny." "If the devil’s your lord,as the masses curse your name. "Then, I’m a demon too, for our blood's one and the same."

On the day of judgment that was meant for Edelgard Hubert isnt afraid. He is brought solace by the fact that he will be the one condemned in the place of Edelgard. He still 100% believes in her plans and hopes that one day she will get the outcome that she desired.

"I am your loyal servant, and you’re my precious queen." "Us, a pair of pitied twins,burdened by our destiny." "Let hellfire consume me, if that’s what must be done,I have gladly played my part,so that you may shine, my sun"

Hubert now stands solemnly at the gallows as he awaits his execution. He looks down with tired eyes, seeing if there was at least one soul without anger filled eyes in the crowd. And to his surprise standing in the back, face mostly concealed by her cloak, he sees the mournful eyes of his queen. Who has postponed her leave to see her faithful friend on his last day alive. Hubert looks at her directly, and for the first time in a long time, he smiles.

If the day comes that we are reborn once again" "It’d be nice play with you; So I’ll wait for you ‘til then"

Finally there is a loud crack, and it all fades to black.

#fire emblem three houses #edelgard von fresberg #hubert von vestra #Jesus christ i'm sorry #Vocaloid #servant of evil #ferdinand von aegir #ferdibert #long post

[spell-cleaver]

DAY 17: WHUMPTOBER: I Didn’t See That Coming - Dirty Secret @whumptober2020​

The Pirate Son AU Masterpost. This is an immediate sequel to the previous ficlet (The Song).

Luke was still sitting in a small puddle on the floor of his room when Vader returned, staring into space. Vader just sighed, knelt down next to him, took the towel and wrapped it around Luke’s shoulder, starting to rub at his hair.

Luke looked up at him. Now dressed in a complete departure from his usual black ensemble, some ragged brown trousers, a beige shirt and a scrappy dark jacket, he looked totally different from the monster who’d hunted him for so long. That, and—

“Your…” Luke swallowed. “Your mask.” He wasn’t wearing it at all.

His father smiled at him—it was a quick, bitter smile, more a flash of the teeth, as though he hadn’t bothered with letting anyone see him smile in a long, long time. “It was getting rusty, and cold. I took it off for now.”

“Oh.” Luke was still staring.

Vader looked… He’d been right, Luke thought, all those years ago when he’d first met his father and worried that they looked alike. They did look similar, from the colour of their hair to the clefts in their chins to the shapes of their eyes. Vader’s were a vicious yellow though, and Luke found it uncomfortable to make contact with them for too long.

His father was deathly pale, too, with his skin clinging close to his skull and faint blue tinges at his temple. His hair was cut severely short, shorn close to his head, only adding to the harsh effect, enhancing the blue, and Luke couldn’t help but compare it mentally to his own hair, getting long enough that Leia had starting braiding it in the few days before his capture. He wondered what his father would’ve thought if he’d shown up with that. He wondered if he could try and braid his own hair, now that it wasn’t like he had much else to do…

He wondered why he kept distracting himself.

“What…” His voice was hoarse, his back ramrod straight—he wanted to lean into Vader, but he couldn’t—as he whispered, “What happened, then…?”

Vader paused in drying Luke’s hair and laid the towel around his shoulders again. “When Palpatine inherited the crown of Coruscant and started expanding his Empire with the promise of eradicating piracy from the seas, I joined him wholeheartedly. I hated pirates—they carried the slave shipment that my mother died in—and he promised he knew a way to make sure they never stained the seas again. My wife, Padmé, the light of my life… She was pregnant. I had a family to protect—scouring pirates from the face of the seven seas was certainly a way I was going to achieve that. So I joined him, as one of the most powerful sorcerers to sail the seas, and when I confided in him that I was worried about one day dying in battle and leaving my family alone, the way my father did to me… He told me there was a way to stop myself and others, from dying.”

Luke swallowed, and tried very hard not to think of the way that bullet three years ago had punched right through Vader’s chest, yet still he’d continued on. “That way was to become undead?”

“It was to strip you of your humanity, in the long run,” Vader said, his voice flat. “Taking your mortality is a vital part of that. I cannot eat—not that I need to—and nor can I die. Padmé was horrified by what I’d done to myself—and…”

Vader hesitated. He stood up, to open a drawer and pull out a change of clothes for Luke, so his back was turned to him when he said, “Horrified by the implication that this sort of half-life was what I’d been planning to give my wife and child, as well.”

Luke sucked in a breath.

He felt like he’d been punched.

“You…” He took several heaving breaths. “You— you want me to live like this!?”

“No,” Vader said. “I had not asked Palpatine for the details of the curse, and nor did he offer them. And it is a curse—one that was passed onto all my men, once he gave me a ship with which to serve him. I am bound to him so long as I am in this form, he can sense me and track me wherever I go, he can control every aspect of my life, and I will serve him.”

Luke gaped. “And you agreed to that?”

“No. I did not know what he was offering me—Padmé was right to object to foisting this hellish existence on our child as well, but…” He straightened up again, a nightshirt in hand, and half-turned back to Luke. His eyes were closed.

“She left,” he whispered. “She left me, when she was still pregnant. I searched for her for months.”

“I thought you said you killed her.”

“I searched for her for months,” Vader reiterated, slightly more harshly—then calmer, again, when Luke flinched. “I did not find her until I boarded and inspected a small fisherman’s craft, which she had paid for passage to Alderaan on, with our baby. She’d… she’d set up a life in the hills of Naboo, as far from the sea as she could be, in the months she was away, she’d said, but then… But then you had got sick,” his throat was tight, “with some illness, something magic-related that she couldn’t understand… Sorcerer children get it, frequently. She was travelling to Alderaan, where she would find Kenobi, an old friend who’d turned her against me when I was first cursed, who’d convinced her to leave me in the first place—”

“I know who Ben is,” Luke said shortly.

Vader took a breath. “Yes.” He turned around fully to sit cross-legged opposite Luke, and passed him the nightshirt. Luke put it on with scepticism, but it was dry and warm; he felt slightly better. “She had been travelling to him, to get advice, leaving her home in Naboo under the care of her sister.

“I told her that I could help you. I offered all my services, all my training—magic-related illnesses are tricky, but they are rarely fatal, and I could have found something—so long as you both came back to me. I wanted you back. But she refused and… we fought…”

Luke clenched his fists in the towel and didn’t meet his father’s eyes—suddenly, suddenly he had an idea— “Tell me you didn’t… No…”

“Pirates attacked.”

Luke jerked his head up. Vader continued, “Pirates attacked the ship we were on—bold of them to, but the Executor was separated from their little schooner by the fisherman’s ship, and they couldn’t easily fire on it without fearing to hit me… They boarded the schooner. I ran out to fight them off. But it was only me and a few of my men… You were in a crib on the other end of the ship, watched over by the fisherman, and…”

Luke bowed his head. He… could see where this was going.

“I tried to fight them. But they knew you were my son—they threatened you, they took you, and in the heat of the battle, I— I pulled out my pistol and I shot—”

Vader let out a breath.

“She was in the way,” he said. “I should have been more careful. I should never have argued with her—not to the extent that she made sure you were separated from us, away from our spat. I shouldn’t have ever driven her away.

“The bullet caught her in the chest. She died in minutes. And by the time we were able to hunt down the pirates… We caught up to them days later, but they said they had thrown you overboard and laughed as you drowned.”

Luke… didn’t know how to react to that.

That was awful.

“I… I knew that Ben rescued me from pirates,” he said shakily. “That he saved me as a baby. And he told me that you were my father, several years ago, and that my mother had made it clear to him while pregnant that if anything were to happen to her, she wanted him to look after her child rather than let me go back to you.”

Vader clenched his fists at that, stiffly, but said nothing.

“I made,” he said, “a grave error. And I have lived with it, and my curse, ever since.”

Vader looked away violently, for a second, voice choked. “They took you, son. I was haunted by dreams of a little ghost boy wandering the seas for years. I— I watched that ship retreat and knew that I had lost everything, and when I learnt your name—”

“When you learnt my name,” Luke said, “you decided that anything was justified, in order to get me back?”

Vader let out a breath. “Yes.”

“Killing my friends. Hunting me. Nearly sending me to the gallows—”

“I cannot disobey my master—he ordered that you join us, or be hanged, and I had to tread very, very carefully—”

“You sent me to my death!”

Vader said, “Yes. I did. And I am going to make sure that that is something that will never happen, ever again. I am going to break this curse.”

“How!?” Luke gave him a sceptical look. “It’s a blood oath, isn’t it? It has those hallmarks. Only Palpatine can break it, unless...”

“It is not quite a blood oath, no. It was his adaptation of an old myth—about pirates who stole the wrong person’s gold. Once you took a single coin from that chest, you were cursed for life, until it was broken. He adapted it to swords—there was an old creed of sorcerers, the Sith, who forged a thousand sabres and hid them in a cave on the island of Mustafar. The perfect killing weapons, imbued with the sort of magic that sees its wielder become the ruler of the seas, but once you fasten your hands around the hilt, the curse sets in. You cannot die—but neither can you truly live.”

Vader met Luke’s eyes again, for the first time, and somehow the yellow even had a tinge of red to it, now. “He married it with a blood oath, to make it especially binding. I am his immortal servant, forever.”

“And how do you break it?”

Vader was suddenly very interested in the hem of his shirt. “It is a steep and difficult price,” he said. “Now rest. You need it—your back—”

His back had been in agony the whole time, yeah, but that wasn’t what was important here. “What is the price?”

“We will find a way,” Vader promised, and then he left the room.

Luke listened carefully, but there was no tell-tale click of a lock. He wasn’t locked in, this time.

How did his father plan to break the curse?

Blood oaths… blood oaths often required, well, blood to be broken. The death of the person bound, or the person binding. Or…

Or of someone who shared their blood.

Luke swallowed.

His father had killed his mother.

But he wouldn’t do that, would he?

Luke didn’t know. He didn’t know the man at all. Everything… everything he told him could be a lie. Everything he did could be a lie.

Had he saved him from the sirens just so he could sacrifice Luke himself, later?

Luke didn’t want to die. He especially didn’t want to die like that.

He didn’t sleep very well that night at all.

#the pirate son #thepirateson #luke skywalker #darth vader #for darkness shows the stars #my writing #random words on a page #flash fiction #flash fiction: star wars #whumptober2020 #whumptober

[braincoins]

“But Socks!” you, as the convenient strawperson, exclaim, “as much as I’d love to read your Dragon Age stuff, I’ve never played Origins and/or Awakening! I don’t really know anything about Grey Wardens or the events of those games!”

Well all you had to do was ask, Convenient Strawperson-chan! ^_^ I know Grey Wardens play some small part in DA:I, which seems to be the game most people have played, but I’ll just start from the beginning. I’ll also be including personal headcanons that come up in Dragon Age: Schism, though I will mark them as such.

Under a cut for the sake of people’s dashes. Consider this a first post in a series. (I’ll answer questions that non-strawpeople want to ask, too!)

So, really now, what is a Grey Warden? Well, that depends on who you ask. To most people outside the order, the Grey Wardens are a glorious order of noble heroes! And why is that? Well, they’re immune to the darkspawn taint (which usually kills people) and so they can safely slay darkspawn! They’re also the only ones who can stop Blights!! ...though this last bit of information is often forgotten, given that Blights happen once every few centuries. 

If you ask me, the Grey Wardens are the biggest dick move in Thedas, which is actually part of why I love them. Here’s all the downsides to joining this “glorious order”: 

First of all, the Right of Conscription. Ferelden has it; not sure if other nations in Thedas do? Anyway, it means that Grey Wardens can recruit anyone at any time. In practice, they have to be careful how they wield this tool (especially in Ferelden), but the RoC has been used to save people from hangings or other deadly fates... on the condition that they become a Warden Recruit. So... didn’t want to be Warden Recruit? TOO BAD, YOU ARE NOW. And no, you don’t get a say in the RoC. 

Second of all, there’s the Joining. It turns out that, in order to become a Grey Warden, you have to drink darkspawn blood. And a bunch of other stuff in there, but really now, DRINKING DARKSPAWN BLOOD. You might recognize this as a stupidly dangerous thing to do, given that darkspawn blood KILLS THINGS. But your options are drink it or die, because the Grey Wardens present at the Joining will kill you if you try to back out after learning about this. If you drink from the Joining chalice, you also might die, but your name will be remembered as a Grey Warden at least? Even though you’re dead. And hey, if you live, you... become “immune” to the darkspawn taint, which is to say you’re already fucking tainted so it’s not like it can get worse. Want to know why the Grey Wardens don’t tell people they’re gonna make them drink darkspawn blood? Well, if they did that, people wouldn’t want to join, and we need Grey Wardens. 

Supposing you survive the Joining, there’s the shortened lifespan (10-30 years depending on your sources; my headcanon is just straight up 10-ish years) and the nightmares (that maybe you can learn to tune out). Again, they don’t tell you this until afterwards. Why? Because then people might not want to become Grey Wardens... yadda yadda.

Oh, and forget about having kids! It’s very difficult if not impossible to have children as a Grey Warden! 

At some point, even if you were able to tune the nightmares out, they’ll come back and there’ll be nothing you can do about it. That’s the first sign of The Calling. Because it turns out that the Joining is really just turning you into a ghoul, except very, very slowly. You’re getting close to Ghoul-dom now. Most Grey Wardens choose to die in battle against the darkspawn rather than waiting to be turned. It’s tradition. 

And if there’s a Blight going on? Oh, well, it turns out that the only way to kill an Archdemon is to sacrifice a Grey Warden. Why didn’t they tell you? DO YOU EVEN HAVE TO ASK NOW?!

The motto of the Grey Wardens is “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.” 

So what I’m saying is that Grey Wardens are SUPER TRAGIC BADASSES. They also wind up pretty cut off from their former lives, so the Wardens become their family. So, basically, SUPER TRAGIC BADASS FOUND FAMILY. I really don’t see how I was not supposed to love them immediately. 

They still have this reputation of “glory” and all that, but so many of their recruits were thieves or ne’er-do-wells saved from the gallows by the RoC. If you look at just the Wardens we have at the end of Awakening (and this is my list, i.e., the Wardens we have in Dragon Age: Schism):

The Warden (aka the Player Character): the Hero of Ferelden, but may have come from questionable backgrounds, depending on the origin you picked. Duncan might even have had to RoC you. If nothing else, much of Ferelden believed Loghain’s lies that the Wardens were traitors and murderers of beloved King Cailan, and that’s a hard thing to come out from under. In the case of Kivral, she’s a Dalish elf, and elves are... not exactly much beloved, the Dalish even less so, as they’re often painted as “savages.” 

Alistair: King Cailan’s half-brother, thanks to their father, King Maric, getting a little something in on the side (”You’re not just a bastard, you’re a royal bastard?”). Kivral didn’t put him on the throne, but you can if you want in your game. In any case, despite being the most experienced Warden in the group (he Joined six months before the PC), he prefers to follow and let the PC lead. Also in love with Kivral (again: my choice; you can romance someone else in your game), who’s head over heels for him. His mere existence is a threat to the throne. 

Nathaniel Howe: Son of Arl Rendon Howe, who backed Loghain and was, in pretty much all ways, a motherfucking asshole. Nate shows up trying to steal shit from the keep Queen Anora granted the Wardens, even though he insists he wasn’t stealing because it’s his stuff. The seneschal at the time wants to hang him. Kivral decided he’d undergo the Joining instead. Along the way, Nate learns about his father’s actions, comes to accept that, yes, his father was a sonuvabitch, and even pays special attention to non-noble/non-human companions, learning about the privilege he’s had most of his life.

Anders: When you first meet Anders, he’s surrounded by dead Templars and dead darkspawn. He swears forwards and backwards that the darkspawn killed the Templars and then he killed the darkspawn. REALLY. Even though he had run away from the Circle and was being hauled back there by those same Templars. In fact, a Templar shows up and wants to drag him off, but you can call RoC and recruit him instead. And also give him a kitten. 

Velanna: Dalish mage exiled from her clan, even though she was the Keeper’s first - i.e., in line to be the next Keeper. She’s trying to find her sister, and that’s the only reason she signs on with you. HATES HUMANS. HAAAAAAAATES HUMANS. SO FUCKING MUCH. HATES THEM. Not exactly a “people person.” Like, at all.

Sigrun: Casteless dwarf who joined THE LEGION OF THE DEAD. In other words, a fucking badass already. But she’s also this adorable ray of sunshine? Like... her life sucked so she made the choice to consider herself already dead and then you can get her to join the Wardens who are basically Dead People Walking, just on the surface. 

Oghren: One of your companions from Origins. A drunken, lecherous pervert of a dwarf, but he also unlocks the Berserker specialization for warriors in DA:O. He basically just shows up near the beginning of Awakening and is like, “Hey, I had fun killing shit with you and I wanna do more of it.”

Justice: Not in Schism, but mentioned in the notes: Justice is literally the Spirit of Justice who has taken over the corpse of a Grey Warden named Kristoff. In regular Dragon Age canon, Justice eventually leaves Kristoff’s corpse and hitches a ride with Anders, whose anger at the Chantry and the general treatment of mages turns him into VENGEANCE. In Schism, Justice departs back to the spirit world.

But I give you this list for a reason: thieves, exiles, casteless, apostates. These are the Great and Glorious Grey Wardens we’re dealing with here. Even Duncan, Maker watch over him, was a rogue and a thief before he became a Grey Warden and eventually rose to Warden-Commander of Ferelden. 

In the time period of Dragon Age: Schism, the people of Ferelden are still recovering from the Blight, from the death of their king, from Loghain’s claims of Grey Warden treachery, etc. Many generations before, there was a Grey Warden rebellion against the then-king, Arland, for his tyrannical ways. The Wardens were slaughtered - either by the king’s troops or by the demons that the Warden mage Avernus summoned in desperation - and the Warden Order was cast out of Ferelden until King Maric assumed the throne and allowed them back in. He even reinstated their Right of Conscription (though, again, you can’t just RoC anyone and everyone all the time; that’s a good way to get it - and possibly the Order again - revoked real quick).

So the Wardens are on shaky ground in Ferelden, where our story is set and centered (just as in Origins/Awakening). There aren’t many of them (see list above because - again, aside from Justice - that’s literally all of them in the entire country) and people are still sort of side-eyeing them. They have Queen Anora’s support, but even that’s shaky, especially while Alistair - who could have taken the throne in her place - is still alive and kicking. The leader of the Wardens of Ferelden may also be the Hero of Ferelden, but, in the case of Schism-verse, is also a “knife-ear” (as the slur goes), and not Andrastian (she’s not Fantasy Christian, basically).  

