#anyway that was an unexpected thing to see on my dash but my soul settled a little bit -- not much but maybe it's more than i had yesterday

[say-hi-intrepid-heroes]

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[a-snow-decahedron]

A Flower's Guide for Happy Endings - Chapter One

Spanish version: coming soon

Summary:

Flowey witnesses the aftermath of the human's journey across the Underground, and tries to make sense of his life now that he's not in control of the timeline. Will it last? Or will he take desperate measures?

Words: 3892

Read on AO3: Link here!

Flowey was still processing the last moments of his life as he left the human's side and watched them cross the Barrier, leaving the Underground behind. The child had chosen to give him mercy, time and time again. The nonsense of this action was so overwhelming, he fled. He didn't pay attention to his surroundings as he moved through the hallways of the King's Castle in New Home. He just kept going, emerging at times to look at a certain turn or wait for the right time to move his roots to another surface. It was almost a matter of reflexes to him. After so many resets, he felt like he could wander across the Underground with his eyes closed and he would know exactly where he was. Environments were something he wasn't able to change, at least not by himself. He didn't find the idea appealing, either. People were much more interesting to interact with... Until they weren't.

There was a wide range of things that could happen at any time in the Underground, and he had done pretty much everything. Some things never changed, though. The Amalgamates were never freed; it was more likely for Alphys to give up than for the truth inside the Lab to come out. Toriel never left the Ruins, no matter what you told her, or what happened outside the closed doors. Asgore never let him see the human souls, no matter how much he insisted. All his efforts were futile in a way, as none of it amounted to anything significant. All could be undone by his will, but not even those things he did held much meaning after a while. It was like watching the same simulation over and over again.

Flowey usually spent about a month or two at most messing around before resetting. In this timeline he had settled for waiting and not being an intervention as much as possible, until new days came by. It was incredibly boring, sadly. So he decided to do meaningless things to pass the time. Nothing much, not like pestering some Moldsmals ever achieved anything. He didn't kill, since that usually meant trouble, and the whole point of this was seeing a world without him. He also watched people he knew. Toriel carried on with her day; sometimes she fell asleep on her reading chair, with one too many cups of wine. Flowey may have given her some water one time, without a reason, simply to make an insignificant difference. Papyrus, a skeleton in Snowdin he had encountered after spying on the Royal Guard, was also an interesting monster to visit. He always had a remark or an anecdote for every place. He was full of such nonsense and contradictions, Flowey always got a laugh or two from his conversations. It was impossible not to play some tricks on him. Every once in a while he dropped predictions in their conversations, which the skeleton seemed to take very seriously at times.

And just when the timeline was starting to get too monotonous, he heard a loud noise on the Ruins, shortly after he had left checking on the flowers. That place.... it always reminded him of his sibling. Golden Flowers were their favorite. That day, at the Ruins, life took an unexpected turn: a human had fallen down, and with them, his control. Needless to say, he freaked out. Not only was this child a fallen human, they were just so much like them— but they couldn't be, could they? In the end. Flowey did what he knew best: got to know this human, acted nice, and then tested their reaction when he betrayed them. The stupid kid fell for his tricks, but Toriel stopped his movements, and took the child with her. The soulless monster, frustrated, tried to go back to his save point, yet he failed: another force was overwriting his mark in spacetime. From then, he decided to follow the human. and see what they did. Soon enough, he found out that the human was the one in control of the timeline, using it to get their way. Through the Ruins, the Snowdin cold, the dark Waterfall and the steaming Hotland, Flowey followed them, catching glimpses of their journey.

What came after the human spared King Asgore was a blur. His determination flowed in a chaotic way when he tried to reminisce about his attempt to take the human souls. It felt so good to have something within that wasn't just willpower fuel. He felt so good, so intense, so alive. That human kid was about to face his true power, to see what he was capable of doing. He had never met someone that could remember overwritten timelines like him, and he wasn't wasting his chance to make the most of it. But human souls are determined and that includes the six within him. They turned against him, and took him back to zero in moments. And then... well. He simply couldn't understand. His control was lost again. The human just needed one blow to finish him off, but they refused and crossed the Barrier. Why not even try? Why not give him the same pain? Why does it matter if he lives or not, anyways?

He was back in Snowdin town by the time his inner monologue had gone full circle, all caused by the human who’d come and gone in what felt like a mere blink. By the time he got to the town it was early night, the time many monsters had dinner. Snowdin had a system of streetlights that was usually too high for non-flying monsters to reach. They were powered by the CORE, and to tell apart day and night, they had set a gradual energy-saving mode that reduced the amount of lights during the night, synchronized with the time on the Surface. The lights were said to resemble stars. Real stars were prettier, but it did the job well enough for the thousands of monsters that had never seen the Surface.

Flowey was standing on a residential street, still muttering to himself, looking at the houses' windows filled with light and the smell of homemade food. He wasn't quick enough to hide after hearing a muffled voice and a door being bumped open. A yellow striped kid, holding a bag of trash with their mouth and on their way to the trashcan, gasped at Flowey and dropped the bag on the snow.

"The talking flower's real?!" They opened their eyes wide, like they had seen the surface. As Flowey tried to curl underground to leave, the monster child spoke. "Yo, don't leave! Papyrus told me about you!"

At the mention of the name, the soulless flower hesitated, then turned around "Howdy! I'm Flowey the flower.” He forced a grin. "And just what has he told you?" he asked, slightly squinting.

"Well..." The kid stared at a point beyond Flowey, thinking of their answer. "We just met today! I mean, I've seen him before, but we never, like, talked. I was on my way back to Snowdin after I left the human in Water— yo, did you hear a human showed up in town today? It's crazy!" They hopped excitedly, shaking their tail happily.

Flowey raised a brow and waved with one of the roots he pulled from the ground, signaling the kid to keep talking. He supposed hearing some gossip was good enough for now, until he figured out what to do now, or found a way to gain his control of the timeline again.

"I didn't know they were human at first, but man, they were so nice! I showed them some caverns in Waterfall on our way. I was so excited to see Undyne fight bad guys! But it turns out they, uhm, were the bad guy Undyne was going after?" They trailed off, looking for a way to follow their story. "She told me that the human was bad, that i could get hurt. And she tried to attack them! But they saved me so they can’t be bad! I had to show her! Yo I dunno what came over me, it felt like my heart was pounding out of my chest. But I told her, s-she would not. I was really scared, but I think it worked! And then I... left them to go home because my parents would worry if I was out late", they mumbled the last part, feeling their rush of energy decrease.

Flowey shot them an impatient glance. "Ok, got you. But when does Papyrus show up in all this?"

"Oh yeah! Right! We met when I was on my way to Snowdin. He said some things about using friendship for his duties as a future royal guardsman, and then we talked about Undyne. He said she is training him to be part of the guard- it sounds so cool! I wanna be just like him one day!" They hopped on one foot. "Then... I asked him about the friend stuff he said, and he told me he didn't have many friends, but Undyne was really close. And then he spoke of a talking flower, that had like, prediction powers. He said you gave encouragement, advice and stuff. I didn't think you were real, but man, was I wrong."

"Is that it?" Flowey raised a brow, getting tired of the kid's chatter. Maybe someone else would have liked talkative friends, but he had enough for that day, and frankly he just wanted to get healed. All the talking was making him dizzy.

"Yeah! It has to be you, right? Man, if we become friends I would break my friend-making record. Three people in one day! Yo this is so great." Their tail moved from side to side.

Flowey yawned, feigning sleepiness "Hey kid, it's nice talking, but don't you have anything better to do?" He pointed to the trashbag with his body.

"Oh right! I forgot. Thanks dude!" they said, picking up the bag with their teeth and walking to the trashcan on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, you don't want to get in trouble, right? I don't think your parents are very happy you went too far into Waterfall on your own with some stranger."

Flowey shrank a bit to appear smaller as the child walked towards him. "Before you leave, I need something. Do it for your new friend, wontcha? Can you get me a snack? I got in a friendly fight and my HP isn't the best right now. I could use some help." He pulled the most innocent smile he could, which was always convincing.

"Ok! Be right back, yo!" They dashed to their house and came out a minute later, pulling two cinnamon bunnies from their inventory and almost dropping them on the floor.

Flowey picked them up with his roots and saved them on his own inventory with a poof. "Thanks, kid!"

"Yeah, no problem Flowey!" They paused and then added "Yo, I forgot to tell you my name, it's M—" Before they had finished their sentence, the flower was gone, like it was never there.

As Flowey moved under the snow, he didn't notice the recent footsteps or the furry monster that made them as they made their way towards the Riverperson place.

Flowey emerged at the side of the skeleton brothers’ house, careful not to be seen. He took a cinnamon bunny, took a bite, and then tried to rest. Sleeping as a flower wasn't easy. It wasn't like laying down in a bed. He technically didn't need to sleep, as long as he had energy from the lights around him or food. As a plant, the most he could do was fold his petals on his face, and find a place where the wind wouldn't bother him and nobody would step on him by accident. Despite this, if he wanted to recover from his injuries, he needed to rest in order to restore his HP.

