#anyway i tried to play this game because he reminded me of said warden. but i got kind of attached to the landlord character

[wfuckshit42]

here's my hot take

[heniareth]

I was really curious about what your opinions on the DAO companions are :) I know we have talked about some, but I'd love to hear more and about the others as well :D I hope it's ok to pose this as an ask :)

Sure! That sounds like a ton of fun. This might be a long one tho. Mind you, this is not the finished version of the answer. I'd like to link stuff and add a cut, but rn that's not possible. I'll update it when I can.

Edit: I have updated it ^^

Let's go alphabetically bc why not.

Alistair:

Sweet guy. So sweet. There was a moment when I was hard pressed chosing between him and Zevran (alas, Zevran won). Also, he's weirdly tall according to the wiki? How did I not notice that before?

Let's get a bit more serious now, Alistair is a great guy. The only reason he's not the hero of the story is because he doesn't want to. He has all the qualities of a leader: he's good at dealing with conflict (as evident with the conversation with the mage at the beginning. He gets where he wants to get without antagonizing the mage, but without allowing him to trample all over him). He's a solid tactitian and knows how to make allies (he suggests to use the Grey Warden treaties, after all). I bet if he was in the leadership position, he'd even not bicker with Morrigan. His moral code is pretty tight; some might say too tight, but I think it's less about the moral code and more about learning to judge people by their actions, not by the labels they fit into (Morrigan is a proud apostate and therefore bad. Wynne is a humble circle mage and therefore good). He also has a bit of a black-and-white way of seeing the world. I empathize a lot with Alistair, especially with his experience with the Chantry and his subsequent reluctance to deal with it. I really wish I had gotten to know more about concrete experiences he had during his training as templar, but he seems reluctant to talk about it (gee, I wonder why).

Since I've only played the game once, I haven't really picked up on Arl Eamon's abuse towards him, which apparently exists (Isolde, however... I mean, even if he were Eamon's illegitimate son, he's a kid, ma'am, he didn't exactly get to chose his parents. So that's so not okay). Alistair's way of speaking about them both, however, is either sign that he has not come within a hundred miles of acknowledging how much it hurt him, or that he's already gone through the whole process and has decided to forgive them. The latter shows a very strong character; yes, he relies on the approval and leadership of others, he has his issues, but he's already started working on them.

That being said, irl Alistair would be like a little brother to me. I'd tease him relentlessly (all in good fun and I promise to stop if it makes him uncomfortable, but he's just so teasable). I still wish the videogame gave him the chance to take important decisions for himself. But that, of course, would somewhat defeat the point of the game.

Leliana:

Another sweet, sweet person. Her singing voice is amazing. Her belief in the Maker inspires me (I'm a religious person and seeing religious characters represented in a positive light is Very Cool. It's also sometimes a source of discomfort, because the Church has done a lot of very messed up stuff and positive representation can sometimes veer into apologetics for things that should not be excused, but that's a whole other can of worms. The bottom line is that religious characters sometimes work for me and other times don't and Leliana works for me very much bc she's an outsider inside the Chantry).

Leliana is best friend material, tbh. I'd love to get to know her irl, discuss theology and philosophy and maybe even politics? She makes mistakes and has prejudices, but, tbh, so do I. And I do get the feeling that she tries her best to learn. From the times she intervenes in a conversation between the Warden and an NPC, she shows herself to be compassionate and open to the needs of others. What I get from her character is that she genuinely wants to help, which is something that I adore of her. I suspect that she sometimes has a hard time deciding wether she's a good person or not. She has killed and seduced and worked for a morally dubious person, and she doesn't show the same nonchalance about it as Zevran (though they both do discuss their line of work in very... professional terms). This is, however, more of a headcanon than actual factual canon.

I also very much enjoy her girly side, like her interest in shoes and dresses. She's one badass woman who also looses her cool about the latest fashions in Val Royeaux. I like that. Between her and Alistair, a non human noble Warden has as good a help to navigate the Fereldan court as they're going to get. Leliana is also, I can't forget that, clever and insightful. It'd be easy to write her off as the innocent chantry girl, but she's so much more than that. Her kindness is paired with foresight, I think. She knows that taking on the trouble to help now can go a long way in the future. I just have a lot of respect for her.

Loghain:

This one's gonna be short bc I didn't recruit him. He's an amazing villain and would probably be a great Warden as well. He reminds me of Denerhor from LOTR; once a hero/stewart of his people, ambition and desperation have driven them both down a terrible path. I have also only little idea about his past. People say he lost a lot, and I believe it wholeheartedly; it doesn't excuse the fact that he plunged the country into a civil war in the middle of a Blight. I don't have a lot of sympathy for short-sighted politicians. I wish he hadn't made himself regent. That's what I take away from his character.

Edit: One thing I forgot to mention that really impressed me was his death. I had Alistair duel him (that was a rough duel), and then it kinda just jumped to a cutscene of my Warden nodding and Alistair executing him. That didn't sit well with me. I didn't want to kill Loghain, and less so in front of Anora. But what impressed me was that Loghain just accepted it. That takes a whole lot of guts. Compare that to Howe's death, and how he screams out that he deserved (more, probably, or anything but death) and it's crystal clear who the more noble of the two is. Loghain strikes me as very lawful neutral, and any neutral alignment has the particularity that it can be dragged towards good or bad, sometimes without the characters noticing it (which is interesting from a DnD perspective; neutral is often concieved of as just as stable as good or evil, but that may not be true. But that's a different post). Anyway, Loghain's death was impactful.

Morrigan:

I could kick myself for not maxing out her approval in the first play-through. I got to enjoy a bit of her friendship by the end of it and boy was even that little bit worth it. Friendship with Morrigan is something that is hard-won. It's all the more precious because of that.

Morrigan is full of paradoxes, I think. She's incredibly wise in some ways, yet also very short-sighted (”just kill them, don't solve their problems”. Morrigan, dear, I'm not going to gain a lot of allies if I kill everybody who poses a problem to me). She is so intelligent, but emotionally... not so. She knows so much about some things, and very little about the next. She's incredibly wilful and knows what she wants, but follows Flemeth's orders all the time through. She hungers for power and independence, yet craves closeness, but won't allow herself to have it. She asks you to prove yourself to her and is extremely critical of your actions, I think, because she's afraid. She bites the hand that feeds her because it might hit her next.

Like with Eamon, I haven't managed to catch the undercurrent of abuse that seems to permeate Flemeth's relationship with Morrigan. Except there are signs, because there must be something Morrigan is scared of and who has instilled all that rage in her, and that's Flemeth. Also, she clearly hates/does not care about her and wants her dead (unless killing Flemeth was part of Flemeth's plan as well? Hm.)

Morrigan is that one person who you are nice to, continuously, because nobody else is. And suddenly she becomes less cold. And then friendly. And suddenly you're asking yourself why everybody hates her, because she's a really good friend! I just wish the other companions came to a similar conclusion, especially Alistair and Wynne.

Oghren:

They did this man dirty. He has such great lines and I'm convinced he was a great person before Branka disappeared. He has that dwarven warrior spirit, and while he looks like Gimli, some of his most impactful lines remind me of Dwalin or even Thorin Oakenshield himself. He could be so noble had he gotten some character development, damnit!

Oghren as he is written is somewhat disgusting. I hate the lechering comments and the drunkenness. And still, I don't hate him because of those amazing lines he has when he's actually sober. It's frustrating and I'll give him that character development myself if the game won't. I strongly associate the song Whiskey Lullaby with him, bc that's how he would have ended up if the Warden hadn't taken him along (warning: the song talks about suicide and alcoholism). Like I said, they could have done such cool things with his character. As he is written now... it's just sad. Moments of lucidity drowned in alcohol and creepy jokes. As you can see, I don't blame the character for either. The alcoholism happens all too often irl. The creepy jokes... I put that one on the writers' tab.

I actually think Oghren could have been a great mentor figure (I know, I shock myself as well sometimes). Next to the Grey Wardens, the ones who know most about fighting darkspawn are the dwarves because they have to deal with them constantly. Especially a warrior caste dwarf like Oghren could have brought a lot of that invaluable knowledge to the team, especially since there are no Grey Wardens in Ferelden but two extremely green recruits. Next, you get the chance to give Oghren the command of the teammates you leave behind in the battle of Denerim with the reason that he has lead men into battle before. Where did that suddenly come from? Oghren should have been right up there telling my Warden that they were doing this wrong, that they needed more food (and booze) and a confident leader to keep the armies they've called together going. Oghren should have been able to tell my civilian city elf who got recruited into the Grey Wardens a six months ago how one leads an army. How one presents oneself to inspire confidence, how one doesn't crack under the pressure, how one gets the leaders of said armies (some who hate each others guts i.e. Dalish elves and humans) to work together. And, last but not least, Oghren could have had a great story about grief. This is a man who has lost most of what made him (and what he hasn't lost he's spilling down the drain with every mug of ale). This is a man who, if you take him into the Deep Roads, has to see what his wife did to his family, how his wife got absolutely obsessed, and can be forced to kill said wife or watch her die. All Wardens loose their home and families at the start of the story. It would really have rounded the whole narrative out if the Warden and Oghren could have recognised their grief in each other and hashed it out somehow. Such as it is, Oghren is a depressed drunkard and there is nothing we can do about that. I find that frustrating.

Rascal (a.k.a. Dog):

Best boy. 100/10. I wish we had gotten to see the reaction of the different origins to the mabari (because elves probably have a whole different experience with them from mages or humans. And dwarves just... I think they straight up have none? XD). Other than that, no complaints. The name Rascal was the one I gave my dog because you have to be a right rascal to survive what he did and play the pranks he plays. Smartest breed in the world indeed.

Shale:

Shale is one of those characters that I recruited rather late in the game, so I haven't had the chance to explore their personality and worldview, really. I didn't even get to take them to the Deep Roads (this will be ammended in playthrough nr. 2). As such, I don't have particularly strong opinions on them (or her? The wiki refers to Shale as 'it', but that sounds weird). But, because I know so little about Shale, I have a lot of questions. First, what were they like before they were a golem? Shayle, as she was called then, was the best warrior of her time if I remember correctly. Why did she become a golem? Was it to be able to eternally protect her people? Was the sarcasm the golem Shale exhibits also part of the dwarven warrior Shayle or did that come later (if for thirty years you have nobody to talk to but yourself, you better be entertaining. And I can imagine how it could make somebody terribly jaded as well).

Next, how attached is Shale to their golem form, exactly? According to the banter, they infinitely prefer it to a squishy fleshy form. If that is the case, however, why go to Tevinter to try and become a squishy dwarf again? It's not like that process could be reversed if they wanted to become a golem again; if Shale survives to the end of the game, the Anvil of the Void is destroyed and Caridin is dead. Was the whole spiel about their indestructible form a façade? It might have been, but not because Shale actually disliked their form. I think it would have more to do with the loss of their memories and with the very invasive experiments and alterations of Shale's body made by the mage Wilhelm. The loss of memories means that Shale is unable to remember life as a fleshy creature. They might be deflecting by pretending that they didn't care for that experience anyway because of the superiority of their golem form. The modifications made to their form by Wilhelm would have alienated them from their body. In light of this, it's significant that Shale asks the Warden to decorate their form with crystals.

All of this is, of course, pure speculation. I may have easily missed or forgotten details that would disprove the above thoughts. All in all, I like Shale and I hope we meet them again in DA4 (given that it's mostly set in Tevinter). It's a liking from a respectful distance, because Shale is tall and made out of rock and also way more experienced than I will ever be (they are literally the oldest member of the Warden's little Blight fighting squad).

Sten:

Sten is another person I'd keep a respectful distance from physically. That seems to be the what he would prefer, at least. I've enjoyed his character a lot, especially because he seems pretty clear-cut at first, but slowly lets the nuance of his person show (gruff and stoic, but then he has an eye for art, a sweet tooth and he likes cute animals). It's also very interesting that there's no moment when you learn "the truth" about him the way you do with Zevran or Leliana. There's no big reveal about his life under the Qun before coming to Ferelden. He says he was sent to monitor the Blight, but honestly? If neither Ferelden nor Orlais knew there was a Blight, how could the Qunari know? I think he's lying, and he takes his secrets back with him when he leaves Ferelden. And yet I think I know him enough to say that a Warden who has become friends with him has nothing to fear from Sten.

One thing I find very interesting about Sten is how he thinks. His conversation about how women can't be soldiers has been analysed a lot on this page I think. He seems to be arguing based on a different paradigma than the one the Warden has. He also seems to have a very clear-cut view of the world. What is fascinating to me is that, when arguing with the Warden and learning about their culture, he is not necessarily becoming more lax about his worldview. I think it's more likely that he is expanding his paradigma, the structure of thought through which he understands the world. I don't think that he is now convinced that women can be warriors as well. I think he rather understands that, in Ferelden, the relationship between occupation and gender is different than under the Qun. Which of the two he thinks is more right or more agreeable, I have no idea. I'm also not very interested in that. But I find it fascinating how he always seems to be looking on quietly, gathering data, classifying it and trying to fit it into his understanding of how the world works. I wouldn't be surprised at all if his original party was a scouting party to see how vulnerable Ferelden was at that moment to outside forces. One thing I don't understand with all of this is why he urges the Warden to meet the Blight head on. No smart soldier would suggest that, except if they are foolishly proud (and Sten doesn't seem like that kind of guy tbh). I get that the Warden takes way longer to gather allies than expected because they first have to solve all of their allies' problems. But surely Sten sees the need to have allies? Is he just that impatient? Does he have a death wish (à la, I lost my sword and am without honour, better to die sooner than later and in glorious battle)? Was he his group's previous commander and is he now having trouble following somebody else's orders? Or maybe it's his way to make sure the Warden knows what they are doing? To push them into becoming the self-assured commander their allies will need once they're all gathered? I really don't know. I like the last option best, however.

For me, Sten is my fellow, more experienced soldier. Like Alistair, he can potentially be the Warden's brother in arms, but he's definitely the older brother here. He probably doesn't take kindly to tearful confessions of how hard everything is, but I feel like he's otherwise a solid rock to lean on. I feel like the Warden can trust him to do what is necessary and count on him no matter what, especially after they get his sword back. His devotion from that point on is honestly so powerful.

Wynne:

Wynne was such a support for my Warden (except with the whole conversation about love vs. duty and that she may have to choose between Zevran and ending the Blight and that she should therefore break up with him. Wynne had a point. Astala was so not willing to sacrifice her relationship with Zevran. But the whole conversation came at a point where she was already so disillusioned that she blew up in Wynne's face (”can i please just have one (1) nice thing????”)). But all in all, Wynne is great.

She has a lot of flaws. She was very marked by her life in the Cricle and, for all her age, she has little experience living outside of it. She is also a conformist despite her strong moral core. In a way, her ability to find peace with her lot in life impresses me deeply because it speaks to a lot of strength of character. Sadly, however, strength can be ill applied and used to suppress. I think she has convinced herself that the Chantry is right under (almost) all circumstances to be able to rationalize the life that mages live. She's had her son taken away from her as a baby and an apprentice killed. Her reaction seems to have been to convince herself that this was right, or for the greater good (and now I'm thinking about the Guardian's question at the temple of Andraste's Ashes; are you wise or do you just repeat what others have told you? The answer is not as clear-cut as it might be). This is why she is so irritated by Zevran and Morrigan. By aligning herself with the Chantry, she is, in her eyes, good. Zevran and Morrigan are not; they do not conform to Chantry morality and they defend themselves tooth and nails against somebody who would try and convert them. This is something Wynne never allowed herself to do; she always did the "right" thing and it has cost her so much. I'm not saying she was right (it would probably have done her some good to rebel from time to time, and to trust her own gut instinct more), but in light of this, it hardly surprises me that she's so judgamental. She has to be, or she would be forced to confront all the evil she has not fought against all those years and all the hurt that has been caused to her by the very institution she protects (and thank God she only tries to argue and can appreciate it when people have found a good life outside of her comfort zone. If she tried to convince by force or, for example, drag her former apprentice back to the Circle... boy oh boy that would get ugly). If you think about it, Wynne really is a good example for what happens if you live by a philosophy of always choosing the lesser evil.

Something that I keep forgetting over her grandmotherly and dignified character is how damn powerful she is. She has escaped the carnage at Ostagar; HOW!? She protected those mage apprentices in the Circle tower for God knows how long. In the battle of Denerim, she wades through an army and comes out alive on the other side. The wiki lists her age at 40, I think, but that doesn't make a lick of sense unless 75 years of age are the Fereldan equivalent to 100. This lady, about whom people make grandmother jokes, did all that. It's impressive.

Zevran:

You know, I would really love to know what Wynne thinks about the events at Kirkwall in DA2. It might be a disaster for her, or it might pave the way for one last bit of character development. She certainly didn't want to return to the Circle after fighting the Blight. That may be an indicator of some change in her stance on the Circle of Magi.

Edit: I forgot that she is what the Circle considers a literal abomination! Holy cow, how could I forget that?? Anyway, her conversation about what being an abomination means is so... heartbreaking, actually. It's so tentative. So careful. "Am I an abomination? Am I the same thing that has killed my students? The same thing as Uldred? Am I lost and damned? Did I invite this spirit in? Is this my fault?" Like wow, Wynne is going through something huge right there. I love it. I have to continue playing the game to see what it ends up as, but it's fascinating and such a huge thing that she allows the Warden in on that.

Ah, Zevran, my beloved (he has stolen my heart so much it's not even funny anymore). He's funny, he's charming, he's so so loyal and it breaks my heart. Zevran is the one about whom I've read most meta: these three wonderful posts for instance, as well as this one about his possible lack of scars, and this one about his lack of freedom. All of these have influenced my opinion of him and they are great reads.

I have talked about Zevran with you before, so I'll just skip to the new stuff. I have come to conclusion that Zevran is an artist at heart. This is totally not biased by the fact that I also do art, but hear me out. One of his preferred gifts are bars of silver and gold. While those have the obvious utility of basically functioning as money (they can be sold to any silversmith or goldsmith and their value is pretty stable through time and in different countries), there's also this from his codex: "Zevran shows an affinity for the finer things in life—hardly surprising for an Antivan Crow—but his appreciation can be more poetic than he lets on. A simple bar of refined silver or gold, uncomplicated by a craftsman's hammer, is elegantly valuable." Tell me that is not an artist's eye that sees that gold and sees the beauty in it. Then, there's also the meta about Zevran the Seducer which I linked above and link here again. It talks specifically about how he lets himself enjoy the target and be seen in his enjoyment. Tell me that is not an artist's eye that beholds the beauty of something he is set out to destroy. Even his talk about his assassinations show this. He talks about it as an art, the way somebody would talk about the brutal intervention in stone that produces a sculpture. Yes, it's a rationalization of the act of killing and yes killing is still wrong. But he doesn't go on about it on a moral tangent the way Alistair or Wynne would (”this person was bad, killing them was necessary”) or even through the argument of survival like Morrigan would (”it was either them or me and it sure as Hell wasn't going to be me”). He talks about the pleasure of a job well done, of the satisfaction of striking the precise point and executing a plan to the perfection so as to minimize chances of discovery and to make a clean death possible. And pleasure in seeing and in doing, this I firmly believe, is absolutely fundamental for an artist.

My favourite part about my Warden and Zevran as a pairing is that Zevran precisely brings out that ability to take your pleasures as they come and to really savour them. Fighting the Blight is tough; it's so important to find good things amidst the chaos to stay sane. If Astala saves Zevran from himself by offering him a place to stay and a purpose, Zevran saves Astala from herself by keeping her from running herself into the ground trying to save the world.

There are some things I don't like about Zev. The incessant flirting, for example, sometimes makes me uncomfortable (it becomes enjoyable for me once the Warden and him are in a relationship, but before that? Nah, no thanks). I wish he would also leave the other female characters alone (and there's so many more shameless comments of his aimed at Morrigan, Leliana or Wynne than at Alistair or maybe even Sten).

---

And that's my take on the Origins companions (this was rather long. Whew ^^' I hope it was still readable and that you enjoyed it!!) Thank you so much for the ask!! It's been a joy thinking about this. I was worrying at first that the less prominent companions like Sten or Shale wouldn't get as much content but... well XD

[kantrips]

Alistair & Celia Headcanon Collection

Some Amell x Alistair (largely fluff) headcanons! Includes some from Origins, Warden time at Amaranthine and the Inquisition-era. Some of these I have had since my first playthrough, but others I may have read elsewhere, loved and thusly absorbed so please let me know if I can link anyone!

Origins

The first time they meet at Ostagar, Celia thinks Alistair is the most fascinating person she has ever encountered because no one in the Circle had a particularly boisterous sense of humour. Alistair is oblivious to her heart eyes, and also holds back because he’s worried she won’t survive the Joining.

Even after the Joining, Alistair tries very hard not to ~feel feelings~ despite the clear signals Celia is hurling at him because he assumes she won’t like him once she gets to know him more/she will get bored of him/ she will leave like everyone else i.e. the boy is hecking damaged.

Celia laughs obnoxiously hard at all Alistair’s jokes because a) she finds them unexpected, and b) because, like a dork, she wants to prove she gets the punch line. Alistair is perplexed by her reactions at first, and cautiously wonders if she is mocking him. Once he realises she is genuinely amused, it bolsters his ego significantly. 

Celia has no concept of personal space and sits and walks very close to everyone. There wasn’t a lot of room at the Circle so she forgets she can spread out. Morrigan makes it clear she needs to back off (Celia doesn’t need telling twice) but Alistair is more relaxed and gets used to it quickly after the confusion of the first night when she blithely sets up her bedroll right next to his. Alistair assumes she is a bit scared of sleeping in the forest but really she is just accustomed to the need to cram as many apprentice bunks into a room as possible.

In a way, Alistair is also used to sharing small spaces (Chantry and Wardens) so it doesn’t bother him at all when Celia chooses to sit pressed against his side, walks so their arms bump together, or unconsciously brushes an eyelash from his cheek. He quickly grows to like her overfamiliarity (for some reason…).

Similarly, Alistair eats Celia’s leftover food if she can’t finish it or doesn’t like it, even before they’re a couple. She just offers one day and after that it becomes a given. The others side-eye them but they are happily oblivious.   

Celia gets in trouble from the rest of the party for getting distracted yelling encouragement and cheering Alistair during combat. In turn, Alistair gets in trouble for turning around mid-battle to thank her when she buffs or heals him. Morrigan advises that if they are both so determined to get killed, she is more than happy to assist with hastening the process.

Celia’s mabari, Trevor, is quickly accepting of Alistair and his proximity to Celia because he observes Alistair protecting Celia in battle and thusly deems him to be a ‘good dog’ and considers that they are equals in the pack.

Alistair and Celia vandalise each other’s wanted posters whenever they come across them. It gets competitive.

Celia doesn’t really want to be in charge of saving the world but has three things working in her favour: 1) she absolutely hates letting people down 2) has an intense need to finish what she starts 3) she is in possession of a bossy streak.

That said she spends the entire Blight screaming internally to an extent not even Alistair fully grasps.

They go to the Circle Tower first, because Celia thinks she will have the best chance of getting help from people she knows and is also ‘homesick’ in the sense that she is very glad to be free of the place, but stressed enough with everything going on to crave something familiar even if she resents it. The events there devastate her. Along with the loss of friends and mentors she has known since childhood, being trapped by herself in the fade particularly terrifies her as she has never truly been alone for so long before in her life. It reminds her of the Harowing which totally blindsided her. She is very teary, untalkative and introspective for some time afterwards, but both Trevor and Alistair have the correct instinct to stay close without trying to interact with her which she finds incredibly comforting.

Accustomed to making potions, Celia will not under any circumstances deviate from a recipe while cooking, whereas Alistair just chucks everything in to use up leftovers and see what happens. Alistair gets meals together super quickly whereas Celia takes forever. A little unfairly, Celia is perceived as the better cook because she produces very consistent meals, while Alistair’s experiments sometimes do work, and sometimes don’t, with people tending to focus on the disasters rather than the successes. Meanwhile Celia is rather: “should I add half a sprig of rosemary? No I mustn’t: it would be far too daring!” so everyone learns to tip their own seasonings into their bowl before even tasting her food.

When they’re travelling and walking for days on end, Alistair and Celia make up a lot of games in the vein of ‘I spy’ and ‘would you rather?’ They can occasionally persuade others to participate though no one enjoys them or gets quite as invested as Celia and Alistair (who are actual children).

