#both scenes are even set at masked balls!

[ladyantiheroine]

Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare // Batman Returns dir. Tim Burton

[brokenmutations]

Night Shift

Logan Howlett • She/Her Pronouns • Mutant!Reader [Heightened Senses] • POSSIBLE DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE SPOILERS • Joining a new timeline didn’t stop the nightmares from occurring. But at least, he doesn’t suffer alone…or at all after some time • ANGST/SFW/NSFW • TW: Major Injuries / Blood Loss / Nightmares / Anxiety

“Another nightmare?”

Logan looks away from the scene that was New York City late at night to catch the eyes the voice came from, which happened to be Y/N. She had stepped out onto the fire escape for her own reasons and to her surprise there was Logan on the escape of the apartment next door.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that”

“Better than Wade sleepwalking. Had to save him from you cutting his head off for almost grabbing your balls” Y/N scoffs, bringing herself to sit in the stairs of the escape looking out to the same scene. “Should give you some rope to tie him to his and Al’s bed because who knows when he’ll sleep walk”

“If you’re offering, I’ll take it” Logan scoffs leaning over the railing listening to the noise that he both misses and wishes it would stop. Which really makes him miss his home in the woods…back in his timeline with his Y/N.

“I know you’re not one for charity, but if you ever need a good nights sleep or company after a bad night…my door, or window is always open”

“I’ll think about it next time, bub” Logan pulled himself away from the railing to bring himself back inside as Y/N remained outside taking in every single sound of New York before wincing and putting her headphones back on while heading back inside.

Logan thought a few nights with a nightmare each time that he could handle it. But staying up after every occurrence only made him grumpier and Wade wasn’t having it for the most part.

“I can tell just by your baby hand that Logan didn’t sleep well”

“All I ask for this writer is to give him SOMETHING, but no! Who cares about plot nowadays we all saw his fucking Hawaiian roll buttered up abs” Wade groans behind the mask wishing he didn’t agree to this mission with Y/N. “Sorry. Kitty was angry this morning because of the lack of sleep he’s been having.”

“I got that much, Wilson” Y/N frowns rubbing circles on his back before suddenly taking his katana and slicing the once running target that entered the wrong alley way. “Guess it’s a short day”

“Bless your fucking heart” Wade quickly took his phone out taking a picture of the hit and sending it to the contact. “I’ll send you your money when I get it”

“Are you going to use most of yours for cocaine again?”

“Get your bloodhound nose out of mine alright?!”

Y/N watched him leave amused for a moment before disposing of the body because baby-hand-magee couldn’t for whatever reason.

Returning to the apartment later than usual didn’t bother Y/N, but she also didn’t expect someone to be in her apartment at the hour that it was. She knew there was someone given her senses, so when she flicked the light on for Logan to scramble suddenly and notice her unfazed expression he was a bit surprised. But so was she a little.

“I didn’t think you’d take me up on it”

Logan shrugs a bit not knowing what to say as Y/N couldn’t fight back a smile. She enters the apartment entirely, shutting the door behind her as she drops her bag on the floor.

“Make yourself at home” Y/N shot him another smile while she walked past him to enter the kitchenette setting down the takeout bag she had along with her other belonging.

The man obviously felt foreign in her apartment even with the invitation. Logan brought himself to sit on the couch watching her movements that weren’t much different from her. Except for more hesitation when handling things that might overwhelm her senses.

“I got takeout and I always buy extra if you’re interested.” Y/N gestures with her head to the kitchen she stood in if he wanted some. But when he didn’t come once she finished putting her dinner in a bowl, she decided to make him one regardless.

While she did such, Logan looked at the frame pictures on the wall behind the couch noticing there was a picture of him. He brought his whole body to face it and get a better look.

This universe’s Logan looked happy and so did Y/N beside him. There was another beside it that was a Polaroid with Laura looking at the picture confused but had a laughing Y/N in the background with Logan reaching for the thing.

“There’s a whole box of Polaroids I can grab that she took from when she was younger” Y/N’s voice startled him slightly as if he had gotten caught for looking at pictures. “Some are very blurry but they mean a lot to Laura and I so I keep them” she handed his plate which he wasn’t going to refuse after she took the time to plate it.

Before she sat with him, Y/N pulled a box out from under the couch setting it beside him. “Whenever you want to look at them” she stated while finally sitting to eat her late dinner, she reached into her coat pocket to take out a bottle of pills and dropped one on top of her rice. Causing Logan to stare and inspect his food. “I didn’t drug yours. It’s my sleeping pill, I have to eat something with it and this just makes it easier”

You don’t need them, sweetheart. Just focus on my heartbeat. That’ll calm you down

Sometimes it’s as fast as jackrabbit, Lo. Are you sure it’ll work?

You’ve said the pills make yea sick in the morning. Even more drowsy. This will work and if not, I’ll help you find alternatives

Okay, love. You know I trust you

Logan’s heart started to ache for what he lost in his timeline and Y/N felt the mood shift as they sat together eating. She wanted to comfort him but didn’t want to over step in any way.

After some time and a little clean up, Y/N went to bed once she got the foldable bed ready for Logan. Leaving him with a box of pictures alone to go through. He didn’t right away and stayed in the bed trying to sleep but wanting to know what this world’s Logan was like to these two important people in his life was itching his brain.

A lot of the Polaroids were blurry and could tell those looking that the young photographer was just learning how to use it. Then they got clearer and Laura would mainly take pictures of Y/N with her because she didn’t mind it. But there was several of Logan both pissed that he’s being photographed and the occasional one where he’s admiring Y/N.

Then there’s a few, like three Polaroids…where her Logan had taken them. One of her sleeping on his chest, another with just the two of them, then one of Y/N in a window holding Laura as she slept. The back of it had some writing on it…

Who I’m fighting for

Logan couldn’t help but feel the pain that Y/N could’ve possibly—-and most likely did feel when she read that a moment after her Logan passed. It made sense why she sobbed when reuniting with Laura.

This kept him awake for a while longer until he finally let sleep take over.

More into the night is when Y/N woke through a haze hearing heavy breathing. The apartment was small even with a one bedroom so she could hear everything regardless of her mutation. She pulled herself out of the bed grabbing the oversized flannel off her chair to slip on so she wouldn’t be in just a tank top and shorts when investigating.

It was obvious what was happening when Y/N drew close to Logan’s tossing form. She carefully moved the box of Polaroid off the bed before bringing herself beside him.

“Logan…” Y/N whispers watching him grip onto the sheets and the smallest glint of metal revealing itself. “Logan it’s just a nightmare”

He wasn’t coming out of it and Y/N knew what could happen next. She then decided to risk it and do what she used to do for him.

________

“Logan it’s okay…you’re okay, nothing is harming anyone you love” Y/N whispers, resting her head on Logan’s chest that was once rising and falling at an unbearable speed. But the second her head rested on it, it slowed. “You’re okay…we’re okay…I’m okay…”

Once Logan calmed, he brought his arms around her sighing. He pressed his lips onto the top of her head feeling her relax against him.

“You just…know how to bring me back”

“I’ll always find a way to bring you back, Lo. Even if it kills me”

________

The second her head rested on his chest, Logan relaxed and the small hint of his claws coming out retracted back. He didn’t wake but he finally relaxed.

“You’re okay, Lo” Y/N whispers rubbing circles on his chest feeling his body relax beneath her. “Everything is going to be okay”

She let the exhaustion take her from the day and found herself fast asleep on him. The steady of his breathing and his heartbeat calmed her…calmed all the sounds she’s been overwhelmed with…

This has been happening for a while. Logan sleeping over and Y/N helping him sleep. She would normally slip out of his embrace during an early hour of the day so he wouldn’t notice. But after the first five times, he’s noticed. He didn’t want to say anything because he enjoyed it. Especially the one time she didn’t get up early and remained there peacefully, giving Logan a chance to admire her while she slept.

They both missed this with their universe’s other…but there was also more than their other had

The most recent time it happened, it was extra difficult to get Logan to fall back asleep with his claws still retracted. That when Logan woke in the morning, disappointed she wasn’t there…he realized shortly why when Y/N handed him coffee and her arm was bandaged. You can’t lie to Logan. You can try but it won’t work. He knows he cut her by accident and it was her first time but her first time with this Logan.

“I’m sorry…” Logan randomly told her when he accompanied her and Wade on a job. The two of them taking look out after Wade insisted ‘he got this’

“Nightmares are scary things, Logan. We all do things when we have them”

“I…You’ve never had them with me around” Logan whispered. “Or least when I’ve been around…”

“I guess I’ve been sleeping better…have been taking my sleeping pills less” Y/N knew the blush on her complexion was giving her away on how she felt and Logan tried so hard to ignore it but the tips of his ears burned red. “What’s taking Wade so long? I can’t hear any fighting or—-“

“Smell any blood. Should we—-“ Logan was cut off by the sound of an explosion as he instinctively covered Y/N who covered her ears until she felt alright to release. “Fucking moron”

“Awww thanks for the new nickname, peanut” Wade cheers strutting out of the now burning building with one less arm. He noticed their position and couldn’t help the smirk on his face. “So!” Ignoring the current fire. “Are you two coming to my party later? Al says she found cocaine but knowing her she probably had Mary Puppins sniff some questionable white bags so it could actually end up being meth”

“I don’t think the poor pup is an efficient drug sniffing dog” Y/N commented as she went into her bag to put her headphones on. “Besides. I’d love to but I have another job later”

“You uh need a hand?” Logan asked, sensing the devilish smirk on Wade’s face resulting in him unsheathing his claws making him hold his hands up.

“I was instructed to take it on alone…but I’ll be alright. Usually am” Y/N reassures. “You’re still…allowed to be in my apartment if you don’t want to be at the party for the whole thing”

“Oh he’s gonna stay. Yukio is gonna do tarot readings” Wade wrapped his baby arm around Logan, enticing a growl out of the man.

Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile before throwing her backpack on. “Just don’t get into too much trouble, Wade. I hate talking to the landlord for you” and with that said, she left the two to clean up whatever mess there could be after what Wade did.

The party was a bit much. Logan was starting to get frustrated even if he sat on the couch with Dogpool watching everybody get drunk, have their tarots read, and listen to more of Wade’s sex stories. He wasn’t doing much but nursing a beer and think about her. She’s been on his mind for much longer than when she said she was doing a job solo. He was going to take that night as an opportunity to admit to feelings he’s felt much longer than the time Y/N first helped him with his nightmares.

She’s always been patient with him when he was standoff-ish in the beginning.

She kept her cool when he’d yell out his frustration

She never hesitated to give him answers to any questions he had about her Logan or Laura

She always listens. Never pushes her thoughts.

She’s there whenever you need her.

Every Logan will love every Y/N out there…

Mary Puppins suddenly stirred beside Logan which he normally didn’t care about given she can do what she pleases. But she jumped off the couch and instantly went to the door starting to scratch it. Given the hour it was, 2AM, Wade was plastered and couldn’t take her out so he decided to do it himself.

Once the pup was strapped in her harness and leash, Logan opened the door only for Puppins to lunge forward and toward something that only made him grumble with the force she was giving.

“Calm down, bub. We’ll get outside soon” Logan sighs shutting the door behind him and stilling for a moment when he heard footsteps. He quickly scoops up Mary Puppins and hesitantly approaches the stairs.

If it wasn’t Mary Puppins in his arms, he’d drop everything. Instead he carefully set her down before quickly approaching Y/N and her fragile state.

“What happened?” Logan frowns hearing his heartbeat rapid in his ears as he tried to remain calm even if her currently bleeding state wasn’t helping.

“A lot. I…I wanna sleep”

“No, bub. You’re bleedin’ we gotta stop it…or—“ Logan froze when Y/N collapsed in his arms and he didn’t hesitate to yell for Wade.

It’s been an annoyingly anxiety inducing couple of hours in the ER, then the waiting room. Logan sat beside Wade who kept dozing off every now and then because of the booze in his system but at least Mary Puppins in his arm licked his face to perk him up. Logan’s leg wouldn’t stop bouncing and the scowl on his face became more permanent expression until he heard any news.

In a panic, Laura quickly entered the waiting room scanning the room and locking eyes with Logan before approaching.

“What happened?!”

“A job gone wrong. It happens.” Wade yawns rubbing his eyes and once he got the sleepiness out of them he was met with an identical glare from Laura that matched the one on Logan’s. “What? She passed out before we got details, angel babies. We won’t know more until she wakes up. What I said is the best you’re gonna get” he sighed turning himself toward the reader of this story. “Afraid if I say more. I’ll traumatize the nurses over my baby limbs more than the amount of blood that escapes my hot bod”

Now as the four of them wait, with the occasional letting the pup out to do her business, Logan couldn’t help but think of when he lost his Y/N.

It wasn’t like with the rest of the X-Men, but if some of the X-Men were still alive. They would say it’s the reason he left in the first place

________

“What do you mean she didn’t leave the building?!” Logan shouted at Scott only to leave the plane in a hurry back to the scene.

“Jean stop hi—-“

“No”

“Jean.”

“Scott, let him go” Ororo sided with Jean in the silent agreement of he needs to see for himself.

The smell of her blood stained his senses the closer he got to it. Why didn’t they try and save her? What did she say to them?

Instead of those questions piercing a thought in his mind, Logan found Y/N barely hanging on and the only reason they didn’t pull her out because if they did…she would only die instantly and she needed him. For one last moment.

“No…No no no…Y/N, baby” Logan’s voice cracked at the sight as he dropped to his knees trying to figure out a way to cut through the beams that were piercing her in several places. “Baby I-I’m gonna…I-I…I-I’ll get you out. Yeah I will…”

“Lo…p-please…we both know—-“

“No! I can’t. I-I can’t lose y-you” He sobbed, this man with a rough exterior sobbed and it only broke her heart as she reached for him. Feeling his cheek gently place itself in her palm. “Please…D-Don’t leave me”

“I love you. I love you so m-much” Y/N winced feeling the pain subside but only in that direction. “Y-You…y-ou’ll find me…a-again…p-promise”

“Y/N…” Logan sobbed gripping her wrist and focusing on her breathing that started to slow. “I love you. Fuck I love you so much. I didn’t say it enough. I-I love you.” He cried watching the love of his life wither.

________

But this wasn’t happening again.

Laura laid her head on the side of Y/N’s bed with Logan’s jacket draped over her as she occupied the chair by her bed. While Logan sat in the one in the far corner. Wade had to bring Mary Puppins home and tell those who stayed the night after a drunken party that Y/N pulled through.

What happened was Y/N took another job for the same guy that her job with Wade and Logan came from. But the purpose of it being solely only her was to trap her and force information out of her on the regenerative properties the two have. She knows very little about the properties because Wade doesn’t know how his manifested and Logan’s don’t need a rocket scientist to figure out. They thought they hit the gold mine when capturing her but instead while they met their inevitable end, Y/N gotten beaten and physical broken in the process.

Which explains the sling made for collar bone fractures on her, and the bandaging around her torso for more than just internal bleeding but to stabilize the broken ribs. The bruises and cuts littered are self explanatory.

The only plus side to all of this in her case was how sterile and quiet a private hospital room is.

All Y/N heard were their heartbeats and how fast they were going given her current state.

“I’m…n-not dying. You can calm just a little bit” Y/N sighed out, hearing the quick shuffling indicating Logan practically shot out of his chair approaching her other side while Laura gently rested her hand on Y/N’s that was rested on her stomach. “I’m okay sweet girl” she reassured taking her hand into hers as she finally opened her eyes wincing slightly at the light and her shifting only to feel the extent of her injuries. “T-That goes for you too, Lo…I’m okay.”

“Your injuries say otherwise” Logan frowns sitting on the edge of the bed watching Laura hesitantly climb into the bed after Y/N ushered her to do so. “Don’t…don’t let her move too much, kid”

“Worrywart. She’s fine.” Y/N let her lay beside her as Laura was always mindful of injuries and didn’t mess with any of the tubes she was connected to.

She was in the hospital for three days. Laura stayed for two and went back to Y/N’s apartment to clean it up for when she comes back. Including getting her prescriptions and things. Logan stayed for all three days. She wanted him to stay for all three days.

“You okay on the pull out bed?” Y/N tried to help make the bed with the one arm but Logan quickly and gently took the part of the blanket out of her hand. “I can still help”

“You broke your collarbone on the left side, sweetcheeks. You ain’t lifting a finger even if five are out of commission” Wade tugged too much on his side resulting in a grumble from Logan and Laura to push him away.

“I’m okay on the couch bed, mo��-Y/N” Laura couldn’t help the embarrassed blush to rise on her cheeks for almost calling Y/N mom in front of others. Even if that’s what she is to her.