Flowey was making himself comfortable —as much as he could in a town like Snowdin—, when he heard a door shut strongly on the second floor of the house. It seemed people were at home. He moved closer to eavesdrop on them, but it wasn't necessary, as the speakers were loud enough on their own.

"So... I'm staying here tonight, right? Until I fix my house."

"YOU'RE ALWAYS WELCOME TO STAY HERE, BUT YES, WE'LL FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO ABOUT THE HOUSE TOMORROW!"

"When do you think the human's coming back? Do you think they'll stay at the inn?

"IT'S WHAT I EXPECT, BUT MAYBE THEY WENT TO NEW HOME AND FOUND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO SLEEP? THEY HAVEN'T CALLED SINCE THEY GOT TO THE CORE."

"They better not be hanging outside late or they'll get in trouble with me."

"WHAT IF THE HUMAN'S NOCTURNAL?”

"Who knows? Not ME at least. Anime says all kinds of things that don't make sense when you put them together, like in some of them, some humans have cat ears, but in others that's not possible. At least they should have something cooler, like fins!"

"OR BONES! HMM, BUT WE CAN ONLY GUESS. PERHAPS THEY ARE NOCTURNAL, I HEARD HUMANS HAVE SOMETHING CALLED TIMEZONES. MY BROTHER TOLD ME ABOUT IT WHEN WE WERE TALKING ABOUT THE SUN..."

At that point Flowey stopped listening. Those two went over several topics, and whenever they didn't know something, they made it up with their theories. It was amusing in the first dozen resets, but by now Flowey had exhausted all possible topics with each of them...

Suddenly, he heard something that was new to him.

"SO UNDYNE, I SEE YOU ARE CARRYING A LETTER? IS IT FOR SOMEONE SPECIAL?" Papyrus inquired, teasingly.

A letter? Flowey had seen many letters. Several had been addressed to Dr. Alphys. He wondered why the fish monster would have one too.

"WHAT? Well, I don't want it to get damaged in case I burn down the house on accident again— BUT NOT FOR ANY SPECIAL REASON, it's just a silly thing I keep with me."

"WHO IS IT ADDRESSED TO, THEN?"

"Uh...."

"WILL YOU LET ME READ IT?"

"Absolutely NOT! It's personal!"

"SO IS IT FOR ALPHYS..." A pause. "YOU DID NOT DENY IT. SO WHY DON'T YOU JUST CALL HER, DELIVER IT, AND SEE HER REACTION?" There was the sound of a phone being unlocked. "I'LL DO THE PHONE CALL!"

"Papyrus, no! I need to rewrite it, it's not done yet! Give me the phone, darn it!" There was another pause. "Ok, thanks. Besides, she's probably busy fixing Mettaton right now. Did you see his new body? And BEFORE you make any remark on how hot or handsome he is, DON'T." Nyeh-heh-heh’s were heard in response. "Anyways, she must be busy, and I don't think I can just show her this letter. I'm afraid things could go wrong— I wouldn't know what to do!"

"FINE, BUT IF YOU EVER NEED ADVICE, LISTEN TO ME. YOU NEED THAT KIND OF BRAVERY IN YOUR LIFE" A clicking noise like a wink was heard.

"NGAAAH- shut up!" She lowered her voice. "Hey, if you don't mind, can you leave while I change my clothes?"

"OF COURSE, I STILL HAVE SOME OF YOUR CLOTHES FROM THE LAST TIME YOUR HOUSE BURNT DOWN. I'LL GIVE YOU PRIVACY."

"Thank you, now GET OUT." The door was closed. Strong pacing could be heard for a few minutes, before the window opened with a harsh movement and small shreds of paper were dropped one by one, “I really can't do it,”she muttered “It's too much. I'll make a better one soon. That will be the one.”

The humidity of the snow would soon leak into the remains of the letter and erase its message, never to be read by anyone. Well, not anyone who was meant to read it anyways. Flowey leaned closer and used a root to pick up a part of the letter. It took him five endearment terms and three uses of the verb love to know it was an excessively corny confession directed at the Royal Scientist.

It seemed almost atypical for the fish monster. However, Flowey knew better. During some of his runs he had experimented with the Royal Guard, testing their strengths and weaknesses. Undyne was a particularly difficult monster to deal with. Once you became her enemy, she would strike you down no matter what. Her green soul magic forced any monster under its effect to stay still and only use its own magic bullets as protection. Flowey, being soulless, was not affected by this kind of magic, but that still didn't make fleeing much easier. He had killed her the first time they faced each other, after dying to her several times. That had been the first timeline he decided to kill, throwing bullets at some of the weakest known monsters. Undyne had been furious, and decided to find the culprit and bring them to justice. When Flowey did manage to kill her, though, she resisted. With her last breaths, she kept on fighting, refusing to die. Her last words were dedicated to every monster in the Underground she swore to protect, and as she melted, she regretted never "telling it to Alphys". He had figured out what it was by other sources. The letter was just further confirmation.

No other monster had shown such determination to keep going, and those words rang in Flowey's head. Somehow, the possibility of making someone be honest about their feelings towards something —or someone else— made him particularly curious. He had tried to help her, more than once, but no attempt had been successful. He kept trying for a few more runs. Undyne's resilience reminded him of his own sibling. He thought that maybe staying determined and reaching, helping, and fixing things would... do something. Perhaps he had to be more like them, more like Chara. But he was hopeless now. Nothing he did ever lasted, nothing he did made him feel right.

"Hurts, doesn't it? Some things never change. She writes letters but she will never do anything with them." He dropped the letter and went back to rest for what was left of the night, hoping to restore his HP.

* * *

The "Riverperson'' was never just one monster. There were three of them. Their family had been passionate about sailing for decades; some said they had the reputation even before the war, and ever since monsters found a stream that connected all areas, the River family had dedicated itself to provide quick travel to everyone in the Underground. When it was nighttime, and most monsters outside were nocturnal creatures, only one of them was around. They gazed at the Snowdin port. All three siblings had great intuition, and that night, they agreed, was bound to be interesting.

"Greetings. Would it be possible to make use of your service tonight?" a soft voice asked.

The river monster turned to face the source of the voice and saw a tall white furry monster. They resembled most inhabitants of the small town, with a thick layer of fur covering their features. But something about their presence radiated a sense of grace. A good River monster made no distinction among their travelers, so they simply pointed to the empty space on their boat.

"Tri li li, where would you like to go?"

"Take me to Hotland, please,” the monster said calmly

The Riverperson took off with their only passenger for that ride.

It was late, but despite the time, a few nocturnal monsters could always be found wandering the streets, among the low-glowing lights. The sight of the new monster immediately sparked rumors, catching the attention of the few awake. From the forest, a Whimsun flew, carrying news from the Ruins. The great door deep in Snowdin forest had been opened, and its caretaker was making their way to the capital. Young monsters were perplexed by the story, but older, wiser ones knew this meant great incoming change for the whole kingdom. Nobody knew for certain what had become of Queen Toriel after the deaths of her children, but it seemed that the words carried by the small flying monster could be the solution to the century old mystery. Soon enough, word was spread in the snowy town among the elders. They were careful and cautious, not to make quick assumptions, but staying alert.

The ride across the cave system had not been long, but it certainly felt like eternity, even for a monster with such a long life as Toriel. She was worried sick, wondering whether the human child had been harmed. As she set foot on Hotland, and waved the Riverperson farewell, the feeling of unease only increased. She did not know where the child had gone. All the monsters she had spoken to had little to no information, seeing as they weren't awake during the day, and therefore hadn't seen anything worth noting. However, as Toriel walked through the dry roads, she noticed flyers, all related to a human kid that had been spotted in Hotland, as a guest on the Underground's greatest celebrity's shows. She walked faster, hoping to reach New Home soon. Time felt so slow, each step lasting a small eternity in her anxious mind.

By the time she had reached the castle, the artificial lights were starting to get brighter. She was determined to reach her destination. She could not allow Asgore to take another soul, and she was going to stop him herself if she had to. She would not let another child be hurt by him. Her steps covered longer distances, as she walked across the familiar hallways. Her breathing was fast, and her paws felt heated with anxiety, small fire bullets dancing around her fingers. She paid no mind to the monsters that walked around her, except to ask about the king once: a tall catlike monster indicated that the king was last seen at the throne room last evening, but was not seen leaving the place ever since. As she approached the throne room, an odd feeling made her magic shiver. There was no sight of the King.

She walked in, careful not to step on the golden flowers that decorated the room. In a way, both of them had remembered their children using those flowers. She shook the thought out of her mind, and she went across the room to a smaller entrance. That room had a single orifice at the ceiling, letting the first rays of the morning sun go through. No sign of the King, either.

