#Vir thought she was going to bring up something else

[sweet-babyrose]

All for You (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Coming out of the bathroom, you tightened your ponytail. It was the first day of the Euros and you had been chosen for the starting lineup. Normally this would be cause for celebration. But looking over at the bed, all you felt was a huge wave of worry and sadness.

Alexia was sitting on the bed, staring blankly at the tv. You were pretty sure she wasn't actually paying any attention. Just as you were pretty sure she hadn't blinked in a full minute.

She'd had the same look on her face for the past two days. Blank. Expressionless.

It was so unlike her. Alexia had one of the most expressive faces you'd ever seen. Over the past four years together, you thought you had seen every mood Alexia had. But you hadn't seen this. After going down at practice, it was like she just shut down. She'd barely spoken to anyone besides you and Mapi. As far as you knew, she'd only let herself cry once - when she initially went down - but hadn't cried again since then.

Moving closer to her, you ran a hand through her hair. Cupping the back of her head, you leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"I'm ready. Should we go down?" She answered yes without looking up at you. You got her crutches and handed them to her. Turning you looked for her hat. It was on the corner chair. You picked it up and put it on her head. Although she'd repeatedly said she didn't need help, you put an arm behind her to support her as she stood up. Once she was standing, you picked up your bag and opened the door for her.

It had been a long time since you'd played a game without Alexia on the field with you. Although you didn't doubt your abilities, you didn't trust what appeared to be nerves. You hadn't felt nerves before a game since you were just starting your professional career. But it didn't feel right to tell Alexia about any of that right now. Not when she was still dealing with a torn ACL and the lost dream of leading Spain to a Euro victory. Especially when she was playing for the purpose of bringing that trophy home to Vir.

Since you couldn't talk to her, you settled for putting your arm around her shoulder and snuggling into her side on the bus. Despite shutting down, she had still been accepting affection in the form of kisses, hugs, and cuddles from you, which you were grateful for. You didn't know how to help her but at least you could keep showing her you were there when she was ready.

Alexia had opted to stay in England for this game instead of going back to Barcelona immediately. You hoped that meant she would say something to the team before the game. Everyone's nerves had been shattered after hearing Alexia scream out in pain and getting news that she had torn her ACL. She was someone the entire team looked up to and relied on. She was part of the backbone of this team.

When you were nearing the stadium, you looked up at Alexia. "Hey," you whispered. She turned to look at you. "I love you." You cupped her jaw and leaned up to kiss her cheek. You were happy when her hand covered yours in response.

In the locker room, once everyone was dressed and ready for the game, Alexia did say a few words. You were surprised by how much emotion you could hear in her voice and the conviction with which she said, "I trust you." If nothing else, you hoped that staying for this game would give Alexia something to hold onto when she went home alone tomorrow.

Coach wanted Alexia out in her seat before the tunnel got too chaotic. For once, you agreed with him. You didn't want anything to happen that could potentially further hurt her. Before leaving, she came over to you.

"I trust you," she said again, this time much quieter. "You don't need me out there. You're going to be brilliant."

It shouldn't have shocked you that she was able to read you so easily. No one knew you better than Alexia.

"I know." You looked down at your boots. "I just can't remember the last time I played a game without you. Not sure I even remember how to play without you."

"Nonsense. Football is football, no matter who you're playing with. Just use your head. You can do this, babe."

“You’re right, I know you’re right. I’m going to miss you out there.” You put your hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. Sliding your hands down her arms, you said, "I brought you something. I hope you don’t mind that I took it out of your bag.” You knelt down to look in your bag and pulled out the jersey. “I know you always travel to international games with it. I thought you might want to wear it today.” You handed it to her.

She looked at it, recognizing her number on the front. Turning it over, she saw Virginia’s name, rather than her own. “Thank you,” she said softly. Sitting on the bench, she put her crutches aside so she could slip the jersey over her head. “I love this. Thank you.” She took your hand and kissed it before standing again. "Give 'em hell."

"See you later, baby." You watched her hobble away. With one last silent prayer, you headed out to line up.

Within the first 15 seconds, Esther was already attacking the goal. She was cut off by the Finnish goalkeeper scooping the ball out of the air. Clapping, you ran backwards a bit. When only thirty seconds later, an errant ball from Mapi gave Finland the opportunity to score, you chanced a look at Alexia. She looked even more distraught than she had before the game, if that was possible. Your heart completely sank. She had put so much faith into all of you and it felt like you were already disappointing her.

The next 25 minutes were more of the same. Every time you chanced a glance at her, she looked miserable. You wanted, more than anything, to see her smile. You'd seen some reaction when Patri's goal was disallowed but it was more frustration. You wanted her happy, not frustrated. 

And then Irene sent a beautiful header into the top of the net, equalizing the game. You saw Irene point at Alexia after you hugged her. Following her gaze, you saw Alexia on her feet, clapping and shouting loudly. But still no smile.

But that all changed just a bit later when Aitana sent another header into the top corner. She ran straight to Alexia who had hobbled down the stairs to celebrate with her. The sideline ref and your coach both stopped her before she could reach Alexia, though, which made you unbelievably angry. Obviously you understand their reasoning but some things were more important. The two of them settled for drawing air hearts for each other.

At the half, she came back into the locker room to sit through Vilda's half time talk. She finally got her chance to hug Irene and Aitana and congratulate them properly. When she came and sat next to you, you put a hand on the back on her head. "It's useless for me to tell you to stay in your seat out there, isn't it?"

"You know me better than that."

"Right. Well, I'm going to tell you anyways. Keep your cute butt in your seat and stop jumping up." You pulled the cap off her head to kiss her. "I'm worried enough about you already," you said, putting the hat back in its place. Someone yelled that it was time to head back out.

"I'll try." She pulled you into her for a hug. You didn't usually share hugs are half time but nothing about this game was "usual" for you. You dropped a small kiss on her shoulder before easing back. "You're doing great, babe. I told you that you didn't need me out there."

You gave her a small smile. You didn't think she would appreciate you telling her that while you may not need her, you wanted her out there. She obviously had no control over it right now and you didn't want to make her even more sad than she already was. You stroked your thumb over her cheek, wishing you could wipe away the strain written all over her face. Standing, you offered her a hand to stand up.

"Let's go win this thing," you said, kissing her cheek.

Just a few minutes into the second half, you saw Aitana looking to send a long ball out to Ona. Anticipating Ona magic, you took off down the center of the pitch. You watched her go 1-v-1 with a defender and look back to see if anyone had made it there. You pointed forward and she sent the most beautiful ball over the defender, perfectly timed for you to jump and head the ball into the net. She ran towards you screaming and picking you up in celebration.

She set you down and you ran straight for Alexia. You could see her hobbling down the stairs again. The sideline ref and Vilda came out again to block you from leaving the pitch but you pushed past both of them. You pulled Alexia into the tightest hug you could with the gate between you. She rocked on her leg. "That was for you, capi."

"Alright let's go, Y/L/N!" Vilda yelled.

You pulled away from her slowly, not wanting to off-balance her. When she was steady, you let go of her, giving her a wide smile.

"Way to use your head," she said with a smile.

Your heart clenched seeing her smile again. You knew you needed to get back into the game, but you also needed to just take it in for one more second.

"Y/L/N!" You felt the tug on the back of your jersey. "Let's go."

"Alright alright!" you yelled over your shoulder. You kissed Alexia's forehead and took a step back, making sure she was steady before running back onto the field. The referee met you with the yellow card as you stepped over the line. You turned your head to Alexia and winked, earning yourself another perfect smile from her.

And you saw it again when Lucia scored. By the time Mariona took her last minute penalty, Alexia was on her feet, cheering with a huge grin on her face. While you celebrated the goal, the referee blew the final whistle and Mariona ran to lift Alexia down onto the field. She carried her out so everyone could hug her. While she congratulated everyone, you got her crutches for her and brought them out.

Vilda caught your arm as you went back out. "You're lucky I need you. Otherwise I'd bench you for the rest of the tournament."

"Get your hand off me. You owe every success of this team to her. Show some respect." You shrugged his hand off you and walked back to the field. Mapi was holding Alexia up.

"Here you go, baby." You handed her the crutches.

"He told me off, too," she whispered.

You shrugged. "It doesn't matter," you said, smiling. "All our goals were for you. You deserved to celebrate with at least one of us in the moment."

"Everything we did tonight was for you," Mapi said.

"Including giving the ball away?" she asked. Except she said it with a laugh. It was a sound you and Mapi hadn't heard in days. A sound you hadn't expected to hear for a while still. So, while Mapi might usually have taken offense to being called out so soon after the game ended, today she just ducked and gave Alexia another hug.

You were so unbelievably relieved to see the huge smile before she left England for her surgery. It was already killing you that you would have to stay behind and not be there for her surgery. It was killing you more that she was going home depressed. But if she could just hold on to this feeling, instead of focusing on the loss, you knew she would be able to get through anything.

Alexia caught your eye over Mapi's head. She winked at you and offered a smile. The win had been incredible but that smile made all the difference. You couldn't wait to see her smile when she saw the team lift the Euros trophy.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #espwnt imagine #alexia putellas

[solartranslations]

AF2 Pace Chapter 10 (1/13): Pace and Alberto

What did they talk about at the lord’s mansion that day…?

~*Scene: Entrance Hall*~

Felicita: [A few days have passed since we returned to Regalo]

Felicita: [Important talks between Papa and Vir will start soon]

Felicita: [Seeing Pace next to me made me think back to his decision to become the next lord…]

(*door closes) Felicita: He wasn’t in the Clubs’ room, so where else should I look?

(*bump) Isabella: Ah! Oww

Felicita: Sorry! I wasn’t looking…

Mariella: Ojou-sama! Are you hurt?

Donatella: Is something wrong? You seem distracted

Felicita: I just have a lot on my mind…

Felicita: Oh, have any of you seen Pace?

Isabella: Pace-san? No, I haven’t…

Mariella: Probably the dining room?

Felicita: That’s where I tried first but he’s not there…

Donatella: The Clubs’ room?

Felicita: No

Donatella: Then…maybe the ristorante or bar?

Isabella: Or any place with food

Mariella: Why don’t you try outside the mansion?

Felicita: Okay. I will. Thanks

Donatella: …Oh. Maybe…

Felicita: What?

Donatella: Ojou-sama, where you not looking where you were going because you were thinking about Pace?

Mariella: Oh my. They do say love is blind…but can it really go that far?

Isabella: Ah~, having your thoughts full of the person you love, I’m so jealous!!

Felicita: (…Is that what it is…?)

~*Scene: Lord’s Mansion Outside*~

Pace: I came here today to thank you

~*Scene: Lord’s Mansion Inside*~

Alberto: Thank me? And what’s will all these sudden visits?

Pace: I heard after meeting up with Clarissa again. It sounds like you really helped her out, so thanks

Alberto: I only did it because you asked. You don’t need to thank me

Alberto: And…she’s the one who surprised me

Pace: You mean by Clarissa’s eagerness?

Alberto: Yes, but based on what I heard from her, that day was the first time you met

Pace: I just want to help people who need it

Pace: If it’s within my power, I’ll do it. Isn’t that natural?

Alberto: I can’t believe you…

Pace: That’s all I came to say, but since you made time for this, I wanted to ask you something too

Pace: …Do you mind?

Alberto: As long as it’s something I can answer

Pace: Clarissa’s diligence made me wonder, have you been studying hard to take over as the lord too?

Alberto: Why would you…do you think I haven’t been?

Pace: Is it something you can’t learn unless you study for a long time?

Alberto: If it’s something that could be done in a day or two, I wouldn’t still be nervous about it

Pace: …Of course

Alberto: It’s obviously not easy

Alberto: But if you put in the effort, it’s not impossible

Alberto: And everyone learns at their own pace. I’m sure there’s someone out there who could accomplish it in even a short amount of time

Pace: I see…

Alberto: Are you interested in studying to become the lord?

Pace: More than…I was before anyway

Alberto: That’s all…?

Pace: It’s just that my awareness of nobility is starting to change

Pace: Like how “Nobles aren’t honest people”—

Alberto: Hey!

Pace: —It’s what I used to think. But I don’t anymore

Pace: Anyone can say they don’t like something. So I can’t just say I don’t like the nobility

Pace: Nothing will change if I do

Pace: I should bring about change from the inside

Alberto: It’s a world set on preserving the old ways. It won’t be easy to change

Pace: But someone has to try!

Pace: Even just a little bit. If I can move things in a better direction for everyone, I want to try

Alberto: ……

Alberto: Everyone wants you to return to the nobility

Alberto: Even I think you’re more suited to being the lord than me

Pace: You don’t need to flatter me

Alberto: I’m not

Alberto: But it did…take me a while to realize that

Alberto: Since my mother kept telling me that I would be the next lord

Alberto: I did work hard to prepare, but then I realized you would be more capable

Alberto: I hate to admit it, but I was incredibly discourteous towards your Family because of my own jealousy

Pace: I still haven’t forgiven you for that

Pace: But, now that you mention it…were you really just jealous?

Alberto: You were separated from our family, but still knew the warmth of one

Alberto: And the people around you didn’t have hidden motives

Alberto: You had all that, but I…

Pace: You mean how people give you attention and praise even though they don’t mean it?

Alberto: At some point, I didn’t think of anything besides how I should present myself to others, and the light in which they saw me

Pace: You’re the one who decides who you are. Don’t worry about what other people think

Alberto: Of course I wish I could be like that

Alberto: But reality isn’t like that. All I am is my obligations and the front I put on

Pace: Whoever we are, we’re all human. Just say how you feel and it’ll come across

Pace: I think…you’re just not communicating that

Alberto: I don’t…have the courage

Alberto: But, you do

Pace: …

Alberto: I only have the knowledge

Pace: ……

Alberto: ……

Pace: I’m glad I got to talk to you today

Alberto: Pace!

Pace: I’ll give it some more thought

Alberto: Wait

Alberto: …Since you’re here, you should visit our father

Pace: Is…he doing well?

Alberto: He might be bedridden, but he’s still going strong

Alberto: And, he’s always wanted to see you…

Pace: Ah…I really am one lucky guy

Alberto: Why do you say that?

Pace: —Because I have such a big “family”

~*End of Scene*~

(Continue to Common Route January 14)

(Back to Directory)

#pace #arcana famiglia #arcana famiglia 2 #chapter 10 #solar translations #psp game #translation #releases

[babylon6comic]

Previous | Table of Contents | Next

#babylon 5 #babylon 5 spoilers #babylon 6 #babylon6comic #episode 4 #comic #fancomic #Vir thought she was going to bring up something else #also I spent all day drawing those dumb crystals and then I put speech bubbles all over them #why am I like this?

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Of Humans and Demons

It had been quite a while since I’ve came out with a story.  In this, we have the explanation of what is happening in two of the galaxies concerning the shenanigans bringing them all together, as well as the more supernatural side of all of them.  As usual, I do not own anything except Thomas Drake and his universe.  Enjoy the story.   

“Speak softly and carry a big stick.”  -Theodore Roosevelt

Empyrean Iris Galaxy

Rundi Homeworld, Seat of the Galactic Assembly

“Nervous?” 

“Actually, no.  Not really.”

“Figures.  First human to make contact with extraterrestrial life, now the first person to meet the newcomers from these new galaxies.  Nothing fazes you,”  Admiral Kelly sighed.  Admiral Vir, dressed in an immaculately pressed grey uniform, grinned.  

“They said space was the final frontier.  As it turns out, we’ve got eight new galaxies out there.  Life just got a lot more complicated.  But, honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  More fun!  More exploring!” said Vir.

“It takes all kinds, I suppose.  But you have to deal with briefing the Assembly,” replied Kelly.  “And deal with their possible reactions to the fact that they might not be the top dogs anymore,” she added as an afterthought.

“True,” sighed Vir.  “The worst part of the job, by far.”  A younger human officer stepped into the small, well lit room outside the main council chambers and turned to the Admirals.

“Admiral Vir, sir.  The Assembly is ready.”  He clutched his hands together, nervous to be in the presence of a living legend.  

“Thank you,” replied Vir politely.  He strode forward, only to pause briefly and look back at Kelly with a grin.  “Oh, by the way, Star Wars is real.”

“Wait...what?”  

He walked into the council chambers, radiating an aura of careful calmness.  He looked to the seats where the various delegates from all the different species in the galaxy sat, looking slightly wistfully at the human section, wishing he could be there instead of standing alone at the head of the council.  But, like he had said earlier, it went with the job, and he was the only person to make contact with the denizens of the other galaxies.  He reached the speaker’s podium, and, after the usual useless bureaucratic formalities were made, began.  

“Esteemed members of the Galactic Assembly, I am sure you have noticed that we are no longer the only populated galaxy within this universe.  Approximately a month ago, an extreme anomaly caused nine different galaxies, including our own, from nine separate universes to co-exist in one singular universe.  I come before you today, having met with people from each of the galaxies to brief you on the various governments from these other galaxies, what they are like, and what you should expect.”  He paused for a moment.  Perhaps he had used the word ‘galaxy’ too much in that speech?  No.  He had to be extremely specific, even at the risk of sounding redundant.  “It should be noted that, interestingly enough, humans exist in all of these realities.”  That drew a round of nervous murmerings.  Humans were one of the newest additions to the Assembly, and were by far one of the more powerful and dangerous member races.  Come to think of it, I might be lucky if they don’t start a riot over this, he mused.

“It should also be noted that, coincidentally, several of these new realities share similarities with old human stories.  Should you wish to know more, the appropriate media has been forwarded to you.”

“Now, on to the main briefing.”  Several delegates leaned forward in their seats expectantly.  Notepads, recording devices, or computers were taken from their holding places.  Adam cleared his throat.  “This is what we have deemed Galaxy One…”

And so the briefing went on.  He told them of the people he’d met, gave them the anatomical reports on new species of aliens.  And, most importantly, he told them of their counterparts.  Told them of both the good and the worrying.  

The Galactic Empire: a fracturing, militaristic pro-human superpower that used to rule Galaxy 1.

The New Republic: a pro-democratic group that opposed and overthrew the Empire from Galaxy 1.

The United Federation of Planets: a peaceful yet technologically powerful group where all species were equal in Galaxy 3.  

The Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation: a massive, privately funded mega-corporation that effectively ruled Earth and humanity in Galaxy 7.

The Covenant: a theocratic coalition of aliens dedicated to activating a series of devastating WMD’s in the belief that it would cause their ascension in Galaxy 4.

The Imperium of Man: a theocratic, xenophobic, militaristic pro-human superpower fighting an endless war against all comers in Galaxy 6.  

The list went on, and on, and on.  As each different government was mentioned, a map of their territories, capabilities, species, and symbol flashed on a centrally located holographic projector.  

“Now, the next part is this.  We have received word from the Citadel Council, the reigning government in what we have dubbed Galaxy 5, asking us to come to their capital for peaceful negotiations.  They seem to be extremely similar to our own government, in the sense that they are a galaxy-spanning federation including multiple species.  While I am no diplomat; that would be your area of expertise, the information we have gathered has led us to believe that this government in particular, and two others are the most similar to us and would be the best to ally with.”  The room filled with hushed murmurings.  The Drev delegate spoke up.

“And what is to stop all you humans from ending up like this?  Or this?”  He tapped a button, and the six-spoked circle of the Galactic Empire and the double-headed golden eagle of the Imperium of Man flashed to life on the console.  “As there are humans in all of these galaxies, you could band together and wipe the rest of us out.  What’s to stop you?”  Vir paused for a moment.  