Wade being Wade was about to comment until Y/N glared at him before tiredly making her way to her room. Logan hesitantly follows, letting Laura boss Wade around to help her finish making the bed even if he’s already messed up.

“So uh. She’s staying on the couch bed so I’ll go back to Wa—-“

“You can sleep with me…” Y/N had her back turned to him which she was grateful given the blush that started to spread. “I’ll be bounded to one side since I have to be sleeping sitting up. Plenty of space for another body”

“I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you any further by accident”

“I promise you…you won’t hurt me” She frowns reaching for another pillow, only for Logan to stop her and do it himself.

Once the night stilled and Wade was sleeping on the floor while Laura took the bed…Logan laid awake beside Y/N’s still form occasionally glancing over to make sure she’s still breathing. As much as she was saved and alive, he couldn’t help the fear aching in his chest that she would disappear right before him.

The second he shut his eyes, they instantly shot open causing him to quickly look at her seeing her breathing heavy and tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“Y/N—-“ Logan quickly maneuvered on the bed to be sat on his knees by her side. Resting his hand on her face watching her face grimace and her eyes remain close. “Y/N, baby it’s a nightmare—-“

“P-Please…Please don’t take them from me again” She begged, still in her unconscious state as the tears kept coming her body tensed at first when she felt another hand rest on her other cheek. But suddenly relaxed and sobbed more while she opened her eyes. “Logan…everything is too loud”

Logan frowns wiping away her tears letting his body relax beside her and bringing her close while minding her injuries. The sense of protectiveness he emitted brought an old familiar warm feeling in Y/N’s chest as she looked up at him with a pleading expression.

“Just focus on my heartbeat, that’ll calm you down” He whispers being mindful of the noise happening inside her head as she rests her head on his shoulder keeping her eyes on him. “Breathe…just listen. Focus on that” he relaxed himself enough so his heart wouldn’t be pounding in her ears.

But the second she focused and started to finally relax after the nightmare, Y/N shut her eyes letting the last of the tears fall.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you” He whispers to her bringing his lips to her forehead hearing a soft sigh escape her lips.

“Logan…”

“Hm? What is it, princess?”

“Please don’t leave me”

“I’m not going anywhere”

[finnfrei]

I would love to hear more about your bard and her dragonborn 🥺👉👈

Aww, thank you so much for asking! Tbh, I always feel shy sharing the stories of my OCs, so I really appreciate your interest🩵

Where do I even begin? (Also, English is not my first or even second language, so I apologize for my poor writing in advance).

Clio is my changeling bard from our current homebrew DnD campaign and she’s the little ray of sunshine, who’s hiding her trauma behind a cheerful innocent smile. Or at least she used to be up until the party’s current adventure in Avernus. Quite early in life she realized how easy it is to lure secrets from people, when you look cute and play dumb.

Once she set out on an adventure with the party, she had a dream. A charming stranger in a dragon mask at a ball challenged her to play a complex composition. Non of what she saw on the music sheet he gave her made sense, it couldn’t sound good. But Clio was not the one to fuck around with and she started playing, struggling at first, but getting the grip of it. As the music played, the dirty secrets of people in the room started to reveal themselves to her overflowing her mind. The man asked her to meet him in the house of upper city where the party was headed.

That was how she met him, the man in the mask wasn’t a man she saw in the dream, but an emerald Dragonborn. Hescan was a commander of Secret Police and Master of College of Whispers. This tough mountain of muscles with cold gaze and devious grin was barely showing any genuine emotions. It felt familiar, she’s so used to putting on a mask herself, different ones, but still. He played cool and unbothered. Some even might say he looked dangerous, but Clio had met dangerous, cruel men way too many times before and wasn’t so easily fooled by him. She found it adorable on him. The feeling of safety around him puzzled her. He suggested her to work for him, collecting information, dragging skeletons out of others closets. She thought it would be fun to finally get paid for something she does anyway, never taking the job too seriously though. And well, girl asked for the direction of the nearest brothel, hoping to get some intelligence from local prostitutes, knowing full well about the amount of secrets kept by all the creatures, who aren’t taken seriously by rich and powerful. However, the dragonborn jokingly suggested her his bedroom. Joke got out of control. Bards being bards, I guess.

It all started with both of them trying to get intimate, “have fun” just to let down the other’s guard to get under their skin and lure more secrets from each other. Learn each other’s weaknesses, but also trying to secure the other’s loyalty. Hescan was playing cool and distant, meanwhile Clio was taunting him any time she saw an opportunity, shamelessly trying the limits of his patience. She liked to call him “pretty boy” and only called him “chief” in jest, he knew it also turned her on.

Eventually the more they learned the more they started to genuinely care about one another. They both knew what it was like feeling your body, your boundaries violated, used for someone else’s sick whims. They found comfort, they knew they were safe with each other, even if just for the night. Although they both had a hard time admitting it. After all it would mean to admit they had lost the game.

Now with a few years passed, they still have hard time fully trusting each other, given their occupation. She still makes fun of him, he finds it cute. He knows he can rely on her, so as she does.

There were so many sweet and funny moments between these two and to be honest the scenes where they admitted their feelings to each other, letting down their guards, live rent free in my mind.

[atiny-for-life]

Ateez's Full Storyline Explained - Part 28

Masterlist

Ice On My Teeth (Unknown World)

We open on a shot of the new Ateez logo embroidered on a white towel before we pan up to Yunho holding a black lollipop which he swiftly exchanges for a tennis racket and ball. He's inside the mansion/museum this entire MV takes place in.

Rows of masked individuals dressed in tennis outfits are lined up behind him while the walls are all decked out in "classical" paintings of masked people in fancy dress (seemingly royals), but also masked angels which implies this entire place's history is filled with criminals trying to hide their identity. Even their "pure" beings like angels don't dare to show their faces.

Given the new AT-logo can be found both on the building's facade and their clothing, the initial assumption is: this entire building belongs to Ateez and they're a group of criminals in a far more straightforward way than the Black Pirates ever were.

This then gets reinforced by the end of Yunho's part where he drops this line, which sounds much like a murder threat.

Though whether this assumption is correct remains to be seen...

We next cut to Yeosang who's in the same room and we now get to see the orange floor is actually a tennis court and the tennis balls turn into splashes of black paint upon impact.

The theme of art strewn throughout this video really carries into all of the details as well. However, these guys seem more so inclined to destroy it rather than cherish it, going by how they're already ruining some of the paintings with the tennis balls.

At this point, they seem like the antithesis to Ateez and the Black Pirates who we know love art and view it as a way to reach people's hearts.

Moving on to the next scene, we find Seonghwa outside the mansion with some of their goons, all dressed up in suits.

We cut to Seonghwa taking a seat in front of the goons where the rest of Ateez are already sitting, flanking him - one nice, big crime family with their giant ass mansion in the background. Here, we can see the logo on the facade most clearly.

The flashing letters after this just echo the repeating lyrics, by the way.

Mingi's up next and in his office where he receives a ring alongside some ashes (suspicious).

He slides on the ring, gets it kissed by one of the masked goons (mafia much?) and goes to admire some artwork on the wall.

Given the ring was not originally his but is still engraved with the 'AT' logo, we can now begin to wonder if this Ateez actually belongs in this world or if they merely took the place over from the original 'AT'.

Going by the ashes that came with the ring, I would think they burnt the ring's original owner, much like they're about to burn down this mansion.

They may not be what they originally seemed to be...

Suspicions deepen when we get to see Mingi's face as he looks up at the painting of the masked family. That is not the expression of a proud son looking up at his ancestors.

Panning up from a shattered mirror, we move on to Hongjoong with a flapper-era hairdo in a fur coat (very Say My Name) who's in a largely unused room filled with dust/ashes and already got a fire going in the fireplace.

Taking two ice cubes on sticks, he sets them by the fire like marshmallows before we move on to Jongho.

Jongho's in a music room where one of the masked people is playing the piano for him as he sings. In the back, we can see two banners with the 'AT' logo, as well as a row of dancing ballerinas, a ton of speakers, and a giant clock.

Aesthetically, this entire place screams "Z-World", especially the speakers (Guerrilla), art, and shattered mirror, which would imply these are the Black Pirates who've gone to visit Guardian Island or a similar art storage facility, but let's see...

Out in the hallway, Seonghwa is dressed up like Zorro as ballerinas dance by him on either side. In his hand, he holds something that looks like a mix between a 20's lady's pipe and a candle snuffer with the longest handle I've ever seen.

We move on to San who's in a ball room and literally floating up to a chandelier. Is this a dream then? It certainly isn't something they've ever been able to do outside the dreamscape...

Side note: the coloring of this MV is absolutely gorgeous. I love the blue-orange contrast, the crisp footage, the cinematic shots. Such a feast for the eyes.

Interestingly, right after this shot, we get more flashing across the screen and, upon pausing, find an arrow pointing upward.

The chorus is upon us, and we get to see Hongjoong in a different outfit, sporting a chain with an anchor-shaped pin. The nautical theme has returned, potentially a callback to the Treasure series.

We get some nice center-Wooyoung and -Yeosang time, which is lovely to find in the chorus, before we cut to Seonghwa and get another flash, this time of a circle highlighting the ballerinas' formation around Seonghwa.

Following the chorus, we're gifted more Yeosang time and find him seated in a room with a freaky-ass ventriloquist doll on his lap while masked reporters surround him. Yunho then pops up to grab him by the shoulder before they ask us "How do we look? Who do you think you are?"

Moving on to San, he begins with the line "Little bird over there has a lot to say" which reminds me of Halazia, but even more so of Yeosang.

Ever since the beginning of their story, it was Yeosang who always said he felt like a caged bird and he's been associated with birds all throughout their lore, even in The Real where white doves took off around him, and that was an MV entirely unrelated to the storyline.

And given how Yunho just grabbed Yeosang, stopping him from continuing his act in front of the press, I wonder if Yeosang in this world, has been given a new role. Is he a mouthpiece for Ateez?

Continuing onward, as the fans are lowered behind San, they reveal Wooyoung while the words "We don't have time" flash across the screen, echoing Wooyoung who comes forward to a ring a dinner bell in our face.

Seonghwa rolls up next, sitting on a rusty car placed in the middle of the dining table between their masked goons, which really drives the last nail in the coffin: this is not real. We're in a dream. But who's dream is it?

In front of Seonghwa, a chandelier crashes to the ground while, behind him, we can once again see the banners and giant clock we already saw with Jongho earlier.

Incidentally, Jongho is also up next with a huge tic-tac-toe game beside him, underlining Seonghwa's line from a second ago, but also making me wonder if this entire world isn't just not real, but also like a game to this version of Ateez.

Following the circling shot of Jongho, we get a few quick flashes of photographs taken of the members in gray-scale, starting with the family pictures from earlier and continuing with snapshots of Jongho (flanked by Sanhwa with their heads inclined as if they were his servants - hilarious), then Yeosang with the twin towers (all looking like runway models), and Topaz (an iconic duo).

Every time Jongho and Seonghwa get put in the same unit, stuff like this happens and I love it.

We move on to Hongjoong, back in his furcoat which he ditches right at the start. He's surrounded by rows of busts covered in masks, one of whom starts to move its lips along to his words (this world is a dream), before we see him floating among the angels in the painting.

Angel!Hongjoong confirmed.

Continuing with the theme of art-destruction, he then stands by as all the busts topple off their sockets and shatter on the ground.

Back outside in the driveway, Mingi is playing chess with the goons (more games) while one of those hydraulic cars we last saw in Work is bouncing in the background.

While holding one of the chess pieces, he then smashes in the glass of a car window.

Fading from a grand piano getting played to the top floor window of the mansion, we then get to see Jongho commanding the strings which pull at the furniture they're now working on piling up in the driveway.

Within the room itself, furniture pieces also move about, pulled by rope which in turns seems to be pulled by an unseen force.

Echoing Yeosang's ventriloquist doll act from earlier, this also has the theme of "strings getting pulled", of "puppeteering". It's all a game and the world around them is inhabited by game pieces.

Jongho then checks his digital pocket watch and it's 11:15, the release date. Within the theme of the MV, time is ticking, and they're operating on a tight schedule.

Now comes the most interesting part: Yunho is in a doctor's office, presenting the doctor with "CT scans" of the mansion they've been wrecking this entire time and the doctor seems mighty concerned about it. Are we inside this man's head? Is this his dreamscape which Ateez have invaded and made their own by pasting their logo everywhere and destroying all which was already there?

And even more interestingly: If this entire place is filled with masked criminals, what does that say about this doctor's mind and personality? Is he a rotten criminal down to his very core? Have Ateez come here to punish him for his crimes and destroy him from within? Or is this merely a warning?

A music string shoots forward, wrapping itself around the doctor's wrist and dragging him all the way outside through the driveway while Yeosang watches on, unperturbed, holding his umbrella over himself in the rain-free darkness.

Together with the wooden furniture they've been taking outside, they build a pyre in the driveway. And the doctor has been strapped down right at its center, prepared to be burnt like the owner of the ring Mingi put on earlier.

Jongho looks down at the doctor with disgust on his face as he drops the line "chew 'em up and keep 'em shut". The doctor's teeth frame the shot.

It's Mingi who then drops the lighter, sealing the doctor's fate before the rest of Ateez join him to dance in front of the pyre. Perhaps the scene of him getting the ring actually takes place after this fire has burnt down then and the ring originally belonged to this doctor.

We get quick flashes of the burning rooms within the mansion, later on also some with Ateez still in them, uncaring about the fire consuming their environment, further highlighting the fact this is merely a dream and they know they won't get hurt.

We then end on Hongjoong who walked into the pyre where the lower jaw of the doctor was left behind. He removes one of the teeth, a diamond shaped like a tooth, and holds it up for inspection. They've achieved what they came for. He smiles into the camera.

Our final shot is of Ateez in the aftermath of the family picture. While the masked goons walk off, they remain seated, leaving us with some time to think about who they are and what all this means.

In my mind, there are a few options:

This is A-World's Ateez coming back together to use their Cromer abilities to fight greed, which has destroyed their world (and ours), by travelling into criminal's minds and raining down hell upon them. (That man is a doctor and his mind is solely consumed by money, crime, and riches.) What hints toward this is: the fur coats and environment reminiscent of Say My Name, the anchor on Hongjoong's outfit.

This is Z-World's Ateez cleaning up after the revolution by mind-breaking all the bastards left behind from the tyrannical government so they can't regroup and try to reclaim power over the people. What hints toward this is: the all black outfits, Seonghwa's giant hat, the general vibe of the environment.

This is Halazia-World's Ateez continuing on their dream-travelling spree and they've now taken to fighting the sort of greedy dirtbags who ruined their world. What hints toward this is: Hongjoong's hat, all the fire, the clocks.

Regardless of which version of Ateez this is, the themes remain the same: greed corrupts the mind and they hate that shit so they use their abilities to do a public service by punishing this doctor within his dream (and likely also other people like him).

And honestly, all I can say to that is: thank you and keep going!