#Dragon Age #Grey Wardens #Dragon Age: Schism #this is the setup for those who didn't know

[ashleyswrittenwords]

How to be a Queen [Part 24]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

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Part 1

How To Be A Queen

Hyrule flooded the day Nathaniel Nohansen III died.

It had rained for three days. Castle Town had closed its shops and barely no one walked the streets. The storms were so harsh that it was hardly a premonition when they told me he was deteriorating quickly. I found him in his bed as he had been for months. Soft cries of my father filled the silence as he knelt at the bedside and grasped a limp hand in his own. Guilt twisted deep in my stomach when tears didn’t come.

“I’m so sorry, Nate,” Father sobbed. The words hardly intelligible. “I’m sorry.”

For months I had mourned for this moment. When he stopped responding to questions almost two weeks ago, my heart knew that this journey would have a finite end. In the very least, my father had some time to step out from his veil of ignorance before now.

Gods. No matter how much I tried to will myself to cry, I couldn’t.

I hadn’t thought about death so much in my life. When before it was a quiet promise of my youthful failures, now it was staring me down at every corner. These coming days, I thought of it as a fear that had become a flirtatious caller. War walked hand-in-hand with death. They were synonymous actions I had come to expect; violence paired with the spilling of blood.

Presently, it came to me as an eerily familiar vessel of a man I adored, sleeping forever. It was as if a trickster had carefully sculpted a copy of my uncle from wax and stole the real one away. There was no grave injury or pooling blood, just the deep feeling that something was horribly wrong. The blood in my veins ran cold and suddenly I could hardly bear to so much as glance at it – that wasn’t my uncle. Never had been after his eyes no longer smiled and his casual flirting with his nurse ceased.

Numbly, I pulled my hand from Father’s shoulder. His cries subdued to soft sniffling pleas for his older brother to wake up. I softly pried him away, but he didn’t give much resistance in the first place. As we walked away, I barely heard Father’s voice.

“I love you. So much.”

The body wouldn’t speak back because its wrinkles were far too sunken and its hands far too still. The silence behind us as we walked towards the door was deafening.

“I love you too,” I said, but his words weren’t for me.

----------

“Your Majesty,” a servant said, breaking me from a far-off stare. “The coroner mentioned that the ground was too soft to bury General Nohansen this week.”

Cold hands. Cold eyes.

Impa cut through, stepping between my desk and the man with a series of hushed mentions that made the servant satisfied enough to leave. Lightning struck in the distance and lit up the study through the uncovered window. Soberly, she turned to me with a white swinging braid.

“Allow me to handle the funeral.”

I went to shake my head. “I feel like I should do it myself.”

Her eyes pried into me, making me meet them no matter how badly I didn’t want to. Impa stood with square shoulders, appearing so tall even when she barely reached my shoulder. Then, she softened with folded hands before her. I knew what she was insinuating: I sounded like my father.

A chill slithered up my spine. It caused me to fold and fear engaged me.

“What else am I to do?” I pleaded. The careful guard I had unknowingly constructed was being chipped away by intrusive thoughts. For the remaining years of my life, there will never be a grin as toothy as his. My arms will never be swept up in such a warm embrace for as long as my heart is still beating. No laugh was as baritone as his once was; capable of escaping even the thickest walls.

Nothing, nothing, nothing could compete with the man who died without meaning.

Suddenly, my cheeks were wet and my bottom lip trembled unrelentingly. I stared up at the rafters, hoping the sniffling would subside as I cursed aloud, “I can’t even give him solid ground to rest under.”

“Listen to me,” Impa whispered, pulling me into her bosom. “Listen to me, child. He is with the goddesses.”

She repeated it like a mantra.

“I hate this,” I withered and folded into her arms. “I hate feeling so weak.”

The tears were bitter now, stinging me with their presence and making my throat burn with abandon. I was the Queen.

Legally, I thought to myself, I had all claim to everything around me. I knew that my predecessors had wielded their power to dominate entire kingdoms from the peaks of the northern mountains to the shores of the south. They had brought about bloodshed and dominion to people for reasons as little as wanting to feel the warmth of their burning villages. Only two generations before me had sent their dissenting opposition to the gallows.

So, why was it that I felt so powerless?

“Do you know why the goddess Hylia descended?” Impa hushed. “Why did She leave the comfort of the heavens?”

I tamed myself to calm, though my voice was still odd and gravelly. “Because she loved a man.”

A maternal hand patted my head and she spoke through a smile.

“No,” she started. “No, because She loved the people created by Her hand. When She heard of the dangers coming from the underworld and how a king born of shadows was laying claim to land Hylia’s sisters had left Her, She had a choice.”

Impa sat back on the floor, taking my hand in hers like how she did when she recalled to me old myths before bedtime. I swallowed and waited for her to continue.

“Hylia could stay in paradise and allow the world to be buried,” she said, framing the choices as if she didn’t know how it would end. “Or She could descend and give Her people a fighting chance – no matter how slim it was. What do you think She chose, Zelda?”

“She chose to fight.”

“Very good.”

She procured a handkerchief from her breast pocket and allowed me to dry my cheeks.

“So,” Impa drew me in again after a couple minutes. “As we know, the goddess spent years on the Surface fighting off the darkness. She rallied Her people to find hope in the darkness and for that, they revered her only more so. For years, some say decades, Hylia lived among mortals and learned their ways. In Her time, She found that gods do not experience existence the same as humanity does.

“When the mortals experienced disappointment, their eyes grew watery. With fatigue, they grew sluggish and weary – sometimes lashing out at loved ones. When they accomplished success in battle, broad expressions crossed their faces,” she mirrored my small smile, “and oftentimes they laughed. They say Hylia enjoyed seeing that emotion the most.

“Eventually She found herself partaking in these feelings and paralleling those expressions She had once considered redundant. Her love for these mortals had only increased since She descended. However, their battles were hard-fought and even with Her light, they had only been able to maintain their ground. That is, until one day the spirit of Her holy sword told Her another was worthy enough to wield it. His name is lost to time, but the books say he was a valiant solider. In him, Hylia found a partner; the ability to feel another triviality that suddenly wasn’t so trivial.”

Impa’s smile was sad and she grasped my hands tightly in hers. “That was when She learned to love a mortal man. You and I know how this ends.”

“He dies,” I answer for her with a thick voice.

“And when he dies, She is taught that there is danger in love’s beauty. Born from his death was grief, an emotion so strong the goddess feels She will die. Hylia, the goddess of light and mother to all, realizes that the mortals around Her had been experiencing this for all Her years on the Surface. In that, She grieves more because how could She be so blind to this pain?”

I had let myself slack again the back of my chair and stared at the embroidery of my skirt. When she stopped talking, I thought aloud. “Was it worth it?”

“We are alive today because of it. I think Hylia knew that even though it would be centuries, She would see him again after life settled and after Demise was properly sealed. Similar to when we will see our loved ones when we pass on, however I do pray that we have many more years before that day,” she allowed a light chuckle.

“Yes,” I laughed with a small sniffle, “I think Uncle will be very cross if I follow him too early.”

“Now then,” she pulled me from my chair and walked me to the door. “Let’s get you to your room. You deserve rest after today and the weather is perfect to lull you asleep. When you wake, we’ll have your favorite tea and cake.”

------

“It will be an uphill battle,” Whitehurst sniffed, reading through a copy of the report sent from.

It had been a week since Uncle died and I hated the feeling of wasting time. Finally sitting with a couple advisors with a fresh stack of news felt worlds away from where I once was.

I agreed with Admiral Whitehurst, combing over the words once more. The rebels had declared the Gerudo capital as their own and announced that the aristocracy have been puppets to topple the purity of Gerudo traditions. The handwriting was distracting, but I ignored the repeated leaps in my chest and thumbed the unopened letter in my lap.

“They call us heretics of the true gods,” I rose from my propped hand with a sigh. “And then attempt another strike on our food supplies meant for starving infants. Urbosa, am I misunderstanding?”

She breathed in and rubbed the soreness in her neck. “It seems to me that from their threats to Link that they don’t consider us their people and would prefer dead children whose parents refuse their preaching.”

Whitehurst was still wary of the aristocrat and peered from across the table. “Who are their gods? Do they reject our goddess?”

“Partially,” she said. “They ascribe to the ancient three. Whereas we see Hylia as being the guardian goddess left to protect their creation, they see her as a usurper – ironically.

“Traditional creation story dictates that Hylia took advantage of the original three’s absence and bore Hylians as her minions to take over the world. The guardians of the sand fought back, baring a people that would be called Gerudo. A champion rose among them and found the Triforce. He used that power to save his people. That’s what I was told as a child.”

The Admiral wrinkled his nose. “How dubious.”

“It’s fragmented across villages. Most Gerudo in the capital worship money more than religion,” she shrugged, barely taking mind in the man. “Allow us to remember that this was a tactic in the early wars to turn people away from Hylian culture.”

Whitehurst nodded, somewhat perturbed. “What does Her Majesty call for?”

I hummed in thought. There were twenty causalities in the one hundred that accompanied the supplies. Out of those casualties were two deaths.

“It seems like the plan to send reinforcements along with reserves was the go-to,” I asserted. “I would like to refer to you to increase the amount of food three-fold. Impa believes levying taxes with grain farming territories would motivate morale.”

The Admiral stood with a stack of papers and nodded, “I’ll draw up the order.”

The letter burned a hole through my skirts and I couldn’t help looking down. The report was addressed to my full title, but between the pages of reports was a smaller envelope that simply read: Zelda.

“Riju has sent her regards to you. She says she is saddened to hear of Nathaniel’s passing. I would let you read it, but she has difficulties writing in Hylian,” Urbosa said, folding up the paper with Riju’s signature on it and setting it aside. “Truly, Zelda, let me know if you need me in any way.”

“You say that as if you haven’t comforted me for several nights already,” I smiled, negating her.

“My people grieve as a community. The commonplace of isolating oneself is considered unhealthy, while here it is almost expected.”

The way she crossed her legs billowed her Hylian skirts out as if she were wearing a Gerudo sirwal. I could tell it made Admiral Whitehurst uncomfortable earlier and the thought made me laugh.

“You aren’t wrong. If we weren’t in the middle of war, the court would have expected a three-month mourning period from me,” I only shrugged off the notion, tidying up my papers and setting Link’s letter on top. “I simply cannot afford it right now.”

Especially when the rebels were proving to be more organized than we thought. Encampments were appearing in the East Barrens with foreign flags. Not long after they were discovered the heads of three Hylian spies were found not far from the road leading into Gerudo Town. As of now, we had no way of telling if their strength or numbers.

The woman nodded. “And you have other distractions.”

“I,” I paused, momentarily bewildered by her expression. “I beg your pardon?”

“Distractions, my dove,” she laughed, lifting a hand to lazily gesture at what was before me.

Warmth bloomed on my face as I snatched the letter from her prying eyes. Urbosa only laughed heartily, “I cannot help but recognize that that hand matches the one who scrawled your reports.”

She let my embarrassment fester a moment longer. “Oh, don’t worry,” she leered. “I never said it wasn’t a good distraction.”

“Urbosa. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but this is not a regular occurrence.”

“Everyone has a right to hold secrets.”

“This isn’t a secret!” I bristled with wide eyes. “It’s a personal correspondence.”

Understanding was on her face but amusement danced in her eyes, a light I was all too accustomed to. “I see, with a man you had a short ‘engagement’ with before he left for war.”

“Engagement,” I blanched, “Engagement?! There was no engagement about that night, I’ve told you the extent of it!”

“Ah,” she closed her eyes, reminiscing. “I remember the first Hylian who followed me around like a dog. I was about Riju’s age – maybe a little older – when we snuck into the stables and she-”

The door to my office opened and a servant slipped through. He cleared his throat, “Announcing the esteemed Rito-”

“No, no, no,” a demanding voice cut through and in the doorway came a face Zelda hadn’t seen in many months. “We’ve rehearsed this,” the midnight blue Rito chastised, “The esteemed Ambassador. Yes, that is who I am. My title. Ordained by your King. It really, truly isn’t that hard.”

He carried on in subdued whispers while the poor man stood awkwardly by the doorway.

“Revali,” I called out. Then again when he was too engrossed in his discussion. “Why are you accosting my squire?”

“Accosting?” he primed, finally pulled away. The man scuttled back through the doorway and quietly shut it behind him. “Zelda – first of all, I will take the liberty of saying hello first – I’m not sure whether it has always been this way or if it’s the product of your reign, but these butlers of yours aren’t acknowledging my status and frankly? I’m shocked and perhaps a little appalled at the sight.”

“She is your sovereign and you will regard him as such,” Urbosa asserted, her tone commanding with an earthy undertone that took up the room.

Revali puffed out his chest, looking between her and I with admonishment.

I cleared my throat, “If you’ve just arrived, perhaps you’re exhausted. I can lead you to a room. I would have met you at the door, but we were expecting you tomorrow.”

“No, no, your Royal Majesty,” the Rito seethed, staring at Urbosa as he bowed with sweeping wings.

Some things, or Ritos rather, never changed. Revali had been the Rito ambassador at Hyrule castle for about three years now. Unlike other ambassadors, he preferred his home outside of Rito Village over staying at the castle full-time. However, Father had always kept that group at arm’s length, so it suited both parties up until now.

I was familiar with him and his disposition with the short interactions we’ve had. He was the son of wealthy traders and had no problem entering the realm of politics. The Rito people were bold, some would classify their pride as arrogance; those that did hadn’t met Revali.

He nodded my way as he pulled out a seat next to Urbosa. “May I?”

Neither of us could speak before he sat down leisurely.

“I see there have been many changes since I’ve graced these halls,” he said, touching the tips of his fingers together and took full advantage of the chair’s seat. “Yet I haven’t a signal update from the Crown!”

“I have sent reports of our decisions to Chief Kaneli when he sent his official recognition that I was Queen.”

Dramatics abound, he turned to Urbosa. “Is it not my job to relay these matters to my leader? Regale to me, my Queen, how I am to perform my duty.”

“I have seen nothing from you until I called for your presence last week, Ambassador Revali,” I straightened and sent him a pointed look. “And I’m willing to take much from you because I value our connection, but do not think for a second that I will willingly take commands from you. I am not my father and will not entertain your abuses because unlike him, they do not amuse me whatsoever.”

His beak fell open, but no words came out. This time he didn’t bear a glance at Urbosa, whose smug look made me stifle a grin. I didn’t get that tone from thin air. The gap of silence was the longest I had ever heard in the vicinity of this man.

Revali coughed into his fist and awkwardly shifted in his seat. “I see that my words have been misconstrued. I did not mean offense.”

“I accept your apology.”

“Yes, well, to lead into my concerns – which are very justified, mind you – my deepest condolences for the loss of General Nohansen. Even our great airmen are deeply saddened,” he bowed his head, a pivot from the dominant air of before.

I offered a subdued smile.

“And your replacement doesn’t seem awful, but I hadn’t heard that you were looking to fill the position so soon.”

Urbosa tilted her head. “We are in a war. I’m not sure if you heard about my people being persecuted.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Of course I have heard of the mad man. Gerudo women are already masculine enough. Maybe the roles have reversed, and he will be easily squashed.”

I rested my head in my hand and sighed, “No. Much of the opposite it seems.”

The Rito held an indignant look as he examined the tip of his feathers. “Seems my services were much in need,” he mumbled.

“Pardon me?” I asked. Was he expecting an invitation to be considered?

Oh, actually, that sounds very in character for him.

“All I’m saying is that it was a statement sent from Her Majesty to me,” Revali emphasized with splayed fingers.

I glanced to Urbosa who was glaring daggers at the Rito. I clasped my hands together in front of me, “I promise you that no offense was meant, Ambassador. Truly, the process of filling the position of Commanding General of Hyrule’s Royal Army was tumultuous.”

Revali leaned back with a stiff shrug and crossed his legs, then immediately uncross them to vehemently point his feathered finger at the ceiling. “Make no mistake! No offense was taken on my part. Zero offense because I would have merely turned down the offer in the first place because my title as the Rito Ambassador is already time consuming. Incredibly. Unmatched, even, across of the board.”

“Oh,” I blinked. “I’m glad that you see it that way.”

The man huffed, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his right wing. “Indeed.”

“Zelda, I don’t think we should keep this from him.”

I turned to Urbosa, confusion written on my face.

“Don’t act coy. We can tell him,” she motioned towards Revali with a sweeping gesture. “Tell him how he was considered and how his resourcefulness would be better used elsewhere in the conflict.”

He chirped up and stared at me with wide eyes. I quickly nodded and masked any dubious expression.

“Oh, yes,” I piped up. “Your name was thrown into the mix several times by my cabinet.”

“It-it was?”

“Absolutely, Revali. You’ve been an incredibly valuable asset to Hyrule. Your years of service haven’t gone unrecognized, nor your training as a Rito airman. Such a wide variety of-” I tripped over a couple thoughts, looking for the right words.

Urbosa offered, “Skills?”

“Yes – thank you – such a wide variety of skills can’t be boiled down to ‘General’.”

Revali seemed to consider this greatly, rubbing his neck in thought. “Well,” he rasped. “Well, that I can understand. After all, Commanding General is largely a decorative title…”

“I wouldn’t necessarily go that far,” I muttered half of the sentence into my hand with a look at Urbosa. Ambassador Revali nodded affirmations to himself as he stared holes into the carpet.

“May I ask, Your Majesty,” he said, looking up finally. “What were your plans for me?”

I sat up in my seat and thumbed an ink quill in my hands. The feeling of opportunity rose in my chest with robust hope easing into my heart.

“I would like to inquire in your people’s support in defending fellow Hyruleans.”

He sat up with me, towards the edge of his seat.

“You mean to assert that you want additional support.”

“I do,” I said, feeling the pointed tip of the quill dig into my thumb. “The Rito and Hylian people used have strong bonds in meat trading. I wish to bridge the gap in the years our agreements fell through; even strengthen them more than what they once were.”

Revali seemed intrigued. “Under what pretense?”

“There’s no pretense,” I smiled, “I think we can both agree that Rito airmen are incredibly prolific through military history. Chief Kaneli’s support, no matter how little is, would be a great honor and assist our efforts in preserving the Gerudo aristocracy.”

“I can’t refute that,” he nodded. “I can say that Kaneli holds Her Majesty in the highest regard and has great hope for your reign… however our recent history has him wary. It will take some convincing.”

“I understand completely. If anything, do I have the Rito Ambassador’s support?”

He breathed a dramatic sigh. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

 --------

After meeting behind meeting, I snuck behind a rose bush in the gardens. The light was dying, but I couldn’t wait anymore. Wedged between the pages of my notebook was the small letter from before. It was no bigger than my hand and I took care to rip the wax-sealed seam.

Zelda,

I’m sorry this took so long to write.

