#at which point they use magic to get Carver and themselves out of there

[herearedragons]

what if mage Hawke ran away to secretly join the king’s army at Ostagar along with Carver

[fademirrored]

alpha: Champion of Kirkwall

“I’m an older brother to twins. I’ve learned from the best how to ignore someone trying to get on my nerves.”

Cyrus “Crabapple” Hawke Champion of Kirkwall. Primarily Blue

Male. He/Him/His. Panromantic, demisexual. 13 Bloomington, 9:10 Dragon. Lothering, Ferelden. Mage; Primal and Force magic.

Eyes: Light blue. Narrow, hooded. Looks perpetually skeptical. Hair: Very pale blond, but more gold than white. Smooth, slightly wavy, just past his shoulders. Usually pulled back, though he’s not fussed about how. If it’s down, he spends most of his time pushing it out of his face. Skin: Typically pale, but tans relatively easily. Gets freckles easily. Height: 5'9". Build: Average height, stocky, with well built arms and shoulders. Generally looks like he can deck someone pretty solidly in the face. Notable Details: Electrical scars up his arms. Very prominent bump on the bridge of his nose. Scar through his right eyebrow. Voice: Standard male Hawke voice.

Positive Traits: Kind to a fault, general grumpiness aside; he likes to help and to give what he can, and he likes to keep people safe and happy and tended to. Patient, even if he’s grumpy; it takes a while before his default grumpiness turns into actual anger. Modest and willing to take input; he knows he’s not the top of every class, and accordingly he’s willing to take advice. Decisive; it typically doesn’t take him long to pro and con a situation and decide on a course of action, and he’s not prone to waffling once he’s made his decision. Team player, good at cooperating; he doesn’t necessarily need to be in charge, even if that’s how it frequently works out, and he’s happy to defer to someone else when that would be best. Negative Traits: Irritable and grumpy, and is typically always some level of exasperated, like he’s just assuming the situation is going to turn weird; Varric calls him Crabapple for a reason. Strict, even when it’s not required; it’s more of a knee-jerk reaction carried over from the fact that Kirkwall is a deathtrap, and he’s duly chastened when called on it, but it happens again regardless. Overly blunt, to the point of being tactless; it’s not even an ignorant thing, since he’s generally aware that what he’s saying is not the most polite option, but he wants what he thinks to be known anyway. Neutral Traits: Ambivert. Deadpan. Dryly snarky. Agreeable to most things that don’t sound bat shit crazy. Casual and not too fussed about ceremony or formality. Gets a bit scatterbrained when it’s quiet. Gets a little theatrical at times. Optimist vs. Pessimist: Optimistic, albeit cautiously so; attempts to be a realist. Quirks: Prone to nonsequiturs. Likes having company, but doesn’t always want to talk to his company. Prefers a day to be structured, which probably contributes to his grumpiness.

Religion: Agnostic and uninterested. Likes: Dogs. Kids. Music. Dance. Finding new and bizarre uses for magic. Savory-sweet combos. Coffee. Mead. The night sky. Heavy storms. The rare chance to see a good landslide. Dislikes: Templars. People who are very insistent that The Circle Is Good Actually. Being underground. Most authority figures, until they prove themselves. Being hurled into the limelight. Getting caught in heavy storms or a good landslide. Being preached at. Favorite Colors: Electric blue. Grey-blue. Crimson red. Electric yellow. Hobbies: Finding unconventional magic uses. Can play the piano. Cooking. Dog-training. Helps in the clinic. Somehow winds up babysitting most of the children in Lowtown even once he lives in Hightown.

Family: Malcolm Hawke (father, deceased). Leandra Hawke (mother, deceased). Carver Hawke (brother). Bethany Hawke (sister, deceased). Gamlen (uncle). Dog: Decker. Romance: Anders. Friends: Fenris. Merrill. Aveline. Varric. Carver. Note: He’s a little embarrassed to admit that Sebastian always made him a little uncomfortable, what with his utmost faith in the Chantry and the Circle and Cyrus’s greatest fear being getting thrown into the Circle. *everything in this sectioncan of course be tweaked or disregarded entirely for specific threads, if you’d rather.

[fanfoolishness]

The Boiling Point

Hawke and Varric have always been there through each other for thick and thin. Pity they're both also incredibly oblivious. Hawke and Varric dance around each other for years, but what happens when they finally figure themselves out? ~3500 words of friends to lovers, fluff and angst, and idiots in love. written for Hightown Funk 2022 for @veorlian. :)

-

“I didn’t realize it was possible for something to smell like that,” Marian Hawke hissed, using the tip of her staff to poke at a pile of sludge.  Something twinkled in the muck, a faint gleam of gold.  She forced herself to swallow her gorge.  “But coin is coin, right?  I don’t suppose Bartrand would object to another sovereign, even if it is a Darktown special.”

Varric raised an eyebrow.  “Can’t you do a spell?  Magic the stench off of it?  My brother does love gold, but this might cross the line.”

“Really Varric, where do you come up with these ideas?” asked Merrill.  “Hawke, I’m afraid you’re on your own for this.”

“Oh, yes, just a bit of a destenching spell, first magic I ever performed,” Marian snickered.  She glanced at Carver, who gave her a warning look.  “I suppose you’ve got a point.  Growing up with siblings, it’s a good spell to keep in one’s back pocket.”

“As if you weren’t right there with me, getting dirty as anything,” said Carver.  “Bethany might be the only one of us who’s ever known decorum.”  He gazed skeptically down at the sludge.  “Are you certain we can’t just find another job?  Do we really have to scrounge about in the muck?”

Marian wavered.  “I can’t bear to leave it, not when we’re so close to having enough for the expedition.  Stench or no.”  She reached for mana, experimentally trying something halfway between a force spell and fire magic --

Flaming shit exploded outward in all directions, spattering the passageway, the ground, and the entire party.

Varric and Carver got the worst of it.  Wrong place, wrong time.  Merrill was slightly protected, standing a bit behind Carver as she had been: she had a split second to summon a touch of frost magic to neutralize the foul flames.  Merrill shuddered at the fate she had nearly suffered, and turned her attention to de-flaming Carver.  Frost magic settled over him.  The set of his ice-studded eyebrows predicted imminent apoplexy.  

Varric stood where he had been struck, unmoving.  Tragically,  he had transformed into a shit-covered impression of a dwarf.  Marian felt a slight pang of regret.  Only time would tell if he had really survived the blast, though she suspected by his thousand yard stare that the scars might be permanent.  

Marian’s shock slowly retreated, replaced by awareness of the most astounding smell.  She reached up a shaking hand, gingerly wiping hot filth off her forehead.  She blinked.  Then she bent down, picking up the now sparkling clean gold sovereign and tucking it carefully into her purse.

“Is this something you’re planning on trying out in the Deep Roads?” Varric managed, the last word ending in a choked gag.  “If so, I request to be somewhere far, far away the next time you pull out that little number.”

“You’re the one who asked about destenching, Varric.  This is at least your fault as much as it is mine,” Marian insisted, wiping off her front, which only seemed to smear things around more.  She heaved a sigh of defeat.  “Besides, we’re one sovereign closer, so I count this one as a win.”

“You’re something else, Hawke.”  Varric shook his head, looking greenish under the splatter.  But she could have sworn, despite the stink, that he still gave her a smile.  

Or maybe it was a grimace.  Considering he bent over and vomited about five seconds later, she wasn’t sure which.  

-

“Varric,” Marian said carefully.

“Yeah?” he asked, his tone too light to be perfectly casual.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?”

“What makes you say that?” he said heartily, turning around in the junction of the crossroads to face her and the others.  Three completely identical paths stretched beyond him.  “This is absolutely where I meant to take us.”

“Up the ass end of the Deep Roads?” Carver asked.  

“It’s all right to admit it, Varric.  I hate these bloody roads too,” said Anders sympathetically.  “Perhaps we can sort it out together.  Anything to get out of here a bit faster.”  He focused, looking down the identical halls.  He turned to the north fork.  “Come on, this one feels like it might be right.  Or, well, at least it’s not got darkspawn down it, and that’s something.  What have we got to lose?”

“You mean after everything went pear-shaped?” asked Carver.  “Not much.”  He followed Anders, and Varric and Marian brought up the rear.

Varric was quiet beside her, too quiet by far.  She knew him rather well by now, as well as she knew Anders or Fenris or Merrill, and this wasn’t right.  She pondered the evidence as they walked, the downcast gaze, the way he shuffled next to her, the hand worrying something in his pocket.  His quill, maybe.  Her gut nagged at her.  

You ought to say something.

“This is Bartrand’s fault, you know.  Not yours,” she said at last.  “I mean, there’s plenty of times I’ve taken the fall for Carver, brothers being what they are, but you’ve got nothing to fret over here.  Unless it’s the food, in which case, I agree, I’m getting rather tired of hardtack and nothing.”

He trudged along, his mouth twitching to one side as if he wanted to say something.  

“Come on,” she wheedled.  He was starting to worry her.

“It’s not --”  Varric let out a long breath.  “It’s complicated.”

“I know.”

“Bartrand’s always been an ass, but this is… this isn’t him, Hawke,” he muttered.  “I don’t know what it is -- greed? Magic?  I’m out of my depth here.”

“Funny thing to say, given we’re in the Deep Roads,” Marian cracked, but he didn’t smile.  He seemed as if he hadn’t even heard her.

“I know I’m not the one who locked us down there, but I don’t know.  Still feels like it’s on me, that’s all,” he said, his face drawn.  He shrugged.  “I talked you into coming down here.  Not Bartrand.  I’m sorry.”

Marian gave him a hard look.  “Well, if that wasn’t Bartrand back there, this isn’t you here.  Self-flagellation’s got its perks, but it’s an odd fit on you; doesn’t go with your outfit.  And to think, normally you’re such a style maven.”

A faint smile finally flickered across his mouth, almost reaching his eyes.  “Yeah?  Huh.  Maybe you’re right.”

“Ahh, there’s that Tethras optimism,” she said fondly.  “Now then.  Onward and hopefully upward, yes?”

He chuckled.  “Yeah, that’s the idea.”  They picked up the pace, Carver and Anders having pulled far ahead of them.  “Thanks, Hawke.”

“No worries, Varric.  After all, what are friends for?”

-

Varric didn’t say anything the first night Marian stayed over at the Hanged Man.  She’d had a lot to drink, she was tired, it made sense for her to crash in his overstuffed, dwarf-sized armchair, even if she didn’t really fit and the arms dug into the small of her back.

He didn’t say anything the second night.  The gangs had been roving around more than normal.  He understood why she didn’t want to climb the long stairs back to Hightown, alone, this time of night.  She tried the rug beside his bed and woke up in the morning complaining about the wooden floors.

He didn’t say anything the tenth night.  She’d run out of excuses to invent.  Eventually she drank to the bottom of her glass, and all she said was, “Mother wanted the manor so badly.  It’s… it still isn’t home.”

Varric just smiled at her.  He let her take the bed while he took the chair by the fire.  And the next day he put in an order for a human-length settee, the plushest one the merchant had to offer.

-

He’d never seen her look like this before.  When Carver fell ill in the Deep Roads was the closest.  But this --

She looked more ghostly than Leandra.  

It was the second day, the dust settling, the reality sinking in.  Marian was a jumble of long limbs, curled in on herself in the seat by the hearth; Varric sat a few feet away.  The great hound uneasily guarded her feet.   The manor felt more vast than ever.

“She never really knew how to be a mum, I think,” Marian whispered across the empty room.  “Sometimes I hated her for it.”

Varric blinked.  “Some mothers just know what to do.  Suited to it, I guess.  Others…”  He left out the part about his own mother, turning yellow in her own sick at the end.

“But she suffered,” Marian said, still in that same broken voice.  “She never deserved -- that.”

“No,” Varric echoed.  “No, she didn’t.”

The crackling fire swallowed his useless words.

-

“Well,” Marian said, her feet swinging over the edge of the great stone steps outside the Chantry. 

Varric sat beside her, his legs swinging much further above the ground.  “Well,” he agreed.

“That might have gone better.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Varric.  “I think the Qunari got something out of it.”

“Viscount Dumar might have a few words to say about that.  Mother Petrice’s corpse probably would as well.”

Varric mulled this over.  “Fair enough.”  His boots dangled idly, their swinging stilled.  “It’s going to be a mess.  Scratch that, it already is.  The Viscount’s son…”  He whistled, shaking his head.

“He hadn’t wanted any part of this.  And she had him, and those Qunari, killed to make a bloody point.”  She buried her face in her hands.  “It’s all another mess that I’m somehow deep in the middle of.  Maker’s balls.  What was that madwoman playing at, Varric?”

“Whatever it was, I don’t think the Maker’s anything had much to do with it.”  He shook his head. “She wanted a war with the Qunari.  It’s not looking good.”

Marian rubbed at her eyes.  “This is an absolute shit show.  And it’s going to get far worse before it gets better.  If it gets better.”

He reached out, patting her knee.  The weight of his hand felt good, a fact she tucked away for another time.  Hm.  

“Hanged Man?”

She nodded fervently, lowering her hands and giving him a rueful grin.  “Hanged Man.”

-

“You look like hell, Hawke.”

“I look better than the other guy,” she said stubbornly.  Dark circles ringed her eyes, fading bruises still visible on her face and arms, and she was still in bed, but she’d managed to sit up, which was a definite improvement.  A veritable explosion of pillows precariously supported her, keeping her upright.

“Hasn’t Anders been doing his glowy thing?  Or am I gonna have to have a talk with him?”

“He has been,” Marian said.  “We mages might be magical, but we’re not miracle workers.  Just because we can bend the laws of nature doesn’t mean we can ignore them entirely.”  She stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry at him.  “I’m healing as fast as I can, honest.”

Varric winced, dismayed.  This was after a week of healing?  From Anders, the guy with a spirit supercharge and more talent for healing than any mage he’d ever heard of?  

Shit.  Shit.  This was too damn close.

“Don’t look so pained,” she said.  “You’ll make me feel worse if you treat me like I almost died.”

“That ignores the fact that you did almost die,” he pointed out, perfectly reasonably.

“Arguing with the recovering patient.  Charming of you,” she said, coughing with the effort, her face twisting in a pained wince.

“Hawke, it’s time you faced the truth.  I’m always charming.”

“You having anything to do with the truth?  Oh now that’s absolutely rich --” She started to laugh, but the laugh quickly transformed into another wracking cough, one that made her double over.  “Maker,” she groaned, panting.  

He was at her side before he realized he’d moved, laying a hand on her shoulder as she struggled to catch her breath.  “Take it easy now.  Didn’t mean for the charm offensive to take you out,” he said hastily.

“You’re a bastard, Varric,” she wheezed.  She draped her arm over him, leaning hard into him, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths.  “I hope you know that.”

He braced himself so that she was more secure, slipping his arm around her waist and helping her stay upright.  “Guilty as charged.  But you didn’t hear it from me.”

-

Varric kicked the floor, dust billowing out in clouds beneath his boot.  The ghosts of Bartrand’s manor had faded, but Varric was still pale, the set of his jaw hard and unfamiliar.

“Want to talk about it?” Marian asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Are you crazy?” asked Varric.  

“Suppose it depends who you ask, doesn’t it?”  

Varric glanced at the pouch at her waist, where the red lyrium’s glow faintly emanated through the fabric.  He sighed.  “Thanks for taking that thing.”

She shrugged.  It felt warm against her hip.  “It gives me a terrible feeling,” she said in a low voice.  “You know the feeling you get, right before walking into a trap?  Where the hair on the back of your neck rises before you even know why?  That’s how I feel, thinking of you keeping this thing.  It’s caused an awful lot of trouble.  More than the two of us combined, and that’s saying something.”

“Seems like trouble follows that stuff wherever it goes,” he said, tilting his head to regard a dusty portrait on the wall.  She could just make out the faint outlines of dwarven faces, one of them seeming a little familiar, if very young.  

“Is that you?”  

Varric snorted, which turned into a loud, forceful sneeze.  “If you squint.  Definitely not one of the better portrait artists in Hightown.  It wasn’t all her fault, though.  As Bartrand told it I couldn’t sit still to save my life.”

She peered at the dusty portrait.  A towheaded, round-faced little boy stared back at her, looking uncharacteristically solemn.  He was right.  It didn’t look much like him at all.

“I’ll take care of the red lyrium,” Marian said.  “What will you do with everything else?”

He turned away from the painting, no trace of a smile on his face.  “I’m doing it,” he said tiredly, and he walked away.

-

It’s coming to a boil.

The phrase repeated in her head, a warning knell beneath her jokes, her chatter, her rare quiet moments.  Coming to a boil.  

Kirkwall had been seething for years now, a tempest in the making.  She could feel it in the hard glares of the templars, the furtive paranoia of the mages, the denials of the Chantry.  Something was coming.  Something big.

She did her very best to ignore it.

It wasn’t too difficult, at first.  She could pretend that things were normal when she settled into a game of Wicked Grace with her friends, or got out of the city for a bit of fresh air with her Mabari, or put out little fires in Darktown or the alienage.  Pretty standard stuff.  She knew how to deal with that.

She didn’t know how to deal with people calling her Champion.  Or tense, dangerous audiences with Elthina, Meredith, Orsino.  Or rumblings about uprisings and rebellions, strident whispers from both the templars and the mages.

So she found herself at the Hanged Man for the fifth time in a week, sulkily staring down her third pint, waiting for the sun to set and her friends to join her so she wouldn’t need to be alone with her thoughts.

It’s coming to a boil.

“You look deep in thought, Champion.”

“It’s been known to happen, on occasion.  And don’t call me Champion,” Marian said as Varric climbed onto the bench beside her, a pint in hand.

“Don’t worry, Hawke.  All in jest.”

“Damn right,” she said, finishing her pint.  She cast around for the barmaid and nodded when she caught her eye.  “How’s tricks, Varric?”

“Same old, same old.”  

He looked just as world-weary as she felt.  “Liar.”

He chuckled.  “Takes one to know one.”

“Obviously.”  She tossed a silver to the barmaid in exchange for another ale, and took a long draught.  “You ever have those days where you’re just counting down the hours, hoping that somehow, some way, tomorrow will be different?”

“Something on your mind, Hawke?  Not that there’s anything wrong with introspection, of course,” he said, taking a drink of his own ale.  “You’re worried.  About Kirkwall, I take it.”

“Is it that obvious?”  She let out a huff.  “Something’s brewing, Varric, and I don’t like it.”

“Well, you’re gonna hurt Corff’s feelings with that.  He’s been working on this new crappy lager for months now.”  His mouth quirked in a grin, one that she didn’t return.

“You know what I mean.  You feel it, too, don’t you?”

His smile faded, and he nodded.  “Yeah, I do.  Why do you think I came over here?  Distracting you is a great way to distract myself.  Funny how that works out.”

Marian sighed into her ale.  “At least whatever existential dread there is lurking about feels a little less nasty when I’m with you.  You’ve always helped.  That’s got to be something, don’t you think?”

Varric’s face had gone ruddier than normal.  “That’s me, worth my weight in gold.”

“Is that a blush, Master Tethras?” she asked, her voice rising just a little too high.

“It’s the ale,” he said defensively.  “Something really has gone wrong with that lager.”

Marian considered.  “I think you’re blushing.  And I think it’s because I said I feel rather better when you’re around.”  She nibbled thoughtfully on her lower lip, contemplating things.  “It’s true, you know.  Has been for ages.”  

How long?  How many hours had she put in at the Hanged Man, hoping to see him?  How many nights had she stayed over when going back to a vast empty manor seemed too hard?  How many times had just the sound of his laugh lifted her spirits?

“Oh, shit,” she said.

“Oh really?” Varric asked.  “Come to realize how wrong you were?  Most would say I’m more of an annoyance than a comfort.”  His flush deepened, if anything, but he leaned closer, his arm brushing against hers.  Her heart beat faster.

“Shit, shit, Varric.  I’m an idiot.”

“Hey!  That’s slander about my favorite misfit, and I won’t hear it,” said Varric.  “But now why would you say something like that?  You’re a lot of things, Hawke, but an idiot's not one.”

She groaned, rubbing a hand over her face.  “No, no, I’ve been quite daft.  Argh.”

“If you’re trying to paint me a picture, it’s clear as mud.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” she grumbled.  “Happy now?”

He froze.  He looked up at her with hazel eyes the size of sovereigns, his cheeks flaming.  If she hadn’t been so mortified it would have been funny, seeing him finally at a loss for words.  

“You, uh -- you what?” he finally forced out.  “Now that’s one I’ve never heard before.”

“Ugh, you heard me.  I can’t believe I’ve been so dim.  Why do you think I’m always hanging about here?  It’s not for the bloody ambiance, it’s for the company.”  She hauled her arms up to the table, resting her head on them and burying her face so Varric couldn’t keep staring.  “I’m an absolute fool, Tethras.  I hope I haven’t put you off permanently.  Still friends at least, yes?” she asked, voice muffled in her sleeves.  Oh, if she hadn’t put her foot in it.

For a horribly long moment the only thing she heard was the background chatter of the other patrons in the pub.  Then Varric’s laugh started up, a low, deep rumble leading up to rich, rough chuckles.  “You’re really serious,” he managed, as his laughter trailed off.

“Of course!  You don’t have to rub it in,” she muttered.

“It’s just -- hey, hey.  Would you look at me, Hawke?”

“So you can laugh at my ridiculousness?  Oh, I must be a glutton for punishment.”  But she lifted her head from her arms, her hair falling into her eyes, her cheeks burning.

“No, no, it’s not that at all,” Varric protested.  He laid a hand on her arm and took a deep, long breath.  He swallowed, then said in a shaky voice,  “It wasn’t love at first sight.  That’s the crap I put in Swords and Shields; that doesn’t really happen.  But… I’ve loved you for years, Marian.  And that’s the honest truth.”

“Oh,” she croaked.  

Oh.

“That’s, ah, very interesting, Varric.”  Her hand wrestled awkwardly with Varric’s until their fingers interlaced.  That felt pretty good.  It felt right.  “Maybe we should talk about this?”

A smile spread slowly across his face.  He opened his mouth, his eyes bright; he always did love getting the last word.  Before he could speak she bent down and kissed him, his stubble brushing against her cheeks.

And for a moment, they didn’t say anything at all.

---

(end)

(for @veorlian , whose prompts were right up my alley!)

Thank you very much in advance!! <3 Here are my prompts:

- I love slice of life mutual pining friends to lovers fluff where it's snippets of Hawke and Varric together going on missions and spinning lies and just generally being incredibly important to each other while fully ignoring how important they are to each other

- I really enjoy stories that fill in missing parts of the story, so I'd love to see the things that happen in between acts. For example, Hawke going to visit Varric at the Hanged Man because their manor is too big and doesn't feel like home; Varric and Hawke going on low-stakes adventures together, and so on. Really, whatever you think might fit in the several years we didn't get to see!

- Varric and Hawke get into a competition for who can tell the most elaborate lie and one of them messes up and accidentally confesses their feelings and/or one of them decides to use the opportunity of a lie to confess their feelings

[a-drama-addict]

Ohhh how about Isabela 1-3, Fenris 4&5, Merrill 1&4, Aveline 4, Varric 2&3, Anders 3, Sebastian 5, Carver 3? (i know that's a hella lot so feel free to pick n choose :P).

thanks for the ask!! and yeah that's a lot, still gonna be answering them all tho >:3

Isabela

1. Did Isabela return at the end of Act II? Was your Hawke angry if she did not return? Were they pleased if she did?

She did return, much to Chloe's relief. Not that she took Isabela back with open arms, she actually got pretty mad at her after the Arishok fight. Chloe rarely gets angry but she felt really abandoned and betrayed when Isabela had left. Once Chloe calmed down from her anger, she did hug the shit out of Isabela.

2. What did your Hawke think of pirates? Did they approve or disapprove of Isabela’s title as a “pirate queen”?

Chloe loves pirates, she always wanted to be one as a kid. As a teen she didn't want to be one, but did always think that pirates are hot. She definitely liked Isabela's self given title of pirate queen, it's really good teasing material.

3. How did your Hawke feel about Isabela’s indifference to the mage-templar war? Were they offended? Or indifferent themselves?

She wasn't offended by it, despite her obvious preference for the mages. Chloe was actually glad to meet someone indifferent on the subject, that just meant she didn't have another person to argue with.

Fenris

4. How did your Hawke respond to the mutual resentment between Fenris and Anders? Did they intervene?

Chloe didn't try to intervene. She didn't like the mutual resentment between the two, but thought of it as something she had to accept. (In her own words "Both their points are valid, they're just both dicks about it.")

5. What motivated your Hawke to be either a friend or a rival to Fenris? Were they indifferent to him?

Chloe was really motivated to befriend Fenris, since she knew that he most likely never had someone to be close to before. She wanted to give Fenris something like a family, if she could.

Merrill

1. How did your Hawke react to Merrill’s use of blood magic? Were they shocked? Pleased?

She was shocked, but didn't think too much of it at first. She wasn't pleased or anything, but didn't really care. She mostly joked about it ("Are you gonna use blood magic for a freaky orgy?" "Is blood magic helpful with debt? Can you summon coins with the blood of your enemies?") which backfired when she herself started doing blood magic, because all of those jokes were shot right back at her. (well deserved honestly)

4. What sort of relationship did your Hawke have with Merrill? Were they protective of her?

They definitely have a sister-like relationship. Chloe became protective over Merrill pretty quickly, maybe it had something with losing her actual sister but she felt it was the she could do. Especially when Merrill was new to Kirkwall. Their bond became stronger over the years.

Aveline

4. How did your Hawke’s relationship with Aveline change throughout the Acts? Did they connect to her because of their mutual escape from the darkspawn in Ferelden?

In early Act I they were definitely friends, but that didn't last very long. After learning how Aveline actively stopped Carver from joining the guard (which would've given him an income, and something to do outside of following Chloe around), how she was spying on him as well, that definitely strained their friendship.

During Act II shit really hit the fan, with Aveline ignoring reports/leads, which ultimately led to Leandra's death, and becoming more ignorant of what happens in Kirkwall, their friendship crumbled really quickly.

Varric

2. Was your Hawke comfortable with Varric’s story-telling hobby? Did they predict that Varric would write a story about them?

Chloe was definitely comfortable with it, really enjoyed it even. She used to joke about Varric writing a story about her, but was actually surprised when Varric said he was working on a one. It made her giddy tho

3. Did your Hawke allow Varric to keep the lyrium shard? Why or why not?

She let him keep it. Considering what he had through, and how that could bring maybe a little bot of closure about Bartrand and what happened to him. Chloe felt like he deserved that much

Anders

3. What was your Hawke’s relationship with Anders like before the Chantry explosion? How did the explosion change their perception of him?

They were pretty close friends actually. She sympathized with him a lot, and felt really comfortable around him. Anders was one of the first people she actually opened up to about her Father and her childhood. After the explosion, she was unsure what to think of him.

In the end she forgave him for his actions, since she understood why he did it. (Well she semi-joked saying "My new year's resolution was to end the year with no bad blood between my friends.")

Sebastian

5. Was your Hawke friendly or hostile towards Sebastian and why?

Chloe was pretty friendly with Sebastian. When Carver was gone doing Warden stuff, she started teasing him like he was her little brother. They weren't super close, but she did consider him one of her closer friends. (The Kirkwall crew is just peak found family okay)

Carver

3. What sort of relationship did your Hawke have with Carver? Did they attempt to be friends or did they become rivals with him?

Their relationship was rocky, but Chloe always tried to be friendly with him. She didn't want to restrict him, but she was protective of him which caused her to accidentally stop him from doing things he wanted.

In the end. she had a pretty good bond with Carver. Not really good, but it was definitely getting better from their rocky relationship years earlier.

[druidgroves]

sparring

fandom: dragon age notes: this has been in my notes app for 2 months & i finally decided to finish it. featuring my two ocs, audra & dietrich eisenhardt, & carver hawke :) takes place sometime after carver becomes a warden & makes his way to vigil’s keep.

Carver couldn’t help but notice the pair that stayed to themselves every morning when the new recruits would partner up to spar. The Warden-Constable, a man by the name of Alistair, would order them to find a partner and the two would already be walking in step with one another to their usual spot. No one really knew who they were, as they mostly kept to themselves.

He would get distracted watching them sometimes. One of them, a man with a long, thin face and tousled blonde hair, would clumsily slash his daggers at the other, a woman with the same long face and wheat blonde hair but kept in twin braids, who would use the end of her staff to knock the daggers from his hand. She had an unusually long blade on the end of her staff, and the more Carver watched, the more he noticed how much she would use it in a way more akin to a longsword mixed with a bow staff. Sometimes, he would catch the dissipating flames of magic from the end of it. A mage fighting like a warrior and a rogue using daggers that didn’t seem to fit right in his hands. What were they gaining by sparring with one another?

But then, one morning, the Warden-Constable pulled them both aside.

Carver hadn’t meant to eavesdrop to the point where he missed out on picking a sparring partner, but the opportunity passed him by. All he got from the conversation was the Constable saying something he didn’t quite catch, and then the woman’s brow furrowing in annoyance, clenching her jaw. The man simply shrugged, not seeming too phased with whatever had transpired. Then, the Constable looked around before pointing right at Carver. He couldn’t help but freeze for a moment, then straightened his posture as the Constable led the woman over to him.

“You there, Hawke, is it? You don’t mind sparring with Eisenhardt today, do you? Thought it’d be nice to switch it up, for variety’s sake,” he said, patting the woman on the shoulder, only for her to cut her eyes at him to which he grimaced and pulled his hand away before saying, “I’ll be over there with your brother, then.”

The woman–Eisenhardt–didn’t say a word after the Constable left, only got into a ready stance with her staff. Carver stared at her. He didn’t really know where to start with this situation. Eisenhardt rolled her eyes, relaxing her stance for a moment when he failed to ready himself, a look of pure annoyance on her face.

“Are you going to spar or not, du wichser?” she asked, her voice deep and heavily accented.

“What?” Carver asked, caught off guard by her accent–was it Anders?–before he pulled out his sword, nearly fumbling it. “Oh, sorry. Let’s go, then.”

“Endlich, finally. Of all the days to switch us,” she said under her breath, and without much warning, used the end of her staff to strike against the flat of his sword.

Carver sidestepped just in time to miss her attempt at sweeping him off his feet and onto his ass, making her expression go from agitation to slight surprise. In that same moment, the other end of her staff–carver wood with a dark green crystal in the center–switched to strike him in the shoulder. He swung his sword up to meet her next attack, parrying it and taking a small chunk of wood with it.

“Not a very practical weapon for close combat,” Carver pointed out, meeting her staff’s blade with his own, then swinging upward to push it away.

“Du herensohn, I’m going to kick your ass,” Eisenhardt hissed, adjusting her grip to hold her staff like a polearm before jamming it towards him.

Just before it could pierce his breastplate, Carver sidestepped again, making her growl with anger. She thrust the staff blade again and again and missed every time, her attacks getting sloppier the angrier she got. At some point, a few of the other recruits around them had stopped to watch the way each attempted strike walked both of them across the sparring area.

Finally, after walking him backwards with every thrust and gaining nothing, Carver caught the telltale mist of ice magic in her palms. Before the spell could come to fruition, he caught her staff blade in the cross guard of his sword, swinging it over and throwing it from her hand before shoulder checking her and sending her to the ground, the tip of his sword right near her face. As her feet fell from under her, the spell shot from her palm, sending a bolt of ice towards the sky.

“Sloppy,” was all he said as the bolt fell to the ground and shattered. Eisenhardt looked up at him with a mixture of shock, fury, and something else Carver couldn’t quite identify. Then, she was knocking away his sword with her gauntlet before hauling herself up and putting her nose inches from his.

“By the Maker, next time, I will destroy you,” she seethed, then turned around so fast her braids swung around behind her and slapped his breastplate before walking away.

Carver couldn’t help but stand there, slightly stunned, but also proud of himself for the outcome of their sparring. A few of the other recruits that had been watching looked impressed. Then, a tap on his shoulder.

He turned around to see the blonde man from earlier, Eisenhardt’s brother, grinning at him.

“It’s about time she had someone who could not only match her, but surpass her as well,” he said in an accent only slightly less thick than his sister’s, “I’ve never really been able to keep up with her in that regard.”

“Not like I had a choice, I thought she was going to kill me,” Carver replied, sheathing his sword.

“Oh, believe me, she was trying to,” the man laughed, “but I can tell she enjoyed it.”

“Good to know my attempted murder was enjoyable for her,” Carver bristled.

“No, no, you misunderstand me, friend. She enjoyed the challenge, one I’ve never been able to provide her. I’m more proficient with a bow and arrows,” he said, mimicking shooting a bow with his hands. “I just use the daggers to entertain her. And despite the sour look she left with, I can tell she was quite pleased. You’ve done her a service.”

“So what does that mean for me?”

The man grinned, “That you’ve found yourself a new sparring partner and that I may forgo these useless kitchen knives in favor of archery practice once more.”