“Because, being human is all about individuality.  We have no collective.  Our societies change all the time throughout history.  It is often not a story of unity.  In the end, a human is whatever it wants to be.  The humans of this new reality are probably just as different to each other as all the other species are.  And, because we are an individualistic species, the chances of us uniting under one banner to conquer not only one but nine different galaxies is not going to happen.”  He looked out at all the different delegates, all the different aliens he had come to appreciate over so long.  “One other thing.  Most humans have a great sense of right and wrong.  Something that many of you have come to appreciate over the time we’ve been in the Assembly, I’m sure.  We know that to take your land, to kill your people, is wrong.  And, as I said before, humans are different.  There are evil and bad humans in this reality; there always have been good ones as well.  The same still applies.  While some of these humans will want to take from you everything, humans like me will always be there to fight by your side against tyranny.”  The room broke into applause.  Sometimes good speeches weren't about grandiose words.  Sometimes they were simply there to get a point across.  And Admiral Adam Vir was a master at that type of speaking.  

He sighed to himself.  No bad.  There wouldn’t be any riots.  Probably.  Hopefully.  He went on with his briefing, pausing slightly to wonder if similar things were happening in the other galaxies...

“I want one simple thing: money.  I will tell you what I want; everyone knows what I want.  But the people you call saviors, the ones who you think will deliver you and raise you up, they want something else.  They want complete and utter control over every aspect of your life.  And when you naive fools put them into power, in a short time you will miss my kind.  But I will be dead, and you will be damned, because you never thought through the consequences of your actions.”  -Martin Crossgrow

Aboard the Apocalypse 

Thomas Drake sat in his quarters.  The room was an odd combination of styles, with austere and sleek metal plating contrasting with the rustic stonework of a large electric fireplace and the handsome woodwork of the furniture.  He sat before a large video screen, barely the width of a piece of paper.  His black hair was immaculate, as always, and his deep blue eyes stared from underneath a brow furrowed with concentration.  His fingers flew across a holographic keyboard, inputting the correct security procedures.  A mesh of invisible, interlocking and ever-changing computer algorithms flashed across the screen.  Good.  Even if someone were to try and break into his ship’s computers, they would not find records of what he was doing.  They could not.  He pressed a few more keys, then waited.  

Waited for one person.  His...sponsor.  For lack of a better word.  The head of the most powerful corporation in his galaxy.  The head of the Guild of Merchants, the corporate oligarchy that ruled the space in between the Galactic Federation and the Empire of Prosium.  Ultra-capitalists to a somewhat disturbing extent, it was they who controlled most of the galaxy’s comperce, built most of the products, and of course, paid the most.  

A series of chimes, repeating the same notes, sounded.  They sounded faster, quicker, humming together, until one long, high, note sang out.  The computer screen flashed from black with lines of green coding to reveal a face.  

It was that of a man, skin pale from never seeing the warm kiss of a sun, pale from never leaving building complexes.  It was old, with receding white hair and skin starting to sag, but the face and the eyes did not betray this age.  They burned with energy, arrogance and contempt.  Not the misplaced arrogance and perceived invincibility of youth, or the kind energy of an honest worker.  No.  These eyes shone with an arrogance of age and assurity, the arrogance of a man who knew with absolute certainty he was better and more powerful than anyone else.  These eyes now turned to Thomas Drake, and took on a new expression.  That of a superior looking on at a trusted subordinate.  

“Captain Drake.  How are you?” spoke the calm voice of Martin Crossgrow.  

“I’m doing well, Mr. Crossgrow,” replied Drake.  

“Wonderful.  Now, what do you have for me?”  

“Information.  As per usual.  Stocks, governments, companies...entities.  In some cases.”  Crossgrow gave an appreciative nod.  

“Excellent.  Your usual fee will be transferred to your account when the information reaches me.”

“Good.  I wanted to warn you, though.  In some of these new realities, there are...things. Things of...supernatural power.  I’m getting you as much information as I can on them, so as to be better prepared if and when confronted.”  At this, Crossgrow laughed, a low, dry, chuckle.  

“I’m not afraid of the supernatural.  If it does exist in these new galaxies, then there are people who will know how to fight it in those galaxies.  And every man has a price.  So if the time comes, I merely must pay that price.  It’s simple.”  Drake said nothing.  He knew it wouldn’t be quite that simple.  But he also knew that disagreeing with the head of the most powerful corporation in the galaxy, and his highest paying employer, was not a wise decision.  

“If that’s how you play it, then that’s how you play it.  But I think I need more information.  Places, organizations with knowledge, information.  That’s what I must find.”  Crossgrow made a harrumph noise in his throat.  

“Well, in the meantime, tell me about the financial side to these new places.”

“Of course.  The biggest threat to the Guild is probably the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation.  Monopoly.  Rules humanity in one of these other galaxies.  Produces quite powerful and interesting war machines.  I’ve got the schematics for one type.”  This elicited a laugh.

“I’m reasonably sure that you stole that from one of your...what do you call them…” he paused for a moment, then snapped his fingers in realization.  “Ah, Scoundrels!  Didn’t you?”  Drake shrugged.

“Of course.  It’s being sent to you as we speak.  I’ve also got…” he trailed off as he tapped several buttons on his wrist computer.  “Schematics for…” He looked up and grinned.  “Chainsaw swords, plasma swords, rechargeable laser weaponry, jetpack boots, laser weapons that run off of explosive gasses, contractible body armor, high-quality medical gel that heals wounds almost instantly, cybernetic super-soldier armor, three types of personal shields, teleporters, omnitools, so-called ‘phaser weaponry’, two types of power armor, and the blood readouts from biotics, pariahs, and SPARTANs.”  He held up a hand to forestall Crossgrow’s confused look at the last three items on the list.  “It’s all described in the report.”  

“Ah, very good.  Very good, indeed, Captain Drake.”  A slightly amused look crossed Crossgrow’s face.  “Although, won’t your compatriots be upset if they knew you were selling their secrets?”  Drake smiled in response.  

“If they ever found out.”  HIs smile grew wider, and both he and Crossgrow repeated the mantra in perfect synchronization.  “Besides, that’s just.  Good.  Business.”  

“Forget everything you think you know.” -Karl Mordo, upon Dr. Strange’s arrival in Kamar-Taj

Marvel Galaxy

Earth

The New York Sanctum

Doctor Steven Strange was a wizard.  Not “wizard” in the sense that he was extremely good at something, like “technological wizard” or “engineering wizard”, but a literal magic wizard.  Once upon a time, he had been a prestigious surgeon, but that had all ended in the fires of a car crash.  He had traveled the world, trying to heal his broken body, and stumbled on a place that taught actual, real, magic.  

Through a strange series of events, he had mastered these “mystical arts” and become the head of Earth’s sorcerers.  It was his job to defend the planet and all its inhabitants from any and all magic or extra-dimensional threats.  This, of course, was now a particular problem, seeing as eight different realities from different dimensions now existed in the same material universe as his reality did. Now he had eight new galaxies to take care of, and possible threats from all of them to fight.

Wonderful.

He sighed to himself.  Might as well get started.  Get it done with.  Hopefully he didn’t get eaten.  He breathed in, breathed out, his mind calm, tranquil.  His heavy red cloak billowed around him, lifting him in the air as he took a cross-legged position.  One more deep breath.  He drew upon his power, and allowed his mind to roam.  Not freely, of course.  Silently.  His metal defenses were high.  No entities, no beings, could tune onto the small signature he emitted.  It took practice, hours upon hours of it, combined with an innate talent to disguise one’s mental signature so.  

He floated, his mind calm.  Thoughts, emotions, feelings…   Interesting.  They all flitted through his brain, caressing the edges of his mind.  Nothing for now.  He roamed higher.  Opened his mind to beyond his Earth, beyond his reality...and was immediately assaulted, battered, his mind tossed around like a cork upon an ocean.  Travesty, glory, tragedy, celebration, hatred, hope, love, rage…  He wanted to scream.  He did not.  He merely steeled his mental defenses, clamping down on the sanity of his own brain.

He saw...darkness crashing against light.  An eternal battle, observed by one.  Something larger at play.  Something he did not, could not comprehend.  Time began, the beginning played out, a universe expanded.  Light.  Beginning.  Emotion.  Differences.  It reminded him of the principle of yin-yang, but on a much larger scale.  Strange watched the universe, as millions of stars were born and died.  The light encompassed everything.  Shadows, tendrils of darkness, battled it, fought it, sometimes snuffed it out.  The light won when it came forward, burning away the darkness, but if the light failed, gave up, the darkness crept forward to take its place.  The light was passive, in a way, upholding the rules with a code of honor.  The dark was not.  It surged, striking forward, defying the rules and logic itself.  Interesting.  Strange got the feeling that there was something more here at play, something he didn’t know yet.  But it wasn’t a threat.  Yet.  It could wait.  He moved to the next galaxy, the next reality that had been entwined with his.  

Next.  His mind reached out once more.  Now this place...this one was interesting.

It has power.  Not separated from the real world, not some ancient deities having eldritch chess games.  No.  This one had...something different.  An energy field, created from the energy of all living things, surrounding them, binding them, letting some get a taste of its power.  Most interesting indeed.  He went further.  

A field.  A field of ghosts.  Roughly divided in two.  On one side, strength, power, hate, rage, passion.  On the other, peace, knowledge, serenity, harmony.  Two different sides, two different users and practitioners of this energy field.  Different individuals.  No gods.  No demons.  Only mortals.  But powerful ones.  Two in particular stood out.  Both on the side of passion.  A void, a hungry, hungry void encompassing an individual of massive power.  Another, a crackling nimbus of darkness and selfishness.  They did nothing.  But should they break free from this field of ghosts...the consequences...hmmm.  What was this place, even?  A place of the dead?  Reflections of the living?

Strange whirled around as he felt a presence behind him.  Another shade.  But not milling on the field with the others.  This one stood alone.  It was of both sides...but neither.  Light and dark swirled within the figure in perfect harmony.  It walked forward, towards him.  Strange could sense it was, or once was, a human.  It wore stylized armor and a mask under a black, heavy, hooded robe.  It inclined its head in greeting to Strange.  

“What...what are you, exactly?” asked Strange.  The robed figure started out on the field of ghosts.  

“I was once like you, sorcerer.”  The voice was whispery, swirling, ghostly.  Beneath Strange could hear the faint trace of the voice of a dead man.  “A man with a destiny.”  

“Why are you not with the others?” said Strange.  The figure gave the phantom impression of a laugh, then a sigh.  

“I do not walk in the light, for it robs me of the stars.  I do not walk in the dark, for it robs me of my surroundings.  I walk in the twilight, and while both are dulled, I can see the entire picture and walk in balance.”  He turned towards Strange.  “Some say it is between light and dark.  It is not.  You must have balance.  You must have harmony between the two.  There is a war coming, sorcerer.  A war that you must win.  Your power will be with you.  Always.  Remember that.”  The ghost faded into oblivion, and the vision of the field ended.  Odd. The vision was something to meditate on for another day.  After he had the complete picture.  

Next one.  This one had a parallel universe.  A shadowy reflection of the real world, ruled by...something.  The ruler wasn’t human, wasn’t demon or god, it was...something else.  A creature of the shadows.  Formed by them.  Made by them.  This reality was odd, yes, but it had no place in the real world.  It could not come to nor affect the realm he was sworn to protect.  No threats here.  Next.  

No magic here.  Science.  More than anything else.  Fine.  Good, actually.  Less work for him to do.  He was about to turn and leave, when he felt a presence.  Something different.  An ancient being.  Strange blinked, and suddenly found himself in a blank white room.  What?

Staring at him, lounging in a comfortable white chair with a drink in hand, was a man (no, being, he corrected himself) wearing a ridiculous, outlandish, garb of an old school extremely wealthy Renaissance priest.  Okay.  That was a new one.  Personally, he much preferred the man from the other galaxy with his armor and heavy robe.  Whatever.  He was getting sidetracked.  The being grinned at him.  

“Surprised?” it asked.  Strange recovered quickly. 

“No,” he replied.  The being laughed uproariously.  

“He he, yes you are!”  It sipped its drink.  “It is so rare to get guests!”  He turned suddenly, looking around at things that were not there.  “Hmm.  My time is short.  There is much work to be done in little time.  The gods of humanity are outnumbered.  A war is coming.  Heh.  I see someone already told you that.  Yes.  There are forces teaming up.  The darkness is spreading.”  The being leaned closer.  “I usually am not so straight forward, but it is doubtful you’ll see me again, so I must tell you these things now.  Anyway, be prepared.  Have fun.  Try not to die.  That would be bad.”  The being snapped its fingers, and the room disappeared, leaving Strange hovering over the universe once more.  He shook his head.  Usually massively powerful beings did not make odd jokes while inviting him for drinks.  More things to remember, more things to meditate on.  He had to move on.

In two other universes, nothing.  No semblance of any sort of magic or higher beings.  Good.  Nothing to worry about there.  Next.  

No magic here.  Nothing.  But..something was off.  The souls of the dead were...missing.  Nothing here.  Odd.  No matter.  No gods, no demons, no other eldritch beings.  Fine.  Mysteries could be solved on other days.  He had more important things to do.  

He turned his gaze to the last galaxy.  Felt as his mind and spirit floated forward.  Immediately, he recognized this galaxy as two dimensions in one.  Strange.  But today was a day for oddness.  Warily, he crept forward, mentally entering the new galaxy.  

Emotion.  Hate.  Rage.  BLOOD.  Apathy.  Stagnation.  ROT.  Movement.  Hope.  CHANGE.  Lust.  Pain.  EXCESS.  So much.  Too much.  Conflicting ideas.  Dead uncountable, screaming in torment from a sea of souls.  A Great Game, a chess match between beings he didn’t even want to know existed.  And endless war, for billions of years, between factions so powerful he felt as if he were a single grain of sand in an hourglass, a person of such small importance that he could do nothing to change the future that would doom everything.  

He screamed as these emotions, as the chaos of this place engulfed him, clawed at him, threatened to drown him.  He tried to break free, used all of his power to try and get as far away from this place as he could, away from the madness.  He gritted his teeth and focused, focused harder than he ever had, focused harder than the time after the wreck where he could not get his hands from shaking.  He felt as if he were trapped, unable to run as if in a terrible nightmare.  He could feel as creatures, demonic inhabitants of this realm started to notice his presence, started to turn their hungry stares towards him as he struggled even harder, looking for any salvation.  

A light.  Faint, in the darkness.  He rushed towards it, the souls of the damned clawing at his cloak, the demons closing in with the force of an unstoppable tide.  He felt as if he were on a treadmill, unable to go anywhere, stuck in one spot, pursuers closing in.  He felt their hot, foul breath on his back, felt their horrible talons and teeth…

Then, nothing.  He spun.  Nothing.  No pursuers.  No demons.  He fell to his knees, breath coming in gasps.  After he caught his breath, he came to his feet and looked at his surroundings.  He was still in the sea of souls.  Still in this odd, horrible dimension.  But, this part was different.  A blinding, golden light shot up as if from nowhere, keeping the darkness and terror at bay.  What?  How?  He walked forward, surroundings bare, the great golden light making sure that no demons tread here.  As he walked, he felt...something.  

A single voice, screaming through the void.  A soul slit, in utter agony, bruised, beaten, but unbowed.  Strange felt the voice, using his powers to attune himself to it.  It had been in pain for...millennia now.  Pain was a constant companion.  But it would not give into the pain.  Never.  

Strange looked forward.  The beam was being produced by something...no.  Wrong.  Someone.  He shuddered involuntarily.  The sheer power required to produce such a thing, let alone to sustain it…  No wonder the voice was in pain.  Strange looked around again.  He had seen enough.  Knew enough.  Time to go back.  He leapt up, leaving this place, still keeping the light in sight...

When suddenly a being of unfathomable power and incalculable malevolence turned it’s gaze towards him.  He shied away from it.  Now was not the time to trifle with such a thing.  

Time, space, and reality warped around him.  Every color, yet no color swirled.  The being came into focus in front of him.  It was ever-changing, morphing from one form to the next with no pretext.  He hid his eyes.  To stare at it would be to go mad.  It studied him.  Looked at him with amusement, like a child studying insects under a microscope.  Then, it spoke.  Its voice was the worst thing Strange had ever heard.  Constantly changing, echoing like a nightmare into the void around him.  

“The Anathema's pathetic light cannot protect you for long, sorcerer.”  Strange winched, and shielded his face even more.  

“What are you?” he asked in response.  The being laughed.  Strange screamed.  The laugh echoed around him, promising the bending of time and reality as he knew them.  

“Do not ask which creature screams in the night.  Do not question who waits for you in the shadow.  It is my cry that wakes you in the night, and my body that crouches in the shadow.  I am Tzeetch, and you are the puppet that dances to my tune…”  Strange pulled back.  This was out of his league.  He made a motion, and activated his one, final, failsafe.  The locket around his neck opened, and a stone within glowed green.  The being, Tzeetch, grimaced, hissed, and launched at the same time.  

“Oh, ho!  Your pathetic trinket cannot keep you safe for long.  Every time you use your power, every time anyone bends the laws of nature to their own whims, I will be waiting.  Know that I will be watching you and guiding your fate, mortal.”  Strange said nothing.  He could do nothing against such a being.  “Now, go pack to where you came from.”  With a great, ringing, clap, Strange opened his eyes.  He found himself back in New York.  His cloak let him down with a thud on the hardwood floor.  He winced, then stood.  A meeting had to be called.  He just hoped superheroes would be enough to stop whatever came next.  

[Author’s note: For the curious, Tzeetch is pronounced zeen-ch]

I hope you liked it.  While I didn’t want to give you the names of any of the people in Strange’s visions, preferring instead for you to guess for yourselves, the line “I am Tzeentch and you are the puppet that dances to my tune” was just too good to pass up.  I also do hope that you could follow at least some of my ramblings there, but, if you couldn’t, feel free to ask me any questions you may have, along with any comments, criticisms, requests, or concerns.  Wherever you are, I hope you have a great day.  

#writing #my writing #fiction #crossover #crossover story #ulitmate crossover #fanfic #magnificent scoundrels

[innocentlittlestars]

another reylo fic I’ll never write

~ Rey goes AWOL after laying the lightsabers to rest on Tatooine.

~ There’s still tension in the galaxy with the FO in complete chaos so the resistance still needs Rey.

~ Poe hears through their extensive network of a lone person on a desert planet with mysterious powers.

~ Thinking that it must be Rey, he, Finn, and Rose take off to bring Rey back.

~ Of course the mystery person turns out not to be Rey, but Ben, who is just trying to live the rest of his life in peace without harming anyone else. Ben is not dead because reasons.

~ Intelligent dialogue goes something like this:

Finn: What the fuck? You’re supposed to be dead!

Poe: We thought you were Rey!

Ben: What do you mean you thought I was Rey?

Rose: We may or may not have lost Rey. . . 

Ben: What do you mean you’ve lost Rey?

~ Once they begrudgingly tell Ben what’s happened since Exegol, Ben demands to come with them. The Gang obviously hates the idea but what choice do they have? Ben has a network of his own. . .

~ They fly off to a different planet to speak to his network of spies (don’t ask me how they know he’s alive/on his side I didn’t promise a well-thought-out outline). 

~ Vir (the spy) asks to meet in an underground fighting arena, because why not?

~ The Gang doesn’t like shady business (and honestly the place isn’t exactly Ben’s cup of tea either) but Vir is the best.

~ While waiting for Vir, Ben and The Gang notice the audience getting riled up by the current fight. The reigning champion has rarely been beaten, but Finn overhears someone say this is their tenth fight of the night and they’re running out of juice. 

~ When Ben finally pays attention, he can’t believe he’d missed it. Even with the head wraps, and even without the Force, her movements are so distinct. Despite the exhaustion he can see in the set of her shoulders and the sloppiness of her footwork, she weaves in and out of her opponents reach, using her size to her advantage. Despite her quick thinking, she’s not going to make it. She takes a punch to the gut and a knock to the head. She falls and her opponent is on her in an instant, his hands around her throat.

~ Ben moves without thinking, the Force coming to him like he’d never pushed it away. The guy is away from the small form on the ground and up in the air before he ever even sees Ben, his hands now scratching at his own windpipe. Ben drops him before he suffocates, and turns his eyes downward.

~ Rey has regained her breath and is staring up at him, eyes wide as if she’s seeing a ghost. 

~ More intelligent dialogue in 3. . .

Rey: Ben. . .

