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pillarmenarevoregods · 3 years

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Ask: Macro/Micro Vore Pillar Men and Joseph Joestar

First off, I am so so SO sorry for how long this took. Both real life responsibilities and the double standards I hold myself to about creating “quality content” meant my answer to this prompt sat in a half-finished state for a long time. I figure I should just post what I have now and hope it’s sufficient.

@delcaty007 (JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, Macro/Micro Vore, Multiple Pred Scenarios, M/M, Non-fatal, Unwilling, Fearplay, Mentions of Digestion)

I had several ideas for this, and kind of debated which ones were worth fleshing out (or at least what I’d have the time/motivation for). This might not be fully fleshed out stories, but I hope it’s cool still.

I’m writing this in a premise of post-Battle Tendency, through some means, the Pillar Men come back to seek revenge: Kars is brought back from space, Esidisi and Wamuu are revived, and Santana is out of the Speedwagon vaults. BUT they are 30 feet tall and have no idea why/how that happened. They also find many of their abilities missing, BUT also can be in the sun! Yay! And then they find out the hard way that they can’t digest anything. Joseph’s gonna be stuck in a couple different belly jails.

I decided to write these in the order that Joseph fought the Pillar Men in canon. These can technically be independent scenarios of each other, or you can imagine it as the pillar men taking turns sending Joseph down the hatch if you want. I hope you enjoy!

Santana

He sure remembers how annoying that little primitive named Joseph Joestar was to him, and he’s going to find out what happened to him

He quickly learns about the events that transpired with his fellow Pillar Men and knows Joseph is alive

He actually wanted to seek out that Major Von Stroheim asshole first, because of well… I wouldn’t blame him. However he finds out Stroheim died and well, a little disappointing, at least there’s still JoJo to seek out

Once he locates him, Santana literally plunges his hand into the roof of Joseph’s home and grabs him

Joseph attempts to hamon him, but is shocked that… it no longer affects the pillar man. And how did he even get this large?

Santana smirks, considering it dumb for JoJo to even try using hamon when he’s literally outside in the daylight, unharmed.

Deep booming chuckle, “You idiot primitive…” and he starts squeezing Joseph in his hand, thinking it’ll be satisfying to feel his bones snap.

THEN his stomach gurgles and he has a better idea

Without another word, he quickly pops Joseph in his mouth, tilts his head back and swallows him faster than Joseph can process what just happened.

Joseph goes down Santana’s throat in shock, thrashing, trying to climb his way back up, but the muscles of Santana’s esophagus are no match and pull him down to his doom.

Joseph lands on what seems to be trees, brush, and random animals (still alive). It seems like Santana tried swallowing a LOT of different things

Somewhat to his relief, Joseph notices that nothing has really digested.

Santana, on the other hand, can’t care less about what’s happening inside his stomach. He has that annoying JoJo right where he belonged. The weight in his stomach and the occasional minor sting of attempted hamon only tickled a bit.

Joseph wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and Santana likewise said nothing when meeting back up with the other Pillar Men.

The first thought on their minds was to find Joseph too, and Santana had to press his tongue in his cheek at knowing that he simultaneously got to stick it to Kars by eating his “mortal enemy” before he could.

Esidisi

He remembers how he died, and while on one hand respects Joseph for winning against him, isn’t going to pass up the opportunity to get his own revenge

Finds Joseph out on a solo boating trip (convenient, right?) and all Joseph can see is some massive force swimming in the water rushing towards him

Esidisi rises up like a colossal beast, picking Joseph’s boat out of the water

“JoooJooo, it’s been a while, huh? What, like 10 years?” Esidisi makes sure to smile wide and show off his sharp teeth, bringing the small boat in his hand closer to his face.

Joseph probably pisses himself (let’s be real), screaming “OH MY GOD” or “HOLY SHIT,” which is music to Esidisi’s ears, causing him to belt out laughing.

“Didn’t think you’d see me again, didya?!” Joseph doesn’t even have a response, he’s just thrashing and yelling at this point

“You remember our conversation about the Art of War, yeah? Well I hope you do. Sun Tzu told me one more bit of advice that has truly been the most beneficial to me...”

He lifts Joseph up above his face, “’Keep your friends close, your enemies even closer.’” before dropping Joseph in his open mouth.

Esidisi hums in appreciation as Joseph flails on his tongue before jerking his head back and giving a thorough swallow to send him down.

He places his hand over his stomach, relishing in the sensation of pounding helplessly at his stomach walls, and feeling confident that he can go back to Kars to report that JoJo has been “taken care of.”

After a long while of walking and swimming through the ocean, he notices Joseph was still active inside him. He would have started digesting by now, right?

Esidisi figures all that physical motion may be disrupting digestion, so he finds a coast to sit on and waits it out, occasionally making small remarks to the man inside him

Gets frustrated and cries eventually because why won’t he digest?? Esidisi at first accepted that there were caveats to being alive again and being able to see the Sun finally, but come on

He already couldn’t use his blood vessels, couldn’t absorb the only advantage he had was being giant and still being able to contort his body, and now he can’t even digest someone he’s eaten?

Joseph meanwhile is yelling and pounding on the stomach walls, trying to hamon his way out. Esidisi is very pleased to see that the hamon is ineffective inside him, in fact it just tickles a bit.

The little pounding and yelling and screams eventually become annoying, though. Esidisi has some important pondering he needs to do on what his new life is now, and the squirming noisy human in his stomach keeps distracting him.

He sits down somewhere to ponder whether the trade-offs are worth it, has to tell Joseph, “Shut up and let me think!”

Wamuu

When Wamuu “woke back up” and noticed his masters had, too, one of his first thoughts was strangely where Joseph Joestar was currently.

He wondered whether Kars had succeeded in killing him and taking ascended as the Ultimate Being.

However, when he saw Lord Kars, also made giant by whatever spell or curse has brought them all back to life and made them 30 feet tall, Wamuu could quickly assume by the tantrum he was throwing that Joseph had also defeated him in some way.

While Wamuu didn’t exactly WANT Joseph to defeat himself or Lord Kars, he still believed in a fair fight and that a winner should be able to keep their victory.

Hearing Kars and Esidisi plot together to find Joseph and enact revenge on him (hell, even Santana is making comments about finding “that annoying JoJo”), Wamuu realizes if he wants to ensure his opponent could keep his honor, he’ll have to find the Joestar before the other Pillar Men did.

While locating him, Wamuu picks up and swallows a bunch of humans (he’s a nervous eater, he needs to snack under pressure you know?)

After several hours of the humans still pounding and yelling inside of his stomach, he realizes something was off… they should have been digesting by now, yet they’re still alive and active

Wamuu thinks it’s only fair to spit them up and let them go. He’s a little embarrassed and tactfully apologizes to these humans, “I did not expect for you to still be alive. Please forgive me, if I had known you weren’t going to digest I wouldn’t have swallowed you in the first place.” Thanks good guy Wamuu, very reassuring.

When he does find Joseph (on a camping trip in the middle of the woods, alone…), he kneels down in a clearing just as Joseph is about to approach that area.

Boy is he surprised to see a giant man kneeling in the normally empty field, especially a man he killed 10 years ago… but giant

“JoJo, we meet again.” Queue the “OH! MY! GODDD!” and trying to runaway classic Joseph Joestar style

Wamuu picks him up like an ant between his fingers and brings him closer to his face.

“I am doing this for your own good, JoJo.” and he opened his mouth wide, held a squirming yelling little Joseph over his mouth and dropped him in, tossed his head back and swallowed.

Unfortunately Wamuu forgot to tell Joseph that he wasn’t going to die, only places his hand unconsciously over his stomach, kneading his thumb into the area Joseph is pounding at

When meeting with his Masters (who were unsuccessful at finding Joseph… gee I wonder why) still has his hand over his belly, trying to sooth the commotion inside.

Kars even asks if Wamuu is ill, to which Wamuu responds with “I ate something that isn’t agreeing with me.” Well, he’s not wrong

He will have to let Joseph out… eventually. But right now he just wants to keep him safe and hidden. When that will be? No one knows - especially not Wamuu or Joseph....

Kars

Oh, this man is NOT happy. All that time in space, going slowly insane? Yeah, he has it in for Joseph Joestar.

Just shortly after he stops thinking, he finds himself rapidly pulled back to Earth and suddenly much larger than he remembers being before.

It takes him a bit to gain all his thoughts back, but of course he’s elated once he realizes his companions are back as well.

After rejoicing the return of Esidisi and Wamuu (maybe at least a little happy to see Santana again, as well), he went about pursuing his new important goal

Joseph Joestar needed to feel the fear and despair he himself felt while drifting through space. He decided he wouldn’t kill him… yet.

He needed to see Joseph suffer the same way he had, killing him too quickly would just end that fun.

Kars wanted to take Joseph down in the most humiliating way - it’s only fair after being defeated in front of his enemies in such a humiliating way.

Joseph happened to be at his work office, doing business as usual in his life free of being a hamon warrior

Therefore, it was absolutely unexpected when a giant hand plunges through the glass pane window, grabs Joseph off-guard and holds him tightly in front of the face of the man in his nightmares.

In fact, he seriously just thinks he’s dreaming. Joseph covers his eyes and yells, “I’m dreaming! This is a dream! I’m going to wake up now in three, two, one…..”

Kars waits a beat for dramatic effect before hissing “Zero.” He licks his lips, being able to sense the pure dread and terror of his prey. Oh, it’s making him absolutely giddy

“I want you to know what it feels like, JoJo… To have all your hopes and dreams unfairly stolen from you.” Kars raises him high above his head, and watches the little man squirm. He’s definitely finding this cathartic.

“I drifted through space, not knowing if I’d ever escape that torture. All of my accomplishments going to waste, because of you! I believe it’s only fair, JoJo, that I give you a taste of what I experienced.”

Without much effort, he casually tosses Joseph high up in the air (but not too hard, because he doesn’t want Joseph to actually go into space

As Joseph falls back down from the sky, Kars waits with his mouth wide open and snaps his jaw shut once the screaming man lands in his mouth.

He doesn’t wait long before swallowing, while focusing on ever little sensation of his enemy wriggle down his throat. Finally, he’s conquered the Sun AND Joseph Joestar.

Even after several hours and realizing his stomach wasn’t digesting his prey, Kars accepted that it was poetic justice in a way that Joseph would remain alive, trapped for an indefinite amount of time in his stomach, just like he had been trapped in space

#jjba vore #pillar men vore #unwilling vore #nonfatal vore #gt vore

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glassworkspiderlilies · 3 years

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come, come, fly into my palm, & collapse

Genshin Impact | Lumine & Albedo | AO3 Summary: Lumine and Albedo, ft. Paimon—a blizzard is avoided; a stew, an orange, and a night are shared. Observations are made, studies are conducted, some results are obtained Notes: Albedo grew on me FAST and i am filled with so much softness and tenderness for him....i care him so much....

He doesn’t realize that a blizzard has truly whipped up outside until the Traveler breaks through the snowdrift accumulated at the entrance to his camp, brushing off the white crystals and stamping her feet free of the snow.

“Albedo!” Paimon greets as she flies past him, practically careening directly into the fire, “Boy are we glad to see you! We almost got buried out there.”

“Hello,” Albedo greets, blinking soporifically. He’d been so focused on compiling his research that he doesn’t know what time it is at all, and with the snowstorm darkening everything further, he can no longer tell. “You were looking for me?”

In response, Lumine holds out her hand, and the strap of a bag materializes within it, weighing her hand down as the bag itself drops. Albedo recognizes its worn make, and understands why she is here, though not quite how the situation in particular came to be.

“My materials,” Albedo identifies, taking the hefty bag, “Thank you. How did you come to be the one delivering it? Timaeus should have been on his way back.”

“About that,” Paimon says, floating back up now that she is a bit more thawed out, “It looks like the Knights of Favonius ended up having some trouble, so there was suddenly a large request for potions….so Timaeus needs a bit more time before he comes back! But Lumine and I were on our way here anyway, so we brought your precious materials, too!”

“Ah, I see,” Albedo says, inclining his head in acknowledgement, though he is seeking more information and glances at the Traveler.

“A slime infestation,” Lumine supplies, moving towards the fire herself now that her task is done, “But nothing the knights cannot handle.”

“Ah, but better to be prepared, and hence the potions. I agree,” Albedo catches on, nodding, then glances outside. “I hadn’t realized it was coming down so hard. It is remarkable that you managed to find your way.”

Lumine smiles faintly.

“One becomes good at finding things when the conditions are unforgiving. You won’t kick us out, will you?” she asks, tilting her head, and his eyes widen despite knowing she is joking.

“Of course not. That would be more than cold of me,” he says, aghast even at the possibility, and her eyes crinkle.

“Great! We’ll even let you put us to work, as thanks!” Paimon exclaims, clapping her hands, and though Lumine gives the spirit a look that so clearly says but I’d be the one doing the actual work, nor does she decline.

His own eyes crinkle at that.

“No need,” he says, patting the papers on his table, “…For now, anyway. Please, make yourself comfortable. I’m sure you’ve had…a harrowing journey to get here in this storm.”

“If you say so! Don’t need to tell us twice,” Paimon cheers, floating back to the fire.

“Thank you, Albedo,” Lumine says as she sheds her coat.

“Certainly,” he replies, and this time, when she smiles at him, he smiles back.

It is comfortable being with the Traveler, more comfortable than he could initially tell when they wandered all over the Dragonspine to conduct experiments. She’d had something to gain, then (though some of it was at Paimon’s behest, and it seemed mostly like she was simply going along with both his and her own companion’s whims) but now, she is here by her own will.

Another couple hours passes before he remembers that she is here. While he’s been quite absorbed in his work, Lumine has been quiet too, and he doesn’t even remember hearing Paimon. He looks around, blinking blearily, then closes his eyes briefly and looks around again to make sure he hasn’t suddenly moved locations.

Everything…is organized. Books are back on their shelves, beakers and test tubes cleaned and lined back up on their racks, scattered ingredients returned to their jars, the tables wiped down. His paints and sketches have been untouched, as well as other research that he had left lying out, and he is grateful for that. It must not have been an easy undertaking, cleaning everything up despite the small space, but she did it admirably anyway.

Still—where is the young woman herself? He doesn’t see her at all, though surely she did not wander back out into the blizzard.

Albedo stretches, his joints popping, and walks around to the other side of the camp—finding her sitting behind the table with his distillery, back against the wood, a book propped open on her lap. She looks up at him when he appears, putting up a hand in greeting, and he gives a half-smile at how comfortable she looks.

“My gratitude, for cleaning up,” he says with true appreciation, and she smiles. He looks around again, not seeing Paimon at all. “Where is your floating companion?”

“Hmmm…” Lumine hums, considering how to answer this question. “Sleeping, perhaps? I suspect she will appear again when there is food.”

“Did someone say food?”

Paimon materializes with a twirl, her eyes twinkling.

“Oooh, can you make black-back perch stew, pleeeeease? It’s perfect for this climate, and Paimon is tired of goulash!”

Albedo puts a hand to his chin, understanding, now, why such a question might have been difficult to answer. Lumine’s floating friend is quite the mystery, and Albedo wants so dearly to study the spirit. But no; they are not close enough for him to ask such a thing, and he fears the rejection he will receive were he to ask now.

“Your thoughts?” Lumine asks, and Albedo blinks again.

“On black-back perch stew? I must confess, it’s a dish I’ve only had once. But I should like to eat it again, I think. It would be rather delightful in this climate.”

“Yay! It’s a consensus! C’mon, Lumine, get cooking!” Paimon exclaims, hovering excitedly and clapping her hands.

The Traveler puts her book aside, standing and stretching too before making her way over to the fire. Albedo follows, curious, suddenly, about her methods of preparation and cooking. Last time he had not watched when he requested a Sunshine Sprat, merely consumed the (very tasty) contents.

Lumine glances at him, questioning, but she seems to know the answer already—that he wants to observe—and holds out her hand in front of her. Another bag shimmers into existence—her own this time, from which she begins removing carefully packaged ingredients. Fish filets, Jueyun chilis, violetgrass…

Another thing that he finds fascinating and would like to study—this ability of hers. It is, seemingly, similar to Paimon’s ability, or perhaps even related. Very belatedly, he realizes that he should have offered to help her cook, though it seems that she is perfectly comfortable taking on the duty alone. Paimon hovers dangerously close even though nothing has been put together yet, and Albedo can guess that on the two’s travels, Lumine is primarily in charge when food must be made.

“Do you require assistance?” he asks anyway despite the timing, as she is seasoning the fish.

Lumine blinks at him, and gestures to the stalks of violetgrass.

“If you’d like something to do, you can turn the flowers to powder,” she says, and Albedo nods, the task perfectly suited to him.

“Might I keep a stalk or two for an experiment?” he asks as he walks back to his table, and Lumine nods her agreement.

“Lumine….Paimon is hungry now….Fisherman’s Toast…” the spirit laments, floating down until she sits next to the Traveler.

“Hmmm…then let’s make some chicken and mushroom skewers, too,” Lumine says decisively, and Paimon perks up extra at that, shooting up again.

“Paimon wants five!” she exclaims, and Lumine sets to preparing said food again without complaint.

Fascinating, Albedo thinks, before turning to his mortar and pestle. Both are small people, but their capacity for consumption is…large. Albedo himself dislikes food in large quantities, especially meat, but such meals that he’s experienced in the past seem like they would be no challenge for the Traveler and her floating companion.

It might be nice to share an extravagant meal with them, he thinks, and see the extent of their capabilities in person. Perhaps, if he must attend a conference again where food is often ordered in advance, he could bring Lumine and Paimon along so that his portion didn’t go to waste…

“Albedo! Want one?” Paimon asks, floating over with a skewer.

He looks over, the delicious scent of perfectly cooked chicken and mushrooms tickling his nose. He is hesitant to be eating something right before a meal, but the spirit looks so proud and expectant.

“Thank you,” he says, taking it from her hands, and gingerly slides off the topmost piece of meat with his teeth.

With his free hand, he takes the mortar with the now-powdered violetgrass in it, bringing back over to the cooking fire and setting it near Lumine’s bag for when she needs it. All is quiet for a while, save for the usual bubbling noises of Albedo’s alchemical device and the cooking pot. Paimon eats her skewers and toast with big eyes on the stew, and Lumine stirs the pot patiently as she chews on her own skewer.

Albedo watches it all idly, lulled into a sense of calm as he finishes his last piece of mushroom, declining another skewer in favor of the stew.

Eventually, Lumine dips a regular spoon into the pot and tastes the broth, her expression unreadable. She takes another spoon and dips it in again, coming out with a larger amount this time. She blows on it for a bit before offering it to Paimon, who blows twice more before shoving the whole thing into her mouth.

“It’s soooooo good!” she exclaims, eyes twinkling, “Yes! Yes! C’mon Lumine, it’s ready, let’s eat!”

Lumine smiles, taking the powdered violetgrass and sprinkling it over the top before doling out the finished stew. She serves Albedo first, with a normal amount, while her own portions and Paimon’s are huge. He suspects they’ll empty the pot just fine.

It’s an excellent stew.

He’d been worried about the spice, truth be told, but the amount if just enough to give the dish heat and warm the body through without being overpowering at all. The fish is so tender and juicy that he finds himself eating eagerly, and finishing his bowl quickly.

Lumine, already spooning more into her own bowl, offers him a full ladle, and he hesitates. He does want more, but…he really does hate overeating, as it always ruins the experience even if he had enjoyed the food initially.

She cocks her head a little, then tilts the ladle until half of it flows back into the pot, and offers the remainder again.

Albedo makes a sheepish expression, and holds out his bowl. Her eyes crinkle, and she pours the half-portion in.

He’s quite full, after the second helping, but pleasantly so. He’s certainly drowsy now, though he's insistent on helping in the clean-up, as she had done everything else. Paimon flops at Lumine's side, already half-asleep, while Albedo and Lumine rinse out the pot and utensils with melted snow. The clink of metal and wood as they do so is pleasant, and between the two of them, the task is completed quickly. It's almost a shame, somehow. It is pleasant to work alongside her, even for something to simple.

“Back to research so soon?” she asks, when they set the pot back over the fire full of snow to melt down for future use.

Albedo considers.

“A break is in order, perhaps,” he allows, glancing over at his easel, though he frowns when he looks outside again.

The blizzard is unrelenting, and though he could use some alchemical items to brave it, it is also...not quite worth the trouble it would be to paint in such conditions.

A novel, then. Lumine watches as he picks one out from the shelf.

“Reading more after all that research you were doing?” Paimon asks drowsily, turning over to her side to face him, “Don't your eyes and brain hurt?”

“Fortunately, I have very good eyes,” Albedo says.

“And a very good brain?”

“Hmm...well, people call me a genius, but I don't think I am any such thing. But I suppose I can concede to having a good brain. We all do.”

Lumine looks at Paimon with her eyebrow raised, who gasps in affront, though she is still too lethargic to float.

“Hey! Why are you looking at Paimon like that?!” she says, and Lumine pats her companion's stomach gently.

“I'm just thinking that Paimon has the very best brain,” Lumine says, very seriously, and Paimon puffs up a little.

“Hehe...well, that's okay, then. Even if your tone is suspicious!”

Albedo meets Lumine's eyes, then looks away quickly as laughter bubbles in his throat.

How odd. He does not laugh often; the sensation is warm and ticklish. He clears his throat as quietly as he can before taking the book of the shelf, and considers where to read it.

Lumine goes back over to the spot she was at earlier, behind the table with his apparatus, and waves him over. She pats the spot beside her when he approaches, and he blinks before settling down beside her, the two of them sitting close but not quite touching. Paimon remains by the cooking fire, now dozing entirely.

And so he and Lumine read together. He's not sure how much time passes before he realizes that he's being watched, and that Lumine is the one doing so. He ignores this—or rather, lets it happen for a while, but after a bit more time passes, a sharp, tangy scent suddenly permeates the air. He does turn at that, and is somewhat startled to see in Lumine’s hands an orange. It’s an uncommon fruit in Mondstadt, but considering her recent travels to Liyue, whose harbor never stops bustling with trade, it should not be so surprising. He watches closely as she continues to dig her fingers into and underneath the thick rind and peel the skin away, the citrusy scent growing more powerful as she does so. Carefully, she picks away the majority of the white pith before splitting the fruit down the middle, and holds one half out to him.

“…Thank you,” he says, staring at it for a moment before taking it. “A snack, so soon?”

“It’s refreshing,” she says, with a slight shrug, “And it helps digestion.”

“Hmmm.”

He tears a segment off with his teeth, the juices bursting sweet and summery on his tongue. He feels her watching again, and Albedo suspects that this is part of…something. But he watches her out of the corner of his eye too, fascinated by the way she peels each segment from the middle delicately with her fingers.

When they finally meet eyes, she continues to stare unabashedly, smiling a little when he turns to face her completely.

“Are you conducting research?” he asks, unable to equate the weight of her gaze with anything else.

“I am,” she replies.

“Oh? And are you obtaining results?”

“I am,” she says again.

