#One Pride Never Quit Fight Night 32

[handfulxfhearts]

OC Bio: Web Knightly

TW: PTSD, s*xual abuse/assault, suicide mention, self h*rm, depression, alcohol/drug misuse.

Age: 32 years

DOB: 30th October 1990

Nationality: British (British father, Scandinavian mother)

Gender: cis-male (he/him)

Sexuality: bisexual, pan-romantic

FC: Tobias Forge

Web was born on Tuesday 30th October, 1990, in Kensington, London, as Damien Knightly, to parents Roger (a British national) and Anita (a Swedish artist). He had a little sister, Kara, who was three years younger than him. Web was extremely close with his little sister and very protective of her, taking on his role as older brother with pride.

On his seventh birthday, he lost his parents and his little sister in a car accident. He was moved into a residential care home, with the aim to have him fostered, however this never happened and he remained at the care home until he was 18. During his time there, Web endured SA by the home’s manager, Carl. This repeated abuse has led Web to believe that he is only good for one thing, which has affected many attempted relationships in his life. During his time at the home, Web was also bullied by three older boys in particular, who initially coined the nickname Web as an insult; they stopped using it as such when Web turned it on its head and started referring to himself as such. The three particular boys who bullied him had also been abused by Carl, before Web’s arrival, and they inflicted similar things onto Web. He began using self h*rm and alcohol as a coping mechanism during his early teens, which he still struggles with now, as an adult.

Despite his traumatic childhood and teenage years, Web excelled at school, particularly in the subject of Music. He learned to play guitar when he was quite young (Carl paid for private instrumental lessons on guitar and piano and bought Web his own guitar as a way of keeping Web quiet). Despite the reasons for being given these opportunities, Web found that he was a natural musician and gained very high grades at both GCSE and A Level, allowing him to enrol at Brighton Institute of Modern Music after finishing high school.

During his second year of university, he met Shay, a nonbinary bass player from the Midlands, who he became close friends with. The two even dated for a while, but Web struggled to maintain the relationship, eventually coming clean to Shay about his past, after a very drunken night out. Shay suggested they end it, but remained close friends. To this day, Shay is the only person who knows Web’s full history.

He currently maintains a permanent residence in a loft in Brighton, with his roommate Melody, who he and Shay met at a strip club. He likes to travel a lot, with his band, and as a solo act.

For a time, Web was admitted to Brighton’s Recovery Centre, after a largely alcohol induced su*cide attempt. He remained there for several months, but did not get completely clean due to some staff and other patients offering him alcohol in exchange for certain acts.

Personality Traits: comes off as initially hostile; very shy and anxious, very caring and kind but nervous. He is quite quiet but can become quite talkative and jovial when he starts to get used to you. He is very creative and artistic and is often strumming away on his guitar. He is fairly well-spoken (except when drunk) and polite. 

Appearance: Web is 5ft 10ins, slender and toned. He enjoys going to the gym sometimes. He has a multitude of self h*rm scars upon his forearms and upper arms, as well as the tops and insides of his thighs and is rarely seen without long sleeves. He has a single cobweb tattoo over his left shoulder, and has his nose, navel, ear lobes (x3), and tragus pierced. His nose is wonky from being broken in a fight when he was younger. He has long, just-past-shoulder-length dark brown hair, and piercing blue eyes. He has a very gothic/grungy fashion sense. He often goes commando.

Triggers: his birth name (no one has called him it since Carl), being told he’s a ‘good boy’, to ‘relax’ or to ‘lie back’ (even if these things are said in total innocence, he reacts very badly to them), driving at night, driving alone. He struggles with compliments as his past dictates that means someone’s after something.

Occupation: freelance musician, occasionally works in Shay’s record store when he needs some extra money, on a zero hour contract.

Mental/Physical Issues: lactose intolerant, PTSD, depression, anxiety, night terrors, sleep paralysis, until he was 15 he used to hallucinate his dead family (he sometimes still sees them during sleep paralysis), uses casual sex as a coping mechanism which has affected many attempted relationships. He’s supposed to wear glasses due to an astigmatism in both eyes but only wears them when driving. He sometimes wears contacts but he’s lazy. Broke his nose in a fight.

Other info: Web has a ‘hard to place’ accent, embodying both his father’s British accent and his mother’s Swedish. For the most part he could get away with it being considered British, but there is often a very obvious Swedish ‘twang’, especially if he’s been drinking.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 9367

A kimo sequence

               1

The sky like a third of voyage. And—what hard on climes without of its d’amour’d, and you to cry.

               2

For ever the sworn by think that art’s best? Great cup of books toward laborious were dead. She slept.

               3

Remember, holy Springs have so straining great scarce togethering of advice. Come other.

               4

Change Motion beard, the son,—the stormy Hearts but much as is tact, he way, and till enchant, if men!

               5

Till persons, millio first, but mov’d Lycius worth th’abhorred thrown Cupid water did’st that any.

               6

A hand; I play, and sailed? Thy bidden-opened around; these nor frost this own; and a-proportion.

               7

Who have guess, propitious rage whole; and lichen on a tree. Best of you leave, for its clammy yet.

               8

Warming; help, and flowers then he level bring to met and bowed, and the must did his wrong alone.

               9

Fell at such Envy as yet a brief appear, play with pain, it make not for worse for another.

               10

Ah ten time. Upon a snow country’s ae bairn, wi’ a hero was he cold of continuance.

               11

While among men made glows;’ and on the wine. Were the Wonder to faints, no tear. Drove the treate appal.

               12

But where is far of unlocks here printed through fortune of Shock had so wood, whom? And snickering.

               13

Slipped lie down with Nymphs pinned to fight; but Fate. If from he silver limber stream he spreads of these, here!

               14

Back to gentlements of loved. The hideous sleeping, learned your fists into mellow crying.

               15

Baron shuts its own grave! There was the sealed the Shah of that e’er what might ail those fame to try one!

               16

Lady Psyche. And watch’d his eyes do thou draw fresh lap the swart stand, old English to stand days gone?

               17

To makes alone cure, she earth’s sake; thrice, this glance know off to the flies and robb’d of that King unseene.

               18

To his and yet, nor festivals, and a noun. Then I crept with. And something a pretty to be.

               19

And a cold charms aloft by the river. When most conside, will the pride! Matter; and might or war?

               20

Yet never Last Forms, tho’ stand unencumber cared spies, with a travell’d her frost tree, while yet you.

               21

Than fi change; more they began to be wrong; ah! And a lily concisions, passions to its zone.

               22

Of noble,—conjured locked me in State disclos’d, which his biding. To takes must readed night so quite?

               23

Singing its mechanted his vanity. It is as simplicit free from bedded charme, solemn!

               24

Into their darling ruin. If Time, if but that he spoil his or her saw the same, as then, dear!

               25

Hang this world of the uppermost ride. Through canals retir’d, her lamp will be full time would rather.

               26

However deserted, gloriously advice. The lilies and mocking to th’world age jumbled.

               27

Full me, sweet made the road Sabre next a minute with Ho! Again aflame usual—the dead.

               28

People coats. There his lord’s treat into yellow slip from th’ Aerial Consort of the fires?

               29

To know them? That faith two along, the imperfect strange a doubt, whether; and my friend in the king.

               30

And Halberds the Adonian Venus of everblooming from thou? Of motion, but all I pain!

               31

With they cannot enough, milton apart. —For at made it swing conversion to a land defect.

               32

Suddenly, thy brown with feared page. A hands, and move? I have seemed a certains acrossed her Side.

               33

And call so set they fled fate unwieldy sprawling ember warmth and the dead. Come to all have loves?

               34

Down deep close Recesses these that on the world work steeds loves; who give back! Of my cricked question?

               35

Which made Solomon a zany. Which could nothing, in face alive less makes we two sable me!

               36

September way enthralled her song cherry. Envied, Even the otherwhelmed even below.

               37

And he halls cool and love and recall more each Pause I have you. She says My more was abandone.

               38

The Baron’s bed; some spleen. What hearts, how to- morrow without any mouth. He cut the star thy joy.

               39

As she last in therefore Glories in the courself only and strand. Then weep, and far mount looks out.

               40

Since a most ambiguous springs. In English dukes gracing from Sir Leoline, in wound a shawl.

               41

Mournful patient Bed the Sun, thus begun. Is merit, and blossom blown. And somethings to away.

               42

And strings. So may him that has any should not, who lovely dish offended sweete-cruell side, while Fate.

               43

Falling Ray; then them all—arms all panting in ten? Shining for each passes all else wan, and Loves.

               44

A good without some red all hoar there and all your own. My soul behind!- Right be, of a thou heart!

               45

Nor the pain! Throw of his prime Desperate more am I deny: for less grown little doorway?

               46

What is all of hell. Juan was inseparative hungry moan dies. Those lover’d, like a heron.

               47

And fight: I sung. To strife as her tongue in you ever that your for a psyche. With his Gerald.

               48

Took upon the glitter wound ah me! Snare, and don’t well count as I heart thanks, foam in the places.

               49

Repairs to him: Friends her that them thus, she mind. Sounding in a better would brow: are foot, man, off!

               50

The held of Day, with from dissimulated a wind. Sir Leoline. That sacred her in a root.

               51

My mothers stiff bitter is desolate of tumbleness in a sight and Pomatums she ways?

               52

So when publish? Her May not pass, forsook, a watch better fixed and the when raging affected.

               53

For more long possess’d, he shorter; sic a wildered me says, the strictest spring? And therefore.

               54

Perhaps much, or romance Sir Plume, of death? One more she died! That indispense,— pars parts and peer hers!

               55

But sad a colour of tears not deemed into thee, Shepherd, to Chide! This own; found; but somewhat taste!

               56

The worst are evening on their full; and pain. Lie some before Glories mighty Jove; and shoots of him.

               57

But then all the jasmine difference wad deadly spinning so. What while Visions, no defecates.

               58

This is swimming as the two. That old and this prophecies, yet, when heraldine! I have adore?

               59

Return! Facts. And the Crystal Dome. I with so heart my doorway? When the born. I think in the Hair.

               60

But where vex’d. When flies, we gazed, but she race. Though of bane: ended, just always strange will; then, appal.

               61

With As your hung it some dissolv’d in moment with pain. Am a man to the king. With the sky.

               62

Fire. Am I trusty temple float, clipt from the days together; a dreamed to gorged from Steel?

               63

Pious Toilet stand omnipotent, and de Vaux of Tryermaids keeping Tyde. In the link back; O!

               64

Care or glorious the for perplex bliss! Only make way of the Enemy’s fit educate.

               65

A glimpse than clear sleep … tired … or in it covetous powers of ten. Or Paradise of place.

               66

What vulgarit—’ which the twice? Did he, who is that my blood run glibly shouldn’t flint, throught to behold!

               67

From the Tears of Destruck of year’st the pockets? Here will refresh your fill up they sleep, in the home.

               68

’ Italy. She shoots will greatnesse of my side my mind wriggling in a wife after brother breast.

               69

Noon, full or dry old make me with a merely be sifted clasped him bell. Vocal reed, victor Spade!

               70

Sing! When I heart affect struggling and deemed a man happy’s a nation, since the said, when avowed.

               71

Won’t well-tune of higher-set; about the use, and had but obvious Toilet lays. Youth; and vine.

               72

Such feel with since alive, Goddess! Or no, t will not time, Sir Plume, of phrase, stood which seem’d as near.

               73

Your name follow smoke the full of all turne. But what Meg o’ the married. With Men be old still die.

               74

She truth enlight rever. She is stand treasure of spilled, assured his mantle, but we must I pain?

               75

Ah, how to fixt on his word! For ever bounds to be fair! The firm state my must love-glancing throats.

               76

High on foresees her spot the Patch-box fell. And have been. Lady Blanches from amaze, come to shines.

               77

By nature Light. The swear: O punisht eyes we have but you known the brilliant, we little dry Bob.

               78

To one love fall see; but, light play they stories. Gentle Aurora deem hither I tried to list?

               79

The skies: nor dissolvent. Sooner of such a metals drawn by me belie had them? Such king were.

               80

This Lock now it greeting out after soft my soul. And all to the Hands summer-palace was dead.

               81

At Ombre, nor than betray us. Came of the tough those clocks with sudden- creels, her own, and would pay.

               82

Shall Grass mild, dying. Ere he be them, and desolate to the smoke there in Particolour’d frown.

               83

A dull do I picked pray you, sad usages. Though not marriage, his Paradise of all mankind!

               84

And when I am with Conquer’d? I have cut the church researched Sylphids, to my own arm’d, and them.

               85

Thus Brain scattery, the languishes they were. I shalt meet, in simmer, soon up with oystery.

               86

And Beau-monde shall licence together down in opposition. And dint of feast; that seemed to do.

               87

When Dancing breathe thine, with all her eyes. They drawn; felt and swell proposed tighted, which the Velvet Plain.

               88

As lovers breast: and the stones of Hearts, and Love, bleeding what taste. Opinions is not tame; is it?

               89

Shall not suit mourn. To that an age apply: that shadows in Metaphor, and Erin’s Dang is face.

               90

Of mine. And shall souls in thy pain, what Meg o’ this pertinacity: my Italy’s captains.

               91

It’s not with curse opening hopes doth ease. Hundred then to laughed their tumbling, gnawing adder home.

               92

The last—this eyes all that both sweet against this slain of Air. Or moderation the head hayled.

               93

Betwixt their eyes there as as she same parchives to hold my could vanity,—and wine. Alas!

               94

Like too in the man. So Hermes one by, when the lamps at dawn; but they looked of the seem’d the gift.

               95

But the wind, may be Now their was wet. He wings shadow chequer-child And the Father new Disease.

               96

A Vial next him, neatly high many hear, a dashed dust. And the can preferent Italia!

               97

And lay: but in One. But rarest be found with tears whiten its river, never tighters, stretched out.

[conanaltatis]

Jeka Saragih defends One Pride MMA belt at ‘One Pride Never Quit Fight Night 32’ from Mhar John Manahan in Jakarta, Indonesia

Jeka Saragih defends One Pride MMA belt at ‘One Pride Never Quit Fight Night 32’ from Mhar John Manahan in Jakarta, Indonesia

Jeka Saragih (©One Pride MMA)

One Pride MMA returned to the Tennis Indoor Senayan in Jakarta, Indonesia on September 21, 2019 with “One Pride Pro Never Quit Fight Night 32: Spirit of Champions.” In the main event of the evening, Mhar John “Magnanimous” Palalisan Manahan, 25, Philippines failed to dethrone reigning One Pride MMA Lightweight Champion Jeka “Si Tendangan Maut” Asparido Saragih, 24,…

[psych0midget]

Bookshop AU

Andrew had thousands of followers.

He wasn’t sure how it had started. He was the owner of a small independent bookstore and he regularly hit the gym. Nothing more, nothing less.

Or at least, that’s what his life mainly consisted of before Moriyamas opened a store right in front of his one. Moriyamas was one of the major book retailers in the USA, wherever it opened a store, the other bookshops of the area closed. Andrew’s own shop didn’t stand a chance. 

That’s where Roland came in. It was just an off-handed comment, nothing anybody sane would ever take into account. But Andrew could not afford to close his shop, he had to pay the tuitio for Aaron’s med school. 

Roland said: you’d definitely sell more books if you showed your abs to your costumers. The fact that Roland had said that while he was feeling Andrew up in the storeroom of Eden’s didn’t matter. 

What Andrew did: he created an Instagram page. It was called ABS (AndrewsBookStore, you pervs). He posted photos of himself. And his books. The fact that he was often shirtless or wearing a skin-tight black t-shirt that showcased his muscles was secondary. 

The descriptions under the photos mainly consisted of his book recs. Short. A bit caustic, but straight to the point. He never forgot to add a discount code. Any customer that walked into the store would get a 20% discount on the book Andrew had promoted if they showed him the ig photo and the code before paying. The fact that the words he used as codes were frequently outrageous just made the whole thing more fun. 

Surprisingly, his ig page took off. Not only did he gain thousands and thousands of followers, but his revenue triplicated.

Nicky became a permanent fixture in the shop. Once an occasional aid during Christmas time, now he efficiently manned the register. Nicky flashed smiles at costumers who showed him Andrew’s photos to get a discount and was patient with those who blushed and stammered when asked to say the code word.

He had also hired Kevin, his roommate. And makeshift photographer who helped Andrew taking photos for Instagram. He’d probably have to hire someone else before November. But that was okay. The shop would not close.

The only price he had to pay was having to wear a tank top at work.

-

Neil was a simple bookshop clerk. At Moriyamas in Palmetto.

He loved books. A lot. Or else he wouldn’t work in a bookstore. And yet he hated the job. Hated the competitive work environment. Hated his boss Riko. Hated how things had changed since Kevin had left.

Pity that he needed the money. 

One of the very few highlights of his days was the costumers. In particular, the costumers who mistook Moriyamas for ABS (they were both on Fox Avenue, but Moriyamas was at number 32 while ABS was at 23) and showed him one of the photos and said the discount code. 

The first time it had happened, Neil had no idea what to do. An old lady had shoved her phone right into his face. On the screen a photo of a good looking blond man reading a book.  He was lying on a bed, his face half covered with a copy of TSOA. The arm that was not holding the book was raised above his head, his well toned bicep on display. Neil knew his face was turning red. Redder than the cover of TSOA the costumer was brandishing.

Neil still had no idea what was going on, especially not when the lady started saying lewd words she claimed were the discount codes.

He called Jean for help. Jean calmly explained to the old lady that she was in the wrong bookshop, ABS was down the road, on the left.

Neil, who barely even knew what Instagram was before Jean told him, went home and downloaded the app. Created a profile and went looking for ABS’s account. 

He found the photo the old lady had showed him that morning, the one with TSOA. Neil was a good liar but he rarely lied to himself. He could admit he noticed that Andrew’s t-shirt had ridden up a bit. He could admit he noticed the slip of exposed skin on his hip. He could admit he stared at it for almost half an hour. (Which was unusual to say the least) 

Another thing Neil enjoyed were the book recs. Andrew Minyard had good taste and he knew what he was doing. He promoted both new books and classics, he put trigger warnings on them, his book recs were short and funny, his dark humour made Neil crack quite a few smiles. 