She feared the worst.

She prepared her fire attacks.

She breathed deeply.

She stepped into the room that led to the Barrier.

She dropped her attacks, which disappeared in an instant.

Before her was a crown, and an armor covered in a purple cape. Dust on the floor, and an ear-ringing silence. A gardening knife was a few feet away.

This was the day the Underground's King had perished.

This was the day a human made it out of the monsters' world alive.

This was the day things would change forever for their kind.

The Queen took the crown. Her expression was solemn, and she braced herself to make the announcement known to everyone in the Underground.

"King Asgore has died."

[inkyhorror]

The Royal Guard

Chapter 2

“Like I said, no need to be tense. Relax, I’m not here to hurt you.” He seems relaxed enough. Though you suppose it is easy to relax around someone when you know for a fact you are leagues stronger than them. You on the other hand, find yourself at the mercy of one of the most powerful entities in the universe. Even so you make an effort to release the tension in your body. It would be unwise to offend the Demon King even if accidentally. You clear your throat and speak in a much stronger voice.

“Then why are you here?”

The long awaited second installment of the collaborative fanfiction project I am working on with the wonderfully talented @asmosmainhoe. Please let us know what you think of it!

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“You’re... Lord Diavolos father?” The world seems to spin as the realization hits you all at once. Of course, that is who he reminds you of. The resemblance is uncanny. Everything from the curve of his jaw to the warm golden color of his eyes. Even the delicate grace with which he brings the mug to his lips reminds you of Diavolo. In your momentary shock you forget about the vase in your hands until it starts to slip from your grip. You manage to catch it just before it hits the ground. With a sigh of relief you gently place it on the table next to you. The Demon King chuckles and your attention is once more drawn to him. You lock eyes with him for just a moment but it is enough to make you feel uncomfortable. You look away, finding it difficult to make eye contact when he is watching you so intently.

“There is really no need to be so tense.” The Demon King takes another sip of his tea and sets the mug down on the table. He takes a moment to admire the design on the side of it, an elegant and colorful lion dashing across the ceramic surface.

“Why are you here?” You manage to ask. Your voice is much quieter than you would have liked, every shred of courage lost while under his gaze. The Demon king frowns and quirks an eyebrow. “I mean,” you stammer, “to what do I owe this visit?” Your body tenses as you wait for his reaction. To your surprise he lets out a hearty chuckle.

“Like I said, no need to be tense. Relax, I’m not here to hurt you.” He seems relaxed enough. Though you suppose it is easy to relax around someone when you know for a fact you are leagues stronger than them. You on the other hand, find yourself at the mercy of one of the most powerful entities in the universe. Even so you make an effort to release the tension in your body. It would be unwise to offend the Demon King even if accidentally. You clear your throat and speak in a much stronger voice.

“Then why are you here?”

“To talk. Please, drink your tea. I made it special for you and that is not something I do very often.” He gestures to the mug in front of you. It is the one that Barbatos had gotten for you as a gift back in the Devildom, the one shaped like a cute little sheep painted in pastel tones. You pick it up and take a tentative sip. It tastes normal. Delicious even. Probably not poisoned. Not that you would know what poison tastes like anyways. Throwing caution to the wind you take a few big gulps.

“Thank you. It’s really good.” You hold the cup in both hands, allowing the warmth seep into your palms.

“Mmm. Tea from the human world can be quite delicious. Personally, I prefer Devildom tea. What do you think?”

“About the tea?”

“About the Devildom.” The Demon King leans forward. “What do you think of it?” It feels like his eyes are boring into your very soul. All things considered it is actually a very real probability. You were never really sure how Diavolo was able to tell when someone was lying. Maybe it was small changes in their heartbeat or temperature, like how they do in TV dramas. Maybe he could see it in their very soul. Either way if that ability is hereditary, if the Demon King could also see through lies, then it would be useless to say anything but the truth. Actually, it might even be detrimental to your safety to be deemed untrustworthy.

“I... I really like it there.” You stare into your mug, unable to maintain eye contact. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t really sure at first. I mean, I was basically kidnapped when they brought me there for the exchange program. But after a while I really grew to like it there. It’s like a second home to me. I feel like everyone I met there is family.” You feel your face heat up. It was all true of course. Saying it out loud however made you feel rather embarrassed. This must be how Mammon feels every time he tries to talk about his feelings. How awful.

“And Diavolo?” The question is not unexpected but it still causes your heart to leap.

“That seems like a loaded question coming from you.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat. Out of the corner of your eye you see the Demon King shrug his shoulders.

“Well, that depends on your answer now doesn’t it?” He has a point. Not that it makes you feel any better. This whole conversation makes you uncomfortable but this question in particular puts you on edge. Nothing about this situation seems right. This man breaks into your home and demands that you entertain his questions. Rather strange questions at that. Why does he care so much about your relationship with the Devildom? With the demons? Still, despite your apprehension you thought it best to play along for just a little longer. Hopefully if you cooperate you might be able to learn something about his intentions.

“I owe Diavolo a lot. He was the one who brought me into the Devildom. It’s because of him that I got to meet everyone.” Your answer is curt but you hope it will suffice.

“Is that all?” The Demon King leans back into his seat. He crosses one leg over and settles in, clearly expecting more. Damn. It looks like you are going to have to give a little more if you want anything in return. You sigh and take a moment to organize your thoughts before speaking. 

“No. Diavolo is...” You swirl your mug, absentmindedly watching the tea sediment swirl and disperse back into the liquid. “He is one of my dearest friends. We became really close during my time in the exchange program. I trust him. Like I said before, he’s like family to me.” Silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity while you wait for the Demon King to respond. Finally he nods his head almost imperceptibly.

“Good. That’s good. You know I was worried about the kind of people my son kept in his company while I was away. He’s a kind soul. Much too kind for a demon I think. But it is reassuring to know he is a good judge of character at least.”  He seems to be telling the truth, much to your surprise. The stories Diavolo had told you about his father painted the picture of a man that did not care much about his son. Yet the look of relief on his face suggests otherwise. “I have one last question for you.” You huff loudly. Another one? This interrogation has gone on long enough. Anger flares in your stomach and gives you the courage to speak up in protest.

“Hang on, what about me? I have a couple questions of my own you know! Aren’t you supposed to be-” He raises a hand to cut you off.

“Ah ah ah! Just one more. Then I will give you all of the answers you want. I promise.” You grumble but settle down. He takes your silence as permission to continue. “What would you do if Diavolo was in danger?” Your heart skips. Danger? What does he mean by that? Is this a threat? Is that what this whole visit is about? The thought that Diavolo might be in danger sends a jolt of fear through you that sends you jumping out of your chair with enough force that it almost topples to the floor.

“What? What do you mean danger? Is something going on? Is Diavolo in trouble?” Your voice is high and frantic. The Demon King simply stares, his expression giving nothing away. Answer his question and he will answer yours. “Anything, If Diavolo was in trouble I would do anything to keep him safe. I know I’m not strong, not even by human standards, much less compared to demons. But I know some magic! I’m not entirely useless in a fight.” Your whole body shakes a little as you speak. With every word you see the smile on the Demon King's face widen.

“Excellent. In that case I would like to ask for your help saving my son's life.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Protea (Part 18)

Being in the Forgetful Valley once brings a kaleidoscope of emotions and none of them are kind. Mostly there is a sense of some distant melancholy with a touch of anger and a dash of fear. There is an unexpected undercut of guilt. She stares at her mother. Her mother who she had tried to kill the last time she had ventured to this place. And Zuko who she had bickered with the whole time.

“Yer not happy?” Kaz remarks.

Azula shakes her head.

“But don’cha like the jungle?” Zenyul asked. “Ya loved it the last time we were here.”

“This one doesn’t like me.”

Kaz quirks a brow.

“She was setting a lot of things on fire.” Zuko remarks.

“Why?”

“I was mad.” This time around she is simply uncomfortable and uneasy. She tries to muster up the enthusiasm that usually comes with a chance to scavenge and pick up little oddities and trinkets. But she can’t seem to settle her nerves, even if the spirits are leaving her alone--likely they don’t recognize her as the same person who had antagonized them last time. She still doesn’t take comfort in this.

Not until night falls. She thinks it strange that she finds comfort in the darkness. But the darkness offers a cozy campfire and an opportunity to nestle closer to Mai in her sleeping bag.

It is only when the fire is roaring and blazing that she finally she begins to settle down. It’s crackle along side the the chirp of crickets and crooning of the toad-squirrels creates a much friendlier ambience. Something that feels like home. Something that resonates with the part of her soul and mind that Snapdragon inhibits.

It is Zenyul who begins the campfire stories and Kaz who cooks the meal. She and Zuko keep the fire going nice and well while Mai relaxes and watches sparks trail up towards the star dazzled sky.