[corvidcall]

ive been a halfhearted dnd defender for a minute, bc i was really involved in indie ttrpg twitter for a while and I Am Not Anymore because frankly. it just got too hostile and crab bucket-y. a lot of people acting like critical role or dimension 20 were opposing them by playing a game that had widespread brand recognition (and also getting mad whenever critrole played something OTHER than dnd. i haven't forgotten how hostile everyone i knew in that scene was when critrole played monster hearts. like what do you want??) or like people who play dnd are popular jocks and people who play indie games are bullied nerds. when actually we're all nerds. nobody is cool here.

and i would especially get frustrated when people would recommend games to play instead of dnd that are not at all a comparable experience, or didnt have the same things people liked in dnd. sure, you could play Masks if you want to play a superhero game instead of just reskinning DnD, but Masks is about teens, and the fact that you're playing as teens is core to the mechanics, so it's not a good suggestion for someone who wants to play as adult superheroes. sure you can suggest someone play Blades in the Dark if they want to play a heist team, but BitD is incredibly punishing! every time ive played it, it felt almost impossible to get a full success at anything. that can be fun, if that's the kind of game you want, but if i want to play a game where i feel cool and like im good at things, then BitD is not a good replacement! I cant tell you how many times I've seen people say that you don't need to just reskin dnd when there are games that are more specifically tailored to the experience you want, and then in the same breath act like the games they're suggesting ARENT specific actually and can be used to craft any kind of experience you want. Is the genre baked into the mechanics, or isnt it? because it cant be both!

and thats not even getting into when people would suggest replacements that aren't even close. a lot of "dnd sucks nobody should ever play dnd. instead of dnd, why don't you play MY game, where youre a couple thats getting married in 2 months and you're still planning your wedding?" like... why would i play that instead of dnd, if i want to play dnd? those have nothing in common, beyond the fact that theyre both tabletop games. it's like saying "Instead of watching Star Wars, you should watch Get Out!" sure, they're both MOVIES, and Get Out is GOOD, but i think to suggest that someone who wants to watch Star Wars would have an equal if not better experience watching Get Out instead devalues both. They're not interchangeable because they're trying to do entirely different things

So I would get incredibly frustrated when people acted like people who were choosing to play DnD were just making a mistake, and that they couldn't possibly be getting anything out of playing that game specifically

ALL THAT BEING SAID wizards of the coast sucks ass and they can clean my balls. they should get put in the stocks and i should get to pelt them with tomatoes. i like playing in the sword and sorcery fantasy setting, and dnd was always my go-to game for that because Dungeon World is the worst game I've ever played (i can think of one or two other games in the same sort of setting, but i haven't tried them or met anyone willing to run them) but ah well. WotC can eat shit for this copyright bullshit

[makoodles]

your ronal/tonowari works have me rotting at the brain thinking of them and i now have a massive hatred for the masks humans need i like to think if for some reason the reader doesn’t use it - whether they take ronal and tonowari to a the labs they used to live in or some new mask thats significantly less bulky thats lets the couple kiss their newest addition more freely. i think ronal is easy to get addicted to it, her human’s lips are so soft just like the rest of them is and she finds tracing the lines of their teeth to be satisfying - humans lack the sharp fangs that they na’vi have and ronal would be a liar if the physical reminder of how weak you are didn’t excite her

ohohohoho

tonowari is a big teddy bear who's willing to work around your little breathing mask requirement as best he can, but ronal hates that goddamned mask with her entire being

ronal and tonowari are reluctant to allow a human outpost to be built in awa'atlu, but they allow it all the same. it's only when they're brought inside the first time and their little human takes off the mask for the first time in their presence that they realise what this actually means. and damn, if their world isn't rocked by the realisation that they actually have access to your mouth for the first time.

after that, they linger around the outpost all the damn time for the most ridiculously transparent reasons. sometimes they don't even have an excuse; they just sit there, so big in the tiny space as they block the norm and max from going about their business.

they have no shame. as far as they're concerned, this little sky demon outpost has been built in their territory, and that means that they have some authority here. as such, they don't give a fuck if they're causing a scene or disrupting things when they take the opportunity to spend time with you unmasked.

that involves stroking your weird little blunt teeth, your pliant lips, the soft, squishy insides of your mouth. there's something about the lack of sharp teeth that is just thrilling for them.

[nsfw below]

they abuse their new ability to kiss you, like a lot. tonowari loves to pull you into his lap and lay deep, passionate kisses on you as he runs his hands all over your soft, squishy body. if norm and max haven't evacuated the outpost all ready, you can be damn sure they're doing it now.

ronal's kisses are a little sharper; she alternates between soft and sweet little pecks and hot, biting kisses where it feels as though she's trying to eat you alive.

between the two of them, they're more than eager to put your little mouth to work.

ronal's tails swishes with poorly concealed excitement the first time they manage to get you undressed and unmasked, naked on the cheap little bunk that's been set up for you in the back of the prefabricated building. the opportunity for them to lay kisses all over your body and to have those same kisses returned? it nearly sends them wild.

there's something so exciting about the sight of you nestled between ronal's thighs, sucking on her clit as best you can. the sight really gets tonowari going as well; the sight of his two girls pleasuring each other makes him feel as though he could come right there on the spot.

even better is when both you and ronal are both laying between his legs, using your hot wet mouths on him. he'll be panting and groaning the whole time as you and ronal alternate positions.

you can hardly fit his cock in your much smaller mouth, so you make do with suckling on the sensitive head while ronal holds his hips down so that he can't hurt you by accidentally bucking into your mouth. then you and ronal will swap around, and while she takes his cock into her throat properly, you'll be licking insistently at tonowari's poor, swollen balls where they're weighed down by his thighs.

usually, tonowari's stamina is damned impressive, but to have both his girls (that he adores so damn much) suckling at him like that? he'll damn near explode.

neither you or ronal will mind if he comes quickly. in fact, that's the goal, really. because once he's emptied his balls the once, he'll be ready to go again and give you his all.

besides, in the meantime while he's catching his breath for round 2, you and ronal can just entertain each other

[s0larine]

𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐄 [𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐂 𝐗 𝐅! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑]

summary ☩ The reader, an undercover Assassin, goes at a high-society masquerade ball to gather information about Templars and unexpectedly meet her former friend, Shay, now fully allied with the enemy. Neither can afford to reveal their true identities in such a public place, but they are drawn to each other through the anonymity of the masks.

[a/n] ☩ [y/f/n] means your fake name because baby we’re playing undercover tonight~ reminder that english is not my mother tongue. UNEDITED

word count ☩ 3,979

pairing ☩ shay cormac x f! reader

content warnings ☩ slight sexual tension, female reader, enemies to lovers, mentions of shay's deflection, fluff, assassin! reader, templar! shay, reader in a gown, shay being a man, shay having a long time crush on reader, mutual pining, ...

　　　New-York, June 1756

“Everything is in order. You can enter, Lady [y/f/n].”

The red coat handed you your invitation. As you entered the huge place, your eyes wandered around you, detailing every nook and cranny, taking in and memorising the layout of the area. The grand hall was indeed a spectacle of opulence. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above, casting a golden glow over the sea of masks that danced and mingled below. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of violins filled the air, creating a scene that was far removed from the dangerous world you were familiar with.

Your mission tonight was simple: gather information, and your mentor was clear about your purpose here; not to engage at any costs. The Templars were holding this extravagant masquerade in the hopes of attracting allies from high society, and you had been sent by the Assassin Brotherhood with—of course, a fake name—to blend in, to listen, to learn. The gown you wore tonight was unlike anything you were used to—luxurious, intricate, and adorned with a mask that glittered in the candlelight. Your hair was gathered in a half bun and some golden hair clips adorned them. In order to pass for a member of high society, you even took the time to put on a jewellery set; a necklace, dangling earrings and a few bracelets and rings. But beneath the facade of wealth and elegance, your blade was hidden, strapped to your left thigh under your luxurious gown, ever ready. If I'd been born as a man, hiding it and having simple access to it would have been easier, but there's nothing more I can do in this puffy dress… you thought. 

As you walked amongst the other attendees, getting as close as possible to people whose clothes meant something to you, such as high-ranked Templars, you noticed a very particular group of men at the other side of the hall. Among them were Colonel George Monro and Sir William Johnson, both members of the Colonial Rite of the Templar Order. Your eyes fell on their silhouettes with their recognisable clothes from beneath your own mask but quickly continued their search. And who else…

What you hadn't expected was to find him here.

Shay Cormac stood with the group of men, dressed sharply in a black tailcoat with accents of silver and red. His mask, a sleek black piece that covered half his face, did little to hide the sharpness of his features or the air of authority he carried. His eyes, however, were unmistakable. The same stormy brown eyes that had haunted your thoughts since the day he defected from the Brotherhood.

You hadn't seen him in years, but the memories were fresh, the betrayal still raw.

But there was one detail that made your blood run cold: the young man's eyes were already riveted on you. When has he ever noticed you before? Your heartbeat quickened and you finally looked away, turning to a passing servant. You picked up a glass of champagne as he passed by you and began to sip the golden liquid, your eyes frantically searching for a place to rest in order to pass for an innocent. Maybe it was just a coincidence... No, no, he's far too clever to think that I'm just a random young woman...

You risked looking back up at the group of men he was with, but he had already disappeared. Your breathing quickened and you turned away from his previous location towards a random group of people, just to pass for a guest sympathising with others. Your heart raced as you opened your senses; you knew he was coming for you and you couldn’t do anything but pray he hadn’t recognised you yet. This was supposed to be just another mission, a simple infiltration, but now everything felt different. Could you approach him without giving yourself away?

A voice behind you jolted you from your thoughts, soon followed by a delicate 

"Would you care to dance?"

You freezed. A delicate palm soon rested on the small of your back and another one entered your field of vision from the right, at the level of your own right hand. Closing your eyes, you inhaled sharply before turning; you found Shay standing before you, his right hand still extended and a dangerous smile playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat once again at your inattentiveness. You needed to be more careful around him… The recognition in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. He definitely knew. He had seen through your disguise, just as you had seen through his.

But you couldn't afford to let him know the depth of your awareness, not here, not now.

"Of course," you replied, your voice steady despite the tension that coiled in your chest, giving away your champagne glass to a passing servant. You placed your right hand in his left, feeling the warmth of his grip, and he led you onto the dance floor.

The music swelled around you as Shay pulled you close, one hand resting firmly on your waist, the other holding your gloved hand in his. His touch was confident, and his movements were smooth as he guided you effortlessly through the steps of the waltz. The crowd around you faded into the background, your focus narrowing to the man before you.

"You've been watching me, [y/n]," Shay said softly, his lips barely moving as he leaned in. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hidden challenge.

You met his gaze, your mask hiding the flash of defiance in your eyes. "I could say the same about you, Shay."

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Not long enough," you whispered with clenched teeth, your voice sharp despite the graceful steps of the dance.

Shay's grip on your waist tightened slightly, which made you tense, a silent acknowledgment of the tension between you. "You always did have a way with words. Tell me, are you here for pleasure, or are you working tonight?" You did not fail to notice his gaze sliding down your neck to the start of your cleavage, checking you out shamelessly. 

Your cheeks flushed, feeling like a lamb trapped in the fangs of a wolf. You felt the heat of his breath as he spoke, the proximity making it difficult to keep your composure. Every instinct told you to draw your blade, to end this now, but the crowd was thick, and the consequences of a public confrontation were too great.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" you replied, your lips curving into a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

He twirled you effortlessly, the skirts of your gown swirling around you as you spun, and when you came back to him, his hand was lower, lingering just above the hidden blade at your thigh. He didn't touch it, but the threat was clear. He knew exactly where it was. Your blood ran cold at the thought that he had found your dagger.

"Careful," he murmured, tilting his head, his voice a soft warning. "This is a delicate dance we're doing. One misstep and it could get… messy."

From being riveted on his chest, your eyes looked back up into his own, the familiar storm clouds swirling with something darker, something more dangerous. "You think I'm afraid of a little mess?"

Shay's lips quivered into a smirk, and for a moment, you saw a glimmer of the man you once knew, the Assassin and friend who had fought beside you. But that man was gone, replaced by the Templar before you.

"You should be," he whispered, pulling you closer as the music slowed.

The world around you seemed to fall away, the crowd, the mission, the masks—all of it dissolved as the tension between you reached a boiling point. The weight of your shared history hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. You had fought side by side once, and had trusted him with your life. And then he had betrayed everything.

But here, in this moment, with his hand on your waist and your bodies moving in sync, the lines between enemy and ally blurred. You hated him, you were sure of that, but the way your heart pounded in your chest told a different story. There was something more, something you had never fully understood.

"Tell me, Shay," you said, your voice barely more than a breath as the music began to wind down. "Why did you do it? Why did you turn your back on us?"

Shay's expression darkened, the playful smirk fading as his eyes grew hard. "You wouldn't understand, [y/n]."

"Try me," you insisted, your grip on his hand tightening.

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze searching yours. And then, just as the final note of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong."

With those words, the music ended, and Shay released you, stepping back with a final, piercing look. He bowed slightly, a mockery of the formal dance, and then turned, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood there in the middle of the dance floor, watching him go back to his Templar associates. You were unable to move, your heart racing, and your mind spinning. His words echoed in your ears, and for the first time, you weren't sure where your loyalties truly lay.

As the night wore on, you realised that this masquerade was more than just a mission—it was the beginning of a far more dangerous game. One that you and Shay Cormac were destined to play, whether you liked it or not.

The evening continued around you, but it felt as though you were standing still. The swirling skirts, the clinking of glasses, the murmurs of conversation—they all faded into background noise as your mind raced with Shay’s parting words.

“Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong.”

Your hand unconsciously grazed the hidden blade at your thigh, the familiar weight suddenly feeling heavy. Shay had betrayed everything you once stood for. He had walked away, abandoned the Creed, and joined the very enemies you had sworn to fight. And yet… there was a flicker of doubt creeping into your thoughts, a doubt you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

The Brotherhood had given you purpose, structure, a cause greater than yourself. But now, for the first time, you wondered if Shay’s defection wasn’t just a selfish act of betrayal. His eyes when he spoke had held something you hadn’t expected: conviction.

You shook your head, banishing the thought. No. I won’t question the Brotherhood. Not now, not because of him.

But that resolve felt brittle.

You caught a glimpse of Shay again through the crowd. He had made his way toward the far end of the ballroom, mingling with Templar officials, exchanging pleasantries. But his eyes kept darting back to you, just as yours did to him.

What was his game?

Your mission was still clear. Gather information. You weren’t here for personal matters. You couldn’t afford to let Shay’s presence distract you. But despite your attempts to stay focused, your thoughts kept wandering back to that dance, to his touch, to the way his breath had brushed against your ear when he whispered those final words.

Suddenly, a hand landed lightly on your shoulder, jolting you from your reverie.

“Care to join me for a drink, my lady?” The voice belonged to a man in a silver mask, a high-ranking Templar based on the insignia on his sleeve. His eyes were sharp, watching you with interest. It was clear he had noticed your distraction.

Forcing a smile, you nodded, reminding yourself of your mission. “Of course.”

As you followed him to a quieter corner of the room where the drinks were principally gathered, you could feel Shay’s gaze burning into your back, but you didn’t look back. You couldn’t. The Templar was speaking now, sharing something about the recent victories they’d secured in the colonies, but you weren’t really listening despite the purpose of your mission tonight. Your mind was still with Shay, turning over everything he had said—and everything he hadn’t in a way. After a few minutes of absent-mindedly drinking champagne and listening to the man recount his false prowess, you finally excused yourself from the conversation, your head buzzing with alcohol and of course the weight of your conflicting emotions. You were a little hot and needed air, away from all those rich folks.

You headed for the balcony overlooking the formal gardens of the period building. Stepping out onto the balcony, you took a deep breath of the cool night air, leaning against the marble railing.

It wasn’t long before you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. Opening your senses once again, you closed your eyes and you instantly knew who it was.

“You always did like your quiet moments,” came a familiar voice.

You didn’t turn around immediately, your hands tightening on the railing as Shay approached. You could feel his eyes boring into your back, or even your bum, and the tension rolling off him.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” you said, still facing the darkened city beyond. “You’ve made your point. Or was there something else you wanted to say?”

Shay didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he stepped beside you, his presence warm and solid in the cool night air. You could feel him watching you, studying you, but you refused to meet his gaze.

“Tell me,” he said finally, his voice low and measured, “do you truly believe in everything the Brotherhood teaches? Or do you just follow because that’s all you’ve ever known?”

The question hit harder than you expected. You had spent years training under the Creed, living by its rules, carrying out its missions without question. But standing here now, with Shay beside you, that certainty felt… shaky. He wasn’t just talking about betrayal; he was challenging everything you had built your life around.

“Why are you asking me this?” you shot back, turning towards him and leaning against the fence that was now behind you. The action made the dark-haired man's eyes slide towards your protruding chest, and they stopped there for a few seconds before returning to rest in your eyes. You frowned slightly, licking your lower lip, you decided to ignore his gaze and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened. “You’re the one who abandoned us. Who betrayed your brothers and sisters. You walked away, Shay. And now you want to question my loyalty?”

His jaw tightened, but his eyes never wavered. “I didn’t betray the Brotherhood. I saw the truth. The Assassins… they’re not as righteous as you think. They preach freedom, but they’re willing to sacrifice anyone who gets in their way.”

You inhaled sharply, your chest suddenly pressed against the corset of your dress. You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your lips. There was a certain fire in his eyes, a depth to his conviction that shook you. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t manipulating you. He believed what he was saying.

“I followed the Creed because I believed in it, just like you do, [y/n],” seeing that you didn’t speak, Shay continued, his voice steady. “But I couldn’t ignore what I saw—the innocents we put at risk, the people we hurt for the sake of an ideal. The Brotherhood is supposed to protect people, not destroy them.”

You felt a pang of anger, but also of confusion. Shay wasn’t wrong about some of the darker sides of the Assassins’ work. You had seen it yourself—the collateral damage, the grey areas where right and wrong blurred.

But you had always trusted the Creed to guide you, to show you the path forward.

“And what about the Templars?” you countered. “They’re no saints either, Shay. You think they’re any better?”

“I don’t think they’re perfect,” Shay admitted. “But they offer something the Assassins never could—order, stability. A chance to build a world where people don’t have to live in fear of chaos.”

You clicked your tongue and turned away again, staring out at the city while shaking your head, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. Part of you wanted to reject everything he was saying, to cling to the teachings of the Brotherhood. But another part of you—a part that had been growing ever since Shay’s defection—couldn’t ignore the doubts.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” you asked quietly, your lips quivering with sadness.