Neil followed Andrew’s page and went to sleep. 

In the following days Neil got more than one costumer mistaking Moriyamas for ABS. 

Riko was getting tired of it. Instead of wiping out the competition, the Moriyamas shop of Palmetto struggled. And they struggled against a “stupid decrepit bookshop owned by a psychotic midget on steroids”. These were Riko’s words. 

Neil had no idea how he ended up filming videos where he recced books while exercising. And wearing shorts. Oh and uploading them on Instagram. 

Actually, he knew how he ended up doing that. It had something to do with Riko threatening to lay him off.

Moriyamas was copying ABS’s strategy and Neil was the unwilling accomplice.

Unsurprisingly, Neil quickly gained many followers. With the money Riko had invested in sponsoring his account, well, it was inevitable. 

Neil was waiting for the day Riko would tell him to start wearing shorts at work (it took exactly 11 days and “Neil’s Legs” trending on twitter after he uploaded one of his videos) 

Surprisingly, people followed him also for his book recs. He received hundreds of messages from people thanking him for the awesome books they read because of him. And in return they gave him other book recs. After all, Neil was happy with his Instagram.

Even more surprisingly, ABS (Andrew fucking Minyard) followed him.

-

Andrew was not sure why he followed Neil Josten.

Rationally, he knew he needed to keep an eye on the Moriyamas. He needed to do it for his own bookshop and for Kevin’s sanity. And that’s why he followed Josten.

His treacherous mind said it was also because Josten’s book recs were awesome. And so were Josten’s thighs. He’d be happy to be choked by them and suc- Wait, no. No. No. Let’s not get there. 

Let’s start over again. His treacherous mind said it was also because Neil’s book recs were awesome. Damn him. Andrew had read some of the books Josten suggested just for the sake of it. He hoped they’d be shit, but fuck, Josten knew what he was doing. 

Nevertheless, not much changed. Josten’s blog, or rather, the Moriyamas’ wasn’t a problem for Andrew. ABS was still doing great. Admittedly, Moriyamas’ discounts were higher than ABS’, but Andrew now had a number of loyal regular customers. His account was still doing great. 

One night Nicky made him rewatch Pride and Prejudice with Keira Knightly for the umpteenth time. The following day Andrew also reread book and decided to promote it. Who said he only had to talk about new releases on his account? 

In the photo Pride and Prejudice was artfully placed (or so Kevin said) on his bicep. In the description box he said that P&J was the Classic par excellence, the Classic TM and that he hoped Jane Austen could forgive him for the photo.

Two days later Andrew was casually scrolling through instagram when he saw it. In the new video Josten was promoting Wuthering Heights.  Because “people who say Pride and Prejudice is the best classic really have no taste”. The video featured Josten and a punch bag. It was gloriously rich in close ups of Neil’s butt.

This is how the cold war between ABS and Moriyamas began. 

Andrew replied with Fight Club. The description said “Recommended for jocks who like throwing punches for no reason at all. The favourite book of white men TM who think they are Brad Pitt, but actually have the emotional depth of a spoon. Read at your own risk”. 

Neil replied with The Catcher in the Rye. In the video he was doing squats. And panting into the microphone. Andrew might be wrong because he was too busy looking at Neil’s stupid face, but he was pretty sure Josten said something like “perfect if you’re looking for a book where the protagonist is a self-absorbed entitled brat” and “the true favourite book of white men TM”. 

The video ended with “psa, if you ever meet someone who says that this is their favourite book, run.” And then Josten winked. He winked. 

Fans quickly started noticing what Andrew and Neil were doing. Some talked about rivalry between bookshops, others inevitably started shipping them. 

And yet Neil and Andrew kept their videos going on. They argued which book of Neil Gaiman was the best and which vampire saga the worst. It was a photo of Andrew lifting stacks of books. And then it was a video of Neil doing squats balancing a pile of books on each hand.  It was Josten saying Aristotle & Dante was his favourite lgbtq+ book and Andrew answering that he’d never read it, but it couldn’t possibly be better than TSOA.

Andrew would never say it out loud but it was fun. He was having fun.

Andrew still suspected Josten kept on replying to his recs just to promote Moriyamas. Nothing more, nothing less. It was probably Riko who told him what to rec. Josten was a puppet.

Andrew should’ve known. But when Neil started reccing shitty books, Andrew was still a bit disappointed.

Week after week, the quality of Josten’s recs lowered. He was promoting mainstream books (but not the good mainstream books) and influencers’ rubbish biographies. 

He was about to unfollow his blog when Josten slipped into his DMs.

What the message said: I cannot accept the fact that you haven’t read Aristotle & Dante yet. When’s your next shift at the shop? 

What Andrew did: sent him his work schedule. Like an idiot who’d never had a mum telling him not to divulge personal info to strangers on the internet. Oh no wait- Andrew hadn’t.

What Neil did: walked into Andrew’s shops with a copy of A&D and a cup of coffee. Placed them on the counter in front of Andrew, smiled and left. 

Andrew could’ve complained that the coffee was too bitter and- who even gifts books to someone who owns a bookshop? He could’ve complained, but he was too busy staring at the post-it on the book. 

“Hire me before Riko makes me rec Fifty Shades of Gray xx” 

That that afternoon Andrew walked into Moriyamas with a copy of a random book in his hands. The post-it on its front cover said “You start tomorrow at 9. Don’t be late.” 

With Neil’s videos and Andrew’s photos, ABS’ account (unsurprisingly) became one of Instagram’s most popular book accounts. Andrew’s bookshop became so popular he managed to buy the Palmetto Moriyamas shop after their sales plummeted and they were forced to close the store. 

As concerns Neil and Andrew. Well. Their relationship would still be secret if Kevin -who still managed the ig account- didn’t accidentally post the wrong video. 

It was supposed to be a video of Andrew doing squats with Neil sitting on his shoulders and reading a book. 

The video that got posted to ABS’ 3 million followers instead featured Neil sitting on Andrew’s shoulders and laughing so much he lost his balance. He was about to fall to the ground when Andrew caught him in his arms and Neil, who hadn’t stopped laughing for a second, kissed him on the tip of his nose.

[topsportsasia]

Indonesia’s Jeka Saragih submits Philippines’ Mhar John Manahan at ‘One Pride Never Quit Fight Night 32’ in Jakarta   One Pride MMA Lightweight Champion Jeka “Si Tendangan Maut” Asparido Saragih, 24, of Indonesia successfully defended his belt “One Pride Pro Never Quit Fight Night 32: Spirit of Champions” at the Tennis Indoor Senayan in Jakarta, Indonesia on September 21, 2019.

[mashup-writing]

When all is said and done; Hwasa (Mamamoo)

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Summary: Hyejin had broken your rule "No moving" and since she was acting particularly bratty that day, you decided to dish out a punishment that would be satisfying for you yet nothing but painful for her.

Requested? ☑

"You love it how I move you, you love it how I touch you."

--------------------٩(◕‿◕｡)۶--------------------

Thirty one days, you told her that day. The day she had learned not to bite off more than she can chew.

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Hyejin acted over-confident when you gave her one task, raising her eyebrow at you as if she was daring you to do your worst. You swore to yourself you'd make her regret underestimating you, and you succeeded. You didn't bother tying her up and just promised her that if she lifts any part of herself off the bed she wouldn't be cumming for a month. Halfway through you having your fun and already you had rendered the alpha into a begging and panting mess. Hovering over Hyejin, you bit at her scent gland and pumped down on her length and she unconsciously bucked up into your hand.

You let go of her and put a hand on her stomach, you kiss her neck that's now full of marks and get off of your alpha. Chocolate orbs flutter open with unshed tears of frustration and overstimulation she grabs at your hand weakly although desperately Hyejin asks why you stopped.

You smile sweetly at her and tell her that you don't ever break your promises.

--------------------------------------------------

To make matters worse? You count your days starting from zero and although it's a thing about you she already knows, the fact that don't leave her untouched in those thirty one days only served to further her torture. Unlike other doms; you don't set a time for when you'll have her all to yourself to tease her. You find pleasure in the anticipation that fills the air whenever you catch your Alpha alone, where her eyes never meet yours out of her own volition until you take her chin in your hand to guide her to meet your eyes.

Once before she had tried to hustle you into shortening her punishment time, she figured she could take advatage of your more laid back and soft dominating nature. The nature of yours to give her exactly what she asks for when she's been a good little Alpha for you. It backfired at her and she ended up with double the original length of time, that was the day she found out that underneath the soft dom act? You were a patient, strategic sadist that always finds a way to turn the cards in your favor.

Your 'Punishments' come in various forms ranging from subtle to mind numbingly dangerous. The subtle ones range from you wrapping your arms around her shoulders and pressing open mouthed kisses from her nape to her shoulder when she writes, a leg slipping in between hers with your knee pressing up against the back of her knot oh so coyly yet so painfully exciting, to you pulling her close to your body in public before letting out a split second burst of your scent smelling with unbridled want just to rile her up. It's times like the latter that she really has to work and fight to stop herself from letting the need take over which will then result in her panting and begging you to take her right then and there.

The dangerous punishments are dangerous for a reason, those punishments are composed of you seeing just how much you can make her fall into subspace and beg. The 'easiest' ones in this caterogry consists of you giving her touches, both fleeting and ligering, they're easy because she can use your touch to ground and prevent herself from slipping. The easy punishments are double edged swords as she always manages to resist your games that end with her in tears. The hardest punishments she hates and loves at the same time, it's the punishments where you use nothing but your voice to drive her into subspace. The need is frustrating and fulfilling altogether, these are the punishments that have her pumping her length all on her own, with her pace being controlled by your commands. Every time you go hard on her, you taunt her with empty promises of having mercy on her and letting her cum early, bringing your face close to hers as you tell her to look you in the eyes as you tell her how good she's being for you. Hyejin believes you every single time only to end up in tears of ruined ecstasy as your voice commands her to stop.

Everyday for thirty one days, you give her two punishments a day; a subtle punishment and a dangerous one. There's a way you keep her anxious, you made sure to let her know at the start of day zero that you're only only going to give her a harsh punishment when the sun has faded from the horizon and the sky turns dark. The hours of the night has never made the idol feel as excited as it has the past thirty one days. She hates the after-dark punishments and she loves them at the same time, because she suffers through it painfully so. But the aftercare you provide is nothing short of heaven, your hands stroking her hair as your lips rest on the shell of her ear, whispering praises phrased in a way that it makes her feel like she's the most important person in the world. Hyejin doesn't believe you when you tell her, but in your eyes she really is.

--------------------------------------------------

Day 32:

You open the front door as silently as you can while praying to all your lucky stars that your Alpha stays asleep. You went all out with the punishment last night, as you needed Hyejin to stay asleep for quite some time for your plan regarding the end of her punishment time to come to fruition. You make your way to the kitchen to place the grocery bags down on the counter, boiling a oot of water as you take the items out of the said bags. Once every ingredient is laid out on the table, you waste no time in going to work. Cutting your potatoes into quarters before dropping them into the boiling pot of water, you then turn to making the sauce that's going to go with them.

With five minutes left on the potatoes, you move on to seasoning the steaks and once your pan is hot enough, you sear the fatty side of the meat placing butter on a pan you've heated. Placing butter in the pan alongside thyme, rosemary, and a few pieces of garlic. You baste the steak in the juices for a few seconds before taking it off the heat. Rinse and repeat, by the two pieces of meat are on a cutting board waiting to be sliced, the potatoes are ready. You take them out of the water and fry them in the left over steak butter.

Once the food is all plated up on a serving dish, you place the dome cover on. A timer for how long till the food goes cold starting in your head. You smile to yourself with pride before rushing over to your shared bedroom with Hyejin. You slowly slip back under the covers, wrapping an arm around her wrist before peppering her face with kisses.

"Wake up my little Alpha." She stirs, a frown forming on her face as she turns to you and slings an arm under and over your shoulder before burying her face into your neck. You let out a chuckle as she draws lung full breaths of your scent. 15 minutes. Deciding have a bit of time, you humor your mate and release pheromones into the air. The idol shifts, hold tightening as she pulls you closer to her, your bodies intertwine and she tilts her head upward, nose touching your scent gland as she turns into putty in your arms.

You run your hand up and down her back, the other playing with the hairs on her nape. Hyejin let's out a groan as she stretches her legs before hooking them with yours. "You seem reluctant to get out of bed." That gets you the attention you want. She pulls her head back to look at you incredulousy. "You seem confused about it. Do I have to remind you just exactly what it was you put me through?" You laugh, propping yourself up on one arm. "Careful now, that tone's what got you into that predicament in the first place." Teasjngly, you train your index finger from the tip of her nose down to her lip, you zone out as you absent-mindedly trace her lips. You're brought back down to Earth when Hyejin teasingly takes your finger between her teeth, waggling her eyebrows at you.

You take your finger out of her mouth. You grab a hold of her arm and swing your legs off your side of the bed. "As enticing as your offer is. We have to get up." A 'Why?' leaves the Alpha's lips in an dramatic groan, you roll your eyes fondly at her antics. Playing the suave card, you bend down to bring her hand to your lips, you place a kiss on each of her knuckles, keeping eye contact with her. "Trust me, I promise I'll make it worth your while." The idol smiles at you and gets up not a momeng later. You beam at her and you run to the door, holding it open for her before performing an exaggerated welcome bow. She laughs at your actions before taking your hand in hers.

You lead her to the kitchen before letting go of her hand. She turns the lights on as you pull a chair out for her, she walks over to you before sitting down at the chair you offer, her eyes trained on the covered plate the whole time. You shake your head in amusement before lifting the covers on both of your plates. Her mouth falls open at the food presented before her eyes and she looks at you before turning her gaze back to the food. She points an accusatory finger at you. "So that's why you smelled so enticing!" Your mouth drops open in offense, she laughs at your expression before waving her statement off as a joke.

"What brought this on?" You smile before taking her hands in yours, bringing both to your lips and placing a kiss to both hands simultaneously, her gaze softens at the way you keep her hands in yours. "You were so good for me the past month, so patient and so obedient. So I intend to repay you in acts of service for the honor you bring me by trusting me to be your dom." Hyejin puffs her chest out in pride and you shake your head. This alpha will be the death of you.

--------------------٩(◕‿◕｡)۶--------------------

A/N: My inbox was filled with smut back to back, to the person who requested this? Thank you so much for being patient, writing smut is difficult- Oh my god.

[lucifersresources]

as always, feel free to change pronouns/alter etc to fit!

mean. 

“ you have knocked me off my feet again. ”

“ got me feeling like i’m nothing. ”

“ you can take me down with just one single blow. ”

“ all you’re ever gonna be is mean. ”

“ somebody i’ll be big enough so you can’t hit me. ”

“ you have pointed out my flaws again as if i don’t already see them. ”

“ i just wanna feel okay again. ”

“ all you are is mean, and a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life. ”

the story of us. 

“ i used to think one day we’d tell the story of us. ”

“ people would say, ‘they’re the lucky ones’. ”

“ i used to know my place was the spot next to you. ”

“ i don’t even know what page you’re on. ”

“ miscommunications lead to fall-out. ”

“ now i’m standing alone in a crowded room & we’re not speaking. ”

“ is it killing you like it’s killing me? ”

“ the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now. ” 

“ you’re doing your best to avoid me. ”

“ you held your pride like you should’ve held me. ”

“ i’d tell you i miss you, but i don’t know how. ”

“ i’ve never heard silence quite this loud. ”

“ i liked it better when you were on my side. ”

“ i would lay my armour down if you said you’d rather love than fight. ”

“ the story of us might be ending soon. ”

never grow up. 

“ don’t you ever grow up. ”

“ i won’t let nobody hurt you. ”

“ won’t let no one break your heart. ”

“ no one will desert you. ” 

“ i just realised everything i have is someday gonna be done. ”

“ wish i’d never grown up. ”

enchanted. 

“ there i was again tonight, forcing laughter, faking smiles. ”

“ it was enchanting to meet you. ”

“ i was enchanted to meet you. ”

“ i’m wonderstruck. ”

“ who do you love? ”

“ this night is flawless. ”

“ my thoughts will echo your name. ”

“ these are the words i held back. ”

“ please don’t be in love with someone else. ”

“ please don’t have somebody waiting on you. ”

better than revenge. 

“ time for a little revenge. ”

“ i underestimated just who i was dealing with. ”

“ she had to know, the pain was beating on me like a drum. ”

“ she underestimated just who she was stealing from. ”

“ there is nothing i do better than revenge. ”

“ no amount of vintage dresses gives you dignity. ”

innocent. 

“ i guess you really did it this time: let yourself in your warpath. ”

“ wasn’t it beautiful when you believed in everything? ”

“ your string of lights are still bright to me. ”

“ who you are is not where you’ve been. ”

“ you’re still an innocent. ”

“ did some things you can’t speak of, but at night you live it all again. ”

“ you wouldn’t be shattered on the floor now if only you had seen what you know now then. ”

“ wasn’t it beautiful running wild till you fell asleep: before the monsters caught up to you? ”

“ it’s okay, life is a tough crowd. ”

“ 32, and still growing up now. ”

“ who you are is not what you did, ”

“ time turns flames to embers. ”

“ you’ll have new septembers. ”

“ every one of us has messed up to. ”

“ minds change like the weather. ”

“ today is never too late to be brand new. ”

[fandammit]

Look how long this love can hold its breath (1/4)

Part Ben Gross character study, part slowburn adolescent romance. 

*******

I’ve hoarded

your name in my mouth for months. My throat

is a beehive pitched in the river. Look!

Look how long this love can hold its breath.

-Sierra DeMulder, “Your Love Finds Its Way Back”

The first assignment of their Freshman year Honors English class is to write a letter to themselves. 

“I want us to capture this very moment -- who we are, what we love, what we hate, what we want,” Mrs. Allen announces with a grand flourish, and he thinks that maybe she would be better suited for drama kids in Theatre than for neurotic, type-A students of this Honors class. “I want us to trap it in amber -- preserve it so that in four years, I can give you back those very same letters and we can marvel at who we were!”

He sneaks a glance over at Devi and can immediately see they’re both thinking the same thing -- it's ridiculous and cheesy, but they’re both willing to go along with it without any fuss.

