#❪ ⋅ ✹ ⋆ —┊ ❛ v. what yet lingers [dragon age] ❜ ��

[endawn]

when the budding relationship between mislyn & pax first started and before it was official, it was possible to catch pax staring at her with the biggest, wettest puppy dog eyes possible as soon as she walked into the room. would make a quiet, sad pathetic little sigh, too. he was smitten and in denial.

[mydrug-is-dragonage]

Veda Adaar, A Letter from Home

The balcony off my room had great light in the morning. The sun shining through the clouds, the crisp mountain air, spring properly arrived and ready to melt into summer. My belly swelled, slowly but surely. No kicks or stirring, a growing bump where they said a child would be. I hid myself in long, flowing robes and oversized tunics. I spent most my days here, staring out the window, feeling the sun on my skin. I wondered if this was the feeling my parents missed, living in this cold land so far from their home. I sighed and looked out at the mountains, so calm with the wars ceased. The sky still bore the thin green scar.

The week after the healer confirmed the child, Lace came into my room with tea. “Hey, V.” I nodded and waved her in. She handed me the cup and we settled onto the sofa. The fire crackled, I pulled my robe closer around me and placed both hands on the warm cup. “I haven’t written the Divine yet,” she said.

“You haven’t written or you haven’t sent it?” I asked.

“Sent. I’ve written a draft,” she said.

“Do we have to send it now?”

“No,” she paused. Her eyes stared at the burning logs. “We will have to tell her soon, though.”

“I suppose we can get it over with. Not like it’ll get any easier,” I sighed. I took a sip of my tea. My hands stayed on the cup, the warmth passing through my palms.

“She’ll make it easier to keep this quiet, if that’s still what you want to do,” she said.

I swallowed and stared out, the sun setting, the chill of the mountains taking over. “I want to keep it quiet. I’ll tell a few friends, in time, but for now it needs to stay with only those we trust the most.”

She nodded. “Have you written your mother yet? We got another two letters from her this week.” I shook my head. “The Divine considers her trustworthy. She hasn’t betrayed any Inquisition secrets thus far.”

“I know,” I said, “I just don’t know how to tell her.” Lace tapped her feet. “Go on, you’ve got a mind full of something.”

“Veda, she loves you. She loved Bull. She’ll be thrilled.” I took another sip of my tea.

“She does love me. She did love Bull. She also loves my father and will certainly tell him,” I said. Lace started to speak, but I interrupted. “Pa never trusted him. He had his reasons, of course.”

“I think he’ll support you more than he hates Bull,” she said.

“You’ve met my father. Do you really believe that?”

“He’s a hardass, but he’s always been bolder in affection than hatred.” I nodded, took another sip of my tea.

“Lace, can you bring me a fresh candle and ink?” She nodded and went to fetch them. I settled into my desk.

Tama,

I’m sorry I haven’t written. Lace tells me she’d get you informed about the immediate developments. I’ll also admit I haven’t read your letters. I’m going to, I keep them in a safe place. I simply haven’t found the time or the gumption. For being so brave, I’m so afraid. I don’t know why. I’ve face dragons and magisters and time travel. I suppose the risk there is death. Dying never seemed as scary.

I remember the stories you told me of when you were a girl. A young apprentice baker, elbows deep in flour. You wanted to be a Tamassaran, raising the children, guiding their growth, comforting their hurts. I suppose it’s the closest thing to motherhood in Par Vollen. They didn’t let you into the priesthood, though. They didn’t let you raise the babies and cuddle them, tend to their wounds. They sent you to a small bakery near the sea. I remember the gull songs you’d sing to me as we wandered along the coastline of the Waking Sea.

Pa never told me the same stories you did. I pieced them together from stories you’d told me. Pa, part of the antaam, stopping by your bakery for bread in the morning. Pa, the good soldier, making jokes as you packed his rations You, the naughty the baker, sneaking him sweetened bread, baked with too much sugar. His hands lingering on yours too long in front of the baker. You two sitting on beach, the sea lapping the shore, your hands finding their way to each other’s again. When I got older and understood the Qun, I always wondered how you weren’t quaking with fear. To love, while not forbidden, was certainly not allowed like this.

When you fled, were you afraid? Crossing through Seheron and Tevinter, Pa joining mercenary companies to gain passage, did you regret it? Did you miss the calm of the bakery, the friends you left behind? Was he worth it? Was I worth it? Were you afraid?

I remember when you sent me off with my first company, an apprentice myself, unsure of the power in my fingertips. I remember Pa standing, arm around you. You held back your tears, but I saw your eyes well up, so afraid for your only child, your only daughter. You wanted more for me than mercenary companies, killing for my dinner. You sang from the Chant of Light, you warned me of magic, yet it came to me anyway, taking me away from you. The first letter I got from you started and ended with, “May the Maker guide you.”

He guided me through mountains and valleys, along the seas. I’d seen the Free Marches, Nevarra, Orlais, the South Western corner of the Anderfels, all while learning to protect myself from demons, manipulate the fade to bend to my very will. The best, of course, was when I’d come home, a year older, a head taller, hardly the child you’d sent away, still so far from real womanhood. You fussed over me so, made goat pies, asked about the places I’d been and the joy I’d found. When you went to bed, Pa and I sat outside, looking towards the sky, the moon so full and hungry. He took a sip of the wine you’d opened, offered me my first glass. He put his arm around me and pointed out constellations. He said something softly, the sounds still ringing in my ears, “We wanted better for you. We wanted safer for you.”

The first time you visited Skyhold, we’d stopped the demon army, but we hadn’t yet gone to Halamshiral to save the empress. You wore a simple cotton dress, you hair braided down your back. Pa put on his nice shirt, his horn caps. You looked so nervous around the nobility. They didn’t know what to make of you. The deafening whispers, everyone so curious about the new Qunari amongst the Inquisition. I heard you sing from some Canticle as you walked towards the throne, up towards my room.

I was scared then, too, my mission unfinished, the Magister still on the loose. When we got to my room you gave me the biggest hug. “My little girl has gone on to be something so much bigger!” You beamed, your own daughter the Herald of Andraste. Pa hugged me too. While I was pressed against him he whispered, “I’m happy you’re safe, for now.” Pa pulled away and glanced at my neck.

The dragon’s tooth was heavy. It rested against my skin, cool and smooth. He didn’t say anything, eyes stuck on the tooth. Your eyes were stuck on me, until Pa’s hand reached your back. Your gaze went where his rested. I can hear your voice now, the surpise and curiosity, “Veda, is that….” your voice trailed off, so Pa, forever your rock, finished for you, “A necklace of the Kadan.” He didn’t share your curiosity.

I said yes. No use in lying to you. I felt my heartbeat in my ears. Your eyes widened when you asked me, “Do you have a Kadan?” I nodded, so unsure and afraid. Not of my love. I knew I loved Bull. I hoped he loved me, but the two of you, seeing me in love with a man closer to your age than mine, a Ben Hassrath agent no less. You two joined me in Herald’s Rest, we found a small table in the corner upstairs. Pa drank a full ale before Bull came to join us. It was awkward, so painfully awkward. When Pa excused himself, I wanted to be sick when Bull said he’d take a walk with him. The men gone, us alone at the table. “He’s,” you thought so carefully about your words, “a lot of man.” I laughed and agreed. You asked if he made me happy.

He did. He made me so happy. He made me happy for years. He made me happy dancing at Halamshiral, he made me happy fighting dragons, he made happy in taverns and campsites, in castles and caves. He held my hand in carriages, he held me in cold storms. He took blows meant for me, he killed foes sent to strike me down. I saw the whole future, I saw the danger you and Pa had lived through. I knew we’d have troubles. I knew he’d be called away from me, but he was mine and he made me so happy, Tama. I couldn’t have loved him more.

I assume you know now what he did. Pa was right. Pa, despite walking with Bull, pulled me into a great big hug before he left. Again, he whispered in my ear, “He’ll never love you more than the Qun.” I shrugged him off. What did Pa know? He didn’t know Bull. He didn’t know me or our circumstances. I thought myself so grown then, barely nineteen, but the most powerful woman in the world. I loved Bull. Bull loved me. I was so sure Bull loved me.

I don’t know if love persists once we return to the Maker’s side. I don’t know if he even gets to return to the Maker. I don’t know what the Qun says happens we die. He obeyed the Qun. He did what the Qun demanded. If there is satisfaction to be had there, he’s earned it. At the cost of himself, at the cost of our love, at the cost of my dignity.

It’s been scarcely two months, his body left to rot near that dragon’s prison. I saw my love struck down before me. Cassandra delivered the killing blow, saving me the anguish of having to kill him myself. He’s dead, Tama. He’s gone. He’s gone forever and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to accept that he loved me and still did this. I don’t know how to accept that he never loved me and felt no guilt. I don’t understand. I don’t understand.

It’s been two months, I’m in Skyhold with Lace and the few others who stayed behind to serve what was the Inquisition. I’m no longer the Inquisitor, I’m no longer a fearsome fighter. I’m no longer someone’s Kadan. I’m just Veda. I’m just Veda and that’s all I’ll ever be. I’ll try to help stop Solas, but I won’t lead the charge. I can’t, not anymore. I’m going to be a glorified advisor, one-armed and tired. All that is so hard to write. Forgive the smudges. I’ve finally cried without violence and I don’t know how to accept any of this, but I do have something I have to tell you.

I’m no longer the Inquisitor, a Valo-Kas mercenary, a Knight Enchanter. But I’m still your daughter, and I’m going to be a mother.

Love,

Veda

Lace sent the raven to my mother, I sat down and finally read her letters, her usual, motherly concern filling each page. Father was doing well, a goat had twin kids. When she’d found out about Bull, the letter was longer. Words about love and loss, the way pain settles in our chest, proving our love mattered at all. Beautiful words, frustrating as they were comforting. I heard her and Thom ringing in my ears. I lounged on the sofa, my hands resting at my side, sometimes settling on the top of it. My stomach was warm and tight. Sometimes my fingers would wander towards my stomach, but I’d pull them away. The child would have to be acknowledged eventually. I would have to care for the child, provide for its needs. But I didn’t have to love it, caress its home. Not yet, not now.

Two weeks passed, visitors came and went, spring got brighter, the documents and plans seemed more convoluted. A sunny afternoon, Lace came to my room with two letters. “I thought you’d want this as soon as possible,” she said. I opened the first, smelled the pages. The light scent of lavender and smoke, the oils mother loved and the constant cooking.

Sweetling,

Asit tal-eb. It is to be. Maraas Kata. Nothing is ended.

Love,

Tama

I held the letter to my chest, weeping. So few words, yet they struck right into my heart. Asit tal-eb, what mother would say whenever we suffered and lost. One summer, before I’d come into my magic, Pa came home furious. He cursed and threw down his sword. They spoke in quick Qunlat, too fast for me to understand. Pa sat down and put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hand. Tama put her arms around his head, rested her head on his. She whispered, “Asit tal-eb,” over and over, stroking his hair. I put my doll aside, walked up beside them. Pa took an arm off Tama’s waist and pulled me into their embrace. She leaned up, dried her eyes, and squatted down to my height. “We’ve got to go, sweetling,” she said. Her voice calm despite it all.

“But I like it here! They’re not even mean at the Chantry!” I said, full of childlike fury.

“They won’t sell us the land,” Pa said. “So we can’t grow food for ourselves. We can’t raise animals of our own.” He sniffed and stared at the wall. His gaze moved down to me, little girl with little horns still budding. “We will try again. Find a new place we can stay. Asit tal-eb.”

I caught my breath and opened the next letter. Instead of my mother’s gentle writing, a harsher, sturdier hand had written it.

Imekari,

Your mother says you are having a child. This means we will be grandparents. I have never known a grandparent. Like parenthood, it is a concept we’ve stolen from the Bas. Regardless, I will inquire with the man who sells wheat what this entails. I presume we will love this child, just as we love you. The stories I’ve heard, being a grandparent is easier. That brings some joy.

I read the letter you sent your mother. I read it a few times. I lost count after seven. You’re not so wrong with your telling of me. I was in the antaam. I tried to make your mother laugh often. We did hold hands when we shouldn’t have. Due to your existence, you know we fled together, children ourselves. We chose love over duty. We abandoned the Qun.

I never told you of the walk Hissrad and I took the day we met. You were right. It was awkward. I hoped for a moment to compose myself. Perhaps find a man to hit me with a stick. Of course, Hissrad chose to join me. We walked along the battlements for some time. He was quiet, as I was quiet. We reached a corner and overlooked the endless mountains. I asked him about the necklace. Your mother and I had never told you of this. Kadans and necklaces of Kadans were a memory we left behind. It had to be his idea. He kept a blank face. I presume he was a very good Hissrad. After some contemplation, he said (translated for your sake), “I mentioned it off hand. We killed a dragon less than a week later. I thought we were just having fun, but she surprised me. She constantly surprises me.” I asked if he loved you. He said yes. I asked if he loved you as the Qunari he was or the Tal-Vashoth he pretended to be. He said (again, translated for your sake. You need to learn more Qunlat. The child should know Qunlat), “Both. I love her as the friend and companion I’d get to have in Par Vollen. I love her as a Tal-Vashoth would love whomever they chose.” When I asked about the Qun and when he’d be pulled back to Par Vollen, he gave meaningless answers. He’d spent too much time around bas, he’d forgotten how to talk to men like men.

Imekari, I was wrong. He’s dead. He died obeying orders. But, presuming this new imekari—Imekari II? Small imekari? Ari-imekari? I’ll discuss with Tama—was not of your planning, he broke the Qun. He knew how to control his seed. We all grow up knowing, waiting to be called for breeding. He made a choice. He violated the Qun.

He died Tal-Vashoth. I wish he had lived to fulfill that betrayal of the Qun. The child will come. Tama and I will come too, to discuss and guide. For now, I’ve enclosed something that gave me great comfort during our great suffering.

You’re still a Kadan. You’ve always been our Kadan.

Your Father,

Beres

Behind his letter there was another piece of paper. I opened it slowly, the creases deep and discolored. Inside was a drawing, crude, of a little house. Two Qunari stood, both smiling. The drawing was labeled, “This will be our house. This is where the goats will sleep. This is where the goats will chase the chickens. This is where Veda will play. This is where Tama will sing to Veda. This is where Pa will squeeze Veda on days the Maker didn’t bring kindness to school.” A smaller Qunari reached both hands up, a parent grabbing each hand. At the bottom, it said, “Home.”

I read and re-read the letter. When my hand drifted to my belly, I let it rest.

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 10 | Cintran Ale and Lingering Ghosts

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 5029

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡  Also I finally decided on a faceclaim for Visenya and to no ones surprise I chose Katheryn Winnick. She does Targaryen too well to not!    

💕 Shout out to my Beta: @thisbreakableheaven, I stan you so much! 💕

Splash.

The water pours out of the wood bucket, falling over Geralt’s hair and onto his body. The selkimore guts, now floating in the tub, the stench not nearly as burning as it had been previously. Like a dog, he shakes his head, droplets of water hitting the walls and Visenya. Without moving her gaze from the novel in hand, she wipes it away, turning the page immediately after.  

“Could you be a dear Jane, and grab me more of that soap?” Jaskier asks, setting the bucket down on the ground, wipes away the water on his forehead, and pushes his puffed sleeves to cuff around his elbow. 

“No.”

Flick.

“Isn’t she just lovely, and so helpful too?” Jaskier exclaims, sticky sarcasm coating each word like honey as he glides across the room, only two paces away from Visenay’s left side. He reaches up, standing on the tips of his toes- despite the shelf being within comfortable reach -  and grabs a bar of soap, a distinct lavender scent following it. He twirls, like a dancer on a stage, his large sleeves lightly smacking Visenya’s cheek. She reaches up to swat him with the palm of her hand, but he’s already danced away from her, twirling and spinning his way back to Geralt. 

“Oh I’m helpful alright, I help you empty your coin purse.” she mutters, pursing her lips into a tight line.

Flick. 

Geralt snorts, a smirk on his lips as he watches Visenya, his amber eyes practically glowing in the dim light. Their eyes meet for a second before Visenya snaps her gaze back to the book. 

“You know, maybe the two of you should travel together, you’re both so angry, like a pair of old people - you moreso, Geralt.” Jaskier says, his tone similar to that of a spoiled child groaning about not getting its way. “At least Jane cracks a joke and a smile once in a while.” He picks up the wooden bucket, filling it with clean water. 

Geralt grunts, glaring at Jaskier, his white hair slick against his face; Visenya just shows Jaskier her middle finger.

Flick. There’s only ten pages of the book left, yet Visenya can’t remember the name of the leads in the story…, or even it’s plot.

“Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest.” 

Water hits Geralt from above, his hair nearly clean of monster innards as they get washed away from him. The water pooling in the tub ripples, small waves flying out as new water takes its place. Instead of shaking his head, Geralt scrubs at his face, nearly growling as he does so. 

“It is one night, body guarding your best friend in the whole wide world, how hard could it be.” Jaskier says, turning around, and tosses the diary rag from his hand onto a bench, before circling around the tub until he’s standing on the opposite side of his previous spot.

“I’m not your friend.” 

“Oh, so you normally let strangers rub chamomile on your lovely bottom?” Jaskier’s tone is teasing, a smirk on his lips. 

Geralt turns towards Jaskier, arms on the side of the tub, lips set in a thin line with eyes burning like hot coals.

Visenya bites her lip, and despite her desperate attempt to hide the smile that’s pulling at the corners of her mouth, laughter escapes from her tightly pressed lips. Immediately after, she coughs, a fragile and ill attempt to disguise the noise. Even a mute with a bad left eye however would see through the coverup. Jaskier turns and meets Visenya’s gaze, flashing her a wink before looking away. 

“Right, that’s what I thought.” 

“I thought you were paying Jane to make sure you don’t get stabbed or robbed?” Geralt asks, tone low and raspy. 

Flick, eyes scan the book, only retaining every other word carefully written in aged black ink, keen ears intently listening to the conversation. 

“I am, and she does a very good job at that. The only wounds I’ve sustained since hiring her are the ones she inflicts onto me. But this isn’t just any old party, my friend. This is a betrothal feast, hosted by the Lioness of Cintra herself! There will be suitors from all over the world, powerful lords vying for the chance at winning the hand of her daughter, who I hear is very beautiful.”  

“And?” Geralt asks, raising a single ashen brow.

“And Jane won’t agree to go...but if you go, I’m sure she’ll agree to it!” Jaskier says.

“I’m right here.” 

“Yes, reading a book you claim is stupid and frivilous. So pointless, in fact, you haven’t put it down all day.” Jaskier says, turning to face her, a smug grin on his face that’s short lived.

Smack.

The book flies across the room, narrowly avoiding Jaskier’s face by only a few inches. It hits the wall with a resounding thud, pages crinkling as it falls to the ground. Geralt curses under his breath, grip on the wood tightening enough that veins begin to faintly pop out. Jaskier however, remains unphased, simply turning away from her to face Geralt once more. 

“Don’t mind her, she's just a bit cranky, she’s been having nightmares I think.” Jaskier says to Geralt, tone nonchalant and even, as if a book wasn’t just thrown at him. 

“Shut up.”

Geralt levels his gaze to Visenya, raising both his brows at her, an unspoken question in his eyes.

‘Are you okay?’

 She shakes her head, lips in a tight line as she rolls her eyes, not willing to delve into all of her childhood trauma that’s reared its ugly head since that first dream all those nights ago. She’d been successful, nearly all the memories locked away in that same box in the darkest corner of her mind, yet just enough remained to taunt her in her dreams.  

Lingering only a second longer, Geralt shifts his eyes back to Jaskier, who bounces on the balls of his feet, watching the two of them as if they were the only entertainment he’s had in weeks. 

“How many of these lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say. One stops keeping track after a while: wives, concubines, mothers - sometimes.” 

Both Geralt and Visenya look up at Jaskier, looks of equal incredulousness and annoyance painted on their faces. 