Shay’s silence was heavy before he finally spoke. “Because you deserve to know the truth. And because I don’t want to lose you to the same blindness that I was caught in for so long.”

His words were raw, unguarded. For a moment, you weren’t an Assassin and he wasn’t a Templar. You were just two people standing on the edge of something far bigger than either of you.

Your heart ached with the weight of it all—your history with Shay, your loyalty to the Brotherhood, and the undeniable pull you felt toward him. The night had begun as a mission, but it had become something far more dangerous. The real question was: what would you do now?

Slowly, you turned to face him a second time since you stepped on the balcony, the air between you charged with everything unsaid.

“What happens now, Shay?” you breathed, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Shay’s eyes held yours, the storm of emotions mirrored in his gaze. He stepped closer, his voice low but resolute. “Now, we decide what side of history we’re on. Together.”

The weight of Shay’s words lingered in the cool night air, settling between the two of you like an invisible barrier. His eyes held yours, intense and searching yet soft, as if he was trying to read the turmoil inside you, to understand the emotions you weren’t sure you could admit to yourself.

“Together?” you echoed, your voice softer than you intended.

Shay stepped even closer, his tall frame casting a shadow in the moonlight, towering over your gentle but firm and well-trained one. The tension between you shifted, no longer just the push and pull of conflicting loyalties. There was something else—something that had always been there, beneath the surface, but never acknowledged.

The air around you seemed to thicken as he closed the distance. His gloved hand reached up slowly, hesitating for a moment, before gently lifting your mask. The gesture made you swallow your saliva in order to get rid of the lump that was starting to form in your throat. The intricate piece slid off, exposing your face to the night’s cool breeze. His gaze softened as he studied you, no longer the dangerous man who had left the Brotherhood, but someone familiar—someone who had once meant more to you than just a fellow Assassin.

“I never wanted to lose you,” Shay murmured, his voice lower now, more intimate as his eyes gazed at your opened lips. “Even after everything, I never stopped thinking about you.”

His confession sent a jolt through you, and you had to look away, your heart pounding in your chest. The years of anger and betrayal clashed with the warmth that was blooming inside you now, a warmth you hadn’t felt since before Shay had turned his back on everything you believed in.

“Shay, we’re on opposite sides now,” you whispered, though even as you said it, the words felt hollow.

He didn’t back away. Instead, his hand moved to your chin, gently guiding your face back to meet his eyes. “Does it matter? Here, right now, do sides really matter?”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was dangerous—not just because of who he was, but because of what you felt for him, what you had always felt. His hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so dangerous, so conflicted.

“I couldn’t let you go then, [y/n],” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I can’t now.”

The vulnerability in his words, in his gaze, disarmed you completely. All the questions, the doubt, the anger—it melted away in the warmth of his touch. For so long, you had convinced yourself that you hated him, that what he had done was unforgivable. But now, standing here, feeling the heat radiating from him, you realised the truth: you had never stopped caring for him.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his lips just inches from yours. You could feel the heat of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Your heart pounded in rhythm with his, the magnetic pull between you undeniable.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you either,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath as your gentle eyes switched from one to another of his and sometimes stopped on his chapped lips for no more than half a second to switch back to his eyes.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Shay closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, as though he wanted to savour every second. His hand on your cheek slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. The warmth of him, the way his lips moved against yours, sent a shiver down your spine. The world around you disappeared—the masquerade, the mission, the war between Assassins and Templars. None of it mattered. Not now.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath the fabric of his coat, and absent-mindedly stroked the Templar sigil on his torso. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body warm and solid against yours. The kiss deepened, the slow burn of passion igniting into something more urgent, more desperate. Years of unspoken tension, of denied feelings, seemed to pour into that kiss, both of you trying to make up for the time you had lost.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath. His thumb gently stroked the side of your neck, a soft, intimate gesture that made your heart race even faster.

“I don’t care about the sides anymore,” Shay whispered against your lips, his breath warm. “I care about you.”

His words sent a wave of emotion crashing through you. You knew it wasn’t that simple—nothing ever was in your world—but for this moment, it felt like it could be. Like the war, the betrayal, everything else could fall away, leaving just the two of you.

“I don’t know if we can ever go back,” you whispered, your voice shaky with emotion. “After everything that’s happened…”

Shay’s hand tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer. “Maybe we don’t need to go back. Maybe we can start something new.”

You directed your gaze to meet his own eyes, seeing the same conflict mirrored in his eyes—the pull of duty against the pull of his heart. But there was something else too: hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way forward together.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you admitted, chuckling softly, your fingers tracing the edge of his collar.

Shay leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Neither do I. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself savour the moment, the feel of him against you, the warmth of his embrace. For now, that was enough.

And maybe, just maybe, it could be enough for whatever came next.

　　　PART 2 in writing...

© solarine. i do not allow my works to be copied, translated, modified, adapted or published on other platforms without my permission. thank you for your attention.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[elitesheepi]

Thinking about Zutara and how they would get together in a canon divergence. Despite the popular belief, I actually don't think they'd struggle with their feelings for each other once their post TSR. Before, yeah, absolutely. Katara hated Zuko and Zuko was still mid-redemption arc and dealing with his character backslide. But I also can believe that they both had lingering feelings for each other that started in the Crystal Catacombs.

We saw how both of them acted when in their own romantic pursuits, Jet and Mai respectively. Zuko was pretty much all in in their relationship before it fell apart, and Katara didn't mask her feelings for him like that. Sure it wasn't an all out relationship, but it was pretty obvious where'd it potentially go had things not turn so bad for Jet.

So, by Ember Island Players, they're both pretty comfortable with one another. Katara comfortably teasing Zuko, also showing concern when the Iroh part of the play happens. Heck, Katara was pretty involved towards the end of his arc, between encouraging him to talk to Iroh and Zuko asking her to come with him for his final confrontation with Azula. (and also hello???? the lightning scene??? HELLOOOOO???)

(shoujo romance shit seriously)

Anywhizzle, we have two characters with feelings for each other and in a place where they have that comfort and honesty with each other. Despite how easy it would be for them to get together, I think both of them would hold off from getting together because of their own individual relationships to Aang.

Saying it now, Katara does not owe Aang a relationship just because he's had a crush on her longer.

And Zuko shouldn't back away from his feelings for Katara just because of Aang's crush.

Despite that, they would hesistate heavily about purusing their feelings for each other because of Aang.

Throughout the show, Katara has gone above and beyond to constantly accomdate Aang's feelings. She's repeatedly pulled him out of the Avatar state, she's constantly been there to comfort him throughout the show. The Desert episode alone proved that Katara is the stable rock of the Gaang who had to hold everything together. Other people have written stronger metas on her, but I'm gonna summarize it with: Katara puts others before her, a'lot. It's a part of her character. She cares, and often that means having to be the strong one in tough situations, even to her own detriment or safety.

Zuko is fully in the realm of yearning for a real friendship with Aang and the gang by this point. He offered up being a prisoner to them, that's a pretty bold move on his part. Zuko held a'lot of guilt over his past actions and went above and beyond to make it up to them. In the case of Aang and Zuko, it's very obvious Zuko cares about their relationship. The Zuko-Aang friendship really is underrated, but it really tells the narrative of second chances, seeing the good in people, and just strength of bonds between people.

Which leads to the major problem and the biggest obstacle in Zutara: their friendship with Aang.

I like Aang, but the writers definitely created a precedent with his character in regards to romance. That precedent being, he's...not that good with the idea of Katara having feelings for other people. The Ember Island players gave us this gem of a conversation between him and Kataraz:

And that was just two actors in a horribly done (yet hilarious) propaganda play. He knows the play is completely nonsense, but still got jealous enough that he'd go into the Avatar State if he could. Like, that's a pretty wild line to just drop, and then to that eventually be followed up with the attempted kiss when she just said she was confused. It's not a good look for Aang. The writers really began to drop the ball here with Aang's character. But that meta debate aside, this sets the stage that Zutara would have problems getting together because of Aang's feelings. Katara knows he has a crush on her, whether Zuko knows or not is up to headcanon. But, more importantly, she knows and because she knows, it would cause her hesitation in getting with Zuko because of how Aang would react.

Katara doesn't belong to anyone, Aang, Zuko or otherwise, but a 112-year old's first crush isn't an easy thing to get over. Maybe, Katara would feel some level of responsibility for his feelings for her, that urge to protect Aang even from himself. Even from her own desired relationship. There's the complicated question Katara would have to grapple with: that urge to protect Aang vs Katara being "take what I want, do what I want" person and just choosing to be selfish of her own feelings. She doesn't want to hurt Aang, but she doesn't want to keep herself away from happiness just for his sake, it's a complicated problem. For Zuko, even with how determined he can be to do what he wants, he's not callous (now.) If he knew about Aang's crush on Katara, I'd think he'd hesitate on the basis of knowing that a first crush is hard to deal with especially if it's unrequited. Worst, if said crush ends up falling for the other friend.

As I type this, I'd think the Aang obstacle would be harder on Katara then it would be on Zuko, but both would feel that pressure of how Aang would react if he knew about their relationship. Zuko hadn't been friends with Aang long (an understatement), but Katara has. She'd feel the weight of his emotions and has more or less taken on the role of being his emotional balancer.

Now I think there's alot of avenues you can take with all this analysis, but I personally like the idea of a secret relationship blooming from this and the angst that comes with it. It'd be fine for awhile, but both of them have too much pride in themselves to want to keep it secret for long. How'd Aang react, I think might put a massive strain on the Gaang. It just feels thematically appropriate and sadly in charcater when you consider in the lore of ATLA never let go of his attachment to Katara and that whole scene from the Ember Island Players. Where'd it go from there, I think depends on the writer and how'd they interpret Aang's character personally.

Me personally? Idk. Either he'd get over it or he doesn't idk. I'll take either/or depending on the fic.

Either way, once Zutara passes that obstacle, I'd like to think they'd be a pretty strong and secure relationship.

[psychedelic-ink]

We Fall Like Snow ║ Part VI

After the events that took place at the Cliff Beasts set, needless to say as his bodyguard (and friend) you became overprotective of Dieter. You have all your worries under control until you accidentally flip over a young fan by grabbing her wrist, causing the media to stir with speculations as to why. Luckily Dieter's family arrives in the nick of time, scooping you both from New York to their cozy cabin; however, winter wonderland can't last forever and you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x bodyguard!ofc; Amina Addams, written in reader format

chapter summary: You and Dieter return home.

word count: 3.2k

chapter warnings: male masturbation, phone sex (not with amina)

a/n: here we go the first official newly written chapter dfvfdv thank you to all those who reread and to those who has been following the series for the first time, we only have two chapters left to the end!

**dividers by the amazing @saradika

Dieter strokes himself faster, harder. His eyes are glued to the scene playing out on his tiny phone screen, he tries not to think about anything else. Just focuses on Eduardo sucking on Isabel’s sweet puffy clit. She moans loudly, a luxury Dieter doesn’t currently have. He hates the way the wires of his earphones keep accidentally swaying in front of the phone. Through gritted teeth, he lets out a hiss. He swipes the head of his cock with his palm, slicking himself up with precome. 

“Finger her,” he says with a hushed tone. “Make her beg for it, Eduardo. Bite the inside of her thigh.” 

Isabel's red hair drapes over the pillow as she lets out a sharp cry, thrusting against Eduardo’s fingers. They’re both way too pretty. He’s still clueless as to how he managed to get them to sleep with him. A mess of a man. 

His balls tighten and his thoughts momentarily drift to you, to the masked ball. How it looked like you wanted to say more but he fucked the words right out of your throat instead. He remembers the way your cunt squeezed him tight, pulsing around his cock. Dieter shudders. Why the hell didn’t he bring one of his dildos? He desperately needs to fuck himself with something thick right about now. Something that would make him forget. And cry a little bit.

Isabel comes with a shudder, her thick thighs pressing against both sides of Eduardo’s face, his moan becomes louder as he continues to devour her, working her toward another orgasm. Dieter nears the edge himself. He starts thrusting into his fist, the slick sounds echoing within his room. He licks his lips, desperate to taste something—anything. He so desperately wants to please someone right now, to be someone’s good boy. 

“You going to come for us baby?”

Isabel’s soft voice draws him away from his thoughts, his eyes find her’s on the screen, his cock pulses heavily between his legs, “Yeah sweetheart. Want me to make a mess?” 

She nods eagerly, her lips parting as Eduardo parts away from her pretty pussy. He latches on to one of her nipples, sucking hard, grinding into the soft covers. Dieter’s gaze drops to Eduardo’s ass. He looks good like that. If he was there he would give him the prettiest teeth marks—

His chest heaves, cock throbbing heavily in his hand, he slows down the jerks of his hand. He loves teasing himself. Loves that warmth spreading throughout his stomach, loves the way precome just oozes out of the tip, going down his knuckles. The more he impedes his nearing orgasm, the more likely he’ll make a mess, just like Isabel asked. 

Vaguely Dieter can hear both his lovers moaning his name, kissing, stroking each other. He doesn’t focus on the screen. His eyes flutter closed. Your body appears within his closed eyelids, he thinks about how good your fingers would feel in his tight little asshole, how you would call him yours—

“Fuck—!” 

Thick ropes of come splatters over his chest, stomach, some of it even manages to land on his neck, heavily sliding down the thick column. He shudders and opens his eyes. He stares at the small image of himself. He’s still coming, still fucking his first. More and more and more. Thick come rolls down his knuckles, forming a decent puddle at the base of his cock. Both Eduardo and Isabel are staring with heavy-lidded eyes. 

He drags his hand away from his sensitive cock and palms the mess over his chest. Dieter gatherers himself on his fingers, slipping the wet digits into his mouth. He moans at the taste spreading across his tongue. 

He’s still not satisfied. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be again.

You feel like an asshole. 

You are an asshole. 

You were hoping to stay in your room until the car picked you and Dieter up and took you to the airport. But of course, Adaline had other plans for your last day together. A spa day. You don’t remember the last time you’ve been to anywhere so fancy alone. 

You didn’t enjoy leaving things with Dieter on such a sour note. And it was your fault it ended up so complicated. You knew one of you had to be the responsible one—which, evidently, meant you. You panicked when Dieter started talking about a relationship, no matter how hard it tried it wouldn’t have worked out. This was the right call. Sooner or later he would accept that. The headache from the press wasn’t worth it. 

You weren’t worth it. 

“Are you ready dear?” 

You jerk at the sound of Adaline’s cheery voice. Quickly you wrap yourself with a bathrobe and tighten the belt. The fabric feels like heaven on your skin. “Coming,” you call out, opening the door. 

Adaline leads the way down a corridor adorned with soothing artwork and dimmed lights, creating an ambiance of tranquility. The air is filled with a delicate fragrance, a blend of lavender and eucalyptus that immediately relaxes your tense shoulders. The plush carpet beneath your feet absorbs your steps, muffling the sounds of the outside world.

As you pass by intricately designed wooden doors, you catch glimpses of serene rooms with plush massage tables. Soft music plays in the background. 

Adaline smiles at you, “It’s a shame you two are leaving early.” 

The sincerity in her voice tugs at your heartstrings. 

“I do too but you have a famous son who has his movie premiere soon,” you answer with mirth. “He can’t miss it.” Was that harsh? Maybe it was harsh? 

“Well, regardless I’m happy we’re able to do this just you and I—without the boys,” her laughter bounces off the walls, her joy infectious as your lips curl upwards. “They’re always so chaotic.” 

“I would say.” Just as you’re about to enter the room designated for you, she delicately takes hold of your shoulder. Worry knots in your stomach and you quickly turn, thinking of the worst, however, she’s still smiling. Looking a bit teary.

“I do hope we see more of you. I can see the effect you have on him. I’ve never seen him lit up as much before since he was a little boy.” 

You don’t know what to say—what can you say? You end up nodding with a smile that you hope comes across as kind. She squeezes your shoulder twice before letting go, “See you in a bit.” 

Adaline chooses a room adjacent to yours, and you both settle in for a well-deserved escape from reality.

The massage rooms are the embodiment of comfort, each one softly lit with scented candles. The air carries a hint of essential oils, and as you enter your designated room, a wave of relaxation washes over you. The massage table beckons, adorned with crisp, clean linens. 

The masseuses enter, quietly getting to work. You feel a bit awkward as you peel off your robe; this pampering thing is not exactly your usual scene. The room is calm, though, and the lighting is soft enough to make you forget about the nerves.

They give you a nod, a silent assurance, and you lie down on the massage table. They cover your hips with a cozy blanket. The whole room smells like a mix of fancy oils.