“Bloody fantastic,” Carver groaned.

“Oh, cheer up, friend, I’m sure it’ll be beneficial to you both,” the man said. “Your name, Hawke, do you have a first?”

“Carver.”

The man stuck out a hand, “Dietrich. My sister is Audra. Thank you for making her day, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

Carver shook Dietrich’s hand once with a firm grip that the other man returned in equal measure.

“My pleasure,” he said, sarcasm in every syllable of his response.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go where my true talent lies,” Dietrich said, nodding towards the archery range at the end of the field, away from the sparring area. “I’ll let Audra know you’ll continue sparring with her.”

Before Carver could argue that he hadn’t really agreed to such a thing, Dietrich was already jogging away.

Great, he thought, I’m going to be someone’s personal punching bag.

------

The rest of the day passed by relatively quickly and without sight of either of the Eisenhardt siblings. Carver did wonder if the two were twins the way they favored one another so much, and he even asked some of the other recruits, but they didn’t know. If it weren’t for the fact that Audra was likely to actually murder him the next time they sparred, he wouldn’t have spent so much time thinking about the two of them.

With the way that she seemed like a war machine with braids and her brother came off casual and charismatic, he had to wonder how long Dietrich had kept his sister occupied. Spending so much time fighting with weapons that felt wrong in his hands must have been frustrating, but from what Carver could figure out, the man didn’t quite seem to mind it. He could relate to that, in a sense. Doing something for your sibling just to make them happy. He’d done that with Bethany, of course, remembering the times he’d finish her chores so she could go to town with friends or letting himself take the brunt of a punishment for trouble both of them had gotten into.

He could respect that, and with that in mind, he’d let himself be brutalized for another day or two if it meant seeing a brother make his sister happy.

[jawsandbones]

You Sleep, I’ll Keep Watch

He stands alone, and all else seems so very, very far away. Voices, footsteps, every single noise seems to blend into one, a cacophony of sound. Blood drops from his fingers, onto the already stained planks of the Hanged Man. Drop, and red petals bloom wide. There are people moving around him, he knows, and doesn’t react when one bumps into him, apologizes. It’s as if he’s watching from behind, a ghost of himself. Separate from his body, from all that tethers, until she gently places touch at his arm. “Fenris,” she says. He turns his head, slightly, white wisps of hair crossing his forehead. His gaze remains fixed on the floor. “What were you thinking of doing?”

He’s quiet for a moment, re-learning how to speak, choosing what words to say. His head raises slightly, but he still can’t bring himself to face her. “I had only planned on returning to the estate,” he tells her. A drop. The bloom. Hawke steps closer to him.

“By yourself?” she asks softly, words meant for his ears alone. The guards are hauling another body to the pile. He watches this one, and this one alone. He forces himself to look at Danarius, the gaping hole in his chest. He affirms it to himself, over and over again. He memorizes grey, lifeless eyes, pale skin. His hand squeezes into his fist, the pointed tips of his gauntlet biting into his palm. His other hand tightens its hold around the hilt of his sword, which he’s been unable to let go of since the fighting stopped. It’s slipping, again. That whirling cacophony is growing louder, an overwhelming ocean, drowning him in its sound. “Fenris.” He realizes he’s been holding his breath, and slowly lets it go.

“I apologize. You asked –?” His stomach churns.

“I was wondering if you wanted some company,” she says, and her fingertips are still so light against his skin. She doesn’t intrude. She still moors him. His markings ache all but for where she touches him.

“Oh.” There’s blood on her trousers, an already healed gash across her midsection. His fault? There’s bloody streaks across her neck, from where she’s touched herself. His eyes reach her chin, and he casts them back down once again. “I would appreciate… company,” he says.

“I’ll let Aveline and the others know we’re leaving,” she says. Hawke briefly rubs her knuckles up and down his arm, an affectionate thing. As she goes, he closes his eyes. He knows he should sheathe his sword. He’s not quite ready to let go of it yet. His bones still tremble with the feeling of slicing through flesh, of the lyrium burning down with overuse. His free hand trembles for a different reason. There’s still a weight in his palm, heavy and beating. He begs himself not to forget the feeling. To know it always. He opens his eyes as he pulls free the fist, looks at the pinprick marks bubbling more blood to soak him with.

“Fenris,” she says, and he’s grateful to how she always announces herself. Hawke’s hand slips into his, over his palm. He closes his hand around hers without realizing, holds it carefully there. “May I heal this for you?” A small nod, and it’s only when he feels her warmth does he realize how little energy for magic she must have left. His stomach churns once again. “There,” and he knows she must be smiling, “all better. Ready to go?” Another thing he is grateful for is her normalcy. She treats him no differently than she does any other day. He has stopped mistaking her kindness for pity. He nods as he slowly lets her hand go.

He follows her firmly planted footsteps. She holds the door of the Hanged Man open for him. He knows he should sheathe his sword. The middle of the afternoon, and there are people crowding everywhere. He follows her firmly planted footsteps. She marks her trail and people automatically part to allow her to pass. Both of them being bloodied and carrying their weapons helps as well. He allows his thoughts to drift, carry him far. It’s only when Hawke finally stops, her feet turning in his direction, does he realize. He reaches into one of his pockets, and hands her his key.

“Would you like to wash up? I could heat some water,” she says.

“No, thank you. I can – myself, if you don’t mind,” he says. Hawke shakes her head.

“I’m going to quickly run to mine to clean and change. Probably also grab us some dinner and a pack of cards. I’ll only be a few minutes. Okay?” He nods silent acknowledgement over his shoulder, listens to the sound of her moving back to the entrance. She closes the door tightly behind her. There is a drawer of her clothes in his dresser. She has used his bath countless times before. She gives him a chance to be alone, as he needs – safe in the knowledge that it will not be forever. The stiff line of his shoulders falls, the sword clattering out of his hand. He scrabbles at the clasps of his gauntlets, sheds his armor as quickly as he can. All the while, he heads towards the bathroom.

His fingers slip over turning dials, the pipes groaning before water begins pouring in. He doesn’t wait for it to warm. He submerges himself entirely, still in his leggings, tunic. He gasps breath as he sits back on his knees. His hands squeeze around the edges of the tub when he leans forward, back prickling cold with gooseflesh, and holds his head under. From his fingertips, down white porcelain, a red swirling stain invades the steady stream of water. He stays there for as long as he can, listening to his heart in his ears, drumming against the water pressure.

Fenris sits back, pulling up his legs. He rests his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands, takes a heaving inhale. The exhale is slow, turning to a shudder as the sobs begin to wrench away at him.

---

Hawke practically kicks the door shut with a resounding slam. She winces slightly at it, cowering as she turns. She straightens up when she sees Fenris standing on the landing of his entrance, stopping amidst the motion of dragging a towel through his hair. He’s half bent over, the towel covering his face, his hands at his head. “Sorry,” she says as she begins to climb the steps, the bag in her hand, “that was harder than I meant it to be.” A small grunt of forgiveness, and Fenris well knows that it was meant on purpose, to let him know of her return.

She’s wearing lighter shoes, casual clothing. Not the Champion of Kirkwall. Just Hawke. She puts the bag on his table, begins pulling out an assortment of food. The towel comes to rest around his neck, his hair still damp. “I know it’s early for supper still, but that’s why I brought so much desert,” she says. “I got those pastries from the shop you like.” A small twitch of his ears betrays his interest. He’s left his sword, his armor, where he had discarded them. They both step over the pieces, say nothing of it. She’s shuffling the deck in her hands as she goes to sit on the edge of his bed.

One leg is bent underneath her, while the other dangles off the edge, her foot pressing into the floor. Finishing shuffling, she pats the empty space in front of her. “Come on, I’m going to teach you how to play Go Fish,” she says. He drops the towel onto the back of a chair before he takes his place across from her. He sits cross-legged, and wraps his hands around his ankles. “It’s very easy. I’m a master at this game. Bethany and Carver always refused to play with me and accused me of cheating. It’s basically about making pairs…” As she hands out the cards, she explains in full, tells him he’ll get the hang of it once they start playing.

Sure enough, after a few rounds, he does. Hawke deftly robs him of most of his cards, creating a stack of pairs in front of her. They play again, and again, usually with the same results. They talk about nothing as they pick at food, light the fire place. They find themselves back at the bed, playing again, as soon as they’re finished.

“Do you have any threes?” he asks.

“Go fish,” she says. He looks from the deck in the middle, his cards, hers, and frowns.

“I agree with Carver and Bethany. You’re cheating.” Hawke snorts with laughter.

“A lot of it is just luck, I swear,” she says, holding a hand over her heart. He narrows his eyes at her over his cards. She’s leaning back in laughter, having adopted his crossed legs. He takes a card from the deck, adds it to his hand. She fans her cards, hums dramatically.

“Do you have… a… king?” Fenris stares at the three kings in his hand. She shrieks with laughter as he darts forward, meaning to grab the cards from her hand. Cards fold under their knees, their feet, Hawke generally trying and failing to get away. She ends up backed against the wall, one leg bent against her, the other trapped underneath him. His cards are scattered, one hand around her wrist, the other pressed into the mattress. Her eyes are so blue. Her free hand moves upwards, curling warm against his cheek, with a smile to match.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hello,” he says. She doesn’t call attention to it, but it’s recognition that he’s finally held her gaze. He moves to sit next to her, back against the headboard, shoulder against shoulder. They stretch their legs out long, pay no mind to the cards scattered and bent all around. “Thank you. For this.”

“Mhn.” She shakes her head, smile renewed, “I should be the one thanking you. This was nice.”

“Hawke. Thank you,” he tells her, lacing their hands together.

“You’re welcome,” she says. “Are you feeling better?”

“I am…” he trails off.

“But,” she helpfully continues, giving his hand a small squeeze.

“I am,” he sighs deeply, “but at the same time I am not. I know I should be celebrating the fact that Danarius is dead.” He looks at the palm of his free hand, now clean of blood. “Yet, it doesn’t yet feel…” he clenches his hand into a fist. “When I first arrived in Kirkwall, I was unable to sleep. One moment of letting my guard down, and that would be when Danarius would strike. It was the same when we took this estate. I… I thought he might come back to reclaim it. What sleep I did have was filled with – my own fear.” He lets his hand fall to his lap, lets the fist loose.

“When the boat pulled away from Seheron’s shore, with Danarius still aboard…” even now the smile springs unbidden to his lips at the memory of his shock, fury, and complete panic at leaving his precious investment behind. “I felt light, as if a weight had been lifted, and I – and I have told you this before.”

“Go on,” she encourages gently.

“During my time with the Fog Warriors, I had fooled myself into thinking Danarius had truly left me and would not find me. When he walked into the camp,” he tilts his head towards Hawke, his thumb moving over her knuckle, “he didn’t need chains to bind me. Now I have held his heart in my hand, yet I still fear Danarius walking through that door and ordering my return, just as I always have. I’ll sleep tonight, and wake to find slavers pointing their swords at my throat.”

“One day, you’ll wake up and realize that you haven’t thought about Danarius in ages and the fact that he’s gone, really gone, will feel real. I can’t promise that day will be soon, but, it will come. In the meantime I could… you sleep. I’ll keep watch,” she says.

The pastries flake in his hand. She laughs when he shakes the crumbs off his shirt. They sit opposite each other, in the winged back chairs by the fireplace. They talk quietly with each other, and it always feels easy with her. Conversation lulls, renews, and it’s never forced. Silence is comfortably shared, and they wash dishes together. True to her word – he sleeps, she keeps watch. He curls underneath the covers, turns towards the wall. The fire burns low. When his breathing finally evens, his body relaxing, Hawke moves.

She collects his armor, his sword. One by one, she cleans each piece. Each twisting knot, every fold. She cleans away the blood for him. What cloths she uses, she keeps. She dries them by the fire. She looks over his room, some place to keep them. If he ever needs assurances, he’ll have it with these. Her search is stopped by a sudden noise. At first she thinks it may just be the shifting of embers. “No… please…” She closes distance quickly, half kneels on the bed, leaning over and wraps her arms around Fenris’s shaking form. So deep does he dream, he doesn’t wake to her touch. She leans over, her forehead gently knocking against his temple.

“It’s alright,” Hawke murmurs, “Fenris, it’s just a dream. You’re dreaming, you’re dreaming. You have your sword with you, don’t you? You’re strong, you know that. So it’s going to be okay.” She keeps her weight against him as she runs a hand through his hair. “I’m here too.” His clenched fist is slowly letting go of the bunched together sheets. “You’re safe. I’m here.”  

[common-blackbird]

Started!

This is my Inquisitor (so overjoyed you can be a qunari), her name is the default Herah and I decided I’m going to approach this game by staying true to a character and not looking to do everything and be on everyone’s good side u_u

I want to make a good background for her so i’m not telling anything. Yet. I’ll just say she’s a qunari mercenary and prefers using two-handed weapons.

Highlights from today:

Studying history does pay off! This was a reference to the famous book in environmental history - Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond. So proud i recognised it x)

Also i don’t have a good shot of solas but he cracks me up so much.. The guy has a posture of the typical retired grandpa (the only thing missing is to have him walk with his hands on his back). And there’s a scene where the party sees the rift and there’s the inquisitor facing it, cassandra bracing herself and solas... just standing like an old man

On a side note, Cassandra is so gorgeous and good and i already love her, i just keep taking shots of her TAT

As for varric, it’s so different than from da2, this is so much more “official” and you can see he’s the same as ever, but you’re not hawke, hawke’s not here, the gang’s not here and there’s nothing casual about the whole situation T-T

And lastly, my inquisitor has a horse now, i didn’t know that was possible in the game ;__;

played some more...

Let  me start with.... The advisors! (+ cassandra... or is she also an advisor too?)

What a bunch. I love Cassandra’s and Leliana’s faith having a crisis bc they believe that Inquisitor is the Herald of Andraste and the way they deal with it. It’s really interesting. Leliana is completely opposite than what she was in origins and i’m surprised it doesn’t bother me at all! I love seeing this whole darker side that was only hinted at in origins, though it’s also sad when i think how she used to be. I wonder how she’s gonna overcome her doubting of faith. 

Josephine is a delight. I keep using her for almost every war table mission for now. She radiates capability. She reminds me of those bureaucrats that are super nice and helpful and chill and even if you’re doing everything wrong she’ll just smile and say “it’s ok, we can fix it” and then goes and fixes everything herself (and you feel this insane amount of gratitude you send a whole separate email to thank her for her patience and help )

As for Cullen... It’s interesting... I got impression from what i saw in the fandom that he’s supposed to have had his allegiance changed and him rejecting the templars should have been him ultimately siding with the mages (or at least being anti-templar(?)), and that turning point that could have been a great way to show his character development during the game. Which i agree, only... i did not get that impression from the game so far at all. I mean, so far everything that i can remember him saying is totally smth he’d say in da2... He didn’t leave kirkwall bc of his disappointment with the templar order, he doesn’t seem to have any issues with the templars except those who go full war mode instead of trying to balance the situation. And it’s a really chaotic situtation, i love how they did it.

This line was amazing, i wish there was a special cutscene for that.

I’m loving the way they made this huge religious organisation in crisis have a complete collapse with the death of a key figure. I love the concept of inquisition and problems that it poses. I love you can see everyone’s reasoning and doubts reflect their background, but also see why inquisition can be understood as another power-grasping organisation trying to topple the templars, the mages and the chantry. Everything is divided. We got templars leaving the chantry, seekers leaving the chantry(?), rebel mages, loyal mages, rebel mages gone rouge, templars gone rouge, and suddenly there’s another organisation forming that you can totally believe is just another powerhungry force trying to get the piece of the cake by taking advantage of the power vacuum left by the sudden lack of the religious authority. (and only we know we’re The Good Guys). I love that we have characters who need to believe in the greater plan, characters who question the greater plan, and characters who want to utilise the power of belief and characters who don’t care for divine plans. The chaos is real and it feels real. I love that the centre figure of the whole holy business is a heretic of another culture. For the chantry this is the lose-lose situation (unless the inquisitor becomes religious by the end of the game). Which is why this line works so well. 

Ok, now shorter updates:

Red Jenny! I know it’s not her actual name but it is in my head. Where’s that box i delivered ages ago >_> Anyways, she makes my brain work on 150% capacity. I can understand what she means only after i go over it for 5 times.

Forgive me but oh my god, i can’t believe that i can recognise one voice actor and now i have another mental image whenever he speaks. Like, he’s really good at bringing out a new character, but when he gets more casual he sounds like kanan jarrus from star wars rebels and i’m just “what are you doing here, space dad” ;__; Hopefully it’ll get old and i’ll be enjoying more iron bull. he seems nice...

Vivienne on the other hand is like a reverse Josephine(?) She seems insanely capable but hates customer service, however somehow she likes you very much and will do everything you need for reasons you can’t fathom. Have a screenshot. So classy. I already feel humbled.

and lastly, BREAKING NEWS: aveline finally hired carver ;__;

Tbh Kirkwall is still a mystery and i have so many questions but i don’t think i’ll get any answers... If a powervacuum of the divine cause this much chaos, how’s kirkwall faring without a new viscount? Like, yeah, aveline can keep in check, but umm it’s in a very vulnerable state which makes it a good target for any invasion... didn’t sebastian promise bloodshed?

That’s all for now, bc otherwise i’ll start writing an essay on cassandra.

We befriended a bear in the hinterlands!

lets start with this cool shot

so, i have been to the mages and to the templars and... i sided with the templars.... First i was all for mages since they offered negotiations while the seeker just walked away, but then it turned out that was a trap, there’s also tevinter mages there (which is a red flag for my inquisitor) and then there’s some time magic involved (which is a big no for me), and i just walked out. Felt bad for the mages but my inquisitor comes from a culture where mages have their tongues cut so...

Also this guy deserves a medal for putting up with corrupted superiors and annoying nobles.

And i met cole ;__; Where are Rhys and Evangeline ;___;

the templar mission was ok i guess... I was surprised that red lyrium was apparently circulating around for some time, not sure if that means since meredith or even before. I love the stories of corruption tho and to imagine what it’s like to be trapped in this organisation that just keeps breaking everything it stands for

As for the important mages, i’ve Dorian twice since i bailed out on him in Redcliffe :I I love the guy, he seems arrogant yet so kind (like, no one would have carried that annoying priest and yet he did, after he ran from his own people to warn us after i ditched him in Redcliffe? man ;A;) Every time i go with “ok the inquisitor fears tevinter and distrusts this rando who just popped in” i am marinating in guilt.

and then we fight some mages and die several times but we succeed and we meet the bad guy...

Is it an unpopular opinion to say that i like him as a villain so far? i saw so many jokes on his incompetency. Idk, i like that part where he said that he reached the fade in someone’s name, it makes me think he’s not just power-hungry person(?) who’s just evil,but was originally serving someone, and he said that the gods were either gone or corrupted and he spent hundreds of years thinking what to do with whatever happened so he seems like he knows what he’s doing and maybe(!just maybe) he is trying to fix things that are wrong but we can’t see that? And of course he hates the inquisitor, he has to redo his stuff all over again, i’d hate the inquisitor too. im probably looking too much into it. My wish is that, if he’s evil, he became so gradually, but originally had good intentions? Or there’s more to things going on that we just don’t know and he does... Maybe this was his tragic attempt to fix things but he would ultimately fail and be branded as a villain etc etc. I’m getting carried away

If it turns out he’s just evil for the sake of being evil then feel free to tell me so now so i don’t embarrass myself further with plotting myself lol.

A side note, is he the Architect? Or the same? In DA2 he says he’s a tevinter magister, right? and he ceased to be a human. Also in DA2 it seemed like he was the boss, and here he said he reached in the name of someone (probably more important than him). But what is the Architect then?

And with that we reach the skyhold.

in skyhold

I didn’t know you meet hawke so soon ;__; i thought that was like, somewere more to the end of the game, since the big decision and all. But the mission is already opened and i am going to procrastinate on it until i finish every side mission :<

Also he is so sad ;__; i understand, but at the same time... all that humour now bitter sarcasm :’(

(also, very shallow remark, but i really really prefer his looks in da2 than here... it’s like they softened him. He’s more...oh god idk bearish(???) than hawkish(????) you know what i mean? the nose isn’t as sharp anymore, the beard is... what is it with the beard... anyways i get the game has its limits so it’s fine. it’s fine! fine.)

then there was the fight that i remember since twitter >:D

It’s what made me want to play dragon age and i finally reached it T-T so good! I love how you can see the both sides and everything they say is true but they’re so angry at themselves they’re taking it out on each other TAT

Cassandra later says Hawke probably wouldn’t have joined the inquisition even if she found him, and i wonder now if that’s true... At first i thought, nah, Hawke has too much of a hero complex, he would feel too responsible to just say no. Besides, he’s with the inquisition now (tho i can’t find him anywhere anymore!). But at the same time, the way da2 ends was such an iconic walking away from everything, and not taking into account the hocus-pocus rift stuff, i can imagine him refusing, especially seeing how bitter he is now. It’s also a question of how much would have cassandra told him i guess. idk, what do you think? Would he lead or nah?

another person i want to find but can’t in skyhold are the templars with ser barris. i can use them on war table missions but otherwise they’re non-existant? i forgot to talk to him back in haven but now i wonder if it was even possible and if he was even available there, since he isn’t here. I spent hours just running around skyhold looking for the guy :(

and then everything becomes unimportant bc aaaaa!! she! is the arcanist! Dagna! im so happy and proud(?) she went and reached her goals x)

anyways that’s all for now, laters

some random updates:

so i did the halamshiral and gave up to my “stick to the character” mode, and nothing went my way, but that’s life. Met morrigan! i almost forgot she appears lol. And, despite also jumping on the wagon of give-morrigan-better-clothes train, i have to admit seeing her in her old clothes was a relief after that dress at the ball. It’s not the way the dressed looked, but the way she moved in it... god im shallow

i also initially didn’t like morrigan being at orlais court of all places, but after the conversation that’s supposed to explain why she’s there i’m kinda ok with it. I mean, i still need some more info. Wouldn’t Tevinter be better? she’d practically become a magister overnight if she got this good in the game so fast. It’s also unconvincing how everyone knows everything in orlais but somehow nobody connected that the random kid that has no bakcground whatsoever with morrigan who keeps checking on him? But at skyhold she’s just “hey i have a kid, he’s no trouble, right?”  but hey, it’s morrigan. She can do anything. I’ll just have another story idea in my head.

Then there was news of the new divine that could be either cassandra or leliana and i don’t honestly know whom to choose. I’d prefer leliana over cassandra simply bc cassandra is more of a military mind, while the position of the divine would be more political. But lately every mission with leliana was spy spy, kill kill... Do we really want that for a religious leader? On the other hand, it would nicely round up her story from origins to inquisition... But cassandra is more of a public figure than leliana is...

when cassandra said:

“I want to respect the tradition, but not fear change. I want to right the past wrongs, but not avenge them. And I have no idea if wanting any of them makes them right.”

great moment. She’s usually so convinced and rash, i forget she’s more doubtful and open minded than what she looks like. Everything about cassandra is different from the impression she gives ;__; I love her so so so so much. (when she says she considers the inquisitor her friend i melted, next time varric pulls up the “seeker has no friends” joke, my heart will no longer be breaking).

I did a bunch of personal missions. Some were cool, some were ????. Also there were war table missions with zevran, that was cool. Also i love the codex entries in skyhold. The archery competition with varric banned? Dancing lessons failing bc lace harding is on the move all the time? Perfect.

And i met chargers, i like them, and aaah that staff-bow from the trailer is such a cool idea ;A;

What i don’t get with bull’s chargers is - they’re a mercenary group right? But isn’t swordselling seen as the complete misunderstanding of the qun? I get only bull is qunari, but he’s the leader of them? How is that not frowned upon?

And lastly, i don’t think i’ve said this, but i love that they added codex entries in the loading screens. love it.

update

After months of procrastination, i have faced my fears and have met alistair. it was very anticlimatic beating 11 level monsters when i was level 21...

but.. ALISTAIR TAT He’s changed... but not changed... but changed! Like, his personality is the same, but he’s more serious, doesn’t run from responsibilities, isn’t as bitter as hawke (also, why do i get impression that i am supposed to get the impression that they’re friends? they’ve met like, once, and talked for less than a minute.. whatevs. let’s pretend they’ve met again when on the run), i really love the inquisition alistair ;;__;;

Also, i managed to get that awkward demon baby family reunion :D

 know that morrigan says the vaguest generic thing “i told him his father was a good man” bc of various world states, but i also think she’s come a long way not to mock alistair, and then when he notices that she didn’t use the opportunity he mentions that the kid changed her and she’s like “pfft, yea right, you wish”....

... when she was the one who said that in the first place ;;__;;

Awwww :> I love that they bicker but softly. Kids have grown up :’) Anyways, when will alistair start paying alimony

The only weird one is Leliana bc when morrigan was introduced she was like “danger danger” (smth i’d sooner think alistair would do), and when alistair is (supposedly) in skyhold, Leli doesn’t even mention him, only hawke.  bruh, what were they to you, you almost died together ;;__;;

oh i also slayed a dragon.  I didn’t even want to fight that dragon. It was a hillarious feat of inquisitor, solas, cole and blackwall, all on level 21, having to chug all the health potions right at the beginning while fighting a dragon that was... level 13, after which i just let go of controls and suddenly everyone was hella good at fighting and slayed it (only cole needed revival several times).  

And, befitting the wild-dream feel that it had, when i got back to skyhold and visited companions, suddenly i was drinking pelin with iron bull, and he’s reminiscing on that fight with the dragon and i’m like

it was awful and you weren’t even there.

i forgot to update

but last time i was playing i finished the hawke/alistair sacrifice and all the torture i went through with deciding whom to sacrifice vanished bc frankly, at one moment, i wanted to sacrifice both of them, but in the end it was much more easier to sacrifice hawke bc inquisition hawke just didn’t feel like hawke to me, while alistair improved since the origins!

and now i remembered why i didn’t update, in the same day cassandra rejected me so i was sad and didn’t continue playing since then (i think last time i played it was around easter?)

new update

BLACKWALL!! or should i say Thom Rainier? Wow, what an arc! It was also so fun bc i was all strict mode, picking the third option, telling him his life is in inquisitor’s hands and all that, but in the end i set him free. He’s so good, a true knight T-T

Also i romanced sera. we’ll see how that goes.

Also, fave point in the game so far, i wanted, for so long, to sit at that val roeayoux (can’t spell) cafe and finally did it with cole’s personal mission. THANK YOU COLE YOU TRULY CAN READ PEOPLE’S MINDS.

another interesting thing was that after specialising as a reaver, cassandra said that drinking dragon blood makes you grow scales and become mad. Iron Bull said that inquisitor smells better bc dragon blood and that qunari generally smell better than humans. So i’m guessing qunari have fractions of dragon in them? ok...

and now i started that mission with morrigan and the puzzles are killing me lol, i am this 👌 close to just go chase calpernia and give up on a well of sorrows.

[dotthings]

I recommend reading @occamshipper‘s post here [x] that does a whole lot to further unpack some spn fandom dynamics, beyond what I touched on myself earlier today, but more, discusses the evolving nature of SPN itself. Which got me thinking further (as you do).

With 6 episodes left of SPN left on the clock, it seems like a good time to talk more about my love for this series as a whole, and my perspective on the earliest seasons of SPN vs later seasons. 

I’ve tried to articulate this on various platforms at different times, but it’s sometimes hard to explain, because it’s a dichotomy but not mutually exclusive.

People will make all kinds of assumptions just because I’m expanded cast friendly, because I’m a Cas fan, because I’m ride or die Team Free Will, because I ship Destiel. Some will think but of course I couldn’t possibly have loved S1-2 with a bone deep love, couldn’t possibly have internalized Sam and Dean and relate to them and see my own weaknesses and strengths reflected there, didn’t have 15 years of emotional roller coaster with SPN. Not just 15 seasons, 15 years. I did have to step away a few times and took breaks from it but not years-long, so I have witnessed every stage of fandom and every stage of canon as it unfolded.

Min brought up in her post how earliest SPN started with archetypes. While the characters were also layered characters, they mostly stayed in their archetypal boxes. Not just how they mirrored archetypes of other media SPN has always been a response to (Dean is Han, Sam is Luke and so on) but how they fell into archetypes established of themselves. Early SPN had a start on overturning those self-created archetypes and expectations, a beginning. Dean in particular very quickly turned out to be not what even the show’s creator expected and they ran with it. Kripke created a show he envisioned as being about monster hunts, like Kolchak, like X-Files, and it was Bob Singer who said no brah it’s about the emotional bonds, it’s about the emotional story, that’s our unique hand to play, and whatever issues I have with EP Bob Singer later on, I respect how right he was about that. 

The irony of Dabb era constantly being ripped down and attacked for...being that, simply because it’s not only the brother bond any more. 

One popular negative meme in spn fandom involves complaining SPN isn’t scary any more. True, the style of its horror changed, it changed visually, and I do appreciate the early visual style, but the flip side of that statement is that SPN started out relying on jump scares and mere style for its frights, when even in the earliest seasons it was clear the most horrifying or wrenching moments were going to be emotional. As I said on twitter, over time SPN became an increasingly complex study of its main characters, with escalating moral quandaries, and increasingly a rumination on emotional horror, conquering of inner demons, and most of all the importance of love of all kinds. 

See, the thing is, I really really REALLY loved S1 and 2. No you really can’t even know how much I loved SPN in those seasons. It had a gestalt that cannot be recaptured, and I dove in head-first. The dusty back roads, the intense familial emotional storylines, the haunted houses, the monsters, the dilapidated or forgotten places, the cursed apple orchards, the abandoned buildings, the brothers, the tears. Yes, it’s gorgeous. Let’s light a candle and remember it fondly.

When I rewatch it holds up well enough...it also feels claustrophobic. Limited. Small. So small. Yes still beautiful. But much as I loved the Winchesters and their story and their family already then, a lot of that love is also bleedback because of learning so much more about them. So much more. After that. 

When I rewatch anything before Carver era it feels like that, too small, and I miss the full breadth of what the characters became. I do have some issues with Carver, but he did a lot of great things too. 

By S3 the magic was dwindling for me a little. S3 is when I started to think I was going to just get tired of the show and that was bewildering tbh, because S1-2 were just SO DAMN AMAZING to me. But that’s how it goes sometimes. 

S4 banged the doors open and blew my mind. It wasn’t just Cas’s arrival, but Cas was a herald of it. Cas the most of any member of Sam and Dean’s extended family got the closest to them, could carry stories of his own, and most embodied some of SPN’s biggest themes. But it wasn’t about Cas’s arrival alone.

I thought I knew all SPN was capable of and S4 showed me otherwise and I was a giddy, proud SPN fan about S4. LOOK AT WHAT OUR LITTLE SHOW DID. The canvas got bigger, the character stories got even stronger, more powerful, and more painful. Let’s pedal to the metal and see what she can do.

Season after season and showrunner after showrunner. Even my least favorite showrunner had something more to show me about these characters, something more to learn. (There are a few arcs with every showrunner where I did feel like SPN was spinning its wheels, I’m talking in aggregate, by era, although I don’t love every era the same). 

When I rewatch earliest SPN I miss the Sam and Dean I’ve gotten to know because of course they aren’t there yet, they are just beginning. I have a mirror to that with Cas. When I rewatch S4-6, even parts of Carver era. S4/5 Cas is still exciting. Those are his beginnings, like S1-2 are Sam and Dean’s. But I miss all Cas became. I miss how far he grew. Watching Sam, Dean, Cas on screen while also missing Sam, Dean, Cas. They also don’t feel complete to me without their earliest seasons in my mind to build forward from.

I don’t expect everyone to agree with me about the goodness of modern SPN, but they could at least admit that the SPN they loved left the building long ago, eons ago, instead of staying around season after season just to tear down, to hate, to attack. Everything from character development existing as a concept to the basic easy to grok idea that people can love more than one person to *insert repetitive wanking here on how Dabb ruined SPN by utilizing themes SPN has always always had there since the start and took them farther* to just being mad that S15 isn’t S1.  Modern SPN gets torn to shreds for being SPN only stronger with more complexity, more character pov, more emotional unpacking, more and more about family and how family is constructed, and with a rich visual language and use of symbolism that can hold its own with earlier seasons, and it’s just plain fact, this vitriol was  aimed at Carver as well as at Dabb, FYI, and I have my own issues with both of them. 

Is it really REALLY necessary to hate on a show that has always been billed at being about family for being...about family. Really? Do people even go here?? What is UP with that. Season after season of hard core stans preaching “SPN is about family” and now they’re pissed that...SPN is about family. Upteen repetitions of whining about “too soap opera.” As others have pointed out, if you didn’t already figure out that SPN was and is a family soap opera with monsters, there isn’t much help to be had for you. Upteen repetitions of whining that SPN grants redemptive arcs. What show have folks even been watching all these years????? Upteen rages because on a 15 season show characters grow, things change, and S1 and S15 are not the same.