He pauses, considering whether or not to continue the game and ask for the results of said investigation. In the meantime, she tosses the orange peel into the fire, a pleasant aroma filling the space as it wrinkles in the heat.

“I hope the returns are favorable, then,” he says instead.

“They are,” Lumine replies, and she smiles at him, full and bright.

Inexplicably, he feels himself flush.

“Oh,” he mutters, turning away, confused at his own involuntary response.

“Very favorable indeed,” Lumine says, and turns back to her book, seeming pleased.

He returns to his own research soon after, only a little bit attempting to escape his embarrassment. A new feeling too, this self-consciousness. He has had many, many eyes on him, much attention turned on him for his alchemical skill. And, apparently, his looks as well. Yet he has never given another thought about it; it has never bothered nor interested him.

He cannot quite say he is bothered or interested now. But this...awareness...is quite new, different.

Nevertheless. He has work to do, though the suspects that he will not have much time left in the day to do so. Time is harder to measure on the Dragonspine, especially with the storm, but it is important that he maintain at least the semblance of a schedule so as not to disrupt the workflow involving other people.

The next time he comes back into the world from his research, he sees that Lumine has already set up a rather large sleeping bag. Paimon has also been moved, and she continues to sleep on Lumine’s right, the content so evident on the child's face that Albedo cannot help but be amused.

When Lumine notices him looking, she once more pats the empty space to her left.

He stares at her this time, and she tilts her head, considering what it is she wants to say, and Albedo wonders just what the combination of words is going to be.

“Care for another study?” she asks, and Albedo raises an eyebrow.

“You're conducting another experiment?”

“Yes. Shall I call it a study in warmth?”

Albedo crosses his arms, furrowing his brows at this rudimentary implied thesis.

“It is evident that two people sharing a space will produce greater heat than one alone,” he says, and Lumine nods sagely.

“Indeed. But that is not the kind of warmth I'm studying.”

He blinks at her, somewhat unsure of her meaning. He opens his mouth, closes it again.

“So,” she says, smiling a little at his speechlessness. “Will you help me derive results, or not?”

“I...will,” he says, slowly, curious as to what exactly she is trying to do despite himself.

Sleeping beside someone does not deter him. He and Klee have often fallen asleep together. He and Sucrose have slept in their lab before as well. In the Dragonspine, when Timaeus is here for an extended stay, they sleep back to back too. One cannot forgo extra warmth in such a bitterly cold area. While there are some alchemical adjustments that Albedo has made to his camp so that he can conduct his experiments in peace without having to worry about freezing to death, he does have to be careful with his resources here, as it is much more difficult to transport or to request materials to be transported for him.

So he does not feel odd when he slides into place beside Lumine, who throws an additional quilt (a gift from someone, perhaps?) atop them. They lie down and stare at each other, face to face, for a while before Albedo turns to his side. After a moment, he feels Lumine do the same, her back pressed against his.

“...Is there a reason behind this experiment in particular?” he asks.

“I dislike sleeping alone,” Lumine replies easily, as if she were prepared to answer this question. “It doesn't...feel right.”

He remembers, now, that she had been cruelly separated from her brother, whom she traveled her whole life with. He supposes this must also be why Paimon, despite being able to fold herself into some other space, is out and about much of the time.

“I see,” is all he says.

“And you?”

“I suppose...I have never quite thought about it. Klee will come to my room, sometimes. And sometimes I will stay with her in hers. I sleep when I need to. If I cannot, I work. I suppose I have not considered being lonely in sleep.”

“And otherwise?”

“Hm?”

“Have you considered loneliness, otherwise?”

He can feel that she has turned again, facing his back now. After a moment, he turns, too.

“As I said. Dispelling it is not essential for life. But it does not hurt.”

“And has it hurt before, oh Kreideprinz?”

He is not sure he likes to hear that title from her, no matter how softly she says it.

“I do not always notice until I am without it,” he admits after a while.

...Ah.

He blinks in realization. Lumine notices, and her lips curl up into a little smile.

“I’m glad,” she says, not to his words but what his expression reveals.

He pauses.

“Why….should you be glad?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Are you so quick to take back our friendship?”

“Oh, no,” he says frowning a little at the thought of losing her regard as such, “But even as friends…there are greater things to occupy your mind, yes? Especially for you. To be concerned for my loneliness takes up unnecessary space in your mind that would be better spent on more important matters.”

She blinks at him.

“Ah, but important by your standard and not mine, isn’t it?”

He pauses.

“Perhaps. But does it change nothing if I say you need not be concerned for me?”

Her turn to pause.

“I suppose it could change a little. But by that logic, if I say that you need not be so…academically interested in me, does that reduce anything?”

“Ah, but you have questions about yourself that you cannot answer, and so even you are not uninterested in yourself. So how will you be able to convince me that there is nothing of interest about you?”

“Are you so uninterested in your own self, then?”

“Questions that I used to have have been answered. Perhaps there are new things here and there to discover. But I no longer find myself an interesting subject of study.”

She stares at him for a moment, not speaking, then her eyes grow ever so slightly amused.

“I think,” she begins, considering her words again, “I should like to give you a new question about yourself to ponder.”

He blinks, waiting for the said question, but it does not come. Instead, she yawns.

“It’s gotten even later,” she murmurs, eyes half-lidded, “You, Sir Albedo, are an unexpectedly noisy bed partner.”

He blinks at the wording, though her tone is light.

“My apologies, I got carried away,” he says, and she smiles a little at that.

“Do you dream, Albedo?” she asks, after a few heartbeats, her voice growing quieter.

“…Not often, no,” he replies.

“Then you’ll have to forgive me for mine,” she says, turning to the other side and drawing Paimon closer, “Wake me, if I…if it gets to be too much.”

The end of the conversation is clear, though he wishes to ask what she means. And yet, he thinks he may understand.

By her breathing, he knows that it takes her a while longer to fall asleep. He thinks about their backs pressed together, the slight difference he feels in this contact compared to other times he has done such a thing.

When her breathing slows, Albedo finally closes his eyes, and rests.

He is a light sleeper.

Albedo wakes to a distressed murmur, and he half-rises before he realizes it is coming from Lumine.

“Wait!” she cries, “Aether…don’t go!”

She reaches out a desperate hand, and reflexively, he grabs it. The contact seems to ground her, and though she lets out another strangled sob, she quiets.

Albedo stares. Again, he is not so unfamiliar with this type of thing; Klee has had nightmares before too, and takes comfort in his presence those nights. But the feeling is different now, and he is not so sure that he should be…allowed…to do this.

Another soft noise, and he looks over to see Paimon sitting up, peeking at him from Lumine’s other side.

“Keep holding her hand?” Paimon requests, as she closes the small gap that has formed between her and Lumine throughout the night, snuggling close.

“Alright,” Albedo says, and lies back down.

After a moment, he touches his forehead to the top of Lumine’s head.

“Don’t go,” Lumine whispers again.

Albedo does not answer her; he cannot promise her that, and nor is he the one meant to be answering. But he closes his eyes and continues to hold her hand, and thinks about the warmth generated between them.

Albedo wakes before her; he does not need as much sleep as many others, and quietly slides himself out of the sleeping back to get his day started. The blizzard has quieted overnight, and he is glad that he will be able to go back out into the field with some proper preparations.

He begins making breakfast, adjusting the setup over the fire to accommodate a frying pan for pancakes. When he flips the first one over, he can hear Paimon floating towards him already. There’s a slight initial sound associated with it, and he wonders about the source—and reason for it. Another thing to research, if he gets permission one day.

“Pancakes!” Paimon exclaims, her tone still a little sleepy. “Paimon wants…hmm…fifteen!”

Albedo glances at the bowl of batter, calculating the portions.

“Might you have more ingredients in Lumine’s bag?”

“Sure do! Hold on a sec.”

He watches as Paimon floats back over to the still-sleeping Traveler, patting her cheeks a little.

“Lumine! Lumi, bag!”

The girl in question mumbles, holding up her hand. Paimon catches the bag as it materializes, and carries it over to Albedo.

“Here! Careful, though. Even Paimon doesn’t know everything that’s in it!”

Questions, questions, questions abound. The bag too seems to follow the odd principles of the Traveler and her companion, in that it carries far more than it looks like it should. Or is it Lumine’s power, or perhaps a combination of hers and Paimon’s, that allows for the bag to do so?

He glances at Paimon, considering asking, but decides against it, as he does not think she will be able to answer.

Nevertheless, pancakes. He quadruples his usual recipe, and by the time he is done flipping and Paimon has eaten five with copious amounts of honey and berries (procured once more from the Traveler’s mysterious bag), Lumine has gotten up, yawning.

“Good morning,” she greets drowsily, seating herself beside the fire.

“You slept hard this time!” Paimon says, “That’s good. You should sleep more.”

“Mmm…” Lumine murmurs absentmindedly, then blinks as she realizes what her companion has said.

She turns to Albedo, expression vaguely surprised, her mouth open to say something; he blinks at her unassumingly, and after a moment, she forgoes asking. She looks at the tall stack of pancakes instead.

“Have we cleaned out your supplies?” she asks, and Albedo shakes his head.

“Paimon procured your bag from you while you were still half-asleep; I may have cleaned out yours.”

“Standard occurrence, when one must feed Paimon,” Lumine says, and Paimon protests through a mouthful of pancake. “Fine. And myself,” Lumine chuckles, and Albedo hands her a plate of breakfast. “Oh, thank you. Is there anything else in there that you need?”

As it turns out, he does need more butterfly wings, horsetails, and flaming flower stamens. She insists on giving them to him, saying that she has too many of them right now anyway.

“You should really stop picking up everything you come across,” Paimon chides.

“But you never know when they’ll be needed,” Lumine counters sagely. “Like now, to give to someone.”

Paimon cannot contest that, and relents. Albedo takes the materials gratefully.

The group cleans up and packs up after breakfast; with the storm no longer raging, Albedo wants to make use of the daylight for field research, and Lumine and Paimon must be on their way too. There’s a domain at the summit they want to reach before night falls. They spend the next half-hour or so at Albedo’s crafting table, and he watches with approval as they make a plethora of potions and to aid them on their travels.

After they are all appropriately bundled up, he walks with them partway.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Lumine says at their parting point, Paimon echoing her sentiments.

“It was a pleasure,” he says, “Thank you for cooking, as well. And…I hope your study had a positive outcome.”

Her eyes crinkle.

“There were some interesting results,” she says, “And more questions, perhaps. But such is the nature of research, isn’t it? The answer to the bigger question will reveal itself eventually.”

Albedo tilts his head, wondering about the tone of her voice, holding his hand to his chin in thought.

“A bigger question?” he queries, “So your…study in warmth was part of a more complex equation?”

She looks both sheepish and a little distant at that, hesitating a bit before speaking.

“…Call it a study in happiness, if you will.”

“…Are you not happy?” he asks, surprised.

“Ah, that is not what I said.”

Albedo stares, scrutinizing her expression, and she raises an eyebrow, scrutinizing him in turn. After a moment, she uses her foot to dig a small trench in the snow, as if she is deliberating about whether or not to actually answer him.

“My brother and I traveled together, just the two of us, for a very long time. I have never been without him until now,” she begins, her voice eerily flat, “I dream of him often; I dream of chasing him, unable to catch up no matter what I do, and him telling me that I’ve come too late. That I could be happy without him was inconceivable. And yet, I’ve managed to find joy during our time apart, too. So—was I…were we truly happy, then? Even if happiness is many things…even if it can exist independently of one another…that frightens me. So now…when we meet again, can we be happy together the same way we were before?”

Albedo is silent. She continues.

“So I suppose I am searching for the truth behind happiness. For many people, it seems to begin with what or where they consider home. Aether and I…our home…it has been lost for a long time. And now…?”

“…And now?” Albedo prompts, when she trails off for too long, her gaze faraway.

She blinks, and focuses on him again, her tone blasé.

“A home could be many things, too. It could be a country, or a city. Or a cave.” She pauses. “Or the center of someone’s palm.”

Albedo blinks, feeling…strange. Something in the conversation has turned, and his skin prickles. Paimon, who had been listening in rare silence having been unable to keep up with the conversation, looks between the two of them curiously.

“So…what is a home, and what is happiness? Perhaps you will beat me to such an answer, in your search for the truth of this world,” Lumine finishes, offering him a small smile.

He closes his mouth that he hasn’t realized fell open a little.

“I…will be sure to let you know, if I do,” he replies, uncertainly.

“I’ll visit you again sometime,” she says, waving as she half-turns away, “Or if you see me, please say hello.”

“I…will,” he replies, holding up his own hand in goodbye.

“Bye, Albedo!” Paimon exclaims, seeming relieved that the difficult topics have passed, and the two are off.

Albedo watches them go, only putting his hand down when they disappear into the distance. He stares at his hand for a while, and as he does, a crystalfly flutters into his palm.

Gently, he closes his fingers around it, and transforms it into a bird. The creature, baffled at the change, flutters its wings in rapid, confused panic.

He turns it back into a crystalfly hastily, realizing that such a bird would not be able to survive in this frigid climate. It flies off after that, its path a little off-kilter.

He watches it go, realizing belatedly that his heart too beats a different rhythm.

#genshin impact #genshin lumine #genshin traveler #genshin albedo #genshin impact fic #kreideprinz #albelumi #fanfiction

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shattered-mirror-fanfic · 3 years

Photo

Took way too long but it’s here, enjoy!

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32206135/chapters/82349017

Chapter below the cut for my readers who don’t prefer Ao3

Henry walked back onto the campgrounds, books in hand with Frisk following close behind. It was close to becoming 1 o’clock to their surprise.

“Guess we spent longer in the library than we thought, guess we gotta apologise to Toriel about being almost a half hour late home” Henry spoke, knowing he was in trouble for keeping Frisk away for so long.

“Mom most likely won’t mind if she knows that you were keeping me safe Mr. Henry” Frisk replied smiling. Henry nodded and the two entered the camp that was their temporary home.

“Hey kid, I’m gonna pop your books in your tent ok? Why don’t you got snatch us some lunch?” Henry asked. Frisk nodded and hurried over to the camps center to see if Toriel had any leftover pie for them. After Henry left Frisk’s books in their tent he made his way over to the medical tent, only to see Right Hand Man inside, sitting on a chair next to the table where a large container was, holding the fragments of their chief’s soul.

“Hey ‘enry” The man said, in a surprisingly soft tone. Heny set the book down on the table and pulled out a chair, sitting on it a tad awkwardly with it’s back in front of him.

“What’s up boss? Is the chief’s death really hitting that hard?” Henry questioned.

“He’s not-! No, he’s not dead.” The Right Hand Man argued. Henry frowned, knowing something was off.

“Well if he’s not dead, then how come his prized medallion is draped over the tank with his broken soul?” The white-haired man asked, tilting his head to the side.

“You shut your damned mouth or ah swear…” Right spoke with his thick australian accent adding an extra layer of intimidation.

“Okaaay, you’re going through some stuff, I’ll let you be.” Henry quickly responded. He sat up and walked out of the tent quickly to avoid getting Right Hand Man in more of a huff, just to bump into a familiar short yellow lizard. “Oh hey Doc, sorry ‘bout that.”

“I-it’s fine, have you seen the Right Hand Man? I meant to talk to him about your boss's soul.” She asked.

“Mister five stages of grief is in there.” Henry answered, pointing a thumb back to the tent he was just in. “Actually, have you seen Ellie? Meant to ask her something.”

The scientist twiddled her thumbs a bit before answering. “No, but she did leave a note saying she would be back by dinner, I have no idea where she is though”

“Damnit Ellie, be more specific next time.” Henry muttered.

~~~

Ellie wasn’t too fond of her soul trait. PERSEVERANCE had the lamest magic in her opinion, DETERMINATION could bend time, BRAVERY could teleport, JUSTICE could make people tell the truth, KINDNESS could heal and make shields, PATIENCE could freeze in place to avoid damage, INTEGRITY could change gravity, but PERSEVERANCE...it could only make plans based on a few minutes of worth of events. It sounds ok at first but in practice it’s not that great. Luckily, this came in handy for plotting a surprise sneak attack against your local government camp after they killed your boss.

The red-head was positioned behind a bush up on a short cliff only a bit away from said government camp. She pulled out her walkie talkie and leaned in.

“Hey Svensson, you got the coordinates for the government rats?” She asked, in response she got a groan.

“Yes I did, and I am still your superior, so it’s Mr. Svensson to you.” He complained on his end.

“Well Mr. Pain in the ass, ready to beam down the rocket launcher?”

“For the third time, you aren’t getting a rocket launcher. I’m sending down Burt, Carol and a few others.”

“Man, do you not trust me with explosives?”

“Not after the ‘Me and Henry are going to rob a chuck e cheese’ incident.”

“It was fun and it was one time!” She all but shouted into the device. She turned it off and looked back at the camp. So maybe exploding it isn’t a great idea. Ellie glanced over at one of the tents that was larger than the rest, and had a large red medical cross. Bingo.

~~~

“Hey Chara, can I ask you something? Do you know what happened to Asr-” Frisk started.

“No, we don’t mention him.” Chara said, cutting them off. Frisk set down their fork on the plate.

“Okaaay, then what about Flowey?” Frisk reiterated.

“Didn’t he want to stay behind? I mean, he thought he wouldn’t survive out here without a soul.”

“Well what if he was wrong Chara?”

“Don’t tell me you actually cared about that little bugger! He tried to kill you, Frisk!”

The child sighed and stared up at their ghost companion.

“He can change, he’s done it before, and he can do it again.”

~~~

The flower in question sat among his non-sentient copies in the beginning of the underground. Or was it the end? He didn’t know, and didn’t care. Flowey sighed, and stared up at the entrance to the underground. No one ever visited him, after all, he tried to kill everyone and steal their souls to become a god. That was only the second time. How would anyone forgive him? No one would. Why would anyone care about him though? He only hurts, it’s all he’s good for.

No. He won’t hurt again. The golden flower promised himself this, He pondered to himself about how to get out easily. Through personal research he deemed he could only travel for five minutes under the earth before needing to pop back out for at least another minute, as well as, it was difficult staying on the side of a wall without some proper hold. Thinking, Flowey noticed a vine that had fallen some time after the barrier broke. That’ll do.

Flowey popped down under the ground then resurfaced under the vine. He wrapped one of his own vines on it and slid up it like a snake, reaching the top in under a few minutes. He looked out at the mid afternoon sun, basking in the potential photosynthesis he would gain if he just gave up and stayed a flower forever. But no, he had to keep going.

After scanning the area a bit he noticed a camp in the distance that took up a hidden clearing. So that's where they went. He thought to himself. But hey, the worst case scenario is that it was a human camp, but he could blend in as some of the natural buttercups that grew around the mountain. It would take a while until he got there, but he knew it would be the start of his redemption.

~~~

“Ok would you rather fight an elephant sized axolotl or a hundred axolotl sized elephants? Honestly, either would do for me.” Chara asked, smiling.

“Am I allowed to spare either? If not then an elephant sized axolotl, it would give up to get to water.” Frisk answered. Henry laughed and leaned back.

“Nah, a hundred axolotl sized elephants, that way they won’t crush you on the way to the water.” He spoke. “Plus, I ain’t a pacifist, I won’t have a burden on my shoulder.”

“But those are innocent elephants!” Frisked shouted.

“What if they had caused the deaths of thousands? Then would you reconsider?”

“You’re cruel sometimes Chara.” Henry chuckled. Frisk smiled and knew, maybe more humans were like the toppats, they didn’t seem that bad.

“Gasp, I, the dead child sharing a soul with another child, is cruel.”

“Ok, ok, you two, reel it in, we’re meant to have a nice picnic, minus the food.” Frisk laughed. It was nice after most of their life living by themself as an orphan, to finally have a family. Sure, they didn’t have an exact father figure, but they had a mom in Toriel, a sibling in Chara, and now an older brother in Henry. It was everything they could ever dream of.

“Sorry Frisk.” Chara apologized sarcastically.

“Sorry kid, plus Chara isn’t as cruel as another demon I know.” Henry apologized, gazing at the air next to him like he was gesturing towards someone. But no, player was off minding their own weird business off somewhere that Henry didn’t care. They couldn’t do anything with Henry being there as a physical form. With this, they were most likely trying to chase a squirrel up a tree to find it’s home to (attempt to) destroy it.

“Speaking of whom, you said you’re in a similar boat to us, yeah? Well, haven’t seen your little soul buddy, where are they?” The red ghost asked, folding their arms. “Seriously, the fact you can see me means you aren’t lying, are you just in stage one?”

“No, they just don’t like people, and people don’t like them. They also much prefer tormenting squirrels than answering questions about elephants and axolotls.” Henry addressed. Chara scrunched their face while Henry just smiled.

That’s when the two humans felt something off, Frisk in specific heard dirt churning. Chara looked at them oddly as they weren’t sitting to feel the disturbance. That’s when a golden buttercup popped out of the ground.

“Well, that’s not normal, or I’ve been on the orbital station for too long.” The adult said, questioning himself. That’s when the flower turned its head, showing its face.

“That damned flower got out!”

“Nice to see you too Chara.” The flower spoke. “Anyways, Howdy! I’m Flowey, Flowey the Flower!”

“I can tell.” Henry sarcastically responded.

“Oh goodie goodie, the smiley trashbag comedian has a human twin.” Flowey spoke with a caustic remark, while Chara proceeded to lose their mind laughing at the realization of the similarities. “Anywho, I actually came here to say something.”

“What is it Flowey?” Frisk asked.

“Well…..” He paused. Why couldn’t he do it? He recited what he wanted to say on the way over, he knew he wanted to apologise, but the words wouldn’t form. He couldn’t say sorry, he couldn’t tell them the promise he made to himself...

He just was incapable of feeling true remorse.

“Of course, typical unfeeling flower. Will want everyone’s attention, then goes silent. Typical.”

“Chara! That was rude!” Frisk scolded. Flowey sighed, and popped back into the ground. Maybe it wasn’t time to repair that burnt bridge.

When Flowey popped back up, he moved himself next to a large tent near the edge of the clearing (as indicated by the large trees next to the tent). Chara was right, I have no soul, I can’t feel… Thoughts like that raced through his mind, he wanted to be better, but without a soul it was useless.

He stared around for something to do when he saw a tall man, leaning against a tree with a cigarette in his hand.

“Hey, Smokey! Y’know you’re gonna get yourself killed with that!” Flowey snarked loudly at the man. Right Hand Man looked down at the flower with a cold gaze.

“Wow Einstein, you’ve cracked the code and can leave the simulation now, hurray.” He laughed. Flowey was not amused. Instead he slid up the tree Right was leaning on and sat on one of the low branches. “And hey, ‘anks for the concern, but ah don’t get cigarettes that have tar in ‘em. So I’m lung cancer safe.”

“Huh, didn’t know those existed, anyways, I’m Flowey!” The buttercup had returned to his normal jovial mood.

“Nice to meet ya Flowey, I’m Right Hand Man.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“What kind of name is Flowey?”