Their hands start working, and at first, it's a bit odd. You're not used to people kneading your muscles like dough. But slowly, the tension in your shoulders starts to give way. The knots are stubborn, but they seem to know what they're doing.

The masseuses focus on your upper back, their thumbs pressing along both sides of your spine with just the right amount of pressure. It's a peculiar sensation—fingers dancing over muscles that have been tense for longer than you'd care to admit. But as they work their way down, it's like they're unraveling the stress, one knot at a time.

There's a moment when their skilled hands find a particularly tight spot, and a small involuntary moan escapes your lips. It surprises you, but it also feels strangely liberating. You let out another quiet sigh as their thumbs continue to trace the contours of your back, coaxing the tension away.

You find yourself sinking deeper into the massage table. And your thoughts. 

Of course, you’re thinking about him. How could you not? You wonder about what he might be doing this very second. Is he in his room? On the phone? Packing? 

Probably not the latter—if you’re being completely honest. 

As the masseuse's fingers dig into your flesh, you imagine how it would be like if it was Dieter instead. His hands stroking your sweat-soaked body after he worked his cock into you so thoroughly. Making you shudder against him god knows how many times. His hands would feel like heaven on you. He’d have a teasing lilt to his tone, his voice nothing but gravel—the sound would make you want to take him into your mouth. Licking him clean. 

Fuck. This is not the time nor the place for thoughts like this. You feel yourself tensing again, wetness gathering between your folds. You take a breath and close your eyes. You can’t think about that. Forget the fact that you’re getting a massage, you can’t think about it because it’s never going to happen again. 

Anxiety claws its way into your heart. You don’t have it in you to regret what had happened but you’re also not sure if it was worth the damage it caused. You don’t know what to do with yourself if you lose Dieter as a friend. 

Hopefully, he’ll be in a better mood when you return home.

Everything will be normal then. It has to be. 

You’re practically glowing when you enter the cabin with Adaline right behind you. Both of you are. You feel soft and gooey from being molded and exfoliated. Your body is humming, tingling, and the smell of the spa is still tickling your nose. All you want to do is sleep, but sadly you have packing to do. 

“Thank you for the amazing day Adaline,” you say, watching her as she heads to the kitchen where Claus is preparing sandwiches for you and Dieter. You told him he didn’t have to but he insisted. She gives him a tender kiss, the gesture waking something like longing deep in your gut. “I feel like a cat under a sunbeam.” 

“It was my pleasure dear—”

It seems like she’s about to say something else but Claus cuts in, “Before you leave I want to talk to you, sweetheart. Don’t take too long packing.” 

“Oh. . . okay.” 

He lets out an endearing chıckle, “Nothing bad. I promise.” 

“Alright then,” you say, lips cracking into a smile.  You head to your room, but at the last second, you decide to go to Dieter's room. The door is closed. He probably doesn’t want to see you, or anyone else for that matter. You press your lips together, knuckles hovering an inch away from the door as you try to decide on what to do.

You start tracing letters into the corner of your palm with the edge of your thumb. Faint music comes from the other side. That should mean he’s in a better mood right? God, you hate this. You hate not knowing how to act around him anymore. 

Taking a deep breath, you knock softly. 

"Come in." 

The door creaks open, revealing him in the midst of packing. He looks up, and his face is motionless. Frightening, considering it’s Dieter. 

“Hey,” you mumble, suddenly unsure of why you decided to come to his room. 

Dieter sets aside a pair of folded jeans, his eyes meeting yours. "Hey yourself," he replies.

“So…how’s packing?” 

How’s packing? What kind of question was that? What the hell is wrong with you? 

He almost looks pained. He fully turns. Broad chest facing yours. Your mouth goes dry and you’re suddenly very aware of the thoughts you had during your massage. 

“Look, Amina,” he says, slowly and exasperated. “We don’t need to talk about anything. You made your intentions completely clear. You don’t need to come and check in on me. I’m not that big of an idiot, I fucking know how to pack a suitcase.”

Normally you would make a joke about how he actually doesn’t know how to pack a suitcase but you bite your tongue. “I just wanted to make sure if we’re okay.”

“Describe okay?” 

“The…same as before.” 

“So friends?” 

“Yeah.” 

He sighs and you don’t like what that implies. Your stomach clenches, all the knots the masseuses worked so hard to melt forming again. 

“Sure,” he answers blandly. “We’re friends. I just need some time.”

“Time for what?” You hate how high and patchy you sound but you can’t help it. You need things to return to normal. And you need them to return to normal now. You can’t take it. Every time you look at him a part of you breaks. 

Dieter starts towards you until he’s an inch away. You feel his warm breath on your skin. Your chest heaves. He’s close. Close enough to kiss. 

However, when you lift your gaze and meet his, you know whatever is about to come out of his mouth won’t be tender. 

It’ll be cruel.

“Time to forget that you’re a friend that I fucked,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Things aren’t the same anymore. You told me you didn’t want me. You told me you’d rather have my dick than have to deal with me. So yeah, I’m gonna need a bit of fucking time if that’s okay with you.” 

Yeah, you deserve that. Even though that’s not something that you said. On the contrary, you care too much. But him being angry is probably the better outcome with everything that is going on. 

“Yeah okay,” you take a swift breath. “For what it’s worth it wasn’t about not wanting to deal with you. I— I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you. I do.” 

He scoffs, “Just not enough to want to be with me.” 

“You know it’s a complicated situation. Don’t pretend that it isn’t. I work for you. You’re my client.” 

Dieter doesn’t reply so you take that as your cue to leave. You’re hoping what you said registers in his head. This isn’t about not wanting him, because you do, it’s about the press, his reputation—your reputation. It’s too complicated.

You close the door behind you and immediately you regret it. Some part of you wants to go back, rip the door from its hinges, and fall to your knees. You want to cry until you’re dried out, beg him for a hug, for a touch. . . but you know that’s not in the cards for you two. Dieter isn’t the type to think things through. Sadly, that’s your job, literally. 

With a deep sigh that makes your chest ache, you head to your room to pack.  

It’s snowing again. The air crisp and rejuvenating. You grip the wooden railing, watching as the soft flakes hover down from the sky. The horizon is buried in white. A sight that makes your heart flutter and heart grow three sizes. It’s a shame you’re leaving in about an hour. You’ve gotten used to the homeyness. 

Claus stands next to you, gloved hands curling around the fencing. He’s staring at the horizon as well. 

“I bet you’re wondering why I wanted to talk to you.” 

When you turn to face him, you see the older man smiling. His profile is the same as Dieter. So much so that you don’t need to imagine how the actor would look like in his old age. “A bit, yeah,” you answer softly. Not wanting to seem rude. “I’m just hoping you’re not about to tell me I’m forbidden to ever step foot into your house again.” 

He snorts, “Of course not. How could I say that to the person who makes my son so happy.” 

Oh god. 

You’ve seen enough movies to know where this conversation is going. 

Your heart already begins to crumble. 

They don’t know how hurt their son is because of you. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he continues. “I know things might not be squeaky clean because of. . . everything in both your careers but love finds a way. I’m sure you noticed but he cares about things more than he lets on. He thinks no one wants him. But they do—don’t they?” 

You were a fool to think that his parent had no clue about what was going on. They know. Claus knows. His lips curl a little bit higher as he turns to you, fixing his gaze, he shoots you a knowing look. The silence grows and you realize he’s expecting—no demanding, an answer. 

“They do,” you answer, mouth going dry. “I do.” 

“Good. Now—” You’re taken aback when he suddenly throws his arm over your shoulder, pulling you close. “I’m going to let you on a little secret our surname isn’t actually Bravo.” 

You choke, “Excuse me?” 

He’s very pleased by himself as he pulls back, a huge grin plastered across his face. Claus winks at you as he mouths, “It’s Lobpreis, I changed it to Bravo before Dieter was born. I wanted it to be something catchy, something memorable.” 

“Does—Does he know?” 

“Wouldn’t be much of a secret if he did,” he guides you inside. “Now let’s send you guys off. I can feel my adorable son glaring holes into my head.” 

You notice him when the heat of the inside engulfs you. Dieter is at the door, brows pinched together, his dark eyes gleaming with both curiosity and annoyance. Before you acknowledge him, you turn back to Claus. “Why did you tell me?” 

Claus chuckles, giving you a playful nudge. "Why not? I figured it's time you knew a little bit more about the family you're getting involved with. Plus, it's always fun to keep things interesting."

You don’t get a chance to ask him how this makes things interesting, or why he assumes you’d be getting involved with the family—you’re too busy trying to conceal the fact that your body is burning from being called out so thoroughly. You clear your throat and with a curt nod, you take your place next to Dieter. You see the car waiting for you outside. You also notice Everett chugging one of your suitcases into the trunk, Adaline is with him, chatting about god knows what. 

The three of you hurry down the steps, snow crunching under your boots, you hug Adaline first, then head towards Everett who is smiling big. “Don’t be a stranger now,” he says wrapping his arms around you. 

“I won’t,” you answer, voice muffled against his chest. 

“Call us when you get to the airport,” Adaline warns Dieter. “Don’t make me worry like last time.” 

“I won’t Mom.” 

You want to ask what happened last time but you don’t get the chance as Claus comes in for a hug. “Take good care of him,” he whispers. “Or else.” 

“Or else?” you chuckle, eyebrows raising. “You do know what I do for a living right?” 

“I have to say it. It’s in the dad rulebook.” 

You nod and laugh, trying very hard to ignore the knots in your stomach as the dreaded moment of getting in the car with Dieter approaches. The trunk is shut tight and before you can stall you’re being rushed into the vehicle. 

“Have a safe trip now,” Adaline says one more time. 

And just like that the cozy winter wonderland slowly becomes small, fading behind a curtain of falling snow. You turn to look at Dieter but he’s looking out the window. 

Your hands curl into fists on your lap. The small Kit Kat bar feeling heavy in your pocket. You were hoping to give it to him, to try and smooth things over—to prove that you still care. 

But by his tense shoulders and the way he has his face pressed against the icy cold window, you know fixing things won’t be as easy as throwing a Kit Kat bar at shards of glass. 

Only time can heal those types of wounds. 

[vir-tanadahl]

Into the Past

Summary: Originally written in 2015, this work has since been rewritten. After the defeat of Corypheus, Solas vanished without a trace. In her search for answers, Ellana Lavellan, desperate and determined, began experimenting with the dangerous time-altering magic of Alexius. One misstep, and the spell spiraled out of control, hurling her into the distant past. When she regained her bearings, Ellana found herself in ancient Arlathan, in the heart of a grand masquerade ball. Dressed in unfamiliar finery, she navigated the opulence of the elven empire, her heart pounding as her eyes locked with a masked stranger—the unmistakable presence of Fen'harel, the man she once knew as Solas. The encounter rippled through time, altering her destiny with him in ways she could never have foreseen. (Find on Ao3)

Ellana’s gut twisted the moment the device whirred to life. She knew she shouldn't have listened to Dorian. His smug grin and charming wit had worn down her better judgment, coaxing her into playing with the time-warping magic Alexius had left behind. With Corypheus defeated, she'd thought they had time to explore such curiosities. She should’ve known better.

The second the magic flared, it all went wrong. The device crackled, pulsating with an eerie green glow as it twisted her surroundings into a swirling, smoky vortex. Before she could react, it pulled her in—its smoky green maw swallowing her whole.

Ellana’s heart raced as she landed with a thud. The world around her was quiet, too quiet. Panic rose in her chest as she surveyed the scene, the familiar dread of another mistake washing over her. Tall grass stretched out endlessly in all directions, brushing against her waist, glowing under the golden light of the setting sun. The air was thick with silence, a vast green sea shimmering in the fading daylight. She wasn't supposed to be here.

‘Cassandra is going to kill me,’ she thought, the weight of that certainty grounding her, even as her pulse pounded in her ears.

She scanned the horizon, searching for anything that resembled the world she knew. The stillness of the meadow only deepened her sense of isolation. She was alone—no soldiers, no companions—just her, standing in the middle of an unfamiliar place, with the low hum of magic lingering in the air like an afterthought.

As she turned, something caught her eye in the distance. Her breath caught in her throat as she squinted, her heart skipping a beat. She could scarcely believe it. But there it was—something she never thought she'd see.

In the distance, the landscape shifted, revealing a towering forest unlike anything Ellana had ever seen. The trees stretched impossibly high, their trunks thick and ancient, as though they had been standing for centuries. Between the trees, crystal spires twisted and curled like vines, blending with the foliage in a way that seemed both natural and magical. The shimmering structures glowed faintly in the fading sunlight, casting an ethereal glow over the landscape.

Ellana's breath hitched as her gaze followed the trees upward, where she spotted a collection of manors and chateaux nestled within the branches. Their elegant, flowing architecture blended seamlessly with the forest, as if grown from the earth itself. And there, in the spaces between, she glimpsed what might have been shops, their intricate facades winding through the canopy like the fingers of a forgotten age.

"Arlathan…" The word left her lips in a breathless whisper. Awe and disbelief coursed through her as the name hung in the air, reverberating through her mind. The memory of one of her first conversations with Solas flickered before her, unbidden but undeniable. Her heart ached at the thought of him, the pain as fresh as it had been the day he left. She had pushed thoughts of him aside, burying the emotions deep. Maybe that was why she had agreed to meddle with unstable magic—anything to keep her mind from wandering back to him.

But now, here she was. The city of her ancestors stretched out before her, its forgotten beauty pulling her forward. With nowhere else to go, Ellana moved toward the towering woodland, her feet carrying her over the soft grass. The Well of Sorrows’ voices echoed faintly in her mind, guiding her like a compass, whispering fragments of wisdom and forgotten truths as she made her way through the ancient city.

Reaching the forest's edge, she paused, taking in the sight before her. Streams of water crisscrossed the forest floor, their crystal-clear currents weaving between the trees, converging in the heart of the woodland. The rivers glimmered like silver threads under the dappled sunlight, each one winding its way toward the center as if drawn by an invisible force.

This place—it was alive, brimming with magic that pulsed beneath the surface, waiting, watching.

As Ellana neared the heart of the forest, the quiet hum of nature gave way to the sounds of life. She could hear faint chattering, the shuffle of feet on soft ground, and the clink of objects being moved. Her pulse quickened. The presence of people filled her with both curiosity and apprehension. She kept her steps light, staying close to the tree line, hoping to go unnoticed.

Peering through the gaps in the trees, she saw them—elves. They moved between small huts, each section of the village separated by the winding rivers and connected by simple, arched bridges. The huts themselves were modest, crafted from wood and stone, yet they radiated a quiet elegance that reminded her of something lost to time. The elves wore robes of soft hues—strange, yet familiar, their flowing fabrics reminiscent of the ancient tales Solas had once shared.

Ellana’s hand instinctively tugged at her own robe, grateful for its simplicity. It allowed her to blend in, at least for now. She took a deep breath and stepped forward, slipping into the village with careful, tentative strides, her head lowered to avoid catching anyone’s gaze. Her heart pounded in her chest, each step feeling like it might give her away.

But despite her attempts to remain unnoticed, the eyes of the village were drawn to her. As she passed by, she caught glimpses of the elves watching her, their expressions puzzled, their work slowing as they turned to stare. She lifted her gaze ever so slightly, enough to catch the vivid markings on their faces—*vallaslin*, the intricate tattoos sacred to the Dalish, though these seemed older, more intricate, carved with symbols she barely recognized.

The air thickened with tension, and Ellana’s stomach twisted as whispers spread among the villagers. She had failed to slip in unnoticed.

Suddenly, the chattering ceased. One by one, the elves bowed their heads to her, their confusion melting into something almost reverent. Her breath caught in her throat as she stood frozen, unsure of what to do. Why were they bowing? Her mind raced, searching for explanations, but only one thought emerged clearly:

They thought she was someone she wasn’t.

Ellana’s heart sank as her fingers brushed her cheek, the absence of her vallaslin a stark reminder. Solas had removed her markings after she drank from the Well of Sorrows. ‘These are slave markings. They think I’m some kind of noble,’ she thought, her throat tightening. Her eyes flickered over the villagers, noting the various vallaslin etched into their skin: the bow of Andruil, the fierce lines of Elgar’nan, and the graceful curves of Mythal on the face of a small child.

The village seemed to breathe around her, its rhythms unfamiliar yet laced with a forgotten history. The rivers converged ahead, forming a shimmering lake that reflected the waning sunlight. Rising from the lake’s center was a palace—sprawling and ornate, its towers stretching skyward. Two wide bridges arched toward it, connecting the grand structure to the village. A steady stream of carts moved along one of the bridges, heading for the palace gates, their wheels creaking under the weight of goods.