SPN has always been about the characters most of all, it’s always been about the emotions most of all, it’s always been about relationships most of all. 

SPN is not eternally 2 boys in a car shooting monsters in the face on a back road dilapidated barn while those 2 boys repeat their first look archetypal roles, undisturbed in an endless loop. I can recognize how beautiful S1-2 were without discarding all that came after, and I’m realizing more and more how Dabb era is making me reflect over the whole series run, and giving me a new perspective on the long journey of the characters. 

Speaking as a fan who has loved this show since September 2005, but is also intrigued by current storylines, that melding of old and new, of new light shed over the past, while bringing the story forward, moving the characters forward, is also beautiful to me.

[jellydishes]

I wonder how Bethany would handle being Champion of Kirkwall instead of Hawke? I'd love to see that idea in a fan fic but I don't know if there is one.

I don't know, either! I would assume there is, because it's actually a thought I've had A Lot, even if it's not a fic I've actually gone out of my way to write. However, have some thoughts! Or many! SO MANY.

•Bethany naturally feels guilty for the loss of her sibling, partially because she places a lot of responsibility upon herself for things that she really has no control over in an attempt to compensate for that very thing. If it's Hawke, she'd be very shaken by the loss of the last real protector figure she had left, and realize just how much Hawke did to shelter all of them and that these were burdens she would now have to accept and handle - with Carver's help, which she is is very grateful for, and leans on him for comfort a lot, even though they would probably bicker more than usual due to stress.

However, if Carver was the sibling that died, Bethany is as usual devastated. She'd taken his presence by her side or slightly in front of her as something she could rely on without thinking about it. He was her twin, one half of her whole, and with this loss she's left floundering for a long time to really find who she is without having him there as a reminder, to compare and contrast and to compliment each other's positives and negatives

•Combined with Leandra's moment of lashing out, she would start to hold back even more from showing negative emotions than she usually does. I've gone into this before in various ways, but Bethany has this tendency towards bottling up these negative emotions out of that same sense of responsibility and guilt that has been dogging her since her magic emerged. She feels intense guilt for the constant instability and danger in her family's lives, which would only grow after the death of her sibling

•The prologue proceeds as usual, with Bethany meeting the companions alongside Hawke/Carver. It's been demonstrated in game and in the World of Thedas books that Bethany was very isolated growing up, which could very well mean that this would be the first time since she was a very young child that she's had anything resembling a social circle. If it's Hawke that survives, she withdraws somewhat behind them with some measure of relief, unless someone pays particular attention to her in one way or another such as when fenris remarks upon her magic and Bethany snaps back at him.

If it's Carver that survives, she shows a bit more of that confidence she does in fact have but doesn't always have the opportunity to show. With him at her side, she feels more sure of who she is. Between that and a sense of newfound responsibility, she takes more risks, small and large- the latter leads to more fights with Carver due to his concern. The twins can feel this distance between themselves growing larger and harder to navigate, and Hate It but have no idea how to stop it, so it just continues, despite -or because of- this

•Bethany accompanies her sibling to the Deep Roads (Hawke, because she was brought along because of her own insistence, and Carver because she needed his reassuring presence and the knowledge of his skills), where they fall prey to the taint. For the sake of argument, let's say Anders has also been brought along, and that Hawke/Carver are sent to the wardens. The foundations of Bethany's world are once again shaken, and that deep weight of responsibility only grows heavier. Stricken with grief for someone who is still alive, Bethany stumbled out of the Deep Roads and back into a city she isn't fully prepared to know how to deal with

•If Hawke had initially survived, Bethany would absolutely flounder initially among the companions, who she had assumed to be more Hawke's friends than her own. Either way, she finds comfort and a sense of belonging among them that she hadn't expected to ever have. She outright tells each of them this at some point during the time skip

•Whether Bethany and the companions clash on various topics also depends on Malcolm Hawke to be honest, such as his attitudes on blood magic. Let us say though, that he believed as he does in game by default, which is that blood magic is a matter of last resort and to be avoided at all costs until that point is reached. (However, these exact thoughts aren't known until the events of Legacy.) That said, Bethany would be uncertain of how exactly to handle Merrill's use of blood magic and the mirror at first, but successive talks with her lead to a shaky understanding. That said, Merrill is much more confident in her place as a mage, and that could only help Bethany in the long run

•With Anders, Bethany finds more common ground and even a sense of purpose she'd still been missing, if she helps him in the clinic. She largely agrees with him about mage freedom, but is at a loss for how to handle some of his thoughts. She'd never really met mages aside from her own family members before. That uncertainty, however, is met by Anders' willingness to discuss his own thoughts, and as Bethany remarks in the prologue, he reminds her of Malcolm Hawke in more than a few ways, which I choose to interpret as mage freedom sympathies that Anders would help to nurture in Bethany

•With Varric, she finds more of that stability she's been missing. He always seems to be one step ahead of everyone else, and she would confide more in him than she might the others for this reason, among others. The fact that he would persist in calling her Sunshine where others in the city would call her Hawke would be another source of comfort in the coming days

•I won't go into every companion just now, but I WILL say that she does in fact disagree with Fenris about the danger of mages as she is shown to in game. I would say that after the Deep Roads, she might be a bit sharper at first than she was initially, but they would soon settle back into an easy friendship that is occasionally marked by these disagreements

•Okay I lied, because you know, you KNOW that Isabela would take it upon herself to help show Bethany some of the lighter parts of the city, and in so doing reassure Bethany that she is in fact her friend too, not just her sibling's. Bethany is somewhat fascinated by her approach to life, and yes, Isabela nudged her bisexual awakening along with those comments on men and women

It's the second act! Qunari tensions! Sister Petrice doing how she do!

•Bethany is Absolutely staggered by living in the estate snd having the security of large amounts of money, especially when combined with the guilt of having sssentialky traded it for her sibling

•Bethany does her best to put out small fires along the way, but as it is in the main game, is utterly unable to stop the uprising and the showdown with the Arishok. Isabela returns, but even that does not stop the fight to the death that ensues. As with Hawke, I am going to assume she barely survives this, and is shocked to discover later that she's been named Champion of Kirkwall

•The city knows her as Hawke, which she would at times feel guilty for and darkly amused. That she has recognition of her own only when she stands almost entirely alone of her family. She has this weight of increased responsibility on her shoulders all over again, that she has to not only live up to her own expectations, but that of an entire city. I'd say she manages to live up to it, but privately admits to the companions that she feels that she never has or will

Finally, we get to the chantry explosion. Everything has been leading up to this moment in time. Bethany of course chooses to side with the mages, and is staring down Anders with the ashes of Meredith Stannard drifting around her feet

She lets him live. Helps push him to his feet, hands clasped together as friends and as fellow warriors in this moment, bonded by grief and responsibility and necessity. Whether she goes with him depends on who you personally would think she would have romanced. I have no own opinions, but what I will say is that she becomes a large name for the mage rebellion during and after this time

[enby-hawke]

Chapter 6 Summary: Malcolm and Leandra finally have the night to themselves or do they.

Warnings: Racism, Mageism, Gamlen’s an asshole, and songs

Word Count:10,037

A03:

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

Malcolm was nervous, gut-nervous, like he’d just come from a Fade jump and his stomach was still doing all the roller coaster flips, threatening to empty out his hard-earned dinner. It didn’t help that the mountains of half-eaten food piled in the dumpsters were starting to turn along with the pungent aroma of the fish stew that gave the alley a rather wet smell. He couldn’t help but feel that this was a terrible place to meet Leandra. This held none of the grandeur of the Palace, the walls defaced with graffiti that had yet to be painted over. And since no one important usually came back here, they wouldn’t bother to for a while. The dumpsters were leaking what Malcolm hoped was just leftover soup, still dripping and draining down the gutter into the sewers below. Hardly romantic.

As the minutes dragged on he made wet tracks into haphazard circles as he found new anxieties that weren’t there before, seeds of doubt cracking into his confidence. What if he was not worthy of her? It wasn’t that he was an elf, though that difference did come to the forefront of his mind often, but what could he possibly offer her to sway her from the lover that already claimed her. He was a mage in the Circle, which meant he had no means to provide for her. He couldn’t compete with the wealth of a billionaire, couldn’t take her to the finest restaurants in Kirkwall to sample cuisines from far lands, couldn’t woo her with expensive gifts like bouquets or beautiful jewelry. He couldn’t even afford the suit the Circle loaned him. Would this night be all he had? Would she have her fun with him and go back to her wealthy fiance, and live her charmed life, and leave him with a broken heart?

And she would break him. He could feel it. He would spend the rest of his days aching for a taste of her lips. His hand clenched and unclenched, feeling so empty without her hand. He clenched it once more and punched the wall, the pain of the brick against his knuckles enough to shock him back to his senses. “You are not a coward!” he growled at himself.

But the seed of doubt rooted deeper. What if this is all she wants from him? A good time. A new experience. What if she didn’t see him as a man willing to love her but some plaything?

The door opened behind him and Malcolm wouldn’t say he jumped, but his feet definitely left the pavement. He straightened himself out to hear the alley suddenly echoing with a bounding argument broiling between Leandra and another man who looked similar to her in the way their scowls matched, but his eyes were not starry black but a shocking blue against his tawny beige skin.

“I’m telling you this is a bad idea. Now let’s go home before we’re caught.”

Leandra snarled, her face more akin to a warrior than a prim noblewoman. “Oh, please, you’re lecturing me?” she snapped her hand back from his muscled grip. “I thought you’d be more supportive considering all the times I’ve covered for you and Mara.”

Another woman in a red dress the same color as the man’s suit followed close behind, trying to keep the two of them apart, but it wasn’t working. Her cat eyes were pulled in a glare as she stayed close to Leandra’s heel. “Gamlen, for Maker’s sake give it a rest.”

Malcolm didn’t know who this man was to Leandra, but he didn’t like how handsy he was being, jerking her arm this way and that in forceful attempts to get her to follow, and Malcolm’s temper quickly snapped as he raced forward to defend Leandra.

“Hey, what’s your problem, asshole?” He balled his fists, rolling up his sleeves as he glowered up to the taller man, knowing he couldn’t use magic but he reckoned he could bet his Ferelden pride he could throw a better punch than a prissy Kirkwall nobleman.

The man looked down at the shorter elf’s stature and snorted, utterly unimpressed as if a kid had challenged him. “Run off, rabbit, this doesn’t concern you.”

Malcolm snarled ready to swing but Leandra instinctively put herself as a shield between the two men, “Malcolm, wait!”

Malcolm pulled himself back from the momentum, almost tripping over himself as he tried to veer direction. He was dazed in that moment, off-balance first by the sudden realization that this was the very first time she had ever said his name. He was so puzzled about how she even managed to remember it with dream fog he almost didn’t realize Carver had just walked through the door and had witnessed most of the exchange.

Carver walked up to Malcolm and pulled him back with force so Leandra, the man and he were now a good distance apart. “What are you doing starting fights?”

“Did I start a fight?” Malcolm shook himself back to reality, a new glare settling at the man who was holding Leandra’s wrist hostage. “Or did he?”

“Yeah, Gamlen, what’s your fucking problem?” the woman marched up beside Leandra as if to protect her.

Malcolm was about to say something else when Carver slapped the back of Malcolm’s head, not hard enough to hurt but the metal of his gauntlet still made a satisfying thwack. “Use your head. This is not some Circle brawl where you’ll get detention. Assaulting a nobleman has real consequences, Malcolm.”

The pushy man made a satisfied smirk at being defended, before it quickly dropped. “Wait, this is Malcolm?”

Malcolm’s ears twitched, not liking the accusatory way he used his name.

Leandra looked at the man as if she was pleading him not to say whatever was about to come out but still he just gawked at Leandra as he pointed at Malcolm with the force of a smack. “Are you kidding me? He’s an elf!? Are you trying to kill Mom and Dad?”

And there it was, the metaphorical elephant in the room that had plagued Malcolm’s thoughts had been spoken aloud and was staring him in the face. So this man was her brother. How unfortunate. He could see the resemblance now in the shape of their eyes and flat of their noses, and Malcolm suddenly felt self-conscious. Already her family disapproved of him, and he didn’t realize how badly he wanted their approval until now, but he knew how ridiculous it was to even have the expectation. He knew the raw ugly truth about how people would look at their relationship, but he wasn’t looking at her brother’s grimace, but at Leandra.

Her shoulders snapped back as her fury exploded like cannon. “When did you ever care what Mom and Dad think!?”

The other woman also didn’t look pleased with Gamlen’s confession. “Did you forget my grandfather is an elf?”

“Mara…” Gamlen sputtered. “It’s not the same. That’s your grandfather. You’re practically human.”

Mara’s smile turned chilly as she cocked her head at the statement, squinting her eyes. “Am I?”

The man sputtered again as Malcolm crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels thoroughly enjoying himself now. The man seemed to understand that this was the wrong answer but from the look of his face everyone could tell he was confused about why. “I mean…it’s not only that. He’s a mage, too.”

“And we have family that are mages,” Leandra countered.

His head was turtling into his shoulders as the two women stared him down with equally withering glares, but still Gamlen pleaded at them to listen. “Think this through, Leandra. You’re practically married. Do I have to remind you tonight was literally your Betrothal Ball. Think of how selfish you’re being.”

Leandra was tiny for a human woman but she had the ferocity of a warrior when she was angry, and it spilled out in a gushing tsunami at the accusation of being selfish. She shoved the other man off of her. “I supported you!” she cried and then shoved again, “had your back against mom and dad at every turn, and now I’m supposed to self-sacrifice and play good child so you can do whatever you want?” Gamlen balked at every shove, not expecting Leandra to fight back so fiercely, and he held her wrists as she attempted to hit him in the face but she was much too short to get a good swing so she started jabbing her heels into his legs. “When is it my turn? When do I get to be happy?”

Malcolm covered his mouth in amusement as the tiny woman beat back her brother with shorthanded swipes looking oddly like a housecat trying to beat back a confused crocodile. Her temper was beautiful, like the oncoming rage of a storm, leaving him in awe of her.

At the sound of Malcolm’s laughter she dropped her shoulders suddenly looking sheepish.

“Oh don’t stop on my account,” Malcolm grinned at her. “I’m enjoying the show.”

She looked at Malcolm with wide eyes suddenly uncertain and shy and she tucked a loose strand of hair that had come undone behind her ear, trying to look prim again. 

Malcolm was disappointed. He would have liked to see at least one more kick.

“I like Malcolm,” she announced, not quite able to meet Malcolm’s gaze though her voice remained steady. 

Malcolm blinked a couple of times unsure he had heard right, but then she marched up to Malcolm and picked up his freckled hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. “I want to explore what that this means,” then she glared back at her brother over her shoulder. “So can you kindly butt out?”

Malcolm didn’t mean for a laugh to escape. Maybe he was relieved to hear her say that. Maybe it was because that furious expression didn’t quite match her soft personality. And then her anger softened into a shy smile when he squeezed her hand in silent thanks, her whole demeanor suddenly demure again.

Malcolm could see the man confused, as if he didn’t expect her to take such a strong stand.

Leandra ignored her brother, her attention only on Malcolm. “I’m so sorry. I hope my idiot brother didn’t spoil our night.”

The smile that was already on his lips pulled wider. Our night.

She then glared at her brother. “He won’t join us.”

“Fine!” Gamlen barked. He snapped his fingers. “Mara, we’re leaving.”

Mara snorted. “You sure? Cause I think I’m going with Leandra, tonight.”

Gamlen narrowed his eyes, his voice taking on an edge of possessiveness. “Mara, we’re publicly together now. I know we don’t always agree but you’re supposed to be on my side, not Leandra’s.”

Mara laughed which seemed to confuse Gamlen and she took Leandra’s other arm and wrapped herself around her. “You’re just my boyfriend. Leandra’s my best friend. Get the hierarchy?”

Leandra looked utterly disappointed in Gamlen. “Need a shovel for the hole you’re digging?”

This time Carver joined Malcolm’s laughter. He had been standing silent the whole time, making sure Malcolm’s temper didn’t get away with him again, and he didn’t bother to hide his amusement as he met Malcolm’s gaze. “She’s a keeper,” Carver nodded approvingly, earning a pleased but flustered blush from Leandra.

Gamlen turned his scrutiny on Carver. “Aren’t you a templar? What are you doing letting this mage off his leash?”

Malcolm bristled at that, but Carver just placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, a squeeze reminding him to behave. Still, it was a friendly enough gesture that Gamlen seemed uneasy by it, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of this dynamic. “It may be a long leash, but believe me, there’s still a leash.”

Malcolm grunted at that, hating how true his words were, but Carver continued, “I know you have your doubts about mages, and I know fully the dangers that magic can bring, but Malcolm has opened my eyes many times to the wonders magic can bring.” He let his hand drop from Malcolm’s shoulder but didn’t lower his proud gaze. “He is a good man, a better man than many who serve under me and I’m proud to call him a friend.”

He had never heard Carver talk about him in such a way so to hear him come to his defense made him swallow a lump that suddenly crept up his throat like a frog, but it was apparent that Carver’s pretty words were not swaying Gamlen, though he looked like he was losing some of the fight out of him once he realized that he had no ally to turn to. So he resulted in sulking, hunching his shoulders and jutting out his lip which made him look like a mannish baby. “This is still a bad idea.”

Leandra nodded. “Noted. And ignored.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Gamlen argued. “If only because someone needs to watch out for you tonight. He’s clearly got you under some sort of spell.”

Malcolm’s shoulders raised at the accusation. Gamlen was glaring at their intertwined hands with a sneer he couldn’t contain like she was touching a dirty animal. He was suddenly overcome with the overwhelming feeling like he would taint Leandra. Stories about how mages seduced their lovers by altering their minds with blood magic or how elven men tricked and stole the innocence of naive human women recounted in his head and though he thought he would have some sort of reply to that he found the words caught in his throat. Instead he held back a tremble as he struggled not to act on his temper and punch the man senseless, only to prove that he didn’t need a spell to rub that sneer off his face. But then even that was a trap, for it would only prove that he was uncivilized as the humans claimed elves to be even if humans never seemed to show much civilization.

There was no way he’d last the night.

Leandra glared. “As if! You’re being a real ass.”

“Well, how are you going to stop me?” the man’s voice took on a childish challenging tone as he dug in his heels.

Leandra groaned, knowing her stubborn brother wouldn’t take no for an answer. What brought on this bought of overbearing protectiveness she didn’t know, but she wanted to spend the night getting to know Malcolm, not bickering with her little brother.

“Fine, but if you say anymore idiotic things to Malcolm I won’t hesitate to knee you in the balls,” she huffed as she started dragging Malcolm and Mara around her annoying brother. “And you're taking your own cab!” she added with a snap.

They started marching out of the alleyway and out into the street where they found that the place was swarming with Guard and Templar cars in flashing red white and blue lights bathing the streets in headlights so that they all seemed exposed and Leandra froze at the thought of suddenly being caught and marched back to her parents.

“Follow me,” Carver spoke from behind them, and then marched past them as if there was nothing amiss about what they were doing.

Leandra dropped Malcolm’s hand and put some distance between them at the sight of the crowd that clearly saw them. Malcolm’s stomach dropped in disappointment. Though he knew an elf and a human holding hands would only invite more stares it didn’t keep his heart from aching, wishing just for a moment that he was human so that she wouldn’t let go.

The templars and guards glided around them without notice all seeming to have their own agendas and orders to carry out. There were news vans swarming the front of the Palace trying to make sense of what was happening and they took great care not to get in their line of sight.

Malcolm had a sinking feeling as he followed Carver, thinking that he’d return to his duties and let him have some peace with Leandra. Well, he and Leandra’s friend, who invited herself, but he knew the hierarchy. As they approached an armored vehicle with reinforced wheels and a red Chantry sun impaled a sword, the symbol of the templars, Malcolm realized another was joining the night. It seemed his leash was shorter than he thought, tonight.

Carver opened the door gesturing for the ladies to go in with a respectful bow.

Mara’s eyes gleamed in mischief as she inspected the back of the templar’s car, the armored barriers seeming more fit to housing dangerous apostates than escorting Kirkwall nobility. “Are we in trouble, Officer?”

Carver’s eyes crinkled in a smile but his face remained neutral. “Simply making sure you all get home safely.”

Mara bounced into the backseat. “This standard?”

“Perfectly,” Carver allowed a small smile.

Leandra, too jittery with all the people about quickly ducked behind Mara without a word, grateful to be out of sight.

Carver blocked Gamlen’s push forward so Malcolm could snag the seat next to Leandra and shut the door behind him.

Gamlen scowled, trying to look intimidating but Carver had a few inches in him and was in full armor and gear and didn’t bother to even look in Gamlen’s direction as he got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

Gamlen tried to get into the passenger’s seat but he found that it had been locked. Gamlen pounded on the tinted window demanding to be let in.

Carver rolled down the window only enough so Gamlen could hear him say, “I thought the lady told you to get your own cab.”

Gamlen’s face went slack with shock, his blue eyes glassy as he was not able to process what was happening. He could hear Mara and Gamlen’s laughter peeling out from the window, mocking him.

Even Leandra barked out a short laugh before she clapped a hand over her mouth, burning in shame. “That is not necessary, Lord Carver.”

But Carver was already pulling off from the sidewalk, a shellshocked Gamlen watching as they left him at the curb.

There was a satisfied smirk on his lips that no one else could see. “The silence might give him some time to reflect on what he said.”

But it seemed like silence wasn’t what Gamlen wanted. Mara’s phone started to ring, Gamlen’s ringtone, which was a high stringed addictive pop song that filled the cabin.

“With a taste of your lips I’m on a ride.”

Mara sighed raggedly knowing the tantrum that was sure to come. She clicked the button to answer, cutting the music and with a curt voice she said, “I’m not interested in anything but an apology.”

“Apology!?” his voice boomed loud enough from the speaker. “You should apologize. You ditched me and laughed!”

“That’s right,” Mara confirmed in a sing-song voice. “You’re being a hypocrite.”

“Mara-”

But she quickly cut him off with a snarl that was unlike her, “I’m turning off my phone. Maybe if I’m in a good mood I’ll text you where we’re at.”

Then she cut off the rest of his tirade by ending the call and did just that.

She then threw her head back in her seat, her face reddening as she muttered a string of curses under her breath.

Leandra looked at her friend feeling torn. On one hand she couldn’t excuse her brother but she felt her heart ache at what she thought might be the end of their relationship. She knew her brother was better than this and she hoped that somehow he’d find a way to fix this. Still she felt shame like somehow it was her fault the whole wonderful night had been left uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” she said guiltily.

She found Malcolm touching her hand, unsure if the gesture was welcome, but just his hand being close made her fingers wrap around them to keep him there, hoping Malcolm didn’t think less of her. 

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve heard. They get more creative in the Circle,” he said it like a joke, but there was tenseness in the admission.

Leandra didn’t like the thought of that. She knew what her brother said was ugly, and yet to know it was not the worst experience he’d had made her squeeze his hand, the words to comfort him failing her.

“So I’m curious,” Mara’s voice cut between them. She leaned forward so Carver could hear her better through the bars that separated them. “How does a templar and a mage get so chummy?” There was mischief in her curiosity and Malcolm couldn’t help but feel like Mara was scrutinizing him, judging his every move, but unlike Gamlen, she seemed to have not come to a conclusion yet.

“Carver’s not a prick,” Malcolm explained which brought delighted laughter from Carver, a soothing sound like water bubbling over a brook.

“It’s easy to be friends with Malcolm, as long as you can handle some honesty,” Carver echoed back.

“Have you been friends for a long time?” Leandra asked.

“I watched him grow up,” Carver answered as he wove through the streets of Hightown. “He’s always been a bit of a scamp.”

Mara’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh then you’re the one to ask for all the juicy details.”

Malcolm suddenly felt uneasy, not sure exactly what Carver would share.

“That’s true,” Carver admitted freely. “I do have a few stories, but I’ll let you get to know him yourself. I plan to mostly stay out of the way tonight and let you all enjoy yourselves.”

Malcolm found himself sighing in relief. Carver was a true friend.

Mara started leaning on Leandra as she gazed at Malcolm, and he felt strangely like she was a cat and he was her new toy. “So who are you Dream Guy?”

Malcolm found the nickname brought a smile to his lips, especially with the way Leandra was reddening.

“Just an elf from Ferelden,” Malcolm summarized. “Not anyone special.”

“Ferelden?” Leandra asked. “You’re far from home.”

Malcolm nodded grimly. The homesickness burrowed in his gut. The food at the ball was delicious, but he found he missed his mother’s cooking, lechon at Satinalia, pancet at celebrations, adobo, dinuguan, even lumpia. Being a lone elven Ferelden in a Marcher state that kissed Orlais ass with the rest of the world was terribly isolating. It almost seemed fitting that it was an Orlesian that claimed Leandra. They claimed everything Malcolm knew.

Leandra seemed keen to know more. “What about your mom and dad?”

“My mom’s might be somewhere in Ferelden. I haven’t seen her since I was taken by the templars when I was 8.” Admitting this so freely felt odd to Malcolm. They weren’t exactly secrets but he kept his memories close to his heart, but Leandra wanted to know. “I don’t even know if she’s alive.”

Leandra could sense there was more to the story. Malcolm’s eyes were far away, watching the lights of Hightown’s neon bathing his dark skin in a heavenly glow.

“You don’t know what happened to her?”

“I mean when I was in Ferelden’s Circle I got a letter or two, but…” Malcolm sucked in a breath not admitting how the templars took those, too. “Nothing since Kirkwall.”

Leandra stroked his thumb with hers. “What about your father?”

At the mention of his father Malcolm’s whole body went rigid and his breathing got shallow. “Better off forgotten,” he muttered as he stared dully at the window.

The high cityscapes of Hightown receded into the bridge that was thankfully not filled with the usual traffic at midnight. Malcolm’s eyes were far away as his eyes passed over the neon marketing sign and art and competing billboards that seemed to permeate every corner. Kirkwall was a loud city, even at night, but the city seemed to be holding its breath. The high-tech architecture that was just on the other side of the bridge seemed to just die off into the archaic city of Lowtown. There were still ads and graffiti and neon signs on every street, but Kirkwall elite had not seen a purpose of modernizing most of Lowtown, except for the subway system that most of the inhabitants used for travel, so that the sounds of trains running through tracks was a constant echo across the stone. The snaking networks wound through the city but stopped at the bridge that connected Hightown. Lowtown only had so many major streets, the main one connecting to the Lowtown market where shops were piled on top of each other like shoeboxes, mimicking the cityscapes of Hightown but with the grace of a graffiti-filled dumpster. The city cleaners didn’t extend to Lowtown so debris covered the street, the car dipping into the cracks of the concrete and swerving to avoid potholes.

Leandra wanted to know him, but it seemed that poking at him only brought up painful memories, and it was already a painful night. She had no idea how she could even fathom what he went through. He was always carefree and smiling, but now he looked brittle, like he would break if she pressed him too far.

So she tried to change gears. “I have family in the Circle.”

“Oh?” That made Malcolm perk up, curiosity in his golden eyes, and his shoulders relaxed as he realized the interrogation was over.

“A niece in Ostwick, a nephew in Markham, and another nephew in Kirkwall.”

Malcolm seemed much happier to continue this conversation. “What a small world,” he hummed in amusement. “Well tell me about the one in Kirkwall. I might have met him already.”

Leandra was pleased that he wanted to know her family. “His name’s Isaac. He only came to the Circle last year around spring.”

Malcolm placed his free hand on his chin as his eyes reached up into his skull as he tried to summon a face. “Isaac…Isaac…” The name sounded familiar. “Wait does he like to make a lot of truck noises?”

“Yes!” Leandra jumped in her seat in excitement and then blushed when Mara snickered.

Malcolm smiled as he recalled the little guy, suddenly seeing the family resemblance in their eyes. He had life just like Leandra did. “We call him Lil’ Garbage Man. He’s the funniest dude.”

Leandra shook her head though a smile was on her face thinking of how horrified her Mother would be at the nickname.

“You call my nephew Lil’ Garbage Man? Why?”

“Cause he makes garbage truck noises when he busses people’s trays. Dude seems to have a blast doing it.”

Leandra laughed imagining the look on her parent’s face if they had heard that. “My nephew is bussing people’s trays?”

“Isaac is helpful and compassionate. He might be a little odd to people but he has a very good heart,” Carver’s voice came from the bars. “In fact, if you would like to see him, I think I may be able to arrange that.”

Leandra’s eyes widened pouncing on the chance. “Can you? I haven’t seen him since he was taken.”

“I’ll add you to the allowed visitors list in Isaac’s file. It shouldn’t be a problem,” Carver’s voice was steady and comforting, like a sturdy oak giving shade. “You’ll still need to come after Mass. There’s no way around that.”

Leandra felt positively giddy. She had tried to get on the visitor’s list before but Chantry policy only allowed immediate family members. The bastard father who abandoned him had more rights to see Isaac than she did, and she had given up on that cause for the moment but to just be offered as a gift was more than she had words for. She found grateful tears prick her eyes. “Bless you, Lord Carver.”

Carver chuckled. “I think at this point you may just call me Carver. At least in private.”

Leandra wiped her eyes before the tears could fall. “Do you think I can smuggle in a gift?”

Carver hummed on his answer noncommittally. “Toys will be taken if he’s not careful to hide them.” But he didn’t say no.

Leandra considered this as she brainstormed what she could bring. Nothing too big. It had to fit in her purse.

Before they knew it Carver pulled up to what looked like a ratty old bar. It was originally called The Caged Canary, but half the light bulbs were burnt out so it spelled Cage Cry with the ‘The’ blinking in and out.

Malcolm chuckled. “Here?” he asked Carver.

“It’s private and she liked your singing,” Carver replied. Malcolm could hear the smirk in his voice.

Leandra looked at the bar that had so many flyers plastered on the wall it looked like a Chantry board. There was graffiti layered upon layer, sometimes over the flyers, some beautiful mosaics and art pieces of colors. Birds behind bars seemed to be a theme throughout the patterns. It was a chaotic sort of art, the kind that would make her parents sneer, but Leandra found it beautiful, the many hands working together to make something so utterly unique, like a thousand memories cased in time speaking at once. “What is this place?” she found herself asking Malcolm as Mara started shuffling out of the car.

“A karaoke bar,” Malcolm said nonchalantly as he watched Leandra’s face which quickly drained of color.

She froze in the car as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave. “Oh, no, I’m better at playing the lute than singing,” Leandra blubbered, suddenly mortified at the thought of making a fool of herself in public.

Malcolm grinned. “Karaoke is not about sounding good, it’s about having fun.”

“Well, no one’s going to have fun once they hear me sing,” Leandra protested.

Mara peeked in the car from the other side, ganging up on her with Malcolm with a conspiratorial grin. “You should do more things you’re not good at, my lady. It will be good for you.”

Leandra pouted as Malcolm offered his hand to help her out of the car. She reluctantly took it, knowing once she did there was no going back.

Carver started pulling out his phone as he approached the group. “The address is 369 Copper Avenue if you would like to invite your brother,” he looked at Leandra as he said this and she was already pulling out her phone to text the details.

Then Carver’s eyes slid to Malcolm as he fished out his wallet and pulled out a sovereign bill and handed it to him.

Malcolm resented being handed money like a kid but it wasn’t like he was allowed to have money like a normal person. That didn’t stop him from finding his ways, but he hadn’t expected to go on a date tonight and didn’t bring anything with him. So he took the bill feeling like a teenager being chaperoned on his first date.

“I need to make a phone call. You can go ahead and order a round of drinks with the booth.”

Maker, at least he could drink. “You going to join us?” He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for.

But Carver said, “I have some reports to catch up on but you have fun.” Then Carver walked off into a corner to take his call in private.

Malcolm led Mara and Leandra into the bar which was smaller than anticipated. There was a TV with the news reporting on the incident on the Viscount’s Palace, speculating attacks and calling it the worst haunting of the new century. The bartender who was a pallid man with graying hair raised an eyebrow at Malcolm’s fine suit and the ladies’ gowns which were much richer than the sticky floors and peeling dull brown faded wallpaper that decorated the environment. 

Malcolm marched up to the bartender with confidence as the ladies inspected the furniture that had looked like it hadn’t been changed out since the place was built.  The grout of the floor was uneven and chalky. 

Malcolm placed the bill on the cracking counter and said, “A room and all the drinks this can afford.”

Would this afford much? He didn’t exactly know the prices on things.

The bartender looked at the bill and took it without question, though he was curious about the party’s outfits he seemed more interested in their money. “Room 3,” He leaned his head to point to a dark cove where a line of rooms were waiting. “And for the drinks?”

He looked to Leandra, who looked to Mara who said, “Shots. Tequila. Vodka. I don’t care.”

“You got it,” the bartender chirped.  