A smile was already brimming my lips and I mouthed: Don’t be.

There was an attempted ambush as we passed Satori Mountain. Byron’s scouts spied them first and they were dispatched early on, but you should know this long before this letter reaches you. The supply line-

The last couple words were neatly crossed out.

I don’t know why I want to give you a report when you’ve most likely already read the one I’ve already written you. It’s been on my mind too much, but so have you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer that morning and I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there when Nathaniel passed.

There’s so much I wanted to tell you before I left. Being alone with my thoughts while we traveled only added to that. I could write one hundred apologies about asking you to forget about us and then dredging it up again. One hundred more if the nights between left you just as distraught as I was. It’s hard for me to speak about my feelings and when it comes down to it – pretending they don’t exist is what I usually resort to.

I couldn’t do that with you. I care about you. I tried to convince myself I didn’t, hadn’t, and I failed miserably; only making it more known to myself how helpless you’ve made me.

And despite everything, I hope you’re smiling when you’re reading this because the selfish thought keeps me from ending this letter. I want to talk to you as I do this paper and hear your witty remarks that are far too intelligent for your own good. The same intelligence that I am convinced will end this conflict far sooner than I anticipate so I can see you again.

But I’m rambling.

I’m safe. The only casualty on the road was a lad with a twisted ankle. I did run into the boys from Hateno. Do you remember Mac and Toma Ratliff? They thought it was a prank when someone mention “General” in front of my name and got written up for insubordination.

Nonetheless, Zelda, I will wait for you.

Yours,

Link

#done! #wanna cry with me now? #i did cry writing this chapter #htbaq #how to be a queen #zelink #zelda #link #loz #loz fanfiction #zelink fanfiction #ashleyswrittenwords

[pursuitofhappenstance]

On Agnes

A recent conversation with a friend made me think about the characters I love and why I love them. Now, I grant you, Agnes is not always the most interesting to follow. But I don’t think that has as much to do with the character, as it does with the performers. Agnes is very difficult to do well. She doesn’t have cool dances and she can’t eye-fuck the audience into following her. But the right performer takes you on a journey, making you root for her, fueling anger and frustration towards the Porter, and ultimately leaving you devastated. 

Below is a recap I wrote after following who I consider to be the all-time best Agnes, Marissa Maislen, on my last ever loop with her Agnes (well, technically second to last, because this was the second loop in the show, and I may or may not have double-looped her...) I hope by following the loop from my perspective, some of you may gain more appreciation for her. Or if you’re already an Agnes fan, then maybe this will help tide over missing the McKittrick for a brief moment. Anyway, here goes: 

I catch the end of the Hecate scene, and then follow her to the bedroom. She puts the clothes away, pausing to sob, and then heads to the vanity. There she looks down for a long time at Grace’s photo and when she finally looks up at herself in the mirror, her eyes are welling with tears and she looks completely defeated. She gingerly takes the photograph and slowly makes her way to the bed where she passes out. When Fulton leaves, she wakes and heads to the now open bedroom door, lingering, looking at him watching her through his shop window before shutting the door firmly. She cleans her face, through Narnia, and into the shop. High Street. Locket. Back into the shop. As soon as she realizes what’s in the locket, she starts formulating a plan. She rummages through the desk, the shelves to see if Fulton has his money there. No luck, so she heads across the street, but not before pinching her cheeks to put more color in them. Everything’s fine. 

She gets to Fulton and while she’s polite, she’s distracted. Every time he turns his back, she is looking around for a clue of where his money could be. Unlike other Agneses, though, she’s not really anxious about doing this. When the two slow dance, she spots it! A box high on a dark shelf. As soon as he leaves the shop, she jumps into action. She rifles through his desk, taking out a catalog and tray, while she searches methodically through each drawer. She finds a small tin, inside is the key. She grabs the box off the shelf and brings it under the light. She unlocks it and grabs one bill at a time from it. A pause. She grabs a large handful. Satisfied, she puts the box back up on the shelf, hides the key back in the tin, and is heading across to the other side of the shop, when she sees she’s left the catalog and tray lying out on top of the desk. She rushes back over, throws them back into their spots and turns to run over to the spot where Fulton left her just in time. He returns, gives her a bouquet of flowers and makes a candy appear from her ear, but she has to go. As she is trying to cross the street, he grabs her and tries to make a pass at her. She pushes him away and runs into Grace’s apartment, slamming the door behind her. She sits on the couch, staring straight ahead, not looking to see if Fulton is still out there. She counts the money, briefly, then heads in to pack a suitcase before heading down the street. 

She passes the detective agency, but she back tracks. Knocking twice and getting no response, she enters. Finding no one, she looks at the business cards on one of the desks. Malcolm Mac Crinain. She takes out a pair of gloves from her purse as she thinks. She puts on one lacey glove, when she spots a pile of papers on the side of the desk. She decides to write a little note for him, tearing off the bottom half and folding it into a small square. Plant a seed and it will show, who is friend and who is foe. Just as she’s finishing, the phone rings. She looks around but no one is there to answer it, so she does. 

Hello? 

How did you know where I was? 

Where are you? 

The caller hangs up. Agnes glances at her watch and rushes off down to the lobby. There she meets the Porter, whom she clearly does not trust. He serves her tea and then causes a distraction so he can go through her suitcase and uncover the money. The phone rings, and they both stare at each other, frozen. The Porter makes a run for it and Agnes sprints after him. He hands her the receiver gleefully. Annoyed, she heads back up stairs.

Back on four and she is heading back to Malcolm’s, but not before checking her appearance in the mirror in Grace’s living room. When she’s at Malcolm’s she begins to look through his files when she sees a picture leaning facedown against the desk lamp. As she turns it over, a man pulls the chair out from behind her. She starts and the two have a standoff. He picks up the photo and holds it out to her. She doesn’t say anything, but starts to leave. Realizing she left her purse on the desk, she goes back to grab it, and as she does, she changes her mind, and from it takes the same photo. She holds it up to him and explains something under her breath. 

The two examine the pictures, and a tension grows. He desperately wants her, and she is curious. A kiss. She freaks out and starts to leave, but he follows. In the doorway she turns around and he kisses her again, lifting her high and carrying her out onto the street. He slowly lowers her, as one of her legs perfectly pops out. The ideal romantic kiss. She backs away from him and they each stand in their own spotlights, a hand to the mouth. Did that really just happen? 

He runs away and she heads to the speakeasy where she uneasily shares a drink. Boy Witch runs in and demands she leave. She heads back to Fulton’s where she makes a locket. As she’s closing the locket, she whispers, Plant a seed and it will show, who is friend and who is foe. 

She heads across the street, not noticing Lady Macduff running by. When she gets to the door of the bedroom she turns and comes to me standing at the back of the pack, not ready for this goodbye. 

She finally reappears, and we head down to the lobby one last time. She’s not angry with the Porter, but she is forceful. He knows where her sister is and she is not leaving until she gets the information. A battle of wills and pushes ensues but eventually he gives in, sending her up to an address on Gallow Green. 

Hecate welcomes her, offers her a drink. Agnes takes it, total composure. She still thinks that there’s a way to save her sister. Even seeing that Hecate didn’t partake in the drink doesn’t scare her. She puts on lipstick, then unbuttons the top of her blouse, as instructed. She pulls the shirt open, looking away into the darkness, then quickly clutches it shut again. As she turns back, she sees Hecate holding out the locket. It’s too late. She cannot keep her cool any longer and she looses it, sobbing quiet tears which Hecate collects. Left at the table, she desperately searches through her purse and holds out the photo of her sister, pleadingly. When no one responds, she gathers her belongings and slowly makes her way back to the apartment, staggering slightly, the long day of scheming finally catching up to her. Back at the apartment, the defeat is so complete, it’s hard not to run over and hug her. She lost her sister, and she lost herself in the pursuit of her. She goes to sleep.

#sleep no more #sleepnomore #mckittrick hotel

[swanqueeneverafter]

Sins of the Past Pt.16

Camelot. Dungeons. (Lancelot, Merida, Belle, Xena and Gabrielle continue to fight Morgana's guards alongside the now-freed knights of Camelot. While Xena kills the last guard, Guinevere arrives.) Lancelot: "Guinevere. What are you doing here?" Guinevere: "Morgana sent me… to talk to you, to make you see sense." Merida: "They've bewitched her!" Guinevere: "No, listen to me. I’m going to help you escape." Gabrielle: "I'd say you're a little late for that." Guinevere: "You may have escaped your cells, but only I know all of Camelot's secret passageways. Come on, it's this way." (Watching discreetly from the top of the winding staircase, Morgana and Morgause see and hear everything.) Morgana: "It is as we suspected. She’s betrayed me." Morgause: "I'm afraid so, my sister. But wait, this is still a good thing. Let her lead the rebels from the castle, it will give us just cause to execute them all."

Wonderland. (Will and Ella walk back towards the Underland, Will carrying the Forget-Me-Knot over his shoulder.) Ella: “The way you talked to that poor man, you were really getting through to him.” Will: “I'm a thief. Playing parts is what I do.” Ella: “I don't think you were playing a part. You were identifying with him.” Will: “Ah, bollocks.” Ella: “Is it? He was heartbroken, and you saw that.” Will: “Yeah, well I know what we won’t see, and that’s your mother through this thing. I’m sorry, Ella, but you’ve seen how this thing works now. We can’t just hold this thing up and walk over ever last millimeter of Wonderland in the hopes of seeing her.” Ella: (Nods:) “I know, you’re right. But what it can do is settle your debts with the Caterpillar, and that will mean that you can focus on helping me without looking over your shoulder all the time.” Will: (Looking at the sun setting on the horizon:) “Looks like we'll just make it.” Ella: “What are you waiting for? Time to clear your name.” Will: “I've been thinking.” Ella: “Oh, no.” Will: “And maybe you were right. Handing this thing back to the Caterpillar might be a truly horrible idea.” Ella: “What do you mean?” Will: “Well, he's not exactly Wonderland's chief humanitarian now, is he?” Ella: “No.” Will: “Chances are he'll use it for the same way he uses everything - to hurt people.” Ella: “But if you don't hand it over to him, you'll spend your remaining days as a desk ornament.” Will: (Shrugs this off:) “Pah.” Ella: “That thing is your key to freedom, for you to no longer be a hunted thief.” Will: “Actually, being a thief ain't up to anyone but me. If I give this to him, then I went to steal this thing for me, that makes me a thief. But if I don't give it to him, well, then I got it for you.” Ella: “And what does that make you then?” Will: “Hopefully someone with a shred of humanity left.” Ella: (Smiles:) “No ‘hopefully’ about it.” (Will holds up the knot, strikes a match from his pocket and sets light to the rope. The resulting smoke rises into the air and vanishes.) Camelot. Forest. (Pursued by Morgause and her men, the escapees run through the forest.) Belle: "They’re almost upon us!" Merida: "We need to get out of this valley!" Lancelot: "I can buy you all some time. You need to go. Run!" Guinevere: (Grabbing his arm:) "I won't leave you!" Lancelot: "Camelot needs you." Xena: "Camelot needs both of you. Gabrielle and I have got this. Go! We'll be right behind you." (Gabrielle and Xena stand back to back, taking on several soldiers before Xena is able to release her chakram.)

(The weapon arcs upward and across the valley, dislodging some large boulders to cause a rockfall, creating an impasse for the soldiers. Before Xena can catch the chakram however, she is knocked backwards by the force of Morgause’s magic. Inches from disaster, Gabrielle jumps and flips, catching the weapon in mid-air. Snarling up at the sorceress, Xena is ready for round two when Gabrielle grabs her.) Gabrielle: “Not now, let’s go!” (As they retreat, Morgause chants and blasts the rocks away, clearing the path for her soldiers. Arriving at the end of the valley, the escapees find Regina, Emma, Hook and Rumplestiltskin waiting for them beside the Sorcerer’s door. One by one, the knights, Lancelot and Guinevere and Merida run through the door to safety, Belle running into her husband’s arms.) Rumplestiltskin: “Oh, Belle, I’m so glad you’re safe.” Regina: (Seeing the soldiers running towards them:) “Not yet she isn’t. Go through the door. Now!” (Standing aside to let Xena and Gabrielle run through the door, Regina steps forward, sending fireballs at the soldiers, scattering them. Before Emma is able to use her own magic, she is knocked backwards by Morgause. Conjuring a fireball in each hand, Regina shoots them at Morgause who deflects them effortlessly.) Morgause: “Well if it isn’t the Evil Queen. Let’s see if you can live up to your reputation.” Regina: “Bring it, bitch.” (Both women send sparks of magic towards each other, neither managing to gain ground on the other. Finally getting to her feet, Emma joins the magical battle. The combined magic of the married couple blasts Morgause backwards. Taking their chance, Regina and Emma escape through the Sorcerer’s door. Helped to her feet by two soldiers, Morgause watches the door disappear, silently impressed by the combined force of the Savior and the Queen’s magic.)

Somewhere In Some Other Woods. (Walking through the forest together, Henry and Richard really are quite lost.) Henry: “Please stop talking.” Richard: “Well, no need to get snippy with me, you’re the one who didn’t think to bring a map. Wonderland can’t be too far away now. Do... oh, no.” Henry: “What ‘oh, no’?” Richard: (Looks around, turning in a circle:) “Oh...No.” Henry: “‘Oh, no,’ what?” Richard: “I think I may have led us into the Enchanted Forest, and that is not good. My father warned me to stay away from here at all costs. There's a queen... An evil queen... In fact, once my father and his best friend/camping buddy, Keith, who... I called him Uncle Keith 'cause he was always around...” Henry: “Spit it out!” Richard: “They wandered in here, and Uncle Keith was never heard from again.” Henry: “Oh, great. Oh, yeah. Mm-hmm, typical. God, can't anything go right?!” Richard: “You’re just gonna keep walking?” (They walk a short distance and come to a stop outside a moss covered building.) Henry: “Oh. (Reads the notice:) ‘Happy Hour’? (Sees the sign:) The Enchanted Forest is a pub. (Exhales sharply:) God, you actually had me scared for a minute there.” (Together, they enter the establishment.) Storybrooke. Mayor's Office. (Snow White, David, Grumpy and Happy stand opposite two of the knights who accosted the dwarves earlier.) Knight 1: "By order of her Majesty, Queen Morgana, I am here to arrest Emma Swan." Snow White: "Well, first of all, it's Swan-Mills. Secondly, she's not here, and third-" David: (Rolling up his sleeves:) "She's our daughter and you're going to have to go through me." Snow White: (Calmly:) "David, please, let's hear what they have to say. What is your name, Sir..." Knight 1: "My name is Sir Mordred. Your daughter is charged with the murder of Camelot's King. Be assured that even though Arthur was her brother, Morgana has insisted that there be a fair trial." David: "Oh yes, because Camelot has a history of fair and just rulers." Mordred: (Ignoring this, to Snow:) "Where is your daughter now?" Snow White: "On vacation, with her wife and daughter. We're not exactly sure where they went. (Looking to her husband:) David, did they mention where... (David innocently shakes his head. Shrugs, to Mordred:) Daughters. You know how secretive they can be." Mordred: (With a curt smile:) "Indeed." Robin Hood: (Entering:) "I may be able to shed some light on their whereabouts. (Nods to Snow and David. To Mordred:) They're currently outside laying waste to your two colleagues. Lancelot and Guinevere are with them, so if you're feeling lucky, you and your little friend here, (Looks the other knight up and down:) could nab yourself all of Camelot's enemies in one fell swoop."

Mordred: (With another insincere smile:) "Make no mistake, we shall be back with reinforcements and next time, I will have your daughter." David: "Over my dead body." Snow White: "And mine." Regina: (Entering, her eyes full of rage:) "And mine! You tell your Queen and her lapdog that there's no way in hell I am letting either of them anywhere near my wife!" Mordred: (Infuriatingly calm:) "We shall see." (Conjuring a fireball into her hand, Regina is about to hurl it at Mordred when he vanishes. Realising that he is now along amongst very unfriendly faces, the remaining knight runs quickly towards the door and out of sight.) David: (Grabbing his jacket:) "I'll get him. Robin, let's go." Outside Town Hall. (While Lancelot and his men restrain the other two knights, Emma turns at the sound of running footsteps. After almost getting knocked down by the remaining knight, Emma is spun around again, this time by her father.) Emma: "Dad, what the hell?" David: "No time to talk now, (Tossing the keys of his truck to Robin:) we've got this!" (Before she can say anything, Emma watches as David and Robin Hood pile into David's truck and speed away in pursuit of the last knight.) Camelot. Chapel. (Morgause meets with Morgana to relay the news.) Morgause: “They were lucky to escape. I’m sorry, Sister.” Morgana: “What can they do? Guinevere and Lancelot have but a handful of men. We have Bayard’s soldiers and Camelot’s army at our disposal.” Morgause: “Yes, but whist Guinevere lives, the people will not yield.” Morgana: “Then we will make them. Let it be known that Guinevere freed Camelot’s enemies and betrayed m- (Corrects herself:) us all. Tonight we will have a gallows built, and tomorrow, one by one, we will put an end to the knights of Camelot.”

Storybrooke. Mayor's Office. (Regina and Emma sit alone with Maria sleeping beside them.) Emma: "You know, they're not wrong. I did kill Arthur." Regina: "You were protecting yourself from a madman who had threatened your family if you didn't surrender to his will." Emma: "I still had a choice. I chose to kill him. You saw what happened when I did, I was fully embraced by the Darkness after that." Regina: "Which means you've already been punished. And redeemed for that matter. If it wasn't for you, there would still be a Dark One. Never mind the fact that the Darkness was created in Camelot in the first place. Not that you'll ever hear them admit that of course." Emma: "I don't think it was technically created there, but you can work out the finer details and be ready to defend me by the time my trial starts." (Realising Emma is trying to lighten the mood, Regina takes a deep, calming breath.) Regina: "Morgana doesn't care about Arthur's death. How could she when it was her brother who poisoned her all those years ago? Morgana just ousted a beloved Queen and needs to change the conversation. The people of Camelot don't know her, so Morgana has to show that she can be a tough but fair ruler. This whole idea of a trial is nothing but political theatre." Emma: "Kind of like when you had Leopold killed and blamed Snow for his murder?" Regina: "Exactly. (Thinks a moment:) God knows why your mother still speaks to me after all I've done to her. (Tilts her head:) But then again, after five minutes of talking with her, I'm not so sure the silent treatment would be such a bad thing." Emma: (Smiling:) "Please try not to turn our daughter against her grandmother. We’re going to need as many babysitters as we can get." (They both stop and take a moment to look at the slumbering child between them.) Regina: "All I'm saying, is that you can't let this bother you. We both know how you can get when you're feeling angry or persecuted." Emma: "Oh that is not fair. That hasn't happened since... well it's been a long time." Storybrooke. Past. Main Street. (Walking together after a rough magic lesson, Regina and Emma talk over Emma's issues.) Emma: "It's like I just can't seem to control it." Regina: "That's because your magic isn't born from anger or hatred. Your magic comes from love, from the desire to protect those around you. When the Snow Queen pushed your buttons and made you angry, your powers surged out of you in a way that you'd never experienced before." Emma: "Gold always said magic is about emotion." Regina: "And he's right. Emma, before I met you, I thought that any magic or power that I had came from darkness. You showed me that there was another way." Emma: (Nods:) "When you defeated Zelena. Hasn't your magic ever faltered?" Regina: (Shrugs:) "When Gold first brought it to Storybrooke, it took a little while for my magic to come back. But I have both light and dark magic, so if one fails-" Emma: "The other takes over. So shouldn't I try and... I don't know, tap into my dark magic. As a backup?" (They walk in silence for a few paces as Regina considers her answer.) Regina: "The thing is, Emma, the strength of your Savior magic is so powerful that it dwarfs my dark magic. If we were to attempt to access your darker side, I'd be concerned about possibly diluting the purity of your light magic." Emma: (Smiles at this:) "Oh I think we both know I'm not that pure." Regina: (Chuckles:) "Well, this is true. In certain instances you've proven to be downright devillish." Emma: "I've obviously had the perfect teacher." Regina: (Smiles:) "You've plenty more to learn and I'm more than eager to teach you." Emma: "Sounds intense." Regina: "It can be." Emma: "Promise?" (With a wave of Regina's hand, both women disappear in a cloud of smoke.)