It smells divine, the smoke and the freshly cooked meat. It burns the last of her anxieties away. She falls asleep in Mai’s arms to the sound of the jungle stirring.

.oOo.

Now that the fear has dissipated and the gauze of guilt and sorrow have been lifted away, she feels light. She feels free. She leaps onto a fallen tree and walks along it until there is no more length to walk. Mai extends her arm and Azula takes it as she hops down.

Every now and then patches of sunlight spill through the canopy, she watches gnats and dragonflies flit about within the rays. She finds herself wandering ahead of the group, but it is just as well, it leaves her time to kick over rocks and inspect them.   Occasionally she finds one that she likes; one that is particularly smooth another that has the imprint of a long dead fern and another that shimmers with small foggy quartz. She slips all of them into a small pouch.

She also comes across an old arrowhead, a cluster of beads, and a broken necklace. Each trinket finds its way into her pouch. The greatest treasure that she comes away with is a little chunk of hardened sap--an small bead of amber that holds a dragonfly.

“How do ya keep spottin’ all’a these things!? Spirits, I can’t even find me a decent lookin’ rock.” Kaz grumbles.

“You have to know what to look for.” She thinks that she has simply acquired an eye for them. “Or maybe you have to wander ahead of the group and find them before I do. You won’t though.”

“I’ll wander ahead!”

“But I will still spot them first.” She holds her chin high. She springs up onto a tree stump and jumps from it to a rock and then another larger rock. She takes pause as the others catch up.

“Be careful.” Ursa winces when she very nearly misses her mark.

“If I can survive a fall from a smoke stack, I think I can manage a rock just fine, mother.” She means to be reassuring but she thinks that she has missed the mark.

“Do you want me to tell Mohi that you have been doing reckless things?” Ursa asks.

“It’s not reckless. Mohi won’t care.” She shrugs.

“Why don’t you come down and walk by me for a little while?” Mai asks. She hears her mother’s sigh of relief when she takes Mai up on the offer.

“How much further do we have to go anyways?” Mai groans. “My feet are getting sore and look at this.” She holds out her arm. It is red and lumpy with bug bites.

“You’re a good guard, Mai.”

“A good guard?”

Azula nods and rolls up her own sleeves revealing unblemished arms, at most there is one small bump. “They have been busy with you.”

“Whatever.”

.oOo.

The Mother of Faces looks none too pleased to see her again. Especially after what feels like so soon. It has been a good year or two, though she supposes that is only a fragment of time in someone as long lived as the Mother of Faces.

“Well?” Zenyul gestures towards the spirit.

“Give me a moment.” Azula mumbles.

“Give you a moment?” Zuko quirks a brow. “The last time we were here, you marched right up to her and demanded to know where our mom was.”

“The last time I was here I was…” angry, impulsive, reckless, “...not myself.”

“By all means, you’re still not yourself.” He points out.

“I was not thinking like myself.”

“Go get it over with.” Mai nudges her forward.

“The worst thing she ken do is tell ya to screw off.” Kaz shrugs.

“Or she can give me a hideous face like yours.”

“I’m downright beu-ti-ful, actually.”

Azula inhales and approaches the spirit. The vines twisting up her body write and pulse, she smells of resin and kelp. She smells like comfort and yet she is intimidating all the same if only for height alone.

She isn’t sure what to say. She has already pushed her luck speaking to the spirit more than once and she is absolutely certain that she had worn her patience thin the first time. That the spirit was more than happy to take the face and memories of someone like herself.

“I had a feeling that you would be back.” The Mother of Faces finally speaks when she realizes that Azula wouldn’t be initiating conversation. “I cannot say that it is pleasant to see you again.”

Azula’s stomach sinks. Perhaps she should retreat while she still has her memories intact and a face that she has grown to appreciate. Absently she traces her fingers over the scars on her cheek. “Is it a pleasure to see my mother again?”

Ursa gives a small wave and comes to stand next to Azula. She must admit that it is a comfort to have the woman’s hand on her shoulder. “My daughter would like her face back.” She gestures to Zuko, “we would like to be a family again.”

The Mother of Faces seems to scan them over. “That means very little to me. And even less concerning you.” She doesn’t have to look at her for Azula to know who ‘you’ is. She waits for her heart to sink but she finds that it doesn’t. Evidently she doesn’t think that she would be too troubled to keep Snapdragon’s face. It is the face that Mai fell in love with. The face that found her Mohi, Kaz, and Zenyul. The face that made amends with Zuko.

“You have only made demands of me all while disrespecting my jungle. And now you would like my help, again.”

“I haven’t disrespected your jungle this time.” She frowns. “Unless you’d like your rocks back.” She holds out the pouch.

“I would.”

Azula shifts through the pouch, she has collected several particularly lovely things. Things that she isn’t sure she’d come by again. She retracts her hand.

“Azula, what are you doing?” Mai grumbles.

She hates to admit it but, “I like them.” She clutches her treasures to her chest.

“More than your old face?”

Azula shrugs. “I’m fine with this one.”

“Seriously, if we walked all of this way for nothing…”

“It wasn’t for nothing. We walked all of this way so I could add these to my collection.”

Mai rubs her hands over her face. “Well I hope that they make your nest look extra pretty because I’ve been eaten alive to get them.”

“They will.”

“That is your decision?” The Mother of Faces draws attention back to herself. “You’d rather have little trinkets than your face?”

“I’ve gotten used to this one anyways.” Azula shrugs, suddenly unsure if she wants to go through the process of getting reacquainted with her old one. She finds that she doesn’t really have a choice; the Mother of Faces is reaching out, her hand clamps over and around her head.

And with it comes a sense of unbearable vertigo. She has only enough time to dread losing the memories that Snapdragon has made for her before her knees buckle and her world goes blurry and then dark.

.oOo.

It is one thing to watch Snapdragon leap energetically about and another matter to watch Azula do it. It is harder to get used to than Mai would like to admit. Though Azula herself seems quite content.

But then, Azula hasn’t yet looked at herself. It might be better for her to wait. It is better to not risk spoiling her cheerful mood. She is seated upon the roots of a mangrove tree, kicking her feet at the water below. From the mangrove she has harvested a few roots and an abandoned nest of some sort. This too is jarring. It is no longer Snapdragon whose clothes are caked in mud. No longer Snapdragon whose face is smeared with it. No longer Snapdragon who has loose, tangled hair.

She watches Azula slip into the water below and scrub at her face. “Where are my shoes, Mai?”

Mai holds them up and Azula takes them. She squeezes the excess water out of her hair and clothing.

“Ugg, you smell like pond water.”

“You aren’t going to bathe?”

Mai supposes that she has a point. She probably doesn’t smell much better but she doesn’t fancy a dip. “I don’t want pentapus sucking on my legs.”

“There are no pentapus in this lake.”

“Then what’s this?” Kaz asks. Azula cringes as he pries one off of her neck and releases it back into the water.

“A single pentapus. It is not an issue.”

“What ‘bout that one?” He lifts her left arm and plucks another pentapus.

“That’s the thing ‘bout pentapus. Ya ain’t feel ‘em until they come off.” Zenyul remarks.

“Just take a bath.” Azula folds her arms across her chest. “All of you.”

.oOo.

Azula sits in front of the mirror for the longest time, staring at the face within and only staring. Staring until she begins to grow used to it. Begins to remember it. Remember the one or two freckles that are there without makeup to conceal them. Remember the shape of her lips and the curving slope of her nose.

She is almost sure that her face had been sharper, more pointed like Mai’s. Instead she finds that her features are quite delicate. Likely they always had been. Unlike her eyes, sharp and fierce. She likes her eyes.

“Geez, you’re making that Chan guy look humble.” Mai comments. “Stop staring at yourself and let's get dressed. We have a shop to run, remember?”

Azula touches her fingers to her lips. “I…” she trails off. “It feels strange…”

Mai’s face softens. “You’ll get used to it. Just give yourself some time.”

Azula nods and turns away from the mirror. Mai bends down and gives her a small kiss. “Come on, we can go to your factory and drop your new trinkets off after we close the shop.”

[anika-ann]

The Line between Respectful and Stupid - Pt.1

God Bless Office Rats

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader       Word count: 1610

Warnings: swearing, gun violence, blood

Summary: First mission as a SHIELD agent. With the Captain. What could possibly go wrong?

Story Masterlist

Being one of the newest recruits-finally-turned-agents, you didn’t expect to be more than a paper-pusher honestly. You couldn’t say you were exactly content with that, but hey, at least you left the imaginary nest of baby to-be-agents relatively soon, actually feeling a bit proud. A bit.

As it turned out, you were about to be a paper-pusher; for like a day. And then Agent Kirski – big fella, in all senses if the word, one of the big fishes, a legend – casually walked into the office where desks of agents on duty were barely divided into boots to create an illusion of their own private space, stopped right in front of your desk, crossed his arms on his chest and with serious eyes told you: “Agent 19, you’re up. Wheels up in thirty.”

