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lgvalenzuela · 1 year

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Moments of happiness (a Handers fic cause of course)

Cadvan and Savana are from @thereluctantherosrose and our family au :3

If anything the highlight of Anders' day was when Ryann strolled down to the clinic to bring him some food, and probably stay for a while to chat. They did it almost daily, but alas today was not one of those days.

He opened the door to Cadvan, holding the container Ryann usually carried for the good. His disappointment must've been clearer than he expected because Cadvan smirked saying:

"I know I'm not my cousin but you don't have to look so disillusioned"

"It's not that, I can smell the food and it's not what I expected, that's all"

"Sure, sure"

He gave him the food and sat next to him asking how the clinic was doing:

"But just to know, is Ryann busy?"

"You didn't even answer my question, but okay"

"You know living in the sewers with templars coming every other day is delightful as ever" he paused "And the answer is?"

"They're not busy, I asked them to come myself today"

"Oh Cadvan, I didn't know you wanted to see me so badly, you move me" he said sarcastically

"I know, you're every Hawke's favorite person" he said dramatically "Anyway…"

Cadvan rummaged through his coat pockets until he pulled out a letter:

"Love letter?" asked Anders, continuing the joke

"You're more right than you know, but it's not for you or me, it's for Ryann"

Anders put the container down, to walk around the clinic:

"Why are you telling me this?" he finally asked

"One word and I'll never give it to them"

"Does your sister know you're here doing this?"

"Savana's with me in this"

"Is she?"

"Well sort off…"

"Cadvan…"

"Look, she supports whatever you and our cousin have going on as much as I do" he stood up, and put a hand on Anders' shoulder "You're like a brother to me so I'm not going to sugar coat it, you're a fucking idiot"

"...you could've sugar coat it a bit"

"Ryann's a fantastic person, somebody else has noticed, and it won't take long until someone else does"

"And what? Steal them from me? I don't own them Cadvan"

"And yet you've been eyeing the letter since I showed it to you, with barely contained anger showing through your lovely brown eyes" he waved the letter "I expect Justice to come out any minute now"

"I don't think Justice is as invested my relationship with your cousin like everyone else apparently is"

He felt a little pang on his chest, maybe he underestimated Justice. Whatever his friend felt for Ryann at this point, good or bad, he always cared about what happened to him:

"Who is the letter from?" he asked

"Sebastian Vael"

"What? The prince we helped that one time?"

"Seems Ryann made quite an impression on him, but well, can you blame him?"

"Not really, no" he said, his hands shaking, he put them on the table "Maybe he is better for Ryann than I am anyway…" he gritted his teeth

Saying that, and before Cadvan could dispute it, the table fell to pieces…A sudden burst of energy, maybe? He sighed:

"That was a good table…"

"We'll get you another one" said the young Hawke amused

He put the letter on Anders' pocket:

"Just do me a favor and think about it"

And with that he left. Anders immediately reached for the letter.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Cadvan seriously underestimated the content by calling it a love letter. He asked Leandra to consider giving him permission to court Ryann formally, maybe even marry them if given the chance. All very well written, polite and well…princely.

He would be amazed at how little it took for the eldest Hawke to catch someone's eye, but truly? He wasn't surprised at all, and he couldn't blame anyone. Especially since he…No, what did it matter now? What could he even bring to the table when people such as actual royality were interested.

And yet…he dared to hope, these years he had expent with the Hawkes, with Ryann, he dared to think somebody would love him unconditionally, just as he was. When Ryann looked at him, with that sweet smile, and told him what he said was important… He really thought nothing else mattered.

And that…was dangerous…

He reached to his chest, feeling the ardor, the passion, the anger he had felt time and time again, since that day, and maybe even before. Justice was calling out to him, he always had but now he couldn't stay idle while his friend hungered for freedom, for revolution.

Ryann gave him so much confidence, so much trust, for him they felt like the embodiment of hope, who found him when all seemed lost. Even then… couldn't imagine a future with them, not with everything… not when he couldn't give them the life they deserved.

Envy runned through his veins at the thought of someone so precious to him being with someone else. But he couldn't be as selfish to deny them of such pleasures of life, especially now that the family had aquired their titles and position once more.

Cadvan asked him to think about it, and so, he made his choice.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Ryann came like any other day, bringing some food that smelled too delicious for words (of all the things they could have decided to hold on with their heritage, everyone was glad they decided on food) And a warm smile, like the first signs of spring after a cold winter, that's the Effect they had on people, or at least him. They struck conversation with the remaining refugees while he ate what his friend had prepared, but like they usually did, they left the eldest Hawke alone with him to give him a bit of a rest, seemingly everyone knew they were his favorite person at this point:

"I'm glad Samuel is doing better" Hawke said suddenly, while they rummaged through Anders' things

He didn't care at this point, he was used to Ryann looking at everything like an hyperactive child, or taking his dirty clothes for cleaning or for patching up…Everyone was already used to that, cleaning Fenris' mansion by force if necessary or doing little renovations to Merrill's little house for suggestions Merrill made on a wim. Or any other elf on the Alienage, or random people on the street, well they did know every refugee by name at that point.

That's just the kind of person they were… giving, compassionate, friendly… naive maybe.

He felt that all familiar pang on his chest. He knew, he knew already. But he couldn't help falling a little bit more every day:

"Ryann I'd like to speak to you, before the refugees come back" he said closing the doors

"Oh? I'm all ears" they said putting Anders' shirt away

"I want to be blunt so… whatever we're doing right now… the kind of relationship we have…" he sighed "We should stop now"

Ryann didn't say anything at first, just came near him and stroke a lock of hair away from his face:

"Why are you scared?" they said

Again with that sweet smile, with that sympathetic look.

"Why shouldn't I be?" he asked

"That's a hard question"

"It is" he delicately took their hand away "Nonetheless, it's a vital question right now, given the circumstances"

"Why does this matter now? We've had this 'sort of relationship' for years now, why are you pulling away so suddenly?"

"It just dawned on me that… I can't see a future with you"

And he could see that stung, and took a hand to his chest. No he didn't want to hurt them like this, but be involved with him? It would hurt them so much more in the future.

He wanted so desperately to explain that, with his circumstances, it was difficult to picture a future at all… let alone bringing someone down with him… No he couldn't do that to Ryann.

And yet a look like that could make him crumble.

"Well that's strange, I can picture a future with you just fine" his friend said, looking down, frowning

They didn't know how much those words meant, or maybe they did but…

But he couldn't waver now.

"You can? With a runaway apostate? Being hunted by templars and Grey wardens alike? Here? Or any other place for that matter.

Is that the way you want to live?"

"Yes"

Didn't even hesitate, didn't even flinch. And that took him back a second.

"You deserve better Ryann"

"Who are you to decide what's best for me?"

"I am the other person on this whole equation, after all"

"And yet nothing you've said sounded like outright rejection to me. What? Are you comfortable flirting with me for three years and then tossing me aside? I think there's something else going on"

"Haven't you heard? There's a lot going on! The feelings of two people don't matter!"

"Well they matter to me"

"Would you put everything on hold just for that? I don't know if I can do that…"

"Well I think you've earned the right to be a little selfish… and honestly there's nothing wrong with… us…

I mean I support what you're doing, and you're always there to support me. Isn't that how our relationship has been since we met?"

"And can you promise you would be willing to make the necessary sacrifices if such a time comes?"

"What are you willing to sacrifice?"

"Everything"

Ryann's eyes welled up, but they didn't seem… mad… Just… worried:

"That's so unfair…"

"The whole system is unfair to people like me… like us… and I can't sit back and let it stay that way…

I can't promise you that you'll be my first priority… I can't give you money, land, not even safety… I have nothing to offer…

How can I comfortably start a relationship, when everything that'll come to you at my side is hardship and heartbreak?"

"How can you even say that? Have you forgotten I was a refugee too? Like these people you take care of every day…

Have you forgotten I've lived with runaway apostates, and is an apostate themselves? And you are fighting for people like me… like my mother who was murderers by templars… like Bethany who feared the Circle and the templars and…" they grasped for air "And didn't live to know someone who fights so we don't have to be so afraid anymore…

Have you forgotten you saved Carver?"

He could feel that heart tightening again. Not Justice this time, it wasn't that ardent like the thrill you get before a battle. It was warm like the first breeze of summer.

An overwhelming feeling of hope, and love. Like finding a home.

Justice did have a reaction however but it was… different than it was before. Maybe it was Ryann's compassion, or sympathy, or support. But he seemed confused, even more than he was. Maybe because he was starting to understand why he loved them so much.

But they did have one thing in common, like they usually did.

And he could feel a tear running through his cheek, and he couldn't tell who shed it this time:

"I'm so afraid Ryann…"

"Anders…"

"I don't want to harm you… and I don't want anyone to hurt you because of me either…

And I don't want to be apart… I don't want anyone to pull us away from each other… but I can't bare the thought of…" he crumbled, he could feel his voice cracking "I know we made a promise… and I know he asked me to do it… but…"

He covered his face, now soaking wet. Remembering Karl… the Circle… and that blasted day in the Chantry. Would he ever not second guess himself? Questioning if he did the right thing by keeping the promise they made so long ago?

Could he ever be ready to adore another person so fully… when everyone else always got hurt while he got away? Could he honestly believe the same wouldn't happen to Ryann?

And yet there they were, embracing him. Gently stroking his back:

"I understand… if you're not ready yet… but don't pull away… just because you fear what might happen…" they looked him in the eye "Oh… Justice…"

Ryann wasn't afraid when they said his name, just recognized an old friend and smiled:

"I didn't like the thought of you distracting us… But I forgot for a moment, Anders is human, and so am I now… Sometimes I see you through his eyes, and the few things that still keep us separate fade away faster every day…

I remember a time when the love people shared intrigued me, and I remember trying to help Anders find his past lover and his friend… And now I know the pain that comes from such intense feelings…

I don't want you to be hurt, because you're a good person, and a good friend…

But…"

"But you want to protect your feelings too… I understand, I know loss too… all too well…

And I can't promise there won't be hardship, bad times… but that's just life…

I want to fight through life with you"

Justice kissed them, as the only kiss he'd ever give them on his own. It made Ryann cry as they kissed him back, because it felt like a goodbye, as more than ever they were one. The man they loved.

Anders put their hand on his chest:

"What if there was someone better for you?" he asked

"Honestly, if anyone thinks that… I'll kick their ass for being a dirty liar"

He started laughing, and felt like he hadn't done that in a while.

They hugged tightly.

Anders gave Cadvan the letter back, it wasn't his call to decide if Ryann should read it or not. But at least for what was for sure a fleeting moment of pure happiness, he knew that even if they read it…

Ryann would still choose him.

#mine writing #fanfiction #dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #ryann hawke #anders #handers #nb!hawke #cadvan hawke #savana hawke #justice

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rogaire-a · 2 years

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Honestly, to take Shay's loyality for granted is the biggest mistake someone could ever make. This man has got his own morals, and he will always follow them; no matter what. You will never find Shay fully devoted on something/someone. If he is; then it means that his goals are aligned with said person/organisation.

#DOWN THE ANCHOR // OOC #once his goals/morals don't align with this person anymore; don't be surprised if he turns his back on you #this is what happened with the assassins / he saw how the assassins preached about protecting the lives of the innocent #but it took him Lisbon to realise that they will literally do anything to reach their ends / even breaking their own creed /#now; about the Templars / Shay found out that his goals align with those of the templars because of Monro / because it wasn't even remotely #in Shay's mind to join the Templars #when he meets Monro he thinks him of nothing more but a landlord who wants to take profit from the colonies and its people #but Monro tells him that his purpose is to keep people safe-thing that Shay will never cease of doing no matter his affilations #now I know there was some corruption / because the Templars aren't saints and we all know that #but Monro showed Shay plenty of times that he fully meant what he said / because words are a thing but actions are what really bring change #and most important of all- he gave Shay the free will to choose #He didn't immediately introduce himself as a member of the Templar Order because of Shay's former affilations #but when he did reveal himself to Shay ( tho I believe Shay realised that already- he's a himbo but not tHAT MUCH hbfr ) that was when Shay #realised that his goals align with the templars #or Monro; in that matter; but Monro is a templar #and this was when he also realised that not all templars are the same.#again I think it's all a matter of idealsand how you decided to preach your 'creed'#because it's always easy to say that ' the assassins are the good guys ' but if you think about it #their methods aren't that much different from the Templars #there are actually templars that TRULY care about the lives of the people #regardless of their affilations #that's why you might always find Shay in conflict because not all templars are like Monro #so if you want to have Shay's trust you have to make sure that his goals align with yours #just because you're a templar that doesn't automatically mean that Shay trusts you

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notebooks-and-laptops · 2 years

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I am convinced people who don't like Viv haven't actually taken her out much/spoken to her at Skyhold and instead are running on 'grrr mage who likes circles bad bad'.

Vivienne was not born in Orlais. She was born in Wycome to merchant parents who were constantly on the move, though she was taken to the circle relatively early. I feel like one thing Viv gets shit for is her place in the Grand Game (despite Leliana and Josephine also being adept players). But it's important to note that Viv is well aware her position in Orlais is not one born of friendship and that she is indeed widely hated (TW for in-game racist comment about Viv below):

"Oh but Viv desires power! That's bad" yes well 'power' allows her freedom and a life beyond the circle walls. She has dialouge where she specifically talks about how you must learn to live with restrictions but adapt to give them the best life they can give you. And that's what she's doing! Constantly! Besides, her desire for power is one of the fun things about her character and something she has in common with plenty of other dragon age characters (Leliana, Josephine, Solas, the Inquisitor etc.) She's just more open about the fact that that's what she wants.

She also enjoys the game (as do Leliana and Josephine) but she's right in the Winter Palace when she tells you if she wasn't good at it she'd be dead. World of Thedas Vol. 2 mentions how after she began her affair with Bastien multiple bards and assassins were sent after Viv ('half of them were returned to their employers frozen solid. The rest were persuaded to work for her instead' shdkdkdlf I LOVE her).

Anyway, as for her views on the Circle, I also don't agree with them. But it's worth noting where they come from:

So, here we learn that Viv is scared of the templars in some capacity, but still believes they are necessary. Perhaps that belief is because of what happened during the rebellion and the trauma she suffered from seeing various mages and tranquil killed needlessly. I truly believe that when she calls the templars a useful 'tool' but accepts that there are rotten eggs among them, she means to enact reforms from the inside that would stop the sort of behaviour we see. I'm not sure this would work, but it's worth seeing it from her side. She sees the templars as what they were founded to be: to protect magic and mages, both from those who would seek to destroy it from the outside and demons who would prey on mages. Do I agree with her? No! But! Plenty of fandom favourites hold basically the same philosophy about the mage/templar conflict: Cullen and Fenris in particular.

And Viv? Viv has so many more qualities than just the above parts of her characterisation. She Cares. I find the people she will shout about if they fall particularly telling:

The two 'youngest' members who she has contentious relationships with, she is genuinely worried about in battle.

And then we have:

(This post is getting v long but also please see: every single Bull/Viv interaction because she basically adopts him, and every single Sera/Viv interaction because they wind each other up but Viv also does play her own 'pranks' right back at Sera which is delightful)

She cares. She even cares about Cole. And she cares about the first victims of war, the serving staff, in the Winter Palace. She cares about the tranquil when you enter the hut and find out the truth about the shard skulls. She cares. But she also knows caring is a weakness that could lose her her power and position so she's careful with it, guarded. Which in itself is such a wonderful lovely characteristic.

She's funny, sassy, clever. She is considered an 'exceptional scholar' (World of Thedas Vol. 2). Just like Solas, she is actually envious if you go to adamant without her because she finds the idea of being in the fade physically to be fascinating! And just like Dorian she's underestimated when it comes to her intelligence because of everything else about her.

(Side note: she's was also friends with Bastians wife and there's no jealousy between them which i love, and Bastian sent her enough flowers to fill an entire floor of the circle tower when they first met which is just. V sweet)

She's just an amazing character. I love her deeply. I wish more people loved her and saw the complexities of her. Because she is so interesting, her interactions with the other characters are interesting. And, like I said before, she's no better or worse in her views than Cullen or Fenris when it comes to mages and yet the fandom makes 12 page long think pieces about those characters and why it's okay for them, but will vilify Viv and pretend that's not a double standard.

Anyway. I love her. And just felt like expressing that this fine morning.

#dragon age #dai #vivienne #vivienne de fer #madam de fer #cole #iron bull #the iron bull #cassandra #sera #long post

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deimcs · 3 years

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thoughts on the kenways!