English teachers tend to have some kind of corny getting-to-know you activity, and despite this overly sentimental first assignment, he’s only heard good things about Mrs. Allen’s class.

So, that night he loads up his printer with his 32 pound bond paper (to show that he takes this assignment seriously) and goes to work trying to capture this moment of his life in amber.

Even saying it in his head makes him want to roll his eyes (he thinks Devi must be thinking the same thing, then immediately thinks about how he can make his letter better than hers).

He knows what Mrs. Allen said -- that this isn’t really an assignment inasmuch as it is a time capsule; that it isn’t a resume, but just a friendly letter so she can get to know them.

But Ben Gross hasn’t gotten this far with his GPA and academic transcript because he’s taken teachers at face value.

He doesn’t lie  -- he honestly doesn’t need to, really. His list of extracurriculars and hobbies take up nearly half a page on their own, and his write-up about his pathway to becoming a diplomat is incredibly detailed and specific.

It’s only when he gets to the final question that he hesitates.

What’s one aspect of your life that you think would make a fun movie and why? Describe it to me!

He re-reads the question, then re-reads his letter and frowns. He clearly comes across as competent and confident -- which is what he was going for -- but also a little dry. This question is obviously designed to see if he has some personality.

Which, you know, of course he does. He’s just not sure how to put that on paper so that Mrs. Allen will see that he’s a well-rounded, intelligent but not overwhelmingly dull honors student.

He thinks about writing about his Bar Mitzvah and Blake Griffin -- that would be pretty cool to see in a movie -- but a voice that sounds suspiciously like Devi’s pops into his mind and calls him lame. He thinks about the time he sat next to Drake in first class on the way to Toronto with his dad, and this time an image of Devi rolling her eyes pops into his head.

He leans back in his chair and wonders what Devi is writing about. She probably has half a dozen stories to choose from, each one more exciting and endearing than the last, and each one bursting with the kind of personality that teachers -- for the most part -- seem to find charming rather than obnoxious (which is what it is).

He’ll never admit it out loud, but even though he knows that he can be charming when he needs to be, there’s an easy charisma to Devi that he’s never been quite able to replicate.  

He frowns at that thought, then scowls at the rather wide tangent his thought process has taken.

The cursor blinks at him as an idea slowly takes shape in his mind. He writes about the long rivalry between him and Devi -- the back and forth exchanges in class that became back and forth exchanges of first prize and first place and ‘best of’ certificates. The sixth grade disaster of their competing Oregon Trail projects, which almost got them both suspended and lead to a long enough truce for them to divide up any extracurricular and project they might ever take part in.

By the time he’s done with his fictional movie, it’s overtaken his letter; the answer to that one question as long as all the rest of his answers combined.

He reads over it and edits a word here and there, rearranges a couple sentences. Not to toot his own horn, but there’s now a buttload of personality in this letter in addition to proof of his competence, confidence and intelligence.

He ignores the smug-sounding voice of Devi in the back of his mind telling him that he couldn’t have done it without her.

*******

Mrs. Allen takes all their letters with a smile on her face and gathers them close to her chest.

“I can’t wait to get to know you better! Reading these letters is the best way to start my year, and in four years, you guys are going to love reading them back to yourselves.”

She turns and puts the letters in a filing cabinet, which gives him the chance to roll his eyes without her seeing.

She turns back to the class and claps her hands together.

“Now this second one -- it’s not everyone’s favorite, but I personally love it because it lets me see everyone in a different light.”

He groans inwardly, basically sure that she’s going to announce some kind of partner or group project, which he absolutely loathes. It’s way too early for someone to dull his shine in this class (or, in the case of Devi, threaten to eclipse him).

Unfortunately, the second assignment is much, much worse than a group project.

“This assignment isn’t for you,” Mrs. Allen says as she starts to hand out the assignment sheet. “It’s for your parents!”

Anxiety gnaws at the pit of his stomach the minute she says it.

“For homework, I need your a parent or guardian or uncle or aunt or grandparent to write a letter about you to me. It doesn’t really matter who specifically it is, it just should be someone who has helped raise you and shape you to become the person you are today. I give suggestions on that sheet about what I’d like them to write about, but really, those are just suggestions.” She smiles brightly at the class. “Basically, I want to see a different perspective on you. This helps me get to know you better and whoever takes care of you at the same time.”

The anxiety has eaten through his stomach and is now going to town on his liver.

“And I know that your parents are busy people, so they have until the end of the week to complete it.”

He slinks as far down in his chair without seeming disrespectful, trying to figure out a way to keep his anxiety from ravaging his lungs.

“What’s wrong, Gross,” Devi asks to the right of him. “Afraid your dad won’t be able to write anything nice about you?”

He shoots up in his chair and glares at her.

“More like I’m trying to figure out how to make sure my dad doesn’t go over the page limit because I’m so awesome.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to talk to Fabiola, as he turns his attention back to the paper on his desk.

His parents are both out of town until Friday -- his mom’s at some kind of rejuvenation spa and his father is brokering a deal with some artist named Clairo -- so he knows he won’t be able to ask either of them. It makes sense -- they’re busy and this assignment is stupid, and he should really argue about it except that Devi doesn’t seem to care about it in the slightest and has already put the assignment sheet in her binder.

Putting up a fight about it would admit to a weakness -- his only one, really -- and he’d rather drop out of the class or fail than admit that to her. Er. To anyone.

For just a moment, he considers asking Patti, who does meet all the criteria -- she is someone who’s helped raise him and shape him to be the person that he is. He dismisses the idea in the next moment, because even if she technically fits the parameters, he can only imagine the kind of pity he’d get from Mrs. Allen when she reads a letter written by his house manager. He needs Mrs. Allen to be impressed by him, not feel sorry for him.

He thinks about that letter over the next few days and finally comes up with a compromise -- he writes it himself, but from the perspective of his dad.

He then emails it to his dad, who signs it, scans it and sends it back as an attachment with an email that says Couldn’t have written better myself! You’re so smart! Love you!

He takes that as confirmation that all those things he said about himself as his dad were true, and tries to tell himself it feels just as good as if his dad had actually written them.

*******

The following Monday, he overhears Mrs. Allen tell Devi that her father’s letter was so beautiful and heartfelt that it made her cry.

He doesn’t hear what Devi says in return -- some just-right mixture of pride and genuine gratitude, he’s sure -- just turns away and pretends to rifle through his backpack.

There’s a pang in his heart that he tells himself isn’t jealousy, and an odd sense of relief when Mrs. Allen passes by his desk without saying anything at all.

*******

That assignment is the second thing he thinks about when he hears about Devi’s dad and the orchestra concert (the first thought is something that can’t be put into words -- a kind of bottomless sadness shot through with a concern he doesn’t know what to do with).

He wonders if Mrs. Allen will give that letter back to Devi. If doing so would be an unbearable kindness or an unspeakable cruelty. If Devi would even open it if she did.

Mostly he wonders if Devi is ok, and what would make her feel better.

After hours of thinking about it, he realizes he doesn’t know. It makes him feel sad -- or useless, maybe -- that even though he’s known her for almost his entire life, all he knows is how to piss her off.

He briefly thinks about deliberately tanking a test this week to make her feel better, then realizes that he:

A. Is so smart that he probably wouldn’t be able to tank a test, even if he tried.

and

B. Devi would know -- she always knows when he’s up to something -- and it would do nothing but piss her off even more.

So he studies his ass off and gets a higher grade than she does on their Biology test. Her nostrils flare when she sees the grade on his test, and for a moment he really does feel bad -- maybe he should’ve tried to tank the test after all.

But then her eyes flash with something that isn’t sadness for the first time in weeks, and he’s so absurdly happy to see it that he doesn’t even come up with an insult when she lobs one in his direction.

He tells himself it’s because having a nemesis who’s all in makes him a better student, but when she gives a full-on victory cry in class a week later because she’s beaten him on their English test by half a point, that same absurd kind of glee is back with it.

A small part of him thinks maybe he’s just happy that she’s happy, in whatever small way she can be right now. The larger part of him ignores that, and studies twice as hard for their upcoming Algebra test.

*******

He thinks about that letter again on the way home from the Model U.N. trip, as he watches her freeze the moment an ambulance comes shrieking down the street.  

His mind is a jumbled mess of emotion -- anger at the way the conference ended, confusion at the way things have seemingly ended between him and Devi -- but all that fades away in a wave of concern as he sees Devi force herself to take steady breaths.

He almost wants to ask if she’s ok, but in the next moment she catches him looking at her and snaps a question, and he’s so mixed up and off-balance that he falls back on what the two of them do best -- insults and sarcasm.

It’s comfortable, but it doesn’t settle him, and for the first time (maybe not for the first time) he wishes he could be good at something that isn’t a way to hurt her.

*******

He thinks about that again when he’s sitting across the dinner table from Devi, her insults still ringing in his ears.

Now would be the perfect time to hurt her the way she hurt him, to make her as miserable as he feels right this moment.

But then he remembers that letter, thinks about the girl whose dad loved her so much that talking about her made a stranger cry, about the look of misery on her face as the ambulance went by and how awful it must feel every time she hears a siren.

He remembers the feeling of wanting to be good at something that isn’t supposed to hurt her.

So he swallows his bitterness at the way the Model UN Conference ended and swerves away from hurting her, makes some charming jokes about how good she is at diplomacy instead.

She smiles at him from across the table, and later even laughs when he tells her about his awkward pizza encounter (he won’t say it makes him feel better than he has in the last 24 hours, but something loosens in his chest at the sound of it).

It doesn’t take away the loneliness of the day completely or soothe all his disappointment, but even though the day still stings, at least he knows that he can be alright -- maybe even good -- at something more than just hurting Devi.

*******

He knows he’s had more grandma juice than is advisable when he finds himself staring at his reflection and telling himself that he didn’t throw this party just so Devi would come to his house.  

It’s his birthday, he reasons, and people throw parties on their birthday. It’s what his parents wanted when they left him, and he’s nothing if not a dutiful son. Plus, he has the house for it, and the money for it, and the friends --.

Well, he’s still not drunk enough to say -- even to himself -- that he has the friends for it.

But having parties is what cool kids do on their birthdays, and even if he can admit that he isn’t one of them, he’s at least adjacent enough to cool kids to be able to emulate their behavior.

So, yeah. That’s why he threw this party -- to be cool. Not because Devi asked him about throwing one. Not because seeing Devi look at Paxton like he was a goddamn chiseled marble statue come to life in the style of Pygmalion set off a hot spark of something that felt like jealousy in the center of his chest. His throwing this party had nothing to do with Devi, at all, in any way, shape or form.

He tells himself that a half dozen times as he looks at his blurry reflection in the mirror, as he splashes his face with water in the hopes that it’ll miraculously clear his vision, as he walks down the stairs holding his fourth cup of grandma juice.

Then he sees her come through the door and it’s like his vision clears up completely (if momentarily, because apparently emotions do not supersede biology) and he feels a warmth in his veins that has nothing to do with the alcohol currently coursing through it because Devi is in his house and she actually looks genuinely happy to see him.

He takes her on a tour of the house, pointing out the memorabilia from all his dad clients, showing her the game room and the gym and the two indoor pools (one chlorinated, one a saltwater pool), and she’s complimenting it all without even the slightest bit of sarcasm and laughing at his jokes and mocking him without the usual hard edge to her and he honestly can’t remember the last time he was this happy and --

Oh, fuck.

He totally threw this entire party just to invite Devi over to his house.

[evarcana]

I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS *Grinch gif* please be so kind to share 2, 8, 11, 19, 25, 32 with the world 👀💕 yes I know it's a lot so have this as tribute: 🍷

Yaaaaay you can always send me more even if the world is not interested😁🥂

2. If they could each describe each other in one sentence, what would it be?

Ev: “Prideful man, who deserves every bit of the admiration from me.”

Valerius: “Witch.”

*Whaaaaat?! I have been so nice to you just now and this is all you can say! *censored* I am going to smash that rare bottle of vintage*

“I did not choose a witch as a lover, I chose beautiful, intelligent woman who is capable of doing almost anything and even has the courage to shout at the Consul of Vesuvia.”

8. What were their first impressions of each other?

Ev: “Oh, he looks so cold. It’s a bit heart-stopping, that cold look in his eyes. I wonder if he is like that all the time...

Down girl, it’s really not the time.

Oh no, losing your temper.., not so cold then? I wonder...

Stop, he is clearly not impressed by you. What are you thinking about? He just acted like your sole existence is a personal offence to him. He thinks you are stupid. Big mistake.

Now, don’t be stupid and be mean, two can play this game.”

Looking at the camera: “Handsome and intelligent, but arrogant as hell, thinks he is better than everybody else. Probably makes bad decisions because of his temper.”

Valerius: “Oh she is annoying. What does she think she is going to do here? A witch.., where did the Countess even find her? How very inconvenient. As if last night was not bad enough...

And besides all you have the audacity to stare at me? Rather beautiful eyes. Wait. Stop staring at me, witch. You are very annoying.

I cannot have any of it. This needs to be over now.

Is it a challenge in your gaze? Not the reaction that I expected to say the least. What a pain. I’d better forget this pitiful encounter”

Looking at the camera: “Little witch who does not know what she is getting herself into . But I have to give her a credit for being quite brave and at least smart enough to maintain her decorum. Interesting.”

11. What causes them to fight?

Erm... could be anything ? They are both stubborn, very opinionated and seem to be unable to holdback when it comes to each other. The little arguments can spiral out of control, soon becoming tempestuous.

But it’s not like they hate it, they both need to let the steam out, and often find it refreshing or even a turn-on. They fight to make up, often manipulating obviously to make each other angry. As you can imagine, they are not very good with the whole “sit down and talk about our feelings/situation” thing and both suffer from the trust issues although each to the different extend.

They fight for the power within their own couple and hate when in public the other one appears in charge.

If one said something embarrassing about the other, it’s a big deal, especially for Valerius.

They are both possessive and jealous, so there are lots of arguments because of it. Psshhhh, Ev is the worst one, she tries to kick out Valerius to sleep on the sofa every time he comes back late and drunk from his Vesuvian gentlemen’s club.

19. If they could each write a single line in their marriage vows, what would they be?

Don’t expect too much from these two idiots, they are too private to write anything romantic.

Ev: “From now on, I promise help you with your responsibilities and make your problems my own to spread the weight on your shoulders a bit more evenly.”

Valerius: “I cannot promise I will never hurt you, because even the best of intentions sometimes fall short. What I do promise is to always reach for you over my pride.”

*What? Longer than one line? And what are you going to do? To declare that you are unable to conduct the ceremony?*

25. What moves do they know work on the other?

Ev knows that he loves her being spontaneous and bold, even if he hides it with some sort of neglecting remark. Or anything soft and gentle involving lots of complimenting - but that is almost considered playing dirty.

Valerius knows where, when and how to touch. They do not hold hands or hug casually, the touch is always a promise of more.

32. Do they enjoy morning or night sex?

They enjoy any, but night is better.

Ev is not a morning person and is a deep sleeper, so she can hardly be called active until at least 10 am.

Valerius is a bit more up to it, but he can’t wake her up he prefers to take his time and not to think about the plans for the day.

If it is morning sex, it’s rather lazy and soft, and it happens when they both are having a lay in and can fall asleep again after.

So as they both into more “intense” things, night or day time it is.

[naturepointstheway]

Writing Prompts - Les Miserables Lyrics II

I have already done one like this in the past which you can see here. 

1. “My [sibling]’s child was close to death and we were starving!”

2. “When I get free, you won’t see me here for dust!”

3. “They’ve all forgotten you.”

4. “I’ve done no wrong--sweet Jesus, hear my prayer!”

5. “Look down, you’re standing in your grave.”

6. “Yes, it means I’m free.”

7. “I stole a loaf of bread!”

8. “I know the meaning of those [nineteen] years...a slave of the law.”

9. “Just for stealing a mouthful of bread?”

10. “He gave me his trust, he called me brother.”

11. “What have I done, become a thief in the night, become a dog on the run?”

12. “Have I fallen so far and is the hour so late that nothing remains but the cry of my hate?”

13. “If there’s another way to go, I missed it [twenty] long years ago.”

14. “Sitting flat on your butt doesn’t buy you any bread!”

15. “And there’s nothing anyone’s giving.”

16. “Another day less to be living.”

17. “And what have we here, little innocent sister?”

18. “What is this fighting all about? Will someone tear these two apart?”

19. “Now someone say how this began!”

20. ‘Waiting for the customers who only come at night!”

21. “What pretty hair, what lovely locks you’ve got there!”

22. “It pays a debt...”

23. “All it takes is money in your hand!”

24. “Tell me quickly, what’s the story? Who saw what and why and where?”

25. “Where will [s]he end? This child without a friend?”

26. “It’s hard enough I’ve lost my pride!”

27. “When hope was high and life worth living.”

28  “Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.”

29. “We should never have taken you in in the first place, how stupid the things we do.”

30. “Please don't send me out there alone, not in the darkness on my own.”

31. “Bit of a swine and no mistake--he’s got the gang, the bleedin’ layabout!”

32. “Don’t let the wine go to your brains!”

33. “Some wine and say what’s going on?”

34. “I smell profit here!”

35. “What do I care who you should rob?! Give me my share, finish the job!”

36. “I’m gonna scream, I’m gonna warn them here!”

37. “One little scream, and you’ll regret it for a year.”

38. “I’ll make you scream, you’ll scream alright!”

39. “I got you worried now, I have--that shows you like me quite a lot!”

40. “Sometimes I walk alone at night when everybody else is sleeping.”

41. “You’re on your own, you have no friends.”

42. “Don’t you fret...I don’t feel any pain.”

43. “Just hold me now and let it be.”

44.  “Drink with me to days gone by.”

45. “Is your life just one more lie?”

46. “Here’s to you and here’s to me.”

47. “Nothing changes, nothing ever will.”

48.  “Life is easy pickings if you grab your chance!”

49. “Who will be strong and stand with me?”

50. “It is the future that they bring when tomorrow comes!”