Ben: Rey. . .

~ Neither notices the audience has gone completely silent

#reylo #rey #ben solo #kylo ren #post tros #reylo fic #ugh sorry i've been gone for so long #scrappy rey would win all the fight club fights #why didn't rey go back to the resistance? #also why do you think rey is fighting #seriously why because i don't have an answer yet lol #also rey is pissed because i totally had him ben #"yeah sure that's what it looked like *Ben roles his eyes* #rey: if you'd just given me ten more seconds- #ben: you'd be dead #rey: i would no- #poe: could we please move this outside and away from here

[royisms]

@oliverzafar​

     Date: July 5th, 2020.​

     Amanda had thought long and hard about how she should approach this subject. It was fragile and she knew that much, but having spent so many years besides Oliver, she still had no idea how he would react to the piece of information she was about to share with him. Or should she say the secret she was about to confess? She still wasn’t entirely sure. It’s not like she had lied about it, they hadn’t talked about her romantic or sexual life for months ( and thank God for that, whoever she was ) with his new job, his marriage, Vir’s choice... It hadn’t come up. And she also hadn’t been willing to tell him, knowing he’d want her to cut all ties with Silas. She needed something besides her job and he had given her that out, that safe space in which she could be vulnerable in so many ways she couldn’t on her day-to-day, professional life. Of course, that had backfired, resulting in her current situation: how the fuck do I tell Oliver I’ve been sleeping with this man for months and didn’t know shit about this?

    She had considered waiting a few more days before bringing this up, waiting until she had all her facts straight, but, in the end, there was nothing else left. She knew what it would look like if she didn’t tell Oliver as soon as possible, and she feared what the others might do. Did they have this information? Had Silas said anything? There were multiple questions floating in her head and no answers whatsoever, although ( to be completely fair ) the copious amount of alcohol she’d ingestd the day before was partly to blame as well. With a poor job at hiding the bags under her eyes with concealer and as she drove up to Oliver’s place, she told herself the title she’d used to this impromptu meeting ( ‘Campaign stragegy’ ) wasn’t exactly a lie, if you really thought about it. It was important information he should have, even if she’d rather throw herself off a cliff than have so many men at the White House know anything about her sexual history. 

     “So, you know back in-- I want to say junior year in college? When I started seeing Marcus,” she started off, knowing for a fact that the name alone brought the worst PTSD to the two of them. He’d been a proper Harvard man, with a full ride academic scholarship he did not need in the slightest because of his family’s insane fortune, and Oliver had warned her about him from the very start. She hadn’t listened, and that had unavoidably resulted in a broken heart and many months of sobbing into her pillow. It was obviously not the greatest memory to bring back but it would make sense in a minute. “And you told me about these rumors about him being an ass and I didn’t believe you and-- well, and after everything was over, you said he was the worst guy I could have ever hooked up with?” there really was no going back now, she’d put the subject out there and all he had to do was listen. “And you know how I’ve made it my life mission to prove you wrong? And so far ( I think ) I’ve succeeded into building a list of men I’ve slept with who are way worse than him?” her tone was that of amusement but, inside, her whle body was trembling in anticipation -- and not the good kind, either. Amanda couldn’t have been more obvious if she tried. And she tried. “You should sit down for this,” she warned him, cracking her knuckles. I can still turn this around and tell him he was right and never speak of this again. Of course, as his Campaign Manager, that was not the right thing to do, and she cursed her family for making her so conscious of what was right and what was wrong.

     The sole thought of having these words roll off her tongue was enough to make her stomach shrink; she’d never been the best with confrontation. After all, she’d much rather be in the behind the scenes of politics than in the limelight. “I need to tell you something and I need you to promise me you won’t do anything stupid.” Funny, coming from you...

#[ oliverzafar ] #[ how little they mean when you're a little too late; amanda ] #ginger get the popcorn #[ the truth: oliverzafar ]

[himluv]

Devotion

Oof. This is my last one. And, uh... it hurts. Solavellan for Dragon 4ge Day, for the prompt “Endings”.

I’m sorry...

TW: Major Character Death

Also: This is my interpretation/expectations for where we’re headed as a ship. I’m going down with this ship y’all, and where I’m going, there won’t be enough tissues in the world to dry my tears. Buckle up.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Why did his plans always veer so tragically far off course? He was meant to be the savior of Thedas, of Arlathan, of the People. He would right his wrongs and reset the course of history, restoring order and balance to a world impossibly off-kilter. He was meant to be the martyr, the sacrifice to atone for sins he had not foreseen.

But, yet again, his foresight proved faulty.

He knew the Inquisitor would find him. Knew there was nothing he could do to keep her from doing all she could to stop him. Despite it all, his proclamations, his obvious intent, his pleas that she leave him to his dark endeavors, she still believed she could win. She still believed she could convince him to abandon his purpose.

He just hadn’t realized the lengths to which she would go to save him. How could he? In all his years, the millennia spread out behind him was a tapestry of judgement, foolish pride, and betrayal. He could never have fathomed that someone could care for him with such depth, with a devotion so pure it proved reckless.

Fatal, even.

Her hand on his cheek pulled him from those thoughts. Her eyes, wide and wet with pain, anchored him in this terrible moment.

“Vhenan,” she said. The word struck him deep enough that he flinched. She rarely used the term, preferring to simply use his name. Now she said it with regret for all the times she didn’t. All the times she wouldn’t.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer against him as he rocked her. “What have I done?”

She shook her head, but it was a feeble gesture. She was losing strength quickly. “You don’t get credit for this one.” She smiled and it fractured into a wince. “You carry enough guilt without borrowing mine.”

“Riallan.” He stroked her hair, searching for words but all of them turned to ash in his mouth, weightless. Impotence, cloying and clinging, boiled up in him until his shock turned to anger. “That blow was meant for me.” He closed his eyes, unable to look into the vibrant green of hers any longer. “I could have withstood it.” He didn’t know if that was true, but it was far more likely that he would survive the attack than she would.

As ever, she saw through him. “Perhaps,” she said. Her voice grew frail, the words like glass on her lips. “But I could not withstand watching you die.” She shrugged and hissed with pain. Like it was so simple a thing, the decision to sacrifice herself in order to save him.

Around them, the Crossroads were a blur of chaos. The Agents of Fen’Harel fought against the remaining forces of the Inquisition, a stalling tactic on his part. A distraction on the part of the Inquisition. Busy the troops so that Riallan and her team could get close enough to stop him.

He supposed it had worked, though he hoped to every spirit in the Fade that this had not been her plan all along.

Throughout the Crossroads the Eluvians flared and roiled, the magic within them snapping and crackling, demanding release. He was so close. All he had to do was steal that gathered power, take it into himself and then step through the Veil and into the Fade. The Seal would be there, and behind it all the ‘Gods’ he’d locked away. The Eluvians’ power would eat him up, much like his mark had gnawed at the Inquisitor, but he would release it. Bring it all forth to bear on the Seal and release those Old Gods on the world. They would ravage and remake it, bloody and terrible and new.

The time had come. All his planning led to this moment. He simply had to go to the nearest Eluvian, put his hand to its glass, and absorb the magic. The fight was over. He had won. All he had to do was let go of his vhenan and finish what he had started.

Her hand was still on his cheek, her thumb brushing against his cheekbone to wipe at his tears. With what little breath she had left, his vhenan sang to him, her voice hitched and shaking.

“Melava inan enansal, ir su aravel tu elvaral u na emma abelas.”

It was not the first time he’d heard her sing. She’d done it often in the early mornings, soft and sweet in their tent when she thought he still slept. But, he had never heard this song before.

“In elgar sa vir mana, in tu setheneran din emma na.”

She might as well have written it for him alone. A fresh wave of grief rolled through him, washing away his anger and leaving him powerless. He could no sooner leave her now than he could have stopped Corypheus all those years ago.

“Tel’dan’latha, vhenan.” She brushed away his tears even as she shed her own. “Ame dirthem ane, var lath vir suledin.”

He nodded, and pressed his lips to her forehead. “And so it did.”

The blood blossomed crimson on the emerald fabric of her Keeper’s Robes, and though his strength had returned, it was spread too thin. He could not heal her with his power alone, not while the Eluvians seethed around them.

The Eluvians…

He blinked, surprised at his own sudden inspiration. He looked down at her, at the waxy pallid skin around her eyes, and the too red color of her lips. But, despite the feverish shine to her eyes, she still saw him. She hadn’t left him yet.

“You’re right, vhenan,” he said. The words poured from him, confessions he’d hidden from for too long. “I was wrong. Again. Still.” He shook his head. “I see that now.” He kissed her and he was surprised at the force with which she returned his affections. “I know what I have to do.”

“Solas?” Her eyes widened, panicked as he gently moved her off of his lap. “What are you doing?”

“Saving you. The only way I can.” He knelt over her and pressed a hand to her cheek. “Ar lath ma, vhenan. Never doubt that.”

She hissed in pain but nodded. “Ar lath ma, Solas. I never have.”

He smiled at that, and somewhere in the expression she saw his plan. By the time she called after him to stop, he had already strode away from her. He reached the Eluvian, tall and furious with glacial blue light boiling in the frame. All he had to do was put a single finger to it, and he would consume the magic that connected them.

It would be enough.

He pressed his palm to the pane and hundreds of magical mirrors fell silent simultaneously. The Eluvians glowed, but the roiling energy calmed once more. The sudden change brought the fighting to a halt as confused Inquisition Agents and his own forces turned to look at him. But he hardly noticed.

Solas’ entire awareness shrank to where his palm trembled on the Eluvian. He screamed, the sound shattering the unnatural calm, as impossible amounts of power flowed into him. It burned, like the fires of Elgar’nan himself, up his arm and into his chest, consuming and overwhelming his own well of magic. Then it froze, icy and sharp, at first blissfuly numb and then aching. Then lightning, crackling and shocking, explosive in his veins.

Every sort of magic the Evanuris had used, pooled together to forge the Eluvians in the early days of Arlathan roared through him, scorching and searing and sundering him from the inside out.

He expected it to fade once he’d absorbed it all. Instead the Eluvians just shut down, going dark and leaving the Crossroads lit by the pale, preternatural light of the Fade. The Eluvian he touched fell dormant and repulsed him with a shock so violent he was knocked to his knees.

Still no one moved.

He stood, blue smoke curling up from his skin as he turned to look at Riallan. She wasn’t moving, the stillness clenching at his heart. Was he too late?

His eyes glowed with power, the fury of the contained magical forces a hurricane within him. Every moment he held that power was agony, each step a unique misery, like a thousand giants were pulling him apart and crushing him at the same time.

But he took those faltering, torturous steps to fall on his knees beside her. Dimly he noticed she spoke to him, her lips barely moving, but he couldn’t hear her over the roar of energy that thrummed in his ears. He knew her well enough that he didn’t need to hear her words.

“It’s the only way, vhenan,” he said.

She winced away from him while around them soldiers and agents flinched and covered their ears. Even as the power ate away at him, he marveled at the fact his voice had rendered his foes useless, until her hand found his face. Her touch was a balm to the feverish heat of his skin, sweet relief that he leaned into.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. Her brow furrowed, her green eyes wide and frightened. Not for herself, but for him. Her adversary, Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf. Solas.

Because in the end, that was who he was to her. In the end, it was her refusal to see him as anyone or anything else that saved Thedas.

He pressed his hands to her abdomen, ignoring the warm, sticky sensation of her robes. Though the magic clamored to be released, he only let a trickle pour through his fingers and into the Inquisitor’s failing body. He feared that too much at once would destroy her, just as surely as it was destroying him.

It was slow, excruciating work, holding the magic back and forcing it to do his will. The original plan had only called for him to gather the energy and then unleash it upon the Seal. This… this was harder.

He grit his teeth, fought to keep his hands steady, and still sweat beaded on his brow. But color returned to the Inquisitor’s cheeks and her breathing came easier beneath his palms. He watched as his vhenan revived at his efforts, and knew that the pain and struggle would be worth it. For once in his life, he’d managed to do something right.

He took a step back from her, putting distance between them, committing her shocked and relieved, face to his memories. Just in case he would still have them wherever his spirit would roam. It would be no small comfort to see her face, alive and proud and shining with love, for the rest of his eternity.

Then he released the remaining power of the Eluvians. First came the lightning, streaking through his blood and into the air, colliding back into mirrors across the Crossroads. Then the glacial cold, fogging his breath and threatening to bring him to his knees once more. Last came the fire, hot and burning like a sun behind his eyelids as the power soared back to its home. There was more screaming, his again, before he collapsed and the Crossroads burst into action.

“Solas!” Riallan’s arms caught him before he hit the hard ground. She sank down with him, her voice blessedly strong in his ears. Whole. Her hand on his face again, anchoring him as his focus dwindled. “Stay with me, vhenan,” she said. She cradled him, their roles suddenly reversed.

He smiled. “Say it again.” His voice was his own once more. The pain from a moment before was gone, and the nothingness that followed it was perfection. On some level he knew he should be concerned, but she was alive, holding him again, so he couldn’t quite manage it.

“Dorian! Help me!” She looked down at him, new tears filling her eyes. “Say what again? Vhenan?”

He nodded.

“I’ll never use your name again, if you’ll just stay with me, vhenan.”

He chuckled at that. He felt light, thin in her arms. There was no more guilt to weigh him down, and nothing hurt. For the first time since before he entered Uthenera Solas was at peace. It’d been so long he almost didn’t recognize the sensation.

Dorian appeared in his line of sight, the mage checking his vitals. He gave Riallan a confused look. “Nothing seems wrong.”

Because nothing was, Solas thought. He recalled her face at the moment she realized he’d healed her, brought her back from what should have been guaranteed death. That he chose her life over the rebirth of the world. How awed she’d looked. How pleased and scared and proud of him she’d been. When was the last time someone had been proud of him?

“Dirth ma, vhenan,” she said, calling him back to the present. “What’s happening?”

He had to think about it, which he noted should also be troubling. What was happening? Right, the Eluvians. “I used the gathered strength of the Evanuris to save you,” he said.

“The Eluvians?”

He nodded. “I was going to use it to release them and the Old Gods but,” he tried to adjust in her arms, but found he couldn’t move. That was concerning. He swallowed back the fear, for her sake. “You made me see.”

She glanced at Dorian, who shrugged. “See what, vhenan?”

“That, despite all my worst efforts, this world was better than anything I could have made.” He blinked, the numb nothingness turning to an uncomfortable chill. He was running out of time. “You cared more for this world than anyone in Arlathan ever did.” He swallowed at the emotion caught in his throat. “You cared more for me, as well.”

She bit back a sob. “But what’s happening to you?”

He cleared his throat, his voice going frail on his tongue. “The power is too much for any one being to contain. Even one such as me. There is a cost, one I am happy to pay.”

Her hand tightened around his, and he was glad he could still feel it. “The Eluvians took your power,” she said.

He smiled. “Clever, vhenan. Always so clever.”

“So, you’re mortal now?” Dorian asked.

Solas tried to shake his head, but couldn’t. “No,” he said. “It’s not like severing a connection to the Fade. My magic was sacrificed. Removed. Without it, my spirit cannot remain.”

His breath came shallow, his lungs failing as his body died around him. They were out of time.

“Vhenan,” he said. “Go to Skyhold. I sent,” he gasped, “a gift. Explains everything.” He gave her a shaky smile. “Just in case.”

She made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and held him close. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she chanted, rocking him as he had rocked her only moments ago.

He looked up at her, unwilling and unable to look anywhere else. That her face would be the last thing he saw, he arms the last he felt, her voice and those words the last he ever heard soothed his soul.

The last thing Solas did was smile.

He did not die alone.

Elvhen Translations: Melava inan enansal  ir su aravel tu elvaral u na emma abelas in elgar sa vir mana in tu setheneran din emma na Time was once a blessing but long journeys are made longer when alone within. Take spirit from the long ago but do not dwell in lands no longer yours.  (From the Elvhen song “Suledin”) Tel’dan’latha, vhenan Do not grieve/weep, vhenan Ane dirthem ame, var lath vir suledin I told you, our love will endure/last/survive Ar lath ma I love you

Dirth ma Speak to/tell me (lit. Speak you)

#dragonageday #dragon age day #solavellan #dai #riallan lavellan #ow #I cried when I wrote this #I love it and I hate it

[onbanksofadragonriver]

Intimate

“Hey.”

The Inquisitor’s quiet voice was the last thing Cassandra expected to hear in her spot above the smithy in the small hours of the morning. The Seekers’ Book of Secrets lay heavy under her gloved hands, read and re-read in the past few days until she almost knew it by heart. She’d got lost in her thoughts, waiting for the dawn, when they would set out for Adamant.

“Inquisitor?”

She wondered how he’d even found her. He had never seemed too fond of her, or paying attention to where she preferred to spend her time.

Her surprise must have shown, because Martin shot her a faltering grin as he walked over and sat in the chair opposite her. Swallowing, he carefully laid on the table a gnarled wooden staff and a folded, sealed letter.

“A new staff?” Cassandra hazarded a guess. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

Martin swallowed again, hands with slender fingers running lightly down the length of the weapon. His chin dipped lower, and he had yet to look her in the eye.

“A fire staff,” he muttered. “And no, I’m not worried for myself. I… I wanted to talk to you.”

Cassandra felt her eyebrows rise, and instantly felt ashamed of her reaction. Martin Lavellan had supported her as she’d doggedly tried to find the Seekers, had spoken to her later with such unexpected warmth and lack of judgement… He’d been a friend, not just her leader. Could she not show him the same, instead of calling him out for never really talking to her before?

“You can tell me everything,” she said with a decisive nod.

The elf sat back in the chair, his light hazel eyes still trained on the staff.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said quietly. “For letting me follow my path as long as you have.”

Cassandra frowned.

“Me? Letting you follow your path as the Herald of Andraste? As the Inquisitor?”

Martin shook his head. “Vir Atish’an. The Way of Peace.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve indulged me long enough, and for that I am grateful.”

“Your barriers and healing spells have more than made up for the added combat strain on the rest of us, Inquisitor. Your people know their chances of returning from the field are higher just because of you being in it.”

“And to increase those chances further, tomorrow I bring a different staff. Tomorrow I fight.”

“You…” Cassandra blinked.

“I just wanted you to…” Casting his glance around, he seemed to be looking for the right words, as if they could be found in the dark corners of the room. “To know? To understand, maybe.”

“Understand what?” Cassandra was flummoxed. Martin Lavellan didn’t need her permission to fight, and he wasn’t asking for it, was he? Neither was he asking for any kind of forgiveness, for absolution. Unless this was some Dalish thing, in which case she’d just have to admit she didn’t follow.

Finally his gaze settled on her, greenish-grey and so unnervingly unguarded.

“That I wasn’t lying when I refused to fight before,” he said. “That I wasn’t trying to be difficult or to spite you, or the Inquisition. That this…” he wrapped his hand around the smooth wooden handle. “This does not mean I’ve rejected Vir Atish’an, and it doesn’t make my path weak or wrong.”

Still frowning, Cassandra slumped in her chair, wordlessly motioning for him to continue.

Martin gave her a small smile.

“A clan works in unison. It is not my job to convince a hunter that Andruil, the goddess of hunt, is somehow less real, or that their path is wrong. We’d die of cold and hunger if that were the case. A follower of Falon’Din, the god of death, would not try to convince me that my life’s work is futile. Neither would anyone else: we all like our good health and stories, and a welcoming hearth. Everyone chooses their path, their vallaslin, for themselves. There are no wrong paths.”

Something about his voice had relaxed her into simply listening.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked quietly.

“Because,” Martin drew a deep breath. “A few days ago you asked me whether the Inquisition could end up as twisted as the Seekers of the Truth. And I promised you it never would.

“And so… when you see me rain fire tomorrow… I want you to know that I have not betrayed my truth. That this is hard for me. That this is not me going down some ‘slippery slope’ like the one your Lord Seeker took, because the Dalish don't value one path above another. Mercy is not inherently better than violence. 

