#al he got comfortable with him immediately (in dis regard at least)

[skunkes]

Does Talon spend all his time in an oversized t-shirt with no drawers on

A lot of the time yes it rly is his favorite....

Can easily just roll around and be wrapped up in something which he enjoys....depends on how Cold he feels at the time (heavier clothing that covers him up usually wont make him that much warmer since he doesnt produce much body heat but its just different sensations of comfort). And its even better to him when he gets to wear Other People's shirts

[redstaratmorning]

Headcanons and Musings of Pirate-y And Plunderous Proportions: Astarion Says What

Synopsis: Random musings and ramblings regarding and spawning from the differences between how Astarion says just one word, depending on your choices—“What?” This got very long and touches not only on Astarion’s difference in presentation in aforementioned moment, but also some discussion-thoughts to chuck onto the dashboard regarding some other elements of Astarion’s content thus far in Early Access, and some thoughts to add onto others’ speculations and wonderings (I did not save sources so pardon the lack of proper citation, oops. We’re going informal here anyway.) Spoilers for Chapter 1 BG3 scenes, plot, etc, under the cut in case someone hasn’t filtered out the tags. Trigger warning/content warning: some discussion of heavy topics is mentioned and explored, including starvation, abuse/torture, and trauma. Other topics of note for summarization include speculation on Astarion’s largely unknown as-of-early-access background and a touch of his possible pre-vampire morality leanings, possible mental state/trauma reaction in a couple of scenes, and vague speculation on Larian’s gameplan for Astarion’s arc ending. Gather thy party and venture forward, for here be dragons and lots o’ text, matey! [/stereotypical pirate accent]

“What?” Just that one word, between the goblin party and the tiefling party. If Larian keeps the body language and tone presentation more or less where it’s at now in Early Access, they are worlds apart and delightfully up for interpretation of just what’s going on in our favorite vampire spawn’s head. This won’t be an in-depth post about all the tonal and body language differences, just picking out a few due to personal constraints (ie too broke to buy this game currently.) Edit: And also a lot of other thoughts and ramblings tacked on, lol. On the one hand we have him at the goblin party, where he seems much more superficially comfortable there, knows what’s going on and knows what to expect—it feels like he’s done this kind of scene a hundred times before. The comfort of familiarity. Did Cazador throw “parties”, much like how he “invited” Astarion to dine with him? I wouldn’t be surprised if he mingled at regular dinner parties either before his turning, or perhaps after when he’s ordered to hunt for Cazador’s evening repast. I doubt the goblin party has anything as potentially horrific as what Cazador would have lined up on the nightly basis, which is why Astarion isn’t aggro’d: he’s in a position of power at this party after all, not a powerless one. A conquering hero, as he describes the MC. A Precarious position, as it turns out.

Circling back to that one word though, the way he says “what” in that scene after he propositions the MC and the MC picks the “Maybe. If you say please” line feels like Astarion’s response could be interpreted as pretty abrupt. On guard, perhaps, squaring up, offended, even perhaps lowkey challenging/hostile. Expressing social displeasure and possibly staring down the MC mayhaps? Could be, especially if Astarion’s body language remains as it is rigged now in-scene with that step forward, his shoulders shifting, the lack of a smile, that assessing glare, all combined with that flat tone of voice. The animation could just be temporary and subject to change, but if it does end up as more or less the final version of that moment’s depiction, it’s pretty interesting as a shift. I’d read it as potentially “not actually truly comfortable in this situation, just familiar and numb to it all”, especially when combined with some of his other earlier potential lines at the goblin party, such as the following: Astarion: So, what are we drinking to? Other than a pile of corpses. MC: That’s not funny. Astarion: Oh don’t be so sour - It’s a party. You did what you had to. Don’t be ashamed that you did it well. MC: I wish things had turned out differently. Astarion: And I wish I was drinking out of the skulls of everyone who’s ever wronged me. Life is tough. Although that’s not to say we can’t have a little fun. This supports the whole “has been through his personal hell and has adapted to survive it albeit not unscathed” story Larian seems to be going for with him quite nicely in the little tells and details. A sort of “take what joy you can even amidst the dark situation surrounding us” trauma-induced adaptation, coupled together with actual enjoyment on his part for killing. It’d be easy to say Astarion is moreso in his element at the goblin party, and to a degree he is—it’s one he is well practiced with in his current mindset. Compare now how he acts at the tiefling party—we can all agree he’s not having a good time, our friendly neighborhood vampire sulking in particular over the fact that “there’s a worm in [his] brain, [he’s] surrounded by idiots, and all [he] has to drink is wine that tastes like vinegar.” But the delightful thing is he’s complaining so vividly about it. The wine likely is worse at the tiefling party, seeing as they’re refugees, and the goblins had previously captured a duke whom they likely stole loot from and under orders from Minthara et al stored said goods elsewhere for a later date (likely some of said goods were consumed at the party if it happened. Edit: Shadowheart’s drunk dialogue at the goblin party mentions the goblin’s wine there being good, poor dear. Fascinating hints at her story and character in that scene though.) This is assuming Astarion is drinking wine at the goblin party, of course. He may very well be drinking something red and full-bodied there, just not made from grapes. But even in his complaints and presentation, he seems arguably more relaxed and less on guard compared to his demeanor at the goblin party. Let’s be honest, he doesn’t view goblins as equals or stimulating company judging by his various voice lines expressing his disdain, distrust and overall low opinion of them as vermin among other things. The fact that he’s willing to call the tiefling refugees idiots while in earshot of them? Definitely doesn’t respect them as a group—though he has a less negatively opined line regarding them earlier on if the caged goblin (Sazza) is killed,—which is not surprising given that MC and company at the time of the party just saved them from certain death. Astarion’s reaction however also reads as potentially at ease enough to say what he’s thinking. He’s not going to get murdered for saying so, and there aren’t any punishing power games at play with the refugees and do-gooders he’s found himself surrounded by. There aren’t any hedonistic shenanigans going on and the drinks are terrible, so it’s not an entertaining party for him, but one could make an argument that Astarion might actually be feeling more secure or at least less threatened-as-is/was-his-accepted-ongoing-norm there. Which might mean he’s feeling quite out of place, or even just not...entirely engaged with what’s going on around him and even within him as far as emotional states go. Would he casually pull the same stunt at the goblin party? If you’re a bastard to him, yes, but that’s not in the same emotional vein as his dialogue during the tiefling party at all. Loyalty from the goblins is fickle, the goblins worship the Absolute and those that are chosen by the Absolute—so long as said Chosen remain powerful enough to subjugate them and is in favor. Astarion knows this kind of power structure well: ruling by fear and power. With the tieflings? It’s not superiors-and-subordinates, it’s just...people. People celebrating surviving an event that could’ve very well and most likely would’ve ended in their deaths. Will he get to celebrate like that one day? That could very well be a painful and bleak thing to consider, and not something he wants to contemplate as of yet, based on his dialogue lines that demonstrate his fear of Cazador. How’s he supposed to get lost in the fun and revelry if the wine doesn’t even taste good to him? I don’t know wines, but I’m guessing from what little I do know and what I’ve read of flavor descriptors for wines hyped as good, it might actually be bad wine based on the adjective “sharp” when mixed with the rest of the description if the MC takes a sip. Sharp seems to suggest too many tannins, or maybe improper storage so the wine actually did turn to taste a bit more like vinegar, or maybe not enough sugar in the grapes used, perhaps? To be fair, I do believe there’s a non-conversation line somewhere of Astarion’s regarding solid food tasting terrible to him, but I can’t verify that so a pinch of salt there. Still, if his taste buds are aligned with regular living mortal ones for wine at least, RIP Astarion, he’s stuck with a terrible drink for the foreseeable night. Unless, of course, you know. ;D Compared to the tieflings, the goblins as a whole? As a group they’re a scraped together army of pillagers hungry for destruction and spoils. They don’t have ANY loyalty to you—in addition to being willing to betray you via murder immediately despite working with them when Sazza first brings you back to meet Minthara, there’s also when Minthara potentially opts to try to kill you post-goblin-party. If you persuade her not to, Minthara does mention “do not return to the goblin camp, as far as they were concerned you were destined to die tonight.” This is not a group to get chummy with, obviously. Doesn’t say good things about the Absolute’s followers in general, either, or the Absolute depending on if Minthara’s being honest about the Absolute intending that the MC dies after razing the grove. Minthara could just be lying to serve her own ends and is out to destroy any rivals for the Absolute’s favor, after all, I can’t verify that from dialogue exploration at present. So it’s not surprising that this is not a group Astarion is going to let his guard down around I’m sure, or around an MC that sided with the goblins, because fortunes can shift like the wind in a scene like that, and I think his utter lack of surprise at Minthara trying to kill you all (whether or not the MC had a romp with her) is potentially spawned because he recognizes this fact. He’s been here before, in another time, another place, with different faces, but he’s seen this play before. And the MC is just another face for the same old role of a player in this rat race for power when they side with the goblins, aren’t they? The difference this time though is: will they succeed and make it to the top? Is Astarion betting on the winning horse, or not? Far less reason and far more motivation to not be emotionally invested in anyone or anything around him because it’s survival of the fittest, and the most ruthless will be the ones who win—the MC just reinforced that perspective for Astarion, in slaughtering the tieflings. But Astarion isn’t fully corrupted yet, despite however much Cazador has twisted and tormented him so. Isn’t it fascinating, that the MC, one of the first people Astarion can actually interact with relatively freely without Cazador’s puppeteering influence hanging over him quite so acutely, is someone who might very well and very likely will have a huge impact on how Astarion develops and sees the world? For better or for worse, the MC will shape all the companions’ futures and perspectives it seems, depending on their choices. On a meta note, isn’t that thrillingly fascinating and engaging work by Larian Studios? Bravo, honestly. Continuing, for Astarion this could very well just feel like a better but complimentary and thematically continuous segment of the nightmare that is his existence under Cazador as it goes on: he’s a vampire now, and the world is only ever a power struggle between the strong and the weak, and he knows better than to ever be weak again. Kindness and virtue belonged to Before. Before he died, before he turned, before he was taken. Those are things in stories and fairy tales now, that belong to other people, other places and times, other lives—things that belong to the living, not the undead. Sentimentality, more universally-accepted morality, all of those Good™-aligned or softer feelings can feel like they have no place in his world now, on this darker path. But he knows what they are, not just in theory I think, but also perhaps knowing from memory and experience, however distant and faint. The way he speaks on many occasions has subtext that could very well suggest he wasn’t without a better side through implication and emotion. Which is not to say I think he was a shining paragon of virtue before he died—guessing based off of the dev team’s writing of him so far, I’m expecting nuanced and complex but ultimately very human (or elf if you’re being fantasy-based technical) morality with both merits and flaws, for polarizing opinions in the fandom. That being said, I’m holding off judgment on what kind of person he was before he was turned for now despite reading about pre-early-access, preliminary ideas the dev team had for his background. The reason I’m waiting to see what the dev team puts into the game for his backstory of Before, is because some of his datamined lines could be taken in a couple of different ways, and some of his emotional responses as is currently don’t track as truly Machiavellian or I’d say malevolent in nature for manipulation or otherwise. Granted, not all Evil™ acts stem from intentions to be malevolent. Sometimes people do evil both in-game and in life without really intending to, or recognizing that they do, nor seeing the harm they have caused or will cause (I’m looking at you, Mayrina.) Manipulative yes, but so far it’s looked like it’s for defensive purposes in a world that is out to hurt or kill him if given any opportunity whatsoever. Personally I actually wouldn’t even say he’s been really manipulative at all, but your mileage may vary. He lies because he’s afraid you’re going to murder him for being a vampire, and because he doesn’t want to reveal the cause of two centuries’ worth of trauma to someone he just met and likely can’t predict if they’re emotionally safe for him to interact with. Note: “emotionally safe” does not necessarily denote being sympathetic here, so much as “will their response cause me pain in some fashion?” from Astarion’s point of view, which does not necessarily require the MC to be mean to him though obviously that wouldn’t help. We touch upon why sympathy can hurt later on in this essay. And why would he expect sympathy in the other instance, regarding revealing that he’s a vampire? How often would we not murder strange vampires we just met in DND-worlds? Is that not a common response and practice in Faerun for the most part? They’re on the list of acceptable prey for a monster hunter to be kidnapped and taken to who knows what fate (probably nothing good we’re sure), and who would come rescue them? In all actuality: No one. If he wasn’t a companion he’d easily just be one more random encounter to kill—as he and all the companions are in the right circumstances, *cough cough* like when sacrificing anyone to Boooal *cough.* Astarion’s had little cracked moments where he seems to be showing genuine vulnerability, and I’d say he likely displays real genuine emotion plenty of times, just not all the time. While the vulnerable moments could be a ploy, were he the type to actually be fully acting, I’m disinclined to bet that he’d act in the way he does during those moments if he planned them out or even improvised. It could be a mix of both, where it’s both true but also an act of manipulation. Were it the last option, that would require more exploration of his character in various situations to determine imo. I still doubt that though. I think he’s a little too raw and real in his pain, anger, and aggression to say he’s being malevolently manipulative at the end of the day, at least thus far in chapter one. The MC’s choices may change and influence that, on the Evil™ route. I’ve been following some of the fantastic dash discussions on Astarion’s reaction to when the MC tries to comfort him (because of course I have, I’m here for BG3 content and Astarion content especially, aren’t we all here for the same party in his tag? Also hello fellow Astarion stans! :D I hope everyone’s having a good day), and if some of these datamined lines from Pjenn’s blog post are actually implemented and kept as canonical [link], specifically the ones Astarion says regarding heroes, I do think it ties in very strongly with some of what other folks have said regarding his recoiling reaction. Copy-pasted the potential dialogue lines of interest below: Astarion: Heroes. |said with disgust| Astarion: Heroes had two centuries to save me from my torture, but not one came knocking. Astarion: The strong had two centuries to pluck me from torture, but no one came. No, it was the mind flayers that rescued me. Astarion: I spent centuries as the victim of a corrupt man. It was the mind flayers that plucked me away from that. I very much enjoyed all the takes on Astarion’s potential motivations in his response, and I do want to chuck another idea into the fray that supports the vein of ideas that have him being truly afraid and then angry at the MC in that scene, with the speculation including those possible hero lines above as influence. Specifically, I’d like to bring in an outside comparison to part of Molly Grue’s reaction to seeing the Unicorn from The Last Unicorn animated movie for the first time, transcribed below: The Unicorn: I’m here now. Molly: [Bitter laugh] Oh? And where were you twenty years ago? Ten years ago? Where were you when I was new? When I was one of those innocent, young maidens you always come to? How dare you. How DARE you come to me now, when I am this. [begins to cry, heartbroken] Consider Astarion being shown kindness when he is now away from Cazador, not fully free or safe yet but not currently actively fully suffering Cazador’s torment all up close and personal. Consider that only on that very night before he was snatched up by the mindflayers, which might’ve been anywhere from only a day to a handful of days before this conversation about his nightmare, he was going out to falsely smile and lure some innocent—(“No innocents. You have my word.”)—or perhaps not so innocent, beautiful soul back to Cazador’s mansion to very likely die or be turned. How often must he do so? Is it every night he is ordered to go out and condemn someone else to that unfortunate fate? Do you think Cazador killed them cleanly? Quickly? Why would he, instead of agonizingly grinding out any last traces of sympathy his spawn might have through the guilt that they are the ones who “choose” who suffers and likely dies at Cazador’s hands that night? To give the illusion of choice is one abuse/torture tactic that can be used to break a soul that we see often in games: choose who suffers or dies. Cazador is unquestionably a personality who enjoys the psychological aspect of tormenting his victims, as evidenced by giving Astarion the “choice” to be either flayed or to “dine” on a rotting, dead rat, as well as other mentions of how he puts thought into torturing those around him. Astarion is still so fresh from his torment,—torment that is still technically on-going with the very real threats of resuming once more—he is emotionally bleeding enough arterial blood at the seams to fill a sea. His actions, words, and emotions so often metaphorically smell of blood, and not because he’s a vampire and the traditional role of a vampire being a predator among humanoids ironically enough, but because being a vampire spawn means Cazador. And Cazador means horror. Astarion has survived, yes, and it’s been hell. He’s still in hell, because he isn’t free yet. Not truly. It’s a desperate gasp of air, this taste of freedom, to dream that he could be free of Cazador. Imagine his feelings when he’s now in something like freedom, a reminder of what could be, what his life might’ve and likely was like once upon a time, an uncertain here-and-now where he has the possibility—just a possibility, and an unlikely one at that for most ordinary or less-than-ordinary people, not a certainty—of being free, and he’s just admitted to the horror that is Cazador. Admitted in this moment how much Cazador frightens him, how much just the thought of Cazador frightens him, how much the possibility he might be sent back to his master and having his previous tormented existence resumed truly frightens him. And the MC reaches out in sympathy. In acknowledgement that what Astarion has been through is horrifying. To look at this horror and say it is pain, and terror, and awful, that it isn’t normal. It isn’t something to ignore. It isn’t something to pretend is just everyday same old, same old, to numb and take off the edge as much as one can. That Astarion’s pain and fear aren’t to be sought out for entertainment or at best to be willfully neglected in an act of malice. That stark moment of contrast, like night and day, could bring the pain of two hundred years crashing down inside his head, all compressed into one moment. Feelings he tried so hard to survive through, ignore perhaps, suppress: fear, helplessness, loneliness, misery, anger, sorrow, hatred, pain, anxiety, distress, need. Memories, of so many instances that hurt in that moment and then continued to hurt for so long afterwards. How much must it hurt him, wound him, to lift his head for air and have a perspective outside of his suffering that is sympathetic...but knowing that nobody came to save him.  That perhaps, no one ever will, if he loses this so-called freedom and is dragged back under. That those that care, cannot help you. And that those that can help, do not care.  Why would anyone help him at this point after all? He’s a vampire spawn. A classically defined monster in the eyes of society, and he knows it. (”I’m not some monster!” / ”At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely you’d ram a stake through my ribs.”) He must have been truly desperate in his starvation to chance anyone finding out he’s a vampire in the party. Not surprising, he can’t rest at the end of the day like the other companions can. He has to expend extra energy at that point to find food discreetly after fighting all day, and subpar food at that. (”Animal blood tastes like muck.” verification needed, it’s a conversational line in some branch of the morning-after he asks to bite the MC the first time) He’s not eating breakfast, snacks or lunch during the day, and he isn’t guaranteed to find food while hunting in the woods. Game might be scarce, he can be wounded or exhausted after a long day of fighting, and he wasn’t starting out in the peak of health to begin with either. He is a vampire spawn yes and apparently can take down large game such as boars to drain them, but that is a rough existence to condemn anyone to mechanically speaking. He knows what he’s risking, regardless of his int stat. But he takes that risk anyway. The character who is so survival driven, risking a very high likelihood of expulsion at best or death as the much-more-likely worst outcome of this attempt? His bite isn’t painless, and pain can wake a person up readily enough if they aren’t a deep sleeper, and how deep a sleeper are most people when in an uncertain and unfamiliar wilderness, potentially while hungry and cold, with the fretting fear of a agonizing death looming over their head? Even accounting for a lack of mental clarity from hunger and exhaustion and other factors, I find it deeply unlikely that Astarion is unaware of how big a risk he’s taking with the odds are stacked against him, rogue class or not. And even if he’s just thrown out of the group? He’s alone. Vulnerable. A target to be hunted by a much bigger, meaner predator. One that won’t kill him quickly, we can guess. His odds are much lower, on his own. Specifically his odds of not being dragged back to Cazador...assuming the MC doesn’t just turn him over to Gandrel. How terrifying is it to imagine that your suffering will never end, to be told it will never end, and then you are reminded of what it is like to not suffer for a time. To have felt the painful hope that maybe there is a possibility that you could escape an existence of torment...but knowing you very well might not? It is desperately bleak. It is no great leap of the imagination to hear Astarion saying—(or more likely thinking because this would be terribly vulnerable...but he might say something when pushed because he’s so full of sharp edges and bleeding insides still)—something similar to Molly Grue’s line in his own fashion, is it? Astarion: “[Bitterly laughing, mockingly so. As he speaks his tone breaks, an edge of raw, desperate hysteria slipping through, attached to centuries of pain turned to anger] And where were you two hundred years ago? A hundred years ago? Where were you when I still desperately thought in the deepest parts of my heart that someone might come? When I still had hope?  Astarion: [his voice turns low and venomous, raising in volume and accusation before finishing with a break on the final word “this”, a tonal admittance of how distraught and self-aware he is of what he’s had to do, of what he’s had to become to survive] How dare you. How DARE you say this to me now, when I am this.”  (the above lines are entirely fictional and are not from any in-game, data-mined, or otherwise official source or content) He’s been made to do so many terrible things, even just based off of the few lines we have heard in early access he’s been through so much horror. An hour of torture, a day, a month is so incredibly long. It can have such lasting impact on a person—PTSD, as we know it in this day and age. A year? Five years, ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred? An elf he may be, but from a human perspective...he’s been tortured for lifetimes. Even as an elf, two hundred years is a long time. More than long enough to seriously alter how someone’s brain works—people are both amazingly resilient, but also so incredibly fragile. Cazador has had all this time to play with Astarion’s brain, honestly I find it impressive Astarion has any sense of self left after all this time. That he’s still driven to survive, that he still feels anything at all. (”It doesn’t look broken. But then again, none of us do.”)  It doesn’t surprise me that he’s intensely bitter when encountering the “paladins” of Tyr—(ie Anders and company if you know who I mean—and was that a Dragon Age 2 reference? If not that is an amazing coincidence with the whole Anders-Justice-Vengeance-Demon thing there)—if the MC asks something to the tune of “Don’t you wish someone had helped you when you needed it?” Oh. Oh that had to be a painful question for him. Astarion had his basic needs denied and abused, to ask if he wished that someone had helped him when he needed that and more, and no one came? Why was he denied but the paladins get help? Why does he have to be the hero when no one came for him, when no one very well might come for him when he might still very well be in dire straits in the near future?  I can see the possible desire to inspire sympathy intended in the question from the MC, but it can be so utterly without sympathy to ask that in some contexts, and in Astarion’s case it is. He was being abused and controlled without any way out—Anders and his cohorts opted into the deal with Zariel for personal reasons, not as far as I know under threat of imminent death, and they are relatively capable of fulfilling their end of the bargain barring their current injuries at the time. They certainly have more freedom of choice than Astarion and other vampire spawn ever did, and they were not being tortured right then and there. Warlocks, referring to Anders and co., might even have the option to get out of deals, a la Wyll’s personal questline hook thus far. Astarion can’t get out of his servitude from Cazador. Cazador holds all the cards, makes all the decisions, has all of the power. To compare Astarion’s situation to his face with that of the “paladins”? I’m surprised he wasn’t spitting fury, honestly. They still have normal elements to their day to day life, despite their devil’s deal. They are not being tormented on the daily—yet. They are not in hell—yet. They can get out. They have the possibility. A possibility Astarion didn’t—until now. And isn’t that the most fucked up thing, that it wasn’t a force of Good™ that saved him, but an even bigger monster than Cazador himself? He was saved—by mindflayers, intending some fate that was likely worse for him than before. Even when the Absolute’s hand begins to be revealed in all this, he is still a pawn among monstrous masters. What heroes there are in the world, won’t come for him. They never did before, and they didn’t now. Heroes are for other people, for realities aside from his own. They are for other people, living Other lives. Not his life. Forces of Good™ swooping in to save the day, to correct the wrongs of the world and to make things Right��� just isn’t his normal. Not anymore, if ever it was. His normal was warped by Cazador a long time ago. Is it a stretch of the imagination that if Cazador twisted “dinner” to be a choice between consuming a rotting, putrid rat corpse or being flayed on a nightly basis, turning “poetry” into the memory of a “sonnet” carved into Astarion’s back with a razor over the course of an entire night full of Astarion’s own pained screams? Is it hard to imagine that Cazador also took pleasure in turning other ordinary situations one might encounter in normal life into nightmare versions as well for Astarion and his other spawn? One illithid mind-power option shows Cazador controlling Astarion by holding his chin, though without any further context. Cazador wouldn’t have had to do more than that to invoke terror, after a certain point in time. It seems highly unlikely the gesture wasn’t followed up with more pain, though. Perhaps in that moment when he speaks of his nightmare in the first conversation and the MC reaches out to him in sympathy...Astarion was reminded of something. Multiple somethings, multiple moments, when Cazador reached out to him oh so casually, and it ended in pain and terror. The way the camera is framed as of the current time in early access, the way he flinches away crying “No!” so quiet and low, his eyes wide and staring just so, how he goes so far as to pull back almost entirely out of frame and the camera slowly pans to follow him? Perhaps that is just a stand-in scene, but as it is, even now, it emphasizes that he is I would argue genuinely afraid, and reflexively responding in what is likely his first opportunity to freely respond to his traumatically induced fear. The first opportunity where he wasn’t supernaturally compelled to do exactly as Cazador ordered him to, the first opportunity where he was likely not going to be tormented further for expressing his fear, for having his main tormentor laugh and delight in his distress. The first instance where he for a split second let his guard down, and didn’t expect to be hurt—until the MC reached for him, echoing possible memories of what happened last time someone (Cazador) did that. It’s not Cazador reaching for him. But...it is not Cazador. He doesn’t have to worry about Cazador hurting him right that second, but...will the MC hurt him, like Cazador did? Will they make it look like they’re going to help him, that he can trust them, and then betray him? (”How can you be so cruel?” / “It [Raphael playing games] reminds me of Cazador, taunting his slaves with hope when he knew the game was rigged.”) But they scared him. They scared him, and perhaps for a moment he was back there, in another time and place, where he knows, where he remembers, vividly, perhaps even recently, what normally would have happened to him. And how dare they make him feel that. (“I can do without reliving that particular night, thank you.” [Nightmare about Cazador dialogue, a separate scene if you miss the insight check from the first post-nightmare camp discussion I believe.]) He’s so raw and upset, both aggressive and defensive when he speaks about his nightmares in quite a few of his lines, asking and waiting to explain just why his nightmares are truly so terrifying, especially in the second-nightmare conversation. The way he speaks there, and in other scenes, makes me very disinclined to interpret him as actively intending evil in general so much as having been shaped to be ruthless through a centuries-long trial by fire that he isn’t free and clear of yet. Based off of how he reacts on more than one occasion, I’m personally inclined to take a leaf from Wyll’s book and say I do think he has more than just potential to be good. “Good™” being relative of course to his situation and undead-life—Astarion has GREAT potential as a character to explore not only what it means to be Evil™ aligned, but also what people on the meta perceive as evil, as well as what prejudices we may carry from that labeling.  He is I think very much an excellent walking morality test and ironically a mirror for the player’s character. What kind of person is the MC, in how they treat and interact with him. He is a complicated and morally-entangled character, and it is so very easy to only read him in the here and now within the stark, daylight context of societal’s average norms without looking at the very real, very recent nightmarish Twilight Zone reality he’s lived in that echoes through his words and story thus far. It’s a marvelous bit of echoing reality and real life here by Larian, truth be told: how do you tell people about your life, when it’s been a ceaseless, unending nightmare? With smiles, witticisms, and the occasional polished lie that bleeds out pain, for some folks anyway, including Astarion. He says he’s having more fun at the goblin party, but at the tiefling party? That’s probably the first time he’s been at a normal party where he hasn’t had to obey and fear Cazador’s orders and inevitable torment during or afterwards. That’s the first time in his entire undead existence when he’s been in a social situation like this without being afraid, hurt, or manipulated. It’s not a fun party on its own by his standards, but it is a safe party for him. In a way though, safety can be boring. A luxury, yes, but in this case? For him, boring. And boring...might very well be irritating, in an anxiety-turned-irritation fashion, because he’s not being tormented right this very moment. He should be finding something to enjoy, because in his normal everyday routine? In the day to day that he would expect, that his subconscious expects out of habit? Opportunity for any form of enjoyment must be rare indeed, twisted and tainted by Cazador’s ever looming shadow over every minute of Astarion’s vampiric existence so far. It could be anxiety-inducing, to not seek pleasure or some form of happiness or comfort while there is opportunity for it, in what one perceives as a respite from constant, on-going suffering. (”Why do you insist on exhuming the past?” - when you ask about his past in camp, after you know he’s a vampire. An unpleasant reminder of an unpleasant past, why would he want to dwell on it? He has enough pain to last him multiple lifetimes. Literally.) From the deep, deep depths of prolonged suffering, it can potentially take a great deal more intensity of sensation to feel anything at all, let alone something approaching happiness. (”For the first time in two hundred years, I felt happy.” [presumed Astarion-origin line after drinking from a sleeping companion] / “I feel strong. I feel...happy!” [after MC succeeds in persuading Astarion to stop drinking from their neck after giving him permission to do so.]) This isn’t even taking into consideration how vampirism might have impacted Astarion’s psychology on a metabolic/biochemical level, so to speak. Where Larian goes with that is still to be determined, though my money’s on they give him more a murderous edge and natural inclination—not unlike a Beast-lite version of bloodlust from Vampire: The Masquerade— but still keep his core traits very much human rather than supernaturally-alien/2D-cut-out-monstrous. (Or elvhen, if we’re being fantasy-world-linguistically technical here again.) Touching on the matter of monstrous behavior though...It is a powerfully understated moment of casual cruelty that Larian allows the MC to decide once and once only, if Astarion may also drink from people or only animals. It’s so fitting I don’t believe it to be coincidence that he was a magistrate in his backstory—isn’t the MC passing a judgement too on him, a sentence to change his life for the foreseeable future, possibly forever without realizing or perhaps not caring about the full extent of their actions? And one cannot forget Wyll’s comment about the rat diet. Oh, can you not hear the resonating parallel real life pain from how those ignorant of another’s hurts might unintentionally mock the person and hurt them so? How some might apply their own morality from their own life experiences, without looking at the full extent of the consequences of their actions? A life and perspective that more likely has never been tested under the lash and upon the rack of some of life’s worst possible realities? Even if Wyll and the MC don’t mean to be, it is so very, very cruel. It is beautifully painful, Abdirak and the goddess Loviatar would be proud. (”My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel...happy!”) To be denied not just better food, but the ability to think clearly, to feel well, the actuality of being happy as a norm? It is so very hollow an existence to feel so constantly weak of both body and mind, and oh isn’t it just the richest thing, that an MC might echo Cazador’s choice and power over Astarion thusly? It’s enough to make one laugh an Evil Laugh™ of appreciation at just how unthinkingly, horribly cruel a person can potentially be while playing a Good™ character. This is actually a level of genius on Larian’s part that I wonder how many in the audience will actually look at and appreciate the subtle horror of. The horror that we do this too, in real life, sometimes without ever knowing the seemingly small, far-reaching ripples of harm an unthinking phrase or comment can do when we don’t take another’s reality into consideration—that we don’t know what it is we don’t know. It is a fine piece of storytelling, to offer up a story with so many facets to reflect upon. It’s so beautifully crafted that Astarion speaks and dresses like a noble, that he can so easily be perceived as a person of privilege at first glance should one merely look at some of his surface behaviors and inclinations—remnant trappings of his distant past most likely, from once upon a time. It’s a delightful reveal and subversion that he, I think we can safely say, isn’t that. Perhaps he was, once, but he isn’t at this point in his life, not anymore. Appearances are deceiving, and doesn’t that just tie so nicely right into some of Astarion’s potential themes and behaviors? The lies that crack open as truth and pain come bleeding out from underneath? I do wonder how many of Larian’s audience have known hunger—and not known when the next meal will happen, what it might be, if it will have strings attached? The kind of hunger that follows you everywhere, that roots down into your bones and hollows out a home there forever more? It changes how a person sees things, how they act, how they think, even when they’re removed from being hungry all the time. One doesn’t need to be skin and bones to feel like one is starving constantly,—(I very much enjoy that headcanon just to clarify, I’m not intending to throw shade in any of this or future rambling)—to be kept on a hollow diet of empty calories that are enough to keep your heart pumping, but your body struggles because it doesn’t have the nutrients it needs in the amounts it needs? To feel your mind fog over with exhaustion and blanketed despair, a primal and low level desperation whittled down into a tired and numb, anxious background static from adrenal fatigue? Miscellaneous aches, pains and problems that seem unrelated but in reality, if only you knew, were because your body can’t function the way it should ideally, because you don’t have what you truly need? A very real problem in real life, for far too many people. And oh, the beautiful, casual, so very human monstrousness Larian lets us exercise here, knowing or unknowing. It is such a powerful, understated cluster of ideas. And I think Larian knew—someone on the dev team did their homework on both traditional starvation but also what one might call masked-starvation as no doubt other tumblr folks have also speculated, just based off of what we’ve seen and because of that Happy buff Astarion gets when he uses his Vampiric Bite ability in combat. It fits right into his whole theme of “what makes a monster and what makes a man?” (Sing the bells of Notre Dame~♪) But not necessarily asking that question only of him. Rather, asking it also of the MC. This fits into the game’s whole theme with the tadpoles, the choice of using the power and turning into “Something More Beautiful” as Minthara put it, of taking the darker path, it all fits so very well. I just want to applaud this because it’s not a major story-beat moment. It’s a companion-side-quest moment. It’s going to be for the most part seen as a combat-game-mechanic and head-canon defining moment, deciding if Astarion may feed on people or not. I doubt we’d see Larian actually changing Astarion’s demeanor much in how he delivers lines with a “allowed to drink people blood” code flag, as cool as that might be. It very well could factor into later outcomes but for voice acting I doubt they’ll make an entire second/third/etc set of each line spawning from that one seemingly small choice. It makes me very hopeful that Larian can handle such weighty themes so deftly thus far—we’ll have to wait and see if they can stick the landing once the game is finished, but boy oh boy their nuance and delivery so far is strong as steel and sharp as a double-edged sword right out of the gate. The studio is in a fantastic position to explore and to challenge people’s thoughts and ideas regarding character builds like Astarion’s imo, depending on how the dev team chooses to play it out. Seeing some of Gale and Shadowheart’s dialogue trees from the goblin party, I have high hopes that the dev team will allow a great deal of exploration and flexibility all across the moral spectrums, not only allowing us the option to drag the more seen-as-good-aligned characters down paths of moral corruption,—(note: I’m including Shadowheart in more neutral-ish territory for now but the fact that she seems to feel emotionally ill—guilty, one could say—at the goblin party and is busy trying to get drunk to drown that feeling out suggests to me she Definitely does have a more good-aligned moral compass to a nuanced degree)—but also the chance to drag more seen-as-evil-aligned characters along the path to more traditionally good endings and persuade them to see the benefits of playing nice with others per more classic Good™ societal rules (subjectively speaking ofc.) But Larian is also in a very precarious place too—speaking strictly of just the one character as the focus of this essay, Astarion resonates very easily through that very real fear, pain, anger, bitterness and so many other emotions as a result of what he has survived, is still surviving through, and struggling against: trauma. How bitter indeed would it be should a character—that people with very deep, real pain can relate to—not get at least the option for a well-crafted, hopeful and merciful epilogue? Oh the sympathetic pain that Larian could reap could be pain of the very worst kind, if they condemn him to only death and darkness with bleak endings that lack nuance and care. I’ve seen some posts where people worry about Astarion not potentially having a good ending, with possible unspoken implications that he might be railroaded into betraying the MC. I’d like to say that I think a lot of his subtext, even looking at the instances where he lies and the datamined details of the voice-acting-directions, would run counter to railroading him to only ever betraying the MC. I think straight betrayal is going to run as mostly antithetical to his core themes in a way. He might betray your MC—but it will likely be because the MC betrayed him first in a myriad of small ways, or in a big way. Approval-rating-system based choices are a very real possibility too, separately or as a part of the equation naturally, in addition to your major in-game choices. That would also include the scenario of betrayal through using the tadpole powers enough to be mind-controlled into having no will of his own, much like the other characters, including the MC. I do think we have plenty of good, solid reason to be very hopeful that he will have a possible good continuation—not ending. A continuation where he manages to free himself from Cazador with the help of his companions or perhaps dare he even say friends, manages to begin the process of healing the immediate pains of his trauma and learning how to truly live with all that he’s been through and all that he’s done, to have the possibility of not only living but living both happily and well for the most part? Who knows what else Larian Studios might have in the works for him and the other companions, as well as the MC and the story of Baldur’s Gate 3. But good outcomes for all seems like it very likely could happen, for all of the companions. His wiki page’s summary tagline hook in particular offers up that implied promise from the developers to the audience, I would say, “Astarion prowled the night as a vampire spawn for centuries, serving a sadistic master until he was snatched away. Now he can walk in the light, but can he leave his wicked past behind?” What that promise is, varies from creator to creator. In this case, based on the wording, I would say that potentially implies a satisfyingly well-crafted and engaging story wherein we find out and determine if the answer to that question is yes or no, and in a DND-based RPG full of choices that have an impact on the people and world around you? In a game genre that has a history of multiple, varied endings for your companions based on how you play? That checks out. Larian so far has been handling things admirably well in my opinion, and I’m willing to invest emotionally in this story they’re telling with the trust that they will deliver a good continuation and conclusion. But on the off-chance that somehow Astarion’s endings all turn out painful and tragic on the meta for the fanbase, that the associated intentional or unintentional messages wound and grieve those who recognize and resonate most strongly with the pains he has felt? On that off-chance, in that instance where we are left bereft and disappointed because of what happened to him or any of the companions or the story itself should somehow things go awry, then it would be your right to ask Larian the very same question Astarion asked you once: How can you be so cruel?