Thank you legend for yet another opportunity to cry ♡

Okay so, the fact that ubisoft chose to give us a generational saga but then decided to make it as traumatic as possible it was really some kind of twisted power move from their part. and they did it BACKWARDS even, for even more brain damage. This got impossibly long so, more under the cut.

When we get introduced to Edward, it’s hard to believe he’s ever going to be a functional human being, least of all a father. His growth and progression is actually not linear at all and you know what? I love that. He doesn’t magically change his attitude the moment he’s introduced to the Assassins. He’s selfish, he’s greedy, he’s shallow, he’s out there to have fun and make money! He never made that a secret but what makes him so endearing is that’s not all he is. Bit by bit you’re introduced to his past and through his past you start to see his present in a different light, the more the story advances the more we are introduced to all his other qualities, the same ones Mary sees in him even if he can’t. He cares. A LOT. He cares for his men, he cares for his friends, he cares for Nassau, for the islands, for the people living there. He trusts Adéwalé with his life and actually listens to his counsel. He cared for Caroline too but the game doesn’t try to excuse the way he acted towards her, it was still love but with an unhappy ending!

I love how ingenious he is, how funny and resourceful. He’s very charismatic obviously but despite his rambunctious personality I never felt like he overshadowed the people around him. He’s very warm and welcoming in that sense, he THRIVES in a community and languishes in isolation. The losses he goes through have an actual impact on him, as the game progresses he grows more somber, more serious. It’s a jarring comparison to the Edward we see during the first acts.

But it culminates in something soft, if bittersweet. He starts off wanting to devour the world. He learns to compromise. We all know the infamous song scene, by then he sacrificed everything and still lost against the tide of history. His is a conscious surrender, loaded with meaning. Absolutely love how they highlight the fact that he was a good loving father. Far from perfect, with a messy past but still protective and respectful. He deserved to watch his children grow, he would have offered them a choice, I know that. The ultimate paragon of freedom until the very end.

Then comes Haytham and of course he’s the tricky one. I haven’t read Forsaken, this is a stain on my Assassin’s Creed obsessed record I know but I know what goes down behind the scenes, more or less. He’s tricky because his entire character is actually a big what if?

What happened when he was a kid wasn’t his fault, Birch’s betrayal wasn’t his fault, I truly believe he loved his father, he loved Jennifer too in a way despite their differences. First among many the fact that they knew Edward very differently, I think. So I can’t actually fault him for becoming a Templar, ultimately he was indoctrinated. But when it comes to Connor I can’t really approve of his choices, at all.

What he did once he became an adult it’s on him and on him only. He wasn’t totally callous, we know that, but he was extremely manipulative and every bit the polarized man he once accused Achilles to be. I don’t think him so stupid to actually believe taking away people’s free will was the answer, his biggest weakness was that he acted like he was so sure of himself even when his morality was evidently on the fence on some matters. Kaniehti:io proved that, his son did the same.

Honestly? It was foolish of him not to accept Connor’s curiosity and tentative olive branch the first time. He’s a proud man, too proud and that was his downfall. Acting so condescendingly towards his son got him nowhere. He thought Connor to be naif, childish, incapable, easily manipulated. He underestimated him because he saw the Assassin before he saw his own child or even just a person and that dug a chasm between them. He kept rejecting him and trying to assert his authority on him as a father within the same breath, like pick a struggle! It was on him, things could have gone differently if he stopped thinking himself invincible for one second.

Then we have the love of my life, my dear Ratonhnhaké:ton. Literally a good soul. He’s such an incredible character and I wish more people would see that. The fact that so many in this fandom write him off as cynical and stoic doesn’t sit well with me at all, let me tell you that. Once again we’re just ignoring the character development? Not on my watch. The thing is with all the assassins, they all end up losing something, having the person they were at the beginning of the game beaten out of them, for good or bad. That’s just the pattern, they are all changed by the end and Connor is no exception. That fact that he had to go through such horrifying things at such a young age is bound to traumatize a person. People like to talk about his anger but you’d be surprised how little it actually appears throughout the game. His personality is gentle, a little awkward at times, determined, incredibly nurturing. This man rebuilt an entire village, he rebuilt an entire brotherhood, he learned to sail, to fight, to hunt, to speak the language of those who slaughtered his people without a second thought, their customs and rituals. He adapted over and over again, always making space for others if they were willing to take it without abusing it.

The only times he snaps is when people are doing just that: taking advantage. Of him, of his land and the people he loves. It’s a rightful anger, a protective anger, an anger that settles boundaries. It’s healthy, it’s important and I was just so happy to see it portrayed the way they did!

He’s a gentle giant, who deserves respect because he literally changed the course of history and he just got more death and pain in return. His story is particularly important because it tells a tale that it’s not just his but of his people. It’s cultural and it’s very real.

Him too, starts off softer around the edges and he’s forced to harden by the end of it. It’s not lack of character, it’s literal trauma! Edward would have loved him so much.

#ask games #text #replies #the fact that this got so long and i didn't even put everything i wanted to say #i'm sorry i'm like this #truly #didn't proof read this i'm sorry for any mistakes!#winedark #edward kenway #haytham kenway #connor kenway #thoughts on

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alethiometry · 3 years

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thinkin about an alternate take on odyssey’s cult of kosmos storyline that may culminate in a blatant ripoff of valhalla but bear with me here lmao

instead of deimos continually antagonizing you the entire game as you try desperately to convince them that the cult is simply using them, deimos is actively trying to recruit you to fight alongside them. you are both demigods descended from sparta’s greatest hero, two sides of the same coin, etc. etc. as you go around killing cultists you get those cutscenes where each cultist gets to have one final say (just like all the other ac games) and while many joined and profited from the war for selfish reasons, there are enough of those who had lofty ideals that maybe you start to see that the two warring nations are both truly broken beyond repair. people are suffering because of the war, and for every callous profiteer that joined the cult to make a quick buck there’s also someone who joined just to survive, or because if you can’t beat em, join em -- at the least, they could then maybe stand a chance at protecting the people they love, even if it means others will have to pay that price. that’s just the way the world works, right?

and so after the battle of amphipolis and after killing the rest of the cult, you return to the cave of gaia in delphi and find not only deimos but also the ghost of kosmos down there, in front of the pyramid. deimos is still nursing his wounds from where kleon shot him, and the ghost finally unveils herself. both get their villain-y monologues about how it’s all for the greater good, everyone who died along the way was sacrificing themselves for a better world and the world will remember what they did -- but that will only happen if you join them. if you’re there to make sure they mattered. and the pyramid with its weird little artifacts still draws you in like it did that first night you infiltrated their meeting, and you and deimos and the ghost all touch it and you all get teleported via videogame magic or isu technology or whatever the fuck who cares it’s just a stupid scifi game let me live to...

atlantis?

it’s the exact same look and feel as the dlc: humans and gods living in (apparent) harmony, people are happy, families are together, there’s laughter and music and plenty of food and leisure. the buildings are gorgeous, there’s like fountains and gardens and aquariums and other cool shit, and if not for the weird isu tech all over the place you’d almost think it was elysium. but it’s not elysium, because you’re not dead. deimos isn’t dead. and you’ve never felt more at peace. the ghost tells you that this is all perfectly achievable, if only you join them in helping construct this world from the ashes of the old. deimos tells you that they’ve seen this in their dreams; the world was truly like this once, and it could be again.

there’s no war to be fought here; no pain or suffering or loss. deimos sheathes their sword and tells you that they cannot just go back to being family in the real world, not after everything that has happened and all the suffering you both have experienced -- out in the real world, you were both doomed to be nothing more than shattered bones and streaks of gore at the foot of sparta’s sacred mountain. you don’t matter out there, and you never did, and they know you are tired of trying to prove that you do, because they’re tired too. but in here, in this world, you could be together. you could be the siblings you never got the chance to be. this is what they were fighting for all along. they gave their name, and their life, and their innocence and their pain -- all to achieve this. and with your help they can finally stop calling themself deimos and reclaim their old name. or the two of you could find new names. you could be gods. you could slaughter the old gods, the ones whose prophecies doomed you both to die at the foot of mount taygetos (deimos still doesn’t know the cult orchestrated that lmao listen the brainwashing runs deep). you could be anyone you want here.

all of this feels so real. you feel like you could stay here forever.

deimos extends their hand. you reach out to take it. to join them.

and something tumbles out of your pouch.

it’s a little wooden eagle, a child’s toy, battered and all scratched up with most of its defining features worn away. you know it well. you know every contour of it because a little girl gave it to you when you left the island where you and she once lived, to go make a name for yourself in a war that never seemed to end, until suddenly it did. you know this toy eagle because you folded that little girl’s cold, dead, still-bloody fingers around it one terrible night in athens. you were told, later, that the eagle burned with her on the pyre your friends constructed for her. and so the only reason this eagle is here now, the only reason you can run your hands along its outstretched wings and trace the whorls of the woodgrain with your fingertips and feel the slight weight of it in your palm is because none of this is real.

what is real is this: the cult existed, and phoibe died. leonidas died. perikles died. brasidas died. and you cannot live in a world where the very act of dying for the world they didn’t know they were helping to shape is the one thing that becomes the defining feature of their legacies. where their lives become nothing more than some kind of grotesque buttressing to prop up the very people who got them all killed.

there’s some kind of bossfight against deimos, who, despite their appeals to you to join them as a battlefield companion and true siblings after too many years lost between you, still doesn’t hesitate to turn against you as they always have the moment things do not go their way. because that’s the way it is between the two of you: they push, and you push back.

and the more you fight, the more atlantis crumbles. the others don’t seem to notice; they simply sit there and laugh and sip wine and dance and sing as stone after stone falls from the vast turrets and crushes first their companions, then them, into blood and bone and gristle. there’s a gate up on the highest tower of the city, and you know instinctively that without it you’ll be stuck here in this strange dream-limbo, fighting your sibling for eternity as both worlds, dream and real, carry on with or without you. and as you make your way to it (maybe there’s some sweet parkour opportunities here with like falling debris and such) deimos gives chase and as you draw closer to the gate you start to see that it’s not empty at all, but full of people crowing in to take a peek at all the commotion.

there’s sokrates and hippokrates and aristophanes. alkibiades looking uncharacteristically worried, and [insert any npc lieutentants you’ve recruited like roxana or odessa]. xenia is there, and so is anthousa. kyra and/or thaletas, too (depending on the outcome of the mykonos questline). and a gang of plucky little kids, all cheering you on: khloe, the girl with the clay friends; arsenios, the tour-guide-turned-con-artist; ardos and his caretaker. (and i guess nikolaos and stentor if they’re still alive lmao) (maybe pythagoras is allowed too but he’s on thin fucking ice)

and, of course, myrrine. standing at the forefront, shoulder to shoulder with barnabas and herodotos. all three of them -- alongside everyone else you’ve ever allied with, fought beside, or helped out -- everyone who loves you, everyone you’ve ever loved -- they’re beckoning you home. back to the real world, where they matter. where you matter.

where you have always mattered.

you’re so close to taking your mother’s hand, you can feel the warmth of her fingertips -- and then you hear a scream below you.

it’s deimos, and they’re falling. maybe they tripped in their haste to catch you. maybe some of the falling rubble knocked them off-balance. it doesn’t matter. the only thing that matters is that your sibling is falling to their doom. again. and there’s nothing you can do about it.

except this time there definitely is.

so you leap from the ledge with all the strength you have, the roaring in your ears drowning out myrrine’s shouts. you’ve fallen from greater heights, after all, and lived to tell the tale. this is nothing. and this time you’ll catch your sibling, because this is your dream, too. and in your dream, you can do whatever the fuck you want.

you catch deimos, the both of you still falling, the ground rushing up to meet you -- and you both wake in the cave of gaia with a jolt. each of you still have a hand on the pyramid, and you make eye contact. they give you the slightest of nods, as if to say i’m okay. i’m awake.

the ghost is still asleep, head bowed, eyes flitting to and fro behind closed eyelids, both hands still on the pyramid.

you destroy the pyramid with your grandfather’s spear. this wakes the ghost. she’s furious, and tells you that you’ve made a terrible mistake. the cult of kosmos may be extinguished, but the ideals she worked toward are not. (basically this kind of mirrors the whole spiel about the philosopher-king or whatever tf the ghost said at the end of the actual in-game storyline that foreshadowed the order of ancients and eventually the templars)

deimos looks to you and mutters that it’s your choice what to do next. the ghost tries to appeal to them but they’ve run out of fucks to give. they leave.

[kill the ghost] what it says on the label. you get a nice little ac-esque assassination cutscene and it’s actually got some emotional weight to the decision/scene, unlike the game.

[walk away] leave the ghost in the cave. the pyramid is gone, the cult is dead, your sibling is free. the ghost will live the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, knowing that the grandchildren of leonidas have seen her for what she is. knowing that whatever she does next, they’ll be watching closely.

when you leave the cave, you see deimos, pacing as they overlook the view of phokis from mount parnassos. it’s high noon and the sun glints brilliantly off their gilded armor. they glance at the temple of apollo and remark how strange it is to be standing here together, so close to the place where both your fates were sealed with just a few words from a puppet pythia a lifetime ago.

you ask what they’re going to do, now that the cult is gone.

the peace of nicias isn’t going to hold, they tell you. the war will start again soon enough, and when that happens both athens and sparta will be looking for champions to fight for their side.

dialogue choices:

[i’ll see you on the battlefield] you and your sibling part ways. subsequent conquest battles have a chance of spawning a bossfight against deimos who is fighting for the other side -- neither of you can perma-kill the other so you can encounter/fight them over and over again. at the end of the conquest battle, no matter who wins, you can see them walking up and down the battlefield and you can have some silly little sibling banter, which changes depending on who wins/loses the battle

[join me, fight with me] deimos joins your crew just like in the game. unlike the game, you can interact with them at any time while they’re walking up and down your ship and have sibling banter because i just want some decent fucking sibling banter in this game

no matter which option you pick, the first time you return to sparta after finishing this storyline you’ll have the option of entering your old family home and triggering the family dinner cutscene with all the surviving members of your family because goddammit even after all this wishful revisionism i still love that silly little family dinner

anyway in conclusion this is what i want out of odyssey, thanks for coming to my TED talk, don’t forget to smash that like&subscribe the way the eagle bearer definitely smashed brasidas’ fine spartan ass offscreen bc ubisoft were too smoothbrained to give us the romance we deserved

#tuserautumn #userbryn #assassin's creed #ac odyssey #cool story charlotte #can u tell i listened to 'leaving valhalla' one too many times on loop tonight and have been cryin in the club @ that doorway scene #idk fam i just want a remaster/retweaking of odyssey #where all the art direction and the characters and music and general story beats are the same #but with a more coherent narrative that doesn't disintegrate the moment you start prodding at the plot holes #yes i'm fully aware that deimos dies in novel/wiki canon NO i do NOT care. FUCK that. in this version deimos lives #anyway ub*s*ft hmu there's way more odyssey-reboot ideas where this came from and they're all WAY hornier + involve pegging spartan general #better yet just let me buy the fucking franchise already cmon #i've got IDEAS #i mean they're not GOOD ideas but like.#must ideas be good??? is it not enough simply fulfill all the desires in my selfish little gremlin heart????????

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djemsostylist · 3 years

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Djem's Legion Thoughts

About three years ago my brother joking suggested I read the Horus Heresy, knowing literally nothing about Warhammer. (Literally nothing. I just thought Space Marines were big dudes in armor and I had never heard of Primarchs and I still know nothing of 40k. Have no idea how the Heresy ends--I'm spoiler free babes.) Anyway, what follows are my feelings on each Legion at the following times:

As of midway through Fulgrim

At the end of First Heretic

At the start of the Master of Mankind

Halfway through the Siege

This is very long. I'm not sorry.

Dark Angels

idk I haven’t met them yet, but their name tells me they are either going to be amazing or fucking awful

Um I still dk

God I fucking love these stupid idiots. Like, they are stupid, for sure, but I dunno, I dig their bizarre sort of pseudosecrecy thing. Plus, aesthetically I’m all about weird monk orders. Also, nothing kills me quite like Farith Redloss having anxiety attacks over trying to figure out Lion.

Corswain showing up like the living embodiment of the dude with the pizza where the apartment is on fire is just so deeply on brand for these chucklefucks like, Lion is all “I’m deeply uncomfortable where Imperial Secundus is concerned so instead I’ll just go ahead and attack home planets because that will demoralize the traitors and then I’m Doing My Part” like fam, pretty much all the traitors sans Perturabo are actual literal demons rn and they all had zero qualms betraying their immediate brothers and also the emperor (and Perturabo already fucked over his own) why in the livid fuck would you think this is in any way helpful, but this is Classic Lion and I love him now on account of that one time when he hugged Roboute because he was proud of him and also because he calls all of his sons “Little Brother” bc he is afraid of being a dad and also because I too am deeply avoidant of issues I don’t want to deal with.