Malcolm led them down the corridor, jealous of the way Mara openly leaned on Leandra’s arm. He could tell the two women must be close and he felt in some ways there was a bubble between him and them.

“Charming place,” Mara cooed as she looked at the posters of different singers lining the walls, flowing locks and colorful makeup and costumes crooning into microphones. “You bring all your dates here?”

Malcolm chuckled. “The only time I’ve ever gone here is with Carver or Charlie,” he said.

He opened the door to the room for them which was a cozy little setup with a boxy couch that wrapped around the room, a table in the middle with a thick booklet, and a screen with a few microphones.

“Boyfriend?” Mara prodded as she passed Malcolm, cat eyes gleaming.

“Brother,” Malcolm countered.

Leandra perked up, trying to corral some of Mara’s teasing with a question of her own. “You have a brother in the Circle?” Her voice was hopeful and she gathered her skirts and took a seat on the square couch fully listening. 

Mara plopping beside her to take a look through the booklet, the laminated pages cracking and yellowing.

“Not a blood brother,” Malcolm explained. “We just grew up together.”

 Leandra tried to mask the disappointment in her eyes.  

He took a seat, close but not too close. He glanced at her hand which was relaxed at her side, tempted to reach out and grab it, but with Gamlen in his head he just clenched his fist.

“So what would you sing?” Leandra leaned over as Mara flipped through the selection as she tried to find something that she recognized.

The bartender came in holding a large tray of liquid amber and set it on the table without a word.

“Well first we’d get drunk,” Malcolm said, suddenly needing the liquid courage and he grabbed one of the glasses and knocked it back, the burn welcome and warming him, soothing his frazzled nerves.

“Smart man,” Mara grinned as she grabbed two glasses and handed one to Leandra without thinking. “But you’re breaking the party rules. We’re supposed to cheer before we drink.”

Malcolm reached for another glass with a chuckle. “I can just grab another drink.”

Mara gleamed at Leandra holding up her glass as she said. “To Leandra. She’s the most badass woman I know.”

Malcolm grinned at Leandra’s fluster as he held up her glass to match Mara’s praise. “She definitely is.”

Leandra clinked glasses with them and knocked back the liquid before coughing which brought chuckles out of Mara and Malcolm. “That’s much stronger than wine.”

Suddenly Leandra’s phone rang and she looked at the cell phone to see that Senhel was calling. In confusion she answered it thinking it was an emergency.

“Leandra Gloriana Amell,” the voice of her mother shrieked on her phone. “Do you have your Father and me on ignore!?”

Leandra grumbled, she was just starting to have fun. “Mother,” she hicced. “I thought I told you I’m resting.”

“You are certainly not in your room!”

“I’m at Mara’s.”

“Don’t lie to me. I sent Sylvain to fetch you and you’re not there.”

Mara and Malcolm looked at each other as Leandra slunk into the couch, looking ragged and tired. “Fine,” she snapped, her voice sounding like a tight thread. “I’m out having a drink with Mara. Because it’s been a night. And I deserve it.”

“Leandra Amell-”

“Goodnight, Mother. I’m turning off my phone,” then she powered down her cell and threw it back in her purse with a huff.

“Another drink?” Malcolm offered.

Mara was beaming at Leandra. “After standing up to the wicked witch of Kirkwall let’s have three.”

So they did, clinking their glasses each time as they knocked it back in unison, the alcohol starting to make them feel giddy and loose.

Finally Mara picked up the microphone and waggled her eyebrows. “Alright we’re supposed to be singing, right?”

Leandra and Malcolm cheered, raising more glasses sharing a grin.

Mara plugged in the song and with an upbeat piano that was as spunky as she was. She wiggled her hips as she grooved with her microphone, getting into it, her face goofy and carefree for the first time that night. 

“Why men great til’ they gotta be great,” she sang loudly and proudly off-key.

“I just took a DNA test

Turns out

I’m a hundred percent 

That bitch

Even when I’m crying crazy

Yeah I got boy problems 

That’s the human in me

Bling! Bling! Then I solve ‘em

That’s the Goddess in me

Malcolm and Leandra danced in their seats and Mara gave them a show, belting her frustrations into the mic and only slightly tripping over the words with her drunken tongue. The mistakes only made her laugh which made everyone laugh. Then she grabbed the mic with both hands, her face twisting in anger as she kicked off her red strappy heels so they bounced against the couch and wall, belting out with flourish,

“You could have had a bad bitch

Non committal

Help you with your career

Just a little

You’re supposed to hold me dooown

But you’re holding me back

And that’s the soooound

Of me not calling you back.”

Soon Malcolm and Leandra were trying to sing along to the chorus, though Malcolm didn’t know the words to this one. Still, Mara was fun and it was nice to see Leandra with that beautiful smile. He thought her laugh was the most gorgeous sound in the world and he’d never tire of it. 

They were all thoroughly enjoying themselves so much that they didn’t notice that Gamlen had now perched himself at the door and listened to the man-hating song, a bouquet of what looked like store bought roses in one arm and a box of expensive fine truffles in the other, but Mara at one point noticed him, the song fading from her lips as the music continued and quickly wrapped up.

The silence was awkward and no one knew what to make of it. Everyone was staring at Gamlen but Gamlen was only staring at Mara. 

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I was an idiot.”

Mara huffed putting down the microphone with a thud, feedback shrieking through the speakers.

“No denying that but do you even know what you’re sorry for?”

Gamlen rushed forward and placed the gifts in Mara’s arms which she reluctantly accepted. “I was an ass. You told me that enough.”

Mara blew out air, ruffling her bangs. “But the comments you said about Malcolm said a lot about what you think about me.”

“I don’t-I would never,” he sputtered. “I just…Being an elf never seemed to matter to you before.”

Mara glared. “Of course it matters to me. I might not have the pointed ears, but Lolo is all I have left after the car accident. You know that.”

“Of course,” Gamlen said. “Of course it’s important. I just…” he blew out a ragged breath, his eyes flicking to Malcolm. “This is all so fast. Leandra just met him tonight.”

“But you heard Leandra, she likes him. This is not your decision to make.”

Gamlen looked like all the air had been taken out of him as he struggled to find an argument but failed.

Mara looked at Malcolm who seemed to have gone quiet at Gamlen’s presence. “I’m not the only one who deserves your apology.”

Gamlen looked conflicted as his eyes snapped to Malcolm who was knocking back another drink. Gamlen clenched his fists, as he looked over Malcolm, the disgust still clear in his eyes but from the look on Mara’s face she wouldn’t let this go.

Through clenched teeth he said. “Sorry,” but he spat the word out like a curse.

Malcolm discarded his glass and picked up another, feeling slightly drunk and still very very pissed off. “I don’t know, did I hear an apology?”

Leandra crossed her arms, matching Malcolm’s glare. “No, I don’t know that I did.”

Mara dropped Gamlen’s gifts on the table like she was dropping trash in a bin. “Care to try again?”

Gamlen’s eyes widened in fear and he swallowed his anger as he tried to suppress his glare at Malcolm. “Fine, fine. I’m really really sorry.”  

“For…” Malcolm drawled looking into his glass of amber liquid.

“For being an ass,” Gamlen chewed out.

“And…”

Gamlen narrowed his eyes, flicking to the other women for help but they simply waited expectantly for his answer. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to add. Apologizing wasn’t exactly something he did voluntarily.

He looked for Leandra to help but found her usual warm expression cold, but still she added, “And he won’t do it again.”

Gamlen bristled at that, seeming reluctant to actually say those words, but with Mara glaring at him, too, he repeated, “I won’t do it again.”

Malcolm grinned at that, all teeth. “Now that’s an apology.” Then he made a cheering motion at Gamlen and knocked back his drink.

Mara sniffed and sat down beside Leandra, satisfied but still seething. Gamlen followed her like a sad puppy and when he sat down next to her he tried to hold her hand but she snapped it back, still angry.

Malcolm sighed, feeling sloshed by now, but with Gamlen being so close he felt himself tensing like a stretched rubber band ready to snap. Still, getting the asshole to apologize was at least slightly satisfying even if Malcolm didn’t believe a word of it.

Leandra brushed his hand, bringing him out of his churning thoughts. Her eyes looked worried as she bit her lip, seeming unsure. “I’d love to hear you sing next.”

Malcolm did have a song in mind already, one that he heard long ago but didn’t have any meaning to him until meeting Leandra, but his eyes flickered to Gamlen who was sulking in the corner, unsure if singing it would bring more ire.

Leandra seemed to sense his hesitation and she was suddenly rambling as if she was nervous. “You don’t have to. I mean I can definitely try singing a song with Mara if you’re not feeling up to it.”

Mara leaned over to Leandra with a grin on her face. “What are we singing?”

Gamlen snorted. “You’re singing?”

Leandra glared. “Shut up! As if your voice is any better.”

“At least I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

“Not when it counts,” Malcolm’s unfiltered drunken thoughts blurted out which brought another laugh from Leandra and Mara and a scowl from Gamlen.

Malcolm smirk softened at Leandra’s laughter and he watched her with soft eyes.

She stopped when she noticed he was staring, his honey eyes drawing her in.

“I’d love to hear you sing.” Malcolm said in a voice so genuine she could only swallow.

Leandra dropped her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean you’re going to have nightmares.”

“I don’t know,” Malcolm grinned. “Since meeting you it feels like I’ve been living a dream.”

She blushed deeply, her breath stuttering, a pleased smile forming on her lips as she choked on what she said. “I guess I’m drunk enough to sing.”

Mara cheered and Malcolm and her clinked glasses in a celebratory drink.

Leandra and Mara took the stage, their eyes on the screen as they huddled together.

A slow ballad filled the speakers, soft and sweet, just like Leandra was. Mara opened her mouth widely inhaling but as soon as the countdown signaled for them to start only Leandra’s voice sang out,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you”

Leandra’s eyes flew in panic as she realized that Mara was not singing along but looking at her with a smirk as she was forced to either stop or continue. Her eyes flew to Malcolm’s like a moth to a flame, her voice trembling in uncertainty. 

She was not as terrible as she claimed, not a singer’s voice sure, but Malcolm found he could listen to her all night. He watched the rosy glow of her cheeks as her eyelashes fluttered, looking so uncertain and vulnerable.

“Like a river flows

Gently to the sea

Surely how it goes

Some things were meant to be.”

Malcolm hoped that was what she was telling him, and his gaze turned so intense she could not bear the scrutiny, her voice shaky and faltering but she finished the song to the end. Malcolm and Mara then burst into applause as Leandra shyly tucked hair behind her ear.

She glared at Mara but there was no anger in her voice. “Traitor.”

Mara shook her head in laughter as she took her seat beside Gamlen.

Leandra sauntered up to Malcolm, closer than ever. He could feel the warmth of her body and smell the alcohol on her breath. She playfully grabbed his arm and brought him to the stage and pushed a microphone in his hand. “Ok, now it’s your turn. Better make it good.”

Malcolm was nervous, but the way she was smiling at him he couldn’t help but smile back. “I aim to please, my lady.”

“Well, then do it,” she commanded cheekily. “Please me.”

Malcolm’s eyes darkened at this challenge. Her cheeks were so rosy he had to resist cupping them, her smile brilliant as she sat captively in attention. He felt shaky with nerves, his stomach doing that warm flutter. He plugged in the song, a soft drumbeat pulsed through the speakers as he gazed in her eyes, feeling like there was no one else in the room. His heart sped up, aching to have her. His honeyed voice crooned through the speakers, begging her to accept him.

“I wish we were both someone else

So you wouldn’t be somebody else’s

I don’t want to lie here by myself

Ain’t afraid to say I’m selfish.”

“Don’t wanna lie to you, Don’t wanna promise something

Knowin’ I can’t come through, toast over this discussion

More of ignoring the rules, too close and then we’re touching

Now we’re both confused.”

Leandra found herself rising to her feet, her heart feeling the same ache in the lyrics. His hand seemed to beckon her to him as he looked at her with a yearning that made her feel alive.

“Something in the way you smell

Something in the way touch me

Maybe it’s the way you wrap your arms around me

Makes me wanna lay you down, Tell you all the things we could be

Tell me that you need me now, even though it’s not allowed.”

Leandra couldn’t help herself if she wanted to. Malcolm’s honest words crooning at her had her grabbing his tie before he could reach the chorus again and she answered him with a hungry kiss. He tasted strawberries and alcohol and her taste coated his tongue until he was lapping it up greedy for every drop of her. Hungry. That was the only way that could be described when their lips met. His hands snaked up her back untangling her braid loose as she held him captive by his tie, pulling him closer by his curls as they devoured each other, the beat still pulsing in the background. They stumbled, trying to find steadiness as their mouths refused to part, tripping into the table and almost knocking each other over.

Mara hooted encouragingly at the kiss and she tried to get Gamlen to join her in a cheer but he looked like he was trying to look anywhere but at his sister. When Malcolm had backed her into a wall and it was clear that they wouldn’t stop, Gamlen finally snapped and said, “Leandra!”

Malcolm pulled away, surprised by Gamlen’s shout but she held onto his tie and stuck out her tongue like she was five. “Grow up, Gamlen. I’ve watched you and Mara dry hump since tenth grade.”

Malcolm barked out a laugh, lipstick smeared across his lips. Then Leandra pulled him in for another sweet kiss. “Sing me another,” she asked against his lips.

The night seemed to go much better, the laughs easier, and after Malcolm sang a few more songs they went back to rotating. Gamlen mostly sulked throughout the night, giving a tight-lipped glare as Malcolm and Leandra shared kiss after kiss, feeling bolder and handsier, but other than some huffs he didn’t do much more to ruin the night.

Before they knew it Carver crept through the door, his face amused at the state of Malcolm’s lipstick smeared face as he and Leandra were cuddling in the corner sharing a drunken snooze, Leandra cradled on Malcolm’s chest.

Gamlen sat in the corner, tight-lipped, the same scowl he carried all night plastered on his face.

“So you all had a good time,”

Leandra and Malcolm stirred, both yawning and blinking.

Mara saluted drunkenly from the couch, in a fit of giggles. “Yes, Officer. Mission succeeded.” He had interrupted her from eating Gamlen’s apology chocolates, a pile of used wrappers piled on the table among the many, many drained glasses.

“Very good,” Carver had a satisfied smile on his face. “I’ll need to take you back to Hightown now if Malcolm’s going to make it back by First Bell.”

“Nope,” Leandra shook her head with a yawn, her words a little slurred. “Nope. No, my parents will kill me if they see me like this. Take me to Mara’s.”

Mara yawned and covered her mouth. “Good idea. You have the day off so we can just sleep.”

Leandra jerked, suddenly realizing, “Oh, no! I have a Cleansing today!”

Mara cocked her head. “What time? Maybe we can grab a nap?”

Leandra chewed her lip picking herself up from Malcolm’s hold so she could look through her bag for her phone.

It was full of texts from her Mother and Father. She scrolled through the lectures and threats to find that her Cleansing was early and not only that but the Du Lancets would be participating and the Guillaume would be at her side tomorrow. And then the bubble popped.

“Oh, how am I going to presentable by 10 am?” Leandra’s voice was filled with panic.

“Don’t worry, I’m on the case,” Mara patted her chest confidently. “As long as I can pass out as soon as I’m done.”

“You’d have earned it and your raise,” Leandra pulled herself upright and wobbled in her heels.

“Easy there,” Malcolm automatically moved to steady her and she placed her hand on his chest as she willed the room to stop spinning. He sat her back down allowing her to lean on him. 

“Something greasy will work wonders,” Carver said helpfully.

“I’ll whip up a bacon breakfast when we get home,” Mara yawned. “And lots of coffee.”

As Mara stretched she looked at the templar with renewed interest, the man seeming more like a statue to her than a person and she eyed him from head to toe. “Not going to sing at least one?” she said in a sing-song voice, her cat eyes gleaming with mischief. “Malcolm tells us you have quite the voice.”

Carver smiled, chuckling. “We don’t really have time.”

Malcolm was looking for any reason to make the night last just a little longer. “Oh, c’mon just one. For old time’s sake?”

Leandra blinked her doe eyes, batting them like a weapon. “Oh, please,” her words crashed together clumsily. “You’ve been alone all night, Ser Carver. I’d love to hear you sing.”

 “I’m tired,” Gamlen snapped. “Let’s go.”

Maybe it was the fact that the other three were pleading, their drunken stupor making the consequences of the night still seem far away. Or maybe Carver wanted to have one more opportunity to get under Gamlen’s skin, but he smiled wider than he did all night, fully coming into the room and headed for the stage, crooking a motion to Malcolm to follow him. “I’m only singing if you join me, Hawke.”

Malcolm pushed himself off the couch eagerly. “Deal,” he said grabbing one of the extra mics from the stand as Mara and Leandra cheered, no more alcohol to toast with but they still raised their hands up in the motion.

Carver plugged in the song and a high energy guitar riff started streaming. Malcolm grinned as he recognized it. Carver’s energy seemed to change, his stiff shoulders relaxing as his warm coffee eyes gleamed at Malcolm, still remembering how Charlie was there the last time they sang this. He raised the mic, a raspy baritone ringing clear and beautiful like a deep bell, belting the lyrics with confidence.

“She’s got a smile that seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything was as fresh

As the clear blue sky.”

His eyes flicked to Mara, his hands cradling the mic as the beat rocked. Their eyes met in a strange crackling energy that Gamlen didn’t seem to notice cause he was too busy sulking. Carver watched as her slow gaze inspected him in curiosity, following the lines of his armor.

“Now and then when I see her face

It takes me to that special place

And if I stared too long,

I’d probably break down and cry.”

Malcolm joined him for the chorus, harmonizing with him so beautifully that it brought goosebumps to the ladies skin.

“Whooooa, Sweet child of mine,

Whooooa, Sweet love of mine.”

Then Malcolm’s honeyed voice took over, his eyes meeting Leandra as he sang with a smile, his face smeared with Leandra’s kisses, light and life in every bounce of his step.

“She’s got eyes like the starriest skies

As if they thought of rain

I’d hate to look into those eyes

And see an ounce of pain.”

Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place

Where as a child I’d hide

And pray for the thunder and rain

To quietly pass me by.”

Carver joined him again for the chorus, his soothing deep voice weaving around his melody as they repeated, their gazes meeting in boyish mischief. 

Then soon the guitar break came and both Carver and Malcolm went into ridiculous scatting, mimicking the riffs as they pretended to play invisible guitars. When the lyrics came back they echoed against each other, the melody getting more complicated as they each broke into their own renditions, bouncing and dancing on the stage as they pushed each other, a couple of boys roughhousing. Leandra and Mara couldn’t stop laughing at their silliness, the song stretching on and on never seemed to end until Carver and Malcolm kept singing back to the other.

“Where do we go?

Where do we go now?”

It was the question in Malcolm’s mind. His eyes stayed drawn to Leandra, asking her. 

Then the song wrapped up with the same high energy and Leandra and Mara rose to their feet cheering drunkenly. 

“Bravo!” 

“Bellissimo!”

“Encore!”

Gamlen’s scowl looked like it had been carved into his face and would stay there forever. He glared at the two men as they made exaggerated bows at the ladies’ applause.  

“Now can we go?” Gamlen snarled.

Carver’s proper demeanor was back in place as he put away the microphone with care. “Yes, I believe that is best.”

"Wait, wait, wait," Leandra reached through her bag for her phone and turned it back on. Ignoring the new messages, she then went to her camera. "We need to commemorate the night."

Malcolm and Carver looked at each other. 

"I'm not sure we should be leaving more evidence," Carver's voice said nervously. 

Leandra blinked her eyes pleading. "Please, it won't leave my phone. I just need something to remember the night was real."

That was all the convincing Malcolm needed. He grabbed Leandra's waist pulling her in for a pose. She blushed and snuggled in closer, holding out the phone, their faces framing the screen.

Carver looked like he wanted to protest more but Mara grabbed his arm. "C'mon Officer, loosen up." He seemed flustered as the small woman led him. "It's just a selfie." She then motioned Gamlen to join her. "You too, Grumpmeister." 

Gamlen looked irritated to see Mara casually touching Carver's arm and so stormed up and claimed her with a possessive grab on her hip and yanked her to him. 

Mara seemed annoyed, but said nothing as they all huddled in close for the camera so their faces could fit. 

It flashed, and they all blinked, temporarily blind. 

"Sorry," Leandra said as they all peered at the picture. 

Carver was caught in the middle between Mara and Leandra looking out of place in his armor, his face grim like a statue. Mara leaned on Gamlen but her face was closer to Carver, smiling a model's smile as she posed expertly. Gamlen's face was cut off slightly, his ugly glare caught as he stared at Malcolm and Leandra pressing cheeks, her lipstick had left a clear trail of where she claimed him and they shared the same ecstatic smile.

Malcolm wanted something to remember the night, too. He grabbed Leandra's phone and texted himself the picture. He handed the phone back. "Now you have my number." 

She gazed at her phone blushing as she realized he inserted himself as "Dream Guy."

They left the club, the sky still dark among the high buildings, but there were still signs of the bus moving for the early commute. Carver drove them to Mara’s place in Midtown which bordered the edge of Lowtown and Hightown, a cut of suburbs that were newer and had a cookie cutter like appearance. There was already a car in the driveway, a nice but older SUV that had been handled with care. The streets were dark except for the street lights that marked the houses in neat little rows, flowering shrubs and gardens filled with knick knacks differentiating them.

Malcolm got out of the car and helped Leandra out, their hands not unlinking as she stepped out.

Mara pushed out of the templar car still yawning, Gamlen following quickly behind. “You can go to my room, but don’t be loud and wake Lolo.”

Gamlen nodded, keeping close to Mara as she dug through her purse for her keys. He cast a glare in Malcolm’s direction when he noticed he was holding his sister’s hand but he kept to his apology and said nothing, following Mara into her house.

Leandra and Malcolm’s stroll was a languid shuffle as if they slowed down the moment it wouldn’t end. Still Mara’s porch approached and it did.

“When can I see you again?” she asked shyly as she squeezed his hand harder instead of letting go.

Malcolm’s heart fluttered, his voice eager. “I’ll break out as soon as I’m able.”

Leandra seemed conflicted about that. She placed her hand over his heart, lines of worry streaking her face. “Don’t get in trouble on my account.”

Malcolm grinned cheekily as he leaned into her face. “I am trouble.”

He captured her lips in a hungry kiss, not knowing when he’d be able to taste her next. Their lips moved unhurried and slow, their fingers exploring over their clothing under the arch of the porch. One minute passed, then two. It seemed there was not enough time in the world to memorize each other, and they were soon interrupted by Carver’s loud but abrupt honk.

Malcolm grinned against her mouth. “See you soon,” he promised and he dashed off and hopped into the front seat of Carver’s car.

Leandra didn’t go inside until the vehicle pulled away from the driveway and disappeared down the street.

[purgatoryandme]

Fade-touched. With no magic of her own, the Fade still dictates Hawke’s every move. It forces her to become a better escape artist near-daily - a runner from the moment her feet could first stay steady under her wobbling legs. Fade-touched. Fade-held. Fade-crushed. Her mother thinks the Fade is something they can run from. Maybe she’s right. Maybe if it were just the Fade, Hawke could tip it a crooked grin, do some fancy footwork, and then put it behind her like so many towns and Templars. From the moment she laid eyes on her twin siblings, though, and then again from her sixteenth year onward (a weight at her back briefly lifted, hefted into her arms like the twins so many years ago - begging to be spun, slashing through ozone and salt), Hawke knows there are some things that can never be escaped. Fade-touched. Fate-marked. She was always going to be a story.                                              ____________________ Fade-touched and fate-marked. Sixteen years old with a long sword strapped to her back (freshly cleaned and swaddled in oilcloth), Hawke contemplates that which cannot be escaped. On the long walk home she laughs bitterly over the irony of it all. A life spent on the run, perfecting the skill until it was second nature, and she can’t escape this one thing. She doesn’t even want to. She doesn’t know what she would be without it. (A person, perhaps) (Certainly not a story)                                             ____________________ Varric hears about her long before he sees her. Of course, that’s usually how his introductions go. His ears are open long before his eyes. None of his informants are terribly good with paints or charcoal, you see (useless bastards - he should get them to practice portraiture so he’s never caught so thoroughly off-guard again). The Amell siblings did not enter Kirkwall quietly. There was a lot of kicking and screaming and wailing. Business as usual, really. Most people didn’t enter Kirkwall willingly, and those that did were usually desperate enough for the usual theatrics to apply anyway. Still, the Amells made a splash. Disgraced (by an affair with an apostate no less) ex-nobles returning to an estate that’s been gambled away by a drunk?Juicy. Well, juicy to thieves. Until they proved to be dirt-poor Ferelden refugees barely worth whatever fee Arenthel was paid to get them into the city. Then, THEN, one of the siblings turned out to BE the fee Arenthel was paid. Just the one. Intriguing, but Varric can think of a lot of reasons Arenthel would pay for a pretty face - dark hair and blue eyes. Probably not the boy, too brawny and sour to be good at collecting information. The girl could be useful - her walking stick wasn’t fooling anyone, but those delicate features sure could. He’d overlooked the third Amell child entirely. A rookie mistake, really, her chosen last name notwithstanding. He let himself look (well, let his informants look) without really seeing. And when you were just looking...well. Hawke didn’t look like much. Or rather she didn’t look much like her siblings, who stood out in the way that you’d expect any purchase to in this city. In the way you’d expect a dirty secret to. It hadn’t occurred to anyone not in the know that Hawke was related to any of them. For all intents and purposes, coming from nobility as the Amells did, Hawke seemed to be a bodyguard (just like the red-haired guardswomen). She wasn’t the product of careful Kirkwall breeding. She didn’t even look Ferelden. Hawke’s nose seems certain to be her namesake. Prominent and high-bridged, hooked in a way that was unusual for people of her colouring (and, if Varric is being honest, the kind of thing that would prevent her from ever having a career at the Rose. Or, he’ll think later with ink and paper in hand, from ever being forgotten). Her skin is dark enough to look Rivaini, which, coupled with the russet-dark of her hair and her build (broad shoulders and hips, thick thighs, tall enough that his neck ached), is almost enough to make him forget the distinctly Ferelden nature of that nose. What makes him remember, what forces him to see the slightest family resemblance in the siblings he’s spying on, are her eyes frosty pale and narrow, or seemingly narrowed by thick heavy lashes, in the way only human eyes ever were (elves were always wide and guileless. Dwarves never seemed so...pointy. Qunari didn’t count - he didn’t look them in the eyes. Couldn’t at his height). Sharp, like ice chips, and made sharper against the warm tones of her skin. Wraith-like. Later, he’ll realize her eyes aren’t the same glowing Amell blue as the twins or her mother. Instead, they’re a shade of green so pale it’s nearly grey. He’ll only realize this when Carver makes it clear they consider her no sister of theirs, however, and he’ll wonder how he missed it over a week at her side. He’ll wonder that often about Hawke - how he missed things. How he missed her. 

She’s a stunner, that’s for sure. Just not in an entirely good way. She cuts an intimidating figure, larger than life somehow, with features so bold that Varric can practically hear the nobles waxing poetic about her ugliness for years to come. Choppy dark hair and mismatched armour over dense muscle just make her seem more boyish and boorish, adding another layer to the tableau. Adding another layer to the distance between her and her picture-perfect siblings.

She’s certainly something - maybe something he hadn’t learned the words for yet (something that will send him, drunk and careening, to his library time and again. Paging cover to cover through poetic epics for a hero that had even a fraction of the something he wanted to describe). Not at all what he expected from the whisperings or from keeping tabs on the mage Amell in case the Templars ruined something interesting before it got to be INTERESTING. He’d expected a catlike rogue or some Feredelen beauty. Something for the history books, you know? Tawdry and bawdy and fitting to the tales he’d later spin in the Hanged Man for drunks and gentry alike. Varric’s forgotten that first impression a thousand times over and reread it on an old ledger just as many times. Hawke has a way of doing that to him. Making him forget the past, replacing it with their present (visceral like a knife to the gut. Which he’s experienced with her. More than once). Hawke also has a way of being underestimated at first glance. Maybe that’s why Bartrand refuses her and the little cutpurse thought he could get clever. Varric puts on a show with Bianca. Hawke is alone - no siblings in sight. She’d only volunteered herself for the expedition. It’s jarring to suddenly have the woman he’s been watching for hours watch him back. Even as she makes quips with the best of them, Varric can’t help but feel like she’s waiting for a blow. Hawke’s guarded in the way a kicked dog is. Unpredictable in the same sense. It makes Varric nervous, but also makes it impossible to walk away. He wants this one on the expedition. He thinks she’ll make it worth his while (just like Arenthel earned her money four times over with just one of a set of three. She passed up on an apostate beauty who knew healing magic. Hawke was definitely someone he’d take a bet on). She does. Creators, she does and then some, wrenching Varric and Anders, the Grey Warden she’d blackmailed and cajoled into accompanying them, through the Deep Roads with an animal glint in her eyes that increases with every day spent in the dark. She jokes with them often, but it isn’t until the near-endless battling with Darkspawn drains even her to the ends of her reserves that she begins to tell them stories to keep their long march going.  “My father was an apostate.”  She tells them, not meeting their eyes, likely anticipating and disliking their knowledge of this fact (Anders, through his willingness to come along at all. Varric because he was Varric - no stone unturned),  “He was never contained in the Circle. To hear him tell it, he was never escaping anything. He moved because he felt like it. Because there was a great plan that he was following, and if it lead him away from the Templars? So be it.”  Garrett Hawke was a man who did not exist, at least according to every record Varric had scoured (and he had, he believed, scoured them all). Varric had thought, up until this point, that the name was simply an alias. He still thought that, but now...  Well, he had to wonder. Hawke’s sibling had never been caged. Perhaps her father flew free, too?  Anders certainly seemed to think so (the animal glint in Hawke’s eyes was fever-bright in his own, near-glowing against the dirt and Darkspawn blood smeared on his skin).  “Freedom isn’t free.”  Hawke says, a sardonic little twist to her lips causing her teeth to flash in the torchlight as she glances at Anders,  “He paid for it in destiny and a dragon was the shopkeep.”  Varric would laugh at the frustrated befuddlement on the mage’s face if it wasn’t echoed on his own.  “My father made this blade.” Another day, another story. The long sword on Hawke’s back stayed wrapped, no matter the fight to be had, twin daggers finding themselves home in her hands and her enemies throats. It was only exposed in moments like these - where she carefully oiled it as they made camp. “We forged it together, but the materials were things he had for years. It was mine to carry the moment it was finished. I’d never heard my mother so angry with him.” “Were you just a pipsqueak?” Varric asks, struggling to imagine her as something so small and soft as a child,  “Not quite as tall as your sword was high?”  Her eyes crinkle, or at least he thinks they do (torchlight stopped being an option in the morning, and Anders’ mage light was a dim and eerie substitute).  “I was thirteen.”  She tells him, lifting a hand to indicate how tall she’d stood then (about his height, he was chagrined to see),  “Beth had just come into her magic. Father took me on a hunt the moment he realized, deep enough into the Wilds that nobody stood a chance of finding us. We came back with a blade, no meat to speak of, and to a little girl who had half-incinerated our cottage. My being a child bore no mind in her anger.”  She snickered, despite the flicker of something Varric felt at the image she’d painted (a child standing apart from their siblings, pushed there by a parent declaring their favourite, widening the chasm with the gift of a weapon handmade and crafted in a moment no other family had witnessed - an intimacy impossible to intrude on and rendered in steel),  “Carver also flew into a bitter tantrum about wanting a sword shortly afterwards. Both her angels were little hellions for years after that hunt.”  Despite knowing they were being baited, Varric still asked the question that had taken root in his mind; “What made them stop? I’m certain it wasn’t from maturing - the very idea would probably bring your brother to tears.” Hawke’s calloused hands caressed the edge of the blade, skin just barely splitting (a cut so thin blood didn’t even bead. Or at least, that’s how the mage light made it appear). Her face was carefully blank no matter how Varric strained his eyes as she replied,  “They realized what it was for.” 

                                            ____________________ Varric tucked Hawke’s stories away for later contemplation. He embedded them into the skin of his arms with quill and ink, determined to remember their exact wording, on the night (or day or midmorning or whatever passed for time under the blasted Darkspawn damned ground) when Anders finally allows Justice out to play, emitting enough light and power that they can struggle their way to the surface, and Hawke mutters something about the Fade that has the spirit’s pupilless eyes settle on and see her. There’s something there.  A story.  He pieces it together in fits and starts. Junior, Carver Amell (who doesn’t deserve to go by that name, not with the sharp distaste he displays whenever Hawke calls him Carver like he’s asked), trails after them post-expedition and post-Bethany (sweeter than her brother, her bitterness reminiscent of dark chocolate instead of stale beer and regret) entering the Circle. Hawke doesn’t turn him away - Varric suspects she can’t after her sister turned her back on her protection and willingly joined the one thing their family had run from for years - and so Varric has a source of information.  He’s somewhat loathe to use it, though. He doesn’t love the way Junior wields his words. They’re such clumsy weapons - he’s liable to hurt himself just as badly as he intends to hurt Hawke. 