A game stops abruptly one day when Celia guilelessly asks if Alistair would rather be Emperor of Orlais or King of Fereldan and he gets extremely defensive and answers, “Neither.” Having no context for this reaction (yet), Celia (a stickler for the rules) pushes him, insisting his answer isn’t allowed and that he’s cheating until Alistair gets grouchy, stomps off and refuses to play anything for days. 

Celia figures he must be overtired, but his unhappy reaction does come back to her later at the Landsmeet and contributes to her already firm resolve not to put him on the throne.

When bored, Alistair also periodically asks Celia to, “Do a trick!” with her magic and she usually obliges with something small and silly which Wynne always scolds them for (but they continue to do anyway).

Celia does not like Eamon one bit and makes it clear from their first meeting. Alistair actually gets a bit annoyed at her because she is polite to 99% of the other people they meet and he can’t understand what her problem is. Celia won’t say because she doesn’t want to drive Alistair away so she remains coldly civil towards Eamon and commences a long, looong process of nudging Alistair towards having the realisation himself that a) Eamon is manipulative, selfish and cruel and b) Alistair deserves better.

Celia wants to collect some of the books they find which is not practical given they are constantly travelling, but Alistair carries as many as he can in his pack and suffers in silence for it, ultimately finding it worth it for her enthusiastic gratitude.

Celia cuts Alistair’s hair and does a very respectable job after weeks of him complaining it’s flopping in his eyes (they used to cut each other’s hair in the Circle). Zevran pretends she did an awful job, gasping in horror at Alistair’s appearance, much to Celia’s ire. Alistair (internally weeping) tries to be brave until he can check his reflection in some plate mail and see it is fine.

Celia is very naïve about how the ‘real world’ works having been at the Circle since she was a child. This is especially evident in Denerim and Alistair has to explain how money works and grab her before she wanders down dicey looking alleyways.

Alistair nearly dissolves into a paroxysm of agony when he points out his favourite type of cheese at the Denerim Markets and (accustomed to the very limited range of bland foods provided at the Circle) Celia innocently asks, “There is more than one type of cheese?” Alistair makes it his mission to educate her. She doesn’t like most of what he feeds her but doesn’t say so to protect his feelings given he seems to take the matter so incredibly personally.

Leliana convinces Celia to sing one evening at the campfire. She’s breathy with a very limited range but manages okay, and Leliana plays and harmonises in support. Watching on with a goofy smile plastered over his face, Alistair comments to the surrounding companions about how talented she is and they’re like “…she’s really not mate.”

When they both wake up from a blightmare (or Celia has one and wakes Alistair with her flailing) they sneak about and eat anything they can find then sit up and have massive deep & meaningfuls (i.e. in the spirit of going for a long drive with a friend or being in the garden with someone outside a party and spilling your guts). Eventually they start blaming the depleted food stores on Leliana’s nug, Schmooples, much to Leliana’s displeasure.

Given Celia usually responds so well to his jokes, Alistair gets a bit peeved when Celia starts replying to some of his more severely self-deprecating humour with an unamused, “No you’re not,” or, “That’s not true.” He defensively argues it’s just a joke, but he does stop doing it so much as time goes on.

Celia is SO excited when Alistair gives her the rose. She never in her life thought she would be the recipient of a proper ~romantic gesture~…however she accidentally sits on the rose about five minutes after she gets it. Celia is devastated. There is a lot of panic and tears and she keeps one petal pressed in a book but has to unceremoniously ditch the rest in secret.

Celia doesn’t tell Alistair about this until years later and she’s terrified he’ll be hurt but he just laughs because he was so worried he was going to be the one to squash it and then she destroyed it basically the minute she got it. Alistair acknowledges it was an impractical gift given their situation. Celia gets mad and says it was a PERFECT gift and is annoyed at how funny he finds it given this has been a crushing, guilty secret hanging over her for years.

Following this, every time Alistair gives her any kind of gift, he can’t help but throw in a ‘Don’t sit on it!” and cracks himself up, especially when Celia gets grumpy about it and accuses him of spoiling the moment. It happens so often that when Alistair chooses a horse for her and plans to teach her to ride, Celia manages to cut him off with, “Yes, I know Alistair: I can sit on this one,” and steals his thunder.

Alistair periodically says Celia’s name just to check if she’ll answer, especially after a long period of quiet or to see if she’s awake à la screaming in the chantry because it’s so silent. When she responds he says, “Nothing” or “Never mind” but he finds it vaguely comforting just to hear her reply and it’s a habit he never loses, even when they have been together for years and he is much less isolated generally. Alistair doesn’t realise he’s doing it, and it never happens frequently enough for Celia to notice: she just assumes he has lost his train of thought.

They sometimes conspire to purposely fall to the back of the group while on the road so that they can hold hands. Everyone knows full well what they are doing, but Alistair and Celia think they are being incredibly ~sneaky~.

The first time they sleep together they laugh. A lot. Before, during and after.

Alistair snores loudly but only when he’s on his back. Celia is used to the noise of people sleeping around her at the Circle so it doesn’t bother her and she doesn’t want to disturb him because she knows he needs the rest.

When they are known to be sharing a tent however, their companions will slap on the walls of it and demand she kick him until he stops snoring. Celia will relent and gently prod and nudge Alistair until he rolls over with a bit of sleepy grumbling.

I think everyone has this headcanon to the point it is basically actual canon HOWEVER I am legally obligated to include it: Alistair is a professional body heat distributor and Celia drastically cuts down on the number of blankets she uses once they are sleeping together. If she stands in front of him on cold days, he understands the non-verbal signal and will automatically wrap her in his cloak.

Also might as well be canon: Alistair likes to be the little spoon. He doesn’t say, but Celia knows.

Decidedly not a fluff one (you can skip to Amaranthine to avoid) but the ritual with Morrigan fairly significantly messes Alistair up (both the act itself and his consideration of the repercussions i.e. Kieran). He’s jubilant and relieved at their victory over the Archdemon, but in the background struggles to process and there is some fallout once the victory celebrations lull and he has time to fully register what happened. Alistair grapples with a lot of guilt, disgust and confusion. He doesn’t know how to express it or where to direct his emotions so it mainly manifests as self-loathing. He wants to talk to Celia about it but can’t articulate his feelings which makes him feel worse.

Celia tries to comfort him, but he needs space on and off for a long while after and she gives him it. She feels a lot of guilt too, and never stops wondering how much it was actually his choice to do the ritual, worrying that she made him feel like he had to do it. Eventually they discuss it openly and honestly, which eases both of their minds somewhat, but it takes a long time to get to a point where they can talk on the subject. Meeting Kieran at Skyhold also helps Alistair down the line, though it’s obviously painful.

Amaranthine & Inquisition

Alistair keeps an eye out for people struggling, especially new recruits who are having trouble fitting in. He takes them under his wing and is very good at building people up and making sure everyone is included. He’ll just start enthusiastically greeting people like they are his best friend and squeezing himself onto the bench next to them at meals until everyone else follows suit.

For recruits that don’t respond well to his ‘mother hen’ type attention, Celia is good at assigning tasks that specifically highlight their strengths and builds their confidence/sense of purpose which also gains them the respect of their peers.

Alistair has been known to stand behind Celia while she is giving mundane orders/making speeches and pull faces or impersonate her, turning stony and impassive when she spins around accusingly because people are laughing.  

But if anyone else talks smack about her he gets very, “Sorry mate, just to clarify was that comment directed at my wife, your Commander, the hERO OF FERELDAN, VANQUISHER OF AN ARCHDEMON!? That’s lucky, I didn’t THINK IT LIKELY. Because that wouldn’t be WISE, would it now?” etc. with some loud, fake laughter and firm backslapping for the worst offenders.

The plan for them to part ways so that Celia can search for a cure goes very badly, especially because Celia (under a lot of stress and not coping™) eventually devolves into, “I’m in charge and I say so,” which is a big betrayal of their agreements both to stay together, and make decisions together on equal footing. She realises this and takes it back but Alistair is demoralised and gives in with a bit of petty, sarcastic reverence e.g. saluting and, “Whatever you say boss, don’t know why I dared to utter an opinion how foolish of me...” so they still part on slightly strained terms, even after later mutually apologising and trying to make the most of their time together before they go.

Both regret the argument during their separation and write horribly soppy letters to each other, but something still feels uncomfortably unresolved until they are together again. They pine. So much. It’s disgusting and cliched. There is considerable sighing and staring at the moon or deep into tankards, very much to the ire of those around them. Alistair can be particularly annoying: “This roll reminds me of my wife...she eats bread sometimes...”

After Celia sends the letter to the Inquisitor, she writes to Leliana directly along the lines of, “I know it was incredibly subtle but I wanted to check: did they get the message? That I will destroy them if Alistair gets hurt?” and Leliana replies in the vein of, “Hon, it wasn’t even remotely subtle ffs…”

When reunited, though ecstatic and nearly delirious with joy and relief, it takes a while to rebuild the trust they once had, especially for Alistair. There’s an unfamiliar awkwardness that flares up unexpectedly, but it doesn’t last and they’re both fully committed to each other and to staying together permanently this time.

Celia and Alistair have a conversation recapping everything that happened while they were apart in which Celia is all, “Poor Hawke. Honestly I’m shocked you didn’t do something obscenely idiotic like try and sacrifice yourself thank the Maker for that…” and Alistair is there, nervously sweating, looking for an exit, loosening his collar etc.

As they settle back into their old routines Alistair will occasionally blurt out things like, “I really like having breakfast with you,” and then berate himself internally for how trite that sounds but Celia replies on cue, “I love waking up next to you and the way you groan when you stretch your back out and the way you check your hair twice before you leave the room and the way you complain if I don’t eat my crusts and the way you still hold my hand when we’re walking...” and basically they’re just blissfully happy being comfortably domestic and even as they get older they are forever just teenagers in love.

The Wardens at Amaranthine acquire/receive a griffon egg and the hatchling imprints on Alistair and decides he is their mother. It can’t cope with separation, crying constantly if Alistair goes out of sight, and won’t let anyone else feed or handle it so Alistair carries them in a sling 24/7. He gets to give orders and run training sessions with the tiny griffon occasionally poking its head out just to glare at everyone.

Whenever the baby griffon squeaks, Alistair automatically replies, “Well said,” or “Excellent point, Ser Beaksly” with a totally straight face.

For the first few months, Celia gets nipped or scratched if she approaches Alistair unless he wraps the griffon up. It so badly wants to fight her. Celia is permitted to sleep in her own bed, as long as the griffon sleeps curled on Alistair’s chest and Celia doesn't try anything outrageous like touching her husband even fleetingly. It gets a little frustrating as the months drag on, but the image of Alistair with the sling over his armour, or with the griffon snuggling possessively around his neck staring daggers at everyone, is so entertaining that Celia can’t get truly annoyed about it. As the griffon gets older it does learn to tolerate other people and becomes more independent but remains very protective of Alistair and favours him above all others. Insert the ‘Ah yes. Me. My husband. And his thousand pound murder-bird-cat child’ meme here.

Modern AU Bonus Round

They share headphones while commuting.

They occasionally end up wearing sort of matching outfits, mostly unintentionally.

They consistently refer to their dog, Trevor, as their son to the point that people who aren’t familiar with them assume that they actually have a child.

[sinsbymanka]

This is a double whammy entry from me​ for @wickedwitchofthewilds​ Kinktober 2020 Prompts and @scharoux​‘s @cozy-autumn-prompts​. The prompts are “Quickie” for Kinktober and “Ripe for the Harvest” for Cozy Autumn Prompts. Thank you loves for running the event! 

I’m gifting this work to my dear friend @tuffypelly whose Athena Adaar stars!

I’m also submitting this for @dadrunkwriting this week! 

Title: As You Wish Pairing: Female Adaar/Blackwall, Female Inquisitor/Blackwall  Rating: E Content Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Semi-Public Sex, Sub Blackwall (Dragon Age), Blackwall (Dragon Age) Spoilers

Read on AO3

Thom never let her take care of him. 

Athena Adaar understood why, to an extent, he was like this. He’d spent so much of the past several years atoning for his sins trying to be the man he thought the world needed the most. A hero, a Warden. Of course it translated outside of the battlefield and bled into their personal life. 

She was his lady, and he wanted to serve. His pleasure was always secondary, always unimportant. He only wanted to bring her crashing to the edge again and again, clawing at his shoulders and chanting his name to the Maker. 

But this time… this time, she would take care of him. 

Athena tightened the last knot and stepped back to take a long, critical look at her handiwork. 

She could have snuck all the ropes up to her room, but the loft in the stable was far more convenient, and nobody would look for her here unless it was truly an emergency. And since Athena intended on taking her time… well, she wasn’t about to be rushed by some Orlesian having a meltdown about the price of grain or tolls on Inquisition roads. 

Plus. There was something charming about the image of Thom stretched out over a hay bale, his arms tied above his head to a post. The thick blanket would protect him and her from discomfort, but it didn’t disguise the sheer novelty of what they were doing. 

What was it the peasant children had called it? Athena had never been allowed close enough to play with them herself, she’d been a freak because of her horns and size long before her magic made itself known as well. But a part of her distantly remembered looking on with longing as human children jumped into a card, shouting…

A hay ride! A hay ride!

Well. She was about to have a much more satisfying hay ride. 

Thom stretched, testing the durability of her knots. His taut muscles strained and bulged before he gave up with a grunt.

“My lady.” He groaned, fingers gripping the ropes. “Is this truly necessary?” 

“Yes.” Athena decreed, tracing her fingers from his bound wrists down the tight muscles of his arms, giving one bicep a firm squeeze. “How else will I have my way with you?” 

“Any way you wish, clearly.” Thom responded drly. “Including trussed up in a loft.” 

Athena laughed softly, teasing her nails over his muscled shoulders, down the hard planed of his chest and into the thick hair. It was just as luxurious as Varric’s, even though Thom didn’t flaunt himself the same way their dwarven companion liked to. And honestly, that was all well and good, Athena was quite pleased to have this treasure to herself. 

She flicked her eyes from Thom’s chest down to the hard cock jutting proudly from a nest of neat curls the same dark color as the rest of his hair. “I think you’re enjoying yourself.” 

“At the mercy of a beautiful woman?” Thom chuckled low in his throat. “How could I not?” 

Athena smiled to herself, settling onto the bale beside Thom and leaning over him to capture his mouth in a soft, insistent kiss. She slipped her tongue past his willing lips, twisting it with his while she ran her hand over the soft beard he wore and up his jaw. 

She broke the kiss to brush the hair from his temple. Thom groaned and tried to follow, but couldn’t quite get the leverage he needed. Athena tutted, walking her fingers down his broad chest. “Patience, love.” 

“Let me taste you, my lady.” Thom pleaded. 

Athena just shook her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “That is not the game tonight, Thom. Tonight…” 

She trailed off, raking her nails over Thom’s abdomen, feeling his muscles tremble and flex beneath her touch. “Tonight, I’m going to taste every inch of you.” 

Before he could protest, she made good on her promise. Leaning across his prone body, she pressed feather light kisses over his shoulders, running both palms firmly over his chest. With the slightest pull of mana, she warmed her teasing fingers and used them to massage the muscles he put through their paces every day. 

She stopped at one jagged old scar, pressing a firmer kiss to it. “What is this one from? You’ve never said.” 

“Ah.” He coughed nervously. “I hardly remember.” 

Athena placed her hand over it, held his coal dark eyes with her own, and waited. She swore she saw color rising underneath the thick hair hiding most of his face. 

“I do seem to recall a rather friendly lass and her aggravated betrothed.” 

Athena’s laughter startled the birds nesting above, she heard them take flight in a flurry of beating wings. She dropped another kiss to the scar, shaking her head. “You scoundrel.” 

“Don’t tell Varric. He’ll want the whole blighted story.” 

“And then make up something much more exciting anyway.” 

Thom chuckled. “Sounds about right.” 

His laughter tapered off into a choked moan when Athena leaned over and flicked her tongue over that scar, letting her tongue trace his skin. She closed her eyes, beginning to work down his body with the patience and skill of a woman taught to control herself as a living weapon. And each press of her lips was another crack in his armor so that by the time she got to his thighs, she could hear his rasping breath above her. 

“Athena.” He croaked. “My lady, you do not have to-” 

She silenced him with the broad flat of her tongue slowly licking up his heavy length. It bobbed before her, a bead of clear fluid pooling at the tip. She flicked her tongue over it, collecting the salty liquid with a hum of delight. 

“I’ve wanted to taste you.” Athena confessed, her words ghosting over Thom’s cock and making him buck on instinct. “I’ve wanted to take care of you.” 

She looked from from beneath her lashes, settling her warm palms over the muscled thighs of her lover. She could see her wolfish grin reflected in his hungry eyes. “And now I get to do whatever I want with you, love.” 

She licked her lips slowly, wrapping her fingers around the velvet steel of his shaft. She squeezed lightly, watching Thom’s eyes close and his head fall back. He made such a picture, one that ignited a fire deep within the pit of her stomach. 

It was greedy, but she slid her hand to the root of his cock and opened her mouth, engulfing the tip in one movement. Thom’s broken moan echoed in the loft, his hips trembling with the effort to stay still while she sealed her lips over the sensitive head. She swirled her tongue slowly, listening to him gasp her name above her.

She swore the very sound made her slick with want. She closed her eyes, breathing through the sudden rush of desire in her blood. Achingly slowly, she slipped down an inch before licking her way back up, pulling away to press a filthy kiss to the head of his cock. 

“You’re going to kill me, my lady.” Thom breathed. 

“Never.” Athena promised. The very thought-

It reminded her of him in manacles. A cell door slamming closed. Cullen’s tortured eyes and Varric’s thick hand on her elbow. There was no room for those bad memories. Not now. Not here. 

She erased them the way she knew best, guiding his cock back into her warm mouth and listening to his shattered noises echoing in the loft. They made her skin prickle while she slowly lavished Thom with attention, tracing her tongue over the veins and ridges of his cock. He tasted of clean, masculine sweat. She could smell sawdust, hay, and something uniquely Thom that made her dizzy with want. 

That was before he began to spill praise from those sinful lips of him. 

“Athena, yes-” He groaned. “Yes. Like that. Maker’s balls your mouth. The things you do with it could make a priest sin.” 

Athena pressed her thighs together, trying to ease some of the unbearable pressure building between her legs. She made a little noise in her throat, beginning to bob up and down the proud length, covering him in her slick saliva. 

“And you’re a damn sight down there. I could watch you all day. Never seen anyone look so damn good with my cock in their mouth, never had anyone make me feel-” 

She sucked and Thom choked on his words, hissing and clutching at the ropes above his head. Athena smiled to herself, letting her free hand trace back up his thigh, scratching over his hip bones, before slipping down into the sensitive space just beneath his heavy balls. 

She pressed her thumb firmly into that sensitive skin and listened to Thom choke on a shout of pleasure that nearly made her burst into giggles around his cock. 

“I’m not going to last.” Thom moaned, fighting his restraints. “I won’t last and I want to please you, let me-” 

Athena pulled off Thom’s cock with an obscene plop at the same time her hand drifted lower. Her thumb teased the tight muscle of his ass while she smiled brilliantly down at Thom, at her mercy in the best of ways. 

“This pleases me.” Athena declared. “And I’ve brought stamina draughts. We have all evening, love.” 

Her thumb slipped past the muscle and he almost ripped the rope from the post, instinctively arching into her touch with wanton greed. Before his moans even died into echoes she descended onto his hard cock again, swallowing his length in one quick movement. 

He held himself tightly, always conscious of her comfort, but she could feel him trembling beneath her with all the fury of an earthquake or a storm. She crooked her fingers, searching for the perfect spot…

When she found it, he couldn’t help himself. He arched into her mouth in short, jerky thrusts and she sucked him eagerly. She hollowed her cheeks and flicked her tongue over his sensitive skin. 

With a roar and the creak of ropes strained to their breaking point, Thom succumbed to his orgasm. Thick jets spilled into her throat and she swallowed quickly, careful not to make a mess they’d need to clean up. When he finished, he collapsed with a broken moan of her name. 

Athena pulled her lips off and looked up at him, removing her finger gently and wiping it on the blankets, pulling off his softening cock. A thin string of fluid connected them for a moment before it broke cleanly.

Thom panted, limp and sated. Athena moved slowly, climbing gently over his form and reaching for the knots. A few quick flips of her fingers had them undone, unspinning and letting his arms fall. 

She caught them before they could, examining the red marks of the rope with a wrinkle of her nose. She ran her thumb over them in apology, calling mana to her fingers. 

“My lady… leave them.” Thom ordered gruffly. “It would… it would be an honor to bear the marks of your love.” 

How could the foolish man just… say things like that to make her melt? She ducked her head quickly to hide her blush, rubbing the marks soothingly before bringing his wrists to her lips and kissing softly over the thrum of his pulse. 

“As you wish, love.” 

“And as soon as I catch my breath, I’ll be repaying the favor.” 

Athena’s lips twitched and she leaned down, dropping his wrists to cradle his beloved face in her hands. 

“As you wish, love.” She repeated, brushing her lips against his in a soft kiss. “As you wish.”

[headfulloffantasies]

Birds Fly the Nest

Read on Ao3

Jim Gordon faces the unquenchable interest of the Gotham’s rogues into the romantic life of his daughter

1.

Jim Gordon heard that the Batmobile had soundproofing. That once a villain sat secured in the backseat, Batman drove in brooding silence. Gordon’s police cruiser was not the Batmobile.

Harley Quinn warbled into her hundredth verse of “One Million Bottles of Beer on the Wall” as the car sped towards Arkham at increasing speed. Montoya had a lead foot at the best of times. With a crazy clown singing off key in the back? She became a NASCAR racer. 

Gordon twisted in his seat. “Can you please stop?” He ground out at Quinn.

The clown grinned manically. “You’re no fun. I’m entertaining myself.”

Gordon rubbed his aching temples. “If I tell you a story, will you be entertained enough to shut up?”

“Yippee!” Harley bounced and clanked her handcuffs together. “Story time!”

Gordon cast his mind for anything at all to chatter about. “So, my daughter,” he starts. “Brought a new boy home last weekend.”

Montoya met his eye in the mirror. Gordon grimaced. 

He continued. “This kid is perfect. Like a glossy magazine, you know? Firm handshake, scholarship awards, good job, good family. But something about him felt odd. You know when you meet someone and you know they aren’t being genuine? And I think I’ve met him somewhere before. So I look him up. He’s a circus freak. Used to perform trapeze with his parents until they got murdered.”

Montoya raised an eyebrow. Harley gripped the caging between her and Gordon, utterly rapt.    

    Gordon swallowed and went on. “I like the kid, really. But what kind of guy can go through his parents’ murders and still be okay? Something has to be wrong with him, right? How can I let my girl keep seeing a guy like that?”

    Harley hummed. “D’you want my professional opinion?”

    Gordon faltered, forgetting that Harley had once been a renowned psychiatrist. 

    “I think,” Harley said. “That Papa Bear is too protective of his little girl. You gotta let a gal have her space. My daddy didn’t let me date. Not one boy ever looked at me my whole life living under daddy’s roof ‘cause they knew what daddy’d do to them if they tried.” Harley sighed. “I ran away from home, did you know that? I wasn’t there when mama died. And I missed daddy’s passing too. You gotta keep those ties if you don’t want to regret them.”

    Gordon suddenly viscerally remembered that Harley’s father had killed his wife and gotten the electric chair for it. He swallowed hard. “Right. Thank you, Doctor Quinzel.”

    “Oh sugar, call me Harley,” the clown laughed. She rattled the caging. “Are we there yet? Nine hundred thousand ninety- nine bottles of beer on the wall-,”

    Gordon groaned and buried his head in his hands.

2

    As the arresting officer, it fell to Gordon to interrogate Harvey Dent once he’d been cuffed to the table in police headquarters.

    Gordon set a cup of horrid cop coffee in front of Dent and took his seat across from the gangster.

“Harley says your daughter’s stepping out with some circus freak,” Two Face sneered. 

    Gordon slumped in his seat. What had possessed him to tell Harley Quinn, gossip extraordinaire, about Barbara and Richard? 

    “I remember your little girl,” Dent said. “You still keep her photo on your desk?”

    “Of course,” Gordon snapped. 

    “You ever lie to her, Jim?” Dent asked in a low growl. “She ever lie to you?”

    A shiver ran down Gordon’s spine. His mind flashed to purple bruises and shoddy excuses. “I don’t want to talk to you about Barbara, Harvey. Let’s talk about your attempted robbery.”

    Dent grunted. He leaned his elbows on the table. “You gotta be two-faced about men seeing your girl,” Dent advised. “Smile when she’s in the room and give him the what for when she’s not around.”

    “Thank you, Harvey,” Gordon said. “That’s very insightful.”