Mayor’s Mansion. (Re-appearing outside the front door to the mansion, Emma's lips are upon Regina's before the brunette can even find her keys. Noticing Regina's struggle, Emma waves her own hand and they re-appear at the top of the stairs, each woman now pulling at the other's clothes. As the intensity of their kissing increases, Regina finds herself being guided towards the window seat. Letting out a moan when Emma straddles her lap, Regina grips the blonde woman's hips, grinding her down against her thigh. Letting out her own moan, Emma latches onto Regina's neck, breathing heavily into her ear.) Emma: "Enough foreplay." Regina: "I couldn't agree more." (With a final wave of her hand, Regina transports them to the bedroom, her bra somehow landing on the door handle in mid-flight. As Emma shimmies out of her jeans, Regina puts a knee up on the chest at the bottom of the bed and, growling, begins to crawl on all fours before lowering herself into the arms of her favourite student.) Storybrooke. Present. (On the run, the remaining knight, Grif, rides off on his horse, with David driving his truck in pursuit. Robin Hood rides shotgun.) David: "Hold on!" Grif: (In the distance:) "Hyah! Hyah!" David: (To Robin:) "Take over! Speed is feet, direction is hand. (David climbs into the back of the truck while Robin Hood takes the wheel. Grif pulls his horse off-road. Banging the truck’s roof:) Circle around!” (David picks up a wooden plank from the truck bed and uses it as a joust to knock Grif off the horse.) Wonderland. The Underland. (The Caterpillar stares closely at the hourglass on his desk.) Caterpillar: “Mmm. Not much time left, Knave. (Suddenly the music stops playing and everyone turns towards the entrance:) Well, speak of the devil.” (The crowds part, revealing...) Morgause: “Expecting someone else?” Caterpillar: “Yes.” Morgause: “Pity. Now, I want you to tell me everything you know about Emma and Regina. Everything.”

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

[kunstpause-archive]

From the scrap pile

Thanks to @elveny and @kittimau for tagging me ❤

This was surprisingly hard bc even though I scrapped easily over 100k words over the course of our big DA2 fic alone I keep reusing small bits and pieces in odd places and the stuff I totally throw out I don’t like enough to show to anyone really

But I did find something. This is from 2018, it was set pretty early on in our story Precipice of Change and was the original first meeting between Cullen and Cassia, before we heavily reworked the story.

I don’t know who did this already so feel free to ignore me but tagging @captainderyn @tishinada @curiousthimble @cornfedcryptid @faerieavalon @sharkapologists @fandomn00blr @serial-chillr @wardenari @ranawaytothedas @midnightprelude @charlatron @anchanted-one

Under a cut for length-reasons. :D

Cassia had underestimated the way towards the Gallows, it seemed. ‘They are really serious about this whole separation thing’ she mused while waiting for her boat to cross over. She had never been even near this place before and for good reason. The closer she got the more daunting the huge statues looked. All of a sudden, she could understand Adriene’s refusal to take any work that would require going here a little bit more. But on the other hand… they needed the money and the pay just seemed too good to not at least try. She only hoped she would get anywhere after her sister had already turned down the offer. Rather colourfully apparently, or so Cassia had heard. 

When she stepped into the courtyard for the first time, she couldn’t suppress a small shiver. There were tranquil around, selling wares. Some mages walked briskly, not looking around much. And templars. So many templars… She wasn’t sure she had ever seen so many templars in one spot before, and there was an eerie feeling in the air for some reason.

Cassia was used to hiding among regular people. Non-mages. Even hiding in front of templars at the chantry. It usually involved looking either as unassuming or as disarmingly open as possible for her. Light clothes that made it obvious she wasn’t hiding anything underneath, a bright smile and most importantly: no staff. For the first time, the absence of the most trusted weapon was something she could almost physically feel, though, before she shook her head. It wasn’t as if it would do her any good even if she had her staff with her. Under this amount of vigilance and raw power, she wouldn’t even get one spell off before they took her down. She shook off the sense of doom that seemed to permeate the very air in this place, put on her brightest smile and went up to the next patrol, asking for the Knight-Captain who had made her sister the oh-so-well-paid offer earlier. 

Cullen had been deeply immersed in the report on his desk when a knock on his door pulled him out of his concentration. “Yes?” he called out, trying not to lose track of where he was on the document.

“There is a Serah Hawke here to speak to you, Knight-Captain,” came the muffled voice of one of the recruits on guard duty from the outside. Irritation went through him at the reason for the disturbance. 

“Tell her I don’t have time,” he called out again. He didn’t know what it had been exactly but something about her had made him slightly uneasy, even though she had been a great help at the coast.

“She is standing right next to me and insists,” the recruit called through the door again, and Cullen felt the irritation grow even stronger. 

“Fine, send her in then.” What in the world did she want? She had made her disdain of templars in general quite clear only a few hours ago, and he had no desire for a repeat performance. 

“What do you want?” he sighed impatiently. “Because if I remember correctly, you said something about never wanting to set foot in the Gallows ever again rather loudly not that long ago.” With an impatient glare, he looked up from his documents at the intruder in his office only to be met with a pair of raised eyebrows that definitely did not belong to the woman he had met earlier that day.

“I get the feeling I have to apologise on behalf of my sister, Knight-Captain,” the woman standing in his office said in a light and slightly amused voice. “I am Cassia Hawke, and I am here about a job you offered her.”

Sister? His first thought was that he had probably never seen siblings look less alike than the two of them. They looked like complete opposites of each other. And from his first impression, they sounded like it, too. The woman in front of him was nothing short of charming, not a trace of the hostility her sister had shown him.

“Knight-Captain Cullen,” he introduced himself even though he was certain she already knew that. “Forgive my reaction, but I am somewhat confused, Serah Hawke.”

The information she had gotten from Fenris had not been much. Adriene hadn’t been willing to listen for very long, it seemed, but she was certain he had said Knight-Captain Cullen had been the one offering said job. She gave him a careful once-over. He looked… younger than she had anticipated. In her head, the Knight-Captain of a city as big as Kirkwall had been someone more seasoned. More looking at home behind a desk. Knight-Captain Cullen looked like he was around her age, maybe even the slightest bit younger. Like he should be out there, on the frontlines instead of in here, doing paperwork. He must have had a steep career to end in such a prestigious position at this part of his life already. 

“Confused about me asking for a job?” Cassia had put on her best, most pleasant smile for the occasion. 

“Yes, given that not long ago your sister told me, rather colourfully, her stance on working for us or even considering it,” he said drily. 

Cassia nodded in understanding. “Adriene has very strong opinions on several subjects,” she said, sounding as diplomatically as she could. 

The way she phrased it made Cullen think that their differences definitely went beyond the physical appearance.

“And you don’t?” he asked skeptically. She laughed softly, and he was surprised at the thought that it was a rather pleasant sound.

“Oh, I do! They do not always coincide, however. Which is why I am here.” 

“So you decided you want to help us, despite your sister feeling so strongly about the templars?” Cullen was still not quite convinced, too strong had the reaction of her sister been when he offered her the job. 

“To be quite honest, Knight-Captain, helping you is more of a side benefit,” Cassia shrugged. “I heard the pay is good and that working with the templars is quite reliable here.”

When Cullen didn’t immediately say anything, she went on.

“You don’t believe me? Maker, what did Adriene say? No, don’t tell me, I can guess. But no matter.” She sighed. “Look, we came here from Ferelden, fleeing from the Blight. We had to leave behind everything, start over completely here. If we ever want to get somewhere, hard work is the only way. So, there you have my motivation.”

Cullen gave her a speculative look. She sounded honest, surprisingly open in her explanation. Another complete opposite from her very guarded sister it seemed. Her sister who seemed to have been in a constant state of battle ready. Cassia Hawke meanwhile looked… soft. Her braids had flowers in it and she was wearing a simple, but very becoming dress. At first glance, he could not imagine her taking on fights in back alleys if it came to it.

“I’m not sure this job is right for you, Serah,” he started carefully. “You look… Not like a mercenary if I have to be honest.”

Cassia smiled brightly. “I dress for the occasion,” she said with a hint of mischief in her voice. “I am here to get a job, not to pick fights with people after all.”

“A fair point,” Cullen relented. It wasn’t like everyone who could carry a weapon did so all the time after all. “I apologise for the assumption.”

“Oh I’m not offended, don’t worry,” she said almost immediately before she gave him a calculating look. A hint of playfulness appeared on her face. “On second thought, maybe I am,” she said slowly. “Terribly offended actually!” 

Cullen raised his eyebrows. “Terribly offended?”

“Yes. It’s awful, really.” Cassia did her best, putting on her most practiced fake upset look. But she couldn’t quite quell her own amusement as she spoke. “I fear, only a job offer might be able to smooth this over…”

Her gamble seemed to pay off, the Knight-Captain definitely looked amused by now. “Would it now? And if I were to leave you in this offended state?”

“Then I would have to storm out of here in a huff and never talk to you again.” Cassia was delighted about his willingness to play along. She had expected someone stuffy. Someone she’d have to formally apologize to and who would probably give her a dry talk about appropriate behaviour towards authority in regards to her family. This was the opposite. This was something so much easier to work with. She gave him a coy look. “That would be such a shame really, you seem so fun to talk to.”

“I seem fun to talk to?” He gave her another skeptical look. It seemed he was almost thrown off by her more direct approach.

“Don’t let it flatter you too much,” Cassia assured him, “The last person I worked for was so incredibly drunk he could barely even sit upright. Second time I met him, he fell asleep while paying me.” She gave him a playful wink. “The bar for decent conversation is remarkably low these days.”

Cullen couldn’t help himself but laugh quietly. This conversation had been something he never would have expected. But to his surprise, he found it utterly delightful. “Glad to see I place above the inebriated and the unconscious,” he said dryly but not bothering to hide his amusement anymore. “But what would I lose out on really?”

There was a glint in her eyes that made them almost sparkle. “Why, my remarkable problem-solving skills of course. There is a reason there is much less work in Lowtown since I got here after all. And I’ll have you know that I am also fun to talk to.”

She was definitely right about that, but nonetheless, he gave her a most skeptical look, enjoying her small huff in obviously fake indignation.

“I am a delightful conversationalist!” she insisted. “And you have been smiling for the past few minutes when earlier you looked like you ate a shipload of citrus just before I got here.”

This time he had to laugh out loud. “Indeed you are,” he agreed. Cullen wasn’t sure when the last time he had had this much fun talking to someone even was. “Alright, we can give this a try.” He took a small pile of papers and letters he had put together for this job and handed it over to her. “Here is all the information you need, I expect you can find your way around the notes.” She was already flipping through the letters he gave her, looking a bit more serious. “There is a certain level of discretion advised,” Cullen added almost as an afterthought.

“I see, of course,” Cassia murmured as she went over the names and dates, starting to see why they would hire a mercenary for this. “None of these people would talk to a templar.”

“Or any authority even,” the Knight-Captain added. “That’s why we need outside help for this.”

Cassia folded the papers carefully, putting them away into her pockets. “Luckily I am as far away from being an authority as you can probably find in this city,” she gave him another bright smile. “I am definitely the woman you need. For this job, I mean. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” 

And with a good-natured but polite good-bye, she left the Gallows behind again, feeling considerably less anxious about the place than she had when first coming here. It still was a place she wouldn’t want to set foot in voluntarily, but she had gotten what she came for, and it had been easier and far more pleasant than anticipated. Now, she only had to get this thing done as quietly and as quickly as possible. And who knew, perhaps this could open a door for more well-paid work in the future.

The task was surprisingly simple for her. Cassia could see why a templar would have not gotten most of the relevant information from any of the people she talked to. After a while, she was almost glad that Adriene had turned the offer down. As much as she loved her sister, she could imagine that Adriene’s approach to this would have had the potential for more than one altercation. Cassia had always preferred to talk herself out of any situation if needed, and she knew she was good at getting people to see things her way, even the ones that needed a bit more convincing. ‘Why pull out a weapon when a well-placed compliment or a vague hint of a promise could do the trick’ had always been more her style. 

Normally, she and Adriene complemented each other perfectly in that regard. Cassia managed to avoid them some fights while Adriene was always ready and never missed a beat in situations where that simply wasn’t possible. It felt almost wrong now for Cassia to do this on her own, fully aware that she didn’t have a very well thought-through backup plan if things didn’t work out the way she wanted them to. But it seemed she was lucky this day, managing to get everything she needed without any major incidents. Well, almost without. 

It was dark already but still busy on the streets when she was done and made her way back to the Gallows, this time finding her way to the Knight-Captain’s office almost directly.

“Good evening, Knight-Captain,” she greeted politely after knocking. He seemed surprised to see her again.

“Serah Hawke, back already?” Cullen had not expected her back this day. Not even the next one if he was honest, not with the amount of information he had sent her out to find, yet here she was, in his office again.

“Please, call me Cassia,” she smiled. “Otherwise I’ll always think you’re talking to my mother. But yes, here is all the information I could find.” She handed him a staple of notes and he gave it a quick once over. 

“Impressive. And you did all this in a day?” He flipped through the pages after pages she had filled with all the things she had found out. On first glance, it looked like she had done a very thorough job. He couldn’t help being impressed.

“One of the notes sounded rather urgent,” she said with a shrug.

“It was, I thank you,” Cullen agreed, putting the papers aside to work through their content later. He took in her appearance. She looked different. Her hair was in a bun, and while she was still wearing a dress, it seemed to be a different one than before. “And I see you even had time to dress for the occasion again.”

Cassia looked down, for a moment looking confused before she smiled at him. “Naturally.” She shrugged. “But that was more of a necessity this time. Two hours of walking around town and my clothes still hadn’t dried.” 

Cullen felt his own eyebrows run up. “Dried? What happened?”

She held up a hand as she assured him, “Nothing relevant to the investigation, don’t worry.”

Cullen couldn’t help giving her a skeptical look. A look that sent her into a small bout of laughter.

“I’m telling the truth,” she said between laughs. “It’s… you’re gonna laugh, but there were some very angry ducks. And a pond.” He felt his eyes widen. “And perhaps a person you may or may not have hired for her skills who had a slight issue of paying attention.” She shook her head, giving him a pointed look. “It was not a very graceful event, let’s just keep it like that.”

Cullen hadn’t been certain what to expect from any of this, but her little story definitely hadn’t been it. He tried his best to not laugh out too loudly, but his efforts were in vain.

“And now you are laughing at me!” Cassia sighed. “I should have left it at the change of clothes. Kept some of the mystery.”

Cullen shook his head, forcing the laughter to calm down. “I have the feeling there is plenty of mystery left with you, Serah… Cassia,” he corrected himself.

“I have to disappoint you,” Cassia grinned, feeling pleased at his use of her first name. This was only their second time meeting, but she had a good feeling about this already. If she played her cards right, she might be well on her way to find an in with the templars here. Adriene would probably throw a fit if she heard about any of this, but Cassia could try to deal with that later, make her see the advantages. “No mystery at all,” she said, giving him her best ‘I have nothing to hide’ look. “I am an open book.”

Cullen still seemed amused, but there was a hint of something she couldn’t place in his voice as he answered. “In my experience people who say this usually aren’t. Not really.”

The conversation was still light-hearted, but there was something underneath that was almost intriguing to Cassia as she smiled. “I see I have to change tactics then.”

Cullen didn’t answer immediately, giving her a strange look. Was there tension in the air or was she imagining it? She was still deliberating when he broke the silence.

“I may have a follow-up job for you, depending on where this leads. Maybe come back in a couple of days?” he said, sounding a bit more formal again. His voice had lost some of the lightness from earlier but his eyes… His eyes seemed to look almost right through her. ‘Be careful Cassia’, her inner voice that sounded, not surprisingly, a lot like her sister said. ‘Don’t underestimate this one just because he has a nice smile.’

“I will. Thank you Knight-Captain,” she said simply.

He nodded, and it seemed like they were done when he suddenly added. “If you insist on me calling you by your name it is only fair I insist on you doing the same.” 

“You want me to call you by my name?” The words had left Cassia’s mouth before she had even thought to think about how wise it would be to crack jokes right now.

Cullen gave her an almost unreadable look and Cassia grinned at him apologetically.

”I’m sorry. I have a sister who never stops joking around - it leaves a mark on you sometimes,” she explained before smiling again, making her way to the door. “But I appreciate the offer, Cullen. And I’ll see you in a few days then. Have a good night.”

#From the scrap pile #Da2 #Dragon Age 2 #Precipice of Change #cullen rutherford

[ladyofmaidensandwine]

Seven Devils

Part Five of the All’s Not Fair in Love and War Series

Characters: Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Sam Winchester, Charlie, John Winchester, Fem! Reader, Rowena, Crowley

Wordcount: 2,317

A/N- You’ve waited long enough. enjoy, luvs!

Summary: Y/N finally reveals herself, her mission, but everything could be put in jeopardy when the unexpected forces her to make a choice.

Warnings- Implied sexual assault, very briefly mentioned. Death by gallows.