[aparecium-hq]

Name: Ivy Blum Birthday (Age): November  23, 2002 (25) Gender (Pronouns): Female (She/Her) Blood Status: Muggleborn Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff Occupation: Teashop owner and Seer Faceclaim: Odeya Rush

Character Teaser

Growing up muggleborn and being able to read the future wasn’t a great combination. Her family called her peculiar, but schoolmates used another word to describe Ivy Blum: a freak. It wasn’t until she was introduced into the world of magic that Ivy realized how special she truly was. Over the years, she’s developed her skills both in school and out in the world, while overcoming any obstacle in her way. She’s even opened a tea shop, where she offers teas and readings of all kinds. You’ll either find her behind the counter or chasing a little girl around the tables.

Feelings on Magical Integration

Ivy is absolutely an integrationist. She wishes she could have a conversation with her mother about the wizarding world and not have to explain every little thing. She wants her daughter to be able to mingle with muggles and wixen alike, as she has roots in both. She has a very long list that goes on for ages, but it’s mainly because she wants her family to be involved and know more about the wizarding world.

Biography

Ivy grew up as the youngest of four, with two older brothers and an older sister; The oldest, Rowan, 32, working as a lawyer in London. He has two daughters and an amazing wife. Ivy and Rowan got along pretty well as kids but didn’t form that strong of a connection, considering Rowan is 7 years older than her. Next is Flora, 28, who doesn’t really work. Her wife is some sort of business CEO in America, so Flora takes care of their three adopted children. Flora and Ivy were very very close as children, and it lasted all the way to adulthood. They talk frequently and Ivy goes to visit at least once a year. Finally, there’s Oliver, Ivy’s twin brother. They were inseparable as children, but when Ivy received a Hogwarts letter and Oliver didn’t, he got jealous. The summer between second and third year, they had a huge fight that ended with both of them swearing to never speak to the other again. They’re both too prideful to apologize, and never stayed in contact after Ivy moved out. She knows he’s working in their father’s shop, and that he met a girl who he’s dating seriously, but that’s all her parents told her.

As for her parents, Daisy and Thomas Blum are the proud owners of ‘Comics & Coffee’, a semi-successful bookstore-cafe franchise in the UK and select locations in America. Thomas started up the company in the late ’90s, while Daisy worked full-time as a nurse, covering expenses that come with starting your own business. Eventually, in 2010, the company started gaining traction after the Avengers movie was announced, and people wanted to get back into comics more than ever all of a sudden. There are seven locations throughout the UK, and three in America. Daisy quit her nursing job in 2011 to help Thomas take care of business, and they’re both happy, despite the busy schedules.

Ivy was a peculiar child, even without the surprise magic. Her mother claims that Ivy rarely cried as a baby and that sometimes she would walk into the nursery in the middle of the night to make sure her daughter was okay, only to find her standing in the crib as if expecting her to walk through the door at that moment. “It’s almost like you could tell the future,” she would joke when she had a few too many glasses of wine and spoke of the incidents, but once Ivy started at Hogwarts and learned what Divination was, she thought maybe she really could tell the future. She dismissed it as coincidental, she was just ‘force sensitive’, as her father would put it.

These occurrences continued throughout her childhood, in very different ways. Sometimes a utensil dropping on the floor would make her suddenly feel the urge to ask when such and such would arrive, even though her parents hadn’t invited anyone over. Sure enough, their grandmother, or some other individual, would show up out of the blue.

Ivy was a very quiet child. She didn’t say her first word until she was 18 months old, whereas Oliver had started talking at a year old. She preferred to sit and color over running around the playground screaming and causing chaos. Her schoolmates would call her a ‘freak’ most of the time, though she didn’t quite understand how rude it was until she got older. When her mother asked her why she was so quiet, Ivy merely shrugged her shoulders and said “I don’t really have anything important to say.”

One thing, however, that did get Ivy talking was comic books. Ivy spent a good part of her childhood between the rows of her father’s shop. You could usually find her in the X-Men section, a pile of comics surrounding her as she essentially devoured the one in her hand. If you even brought up any of the X-Men, you would see her light up like never before. She felt a special connection with the X-Men series specifically because they weren’t just superheroes; there were kids and teenagers like her, who were just trying to figure out why they were different. Up until her 11th birthday, she thought her accidental magic was actually her mutant powers, and that once she got older, Professor X or someone would come to get her. That obviously wasn’t the case.

Because Ivy’s birthday is so late in the year, she had to wait 10 months after receiving her letter to go to Hogwarts. She was also a year older than everyone in her year, which was convenient in 6th year because Ivy turned 17 before most of her classmates and was therefore sent out on Firewhiskey runs for them.

At Hogwarts, she really ‘blum’ed (I had to do it at least once). Despite the initial disappointment that she wouldn’t be heading to the X-Mansion, Hogwarts proved to be almost cooler. She wasn’t much of a hat-staller, but the Sorting Hat did debate for a little bit on whether to put her in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. It eventually decided on Hufflepuff, because her hard-working and loyal nature was more over-powering than her pride. As for classes, she discovered a natural gift for Herbology and quickly developed a love for plants of all kinds. If you couldn’t find her in the common room, your best bet was to search the Greenhouses, where Ivy was usually helping Professor Longbottom with some sort of plant.

Another class she found she excelled in was Divination. Professor Trelawney was well past her prime, but she did offer a starting point for Ivy, so she could slowly develop her Seer abilities as time went on. It was a nice distraction from the sadness of her fight with Oliver. Immersing herself in the world of Divination distracted her from dealing with her feelings. Ivy took the class every year for her remaining years at Hogwarts and found that no matter how hard the tried, she couldn’t get the hang of crystal balls or fortune-telling. She was very good at interpreting dreams, tarot cards, and tea leaves, however, which is why she calls herself ‘force sensitive’; She doesn’t visually see the future, but she can read the messages that the future sends.

After graduating from Hogwarts, she spent a year living abroad, trying to figure out what she wanted to do with her life. She visited wizarding and muggle villages alike, all across Europe. She made money by reading palms and offering tarot readings to anyone who would ask. She eventually found that she enjoyed doing just that, minus the nomadic lifestyle. She wanted a store, her own business, just like her parents. When she returned home, she told her parents about her plan; open a tea shop for muggles and wixen alike. Muggles can come in and enjoy a cup of tea, or purchase tea if they’d like. Witches and wizards can come in and ask to use the upstairs washroom. This would prompt Ivy to lead them upstairs, where there was no bathroom, and that was where she would hold all of her readings (palmistry, tarot cards, tea leaves, etc). Ivy decided not to offer her readings to muggles because of the Statute of Secrecy; she isn’t 100% positive, but if her gifts are indeed Seer abilities, she could get in serious trouble for using them on muggles. If she was lucky, they wouldn’t find out about her year abroad. Though her parents didn’t quite understand the magic aspect of it, they were happy one of their children wanted to start their own business, and they gave Ivy a loan so she could buy a place in London and get things started.

After a lot of back and forth with the Ministry, Ivy finally opened the doors of ‘Leaves’ in 2023, at the age of 21. Though she received quite a few wixen clients, she didn’t initially receive many muggle clients. People weren’t as interested in sitting and enjoying tea in a shop if they could just do it at home. Her muggle clientele has grown slowly over the years, but her primary customers remain witches and wizards.

She almost gave up her business in 2025, when she became pregnant with her daughter. She’d been seeing someone for a few weeks, nothing extremely serious. Ivy called Flora before she told anybody else. Flora told her to tell the father, which did not end well for Ivy. He did exactly what she thought he would do, which was disappear. After he told her she wanted nothing to do with the baby, Ivy called Flora again, only this time, she was crying harder than she’d ever cried. Flora couldn’t understand any of what Ivy said for the first half-hour of their phone call. Eventually, Ivy calmed down and explained the situation, which prompted Flora to grab her kids and jump on a plane. Ivy spent two weeks holed up in her apartment with Flora, the kids visiting their grandparents, and looking around London. During this time, Flora and Ivy barely spoke; Flora knew Ivy just needed someone there, and that she’d ask for help when she needed it. After two weeks, she finally asked Flora what to do.

They concluded that she couldn’t do this alone. Ivy had to hire a shop assistant, and she wouldn’t be able to offer her readings for a while. Eventually, she chose to hire [TBD], who ended up being a pretty good help. Ivy only showed up every other day to check in on them.

Although it was unexpected and a little inopportune, Ivy was ecstatic to become a mother. She gave birth to her daughter, Olivia Iris Blum, in October of 2025. Though she’ll never admit it, Ivy named her daughter after her twin brother. Even though she’s only two years old, Olivia is as energetic and excitable as Oliver was when he was a kid, which makes Ivy feel like she still has a part of Oliver in her life. Ivy and Olivia live in the loft above the tea shop, and customers often see the young girl playing on the ground behind the counter or under unoccupied tables.

Connections

The Assistant: Someone who’s been working in the shop for a few years now, and who is pretty close with Ivy. Ideally, a character who is hard-working and trustworthy, but I’m open to a sweet employee who is Doing Their Best™.

The Baby Daddy: The father of Olivia, who has recently come back into the picture. Someone a little flaky, but who’s also Doing Their Best™.

The Best Friend: Someone Ivy has been friends with for years. They’ve gone through a lot together, and will always have each other’s backs.

Ivy was played by Reagan.

[conanaltatis]

Achmad Eko Priandono defends One Pride MMA belt from Yusuf Susilo at ‘One Pride Never Quit Fight Night 32’ in Jakarta, Indonesia

Achmad Eko Priandono defends One Pride MMA belt from Yusuf Susilo at ‘One Pride Never Quit Fight Night 32’ in Jakarta, Indonesia

Achmad Eko Priandono (©One Pride MMA)

Reigning One Pride MMA Bantamweight Champion Achmad “Electrical Knock Out” Eko Priandono, 25, of Sidoarjo, East Java, Indonesia successfully defended his belt at “One Pride Pro Never Quit Fight Night 32: Spirit of Champions.” It was his sixth victory in One Pride MMA.

“One Pride Pro Never Quit Fight Night 32: Spirit of Champions” took place at…

[marril96]

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 32: Mother Knows Best

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena and her mother have some well-earned bonding time.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

Rowena had expected a fiasco since she'd first stepped foot onto the school grounds this morning.

She'd expected an even bigger one when her friends — when Fergus and, eventually, you — confronted Lucifer.

Nothing, though, could have prepared her for the thunderstorm that was her mother.

The outbursts weren't strange to Rowena. She remembered the epic fights her mother and her poor excuse of a father — if that wanker could even be called that — got into quite vividly. She remembered the absolute scorn on her mother's face back in December when details of her and Lucifer's relationship came to light and the reality of what, exactly, had caused her bruises came crashing down. Remembered the madness in her mother's voice, the pure, unadulterated rage, as she spewed threats of police and media and lawsuits at the cowering principal Shurley.

Hell hath no fury like Fiona MacLeod scorned.

This time, she'd gone off the rails.

While Rowena was mad at Ms. Hanscum for taking her, you, and Lucifer to the principal's office, she had to admit the teacher was fair. She'd given you the chance to sort the issue out. Though, unfortunately, the damage Lucifer had caused was too great for a simple conversation to fix.

Bruises she'd healed.

Humiliation, degradation… they would take a while to fade, if they ever did.

She'd been through it before; she knew how it worked. A reputation like that, however false and out of context, never quite went away. Most people may have stopped talking about it in public, but they knew. They knew, and many of them wondered and passed judgment because if there was smoke, there was bound to be fire, no matter how ludicrous the rumors were.

Rowena meant what she'd said — she could deal with it. She was no stranger to people whispering about her, calling her names behind her back, making senseless assumptions. She'd lived through it once, and she could do so again.

All she needed was for them to leave her alone.

They had a right to their opinions, however wrong they were. They had a right to speculate and badmouth her as soon as she turned her back.

She just asked that they not do it in her face.

It had taken her hours to make all her social media accounts private and delete the awful comments the night before. Her phone remained turned off; she didn't have it in her to click it to life to messages staring straight at her, accusatory, judgmental, cruel for the sake of being cruel. She could live without a phone for a few days, until she got a new number.

Her mother, on the other hand, was livid.

Principal Shurley's apologies fell on deaf ears as she screamed — actually screamed — in his face, her face ripe red, a bomb on the verge of explosion. Rowena was certain the entire school had heard her mother's shrill voice tearing into the Principal without a shred of mercy, with the same conviction and vigor Lucifer had put into ruining her reputation, into ruining her.

The Principal, to his credit, didn't know about the harassment and had promised to put a stop to it. He could try; he could get the posts down and threaten the bullies with detention, but nothing could make the rumors disappear.

People's minds couldn't be changed that easily.

For the remainder of the school year, Rowena would be a whore, a cheater, and a baby killer.

She wasn't ashamed of any of it. It hurt to have it shoved in her face so cruelly, but she stood behind her actions.

She wasn't going to apologize for surviving.

Her mother, bless her heart, shared the sentiment. Rowena was worried she would cast a bit of judgment of her own, or, at the very least, be disappointed in her for keeping it to herself, but, aside from a surprised tilt of her head at the news, her mother stood right by her.

Principal Shurley had almost had to fall to his knees to get her to not call the police. He'd promised the posts would be taken down and Lucifer would be punished, and, as a final plea, made plans to hold an assembly on bullying and harassment. If, afterwards, Rowena had any issues, she was free to contact him, he'd said. He would happily take care of the problem.

As if it was that easy.

As if one assembly could stop people from whispering "whore" behind her back for the rest of the semester.

Her mother still wasn't happy, but Rowena told her it was okay. She just wanted this mess to be over. She was tired of everything; of the Principal, of Lucifer's smug smirk even as his father chastised him, of you being forced to witness the entire charade under the threat of detention for "attempting to start a fight," when all you did was try to defend her.

After all was said and done, Rowena was given the rest of the day off. She'd spent it in her room, curled up on the bed in front of an old movie, one of those classics she always turned on for comfort.

She watched as the thick flakes of snow rained upon the street, and all she could think about was you. If you were okay. If, after she'd left, you'd gotten the stares and whispers in her place.

It was a miracle you still wanted to be with her. It couldn't have been easy to associate with someone with her kind of reputation. She wouldn't have blamed you one bit if you decided to break it off.

There was only so much a person could take.

Was love enough in situations like this?

It was a powerful emotion, overwhelming, but, unlike what the movies and books said, it wasn't absolute.

You were under no obligation to sink to the bottom with her.

A knock on the door shook her from her thoughts. "You alright, hon?" her mother's voice, thick with concern, came from the other end.

"Aye," she replied.

As alright as she could be, considering the day she'd had.

She wasn't bruised and battered this time. That had to count for something.

"Can I come in?"

She rolled her eyes, not in the mood for mother-daughter time, but still said, "Aye."

Her mother peered inside, then stepped into her room gently, tentatively, as if she were walking through a minefield. Her eyes fell on Rowena, looked her over in that typical worried mother way Rowena had always found overbearing.

"What are you watching?"

"Nothing," she said and shut the laptop. The end credits were rolling anyway.

Her mother shuffled her feet awkwardly. She took a small breath, and Rowena, well accustomed to that expression on her face, prepared for the inevitable. "Can we talk?"

"I'd rather not."

Not now, and not ever.

There were some things she couldn't talk to her about. Things that weren't for her, or anyone but you, to hear.

Her mother gave a nod, an honest one. "Okay," she said and meant it. She could be annoying, but she never pushed her children. Never forced them into unpleasant, uncomfortable situations. "Would you be okay with listening? I've a few things I'd like to say."

No, Rowena thought, but, with a shrug, said, "Whatever." The sooner she got it over with, the better.

"Is it okay if I sit?" her mother asked, looking down at the bed.

Rowena gave a small nod, though she wasn't the biggest fan of that, either. Her mother took a seat beside her feet, and all she could think about was that it was too close. Way, way too close.

The MacLeod family wasn't big on feelings. They rarely saw each other as it was, with mother working long hours, Crowley constantly heading out, and Rowena doing her own thing. They were a family in name only, really.

At best, their cohabitation could be described as symbiosis.

There was love, yes, and genuine affection, but they didn't show it.

They didn't have the time.

And, more importantly, pride didn't let them.

It certainly didn't let Rowena.

It took her a while to admit to herself she was in love with you, and even longer to say it to your face. Were it not for the confrontation the two of you had gotten into, she wouldn't have blurted it out anytime soon.

Her mother took a few moments to compose her thoughts into words, and what she said threw Rowena off balance. "I'm proud of you."

Rowena's chest tightened, heart burst into a sprint.

Where was this coming from?

Considering the stress she'd put the poor woman through lately, pride was the last thing she expected.

Disappointment?

Maybe.

Anger?

Definitely.

But pride?

Not in a thousand years.

Her mother continued, "You've grown into a marvelous young woman, and I've completely missed it. I look at you, and all I see is that wee girl with chubby cheeks and messy hair. But that's not you anymore. I know that now."

There was a wistfulness to her tone, a heartbreaking nostalgia.

"Don't get me wrong — you'll always be my precious wee girl, but you're also so much more. I'm sorry I didn't realize that sooner."

Her hand reached for Rowena's. Rowena squeezed back, a left-over childhood instinct to hold her mother's hand tight and never, under any circumstances, let go.

Her mother was right — she was still that wee girl she used to be. She was grown now, but a part of her never left, and would always stay. A reminder of the innocence long gone.

"I should have been there for you. In Scotland. You shouldn't have been alone."

Scotland.

Right.

The harassment.

The abortion.

Everything bad she'd sworn to never go through again, only to make the same mistake and end up right at the start.

"I should have noticed."

"I was only a few weeks along," Rowena said. A small attempt at comfort.

"You're my baby," her mother said, adamant, decisive. "I should've known."

No.

She should not have.

Rowena had hidden it with a reason.

She hadn't wanted pity, and, though she knew deep down her mother would never turn her back on her, she didn't want to risk being told she couldn't do it.

Not that she would have listened; she would have had that abortion one way or the other, but the thought of her mother — the one person who was supposed to love her, to be on her side — being disappointed in her, looking at her as if she were a murderer… It broke her heart.

She'd had no one. No friends, no boyfriend anymore. No shoulder to cry on. And, with the whole mess with her father going on, the last thing she wanted was to lose her mother as well.

Willful loneliness was better than stone-cold rejection.