“I'd like you to think of it as... as they say in Denerim, not bringing a bunch of flowers to a bar fight. Although I’m so much better with flowers,” he chuckled under his breath, and Cassandra couldn’t help a smile tugging at her lips as she recalled the huge pile of embrium Martin had recently brought back from Crestwood and dumped at the dumbfounded Surgeon’s feet.

“This is a personal choice. It doesn't change the direction of the Inquisition,” Martin said firmly. “It just means that tomorrow I’ll be able to take better care of myself during the attack, and our fighters won't have to split their focus that much.”

Cassandra nodded thoughtfully. “You should tell Cullen.”

Martin ran his hands over the length of his new weapon once more and then removed it from the table, swirling it deftly as he stood up and slid it into the harness across his back. “I will. But you… you I wanted to understand.”

“Thank you.” She nodded again. “I will… think about it.”

He was almost downstairs when she noticed the letter forgotten on her table.

“Inquisitor!” she called, grabbing the message and hurrying after him into the darkened yard. “You left this.”

“Oh.” Martin turned and gave a nervous laugh when he saw the folded piece of paper in Cassandra’s outstretched hand. “That.” He drew a hand through his hair before glancing up at the myriad stars blinking frostily from the darkness above.

“If this whole thing doesn’t work out…” He waved, encompassing his new staff, the smithy, the battlements and, it seemed, the Inquisition in general. “Meaning, if I die in the… foreseeable future... please bring that message to my family.”

Cassandra glanced down at the letter. “It says ‘To Mr and Mrs Foster in Denerim’.

Martin shrugged. 

“But you're from clan Lavellan!”

He glanced away for a long moment. Cassandra could only stare at him in flabbergasted horror. Had he lied to them this whole time?

“When you asked me my name,” he said softly. “I never gave you my surname, because that would be a bloody stupid thing to do when you’re captured, and chained, and accused of killing the Divine. I feared you’d go after my family.”

“But… Lavellan…”

“Is the clan I hail from. According to the Dalish customs, you can definitely call me Lavellan, and it’s not wrong. I'm fine with it. But I was born in Denerim, to Almaribel and Saeris Ralaferin, and when my father died, my mum married a human craftsman named Lowan Foster.”

Cassandra swallowed thickly, trembling fingers creasing the folded paper.

“And now you…”

Martin snorted, one hand rising to brush over his cheekbone where Cassandra had hit him on that first meeting.

“Yeah, funny how that works,” he murmured. When he looked at her again, he was grinning brightly, laugh lines creasing the corners of his eyes.

“Now you’re the only person I’d trust to bring them news of my demise.”

------

Based on the 30 Days OC challenge || Masterpost

#30 days of Martin Lavellan #dragon age #Inquisitor Lavellan #male lavellan #Cassandra Pentaghast #friendship #faith and family ARE very private subjects for Martin :]

[virzafar]

From the archives of The New Yorker, 04/21/12: “Stargazers” by Vir Singh

“I’m leaving,” Astrid announces as she unceremoniously plops a camper-style backpack down on her bed. 

Moesche looks up suddenly from where he’s lounging on his own bed with a government-issued book in hand. Astrid looks frantic with her hair in her face and the corners of her eyes puffy, looking like she just cried or she’s about to cry or some winning combination of the two. 

Moesche puts his book down as he sits up, trying to get a better gauge of the situation. Astrid is unrelentless as she starts packing, grabbing things from the closet without much regard. Too many shirts, Moesche notices, and not enough pants. Is she even packing socks? 

He watches her hands move, quick and unsystematic. She’s shivering slightly, keeps pulling her sleeves down lower. Nervous. She’s nervous. She’s leaving.

“Oh,” is all Moesche says in response. It’s not like he hasn’t seen this coming at all. Astrid hasn’t exactly been a happy camper since the president issued a nation-wide containment order, but they’ve been in this bunker for nearly three months now and Astrid’s disdain has almost faded, become background noise for an otherwise mundane life.  “Why?”

“Because,” Astrid says as she chucks a first aid kit into a side pocket of the backpack, “I can’t just sit around here anymore doing nothing. If the government isn’t willing to give me some answers I’ll go out and get them myself.” 

“Oh,” Moesche says again.

“You sound like a parrot, Mo,” Astrid says. 

Moesche doesn’t reply, taking out a lighter from his pocket and playing with that instead. The flame flickers on then off, on then off, on then off – he finds solace in the repetition of it. 

“Well?” Astrid asks. “Are you coming?”

Moesche looks up from the lighter at the guards standing by the doors leading outside. He thinks of the large fence towering over the Safety Facility and the unknowns waiting for them beyond that.

“Eh,” he says, running a hand through his curls and gives a curt shrug. “I’ll try anything once.” 

Astrid seems to accept that as she tosses an empty backpack towards him.

“I’m still a little lost,” Moesche says. “What makes you sure there’s going to be aliens at this place?”

“No, not aliens,” Astrid tells him. She sounds tired. “Information about aliens.”

“Fine. What makes you sure there’s going to be information about aliens at this place?”

“It’s called ‘Area 51’. The government kept classified information in it years ago, inaccessible to the public eye. It was eventually abandoned once their secrets became too vast to keep confiscated to a single facility, which is when they adopted Island Luesch for use instead. But there’s hundreds of official statements claiming that they never fully cleared out their facilities. All we have to do is get there, break in, and find the right files,” Astrid says matter-of-factly.

“And this is a theory you were just sitting on for a rainy day?”

 “Before they rounded us up, I read a ton of books about it as a part of my research thesis,”  she says. There’s a tinge of sadness in her tone, an underlying bittersweetness about the studies in history that she had to abandon. Moesche can’t say he doesn’t understand it – there’s very little he wouldn’t do to live just another day in the life he had before the UFOs made the sky black and turned society into a place to be evacuated.

“When was this 51 place shut down?” Moesche asks. 

Astrid scratches the back of her head, avoiding his gaze as she answers with a timid, “Around 2050.”

“Almost 80 years ago?” Moesche asks in disbelief. Astrid’s silence is enough of an answer. “You snuck out of the safety of government care to investigate a hunch from a place that shut down nearly 80 years ago? We might as well deep-sea dive to find Atlantis!”

“I know!” Astrid shouts back. “I know, I just – I don’t know. I have a gut feeling about this place. I have to trust myself. I need you to trust me too.”

Silence swallows them. When Astrid meets Moesche’s gaze again she looks decades younger.

“I trust you,” Moesche says finally, and he tries to sound sincere. Astrid smiles at him and the thank you is spoken without a word exchanged.

With that, she gains a new perk in her step, picking up the pace slightly from the casual strides they had been taking. Moesche follows right after, gripping his backpack as if it would fall off otherwise.

“Come on, I want to get through at least another two miles before we rest for the day.”

It doesn’t take long for them to grow tired of walking. Moesche spends a whole day trying to remember what his father had taught him when he was still certain Moesche would inherit the family body shop, but he eventually manages to hijack an abandoned car with three paper clips and some radio gadgets.

“Impressive,” is all Astrid says before she claims the driver’s seat. 

They switch off cars each time they run out of power, sometimes lasting longer if they find a working charging port on the side of the road. They try their best to avoid driving by other Safety Facilities scattered across the countries. Like scavengers, they keep moving out of fear of what may follow them.

At night, Moesche begs desperately for his subconscious to bring him pleasant dreams, memories of what Earth once looked like – greens, browns, blues. Instead, he gets blackness with snippets of dialogue he think he may have once said.

“I want a war,” his voice at age 12 echoes one night. “Life is so mundane. I want the world to see what I’m capable of.” 

It seems he’s gotten his wish.

He was most worried about finding food sources when they first left, though it turns out they have more food at their disposal than they could ever consume. With the government promising an endless supply of federally issued supplies in their designated Safety Facility, there was no need for the people to raid supermarkets out of blind panic. As a result, the two of them bounce from town to town and pick up whichever perishables appeal most to them with plenty to choose from.

Today, they sit on the roof of their latest ride and eat lunch in silence. For Astrid, this consists of a can of peaches and a jar of strawberry jam; for Moesche, a stale loaf of bread and a can of corn. 

“What’s your theory?” Moesche asks as he rips a bite from the baguette in his hand. 

“About the aliens?” Astrid asks.

“Mhmm,” he says. “Where do you think they came from? What do you think we’ll find in those files?”

“You’ll never be able to look at me again without imagining a tinfoil hat on my head,” Astrid says.

“I think we’re well past that.” To make his point, Moesche gives a wave-around at the terrain around them as if to say ‘look where you’ve gotten me’. Astrid laughs. 

“I have a few theories,” she admits. Moesche quirks on eyebrow at her as if to prompt her to go on, which she does. “Mainly, it’s that the government did this as a reason to expand their military-industrial complex. A month before the aliens invade, all of Earth’s world leaders finally sit down after a human history spent fighting each other to finally find some international peace and decrease military spending to effectively zero. 

“Then the aliens arrive, and after a century of the media brainwashing us to fear them, we’re willing to do just that. The government jacks up its defense spending to more than double of what it was to fight off the immediate threat, and eventually the UFOs leave and the people come out of their bunkers.

“But wait! The government insists that it keep expanding its military to get bigger and better technology in case they ever return. The military is left to stay rich forever, the people feel protected from intergalactic threats at the cost of trillions.” Astrid pauses to express a self-satisfied smirk before adding on, “It’s just a theory though. What do I really know?”

“Maybe a little too much,” Moesche says. He scoops another heaping of corn onto the bread and takes a bite.  It goes down dry and tasteless.

“I was going to be an astronaut, you know,” Moesche says. They lie on a field looking at the stars somewhere in Middle America – Kansas, maybe. It’s hotter than where they came from.

“Were you?” Astrid asks. 

“I just finished a summer internship with NASA when the aliens came,” he says. “Ironic, no?”

“Bitterly so,” she says with a frown. “Were you any good?”

“They certainly thought so. Offered me a permanent position after my internship ended. I said no,” he admits.

“Why?” she asks.

“There was something else I needed to do.” His voice breaks ever-so slightly at the thought as he clenches the grass they’re sitting on a little tighter. “I told myself I’d come back to it.”

“You still could,” she offers, though it’s laced with a kind of false optimism that neither of them can quite buy into.

“I’m not so sure,” he says. There’s a long pause as he stares up to the stars, and when he speaks again, he speaks with a whisper. “How do we forgive ourselves for the life we never got to live?”

They’ve been on the road for two months now. According to their heavily-calculated, maybe-accurate, please-God-don’t-let-them-down predictions, this means they should be arriving at Area 51 today. Astrid buzzes; Moesche might throw up.

“Maybe we should think a little more about this,” Moesche suggests. “Take some time to really hash out the details, make a more concrete battle plan, consider all possibilities —” 

“There it is,” Astrid says. Moesche looks up from the dashboard of today’s car and squints into the distance, only to be met with an imposing gray building barely a mile away. 

“There it is,” Moesche confirms. Astrid grins manically and steps on the gas pedal. Moesche holds on tight to his seat and mutters a prayer to a god he stopped believing in long ago.

They pull up as close to the building as they can, and when they step out, Astrid all-but sprints to get to the building as Moesche jogs behind her. He expects an electric fence, a pack of dogs, a well-regulated militia to be awaiting them at the entrance of this place. Instead, a door that’s only just pulling through hangs by a hinge that the two of them can push to the side with ease.

“Where do we even begin to look?” Moesche asks, but Astrid pays him no mind. She’s too busy walking towards a large filing cabinet with a stretch of tape covering it labeled ‘CLASSIFIED’. “Oh. I guess that’s a start.”

Astrid wastes no time, ripping the label off hastily and throwing it away with a kind of dying urgency. Moesche stands warily to the side, watching as she opens cabinet after cabinet and sifts through file after file, only to find nothing. He thinks perhaps this is a good thing, that the government is hiding nothing from them after all, that they can pack their bags and get out of here. With time, he could forget this whole trip even happened.

“Oh my god,” Astrid breathes so quietly Moesche almost misses it. She stands over what must be the hundredth file she’s gone through, and by the look of her wide eyes, it seems she’s finally found what she’s looking for. “Oh my god, Moesche. It’s everything I could have imagined and more. You’ve got to see this, this is absolutely —” Astrid voice cuts off as soon as she turns around. “...Mo? Why are you holding a gun?”

“You never should have come here,” is the last thing Moesche says before his fingers pull the trigger. The first bullet hits Astrid’s rib cage; the second bullet hits her head. She falls to the ground, hands splayed in front of Moesche’s feet. 

He steps over her corpse delicately, grabs the file from where Astrid had left it, and proceeds to unlock the bottom drawer of the cabinet. There, an explosive awaits him, which he bends down and programs to go off within five minute. He picks up the holo-phone from inside of his shirt, presses two numbers, then holds it to his ear. “It’s done,” he says. He flips the device closed and throws it behind him.

 He doesn’t look back.

#m: about #okay so pretend this is good enough to get into the new yorker even though they have like a .0004% acceptance rate for short stories :/ #focus on the essence! the vibe! vir's crushed dreams! etc etc #anyway still cant believe i wrote a fictional short story for a fictional character fuck my life

[solartranslations]

AF2 Jolly Chapter 8 (1/4): Awakening

The heroine is looking something up in the study. Someone calls out to her from behind…

~*Scene: Study*~

Felicita: (This might not be the best way I can help)

Felicita: (But…I can’t just do nothing)

(*flipping)

Ash: Hey, Strawberry Head. Didn’t think I’d see you here

Felicita: Ash…!? When did you get back?

Ash: Just now. I said hi to your dad already

Ash: I’ll be heading back to Nordia soon though

Felicita: Oh really. Why?

Ash: I need to go pick up everyone who’s still there

Ash: Seriously though, is the assistant advisor’s job just being a taxi…

Felicita: ……

Ash: —Geez, you’re close! Is there something on my face?

Felicita: Ash, did you lose weight?

Ash: Hah! No way. Did you hit your head or something while I was gone?

Felicita: I haven’t…why?

Ash: Anyone would worry seeing you reading so intently in here

(*whish) Felicita: Yeah right!

Ash: Whoa!

Felicita: Stay put

Ash: No way I will!

Ash: But, I guess you’re not in as much of a slump as I thought

Felicita: Huh…?

Ash: Those three maids cornered me on my way over here

~*Flashback: Hallway*~

Isabella/Donatella: Welcome back!

Mariella: You must have had a long journey

Ash: Y-yeah… Thanks for the welcome, but I didn’t bring any souvenirs

Mariella: *laugh* We know. But…I trust you did bring some for Ojou-sama?

Ash: Huh? For Strawberry Head? No. I didn’t get anything for anyone…

Donatella: What, you’re serious? How could you not bring something back in a situation like this…

Isabella: Wow, you sure are dense

Ash: Huh? What are you saying? I don’t get it!!

Mariella: …Ojou-sama has been feeling discouraged

Donatella: She was really happy when she came back from picking up seashells at the beach right before that though…

Isabella: Mama’s recovered enough to walk around, but we still haven’t seen her smile… Maybe there’s something else she’s worried about…

Ash: Oh, so that’s why you mentioned souvenirs…Yeah, that might have been a good distraction. Especially if it was something I picked out

Donatella: That’s some confidence… especially for someone who didn’t actually bring anything

Ash: Shut it. I’m saying hypothetically

Mariella: …Well, you’re our only chance now

Mariella: You’re back now to give Papa a direct report, correct?

Ash: Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I just didn’t like the food they had in Nordia

Donatella: As maids, we don’t mind that either. But, you should let Ojou-sama know what’s going on

Isabella: It’ll bring Ojou-sama’s smile back. It has to…!

~*End Flashback*~

Ash: I always knew, but…everyone really does love you

Felicita: ……Yeah

Ash: If you know, then make sure you don’t make everyone worry too much

Ash: The guys around you are all overprotective worrywarts though

Felicita: Like you?

Ash: …Okay, Strawberry Head. Make sure Sunglasses never hears a word of that. My life could be in danger

Felicita: …?

Ash: So you’re reading up on information about Nordia and…alchemy!? Why?

Felicita: I was wondering what alchemic fire was made out of

Ash: What? Fire is fire. And why would you suddenly…

Felicita: Am I not allowed to be interested in alchemy?

Ash: No, but it’s because of Jolly, right?

Felicita: …I think it’s perfectly natural to want to know more about things those around us have in common

Ash: True. And that Vir is a shady alchemist too…

Felicita: Shady…

Ash: He’s bad news. If he and Jolly ever got into a fight…

>Is that all you have to report?

>I’m sure he would be fine

Ash: Don’t be upset. Of course I’d have wanted to bring back good news

Felicita: !

Ash: But, I don’t… You have to accept reality, or else you’ll lose what’s important to you

Felicita: …Yeah…

Ash: Huh, there’s no way you can be sure

Felicita: …Well…

Ash: It’s fine to be hopeful, but don’t get caught up in it

Felicita: ……

Ash: ……

Felicita: ……

Ash: Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that

Felicita: …Your honesty sure is harsh

Ash: Heh! Good. …See you

~*Scene: Vivace Plaza*~

Simone: So, Ojou. It’s almost time to head back, but are we still going to patrol for a bit longer?

Felicita: …No. We can finish up here

Raphaelo: You’re not going to keep patrolling on your own again, are you?

Antonio: The Chalices certainly are busier with Nova-sama gone, but it shouldn’t always be you picking up the slack

Simone: Yeah, Ojou. You should come back with us today for once

Felicita: ……

Giorgio: Or are you looking for someone?

Felicita: !

Giorgio: So I was right. You always seem to have your eye out for something when we’re patrolling

Raphaelo: I didn’t notice…. I thought you were just keeping an eye on things

Giorgio: Of course she was too, but… whenever she sees a boy of around this height—

Felicita: !

Simone: Oh, you’re right

Antonio: I see

Felicita: …I’m sorry, I need to go

Raphaelo: *sigh*… Alright I won’t ask. For now anyway

Giorgio: The Chalices court cards should still be on patrol. Promise you’ll call for them if something happens

Felicita: Yeah

Simone: Yup! We’ll do some shopping nearby before heading back too

Felicita: Alright. …Thank you

~*Scene: Back Alley*~

Felicita: Elmo, wait…!

Elmo: Miss? Why are you in such a rush?

Elmo: Were you chasing after me?

Felicita: Yeah. It’s a coincidence that I saw you…

Elmo: A coincidence? *laugh* Or maybe it’s fate

Felicita: Huh…?

Elmo: Just kidding. You were looking for me because you had something to ask, right?

Elmo: And Jolly…is probably still the same as ever

Elmo: He’s clearly upset, but won’t tell you why, right?

Felicita: ……

Elmo: Miss, isn’t being with him tiring? Isn’t it hard for you?

Felicita: …Why ask that now?

Elmo: It’s not sudden… I’ve always wondered

Elmo: I can use alchemy too, and I’m stronger now that I’ve grown up so I can protect you

Felicita: …Thanks. But I’m not looking for someone to protect me

Elmo: Ah… Right, yeah. You can fight on your own too

Felicita: And I’m not with Jolly because he’s an alchemist

Elmo: …Miss…?

Felicita: It might be tiring and difficult being with him sometimes, but I think it goes both ways

Elmo: …Don’t…

Felicita: …?

Elmo: Don’t say that…! You’re being too nice, you can’t be deceived by him

Elmo: Oh right. My Arcana powers are even stronger than they were before

Elmo: I can protect way more than just Jolly’s little laboratory now

Felicita: !

Elmo: While I was asleep in the tank, I saw “La Torre” in my dreams

Elmo: We talked a lot. About the Tarocco, and the man who created it…

Felicita: The creator of the Tarocco!?

Elmo: Did you not know? That person’s name is actually—

Jolly: …What are you doing here. You couldn’t handle things on your own, so you come for Ojou-sama?

Elmo: Jolly… You’re wrong. Miss is the one who came to see me

Elmo: And I’m fine on my own. I’m not a child anymore

Elmo: But of course, it is more reassuring to have Miss with me

Jolly: That’s all you want to say? How insolent can you be

Elmo: …What do you mean? Can you stop trying to pick fights?