                 “Y/N. Y/N MacLeod.” The silence that followed the words was deafening, Crowley staring agape. “You’re bloody jesting.” He denied instantly. You smirked, shaking your head. “No. You came to my home, to Innisfree, and you slaughtered almost the entire royal family. All except one, the youngest princess, who disguised herself as a peasant and spent many years serving the man that destroyed her life. She was beautiful, and caught your eye. You stole her away to your chambers, and then forgot about her. Then I was born. My mother died in childbirth, but I carry her legacy, and her title.” You said darkly. “Impossible!” Crowley snapped. “Oh, but it is the truth, Fergus, and now, I will be the one to burn your kingdom to ash.” You smiled, a hunger for revenge alight in your eyes. “I should kill you here and now, and be done with it,” you mused, stepping closer with an assessing gaze, “but that would be merciful. No, you’ll live, and when I reclaim my throne and wash my hands in the blood of your subjects and soldiers, you will watch, watch as your own daughter dismantles all that you hold dear.” Crowley paled considerably, scowling and struggling in his bonds. “So, for now, I leave you to your cell. I am truly so glad we were able to talk, father.” You spat. You turned on your heel, ignoring Crowley’s enraged threats and the insults he hurled at you.

             You were ready, already stealing away to a hidden exit in the building, prepared to make your escape, when a loud commotion made you pause. The king’s guard were all rushing in one direction, and echoing through the halls was the sound of metal clashing on metal, the air suddenly charged with tension. Crowley’s people had come to free him, and they would cut through every living soul for fun. “Sam, you must go, and take Jessica!” An all-too familiar voice shouted, your heart racing. Dean. Of course, he had to be the hero every time. You had a mission, a vital task that your entire kingdom depended on you for. If you turned around, you knew well that you would never be able to leave. But if you left, knowing the odds were so stacked against Dean, you didn’t think you could forgive yourself. The shouts and sound of battle grew louder and louder, and for a moment, everything became clear, and you knew what you had to do.

              “Stop! Touch him and I swear I shall kill you!” You snarled viciously, a sword you’d stolen from the body of a dead soldier in your hand. The man that had been holding a knife to Dean’s throat hesitated as he saw the death promise blazing in your eyes, the unrestrained fury and hatred burning there. “Why should I take such an order from you?” The man spat. “For one, because I will not hesitate to slay you where you stand, and you would be dead before your wretched companions could so much as move,” you started, eyes narrowed, “and for another, because I have command of you and your legions by birthright.” No one moved, Dean’s shocked green eyes snapping to you. “What?” “By your law and custom, you are bound to the ruling of the MacLeod bloodline, and thus, to me. I am Y/N MacLeod, Queen of Innisfree, The Morrigan, The Assassin, and Queen of you, especially since Crowley is otherwise indisposed.” You said. You had played the only card you had left, but the cost weighed heavily, and you met Dean’s eyes finding nothing but betrayal in them. The demon slowly removed the knife, the others exchanging glances, but following the example, especially as your sword remained poised to strike. They knelt, and your expression remained hard, swallowing the guilt down. “Return to your own stronghold, and if a single one of you is found within five kilometres of this land, I shall make an exceptionally gruesome example of you of what happens when I am disobeyed.” You ordered. When no one moved, you stepped closer, sword pressed against the first demon’s chest. “I don’t believe I hesitated.” You growled. They scrambled to leave, not daring to challenge you, knowing well your reputation.

           “Y/N, please tell me you lied.” Dean begged, your eyes closing. “I am so sorry, Dean. I never- I never wanted for this to happen, I-” He shook his head, backing away from you. “This entire time, everything was a lie, all of it part of your plan. I trusted you!” Dean shouted accusingly. “I hope you can understand in time that I did what I had to. I have a kingdom to protect, Dean. This burden was mine, and I had to carry it. Forgive me. I have to go.” You said, voice wobbling with tears building in your eyes. “I understand. But I must protect my kingdom, too, Y/N.” Dean said, your brows furrowing in confusion. “I wish it did not have to be this way.” He sighed heavily. “Dean, I do not understand-” and then you felt it. The presence of someone behind you. John Winchester and his personal guard. You didn’t have the time to run before you were knocked unconscious.

                 You woke in a place that was familiar, immediate terror stealing away the air from your lungs. Stone walls, darkness, and absolute silence. The tomb-like prison you had been incarcerated in before. “No, no, no, no...” You gasped, scrambling to your feet. Through the bars, you saw Dean staring at you. “Dean, please, don’t do this.” You pleaded, thoughts spiraling further into despair. “You betrayed me. You betrayed my people.” “I saved your life!” “And how long would it be before your army came here to lay siege to my palace, Y/N?!” Dean shot back, marching up to the cell. “I would never have hurt you, Dean.” You said, shocked. “How can I believe you? How can I believe a single word you say, when everything, everything you have ever said to me, has been a lie!” He roared, slamming a fist against the wall and immediately regretting it. You flinched at the anger and anguish in his voice. “I told you I was here for my people, Dean! I have been more honest with you than I have been with anyone else in my entire life!” You argued desperately. “I would have helped you, if you had told me. I could have been there for you. Instead you kept it a secret, and I don’t know how many other secrets you have.” Dean swallowed. “The worst part of it is you made me believe you cared for me. Well, if that was your intention, congratulations, Y/N, you made me care for you, too.” He said bitterly, your eyes going wide. “I do care for you. No matter how I cherish you, I cannot let myself stray from my mission. I wanted to, so many times.” You admitted in a whisper. “Please, don’t leave me here. If you truly care for me, don’t leave me here-” “Don’t! Do not attempt to manipulate me, not any longer.” Dean said lowly. “You are to be tried, and sentenced come dawn.” “And if I am sentenced to death?” You asked boldly. “Then I will not be mourning.” He replied. You moved fast, snatching his sword from his side, and held it, but the blade was against your own throat. “Then go ahead, Dean. I would rather die than be trapped here, so if you truly would not mourn, kill me now.” You said, staring into his eyes defiantly, his hand on the hilt of the sword. He shook his head, sheathing the weapon and backing away. “You will be tried for your crimes as is just.” He said. “Crowley is my enemy as well as yours! I can stop him, I can trap he and his men forever! Why will you not help me?” You demanded. “I am to be King one day, Y/N, and my father has told me there are many difficult choices to make. I am commanding my troops and we will take Innisfree under Lebanon’s name, as it is clearly a hostile kingdom and dangerous.” Dean said, not meeting your eyes. You couldn’t breathe. “No, you can’t! My people are innocent, Dean, please! Don’t do this!” You begged, now near sobbing. “I have to. You forced my hand, and with Crowley freed, there is no other way.” He said, turning away with his back to you. “I am not the one who is the traitor, Dean. I was wrong about you. You are exactly like your father.” You choked out, sinking to your knees. He swallowed hard, glad you couldn’t see the agony on his face. He walked out, and you collapsed into your grief.

                  The King and his council, as well as both princes, sat in a line at the raised podium as you were led to the middle of the floor, manacled and clad in irons and chains with multiple armed guards flanking you. The people loudly shouted insults and threats at you, but you remained stoic, the grey light of dawn matching your somber mood. Dean looked everywhere but at you, and as John stood to begin the proceedings of the trial, you kept your gaze steady on him.

               “The jury has come to a unanimous decision. The accused, Y/N MacLeod, is found guilty of treason, murder, espionage, theft, and being part of a dangerous rebellion. The accused is sentenced to...” John paused for dramatic effect, the audience hushed. “Death by the gallows.” John declared. You lifted your chin, as regal as any Queen, the audience cheering. Dean finally met your eyes, looking conflicted. You were led immediately to the gallows, a hooded man already waiting to pull the lever that would seal your fate. 

             “As is tradition, you are permitted last words.” John said. “My death will not be in vain! No matter what you accuse me of, I die knowing I fought with honour against tyrants like you for the freedom of my people!” You said proudly. You met Dean’s eyes, and couldn’t find it in you to hate him. “And no matter the outcome, I would make the same choices all over again.” You said, hoping Dean understood what you meant. The pain in the end was worth the beauty of falling in love for a moment. You turned to John with a satisfied smirk. “I shall see you in Hell.” You promised. He turned red in fury, and you closed your eyes as he turned to the executioner. “Do it-” “Wait!”

            Your eyes snapped open, staring at Dean in confusion. He’d stood from his seat, John and Sam gaping at him while the public watched on. The obedient son, heir to the throne, opposing his father’s orders. And for the thief and assassin condemned to hanging. Dean took several quick and long strides to the gallows, meeting your eyes ashamedly.

             “Wait.” Dean repeated, fists clenched and jaw tight. “She is not the enemy, father, at least not as of now.” “Son, I would advise you to return to your seat-” John gritted his teeth but Dean wasn’t finished pleading his case. “No, father, listen to me. She is the enemy of Crowley, and thus our ally. Her alliance with Crowley’s forces is purely to overthrow the occupants of Innisfree. She is a powerful person to have on our side in this war, father.” Dean said, tone steady but hard and uncompromising. “You can’t mean to say you would side with her.” John said incredulously. “That is precisely what I mean.” Dean didn’t wait for his father’s permission, drawing his sword and cutting through the rope around your neck, making you cough at the sudden intake of air. He met his father’s eyes challengingly as he offered you his hand, John’s gaze flickering between you both in shock. “My son,” John began loudly, “has decided to take full responsibility for the crimes and charges against this murderer. He has sworn that she will be our ally, until the war against Fergus MacLeod ends, or she is met with an untimely death.” John said, cutting a glare your way. “Furthermore, should either of them break the terms, both shall be permanently exiled from these lands on pain of death.” John decreed. Dean’s grip tightened, but he showed no other outward signs of the shock he must’ve felt, while Sam was standing, ready to argue for his brother’s sake. “Is that understood?” John asked. “Perfectly, father. If you would excuse us. The guards are not necessary.” Dean said, bowing mockingly, and leading you away.

           “What are you thinking?!” You demanded as Dean entered his room. “A thank you would suffice, Y/N.” He responded. “For what?! Risking both of our lives?! Do you realize your title is now at risk of being forfeit?” “I won’t have a title if Crowley takes over my kingdom. I was selfish, and I acted on impulse out of hurt, and for that, I truly apologize. I should never have let you be locked away. I am still hurt, and I don’t know if I can trust you,” he frowned, meeting your eyes, “but I cannot pretend what I feel for you has vanished.” “Dean, think about this. I still have a mission I must fulfill.” You said quietly. “I know. None of it matters, not right now. All I need to know is that you and I are on the same side. The rest of it can come later.” He said, eyes warm as he regarded you. “Are we? On the same side?” Dean asked. “Of course we are.” You said, smiling slightly. “Good. Now, we rest, and then we devise a plan.” “You truly think this can work?” “I don’t know. But I would like to hope so.” He said with a smile. You considered him for a long moment, nodding slowly. You believed him.

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[fulgensun]

; about Spira - through the Fiends Tales

I said I would have done it, and here it is. While not being a very good in-game mechanic, one which can even be soft-locked in case YRP level up too fast, the Fiend Tales in FFX-2 aren’t completely silly, or useless in my opinion. They offer much to think about, mostly because they do reflect a non-idealized vision of Spira -- contrary to what Tidus’ POV may offer us, before shifting into something else, something bigger and closer to reality. The Fiend Tales are, in fact, stories of Spirans, people who died somehow and turned into monsters -- some before, some during and some other even after the events of both FFX and FFX-2.

They narrate their tales to Yuna, presumably (she has to catch them, after all), and find a way to either ascend to the Farplane or to avenge their death, if violent one. They are common folk, priests, heretics, Al-Bheds, elders, children even -- !  What I found fascinating was that their tales did offer slices of common life of all major Spiran cities, routines, dangers for certain workers and habits, even traditions... all part of a Spira we haven’t really seen in-game; for what use is a firework festival in Besaid to a future Summoner or their Guardians ready to eradicate Sin, for example hmm ?  Yet it exists, in the FFX universe. SO. I decided, for rp sake and to also make things a tad tidier, to list and explain here some of the things about these Spiran Tales that I consider cute, funny, important or worth some more thoughts. I’ll leave the specific Tales next to the info, too.  

   --  Children in Spira attend a school, the Temple School. Obviously founded by the Temple, it makes sense it provides a basic education while indoctrinating them to Yevon -- which isn’t hard to do anyway, before and during FFX; orphaned children are also taken by the Temple / Temple schools, most likely trained to either become priests or warrior monks in adulthood. Monks, specifically, are trained to what gets called ‘Yevon Academy’, which prepares them for military life; its volunteers move to this academy and don’t see their family till they graduate, but can write them letters.  [ Doggo the Coyote, Big Mama the Protochimera, Jaws II the Xiphactinus, Happy-Birb the Peregrine ]

   --  The Tale of Happy-Birb is very sad, and refers to children and temple. I feel it gives us a good example of how hard life could be, for... a rather gifted kid.        “ I always kept to myself in a tiny room in the temple, staring outside my window. I had no friends, no family to look out for me. If I were to suddenly vanish one day, would anything be different? Since I was supposedly orphaned after an attack by Sin, I was raised in the temple of Kilika. They tell me my parents were killed by Sin, but I know it’s a lie. Why would I be the only one to survive? The monks told me I had to be strong to provide hope for the future of Spira. I didn’t want to go on living in such a sad world. So I decided to take a gamble. One night, I fled the temple. [...] But when I encountered a fiend in the woods, I froze. I don’t want to die, I screamed. I truly wanted to live. ” Don’t the monks’ words sound familiar, to you? It’s speculation, but it sounds like this child exhibited the potential to become a Summoner, his family refused to let him train as one and they were disposed of -- so that the child could come into the “custody” of Yevon and ‘provide hope’. Summoner potential isn’t hereditary, mind that, but you kinda get the mentality that might have made Braska think Yuna wasn’t safe in the religious capital of Spira. The boy, here, was just ten years old.

   --  Spira has a considerable amount of criminals, for a world that should - utopically, be united by the tragedy Sin represented for everyone. Thieves considering burglary their very ‘grand career’; killers having no remorse in deceiving old people to obtain their inheritance; Al Bhed hitmen sent to kill Yevonite children in temples or wandering priests, children kidnappers, kids thieves in Luca killing one another for money, etc.  [ Bulbasaur the Purpurea, Mittens the Couerl, Brick the Bicocette, Bolt Josh ]

   --  Engagements are a quite serious thing, considering a family could not bless the union if the suitor was of a lower class (even between relatively common people), or just too poor to be deemed worthy. A refined girl from a well-to-do family in Bevelle was forbidden, for example, to love a young sailor. Engagement rings are also a thing, and the Moonflow riverbanks are lovers’ favorite dating spot.  [ Frosty the Flan Pallido, Boko the Chocobo, Venom the Gucumatz  ]

   --  So many Tales from children, it kinda gives off a very sad vibe considering they too can turn and not reach the Farplane. Many are attacked by monsters, some lost in the desert, way too many others have drowned by the Moonflow when left unsupervised. One Tale tells even of a young thief, a child, who died in jail. Being Spiran kids seems dangerous.  [ Lesser Josh, Squelch the Amorphous Gel, Scooter the Vespa, Nexus the Dark Elemental, Widow the Black Elemental ]

   --  The Tales narrate of children’s stories and legends. To make their children behave, tell them to stay put and be good, else ‘they will turn into fiends’: the more they misbehave, the uglier their monster form will look. Another old legend says spirits of people who died a violent death make their way to the Moonflow to bloom with the moonlilies. I found this last one is very similar to the old bedtime story in the FFX novel, where Old Spirans believed the souls of the dead bloomed as flowers in the Farplane. With the advent of Sin, though, and the spread of religion, this tale was forgotten.  [ Petal the Ochu, Cyanide the Assassin Bee ]

   --  The Temple of Macalania is sinking, as Shiva’s Fayth is no more and there is nothing to freeze the lake now. Many people remained trapped in their rooms inside and died during the sinking, like some wives and children of Macalania priests, for example. The few survivors performed their funeral .  [ Mayo the White Elemental ]

   --  Apparently, people living near Gagazet have a rite of passage for adulthood, which takes place as a boy reaches 20 years of age. He must climb the peak of the mountain alone in the dead of the night and bathe in the first morning lights. Needless to say, it’s quite dangerous, but the Tale is pretty funny.  [ Wuff the White Fang ]

   -- The excessive usage of machina, by the time of FFX-2, is starting to pollute the water and air. It is said fish and birds are starting to suffer because of it.  [ Daisy the Haize ]

   --  The punishment for murder, in Spira, is execution. Hissss the Kukulkan was sentenced to death, mistaken for the killer when he was a mere witness of said murder. He spent one year in the cell of Bevelle -- most likely Via Purifico ones (all monsters in Via Purifico are people who were executed nearby -- aside from Omega who was taken to the ruins), to then being sent to the gallow.

   --  Malboros have very long lifespans. Their average one is about 300 years, and a legend says the insides of a Malboro over 500 years old are linked to the divine. There’s a legend of a monk who was swallowed by a 700-years-old Malboro, survived the digestive fluids and returned to his people with his battle garb still on.  [ Vape Nation the Malboro ]

   --  In Luca, if the Goers win Blitzball matches, pubs and bars offer everyone free drinks. In Kilika, instead, barmaids also dance, which is seen as quite the spectacle. Men usually flock to those bars to drink and also bring gifts to the most beautiful dancers, even ending up in fights for their attention.  [ Jub Jub the Archaeothyris, Venom the Gucumatz ]

   --  Religious Spirans believe in reincarnation. Yuna mentions it in the Ultimania too, referring to her father, and theorizing if, one day, she’ll ever have the chance to meet his soul again, born anew somewhere in Spira. It kinda goes against the principle of souls dwelling in the Farplane, but it’s useful to remember those are mere illusions anyway. A tale says that ‘when looking into the water of an oasis after a sandstorm, you can see yourself in a past life’.  [ Venom the Gucumatz ]

   --  Footage of Zaon becoming a Fayth exist, and are stored inside long-gone and deactivated machina still found near Zanarkand Ruins, which once served to protect the couple during the Machina War. One of these footages shows Zaon embracing Yunalesca, and her promising him her love and to return safely.  [ Punt the YAU71 ]

   --  Music seems important in Spira. Yevon Maesters hire musicians, since the most popular music seems to be Yevonite one -- religious, solemn type, played with harps, horns and strings. There seems to be an annual Yevonite concert for the Maesters too. Still, Spira’s most rebellious teens have started rejecting such old-fashioned music and guitars are spreading among youth nowadays. [ Casper the Lich ]

   --  At some point in Braska’s pilgrimage, the trio arrived in Bikanel and got separated. A Cactuar and Jecht met at the oasis; the man taught the friendly fiend how to play Blitzball and signed its ball.      “ A guy with a huge sword wandered into the oasis. He had strayed from his traveling mates, and he stayed with me for three days. He taught me how to blitz! We didn’t speak the same language but I had fun. I’m clumsy, so it takes a lot of practice to get better. He used to say ‘The only thing the untalented can do is practice!’ with a big laugh. [...] I heard a rumor that said he was dead, but it’s just a rumor, right? ”  [ Needler the Cactuar ]

   --  A Besaid Festival exists, and it includes a fireworks moment. While Luca has a Eating Contest, where the competitors have to eat 200 crispy-outside, juicy inside Luca sandwiches. The local champion was poisoned before the contest started. [ Akao the Sahagin Prince, Mr Creosote the Anything Eater ]

#meta tag. #[ i left out the most stupid and absurd like.... belgemine's bootleg noah's ark ] #[ or just people who turned into fiends bc they were stupid ] #[ or worse ] #[ as well as shinra being whatever that is ]

[goth-surana]

Different Violence: Chapter Two

Main pairing: Anders/Male Hawke

Main Tags: hurt/comfort, whump, aftermath of torture

Chapter 2/3 (it grew! What can I say, chapter two got away from me)

Summary: This wasn’t the rush of battle, this was the aftermath of torture. This was methodically produced pain left in the silent air, left over after anything could be done about it. It was sickening. Hawke was a warrior, he was used to violence… but not like this.