“Touché” The two chuckled a bit, then Flowey asked the question that he completely forgot about in favor of introductions. “Say, why are you smoking in the first place?”

“Everytime I light a new one, ah ask myself the same thing. Then I remember my best friend is dead, there’s no HOPE left for anyone, and no amount of what if’s are gonna bring him back!” RIght started before going off into a tangent and yelling to himself.

“Hey big guy, calm down, there’s got to be some way to bring him back, yeah? Do you have his soul?”

~~~

Honestly, Flowey didn’t expect a yes, and he especially didn’t expect it to be stuck in such disrepair.

“Holy mother of asgore! What’d you do to him?!” He exclaimed.

“Only managed to get ‘im in by the time he was like this.” Right answered truthfully. He put a hand on the tank, rubbing it thoughtfully while the flower starred from his new-found perch on the Right Hand Man’s shoulder.

“Man, rough timing, eh? Anyways, do you perchance have a pot I could dip into? Soil is much more comfortable.” Flowey requested. Right sighed and kneeled down and grabbed a clay pot from under the table that had been left, he went outside and scooped a bit of dirt in before planting Flowey in it. He went back inside and set the pot next to Reginald’s soul tank before sitting onto the chair still left out from the events of earlier today.

“So, did you know that most likely if his being still exists somewhere, like the void, he would be in complete agony? I mean, I myself wouldn’t know as I have no soul, plus I’m a monster, but probably a broken soul would mean a world of pain?” The plant addressed, looking up at the top of the tent before facing the Aussie with the last point.

“Reg is strong, he can take it, he’s been through worse.” Right replied sternly.

“I’m just saying, if you really cared, you would be working your butt off trying to get him out of this state.”

“Shut it flower boy, Ah don’t need to hear how much of a failure I am.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Flowey retorted, managing to bounce his pot closer to the tank. Two vines shot out of the pot, waving about frantically, acting like arms to demonstrate his frustration. Damn his subconscious want of misery in others, he would definitely need to work on that later. “I’m not saying you failed! I’m just saying you’re lounging around crying about your problems instead of fixing them! There’s plenty of things you could do!”

“Well do YOU have any smart ideas? Or are ya just goin’ to be a thorn in mah side?!” The toppat argued back. Flowey stewed for a moment before spotting a leather book on the other end of the table, noticing a keyword, soul. He reached for it with a vine.

“Correction, buttercups don’t have thorns. Plus, this book here may do the trick!” He pulled the book to him with immense speed. Too immense in fact that it hit the glass of the soul preserving tank. It wobbled for a moment before tilting off the table.

Smash!

#shattered mirror #undertale #thsc #the henry stickmin collection #flowey #crossover #inspired #post-pacifist ending #toppat recruits #fanfic #fanfiction #also I now put the fanfic with the post #thats fun

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cinaja · 3 years

Text

Before the Wall part 35

Masterlist

----

In the following months, there are no further incidents with Jurian, which Miryam interprets as her plan having been a success. Jurian clearly works better with a larger, entirely human army. From a military point of view, her plan worked perfectly. But from a personal viewpoint, it is rather catastrophic. Any negative development that started before Drakon left seems to increase tenfold, and all Miryam can do is to stand by helplessly.

She does what she can to make things easier for Jurian, but none of her attempts work. Jurian doesn’t want her sympathy. He doesn’t want to talk to her either. Not about his feelings, or his actions, or anything else. The slightest disagreement sends him on edge. Miryam doesn’t know why, but anytime she says something against him, he seems to consider it to be a personal betrayal. So he snaps at her. Sometimes he apologizes afterwards. Most times, they just pretend nothing happened and move on with their lives.

And that would be fine. Miryam can take arguments, even if they always leave her feeling like there are splinters stuck under her skin, cutting with each moment. She can deal with Jurian’s anger – she understands it well enough. And if Jurian’s way to deal with it is to convince himself that all will be well if just kills Amarantha, she won’t stop him. But these days, Jurian prioritizes his private vendetta over everything else. Miryam had to keep him from going against orders to chase after her four times already.

The fourth time was yesterday, and Jurian is still angry enough that he barely spoke to her these past few days. If Miryam had been a little prouder, she would have let him stew, but here she is, sitting in his tent, once again apologizing for an argument that was his fault to begin with.

“We could have won this battle,” Jurian argues. He slams a file on the table with a bang.

“We had orders.” Through lots of practice, Miryam manages to keep her voice calm. “We were meant to keep our position to prevent the Vallahan army from marching east and ambushing out forces there.”

“It was a unique chance!”

Miryam sighs. “This war is bigger than your fight with Amarantha, Jurian,” she says softly, knowing that he likely won’t like this, “Revenge won’t bring back the dead, but there are millions of humans we might still save.”

Jurian glares at her. He’s angry now, she can see it in his eyes. “You don’t understand this,” he snaps and returns to his maps.

Miryam presses her lips together. Usually, she accepts Jurian’s behaviour with a shrug, but she can’t stand when he acts like this. How dare he pretend he knows more of anger and suffering and hate than she does?

She tries to understand, she really does, but damnit, Jurian isn’t the only one to have lost people. Does he think Miryam forgot about the thousand slaves Ravenia had murdered? Does he not know that while they are stuck in their endless fight against the loyalists, more of her people get slaughtered every day? Jurian isn’t the only one who is furious, nor the only one who wants revenge. If he has a right to anger, then Miryam does, too – but unlike him, she understands that this war is bigger than personal retribution. Aren’t the millions of human who still live in shackles more important than any revenge they might gain?

“I’ll be going to the mess hall.” Jurian stands so abruptly that his knee slams against the table and his ink pot nearly falls over. “You coming?”

She doesn’t want to come. She wants him to stop acting like she is the one who doesn’t understand, and since that’s not likely to happen, she wants to be left alone. But this is a peace offer, and in their current situation, Miryam can’t risk to refuse it, no matter how angry she may be. Jurian is suffering far more than she is, so that means it falls to her to look past her own feelings.

So she makes herself smile. “Sure.”

Jurian gives her a curt nod and stalks out of the tent, Miryam following shortly after. The mess hall is full already, but soldiers move over to make space for them. She smiles and thanks them. Someone hands her a bowl of stew and two slices of dark bread.

While they eat, Miryam barely gets a chance to talk to Jurian. She is busy listening to the soldiers, asking the right questions and smiling at the right times, Jurian next to her doing the same. She only pauses when a hush falls over the assembled soldiers and all eyes turn to the entrance.

Miryam frowns at the Seraphim soldier standing in the entrance. She doesn’t recognise him, but his presence itself is unusual. Following their argument, Jurian made it clear that he doesn’t wish to see Drakon or anyone who works for him within five miles of his camp. Indeed, Jurian is glaring openly at the soldier.

“I thought I told Drakon to keep his people out of my camp.”

Miryam puts a hand on his arm. “I’ll see what this is about.”

The soldier bows to her when Miryam approaches. “My Lady,” he says, “Prince Drakon requests a meeting. Urgently.”

Miryam’s frown deepens. Ever since they split camps, she has been meeting with Drakon at least once a week, but this is the first time he had one of his soldiers ask her over. Something must have happened.

“I’m coming right away,” she says.

From where he sits between a group of soldiers, Jurian frowns over at them. Miryam smiles and mouthes it’s important at him. Jurian rolls his eyes and returns to his conversation.

Maybe a part of Miryam is glad about the excuse to leave the camp. Visiting Drakon is the closest she comes to relaxing these days – even though Drakon’s message sounds like the visit today will be far less enjoyable than usual.

On the way into Drakon’s camp, Miryam runs into Nephelle, who just landed accompanied by two other cartographers.

“Miryam.” Nephelle smiles warmly. “What are you doing here? Not that it’s not good to see you, but didn’t you visit only yesterday?”

“I’m not entirely sure why I’m here myself,” Miryam admits. “Some emergency, I assume?”

Worry wipes the smile off Nephelle’s face. “I don’t know of any emergency, but I was out of camp for most of today.” She pats a bag hanging over her shoulder. The edge of a freshly drawn sketch peeks out. “We’d best go find Drakon.”

Miryam nods and follows Nephelle through the camp. As they walk, the Seraphim keeps rubbing her right wing, wincing.

“Damned cold,” she mutters. “When the weather is like this, it always hurts worse than usual.”

Miryam would suggest warm bandages to help with any cramping, as well as a salve, but she assumes that Nephelle, who likely had trouble with her wing for her entire life, likely knows best how to deal with it. Besides, she probably has more qualified healers to help her should she need it.

Nephelle doesn’t seem to expect a reply either way. She turns to the soldier who brought Miryam. “Where’s Drakon?”

“In his tent, Lady,” he replies.

Four guards are posted at the tent’s entrance, but they let Miryam and Nephelle through without comment. Inside, Drakon and Sinna appear to be in the middle of an argument, but they both fall silent when the door opens.

“Miryam?” Drakon looks at her like she is the last person he expected to see in his tent.

“I asked her to come,” Sinna says. She is leaning against the table, her arms so tightly crossed that they look like they might snap at any moment. “You refuse to listen to me. Maybe she’ll have better luck.”

“Luck with what?” Nephelle asks. She shoves past Miryam and gives Sinna a brief kiss in greeting. Sinna smiles in return and takes her hand.

“I can’t believe this,” Drakon says to Sinna without giving her a chance to reply to Nephelle. “You ask Miryam here to…” He shakes his head.

Miryam exchanges a look with Nephelle, who shrugs and grins. “You know what?” She nudges Sinna in the side. “How about we go wait outside and let Miryam and Drakon talk, now that she’s here. While we do, maybe you can tell me what this is about.”

Sinna grumbles something, but there is no real anger behind it and she follows Nephelle out of the tent without complaining.

Drakon turns to Miryam, wincing. “Sorry about this,” he says. “Sinna…” He shrugs. “Well, you know.”

“And what is it about this time?” Miryam asks.

It must be something serious. Sinna worries about Drakon, that is true. It is equally true that her methods are usually rather blunt, sometimes harsh, and Miryam isn’t always fond of them. But usually, she doesn’t go over his head like this. She speaks her mind on everything, but in the end, she accepts that Drakon can make his own choices.

“I got a letter from Ravenia,” Drakon says in a too-quiet voice.

“What?”

Miryam stares at him. Drakon shrugs a bit too casually.

“She wants to meet,” he says. He does an admirable job of keeping his voice detached, but Miryam knows him too well to be fooled by it. “Was all formal about it, too. She even wants to use the Lake Palace. You know, the one where the Alliance and the Loyalists met at the beginning of the war.”

Miryam nods slowly. “And you argued with Sinna because she didn’t want you to go?”

But in truth, she is far more interested in Ravenia’s intentions here. Why is the Queen of the Black Land so interested in Drakon? There is no logical reason for this, at least not one Miryam has been able to figure out, and it annoys her to no end.

Drakon shakes his head. “She doesn’t really have a problem with that. If we’re meeting under the seal of neutrality, Ravenia probably won’t do anything – she won’t be able to, if we’re meeting in the Lake Palace. No, Sinna just doesn’t want me to go alone.”

“Why would you go alone?” Miryam asks.

Up to that point, Drakon’s reasoning made perfect sense. Ravenia wouldn’t violate neutrality, the political repercussion would be too severe. But if the meeting follows protocol, Drakon and Ravenia should bring one companion each. Officially, it’s meant to be a protection, but with wards ensuring neutrality, the choice of the companion is usually more a show of power. Ravenia will bring Artax for sure.

“I’d just prefer it”, Drakon says, but he doesn’t look at Miryam. He sits down on his bed and stares down at his knees. Sighing, Miryam sits down next to him.

“Why?” She asks. “It’s the protocol, if you go against it, it will look bad.”

Besides, Miryam can’t think of a reason why Drakon would want to go alone. If she had to meet with Ravenia, she would always want at least one person who is on her side with her. Without Jurian and the other Alliance members beside her, she doesn’t think she would have been able to get through the meeting with the Loyalists.

But Drakon shakes his head. “I can’t take anyone along.”

And suddenly, it makes sense. “It’s because you don’t want them to find out why Ravenia wants to marry you, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”, Drakon asks. His confusion almost seems genuine. Almost.

“Oh, you know,” Miryam says, “You’ve known ever since the Black Land. I just don’t understand why you’re so adamant to keep it secret.”

Drakon keeps staring at his knees. Miryam very badly wants to push. After all, this might well be relevant for the war effort. It might hint at a weakness of Ravenia’s, and if that is the case, she needs to know. But she has too many secrets herself to be able to push Drakon on his with clear consciousness. She can’t push, at least not without making herself into a complete hypocrite.

She reaches for Drakon’s hand. “And you’re sure you can do this?” She asks.

If Drakon is surprised that she dropped the subject, he hides it well. He just gives her a grateful smile and squeezes her hand.

“Yes,” he says, “I mean, I think so. There isn’t much Ravenia can do to me if we meet in the Lake Palace, right?”

----

In spite of his big words, Drakon desperately wishes that Miryam was with him when he arrives in the palace in the lake the Continent uses to host neutral meetings. He is more than half an hour early and the palace is still deserted when he walks up the bridge that leads over the black lake to the island in its centre.

No guards stand in front of the gates, but on each side, a huge crystal bowl is placed. Drakon takes a dagger from his belt and draws it over his palm. Blood wells up and drips into the bowl, crimson on sparkling crystal.

„I swear that while I am on these grounds, to do no harm to anyone here, not by action or intention. I swear it on my life and on my blood.“

Rays of light shoot up from the bowl, painting rainbows into the air. That seems like a good sign. Still, he wishes someone was here to give him directions on what to do.

“Please don’t fry me”, he tells the wards and slowly steps forward.

The wards don’t fry him, which is rather nice of them. The great iron doors to the palace swing open as if pulled by invisible servants and Drakon enters. Slowly, he walks through the entrance hall, looking around. Even though the palace has been abandoned for years, the spells woven through the stone kept it from decaying. The palace is still splendid, but there are still signs of its abandonment. Wines sneak through the windows, a bird built a nest in one of the chandeliers and two mice skitter off as Drakon approaches.

“Admiring the view, Your Highness?”

Drakon only barely manages to keep from flinching. He turns around slowly, with all the grace he can muster.

Ravenia stands by the doors, dressed in her customary loose white clothes. Golden jewellery glints at her arms. As Miryam predicted, she is accompanied by Artax. The head of the Witcher’s Guild is dressed in the light grey robes of his profession, a scroll and a feather stitched on his breast.

“You need to bow”, Ravenia says, “In case you were wondering what the protocol demands in this situation.”

Drakon looks at her, and he sees the dark dungeon cell she locked him into, her masked torturer and the glowing iron in his hand. He hears her voice and his ears ring with screams – his own and those of others. Before he can stop himself, he has taken a step back, away from her. His power comes to life in a whisper, making a wind rustle though the room.

He digs his fingers into the fabric of his coat. “Don’t you think we’ve left protocol behind long ago?”

Ravenia clicks her tongue. They are the same size, but somehow, she manages to look down on him. “Still, nothing speaks against some common courtesy.”

This is exactly what Drakon despises about Continental politics. You can murder thousands of innocents and no one will bat an eye. Blackmailing and torture are perfectly acceptable. But Cauldron forbid that Drakon botches up a formal address.

“I would also have appreciated some courtesy,” he says, “when I was in your court. You remember? You had me thrown in the dungeon and tortured.”

“Now, we both know that this was entirely your fault,” Ravenia says with a dismissive wave of hand. Behind her, Artax picks up a vase from one of the pretty little tables and turns it around in his hands. “And it is not what I called you here to discuss.”

Drakon is beginning to think that Sinna may have been right. He shouldn’t have come. What is he even trying to accomplish here? Why does he go to a meeting with two of the most unnerving people he ever met? Just to get ridiculed?

“Then kindly get to the point”, he says.

Artax bristles. He must have released his hold on his power, because the room seems to turn colder. No, not colder precisely. But the air suddenly feels heavy, loaded the way it does in the hours before a thunderstorm.

It only stops when Ravenia shakes her head ever so slightly. She has started examining her nails like Drakon is not even worthy of her attention. “I’m rather dissatisfied with you, you see”, she says lightly.

I’m not exactly happy with you either, Drakon thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Not when Artax is watching him the way a hawk might stare at a mouse, unblinking and predatory. His courage is spent. All he can manage is to keep from running, and to hide his trembling hands behind his back.

Ravenia sighs. “You don’t seem to realize that I have been kind with you as of yet. Continue refusing me and that will change.”

Kind. Drakon tries and fails not to think of iron burning his skin, pain that never seems to end and the helplessness of being unable to make it stop. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. Ravenia would certainly hear the fear in his voice – as he is sure she already sees it in his eyes.

“I have no need of Erithia, you see”, she says, “Your land, I could use, but your people?” She smiles slightly. “Until now, I spared them in this war, but my patience has come to an end. So the choice is up to you: You can either agree to this marriage, or watch me burn your country to the ground.”

“No,” Drakon whispers.

Artax lets out a low laugh, but he ignores him. This can’t be happening, it can’t – it simply isn’t possible. There are hundreds of thousands of people in Erithia. Ravenia can’t be threatening all of them just to get Drakon to agree to a marriage. This is the woman who murdered over a thousand people just to punish Miryam, he reminds himself. She won’t stop at his country either.

It is a terrifying realization. But worse is that Drakon knows, deep down, that he won’t be able to stop her. He can’t give her what she wants. Not just because of vows or gods, but because if Ravenia got her hands on the sword, it would not just be Erithia that burned, but the entire world.

“No,” he repeats, this time more forcefully.

Ravenia just shrugs. “Your choice. Which reminds me.” She gives him another smile, but this one is more vicious. “Do give my regards to my little runaway slave. Tell her she can continue to play at being leader of the Alliance. For whatever little time she has left.”

With that, she turns around and stalks out of the room, Artax close behind her.

Drakon remains standing rooted on his spot, unable to move. Ravenia’s words echo over and over again in his mind, leaving him unable to form a coherent thought. He shouldn’t just stand here, he needs to return to his camp and tell Sinna what happened. They have to prepare, send a message to the Alliance, do something.

But deep down, he knows that it will be no use. Ravenia wouldn’t have told him in advance if she hadn’t been sure that she’ll win no matter what he does. Warning him was just a final taunt – making sure he knows what is coming, knows that he did everything in his power to stop it, and that it still wasn’t enough.

Drakon hasn’t been to Cretea in over a year. Since he can’t get into the cave anymore, he avoided the island rather than face his failure. But now, with nowhere else to turn, he returns to the cave. What he needs is a miracle, and this is the only place where he could find one.

The mist at the cave’s entrance twirls in front of him. It forms a male figure, masked and with an iron bar in his hand.

“Let me through”, Drakon hisses. This illusion cannot scare him more than the meeting with Ravenia and he has no time for this, not when his country is being threatened.

In answer, the mist crumbles. Drakon blinks. Nothing is ever that easy. Hesitantly, he starts forward, but before he can step through the opening, the mist rises again. But this time, it takes another form.

For a heartbeat, Drakon simply stares at his father, as confused as he was when he went into the cave after his coronation. Then, he also saw his father, but after what happened in the Black Land, that changed. Until now, it appears. Not real, he reminds himself. This isn’t real, it’s just an illusion. Unfortunately, that doesn’t change a thing as his father starts to speak.

“What kind of trouble did you get into now?” He asks in a tone that isn’t angry, but rather disappointed.

“You aren’t real,” Drakon says, but his voice shakes.

“That’s true,” his father agrees, “But as long as you continue to run my country to the ground, I’ll keep appearing.”

Drakon nervously tugs on the hem of his coat. He got past his father and his taunts before, he should be able to do it again. But with Ravenia’s threat still ringing in his ears, he can’t summon the confidence he would need to get past the spell. How can he confidently tell his father that he is doing well as a ruler when his country might get invaded?

“I’m trying,” he says instead, “Just let me through, I’ll find a way to fix this. Please.”

The mists don’t move. Drakon’s father shakes his head. “Trying isn’t enough. You swore you would never let our people down, but you did and now, thousands might die.” He shakes his head sadly. “I always knew this would happen if you were put in charge. There was a reason, after all, why I decided to sell you to Ravenia.”

Drakon spins around and stalks back through the tunnel. He made it about halfway to the door when a raspy laugh sounds from behind him. Drakon slowly turns around to the ghost who materialized behind him. His face is shrouded in shadows as always, and his body seems to appear and disappear sporadically.

“What do you want?”, Drakon asks. His voice sounds shrill in his own ears.

The witcher shrugs. The movement looks off without an actual body. “Maybe I just enjoy watching you.” He laughs again. The sound sends shivers down Drakon’s spine. “You’re rather entertaining. Can’t even get past a simple spell. I’d like to see how you even manage to run your country – can’t work very well, right?”

Drakon’s eyes begin to burn. He blinks rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. He balls his hands to fists and turns his head away. “Shut up.”

“Now, that was witty.” The witcher moves a bit closer, not taking a step but gliding over the ground. “Hit a spot there, didn’t I? Come on, surely you didn’t manage to reduce your country to rubble in the few years you’ve been in charge in Erithia.”

“You want to know what happened?”, Drakon asks. He is shaking now. Ravenia’s threats mix with his father’s taunts and he just can’t take it. “How about five years of war? How about the fact that this entire Continent is on fire and more people die each day, or that even after five years, we are still at a stalemate and if we lose, millions of humans will end up enslaved?” Drakon’s voice echoes on the tunnel walls, gets thrown back and forth and distorted more and more.

The witcher’s shape flickers once, as if in surprise.

“And Erithia,” Drakon continues, “well, Erithia is about to be invaded because Queen Ravenia of the Black Land somehow found out about this stupid sword and now wants to get her hands on it to set herself up as Queen of the Continent or something like this.” Drakon feels tears running over his face and wipes them away. “So from the way it looks, Erithia is indeed about to get reduced to rubble and I’m too stupidly incompetent to -”His voice breaks. “Shit”, he whispers, “shit.”

He lets himself slide to the ground, wings tugged in tightly, and buries his face in his arms. It’s all hopeless. Ravenia is going to burn his country to the ground and he won’t be able to do a thing against it. After all, he has never once been able to do anything against Ravenia.

“Hey”, a light voice says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – “

Drakon is surprised enough that he looks up. The witcher is kneeling before him – only his looks are completely changed. Gone are the shadows, instead, a sturdy young man with ruddy brown hair and a friendly face kneels in front of him.

Drakon yelps and jumps the his feet. “What the –“

The man vanishes and reappears five feet further away. “Sorry”, he repeats. “I thought you might find this more comforting. But I could change it to something else.” Again, that awkward shrug. “At least you stopped crying, so I guess that’s something.”

Drakon lets himself slide back to the ground. He tries and fails to process that the local evil ghost is actually a nice-looking man who seems only a few years older than him. Upon closer inspection, he looks more human than Fae.

“I didn’t mean to upset you”, the ghost says. “I mean, I kind of did, but I didn’t mean to actually make you cry. None of the others ever reacted. At all.”

Drakon doesn’t manage a reply. All he can do is stare.

“I mean, can you blame me?” The ghost asks. “I don’t exactly get much company down here. Just you Erithian royals, and you are generally not very talkative.” Now, he even gives him a small smile. “But maybe you want to talk? About that war of yours, and this Ravenia.”

Wonderful. Apparently, Drakon is now pathetic enough to make the evil ghost trapped in this cave for his deeds feel bad for him. That’s a new low.

He bites his lip. Telling the local evil witcher the truth about what happened seems like a bad idea. But not that the he mentions it, Drakon realizes that he does want to talk. Badly. And the unfortunate truth is that there is no one outside of this cave who can ever know the entire truth.

“Alright,” Drakon says, wondering if he’ll yet regret this.