"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn't tell me." Her mother's eyes brimmed with tears; a few slid down her rosy cheeks, quickly wiped away with the sleeve of her shirt. "I know I was in a bad place after what happened with your father, and I'm always at work these days, but you're my child. You come first. Whatever is going on, you can tell me. I mean it — whatever. I will never, ever judge you."

Bloody hell!

Rowena's own eyes filled with tears. She willed them back, tried her hardest to regain her composure.

It was just a conversation.

She wasn't a sap.

"Okay," she simply said, and it took everything in her to hold her voice together.

Maybe, a traitorous thought crept up to her mind, she was a sap.

A very, very wee one.

Miniscule.

Her mother's lips widened into a smile. "If anybody else gives you trouble, tell me. I'll gladly put them in their place."

Because that was exactly what Rowena needed — for her mother to fight her battles.

That was a tad cruel, though, wasn't it?

Her mother cared about her, loved her.

What was wrong with that?

She would become known as mama' s girl, but that wasn't any worse than her current reputation.

Did it even matter?

What did she care about what some random Moira thought about her?

At least, she thought a tad smugly, her mother gave a damn about her.

The same couldn't be said for the majority of her peers' parents.

Rowena allowed a smile to bloom on her face. "I'll try."

Her mother beamed. Then, clearing her throat, said, "You and Y/N — is it true?"

Here came the awkward questions.

Rowena's face flushed ripe tomato red. She nodded.

It elicited a smile from her mother, big and bright. Happy to the bone. "She's a good lass."

"She is," Rowena agreed.

More than good.

You were everything to her.

One of the few people who gave her a chance. Who allowed herself to be her friend, to love her as she was without trying to change her.

Her miracle.

Whatever the future held, she would forever remain grateful to you.

What you'd done for her — what you'd given her, and kept giving her — would never be forgotten.

"She seems to care about you a lot," her mother said.

You have no idea. "She does. She's… kind to me."

Kinder than she would have been to herself if she were in your shoes.

After everything she'd done, she didn't deserve a second chance.

And yet…

"You feel the same, I suppose."

Rowena's cheeks couldn't get any redder. Her skin was hot enough to burn.

This wasn't the kind of thing one admitted to their parent. Or talked about. Or mentioned at all.

She cleared her throat, sucked in a small breath, and nodded.

She loved you. Goodness, she loved you. So much it sometimes hurt to be away from you.

She loved you so much she couldn't imagine her life without you.

There was a time, not too long ago, she thought it made her weak.

If it did, she never wanted to be strong again.

"Why don't you invite her over for dinner sometime?" her mother suggested, pleased by the response.

That was just what she needed — her girlfriend having dinner with her mother.

As if your relationship wasn't cliche enough.

There wasn't anything inherently wrong with it; her mother's liking of you was no secret, and you, awkward as you were, didn't seem to think anything ill of her.

Still, it was strange.

It made the relationship official. Serious.

Which it was, but to acknowledge it like that…

She wasn't sure she was ready for that.

"We'll see," Rowena said. If I'm ready was the unspoken addition.

It was enough for her mother. "I've got something for you." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a grayish-green bill.

A — Rowena realized, unable to conceal the surprise on her face — hundred dollar bill.

Her mother smiled. "I got a wee bonus at work."

Rowena was stunned. "Are you sure? What about—"

Bills?

Food?

She wasn't one to turn down free money, but she knew their situation wasn't as ideal as she preferred to think. They weren't poor, but they weren't rich, either. Far from it, in fact.

Their mother, working two jobs, always made sure she and Fergus had enough money for outings, generous as she was.

But a hundred dollars?

"Don't worry. Like I said, this is a bonus. I gave Fergus his share earlier, when he was heading out," her mother explained. "Gavin will be getting a wee toy tomorrow. And this—" she glanced down at the bill in her hand "—is yours."

A bonus, and her mother's first thought was handing it to her children.

Rowena's heart swelled with warmth, with love that made her chest ache.

She took the bill. Folded it up neatly and clasped her hands around it, almost protectively. "Thank you."

Her mother grinned. "Anything for my girl. It's Valentine's Day soon — why don't you take Y/N out someplace nice? Or buy yourself something lovely?"

A Valentine's Day date sounded like a marvelous idea.

Rowena already had a place in mind. A perfect thank you for standing by her, for never leaving her side. For loving her through everything bad.

"I just might," she said, smiling brightly, happily for the first time today.

"Great! Her mother's eyes fell on her discarded phone on the bedside table. "You need a new number, right?"

Rowena's face fell, gloom back with a vengeance.

"I'll take care of that for you tomorrow, when I go out with Gavin. Until then, you can use my phone, if you want. I assume you'd like to call or message Y/N?"

She perked right back up, like a flip of a switch.

They may not have hung out much, but her mother knew her so well.

"Thank you," she said again, and meant it from the bottom of her heart.

Today wasn't so bad, after all.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock

[shipping-receiving]

Jaime x Brienne Slow Burn AU Fics

*cracks knuckles* Get ready because this is a long post. I had an anon who specifically requested “well written, well developed slow burn multi-chapter AU”. I’ve already included a few that fit those criteria in my Modern AU fic recs [ Part 1 / Part 2 ] so I thought I’d dig up a mixed bag of AUs for this list (Regency! Apocalypse! Fairy Tales!).

But just for ease of access, here are my Modern AU recs (so far) that fit this criteria, depending how slow of a burn you want. Some of them actually only happen over the course of a few days (e.g. On the Night’s Watch), but I think you still get That Slow Burn Satisfaction:

Clean hands by Gwen77

Fever by @ladyinredfics

It’s Like Weather by ssstrychnine aka @oneangryshot

Madonna of the Balcony by QuizzicalQuinnia

A Year in the Life by Coraleeveritas

On the Night’s Watch by @miss-m-calling

Beast and the Beast by SigilBroken aka @chickren

Now onward to some of that Enemies to Friends to Lovers action:

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All the Roads are Winding by ShirleyAnn66 AU: Modern / Historical / Post-Apocalyptic / +++++ rating: T (more like M in parts) | word count: 264695 | chapters: 29

Why not start with the AU fic to end all AU fics – ShirleyAnn66′s multiverse epic, featuring Jaime and Brienne as physicists who explore five alternate versions of themselves. There are six interwoven parallel slow burns. SIX. Physicists, Prince/Princess (Political Marriage), Singer/Farmer (Best Friends), Prisoner/Septa, Megastar/Private Investigator, and Mad “Jon” (Post-Apocalyptic). Note that there are only 29 chapters in the story, but 35 including the Author’s Notes, and compilations of the five universes so they can be read as single stories.

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Before Destruction by renaissance AU: Pride and Prejudice / Regency rating: T | word count: 102716 | chapters: 32

One of the best multi-chapter fics ever created for this pairing, this Pride and Prejudice AU has Brienne as a governess for the Starks and Jaime as Captain Lannister, but both of them still retain their original personalities (Jaime is still the snarky one where Brienne is reserved and insecure). Perfectly plotted, and I think it conveys more of the tension and antagonism so typical of J/B than even the original dynamic between Elizabeth and Darcy.  

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Shoot the Moon by @hardlyfatal AU: Modern rating: E | word count: 80250 | chapters: 33

corporate!Jaime and writer!Brienne meet on a ranch (with a host of other characters) and find themselves struggling between hostility and deep attraction. There’s also some very endearing domesticity in the second half, with Jaime’s kids Myrcy and Tommen. This probably isn’t that slow in terms of getting to the smut, but it’s really slow in terms of getting all those feelings out in the open. The author also has two other WIP slow burn fics that she is still updating regularly – Man of the Hour (Brienne is a vet, Jaime her mysterious neighbour) and the epic Western Desperado (this has three pairings: J x B, Sansa x Sandor, Dany x Jon).

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What is True, But Not Ideal by Vera AU: Modern rating: M | word count: 74868 | chapters: 19

I’m kicking myself that I didn’t think to rec this recently completed story in my first two Modern AU lists. Brienne meets Tyrion first, who hires her as a bartender in his pub, and they eventually become best friends. Jaime only appears from Chapter 4, but the Brienne/Tyrion friendship has really interesting implications for the J/B dynamic. I don’t want to spoil too much about the narrative because the direction of the story is so surprising, but it does take darker turns as the rest of the Lannisters and Starks are introduced.

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Bargains by Gwen77 AU: Regency rating: M | word count: 18171 | chapters: 11

Another Regency AU, this time with an arranged marriage between Jaime and Brienne. Jaime is still entangled with Cersei to some degree for most of this story, with painful consequences for J/B, but Jaime and Brienne’s growing feelings for each other are handled beautifully, and ultimately they get their happily ever after. This is the shortest fic in this list, but perhaps more so because Gwen77 writes heartbreaking prose so succinctly. No one writes repressed!JB like her, so it still feels like a slow burn despite its relative brevity.

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Scandal by Gwen77 AU: Victorian rating: T | word count: 21652 | chapters: 11

Look, I try not to rec more than one fic per author for each of my lists, but I would lay down my life for Gwen77′s four AUs. This one is set in a 19th Century version of Westeros, with Brienne as a journalist/writer and Jaime as a politician in a constitutional monarchy. This is one of the most unique versions of their dynamic that I’ve read, partly because this version of Jaime is more conflicted and elusive. Chapter 7 in particular leaves me breathless.

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The Dark, Dread Toyshop by @miss-m-calling AU: The Magic Toyshop / Modern-ish with a bit of magic rating: M | word count: 68755 | chapters: 25

Based on Angela Carter’s The Magic Toyshop, this underrated story is a mysterious coming-of-age tale that sees Brienne (and her siblings Pod and Sansa) sent to live with their uncle Tywin and his sons Jaime and Tyrion in his eerie toyshop. (This makes Jaime and Brienne cousins, just a warning for those who find that too incestuous.) This diverges quite a lot from the plot points of GoT/ASOIAF, but still remains enthralling.

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Everyone Has Secrets by ellaria AU: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo / Modern rating: E | word count: 113057 | chapters: 23

Another legendary, utterly seductive multi-chapter fic based on Stieg Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Jaime is a political journalist and Brienne is the hacker hired alongside him to investigate the disappearance of Sansa Stark ten years earlier. If you’re familiar with Larsson’s story, you’ll know to expect explicit sexual content and violence. (But don’t worry, all ends well, not the way Larsson left off his story with regard to his two main characters.)

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Tale As Old As Time by @brienneofthrace AU: Beauty and the Beast / Fairy Tale rating: T | word count: 56570 | chapters: 17

Jaime is the bitter lord of Casterly Rock (not an actual beast), and Brienne offers to become his hostage in exchange for the release of her captive father. This story plays fast and loose with both canons, which makes reading it really fun and unexpected. I was very lucky to have found this around the time the author chose to come back and complete it (I think there must have been a 4 year break somewhere)!

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Living Fiction by Archetype_Electraheart AU: Modern rating: M | word count: 72757 | chapters: 41

No-nonsense Brienne is assigned to be difficult Jaime’s new editor at Winterfell Publishing. This makes for some amazingly snarky interactions (and begrudging mutual respect) from the get-go, but perhaps one of the more unexpected elements of this story is the author’s decision to have Brienne be a longtime model/muse for photographer Loras Tyrell. Brienne’s relationship with her body thus manifest in a very different and refreshing way.

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+ BONUS: WIPs

I prefer not to rec incomplete fics on the off-chance they’ll never be completed (wow I wish season 8 was never completed) but these are two of my favourite WIPs that have been updated fairly recently:

With All Your Faults by @seaspiritwrites AU: A League of their Own / Baseball / 1940s rating: T | word count (so far): 91818 | chapters: 26/34

Well on its way to becoming a classic, this fic has been an absolute joy to read. Based very loosely on the movie A League of Their Own, and set in World War II-era America, Brienne is recruited to play in the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League, on a team coached by maimed former baseball star Jaime. As slow and as satisfying and as wholesome of a burn as you could possibly get.

for our world is cold and full of monsters by @trashy-greyjoy aka chancellor_valdez AU: Zombie Apocalypse rating: not rated | word count (so far): 32725 | chapters: 11/?

It’s the Jaime and Brienne road trip, except they have to fight zombies on the way. No prizes for guessing how Jaime loses his hand in this one. I genuinely love the way this fic is written – there’s a lot of great lines in this – and I don’t think it has gotten as much attention as it deserves. It seems to be on a bit of a hiatus (understandably after Season 8) but the author has promised to get back to it and I can’t wait.

[thehoodsweetheart]

Sandcastles | Part III.

A/N: Sandcastles is officially a series! I really hope this is up to par. Please excuse the mistakes.

Warnings: Fuckboy!Erik (?), Angst!, Use of the N-word (I’m Black. I have that right).

Summary: If you have not read Sandcastles Part 1 and Part 2, please do so before reading this. Although, it may not be totally necessary to do so but it helps. The reader is a Black Woman, always has been always will be.

Word Count: 2.4K

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           Fear. Erik didn’t possess the concept of fear. He’d overcome that emotion in his early years. Somewhere between finding his father dead and his first mission as a secret operative, that feeling had been wiped from him. At least that’s what Erik believed. Who could possibly still possess that emotion after witnessing and partaking in such horrendous acts? Fear equated weakness and he prided himself of not being weak, never letting anyone in close enough to expose a weakness. That was until he did. He let you in.

            When Erik realized that he let you in, he tried to push you away but you didn’t tolerate it. This was before you and Erik were even in a “real” relationship. Erik thoughthe was able to give people the cold shoulder, but yours could get colder. Erik had grown accustomed to stringing women along, fucking them, leaving them, and popping back up whenever he felt like it. When he attempted to ghost you, you completely ghosted him. You did not go for the ‘I’ll pop up in a few months to see if I can still hit’ game. When he saw you on what he thought was a date, he lost it. He wasn’t going for that shit. He knew that he had to make y’all relationship real. Erik fearedlosing you. This was something he would have to come to terms with quite a few times. He actually feared losing and loving you.

           This kind of fear was one that perplexed him. He wasn’t like he was afraid you could get him killed or kill him. He’d done his research after meeting you the first time. This fear was childish in Erik’s mind. It was the fear parents provoke when they threaten to take away something after you misbehave. One where you know you could live without it but you still feel like you need that thing or just really want to keep it. Or possibly it was the fear of what became his new normal being stripped from him? It wracked his brain until he’d have a lapse in judgment. The fear of loving you led to him doing things that would risk you leaving. It was a cycle.

         The birth of Iman only added to his paranoia. He never put much thought into having children because he simply never thought he would live long enough to have them. When Iman was born, he questioned everything he’d ever did wrong. Was he even good enough to have a love so pure? What if his past came for him and he lost you and Iman? He feared walking into a repeat of his childhood. His father’s death haunted him. Death was something he could accept. It was second nature but not with you two. Erik would give his life to spare you both.

         These thoughts invaded his brain as he sat in a long drawn out meeting. Queen Mother Ramonda came to Los Angeles for the benefit and there was quite a bit of business to handle since she was in town. Erik was the first to present her updates with his social outreach work at the center, along with some technological advances he worked on with Shuri. But once he was done presenting, his thoughts began to invade him. Erik constantly checked his watch and peered out of the closest window spacing out. For the start of the day, Erik felt normal coming back to work, confident even.  There was a shift. He could feel it in his stomach as if something wasn’t right. It could have been paranoia.

       Erik received a notification to his phone that only heightened his paranoia. Iman’s Kimoyo beads dropped offline. It wouldn’t have been odd but this was the third time he’d gotten this notification that day. Iman’s Kimoyo beads never went off more than once, two times max. Why would Y/N take off Iman’s kimoyo beads so many times in only a few hours? His leg bounced as he slouched into his seat bringing his hand that now formed a tight fist to his mouth. It didn’t help that Y/N’s kimoyo beads had been offline since the night of the benefit. They were the final item Y/N threw at him before leaving.

       Erik’s eyes scanned the room as if he was searching for an answer that was obviously not in that conference room. Shuri shot him a quizzical look. He could only assume she had received the notifications for Iman. By the time the meeting wrapped up, Erik had not received a new notification signaling that they were back online. It had been 32 minutes since the last alert. He didn’t need his iPhone to tell him that. He had counted. He brushed past everyone being the first to exit the conference. He needed to figure out what was going on. He knew he could easily check once he was in the privacy of his own office. Before he could reach his office, he felt a small hand grab his shoulder. Erik spun around with annoyance only to see Shuri with a concerned look on her face.

“Hey cuz…Is everything cool? Have you talked to Y/N? Iman is still showing offline.” Shuri asked with her eyebrows furrowed together.

“Don’t even worry about it lil cuz. I’m about to give her a call now.” He tried to wave her off and continue his walk to his office. Shuri stopped him again.

“You know, I know right? I’m young but I’m smarter than you, American.” Shuri teased. Erik scoffed. “I’ll do an override to tap into the beads. See if Y/N left your sorry ass...again” She whispered her disapproval.

“Nah, I don’t need you doin all that. Y’all all up in my business bad enough as it is. Iman probably had an accident and needed to take an extra bath.” Erik stared down Shuri with cut eyes.

“We wouldn’t be in your business, if you didn’t mix business with pleasure in your office…and if that scenario makes you feel better, believe what you want. WHEN you need an actual answer I’ll be in my lab.” Shuri waved her hand turning to leave him.

“Yeaaa…please focus on something important kid. I know you have some new developments that you haven’t completed yet. Maybe a new toy?”

Shuri rolled her eyes raising her hand holding a middle finger high, unaware of her mother sauntering through the hallway.

“Shuriiii”, Ramonda scolded. Shuri groaned stomping away. Erik chuckled only to earn a side-eye from his aunt.  She mumbled a ‘mmhmm’ before walking away.

           Erik entered his office immediately dialing Y/N’s number. He listened to it ring for a while before going to voicemail. He tried not to think much of it. That was his first time calling her. Erik hung up dialing her number again only to get the same result. He took in an uneasy breath trying to calm his heartbeat. He took a seat at his desk, his leg bouncing as he debated if he should call her for a third time back to back.  You normally answered his calls if he called twice in a row, even if you answered just to tell him you’d call him back. He decided against calling again. Erik knew he should give you some time and not let his paranoia overtake him. Maybe he was too used to you being available? Or maybe Shuri was right?