[dacreshoney]

Medici Imagine - Y/N Maddalene de Pazzi

@magicalsaladnacho Lorenzo De medici request - where reader is a Pazzi but Lorenzo falls for her and they convince her to marry him instead of their proposed Giorlamo Riario. unknowingly she is marrying him for love and not for their greed.

Summary: you are Y/N Maddalena d Pazzi, sister of Francesco and Guglielmo, you have been friends with Bianca de medici since you were children, you were very fond of her and Guglielmo, often helping them sneak out to meet each other and hiding their secret for Jacopo. Your family are holding their famous ball in honour of their bank, in which they notice a certain someone has the eyes for you. The Pazzi family try to make it work inter favour, unknowingly to them that you feel the same as Lorenzo, what will this do to the future of The Pazzi family and Florence? 

Lorenzo x reader 

Fanfic: Medici 

Tonight was the infamous grand soiree that The Pazzi family held every few months after a great accomplishment in the bank, the family were achieving higher than they ever thought with Francesco back in the business. And you well, with your beauty and knowledge, you brought the family a lot of wealthy suiters and buyers, little you didn't liked being your families pawn in their games for money and power you knew this was your part in which you had to play. Bianca had come round to help you with your gown for the ball, you'd often meet each other in your homes, you had been friends since being little children, you were a little older then Bianca, by 2 years, at 19 years of age you were one of the most beautiful maidens in Florence. Everyone wanted you, but you didn't have eyes for any of them. There was only one person who'd ever made you feel like you weren't some stupid little girl in a world of power hungry men, who made you feel as if you only mattered. Lorenzo de medici was definitely a catch, but he had many women at his beck and call, the continuous flirting was just a friendly thing you had for years, you knew nothing would come of it. He was your best friends brother after all and older than you at the age of 23. 

“Y/N, hello, are you even listening to me, what are you thinking of?” Bianca said as she pulled at your corset,  tightening it, every inch of it hugging your curves, you may have only been 19 but you had the body of a goddess. You snapped out of your daydream, looking at yourself in the mirror, your raven dark hair and piercing eyes to match. “oh, nothing Bianca, just much to do before tonight that's all, my uncle has set me some tasks to do, in which I need to ask your brother Lorenzo a favour” 

Bianca giggled, as she turned you to face her, finishing off the last touches to your beautiful gown, “Lorenzo huh, you sure Jacopo asked you to speak to him or are you seeking him out for your own pleasures” Bianca grinned, you gently pushed at her shoulders, her mocking was a daily thing of hers, the idea of you and Lorenzo together made her happy, for whatever reason that was I do not know. “you Bianca are a sore tease, where would you ever get such a thought” you winked, turning to face the mirror on your mantlepiece, you had often looked at yourself in this same mirror, if only your mother could see you, would she be proud of you, the woman you are becoming. Your brothers Francesco and Guglielmo often spoke of how much you resembled her, your mother was just as beautiful and admired by many men. You stood there for a moment taking it all in, before Bianca hurried you to come downstairs, the guests were arriving. 

You made your way through to the courtyard of the Plaza, the air filled with the smell of strong cologne from all the old men gathering together, you made your way down the spiralling stairs, cradling the banister with your hands, your brothers smiling up at you and making their way towards you. Francesco reaching out to grab your hand, placing a gentle Kiss on your hand and spoke, “you look beautiful dear sister, we see we already have every man with their eyes on you, lucky for us..” Guglielmo interrupted as he took you in his arms, “she isn't a chess piece Francesco, she's our sister, treat her like it”. You smiled at him, Guglielmo never teated you like some part of the Pazzi game, you were his sister and you were very special to him, even with him being a year younger than you he tried his best to take care of you. “at least one of you treats me like a human, thank you Guglielmo” you all walked towards Jacopo, who just stared at you nodding, you knew he wanted the information on the leases of the medici bank in his hands, however this was not you plan, but Jacopo was a difficult man in which you had to try your best to please. “now dear sister, you know what you part in this is right” Francesco urged, Guglielmo dropping his head and looks at you with care. You pulled your arms away from them promptly, looking Francesco right in the eyes with anger, “yes Francesco, I know what I need to do, now please, just go”. 

The night went on, Lorenzo was no where to be seen, his brother however Guiliano and his mother Lucrezia stood by the fountains with Bianca, enjoying their wine as they raised a glass over to you. As you turn, you spot Lorenzo coming in through the double gated doors, his hair windswept, but still looking as good as ever. He always had a sparkle in his eye, as you turned, your hair curved your face just perfectly, your smile curved and locking your eyes straight with his, never losing focus. 

You tried to make your way over to him before a couple of men stand in your way, pushing themselves on you, you could smell the ale on their breaths, you did well not to gag at the smell, you pushed one man as far as you could before aiming for the knife in your sleeve, before you could, Lorenzo urged his way over to you, shoving all three men away and standing his ground right in front of you. “I suggest you men leave, Y/N maddalene de Pazzi already has a date for tonight” Lorenzo spoke, all three men hurried away from you, Lorenzo turned to you and placed his hand on your face, his palms cold from breeze outside. 

“date huh? I though Lorenzo de medici didn't date” you laughed, pulling yourself away from him, as to say goodbye but urging him to follow you to the balcony. You knew all of Lorenzo’s weak spots, your eyes were your biggest weakness for men, you were always told that your eyes were they key to mens hearts so use them wisely. 

Lorenzo POV: 

My god this woman, first I come to her aid and then she uses them eyes on me, she knows my every weakness but is this just a game to her, she is a Pazzi after all. But I couldn't help but feel the way I do for her, come on Lorenzo snap out of it, she is a Pazzi, you can't go there. No matter how hard I tried to tell myself this I couldn't bring myself to let these feelings go, but I am Lorenzo de medici and she is the purest soul I've ever met. Y/N oh how you've made me want to be a different man, all I do is for you, but I can't tell you now how I feel, that's even if she feels the same way. Surely not, she's got so much ahead of her, she is young, what would she want to do with a man like me. I watched her as she left, her raven locks falling at her shoulders, I could smell her scent as she pushed herself away, the lingering smell of roses entered my lungs. Lord Jesus Christ I had to have her. I need to tell her how I feel before it’s too late.

Y/N Maddalena POV: 

With that you knew you could feel Lorenzo’s eyes Burning in the back of your head, watching your every move. You made your way to the balcony, it was the most beautiful sight over Florence from there, you often would go there to think and be alone, you heard the footsteps from behind you. Lorenzo placed himself beside you, so close but neither of you touching, but the urge was there. You knew what your place was, you knew what you had to do but you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. Jacopo had told you to lead Lorenzo on to gain information in regards to the medici bank so they could use it against him to tarnish the medici family. The confidence in Jacopo that a man like Lorenzo would ever fall fo just a little girl like you, that man could dream, but this could mean you losing to safety of your family or losing the only man that ever made you feel good, even if it was only in your eyes. You knew you had to tell him what was about to happen but You start to tear up, Lorenzo placing his hands on your chin to turn you to face him, you sniffle as you tried to wipe away the tears, before you could Lorenzo spoke softly and in worry

“Y/N what's wrong, why are you crying my love” ... “tell me, what's wrong?” 

You held your head to Lorenzo’s chest, collapsing into his arms, he was shocked and happy you felt this comfortable around him, but more worried as to who or what had caused you this distress. 

“Lorenzo I need to tell you something...” you spoke, but Lorenzo immediately stopped you, “no not before me, I've been meaning to tell you for a while now Y/N..”  Lorenzo moved his hands up through your hair, moving it through every strand on your head, you held back with your words, intrigued by what Lorenzo had to say. 

“for a long time Y/N I have pushed off these feelings for you because I've known you ever since you were a child, a childhood romance some would say, we grow out of them my father used to say, but this, with you its something else, it isn't just those flirtatious passings we have, the teasings, its the fact you are always there for me and my family, you are there to pick up the pieces, to comfort us and I can never thank you enough for what you did for Bianca when our father died. I think I love you and deep down I know I always have” 

and that was it, he finally said it, those feelings rushed to your head and made your heart pound, those tears of sadness and regret were now happy ones, but before you could ease Lorenzo suffering your brother Francesco appeared from the curtains, he had been listening the whole time. He could use this to the families advantage, he grabbed you by the arm and escorted you to the courtyard where Jacopo was waiting with Riario, both smirking. 

“what is this Francesco, let me go” you spat, urging your bother to let go of his grip of you. Your brother took his place by Jacopo, but before he could whisper to tell him what he had witnessed, Jacopo was to make an announcement. Lorenzo moved pass the crowd of ladies and gentlemen to see you standing there with your uncle, distressed and confused. 

“today I am not only here to celebrate the business of The Pazzi bank, but to also congratulate my beautiful niece Y/N, who has gladly accepted Riario’s marriage proposal” Jacopo encouraged everyone to clap, you stood there in silence, knowing Lorenzo will have heard every word, eyes wide when you caught his, the pain you felt shattered you. 

before Francesco whispered to him. 

“Lorenzo has just confessed his love to Y/N uncle, we could use this to our advantage and reel him in, don't you think we should call off this arrangement and use Lorenzo instead” Francesco implied, jacapo smirked at the thought and spoke with such evil in his eyes, 

“no Francesco, we keep this little arrangement and Lorenzo can lose a good ally in the Rairio family by pursing our beautiful Y/N, until she breaks his weak little heart” jacapo raised his glass to Y/N, who was stood there distraught, catching Lorenzo standing there, broken. 

[militant-holy-knight]

Kingdom of Heaven Review: Secular Agnostic Humanist Crusader Edition

Whenever the topic of Ridley Scott’s 2005 movie Kingdom of Heaven comes up, it invariably brings up how it’s one of his most mediocre movies and that “the Director’s Cut is better”. This makes sense since the movie actually had a very mixed reception when it was first released on theaters, as critics lambasted the cliched plot and characters and overall being all style and no substance. As it turns out, several changes were made behind the scenes by executives who felt the movie ran too long and cut scenes they felt were appropriate, but actually improved the story.

I’ve heard so many people praising the Director’s Cut to the point they even said it was an “whole different movie”, which was very confusing to me, and made me wonder if they actually saw it and aren’t parroting someone else. Now don’t get me wrong: it’s true that the Director’s Cut is the superior version to the theatrical one and does fix issues like character motivations and actions, it doesn’t even come close to fixing the foundation which it was built on: an extremely politically-biased and revisionist distortion, product of someone molded by their own time period than anything else. 

The characters have anachronistic attitudes that are out of place specially at the heart of an holy war. The sympathetic characters - whether Christians or Muslims - can be identified as secular humanists that express religious tolerance and would rather live and let live, whereas antagonistic characters are characterized by their religious fanaticism. Baldwin IV and Saladin would rather live in peace with each other, but are beleaguered by the circumstances of their followers who clamor for war. This portrayal couldn’t be more absurd and further from the truth because the “peace” between the Kingdom of Jerusalem and the Ayyubi Caliphate was not meant to last forever, but more until both sides regrouped and rearmed to resume hostilities like an armistice, not to mention the fact both monarchs were extremely pious in their faiths (Catholicism and Sunni Islam, respectively) and considered themselves their staunch defenders. 

This is no accident. Ridley Scott is an agnostic and has admitted at multiple occasions that he used it as an opportunity to criticize religion. Perhaps the most illustrative moment where this attitude sweeps in is during the climax when Jerusalem is eventually besieged and Balian delivers an speech to the army that boils down to “Jerusalem belongs to everyone”, which simply wouldn’t fly with the Christians at the time. Consider in that era where even people of their own faiths struggled among each other (The Kingdom of Jerusalem was Latin Catholic and other Christians like Orthodox, Armenians and Copts were often regarded as schismatics, while Sunnis and Shias were at war with each other like they always do), can you imagine if someone actually said that in regards to other religions?!?

A particularly inconvenient aspect of the movie that is clear for everyone who sees it is that only the Christian side is the only one truly hit with the fanaticism issue, whereas Muslims comes off as cleaner. When you really come down to it, the crusader side is filled with more despicable villains who are named, whereas the Muslim side has one token nameless mullah who is an asshole to Saladin, threatening him that if he doesn’t give them Jerusalem, they will kill him and find someone who can - that is about the extent of his villainy. There is also a Saracen rider that wants to duel Balian at one point, but he is just some random threat thrown in, and it’s later revealed he was an slave masquerading as someone else. 

Now compare this with Balian’s asshole priest brother who steals his wife’s crucifix, the slimy Patriarch of Jerusalem, and Guy of Gisborne and Raynald of Chatillon, both of whom are generic warmongers that just want to kill infidels for no reason, the former kills an emissary which constitutes as an offense worthy of Genghis Khan’s wrath while the latter rapes and kills Saladin’s sister. What makes this worse is that none of these are true: The Patriarch actually helped ransom people during the Siege of Jerusalem, Guy wasn’t particularly better or worse than his contemporaries and if anything, he was regarded as an weakling rather than a bloodthirsty thug, whereas Raynald never even attacked Saladin’s sister (according to Arab sources) and while he was still a very violent man, it was the result of being held 16 years in a prison under Muslims in Aleppo and in the end, he died like a Christian martyr to jihadist terrorism - being told by Saladin to convert to Islam or die, which he picked the latter. 

You can tell when certain fedoralords say they hate religion actually hate Christianity only, and this is the tone that oozes from this movie. No wonder a historian once called this movie “al-Qaeda’s version of the story” because Christians commit horrible atrocities against innocent Muslims hence Muslim aggression by Saladin is justified. If anything Bin Laden likely envisioned himself as an modern-day Saladin, hoping to unite the Muslim world against the “Eternal Crusader”. The lionizing of Saladin is laughable given the fact that until recent memory he was an obscure figure on account of being Kurdish, but was co-opted by Arab Muslims as their hero. I wonder how would audiences feel that Saladin had half Jerusalem’s population enslaved which is something he actually did in real life instead of letting them go like in the movie.....

There are also other problems with the movie besides religion that even the Director’s Cut couldn’t fix like Balian’s character. I already went over how he is representative of the movies’s secular humanist themes, but there is a lot more wrong with him beyond that. Simply put, he is the most vanilla flavor protagonist, devoid of charisma or flaws, and comes across as a Marty Stu when you think about it: a nobody who is revealed to be the bastard son of some crusader baron that just so happens to be influential enough with Jerusalem’s nobility that everyone good immediately befriends him. He has a tragic backstory that makes him an atheist, but is perfect and devoid of any flaws and is written in such way that serves as a surrogate for the audience. By contrast, his historical counterpart was a knight born and raised in Jerusalem who was actually devout and politically shrewd, which comes across as more interesting and Arab Muslims agreed since they wrote “he was like a king”. But nope. Can’t have that because Balian is actually Scott’s self-insert by his own admission and we can’t have a guy like real-life Balian because modern audiences can’t identify with him.