Haltingly, he begins to talk. He starts at the very beginning, with his engagement to Ravenia. It occurs to him that he never told this story to anyone before, at least not entirely. At first, he stumbles over the words, but after the first few sentences, he finds that he can’t get himself to stop talking anymore.

The ghost watches in silence, without interrupting him once. He doesn’t blink either. The only reaction he shows is that his form flickers from now to then. Even long after Drakon finished talking, he remains silent, staring at Drakon. He stares back, drumming a quick rhythm on his leg.

“So what did you come here to do?” The ghost finally asks. “To beg for help from a goddess who never once answered your prayers?”

Wonderful. Drakon should have known better than to hope for any help from him.

“Let me guess,” he says, “You want me to free me so you can help me defeat my enemies.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst idea,” the ghost shoots back, “If you’re worried about what using the sword might do to you, I’m pretty sure you could get away with it if you use it just this once.”

Drakon is far more worried about possibly setting a dangerous criminal loose on the world. There’s no way for him to know what the ghost would to if he were to release him. Instead of helping, he might turn on Drakon.

“Sorry,” unsure if he means that, “but I can’t.”

“So you’d rather let this… this person get her hands on my sword?”

“It isn’t your sword. You stole it from Daín.”

Drakon draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. He doesn’t understand this. Why does this even interest this witcher so much? Is he just trying to manipulate him, or does he actually care about what Ravenia getting her hands on the sword might mean?

“True.” In the blink of an eye, the ghost disappears and reappears in a sitting position opposite Drakon. “But if you count on the Mother for help, then you’re in for a disappointment.”

“And whose fault is that?” Drakon asks, “You killed her consort, Daín, to steal his sword. You caused the Mother to disappear.”

To his surprise, the ghost starts to laugh like Drakon has just told him the funniest joke. “You never knew Étain. Even if she was still around, she wouldn’t give a shit about any of this. She cared about exactly three things: Being worshiped, herself and Daín. Certainly never about humans. Or Fae, for that matter.”

Drakon blinks at him. “Étain,m” he repeats. “You mean the Mother. You knew her?”

“Of course. Her and Daín both.” He gives Drakon a smile filled with too-sharp teeth. “And let me tell you something: If you are truly fighting against slavery, you would have been sorely disappointed by your precious goddess.”

Why did he even start this conversation? He should have known that debating this war with the ghost of an evil witcher could only end badly. Yet here he is, stupid enough to try it anyways. He can’t even get himself to brush off the words like he knows he should.

“The mother didn’t favour slavery,” Drakon says softly. He leans his head against the wall and looks up at the glowing plants that grow all over the tunnel. “Why would she? She created this world, full of different species as it is. Cleary she valued diversity.”

“But what if she didn’t?” The ghost presses. “What would you do then?”

“Change religions,” Drakon replies without thinking.

With a start, he realizes the sheer ridiculousness of this situation. His country is about to be invaded, and here he is, debating religion with the witcher who murdered his goddess’s consort. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry.

Again, the ghost laughs, but this time, it sounds almost appreciative. “Good answer,” he says, “Watch out, little prince. I might start to like you yet.” His form flickers and he reappears in a standing position. “You don’t want to believe me about the Mother,” he says, looking down on Drakon. “That’s you choice to make. But before you count on any divine assistance, you might still want to consider the possibility that I am right.”

----

A/N: I'd really like to thank @croissantcitysucks here, because we came up with everything regarding the sword, the Mother, Daín and the ghost in the cave together and that entire arc would have been far less interesting without her and the discussions we’ve had❤

Tags: @sjm-things

#I feel kind of bad about how things with Jurian are going #but I hope it's understandable that he's only acting that way because he is suffering #and I hope the other characters are understandable too #before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

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dragonswithjetpacks · 3 years

Text

Campfire Conversations

-dragonswithjetpacks

Summary: Astarion is bored at camp. And his target for the night... is Ferelith. Through persistence and bribery, she indulges him in casual conversation.

Read here on Ao3.

Despite the three bedrolls she had placed next to the fire, Ferelith still found it difficult to gain any comfort. She rolled up one side, placed her pillows against, and even placed a rock behind them to prop them well enough to use as a backing. She sat upright, flipping through her book, sketching in magic symbols and making small notes. At her side was another set of smaller books, one she would thumb through on occasion to double check her accuracy. All was quiet other than the whispers from the fire, which was precisely what she had asked for. But then again, there was always one who was never too keen to listen to what she wanted.

"What are you doing?" he announced his presence, bending over her shoulder as he peered into her book.

Ferelith blinked disapprovingly, giving him a side glance from the corner of her eye.

"Ah, yes, you're quite right," he sighed. "I don't care... I'm bored."

Again, she said nothing, but he took her silence as an invitation. He stepped over the log onto her blanket, with his boots still on, making her cringe as the dirt made a subtle foot print. He sat next to her, propping himself on one of her pillows. It appeared it was not good enough. And he removed it, fluffing it to perfection before placing it behind him once more.

"That was accident," he winced at the wrinkled and dirtied mess he left in his wake.

Kicking his feet to the side, he straightened his corner and brushed the dirt off lightly. It mattered little, as she had already to planned to wash it the moment he placed his boots onto her finely stitched threads. Her annoyance was made quite clear with a loud sigh, her book slowly lowering to her lap.

"I suppose I'm the one lucky enough to oblige you tonight," her face was calm but he could feel the irritation burning into him. "What would you ask of me?"

"You could light someone on fire," he shrugged with his bottom lip sticking out.

Her eyes shifted upward in thought of the idea. "I could. But I'm afraid I'm not so amused by your form of entertainment."

"You would be if you'd let me show you," he raised a brow.

Much to his disappointment, the only reply she gave was yet another one of her famous blank stares. He wondered where she went sometimes when she looked at him like that. Any normal person would have thoughts filled with disgust, though that was only humorous and much to his liking. But Ferelith was different than most. The look was usually empty. It was only until recently he noticed her eyes would often widen and her lip would curl upward at one corner. At least he knew he got some kind of rise from her.

"Where did you get those books?" he asked when he noticed he was losing her attention.

Ferelith was not easily distracted. When she was focused, there was nothing that could tear her eyes away. He had discovered this, unfortunately, through a series of trial and error in an attempt to know her true nature. Most things ended in eye rolls, rarely out of annoyance, but mostly with sarcasm. There were also multiple occasions where he was completely ignored. Which he found rude, but reasonable. It was actually a bit of a surprise she was speaking to him, now.

"A bookshop," she replied, tilting the book back up.

"Not an ordinary bookshop."

Her eyes flicked in his direction.

"Let's see," he picked a few of them up, many no bigger than a pocket book. "Arcane, Illusion, Mystic Runes... my, my... these look handwritten for personal use."

"Put those back where you found them, please," she commanded without so much as a glance.

"These look like spell books," he began to flip through the pages of one. "If I had to guess, anyway. I'm usually decent at guessing, though."

"You know if you look through the grimoire of another without permission, you'll gain the hex of that grimoire."

He suddenly dropped all three. Ferelith smiled wildly, her eyes still scanning the runes in her larger book. He hadn't noticed before, but while she was writing with one hand, the other held a book in place, often darting to another to scour through it's pages. It was like they had to separate minds of their own. The hand writing or sketching was moving very fast, but her penmanship was impeccable. He leaned over - careful not to disturb her- and saw she was copying whatever she was scanning from the other, smaller books.

"These are your grimoires?"

"No," she replied.

"So how is it you are able to look at them?"

"I have permission."

"I don't understand how someone so straightforward can have so much mystery about them," he shrugged. "It's somehow both annoying and attractive."

"That's precisely the impression I aim for," she smiled again, smaller and sweeter this time.

The sigh that came from him was intentionally loud enough for Ferelith to look up from her work. She observed her companion pull himself onto his feet, placing his hands on his hips next to her bedrolls. He looked about the camp when suddenly, he had a reasonably good idea. She had hoped his walking away would mean he had given up. On the contrary, however, she watched him walk over to Gale's things and begin to rummage through them. Suddenly, Ferelith was intrigued with the rogue. More than likely, she was interested to see if he got caught. Unfortunately, he did not. Instead, he came waltzing back across the camp with a rather large pep to his step, a large bottle in one hand and a goblet in the other.

Careful not to defile her blankets a second time, he seated himself next to her, closer than before. He fought with the cork inside the bottle for a moment, but sent it sailing into the air with a loud pop with the edge of his knife. He poured himself a glass, brought it to his nose, and inhaled it deeply followed by a satisfying exhale. He looked to Ferelith, who had regretfully not been able to look away. He had to admit, he won half the battle. But as he held up the wine as an offering, he felt there was more of a fight to be had. Ferelith rolled her eyes. Reached over to a flat stone next to her blankets. And grabbed her empty goblet. She reluctantly held it out as he poured the contents into her cup. There was no hesitance as she brought it to her lips, her eyes dropping back down into the book without any further acknowledgement to Astarion.

"I don't even get a thank you," he complained.

"Thank you," she said before looking into the goblet a second time. "This is actually... quite nice."

"I hear the words, but I don't really feel the gratitude."

Ferelith looked up, finally giving him the contact he craved. There was always something unsettling he found looking into her eyes. They were yellow. But not like fire or the sun... no. Her eyes were pale. Like that of a once green plant craving attention; something to hydrate it, nutrients from the soil, or even just love.

"Fine," she said, tapping the ink to make sure it was dry before snapping the book shut. "I will indulge you."

"Words I've been waiting for all night," he shook his head and leaned forward.

Ferelith sat her work beside her, pulling her knees up and turning to her side. Her robe was of black lace and didn't do anything to add to comfort or practicality. But if there was one thing the traveling band of misfits learned about the warlock, it was that she wasn't always about the practical use of an item. She was very fond of beautiful things. And as she considered Astarion, she was inclined to admit the she was fond of his beauty as well. He knew this, using it to his advantage and tempted her at every chance he received. Ferelith was fully aware of the predicament she had somehow placed herself into. Which gave her more reason to ignore him. And as obvious as she made it, that did not prevent him from trying. Relentlessly.

"Tell me about the books," he said, propping his arm onto the rock they were leaning on.

"They were the last of a collection I was working on in the city."

"Anything interesting?"

"Just old spells and runes. Nothing anyone uses anymore. I've been transcribing them. They're spell books of old witches: long forgotten, tossed aside, half rotten old books."

"Witches you say?" he recoiled.

"Oh, yes. I believe there are a few useful things in here for banishments of the undead. If you're interested."

"Gods, no," he laughed, taking a sip of his wine. "But tell me more."

"I have one necromancy tome," she rolled over onto her knees. "And it's interesting. Not what I'm looking for, but interesting," she began to fan out her collection on the blankets.

Astarion leaned forward to examine them further.

"My job at the bookshop was to take these old grimoires and write them down into the bigger blank tomes. The ones that I found useful, I kept for myself. This is what is left of my findings. And the remains of my last project."

"What did you mean by 'what you were looking for'? Is there a certain spell you're seeking?"

"Not necessarily a spell. Just a translation."

"Have you had any luck?"

"A few words here and there."

"May I see the book you're translating?"

"Absolutely not," her eyes felt as cold as her reply.

"Ah, I see I'm reaching my limit for the night," he said with a tone of disappointment.

Astarion had grown accustomed to his interactions with his warlock companion being cut short. Rather it was her own doing or the work of another, he found their conversations always disrupted. It was a shame, truly, as he assumed Ferelith was the type to hold secrets. Even some that did not belong to her. The woman had been alive for quite sometime, though not nearly as long as he had. But he imagine there was something worth telling within the few lifetimes she had lived.

"Not necessarily," she replied lightheartedly. "After all, you've found this lovely bottle of wine."

"Humoring me for the sake of the wine, then?" a brow went up in confidence.

"I doubt I'd humor you for little else," her smirk was mocking his excitement.

"Remind to thank Gale in the morning, then," his mood went undisturbed. "I'd like to know how it is you intend to humor me now that books are off the table."

"Is that all you think I talk about?"

"I don't know," he shook his head, knowing she took the bait. "I've never heard you have a full conversation. With anyone."

"I converse very well, thank you," she took a sip of her wine. "I've just been lacking good company."

"You wound me," he lowered his gaze, but the tone was of sarcasm and he watched the corner of Ferelith's mouth turn upward.

Success.

"What is it you wish to discuss?"

"Discuss? I've no taste for lectures, my darling. I require something a bit more refined, something provocative. Tell me something interesting."

"Something interesting?" she appeared to be offended, her voice raising in pitch. "Well for one, when you strike a conversation with a person of interest, it's usually polite not to demand it from them."

"Very well," he rolled his eyes. "Tell me something interesting, please. I know you've got something just waiting to be told."

"If you're looking for exciting tales, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong colleague."

"No? Nothing, say, of your youth?"

"I assure my you, my early years are beyond dull."

"Surely not," he tilted his head down. "You have nothing? Dangerous spells? A jilted lover? A need for vengeance? Everyone has a decent vengeance story."

This time Ferelith laughed, tilting her head to the side away from him. But the sight of the smile caused him to straighten where he sat, leaning forward to see it fully. She rose a hand a to cover her mouth, but it was not enough for him to go without noticing... she was embarrassed.

"No vengeance here, I'm afraid," she looked back to him, her eyes meeting his. "But I suppose if you're interested in a horrible love story, I could tell you of my stay in Neverwinter..."

"Horrible as in tragic... or horrible as in just bad."

"Both," she nodded a finger to him.

"Even better!" he seemed overjoyed.

"Fine, fine. But I'll need a refill," she said passing her goblet to him.

Like the gentleman he was, he poured it for her. A bit too close to the edge, but he was eager for her to start the story to notice. She took a long drink, letting the contents give her the courage she needed. This was a bit of a defeat for her, but she was willing to let it go for the sake of his amusement. It was something to catch her attention, but to make her laugh was a feat of it's own. There was a sliver of a thought that perhaps she had misjudged him.

"This story is so humiliating. I can't believe I'm telling you," she shifted in her seat.

"Get on with it, then," he urged her to continue.

"Mind you, I had never been to a city before. Not even close to one. And I had just gotten a taste of what it felt like to wield magic. I found myself in the streets of Neverwinter in search for more knowledge. But I had no idea how to survive. There were so many others like me, just a crowd of beggers looking for work."

"Yes, I am aware. There are plenty of people swimming the streets looking for a better life in the city. A plague on society. Honestly."

"Indeed," Ferelith sighed, recalling the annoyance of the people who tormented her for those years of her life. "I offered my services. But found little coin in it. No one took my work seriously and no one was willing to give me the chance. I found myself resorting to other means of earning an income. Means that required a certain charisma."

"The vagueness of your statements is dramatic, but do go on."

"I acted as a smuggler," the bluntness returned. "It gave me good coin and the jobs I was hired to perform often involved a change of wardrobe. I was no good with the actual act of stealing or sneaking. A sleight of hand on occasion, but never anything that tactful. I was only a cover for whatever it was that I was charged with moving. It eventually earned me enough to rent a loft where I proceeded with my studies and transcribing work."

"Just a moment," he held out a hand to pause her. "The coin from working jobs like that... I don't believe that's enough for what had acquired."

"You are aware there are other ways of obtaining what is needed," the complacency in her tone was met with a guiltless stare. "Seduction."

"I'm starting to believe this woman you speak of is no longer with us," he teased with an exaggerated smile. "This talk of charisma and seduction, I've yet to see it."

"It's not for you to see," the wrinkle of frustration set on her brow and she turned her head, taking another long drink of wine. "I was young. And equally ignorant."

A long pause fell across Ferelith as she looked down into her cup. She could feel the affects and wished it would make the rest of the story a bit easier to tell. It was only a reminder of her failures. She wondered why she chose this to tell of all things. A jilted lover was not worth what she lost. With a deep breath holding back her hesitancy, she pressed on.

"There was a man who requested my services. He was a young human noble from a prosperous family of wizards. Nothing to himself, really, but he had access to the city. The fool that I was decided he was an easy way out of the slums. I charmed him, convincing him he was infatuated with me. And when it wore off, he was too polite to deny that he had invited me out for dinner."

"Commendable, if not a questionable choice," Astarion hid his surprise.

"The idea was to charm him at least in the beginning. And it worked," she shrugged. "I had charmed him enough times that he had fallen in love with me. Not entirely on his own, but still... it was his decision to place a ring on my hand."

"A ring?" he nearly choked on his wine. "You were betrothed?"

Ferelith slowly shook her head.

"You were married?"

"I was," her reply was far too calm for his liking.

An image flashed into his head. A memory he had once borrowed from her. He recalled the face of a young elven. Handsome. Proper. Filled with joy. But the way she spoke of him did not reflect the feeling he had felt when she looked at him that night. Then again, it was a human she had wed.

"Well," he cleared his throat. "I've dealt with this sort of thing in the past, but I don't think I've-"

"Astarion," she cut him off, causing him to look at her. "He's dead."

"He won't be a threat, then. Good," his face lightened. "Not that I was worried. But his death makes things much easier."

The sweet smile of hers came back onto resisting lips. The flirtatious advancements were completely unnecessary, as she was already glowing with a buzz from the wine. She blamed that rather than admitting she was getting any sort of feelings from Astarion at all. His confidence told him otherwise and he refused to be wrong. The more straightforward he was about it, the further it would take him.

"You didn't kill him, did you?"

A laugh burst from her, nearly causing her to spill her wine. "By the Hells, no. It's been nearly twenty years since his death, Astarion."

"I'm only making sure," he shrugged, a victorious grin spreading. "One can never be too careful."

"I take it your life has been threatened by other lovers of your past?"

"Other lovers?" he snapped his head, his brow lowering and his eyes watching her reaction deviously. "Are you considering yourself as a lover?"

Ferelith opened up her mouth to object. But her thoughts had halted her from answering. She did, in fact, word her previous sentence to include herself. Deciding there was no way around, she stared at him blinking unapologetically.

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

"No," she found herself unable to hold back.

"It's too late, I've already taken the first answer into consideration. And I'm very pleased to accept. You can't take it back, darling."

He took a sip of his wine, quite satisfied with the outcome and himself. Ferelith was not finished. However, the night had seemed rather pleasant and she felt genuine joy from their conversation. She allowed him to have his victory, if for anything, for making her laugh. It would be nice to have at least one good thing to remember him by if there ever came another time she considering slitting his throat.

"You'll have to tell me about them," she swirled her goblet.

"They're not important," he waved a hand casually. "Besides, you still haven't finished your tale."

"It's nothing, really," she looked down, not wanting to go into further detail."I lived the luxurious life of a noble for sometime. But it wasn't enough for me. I was greedy, stealing from the hands that were already willing to give."

"Naughty girl," his eyes widened.

Again, Ferelith smiled. "I was eventually discovered with nothing to blame but my own pride. I left behind everything. All my work, gone. Everything I cherished, gone. All my beautiful things... gone."

"Do I sense a bit of regret?"

The smile faded into a disgusted frown, a crease forming at the bridge of her nose. "The only thing I regret is allowing another man to become involved. If it wasn't for him, I would have likely inherited my own estate."

"And so the plot is revealed," Astarion tilted his goblet. "Alas, the husband was not the jilted lover after all."

"No. Just an impatient fool."

"So... you did intend to kill the husband."

"For purposes I'd like to remain unknown, I refuse to acknowledge you," Ferelith sat down her empty goblet. "But I feel no guilt for him. Either of them. I am only convicted with my own stupidity for allowing myself to lose everything that I had worked so hard for."

"It's a shame to lose such status... but still, there's nothing wrong with a fresh start," he replied flatly.

"Sometimes," she said with a sigh, "you must be stripped of everything before you can know true power."

Astarion looked at her with a cause for concern, noting the kindness in her voice. He seemed surprised and even somewhat shaken, lacking a voice for a response. But he quickly recovered and the usual smirk crept onto his face.

"If that's a way to say you'd like to remove my clothes, then I'd love to know your true power."

"Alright," Ferelith placed her hands across her lap. "I believe I've had enough for one evening."

"Already?" he whined. "We haven't finished the bottle."

"You are more than welcome to finish it... alone."

"No, no," he sat it down beside her. "You'll be up all night working. Take the bottle and relax. You've earned it."

"I'm flattered," she took the bottle by the neck. "Good night, Astarion."

The elf rose to his feet, dusting off his knees, leaving behind the empty goblet he brought with him. He gave one final bow to his companion.

"Good night, my darling."

#astarion #astarion fic #astarion fluff #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #ferelith #ferelith moonshade #oc origin #dwjp writing tag #ferelith writing tag

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socksual-innuendos · 4 years

Text

New Vegas Companion Meme -- Contreras

Okay sure, he’s a canon NPC but I called dibs.

Link to the template here!

General

Name: Daniel Contreras

Location: Camp McCarran supply shack

How to obtain: Finished the quest Dealing With Contreras without turning him in to NCR.

Art by @yesjejunus

Companion Wheel

I think we should travel together: “Sure, just have me home before 9.” / “Yeah I think I got a lunch break comin’ up.”

Use Melee: “Are you serious right now?” / “I’d prefer not.”

Use Ranged: “Were you expecting me to use something else?” / “Yeah, that’s what I’m trained in.”

Open Inventory: “You still have to pay for that.” / “I ain’t a charity, kiddo, you’re not getting anything for free”

Stay Close: “You’re not gonna hold my hand are you?” / (if the Courier is female) “You making a pass at me?”

Keep Distance: “Fine by me.” / “What, you don’t want to be seen with ol’ Contreras?”

Stealth: “Not exactly my specialty” / “You’re askin the wrong guy for this”

Back Up: “Yeah, I like my space too.” / “Oh-kay, damn. No need to be pushy.”

Be Passive: “No complaints here.” / “Good, you handle the fighting.” / “That’s all you, kid.”

Be Aggressive: “Yeah I’m gonna have to pass....no? Damnit!”

Use Stimpack: “Aaah that’s good.” / “Shit you couldn’t have used that sooner??” / “Think I might need another one....or three.”

Wait Here: “I can’t just sit here all day. MPs seem me loitering alone they’re gonna start asking questions.”

Follow Me: “Yeah, that was the plan.”

Send to the Lucky 38: “Alright, paid vacation!.” / “You know, an empty casino is actually pretty boring.”

Send Home: “Good idea, Boyd’s probably wondering where I’m at.” can be found in Camp McCarran’s supply shack

Injured: “Aaah SHIIIIIT!!” / “Fuck this, fuck that, and fuck you.” / “I told you I was a noncombatant damn it all!” / “This is outside my pay grade!”

Death: “Goddamnit--” / “This wasn’t...part of the plan--”

Aggression: not aggressive

Confidence: cautious

Assistance: helps friends and allies

Karma: neutral

Perks

Contreras has a starter perk that will be built upon depending on how the Courier handles his quest line.

Man About Town: Contreras has connections all over Vegas, taking him with you now allows you to access them! Some NPCs with shops will now allow you to access special items they do not usually sell, while some non-merchant NPCs now have an accessible shop.

Should the Courier convince him to be more careful and selective on who he does business with, Contreras will gain the Customer Loyalty perk.