Still. Still - Varric is shameless in his pursuit of a story. He’s done more disgusting things (though sometimes...sometimes Hawke looks at him, ice-chip eyes warmed by firelight and wine and Wicked Grace, and her mouth twists a little. That same sardonic grin he’d seen underground when she told them freedom isn’t free. And he doesn’t like that look sitting on her face, not when it’s turned his way).  And it’s worth it. It repulses him to think it, but all those little bits of information he’s hoarded are worth it. Because their party is chased down by Tevinter thugs in a set-up orchestrated by a magic-hating elf tattooed in lyrium who can physically reach into a person’s chest to crush their heart, and the most fascinating thing to happen was little brother’s subsequent freak out.  “Chase him off!”  He hissed into Varric’s ear, bent double to do so and no doubt rendering himself a comical image (red-faced under Fenris’ cool scrutiny and Hawke’s stiff-backed refusal to turn to him).  “He can literally tear my heart from my chest. Forgive me if I’m not inclined to chase him off my lawn.”  Varric hissed back, half-hysterical as Fenris’ gaze drifted between them.  “You’ll have bigger things to worry about if he sticks around!”  Junior fired back, shaking Varric by the shoulders and gesturing at Fenris’ bristling armour and weapons.  “Hawke’s ‘I murder dragons and also really big spiders’ sized sword is almost the same size as his. While you’re all busy seeing which is the bigger thing to worry about, I’ll just run off to High Town in a set of heels where you lot will never think to look for me.”  Varric mutters, much more careful than little brother (the littlest, with his petty attitude - a little dog barking at some junkyard Mabari) to keep his voice down, though Fenris’ lips twitched anyway.  “Don’t talk about it like that.”  Junior snarled viciously,  “Her using it near him is exactly what I’m worried about. I don’t know what it will do.”  Now Fenris’ shoulders were drawing up, impossibly spiky pauldrons growing dangerously close to his ears as his gaze flitted over to Hawke, who sighed unhappily.  “I’m not going to stab you, Fenris. Not even in a fun way.”  She said, sliding her daggers back into their sheaths and rolling out her neck with a crooked grin (one that didn’t reach her eyes and sent another stab of dislike rolling through Varric towards her bratty little brother that rose in sharp competition with his curiousity).  “Is it enchanted?”  Fenris asked, gravelly voice walking a knifes’ edge between interest and distaste that mirrored Varric’s own thoughts too well for comfort (he was pretty sure Fenris was crazier than a nug on lyrium - the comparison wasn’t flattering).  “I’m pretty enchanted with it.”  Hawke replied, sweeping the oilcloth bundle off her back and resting her weight on the pommel, driving the tip of the blade against the cobblestones below,  “Most people find gifts enchanting, though.”  A not at all smooth or subtle evasion, though Varric had to admire the way she’d managed to imply that if it was enchanted, it certainly wasn’t her who had done it. Fenris had cottoned on to the same idea, but Carver looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel.  “Your...brother certainly seems to think there is something I would find distasteful about it. I doubt he’s worried about my wellbeing.”  The humour in Fenris’ voice didn’t quite cover his unease, but it did reflect a desire to please. Varric was certain the elf meant to stick around if he could  now that he was certain Hawke was no mage. “Distasteful?” Hawke laughs, leaning more heavily on the blade and flicking her gaze to Carver on time to see his wince,  “No, he only applies that word to our kinship. He thinks you’ll turn out to be a thief.”  Fenris’ jaw set and Varric’s heart quickened in response. Carver’s fingers practically crushed his shoulder.  “Of a blade?” Fenris asked, taking a menacing step forward.  Hawke chuckled again, though her knuckles had gone white where they wrapped around an exposed silvery green pommel.  “No,” She shook her head, sardonic twist of the lips in place as she tutted, “Of a life.”  Offence coloured Fenris’ sharp retort of,  “Yours?” Making it blunt and threatening as he drew even closer.  “Not mine.”  She shrugs,  "One that can’t be stolen, bought and sold. It’s a pointless fear related to those.”  She taps a single finger against Fenris’ exposed throat, directly over a silvery green line, before leaning back and hefting her blade back to its resting place between her shoulders. Carver abruptly lunged forward, fingers still buried in Varric’s tunic (dragging him a stumbling step towards Hawke despite his dwarven weight. Quite the feat for little brother).  “Don’t let her touch you!”  He snapped at the elf,  “Or she’ll kill you, too!”  Turning on her heel, Hawke's face disappeared from view. She began to stride away, heading off to the Hanged Man most likely, without a single glance back. Instead she called out over her shoulder: “Maybe my poison touch doesn’t affect dwarves, because Varric’s not dead yet, Carver. I think you might actually beat me to that particular punch.” Needless to say, the elf followed. Varric did, too, unable to walk away when his last sight of her was her back.  Junior didn’t.                                               ____________________ “She’ll kill you, too.”  Words meant something to Varric. Even the ones spilled from an imbecile’s lips (one who had realized Varric was not his friend, unfortunately. He couldn’t mourn the loss much, though something in his chest felt slightly out of place when Hawke cast a look about the Hanged Man on Wicked Grace nights and sighed at the utter lack of her brother’s presence. He’d come crawling back eventually, as unable to ignore her and she was him).  “Too.”  Meant something. It meant something in the context of that damnable blade, that sardonic twist of Hawke’s lips that meant she was telling a story, the one that meant honesty and a certain resignation (an animal glint in her eyes in the dark, a cornered animal that always knew the tunnel had an end, that always knew it was going to fight to its bloody last).  “What made them stop?” “They realized what it was for.”  “She’ll kill you, too!” Not enchanted, but enchanting. Apostate-forged in the Wilds by a man who bought his freedom for the price of destiny from a dragon. The answer was obvious. Somehow, though, Varric couldn’t quite put pen to paper. Couldn’t write down a new observation in one of dozens of journals dedicated to Hawke, the only way to keep track of all that made her her before she talked her way into making him forget.   Sighing, Varric pushed his unbound hair back from his face. Slipped his glasses from his nose. Pressed his forehead to the page as he closed his eyes.  He was shameless for a good story. Ruthless in its pursuit. He wanted - no, needed - answers.  And yet.  He could wait for this one. For another sardonic twist of the lips. For more crumbs that Hawke would drop at his feet, knowing he would pick them up, finding their reassembly as inevitable as her brother’s dislike and her mother’s silence (living in a manor Hawke had purchased with children Hawke had been bought and sold for).  Pressing his face ever further into the paper, Varric groaned in horror.  He didn’t want to be another inevitability in Hawke’s life.  He wanted to be a choice.                                      

[my-brothers-corrupted]

My Brothers, Corrupted

Chapter Three : Section 7 : the Two Masters

Chapter One l Chapter Two l Chapter Three

Henrik’s research on ways to return Blue’s magic leads him to a conclusion he didn’t want to find. Blue agrees to come home from hospital. Red and Dapper meet the stranger once again, and Max, at last, is able to give us some insight into just where Jack might be in all this trouble.

Trigger warnings for hospitalization, blood, and psychosis including hallucinations.

The Two Masters

Blue pulls you out from the place where he’s tucked you and Anti’s prying eyes away in a hospital drawer.

“Hey, sorry, I just wanted you to know real quick,” he says. “I’m not going to be persuaded otherwise or anything, okay? I want to go home with Trick.”

He rubs at his bruised nose gently, his eyes slightly puffy. “I feel like - like Anti can get me any time he wants anyway, so it’s just more people he’d get a chance to hurt. And I’m really scared about Trick. Cause he hasn’t visited me at all. And - ”

Blue has to stop, his eyes watering up, sniffling.

“Sorry… Ignore me, I’m being a baby. I just really need to see him. I’m scared about why he wouldn’t come to see me. If he won’t even talk to you, I want to bring you home so all of us can at least have an eye on him. It’s too scary not hearing anything from him. Knowing Anti could be hurting him, changing him… And I don’t think I can be in the hospital anymore. I’m starting to feel so fucking alone.”

He breathes out a long, shaky sigh.

“But you know, I think it was good for me. I’m glad you convinced me to stay. I had a couple more days to recover. I feel better. And just standing up to Anti… even if he kicked my ass, I think maybe it was a boost for me.”

He stares at the ground for a second, thinking.

“It proved something to me. Even if Anti beats me, even if Anti tries to convince me, even if he threatens the people I love - ”

Blue looks up at you. His eyes glitter.

“I am never letting him into my head again.”

A small smile quirks his torn lips.

“Hear that, Anti? Never. But if you want me to come home, I’ll come if you send Trick. The real Trick, asshole. I need someone to help me get home with the wheelchair and my oxygen. I’m ready to go. Just got one more thing to do.”

He places you on the side of the sink in his bathroom and breathes out a long, nervous breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. He pulls a shaving razor out of the bathroom drawer and plugs it into the wall.

“Not fucking with my hair anymore, either,” he whispers, flicking the power on, and then you watch as Blue, with tears making rivers down his face, shaves his hair down to snow-white roots.

Anonymous asked: We’re with you every step of the way, Blue. You got this.

“Thank you,” whispers Blue, shaking in front of the mirror.

He doesn’t know why he’s so upset. He doesn’t know why it’s so hard to look at himself.

“Stupid thing to get upset about,” he chokes, running his hand over his white, ruined hair.

His cannula is in his nose and his face is gaunt, hollow and complete with the great purple bruise and white bandage across his nose. He wears a soft blue hospital shirt and soft blue hospital pants, hanging off his thin frame. He has no jewelry shine on him except the one thing he’s managed to keep - his silver rose ring, quiet on his finger, and his eyes seem dull to him, with nothing lighting them from below and the cold glaze of the strange cataracts which the doctors cannot fix or understand.

“Used to take a lot of pride in my appearance,” he says, trying to straighten up, blinking the rapid hot tears away and breathing shakily.

He pauses and you see his expression shatter again, the grief welling up.

“Used to be really fucking beautiful,” he chokes, and covers his face with his hands.

You give him a moment to breathe and eventually he straightens up, holding up his chin.

“Fuck it,” he says. “It’ll be fine. It doesn’t matter. Nothing to be ashamed of in being sick! All that matters right now is seeing Trick again. Finding my brothers and then finding a way to be safe. The hair will grow back when Anti’s not around to control it.”

bupine asked: you still are beautiful, blue, just in a different way. you're incredibly strong and still fighting, and it shows. and one day you'll be beautiful in a way that you choose to be again, ok? just do your best to free trick from anti. red is slowly slipping from anti's control, and dap and henrik have done a great job remembering themselves. trick just needs his brother. remember, you've done your best up til now, and you're doing amazingly. we're all right here with you, dude!

“Yeah, yeah!” coughs Blue, nodding rapidly and wandering back into his room, gathering up his toothbrush and coloring book. “Exactly. That’s great advice, that’s perfect. Thank you, my friends. I have to hold on to stuff like that. Yeah.”

He sniffles and adjusts his cannula, sitting down on his bed.

“Is that true about the others? That’s good. I wish I was with them. All of them. I don’t care anymore, I just want to see them all. Dok gets so lost in his head sometimes. He acts tough but he’s usually scared… and my Dap, what’s he going to do if he doesn’t have his medicine? He plays doll or carver to feel safe even when he isn’t psychotic. But he’s tough though, shit, tough as leather, and him and Dok are clever too.”

He pauses, chewing on his nail.

“My poor twin,” he mumbles, his eyes going distant. “Deserves better than the weight of the world on his shoulders. Hope he’s letting Dapper share it with him. Tough as leather…”

Anonymous asked: Ah fuck. I understand your point Blue but uh... Just to prepare you, Trick's sort of fully affirmed that he's never leaving Anti's side. He put on his collar by his own decision. So... Yeah, if you're really going back with them just... Be prepared for that as much as you can. -🦀

Blue’s face has no color left to lose. He just stares at you, and then his gaze drops, numb and aching. He holds his knees to his chest and puts his head down.

“Wish I could be surprised,” he whispers, so soft you’re not sure he’s talking to you. “He’d just about die to feel wanted. Fuck, Trick, please don’t be too far gone…”

A knock on his door draws him back up again and he calls “come in” to bring in a small, smiling nurse.

“Hi, Matthew. Your brother’s back again.”

Blue shivers. “Um, okay. Please send him in.”

A person who looks like Trick shuffles into the room, his eyes low and uncertain, pushing the pad of his thumb against his palms again and again, a backpack over his shoulders.

“Hi,” he says, trying to smile, barely able to look at him. “Anti told me to come get you.”

spicydanhowell asked: chase? are you going to go pick up marvin from the hospital? he wants to see you darling

“Is it really you?” says Blue, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. “Or are you here to beat the shit out of me again?”

The blue eyes flicker and Trick squirms slightly, kicking his shoes against the floor and slipping closer. “It’s me, Blue,” he whispers.

“Prove it,” snaps Blue, still holding his knees to his chest.

Trick sighs shakily, dropping his fidgeting hands. “I don’t know how you want me to do that. Um.”

“Talk about your cat,” Blue demands.

Trick stares at him, blinking. “Noodle,” he says softly, and then finds his feet a little. “Is my kitten. And he’s the best kitten. He’s getting bigger. He’s going to be happy to see you.”

Moving forward one more time, Blue can see cat fur on his blue hoodie. Watching him carefully, he reaches out and pulls a strand away, rubbing it between his fingers. It’s real. Not simulated. Anti would never get cat fur on him.

“Why,” Blue tries, and his voice breaks, and he has to try again. “Why didn’t you come see me?”

Anonymous asked: Make sure it’s him Blue, no repeats of last time.

“It - it is me,” Trick pleads, sitting anxiously down on the bed beside him. Blue doesn’t look at him. “It is. I didn’t… Anti didn’t tell me he was going to hurt you. I think he just lost his - ”

“Trick, I swear to God!” Blue interrupts him, suddenly shouting, his eyes squeezed shut. “If I have to hear one more goddamn excuse - !”

Trick cuts himself off immediately, rubbing his hands together again, his breathing coming a little fast.

“Please just don’t,” croaks Blue, rubbing at his face. “Not now, baby.”

“I’m sorry,” whispers Trick. “I thought about coming to see you, but I just… still don’t understand why you stayed here. And I was scared you were just going to keep telling me that you weren’t coming home. Anti kept telling me it wasn’t worth it, that you were being stupid, but I should have come. I was being selfish… I’m sorry. I’m really glad you’re coming home now, Zul. I’m going to take really good care of you, I promise! I’ll make it up to you.”

Blue looks up at him at last, sighing deep. He reaches out to brush his bangs out of his eyes.

“Do you like it?” whispers Trick, trying to smile.

“The green?” asks Blue, exhausted. “If you like it, I like it.”

“Anti likes it.” Trick pulls reverently at his spring-green bangs. “I like it.”

Marvin strokes the side of his head, staring at him, his eyes hurting.

spicydanhowell asked: smh marv. should cut his hair too. put a stop to the bootlicking.

Blue’s eyes light up a little.

“Hm,” he says, staring at Trick’s hair.

“What? What does that say?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing.”

Blue glances at the bathroom.

“Hm,” he says again, narrowing his eyes. Trick frowns at him, pushing lightly at his shoulder, and the confusion on his face is enough to draw a soft laugh out of Blue.

“You look like you’re about to send an eagle to carry me into the sky!” says Trick.

Blue laughs again, pulling at his fringe. “Okay, okay, just… ah, Trick.”

“You don’t like it, do you? Blue! I don’t have Dok here to tell me I look good every day after shaving me, you can’t be tearing me down!”

Blue shoves him playfully, knocking their heads together, and Trick giggles, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Let’s just go, huh?” pleads Trick, pressing his head into his shoulder, listening to his big brother’s heartbeat. “Please? I’ve missed you and I don’t like this place.”

Blue sighs, warmer now, calmer now.

“Okay, muffin. Did you bring me clothes?”

“Yeah, you can use my t-shirts and stuff. Just a second.”

He hops off the bed to open up his backpack.

“Maybe in his sleep,” Blue whispers to you. “Just to piss Anti off.”

Anonymous asked: GREEN hair? NOW WHY DOES THAT REMIND ME OF SOMEONE H M? Anti you better not be projecting your complicated emotions regarding Jack onto Trick. Because that's just fucked up dude -🦀

Blue’s eyes pause, turning quizzical. He reads through your message once, twice, glancing at Trick, but when he turns to reread it the third time, the message is gone.

“You do look kind of like someone I know,” says Blue, tilting his head at him.

“Really?” says Trick low and slow, and Blue immediately snorts, realizing he’s about to be teased.

“I’m just saying - ”

“Hmm,” says Trick, straightening up and tapping his chin thoughtfully. “How strange that I look like someone? Who could that be? God knows there’s no one in our lives I look like!”

Blue is laughing, hitting him with the jeans he’s just been provided with, letting it flop into Trick’s arm.

“I definitely don’t have an identical twin… or any brothers who look similar to me… or any shape-shifters in my life…”

“Shut up!” laughs Blue, and Trick giggles, bouncing on his heels a little, reaching out to help Blue into his clothes.

“You’re a dork.”

“No, you, dumb-ass, you are.”

Anonymous asked: I don't think Trick's fully gone. He does understand in some way that Anti shouldn't have hurt you during his last visit but... He's been alone with Anti for a while now and as much as I hate to admit it, he's been rather gentle with him and when Anti had a fit last time I think Trick saw himself in Anti because Anti said he knows that nobody in their right mind would ever want him. I honestly think that if anyone is bringing him back from that edge, it would be you guys, his own family. -🦀

Blue is ready to go.

Dressed and in a wheelchair with his oxygen slung over his the back and an extra waiting in Trick’s bag, he glances at your message and then up at his little brother, who beams back at him. Sunshine Trick. Sometimes pain is a good manipulator. Blue doesn’t know how much of the hurt and insecurity Anti presents to Trick is real and he doesn’t care anymore. His little brother deserves better than him. His little brother deserves much, much better.

And you’re right, Blue agrees, he isn’t fully gone.

Trick takes up position behind him to wheel him along, bowing down over him to kiss his forehead. Blue strokes the sides of his head where the hair is still brown for a moment, letting himself be comforted.

“Love you,” he mumbles.

“Love you,” answers Trick, with certainty, with force. “Love you too.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Trick? Please be careful with your brother... and remember that he is always in your corner. He will try to help you, no matter the cost. Show him love!

“Yeah,” murmurs Trick, straightening up again, patting his shoulder. “He’s pretty damn good to me.”

He’ll take care of Blue, he swears it. He’ll do anything he needs. Be anything he needs. He can be anything anyone he loves needs. He’s getting very good at moving like that, adapting like that. He can make everyone happy if he’s careful enough, if he acts well enough for everybody, and that’s all that matters. He will make Blue happy whatever it takes. He will take care of his big brother. A powerful fondness rises up in Trick’s chest and he must breathe it out, smiling as he faces them towards the door.

“All checked out?” asks Blue.

“Yep, yep.”

“I have an appointment next week?”

“Yes. Got all your stuff?”

His toothbrush and his coloring book. The razor was a loan.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Trick strokes the soft white fuzz of his hair for a moment. “So we’re all ready to go home?”

Blue puts you down on his lap and fixes his proud gaze on the door.

“Yeah. With you? I’m ready to go.”

Whatever comes will come. He will still be fighting.

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

asexualzucchini asked: Jameson, you're not with Anti anymore

The morning greets you with a ruffle-haired Dapper scooping you off the bedside table and drawing you carefully over to him, pawing at his over-long hair and refusing to get up any longer than he has to, comfortable in the shared body heat of the weak mattress. It’s funny - in Red’s clothes, with his hair growing out, he should look more like Red, but he doesn’t seem to look much like Red at all, not the way all the others do. His face seems so young.

And, of course, the mustache.

Red is breathing heavy and slow beside him, his eyes shut and his bandaged arm thrown across his chest.

“I guess not,” signs Dapper, blinking around the room.

He pauses.

“I can’t remember when he’s supposed to come back. Are we…?”

His hands trail off, embarrassed, a line of distress clipping through his eyes.

He stares around the room, his mouth slightly open, and presses a hand to his head, trying to think.

He doesn’t remember anything.

For long minutes, he sits in bed, trying to orient himself in anything at all. He’s got little more than snippets to go on. He’s been reset so many times he’d be scattered under any conditions, and it doesn’t help that he’s broken his own timeline even more often. He knows some of the things he remembers are undone, and others are delusions, and still others feel like delusions because Anti made them seem that way. But some days this is a good thing for Anti to have done and other days it is bad. Gaps in his head stare back at him in judgement. Everyone else can keep their head on straight through the resets. Why do you keep going back and forth?

He laughs to himself. This is pathetic. It’s painful to be this scattered. Eventually, his brain settles on something and you see him calm down a little, picking you up again and beaming at you, settled into a headspace that feels safe.

“No, he’s not here. But he will be, soon, I expect,” he says, getting out of bed. “And I should make sure my twin is - no, wait!”

He pauses, confused but still smiling, giggling a little to himself.

“Were we trying to run away from Anti? Fucking bold, are we? Oh, Anti will be angry if he catches us. Is this Italy, then? Or - where did we run to? It’s after Japan. England again? Jackie found us, and then Jackie was Red, and then Jackie again, and - we are, aren’t we, are we running away from Anti?”

And then he flinches, hard, his eyes widening at something in the corner, and he sits back down beside Red, frowning. His own confusion is beginning to embarrass him and he signs “sorry” at you once, twice, three times, sighing a shuddering breath. Everything’s always changing but him. Maybe he’ll just let one of his brothers talk to you. That’s what he usually does.

aether-mae asked: Set it off Jameson

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He rubs at his face, shaking his head. “I’ve forgotten what this was referring to, I… I’m late to it, I’m not sure what it means.”

aether-mae asked: Jamie you know what to do, get to the church now-! You have control, you are an adult who makes his own choices. You can help save your brothers, even now. We will help guide you if you trust us

“Is that what we were doing?” he asks slowly, chewing on his lip. “A church… somewhere. I think I recall. Smoke and candlelight. A skull on display.”

He stares around the room.

“Because Red has been cruel with me. Because he’s a ghost. Because Anti killed him.”

Dapper shudders and grabs his shoulders, shaking his head out. Running away doesn’t sound like a bad idea. He couldn’t bear being thrown around right now. He wants his twin.

No, but he doesn’t have one anymore, does he? Anti said no more after what happened, and after that, there’s just rooms and rooms and rooms, all of them empty, and no one but Anti to sleep beside or talk to for months. Nobody even likes him. He bites his nails into his palms and sighs. It would be so much easier if they could just ever stop moving around and if Anti would stop changing everyone place to place, so suddenly he can never even tell.

“I could sneak out the door,” he says, staring at Red’s backpack. “There’s a little cash left. Maybe get on a bus.”

Anonymous asked: Uhh I don’t think going to the church is a good idea. The meeting place has been compromised, you’ll need to go somewhere else Jamie.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Should I wait, then, or should I go now, while he is asleep? Oh, look, he’s hurt. Did I do that to him? We fought. He slapped me and then I… I didn’t really mean to. We don’t get on well. Okay, not the church. I could go somewhere, though. I don’t want…”

He stares at his hands for a second.

“I don’t want to be seen like this anymore. I’m so… humiliated. All the time. All the time. I miss being - being - I don’t recall.”

bupine asked: you can't go to the church now, dap. that's not safe anymore. don't run away from red, he'll be terrified if you leave and if anti finds him without you he'll be in so much trouble. you two have to stay together, ok?

Dapper groans a little to himself and rubs at his shoulders. “I don’t want him to lock me in my room again. I hate being locked in my room. Why do I have to stop him from being terrified? Imagine being shut back into your prison cell every day and knowing it’s going to make you lose track of the person you are all over again. Half of my days are forgotten the next morning, so I just get locked in over - and over - and over - and over again. Dapper’s in his room. Dapper’s always in his room. Playing with his toys, isn’t he such a little boy? I don’t have anything else to play with…”

Then Dapper flinches again, hard, and scrambles back against the wall.

A pause, a wild shiver from him - and then a warm smile, and a dullness in his eyes, to keep him safe.

“No, no, I was being good,” he promises the hallway, sinking down against the wall. “I was, I was. Please, I’m sorry…”

immabethehero asked: You've got us to help you, Jameson, go for it!!!

Dapper shakes his head vehemently and shivers, gripping at the floor of the room.

“No, I wasn’t going to run, I wouldn’t. I’m here like you told me to be. I’m being good, look, I bandaged my big brother like you told me, I protected him. I am, I am.”

He covers his head with his hands for a second.

“Please, Anti, you know it scares me when your face changes like that. Please don’t smile at me like that.”

Anonymous asked: There’s no one there, Dapper, it’s just you and Red. There are no monsters.

Dapper’s eyes flicker to you, to the ceiling, to the door, his face twitching.

He covers his face, trying to breathe deep.

“There’s nothing there?”

He feels something grab his ankle and he gasps, jumping hard, but when he looks again, there is nothing but whispering around him, voices talking to him. He can hear Red telling him to shut the fuck up - yelling at him, Dapper, shut the fuck up, sit still, stop it - but the bed is unmoving and Red is still asleep. The world spins and something laughs at him from underneath the bed. He can see the red of its eyes.

“You’re being such a chore for me lately,” sighs a nearby voice, low and distorted with electricity. He feels hands wrap around his waist. Something is stroking his throat. “My little brother. Jack’s other monster. You are being such a little nightmare, Dapper. Is it any wonder he asked to stop having to be your twin?”

Dapper grabs his ears. There is a cat screaming and the squealch of blood as he puts his knife down into a body he doesn’t recognize. He can hear Blue murmuring reassurances at him and Trick shouting. He can hear the magician girl spitting insults at him as she carves her skin into patterns. Someone is talking about space travel. Someone is talking about Brexit. Someone is just laughing. He can hear St. John preaching Revelations. Something growls right in his ear and a hot, wet, slimy tongue touches his neck. Someone is knocking on the door.

“Please - I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m here to help. Please let me in, I don’t care if you don’t remember me…”

Dapper curls in on himself, choking.

bupine asked: we're not anti, k, jamie? it's just the cameras, just us that anti assigned to look after you. he can't see you at all right now. it's just us, this isn't a test or a trick. just us and jackie, us and red. you're safe right now. there's nothing coming to hurt you.

“Safe, safe, safe.”

Dapper chants it to himself, pressed back against the wall between the bed and the beside table, hiding his head between his knees.

“Safe, safe, safe!”

Someone is breathing on him. Someone is reciting his police record. There is a great dark figure on the ceiling, like a bat or a lizard, but all he can make out is its keening, green eye baring into him. His hands ache for his blade.

immabethehero asked: You could tell Red that you're capable of looking after yourself. Or ask if he'll bring you along. Then you can show your capability

“Will he believe me, will he?”

His eyes roll slightly in his skull, his breathing heavy and strangled in his chest, and he begins to sign nearly too fast to be followed.

“I hate it when he looks at me the way he looks at me. Red, red, I wasn’t meaning to hurt anybody it’s just - except, well, we are the gas station - I’m hungry, I’m so hungry, why do we never have enough to eat? Seems cruel of Anti but many things do. Can you tell I - well, I try to be good, but then other times goodness is not what he makes it seem to be, I don’t - ”

He pauses, staring blank-faced for a second, clawing at his ears, and his disorganization brings him back in a loop, and he says, “Yes, I hope Red would give me a chance to prove I’m plenty vicious all on my own.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Jameson, what are you seeing, honey?

“It’s just everyone’s being so loud! Stop, stop! Please be quiet! I am trying to do my best, I am! Why do none of you ever listen to me? I’m your brother too, I’m not a pet, I’m not. Turn down the radio, Red? Please? Can you turn down the radio? I don’t want to do that. Don’t make me again. I never meant to hurt anyone. I never meant to hurt myself. Make the knocking stop. I don’t want anyone to come into my room anyway. Stop knocking!”

The knocking on the door is, at least, going quieter, but everything else seems loud to him.

“Jackie, are you in there? I swear I won’t hurt you.”

“Everyone is talking to me.” Dapper sinks in on himself. “But no one ever listens to stupid little brother. Why won’t you be quiet?”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: You are allowed and more than entitled to feel however you are feeling, Jameson. Explain to Red what you are feeling... it might help him understand where you're coming from.

“No one is listening to me.” Dapper can barely sign for the shaking of his hands.

“Look, I - I’ll bust in if I have to, don’t make me.” Knocking on the door.

“No one is ever listening. I’m not even real anymore.”

“I’m not just giving up cause you hit me once, dumb-ass, you better know that. I don’t even care if Anti’s in there. I’ll put a bullet in him, I don’t care.” Knock, knock, knock.

Red shifts in his bed, groaning a little. Dapper can barely hear him. His ears are full.

Anonymous asked: Jameson, buddy, you need to calm down take a breather. Close your eyes and count to ten. Focus on relaxing your shoulders and just breathe. There is no one here but us, your friends, Jackie, and possibly Max at the door. You are okay, you are real, and you are safe.

He needs to calm down. He needs to.

No one’s here. No one’s here. Trick’s not shouting at him and Dok’s not crying and Anti isn’t touching him. There are no mice on his feet or worms in his hair. God isn’t trying to send him secret messages. He’s just psychotic. For a moment, it’s clear to him, he understands it, he could almost laugh - but the fucking paranoia, the fucking paranoia! He’s going to die and no one will care.

No, come on, breathe! You see him shudder as he sucks in air, sinking down on the wall, his hands mumbling incoherently.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Jameson, open the door. It's Max! He's a friend!

Dapper manages to look up, still trying to draw deep breaths.

“What - can you hear that too?”

Between the whispering and the shouting and the sobbing and the screaming. Beneath the preaching and the threats and the condemnation and the animal hissings.

Knocking and a vaguely familiar voice.

Max?

Jackie’s Max?

Dapper manages to get to his feet.

Anonymous asked: Yes! Jackie’s Max!

Dapper creeps to the door and peers through the peephole.

A little of his shaking quiets with something to focus on. He stares for a long time. Max has gone quiet. You think you can hear him shuffling a little in the hall, maybe walking in circles, and a deep sigh comes from him, low and hurting.

Dapper withdraws a little, frowning, rubbing at his face. Old, foggy memories and deep-set training are beginning to conflict in his head. He feels Anti standing close behind him.

Anonymous asked: When I have hallucinations, it always helps me to describe it to someone, but try to makes it sound silly, or to mock it/make fun of it until I can't do anything but giggle, even at the horrifying shit. Maybe try that, JJ, if you start having them? Describe them to us. Also, know you're never without hope okay? I know that's kind of a "haha sure" because of how long you've had to live through this, but trust me. There is always at least one ray of light. Find it as best as you can Jameson.

One ray of light.

Dapper tilts his head, thinking.

“I’m hallucinating that I see… someone I think I knew in another life. I don’t remember much of anything about him. But he is familiar, somehow. I’m not sure I like it. It is silly, it is.”

He laughs suddenly, hiccuping in his chest, and Max’s footsteps still on the other side of the door.

“It’s silly because it can’t be him. It was another lifetime. I was another person. How could he have searched all this time? Impossible.”

One ray of light.

bupine asked: dap, is it possible you can answer the door? it's not anti, it's an kld friend of jackie's, of red's. he wants to help you.

Dapper puts his hand on the door handle, breathing soft, quiet.

“Jackie,” you hear Max murmur.

Dapper lets the door open just a crack.

Silence for a second.

You can’t see much else but the door.

Dapper steps back a little. Max whispers the tiniest “thanks” you’ve ever heard. He steps inside the room.

They look at each other for a second. Max opens his mouth to speak, his eyes astonished.

And then you see Carver’s training snap right back into place.

“Motherfuck!” shouts Max, ducking out of the way of a sudden blow towards his face, and Dapper leaps at him, grabbing him by the hair and dragging him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, his teeth bared. On the bed is his brother, startling awake and sitting up straight. Anti will be back soon enough. And this?

Dapper dodges Max’s hands trying to grab him and slams him against the wall, snapping at his throat while Max hollers and tries to shove him back.

This is an intruder. Intruders are not allowed.

“Look, I know your entire family has always been practically feral,” gasps Max, driving his knee into Dapper’s stomach and making him fall back. “But seriously?”

Anonymous asked: DAPPER NO STOP HE ISNT AN INTRUDER HES A FRIEND A FRIEND !!!

“What they said!” shouts Max, sweeping Dapper’s legs out from under him and managing to make him crash backwards, though he grabs Dapper’s shoulders to keep him from falling hard. “Please, bud! I’m here to help! Unless you’re possessed right now, in which case, fuck you, Anti!”

Dapper whistles shrilly and grabs Max by the throat, but Max has a lot of strength on Dapper and he throws his fingers off, twisting Dapper’s arm to try and pin him. You hear an indignant yelp from the bed and then Red is crashing into the both of them, shoving Max away from Dapper, and both of them go tumbling to the ground on either side of Red, panting hard.