Scott seriously misunderstood the Knight Templars. Naturally like our lead villains they are also genocidal maniacs, but also appear to be a secular noble/warrior class of some kind since Guy and Raynald are affiliated with them (they weren’t in real life), and it’s a plot point that Guy is engaged with Baldwin’s sister Princess Sybilla. Templars made vows of chastity and poverty, schewing all property and titles so it makes no sense for either of them being part of the order, much less for a Templar to become king. (Afonso Henriques of Portugal was at least a former Templar).

And then there are the geo-politics... Even though Scott denied that the movie was an metaphor, it certainly comes across this way with characters talking about how much wealth they made from the campaigns as if this was the American intervention in the Middle-East for oil. Jerusalem had no resources, no real treasures except maybe the True Cross which had great emotional value for the Christians and in fact, it was the other way around: it was far more expensive, having to secure resources, armor and weaponry to join the crusade with the likely risk of death with no returning home with the only comfort being remission of sins in case of falling in battle.

The Crusades were precipitated by Muslim aggression in the first place, namely the Seljuk Turks who crushed the Byzantine Empire in the Battle of Mazinkert and began persecuting Christian pilgrims in the Holy Land, not to mention the subhuman conditions that Eastern Christians found themselves as dhimmis under Islamic rule. When framed this manner, the wrath of Latin Catholics hearing the atrocities carried out by the Turks is quite justified. Could Scott himself say this is justified compared to how much Muslim caravans were attacked by Templars on his movie?

So to sum things up: we have liberal political bias that portrays one side as the assholes while the others justified in retaliating, a perfect protagonist that is clearly a self-insert, generic villains that are evil for no reason other than being Christian, historical inaccuracies, white-washing certain figures while removing all nuance and depth from others, honestly embarrassing analogies with modern topics that stick out like a sore thumb. And in the end, for you to walk away with not much. I am sorry but even the Director’s Edition didn’t make things significantly better because the movie’s issues lies at their conceptual form: Balian is still a Marty Stu, the Christians are largely one-dimensional evil, the Muslims are honorable and enlightened, etc. You can’t make a story engaging when the setting is revolving around religious conflict and the leads are all secularists, or else it shows how much “smarter than thou” attitude you have.

I’ve heard about how Scott got into a spat with the British historian community who made very clear how his movie was bollocks. A common defense on his behalf is that he isn’t obligated to tell history like how it was and he made the movie he felt best, which is honestly just baffling because it’s very insulting towards the audience. I am not saying that the audience should be challenged (at least not in a Rian Johnson way), but imagine if Raynald’s captivity was brought up and his death was portrayed in redemptive fashion after all his atrocities, imagine Saladin preaching jihad against the crusaders, imagine Balian breaking his oath, etc. Now that would have made an more memorable movie instead of the one who is remembered for his slightly better version released separately. Certainly history had a better story to tell than Ridley Scott.

Like what Amin Maalouf, author of “The Crusades through Arab Eyes” once said.

It does not do any good to distort history, even if you believe you are distorting it in a good way. Cruelty was not on one side but on all.

[raywritesthings]

Things as They Should Be

My Writing Fandom: Arrow, The Flash Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Barry Allen, Nyssa al Ghul, Eobard Thawne, Malcolm Merlyn, John Diggle, Felicity Smoak, Cisco Ramon, Caitlin Snow, Joe West, Eddie Thawne, Thea Queen, Quentin Lance, Ra’s al Ghul, Ronnie Raymond Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Laurel, acting in Oliver's stead, arrives in Central City too late to help relocate the prisoners; but Reverse Flash sees an opportunity to correct an error in the timeline. Meanwhile, Oliver has had some second thoughts regarding his affairs of the heart. These two things collide on the rooftop where Sara Lance died. / Liberal rearranging of the timeline *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

Laurel wished she could simply cherish the moment. Oliver had finally acknowledged her, not just as a somewhat useful ally, but as someone he trusted to watch over the city in place of himself. An equal. 

She’d been waiting for it for so long, it seemed ridiculous to be feeling only a mix of elation and dread. It wasn’t fear or doubt for herself causing it; it was for him. Oliver wouldn’t be asking this unless he had no choice.

Unless he felt he wasn’t coming back.

She wasn’t stupid. He’d been saying goodbye the only way he knew how; by not saying it to her at all. Not face-to-face, anyway. Something was seriously wrong with Thea, and it was her friend’s condition that stopped her from demanding that Oliver explain the whole story first. Thea’s health was more important than Laurel knowing where and why he was really going. She could survive him leaving; she had done it before.

This city would need to survive, too. With that in mind, Laurel returned to the temporary base of operations they’d been working out of inside Palmer Tech. She’d have to make sure she was staying on top of any news or alerts, especially with Felicity leaving on the plane as well.

There was an unread message sent from STAR Laboratories. Laurel clicked on it, brow furrowing as she realized it was Barry Allen and his team requesting Oliver’s help in… moving prisoners? Was this more of that black-site prison stuff? But it seemed the prisoners were in danger of dying if they remained where they were. Okay, so this was important.

Was it more important than the whole city? She had just been tasked with being its guardian, could she really just leave to go help a different one?

Oliver would, if it was to help a friend. He was always there when it counted, when he could be. And she at least considered Cisco a friend, if only because she hadn’t had much chance to get to know the others in Central. This would be that chance.

Laurel sent the message on to Lyla to see if their ARGUS ally could send any immediate aid before going home to pack and call in a personal day from her job. She took the first train that left for Central, wishing that the highs-speed one that had been approved by City Council and their recently-deceased mayor was already finished.

By the time she found her way to the lab that Team Flash used for their base, it appeared deserted. The place was huge, though, so Laurel went down a few levels just to search and be sure. She should have thought to send a message ahead, but she didn’t actually have any of their numbers.

There was a strange humming noise coming from down a hallway. There was a circle opening into a wide, cavernous space. She supposed it was the infamous particle accelerator. Laurel looked this way and that, noticing a number of empty cubes. She wondered what they were for.

A streak of lighting appeared suddenly in the middle of the room. It rushed towards her like the footage she had seen of Barry in action on the news. Laurel tensed; something about this didn’t seem friendly.

She felt herself grabbed and thrown, too fast for her to see anything but a whirl of color and light before her back slammed painfully into something solid. Laurel hit the floor, groaning, and heard the whirr of something mechanical. She pushed back up onto her feet, quickly realizing she was in one of the cubes and that the door to it was closing. She ran forward, but even as she did she could tell she’d be crushed if she tried to slip under the closing gap.

A man in a suit like the Flash’s, but yellow stood grinning on the other side, watching her.

“Hey!” She pounded against the glass, but it barely seemed to budge. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What should have been done already.” His voice was distorted with an underlying threat that Oliver’s own modulated tones had never held. “You’ll thank me someday.”

Without another word, he vanished. Laurel’s breath came quick as she paced the tiny space, punching and kicking at every wall to no avail. That humming noise was so much louder now, and she couldn’t imagine it would be good to be here for whatever that signaled.

Who even was that guy? How could she have screwed up so badly already? This wasn’t what Oliver would have wanted. It wasn’t what she wanted.

Laurel let out one last yell in anger as she kicked out, and a great boom rocked the tiny cell she’d found herself trapped in, throwing her senseless to the floor.

---

Eobard studied his plans for the time capsule for the umpteenth time while ignoring his ancestor still strapped to the chair behind him. It was all coming together quickly now. As soon as he could convince Barry to agree to the plan — assuming Barry would.

He was fairly confident he would. Eobard has spent years watching this Barry Allen grow up, subtly and then more overtly influencing him and his decisions, his very way of thinking. If given the chance to save his mother, how could he pass that up?

There was the Flash’s heroic streak, of course. Perhaps the anger at Eobard would outweigh his desire to be reunited with Nora. In case of that, Eobard had been doing what he could to ensure enough of the old timeline was being re-established, in case he had to make his way into the future on his own. Some things had been eluding him, of course, but at least he had finally broken his ancestor of the belief that Iris West was ever meant to be a part of their family tree.

As he continued revising his calculations, a beep of the alarms he had set up around the labs caught his attention. Eobard went to his computers to check.

“Uh-oh. A little birdie.”

He could hear the detective straining to see behind him. “What… what are you talking about?”

“Just some unexpected company.” He watched Dinah Laurel Lance slowly making her way through the cortex and then down, closer and closer towards the pipeline. And as he did, an idea began to form.

One of the more elusive elements that had been bothering him about this timeline was Star — or still Starling — City. The Green Arrow was not what he was supposed to be. His traditional allies had been shunted aside for other players, and he was mooning over an upstart from MIT of all people. The Black Canary wasn’t what she was supposed to be either. But, he might have just been handed a way to fix that.

Eobard went to the controls for the accelerator, up the launch time. He had enough speed to achieve this, and Eddie Thawne would be safe down here while he ran his little experiment.

“Just a little more repair work on the timeline. It’s good insurance,” he explained offhand, not that he felt his ancestor could really begin to comprehend the finer details. “Miss Lance has offered me a wonderful opportunity that I simply can’t pass up.”

Cisco was a genius, but even his tech couldn’t really hope to compete with the power of the real Canary Cry.

“What are you going to do to her?”

“It won’t kill her. In fact, it really will only make her stronger.” Assuming he got his calculations right. It’d be easier if his ancestor remained quiet.

Not even the pipeline cells could remain fully impervious to the activated accelerator; it was why Barry was amusingly taking the time to evacuate criminals they had been holding for several months now. The partial protection would suit his purposes nicely; enough to keep Black Canary alive, but enough also to allow her DNA to be changed and quickly at that. They had over a year’s worth of development to make up for, after all.

He donned his suit and raced up the ladder, spotting her just poking a curious head into the pipeline. Her eyes widened for a split second before he grabbed her, throwing her none-too-gently into an open cell and slamming the button to bring the hatch down. He gave her credit; she shook herself and rose quickly to her feet, but wasn’t fast enough to rush back out before the hatch slid shut.

“Hey!” Her fist pummeled the glass uselessly as she glared out at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What should have been done already.” He couldn’t resist putting the reverb into his voice, enjoying the way she eyed him warily. “You’ll thank me someday.”

Rather than return to the basement, Eobard ran up and out of the labs, knowing that, if Barry found him on the premises after he had seemingly hurt one of his little friends, he would be less inclined to be reasoned with regarding his idea to reset things.

He would need to lay low now for another little while. Until the accelerator had had time to cool down before reuse. It would delay his plans to return to his time, but he could wait a little longer. He had already waited fifteen years.

---

Barry couldn’t believe he had screwed up so badly. Joe had tried to warn him, but he just didn’t listen. Now Cold had let all the metas get away, except Deathbolt anyway, and whatever crimes they went on to commit would be Barry’s fault.

He had tried to do things the smart guy way like Oliver, and he had failed.

Joe’s words of comfort helped him feel a little better, but he wished his friend were here to give him advice, even if it was to tell Barry just where and how he had gone wrong.

They were interrupted by Cisco rapping his knuckles on the doorway. “Sorry guys. Just… we got a problem.”

They regrouped in the cortex. “The accelerator is in cool down mode,” Cisco told them.

“So, what, Wells was just bluffing?” Joe asked.

“We don’t think so. We think it may have activated while we were gone,” said Caitlin. “And there’s something else.” Biting her lip, she turned one of the monitor screens to face them.

It was a view of one of the pipeline cells. A woman was laying on her side, blonde hair spilling over her face.

Barry’s heart dropped into his stomach. “No. No, we got everybody out. I triple-checked!” She didn’t even look like any of the metas, and it couldn’t be Bates either since he’d been accidentally killed while impersonating Reverse Flash.

He rushed down to the pipeline, opening the outer door and waiting impatiently as it rose before racing to the occupied cell. He opened that as well, waiting until he could just clear it before ducking inside. With greater care, he knelt by the body and slowly brushed her hair aside. His eyes widened and his heart gave another constriction.

It was Laurel.

What was the lawyer he had briefly met in Starling City doing here? And yet, he recalled Felicity’s mention of her becoming a vigilante… had she come here to help them after all? He didn’t know how he could forgive himself, much less look Oliver in the face again, if she was—

Running footsteps signaled the arrival of the others. “It’s Laurel,” he called out to them. “One of Oliver’s friends.”

Cisco’s voice sounded particularly distressed. “Black Canary?”

“Careful not to move her,” Caitlin advised at his elbow. The doctor leaned down, touching Laurel’s neck with two fingers and then listening at her mouth. “There’s a pulse and she’s breathing,” she announced to the whole group.

Cisco made a choked sort of sound, and Barry sat back as relief washed over him. He saw Laurel’s fingers twitch and her eyelids flutter. She drew in a deeper, raspier breath before coughing a few times.

Caitlin pressed a hand between the other woman’s shoulder blades and another rested on her shoulder. “Easy. Try not to make any sudden movements. We’re not sure what’s happened here.”

“Neither am I,” Laurel said with a grumble in her voice rather like Oliver’s, Barry couldn’t help noting. “Where’d that yellow guy go?”

His amusement evaporated. “Reverse Flash? He was here?”

“If he’s a guy in yellow leather with a creepy voice, yeah, he was. He threw me in here and said something about how I’d thank him for this, then ran away.” Her eyes finally seemed to focus as she added, “I think I’ll thank him with a fist to the face.”

Laurel began coughing again.

“She need water?” Joe asked. Barry shrugged helplessly.

“Laurel, do you think you can get up on your own? I’d like to examine you for any injuries or ill effects with my equipment. I’m kind of the team medic around here. Caitlin Snow.”

“Nice to meet you,” Laurel said. “I think I can get up but… who’s that shouting?”

Barry looked around at the others. “No one’s shouting, Laurel.”

She frowned, slowly rising from the ground. “But I hear…” Abruptly, she passed by Joe and Cisco out of the cell and took off further into the pipeline. Barry hurried to catch up to her.

“Hey, you really should probably be taking it easy,” he advised gently.

“Someone’s calling for help,” Laurel insisted. She stopped and doubled back a couple of steps. “It’s loudest… here.”

There was nothing and no one there, but as Barry looked around, he noticed a barely-visible seam in the floor. It was almost like a square…

Heart pounding, Barry called back to the others, “Guys? Is there supposed to be a trapdoor in here?”

Laurel had winced at his raised voice and rubbed her ear while they heard back a, “No?” from Cisco.

Barry licked his lips. “Stay back, alright?” He tried to move around to block Laurel from any potential view, but she stepped to the side and crossed her arms. Right, fellow hero. He wouldn’t really appreciate it if Oliver tried shielding him from something, would he?

He opened the hatch, peering down into darkness. “Hello?” He called out cautiously. If it was Reverse Flash, he’d given away any element of surprise, but why would the other speedster be calling for help like Laurel claimed?

“Barry?” Eddie’s hoarse voice made him nearly jump out of his skin. “Is that really you?”

He rushed down the ladder and found his friend tied to a chair in a small basement. Barry undid the bonds and rushed back upstairs, Eddie in his arms.

“We found Eddie!”

It was a strange group that made their way up to the cortex again. Caitlin was extremely worried about Eddie’s condition, citing dehydration and possible malnutrition. Joe was on the phone with Iris to let her know to come to the lab. Cisco was pouring over some of the notes they had found down in the secret basement.

“The, uh, transfer,” Laurel said. “Was it already completed?”

“Yeah,” Barry answered, too embarrassed to disclose just how it had been completed.

“Then I think I need to be going. I’m the only one really watching Starling right now.”

“But we haven’t gotten you checked out yet,” Barry reminded her.

“I’m fine. Can’t take painkillers anyway, so I’m used to scrapes and bruises. He needs Caitlin’s attention more,” she added, nodding towards Eddie on the medical cot.

“I still think it wouldn’t hurt to wait.”

“Maybe, but I promised Ollie.”

It struck Barry that he’d never heard the billionaire’s old nickname spoken with such obvious tenderness. “Is something going on?”

Laurel shrugged. “I don’t have all the details. I just know someone needs to be protecting the streets. Thanks for getting me out of that… cell, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it.” He still didn’t know why she had been thrown in one to begin with. What had Reverse Flash been aiming to do? What was his game?

Laurel pulled her bag over her shoulder with just a slight wince and walked out of the cortex. Barry watched her leave the labs on the surveillance footage. Of anyone on the Arrow team, Laurel remained perhaps the biggest mystery to him. How did she fit into the group? Why did she do what she did? She seemed separate from the rest and yet clearly held Oliver close in her heart.

Iris arrived, going straight to Eddie, and Barry looked away. He knew she loved the detective and was happy for them to be reunited, but it only made it a little easier, especially after seeing that newspaper article. What could have been.

He tapped Cisco on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow him out of the room. They headed back down to the pipeline. “What’s up?” His friend asked.

“I just wanna check something. Can you stand in the cell Laurel was in?”

“Okay?” Cisco agreed slowly, moving to do so. Barry ran back down into the basement, closing the hatch behind him. He stood by the chair Eddie had been in and shouted for all he was worth.

“Help! Cisco! I’m down here!”

Barry waited, repeated the exercise and waited some more. Then he rushed back up to the main level of the pipeline.

“Did you hear any of that?”

“Any of what?”

He’d thought so. Barry frowned. It was good that Laurel was okay and even better that she had led them to Eddie, but how had she done it?

---

Something was happening to her student, Nyssa couldn’t help feeling. More troubling than this, something was happening to her friend.

She had never had someone in her life quite like Laurel. Only a few short months ago, she had hardly known her beloved’s sister, yet now she spent her nights training the other woman in the art of combating evil. Nonlethally at that, which was something else new to her.

Laurel improved with each exercise, though she still had a habit of underestimating the cruelty of the common thug. She was an idealist and believed the best of people until spindly shown otherwise. Then, in some cases, she kept stubbornly believing in them anyway.

This particular night, Nyssa watched from a concealed place as Laurel took on her latest foe. The man was armed, though her student took no notice of this — until he lurched back to avoid a swing of Laurel’s nightstick, his jacket hitting the fence. Laurel tensed and shoved her stick under the man’s throat.

“Hands up. Go for your knife and you will regret it.”

Nyssa watched with growing surprise as Laurel soundly disposed of the common street thug. “Well done,” she announced, stepping out into the open. “What caused you to realize his advantage?”

“I heard something metal hit the chain link. It wasn’t heavy enough to be a gun, so a knife,” Laurel answered. Nyssa raised an eyebrow. She had heard? And in the midst of battle?

“Yes, well, he did have two knives,” she felt the need to point out. “We must observe with eyes as well.” Laurel grimaced, so Nyssa added, “I believe we have done enough for now. We should seek food to replenish our energy.”

Laurel suggested they dine on something called a milkshake and added deep fried potatoes to the deal by the time they had reached the restaurant. Unhealthy as it was, Nyssa enjoyed herself until her friend finally confessed to knowing where Oliver Queen had disappeared to of late: he had taken her father’s offer. He had supplanted her, and she knew what that meant for her future.

Nyssa left the restaurant and retrieved her armaments, then made her way to the rooftop where Sara was slain. If she was to die, she would wish it to be on the very same spot her beloved drew her last breath; if she were to be victorious, she would wish to strike her enemy down on that same hallowed ground.

Oliver, or what manner of monster he had become under her father’s care, did not leave her waiting long. He claimed he was to return her to Nanda Parbat, but she would force his hand to deliver the killing blow first.

They dueled, Oliver showing just how much he had learned in his time with the League, the things her father had never really offered to teach her. Nyssa grit her teeth as she felt herself backed up against the roof’s edge just as Sara had been, though it was a sword at her throat instead of an arrow in her chest.

A sound pierced the night, unlike any she had ever heard. The closest she could think of were her beloved’s devices, but they had not been nearly so strong. Nor so visible.

Nyssa could only cringe in pain as glass shattered around them and something like heavy waves of air struck her assailant in his side. He did not keep his feet; instead, her pain was forgotten in a gasp as the man who had once been Oliver Queen went over the edge, the black bow and arrows strapped to his back flying and falling with a clatter.

“Oliver!”

Nyssa whipped her head around towards the source of this unexpected rescue. The shout had come from John Diggle, Oliver’s aid, and the sound… she could only guess had come from Laurel. Laurel, who looked frozen in shock and horror at what she had done.

She had told Nyssa about the adjustments she had asked an engineer to make to Sara’s device, though Nyssa had maintained they would continue to focus on her physical skill set before incorporating such additions. Perhaps that had been in error.

There was a distant bellow of pain, a popping noise and another clang. Nyssa rolled to her feet and peered down. Her adversary still lived.

He was dangling from the rail of a fire escape several flights below, one arm hanging uselessly at his side and at an odd angle. Out of socket. His grip with the other hand was tenuous at best. Did she wait for him to fall? Or would he survive the remaining distance?

Nyssa drew her bow and another arrow as she contemplated, hearing her two allies scrambling across the treacherous roof with its broken skylights. She aimed the arrow down, pointed straight between the eyes.

Something flashed in his expression, and he could not hide it. Fear for his life, something no one truly brainwashed by the League ever felt. There was Oliver behind his eyes. He seemed to know she had seen it too, for he grimaced and spoke just as Laurel and John Diggle joined her: “Little help, please?”

---

Oliver couldn’t quite grasp what had just happened. All he knew was one arm was on fire, the other was not far behind it, his ankle had collided painfully with something metal that without putting weight on it he couldn’t test the possible damage and his ears were ringing. His whole body felt like it was still ringing.

John and Laurel hurried down the fire escape to him, hauling him up though he couldn’t quite hold in another yelp and he collapsed into Digg’s side as soon as he was standing. His ankle was damaged in some way.

“Ollie, are you — I wasn’t trying to do that,” Laurel said in a rush.

“Yeah? What exactly were you trying?” He grumbled.

“Sara’s sonic bombs, I had Cisco reconfigure them but something’s wrong.”

“Something’s wrong, alright. The thing broke and that sound still came out. Come on, we gotta get back to the base before the police come check out the noise disturbance.”

“Where is the base?” He wondered idly as they helped him limp along.

Nyssa joined them as John and Laurel helped him into the back of the van, and Oliver let his head drop back to rest as he breathed in and out. He needed to push the pain to the back of his mind in order to think, because his plan had just gone sideways.

The others knew it was an act now. They would never believe that he had been fully brainwashed by the League, even if he went back to Nanda Parbat tonight. And if he did go back, would he even be alive tomorrow? Ra’s would have to know he had lost this fight and that his team had nursed his wounds. He would know he was being played. What did they do now?

Malcolm wasn’t here to propose a new strategy. Malcolm would probably be furious that their current strategy had been ruined. That it had been at Laurel’s hands… well, even Oliver could appreciate that irony.

He could feel her eyes on him. Nervous, worried, guilty. Oliver found himself reaching out with his good arm and taking her hand. Maybe he was too tired to maintain the distant facade anymore. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he’d just missed her too much.

Of everyone, he hadn’t given her a proper goodbye, yet he knew she’d understood what he was trying to say all the same, and she’d accepted it. As always.

He wished he had asked her to make the journey with them, that she’d been there to help Thea through the worst of the Lazarus Pit’s effects. More than anyone, he could trust Laurel to take care of his sister for no other reason than because she already cared for her. She had beyond proven that to him when she had thrown his fear and doubt about her reaction to learning Thea’s role in Sara’s death back in his face. With Malcolm, there was still the lingering risk that he was acting in self-interest, and Oliver could still remember Felicity’s chilling words when he’d asked her to look after his sister in his absence: And what is that worth?

He’d had a lot of time to think about his relationships in Nanda Parbat; it had been necessary in order to maintain a hold of his identity. And in all his recollecting, he was coming to a troubling conclusion. He wasn’t sure he and Felicity were in love the way he’d thought they were.

He cared for her, obviously. He was grateful for everything she had dedicated to the mission. There was fondness, respect, trust… or there had been.

He’d been out of it still in the catacombs when he thanked her. But with a clearer head, it had hit him that for no matter what reason, Felicity had drugged him without his consent. He’d been near-furious with John for doing the same thing only last year. And if Felicity’s plan had succeeded, there would have been far worse consequences.

That rash action aside, there was more he couldn’t help seeing once he’d been on his own. Felicity had fallen into a habit of speaking for him, or even over him, often. She took it upon herself to interpret his meaning for others when he never asked for such a thing to be done. And just picturing her reaction to learning his and Malcolm’s plan and how much she wouldn’t have been allowed to know to until the end… he was almost as nervous as Laurel was to return to the team’s new base.

Laurel’s reaction he could picture perfectly as well. There would be disappointment that he had relied on Malcolm rather than the rest of them, that he had lied. But there would be acceptance that it had been the one way forward to ensure the least amount of danger to the city. She would set aside her feelings to deal with the situation at hand, the way she almost always did. It was only when it came to things like her family that she could become over-emotional, a flaw Oliver could privately admit he shared.

He had been so hard on her. He had hoped it would keep her away from all this. Instead it had just kept her from him.

The new base turned out to be an unused room within Palmer Tech. Felicity was there to meet them, and her eyes widened as John and Laurel helped him hobble towards a medical table.

“Oliver! What- what happened? Was it the League?”

“Nope,” John answered for him. “He was trying to take Nyssa out for the League. Laurel stopped him a little too enthusiastically.”

“I was supposed to bring Nyssa to Nanda Parbat,” Oliver interrupted before too many fingers could start pointing back and forth. “It was not my intention to kill her.”

“And what do you imagine my father would have had you do once we arrived?” Nyssa asked coolly.

“Malcolm or I would have figured something out.” He hadn’t known precisely what that something would be, but he had known capturing Nyssa at the least would have been vital to convincing Ra’s he was on the man’s side.

“Malcolm? I don’t understand,” Felicity said. “You’re still working with him? They said you’d be brainwashed.”

“They tried. Didn’t take,” he answered shortly.

“But you wanted Ra’s to think it did,” Laurel realized quietly. She’d been wearing a frown from the moment he had mentioned Malcolm, but now her brow creased with apprehension. “What happens now?”

“I really don’t know. What happened on the roof?”

She shrugged helplessly. “It shouldn’t have been that strong.”

“What shouldn’t have been? Can we use our words, people?” Felicity asked.