Customer Loyalty: Regulars are the basis to any good business. Not only do you get special shops from certain NPCs, you now earn a loyal customer’s discount and can request that special items be ordered in bulk.

Should the Courier convince him that business is inherently risky, and that taking chances is just part of the job, Contreras will gain the Traveling Merchant perk.

Traveling Merchant: Barter checks are now easier to pass and earn better bonuses when Contreras is in your party. All vendor NPCs can be negotiated with, lowering their prices on items.

Drops

Big Book of Science, or one copy each of La Fantoma and Grognak the Barbarian, or Programmer’s Digest

One 9mm bullet - a single 9mm bullet. Why does he have this? Why doesn’t he have more....(becomes a miscellaneous item when looted)

Half the amount of caps he had before recruitment

Quests and Recruitment

To recruit Contreras, one must first complete his main quest Dealing With Contreras in a way that doesn’t get him arrested. After this, he trusts the Courier enough to take on larger jobs. Recruiting Contreras also starts his companion quest, as he will request to join the Courier on the strip. Because his quest is tied in with How Little We Know, the Courier must NOT have completed any of Troike’s quest line.

Note: To keep Contreras as a companion you must maintain some good reputation with the NCR. Anything too low and Contreras will say you are too controversial to be seen with.

Contreras can and will leave the party if his health drops below 50%. To re-recruit him, just go back his supply shack.

Risky Business

“It’s the worst kept secret that Daniel Contreras is dealing arms on the side, however no one really knows just how far his business goes. You’ve helped him in the past, and now he’s asking for your help again. Take Contreras to Gomorrah and talk with his contact.”

When the Courier talks to Contreras after completing Dealing with Contreras, he will ask them if they are interested in another, bigger, deal. If the Courier says no, they can accept the quest at a later time by choosing the “So about that job...” dialogue option when talking with him again.

If the Courier says yes, Contreras will tell them about his business in Gomorrah with the Omertas, and that his contact requested that he comes to talk with them regarding their last shipment. If the Courier has exceptionally good reputation with the NCR at this point, he will mention that being seen with them will make the operation look like a regular night around the strip. If the Courier has the Black Widow perk, they may flirt with him.

When the Courier agrees to help him, the quest Risky Business will be activated and Contreras will join your party. Upon entering Gomorrah, Contreras will stop the Courier to talk with them, telling them that they need to find Troike and where he can be found (he will be located in the Brimstone party rooms.) The Courier can ask about Troike, in which Contreras will reveal how Troike was blackmailed into being the shipment runner between Contreras’ operations and the Omertas. The Courier can question him further, or wait til they meet up with Troike, and learn that Contreras was recently contacted about their most recent shipment not coming in.

Upon meeting up with Troike, Contreras will ask him what happened to their last shipment and that he doesn’t appreciate being contacted by clients with complaints. Troike will then explain that it wasn’t his fault, and that he’s been working on getting it back. He will explain what happened to the Courier, in which they can ask him more detailed questions about the Fiends responsible for the shipment loss. When the Courier exits dialogue with him, Contreras will then talk to them, asking if they can do him another favor, and that caps would be included for a job well done. The Courier can agree, in which How Little We Know will engage if it hasn’t been started previously, or they can disagree, prompting Contreras to get frustrated, or they can say that they will think about it. If the last option is chosen, the Courier can proceed with How Little We Know in any way they chose. Any option taken will prompt Contreras to leave your party and wait back in his shack.

If the Courier agrees to get the shipment back, the location of the shipment will be marked and they can retrieve it or destroy the shipment. If the shipment is retrieved, the Courier can return to Contreras and he will thank them for their help and give them a hefty amount of caps. If they destroy the shipment, they can lie and say that it was destroyed when they found it. Contreras will be angry upon hearing this, and say that Troike’s luck is running thinner with each deal. He thanks them regardless, and give a small amount of caps for the trouble.

Although the Courier can ask Contreras about his dealings with the Omertas after they deal with the shipment, the quest will not continue until the Courier learns that the Omertas are working with the Legion. They can then ask him if he knows this, to which he will reply that once the weapons are out of his hands, he doesn’t care where they end up, and that business is business. The Courier can either agree with him, saying that he is right to take any business opportunity he can get and he will reply positively, reassuring the Courier that even if he wasn’t giving them the guns they would still find a way to get them. If the Courier disagrees with him, saying that he needs to be selective about who he deals to and be more careful about where his supplies end up, he will get irritated with them saying that they’re the dumb muscle of this operation and not the guy in charge. If the Courier has completed I Put A Spell On You, they can use this as an example of why he shouldn’t be giving the Legion any advantages in the war. Contreras will hesitate before admitting he had sold explosive ingredients to Curtis a few weeks prior. The Courier can also cite Clanden’s plans in How Little We Know to convince him that he should be more cautious. Either option will make him reconsider his business practices.

Depending on what the Courier chooses, Contreras will gain a new perk to add onto Man About Town. If the Courier tells him to play it safe, he will gain Customer Loyalty and will indirectly thank the Courier for helping him see his recklessness. If the Courier tells him that he should take business wherever it crops up, he will gain the Traveling Merchant perk and tell the Courier that he appreciates having an agreeable business partner.

Ending Slides

Contreras’ ending slides are based not only on how his quest is completed and which route the Courier takes with Vegas, but also depends on how the Courier handled Clanden in How Little We Know.

If his personal quest is never completed…

He does not get an ending slide, however he will default to whatever the NCR does.

If Contreras is killed after his quest is completed

Contreras, feeling hopeful that he had found another reliable business partner was betrayed in the end. Though he had seen many people come and go through his business deals, he had only placed such confidence in few. The sergeant was found dead in his bunk, and investigations into his murder turned up his own betrayals. With no family to inform, Contreras was dumped outside Freeside, forgotten by his unit.

If the Courier sides with Legion and…

Convinces Contreras to be more careful about who he sells to...

and DOES kill or make Clanden leave

Contreras, falling back with the NCR, put in to be transferred further west. Although the eastern front of the NCR’s territory brought good opportunity in illegal trade, the threat of Legion outweighed any benefit. Knowing that he could keep up his work in California, Contreras continued to live comfortably as quartermaster.

and does NOT do anything with Clanden

The Omertas, working for Legion, had devised a plan to spread the NCR’s attention before the Dam battle. Contreras, getting one last look at Vegas, became one of the many casualties in an attack on the Strip. He suffocated in the streets, dying without ever knowing what role he played in losing the eastern front.

Agrees that Contreras should sell to anyone...

and DOES kill or make Clanden leave

Not letting the NCR’s defeat deter his work, Contreras continued to do business indiscriminately. With weapons now harder to smuggle, he focused his efforts on moving chem supplies to the fleeing Fiends. Not keeping their demands in check, he was killed in a raid by an upcoming gang, the Coyotes.

and does NOT do anything with Clanden

If the Courier sides with NCR and…

Convinces Contreras to be more careful about who he sells to...

NCR’s annexing of Vegas and its surrounding territories created a new wave of clientele for Contreras. Although he sold contraband to many rioters and Fiends none proved to be too large a threat for the Republic, and in turn kept his side business moving. Contreras continued his work, earning enough caps to live more than comfortably.

Agrees that Contreras should sell to anyone...

Following the Courier’s advice, Contreras continued to sell to clients indiscriminately. Eventually his recklessness had gotten him noticed, and due to selling NCR resources to their enemies he was charged with treason and executed via firing squad.

If the Courier sides with House and…

Convinces Contreras to be more careful about who he sells to...

and DOES kill or make Clanden leave

Despite NCR’s loss of Vegas, Contreras’ business continued to thrive. Where weapons became harder to smuggle, chem movement was at an all time high. With Fiends and junkies no longer welcomed in the city, Contreras made his living off them, exploiting their addictions for a comfortable life.

and does NOT do anything with Clanden

The Omertas, tired of living under House’s rule, had devised a plan to take back the Strip. Contreras, getting one last look at Vegas, became one of the many casualties in the attack. He suffocated in the streets, dying without ever knowing what role he played in their rebellion.

Agrees that Contreras should sell to anyone...

and DOES kill or make Clanden leave

Contreras continued his business in arms and chem peddling. Though he reaped the benefits of a larger clientele, they could not protect him from the consequences: over confident, he didn’t expect an assassin hired as a result of a deal gone wrong. Contreras was murdered in his bunk, and though his death caused alarm among the troops, he was quickly forgotten.

and does NOT do anything with Clanden

If the Courier makes New Vegas independent and…

Convinces Contreras to be more careful about who he sells to...

Contreras, falling back with the NCR, put in to be transferred further west. Although the eastern front of the NCR’s territory brought good opportunity in illegal trade, the loss of Vagas meant business opportunity was elsewhere. Knowing that he could keep up his work in California, Contreras continued to live comfortably as quartermaster.

Agrees that Contreras should sell to anyone...

#daniel contreras #contreras #fnv #fallout new vegas #fooccompanionmeme

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notleriff · 4 years

Text

Phoenix

I wish you the best of luck, Takeda. And I hope one day you will join us and return home. Just remember, our people rose from the ashes--you’re allowed to do the same.

“Fight me!”

“Perhaps another time, Dotharl.” Leriff chuckled softly as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He attempted to climb up the rubble in front of him, but could not find a good handhold to start his ascent. “Ahh--up, please.”

With large, looming steps, Ardki stepped forward. He locked his fingers together and held his hands out as a platform to give his fellow hunter a boost. “After! You can even have my pay if you win!”

With only a smile and a shake of his head in response, Leriff placed his boot into Ardki’s outstretched hands and let the larger Au Ra lift him high enough to grab a crumbling beam. He climbed along it sideways until he found his way higher, finally making it over the rubble. “All clear, here.” The hunter leaned forward to look into the ruined room on the other side of the rubble, confirming that there were no beasts laying in wait within.

The two had arrived at dawn with a team of relic seekers. Less than a moon past, the sands of the Sagolii had blown in the wind, shifting to reveal another of the tombs of some long forgotten people buried beneath. The group was excavating the ruins to find anything of historical note to bring back to the city to clean and catalogue. Ardki and Leriff had been hired to keep the archaeologists safe from any beasts that would have turned up at either the shifting of the sands or that lay buried within, as the first team dispatched had fled some manner of monsters a fortnight prior.

Leriff waved off Ardki’s assistance in his descent and dropped back to the floor with a thud. He dusted his tabard off before setting his hand on his hip with a huff. “It is safe enough for them to venture this way, but we should check the few passages around here before the sun sets. Which side do you want?”

After a cursory inspection of the few paths from the courtyard, Ardki pointed down one to the west. The mostly intact terrain better suited his large, hulking figure, and it would require less acrobatics, something he was not very keen on. Leriff nodded in agreement and headed north, dropping to his stomach to crawl under a collapsed pillar before disappearing from sight.

What windows that existed in the passage were sparse, and it grew too dark with the setting sun for the man to see clearly. He frowned before digging into the bag on his belt. Producing a cloth, and searching the nearby area for something to tie it to, Leriff manufactured a torch. He held it out, nestled against the pit of his arm. He lifted his right hand and brought it down against the handle of the gunblade sheathed on his back. The ring around his finger was made of a fire crystal infused flint, and as it struck the steel of the weapon, it ignited, catching the cloth he had wrapped around his glove on fire. Using that flame, the man lit the torch before very quickly putting the fire on his hand out to avoid any burns.

Leriff grumbled to himself as he wound his way around the maze-like passages. The patron of their operation was a lalafell of some wealth in the city, but seemed rather ill-informed of the operations this far into the desert. When the hunter had asked him what manner of creature the previous team had encountered, their patron had been flippant, if not outright dismissive, and had only given brief answers. It was not uncommon for those in power to not bother themselves with the details, but beyond the minor dune worms the two had cleared out, Leriff had found nothing to warrant calling off an entire digging operation.

Even if the windows in the ruin were sparse, and the few that existed covered by debris and sand, Leriff could still hear the warm blasts of wind outside. He hummed in thought to himself as he pressed deeper, using the whistle of air as a sort of tempo counter to his steps. Some few yalms away, however, he stopped, ceasing his humming as realization dawned upon him.

Too steady. Too rhythmic. Too short.

He began to creep forward, holding the torch low in case he needed to quickly smother it to avoid detection. Leriff had only the intent to confirm his suspicions. Dune worms did not breathe in such a manner, and whatever it was was large enough that the closer he drew to the source of the sound, the more the very rubble shook with each heavy breath. Without warning, the breathing stopped. In its place, a low rumble began. Just beyond the edge of the light his torch cast, a massive eye opened, sending a jolt of fear down Leriff’s spine. A gigantic muscular arm rose from the sand, and the creature began to pull itself free from its slumber. The rumbling grew into a growl as it crept closer to a roar.

Panic set in as Leriff took a step back, but before he could flee in terror, he dropped the torch. He put himself in darkness in hopes the creature could not see through shadow, and had sense enough to dart down the closest narrow passage. It was not much help, as with two deadly horns and powerful grip, the creature ripped through whatever ruin lay in his way to crush the puny creature that would dare disturb his domain.

Leriff had no knowledge on how to fight this beast. Few, if any, did. His mind raced and he struggled to make sense of it. He could not think of how one ended so far away from the mountains, or how it survived buried beneath the sea of sand above; but, in all honesty, the how of it mattered little.

“Leriff? Did the tunnel collapse? Are you okay?” Ardki called down the passages at the sound of the quaking earth. “Ahh, there you ar--”

“Run!” Leriff was sprinting towards the large man, pillars collapsing behind him. At the look of confusion on Ardki’s face, and the lack of turning and fleeing, Leriff ran straight into him. He wrapped his hands around the Au Ra’s arm and yanked as hard as he could, nearly dislocating his shoulder, in order to get him to start moving. “RUN!” He screamed, dragging the large man behind him.

From the passage just behind where the hunter had fled from, large purple digits wrapped around the frame of the sandstone door and pulled it, crumbling the wall as a great behemoth followed close behind.

Ardki no longer needed the guidance of the Doman, having broken free of Leriff’s grasp to double time all on his own. The two tore past the encampment at the entrance of the ruins as the relic seekers were already frantically packing to escape whatever was creating such a racket just inside. When the head of the behemoth peeked out from behind the wall the two hunters had just fled from, those in the camp no longer cared about their personal effects, simply dropping everything to flee in a panic.

The creature burst into the ampitheatre the crew had been using as a base of operations, its stark white eyes expressing its rage of the fleas that had infested its home long before the roar that split the sky did. Through a process of elimination, random chance or sheer bad luck, it settled its seething frustration onto the first target it saw and charged directly at the foreman of the group, who, at the sight of the barreling violet barrel of violence, froze in place and soiled himself.

There was not time to think. To consider how terrible an idea it was, or of those left at home, or how pointless the endeavor would be. His body moved first, before his brain caught up with his hands. Leriff had skidded to a halt and turned on his heel, his hand reaching up to the handle of the weapon on his back. In the time it took for him to realize he had unhooked the gunblade from his back, he had already closed the gap between himself and the foreman. With no ability to back down any longer, he leapt into the air, twirled to gain momentum and slammed the gunblade directly into the behemoth’s eye.

Striking against the behemoth’s head was like jumping chest first into a stone brick wall. Leriff let out a horrible wheeze as all of the air in his lungs was scattered. He tumbled off the behemoth and landed on his back, trying desperately to gulp down greedy breaths to find the strength in order to push himself to his feet. He crawled a few ilms as the behemoth thrashed about in rage and agony behind him before making it to his hands and knees, and eventually his feet. The hunter staggered in a daze towards Ardki.

The great Dotharl had managed his axe free on his way to his companion, holding the large weapon in one hand. As all in the room were, he too had not slowed from his full sprint. If he could reach Leriff in time, he could help him free, help them all escape. Ardki could not abandon Leriff, and show his cowardice, after the Doman had just risked himself for another. All he needed do was reach the man in time. Steps more. Yalms. Ilms.

Ardki threw himself into Leriff’s chest, pushing him back onto the ground. Leriff fell backwards, once more finding it difficult to breathe as he landed flat on his back. Above him, in one moment, Ardki looked down on the hunter and in the next, the Dotharl was gone. He had been moved, with rather vicious force, to the wall, gored on the end of one of the behemoth’s horns. The behemoth dragged the au ra across the wall, the horn leaving such a gaping wound that within seconds it had separated the man’s torso from his legs.

Leriff crawled, hand over hand, until he was back onto his feet. He collected Ardki’s axe, and though he struggled to wield it with such ferocity as the Dotharl surely would have, he focused all of his might into his arms. He shouted to draw the attention of the behemoth away from Ardki, and when the creature turned towards him, dropping Ardki from the wall, Leriff brought the axe across with all his might, cracking the shaft of it as he struck one of the beast’s arms, but managing to share that same damage to the behemoth itself. Taking no time to relish in his victory, and using the behemoth’s stumble and pain to his advantage, Leriff grabbed what was left of Ardki from the ground and ran with him out of sight.

He gently set the au ra against a pillar and stepped back with shaking hands, trying to rack his brain for anything he could do to help his co-hunter. At best, Leriff could patch cuts, bruises, maybe a broken limb or two. Ardki had been eviscerated, his lower half severed in the most unclean of ways. Blood spilled freely, soaking both hunters as Leriff tried fruitlessly to bind the man up.

“I am Dotharl!” Ardki weakly lifted his arm, flailing it to try to find Leriff. Leriff took his hand and placed it on his own shoulder in an attempt to bring comfort. “I laugh at death!” The au ra blankly stared into the distance as color faded from his face. “But it hurts… And I’m afr--” Whatever final words Ardki had ended there, as he slumped to the side, drawing breath no more.

The screams from beyond the walls was all the indication Leriff needed to know the carnage had not stopped. Before he stood, he removed the bag slung over Ardki’s shoulder, the leather stuffed to the brim with a tool to help the large man get through the crumbled debris of the sandswept ruins. Leriff pulled the strap over his head and rose to his feet before hurrying back into the main amphitheatre.

Blood soaked the floor, workers and mercenaries aliked cowered beneath and behind the crumbled walls and fallen pillars of the ruins as the half-blinded behemoth thrashed about in a wild fury to smash, impale and consume any living creature in the vicinity. Leriff took a single breath--a deep, cleansing one--to steady himself. For the first time since the sight of violence incarnate had filled his vision, he pushed the panic down. He held the air inside his lungs as his fear dissipated and then let it out slowly, in a single word. “Flow.”

Like a lightning strike, he was in motion. He did not give the behemoth time to turn and face him this time. Instead, he planted his foot on one of the fallen pillars left behind in the creature’s destructive wake and leapt from it. With no weapon, Leriff fell to the last one he had left, and perhaps the one he found the most familiarity with. He lifted his hand back and focused, relaxing his muscles--opening every little gate inside his body that would block the flow of power within. He clenched his fist and collided with the behemoth, smashing the creature square on the side of its head. The beast staggered backwards at the impact, and Leriff landed back onto the ground, rolling along the sand to find his way back to his feet.

His left arm hung limp at his side. He had focused what strength he could muster into his arm, and brought all that strength to bear against the behemoth. When the blow had connected with the near steel-proof hide of the beast, the aether he had summoned needed go somewhere. And, since he could not pierce the behemoth’s hide with the power, somewhere it went. Out. In every direction it could. Muscles burst and bones broke as it vacated his arm, and now it hung useless. He choked the pain back. There would be time for pain later. Or there would not be, and he would be dead. Either way, now it could not be a distraction.

Man and beast stared at one another in a showdown, but it was Leriff who made the first move. There was no time for bravado. If he continued to break himself on the creature’s back, he would surely die. He had to kill the behemoth now. He moved like crashing water around the hulking arms, spinning, stopping and starting again to avoid being crushed beneath one of the behemoth’s fists. When he found his opening, he ran for it.

He ran, until he stumbled. Skill played its part in keeping him safe, but it did not matter how fast or how skilled Leriff was. He was tired. And eventually, he would lose. In the split second it took for the man to put his plan into action, in the single mistake the lapse of attention brought, Leriff had moved in a direction he could not dodge away from. The fist came down, straight into the sand, and caught the entirety of the man’s right leg. It crumbled like paper. This was not pain he could push down, and the hunter screamed in agony, his body slinging back in response.

The behemoth pushed its head down, and as easily as a bull charges a cape, it speared Leriff directly through the stomach on one of its massive horns, lifting the broken hunter off the ground. Finally, having brought the man to its level, it met the hunter eye to eye, unbridled fury seething out.

Leriff choked on blood as he slumped onto the horn, using his one good arm to try in vain to push his body back off. When he could not muster the strength, he fell forward, trying to at least slow the pain until he died. His arms dangled off the sides and hung limply. Click. Leriff slowly lifted his palm and let it drop again. Click. His eyes shot open and as life drained from him through the hole in his stomach, he let his head fall to the side to look just below. His salvation lay still stuck in the behemoth’s eye. Click. Leriff weakly brought his hand up and down. Click. The ring struck the metal of the gunblade once more. “Do not fear it.” CRACK.

A piece of the infused flint chipped off, and Leriff’s hand went up in flames. He stuck his burning hand into the bag that hung from his shoulder until he found it--the fuse. With the linen lit, and the urge to survive taking hold, Leriff pulled the bag from his shoulder and threw it into the behemoth’s face, sending some of the balls of packed explosive falling out as it flew through the air. He curled his burning fist up and screamed out every drop of air in his lungs as he brought it down onto the horn. He would either die now, or later when he could not muster the strength to take one more step. He chose later. With all of his might, and all the life left in his body, he brought his power down onto the protruding horn. It cracked, broke and dropped the hunter with half of it still stuck within him. The behemoth’s roar was cut short as the explosion ripped its head apart, the shockwave of it crumbling the ruins about on top of it. For his effort, the explosion threw Leriff like a sack, straight back into a pillar where he cracked the back of his head. He dropped to the ground without further fight, and the world went black.

***

It was two full moons before he could enter the office. The workers had dug the corpse out from beneath the ruins the moment the dust had settled, but when one heard the heartbeat, they had dropped everything to abandon the desert and bring him home. Constant care as the suns passed was all that kept him from death. Conjurers, companions, doctors, chirurgeons, and every single person the man had earned favors with in his work had come forth, and only through the constant vigil of those around him did he find himself in the office today.