“Stop!” shouts Red, holding out his hands.

Max and Dapper stare up at him.

Dapper’s eyes are distracted, constantly flickering around the room, his face twitching continuously, and Red can see in an instant that he’s in the middle of a very bad start to the day. He staggers back to his feet and races to the bathroom, finding his pretty Christmas knife sitting beside the sink and clutching it to his chest, breathing a little easier with his protection.

Max, on the other hand, is still, is staring.

Red needs to go look after Dapper. Red needs to move. Red needs to do something, say something, do anything at all.

But Max is just looking at him and he can’t move.

“Dap,” he manages finally, almost choking. “Get the handcuffs.”

Anonymous asked: Haha ...uh what? Handcuffs? For who?

Max gives one short little sigh, his face cross.

A minute later he is sat down in the chair next to the desk in the room, his wrists handcuffed together behind him.

“Great,” he says. “This is really fun. I love reunions. Happy morning, everyone.”

“Shut up,” snaps Red, his voice trembling worse than Trick’s.

He’s sitting on the bed with Dapper, holding his little brother’s shoulders, trying to help him find his way back to coherency. Dapper trembles and trembles beneath his hands, his fingers mumbling about Anti and monsters and voices and memories.

“Hey, it’s not real,” whispers Red, squeezing his shoulders gently. “Can you focus on me, please?”

The air conditioner rattles. Sweat drips down Dapper’s forehead. Max shifts in his chair.

“Is he okay?” he asks.

“Why do you care?” spits Red, clutching his little brother to his chest.

Max just stares at him. He looks just as tired as Red does. There is a faint smell of petrichor in the air, but it has not rained.

Anonymous asked: Happy Morning, Max. We are so sorry.

“This is actually not dissimilar to the way we first met,” says Max, happy to narrate to you while Red tries and fails to ignore him. “Or like the fifth time, we met, I suppose. But he was the one in the handcuffs. So I will forgive it. Happy morning! Juice Box, why isn’t he on medication?”

“Don’t pretend you know anything about my family!” shouts Red.

Max frowns, real grief in his eyes, though he keeps his voice calm and chipper. He has a clean British accent. “I’ll be quiet if you really want me to be. Do you?”

Red can’t seem to answer, stroking Dapper’s shoulders. His little brother’s eyes are beginning to get a silver light in them as he struggles to find his place in the timeline, disoriented and upset. Red squeezes his shoulders tight.

“You gotta stay with me, buddy,” he mumbles, just for Dap. “I’m going to keep you safe but you gotta stay with me.”

Dapper doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed on whatever’s on the wall behind them. Red sighs, his chest aching.

“My name’s not ‘Juice Box,’“ he says after a second, turning to glare at Max. “That’s stupid.”

“A little,” agrees Max. “Which is why I like it, Juice.”

“Fuck, just - don’t call me that. And definitely don’t call me that… other name you were saying.”

“What should I call you?”

Red glances at Dapper. At Max. At the door.

“Just call me Ro,” he says finally.

Anonymous asked: I’m kinda impressed you’re taking this so well, Max. And really happy you’re here. Ro had snuck off to get James some meds but he’s not sure he’s got the right ones. That’s how he got the cops attention, btw.

“Mmh,” sighs Max, laughing a little. “Thanks, I’ve just… had my freak-out last night, I guess. You should have seen me then. I, uh. It’s a lot to process. That he doesn’t remember me. And doesn’t seem to want to.”

He laughs, slumping back against his chair a little. “I just… whatever he does, I’ll be here for it. It might upset me. But I won’t leave. I am - fuck, I’m - I’m angry and I’m confused and I’m scared for him and for me and probably Anti will be back to kill me soon, but it just doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve looked for him for a long time and I’m sure he’s had it worse than me. So I’ll do my blubbering and breaking down on my own time. Right now I gotta be calm cause he’s not calm in the least.”

Max pauses, tilting his head.

“Also, who the fuck are you?”

Anonymous asked: We’re friends with the boys, and we’ve been trying to do what we can to get them away from Anti. It has, by no means, been a smooth ride, but we’ve tried our best. Also, Anti isn’t here. These two got split from the rest of them so they’ve been away for a while. I mean... Anti might know where they are but it’s not a for sure thing.

“Ah,” says Max, his eyes lighting up. Ro has gone slightly pink in the cheeks, turning his eyes away. “You were separated from Anti. That’s why I was able to find you.”

“Stop,” Red demands, striking his hand against his palm, but Max is excited, now.

“Ro, this is good news, you - you’re away from him, he’s not hurting you, we can get you someplace safe before he comes back - ”

“No!” snarls Red. “No, Anti is my brother!”

Max’s mouth stills, slightly open.

“Anti isn’t bad, Max,” says Red, and suddenly he needs him to know it, he needs to make him understand, he needs him to agree. “You just don’t understand! He’s my family, he - I’m still trying to figure some things out, but he’s not a monster. When he stole me away and took my memories, he wasn’t doing it to hurt me. We were being manipulated by our old master. He was saving us, protecting us.”

Max’s eyes have gone hard and silent. He stares at the floor, his mouth taut.

Red leans back, trying to breathe. He doesn’t know why Max’s silent disagreement upsets him.

“He’s going to find us soon and we’re going to go back with him,” finishes Red quietly. “If you’re here then, you’re dead. I don’t know you and I won’t protect you. End of story.”

Dapper turns over in bed, looking at them. The air conditioner blows across Max’s soft black hair, letting dark strands into his deep eyes. Ro is momentarily breathless.

“You said you had medicine?” asks Max.

“What?”

“For Jameson. You stole some?”

“His name is Dapper.”

“Yuck. Have you given it to him yet?”

Ro blinks. He hasn’t even looked at it yet.

“Maybe you should.”

After a moment, Ro gets up to check out the medicine he stole. Fanapt.

“Ah, shit,” he groans.

“No,” protests Dap, when he sees the label on the bottle. “No, no, no.”

“Anti just gave you too much last time, it might have worked if you just started slow.”

“No F-A-N-A-P-T,” Dapper insists, hiding everything but his hands beneath the blankets on the bed. “No, no, no.”

“Your eyes are silver…”

Dapper does not answer, drawing his hands down into his blanket burrow. Red sighs, tempted more than he’d like to admit to just force him to take the medicine. But that was what Anti had done too, and it had upset Red.

“I’m glad you two, at least, are alive,” says Max, very soft.

Anonymous asked: We're, uh. Complicated, in a word! Heh. We can talk to the Jackie and his brothers (and Anti, sometimes) through these cameras. And we really want to help them get away from Anti. We knew them before he got his hands on them, too. Though, also totally get if you're skeptical; mysterious voices through technology is fair game for suspicion with Anti about. But basically, we're doing our best to keep the boys as safe and healthy as they'll allow.

“Please, if you were Anti you’d be here shrieking at me already.” Max laughs. “Too impatient to try tricking me. He killed a lot of people we knew when he stole them away, you know, but his dumb ass didn’t take the time to come looking for me. I was undercover at the time. No contact with Jackie or anyone I knew. Got back two months later and there was nothing but a trail of blood. The five of them gone and so many of the people they loved dead. But he didn’t have the patience to find me.”

Max’s dark eyes fix on a black stain on the wall, his mouth curving into a smile while his eyes narrow into slits.

“His fucking mistake.”

bupine asked: red, if you let max go, he can maybe get ahold of some haldol for you. you can trust him to come back - he really does care for you, much more than you realize. he can get some for dap and then he'll be ok. haldol is the right medicine, right?

“I thought Dok said the Haldol wasn’t working anymore,” frowns Ro.

“No… he said that to cover for me when I was being disobedient. The Haldol was fine.”

“What? Dok lied to Anti’s face?”

Dapper says nothing. Ro stands back, blinking.

“Well, maybe he’s got more courage than me after all,” mumbles Ro, glancing over at Max. After a moment, he goes to sit back down next to him, thinking.

Dapper’s the manipulator here. But maybe Red could get this person to do some favors for both of them.

That means putting trust in him, though, a part of his brain reminds him, and Red squirms anxiously, rubbing his tired face.

Anonymous asked: Ro, if he trusts you enough to let you handcuff him to a chair, because don’t think for a moment he couldn’t have kicked your ass, I think you can trust him. remember the third option? You wanted it last night, here’s your chance.

Ro scoffs. “You couldn’t kick my ass.”

Max’s face lights up a little. “Oh, you little punk. Guess again.”

“No way.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“I hit you last night!”

“Your surprised me with an asshole move!”

“Your fault for being surprised. I’m very fast, no one ever sees me coming.”

“Hey, I’m bigger, though. I’ve got three inches on you!”

Red is not blushing. Nope. Definitely not.

And he definitely doesn’t feel warmer at the sound of Max laughing.

“I want to talk to you about everything!” cries Max suddenly, re-invigorated and beaming so brightly at him Red might need to sit down. “I don’t care what it is, I want to know everything, I need to, you don’t know how worried I’ve been. Fuck, Ro.”

And then there are tears in his brown eyes, and Red backs away, alarmed, overwhelmed. Max turns his face away, closing his eyes, trying to stop his voice from trembling.

“Sorry. Fuck. You know, I - I was looking for James, not you. Because all I knew about Anti back then was that he was the person who had kidnapped Jameson once before and that he wanted to do it again. And you made me promise, if Anti ever killed you and the others, that I would find him and help him, no matter what it took. I didn’t realize Anti would have any interest in keeping you alive too. I thought…”

Tears are dripping down Max’s cheeks, turned away from Red, quiet in the grief of the memory. Ro stares at him. He can hear Dapper moving sleepily in the bed.

His little brother. His littlest brother.

“I asked you to protect… Jameson?”

Max nods, slowly, still hiding his face.

Ro sits back, shaking his head.

“Max, who are you?” he whispers, looking up at him.

Max opens his eyes, deep as oceans, and turns to him with a fragile smile. In that moment, he sees a million of things that Jackie has been through, and a million of the things that are still hurting him, and a million hurting parts of his heart, and none of it is fair, and none of it is okay, and all Max can do is whatever he can do. Right now, Jackie is overwhelmed, is struggling, is afraid of him. Max will not overwhelm him more.

“Sorry for crying,” he chuckles. “I’m just a friend. And I’ve finally found you, and you’re alive. I’m just a friend who wants to help. Okay?”

Ro nods slowly, staring at the floor.

Anonymous asked: Don’t feel too discouraged, Max. He doesn’t like to accept what Anti really is because he thinks that makes him a monster for helping bring his brothers to him. It’s not his fault, he was brainwashed, but he’s got a lot of self-loathing and it’s not gonna let up anytime soon. He’s very slowly making progress, figuring it out and all. But I think he’s even more stubborn then he was before.

Max nods slowly, chewing on his lip.

“You must have been through a lot, in the past year,” he whispers.

He doesn’t know why he whispers. To be gentle, he supposes. To be close to him. To make him come closer. And Ro does - Ro scoots slightly forward with his chair, still fixated on the carpet. His mouth opens for a second, like he’ll admit it - yes, Max, you don’t even know, everything has hurt and hurt and hurt for as long as I remember, I’m so fucking tired, I’m doing my best but nothing makes sense and everything is fucking painful and I’m so wildly scared of you because I think maybe you knew me when I was a better man and I can’t be what you remember me being, not anymore, and you won’t want me once you see that -

But he doesn’t say anything.

Max swallows and finds a joke. “More stubborn?”

Ro’s mouth quirks.

“That’s not possible, is it?”

Ro rolls his eyes, sitting back, his mouth twitching.

“Fuck’s sake. You must be a goddamn mountain. Maybe I should just give up now! More stubborn, we’re all done for. Didn’t think it was possible.”

“I could punch you,” grumbles Ro, but without any heat, and when he looks up to meet Max’s eyes, they are both smiling, just a little, in the corner of the motel room.

bupine asked: you used to trust him a hell of a lot, red. you can do that again.

Red shivers slightly, rubbing his palms together. He hears Dapper get up beside him and snag the little grocery basket, pulling out their loaf of bread and getting out a slice to eat piece by delicate piece, pushing the soft bread into his mouth without butter or meat. The thought makes Ro’s stomach hurt.

“Is that all you have right now?” frowns Max.

Shame. Shame heating up his face. Coiling in his gut. He doesn’t answer.

“Hey,” says Max, trying to make him re-focus. “I’ve got money, Ro.”

“I don’t need your charity,” snaps Red, turning his face away from him.

Max sits back, frowning.

“You haven’t been able to take care of your brothers at all, have you?”

“I’ve done everything I could!” answers Red, and he doesn’t even know why he’s suddenly shouting, but he is, and his heart is quaking in his chest. “I have, I have! I - I - I’ve starved for them, I’ve taken beatings for them, I’ve - ”

His voice shatters. He hides his face, shaking. What else is he going to say? He’s beat them, too. He’s hurt them, yelled at them, taunted them, ignored them. And no, he hasn’t taken care of them, not enough, never ever enough, and for months it has made guilt and self-hatred ache like a coal of fire in the middle of his chest, and this - this is the worst of it, the others completely lost to him, Dapper starving and psychotic, trapped in this shitty little motel room, not even on good terms with him, not even -

Dapper’s hand are on his shoulders.

“Ro,” whispers Max. “It’s okay.”

Ro’s hand snag Dapper’s wrists and he presses himself against his little brother’s chest, hugging him fierce. Dapper clicks softly against his ears. One click means Red. Biggest brother. Click.

Dapper isn’t blaming him.

“I’m sure you did your best,” says Max. “It isn’t your fault.”

Like a benediction. Ro doesn’t even know if it’s true, but fuck, does he want it to be. It isn’t your fault. He’s buried in Dapper’s shirt, clinging to him.

He trusted Max with his safety? His Dapper? His little brother? Dapper is rubbing his back lightly, sighing against his ear, and he’s okay, for now, he is. He’s okay. Red pulls away to look at him, holding his head in his hands for a second, and Dapper stares right back at him. Honestly… he’s a tough little person. Red had never thought much about it before. Tough and forgiving. Embarrassed, Ro keeps his arm around Dapper’s waist, and together, the two of them turn slightly back towards Max, who’s -

Picked his way out of his handcuffs?

“Oh, fuck off,” signs Dapper, scowling. “I’ve been trapped in those little shits for hours on end.”

Max hands him a little lockpicking tool without hesitation, giving him a bright smile, and Dapper lights up a little, taking it from him and clutching it between his hands. Ro stares between the two of them, blinking.

“Gonna lock me up again?” asks Max. “Maybe in the bathroom or the closet this time? Tie me to the bed? We could get creative with it.”

Ro shakes his head slowly, shyly looking up at his bruised face.

“Awesome,” says Max, and from his smile, even Red knows he means it. His brown eyes are bright with a little extra water in them, but for them he’ll be calm. For them, anything.

“Well, then,” he says, taking another step towards the two of them, hooked arm-in-arm. “Can I bring you guys some pancakes?”

Anonymous asked: Oh, Max, you be careful with that attitude of yours. Don't get cocky. Your enemy's much, much closer than you think, and more dangerous than you know, even with all you've learned already. He has dogs at his heel and stolen magic at his command, and he single-handedly slaughtered a whole building of magicians. What do you think he'll do to you, a single mortal man, who's actively trying to take two of his pets and is from before they were Anti's besides? You be fucking careful where you step.

Ro takes a moment to hide in the bathroom, trying to calm himself down. Dapper sits back on his bed, chewing on his bread, having an easier time shaking off the voices now, with everything calmer. And Max has a moment to look at you - to turn the camera over in his hands, brushing his fingers along the smooth black body, staring in to the cold gleam of the staring lens - and he reads your message, and he smiles, just a little, that cold half-smile, and you can see the hatred in him, the hatred that has been devouring him whole for months on end, when Jackie’s corpse and Anti’s laughter were the only things he could think about.

“Either Jackie and Jameson are coming home with me, away from Anti, for the rest of their lives, or Anti’s going to cut my throat open and leave me for the dogs.”

He sets you down on the little table and turns away from Dapper, staring out the window, his eyes glittering.

“I’m done chasing his shadow. Time for him to show his coward face. He killed me once the day he stole them and there is nothing more now that he can do to me.”

He turns his narrow, golden gaze back to you. Tiger eyes.

“Tell your master,” he says. “To come and fucking get me.”

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

Anonymous asked: It’s good to have you back, Doc.

There’s piano music playing games in the garden. Up and down and back down the keyboard. Laughter.

“You told me you were good at this!”

“I told you I think I used to be good at this!” Henrik shoves into Hermann’s shoulder and scoots him down the piano bench.

“You better become good fast or I will soon be the better,” warns Hermann, trying to reach across the keyboard. Henrik pins his hand down and continues his melody, snickering as Hermann tries to fight back, and soon they are on either side of the keys with different melodies interrupting each other.

“Ha, you missed a note.”

“You missed a note!”

“Idiots, get some sheet music!” insists Genesis, coming up behind them and stealing some papers out of the top of the piano. Henrik and Hermann let out laughter in the form of acceptance and steady themselves on the keys, sitting side by side.

“Okay, old man, ready?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

And a melody kicks up, low and pretty between them.

It’s good to have you back, you tell him.

The wind is blowing warm through his hair and there are no wounds or illness to hurt him. He knows he is safe and he will eat soon, a full meal. The weight is coming back to his bony stomach and arms. This morning, he and Nina went for a walk, just because they could, to talk and move and feel the freedom of the trees.

It’s good to have myself back, he thinks, and the music flows out of him in harmony.

Anonymous asked: Henrik, it's so good to have you back. We're going to get all of your brothers back to you and away from Anti. They will all know their names and you'll be together again, whatever it takes.

“Okay, okay, I got the good stuff!” calls JP, rolling up to the table on the stone nearby and slamming down a huge pile of books, making Henrik jump and then laugh nervously at himself, rubbing his arms. “This is what the Old Man recommended, there’s got to be something to help the sick magician in here.”

Henrik touches Hermann’s shoulder and gets up, hurrying to sit down with JP and Genesis. There are children flicking sand at each other in a little playbox nearby. Henrik reaches out and his hands pause over a book at the top.

“Go ahead,” smiles JP, and Henrik takes it, flipping open a page right away.

“Oh, wait, Spanish.”

“Here’s a few in English,” says JP, sliding him a stack.

Henrik lets out a breath, trying to steady himself, and he adjusts you on your place on the table, pulling you a little closer.

“Thank you,” he says, adjusting a new pair of glasses. “I hope so too. But I don’t know, I - I want Anti to remember himself too… He can’t have always been like this. He is still my brother.”

Genesis and JP exchange glances, but they don’t say anything.

bupine asked: henrik, i think some people are beyond redemption. i wish i could say there was a way to save anti. but remember all the things he did to you and your brothers. he's a terrible, manipulative person, and not all terrible people can be saved

Henrik’s mouth trembles slightly. He can’t bring his eyes up to the lens, absorbing himself in a book labeled, in bright blue words, “the Talisman.”

Genesis prepares a smile for him in case he looks up, but he doesn’t.

Anonymous asked: Anti's a coward, and weaker than he'll admit Henrik. He took you all out one by one because he can't handle you all together. But now that we have you back, we can get them all back. And he won't be able to hurt you anymore.

“I do want to be back with them,” he says softly. “That’s the most important thing.”

He glances up a little, a sly shine coming back to his eyes.

“For now, I guess you assholes will have to do,” he sighs, and Genesis snorts and pushes his book shut on top of his hand in retaliation.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Hen, do you by chance know a guy named Max?

“Max, I don’t think so.” He looks up at the others. “A magician?”

“No one I know,” says JP. “Hey, look at this - so I knew magical transfer was possible, right, but I thought it was just pieces of it, right? But apparently - well, you can’t read this. It says that something called a ‘Complete Gift’ of magic is possible, but only if the only giving the magic away is already on their deathbed.”

Henrik stares down at the book for a second, chewing on his lip. JP runs his hand nervously through his hair.

“Guess it… doesn’t apply?” suggests Genesis.

Henrik nods forcefully, his eyes flickering. “Yeah… doesn’t apply. Right?”

“Stealing seems to be a very different matter than giving away,” admits JP with a sigh. “But magic like that is so dark these books either refuse to acknowledge it or believe it’s impossible.”

Hermann comes to sit down between them, holding out his crucifix necklace. “My dad gave this to me when he was dying,” he says. “That’s why it’s so powerful, I think. It’s not as strong as he was, but it’s a good chunk of energy. Something about that line that holds us to life getting thinner - it makes it easier for the magic to move. Maybe that’s why your friend is so ill.”

Henrik stares at the crucifix, his hands worrying together in his palms.

“We’ll keep looking,” says JP.

“He shouldn’t have taken it,” mumbles Henrik, staring down at his books again. “It was wrong of him… we trusted him. He hurt Blue.”

Anonymous asked: Red and Dapper have bumped into someone they knew pre-Anti. Don't worry, he's an old friend of Red/Jackie's. He is there to help them out (as much as they'll allow him to at least). Just thought you might want an update since they're the closest to you.

“Oh.” Henrik blinks, tilting his head. “Oh, that’s… are they safe? The stranger won’t hurt them? They should be careful. How do you know they used to know Red? They could be a trick or a cop. I wish I was with Dapper, I need to take care of him, he gets so sick…”

His hands scrape at the pages of the book as he tries to stay calm, letting out another deep breath.

Everything is fine here, but he still always seems to feel so nervous.

“Do they - do they remember anything about me?”

He remembers nothing about himself.

Anonymous asked: Henrik, you need to let the magicians find Anti, and quick, please. He's turning Trick into... into some type of pet. He's changing his appearance to look like the old master. He's manipulating him into a baby, the same he did to Dapper. You need to let them save your brother. Help them, if you can. I'm worried for Trick. He willingly wore the collar.

Henrik’s whole body seems to still.

He sits without moving for so long that the chatter of the others cut off. You can feel their eyes on him. His face is blank. He’s staring at his book.

“Henrik,” mumbles Hermann, reaching for him.

He jerks his hand away. “My name is - ”

He cuts himself off. The birds chirp, cheerful, in the trees. The pages of his book rustle.

“Can I go?” he asks, his voice strained.

“What?” says Genesis.

“I want to go back to my room,” he says.

Genesis looks at JP and Hermann.

“Okay,” says JP, frowning. “Of course you can. Do you want me to - Henrik!”

He’s already up, scooping the English books into his arms and snatching you up, his cheeks beginning to get red with the stress as he books it down the hallway until he is running towards his room. At last, he reaches the door and throws himself inside, slamming it shut behind him and collapsing next to his bed, trembling from how hard he can feel his heart race, his face taut with agony.

It takes him a long time to breathe.

“I should be with him!” he screams, and he throws both you and the books to the side, buries his face in his arms on his knees, and curls in around himself.

Anonymous asked: Hen, it’s not your fault that this happened.

“I’m the older twin,” he whispers, rubbing at his wrists. “I’m supposed to protect him. He hates that collar… he’ll tell you he likes it, but he doesn’t. It’s humiliating and it reminds him of the days when master was still breaking us in. If I were there he would have me to look after him, at least in the nights, when we were together, alone, and he would know he was not… he was not… a pet.”

spicydanhowell asked: hen, baby, idk if this helps but he's only like this because he's constantly hypnotized. once he's away from anti, he'll get better. i promise. marvin is there trying to knock some sense into him.

“No, why, what did he do?” groans Dok, shaking his head and hiding his face in his hands. “No, no, no, just tell him to be good so Anti will not keep hypnotizing him! He gets so disoriented! He doesn’t like things in his head! He will snap out of it and then he will look back at himself and - and sometimes it is too much for him to bear, he can’t just - he can’t just be hypnotized all the time, it means he doesn’t think at all about the things that hurt him, and then they must all well up at once and come crashing down on his head. Blue is there! Blue’s not me. He doesn’t know my twin, my twin! Just tell Trick to be good, to be quiet, to hide…”

hollenka99 asked: Blue is doing his best to remind him of that while you're all separated.

Dok shivers and grips his own shoulders. “Keep an eye on him for me… please? I can’t watch him hurt himself anymore…”

bupine asked: henrik. you can't help trick of you're under anti's control. THIS is how you help him, ok? you need to get better. blue is already free from anti's control as far as we know. if we can get red and dapper out of anti's control, trick will be the only one left and it'll be easier to help him. ok? we'll keep an eye on him, we'll hell him as best we can. but you need to get better. once you're well, you can better help your twin.

He tilts his head back and forth, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“Well…”

He pauses, rubbing his hands together.

“Yes, maybe… yes, okay. This is all so wild, I… I don’t know what will happen. At some point, Anti will come to get me, and I don’t know what will happen then. I don’t even know what I would choose.”

Doktor rubs his hands together. Henrik leans back against the bed, sighing.

“Yeah.. yeah, it would be good for me to be more steady for Trick. I’m always…”

He pauses, swallowing, looking down at the floor in his embarrassment.

“Always going all still and dead-eyed on him,” he mumbles. “Get stuck in my own head. I think, after this, I’ll be able to look after him better.”

Anonymous asked: But you’re not there, love, so there is no use dwelling on it. What’s done is done and now we just have to try and fix it. It’s better that you’re here now because you’re awake and you’re getting stronger as the days go past. He’s got Blue with him now, who is very much awake, so I’m sure he’ll be in good hands. It’s not a good situation, no, but we’ve got to look for solutions. We’ll figure this out, okay? You’ve got to focus on what’s important and that’s you and recovery.

“Easier said than done,” he sighs, but he tries to steady himself nonetheless, sitting up and pulling a book back into his lap. He does want to focus on -

“Oh, not my recovery,” he laughs. “Look at me, I’m fine. You mean Blue, yes, I need to focus on that.”

Anonymous asked: If I may say, Hen? Maybe he should be with you, here, instead of you being with him? You can be twins here, with the library and the kids and the good food.

He pauses, thinking.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment, and then he’s smiling, his eyes a little faraway.

“Yes, haha. Can you imagine? If Trick was with me? He would have been so wild at first, of course, ha, but then… yes, he would play with Rosie and Basilio and Benigno and we would eat and I would look after him. He would be here now - ”

Henrik reaches out like he can see him in the doorway.

“Making jokes at me and helping me look through the books, playing with our cat. And we would be okay and he’d be happy and he could take his medicine every morning and tell me when he was scared. And no one would hurt him.”

His out-stretched palm closes. He smiles at nothing, feeling both exhausted and re-invigorated by the thought, smoothing his palms across the pages of his book. The heading at the bottom of the next page is “Magic Theft” but Henrik hasn’t looked yet.

“I want to give him… this,” says Henrik, looking all around him. “I want him to have everything he wants. My Trick.”

bupine asked: do you remember trick's name, henrik? his real name? just out of interest, since you've remembered yours.

“Ahh,” breathes Henrik, turning away. “I… yes, I’m the only one who’s meant to remember it. Me and Anti. It’s mine to guard, you see. That’s what twins do. There has to be a remnant somewhere. You have to see it in your brother’s face that he is protecting that part of you.”

He chuckles to himself.

“I would not have remembered it on my own, I don’t think, but Trick and I break the rules sometimes. We’re not supposed to tell it even to each other, but… we do. Trick and I do, anyway, when we need to hear it, I suppose. Because it still means something. Yes? It still means something. For me - I think I am meant to be more Henrik than I am Dok, but… it isn’t easy. For him - it’s not mine to decide. It’s my secret.”

He touches his heart.

“But yes, I have it, I keep it.”

Anonymous asked: So Marvin... What are the chances of Anti still having that book he used to take your magic on hand? If he still has it, do you think you could find it? Henrik is looking into magic theft on his end but we're missing a lot of information it seems.

Blue looks up at Trick, who has his legs laid across Blue’s stomach, playing on his switch enthusiastically. “Trickster, do you know if Anti still has that book?”

Trick is biting down on his lip, apparently trying to catch a horse in Breath of the Wild 2. “Uhhh, the big black one? I don’t know.”

“I could go sneaking around if you really needed it,” Blue tells you.

spicydanhowell asked: henrik. honey. you're not going back with anti if he comes for you. you wont go. he'd just turn you back into a mindless drone and traumatize you all over again. trust me.... i know its easy to downplay the harm that was done to you... but you are not going back to an abuser. you're going to help rescue your best friend from that monster who hurt you both for so long. you're going to be brave.

He stares at you for along time, his blue eyes calm. He looks away.

“I’ve been thinking about that a great deal these last few days,” he says. “Well, really this whole… what, week and a half?”

He turns back to you, and in that moment even he could not tell you if his name was Dok or Henrik.

“I don’t want to be treated the way Anti treats me anymore. I won’t lie down at his feet anymore. But I - I won’t leave him if any of my brothers are stuck behind with him.”

Henrik closes his eyes. Warmth on his face. Wind through the window. A full belly. He’ll savor it while it’s his.

“I have to be with them,” he says. “Wherever they are. I have to look after them. The cost to myself does not matter.”

His eyes slide open. Storms, now, where the calm water once was.

“But I will never - ”

He holds his hands together, squeezes and opens his eyes, holds his proud chin up higher, higher. Breathes.

“I will never let Anti make me his slave again. I will never let him put the film back over my eyes. He was wrong. He betrayed me. If ever he loved me - if he still does - it doesn’t matter. He isn’t safe. He’s hurt me and I will not let him make me forget it.”

Anonymous asked: Either the next chapter has information on what you need or it's a magical adventure in pickpocketing. Either way, look into it, Henrik

Henrik looks down at the caption and laughs, trying to shake off his weariness.

“Magical pickpocketing, yeah, I need to know about that for Blue, hahaha. Okay, okay, I get it, here’s something about him, right? Maybe I finally found something, I can tell JP and we’ll figure out how to help him.”

Henrik flips the page. “Ugh, these tiny little words. How am I supposed to focus?” He drums his fingers against his leg and tries to zero in, hoping his brain will get lost in it.

To strip magic from another being’s person is a curse requiring an intensely focused power, likely impossible without great magical talent already present and perhaps an outside, conjoined, or bolstered source of magic.

“The equator,” sighs Henrik. “He really planned it for so long, just to hurt Blue.”

Though the idea may sound appealing to ambitious sorcerers, the legends tell us that this kind of theft is a curse not only to the corpse from which it is stolen, but also to the one accepting the power.

“Corpse?” whispers Henrik.

Magic is not “transferable” in any traditional sense of the word. It is not an additional power or lifeforce or substance, not something that is given or received, but something that is woken up within the individual and a part of them from a young age. It is not an organ transplant so much as one attempting to take something intrinsic and intangible - perhaps the thought of trying to steal someone’s intelligence might be a passable comparison.

“Is Anti… okay?”

Magic stolen can only be wielded for a short time before it begins to make demands of its current owner, attempting to manipulate its own environment back to the one in which it belongs. This is apparent in the case of Vladimir the Great, who, after stealing the entirety of his court magician’s power, soon after grew four inches to match the man’s height, and later died of the toll the foreign magic was taking on him. The longest known case of someone surviving with stolen magic is often attributed to the Russian monk Rasputin himself, who lived for two and a half years and survived several assassination attempts on the benefits of someone else’s magic.

“Okay, yeah, yeah, history shit, whatever, meta, okay, I get it,” snaps Henrik, tugging on his hair. “But Anti can handle himself, I don’t care! He made his bed and he can lie in it. This is all the more reason for him to give the magic back before it kills him, if anything can kill a thing like him. I need to know how to help Blue!”

He begins tearing through pages.

“Why - why do they talk about everyone who has their magic stolen like they’re dead on impact?”

Very little is known about such things -

In other parts of the world, it may be more common for the dying to pass on their gifts into talismans or even dead body parts, but this is not theft -

Small charms and spells may allow magicians to siphon off energy from each other, but this is not the same thing as the total stripping of the magic apparent in theft -

Those dead following the theft of their magic have been reported to take on strange appearances before decomposition -

Henrik throws the book aside, burying his face in his hands for a second.

The book flutters open to a picture of a small girl with no irises in her white eyes.

Henrik pauses, opening his eyes to look at her. After a moment, he draws the book back to his lap.

One legend does suggest that surviving a magical theft is possible with aid. One book of legends found in England, but believed to have been taken from Japan in the 1800s, tells the story of an unnamed girl whose “great light was taken.” While other sources have interpreted this as some sort of spiritual symbolism or even virginity, other stories in the book suggest a knowledge of real magic. The girl survives the potential theft of her magic due to being found by her brother within minutes of the event and healed by him. Afterwards, she was seriously ill, and was said to “lose all light from her eyes” and “struggle in the world.”

What this means is unclear, but at least the story has a happy - if gruesome - ending. The girl’s brother captures the man who stole her light and demands he return it. Their enemy, afraid of the brother, who seems to have been a samurai of great power himself, says that this is impossible because the magic was done by a blood pact. The brother orders the man to find a way to return the magic to her, but after “two turns of the moon,” he is still unable to do so. Naturally, the brother settles upon the only other way he can think of to undo the blood curse - he cuts the man’s throat and brings his blood back to his sister. Afterwards, she is said to “settle in body and heart.”