“Laurel had Cisco at STAR labs modify Sara’s sonic bombs,” John explained as he finished retrieving some medical supplies. “But the tech didn’t work the way it was supposed to, and somehow she knocked Oliver clean off the roof. It’s how he got so banged up.”

Oliver carefully shed the upper layers of his League uniform with Digg’s help. He was glad the others were not facing the brand, at least for now. Felicity’s eyes drifted over his chest while Laurel’s own gaze remained solidly on his face. Nyssa was looking out a window, her lips pursed in quiet thought.

“This is… probably going to sound crazy,” Laurel said at last. “But I felt something.”

“Like what?” He asked, hoping it came off as encouraging. Laurel needed to open up if they were going to get to the bottom of this.

“It was like it came from in me, in a way.”

“What, like you’re the sonic bomb?” Felicity’s skepticism rang loud and clear in the room.

“The device broke before the sound came out,” John revealed. He gripped Oliver’s bad arm. “Ready?”

“Do it.” He bit down hard as the other man forced his shoulder back into socket. Pain rippled through him and he gasped for air.

Felicity darted forward as if to steady him at his other side, but Oliver leaned away. He knew he didn’t want to discuss his revelations about their relationship right now in front of the others, but he didn’t want to lead her to believe in something that just wasn’t there. She drew short of him, a hurt look in her eyes.

Oliver focused back on Laurel. “Has this ever happened before, or anything like it?”

Laurel shook her head, but it was Nyssa who said, “I believe there is more to it than producing sound. Laurel has developed an unusually keen sense of hearing.”

“You never said anything,” Laurel said with a frown.

“I only noticed it recently,” the former Heir to the Demon said. “And on its own it did not seem so remarkable.”

“How recent, Nyssa?” Oliver asked.

“Within the last month, certainly. I would say it was soon after you left to usurp me.”

He pointedly ignored the last of that sentence, keeping his gaze on Laurel while John fit a brace to his ankle. “Could anything have happened to you between them and now that might explain this? Anything at all.”

“I mean, I- I went to Central to try and help Barry and the others with something. They, um, were trying to move their prisoners,” she said, the last word twisting her lips with distaste in a way that was almost amusing. “I got there too late, though. But there was this guy they called the Reverse Flash, in a yellow suit like Barry’s—”

“The guy that killed Barry’s mom?” Felicity demanded. Oliver felt his heart stop.

“I wouldn’t know,” Laurel answered. “But he threw me in this box of some kind of reinforced glass, ran away and there was this big boom before I guess I passed out.” She hugged her arms to herself. “I came to and Barry and the others had gotten back.”

“But what happened?” John asked.

“That’s all I know.”

“Laurel,” Oliver started in frustration. She’d passed out and not told any of the others? What had Reverse Flash been trying to do to her? Why didn’t she care more?

“Well, they were all kind of busy with the man they found being held captive in their own basement,” she snapped. “Apparently I was the only person who heard him calling for help — which I guess was when that whole thing started. But I would’ve needed to get back here anyway because I needed to be looking out for the city.”

Oliver’s eyes slipped closed. The promise he had asked of her before he’d left. That was why she hadn’t bothered to remain at STAR and have them confirm anything.

“Felicity, call Barry,” he instructed. She blinked in surprise but got out her phone, shooting him an odd look as she did so.

“Alright, but you need to rest, man,” Digg said. “At least until he gets here.”

Oliver complied, if only because he knew Barry wouldn’t take long. Sure enough, the speedster was soon among them and listened attentively as they explained everything that had happened.

“It was the particle accelerator. Wells — or Thawne — Reverse Flash,” the younger hero decided on eventually. “He’d turned it on to use for something. We’re still not sure what the original purpose was, because even he shouldn’t have been able to guess Laurel would be showing up that exact evening.”

“Why would he want to use it to change her?”

“I’m not sure. He’s, he’s from the future,” Barry admitted to all of their shock. “And maybe that means he knows something about Laurel. Something that means she’s supposed to be a meta. But until we catch him, we can’t know for sure.”

“How do we do that?” Laurel demanded. He could tell she was shaken to hear that this man had made such a change to her without her consent. Oliver was beating himself up already for not being there. He should have kept a better eye on things at home; he should have protected her the way he always did; he should have—

It was with a sense of dawning wonder and fear that Oliver realized what this feeling was, the feeling that had never quite died in him no matter how hard he had tried to stamp it out: love.

He was in love with Dinah Laurel Lance, even when she had long gotten over him.

“Ollie?”

He started, working to school his features as the others all stared at him. He felt too shy suddenly to meet Laurel’s eyes, so he watched her shoulder and the lock of her hair that hung over the front of it. “Yeah?”

“We’re trying to figure out who to neutralize first,” John re-stated. “Ra’s or Reverse Flash.”

He swallowed. Right, the plan. He needed a new one, one that didn’t involve him resuming his place at Ra’s side. The longer they delayed, the more suspicious the Demon would become.

“Ra’s. We need to take the fight to Nanda Parbat now.”

“But you’re injured,” Felicity immediately protested.

“We can’t afford to wait. Ra’s will suspect he’s been betrayed and send out the best of his followers to kill all of us.” Everything he had tried to avoid by becoming Al-Sah-Him would come to pass.

His ankle wasn’t broken as he had feared. He could stand on it with the brace if need be. He would have to hope he could fight on it as well.

“A straight assault on Nanda Parbat is suicide,” Nyssa declared. “You would never be able to root each and every assassin out of the passages. They would surround you and slaughter before you had time to blink.”

“Not if it was Barry who was blinking,” Laurel pointed out. “Could you… I don’t know, run them all out of the fortress into the open?”

“Definitely. Not sure if I could stop them from going back in if I’m helping you to fight them, though.”

“Then we stop them from going back in,” said Oliver, a plan forming in his mind off the back of Laurel’s idea. “You can do that scream again.”

“I didn’t know I could do it the first time,” she protested, backing up even a step further. Oliver shifted his weight off the table onto his good leg to catch her hand before she could fully draw away.

“It’s your power, just like Barry’s speed. And I have a feeling it’s exactly what we need. You’re strong, Laurel. I’ve known that our whole lives. And no matter how or why you received this ability, you’re the one in control of it.”

Her gaze remained on their hands joined together. He rubbed a thumb over the fishnet material on the back of her glove, and slowly, she raised her head to meet his eyes. “What do you need me to do?”

There was a current between them, making his heart thump loudly in his ears and his mouth run dry. He wondered if he was the only one to notice it, or if Laurel could still somehow feel it too. Could he even be that lucky?

A throat cleared, and Oliver swallowed, glancing to the side to see the others watching and waiting. Felicity must have been the one to do it; she had a wet sheen to her eyes. He would have to speak with her soon. It was long past time to set things back to rights with his various affairs of the heart.

But ending the threat of the League in their lives came first.

---

Malcolm paced the small chamber he had been given in Nanda Parbat, far beneath the accommodations he had once held as Ra’s horseman. But soon, very soon, he would be occupying a much more opulent room within the fortress.

So long as Oliver didn’t screw everything up.

The man had yet to return with Nyssa or to report his progress. Ra’s was growing agitated, they all could tell and so all steered clear of their leader. It would certainly be an upset should Nyssa prove after all to be the better Heir, but Malcolm feared Ra’s discovering the truth: that Oliver was merely pretending to be the loyal disciple.

Had he quailed at killing the woman? The Oliver who had returned from the island two years ago would have been far better suited to this plan. He had developed a soft heart in his time back home. His friends were likely convincing him to try a new, futile strategy instead. It would end in ruin for all of them and Starling if they pursued it.

Malcolm began to pack his things. Once Ra’s discovered Oliver’s treachery, he would need to be far away from here. He would stop briefly in Starling to collect Thea and disappear. There were those who opposed Ra’s that they could ally themselves with and seek protection. At least for the moment.

But he had only the time to sling his pack over his shoulders before he was suddenly seized and felt himself carried impossibly fast. Malcolm closed his eyes and had his sword drawn when he was released from the strange sensation, blinking in the sudden light of day outside the fortress.

He took stock of his surroundings. All the League’s soldiers stood around in various stages of confusion. John Diggle had a gun aimed at Sarab, the current horseman. Nyssa stood proudly with her own bow and arrow drawn at him. Oliver favored his left leg but stood with head uncovered, his right arm braced on Laurel’s shoulder. At a nod from him, she stepped out from under him and marched to the front just as a streak of lightning rushed out of the fortress once more with a final member of this gathering: Ra’s himself.

“Al-Sah-Him, what is the meaning of this?” The Demon demanded once he had gained his feet. A man in red — the Flash from Central City, he realized — also appeared in solid form.

“Al-Sah-Him never existed. My name is Oliver Queen. And I’ve never been one for prophecies,” Oliver said. “Now, Canary!”

With a vicious smirk sent back Malcolm’s way, Laurel planted her feet and let forth a scream that shook the ground beneath their feet and the heavens above. The stone of Nanda Parbat’s entryway blasted apart under the force of the visible waves, and it’s pillars buckled before giving way.

Cries emanated from the members, some of horror and some of pain as they clutched at their ears. The Priestess clutched her robes and sobbed. And Malcolm could only watch in astonishment as his ambitions and plans crumbled to dust and rubble before his very eyes. Within minutes, Nanda Parbat was no more. His legs trembled, but he just barely stopped himself from sinking to his knees.

“No!” Ra’s scream of rage was marked with terror, and Malcolm knew why: the Lazarus Pit had just been buried and contaminated beyond any hopes of saving it. The Demon drew his sword and lunged — only for two arrows to embed themselves in his back.

The greatest warrior Malcolm had ever known fell just feet away from Laurel Lance. Both Oliver and Nyssa advanced on him as he raised himself to his knees.

“Your reign and your League is ended, Ra’s,” Oliver said. “You’ve lost sight of the mission you spoke to me of, descending into petty squabbles and schisms. You hoard your power and refuse to relinquish it. You’ve become what you swore to fight against.”

Ra’s eyes widened for a moment, before he sneered at his daughter. “And you, Nyssa? My own flesh and blood?”

“You forswore me the moment I discovered that love could rule my heart instead of fear. Your mistake was in thinking that it made me weaker.”

A puff of air left Ra’s lips as a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. “You think yourself strong? You have destroyed your birthright. You will never be Ra’s al Ghul,” he rasped. Though he grew weaker, it seemed he was determined to die with a straight back. “And you…” his gaze fell on Oliver again, but the eyes glazed over and his body went limp before his final condemnation could be spoken.

Oliver turned to face the assembled assassins, frozen without orders to follow. “The League of Assassins is no more. You can either return to your old lives or make new ones for yourselves elsewhere. But if any of you even think about setting foot in my city, you’ll suffer the same consequences as your leader just has.” There was sweat beginning to bead on his brow, and Laurel returned to his side, subtly supporting his weight. Oliver smiled down at her briefly before they began a slow walk away from Ra’s fallen form, leaving Nyssa to see to what was left of her father.

Malcolm broke from his own stupor and hurried after them. “Oliver. What happened? This was not the plan.”

While Laurel did nothing to hide the contempt in her gaze, Oliver was more diplomatic. “The plan we had was riskier and would have taken longer. I realized I could end the League’s threat a different way, so I did.”

“And ended the League entirely?”

“Not exactly how you were hoping this would all go, was it?” Laurel asked, her tone entirely too smug. She had guessed his goal, then.

“How did you create that kind of force?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything, but I’d be more than happy to demonstrate how it works a second time.”

Malcolm shifted his weight back. He had no doubt if she used that new and strange ability again that it could kill him. No longer did he have the decided upper hand in their confrontations, and Oliver seemed to be far more inclined to favor her once again. How could he have missed such a dramatic shifting of the balance of power he’d been cultivating?

“You’re free to live your life without looking over your shoulder for the League, Malcolm. I’d say that makes us more than even,” Oliver said. “But use Thea for one of your schemes again, and it will not end well for you.”

So he wished to be enemies once more going forward, did he? “I see. Thank you for the cursory warning. I still think you’ve made a grave mistake today, Oliver, but it’s clear to me you aren’t interested in hearing it.” Malcolm stepped aside, allowing the two to rejoin John Diggle and the Flash as they left the mountains.

The Flash and now Laurel’s dangerous gift. Oliver had found himself powerful allies. Malcolm should have used the tension his presence on the team had caused between the former lovers to widen the schism while he’d had the chance. He should have remembered it did not take long for Oliver and Laurel to forgive each other their mistakes.

He returned to the grouping of League members who remained. Some had already departed; still others seemed to have taken the League’s ruination as their own and swallowed the poison capsule all members carried. Someone needed to take hold of the situation and fast before one of the most elite forces in the world was squandered completely.

While Nyssa ordered Sarab and the Priestess to help with the arrangements for Ra’s burial, Malcolm set to work doing what any good businessman would: networking.

He might not have the ring nor the seat nor the title of the Demon, but he would persevere.

---

Laurel felt an extra spring in her step that half of Oliver’s weight plus all his League uniform adornments couldn’t even dampen. She had ended the League that had taken Sara away from their family, both in life and death. She had denied Malcolm, the orchestrator of her sister’s demise, the prize he’d been so clearly seeking when he’d crafted the original plan Oliver had told them about. She had destroyed a centuries-old order with nothing but a scream.

It was a little scary, how much watching the stone fortress had exhilarated her. If someone else had these powers she’d had forced on her, what would they do with them? There had been no casualties from the destruction, but she would need to watch herself and hope her teammates had her back in the field.

Right now, she had Oliver’s, since it was difficult for him to navigate the rocky terrain with a bad ankle. Laurel couldn’t help wondering what was going through his head. He’d asked her to watch out for the city when he’d left to begin his deception of Ra’s, and ever since he’d come back, he had been… different towards her.

She didn’t want to think it or even dare to get her hopes up again. She wasn’t that much of a fool. He’d probably just missed everyone and was trying to express it in his unspoken way.

Though that didn’t explain the distance between him and Felicity when they returned to the plane where she waited for the news.

“Ra’s is dead, and the League is without a leader or a stronghold,” Oliver reported succinctly.

Felicity nodded and retook her seat, and it was John who joined her. Oliver directed them to keep moving further back to another row. She helped him lower himself down and then took the seat beside him. 

Barry hovered a bit between the rows before taking his own chair across the aisle from them, leaning forward to talk to Oliver. “I had Caitlin reach out to Ronnie and Professor Stein. They’re planning to meet us in Central to take care of Reverse Flash. Are you sure you’re good?”

“I can fire an arrow, Barry.”

“You could take a sniper position,” Laurel offered, seeing that Barry looked just as reluctant as she felt to put him directly in the path of that speedster while he was still recovering.

Oliver thought it over quietly for a few moments. “Depends on where the fight happens. If there’s a good position to take, I’ll be there.”

Barry relaxed back into his seat. Laurel nodded and did her best to settle in for the flight. They would need to be rested so that they were ready to move once they touched back down in Central.

She wasn’t sure how long she slept, given that the window shades were all pulled down, but gradually Laurel became aware that she tilted to the right and that her head had landed on something warm and solid. She jerked upright, wincing as Oliver’s face scrunched you and he awoke as well.

“Something wrong?”

“No. I… I just realized I was kind of in your space. Sorry,” she told him softly. Barry snores lightly across the aisle, and she couldn’t detect any movement from the row ahead.

“It’s okay.” Oliver licked his lips and shifted in his seat a little. “I’m glad.”

“For what?”

“For not ruining everything again. For you still being… okay with me. For relying on me.”

“Ollie, you’re my friend. We’re always going to be okay. I rely on you, and I hope you can rely on me because I care about you.”

“Even if…” He stopped himself, suddenly looking more vulnerable than she’d perhaps ever seen him.

“If what?”

A tone chimed, indicating passengers were meant to be buckling back in. She heard John moving in the seat ahead and the low murmur of his voice as he woke Felicity. Regretfully, Laurel turned to lean across the aisle and nudge Barry.

There wasn’t a chance for her to ask what Oliver had meant. They landed and were immediately driven to STAR labs where a number of people waited. Most of them she had met the last time she was here.

“I wish we had time to run some tests on your abilities,” Caitlin said. She had her phone out, checking for updates from the two men still making their way here.

An alarm at the computers was tripped before that happened. Felicity and Cisco bumped into each other as they both went to check.

“It’s him.”

Laurel drew in a breath and released it. It was time to confront the man who had done this to her, along with the crimes he had inflicted on so many here.

“Did Ray send you what he promised?” Oliver asked.

Cisco passed him a couple arrows in green. “You’re gonna have to make them count. I was also able to whip up a pair of these.” He held up a set of earbuds. “They cancel out sound above a certain decibel. Should avoid some possible friendly fire from the Super Boss Canary Cry.”

“Only one pair?” Laurel asked, chewing her lip. She knew it was a lot to expect more in such a short period, but she wasn’t keen on hurting any of her friends.

“Take them, Ollie,” Barry said. “I heal.”

Oliver hesitated a moment, eyeing Barry strangely, before reaching out for them as well.

Barry squared his shoulders and turned towards the door. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”

She followed Barry out to the lot while Oliver and John took to the roof. The Reverse Flash waited with his cowl down, revealing a man with brown hair Laurel vaguely recognized from the news. The scientist that had set off the particle accelerator more than a year before he’d done it again to her.

“Well, looks like I provided you a friend,” the man called out to Barry, his grin sharp as he looked Laurel over.

“Why did you?” She asked. None of them had been able to figure that out.

“The same reason I gave everyone else their powers. I just missed you on the first try, and I couldn’t exactly waste the opportunity to correct it when you were good enough to walk right in,” he explained easily.

“Because it fit into your grand plan.” Barry added.

Reverse Flash shook his head. “You see me as the villain, but, Barry, if you were to look back, look back carefully at everything I've done, every wheel I have set in motion, you would realize I have only done what I had to do. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

A man with flames rising from his head and shooting from his hands and feet cleared a building to the right of the STAR Labs lot and descended. “Hope we weren’t late,” he said to Barry, his voice echoing slightly.

“You’re right on time.”

“Black Canary and Firestorm?” Reverse Flash remarked with raised eyebrows. Laurel wondered if he was ignoring Oliver and John for the moment or if they had managed to conceal themselves. She hoped for the latter.

Barry turned back to him, confidence in every line of his stance. “I don't care how fast you are. You can't fight all of us at the same time.” 

“Oh, I can't? Trust me. This... This is gonna be fun.” He lifted his hand and something yellow shot out of the ring on his finger. In a quick movement, he was wearing the suit she had first seen him in, eyes blazing with red. He and Barry shot forward, and the fight began.

The two speedsters circled each other so fast it was all one blur to her and Firestorm. They exchanged frustrated looks as they watched, waiting for some kind of opening. She could hit them both with her Cry, but that would take Barry out as well for the time it took him to heal. And they needed him.

“Move, Barry!” Firestorm urged. “We need a clear shot!”

Barry suddenly became clear when he was thrown against a wall. Reverse Flash tried to follow, but Firestorm put up a wall of flame between the two speedsters, and Laurel let loose her cry.

She managed to just clip his side as he dodged around the worst of it, grabbing Firestorm with a snarl and flinging him through the air.

Firestorm was sent careening out of sight. The streak of lightning that was Barry went racing after him, and Laurel readied her weapon as Reverse Flash turned to her with a leer.

An arrow sailed through the air and embedded in his leg before he’d taken one step. As he reached to pull it out, the blurring of his face and hands slowed.

“Nanites,” Oliver called down, his position having been revealed. “Courtesy of Ray Palmer. They're delivering a high frequency pulse that's disabling your speed. You're not gonna be running around for quite a while.”

Laurel didn’t wait a second longer. She went in with her nightstick, cracking her opponent across the face before delivering a combination of punches, only one of which the man blocked without his speed to aid him.

He had some training in throwing a punch, but at normal speed she was the better fighter. Laurel wasn’t sure if his healing had been disabled along with the speed, but she went in with hard blows just in case.

He landed on a knee and shook, faster and faster. The nanites were wearing off.

Laurel quickly backed up, readying her Cry, but he looked up with a grin and raced away towards the Labs. To her horror, the streak ran up the wall, making quickly for the roof.

John moved out in front of Oliver, firing down several rounds with his gun.

Laurel ran towards the building, but could only watch as the yellow blur dodged around the bullets and knocked into John, sending him crashing back onto the roof. Oliver’s bow and quiver fell down around her, raining arrows. The blur resolved, holding Oliver by his throat over the edge of the roof.

“The history books say you live to be 86 years old, Mr. Queen,” the speedster growled. “Well, I guess the history books are wrong.”

He let go. Oliver fell, and her heart dropped. She couldn’t watch this again, not so soon, there was nothing for him to grab onto and save himself—

“OLLIEEEEEEEE!”

The scream left her of its own accord, waves rippling upward. But where they met with Oliver’s falling form, something strange happened. He slowed, and then nearly stopped in his descent.

She was keeping him in the air. Laurel squeezed her eyes shut, maintaining the Cry for as long as she was able. Wind rushed past her and she could hear the crackle of two speedsters, but all that mattered was the man slowly lowering to the ground as her breath ran out.

“Laurel!” She heard it distantly over the sound of her scream. “Laurel, you can stop!”

She squinted her eyes open. Oliver was close; she could nearly reach him if she jumped. He was telling her it was okay; he would make it.

Laurel staggered back and gasped in a large breath of air to fill her lungs. She threw out her arms, and Oliver dropped the last few feet into them. They fell together, hitting the hard asphalt with two grunts.

Laurel sat up as soon as she was able, keeping one arm around his back as she checked the earplugs were still in place. “Did they work? I didn’t hurt you?”

“No. It was… I don’t know how to describe that. But I was safe.” One of his hands reached up, gloved thumb smoothing over where her cheek had scraped against the ground a little. “Thank you.”

She saw Firestorm’s feet come down in front of them, and Barry sped to her side. “We got him,” the speedster confirmed, which she was glad for despite having forgotten all about the fight. “And Digg should be good. Caitlin’s up there now checking to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion. You alright, Ollie?”

“Yeah,” Oliver said, his brow crinkling with confusion as he asked, “Since when do you call me Ollie?”

Barry blinked. “Oh. I don’t- didn’t, I mean. But Laurel calls you that sometimes, and I thought that meant you… liked it?”

Oliver smirked as a snort left his nose. Then he laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. She knows me.”

“Better than anyone,” she confirmed with relief. Everything was okay now. Both cities were safe, and if anything, she had just learned that her powers could do more than cause harm. They could protect. They could save.

There were issues back home, maybe. Her father, Oliver’s vigilante persona being effectively dead and, Laurel could admit as she looked into his eyes, the stubborn feelings she’d never quite given up no matter what she said. But they could handle them together this time. She could feel in her bones that this was where they had always been meant to be.

---

By order of Dr. Snow, Oliver was put on bed rest for the next week, and possibly two judging by how much clucking she had done with her tongue while examining his ankle and other varied injuries. He, Laurel, John and Felicity returned to Starling on a train the next morning after seeing Reverse Flash safely locked away in the pipeline. Laurel had looked more than a little uncomfortable doing so, as he knew she was still one to advocate for the law whenever possible, and he’d taken her hand briefly.

Now he was stuck on a couch in the loft, recounting everything that had happened to Thea, who had been away visiting Roy in his new home for most of it. He didn’t ask her about her trip. Whatever had happened between them was theirs to know.

“I still don’t get why he gave Laurel powers to help beat him,” his sister said, and Oliver frowned.

“Something tells me there’s still more to his plans than he let on. But it’s Barry’s decision on what to do about them.”

“So what happens here?”

“Well, I heal. Then… I don’t know. I want to keep helping the city, but Lance took away the only way I had. Laurel has her Cry now, and Ray’s helping, but—”

“You can’t sit at home while she’s out there,” Thea guessed with a knowing half-smile.

“Yeah.”

“Roy gave me something before he left, you know,” she said lightly. “A red jacket. A few modifications… I could join her out there. At least while you’re still healing up.”

Oliver looked up at her. “Thank you.”

Thea shrugged. “I should do something good with what Malcolm taught me, right? And for the record, I’m so glad he’s not hanging around anymore.”

Oliver nodded. It did feel easier to breathe in some ways, knowing he wasn’t indebted to or being used as leverage for one of the man’s schemes. He could do his mission his way once again, if he could figure out just how.

“There’s something I’m kinda hoping you can clear up, though,” Thea said, turning fully towards him.

He sat up a little straighter. “Oh?”

“Felicity said something about the two of you after you went to join the League that seemed to indicate you’re… together?”

He winced. “We’re… we’ve tried to be.”

“But you don’t want to be.”

His shoulders slumped. “What does that say about me?”

He was a horrible person, wasn’t he? Everything he had put Felicity through, all the disapproval he had rained on her choice of Ray Palmer all so she would end things with the billionaire, and now he felt it had been a mistake.

He had thought being in a relationship would be enough. But it wasn’t a relationship he wanted, really. It was a person. And that person was Dinah Laurel Lance. It always had been, but he kept thinking he could fool himself.

Felicity wanted to be with him. Laurel… Laurel cared about him, because that was the kind of person she was. But he knew better than to assume anything should come of it. If he could have just been better, made the right choices, acted the way she deserved. Maybe he did deserve to be alone.

There was a knock on the door of the loft. Thea got up and checked at the peephole. “It’s Felicity.”

His heart sank, but he said, “Let her in.”

Thea opened the door. “Hey, you here for Ollie?”

“Yes, if that’s okay.”

“Sure, I was just heading out to grab some lunch. See ya!” She called over her shoulder, grabbing her keys and leaving them the room. It was the right thing to do, but a childish part of him wanted to call her back here for help.

Felicity moved towards the couch, ending up standing next to the coffee table. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“How’s your leg?”

“Doing better. How’s… work?”

“Good. A lot of stuff you wouldn’t really be interested in, but, you know. Good.”

They lapses into silence. He wished it was comfortable.

“Felicity—”

“I had something I wanted to say,” she spoke at the same time. His mouth snapped shut. “I prepared it and everything, so I don’t go off-book and say something embarrassing. You know me.”

“Yes.”