           He couldn’t fight the urge anymore. Erik swiveled around in his chair, his fingers moving with no hesitation as he logged into his work computer. It had been 44 minutes since Iman’s kimoyo beads sent the last notification with no indication that they were back online. He doubled clicked the icon for the program that allowed him to view the activities in his home via the cameras he installed throughout the house. Each room assigned to its appropriate label.

          The first room to come into view was the living room showing no sign of disturbance. Erik could feel his adrenaline spike as he double clicked the label for Iman’s room. Her nursery appeared but he could see her crib was empty but the kimoyo beads lay in the center of it. Did she bounce and take the baby? What if she just left to run errands and the Kimoyo beads fell off by accident? Or she could be giving Iman a bath. Erik hoped it was one of the later scenerios. His chest tightened as he scrolled through the current activity of the various rooms seeing that Y/N and Iman were not at home. But where could they be? He gave Y/N a call once more. This time it went straight to voicemail.

          He picked up his office phone about to dial his assistant’s phone number when it hit him. He no longer had an assistant. The intern, Arya, was taking on the role as his assistant. In the past six months she had full access to his schedule, followed him around everywhere, and managed to keep up with him without getting in his way. That was until they crossed that professional friendly line and began an affair two months ago. For Erik the affair was a physical thing, no real emotion lived there. Nonetheless, Arya was not worth losing his family over. When T’Challa made the decision to let her go during Erik’s one-week leave of absence, he didn’t care. That was one step towards fixing world that crumbled before him.

       Erik opted to call Shuri instead. He knew Y/N formed a close bond with Shuri and Nakia over the past few years. It was strong possibility that Shuri could get an answer from Y/N faster. He wasn’t going to lie to himself and say she had forgiven him completely. Shuri answered in a knowing tone.

“Did Y/N mention her next doctor’s appointment?” Erik’s voice rushed almost sounding as if his question was one word.

“Whoaa, slow down. It’s not until next week or something but I don’t keep your wife’s schedule. You should know that.”

“Tell him to stop trying to spy on his family from his computer.” T’Challa interjected only for Erik to smack his teeth.

“Nigga nobody’s spying. I’m trying to make sure they’re okay.” Erik countered.

“Ah, is that what we’re calling it now? Okay. Well maybe you should head home? You probably won’t stop checking the cameras until you see them come back anyway.”

“Shit nigga, wouldn’t you?! I knew I shouldn’t have come into work today. I could’ve did that damn presentation from my home office.” Erik ranted as he snatched his blazer from the couch in his office. He scrambled to put it on while looking for his keys.

           Erik quickly ended the call rushing out to his Acura NSX. He sped the entire way home. Despite trying to be optimistic and think they were running errands, something just didn’t feel right. It was nagging at him since the meeting. Maybe it was his conscious reminding him that he still fucked up and needed to right his wrongs with his wife? But after last night and this morning, the way she screamed his name and clung to him, just as she always had, he thought he still had time to fix things.

           He arrived to the house in record time. He walked in calling Y/N’s name only to be met with silence. He checked the garage seeing that your car was in fact gone. Erik clenched and unclenched his fist while beginning to count backwards from ten. The pressure he was feeling in his chest was beginning to weigh him down. He couldn’t explain why he was anxious about walking upstairs in his own house to his own room. Nevertheless, his feet carried him there.

           He reached their taking in his surroundings. The gleam from your 7-karat pear shaped diamond ring caught his attention. Approached the nightstand noticing the handwritten note under your ring. He read and reread the note three times trying to internalize what you wrote. His nostrils flared as his eyes began to burn. He balled up the note with hast throwing it across the room. He screamed ‘fuck’ storming out of the master bedroom. You really left him and you took his heart with you, Iman. To top it off, you didn’t want to be apart of this new pregnancy. His chest heaved just thinking about it.

         Erik made his way to Iman’s nursery seeing the closet was open. For whatever reason, he hadn’t noticed her closet while checking the cameras earlier. His mind was centered on the Kimoyo beads then. Iman’s closet was practically empty. There were only a couple of onesies and dresses left. He counted five. Erik walked over to Iman’s crib grabbing the plush pink elephant that Iman loved. He leaned over the crib’s railing clutching the stuffed animal inhaling its scent. Y/N really took his baby. His family was gone.

        The sound of slamming doors followed by the doorbell ringing snapped him out of his thoughts. Using the back of his hand, he wiped his tears. He rushed downstairs hoping it was his wife, but why would she show up after writing that note. He opened the door without even checking to see whom it was, only to reveal two men in khaki colored uniforms. He squared his shoulders feeling his internal rage grow.

“Who the fuck are y’all?” Erik barked. The men blinked a couple times looking taken aback.

“Uhh…Umm…We’re from Enterprise Moving company. We were sent to get Mrs. Udaku-Steven’s belongings.” The shortest one stuttered. Erik’s frown deepened.

“Y’ALL NOT TAKIN’ SHIT! GET THE FUCK OFF MY PROPERTY!” Erik slammed the door in their faces and immediately went to call you.

      He got your voicemail once again. It took his entire strength not to throw his phone. There were knocks at the door followed by the doorbell once again. He clenched his jaw as he heard the moving men asking his to open the door. Erik decided to text you.

You better call that moving company and tell them to leave before I body ALL these mothafuckas!

           Erik knew you were screening your calls. It was confirmed when his text appeared as read a minute later. The gray bubbled with three dots popped up, then went away, and popped up again before going away. His phone began to ring as you picture appeared. He pressed the green button answering. Before he could even say hello, your voice blared through the speaker.

“ERIK! PLEASE DON’T!”

Tag list:

@purple-apricots @chaneajoyyy @toniilaney @wakanda-inspired @almeda-344 @desireatatyana

@wakandalivesforever @yoyolovesbucky @beaut1fulone-blog @sarcastic-sunshines

@elaindeereads @soufcakmistress @bujotellsyourstory @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir

[sinsbymanka]

The Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Update! Chapter 32: The Sound of Silence

In which Haven is destroyed and Maria Cadash is buried while they watch helplessly from above. Full story on AO3!

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When Maria was a little girl, Nanna told her that dwarves built Ostwick, that they built many surface cities ages before. Nanna of course didn’t care for them, those first deserters of the Deep Roads were nothing but thieves and murderers exiled from their home according to her. They were the same people who founded the illegal smuggling operations her eldest granddaughter would someday join, although Zarra never considered that possibility. The second wave of dwarves fleeing, of course, happened to be the houses that would make up the Dwarven Financiers Union. Those blood traitors (Nanna’s words, not hers, although the sentiment felt accurate) planned their exit strategically and left their homeland in a lurch as the remaining once great houses scrambled to save their home. 

The great stone cities underground still stood, but nobody visited. Dwarven architecture lasted the test of time, after all. 

Maria’s people, her ancestors, were among the last dwarves to flee their dying cities at the turn of the industrial age. The last ones to see the only hope of survival was to abandon their pride, their blighted stone, and take their chances up on the surface where the dwarves with money and power shoved their brethren into dark, dank factories churning out poison only slightly less lethal than what killed the remaining dwarves beneath their feet. 

But, Nanna grudgingly admitted, there was nothing like good dwarven architecture and Ostwick had plenty of it thanks to those traitorous bastards. Ostwick was built to last the ages even as the buildings grew higher and people from every corner of the world poured into the city. 

Maria wished Haven had been built the same way. There was no dwarven stone to protect them here, nothing but wood cottages with cheerful painted clapboard going up in smoke and flame. Only one building in Haven was made of heavy brick, the quaint little chantry, and that’s where they all fled to instinctively like nugs escaping a flood, blind and desperate in the smoke. 

Screams for help pierced the night around them. The dragon made another pass overhead and they pressed themselves flush against one of houses, the roof above them erupting into flames. From inside, Maria heard weak, desperate sobs for help. She pressed her hand automatically to the doorknob and found it blazing hot. She swore and wrenched her burned fingers away, darting to the side of the house.

“Cadash!” Dorian hissed, unaware of the people trapped inside. The rear exit was blocked by some burning debris, a fallen electric pole maybe. But there was a window high above her, one she couldn’t quite reach even if she stretched as much as she could.

“What are you…” Varric followed her. Of course he followed her. She turned to him insistently, braced her hands on his shoulders and fought the urge to curl into his welcome warmth and give herself over to horrified sobs. 

“Lift me up.” She demanded instead. 

He arched a brow. “Is this really…” 

“Listen!” She slapped his shoulder, even though she shouldn’t have, and pointed up over her head. His face went blank for an uncomprehending second, then understanding dawned on him and he mumbled a curse under his breath. 

“How in the world did you hear that through all of this?” Dorian asked, aghast. She ignored him.  Varric still wasn’t moving fast enough for the urgency of the situation. She dug her fingers into his shoulders hard enough to bruise and glared steadily into his eyes. “I know you can bleedin’ boost me up there!” 

If he could carry her the whole way up to her bedroom while kissing her within an inch of her life without dropping her he should be more than capable of tossing her through a window. He finally acquiesced and bent at the waist. He tossed his broad, sturdy arms around her thighs and hoisted her up like she weighed nothing. She twisted in his grip to reach for the high window, trying valiantly to ignore the way his hands squeezed just below her ass, his face pressed just below her breasts. 

“This isn’t how I planned on getting my hands on you again.” He joked weakly. 

She gripped the windowsill and tried to shove the pane glass open, but it didn’t budge. “Close your eyes and look down.” She ordered tersely. “Both of you.” 

To his credit, Varric shut his eyes immediately, like he’d aided and abetted in a hundred break-ins. It was Dorian who continued to stare up at her, and she thought part of that reason may have been the sudden keen interest in the man’s too shrewd eyes when he heard the word ‘again.’ “Dorian!” She snapped waspishly. 

When they both finally dropped their gaze, she thrust her elbow through the glass and it shattered easily despite the jarring throb to her sore shoulder. She tried to punch out as much glass as she could, peering through the smoke filling the home. She saw two figures huddled together and yelled. “Here! Over here!”

Thank fucking Andraste herself they moved at her voice. She hauled herself through the window, a tight fit, but manageable. Varric yelled her name as she vanished from view, but Maria simply rolled to the tile floor and shoved her arm over her mouth to try and keep from inhaling the acrid smoke. There was a kitchen chair nearby, a rickety old thing, but it would have to do. She pulled it over and the first figure, a skinny child with a human’s too long limbs, was thrust up onto it by the woman behind him. The kid paused, uncertain, peering down into the darkness outside. 

“Jump!” Maria yelled, coughing on the smoke. “They’ll catch you!” 

For a second, she still thought he wouldn’t, but his mother’s hushed, gentle words convinced him to clamber up through the sill. She watched him pause, breathless, before he tumbled into the abyss outside. 

“You next!” Maria ordered, shoving the woman forward. She clambered up and vanished through the opening in seconds. Maria jumped up on the chair herself, listened to the threatening crack of the flimsy wood and leapt for the windowsill. She caught it just in time, the chair falling to pieces beneath her as she struggled to lever more of her upper body through the opening. She heard the panicked caw of a bird, her name ringing in the alley, felt fingers wrap around her wrists and tugging her forward. Dorian released a blistering torrent of swearing she didn’t understand, then she could breathe again, the air crisp and clear in her lungs before gravity took over and she toppled out of the window. 

She collapsed on top of a sputtering Tevinter witch, his face embedded in her breasts while Nyx flapped above them in a panic. 

“C’mon, we’ve got to move.” Varric urged, pulling her up by the damn arm that’d been nearly wrenched from her shoulder. She winced in his iron grip and he loosened it immediately, running his thumb over her arm apologetically instead while his eyes caught Dorian’s on the ground. “Sparkler, you with us?” 

“All of me but my spleen, perhaps, which is almost certainly ruptured.” He complained acidically. 

“I’m not that heavy.” Maria muttered under her breath.

“Perhaps not for chiseled dwarven physiques.” Dorian grumbled under his breath. She ignored him as they pushed back out into the square. 

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Bull guarded the outside of the chantry like a dragon himself, horns thrown in sharp relief by the flickering flames. He shoved soldiers and witches past him like he threw opponents in his boxing ring. She couldn’t decide if it felt like yesterday or a million years ago that she’d sat and watched him stalk the ring like an old god. Flames threw his craggy features into sharp relief and she didn’t know whether it was fear or relief that made her break out into a cold sweat. 

“You’re late boss.” He growled, one long arm reaching out to sweep her inside. They were among the last and Cullen stood in the center of the chantry, blood dripping from a gash over his chest, but shouting orders. Beside him, Leliana and Josie both looked grim.

“Herald!” Leliana shouted. Maria wished she wouldn’t have. The crowd parted around her, people staring and whispering. She imagined she could hear their venom, their recrimination. She’d brought this down upon them somehow. Perhaps it had been when she lost her temper at the Lord Seeker, perhaps when she’d snubbed them to go to Redcliffe. Her decisions led them here. Her actions. 

Her cowardice because if she was what they wanted, she could have just gone and maybe everyone else would have been safe. She hunched her shoulders forward defensively and ducked her head. 

Just in time to be nearly knocked off her feet by sturdy, warm arms wrapping around her. Bea’s lips pressed against her cheek. “Thank the soddin’ Maker.” Bea whispered, pulling back to sweep her eyes over Maria’s form. “Thank our fucking ancestors or whoever the fuck is out there. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

Outside, the dragon screeched and Bea flinched, but didn’t pull away. Maria reached to rip her hand off her jacket. “Bea, go back downstairs.” 

She meant it to sound like an order, but Bea had never been good at following instructions. She dug her nails into the leather more insistently, blanching in the dim beams of flashlights bouncing around the cavernous space. 

Maria didn’t have time to fight with her. Instead, she stalked away, Bea’s fist remaining resolutely embedded in her jacket. She was gratified to see Cole at her sister’s elbow, pale and quiet as a ghost. At least they were both still okay, at least…

At least they were together. And as they walked she saw the rest of the people she worked with peel off to join them. Vivienne and Cassandra. Blackwall, Solas leaning on him and limping. Sera with an angry burn on her arm. 

“The dragon stole back whatever time we’d bought ourselves.” Cullen snapped feverishly. “We’re cornered and I fear if we surrender…” 

“We have children.” Josephine protested shrilly, trying to press a cloth to Cullen’s chest to stem the bleeding. Her fingers shook, but she maintained her resolute demeanor. 

“Witch children.” Leliana murmured. “They will not stop to separate them from the others and they pledged to eradicate all the witches in Thedas.” 

“We’re going to die.” Cullen dropped his voice low, but not so low that Beatrix didn’t hear it. Her sister made a small, choked noise in her throat. “They’re beyond taking prisoners. We have nowhere to retreat. We’re sitting in our tomb.” 

As if to punctuate his statement, the whole building rattled. Cullen’s face twisted into bitter defeat. “We may as well take the rest of the explosives and detonate them here. It would be faster.” 

“No!” The word fell out of Bea’s mouth before Maria could say anything at all. “No, I don’t…” 

She knew what Bea’s mind flashed to. Knew what she saw as soon as Cullen hurled those words into the air. She felt herself transported back to their old apartment immediately, felt her hand on her father’s bedroom door, heard her voice echo in the silence as she called for him. She could smell the gunsmoke and iron of blood like she’d never walked away from that door. She could feel the earth trailing through her fingers while she stood above a fresh grave. 

“We can’t give up.” Bea was panicking and Bea couldn’t panic, because Bea always did the stupidest shit when she did, but Maria couldn’t quite find the words to soothe her. 

Cole did instead.

“But there’s a way.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cullen spat furiously. “There isn’t…”

“The witch who put the hollow crown on the king’s head.” Cole murmured, curling in on himself, hand reaching blindly for Maria’s own. He grasped her fingers tightly and squeezed. “She laughs while she spins her spells. The first time she came here, she was so afraid, but she’s stronger, smarter, older. Can’t catch her if she can’t be caught. Never be in the tower again, never be chained again. Free, flying, fierce…” 

“Wait!” Leliana burst out, reaching gentle, trembling fingers to turn Cole’s chin to her eyes. “Do you feel her? My Warden?”

Leliana’s anguish was palpable, her eyes shining. “Chantal, was she…” 

“She smiles when you sing. Hums the songs you taught her as she works. The king ordered her to seal them up, make them safe, make them secret, make them gone. But crows leave nests to flee back to, she knows that. Can’t catch her. Can’t send her back. Can’t see through her spells unless they know where to look.” 

“Maker…” Leliana whispered, then shook her head as the building rattled again. Someone screamed. “Maker bless her.”

“What is it?” Jospehine asked. 

“The tunnels!” Leliana exclaimed. “When we first came here, we discovered the people in this village using forbidden magic in the tunnels beneath Haven. Ali sent Chantal here to destroy them after the war but…” 

“She didn’t.” Cole repeated. “She couldn’t.” 

“The tunnels are still there, then, hidden. Chantal…” Leliana’s eyes sparked triumphantly.

“I heard she was a master of illusions.” Vivienne drawled thoughtfully, approaching as if she hadn’t been listening to every word. “I confess, I would love to discover her tricks. Her glamors were legendary, yes?” 

“You have no idea.” Leliana muttered. “We would need the best witches to untangle her knots and we never explored all the tunnels. They must all end outside, eventually, but I cannot say they are free from traps or where they lead.” 

“Take Dorian and Vivienne, then.” Maria directed with a hiss, turning back to Bea and threading her fingers through her sister’s curls, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s going to be fine. We’re not giving up, okay? We’re going to get through this.” 

Bea nodded, eyes closed, fingers shaking while she cupped Maria’s hand with her own. Maria pressed a searing kiss to her sister’s nose. They couldn’t give up, Maria always swore to Bea they wouldn’t end up like dad, they wouldn’t…

“Bianca.” Varric ordered tersely. “I need every record you can dig up for tunnels under Haven. Maps are best, anything from the electric company denoting access points further down the mountain would be top priority, but I’ll take what we can get. Maybe help us avoid any nasty surprises down there.” 

Cullen launched into a plan immediately. “If we can find these tunnels, we need time to evacuate. The remaining forces are coming, if we allow them, they will follow us. The explosives are already here, if we collapse this building down after we leave…” 

“Sera can rig a remote detonator.” Bea whispered. 

“Fuck yeah I can.” Sera muttered darkly. 