    “If you don’t, he’ll get the idea no one’s watching,” Two Face went on. “Think he can get up to something, if you catch my drift.”

    “Harvey,” Gordon forced his voice to remain even. “My daughter is a grown woman. I’m not sabotaging her relationships just because the guy is a freeloader.”

    “Freeloader?” Two Face laughed. The sound rasped between the halves of his ruined face. “You let your girl go out with a tramp?”

    “No,” Gordon corrected himself. “His family has money. He doesn’t work. He has a trust fund or something.”

    “That’s worse,” Two Face hissed. “Nepotism. Elitists!”

    Gordon abandoned Dent to his rant. He got up and walked out of the interview room. The door shut on Dent’s shouting.

3.

    Honestly, it was Gordon’s own fault. He leaned against the side of the police cruiser while he and Montoya waited for the arresting officer to bring Catwoman out of the museum. He complained to Montoya while they waited, not taking note of the approaching feline criminal with her escort.

    “This is the third time we’ve scheduled dinner with Richard, and he bailed every time. Last time, he got called into work. Tonight it was a family emergency. What did I say the first time was?”

    “Food poisoning,” Montoya responded automatically.

    “Sounds like a jerk,” Catwoman purred. 

    Gordon spun around. The arresting officer loaded the lady in her black catsuit into Gordon’s car. Gordon shot Montoya a panicked look. She returned a face that said “You started it.”

    Gordon got into the passenger’s seat hoping against hope that Catwoman wouldn’t feel up to chatting after her disastrous encounter with Nightwing.

    “Tell me more about Richard,” Catwoman suggested.

    Gordon groaned. “I regret every word I’ve ever spoken with Harley Quinn.”

    “So do I,” Catwoman grinned. “But tell me more anyways.”

    “I’m not discussing my daughter’s life with criminals,” Gordon said resolutely into the windshield.

    “You’ll tell Harley, but not me?” Catwoman pouted. “I’m hurt, kitten.” She leaned forward. “I’ll tell you this for free. Any man who can’t be bothered to meet his girlfriend’s parents is a cad. Break them off now.”

    “I said,” Gordon repeated. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

    Catwoman hissed. If she could, Gordon bet she’d dig her claws into his neck. Instead, they drove on in silence. 

4.

    Gordon placed a hand on a cuffed Edward Nygma and guided him into the back of the police cruiser. 

    Nygma flashed Gordon a grin over his shoulder. “Riddle me this, Commissioner. What has two sides and has everyone in Arkham talking?”

    “What the hell, Ed?” Gordon rubbed his eyes. “I don’t even want to guess.”

    “Spoilsport,” Nygma pouted. “I’ll tell you, but only because I am also curious about this scoop. Everyone wants to know about your sweet daughter’s trashy boyfriend.”

    It’s like playing that stupid telephone game, Gordon thought. Nothing he said came out right on the other end. “He’s not trashy, Ed. He’s bougie.” Gordon preened at his correct use of the hip word Barbara had taught him. 

    Ed scoffed. “A classist? You allow your daughter to date a class traitor?”

Gordon leaned his head against the car door. “I don’t want to get into it, Ed. I’ve had a long night.”

“So have I,” Ed shrugged. “Batman kicked my face in and I’m going back to prison. But your little story is much more interesting.”

5.

Transporting Poison Ivy gave Gordon the creeps. She was a literal walking biological weapon. The faster he could get her to Arkham, where they knew how to deal with her, the better. Gordon flipped the sirens on and stamped on the gas. They tore through Gotham, just Gordon and Ivy in the police cruiser.

“So,” Ivy purred from the back seat. “I hear there’s another ginger causing you trouble tonight, Jim.”

Gordon’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. “I’m not talking about it with you.”

“I would never let my daughter date someone I didn’t like.”

“You don’t have a daughter,” Gordon reminded her.

“But if I did-,”

“Heaven forbid it.”

“James, that’s unkind,” Ivy pouted. 

“Shove it where the sun don’t shine,” Gordon ground between his teeth. 

6.

    “Do you fear losing your daughter to another man?” The Scarecrow’s soft voice rose the hairs on the back of Gordon’s neck. Gordon gripped the steering wheel tighter. It was a long drive to Arkham. He’d rather nip this conversation in the bud.

    “No,” Gordon bit out.

    “Really?” Crane hummed. His handcuffs clinked together. “It would be normal for a man of your position and power to fear losing control of a loved one’s life. Especially one who has been dependent on you since her birth. You raised her. She’s your flesh. Yet she deigns to place her life in the hands of another man. Does that not scare you?”

    Gordon ground his teeth. He didn’t answer.

    “From what I hear,” Crane continued. “Your daughter’s new man has more money than you’d ever make. More prestige.” He paused. “And more trauma. Does it not scare you to think what kind of monster lies under his skin?”

    “He’s not a monster,” Gordon insisted. 

    Crane chuckled. “We’re all monsters, Commissioner.”

    Gordon swallowed hard.

    “I’m shocked you let her date him.”

Gordon slammed on the brakes. Traffic screeched around the police cruiser. Gordon spun in his seat. He stuck his finger in Crane’s face. “Listen up. I want you to deliver a message down your Arkham grapevine. Word for word, got it? My daughter is her own woman. She makes her own choices. I am not her keeper, her warden, or her owner. And if even one of you could get it through your fat skulls that people are not puppets to control, then I would weep for joy.”

+1

Gordon got the call just as he was leaving the office. Victor Zsasz was terrorising Nightwing and Batgirl downtown. Gordon grabbed his coat and raced for his car. 

He arrived just as the ambulance pulled up. Gordon’s stomach dropped. Zsasz had a terrifying body count under his belt. If anyone needed the ambulance… Gordon shuddered. He unclipped his gun, ready to storm the building. 

The door flung open. A hogtied Victor Zsasz tumbled down the stairs into the street. The other officers on the scene swarmed him, shouting and making the arrest. 

Gordon looked up. Batgirl stood proudly at the top of the steps, her hands on her hips and chest puffed out. She noticed Gordon standing there watching. She waved him over. 

Gordon trudged up the steps. A dark smear of blood stained Batgirl’s purple sleeve. 

“Commissioner,” Batgirl saluted Gordon. 

“Good work,” Gordon said.

Batgirl swallowed hard. “I need your help. Quietly.”

Gordon agreed without thinking. “What can I do?”

Batgirl grabbed his arm and pulled him with her back into the building. She led him through a series of business offices into a janitor’s closet. Even in the dark, Gordon noticed the drops of dark liquid on the floor. 

Batgirl pushed aside a rack of cleaning supplies. 

Nightwing slumped against the wall, his legs spread over the floor. He clutched a wound in his side bleeding all over his uniform. He didn’t look up when Batgirl knelt at his side. 

Gordon cursed. “Is he-?”

“He’ll be okay,” Batgirl promised.

Gordon wasn’t so sure. The blue bird emblem on Nightwing’s chest hardly rose at all with his breathing. An overwhelming amount of blood pooled underneath him across the linoleum floor.

Gordon reached for his radio to call the EMTs in. Batgirl snagged his wrist.

“He can’t go to a hospital,” she said. 

“But-,”

Batgirl interrupted. “If I can get him home, he’ll be fine. I need your help getting him to the Batmobile. Please.”

Gordon nodded. He passed a shaking hand over his brow. “Yeah, alright.”

Gordon crouched and lifted one of Nightwing’s arms over his shoulder. Batgirl kept her hands pressed against the bloody hole in his abdomen. Gordon couldn’t stop his mind from swapping the young man with Barbara. What if it was her bleeding out on the floor? Would he so callously help a vigilante sneak her out the back door to receive questionable medical assistance?

Together they half carried Nightwing out to the alley behind the building. The legendary Batmobile sat purring on the asphalt. The chrome gleamed under the streetlights. The canopy of the Batmobile slid open when Batgirl pressed her hand to it. 

Gordon grunted as he helped lift Nightwing into the passenger seat. The kid roused enough to meet Gordon’s eye through his mask. 

“Hey, Mister Gordon,” he said. 

“It’s Commissioner to you,” Gordon grouched good naturedly. 

Batgirl hopped into the driver's seat. 

Gordon reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m proud of you,” he said.

She quirked a smile. “Thanks Dad.”

He wished fervently he could hug her right now. But Gotham had eyes everywhere. He settled for another squeeze of her caped shoulder. “Just take care of your boy. Tell him this isn’t an excuse to miss Sunday dinner.”

Barbara’s laugh as she drove off was worth it. 

[fandomn00blr]

Jadzia Dax had a warp core breach near a multiphasic star and ended up on the open decks of Siren's Call.

This ask, tho...I have outlined five chapters of this randomness and of course, this is what has finally broken my writer’s block (through much grinding and gnashing of teeth). Here’s the first chapter (it’s way longer than it has any business being)...you’re welcome (and I’m sorry)!

The salty, fishy stench hits Jadzia first, shocking her olfactory system awake before she even realizes that she’s no longer in the engineering bay of the Defiant. Her eyes open begrudgingly, almost fearful of locating the source of such an offensive odor -- worse than anything she ever had to endure in all of Curzon’s dealings with the Klingons, even worse than congealed room temperature Cardassian tojal with yamok sauce -- but all she sees is darkness.

She taps her combadge.

She hears nothing but the ringing in her own ears.

Her eyes finally start to adjust, playing an infuriatingly slow game of catch-up with the unwelcome acuteness in her sense of smell. She can just barely make out trace amounts of light swimming blurrily above her, but it’s not enough to make any kind of sense of her surroundings.

She tries to sit up, but everything is wobbly, she realizes, and there’s a sharp shooting pain behind her eyes whenever she tries to move or look or do much of anything, really. She manages to reach a hand up to her temple, tracing a trail of dried blood to a cut there. It stings when she touches it, but it’s mostly superficial and mostly done bleeding, nothing a dermal regenerator can’t handle, anyway. She moves her fingers gingerly toward the back of her head. “BaQa'!” she hisses as she touches the large tender lump she finds there...this one might be a bit trickier to deal with. But it’s not the first time she’s been concussed. And it probably won’t be the last.

She takes a deep breath through her nose and tries to focus through the pain, the sharpness of it renewed with every fresh whiff, every sound, every attempt to look or move or think.

In seven lifetimes, she’s endured far worse. In this lifetime, alone. Figure it out, Old Man!

Why she suddenly hears Sisko berating her at a time like this is something she can ponder later. But for now...she takes another deep breath, focusing on her surroundings this time instead of her own internal disorientation.

There are large wooden barrels all around her. They certainly don’t look airtight, and she fears that at least some of the odor is coming from them. Like it could be on purpose. Some kind of ancient fermentation process preserved for the sake of tradition or ritual, maybe. That might explain why everything here seems to be made out of wood. Perhaps this room has a ceremonial purpose? It doesn’t explain how she got here, or even where ‘here’ is, but it’s a theory at least. And she’s a scientist. Right?

She shrugs, gathering her resolve to stand up and investigate, even though her balance is still something to be desired. It doesn’t help that this smelly, dark, wooden room she’s in seems to be...swaying? It’s an odd sensation, probably just another symptom of her head injury.

But she has felt it before, hasn’t she? At least part of her has. Prior to being joined, Torias had taken up sailing as a hobby, much to Nilani’s chagrin. He managed to go sailing exactly once as Dax, and his voyage had been cut short, because Tobin had gotten seasick…Tobin, who’s fretting now. Tobin, who needs to be quiet.

The full memory comes flooding back now suddenly, viscerally...violently. She’s barely just managed to stand before she’s doubled-over, retching, and the contents of her stomach hits the wooden floor below her with a sickening splash. She can feel the liquid sliding and pooling around her boots with the gentle, nauseating rocking motion of the ship, but Curzon had an iron stomach, and Jadzia has no reason to believe she gets motion-sickness, so she banishes Tobin to the back of her consciousness, and she hopes her theory about this room having some ritual significance proves wrong, because she, Jadzia, has never been very good at apologies.

She taps her combadge again, remembering as she does it that it’s not working.

Still nothing. Not even an error signal telling her she’s out of range.

“Virtually indestructible, and they won’t run out of power for at least a century under normal use…” she mutters to herself, reciting what the Engineering folks had promised when they switched from rechargeable units to the current power cells. She knew she was overdue for an upgrade, but it hasn’t been that long since Curzon had gotten this new one, has it? She’ll have to have Miles take a look at it when she gets back.

Back. Back to where? Back from where? She tries to avoid the leaky barrels in the dark as she carefully maneuvers her way around the long, narrow room, balance and coordination slowly returning with every toe stub and banged knee. There’s more light streaming down on the other side, but trying to focus on it only seems to make things worse, so she can only hope it’s a doorway or a stairwell or something she can work with.

“Who’s down there making all that noise?”

She hears a voice above her and footsteps. Two sets, assuming they belong to bipedal humanoids. She freezes, but hears them stomp past overhead, heading in the same direction she is.

“I didn’t hear anything.” A second voice...lower, but with a tremulous quality betraying its owner’s attempt at disinterest.

“Bet one of those refugees is sampling some of the haul…or trying to take some to sell themselves. Not a bad idea, actually...”

“Captain says it isn’t even ready yet. Still needs a few more months in the sun to really ripen…”

Jadzia feels her stomach lurch again, but at least it's completely empty now, and she manages to breathe through Tobin’s overly-sensitive gag reflex this time.

“Rats, then?”

“Feel free to go investigate yourself. Bilge rats give me the creeps!”

“You’re a fucking Raider now! Grow a pair, will ya?”

“Have you seen the size of their bollocks?”

The owner of the first voice is laughing now. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! Heard a Warden once say they spread the Blight!”

“No real Warden ever said that…”

“Yeah! I heard it from one of ‘em at Ostagar!”

“Now who’s talking bollocks?”

Jadzia has to work hard to stifle her own chuckle at this. She isn’t sure what the Blight is, or Wardens, or Ostagar, but she recognizes and appreciates the spirit of the exchange. It almost reminds her of Odo and Quark bickering back on Deep Space Nine.

“Are you going to check down below or what? You’re the one hearing things. I’ll cover your ass, but you gotta go first. And if it’s rats...”

“Yeah, fine. I’ll be sure to neuter ‘em all just for you, baby brother.”

Ok, so maybe not quite like Odo and Quark. She hears them both descending the stairs, and she has half a mind to try and hide behind one of the barrels, but she’s not sure she can keep Tobin’s sea-sickness under control in such close proximity to the contents of the barrels. So she decides to take her chances making contact, walking a few more steps toward the light of the stairwell so as not to take anyone by surprise.

A human, a female, she presumes, in primitive leather armor, comes into view first at the bottom of the stairs, about ten feet away from her, peering into the darkness.

“...and who are you supposed to be?”

She crosses her arms in front of her and cocks one hip to the side, just enough so that Jadzia can see she has two daggers slung behind her back, but she doesn’t look particularly eager to use them.

“Is it rats?”

“No, you dumb idiot…” she hisses back over her shoulder without taking her eyes off of Jadzia. “It’s one of those weird tattooed elves, I think?”

“Are you sure it’s not a rat?”

The owner of the second set of footsteps, a male human, she thinks, finally peeks out from behind her, his large frame dwarfing the person in front of him.

“Or maybe you’re Qunari? I don’t see any horns, but that big guy in Lothering didn’t have any, either, and you’re awfully tall for an elf, aren’t you?”

Jadzia isn’t sure what to make of the two people leering at her, either, but they don’t seem to pose an immediate threat. The one with the daggers looks more intrigued than alarmed, and the other one isn’t even carrying a weapon. “I am a Federation Science Officer, currently serving aboard the USS Defiant.”

“An Officer, eh?” The first one smirks.

“What’s an Officer doing all the way down here?” the second one asks. “You should be at least three decks up.”

“Funny-sounding name for a ship, too…not part of the Armada, I take it?”

Jadzia purses her lips impatiently. Her head is still throbbing. “There appears to have been some kind of...accident.” This is putting it mildly, she thinks. “Can you tell me which star system we’re in?”

“Star system? I don’t believe in that 'Vint mumbo jumbo. Mum said I was born under a rising Draconis but I sure as shit can’t turn into a dragon…”

The first one eyes him with annoyance before turning back to Jadzia. “You mean to ask the date?”

"Sure…and the year, too, if you don't mind."

"By Chantry reckoning, it's 9:30...and it's the fifth of Solace."

“I don’t suppose you could convert that for me? Into something more...universal?”

“Oh shit! You are a ‘Vint!”

“No!” She puts her hands up defensively, assuming ‘Vint is probably not a good thing to be, based on his tone. “No...I just...my people...the, er, what did you call us? With the, uh, horns?”

“Qunari? Are you a spy?!” He turns back to the other one. “I told you they have spies everywhere!”

She looks unimpressed by this, but Jadzia notices as she shifts her weight to the other hip.

“No, not Qunari! The other thing…”

“Elf?”

“Yes! That! That is what you call my people, but we have a different word. And we use a different calendar. I am part of an isolated group, known for our unique height and markings.”

He eyes her suspiciously, and the other one -- the smarter one, Jadzia has decided -- just grins, her teeth flashing in what little light there is down here. It’s not particularly reassuring, but she has yet to reach for her blades.

“Sure,” she says, and the worrying grin vanishes. "Fine, yeah, whatever."

Jadzia realizes she’s been holding her breath. It’s been awhile since she’s had the proper training for this kind of thing. Surviving Cardassian torture and manipulation is an entirely different skill set, one that involves clinging relentlessly to your own identity, not making up an entirely new one.

“‘Vint, Qunari, Elf, or otherwise, the Captain’s the one you’ve gotta convince you weren’t trying to steal from her. Come on. You can work on your story on the way. Try it out on my idiot of a brother who believes the Blight is carried in the testicles of rodents.”

“Hey!”

Jadzia ducks her head and allows herself a quiet snort of amusement, and the woman with the daggers nods appreciatively.

[secretsfromwholecloth]

Dragon Age: Origins, day 12.

Crashing while I’m trying to load up last night’s save? That’s new.

Anora, dear, Alix would really just love it if you’d stop this nonsense and vacate her boyfriend’s chair. No? Ah, well, she tried.

I could listen to Riordan all day. All. Day.

Alistair, sweetheart, of course Alix remembered. You’re not the only one who had Duncan (and his war gear) there at a big time in their life. Do you, ah, recognize the dagger strapped to her left shoulder at all?

So. Party for the Landsmeet. I have a decision to make. Alistair is obviously necessary, but I have two more slots after that. It looks like the only combat is going to be the one-on-one duel with Loghain, so Wynne isn’t a no-brainer like she is normally, though I don’t know, she might want to be there for her new son’s big day. Sten makes in-character sense for “scary bodyguard” reasons. So Sten and Wynne it is, I think.

Alix would really rather not fight Cauthrien again, not after how last time went, but if this damned woman keeps refusing to see sense...whew, she stood down. There’s a good ser, now stay well out of Alix’s way.

Ooh, rousing speech time! I love rousing speech time!

Loghain characterizing Alix as Alistair’s “puppeteer” is deeply uncharitable, but it’s hard to call him wrong. If you ask her, she’s merely sheltering him until he has time to grow into someone who can rule effectively on his own and doesn’t need her whispering in his ear every second, so that she can get on with her own work, of which there’s sure to be quite a lot—rebuilding the Ferelden branch of the Wardens on top of all the usual queen stuff like maintaining relations outside the palace, seeing to the royal household, and eventually either popping out a kid by some miracle or finding some other way to secure the succession.

I’d almost forgotten what game I was playing, but then Loghain yelled about rape and insulted Eamon for apparently being fat. Thanks for the reminder!

OK, duel time. Another decision to make: In-character, it makes sense to either have Alix fight herself or have Alistair do it. Or even Sten, who’s there specifically as muscle.

Alix took down Howe, it’s only fair to give Alistair a go at the man who played a similar role in his life.

This is going to be fiddly—I’m used to letting the AI deal with him unless he’s in immediate danger, so I’m less familiar with the use of his abilities than I might be. Lots of pausing, lots of poultices. Come on, kid, we can get through this.

Welp, that’s that taken care of. Alistair, kid, I’m sorry, I could really have gotten you here in a better way, but rest assured that Alix loves you and takes her responsibility to you as (literally) the poor bastard she dragged along on her revenge coup very seriously. You’ll have all the help she can give you in adjusting to being king.

Yes, this is the sound of me desperately headcanoning my fuckups to be less bad and swearing to redo this route one day, because I absolutely owe Alistair some nice things after all this.

And now, we level ‘em up, kit ‘em out, and pray.

...oh, this is that bug where Leliana thinks you were dating and gets hurt and shocked by your engagement to Alistair, isn’t it. Come on, Leliana, I don’t appreciate having to get sharp with you for no reason.

Ah. Here we go. Morrigan is making her offer of the dark ritual. Now, look, considering who perpetrated this bit of writing, I do wonder if the idea was to translate the emotional impact of compulsory heterosexuality for a presumed straight audience. If it is, I am 100% not the person to critique it on that level; as far as the outside world is concerned, I’m a cishet woman slinging strange words around to seem special, and this is very much not my lane. But the particulars launch it into the realm of simple misogyny and rapeyness, and those are things I can speak on. So. I don’t like it. Maker spare me from white dude writers who find the violation of others’ boundaries and bodily and mental integrity absolutely fascinating. Someone please tell sir that this isn’t edgy and cool, it’s creepy.

You know, I’ve said the same thing about Av*ll*ne more than once during Pillars or KotOR playthroughs. But at least he’s subtle about it and tucks the rapey stuff away in backstories or behind metaphors! Never thought I’d be pining for that guy, I swear to God.

The “It must be him, and it must be tonight!” bit—OK, we’re clearly playing a fun game of How Much Creepy Can We Load Into One Conversation. Yaaaaaay.

So. We’ve got the dodgy consent thing, we’ve got the “women are scary witches after men’s precious bodily fluids” thing that’s been going on the entire time with Morrigan, glad to see it all in the fucking open. So to speak. *sigh*

Anyway. In-character: Alix has asked a whole hell of a lot of her fiancé over the last few days. Maybe not been too considerate at times. Now there’s one more thing. It’s a big one. He’d be within his rights to hate her for it. Please let him not hate me, she thinks. I only want him to live. I only want us to live.

And yes, she was absolutely mortified to explain the whole thing to him. Pretty much ready to have a panic attack the whole time.

...does Morrigan think the issue here is jealousy? Oh, honey, no. Alix had her whole life to get used to the idea of her future husband potentially having a mistress, a one-off sexual encounter with someone he has no desire to go back to is nothing. No, her worries are a. that this is hurting him and b. that you could wreak all sorts of havoc with a child housing an Old God even if he never presses his claim to the throne. In that order.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but I did not need that cutscene in my life.

Headcanon: Alix and her various boyfriends have had a thing for bathing each other since she was a teenager. It’s a way to fuss over each other and have physical contact that’s only as sexual as you want it to be. So while there wasn’t time for a proper bath, you bet your ass that before she sent Alistair off with Morrigan, she told him she’d be ready with a basin and a rag if he could still stand the sight of her afterwards.

Aw, Alistair’s rousing speech before the battle is rather sweet.

Final party: Alistair and Wynne, my usual undroppables, obviously. I think I need another combat wombat, but does that mean someone tanky, or does it mean a second rogue? Hm, I think I could do with Shale, she picked up some pretty sweet skills at her last level-up.

Aww, mama Wynne is proud of her new daughter.

Really, all of the goodbye speeches are sweet.

And with that, it might behoove me to go get some sleep and finish up tomorrow.

[brainsmut]

Happy Birthday, Mitz!

It’s @m1tz0‘s birthday today (Mar 26)!! Mitz, you’re an amazing artist, a dedicated fan, a wonderful improv rapper, and a great friend! I am so happy to know you and I hope your birthday is filled with rainbows and unicorns and lots of thick milkshakes! :3 

Also I hope you enjoy some Grey Warden Shallura with roleplay, femdom, light bondage, handjobs, oral, and, of course, pegging. ^_^ 

           It had become their usual anniversary plan. They headed to Denerim, reported in at the Warden compound, swapped the blue-and-silver for plainclothes, and headed out. Allura’s “plainclothes” were anything but plain: a gown of soft pink and a bodice of summer sky blue; Shiro lived up to the name though, in an undyed shirt, gray tunic, black pants. They still wore their Warden cloaks; they were the only ones they had, after all, and it made people leave them alone as they wound their way into the less-desirable parts of the busy capital.