“Oh, yes, there’s that face --” Jaskier sits on the small stool that’s pushed up against the tub. “-- scary face. No lord in their right mind would dare come near me with you there!”

Geralt’s jaw clenches just a hair, his eyes twitching ever so slightly that it could be written off as a trick of the light. He reaches over and grabs his mug of ale, bringing it to his lips, but Jaskier intercepts him, pulling the cup away from him as if Geralt was a child. 

“Ooo, on second thought, might want to lay off the Cintran ale, a clear head would be best.” Jaskier pats Geralt on the shoulder, stands from the stool and moves towards Visenya.

“A gift for My Lady!” Jaskier exclaims, lowering into a deep bow as he passes Geralt’s mug to Visenya, amber liquid spilling over the brim as he carelessly carries the cup. Face void of any emotion, she grabs the cup...pouring out the entirety of its contents on the ground, far enough away that the liquid won’t touch her feet. Jaskier just huffs, feigning anger as he turns around and moves towards the small vanity pushed up against a wall. He grabs a jacket that’s dark blue, the fit and fabric suited for a party rather than travel, distracting himself by holding it up and then setting it down, only to repeat the cycle. 

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone, not over the petty squabbles of men.” 

He sets it down a final time, refolding it, and turning back to Geralt.

“Yes, yes, yes, you never get involved. Except you do, all the time.” Jaskier says, huffing as he moves towards Geralt. “Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbelievably cantankerous and crotchety. Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah when they’re slow and get killed.” Geralt says, his tone aggressive but lacking the usual ferocity and fire found in it. 

“Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this monster hunting nonsense is over with?” Jaskier says, pressing the conversation further and further, fiending for anything Geralt will tell him. 

“I want nothing.” Jaskier looks down at his nails, then moves his gaze back to Geralt. He walks forward, leaning down so his elbows rested on the edge of the tub, facing Geralt. 

“Well who knows, maybe someone out there will want you.” Jaskier’s eyes flash to Visenya, but she isn’t looking at him, too busy pretending to be occupied. 

“I need no one, and the last thing I need is someone needing me.”

“And yet, here we are.” 

It's silent, each moment dragging on as the three of them wait for the other to break it. Geralt breaks eye contact, looking left and then right, eyes burning in the dim room.

“Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?” Geralt says, snarling like a rabid animal.

“Oh, I had them taken to be cleaned, they were covered in selkimore guts, but you’re not going to the feast as a Witcher tonight.” Jaskier says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, ever present when Geralt is around it seems. 

Geralt opens his mouth,a stinging response on the tip of his tongue, but Jaskier interrupts the words before they can fully form. 

“But no need to worry about that.” Jaskier waves his hand, straightening his postures and gliding around the tub, and moving towards Visenya. “Now my dear Jane, will you agree to go with me now that our mighty, heroic Witcher--” Visenya just looks at Jaskier, face hard as stone.

“No. I already told you I’m not going.”

“But why not! Please, your presence is absolutely necessary with me!” Jaskier practically throws himself onto his knees, face like a begging puppy.

“I don’t like parties or weddings or betrothals.” She maintains the facade, not willing to break or show any weakness; cold and unfeeling, anything less and Jaskier will never let it go. 

“Why not.”

“Because I was murdered at one.” the words are like oil on her tongue, always just a few seconds from slipping out, but they don’t. She won’t let them. If she says the words out loud, it means they’re real, and if they’re real...she doesn’t know what she’ll do. 

“I just don’t.” It’s a lie, but an easy one, one she’s gotten good at telling. 

“Leave her alone Jaskier, I’ve already been pulled into your mess, no need to drag Jane into it, I’m sure she’s dealt with her fair share of predicaments, thanks to you.”

“Whatever, I'll have you know all of my messes, both intentional and not, are lovely.” Jaskier tilts his nose into the air, sniffling like an injured child playing into theatrics for attention. “I’ll leave you two grumps to it, maybe you can convince her with a smoldering gaze or something.” 

With one last teasing grin towards the both of them, Jaskier quickly exits the room like an actor leaving the stage after a staggering performance. The door closes behind him with a soft click, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. 

Visenya looks at Geralt, who looks at her, neither moving an inch. 

“Jane.” 

In that moment, with Geralt saying the fake name she gave herself all those months ago, it makes her realise just how much she misses hearing her real name. And she wonders how it would sound coming out of his mouth, whether the word would be like honey, sweet and smooth, sticking to her brain for the rest of her life. Or would it be harsher, his tongue having difficulty wrapping around the Old Valyrian name she stole from Queen Visenya I, like a petty thief. She remembers how Renfri would say it, somehow making her own name, something she’s heard a million times in her life, like sweet Southern sweets melting in her mouth. 

She remembers how...nice it felt, being able to be completely open and honest, when her life has been nothing but deceit and shadows for so long. And she almost breaks, pouring out everything from the moment she came into the world, banishing away the darkness that hung over King’s Landing, screaming and crying as she did. But she doesn’t. Fear claws at her mind, doubts that he would think her crazy or a deranged monster trying to work into his life assaulting her all at once. And it’s dizzying, so much so she nearly faints from the feeling.

“Jane.” Geralt says again, firmer this time, banishing away her inebriating fears and worries, everything clear within a single second. 

“Geralt,” 

She smirks at him, but it’s awkward and strange, looking more like a grimace than anything. 

“You alright?” he asks, and even in the dim light, she can see the lines in his forehead, brows furrowing. And for the second time that day, she considers telling him everything. But the same fears hold her back. 

“Aren’t I always?” she tries to joke, her voice going up three octaves as she tries to keep out the heaviness that always seems to follow her. 

“Hmm.” 

Silence washes over them, unspoken words and questions ricocheting off the walls and making everything feel smaller. 

“Thanks for the broach by the way.” Visenya breaks the silence first, motioning towards the broach that’s pinned to the left side of her tunic, hanging above her breast. 

“It looks better on you than it did me,” Geralt says, a smile that shows all his shiny white teeth on his face. Visenya nods her head, standing from the bench she perched herself on the moment Jaskier pushed them all into the room. Slowly and calculated, she begins to walk towards Geralt, each footstep ringing in the room until she’s by the tub, sitting on the stool Jaskier previously claimed. 

“I know, does wonders for my eyes when the light reflects off the gems,” she teases, crossing her left leg over the right. “It was the least you could do after leaving me to wake up by myself.”

“I didn’t realise you wanted me to stay.” Geralt rebuttals, raising a brow as he waits for her next move. 

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, I just wasn’t happy to deal with Jaskier’s prying questions alone. Do you know how many times I had to threaten to stab him, rob him, and then leave him for dead until he shut up? And even now he still makes subtle jokes about it.” Visenya says, rolling her eyes, resting her elbow on the edge of the tub, only a few inches away from Geralt. 

“My apologies for leaving you in such a dire situation.” Geralt leans forward, mimicking her light tone. 

“For shame Geralt, for shame.” 

“Is there anything I could do to make it up to the Lady?” he asks, leaning just a hair closer, and like there’s a magnetic field around him that pulls her to him, begging her to close the gap and feel his steady breaths fanning over her face. 

“The broach was a good start.” she replies, trying to not sound as breathless as she feels. 

She’s burning, her body all over electrified in a way it hasn’t been since the last time she saw Geralt. 

And then it’s suddenly cold, all the warmth being forcibly ripped from her body. The water hits against the tub as Geralt moves back, his body pressed against the other end of the tub, all coy smirk and smug eyes. 

Payback for last time it seems. 

Visenya rolls her eyes and straightens her back, eager for the flush that covers her body to disappear as quickly as it came. 

“Yeah whatever, you're naked and vulnerable, I could take you.” she says, waiting a moment before her eyes widen a fraction, Geralt smirk widening. ‘With my sword, that is. I could stab you with my sword and leave you dead. That’s what I meant, nothing else.” 

“Hmm, is that so?” Geralt’s eyes glint with amusement, the candles reflecting like roaring fires in his eyes. He’s beautiful in the dim glow of the flickering flames, skin glistening with droplets of water sticking to his body, further accentuating his rippling muscles and broad shoulders. 

“I hate you and Jaskier equally, just so you know.” Visenya says, huffing like a child, rolling her eyes and glancing at the bare wall, eyes tracing over the wooden panels, counting each grain as she does. 

“I’m sure. So what’s the real reason you don’t want to go to this feast? Jaskier drags you around to all his other parties, why not go to this one?” Geralt asks. Visenya’s eyes flicker back to Geralt. Her mind is blank, yet brimming with a million different words and phrases that jumble together until she can hardly find any words to speak. 

“I guess I’m not a fan of weddings or anything related to them.” is all she can say. “It’s not a big deal, just a weird tick I guess.” She nods her head, trying to make the words seem convincing to both her and Geralt. But it’s impossible to swallow the lump forming in her throat, nearly suffocating as Westeros hits her mind, the calamitous memories physically painful. 

“Bad experience?” 

Her face still sour from the fight with Robb, nearly breaking her jaw from how tightly she kept it clenched.

Lady Catelyn looking shrewd and nervous, but slowly softening to Talissa and Robb’s relationship.

Everyone celebrating and getting drunk in the room. 

“I’ve never been a good dancer,” she says, the words are soft and light, a tentative smile forming on her face. 

Robb falling to the ground, like a pincushion for crossbow bolts, choking on his blood despite being dead the second he entered the keep.

The camp burning.

Everyone around her dying. 

“And if I promised you wouldn’t have to dance?” Geralt says, leaning towards Visenya.

Her heart dropping when the slaughter started, frozen like a statue in the dead of winter, bolted to the floor and unmoving. 

Screams lighting up the room, ricocheting off the walls as they were stabbed, bludgeoned, and strangled. 

Greywind locked up outside, unable to help and dying alone, butchered like a pig.

“You seem desperate for my presence there, Geralt of Rivia.” Visenya teases.

The wail that ripped through her throat, leaving her drinking her own blood and tears.

The pit in her stomach as her legs gave out.

Their snears and taunting words as the world grew dark.

“If I have to suffer the night sober, I would prefer good company.” His lips pull into a smirk that’s lopsided, making his left eye crinkle an inch further than the right. 

And that little piece of her who wished she had died with the rest of her family 17 years ago. 

“And you couldn’t think of anyone else?” Visenya replies with a smile on her face that grows, eyes bright as Westeros and all it’s demons dim, leaning her chin onto the palm of her hand. 

“Well I’d bring my horse, but I don’t foresee them allowing Roach into the palace.”

“No, I imagine that wouldn’t go over too well.” 

Visenya sighs deeply, closing her eyes as she does, resolve breaking with each passing second that Geralt looks at her. 

“Do you think Jaskier would give me any say in my dress?” 

The door flings open, crashing into the wooden wall and causing it to shake for a moment. 

“Have no fear, My Lady, I’ve already got the perfect one!” 

                                                   o0o0o0o

The water is scalding hot, steam rising from the water and dissipating into the air. But it doesn’t burn, not in the way it should, instead every muscle in her body relaxes the second the it touches her skin. Small waves ripple through the water as her body twists and turns into a comfortable position. A small sigh leaves her mouth, echoing in the smaller room only to be swallowed by the door opening and closing.

“I don’t need help bathing.” Visenya says, weaving annoyance and mild anger in each word. 

Just one moment alone would be nice.

“And I’m not here to offer it, I just wanted to quickly discuss a few things,” Jaskier says, completely ignoring any warning signs and moving further into the room. 

“And then you’ll be out of my hair?” Visenya says, water splashing out of the tub and onto the floor as she pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“Well funny you should say that, actually…” She doesn’t need to turn around to see how his brows are furrowed, eyes unsure and a touch afraid that Visenya might fly off the handle. He’s never fully learned all her triggers yet, but to be fair, neither has she. 

She groans, loudly, sinking as far into the water as much as the tub would physically allow, wishing to be swallowed into an abyss. Always something with the hair, whether it’s pleads to let him style it or to tell him why she keeps dyeing it. 

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Jaskier exclaims, in an attempt to defend himself, feigning innocence he doesn’t possess when it comes to meddling. 

“I don’t have to. The answer is still no.” Visenya’s voice is firm and stern, unmovable like a stone wall. 

His footsteps echo in the room, the heels on the boots clicking against the wood flooring as he approaches, each step tentative and slow. 

“Well that just isn’t acceptable, you won’t even give a gentleman the simple opportunity to--” 

“Just tell me what you want so I can tell you no again” Visenya interrupts Jaskier, breathing heavily through her nose. 

“Alright, alright, tough crowd--”

“Jaskier!”

“Okay, alright, your hair! I wanted to talk about that.” Jaskier says, voice raising in volume as many octaves it did. “How do I say this while still keeping my life… it looks, well-- like a wild animal lives there and has lived there its whole life.”

The water splashes and ripples as her hand breaks through the stillness, joining the rest of her body beyond her head and the tops of her shoulders underwater. Jaskier holds his breath, waiting for Visenya to either tell him to fuck off or pretend he doesn’t exist at all. 

“I know.”

Jaskiers loudly exhales, physically deflating. 

“So I was thinking, what if we made it not look like that for the feast? You really should look your best before a monarch.” Visenya turns her head and glares at Jaskier. “I know you dye your hair, heavens know why, so I was just thinking what if you...washed it out.” 

“So you want me to wear my natural hair color for the feast?” Visenya clarifies, her voice not indicating anything she’s feeling. 

“Yes, exactly!” Jaskier exclaims, tone becoming more jovial and ecstatic, bouncing on his feet as he does. 

“No.”

“But--”

“I said no.” 

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“I said no Jaskier.” Visenya growls, the edges of the wooden tub crack under the pressure of her grip, splitters getting pushed under her nails. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, let’s see what color your roots are--” Jaskier moves closer, hands outstretched, desperate to see the silver hair shining under the dry brown. Visenya grits her teeth, anger pulsing under her skin, mind going white as all the sound in the room silences for a painstakingly long moment. 

“I said, no!” The words are piercing and sharp, nearly leaving both of their ears bleeding. The walls shake, the structure of the building itself rejecting the shrill words rolling off of Visenya's mouth. Her eyes flash like fire, burning anything in its wake; it’s dangerous and untamed, wildfire barely contained in two eyes.

Her hand flies up in the air, palm nearly meeting Jaskier’s cheek, but he manages to duck out of the way, stepping back far enough to avoid the slap, the residual heat radiating from her hand nearly singeing his hair. With wide eyes, baby blues watching her with bewilderment and a small tinge of something else- something she never wants him or anyone else to ever look at her with again. 

Fear.

Visenya inhales sharply, simply staring at her own hand with dazed eyes. It’s still hot, she’s still hot. The previously scalding water that had begun to cool, heats up again with a vengeance, boiling wildly around her. Small beads of sweat form at her temple, the room growing smaller with each sharp breath Jaskier takes. 

“I’ll just-- I’ll just leave you to it, just… forget I asked, I guess,” he says, the words jumbling and melting together, nearly disappearing into the wooden walls that seem to close in.  

Click.

Just as quickly as he entered the room, he exits, leaving behind nothing but the faint smell of his perfume and hair styling product. The room is silent, unbearably so. Visenya turns, water languidly splashing, her back facing the door as she stares at the bare wall, eyes glazing as she attempts to focus on every small detail of the wood. Her mind is blank, yet at the same time it’s a storm, ferociously raging in her head, until her ship is pulled under, thoughts drowning her. 

“Fuck!” The palm of her hand smacks against the water, a barrage of droplets sticking to the sweat beads. A growl of anger and frustration leaves her mouth as she thrusts her hands forward, creating a wave that forces a large amount of water to spill onto the ground, forming a small puddle of anger and guilt.  

Regret weighs heavily on her, like wearing a suit of full plate in the middle of the ocean. She shouldn’t have snapped at Jaskier that way, she wishes she hadn’t. He’s just trying to help, to pull Visenya out of this hole she’s happily buried herself in, clawing at the dirt with perfectly manicured hands and a velvet outfit, humming a sweet melody as he digs. She’d yelled before: threatened to hurt him in every way imaginable, screamed so loud her voice nearly vanished. She’d smacked his chest and shoulders under the guise of seriousness with a sly smirk playing on the corner of her lips. And he took it in stride, laughing it off with a charming smile and a witty quip, bouncing back instantaneously, because she never fully knocked him down. 

She tries to believe this isn’t any different, that she’ll walk out of this room, only to be bombarded by Jaskier’s incessant teasing. But no amount of rose-tinted lenses can bury her in that delusion, because this time is different. She could see the way he looked at her, the way he crumbled under the fire in her eyes and rage simmering under her skin.

Her fury in that moment was harsh, but true, and very much directed at him with intent to harm. All because he wanted to see her hair. How could he ever understand that it’s more than that to her. How does she explain how the same silver strands that crown her a Targaryen princess, something that marked her a paragon of her ancestors, but a pariah to the living. She’d never be able to explain how it was the one unmistakable trait that marked her as the daughter of the man who stole away Winterfell’s princess, staining her a traitor to all of Westeros. 

No one here knows who House Targaryen was or what her ancestors did -- both horrible and great. And maybe it’s better that way. To wipe her home and family name out of her memories, drown Westeros and all the hurt and pain and misery that came with it until she can’t remember anything prior to Blaviken. 

Because what did they achieve, what did any of them really achieve? Aegon the Conqueror along with Rhaenys and Visenya Targaryen formed the Seven Kingdoms. They brought war and then peace, only for that to be lost 300 years later due to the madness of a single man, that apparently bled into his eldest son.

With Fire and Blood, they took what they wanted and bathed the rest in dragon fire as they reigned calamity upon their enemies. Some were kind and fair, but most were cruel and callous, seeing themselves higher than the rest because their eyes shone like amethysts with hair threaded from silver.

What did being the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen ever give her, except for despair at the loss of the family he abandoned to the whims of a madman. What did being the granddaughter of the Mad King Aerys give her, beyond the crippling fear that would leave her awakening in the darkest part of the night covered in sweat, fears that she’d descend to that same madness that haunted him. That she’d lose the ability to control her own mind until she was put down like a dog, something Robert Baratheon would’ve done happily as the people whispered ‘What a shame she went mad.’

What did being a Targaryen ever really bring her if not scars and lingering ghosts? 

The last time she fully embraced her blood, standing as tall and regal as a Targaryen should, how she believed they would, she burned down half a village.

No, it’s better this way.  

Even if it’s just hair. 

She sinks further into the boiling water, breathing in the steam like the smoke from a fire, praying and hoping she would just disappear. She continues down until her shoulders and underwater, then her neck, until the back of her head touches the bottom of the tub, eyes closed as her water floats around her face. And surrounded by the boiling water, washing away the day and all her mistakes, salty tears leave her eyes, being swept away into the water. 

                                                    o0o0o0o

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you. Also I’m not 100% sure if most of y’all still want to be tagged, since it’s been so long since I posted a new chapter, so feel free to message me if you no longer want to be!

@1967-chevy-impala-called-roscoe  | @historicallydysfunctional | @stuckupstucky | @aknerdchick |  @c-a-v-a-l-r-y | @Kholl101 | @itskatrinahere | @locht3ssmonster | @alwayshave-faith | @im-catching-feelings | @magic-inthe-stars | @sunlithours | @thors-hair-extensions | @majesticdiscodeaky | @seninjakitey | @nevaeh-eden-morningstar​| @marvel-baby | @ayamenimthiriel​ | @losers-club6​| @queenmendes​ | @madamwhisper​ | @deadlydemon​ | @power-of-words23​| @demigoddesofchimichangagod​ | | @howlongtillidie​​ | @helloitsmeaime203 | @notatallfriendly​​ | @i-have-arrived-bitch​​ | @moonlights27​​ | @xxperfectionisdeadlyxx​​ | @why-do-i-even-study-japanese​​ | @possiblyafangirl​​ | @alatairion​​ | @teamcap0221​​ | @rangotangomango​​ | @goprincessclaire | @mikariell95​​ | @rubyliquor​​ | @whatlifereallyabout | @my-not-so-perfect-reality​​ | @kamrynzam​​ | @aroyaldarknessblr​​ | @kohsongbird​​ | @napoleonisrad​​ | @loushirley​​ | @winter-moons  | @toribentleyva​​​ | @comicbeginning | @naughty-koala07​ | @im-a-muggleborn​ | @belgiantrash | @hyperfixation-is-love ; @lizliz3107 | @simsvetements | @scarletmeii​​ | @trashforwinchesters | @lyssstark01​ 

[laughingpinecone]

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I am laughingpineapple on AO3

It’s a long list of character combos so the specific requests aren’t overly detailed, please draw at will from my general likes and general fandom likes in addition or as an alternative to any of those!