Jajarilu sat on his stool behind his desk, watching in contempt as his employees helped the monster hunter into the room. Leriff looked like a holiday decoration, so wrapped in bandages. He struggled to stand, and only managed to move thanks to the wooden crutch he had propped into the pit of his arm. The lalafell only spoke once Leriff had situated himself, standing at the other end of his massive desk. “I am glad to see you well! You have come for payme--”

“You knew.” The look Leriff gave the patron of the excavation work was not all too different from that which he gave the behemoth that nearly took his life. “Your foreman told me, already. You knew it was there.”

Jajarilu’s hesitation lasted for but a moment. One did not reach such a level of wealth if they found themselves thrown off by every interruption. He coughed once to command the attention once more before jumping to his feet. “I did. It was a risk, but the work we have done now that--” He stopped as he saw the hunter’s expression. “It doesn’t matter.” He walked briefly around the desk until he reached a set of stairs, the small ladder bringing him to stand atop his workspace. He walked over the desk, arms swinging at his sides, until he could place himself in front of his hunter, and with a big smile, produced a bulging pouch of coins. “Here. A bonus! To our continued success together!” He dropped the pouch into Leriff’s hand as the Doman looked at it with a dumbfounded expression. “Now, if you don’t--”

Leriff smashed his head into Jajarilu’s, sending the lalafell tumbling down off his desk and onto the floor. The hunter then lifted his crutch and pinned the businessman to the floor by the throat, placing a dangerous amount of weight onto the wooden support. It would not be difficult, even weakened, to end the man’s life. All he needed do was push down a touch harder. His eyes shifted to offer his attention to those around the room, some pensively ready to heed the need for aid of their employer. He would not be able to get away, afterwards. He was too weak. Leriff glared down at the small man as Jajarilu pathetically flailed in an attempt to push the crutch off his neck. “Do not contact me again.”

None of the workers attempted to stop Leriff. They felt he had earned at least that much. He released Jajarilu and stumbled to the door, fumbling it open with one hand before leaving the office for good. After making it to the street, and out the gate beyond, Leriff made his way to one of the myriad of refugees still located in Stonesthrow. He dropped the pouch of coin at the man’s foot to a look of confusion.

“Sir..?”

“I do not want it.” Leriff gripped his crutch tightly and slowly made his way back home.

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applin-around · 4 years

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Paradise AU

Well, since it’s Pokemon Day, let’s go ahead and talk about the Paradise AU (totally not because I just finished typing it. Nope, planned it all along). The AU is supposed to be viewed as a game with branching paths, so I’ll be doing my best to portray my thoughts while giving the proper effects. We’ll only be covering the Galarian Region and Gordie as the player character. If enough people want, I’d be happy to share Allister as the PC and what’s going on in the other regions’ DLC.

The game starts with the narrator- a woman- talking about how the Regions have fared. It’s set on a Pangaea of all the regions, rather than them being apart. She recounts how Johto has become a massive raider kingdom, ruled by an Overboss with a few smaller bands, with their ferocious dragons quelling even the thought of rebellion. She explains how Unova suffered the worst of the attacks, almost everyone who survived remains in the ruins of a subway system. Hoenn is little more than a bunch of settlements just trying to survive. Alola is all but abandoned to the horribly mutated pokemon.

Galar? Galar seemed to have avoided just enough that they’re not quite so savage. The glittering jewel of the wasteland- Wyndon- far to the north. Smaller towns dot the landscape, but none capture anyone quite so much as Wyndon. Getting inside those walls is the dream of many-a-wastelander.

Gordie especially.

The scene cuts to black. He can hear people speaking. He hears a gunshot, then a ringing. The panicked voice of someone shouting for tools.

His vision returned after a minute of silence. He’s in an old shack, a stranger there beside him. Strange… He can’t remember anything. Except for the face of a woman he… He thinks is his mother?

From there, the player gains control of Gordie. I’ll be covering the rough plot of each region DLC and personalities of characters. Please note that there are quite a few OCs meant to fill roles, but they’ll be largely ignored.

The Galarian Region is the base game. You have five endings without any updates or DLC

The Savior

The Savant

The Champion

The Demon

The Tyrant

Each ending is in lowering values of morality. The Savior and The Tyrant are completionist runs doing absolutely everything in one value of morality, good or evil. Savant and Demon are below, and The Champion is a special ending.

There are two main factions you can side with, plus Leon as a standalone. Before we get into the factions, let’s get into the characters.

Gordie is, as established, the player character. He has a default build you can go with- which is what he has if you’re playing as Allister, but can be customized however you see fit. Your choices will affect his tone and how he speaks to people.

Kabu is a veteran of a defunct group of military survivors. He’s one of the last survivors of the crisis that saw them all destroyed, working to keep himself hidden and away from others. He’s one of the first companions Gordie can get, within the starting town. He reacts badly to disrespected history and to the idea of machines having free will.

Piers is a former sniper for the faction that’s trying to gain control of the North. He was honorably discharged after an incident and never went back. He’s carrying with him the horrible guilt of his sister’s death and refuses to talk to Gordie about it without high enough affinity. He hates mercy killing and despises the faction coming up from the South. Gordie will lose him if he sides with that faction at all.

Melony is a doctor, working inside Wyndon. She’s one of the leading medics and she’s really just trying to help all these refugees trying to escape the battle before it tips. She’ll follow Gordie to the ends of the earth if he needs her to, and being around her increases his healing but lowers his intimidation. People just aren’t afraid of a man running around with his mommy.

Allister is a cursed child, which comes into play as the PC as well. He has a ghost trying to take control of him, and Gordie’s actions can influence if he loses control or not. It plays a much larger part as a player character.

Raihan is an unallied fighter. He’s just trying to survive out here and he really doesn’t want anyone taking control of his home. He’s the one to push Gordie towards siding with Leon. He is a powerful ally to have, both off and on the battlefield.

Other characters, generally, are refugees or trying to live a simple life. Gordie can recruit almost all the gym leaders as a temporary companion. For example, Milo is just trying to keep his farm going to feed Wyndon. Gordie can recruit him to help him find the cause of what’s causing problems with his water.

There are other factions, but the big players in Galar are what’s referred to as Legion, from the South, and Galar’s Rose, from the North. Leon’s faction is small, mostly just him, but he’s fighting hard.

The Legion is a glorified band of raiders to most in Galar. They hurt people and pokemon, they force people to obey, they’re slavers and criminals. Gordie can side with them but at the cost of the option of a good-morality ending. What they do is evil. Gordie cannot be good if he allies with them.

Piers’ personal experience with The Legion is worse than the other characters’. He despises them and will open fire immediately. He refuses to be near them and play nice, he will not disguise himself as a member. They’re the ones who killed Marnie, he’ll tell Gordie. That’s a half-truth.

Galar’s Rose is trying to protect the region, but they’re battling against a threat that’s horribly devoted to their leader. Cut off the head of the Seviper, they think. But that’s much easier said than done. All their assassins have been caught and killed. They’re different… Gordie can get any of the moral endings except the Tyrant. It really depends on how he handles things with them.

Generally, they are well-liked. Kabu seems a little against them but doesn’t specify. He won’t abandon Gordie, they’re better than The Legion.

Hammerlocke is the choke. It’s what they’re battling over. Control of the city that cuts the Region in half. Whichever faction takes it has a clear shot to take over and unite- or conquer- the rest of Galar. It would be Gordie that acts as the tipping point. The player’s input and control over his actions.

Now… I have one quest and scenes that keep playing in my head. Let’s cover that.

Gaining enough affinity with Piers unlocks a quest. You travel with him to the site of the incident, where he explains the incident. He walks along the path and tells Gordie of what happened. Finally, he stops at what seems like nothing. He drops down to his knees, his voice becomes choked.

He tells Gordie what happened to Marnie. Someone took her from him, sold her to the Legion. He chased them here, he hadn’t even realized it was the same place until after it was over. He had nothing, but as he watched from his vantage point, through his scope… He had only one way to save his sister from the horrible life she’d be subject to. He didn’t have enough bullets or resolve to go charging in to save her. He had only one option.

Two weeks later, if Gordie is not traveling with Piers, the broadcaster- the narrator- will speak to him through a radio station. Someone’s requested he come, alone, to pick someone up and escort her to her brother. She hasn’t spoken, but they think she will once she sees her brother. Gordie arrives at a refugee camp, a little ways from where the incident took place. Quite a few miles, really. Across the lake. He arrives to see another doctor with a Bronzor tending to a young woman. She’s sitting up, but her eyes look dull. She has a similar scar on her forehead to Gordie.

The doctor helps the girl stand and tells her that Gordie is going to take her to her brother. Her eyes get a light brighter. As Gordie walks her to Wyndon, he can talk with her about how she’s been doing. Weeks pass before they arrive. He leads her up the tower and calls Piers over. He looks… And the girl pushes past him. Excitedly running, light returned to her eyes. At the sight of her, Piers is shocked silent… But she runs into his arms. He drops to hug her immediately.

This quest gains a massive amount of affinity for Piers, and whenever he’s not traveling with Gordie, he’s much happier. He’s happier in general and fights harder. He has someone to protect now. He’s not just fighting because he has to. Because he wants to.

That is one of the examples of how Gordie effects the world around him… Though this quest can take a dark turn if Gordie sides with the Legion after… But we’ll leave that alone for now.

Gordie can save or ruin the lives of everyone in the wasteland. It’s all up to the player.

#paradise au #pokemon au #long post but there's a read more

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uozlulu · 4 years

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Doctor Who "Spyfall Part 2" reaction and spoilers.

I’m glad that we’re seeing the companions on the plane at the same time as the Doctor in the strange alien synapse-like place because it reassures us that while everything we know might not be accurate, at least the Doctor didn’t dream up her companions.

Ada sounds like she’s experiencing astral projection or maybe alien abduction, which in fairness if the Master is involved it is indeed an alien abduction of sorts.

The downside to the Doctor being in alien synapse land is the electricity effects really. Doctor Who is more fun when I can actually look at the screen.

”This is my guardian,” sounds ominous.

”You told me everything was foolproof.” It’s the Master. The Master is a fool. So I suppose this is proofed by fool more than fool proofed.

The Doctor is now in 1834 and it’s like you can hear the TARDIS screaming internally already.

Oh good. The Master is here. I mean this both literally and sarcastically as always, which is why I love the Master.

I know that a lot of people are sad that the Master is like this despite everything Missy went through but honestly I would be shocked if any of that stuck. I feel like the Master’s narrative purpose is to show the audience how much trouble we could be in if the Doctor hadn’t looked at humanity and gone, “I love them.” Like if the Master were to come to terms with humanity and treat them as equals, then the Master would lose their narrative function. So, I think from the Master’s perspective (provided of course the multiple Earths last episode wasn’t an indication that he’s an AU version who’s lost his own Doctor and thus transplanted himself into continuity to fill the void Missy left behind), he’s tried being good, it was an interesting experience. Now he’s ready to do something more fun because life is too boring otherwise.

”You’re not in control of those creatures.” AU or not, the Master is still the Master. I’m surprised the Doctor didn’t see this fact coming from miles away. I love how gleefully smug her face gets about this too.

I mean he might have told her to kneel and call him Master, but really he’s probably here to bring her back to the present because he’s screwed up (yet again).

Frankly the ability of people to track me is one of the many reasons I keep my phone off 99% of the time.

Ah, multiple time periods not multiple earths. So Master is our Master, which is good to know.

This place Graham, Ryan, and Yaz are hiding reminds me a bit of the place Ten, Martha, and Jack were hiding during the Saxon stuff

I’m not sure how I feel about the Master in a Nazi uniform. Like he tends to be evil but mundane things like businessmen, politicians, cult leaders, etc… Also, there’s something a bit dubious about putting Dhawan in a Nazi uniform especially given the rise in neo-Nazism globally in the modern era. Now I admit that I’m not sure about western Asians in Nazi Germany, but I do know black people in Nazi Germany had to follow the Nuremburg laws though they were not rounded up in masse and taken to camps and eastern Asians were considered “honorary” Aryans. That said, it’s likely both parts of “Spyfall” were written before Dhawan was cast, but again, it does kind of bring up questions as to why they wanted to put the Master in a Nazi uniform regardless of who played him. I mean like, to me, again the Master narratively is a foil to the Doctor when it comes to humanity, so it seems like instead of picking sides in a human vs. human conflict, he would create his own conflict. Although I’ve not seen what he does in the extended universe so who knows. I just know it’s kind of throwing me out of the episode a bit here.

I do like that they are in 1940’s Paris, hopefully it will get people thinking and learning about World War Ii beyond what’s taught in school

I’m glad they’re doing telepathy without flicking the image to indicate it’s happening like they used to do in Classic Who especially if the Doctor was being telepathic with other forms of the Doctor.

”Where?” the Master asks like he’s forgotten how utterly dramatic the Doctor is. Of course they’re going to meet atop the Eifel Tower.

Oh good. The Master has suggested a better plan. No wonder he both thinks he wants the Doctor out of the way but isn’t actually getting the Doctor out of the way.

The Master does have a point. When does the Doctor pay attention to him unless he does something awful. Might also explain why the Master had to resume being the Doctor’s foil after Missy’s arc as well since there was no point to continuing to be less evil if the Doctor wasn’t going to even acknowledge it, which in turn would make things boring, which in turns leads to the Master seeking out ways to make things more fun.

Maybe Galifrey destroyed itself if the Master is telling the truth, which I’m inclined to think he is, which might have kicked off his need to screw with the Doctor to deal with discovering Galifrey ate itself whole. Or maybe the alien that was after the Doctor last series visited Galifrey and burnt it to the ground. That is also possible. If the Master is telling the truth of course.

I like that the Master was forced to live time linearly on Earth for the last like 77 years because the Doctor screwed with his TARDIS.

I like that this Master story ends with the Doctor giving the Master his just desserts because it underscores how dangerous the Doctor is after the Master shows us how dangerous the Doctor could be if the Doctor saw humanity the way he does.

Noor asks, “The fascists – do they win?” and the Doctor says, “Never, as long as there are people like you,” and that is very true and I do like this message despite the uniform debacle earlier.

While I’m glad that this means Dhawan!Master will be back later, I am not sure how I feel about this turn of events. I suppose this is why they put him in the Nazi uniform earlier. At the same time, I suppose given the manipulation of the drums, something like this plot was possibly inevitable considering it does kind of fit with IRL revenge we see in the news from time to time. I am curious though how we get from Missy to Dhawan’s Master. If that is how this goes. I mean it is possible, given that we’ve never really known any of the Master’s incarnations before Delgado that this is a bit wibbly wobbly. Hopefully we’ll gain insight into how this fits as this larger arc takes shape.

”Questions?” is so sharp, so maybe anxious.

Well, that went places I didn’t expect it to go and places I’m not sure how I feel about them. We’ll see how it goes. Hopefully it’ll all work itself out in a way that makes this two parter make more sense.

#reaction post #doctor who reaction posts #long post #i'm watching spyfall part 2 #wtf wtf wtf #doctor who spoilers #doctor who #i don't know what to tag this #ymmv

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kinetic-elaboration · 4 years

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January 15: What It’s About

Look not to be Sour on Main or anything here but I’m going to do exactly that.

That tweet about S7 tying everything together and showing “what the show is about” is laughable, and I join in with the people mocking it because it is QUITE clear that the show isn’t “about” anything and hasn’t been for some time. It is, as my mother says, basically a soap opera, by which she means that it propels itself forward with a constantly updating roster of characters and crises, and with no concern at all about making a coherent whole or advancing any sort of themes or lessons.

(And look there’s nothing wrong with creating a soap but you should be honest about it imo.)

So anyway the point of this post is that this is what the show SHOULD have been about.

Overall theme/plot: Bellarke growing up into mature, wise, adult leaders, at the head of a discrete community, preferably living in peace and stability.

Season 1: Bellarke as nascent leaders

Bellarke emerge as co-leaders of a group of young people, alone in a dangerous world, without the presence or aid of experienced adults. They are imperfect and young but effective in gaining the respect of the other delinquents, creating cohesion, and accomplishing their most basic goals (i.e., not dying).

Season 2: Bellarke are separated; Clarke’s leadership trial.

With the return of the adults and the dispersal of the original delinquent group into other communities (MW, Camp Jaha, Trikru, etc.), Bellarke lose their leadership positions. Clarke retains some amount of power, but almost always in relation to someone else. In MW, she is with most of her people, but doesn’t get much opportunity to “lead” them; everyone knows they are in Dante’s House. She leaves early in the season, and finds instead a different segment of her people in Camp Jaha--lead by her mother, whom Clarke defies when it suits her but never usurps. Mid-way through the season, she forms her alliance with Trikru/the Grounder Coalition, and works closely with Lexa. They are in some sense co-leaders. But Lexa is a more experienced leader, she has a larger number of people in her cohort, and a more defined grasp on her power. Only at the end of the season does Clarke, along with Bellamy, emerge as a pillar of singular leadership--after the alliance has broken up, and almost every other major actor has been disabled.

Overall, we see Clarke learning about leadership from a variety of teachers: from Dante in the early episodes, and from Lexa in the second half of the season. She lets herself get pulled into decisions that aren’t fully her own, like abandoning TonDC. She picks up some mantras that she may or may not truly understand, like “I bear it so they don’t have to.” She takes a lot in, and it’s messy and uncertain and probably necessary, but it leads her down a path where she’s no longer in control, as she once was.

Season 3: Bellarke are separated; Bellamy’s leadership trial.

Season 3 is in some sense a parallel to Season 2, but with Bellamy experiencing his version of Clarke’s arc from the previous season. Like Clarke, he’s been deprived of real power since the end of S1, when the rest of the Ark arrived. And like Clarke, he finds someone with more defined, more established power, and more leadership experience, to attach himself to--in this case, Pike, for whom Bellamy acts as something like a lieutenant.

And look I’m not here to discuss Pike as a character or whether or not it’s a good idea to be a Pike apologist but I do think it’s pretty obvious that the narrative treats him as a villain and Bellamy’s lessons as his right hand as negative.

What Season 4 should have been: Bellarke are reunited and return to their rightful positions as co-leaders of the protagonist group.

They take the lessons they have each learned in the previous seasons and establish themselves as true leaders of their people--either the delinquents specifically or possibly the entirety of the Sky People community--with a clear mandate for power. This might be an election or it might be a secession of the delinquents into a smaller community, continuing where they left off after S1, or it might be through some other method. But it would make sense that they’re the leaders, and it would be clear that they are good at what they do and effective, as they solve whatever the Crisis of the Season is.

What Season 4 actually showed: Bellarke are sort of in leadership positions, I guess? But it’s not clear if they’re effective? They end the season having entirely or nearly entirely ceded authority of any kind.

Clarke in particular seems to have authority in S4, though the mechanism by which she has been given that authority is never explained; she is respected because she’s the main character, as far as I can tell. She and Bellamy make some important/difficult decisions. But at the season’s end all leadership has been given to Octavia, who has never had a “leadership” story before. Bellamy has been set aside with a group of only six other people, and Clarke has been set apart somewhere else with only one single companion--neither is in a position to “lead” in the season-one sense because they aren’t living in communities as such. They’re living, basically, in stand-alone family units. The group they could have most reasonably led, based on S1/the title of the whole show, the delinquents, no longer exists, either in terms of significant numbers or in terms of social cohesion. And even the sky people are essentially decimated as a discrete community.

Season 5: ????

Everything you know about the structure of the show is gone.

Season 6: I guess they’re on another planet now or something lol?

Season 7: But yeah it’s all going to come together in the end!! I guess??!?

#the year 2020 #2020: fandom thoughts #the 100 negativity #the 100 criticism really #or snarky meta?#the 100 meta

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darkangeldesignstudio · 5 years

Text

Dark Horse

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Death, Attempted Rape, Strong Language, Mentions of Animal Abuse, and Eventual Smut and Fluff

Setting: Post Civil War era USA. Marvel Cowboy AU.

Song: The Sound of Silence by Disturbed

Previous / Next

Chapter Three: Leaving Home

At first, you just wanted to sit on your bed and cry. Your brother was gone and it would only be a matter of time before the government took your home again, or someone killed you. With no options left, you thought about giving up.

“What? You think, just because you are a girl you can’t win?” Your brother’s words from so many years ago echoed in your mind. “You are a Y/L/N and, man or woman, we don’t quit! Now. Get on your feet, dry your eyes, and fight.”

Fuck. You are so damn demanding, you thought as you dried your eyes. I promise that I will fight, my brother. If not for me, then I will fight for others. I want to make sure nothing like this ever happens to anyone else.

With that oath ringing in your ears, you changed into warmer clothes and packed up your saddlebags with ammunition before stepping back into the common room where Steve and the others were gathering supplies.

A presence behind you caused your spine to stiffen, until Bucky’s voice soothed the panic rising in your gut. “I hope you don’t mind us raiding your pantry. The snow is falling hard outside. May take a couple of days before you can get back here.”

Turning to face him, you shrugged. “Not sure if I should come back, to be honest. This place isn’t really the safest for a woman to be in alone.”

The defeated sigh that escaped your lips made Bucky’s heart ache. The last thing he wanted was for you to be left homeless. “If you decide that you still like our ragtag group of misfits after the storm passes, you are more than welcome to join us.”

Your eyes lit up, causing Bucky’s heart rate to skyrocket. It had been a long time since anyone besides Steve had affected him like this, but he appreciated the touch of serenity that came with your happiness.

“Are you sure that would be okay with everyone?” The offer was too hard to pass up. With nowhere to go now that your brother was gone, you wanted nothing more than to leave this tainted place and the memories of your attack behind in the snow.

Steve, hearing the conversation between you and Bucky, chimed in with his slightly enthusiastic opinion. “We would love to have you along for the ride, Y/N. Besides, I haven’t seen Buck blush like that in months.” His laughter rang through the space along with Tony and Nat’s agreement. They would be more than happy to have you accompany them.

“It’s settled then.” Bucky removed his hat, raking his fingers through his dark mass of hair before putting it on again. “After the storm, you will go east with us.”

Nodding in affirmation, you moved to join Natasha as she packed some of the food outside to the horses waiting there. She pointed out each mount, introducing them, before turning back to see you stroking Mark II’s nose.

“How are you doing that?” There was a hilariously shocked look on her face as she questioned you.

“Doing what?” You chuckled as she began gesturing between your hand and Mark II. “What? I think he’s sweet.”

She scoffed. “Sweet, my ass. If anyone besides Tony did that, he would have bitten a few fingers off and he’s known all of us for years now.”

You laughed again, moving down the line of horses and petting first Star and then Sergeant with a gentle hand. “I did say that I have a thing for crazy horses.” When you moved on to Krasavitsa, Nat looked as if she would stop you, but she decided not too when the mare nuzzled into your palm affectionately.