           But nothing aside from their clothing truly changed until they crossed the Pearl’s threshold. He held the door for her, of course, but when he followed her in, he stayed three steps behind her, rather than coming alongside as normal. She approached the madam, who had begun to recognize the yearly ritual. She smiled and led them to a quiet booth in the common room (as quiet as the common room got, anyway). She took their cloaks and gave them to one of her attendants, to take up with them as they prepared the room. Allura already had Shiro’s share of the money they’d saved up for this; she paid the madam up front, in full, with tips included. (They received a small discount for being Grey Wardens, which they never knew about. But the madam recognized the value of their patronage and considered the discount a small price to pay for having impartial and skilled heroes on hand should something go amiss. Not all the city guards were so willing to spring into action to help the patrons – or staff – of a whorehouse.)

           This part of the evening was simple: a nice meal in the common room, as if this were nothing more than another inn. But someone who knew them would see the differences: how the food was set in front of her, and an empty plate in front of him; how she chose which food from her plate to give him, and in what amounts; how he thanked her with his head bowed, not daring to raise his eyes to her face; how he always refilled her goblet, but she never returned the gesture; how they spoke very little instead of their usual animated conversations.

           When their meal was finished, an attendant let them know their room was ready and gave Allura the key. She thanked them and rose, prompting Shiro to do so as well. And he fell in behind her again, staying three steps back. She didn’t remark him doing so, didn’t even check to see if he was with her. She headed for the stairs, daintily lifting her skirt just enough so she wouldn’t trip on it. Her gown was pretty, but still only cotton. It didn’t matter. She walked as if she wore silk.

           Their room was candlelit, with a large bed, and had a hot bath prepared. Their cloaks were hanging near the door that Shiro shut and locked behind them. “Undress me,” she ordered.

           “Yes, my lady,” and he moved to obey.

           Hours earlier, he’d done up these laces for her, when they were still Wardens. They’d laughed about how tight to cinch them and he’d “accidentally” tickled her a time or two. There was none of that now. He was careful with his hands, no unintended touching of anything. He loosened and removed the bodice. Unlaced the gown. Pulled it carefully off her shoulders, down her arms, over her breasts and hips until it hit the floor and she stepped out of it. He carefully hung everything up, so that it wouldn’t wrinkle.

           Next her smallclothes: brassiere and underpants. He made sure to slowly kneel as he pulled the latter down her legs, no bending over. He held them as she stepped out of them, keeping his eyes on her feet. He set the smallclothes aside carefully, tried to keep himself in check as she slid into the tub and sighed softly in delight.

           “Wash me.”

           He acknowledged and obeyed, using the soft washcloths and scented soap provided. He didn’t dare touch her skin with his bare hands; the washcloth was always between his skin and hers (well, the metal of his right hand and her skin, anyway).

           The washing was delayed briefly when she issued a new commandment. “Rub my shoulders.”

           He kept the washcloth, of course. She hadn’t told him he could touch her. He rubbed one shoulder at a time, massaging through the cloth. She hummed happily and leaned back into his grip.

           “Enough.”

           He stopped.

           “Finish washing me.” She stood so that he could wash more of her skin. He kept his eyes away from anything untoward.

           Or he did until she chided him. “You’ll never do it right if you don’t look at what you’re washing.”

           “Yes’m.” He didn’t turn his eyes to her. Not yet.

           “You can look at me.”

           Only then. Then he drank in her shimmering-wet skin in the dancing candlelight, let his eyes wander her body, noted every scar and freckle as if it were new.

           “You have to keep washing me,” she reminded him.

           “Yes’m,” and he got back to work.

           When she was fully soaped-up, she sank back into the tub, rubbing her skin with the water to make sure she was fully clean. He retreated to fetch the towel, softer than any of their clothes were and twice as luxurious. And she rose again, and he began to pat her dry as she stood in the tub, water cascading down her spine.

           Eventually she took the towel from him to wrap it around herself. She turned to face him and found him half-hard, breathing quickly, unable to stop staring at her. She smirked as if his arousal was something new and amusing to her, then stepped out of the tub serenely.

           She took a single step towards him and he stepped away, mindful of the distance that must remain between a servant and his mistress – because that was what she was right now, what they were. That was the game they were playing, and he knew his part well. She kept this up – one step forward as he stepped back, over and over – until his back was against the wall, so that when she stepped closer still, there was no escape. She opened his pants, reached in and helped herself to his hardening cock. He bit his lip against the moan that wanted to escape as he closed his eyes.

           “Keep your eyes open,” she commanded him. “I haven’t rescinded the order to look at me.”

           And so he stared into her eyes as she toyed with him, teasing him, getting him hard and breathless. Then she tightened her grip more, stroked him more certainly, and it was a fight not to close his eyes and concentrate on how good it felt.

           “I’m… I’m going to…”

           She interrupted him to purr, “That’s the idea.” No more pretending she didn’t know exactly how to get him off, no more lingering hints of hesitancy. She jerked him off and he couldn’t help his eyes falling closed, his head leaning back against the wall, the rising groans until he came on her hand and the towel. They’d played this game so often that he even felt a little ashamed of himself, of sullying his mistress’s skin like this… but then that, too, was part of the fun: the idea that this was, on some level, forbidden.

           Her hand disappeared, and he focused on getting back enough air to apologize. He opened his eyes to see, his mouth to speak, only to find her staring at him as she slowly licked his cum off one of her fingers, as if this were a treat she was savoring.

           If he weren’t still hard, that would have gotten him well on his way again.

           Then she presented the rest of her hand to him. The command was implicit, but she gave it words anyway. “You made this mess. Clean it up.”

           And he obeyed, keeping his eyes on hers. He tried to suck one of her fingers into his mouth, but she pulled her hand away.

           “Lick,” she told him, “just as I did. I want to see your tongue.”

           So he followed her example: long, slow licks. Her breasts rose and fell more quickly; she licked her own lips watching him. And when she decided he was done, she pulled her hand away and unfastened her towel, letting it drop to the floor.

           “You’re responsible for another mess,” she told him, and widened her stance. “You have more to clean up.”

           “Yes’m,” he said. He started to take a step forward.

           “Stay where you are,” she said abruptly. “I don’t want you to try to get out of your duty.”

           “Never, mistress.”

           “Kneel.”

           He obeyed.

           She stepped closer, ran her newly-cleaned hand back through his hair, behind his ear, down and around until she could shove his chin up to look him in the eyes. “Do a good job.”

           “Yes’m.”

           She let go so she could move in that last little bit and spread her folds for him. “And you’re not allowed to touch me with your hands.”

           “Yes’m,” and that was the last he said as he got to work.

           She was very wet, and not only from the water. The usual musk of her was lingering there just beneath the faint scents of the bath oil and soap. He did the same long, slow licks he’d been giving her hand, in part because that was her last order – to lick the way she had – and in part because he knew she loved it.

           He heard her breath hitch and then release in a quiet moan, and couldn’t help grinning triumphantly. He set himself back to work quickly. His wonderful, delightful work.

           She arched, pushed her hips forward, sought to press more of herself against his tongue. He picked up speed, made sure to lick everywhere she could want.

           “So eager to please.” She meant it to be a purr, but she was running out of breath for such actions.

           He paused long enough to look up at her and say, “All I want is your pleasure, mistress.”

           She smirked at him before pushing his head back down into her crotch. “Then less talking and more licking. I want to feel your tongue inside me.”

           He obeyed happily, and he could feel her tremble as he lapped up the proof of her bliss like a cat with a saucer of cream. He ran his hands up along the back of her legs, starting at the knees and rising to her thighs, pushing her forward against his mouth.

           “STOP.”

           He did instantly.

           “Did I say,” she had to pause to catch her breath, “that you could touch me with your hands?”

           He dropped them. “No, mistress.”

           She stepped away. “Rise.”

           He got back to his feet.

           “Strip. Quickly.”

           He hurried out of his clothes, fully revealing how hard he was again, still.

           “Go lay down on the bed, face up.”

           He obeyed and hoped he didn’t look too eager.

           The first thing she did was move to one of the dressers where she knew their supplies would be awaiting them. She opened drawers until she found what she was looking for, pulling out a length of red velvet rope. She shut the drawer and walked over to him.

           “If you can’t keep your hands to yourself, I’ll have to make sure you can’t use them.” She straddled his chest, and he could feel her pussy drip onto his skin. She tied one end of the rope around one of his wrists, then pushed back a curtain on the wall. Iron rings were set into the wall at various places, specifically for purposes like this. She pulled the rope through and bound his free hand with the other end. His hands were now tied, pulled back above his head. He could bring them forward a little, but not enough to do anything with them.

           (Of course, he could always activate his arm, burn through the rope, easily free himself. He wouldn’t, because that was something he could do as a Warden, and he wasn’t one right now. But also because he didn’t want to be free at the moment.)

           She moved forward to straddle his face. “Now finish what you started.”

           Her wish was his command.

           It didn’t take long before she was moaning again. “Mmm, yes. This is at least one use you have, you worthless shem.”

           This part had taken getting used to. But now, after so much time together, he actually kind of liked it. She needed to flip society’s script, needed to be the one who was exalted and revered for a change. And to the extent he was “worthless” in the game, it wasn’t because of his arm. So it had gone from slightly bothering him to not bothering him to actually being kind of hot.

           She grabbed tight fistfuls of his hair and rutted her hips against his tongue. “Deeper. Get that tongue as far in me as it will go.”

           And she still tasted wonderful to him, rich and primal and he could feel his cock twitching as she moaned louder. They could have played this game in any shared bedroom, but in the Pearl, they didn’t have to keep it down. She could be as loud as she wanted, and she was clearly taking advantage of it.

           “More! Ahhh, yes, such a good, obedient shemlen, with a very good tongue…” She was basically fucking his tongue, and he could almost feel her lose control just before she came. He didn’t stop as she flooded his mouth and lips and chin, didn’t stop until she moved away, and then he licked his lips before starting to catch his breath.

           She flopped onto her back next to him on the bed and hummed in happy contentment again. “Every time I think I’ll have to have you whipped, you change my mind.” She lolled her head over to smirk at him. “And I think you like serving me, don’t you?”

           “Y-yes’m.”

           She traced a finger along his chest. “You enjoy eating my cunt, drinking down my juices, don’t you?”

           “Very much, mistress.”

           She took hold of his erection. “And you want to continue serving me.” It wasn’t a question.

           “Absolutely. I will do anything you want.”

           She toyed with his cock. “Keep going.”

           He licked his lips. “My body is yours to do with as you see fit.”

           “Mmm, yes, it is.”

           “Every part of me is available for your use.”

           “And…?”

           “And… I want you to use me, mistress. I want it so badly.”

           “Be specific, shem. I don’t have patience for vagaries.”

           “Please fuck me, mistress. Please use my body for your pleasure.”

           “Better.” She kissed the tip of his nose before rolling over and standing up. That part was a little out of character – the haughty elven noblewoman would never do something cute and sweet like that, especially not for her shemlen sextoy. But Allura could be impulsive. And he loved that about her.

           He watched her walk around the bed, back to the dresser. She found what she was looking for much easier this time, and anticipation rippled through his body as she raised the strap on out of the drawer.

           He licked his lips as he watched her. She made sure he had a good angle to watch her fill herself with the interior phallus. Then she set about buckling it on, adjusting it to get a good fit. He couldn’t help himself from staring longingly at what she was about to give him.

           She pulled out a jar from the same drawer before shutting it. “This is what you want.” She didn’t phrase it as a question, but he still understood it as one.

           He nodded. “Yes, mistress.”

           “Speak plainly then,” she ordered as she walked towards him.

           He licked his lips. They both liked the dirty talk, but that didn’t make it any easier to say, especially when he was in-character. (And, again, the fact that it was difficult made it that much more arousing.) “I want your cock in my ass, mistress. Please.”

           “Spread your legs.”

           He obeyed – barely. Which was deliberate, of course.

           She arched an eyebrow. “More.”

           A little more.

           She got impatient, as he’d been hoping. She crawled up onto the bed and used her knees to force his legs apart enough for her to get in between them. She set the jar down next to her. Then she grabbed hold of his thighs and shoved them apart, back towards his chest. “Like this.”

           When he did nothing but nod, she grinned. “You like it when I’m rough with you, don’t you?”

           “Yes’m.” Ohhh, very much so.

           She leaned forward, hands either side of his body, prowling forward until her face was hovering just over his. She spoke quieter when she was this close to him, and her voice came out sounding smoky and rich. “You like it when I take you, when I use you to get off.”

           “Yes,” he exhaled.

           “Yes what?”

           “Yes, mistress.”

           “Better.” She leaned down as if she would kiss him, but instead she took his lower lip between her teeth, tugging on it, running her tongue against it before she let go. She sat back up and regarded him: wrists bound, legs spread, chest heaving. “You look like a desperate little shem slut.”

           “I… I am.”

           “What?” she prompted.

           “I am a desperate little shem slut.” He might protest the ‘little’ appellation, but he couldn’t argue the rest. Well, maybe he could object to ‘slut,’ but that was part of the game: that she used him, and he loved being used. Which was true enough; he loved surrendering to her. He didn’t want anyone else but her, ever again in his life, but he wanted her so much. Sometimes, it felt like his love and desire for her would burn him alive.

           “Desperate for what?”

           “Desperate to be fucked by your big cock, mistress,” and all of that was very true. She’d fucked him with a strap on the first time she’d brought him to the Pearl, and it was something they could really only do when they were here. There wasn’t this level of privacy among the Wardens. He’d been looking forward to this for months now, been almost giddy with anticipation the whole last week.

           “Watch me,” she ordered him as she opened the jar, dipping out two fingers’ worth of the ointment within.

           And he watched her take her time, slowly spreading the slippery, softly-scented ointment over the large, thick phallus she’d chosen. (He knew from experience that the dresser contained different sizes.) He watched her lick her lips as she eyed his waiting body, watched her essentially fuck her own hand and whimper a little at the sensation, since moving the outer phallus jostled the one buried inside her body. He watched and he waited and he wanted so badly, but there was nothing he could do.

           He watched her continue to coat her false cock in ointment until it nearly dripped with goo, then she closed the jar up and carefully set it aside. “Ready to be taken, shem?”

           “Yes, mistress.”

           She shoved his legs back, moved the tip to his entrance. “How ready?”

           “Extremely. Please.”

           “Beg for what you want, flat-ear.”

           “Please, mistress, please fuck my ass with your cock. You’ll find it tight and hot and ready to receive you.” Her eyebrows went up at that. It was a new line; he’d been working on it ahead of time. “Please take my body and use it for your every carnal desire. I want it, I need it! I don’t want anything as much as I want you to fuck me hard and deep!”

           She grinned. “Yell it.”

           “What?” Apparently, he wasn’t the only one coming up with new lines.

           Her voice was practically a hiss. “Yell, ‘please fuck me, mistress’ and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

           His mouth twisted and she grinned and he licked his lips. This is why we come here, he reminded himself, and don’t do this around the other Wardens. She hadn’t asked for ‘as loud as possible’ so he wasn’t going to do that. But he was sure he could be heard up and down the hallway – and perhaps downstairs in the common room – when he yelled, “PLEASE FUCK ME, MISTRESS!”

           And before he could really register the flame in his cheeks from embarrassment, she was pushing into him. He gasped and let his head drop back against the pillows.

           “Nnn, maybe I should have fingered you first,” she said with a grunt.

           “No… no, this is… oh, mistress, this is so good.” He’d barely remembered to use the title instead of her name.

           “You’re so tight.” She pulled out, then pulsed back in. “I’m going to have to spend all night fucking you to get you loosened up.”

           “Oh yes please mistress I want it so much.” He was practically babbling.

           “I can tell. Look at how hard you are.” She ran a still-slick finger along his cock, which twitched in response. She pulled back out before pushing in a little more. “Worthless shem whore, wanting nothing so much as to be screwed by your betters.”

           “By you,” he said. “Only by you, mistress.”

           “Good boy.” She was getting deeper with each slow thrust. “Ohhh, very good boy. I swear, it’s like your sweet little hole doesn’t want to let me go.”

           “I would keep you inside me forever if I could.”

           She smiled – not a smirk or a grin – and pushed in a little more. “Keep that up and I might grace your cock with my cunt someday. Ride your dick like it’s that hungry mouth of yours.”

           “I… I would be honored…” It helped that he knew ‘someday’ would be ‘probably after we’re done here and I can get you hard again.’

           “Yes, you would be,” she agreed. They both gasped when she finally managed to bury the phallus fully within him, and she licked her lips. “But first, I need to finish having my way with you now.”

           “Yes, yes, please.” It took him a moment to remember to add, “Mistress.”

           “Don’t you dare forget my title,” she warned him, pulling back.

           “No, mistress. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

           She wasn’t moving. “Why’d you almost forget it that time then?”

           “I’m sorry. I was too overcome with lust.”

           “Your lust does not concern me,” she told him, just before she slammed back into him. “And it should not concern you.”

           “Yes, mistress,” he panted when he could breathe again. “I only want your pleasure. Please use my ass to come as much as you want.”

           “That’s the way a shem should be.” And she proceeded to well and truly fuck him.

           She knew exactly how to move her hips to give them both the most pleasure, and she took firm hold of his thighs as she pounded him so perfectly. She had, over the years, gotten better about staying in character, but there was always a point where she faltered, where the mask fell.

           “You’re taking me so well,” she moaned, and the haughtiness was slipping out of her voice.

           “I’m… I’m happy to please you,” he panted in response.

           And she let go of him, leaned forward to whisper, “You do nothing but please me, my love.” Those last two words were too far out of character, but they made him feel warm, not just hot from the exertion but warm inside and out, loved and desired and truly cared for.

           And then she straightened up, grabbed his thighs again to keep his legs out of her way, and resumed fucking him like a possession. The warmth was still there but it retreated in the face of pure, unadulterated physical ecstasy.

           He wanted to hold her, wanted to pull her back down to him, but his hands were still bound above his head. She had a tight grip on his legs, and he was exactly where she wanted him as she plowed him deep and groaned almost gutturally.

           “My sweet, slutty shemlen,” she said. “Bet none of your fellow flat-ears could fuck you like this.”

           “I don’t want anyone but you.” True, so true. “Mistress.”

           She stopped. “If you’re going to forget my title again, I’m going to ‘forget’ to keep fucking you.”

           “I’m sorry, mistress. Please. I’m…” so close, he was about to say but that was something that her character wouldn’t care about.

           “You’re what?”

           “I’m yours. Entirely, completely yours, only yours. Please, mistress, finish using me.”

           She narrowed her eyes. “You just want to come.”

           “I want you to come.”

           “And you.”

           “Your pleasure is mine.”

           She smirked again. “Luckily for you, I’ve grown fond of the sound of you moaning wantonly for me.” She picked up right where she left off, no building up speed, but instead hard thrusts against and into his ass.

           He managed a, “Thank you, mistress,” but after that, it was all about breathing again.

           But he had been close. It only took a few minutes before he could feel it threatening once more. He gave her more of those “wanton” moans she was wanting; he couldn’t help himself.

           Allura knew him well after all this time. She took hold of his cock, pumped it in time with her thrusts. “Come for your mistress,” she purred, at exactly the right moment. And he did, jets of cum spraying his abdomen and chest. And, after a few more thrusts, he heard her cry out, giving full voice to her climax in a way she could never do in the Order.

           She pulled out carefully, crawled up, flopped onto her back next to him to catch her breath. He was aware of her motions because of the shifting of the mattress; he’d closed his eyes when his orgasm hit and hadn’t opened them yet.

           But then warmth flooded him again: not the warm feeling of being loved, but the tingly sparks of healing magic. He was only aware of his wrists, shoulders, and ass being sore because they suddenly felt fine again. He opened his eyes and rolled his head over to look at her. “Thank you, mistress. You take such good care of me.”

           She leaned in and kissed him on the lips, the first real kiss since they’d left their room at the Denerim compound. Out of character. He didn’t protest.

             They spent the rest of the night like that. No sleep, no more food, only “the mistress” using her shemlen “slave” in every way she wanted, both of them enjoying themselves immensely.

           Come the dawn, they cleaned up with the now very cold water, got dressed, pulled their cloaks back on, and left. Once they passed the Pearl’s threshold, he came alongside her again, her equal once more, though they still weren’t Wardens again. Not yet.

           A few more coins spent on apples and a thick crust of bread to split as they walked back to the compound. Hands held once breakfast was finished, as they discussed the night before (carefully, out of respect for the few people around them as the capital awoke).

           Then into the compound, back to the Order. Wardens already awake smirked at them for being out together all night, but they ignored them all. They weren’t on the mission list yet, and they headed back to the room they’d been given while visiting, to take off the civilian clothing and climb into bed. Tomorrow, they’ll take some missions, to do some good while they’re here, to formally mark their return to duty. But for now, they spared a few more kisses before holding each other as they fell asleep in each other’s arms, nothing more than a man and a woman, lovers who had found each other in a world that would otherwise have kept them apart.

[nihilnovisubsole]

oh hey it’s a shipping meme

kamibanani tagged me in this over a month ago, and i’ve been meaning to do it ever since, oops. time to take a stroll around the fandom block again

warning in advance, this is very long. i’ve contained the chaos under the cut!

1. Ultimate OTP

i already know this is a cop-out, but i really couldn’t pick one, because all the ships i’ve written have filled important roles in different parts of my life

nancy and butch were the first ship i let myself ship “in earnest,” instead of doing ship art and fanfic while loathing myself for it. in the same way, oleg and rosie went a long way toward getting rid of my sense of shame about doing shippy/romantic creative work. they’re an inherently ridiculous couple in an inherently ridiculous story, so i took it as a given that it was silly and pressed on.

zaeed and irina are kind of a reminder to myself that you have to let yourself be human to be in a relationship. you can’t be a marble statue. you have to be vulnerable. your partner will see you with no makeup, and find out what turns you on. they’re also in some ways about being embarrassed about who you’re attracted to, and struggling to reconcile who you are with who you think you should be. tgoed was another big, messy meatloaf about my relationship with men - how i love them but struggle with my fear of them hurting me, which makes jo snarky and dominant and sad and lonely all at once.

i can already tell this is going to be a monster of a post, so i’d better move on, oops

2. A ship you’ll always love

i still don’t want to make myself try to pick one, so it’s more a question of what relationship models i like

i like battle couples, i like snarky couples who play fight, i like couples who are understated about their affections for each other. any DINK couples will end up at least somewhere up there on my list, for many sappy reasons that i won’t bore you with. most of all, i like couples who know they don’t need each other, but they want to be with each other anyway, because it makes life that much better.

i also like when characters have a flaw that they’re able to overcome with love, because even if it’s not always realistic, it’s really satisfying to read. we may not be responsible for “fixing” our partners, but isn’t it nice when a relationship is a positive influence on someone? isn’t it nice to think that one character could bring out the best in another, and make the other want to do the same for them? again, i’m getting too deep here.

3. Your current obsession

hands down, marcus and livia, my favorite rogue girl and strong-eyebrowed boy. i’ve spent two years working with them for dangerous crowns and i still haven’t gotten tired of them.

i was talking to my mother about this over dinner the other night: marcus and livia know they’re at their best when they’re combined. marcus is the trope of the great general who’s bad at politics. i’ve said that before - he’s a shrewd tactician, but a blunt object at court. he’s also gotten everything in life by playing by the rules, so he’s squeamish about breaking them - and when he tries, the results can be unpredictable. livia, on the other hand, has enough guile for both of them. she can play courtiers like a fiddle, and has decades of spy skills to get her out of trouble. however, if she’s not careful, she gets too vigilante sometimes. she’s used to street justice, and marcus has to talk her down from some of her more drastic instincts.

neither one of them would be able to save histria by themselves. but together, they’re a serious threat, because they shield each other’s weak spots. and when things get dark and they do find themselves tilting toward a moral cliff, it’s their love for each other that pulls them back from the edge.

you know me, i could talk about marcus and livia all day. i don’t want to make the story out to be more than it is, but i put a lot of thought into them.