There is no more to the story.

The wind ruffles the pages.

Henrik does not speak.

You can see his mouth slightly open. The air seems to falter as it leaves him.

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

Everything’s sort of becoming a blur to him.

He thinks somebody feeds him. Doesn’t he pick the blueberries out of sweet bread? He thinks he tries to paint. Doesn’t someone squish his shoulders when he can’t find his chalks and bring him a pen instead? He thinks he sleeps, maybe, a little while. Doesn’t someone sleep beside him, a warm body at his side, whispering reassurances and then lying still and then waking up screaming and thrashing, accidentally striking him as he writhed and then choking out apologies?

Dapper touches the bruise on his cheek. Yes, he thinks so.

He’s supposed to be in Japan. He’s supposed to be in Norway. He’s supposed to be in England. He’s supposed to be on a bus heading back to Peru, because someone told him that he would like to run away, and he had believed them at the time, though he can’t remember why now. Yes, he believes he’s supposed to be on a bus back to Peru. There are a couple strong voices in his head insisting it over and over again. Others yell and cry at him. Someone is hissing. Something licks his throat and he shivers.

But there is one thing he’s certain of, and that is that danger is coming.

“Buddy, you have to try to stop shaking,” he hears someone say, but it gets lost in the shuffle. Is he shaking? Is this body his? He thinks he can feel himself all a-tremble. All a-whirl. Like a smoothie! The thought makes him laugh. Mix up four ounces of Jameson, Carver, and Dapper, put them in the tiny little bladed room of the container and set it to spin as fast as you can make it go, so nothing stays together, and everyone begins to drown.

Hands are tugging at his face, he thinks. Blearily, he looks down.

A white face with a beard and brown hair and earnest blue eyes, looking up at him with worry. Gloved hands tugging gently at his skin. Stroking through his own beard. Holding him firmly in place, bringing him back down to earth.

“D-A-P-P-E-R,” signs the man, and it cuts through the chaos of all the noise, and Dapper could weep for the relief of it. “You’re here. You’re with me. You’re safe. You have to try and make your eyes stop glowing.”

“I’m sorry,” Dapper manages. “I don’t mean to be like this, I swear I don’t.”

Ro squeezes his shoulders firmly. “I know you don’t,” he signs back. “I’m going to make it all better.”

“Something is coming to kill me…”

“No, I’ll protect you. I - ”

The door knocks and Rojo hears Max’s voice. He gets up to get the door even when Dapper begins to scream signed warnings to him, clutching at his dagger, throwing himself into the corner of the room and shuddering so hard Ro is afraid he will fall apart.

“It’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay,” he chants desperately, quickly unlatching the door, and honestly? The only thought that goes through his head when he sees Max today is thank God you’re here.

“Hi,” says Max, smiling, his arms laden with groceries.

“Hi,” croaks Ro, pulling him into the room. “We’re having a rough day.”

aether-mae asked: Hey Max, we’ve been trying to reunite Jackie and Jamie with Henrik who’s currently being sheltered by some magicians in Peru. Maybe you could help? The last meeting spot has been compromised but perhaps we could still do back-and-forth communication with them to somehow reunite everyone?

Max steps in the door and sets his bags down, brushing his hand past Ro’s waist as he passes him to get to Dapper. You see Ro jump and shiver, color rising to his face as he turns to watch him slip past him.

“Have you been like this all morning?” asks Max, stepping towards Dapper on the bed.

“He can’t really hear right now,” warns Ro. “Also, you should be careful, his paranoia sometimes makes him - ”

A low hiss fills the air and Max stops short, eyes widening as Dapper’s gaze snaps up to him. His eyes are glittering blue and silver and black, somehow, Max thinks, and Dapper’s whole body has gone taut as a coiled mongoose, fixated on Max, hissing, soft and chilling.

“Jameson,” says Max softly. “It’s me. Er - fuck, my sign is so rusty, I tried to keep learning, but I’m not - ”

“Not. Brother,” signs Dapper furiously, hands slashing, still holding the knife. “Not. My. Brother. Stranger. Bad.”

Max gives a low sigh, only to be distracted by the beeping of the camera. He comes back to read the message in Red’s hands and his face lights up.

“Fucking hell!” he cries, loud enough to make Ro jolt a little, backing away from him. Max whirls on him in his excitement, beaming. “Henrik’s alive! He’s close, he’s in Peru, he’s away from Anti too! Ro, let’s go get him! Let’s go right now!”

Red’s jaw falls open, a breathless, confused laugh falling out of his mouth. He stares at Max, wordless, while Dapper hisses from the corner.

spicydanhowell asked: what's your plan max? if you have one... we could probably help coordinate some shit if you need

“Okay, okay.” Max waves his hands enthusiastically, holding his palms out to steady a nervous-looking Ro. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy, haha! Don’t you want to see Schneep again?”

“Dok,” mumbles Ro.

“Oh, Dok? Okay, sure, yeah, Dok. You’ve always called him doc, that’s fine. Listen, we have to run away from the fucking cops here anyway, right? I’ll rent us a car and we’ll drive back to Peru and find some place to hide. And then we find a way to get Dok back and he can stay with us. And then - and then - ”

Max’s color darkens in blush as he tries to decide how much to tell him. What he wants is to take his friends home, away from Anti, but he isn’t sure if Ro is ready to hear any of that.

“Well, we’ll figure it out!”

“No, no, no,” laughs Red, moving back to Dapper’s side and sitting besides him on the bed, pulling his little brother to his chest. “We can’t go anywhere while he’s this sick.”

“Come on, Ro. If Anti told you to take him somewhere, would you?”

“Anti knows me,” snaps Red. “And what’s best for me and him.”

Max’s cheeks get hot again, this time for a different reason.

“Oh, yeah, okay,” he snorts, fuming, turning slightly away from him. “Well - just - he’d want you and Dok to be together anyway, right? And hey - isn’t Dok the person Dapper should be with right now anyway, if he’s sick?”

Red’s face shifts nervously. “I - I don’t know. Maybe. Probably yes, but I don’t want to take him anywhere near those magicians! The cameras are convinced they’re okay, but I won’t, I won’t, I know how I felt the day they tried to take me, I…”

He trails off, gripping at his palms, and Max’s expression changes, worry flashing across his face. “Did they really hurt you?”

He steps forward again, but Dapper’s hissing sounds off again, and he sighs and stays back.

“Don’t worry about that,” mumbles Ro.

Max bites his lip. He’d come here mostly hoping to get some more food in them and then sitting down for a long talk about everything, everything, everything he needs to know - a way to finally fill in all the holes in the story - but if he could get to know Henrik was safe too…

“I’ll help you steal him back from them if we need to,” he says, determined, and Ro looks up, a light coming back to his eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah. We’ll fucking storm the place if we have to. I’m not afraid of magicians.”

Ro laughs, a little incredulous, shaking his head.

“Come on, Ro, I can get us a car and we can be out of here in an hour.”

It’s fucking tempting, even if he’s scared. But it’s too much.

“I don’t even know who you are,” murmurs Ro. “I still don’t know if you’re a trick. I can’t… I can’t ride in a car with you for two days. Not while Dapper’s sick. Not while I’m… I just - I don’t trust you. I’m sorry.”

Max’s face falls. He isn’t sure if he wants to keep arguing or let it go and take his time. He moves back to the chair he was hand-cuffed to yesterday and sits down in it, mouth thin with worry.

spicydanhowell asked: wait, you should Probably know max, but henrik is completely safe and getting much healthier everyday. all five of them are alive. henrik is helping to do some research to save the other two right now

“Oh.” A little relief comes back to Max. “Oh, thank God. So it’s not an emergency, at least. Is it safer for him to be there than with us?”

Ro is staring at you, eyes wide. He isn’t sure if he should feel… betrayed, by the news? Betrayed by the fact that Dok is happy and healthy all on his own, away from Anti?

But at the same time, he can see the Dok who had lived in that warm house in the forest - the only who was full, and strong, and confident, and protected him.

He wraps himself a little tighter around Dapper, holding him close. He doesn’t know what to feel anymore.

“I want Dok to come in here and look at me, Anti, please,” begs Dapper, burrowing into his chest.

“I’m trying to get the medicine he wanted for you, okay?” mumbles Red, too tired to bother to correct him. Max just watches them, and the grief in his face is enough to make Red ashamed all over again. He may not know many signs, but they both know he’ll recognize the cut-throat A for what it is.

Anonymous asked: Max, the magicians are good. They’re trying to find a way to stop Anti and save Marv. As much as I trust your judgment, picking a fight with the magicians is not something that’s going to be beneficial for anyone.

Max frowns, thinking it over. Okay, it’s good to have allies. He hopes you’re right.

He looks back at the brothers on the bed.

But in the end, the side he’s on is Ro’s, and he’ll stay by his side no matter what happens.

“Well, if they’re really good, they should be willing to let Dok come back to us, yeah? If Dok doesn’t want to come, that’s another thing, but for now, we’ll just plan on being peaceful.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Max, the job ahead of you is going to be a challenging one. Can you think of any ways to earn their trust back?

“Well, um.” Max grapples for something to say. “I brought, uh. Groceries? Does that help? I got vitamins and food, mostly.”

Red stares guiltily at the bags on the dresser and says nothing, worrying on his lip.

“Is there anything else you need?”

Red doesn’t know how to ask for all of it, so he just shakes his head.

“Here’s what I was hoping,” says Max, trying to sit up straight. “I have a lot of questions. I’m sure you have a lot of questions. I was hoping we could try to fill in the gaps for each other. And maybe you would… remember me, a little?”

Ah, fuck. He can’t keep the desperation of it out of his voice.

Fuck, but he wants him to remember him. It’s not fair. For all of that to be gone, for all that they had and built and protected in each other to be gone. They could go. They could go home right now. Why can’t he just remember him?

Ro is staring at him from the bed.

He’s right - he does have questions. So many questions. And he’s never been allowed to ask any of them.

“Wh… where do you want to start?” he croaks, and Max’s face lights up like Candlemas.

spicydanhowell asked: this miiiight be a better discussion to have away from jackie, max... but henrik is really going through a lot recovering from all the abuse and... basically torture he went through... i really think it would be better for you to leave him where he is at least until we can be sure he's ready. he needs this time away as a sort of rehabilitation, yeah? bringing back his brother who could persuade him to go back to anti is like bringing an addict to someone in recovery :(

He’s guessed at the truth of it, but somehow hearing it hits him hard, bullet-to-the-chest-hard, or, worse, punch-from-your-best-friend-after-not-seeing-him-for-like-a-fucking-year-hard. Which is a pretty specific pain, but, unfortunately, one he’s been feeling a whole fuck of a lot lately. He’s up on his feet before he’s registered his own movement, croaking out a “sorry, just a second,” and then he’s outside the room, leaving you behind, and you can hear him choking back sobs in the hallway.

Henrik tortured! Henrik abused! Henrik not sure if Anti will hurt him again or not, just like Jackie and Jameson, and all Max can do is try to convince them of something that seems so obviously and horrifically true.

Ro stares at the floor, crimson from the awkwardness of it. But Dapper stops hissing and sits back against his chest, whistling, so at least somebody’s happy.

“You really don’t like Max, huh?” signs Ro in front of him.

“Nobody’s supposed to come near me,” protests Dapper, frowning. “You know the rules!”

He’s not even sure who he is in Dapper’s mind right now, but he has to agree with him on that. This would all be a lot easier if he only had himself to protect, and didn’t have Dapper to be afraid for. Trusting his own safety to Max might be okay, but Dapper - fuck, he’s spent his whole recalled existence having it drilled into his head that no one touches Dapper, no one comes near Dapper, Dapper is yours to protect. He doesn’t want Max around Dapper, he just needs to find a way to feed them and get them medication and clothes and maybe a place to sleep tomorrow night.

He sets his head down on his little brother’s shoulder and tries to breathe steady.

bupine asked: guys, dok is recovering with the magicians. i'm sorry, but i think it's better for him if he stays there. he's been doing so much better, like he used to be, red. remember what he was like when dapper sent you back, remember how happy everyone was? he can be like that again. so can you. the magicians just want what's best for you. they won't hurt dok. we'd tell you if they did.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” says Red, hurt by it despite himself. He supposes that’s it, then, it’s true - everybody’s better at taking care of his little brothers than he is. He’s a fucking failure. He bites down on his lip hard and buries his face in Dapper’s shoulder, letting out a long, trembling sigh.

“Okay, you better tell me if they do!” he calls, trying to regain the strength in his voice. “I’ll kick their fucking asses if they lay a hand on him.”

He sighs, exhausted, and gives Dapper a little space, getting up to check on what Max has brought them. Fuck! Fruit and vegetables and motherfucking meat jerky. Snacks he hasn’t had as far back as he can remember, even…

He sets the bags down, everything in him feeling still. Starbursts. Four whole packs of them, waiting for him at the bottom of the bag.

Anonymous asked: starbursys, red?

“I had these in the past,” Ro mumbles, shifting on his feet. “Or… Jackie did. I guess he really did know me. And close enough to know that I liked these.”

He pauses, staring at the door.

“I should… I should go talk to him.”

It’s kind of a scary thought and he doesn’t know why. But he’s faced hardened criminals and trigger-happy cops before, so he can deal with this, right?

Maybe.

He steps out into the hall. Max is sitting against the wall, his knees drawn to his chest and his face in his hands.

Ro pauses. Stands over him. Slides to the floor beside him.

They sit for a second in silence, and Max does not look up, not yet. He could pretend it was really Jackie - his Jackie - beside him for another second.

Something nudges his wrist.

He rubs at his eyes and manages to look up, and there is a carefully peeled pack of Starbursts. Not torn, just unfolded.

Max laughs wetly and takes a little yellow one, trying to smile at Ro.

“I don’t remember what they taste like,” admits Ro.

“No? You really have been through hell.”

Ro laughs and Max gets to watch his chest chuckle with it, warm and safe, safe for the moment, despite the anxiety, the uncertainty, the nervousness in the air between them.

“Try a red one first,” says Max. “Your favourite.”

“Very on-brand of me,” says Ro, taking one and unfolding it. Not tearing, just unfolding. Max’s tiger eyes are on him. He puts it in his mouth.

They are much better when he’s not throwing them up.

“Holy hell,” he chokes. “They’re so sweet they actively burn my gums.”

“Yeah.” Max laughs, setting his head back against the wall.

“I think I like that?”

“Yeah!” Max is just nodding at him now, the laughing rising out of him, fountaining out of him. “Yeah, I think you do.”

“Shit, give me another one.”

“Here, okay, open your mouth.”

“What?”

Max is unfolding an orange one for him. Ro snorts but complies, scooting back and opening his mouth, and Max throws the Starburst, but he misses it, and then they’re both swearing aloud in the middle of the hallway, and by the time Ro picks the Starburst up, there is already a hair on it.

“Dare you to eat it anyway,” laughs Max.

“Nasty!” Ro throws it back at him and Max yelps, slapping it out of his face, and it disappears down the hall, making them both cover their mouths and snort at each other like dumbasses.

“Glad I’m able to provide you with a really nutritional breakfast,” says Max.

“Hey, better than what I’m used to,” says Red, trying to laugh at that too, but Max doesn’t laugh. Blue would laugh because when you’re in it together you have to laugh or you drown in it, but Max is watching him from the outside, and you don’t laugh at the fish in aquariums when they’re racing around the water trying to snatch their fish flakes before they hit the floor.

“I want…” says Max, his face filling up with something Ro recognizes, but that neither of them know how to put into words, and he doesn’t end up finishing the thought. “I want…”

“Me too,” says Ro, soft.

Their feet are close. Max has nice brown dress shoes. Red has sneakers with holes torn through them. They don’t really need to say much else about the silence between them. Comfort doesn’t need a lot of noises. It’s always been this way.

Max remembers standing in that greenhouse and seeing him again.

“It is you,” he’d whispered. “It is you. It is.”

“Come back in and let me get some real breakfast?”

Max nods, biting down on his lip. “Yeah. And we can talk?”

Ro’s face has known sympathy and anger, loneliness and companionship, hunger and Starbursts.

“Yeah,” says Jackie, real soft. “And we can talk.”

Anonymous asked: Hey JJ! Sorry today's being rough on you. Is there anything we can do to help you? If you can sign and it'll help, we're here to listen and respond.

“Can they hear me?” asks Dapper, pointing at the camera.

“Yes, Dap, you like talking to them.” Ro is getting him breakfast, peeling a clementine and tearing open the beef jerky. Max sits in the corner, trying to be unobtrusive.

“Can Anti hear me in there?”

“I… I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”

“Hi,” says Dapper, waving at you. “Have you seen my bird? She won’t come back to my window anymore. I’m scared Anti killed her. He takes everything from me.”

“Fuck, Dap,” says Ro, blinking at him.

“But that’s just cause he loves me a lot,” continues Dapper, and accepts an orange slice from his brother.

Ro feels a little sick, glancing over at Max, who’s doing his damnedest to follow Dapper’s rapid signing. “You’re not very clear today, buddy.”

“I want my chalks,” says Dapper, his hands beginning to whine a little. “Please, Red! I’m so bored, everyone’s talking to me, I’m afraid! I can’t keep anything straight today.”

“Relatable,” mumbles Red, digging through the bags again, but he’d forgotten to ask Max for art supplies.

“I need to find where I am,” Dapper signs, tugging on his hair.

“We’re in - ”

Ro bites his tongue and glances at you.

And then, in a low voice, he admits: “We’re in Colombia, bud.”

“No, no - I mean in the timeline, and which timeline, and who I am in it. I can’t remember the beginning of the story… or the middle… or most any of it.”

Ro’s beginning to feel nervous. Dapper’s eyes are very silver now. Almost dripping with it.

Anonymous asked: Ro, maybe you could convince Dap to give Max a chance? Things might be a little easier if they’re both on neutral ground.

“Right, right,” mumbles Ro, biting his nails for a second before coming to sit at the end of the bed, between Max and Dapper. “Listen, bud, I think Max can help you find your place in the timeline, yeah? Wouldn’t that be good?”

“Does he know where my old master went?” asks Dapper.

Something shocks its way through Red’s system.

Whoa, whoa, whoa - okay, there are a lot of things they could talk about, but that?

That is fucking off-limits. Anti would murder him if he knew he let Dapper ask about the old master.

And yet, Red can’t seem to get his mouth to move.

“Sorry, say again, Dap?” asks Max, leaning in, and when Dapper only stares at him, he tries to sign it.

“Repeat - D-A-P?”

“Where,” says Dapper. “Is. First. Master?”

“Spell?”

“M-A-S-T-E-R.”

Max glances between you and a pale-faced Ro, confused.

“He’s asking for Anti?”

Ro shakes his head, throat tight.

bupine asked: are you talking about jack? he was never your master, dap. just your friend. he never hurt you like anti did. he was a good man.

“Oh, fuck’s sake,” mumbles Max, putting his chin in his hands and turning to glare out the window.

“Oh, yes,” signs Dapper, and a sudden relief washes over him, and he stops shaking just enough to take the bag of beef jerky from his brother and begin to eat it with a little enthusiasm. “Yeah, my friend, my friend! Anti takes everything from me. He was… the starting point. I have to find where I am in the timeline. I think I broke something. I think I broke a lot of things.”

“Who’s Jack?” asks Ro, turning to Max, but Max is just chewing on his lip, his eyes cold. “Max? Who’s Jack? Someone other than me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Max clearly, letting it bark out of him. “Yeah, someone different, yeah. Uh… how the hell do I explain Jack?”

Anonymous asked: Is he asking for...Jack?

“Come on, Max,” groans Ro. “Now I want to know too!”

“Look, he’s a dick, okay? He - ” Max hits the table and brings his hand up again, sighing. “He’s a dick, why do you want to know about him?”

bupine asked: yeah, tell us about jack please, max. even we don't know as much about him as we should. do you know what happened to him? even anti doesn't know, so be careful what you say.

“Look, okay. Alright, whatever. I got back from being undercover and you’d been gone for weeks, right? All of you. And he was just - fuck, Jackie, he didn’t - sorry, Ro, I mean. He didn’t care. Okay? He acted like you were jokes, like I was crazy. And he had no idea who I was, so apparently he was never all that invested in your lives anyway! He almost called the cops on me for coming to his place, at which point I’m like - ‘okay, bastard, I am the cops!’ And then he got scared, so… I left him alone.”

Dapper stares at Max, confused. Max rubs his face and shrugs.

“He didn’t care. So I guess he wasn’t really your friend. I’m sorry, Ro, I know you were really, really fond of him, and Dap, too.”

Anonymous asked: Oh wait now I’m confused too, what’s wrong with Jack?

“I’m sorry, I just - I try to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was in shock, maybe he didn’t realize you were gone, maybe he was just in hiding, too, and wanted to move on with his life. Really, who could blame him? But, uh. Yeah. Yeah. No, here, I’ll show him to you.”

And Max gets out his phone, and Max goes to Youtube, and -

Well, he hasn’t recorded in a while. The years have gone by and treated him well and his life has grown and changed. But that’s his face, and there he is, and he’s smiling, and unharmed, and doing what he’s always done.

Jameson gets out of his bed and goes to the bathroom and locks himself in. You hear him slide to the floor.

Anti takes everything from him. Anti takes everything.

“Max,” says Ro. “Max.”

“Yeah?”

Ro has a look on his face you’ve never seen before. Probably the closest thing to this expression would be - hm. Despair?

Max sinks slightly in on himself. “Ro… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“So you’re telling me… that this is the old master Anti’s always talking about?”

“I… I guess.”

“This is the old master Anti’s always wanted attention from.”

“Wait, Jack is?”

“This - this is the man who made Anti furious, angry, violent, vengeful… this is the man Anti hates more than anyone else… this is the person Anti wants to see suffer more than anybody else in the world?”

Max stares at him.

“Anti has done everything he’s ever done to us to get revenge on this person. And this person… has no fucking idea who Anti is.”

The air conditioner kicks on again.

Someone walks by in the hallway.

Max does not move.

Red laughs so loudly they hear Dapper jump in the bathroom. “THAT,” he says, grabbing his hair and pulling at it, his eyes turning red from the grief of it, the unfairness of it slamming into him like a truck, the ridiculousness of it, the impossibility! “THAT is the funniest thing I’ve ever goddamn heard! There was no fucking point to any of the things me and my brothers have suffered! There was never any fucking point! That’s so funny! That’s so funny! Holy shit, that’s so funny!”

bupine asked: that can't be right. he cared about them, i'm sure. although maybe it's different here. i'm sorry, guys. that really sucks. are you sure it was him, max?

“Ro,” pleads Max, moving towards him.

“And Anti doesn’t even know! Anti doesn’t even know! This is so funny! This is so funny!”

“Ro, you gotta calm down for me.”

“Do you think it will actually kill him, when he finds out? Do you think it would? Cause you know, he doesn’t talk to the others about him, not really, but me - me, I’ve heard the rants, Max, cause it’s my job to look after Anti too, you know? It’s my job, that’s my job. And I’ve heard him yelling and I’ve heard him mourning it! It’s why we live in so much paranoia, hahaha. Isn’t that fun when your little brother is a paranoid schizophrenic, doesn’t that make things so much better, when Anti can’t ever give it a break, insisting that somebody’s following us?”

“Ro, you’re going to scare Dap.”

“Holy shit! All the times he’s sworn to kill him! It wouldn’t even make him happy! It wouldn’t even be his revenge! He hates him so much and it means nothing to this person, it means nothing! None of this - ever meant - anything!”

“Jackie!”

Ro looks up and follows Max’s eyes.

Dapper is standing in front of the bathroom door. His eyes are pure silver. His nose is bleeding. He’s holding his clock.

“Motherfuck,” moans Ro. “Dap, no. Sit down, buddy, sit down. We gotta calm down.”

“I want,” he says, in slow, anguished signs. “To see him again.”

Anonymous asked: oh, my Gosh, that's amazing and terrible. holy shit. max, does that same channel have a video called say goodbye on it? are there power hours with everyone's names on them? holy this, that's crazy, oh my fuck

“Hell, I don’t know,” mumbles Max, trying to give Ro space to calm Dap down, even though his leg is bouncing at a hundred miles a minute, wanting to help somehow. Jameson was his friend too. “Say goodbye?”

He types it into the search bar.

I DON’T WANT TO SAY GOODBYE l The Last Guardian - Part 8 (END)

Bloopers and Outtakes #1

GOODBYE TOMATO-MAN l Fortnite (July the 4th-Nite)

“One of these?” asks Max, trying to show you.

bupine asked: wait, but jack DOES know anti. anti's mentioned having conversations with him before. it seems like they were on good terms once. i can't even imagine what could have happened to make anti like THIS, though.

“He has, he has,” gushes Ro, trying to get Dapper to sit down. “I’ve heard him talk about things he and the creator had talked about, done together, been through! I know that he must have known him.”

“Well, then he was just acting, like I thought,” scowls Max. “Or…”

He stares at Ro and Dapper, his fingers drumming against his thigh.

“Or he forgot too?”

“Doesn’t make sense.” Ro shakes his head. “The last thing Anti would want would be being forgotten by him.”

“It’s my fault.” Dapper clings to his shirt for a second, tears shining in his eyes. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry, Jackie.”

“What’s your fault? Nothing’s your fault. Sh, sh, everything’s okay. Dap, we can’t go racing through time again, you’ll make yourself more sick and we could mess with - I don’t know. Time? Right? Sit down, sh, sh. It’s okay.”

whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: No anti wouldn't do that but maybe someone else erased his memories

“Who else could have done that?” mumbles Max, watching Dapper collapse against Ro’s chest, signing apologies over and over again. “Marvin?”

Anonymous asked: shti. nah, max, i was thinking of a different video, it's gone. maybe happy halloween! is close enough, but it might be different now too. i don't know. you should watch it later, see what it's about. maybe jack will mention anti in it, and what he thinks anti is right now? and just to be safe, maybe you can check for jameson jackson's jolly jaunts, or just jamie's name throughout the channel? or chase's, i think his name was a title too

“Okay,” mumbles Max. “Yeah, maybe he collabed with them or something?”

He looks up Chase Brody.

The Jacksepticeye Power Hour - MERRY CHRISTMAS 2017

It Was Closed!

JIMMY AVERAGE TOES l Finding Bigfoot w/ Ethan!

He looks up Jameson Jackson.

THE MAD SCIENTIST l Overwatch Junkenstein’s Revenge w/Ethan

I’m Back!!

NAMING MY HAT! l Reading Your Comments #32

Max sighs and looks up at you.

Anonymous asked: That's just straight up sad, just.... wow. All that suffering for nothing

“Did it really make it feel better to know that it was for somebody else’s revenge plan?” asks Max wearily. “Is it worse to know it was for nothing instead of for Anti’s fucking you-hurt-me-so-I-hurt-others shit?”

“I could always blame him, when something was going wrong,” chokes Ro, wrapping himself around Dapper’s shoulders. “I would always tell myself it was the old master’s fault - for pissing off Anti, for hurting him, for making us all this way.”

“What? Making you all?”

“But now it’s like - just knowing that, really and truly, none of us are happy? And it’s not because anyone is hunting us, or trying to hurt us, or even willing us hatred from the other side of the globe? It’s just that Anti is angry and he can’t even form a revenge plan right. Ha! So funny… so fucking funny, hell…”

Max gets to his feet. Can’t help it. Can’t stay away from him any longer. He wants to touch Ro more than anything, but he doesn’t want to scare Dapper. He’s helpless, just like he was when he came home and found their house empty, and all their friends gone. Always too little too late.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: What about the Sister Location videos? They're good starting points! Or... pumpkin carving? Bro Average??

“I don’t see anything called Bro Average, but there is a pumpkin carving and… yeah, Sister Location? Five Night’s at Freddy’s? Yeah, that’s here.”

Anonymous asked: He acted like they were jokes, Max? Like, the fact that they were missing was ridiculous, or like the fact you were treating them like real people with real lives was ridiculous?

“Well, he got really confused at first,” says Max, frowning. “And he would repeat their names when I would say them, and he was looking at me so strange. And he even got on his fucking phone, I don’t know, like he was looking something up. He was, like, upset from the moment I mentioned them, but irritated too. Shaking his head, refusing to listen to me. I was upset, I got really pissed off, you know, and then he got scared, called the cops, kicked me out… yeah. I might have made a mess of it. But he was just acting like - I don’t know, like he didn’t know who they were! But I could see it in their eyes that he recognized it right away! I just about hit him. He kept going, ‘Chase? Chase?’ or when I said Henrik’s full name he went ‘how did you know that name?’ and I was like… dude. But I guess if he forgot, he forgot me too, so he didn’t have a lot of patience for me. I think I really upset him, actually. Pacing around, shaking his head. ‘Chase? Marvin? Jameson?’ I guess it’s good I didn’t hit him if it wasn’t his fault.”

Anonymous asked: ssssshhhhhhhhIIIIIIT. yeah, i don't think jack's channel is gonna do much good for you, max. the person jack is at the moment, he's probably not anybody who can help us. for now, just focus on the brothers. if you can get closer to jackie and jamie without stressing him out, do so. you probably know jackie better than we do, so just. play it by ear. you can be there for them. maybe toss them starbursts!

“Okay, okay,” says Max, breathless, and then you get a little laugh out of him at the end. “Okay, yeah. I’m right here if you need anything, okay?”

Ro looks over at him and Max sees gratitude. His chest gets hot.

“You’re not freaked out by this?” asks Ro.

“I was the first time I learned your family was magic,” laughs Max weakly. “But now it just feels like another part of my life.”

Anonymous asked: Did Jack even had anything to do with them at this point? They're all real, physical people... it feels like we're missing something.

“Anti always called him our - ”

Ro pauses, looking at Max, embarrassed, and signing the word “creator.”

“But I don’t know, maybe we are missing something. I never understood how someone could create me anyway.”

Anonymous asked: In this timeline, I think Anti did kill your bird, JJ, I'm sorry. But it's been a while since you were in the attic. I think you've all moved houses once or twice since then, and then you and Jackie got separated from the others, so right now you're in a hotel with each other. And Jackie knew Max before he was Red. Max could maybe help you find who you're talking about, but I don't know. Max might know him as Jack? Talking about him will probably stress out your brother, though.

“Everything keeps moving,” complains Dapper, pausing to clutch his head. “Everything is always moving, and no one is ever who they’re supposed to be, and some of it is real, but not all of it is right.”

“Dap, you’re being so cryptic right now,” groans Ro, rubbing his back. “Please, try to stay calm.”

“I’m working on getting his prescription,” offers Max lamely. “Maybe soon I’ll have medicine?”

Anonymous asked: Dap? Your fault? What do you mean, what could you have done?

“Did you do this, Dap?” asks Ro, gripping his chin gently, firmly. “I won’t be mad, okay?”

“I think I broke things!” cry Dapper’s hands. “I think I broke everything!”

“Buddy, please, you know I don’t understand.”

“I’m trying to explain, Jackie, I’m trying…”

“I know, buddy. I know. Big brother’s got you.”

bupine asked: dapper. why are you apologizing? you didn't do anything to jack's memories, did you? if you did, just tell us, please

“Just got to tell me, little brother. Just got to tell me. It’s going to be okay. I’m right here.”

“There’s a timeline, Jackie - and then you break it - and then there’s two timelines - and you can go back, you can go back and break it earlier and earlier and earlier, and then there’s dozens of timelines, but there can only be one timeline, do you see?”

“No, Dap, I’m sorry, I don’t see. Can you just start from the beginning?”

“No!” his fingers scream. “I keep telling you, I don’t have all the pieces! I can’t find where I am in the timeline - I don’t know what I did to Jack and Anti! I snapped!”

Ro looks up at the shine in his eyes. Dapper looks back, gripping his shoulders.

“Can… can you show me?” he croaks.

Dapper stares at him, eyes widening.

“Can you help me find the pieces?”

“Jackie,” croaks Max. “What’s happening?”

Dapper nods.

Anonymous asked: Dap, I feel you. And you should go back to learn more when you can. Can you please wait just a moment, though? Consider a little? Are you feeling well enough to travel through timelines right now? Do you know you wouldn't get lost? Do you know what to do when you arrive at your destination, if you do get there? Red is planning to get better meds for you soon, and things will be easier. And it's time travel anyway, you can go whenever you want. Do you think you can wait?

“Are you?” asks Ro, gripping his shoulders. “Are you well enough?”

“I… don’t know. If I have a grip, I can send you there. But sometimes I lose track. I need details. I could send you to days if I remembered them, or to random days far enough back, if I know the year, the month…”

“Do you remember the day you snapped?”

“Not… well. That day was so shattered. So many times I relived it. I don’t know what happened in the end. I could send you to the wrong timeline. And then you would be merged into it, and I might never see you again.”