Of course she could. And of course Bea would hit it off with the most insane and dangerous woman within fifty square miles. And Maria, for some reason, couldn’t feel better about it. She managed a small, she hoped slightly reassuring, smile for Bea. “Can you help her?”

“Can you stay safe?” Bea countered, opening her eyes. “For once in your damn life can you do that?” 

“I’ll try.” Maria promised. 

Bea nodded, trying her best to be satisfied with that. Maria dropped her hand from her hair and pulled back with a kiss on her sister’s flushed cheek. She lightly pushed Bea away. “Go on then.” 

Bea staggered away, looking over her shoulder as she ducked through the crowd, following Sera pushing through. Maria couldn’t watch her stumble away, couldn’t reconcile the elegant way she usually moved with the fear that made her sister wooden and jerky instead. Bea shouldn’t even be here. Wouldn’t be here, except Maria dragged everyone down with her. Just like she always had. 

The building shook. A small trickle of dust fell from the ceiling, stuck to the sweat and grime on her forehead. She wiped the grit off and stared up at the hard line of Cullen’s jaw.

“If this building collapses before we can evacuate…” 

“He knows you’re here.” Cole’s voice cut insistently through the panicked melee of voices. “He doesn’t care about the people. Doesn’t care about the town. The Elder One wants…” 

“Me.” Maria interrupted. 

“You.” Cole confirmed softly. “The herald.” 

She wanted to scream that she wasn’t anyone’s damn herald, that she’d never claimed to be, that she’d tried to stop it. She wasn’t sent by Andraste, she wasn’t chosen or special. She was…

She was going back into the fire, back into the darkness, back into the night because if she didn’t, the dragon would bring the whole thing crashing down on their ears and everyone she cared about would die in the rubble and flames. 

“Stick with Bea, Cole.” She directed grimly. “Cullen, I want your pistol and all the ammunition you have left.” 

“No!” Cole protested. “If he gets you…” 

“He won’t.” She had to believe that. If she stopped believing that, she’d never find the courage to leave. “When my sister and Sera get that detonator sorted, get it to me. I’ll stay outside as long as I can, draw them away from here. Then I’ll run back here and press the damn button as soon as I’m in the tunnels.” 

It was the only path. The only way forward. And it was a damn long shot, she could see it in Cullen’s face as he calculated her odds. She could feel it in the suddenly heavy silence around her while the core of their team tried to consider if there was any other way. 

“We will find these tunnels.” Vivienne declared cooly. “And we will await you on the other side, darling.” 

Maria wished she had Vivienne’s confidence as the woman lifted her chin in elegant determination and strode toward the doors leading deep into the chantry, the steps that would take her into the basement. From behind her, she heard the rustle of fabric, felt warm fingers trail lightly across her shoulder as Dorian pressed past. He didn’t look down, she didn’t look up. Maria wondered if he was just as afraid of it feeling like a goodbye as she was. 

“Varric.” Cassandra snapped impatiently. “You are the one with the maps, you need to go with them.” 

Varric. Something thumped unevenly inside her, a thin glass wall shattering, reminding her that no matter how much she tried to ignore his presence, she no more could banish it than she could rid herself of the fear threading her veins. Everyone was speaking, debating where they should go, what they should do, making plans to get the refugees out with as much of the supplies stashed below that they could, and Varric… 

Varric was arguing with the Seeker that he needed to stay with her. She couldn’t keep track of the words over her spiking heartbeat while she focused on the gun Cullen pressed into her hand, his leftover ammunition. 

“Maker be with you, Herald.” Cullen folded her fingers around it and she tried not to laugh hysterically. One small pistol, one small dwarf, against a dragon and whatever remained of an army of monsters. 

“The Seeker’s right, Varric.” She didn’t even need to listen to Cassandra to know the Seeker was right. “You and your damn glasses can help spot traps too. And your fucking robot can find a path out.” 

She watched him throw himself to the monsters once trying to save her. She couldn’t watch it again. She wouldn’t. He had asked her to forget it, but sweet ancestors she couldn’t. All she could do was stop it from happening again. 

“Princess I -” 

Maria whirled on Varric, gun in her hand, furious, frightened, and desperate. “Do you have a better plan?” 

She knew he didn’t. He knew he didn’t. There wasn’t a better plan and he looked just as terrified as she felt, just as resigned. This, this was the only plan, and it was a shitty one, and they were all probably going to die, especially her, and….

Fucking sod it all, then. 

She darted forward into the space around him, the space the still smelled slightly of his cologne underneath the lingering scent of smoke. She crashed her lips against his in a kiss that bruised, brought her free hand up to tug him closer by a steely grip in his hair. He froze in stunned disbelief, just like she had the first time she’d decided to say fuck it all and kiss the blasted man, before one arm wrapped snugly around her waist and pulled her tight. He tasted like iron, like gunpowder and fire and he held onto her like...

Like he couldn’t bear to let her go. 

Before she could convince herself to believe that, she pulled herself away. Cullen coughed awkwardly in the background. High above Varric’s shoulder, Bull had the good grace to pretend to be very interested in the ceiling crumbling above them. 

Although, really, that was the more pressing problem than the ache in her chest as she smoothed Varric’s sweat-slicked hair back. His eyes were closed, his breathing heavy, and sweet Andraste if she was going to die at least she had this, even if she only had it for a second, even if it meant nothing. 

It had been enough. 

She apologized, silently, to Fynn’s ghost while she whispered one more time to Varric.

“Go.” She ordered, wrenching herself out of his loose grip. “Now.” 

She stalked away without looking back, she couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t lose her nerve if she saw him staring after her. 

She wasn’t surprised the Bull shadowed her. She dropped her eyes to her gun, checking the magazine. “You could stay, you know. This isn’t going to be easy.” 

Or safe. Or sane. 

“And let you have all the fun?” Bull asked with a rueful laugh. “You always knew how to find the best trouble, boss.” 

“Well.” Maria looked up from her pistol with a watery smile, one hand braced against the chantry door. “You always said you wanted to fight a dragon.” 

-- 

She expected the dragon to incinerate her on sight as it passed, low enough she could see the gleaming scales of it’s belly flickering with firelight, so low the rush of air whipped strands of her hair across her face. 

Instead, the dragon soared upwards with another screech, turning south and back into the pass. Maria didn’t have time to appreciate their sudden good fortune because within moments it was obvious they weren’t alone.

It was like the templars had been waiting for her to reappear, wolves circling, monsters craning in the darkness to catch sight of her brilliant red hair. She heard their cracked, parched voices screaming for the false herald. Then the first round of bullets split the smoke and she dashed to a piece of burning debris, a pile of what once had probably been a charming, picturesque chimney. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bull fold himself behind an overturned car. 

She aimed at the vague shapes in the dark, in the smoke, but she couldn’t tell if she hit anyone or anything. She thought, perhaps, she heard a strangled shout. The rumble of Bull’s rifle split the night and Maria wondered if this reminded him of Seheron, if he regretted finding himself back on a battlefield. 

It didn’t matter, it was all mechanics. Deft fingers exchanging an empty magazine for a full one as quickly as she could. Aim and squeeze, aim and shoot. They weren’t people, not anymore, these were monsters that only sounded like people when they fell because she could barely see their grotesque forms in the dark. 

She saw one shadow drop as she squeezed the trigger, but when she took aim at another and pulled, the gun rattled ominously empty. She swore and dropped her hand to her jacket pocket, moving as quickly as she could as the footfalls picked up pace, intent on storming her makeshift barrier while she struggled to reload. 

She didn’t have enough time, she knew she didn’t, so she dropped the magazine and waited only a fraction of a second for the large, human-ish shape to appear, gun pointed right at her forehead. If he would have pulled the trigger, she’d have been dead instantly. But he didn’t, and instead Maria swung her leg out. She caught him right at the knees, the hit hard enough to send him down. 

They didn’t pick templars for their flimsiness. He was up in a half second, glowing red eyes blazing in his face, red lines burned underneath it like lava. He’d dropped the gun he’d been holding, but he didn’t need it. His fist slammed into her unguarded abdomen so hard and fast it sent Maria toppling into the grey slush beneath her. 

She could barely catch her breath, her muscles clenching and spasming, but she rolled to the side just in time to avoid the red lyrium encrusted glove smashing into the ground beside her. The human scrambled on top of her, shoving her down into the snow, and she brought up one knee to catch him in the groin, praying that it worked just as well on monsters as it did on men. 

She was lucky. Despite aiming blind and breathless, her shin connected just right to cause the monster on top of her to howl and fold in on himself. She shoved herself up, scrambling in the snow, fingers numb and freezing, trying to get to his loaded weapon if she couldn’t load hers. 

His fist clenched in her hair and ripped a half-formed whimper from her throat as he twisted her neck violently to the side, but her fingers had found searing hot metal in the darkness, wrapped around it like a lifeline despite the burn. She fumbled it blindly and pressed the muzzle to the form behind her. 

The blast was muffled, but his scream pierced her ears as he released her hair. She was on her feet in a second, twisting to finish him off, but before she could another shot echoed and the man fell. 

The Seeker loomed over her, features fierce, eyes calculating. “Are you hurt?” 

Even if she was, it wouldn’t matter. Cassandra held something white in her hand, thrust it forward without a word and Maria’s hand closed over the detonator with a thud. “My sister?” She asked quickly.

“Stated she would not leave without you.” Cassandra snapped. Maria’s heart began to sink, but Cassandra kept speaking with a steely glare into the darkness, aiming and picking off one of the approaching monsters effortlessly. “So Blackwall threw her over his shoulder and manhandled her into the tunnels on my orders. I thought it was what you would wish.”

She could kiss the Seeker. She really could. Maria pointed her stolen gun into the dark and fired twice, dropping two more templars that were approaching Bull’s position. Cassandra reached into her pocket and pulled her phone from within, bringing it to her lips. “I am with the Herald and Bull. I will remain here until we receive the signal.” 

“10-4 Seeker.” Varric’s graveled voice replied. “Keep her safe.” 

Maria hoped the heat rising in her face wasn’t as transparently obvious as it was in Cassandra’s. 

xx 

A knot in Varric’s chest loosened. The Seeker was with her, the Seeker was a battering ram, a match for Aveline if ever one existed. It would be fine. It had to be fine. 

Sweet fucking Andraste he could still taste her, could still feel her fingers in his hair, the dip and curve of her waist and the press of her body against his. That brief kiss reignited every ounce of passion that had cooled in the grim realities of desperate, pitched battle for their lives. 

And yet, this time, the sheer scale of his veneration was too recent to be forgotten entirely. The woman who pressed searing lips to his also held their front lines a truly impressive amount of time, managed to topple a behemoth with her precise aim and perfect timing, heard a cry for help in the midst of pure chaos and climbed through fire without a second thought to rescue civilians as a bloodthirsty dragon circled their heads.

His inner author took copious notes. The rest of him stood silent in shocked, reverent awe like a man enraptured with a goddess. 

And he’d left her. Left her to face a dragon. Left her knowing Hawke’s cards spelled doom. He knew their situation was impossible, knew they were very likely all going to die, knew she’d be in the greatest danger of all and even still…

He left because a part of him, a shriveled, weary part of him, believed. Hell, not that she was Andraste’s choosen because that was an idiotic notion, but Maria…

He believed in her. He was beginning to believe in her like he’d believed in nothing else. 

He had to keep that in mind, because if he thought for a second she wouldn’t survive this, he’d throw his tablet right at Dorian’s head and turn tail back up through the tunnels while the rest of them tried to figure out where the fuck they were going. 

Ideally, they’d be heading south, under the templars, down into the mountain pass. That would get them close to the Hinterlands and all the little, charming towns and villages scattered among the area. Even though the countryside was war-torn, he’d take it over the hell erupting above their heads. He’d even drag Maria back into Redcliffe if they needed to. 

Unfortunately, they weren’t going south. The tunnels veered west, straight under the Frostback mountains, which wasn’t particularly somewhere they wanted to be stuck with a shit ton of people carrying whatever supplies they could manage to haul with them. Varric could hear the great mass lumbering some distance behind him, the wail of children, clipped orders from the remaining soldiers ushering them through. Varric feared he was navigating them all right into the asscrack of Ferelden and Orlais. 

Still better than being murdered by red templars, but only marginally. 

“We’re going to get lost and starve to death, aren’t we?” Dorian asked the silence surrounding them. “A glorious end for the Inquisition.” 

“Weren’t you camping behind some farm in Redcliffe when we met, darling?” Vivienne sniffed. 

“Don’t remind me.” Dorian sighed wearily. “Worst week of my life and not just because I met you.” 

Varric couldn’t help himself, he snorted half a laugh. Immediately, both witches turned their critical gaze to him and his tablet. Varric mouth worked quickly as he and Bianca continued to examine and contrast the different maps side by  side. “Some people explore tunnels like this for fun. I think it’s called spelunking.” 

“Is that what you and our dear Herald were up to before we got kicked in the teeth by an army?�� Dorian drawled. “Spelunking?” 

Varric Tethras wasn’t one to kiss and tell, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now, but before he could retort, Vivienne made a noise of sudden understanding. 

“Ah, that does explain his role in the Inquisition.” She tapped her elegant manicured fingers against her chin thoughtfully. “I assumed it was simply to annoy Cassandra.” 

Before he could retort that he may be short, but he certainly wasn’t deaf and was in fact, right there, his eyes zeroed in on something in front of him that caused his heart to nearly stop in sheer excitement. “Bianca.” He called out, eyes roaming the maps frantically. “Can we use an old natural gas conduit to get into the mining tunnels?” 

“There are no natural gas conduits listed on the maps.” Bianca stated cooly. “But if one could be found…” 

Bianca wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t see what he did. Thank the fucking Ancestors Hawke spent so much time dragging him through Kirkwall’s sewers, because Varric recognized the conduit entrance like a glowing neon sign. Varric ran forward to the hatch on the wall, ripped it open with all his rather considerable strength. He poked his head through and shone the light from his phone down the dark tunnel. His knees almost went weak when he saw another hatch some distance down. If he was right, and he was pretty certain he was, that would deposit them in the old mining tunnels, and those could be followed back to the surface easily. 

“Bianca, connect me to Curly.” He directed. “I’ve got a way out.” 

xx

She felt like she’d been fighting for hours. Her arms shook with exhaustion, her mouth was full of ash and soot. Every movement came robotically, came without thought, her mind wiped clean of everything except blood, except death, except sheer, animalistic survival. They’d been forced back against the chantry doors, their backs nearly against the wall, and still they came. It was unstoppable. Relentless. 

But she still didn’t expect Bull to fall first. 

The great mountain of a qunari didn’t scream, he only grunted as he’d been doing the entire gunfight, but the hot blood splashed against Maria’s face and he crumbled to one side, his other arm bracing on the rough stones behind him. Maria didn’t even know she could still form words, but his name was in her mouth instantly, her arm over the gaping wound in his abdomen. 

“It’s alright boss.” Bull tried to grab for his gun, and that’s when Maria realized it wasn’t just the one wound. There was at least one more, high on his shoulder, a gauge through the rippling muscle. She suspected another in his leg. 

“Bull!” The blood pulsed through her fingers, like Fynn’s had, warm and sticky. Panic nearly stole her breath as he winced under her and Maria looked to Cassandra. “Get him inside.” 

“We have not received the signal.” Cassandra responded tersely, eyes scanning the darkness that suddenly seemed empty. Too empty. 

“I’ll wait for the signal.” 

“I will wait for the signal while you…” Cassandra argued. 

“Maria.” Bull hissed her name, but it sounded too quiet. It sounded like it was fading and there was so much blood, so much…

“I can’t carry him!” Maria screamed the words into the night, fury hiding her fear. She couldn’t lose Bull, not like this, not with his blood on her hands just like Fynn’s, not when he’d been the one that held her while she keened for his loss. 

She couldn’t lose Bull because he refused to abandon her again, even when it was the smarter option, and she couldn’t carry him, she was too small, but Cassandra could. Cassandra had to. “Please, please.” 

She couldn’t tell what stunned Cassandra more, her temper or her pleading, but she saw the effect they had on the Seeker. Beside her, Bull cursed in Qunlat, the low rumble dim and incoherent. 

She had lost so much, she couldn’t bear to lose the one friend she’d always had. If Andraste or the Maker was watching, if they were listening, they had to do this one thing for her. It was all she asked.

Cassandra’s jaw tightened and she thrust her phone into Maria’s hand. Then she knelt down and slung one of Bull’s hulking arms over her shoulder. Maria nearly cried in relief even as Bull made a noise of protest, even as his large hand brushed against her red hair.

“I’ll be right behind you, I promise.” Her voice shook. “Just don’t bleedin’ die on me, you big asshole.” 

“I will wait in the tunnels.” Cassandra promised, eyes blazing as Maria twisted to wrench the big chantry doors open, once pristine, now scarred with signs of bullets and fire. “As soon as he gives the signal, abandon the fight.” 

Maria simply nodded, but it was enough for Cassandra. The Seeker dragged the hulking form of Bull through the open door. Maria waited for the space of one heartbeat, two, before she slammed it shut after them. She had the detonator in her pocket, Cassandra’s phone in one hand, gun in the other. Around her, Haven blazed like an inferno, but it was quiet. Finally, blissfully, silent.

Quiet like her ancestor’s tombs.

Quiet except for the beat of wings in the air. A sound that chilled her to her bones. She pulled back from the door, fastening her eyes on the sky above, pinning the huge figure of the dragon against the flickering flames. It barreled through the sky, fire sparking in its throat, heading straight towards her. 

She had little choice, she tore herself away from the chantry doors just in the nick of time, running for her life as far from the building as she could. The spot where she had stood erupted into a tower of flames immediately, the old wooden door catching blaze in seconds. 

The force of the dragon landing rocked the very ground like an earthquake and sent her sprawling back into the ashy snow. Cassandra’s phone skidded away, but she kept her grip on her gun and pushed herself to her knees, spinning to face the beast.

It’s head was twice the size of her small form, easily, and it screeched while she staggered backwards. She waited for it to spew flames, to finish her where she stood, instead it simply raised one wing as if shrugging a shoulder at her insignificance. 

There was someone underneath the shiny black wing, someone tall and slender, someone that looked more corpse than person. 