4. A ship you never thought you’d like

to be honest, i never saw myself getting into dragon age at all, in part because none of the love interests jumped out at me. and then i was like, “oh, who am i kidding? i write ships with unromanceable characters all the time.”

so, uh, congratulations, varric and carmine! you got me into a whole IP. sure, both my halfway-developed dragon age characters ended up being companion OCs instead of wardens, hawkes, or inquisitors, but whatever. since when have i enjoyed a game the way it was meant to be enjoyed

5. A ship you liked but don’t anymore

well, there was that kaidan/irina thing a few years ago. i know, i’m sorry, it’s the one i bring up every time.

kaidan and irina had the problem of being nice on paper, but thoroughly incompatible. kaidan is open with his affections. irina’s embarrassed by that. kaidan is casual. irina is formal to an infuriating fault. kaidan wants to keep the line of communication open at all times - he wants to talk about feelings, he wants you to be vulnerable so he can help. irina turns inward. she wants to suffer in private and come back in her own time. that would make kaidan pry further, which would make irina hide more, et cetera.

zaeed is more distant. that doesn’t sound healthy for her, but it’s actually what irina is more comfortable with. zaeed has been around enough to realize that she needs space, and also to know that her relationship demons have nothing to do with him. not how she needs to be perfect, not the shame she feels about sex, none of it. it’s not that he doesn’t care. it’s just that he knows better than to ask. zaeed has seen the weirdest, most strung-out parts of the galaxy. a woman who has trouble expressing her feelings is not that big a deal.

i feel bad for kaidan fans every time i talk about this one. i really don’t dislike him, the ship was just a bad fit. sometimes you write something thinking it’s going to be great, but the more you dig into it, the more you realize it doesn’t work.

6. A ship you think should be canon

i hate to admit it, but i prefer it when the few non-OC ships i like are never "confirmed onscreen,” and stay in the realm of unresolved tension. the payoff rarely satisfies me as much as what fans come up with. i think it’s the same principle people talk about with “showing the monster” in horror movies - the audience’s imagination is more effective than anything you can show them. [i’ve heard this attributed to hitchcock, but i can’t be sure it’s him.]

the ideal for me is when creators leave characters’ love lives blank, so i can smoosh an OC against them and thoroughly run away with it. my city now! my city now!! ｍｙ ｃｉｔｙ ｎｏｗ！！！

7. A canon ship you hate

bold of you to assume i’m actually going to say anything negative about the [various, but rare] canon ships i dislike that much

8. A ship you’ve shipped for years

at some point or other, i always come back to 47 and diana, mainly because they seem to pull through whatever challenges their franchise throws at them. i’ve already talked way too much about why i like their dynamic, so i’ll just link back to this post instead of putting you through another round of it!

9. A ship everyone loves but you don’t care about

going back to question 7, “a canon ship you hate,” this is what happens with like, almost every popular ship i see. it takes a lot of awfulness for me to sit up and go, “oh god, that ship.” either that, or it has to involve one of the tropes on my instant-kill list. even when a canon/canon ship is good - maybe even great! - i’m so used to “cooking my own food,” it has to really jump out at me for me to get attached to it.

99 times out of 100, ships float by me like a gentle breeze. it’s like that meme of the video game dad:

10. Favorite rare-pair

oh, come on, look at who you’re talking to 😂 this entire meme is rarepairs, i don’t know how to ship anything else!

[yuki-d-raizel-blog]

Number 1333

Chapter 11/??

Summit: What happens if a mysterious prisoner joins the chaotic Cell 13? He is perfect for the Nanba Prison, his name is synonym of terror and cruelty; each time he was sent to a new prison, he broke out in less than an hour. Will the Nanba Prison succeed to keep him jailed or not…?

---

Days keep passing, and the Cell 13 is more excited day after day because their rewards are finally ready. For Rock, he invites Liang from Building 5 to try the pizza cooked in the stone oven and build a new bond with him. The experience is even better since Ayu really likes the meal, thing that made Rock proud of himself and happy to see that his friend is discovering things that he missed when he was younger.

For Nico, a room filled with the newest game consoles, the salon games, and even more. Again, Number 25 invites Upa from Building 5, freeing Samon's rage against Hajime, he doesn't want to take his inmates inside that gorilla establishment, but that's the second time he's forced to do so. While Rock and Uno are playing a dance game, Ayu asks Nico to teach him how to play with those things, and after a little training, Number 33 wins his first price. It's soft and ironically made reminding him, a long cloak with a hood that can be removed, showing his hair, his emerald eyes... Looking at him, Nico sees how happy that man is, he caresses the plush with so much delicacy, afraid to break or ruin it, and that honest smile. After Ayu, even Jyugo wants to learn it, so the group assists while Number 15 tries to get his price, but since he can't do anything unless escape from a jail, Uno helped him to get one.

<<You punks, don't enjoy this too much!>> Hajime approaches the inmates with a lot of prices, and Seitarou on a lot of them as well.

<<You should stop being so hypocritical.>> says Ayu, "I've missed so many things focused on something worse and uglier... I wouldn't have believed that such funny things would be a completely different world. It's a lot easier to understand and play it, still, they have much more to offer me... This colorful world is better."

<<You!>> Uno's call moves the attention to the prisoner and his supervisor.

<<Musashi...>> whispers Number 15 looking at him.

<<Is that Jyugo?>> the other replies, while Uno, Rock and Ayu walk nearer to their friend to protect him.

<<It's okay.>> the mismatched prisoner tries to comfort his cellmates, <<He's not that dangerous.>>

<<I've got shot for his tantrums, not gonna happen' again.>> as always, Number 33 speaks one's mind, actually he and Number 11 are the most protective ones, Rock stepped next to Nico, just in case.

As Musashi walks nearer, Ayu and Uno step more in between. Jyugo lightly scold them, but Number 634 fully understands them and the reason why they don't trust him. When the silence is about to fall again, Uno speaks.

<<Did you give him a proper apology?>> the surprised tone from the other inmate makes Uno a little angry, <<Jyugo was hurt really bad! Without speaking that Ayu was almost killed to stop the mess you did!>>

<<It's okay. I don't mind anymore.>> as Number 15 tried to defend his friend, Number 11's nerves twitch.

<<Idiot, it doesn't matter if you mind or not!>> he yells, <<It's called common courtesy! It's what you do! Ayu knows it too, and he's an assassin! Lack of common sense is one of the things that's wrong with you!>>

The tension increases as the silence lasts. Yozakura and Hajime are ready to intervene, Number 33 lost a lot of his scary aura, so everything should be fine. His eyes are just scanning Musashi from head to toe catching every single movements he does.

<<Um... Sorry.>> Number 634 bows and apologies honestly, making Jyugo feels a mix of emotions between awkward, apology and confuse.

Ayu steps aside and rests his butt on a table, while everyone waits Number 11's reply. In that moment, the killer smirks and calls Musashi.

<<Du bist doch ein guter Kerl.>> Number 634 jumps as he recognized the language, <<Schön dich zu treffen. Ich hoffe, wir können von jetzt an weiter kommen.>>

He smiles and relaxes, thinking about Ayu. He knew about him too, but he never thought that he could speak his mother tongue, especially to make him feel more at home. "The rumors about him are fake, he is not heartless, he cares for everyone, even for me when I made him risk his life to fix my mistakes..." <<Ja, Freut mich, Sie kennenzulernen.>>

<<Anyone who can apologize is a good guy!>> Uno laughs stupidly and holds out his hand, <<Nice to meet ya!>> after shaking his hand, he grabs Ayu's hood and drags him on a new game, <<You must try this one!>>

<<They're strange ones...>> whispers Musashi, and Jyugo adds looking at them, <<But they're good guys.>>

---

Uno was waiting his reward with all his might, and that day finally arrived. Number 11 calls everyone to show his game room, this time even Kiji must escort all the inmates to the destination, because Hajime and Yamato are busy. During the way, obviously, Honey is irritated due to Uno's behavior, while Trois introduces himself as the handsome one, and his cellmate yells at him too. The others follow them quietly, while the supervisor holds Ayu's chains; Mitsuba feels a bit bad to chain him, but since was the warden's order, he can't disobey, and Number 33 seems comfy with it. The guard notices that under his dark cloak, Ayu holds a book, a plush- What? A plush? Why?

Once in the game room, everyone stares at that white space confused. There's nothing there, what's the purpose of a game room without games? But while Honey scolds Uno again, Hajime and Yamato walk in bringing all the stuff that are going to fill the room: a sofa, a table, carpets, chandeliers, etc. and thanks to Seitarou's directions, they decorate the room as Number 11 wants.

Little by little, the room is shaped with a lot of slot machines, billiards, darts consoles, a poker table, and when Gokuu arrives with his inmates, they brought a lot of Chinese games, placing them wherever they want. All the room is decorated, only a huge spot is empty, maybe that's the place of the missing item...The three guards sit on the sofa and watch over the others, obviously, Ayu is with them, sit on the floor and reads his book, holding that cute plush with the other hand. He refused to play this time because all those games are something that he knows too well and everyone wouldn't enjoy anything because he will win at all of those. After a while, Musashi comes with his guard and joins the group, while Kenshiro sits on the sofa with his coworkers, updating them with Number 634's confession about his past and the connection with Number 15.

<<Oi, listen you too!>> says Kiji taking Ayu's book, <<This is something that you should- What the hell are these letters?!>>

<<It's a Russian text, ignorant plebe. Never steal my book while I'm reading if you want to live, stupid bird.>> the prisoner grabs the book and sighs, <<What do you want to know? I've said everything I know already.>>

<<Number 634 said that he escaped because someone burnt the prison where he was.>> comments Yozakura looking at the inmate, <<Do you know something about it?>>

<<Where was your prisoner?>> this time Ayu becomes serious, while he keeps reading.

<<Germany.>>

<<I did it.>> confesses Number 33 with no regret, <<Inside that prison there were a lot of his subordinates, and killing them all was difficult, so I made all the prisoners escape and then burn the building down.>> he changes page and adds, <<I've actually burnt a lot of prisons due to that.>>

<<Why? You’re a prodigy assassin, right?>> comments Gokuu, <<You could kill them one by one.>>

<<Do you know how secretly these people walk around the world?>> replies Ayu, <<Killing one by one would take too much time, and the enemy would have the time to think a plan against me. A few were able to save themselves from the fire, but I found them later anyway.>>

<<It's shocking how your personality can change.>> speaks Mitsuba, <<You're always so quiet, and stay aside when you're in a group->>

<<How naïve, milady.>> the prisoner smiles shadily and looks at him, <<Don't underestimate happy and silent people, nobody plans a murder out loud.>>

<<Stop being so scary, your cute face is ruined!>> "Jesus, this boy is really a doll which someone can choose everything about it...." <<You're young and already did a lot of bad things, at least try to light your life a little, would you?>>

<<Hush.>> Number 33 cuts the conversation and turns his back to the guards, <<I'll do what I want this time, and don't worry for the darkness inside me. It suits me like a glove; as it's a cloak made to measure.>>

<<You talk about darkness, but you walk around with a plush.>> talks back Hajime, <<What a stupid kid.>>

<<S-shut your trap!>> replies agitated Ayu, <<This is important for me, okay? Don't judge me for it!>>

<<Excuse me, guys.>> Seitarou calls everyone and smiles worried, <<We should go back now.>>

That phrase creates a huge revolution inside the room, each prisoner doesn't want to go back now, they are enjoying their time, spending it with someone and it's funny. Before Hajime could kill them all, a squad walks in with a huge hidden thing, placing it on the missing spot. They remove the veil and ask to check the item: a beautiful black pianoforte, with golden and silver decorations... The guards ask why there's a piano in a game room, and Uno explains everything.

<<This is Ayu's reward.>> he says and his friend stares at him confused and a little shocked, <<I think that a game room without piano is not beautiful enough, so Ayu, we'll give you the honor to check it by yourself.>>

Yamato unchains him and everyone looks at him, walking slowly towards the instrument. But something is wrong here, Number 33 didn't ask anything, then why that piano is there? Hajime presses Number 11 to say the truth, and the inmate replies whispering.

<<He did it unconsciously, but when he's focused on something, he taps his fingers on a surface in a schematic way. I saw him countless times.>> he says making the others sit and wait, <<I recognized them, those were the movements of a pianist when plays a song, so I bought him a piano. Also, I want to know why people trapped him for his voice. You're interested in it too, right?>>

<<You did it on purpose... fucking brat.>> the guards sit again and study carefully Ayu's behavior.

Number 33 stops in front of the piano and stares at it intensely walking around it. In front of the chair, he pulls off his hood and caresses the cover that hides the keyboard. He moves slowly like he's remembering something he forgot; then he takes off his cloak, lays it in the chair and the plush on it and finally, he sits. He gently picks up the wooden layer and reveals the white and black keyboard, then he bends his head a little to see those wonderful golden pedals.

<<Fucking play it alrea->>

<<Sshh, don't ruin his mood!>> Nico puts both hands on Hajime's mouth to hush him, <<Let him forget about us, he'll start only in that moment. He's always did that.>>

<<Why?>> whispers Honey, <<He's embarrassed to let hear his voice?>>

<<He doesn't let people see it, but he always checks his surroundings.>> whispers Uno, <<When we're away from him, distracted or just quiet minding our business, he lows his defenses and starts to move his fingers.>>

Ayu moves closer to the keyboard, but stops and looks at his own hands. He removes his bandages on them, lays his long fingers on the keys, and finally he starts to play, but unfortunately, that's not even a melody. He's just pressing buttons here and there, and once again, he stops and puts his hands on his lap.

After a few minutes of absolute silence, Ayu closes his eyes, puts a hand on the keyboard and plays a beautiful symphony; the rhythm is slow; it reminds of a lullaby or something, he's using all deep notes, for now. Keeping that melody, he moves his head a little restraining himself to do it, and slowly sings.

<<♩The crescent moon floating in solitude. The sharp of glass I picked up; gather small pieces of light and I carefully hand it to you...♩>> everyone jumps surprised when they hear Ayu's voice, it's so gentle, clear as a crystal and warm, and his tone manages to stay on a deep level, is even possible?

"He's getting into it." thinks Samon, he sees the inmate more relaxed, "Wait, what are those red lights?" as he saw them, the others saw them too, around Ayu there are little red spheres that float like little stars.

<<♩On a rainy day with hidden skies, the fireplace flame creates shadows... Once your cold body is warmed, you will be brought to the land of sleep.♩>> in a second, Ayu puts his feet on the pedals and pushes them while he accelerates the rhythm, using more different notes, giving the impression that a lot of instruments are playing at the same time, but that's not the shocking thing that made everyone's eyes to be wide opened.

As soon Number 33 made the change, the reddish spheres became an uncountable number, and moved all over the room, plus, the inmate moves his body so gracefully that hypnotized who's watching him, even Hajime got trapped by his movements that remind the waves of the sea.

<<♩In the darkness of closed eyes, line up those carefully preserved lights and let them shine brighter than the stars, and longer than the night.♩>> the prisoner's hands are flying over the keyboard almost disappearing magically, his feet switch perfectly a pedal with another and the notes change continually the sound, giving to that song something that no one saw before.

Yozakura and Hajime has the force to blink a lot of times, but those white wings on the prisoner's back don't disappear, they're real... The guards understand what's happening when they tried to catch one of those strange spheres. Their hand went through it, like an hologram...

"They trapped him because his voice creates illusions." both think looking at the inmate again, "He moves and sings so naturally and gracefully that everything seems real, everyone dreams inside what he created... That's a very dangerous talent indeed, yet, so beautiful. I wouldn't be surprised if people would sell him for an unbelievable price just to have him sing for them."

While he keeps playing like a god descend from the highest sky, Uno noticed his smile as he moves elegantly from a side to another, that little detail was hard to find, since everything is too breathtaking. How he did all of these things in the first place?

<<♩Even if your heart is deep inside a dream, I pray that you will not lose your way...♩>> the song loses his energy and slows down to the lullaby rhythm, but this is the moment where Ayu's voice reaches the highest picks, almost turning him in a lyric singer, in the female role though, his voice is too perfect and clear to match the male lyric singers, still, nobody has his heavenly voice, that's for sure, <<♩The quiet, quiet land of sleep will always be waiting for you... In the lonely, tender world...♩>>

The song slowly and gently reaches its last note, all the illusions disappear bringing everyone back to the reality. The man smiles warmly; he looks at the piano nostalgically, remembering something dear to him.

<<Wow....>> Jyugo's whisper wakes Ayu up from his dream, making him jump and cover his mouth with both of his hands.

<<I-I...um....>> he hides behind the piano and stays like that, enduring the heavy silence, "The memory of my mother took the better of me... I've never used my voice since I discovered that creates illusions, I didn't even sing for the man with the scar, why this time-"

<<Ayu-chan!! Teach me how to play it!!>> Nico crouches under the piano and meets his friend with sparkling eyes, <<I want to learn how to do some anime theme covers!>>

<<Me too, pretty please!>> in the other side there's Uno with a playful smile, <<Men who can play the piano are more attractive!>>

<<Oi, let's go back already!>> Hajime yells, <<You spend too much time in this room!>>

<<Says the one who enjoyed that show too.>> comments Jyugo, <<Be honest with yourself, Hajime-kun.>>

<<Shut your freaking mouth...>> the guard sees that the other prisoners are approaching Number 33 asking him to play something else, <<Oi!>>

<<Why are you crying, Number 634?!>> asks shocked Yozakura, moving everyone's attention towards him and his prisoner.

Musashi is crying and keeps his head in the direction of where he heard the piano. Trois and Honey aren't blaming him, he finally understood how handsome they are, he should remember their faces-

<<He's blind.>> says Ayu with his dull voice, <<How can he see your faces? Are you idiots?>> the two prisoners don't have the courage to say something back, they're afraid to be killed or something, those handsome faces must be protected at all costs.

<<How did you do that...?>> whispers Number 634, <<I can't believe it...>>

<<....Did what?>> Ayu is a little worried because he thinks that he did something bad using his voice to create something that doesn't exist, lying to everyone and the world itself.

<<I saw it... I'm blind man, I can't see anything anymore if not the darkness, but you...>> he laughs to release the shock inside him, <<I saw the fire spheres, angelic wings dancing around a piano and a shadow that was playing it. How did you paint the darkness?>>

<<Nico, can you leave Number 634 going first?>> that's the plan that Ayu thought, and when the friend gladly walks back, Number 33 calls Musashi, inviting him to go there. As the inmate sits guided by Ayu's hands, he waits an answer, <<Apparently, I was born with this gift. When I was little, I was always in the cold and scary darkness, but someone softly sang to take the fear away. When that person was scared, I decided to sing to calm them, and the darkness disappeared.>>

"So that's his mom's song, eh? I can image even how she started to sing it and for what reason too." thinks Uno watching with crossed arms, "Ayu is really something, man."

Number 33 sings a short melody using only the letter "A", but this time with a very deep voice, as he's another person, Musashi's body shivers and he touches the white and black keys one by one, and stops when Ayu does so, <<Did you get it now? I can't explain it better than this.>>

<<Yeah... Would you let me hear your song again in the future?>>

<<I'll need time to get used to have people watching me, but->> Nico pushes Jyugo and he hits the friend that slowly turns towards him, <<Here.>> in an instant, Number 15 is sit on the chair and has the keyboard in front of him.

"Uwa... Was this thing that big? How did he play so well something so complicated?" the curiosity takes the better of him, and the inmate pushes a key getting even scared of the sound that came out. <<S-sorry! I->>

<<Use your whole hand.>> Number 33 creates a little and cute melody using four fingers, and his friend stares amazed, <<You try this time.>>

<<E-eh, no Nico wanted to->> Ayu forces him to pose his hand on the keyboard, and he feels Ayu's fingers pushing down his to guide his movements and play the right note. Number 33 is a good and patient teacher.

---Continue...

Chapet 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

[sunlitroom]

Gotham - s4e02 - The Fear Reaper

As I watched it, and some random observations here and there.

Previously on Gotham.

Victor crashes a wedding. Crime is legal now. Oswald keeps you safe, not GCPD.  Fried Babs. Selina wants more.  Poor, poor Jonathan. Sleazy warden and the gang who all need to die. Oswald climbs Jim like a big blond tree with a constant nagging fear that it’s a fraud and gives him a hug. Bruce is arrested.   Jonathan Crane isn’t here anymore – Scarecrow is.

As always, long post will be long - reaaally long.  There are likely to be rambling digressions. Gobblepot may appear (although I welcome all shippers and non-shippers alike :)).  There will be naked favouritism and naked not-favouritism. Broader comments at the end on plotlines and parallels and general direction.

 GCPD turn up at the hideous gang's hideout.  Jim tells everyone to stay cool.  We see a makeshift lab.  Harvey comments that,

This place smells like death

And then banters a bit about getting something to eat later.  Jim isn’t in a season 1 mood, though, and tersely notes that they’ve made more toxin, as Harvey notices Jonathans old Arkham uniform.  Glancing round into a mirror, Jim notices the reflection of a suspicious-looking scarecrow outside.

They both run out, and find the one of the gang guys tied up.  Do they even all have names?  Who cares. Fuckface #3, that’ll do.  He’s terrified and tells them:

He's coming.

Who?

The scarecrow!

 GCPD, where Bruce has been arrested.  He’s claiming that this is all a ghastly misunderstanding.   Alfred arrives, and assures Bruce that Wayne Enterprise’s most talented and expensive lawyer is on the case.  If you’re going to illegally meddle in police business, it really helps to be enormously wealthy and privileged.  Bruce hurriedly explains to Alfred that he fell through the skylight, when an unimpressed Jim arrives.

Bruce hastily concocts the excuse that he was up there looking for Selina. Chivalrous, Bruce.  Jim releases him without bail, but promises they’ll talk more about this.

Meantime, the gang member still flipping out in the other cell.  

 At Arkham, where they’ve presumably been forewarned about the danger that might be heading their way. They’re roughly ushering the patients to bed and strapping them down. Fuck everything about this place.

In his office, the oleaginous warden is burning his papers.  God only knows what he’s been up to.  When his back is turned, Jonathan enters, dragging his scythe along the nasty table we say last time.  He tells the Warden it’s too late for all that, and that his dirty deeds have stained him.  Yeuch.

He talks about his treatment there for three years, upon which the warden realises who he is.  Also - because, you know, he’s dressed like a giant scarecrow.

Jonathan

(Like his paternal tone last episode, his use of Jonathan’s first name here bothers me too.)

He was thrown in a cell and ignored, except for occasional ice baths (why, exactly?) and ECT.  

The Warden says if he leaves now then he won’t tell anyone he’s been here.  The phone rings and he makes to answer, but Jonathan slams his scythe down.

Pay attention!

Jonathan talks about he cured himself.  He made himself one with his fear.  The Warden, meantime, is eyeing the gun in his drawer.  He tries to beg again – but Jonathan responds badly to the use of his name.

Jonathan Crane is no more. Call me by my true name!

He sprays the Warden with serum, and he begins to hallucinate.  

GCPD – where Alfred and Bruce are just leaving

Rough night, Bruce?

It’s Lucius.  They wheel out the Selina excuse again. Lucius is not fooled, and points out the concrete and stone residue on Bruce’s clothes.  Somewhere across town, in his icy cocoon, Ed just breathed a fluttery little smitten sigh.

They come up with the terrible excuse that he’s been rock-climbing.  This is the kind of rubbish lying that made Smallville’s Lex very, very cross.  Lucius looks very unimpressed by this lie, but lets them leave.

Back at Arkham. Jonathan is telling the Warden that his father was a genius, who wanted to end fear for his sake, because he loved him so much.

(An aside.  Oh Jonathan – possibly the rightful president of Gotham’s ‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad’ club.  Your dad was a terrible, terrible person.  He knowingly and repeatedly caused you fear and pain, and made you think that you should be grateful for it, and guilty for not appreciating it. His experimental design also sucked – with sample group that was both unrepresentative and too small.  And I’m not even going to tell you what he did when he was the Phantom of the opera that one time….)

Anyway – it turns out the Warden’s greatest fear is clowns.  We see him grab the gun from his desk and run down the corridor – shooting all the clowns he sees, who actually turn out to be his orderlies.

Meantime, Jonathan has gone to the ward, where the patients are strapped down.  He calls them brothers and sisters, and tells them his father would have cured them.  He was, however, murdered by GCPD.  They will be his army now

(An aside – this is not a very organised army)

And those men will know fear.

GCPD

James Gordon!

Jim looks up to see Oswald walking in with a pack of reporters behind him.  Harvey tells him to play nice, but Jim doesn’t want to.

Oswald approaches – and being Jim and Oswald – they decide to stand toe to toe.  Oswald comments that he sees they’ve caught one, but he’s also figured out Jonathan is the likely culprit, and wants to know if Jim’s caught him.  Jim tells him his whereabouts are unknown.  

Oswald laughs – he’s just about taut with tension in this whole scene, I don’t think he gets the ‘no emotions’ thing – and comments that he is unsurprised by GCPD’s failure.  He and Jim stare off, and Harvey thinks this is a good time to mention the newspaper headline that called him a chicken – presumably as retaliation for that last comment.  Because infuriating Oswald always works so well.