Ellana hesitated, unsure of her next move. She spotted a villager nearby, a girl who couldn’t have been more than fourteen, and stepped forward to ask for help. But before she could utter a word, the girl’s eyes widened with fear, and she turned, fleeing as though Ellana were a threat. The others noticed, quickly dropping their gazes, avoiding eye contact as though they feared her, too.

Reluctantly, she turned her attention to the palace. The bridge loomed before her, its stone cool beneath her feet as she began to cross. Each step echoed in her ears, mingling with the creak of the distant carts. The weight of her situation pressed down on her—trapped in Arlathan, with no way to reopen the portal that had brought her here. Solas’ face flashed in her mind, his voice reminding her of the delicate, ancient magic at play.

Her options were slim. The Well’s knowledge whispered in her mind, but offered no immediate answers. She would have to be careful, fluid in her approach, if she was to find a way back. Whatever answers lay within the palace, she would have to take them—no matter the risk. One way or another, she would find her way home.

As Ellana neared the palace gates, lost in thought, she was jolted back to the present by a sudden collision. A young elf, dressed in simple garb and bearing the vallaslin of Mythal, stumbled into her. But something about the markings caught Ellana’s eye—they were not quite like the vallaslin she knew, subtly different in their design, more intricate, as if imbued with an older magic. The girl immediately bowed low, her tone flat but respectful.

"My mistake, my lady. I humbly apologize," the girl said in fluid, ancient Elvish, her eyes lowered.

It took Ellana a moment to process the words. She had understood the language effortlessly—a tongue she had barely been familiar with in her time. The realization sent a wave of unease through her. ‘I can understand them…’ she thinks to herself, realizing the Well of Sorrow is translating for her.

"N-no, it’s okay," Ellana stammered nervously, unsure if she will be understood. She watched the girl closely, waiting for a flicker of confusion. But the elf only straightened slightly, her expression unchanged, no evidence of confusion. The girl can understand her.

The girl spoke again, her tone as polite as before. "Is there anything you need before the masquerade, my lady? Shall I escort you to the changing room?"

Ellana blinked, her mind racing. ‘Masquerade? Changing room? None of this made sense, but her heart beat a little faster with the realization that the girl saw her as someone of importance—perhaps even nobility. She was trapped in this strange time, with no clear answers, and now a masquerade was involved?

"Masquerade?" Ellana repeated, trying to keep her voice steady. "The changing room?"

"Yes, of course, your dress will be there along with any cosmetics you may have brought," the young elf continued, though there was a slight pause in her voice before she added, "Though there are always extra gowns if the tailor’s creation doesn’t please you. I shall escort you immediately, my lady."

Ellana nodded, hiding her uncertainty behind a polite smile, falling in step behind the girl.

As they walked deeper into the palace, Ellana couldn’t help but feel more disoriented with every turn they took. The grand halls seemed endless, each corridor more elaborate than the last, with soaring ceilings and walls adorned with intricate carvings that shimmered under the soft glow of enchanted sconces. She was utterly lost, with no idea how she would ever find her way out again. The weight of her situation pressed down on her with each step.

Finally, they reached a set of heavy velvet curtains. "Here you are, my lady," the girl announced with a respectful bow, pulling the curtains aside.

Ellana stepped into the room and was immediately overwhelmed by the sight before her. It was a sprawling chamber, filled with row upon row of gowns and robes in every imaginable color and fabric. The soft rustle of silk and the gentle murmur of voices filled the air. Across the far wall, vanities were lined up, each one occupied by elven ladies with their hair being brushed and makeup carefully applied by attentive slaves. Some were being laced into elaborate gowns, while others sat in elegant repose, their gazes distant as they were tended to.

Ellana stood frozen for a moment, the sight both mesmerizing and suffocating. She felt out of place, an intruder in a world she didn’t belong to—a world long lost to time. Her fingers twitched at her sides, and she fought the urge to flee, knowing she had no choice but to keep playing her role.

"Oh, my..." Ellana muttered under her breath, her bewilderment only growing as the weight of her situation pressed down on her. She was going to have to attend this masquerade, whether she wanted to or not. Asking the slave to take her back to the village would surely raise suspicion. But if she blended in at the party, perhaps she could trick someone into giving her the information she needed—maybe even a way out.

Another girl approaches, breaking through her thoughts. "Would you like me to assist you in selecting a gown, my lady? Or shall I fetch the one that was prepared for you?”

Ellana hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. "Yes, thank you," she said quietly, the words leaving her lips before she could second-guess herself.

The slave first guided her to an unoccupied vanity, the large mirror reflecting Ellana's pale face and long, unkempt hair. As she sat, the girl began to gently comb through the tangles, each stroke steady and practiced. The repetitive motion was almost soothing, though Ellana’s mind remained far from calm.

Her gaze wandered to the mirror, and that’s when she noticed it—a brand on the back of the slave’s hand. It was faint but unmistakable, a mark etched into her skin like a scar that had healed over long ago. Ellana’s stomach churned at the sight of it.

"What’s that mark?" Ellana asked, her voice careful as she gestured to the girl’s hand in the reflection.

The woman seated next to Ellana chimed in, her voice carrying a hint of idle amusement. "Oh, she’s had her magic cut off."

Ellana turned to face the speaker, her gaze landing on a striking figure. The woman had impossibly curly blonde hair that cascaded past her waist, each ringlet bouncing slightly as she shifted. Her silvery-gray eyes, however, reflected clear disinterest in the topic at hand. Beside her, a slave marked with June's vallaslin massaged oil into the woman's long locks, the scent of lavender drifting between them.

"She’s... tranquil?" Ellana asked softly, feeling her hair being gently pulled into a loose Orlesian braid, a style she recognized from her own time.

The woman shrugged, her elegant posture unaffected by the weight of the conversation. "Tranquil?" she repeated with a faint frown. "I've never heard such a term for those who have been branded." Her voice carried an air of superiority, as though the topic was beneath her. "We simply cut them off. Magic is a gift, not a right." Her words were as casual as if she were discussing the weather. "I am Imra," she continued, finally turning her sharp gaze to Ellana, her shoulder lifting slightly in an elegant shrug. "And you?"

"Ellana," she answered quietly, turning her attention back to the mirror. “What an unusual name!” Her reflection stared back, her braid now fully formed and gently pulled to one side. The slave’s hands moved with precision, delicate yet efficient.

"Showing off the neck is quite popular," Imra commented, her smile painted in a bright, vivid red. Her eyes gleamed with amusement as she spoke, seemingly entertained by the rituals of the masquerade. "Tell me, who do you plan on courting tonight?"

Ellana’s heart gave a small lurch at the question. ‘Courting someone? She barely knew where she was, let alone who would be attending. Still, Imra’s question hung in the air, and the eyes of the nearby women seemed to flicker with interest at the prospect of courtly intrigue.

She forced a small smile, hoping to mask her unease. "I’m... not quite sure yet," she said, turning back to the mirror to hide the uncertainty creeping into her expression.

Imra chuckled softly. "Playing coy, are we? Smart girl." Her voice dripped with knowing. "There are many powerful individuals attending tonight. Best to keep your options open."

Ellana’s stomach tightened, her mind racing. She was no noble, no political player in this world, yet here she was, surrounded by the intrigue and vanity of an ancient society. And worse, the deeper she slipped into their world, the more it resembled a gilded cage.

Imra laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Oh, of course! The Pantheon hosts this grand celebration once every century, or so. I'm hoping to catch the eye of a certain lord from west Elvhenan, though I won't tell you who." She winked playfully, her voice dripping with intrigue.

Ellana’s heart skipped a beat. "The Elven Pantheon? They’re... here?" she squeaked, her voice betraying her disbelief. She had no idea how to proceed, her thoughts reeling at the implications.

Imra raised an eyebrow at Ellana's reaction but nodded, as though the presence of gods was merely another detail of the evening. "Naturally. This is the time when families present themselves, hoping to gain favor and blessings. It’s a great honor, though costly. Each family must offer something to gain entry into that part of society. It’s usually slaves," she added, her tone casual despite the weight of her words, "but there have been... other contributions."

She paused thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing slightly before she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, all the Pantheon except for Fen'harel, of course. He doesn’t keep slaves. It is said he frees them."

"The Dread Wolf?" Ellana gasped, her shock evident. ‘Did the Dalish get this wrong too?’ Her mind raced with confusion. Before she could process the revelation, Imra’s expression twisted into horror.

"Do not speak his name like that! Are you deranged?" Imra hissed, her earlier lightheartedness vanishing. Her voice was sharp, her eyes wide with fear and indignation.

Ellana hesitated, startled by the outburst. "I'm sorry," she stammered, trying to soften the tension in the air.

Imra glared at her, her silvery eyes cold. "Just don’t let anyone else hear you call him that," she warned icily, her voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "You might not get off so easily next time."

"Actually," Imra’s gaze softened, a fleeting vulnerability slipping through her haughty exterior, "I’m surprised. Most girls your age find the god quite attractive. I did too, once." She giggled lightly, as if sharing a secret.

Ellana blinked, taken aback. "Girls my age?" she repeated, confused. The slave had just finished applying the last touches of makeup, and as Ellana glanced at the mirror, she gasped. Her reflection was nearly unrecognizable. Her eyes appeared darker, smoky, intensifying the golden hue of her irises, while her lips were painted a deep red, a striking contrast to her complexion.

Imra's eyes sparkled with amusement at Ellana’s surprise. "Yes, surely you’re about seven hundred years old, no?" She arched an eyebrow, then smiled approvingly. "You’ll attract quite a bit of attention tonight."

Ellana’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Seven hundred?’ The absurdity of it all was overwhelming, but before she could respond, the slave marked with June’s vallaslin spoke up, her voice calm yet deferential. "My lady, it is time to choose your gown."

"Quite right!" Imra agreed, already moving away from the vanity, her excitement for the evening palpable. "See you at the party, Ellana," she called out with a knowing grin, gliding off to find her own dress.

Ellana watched her go, the weight of her situation pressing down on her once more. She had to stay focused, had to find a way to blend in. But the longer she stayed in this time, the more alien everything felt.

The slave stood by patiently, waiting for her direction. "Shall we find your dress, my lady?" she asked, her tone polite but distant.

Ellana turned to her, her mind still spinning with the surreal nature of this world. Something tugged at her—something more than just the foreign customs and lavish surroundings. She hesitated, then asked gently, "What is your name?"

The slave paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face before she answered, her voice quiet, almost resigned. "I do not remember, my lady. Most masters call me ‘pet,’ if that pleases you."

Ellana’s heart ached at the confession, a hollow sadness creeping in. ‘How long has she lived like this?’ The thought haunted her as she moved toward the rows of gowns, her fingers grazing the fabrics. “That is not suitable…” she whispered under her breath, shaking her head.

The slave remained silent, but her hands moved quickly and deftly, helping Ellana sort through the gowns. After a moment, she pulled out a dress and held it up for Ellana to see. "How does this fare, my lady?" she asked, her tone as neutral as ever.

Ellana’s gaze fell on the gown—a rich, dark purple with a strapless heart-shaped bodice, intricately adorned with lace and sparkling jewels. The embellishments caught the light, glimmering softly. The bodice tapered just under the bust before flowing into an ethereal, silky skirt that seemed to float as it moved. It was stunning, almost too much so.

"That’s beautiful," Ellana murmured, running her fingers along the soft silk. "But... is it appropriate?" she asked, her uncertainty clear. She had no idea what was considered acceptable for a gathering of this magnitude, let alone in an era so far removed from her own.

The servant nodded with quiet assurance. "It is appropriate, my lady."

Ellana sighed softly, still unsure. She had no time to worry about fitting in perfectly, but every part of this world felt precarious. "Well," she said reluctantly, "I suppose this will do." Her voice held a note of resignation, as if she was accepting her fate for the night.

The girl bowed slightly and led her toward a nearby changing room. As Ellana followed, she glanced once more at the slave, the weight of her earlier words still heavy on her mind. She couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of responsibility—not just to escape this world, but to understand it. To understand these people, these lives lost to time.

Inside the small, dimly lit chamber, the slave worked swiftly, removing Ellana’s simple gown with practiced hands and helping her slip into the borrowed dress. The dark purple fabric clung to her in all the right places, the jeweled bodice shimmering faintly in the low light. Once the gown was secured, the girl held up a delicate golden mask, draped with thin lace. Seven small blue gems glowed faintly, casting an eerie light across the mask’s surface.

"I believe this mask will be sufficient, my lady," the girl said quietly, offering it to Ellana.

Ellana’s breath caught as she felt a subtle pull from the gems. Her fingertips brushed over them lightly. "Is that... lyrium?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. There was something unsettling about the gems, a power that hummed beneath the surface.

The girl nodded silently and began fastening the mask to Ellana’s face, her hands gentle but efficient. When she stepped back, she looked Ellana over, her expression impassive. "You are ready, my lady."

Ellana exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. "Will you be taking me to the ballroom?" she asked, hoping to delay any further interaction with the strange world she had been thrust into. The girl hesitated for a moment, thinking it over, before nodding and leading the way.

As they approached the grand vestibule doors, footsteps echoed behind them. Ellana barely had time to react before a man stormed toward them, his body radiating anger. His eyes locked on the slave. "There you are, pet," he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. He grabbed the girl’s arm roughly, his fingers digging into her skin.

The girl showed no fear, her face emotionless as she replied in a measured tone, "I was helping."

The man’s face twisted with rage, and his hand shot up, ready to strike. Instinctively, Ellana stepped between them, her heart pounding in her chest. "I’m terribly sorry," she said quickly, her voice laced with forced sweetness. She could feel the eyes of the hall on them, the air thick with tension. Her pulse quickened as she glanced up at the man’s masked face, his raised hand still poised to strike.

The glare that met her through his mask was cold, unyielding, but Ellana held her ground. "Your slave," she said, barely able to hide the bitterness that clung to the word, "has been most helpful. I distracted her from your orders. The fault is mine." She smiled politely, though her voice carried a steely edge. "I hope you understand, with all the preparations for the ball. It’s easy to lose track of time."

The hall had gone deathly quiet. Every eye was on them, the weight of judgment heavy in the air. The man’s hand remained raised, his fury simmering beneath the surface, but he hesitated, uncertain. Ellana’s heart raced as she waited, praying her intervention had been enough to diffuse the moment.

The man made an unintelligible noise, his fury barely contained, before lowering his hand. "Fine!" he snapped, his voice sharp and venomous. "Get out of my sight!" he barked at the slave, who walked away with the same emotionless composure as before. He glared at Ellana, his gaze full of unspoken warning, before turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd without another word.

The hall, which had fallen deathly silent, began to stir once more as chatter slowly resumed. Conversations picked up where they had left off, but Ellana couldn’t shake the gnawing sensation that all eyes had been on her during the exchange. ‘I’ve made myself noticeable,’ she thought uneasily. Standing up for a slave—especially so publicly—was bound to attract unwanted attention.

Keeping her movements as quiet and discreet as possible, she slipped through the vestibule and into the grand dance hall. The shift in atmosphere was palpable. Soft music floated through the air, graceful and ethereal, a perfect complement to the elegance of the elves who mingled, their laughter and quiet conversations weaving through the melody.

Ellana kept close to the walls, her heart pounding as she tried to avoid drawing any more interest. Her eyes flitted over the scene—a sea of finely dressed elves, their masks glittering in the soft glow of candlelight. In the center of the hall, couples twirled gracefully in the large dance area, their movements fluid and practiced, as if this was second nature to them. The air hummed with opulence, but Ellana couldn’t help but feel like an outsider, watching a world she didn’t belong to.

Her gaze shifted to the second level, an elevated platform that overlooked the dance hall. There, perched above it all, sat the Elven gods and goddesses. Ellana’s heart skipped a beat as her eyes landed on them.

The divine figures were unmistakable, their presence commanding the attention of anyone who dared glance their way. Yet as Ellana’s gaze lingered on them, an unsettling realization crept in. As unmistakable as they were, they looked... normal.

Ellana didn’t know exactly what she had expected gods to look like, but it wasn’t this. The Elven Pantheon, beings of legend, whose stories had been passed down for centuries, seemed almost too ordinary. Seated above the crowd, draped in finery, they looked like any other group of highly important elves attending the grand masquerade. Her brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of it. Falon'Din and Dirthamen, the twin gods, their disinterest almost palpable, looked like skilled and regal elven nobles, not beings of unfathomable power. Even the others, whose presence should have been awe-inspiring, appeared more like ancient aristocrats than divinities.

Ellana’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of her confusion pressing down on her. ‘These are gods?’ she thought, her mind racing. The tales she had heard growing up, and even the stories Solas had shared, had painted them as beings beyond mortal comprehension. She had expected something more—something that would immediately convey their power and grandeur. But these beings looked… just like elves. Larger than life, perhaps, but still grounded in the world she knew.