All requests are art or fic - for art, the stuff I like is the kind that depicts the characters doing something. I’ll always be happier with a very simple drawing of two characters walking together or sharing a cup of coffee than with an ambitious composition that looks like an Avengers poster. I also enjoy seeing them wear different clothes, getting a feel of what their fashion sense is like beyond their canon outfit(s).

Likes: worldbuilding, slice of life (especially if the event the fic focuses on is made up but canon-specific), missing moments, 5+1 and similar formats, bonding and emotional support/intimacy, physical intimacy, lingering touches, loyalty, casefic, surrealism, magical realism, established relationships, future fic, hurt/comfort or just comfort from the ample canon hurt, throwing characters into non-canon environments, banter, functional relationships between dysfunctional individuals, unexplained mysteries, bittersweet moods, journal/epistolary fic, dreams and memories and identities, canon-adjacent tropey plots, outsider POV, UST, resolved UST, exploration of secondary bits of canon, leaning on the uniqueness of the canon setting/mood, found families, characters reuniting after a long and/or harrowing time, friends-to-lovers, road trips, maps, mutual pining, cuddling, wintry moods, the feeling of flannel and other fabrics, ridiculous concepts played straight, sensory details, sickfic, places being haunted, people being haunted, the mystery of the woods, small hopes in bleak worlds, electricity, places that don’t quite add up, mismatched memories, caves and deep places, distant city lights at night, emphasis on non-human traits of non-human characters (gen-wise, but also a hearty yes xeno for applicable ships)

Cool with: any tense, any pov, any rating, plotty, not plotty, IF, nerdy canon references, unrequested characters popping up

DNW: non-canonical rape, non-canonical children, focus on children, unrequested ships (background established canon couples are okay, mentions of parents are okay), canon retellings, consent issues

Dark Souls

I’m only familiar with the first game+DLC! It’s probably relevant to mention that I think that linking the fire is kind of a dumbass move and Gwyn is an ass, but on the other hand Kaathe has his own agenda and there’s no winning move in this world, or at least no obvious one. Feel free to deviate from anyone’s canon endings, to make things happen that’ll stave off their hollowing. I am interested in any of these people meeting and possibly striking up a friendship, and also in exploring Lordran’s temporal/dimensional fuckery, where it’s possible to meet people who have been gone for ages…

Group: Solaire of Astora & Siegmeyer of Catarina: so much fanart of Sun Bro & Onion Bro being bros, so little fic. And yet, the potential! How’d they bounce off each other, what about the fact that Siegmeyer is apparently a proper Catarina knight after all while Solaire just painted his self-made insignia and left, what would Sieg think of Solaire’s quest?

Group: Alvina the Cat & Sieglinde of Catarina: dunno, kitty. I love them both and I want everyone cool to go on adventure with each other. What’s left for Alvina now that Sif is gone, Artorias’ grave desecrated? For her part, did Sieglinde, you know, (mimics Ash Lake)?

Ghost Trick

I am very interested in various characters finding about the erased timeline, but not getting their memories back, and having to live with being told about what they did but never remembering it. Exploring the ghost lore is great. All what-ifs welcome (what if they managed an acceptable happy ending but didn’t reset the timeline, what if a different party went back to the past and kept their memories, what if Alma’s ghost stuck around…) Also open to AUs here, especially for generic fantasy or sci-fi settings or the Final Fantasy ones I prompted last Yuletide.

For the non-canon sides of Jowd/Alma/Cabanela, please no infidelity? I’d be good with either setting the fic during the game timeline or some what-if thereof when the other spouse is dead or unavailable, or simply keeping them offscreen and not mentioning them (eg Alma/Cabanela beach day, Jowd/Cabanela precinct shenanigans)

For Jowd in general, I do love my big boy and enjoy milking that size difference for all it’s worth. In gen contexts too, it’s neat. him big.

Group: Jowd & Yomiel: I’d love to read about the intimate understanding that comes from their shared memories and the horrors they’ve mutually forgiven (and a penchant for morbidity they’ve gained from such horrors probably). Cat dads things welcome.

Group: Alma/Jowd/Cabanela: maybe once Alma and Jowd have figured out he’s smitten and that they do in fact reciprocate... they tease him to death, slowly and deliberately? Is it even a Jowd romance if there’s not an exhausting amount of teasing involved, I ask?

Group: Alma/Jowd & Cabanela: Cabs’ life is wild; his best friends’ home is a safe haven...

Group: Emma & Pigeon Man: Emma’s unsuspected beta reader...

Group: Alma/Cabanela: (taps mic) legs. And fashion!

Group: Cabanela/Jowd: a recent tumblr post made a convincing argument for Cabs liking to be in charge (the argument is just pointing at Cabanela, honestly). Jowd is... agreeable, by his own admission. But is it that simple?

Kentucky Route Zero

I love the ending and I’d love to see its themes and setting explored. I’m all for exploration of any of the game’s themes and for including any staples from adjacent genres - wanna go full-on American Gothic? Dip into surrealism? Take a leaf from Twin Peaks with tulpa / split narratives to explore the characters’ issues? I love AUs so that’s an option too. Or of course there’s Xanadu at the height of its glory, an infinite what-ifs generator. Were the requested characters part of it, what were their digital counterparts up to? A Xanadu narrative would be great! I’d also love to hear about any new spot along the Zero or the Echo river, or an expansion of some place that’s only mentioned by Will in HATATE or only gets a few paragraphs of text. Mostly, I just love all these characters so much and I’m going through the tagset’s options like a hyperactive cat. Any fragment of their lives will make me happy.

Group: Shannon Márquez & Conway & Conway's Dog: does Shannon get to see them after the ending? Even for a moment?

Group: Lula Chamberlain/Joseph Wheattree/Donald: so Lula went back to Mexico. Joseph is pensive. Did the events of the night shake up Donald, or what will it take?

Group: Junebug & Lula Chamberlain: artists! Outspoken... artists... with a complicated personality. Put them in the same room and...?

Group: Junebug & Johnny: where’s the strangest place they played in, and what did Johnny find there?

Group: Conway & Johnny & Junebug (Kentucky Route Zero): their story is about finding individuality, his is about succumbing and losing it. Would any of them pick up on this mid-Act IV? Or just... talking about limbs and stuff?

Group: Cate & Will & Shannon Márquez (Kentucky Route Zero): a few months later, Shannon finds herself on the Mucky Mammoth again...

Group: Carrington & Weaver Márquez & Shannon Márquez (Kentucky Route Zero): maybe the cousins were trying to bond or reminisce or whatever and Carrington dive-bombed into the conversation, but in the end it was an enriching experience... of sorts?

Group: Carrington & Lula Chamberlain (Kentucky Route Zero): I don’t usually look for college shenanigans but this may be the exception? Or Art Opinions?

Group: Carrington & Clara (Kentucky Route Zero): would she even... get a word in? Maybe with the right topic?

Group: Carrington & Cate & Will (Kentucky Route Zero): Mammoth life! ...what does theater have to say about mushrooms again?

Group: Shannon Marquez & Weaver Marquez (Kentucky Route Zero): at the end of it all, Weaver was waiting. After this end, they can stand side by side again...

Group: Emily & Ben & Bob (Kentucky Route Zero): so what does it mean, like, poetically, that they were temporally displaced and Act I is in their future from Act V? Is it possible they were not aware of it?

Mutazione

The island, the sense of community, newcomers joining the community, gardens and music... I love the mood of this little game. Got ideas for some part of the island we haven’t seen? What stories do they tell each other about Moon Dragon and the first days of the new life it brought? The plants encyclopaedia was great - do Yoké’s archives hide some other cool tome? Please, if Graubert is mentioned, I would much prefer a sympathetic portrayal - he’s got his issues but I felt that the game was much harder on him than anyone else.

Group: Yoké & Karoo: I love the friendship between Yoké and Nonno and filtering it through Karoo feels even cooler to me. When did the big spooky bird first visit, did Yoké know or perceive what was going on?

Group: Yoké & Claire: book club book club book club!

Group: Spike/Claire: they’re so cute! Dinner at Mori’s? Swimming together?

Group: Nonno & Spike: I love Nonno’s role in the community and Spike’s role in the community, and they’re the two people who landed there and decided to stay. Could they bond over this?

Group: Dennis & Nonno: Important Tree Health Business!

Group: Bopek & Jell-A: Jell-A is the absolute coolest and Bopek grew on me a lot. Their friendship is adorable! What could they do together? As a side note, Jell-A’s place has the tightest interior decor in the whole game. How’d that happen, and does Bopek get a flair for vintage shapes and volumes in his weaving?

Group: Mori & Nonno & Yoké: FRIENDS. Friends for a long time, through so much pain. An evening together while The Youths (tm) are at Spike’s bar?

Yoké: catch-all Yoké request because he’s my fave! Doing Yoké things, being a big nerd, caring for books and plants and stuff

Pyre

The burning found family feelings, the revolutionary passion, the tension between topside social constraints and the kind of freedom allowed by the Downside! Thoughts about finding oneself at  the end of an age, as everything crumbles down to form something new. I love all the themes, the solemnity, the heart of this game. I adore everyone in that Blackwagon+Dalbert+Celeste, so if you want to add a Nightwing or two to any prompt, please do! I also love all the Scribes and find Erisa a compelling tragic figure. Out of the other triumvirates, I’m “love to hate them” for Manley, Brighton, Udmildhe and Deluge and would not like to see them featured in sympathetic roles. My main interest usually lies in post-canon exploration when applicable, but I’m also into various adventures during canon. Pick a location or a place outside the map and see what happens? As for the ending variables, I’d ask for a peaceful revolution and Oralech alive, but no preferences for who’s up and who’s down, pick whatever works best for any given plot bunny.

Group: Tariq & Soliam: what were Tariq and Celeste like in their earliest days? Were they made or summoned from some sort of preexisting star consciousness? They’re wildly different scenarios! I’m good with either. Does Soliam then see Tariq as a child of sorts, someone he made, or something greater than himself? Did he mean to do that, to have these two immortals around? What does Tariq learn from the First Scribe?

Group: Tariq & Dalbert Oldheart: Any excuse for Tariq to hang out with the Fates for a little while, and treasure and be treasured by dear Dalbert...

Group: Oralech & Vagabond Girl: after all is said and done, Oralech’s view of the Scribes is probably... understandably... dire. So of course I want to see him talk it out with ae!

Group: Celeste & Ignarius: look, listen, if the various triumvirates just camped out near their respective Scribe’s place during the Nightwings’ years-long absence (not the only possible explanation for how you find them all neatly lined up before the first lib rite, but an explanation nonetheless, I think. just let me have my crack), that means Iggy was Celeste’s neighbor for a long time. Neighborly hijinks please?

Group: Bertrude/Pamitha: Pam returning from her travels, again and again, and finding a home in Bertrude’s lab, finding an understanding there... Bertrude’s attitude being thorny in a way that’s just what Pam needs to allow herself to open up... also: snake kisses.

Group: Volfred Sandalwood/Oralech: waking up and remembering that the mourning that’s set deep in your roots is for someone who never died, waking up and remembering that the bitterness that consumed you had made up a betrayal that never was, finding each other through these crumbling walls... 

Molten Milithe: that’s the pov for a love letter to the Downside, right? And/or which Scribe did she bond with the most? Or the least for that matter?

Volfred Sandalwood: catch-all Volf’n’anyone request. I want to see our tree interact with any friend and foe you might fancy! Arguing for his beliefs, being a history professor through and through, finding himself in a tight spot and getting unexpected help, verbally tearing Brighton a new one if they ever cross each other’s path again...

group: Volfred Sandalwood/Tariq | The Lone Minstrel: Volfred’s zodiac sign is Cancer and Cancer is ruled by the Moon, so there’s that.    I love how they both hold the other in the highest esteem, especially on Tariq’s part since he’s the immortal Herald of the Scribes and Volfred is, all in all, a history teacher, but listen to him and you’d think the roles were inverted. I love my nonviolent canon but could anything happen to either of them that may require a rescue, and/or some good old-fashioned h/c? What’s something that could make Tariq of all people lose it? How’s life 100 years on?

Shenmue

This game cares for the little things. I’d love to see fanworks that try to out-slice-of-life canon...

Group: Qiu Hsu & Xianzi Bei: cormorant kung fu adventure! Do they hang out sometimes?

Group: Hazuki Ryo & Shenhua Ling: any moment, discussion, small adventure from their travels together! I love their bond! For all its waifufication of Shenhua, S3 really sold me on their friendship and a shared brand of dorkiness. Alternatively, sometimes I remember that they’d be 50ish in the present day - how and where do you picture them?

The Silver Case

I‘m all for the surrealism, big things being introduced and never picked up again, Rashomon’ing it up with six explanations for the same thing where no single one can be true, people dying and then popping up again like nbd...  maybe the thing I like the most is characters transcending their humanity and looming over the dystopian world like ominous avatars. Correctness’ first ending had me swooning, that kind of mood is unparalleled. I have played TSC, FSR and 25W so far and have vague memories of K7. I’m aware of the “everything’s connected” readings but that’s not my main interest in these games. For FSR-focused requests, I see Lospass as a real island but also a metaphysical  place of transformation first and foremost, where strange things happen that don’t make sense elsewhere.

Group: Toriko Kusabi & Remy Fawzil: What’s Toriko up to when she’s not chasing Chris? I think it could be fun to throw her at Remy and see the island from their point of view!

Group: Tokio Morishima & Edo Macalister: since Tokio stayed at the Flower Sun and Rain... I’m interested in peculiar happenings on Lospass that are not centered on Sumio...

Group: Tetsugorou Kusabi/Sumio Kodai: Tetsu picked one hell of a crush, huh! What’s it like in the aftermath of the games, when Sumio is Like That? How does Tetsu grapple with Parade? Is Tetsu an anchor of sorts for Correctness Sumio, who seems (at best) to be existing on a slightly different plane of existence at any given time and could disappear if you blink too hard?

Group: Tetsugorou Kusabi & Shinko Kuroyanagi: I’m joining the “let these two be foulmouthed friends” masses - who’d be more fed up with the other’s nonsense, and in which ways would they be an unstoppable team?

Group: Shinkai Tsuki & Tetsugorou Kusabi: Both of them end their stories in the shadows one way or another, and defending their protégé may have had a hand in their misfortune one way or another. What kind of understanding could they reach? What IS Tsuki up to anyway?

Group: Christina & Catherine: anthro Catherine, as per the Placebo bonus chapter Yami, was unexpectedly charming. What was Chris before reaching Lospass, and did he also have a chat with her on the plane or on the island?

[dareinfernum2]

･ﾟﾟ･｡ ( ester exposito, cis female, she/her ) — 𝒉𝒐𝒈𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 ALECTO CARROW, the NINTH year SLYTHERIN student ! i hear that the NINETEEN year old is known to be BEGUILING and AMBITIOUS and also very SADISTIC and DUPLICITOUS. however, if you ask me, the fact that they are a PUREBLOOD and leaning towards the side of the DEATH EATERS is a lot more telling.

disclaimer: names & details may change slightly but the end product remains the same so here we go. also the headcanons are all included from my application.

links.

biography.

statistics.

connections.

pinterest.

recap.

alecto was born and raised with the purpose to continue pure bloodlines. her childhood was filled with the finer things in life; galas, dinners and not to mention the never ending etiquette and dance lessons. she was taught to be attentive and intelligent enough, but not to show off.

it really hasn’t worked out for her parents the way they had planned. not because alecto doesn’t care about bloodlines. but, because she hates playing dumb for the benefit of someone else’s ego.

to top it off she thinks there are other ways, better ways, for her to ensure bloodlines in the wizarding community remain pure that don’t involve becoming a housewife and popping out children for a husband decided for her.

alecto has had a fascination with fire since she was eight years old and accidentally, somewhat on purpose, set her mother’s greenhouse on fire because she was told she was no longer allowed in there.

it extends further, and she wants to work with dragons.

personality wise alecto is pretty cold. she prefers solitude and her cat over rambunctious parties. but at the same time she is also very caring in a more gentle and intimate setting. she cares for a few and when she does her care goes deep.

she is unpredictable and chaotic, keen to set things on fire when distressed or upset about something, throwing things around and breaking whatever she can get her hands on when she falls into her fits of rage.

so while she seems calm and almost apathetic a lot of the time it is preferable to the opposite, because no matter what when alecto shows any feeling it is extreme.

alecto does not have the dark mark, yet, she is intrigued by it though and could very easily be convinced to get it now rather than wait longer.

connections.

just suggestions and highly wanted, all come from the connections page linked earlier in the post.

betrothal ;; her parents tried once before with a poor fellow from france. this time they've looked closer to home in hopes that alecto won't find a way to chase them off; they're betting on their own social circles to be enough to control her. 

best friends ;; a partner in crime, the ying to the yang. the pair or more that are typically attached by the hip, consult each other, and couldn’t live without one another.

childhood friends ;; friends since the diaper days, could be a brother/sister or sister/sister type connection. may or may not still be friends.

frenemies ;; they’re nice to each others faces and act like friends but are constantly talking badly about each other.

friends with benefits ;; friends who hook up and either have or haven’t blurred the lines between the physical and emotional connection.

on again, off again ;; (ariana’s voice) make up, break up, total waste of time. this is basically a couple that you’d get whiplash from on whether or not they are together.

exes with lingering feelings ;; exes that broke up but still have feelings towards each other and can’t help but feel jealous/hurt seeing the other with someone else.

headcanons.

i. theodosia carrow - cat.

at sixteen years of age alecto walked through diagon alley a young woman on a mission. it was no mission most other people would not have found it as important as she did. but alecto carrow was about to buy her first cat, the first pet belonging to only her and not in any way any other family member. this wasn’t the owl bringing their mail she affectionately fed treats at the kitchen table only to get a light nip in return.

walking into the store alecto looked around at the cats, a small bengal kitten perking up at the sight of her, curious eyes staring into her own bringing a smile to her lips. after that there was no question about who was coming home with her, and moments later alecto carried the kitten in her arms as she made her way home.

alecto named the cat theodosia and since she came home with her they have barely been separated. the feline has chosen alecto over anyone else, often climbing up on her shoulders to wrap around her, purring softly in the crook of her neck as alecto reads in the common room. when alecto is distressed theo curls into her, meowing and pawing at the teenager to get her attention, refusing to stop fussing until she can feel alecto calm.

ii. herbology.

ever since she was a little girl life and death has intrigued alecto. she looks at the flowers blooming in spring before slowly decaying as the cold comes during the autumn months. when she was young she spent countless hours in the gardens around the carrow manor, she planted seeds of flowers and made sure they got attention, they got water and sunshine. alecto learned about life and death from plants, she learned how she had the power to keep them alive, but also how some of them had the power to take hers. she found beauty in all of it, and it’s been close to her heart ever since. even when she started school and it became about books and essays rather than lying in the gardens at the manor.

iii. fire.

if you play with fire you’ll get burned. alecto knows this, in part because she has literally played with fire and gotten herself burned more times than she can count on two hands before the age of thirteen. but, she understands it metaphorically as well. alecto understands that when people say fire they are referring to a chaotic event capable of ruining something good happening to people, something of your doing which can turn the world upside down.

alecto has always liked chaos. she has liked turning the world upside down. but more than anything she has liked fire. it’s been made obvious since she was eight and set her mother’s greenhouses on fire after the woman told her she was no longer allowed in them. in a fit of white hot fury alecto lost control of her magic and before she could react the buildings were in flames. instead of screaming alecto had smiled, she stood serenely watching the flames with a calm smile on her lips as if she was just watching a sunrise.