And your whole mind was a one huge what the frack with three question marks alternating with exclamation marks and you stared ahead of yourself for at least five minutes until Harry, the good friend of everyone in the office space he was, nudged you with a gentle smile, excited and a bit worried.

“Don’t get yourself shot, Little One. You’re too young to retire,” the man with grey hair said to you with a grin, thinking how funny he was since he was the one who actually was supposed to be retiring like two years ago.

You chuckled self-depreciatingly to humour him and let a quiet “Don’t worry.” slip out.

Which was clearly a serious mistake, because ten minutes after your team – under the strict command of Captain Steve Rogers aka Captain America, how the fuck had you got to this mission again? – landed its quinjet, things blew up.

Literally.

Because it was a set-up.

Seemingly an abandoned base was in fact full of members of terrorist organization which was inspired by Nazi’s HYDRA and they apparently developed a new tech to mask themselves from SHIELD’s radars, because suddenly there were tens of people versus your barely coordinated group of seven.

You didn’t even have time to take cover.

“Look out!” a male voice you couldn’t place yelled from your right and you frantically scanned your surroundings, not sure if it was a warning meant for you.

When bullets started raining around you, miraculously avoiding your body, you were suddenly more than confident that the speaker – whoever he was – definitely wanted to address you.

You crouched behind the nearest tree, peeking to find a target, the quinjet still open few feet from you. Not that you checked because wanted to run back into it and then fly away, happily returning to paper-pushing. Not at all.

Maybe a bit.

When the insane fire, making splinters and leaves looking like they had been through a smoothie machine, stopped flashing around you, you got out of your cover just for an inch to return few bullets to the enemy.

“Shit!” you hissed under your breath when the joke turned out to be on you, a bullet going straight through your arm.

The shocking pain came like a tide-wave only few seconds later when you were secured behind your poor natural shield of a tree. You felt tears in your eyes at the gnawing agony, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from screaming.

Yeah, sure, alert more people to where you’re hiding. Great plan, Miss Grown-Up Agent.

You huffed and with your right hand unfairly shaky, you tried to reciprocate the fire once more. You barely managed to empty the magazine of your gun by the time you heard the ominous beeping that was haunting you in your nightmares due to the excessive use of that distinctive sound in your training.

The ticking of the bomb was too fast. It was about to explode any second and you had no idea where it was coming from and where you should hide.

The answer offered itself. It came in a form of a huge figure springing your direction. You didn’t even have time to brace yourself and a man slammed his body into yours with a deafening sound of an explosion in the background that felt way too close.

A shockwave smashed into you, sending you sliding through the grass and mud, but not as burning as it should.

It was because your body was basically wrapped in another one, very male, very huge, and very much hid behind a vibranium shield.

Your brain finally caught up. Captain America just probably saved your life. And fuck, make that definitely.

You didn’t thank him; before you could open your mouth, he pulled you to your feet by your arm – the injured one – and sent a wave of throbbing agony through your whole body. You gritted your teeth and didn’t let out a sound.

Your feet moved on autopilot.

Your ears were still ringing from the explosion, dirt flying away from under your feet and yet you blindly followed the man you owed your life and soul. You noticed his lips were moving rapidly, but you gave up on trying to understand what he was saying.

Before you knew it, you were basically shoved into an all-road vehicle that appeared out of fucking nowhere and suddenly you were driving away, crouched as you were taught to, hearing the bullets raining against the bullet-proof glass.

“If you hear me, get the hell out. I don’t know where each of you is so I can’t get you – you’re on your own. Retreat and use the distress signal when safe. Repeat, use the distress signal.”

You were still covering your head, trying to ignore the sharp turns he was taking, making your body sway from one direction to another.

“Keep pressure on it!” he barked then and you winced, surprised by the urge in his voice as much as the relative calm.

You blinked your eyes open, not realizing you had had them squeezed shut. He was talking to you, wasn’t he? Your arms eased the cage you held your head in – and fuck, did it hurt to move your right arm, how could have you not noticed it when covering yourself – and you obediently put your palm over the wound.

“Yes, Sir,” you replied automatically, only to shook your head. Way to go, Miss Agent. “Yes, Captain.”

You were very hesitant to actually apply any pressure despite knowing it was necessary. The thing was, you also knew that if you did so, the pain would send your head spinning-

A sharp turn right and suddenly you were applying pressure while using your injured hand to prop up your body against the dash so you wouldn’t end up in your commander’s lap. The spray of bullets fell silent, only a stray hitting the cracked glass.

“Sorry,” the captain muttered and you, surprised by the rather sudden freedom of the immediate danger, straightened yourself in the seat, managing to fasten a seatbelt. It meant few more moments without touching your wound, which was perfectly fine with you.

You even had time to check out your driver, whose glorious uniform – and doubtlessly handsome face, mostly hidden by his helmet – was covered in dirt and a bit of blood. His half-gloved hands were both firmly clutching the wheel, his gaze darting towards the rear-view and wing mirrors.

You had no clue what possessed you to answer to his unexpected apology. What was he apologizing for anyway? For saving you from being blown up and getting you to safety? Yeah, sure, deadly sin.

“That’s quite alright, Sir. You’re driving for our lives.”

He shot you a strange look, effectively stopping your heart, but then he shook his head, unfastening the strap on his helmet. He tossed it on the backseat, right next to his shield. Huh, you hadn’t noticed that baby before. Of course he would take his shield to safety. He was clearly very attached to it.

And you were getting pretty big-mouthed – good thing you didn’t say the last thoughts out loud. He was your freaking commander and you should act like it.

“Sorry, Captain, that sounded less bold in my head,” you murmured, gritting your teeth when trying to follow his instruction – and your training – and finally press against the gunshot wound in your bicep.

Maybe you just imagined it, the adrenalin and blood loss making you see things, but when his eyes glanced your direction again, a hint of a lopsided smile was settled on his face.

“Whatever you say, Agent. Just try not to bleed out even with my terrible driving skills,” he threw back and despite your better judgement, you gave him a tired smile back.

“Where exactly are you taking us? I mean… us, right? You’re not gonna ditch me on a side of the road and drive to the sunset alone?”

What on Earth am I saying?!

“I’m not gonna leave you bleed out on the side of the road. Or anywhere else,” he promised, voice serious, but surprisingly kind and patient.

Was it wrong of you to feel quite relieved at that? Should you be ashamed for even asking the supposed incarnation of justice, liberty and heroism such a ridiculous question…? That being him, apart from many things that were being whispered behind his back? You didn’t really care.

You melted into your seat, resting your head against it, slightly turning your face to look at his profile. He seemed focused on the driving, yet lost in thoughts.

“Where are we going then?”

Perhaps you should have been able to figure it out yourself, but your brain was getting a bit tired, most likely because you were still bleeding. You thought you were entitled.

“To a safe house.”

Part 2

Tags:

@mermaidxatxheart​

[nix-needs-coffee]

Destiny

Prompt: “Everything here is a bit of a secret. So, y’know, keep your mouth shut or we’ll probably kill you.”

Katherine has something to hide. Anne becomes and accessory to her crime.

AO3 Link

“Shut up!” Anne hissed a little too loudly for someone trying to keep quiet.

“It’s not me! I can’t do anything about it!” Katherine responded in a suitably quieter tone.

Although they were still several streets away from their own, if there was any hope of pulling this off, they were going to need to rethink their approach to the front door. As it currently stood, their transgression would be discovered before they were able to step through the entryway.

An impropriety such as this had every chance of creating a rift in the house. Illicit, unpredicted, and divisive, Katherine’s stomach ached with the stress of her crime. Each step bringing them closer to their gate was racked with guilt, a tortuous self-affliction of distress. Heartbreak and misery were the expected outcomes of far too many scenarios Katherine could think of. She felt downright wretched.

Betrayed by the squeal of the hinge on the front garden gate, the girls had to play the part of two innocent  returning shoppers, above reproach and not at all in anyway the miscreants they truly were. Katherine’s legs fought each step, as though her delinquency had turned her bones into stone. Trembling, she took slow, steadying breaths to keep herself from being sick all over the front steps.

Anne transferred all of the bags she was carrying to one hand, shuffling them around noisily to unlock the door with her free hand. The racket made Katherine’s heart pound violently, relentlessly, against her ribs. The tempo of her heart increased with every crinkle of the reusable carriers.  

As if sensing her discomfort, her own package-in-arms squirmed and let out another mewling cry.

Anne shot her an outright homicidal glare, communicating all of the savagery and ferociousness that she was unable to convey in words at that given time through one brutal look. Katherine felt what little color was left in her cheeks drain away and her breathing became arduous once more.  

Reaching over her, Anne pulled the blanket to cover the little head peeking through the folds of the fabric, tutting at Katherine in the process.