“That’s it,” she said, throwing her hands up in the air. “You have to be magic or something. There is absolutely no way you could have tamed this wild beauty otherwise.”

“Is that what her name means?” When Natasha nodded, you smiled at the mare nuzzling your palm. “It fits her. Much like my Boda’s name fits him.”

Stepping away from the horses, you led Nat towards the barn. It would be easier to introduce your unruly stallion to her and the horses first, with no men present. He became a bit overprotective of you around males, and after all the craziness tonight, there was no telling what the stallion would do if Steve, Bucky, or Tony were with you.

“Boda?”

Arriving at the barn door, but leaving it latched, you looked over your shoulder to take in the redhead at your back. Her look of confusion made you smile. “His full name is Bodaway. It means ‘fire maker’ or ‘fire starter’ in the native tongue. My grandmother was Cherokee; she rode the old mare that foaled him. It was the mare’s last colt before my grandmother died. Her mare died shortly afterward, leaving my father with an unruly colt that no man could touch. Luckily, my mother was able to make him drink cow’s milk until he was weened, but no-one could tame him.”

Natasha offered no words, just listened intently as you told the story of how you came to be with this wild horse as your companion. “When my mother died from fever, I took to spending time in the pastures. My brother was old enough to work by this point and had found a job in town, so I spent most of my time alone. Then, one day, I went into the back pasture alone and found Boda. He was angry and hurting from being left alone. You see, the stallion of my father’s herd had chased the plucky colt off when he became a yearling because he saw him as a threat for his position.

“Anyway, you should have seen my father’s face when he found me asleep in the pasture with Boda laying underneath me. I damn near gave him a stroke.” Your laughter was sad, but genuine as you remembered the shock and fear on his face. “When my dad left to join the war, he left Boda to me and he’s been with me ever since.”

“That was an amazing story, Y/N. I would like to say that my meeting with Vitsa was that wonderful, but it's nowhere near as nice.” Natasha smiled at you. It sounds funny, but you felt like you gained a new sister from that single story.

Grinning back at her, you turned to open the barn doors. Placing your hand on her shoulder, you gave her a warning, just in case. “You may want to stay close to the door until I can calm him down. It may sound peaceful in there, but as soon as he sees this bruise,” you pointed to the purple mark across your aching jaw, careful not to touch it, “he will be looking for blood.”

Natasha nodded, staying just inside the barn door as you instructed. You were grateful for it, because as soon as you passed Duke’s stall, Boda charged for the stall door.

His eyes were wild, rolling in his head as he took in your injured face. He bellowed at the top of his lungs, sounding more like a banshee than a horse, you heard Natasha gasp from the doorway as she covered her ears from the assault. You winced as the sound bounced in your head, intensifying the headache you had been trying to ignore.

“Please, Boda. Stop your squealing. You realize how much that hurts my ears?” Grunting and huffing, Boda ignored your words. He was more interested in the figure standing at the doorway. Taking a chance, you asked Nat to approach slowly, and she obliged. Realizing that the figure belonged to a woman, Boda calmed immensely, much to yours and Nat’s relief as you both giggled and cooed at the protective stallion. Boda preened under the attention which piqued Duke’s interest.

The big Shire laid his head through the opening above his door and you realized, he knew that John was gone. His eyes were sad as he nickered at the two of you, offering comfort in the only way he could. That was always the way with these two, Boda protected and Duke comforted. But it was Duke who would need the most comfort after losing his best friend this night.

Looking between the two horses, you told them the plan. Even if you weren’t sure that they fully understood. “We need to leave. It's not safe here anymore. We are going with my new friends and their horses to their camp to wait out the blizzard and later we will go back East. Maybe we can even visit our old hometown. How does that sound, boys?” Duke nickered his agreement while Boda wasn’t so sure. He grumbled and griped, but there was no way he would not stick by you after what happened tonight.

You tacked up the horses, helping Natasha load Duke’s larger frame with more empty bags for the supplies. He was used to being the pack horse and pulling large loads, unlike Boda who detested anything on his back besides you. Before leaving the barn with Boda, you asked Nat to lead Duke out first.

“Oh, and while you’re out there, tells the boys to be ready. I will try to hold Boda off, but I can’t guarantee that he won’t try to intimidate one of them. Especially Steve or Bucky since they will be the biggest threat in this boy’s eyes.”

Natasha just chuckled, shaking her head. “Maybe it will be good for them to learn you have a guardian around.”

“Maybe, but I’d rather them not lose a hand for doing something to piss off this demon.” You smirked when Boda grunted about the “demon,” comment. “See?”

“Don’t worry, he won’t get away with too much craziness around Steve or Bucky, you’ll see,” With a shrug, you watched Nat leave the barn, Duke in tow behind her. If she said the men could handle it, they could presumably handle it. Steve said that his group had a thing for difficult horses.

You took a few moments to calm your heart, throwing your arms around Bodaway’s neck when he pulled you into his chest. He really was a lover more than a fighter. You just had to get past those high walls. “Thank you, Boda. I don’t know what I will do without John around, but these people are so nice. I think we can be happy with them. So, please, be good. But keep that fire in your soul. For both of us.”

For once, Boda didn’t give you attitude for asking him to be good. He just held you there, close to his heart, as the tears dripped silently down your cheeks. He would keep the fire strong until yours grew into an inferno once again.

Another moment passed before you stepped from Boda’s embrace and took his reins in your hand. “Okay, my Fire Starter, let’s go say ‘hello’ to your new friends.” With a slight snort, Bodaway nodded, ready to face these new humans and assess them. Friend or foe, he would be the judge of that. Even if it pissed you off a bit, he thought it was worth the risk.

As soon as you stepped from the barn, you noticed how all movement outside of your house stopped. Bucky stood at the base of the front porch, his posture was relaxed, but his eyes were watching you closely, searching for any new injury. Apparently he had heard the ruckus that Boda had made in the barn. Steve was watching in the same fashion, but he was standing next to Star, patting her neck in a soothing motion as if she were frightened.

Tony and Nat paused for only a moment before continuing to pack up the supplies they had gathered. You recognized your brother’s shotgun and rifle strapped to the side of Duke’s saddle. You smiled, grateful that your new friends were so nice as to think of you. They had only known you for about an hour and they already could sense that you would not have wanted to leave your brother’s precious things behind, especially his hunting rifle that your father had given him. There were saddlebags full of odds and ends on each horse, including extra bedrolls and blankets to fend off the coming chill.

When you reached the rest of the group, Steve approached you and Boda. You tried to ward him off with silent hand gestures, but it looked as if Steve wasn’t one to back down and Boda was unusually calm which, you recognized, could only spell trouble to come.

His ears were forward, but relaxed. He appeared interested in the large man that was approaching, but not overly worried about his presence. That apparently was enough for Steve to be confident in his approach. But you knew that was a dangerous idea and tried to warn him off again. “You really shouldn’t come any closer, Steve. For your own safety.”

“Don’t make me laugh, Y/N. This handsome man won’t hurt anyone. Will you, Bodaway?” Steve smiled at your, seemingly well-behaved stallion, reaching out his hand for Boda to smell.

You thought about warning him again until you noticed Nat, Bucky, and Tony struggling not to laugh. They were glancing, back and forth, between Boda and Star. The mare was standing directly behind Steve and she looked absolutely terrifying. Her ears were plastered to her neck, and she was tossing her head with every twitch of Boda’s body. Honestly, it was downright comical. A tough stallion brought down by one threatening little filly. Star clearly loved Steve and protected him with the same fierceness that Bodaway reserved for you.

When Boda finally relented, allowing Steve to touch his nose, the mare relaxed slightly. She was confident that Boda wouldn’t hurt her human today, but it was evident that she would keep a close eye on your mischievous devil. Steve chuckled, stepping away to calm his angry female.

“Looks like I’m up.” Bucky, who had been watching the interaction between Boda and Steve, stepped confidently away from the porch and the group of horses. He clearly had a plan, one that didn’t include his horse’s protection. “In order for this to work, Y/N, I will need you to have confidence that Bodaway will not injure me. If we don’t create a mutual respect now, there is no way that Soldat will let him off the hook in camp.”

You cocked your head in confusion. “I don’t understand. Nat said that Sergeant was your horse, so who is Soldat?”

Bucky’s intense blue eyes met yours and you felt a shiver travel your spine. “He’s my white wolf. My partner and my protector. I will give you the full story later if you want to hear it, but right now we are running out of time.”

Smiling, you accepted his explanation. “Just tell me what to do.”

Nodding, Bucky focused his gaze on Bodaway. “Let go of the reins and step back.”

You did as he asked and Boda took off like a shot, ears pinned and teeth bared as he bellowed a challenge. Bucky stood, still as a statue, waiting for Bodaway to reach him. It was terrifying, but you refused to close your eyes to the scene in front of you. This man had to be truly crazy.

But, even after Bodaway slid to a stop, rearing and striking at the air, inches from Bucky’s head, he never flinched. Bucky just stood there, through all of Boda’s tantrum, he was an immovable wall of confidence and calm and, damn if that wasn’t the most amazing and sexy thing you had ever seen in your life.

When Bodaway finally realized, he couldn’t intimidate the man in front of him; he decided to try to physically move him. It was a tactic that he usually reserved for you, because it involves literally touching the person he was trying to move. Just when his head connected with Bucky’s chest, Bucky did something neither you nor Boda expected.

You watched in amazement as Bucky’s left arm wrapped around the big stallion’s face. Reaching that space at the base of his skull - where the underside of his throat met his bottom jaw - the spot that nobody knew about but you, and he began to scratch and massage that spot. Boda visibly relaxed in Bucky’s hold. If he had been a dog, he would have gone belly up and wagged his tail in happiness. From that moment on, you felt there would be no problems between the two. Bucky turned his head to smile at you, halting his scratches on Boda’s itchy spot, and immediately regretted it as Boda tumbled him onto his ass in the frigid snow.

Steve descended into a fit of laughter and was soon joined by everyone, including Bucky. You ran to Bucky’s aid, extending your hand to help him up as Bodaway snorted in amusement. “Looks like you’re in luck, Bucky. You made a new friend today.” Reaching up to scratch between Boda’s ears, you smiled back at Bucky who beamed with pride and happiness. It made your heart soar.

Grabbing Boda’s reins, you followed Bucky back to the rest of the group. They all had happy smiles on their faces and their happiness made you feel at home, but one thing was missing.

“Hey, Natasha?” She looked up at you from the saddlebag she was adjusting on her mare’s back. “Can you keep an eye on Boda for me? I just need to grab one more thing.”

“Sure, Y/N. I would love to.” Beaming up at Boda, the lovely redhead began to pet him all over, much to his appreciation, as you stepped away.

There was only one thing left to do. It was time to say goodbye to the home you loved and the brother that you would miss dearly. It would be hard, but you were a Y/L/N. You could handle it.

#dark horse #reader fic #marvel au #cowboy au #western au

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thesilverdawns · 5 years

Text

The Man Named Lion (P8)

The smell of gas was strong enough to wake him out of whatever dreamless sleep he had fallen into. Strong enough to throw him back into the waking world where only pain and misery existed.

For the moment it was all located in his knee, which was rather unfortunate.

Vsevolod hesitantly opened his eyes. He could feel heat, he could see flickers of light all over the place, everything was blurry and fading in and out again- his ears were ringing, and he felt like he’d somehow bruised his entire body in one go.

The memories came rushing back to him shortly afterwards.

They hit the enemy plane...that’s right. He groaned as he pulled himself back up, pushing on a bit of the wing frame that had fallen on him. He could barely manage.

They hit the plane and everything was all right, until something fired back at them from the woods. The wood creaked and splintered apart as he finally was able to push enough of it off himself so that he could sit up and look around.

Fire. A few fires actually. Many of the smaller trees had been ripped right out of the ground before one of the larger ones with the thicker trunks put a stop to their aircraft’s path of destruction. They must had slammed right into it, where the remaining pieces of the airplane burst into different directions upon impact.

No wonder he felt so bad.

He shakily got to his feet, though he found it impossible to put his weight on one of his legs. It wasn’t even painful at that point really, despite him thinking so earlier. Only numb and throbbing and shaking, tender...probably smashed to kingdom come. The lever had hit him before they were snagged by the treeline.

What did it matter though. Where was Lev? He wasn’t even strapped in and had to stand to fire the gun.

With panic welling in his chest, he looked around frantically without making a single step. He couldn’t bring himself to. Maybe he was afraid, or maybe he’d forgotten how to walk. Even Vsevolod wasn’t very certain.

A groan from somewhere behind him caught his attention though, and he looked over his shoulder, scanning the crash site. A nearby pile of wreckage suddenly moved and a few pieces were thrown away from it. Lev crawled out from under it, thankfully still whole and still swearing. “For the love of Death-”

At an instant Vsevolod was at peace. Lev was fine. Good. They could die here now. No, they couldn’t-

“Oh good- I was hoping you had not been flattened by the plane like a nail to a hammer!” Lev called out as he limped towards him, holding his arm close to his chest protectively. It was probably fractured, or broken. Really, it was a miracle they’d crawled out as intact as they were. Once they were together, Lev attempted to pull Vsevolod up straighter with his remaining-and-working arm. “Come, on your feet- well your other foot. We need to find out way out of here.”

That’s right… if any of the Demesûans were around, they would have no doubt seen the crash. Maybe their own would have seen it too, but it was far too risky to stay.

Slowly they made their way away from the flames. With the trees and the forest always so damp, it was unlikely they would catch fire at least. No one needed a forest fire to add to their problems.

“...Ah the… the plane has gasoline in it, doesn’t it?” Lev asked casually, as they continued to limp away.

Vsevolod’s ears perked high in a panic, and Lev sprung into action then. He scooped his companion up and threw them both into the brush as the plane behind them ignited into a fiery inferno, swallowing up the tree it had crashed into.

They both lied there in the mud and bushes for a moment, winded.

“Where would… Where would you be, without me,” Lev laughed breathlessly, though he sounded like he wanted to cry.

Vsevolod said nothing, even with a swarm of potential responses whirling around in his head.

Again they got back up and kept on moving. When they were up in the air, above the clouds, it had been sundown. What time was it now? Perhaps it had only been minutes. With the sky being stormy overhead, it was impossible to say.

“I think I see a break in the tree line over there...come.”

Up ahead, the sunlight started to peek through breaks in the clouds, showing the red and yellow of the sky. It made the whole sight appear like there was a light at the end of this ‘tunnel’ they were walking through. And that only made them move a little faster.

The air began to smell salty, and they could hear the sound of the ocean.

“Oh no,”

Vsevolod glanced over at Lev, and then to the light beyond. No, they weren’t dead. He was in too much pain to believe THAT.

When they emerged, they could see the sandy beach go on for miles in both directions, from left to right. The waves of the sea lapped lazily at the shore’s edge, and the fluffy and full storm clouds begun to dissipate even further up ahead, over the ocean. The sunlight fell on their faces, and it was pleasantly still warm.

“Well now, were we not killing each other, this is quite beautiful.” Lev commented, sounding out of breath. “I need to sit...”

They stayed hidden in the brush and sat on a small ledge, just a few feet above the actual sandy part of the beach.

“Have you ever been to the beach before?”

Vsevolod shook his head.

“Neither have I. It really DOES look just like the paintings and the pictures. We should have come before this all started.”

Maybe they could, after.

For a while they sat in silence, taking in the peaceful view. If they looked away, it might have been gone forever.

From their hiding place they could see the island city of Demesûa, just across the channel.

“Why are we not able to just drop bombs on them and be done with this? The airships would have easily won this war ages ago were they not so focused on the ground troops.” Lev scowled.

Vsevolod gave a hard cough in response, before shakily raising his hands to sign. “They have a force field around the city.”

“Yes I know but it isn’t as though we are a nation lacking in power, Sevka.”

That much was true. They could see the aforementioned force field shimmering briefly over the city, surrounding it in a bubble of protection.

How would they ever be able to get in? Everything could end, that way.

“It isn’t even as though we could sneak in and just, disable the things ourselves, now could we?! Hah!! Imagine that! That sounds like a daring adventure that the theater would put out!” Lev laughed at the ridiculousness of such an idea.

Vsevolod however, stared at the force field shimmer a gain.

Force fields only did that when they were power cycling, which usually meant that said devices were having problems. Though, WHAT problems, there was no way of knowing unless you were there.

“...Oh no, why are you making that face,” Lev glanced over at Vsevolod again. He had that look. That determined look. Relentlessly determined. “Please you are making me feel a pit in my stomach and I feel bad as it is-”

“We should go into the city.”

“Now I know your brains have been knocked loose. With any luck that alone will be enough to get YOU discharged dishonorably, so you NEVER have to come out here ever again!!-”

Vsevolod hissed at him. “They are having problems with their field generators right now. If we go in and find out what is wrong, we can tell someone about it.”

“Yes you want us, looking maimed and injured, to just WALK UP THE BEACH to their base camp (if there’s one still there) and to just TURN OURSELVES IN??” Lev blurted out, throwing a hand in the air. He couldn’t help it. That was a stupid plan and he hated every bit of it. HIM, the troublemaker.

“No. Disguise.” Vsevolod signed faster. He was exhausted. But it was the only plan he could think of. If they came back now with no plane to show, who knows what would happen. They’d probably be reprimanded for coming back with absolutely nothing. No information, no confirmed kills, nothing.

The longer Lev stared at him, the more he realized Vsevolod was quite serious about the whole thing. How could he blame him though.

“...Well...I suppose it would not be hard to kill two and take their clothes...” He muttered, reaching for his belt. His hand gun was still there. “You have your gun?”

Vsevolod shook his head.

“Right then… leave the killing up to me. We will go with your plan. At worst, we get caught and taken in as prisoners of war. And then executed in a courtyard. HOPEFULLY with a splendid view of the beach at LEAST.”

And so, they waited for night to fall.

#the man named lion #ok we're just getting back into the flow here #here we go boys

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alittlestarling · 6 years

Text

Welcome Home, Good Hunter

Their quest into the Hinterlands to meet with the rebel mages doesn’t go as planned and an upsetting discovery brings Roz and Vincent closer.

Read on Ao3

Part 1

Part 2: The Hinterlands

“Can you hear that?” Roz pulled gently on the reins of her mare as they crested over the final few hills, dipping lower into the valley.

“Hear what?” Vincent asked, her ever-constant companion in the last week as they made their way from the mountain pass and into the heart of Ferelden. Where Roz was uncertain in her riding, Vincent was a natural, murmuring gently in a foreign tongue that she didn’t know to soothe his steed as they trekked onward. The mere fact that he was there, that this wasn’t a fever dream, was still hard for Roz to believe. Staring was hard as well and she had tried to keep her gaze from lingering too long on him.

Instead, she smiled as she gazed out along the vast expanse before them. “Quiet,” she replied after a moment, relishing the sounds of nature instead of fighting that had so often surrounded them in these hills. With the encampments gone for both warring sides, the survivors in the Crossroads could enjoy a little peace before they rebuilt their lives in the hills.

Patting her mare along the side of her neck, Roz couldn’t stop herself from giving what might have been a far-too-early sigh of relief. Fewer fires to put out, less time placing themselves into the crosshairs of danger and more opportunities to see exactly what the people needed here.

What they truly needed.

Leading the way, Roz glanced over her shoulder as they trekked down the steep incline their horses seemed to take with greater ease and confidence than she would have. Vincent had, of course, come along, but he wasn’t the only one. Iron Bull held up the end of the group, shooting the breeze easily with Varric and, right in the middle, Vincent’s older brother, Rolfe, had been flirting with Cassandra at a steady clip since they left Haven.

Though they had only just begun to grow closer, Roz could tell that, despite the rebuffs and irritated sighs, Cassandra wasn’t completely indifferent to the lighthearted teasing and flirting Rolfe offered. Resistant, stubborn to admit it, but Roz didn’t think anything with Cassandra came particularly easily. Especially when it came to close relationships, not just romance.

“Do you think your brother will tire of flirting with Cassandra?” Roz leaned in conspiratorially, glancing back a moment to let her gaze linger over Rolfe riding alongside Cassandra.

“I doubt it,” Vincent had leaned in close, the warm scent of cedar and salt making her dizzy a moment. She tried not to think too hard as the pair of them shared a moment; his laugh was low, rumbling from his chest while Roz stifled a giggling snort before straightening along her saddle again.

“He has his work cut out for him,” Roz shook her head with a little laugh. “She’s a tough one to crack.”

“And my brother isn’t so easily dissuaded, so long as she hasn’t outright rejected him.”

“It doesn’t seem that way,” Roz snickered lightly but leaned back away from him, straightening once more. “I wouldn’t discount his chances just yet.” Besides, despite her tough exterior, Roz had caught a glimpse of what she had discovered was a rather delightfully dirty romance novel during their first night on the road to Redcliffe, sworn to secrecy once Cassandra realized her secret was out.

Without the threat of attack looming over them, the people of the Crossroads looked a little less world-worn, the weariness gone from their postures. Tents had been set-up for those still transitioning and efforts to rebuild homes that had burned in the fires were underway.

Even with their need to reach the rebels in the village, Roz couldn’t just leave without making sure things were doing alright.

“Rosalind,” Cassandra gently interjected as Roz finished dropping herbs off with a healer that had finally taken up residence in the small camp (with a quick chat about some tinctures that could be brewed with spindleweed that grew in abundance along the creek nearby), “we should make our way towards Redcliffe.”

“I know, I know,” Roz blew a small strand of red that had strayed from her usual braid, the small wispy hair refusing to stay put, “I just have a few more things to look into.” The caches had been marked, food was being distributed and the land may have been safer to hunt on now, but Roz felt the itch to simply do more. Their worlds had been torn apart, flipped off their axis, and if she couldn’t help with the smaller things, how could anyone trust her to help with some of the larger, more overwhelming tasks that stretched before her?

As if to counter her thoughts, her mark sparked and she curled her palm tightly into a fist to extinguish the green light that constantly haunted her.

Her mood soured slightly as she passed along a letter from a templar; despite her own, personal feelings towards the establishment, she wasn’t about to let anyone’s last words to someone they loved go without remark. Vincent noticed, stepping into stride behind her after she’d finished recruiting Ellandra to their cause.

“You seem troubled.” It was a statement rather than a question, an opening for Roz to speak her mind if she decided to. Finding the words, however, were hard, especially when her own feelings were a mixed bag these days.

“I don’t understand how anyone in the Circle could have a romance with a Templar,” she began, dropping her voice low, pausing to pluck fresh elfroot from standing water beside them. “All the Templars I knew were…well, no, let me start again.” Frowning, she started over, trying to find any shred of tact she had left for the order.

“Not all Templars were terrible, but enough of them knew how to abuse and use their powers to benefit themselves. I’ve seen too many of them remain passive while others held the leash over mages tighter than necessary.” An image unbidden came to mind, those last moments before Alderis was dragged away playing before her. She shook her head, as though she might be rid of them if she tried hard enough. “Perhaps she was lucky. I just can’t understand it.”

“The more I hear about the Circle, the less I like it,” Vincent commented gruffly. “I can’t imagine spending my life living in fear of my gifts.” He glanced to her, holding her gaze a long moment as he added, “And neither should you have gone through such a thing.”