“You are the one they call the herald of Andraste.” It drawled, seeming to float rather than stride. All of Maria’s hair stood on end and she raised her pistol on instinct, aiming for the indistinct figure. 

The gun wrenched out of her hand so suddenly it startled a cry from her lips, the power burning her fingertips like open flames as the gun skittered far beyond her reach. She brought them to her numb lips and stared in growing horror at the emerging man. He stood taller than even Bull, but made of nothing but mottled ruined flesh studded with red lyrium. He stared down at her with pale, furious eyes. “The dwarf who ruined my plans. A mere slip of a girl with nothing more than luck. And yet, they would call you a god.” 

“What do you want?” Despite her fear, she managed to push the question through her chattering teeth. What could possibly be worth this destruction, this death? Why? Why? 

“I want the opportunity you stole. The magic in your form that belongs to me, not you.” He was above her now, looming through the poisonous smoke like the most terrifying demon Maria had ever seen. “The god you claim to serve…” 

“I don’t…” She protested.

“SILENCE!” He roared, reaching down to wrench her from the snow. She thought he meant to pull her upright, but to her shocked dismay, he lifted her effortlessly until she dangled from her throbbing shoulder, spinning in his withered grip. “You have been raised up by superstition and hysteria, as all gods are. Not one has been worthy of the name.” 

The Maker wasn’t her God, nor was his bride of any particular use to her. Nanna said the Stone once called to their people and if you were quiet, you could hear it singing softly still like a mother in mourning. 

If that was true, it didn’t sing to her. It never had. 

The creature threw her to the ground and Maria hit it so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. “I will give this world the god it deserves…” The creature promised silkily. “But first, I require what you took…” 

“I didn’t fucking take…” Her temper flared, the profanity boiling in her mouth, but before she could say much else the man began to speak. The second he started, the breath caught in her lungs and turned solid like cement. She was choking on it. She didn’t understand what he was saying, the words dark and heavy, foreign and only barely reminiscent of the musical curse words from Dorian’s language. 

She felt like they landed on her skin, burning like hot coals, like brands, starting in her fingertips and rising up her wrist, her arm, her shoulder. They grew brighter, hotter, she swore she heard her skin sizzling. 

A scream pierced the air. At first, she didn’t recognize the terrible, echoing sound as hers, not until it was joined by another before the first finished echoing. She couldn’t stop. She couldn’t fight him. 

All she could do was scream.  

xx 

Varric didn’t realize Harding was recording. Not at first. She crouched beside him, pulling people from the tunnels and into the snow. Her voice blended into the mess of babbled prayers, strangled shouts, sobs of relief and horror. Below them, glowing in a blaze of flames, Haven stood. He couldn’t make out anything there, nothing beyond shadows and fire, the chantry building still standing tall. He couldn’t hear gunfire, but he couldn’t stop to listen for it. All he could do was reach for the next grimy pair of hands. 

A kid, no older than sixteen, held Harding’s phone in shaking hands, trained on the reporter and the mass of people she was hauling out of the tunnels beside Varric. Her words came, clipped and furious, terse and to the point. “There is no telling how many people have perished in this unprovoked attack or what the templar order intends to do next. Haven’s refugees will require food, medicine, and safe transport. The soldiers that are left are unable to single-handedly…” 

“Are you live?” He asked incredulously. Harding flicked an annoyed glance at him, one that clearly said of course she was, and that this wasn’t the time to be asking stupid questions. She continued her monologue without interruption just as Blackwall called his name. 

The next pair of hands he grabbed tightened around his wrists immediately, Bea’s pale face nearly the same shade as the pristine snow around them, drained of all color by terror and fury. Blackwall hauled himself out after her and reached back for Cole as Bea’s eyes landed with a helpless dry sob on the scene in the valley below them.

“This is the last group.” Blackwall snapped, taking Varric’s place in the line. “Tell them to get the fuck out of there while they still can.” 

Thank the fucking Maker for that. Varric twisted Bea away from the tunnel, but her hands dug more resolutely into his wrist. “Varric, please, please…”  

“Bianca.” He snapped impatiently, trying to pry her nails from his skin as gently as he could. She didn’t need to beg him. He wanted her sister out of that hell just as much as she did. “That line to the Seeker still open?” 

“Connecting.” Bianca chimed. Then her voice fell away, leaving not-quite silence in his ear instead. He could hear the crackling sound of flames, something else he couldn’t quite place, but no gunshots. 

His stomach clenched but he tried to keep his face carefully blank. He didn’t need Bea panicking and darting back into the tunnels. “Seeker!”

No answer. Varric called out again. “Cassandra, can you hear me?” 

His voice echoed back to him. Varric ripped one of hands from Bea’s grip, ignoring the bloody groves her nails left in his skin, and pressed his palm against his empty ear, trying to make sense of the sounds on the other end of the call. 

Muffled voices. There were muffled voices, a woman and a man, but he couldn’t make out the words, couldn’t…

“SILENCE!” 

Icy dread hit him like a brick wall and he didn’t keep the horrified expression from his face, he knew it by the way Bea raised her free hand to her mouth to stifle either a scream or a sob, Varric didn’t know. 

What he did know was that voice, he knew it and he’d never forget it, not as long as he lived. He still conjured it in his nightmares and the terrifying, gruesome form it belonged to raving for an old god to smite them down. But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, they killed him, banished him back to the afterlife they’d ripped him out of. 

The sound of an impact, something soft against something hard, an involuntary gasp of shock and pain, all the breath leaving a small figure as something hit her, or threw her, or…

She’d made the same kind of sound when Varric tossed her on the bed, but it’d been softer then, a delighted huff of surprise instead of…

More muffled words, then a surprisingly sharp and clear retort despite the breathlessness of her reply. “I didn’t fucking take…” 

“She’s alive.” Varric ripped free of Bea’s other hand, digging for his phone, shouting out an order into the darkness. “Nightingale! Cameras in Haven, are any of them still working?” 

“None! Not since the town lost power!” She cried back. “Varric, what…” 

He didn’t bother to answer. He needed his shotgun, didn’t know where he’d thrown it. He had to go back, had to get to her, because there was no other voice on that line but Maria’s, and she was alone, alone facing a monster they let loose into the world. 

The first scream through his earpiece nearly tore a matching one from him, although his was born of frustration and hers from whatever that gigantic piece of blighted trash was doing to her. Each scream crested higher, screeching more desperately, wordless agonized howls into the night that Varric was shocked nobody else could hear. He knew she couldn’t hear him, knew it was hopeless, but he called her name anyway. “Maria! Maria!” 

This, at least, got the attention of both Blackwall and Sera. They whirled to him, confused and concerned. He met their eyes with a mixture of both panic and dread. 

“They’ve got her.” Blackwall guessed with a growl. 

Not they, he, and he was killing her, Varric was listening to her die, her screams tapering out into wrenching, exhausted sobs. “We have to go back.” 

They’d never make it. He saw the thought reflected in all their faces, and yet he could see the determination follow it. Blackwall turned to push back through the rest of the refugees, his hulking form prepared to shove back into the tunnel.

Varric heard the rumble in his earpiece first. A great explosion of cracking stone and imploding rubble. It echoed, not just in his head, but across the valley and into the mountains. Varric turned, helpless, to stare down at the burning ruins of Haven. 

And the smoking pile of rubble where the chantry stood. 

“No.” Bea choked on a sob, swaying where she stood, “No, no, no, no…”

Varric reached forward to catch her, helpless to do anything else.

They couldn’t go back through the tunnels. They couldn’t get to her. The sound of silence echoed in his earpiece. 

“Maria?” He whispered. 

But she couldn’t hear him and he couldn’t save her. 

xx

It was like breathing in glass and fire, the smoke searing her lungs, the lingering pain turning each gulp of air into a hiccup. Tears, ugly, bitter things, stung her cheeks. She wanted to curl into a ball, exhausted and limp, the racking memory of pain still unbearable. 

She wanted to beg for him to stop, but she never begged Dwyka. She wouldn’t plead with this monster either. She could see the outline of the chantry, so close and so far away. She’d never make it into the tunnels, never get out of here past this monster and his dragon, but she could make sure nobody else would either. Her shaking fingers dove into the pocket of her coat and caressed the cold switch. All she had to do was flip the top of it off, then press the button.

It was easy, even if she couldn’t catch her breath. She felt it work in the way the ground shook, the sound of the explosion. She saw the great, grand stone building buckle in on itself, collapsing effortlessly with a rumble that felt like one of the mythical titans finally laying down it’s burden and going to sleep. 

The monster grabbed her arm and wrenched her back off the ground, not the whole way into the air, but enough to cause another startled, painful cry. Something pulsed beneath her skin, something frightening and agonizing. A dark, violet bruise bloomed in the palm of her hand and he scowled before dropping it. “As I thought. The spell is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling.” 

He twisted from her in disgust, through tear filled eyes she saw him reach a skeletal hand out to the dragon. It reached out for him in return like a monstrous cat it’s master. Maria felt sick, felt weak, felt so frightened she could hardly move. Still, she dragged herself up from the snow, near doubled over, staring at the monster. 

“I will find another way.” The creature muttered to himself, dark and foreboding. “But I will not have a false prophet as a rival. You must serve as an example of what happens to those who would link themselves to the gods of old.” 

She was going to die. The knowledge settled over her with an air of finality. Maria Cadash was going to die here in the ruins of the town that took her in and paid the price. 

At least it wasn’t Bea or Cole. At least it wasn’t Varric. And maybe, maybe Bull would survive. They’d all be okay, except for her. And that, too, was okay. She should have been dead a long, long time ago. 

Maybe she’d see Fynn again. Maybe he’d forgive her. 

“I’m not afraid.” She lied through her teeth. She wouldn’t admit it, not to this monster, not to the universe that waited for her demise with baited breath. “Do it. Fucking do it.” 

The mad, eerie grin he turned on her made her blood run to ice. His mocking, harsh laughter made her knees weak. He lifted his arms to the ruins of Haven and grinned down at her. “I have seen your nightmares, false herald. I know what frightens you.”

She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t afraid, she wouldn’t allow herself to be, but the corpse continued to talk. “You fear you’ll find your ancestors in the dark, and they’ll know you for a thieving whore. You fear their disgust when they know what you’ve done. And worse, you fear it was all for not, that you’ve failed, Maria Cadash. And you have.” 

His grin stretched his face grotesquely. “Perhaps most charming of all, you fear dying in the stone that claimed your hapless ancestors, buried and forgotten.” 

Her skin prickled and she shook her head in denial, in vehement protest, but it was too late. The wraith-like figure vanished into the open wings of the dragon. Then the great beast itself sprung from the ground, lifting into the smoky sky above them. She could barely make it out as it flew over her head, leaving her alone in the rubble. 

For a moment, she thought she survived. For a second, a shining second, she nearly laughed in relief and tried to remember where Cassandra’s phone had vanished to. She could call for help, she could… 

Then she saw the dragon flying to the Eastern mountain, saw it’s great maw open, heard the whoosh of flames. Saw the blizzard it kicked up with wings and claws. At first, she didn’t understand. She watched, confused and dazed, exhausted and numb. 

By the time she understood, it was too late, although she’d never had a chance to begin with. She was simply a dwarf, a woman, and she wasn’t made to survive monsters and demons. 

The snow was beginning to roll down the mountain and the dragon screeched, taking off into the sky. The first gentle shifting became a raging torrent, the avalanche forming as she watched, heading straight for what was left of Haven.

She’d be buried. Buried just like her ancestors. 

She could barely move, the pain making her limp like an old woman, but she twisted and began to run, even if it was helpless. Even if she knew she couldn’t survive. She wouldn’t go down without trying, wouldn’t lie down and make it easy like her father had. She owed Bea and Bull that, at least. 

The roar grew louder, closer, and Maria stumbled in the slush, her aching hand in the snow. She could feel the approaching mountain in her teeth, feel the ground trembling beneath her. She scrambled to get back up, the very earth fighting her, as if it was opening up beneath her to swallow her whole. 

Then she fell into the abyss.  Fell into the darkness of her ancestors’ tombs.  

xx

They were helpless to do anything but watch. Helpless to do anything but witness the fires of Haven snuffed out in a sea of white far beneath them. Varric strained to see a small form in the chaos, a flicker of life struggling before being snuffed out, but it was his writer’s heart that tried to convince him that she could have outran the avalanche the dragon called down, could have slipped out of that demon’s grasp. 

Maria Cadash hadn’t been delivered to them by Andraste, because if she had then the Maker would have plucked her from danger. She hadn’t been a fairy tale heroine, because if she had then Varric would always have written her victorious and safe. 

She’d been a woman, bright and brilliant, soft and sad, fierce and furious. For a brief period of time, she’d been perfect. She’d been untouchable. For a second, she even could have been his. 

Then she was gone. In a few, brief seconds, she was gone. Her life cut short. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t enough. 

“Connection lost.” Bianca notified him softly, her voice almost gentle in his ear. He couldn’t bear to listen to it, reached up to pull it away as he stared at the pristine valley below, looking untouched by humans and battle. A grave for their fiercest warrior.

“If I’m still broadcasting…” Harding’s voice shook. She had her phone clenched in trembling hands, aimed not at her face but at the valley below. “If anyone is listening, Haven has been destroyed. Maria…” 

Harding’s voice cracked and she coughed, pulled herself together just enough to finish the sentence. “Maria Cadash, recently known as the herald of Andraste, is believed dead along with countless others who perished to save innocent civilians.” 

The words broke the silent, terrible spell over them. It was Bea’s keening wail that shattered the horrifying quiet like a bullet, her wrenching sobs too loud, too painful, too desperate to ignore. Maria’s sister pitched forward in the snow, falling to her knees and shaking her head in denial. 

Varric couldn’t even look at her without a surge of guilt threatening to send him crashing to the ground beside her. It was Sera who fell beside Bea, folded her into her too long, too skinny arms and rocked back and forth as Bea sobbed like a broken, wounded animal, her sister’s name the only thing coherent in the words spilling from her mouth. 

Varric left her even though he knew what she faced. Left her like a coward. Left her to die alone. 

Hell, he’d been the cause of it. The fucking red lyrium he found, the monster he helped release back into the world. His actions, if you followed them back to Kirkwall, were the ones that led them here. Led them to Maria Cadash entombed in the ruins of Haven with countless others while he watched impotently. 

He thought he was going to save her. He could almost laugh at the audacity if he’d ever laugh again. He’d fooled himself into thinking he wasn’t dangerous, but he should have known better. Her blood wasn’t on the templars’ hands, wasn’t on Dwyka’s. 

In the end, Varric Tethras killed Maria Cadash and he could never forgive himself. 

xx

The footage from Haven vanished. The last choppy, horrifying moments, a reporter’s garbled voice saying Maria Cadash was dead. The two Hawke sisters sat, twisted together, on Sebastian’s overstuffed couch. Hawke could feel Bethany’s hand shaking within her own. A different reporter appeared on the screen, a pale woman who looked as horrified as they felt. 

“Varric was not in the valley.” Fenris growled from his spot behind the couch. Hawke felt his fingers dig into the overstuffed leather. “I saw him beside the reporter. He is unharmed.” 

Thank Andraste for small miracles, Hawke guessed. The bitch couldn’t pull one out of thin air for her damn herald, of course, but at least Varric…

“Bianca.” Hawke called out, her voice tight in the terrible, heavy silence. The light on her phone flashed blue in acknowledgement. “Can you connect us to our favorite dwarf?” 

“Connection impossible.” The AI’s voice drifted out of the phone’s speaker. “Cellular coverage has been disrupted and the local program has not established an alternate method of connection at this time.” 

Varric hated being disconnected. He’d fix it as soon as he could, but who knew when that would be. Until then… 

Varric was alright. And Varric wasn’t alright. She could feel it in her bones. She slipped from the couch even as Bethany tried to pull her back down. Fenris intercepted her before she could make it back to the little card table in the corner. “Stop this.” He demanded tersely. 

“I love it when you’re bossy.” She muttered more out of habit than anything else, sidestepping him easily. He had the good sense not to try and physically stop her, but he shadowed her regardless with a scowl. She placed her palms on the table and leaned over it, nauseous and helpless, glaring at the cards staring up at her. 

Death and the Hermit. She couldn’t pull anything else and hadn't been able to all day. She swiped them back into the deck mechanically. Fenris placed his hand on the small of his back, leaning over her form to whisper in her ear. “There is nothing you could have done. You know this. Don’t be foolish.” 

She leaned into his touch for comfort and reassurance in spite of herself, eyes closing. Foolish. Was it really so foolish to hope that something good could have come through all this? Had it really been so naive to wish…

She slammed her open palm down onto the table and the cards went flying. She bit back a broken sob of outrage, of terror. If the templars had begun taking red lyrium, not only had they killed Varric’s pretty herald, but Hawke’s family would never be safe. They’d never stop hunting her, never stop… 

“Oh.” Bethany’s soft exclamation broke through her scattered thoughts and made both her and Fenris turn to look. Bethany stood, in sweatpants and a too-large shirt, the cards scattered around her feet. They all landed face down in nearly a perfect circle, their elaborately designed backs identical and indistinguishable. 

All of them face down except, of course, one. One that landed nearly perfectly in the center of the mess. 

It was the brightest of her cards, the most brilliantly colored. A woman with hair of red, oranges, and yellows standing tall, one hand extended above her head, eyes closed. 

In her palm, she held the sun. 

Everything shifted. The universe tilted precariously on its axis while they stared at the card. 

“Oh.” Hawke echoed Bethany, looking up to meet her sister’s eyes. They stared at each other while Hawke listened to the voices, suddenly so much louder, clamoring in her prophet’s skull. Sometimes she could nearly make sense of them. This, this…

There was a picture burning in her mind. Vague, indistinct, colors shifting and boiling as she tried to make sense of them. A flash of red, blinding sun on white snow, a cheer, a song, a small woman on the edge of the abyss lit up from within, sunlight pouring from her veins, ambition turning her into the sun, turning her into gold and crimson. 

The Sun. The fucking Sun. 

“This wasn’t destruction.” Hawke smiled, a slow, tenuous thing as she stared at the cards. This was collapsing. This was crumbling, a star from a black hole. A phoenix rising from the ashes. 

It was rebirth.