Read on AO3 or below the cut

Anders slept restlessly, tossing and turning all night. Hawke couldn’t sleep at all, haunted by the events of that night. He felt so bloody useless, especially towards the end when he couldn’t even pull himself together and Isabela had to step in. 

Hawke had thought of himself as a strong person, but he was not strong in the face of harm to those he loved. He was frightened, scared shitless and panicked. How did Anders manage to heal him the number of times he had been in mortal peril, especially after the duel with the Arishok?

Whenever Hawke was in trouble, was hurt, Anders kept his calm and did what needed to be done. He had the iron will of a healer. Lives depended on him every day and he dealt with that, he had to watch his lover throw himself into danger countless times and he dealt with that. 

But Hawke also supposed that this wasn’t some normal danger. This wasn’t the rush of battle, this was the aftermath of torture. This was methodically produced pain left in the silent air, left over after anything could be done about it. It was sickening. Hawke was a warrior, he was used to violence… but not like this. 

Hawke sat up in bed, and looked over to see Anders peering up at him with tired eyes. Before he could think about what he was saying, he asked one simple question. 

“Who?” His voice came out scratchy, dulled.

“Who do you think?” Anders responded with the ghost of a wry smile. “Templars.”

Of course it was Templars. Deep down, Hawke had probably known it was Templars but desperately wanted it not to be Templars. Templars were so often anonymous in their helms, and so protected by the Chantry. If this had just been the Coterie or Tal-Vashoth or any other threat in Kirkwall… 

“Fuck,” Hawke whispered into the air. But his resolve held firm. “I’ll still make them pay.”

Anders’ eyebrows shot up, and he made to sit before hissing in pain and laying back down as he spoke. 

“No, Hawke, that’s too dangerous! You can’t get Meredith any more furious with you than she already is!”

“I don’t bloody care!” Hawke cursed, trying not to yell. Tears were forming in his eyes again, stupid useless tears. Tears because he was so useless. Deep down he knew Anders was right. What could he do to the Templars?

Anders regarded him with pitying eyes, and Hawke thought it was just rich that Anders was giving him pity right now. 

“Did…” Hawke’s words caught in his throat. He had to ask. He had to know, but… but this was Anders’ story to tell. 

“Did?” Anders prodded, lying back on the pillows and looking almost as sickly as he had last night. 

“What did they do to you?” Hawke asked in a whisper. 

He could tell Anders was tense. “Uh, hurt me?” He supplied, clearly a little confused. “Love, you saw what they did to me. It’s all over by body.”

“But they didn’t… they didn’t touch you? Not like…”

Fuck, this was hard to say. Maybe he shouldn’t say it. Maybe he-

“Did they rape you?” He asked before he really thought it through. The possibility was gnawing at the back of his mind. 

“No,” Anders said immediately. “No, love. They didn’t.”

“Your clothes-“

“They took them to get at my skin better, that’s all,” Ander assured Hawke. Once again, he tried to rise but fell back.

Thank the Maker. It was horrible that this had to be a fucking relief, that somehow what had happened to Anders wasn’t the worst it could be. But Hawke knew even if he had been violated, that still would have been better than dead. And even if he had died, it still would have been better than being tranquil. 

The idea of tranquility made Hawke sick. The idea that a fate worse than death was thought of as mercy, that every mage had to fear their mind being taken from them… it was horrible. Anders had once made Hawke promise to kill him if that ever happened, and Hawke had agreed with his heart in his throat. It would kill him to do it, but he would respect Anders’ wish. 

Really, what happened last night was so much better than it could have been. Anders was here, alive, with his mind intact. 

“I hate that I have to be grateful,” Hawke told no one in particular. “Grateful it wasn’t worse.”

“As do I,” Anders told him solemnly. “But nevertheless, I am. They did return me to you, as they said they would.”

“Why did they do this?” Hawke asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Because they could, love,” Anders sighed. “Because it gave them pleasure to hurt a mage they couldn’t control.”

Hawke hated this Maker-forsaken world, and especially this Maker-forsaken city. If it weren’t for Bethany, Hawke would suggest they pack their things right away and leave to a place where the Templars had less power. 

But even then, he knew Anders wouldn’t leave his clinic or the Underground. For better or for worse, Kirkwall was their home. 

“You do so much for this place,” Hawke told Anders. “You do so much and this is the thanks you get.”

Anders chuckled. “You get so angry on my behalf… I’m angry enough, you know. No need for you to be too.”

“No,” Hawke said. “No, I need to be angry because my lover was brutalized and I can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“There are many things we can’t change,” replied Anders. “That’s why I do what I do. To make a world where things can be different.”

“I know, I know…” said Hawke fondly. He managed a smile. “You and your crusade for justice.”

From anyone else, it would have sounded patronizing. But Anders knew Hawke supported him, loved him even more for what he did. 

“Guilty,” Anders smiled back. They looked at each other, and Hawke was flooded with relief that he could be looking into Anders’ eyes right now. 

Eventually, Hawke moved the conversation to more practical matters. “I was told by Fenris that elfroot might help the pain. He said they likely poured magebane in your wounds.”

Hawke didn’t want to make Anders recall what had happened, but it was in service of aiding his healing. 

“They did,” Anders confirmed. “I can’t say I’d ever heard of that before last night.”

“It’s common in Tevinter,” Hawke explained. “Fucked up shit magisters do to each other and all…”

This also reminded Hawke of something. “Fenris told me to tell you he hopes you recover soon.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “He’s not happy I’m finally getting a taste of what Tevinter is like, then?”

Hawke frowned. “He would never. I keep telling you you’re more alike than you give each other credit for. No, he was quite rattled by what happened.”

Anders considered this, but didn’t reply. That was as good an answer as Hawke would probably get regarding Fenris. 

“I’ll ask Merrill to help me make an elfroot poultice,” Hawke said. “And when you’re better, you’ll have to teach me. Last night made me realize how little I know about healing. That has to change.”

Anders smiled at him. “You did well last night.”

“No I didn’t,” Hawke replied with a shake of his head. “I could barely keep it together. I couldn’t stand seeing you like that.”

Anders looked like he didn’t know how to respond, so he just looked away. 

Anders sometimes did have issues reacting to how honest Hawke was with his feelings. It was to be expected really, with how he was raised. True feelings were never spoken of in the Circle, only half truths and witty deflections. 

Anders was nervously fidgeting with the blankets, and Hawke took the opportunity to place a hand on his. 

“You’re too good to me,” Anders sighed. Hawke didn’t like when he said things like that, never had. But that was an argument from long ago, one Anders was too delicate to handle right now. He may be putting on a strong face, but he had been through trauma. 

Hawke stroked a thumb across his knuckles, hoping to coax out whatever Anders was truly feeling. 

It worked. 

“I really was scared I’d never see you again,” Anders admitted quietly. “That was almost worse than what was happening.”

Hawke didn’t say anything, just kept up his ministrations and listened. He had often found that he had to give Anders space to think through what he felt and then to work up the courage to say it. The man may be a lit fuse when it came to his cause, but any deeper hurt was always buried. 

“I hadn’t felt that scared in a long time, honestly. I couldn’t even hear Justice. I was truly alone with those bastards.”

“They’ll never touch you again,” Hawke said. 

“You don’t know that,” Anders laughed bitterly. “I didn’t even get a good look at all of them. Their leader did most of… the work. I think he almost got off on it. But anyway, what’s most likely is that we’ll be in one of your meetings at the Gallows and the bastards will be right there, sharing their private joke while we both remain oblivious.”

Hawke hadn’t even thought that far ahead. Anders was right. 

“You shouldn’t come with me anymore, if I go there.” Hawke had never liked it when he did in the first place, but Anders insisted on following Hawke into that pit of snakes. 

“Probably not, no,” Anders agreed. He sounded so defeated, so sad. 

“Who knows how Justice will react now,” Anders continued. “It’ll be even worse than it was before. I can’t know I won’t lose control.” 

That wasn’t what Hawke had been worried about. 

The two men stayed in bed, silent, for a long time. Soon after Hawke had to leave to procure an elfroot poultice, which Merrill was all too glad to help him make. 

She seemed shaken by the events of last night. 

“They really just hurt him because… they wanted to?” She asked after needling Hawke with nervous questions. 

“Yeah,” Hawke told her. 

Merrill wasn’t oblivious to the abuses of Templars, she just didn’t involve herself in Kirkwall politics as much as most mages would. 

“If you need my help getting revenge, I’ll go,” Merrill told Hawke as she handed him the finished poultice. Hawke was a bit startled by the conviction in her voice, but he nodded and thanked her. 

He didn’t even know if he would be able to enact any retribution. No Templar would be punished for his actions, especially not when apprehending an apostate. But Hawke had always operated outside the law, as everyone in Kirkwall did.

He could find out who the Templars were, there had to be a way. And if he found out who they were, he could tell them in no uncertain terms that they would die if they ever touched Anders again. 

Or maybe this was all just wishful thinking. Hawke desperately wanted to do something about what happened, he hated feeling so useless. Anders deserved some kind of… some kind of justice. 

Hawke hadn’t thought of himself as a violent man before Kirkwall. In Kirkwall, all there was was violence. All avenues of change, of changing any little thing went through violence. 

And as nice of a man as Hawke was, as charming as the nobles found him for some fucking reason, he would do what it took to defend his family.

When Hawke returned with the poultice Anders was asleep. Even then, he didn’t look at peace. His brow twitched, he whimpered slightly. 

Hawke placed a hand on his cheek, stroked gently. “Shh,” he whispered, “it’s okay.”

“S-stop, p-please,” Anders whined into the air, voice weak. 

“Love,” Hawke said out loud. He gently nudged his lover’s shoulder, hoping to wake him gently. Whatever the fade had for him, it didn’t sound good. It never was with Anders, it was always Darkspawn or Templars or a cold dark cell. 

Anders shook his head, whimpered again. Hawke shook his shoulder a little harder this time, trying not to agitate the wounds but unable to let Anders stay in whatever torment his mind created. 

Anders gasped as his eyes opened, and then looked at Hawke. Panic turned to relief, and he slumped back against the pillows. 

“I brought the poultice,” Hawke told him. He wanted to say something about the nightmare, but often Anders didn’t want to talk about it. 

Anders nodded, and began to push the covers down. Hawke helped the rest of the way, and his heart ached at the sight laid out before him. 

Anders reached to undo one of the bandages, but Hawke caught the hand in his. “I’ll do it,” he said. Anders acquiesced with another small nod.

The wounds on his chest were still angry and red, but at least the wounds were healing. 

“How long until you get your magic back?” Hawke asked as he dipped a hand in the poultice. 

“Probably another day,” said Anders. “They gave me a lot of magebane, so I can’t be sure.”

Hawke applied the poultice gently to the first cut, feeling Anders flinch beneath him. 

“Sorry,” Hawke said for what felt like the thousandth time. Hawke kept going, applying the substance gently and slowly, trying his best not to aggravate the wounds he uncovered.

Anders watched him the whole time, surveying his own wounds in an almost detached manner. 

Eventually he did begin to relax, the elfroot taking effect. 

“Will these scar?” Hawke asked as he put away the supplies and re-tied  the bandages. “Or will you be able to heal them in time?”

“The one on my thigh might, but the others are shallow. If I get my healing back tomorrow I can just fix them the rest of the way, and that should prevent scarring.”

Good. Hawke didn’t want to have to be reminded of last night every time he saw Anders without a shirt, and he suspected Anders felt the same way. Hawke already didn’t like the sight of the massive sword wound on his lover’s chest, which apparently would have been fatal if not for Justice. 

“I don’t know what I should be doing with myself right now,” Anders said to no one in particular. “Justice would normally be telling me to go to the clinic or write… but I’m in no state to do either and Justice is still dull. Must be the poison.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Hawke told him, running delicate fingers across an unharmed area of skin. He had at first gone to stroke his arm, but had to stop himself. 

“Just… lie in bed?”

“Probably, yeah,” Hawke told him seriously. “That’s what people do when they’ve been injured.” Hawke didn’t say “tortured,” but that’s what he meant.

“I guess I’ve always been able to heal it right away and then walk the rest off,” Anders mused. 

Even if he did have his healing, Hawke knew this wasn’t something he could walk off. Did Anders know that yet, or was he still trying to pretend? 

The day was spent with Hawke in bed talking with Anders, trying to alleviate his boredom. Hawke could tell it bothered Anders that he couldn’t hear Justice, so he tried to take his mind off of it.

Eventually the poultice began to wear off, and Anders winced in pain whenever he moved. 

“Let me redress the wounds,” Hawke offered. 

Anders nodded and lay back with a huff. 

“I want a bath,” he complained as Hawke began to work the poultice over his chest wounds. 

“Those tunnels were bloody filthy. I know you already cleaned the wounds, but the rest of me still feels…Well, still feels like I got pushed around on a dirty stone floor…”

He said that with indifference, irreverence, but it made Hawke’s heart freeze. That was another detail Hawke hadn’t known before, another element his mind could add to the mental picture of what happened. 

Through the thundering in his chest Hawke heard Anders call his name. 

Hawke looked over quickly, and realized he had frozen in his task. 

“What?” Hawke asked, trying to shake off what his mind was showing him. 

“You just went away for a second,” said Anders. He had so much worry in his eyes for someone who shouldn’t be worrying about others right now.

“Sorry.”

Anders gave him a searching look. “It’s okay if… well, it’s okay if you’re not okay. I’m sure last night wasn’t fun for you either.”

Hawke’s heartbeat still thrummed fast, he still felt the pit in his stomach. This wasn’t about him, why did it hurt so much?

“You’re okay now,” Hawke settled on saying. “That’s what matters.”

“But you were still hurt.”

“Love, you were hurt. You were tortured.”

The word hung in the air, and Hawke realized now that this was the first time either of them had plainly called it what it was. Torture. 

“Many mages have gone through torture,” Anders said calmly. “It was just my turn, I suppose.”

When the bastards at the Circle locked him away for a year that had been torture too, but Hawke didn’t want to bring up any more painful memories. 

“It’s still fucked up,” Hawke said, barely a whisper. He felt his eyes well up with tears, tried to will them away. 

How could Anders lay there and downplay what had happened, write it off as just another thing that happened to mages? How was Anders so messed up, so used to his shit lot in life that he just played it off when this happened? Was this Justice’s influence, thinking that others had it worse? 

Hawke loved Anders more than anything, but sometimes he was infuriating. Sometimes Hawke was just baffled at how he laughed away what he had gone through, how he pushed down his own distress until it consumed him. Would he push this down too?

Anders was easy to love, but loving him was hard. It was hard because loving him meant someone you loved had been hurt over and over again, in ways you can’t begin to heal. 

Tears were sliding down Hawke’s cheeks now, his breathing hitched. All he could think about was last night, and how last night would not be the end of it. Even if somehow Anders truly did just walk this off, the sight of Anders screaming in pain and covered in gashes from literal torture would haunt Hawke until he died. The feeling of being utterly powerless would haunt Hawke until he died. So many things already did.

“Just let it out,” Anders encouraged softly. “You don’t have to be strong around me. Wasn’t that what you said to me last night?”

It was, but it was also hard advice to follow. However, Hawke would try. 

Hawke let himself cry openly, stopped trying to hold back the tidal wave of emotion. His shoulders shook slightly, and Anders reached up and beckoned him to lie down. 

Hawke went with him and lay with his head on the pillow next to Anders, Anders reaching over to run a hand through his hair.

“We’re both alright, love,” said Anders, “we’re both together and we’re both okay.”

Hawke tried to keep remembering that instead of dwelling on what the future might hold. 

#anders/hawke #handers #m!handers #anders/male hawke #da fanfic

[the-chaos-katzlein]

The Siege of Vesuvia pt1

[I apologize if anyone here doesn’t like The Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit because a few actions and the banter between the characters replicate those from the movies, less so here but I will use them] [Also more prominent headcanons here]

Nadia briskly walked through the crowded Vesuvian streets an open letter in her hand, as she came to a mahogany door she turned the knob and stepped inside.

The door creaked loud enough that anyone could hear that a guest had stopped by. As Nadia approached the wooden counter the floor creaked beneath her, despite looking new the wood sounded old. Nadia heard footsteps coming from an adjacent room

“Ah, Countess, nice of you to stop by” Ahoratos says, pulling his jet black hair back and tying it in a ponytail

“It’s always a pleasure to see what Asra and Yourself are up to, but we have more pressing matters to discuss” Nadia says as she places the note on the table and spins it around for him to read.

Ahoratos bends down slightly and pulls the parchment over before he begins to read “Dearest Count/Countess of Vesuvia, blah blah blah, Three days to turn my Niece and Nephew over. Or I will attack your city with 6,000 soldiers” He looks back up at Nadia “Well, how many capable soldiers do you have?”

“Capable? No more than a few hundred, but I do not plan on turning you over either” She states

“What of your Family in Prakra? Surely they would send over reinforcements”

“Of course they would, but given our three day limit, there wouldn’t be enough time, We’d be sitting ducks until they arrived”

Ahoratos rubs his chin, before saying “Then we wait, hold out for a few days siege, however my sister will need to train your capable soldiers, swords won’t win this battle”

“Then what will?” She asked tilting her head slightly

“Spears, Halberds, Fishing harpoons, weapons with reach, and shields. I know my uncle likes his men to use swords and knives, so we use weapons with reach to hold them off.” Ahoratos says, keeping his eye on the parchment the entire time

“Then I will tell the captain of our guard to let Talia take over with the training, now we best be heading back to the palace, We have a meeting to attend” She says as she stands up and walks towards the door

Nadia exits the shop first with Ahoratos right behind her, he locks up the shop before they walk back to the palace, the sunny day now replaced by a cloudy sky, the streets seem almost empty as the two of them walk towards the palace.