“She won’t be able to breathe!” Katherine whispered, alarmed and verging on hysteria, she freed the tiny face from its confines. Bleary eyes blinked up at her worriedly. Her little nose twitched. Despite her panic, Katherine leant down and dropped a tiny kiss between two furry ears. The act soothed them both.

Already, Katherine had fallen head over heels for this kitten. She couldn't even begin to imagine what she was going to do if she had to give her up.

***

Katherine was astonished that she was able to sneak her new friend into the house without another soul knowing. She was amazed that no one had investigated the strange sounds coming from her bedroom. She was stunned by her new kitten’s seamless integration into her everyday routine. She was astounded, most of all, by Anne’s uncharacteristic restraint and discretion when it came to their new four-legged companion.

Katherine had been sure that she would announce the arrival of a new housemate almost as soon as she stepped through the door with her.

Things had been going far better than she had ever dreamed.

Sometimes it still felt as though she were dreaming. As she lay in bed, the tiny, humming radiator weighed against her chest. The soft vibrations of her purrs made her subdued the creeping anxiety she always felt when she first woke up. She woke every morning to the comforting weight pressing against her, warm and reassuring, easing her into the day, rather than being jolted into consciousness from some horrid dream or another. She found herself laughing more than she ever had at all of the kitten’s silly antics, reminding her of Anne on her best days. A soreness had settled in her cheeks from smiling all the time. Even the practicalities of caring for an animal helped structure her day, adding meaning where she didn’t know it was missing.

All that she had yet to do was to tell the other four members of the house and come up with a name.

Feeling tiny, needle-like claws press against her chin before she had even opened her eyes for the day, she couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping her.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” She asked, eyes still closed to keep the kittens whiskers from poking her. She laid a gentle hand on the kitten’s back and was about to sit up when her bedroom door flew open.

“I knew you were hiding someone in here!” Parr called out as she barged through the door.

The unexpected noise startled the kitten. Her little legs flailing, trying to find purchase against Katherine’s bare skin so she could skitter to safety beneath in folds of the blankets.

Parr looked expectantly around the room, assuming she would see another person. Instead, all she saw was Katherine, now bleeding profusely from her chest and face from dozens of shallow cuts.

“What-”

“Everything here is a secret. So, y’know, keep your mouth shut, or we’ll probably kill you,” Anne interrupted her before she could get any further with her question. She slipped into the room behind Parr and closed the door quietly behind her, grabbed a tissue from a box, and sat next to Katherine on the bed to try and staunch some of the bleeding.

“What is here? And what happened to your face?” Parr looked around baffled, before spotting a flicking tail amidst the duvet and sheets. “Is… Is that a cat?”

“It was Kat. Now it’s Freddy Krueger,” Anne sneered, mocking Parr and Katherine alike. She shifted slightly in an attempt to shield the kitten from view, but she knew she was too late. Hearing her playmate, the kitten dashed from her hiding spot and began to bat at Anne’s hands as she pressed tissues onto Katherine’s wounds.

“Oh my God. You got a cat,” Parr whispered incredulously.

“Yeah, yeah. A kitty for Kitty. Cat for Kat. However you want to put it. If you’d seen both their little faces at the shelter you would have brought her home too,” Anne mumbled as she picked up the cat, wincing as she immediately wrapped her front paws around her wrist and kicked Anne’s forearm with her hind legs.

“What am I supposed to do with this information?”

“Nothing, is what.”

“Please, Catherine. It was meant to be. Out of all the kittens at the shelter, she was the only one to give me a cuddle and fall asleep in my lap. Look at her, she even has a little behind her ear that almost looks like a ‘K’” Katherine pleaded quietly, sitting up and pulling off the tissues Anne had stuck to her to slow the bleeding. She stood to go clean the scratches properly, unsure of whether it was safe to leave the room now that one more person was in on the secret. She bit her lip, grimacing as it pulled open one of the cuts. Changing tactics, she jutted her lip out and gave Parr the most pathetic, wide-eyed, beseeching look she could manage.  

Parr threw her hands in the air and turned for the door. “Call it destiny, call it a mistake, either way, when Jane finds out you’re screwed.”

[firjii]

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Teen And Up Audiences [just to be on the cautious side] Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Lavellan x Solas (implied) Characters: Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Dorian Pavus Additional Tags: brotp, coming out, friend fiction, asexual character, female lavellan, implied female lavellan/solas, supportive dorian, dorian pavus, light angst, implied trauma, Implied abuse, swearing

Summary: Unsettled by Halward Pavus's past actions and haunted by his confrontation with Dorian, Inquisitor Lavellan reflects on something she's been avoiding thinking about for a very long time. No longer able to banish some crippling feelings but barely able to articulate what she's known for years, she hesitantly entrusts a secret to Dorian. Dorian responds with some unexpected advice.

(Plain text version under the cut.)

Dorian’s finger grazed the edge of a thick, pulpy page in a tome a little too quickly.

His surprised hiss echoed surprisingly far throughout the library, the paper’s stiffness quite altogether deceptive and its bite stronger than some poor-quality wines. He glanced up as he licked the cut. In the past, the Inquisitor had gotten wide-eyed over far smaller disturbances.

But her stare out the window was steady and unbroken, as it had been for most of the day – several days, actually. He cleared his throat a little louder than was necessary. She still didn’t react. He watched her a moment longer. Her shoulders weren’t as tense as they had been at other times, but her elbows were rigid and crossed in front of her. Her hands didn’t clench and unclench as they were so often in the habit of doing, but their constant erratic twitches betrayed busy thinking.

“Something on your mind?” he lilted.

Her hands went on twitching.

“It’s just that you’ve been hounding me for weeks to learn more about runes, and truth be told, we’ve barely started yet.”

Only the drone of crows’ and ravens’ wing flaps answered him.

He closed the books on the table – but quietly. Magical study was pointless and even dangerous if the mage in question couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand.

“I never took you for a daydreamer.”

She sighed, barely.

“I know it might sound cheeky to ask, but is something wrong?”

She shifted her weight, barely.

“In my experience, quiet people are normally the most worried. It’s not that they don’t want to talk about it, they – just don’t know where to start.”

“What do they worry about?”

His brow relaxed: speech. It was a timid little rumble, but the thought was certain. She wasn’t as bad off as she could be, then. “Mm. With ordinary people, it might be anything. But with leaders, I’ve found that it’s either death or a lover’s quarrel.”

“I’m used to death.”

“Ha! I know. We all are. Saving the world is a damned bloody business.”

She didn’t react.

He stood after a long moment. “I’ve heard the chatter, you know. It’s – a little difficult to avoid, even in Skyhold. I’m seen as the worldliest fellow here apart from the Orlesian set. It’s not entirely wrong. I’m rather pleased that they came to the right conclusion about something. Did you know, some southerners consider Tevinter to be a feeble little desert with quaint little ways.” His head bobbed along with his words. He cast his eyes downward. “But I’m sorry to dash your hopes.” He shrugged. “I’m not much use with affairs of the heart.”

“You’re still more use than me.”

“I very much doubt that. I-”

She turned around. Her face was immovable and stoic, but her eyes shimmered by the candlelight and lanterns.

He paled. “What happened?”

“I shouldn’t ask. I’ve seen of the others – they come for advice. You always find something to say to shut them up even though you’re bluffing. I know you are. I wouldn’t ask if I had another choice.”

Her voice had decayed a little more with each sentence. He gathered his breath very carefully. “What choice?”

“I can’t get your father out of my head.”

“Oh? That’s a common affliction among those who meet him.”

Her jaw tightened around a tense swallow. “Are there –” She flicked her eyes about. “I-I don’t know how to say it well. Are there a lot of people like you in Tevinter?”

“Ha! Depends who you ask, really.”

“But you’re not the only one. You can’t be.”

He made himself still. “No. I’m not. Of course I’m not.”

“Women too?”

“Certainly.”

She closed her eyes and frowned tightly for an instant. “No, what I meant was – I –”

He waited. The tension was hers, not his. He could at least see that much. So he waited. He watched the words swim and dance in the mind that made her seem equally baffling and brilliant to strangers.

She took a deep breath, but the resolve that was probably meant to brace her crumbled before she finished exhaling. “Do you think it’s possible for someone to – to want and not want? In that way, I mean.”

His thoughts simultaneously accelerated and slowed. Was she saying what it sounded like she was saying? “You-”

She shook her head in quick little jerks. “I’m not a – it’s not that I don’t know what happens. I do. But that was different. That was –” Her face contorted. Dorian waited for a sob but no noise came. She recovered herself, barely. She glanced at everything and everywhere but Dorian. “That was so different. And my clan acted strangely after that – more so than before, I mean. But I think it happened because I didn’t – I don’t know, I didn’t care about that. Even before it happened, I didn’t care. And the others must’ve seen that, and-”

He raised a hand gently to silence her. “I understand.” He shook for an instant, but he stifled it. Outrage wouldn’t help her just now. “And in that case, Inquisitor, I have a favor to ask.”