Jolly: You wandered around a busy area knowing Ojou-sama was looking for you, then came to this deserted alley once you were sure she was following you…

Jolly: You wanted to get her alone, so you could lure her pure heart with some sweet words— Is that about right?

Elmo: You think I planned this? I’m not like you, I wouldn’t use underhanded tricks like that…!

Jolly: Then why did you purposely wander where Ojou-sama would see you?

Jolly: Did that alchemist tell you to bring her to him?

Elmo: No! Vir isn’t asking for something stupid like that

Felicita: ……

Felicita: But you still won’t tell us why?

Elmo: Ah…

Jolly: If you’re still going to keep his wishes a secret, then obviously we can’t trust you’re telling the truth

Jolly: —Elmo, this is your last chance. If you tell us everything right now, I’ll excuse what you’ve done

Elmo: And if I refuse…?

Jolly: Hm. Well for starters, we’ll detain you in the mansion

Felicita: !?

Elmo: Hm…. And?

Jolly: We will treat you as an enemy of the Family, and eliminate you

Felicita: Jolly…!?

Jolly: If you’re not a child anymore, then I don’t need to hold back

Elmo: Go ahead

Jolly: Just get on your knees…!!

Felicita: Stop…

Stop them!

>Hit

>Miss

Elmo: Miss!?

Jolly: What is the meaning of this?

Jolly: Wha…!?

Elmo: Miss, are you okay!?

(Retry)

Felicita: There’s no need for you to fight!

Jolly: Keep your fantasies to yourself. Ojou-sama, you are shielding an enemy of the Family

Felicita: We don’t know that yet!

Jolly: …Stand aside. If not, then I’ll eliminate you too

Elmo: Miss, don’t. I’ll be alright…

Felicita: I won’t!

Jolly: My, my. What a handful you are…

Jolly: Haaa!!!

Felicita: *dodge*

(*whish) Felicita: Hah!

Attack!

>Hit

>Miss

(*slash) Jolly: …That didn’t even hit

Felicita: I just need to stop you from moving…

Jolly: My, have you gotten slow?

Jolly: You’re just being a burden. Stand aside, Ojou-sama

(Retry)

Felicita: Elmo, run now

Elmo: Thank you, Miss. Now I can strike back

Felicita: !?

(*crash!) (*rumble)

(*crackle) Jolly: Guh…!!

Felicita: Jolly, are you okay!

Elmo: Wait

Felicita: Let me go, Elmo! Jolly is…

Elmo: Don’t look at Jolly, look at me…!!

Felicita: …!?

Elmo: I’ve grown up enough to hold you in my arms like this now…

Elmo: And I can defeat Jolly in one hit too

Jolly: *chuckle*… Who are you saying went down in one hit?

Elmo: Wah…!? How? I know my lightning hit…

Jolly: It’s true that earth does conduct electricity, but there isn’t much moisture here

Elmo: …Which meant it wasn’t that powerful

Jolly: That’s not all. The main reason was that I pretended to take the attack

Elmo: What? You’re saying that was all an act?

Jolly: Isn’t the fact that I’m still standing proof of that? Although, it did cause a little damage

>Don’t worry me like that!

(+30 Amore)

>You two are going too far

(-10 Amore)

>What a relief…

(+20 Amore)

Jolly: You’re voice is shaking, and you look like you’re going to cry. How adorably convincing…

Felicita: …I didn’t mean it like that

Jolly: Relax. I do adore this stubborn side of yours

Felicita: I know, so just shut up…!

Jolly: That’s your opinion. But I don’t particularly share your insistence towards keeping your hands clean

Felicita: That’s not the point. There’s just lines you shouldn’t cross

Jolly: …Ojou-sama, you are acting more like a child than Elmo

Felicita: *mad*

Jolly: So even you didn’t notice that I was acting

Jolly: But that’s fine. Since you really were worried, it was more convincing

Felicita: Can’t you show just a bit of regret…!

Elmo: …Do you enjoy looking down on people like this, Jolly?

Jolly: You have no right to complain. Especially being an outsider

Felicita: Elmo is an outsider…

Jolly: Ah, correction. An enemy of the Family

Elmo: …

Felicita: …!

Jolly: There’s no need to shout

Jolly: Of course I’ll allow Elmo to get his things if he begs for it

Felicita: Are you forcing Elmo out of the mansion?

Jolly: He hasn’t been staying there anyway so what’s the problem?

Felicita: You don’t even know if he has a place to stay, so why are you being so irresponsible?

Jolly: I’m just taking him at his own word. If he’s not a child, then he can take care of himself

Jolly: He can even take shelter in the church if need be. They’ll take him in no questions asked

Jolly: It is still on the mansion grounds, but I’ll allow him that

Elmo: ……

Felicita: Elmo, don’t worry about that. Let’s just go home

Elmo: ……

Felicita: Even if it’s not right away, I’ll still wait for you to come back…so…

Elmo: I won’t go back. I’ve already decided that

Felicita: Elmo…

Elmo: …And there’s one more thing I’ve decided on

Elmo: I won’t call you Miss anymore, Felicita

Felicita: …!

Felicita: Wah!

Elmo: *kiss*… Next time we meet, I’ll come to claim your lips

Felicita: Was that light…Elmo’s alchemy?

Jolly: …I thought he was a child and underestimated him

Jolly: There’s somewhere I need to go. Ojou-sama, go find your escorts and have them take you back to the mansion

Felicita: Who…?

Jolly: The Swords court cards. I saw them loitering around the plaza while on my way here

Jolly: They must be patrolling the area out of worry since you ran off on your own

Felicita: …Next time I see Elmo, I think I’ll still chase after him like I did today

Jolly: Do what you want. If you don’t want to be treated like a child either, then what happens will be your own responsibility too

Jolly: And therefore, you shouldn’t expect for anyone to help you

Felicita: Jolly…

Felicita: …I understand

~*End of Scene*~

(Continue to Jolly Chapter 9)

(Back to Directory)

#jolly #arcana famiglia #arcana famiglia 2 #chapter 8 #solar translations #psp game #translation #releases #this is so frustrating.....

[ilovemygaydad]

Friends in Dark Places [remastered; ch 3]

pairing: moxiety and logince (later on) with the addition of others if i feel like it

WARNINGS: mentions of self harm, mentions of suicide, mentions of scars, mentions of throwing up, food mentions, mentions of pain, hospitals, ivs, anxiety, panic attacks, depression, swearing, a knife, blood, insensitive language regarding mental illness, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter @band-be-boss-blog

a/n: idk why linebreaks don’t wanna work so we’re just gonna pretend they’re there okay thanks bye

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8 - chapter 9 - chapter 10 - chapter 11 - chapter 12 

companion fics: exes and ‘oh’s

-

The first thought that popped into Virgil’s mind when he woke up was that it was far too bright. He squinted, trying to make out something. A dull, throbbing pain coursed through his wrists, and he groaned at the memories. Patton was going to give him so much shit.

It didn’t take too long for Virgil’s eyes to get adjusted to the bright lights. He was in a hospital room, and everything except for his blue smock was bright, clinical white. There wasn’t anyone else in the room with him--for the time being, at least--but a light blue backpack had been discarded on one of the chairs in the corner. Patton must have quickly thrown it together before they’d left.

The door slowly creaked open, and Virgil’s eyes snapped to the movement. Patton creeped through, only standing up straight once he’d realized that Virgil had woken up. A frown spread across his face as he moved to sit in the chair at Virgil’s right side.

“Virgil, you’re lucky that Logan and Roman had a free period today and were able to come get us to the hospital. What you did was very dangerous, though I’m sure that was your intention.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but obviously I did, and I’m so sorry about that. Still, we need to talk about your situation because you aren’t fit to be left on your own. I’m not going to force you into any situation you aren’t comfortable with, but I want to keep you safe.” Patton was speaking at a million miles an hour, barely comprehensible due to worry. Virgil shrugged and turned toward the only window in the room, watching the cars pass by on the road many stories below. In the back of his mind, he dreaded having to leave. He’d been in this hospital before on the rare occasion that a family member was dying, and from his memory, the local hospital only had elevators and emergency-only stairwells. Of course, Virgil was wildly afraid of elevators.

Patton was still talking when he tuned himself back in. “I know you didn’t want anyone to find out about your situation, so I cleared it with my parents, and we checked you in under my name and made sure that there would be complete confidentiality. You’ll be covered under my parent’s insurance, so you won’t have to pay for anything. They want to make sure you’re okay and are perfectly fine with this.” He knew that Patton was trying to be comforting, but it just made Virgil feel more guilty. He was taking so much from this family. They were committing fucking insurance fraud for him.

Hot pinpricks formed in Virgil’s eyes. He tried his damnedest to will them away, but they began to slip down his face regardless.

“Hey! Virge, it’s okay. What’s wrong, kiddo?” Patton placed a light hand on top of Virgil’s arm, avoiding the tender spots where the bandages had been wrapped around him. Virgil forced himself to look at his companion. He hadn’t noticed before, but Patton had intense bags under his eyes, suggesting that he hadn’t slept at all during the night. His guilt only grew.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil whispered. “I’m so, so sorry that you have to deal with my depressed emo garbage. You don’t deserve this.”  He was a burden to everyone he met--merely bringing them down with him. There was no escape the sinking ship that was Virgil Thomas. Once you got on, it was hell on earth.

“Y’know,” Patton began. It was obvious that he was trying to pick his words out very carefully. “I’ve been in situations similar to yours. Although they weren’t nearly as intense, I’ve had great doubts about my self-worth. You really are a good person who deserves a good life, Virgil. I can just feel it. I really do want to help you, and I don’t care what I have to sacrifice to get you back on your feet.

“All of that aside, we need to talk about your living situation. Do you have anybody at home who will be worrying your whereabouts?”  Patton laid expectant eyes on Virgil.

“Um, not really. My dad is almost always out of town, and my mom hasn’t been around for years.”

Patton nodded thoughtfully. “Alrighty then. Would you be okay with staying at my house for the foreseeable future? We would obviously have to grab your things from your house, but I’d feel better if you stayed with me. And I’m sure that you’ve seen that we have more than plenty of room for one other person.”

“I guess that’ll be okay.” Virgil’s voice was shaking slightly. He didn’t know whether he should be sad or happy. He was receiving so much kindness, yet he didn’t feel like he deserved it. His thoughts were interrupted when a nurse came into the room.

“Mr. Thomas? I need to ask Mr. Shea some questions. I’d ask that you leave the room… unless Mr. Shea is okay with you staying.” The nurse had a large smile on her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes like Patton’s did.

“Um, I’d rather Pat--uh, Virgil stay in the room, if that’s all right.” Virgil gave her the best smile he could scrounge up, and she gave a curt nod, her brown hair swishing around her face. She took the seat on the opposite side of the bed from Patton.

“Mr. Shea, my name is Nurse Lucy. Do you remember what happened before you were admitted into the hospital?” Nurse Lucy pulled a pen from her pocket and began to write on the clipboard she’d had on the table next to her.

Truthfully, the events of the day had become fuzzy in Virgil’s mind. He could remember with clarity yelling at Patton and running to the bathroom. And then he punched the mirror and cut his knuckles, but after that? He had nothing.

“I don’t really remember anything…” Virgil’s face scrunched up just slightly in thought.

“Well, Mr. Shea, your friend with the tie told us you had a ‘severe panic attack,’ and Mr. Thomas followed up by saying you hurt yourself with ‘broken glass from a mirror’ and then passed out due to a mixture of blood loss and anxiety. Do you remember any of that happening?”

“I remember the panic attack and the mirror part; although, I remember the latter only vaguely.” The teen didn’t really like the direction that these questions were going. They were getting far too close to striking a nerve. As if he’d been reading the other’s thoughts, Patton piped up.

“Nurse Lucy, Vir-- Patton has been through a lot today. How long do you think these questions will take?” Virgil sent a silent thanks to whatever deity that was watching over him.

“Just a few more minutes, Mr. Thomas,” the nurse replied with a saccharine smile. “Mr. Shea, have you had any bouts of depression within the past four months?”

“Yes,” Virgil answered.

“And how long did the depression last?”

“It started when I was fourteen and has been on and off for the past three years.” His hands began to shake.

“Have you had suicidal ideations or attempted suicide in the past four months?” The clinical tone of the nurse’s voice caused Virgil’s breath to hitch. Patton gave a small squeeze, reminding Virgil that he was still there.

“Yes. To both.”

“How long have you been having suicidal thoughts?”

“Since I turned sixteen.” He raised his left hand and ran it through his hair. He already knew the next question she was going to ask before she even opened her mouth.

“When was the last time you attempted to commit suicide?” Time seemed to freeze in the room. Virgil glanced over at Patton, who had a pained expression on his face. Lines of worry were etched across his fair skin, and his normal smile was pressed into a harsh frown.

“Today,” Virgil whispered. It was the truth, and he was sure Patton knew it regardless of if he wanted to believe it or not. He looked at his feet, refusing to let his gaze shift to either of the people at his sides.

“I see,” Nurse Lucy said with sterile crispness. “Since you were admitted due to injuries from a mental illness and have admitted to other mental instabilities, you will need to stay in the hospital for at least three days for further mental examination.” She stood up and smoothed out her pants.

“Um, Nurse, will I be allowed to stay during the exams?” Patton’s soft voice broke through the unrelenting silence.

“That depends on the doctor’s specifications. If you have any questions, I can leave his phone number here so you can discuss with him. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have another patient that I need to check up on.” Virgil could hear her clicking footsteps leave the room and the hollow thunk of the door closing.

“Virge, will you please look at me?” Patton asked with genuine sweetness in his voice, not the fake sugary bullshit that the nurse had given him. Virgil turned his head slowly. His breathing was becoming shallow, and he could feel a panic attack coming on.

“I need you to listen to me, okay? You are going to be okay. I’m going to stay with you through all of it, even if the doctor wants me to leave.” A whole new wave of tears began to stream down Virgil’s face. This time, however, Patton climbed into the hospital bed, bringing his new friend into his arms, not caring about the tears that would end up staining his shirt. They stayed in that position, Virgil crying into Patton’s shoulder, until the former fell asleep.

---

“I don’t understand why we have to run errands for some kid that we barely even know!” Roman complained, crossing his arms with a huff. He and Logan had received a text from Patton that, as soon as school let out, they needed to go to the house of the kid they’d drove to the hospital and pick up anything they thought he’d need, whether it be clothes or electronics or whatever.

“Technically, Roman, we’re not running errands for Virgil. We’re running errands for Patton, who happens to be working to help a stranger. This is for our friend.” Logan turned off the engine of his disgustingly old Dodge Intrepid. He shoved open the squeaky door and walked up to the porch of the large white house.

“Yes, but--” Roman argued as he’d exited from the passenger seat-- “Why do we have to do this? Why can’t he do it?”

“Did you see how Patton was acting when we were checking Virgil into the hospital? He was an emotional wreck. I doubt he’d even leave Virgil’s side if we threatened to murder a puppy right in front of his face. He obviously has some sort of emotional attachment to the kid.” Logan punched in the code to unlock the door. The way that Patton had gotten the code was a mystery that Logan would probably never be able to solve. Shaking the thought from his mind, he pushed open the door and led Roman inside.

The inside of the house was just as plain as the outside. Light grey linoleum tiles lined the floor, and every surface was painted white. Even the doors were white. It was the biggest disgrace to the profession of interior design that either of the teenagers had ever seen.

“The bedroom is upstairs, correct?” Logan asked, looking around for any semblance of a clue that indicated someone actually lived in this house. The whole thing was oddly bare; there were just a few pieces of furniture in each room that he could see.

“Yeah, second door on the right.” Roman had already made it halfway up the stairs by the time he’d finished his sentence. Logan sighed and followed his dramatic friend.

It would have been easy to find out which room was the correct one even if they hadn’t had the directions. The door to Virgil’s room had been painted black and stuck out like a sore thumb against the blaring white of everything else. Roman swung the door open and walked inside with a flourish that only he would add.

“What a dreary nightmare this place is.” Roman grabbed a vinyl sleeve that had been discarded on the floor. American Beauty / American Psycho by Fall Out Boy. With a slight eye roll, he shucked the sleeve onto the desk to his left. He looked to Logan and saw that he’d had already gathered a pile of assorted black clothes onto the black duvet. Shocking.

Roman let out a long sigh and gathered things from the desk. He took a few notebooks that were labeled with school subjects and their corresponding binders, a pencil case, a pair of over-ear headphones and attached cell phone, a well used black eyeshadow single, and a weird little cube with a bunch of buttons on it. He placed them on the bed and grabbed a backpack from the floor, stuffing his finds into it. Logan had pulled a suitcase from somewhere-- probably the closet--and had begun to neatly fold clothes and pack them up.

“I’m going to search for the bathroom to grab Mr. Black Sky’s toiletries.” All Roman got in response was a nod. With a slight eye roll, he left the room and began to peek into each room in the hallway. The one third on the right turned out to be another bedroom, as was the fourth, the one across the hall from that one was a linen closet, and the two down the hall were completely empty. Last, he checked the first door on the right. He opened the door and found a pristinely clean bathroom, minus the spread of toiletries across the counter.

Roman grabbed the toothbrush, toothpaste, and hairbrush that was laying on the ground near the edge of the counter. He picked up a small rectangular metal thing that was hidden behind a stack of washcloths. It suddenly snapped open to reveal a small knife that had little flecks of blood on it. His stomach dropped, and he quickly closed the blade, nearly throwing it back onto the counter.

His mind strayed back to the time when Pat had been having a rough time. He and Logan had stayed up until ungodly hours researching things to help. Roman remembered when he’d clicked on a link and was brought to a website about cutting with graphic images of scars and cuts. Although he was not normally squeamish around blood, the thought of his friend hurting himself had nearly made him throw up.

He’d seen similar scars on Virgil when he’d helped Logan patch up his cuts. A shiver ran through his body. He didn’t want to think about that.

“Roman? Have you acquired everything that you need?” Logan’s voice called from the room over. Roman shook his shoulders and stood up straighter.

“Yeah, Lo. I’ll be there in just a moment.” After throwing one last glance at the knife on the counter, he made his way back to Virgil’s bedroom. Logan grabbed the toiletries from his hands and shoved them into the backpack before slipping it onto his shoulder. The two brought the bags out to the car and stowed them in the back seat. Roman’s memories from the bathroom were soon forgotten when he received another text from Patton.

Patton Delivered at 3:30 pm Virge has to stay in the hospital for the next few days for mental examination. They’re worried about him attempting suicide again. If you guys could pick up a stuffed animal from the gift shop, I’d really appreciate it! <333

Roman Read at 3:31 pm Of course, Pat! We’re just leaving the house now, so we’ll be at the hospital soon. Do you need anything?

Patton Delivered at 3:31 pm Just a water bottle. See you guys when you get here! <33333

Patton Delivered at 3:47 pm I just realized I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. Can you grab me something to eat in the cafeteria?

Roman Read at 3:50 pm I’ll add it to the list of things we need to do that Logan’s forcing me to write. Be there in 15.

Patton Delivered at 3:50 pm Awesome! <3

Patton Delivered at 3:54 pm Roman?

Roman Read at 3:54 pm Yes, Patton?

Patton Delivered at 3:55 pm Thank you both. I really appreciate what you’re doing for Virge and I.

Roman Read at 3:56 pm It’s no problem Patton. You’ve had a rough day and deserve some rest.

Patton Delivered at 3:56 pm You and Logan are fam ILY.

chapter 4

#sanders sides fic #m writes things #moxiety #logince #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Family Business II

A follow-up to “Family Business.”  More family, more Scoundrel shenanigans.  If you want to see anything in particular or have any requests, feel free to tell me!  As usual, no one except Drake belongs to me.   