“Valerius must have issued the evacuation plan, the civilians will be sailing for Nopal to hopefully escape the battle” Nadia says as she walks

“Mr. Ahoratos sir, wait!” A voice yells out

Ahoratos turns around to be greeted by an older man and his wife “Hello Mr. Horatio, shouldn’t you be leaving?”

“Yes we should, but My wife and I needed to give you this” The Baker hands over a bag with 4 loaves of pumpkin break inside

“For what it’s worth, we really hope you come out of it okay” The wife chips in

“Thank you both” Nadia says “But you should be going now”

“Right, see you both later” The wife says as she gestures for her husband to come along

Nadia and Ahoratos enter the palace to see more heavily armored guards around, they stand valiantly, but they are nervous. The pair reach the dining room which has been turned into a makeshift War Room with maps lining the walls, various daggers and knives pinning them there, a tailor is measuring everyone in the room fitting them for armor, she’s stuck on Julian because he moans every time she touches him, it’s clear he enjoys toying with her, the girl eventually gives up saying that she’d just ask someone else to do it.

Nadia takes her seating place beside Lucio, and Ahoratos finds his seat between two of Lucio’s new military advisors, Asra seems stressed and scared running his fingers through his fluffy, curly, white hair. Muriel rubs Asra’s back to comfort him, but he’s just as concerned. Lucio and Nadia speak with hushed voices on their end of the table, Lucio having grown a small beard as of late, it complements his new, less extravagant clothing style.

“Yes, but what do we do if we’re running low on troops? Noddy, you and I both know the walls of this palace weren’t meant to withstand an attack”

Nadia motions for Ahoratos and Talia to come over to the small map that She and her Husband were looking at

“Again I ask, what if we can’t hold out?”

Ahoratos and Talia look at the map both of them thinking completely opposite things

Talia speaks first “Well if we’re losing then we blow the gate, causing the gate to collapse, blocking them from getting in, but that also prevents us from getting out, and we’d still be vulnerable to volleys”

Ahoratos snaps his fingers and points at the map “We sally out, potentially abandoning the city but causing as much damage as we can on the way out”

Lucio sighs “At times like these I really regret putting Vulgora and Vlastomil to the gallows”

Nadia places her hand on Lucio’s shoulder and lightly squeezes it “Yes, but you did a good thing, and you broke your ties to The Devil”

“Those are our plans, unless anyone can think of a better one, choose between the two” Ahoratos says

“I’ve got to go make trained warriors out of fishermen, see you later” Talia says as she waves to Lucio, Nadia and Ahoratos

“What are you planning to do about armor and weaponry Count?” Ahoratos asks

“We’ve a secret armory connected to the courtyard, after the tailor finishes we’ll gift you a set, although it’s all mismatched in there. It holds armors that we’ve taken from those we put to the sword, along with armor that holds our colors.”

As Lucio finishes Ahoratos feels the tailor measuring his body, so he stands up straight and spreads his arms out. “And what of those who do not wish to fight?” Ahoratos asks, gesturing towards Asra and Muriel

“I will not make them, they can either stay in the palace or they can flee towards Nopal with the rest of the refugees” Lucio says rather solemnly

The Tailor finished her measurements of Ahoratos and she nodded towards Nadia who then stood up and addressed the small group at the table

“I would ask you all to accompany Myself and Lucio to the armory, we will be handing out the armor based on what role you will play”

A younger more arrogant military advisor stood up first and walked out the door, followed by an Older General who’s hair had all but fallen out, whist his beard remained full

The Older General was followed by a blonde haired woman who had finally put her wine glass down, her name was Rhea. Rhea walked over to Ahoratos

“I bet I can kill more of your bitch ass uncles army than you” She says looking up at him

“Is that a challenge? In time of war?” Ahoratos lowered himself down to her level “Because if it is, I would be happy to oblige”

Rhea then walked out of the dining room followed by Lucio, Nadia, and Ahoratos. Once everyone had reached the courtyard Nadia and Lucio both pulled a key from their pockets, before they pull two loose stones out from the fountain, they both inserted the keys into the keyholes and turned them.

The wall to the south of where the fountain sat started to rumble, as the white marble bricks pushed back and opened inward like a door

“I’ve never seen a door like this before” Ahoratos said in awe

“Welcome to Vesuvia, the city of magic and secrets” Rhea joked as she spread her arms out, rather dramatic like

Lucio was the first to walk in, running his hands along the cold stone and metallic walls that had not seen sun in years, he looked upon an old suit of armor with a bloodied sword still lodged into it he sighed heavily before he continued walking. Rhea followed close behind, seemingly going through the exact same memories as Lucio

Nadia slightly opened the next door, peering in she smiled as the armor looked new, and the weapons still sharp. “Welcome Generals” She and Lucio heaved the large door open grunting as they did so “To the Grand Armory of Vesuvia”

2 Days Remaining

@move-im-vesuvian-thirsty (Thank you for fighting for our kingdom, and letting me use Rhea)

#the interworkings of a madman #the arcana #the arcana game #Lucio #with smexy beard #montag morgasson #nadia satrivana #asra alnazar #Ahoratos #Talia #Julian #Tallinuva

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

The Hattrick

Rating: PG 1,698 words Gen AO3

There is a strong possibility that Mia is in hell. It’d be vaguely poetic and certainly fitting if her personal hell were an empty warehouse. The fact John Constantine is here definitely sells the idea.

“You just had to go for the hattrick,” Mia grumbles. She lowers her bow as the rumpled looking magician sticks his hands in his coat pockets.

John shrugs, “You did jinx it, love.”

Mia huffs. Taking the arrow off the string, she reaches over her shoulder to slide it back in her quiver. Begrudgingly, Mia is willing to admit that the circumstances are better this time around at least. For one, she knows where she is, isn’t in her pjs or barefoot, and has not been captured or tied up by goons. Plus, she’s got her bow and the crate John just rounded was the last area she had to sweep before determining that the warehouse was indeed empty. The presence of the Englishman currently partaking in his favorite bad habit pretty much did Mia’s job for her.

Crossing her arms, Mia watches the smoke from John’s cigarette float towards the ceiling. Some hangs back to give him a hazy looking halo as he leans against the crate.

“I’d say we should stop meeting like this but apparently the universe would just take that as a challenge,” she says flatly.

Barking a laugh, John pushes himself upright and nods. “Normally I’ve got good luck but you’re turning out to be a bad penny, love.”

Mia drops her arms as she frowns, stepping closer to John despite the acidic smelling fog. She makes a big show of examining him, exaggerating her expression as she goes. “I don’t see you hanging by your ankles or otherwise incapacitated today. And we did have fun that first time. Or at least you got drunk and got me kicked out of Oblivion. Not sure how any of that is bad luck for you.”

John narrows his eyes and blows out a long stream of gray-white smoke. “But unlike your Righteousness, I don’t work for free. And on our last few encounters I got stiffed.” He leers, taking two thin fingers to remove the cigarette from his lip, “Unfortunately not literally.”

Rolling her eyes, Mia waves at the growing cloud. “Still underage, still not interested. Besides, I thought you conned space, time, and Zatanna into leaving with you last time.”

“Clever.” John does a short little nod as his lips and nose scrunch up. He takes another drag and eyes Mia carefully. “You do know I’m just winding you up, right? Don’t have any intentions towards ya. Remind me a bit of my niece if I’m bein’ honest.”

Mia smiles, letting herself roll her eyes since the mask will help soften the blow. “I do. You would’ve known it a while ago if I thought you were serious. Probably with a fist to the face.”

Despite his reputation, appearance, rudeness, and overall general bad attitude, John Constantine is a good person and she knows this. That much was obvious when they first met. Besides, they have a similar worldview of looking out for the little guy. Let someone else handle an alien invasion, and sure they’ll walk into the middle of a battle to save the world if they have to, but they’d rather help the single mom down the street. And piss off the powers that be.

“Can we get back to our regularly scheduled snark and gallows humor now?” she offers him a smirk.

John’s twisted expression smooths to match hers. “Gladly. So what’s a nice girl like you doin’ in a place like this?”

“Nearly hunting chain-smoking warlocks for sport, apparently.” Mia bares her teeth as John blows a thin stream of the aforementioned smoke over his shoulder.

“Point taken.”

“Not quite, I put my arrow away remember?”

“Heh,” John huffs and gestures towards her, “you’re quick today.”

“Well they don’t call me Speedy for nothing,” Mia drawls.

That has John genuinely laughing, hard enough he coughs a little on the smoke hanging around him. He takes that as his cue to stub his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe and flick the butt off into the warehouse. Mia can’t help but frown as she watches.

“Maybe you should quit. That didn’t sound good,” concern leaks into her voice.

John waves her off, waving the some of the haze away too. “Survived lung cancer once and I still didn’t learn me lesson. No point quitting now. ‘Sides,” something like mischief lit his eyes, “I’ve got a couple-a tricks up my sleeves.”

The hair on the back of Mia’s neck prickles. Wearing a look like that she believes John had conned the devil himself. “Just as long as they don’t wind up spilled all over the ground again,” she shoots back in an almost automatic defense mechanism.

Chuckling, Johns ducks his head. He nods slightly though, almost conceding that she’s made a point. Mia grins as he raises his brows and glances up at her. “So what’s caught Speedy’s ire today? ‘Sides yours truly of course.”

“Of course,” Mia agrees seriously. Her straight face lasts only a few seconds before a smile flickers, threatening to break out. Mia tamps it down as she straightens her spine, jutting her chin out just a hair. It gives her an air of authority that is nothing short of absurd which wins her laughs from Ollie every time. It works on John too. His chuckles increase as she adds a dry look.

“Reports of gunrunners in the area, this seemed the most likely option for their base but it’s disgustingly poorly guarded if it is. I haven’t even seen a single camera and you’re the only person I’ve run into. Should probably see what’s in these,” Mia sighs, gesturing vaguely to the stacks of crates that surround them. “What about you?”

John sighs as he pulls his lighter from his pocket. Spinning it in his hand and flicking the top open and closed as he says, “I’m currently in hiding. Not that it’s doing much good.”

“What’d you piss off in London that you had to come all the way to Star to get away from it?” Mia’s brows draw together in surprise. Despite her amused tone she tightens her grip on her bow. If John’s running from it it’s probably serious. Or pissed. Or both. Granted the likelihood that he’s avoiding a poker debt or ex is pretty high on the list of possibilities too but Mia likes to err on the side of caution in all aspects of her life anymore. Even jumping headlong into danger.

He makes a weird, almost rueful noise. “I was in San Francisco,” he admits sheepishly.

Mia doesn’t even try to cover her laugh.

“But Zee and I parted on good terms,” he adds quickly, almost nervous sounding.

“Sure you did,” she teases. “This time.”

John rolls his eyes and scoffs but doesn’t deny it.

“What’re you running from?”

“Myself, mostly,” he admits wryly. “Wandered in here on a hunch though. Coming across you seems to have been what the universe wanted.”

She makes sure to arrange her features into her most skeptical look.

“Look, it wasn’t intentional,” he grumbles.

Mia believes him but it’s too much fun giving John a hard time. “If you say so. Look, if you’re here you can make yourself useful” – he quirks a brow but Mia charges ahead – “and help me see if there’s any weapons in these.” She pats the crate next to her.

“And what do you define as weapons?” John’s smirk is back.

“Don’t be difficult,” Mia says. She turns, pulling one of her sturdier arrows out to leverage the lid off.

“Strewth, that’ll take ages,” he complains, coming up beside her. “I’m all for doing your own dirty work but I’ll pay the price to get out of this.”

Mia turns in confusion but John’s already backed up and rifling through his pockets. He pulls his pack of cigarettes out and a piece of string. Tying it around the pack, he lets it hang loose a few inches off the ground. The effect is that John looks vaguely like he’s taking his Silk Cuts for a walk as they sway slightly over the toes of his boots. He mumbles something but Mia’s never been able to make out John’s magic words before, why would today be any different? The cigarette pack swings a bit more, almost making a circle as it does so. John watches it closely but over the next few minutes the motion never changes. Mia’s reaching the end of her patience when it stops moving to hang loose over his shoes again.

“What was that supposed to do?” She doesn’t bother to hide her dry amusement.

“Find your ‘weapons.’” He doesn’t make air quotes as he reels in his cigarettes, taking one out to stick behind his ear, but Mia can still hear them and see them in the curl of his lips.

“I might be a mere mortal, but it doesn’t look like it worked,” she says sarcastically.

“Oh it worked. There just wasn’t anything to find.” John shrugs and shoves his hands back in his pockets.

Mia curses, long and loud. What a waste of a Saturday.

“I knew I put up with you for a reason,” John says.

“You, put up with me?” Mia raises an incredulous brow.

“C’mon love, we’ll go to Oblivion and I’ll make it up to you.” He holds his arm up, flicking his wrist as though to sweep her under it.

“Still underage, still got kicked out last time,” Mia reminds him flatly.

“Ack, I’ll buy ya a root beer.” John shrugs, having put his arm down and begun walking out the warehouse.

“I’ve never seen you buy anything and I spent an entire day with you once.”

“Fine, I’ll get you a root beer.” He smiles back over his shoulder to where Mia still hasn’t moved. “This is a limited time offer, love. One I’m not planning on making again.”

“Constantine,” Mia grumbles, but rushes to catch up with him.

John nudges her as he grins, “There’s our girl, Speedy.”

#dc comics #mia dearden #john constantine #speedy #green arrow #hellblazer #fanfic #fanfiction #my fic #own writing #writing #the blonde brigade #i love john constantine the little shit

[accidentally-a-writer]

even now i lie awake

Did I spiral again? Absolutely. Is this becoming an actual story with a proper plot and continuation plan? Yup. Am I mad about this? Absolutely not; I love this AU. 

A new instalment of our Stand Back, Watch it Burn verse! 

... 

Alexander doesn’t know what’s going on.

Everything had been fine an hour ago, Washington had let him hide from his tutor for the day in his office. (He let Alexander do this far too often, but every time his boy stared at him with that expression he gave in.)

Alexander enjoys his time in his guardian’s private office, Washington rarely let anyone else in with him - not even Laurens - while he works. If the general anticipates needing to work closely with his aides he works at a desk in the workroom. His office is for his private work, when he doesn’t like to be disturbed.

And yet he lets Alexander sit with him whenever the boy wants.

Even when the boy is being a purposeful nuisance. Like today.

“Alexander,” Washington sighs warningly, “stop.”

The boy glances at him from the chaise, where he’d been ‘innocently’ reading some book or other that the tutor had assigned. There’s mischief in his eyes though, and when Washington fixes him with a look he sighs and snaps his fingers. All the papers that somehow mixed themselves on his desk flutter back to their proper places.

“‘m practicing,” he defends, throwing his head back morosely.

“No, you’re bored, and when you’re bored and restless you make a habit of coming in here and causing mischief.”

“Well you scold me when I cause mischief out there,” Hamilton grumbles.

“What was that?” Washington quirks a brow, fixing his ward with a warning look.

“Nothing, Your Excellency.” Alexander grins at him, and he still has that mischievous glimmer in his eye.

“Oh nothing?” With a twitch of his finger Alexander is off the couch and floating just above it with startled shout. Water manifests in little tendrils, twining around him and playfully splashing against his face and arms. “Nothing you say?”

The boy is laughing, kicking his legs out and shielding himself from the water hitting his face where he can. He manages to splash Washington once or twice with water of his own, but he’s not well practiced in holding up shields and wielding the elements at the same time.

Washington sets him down with a fond grin, and the boy looks positively scandalized. “You scold me for causing mischief and yet you’re just as bad!” But he’s still laughing, shaking the water droplets from his hair and holding them hovering in the air. Washington sees the moment the idea pops into Alexander’s head.

“Alexander... no,” he tries, as the boy threateningly advances the water towards his guardian only to jerk it backwards. Alex is smiling, that little grin children often have when they know they’re being disobedient, he jerks the water forwards and backwards again. “Alexander, no, I have important letters here-”

“Shield them,” he says simply, quirking an eyebrow in a manner very reminiscent of Washington himself.

“Don’t-” forwards, backwards, “Alexander, don’t be a-” the water finally rushes forward and Washington has just enough time to shield his work before the water splashes against his face, “brat.”

“I’m told being a brat is in my nature,” Alexander smiles and winks, Washington rolls his eyes.

“And who told you that?”

“Mmm Laurens or Lafayette, I’m not sure. Probably Laurens because if Gilbert thought me a brat he’d just reciprocate.”

“You two should stop picking on Colonel Laurens with your magic,” Washington scolds, standing from his desk for the first time in hours.

“But picking on him without magic is alright?” Alexander could make a fine lawyer someday. Washington crosses the room and stands in front of his ward, who’s suddenly not meeting his eyes. “You’ve been working so late for so long, maybe tonight we could take supper with Laurens?”

Alexander always seems younger when he makes requests like these, more vulnerable. He plays with the ring Washington gifted him for his birthday, his family’s signet ring.

The general cups the back of Alexander’s neck, smiling gently down at him. “Of course we can-”

“Your Excellency!” Laurens bursts through the door, and something must be terribly wrong because Washington can feel Alexander’s dread through the bond. He might not himself be an empath but he always feels Alexander’s reactions as he reads other people.

“Laurens, what’s the matter?”

“A message just arrived sir, they say they’ve captured a mage sir. One that employs Dark magic.” Washington stiffens. Dark magic is archaic, so few use it and the ones that do use it are corrupted down to their very souls. “They are bringing him here, Your Excellency, for they figure you’re the only mage powerful enough to make wards to seal him.”

Washington’s stomach drops. He blocks his emotions from Alexander, the boy doesn’t need to know how scared he is at this news. “Stay here,” he orders the boy, already rushing away with Laurens.

His office is heavily warded. No one comes in without his express permission except for Laurens and Alexander and when he was here and not France, Lafayette.

“Wh-what? Washington?!” Alexander stumbles to the door of his office but Washington’s already halfway down the hallway. His guardian shouts back once more not to leave the wards and he’s gone.

And that’s where he is now, waiting for Washington to return and explain what the Hell is going on.

He doesn’t know what’s going on.

…

Washington is immediately warding a room, adding onto the layers his mages in the camp had begun.

The room is in his home, he has a child and they’re bringing this man to his home.

He knows it’s no one’s fault, he’s kept Alexander a secret from a majority of the world, but the idea that he has to keep a Dark mage so close to him… these wards must be perfect.

“His magic will already be bound, I’m assuming,” he asserts.