She drew in a deep breath. “Okay, here goes. What happened in Nanda Parbat is not something I regret, but I feel like it didn’t go where either of us was expecting. Or hoping, maybe.”

He stayed silent.

“I thought part of that was just, you know, you going to the League to be brainwashed and all that putting an expiration date on us. But that was really a lie, and it made me realize something. I keep trying to save men from suicide missions,” she stated bluntly. “But I can’t. That’s your decision. And I think you made it on that island, and you’re not changing your mind.”

“No,” he confirmed quietly.

She nodded and took a small step towards him. “Ra’s told me that night that I should go to you to say goodbye. And I guess, in a way, I did. Or I should have. I need to, is what I mean. I can’t keep… doing this.”

He looked down. “I understand.”

“Do you? Cause I think you take it for granted sometimes. You are not easy to be close to or to care about at the best of times. Much less to love. So I hope you can see what it means, that someone you have hurt so many times is still standing there, standing up for you against virtually the only family she has left, fighting your fight when you can’t.”

He blinked, shock flooding his system as he realized truly who she’d been speaking of. Oliver slowly looked up, wondering if he was having some sort of hallucination.

Felicity smiled sadly. “Helena may have been crazy, but even a cuckoo clock is right twice a day.”

He was speechless, though he felt he ought to be saying something.

“Just… try not to screw it up this time, okay? You can only flunk out so many times, which you should really already know.” Felicity backed up and turned towards the door.

“Are you leaving the team?” He managed to ask.

“I’m still thinking about it. I won’t leave you guys in the lurch, but it’s all been getting a little too personal for me lately. I think I need to take a step back for a while.”

“Whatever you need.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

Oliver shook his head. “Thank you.”

She let herself out, leaving him to his thoughts. Felicity believed Laurel still loved him. She knew he still loved her, the same way Helena had known it. And Sara, and Slade… why was he so stubborn?

If Laurel could still find room for him in her heart, then he needed her to know.

Decision made, Oliver reached for the crutches he had been supplied with at the lab and left the loft. It was annoying and slow-going, and if he had a reliable income he would just signal a taxi, but he tried to use the time to marshal his thoughts and his words.

She was at work, most likely, so he steered his way towards City Hall. It was his luck as he cleared the steps that Captain Lance almost collided into him on his way out the door.

“Sorry bout— oh.”

“Afternoon, Captain.”

He glanced down. “Injured yourself, huh?”

“Twisted my ankle. Bad sidewalk,” he added.

“Right,” the man said dryly. He glanced around, and Oliver did likewise. They were the only two outside at the moment, and for a wild second he wondered if he should be worried for his safety. But then Lance spoke again. “You know, Laurel tells me that the League Sara was part of is no more. And that one of the vigilantes took care of the man that held my baby girl captive all these years.”

“Well, that’s… that’s good to know it will never happen to another family,” Oliver replied.

“Exactly my thoughts.” Lance walked past him but stopped on a step and looked back at him. “Do I wanna know why you’re here?”

“Probably not.”

Lance nodded, like he’d already surmised as much. Then he turned and made his way down towards his car.

Oliver squared his shoulders and pushed his way through the door. He knew where Laurel’s office was, so he didn’t bother stopping at the desk. Her door was slightly open and he knocked at the frame with the end of his crutch.

She looked up from a stack of papers, hair tucked behind her ears and pen dangling from two fingers. It dropped onto the pile as her eyes widened. “Hey! Come in.”

She got up and went around him to close the door.

“I thought you were staying at the loft until your ankle was better.”

“I’m keeping off it,” he assured her, taking the chair across from her desk. “And I wanted to talk to you about plans going forward.”

“Here?” When he nodded, she raised an eyebrow and said, “Okay, well, I assume you’ll want to keep, uh, working.”

“Yep. I also think I’ll try and find a day job.”

“Really? Why now?”

“Well, my savings won’t last forever, and I want to be able to provide for myself and my family in the future.”

She laid her elbows on the desk, leaning forward a little. “That’s good to keep in mind. I’m glad you feel like you can think about the future again.”

He felt something warm sweep through him. He’d never voiced his fears of dying this past year to Laurel specifically, and yet she had guessed it all the same.

“Me too. The thing about the future is… I never thought about it before the island. I was young, stupid and I thought everything could stay that way forever. Then thinking about the future became one of the ways I kept going after the shipwreck. Both then and now, I see the same things.”

“What do you see?” She asked it gently, not demanding it from him. He could answer vaguely, and she would be satisfied. But it was now or never.

“I see our city, restored to better than it was even when we were kids. I see my family, even if it’s changed from what it was.” He had lost his mother, yet he had a brother in John, close ties to Barry and, if he could find a way to keep in contact, Roy and a growing number of friends and allies in two cities. “And I see us.”

Laurel’s smile froze. “Us?”

“You and me,” he clarified. “That’s the definition.”

She turned her head slightly, eyes on the glass window through which she could see out into the rest of her office. He could see now it wasn’t anger or denial in her features. It was nerves.

He leaned forward and took her hands, making her jump slightly. “I don’t know when that future might happen. It might not at all. But when I let myself hope, it’s what I see. That’s the truth. And I just thought you had the right to know.”

He released her hands, swallowing down the lump that threatened to lodge itself behind his Adam’s apple and set his eyes watering. Oliver turned out, reaching clumsily for the crutches leaning against the desk.

Laurel made it around before he could even get them on either side of his body. Standing there, she looked strong the way she had facing down a raging speedster or bringing the seat of the League’s power crashing down on its foundations. “You think I’m letting you walk away again?”

She wasn’t waiting for his answer. Instead she leaned down, one hand going to the back of his head and the other gripping the front of his shirt as she crushed her lips to his. Oliver welcomed it; he wanted the feel of her pressed deep into his memory so he would never forget it again.

The crutches clattered to the floor, and there was no telling how many of Laurel’s coworkers could likely see them through the window. But he didn’t care. He was finally exactly where he’d wanted to be those long years on the island, and this time there was nothing that could stand between his and Laurel’s reunion. Their challenges and their triumphs, they would take together now as teammates and partners. Always and forever.

[armsdealing]

/ LA VIE EN ROSE.

paris prefers you in pink. it will always prefer you in pink, champagne bubbling up in its glass, and rose-tinted glasses -- c'est lui pour moi. moi pour lui dans la vie. il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie: honey words, lovely voice, sweet kisses to petal-soft lips. paris prefers you like this.

                                                           ***

la vie en rose is a verse subservient to elements already established in the otherworld verse and the nulliverse. it is an au with focus on crime and -- as you might’ve guessed -- centered around europe as setting, particularly france. general trigger warnings apply: violence, gang violence/crime, murder, drug and alcohol usage. it will have supernatural and non-supernatural variants (in the non-supernatural case, simply ignore the fantastical bits), as well as a period variant upon-request.

continue if you wish to read more about this verse, and the characters involved in it.

FUNDAMENTALS.

so this is a verse that’s actually been present for quite a while, but not on the level that i’m working it right now. its main focus is very simple: it explores the what if of marcelo having grown up in sicily with the marconi family as opposed to the reyes in either colombia or the states. 

both of his parents died exactly as did in canon, and at age 19, he officially assumed his father’s moniker, dents de sabre. at age 24, he put that name to good use as he went about ruthlessly yet methodically wiping out every single presumed and not-so-presumed enemy of his parents, really anyone that could’ve played a role in ysmael reyes’ disappearance and death. nobody was spared in the process, which immediately put his name out there in the criminal landscape. 

marcelo has been aged up to become 31 years old. he went about working in contract killing capacity for the marconi family between ages 18 and 30. he was very good at his job regardless of range and regardless of difficulty. he’s become known for his tenacity, especially when it comes to killing other supernatural creatures -- fae, demons, vampires, werewolves, witches. he’s had no shortage of powerful victims. at age 26 he also picked up enhanced interrogation.  

the job took him to france, which is currently where he lives. he resides in the quartier latin of paris, and though he continues to pick up contracts, he no longer affiliates himself with the marconi. that means that he will no longer exclusively work for them and is now independent. 

his front job is to work at a bar owned by bulgarian fae, le six tireurs. it is notable for being neutral grounds as far as business is concerned. 

speaking of the marconi family, their power comes into full swing in this verse. they have complete control of sicily and southern parts of italy, and influence throughout europe, and still in the united states. though marcelo has chosen to disconnect from the family, he is still biologically related to the family’s padrone, giancarlo marconi. marcelo’s his grandchild. as a result he will really never be not associated with them. 

OTHER CHARACTERS INVOLVED WITH THIS VERSE.

though marcelo is my main focus in this verse there’s many characters that can be interacted with, that also exists in this au since it’s basically just the european otherworld. for more information on them, click their names.

MIKHAIL REZANOV: owner of bibliothèque d'encre dorée, a library in paris known to store very special books that humans tend to consider odd or just useless. a lot of these books talk are about forbidden magic but are written in code, or talk about innocuous things like history or biology but happen to be from different dimensions or different timelines of the earth, there’s also poetry in various dead languages, et al. on top of this, mikhail is also a very well-respected member of the eurocouncil and the high priest of the old god zhaogd'endir, also known as janus. he’s a good source of information when it comes to old gods and monsters in general, as he’s tasked with overseeing a few of them. he’s always happy to share a cup of tea with you. 

LORENZO SCARLATTI: fashion designer, member of the marconi family, tailor of clothes known to be impervious to magic and resist both a normal bullet and a werewolf bite. open to commissions if you’ve been referred by someone. a laestrygonian that has been alive for at least one century who was not born with the face he currently wears. 

RENAUD: a cosmic anomaly that gave himself a name and also a purpose: cult leading. malignant entity that feeds off people’s fear and sexual energy. known to visit people in dreams to elicit these emotions. will visit you looking like your biggest object of desire, and will possibly try to rope you into the aforementioned cult, or simply possess you for a day or two. occasional council asset.

VITALE: the king of vampires, nearly old as the condition. presumed son of a goddess. does not live in france but will frequently travel anywhere he pleases, other than that his focus is on either italy or egypt. a council member. will kill u if you so much as sneeze in his general direction -- jk, he’s too affable for that. 

THE EUROPEAN COUNCIL.

the organization tasked with overseeing supernatural activity in europe, with key representatives from every single country. mikhail is part of the council, as are several members of the marconi family (with giancarlo leading the charge). their concern is politics and control over the information regarding magic. there are other, shadier objectives, depending on who you ask, but overall this organization is shrouded in mystery and this is by design.

they count with a large number of assets that do a variety of jobs for them, from killing irresponsible magic-wielders to stealing objects of great importance from the wrong hands. they’re not a criminal institution, but they don’t care about the criminal affairs of their members.

also, as the name might suggest -- there are other councils for other parts of the world. america’s equivalents would be the CPA or the council for protection of the arts (made up of 12 old magical families), also known simply as the twelve families council, and the mediation group, an interespecies association with representatives from witch, vampire, werewolf, and fae communities as well as other “fringe” species, like werepumas.

the american and european councils are run by different people and only associate themselves for the purposes of sorting out intercontinental affairs.

LE SIX TIREURS.

owned by the kallikantzaroi, it is the place to go to to find people in paris that will do your dirty work for you. it has been around since forever, tucked inconspicuously between other two nameless establishments in the quartier latin. the inside is bigger than the outside could ever hope to denote, and underneath there’s catacombs that are connected to other key spots of paris through tunnels, something useful for safe passage and discreet movilization from one location to another.

marcelo works as a bartender. he got the job as a favor, and everyone that frequents the place knows him very well. he, in turn, knows them as well, and hears each and every one of their conversations -- even if they try to conceal them through magical means. as of late marcelo has gotten into information brokering, and can give you any information you need about paris’ underbelly for a price.

THE COURNEUVE COMPLEX.

a complex of buildings in la courneuve (a commune very close to paris) that houses primarily immigrants and refugees and low class citizens. also renaud’s base of operations and the home of the courneuve group, a gang comprised of renaud’s vessels and people he has visited in dreams. in exchange for their loyalty and labor, renaud keeps them clothed and well-fed and needing for very little. it is a VERY dangerous place, and you’ll never feel safe entering it. they will know you are an outsider as soon as try to walk along the street near the buildings. 

LA CHÂTEAU DE RÊVE

a club in the french riviera that comes to be eventually owned by marcelo reyes and his wife, charmaine theroux. counting with a primary house and two secondary houses, it doubles as both a night club and a strip club, depending on the location, and it caters to clientele of any gender (with employees from any gender as well). it sits in the heart of cannes surrounded by expansive gardens, and much like the name suggests -- it could be considered a small castle all of its own, with every night being its own dream-themed fantasy. it is an expensive establishment, but this is not without reason; there’s an illusory quality to this place and an air of mystery and secretiveness that they actively work to maintain. marcelo cares a lot for it and goes at great lengths to look after his employees -- they are a very close-knit group. 

by the point marcelo becomes a manager of the place he’s 38, so the chateau’s existence comes into place at a different point of the verse’s timeline. though not officially retired, marcelo no longer takes contracts as frequently as he might have in the past. he’s very busy running the castle. 

PLOTTING NOTES.

the verse can simply be a simple aesthetic backdrop for interactions or you can choose to actively have your character involved within the verse. either works just as well. ideally, this verse is perfect for interactions with other supernatural characters that are set in europe, especially those with a criminal edge (but those that are simply civilian or crime-adjacent are welcome too). 

as previously noted, however, it can also be used for strict modern realism -- do not be afraid to approach me for this. everything is quite adaptable. if your character is a human and you’re more comfortable keeping things realistic, simply assume that the magical bits do not apply to our plotting. i’ve made it so it can go either way, easily. 

nothing is set in stone. i’m quite flexible and open minded if you’d like to play around in this verse. for example, with some talking, i can happily accept your characters as powerful enough to be part of the european council as well. and if you choose to work with marcelo’s older counterpart, your character can work as an employee of his in the chateau, or just an associate. basically, what i’m saying is there’s no need to keep your distance from all this worldbuilding -- i want the opposite! if the connection makes sense, i’d be happy to include it.

i’ve actually worked out a john wick variant of this verse in case any john wick canons or ocs want to interact with me, with the marconi family as a member of the high table, and le six tireurs as a group with similar aspects to the continental but smaller in scale and unaffiliated to it. if you’re more comfortable with this particular canon, we can go with it. 

[santiagoswagger]

no gifts to give, they're all right here

For week 18 of b99 hiatus creations.

Jake spends his first Christmas with the Santiagos and has an enlightening conversation with his girlfriend's terrifying mother.

Set immediately after ‘Captain Latvia’. 

He hovered hesitantly in the doorway to the kitchen, one foot in and one foot out.

He figured he had two choices: walk in and have a witness-free conversation with his girlfriend’s terrifying mother for the first time, or run out of the house and walk all the way back to Brooklyn from New Jersey in the middle of December, missing the Santiago family Christmas celebrations altogether.

Jake swallowed the lump in his throat and bravely walked into the kitchen.

Camila heard his sneakers squeaking on her spotless hardwood floor and turned. Her face split into an expression of genuine surprise when she saw him, so achingly similar to Amy’s it briefly caught him off-guard.

“Jake, are you finished unpacking already?”

“Uh, no. Amy insisted on doing it for me.”

He and Amy had only been in her parents’ house for twenty minutes before she marched up to her childhood bedroom to start her thorough unpacking process before the rest of her siblings arrived with their kids and chaos reigned. She’d practically ripped his well-worn leather duffel bag from his hands with excitement when they walked over the threshold so she could unpack for him. He hadn’t even had enough time to inspect her giant collection of spelling bee trophies and the framed photo of young Al Gore on her nightstand before she was shooing him out of the room. She was pretty adorable when she was being an organizational dictator.

“That sounds like my Amy,” Camila laughed.

She was being so kind, but Jake knew better. Amy had warned him that her mother would likely be watching his every move this weekend; he could only imagine what Victor must have told her about his time with Jake on Thanksgiving. Even though Victor agreed it was Amy’s decision to date whoever she wanted, the Santiagos lived and died by their binders and Jake needed to keep his wits about him.

He watched Camila peel potatoes for a moment before he spoke. “Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Santiago?”

Camila’s hands stopped peeling and she silently appraised Jake before nodding slightly. “Do you know how to shuck corn?”

He definitely did not, but a quick search on Yahoo! Answers while Camila had her back turned to him cleared everything up and he was shucking like a pro in no time.

The Santiago family kitchen was as warm and homey as you might expect from a kitchen equipped to feed so many. Jake could easily picture all eight kids tucked into every nook and cranny for family dinners each night. But as comfortable as the kitchen looked, Jake felt a coolness radiating from the woman working next to him. The silence was awkward and deafening before Camila cleared her throat and finally addressed him.

“My husband doesn’t understand what our daughter sees in you.” It was a statement, not a question, and Jake had no idea what to make of it.

He knew Amy didn’t care what her parents thought, but he did. He was pretty sure she was the love of his life, and he wanted her family to be on board with him too.

“I’ve seen the binder he has for you,” Camila said, eyes sharply fixed on her potatoes. Each one in her sizeable pile was peeled with precision, no skin in sight. “It’s very thorough.”

He sighed and stopped shucking. “I know the binder doesn’t look great, Mrs. Santiago, but I love your daughter very much. I just want to make her happy.”

“I know.”

Startled, Jake looked up from his corn to find Camila regarding him more kindly than before. “You do?”

“I can tell from the way my daughter talks about you that you’re good for her, Jake,” she said. “She was always a serious child – she used her head but not her heart. Many of my daughter’s boyfriends have passed my husband’s binder test, but none of them made her smile the way you seem to.”

She shot him the ghost of a grin and went right back to cooking, like she hadn’t just disrupted Jake’s entire understanding of the universe and dropped an atomic bomb on his head.

Jake followed her lead and continued shucking corn in what was now a much more comfortable silence. Jake had only just met Camila, but even he knew that he had just been given a glowing review – by Santiago standards at least.

Amy entered the kitchen a few minutes later and Jake watched with amusement as her expression morphed from one of surprise to confusion at the sight of her boyfriend being put to work in her mother’s kitchen, or in any kitchen for that matter.

“Here you are, I was looking for you,” she said bemusedly, kissing him on the cheek when she got close enough. “What are you doing?”

Before Jake could speak, Camila answered for him. “He’s helping me with dinner, mija. Now shoo, you know you’re not allowed within ten feet of the stove.”

Amy looked affronted as her mother turned back to the stove to put the finishing touches on her black bean soup. Jake, trying his hardest not to laugh, very lovingly stuck his tongue out at his girlfriend, who responded by gently flicking him on the shoulder.

She was almost out of the room when Camila asked, “Jake, would you like the first taste of the soup?”

Amy turned on her heel and stared at Jake, eyes as wide as saucers. She mouthed ‘oh my god’ behind her mother’s back and Jake knew that meant he had been given the official Santiago seal of approval.

Maybe getting her family on board with him wouldn’t be as difficult as he once thought.

[setaripendragon]

Not All Who Wander - Chapter 5

[Chapter 1] - [Chapter 2] - [Chapter 3] - [Chapter 4] - [Chapter 5] -insert triumphant trumpet noises here- Here it is, at last! You guys have been so patient and awesome, and I love you all. Fingers crossed the next chapter won’t take quite as long ^^”

By the time they left the shire, they had filled their pockets well enough with gold, and Bilbo had gone so far as to extend to them an open invitation to tea. “A little warning if you’re coming by for dinner, though! I can’t feed the lot of us on a bare pantry!” Bilbo had added quickly. Fíli and Kíli had begged several tarts off Bilbo the last time they’d visited, and Bilbo had given in with a laugh, and added several cakes to their hoard without prompting.

The boys insisted on a small party once they returned to the mountain, to share the treats with friends and family. It wasn’t anything that could have been called a feast, but with Balin, Dwalin, Óin, Glóin and his family, and to Thorin’s surprise Ori joining them in the family apartments for dinner and more importantly the hobbitish desert, it did almost feel like a party.

“Where did you even get so many tarts?” Balin asked, looking faintly awed.

“They were a gift.” Thorin informed him, even though he was fairly sure that Balin knew he would never have condoned spending hard-earned coin on such lavish treats. Balin gave him a look that said as much, and Thorin inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“Yes, from Thorin’s hobbit.” Kíli interjected, beaming from ear to ear.

Thorin narrowed his eyes at his nephew. “He’s hardly mine.” He protested.

Fíli snorted. “Well, maybe not yet.”

“What’s this about Thorin and a hobbit?” Dís demanded from right behind Thorin, making him jump. She shot him a sharp smile, then rounded on her sons with an intent stare. “Well?” She pressed impatiently.

“Well, we don’t know the whole story.” Kíli began with relish. Thorin groaned and covered his face with one hand. “Thorin just up and decided to take us through the Shire this last trip, right, and he wouldn’t tell us more than that there was a hobbit who’d promised us custom.”

“Hobbits are not known for dealing with other races.” Balin mused with a scholarly frown as he stroked his long white beard. “They’re mistrustful of outsiders, so I believe.”

“Oh, aye, they are, for the most part.” Fíli agreed. “Only ones who really wanted to deal with us to start with were the loners and the outcasts. But then up comes this well-to-do hobbit, obviously wealthy by Shire standards, and he talked with us just fine, didn’t glare or flinch or anything.”

“Thorin barely stopped smiling the whole time he was there.” Kíli interjected, in the same tone that he might use to confide that he’d caught someone in flagrante delicto. A sort of horrified glee.

Dís choked on her mouthful of apple tart, and turned to stare at Thorin. “Smiling?” She echoed in disbelief.

“He was positively beaming.” Kíli confirmed.

Dís seemed to be at a loss for words, which Thorin thought was a bit melodramatic of her, but Balin was not so shocked. He gave Thorin a shrewd look. “What could a hobbit possibly have done to earn your favour so quickly?” He wondered, and it was only the fact that his tone was more curious than disbelieving that stopped Thorin taking offence.

“He fed and sheltered me when all I had asked for were directions.” Thorin explained shortly.

“Aye, that’d do it.” Balin nodded sagely. “An open-minded fellow, then?”

“Far more than any of his kin.” Thorin agreed dryly. “He is… fascinated by the world outside the Shire, though fond enough of the comforts of home that he’s never gone beyond its bounds. He is wealthy and comfortable, but kind, and generous with his comforts.”

“Durin’s beard…” Dís breathed, still staring at him slack-jawed. It was only then that Thorin realised that, yes, he was smiling faintly just from speaking of Bilbo and his incomprehensible kindness. He immediately scowled at her, and she snorted, life coming back to her features in her mirth. “Well, I’m glad you’ve made a friend, Thorin.” She told him dryly. “It might even be good for you.”

Thorin thought back over the quest that had never happened, how Bilbo had saved his life more than once, had saved the quest more than once, had won Thorin back his home with very little help from the rest of those sworn to the quest, and had been Thorin’s only tether to sanity when he sunk to the depths of gold madness. Then he thought of spades and maps and good food and better conversation, of a stranger who sat and listened with patience and sympathy as Thorin poured out his heart in the form of stories from a long-lost childhood.

He was smiling again, and he couldn’t even bring himself to care about the knowing, delightedly mocking light in Dís’s eye. “You know, I think he will.” Thorin agreed.

The gathering lasted well into the night, the food followed by ale and song, and idle conversation as they quietly enjoyed the feeling of stomachs filled with good, sweet food. The effects lasted longer than the one evening. The following days saw the ruling family of Thorin’s Halls shifting from their typical stony-faced endurance to a blazing determination. Old problems – such as the flooding in the westernmost halls, and the sickness that resulted – were faced with new passion and fresh ideas.

The effects didn’t last long, but it gave Thorin hope, that perhaps with persistence and the bullheaded determination that was so prevalent in the line of Durin, they could manage to do more than just barely survive here in the Blue Mountains. A fool’s hope, perhaps, but with the dream of reclaiming Erebor tainted by what he knew it would cost, Thorin needed something new to cling to, to keep him going when the bleak moods took him.

On Ori’s suggestion, Thorin took to writing to Bilbo. The first missive was a short one, sent with their fastest raven, and the response Thorin got was at least half made up of exclamations about the bird, its size and training and behaviour. Thorin responded with tales about the massive flock that had once resided on Ravenhill at Erebor, and asked after the family Bilbo had mentioned. Before long, the correspondence was a regular one, each letter the highlight of Thorin’s week.

He visited the Shire again in the late spring, and returned to the mountain once again refreshed and determined to fix what he could for his people. He poured his efforts into building his people back up from ground up, focusing on forging sturdy foundations. Kíli was delighted to help him encourage more dwarves to take up the bow, a weapon more useful for hunting than the sword or axe. Dís toiled endlessly to bring more business to Erebor from the men in the nearby settlements. Fíli began to work more and more at Thorin’s side, handling the petty disputes of the nobles and the complaints of the people, flexing his authority as Crown Prince to take some of the burden off Thorin’s shoulders.

It was an unlooked for blessing, and Thorin tried not to feel too guilty as he took the unexpected free time to work on Bilbo’s gift. The rake was complete, as were the little trowel and equally small gardening fork he’d attempted next, and he decided to take on the easier task of shears and other cutting tools next, because he was familiar with how to forge blades as a true master of weaponsmithing, if he did say so himself.

He found himself once again followed by Dís. He glanced at her as he set to the bellows to coax the forge back up to a proper blaze from the embers, but she appeared lost in thought, and wasn’t likely to want his attention any time soon, so he allowed himself to focus on his work. His first attempt was a simple test run, to ensure that his design and technique would suit each other, and when that came out well enough, he turned his attention to the proper thing, using only the highest quality ores at his disposal and taking excessive care with every step of the process.

Dís had the decency to wait until the shears were complete, and only needed sharpening, before she spoke. “Thorin?” She asked, and when Thorin hummed to confirm she had his attention, even though his eyes were still on his work, she went on; “Are you quite sure about this?”

That got Thorin to look up. “Sure about what?”

“This.” Dís repeated, gesturing at the shears.

Thorin looked back at them with a critical eye. “What? Why? Is there a flaw I missed?” He asked, holding them up to the light for a better look. They seemed fine to him, but Dís did have a finer eye for detail than him, and he would not accept even a minor flaw in Bilbo’s gift.