“I bring peace through superior firepower.”  -Thomas Drake

After introductions were made, the various Scoundrels mingled throughout the room, speaking with the families of the only two among their number that really had them.  Many of them knew that Kirk had a family, somewhere, and that his upbringing was quite good, especially compared to most of theirs, but he never spoke of them, and they never asked.  Shepard stood near his mother, who was currently shooting ‘we’ll talk later’ looks in his direction.  They were deep in discussion with Kirk, apparently speaking of the various intricacies and differences between the Starfleet and the Alliance Navy.  

Vir was next to his parents, talking politely with Cooper and Quill.  Solo and Cain stood in the middle of the room, holding drinks and generally mingling, but not speaking to anyone.  Solo did this out of habit; he really had no desire to speak with anyone, and in most of the parties he went to, talking with others was a good way to die quickly.  Old habits.  Cain looked completely at ease, not wishing to speak with anyone.  He found tensions flared quickly with the people of these new galaxies when they asked about the Imperium of Man.  Best not to upset anyone.  

To the surprise of every person present, a group of Vir’s nieces and nephews had immediately gravitated to the Chief.  One of them grabbed him by the hand and outright insisted he come with her.  Currently, the massive armored form of the Master Chief was sitting next to a gaggle of children as they played some sort of game.  The more talkative were babbling to him as he simply sat, almost unmoving, watching curiously.  The children thought he was great.  Here was an adult that actually listened to them!  It also helped that he was wearing a very cool set of armor.  Children were odd like that, thought the Chief to himself.  He didn’t have much experience with them, but he’d heard stories.

Thomas Drake found himself face to face with Thomas Vir.

“Thomas.  A pleasure to meet you.”  He stuck out his hand.  Vir took it.  

“And you as well, Thomas.  A good name, Thomas.”  Pale skin met black leather.  Vir looked up, puzzled.  He half-held a slip of paper to the light, slid to him during the handshake.  Before anyone else could notice, Drake moved forward.  In a completely unobtrusive and natural movement, he lowered Thomas Vir’s hand into the shadows.  

“Don’t speak.  Look natural.  Talk to whomever you wish after this, but still, act natural.  I know you can.  In several minutes, excuse yourself.  Go to the bathroom, and if there isn’t anyone there, look at the note.  If there is, go in a stall, wait for them to leave, I care not.  After this, quietly and unobtrusively tell them the contents of that note, and make sure they keep it a secret.”  Drake flashed a grin.  Vir looked worried.  He’d been a part of things like this for far too long, and wanted to put it behind forever.  “Relax, Thomas.  It’s a party.”  Drake made a move to pull away.  Vir stepped forward to block him.  

“Why me?” he hissed.

“Because I trust you to know what you’re doing.  You and your father are the only ones with the skills to do this and do it correctly.  There’s more to us than meets the eye, Thomas.”  With a wink and swirl of his coat, Drake disappeared into the talking throng.  

Twenty-ish Minutes Later

“So.  You’ve been stationed aboard my son’s ship?” asked Martha Vir.  Admiral Vir himself stood nearby, ready to quell any arguments about to start.  He’d learned from almost bloody experience that the Imperials did not initially get along well with the citizens of the other galaxies, and vice-versa.  He tried not to think of the beginnings of Imperial propaganda he’d seen springing up on his homeworld, and the people who might accept it…  But he knew his parents wouldn’t.  They were better than that.  And, from experience, so was Cain.  The Commissar stood across from Adam and Martha, resplendent in his dress uniform and far too much gold lace.  

“I have indeed,” replied Cain.  Gloved hands covered a glass of some sort of alcohol.  He had no idea what it was, but if he wasn’t put in these new galaxies to sample all their drinks, then what was he here for, Throne-dammit?  “It is a fine ship.”  He pursed his lips, considering for a moment.  “Very new, a bit small compared to most of the battleships I’ve been on, but a wonderful ship nevertheless.”  

“Small?  It’s one of the biggest ships in the galaxy!” teased Martha Vir.  “Tell me.  What’s the largest in yours?”  

“I am by no means a naval expert, so I wouldn’t really know,” offered Cain apologetically.  

“Nonsense!  Give me your best guess,” insisted the Vir matriarch.  

“From what I have heard amongst the naval officers and Astartes personnel I’ve had the pleasure of serving alongside, I believe the largest would be the Gloriana-class battleships assigned to some of the Space Marine chapter fleets,” said Cain.

“How big are they?” asked Admiral Vir, his personal and professional curiosity piqued.  

“Gloriana-class battleships are extremely rare… and are usually about twenty kilometers long.”  The silence was deafening.  

In another corner of the room, Thomas Vir spoke with his father.  He had discreetly gone around the room and passed on Drake’s message.  It had been simple, two lines of pencil scrawled on a tiny piece of paper.

Do not speak of Eris.  Do not speak of Adam and Sunny.

Thomas was an intelligent man.  He realized the tensions between these new galaxies, but only now did he understand their full extent.  If Drake had sought to warn them already, even against members of his own group… well.  That wasn’t good.  The bigger question was: how did he know, and what was he going to do?

“What do we do, Dad?” asked Thomas Vir.  His father considered for a moment, frowning.

“I’ve talked to all of these people your brother works with.  Especially that one.”  He pointed to Cooper, currently speaking with Quill in underhanded tones.  “He’s fine.  Special forces.  Seems like a good enough person.  But the one who gave you the message…” he trailed off.  He sighed and closed his eyes as he remembered.  “I met a man like that once.  During the war.”  Thomas kept quiet.  His father rarely talked about his time serving in World War III.  “We saw him around occasionally.  He said he was a clerk.   He wasn’t.  It was too obvious.  He never had the skills or temperament of one.  But no one ever asked, because there was something about him… some core of sheer violence behind his eyes that everyone knew they probably wouldn’t be around long if they questioned him too much.  Some sort of special forces.  Or a spy.  We never really knew.  But him,” Vir’s father nodded over to Drake.  “He’s like that.  He’s dangerous.”  

“What about everyone else?” asked Thomas, not wanting this opportunity to go to waste.  

“The other two that scare me are him,” he pointed to Cain and the golden Aquilia on his cap, “For obvious reasons, and him,” he pointed to the massive armored bulk of the Master Chief, “For also obvious reasons.”  

“So why are we letting them play with the kids?” muttered Thomas.  Indeed, both the Master Chief and Thomas Drake were over in the open space to the side of the ballroom entertaining the children.  Thomas Vir and his father watched with slight trepidation, and, in the other corner, Han Solo, with amusement.

“And then James said he’d go with me and then we did and it was awesome!  And there was a big hill and we played king of the hill and I won but I still rolled down the hill because that was fun and have you ever done that?” asked one of Admiral Vir’s nephews, continuing his story.  Master Chief regarded him with solemn eyes behind his golden visor.  

“I have,” he said shortly.  Although, not in the particular way the child was thinking.  There was a lot more gunfire and explosions involved.  

“Great!  So then after that we went near the river and we-”  The Chief tuned him out for a moment.  It wasn’t to say that the children were boring, but he was just so miserable at this party.  He had no idea what to say to the adults, and the children had already grabbed him to make him sit with them.  There was some sort of paper decoration on the top of his head, put there by one of the children.  He didn’t move to take it off.  It would fall off, eventually, when he stood up.  He had run through every conceivable situation he could think of that resulted in the room being attacked, and gone through each combat simulation in his head.  Twice.  He had gone through what might happen if one of the wait-staff was hostile.  Or one of the family members.  Or the children.  He looked down at the small boy, still babbling to him about things he did last week and how the starship ride to this planet was so cool.  So, probably not the children.  He couldn’t help it though.  He was built for combat, built for death.  He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing here.  

“Why do you wear gloves?” asked one of the children to Drake.  Another, her cousin, older and much wiser, tried to sush her.  

“You can’t just ask people why they wear what they wear!” she said to her cousin.  Drake laughed.  You could fool adults, you could fool super soldiers, you could fool demi-gods, but you couldn’t fool children.  Somehow, they always knew.  He knelt down to the youth and removed his gloves by the fingers; first the right, followed by the left.  In the corner, Solo watched with fascination.  Come to think of it, he’d never seen Drake without his ever-present black gloves.  He’d never thought about it until now, but it was rather strange.  Even when eating, Drake never took them off.  Why?  

  The two children recoiled, the younger with a slight shriek at the sight of Drake’s ruined left hand.  The third and fourth fingers, along with the flesh beneath, were horrifically burned.  The right side of the hand, fore- and index finger along with the thumb, were normal, unmarred flesh, though a shrapnel scar ran down the edge of the thumb.  The smaller child stared at the hand in horrified fascination, as one might look at a particularly dangerous animal in a zoo.  

“Don’t stare,” said her cousin.  Despite her warning, she, too, was sneaking peeks at the burns.  Drake chuckled at them again.  

“It’s alright,” he said.  He took his right hand, scarred, but not horribly burned as his left was, and traced the edge of the burn marks.  “I look at it, sometimes.  It’s interesting.  Like a science experiment.  Here,” he beckoned the two closer.  “It’s really interesting, actually.  Look at the contrast between the burned side and the regular side.”

“What is… contrast?” asked the younger one, her mouth still trying to frame the unfamiliar word.  Drake smiled again.

“Contrast means difference.  You’re learning about burns, you’re learning about words.  You must be smart.  I can tell that.”  The two children watched in fascination as Drake told them about burns, what they did to the skin, and how to treat them.  

In the corners, Solo and the Virs watched the two men, one a super soldier with an admitted zero amount of social skills, one a very dangerous gun for hire, play with small children, and did it well.  Interesting.

Ten Minutes Later

It was with a not insignificant amount of hassle that everyone was seated.  The children were at a smaller side table, talking amongst themselves, while the adults were seated at a massive long wooden table.  It reminded most of them of some sort of medieval feast table.  It was almost impossible to talk to the people on the other end, but, in the end, it somehow worked.

Vir and Shepard were next to their respective parents.  Quill still looked as if he had no idea what was going on, and Solo was next to him, having no one else to talk to.  Cooper had assimilated into the party wonderfully, and was next to the Virs.  Cain was on one end, looking slightly uncomfortable with the knowledge that everyone else was uncomfortable near him.  Poor Cain.  Drake had his gloves back on, and was looking over everything like a hawk about to strike.  The Chief was near the entrance door, having politely declined to eat anything.  This consisted of a much kinder “no” from him.  Oh, well.  

It was after the first course was served that it happened.  Everyone was talking, the idle dinner chit-chat so common amongst human parties.  The waiters had moved out of the way, their job temporarily done.  The double doors that led to the ballroom opened, ever-so quietly.  An unmistakable human figure, dressed in an all-black jumpsuit and mask, stepped forward, pistol outstretched, pointed at the table.  Before anyone saw him, it would already be too late.  

His arm was twisted, knocked aside with such force he was left temporarily breathless.  The gun dropped out of nerveless fingers, and the assassin screamed as the Master Chief broke the radius and ulna with a crush of his massive hand.  The black-clad killer only had a slight second for shock and utter horror to register beneath the mask as the Chief’s gauntleted hand punched him so hard it left a dent in the wall where his body impacted.  

A second assassin, wielding a much more powerful compact submachine gun, stepped into the space her fellow had vacated, weapon already raised and ready to fire.  Master Chief was out of position.  For all his speed, for all his lethal reactions, the Chief would be too low, and he knew it.  Shots would be fired before he got there.  

Gunfire rang out, the individual cracks! of pistol fire.  Drake and Cooper stood, hands forward, clutching guns they had summoned from the recesses of their coats.  The assassin’s head exploded, brains scattering in a ruined mess.  Children screamed.  The killer’s dead body slumped backward, into the hallway.  The Chief grabbed her weapons and shut the door behind him.  

The Scoundrels were all standing now, as was Hannah Shepard and Vir’s father.  Drake slid out of position, pushing his chair back in, and opened his coat.  

“Gentlemen,” his voice broke the eerie silence of the ballroom as everyone tried to react to what had happened.  “Meet your dates for tonight.”  Inside his coat lay a veritable armory.  Pistols and full magazines hung from holsters and hooks.  Dozens.  Dear lord.  Cain, Solo, and Quill were already on him, picking guns that looked closest to what they normally wielded.  Drake slid the other weapons on the table, which were soon joined by those of the assassins.  He grabbed most of the sharp steak knives off the table, and tucked them in his belt or gave them to his fellows.

“Drake?” asked Vir tentatively.  “How is it possible to carry that many guns and still move normally?”  Drake grinned as he pulled what looked like a sawed-off plasma rifle from his pants and assembled it.  

“Cybernetics in the coat.  And beneath.”  He tossed a weapon to each of his comrades, and one each to Hannah Shepard and Vir’s father.  

“You two know what you’re doing with these, I think,”  he said.  “Right.  So, uh, yeah.  I am going to take all the unstable maniacs, no offense intended as I am one, and we are going to kill everyone who dares interrupt this glorious dinner, while all of you who need catching up go catch up with your families,” Drake gave an elaborate bow to the still shocked table.  “Please ignore any explosions, music, gunshots, and unpleasant gurgling noises.”  He made a move to leave, followed by Quill, Solo, Cooper, and the Chief.  Hannah Shepard held up a hand.    

“Wait!  I wouldn’t want you to get yourselves killed on our behalf,” she said.  Drake only gave a lopsided grin in response.

“Haven’t you heard?  Legends never die.”  With a cackle of maniacal laughter and swirl of greatcoats, they were gone. 

And there we have it.  I hope you enjoyed the story.  More to come soon!  If you have any questions, comments, criticisms, concerns, or requests, feel free to tell me!  

#magnificent scoundrels #story #writing #my writing #crossover #mass effect #halo #empyrean iris

[unikornavenger]

Hear Me Out

Pairing: Platonic LAMP

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort (sorry it’s a fluffy ending I swear), food mention, detailed-ish panic attack(s)?, all caps yelling (of excitement that involve cookies), negative feelings, nightmares, cognitive distortions

Word Count: 2,261 words

Taglist: (Who’s she? Never heard of her.)

A/N: Wowww, this took so long. This gave me so many feels. Yeah, okay. Hope you enjoy the story!

Alright, onward with the story!

“AAAAAAAND that’s a wrap, people,” Roman shouted from in front of the television. Various sounds of glee escape the other sides' mouths. Virgil rolls out his shoulders and relaxes a bit. Knowing that all of the filming is done calms him down. Just a bit.

“Would anybody like some water?” Patton asks as he walks to the fridge. 

“I suppose some oxidane would be satisfactory,” Virgil watches as Logan responds and simultaneously adjusts his tie. “I suggest the rest of you should have some, as well.” Ah, mother Logan has emerged. 

The anxious side sits down on the steps and pulls out his phone to check if any notifications piled up in the hours they had been recording.  

After checking out some art and relatable posts on Tumblr, Virgil hears a high pitched squeal coming from the kitchen.

“Uh, is everything Gucci, Pat?”

“Thomas Foley Sanders, WHY HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING ALL THIS COOKIE DOUGH?!?!”

Virgil switches off his phone to see Thomas walk up to his morality. “Oh, shoot, yeah, I forgot about that.”

Another squeal came out of Patton, “It’s not expired yet. Who wants to help their old pop make cookies?” 

“Ah, listen, Padre,” Roman says softly as he rubs the back of his neck, “I’m really sorry, but I needed to get ready for Thomas’s collab tomorrow. I’m really behind and it’s just-”

“Say no more,” Patton held up his hand cutting off Roman, “I understand.” According to their faces, no one else notices the look of sheer sadness wash across Patton’s face. If you ask Virgil, he could tell you he had been sensing more negative emotions coming from Patton recently. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint why but he has been nostalgic lately. Maybe the moral side had something to do with that.

Princey shuts his mouth and smiles, “And I dearly appreciate that.” 

“I’m so sorry, Pat, but we will definitely do it another time,” Thomas offers with a soft smile spreading across his lips. Patton mimics the motion.

“When you guys are done, we could use your assistance with the collab,” Roman says before leaving.

Virgil watches as Pat gives Thomas a tight-lipped grin in response. And with that their host grabs Roman’s hand as Princey sinks out in his signature pose. 

He quickly pops back up, “BRING SOME COOKIES!” They sink down for the second time.

“Logan?” Virgil watches as Patton turns around and pouts in the logical side’s direction. His emotions just turned on the dime. It seems as if he’s really desperate for them to spend time with him.

“I.. uh... I guess I don’t, I don’t have to do anything.” Nice one, pocket protector. 

Excited claps erupt from Patton’s hands. 

“Before you ask,” Virgil stands putting his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders forward, “no, I don’t have anything to do and I can help.”

More claps, “Excellent! I love it when I get to spend quality time with my children!” Maybe Virgil’s assumptions had some truth behind them. “Let’s wash those dirty hands, kiddos.” Virgil walks to the sink and starts washing his hands next to Logan. 

“Hey, hey, Logan.” He hums in acknowledgment. “Did you hear the joke about germs?” 

He sighs tiredly, “No, Patton, I have not.”

“Oh never mind, I don’t want to spread it around! Teehee,” Logan groans and throws his head back in response, while the other present side snorts, clearly amused. 

They dry their hands and the fatherly side takes out the cookie dough. Said side continues by giving Logan and Virgil instructions on what to do. Logan adjusts his glasses as he preheats the oven, and Virgil grabs the cookie sheet and scooper thing (he already forgot what Patton called it). 

“I really missed spending time with you guys...” Logan hums in acknowledgment while Virgil feels a warm sensation spread throughout his chest. 

“Sure you do,” Virgil mumbles.

“I mean it,” Patton sets down the spatula he was using to mix the almost fully-formed dough. “Thomas has been really busy lately and we have been doing so much to keep him motivated and functioning and we haven’t just...” He flails his hands around searching for the correct words. “been with each other... ya’ know what? Never mind.”

Virgil wishes that he would continue what he was going to say, but he couldn’t rack up the courage to encourage Patton to do so. He hasn’t been feeling too well since this morning. 

The next few minutes go by smoothly, surprisingly. The cookie dough is safely in the oven and the timer is set. All they have to do is wait.

Virgil unceremoniously flops onto the couch while Logan sits on the armchair next to him and grabs a book that was previously left on the coffee table. Once he is done cleaning up, Patton grabs the remote and turns on the television to the news. The anxious side quietly puts on his headphones to block out the noise. 

“Virgeeeee!” Virgil shakes his head. He must have accidentally fallen asleep. He takes off his headphones as he tiredly grunts in response. “The cookies are ready!” Patton sings excitedly. He shoves a plate of gooey cookies towards Virgil’s face. He instinctively flinches back.

Swinging his legs off the couch, Virgil hears a loud crash outside and flinches. “What was that?!” He asks slightly panicked. 

Patton glances out the window, “Oh, the news person said it was going to rain today.”

“It’s meteorologist, Patton,” Logan supplies.

Virgil tunes out the rest of their conversation to a hum as he looks out the window hypnotized by the intense rain accompanied by the deafening thunder. 

Suddenly, a flash of light covers the dark sky, and before he can even react, a clap of thunder shakes the house. He yelps and jumps backward from the glass pane. He can’t tell if it was just his imagination, but he swears the entire house shook. 

“Are you satisfactory, Virge?” Logan’s voice sounds amplified in Virgil’s head. He slaps his palms over them. A hand touches his back. It burns him even through his hoodie. The pressure is removed, but the pain still remains. 

“Kiddo?” 

Shut up, shut up, shut up, he thinks, even though his mouth can’t form the words. It’s too freaking loud. My back is on fire. Thunder booms outside once again.  

Virgil screams so loud that it strains his vocal cords. But the longevity of his voice box is not the thought in the front of his mind. 

His knees hit a hard surface. He keeps screaming. He is truly horrified. Lightning could strike the house any second. They could all die from electrocution at any time. All the windows could shatter simultaneously; which would allow flying debris to hit any of them. Someone could be decapitated. 

Light flashes outside of his closed eyelids. (When did he close his eyes?)

Is he whimpering? Sink out, sink out, sink out, sink out. 

“Wait, Vir-“

Pat?