since then that’s the way it’s been, fire calms her. watching the flames dance and the smoke billow, watching how it can transform almost everything to ashes, she loves it.

iv. althea carrow - mother.

like any teenage girl alecto has had her fights with her mother. they have fought since she was a child. they have fought about alecto’s attitude, how she came home with ripped clothes and dirty elbows, how she didn’t speak to her elders with enough respect, how she didn’t speak to her peers with enough respect. then there was the potential fiancé from france, she definitely got in a fight with her mother about how she spoke to him. the fight they had after alecto scared him off is the angriest she has ever seen her mother.

but they love each other all the same. at least alecto knows she loves althea, at times she is unsure whether or not her mother actually returns the sentiment. it was her mother who introduced her to the art of herbology, her mother who taught her which fork to use at the dinner table, who reminded her of her posture, who protected her when she had a bad dream and checked for monsters inside her closet.

so yeah, over the years they have fought and when they do it is explosive. but alecto loves her mother. it is that love which has caused her to rebel so many times because, when alecto got older her mum stopped checking for monsters and stopped reading to her. the one thing that didn’t stop was pointing out her flaws so alecto makes sure her mother sees how flawed she is, that way she doesn’t loose her completely.

v. father - nicolas carrow.

when alecto was a little girl she had a tradition with her dad. while he was reading the newspaper she would sit underneath the table and once he had finished one section he would hand it to her, she would read it and fold it together before her gave her the next. it was their thing. she was his daughter and they read together every morning. until they didn’t.

alecto couldn’t understand when her dad suddenly appeared to stop caring about her. nicolas carrow didn’t look at her the way he once had, when she was six and came home with scraped knees crying he comforted her. when she was twelve he didn’t look her way beyond a disdainful glare. she was a disappointment and alecto could not even tell when it had changed, when she had started to do things all wrong in her father’s eye.

what she knows now is that she isn’t doing anything wrong. she is doing things her own way and her way isn’t compatible with the way her father wants for her. he wants her to marry, to have children, to carry on a pureblood legacy. alecto wants more than that and it’s not something her dad can come to terms with.

vi. amycus carrow - brother.

there is no one else in the world alecto thinks could ever really stand her the way amycus does. she knows she is a lot. she knows her mood swings from serene and smiling to hurricane like destruction is exhausting. she knows that her constant need to be right is annoying. she knows that it is too much when she tries to decide everything about everyone all the time. but those are things which makes alecto who she is and without her brother she knows she would be so much worse.

to alecto her brother is less of a sibling and more of an extension of herself. he knows her secrets and her flaws, he is her strengths and the sides of her that she actually likes. while alecto always wears her heart on her sleeve, she truly is terrible at hiding them, it is her brother who she actually opens her heart up to. amycus knows her and she loves him, throughout her entire life of protecting each other the only thing that has made sense is knowing they’re in it all together.

alecto looks at her brother and sees hope. she sees her ability to love and can be surprised that is even a possibility. she didn’t think she would be able to love someone like that. but, she looks at him and knows she is not a lost cause. she is not all destructive chaos, she is a person capable of opening up her heart if only to the right people and maybe someday that capability will let her fall in love as well. one thing alecto knows is if she ever does fall in love it will be because her brother taught her she is worth it.

vii. thestrals.

when alecto was thirteen years old she walked into the forbidden forest and stumbled upon a clearing. she had been upset. it was the anniversary of her grandmother’s death and she needed to get away from everyone, including her brother. so she ran, ran into the forest and hoped no one had seen her and was off to tell on her to one of the professors. they didn’t find her but she found the clearing and the winged, black, skeletal horse creatures standing there with understanding in their eyes.

her heart was captured the moment she saw them. alecto saw a beauty in their cold and harsh appearance. she saw the softness in how one of the younger ones bumped into her playfully with their head and kept doing so until she was laughing. they cheered her up and then hours later when she got back to the castle she went to the library and found out just what the creatures were - thestrals.

since that day the clearing in the forest is one of her safe spaces. when alecto needs a break she’ll go there, she’ll bring apples for the creatures and she will sit, watching them live their lives and it helps her ground herself in her own life.

viii. the future.

the future quite honestly terrifies alecto more than anything else in the world. her future has been decided for her since the day she was born. she is meant to learn how to dance and play the piano, and speak eloquently and stand up straight, know which fork to use at what point during a dinner, to take care of a home, to have children. she is meant to be the perfect wife. but since she was a little girl alecto has known that what she is meant to be and what she wants to be, have never been the same things.¨

alecto wants to go to mainland europe, or north america, she wants to work with dragons. she has read about the dragon sanctuaries, where they look after the creatures and rehabilitates them when they have been harmed by other witches and wizards. that’s what she wants to do. she wants to help these creatures that have been hurt and care for them.

[endawn]

okay but nobody can really stop me for saying this is what hunger demons look in da while using tes hunger daedra as the representation

[yukiwrites]

Whipping Rosanne Back Into Shape

Thank you so much for commissioning me again, @xpegasusuniverse! I couldn’t stop smiling while writing this, heehee! I hope you like it! ^v^)b

Summary: After Grima’s defeat, Virion needs to hurry and go back to his land so as to rebuild it. His wife, Sully, still has unfinished business in Ylisse, but they promise to meet back in Rosanne once everything’s settled. Needless to say, Sully isn’t going to be happy about how Virion’s been treated by the people and nobles of his homeland...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

The end of the war against the Dragon of Destruction left a bitter taste at the Shepherds' mouths: Robin had sacrificed himself with the intent of vanquishing Grima from existence. The victory outweigh the loss, of course, as Robin would say: "What is one life when weighed against millions?"

However, that one life was a crucial part of who the Shepherds were and how they've been operating for the past few years. Without Robin, a reform would be needed, as well as a complete transformation of the Shepherds' role during peaceful times.

Sully had found a friend in Robin, as did her husband, Virion. They were both worn down with his loss while they discussed what they would do next.

"Robin's loss will be felt throughout the ages -- no finer man, apart from myself, obviously, lived in this world." Virion sighed as he sipped on his glass of wine, him and his wife talking privately at the mess hall, by a secluded table.

"Yeah, he had balls of steel until the end." Sully stared at her empty mug, wondering whether she'd get more beer or not. "But, Ruffles--"

"My dearest--"

Both of them spoke at the same time, interrupting each other. Virion conceded the turn to his wife. "Let me hear your thoughts, dearest."

Sully exhaled deeply, scowling. "I know it's in your immediate list to go back to Rosanne and rebuild." She didn't wait for his nod, though he did it all the same, "but I just can't leave the Shepherds. Not now."

Virion's brow flickered with emotion, wanting nothing more than to be with his beloved through thick and thin as they had promised what it seemed to be so long ago. He opened his mouth to retort, but decided to wait until she was finished saying her piece.

"I've been with the Captain since before he started the Shepherds, and I know how he worked his butt off to get everything up and running. When Robin came along, he helped the Captain improve all this shit up," she looked up and around herself, to how big the garrison had become in only a few years. "And now he's gone. The Captain is the next Exalt, so he'll be busy as shit during these first few weeks, or hell, months! And I can't just leave everything I worked for my whole life to play the prissly noble at your state."

Once again did the archer open his mouth, but no words left his throat, allowing Sully to continue on with her speech. She placed one hand over his, squeezing it with conviction. "I worked my butt off to EARN the title of knight my family benefits from for generations, so, as a knight of Ylisse, I gotta stay by the Captain's side until he doesn't need me anymore. Then I'll follow you." She gave a strained smile, worried about her beloved's silence. "Well? Haven't got anything to say?"

Virion looked down so as to compose himself. He knew how hard it was going to be to go back home, so he had unknowingly relied on his wife's support to be able to go through with everything.

But she was right. They each had their own paths they paved for themselves during their whole lives, and they both knew they couldn't give them up for one another. He looked up at her, a side smile on the corner of his lips. "That is the reason why I fell for you, dearest Sully! Your fiery determination, beauty, sense of honor, military prowers-"

"Enough of that, Ruffles!" She squeezed his hand, almost breaking his bone. "Be honest with me for one goddamn second so we can plan our future for the long haul."

"Gakh--" He squeaked under his wife's powerful grip, but soon regained his composure. "Ahem, well, of course you are right, my beloved rose. I cannot linger here any more than necessary, neither can you come with me right away. We each have our battles to fight on our own battlefields." He put the other hand over hers, his voice low enough that only Sully could hear. "I will wait for you my entire life if I need to, my dearest. Tonight, I have fallen in love with you yet again!"

"Hah," Sully sneered, getting up and pulling Virion by his cravat, surprising him with a deep kiss. "Enough words, then. Meet me back at our tent for the best night of your life, dangly man."

"Oh ho!" Virion licked his lips, Sully's lingering taste warming his entire body. "Is that a challenge, my dear? I shan't back down until you tell me the same!"

Sully winked, pulling him by his cravat, "you're on, Ruffles."

Ah, how peaceful the days with him were! She would laugh everyday and get to tease, love, train and sometimes prank her beloved. Sully knew that he was doing all that to take both of their minds off of the time they would spend away from each other, but she knew how much she'd miss him after he was gone. That only meant that she had to work her ass off to finish everything she had to do so they would reunite.

Sully escorted Virion all the way to the feroxi port, seeing him off with a heavy heart and a laugh as he pretended to cry and faint, leaving it to Cherche and Minerva to carry him to the ship.

"Look after him for me, will ya?" She said to Cherche once everything was ready. "I'll come running as soon as I can."

"It will be a hard time for him," Cherche looked over her shoulder to her liege, who waved from up on the ship. "But I will do my duty and see everything to the end, yes."

"That's all I ask for," Sully shook Cherche's hand, squeezing it so as to assure both of them of their roles.

Once the ship was out of sight, Sully turned her back to the sea and rode back to Ylisse, ready to get busy. Thankfully, Chrom wasn't alone during his rise to power -- he had his wife and future children beside him as well as the never-resting Frederick to aid him in this new era for Ylisse, Plegia and Ferox.

He turned the Shepherds into a specialized guard -- they would be the ones sent out to check the safety of the borders as well as to deal with any bandit problem at the farthest reaches of the continent. Frederick kept his role as Exaltsguard and leader of the city guard -- Sully answered directly under him, helping the immediate citizens to rebuild or relocate.

Sure, the work was strenuous, but on her end it was still less trying than being at war with a giant dragon -- she knew that on Chrom's end everything was different, so she did her best to be of service.

Days turned to weeks that turned to months. Soon three months had already passed with Sully hearing little to nothing from Virion's side apart that he wasn't accepted with open arms, as expected. That particular day, she had been summoned to speak with Chrom and Frederick at the conference room.

"Sully reporting in, Captain." She opened the door, never getting used to calling him 'Lord Chrom' as she should address the Exalt, though he never minded.

"Ah, I'm glad you made it, Sully." Chrom turned from the table to her. "Frederick, do you have them?"

The knight gave a short bow. "Of course, milord." He replied as he picked a box full of scrolls and brought them over.

"Thank you," Chrom said as he picked one scroll up, handing it to Sully. "And thank YOU, my friend, for all the service you provided to Ylisse in her rebuilding as well as during the war -- both wars."

"Muh?" Sully raised one eyebrow, picking the scroll and unrolling it. "What's all this? 'Wings of Service'? I don't need this shit as long as I'm a knight fighting for my cause."

Chrom barked a laughter as Frederick scowled. "Yes, yes, I suppose you don't, huh?" The Exalt trembled with mirth, taking the scroll out of her hands, exchanging it with another one. "But Virion surely will, Sully, especially now."

Once again she unrolled the scroll -- that one was addressed to her husband, Duke Virion, rightful ruler of Rosanne and 'Friend of Ylisse' as it said on the document. It explained in detail about Virion's deeds during the war as well as the countless promises he had exchanged with the noble houses of Ylisse so they would lend their aid to the rebuilding of Rosanne.

The other dozen or so scrolls that were by the box Frederick held all contained similar information -- each one had the seal of a different noble house, Ylissean, Feroxi or even Plegian! Virion had worked tirelessly towards his land's survival, and it had finally paid off.

Chrom bobbed his head to the side as they sat down so Sully could scratch her head at all the information she read. "He left too soon after the war, so we couldn't get everything ready on time -- it WAS quite hectic around here, after all."

"You bet," Sully closed one more scroll, understanding their value for her husband, "if he'd known you'd give us these, I bet he would've stayed."

Frederick cocked one eyebrow. "Would he?"

Sully laughed. "Hah, yeah, he wouldn't. But why're you giving me these now, Captain? I can't go back now. Or can I?"

Chrom patted Sully, on the shoulder. "I called you here to thank you for all your service, my friend. Before, during and after the war. You've been an irreplaceable source of strength during the time I needed the most, forsaking even your own martial vows."

"Yeah, well, I was a knight before being a bride, so." She smirked, nodding solemnly. "So you're dismissing me now, Captain? I'm sure I can still do more for Ylisse."

"And I'm sure you always will be able to." Chrom got up, a resolute smile on his face. "We've things under control here, Sully. Now it's time for Ylisse to help those who've helped her."

The feeling of accomplishment filled the knight's heart as she put herself on her feet and bowed. "It was an honor to help, Chrom. You don't need to dismiss me twice!" She laughed, setting the Exalt off as well. "I'll be going, then. I got a boat to catch!"

"Pray, allow one of our wyverns take you." Frederick handed Sully the box. "In six days you will be in Rosanne."

"I'll be damned if I don't grab this ride, then! Better than taking almost a month traveling, eh?"

Six days was the time it usually took for a letter to travel from Ylisse to Rosanne -- Sully wouldn't even need to send one ahead of her; she'd arrive practically at the same time.

Setting off was easier than she thought: Her entire life was back in Ylisse, but her future was across the sea, in Rosanne. Her heart was burning with longing as well as rage towards the prissly nobles that denied Virion's seat back as the Lord of the Duchy. The people are one thing, since they were the ones who felt the Conqueror's iron, but the nobles only saw in Virion's absence a chance at governing people weakened by war.

She wouldn't settle down until she broke AT LEAST two noble noses -- the thinner and most up-turned, the better.

The closer she got to Rosanne, the antsier the wyvern she rode got. She could feel something was wrong with it, but damn if she spoke Wyvern. She only understood horses!

Soon she found out the reason as she saw another wyvern flying towards her: it was Minerva, carrying no one other than Cherche herself. "Sully!" She said with genuine surprise. "We didn't know you were coming! When Minerva suddenly smelled another wyvern in her territory, we set out for blood."

"Hah!" The knight patted her wyvern's neck. "So you were scared of the land's owner, huh? Can't blame ya there." After saying that, she looked at the approaching woman. "Hey, before I go meet Virion, I want you to tell me everything that's been happening here. I also got something." She threw the bag with the scrolls, which Cherche caught with ease. "Depending on how things are here, I'm breaking something before the sun sets."

"Oh?" Cherche smiled devilishly, enjoying the bloodlust oozing out of Sully. "Then follow me to the Parliament’s state; Virion is actually having an audience with them at this very moment."

"Aight, lead the way."

While they flew, Cherche explained how every attempt of convincing the nobility had failed, as well as how unsafe it was for Virion to simply leave his house: none save from his personal staff remained by his side as the people hurled stones and insults at every opportunity they had. They called him traitor and coward, not believing anything he told them -- not about his scouting the Shepherds for help neither the noble alliances for resources nor his personal friendship with the rulers of the three largests kingdoms of Archanea.

Sully cracked her knuckles as they hovered around the Parliament, getting ready to land. "They 'bout to get a taste of Friendship and Alliance." She nicknamed her fists the moment she put her feet on the ground, storming through the garden.

"The room's the farthest one to the left on the second floor!" Cherche shouted from behind as Sully started to run on ahead.

The guards were already aware of Cherche's wyvern, so they assumed Sully was someone acquainted to her since they flew together, but they didn't expect that companion to run straight at them as though she was a Bull on the loose. They crossed their lances in front of the entrance out of reflex, but their survival instincts screamed for them to get the hell out of the way.

"OUT OF MY WAY!!" Sully yelled, leaping in the middle of the lances, breaking them in half as though they were toothpicks. The main door was open, but even if it wasn't, she'd break it down.

She'd break the entire state if those idiotic nobles kept on being arses to the ONE person who cared for that fucking land. Sully stomped her way through the stairs, running at full speed towards the wing Cherche had yelled from behind her. Speaking of, she was following Sully closely with an amused smile on her face.

"There it is!" Cherche pointed to the last door of the wing -- it was two meters tall by four meters wide, made with the darkest and strongest oak found around those parts. It was locked shut, but oh, that wouldn't be a problem for Sully.

Without losing speed, or rather, by accelerating, Sully turned her shoulder to the door, ramming on it to break it down.

Which it did.

In one hit. As though it was paper.

"Alright, which one of you PUSSIES' ass am I gonna kick now?!" She cracked her neck both ways.

"What in the fresh hells?!" Some of the nobles inside screamed, sitting at the round table in the middle of the massive room. Some of them were dressed like peacocks while others needed to find another flashy bird's name to imitate. One was fatter than the other, their grubby hands full of rings while expensive jewelry dressed their necks and waists. Sully needed to spit on the floor to get the bad taste out of her mouth. Look at them, useless human beings living off of the common folk while supposedly fighting for them. Hah, they made her laugh.

"D-dearest?!" Virion also got up, though his expression was the only happy one inside of the room.

"Yo, Ruffles. Lemme just break a few noses and we can talk later."

"Wh-who is this barbarian, Lord Virion?! Are you acquainted with the likes of her?!" A man shrieked, taking one hand to cover his ghastly expression.

At the same time Virion dramatically asked if he KNEW her?, Sully pointed at the man. "You, then." She stormed towards him, clenching her fist, ready to strike.

"W-wait, dearest, no nose-breaking!" Virion circled the table as Cherche somehow calmly distributed some scrolls around. "Come to Virion!" He opened his arms.

"What, do you want me to break your nose? After all the trouble we had to fix it that one time?" She barked a laugh, "look, I'm not gonna sit idly while these fuckers pretend to care 'bout the people after you've worked your skin off to get those." She pointed with her chin to the documents Cherche finished distributing, holding onto the last one so Virion could read it.

Flabbergasted, one noble after the other lost the color in their faces, some of them sitting back up after Sully's startle made them get on their feet. Frowning, Virion looked from his wife to his knight as she handed him the last document: it was the very same Chrom first handed to Sully.

Virion widened his eyes, quickly reading through it before looking up to his wife and knight. Both of them nodded.

Help finally arrived. Finally, finally he could put his land back on its feet! Laughing, he hugged Sully, lifting her while he twirled themselves. "Hahaha! Truly my goddess of victory, my dearest Sully!"

"Hey! THis ain't the time for this, idiot!" She blushed, kicking her feet so as to be put down. "I still need to break a few noses."

"Haha, perhaps later, hmm? I'm sure we can find someone foolish enough to go against my prickly rose." He smiled, putting her down, not resisting the urge to steal a quick kiss on her lips, inadvertently making her identity known to the nobles: the wife he'd taken during the war.

The path they had chosen wasn't going to be easy, but with Sully's fire, Virion's smarts and Ylisse's help, they would get Rosanne back into shape. Even if she needed to break a few bones (others’ boners, of course) for that to happen.

[endawn]

little mind was given to the reaction , accustomed to the surprise. perhaps you should walk with a heavier foot ? perhaps. it was not as if he meant to startle the other, no, but it was a knack he had … developed over the years. that, and not quite realizing when he was standing too closely. in this case, he made sure he remained at an ample distance as an arm rested between the hilt of the sword fastened in its scabbard over his left hip. at present, hand remained at ease and his weight shifted onto leg. there was no malice in his intent and pax could only hope it was likewise for the other.