Emperor's Children

mostly wonderful, because they are fabulous and also extremely extra, but they have the most ginourmous fuckwad as a Lord Commander, BUT they have a very good boy as another one, so idk really. Plus the whole betrayal thing and the fucking lodges, but they are purple and fabulous, so, +1?

These are the saddest boys ever in the whole world, and they didn’t deserve what happened to them. I loved them all except for Eidolon and they didn’t deserve anything bad to happen to them ever bc they were precious and I loved them. Also Fabius because he was bugnuts and he hurt my boys.

Jesus, I’m so fucking over them all

Honestly I’m so tired

Iron Warriors

I totally confused them with the Iron Hands. Idk even, boring? But Perturabo (while he has a fucking terrible name) also hates Horus so +15

I still know nothing about them, but I think they are buttholes because of the whole Isstvan V thing. Dick move guys, dick move.

I literally can’t. Like, their entire shtick is besieging and being besieged, and then being pissy bc it is what they are good at???? Like, they are literally traitoring bc their dad got a hair up his ass bc he wasn’t a good independent thinker and didn’t think he was allowed to build castles or whatever? Idk they are exhausting except for the ones that aren’t

I still don’t really get them at all except like 99% of them who aren’t named Barabas Dantioch are asshats and are not independent thinkers who are literally still traitoring for reasons unknown except to stick it to the emperor like?? Get an actual culture??? Just literally stop???

White Scars

I dunno, haven’t met them, but since no one else talks about them, I’m gonna guess, boring?

I dunno but they are worried about them hooking up with the Rout so I guess they are cool?

Oh bless your tiny little souls. They are so sweet, and so, so dumb. But sweet.

They are very, very good boys. They don’t have a ton of range per say but their simplicity is sort of the point I think. They are what space marines are supposed to be, and I love them for that

Space Wolves

ehm, oh, I’m sorry, The Rout. Whateverthefuck, they’re boring, over-the-top fuckheads who are giant fucking hypocrites who suck and probably don’t ever shower. Honestly, they rival the Emperor’s Children in extraness, and not in the loveable way. Fucking awful, 0/10.

Okay, honestly, not as awful as some. I mean, hella extra and I hate what they did at Prospero, but in a world full of awful things, we gotta pick and choose.

They are just so, so...Space Wolfy. Bless them they try, and some of them legit crack me up. I’m just not about their aesthetic, you know?

Much like the other fuckups amongst the Loyalists, they are a blunt instrument used for a specific purpose and do better with like...direct instruction. I’m saying they are not the kind to do well with metaphor and also a lack of like, a dad. They need TE:BBA is what I’m saying.

Imperial Fists

Literally only met them briefly, but they seem a good sort. I like their Primarch? -3 tho cause damn that color scheme.

Still good boys.

Omg I love you all, you precious little bbs. They are just so calm and stoic and honestly even though yellow is a hideous color they are literally like Templars and that is fantastic?????

Listen, the amount of love that I have in my heart for these precious, perfect boys is rivaled only by my love for Rogal Dorn, who might possibly be, and I don’t wanna sound dramatic here, be the love of my life but anyway.

Night Lords

idk but their name sounds sick.

Right, these guys are also dicks. I hate them on principle.

Every time I think of them all I can think of is that one video of the goths dancing under the bridge. They are so. Fucking. Extra. Christ alive, get a hobby that isn’t fucking skinning people.

Yeah idk they still mostly suck and to be perfectly honest I’m still not entirely sure what their point was, even pre-heresy? Like what role did psychopaths play in TE:BBA’s plan for a glorious human empire, someone explain

Blood Angels

I dunno cause I’ve only ever met their First Captain (who was consorting with fuckheads) but Sanguinius is literally Top Tier Fabulous, like Prince Extra, so I hope they don’t let me down

I’m still holding out hope. Don’t let me down boys.

OH. MY. GOD. Honestly, kill me, I love them so, so, so, so, so much, it’s a lot. And I suspect something terrible will happen with them but I don’t care because they are perfect. All of them. Wonderful, perfect, lovely, caring boys who love their dad and I love them. Sweet, loving, precious little bbs who occasionally suffer from tragic vampiric tendencies but I don’t love them any less. They better stay perfect forever. If I could, I would be like Sangy and just take them all everywhere with me so that they could always be safe <3 On a less gushy note, I think one of the most important aspects of the Blood Angels (and of their primarch) is that while they acknowledge their differences from unmodified humans, they also love humanity, deeply. They see them as worth fighting for and protecting, and acknowledge that their abilities allow them to create a universe that is safe for the common man to live in. There is a sort of profound love and tenderness that they have for humanity, and I think it really does make a difference in their legion. (That scene is Master of Mankind with the Blood Angel and the Custodian really highlights what I’m saying here.)

Listen, this may sound dramatic, and I don’t wanna like, go over the top, but I would literally die for them, which would seem counterproductive since that is what they do for humanity but the amount of love of I have for this entire legion and one Angel is too big to contain in my heart okay

Iron Hands

I don’t know them well yet, but they seem like good boys overall. I’m sure one of them is bound to be a crazy fucker tho.

They are good boys. I don’t know them very well, but my favorite moment is when Ferrus had to thank Lorgar for his help so he made him a crozius and then threw it at him because he didn’t want to have to talk awkwardly.

Poor sad bbs

No, but really, poor sad bbs

World Eaters

literally terrible people, but I guess when your Dad is bugnuts….

Definitely should have been put down. As in to death. They should have been killed. Probably.

Still fucking crazy. But I love Kharn, and honestly Lotara (who I know isn’t technically a World Eater but close enough.)

No but they probably should have all been just euthanized? I mean not Kharn bc I love him but also like--they are not viable. Long term? Tbh still not entirely sure what TE:BBA’s plan was here with them and Angron (I’m gonna assume something along the lines of ignore it and hope it goes away, since that is mostly his plan for everything)

Ultramarines

probably enormous squares, but tbh in a galaxy with World Eaters and the Rout, we could do with some squares.

Honestly, I have no issues with them. They do their duty, they are loyal. I hope to love them though. They actually believe in colors.

HOLY FUCK DO I LOVE THEM. ALL 200,000 OF THEM. (Which is probably what Roboute thinks tbh.) Like, I literally haven’t met a single one that I don’t adore and love with my whole soul and entire being. They are precious, soft, beautiful bbs who I adore with my whole heart. And who will make great leaders of the world someday I’m so proud. On a less gushy note, much like the Blood Angels, the Ultramarines really have a sort of profound feeling of protection and duty towards humans. They may not always like dealing with them, but Roboute is of the firm belief that they must understand what they are truly fighting for. Saving humanity is not enough, you have to fight for the humans who live there. (See, the one short story where they find a baby and I died.)

No but what you don’t quite get is that I literally love them. Every single individual solitary one of them, and while some may say “But Djem such a thing is impossible you haven’t met every Ultramarine” I need you to understand that the depth of my love for them and their Primarch is such that I know, in my bones, that I don’t need to meet them all to love them okay bc I already do.

Death Guard

Okay, so honestly I wanted to hate them (because BETRAYAL) but tbh its only the First and Second Captains who suck a lot and idk really the rest are sort of tragically precious??

Seriously, what is Mortarion’s issue?

No, seriously, what the fuck is their problem? Get the fuck over it.

Okay, I do feel bad. For Mortarian. Of all the traitors, him I understand the most. However, that being said, while I can understand his issues, I feel like giving yourself over to demons, turning into actual demons, and also turning on and killing your brothers who refused to become said demons makes you terrible awful people who really need to like, die.

Thousand Sons

okay, I fucking love these lame Warrior Monk Priest Wizards who live in a literal glass city with restaurants and teach random people Tai Chi in the park or whatever. Overall 10/10

I am v. worried that they are going to do something dumb like join the rebellion in order to affect change from the inside and then like, adopt demons or something. Pls don’t be dumb boys.

I don’t even fucking--look, I’m just tired okay?

What the fuck Azhek. No seriously, ⅞ is good enough? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Sons of Horus? Luna Wolves? who the fuck knows

my precious sons. You did not deserve what was done to you. This is why we don’t do frats. I believed in you and you failed me. D:

I love my precious sons. The Sons of Horus however, can go die.

I just--why are you the way you are?

I think the best thing about these absolute morons is that half the legion isn’t even demon fuckers, they just woke up one day and Horus told them to kill their brothers and they went “sure okay” and then just did. They are so fucking pretentious and stupid, fucking speartip, honestly die. I take it back. You all deserved exactly what you got, you dumb fucks.

Word Bearers

look, I haven’t met the rest of these dudes yet, but Erebus is a terrible fucking ambassador. -60/10 for not controlling their boy

HOLY LORD. I cannot--there are not actually words to describe how much I loathe these ignorant dumbasses. Like, seriously. Honestly, the ones who were purged were probably lucky, because the rest of them fucking suck.

God, eat a fucking landmine. Except, that would probably turn them on or something. Fucking assholes.

Just--imagine being such a fuckup that even when you were the first to the “become a demon, save the world” thing you still somehow ended up last. I hope the Ultramarines put down every. Single. One.

Salamanders

idk but this name is dumb. Salamanders are cute and slimy, and while Astartes are fucking adorable, they are not slimy. -1 for the dumb name

They are loyal, which is cool, and they seem like chill bros.

I just, like, they are sweet, but good lord are they simple.

I’m not sure? What they are doing? With their lives? Guys, idk if anyone told you but like, um. There is a war. And I get they’ve had it rough but also the loyalists could use their hope so maybe, idk. Do something? I mean I know there are like, 50 of you left and also you think your dad is dad and I feel you but like-

Raven Guard

idk but I like Ravens and Black, plus their Primarch’s name is Corvus? 11/10 they better not suck.

OMG I love Corvus?? Flies with a giant jetpack and tried to gut Lorgar? Yeah, he’s wonderful. Plus, their Captain seemed cool before he was fucking murdered.

I love them all, bless. They are sweet and simple and kind of stupid, but they make me feel things in my heart, so like, idk, stay precious.

Look, I cried over Branne fucking Nev, I don’t wanna talk about it rn

Alpha Legion

seriously? Lame.

Fuck these guys. What is their deal?

I can’t even really. I really, truly can’t. Nothing has ever satisfied me the way I was satisfied when Alpharius literally lost his head. God, that was beautiful.

Or Omegon? It was actually Omegon? I don’t even know anymore man

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simpforsolas · 3 years

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A Solas Apologist Post

I’m going to start off and say that I obviously think Solas’s plan to tear down the veil which will result in the destruction of the world is wrong. Mass genocide of the entire world is a no-no. That being said... let’s analyze why Solas is the best villain of all time.

Morally gray villains whose goals are perhaps understandable and noble, but who go about it in an awful way and without regard to the consequences, are somewhat popular. But I’ve never seen a character done as well as Solas, and I’m going to break down why.

Remember Thanos? Yeah, Solas is what Thanos was TRYING to be. Like Solas, Thanos had a goal that could perhaps be understandable. He’d seen the destruction that can be caused by overpopulation and lack of resources, and took it upon himself to make a decision that would result in mass death but would bring a brighter future. The FUNDAMENTAL DIFFERENCE between the two though, and the reason why Solas works and Thanos doesn’t, is that Solas feels compassion and love. Thanos, on the other hand, loves no one. So when Thanos is supposedly making this huge sacrifice for the betterment of the world... literally WHY does he care if the world burns? He loves no one. Why does he care if people run out of resources and die? He’s never shown to express love or compassion in a normal healthy way, so it doesn’t work.

Solas, on the other hand, DOES care. He opposes slavery and any kind of affront on freedom. He opposes taking away people’s freedom to think or choose how they want to live. He believes in appreciating all living things, including things that are “different” who most people fear and don’t consider to be alive, such as spirits. When in the Hinterlands, Solas frequently approves of kind actions taken to help survivors in the aftermath of the Mage-Templar fighting, and comments how it saddens him to see people suffering. When I played the first time, I honestly thought Solas was the most empathetic person on the team—well, besides Cole, but he’s literally a spirit of compassion. Throughout the game, Solas shows himself capable of human connection and emotion. Even when he reveals himself as Fen’Harel and gives his whole speech, he shows regret with what he’s going to do.

Now you may be thinking, that’s all fine and good! But it doesn’t follow that just because he’s capable of love means he’s justified in destroying the world. To you I say, fair point. I don’t think he’s justified. But I do think he’s coming from a place of compassion and love.

Now, I’m rusty on my lore, but I know Fen’Harel was responsible for the veil being put up in the first place. He then woke up a year before the events of Inquisition. Can you imagine what that must have been like? He wakes up in a world where the veil has caused SO many problems. Spirits become demons and are killed. People fear spirits and magic. Mages are either demonized and locked up, or have too much power and use it for evil. There’s the Qun who control even the way people think, and constant wars—most traceable to people’s fear of magic, which became a problem because of the veil. Then there are the people at the bottom, innocent people who are just trying to survive but who live in a world designed to trample them. Perhaps worst of all to him, the elves have lost their glory. They’re either slaves, live in slums, or are like children playing pretend in the forests. Either way, elves are viewed as less by nearly everyone. The world was a disaster when he woke up. No one is happy.

So I think Solas not only wants to restore the glory of the old elves, but he wants to have a second chance to create a new world. He wants a world without oppression of mages, elves, or spirits, he wants a world where magic is beautiful and natural, not seen as evil. He wants a place where people can be free, and hopefully where people can prosper. And while he does care for the comfort of the people living now, he thinks that if we just tear down the veil and restore things to how they were before, the world will be better and there won’t be as much suffering. I think he personally feels responsible for the state of the world and wants to undo it. In his mind, the sacrifice is warranted. But unlike Thanos, Solas’s reasoning comes undoubtedly from a place of true compassion, along with the guilt that he has helped make the world become what it is today. He shows in his interactions with people that he cares for the unloved and downtrodden that no one else cares about. He’s not just some emotionless villain who seeks his own glory at the cost of everything else. He cares for people’s safety. He wants a better world, and he would be happy to sacrifice himself and be forever forgotten if that’s what was needed to achieve his goal.

And that is why Solas is such an amazing villain. Because even though I 100% disagree with his methods, I know why he wants to do what he wants to do, and I know that his reasoning for doing it comes because he truly cares about the world. He doesn’t have malice for anyone, doesn’t discriminate against any race, and doesn’t glory in evil or violence. In fact, his values are basically the same as mine. He believes in equality, kindness, and freedom, and in allowing people to live however they like as long as they don’t hurt anyone. He honestly doesn’t even FEEL evil. He’s a good person with noble goals, whose strange perspective guides him to making huge sacrifices for what he believes is the greater good.

Also, I swear to God BioWare, if you make him some evil creeper in the next game instead of allowing him to maintain his same personality I will END YOU (this is not actually a threat, btw, I realize now that it could sound like a threat but I would never harass developers. I just really hope they don’t mess up Solas and if they do I will just be sad and complain to my friends)

#solas #dragon age #dragon age 4 #da4 #DAI #dragon age inquisition #long post #fen’harel #the dread wolf

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a-shakespearean-in-paris · 3 years

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Enchanter Come to Me

When Cullen comes to the Tavern one night, Lydia dances and enchants, hoping he will come to her even if she knows he won’t. She hopes to tell him something, something important, though the night may offer more than she initially thought.

Cullen x Lydia Trevelyan, about 4,000 words. Smut. NSFW. There is some serious lemonade making in this. The piece also talks about his past in Kirkwall, with some first times, oral sex, and sexually confident, lightly dominant Cullen. (With more in the next chapter.) This is part one of two :)

READ ON A03

He’s here.

The Commander doesn’t often habit the Herald’s Rest, so his presence draws attention from many men and women alike. When Lydia first sees him enter she also sees the rush of soldiers rising from the tables with their mead. So sorry Commander, reporting for duty at once sir, yes sir! Cullen, mildly amused, assures them that they are off duty and it’s alright. He’s off duty himself.

He’s never off-duty, Lydia thinks to herself, but indeed he doesn’t wear his armor or mantle—thank the Maker—but a simple red tunic with breeches. He takes a seat by Captain Rylen, one of the only people who can crack his professional façade and make him laugh. Except, of course, for her. Once. Mildly embroiled with a thing often called jealousy, she watches Cullen laugh at something Rylen says.