She quieted her frame and waited.

“Beyond this sentence, don’t take any advice on this matter – from anyone, even me.”

Her eyes glazed a fraction. “Isn’t it worth some worry?”

“Only if you go on trying to be something that you don’t feel you are.”

Her shoulders bounced twice and she hugged herself a little tighter.

Dorian struggled to hide his cringe at seeing such angular movements. Had she been skipping meals again?

“It’s silly, I know. The world’s still in danger and there’s still so much left undone. This is the last thing I should think about. I’ll find someone eventually anyway.”

“You might. You might not. That’s all anyone can know for certain, really. ”

“Are you angry?”

“Why would I be?”

She looked away and moved for the railing. She leaned her elbows on it and tented her fingers. “I’ve met people who don’t mind which path someone takes as long as it means sharing the path with someone else.”

“Then they were wrong.”

“How can they be wrong?”

“You didn’t decide to be the way you are any more than you decided to be a mage.”

“That’s not enough for some people.”

“Well it damn well should be.” He copied her pose and stared out at nothing in particular. “Here we are again,” he grinned. Despite her somberness, a smirk tugged at the very edges of the Inquisitor’s mouth, just as he knew it always did when he said it. “Here we are, some of the brightest scholars and strongest warriors in the world, trying to save this damned shithole that’s tried to kill us Maker knows how many times. If we succeed, it shouldn’t matter who or what we are. The rest is just gossip. Remember that, Inquisitor.”

She frowned again and paled. “Ameridan almost said something like that.”

“There you are, then: two votes of confidence.”

A lull settled over them, the birds still the only company on this particular afternoon.

“But if you don’t mind me saying, I don’t think you need to worry about finding someone.”

“Why?”

Dorian casually pointed down at the empty rotunda. “I’ve seen how you are with Solas. I’ve seen how he is with you.”

She turned around suddenly and folded her arms up again. “I know. It’s not fair.” She leaned her waist against the railing. “I can’t go on thinking what I’m thinking and draw closer to someone.”

“Why not?”

A dozen sharp lines and shadows crossed her face. “But it’s not – that’s not-”

“Why…not?” He drew the words out as he smiled in earnest.

“He would never agree to something like that. No one would.”

He slowly clasped his hands together. “The one thing I’ve learned from all that I’ve seen in the world is that no two situations are alike. They might end in the same way, but they don’t always start the same. No two people are entirely alike. No two pairings are entirely alike.”

She blinked hard several times and stared over her shoulder down below. “Do you think he and I could be a – pairing?”

“That’s not for me to say. I only see what I see.”

“But you see something between us?”

He rested a palm on her hand. “You’re right. There’s not a lot I can say. There’s not a lot I can do to help.”

She swiped a rogue tear away as if jabbing a gnat off of her face. She nodded and lowered her head.

“There’s not a lot I can say because it’s none of my business. That doesn’t mean there isn’t anything to consider – and it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try looking if that’s what you want.”

“I wish someone would tell me what I wanted.”

“There’s a certain old piece of Tevinter wisdom. It’s been twisted to mean many things, but that doesn’t make it any less true than whatever lucky soul put it into words in the first place.”

“And what’s that?”

“‘Above all else, know thyself.’”

“I don’t think that’s something I could ever follow.”

“Knowing that you don’t know is still knowledge. It’s still more than the average damned fool in the street can understand.” He snorted. “It’s still more than I know sometimes.”

The Inquisitor shot him a frown.

“Yes, even I’m surprised that I said that,” he lilted.

They both let out patchy, quiet chuckles, the Inquisitor’s a fraction more uncertain than Dorian’s but no less sincere.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

King And Queen Of The Weekend, Chapter 2: Time We Danced With The Truth

Peyton x Blaine, post-“Some Like It Hot Mess.” Part angsty fix-it-fic, part smut, with just a dash of songfic along the way for flavor. A plot bunny that would not be denied, this was heavily inspired by Lorde’s Melodrama, especially “Sober.” 

Summary: Blaine’s turn. What happens when you and your ex both decide to drown your feelings rather than facing them...in the same bar, with an unoccupied piano? "No matter what can be said about the wasted potential that is Blaine Debeers, he is not and will never be exactly like his father, because the old man would never sidle up to a piano in a dive bar and start playing quietly for his own entertainment.”

Cross-posted on AO3; fun with tags + more notes can be found there.

“So even if I faked losing my memory, you wouldn’t be a little mad?”

“I don’t know. I’m just–I’m so happy right now.”

“I have good news. Major is going to get his memory back…and the good news doesn’t stop there. This is me. This version of me, small business owner, amateur lounge singer, guy that feels lucky every time you walk through that door.”

—-

Blaine keeps moving, on autopilot. What other choice does he have? The show must go on, right? He quits playing piano, though, when the customers complain. They want more upbeat music and he just…doesn’t care. He’s tired of faking it. Hello irony, oldest of friends.

It’s the brain biz instead, again. Scheming and clawing his way back to being king of the hill is what comes naturally, so that’s what he does, burying his feelings.

He’s a villain; they’re not supposed to have feelings anyway. Idiotic to have let himself believe otherwise.

Branching out suppliers while he tests the blue juice leads him south to a small town for the weekend. He could’ve sent Don E., but he wanted the distance. The time. Once business is concluded, he heads straight for a bottle.

The town’s only bar was easier to find than a solitary bottle of Jack, so he settles in a corner, sulking over his whiskey while the entire place seems to be filled with couples.

They kiss, they cuddle, they share shots like the world might end tomorrow–little do they know–and they’re everywhere, physical reminders that against all odds, he actually got the girl, only to lose her again.

Technically, he remembers, he’s lost her twice now. That’s when he decides this particular establishment isn’t doing him any favors and gets up to leave…until he sees the piano.

Much like a beautiful woman, he’s always had a hard time resisting the lure of a piano. His father disapproved of such a sentimental pastime, but his mother–and then grandfather–encouraged the lessons, and eventually, every session of putting his fingers to the keys felt like fighting back.

It still does, bringing solace along with the bittersweet memories of his mother’s hands on his and his grandfather teaching him old Irish ballads. No matter what can be said about the wasted potential that is Blaine Debeers, he is not and will never be exactly like his father, because the old man would never sidle up to a piano in a dive bar and start playing quietly for his own entertainment.

“Love and other moments are just chemical reactions in your brain, in your brain...and feelings of aggression are the absence of the love drug in your veins, in your veins...”

As song choices go, it’s a bit on the nose, but he’s half-drunk and moping over Peyton, much as he wishes he wasn’t, and it’s what comes to mind. Along with it comes more moping, because he came here to forget–but he can't.

She sparkled.

That was the thing about Peyton that had first tugged at him. From the beginning, underneath her professional demeanor and through all the dark, dismal events to follow, she glowed in a way that made him want to be near her.

If he simply wanted sex and conversation he could find a beautiful woman in a bar somewhere, without getting mixed up with the ADA whose help was crucial to his plan. Slipping her his card was as practical as it was invitational, given how well he knew Mr. Boss and the danger she was courting. Against his own interests, he cared that she might get hurt because of her involvement in this scheme of his.

He never thought she'd invite him to stick around after work, as it were, to get a little sloppy on fine whiskey and do very little talking. All he’d really wanted was a little flirtation and to get rid of Mr. Boss. But when he laid out the map for her and connected the dots, she just lit up at him and took his breath away.

That was unexpected.

She made him a little tongue-tied, awkward, slightly off his game. He had better lines, smoother moves, but facing her, he was more the teenage loser of his youth than the suave king he’d remade himself to be.

The worst part was, he liked it.

“Love come quickly, because I feel my self-esteem is caving in, it’s on the brink...”

Had anybody ever come so close to sweeping him off his feet? It was a silly thought for someone who’d made a name for himself as a killer and drug dealer, but Peyton just had this way about her, part warrior queen, part soft and warm and vulnerable. The way she entered an interrogation room and demanded his release, as though anyone she came into contact with should be expected to do nothing less than exactly what she commanded.

Maybe it was a lawyer thing; he wouldn’t know. But it was hot.

And though he’d never admit it to anyone, she tunneled right into his weak spot. All he’d managed to make of himself, out of his personal hell growing up, was a cliche. The poor little rich boy, the failed entrepreneur…the thief who barely managed to graduate to drug dealer on somebody else’s turf. Once his grandfather was locked up, long after his own mother didn’t think he was worth living for, Blaine just didn’t see the point. Survival he was good at, but believing he was worth something? He'd left that behind as soon as he was old enough to understand how much his own father hated him.