❝ as of late ? no, but there are some places marginally safer or more dangerous than others. ❞ reply drifted off as he paused, looking as if listening. mercy stirred behind eyes and again warned of the demonic activity they sensed ahead. blood magic , no doubt. eyes refocused and fell on the stranger again; studying, for a moment. then a brow raised, ❝ a guide ? i am afraid i am not suited for quite a task as i am a stranger in this forest. however, i do know the direction you are headed is indeed one filled with danger of the demonic equation. ❞

he didn't hear the strangers approach, which was a problem considering he was supposed to be sneaking. rook managed to prevent himself from audibly gasping and jumping out of his skin, but only barely. instead he managed a reasonably dignified jolt as he turned to face him.

you should not be here , it is not safe in these parts .

❝ is it safe anywhere? ❞ rook countered, a disarming smile tugging at the corners of his lips to ( hopefully ) conceal his surprise. rook shifted, both hands placed on his hips in an effort to appear as innocent as possible. ❝ but if you're volunteering as a guide . . ? ❞ // @endawn , dragon hoarde sentence starters .

[yanagi-uxinta]

The Ghost of You (Dragon Age) Chapter 11

Available on FanFiction.net at: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6891181/11/The-Ghost-of-You

Rating: M

Status: Multichapter, chapter 11

Pairing: Fem!Hawke/Fenris

Wordcount: ~6,000

Summary: He knew he should have torn his old master’s heart out when he had the chance. Now, Fenris and the woman he loves are paying the price for his folly. They are enslaved, powerless, but Hawke refuses to forget him… even if he has forgotten her.

Notes: Written in February 2012, fic completed May 2016. Some minor tweaks to correct now-incorrect lore aspects, along with punctuation issues.

After their almost-argument, Fenris didn’t expect to see Hawke for another few days, if not weeks. He was surprised, however, when she sought him out the next day, well after hours and lingering in the corridor outside Danarius’ quarters.

It was a testament to her ability to avoid detection that she had both been able to dodge the patrolling guards and that Fenris was utterly unaware of her presence as he escorted Danarius into his rooms to perform his usual check for concealed enemies or other threats. After finally being dismissed, Fenris was closing the large, ornate doors leading into the magister’s personal wing when he heard his name being whispered.

He whirled to face the sound, one hand clutching the hilt of the great sword on his back, only relaxing when he recognised Hawke, hiding in an alcove containing a one-of-a-kind vase from a renowned Antivan potter.

Her hands were raised, to show she was unarmed. The briefest flicker of surprise brushed through Fenris’ mind, only half-acknowledged, before he shook the impression away. Of course she was unarmed. She was a household slave. They weren’t permitted to carry weapons.

His tone was slightly sharp, both with annoyance at being surprised, and with the frustration at the vague sensations that frequently crept up on him when he was with her.

“It’s after hours, Hawke. You’re not supposed to be up this late unless acting under specific orders from Master Danarius,” he growled, but he found himself instinctively keeping his voice low to avoid attracting the attention of the guards.

A flutter of irritation crossed Hawke’s thin features.

“I’m aware, Fenris. I didn’t just decide to take a midnight walk on a whim, you know. I came to find you,” she hissed.

He frowned, taking a few slow steps towards her.

“Why would you risk a punishment to find me now, when for the past two weeks you’ve avoided me like a dwarf avoids a razor?” he asked suspiciously, and with just the barest hint of bitterness.

Rather than let herself be swayed by sympathy – and the inexplicable urge to laugh as she recalled Fenris’ initial reaction to Varric’s lack of a beard – Hawke just stared at him. “Are you going to report me?” she demanded.

They both held each other’s gaze for several seconds, jaws tight, before Fenris snorted softly in irritation and shook his head. “No,” he ground out reluctantly, displeased with succumbing first. Hawke nodded briefly, relaxing somewhat.

“I wanted to apologise, for yesterday. I panicked and acted unfairly. I’m sorry,” she answered in turn, her lowered eyes lifting nervously to his. Fenris expected her gaze to dart away again, but instead she held his, yet still managed to look vulnerable enough to twist his sympathy.

“Apology accepted,” he replied gruffly, shrugging and feeling distinctly wrong-footed. To wrest back some sensation of control, he gestured to the currently empty corridor. “This isn’t the best place to speak. We should find somewhere more private. I don’t trust the guards to keep a slave’s secret,” he murmured, his head tilted as though listening, alert to the tell-tale whisper of apprentice mages robes or the dull clanking of armour. He heard none, but the guard patrolling the wing would return to the corridor in a matter of minutes.

Hawke gave an uneasy shift, huddling in on herself slightly – that odd movement that made Fenris wonder if she was cold.

“I don’t, either. The slave’s quarters aren’t patrolled – the guards are just on the door. Come on, there’s another way in.” She straightened, turning on her heel and walking, as though expecting him to follow without question.

He was half-surprised to find that he did. It felt completely natural to fall into step just behind and to her right, like he’d often accompanied her in such a fashion. Maybe he had, Fenris realised. According to Hawke, he’d known her for seven years. But in what capacity?

Doubt suddenly scraped against the walls of his hollow stomach. The position was that of a slave – always walking behind the master, typically to the side if the slave acted as a guard, so that they could see any attacks approaching their master head-on. Hawke had said they were friends, but could he trust her word alone? The very concept of him being free was incredible – far easier to believe that he’d fallen from Master Danarius’ ownership and into Hawke’s. Perhaps that was why she was here? Rather than kill her, Master Danarius had enslaved her for keeping an Imperial slave for herself.

It made a wild kind of sense, even though half of him thought the idea was ridiculous. She was a Southerner, for a start. They were not permitted to keep nor sell slaves – though that didn’t stop certain high-ranking nobles who knew how to be discreet.

Hawke had a title, he remembered with a shock. Champion, Master Danarius called her. Surely she would have to be a noble in order to have a title?

Could it be true? Could she have been, not a friend for seven years, but a mistress? That could be why she wasn’t permitted to speak of his past to him – if he’d felt any real loyalty towards her in that time, Master Danarius wouldn’t want those feelings returning.

Her behaviour, however, was not one of a superior. When she spoke with him, even when they argued, she never acted as though he were beneath her. Rather, she treated him as an equal – a close friend, like she’d said. There was always an aching sadness in her eyes and voice when she was with him, as much as she tried to hide it, as though she was suffering a grievous loss.

Yet he barely knew her – even with his inexplicable insights into her character, Fenris had no way of knowing how truthful she was. It all came back down to his lack of knowledge of his past – something Hawke had.

He had no choice but to trust her word. He knew instinctively that he couldn’t ask Danarius to clarify her claims – in his first few days, Fenris had asked about his past, and been flogged for his curiosity. The experience had told him something about his old life, however. There were scars on his back, crossing each other, raised and purple-red. Beneath the layer of newly healed marks were older scars – most were raised like the newer ones, but far closer to his natural skin colour, with the odd patch of purple still staining them. The few shallower marks that he could make out amongst the corded lines of scar tissue were thin, pale white – the results of knife wounds, he guessed. The fresh whip lashes were identical to the scars, only wider and still bleeding. From that, Fenris had gathered that he’d been whipped before, multiple times.

Did that mean he’d been an insubordinate slave? Or that his master had simply been keen on discipline? In the weeks since his lashing, Fenris had come to believe the latter was true, from the evidence he’d seen. It only reinforced his decision to remain silent around his master, unless ordered to speak. Danarius would only reward his questions with pain – and if Fenris mentioned Hawke, both of them could be punished.

So, Fenris decided as Hawke silently lead them through one of the slave’s passages that led directly into the slave quarters, he would ask her instead. But he would make his own judgement on what was truth and what was not.

True to her word, by taking the hidden passage designed for the slaves’ use, Hawke led Fenris into the slave quarters without encountering a single guard. This late at night, the kitchen was empty, though the fire still smouldered quietly in the huge cooking hearth, lending the darkened room a soft, rosy illumination.

There were no chairs in the room, despite the many tables and counters. Instead, Hawke sank down to sit on the floor in front of the fire with a sigh. After a moment, Fenris took the blade from his back, carefully leant it against the wall by the fire and sat next to her.

She was grinning at the greatsword for some, inexplicable reason. She caught his questioning look and elaborated with a soft laugh, nodding at the blade as she did.

“You always did that at home; resting your sword against the mantelpiece or the wall by the fire. It was just a daft little memory, I shouldn’t- it’s nothing,” she said; the faint stain of embarrassment painting her cheeks as she ducked her head and waved her words away dismissively. Fenris, however, was intrigued.

“It isn’t to me. What else did I do? Who am I, Hawke? And,” he added, with a burst of inspiration, “who are you? I never thought to truly ask you that before.”

She sat in silence for a moment, thinking.

“You used to revel in hunting slavers down. We ran into a lot of them, out at the Wounded Coast, some even in Kirkwall itself. You were a brilliant Wicked Grace player; and apparently the luckiest Diamondback one, if V- if one of our friends is to be believed. I can only tell you bits and pieces, you know,” she interjected abruptly. “These small things, I think I can say, but I need to be careful about what I tell you. I... anything of real significance, I’m wary of telling you. I don’t think you would tell Danarius voluntarily, but if I’m being painfully honest, I don’t know if you would keep your own life a secret if Danarius ordered you to tell him what you knew. Please, let me finish,” she asked, holding a polite hand up to forestall his obvious intention to interrupt.

Grudgingly, he subsided, consenting to listen. With a grateful nod, Hawke continued quietly. “Even if you would, could you do the same under threat of punishment? What if Danarius suspects, or even knows something already, and confronts you with it? Would you be able to hide any sign of recognition from him, when he knows you so well?” Fenris grimaced visibly, making Hawke’s lips twitch in a rueful smile. She sighed. “Besides, there are some things that you probably wouldn’t believe happened, even if I could tell you.” Like Flemeth rising out of an amulet. Fighting a High Dragon. The disastrous results of the lyrium idol. Earning the Arishok’s respect. Falling in love, even.

“If you cannot tell me about myself, will you tell me about you?” Fenris asked as a reluctant compromise. Hawke looked surprised, though if it was his willingness to cooperate or the subject he’d proposed, he couldn’t tell.

“I... I guess. I can’t tell you much about my life with you, but the rest... I don’t see why not. What do you want to know?” she asked, almost warily. Fenris suppressed a grin. She was right to be cautious – he wouldn’t press for details, but he was curious to see if he could trick her into revealing anything more about his life. He understood her reasons for not divulging much – though he had the impression she hadn’t told him all her reasons – but understanding did not lessen his desire to know more.

“Everyone calls you Hawke, but what’s your first name? I assume ‘Hawke’ is your family name, anyway,” he started, thinking this would be a perfectly innocuous start to the conversation.

She opened her mouth to answer, and he almost saw the shape of the first letter – it was an open sound, a vowel, but then she faltered, a thoughtful look in her eye.

“I- Fenris, do you mind if I don’t tell you? Not out of any rule, but as a... a test, I guess. You already know my first name – when you remember that, I’ll know you’ve regained your lost memories. Do you mind?” She was honestly giving him a choice, he realised. If he pressed, she’d tell him.

But the idea intrigued him. It would be a way to measure if his memories were returning. If she had been involved in such a large part of his life, the memories of her should be some of the first to return, surely?

Fenris found himself smiling.

“Very well, Hawke. However, in return, will you help me try to regain my memories?”

That stunned her, he saw. He hastened to explain, before she could refuse.

“I don’t expect any miracles, but anything you could do to help – any knowledge you may have from before... it would be appreciated.”

She was quiet again, but there was an odd look in her eye as she considered him. Something like a stifled revelation, then – was that a blush?

Utterly bemused, Fenris stared as Hawke quickly looked aside, her lips twitching as though restraining a smile. She cleared her throat before looking back, apparently having drawn a veneer of calm around herself, though her lips were still curved upwards.

“Alright, Fenris. I’ll try and help you, but I can’t promise anything. Is that fair?”

Still confused at her odd reaction, but willing to dismiss it, Fenris nodded.

“It is.”

Hawke nodded, turning in place to face him, an action Fenris mirrored as Hawke began to speak.

“Well, did any of the things I mentioned before – the Diamondback and Wicked Grace games, the Wounded Coast, any of that – seem familiar at all?”

Slowly, Fenris shook his head. Hawke seemed to have expected the reaction, however, because she gave a resigned nod.

“Well, that shows us that you won’t remember everything by me simply reminding you of it – if you would, I’d be able to tell you everything, and we’d be half way to Kirkwall by now,” she said lightly, though there was an undertone of sadness to it.

“We also know that you won’t remember things by simply seeing them again – I’m a prime example of this. Did you remember who Danarius was, in your very first memories?” she asked, curious.

Fenris shook his head again.

“No, though my earliest memories that aren’t of pain are... hazy, at best. I wasn’t conscious for most of the time, but when I was, Danarius would talk to me – he told me I was his slave, his guard. He said he had created me. By the time I had... woken, I guess, fully, I knew all of this and accepted it as fact. Whether that is through an old imprint of a memory, or if I was simply highly suggestible while I was semi-conscious, I don’t know. I think the latter, however, is closer to the truth. There’s nothing in my early memories that doesn’t seem to fit, or where I knew more than I should. I simply woke up with no memories,” he concluded with a shrug that almost succeeded in being nonchalant.

“I see,” Hawke murmured, a frown casting shadows across her brow. She seemed to be almost irritated with the revelation, though Fenris couldn’t fathom why.

“Is that important?” he asked when it became clear she wasn’t going to offer further comment. She grimaced in response, and he guessed that they were straying back onto the forbidden topics.

“Sort of? It’s... different.” When Fenris just stared at her, utterly bemused, Hawke sighed and waved expressively, as though trying to snare the words she needed out of the air. “You- alright, how much do you know about your markings?” The question took him by surprise, but Fenris found himself answering anyway, slightly haltingly as he processed what she’d said.

“Only that they are lyrium, injected under my skin in a process that our Master either created or refined. My earliest memories are of the ritual that put them there, so I assume they are the reason I lost my memory.”

Hawke nodded, apparently relieved that he’d come to this conclusion on his own.

“They are,” she confirmed, feeling no guilt about verifying a correct theory Fenris had already discovered himself. “But do you remember what I said to you, the first day you saw me?”

A small grin quirked at his mouth.

“You mean the second first time I saw you, I take it?” he asked rhetorically, and was rewarded with her warm laugh and agreement before he focussed and thought back nearly two and a half weeks to their rather odd encounter in the courtyard.

“‘They’re new. Those ones,’” he recalled, his hand lifting to point at the marks branching out across his forehead. Then his head jerked up as understanding struck him. “This has happened before? I’ve lost my memories before?” he asked, yet something inside him seemed to have clicked into place. There were no revelations, no flood of old memories, but a simple, unshakeable certainty that he was right. He barely needed Hawke’s affirming nod.

“Yes, before I met you for the first time. I can’t say much more than that, but-”

“Did I get them back?” he demanded. She looked away, the familiar edge of worry creeping back into her eyes. To draw her attention back and stop her from running again, he seized her hand, where it rested on her knee. She looked up sharply at that, staring helplessly at him. “Tell me, Hawke, please. If nothing else, tell me that.” His tone was beseeching, but he didn’t care. This was a chance to find out how to recover his life. Even if he had to lock every door in the room and tie Hawke to the cooking pot to get an answer, he would.

She was biting her lip, obviously torn, but her eyes didn’t leave his and her hand turned beneath his, gripping it back as tightly as he held hers.

Finally, slowly, she nodded.

“Some of them, Fenris. Not all – it took a... a trigger to recover them, but you were remembering more as time went by.” she explained, but her words sounded oddly distant to him. The tension had left his body; his hand merely rested on top of hers.

He could get them back. There was a way to remember. He just needed to convince Hawke to tell him how.

“What was the trigger?” he asked quietly, his eyes finally starting to focus to look at her again. Hawke was mauling her lip again – obviously a nervous habit, because her eyes were diverted again as they usually were when she was fighting with releasing information. She took a breath, hesitated, then finally began to speak again, obviously uncomfortable about something. She still didn’t look up at him.

“A visual one. You saw... someone you knew from your past. I am strictly not allowed to tell you who; so don’t ask me, Fenris. But this was years, maybe a decade or more, after the ritual. I think that might be one of the reasons why a visual trigger worked then – I think the magic Danarius used to hold back your memories might slowly deteriorate, allowing you to remember things if you’re prompted enough. But the second ritual is very recent; it was just over a month ago. The magic’s still strong – that’s why you don’t remember me,” she concluded in a murmur, finally glancing up at him with a small, uneasy shrug.

Fenris felt the flare of hope inside his chest wane slightly, but he hid his disappointment with an understanding nod.

“So it will take time for my memories to return?” he asked, and was answered with another half-shrug.

“I assume so, but I don’t know for sure, Fenris. A lot of this is educated guesswork,” she said apologetically, but he waved that away and nodded his acceptance.

“It’s more than I had before, at least,” he murmured, his gaze mindlessly occupied by the dying embers of the fire, even as his mind flew through everything he had learned. “You’re sure there were no other triggers, Hawke?” he asked, without much hope. The pause before her answer seemed unusually long before he saw her head dip in his peripheral vision.

“Positive,” she whispered softly, with a sadness that struck Fenris as odd, but not so strange to make him look around at her properly. If he had, he would have seen Hawke’s miserable, bitter expression and realised she wasn’t telling him something.

By the time Fenris had shaken himself out of his contemplative daze, Hawke had regained control of her expression enough to give him a tiny, if forlorn smile when he sat up and looked at her.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more,” she said, trying not to let her lie show in her face.

“You don’t need to apologise, Hawke. You’ve told me far more than I expected, and given me much to think about. Thank you,” he replied, the simple sincerity in his voice drawing a smile and a blush from her.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad we could go a whole conversation without arguing. It’s a good change,” she said with an attempt at a grin that grew more genuine when Fenris looked away awkwardly, evidently embarrassed.

“I apologise if I-” he started, but she cut him off with a reassuring laugh.

“Now you’re the one who doesn’t need to apologise. I’ve hardly been cooperative myself. It’s just an unfortunate fact of life that even the best of friends will argue at times,” she said calmly, pretending not to see his odd twitch at the term ‘best of friends’. “Especially when both are stubborn, with an occasionally bad temper,” she added before an awkward silence could even be considered, grinning to show she meant no offence. To her relief, he relaxed again, returning her smile with a faint curve of his mouth.

“An ‘occasionally bad temper’? That’s an unusually generous description if ever I heard one,” he chuckled, which she conceded to immediately.

“How about ‘brooding at best, tearing hearts out at worst’?” she suggested with a grin. Fenris frowned, looking slightly put-out.

“I don’t brood,” he objected. Hawke just nodded with a disbelieving hum, the smile never leaving her face, even when Fenris narrowed his eyes at her.

They drifted into a silence, oddly comfortable despite the mild teasing. Fenris was gazing, eyes unfocused, into the whitened coals in the grate, their undersides still glowing orange as small tongues of fire occasionally peeked out from the gaps. Hawke was similarly watching the fire, but her eyes were focused, and occasionally rose to glance at her oblivious companion.

He looked well, she thought as she took the opportunity to truly examine him for the first time, without being distracted by conversation or frozen in shock. He was thinner than he had been in Kirkwall, but he hadn’t lost a drastic amount of weight, the way she had. All his strength had remained, and his meaner diet only served to emphasise the lines of muscle and sharp angles of his face.

She was slowly becoming accustomed to the new lyrium veins that marked his arms and face. The three dots arranged in a triangle she’d first noticed on his forehead were occasionally repeated on his upper arms. Some of his previous tattoos had new branches twisting off them, and she could see glimmers of silver that hadn’t been present before in the gap in the back of his tunic.

As she watched him, she noticed his gauntleted hands. He was holding his right wrist in his left hand, but what caught her attention was that his left thumb was repeatedly rubbing the same spot on his right gauntlet. He didn’t even seem to notice he was doing it.

It took a moment, but in a bolt of clarity Hawke remembered his old habit of running his thumb over the red band he wore on his wrist when he was thinking. She’d never pointed it out, simply turning her head away from the sight, torn between sadness and a smile.