Once, he laughed at her ridiculous quips that she always used to offer to Josephine when it came to the visiting Orlesian nobles, and when they played chess not too long ago in the garden, she saw him smiling from the corner of her eye at her concentrated face before eventually giving up and giggling. He was patient with her novice chess skills, and she’s certain he let her win. He may be obstinate, but he is kind. He always used to ask if she’s alright, if she’s holding up. We asked so much of you, he said once. And when never wondered if you were alright. From Haven, he found her in the snow and carried her home.

She knows. He’ll never talk to her again.

She knows that, so she doesn’t bother. So, unbothered, when the band begins to play, she’s nudges Sera next to her for a dance, making sure she’s in his line of sight. To the gentle beat of the drum and lute, their hands linked, they make time to the music. She’s thankful for her choice in outfit, as she wears a blue gathered skirt that dances with her, and as she quickens her pace her sleeves drop from her shoulders and her brown hair falls from it’s bun. She’s painted her lips red as well—a favorite shade of blue-toned red that matches both her vibrant blue eyes and light brown skin. When Sera lets go, tired, she finds herself next to Dorian, and he laughs and they dance together. From one companion to the next—Bull, Krem, Cassandra even with some goading after a noise of disgust—Lydia dances. They clap for her, her people who have given their lives for her cause without truly knowing her, but at least on this night, they know she loves to dance. Indeed, she dances with one after the other learning their names—Bevel, Ophelia, Connor, Falia, all until she’s in the arms of a scout named Jim. He can’t move, he’s blocky and his starstruck attitude prevent the concentration he needs in his footwork, but Lydia laughs it off and promises he’s doing well.

“Your ladyship,” he says, far too excited as Lydia is forced to take the lead, “your hair smells like jasmine.”

“My perfume,” she says, the two of them heading into a corner next to the bar. “Oh…please don’t, you’re going to step on my foot…oh I think you should practice more…”

“Pardon. Allow me.”

Jim says it before Lydia can, “oh, Commander, of course,” and wordlessly Lydia take’s Cullen’s hand—his ungloved hand—and he pulls her into his frame just as Maryden begins to sing “Enchanter.” Before she can think this isn’t happening, as she was convinced he wouldn’t speak to her again, she smells the elderflower and oakmoss from his shirt, (a trick his mother taught him to keep clothes fresh, he confided once.) she knows it’s real. It’s him. He has her in his arms.

“I’m afraid I can’t dance,” he says, self-deprecatingly so, and she lets him pull her closer, to where she can feel his beating heart. He’s somewhat right—he’s unsure of his footwork and where he should take them on the floor, but he holds onto her hand, the other on the small of her back, and he keeps his eyes on her, even as the music changes to a softer, melodic lute.

“You’re not bad,” she compliments, a small offering of peace after his own offering. Of course they’ve been pleasant to one another in the War Room or when she comes to his office to discuss the Red Templars, but not since she spoke to him in the garden have they spoken as acquaintances, friends, more.

He thanks her with the slightest of blushes, and they sway together, his heartbeat never truly easing as Maryden sings, enchanter come to me. She apologized in the war room hours after their confrontation, Leliana of all people inspiring her. (“I know you are frustrated. I am too. But…he has been through so much he’d rather forget. Sometimes I think he looks at me and remembers. He cares for his soldiers, and the Inquisition. I believe now is what matters.”) After her apology, he said it was “forgotten,” if not forgiven before he moved on to the Red Templars. He was too business-like after, too cold, and he must have seen how her heart ached.

But she did it all herself. He had such warmth before when he spoke to her. Smiled at her, rare for him, and he wasn’t beyond light teasing when they played chess together. After she confronted him, he erected an icy wall that only cracked after her apology. Even now as they dance, even as his eyes remain fixated on her lips and her eyes, she knows. He doesn’t want to be hurt again.

But why is he dancing with her? Why did he take her into his arms?

The questions ignite a fire, and she can’t take it anymore. “Cullen,” she says, “May we speak elsewhere?”

She plans on speaking outside the tavern, but it’s crowded with soldiers watching a friendly sparring match and she knows she can’t do it there. Before when she confronted him it was in the garden, and she was fully aware that a crowd gathered to watch the Inquisitor’s tongue lashing at the Commander. Inside the hall, she thinks, , but there are people there as well, visiting nobles from Orlais and Ferelden both that she will not let into her world. With no other option, she suggests, “My room?”

There’s apprehension. “is it proper?” he asks, but she assures she wants private, and when Josephine hired only the master masons for Skyhold’s repairs, she asked the Inquisitor’s chamber be just that, a private oasis.

“It’s practically the size of my old quarters that I used to share in the Circle,” Lydia says. “And there’s a fire going. It’ll be warm.”

Still apprehensive, he none the less agrees and follows her up the stairs and into her room. Once inside, she remembers the decanter of sweet wine she swiped from the kitchens with permission from the cook Emmaline (“You need a treat,” she said, one of the few who ever said such thing to her_ and pours both herself and Cullen a glass in a silver goblet. As she heads over and hands him the wine, she decides to crack the unease by way of light jokes, prattling on about actually seeing him out of his armor and mantle. Not only that, but he isn’t working. Surely now griffons will fly across Skyhold. He smirks. “I saw Cole before coming to the Tavern” he says. “He told me he didn’t know the armor came off.”

“Wasn’t sure if I did either.”

He grins. “Well. As you can see….”

Certainly, she sees. His burgundy shirt is open at the collar, the briefest bit of golden hair peeking through. The mantle and heavy plates have hidden his physic, she sees. His arms, forearms and shoulders are broad, typical of many Ferelden men she has met. However, it is his bare hands that she is drawn to. She’s so used to his brown gloves that his bare hands seem too intimate. They too are broad, and his fingers long. There are scratches here and there, but they only make them look more lived.

She offers him to sit on the throw rug near the fire, and he does as Lydia readjusts her gathered blue skirt, setting her wine down on the stone floor next to the furred rug. “Cozy,” he comments, and she agrees. She tells him there is always a fire in her room when she comes home, curtesy of too many kind people who take care of her in that way.

But as she talks more of her room, the blue curtains and blue bed sheets, the four poster from the Marches, and the majestic view outside the open window, she realizes she’s stalling. She has to say what she wants to say. He deserves it.

“Cullen,” she begins, thinking of that life, what he has done and what he will continue to do, not before, because he’s given her no reason to think otherwise. “I wanted to tell you again.”

She observes his face. His amber eyes are trailed to her, kind, but they don’t forget.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, words meaningless, but offering them anyway. “When Hawke told me about Kirkwall and the things that happened, I shouldn’t have asked you like I did.”

He sighs. “Inquisitor—”

“I know I already apologized. But things haven’t been the same between us. I thought we were friends. And...” Her cheeks turn hot. “I ruined it didn’t I?”

“No.”

She feels as though he has inched closer to her, his fingers mere centimeters away from hers. “I wanted to tell you. I planned on it—first thing I was going to do when you came back from Crestwood,” he said. “Truly, I wanted to tell you for so long. But I was worried you’d…think less of me.”

She thought about it for a long time after Hawke told her the truth about him in Crestwood, that it took him ten years to see through Meredith, and he thought less of mages during those ten years. But she never saw that when he was with her, when they talked and laugh. She saw a man who worked too hard to keep his men safe, who poured over reports and missives for hours, and who respected her, a mage. He defended her to Roderick in Haven, after he called her mage, infidel. He respected her. Talking with him, she felt her titles strip away until she was only a woman, only Lydia. In turn, he was her Commander, he was Cullen.

The past mattered, but the present mattered the most.

“Inquisitor—”

“Please, call me Lydia,” she says. “You called me Lydia after you found me in the snow and you carried me home, but you haven’t since. Please.”

He looks into her eyes, the fire crackling. So she pleads once more, “forgive me please.” Then, she adds, “I was wrong before in the garden. You’re not a coward. I should have never called you that.”

“But I was once,” he says with a long, defeated sigh. “I couldn’t see. I was blinded by rage. But I should have seen through Meredith sooner, known I was complicit. Lydia…” He looks away from her eyes, toward the fire. “I…I understand if don’t want anything more than friendship, or even if you don’t want that. I shouldn’t have come to the tavern, but I thought…”

“I liked your hands on me Cullen.”

He meets her eyes, though she is the one that inches closer. “Forgive me,” she beseeches again.

She can’t help but notice how he looks at her painted lips. “Forgiven,” he mutters. “But, forgive me. Not for my past. I know you can’t, no one can. But forgive me for not telling you sooner. I was too afraid you wouldn’t…” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t think you would want me.”

That was something that hurt, she realized moments after she called him a coward and saw his face. She did still want, because she knew who he was then. Her commander, Cullen. It took nearly loosing him to find out, and that hurt most of all.

“From now on, tell me everything,” she whispers. “And I’ll do the same.”

“I can’t stop thinking of you.”

She stares, her heart beating quickly. She has a river of thoughts but she cannot speak, and when he mistakes her silence, he rises from the rug, hurt again.

And Maker she doesn’t want him hurt again.

“I should go,” he says. “I’ve taken too much of your time. I—”

“No.”

She rises and grabs his shoulder. He stops. She knows, she tells him. She has known. She senses it every time before when they were together, knew it when he saw his face fall after she called him a coward in the garden. And she keeps her vow, by telling him the same. She can’t stop thinking of him.

“You knew I’d be there tonight,” she says. “You wanted me in your arms. You came for me.”

The enchanter she was, she came to him too.

He nods. Her hand finding his, he pulls it into his. It is her marked hand he holds. She feels as though she should pull away, and yet his amber eyes speak a different tale. He will not harm her, he will not turn away. And then he presses his lips to her palm, against her mark. One, and then another. Desperate kisses, anguished kisses, kisses that say I need you.

They’re in each other’s arms, and fingers twist through his hair, his hands splayed against her back. He kisses with his whole being, pours every ounce of his soul as he captures her bottom lip and she answers in turn. They pull away, but not completely, their foreheads pressed together.

“Don’t go,” she pleads.

“If I stay longer, people will talk.”

“You care about that?”

She feels his smile against her. “No.”

“Then stay.”

“It’s too soon to stay,” he mutters, though she can see that veneer of a blushing gentleman is disappearing with each gentle rock of her hip against his. He’s hard, already.

It’s thrilling.

“Too soon,” he says again. “Lydia…?”

“Why?”

The question flummoxes him. His bare hand caresses her cheek, warm and gentle.

She reminds him of their recent promise.

“I’ve thought of you since I saw you,” he answers, needy, hungrily. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you since I saw you by the rift. But…you’re the Inquisitor. We’re at war, and you haven’t always seen me in the best light.”

“I don’t care. I want us to be together.”

She speaks it with such desperation, but she knows it’s true for him. She can feel his want pressed against her.

“Lydia…”

“We don’t have to. I understand. Maybe it’s too fast or it’s not proper, but—”

Words she means to say fly away. She loses herself in the tangle of arms and lips, and when he says, “fuck what’s proper,” she soars, she dances, she is, and she exists as a nothing but wanted and hungry woman in the arms of her lover until they are standing at the edge of her bed. She’s not the Inquisitor, she’s Cullen’s lover. The word ignites her, lover. Has she thought of herself, what she had needed during this time? Has he? Fuck the world at war. In her room, they can be each other’s.

Indeed, they dance like they did earlier, but with entirely different steps as they touch, kiss, feel as she leads them backwards to her bed. “Fuck what’s proper,” she says, mirroring his words. “Be rough.”

The words alight him, and yet even though he holds her, she can feel a wall between them erecting.

“Are you sure? Now?” he asks.

“Maker, yes,” she replies.

“We don’t have to. We can be slow.”

“We’ve talked as friends, we’ve argued, we’re back again, here. Cullen, Knight-Captain, Commander, when you were in Kirkwall, did you think of what you wanted? Were you selfish?”

He shakes his head. “Be rough,” she says, “be greedy. Tell me what to do and what you want. I have everything to give.”

“Let me give it back.”

Her fingers twist in his shirt. “Do you know what it’s like, to be the Inquisitor? I’m not a woman to these people…I’m not Lydia. I’m a symbol. I don’t want that with you. I want to be wanted, desired, tasted.” She holds him, and whispers in his ear, “I want it from you.”

“I…I’m scarred,” he tells her, as if he’s ashamed. “You’ll see and—"

She holds his face in her hands, kisses his forehead before he can finish. “I don’t care. I want to see.”

“Lydia—”

She unbuttons her shirt, assuring him it’s alright when he asks what she’s doing. It flutters to the floor, and she gulps before she reaches behind her and tugs down at her breast band. With her breasts free, she lets him see. It’s a jagged scar across her chest, pink from where it healed, and barely touching her left breast. He stares with awe, he stares with something else in his eyes.

“A templar.” she says. “When the Circles fell, I tried to go back home. Ironically, I got this when I was trying to go back to the Circle.”

His fingers lightly ghost over the pinkish mark, against the valley between her breasts, but carefully avoiding them, for now. He traces lightly before he places his hands over her bare hips, and he kisses the mark, grazing his lips over her skin. Her hand wraps around his hair, mussing the waves into curls, keeping him there until he rises to kiss her. They fall against the bed, his body pressed flush against hers. He only pauses his ministrations to kick off his boots, and Lydia does the same, tossing off her flat shoes with a dull thud to the floor. She tosses off her skirt, Cullen helping her until the only thing covering her body is her undergarment. He though, is still covered. When her hands reach to remedy that, he helps her.

She wants to see. She rises when his shirt is gone, skimming his hands over his shoulders and the blonde hair on his chest, kissing the reddish burns from fire, the marks from swords, and then finally, the scar across his lip, rough yet smooth underneath her darting tongue. Their lips meet again, and she settles against the pillows, his body acting as her blanket. He mutters words of how sweet her kisses are, how beautiful she is, and then he grows lewder. He never imagined he’d get to feel her, never thought he’d bury himself inside her.

“More,” she urges, enflamed. “Tell me what you want.”

“Put your hands over your head.”

She obeys with ardor, and his hands skim against her arms, lips following where he touched. He nips her chin and then his warm mouth is over her neck, and even in places where she never thought there should be kisses—underneath her arms, underneath her breasts. He kisses again that scar before he palms her breasts, pinches her nipples lightly and makes her cry out.

“Be loud,” he instructs, husky and low, and slipping her undergarments down. “I have everything to give you.”

He does. He peeks from between her thighs as his tongue darts against her inner thighs. He licks her clit once, and then again before using the pad of his thumb. She could never pleasure herself the way he pleasures her—her hands are too delicate, too unlived. His are strong, and she grabs the other as he slips a finger inside, moves in and out until her thighs quake around him. She shudders with the bliss that his tongue brought, and Maker, he laps her arousal, he kisses her with his arousal still on his lips and tongue.

She could spend the night kissing him, and kissing him only, her hands wrapped around his cheeks, the way he poured his whole being into each press. And yet he rocks against her, and she instinctively allows her hand to travel. He gasps when she caresses his clothed cock, allows her to help him take the off his breeches. He’s warm against the juncture of her thigh, straining as he moves against her thigh to abate himself somewhat.

He looks at her in the eye, breathing heavily and pupils blown wide. She nods. She thinks he meant to be slow, but she’s warm and welcoming from the art of his hands and mouth, and she did tell him, rough. He obeys, as he’s inside all at once, filling her to the brim.

She meant not to cry out, and she succeeded, but her face betrayed her.

“Lydia,” he breathes, exasperated, cradling her face head in his hands, “you’re a virgin.”

A man…Cullen is inside her. That alone thrills. “Not anymore,” she assures.

“I should have known. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says with a smile, moved by his concern. “I wanted you.”

“Does it hurt?”

He’s remained inside her during their dialogue, and though it never truly hurt—it was more an adjustment to the feel of him inside, a slight burn at the stretch. She shakes her head, and she gasps as he moves, holding onto his arms, squeezing the sinews. She throws her head against the pillow and he rewards her with reverent kisses against her neck and collar, and then again to her lips, catching her sighs of delight.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks as he moves, grounds her to the bed, centers her world from the Inquisition to only the two of them.

“I didn’t want you gentle.”

“I’d prefer to make love to you, not fuck. There’s a difference.”

She plants her feet against the bed. “Oh. Have you fucked before then?”

He smirks, a silent, now Lydia, truly? And she knows the answer. It doesn’t matter, she absolves, as they belong to the moment.

The moment continues, her Commander wrapped in a bliss she’s never seen from him before. “Wrap your legs around me,” he asks, and when she does, she angles her hips just so, to where his feel is deeper, more intense. He asks her to touch herself, he won’t last much longer, and she obeys, sticking her hand between them and rubbing her clit before he decides he’d rather his hand there. He stimulates inside and outside, an intoxicating duet, and her second orgasm comes again with fervor and heat, a rush. She falls when he pulls out, mourns the loss of his cock, but the feelings are brief. His earlier action inspires her to slap his hand away, bring him his end with her hand. Flushed, illuminated by the fire, hair in disarray, golden, and at her mercy, his moan as like music, and he spills onto her belly. A moment and a lifetime together, both ended too soon.