“No, the shears are fine. You’ve done your craft proud with them.” Dis assured him, and Thorin relaxed. “I meant the hobbit.” Dís added impatiently, like she thought him a fool for not being able to work that much out for himself.

Thorin scowled. Perhaps, given that Thorin had changed the course of events, Bilbo hadn’t actually done all those things that had earned him Thorin’s regard, defending him and his people – and his sister-sons – from spiders and orcs and a dragon, but the soul was the same, the heart was the same, and the potential in Bilbo Baggins was the same. He might not be the hobbit who had faced down a dragon for Thorin’s people, but he was still the hobbit who would, and for that, Thorin would not hear a word against him, not even from those who might not know better. “What about him?” He demanded defensively.

“Don’t give me that tone, Thorin.” Dís chided. “I’m not trying to insult him, I’m sure he’s a very honourable hobbit, but he is a hobbit. You’ve known him less than a year, and I know how it can take you like that, sometimes, but are you really, really sure he’s worth this fight?”

Thorin was entirely ready to protest that Bilbo was worth more than Thorin could possibly give him, when the whole of Dís’s question registered. “What fight?” He echoed in confusion.

Dís scowled at him as though he was being dull on purpose. “Thorin. You can’t really think that the council won’t fight you on this.” Thorin had nothing to say to that, bewilderment stealing his voice. “They fought me over Vili, and for all that they loved to call him ‘un-dwarven’ for his love of the open sky and growing things, at least he was still very much a dwarf!”

Suddenly, Thorin realised what Dís was getting at, and he flushed and looked away. He hadn’t realised he’d been quite so obvious. That he was fond of Bilbo, yes, he’d had no doubt that everyone had noticed that, but he was used to keeping his heart well-guarded, and for Dís to be so convinced of his affection for the hobbit that she was already bringing up the question of the council’s reaction was unsettling. “There’s hardly a reason for the council to be involved yet.” He pointed out roughly. “As you said, it hasn’t even been a year.”

“You were planning to wait, then?” Dís asked, something almost surprised in her voice.

Thorin still couldn’t bring himself to look at her to get a better sense of her opinion. “Dís, I hadn’t even given thought to whether I plan to- to court him or not.” He informed her awkwardly. Dís made a startled sound, and Thorin huffed a bitter laugh as he hung his head. “I am in no doubt of my heart, I am quite certain I will never love another, but I do not even know if hobbits subscribe to the same prejudices as men, never mind whether Bilbo could ever return my affections.” He confessed.

There was silence from Dís for a small age, while Thorin wished the conversation could just be over. It had never come naturally to him, talking of his own emotions, but Dís was the only one left who could coax it out of him. It still left him feeling horribly raw and exposed. “Thorin, I don’t understand.” Dís said finally, softly. Thorin glanced up to see her puzzled frown, and she reached out to cover his hand with hers where it rested on the handle of the shears he’d just made. “I thought- Why are you crafting a courting gift if you haven’t decided to court him yet?”

“A what?” Thorin echoed.

Dís gave him a disbelieving look. “Thorin, you have never dipped into the stores of titanium for a personal project before.”

Thorin glanced at his titanium-coated shears, and realised all at once what it must look like to someone who didn’t know exactly what Thorin owed to Bilbo. To his mind, it had simply been a means of making amends, showing that he was sorry for his behaviour and intended to do better, that he understood that Bilbo deserved better than the way Thorin had treated him in his madness. But of course, that hadn’t happened, so what other conclusion was his family supposed to draw? Especially given that it wasn’t an entirely erroneous assumption.

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Dís abruptly burst out laughing. “Oh, Thorin!” She sighed in amusement, and leaned over to rest her forehead against his. “You hadn’t even noticed what you were doing, had you?” Wordlessly, Thorin shook his head, rocking her head along with his. “Well, now you know. Best figure out what you want, mm?”

“Too much that I cannot have.” Thorin murmured before he could stop himself.

“You may be able to have this, at least.” Dís pointed out gently, and when Thorin raised an eyebrow at her, her smile turned hard. “I wasn’t asking about the council because I thought you should stop, brother, I just wanted you to be sure you were ready for the fight. You know I’m very much of the opinion that if you love him, you should fight for him.”

Thorin’s throat was too tight for words, but Dís seemed to understand his silence, anyway, because she sat back looking satisfied, and turned the topic to other, less emotionally fraught things, and Thorin managed to pack most of his feelings away before he had to leave his forge and face the rest of the world again. It lingered in his mind though, through the rest of the summer, and through his next visit to the Shire near the beginning of autumn, just before the harvest began in earnest. He tried not to think on it too hard, though, and his work helped with that.

The visit lasted nearly a full month, as bulk orders for scythes and shears and spades, wheelbarrows and mesh baskets poured in, as well as even more requests for repairs of the same. On one memorable occasion, Thorin got an order for half a dozen machetes, and it was only on relaying his utter bewilderment to Bilbo that he understood they were for hacking through tough vegetable stems, not for use on people. Bilbo had all but howled with laughter at the cultural misunderstanding, and then explained about the different methods for harvesting various types of vegetable, tuber, fruit, and grain.

Thorin had seen no sign that the Shire so much as acknowledged the possibility of same-sex relationships, but he couldn’t help but ask after what sort of harvesting Bilbo did, with the thought of what sort of specialised tools he might add to his- Yes, okay, to his courting gift. Bilbo talked about his tomatoes, his peas and carrots, onions and chives, his strawberry and raspberry vines, and his wide variety of herbs. Thorin’s heart was in his throat the entire time, with Bilbo looking so alive and animated, and he resigned himself to finishing Bilbo’s gift, even if it saw him soundly rejected.

Any hopes of dedicating time that autumn to working on Bilbo’s gift were dashed when he returned to the mountain to find that one of the western halls had collapsed, taking an entire neighbourhood and the entrance to one of the more productive mines with it. Thorin threw himself into organising the relief efforts, finding new homes for the survivors, recovering what could be of those crushed under the rubble, arranging funerals, ensuring those that survived didn’t get lost in the chaos and wind up missing out on their due rations, and a never-ending list of other minutiae to deal with.

With the disaster came an upswing of discontent among the people that was hard for Thorin to bear. Not only did it make keeping everything running smoothly more difficult, but their suffering weighed on him like a mantle of solid lead. He was their King, he was responsible for their lives, and their state of living, and he was failing. Erebor hung in the back of his mind, a distant but ever-present temptation. They had, after all, succeeded in reclaiming the mountain. Perhaps if he could only avoid the gold-sickness, avoid the battle with men and elves. Perhaps if he could broker an alliance sooner, they would have been better prepared for the orcs and goblins. Perhaps if they kept better secrecy on the journey, they wouldn’t face a battle at all, at least, not until they were better entrenched. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

Then sanity would return, in the form of a vision of Fíli in a crumpled heap at Azog’s feet, Kíli a broken body on the ruins. There was no possible way he could reliably avoid that battle, except by not going on the quest at all. Then he asked himself if he was being selfish, allowing his people to continue living this precarious, dangerous lifestyle simply because he would not, could not, sacrifice his nephew’s lives for their safety. After all, several of his people had lost nephews and nieces to the cave in. Those thoughts made him angry, as well as guilty, and it was with a dark cloud hanging over him that he ploughed his way through his days. Even letters from Bilbo could only do so much to cheer him.

Bilbo was dear to him, and he would never wish misfortune on the hobbit, not even if it would get him Erebor and Khazad-dum free of orcs and back in dwarven hands, but it was hard to hear of his petty troubles with the Sackville-Bagginses and his delight at the bountiful haul from his little garden when Thorin’s people were in such dire straights. He did his best not to burden Bilbo with his foul mood and vicious temper – he would not make the same mistakes, he would not vent his ire on the hobbit who had done nothing to deserve it – but he was sure that his letters were shorter and less easy than they had been.

The tension had to snap eventually, and it came only a few short weeks after the cave in, when things were only just beginning to settle back into an equilibrium again.

It started with a commotion just outside the family rooms. When Thorin charged out, still in his nightshirt and with his sword in hand, he saw a familiar face being pinned to the floor by one of the guards. Nori looked powerfully resentful at having been caught rather than concerned, but he did blanche a little when he spotted Thorin, not that he was much of an impressive sight at that moment.

“Urgin?” Thorin questioned, but before he could get an answer, Dwalin charged into the royal chambers, followed by the other guard who had been on duty that day.

“You!” Dwalin snarled, surging forwards to snatch Nori up and lift him clear off his feet. “You’ve been a pain in my backside for years, but I never thought-” He began to rage, but Nori cut him off with an impressive attempt at an insouciant grin.

“Not my fault if the shinies are just too tempting up this end of the halls, Dwalin.” He protested. “What do they need it all for anyway? They could spare a trinket or two, don’t ya fink? C’mon, have a heart.” He wheedled. Thorin was honestly unsure if he was trying to bargain with Dwalin, or just enrage him. Anyone else he would have said it was the former, even with how unsuccessful it would be, but Nori was wily and fearless enough to bait Dwalin in a situation like this. “And I mean, security that lax is like asking for a thief to take a looksie, y’know? How was I supposed to refuse such a pretty invitation like that?” Nori went on, as Dwalin’s face went from red to purple in his rage.

“Dwalin, don’t kill him.” Thorin warned.

“I oughta.” Dwalin raged.

Thorin’s temper, stretched thin by the unrest in his halls of late, snapped. “Had he come for something valuable, I might agree, but he came for gold and jewels only.” He snapped, and it was enough to take Dwalin thoroughly aback. Thorin almost wanted to laugh. “If we had any left, he’d be welcome to them.” He snarled viciously. “Perhaps he could take the silver harp my mother made for me? Or the sapphire bead passed down through the generations from Durin himself that Fíli now wears? Or the silver and pearl comb our grandmother gave to Dís at her birth? We have already sold or melted down all the rest! As we would have sold those if they were not so valuable in other ways! How much of our legacy will we have to forsake to keep our people fed and clothed? Will the Valar not be satisfied until we have spilled the last of our blood to keep a stable roof over their heads?”

“Thorin.” Dwalin said, in a voice full of weariness and sorrow, but nothing more was forthcoming.

Thorin swallowed down the rest of his blistering, spiteful tirade. Is sacrificing my family the only way to save my people? wanted to spill out of his mouth, but he kept it behind his teeth through sheer force of will. “Let him go, Dwalin.” He grated out.

Dwalin was a good friend, because even though Thorin knew it went against all of his sensibilities, he obeyed. Nori dropped to the floor, landing on his feet as nimbly as a cat. His eyes skittered warily between Dwalin and Thorin, but that was the only sign he gave of his nerves. His posture and attitude all screamed casual arrogance as he patted Dwalin on the chest in a conciliatory manner before sauntering out of the royal chambers like he owned them.

Through the red haze of his fury, Thorin narrowed his eyes at the doorway the thief had just disappeared through. “Dwalin?” He asked, after several minutes, once he was sure he had his tongue back under control. Dwalin hummed warily in answer. “What did he just slip into your gambeson?”

“What? He didn’t-” Dwalin began, and then faltered, as one hand jumped up to where Nori had patted his chest. His fingers fumbled for a moment at the clasp of his gambeson, and then came away with a slip of paper between. “How did you-?” He began again, only to cut himself off again as he actually read whatever was written on the paper.

Dwalin’s face paled, and Thorin felt the foundations of his sanity crack under the force of his dread-turned-impotent-fury. He was going to lose his mind when Dwalin read out whatever Nori had written to warn them of, because that was the only thing Thorin could imagine it could be. But Dwalin didn’t say a word, only handed the paper over. Thorin took it with fingers made clumsy by tingling numbness.

‘The Princes are in danger.

One of the Lords is stirring shit up.

Your guards are being bribed.’

A strange calmness settled over Thorin. His mind was clear, empty and still. Although he understood the words perfectly well, knew their meaning and even their implications, true comprehension drifted just out of reach. But it was there, and he could see it, creeping in like a storm. Someone, perhaps even someone on his council, was threatening his nephews. No doubt using the unrest caused by the recent troubles as fuel for their treason.

The storm broke. Fury flooded through him, all the way down to his fingertips, desperation surging up from his gut, helplessness locking his throat and scorching all words from his mind. He rounded on the only thing nearby that he could attack without doing damage, and up-ended their large dining table with a wordless roar, sending metal plates and goblets clanging and skittering across the floor. The exertion burned away just enough of the rage to let him think somewhat rationally again.

Had he made an even worse choice, this time around? Had he sacrificed a home for his people only for his nephews to die anyway? At the hands of their own people, no less? Was there no path for him that could keep them safe? Was he simply fighting a losing battle? The whole world seemed bent on his people’s humiliation and destruction, with his own family at the top of the list. What could one poor, exiled dwarven King do against so much suffering and hatred?

“Uncle?”

Thorin looked up to see the rest of his family – Fíli, Kíli, and Dís – standing uncertainly in the doorway to the den. Dís was thin-lipped, expression gone steely in the face of his rage, and Fíli and Kíli both looked more concerned than unsettled by his temper. The vision of them, broken and lifeless, flashed across Thorin’s mind again, and it lanced pain straight through the core of him.

Without a word – he didn’t think he was capable of intelligible speech just yet – Thorin crossed the room and pulled his nephews into a hug, needing the reassurance that they were alive and well yet. He would keep them that way even if he had to bring down the entire mountain, stone by stone.

They hugged him back, just as tight and near-bruising, even though Thorin had no doubt they were confused. Dís looked like she might understand, though. Her face was pale and her eyes gleamed with a mixture of fear and fury to match Thorin’s own. Slowly, reluctantly, Thorin released the boys, and forced himself to push the rage aside and function as befitted a King. “Dwalin, I trust you to find out who is instigating this.” He stated.

“I will.” Dwalin confirmed.

“Instigating what?” Kíli asked, looking between them curiously.

“An attempt on your life, and your brother’s.” Dwalin responded, since the words got stuck in Thorin’s throat and refused to be uttered.

Fíli and Kíli both went wide-eyed, but that reaction was short-lived. Kíli’s expression quickly melted into wounded annoyance, while Fíli turned sombre. “We’ll be extra careful, Uncle, I promise.” Fíli swore.

He meant it, Thorin could see he meant it, but it was unnecessary. “We will be heading out of the mountain.” He corrected.

“What?!” Fíli demanded, looking outraged.

Dwalin grunted. “Until we know more about who and how many, it probably would be safer for you to be out of the mountain. Still a good idea to be on your guard, though. You’re not the only dwarves that travel, and some might even be traitorous enough to hire men to do the deed.” He snapped out a few insults at any dwarf who would sink so low.

Thorin had expected the stung pride from Fíli, but he was taken aback by the stubbornness he saw overtaking Kíli’s face. “Uncle, we’re not going to just run away.”

“If there’s discontent in our halls, we should root it out and face it, not flee from it!” Fíli agreed.

“I will not risk your lives for your pride.” Thorin retorted fiercely.

“It’s not pride!” Kíli protested. “Uncle, we can’t just leave. We can’t. And especially you can’t. Now? With the halls still a mess and the surveyors only half done checking the rest of the western tunnels? We can’t abandon our people just because we might be in a bit of danger!”

“I can manage the halls.” Dís interjected. “You boys leave the mountain to bring in more money often enough that it won’t necessarily look like running away, or abandonment.” She pointed out, looking between her sons with a stern stare.

For the first time in Thorin’s memory, Fíli and Kíli refused to bend under that stare. “It might not look like it, but it would be.” Fíli insisted, quieter now, but no less determined. Thorin gritted his teeth, and Dís pursed her lips, frown deepening.

“We’re not going.” Kíli added, crossing his arms and straightening to his full and rather impressive height. “If you try to make us, we’ll just sneak right back into the mountain, and then we’ll be skulking around with even less protection.”

Thorin was that close to just grabbing them by their ears and dragging them out of the mountain, but before he could do more than snarl half a breath of frustration, Dís spoke. “And what, exactly, do you hope to achieve by staying?”

“Our duty.” Fíli answered staunchly, not hesitating for a second.

Dís watched him for a moment, before something akin to pained pride painted itself across her features, and she nodded once. “Very well.”

“What?!” It was Thorin’s turn to be outraged.

Dís gave him a look so fierce it knocked him right out of his fury. She held his startled gaze for long enough to be sure he was actually listening before she answered him. “I do not like this any better than you, Thorin, but we raised my sons as Princes of Durin’s line, and we have no right to keep them from that duty, no matter how much we might like to stuff them back into the den and refuse to let them leave.”

Thorin found he couldn’t actually argue, however much he would have liked to.

[the-daylight-here]

I've got a fun idea if you're up for it! The reader (or a character of your choosing) and America have both been kidnapped by England, who wants to protect his "family" (feel free to make it parental or romantic) from the horrors of the outside world, and never ever let them leave. The reader/character is trying to find a way out, but Alfred's already starting to succumb to England's wishes despite his wishes to be the hero.

||i’m sorry my adhd medication went missing so i haven’t posted anything and haven’t been able to write,,,,,

You’d been friends with Alfred as long as you could remember. He always played the hero in your childish games, and you often played the villain or prince(ss). You often switched with Matt, but you were a way better villain. “Why is Al always the hero?” Matt asked one day. You shrugged.

“Because he won’t play if he isn’t the hero.”

“That doesn’t make it fair.”

“No, but he’s kinda scary when he’s mad.”

You and Matt shared a begrudging smile as you leaned against one another. When you weren’t playing games with Al, you and Matt would read things out of your storybook. You wanted these days to last forever. With your ‘aunt’ and her children. With Al and Matt, not having to know what came next.

Unfortunately, the best-laid plans often are spoiled.

Your caretaker, who solely went by ‘Auntie’ to the three of you, had taken the three of you on a trip to London. She said she was visiting a friend, and that you three could come with her. You were staying at the friend’s house with Auntie and Al, while Matt got to spend with ‘Big Brother’ Francis. You tended to shy away from the flamboyant man, and Al was probably still mad at him for one reason or another.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

It turns out that the only reason the ‘friend’ of Auntie had called upon her was to kidnap you and Alfred. It’d been about three years, and Auntie had died within the first two weeks, suddenly falling extremely ill. You and Al were devastated, but you found a place to direct your anger. Alfred didn’t realize it, but the green-eyed man that took you in had probably been the reason she died. The man had introduced himself as Arthur, although he seemed to prefer ‘big brother’.

You didn’t realize it immediately, but as time went on, your reflection seemed to point in that direction. He kept the two of you on the property and homeschooled the both of you, only leaving to check on his business every once in a while. Whenever you asked if you could at least attend school, he only ever told you no. Whenever he held parties, you and Al were hidden away into your rooms, and most damning of all, he seemed to dance around the topic of Auntie’s death, not even seeming particularly sad about it.

As time went on, you withdrew from the games that Arthur and Alfred played, and began reading older horror novels. Arthur would always insist that you weren’t old enough, or that they were too scary for you, but you hardly listened. For some reason, the terror within the books gave you comfort, an ‘away’ from your reality.

You and Alfred were probably fifteen when Arthur threw the first party the two of you were allowed to attend.

+++++++++++++++++++++

For those who tend to be a bit more feminine in regards to how you identify:

You were dressed in a long dress that stopped around your ankles, with lacy sleeves and it was a light shade of (f/c).

For those who tend to identify as more masculine:

You wore a (f/c) and grey suit. It fit you well and was probably a bit more fashion-forward compared to Al’s and Arthur’s.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Al dressed in a simple, sleek black and blue suit. Arthur was proud to introduce the two of you as his wonderful younger siblings, adopted or not. You regretted not telling Al of your plan to escape, but he trusted Arthur too much.  

“May I have this dance?” you heard a soft voice ask from behind you. You turn and smile politely. “Sure, why not?” you reply, looking into a pair of familiar, violet irises. You hadn’t seen Matt in years, but the tone of voice and the way he looked at you hadn’t changed. His hair was a little more well kept, and he had a slimmer frame than his brother, but he still looked like the kid you knew.

You let him lead as you chat and catch up, laughing at old jokes. You mention nothing of your plan and Arthur walks over, a hard-to-read smile on his face. You force a smile as you introduce the pair, moving slightly behind Matthew. This was going to be difficult.

“(Y/n), you seem rather close to this young man.”

“We grew up together. He was in France when Auntie passed.”

“Yeah; I miss spending time with you and Alfred. I’m glad my brother got invited this time.”

“Oh, are you Francis’ little brother?”

“Yeah. He keeps complaining about how you keep trying to buy his business.”

Matt laughs, and you genuinely smile for the first time in a while. He wasn’t particularly shy, but soft-spoken and often ignored. At least, that’s how he seemed at that point. As a child, he would often let you or Alfred do things or talk to people for him until he felt brave enough to himself. He seems to have grown out of that. Being around Matt had calmed you in your previously, as it did at that moment.

Your attempted escape that night didn’t work.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You knew you needed Alfred’s help to get out, as well as Matt’s.

You spent most of the next couple of years planning and scheming. You knew the house almost better than Arthur. The grounds were easy to navigate. You knew where to hide, what boards creaked, where you could fit that others couldn’t.

Matt was a good accomplice. Alfred would take convincing.

You sat at the breakfast table quietly. You held a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland as you looked at Arthur and Alfred. Arthur had made some eggs, but you knew better than to eat them. You instead cut some bread and put jam on it as you curled in your chair.

“Arthur, why aren’t we allowed to leave?” you questioned quietly, knowing he’d respond the same way he always would.

“(Y/n), we’ve been over this. You two aren’t to leave because the outside world is horrific. It will ruin you both.”

“I think you’re coddling us. I read about old serial killers for fun, Arthur, because I can’t even get on the internet without you watching my every move.”

“(Y/n), he’s just worried about us. Especially since Auntie passed.”

You rubbed your temples in exasperation. Alfred was delusional to a fault when it came to Arthur’s word. You needed to find Auntie’s will, knowing she would’ve had very specific instruction for your care. She probably wrote it on her deathbed, and Arthur could’ve destroyed it or hidden it, depending on what the woman had written. Either the will or its ashes would be located in his office. “Whatever. Believe what you want.”

Excusing yourself, you went to Arthur’s office and started carefully rifling through it. Your natural instinct was to just chuck everything off the shelves, but you didn’t need to. Tapping on one of Arthur's drawers revealed a fake bottom, judging from the sound it made.

“This man needs to up his hiding game,” you muttered as you felt the bottom for a latch or hole. When you managed to get it open, you found a hefty pile of documents. Not thick enough to warrant you carrying it in your arms, but just thick enough for you to be cautious about how the hell were you going to fit it in your bag without it being noticeable.

You put the drawer back together and managed to be sliding the monstrous tome from that morning back into place.

“Finally finished that one, hm?”

“Yes. It provided some interesting insight, for nonsense and an odd story.”

“I hope you use it wisely.”

“I will.”  

[aloy97]

what do you think about a pregnant candyof cass,how do you think 'll be castiel reaction or he can react?. Do yuo think they'll keep the baby or....?

SUB ENG:

Well, that’s hard to say about the immediate.What I think is that a pregnancy right now, especially for a rock star, is his “ruining”... Not so much for the child/a but because it is not the right time.From the point of view of my sweetie,miky, ( seen that of the default candy I do not speak,ie I do not care to tell the truth) . It’s certainly no picnic.If you followed my headcanon , I often mentioned the fact that Castiel and miky have 3 twins .. Imagine if during pregnancy you were to discover that it is not just a child but 2 or more.. One”tragedy”.

Therefore, following the plot provided for now by the game, I think that at the very least my candy would have an emotional collapse,  the terror on literally.Now ,  in episode 16 they  have used  protections, so unless  beemoov decides to mess things up ( which I wouldn’t mind at all)definitely to make sure  candy is pregnant : Either  candy forgot the pill and the condom got pierced or there’s just no chance it could happen.Regarding the reaction of cass : it is difficult to predict , Castiel even if he does not want to admit it and in this episode makes” the strong” saying that he is accustomed to the absence of parents, I still don’t think it’s cruel enough to end one or more lives (even if i am   pro to  abortion if behind there’s  a serious motivation ,let’s say that with the career that cass has  ,  money are present , it would not be impossible to keep a child or more).  But I don’t think he can’t even  be a little pissed.Consciousness will definitely go into shock, thinking maybe how it might have happened, 83494893 questions to candy about whether it was wrong or not...Miky will surely in tears tell him that she is not stupid and that she has done the blood test , so there are no mistakes or false positive tests.From my point of view Castiel is not a coward who now that he has made the“bullshit” abandons his girlfriend. Probably after having let off some steam, he will comfort her by saying that he will find a solution, assuming his responsibilities. I really don’t think he can be any slouch about something that serious.The most critical step is definitely the “ i’ve to talk with the manager and the   band”.From what we know, cass besides Priya and  dolcy, hasn’t nobody.. He spends all his time completely immersed in his work.Probably until miky’s belly starts to be visible, they’ll both try to keep a low profile, it’s already a“ ENOUGH”  for journalists and a little less for fans to know that he has a girlfriend ,  plus we add a pregnancy....Around 5 months I think cass will take courage and talk  in front of  his  band members and manager... I don’t say that they will be happy because it is impossible to be, in fact I think cass will have a nice heated discussion with the manager. The manager warned him not to screw up, and would certainly put him in front of a pretty heavy choice: either his career or his family.Why don’t I mention the fact that he might not talk to anyone? because if Castiel can’t take her on tour, the first chance the two get paparazzed, let’s say that questions someone is obvious to him.So you might as well spit it out right now rather than pretend.I do not know exactly how Castiel can solve this, the only solution would be to bring the candy on tour, or to return to her as soon as possible.

SUB ITA : beh  è difficile da dire così  sull’immediato..Ciò che  penso è che una gravidanza in questo momento, soprattutto per una rockstar, sia  la sua “ rovina”...

Non tanto per il bambino/a ma perchè non è il momento giusto.Dal  punto di vista della mia dolcetta,miky, ( visto che della dolcetta di  default non parlo,cioè non mi interessa  a dire il vero) . DI sicuro non è una passeggiata.Se hai seguito i miei headcanon , spesso ho menzionato il fatto che castiel e miky  hanno 3 bambini  gemelli ..