The quick movement of Hawke’s head jerking up obviously caught Fenris’ attention; he half-turned, frowning in confusion when he saw her tugging at her hair.

No, not her hair. The strip of red fabric binding it back. He’d never really noticed it before – for that matter, he’d rarely seen the back of her, except at a distance for those two weeks when she’d ran at the sight of him, and the few minutes it had taken them to navigate the slave’s passages into the room they currently sat in. Both times, he’d been more than slightly preoccupied, and hadn’t taken the time to examine her hair accessories.

As Hawke tugged the thin cloth from her hair, allowing the heavy waves to fall around her shoulders, Fenris realised the band was wider than it had appeared – it had been folded in half, and knotted several times to make it stay in place in her hair.

Carefully, Hawke undid the last few knots before brushing the cloth out as flat as it would go on the stone floor between them. It still sprang back into a few old bends; the remnants of the knots, bumping all along the red strip. It looked like a piece of clothing – a hem, perhaps, or a sleeve severed at the seam.  

At her silent, encouraging glance, Fenris slowly reached out with his left hand, the gauntleted fingers running across the soft, age-worn material.

“It’s very n-” his voice faded mid-way through his confused, polite comment, his eyes glazing over.

That sensation – the metal encasing his fingers running over the smooth fabric, resting on something as hard as stone...

No, not stone. Bone... and metal. The metal of his gauntlet-

Without explaining his sudden revelation, Fenris snatched up the cloth, draping it across his knee and resting his right wrist over the fabric, inner-arm up, his left hand quickly gathering the two ends together and folding them into a loose knot, tightened and doubled with the aid of his teeth. It was an old, well-practiced motion, and when he turned his hand over, looking at the back of his wrist and the red band wrapped around it, the rightness of it simply fell into place. That strip of cloth belonged on his wrist.

He looked up slowly at Hawke, his heart suddenly adopting rapid, shallow little beats that felt like a hummingbird swooping about his chest. She was staring at the red band, her lip caught tightly between her teeth, her expression utterly torn. It looked as though she was trying to clamp down on not only simple joy, but hope, yet her eyelashes looked suspiciously damp, heavy with emotion.

“Hawke?” he asked her unsteadily, feeling oddly as though he were about to lose his balance and fall, even though the position he was sitting in was perfectly steady.

“It’s yours,” she whispered, her voice thick with the tears her eyes held onto. “It was yours, you gave it back to me to keep safe for you – I just forgot I was wearing it then I saw you rubbing your wrist and I remembered because you never took it off and were always doing that-”

“Hawke, Hawke. Hawke,” his voice finally broke through to her and she stopped babbling, her breathing quick and ragged, stopping short as though to strangle her tears. Her body had taken up a fine trembling, but she’d kept a tight enough rein on her emotions to not let them overwhelm her.

She stared back at him, mute, her lips pressed together tightly in a bid to remain silent and to stop them quivering. Unsure of what else to do, he hesitantly rested his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to steady her. She bowed her head, dragging in a sharp breath, her hand lifting to cover the one on her shoulder, her touch consciously light. It occurred to him that she was purposefully trying to avoid hurting his markings, even when she was this distressed. As she lifted her head again, an attempt at composure dusting her face, he gave her a small smile of encouragement and thanks.

She managed to return it, a tad waveringly, but she’d dragged calm from somewhere.

“Thank you, Fenris,” she whispered softly, her fingers flexing slightly on his gauntlet and making him aware, for some unfathomable reason, of just how much smaller her hands were than his.

He studied her for a moment, as though trying to solve a puzzle he found hidden in her face.

“This really means something to you, doesn’t it? Not this, specifically,” he added, lifting his free hand to show the red cloth encircling his wrist in a bid to show he wasn’t stating the painfully obvious, “but... everything. Me regaining my memories.”

Her bedraggled smile returned, and so naturally Fenris could tell she didn’t even think about it, she replied.

“Not just that, Fenris. You mean that much to me.”

A jolt of surprise flowed through him, right as her eyes leapt wide open and her free hand flew to her mouth. She froze, as though waiting for him to shout or push her away. Instead he stared at her, his lips parted in surprise, half-way to forming a question. Her alarm stopped him, the impulse to ask crumbling in his mouth as he found himself gazing at hers, half-revealed behind her finger tips as her hand unconsciously drifted away from her face.

His heart was still beating rapidly, but the feather-light flutters were gone, replaced by a frantic pounding he had only ever experienced in battle but seemed completely fitting here too as he felt himself drawn down towards her.

The sound of the guards rowdy jeering, introduced and cut off by the opening and slamming of a door made them both leap apart, twisting around to face the noise in a dazed bewilderment. The bitter Tevene mutterings of a slave as he entered from a night shift on his way to his meagre pallet allowed relief to seep into their limbs like weakness, followed swiftly by a strained silence. It was soon broken by Hawke clambering to her feet, pointlessly dusting down her patched dress, two swathes of burning pink in her cheeks, her eyes averted to the wall since if she looked down she’d be staring directly at Fenris.

He quickly followed her, standing in his slight hunch that he tended to adopt when he was embarrassed or wanted to avoid attention. They both stood, silent, eyes averted, before Fenris took a breath and broke the hush.

“Hawke, I-” he stopped, realising he had no idea what to say. He opened and half-closed his mouth a few times before giving up, snapping his jaws shut in frustration.

She seemed to understand, however, and finally looked up, catching his eyes.

She gave him a soft, shy smile even though her madly burning cheeks had yet to cool.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Fenris,” she finished for him, and he nodded, relieved that she was at least more articulate than he was in awkward situations.

She was walking past him, heading for the slaves quarters when he looked down and remembered the red banner around his wrist.

He turned, unthinkingly catching her arm, only realising that with anyone else he would have shied away from the contact when he’d caught her and she was looking back at him, curious.

Still, there was no pain – his hands were almost immune to it, but Fenris had the strange impression that even if he held her tightly against him, even without his armour, it wouldn’t hurt-

The memory of her face drawing nearer, utterly unguarded and with her eyes sliding half-closed bloomed in his mind, twisting his last thought into him holding her, with no clothes to impede them...

“Fenris?”

Her voice cut cleanly through the unexpected distraction, dragging him back to the reason he’d pulled her back in the first place.

Pull her closer.

Forcefully banishing the errant impulse, even as his heart gave another treacherous thud, Fenris released her arm in favour of lifting his wrist so she could see the cloth.

“You said I gave you this to keep safe. Who- can you tell me who from?” He asked, correcting himself as he remembered the rules holding her tongue.

Her tongue and teeth, dragging down the column of his throat as he bared it for her; only for her-

Stop it! He scolded himself, biting his own tongue to keep his focus firmly on Hawke’s answer as she grimaced and shook her head.

He nodded, thinking quickly.

“Does-do those conditions still apply? Does this still need to be kept safe?”

She nodded this time.

“They do, but... I think you could keep it, as long as no one sees it. If it isn’t safe to leave it where you sleep, you could wear it under your armour, perhaps,” she suggested. Mentally, Fenris groaned, suppressing another barrage of images of the two of them in situations that did not require armour, nor clothing of any kind. Why did she have to use those words? He wondered wretchedly as he nodded in acceptance, infinitely relieved that he had complete control over his face – and the rest of him, for that matter.

“Thank you, Hawke,” he managed, with a small but genuine smile, “for keeping it safe.”

Her warm smile was his reward as she nodded.

“Goodnight, Fenris,” she said.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, watching as she turned and headed towards the large communal bedroom for the household slaves, her freed hair and her hips swaying as she went.

Fenris sighed, scooping up the abandoned greatsword from its spot by the fire place, swinging it effortlessly onto his back as he headed for the secret passage out of the slave quarters, the nights events replaying in his mind – particularly those last few minutes of... what? Mutual attraction? Momentary insanity? He certainly felt as though he’d taken leave of his senses, but... she’d been about to reciprocate. Of that he was almost certain.

Once again, the memory of him pinning her against a stone wall, anger and shock melding into desire flooded his head as he reached his own straw pallet, in a room just off of Danarius’ sleeping quarters, and collapsed onto the bed.

As he struggled to find sleep, that one memory played in a loop in his mind, though it was only as sleep finally started to drag him under that he realised in the memory, Hawke hadn’t been wearing her slave’s garb. She’d been wearing a tunic, with a crest stitched into the breast.

A red tunic.

When he woke, the sense of revelation remained, but exactly what he had remembered persistently eluded him. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t recall those last, vital moments of conscious thought before sleep stole them from him.

[ashccra]

Headcanon or a little thing on the first time Ashara met/saw Vaedar? 😍😘

FALLEN STARS || ALWAYS ACCEPTING

HEADCANON

She actually jumped – how did she survive? not even Ashara knows this, but she remembers the pain, bones breaking, lungs needing air, and then nothingness. At first there was darkness, a void so great she though it will swallow her, and she let herself be dragged to it. The pain was gone, the rage was gone, the sadness, the melancholy, the fear all was gone. Everything was dark, and silent and so cold. Death felt cold and silent, it was not like going to sleep, it was an awful and cruel experience a body surrounded by numbness. Ashara wanted something else, she wanted peace. The septa always told her that the gods were kind and they reach for the souls with a sad fate and direct them to the light, so why is she been eaten by darkness and coldness? At one point thoughts stop mattering anymore and she dreams, are dead people able to even dream?. She sees her brother in front of her, just the same face and grin that he was wearing the last time she saw him.Arthur smiles at her and just when she tries to reach him, he’s gone. Turns away and leaves her, if she could she would have cried and screamed. She dreamt with Brandon; his voice, his embrace, his lips against hers. And she felt warm, heat surrounds her, flames all over her and she screams but there’s no sound and as much as she tries the only thing left is the pain in her throat, she can’t breath. ‘I’m dying’ she thought, but how could she be dying wasn’t she dead already?.Her head feels heavy and she opened her eyes. ‘Open?  am I alive’ thoughts like this one run clumsily in her mind each word tripping with the next. Her tongue tastes funny, her eyelids flutter lazily and as soon her irises meet with the light she find herself unaccustomed to it. Purple gaze flutters as blurriness still has hold on her sight, she hears someone whispering the words don’t make any sense, but she can sense the ocean, the salt still lingers in her body the movement of it impregnated in her soul and the cold, so much cold. 

Is been months since those men found her, she was thankful somehow. Her body recovering from the pain she caused, the only scars left is the one she carries deep within in her heart, the men who ‘rescued’ her have been gentle in a way, curious of who she was, after seeing her aspect they thought she was some kind of noble, ( they weren’t wrong there ) she lied about her name and heritage, she has been always able to maintain calm even when the situation is dire. They haven’t touched her…Yet, they are men of the sea who knows for how long they have been away and she knows very well how she looks. She’s weary around them, she cooks for them and help them with their sickness, when they reach port it’s her who buys what they need.They arrived to V O L A N T I S a moon ago, she’s not sure what holds them here for so long, this place frightens her, the streets are pitch black and cold. She hold herself as the young boy who helps her around follows her close, he’s enthusiastic and very protective of her. Sweet and gentle, he reminds her of Arthur when he was a child — Arthur, she felt a pain in her chest, a lonely star roaming the world. What a sad thing to see.    “Are you alright, Shara?”  she had to bite the inner side of her cheek just to avoid crying at the sound of her nickname in that boy’s lips. His voice sounded so much like Arthur when he was at that age.   “Aye, no need to worry.” she brush his young face gently and keeps walking, she needs to forget her past life or she’ll never be able to live fully. The gods have given her this new opportunity, they have made very clear that it’s no her time yet. “Let’s go Toka, the captain won’t like us been away for too long” She had to bee quick with the supplies, the captain is not a bad man, but he has a short temper and she doesn’t want to be the focus of his rage, nor want’s Toka to pay for it.The people of this place are marked, she’s curious but the boy explains her at the sight of her burrowed frown. Horrified is the real sentiment she feels but says nothing more, just hold the boy by the wrist and hurry herself even more. She will not be a slave to this people, nor will let the boy become one either. She buys the things she needs with such a hurry that Toka might be staring at her confuse or just impressed she’s not sure.  Day and night here means nothing because the streets are always so dark  and so cold. — They hurry their pace toward the ship a black flag with a golden dragon with his wing open, like if he was just taking it’s flight. She have been wondering if these men were Targaryen loyalist, the ship has the most odd color. The wood was colored red. like if the entire thing was soaked in blood.  She adverted her gaze at the thought of it. Awaiting for them was the captain. Gods, they were late probably. She stopped her tracks when she saw a man with him – He was tall with silver blond hair  ‘Rhaegar?’ She didn’t know how to feel. Angry, sad, surprise. happy? — No, that man was not Rhaegar, she took a good look at him. His shoulders were broader, the color of his hair was slightly different, the way he moved were less fluidly but it still carried some gentle mannerism. He was a man who was born a warrior not a man who choose to be one. She approached carefully, her heart beating fast. Emotions that she had bottle up for so long seem to be about to explode  and she feels the sting of tears. A voice calls her.  “Hey girl” the captain was yelling her to come back to where they were. Why she just have been visited by a ghost why can’t they just leave her alone? she keeps her gaze down, the smell of the ocean makes her relax a little bit a part of her still long to be swallowed by it. The other part wish she was able to fly, like that dragon in the flag crest. “This is the girl I told you about, my lord” said the captain. She felt the man’s gaze on her, hard and scrutinizing a finger slipped under her chin, he was making her look up without even saying a word, like if he was someone who owned everything and everyone. When she dare to look at him she found herself staring to a beautiful but cold violet eyes. They resemble hers but not exactly, Ashara found herself once again with nothing to say.   “I’m Vaedar Valarys, and from no on you’re mine.”

[laceygreymist]

Pointe

((A few years later in Ylaise’s backstory timeline! Again, featuring Rael’than/Raeyth, who belongs to @athenaiea-dawnshadow . Previous installments here and here.))

The manor’s great hall was filled with the clinking of glasses and fine, silver cutlery, as well as the mouth-watering smell of roasted springpaw with just a touch of citrus. Raucous laughter hung in the spiced air as much as the accompanying musk of incense and thistle, and all of it decorated the luxurious space with a particularly hesitant brand of life.

Bodies lined the space, some lingering near the walls bearing trays of fruit and wine, and some seated comfortably upon tasselled cushions. Servants and guards, they all remained tense, poised at the ready for the man seated at the front of the room.

Lord Crimsondawn presided over all from his high-backed chair, a richly dressed elf of middle years who wielded his stern, yet handsome features like he did everything else: with a cruelty unmatched by any in the noble House which bore his name. To his right sat a rather haggard-looking guard wearing a grimace borne of some unseen anguish as he shifted in his hard, wooden seat. Gaunt and covered with scars, the man moved these days with a painful limp and seemed, to the girl, to look even grayer than he had the previous night.

A few years before, as rumour had it, he accused his friend and fellow guard of sleeping with his wife, and attacked him rather violently with a kitchen mallet. His friend died, it was said, before either recalled that the man had never been married…

The girl had privately enjoyed the rush of revenge she felt when this rumour reached her, though outwardly she of course remained oblivious. Blind eyes see no sorrow. Such was the accepted mode of operation inside those walls, and so she publicly blinded herself to things like guards killing one another in a nightmarish fury, and hid well the sense of power she felt at what she knew to be her involvement.

From her place in the centre of the room, she rose slowly onto her toes with a swish of her silken skirt, the gauzy scarf in her hands stretched open in front of her as the sitar player behind them added the first of his exotic, twanging notes to the surrounding din. It was still there, in the back of her mind, even as she absently scanned the indistinct faces around her and began to move in unison with the other women. I could do it... those that crossed me or my family.... The onlookers soon blended into her surroundings like a painted set on the stage where she and her ‘sisters’ danced.

They were not whores... though she knew well enough what went on behind closed doors. But they were more than servants, with duties that extended beyond housekeeping and kitchen work. It was not long after she grew comfortable with pouring wine and clearing dishes, that she was brought into the almost daily lessons with the others. Women and girls, and even some boys- they learned dancing and poetry, tumbling and even how to make fire seem to shoot from their very lips. 

The Dragons’ Breath soon became the young girl’s favourite trick, though she had had to beg her mother even to let her try- even as the woman herself originated this particular whimsy. And all of it, of course, was for the benefit of their Lord, who was fond of little else besides abject pleasure. No, they were not whores, these daughters who had been plucked from their village like wildflowers in a shady glen. Arranged together in their colourful bouquet, they were decoration, to be used as their Lord saw fit, until they wilted.

And so they moved in their lovely, practised ‘v’, like migratory birds soaring through the Thalassian sky in search of someplace warm. It was ever more difficult to aim at birds in flight, of course, especially when they moved together. Dipping down, only to leap upwards again, with hips swaying to the steady rhythm of the sitar and its lone, accompanying drum, the flock wore matching smiles as well as brightly coloured sheaths of beaded silk.

Lord Crimsondawn’s eyes felt predatory even as they absently surveyed his dancing birds. Gauzy fabric wings and loose, intricately coiffed hair flitted this way and that in a cacophony of plumage, but for the time being he seemed satisfied. A flick of his wrist, and an older woman, already beginning to hunch with the centuries upon her shoulders, stepped forward with a fresh glass of wine. What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion for the girl, as she twirled around and around in sync with the others, catching glimpses like snapshots with every pass. The tableaux of their own lives as played by the wilted, old flower of an elf would remain fresh in her memory for many, many years to come.

In one moment, the woman was bowing repeatedly, her dull, chestnut hair bobbing within the confines of its braided coil atop her head, as much as her once-elegant ears. The Lord was smiling indulgently, far too indulgently, as he took his new glass from her and set it on the small table at his side, alongside the empty, used one that remained. In the next, he gave a deliberate sweep of his hand as he offered his priests’ blessing to the woman, all teeth and fiery green eyes that seemed to well with anticipation as the serving woman bent her lined face downwards to accept in her hobbled, weary fashion.

On the ends of her wheat-coloured hair the scene again spun into view, and the young girl realized with horror, if not surprise, that the aged woman was about to become prey. In one fluid motion, the Lord plucked his empty glass by the stem and tossed it carelessly- deliberately- to his left. When the woman made to hurry after it, his hand followed, shooting towards her like a serpent’s strike, to connect heavy knuckles with a sickening crack against her cheek.

The young girl spun to a stop as the rhythm of the sitar ebbed and flowed into its second half. The gauzy veil stretched and billowed between her hands again in a pantomime of feathers on the wind, and through its diaphanous body she watched as the serving woman skidded across the marble floor, through the shards of broken glass their Lord had so cleverly lined her path with first. She at last came to a stop at the foot of the thick panels of velvet curtains that adorned the wall, a heap of taffeta and dull, chestnut hair, to the sneering pleasure of the Crimsondawn lord.

With a perfunctory wave of his hand, a mockery of the so-called blessing he had recently bestowed, he barked at the wilted woman to be gone from his sight. The men around him laughed uproariously, even the haggard guard to his right, well after he’d turned away from where she lay.

A sharp note of panic fluttered in her belly as the girl stepped with the others to their right, then back again with a jut of her hip. The woman had not yet moved, save for the tiniest twitch of her foot, and even though their Lord had returned his attention to their dance there was no telling whether he had written her out of his thoughts entirely.

Her movements grew stiff in the effort to concentrate on following the steps as she thought she saw, in the corner of her eye, the faintest movement of the curtain itself.

Nothing. Unless…

In the next second, the thick panels stirred again, like the rise and fall of a sleeping breath, and between the shadowy layers of fabric appeared the familiar figure of the Ghost Boy.

Rael’than.

She told herself that the pounding in her ears was only from the fear she felt as she caught the flash of dark-circled eyes and unkempt ginger hair. She dipped and rocked her slender, though newly rounded hips as she sidestepped the wave of fresh memories that rolled in like the tide itself. He’s washed the sand out of his hair.