And yet she feels deliciously satisfied, and wanted. Loved.

Her heart still races as his hand rummages through the bedside table, finding a cloth. He lays by her side to clean his spent, and she can’t help but blush—though she obviously knows why he pulled out, she never thought of a man’s seed on her skin before. Romance novels often didn’t touch on that, or the sweat, or the moments between when they re-adjusted positions and spoke. Lydia finds she prefers it their way to the novels.

Eventually, their eyes find each other, and his smile is radiant. He leans by her side and that kiss is the sweetest.

“Don’t you dare talk of going now,” she says to him. “Stay.”

Enchanted, spellbound, he says he will. And she asks again, because she finds she must, do you forgive me?

“You ask me after I’ve been inside you?” he asks, holding back a chuckle. “Lydia, dear. Yes.”

She tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and she tells him that the man she is with now, she likes what she sees in more ways than one. He boyishly admits he’s glad of it, also in more ways than one.

“Golden lion,” she mutters. “Beautiful, radiant man.”

“Lion?” he repeats, amused. “Maker…”

She doesn’t ask if that makes her a lioness. Rather, she calls herself an enchanter, and she casts a spell on him, so the night can stretch longer than the hours it usually lasts.

“It’s not over yet,” he tells her.

“No. But I want you to sleep. I have you now not working, so please sleep while you’re here with me. You deserve it. Darling.”

Darling. She likes calling him that, and indeed he has the softest of smiles on his lips as she wraps a blanket around them, kissing his forehead after. Truly, it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep, and he falls asleep. When he’s asleep, she promises him what she’ll promise come morning: she’ll never hurt him again.

She knows, without a doubt, that the same is true for him.

A/N thanks for reading! If you are familiar with my long fic in Waking Dreams things operate differently there, but I was inspired to explore a different way to write their coming together. thank you for reading!

#Cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x trevelyan #cullen fic #lemons #SMUT #smuttty smut smut smut #will put on a03 tomorrow #also Lydia is in my profile and mobile sidebar #:)#lemonade

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fancytrinkets · 3 years

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Brandy in the Library (Trevelyan/Dorian)

Note: Flirting and friendship features heavily here. Content warning for excessive alcohol use. And if you’ve read it before it’s because I’m repurposing pieces of my recent fic for 30 Days of Dorian. As a courtesy for potential readers, this is probably one to avoid if you don’t want to read about a mage Inquisitor who didn’t support the mage rebellion.

On his way to see Leliana, Trevelyan passes through the library — though it's not much of one yet, stocked only with a handful of books scavenged from Haven. A team of scouts went back three days ago to sift through the rubble. They returned with whatever they could salvage.

Dorian's sitting at one of the library tables, paging through a half-scorched book. He looks up as Trevelyan approaches, and smiles in a way that makes Trevelyan's heart beat faster.

"I see you've found this place," Trevelyan says. "Have you been to the other library?"

"There's another library? Does that one have more than eight books in it?"

"In fact it does. If you're free in two hours, I have a break between meetings when I can show you."

"I have a better idea," Dorian says. "Let's make it later this evening. I hear the tavern's expecting its first shipment of supplies. I'll nick a bottle of something good. You can have a drink with me in this secret library of yours."

That same evening, he finds Dorian waiting for him in the upstairs library with a bottle of Antivan brandy in hand.

The man looks even more attractive than usual, if that's possible. He's clearly taken extra care with his hair and clothing. He's chosen robes with an uneven cut, alluringly designed to reveal the contours of his chest and shoulders. Trevelyan has to force his imagination away from its preferred course — conjuring up vivid imagery of Dorian taking off those robes and climbing into bed with him.

Instead he focuses on the brandy.

"Always a good choice. Shall we get started?"

"Lead the way," Dorian says.

Trevelyan endures a pleasant case of nerves as he takes the stairs to the cellars and unlocks the lower library. He's been looking forward to this all afternoon, and now that the moment is here, he hopes Dorian won't find fault with his choice of venue.

His worries disappear as soon as the door shuts behind them.

"Very interesting," Dorian says. "A mage's library."

He pauses at a shelf near the entryway to have a look at the spines of the nearest books.

"Old, but not ancient," he says. "I wonder who was living here several hundred years ago."

Trevelyan doesn't have answers. While Solas seems familiar with Skyhold, he doesn't speak as freely and generously about it as he does when he's asked about the Fade.

"Hard to believe we found this site just when we needed it most," Trevelyan says.

"Or you were, in fact, chosen by Andraste." Dorian doesn't sound like he's joking.

"I can't rule it out," Trevelyan says. "But I'm not claiming it either."

"Fair enough. Here."

Dorian pours for both of them and hands Trevelyan a glass. The first sip warms his throat delightfully. He takes a seat and Dorian pulls up the other chair, moving it closer to Trevelyan before he sits down.

"Here we are in a southern mage's library," Dorian says. "I think you should tell me what it's like to be a southern mage."

"What would you like to know?"

"About you? Probably everything," Dorian says. "But start with what it was like to learn magic at your Circle."

Trevelyan shares a few stories from his younger days at Ostwick — of learning magic along with his peers, and being cautioned all the time about its dangers. In contrast, Dorian offers some details about his own elite, but tempestuous magical education in Tevinter. The differences in their training are vast, and yet the more they talk, the more Trevelyan appreciates the similarities in how they both turned out.

Openly and without shame, Dorian loves being a mage. It's obvious just from watching him. He loves the way it feels to use magic — and he's exceptionally good at it. Trevelyan knows that feeling also. Not the total lack of shame, of course. But in the months since he's left the Circle, he's grown to love his own magic in a way he never truly did before. The chance to use it fully for a good cause, to push himself to the limits of his capacity, and to see, for the first time in his thirty-five years, what a powerful mage he is — it's an unparalleled experience.

One that Dorian understands.

Trevelyan reaches for the bottle and pours them both another drink. He can feel the warmth in his belly, relaxing him.

Dorian smells good, he thinks. He'd like to hold this man close — press him against the bookshelves and kiss him, perhaps — all the while breathing in deeply to appreciate his scent up close. Trevelyan is far from anything he'd find so embarrassing as being fully aroused by nothing more than conversation and fantasy — he's not a teenager, for Maker's sake. But he is aware of the early stages of that particular reaction, and his close-fitting robes don't help him. He shifts in his chair for better comfort and discretion, and tries to stop the flood of mental imagery from pouring in.

Soon enough, he and Dorian are falling back into the friendly give and take of a conversation in which they don't quite agree.

The topic is templars — more specifically, the need for the power of mages to be held in check by a group of trained professionals with the ability to suppress magic when needed. Trevelyan finds it essential, given Tevinter as the cautionary tale. Dorian finds the south to be an example of a system both poorly designed and horrifically implemented — "hence the mage rebellion, yes?"

"Well, obviously the Circles here need to change drastically," Trevelyan says.

"And yet you were loyal to yours," Dorian points out.

"It's complicated."

"How so?"

Their exchange continues over drinks refreshed a third and fourth time.

Trevelyan replies with some details about Ostwick, but witholds others. He explains it as more lenient than most, without dragging his family into it. He may be keeping things back, but it's mostly because he wants to stay on topic. He likes these conversations.

He's being pushed, yes. But in the process, he's clarifying his thoughts — revising and rethinking them. Sometimes he agrees that he's wrong, or concedes that he's too accustomed to one way of thinking to change it immediately. And Dorian takes as well he gives. He's got a certain arrogance about him, sure, but when they start talking this way, he often yields a point and backs off without rancor when he knows he's mistaken.

It's refreshing and interesting to speak so candidly.

"Alright," Dorian says after the fifth drink has been poured. "If your Circle wasn't abusive towards you, then what about your peers who voted to rebel. What did they want?"

By now Trevelyan's thoughts are feeling nicely fuzzy.

"I don't know," he says. "More from their lives? The chance to move freely, live where they choose, visit families, get married, have children, that sort of thing."

"And that didn't matter to you?"

"I agreed with them. We all deserve those chances if we want them."

"But?" Dorian asks.

"Complacency? I'd begun to accept my life for what it was. A limited one."

Dorian shakes his head, disbelieving. "You don't strike me as complacent at all."

"Oh?" Trevelyan asks. "How do I strike you?"

Dorian smiles, but doesn't answer. At least not at first. He finishes the last of his drink, holds the glass forward, and then watches as Trevelyan pours him another.

"You strike me," he says. "A lot of ways."

"Good ways, I hope."

Dorian tilts his drink until it shines with reflected candlelight. He studies it a moment, then looks at Trevelyan.

"You're not as well-read as some, but more clever than most. Good-natured, though I suspect you have a temper under there somewhere, and that's intriguing," he says.

"Also, you seem to genuinely care about everyone. Including the people you don't like — which I can't even fathom. What sort of forbidden magic granted you that ability? Please tell me so I can avoid it — it looks exhausting!"

Trevelyan laughs. "And here I was expecting insults about southern mages with our backwards ideas."

"Yes, I was getting to that part."

Drinking and laughing with Dorian is a wonderful way to spend the evening. As the haze of intoxication sets in, Trevelyan finds he's happiest to talk about the battles they've won while fighting together.

"Do you know," Dorian says, "how thoroughly I underestimated you when first we met? I thought I'd have to look after you at Redcliffe castle — get you through the ordeal with my superior knowledge and abilities."

"Hah! How altruistic of you."

"Not at all. You were very nice to look at — I considered it a pleasant burden."

"Wow, that's– I'm speechless." Trevelyan can hear the drunken slurring of his words. It only makes him giggle.

Dorian's still lost in the story.

"When you took down that first guard with one hit, I thought, alright, perhaps this one can handle himself. And that was before we stumbled into the large hall full of Venatori."

"Ugh, there were nine of them, I remember."

"Yes, and I didn't like our chances," Dorian says. "But then you said, 'You take those three, I've got the rest,' and I started to think that between the two of us, maybe I wasn't the unbearably arrogant one, after all."

"No, hold on," Trevelyan says. "Did I not get all six of them?"

He knows he did. And he's sure it doesn't count as arrogance if you're actually capable of doing the thing you claim you can. But he thinks he might have that backwards. Thoughts are increasingly difficult to keep hold of.

"You did get all six!" Dorian says, sounding delighted. "I was very impressed."

"Glad I wasn't too much of a burden for you."

"I'm honestly surprised you trusted me. I doubt I would have."

"I didn't," Trevelyan admits. "I was expecting a double cross. But I was desperate enough to risk it."

Dorian grins at him and raises his empty glass.

"Here's to desperation!"

"To being wildly desperate for things," Trevelyan says, and clinks their glasses together.

Dorian tries to drink, only to find nothing left of alcohol.

"Fuck, I'm drunk," he says.

"I'm the same. And I should go to sleep," Trevelyan says. "I have meetings in the morning."

And so the evening ends with friendly words of goodnight and a hazy walk upstairs to his quarters.

When Trevelyan wakes in the morning, the sunlight is painful and a headache sets in. On his way to the kitchens to grab a late breakfast, he runs into Dorian doing the same. He looks perfectly groomed, as always, but Trevelyan can see the exhaustion in his eyes.

"Didn't sleep well?"

"No," Dorian says. "And you?"

"Terribly," Trevelyan admits. "But that was fun. We should do it again some time."

"Find a strange old room that frightens other people and go there to get drunk off stolen brandy?"

"Exactly," Trevelyan says.

The hangover is worth it for the way Dorian smiles at him.

#30daysofdorian #dragon age inquisition fanfic #dorian x inquisitor

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

You Can Take Off All My Clothes And Never See Me Naked PT. 3

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 4,400 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Assault

Author’s Note: This part does contain mentions of sexual and physical assault, so if that’s a trigger for you, please be advised. -Thorne

***Set One Year After Part Two***

The usual grouping of Templars gathered in the backroom of The Ethereal Crew Tavern, that grouping being Haytham, Shay, Gist, (Y/N) and a few others she didn’t care to name. Most of them had arrived on their own, but she and Haytham had taken the liberty of getting a carriage together. Rather scandalous given that neither were married nor courting the other, but personally, she could care less about social etiquette governed by the elite who had their heads shoved up their asses.

She kept herself guarded, one leg crossed over the other, her fingers curled around the handle of the dagger in her jacket. Haytham probably knew, but he’d yet to let her know, absentmindedly flipping through the pages of his journal. It drove her up the wall how he seemed to place enough trust in (Y/N) to actually sit in a carriage with her, alone—she hated the feeling. Hated that he cared enough. Sometimes she’d wished she’d never accepted his offer to join the Templars. It was too late for regrets though as through a flurry of group missions and her own personal ones, she’d managed to climb the ladder of success within the Templars, coming to rest just below Lee. No doubt (Y/N) had certainly upset the chain of command, especially with pushing half the men of the group from their positions to claim them as her own, and as much as she hated it, she had to acknowledge that it gave her a sick sense of pride to take them down a few pegs—fragility of male pride, she decided.

“Is something on your mind, (Y/N)?”

She looked up from her boot laces and to him, though he’d yet to take his eyes off the pages. “Nothing that would make you happy, Grandmaster.”

Haytham chuckled and snapped the journal shut before meeting her eyes. “You’re more than welcome to call me Haytham when we’re not with the rest of the Order.”

(Y/N) cocked an eyebrow and deadpanned, “Honestly, I’d rather stab myself in the thigh…twice…with a dull knife…but that’s just my personal opinion.”

He let out a snort and stowed the notebook in his jacket before regarding her. “Why are you so adamant to keep people from being friendly with you?”

“Why are you so nosey about my adamancy?” she retorted.

“I’m simply curious.” His steel eyes narrowed. “Is that so wrong?”

“Unhealthy, would be the better word.” (Y/N) shot back, but on a rare whim, she revealed, “I don’t trust you.”

Haytham evidently hadn’t expected that because his eyes widened ever so slightly. “Truly? Even though we’ve served together for a full year?”

She huffed and turned her gaze to the window. “Don’t take it personally, sir, I don’t trust anyone.”

“Then what do you trust in?” he inquired.

“Myself.” (Y/N) murmured with a deep breath.

“And when you can’t trust in that?”

She eyed him from the corners of her eyes. “Psychological warfare isn’t going to work on me, sir. Been there, done that. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Haytham smirked and she instantly cursed herself at her carelessness. “So that’s your reason. You won’t allow yourself to be taken advantage of again by someone.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but glower at him and if looks could kill, he’d have been dead and buried. “You smug bastard.” He barked a laugh but didn’t respond, and the carriage began to slow.

They climbed out, her first, still fuming, Haytham following in suit. She opened the door and walked inside, leaving him, but he wasn’t upset, far from it. By the time he got to the backroom, (Y/N) had already poured drinks and taken her seat between his and Shay’s, a glare still in her eye.

They stood at his entry and when he sat, they did as well. “Thank you for readying the drinks, (Y/N).” he acknowledged, and her grunt of acceptance served as a reply. He looked to the others. “We’ve started with more practical pursuits of taking over the colonies.” Haytham gestured to Shay. “With Shay helping to claim New York, we’ve control over two major cities and ports of the Americas.”

Shay tipped his head and took a sip of his beer.

Haytham looked to (Y/N). “You’ve also been helpful to help claim the city too, taking out public menaces during the nights. It’s kept the people safe.” She looked in the other direction, feeling the warmth rise on her cheeks at the praise. “But I’d like to do more.” He waved a hand and Charles unraveled a map along the table and everyone leaned forward in their seats to gain a look. “We’ve most of the New England and Middle Colony territories, but I want to focus our attention to the South. Gaining leverage would give us control of the colonies and we can turn them any way we wish.”

Shay raised a hand and the Grandmaster nodded at him. “Ports in North and South Carolina and Georgia could be decent routes to start with. If at least to get us a feeling of the locations.”

Haytham tipped his head in agreement, then looked to (Y/N) who was busy dragging her eyes up and down the map. “Have you any ideas, (Y/N)?”

She hummed. “I’d start with negotiations with Native tribes or go to Florida and start there.”

Before anyone could ask, Charles snorted. “Why go to the natives for help? Do you doubt that we can’t do it ourselves?” His voice was haughty, full of arrogance, and it pissed her off.