He slowly uncovers his eyes and sees a blanket of darkness surrounding him. He takes his hands off of the sides of his head. Breathing out to calm himself, he finds a strange comfort in the blackness of his room. 

Waving his hands out in front of him like a blind newborn, he tries to feel around for his soft comforter. 

Virgil craves to be drunk with fatigue just as the embarrassment of what just happened begins to sink in. 

Something soft graces his fingertips. He carefully crawls into his bed and falls asleep as his head touches the pillow. 

He woke up hearing voices around him. Did he sleep on a couch? 

“Patton, it’s okay, you can’t expect too much from him.” Was that... Roman? “You should know that by now.”

“He’s right.” Logan? “Virgil was making progress, but he will always find a way to disappoint you.”

A disappointment?

Virgil opens his eyes only to be met with a wall of darkness. He tries to ignore the intense burning sensation behind his eyes.

Someone sighs defeatedly. “I guess you guys are right.” ...Patton? He... he agrees with Roman and Logan.

“Of course we are. However hard he tries, he will eventually always just hurt Thomas.”

“I guess he doesn’t actually enjoy spending time with me.”

Virgil’s breath catches in his throat.

“Padre, it’s just in his DNA.”

A sigh threatens to make his ears bleed, “I know, it’s just I wanted him to spend more time with us and get to know us. I even expressed those same thoughts to him. But I guess he doesn’t actually care about us.”

“Also,” Roman’s voice again, “was he actually scared of a little rain cloud?” The three sides laugh obnoxiously. “Such a wimp.”

Suddenly, he becomes very dizzy. He closes his eyes once more to stave off the nausea he begins to feel brewing in his stomach.

As the pain begins to intensify, he passes out.

“Why is he on the carpet?”

“I don’t know, Roman, and that’s not important right now.”

“Guys, I think he’s waking up.”

Virgil opens his eyes only to be met with... 3 blobs? He blinks once then twice to rid the world of a fog. 

“Kiddo?”

“Dad?” He asks, fearful that Patton will hurt him.

“Oh my god,” the world returns to focus. He is on the floor with four faces staring back at him. Thomas, Roman, Logan, and Patton. “You’re all right!” Patton advances forward with his arms outstretched. 

Virgil quickly sits up and backs up until he presumably hits a wall. The pain in his spine does not even register before he curls up in a ball and whimpers. 

“I’m so sorry I hurt you, Pat. I really didn’t mean to,” he rambles quickly without taking in any air. “I just didn’t want to disappoint you and I didn’t want to come off as rude and I didn’t want to leave you and..” He gasps shallowly and can feel his esophagus closing.

“Virge, buddy, can you open your eyes for me?” His skin feels like it’s melting off, but he somehow manages to obey. He notices Patton’s face a few feet away from him. The others were farther away giving him some space. 

“4, 7, 8.” Virgil nods and does the breathing technique. Once his heart rate is somewhat below elevated, he slumps against the wall behind him while crossing his arms in front of his stomach.

“Virge, can I touch you?” Patton speaks slowly and softly. The anxious side nods in agreement. He watches with glossy eyes as his head is slowly cradled in dad’s arms. 

Tears leak out of his eyes, “I’m so sorry, Pat.” 

Mentioned side shushes him, “You have nothing to apologize for, kiddo.” By the way his voice cracks, it is safe to assume he is kind of torn up by whatever just happened. 

He sniffles as he pulls his head out of the blue polo and smudges his eyeshadow with the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m sorry, I-I-I.” He looks up to see the other three standing above Patton with worried brows. “Relax, guys.” His focus returns to the side kneeling in front of him and lowers his voice to barely a whisper, “I didn’t mean to bail, but I was scared of the lightning and I was being stupid. I didn’t want to hurt your-” He gasps. “Your feelings.”

Virgil holds back a flinch as Patton tries to comfortably rub his knee. “You could never hurt me, Virge. I understand that you are still adjusting to all of us finally accepting you. That’s fine; it’s a process.”

“But it shouldn’t be,” Virgil whines as he meets Patton’s eyes. “I couldn’t handle a stupid thunderstorm and it-“

“Wait, is that why you left?” Roman interrupts.

“What, yeah, please don’t laugh at me,” he breathes out quickly sinking into himself.

“Oh, kiddo, I was so worried!” Patton squeals out. “Just talk to us next time.” He remains quiet and he won’t meet Patton’s eyes so the fatherly figure continues, “I promise we’ll listen.” 

“That’s rich,” Virgil scoffs.

Logan makes a tsk sound, which makes Virgil turn in his direction. “That’s a cognitive distortion, Virgil.” The anxious side turns away from Logan. He knows Thomas was struggling with that at one point and Virgil might as well be relapsing. “From now on, we will try our best to hear you out and try to help you in any way we can. Does that sound satisfactory?”

He can hear the same exact speech that was given to him a year prior. Barely anything has changed, but they don’t know that.

“Virge, I don’t think you believe us right now and that’s okay,” Roman speaks uncharacteristically soft. “We have promised in the past that we were going to  change, and yet, we so miserably failed.”

“You have to talk to us,” Thomas states with a longing tone. “We can’t help you if you don’t tell us what’s wrong. And believe me, I would love to know what is happening inside my own head. I would love for you to be comfortable around me, your own host.”

“Thomas,” my voice sounds like a bunch of toads trying to communicate, “I am sorry I made you feel this way.”

“Virge,” he laughs dryly, “don’t apologize. I need you to talk to me about you. Later, because now calls for pizza.”

“Huzzah!” Roman exclaims gleefully. 

“Is that good with you?” Patton asks carefully.

I allow a smile to creep onto my face. Things aren’t better just yet, but they are sure looking up, “Of course, Pat.”

#uni fics #fanfic #thomas sanders #sanders sides #platonic LAMP

[rainbow-sides]

A Snake in the Grass: Chapter One

Summary: Spare Prince Roman, fifth in line for the throne, goes to fight the evil Dragon Witch to protect his kingdom and get revenge for the people she has killed, along with his squire Patton. Patton is kidnapped by the Dragon Witch and presumed dead, and Roman is badly injured, his life only barely saved by the palace healer, Logan. When they find Patton alive several weeks later, seemingly half-dead and having been tortured, they bring him home, only to find that he isn’t quite acting like himself...

Pairings: eventual romantic Logince, ambiguous Moxiety

Word Count: 3,475

Warnings: Description of injuries (mildly graphic), violence, assumed death of a friend (no actual major character death), guilt, grief, swearing, some painful medical stuff, imprisonment, talk of torture, emotional manipulation, abusive friendship. This story contains villain!Deceit.

Notes: This is the story that won my 900 followers vote, so here’s the first chapter! It gets really, really dark--please heed the warnings. In later chapters, there is physical and psychological torture (not extremely graphic but very present). I’m pretty happy with the way this story is turning out, and I’m working hard to finish it. There are 4 chapters roughly this length fully complete, and there’s plenty more to write that’s well outlined. Enjoy! <3 ~Martin

Masterpost

Roman stared in shock at the empty space in front of him. The empty space where just a moment before had stood Patton, his squire, mouth open in a scream that Roman had never gotten to hear. Now...nothing. Just a field spattered with blood--some red, some blue.

At least Roman knew that he had gotten a few blows in on the Dragon Witch before she had gotten Patton.

The others were catching up to him--Virgil, a lower ranking noble and his distant cousin, reached him first. “Roman?” he panted. “We came as quickly as we could.”

Logan wasn't far behind. The young healer was breathing hard, not used to running long distances since he spent most of his time reading. “What happened?”

His sword fell to the ground, stained blue from the vile creature's blood. Roman continued to stare. He can't be gone.

“Where's Patton?” Virgil’s voice was high-pitched with fear for his best friend. “Roman?!”

“He's bleeding,” Logan gasped. “Roman? Roman!”

Roman looked down. Sure enough, a bright red stain was spreading across his chest. The pain hit him a second later, sending him crumpling to the ground with a cry. The venom from the Dragon Witch’s claws shot waves of agony through his body and he barely felt Logan rolling him over and tearing off the white tunic now turning crimson with blood.

“Where is Patton?” Virgil screamed, turning around wildly to look for him. “Roman, where is he?”

“The Prince is injured,” Logan stated. “He won't be answering--”

“Gone,” Roman groaned. He tried to focus through the burning pain, but it was white hot and didn't relent. “Gone, he's gone, she took him.”

“Get him back!” Virgil shouted. “Bring him back, get him back, bring him back!”

“He isn't c-coming...back,” Roman choked out. “Sh-she won't let him l-live…”

The heart-wrenching scream that Virgil let out as he fell to his knees almost matched the agony that Roman felt from the toxin in his blood. He could see black edges start to creep in around his vision. His weakening heartbeat pounded in his ears and almost drowned out Logan's desperately calm voice. “...need to get him back to the palace...come on...carry him by myself...save him out here...to lose both of them...Virgil, please…”

Roman lost consciousness. He wished that had come with the loss of pain.

The hellish venom of the Dragon Witch kept him in a nightmare of a fever. His body felt like it was on fire, his blood boiling in his veins. Several times, he begged whoever was there to kill him quickly before the toxin could. The cool cloth on his forehead and soothing voice next  to him brought him no relief.

Barely lucid, he gazed up at a wooden ceiling with eyes that stung and felt dry despite the fact that he knew he was crying. The tears were hot against his skin and whoever was beside him couldn't wipe them away fast enough. He could still see Patton’s terrified face before it had disappeared, pleading with him to save him. But he hadn't been strong enough, and Patton had paid the price.

Nobody taken by the Dragon Witch ever returned. Whether she kept them as prisoners or slaves for a while, killed them immediately, or did something else with them was unclear, but in her battles with Roman, she always bragged that their last words were either pleading for mercy or just screaming. Roman just hoped that Patton hadn't suffered too much before the end.

“I'm sorry, Patton, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,” Roman repeated over and over through cracked lips. He heard someone sobbing and wondered if it was himself before a door slammed and the sobs disappeared. Once, he thought he saw the Dragon Witch in front of him and reached for his sword. “Take me instead!” he wailed, grabbing hold of something. He moved weakly and tried to brandish his sword. He realized quickly that he wasn't holding cold metal but a warm hand, and he was being held still.

“Lay still, Roman. Lay still.”

Roman had just enough time to see Logan's exhausted face before he fell back into fiery darkness.

Every muscle in his body ached the next time he awoke. His throat burned and his mouth tasted acidic. Breathing was a struggle. His body shook with tremors. He let out a quiet moan, miserable, unable to open his eyes. But at least he wasn't on fire anymore. He was hypersensitive to all the noise around him. Someone was breathing nearby, slow and steady, like they were asleep. Outside, as if from an open window, a few birds were chirping. It pounded at Roman's head, and he whimpered again.

The breathing hitched. Someone sniffed. “Ah, fuck,” Logan muttered. “Fell asleep again--oh!”

A hand touched Roman’s forehead lightly. Roman wanted to lean into it, but he couldn't move.

“Fever’s broken,” Logan said softly to himself. “He's finally still.” Something was being pulled off his chest. As the bandage was removed and the wound exposed to the air, Roman wished he had the ability to scream. The pain only worsened as Logan cleaned the wound off with something and then replaced the bandage.

Roman managed to let out a slight whine. Logan paused.

“Roman?” he asked. After a moment, he finished securing the bandage and muttered, “He isn't going to answer, he's not even conscious.”

Again, Roman whimpered. He was desperately trying to convey to Logan that he was conscious, he was awake, everything just hurt too much to move and his lips felt like they were glued together and he couldn't open his eyes.

“Roman? Prince Roman, are you awake?” Logan asked incredulously. He took Roman’s hand. “Prince Roman, squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

Roman squeezed his hand as tightly as he could. His fingers ached immediately, but he kept squeezing.

“Oh, Roman…” Logan breathed. “It is alright, you're safe. I am sure it must hurt, but the worst seems to have passed. Do you think you could drink some water? Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”

Perhaps a bit ambitious, but I certainly would like to have a drink of water. He squeezed once. The dry burning in his throat and awful taste on his tongue might ease somewhat if he could manage to open his mouth for a drink.

He hadn't needed to worry about that. A wet cloth brushed against his lips, moistening them until they parted. Roman took in a shuddery breath through his mouth.

Calm and pragmatic, Logan said, “Don't try to move or say anything. Here, we'll start with this and see how it goes.” A few drops of water were poured into his parched mouth. He barely even had to swallow them. Slowly, he was given a bit more, and his throat started to hurt a little less. The sharp, sour taste in his mouth diminished. Although the water wasn't cold and was only, well, water, it was the best thing he had ever tasted. “More later,” Logan told him. “If I give you too much at once, it might upset your stomach.”

Roman found the strength to open and close his hand searchingly. With a soft sigh, Logan took it gently, rubbing his thumb over Roman’s knuckles.

“Can you open your eyes?” Logan asked. “Again, once for yes and twice for no.”

Twice he squeezed.

“I can try to help. Do not try to force yourself.” Another damp cloth touched his eyelid lightly. This one was a softer material than the one that had touched his lips. The water seeped through his eyelashes and into his eyes. It stung, but not in a bad way. Soon, he found himself blinking ever so slightly. “Open your eyes, Roman. The room isn't bright, it won't hurt.”

Roman opened his eyes. Sure enough, the room was dark and only lit by a lamp on the table in the corner. The small flame flickered underneath the cover. Dark curtains were drawn over a window, but just a tiny bit of light escaped over the top and told Roman that it was daytime.

Logan's hand was resting on his forehead. He looked down at Roman with an expression of relief. “I am glad that you are awake, Prince.” He appeared to be exhausted. His eyes were slightly bloodshot and small, dark bruises had formed underneath them.

“L...Lo…?” Roman whispered.

“Shhh,” Logan said, concerned. “You do not have to try to talk.”

“Lo,” Roman said again. His voice was hoarse and cracked. “Vir...Virgil? Where…”

Logan closed his eyes briefly. “Virgil is...not taking Patton's loss very well. He tried to stay at your side but found some of the things you said in your fever to be too distressing.”

“So sorry,” breathed Roman.

“He knows. I know.” Logan stroked Roman’s hair up off his forehead. “It is alright, Roman.”

“No…” Roman groaned. “No! No, P-Patton, Pat...Patton…” He felt his whole body shake with a sob.

Alarmed, Logan took both of Roman’s hands in one of his own and placed the other on Roman’s chest above the wound. “You're upsetting yourself,” he said. “You should try to remain calm. You are far too weak to exert yourself by crying.”

But he couldn't stop. Patton, I'm sorry! He continued to sob, which only made the pain in his body worse. Logan tried to hold him still, shushing him softly.

The door opened. “Logan, I brought--oh.”

“Virgil! No, wait, stay! Please, you're better at this than I am,” Logan pleaded. “He might hurt himself if he keeps on like this. I need him to calm down.”

“Is he awake?” asked Virgil cautiously.

“Yes, he is finally awake. Please, Virgil…”

“Virgil,” Roman sobbed. “I'm so sorry, I'm…” He cried out as one of his heaving sobs sent a slicing pain across his chest.

“He's bleeding again!” Logan exclaimed. “Roman, be still! Hush, hush, be still! Virgil, please!”

Virgil cast himself down onto the bed next to Roman and threw one arm over him, pulling him close. “I know, I know, I know,” he said, choked up. “I know, Roman, but you have to stay still, you have to calm down, you're really hurt and sick.”

Roman turned his head to hide his face against Virgil's shoulder. “Patton,” he wailed.

“I know, Ro, I know, I know.” Virgil kneaded at Roman's side, trying to comfort him as well as hold back his own tears. “Believe me, I know, it hurts, it hurts, but you gotta lay still. You're bleeding again, and Lo’s gonna fix it, but you've gotta stay still.”

Without the energy to fight it, Roman went limp. Virgil held him in his arms, one hand under his neck and one across his belly. As Logan removed the bandage and applied pressure to the now bleeding gash, Roman trembled with the effort of holding back a scream. Virgil pressed closer, touching his forehead behind Roman’s temple, just above his ear.

“You're okay, you're okay,” he whispered. “Breathe. I know it hurts. I've got you.” He ran his fingers through Roman’s hair. Roman found Virgil’s hand that was splayed across his stomach and squeezed it.

Fighting his body and brain, both of which were telling him to pass out, Roman tried to focus only on Virgil. And he was trying, oh, god, he was trying so hard, but the pain won and the world turned dark again.

The world was dark. When the sunny field had disappeared, Patton’s consciousness had gone with it. Slowly, slowly, he came back to himself. His eyes opened, but it made no difference. The world was dark.

Have I gone blind? was his first thought. And then, where am I? He was laying on his side on a cold, hard, uneven surface. Stone, he concluded a moment later after feeling around with his hand for a moment. There was a sharp pain in his ankle, which shot a spike of agony up his leg as he tried to sit up. “Agh!” he cried.

“Don't try to get up. Your ankle is broken.”

Patton froze. He knew that voice. But the person it belonged to was dead.

The sound of a flint striking steel echoed out, and a shower of sparks illuminated half of someone's face. A muttered curse, and the steel and flint were struck again. This time, an oil lantern flamed up. “There.”

“Nathair?” Patton said, barely louder than a whisper. “Is that...really you?”

“It's me.”

“But...we thought...you were dead!”

Nathair cast him a long glance. “Surprise?”

“Where have you been all this time?” Patton demanded of his old friend. He sat up with a groan, ignoring the pain in his ankle.

“Here. In this cave.”

Patton looked around. Sure enough, the lantern cast enough light for him to see the stone arch of a ceiling. Narrow metal bars separated him from Nathair and locked him in to a small space, just long enough to lay down in. “Where is this place?”

“Who knows? It's the cave of the Dragon Witch. This is where she keeps her prisoners.”

“I'm so glad to see you,” Patton whispered. “Even if it's not...the best of circumstances. You're alive!”

“I'm alive,” Nathair agreed.

Patton dragged himself over to the metal bars, wincing. “Are you hurt? Are you okay? You have no idea how much we missed you.”

The firelight cast a strange glimmer in Nathair’s eyes. “Oh, I'm alright, Patton.”

“I missed you,” Patton repeated. He reached through the bars, trying to touch him. He was already desperate for some human contact, frightened and lonely even with Nathair there.

But Nathair didn't reach back or let Patton touch him. He gazed into the flame of the oil lamp silently. One of his eyes looked almost yellow from the glow.

“Is...is anyone else here?” Patton asked, finally dropping his hand and wrapping his arms around himself. “Can we escape?”

“There is no escape.”

“But maybe with two of us, we could…”

Nathair looked up at him. “There is no escape, Patton.”

Something about the way he said it made Patton shrink back. It wasn't like he was informing Patton of a fact. He seemed almost to relish the bad news and the look of disappointment on Patton’s face. “What's going to happen?” Patton asked timidly. “What is she going to do with me?”

“She'll ask you to join her army,” Nathair stated. “You'll refuse, of course, but there is no point. She wants you. And she always gets what she wants.”

A heavy, worried feeling settled in the pit of Patton’s stomach. “Nathair? How do you know that?”

“I've seen it happen with everyone who comes here. Some are too cowardly or too smart to even try resisting. But once she gets her claws into you, there's no chance. You'll be begging for death before you give up.”

“What happened to you?” Patton asked.

Nathair shrugged. “She's forgotten about me. She took so many of us that day, I was left in a dark corner and forgotten about. Left to rot. I've seen dozens of people pass through this cave, Patton, spoken to all of them. The first few, we tried to escape together. But she always found us. Wasn't looking for me, of course, which is how I could hide again. After the third prisoner I saw dying in agony that way, I knew I could never make another escape attempt no matter how much they pleaded with me.”

“Nathair,” Patton said urgently. “Nathair, it could be different. We could figure something out. You said she's building an army, Roman needs that information. We could bring it to him.”

“Roman?” Nathair said. “Roman is dead.”

Patton let out a strangled cry. “What?”

“The Dragon Witch was boasting of it to one of her assistants as she put you in that cage. She said she had gotten enough venom into him to kill ten people his size.” Nathair sighed. “I'm sorry to have to tell you such ill news. I know you were his squire.”