The discrepancy gnawed at her, unsettling her more than she cared to admit. It was as if the veil of myth had been torn away, revealing something uncomfortably close to reality. Were these truly the beings who once shaped the world? The ones who inspired fear and reverence? Or were they something else entirely—figures built on legend, but whose true nature had been lost to time?

Her mind spun with questions she had no way of answering. As she kept to the shadows, she couldn’t help but feel the distance between the gods and the mortals below them, yet that distance was far less than she had imagined. They weren’t larger-than-life figures towering above the crowd—they were simply a part of it, watching from above.

She notices the figure with the golden bow strapped across her back could only be Andruil. Her fiery red hair, cut short and jagged like Cassandra’s, framed a face that seemed perpetually alert, eyes scanning the crowd with a predatory intensity. Much like the goddess the Dalish revered, Andruil appeared to be on the hunt for something—or someone.

Beside her stood another red-haired woman, though her hair was less vivid and cascaded down her back in long waves. Ellana surmised this must be Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper. Though her posture was serene, there was a quiet strength to her, as though she carried the weight of a protector.

A few feet away, Ellana’s eyes caught a smaller woman with pure white, wavy hair—Ghilan’nain, no doubt. She seemed engaged in a hushed conversation with a man who had cropped auburn hair. June, Ellana guessed, his quiet demeanor matching the tales she had heard of the god of crafting and creation. The two appeared absorbed in one another, their attention focused more on their conversation than on the splendor of the ballroom.

Farther away, two figures sat in regal stillness, towering over the rest, their presence impossible to ignore. One was a woman with dark, flowing hair and an air of authority so palpable it made the space around her seem to hum. Mythal, Ellana thought with certainty. Beside her was a broad-shouldered man, his features hard and unforgiving—Elgar’nan, the All-Father. Neither of them wore masks, and yet they seemed more aloof and distant than the rest, their eyes surveying the ballroom with a cool detachment.

Ellana’s heart raced as she scanned the room, her mind whirling. ‘One is missing.’ She quickly took a sip of the wine she had just picked up, her throat tightening with the thought.

Fen’harel.

Her thoughts quickened, and she began to take magical precautions, quietly weaving protective wards to prevent the voices of the Well from reaching out toward Mythal. The last thing she needed was to attract the goddess’s attention. As she worked, a chill ran down her spine, and a voice broke through her concentration.

"How kind of you to protect that slave, all things considered," a voice chuckled softly beside her.

Ellana froze, her blood turning to ice. ‘No.’

The voice was unmistakable, deep and filled with a dangerous amusement. She didn’t dare turn her head. ‘It can’t be…’Her pulse quickened, her mind racing, but her body refused to move.

Slowly, she exhaled, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched the stem of her wine glass. The presence beside her was far too familiar, and despite all her efforts to remain calm, the sound of his voice sent her heart into a spiral.

Ellana slowly turned to face the speaker, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes locked onto stormy blue ones that were all too familiar. ‘Solas…’ she cried silently, the name echoing in her mind. But as her gaze swept over the man standing before her, she realized, with a sinking heart, that this was not the Solas she knew.

Instead of a smooth, bald head, this man wore tightly woven chestnut dreadlocks that cascaded over one shoulder, the sides of his head meticulously shaven. His smirk was unmistakably arrogant, a sharp contrast to the quiet, thoughtful mage she had known. Yet the resemblance was undeniable—his face was that of Solas, but his presence was entirely different.

"Have you lost your voice now?" he taunted, his tone dripping with haughty amusement. He stepped closer, his eyes boring into hers with an unsettling intensity. "I doubt that," he added, his voice smooth and mocking. "I heard you quite clearly a few moments ago."

Ellana’s heart pounded in her chest as he closed the distance between them. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating even, and yet she could barely process it. ‘Solas is Fen’harel…’. The truth of it slammed into her like a weight, and she struggled to keep her composure.

Swallowing hard, she lifted her wine glass and took a sip, hoping the motion would calm her trembling hands. "I haven’t lost my voice," she managed to reply, though her voice was tight, a little too forced.

Fen’harel’s eyes narrowed slightly, amusement flickering behind them. He noted the tension in her stance, the subtle hesitation in her tone. ‘Nervous,’ he thought, silently filing the observation away. His arm moved to rest against the wall just above her head, leaning in closer, his towering frame dominating the space around her.

"Are you nervous, my lady?" he whispered, his voice dropping to a dangerously seductive tone, his breath brushing against her skin as he inched closer. His eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of knowing how his presence affected her.

Ellana’s pulse quickened as she felt him encroach on her space, her mind scrambling for a way to escape. His proximity, the familiarity of his face but the strangeness of his demeanor—it was too much. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, and before she could think twice, her body moved instinctively.

Without a word, she turned sharply and began walking away, her movements quick and deliberate.

For a split second, Fen’harel was stunned. He watched her retreating form, amusement curling his lips into a smirk. A low chuckle escaped him, the sound dark and amused. ‘Well, that’s new,’ he mused, his gaze tracking the sway of her steps as she hurried away from him.

With a leisurely pace, he began to follow her, his amusement growing. ‘No one has ever walked away from me quite like that,’ he thought with a hint of humor, his eyes never leaving her as she weaved through the crowd.

Ellana rushed out onto the balcony, her breath shallow as she gripped the cool stone railing. "No, no, no," she muttered to herself, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions spiraling inside her. The evening air kissed her skin, but it did little to cool the fire burning in her chest. Closing her eyes, she focused on breathing, her heart racing beneath her ribs. ‘The Dread Wolf… Solas… literally took me, she thought, the irony hitting her hard. A small, bitter chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head, disbelief flooding her senses.

Unbeknownst to her, Fen’harel had followed. He stepped out onto the balcony, his movements smooth and quiet. With a flick of his hand, he dismissed the guards standing nearby, sending them away without a word. The doors clicked softly shut behind him, the noise barely audible over Ellana’s frantic thoughts.

She was too lost in her own mind to notice his presence. He leaned casually against the railing beside her, his smirk deepening as he studied her. The trickster’s amusement was palpable, his eyes alight with a mischievous gleam.

"Well," he said with a low chuckle, "I’ve certainly never had that sort of reaction from someone like you before." His voice cut through the night, laced with laughter, making her freeze.

Ellana’s breath hitched as she slowly turned to face him, her pulse quickening once more. There he was—Solas, but not. Fen’harel. The Trickster. The Dread Wolf. Her mind reeled, and for a moment, she couldn’t form the words stuck in her throat. His eyes sparkled with amusement, waiting, almost teasing, as if daring her to acknowledge what she now knew.

She swallowed hard, licking her lips before finally speaking. "You’re..." she began, her voice trembling slightly before she caught herself. Her mouth felt dry, her thoughts a blur. "You’re Fen’harel," she finished, the weight of the name heavy on her tongue.

Fen’harel’s keen gaze flickered over Ellana, sensing her unease even as she tried to keep her composure. “That is correct,” he confirmed smoothly, his tone unhurried. She continued to stare him down, defiance simmering in her eyes.

"What did you mean by ‘someone like me’?" she asks, her voice firm as she took a step back, increasing the distance between them.

He tilted his head slightly, meeting her gaze with casual indifference. "Young. Female," he replied plainly, with a nonchalant shrug. "Typically, the young ladies are quite... intrigued by me. You’re the first to run." His laughter was soft, but it carried a note of amusement that only seemed to heighten her tension.

Her face remained stoic, her eyes unwavering. "No," she said, her voice sharp, cutting through his playful demeanor.

Fen’harel’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, his tone flirtatious, as he took a step closer, closing the space she had created.

"No," she repeated, her posture rigid, her resolve unmoving.

He studied her, intrigued by the resistance in her stance. For a moment, the teasing smile faded from his face, replaced by something quieter, more calculated. His eyes lingered on her, noticing the subtle tension in her expression, the way her jaw tightened, as if holding back more than just words.

"You’ve been hurt," he said quietly, his tone shifting to something darker, more perceptive. It wasn’t a question—it was a statement, spoken with the certainty of someone who had seen pain before. The lightness in his voice had vanished, replaced by a blunt assessment of the emotions she tried to conceal.

Ellana flinched ever so slightly, but her expression remained hard, giving nothing away. She hadn’t expected him to pick up on it so quickly—his ability to read her, to cut through her defenses, unsettled her. He is the one who hurt her, some thousand years in the future.

Ellana remained silent, her arms wrapping around herself defensively. Fen’harel’s gaze didn’t waver. "What fool would leave you?" he mused, his tone casual, yet there was an edge to his words. "Even behind the mask, I can tell you’re beautiful."

Her eyes flickered, betraying a momentary glimmer of pain before she answered. "A trickster," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the weight behind the words struck him with their clarity.

"Ah…" Fen’harel murmured, his curiosity piqued. His gaze sharpened, intrigued by her answer. He moved to sit on a nearby bench, his body relaxed as if he were settling into a game he already knew the rules to. "Come, sit," he beckoned, motioning to the spot beside him. His eyes never left her, watching closely for her reaction.

Ellana hesitated, her arms tightening around herself as she glanced at the bench, the space next to him looming like a challenge. "Is this a game?" she whispered, her voice tinged with wariness.

"Not at all," he replied smoothly, though there was no trace of mischief in his voice now, only a calm honesty. He leaned back against the bars, waiting. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she stepped forward and sat beside him, her posture rigid, every muscle tense as if ready to bolt.

The silence between them was heavy, but Fen’harel wasn’t one to leave space unfilled for long. "Tell me what happened," he said softly, his tone gentle but commanding, as if he already knew there was a story buried beneath her silence.

Ellana’s breath hitched, her chest tightening as the memories clawed their way to the surface. ‘If I can’t speak to Solas in the present… why not speak to him through the past?’ The thought both emboldened and frightened her. She swallowed hard, gathering her courage, though her body remained stiff with tension.

"He didn’t want to distract me from my duties," she whispered, her voice strained, as if the very words were a burden she struggled to release. Each syllable was soaked in the pain she had never fully allowed herself to voice, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on her. It was easier to speak to this version of him, where she could pretend, just for a moment, that her words wouldn’t go unheard.

Fen’harel’s gaze didn’t waver, though his smirk softened into something more thoughtful. He could sense the depth of her hurt, even if she tried to keep it contained. Her stiffness, the trembling edge to her voice—it was all too telling. He leaned in ever so slightly, his curiosity piqued by the delicate balance she was trying to maintain between her grief and her composure.

Ellana’s eyes flickered toward him, a flash of vulnerability crossing her face before she quickly looked away. Her mind raced. She had thought of this conversation a thousand times, but it never played out like this, with the ache of the past feeling so immediate, and his presence—so familiar yet so foreign—unnerving her at every turn.

Fen’harel’s gaze narrowed slightly, his curiosity deepening. "Was he one?" he pressed, his voice low, probing. “A trickster?”

She shook her head, the memory too raw to keep buried. "Not at all. He had something he needed to do—something on his own. He didn’t want my help." Her voice trembled, though she fought to keep it steady. "And then… he left. He left without saying goodbye."

Her words trailed off, the weight of what she had been holding back since that day pressing down on her chest. It wasn’t just the day Corypheus fell that haunted her—it was the day Solas vanished. He had told her what they shared was real, made her believe in something deeper, and then he disappeared without a word. The ache of that departure still stung, fresh and unrelenting, no matter how much time had passed.

Fen’harel observed her quietly, his smirk fading into something more contemplative. He didn’t interrupt, letting the pain she had buried resurface, knowing the name of the man she spoke of without her having to utter it aloud. He was fascinated by how deeply it still cut her, how it lingered in every word she spoke.

Fen’harel hummed lightly, a sound that was both contemplative and amused, before rising to his feet. With a graceful flourish, he turned to face her, bowing with a flourish that made the air between them seem lighter, more playful. "May I have this dance, my lady?" His hand extended toward her, his stormy blue eyes locked on hers.

Ellana blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking from his hand to his face. "Shouldn’t I be the one bowing to a god, not the other way around?" she joked weakly, her voice tinged with a mix of humor and disbelief.

Fen’harel straightened, a laugh bubbling from his lips, clearly not expecting her response. "Please, do not bow," he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. His laughter felt strange—so familiar and yet so foreign in this moment. He pauses for a moment, “and while powerful, I am not a god.”

A flicker of confusion danced across her features at his remark about not being a god, but there was no time to linger on it. Her brow furrowed as she eyed his outstretched hand, suspicion darkening her gaze. “Why are you being nice to me?” Her voice was low, edged with wariness as her eyes flicked back to his face. “You’re supposed to be cocky and arrogant.” Her words came out like a challenge, distrust curling around each one as she kept her focus on the hand she refused to take.

His laugh came again, light but sincere. "I am cocky and arrogant," he admitted, his smirk never wavering. "But I find myself... drawn to you. And I’d like to find out why." His tone shifted, becoming more serious, more curious. His hand remained extended, waiting.

The weight of his words made Ellana pause, her breath catching in her throat. There was a strange sincerity in his voice, something that tugged at her in a way she hadn’t expected. After a beat of hesitation, she nodded and placed her hand in his.

Fen’harel’s touch was firm but gentle as he guided her back into the grand dance hall. The moment they entered, the crowd seemed to part like water, making a path for them as they walked toward the center of the room. All eyes were fixed on them—gods and mortals alike—whispers spreading like wildfire through the gathering. The Dread Wolf, dancing with this unknown woman. It was a scene no one could have predicted.

Ellana kept her head high, her back straight, though her heart raced. Every gaze, every whisper was like a weight on her shoulders, but she met it with resolve. If they were going to watch, she would give them something worth watching.

Fen’harel stepped onto the dance floor, his movements fluid, effortless. As the music swelled around them, he drew her closer, guiding her into the rhythm. Their steps fell into sync, and though she kept her guard up, the dance itself felt like an unspoken conversation—a dance of power, of curiosity, of something deeper.

"Everyone is staring..." Ellana whispered, her voice tight with discomfort as she tried to maintain her composure. The weight of so many eyes on her made her skin prickle, and she could feel the tension creeping up her spine.

Fen’harel’s response, however, was anything but subtle. A wolfish grin spread across his face, his enjoyment of the situation evident in every step he took. "They are," he said confidently, his tone filled with amusement as he pulled her even closer, his hand firm on the small of her back. His delight in the attention was palpable, while she struggled to remain at ease.

Ellana’s gaze flickered toward the edge of the dance floor, where she noticed the remaining members of the Elven pantheon gathered, whispering amongst themselves, their eyes trained on the two of them. Her discomfort only grew. "So are your..." she hesitated, her lips tightening as she searched for the right word, "friends..." she grumbled under her breath.

Fen’harel cocked his head to the side, glancing in the direction of the gods. "So they are," he confirmed with a nonchalant shrug, clearly unbothered by their watchful gaze. His attention remained on her, and with a sudden shift, he sped up, guiding her into quicker, more intricate steps in time with the rising tempo of the music.

Ellana’s breath caught as she struggled to keep up with the pace, her heart racing not just from the swift movements, but from the intensity of the situation. ‘Why does he enjoy this so much?’ she wondered, her frustration simmering beneath the surface.

With a playful flourish, Fen’harel dipped her, his grin wicked and full of mischief. His hand slid slowly down the curve of her leg, lifting it to rest against his hip. The boldness of the gesture sent a shiver through her, and she gasped softly, her heart hammering in her chest.

"You are cocky," she whispered, her voice breathless, the accusation laced with a mixture of frustration and bewilderment. His grin only widened, gleaming with the satisfaction of having gotten the reaction he sought. He was pushing her, testing her boundaries, reveling in how easily he could unsettle her.

Her heart ached with the weight of it all. This was Fen’harel, the Dread Wolf, a being of ancient legend—and yet, he wore Solas’s face, the man she had loved. The man who, in this moment, did not exist. ‘Whatever events made him into the Solas she knew…’ she thought bitterly, ‘hasn’t happened yet.’ The pain of that knowledge twisted inside her. She longed for the Solas she had known, the thoughtful, compassionate mage, not the trickster who now held her in his arms.

Before she could gather her thoughts, Fen’harel pulled her upright, drawing her close enough that their faces hovered just inches apart. His breath brushed against her lips, and she felt the electric charge between them, heavy with unspoken tension.

His hand moved to her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle as he stroked her skin with a tenderness that caught her off guard. Slowly, deliberately, he brought her face closer to his, his gaze never leaving hers. He was watching her carefully, waiting for her to pull away, to protest—but she didn’t. She couldn’t. The confusion, the pull of familiarity, and the ache of longing kept her rooted to the spot.

And then he leaned in.

The kiss, when it came, was electric, sending a shockwave through her. It was as if time itself had bent around them, the moment reminiscent of their first kiss in the Fade. That same spark of connection flared to life, stirring something deep within her that she had thought long buried.