(Y/N) met his gaze and he audibly swallowed from the sheer anger in it. “Perhaps because they’re the ones who could help us further our goals farther than we could on our own considering the fact that they’ve lived in the Americas long before colonial intervention? Perhaps because this is their land we’re talking about controlling? Perhaps because colonists like you have your head shoved so far up your ass that asking for help from actual natives of the land is considered insane? Perhaps because you’re a stupid son of a bitch who thinks that that colonials are somehow placed high above natives because we’re ‘civilized’ solely based on the fact that we live in brick houses and speak the King’s English—which by the way isn’t even a universal language because more countries speak a multitude of other languages besides English—Spanish and French being two examples.” She leaned forward. “Have I got the point across or should I keep offering rhetoric about how idiotic your complaints are until it goes through your thick skull?”

Charles face had turned at least six shades of red, each darker than the last and he fumbled for an answer but all he could sputter was nonsense. (Y/N) glanced at Shay beside her who’d long since put his face in his arms to keep from laughing hysterically. Only the shake of his shoulders told her, and she looked to Haytham. “Start negotiations for help with the Cherokee and the Creek or go to Saint Augustine and work up. That’s where I’d start.”

Haytham merely wore a smile as he nodded. “Shay would you mind traveling down to Saint Augustine within the month?” The Irishman didn’t even raise his head, simply waving a hand in response. “Well then, we’ll start with finding someone who speaks the Cherokee and Cree—”

His words were cut off by the door slamming into the wall, and immediately everyone grabbed either a gun or a sword to defend themselves with when they caught sight of a disheveled woman.

(Y/N) let go of her dagger and stood from her seat, ignoring how it toppled over behind her. “Priscilla?” The woman ran over to her and upon closer inspection, she took in the sight of the torn dress and the blood and bruises along her skin. A breath of shock left her. “What happened to you?”

Priscilla practically burst into tears and as if her strength suddenly failed, her knees gave out beneath her. (Y/N) caught her before she hit the ground. “(Y/N)!” she cried.

The Templar yanked her gloves off and gently cradled the woman’s face in her hands. Bruises littered her amber skin, and (Y/N) saw handprints around her throat and arms. Anger welled inside her and she didn’t need to lift the woman’s dress to know what had happened. She opted for, “Who did this to you?”

The woman sobbed and shook her head. “He’ll kill me.”

(Y/N) removed her jacket and laid it around Priscilla’s shoulders, allowing her some decency in the presence of men. “Priscilla…give me his name.”

“I can’t,” she whimpered, raising a hand to wipe her face. “He told me he’d kill my family.”

She cradled the woman’s face once more. “Where is your family now?”

“At home.”

(Y/N) looked at Shay. “Shay.” Her voice was calm, quiet, and it made his blood run cold. “Just North-East of the gang headquarters in East Village there is a small home that stands on its own. You’ll recognize it by the blue painted door. I need you to go and collect the woman and young boy that live there and bring them back down here.” He didn’t move for a moment and she narrowed her eyes. “Now, Shay.” He rose and motioned for Gist to do the same, and the two of them disappeared from the backroom.

She drew her eyes back to Priscilla. “Go to my room and look in the chest at the foot of my bed.” (Y/N) dipped so she could catch her eyes. “You remember the code?”

“I do,” the woman whispered.

(Y/N) nodded. “In the right corner there’s a little bundle of packages. Find the one labeled Queen Anne’s Lace. Open it and chew a handful up and wash it down with water.” She helped the woman to her feet. “I’ll tell Anita to draw a bath for you when I leave.”

“Where are you—”

“Give me his name, Priscilla.”

The woman met (Y/N)’s gaze and her voice booked no room for any arguments this time. “It’s…it’s Lord Josiah.”

“The one you’ve been providing maid services to for the last few weeks?”

Priscilla nodded, fresh tears springing to her eyes. “I’ve been trying to avoid his advances but I wasn’t paying attention and he—and he—” she burst into tears once more and (Y/N) raised a hand to her own mouth clenching her jaw so tightly it began to hurt. “I should’ve listened to them!” She cried.

After a moment she took a deep breath and rested her hands on Priscilla’s shoulders. “Go to my room and lock the door. Don’t open it unless it’s me or Anita, do you understand?” She nodded. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.” (Y/N) gently guided her towards the door and out of the backroom. They came across the stairs when a younger woman was coming down the stairs. “Anita, there you are.”

She looked between them but didn’t say anything, an unspoken conversation that she simply nodded to. (Y/N) tipped her head to Priscilla. “Get her a bath ready. Hottest water you can get.” Anita helped Priscilla up the stairs and in an ungodly rage, (Y/N) headed for the doors of the tavern.

***

She sat in the brush just outside the manor of Josiah Galbraith, silently watching the armed Regulars patrol the perimeter. So far, she’d counted two pairs of Redcoats go around, telling her that they were going clockwise and counter to keep anyone out. The first pair appeared from the opposite side and she waited until they got to the next corner to begin a mental timer. A minute and a half later, the second patrol appeared and as they reached the corner, she readied herself when a hand snapped on her shoulder and pulled her back.

(Y/N) swallowed her own scream of fear, opting to spin around and immediately throw a curled fist to whoever had grabbed her. They let out a grunt as her hand collided with their jaw and they yanked her harder, toppling her off balance. She landed on the ground and before she could move again, they had her hands pinned to the ground.

She started to struggle when they hissed, “(Y/N)! It’s me!”

Focusing on their features with only the light of the moon, they soon became clear and she seethed, “Haytham, what the fuck are you doing here?!”

He released her and pointed to the opening at the brush. “Keeping you from getting shot by a guard on the rooftop!”

(Y/N)’s brows furrowed and looked out. Sure enough, a lone guard appeared from the backside of the mansion, a musket in his hands, occasionally looking around. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“If you’re going to get at Josiah, you need to manage to not get shot trying to get in.” Haytham advised. “Let me help you.”

She turned on him. “I don’t need your help. Get out of here.”

“You need my help, (Y/N). Josiah has more training than you realize. You won’t stand a chance against him.”

(Y/N) cocked an eyebrow. “You know this how?”

Haytham let out a sigh, steel eyes watching the patrolling pair pass. “He used to be a Templar before I got here.”

It did little to soothe her rage, but she managed, “He’s not anymore?”

He shook his head. “The Templars of the colonies before I arrived had him removed. There wasn’t any reason I could find.” He met her eyes. “I know this is something you have to do but let me help you.”

(Y/N) stared him down for a minute then nodded, and before he could breathe a sigh of relief, she had a dagger to his neck. “If you do anything to compromise the minute trust, I am placing in you right now, I will slit your throat. Do you understand me?”

Haytham’s response was solemn, but it was trustworthy. “I understand.”

She pulled away. “You help me take him down, but I’m delivering the final blow.”

“Understood as well.”

They sat next to one another in the brush and she quietly explained, “There’s two patrols that go around the manor. When this one hits the opposite corner, it takes a minute and a half for the next couple to show up.”

Haytham nodded, eyeing the guards passing by them then up to the top. “There’s only one up top, but he goes back and forth every thirty seconds.” He looked down the street. “I’ll see about climbing the walls to take him out. When I come over the side, then you can move forward.”

(Y/N) didn’t necessarily like the idea of being told to wait, but he had a point and she nodded. “Hurry then, the next couple will appear in a minute.”

He was off at that, occasionally glancing up at the rooftop to make sure he was undiscovered. She watched as he disappeared around the side and when the lone gunman appeared, so did Haytham. He covered the man’s mouth to prevent any sound, then he fell over the side. When he hit the ground, (Y/N) couldn’t help but wince at whatever bones he’d broken, but he didn’t get up, and that was the important thing.

She sprinted to the door and tried the doorknob, but when it clicked, she grunted and pulled the lockpick from her jacket. Softly she twisted the pick until it stayed, then she jiggled the lock a few times. Almost there. She thought. C’mon, hurry it up. Just a little mo—

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing!”

The sudden shout from behind followed by the bayonet pressed up against her backside made her blood run cold and she sucked in a breath, quickly stowing the lockpick in her sleeve. (Y/N) raised her hands beside her head and slowly turned, coming face to face with the pair of redcoats.

She smiled. “I was trying the door, but it was locked, so I was knocking.”

One of the guards sneered. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”

“And what did it look like?”

“Like you were pickin’ the lock.”

(Y/N) internally winced but kept a smile on her face. “Pfft, I would never break and enter. That’s illegal!” C’mon Haytham, where are you? She wiggled her fingers. “It just looked like I was picking the lock, but I promise I wasn’t.”

“Well if you weren’t pickin’ the lock,” the other guard sneered, “then what are you doing here?”

She met their gazes. “I’m the replacement for Priscilla.”

“For whom?

Her eyes narrowed and she explained, “Priscilla. The woman that you two probably laughed at when she stumbled from the front door with a torn dress, bruised and beaten.” Their faces fell at her words and she saw Haytham sneaking up behind them. “The woman that you’ll die for.” Before they could react to her promise, they went down, Haytham’s hands at the back of their necks.

He stood straight and slung the excess blood from his hands before retracting the blades into his sleeves. He met her gaze and she said, “I don’t know where you and Shay got those, but I want some.”

Haytham chuckled and nodded towards the door. “Break the lock while I hide the bodies in the brush. The second patrol will notice two dead bodies.” (Y/N) didn’t wait to be told twice, immediately spinning on her heel to pick the lock once more. It broke with a click and she pushed it open to slip inside, Haytham behind her.

They stood in the entrance and she whispered, “Do you think there are more guards inside?”

He shook his head. “It’s possible but not likely. He’s probably paying for perimeter check only.”

She hummed. “Unfortunate for him.” He glanced at her. “But very fortunate for us.” (Y/N) nodded to the stairs. “His room is probably upstairs.”

As they made their way to the staircase a door opened and a servant came out, freezing as they spotted the two. Haytham pulled his flintlock out and pointed it at him. “If you want to live, go back inside and stay quiet. You are not our target.”

The servant blinked but turned right around and walked back into the room. (Y/N) couldn’t help but snort. “And you say I’m threatening to people.”

Haytham stowed the pistol and climbed the staircase, keeping close to the wall. “You are. But I only threaten people when I need to get the point across.”

The lock sounded from the door the servant had gone through and she quipped, “I guess he got the point.”

He hummed. “I’ve heard Josiah is a bastard to his staff.” He glanced back at her. “From he did to your friend, that’s proven true. I doubt any of the servants will weep at his passing.”

“Murder.” (Y/N) corrected, passing in front of him as they reached the top. “At his murder.” He said nothing, and with a quick glance down the hall, Haytham’s probability had proven true, there wasn’t a guard in sight.

They crept down the hallway to the door at the end and took either side. She looked at him as she held the doorknob and he pulled out his flintlock and cocked it, nodding at her. (Y/N) took a deep breath and opened the door with as much silence as it would’ve allowed; Haytham went in first, her following and they were shocked to find Josiah waiting for them.

He looked up from the foot of the bed, ignoring Haytham outright to stare at (Y/N). “I knew you were going to come,” he said. “I knew when she threatened me with your name you would.”

“You know nothing of my name.” She hissed.

A chuckle passed his lips. “I know more than you think.” His eyes drifted to Haytham. “You’re the new Grandmaster for the Order, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Haytham responded, flintlock still poised and ready. “You’re lucky you left before I came, else I’d’ve killed you much earlier.”

“I’ve no doubt.” He stood and held out two sabers. He tossed one to (Y/N) who caught it and then he unsheathed the blade and pointed it at her. “A duel, then.”

She took a step forward, ignoring Haytham’s voice of complaint and pulled the sword from its scabbard. “You want to fight me.” Her eyes narrowed, yet she got in a defensive position. “Why?”

Josiah raised his blade like a fencer, one hand behind his back. “Engaging in duels is honorable practice.”

(Y/N) scowled. “There’s nothing you could ever do that would make you honorable again, you sick bastard.”

“And yet, you still engage in a duel.”

“So that I can cut your heart out of your chest!” She leaped forward and swung the sword at him with enough force that he grunted and faltered back. (Y/N) didn’t let up, strike after strike, she sent him, and with each blot of crimson appearing on his pristine white shirt, she knew her blows were landing.

For some odd reason, he didn’t seem to be fighting back and while it was only a minor concern in her mind, it soon became a major one. She made the mistake of leaving herself open when he parried her blade, and she paid the price when his fist collided with her stomach, taking the air with it.

(Y/N) gagged and felt the blade go slack in her grip but it was all the time he needed to yank the sword away and spin her around, one hand coming around to lock at her throat, the other pointing the sword at Haytham, who wore a stern look, but she could see the fear bleeding in his eyes.

Josiah chuckled in her ear and it made her stomach churn. “Anger makes you predictable dear.” She struggled against him, but the hand at her throat tightened, cutting off her air and she gasped. “You think I didn’t know you were outside, learning the guard patterns?” (Y/N) reached for his hand and pulled, trying to gain air. “I let her leave alive because I knew you’d come after me.”

“Why?” she gasped as best she could.

“Why? Because you’ve been a thorn in the elite’s side for years.” He shifted the hand that held the sword and flipped open her jacket, pulling the dagger out. Josiah took a few steps back, taking her with him, and Haytham followed. He put the dagger against her side and hissed in her ear, “You stick your nose where it doesn’t belong and mess up plans left and right. All in the name of vigilantism. And what good has it gotten you? Dead.”

(Y/N) met Haytham’s eyes and she nodded at him. She swallowed and muttered, “You’ll die before I do, you sick fuck.” Her elbow jerked backwards into his gut and he cried out in pain, letting her go. She reached out. “Haytham!”

Her fingertips brushed the barrel of the flintlock, but she closed them around it, pulling the gun to her. She found the handle and spun on Josiah. With how close they were, there was no space to flee and she pulled the trigger, watching as he stumbled backwards to the wall, a circle of crimson blooming larger with each second.

He slid down the wall and chuckled, but it dissolved into a cough. “My death—wins you nothing.” (Y/N) stared at him and grabbed the handle of her dagger, yanking it from where he’d embedded it in her waist. Besides a grunt, she made no sound of pain. “I might die—but my legacy will still—stand.”

She wiped the blood of the dagger and sheathed it, remarking, “No it won’t.” He met her eyes, fuzzy and growing dark. “I’ll run every trace of your name into the fucking ground. When I’m done, there won’t be a soul alive who’ll remember you. And if they do,” (Y/N) knelt down and whispered, “It’ll be because your crimes will outweigh it all.” He sucked in a breath and with a final gurgle, he went still.

She stood and pulled her jacket around her, stealthily pressing onto her wound to keep pressure. “We’re done here.” She handed Haytham his flintlock. “We should leave before the other patrol comes.”

Haytham grabbed her arm. “Are you alright?”

(Y/N) met his gaze. “No.” Pulling from him she made her way to the door. “No, I’m not.”

***

It was well past closing time when they got back to the tavern and (Y/N)’s wound felt like it was on fire, and she herself could barely stand on her own feet. Still, she pushed on, knowing she needed to at least see Priscilla and her family before she took care of it.

Stepping inside, she was greeted by Priscilla’s screech of relief and a bear hug from the woman. “You’re okay!”

(Y/N) weakly patted her arm. “Yeah…I’m good.”

The girl stepped away and looked at her, eyes full of concern. “(Y/N), are you alright? You look ill.”

Haytham appeared by her side and peered at her. “She’s right. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

She shook her head and swallowed the sickness climbing her esophagus. “I’m fine. I’m just tired and need some rest.” She looked at Priscilla. “Since you and your family are here, take a guest room and get some sleep. We’ll talk about moving you tomorrow.”

(Y/N) ignored their concerns as she made way to the stairs and she’d barely climbed two of them when she collapsed. Hands grasped her shoulders and while she wanted to struggle, she couldn’t find the energy to do so.

She vaguely felt them turn her over and she groaned as her back hit the staircase. Shay and Haytham appeared in her vision, their faces contorted with apprehension. Haytham’s lips were moving but nothing was coming out that she could understand, and she felt cool air rise under her shirt, telling her that someone had opened her jacket. Haytham looked down and back at her, eyes wide.

Someone’s hand touched the edge of her tunic and with a renewed burst of energy, she gripped their hand tightly and squeezed with all the strength she had left. “Don’t take—my clothes off.” She hissed.

Haytham’s hand touched her cheek and with a slow intake of breath, her head lolled backwards, consciousness fading from her.