She spun languidly in time to the music towards his pale, drawn expression and intent gaze as it met hers in secret from across the room. Intent herself, she attempted to convey the urgency of the wilted woman’s plight- not to mention his own- with the faintest widening of her verdant, green eyes. She remained uncertain as to how long he had been watching, what he intended...until she saw him bring a finger to his lips in a silent message of his own before tossing an undaunted wink her way.

As his lanky frame stooped downward then, bent over the fallen woman, the girl felt a very real fear dominate her senses. The melody rose as it drew closer towards its finish; their dance was coming to a close and he would have to move quickly to avoid being seen by his ‘father’, which would certainly end badly for him.

In her panic, she acted on impulse...and as soaring notes filled the room with their rising crescendo, so too did her swath of gauze leap into the air. Well outside the choreographed steps of the dance, and even more outside the strict rules her mother and father had about drawing too much attention to herself, the girl bent backwards until her hands touched cool marble, and her legs followed one after the other. She grit her teeth as she completed the flip, her pale, blonde hair whipping against her as the song drew to its exotic close. She sprang back on her feet, breathless, to catch the gauzy scarf before it hit the floor.

Eyes, then, all around her- not the least of which were her mother’s, which widened with thinly veiled horror from the far side of their group. But most importantly, their Lord Crimsondawn, in all his monstrous glory peered from beneath crimson brows, his sternly handsome face turned towards her with lips curving slowly upwards.

She did not look towards the curtain where she knew the woman was being taken to safety. She could not risk it, even for a moment. The girl simply smiled in the gracious manner she had been taught, eyes downcast beneath thick, curled lashes, as only the faint swish of her silken skirt interrupted the heavy silence. She straightened, assuming the same finishing pose as the others: on her toes, where she would remain.

[residualnotes]

Mini Reviews - BPAL’s American Gods Waves I and II

So far, there have been two waves of American Gods-inspired scents from BPAL. I've been reading the book and got very excited for the show and perfumes coming out. I jumped on both waves of the release, going in with a friend on the scents. Ajevie, of course, decanted these, and most (except Believe, which was backordered) arrived at my door about three and a half weeks later.

They've had about two weeks to settle, and so here are my early impressions of these. My friend took a few of them off my hands before I could really swatch them, but I've swatched most of them:

America's New Gods - Scorched wires, silicone, tar, chlorine, wax, rubber, and exhaust. I was freaked out by these notes. It’s very … chloriney on first sniff. Mostly, this smells like cleaner.

Becoming Thunder - Skin musk and 20-year aged frankincense, a sprig of asphodel, a spalsh of soma, a lightning streak of sharp ozone, and a stream of ambrosia. This is another scent my friend took from me; it was musky and a little (but not overly) sweet.

Believe  - The heart of the land: roots plunging ever deeper into thrumming black soil through the graves of faith, disillusion, and skepticism. This hasn't come yet, as it was backordered. It should be arriving to me sometime this week.

The Best Lies - Sugar-swept honey and rose. Ah yes.. .BPAL honey and rose. Since I amp honey, the honey is overwhelming the rose here :(

Bilquis - Honey, myrrh, lily of the valley, rose otto, fig leaf, almond, ambrette, red apple, and warm musk. This was one my friend wanted. I did not skin swatch this, but it was a warm, honey/rose blend that smelled fairly spicy and sweet to me.

Black Hats - Gunpowder residue, patent leather, pomade, and aftershave. I smell some leather and gunpowder/gray musk. It's not unpleasant. On skin, it's a bit smoky with a sweet undertone very reminiscent of aftershave. After about fifteen minutes, it's strongly gunpowder/leather, which is too strong for me.

The Buffalo Man - Warm dark brown musk, woodsmoke, and deep pools of labdanum. Very dark 'brown' smell, very woody and harsh. On skin this becomes a little lighter, warmed by the labdanum.

Cigarettes and Offerings - Cigarette smoke overlapping with the resonance of long-forgotten incense. There's that smoke note again. It's not really cigarette so much as the unpleasant bacon-ish smoke note I dislike. But it's quieter on skin, with a sweet edge from the incense. After twenty minutes when this warms, it is amping the cigarette smoke now. It's overtaken any hint of incense.

Coin Trick - Glittering gold and silver, rolling over knuckles--concealed in palms--and pulled from the moon and the stars. This is a very bright scent. Without knowing the notes, I might have said it's amber with a citrus element. Honestly, it smells like a man's cologne almost, in the best way (to me). On skin it's bright but musky, if that makes any sense. This definitely has a warm but gold impression to the scent.

Eostre of the Dawn - Jasmine and honeysuckle, sweet milk and female skin. Lightly floral honeysuckle with a milky, sweet musk. This reminds me of nice/high end shampoo or lotion. I will say it leans a little baby powderish at points as it dries down.The jasmine comes out stronger on skin. The throw is pretty strong here as it warms. Now it's more an even jasmine/honeysuckle. Very floral and nice.

For the Joy of It - Whiskey, mead, honey, gold, sweat, and blood. Rather pungent, sweetish. I'm smelling the honey very strongly, and (most oddly), this reminds me of bubblegum and/or bananas. Very odd, and I feel like my nose might be broken except my friend said the same thing as we sniffed this. On skin, I don't smell any of the notes actually in it, but it has a weirdly sweet yet slightly woody scent underneath it. After twenty or thirty minutes, this is oddly spicy--I think the honey tempers the whiskey. I don't really get any 'blood' or 'sweat.

Glass Eye - The depths of Mimisbrunnr: mugwort and frankincense, grey amber, and ash. Bleh. Something really strong up front that smells like cleaner/medicine. On skin it becomes even more unpleasant to me, smelling like a cough drop. I wonder if it's the mugwort. The weird cleaner/medicinal quality to this stays.

The Ifrit - Desert sand, red musk, blackened ginger, dragon's blood resin, black pepper, cinnamon, and tobacco. Very red/sweet in the vial. Reminds me of red gummy candy. I don't really get dragon's blood here though. Finally after an hour or so, the gummy quality/sweetness dies down and I get a red musk.

The Jeweled Spider - Cigarillo smoke, spatters of ice cream sundae, a supersized mug of coffee, a pile of fruit, and a little bit of curried goat. This is weirdly sweet ice cream/coffee. I think… there is probably some curried goat in there which gives this a grounded scent instead of being just pure sugar. It's very odd because this smells like nothing I've smelled before but it's undeniably foody somehow. My nose/stomach is very confused.

Laura - Violets, upturned earth, mothballs, formaldehyde (mixed with glycerin and lanolin, and the memory of the taste of strawberry daiquiris suspended in twilight. A sniff of this is all strawberries with…something… underneath of it. Sniffing closer on skin, there's definitely something underneath of the strawberry, although the strawberry itself is very pure (not sugary at all). After a few minutes on skin, this is sort of medicinal/mothball-y, I think. In about half an hour, this is an oddly biting but light floral.

Low Key Lyesmith - Black clove and cassia flung onto glowing cinders and mingled with slow dripping poisons. I get mostly cinders that burn my throat a little bit. This is bitter and dark. I think this is supposed to be clove, but on my skin it's just extremely bitter/burning ash. After about five minutes, this burn dies off and I can smell the clove a little bit. Then it's just clove clove clove. It's kind of bitter on me.

Mad Sweeney - Barrel-aged whiskey and oak. Weirdly sweet…something. I think that's supposed to be whiskey without the alcoholy tinge. On skin this definitely is more whiskey/oak.

Mama-Ji - Spices, cardamom, nutmeg, and flowers. I didn't skin test this, but I remember it just being very warm and spicy. This is one my friend ordered.

Media - A news anchor's cologne, a soap star's perfume: perfect, pixelated, and glamorous; aglow with cathodes and anodes, coated with phosphor. This actually smells very mainstream, florally and clean, like good shampoo/conditioner. I very much like it, but I feel like I've had many mainstream scents like this before. I see why they describe it as having a phosphorous/glowing quality, because it's very warm and bright.

Mister Wednesday - Sleek cologne, the memory of a Nine Herbs Charm, gallows wood, and a splash of Whiskey. I don't really know with this one. It smells like something bright and crisp to me. On skin it's cologne with a little bit of wood. Overall, this is so soft with very little throw, like the memory of a man's cologne.

Mr. Czernobog - Unfiltered cigarettes, the leather and metal of sledge hammers, aortal blood slowly drying, and black incense. Another one my friend ended up grabbing; I remember this as a pleasant, masculine cologne with a bit of a smoky/incensey edge.

Mr. Ibis - Papyrus, vanilla flower, Egyptian musk, African musk, aloe ferox, white sandalwood.  Very light and clean in the vial. On skin, I get a sweet, slight floral with a little musk and aloe. It is beautiful.

Mr. Jacquel - Golden amber, hyssop, North African patchouli, and embalming spices. This is one my friend took. Sorry, but I don't remember it other than it was rather 'brown' and sour smelling to me. 

The Norn's Farmhouse - Dusty, ancient wood, horehound and sage with viper's bugloos, mugwort, chamomile, nettle, apple blossom, chervil, and ashes. Apple with a really spicy herb. It reminds me of something I've used in cooking… almost like a pickling herb. I don’t enjoy this, as it's almost … tart and lingers in my nostrils after sniffing. The unpleasantness dies away after thirty or so minutes, leaving something reminiscent of a food cellar.

Search Engine - Dark metal and sour grapefruit creeping over a field of bones. I don't actually have this one in my inventory; I'll have to see if it's somewhere in my bag or if my friend ended up taking it. I remember not liking it though as it was strange citrus over a gray musk (metal).

Shadow - Grey oudh and bay rum luminous with amber. Amazing amber. If Mr. Wednesday is the memory of an older man's cologne, then Shadow is the memory of a new boyfriend's cologne on a cozy flannel. I want to wrap myself in this forever. I actually am ordering a bottle for my SO to wear. It's that good.

Take the Moon - Silvered musk and lemon peel, white fir needle, frosted apple blossom, and mugwort. Lemony, almost in a medicinal way. On skin it's more tart lemon with a very slight apple. Over time, this amps to a pleasant citrusy lemon, very bright. I don't get other notes here.

Technical Boy - Vape smoke and burning electrical parts.  It's just what it says it is. Electronics with a smokey edge. This reminds me of Alkemia's Deus ex Machina. Very reminiscent of plastic. The plasticky/electrical parts scent loses its potency within an hour though, and is a little bit of smokey musk.

Zorya Polunochnaya - Pale amber and ambergris, gossamer vanilla, moonflower, and white tobacco petals. Light vanilla. It's beautiful. Hours later, this is pale amber and tobacco against light vanilla.

Zorya Utrennyaya - Sweet black coffee and a touch of ambrette seed. It is sweet coffee without any cream. I don't get any ambrette seed. It's not bad for a coffee scent, but it's nothing unique in my collection. This may have to do with where I skin tested, but this doesn't last very long at all (less than an hour).

Zorya Vechernyaya - Red musk and wild plum, orange blossom and jasmine, juniper berries, sweet incense, and vetiver-laced sandalwood. Sorry, but orange blossom is a BPAL death note of mine and I could smell it from outside the vial. My friend took this blend and I made her open it well away from me.

[thatsnotcanonpodcasts]

Sestrin, Star Citizen & Anime Spin off movie

Welcome to the latest episode from the Nerds. We have been lucky to have some glorious rain this week and have enjoyed it. Now for those who want to get healthy without the exercise we have news that will make you happy. There is research into a new protein that has delivered very interesting results so far. It is still a long way from human trials but so far it is looking promising. If it works it will help boost the health of people everywhere. Now, you are keen to know what this break-through is now aren’t you, well, you know what to do. That’s right folks, listen in and hear all about it.

                Next up we have news about a Violet Evergarden movie that is looking awesome. We know that you will enjoy this fine offering from Kyoto Studios. The movie involves Violet helping someone feeling trapped and missing someone they care about. We haven’t seen it yet so we can’t give you any spoilers, but with what we have managed to get hold of it is looking awesome. We invite you to listen in to learn more about it and hear what the Nerds think.

                Now last up we have Professor, who had trouble with water in his internet. This week he brings us news about Star Citizen, and it is looking interesting. We have the latest news about the law suit that was looming over the engine being used. We have news about a number of things surrounding this game. Which folks; is apparently now available for purchase at the low price of$40, or if you want to own your very own instant fleet that is an option. Yes Buck does his usual rant about the game and is a complete Boomer about it.

                As usual we have the game reviews, shout outs, remembrances, birthdays, and special events of interest. We hope you enjoy this episode and as always remember to stay safe, look out for each other and stay hydrated.

A protein called Sestrin - https://phys.org/news/2020-01-protein-sestrin-responsible-benefits-good.html

Violet Evergarden spin off movie - https://www.animenewsnetwork.com/news/2020-01-12/funimation-to-screen-violet-evergarden-i-eternity-and-the-auto-memory-doll-anime-in-u.s-theaters/.155272

Unexpected Star Citizen news

- https://www.reddit.com/r/Games/comments/ejedi8/star_citizen_lawsuit_takes_an_unexpected_turn_and/

- https://cloudimperiumgames.com/blog/corporate/cloud-imperium-financials-for-2018

- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9smKcy26Z5s&feature=youtu.be

- https://robertsspaceindustries.com/spectrum/community/SC/forum/3/thread/staggered-development-faq-1

Games currently playing

Buck

– Dragon Awaken - https://store.steampowered.com/app/824300/Dragon_Awaken/

Rating – 3/5

DJ

– Project Darwin - https://store.steampowered.com/app/544920/Darwin_Project/

Rating – 4/5

Professor

– Heat Signature - https://store.steampowered.com/app/268130/Heat_Signature/

Rating – 4.8/5

Other topics discussed

Drosophila (a genus of flies, belonging to the family Drosophilidae, whose members are often called "small fruit flies" or (less frequently) pomace flies, vinegar flies, or wine flies, a reference to the characteristic of many species to linger around overripe or rotting fruit.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drosophila

Thermogenics (tending to produce heat, and the term is commonly applied to drugs which increase heat through metabolic stimulation, or to microorganisms which create heat within organic waste.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thermogenics

Minori Chihara (Japanese voice actress and singer who has had roles in several anime series.)

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minori_Chihara

Minori Chihara - Violet Evergarden Gaiden Theme Song (R3 Music box version)

- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYO6DCHN-es

Fires continue to burn in Victoria despite wet weather

- https://www.news.com.au/technology/environment/fires-continue-to-burn-in-victoria-despite-wet-weather/news-story/c2459b0fc47661ab0fd0f103311c0941

That Guy with Glasses Indiegogo video

- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XXK9wByYYM

Cloud Imperium Releases $27,000 Legatus Pack for ‘Star Citizen’

- https://variety.com/2018/gaming/news/star-citizen-27000-pack-1202825654/

Star Citizen’s $27,000 bundle raises eyebrows

- https://www.polygon.com/2018/5/30/17411226/star-citizen-legatus-pack-bundle

Star Citizen Has a $27,000 Ship Pack

- https://kotaku.com/star-citizen-now-has-a-27-000-ship-pack-1826404455?IR=T

Ships - Roberts Space Industries

- https://robertsspaceindustries.com/pledge/ships

Hackers slaughter thousands in 'World of Warcraft'

- https://www.nbcnews.com/tech/tech-news/hackers-slaughter-thousands-world-warcraft-flna1C6337604

Most expensive games to develop

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_most_expensive_video_games_to_develop

Software Developer Seeks To Delay Its Lawsuit Against Makers Of The $300 Million Game ‘Star Citizen’

- https://www.forbes.com/sites/mattperez/2020/01/06/software-developer-seeks-to-delay-its-suit-against-makers-of-the-over-300-million-game-star-citizen/#382d6d4319ff

Hotline Miami

- https://store.steampowered.com/app/219150/Hotline_Miami/

Quakers Oats Company

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quaker_Oats_Company

Dick Tracy Original Watch (Indiegogo campaign)

- https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/dick-tracy-the-official-watch--4#/

Shoutouts

12 Jan 2020 – Diego the 100-year-old Española giant tortoise who saved its species from extinction by fathering an upward of 800 offspring is heading for retirement in the Galapagos islands by being released from captivity and returning to the wild. - https://www.washingtonpost.com/science/2020/01/12/diego-tortoise-species-retiring/

13 Jan 1928 - RCA and GE install three test television sets in homes in Schenectady, New York allowing American inventor E.F.W. Alexanderson to demonstrate the first home television receiver which delivered a poor and unsteady 1.5 square inch picture - https://www.onthisday.com/date/1928/january

13 Jan 2020 - Infinity Ward, Activision & Bungie are donating 100% of the profits from the Outback cosmetic bundle to the Australian bushfire effort. - https://www.gamesindustry.biz/articles/2020-01-13-infinity-ward-bungie-and-ubisoft-join-australian-bushfire-relief-efforts

13 Jan 2020 - Lucy the pink helicopter has been dragged from the drink after Armidale pilot Lachie Onslow dipped into a dam in the state's south coast. The aircraft was retrieved in a joint salvage operation by the Navy, Army and HAZMAT personnel. The helicopter dipped into the dam when it lost power while refilling it's waterbombing bucket to help fight the Clyde Mountain fire - https://www.armidaleexpress.com.au/story/6578541/australian-navy-and-army-drag-submerged-helicopter-from-the-drink/

15 Jan 2020 – Christopher Tolkien passes away. He was the son of author J. R. R. Tolkien and the editor of much of his father's posthumously published work. Tolkien drew the original maps for his father's The Lord of the Rings. He died at the age of 95 in Draguignan,Var - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christopher_Tolkien

Remembrances

7 Jan 2020 - Neil Ellwood Peart, Canadian musician and writer best known as the drummer and primary lyricist of the rock band Rush. Peart received numerous awards for his musical performances, including an induction into the Modern Drummer Readers Poll Hall of Fame in 1983, making him the youngest person ever so honoured. His drumming was renowned for its technical proficiency and his live performances for their exacting nature and stamina. In addition to serving as Rush's primary lyricist, Peart published several memoirs about his travels. His lyrics for Rush addressed universal themes and diverse subjects including science fiction, fantasy, and philosophy, as well as secular, humanitarian, and libertarian themes. Peart wrote a total of seven nonfiction books focused on his travels and personal stories. He died from glioblastoma, an aggressive form of brain cancer at the age of 67 in Santa Monica, California. - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neil_Peart

13 Jan 1941 - James Augustine Aloysius Joyce, Irish novelist, short story writer, poet, teacher, and literary critic. He contributed to the modernist avant-garde and is regarded as one of the most influential and important authors of the 20th century. Joyce is best known for Ulysses, a landmark work in which the episodes of Homer's Odyssey are paralleled in a variety of literary styles, most famously stream of consciousness. Other well-known works are the short-story collection Dubliners, and the novels A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Finnegans Wake. His other writings include three books of poetry, a play, his published letters and occasional journalism. He died from a perforated duodenal ulcer at the age of 58 in Zürich. - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Joyce

13 Jan 1691 - George Fox, English Dissenter, who was a founder of the Religious Society of Friends, commonly known as the Quakers or Friends. He rebelled against the religious and political authorities by proposing an unusual, uncompromising approach to the Christian faith. He travelled throughout Britain as a dissenting preacher, often being persecuted by the disapproving authorities. His ministry expanded and he made tours of North America and the Low Countries. He was arrested and jailed numerous times for his beliefs. He spent his final decade working in London to organize the expanding Quaker movement. Despite disdain from some Anglicans and Puritans, he was viewed with respect by the Quaker convert William Penn and the Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell. He died from heart failure at the age of 66 in London. - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Fox

Famous Birthdays

8 Jan 1947 - David Robert Jones known professionally as David Bowie, English singer-songwriter and actor. He was a leading figure in the music industry and is considered one of the most influential musicians of the 20th century, acclaimed by critics and musicians, particularly for his innovative work during the 1970s. His career was marked by reinvention and visual presentation, with his music and stagecraft having a significant impact on popular music. During his lifetime, his record sales, estimated at over 100 million records worldwide, made him one of the world's best-selling music artists. In the UK, he was awarded ten platinum album certifications, eleven gold and eight silver, and released eleven number-one albums. In the US, he received five platinum and nine gold certifications. He was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1996. On 8 January 2020, on what would have been Bowie's 73rd birthday, a previously unreleased version of the song "The Man Who Sold the World" was released, and two new releases were announced: a streaming-only EP entitled Is It Any Wonder? and a 9 track album entitled CHANGESNOWBOWIE, set to be released on Record Store Day 2020. He was born in Brixton, London - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Bowie