Pensa se durante la gravidanza  si venisse a  scoprire che  non   è solo un bambino   ma bensì 2 o più.. Una” tragedia”.Seguendo perciò la trama per ora fornita dal gioco, penso che come minimo la mia dolcetta avrebbe un crollo emotivo non da poco,  il terrore addosso letteralmente.

Ora , loro nell’episodio 16 hanno usato le protezioni, quindi a meno che la beemoov non decida di incasinare le cose ( cosa che non mi dispiacerebbe affatto)sicuramente per far sì che la dolcetta sia gravida : o la dolcetta ha dimenticato la pillola e il preservativo si è bucato o non c’è proprio   possibilità  che possa accadere.

Per quanto riguarda la reaction di cass : è difficile   da prevedere , castiel  anche se non vuole ammetterlo e in questo episodio fa il forte dicendo che si è abituato all’assenza dei genitori, penso non sia comunque tanto crudele da porre fine a una o più vite ( per quanto sia pro all’aborto se dietro c’è una motivazione seria ,diciamo  che  con la carriera che ha cass  , insomma i soldi non ti mancano, non sarebbe impossibile mantenere un bambino o più).  Ma non penso nemmeno un po’ non si incazzi.

Conscendolo sicuramente andrà in shock, ripensando magari a come potrebbe essere successo, 83494893 domande alla dolcetta sul fatto che non si sia sbagliata o altro...

Miky sicuramente in lacrime gli dirà  che non è stupida e che ha fatto l’esame del sangue , quindi  non ci sono errori o test falsi positivi.Dal mio punto di vista castiel non è un codardo che ora che ha fatto la “ cazzata” abbandona la sua ragazza.

Probabilmente dopo essersi sfogato un po’ la  consolerà dicendo che troverà una soluzione, assumendosi le proprie responsabilità. Non penso assolutamente possa essere menefreghista su una cosa così seria.Lo step più critico sicuramente è quello del “ dirlo” alla band.

Da quello che sappiamo, cass oltre a priya e la dolcy, non ha “ NESSUNO”..Passa tutto il suo tempo completamente immerso nel suo lavoro.Probabilmente fin quando  la pancia  di miky non comincerà a essere visibile, cercheranno entrambi di tenere un profilo basso, è già una “ DELIZIA”  per i giornalisti e   un po’ meno per le fan sapere che è impegnato, figuriamoci una gravidanza...

Attorno al 5 mese penso che cass prenderà coraggio e sputerà il rospo davanti ai membri della band e  al manager...Non dico che ne saranno contenti perchè è impossibile esserlo,infatti penso che cass avrà una bella discussione accesa col manager.

IL manager  lo aveva avvertito di non fare cazzate, e sicuramente lo metterebbe  davanti a una scelta piuttosto pesante: o la carriera o la famiglia..Perchè non cito il fatto  che potrebbe benissimo non parlarne con nessuno?, perchè se castiel non riesce a portarsela in tour, alla prima occasione che i due vengono paparazzati, diciamo che  domande qualcuno è ovvio gliele faccia.Quindi tanto vale sputare il rospo subito, piuttosto che fingere..

Non so esattamene castiel come possa risolvere la cosa, l’unica soluzione plauisibile sarebbe quella di portarsi la dolcetta in tour,oppure di tornare da lei il prima possibile

[seksipomminpurkaja]

24-36, 44 for yu-wen, trias and maya

i may have been procrastinating but at least i was procrastinating outside

How quick is your character to trust someone else?

Back when she was with her clan she didn’t really have to make that decision herself as she had her clan either assure or warn her about certain individuals. Now it’s much harder for her to trust people who don’t share her experiences, men especially. 

Very slow, after her entire worldview was challenged. She was only looking out for herself a long time before landing in the outer rim

Maybe bit too fast, and it got her into a lot of trouble before Nayden picked her up from a city sewer basically (ironically she hadn’t learnt her lesson and went with him). Now she’s just a tad bit slower to trust strangers

How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?

She’s constantly on the edge, but there are people she trusts more to not do something to cross her.  But yeah, when something happens she’s already on the lookout for the perpetrator

For her, if something crazy happens she just assumes she had a part in it. Someone broke into some home? Well she was drunk last night. A town explodes? Might’ve been that unmarked package she forgot somewhere, oops

She also assumes everything is her fault (thanks mama), but unlike trias, she get really self deprecating over it, constantly apologizing until it’s proven it was not her fault

How does your character behave around children?

Children love her, for some reason, she’s towering over them with her height of 6′2′’ and she just lets them climb all over her, before her husband died they were talking about getting their own but, oh well

She’s constantly afraid she will say or do something that upsets or hurts them, it’s like jenga for her, she’s not at all used to kids. but she tries, when needed, to protect them, she may be harsh wit handling them but would die for any of them

She loves kids, she’s basically a big kid too, just one pleading look at Nayden and a nod of approval and she’s already playing with them

How does your character normally deal with confrontation?

She stands tall with her mountain ass and lets the other one say what they have to say, and then decides to either ignore it or pull out a dagger, back off chump

Hand already on one of her six knives just in case either party starts to escalate the situation

She’s never alone so she just has to go behind lucas’ back and let him handle it

How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

If given reason, she will first threaten with a dagger, and if that doesn’t work she will cut, if the other responds then it’s a fight

Any conflict she’s in she has a knife on hand. But will never make the first attack 

She’ll be trying to defuse the situation first but if it doesn’t work and having a physical threat of a demigod isn’t enough to make the other(s) back down, then it’s showtime

What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?

She wanted to be a soldier, it’s a proud tradition of at least one woman of the family to be a warrior for the good of the country. And she was, for a while, then her husband was killed and she was their next target, so she had to run away. Then she found Jalana and her ship

She never got time to dream, ever since her parents gave her away she was raised to be something that was already set out for her. She was in her thirties when she saw there’s so much more out there than being bossed around

She always wanted to travel, the island she grew up on wasn’t that big and it was forbidden for her and the other kids to go out to the sea. When she ran away she first went with a fisherman to the next island and so forth, until she reached the mainland, and she got to travel from there on

What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?

Deep sea creatures, as much as she loves the open sea and being on a boat, just never let her drop into the water

The terenlasi labs, she has seen some shit they do actual living beings and was one of the reasons she chose exile over being sent there

Rotting animal corpses and bugs and worms they attract, it’s such a waste not to use the whole thing

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.

The ship is docked, but no one has left for the town for the night, they have a small fire going, and music, she’s on the upper deck watching over this little moment of peace wit ha cup of ale

In a bar with plenty of people, she knows no one, and she has a whole corner booth for herself and unlimited mozzarella sticks

Evening campfire, Wane and Romir are having a metaphorical sword fight, Lucas is roasting game and she’s bundled in a blanket and snugged to Helga

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.

Raging storm in the middle of buttfuck nowhere in the open sea

When asked about feelings

When left alone

In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

Defensive at first, how dare you tell her that. Later, much later she will come back and apologize

She’s used to brushing it off completely, but now with krea as her moral backbone she gets a little self-deprecating, but will watch out for that certain behavior for he future

Complete and utter self-deprecation, maybe little unintentional guilt-tripping thrown into the mix, she’ll be much more careful the following days

Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?

She’s a woman of many solutions so she’ll got though many possible ones 

She’s pretty stuck on her methods so far, but she also has the willpower to make it work

More like she tries something and then gives up when it doesn’t work, please hold your daughter’s hand everyone

How does your character behave around people they like?

She’s calm and attentive, blink and you miss her smiling

She’s cracking jokes, oversharing, you get to hear her conspiracy theories

She’s pretty much just warm mash potato, idk how else to describe it

How does your character behave around people they dislike?

She has a permanent snarl on her face, and looks even more intimidating than usual

utter lack of regard and doesn’t really comprehend anything that’s being said 

She tries to stay polite but some people make it so hard

How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

It’s a big thing for her, so she never says it without meaning

She probably chokes every time she says it, so many flies flying straight into her mouth every time, weird

She says it a lot, but never without meaning it, but for her it’s pretty casual. If you appreciate someone in your life you should say it every chance you get

[pb1138]

A Reunion, Ch.2

Apparently this is turning into a multi-chapter fic. Don’t worry!! I already have an ending in mind. It’s just getting from now to there that’s going to be the problem.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Cassandra’s understanding of Varric’s situation wasn’t enough to truly wane her anger for long. She regretted the way she behaved towards Varric, attacking him as she had. Even more so after the Inquisitor got involved and scolded her like a child. Regardless, she stands by what she said—if Hawke had been here from the start, things could be going much better. But she begrudgingly could see his side, that if she had been here from the start, she could’ve died in the Conclave, too. What a mess. 

It’s because of this doubt, of the regret over her actions that she found herself outside the Great Hall that night. Normally, she didn’t go beyond the courtyard, avoiding the fancy prats as much as she could. She fidgeted for a moment, wondering if she shouldn’t just go back to the armory and leave well enough alone.

No.

She had to do this, had to understand. With a heavy sigh, she dropped her shoulders and stepped through the giant doors, rubbing her hands together nervously.

They were sat at a table near the fireplace, their shoulders touching, several empty tankards of ale sat in front of them. A few people had gathered around the table to listen to their tales, including Sera and The Iron Bull. Up above, Cassandra was surprised to see Dorian and Vivienne had also taken a seat to listen, and Cole was sat in a corner out of the way, obviously paying them great heed. He seemed…oddly pleased, a cryptic smile spread across his face. She wandered over to him despite the niggling warning in her gut telling her to avoid him, and she cleared her throat. “I see the Champion has settled in.”

Cole nodded his giant hat. “He’s happier now. All glitters and stars and warmth, like the comfort of a hearth at night. Her hands touch his and it feels like the sun, warm and welcoming and wondrous. He’s whole, now, complete, the piece that was missing before finally returned, and it’s as though she was never gone.”

Cassandra regarded the spirit out of the corner of her eye before turning to look at the couple. She could see what he was talking about. There was a light in Varric’s eyes that she’d not seen there before. He was smiling wider and with more feeling, and even in his gesticulations he always remained touching a part of her.

Her.

It occurred to Cassandra she’d never seen Hawke before, not personally, and certainly not this close. It wasn’t difficult to see that she was a truly beautiful woman, every bit as amazing and out of this world as Varric made her out to be in his books and tall tales. Underneath long, curled maroon hair sat two large eyes, so lightly blue that they almost seemed clear. Her thick pink lips were stretched wide in a laugh from something Varric said, and a dusting of dark freckles and a light blush were set across her cheek and her once-broken nose. She was elegant, every bit the regal lady Cassandra had pictured in her mind, with good but easy posture. 

Cassandra didn’t even know the woman and she was practically in love.

Varric noticed her lurking, and his expression darkened almost immediately. He was quick to slap his crowd-pleasing face back on and made some lame excuse about the lateness of the hour and how “he needs his beauty rest.” Many of the on-lookers groaned. Bull positively looked as if he’d just lost an arm and been struck across the face in one fell swoop. Everyone drifted away, and Varric stood, his hand resting on Hawke’s shoulder for a moment before he walked over.

“Seeker.”

She looked down at him, then back at where Hawke sat watching warily. Though she didn’t have her staff, Cassandra could feel the energy coming off of her, ready to defend Varric if need be. Cassandra cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak, but struggled to find the words. “I. Uh. Well.” She sighed, rubbing her face. “I…wanted to…apologize. I was…harsh this afternoon.” Varric snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s just… No. There’s no excuse. I am sorry for my behavior.”

He regarded her a moment then glanced at Cole who tipped his hat in a nod and vanished. “I won’t say I forgive you, but I’m listening. You obviously want something.”

She looked back up at Hawke then back down at him. “I know I have no right to ask this but... I would like the real story. Not as a Seeker but…as a friend.”

His expression softened slightly, but he paused a long moment, contemplating her words. After a torturous amount of time, he gestured towards the table and moved back to his seat. She couldn’t help but notice the way he moved forward as if to guard Hawke from her. It was endearing, really. 

“What do you want to know?” A feeling of déjà vu spread across her, promptly followed by guilt. It occurred to her she might have been the cause of their separation.

“Everything.”

He smiled then, soft but true. “Well then.” He turned back to Hawke and took her hand in his, relaxing at her soft smile. “It all started 8 years ago.”

Xxx 8 Years Ago xxX

Varric first heard of the Hawke siblings not long after they joined Athenril’s gang. He didn’t think much of it at the time, just a few more refugees being taken advantage of, nothing special.

And then Belladonna started making a name for herself. She was better a smuggler than most rogues, especially with Aveline’s and Carver’s added backbone. Within weeks, she’d gone from being Athenril’s lowly errand runner to damn near a partner, rather rare for Athenril. Her skill did nothing to shorten her servitude, though. 

Once her year was up, Varric isn’t ashamed to say he had been following her exploits a little more closely. He knew she’d be looking for work, and something told him she’d find her way to Bartand’s ugly mug after they went public with their expedition. Good. She’d be quite the asset to them. 

It was an unusually warm day in Kirkwall, the day he met her. He couldn’t have planned the meeting better if he’d orchestrated it himself. He’d been on his way to see Bartrand with a few names of interest, but then the pickpocket had come along, and it was as if Andraste herself were smiling upon him. With one expertly placed arrow, he valiantly took down the idiot and retrieved the coin, a smug grin spread across his face. But when he turned to give it to her, he almost lost his footing. Almost. The fact that he didn’t stutter or fall over his words was a Maker-given miracle. He jokes that all humans look alike, but he never really thought that. Sure, looking up from his height, a few features can get a little muddled, a little repetitive, but her? Maker, she was something else. Even in her hideous smugglers’ robes, she took his breath away. He faked through it, though, putting on the charm he’d spent years cultivating. It was easy enough, sliding the mask back into place. A small part of him was relieved he tossed her the coin so easily and that he didn’t drop the arrow as he twirled it back into its quiver. He was speaking words, an introduction, flashy most likely, but he had a hard time focusing on anything other than her eyes. They were bluer than the Amaranthine Sea and seemed to see right through his guise. Could she see through it? Maker’s breath, he hoped not.

He was surprised to find just how charming and witty she was. Many of her sharp retorts were enough to rival even his own quick wit. They often fell into seemingly endless streams of snarky comments that made those around them groan with exasperation.

Everything about this woman both confounded and enthralled him. In the few short weeks he’d known her, he’d already come to think of her as a friend. She was kind but harsh (particularly towards her brother who was quick to respond with stronger hostility, something to unpack for later,) hardened but not hopeless, smart but naïve, and most of all, she was generous. Despite their time limit and the lengths they were going to to earn the gold to sway Bartrand, she never turned down a plea for help. Andraste’s ass, she’d given a full 5 sovreign’s to Lirene’s charity box the moment she knew what it was there for. As pressed for time as they were, Varric couldn’t help but admire this quality in her. Sure, she was setting back hours, days of hard work, but that only seemed to make it more meaningful. She was funny, too. He hadn’t laughed so much around other people since the good old days when Bianca was still kicking around. Varric had been so prepared to hate this woman, to find her snotty and rude and unlikeable, but in almost no time at all he’d come to be unable to imagine his life without her in it. What had he done before Belladonna Hawke?

xxx

They were almost ready to leave for the Deep Roads. They’d collected a few new friends—Broody, Daisy, Rivaini, even the mysterious Blondie had thrown his hat in with them. They were all gathered at the Inn, laughing over one of Isabela’s stories, and as Varric looked around at his new friends he couldn’t help but feel as though he might call these people family someday. Someday? Who was he kidding? They already were. At least better family than Bartrand ever was. 

Something in the glow of the candles seemed to light Hawke’s hair on fire, and when she caught his eye from across the table, her whole body shaking with laughter, the shear brilliance of her eyes seemed to knock the air out of him. He prayed with all his might that no one noticed how quickly his laughter died out.

“So, Hawke, do you think we’re ready to approach Bartrand?” Broody set his chin on his hand, looking at her with a carefully masked interest.

Most everyone tuned in to the conversation as Daisy went to fetch more drinks for the table. Hawke cleared her throat and smiled slightly, shaking her head. “No, there’s one more thing Carver and I have to do before we can leave.”

Junior peaked up from his slouch in the corner, a raised eyebrow pointed at his sister. “We do?”

She rolled her eyes and said a soft word of thanks to Daisy as she took the newly filled flagon. “The will, stupid. I know, I know.” She turned towards him and put her hand up, silencing the boy. “You don’t care about the estate. But Mother does. She’ll need something to focus on while we’re away so she doesn’t run herself ragged with worry.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her as he took a flagon from Daisy. He downed a good half of it before slamming it back down and glowering at the elder Hawke. “By all means. You’re the boss.”

Varric and Fenris both seemed to catch the hostility in Carver’s voice. They caught each other’s eyes from across the table, and Varric was relieved to see that Fenris seemed as bothered by it as he was. Hawke seemed to ignore it, aside from a quick glare that Varric almost missed. Instead, she just turned back to her friends and smiled sweetly. “Fenris, Varric, would you mind accompanying us?” She smirked at Fenris. “Carver tells me the estate is filled with slavers.”

Fenris smirked but nodded silently, and Varric grinned. She didn’t need to ask at this point—he’d never turned her down, not that he’d ever want to in the first place. “Bianca and I are at your beck and call, messere.” He tipped his head dramatically, and a deep part of him was thrilled by the soft giggle that his actions elicited from her.

The others began to drift away, heading back to their respective homes for the evening, until it was just Hawke and him. Something was on her mind, but for whatever reason she seemed to not want to bring it up. He wasn’t going to force the issue, but he turned to face her openly so that she might know that he was there for her if she needed him. They were several flagons and a few stories deep when she finally sighed, rubbing at her eyes. “Varric.”

He looked up at her, quirking an eyebrow. “Mm?”

Her words were thick with drink, and she swayed slightly in her seat. When she looked up at him, her mask had fallen away, showing him just how concerned she was. “I’m…Well, I’m worried. About what we’ll find. At the estate.” She narrowed her eyes in what Varric was sure was an attempt at anger. “I just know Gamlen screwed my mother out of her money. I just know it. But Carver doesn’t. For whatever Andraste-cursed reason, he likes that bastard.” Her knuckles were white around the handle on her mug. “Worse still, what if we find nothing? What if we find we truly have no claim to the estate and then we don’t find enough in the Deep Roads to buy our way to nobility? What if we’re stuck in that hovel for the rest of our lives?”

Varric reached across the table and covered her hand with his own, offering her a soft smile. “You won’t be. I swear it.”

She scoffed. “And how could you know that? What? Would you marry me, offer me your wealth and a status as the wife of a deshyr?”

He chuckled, though a part of him fluttered at the thought. “Not my first choice, but always an option.” He grinned at her giggle. “No matter what happens, whether we find thousands of sovreigns’ worth of crap, we find the deed to your estate, whatever, you’re my friend, Bells. And I take care of my friends.”

Her eyes misted over with tears before she brushed them away. She put her other hand over his and gripped it tightly. “Thank you, Varric.” Then, as if the gravity of their discussion was too much for her, “I’ve wanted a nickname from you for ages now.”

They’d laughed, spent another hour or so drinking themselves under, telling stories, speculating on their venture-to-be before Hawke began to yawn. Varric, ever the gentleman, insisted she allow him to escort her home. He’d had twice as much as her to drink, but he was barely buzzed whereas she was practically stumbling over every step. As they reached Gamlen’s “house,” she leaned against the door and stared down at him, eyes oddly focused. She looked as if she were going to say something but thought better of it. In one quick sweep, she leaned down and pressed a soft-but-sloppy kiss to his cheek. She straightened up and smiled as she opened the door and slipped backwards inside.

Maker’s breath.

[evakfanficsrecs]

YOUSEF/SANA FANFICTION RECS MASTERPOST

Hello! I know you’re probably confused as to why an Evak fics recs blog is posting a Yousana masterpost right now... At first I only meant to reply to an anon’s request for a few fics, but then it kinda turned into this, so I hope y’all don’t mind. I think we all are in the need for some kind of glimmer of hope and light in the form of fluffy fics right now anyway. 

The list is divided into oneshots and chaptered fics and will be updated over time, so make sure to like/bookmark it. My personal favorites are tagged with a “ ★ ”. Completed chaptered fics are tagged with a “ ✓ ” 

All the fics can be found under the cut. Have fun.

*

Besides all of the ao3 fics bellow, I wanna quickly mention the lovely Anna and her writing tag, where you can find some of her answered Yousana prompts. Her writing is beautiful and she was one of the people to start writing Yousana, so give her some love!

*

ONESHOTS:

plain black coffee (with a side of sugar) by meridianline Summary: He's Elias' cool friend, the one who gets all the girls. There's no way he's interested and Sana's not a girl for pipe dreams. So why can't he just leave her alone? Or, Yousef catches Sana, after the Facebook add.

All you have to do is stay by minttobe_treehill Summary: And there it was again. The feeling of his eyes on her. Or, the girl squad + the balloon squad go to a party together.

Captain of the Football Team by mango22 Summary: Yousef holds his daughter in his arms for the first time.

Mutual by sterekwonders Summary: Sana had known from the moment that she started liking Yousef that the attraction was one sided. But sometimes, life isn't always what it seems.

just a little longer by kingsandqueensofthebarrel Summary: Sana and Yousef aren't dating. But they are in love.

sana x yousef | beginning forever by WritenStuff ★ Summary: Excitement and nerves run through Sana and Yousef as they begin this new chapter of their lives together. So many firsts to savour and enjoy. Well, if Sana can brave leaving the bathroom that is. Forever starts here.

Chicken by nusmag Summary: Sana’s pretty sure it’s Vilde who orchestrated for her brother and his friends to play a game of chicken with them. Yes, she’s with Magnus, but as she sagely elaborates, the game isn’t about kissing — it’s about exactly the opposite. Sana agrees to this game about non-kissing, determined to come out on top whomever she plays with. Only it turns out Yousef is quite determined to win, too.

When Did You Fall For Me? by mango22 Summary: Sana asks Yousef when he knew he loved her.

I want you and I always will by nicospenguin Summary: Girls and balloon squad decided to organise a horror movie marathon. Sana is not happy.

sana x yousef | jealous by WritenStuff Summary: When the balloon squad interrupt our study buddies, Sana and Isak, Yousef is hit with the green beast.

Eid Mubarak by mango22 Summary: Yousef spots Sana outside the mosque after the Eid prayer and for a moment forgets how to breathe.

I don't wanna say that love is a waiting game by minttobe_treehill Summary: Sana smiled, both dimples on full display, and looked down, not really knowing what to say or what to do. And Yousef lingered his gaze on her, softening his features in an instant. If Isak hadn’t been standing right behind Sana, nobody would’ve seen it. Or, Isak and Sana are biology partners. Isak meets Yousef. What could go wrong?

a ghost made flesh by thefudge ★ Summary: He wants to raise his eyes and catch her looking, like he did before. He wants to see the deep pool in her eyes, the desire for a beginning.

Jealousy by mango22 Summary: Yousef is Jealous™ of Isak of all people and Sana finds it funny (and maybe even likes it a little bit). 

floating (like balloons) by OHfairytales Summary: Yousef's eyes found her immediately when she passed the living room. He was caught staring at her, his fingers pushing away his dark hair from his eyes. He smiled hesitantly at her and her heart broke one more time. He was so beautiful. Lower your gaze. Or – Sana tries to reflect and find back her inner peace after Yousef’s devastating text message.

i might be okay, but i'm not fine at all by meridianline Summary:  It's been a week but Yousef still messages.

It's all going to be okay by Nothesc Summary: “Does this have something to do with my sister?” Elias said making Yousef stop dead on his tracks. Or, Elias notices that something is going on with Yousef and decides to ask him. Set after 4x03.

Text messages by Nothesc Summary: Text messages on Saturday, Sunday and Monday between Sana and Yousef. Set after 4x03.

sana x yousef | add friend by WritenStuff Summary: Send failed. You don’t have permission to chat with this person. // It takes a moment for Yousef to realise what's happened. It must be a mistake, surely. 

Are you ignoring me? by b43b3n Summary: She unfriended Yousef and immediately regretted it, but the website about getting over ex boyfriends told her that she had made the right move.

faithless by thefudge Summary: Post 1x03. You can't part if the air between you is always an arrival. 

Is it just me or do you feel it too by HALLElujahaha Summary: Yousef is malfunctioning and becoming very poetic when he sees Sana, as per usual. 

it changes everything, by kingsandqueensofthebarrel Summary: By the time she put the cup back on the table and the smile back on her face the others had already approached. Her heart stuttered painfully in her chest and if this was heartbreak she never wanted to feel it again. 

Even On A Bad Day by sterekwonders Summary: Sana was having a bad day but not all bad things have to stay that way. 

jeg dømmer ingen (wallaahi) by Fandine Summary: On the way back home from school–-elementary school, she’s either in second or third grade–-baba tells her about Yawm al-Qiyāmah. About how the ground will crack and flaming lava will erupt. About how lightning will strike and everyone will collapse, will fall dead. About how everyone, those who die that day and those who died million years ago, those who were already buried, will rise, their bones lifting and their skulls turning so they face the sky. Yeah, them, us, we will all go to Allah for judgement. She doesn’t know what judgement means, but Sana knows she’s afraid. 

Sunshine, Freedom, And A Little Blue Flower by mango22 ★ Summary: Sana asks Yousef what he wanted to say at the end of the night? And he replies in typical Yousef fashion. 

How Lucky You Are Sana by mango22 Summary: Yousef visits Sana at school after the seventh message is left on read. 

Dying to try by Nothesc Summary: “What was I going to say?” Yousef said with a shy smiled. Or, what would've happened if Sana and Yousef hadn't been interrupted at the end of 4x04. 

in the rain, give you sunshine by cynical_optimist Summary: “Do you ever worry?” Isak asks. “Because I haven’t seen it.” Sana smiles, shakes her head. “Never,” she replies, and she isn’t sure whether she’s joking or outright lying. - Sana tries to repair something.

still, like dust, i'll rise by meridianline Summary:  Sana, after she sees Yousef and Noora (at the end of 4x05)... 

Every Saturday. by Thesuncameout Summary: Set after S04E5 Clip 5.