#haytham kenway x reader #haytham kenway x reader imagine #haytham kenway x reader imagines #haytham kenway imagine #haytham kenway imagines #haytham kenway #ac rogue #ac rogue imagine #ac rogue imagines #assassins creed rogue #assassins creed rogue imagine #assassins creed rogue imagines #ac imagines #ac imagine #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #shay cormac #christopher gist

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stragglewort · 3 years

Text

Tales of Barovia - “One-Offs in the Mist“

Picture from WarlordStrahd on World Anvil - copyright Wizards of the Coast

TW: Blood, fighting, burning, kidnapping

_______________________________________________

“A Royal Visit in the Blue-Water Inn” -

This was the result of our DM bringing a certain someone to our tavern room after a rousing day causing trouble in Vallaki. He, of course, left us off on a two-week cliffhanger - naturally I had to fill in the blanks. (Ardolf, in-fact, did not get kidnapped by Strahd at the end of this encounter. Strahd did, in-fact, leave through the window in a puff of mist.)

----------

Ardolf jumped for Irenea. Grabbing her shoulders and drawing her back with whatever sliver of strength he had in him. His hands flickered with a faint light blue – the color of wards – the magic shimmering from his fingertips like thread being pulled from the air. It was pitiful compared to his usual show, but his magic (what little he was practiced with to start) had been drained through the chaos of the day. It left just a light, fading glow that engulfed the woman before the color seeped from both the glimmer on his fingers and the tan of his face. Even in the darkness he had gone noticeably pale.

That was the last of the magic he could conjure on his own; without the intervention of the divines he would need to rely on his shield and the others around him if the Devil decided to pull anything hostile.

"You look ghostly, have you been eating well?" Strahd rose from the seat, taunting them, and the whole party shifted. He strode forward, walking with the confidence of a man who knew none could oppose him.

Honestly? He was right.

He grimaced at the ward, looking down at the woman who glared back with a fiery rage. If the magic held, he could hurt her – sure – but he couldn't charm her, couldn't scare her. Ardolf held solace in that idea since it took the rest of his wavering energy to keep the spell functional.

"Doctor – Physician General – You do care quite so much about these people you've never met." Strahd ran a single sharp nail across the woman's cheek, moving slowly, taking care not to cut her. No one dared to move, but they watched, stunned –

"Don't touch -" Ardolf started, but Zarovich continued.

"…And the paladin, the Templar, here to spread the joy of your god to the dark reaches of a land who doesn't even know its name." Imposing on the Elvish woman he tapped gingerly against her shield, scraping the holy symbol etched in its body. "Lastly? You two." He almost chuckled, facing the thief and warlock. "We're a little more personal, you being here for my head." He stopped again, towering over them while the party tried in vain to stagger away. "Really, doctor. You should've saved your spells for yourself." His hand shot, first what looked to be towards Irenea before it shifted, like a crossbow bolt curved by the wind, and grabbed the doctor by his throat.

Strahd was strong, terribly, horrifyingly strong –

"Tell me, doctor. Could you spare the dying while bleeding out on the floor? Could you mend their wounds with your throat ripped out?" His voice lowered to an icy whisper, his hollow eyes meeting Ardolf’s before he broke out into mischievous, freezing laughter. "Oh, but you can't, can you? You finally rely on your magic and you're all used up – pity."

Ardolf couldn’t tell if he gasped or the others – he tried to speak – but Strahd’s grip tightened. Even if there were still some semblance of magic in the man, he wasn’t going to let him drudge it up.

“Alright!” Strahd hummed, stepping back faster than the party could comprehend to catch him. Ardolf’s feet dragged across the floor in the shift. “You’ve refused everything, and I’ve been very generous, so I will give all of you one last offering out of politeness.” He had a strange idea of politeness, punctuated as he raised the doctor off the ground – lifting him like a ragdoll. If Ardolf didn’t realize he was supposed to be the leverage in some horrible plan, he would’ve feared Strahd would break his neck then and there.

They hesitated, Ardolf hesitated, and Strahd waited for the split second it took them to process his words –

“Stop this, please, stop this.” Irenea cried; her voice shrill but hushed.

“Oh, I will!” Strahd answered, near instantly. “You know exactly how to make me do what you want… you just haven’t done it.”

“Go.” Ardolf struggled the word out before he could feel nails pierce into flesh of his neck. “You –“ He winced. “You know where to go.” Did they? Did they really? The answer was no, but Strahd didn’t need to know that.

He lessened his grip on the man’s throat, just enough to let him speak. “And that would be…?”

“Anywhere but here.“ If they weren’t seeing things, it almost looked like Ardolf had grinned. Though the look cleaned off his face as Strahd scratched further into his neck, drawing blood.

“Is that your decision, truly?” He scanned the room; they’d drawn their weapons, but the majority wouldn’t move with their only healer like puddy in his hands. He turned to face the rogue who had broken from the group to take him by surprise – catching him right before their own desperately calculated attack. “If that’s your decision, then you forfeit my kindness. It’ll be a chase, then?”

“No! We can –“ The Templar started, pushing through the group.

“Yes.” Ardolf interrupted. Strahd grinned, that fanged smile the last thing the party saw before, in seconds, they both disappeared into out the window and into the night faster than was even comprehensible. The room now two monsters less.

Where the Devil planned to take their doctor in this horrible, unwitting game of cat and mouse they had no idea. But the gods knew damn-well they’d scour every inch of Barvoia if it meant getting him back.

_______________________________________________

“Impromptu Rendezvous” or “My Assumed Worst-Case-Scenario” OR “Me Not Knowing Anything about Ravenloft but Writing it Anyway”

This one was from the far start of the campaign - Ardolf had just been found out to be a lycanthrope, we were just starting to learn about what Strahd was and how he worked, and I’d just been told about Ravenloft. Not to mention we’d just saved the Freek and Myrtle from the Old Bonegrinder. Even though we had actually found a place to keep the children safe, our DM still found a way to put them in danger by the ending battle.

---------

There wasn't any place to secure the children, because of this Ardolf and the rest of the party had instead decided against their better judgement and brought them along. They'd been wandering around the borders of Castle Ravenloft for days by that point, daring to stay in one spot lest The Devil catch them intruding. At first Ardolf didn’t mind the idea of facing Zarovich alone - at the worst, he hoped the monster would make the encounter quick. But they had children now - even living in Barovia hadn't corrupted them, and their presence, along with the camaraderie from the others had given the poor doctor a sense of normalcy he hadn't realized he had lost.

He was afraid to lose it again.

It had become routine: move camp, fight the undead that horded around the castle, and do whatever possible to keep the others healthy. It nagged that Strahd could be watching them - it was almost impossible that he hadn't noticed their presence being so close to his home, but Ardolf chose not to focus too sorely on the idea. It's hard, though, when the thing you try to Ignore grabs you by the neck. He'd been bandaging a scratch on one of the children's arms when something, unbeknownst to either Ardolf or the young boy, grappled his neck and trapped him in a hold as tight as an iron trap.

"And here we are...” A sharp, cackling voice whispered. “Blood, like wine, gets better with time - wouldn't you agree, doctor?" The voice hissed into his face, a cackle hinting under the words while they spoke.

All his fears of being caught came to the fold - gods, so many ideas passed his mind over what he could do; functional ones, things that might help you when staked at the neck by a demon. But the child was there, he couldn't risk getting the boy hurt. Strahd's breath, cold, boasted against Ardolf's skin - he was too afraid to move.

It was then that a too-familiar clawing dug in his stomach.

The child had never seen him turn - it was such a silly worry, but he couldn't let his fear put the boy in any more danger than he was now already in. "....Letting that worry, that horror seep into the blood for days; it's really quite a delicacy. You should try it." The monster got closer, if it wasn't for the razors against his neck assuring Ardolf he was still alive, he would've assumed his heart had stopped. It beat too fast for him to process. He knew he had few options that didn't lead to his own instantaneous death, submission or aggression - neither were things he wished Freek to see. Ardolf hesitated, his voice shaking against his breath as he struggled to take in air -

"Please... Freek, look away." Ardolf hushed, pleading.

He wasn’t sure, then, as he let the curse take over if the boy had the time to get away.

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"I Wonder What It’ll be Like... Trying to Kill Strahd”

Something about lycanthropy, something about a silver family crest Ardolf carried around with him as motivation - this one wasn’t my idea, though!

...I just wrote it.

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"It's a shame you came all this way for failure." Strahd's clothes were shred and his armor dented, but as a man he seemed entirely intact. The fight had gone on for hours and the party was nearly torn.

"Get out of here, we can return again at a different time!" Ardolf threw a frantic wave to Lùthien and the party, he yelled, screamed that they retreat. He was trapped in front of the count, trembling, a tremble in his hands he'd mostly repressed, a tremble he couldn't quite get rid of. Strahd could see how much he tried to shadow his fear, how his resolve was mostly shattered. "You're a monster, Zarovich."

"Such harsh words, Doctor. It's almost like you hate me." The vampire hissed.

"Almost -" Ardolf mimicked while he readied himself again; the undeniable possibility of his death was already settled, with that in mind it made no sense to back down.

"You're barely standing - what makes you think you can hit me?" That blasted, freezing laugh bellowed off the stone walls of Ravenloft's hall.

"I managed it before -" He cut his own words off and swung his mace back after the vampire, pushing all his energy to aiming. It had to land, had to hit, just one more would be enough -

"Gods, Ardolf - wait! Watch yourself!" Lùthien, having realized their healer wasn't with the party in their retreat turned and caught the scene just seconds too late. Strahd took advantage of the doctor's careless hope and struck him, forcing him into the ground as he sprawled across the carved brick inlay. He rolled over the tiling and the bag he'd kept so dearly close to his side broke open at the seams. Papers, ink, and fabric fell over the hall - one particular white cloth rattled from the casing and unfolded - revealing a brandished crest. Something not even Lùthien recognized.

"What's... This?" Strahd spoke in a hollow whisper, the fear in the doctor's face when he approached the metal urged him further. A strange sun shaped sigil was molded on it's face - sternly carved common written over and under the polished seal. He took a moment to read the doctor's reaction before he lifted the small decorative piece off the ground. A short look of surprise - of shock - scrawled itself over his face. "Silver, doctor?" He asked before he continued his inspection. "No Man Left Defeated. Take it this is yours?"

Ardolf hesitated, but ultimately refused an answer.

"...Or your family's? You did say something about them. Human affairs, pathetic ones. How long has it been since you last saw them, Greymouth?" Strahd knelt to the doctor's side, came down to his level. Hardly humbly. "Years maybe, time moves slow in my world - slower than out there. They might've forgotten you. You might've even forgotten them?"

"I wouldn't." Ardolf spat out, a sputtered cough cried out against the words.

"Everyone forgets, doctor. Can you see their faces? Have their voices muffled?" The Count's eyes lit up with a bout of sudden realization. "I'm not a monster. Please, let me give you something to remember them by." It wasn't difficult ripping the canvased fabric of Ardolf’s shirt, the count's nails were practicality razors. He exposed his skin and before there was even time to react, forced the brandished symbol into his chest. The sound of a rough, searing hiss rang off the stone walls. It danced scattered with the doctor's screams while the silvered crest burned its image into his flesh.

_______________________________________________

This one’s pretty different compared to my other posts, I know! I haven’t gotten around to writing much of anything new, school-work made working on drafts impossible. But! We just finished our Curse of Strahd campaign (which I used Ardolf as a character in) and I’ve had these saved in the memos of my phone forever. I thought about trying to post all the in-universe journal entries I wrote for Ardolf on here as well, but formatting those into a post might be a little much.

Poor Ardolf, though. I would’ve written the others in the party - but I’ll be honest, I felt really bad writing any of the other player’s characters in these situations. They don’t deserve this kind of treatment; Ardolf just has the misfortune of being mine.

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feathered-serpents · 3 years

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The Official Post About the TMA Dragon Age AU

I talked about this before but have now finally made a long ass post with everyone’s roles + past roles but cleaned up. I love TMA and Dragon Age just That Much (Only the first couple descriptions are Super Long and the rest are under the cut)

(If there’s typos in this I’m sorry this has been in my wips for so long I’m so TIRED OF LOOKING AT IT)

The Tower

All Circles of Magi are governed differently depending on the templars that run them, this circle is known for having some...odd practices. The mages within are largely tasked with the study of the more “forbidden” practices. Especially the Fade and demons. They’ve become known for their expertise in this area, and reports of demonic possessions or any other “dark and forbidden” occurrence is brought to them.

This is done with the Chantry’s consent, with the belief that the understanding of such things is the best method to learning to combat them, but it has given this Circle a bit of a reputation among the rest. It is allowed by the Chantry under the assurance all research is done under Knight Commander Elias’ strict supervision, and all findings are given directly to him.

The tower itself is particularly tall, and has a glassy structure at the top that can be used as a viewpoint. Those passing by it and the few that live near find its gaze unnerving, gaining it the name “The Eye.”

Jon

Jon is an elven man, not unskilled in magic, but not nearly the skill level one would expect of the newly appointed First Enchanter of the circle. There were several mages more senior than him who could’ve easily taken the position after the previous Enchanter’s death, and no one is more aware of this than Jon himself. The obvious doubt coming from his fellow mages has not at all helped to ease the pressure of this sudden change in rank. Nor has the arrival of an apostate, allowed to enter the circle under the approval of Elias, and without any consent from Jon.

Regardless, Jon takes his role as First Enchanter incredibly seriously, trying his hardest to fill a role much to big for him. He has to, he owes Elias so much.

Jon has been in the Circle since he was eight years old, far younger than most find themselves gifted with magic. Jon might have still been able to live outside a Circle for a few more years had it not been for the “incident in his village.” Never has anyone in the Circle heard him speak of it, Jon himself giving no indication that anything of the severity of what happened occurred, but Elias knows.

Any other Circle would have executed him instantly for what he did. Child or not, the whole village saw how he summoned a demon to kill a boy in his village. Sometimes evil is simply bred from birth. But Elias took him in, and has not whispered a word of it.

Martin

A half-elven man, though Martin is an example of the rare scenario in which a half-elf looks more elven than human. His father the elf, and his mother the human, his father walked out on their family when his mother began to show signs of some sort of illness. Martin was too young to remember him, but his abandonment left his mother with a deep bitterness towards Martin and all elves, something he had to quietly live with.

Martin has, unlike most mages, lived the majority of his life outside a Circle. He began to show signs of magic when he was fifteen, and disappeared from normal life because of it. Doing his best to go unnoticed so he could continue to live outside of a Circle and care for his mother. Martin never used his magic openly, even going as far as to conceal it from his mother, but he did use it to assist him in making potions to ease her pain as her illness worsened. To this day, he does not know his true magic talents, if he has any beyond potion brewing at all.

He was only recently turned over to the Circle after ten years of life as an apostate. He doesn’t know how he was discovered, and has had trouble adjusting to life inside a Circle. Where he’s under constant supervision and his First Enchanter determined to hate him for his “dangerous lack of skill.”

Tim

Tim doesn’t seem to take the study of magic nor the practices of the Circle seriously. He constantly toes the line of what’s “allowed” in a circle tower, making him the bane of the Templars and a controversial figure among the mages. Some say his antics are fun, while others say it brings on unneeded- and unwanted- Templar attention.

The reality of it is that Tim is actually a very skilled mage, always surprising people with what he knows, and he hates the Circle to his core. He and his brother both were mages, taken from their home young, and when the time came for their Harrowing, the proving that they are able to master their magic, and will not be a danger, Tim passed, and his brother did not.

Sasha

A talented mage, and many believe, if the Knight Commander was going to chose such a young mage to be the new first enchanter, it should have been her. If Sasha herself is disappointed, she doesn’t show it, what is she going to do about it? No, Sasha would rather focus on keeping herself busy, she’s in a tower after all, it can feel very small very quickly if you don’t have something to do.

She is one of the tower’s most prized researchers, and she is particularly fearless in their studies in demonology, and while he hasn’t made her First Enchanter, Elias has indeed taken quite an interest in her.

Daisy and Basira

Two of the most notorious Templars in the tower. “Daisy” as she is called by her partner, is the Knight Captain, one step below Commander. Elias keeps a frighteningly tight hold on all the Templars below him, but he especially seems to have quite the hold over her. She is feared by the mages, as she is known for dealing the harshest punishments. Her gaze is inescapable, the mages say she stalks the halls of the Tower like some hungry animal, waiting for your single misstep, her excuse to strike.

Basira is often seen with her, and while she isn’t held on as tight a leash nor is she as cruel, she never speaks up against her partner’s actions. Making her no more favorable in the mages’ eyes.

Georgie

A Chantry scholar, with an interest in the study of the occult, anything forbidden caught her eye, this made her a bit of an outcast amongst her fellow sisters. But what did she care? Georgie’s research eventually lead to her briefly gaining the ability to study in the Eye, she being one of the very, very few to willingly seek out and ask for entrance into the tower. She was allowed, but just barely. She was permitted to study in the library under only the strict supervision of the templars as well as assistance from a tower mage. This assistant, came in the form of an Enchanter by the name of Jon.