Just about bubbling over with fury now, Oswald calls GCPD

Outdated, ineffectual, corrupt

Jim retaliates that the innocent suffer when criminal have a license to commit crime.  Oswald tells him the scheme is working.  He doesn’t want to destroy GCPD – he wants to save it, and – through that – Gotham.

Jim maintains that he will arrest those committing crimes.  Oswald turns on him.  He asks him how well his ‘boy scout morality’ has worked in the past, and asks if he wants a list of the victims of Jim’s ‘antiquated righteousness’.

Jim is taken aback by this. It’s pretty much nail on the head in terms of his self-image.  And there’s also the fact (more at the end on this) that while he and Oswald routinely squabble – there are rules to their engagement.  There’s an intake of breath when he mentions this – he didn’t quite expect this jab from this person.

Oswald offers a deal. If he can find Jonathan and lock him up in 24 hours, then fair enough.  If not – he admits he failed and let the city down.  Could this be anymore personal, Os?

Jim just stands there, so Oswald – to grab his arm – leans forward in this odd hugging/embrace move. His face is turned towards us as he does it, and there’s the oddest expression there.  First off – the expression change as soon as his face is turned away from the press reminds us that he is almost constantly playing to an audience these days, whether that’s the journalists or his enemies. Secondly, yes - he’s mad as all hell, but there’s a whole tumult of emotion going on, and you see it for a split second when he leans close.

He leans back, gripping Jim’s arm, and shakes hands.

Good for you, Jim, game on.

Jim’s actually fairly calm throughout that whole thing.  He goes from a big no to the crime licenses, to his response to the boy scout thing, and then a look of slight bafflement at Oswald’s temper.

(An aside – I know I may as well consign this to the ‘this will never be answered’ bin – but I do wonder whether Jim even expressed any remorse about Fish to Oswald?  He was clearly regretful at the time – but I suspect he’s since buried it with all the other things he doesn’t want to think about).

Selina is walking alone at night.  Tabitha is able to sneak up behind her, cross that she has apparently not learned much from their lessons.  Turned out they both received an embossed business card which said ‘opportunity awaits’, and decided to go at night-time to an isolated building to check out the fabulous opportunity mentioned on the mysterious business card.  Gotham rogues need stranger danger lessons.  At this point, I don’t trust them not to get into a stranger’s car if offered sweets or puppies.

It’s from Babs it seems.  She now has a lovely velvet couch.  Selina and Tabitha express disbelief at her not-deadness, but Babs reminds them no-one really dies in Gotham.  Tabitha would still like to slit her throat.  Barbara gives her a look that is…not as easy to read as usual.  I’d say that there’s an element of threat-assessment going on there.  She’s trying to read her.

They walk nearer each other. Tabitha puts a knife to her throat. Barbara starts speaking.  It seems sincere, but it’s also so calm that it seems planned, or trained.

Not a day goes by where I don’t think about what I did.  I wish I could take it back.

Tabitha says she’d like to go back too, and finish the job.  Barbara calmly continues

I was jealous.  I was stupid.  I am sorry

She then puts her own hand over Tabitha’s, which is holding the knife.  In an echo of Oswald and Jim’s confrontation way back in season one, she says:

Kill me if you don't believe me

Like Jim, Tabitha can’t go through with that – and shoves her aside instead.

They talk briefly about what this place is.  Essentially – Barbara sees a business opportunity.  The Oswald-licensed crooks will need weapons (well – yes – but they seem to already have those?) – and she’s going to supply them.  In doing so – they’ll learn about the crimes they plan to commit – and this is a sure-fire way to get on top again.

(An aside – uh, what? What we’ve seen is a lot of fairly low-level crime.  And how would this enable them to get on top, exactly?  Oswald would figure out pretty fast who would be likely to be screwing him over – even if there is a way to somehow do this.  And if crooks start to draw a connection between getting guns from Babs and Tabs and your plans getting fucked over, surely they’d just go elsewhere.)

Barbara says that she won’t proceed without them both.  And again – yes, she might well have lingering fondness for them both – but she also knows Tabitha is likely to bear a grudge, and Selina is really still a child. What is indispensable here, exactly?

Tabitha refuses. Barbara took something from her that she will never be able to get back, and she should feel lucky she doesn’t just raze the place to the ground.  She leaves, and a still preternaturally calm Babs asks Selina to talk to her on her behalf.

 Wayne Manor, where Bruce and Alfred are arguing about his lack of preparedness.  Long story short, Bruce only feels truly alive when he’s falling through skylights, and Alfred is worried he’ll got shot.  Bruce leaves, and Alfred angrily makes a sandwich.  This incessant snack making is why he and Victor could work.

 At GCPD, they’ve learned Arkham is more chaos than usual.  The patients are rioting.  Jim decides to head out there, and call for support – but no-one moves.  They’ve chosen to back Oswald.  Jim says – and just bear in mind that this is a man with two murders committed in sound mind under his belt – that none of them are fit to wear the badge.  

One cop points out the badge doesn’t get you a very good time in Gotham, and they don’t make a difference.  He calls on Harvey to go with him.  Harvey reminds him that one day it would be now or never, and this is never.  He’s Captain, and if he back Jim, he loses all the other cops – and they will need them.  If they lose their help – Oswald will get to choose the next captain, and God knows who that would be – so Jim’s on his own.

Jim leaves.

 Arkham – where every scary asylum trope is being hit even more so than usual.  The Warden is wearing bad clown makeup and claiming that he’s not scared anymore, because he is a clown now.

Meantime Jonathan watches Jim on a monitor – and we get a quick flashback of his original episode for anyone who didn’t watch s1.

Ah - it's you

He rallies his troops over the tannoy, saying that Jim will pay for what he has done, and know fear. He closes the gates and Jim is trapped with the patients ready to attach.  However, he fires warning shots and they run.  Jonathan realises he’ll have to do the job himself.

 Oswald, Ivy and Victor at Babs.  Victor is distracted by all the guns, but Oswald is more busy listing all the different types of payment Barbara will have to make to him for him to be willing to allow this.  Barbara says she’s waiting for partners to come on board.  Ivy pipes up – and asks if it’s Selina and Tabitha.  Oswald grins

Good luck with that – they’re slippery characters

He also comments that Tabitha might just be pissed at Barbara killing Butch.

Ivy cuts in again

I could talk to them.....

Oswald snaps at her –

I distinctly remembered saying that you could come if you kept your mouth shut

(So – aside from the fact that Ivy and Oswald are tossing the conflict ball back and forth because the writers seemingly got bored of this team-up within two minutes – you can, I suppose, understand some of his irritation.  Yes - he’s snappish and dismissive, deliberately so – to explain away Ivy’s eventual defection – but he doesn’t smack down her first, relatively useful observation.  What he does smack down is her offer to negotiate between his enemies: the visit is clearly meant to scope Barbara out and intimidate.  The remark is stupid. He could be nicer and more respectful.  He could be more restrained and not let an enemy see internal dissent. But this idea that they want to convey – Oswald is needlessly mean to Ivy - doesn’t hold water.)

Barbara smiles while Ivy sulks.  Oswald promises Babs that one hint of trouble, and Victor will step in and end her with her own merchandise.  As he’s leaving, he remarks that this didn’t all come cheap, and says he’ll find out who paid for her new fancy place.  Victor takes a gun as he leaves.

 In the Warden's office, Jim searches for Jonathan.  Jonathan knocks him to the floor.

Do you believe in fate? I didn't before today.

He does now, though He can’t believe that of all the cops – Jim shows up.  He unmasks.  Jim blinks.

Jonathan.  What happened to you?

(An aside - This is what he asked Ed, too.  Jim seems to have difficulty in understanding how people are pushed past snapping point – which doesn’t really make sense, given boozy bounty-hunter Jim.  Maybe it’s obviously ‘unwell’ behaviour as the outcome of strain that he can’t understand?  He certainly seems incredibly unsympathetic to Barbara. Also – Jim – you’ve seen Arkham before. What kind of treatment did you think he was going to get?)

Jonathan accuses Jim of killing his father.  Jim counters that his father was insane and wanted to harm him – but Jonathan, presumably due to a complete dearth of anyone else in the world giving even the slightest damn about him, has made a plaster saint of his father – and won’t be convinced.

He tells Jim,

We can live imprisoned by fears, or we can embrace them

And sprays him with the serum.  I feel compelled to keep adding ‘with the serum’ when he sprays someone – otherwise it makes him sound like a misbehaving cat.

He wonders what Jim will see.  His victims, perhaps?

(The serum apparently gives you unattractive yellow crust round your mouth, which – as we’re about to discover how easily it’s neutralised – is probably its worst feature.)

A dosed Jim hears screaming and wanders into a room where Lee lies in a bath full of blood, having slit her wrists.  He tried to help – but she doesn’t want it.

Don't touch me, let me go. You’ve caused me so much pain. I’ve suffered you long enough.  We could have been a family, had a child. You destroy everything you touch. 

 We see – before she sinks beneath the surface, that she has her black virus nailpolish on

Jonathan tells Jim to join her to show how much he loves her.

(Just an aside – how come Jonathan can see other people’s hallucinations?)

He tells Jim not to let her die hating him, but to prove his love – it’s what Lee would want.

Jim mutters this to himself for a bit, and is apparently able to reason his way out of the virus by remembering Lee loves him

(An aside – hang on, this sucks.  Everyone else is a weeping wreck, but Jim can just power through it?  First off – his hallucination is totally different.  A demonic Lee, hounding him from room to room with blood streaming from her wrists would follow the pattern of the other hallucinations.  But Jim get this relatively calm scene – giving him space to reflect?  It also raises again the messiness at the end of last season – where Lee’s explicitly stated motivation was a fascination with the dark side, which explained her attraction to Jim.  That lazily morphed into Babs’s ‘Jim and I are meant to beeeee’ in the finale.  Has Jim swept all that under the carpet too?)

Having snapped out of it, he looks for Jonathan, who is as pissed as the audience.

How did you do it?! How did you defeat it?!

Inconsistent writing to further the plot, Jonathan.

Jim says he overcame his fear.  Jonathan calls him a liar.

You can't just stop being afraid!  You can only become your demon like I did

Jim tells him that he has a choice, in the self-assured tones of someone who never did time in Arkham.

He tells Jonathan that whatever his father was, he didn't want this for him.  He needs help.  Jonathan says – the first time he wobbles in his adoration of his father – that his father thought he was weak: scared little Jonathan.

Jim nods.  

Ok - I can help you.  Let me help you

Jonathan rallies - though

But I’m not weak anymore!  I’ll never go back to being that boy!

He runs, and Jim pursues.

 Bruce on another roof top. He hears laughter, and follows some shady men into a warehouse, and right into a trap.  The men want to know why he’s following them, and assure him they have a license.  They ask if he’s some boy scout or do-gooder.  Little do they know he’s just a rich boy with an exciting new hobby.

Pulling his mask off they comment that he’s just a kid.  They remind him again of the license, and that it’s within their rights to do anything they want to him.  Anything. Yeuch.

Bruce headbutts one of them. A scramble ensues.  Bruce manages to escape, but is followed (easily, because he confusingly decides to stroll away from the scene, instead of legging it. Even the crook comments:

You think you're so slick

He is saved from actual consequences yet again – this time by Alfred with a crowbar.

 Tabitha and Selina’s apartment – where Selina is trying to convince Tabitha to overlook that whole tired murder and betrayal thing and just team up with Barbara.

(An aside – just want to point out, at the outset of a scene and storyline that are both a complete mess, that this is not in keeping at all with what we know of Selina.  She’s hugely driven by loyalty, and caring for her friends. Yet she’s persuading Tabitha to overlook the inconsequential matter of betrayal and the murder of her lover? Nope)

Tabitha asks why she wants this so much.  Good question.  Apparently Selina is

Sick and tired of not being taken seriously by all those selfish guys out there who treat me like I'm stupid.

She can’t do much alone, but as a team, they can – give those creeps a run for their money

(An aside - this is just bilge.  Does she mean Bruce?  Seemed fine accepting his apology last episode – and this isn’t exactly an accurate summary of their relationship anyway.  Aside from that – who does she mean?  The one person who did Selina more wrong than anyone else is her mother – showing up again to swindle her.  This is lazy, lazy bullshit to try and sell us on the idea of a girl gang.)  

Ivy materialises in their apartment, seemingly making it past all their super sophisticated ninja skills, even though she’s about 6-foot-tall with bright red hair.

I want in

Tabitha tells her to get out and calls her a ‘penguin stooge’.  Ivy retorts that she hates ‘that freak’.  Tabitha tells her she’s a liar, and that she was quick to guzzle down his koolaid

(And again, Tabitha, a short, to-the-point – fuck you.  Where does she find this self-righteousness?  Just a reminder – got her jollies listening to a scared old woman crying and begging, and then stabbed said old woman in the back, and his demonstrated no remorse. Cherry on the cake – when a clearly child-like and damaged Oswald showed up after Arkham, she wanted to murder him, and only settled on humiliation when she wasn’t granted permission.  The only reason she’s still alive is because Oswald decided not to take retribution for Butch’s sake.   Tabitha’s dreadful.)

Ivy then mystifiyingly remarks that there’s

Nothing I wouldn't do to get back at men who treated me like garbage

(An aside – again wtf is this asshattery?  Ivy’s abusive father aside (she uses the plural) – what we’ve seen so far is Ivy use her perfume to control men, and kill more than a couple.  Why are she and Selina suddenly victims?)

Selina says she believes her, but Tabitha tells her to get out again.  Ivy retorts that Tabitha is rude.  Tabitha says she’s going to get her ass kicked.  Selina – again out of character – says nothing.  Ivy leaves.

To cap off a scene that only escalated in stupidity, Tabitha then apparently has a total change of heart and tells Selina to arrange a meeting with Babs (also seemingly discounting any risk to Selina in a lone meeting with Barbara.).  She’ll talk business, but wants something in return.

 Jim is still searching for Jonathan, who is rallying the patients against him.

The demon who haunts and tortures you is here!  Destroy him! free yourself from his tyranny!

(An aside – but why aren’t they all distracted in their respective hallucination?! This is all so dumb.)

Jim is fighting off mental patients while Jonathan screams

Kill him!

Almost overcome – he pulls an extinguisher from the wall, and sprays with them with water.  Water apparently completely neutralises the serum. Are you fucking kidding me?

Jonathan escapes. One huge guy keeps fighting, but Jim smacks him in the face with the canister, and leaves.

 At Wayne Manor, Bruce and Alfred are arguing again.  Bruce could have been killed, and refuses to accept the realities of what he’s doing. Maybe because you showed up with a fancy lawyer to ensure his release, Alfred?

There’s a knock at the door. Bruce opens it.  A handsome man enters.

Bad time?

It’s the always collected and elegant Lucius. Wayne Enterprises has a prototype of some super-fancy armour, and he wants Bruce to have it for when he goes ‘rock-climbing’. He tells Bruce he just doesn’t want to see him hurt again.  Bruce says he feels safer already.

 Back at Babs’s House of Guns – where she thanks Selina and Tabitha for returning.  Not so fast, though.  Tabitha wants her to lose a hand as proof of sincerity.

Both Butch and I lost a hand due to Penguin's machiavellian wargames

(An aside - Um - no?  Butch lost a hand as indirect result of Theo and Tabitha's actions in kidnapping Gertrud, Tabitha lost hers because Ed drank stupid juice and thought she and Butch were responsible for Isabella’s death.  So – is Tabitha’s explanation the one the show has decided on, then – as a way of explaining Tabitha’s antipathy?  If so – that sucks, and relies on the audience apparently having no actual memory).

She has a meat cleaver. Selina shakes her head – but does little else.  Barbara puts her hand out, calm.  Tabitha brings the cleaver down onto the table.  Barbara has passed the test, for now.  A dubious looking Selina follows her out, Tabitha saying she’ll start Monday.

 Back at GCPD – where Oswald has arrived to see if Jim has managed to arrest Jonathan.  

We had a deal, Detective Gordon.

Jim’s not into all this exhibitionism, though – preferring shady deals to be done in dark bars and alleys.

You made a demand in front of your cronies in an attempt to undermine me and the department.  No deal.

Oswald is furious.  He talks again about GCPD no longer keeping citizens safe, and asks the officers how many of them are sick of risking their lives – or seeing this actual building become a warzone?

He looks right at Jim and says that we must police ourselves.  Looking round again, Oswald says he will triple wages if they work for him

The future is now. Follow me.

Jim calls after him that he’s only paying them to look the other way.  It…. sort of weirdly fizzled, that scene.

Harvey approaches. Jim tells him not to talk to him – but Harvey says this is a war, not a battle and they need the cops onside.  He wants to buy him a drink.

 Ivy is in a weird shop, talking to the shopkeeper, whom she’s apparently repeatedly drugged and robbed another one of those terrible men who made her feel stupid.

She’s apparently done with the extremely useful and powerful perfume that made people do her bidding and that Oswald presumably doesn’t remotely value or use at all.  She wants ancient mystical potions now to make her badass.  She uses the perfume again to get her way, underlining the stupidity of this whole plot point.  The shopkeeper pleads with her – telling her that it will mess with her blood and DNA, and is too dangerous is bad to her again and makes her feel stupid.

She takes potions from the safe and starts knocking them back – her face shifting weirdly.

(An aside – this is just…. beyond a mess.  The first problem goes way back.  Young Ivy was reserved, cynical, suspicious.  She didn’t get easily hurt because she had learned not to trust people. She was tight-lipped (making her new tendency to babble stupid and contrived – just a means to create conflict)  She was also incredibly careful and intelligent – manufacturing drugs from plants and staying safe is no mean feat.  Her current flailing, therefore, is just irritating and out of character.  Secondly, Ivy has the means at her disposal to control people and extract a huge amount of cash from them.  We saw that she seemed to be doing this for a while.  When did she suddenly become useless?  And if Oswald was irritating her so much – why not just leave?  Or confront him?  Or try to resolve it?  And that’s not even mentioning that Oswald’s total antipathy for someone who saved his life and offered family is massively not in keeping with anything we know of him, and basically just ooc-ness so they can do whatever the hell they want to do with Ivy now.

In short.  No.)

Jim and Harvey are drinking. Harvey says he can understand the cops’ disillusionment.  And besides, they’d need an army to tackle Oswald.  Harvey then makes the most irrational jump ever and says he misses Falcone – who was a vicious bastard, but had honour.  A code.  Tell that to Liza, Harve. Falcone ruled with an iron fist, says Harvey.  

He then notices the lightbulb above Jim’s head and tried to reverse, but too late.  He reminds Jim he killed his son, but the writing is paying no heed to logic this week – and Jim is off to see Falcone who, apparently, has ‘an army’.

Bruce on the rooftops – trying out his new suit and rhapsodizing about it to Alfred via a walkie talkie. Unfortunately, after commenting that it’s incredibly light, he utters the phrase:

Feels like I'm wearing nothing at all

Which only makes me think of

And now the whole scene is lost for me.  Stupid sexy Flanders.  Alfred tells him to put his proto-Batman mask on, but it still can’t save it.

We finish with him standing on a ledge, looking smug, gazing out over the city.  I hope that suit is also ‘sudden-gust-of-wind-proof’

General Observations

Mostly commented above as they happened – but what?  There’s so much ooc-ness and hasty plot patching here.  So much.

Jim and Oswald.

Ah.  Everything here is just so personal.  Although it seems that he’s attributed Jim’s actions at the end of last season entirely to the virus (that sharp head turn when Tetch mentioned Jim was infected indicates this) – Oswald is still smarting that Jim didn’t protect him.  His repeated assertion that GCPD has failed in protecting its citizens is loaded with personal baggage.  It seems – at core – that he still trusts Jim, since he made a beeline for him when dosed with the fear virus: but he’s also still angry, and it’s informing at least some of his actions.

Meantime, we know that Jim – at heart – worries not only that he’s a fraud, but that he is ultimately destructive to anyone he touches.  The look he gives Oswald after he comments on the lives he’s ‘wrecked’ has a fair amount of shock in it – like Oswald managed to read his deepest, most personal thoughts.

I would also argue – though I might be wearing shipper glasses – that it’s reminiscent of the look he gives Oswald waaaay back in s2, when he goes to question him about the dead mayoral candidate, and Oswald lashes out to protect Gertrud:  there’s some honest surprised hurt there.   They might snipe back and forth, but their game has certain unspoken rules. Jim expected Oswald to confide in him – reliant on the fact that they have – however you might describe it – an actual relationship.  When Oswald not only refused to confide in Jim, but also lashed out – Jim looks properly startled, a slap in the face from an unexpected person.  Likewise here.  This isn’t the tit-for-tat at the Iceberg Lounge.  This was intensely personal, and Jim didn’t expect Oswald to use it in an argument.

In fact, neither of them are really reasoning much right now.  It’s interesting that all of their interactions thus far have been in front of an audience, because they’re both primarily concerned with self-image and saving face.  

Jim’s experiences in Gotham have involved frustration at the power of the criminal world, as well as his own deliberate collusion.  He’s flouted authority, broken rules, and broken laws.  He is planning to go off and make a deal with a mafia don.

But the idea that people should know about this kind of thing is intolerable.  He’s going on about how the reputation of the police force must be upheld with two murders under his belt.  There’s always been a sense of strain about Jim in terms of how he wants to be seen vs. what he actually believes and does.  Oswald’s scheme doesn’t allow for that division, and Jim can’t stand it.

Oswald is obsessed with control, power, and respect.  It’s always been a driver for him, apparently from a childhood of severe bullying, and his latest experiences – public humiliation, mental torture and virtual destruction – has only reinforced his thinking that complete control and absolute power are the only ways to be respected and to stay safe.

As such, his whole scheme is all tangled up in that.  He tends to think emotionally anyway – but this whole idea is creaking under all his psychological baggage.  The press are constantly present because he’s desperately trying to be seen as powerful and successful again after being brought so low.

Jim, Harvey and the Falcone idea

I’m honestly mystified by Jim’s willingness to go along with Harvey’s reasoning.  Refusing to dance to Falcone’s tune is pretty much Jim’s big defining moment in the first episode.  He’s hugely instrumental in the corruption Jim hates.  Jim has since found out that Falcone was hand in glove with the Court of Owls, and that he was involved in his father’s death.

But – Falcone’s suddenly palatable?  And what about the practical consideration that, you know – Jim shot his son?  

It really doesn’t make a blind bit of sense, and it’s hard to figure out how to understand Jim’s actions (without making recourse to wtf, writers?).  Does Falcone still somehow hold some mystique for Jim due to his relationship with his father?  Are Jim’s psychological issues around his father’s memory so deep-rooted and overwhelming that he really can’t see clearly, and so Falcone – by dint of association alone – is still an acceptable authority figure?

He definitely doesn’t see Oswald as an authority figure – they’re really more peers, as their current squabbling would indicate.

Because, ultimately, what Falcone offers isn’t really much different from what Oswald is doing. It’s just that Oswald is blatant about it.   When Jim arrived, he found a police force riddled with corruption, and the establishment puppeteered by Falcone – who also ran the underworld.  This is really roughly the same set-up that Oswald is currently running.  

So we’re to understand that Jim’s actually fine with that as long as it’s all at least superficially ‘wrong’?  As long as everyone is willing to pay lip service to the notion of a police force that upholds the law and protects citizens, then what actually goes on is OK?

Selina, Tabitha, Ivy and Barbara

Try harder.  There’s way too much contrivance going on here. I’m not going to care about it ‘just because’.

The Scarecrow

I thought Jonathan was great – swithering between vulnerability and threat.  He’s not too far gone to be reached yet – and I’m keen to see where they go next with him.  

Thoughts?

[therealdragonnerdagain]

This is a retired gaming blog, blah, blah, blah. But I wanted to post this.

So I was playing Skyrim (Vilkas is a crappy follower -- Farkas is better) and for some reason, I started thinking about how I made that Loghain post about two (?) years ago and how Dragon Age fans misunderstood it.

I remember having some fans attack me, astonished and self-righteously outraged that I was "defending" a racist slaver. Meanwhile, other fans approached me in a friendly manner, shocked that I had apparently killed Loghain in the game even though I pitied him. These two groups were both under the impression that I liked Loghain, which was . . . utterly baffling to me.

It occurred to me that these fans must've been very young, because they were still thinking with a very black and white mentality. To them, pitying Loghain was equal to liking him (except it's not) and explaining why he did what he did in Origins was somehow the same as condoning his actions (again, it's not).

If I recall correctly, the purpose of my post was to recount Loghain's sins in a list where I explained why he committed each one through codexes, letters, and info I'd gathered in the game (working with Howe, Anora's schemes, etc).