Two sides to every story by neomaxizoomdweebie Summary: Sana had always had a lot of self control. Her homework always got done, no matter how boring the assignment. She always went to basketball practice, no matter how tired she was. She never yelled at Vilde, no matter how infuriating she was being. But as it turns out, even she has her limits.

What We Could've Been by mango22 Summary: Post 4x05. Sana and Yousef have an honest conversation. 

Who I am by HeWhisperedBrave Summary: Sana is left numb and in shock when she sees the boy she's in love with kissing her best friend. 

I didn't ask for it. by surrealdelicacy Summary: Sana - after she saw Yousef and Noora kiss. 

Saturday May 13th 2017 by Minkefreak Summary: Sana goes to the last place she expected to go and finds some comfort. 

Let me explain by Nothesc Summary: Yousef kissed Noora back but he stopped it, because he realized he couldn't do it. 

I'm Sorry by Thesuncameout Summary: Sana and Yousef resolve (some) of their issues, Sana actually opens up to someone for once, and finally, finally she can pray. 

Bliss by narratrice Summary: In which Sana and Yousef's alternating points of view recount their shared experience the night of their heart to heart by the basketball court. Nevermind these precious gumdrops' lack of communication in the past few episodes and let's just reminisce for a moment.

Basketball by Nothesc Summary: 5 times Yousef made Sana smile with basketball and the one time Sana did.

something just like this by deansfallenangel Summary: Noora never had a thing with Willhell and started dating Eva instead. She also never kissed Yousef who's in a happy relationship with Sana. Or in which Nooreva and Yousana go on double dates, at least 50% of what happens in canon isn't acknowledged and everyone is happy.

sana x yousef | beautiful, intimate, odd thing by WritenStuff Summary: Kissing was an odd thing. A beautiful, intimate, odd thing. 

goosebumps by vacant Summary: “Fuck. Is this really happening, Sana?” He asks with a laugh, warm against her cheek. 

Used To This by omgbellamy Summary: Sana and Yousef finally have a talk regarding the texts Noora showed Sana in the latest clip. They lay everything out on the table.

paper thin in love with you by idontshaveforsher_yesyoudo  Summary: Their first date is to the movies. 

Colors by mango22 Summary: A soulmate au where whenever your soulmate touches your skin, the part they touched turns a different color. And not faded colors, but like bright rainbow colors. 

communication by vacant ★ Summary: A novel concept: Sana and Yousef talk.

The Daycare. by Thesuncameout Summary: When Sana has to enter the battlefield that Yousef calls his workplace, aka the daycare. 

Oh, I Think that I Found Myself a Cheerleader by ifwallscouldspeak ★ Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Elias Bakkoush wasn’t clueless when it came to Yousef and Sana’s feelings for each other. If anyone was clueless about this whole thing, it was Sana and Yousef. And Elias? Elias was fucking fed up. (Or, five times Elias tried to set up his best friend and his sister, and the one time they finally get together.) 

Not enough by Angelinee Summary: Carrots are thrown. 

to open the world and send it reeling by Odestaholyship Summary: What would have happened if Mama Bakkoush hadn't interrupted Yousana's goodbye?

Truth or dare by Nothesc Summary: All the squads get together to play a game of truth or dare and well, things get interesting.

Don't You Let Me Go Tonight by SEHale Summary: Loosely based on the prompt: "Sure, I used to be a regular, but I literally haven’t been to this coffee shop in two years. How do you still remember my order?" Or, an AU where Sana leaves for university having never resolved or confronted her feelings for Yousef, who is not only her brother Elias's best friend but also the local barista at her favorite coffee shop.

Months by Angelinee Summary: Yousef comes home from Turkey and is met with Sana and the balloon squad. 

A Lazy Saturday by Thesuncameout Summary: Lazy days are Sana's favourite.  

I'm A Little Bit Lost Without You by SEHale Summary: Based on the prompt: “I’m a new hire and you’re trying to show me how to use the espresso machine. I actually already know how to use it, but I’m pretending to be incompetent so that you’ll keep talking to me. Please don’t fire me.” Or, an AU where Sana works part time at a coffee shop to earn money while studying at university, and new hire Yousef is taking up another barista job for the summer while kindergarten is out.

CHAPTERED:

Red Velvet by mango22 ✓ Summary: Sana tells Yousef about her "Russe Bus Money" dilemma and he comes up with a plan to help her. A plan which involves a lot of kitchen shenanigans and one perfect red velvet cupcake.

Science Buddies by Bellakitse ★ ✓ Summary: Sana opens her mouth when she hears the front door open followed by the laughter. She picks out one voice in particular. “Crap, it’s him,” she whispers as she quickly smooths out her clothes, running a finger under her bottom lip to check her lipstick isn’t feathering. Isak’s eyes widen and mouths ‘the boy’ to which Sana nods furiously too, she doesn’t get to do anything else as Elias and Yousef enter the living room, stopping short when they spot Sana and Isak.* Isak and Sana study at her place, she tells him what’s been bothering her. Isak meets Yousef.

✓ read at 21:30 by asteriaria Summary: Yousef spends an unnecessary amount of time on texts.

evak & yousana | the hot baristas by WritenStuff Summary: When Isak finds perfection works in the local coffee shop, he can't resist dragging Sana there for their biology study date.

The Chronicles of Texts by Ms.Bakkoush and Mr.Acar by Thesuncameout Summary: A series of messages between Sana and Yousef.

A kid's play by Nothesc ✓ Summary: Monday is Yousef's free day, he has Sana's number now and the kids from his kindergarten are performing today. Sounds like a good plan. Basically, Yousana being cute and going out on a ¿date?

erasing myself from the narrative by asteriaria Summary: The crash, the tumble, and the burning of the girl she once was. Or, what happens to Sana after the disastrous, fiasco of a party in S4E5.

The Opening by Rumaan ✓ Summary: With his mind in chaos, Yousef can't forget Sana's words about prayer.

Possibilities by Nothesc ✓ Summary: Two endings based on yesterday's clip (clip 2 4x09).

I'll Be Coming Home, Wait For Me by dahlstrom ★ ✓ Summary: dinner!au; Even and Yousef open a 1950s American-style restaurant together - Even is the creative genius in the kitchen, Yousef keeps the trains running on time, and Isak, Chris B, and Magnus are all along for the ride. Falling in love over food while Elvis serenades from the jukebox. Welcome to the Throwback Diner. 

Find My Way Back by mango22 Summary: The story of Yousef and Sana's relationship and how it progresses after season 4 ends. 

Turkey by Thesuncameout ★ Summary: When university student Sana Bakkoush goes on a trip to Turkey with her best friends, she meets a certain tour guide who's warm brown eyes, and floppy hair, captivate her. And suddenly her three week trip becomes something much much more.

We met in a kindergarten by Nothesc Summary: Sana has to pick up her niece from her kindergarten and there she meets a very interesting teacher.

Raindrops and Sunshine by Rumaan ✓ Summary: Sana rushes to the airport to tell Yousef how she feels.

[yinyangswings]

A Cup of Coffee and A Plate of French Toast- Percival Graves x Reader

Fandom: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Characters: Percival Graves

Pairing: Reader X Percival Graves

Notes/Warnings: Nothing really. I’m not really sure how a squib would be treated in the North American Wizarding Society, so I made a squib that wasn’t completely outcasted from the society but still has to work like a non-magical human

Word count: 3,929

Imagine: Percival Graves meets a squib who runs a diner

One headcanon referenced: @thesniffler with Percival falling asleep in reader’s arms-

“Now, now Percival...don’t be like that. This will only hurt more if you move.”

The blade was directly next to his eye and sweat trickled down his face as he stared into heterochromic eyes that were glittering with mirth in the dark.

“Now be a good boy, Percival.”

The grip on the back of his head grew tighter and the blade glinted in the light.

A scream echoed through the corridor.

“NO!!!”

Percival shot up from his bed, the scream echoing in his head, his chest heaving as his eyes frantically searched the room for...for…

No one. He wasn’t in the cell, he was in his home, his own bed.

He wasn’t with Grindelwald.

Sighing, he flopped backwards in his bed, staring at the ceiling,

Another sleepless night it would seem.

Sighing he got out of bed, pushing his hair back, scratching his head.

He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in months. The moment he closed his eyes, he was always trapped in nightmares of Grindelwald. The phantom never seemed far from his mind and was always in the shadows.

He cursed loudly as he banged his knee against the living room table, stumbling a bit and caught himself on the wall. With a wave of his hand the light flickered on.

He had remained in the same apartment, unwilling to change every little detail of his life because of Grindelwald. But he wasn’t willing to keep the same layout the man had so comfortably been living in, so the first thing he had done when he had returned was change the entire thing.

He was still getting used to it himself.

He swallowed.

He needed air...he needed to get away.

He needed to go somewhere.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he had pulled on clothes, a pair of shoes, and was walking down the streets of New York, his wand pressed tightly beneath his sleeve. He just kept walking, kept on walking.

Until he spotted a small diner, one he had walked past several times named The Central Fairy. The sign on the door showed it was still open, despite it being so late.

...it wasn’t like he had anything better to do at that moment.

He heard a bell ring as he entered and walked over to the kitchen bar. A young woman looked up and smiled, (Y/E/C) glittering in the lighting.

“Good evening sir. What can I get for you?”

“Just a cup of coffee.” He muttered rubbing his forehead as the woman watched him sit down at the diner. She smiled gently.

“Coming right up.”

He stared at the counter as he listened to the woman move around the other side of the counter. After a few moments she put a cup and poured a cup of coffee into it.

“I’m surprised though. Not too many wizards or witches of your stature come to the diner.”

He spat out the gulpful of coffee, staring at amused (Y/E/C) eyes, glittering teasingly in surprised.

“What? Did you expect the diner titled The Central Fairy to be one that caters to no-maj’s?” She asked as he looked down at her pockets and saw no wand, so how…

“I’m a squib.” She responded gently, refilling his coffee to replace the lost drink. “And my sister works for you, so either the Percival Graves has an identical twin brother, or she was pointing someone completely different out to me.”

He stared, regarding her. And it dawned on him.

“You’re Isla’s older sister?”

“The one and only. (Y/N) Mayfield, pleased to meet you.” She replied with a smile, “Still, I’m surprised...I didn’t think you would have ever stopped in here.”

“I...needed a change of scenery, I suppose.” He admitted watching her as she pushed back a strand (Y/H/C) hair behind her ear.

“Well you’ve come to the right place. The Central Fairy is rather popular in the wizarding community. So... What would you like to eat?”

“I...what?”

“To eat.” (Y/N) pointed at the menu and smiled. “I’d hate for you to just have coffee. I can suggest Rags to Riches which is French Toast stuffed with cream cheese filling served with maple syrup.”

Wondering if he was in another dream, he finally nodded.

Percival watched her as she poked her head into the opening to the kitchen calling to the cook in the back and he heard an affirmative grunt.

“I didn’t know this was a wizards diner.”

“I get the occasional no-maj, but Isla puts a few wards around the entrance to dissuade the majority of them. She worries, you see.”

He chuckled slightly.

“Yes, your sister is known for being a bit of a worrier if I remember correctly.” He finally admitted and (Y/N)’s eyes lit up and she smiled brightly.

She had a rather attractive smile.

“So it’s not just around me? Hot dog!”

“I feel as though your sister is going to be glaring at me for the next few weeks.” Percival joked lightly and she laughed in response as she turned to get the plate of french toast.

“Probably.” She finally replied setting the plate down, “But I doubt she’ll make it too obvious.”

He offered a slight smile at her.

“Well I’ll find out soon enough.” He finally replied and watched as she smiled again as he took his first bite.

“There’s my favorite sister!!” You chirped happily as the familiar girl came in. Isla rolled her eyes accepting the hug.

“I’m your only sister.”

“And what a wonderful sister you are. Sit, sit. Your usual?”

“Yes please. Extra chocolate chips.” You heard and laughed.

“Al, you heard the girl!”

“Got it boss!”

Isla waved at the cook she could just spot over the window, and the man waved back, a gnarly hand waving before he returned to what he was making.

“So how have you been? You’ve been pretty busy.”

“We’ve had to go through all the cases that Grindelwald went through. It’s been pretty busy because of that, and trying to seal up breaches in the secrecy.”

“I see...hm...maybe that’s why Mr. Graves stopped in last night.” You muttered softly to yourself, but ever the vigilant one, Isla looked up.

“Wait...you met him?”

“He came in for Mama’s famous Rags to Riches,” you respond with a smile setting a similar plate in front of Isla, “and here you go, chocolate chip pancakes.”

“I...wait, Percival Graves, the Percival Graves came into here, a diner...for french toast?”

“Honestly Isla, why does this sound so strange to you?”

“Because Percival Graves doesn’t eat, of all things, french toast. He eats, sleeps, and breathes coffee.”

“I think that is a staple for you aurors, hm?” You remarked with a chuckle.

“You know what I mean...besides don’t forget, some people in the MACUSA don’t want squibs knowing about the Wizarding Community.”

“Is Percival Graves one of those?” You asked, cocking your head to the side. “He certainly didn’t seem that way last night.”

“He’s...fair. But I don’t really know his opinions on squibs.” Isla responded, shifting uneasily, “he hasn’t really been talkative to us lately. Not that I can blame him.”

“I can’t either.”

“You heard?”

“Isla, I’m a squib and I own a diner that wizards and witches go to. Even if I don’t get the The New York Ghost doesn’t mean I don’t hear the news from customers who think I don’t get what’s going on.”

“Oh...right…” Isla remarked blushing and taking a bite of her pancakes.

“So...it’s true then. That’s how Grindelwald hid here?”

“Mhm. I saw it. And I was there when they found him.”

You shuddered.

“I can’t even imagine.”

“Neither can I.” Isla replied, taking another bite as you poured some coffee for her. You then smiled.

“Hey, can you ask Mister Graves how he liked his meal. I was helping another late night customer when he left.”

“You want me to what?!” Isla exclaimed. “(Y/N), he’s my boss.”

“And I’m your older sister.”

“No, I’m not going to do it! You can’t make me!”

A Few Hours Later

“Sir?”

“Come in.”

The door opened and closed quietly and he looked up to see Isla, who was standing there nervously, cheeks aflame, fiddling with her fingers.

“Is something the matter Ms. Mayfield?”

“Um no, at least I don’t think so, and I know you’re busy so I’ll try to be quick and I...” she trailed off, blushing, “my sister wanted to know if you liked the food...and if I don’t ask she’s going to pester me until she dies, and then haunt me, I’m sure of it.”

“The french toast was perfectly fine. I enjoyed it.”

“Oh, that’s good. I-”

“You can also tell your sister that I might come back.”

“R...really?”

Percival looked up and saw Isla was smiling brightly.

“Oh, (Y/N) is going to be happy you liked the recipe!! Well have a good day, Sir!” She chirped and hurried out. Despite himself, he couldn’t help the smirk and the chuckle.

The two were certainly related, no doubt about it.

Percival Graves kept his promise of returning to the small diner. As the months passed he found himself visiting whenever he couldn’t sleep...which given his nightmares, was fairly often. (Y/N) always greeted him with a smile and making a cup of coffee for him. Sometimes he would eat something, sometimes he didn’t, just enjoying the familiar comfort of a slowly growing ally and friend that didn’t judge him for what had happened to Grindelwald and making him feel...somewhat normal.

She didn’t push him to talk about work, especially his capture. Only once had she mentioned it, and he had immediately gone quiet, unwilling to share that. And she understood then. If he wanted to talk he would, but more often than not he listened to her talk about her daily life.

It was a comfort.

Six months had passed when one night, Percival awoke to rapid tapping on his window. Blearily awakening, and grumbling to himself as he had actually been sleeping rather well that night looked over to the window.

And he spotted Seraphina’s personal owl sitting outside, looking at him with large eyes.

Something had happened.

Something big.

Knowing Seraphina’s preference to use mailing pigeons as to not attract no-maj’s in the city’s attention, he briskly walked over, untying the scroll from its left claw and rolled it open.

Two words.

It only said two words but it was though they had reached in and snapped around his lungs like a vice and suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room.

He’s escaped.

He had to force himself to breathe but his lungs didn’t seem to be getting anything. It hurt...it hurt so much and he-!

He needed to leave. He needed to get out of this damn place

He had barely made it up the diner steps when the door opened. He didn’t need to tell her.

Just by the look on her face...she knew.

“You must be freezing, come in.” She said softly and he entered. She closed the door, locking it and flipping the open sign to closed.

“You know.” Percival stated.

“Isla contacted me right away.” (Y/N) said softly. “Percival-”

“Don’t...don’t tell me it’s not my negligence that resulted in his escape.”

“It isn’t though. He’s a wizard with-”

“I know what he’s capable of!!” He snapped and she went quiet. “You wanted to know how he got me?” Percival asked, bitterness in his voice, “I was on a case. One of my friends in Europe had gotten some intel that some of Grindelwald’s supporters were making their way to the United States. That soon we would soon be overrun with wizards who would do anything to expose us. ” He began, “And I decided it’d be best to check it out alone. See if this warehouse even existed. If the lead was even true.”

(Y/N) slowly sat down, watching him with concerned eyes. He refused to stop. He couldn’t.

Not now.

“And it was, God Almighty it was. And there stood the bastard himself, smirking when he walked out of the shadows. We duelled, you can ask your sister, or see my scars to know that I lost. Of course the Congress will tell you that his memories show that it was a hard-fought victory, but I lost and was captured. And then I was tortured...they tried to break my mind and-” He broke off, pushing the lump back, “how could anyone be the same after that? I just wanted it to stop. For the agony to end. And when he finally got what he wanted for his memories and impersonation, he stored me away to use for ingredients of the polyjuice. Stupidly, I assumed that people would realize that Grindelwald wasn’t me. That they’d figure it out after a few days, a few weeks at most. But…”

He trailed off, looking at the mirrored wall, staring at his reflection, his damn reflection, a scar etched into the side of his face, where Grindelwald had milked blood from him. And anger took over and before he could stop himself he smashed his fist into the mirror, distorting his reflection further. Glass rained to the ground.

“Perci-”

“NO ONE EVEN NOTICED! MY COLLEAGUES,” he punched the mirror again, “MY NEIGHBORS,” and again, “THE DAMN PRESIDENT THAT I SPENT MORE TIME WITH DISCUSSING LAWS AND CASES WITH! NO ONE...NO ONE…” He trailed off as the rage that had built, and built in him, that had flared up just then, just as suddenly vanished and his throat ached as he blinked rapidly to push back tears.

“No one noticed that it wasn’t me...Grindelwald may have made sure that those who would have questioned me more were reassigned to different stations, but no one noticed it wasn’t me. Why didn’t...was it because of me? Was I...”

“I can’t answer that...I don’t think anyone can really answer the reason why none of them noticed. And that might be the reason that now they all avoid the conversation. Why they pretend that it didn’t happen like that.” He heard and looked up to see her standing in front of him and gently she moved his now bleeding fists from the shattered mirror, cupping them gently into her own hands, and he saw that his were shaking.

“But that makes it worse, right? It’s one thing to be injured...it’s another when someone impersonates you and no one notices. When those around you don’t even want to admit what happened right in front of them happened. What was done to you was wrong...what happened because of it was horrible. But I can tell you, and you have to understand this, what happened to you was not your fault and those who see it like that are fooling themselves.” She said softly.

(Y/N)’s hand gently ghosted over the light lines over his wrists, and his eyes blurred.

“It’s not your fault and you’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be hurting on the inside. You’re allowed to be scared because he’s escaped. You’re human, Percival, and it’s alright to be human every once in awhile.”

He made a choking sound and he roughly brushed the palm of his hand over his eyes. She offered a gentle smile.

“You can cry. No one but you and me will know. Diner confidentiality and all.” She said, tracing her fingers delicately over cheekbones. He made a choking sound, his whole form shaking. He curled inward, leaning down to press his forehead into her shoulder. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. She just remained there as he broke down and cried, pulling him close.

He didn’t remember much after that.

He remembered (Y/N) leading him upstairs to her apartment, above the diner, remembered her guiding him to sit down on a small bed and her getting a medical kit.

He remembered resting his head onto her shoulder, smelling whatever she put in her hair…vanilla he thought.

The last thing he remembered was the slight pain as (Y/N) tenderly pulled out the glass shards from his knuckle and a gentle kiss on the injured hand, and vaguely remembered her wrapping him in her arms and keeping him close to her chest, running her fingers through his hair, and tell him about the day at the diner and all the interesting people she’d met, from a goblin who kept trying to buy a lemon square for a knut rather than the five knuts it was actually supposed to be.

He didn’t, however remember falling into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

It was only the next morning that he smelled coffee.

It stirred him, though the throbbing headache made him want to crawl into some corner. Reluctantly, he lifted his head slightly to see a steaming cup of coffee next to a glass of water. He sluggishly sat up, rubbing his temple and winced as pain traveled through his knuckles. He looked down to see each one had been thickly bandaged, and flexing them hurt like hell.

The events of the night before flooded back and he looked around to see that (Y/N) was no longer in the apartment. And he could see that on the couch was a blanket and pillow neatly folded.

Guilt filled him and he sighed.

He could easily apparate away without a fuss, but his mother’s echoed voice of being a gentleman and he sighed, looking at his hands.

He’d need to thank her anyways.

“The Congress is in an absolute panic.” Isla commented tiredly, playing with the food on her plate. You didn’t scold her, not this time.

“I can imagine why. Do they know how he got her out?”

“No.” Isla responded tiredly. “Look you’re going to have to be extra careful for a little bit. Everyone is going to be panicking, and it’s going to cause some people to do some stupid things...especially to those different.”

“I know the drill, Isla.” You respond dryly going to take an order to a customer and the younger girl sighed.

“I’m not trying to be mean, you know that right?” Isla commented as you returned and you sighed.

“I know.”

“Good...I’ll be right back.”

“Morning bathroom break?”

“Morning bathroom break.” The younger one confirmed, hurrying away and you chuckled softly. A few moments later you heard the back door open and close. Looking up you offered a smile.

“Sleep well?”

“Better than I would have thought.”

“I’m glad.”

“I’d like to...apologize...for my behavior last night.” He finally said after a small silence. You looked at him confused.

“You were in shock, Percival...why would I be angry?”

“But I…”

“The mirror was just a mirror. It can be repaired easily enough. I’m more happy that you came here than wandering around outside and possibly getting hurt in some other type of fashion. I do apologize however...I don’t really have any other methods other than no-maj ways to deal with a wound.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, flexing his bandaged hand, “it’ll heal.”

“I’m glad.”

“Di...Director...G…”

You and Percival glanced over and looked at Isla who had come back, and whose face had turned a bright burgundy color at the sight of her boss. She spun around, apparently intending to escape through the bathroom door, only to run directly into the door and cursing loudly, holding her face. You however couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s a pull door, Isla.” You teased, earning a glare from your sister.

“Yes, thank you! I’ll be right back...again!”

You waved good-naturedly and looked at Percival with a smile.

“If you want to, you can come here as often as you want. It’s always open to you.” You said softly as he looked at you like a child who was guilty of taking a cookie out of the cookie jar.

“I’m not going to impose…”

“It’s not an imposition when I allow it, Percival.” You reply gently. “I care about you...so please, if you ever need to, just come over.”

He was silent before nodding.

“I’ll be on my way...and (Y/N)...”

“Yes?”

“Thank you...for last night.”

He didn’t even let you respond before he opened the door and walk out. No sooner had he left and started down the street did Isla come rushing out, looking at you with glittering eyes.

“Tell me EVERYTHING.”

And you sighed.

“You love her.”

Percival jumped a bit, whirling around and making a move to grab his wand, when he spotted Tina, who was looking at him smugly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You love her. The diner owner.”

“That’s making quite the leap, Goldstein.”

“A leap that’s true.” The eldest Goldstein sister declared. “I know so.”

“And you believe to know this how?”

“...Queenie had the same expression.” She finally admitted and Percival frowned, having remembered the report about the no-maj that the youngest Goldstein had become smitten with months before the whole Grindelwald debacle. Tina shook her head.

“Have you talked to her?”

“Not recently. I’ve been busy.”

“Looking at the same evidence that all of us are looking at.” Tina remarked, gentling a bit when he gave her a look,

“Look...you care for her. You of all people deserve something like that. You don’t need a taker...you need a giver. And (Y/N) is a giver. Don’t take your happiness away…you can be happy or not. The choice is yours.”

He was quiet as she left, staring at the door and swallowing as he thought about (Y/N)’s smile, the way she listened to him, even if she was busy, her laughter…

Just her...

He hadn’t been there for a few weeks and you sighed, pushing your hair back. He was probably busy...or you had been too forward. Groaning, you shoved your hair back again. Maybe you should cut it. Still...Percival had said that he had found your long hair charming as so many girls had their hair shorn short and-

You looked up in confusion as the bell chimed. Strange, this wasn’t a usual time for customers. Especially on a Thursday.

“In a minute!” You called out, wiping your hands on your apron and coming out.

“Sorry...we’re short on staff, so I-���

“(Y/N).”

You looked up in surprise, your cheeks beginning to burn when you saw that Percival Graves standing there. You swallowed roughly.

“So...did you come here for a cup of coffee?”

“No...not particularly.” He replied walking up to you.

“Oh! Then something to eat?” You asked, your face slowly turning red as he closer to you, because this couldn’t be happening...this couldn’t really be happening.

“No, not that either.”

“Well I don’t really have anything else here, you know.” You admitted weakly, breathing sharply as he placed his hands on either side of you, looking at you with a look that made you shudder softly.

“If you don’t want this...tell me right now and I-”

You went on your tiptoes, delicately almost shyly pressing a kiss to his mouth, before lowering back down. No sooner did you look away did his hands cup your face, strong fingers holding your jawline and drawing you back to him and kissing you, and oh my that was even better than your kiss. Your fingers knit into his vest and you lean into him as he drags his fingers through your hair. Finally you pulled away, panting slightly as he rested his forehead to yours.

“Actually...coffee sounds great.” He finally muttered and you can’t help but laugh.

“An order of coffee and french toast?” You ask softly, and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

“You know what I love.”

“That I do...that I do.”