He did indeed help her with her studies and in the process the two formed a romantic relationship that they were able to carry on in secret for quite some time. They were both smart enough to be very, very careful, and carried the relationship almost exclusively through notes and whispers, it was thrilling for a time, but where could it go? The relationship ended, as one could argue it was always doomed to, and the two have not seen each other since.

Georgie did go on to publish some of her studies in books. Several of her works were banned by the Chantry, but they have earned her a bit of notoriety, and just might have found their way into the tower’s library.

Melanie

An apostate, like most apostates, one that never stays in one place for long. The Chantry IS aware of her, as she tends to leave, at least in their words “a path of destruction” in her wake.

The reality of it isn’t as dire, but she is more than willing to use her magic to defend herself, and that magic might become a bit untamed if she’s angry, and she might be angry often. What? Wouldn’t you be? She’s never known another way to be, never known another way to stay safe. She doesn’t like it. She knows this is all because one woman said one line hundreds of years ago, and people have decided to damn her for it. She didn’t have to live like this. Wouldn’t you be angry?

Elias

Knight Commander of the Eye. All things considered, he is a rather...lenient Commander, selectively at least. He is known for being especially merciful towards apostates, while many Knight Commanders execute adult mages that have thus far lived outside of a circle for their “danger to the tower mages” Commander Elias will take them in, and offer them a place in his tower. It doesn’t exactly matter what goes on IN the tower after that, at least those mages are allowed to live somewhere.

Of course, mages in the tower tend to go missing often, but who outside is going to notice?

He claims that the research he has the mages doing on the Fade and demons is known and approved by the Chantry, but the reality is if the Chantry knew exactly what went on inside this tower, and what was being allowed, his Circle would be annulled in an instant, and Elias is well, well, aware of it. But what’s the worry? So long as he is Knight Commander, the Chantry will never find out, he’s quite proud of his ability to forge reports.

The realities of Elias’ existence are far, far worse than anyone can imagine. Elias is one of the original Tevinter mages that sought to enter the Fade, extending his life through grizzly, hellish blood magic. Thousands of years ago, he and his fellow mages entered the fade to take their place on the throne of the Golden City, but we all know the story, there was no throne, and the city was black.

But what destroyed Elias’ fellow magisters sparked something in him. Oh, there was a city, empty and godless, with a bare throne for the taking. Whoever sits in it, becomes the god of this world and whatever world comes after. This is what the Eye is truly researching, a way back in, a way for Elias to wear the crown of the gods.

#TMA #Dragon Age #The Magnus Archives #I spent way too much time on this for something that only 5 people are going to care about #but that's fine

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aurirising · 4 years

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Potentially unpopular/controversial opinion

The squad overreacted to Kal's parentage being revealed and he's still a good person

I've had a lot of these thoughts swirling around in my head ever since it cleared enough to process Aurora Burning and I just wanted to get them out since I've also seen a lot of people really hating Kal after this book. Kal isn't, never has, and never will be my favourite character, or probably even top 3, but I have a lot of feelings about this and I think that everyone, including the characters, is being harsher than reasonable.

Okay so, they were all perfectly justified in feeling betrayed and upset because that is an upsetting thing to hear, especially for Scarlett since the Starslayer is the reason her dad is dead and now she's lost Tyler because of the Unbroken and Auri would definitely be questioning everything after all that time together. BUT, they know Kal better than that, he's defended and protected them plenty of times and he's shown that he's loyal to them even if he hasn't told them everything about himself. It's not like every person on that squad gave up their entire life story the moment they met, is it? No. Because People. Have. Secrets. I don't care how much of an open book someone might be, every single person who has ever lived has kept secrets, however mundane or earth-shattering they may be.

I guess technically he lied by saying his father was dead but it's understandable given the circumstances and how he feels about him. But that's not what we're discussing because no one needs another Empire Strikes Back "from a certain point of view" argument. Whether his father was dead or alive, good or evil, it wouldn't matter all that much because, and here's the important thing, PEOPLE ARE NOT THEIR FATHERS.

Kal even explains and makes it clear to them his position and why he did what he did. Like yeah, he hid who he was and used his mothers name to forge a new life - at a place where he could HELP PEOPLE no less - but, can you blame him? Like, he's a better person who tries so hard all the damn time to be better than he was taught to be and people already judge him before they know him on the basis that he's warbreed, there's no reason he should also have to have his life ruined because of his father, whom he wishes to be nothing like. And if anyone, including them, wants proof that he's genuine in his actions, just look at what he has to deal with every day. His own people despise him because of his Cabal - both Unbroken and refugee alike for their own reasons, other species are instinctively distrustful of him due to the same thing, and he's basically all alone in the universe with no one who cares about him or shows him anything but hatred, contempt, or indifference until he becomes part of Squad 312. Like, life would be so much easier if he just joined his father and became what he was raised to be, but he chooses always to be better than that and to fight on the side of good, even if it's the harder path. And if you think about it logically for a minute, the idea that it might be some sort of spy/infiltration thing is completely unfounded just based on the Unbroken's ideals and way of operating. They wouldn't care about that kind of sneak tactic - which also would basically be a pointless exercise given Kal is a 19-year-old student at the academy, if they wanted to destroy the legion or anything, they'd just do it. Like these people are built for and love war, they'd just attack if they wanted to.

Maybe Kal should have told the squad, but I completely understand him wanting to leave that part of his life behind, and how was he to know Saedii would find and come after him? He had no idea what would happen on their mission, no idea the Unbroken would turn up and discover who he was and put everyone in danger. None of them knew any of this would happen. And look, I agree, after Saedii and the Unbroken started coming after them, he probably should have said, but I still get him not wanting to. Yeah being the Starslayer's son probably made the Unbroken getting him more of a priority, but even without that, he's still a warbreed with a Templar sister who hasn't joined them, and that's more than enough for the Unbroken to want to hunt him down and either kill him or get him onside.

Also like, Kal ain't an actor folks, he wouldn't be able to fake the Pull or how it makes him react, I'm sure of it. And you know 6 months of that relationship with Auri and all the feelings that went with it - that he clearly showed since Auri was so sure of it before the reveal - is in no way something he or probably anyone else would be able to fake so convincingly, especially given Auri's gifts.

Now, you might say, "but Amy, he went and joined his father in the end!" and to that I ask, did he? Did he really?

This boy showed clearly in his POV chapters that he despises his father and what he was made into at his hand. And this isn't some third person narrator which leaves us room to doubt, this is first person, this is his actual thoughts. He doesn't want to be part of the Unbroken.

Now, we don't know Kal's entire thought process but I highly doubt he didn't have some kind of plan in going to his father - the only one on the side of good who could possibly get anywhere close to him without being killed. Whether or not his plan was to murder his father from the begining or if that idea only came when he saw Auri being hurt by him is debatable, but he for sure wasn't there to truly join the Unbroken. Maybe it was even just that he had absolutely nowhere else to go. He was abandoned by his squad, he's a wanted criminal by multiple governments, and, as a warbreed, no one else of his species would trust him. Awful as it sounds, to his father is about the only safe place he can go. You can tell he's not happy about it, but I have a feeling he had a plan, or at least the beginnings of one - whether that plan was to help Auri if she succeeded in getting there, kill his father at some point while he was occupied with something else during the attack, or bide his time in the hopes of stopping this all in some other way, is what I don't know. To be honest, if it weren't for the way Auri and the others think and act in the chapters after they abandon him, I wouldn't be surprised if this was actually some part if their plan.

But anyway, that's my 2 cents on the matter of Kal in this book. This was written moments after waking up so I hope it's coherent and I actually covered everything I meant to. But,

Tl;dr: Kal had very understandable reasons for doing everything he did and people shouldn't be as hard on him as they have been.

Edit: I just had a quick skim back through the chapter and although Kal had no real solid plan, he wanted to kill his father and planned to whenever the opportunity presented itself. So, literally how anyone can still be mad at him (except the squad who have no idea), I truly don't understand.

#aurora cycle #aurora burning #aurora burning spoilers #kal gilwraeth #discussion #im sorry this is long without a read more but im on mobile and can't add one #rant

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noonymoon · 4 years

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You Have Been Lied To #4

hello again!

in the first few posts we have talked about

how the public narrative is carefully constructed by a global elite

how our entire perception of our past and how we came to be was shaped throughout history

how the myths and stories about a great flood and giants throughout all the cultures are real

how there are children going missing in massive amounts

and why they are going missing 1 & 2

while i am not at all hurt on a personal level by the fact that many people start to unfollow me - i really don't care for status, fame, pleasure, distraction, an online-reputation, or ANYTHING at all anymore -, i am really saddened that only a fragment of people care for the Truth. the only thing i can do is keep going and pray that people will wake up in time. many others have begun to wake up (a lot of people woke up because of the Qanon movement but i am not a Qanon).

in this post today, i'm going to shed light on what Nazi-Germany actually was. i personally didn't dig deep into my own research because i am entirely overloaded with all kinds of researches and Hitler is not really my favourite topic in the world. but i've read a great book that pulls from many well-researched sources, plus i am using my common sense. when you can count 2+2 together and it makes sense, you know that ist is the Truth. the 2+2 we are going to look at today is the following:

- we've learned that the mainstream media and the entertainment media serves mainly two agendas: 1. to keep the truth away from us, and 2. to shape our perception of WHAT is possible, what is fantasy, what is truth and what is just too crazy to be real. right?

so, according to this parameter, let me ask you the question: why do you think there are SO MANY movies and works about the Nazis being deep into occult knowledge and into mystical artifacts? Captain America: Civil War, Hellboy, Wolfenstein, the Indiana Jones series, Iron Sky, The Keep, and many others are part of this concealing of Truth. the reason why Hollywood wants us to believe that this thought is too fantastical and too absurd to be real is that the Nazis truly had religious interest in the occult.

here is a brief overview about the topic

there are quotes by Hitler himself which make one think what the heck did he mean by that...? (looking at it from a public narrative perspective ofc)

according to what i've learned Hitler was a huge follower of the teachings of Madam Helena Blavatsky - who founded Theosophy, basically the doctrine where the New Age movement gets pretty much all its ideas, and on which all the secret societies are founded: the Knights Templar, Golden Dawn, Freemasons, Rosicrucians, Ordo Templi Orientis, Illuminati and many more.

this image alone speaks volumes once you realize what’s being communicated.

the Lemurians? the Atlanteans? THE ARYANS? after breaking the veil of deception that is around all of us, it couldn't be more obvious that Hitler was deep in the occult knowledge that was brought forth by Theosophy in 1875. it simply does not make sense at all that Hitlers only goal was to create a race that "has blonde hair and blue eyes" (though it plays a tiny role in this as well). Hitler truly believed with all his rotten heart that there is a race that is superior to regular humans. this religious belief burned in him and his Nazis like an insane fire and they went on a lot of expeditions around the world to find more occult knowledge and also a very specific thing which i am not mentioning yet.

there are a ton of actual real photos of Hitler and his Nazis in Tibet visiting the monks, and also Hitler in the Antarctica (which is a whole rabbit hole for itself but that one is really crazy *lol*) and whatever you've heard in the public why Hitler went to these places, it is not the Truth.

when i was still in this witchy community on here, i often saw posts that basically told Nazis to f*ck off and stop using Runes. back then i had no concept of why any Nazi would use the nordic runes except maybe the superficial thought of "Germans are germanics are nordics" or whatever *lol*, the Truth is, in Hitlers quest to unlock as much as occult knowledge as possible, he also visited Iceland and studied the Nordic Edda. [ Hitlers goddaughter was also named Edda, just throwing this in here ] - Guido von List (an Austrian living in Germany) was apparently the first one to assign mystical meanings to the nordic runes and founding an occult Religion named Wotanism, he died in 1919.

another thing i want to point out is the Swastika. you probably know that the Swastika is pretty much an ancient symbol and appears in ALL kinds of cultures of this world. there is a reason for this that goes deep beyond any regular comprehension, but the public narrative is that Hitler simply stole this symbol and made it a Nazi-Germany symbol, but the truth goes much, much, much deeper than that.

of course we can pretend like all of these connections are just "coincidences" and of course we can cling to the public narrative that is telling us lies, lies, lies. i dearly encourage everyone who wants to know the Truth about this world to start researching. in all of the previous posts i've mentioned and linked really good starting points. you don't have to be a Christian or believe in Jesus in order to find out about the world we live in (though, after discovering all of the pieces and puzzling them together, the most logical thought for me was to literally RUN towards Jesus and i know this is different for everybody but i am praying for you to find Him). i know a lot of this sounds crazy and flat-out foil-hat-kind of way. but always remember that this image of the Truth is on purpose. people who dig into the Truth get out-cast, people who discover the Truth and want to wake other people up are being labelled as wrong and crazy, get silenced, get threatened, get assassinated.

to say it in Hitlers very words: "Truth is not what is; Truth is what people believe it to be" .... sadly, that is very true in our society today. everyone just picks and chooses what they want to believe and there is no concept anymore of ultimate Truth because we are being lied to from each and every side. and i know this sounds radical and Noony how can you say something like this, and so on and so forth, i really GET IT. i understand that it sounds radical, i understand that it isn't what people WANT to hear. you can condemn me all that you want, i really do not care anymore, this is way too important than setting my own comfort above it. Truth is truth, and lies are lies.

one of my favourite scriptures in the Bible is "And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." --- John 8:32 ... it could NOT be MORE accurate. it's actually mindblowing how relevant and true these thousand year old words are, especially today. i've never felt so light and free and happy and sane EVER before in my entire life. i've quit my psychopharmacy drugs a while ago (i've been taking prescription drugs for more than 10 years) and my life is looking just bright and wonderful right now, and this even though i almost died in April, still recovering from it. i am more courageous, more filled with love, more motivated, more friendly, more calm, my household is doing just fine, everything is clean and neat, i am doing my chores, my plants are thriving, and even though i am literally ALONE 24/7 (real life AND online) i never ever feel lonely. and i am living with wide open eyes and even though this world is HORRIBLE, i am peaceful now. the Truth really DOES make you free. i've stopped with all kinds of toxic things, from sugar to drugs, you name it. i don't crave neither stimulation nor attention anymore. it's incredible. i can only recommend it. what God and his prophets also foretold over 2000 years ago that it would be EXACTLY like this. "evil will be considered good, and good will be considered evil" - people who speak the truth and do the good deeds will be demonized by the masses.

doing witchcraft and magic and believing in the New Age NEVER felt evil because i was never harming anyone. and i am pretty sure that 99,5% of you people on here feel the exact same way. we are being conditioned by the entertainment media to believe that magic is wonderful, innocent and curious. Disney is doing a GREAT job easing little children into the concepts of magic and fantasy. and i know most of all people never harm anyone with their magic. and God didn't forbid us to do magic because he doesn't want us to have fun or to have a spiritual life, or because he thinks we don't deserve any of the things we can do for ourselves magically. God will HAPPILY provide each and every need of us. the reason why God forbid his people to practice magic, sorcery, divination and witchcraft is to protect us from being deceived. now, a lot of people will rebel mentally, and that's okay, i was the same way. before you haven't discovered the truth and combined all of the puzzle pieces, it really just doesn't make a lot of sense, is really provoking and sounds bad. i was really wrestling with all this myself. now, i am grateful to the Lord that this wrestling process ended up in me being OPEN to what He has to say, and discovering the Truth instead of rebelling and living a lie any further. Praise God for not giving up on me with my stubbornness.

today, i've listened to an interview with the Illuminati Defector that i've mentioned in an earlier post, who was going to be one of the highest ranks in the Illuminati (Queen Mother of Darkness). her name is Jessie Czebotar and she has made it her mission to bring light to this worldwide matter and help survivors being rescued. please listen to some of her interviews, it’s mind-blowing what she has to say.

honestly, when you realize how EVIL these people are and that they ARE witches and druids and that they USE the occult and witchcraft and magic on an EXTREMELY high and incredible level, the LAST thing you WANT is to continue doing the same thing. like. i am not judging anyone here, truly. because we simply do not know what's going on. but when you suddenly realize that EVIL PEOPLE like Hitler, like the Illuminati and the Freemasons and all of these secret occult societies did and ARE doing the same thing of which WE regular people think it's no big deal and it's okay, you simply wanna run, run, run from it as far as you possibly can. at least this is how i feel about it. i am not forcing anyone to believe me, i am simply encouraging you to at least find out why i am saying all these things to you, and then decide for yourself.

Jesus said that we will know them by their fruits. a good tree can only create good fruit and a bad tree can only create bad fruit. a good tree can not create bad fruit and a bad tree can not create good fruit. it's really quite simple.

God bless the ones that read this with an open mind.

#history of germany #occultism #theosophy #God bless the truth

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