Also, keep in mind that I always tended to write such posts after having taken my meds and right before going to bed, so they were often incoherent, drowsily written nonsense.

So ironic that I was accused of ableism while too out of my mind to write a decent post due to a medication for my MENTAL ILLNESS.

So ironic that I was accused of racism and condoning slavery, only to have my accuser turn around and make racist insults at me.

But whatever. Back to Loghain.

I think Alistair summed it up best when he said that people like Loghain and Anora think they're the only ones who can get anything done. Loghain thinking he was the only competent and trustworthy person in all of Feralden is half the reason Feralden nearly burned to the ground.

Yes, I pity Loghain. But, no, I don't like him. He's an asshole and I've never had a playthrough where I spared him (especially since I played elves so much).

I pity Loghain because he has PTSD and his wild paranoia was sad to watch. He truly believed Cailan was going to marry Celene when he clearly wasn't (something Inquisition and The Masked Empire only further proves -- Celene is queer, power-hungry, and in no way willing to marry a man) and if you take Loghain back to Ostagar, he rants and raves about Cailan's "betrayal" wildly. It reminds me of mentally ill people I knew personally.

So, yes. I pity Loghain because he is a broken soldier. And how could anyone have helped him? Thedas doesn't "do" mental illness well. As I mentioned on another post, Cullen is probably the first templar in (recent) history to open a rest home for broken soldiers.

What was more, Loghain had too much power. There was no one to stop him in the heights of his paranoia. Even Cailan couldn't do anything because he needed Loghain's help against the darkspawn.

Also, Anora would probably never speak to Cailan again if he sent her father away. I believe Cailan really loved Anora and was never going to marry Celene. Eamon (so high on having the king's ear) kept telling Cailan to find a new wife, and Cailan kept telling Eamon to mind his own business. So Eamon's letters, combined with the complete businesslike letters from Celene about an "alliance" both led Loghain -- in his feverish brain -- into believing his son-in-law was casting Anora aside, when nothing was farthest from the truth.

If you pay attention at Ostagar, Cailan is clearly annoyed by Loghain but can't be rid of him. I wouldn't be surprised if he suggested having Loghain retire to a chantry somewhere, only for Anora to become upset with him until he called it off. Remember, Anora practically worshiped her father.

Also, yes, I enjoy understanding the reasons why Loghain did what he did. That's because I'm a writer and I enjoy knowing the entire story. That does not mean I condone Loghain's actions.

I recall fans sneering on me for talking about gray morality and how the Gray Wardens were called GRAY WARDENS because gray morality is the entire theme of Dragon Age.

The fans were sneering on me because they thought I was using "gray morality" to excuse the elven slave trade. Only I wasn't. I never said it was right or necessary to sell the elves off to Teviner. In fact, it was completely unnecessary (when is slavery ever necessary?). And given the fact that my favorite Gray Warden was Kalian (and my second favorite was Mahariel) it was downright infuriating. (Kalian's father almost gets sold.)

Also, it wasn't Loghain that sold the elves. It was Howe, as theorized in another post of mine. Howe led a massacre against the elves after Tabris killed Vaughn, and when that wasn't enough to cow them, he used bio warfare and slavery to be rid of them. In fact, he did just about everything that has been done historically to people of color in real life -- why in FUCK would I excuse or condone this???

David Gaider stated on BSN (I believe the thread is gone now with the rest of the forums) that Loghain didn't even know what was happening in the alienage until you wave the slaver documents in his face during the landsmeet.

Loghain wasn't given a short stick by the plot. He was written wonderfully. He was written just well enough that you could pity him and hate him at the same time. And he felt very human. And very real. More real than Coryphshit, anyway.

Loghain had a full story arc with multiple outcomes. It's pretty much everything a fictional character in a video game could ask for. He wasn't given the short end of anything, in my humble opinion.

Even though Loghain wasn't directly (but was indirectly) responsible for the slave trade, he was still responsible for a lot of seedy shit. He was responsible for Uldred. He promised a man -- a slave -- his freedom, only to go back on that promise, which led to Uldred committing suicide by giving his body to a demon and wreaking havoc on the tower: the real Uldred was dead by the time the Warden arrived.

Loghain was also responsible for Redcliffe but couldn't be bothered to manipulate the Dalish into his control. No, they were already destroying themselves in a neat little plot about how the writers think white people aren't responsible for modern day oppression or whatever.

Anyway.

It's supposed to be ironic that Loghain depises the Gray Wardens and yet acts just like them, committing atrocities to do what is necessary (or what he THINKS is necessary) but not what is right. It's almost like the game was building up specifically for him to become a Gray Warden. Especially if you read the books, you can see what I mean. (The same kinda goes for Solas, though he's just a Loghain-expy anyway.)

My point is, fans of the game are too young to grasp its more mature themes, which reach beyond simple black and white ethics. Dragon Age: Origins is a world were nothing is black and white and nothing is supposed to be simple (again, not "condoning" slavery. Slavery is pretty simple: it's wrong). It's a world full of anti-heroes who do bad things to save the day.

Again, Howe wasn't doing something "necessary" in selling off elves, so I'm NOT talking about him when I speak about gray morality. I'm talking about Loghain, who firmly believed he was doing the right thing at Ostagar, even though he really wasn't. Loghain firmly believed that saving his troops and pulling them out would protect Ferelden, even if it meant sacrificing thousands of lives -- just as Solas believed sacrificing all those people on the mountain by tricking Corypheus into opening his foci was necessary to save his own people.

As a side note, it kind of pisses me off that Patrick Weekes wrote that segment for Solas where Solas talks about the battle at Ostagar being not so black and white. He tries to make it seem as if Loghain's actions could have actually been right in some way, but anyone who's paid close nerdy attention knows that Loghain was clearly WRONG. I believe this was done mostly to honor the player's interpretation but . . .

If Loghain hadn't barred the Orlesians from entering Ferelden, then pulled out his own troops, Ostagar would not have happened. Period.

During the first act of Inquisition, you can actually get in a fight with the quartermaster at Haven about Ostagar. It's another example of Patrick's Weeke's shitty writing, where he tries to get an emotional reaction from the audience by appealing to the player instead of the Inquisitor. He basically has no idea how to write for a video game and instead writes like this is a novel. 

The Inquisitor has no reason to care so passionately about Loghain and Ostagar, while those of us who played Origins do. Yet the Inquisitor is so angry, they act as if they were there (because we were there) when they really shouldn't give a fuck. This is immersion breaking, also stupid, and Weekes uses this method to pull us into the story emotionally multiple times throughout the game: Morrigan's introduction where the Inquisitor is smiling at a dangerous stranger as if they know her, the popular and much loved Teagan being a jerk in order to play on our feelings (and again not the Inquisitor’s feelings), etc.

Loghain wanted desperately to keep the Orlesians out because the war against Orlais had left him paranoid and suffering PTSD. Orlesians raped his mother and killed his father. Orlesians mounted the heads of his family and friends on pikes. Orlesians made his life a living hell.

And it was so, so easy to blame everything on Cailan once he was dead, wasn't it? But I don't think Loghain was really even blaming Cailan out of power-hungry maliciousness: he actually believed Cailan was a stupid child (Calian's name even means child) and would forever see Cailan through the "father filter."

Loghain has a Fade nightmare that was cut from the game and buried in the game files. In it, he is trapped with child!Cailan in the Fade and is bogged down by guilt and anger. He will always see Cailan as a child and will hate himself for killing him, even while still hating Cailan.

Yes, Loghain hated Cailan, possibly because he was the child of Maric and Rowan, Rowan being the woman he loved. He believed Cailan was a little boy who wanted war and had miscalculated the battle, when in fact Cailan was pretending to want war to keep his troops in good spirits (Wynne confirms this). Cailan knew they were going to die at Ostagar thanks to Loghain -- this is why he sends you and Alistair to the tower. I think he might have even known Loghain was sabotaging the tower.

Again, all of this is mentioned in Return to Ostagar. Nothing about Ostagar was "morally gray" as Solas (and Patrick Weekes, who apparently doesn’t know the story) would have you believe.

And yet, while Loghain's actions were very wrong, he was also not the mad, evil, cartoony villain Alistair saw him as.

Loghain was a sick man who believed he was doing what was right: THAT is what makes this situation morally gray.

Also, Loghain's an asshole because he's racist. I recall one playthrough he called my Mahariel a wild elf, insinuating that she was worthless because she was Dalish. And even though he worked with the Dalish in the books, he and Maric never really treated them like people. The elves fought in the war to liberate Ferelden and then got all of nothing for it and went right back to being socially, religiously, economically oppressed (correct me if I'm wrong). Sounds a bit like the Revolutionary War, huh?

All those nobles at the landsmeet screaming about how Fereldens don't believe in slavery, as if oppression ends at whips and chains.That entire scene at the landsmeet was very realistic, actually. How many white people today think people of color aren't socially, economically oppressed and that oppression ended with slavery? They'v got freedom and don't even know what it is. But if it was suddenly taken away, they would know. Oh, they would know. 

This grimdark crap is why I enjoy breaking the theme by playing a Warden who is not an anti-hero but a hero. Which means that Loghain always dies in my games because a hero would kill him, while a pragmatic anti-hero would make use of him.

The fact that Dragon Age: Origins is grimdark is what makes playing a shining hero so great. Dagna's line about the Gray Warden "It was a time of darkness, she was the only light" was perfect because of this.

I loved playing a hero who saved the day without resorting to pragmatism. I loved it simply because the real world doesn't work that way, and I wish desperately that it did; I wish that people could just be good for once.

I loved playing a hero and having Loghain realize my character was everything he should have been and everything he could not be. (Again, it's the same with Solas and a good, morally upstanding Inquisitor.)

That being said, I also believe a "good" Inquisitor would let Blackwall live. I believe the difference between Loghain and Blackwall is that  while one has a chance to overcome his own darkness, the other does not. Loghain never goes on a killing spree again should you let him live, but he also has to live in misery the rest of his life. Frankly, I always viewed his execution as a mercy kill. And if you defeat him in combat, he pretty much asks you -- with a content smile -- to kill him.

The point I'm trying to make, what I'm getting at is this:

I suddenly understand why series with more "mature," thought-provoking themes like Dragon Age and Mass Effect have been dumbed down and watered down into childish, cartoony, bullcrap.

The fans are too young to get it.

That's not an insult. It's just the truth. We're all naive and inexperienced at least once in our lives. That's the very definition of youth.

Look at Tales of Symphonia and Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of a New World. The first game -- while still a bit ridiculous, adolescent, and cliched -- at least has more mature, thought-provoking themes, situations that leave you questioning if you did the right thing. The second game is a bunch of adolescent whining, cringey cliches, and utter nonsense.

Dragon Age: Origins went from characters with depth, meaningful choices, and interesting npcs to Inquisition, the light-hearted, bubbly, bland, cliched, MMORPG/Skyrim wannabe, where your choices don’t matter and your own followers treat you like shit long after you’ve befriended them -- but only if you’re Dalish.

Mass Effect went from the same deal (mature themes, blah, blah, blah) to watered down . .  . everything. Tactics, choices, any seriousness or depth was all replaced with button-mashing combat and campy comic book drivel (yeah, I went there). Though don't get me wrong: at least the combat for Mass Effect was fun across all three games.

It's like the writers went, "Fuck it. The audience wouldn't appreciate or grasp mature themes anyway!" and gave us a bunch of cartoonish, ridiculous shit.

I wish they’d stop. If young fans don’t get it, then they don’t get it. Why change your games when the audience is still the same?

[a-gay-bloodmage]

Can you do "ZAMBONI" for the letter asks? (And the prompt for Z could be like "first kiss" or something if you don't want to find one)(also sorry zamboni is long but I couldn't think of another word besides that one x))

Thank you so much for the asks! This got a really long, so I had to put it under a read more link! Anyway, thanks again! These were super fun to answer, like always~! 

((Also oh my god ZAMBONI was so fun to write god bless))

From this post!

A- Ships that you currently like a lot

ZevWarden and Morriana, totally. Of course ZevWarden, because like, of course I love Zevran and my Warden! And Morriana because of their in-game dynamic and THE DRESS IN INQUISITION GIVES ME MY QUEER L I F E

B- A pairing you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind

Morrigan x Warden. By someone, I kind of mean myself, because I was planning out my games, and was like shit I need to pair someone with Morrigan and thus, Orest was born and as he developed, I got into the ship!

I- Has Tumblr made you dislike any fandom?

Fucking VOLTRON, DUDE. I hate how fucking extra everyone is, and, controversial opinion here, the Shaladin ships disgust me. I’m not going to harass anyone over it, but I really don’t like them. But the other shippers are just as bad trying to pull out these “"receipts”“ and harassing the VAs. I follow some discourse-free blogs, which is nice, but still…

M- A character you’d like to have as a friend!

Leliana! Both of us have stuff in common, like our sexualities and our views on religion for the most part ^^ I think she’d be really nice to talk to and shop with!

N- Three things you want to see more of in your main fandom

I wish I saw more Morriana and Zevran x Human Mage! I see A LOT of Leliwarden and Zevran x Mahariel/Tabris/Surana, but not much Amell/Cousland fanart or fanfictions! Let my husband love some humans! ♡♡ (Does it count if I say I also want to see more notes on my fanfictions?)

O- Chose a song at random. What character or pairing does it remind you of?

Dear River by Kina Grannis SO reminds me of Zevran! Specifically, my Warden to Zevran, because of the lyrics. I, in terms of my Warden, really feel like the song is about Zevran, coming along and just sweeping him off his feet. And the feeling, in the beginning of their time together, felt so temporary I can’t help but really get emotional when I listen to it. Here’s a link to the music video~♡

Z- Fandom Ramble! (First Kiss!!)

Hope you don’t mind me taking your little prompt of “First Kiss” and writing some tiny ficlets for my Wardens! I went a little overboard with this… but I hope you appreciate this peek into my Wardens’ love lives ^^

Redren: Prudent was never something Redren considered himself to be. Born in a whorehouse and later raised by a girl with so little shame, he never thought he’d be so flustered. With how pretty he was, how he listened, how he complimented him. Did this elf have no shame? No anxiety? No desire to keep his head on his shoulders? So when the flirting started all but the moment after his life was spared, Redren hadn’t the faintest idea how to handle it. He caved, allowing for this Antivan massage, so obviously a trap, a way for him to face his own desires without saying yes with a clear head. But it didn’t turn out like that. Zevran, for it was in his very nature itself for him to do so, joked and flirted, but all but shied away from doing anything like Redren had assumed he would. So when it was over, his back and shoulders feeling better than they had in years, he hardly noticed the kiss that was planted on his cheek before Zevran slipped away into the dark. A blink was all it took for the pale skin feel as if it were set ablaze. His cheek was on fire because of something. Embarrassment? No, no he didn’t feel embarrassed. He couldn’t pin it, it was both frustrating and fulfilling. But whatever it was, he wanted to feel it again. And again. And again.

Faelyn: Nelaros! Nelaros was his name! Oh, Nelaros, Nelaros, Nelaros! Faelyn couldn’t contain her excitement. After so many years of waiting, waiting, waiting, her husband was finally chosen! From Highever, no less! The whole idea made her giddy, so excited she wore Shianni out not even ten minutes after getting the news, bouncing around and giggling and laughing. Nelaros! Maybe this all meant that father believed her capable, that she was smart enough to be a useful wife. So long she’d believed she wasn’t, so anxious, thinking that perhaps, yes, only perhaps, she’d be stuck cleaning taverns’ tables until she died. But now with Nelaros, oh how she loved to say his name, Nelaros, my Nelaros, she could have those babies like she dreamed of, a beautiful bride to be a glowing mother, to make the others see that I’m capable! I’m smart enough! My husband, he loves me! See, see, look! I can be what you all said I wasn’t enough to be! And she was so happy when she saw him, when he didn’t care about the way she sounded when she talked, when her teeth got in the way of her tongue, when she forgot what she was saying halfway though. She promised to be a good girl, to wait until wed to kiss him, for that was the rule of the weddings. She didn’t care, as long as she got her kiss in the end, with a little iron ring around her finger, slipped on by her beloved. But when she kissed him, oh how cold his lips were. The tears flowing down her cheeks weren’t the happy ones like she’d dreamed they’d be. The ring in his pocket felt ten times its weight, lead pulling her pretty little hand to the dirt. His lips, so cold, too cold. This corpse wasn’t her husband. It couldn’t be! It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be! Her dress, once so pretty, so white, now such an ugly colour, so red, so filthy. She had given this kiss to a corpse, a dead man on the floor, stained in the same ugly colour her hands were. Shianni, as much as she tried, couldn’t tear her grip from the corpse’s shirt. She was supposed to stay with this husband of hers. Till death do us part, how unfair when it came so soon. Oh, Nelaros, Nelaros, Nelaros.

Orest: What counted as a kiss? Was it when a brother or a sister says goodnight? Was it when a mother or a father wishes you luck on a hunt? Or was it something more, a feeling rather than an action? Because whatever a kiss was, it was happening right now. Tamlen’s mouth was on Orest’s mouth, and whoever had moved first was anyone’s guess. How taboo for two men, never to be bonded, to share such an experience. What did this mean? Nothing could come from this pair, no children to carry on the Dalish blood. But it felt good. So good, like a silent mouth had no right to be. Whatever he felt was addictive, Tamlen’s skin underneath his fingertips was a rush, something so foreign yet so familiar. Tamlen hummed into his lips, sending this rush down his abdomen, igniting this fire of lust. How anyone could resist this feeling was a mystery for the ages, how anyone could live in the darkness, not knowing the feeling of someone against their skin like he once had was unanswerable. So they kept it up, with Tamlen the first to pull back. A promise was made, to do this again, because whatever it was, perhaps love, perhaps just teenage play, it felt good. This experiment certainly required more study.

Andrea: She was expected to marry a man of equal stature to her, an Arl’s son, or some other nobleman. She minded not, of course, if it was what her family desired, she would learn to desire it as well. And how bad could one man be? Her family was what mattered, and if she had to add one member, and likely more with her future children, she would adapt and carry on. But that ended. That possibility, blown out like the brief candle life was. She grieved, and she cried, and she never moved on. But he made it easier. He was foolish, and a bastard, not her equal, but the longer she watched, she grew to realize he was so much more than her. He cared, and he listened, and he let her sleep alongside him as the sky cooled and the leaves changed. He was all she was not, and she began to wonder if, perhaps, she was falling. The realization hit her like a blunt sword; the blow wan’t fatal, yet it hurt, it made her whole being reel on impact. But she let herself be swept away by this bastard King, by Alistair. So when he cupped a large, gentle hand against her chin, she tilted her head upward, letting him connect their lips. How soft his lips were, contrasting so greatly to the scratching of his stubbled chin. She felt his hands trail downward, gripping her full hips, so improper, so unbecoming of a noble, yet she allowed him to pull her closer, armor clinking against armor. Because he wasn’t a noble, he was Alistair. And in that moment, she realized it didn’t matter. Nothing in this Blighted world did, and if that was so, she was going to kiss this bastard over and over again.

Hundir: For a prince, especially one of the Dwarven kingdom, feelings were so unnecessary. They made a man weak, clouded his head with nonsense, useless sentiment that only served to pull the rug out from underneath his feet. So when he started to grow so close with him, with that trusted soldier, of what he near dared address as a friend, it frightened him. He kept it hushed, feelings so useless, so unheard of. And it wasn’t until the door was closing did he regret it. He reached out, to grab the disgraced warrior’s beard, pulling him close, planting that kiss upon his lips. It was short, hardly a second before he was pulled away and the doors to the Deep Roads shut behind him. That feeling of another man’s lips upon his own was so strange, but it felt destined, like it was meant to happen, the Stone moving his feet to do it. His hands shook as he stepped forward into the darkness of the tunnels, the handle of his battleaxe gripped in his gloved hands all that kept him from turning back, to pound on the door, to scream let me out! Let me out! Gorim, please, let me go with him! Let me live upon the surface with my warrior, please! Honor be damned, he didn’t care. But he moved forward, desperate to find these Wardens, to go with them, to find his warrior on the surface.

[somepinkthing]

crow age

summary: Tsukishima Kei is an apostate living in the Kocari Wilds with his long time friend. The army is gathering at Ostagar to drive off the recent darkspawn invasion and he’d planned to the hell stay out of it. Let’s just say things don’t go exactly as planned.

pairings: none yet

rated: T for violence and language and themes

notes: I realize this may make little sense to people who haven’t played Dragon Age: Origins or know about the games. I’m sorry :( I think you can still read it and enjoy it if you like, but some of the references may fly over your head. I actually find that wikipedia and other online sources do a pretty good job at explaining the background if you want to know about it. I also recommend the game to people who are considering it, it’s bad animation because its so old, but the story and the characters more than make up for it.

Tsukishima eyed the group in front of him with narrowed eyes.

It was odd, he’d never seen scouts come out this far into the Kocari Wilds. Not even with the war happening nearby. Nor did they ever pay such close attention to any of the old ruins the forest was riddled with. And besides, these guys didn’t act like scouts. Scouts scouted. These people had gotten themselves tangled up in no less than seven fights with darkspawn since they entered the dense forest when they could have just as well hidden or run. They were also rummaging around an awful lot, turning things over and the like. It was pretty clear that they were digging around for something specific.

And wait, was that--?

“An elf,” Yamaguchi breathed beside him, also having noticed that the mystery party’s pale-haired archer’s ears were just a little too pointed to be human.

“They have an elf in their party?” Yamaguchi asked, tilting his head up to look at his partner, “And he’s armed too.”

Tsukishima grunted in response. He was tempted to remind his friend that he had told him that he should wait back at the cottage, but he didn’t. It was pointless anyways; he knew he would just be given a sheepish apology and then be promptly ignored. Gone were the times when Yamaguchi would shrink away at the first sign of danger. Nowadays he preferred to run headfirst into it, a fact that irked Tsukishima to no end. It wasn’t like Yamaguchi ever had to deal with his own injuries after all was said and done. No, no, that job always fell to Tsukishima.

“They’re looking for something,” Tsukishima murmured. He moved over so Yamaguchi could crouch down next to him.

“In the old warden hide-out? That place is cleared out and abandoned though, what could they want in there?”

The old warden hide-out?

Oh, right. Now that Tsukishima thought about it, that ruin did used to be a warden base. Tsukishima remembered how Yamaguchi would drag him over to the abandoned castle, right after wardens had first left, and had made him play-pretend that they were real Grey Wardens off to save Ferelden.

Tsukishima hadn’t seen this place for years though. It was all broken down and dirty now. There used to be an arch at the doorway, he remembered. Now there was just pile of rubble at the entrance. Sad, but expected. The Kocari Wilds flooded at least twice a month in the spring and summer seasons and the harsh weather was nothing to sneeze at.

“Well, whatever they’re looking for, they’re poking around awfully close to the cottage,” Yamaguchi said, untying the sash that held his spear in place, “We’ll need to chase them off, right Tsukki?”

Tsukishima was about to respond when suddenly a realization hit him. He grabbed Yamaguchi’s arm and stopped him from readying his weapon.

The old warden hide-out.

An armed elf in their party.

Fighting darkspawn without so much as a pause.

And not to mention, working in the vicinity of a suspected Blight.

Tsukishima groaned. Of course that’s what they were, that took an embarrassingly long time to figure out. These guys weren’t a scouting party, they were...

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi asked, “Figure something out?”

“Grey Wardens,” Tsukishima replied, “It’s a party of Grey Wardens. Put that away, if we don’t bother them they probably won’t bother us.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes widened comically.

“Really? Are they really Grey Wardens?!”

“Shhhh, idiot,” Tsukishima hissed, “They’ll hear us.”

An arrow flew right into Yamaguchi’s shoulder and Tsukishima knew his warning had come too late.

“An attack? At this distance?” Tsukishima breathed out in disbelief as he rushed over to Yamaguchi’s side and pried his hand away from the injury.

As soon as he got a look at the wound, Tsukishima immediately threw up a shield and started to chant a healing spell. Damn whoever had shot at them. Damn them and their monster strength. The arrow had gone right through Yamaguchi’s shoulder, the head of it was peeking out the other side. There was no way he could be moved with an open wound like that, he’d die of blood loss before ever reaching their cottage. Tsukishima knew he would need more time and herbs to properly clean and close the injury, but right now he could at least get the arrow out and stop the bleeding. Then, he could use a bit of magic to distract the mystery wardens as he escaped with Yamaguchi.

This was doable. He could do this.

Tsukishima had just worked the arrow out of Yamaguchi’s shoulder and had almost had the bleeding under control when he felt his shield collapse. The magic he was pouring out into Yamaguchi’s wound to stitch it up cut short too and Tsukishima suddenly felt as if his heart was being crushed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.