Ro leans back slightly, chilled. “So, to go to that day - if we wanted to - somebody would have to remind you of what really happened.”

Max is just pacing around behind them at this point. Dapper nods again.

Anonymous asked: Dap, Red, are you guys trying to keep secrets from Max? I don't think he's following, if you do want him to be clued in. He might be able to offer an additional perspective. But if you are keeping secrets, then, yeah, his BSL's rusty, looks like.

Ro and Dapper look right at each other. Dapper is, for a moment, confused, but then he realizes -

Red is waiting for his opinion.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” whisper Dapper’s hands. “Don’t know who he is.”

“Okay. Then he doesn’t have to know.”

“Do you trust him?” asks Dapper.

Ro breathes out. Low and slow. Max is splashing water on his face in the bathroom.

It’s Ro’s turn to nod.

“Then I don’t care what he knows,” says Dapper. “As long as I’m in my right mind, I can trust him for that. But don’t let him touch me, Ro, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from hurting him.”

“Okay.” Ro bites down on his nail. “Max?”

“Yeah? Yeah, can I do something, can I - ”

“Dapper thinks he can send me back in time a while, to see what’s going on.”

Max blanches a little. But looking between them, he can see the resolution they share, and, oh, it’s beautifully familiar. They always were a pair of wild cards. He remembers late nights with the three of them, sometimes Marvin too. Jamie and Marv were always Jackie’s back-up, and they’d been suspicious of Max at first - well, honestly Jamie never stopped teasing him from time to time - but then they began to know each other, and it was easy to work like a team. They tracked down perps, solved mysteries, kicked ass. And it was always the best kind of terrified adrenaline rush to look up at Jackie and Jamie in the middle of a desperate situation and see them both get the same wild, reckless, stupid idea in their eyes.

They always managed to pull it off, somehow, but this is another level.

Anonymous asked: Okay, okay, wait let’s think about this. So dapper did something to the time line, right? Which possibly made Jack forget everything...but he also said he did something to Anti.. what did he do to Anti?

Dapper bites down hard on his lip, trying to find how to explain this.

“There was a place at which I shattered the timeline,” he says. “Yes? There has to be.

“When I sent Red back to Jackie - on accident, I’m sorry - he didn’t just move back in time, his space changed too. He went from Columbia to England. I can only travel along the timeline, and the timeline is both physical and temporal. There was a physical place at which it must have broken. I don’t remember where or why. But I know that Anti and Jack both shattered together. They were together when I snapped.

“In other words…”

Dapper pauses, nodding to himself, pursing his lips and squeezing his eyes shut. He can hear a thousand voices screaming at him, and for all he knows, this is another delusion, but the truth of it is ringing in him, is waking up, is reminding him, and he can see blue eyes, and his smile.

“In other words, it was, before I broke it, a timeline in which Jack had found us.”

He pauses again, his mouth faltering slightly open.

“Or… a timeline in which Anti had found Jack.”

Ro’s eyes widen.

“And he was your friend…”

“Yes.”

“You - you were trying to protect him. You were trying to protect him from Anti.”

They cling to each other’s arms. Meet each other’s eyes.

“No, I… I would never have broken the timeline like that, not even to save a friend. It’s more dangerous than even I can comprehend. People can get lost in the wrong timelines or I can undo important things. It’s why I don’t use these powers even to reverse what we’ve been through so far back. That, and most days I forget I have power like this.”

“Dapper,” says Ro. “You were having a psychotic episode. You were out of control. Like the other day when you accidentally sent me back. You couldn’t control it. You weren’t in your right mind. You could have done something without thinking, just to protect him. Something you didn’t want or mean to do. As long as Anti didn’t hurt him.”

“And I… I broke everything.” JJ’s face contorts with guilt. “Because I couldn’t control myself. Because I can never keep track of where or when or who I am.”

Anonymous asked: James are you sure this is a good idea?

“No.”

Jameson closes his eyes. The clarity is back, now, but how long will it last? How long does it ever?

“I’m psychotic, like I was when I snapped. If we want to do this, we need to wait until I’m medicated again. Even then, my confusion might be too much.”

Ro squeezes his hand.

And he respects his decision.

“Never mind,” he says, turning to Max. “He doesn’t think it’s safe.”

Jameson could melt. He reaches out to touch his brother’s hair and Jackie turns back to smile at him, warm and loving, and he is not so much a ghost as Jameson had thought he was. Maybe not dead. Maybe just sleeping.

Jackie hugs his little brother to his chest, and, for a long time, they hold onto each other, and the light - the silver light, the wild light, the light that always seems to control him instead of being controlled - Jameson feels it fade away into his brother’s arms.

Anonymous asked: Yeah I think we all need to take a break for a second...Max, you okay?

Max collapses onto the bed beside them, running his fingers through his hair.

“Uh…”

He stares between the two of them for a moment, and they stare back. He can see that Jamie still doesn’t like him, and it stings, but he doesn’t shy away or hiss now. Just hides in Jackie’s chest.

“It’s okay,” whispers Ro, looking up at Max. “He’s okay. He won’t hurt you.”

Max nods, feeling numb even as a smile grows on his mouth.

“Yeah,” he beams. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m okay as long as you’re okay.”

Ro smiles shyly, burrowing down a little in Dapper’s hair. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“Okay,” nods Max. “Okay.”

“Good at burying the bullshit, you see.”

Max laughs. “That sounds like a great coping mechanism. Just deal with it later.”

“Absolutely. Or not ever, preferably.”

“Perfect.”

“I know.”

“Honestly, you were not much better about that even before all this happened, so…”

“Hey! I was probably a paragon of processing before all this happened, asshole.”

“Ohhh, sure, I’m sure, I’m sure.”

“No, I definitely wasn’t.”

“You definitely weren’t.”

They’re laughing together, just a little, just quiet, just shy. Dapper shoots you a confused look. Eventually, amid quiet chattering, quiet teasing, Ro gets up to get the grocery bags, and they feast on clementines and baby carrots and peanut butter and maybe a couple Starbursts while Dapper goes through most of the beef jerky and the rest of the bread. It’s a weird breakfast on a shitty motel bed, and everything is strange and a little nervous and a little awkward, and Ro thinks it’s perfect, Ro thinks he’s happy, Ro thinks he could live like this for a long time if he had to, with Dapper against his chest and Max’s eyes fixed on him, exchanging laughter across an impromptu table.

Dapper falls asleep across Ro’s lap and Ro strokes his hair. He’s finally gotten a full meal in him. Step one made possible by Max. Grateful, he looks up and finds his eyes already on him all over again.

“I should leave you to rest,” says Max. “If you’re safe here.”

“That’s probably a good idea. He’s not used to having other people in his room.”

“Tomorrow,” says Max. “Can I take you shopping and to get some lunch? And maybe buy you absolutely everything you want, if you would let me?”

Ro laughs, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Um, yeah,” he says, something burning in the back of his eyes. Clean clothes. Food and first aid supplies. Shoes, art supplies, shampoo. He’ll be able to take care of Dapper. And there will even be enough left over for him.

“Yeah. I think that would be really nice.”

Max seems to glow from the inside out. He gets up and puts his shoes and coat on, pausing just for a second to look back over the two of them, safe and alive and together. Just like he always hoped.

“Well then,” he says, giving Ro one more smile as he slips out the door. “It’s a date.”

End Section Seven of Chapter Three: the Two Masters

[luxolove]

Brave Review

Whew! Just in time for Mother’s Day! (NOT) This month I decided to review the heartwarming Pixar classic Brave. This 2012 mother-daughter film kind of gets overshadowed by a certain Ice queen and her sister who took the world by storm the next year in 2013 but we won’t speak of that today. 

Anyways, again we are introduced to a world in which magical beings and spells exist, unbeknownst to many. First though, we meet Merida, a “wee” princess with a passion for archery. We open on the young princess’s birthday (sensing a theme here, Pixar), when her “da” surprises Merida, with a bow of her very own, much to the chagrin of the queen. Here we see some of the differences between her mother and father, an odd pairing of serious and not-so-serious. Elinor, the queen conducts herself with measure and restraint, as she believes a royal should while King Fergus, a beaming burly father is more lighthearted and insists that even a princess should know how to defend herself. 

When one stray arrow leads Merida into the woods, she happens upon a trail of will-o’-the-wisps, small glowing spirits apparently rumored to lead to one’s destiny, fate being an important motif in the movie. After being called back by her parents, Merida shares this experience with her mother who surprisingly feeds into the idea unlike the king who views the subject with amusement. The scene is then interrupted by the movie’s first surprise bear attack. Mor’du, a monstrous black bear (black in color not species) charges into the clearing to put an end to the family’s celebration. The queen quickly sweeps up Merida and rides to safety, leaving Fergus and his men to battle the aggressive beast. 

The scene changes and 10 years later, Merida’s frank commentary brings us up to speed on her father's legendary fight with Mor'du, which leaves him with a wooden leg and an even more vehement intensity in fighting. We learn the family has extended itself by three mischievous triplet boys, “wee devils” Merida calls them. Envious of their propensity for getting away with things, Merida bemoans the fact that she, as the princess, is constantly constrained by her overwhelming responsibilities and obligations. Cue the monotonous montage of princess lessons. Merida’s lessons, taught by her mother, function to prohibit the things a princess “does net” do (i.e. doodling, chortling, stuffing down food), all of which seem to come naturally to Merida. “Above all, a princess strives for perfection”, is actually one of Queen Elinor’s lines. Yikes. 

But Merida’s life isn’t all princess lessons. She describes her occasional off-day, as a day when she can change her fate. Royal stallion, Angus, and singer Julie Fowlis’s “Touch The Sky” carry Merida and the viewer through a day of firing arrows, scaling cliffs, and enjoying her freedom. 

Later when Merida returns home it’s business as usual at the dinner table as Fergus bores the young princes, Harris, Hubert, and Hamish with his Mor'du story and Queen Elinor takes in the mail, only looking up long enough to chide Merida for placing her “weapon” on the table, the bow being a clear point of contention between her desire for her daughter to be a traditional princess and Fergus’s insistence on fighting culture. Elinor then reads that the other clans have accepted their proposal and after an attempt from Fergus, explains to Merida that upon her birthday, clans will offer up suitors to compete in the highland games for her hand in marriage. When Merida blows up at the news, the queen implores her to reconsider, reminding her of a fated prince who broke off from his brethren, only to have the whole kingdom topple as a result. After reaching no avail, both Elinor and Merida retreat and contest with frustration about the other’s unwillingness to listen. 

The day of their arrival, the audience is introduced to a whole cast of hilariously outlandish characters and the over competitive, slightly petty nature of the relationships between clans Dunbroch, Dingwall, MacGuffin, and MacIntosh as clan leaders attempt to engage and aggravate each other at every turn. Things look dismal to Merida until she hears the proclaimed rule that every clan leader’s firstborn may compete in the game that she herself will choose. She over eagerly chooses archery and in a stunning turn, competes for her own hand in marriage out showing all of the competitor’s attempts. Later, behind closed doors, conflict ensues between mother and daughter when Merida angrily tells Elinor, “I’d rather die than be like you!”, tearing a rift between the two’s likeliness in the tapestry the queen has been sewing. Elinor then loses her temper and throws Merida’s bow in the fireplace, an unforgivable act which drives Merida out in tears. 

Frustrated and upset, Merida rides into the woods on Angus before the unnerved horse throws her off into a circle of large runed megaliths. As she takes in the scenery, Merida again sees a wisp beckoning her further into the forest and this time she follows. When the trail leads her to a presumed wood carver’s cottage, Merida is quick to realize that the woodcarver doubles as a witch and bargains for a spell to change her mum. After a bit of convincing, the witch conjures up a small cake, remarking that Merida is the second to ask for this spell; the other was a prince, before vanishing along with her carvings and cottage. 

Back at the castle, the clans are in turmoil as they argue over the suitor dispute. Merida returns to find her mother and offers her the cake as a peace offering. Rather than changing her mind, however, the cake has a nauseating effect and Elinor becomes ill before falling to the floor of her chambers and reappearing into view as a large, black bear! Merida is shocked and curses the witch for giving her a “gammy spell”. Elinor, while a bear, is still visibly herself and attempts to cloth herself in curtains and affix her royal crown on her furry head. Her delirious antics insight a large search of the castle headed by King Fergus who believes the sounds to be Mor'du. With the help of her brothers, Merida manages to sneak her mother out to the forest, leaving the three boys alone in the kitchen with the half eaten cake. After some disagreement, the Merida and Elinor resign themselves to following the trail of wisps that return to the witch’s cottage, only to find it deserted apart from some cryptic instructions in a cauldron to “mend the bond torn by pride” in order to reverse the spell, which will become permanent when the sun sets on the third day. Discouraged and wet from rain, Merida builds shelter for herself and her mother. Not speaking, the two drift off into a cold, lonely sleep in which Merida dreams of being a child comforted by Elinor during a storm. Back at the castle, no one has noticed the queen or Merida’s absence.  

After a well meant attempt at a civil breakfast, Merida leads Elinor to a stream where she catches and cooks for her a fish. Several more requests lead to the insistence that her mother catch her own fish and the queen reluctantly sets down her crown to partake. While it doesn’t come at all natural to Elinor, her daughter’s lighthearted encouragement and her own hunger eventually win out to catch fish after fish. The pair ends up in a water war, splashing each other, and playing in a way that starkly contrasts their recently tense relationship. In the midst of this bonding time, complimented by Fowlis’s bright vocals in “Into the Open Air”, Merida suddenly notices a change in Elinor’s behavior and sees that her mother has become a bear on the inside, shown in her now feral, black eyes. This effect quickly fades as the queen’s expressive eyes reappear but Merida realizes that the effects of the spell are becoming permanent. The two follow another trail of wisps which leads them to the ruins of the castle where Merida discovers the fate of the fabled prince who used the same spell to receive the strength of ten men and carve out his own destiny by taking over the land on his own. He is revealed to be the same bear that attacked them years ago, Mor'du. Narrowly escaping from him in his lair, Merida and Elinor come to realize they must return to the castle to “mend the bond” in the queen’s tapestry to break the spell. 

Upon arriving, they find the clans on the verge of war and, borrowing a move from her mother, Merida walks calmly between them before giving in to her frustration and shouting for silence. She then begins to tell them that she has resigned to honor the promise of betrothal but is stopped when Elinor, hiding in the shadows, motions for her to break the tradition and write her own story. The clan leaders’ sons wholeheartedly agree, much to the surprise of the clan leaders who then break out in celebration. As Merida is attempting to stitch the tapestry, Fergus goes to tell the queen that their suitor problem is solved. When he finds the queen’s dress and claw marks, he grievously presumes that his wife has been killed by Mor'du. Meanwhile, in the tapestry room, Merida scrambles to find the sewing materials and then to quiet her mother who has become feral again. Too late, Fergus hears the noise and bursts in to save Merida from what he believes is the monster that killed Elinor. Returning to her body once more, the queen sees herself attacking Merida and Fergus and retreats to the woods, hotly pursued by the vengeful king and the clans. Locked in her room, Merida receives help from three strikingly familiar bear cubs and escapes. With the boys, she races out on Angus to stop the mob from hurting her mother while hastily sewing up the tapestry. In the circle of megaliths, Elinor finds herself trapped and overpowered by the force of the clans. As King Fergus prepares to make the final blow, Merida arrives and draws a sword against her father. Before she can convince him that the bear is his wife, Mor'du appears, locked in combat, and lunges at Merida. Seeing this, Elinor breaks through her restraints and engages the larger, vicious bear. With just seconds till sunset, the bear queen knocks down one of the megaliths onto Mor'du and we see his spirit float off as a wisp. Merida throws the tapestry over her mother, just as the sun disappears, and so do the queen’s eyes. She cries and holds her, understanding that she has lost Elinor forever. But the fates are in her favor and the mended bond breaks the spell, turning the queen human again under the astonished eyes of the clans. The family reunites in happiness as the three cubs revert back to the unabashedly nude triplets. From here, Merida speculates on fate as something that lies within all of us and ends with the memorable remark that “You just have to be brave enough to see it.” 

While this movie touches on personal expression and freedom, it is really about the restrictions that we ourselves create within our relationships. The moral is to be brave to overcome such obstacles, as Merida and Elinor both did in humbling themselves to understand the other’s point of view, and recognize the love that’s more important to you. 

[ghostwhippet]

Hey, how are things ? I don’t know if you’ve been intentionally quiet about this or just haven’t had the opportunity to speak about it, but what are your thoughts on the S&B Netflix show? The cast, your thoughts, fears, etc.

In all honesty I am a terrible fangirl. I don’t chase or follow updates on things because 1) I hate feeling impatient, which is an inevitable product of anticipation, and 2) I want my experience of a story/tv show/whatever to be pure and unadulterated by any sort of “behind the curtain” info or fan opinion/spculation or what have you.

Perhaps oddly, I just don’t consider myself a “voice” in the Grisha fandom, you know? People’s experiences are theirs to have, and since I’m so obsessive about experiencing what’s put in front of me in its purest form, as whatever creator intended, I feel weird about adding my voice in opinion of a thing that doesn’t even exist yet. But being asked is another matter entirely! When I found out the project was announced, I was curious enough to dig around periodically until basic information was released, largely because of the fact that, let’s by honest, cross-platform adaptations typically end up being complete garbage. It seems even more problematic in the YA world, but that may just be because that has seemed to be such ripe ground for farming in the last... however many years. 10+? Idk.  When I saw the types of hands this project was being put into, however, the exciting possibility entered my mind that the finished product might actually end up being pretty decent! The last of my spelunking was when the initial cast photo was released. I was elated that it wasn’t a whitebread party - the persistence of that nonsense in movies and TV has historically made me want to stab things. I did have a purely canon-related concern about at least one of the casting choices (Alina, because Ravka = Russia = white people as far as the eye can see, given the lack of modernity presented), but A) it’d be criminally easy to explain her Shu heritage even if the creators stick to the oldworld Russia picture of Ravka, and in good hands that could actually be used to enrich the whole thing, and B) it seems pretty obvious that the worldstate and timeline, at the very least, are being tweaked from canon anyway, so it may be a complete non-issue. After the fact, I do have reservations about at least two of the other casting choices, but probably 90% of that is flavors of personal preference. At least one of the choices is so strongly adherent to a reductive stereotype (more worrying is that I have never seen the acting not follow suit in such cases) that is a solar system past cliche at this point that it has renewed some concerns about the thing as a whole being mishandled, but... all I can do is wait and see how the team’s vision and interpretation comes together. Speculation outside of that is fairly pointless. TV and movies are an astounding beast in that the way all the parts come together can really change everything and anything. When I saw a photo of Gal Godot when they cast her as Wonder Woman, I thought it was the worst choice I’d ever seen, and ffs look how that turned out. Honestly one of the the best feelings in the world is being pleasantly surprised by someone else’s creative vision and ability. The rest of my side-eye regarding the cast probably only really has to do with the fact that literally the only visual interpretation of any book characters I’ve ever found satisfying or even a little fitting are Charlie Bowaters’ Rhysand and Bone Carver from the A Court of Thorns and Roses series. But honestly, when someone’s being exists solely in your head and heart, how can any physical interpretation ever really be accurate? And that’s just talking about one person’s idea, god help anyone who has to cast a character that’s supposed to appeal to an entire fandom. (Side notes:  1) Charlie Bowater could draw a photorealistic pool of chunky diarrhea and I would think it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, so that helps, and  2) Full disclosure, I wasn’t actually a huge fan of the ACoTaR book series despite the fact that I found it [Rhysand. Basically just Rhysand.] ridiculously addictive. I’m world-class picky af about writing* *Fanfics get an almost endless free pass because none of us have editors and most of us are either entirely uneducated or at the very least haven’t majored in writing) Lastly, I'll say I did a quick Googly search before answering this just to make sure I remembered the cast right, and watched the short video where they introduced themselves. I found three things to be just... just magical: The Matthias/Nina actors’ interplay (most perfect, adorable thing I have ever seen in my life) Jesper’s actor basically being Jesper’s spirit animal while not even acting, and The way the guy (I don’t do names unless absolutely necessary, sorry humans >_>) who plays the Darkling was standing in front of his door/trailer and it was labeled simply “Bad Guy” instead of his name, and then Alina’s actress popped her head out from inside with a huge mischiefgrin I died on the spot. I actually don’t even know when the thing is being released, so I’ll probably be late to that party, too. xD Feel free to harass me, I’ll renew Netflix when the show comes out so I can watch it. <3!

[tonks32]

Hawke X Cullen- Aftermath

Takes place after their first meeting which can be read here. Should I just bite the bullet and start writing this as a full length fic?

   Headache brewing, Cullen pushed himself up further in his chair, cursing at the pain striking along his newest scars. He absently stroked the harden skin peeking out from his breastplate and up the side of his throat. Nearly two months and still they pained himself greatly. His mind left the paperwork that was in desperate need to get done and went back to that afternoon on the Wounded Coast. Cullen woke hours later when the moon was high in the sky surrounded by the remnants of his battle and potions left for him by his savior.

  A mage.

 It was no surprise to find her and the others long gone. If they lingered, he would have been duty bound as a Templar to take her into the Gallows. Only, the mere thought sickened him. Pushing to his feet, Cullen stalked to his office window, watching mages train in the courtyard under the very watchful eyes of other Templars. They cast their spells, used their magic freely but looking under their looks of concentration, Cullen could see they used it in pure terror. He could see it, more clearly than before his near death experience, the fear that one wrong move or word would mean being dragged away for lashes or time in isolation. Or worse, much, much worse, be rendered tranquil.

  So, why, knowing the rumors of the Gallows, with the fear of being turned tranquil, had that woman risked it all to save his life? He stroked the scar again while remembering the tips of her fingers against his skin. Soft against the brutal pain. Light cutting through the darkness trying to claim him.

  Cullen had wanted to ask her himself, but finding an Olivia in a city such as Kirkwall seemed to a fruitful endeavor as two, almost three months later, he hadn’t seen or heard a single mention of the name. Wasn’t it for the best anyways? He silently wondered. If he found her didn’t that mean he would only have to turn her for magic even if her gallant use of it saved his life.

  Could he even do it? The question had Cullen turning from the window to his small work area. A top of his desk were dozens upon dozens of missives about possible apostates all around town, out on the coast, and even taking refuge in the woods. Would she be among them? Had her choice sent her underground? Cullen knew mages were using the underground tunnels of Darktown to avoid capture. He was in the middle of reading a report of a clinic being run by a mage that so far had avoided any Templar investigation.

  All magic wasn’t bad. It couldn’t be, could it? Meredith was quick to see blood magic everywhere she looked and for some time, especially after the fall of the Ferelden circle, so did Cullen, but recent experience had him seeing things in a different light. Or was it just her?

  A knock on his door prevented Cullen from once again diving into the answer to the question that kept him up most nights. “Enter,” He commanded, moving back behind his desk.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Knight-Captain.”

  “What is it?” Cullen wondered crumbling up the report he’d been reading and pitching it in the trash.

  “Knight Commander has asked if you would come and take a look at the newest batch of recruits,” The older Templar replied. “They’ve gathered right inside the main gate.”

  Cullen stopped himself from saying. Ever since the incident with Wilmond and lack of any resolution to what possessed the man, Meredith had been taking extra precautions on anyone wanting to pledge themselves to the order. Why she insisted he met every single soul, Cullen couldn’t say. For some reason, he had the Knight Commander’s trust and he wasn’t sure what to do or how to feel about that. “Very well.” Heaving his shield onto his back, Cullen followed the messenger, not at all saddened about leaving the mountain of paperwork on his desk. “Anyone that stands out.”

   “A few,” Greyson answered. “There is one who I’ve heard rumblings about. Or at least the name anyways.”

  “What name would that be?”

  “Hawke, Ser.”

  Yes, he’d heard the name. The Knight Commander had even asked Hawke to help look into the missing Templar recruit but never had the opportunity to meet the man. The name was also one Cullen heard spoken often in the shadows of the street of Lowtown. Mercenary. Helper of those in need and brushed off by the Viscount. A person of interest. A person, in Meredith’s words, to keep an eye on as the name had been linked to the smuggling of apostates at one point in time.  

  If they decided to throw their weight in with the Templars, then they couldn’t be as dangerous as the Knight Commander thought them to be.

   There was a group of about ten men and women standing at attention right inside the heavy gates of the Gallows. Many of them were young. To young, Cullen silently noted regardless of the fact he was much younger when he joined the order. Green. Cullen walked up and down the line of protentional recruits, studying their faces, seeing fear jumping into their eyes. He wagered not many had seen battle if any. That would make training much more difficult for both them and the order.

  Cullen stopped in front of a dark-haired boy that looked shy of eighteen winters. “What is your name?”

  “Carver,” The young man spoke after a clear moment of hesitation.

  Something flickered in Cullen’s memory, trying to break loose and fully form. Cullen noted the man’s moss green eyes were focused on a fixed point over his shoulder, never making any attempt to fully look at him. Was he hiding something? Why did that name sound familiar? “Sir name?”

  “Hawke, ser,” Carver answered. “Carver Hawke.”

  “Ah, you’re the Hawke I’ve been hearing so much about.”

  The young man let out a soft snort. “Most likely my sister, Ser.”

  “Does that mean you haven’t used a sword, Hawke?”

  Carver’s face hardened. “I have, ser. I use to be a solider in the Ferelden army before… before the Blight. I was at the Battle of Ostagar.”

  “You’re Ferelden?”

  “I had to be dragged away from the fight after Loghain’s betrayal forced our army into a rout. My family and I had to flee Lothering not soon after.” There was much bitterness in Carver’s voice as he remembered all of it.  

  Cullen cocked his head to the side. “How many winters are you?”

  “Nineteen, Ser.” Carver stood taller under the Knight Captain’s gaze. “I joined the army when I was seventeen.”

  “Brave of you.”

  “Some would call it foolish.” Carver’s green eyes finally left the spot he’d been staring at to fully look at the Templar. He couldn’t keep them from flickering down to the three nasty scars running down the side of his throat. “I was eager to prove myself as I am now.”

  Cullen resisted the urge to touch the scars as it would lead him to think of the woman who rode death with him. He gave the young man a nod. “I’m glad to hear it, Carver. I can only hope good things will follow.”

  Carver watched Cullen walk away and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The knight captain didn’t recognize him. Carver would be cold-hearted if he didn’t acknowledge a small part of him was joining the Templars to see where they were in discovering his sister’s magic. As much as he hated living in her shadow, she was what little family he had left and would protect that part no matter the cost.  

[mittensmorgul]

8.11, LARP and the Real Girl.

Or that one where Sam and Dean finally manage to see through their own personal messes to find some common ground... via a fantasy role playing game... irony!

There is just so much irony in this episode.

All season to this point, Dean's been the one shown to be fully engaging with "reality," while Sam's tried very hard to cling to his "fantasy" of normal life that was essentially a LARP for him. His life with Amelia pretending to be a normal guy was his version of a fantasy, while Charlie (and the villain of the piece) both used the Moondoor LARP world to varying degrees as an escape from their mundane lives. The difference was Charlie maintained her grip on reality while Gerry/Boltar lost himself completely in it, which led to his ultimate destruction.

THERE IS ONLY MOONDOOR!

Yeah, sorry, Gerry. You can't hide from your real life by cheating and lying and manipulating through the game as if it was real.

I love how Charlie as a character is all mixed up in these deeper "identity" and "reality" themes that the show still plays with in s14. Unfortunately, the horror of Carver Era is that when Charlie finally accepts her true identity (through her experiences in a "fantasy" world in Oz, literally having to reunite her two halves), she only gets one mission on which to be her own person free of that baggage before the narrative destroys her for it. I mean... Carver showed his hand in 10.21, and it's just as ugly as Kripke and Gamble's final deals were. Which is why I am SO glad we have Dabb running the game now.

But back to this episode...

When Sam and Dean show up, Gerry immediately calls them out on their fake badges and tells them they can't participate in Moondoor because their appearance violates the rules... no "genre mashup." They finally meet with Charlie, and Dean happily puts on Moondoor-appropriate clothing and picks up a fake sword to carry, even though Charlie gives him the title of "Handmaiden." (lol) Dean is willing to engage with the game to a degree, as long as doing so serves his actual goal of stopping the killings. Meanwhile, Sam stays in his FBI suit and goes to the tent designated for technology use, which isn't allowed anywhere else in Moondoor. He's not playing the game right-- according to Gerry's rules-- and stuck firmly in "reality," which lol. After spending the season to this point demonstrating that Sam's idea of a fantasy larp was settling down in a house with a girl and a dog in Kermit, Texas and working as a motel handyman, and Dean had accused him of running away from their "real lives" of hunting the supernatural, well, this is a rather pointed exclamation mark on ALL of that. Even here in a "fake fantasy world" of non-magic wands and stick-on elf ears, Sam doesn't disengage with that illusion of "normal" he clings to.

(well, until he gives in and lets himself have some fun at the end of the episode, but we'll get there...)

Then we have Gilda, Gerry's original victim who he summoned from a fairy realm to do his bidding. She was powerless to act against him, even to free herself from his control, forced by Gerry to do all these terrible things to assist him in his quest for what we see was ultimately an "imaginary" rank of power. He wanted to be King of Moondoor to Charlie's queen, while still sticking to the "letter of the rules" if not the spirit of them. If "pretend magic" was allowed in Moondoor, then "real magic" wouldn't qualify as cheating in his book.

And speaking of Gerry's book... he had a literal book of magic that he used to enslave Gilda to his will. It's not even clear if Gerry was actually "in love with Charlie" like several other people expressed of themselves throughout the episode, or if he was purely seeking a station of power for himself. It's interesting that he neither targeted Charlie directly in order to take her throne for himself, nor did he ever really attempt to woo her romantically, either. Not like he would've succeeded at that one, but if he had romantic designs on her, you'd think he would've been a bit more upset at finding her and Gilda locking lips, you know? That wasn't what upset him-- it was that his plot had been uncovered:

SAM : [nods and clears his throat] Look. It doesn't have to be like this, Boltar. Just hand over the book of spells. We can work this out. GERRY (BOLTAR) : This will all work out... [he picks up a fake sword] after I remove you from the playing field and wipe her memory. Gilda?

Oh, did I mention how Gilda is a direct parallel to what's actually happening to Cas in Heaven as these events unfolded in Moondoor? Only Gilda is fully aware of the control over her, actively wants it to end, and hates being forced to do these terrible things. Cas doesn't even have that luxury. He doesn't even KNOW he's been mind-controlled, and rather than being able to ask for help to free himself, is only forced deeper and deeper into this brainwashing instead. And, ow.

Charlie manages to free Gilda:

GILDA : He can't stop him. The book – you must destroy it. DEAN punches GERRY (BOLTAR) and a book falls to the floor. SAM gasps as the suit of armor continues to strangle him from behind. CHARLIE dashes for the book. CHARLIE : Hey, Gerry. [She holds up a dagger.] I'm the one who saves damsels in distress around here. GERRY (BOLTAR) looks down at his belt as if something is missing. CHARLIE raises the dagger over her head and stabs the book. Bright light shines from it. GERRY (BOLTAR) : No!! The suit of armor falls to the ground, freeing SAM. GILDA smiles. The sword in GERRY (BOLTAR)’s hand turns back into a fake one. He swings it at DEAN, who catches it and takes it away from him before knocking him out. GERRY (BOLTAR) falls to the floor. GILDA walks to CHARLIE.

And isn't this incredible, considering that Robbie Thompson's very next episode is 8.17, wherein Dean is finally able to help Cas break the "spell" of mind control forcing him to act against his will by helping him free the angel tablet? Except the tablet still exists, and hasn't been destroyed like Gerry's magical book, and Cas still is not entirely free. He's simply transferred his forced obedience from Heaven and Naomi's orders to the Word itself. And OWWWWW.

THEMES!

Meanwhile this entire case was brought to their attention because Garth had literally been tracking their movements by GPS and identified them as the closest hunters to investigate. They weren't exactly being controlled by Garth or forced into this hunt, but they're still creeped that he's keeping tabs on them this way... Kinda like Chuck has been their whole lives, giving them occasional nudges in the direction he wanted them to run next.

This did, however, serve as a long-needed HEALTHIER reunion for Sam and Dean.

DEAN : [clears throat] So, what's, uh... what's next? 'Cause no fun, right? Look, before you say anything, I – I – I get it. No amount of fun is gonna help you get over what you gave up. You just, uh... you need time, right? SAM : Yeah. Thanks. And you're right. Having fun won't help me. It'll help both of us. Shall we?

ETA: I forgot to mention, in that end scene at the Battle of the Five Kingdoms... the dude who tosses the frisbee into the middle of their “battlefield” and holds up the action with a literal record scratch in the soundtrack, he retrieves his frisbee and gets out of their way, but, uh, not without passing a pretty harsh judgment on everyone: He calls them “freaks.” And yet... they’re just out there trying to have a good time in their own way, just like he is playing frisbee.