“I'm his friend,” Patton said softly.

“Of course you were.”

Patton hugged himself tighter. Roman...dead? He could hardly believe it. Roman had promised him when they rode out of the palace together that he was confident he could defeat her. Without the whole army of knights to worry about, there wasn’t the same kind of risk, and Roman didn’t have to worry about distractions. He had promised Patton that they would be alright. He had promised.

Of course, Patton had known there was still a danger. He and Roman had fought against the Dragon Witch plenty of times before. And each time, the casualties had been enormous. Why had he ever believed that this time would have been different?

Virgil had known. He had begged them not to go, but Roman had been insistent. He had spoken about his duty as one of the kingdom’s protectors, and about avenging his fallen friends. He and Virgil had argued horribly. Patton had stepped between them, pleading for them to stop, to listen to each other instead of just shouting, to call Logan in and see what he had to say. But neither had listened to him, either.

When Roman had finally stormed out, Patton had been so torn. Virgil was holding onto his hand, almost crying, begging him to stay. But his responsibility was to follow Roman, so he had kissed Virgil’s cheek and promised that he would return.

Now he had failed to protect Roman. And he had broken his promise to his best friend.

He was crying now. Pulling his cloak around himself, he hid his face in his arms and sobbed.

“I truly am sorry,” Nathair said, sounding slightly bored. “There’s no point in crying, though, you’ll figure that out eventually. Hopefully before she comes back for you, because she hates it when her prisoners cry. She thinks they’re weak, so she hurts them worse.”

“I’m not afraid of her,” Patton sniffled. “She can hurt me all she wants.”

“You’ll change your mind. They all do. You’ll break or you’ll die.”

“Then I’ll die,” stated Patton.

“Then you’ll die,” agreed Nathair. “But it would be easier for you to give yourself to her.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s easier. It would be wrong. And I would rather die than betray my family.”

A sound almost like a hiss reverberated around the cave. Patton realized it was laughter. “Family? What family? I’ve known you for years, Patton, and you have no family,” Nathair told him.

“Virgil, Roman, Logan. My family.”

“You were Roman’s squire, not his family. Whatever relationship you had with Virgil-- now, I don’t judge, but we were all...curious--that kid was so damaged, he was incapable of really caring for anyone. And all Logan ever did was complain about you. Distracting Roman, being too emotional, assuming you were his friend, so annoying...None of them loved you. Why bother trying to protect them now?”

No, it’s not true, I don’t believe it. Nathair’s words hurt, though.

“Besides, Roman is dead now, anyway. What allegiance do you owe the crown with him gone?”

They did, though. They did love me, didn’t they? I loved them. Didn’t they…Patton sobbed harder.

“Oh, Patton,” Nathair said gently. “I’m not trying to upset you, I’m trying to help you. You have to see that you’ll be causing yourself unnecessary pain. And for what? People you deluded yourself into thinking cared about you? I don’t want to see you hurt, Patton. And you will be hurt if you don’t yield to her immediately. Is it really worth it?”

Patton wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Yes,” he said. “Of course it is. Even if...even if you’re right, I still won’t ever give in to her. She’s evil, Nathair, she hurts people, and I won’t have any part of that.” Suddenly, the lantern went out and plunged the cave back into darkness. Patton flinched. “Nathair?”

A great rumbling sound came from the other side of the cave. Part of the wall swung open, flooding the cave with moonlight. The terrifying silhouette of the Dragon Witch was standing there. A smaller, human silhouette stood next to her. A smooth, sibilant whisper rang out. “Let’s take a look at what we’ve got, shall we?”

Closing his eyes and trying to breathe, Patton shrank back against the bars of the cage. He was afraid, despite what he had told Nathair. But no matter what happened, he wasn’t going to let her turn him into someone who hurts people. He was going to do the right thing--even if it killed him. Even if nobody cared about him. His death would mean nothing, but at least he was going to do the right thing.

My taglist:

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A Snake in the Grass Taglist:

@whatdoesrelaxmean (you’re the only one who voted for this fic off anon, so that’s something! <3)

#my writing #a snake in the grass #sanders sides fic #logince #romantic logince #moxiety #ts sides fic

[wootensmith]

Into the Void

It was difficult to maintain any track of time. The beast’s hunting instinct was altered by the taint of the Blight and Solas’s own idea of time was lost without sun or stars to guide him. He thirsted. And he’d hungered, but pressed it aside, unwilling to follow the beast’s urge to feed upon the darkspawn. He had only to last a few days. Perhaps it had already been days, he did not know. There was water below him, cutting channels through the lyrium crystals, but it, too, would be poisoned. He would not last much longer without drinking though. And his wings were sore. The mountain was close. He would sleep there, and draw the other Evanuris if he could. Before he lost himself utterly. It was already close, the madness that threatened to overtake him.

He landed after a long struggle against the thirst with a thundering beat of wings. Genlocks tumbled out of the way and then drew close again, craving his music. He ignored them, sloshing into the red water. The water cooled his strained throat even as the rancid taste disgusted him. He lay in the water for a moment, scanning the edges of the valley for a glow of green. He’d kept her in his sights for some time, carefully back tracking to be certain the path was as clear as he could make it, alternating between the song that drew the darkspawn after him and the flame to destroy those he could. But he’d lost sight of her somewhere in an enormous cluster of lyrium. And then he’d forgotten. It distressed him. He wondered for how long. He’d fallen into a semi-trance where the lyrium’s melody and the mountain were all that existed. And suddenly, she’d tugged hard with her magic and he’d realized how lost he’d been. It had been painful at first, that tug. Knowing she hadn’t let him go. Not really. That she likely grieved in silence with only Cole to understand what she felt. If Cole even still lived. If she was even alive. She’s alive, he reminded himself, the pull is still there. He knew he was missing pieces of himself. Losing memory and knowledge. Becoming more like the beast he inhabited, becoming more darkspawn than elf. He gripped what remained in desperation. His name. He could remember that. The light of her. The pull of her love. The danger of the Fade. He could no longer recall why the Fade was a threat, but he knew it was. Yet he would enter it soon. Find what waited there. And the mountain. That remained. He had to reach the mountain. And get her to it. He wasn’t certain why. It would not be long before the pull of her was all that tied him to what he had been. He had to hurry. He splashed up out of the water and took to the air again, rejoining the song.

A crystal spine pierced his wing as he tumbled to a landing at the top of the mountain. He roared in pain, felt the sizzle of the tendons tearing. The wing flopped to his side and he lapped at it. All that remained was exhaustion and the tug in his chest. Important, the yank is important. Why? He pushed it aside. Food. Then sleep. Prey was attracted by his tune. He waited until they clambered up the mountain’s crest and then slashed at the crawling figures. They kept arriving anyway. He crunched them between his massive teeth and ate until he was gorged. The cleaned bones were easily arranged into a protected nest. He crawled inside and slept. They found him easily. Within moments. Towering figures of scarlet that chimed and crunched as they moved. Seven, in a circle around him. He feared them but did not know why. The sounds they made were familiar, but he could not understand. He taunted them, hoping they would follow. Had to protect the light. Had to keep them close to him, away from everything else. It mattered. He wasn’t certain why. He roared as he woke and found himself again on the mountain. He looked for the light. The light was important. He had to draw the light here. He sang, hoping to lure it closer. The tug in his chest was strong.

All that came was more prey. More and more prey. He started to hear them. They feared him. Worshipped him. He made them bring him water. Kept them close. Told them to bring the light. The ones he sent to look for it did not return. He sang to bring more.

A figure in red had climbed the mountain. All in crystal. Buzzing with his song. It was a dangerous thing. He wanted it gone, but the prey refused to attack it. Its song was louder than his. But it didn’t want to take the prey. Only him. He didn’t understand the noises it made and slashed at it. It shot crystals into him. They bounced from his scales. He roared and blew fire at it. It did not flinch. He tried singing. It was not drawn. It drew a scarlet blade. The shape recalled something. Just a piece. A leaf. What is a leaf? He wondered, staring at it. A sharp leaf. Scarlet like the one that floated down into her hair— the memory drifted away even as he clutched at it. The blade-leaf stabbed and he lumbered out of the way. He should fly. Sing and fly away from here. Take his prey-things somewhere safer. He tried and flopped sideways as his tattered wing failed. He snarled as the blade-leaf stabbed again and snapped his teeth around the red figure. It crunched between his jaws. “You aren’t that kind of wolf” The voice was clear, but he did not remember whose it was. Wolf? Is it like a leaf? The blade-leaf twisted and pierced his jaw. It burned and he jerked away, gushing blood. His song gurgled. He slashed with his claws and the red thing stumbled. He staggered back to the bone nest, hoping to rest.

The bones tumbled around him, clattering and flying apart. The blade-leaf was back. He looked up, sluggish, at the red thing. He was dying. He should wait. Wait for the light. But he could not. The blade-leaf rose. There was noise, a clash of metal and the sizzle of magic on the side of the hill. The red thing turned. He didn’t bother to move. It would be back. It did not matter if the prey fought themselves now. The red thing took a few steps toward the sound. And then— the light. Green. Green like youth. He’d been young once. And soft. Softer than this. Green like forests, where this body had found a mate. Green like spring when he’d brought prey to the clutch his mate guarded. The red thing brandished the blade-leaf toward the light and he launched himself up, crunching the red thing between his teeth again. The crystals smashed and he felt soft flesh beneath. Spoiled and ancient. Fragile. He bit harder. The blade-leaf stabbed his chest. “Solas!” He recognized the word, the voice. That had been his, once. All of it. The name, the voice, the light. All his. He slid sideways, the blade-leaf stuck in his rib. Flame burst out of the hole where his lungs blew it forth. The voice that had belonged in his heart was shouting. He didn’t understand. The light grew brighter. Painful. It throbbed like a heartbeat, growing stronger as his began to fade. The red-thing was shrieking. He pushed at it. It was blocking the light. His light. He let his massive head droop. Tired. So tired. His eyes closed. The light was so bright it leaked through. Something cool upon his face. And then a yank. The blade-leaf was gone and the cool was there, too. Like water. Like summer rivers all drenched in light and he was swimming. “Ar lath ma, Solas,” the voice said. And he remembered. The light burned all the poison away. Burned him away, until he was weightless, a leaf floating from the tree.

Quiet. So quiet after the lyrium. So quiet after the madness of the darkspawn. And clean. The acrid taste of the Blight and rotting prey finally gone. Not prey. Darkspawn. Disgusting, what he had become. She had seen him that way. She had seen what he did. The nest of bones— Andruil in her scarlet armor, had Andruil killed her? No. The anchor. It had been the anchor. “Why do you linger in these thoughts, youngling?” someone said. The gray mist resolved. He was sitting in the Vir Dirthara. Someone sat across from him. Its form was hazy, indistinct. “You have all the Fade before you, all the knowledge and memory of existence waiting for you to discover it, and yet you punish yourself with what you can no longer learn from,” it said. “I know you,” he realized. “That is unsurprising,” it said, “You have known many of my kind over the course of your life. What is intriguing, though, is that I know you. I did not expect to find myself here. Not after what was done to me.” Its form resolved into an elven woman. One he had deeply missed. “Wisdom?” he asked, “Is it truly you? Or have you just taken my friend’s form?” It laughed. “Would you know? Would I know? If it matters— I believe I am truly what I was when last we spoke. Compassion thought it would make you happy to see me when you came home. I agreed as it was— otherwise occupied.” “Compassion— Cole. He survived?” “If you mean in the human form that you would recognize— no. He was with Lavellan to the end. Though she asked him to go. Andruil would have killed her before the task was finished otherwise. But Compassion remains. In the same way that I do.” Solas stood up, the Vir Dirthara dissolved around them. “The Inquisitor— is she?” “Compassion and Mythal are searching for her. The Fade is a large place, my friend. But we have time. We wanted to be certain someone was here to greet you. So that you would not punish yourself as you have been. As you are about to do again,” warned Wisdom. “Don’t. It is fruitless.” “But Thedas—” Wisdom’s form touched his in affection. “Is beyond our reach. Its fate belongs to others now. Come. I will bring you to Mythal and Compassion. Perhaps they have news.” They slid through the Fade. It was effortless, even for him, who was used to the slight drag that dreams had caused. They stood at the edge of a large plain. Scarlet aravels rumbled over the uneven ground. Mythal stood watching them as Cole, still looking like the boy Solas knew, leapt from sail to sail, peering into the caravan. He spotted them and appeared beside them in an instant. “Solas,” he said with a smile. “I’m glad you’ve come home. I was worried you would try to stay.” Mythal turned to them. “It is good to see you, old friend.” He embraced her, then Cole, still clinging to the idea of his body. It was easier, for now. “I’m sorry—” he started, but Mythal laughed. “I told you he would say that,” she said. Wisdom smiled. “All your plans and intrigues have finally gone better than expected, and still you apologize. Sorry for what, Dread Wolf? Saving our people? Giving my Sentinel a chance to save me? Avenging my death? Tell me, what is it you regret?” “That any of it was necessary,” he admitted. She pressed his shoulder. “Solas, a wiser woman than I once told you, without sorrow, there is no story. No rivers, no ocean, no Mythal, no Lavellan. And I would not have missed the story for all the world. Neither would you.” Cole’s smile dipped. “She’s not here. Or in the corners of Skyhold. Or in Crestwood.” “We’ll find her,” said Wisdom. “Does she live?” asked Solas. “Did something happen to the anchor? Or perhaps her spirit is unable to let go— maybe she lingers in the Deep Roads. Maybe she’s suffering—” “I would know. I would feel her,” said Cole. “We should find a memory of Skyhold. One she loved. She’ll return, be drawn to it,” said Wisdom. The Fade shifted again. The veilfire tree unfolded above them. “Perhaps,” said Solas doubtfully. “At least it will provide a stable base to think upon it,” said Mythal. “We can explore the memories in this place to discover where she might most be gone. If she has not arrived by the time we’ve exhausted them, we will try something else.” Cole drifted away, slipping through the hidden tunnels following thoughts no others saw. Mythal ran her fingers over the carved names. “It is one of my favorite places,” she told him. “Can you— could I see what has become of the people here? Are they well? Are they in danger?” Wisdom smiled and the memory rippled. Vhemanen sat beside Sera at the edge of the room. “Do you have it?” she asked. Sera nodded. “I think so.” “No breeches this time?” asked Vhemanen. Sera snorted. “Yeah. And the way she looked when I told her I stole em. I’ve got it.” “Then— concentrate. Deep breath.” Vhemanen watched as Sera’s palm opened and the glow of Veilfire grew in her hand. Sera looked up at her. “Well?” asked Vhemanen. “You think she’d like it? Seems— silly after all this.” “Sometimes, silly is sweetest. Even the Dread Wolf stole cookies once in a while. I wish I’d known her. She was a light when all was dark. Her light’s gone, Sera. Maybe she’s lost in the dark now. You can be her light now, bring her back with your joy.” Sera scrubbed at her eyes. She slapped her hand against the wall. “Hope you can see this Buckles,” she whispered. “Hope you’re tweaking his ears somewhere.” Vhemanen hugged her. “Come on,” she said, “those Orlesian knobs are supposed to come today with that churchy woman. We have an ugly statue to tear down.” Sera laughed and the memory faded. “Thank you,” said Solas. “I think— I think I’d like to sit a while at the cairn.” Wisdom nodded. “We’ll keep looking here.”

He was surprised it wasn’t autumn. A summer evening instead. Thunder clouds piling over the fortress. He watched the sun sink into the approaching storm, a false dusk and a warning breeze cooling the air around him. He remembered this. And didn’t wish to. This was not where he thought he’d find her. It was useless reliving his grief from this day. Wisdom was here, returned to him against all expectation. And here he was, when he had feared oblivion. Is that where she is? Trapped in some nightmare of her own making? Does she believe she is in some frightening between-place? He stood up, uncertain where to go, what to do. She was meant to be here. His ear twitched at the sound of footsteps descending the long trail behind him and he turned. A thick fog lay over the knees of the mountain. In its depths, a silver-blue light swung gently. He climbed toward it. “He sounds like a great deal of trouble, this one, da’len.” The voice was raspy, but warm. And old voice used to sucking in the smoke of many hearth fires. “Are you certain he is worth it? All the heroes that ever were, all the spirits of love— even gods, anything you can dream of. They are all here. Waiting for you. Why this one? What makes him so special, hmm?” The light passed by the wolf statue Solas had shattered, slipping over its stone face before letting it disappear back into the fog. “He gave up a world for me, mamaela. What other—” her voice stuttered out. Solas scrambled up the side of the mountain, aching for that voice. “I feel him. He’s very close. Solas?” “Hmph,” came the older voice again. “He’s got a thing for storms and mist. He’s hiding something, da’len. Never trust someone who won’t show their spirit in the full sunlight.” The silver-blue light swung wildly and the fog rapidly dispersed. He could see her. Whole and free of the anchor. No seeping glow. No buzzing ward. No vallaslin. “Emma lath,” he called to her and she turned her gaze from Skyhold down the rocky slope to his face. There was the smile he’d so craved. There was the wave of joy she had always saved for him. A sudden doubt hit him and he faltered even as she helped the ancient woman beside her climb down the steep path. It was too perfect. Too close to what he’d longed for. “Are you— is it you Vhenan?” he asked as she approached him. He tried to sense some illusion. Some evasion. This was where he was most familiar. Most comfortable. He should be able to tell. The older woman scowled up at him. “You’re so suspicious,” she said, holding up the bright lantern to better see his face. He glanced toward her, noticing the film in her eyes. She had to be mostly blind. If that meant anything here. He doubted that it did. “Happiness finds you and you’d push it away with both hands until you’ve thoroughly prodded and poked it to make certain it is what it says,” she fumed. “Ir abelas, I must know.” His hand met the Inquisitor’s, pulling and pulling, trying to see beneath. “If it is an illusion then my love may be hurt somewhere, frightened— I cannot leave her so. Not even to be happy in a dream.” The old woman grinned and poked a bony finger into Lavellan’s side. “I understand now, da’len.” She handed her lantern to the Inquisitor and shifted the pack upon her back. She strode down the path toward the fortress. “Good luck!” she called back. “If you tire of it, find me in a millennium or so. I’ll have grown young again by then. And I’ll be itching for adventure again.” “Dareth Shiral, Lamplighter,” called the Inquisitor. “Lamplighter?” asked Solas, turning back to her. She shrugged. “Not anymore, I guess. But I don’t know what name she’d rather have.” He touched her cheek. “Are you— real?” he asked. She laughed. “What is it you told me? ‘That is a matter of debate’?” She leaned into his hand. “Except this time, the Dreamer will never be forced to wake. Can’t you see me? I can see you. All of you, all the things you meant to do, all the things you never said and wished you had— I see you, Solas.” She held up the lamp beside her face. “I have no more masks. No title. No anchor. No power. Just me.” She hesitated. “Am I not enough?” she asked. He kissed her and it was not like the Fade kisses he remembered. Nor the physical ones. It was more. As if a piece of him lingered within her when they parted. As if he’d exchanged it for a spark of her that slipped into him, colored him from the inside out. “More than enough. Too perfect, this is too much joy for me to believe it’s real.” She smiled. “Shall we argue then? To put you at ease?” “Perhaps a little,” he laughed. He touched her again, craving another spark, wishing he could mix entirely with her, slip out of himself and into her. She seemed to sense it and kissed him again. “Again,” he whispered. “Again and again and again.” “Yes,” she agreed, “Again. Today and tomorrow and every day after. We have time. And promises to fulfill.” “What promise?” “The only one I have left to keep. To you. And to the lamplighter.” She held up the lantern. “An eternity of service in exchange for you. To go to the edge of it all, to light the veilfires where no others have yet been. To explore the depths of the Fade.” She held out her hand to him. “Will you come with me?” “Into the Void itself, if you asked, Vhenan,” he said, and closed his hand around hers.

#Solas #Lavellan #solas and lavellan #dragon age inquisition