He’d know this feeling anywhere.

“A templar,” Tsukishima growled lowly. He quickly tried to collect himself.

Yamaguchi heard him and immediately tried to shove Tsukishima away.

“Go, Tsukki. I’ll be right behind you. You have to get out of here.”

But one look at Yamaguchi’s pain-glazed eyes and Tsukishima knew he was lying. He could hear the Grey Wardens approaching as they spoke and without his magic...

“Forget it, Yamaguchi. Even if one of us stayed behind, we’d never get away in time.”

“But Tsukki--”

“Shut up. Just. Shut up and put pressure on that wound.”

Tsukishima ripped off a piece of his robe and pushed it onto Yamaguchi’s wound. His friend groaned at the contact but, for once, obediently did as he was told.

“Here they come,” Tsukishima announced, hearing the footsteps get louder, “Let me do the talking, you just press down on that.”

“Who’s there?” came a childish voice followed by loud, rapid footsteps.

“Hey, wait! Hinata!” a sweet sounding voice with a hint of an accent called out.

A few seconds later, a shock of red-hair was in Tsukishima’s face and Tsukishima himself was on the floor and out of breath. He was pinned under whoever it was that just knocked the breath out of him. He heard a thud to his right and turned his head towards it.

A giant hammer. Whoever just tackled him had just smashed a giant hammer into the ground mere inches from his head. So much for talking things through.

“Who are you? You’re not darkspawn,” the boy (boy? man? he was awfully small for a man if that was the case) asked. This time, there was no anger in his voice, just genuine curiosity.

“Hey, you’re human! What’s your name?”

“Are you kidding me?!” Tsukishima sputtered in disbelief, “You shoot at us, tackle me to the ground, almost smash my head in, and now you’re asking me my name?”

In the back of his mind, Tsukishima could hear his voice of reason telling him that it probably wasn’t a good idea to antagonize the boy who had him pinned defenselessly to the floor.

“Well, I thought you were darkspawn...”

“You don’t say,” Tsukishima sneered, firmly ignoring his voice of reason. This kid pissed him off just by breathing. Somehow something about him didn’t feel too dangerous either, though Tsukishima’s defenses were still very definitely up.

“Wha-HEY! Don’t make fun of me! I’m gonna be a Grey Warden, you know! A hero!”

Tsukishima wondered if this kid knew he didn’t have to scream every word out loud like that. He could hear him. Everything within a 20 mile radius could hear him.

“Oh?” he snapped back, “You’re out of luck there, kid. I don’t think the Grey Wardens hire toddlers.”

“I’m not a kid! I’m seventeen years old!”

“Sevente--”

“Yep! How old are you?” the apparently-not-a-kid asked Tsukishima tauntingly.

Newly turned sixteen. But there was no way Tsukishima was about to tell this guy that.

“Alright already. Fine, short-stack, you’re not a kid. Want to get off me now that you’ve confirmed that I’m not a darkspawn?”

“Short-stack?!”

“Hinata!” the sweet voice said from behind short-stack, “Let him up. This is not how a Grey Warden should conduct themselves.”

“But, Suga!”

“Off, Hinata.”

Tsukishima peered over ‘Hinata’s’ shoulder and saw that the command had come from the pale-haired elf he’d noticed before. Another one in their party, a bald human, was helping (or attempting to help) a resistant Yamaguchi off the ground. His attempts to get Yamaguchi up must’ve jostled something though because Yamaguchi suddenly cried out and grabbed his shoulder.

“Hey!” Tsukishima yelled, futilely trying to throw Hinata off of him, “Don’t touch him, he’s injured!”

Hinata seemed shocked, if unaffected physically, by the sudden outburst of his prisoner and quickly hopped off Tsukishima.

“Hey, hey! Okay, I’m off. Relax, Ser Tanaka was just trying to help.”

Tsukishima quickly scrambled to Yamaguchi’s side. The bald one backed off easily enough and gave Tsukishima access to his injured friend. Tsukishima began chanting a healing spell only to have his magic short out at his fingertips.

Right. The templar.

“So you’re the apostate,” a serious sounding voice growled from behind Tsukishima. A shadow suddenly loomed over him.

“Kageyama…” the elf, Suga, warned. But he was ignored, the Templar’s shadow didn’t move an inch.

Tsukishima turned his head and looked up to see an angry pair of deep blue eyes staring down at him. The man they belonged to, Kageyama presumably, was tall and obviously muscular. He had dark, floppy black hair that somehow fell in a way that only made him look angrier. There was also a bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. Tsukishima immediately recognized the arrows in the quiver--they were the same as the one he’d just pulled from Yamaguchi’s shoulder a few minutes ago.

“And I guess that makes you the templar,” Tsukishima practically snarled, “Want to give me my magic back so I can heal up my friend?”

‘Kageyama’ made a face at him and turned his head to Suga. Tsukishima did too. It was easy enough to see who was in charge around here--the others clearly deferred to the elf with the long, silver hair and the sweet voice. If Yamaguchi weren’t delirious from pain and blood loss, Tsukishima imagined he’d love this. He’d probably revere this Suga. After all, an elf in charge wasn’t something you see every day.

“Now, now,” Suga said, placing himself directly between Kageyama and Tsukishima, “Let’s have some answers first. I am Sugawara Koushi, a senior Gray Warden and vice-captain to the Ferelden Gray Wardens. We’re here to collect some valuables the Wardens lost and to collect some ingredients for our upcoming Joining. And you two are?”

Tsukishima balked at the thought of giving this guy his name. Names held power. But there wasn’t time to argue.

“Tsukishima. He’s Yamaguchi. We don’t belong to any army or company. I need my magic back to heal him or he’s not going to make it.”

Suga looked contemplative. He wanted to say yes, but Tsukishima was an unknown apostate. And not a half-baked one either, if what Kageyama told him was true.

Tsukishima saw his internal battle and decided to swallow his dignity a little and butter the guy up. This was Yamaguchi’s life at stake, after all. Grey Wardens wouldn’t arrest them, but Tsukishima knew that they wouldn’t hesitate to let his friend bleed out and would probably kill him too if they felt that’s what would keep their precious order, and its newest members, safe.

“Please let me help him,” Tsukishima addressed the Grey Warden group, forcing his voice to soften up.

Suga just kept looking at him, contemplating it, and Tsukishima could no longer stand the silence. He was barely holding in his panic. And, quite frankly, he was a bit embarrassed. The already had him on the floor and practically begging. What more did they want?

“Look,” Tsukishima said, sneer back in place, “Let me heal him. It’s what? Five of you? Against one of me? And you’ve got your pet Templar. Just how dumb do you think I am? I won’t attack you, for Maker’s sake.

Still, there was no answer. Tsukishima felt the blood gushing from Yamaguchi’s wound and decided to play one last card.

“Just let me heal my friend and I’ll even make it worth your while.”

“…worth my while?”

Figures that that’d be what got Suga to open his mouth. Tsukishima gritted his teeth, angry that it had come down to this, before continuing.

“Yeah, you guys were looking for something, right? Something in that castle? Well, let me tell you what, it’s emptied out. Mostly by me. And if I didn’t take it, then raid parties and robbers did and good luck finding any of them. Your best bet at finding whatever the hell you were looking for is with me.”

Yamaguchi whined in pain and Tsukishima resisted the urge to chant a healing spell. He settled for pulling Yamaguchi closer to him so that the other boy could lean on him instead of trying to support his own weight.

“But,” Tsukishima practically said as calmly as he could, glaring directly at Suga, “If he dies, I’ll never tell you where I put it. It’s all right in my cottage, but have fun locating that without me. You’ll need it. It’s hexed and hidden to hell and back.”

Honestly, Tsukishima didn’t relish the idea of letting these strange, armed men who were basically part of a cult anywhere near his hiding spot, but…. The situation was way past reservations. Tsukishima had to get them to agree to give him back his magic

Hearing the offer, Suga immediately grabbed Kageyama and dragged him a few feet back. The two started whispering frantically.

The baldie, Ser Tanaka is what Hinata had called him, and another warrior, shorter than Tsukishima but was still absolutely humongous with a helmet covering his entire face, wordlessly took guard around Tsukishima and Yamaguchi. Hinata plopped to the floor and stared at Tsukishima, obviously wanting to ask something. Tsukishima ignored him and continued to watch Suga argue with Kageyama. The two of them were clearly considering his proposal. Being a Templar, Tsukishima imagined Kageyama was arguing against it. The last call went to Suga however, and from where Tsukishima sat it looked like the older Grey Warden was all for the idea so Tsukishima was feeling hopeful.

“Here are your heroes of old, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima almost muttered, “About to consort with someone they consider the equivalent of a demon in order to get their hands on whatever shiny treasure they were looking for. The mighty Grey Wardens.”

Almost. But he didn’t say it. In truth, Yamaguchi’s obsession with the Grey Wardens was… endearing. How his friend could still believe in heroes in this day and age, Tsukishima would never know. It was silly and he had to know that he’d be let down eventually. Yamaguchi’s seen more than enough of the world to know what it was like nowadays. But Tsukishima supposed that never-give-up brand of optimism was part of what made Yamaguchi, Yamaguchi.

He was all Tsukishima had anymore.

“Shit,” Tsukishima did mutter this time.

Yamaguchi hummed softly and looked up at him with bleary, confused eyes.

“Situation’s getting to me,” Tsukishima explained, “You know, this is your fault for yelling so damn loud.”

“…sorry, Tsukki…” Yamaguchi said with a sheepish grin (well, as much of one as he could manage at the moment).

“Just shut up,” Tsukishima mumbled back.

Tsukishima pulled Yamaguchi closer to him when he started to shiver in his arms.

Crap, he was losing way too much blood. They had officially run out of time.

“I meant what I said!” Tsukishima yelled at Suga and Kageyama, “I’ll let whatever precious treasure you’re looking for rot along with that cottage if he dies! So you wanna decide a bit faster or what?!”

The Templar sent a glare over to Tsukishima but his attention was forcefully yanked back by Suga, who had ignored the yelling. Hinata panicked though, jumping up.

“But!” he whined, “We’re looking for treaties! I don’t really get it but they’re super important and Captain Daichi said we need them to save the world!”

“Wow, sounds super important alright,” Tsukishima deadpanned, “Guess you better tell your friends to move it, huh?”

Hinata hopped up from his spot and ran towards the whispering duo.

“Stupid Kageyama, haven’t you decided yet?!”

~~~

In the end, Suga had put his foot down and ordered Kageyama to return Tsukishima’s magic. Reluctantly, the Templar did. Tsukishima didn’t bother thanking him--not that he’d ever been planning to. Instead, he’d moved right to healing Yamaguchi.

Tsukishima was able to stop the bleeding and the wound was closed up enough that Yamaguchi could make the trip home without worry of it ripping open, but the pain was definitely still there and the blood loss could only truly be fixed with time. Yamaguchi was still wobbly and weak and it was obviously hard for him to keep up. The sooner they got home though, the sooner Tsukishima could finish the job properly. Yamaguchi would have to hang on until then.

“This way then,” Tsukishima said to the group, getting up and helping a more-or-less healed Yamaguchi to his feet.

“Wow, already?” Suga exclaimed, “You do quick work!”

Tsukishima kept walking and said nothing, choosing instead to use his energy on silently leading the way while keeping an eye on Yamaguchi’s wound until he could be sure it wouldn’t open up again. He had agreed to give the Warden’s their stuff back and he would, but he had no intention of making small talk with the people who, not even an hour ago, tried to have him killed.

Yamaguchi, apparently, had no such reservations.

“Yeah, Tsukki’s pretty amazing! I’ve seen him heal wounds in minutes! He’s super proficient at it. Oh, and he knows pretty much every herb there is to know too! Ah, I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi, by the way. Good to meet you.”

“That’s incredible,” Suga said.

“Yamaguchi, shut up,” Tsukishima muttered at the same time.

“Sorry, Tsukki!”

“Why are you so happy about that anyways? It’s always your wounds I’m healing.”

“Haha, sorry, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima clicked his tongue.

“Anyways, what are you doing talking to the enemy?” Tsukishima continued.

“Huh? They aren’t really enemies though…” Yamaguchi said, looking confused.

“They shot at us!”

“W-well, I’m sure they just thought we were darkspawn…”

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima said exasperatedly, “They were about to let you bleed out on the floor. After they had confirmed you weren’t darkspawn, might I add.”

“W-well, I mean…”

Tsukishima sighed and turned his head forward, effectively ending the conversation. He knew what Yamaguchi would say. He knew his friend idolized the Grey Wardens. Even back when he first met Yamaguchi, when they were children, the boy had wanted to join the Wardens. Tsukishima figured that nothing he said would get through to Yamaguchi, not on this. Better to cut the conversation short before one of them got all worked up. Yamaguchi wanted to trust these Wardens? Fine, he could do whatever he wanted. Tsukishima wasn’t about to give them an inch though and he was going to make sure that they were gone the second they found what they wanted. He was not about to have bloodthirsty strangers crawling around the place where he lived for longer than necessary.

They would find their treaties, they would leave, and that would be the end of that.

“We wouldn’t have let you guys die though,” Hinata said, jarring Tsukishima from his train of thought, “We would have helped you.”

Hinata was looking up at Tsukishima with wide, almost creepy eyes. Tsukishima didn’t even think the wannabe Warden (because he was absolutely sure Hinata was one of the new recruits) was blinking.

“We’re heroes,” Hinata continued, sounding totally and unquestioningly sure of himself, “We save people and hunt darkspawn.”

Tsukishima finally broke himself away from those weird-ass eyes to reply. The surety in the shorty’s voice pissed him off. Heroes?

“Well, if that’s the case then you guys cut it awful close,” Tsukishima shot back, “And don’t think I missed you trying to take credit there. You saved us? You healed Yamaguchi, did you?”

The shrimp fell silent at that, wrestling for a reply. Tsukishima scoffed.

“You guys didn’t help jack squat, we helped ourselves,” Tsukishima continued, “And might I remind you that neither of us would have needed help to begin with if your merry little gang hadn’t attacked us.”

The tone of finality in his voice ended the conversation then and there. There was no response to that and Tsukishima knew it. Everything he’d said was a fact. Yamaguchi had almost bled out on the ground, courtesy of the Grey Wardens.

And Tsukishima almost couldn’t do anything about it.

Suddenly, Tsukishima was very aware that he had Yamaguchi’s blood practically caked on his clothes. It was drying out and it itched like hell.

He was also now very aware of the crowd behind him. Five warriors. Five Grey Wardens, the most feared fighters in Ferelden. And to top it all off, there was a Templar among them. He was an escaped apostate mage and he was willingly bringing a Templar to his home, the place he’d set up specifically to hide from Templars.

Tsukishima briefly wondered if he was out of his mind.

And yet the alternative was no less insane. The only other way out at this point would be to fight all the Wardens off, and that was practically a death wish for both him and Yamaguchi. At least with option one, there was a chance they’d be allowed to live. At the very least, they’d probably leave Yamaguchi alone.

If they captured Tsukishima, well, so be it. There was a reason he’d been so adamant about learning shapeshifting—it made escaping from tight spots much easier. So long as he could catch that Templar off his guard at some point…

“Hey,” Hinata said, jarring Tsukishima for the second time, “You’ve been glaring at Kageyama for a while now. You guys have history or something?”

Tsukishima glared and opted to say nothing. Was this guy serious?

“Your servant’s been shooting him looks too. What’s up with that? Is it because he shot at you guys?”

Ah, so he did have that damned Templar to thank for the arrow in Yamaguchi shoulder.

Wait…what?

“What?” Tsukishima turned to Hinata and asked, “My servant? What on Earth are you going off about, shrimp? I don’t have a—“

Suddenly, realization hit Tsukishima hard in the gut. He barely held himself back from hexing the shrimp.

“Yeah you do,” Hinata said, wrinkling up his nose, “Your friend over there. Though I got to say, you guys have the weirdest servant-master relationship ever.”

Tsukishima froze up.

“Hey,” Hinata whined, “Why’d you stop walking?”

The group behind them stopped as well and honed in on the conversation. Suga pushed past Ser Tanaka, ready to intervene at the first sign of trouble.

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi called out, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Hinata said back, “I just asked why you guys were staring at Kageyama and he got all weird.”

Tsukishima almost opened his mouth to snap back when Yamaguchi put a hand on his shoulder from behind him. That stopped Tsukishima cold.

“Tsukki? You okay?” Yamaguchi asked, sounding concerned.

Tsukishima shook off the urge to cause a scene. That’d do nothing. Idiots like the shrimp wouldn’t even get it either. He’d never have to see these people again anyways so cares what they thought?

“Yeah,” Tsukishima said, trying to keep the acid out of his voice as best as he could, “I’m fine.”

No one was convinced.

“Are you sure, Tsukki? We can rest, if you want. You used up a lot of your magic to…”

“I said that I’m fine,” Tsukishima insisted. He shrugged Yamaguchi’s hand off and pushed forward.

The group looked confused for a moment but ultimately must have decided not to ask further. They quickly fell back into formation. Yamaguchi was once again making easy conversation with Suga. The helmeted warrior, who’d been silent until now, was listening in. Ser Tanaka was chatting up Kageyama.

And to Tsukishima’s dismay, Hinata was still walking next to him.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Hinata asked.

“No,” Tsukishima snapped back.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to answer.”

“But—“

“I’m done talking to you, shrimp. Go annoy someone else.”

“That’s unfair,” Hinata complained, “I’m going to go ask your servant then, he’ll probably answer.”

Tsukishima flinched at the word ‘servant’ but once again bit his tongue.

It didn’t matter what the shrimp thought. It didn’t matter what any of them thought. In fact, the more they got wrong, the better. The less they knew about him and Yamaguchi the better.

“He seems way too sweet to hang out with you. Bet a jerk like you doesn’t even pay him well.”

Tsukishima refused to rise to that easy bait. He said nothing.

“I hate guys like you,” Hinata hissed, sounding more and more agitated with every word, “You take advantage of elves because you can and treat them like objects!”

He refused to rise to it, he refused to rise to it.

“Well,” Hinata said, practically shaking with the fury of being so rudely disregarded, “I thought maybe there was some good in you, but I guess I was wrong! A jerk like you could only be using an elf! You’re just like those guys back at camp! You people treat them like slaves! You treat him like a slave! When I finally become a Grey Warden, the first thing I’ll do is come back and free that elf from you, you watch!”

He screamed the accusations like he had been waiting to say them for a long time, and maybe he had been.

Tsukishima wouldn’t have been surprised if the entire valley heard what Hinata had just said. Yamaguchi certainly heard it if the way he froze mid-step was anything to go by. Wide-eyed, Yamaguchi turned to his friend for answers.

And Tsukishima practically heard himself snap.

Hinata barely dodged the jet of fire aimed at his shoulder. He wasn’t fast enough to fully dodge it completely though and it grazed his arm. Tsukishima’s flames tended to be smaller and weaker than other mages on his level, but they were nothing to scoff at--especially if they managed to hit. Hinata’s thin leather armor melted away and the fire made contact with skin before Hinata could jump out of the way.

Hearing Hinata’s yelp of pain, Tsukishima immediately cut off the attack.

“You can attack me all you want, I won’t back down! I’m not leaving that poor elf to a jerk like you!” Hinata screamed after the flames stopped.

Whatever sense that had just returned to Tsukishima flew away just like that.

“Elf, elf, elf. I treat him like an object?! You can’t even be bothered to remember his name, you half-wit!” Tsukishima roared.

As Tsukishima spoke, Hinata went for his hammer, ignoring Suga’s order to stop. He swung down as hard as he could at Tsukishima’s head, but was too slow. Tsukishima had already thrown up a shield and Hinata’s weapon slid clean off causing him to lose his balance and fall to his knees.

Tsukishima swung his fist at the warrior, abandoning his magic in part because he had lost all of his marbles and in part because he realized, even in his crazed state, that killing the boy in front of his would be very bad. His hit landed, but Tsukishima realized too late that he had both underestimated and overestimated Hinata—underestimated his strength and overestimated his intelligence. The dimwit was stronger than he looked.

Hinata somehow managed to lift his humongous war hammer one-handedly and was swinging in for the kill. Tsukishima didn’t have time to throw up a strong enough shield. The one he had up would shatter. Tsukishima readied his healing spells and braced for impact.

But none came.

The blunt end of a spear, Yamaguchi’s spear, smashed into Hinata’s chest and he was blown back a good two feet, skidding all the way. When he finally came to a stop, he opened his eyes to the non-blunt end of Yamaguchi’s spear pointing right at him, hovering dangerously close to his left eye.

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi called to Tsukishima in a worried voice. He didn’t bother to move the spear either.

“I’m fine, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima said numbly, embarrassed at the turn of events.

Yamaguchi’s posture softened at that. He set down the spear and stepped away from Hinata slowly and calmly, allowing the helmeted warrior to take his place in order to he check the tiny Warden over.

“Look,” Tsukishima began to say to the Wardens, but was cut off by Yamaguchi.

“I appreciate the thought, Tsukki, but I don’t need standing up for.”

Tsukishima sensed that Yamaguchi had more to say besides that and wisely decided to let his friend finish.

Unfortunately, Hinata didn’t have that kind of foresight.

“What gives?” Hinata asked after being propped up by his helmeted friend, “I was just trying to help you…”

“Maybe you should talk to me first and make sure I actually need help instead of running around making a huge mess of things,” Yamaguchi snapped back.

Hinata winced. It didn’t stop Yamaguchi at all. Tsukishima didn’t remember the last time Yamaguchi had gotten so worked up. Then again, it’s been a long time since he’d been called a slave too…

“Don’t assume that you know anything about me. Or Tsukki,” Yamaguchi continued, “I’m not his-his… slave. I’m his friend. I’m his friend! Don’t you call me that-that…. You don’t even know, do you? How actual elven servants—how the real slaves—are treated? How they’re used and tossed aside like they mean nothing? Do you think a regular old shem would’ve healed me? Do you? You think an escaped mage would enslave others? Do you know anything about what you’re talking about? Of course not. All I am is an elf to a human soldier like you, someone for you to rescue. I’m some adventure to you. What do you know?!”

Yamaguchi screamed the last bit and gripped his spear so tight his entire arm shook with the effort of it. The entire party fell silent. In the corner of his eye, Tsukishima saw the helmeted warrior put a hand on his sword.

Tsukishima knew he should be doing something. He should explain himself to the Wardens. He should be offering some comfort. He should tell Yamaguchi to calm down before it all got out of hand, but couldn’t find the words. He was about to just grab Yamaguchi and force him to step back before these Wardens decided to off both of them when Suga spoke up.

“Okay,” Suga said in a calming voice, “Okay, we understand. Now please calm down before I we have to do something drastic. You too, Hinata. You went too far and assumed too much. I keep telling you that Gray Wardens do not meddle in the business of others.”

Now that Tsukishima was looking at him, he realized that Suga was holding Kageyama and Ser Tanaka back. That must have been why he hadn’t felt his magic cut out like before, now that he thought about it.

“Suga,” the helmeted warrior at Hinata’s side said, “Hinata’s hurt. This is hardly the time to lecture…”

“He’s a Gray Warden and that wound is nothing. Can you stand, Hinata?” Suga asked.

Hinata immediately stopped groaning and looked at his commanding officer. He nodded once and then slowly pushed himself up, refusing the helmeted warrior’s help.

“Well then,” Tsukishima said, watching Hinata get on his feet and strap his war hammer back on, “Let’s get moving. We want to get you guys out of the Wilds before dark, right?”

“Yeah, we do,” Yamaguchi said.

Tsukishima groaned. He’d recognize that tone anywhere. Yamaguchi ducked his eyes when Tsukishima turned to look at him and, well, that just confirmed it.

Yamaguchi was upset with him. And Tsukishima supposed he could see why. Which only made him more frustrated about it.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know he shouldn’t have attacked Hinata. Tsukishima knew that perfectly well. But the way that brat—and he was a brat, no matter his age—had just assumed Yamaguchi was some kind of elven slave…

Well, too late now. Yamaguchi was mad and Tsukishima knew that there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Asking him about it wasn’t even an option, not with their present company. And in any case, clearing the air wasn’t really Tsukishima’s best talent. It wasn’t Yamaguchi’s best talent either which is part of what made fights between them a major headache.

Great. Just perfect.

This day was about to get even longer.

At least they were almost at the cottage.

~~~

AN: lol poor tsukki can’t seem to catch a break and omg hinata, honey, you need to learn to stop screaming or ur gonna get in trouble