“Partly, Your Excellency,” one of his mages starts, “they’ve managed to bind it so that he needs to give spoken commands to control someone’s will.”

Washington stops and rears on the mage. “That still poses a considerable risk to everyone in this camp, why hasn’t he been properly bound?”

“They’re unable, General Washington, he’s too powerful a mage to completely bind his powers. As he was, he was able to control our all our troops at one battle just by looking at them, he turned them against each other. To revoke his power to give non-verbal commands or control with his eyes alone is a great feat.”

The danger of this man is indescribable, and he must surely be completely corrupt. “Can someone tell me why are we preparing a holding room and not the gallows?”

“Congress, sir. They are deliberating what should be done with him, whether he can be traded for anything from the British.”

“Well I’ll make it known immediately that my recommendation is that this man, if you can call him that, is executed as soon as possible. Dark magic like that has no place in this world.”

…

Alexander paces the floor, that remnant dread still clinging to his gut from when he felt Laurens’ fear.

/Washington?/ He reaches through their bond, trying to speak with the man. /Washington what’s happening?/ He feels the resistance before he can even finish his sentence, Washington is blocking their bond.

All at once something else comes, it invades Alexander’s body down to his very core. It skitters along his skin like spider legs, he feels the gooseflesh rise against his skin and he knows it’s wrong.

That’s not even the beginning. That wrongness sits in his stomach and rolls it, and Alexander is sure he’s going to get sick. And that skittering doesn’t go away either, soon it’s in his head too, the world tilting a little too much when he tries to take a step. His head feels very light.

/Washington? Washington something is wrong./

His guardian doesn’t answer. Alexander wants him. He needs Washington, he doesn’t feel well and he can tell instinctively it’s because of his magic.

It’s a split second decision, Alexander needs Washington - he leaves his office, the wards, and seeks out his guardian through the bond.

He finds him outside, standing with Laurens and a few other officers Alexander recognizes as being his mages in camp. The man turns to meet him with widened eyes before he even shouts his name, arms coming to meet him as Alexander races towards him.

“Alexander you shouldn’t be out here-“

“Something is wrong, I don’t- it’s wrong, it feels wrong.” Alexander is breathless, clutching his guardian’s hands without care of the spectacle it’s causing. Washington glances to his side, and Alexander’s stare follows.

Across the camp there’s a man - a mage, he realizes - staring at them. It’s so far away he shouldn’t have such an effect, but Alex knows without a doubt that he’s the reason he feels so sick.  

Their eyes meet and Alexander feels another jolt of that something rip through him.

Washington must feel it too, or feels it through their bond, because he snaps into action. He pulls Alexander behind him, out of the mage’s stare. “It’s dark magic,” he murmurs into his ear, “that’s what’s making you ill. I’ll come to you in a little while, lay down a moment, once you’re in your rooms’ wards you’ll feel better.”

Washington reaches with one hand and takes Laurens by the shoulder, pulling him away from the line. “Sir?”

“Take Alex to his rooms, and then stay there with him, I’ll collect you both after he’s dealt with.” Washington doesn’t want either of these boys anywhere near this mage.

Laurens nods, taking Alexander’s hands from Washington. “Yes, Your Excellency. Come on Alexander.” Even he’s unnerved by that man.    

He escorts Alexander to his room, the boy is barely walking on his own. He’s the only one who can get into this section of the manor, save Washington, without Alexander allowing them passage through the wards. The boy is in no state to do that now, so he’s glad he’s been given such a privilege.

Alexander makes it a few steps into his parlour before throwing up.

…

That. That boy is the source of the power he’s felt?

Why he went to the trouble of getting captured to begin with?

Well, that’s… interesting. Intriguing. What is a boy doing in a war camp? In proximity with Washington? How has Washington hid him for so long?

The pair of them have enough power to radiate for miles away from the camp, it’s what drew Davies there in the first place. There should have been more mages wondering the same, had they all assumed it was only Washington’s power?

A ward, perhaps, a son?

And the other one, that one has no magic but Washington is clearly just as fond, trying to shield them from his gaze. The things he could do with them, to them.

This venture is well worth it then. Behind the muzzle Davies grins.

Washington won’t have to worry about his ward for much longer.

…

When Washington slips into Alexander’s rooms the boy is still retching. Laurens is trying to soothe him, catching the vomit in a bucket and wiping his mouth, rubbing designs onto his back in an effort to relax his muscles.

If this is the reaction a young mage has then Davies soul is truly corrupt.

“Boys,” he rumbles from the doorway, “I’m sorry I took so long.”

He takes some of the disquiet from Alexander and the boy stops retching. Davies’ presence unnerves him too, but he has defences from him, experience and age alone providing a certain amount of shielding.

Laurens relaxes for a moment when Alexander does, but he’s up and saluting in the next breath.

“At ease, John,” Washington moves slowly, like he’s exhausted or sore. Laurens figures he probably is, it takes a lot to make wards the way he had to today. “I’m sorry you’re so affected Alexander, I’m trying to have him dealt with as quickly as possible.”

Alex nods from his place on the floor, letting his head rest against Laurens’ shoulder in exhaustion. For a moment the pair of them just breathe, and Laurens too looks exhausted. He’s also splashed in vomit.

“John, you may change your breeches.” Washington and Laurens exchange a glance, Laurens understands he wants a moment alone with his ward.

“Yes sir, and what after, sir?”

“Return here, we’ll take supper.” Alexander brightens at that, and both Laurens and Washington notice.

“Yes sir,” Laurens grins, gently nudging Alex off him and against his chaise. He stands, and poor boy, he’s splashed with quite a bit of vomit. Washington vanishes most of it but the breeches will still feel dirty. His aide tips his head in gratitude and moves for the door.

Once it’s just the two of them Washington lifts Alexander and puts him on the chaise, banishing the rest of the vomit.

“Why does it feel so… bad,” Alexander settles, he can’t be eloquent right now.

“Dark magic doesn’t mix well with proper sorcerers, it’s archaic and corrupt. Sometimes young and new mages react like this.” Washington runs his fingers through the boy’s hair, pulling him against his chest. “It’ll go away when he’s gone and I’m going to make sure that’s close to immediately.”

Alex hums, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and relaxing closer and closer to sleep. Washington makes a few lights, just a bit away from the boy’s face, and grins when Alexander smiles contently at them.

“You can nap,” he murmurs, “Laurens, you and I can take supper later in the evening.”

“D’nt need naps,” the boy grumbles, already settling closer to Washington, eyes already slipping shut. “‘m not a child.”

“I know, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Washington replies. The stars he’s made slowly begin moving, slow, rhythmic patterns dancing around the pair. He feels the boy relaxing further and further in his hold. 

As suspected, Alexander is asleep before Laurens returns.

Washington doesn’t hear the other boy enter, too lost in his own thoughts. He only notices because he turns around and Laurens too is watching the lights, a look of awe upon his face as he tentatively touches one that hovers near him. Washington grins, they never truly outgrow this.

Laurens notices the scrutiny and feels his cheeks warm. “Apologies sir, I should have announced myself.”

The stars fade and Washington slides Alexander away from him, so he’s on the cushions and that’s all. “Never mind, Colonel, better you don’t anyhow. Since supper is evidently delayed, accompany me to my office to draft a letter to Congress, nothing in this world is worth keeping that mage alive.”

Laurens nods and bows shallowly, following after Washington exits his son’s rooms. Once again, he is not sure where he falls in Washington’s affections but in his staff he is ever the dutiful aide-de-camp.

At times like this it can become confusing.

Washington drafts this letter, then realizes another needs revision, and another urgent message has arrived which must be replied to. This is often a trend when he sits at his desk.

John doesn’t need to be an empath or a mage at all to tell that Washington’s torn about needing to work and leaving Alexander alone.

“I can revise a few letters with Alexander, sir,” Laurens suggests quietly, almost timidly. “He does enjoy it, if he’s awake. If he’s not I can sit with him a whiles, he was… unsettled by our prisoner today.”

Washington glances up gratefully but guilt shines in his eyes as well. He’d promised Alexander they’d dine together tonight. “Yes, please Colonel. I’ll- I’ll be there in a moment’s time. Just this last letter, I swear. It won’t be too late of a supper.”

Laurens quirks his lips into a half-grin, and he looks so much like Alexander; Washington wonders if Alexander has influenced him or vice versa. The aide gathers his papers, assured that there’s ink and quill in Alexander’s room.

“I’ll tell Alex you’ll join us briefly then, if he’s awake,” Laurens assures. There’s a piece of hair in his eyes that he absentmindedly blows away. Washington doesn’t know why, but it’s this sudden reminder that this boy is only twenty-three years old.

“Please do.”

John nods his head and moves towards the door, stopped only by Washington’s voice at the last moment. “Do not think you need to work too hard, Colonel. There’s no one on my staff more devoted and I am cognizant of this fact. Tonight was supposed to be a time off for you to dine with Alexander, you needn’t spend it working now that we’ve been interrupted.”

His hand is already holding the doorknob, he turns back towards the general with the slightest grin and tips his head again. “Yes sir, thank you sir.”

Washington watches him slip out the door, his own small grin growing.

Laurens’ steps are quiet, he knows these halls well and he knows which places squeak even better. (Alexander’s birthday celebration comes to mind and he shudders, it’s a blessing Washington did not end up discovering them.)

He knows the way to Alexander’s room so well that he moves most of the time without conscious thought, his father always said he was far too wanting of daydreams and senseless bouts into his thoughts for a gentleman to be.

A hand snatches around his waist while another slaps over his mouth. He feels his back impact the wall and a man’s hand hold him there, his other still clamped over his mouth to silence any shouts for Washington that are desperately trying to be heard.

“Now, now, don’t be fussy,” a voice says, and he’s not sure if it is inside or outside his head. “Look at me boy, that’s it.”

Laurens feels the moment the man - the mage, he realizes, fear stilling his heart and inciting him to try and scream again - dives into his mind. It’s seconds and his mind is no longer his, there’s no fight, he can’t.  

“Don’t scream,” Davies orders, removing his hand from Laurens’ mouth because he knows he will be obeyed, and he is. “So, Lieutenant Colonel Laurens is it? You are going to help me with a little endeavour.”

#magic au #stand back watch it burn #part iii #alexander hamilton #john laurens #george washington #hamilton fanfiction #angst #fluff and angst #washingdad #protective washington #protective laurens #good bro laurens

[shipitrealgood]

Rizumo Week 2020 Day 2: Apocalypse

WOO Rizumo Week is here and I’m only already a day behind!!! Have my offering anyways because I’m very proud of it!!!

@the-new-rizumo-week-blog

Their time ran out. Gehenna Gate was officially open.

The mid-morning sky is pitch black as Lucifer’s army clashes with Samael’s forces. Hardly anything can be heard over the din of war, the screams of the innocent fading one by one as countless lives are lost. Otherworldly beings pour through rips in space, ready and willing to join in the complete destruction of everything around them. It’s brutal, it’s chaotic, and above all else… it seems utterly hopeless.

Yet, two teenage girls dash quickly through the forests, heading further and further toward the heart of ruin. Despite being clad in school uniforms, the ease with which they battle off supernatural forces and the fluidity of their synchronization suggest intense training and experience.

Izumo Kamiki and Shiemi Moriyama fly through the trees, their faces grim and their hearts sharing one goal.

“We’re still going the right way, right?” Izumo shouts, not even pausing to look at her friend. Her twintails whip behind her as they race forward, narrowly avoiding tripping over hazardous roots and jagged rocks.

“Yes! Nee says he’s just a little farther!” Shiemi calls back. She’s clearly beginning to flag, but sheer determination pushes her to keep running, running, running through the exhaustion and burning pain—

—until a clawed hand grabs her leg and heaves her through the air, snatching the ground right out from under her. Her involuntary scream is cut short because, already, Mike and Uke are there, cutting off the offending arm and freeing her. Nee spawns a woollybush to cushion her fall, but before Shiemi can thank it, she catches sight of their surroundings.

“Nee! Barrier!”

Thick bramble bursts from its body and encompasses the surroundings just as a swarm of demons pounce forth. Shiemi and Izumo stand in the middle of a slowly hardening cocoon, watching as the desperate beings claw at the thorns that tighten around them. They snarl and gnash, their attention solely focused on the prey before them, even as their bodies rip and tear apart on the barrier.

Despite this, the inhuman howling only seems to grow louder. “Dammit, there’s more of them,” Izumo spits out, spinning around in all directions to try to ascertain the situation. “Mike! Uke! Where are you?!”

Nee places its arm on Shiemi’s leg, drawing its master’s attention toward the deep gashes found there. Shiemi stares at it thoughtfully, then up to her friend, then up to the cocoon surrounding them. She finally settles her gaze on the direction they’d been travelling.

“... Kamiki. You have to get to Rin.”

Izumo, who had been strategizing with Mike and Uke, freezes. She whips around to face Shiemi, utter bewilderment meeting a cool calm. “Wha— What are you saying?! You’re the one he needs right now! Both of them do!”

Shiemi shakes her head, gesturing to her leg. “I’m not going to make it there in time. And right now, I have the best shot of fending these demons off.” Izumo scoffs without malice, clearly intent on arguing, but Shiemi gestures around them. “Look! This is my element. They can’t beat me here.” Her eyes are set with that same foolhardy courage Izumo’s seen so many times before. “Please, leave this to me, Kamiki.”

The other tamer stomps her foot, hands clenched painfully into fists. “You can’t seriously expect me to leave you here—”

“Izumo!!” Shiemi’s cherubic features harden into a mask of stony determination. “Just like I have something I must do, right now, there’s something only you can do. I believe in you! Now, go!”

Long vines of wisteria shoot out from Nee’s chest, wrapping around Izumo and pulling her up and away through an opening in the cocoon. The last she sees of Shiemi is her soft, tender smile… and then the bramble closes up completely.

———

Izumo thrashes, curses, and kicks violently at the vines the whole way through, but they’re undeterred. They seem to stretch endlessly, weaving seamlessly around every tree and bush, before they finally clear the woods and reach their limit. Upon gently depositing her on top of a steep hill, they rapidly recoil and vanish from sight. The fallen petals have made a perfect trail, and she has half a mind to stomp her way right back… until she sees the scene beyond the crest.

The apocalypse, pure and simple, is upon them.

But… a figure in the distance has her running down the slope before she even realizes it. The hair is too light and all wrong, his face too sunken, and god, when did he get so skinny—but there’s no way she’d mistake him for anyone else.

“Rin!”

His gaze snaps to her, shifting instantly from piercing to panicked. He stands alone in a clearing, his clothing showing clear signs of battle, but seeming uninjured. There’s no sign of Yukio’s presence—not yet. The knot in Izumo’s chest finally untangles with relief.

Good. She isn’t too late.

“I-Izumo?! You shouldn’t be here!” Despite his words, his arms still raise up as though he means to catch her when she starts skidding down the rest of the way.

But as with all things, she stubbornly resists this, digging her heels in firmly to stop a few feet away from him, ignoring her ankles’ aching protest. The glare she gives him could wither a man twice his size, and dimly, Rin thinks that he’s glad he’s more demon than man at the moment.

She inhales sharply.

There’s something only you can do.

“You,” Izumo says with an impressive amount of venom in one word, “are an absolute idiot.”

Rin’s mouth drops open.

“I mean seriously, did you make a bet with someone to get dumber and dumber everyday?! Every time I think you’ve finally peaked, you go off and find a way to prove me wrong. And the worst part is, you don’t even take your own advice!” She crosses her arms firmly across her chest, successfully managing to not flinch when one of her nastier injuries reopens.

Rin frantically throws his arms up in the air, his expression one of pure bewilderment. “What the hell— what is going on here?! Why are you here— no, why are you angry at me— no, did you seriously just come here to get mad at me?! What did I do?!” He pauses, spotting the blood dripping off her arm. “Wait, you’re blee—”

Her glare somehow grows icier as she takes a step forward. “Don’t try to change the subject. You know exactly what you were about to do.” Step. “You were about to sacrifice yourself.” He swallows. Another step. “You want to protect your friends, your brother, and everyone, and somewhere in that twisted, idiot logic of yours, you worked out a way to save everyone except yourself.” The last step puts her within arm’s reach, the closest they’ve been in a long, long time. “I think we both know better than anyone what being on the receiving end of that feels like.”

He can’t hold her gaze. The second he looks away, she flicks him on the forehead.

“If you’ve reached the end of what you can do alone, then rely on us. We’re here for you.”

His eyes widen.

And maybe it’s because when she’s this close, she can really see how different he looks and it hurts her heart; maybe it’s because he looks like he’s been staring down the gallows for so long that he dares not imagine a break in the rope; or maybe it’s because the world is threatening to pull apart at the seams around them and she lost the will to pretend she didn’t care so, so long ago—any one of these reasons could be the one that has her hand gently carding through his hair.

Rin’s frozen under her touch, looking all too fragile and scared for her liking, and she tousles his hair a little rougher. “This white really doesn’t suit you.” Her voice is so soft, the kind of soft he’s only ever heard her use for Paku and Shiemi, and sometimes Kuro when she thinks no one is listening. She lowers her hand and ghosts her fingertips along his cheek, almost as if by accident, and he subconsciously leans into the touch. Her heart pounds with one, decisive thump. “Should I start calling you ‘grandpa,’ old man?”

He blinks once. Twice. Three times before saying, “What?”

She snorts and drops her hand, sneering as she shrugs as condescendingly as possible. “Oh sorry, didn’t realize you were hard of hearing now too. I said, do you—”

He splutters. “Who’re you calling grandpa?! First of all, I’d be a Grade A silver fox—”

“Did you seriously just use the word ‘fox’ because it’s me—”

Their bickering fills the air and, given the setting, it’s an entirely ridiculous picture. When students read records of war in the classroom, very rarely are there entries that go, “and then the commander argued with his classmate about how much of a catch he was before setting off to battle.”

(But for this war, if they all were to survive, perhaps someone would write—)

An approaching presence has Rin snap to attention, and he’s momentarily thrown when he realizes that he’s actually relaxed and focused. There isn’t even a trace of the destructive spiral he was going down before…

He looks to Izumo, who already has Mike and Uke summoned by her side. Before she arrived. Their eyes meet and she grins like a shot fox. “You might as well just stand back and let me finish this whole thing. Wouldn’t want you to break a hip out there.”

Laughter bursts from his lips. “You never heard of respecting your elders, missy?” His hand slips briefly into her own, squeezing hard.

Thanks, Izumo.

(—Perhaps someone would write about the group of friends who knew that even the son of Satan had doubts and fears, and the shrine maiden who pulled him back.)

#rizumo #rizumo week 2020 #rinzumo #izurin #Ao no Exorcist #blue exorcist