13 Jan 1960 - Eric Betzig, American physicist who works as a Professor of Physics and Professor Molecular and Cell biology at the University of California, Berkeley. He is also a Senior Fellow at the Janelia Farm Research Campus in Ashburn, Virginia. Betzig has worked to develop the field of fluorescence microscopy and photoactivated localization microscopy. He was awarded the 2014 Nobel Prize in Chemistry for "the development of super-resolved fluorescence microscopy" along with Stefan Hell and fellow Cornell alumnus William E. Moerner. He used this technique to study the division of cells in human embryos. He was born in Ann Arbor, Michigan - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eric_Betzig

13 Jan 1990 - Liam Hemsworth, Australian actor. He played the roles of Josh Taylor in the soap opera Neighbours and Marcus in the children's television series The Elephant Princess. In American films, Hemsworth starred as Will Blakelee in The Last Song, as Gale Hawthorne in The Hunger Games film series, and as Jake Morrison in Independence Day: Resurgence. Hemsworth's older brothers, Luke and Chris, are also actors. He was born in Melbourne, Victoria - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liam_Hemsworth

Events of Interest

13 Jan 1879 – In Mozart Gardens Brooklyn Ada Anderson completed a great feat of pedestrianism - 2700 quarter miles in 2700 quarter hours, earning her $8000. The event was so popular that the spectator fee was raised from 25 cents to 50 cents after 5/6 of the event had been completed. By the final day of the event ticket prices were $1 for standing and $2 for reserved seating. She completed the event on 13 January 1879 to a venue so packed that police had to prevent additional spectators. Many of the spectators were women who it was reported regarded Anderson as 'the most wonderful of their sex' - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ada_Anderson

13 Jan 1908 - Henri Farman becomes the first person to fly an observed circuit of more than 1km, winning the Grand Prix d'Aviation. For his efforts he won 50,000 francs. - https://www.onthisday.com/photos/henri-farman-wins-the-grand-prix-aviation

13 Jan 1976 - American inventor Ray Kurzweil and the National Federation of the Blind unveil the Kurzweil Reading Machine, the first omni-font optical character recognition system. - http://www.historyofinformation.com/detail.php?id=1971

Intro

Artist – Goblins from Mars

Song Title – Super Mario - Overworld Theme (GFM Trap Remix)

Song Link - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GNMe6kF0j0&index=4&list=PLHmTsVREU3Ar1AJWkimkl6Pux3R5PB-QJ

Follow us on

Facebook

- Page - https://www.facebook.com/NerdsAmalgamated/

- Group - https://www.facebook.com/groups/440485136816406/

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General Enquiries

Email - Nerds.Amalgamated@gmail.com

[endawn]

dragon age verse masterlist ( nothing too huge but to keep in mind ): general tw for body horror.

dao -

his awakening.

lothering.

gift giving.

under the sloth demon.

use the litany.

morrigan can teach him shapeshifting.

broodmother fight / deep roads.

opinion on ‘sophia’ ( + wants to eat avernus ).

da2 -

possible for him to show up to help make sure the dao crew is okay when they make their cameos. very brief guest star.

dai -

breach opening.

introduction, lies to the herald when he reaches haven.

siding with the mages and getting thrown into the future will reveal his possession. can confront him.

breach closing.

searches for the inky after the attack in haven.

is captured by venatori & experimented on.

sera.

varric.

winter palace halla hunt.

winter palace outfit(s).

court introduction.

full name disclosure.

will lose court approval having ser pax along.

interaction with morrigan

hunger is growing stronger and becoming harder to manage. cole helps subdue it.

airdropped in the fade at adamant ( here, too ).

well of sorrows. doesn’t want a high inky or romanced to drink but won’t stop them.

post dai -

crossroads on his half - elven nature.

deteriorating condition / beginning to merge.

finding a ritual to end possession / exorcise hunger

mercy.

hunger’s obsession.

is able to shapeshift into a dragon thanks to mercy & by invoking akatosh

miscellaneous -

ritualistic sacrifice. - what possession can feel like ( and this ). - let the man cook. - dragonskin + dragons blood. + falcos. ( sort of all goes together ). - divine crusader. - devouring corpse. - hunger. - cyrodiil. - dump post. - undead mounts. - perils of s..ex ( more lighthearted here ). - akatosh. - abomination form. ( what it looks like ) - shapeshifting. - doesn’t remember what he looks like ( no reflection ). - voice. - thin veil.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                                  Vivienne Seo, who is known by no other name;                                                    a 21 year old daughter of Cizin.                                                 She is a tattoo artist at Taste of Ink.

FC NAME/GROUP: Park Sooyoung ( Joy ) / Red Velvet CHARACTER NAME: Vivienne Seo AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 21 / November 13 1996 PLACE OF BIRTH: Los Angeles, California OCCUPATION: Tattoo Artist @ Taste of Ink HEIGHT: 167cm (5’6”) WEIGHT: 43kg (94lbs) DEFINING FEATURES: Being a tattoo artist, Vivi’s body is filled with various tattoos she’s gotten over the span of her life. Feeling as if her body is a canvas for expression, the girl has 12 tattoos placed sporadically on her person.

She has the Scorpius constellation tattooed on the inside of her left arm (x),

A rose along the side of her middle finger on her right hand (x),

She has two moths on the backside of her right and left thighs (x),

"Baby girl” tattooed on the back of her neck (x),

A rose on her right knee (x),

A skull with “fuck luck” written beneath it on her right shoulder (x)

A heart on her left shoulder blade (x)

“Death can wait” on her right thigh (x)

A large red dragon going down her back (x)

Has an exclamation mark on the side of her left middle finger (x)

Has the face of a black cat on the outside of her left arm (x)

PERSONALITY: mbti: enfp-t alignment: chaotic evil

( Troubled.)

      There is something menacing which lingers within the depths of a girls soul.

                              ( Deadly.)

    It is something off-putting━sinister━ in the way Vivienne goes about life with a glint of mischief illuminating her gaze. Something menacing in the way the girl smiles, as she looks to life as if it were all simply just a game.  Deep down, the demigoddess finds herself conflicted within the heart of a sadist as her soul grows dark behind a childish front she puts on for the world to see. Consumed by evil, it is a light-hearted aura which surrounds her. Something that rests precariously on the edge of danger and chance which fools those who dare to allow her into their lives.

     Longing to find a place where she belongs, has given her a quixotic exterior. A lowlife of sorts, she has grown out of the demure, quiet and shy person she used to be. Catalysts. Falling into an abyss of depravity. Changing to be carefree, outgoing and overly defiant. Yet, it’s the way she invites herself into the lives of many strangers and interesting people that seems to be her most bothersome trait. Constantly, her weaving in and out of certain social circles have her winding up in trouble—but, in the fun-loving, and the childish way she portrays herself, that leaves of a mess of chaos to follow in her wake. A havoc that she finds herself most comfortable in. Amused by.

     With Vivienne, never truly being thought to deal with other people or feelings in a mature manner, such neglect to healthy personal relations has left her to become the monster that she is today. This fact leaving her feeling troubled, angry, and insecure. As the question of self-worth and people’s true intentions eat at her, constantly, causing her to push people away, with her facade of brutal truths and cold expressions once they’ve gotten too close. Stepped upon territory she simply doesn’t feel like visiting due to overwhelming trauma that lie beneath the surface of her dirtbag lifestyle. Furthermore, these insecurities often lead her to temperamental behavior and a rebellious attitude. With so many feelings of her own━ and only being taught how to handle her emotions with violence━ Vivi looks to ways to channel her feelings into both destructive and self-destructive tendencies. Having become numb to the feelings of pain after all her years of abuse, the girl has turned to her ability in order to bring her comfort. As she now finds great pleasure in the pain of others, rather than herself.

     Sadistic.

     It has only become just another coping mechanisms into that of her tragic life.

HISTORY:

✰ * º ❛ 𝔤𝔦𝔯𝔩 𝔪𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔰 𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 …

W A R N I N G : this character’s bio contains potentially triggering reference toPHYSICAL ABUSE, VERBAL ABUSE, BULLYING, CHILD NEGLECT, EATING DISORDER MENTION,MURDER, RAPE & TRAUMA.

i. b e g i n .

       Vivienne Seo had not always had ( m a l e v o l e n c e ) etched deep within her bones, nor had she always looked upon the world as if it were challenging her to a brawl. The funny thing is, all sharp things were once soft. All crazy born from a speck of innocence. And, funny thing is, a long time ago Vivienne had once been a child.  

      A girl made of tragedies–a tale of scraped knuckles and bloody lips.

      At the beginning, as in most stories, there was a mama.

     It had been her mother who gave Vivienne durability and stamina the way a reckless child teaches it’s dolls anonymity: by wearing out their features with sweaty palms and misuse. handling a girl with anything but ease.

     Her first memory is not visual but a   f e e l i n g.

     A feeling she remembers vividly — every red-stained night, every bruise.

     She remembers everything.

    Born as a soft girl, full of hope and light; her voice a running stream of gentle pauses and ellipses, thoughtful lapses between tongue and word. Soft eyes, soft hands. She was a delicate thing.

     It’s only the beginning of her corruption.

ii.  b l o o d  ,  s w e a t  , &  t e a r s .

    Pain. Hurt. Anger.

   Everything that comes after is marked by that same awful sensation.

  She feels it all, whether she wants to or not. The abuse is constant and heedless, without reason or catalyst. Blow after blow, she is given no mercy.

   “Cizin,” she hears her mama mutter in her times alone, “he’s watching…”

  Vivienne’s existence seemed to be an impetus for her mother’s rage, and the dark liquors left out on the counters gasoline for the woman’s anger. Fuel that turned her cruel, malignant. The woman cries out about the man she had loved, her daughter’s father. A man that the young girl knows nothing about. In the late hours of the night her mother screams and yells out in horrible curses. Screams about her father.

    Cizin.

   The sting of flesh to flesh contact makes her eyes tear and the female can’t help but take notice of how every strike is coupled with that name. Again and again. She hates it–she hates him–and, she hates that name.

   ( It’s their fault. )

   On the days she had only bruises and was spared new wounds, there was nothing at all for her from the woman left as her caretaker – at times her mother was left as a pile of half-rotted meat and bone passed out on the couch or the floor. Other days she simply was not there at all. Leaving a young Vivienne to fend for herself, for days at a time.

  She wonders what she has done to deserve this.

iii.  s t i g m a .

She’s turning double digits now and her school life is just as cruel as the one she knows at home. Her clothes smell and her hair is greasy. The kids at school don’t understand the struggle she goes through. She’s the butt of her classes jokes and pranks. Isolated from their social circles. Boys pull at her hair and girls corner her in the bathroom, snickering cruel words about her as if she weren’t even there.

 No matter where she goes, a personal hell is awaiting her very presence.

iv. l i e .

However, it is the summer before high school that things take a turn—the girl blossoms into something beautiful. Like the diamond, she had always been meant to be. She is no longer ridiculed and instead, boys begin to take interest with large heart eyes and girls fawn over her, wishing they were her.  Despite maintaining her same personality and the things that made her so different — quirky, unlikable—instiontaniously those things no longer seem to matter. Keeping to herself, withdrawn from all her years of not fitting in, people now flock her way in an attempt at friendship.In an attempt to make amends.

  Naive, she had always sought a place to belong. To build the friendships she had only been lucky enough to witness.Clueless. She accepts everyone which waves her way. Not aware of teenage jealousy, pettiness, and drama which was quick to follow with everyone she lets sliver into her life. It is there, in freshman year that she is swallowed into a group of pink plastic girls who swear by the purity of friendship bracelets. Swear, that they have Vivienne’s best interest at heart. A group of girls that quickly convince the demigoddess that the only way to be beautiful—to be liked by anyone, is to stick her two pretty fingers down her throat to binge and starve in the pursuit of beauty, popularity, love.

 She does as her circle of girlish ghouls tell her, and Vivienne is easily manipulated in their hands.

     It the most toxic of friendships. But it is all the girl has.

     For once in her life, she is popular. Happy.

     Most importantly, The torture she faces at home, for once, can be forgotten during her facade of happiness. The lie she acts out amoung her peers.

  Flying high with goals that reached farther than the sky, she swears finally, she can feel the warmth of the sun kiss her cheeks. She feels the heat of splendor illuminate her skin. It burns, but its worth it. Glowing, she is lovely, slivers of light barley slipping past her fingers. But, like eveything else, there is a price to pay. However, she doesn’t care. She’s hopeful. Hopeful that life can get better. That life can be more than what her mother had convinced her it was limited to.

 It was the blind optimism of youth at its finest. Silly girl, didn’t she know that reality left no happiness untampered? No love untouched?

   It’s only the beginning of her fall.

v.  f i r s t   l o v e .

    Her tragedy begins in the winter break of her junior year; a love story went wrong.

 She is swept away by the sweet words of an upperclassmen;  smitten by the sweet nothings whispered in her ear as he catches her in their high school courtyard. Innocent.Pure. She swoons over the idea of him, the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. With his dark hair and people flocking to him like butterflies to a flower—the boy who saw her in all her plainness, still dared to leave his hoards to stroll towards her.

 Just like that, she was hooked.

Teenage romance, she never expected something so sweet to turn so sour when her short love story came to an end. Her prince charming is quickly turned into something straight out of a nightmare during one of her friend’s Christmas parties. There is not much the girl can recall from a crazy night filled with bright lights, sweat and heavy aromas—the smell of alcohol and stranger’s perfume. But, she remembers the carefree feelings which had been coursing through her own system and the sense of intoxication which tainted her own ability to think. Craving yet just another dance. Sadly, it is all sent to a halt as a familiar face coaxes her into an unfamiliar room. A boy in which she trusts, who tells her she needs to sleep. Her protests are hushed by the hand of her handsome prince. Vivienne almost swears he must be a stranger as he merely gives her a reassuring smile. Honey sweet, it leaves a layer of discomfort along her skin as his hand begins to trail along her body. She can only cry out in confusion and fright, yet it is the beats of loud music which drown out her voice. When she wakes up, she can’t recall what had happened the night before.

Vivienne goes the rest of Christmas break, confused and brushing aside a feeling, or maybe a memory that doesn’t seem to fit. Something she can’t seem to come to terms with. Yet, when school comes back, it is a hell which is waiting for her. Instead of being greeted by a flock of friends, she is isolated from her peers as they whisper behind her back. Vivienne is left clueless, as she comes to find crude remarks scribbled across her desk. But, it only gets worse when the boy she thinks she loves begins to boast about that devastating night.

d

   o

         w

                 n

                         she goes.

vi.  a w a k e .

    empty.

She is simply a broken, less shiny version of her past self, as once again in her life she is left to be the outcast. Without guidance, she is determined to release herself from the shadows of her previous self. She begins to coil downward—too close to the sun she’d gotten, only to be betrayed by a pair of faulty wings and the fire that punished all those who were met with shame.

 But soon enough, Vivienne finds a way to get back at the brutal world she’s grown up in. Her powers begin to blossom within her very being. Evil creeps it’s way into the deepest crevasses of her heart.

 a monster is slowly being born.

Without any remorse, she starts to torment those who have hurt her. Finds a way to torture them in their safest place. Their mind. She makes them suffer similarly to the way they made her. She gets back at them. She gets even. Truth be told, Vivienne goes beyond that as it becomes almost a hobby.

 Hurting others.

  Finally, it isn’t her who’s in pain. It’s not her who is trembling with fear. For once in her life, she’s in control. It is something she takes great joy in.But there is still one person she can’t seem to bet back at. mama.

 Afraid of her mother and the loud voice and heavy hands which was affiliated with the term of “mom”, Vivienne can’t bring herself to defy the woman.

  The pain that was once unbearable, she eventually becomes accustomed to. Numb, she can’t feel it anymore.After finding out about the girl’s abilities, her mother begins to force her daughter to listen to the tales of her not-so-present father’s betrayal.

  A deadbeat she calls him.

 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 she spits in her face.

The girl’s mother’s paranoia consumes her into an abyss of self-destruction, and by the time Vivienne reaches senior year, the abuse has gone far worse than it had ever been before.

 all she wants is to be free…

iv.  m a m a .

 The girl had done everything in her power to avoid harsher punishments than she had already received on a daily basis.

 Yet, this day was different.

 Most people say curiosity killed the cat, but it was just that, which had set little Vivienne free.

  Or rather, an altercation, a terrified scream, and a knife  held within the girl’s hands. Murder. She’s finally gotten back at the person who’s hurt her the most. Watching her mother wither in pain makes something sinister bubble within the pit of her stomach. Something of happiness? No. Something like guilt runs through her veins as her mother’s lifeless body lays before her. The world comes to a stop. Life as she knows it is suddenly destroyed.

  Suddenly she was no longer held captive.

  Now, she was a murderer—a 𝓂𝑜𝓃𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 in her own eyes.

 It’s awful, she knows It is. As the mix-matched emotions come from the very own depths of her own heart to consume her in nothing but a conflicted disaster.

  Freedom coursed through her veins–it was a sensation she refused to let go.

run,

 run,

       run

              ａｗａｙ.

v.  l o s t .

  Her life is a mess after her mother’s death. Place to place, a girl wanders in search of a somewhere she belongs. Chaos followers her with every step she takes. She continues to try and recreate the same feelings she’d been dealt at the time of her mother’s murder. Killing after Killing. Torture after torture. Vivienne seeks the pain of others as she no longer is able to feel such sensation anymore. Sadistic. She deals with her past burdens in her own turbulent ways.

    like her mother… no, worse than her mother.

   Mount Phoniex does not come easily to her and in fact, it takes about three years on her own and a whisper from the grapevine in order for her to actually hear about the safe haven.

     Home sweet home.

      Vivienne has finally found a place to call her own.

      Suddenly she isn’t just an abundance of supernovas, or a nebula waiting to explode.

      No, she is already past that. Something dark, and wicked consumes her in the shadows of a bubbly personality.

     ғ ʀ ᴇ ᴇ    a t    l a s t.

     She is no longer battered by venomous words or heavy fist.

   (careful, memories carve in deep.)

PANTHEON: Mayan CHILD OF: Cizin, God of Death POWERS:          ( 💀 ) ━━━  torment inducement : in this ability, the girl is capable of tricking the mind into believing it is in immense physical pain or suffering from tremendous mental and emotional torture. Causing intense illusions which may appear to be frightening. Or, induce traumatic thoughts ━ memories ━ from one’s past and present in a form of psychological torture. Depending on the level of concentration, this ability is able to range to all degrees of intensity, from mild to unbearable. However, this power has no effect on a person’s body physically, and it is typically used in a form of illusions.

         ( 💀 ) ━━━  earthquake generation : through this power Vivienne is capable of making earthquakes within that of a small scale. Though only having recently found out about this ability, the female doesn’t have control to summon the small quakes at will. And, rather; the ability has almost a mind of its own, coming to the forefront when overcome with intense negative emotions.

         ( 💀 ) ━━━  decaying smell accompaniment : As a child, the smell of decaying flesh seemed to follow the Vivienne everywhere. Doing her best to hide such a horrendous smell with that of flowery soaps and vanilla perfumes. Though, as she grew older, the smell seemed to have gone away. Vanished from her existence, unless when using any of her other abilities. Particularly when using her gift of, torment inducement, the smell of decaying bodies is at it’s strongest. Only making her rath that much more terrifying.

STRENGTHS: creative, light-hearted, friendly,  fun-loving WEAKNESSES: stubborn, impulsive, mischievous, jealous, childish, reckless, sadistic, self-conscious, destructive

[endawn]

ooh. what if i did a coin flip on if you get hunger or mercy