Peyton was the first person to try and protect him, to stand up for him, since he was a child. It was the strangest feeling, but not unwelcome. Instead it was terrifying, because he wanted to lean into it, accept it. Her hand on his back as she ordered his father to leave, snapping at Ravi and choosing him over Major, welcoming him into their home when she knew Liv wouldn’t.

Not to mention, how she exuded cool with her shields up, so different from the woman he’d parted ways with who’d still been flush and warm and relaxed from their spontaneous encounter in her office. It should have been awkward, when they pulled back and tugged their clothes into place and she smoothed down her couch cushions, but it wasn’t.

She had grinned at him, seeming totally at ease, possibly the most confidently sexy woman he’d ever met, and asked flippantly, “Catch you later?”

Her grin was contagious. “Well,” he’d replied, “I do have a previously scheduled appointment to go over evidence with this smokin’ hot attorney. Maybe we could hook up after that?”

“Sounds good.” She linked her arms behind his neck, leaning in for a long, slow kiss. “Tell me more about this attorney.”

“Hmm…” He let his gaze wander down her body and back up to her deep hazel eyes. “Well, she’s gorgeous, and smart, and brave...”

Peyton interrupted him. “Brave?”

“Definitely. Not just anybody would take on Mr. Boss, let alone face him solo in her office without caving in to the fear. He threatened you,” Blaine reminded her gently. “And you stuck.”

She shrugged. “It’s my job. I’m good at it.”

“That’s kinda my point. But it’s more than that. You’re in it for more than the title and salary. I can tell. You really want to get him–just for what he does to this fair city of ours. That’s an admirable quality.”

“Well, we share it.” She gestured at her outfit. “So. Do I look like someone who just had sex on government property?”

“Huh. Presuming I know what that looks like,” Blaine replied, “no. I think you’re good to go.”

Nodding, Peyton stepped back toward him for one last kiss. “Then I’ll see you around.”

“Love come quickly, because I don’t think I can keep this monster in, it’s in my skin...”

He almost went for it that night on the couch. He almost couldn’t help himself, his hands full of Peyton and everything he secretly wanted most beneath his new persona. He couldn’t do it, of course–what if she regretted it? he knew he would regret it–but he almost did before he managed to pull back.

He wasn’t exactly known for his impulse control, before her. But he really did want to be better. Worthy of her company, let alone her affection. Worth that smile she shot his way that warmed the darker parts of his soul.

She made him feel poetic.

There was nothing he could do about how damaged he was long before they ever met, or what he did before and after becoming a zombie. But he was just a man now, and he wanted a real chance with her. So he stopped it.

He spent the night tossing and turning on the couch, cold without her, and wishing he’d never lied in the first place.

“Love and other socially acceptable emotions are morphine, they’re morphine, cleverly concealing primal urges often felt but rarely seen, rarely seen...”

When she took his hand the next morning, and led him to her room, he couldn’t believe it. And he didn’t try to stop it. She chose him, knowing his past, knowing the new man he was trying so hard to be–her hands were in his hair, her lips were parted against his, and they were kissing in the muted daylight where it felt like a dream.

He didn’t ever want to wake up.

His old life and the new one where she treated him like a decent guy who she was interested in were worlds apart. Despite her best friend being a zombie, Peyton had managed to stay surprisingly untouched by the violence surrounding her. She fought the seedy underbelly of the city…and he belonged in it.

But not anymore. He’d gotten his second chance, and he was determined to keep earning it, every day with her. Standing in her sunny bedroom, he lifted her shirt up, letting his fingers trace her skin as it was exposed. She stretched into his touch and he wondered if she did yoga, then refused to get distracted by how sexy the idea of her doing yoga was.

He was such a lost cause when it comes to Peyton Charles, it was ridiculous.

Unlike the last time, Blaine didn’t ask if she was sure, because he knew her well enough to know that this wouldn’t be happening if she weren’t. Instead, he indulged, the way they didn’t during their fateful one-night stand, when things were too new and frantic and fueled by the risk of getting caught at any moment.

Now, he could take full advantage of the light warming her bronze skin, drinking in his fill of how she looked in her bra and soft cotton pjs, before he slid those down her endlessly long legs and followed them with kisses.

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

She was so beautifully responsive, angling toward his every touch, humming her appreciation. It made him want to stay with her for days, finding every sensitive spot and claiming it for himself.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she breathed back.

Peyton was already exploring him in return, dispatching his t-shirt and running her hands over his chest, leaning in toward him as her hands drifted lower.

Their lips met with excruciating slowness, neither of them rushing toward the bed. He traced her lips with his tongue, and when they parted she sighed. Then their tongues met eagerly while his fingers roamed down her back to caress her ass.

Her hand grazed him through his boxers and he jolted, growling against her mouth, their kisses growing more passionate. With an easy flick of his fingers, Blaine opened the front clasp of her bra and slid the straps off each shoulder.

They finally began inching toward the bed, still linked at the lips, her hands in his hair as the full length of her pressed against him. He kneeled next to her when they landed, running his hands over her chest and following his fingertips with his mouth.

Peyton moaned when he tugged lightly on one nipple and circled it with his tongue. He was stroking the other with his fingertips, shifting his legs so that one was between her knees and pressing against her. She rocked against him a little as their lips met and parted, breath growing thick and more desperate.

Her hands gripped his back, digging in as he continued to explore her, running his tongue along the crease of soft skin beneath her breast, then blowing lightly on her nipple before taking it back into his mouth.

Her hands moved up to his neck, running through his hair until he ceded control of the kiss to her, and she left him panting for breath. Then she was gripping his shoulders as his mouth found the curve of her neck and lingered there, leaving behind the faintest of marks.

She arched up toward him, nails digging into his skin, and he moved over, making room to slide down and let his mouth journey south. His lips left a heated trail down her taut stomach and over to her hip, where he planted a firm kiss that made her shiver.

Peyton released her grip on him and reached out to run her fingers along the waistline of his shorts. With her eyes closed, she waited until he leveraged himself up and then she tugged them off. He kicked them away, sucking in air as her hands found him and caressed the sensitive skin beneath his balls.

Blaine teased his fingers along the edge of her satin thong, then slid it aside to circle her clit with his fingers. Peyton started to shift along with his movements, quaking against the sheets.

“Oh, God. Blaine,” she murmured, taking him in her hand and stroking. His fingers kept moving against her until he was hard and ready, and their mouths clashed as he lifted himself.

She was wet and hot when he slid into her, and he found himself whispering endearments in her ear, just like the last time.

They moved together with an easy familiarity that didn’t make sense for only their second time, but he didn’t question it, straining with her toward their lush, convulsive peak. To Blaine, she felt like coming home.

“Love I beg you, lift me up into that privileged point of view, the world of two...”

Nothing she said was wrong. He was selfish, and greedy…and sad, most of all. He was angry at her for the way she tricked him into confessing–lied to him, led him into a trap–but he couldn’t muster up much enthusiasm for it, because he'd done far worse. And she was right.

He hadn’t been thinking about her friends, or making a fool of her, when his memories came back and he pretended they hadn’t. He’d been thinking about himself, which, once he had his memories back, he knew was what he always did. How he’d always been, before.

It took everything he had not to chase after her. Not to go looking, to make his case, the way he might with anybody else. But this was Peyton, who won arguments for a living, and he knew it would just make things worse. So he covered up the wound with jokes and business and liquor and tried to move on.

“Love don’t leave me, because I console myself that Hallmark cards are true, I really do...”

The liquor isn’t helping much. It never really does. Must be the Irish in him; drinking just makes him maudlin.

He sips again anyway, because he’s here and has nothing better to do, closing his eyes and remembering the way Peyton leaned back that first night, her skirt shifting and catching his attention when she crossed her legs. Her voice was sultry between sips, inviting--more intoxicating than the alcohol.

He’s not sure which is more of a tragedy, the fact that getting his memories back means he lost her, or the fact that having them means he remembers so clearly what he’s lost.

Putting his own flourish on the melody with one hand and sipping with the other, he catches movement in his peripheral vision that makes him dizzy.

He must be more drunk than he realizes, Blaine thinks, if he’s starting to hallucinate. This one isn’t exactly the way he would’ve imagined it, if he had a choice in hallucinations…which is how he knows he’s not that drunk.

Peyton’s come back to him, in all her fierce and shining glory–but she doesn’t look happy to see him. In fact, she seems just as stunned as he is, striding toward him with an accusatory finger outstretched.

He can’t help leaning into the chorus as their eyes meet, as she approaches without hesitation and all he can feel is the dull ache of missing her.

“I’m gunning down romance…it never did a thing for me, but heartache and misery—ain’t nothing but a tragedy.”

She carries herself like a fighter ready for the next round, despite her slightly glassy eyes and the tequila on her breath. If this is Peyton Charles on tequila, no wonder she wouldn’t tell him about it that first night.

She raises her voice over the piano he’s still playing, heedless of the heads that turn their way.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”