“I survived it. Not everyone did.” Perhaps it was easier in the long-run to lie about her involvement with the rebellion, especially when it helped gain allies to continue to help them seek to bring peace to the regions once more. But it still stuck to her tongue, the bitter pill she had to swallow after lying to Ellandra about exactly where she stood with the rebellion. It was the one thing she didn’t say aloud in those moments, glancing about the Crossroads once more.

Peace, relative quiet and stability. They’d be alright for now. “Come on,” She turned, Vincent falling easily into step with her again, “Cassandra’s been eager to get to Redcliffe. As am I.”

As they mounted back onto their horses, Roz sent a quick prayer to the Maker, her own quiet hope a burning ember in her chest.

Maker, please, please, please, let me find friends among them.

“Something’s not right,” Varric was the first to comment once they’d made their way down to the docks along the lake. Roz’s mind was reeling, piecing together information that didn’t quite make sense. From the first moment they set foot in the village, Roz could feel the unease rolling off the villagers. They whispered behind their hands, eyes wide with uncertainty but that was expected, especially when she considered that they hadn’t anticipated the Inquisition to arrive there at all.

“I don’t understand it,” Roz murmured, playing with the folds of her tunic, pacing back and forth along the shoreline. “We saw Grand Enchanter Fiona in Val Royeaux,” She shot a quick glance to Cassandra and Varric. “I’m not imagining that, right?”

“No,” Cassandra agrees, her own expression grim, sitting on a nearby rock. “I saw her, too. There is something afoul here.”

“If we believe the ‘Vint,” Bull interjected with a dissatisfied grumble, “magic’s to blame.”

Roz closed her eyes tightly, lips pressed together in a thin line as she let out a huffing breath. “Perhaps,” she murmured after a moment, allowing herself to catch her temper in time. Bull, she was realizing the longer they traveled together, didn’t have a high opinion of magic. While she couldn’t discount his suspicion towards the Tevinter mage who had just happened to be there with a far-fetched explanation, she knew better than to write it off completely.

Nothing felt right here. Tevinter was on their doorstep, had indentured the Grand Enchanter herself and, if she believed that time had been altered? Well, the implications were too vast for her to name. She felt a headache coming on, pressing the bridge of her nose with a muted sigh.

“I don’t think you’re going to like my decision, Cassandra,” Roz turned to face the Seeker, pulling her into private conversation as the others peeled away from them.

“Oh?” Perhaps she was gruff and a little too blunt, but at least Roz knew she could be honest with Cassandra, regardless if they shared the same viewpoint on the situation. “And what would that be?”

“I don’t think we have time to seek out the Templars.” It was a relief, in a way, knowing that she wouldn’t be walking into the viper’s nest. Even with support, Roz couldn’t shake the fears that rested in her bones, the knowledge that she had often known through her life with the Order. “With everything we’ve seen today, we have to act, and soon, before things spiral out of control here.” If things fell apart here, it would spread; all the good they had done would be destroyed and the people they had helped would have to flee for their lives once more.

“I can see where you’re coming from,” Cassandra tilted her head, pausing as though to parse out a thought, “but I do not think we should act without the facts. And we do not have any facts from the Templars that abandoned their post in Orlais.”

“But how can they possibly help us close the breach?” Roz snapped back, “Shall we go chase down Lord Seeker Lucius, who I might remind you isn’t our biggest fan, and convince them to, what? Wave a sword at the breach? Compel it to close itself with the power of smite?” The comments clawed from her throat before she could stop them, pacing once again before the Seeker.

“I know what people say, how they view me and all others like me. They did in Orlais and they will do so again if I try to reach them. I know,” she held a hand out as Cassandra made a move to interrupt, stopping for Roz to continue, “not all of them, but enough of them seem against us. To them, we’re a danger that needs containing, a threat that needs to be brought to heel again.” Enough of them wanted to stop the Inquisition before Roz had found herself in the middle of it, never mind now that a mage had the gall to be “chosen” by Andraste.

“You should not judge the Order too harshly.” Cassandra added softly once Roz had finished rambling off all the reasons not to seek out the organization that did not want them.

“And yet that’s exactly what they do to me.” Roz offered a sad sort of smile, the truth of her words seeming to sink slowly into the Seeker. “I do not see that changing anytime soon, Cassandra, do you?”

Tense silence followed and, had they been given a moment longer, perhaps Cassandra would have come up with a different opinion, a new way of looking at things despite what Roz felt in her gut was true. The Templars weren’t the way to go and she just knew that it was a waste to leave things precariously as they were here.

Varric’s voice, however, broke the spell, calling out from down the shoreline. “Seeker, Rosebud, you two might want to see this.” Roz felt her own guard go up at the apprehension in his tone, taking careful strides away from the spot she’d been pacing to approach what she had assumed was an abandoned home along the water’s edge.

The moment she stepped inside, the very air seemed to change. Her breath caught in her throat at the sheer wrongness of it all. Magic rippled from the shelves, the strange whispering echoing in her ears that accompanied any discovery of the strange skulls in the countryside.

What she saw before her were those exact skulls. Dozens of them lining the walls, a few piled along the ground. A bundle of cracked and shattered skulls lay in the corner, abandoned in their lack of usefulness. A shiver ran down her spine, stuck in the doorway a moment longer before she dared to reach out. Her fingertips grazed across the nearby skull, snapping her fingers back quickly at a tingle that slithered down her hand upon contact.

Vincent wasn’t far, his own eyes gazing warily at the skulls before him. “Magic,” he muttered, their gazes meeting for a brief moment; Roz nodded in agreement, struggling to take another full breath as she turned.

“You’re right,” It was Rolfe, however, who found the answer, papers held firmly in his grip. “What do they mean by ‘tranquil’ in these papers?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Roz was dizzy, her stomach coiled and knotted, nausea rising up hard and fast along with horror and grief hot in pursuit. “No,” She whispered, her hands shaking as she reached out to touch the nearest skull. “Oh no, no, no, no.” Faces of those she had known flashed before her eyes, the unspeakable horror of this acting as a sinking pit in her stomach.

“Rosalind?” Vincent had a hand on her elbow as she swayed a moment. His touch was warm, grounding a moment as she turned to him, her mouth opening to try and find her words.

“Poor sods,” Varric murmured.

“Not like the Tranquil were doing much with ‘em.” Bull’s comment cut through the air and Roz felt all the breath leave her lungs with a sharp hiss. The grief, the sorrow, the anguish all burned swiftly into anger that she’d felt mounting since they arrived in the region. There was nothing gentle in her as she abruptly pulled away from Vincent and his comforting grasp on her. Instead, she whirled on Iron Bull with a snarl.

“You have no right to say those things,” Roz growled, heat rolling off her in waves. Despite their height difference, she walked to him, one finger against his chest, blue eyes hard as steel. “They were people. Their lives should have been their own. You do not get to judge them.” Her teeth gnashed together as she let out an angry huff, adding, “You are not better than them.”

Still shaking, she continued, “I’d think over my next words carefully, The Iron Bull.”

Tense silence followed and, had she been in a better mood, Roz would have laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it. She was no match in height to him, aware that she barely came up to his chest. But he met her gaze levelly, his own expression hard (and, if she were right, a hint of surprise), neither of them moving from their spot.

“Boss.” He rumbled and the moment broke. Roz pulled away swiftly, turning on her heel.

“I’ve seen enough here. I’m done.” But there were words still unspoken, caught in her throat as she stepped back out into the open air. I don’t want to be here anymore.

For the first time in a long while, Roz let herself slump by the fire, the weight of the world pressing hard against her shoulders. Guilt and grief were warring internally as she wrapped her blanket tighter around her body. It didn’t fit all the way, made for a slim cot and not a plush body, but there was still something comforting in the act itself. As though she could make a cocoon of it, keeping the world at bay a moment longer instead of letting the chaos and the anger eat her from the inside out.

Exhaustion was a constant companion but sleep hadn’t come. Instead, Roz had pulled herself from her cot, slipping to sit by the fire. The sounds of Lake Luthias were almost comforting, the waterfall and chirping of crickets making the world seem a little softer and perhaps more peaceful than it felt in her mind.

Every single one of the skulls they had come across, each ocularum, was from a tranquil that had been killed. The thought made her sick, her stomach continuing to knot and roil in her gut. How many of them had they seen? How many had been lost when the Circles fell? Was he-

It was the one question she didn’t want to answer, squeezing her eyes shut to will the thought away. Spots blinked before her vision when she opened them again, disoriented for a brief moment. Any answer to her own lingering doubts would only add more guilt to her already troubled mind; no answer was better than the alternatives that were far more likely than the idea that he may have survived it all.

“May I join you?” Vincent’s voice murmured quietly from her side, causing Roz to jump. The blanket slipped a bit from her shoulders as she attempted to wrap it closer around her body again.

“If you like.” Running a hand across her face, letting the blanket slip again, she frowned into the fire. “I’m afraid you’re not seeing me on my best day,” Roz sighed apologetically, unable to lift her gaze from the fire. Everything felt like a constant fight the last few weeks, growing more and more apparent the last few days as the time to make a choice loomed ever closer on the horizon.

“You’re allowed to have feelings about it all, Roz,” Vincent reached out, a hand gently resting upon hers, “you’re only human.” The contact was brief, but she felt it again: a soft shiver rolled down her spine, but this was a pleasant sensation, as though stepping into a warm bath. It was gone as quickly as it came, her own expression confused before she shook her head.

“I don’t think that’s what they want from me.”

“Aye, but what do you want? It can’t just be about them and their needs. You’re the one they call Herald and you have more power than you think you have.”

Roz snorted, a ghost of a smile tracing her lips. “Don’t tell them that. I think the idea of a mage in power scares them, even if they don’t admit to it aloud.” She twisted, reaching for the blanket edge that kept slipping. Vincent reached for it instead, lifting it to her shoulder. The action paused in his hands, a frown shifting his features.

“They have you sleep with these scratchy things?” He questioned, experimentally rubbing the fabric between his fingers in obvious distaste. “How can you get comfortable with this scratchin’ and itchin’ at you all night long?”

“I’m certain they’re made to be more utilitarian than comfortable,” Roz commented dryly. “Honestly, I think the fact that we even have supplies really shows just how far we’ve- wait, where are you going?” Right in the middle of her sentence, Vincent stood abruptly. She watched with a strange curiosity as he moved away from the fire, all but stalking back towards the tent he had set up with Rolfe earlier in their evening.

Vanishing into his tent, he reappeared looking a little ruffled in the firelight, carrying something she couldn’t discern in his hands. “Here, this should be better.” He was careful with his movements, gently placing a sleek, soft pelt across her shoulders. Not before, he course, he helped pull the other blanket off of her.

“Oh.” Roz felt a sigh bubble up from her lips, marveling at the softness and the warmth that encompassed her effortlessly. “Maker, this is lovely.” She paused, adding softly, “Thank you. You didn’t have to-”

“Aye, I didn’t, but I wanted to.”

It was the earnestness that caught her off-guard; cynicism followed her every step when it came to anyone getting closer with her. The members of the Inquisition she was learning to trust, but part of her always wondered how much they wanted from her.

Roz pressed her cheek against the softness of the fur, closing her eyes again. “Still, thank you.”

The silence was interrupted only by the flowing water and crackling fire. Then, so softly, Vincent asked the question that had Roz’s stomach coiled in knots once again. “What does it mean to be made Tranquil?”

She didn’t speak for a few, long moments, eyes opened again as she stared into the fire. Her frown deepened as she tried to think of a way to explain it easily, but she knew there was no easy way to do that.

“If a mage is a danger to themselves or others, Templars have the choice to use the Rite of Tranquility upon them,” Roz murmured, bitterness lacing her words as she lifted her gaze from the fire, meeting his. “It means they are cut-off from the Fade. They become shells of themselves: docile, able to enchant, but unable to be who they once were.” She swallowed hard, adding softly, “Not all who are made Tranquil are dangerous. I’ve seen it used as punishment as well.”

“So those skulls belonged to-”

“Mages who had been made Tranquil, yes.” Roz paused, her face screwed up in an attempt not to weep at the fresh onslaught of emotion that welled up in her throat. It was a wound that she didn’t know would heal, a scar that kept opening every time she thought it was closed.

Vincent met the statement with horrified silence, his own expression darkening in the glow of the fire. He muttered what Roz could only assume was a curse in his native tongue. “To be cut-off from your true self,” he muttered, “must certainly be a fate worse than death.”

“Yes,” Roz murmured, her voice thick as she pulled the pelt tighter around her shoulders, “it is. And to see them and know that they’re not truly there, all of their light just…gone.” She swallowed hard again, letting out a shaky breath.

“You’ve known those made Tranquil.” Another statement of fact came gently from his lips and Roz swore she could feel his gaze on her as she stared directly into the fire.

“Yes,” She whispered, blinking back tears unsuccessfully. “Some I didn’t know very well, but others…” She trailed off a moment, brushing a hand across her cheek with a sniffle. “Someone I loved was made Tranquil.” It was the one story she had never truly told amongst her new companions, uncertain how to even begin. But Vincent reached out, tentatively, his hand resting over hers.

“You don’t have to tell me,” He reassured her gently, “if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Roz gave him a watery smile, “but I think I want to.” The truth was a hard burden to bear alone and, even though she knew this changed nothing of what had happened, there was a small part that needed to simply speak the words into existence.

“His name was Alderis, and I loved him desperately.” And so she spoke, weaving the story in soft tones about her mentor who had turned into her dear friend and then lover. How smart he had been, how passionate about their freedoms, how kind he had been to her and others.

“He wanted our freedom as much as anyone in the Circle,” Roz confided, “and perhaps not all of his methods would have been viewed upon with kindness from the Chantry.” Blood magic never was, but that was part of her story that she kept tucked away. “Suspicions were flying and everyone was tense in the Circle in the weeks leading up to it. In the end, I think it was easiest to make Alderis an example, if not to stop him from preaching of just what we might gain from autonomy and life outside the Circle.”

Those last moments Roz knew she’d never forget. The classroom where they were working with a few of the newly Harrowed students before the door was shoved open. Alderis had been smiling a moment before they grabbed him, the Templars showing no mercy as Roz surged forwards. She’d been stopped and charges were laid at their feet.

“I don’t know why I was spared yet he was not.” Her voice dropped so softly, shaking her head as a few errant tears slipped down her cheeks. “None of it made sense.” She had her suspicions that her mentor, Lydia, had kept her from the same fate, but that had meant little when faced with the results of the rite done on Alderis. Blank eyes, a monotone voice and the mark on his forehead for everyone to see.

Taking up his mantle in the search for their freedoms had seemed easy comparably. Her grief had turned to rage and resolution in the face of rebellion.

“I heard few survived the uprising at Ostwick. I don’t know if he or the others found their way out.” Roz had planted the seeds, pulled away to the Conclave when her friends and comrades in arms rose up against the Templars. The story had been spun to sound peaceful, as though a compromise had been sought by both sides. It was an effort to keep the peace; Roz knew the truth, though, clutching tight the hope that her students and friends had made their way from that place in one piece.

His hand squeezed hers, fingers gently lacing between hers to hold tightly to her. “That sounds like it’s been a heavy burden to carry, Rosalind.” And that was the truth, murmured to her by the campfire, thousands of miles from the only place she had known as home. She let out a sharp, soft laugh, bitter and sorrowful as she sniffed hard again against more tears.

“Sometimes I prefer to think he died that day when they cut him from the fade,” Roz admitted, her features twisted again in grief as she continued in a broken whisper, “It was kinder to me, as selfish as it sounds. I’d rather remember him with life and passion. I can cherish his memory of what was rather than what they made him.”

“If you found him tomorrow, would you still care for him the same way as before?” He asked her and the question had her pause, deep in thought as she stared at the fire.

“I don’t know. Maybe? Or maybe not?” There were too many factors at place in her mind, wondering exactly how she might react to finding him again after all that had happened. “In the end, I feel he was a dear friend to me, a companion to share ideas with. If he were alive, if I found him, I would want to make sure he was safe and cared for, not left to the whims of the world and those who would exploit him.” She swallowed hard, adding softly, “I’d owe him that much.”

Alderis had given her hope, a spark that had grown into a fire that burned inside her. There would always be an ache for what could have been or what she could have done, but nothing could change that. And, while she wouldn’t say it aloud, Roz had long since come to peace that nothing could sway her from the path she walked now. She had been willing to die for the rebellion, yet she had been offered the chance to live and see parts of it some to fruition.

It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but it was a start.

They sat in quiet, his hand still intertwined with hers. His thumb rubbed soft, soothing circles along the back of her hand, a gentle comfort that left her with feelings she couldn’t quite put to words. And maybe now wasn’t the time to do it, not with her emotions raw as they were.

There was relief in having shared though, a wave of it washing over her with a suddenness. There were tears again as she leaned against Vincent’s shoulder, her cheek pressed against him, but there was no sorrow in them this time. His hand slipped free and Roz nearly pulled back, afraid she’d overstepped, but instead he tucked her close, an arm resting gently at her shoulder.

“Thank you for listening,” Roz murmured thickly against his shirt.

“Of course, Rosalind,” He whispered against the crown of her head, “of course.”

Roz didn’t remember going back to bed, but she woke with the pelt still tucked gently around her. She pressed her nose against it, breathing it in, her heart feeling lighter than it had in months. The sounds of the camp waking up and the scent of rashers being cooked on the fire were enough to draw her from the tent at last. An idea had struck her late in the night that wouldn’t leave her alone, swiftly rubbing the last winks of sleep from her eyes as she exited her tent.

“Iron Bull,” Roz called, arms wrapped tightly around herself, “can you come with me?”

They walked in slightly awkward silence; it wasn’t a long trek back to the ledge, but the moment seemed to linger on and on. Roz knew she didn’t want to apologize for getting mad, but she didn’t want to leave things as they were. Instead, she had a different idea.

The skull sat upon the strangely carved pedestal at the edge, the faint whisperings of magic brushing against her ears.

“What do you need, Boss?”

Roz tilted her head a moment, gesturing to the skull. “I need you to help me get this unstuck.” She blew a strand of hair from her face, adding quietly, “I don’t think I’m strong enough physically to get it to move without a little help.” When she used them, they only rotated so far and never had she been able to shift and adjust it. With her smaller hands to pry it a bit and Bull’s strength, she assumed they might make a go of it.

The request seemed to surprise Bull, who raised a brow and then nodded. “Sure.”

As she had predicted, the effort took both pairs of hands to remove it. Roz whispered some ice magic into her fingertips, turning the base brittle in an attempt to get it off without completely shattering the skull. There was a small crunch before Bull had it in his hands, finally, after a few minutes of their work.

Bull held the skull aloft a moment, the light filtering through it a moment, magic slowly dissipating from it once it had been removed from its place. Only when it dulled again did he hold it to her, letting her gently lift the skull from his palms. Roz wished she knew how to describe how she felt to him, the hurt that came with the discovery, the pain at knowing that she may have known these people. She swallowed hard though, cradling it close to her.

“You told me about Seheron,” she began softly, meeting his gaze with misty eyes, “and the people you lost. Know the pain that you felt, the kind that led you to the Re-educators, is the same pain I’m feeling right now. I wish I didn’t know this, but I do and I have to live with it.” There was no turning back from this new information, no pretending it didn’t exist or changing how they discovered the cabin. Now she knew and she could try to do something good with it.

“I get it, Boss,” Bull rubbed the back of his shaved head. But even the spy didn’t have the right words to truly encompass everything Roz was feeling or to untangle the complications that surrounded her heart in that moment.

“What’s done is done,” Roz intoned gently, “and now we can move forward.” She gazed back out to the expanse of the land that stretched out before them from the spot. “I don’t want their deaths to be in vain. We continue to pull the shards from the field, but after we’ve marked their locations we take the skulls and give them a proper burial. They deserve that.” She didn’t know how or where, but they would be laid to rest.

Bull had a hand resting between her shoulder blades, a weight that pulled her from the depths of her emotions. There was a moment, soft and quiet as she smiled at him sadly. “Some of our brightest were made this way. I hope something like this doesn’t have to happen again. I hope to change it.” Perhaps the pair of them would never see eye-to-eye, but an understanding passed between them as she walked back into the camp, finding a spot for the skull and a map marked with the locations of the others in the region.

“I’ll only be a few moments,” Roz argued with Cassandra as the pair of them trekked up the sloping incline to the top of the lake, “I don’t need an escort to gather spindleweed and blood lotus.” They’d be leaving the region soon enough and Roz already knew the Adan would appreciate more stocks to add to his stores back in Haven. She had her own concoctions to test out, but first she needed ingredients to work with beyond what they’d already gathered.

“It’s no trouble,” Cassandra followed dutifully behind Roz as they crested the hill. The banks of the lake were teeming with plant life and Roz was careful each time she stepped further to the water’s edge to gather what she needed.

Lost in her own thoughts, Roz hummed gently to herself as she plucked and picked and moved closer to the edge of the waterfall. Their camp was well within sight and there was a soft swell of encouragement to see most of their party relaxing in the late morning sunlight. And then her gaze drifted to the lake below.

“Oh.” Nearly dropping her satchel, Roz felt all the breathe leave her lungs, eyes wide as she caught sight of the brothers below. The mist and water kept much shrouded from her eyes, but there was quite a lot for her to see. And, Maker, it was a sight that she couldn’t help but drink in.

Both brothers, swimming and splashing in the lake below. Completely and utterly naked.

“Roz, what have you-” Cassandra began but Roz grabbed the Seeker’s arm to tug her down and out of sight before they could be spotted in their peeking.

“Shh!” Roz jerked her head down, unable to stop the rising heat in her cheeks as she glanced back down at the bare forms of Vincent and Rolfe in the water.

To her surprise, Roz caught Cassandra blushing when she realized exactly what they were watching. “Oh!”

“Yes.” Roz let out a slow, shaky breath, her eyes tracing the whorls and tattoos that decorated Vincent’s chest and shoulder. She had seen some peeking out from under his clothing, but nothing with quite so much detail as she saw in the moment. Water dripped down Vincent’s shoulders, flexing and stretching as he swam away from Rolfe’s splashing. It was innocent, playful as the brothers sent water flying at one another, Rolfe’s baritone laugh and an undignified squawk from Vincent when he was dunked under.

She swore softly, swallowing hard. “I…Andraste’s frilly knickers, we shouldn’t be doing this, should we?”

“Probably not,” Cassandra muttered, though she made no move to leave just then. Despite her own apparent indifference towards Rolfe when they were together, the Seeker was very quiet now, her eyes fixed on Rolfe below. Roz glanced to Cassandra and then back down to the lake below.

There wasn’t any harm in this. It wasn’t like they planned to do it again. She cleared her throat, settling down, allowing herself a few moments longer to enjoy the view and the wild workings of her imagination. Cassandra broke the silence with a gruff murmur.

“We’ll never speak of this to anyone.”

“You have my word.”

#dragon age: inquisition #fanfic #mage inquisitor #female inquisitor #verse: welcome home good hunter #my writing #vincent trevelyan #rosalind trevelyan #otp: sometimes home has a heartbeat #now cross posted to ao3 omg

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