But it wasn’t Solas who kissed her now—it was Fen’harel, a stranger in a familiar skin.

Her body responded instinctively, memories of that first kiss flooding back, but her mind was a whirlwind of conflicted thoughts. She knew what he was, knew what he would become. Yet in this fleeting moment, the ache of her loss, the longing for what they had shared, overwhelmed her.

When they finally pulled apart, the air between them was thick with tension. His eyes searched hers, as though trying to gauge her reaction, his usual arrogance tempered by something softer, something more real.

But Ellana couldn’t meet his gaze for long. The kiss had stirred emotions she wasn’t ready to confront. Her heart ached for the man who does not currently existed—and for the one standing before her, a shadow of what had been and what was yet to come.

The grand ballroom trembled, a low rumble building beneath their feet. Ellana stiffened in Fen’harel’s arms, her senses sharpening as the vibrations intensified, rattling the chandeliers above and causing the delicate glasses lining the tables to clatter.

Then, the tremors grew violent.

Decorations fell from the walls, the ornate vases shattering as they hit the marble floor. Gasps filled the room as the assembled guests turned in confusion and alarm. Fen’harel’s grip tightened on Ellana, his playful expression giving way to something more serious, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room.

In the center of the ballroom, where moments ago dancers had twirled in elegant grace, a swirling vortex began to form. The portal—the very one that had spat Ellana into this world hours earlier—was reopening, its smoky green light twisting and expanding with a terrifying energy.

The air crackled with magic, and one by one, six shadowed figures were flung from the mouth of the portal, crashing to the floor. The guests recoiled in shock, stepping back as the six figures lay motionless, scattered across the ballroom like broken dolls.

Ellana's heart raced, her breath catching in her throat as she pulled away from Fen’harel, her eyes fixed on the portal. The energy radiating from it was wild, unpredictable, and she could feel the familiar pulse of its power tugging at her magic. The room fell silent, every eye on the figures who had fallen from the sky.

"Not again..." Ellana whispered, barely able to process what was happening. Her gaze shifted between the portal and the six figures lying on the marble floor, dread creeping into her chest.

Beside her, Fen’harel stood perfectly still, his eyes glinting with curiosity and wariness as he assessed the situation. He didn’t move, but there was an unmistakable tension in the way he watched the portal, as though he were waiting for the next act of whatever chaotic force had been unleashed.

The portal swirled ominously, casting flickering green light across the ballroom.

Relief flooded Ellana’s chest as she recognized the figures on the floor—her companions, her chosen family. She barely had time to think, her heart racing as emotions overwhelmed her. Without warning, she grabbed Fen’harel by the collar, pulling him closer, and slapped him with such force it echoed through the ballroom.

His head snapped to the side, and when he turned back to her, fury burned in his stormy blue eyes, mixed with raw confusion. The sting of her slap still fresh on his skin, his thoughts raced—her sudden kiss, the opening of the rift, and now this. It was all too much. "What was that for?" he snapped, his voice low, a mixture of anger and bewilderment.

He was taken aback, his arrogance slipping for just a moment as he tried to make sense of her actions. They had just shared a kiss filled with a fire he hadn’t expected, and now she struck him as if that kiss had never happened—as if the rift spitting out her companions wasn’t turning everything upside down. The swirl of emotions in the room mirrored the chaos inside him.

Ellana stared him down, her expression unyielding. "You’ll find out in about a thousand years—give or take a century," she spat, her voice filled with bitterness and a depth of hurt he couldn’t quite place. The fury in her eyes told him everything and nothing at the same time, and for once, the Trickster was left off balance.

Fen’harel stared at her, confusion flickering across his face. The tension between them crackled, the weight of things left unsaid hanging in the air.

She hesitated, her breath catching as her heart raced. Her voice was quiet but firm when she finally spoke, the weight of unspoken emotion hanging in the air between them. "You’ve been gone for a month," she said, her tone steady, though it trembled at the edges, betraying the torrent of feelings she was holding back. "In two days, I’ll meet you in Crestwood. The place where you left."

His brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his stormy blue eyes as he processed her words. He was caught between the chaos of the moment—the portal, her companions emerging, and the intensity of her presence. The air between them crackled with tension, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

She paused for a beat, biting her lip as if debating what to do next. Then, with a sudden surge of emotion, she gripped his collar again, pulling him toward her with a ferocity she hadn’t felt in years. Their lips crashed together, her kiss full of force and passion—like she was pouring all the things she could never say into that single moment.

It was more than just a kiss. It was a release of everything she had been holding in—frustration, longing, the pain of his absence, and the confusion of seeing him now, knowing what he would become. Her lips pressed against his with an intensity that spoke of all the moments they had shared and all the moments that had been stolen from her. It was fire and fury, desire and heartache, all bound together in the desperate need to feel something real, something that could ground her in this swirling storm.

Fen’harel’s initial shock melted away as he responded, his hands tightening around her, pulling her closer. The kiss was electric, charged with the passion they both couldn’t contain. But beneath the fire, there was an undercurrent of something far deeper—an understanding that this moment, this kiss, carried the weight of a thousand unsaid words and the unspoken truth that still lingered between them.

When she finally broke the kiss, her breath came in short, uneven bursts, her face inches from his. She stared at him, her eyes filled with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. Without another word, she turned on her heel and ran, leaving him standing there, speechless, with the taste of her still lingering on his lips and the burning imprint of her kiss still echoing in his mind.

"Boss!" a familiar voice bellowed, and Ellana’s heart lifted as she saw Iron Bull, massive and imposing, emerging from the portal. His grin was wide, his massive sword at the ready. She ripped off her mask, holding it tight, her joy spilling out uncontrollably. "Bull!" she screamed, running toward him.

Perched on Bull’s broad shoulders, Sera sat with her bow drawn, her eyes scanning the room with suspicion. "Stupid mages and their stupid magic, yeah? This isn’t normal!" she shouted, directing her frustration at Dorian, who followed behind them with an air of calm, casually fixing his hair as if they hadn’t just been thrown through time.

"Stupid Tevinter mage!" Sera bickered, narrowing her eyes at him. "You caused all of this!"

Dorian scoffed, waving her off with a dramatic flourish. "Oh, please! It wasn’t intentional," he replied, clearly annoyed. His eyes roved over the scene as he assessed the situation. "Though I must admit," he said, with a hint of amusement, "it appears we’ve landed in the middle of a party. Quite the Orlesian court affair, I’d say."

The ballroom was in chaos, nobles gasping and retreating as the sight of Ellana’s companions registered in their shocked minds. The whispering increased, but Ellana had no care for the gawking eyes or the judging glances. Her heart was full, and her mind raced as she took in the faces of her friends.

Cassandra grunted as she landed beside Dorian, her sword and shield raised, scanning the room with sharp focus. “I believe we should focus on the task at hand,” she declared harshly, grabbing Dorian by the arm and yanking him back toward her. The urgency in her voice left little room for debate.

"Now you say so, Seeker?" Varric chimed in, his tone dripping with amusement as he notched an arrow into Bianca, his ever-reliable crossbow. His eyes flicked toward the approaching pantheon, tension simmering beneath his easygoing facade.

Dorian smoothed out his robes, more annoyed than unsettled. "You rudely dragged me away from Court to time travel into another Court, Dorian? My dear, you certainly know how to impress," Vivienne drawled, her voice rich with sarcasm as she readied her magic, the faint shimmer of arcane energy crackling in the air around her.

Ellana, despite the chaos and the rift still pulsing behind them, felt a surge of joy at seeing her companions again. Her heart leaped as she took in their familiar faces, the sharpness of their banter filling her with a sense of belonging. But her relief was cut short as she looked across the room to see the Elven pantheon standing in formation, their postures rigid, their gazes cold. The gods were preparing for a fight.

Fen’harel stood at the edge of their gathering, staring at the scene with shock etched across his usually impassive face. Before he could react, one of the twins—Falon’Din—grabbed his arm and pulled him closer, their eyes locking onto the intruders with an intensity that sent a shiver down Ellana's spine. The tension between the two sides was palpable, the gods' confusion quickly giving way to a looming threat.

Andruil, her movements swift and deadly, was the first to act. With a graceful flick of her wrist, she sent an arrow sailing through the air toward the group. Vivienne, always poised and prepared, conjured a shimmering barrier in the blink of an eye, deflecting the projectile with a cold, amused smile.

"Dorian, my dear," Vivienne said, her tone light despite the situation, "do be careful, will you? The Veil is terribly thin here. I’d hate to see something get through."

Varric smirked, his eyes narrowing as he aimed Bianca. "She’s got a point, Sparkler. You sure you’ve got this under control?"

Ellana’s heart raced, torn between the joy of seeing her companions and the terror of the looming threat from the pantheon. "Dorian, please tell me you know how to get us back!" she cried, rushing toward him, throwing her arms around him in a desperate embrace.

Dorian hugged her back, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. "Of course," he muttered, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "If we can manage to gather enough power..." His voice trailed off nervously as he glanced over at the Elven gods, who were now advancing toward them with lethal intent.

“Eh? Look at all this stupid elfy crap! Look at them all dressed up in their elfy bits, hah!” Sera jokes as she makes eye contact with Fen’harel. “Is that Solas, with all his elven glory, what’s that shite?” Sera howls from her spot on Iron Bull’s shoulders.

“Sera, you are an elf! And it’s not Solas.” Ellana snaps at her as Dorian mutters about different types of power. “Yeah, boss? Well, it sure looks like him.” Bull adds. Cole, who was hidden behind Iron Bull, adding, “He has his face. Magic flows, similar yet different. He is not him yet.” He expresses, a sense of knowing.

“Who are you?” Elgar’nan bellows in anger as flames surround the group. “Damn mages,” Varric mutters in distress.

“Dorian, my mask!” Ellana pushes the mask into his hands. “The gems are lyrium shards. Seven of them. Can you use them to power the device?” Ellana rushes out as her and Vivienne cast a barrier spell to protect them from the flame.

"Yes!" Dorian yelled with glee, diving into his work as arcane energy crackled around him. His fingers moved swiftly, tracing intricate patterns of magic, while the rest of the group formed a protective ring around him, weapons and spells at the ready. Ellana’s eyes flicked between her companions and the Elven pantheon, her heart racing as she saw Fen’harel muttering angrily with Elgar’nan.

Elgar’nan stood taller than the rest, his broad shoulders tense and his long black hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck. His face was flushed with fury, his angular jaw clenched as he glared at the Dread Wolf. The two gods bickered fiercely, their voices too low for Ellana to hear, but their body language told the whole story—Fen’harel wanted to stop the conflict, but Elgar’nan, with his imposing stance, was clearly ready to strike.

"We can’t attack them!" Ellana cried, casting another barrier to deflect incoming arrows and projectiles. The magical force shimmered around her, but it was clear they were under immense pressure. "We can’t kill them—it’ll ruin everything!"

Varric, standing a few steps behind her, notched another arrow into Bianca. "Shouldn’t we be attacking now, Rosy?" he asked with his usual calm, even as chaos surrounded them.

Ellana threw up her hands in frustration, letting out a strangled cry. "Now you give me a nickname? Rosy? Really?"

Varric chuckled, even as he eyed the approaching figures warily. "It’s better than Twinkles!" he called back, the tension in the air momentarily lightened by his playful banter.

Ellana shook her head, her focus snapping back to the growing threat. She and Vivienne were casting area spells in tandem, their magic shimmering across the room in an intricate web, keeping the pantheon’s attacks at bay while maintaining the barriers against any incoming projectiles.

"We can’t kill anyone!" Ellana repeated urgently, her voice rising over the din of battle. "If we do, it’ll destroy the timeline. My people are descendants of them!" she snapped, her eyes flicking toward Mythal, who had stepped forward with a commanding presence.

Mythal’s golden eyes burned with the same intensity that had haunted Ellana when they first met. Her long, straight white-blonde hair flowed behind her as she approached, her high cheekbones giving her an air of regal authority. A powerful fireball hovered just above her hand, flames swirling and crackling, poised to be unleashed.

Ellana’s heart skipped a beat. She could feel something pulling at her, tugging at the edges of her consciousness. The voices of the Well, those ancient whispers she had kept at bay for so long, began to stir, echoing in her mind with newfound urgency. The magic was breaking free, forcing a connection she wasn’t ready for.

Her breath hitched as the voices surged forward, flooding her thoughts with a torrent of ancient knowledge. And then, like a crack of thunder, the connection was made.

Mythal’s eyes widened in shock, her golden irises glowing as she froze mid-stride, the fireball flickering in her hand. She turned her gaze toward Ellana, her expression one of surprise, realization dawning in her features.

"Hold your attacks!" Mythal’s voice boomed across the room, shaking the very walls with its force. The gods halted, their movements stilled by the power of her command. The fireball in her hand fizzled out, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Ellana staggered, the connection with Mythal pulsating in her mind, raw and overwhelming. She could feel Mythal’s presence—her knowledge, her power, her understanding—mingling with her own. It was too much, too fast, but it had bought them a moment.

The entire ballroom seemed to hold its breath as Mythal's command rippled through the air. Even Elgar’nan and Fen’harel, who had been locked in a heated argument, fell silent. The tension in the room was palpable, every pair of eyes fixed on the goddess as she stepped forward, her golden gaze unblinking, locking onto Ellana.

"You drank from my well," Mythal stated, her voice steady, with a flicker of amusement dancing beneath the surface. Her long blue gown trailed behind her as she approached, every step measured, every movement regal. She came to a halt before the group, her eyes narrowing as she examined Ellana with a curious intensity. "How are you not dead?" she asked, the question laced with genuine curiosity, though the flame that reignited in her hand hinted at her readiness to change that.

Ellana hesitated, trying to remain composed under Mythal’s scrutinizing gaze. A nervous laugh escaped her lips. "You know," she said, her voice tight, "I probably should be. I ask myself that question far too often."

Mythal raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by the casual response. Her eyes darkened, and the flames in her hand flared brighter, casting flickering shadows across the ballroom. She was still poised to strike, and the room’s tension thickened as it became clear that one wrong word could reignite the fight.

Ellana growled in frustration, stepping forward with determination. "Look, I had no other choice but to drink from the Well," she snapped, her tone firm but edged with desperation. "I respected your temple. I willingly drank from the water."

Mythal’s gaze remained fixed on her, unreadable.

"You willingly became a slave?” Fen’harel’s voice cut through the air from behind Mythal, sharp and incredulous. His eyes burned with something unspoken, his question laced with both disbelief and a subtle anger. Mythal raised her hand, silencing the Dread Wolf with a single gesture, though his gaze remained fixed on Ellana.

"I didn’t know the price at the time," Ellana responded quickly, her voice tense but unwavering. "But my freedom, for the freedom of the greater good, is a trade-off I had to take."

Mythal hummed thoughtfully, her golden eyes narrowing as she studied Ellana with a chilling curiosity, "what is stopping me from commanding you to kill your friends, leaving you trapped here?" Her voice was dangerously calm, and with a slow, deliberate movement, she stopped walking and motioned for Ellana to come forward.

Ellana’s heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t falter. She signaled for her companions to stand down, though she could feel their collective tension rising. With careful steps, she moved toward Mythal, every muscle in her body tense as she prepared for whatever might come next.

"You," Ellana answered directly, her voice firm despite the tremor of nerves in her chest. "You are what’s stopping you."

Mythal raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the elf’s boldness. Her eyes gleamed with something unreadable as she began to circle Ellana, her gaze scanning her as though she were a puzzle to be solved. The would-be goddess’s presence was overwhelming, her power tangible in the air, but Ellana held her ground.

"Hm," Mythal mused, her lips curling into a slight smile as she completed her circle. "And so the tune begins."

The faintest chuckle escaped her lips, a sound that sent a shiver down Ellana’s spine. Mythal’s keen eyes lingered on Ellana for a moment longer before she abruptly turned away, her robes trailing behind her. The room, which had been so thick with tension moments before, seemed to exhale.

"Go, girl," Mythal said, her voice carrying the weight of finality. "Return to your own time." With a dismissive wave of her hand, Mythal accepted Ellana’s fate, as though she had seen what she needed to see.

Behind her, Elgar’nan’s face twisted in anger, his fury barely contained. His eyes flared with rage, his broad shoulders tensing as if he wanted to lash out, but he did not argue. Even Fen’harel remained silent, though the intensity in his gaze had not lessened.

Ellana felt a surge of relief, but it was tinged with the bitter knowledge of what had transpired. She had stood before gods and walked away, but the weight of their judgment still hung heavily on her. She turned rushing back to her companions, her body trembling from the tension of the encounter.

"It is ready when you are, Inquisitor," Dorian announced, his voice steady despite the lingering tension. He handed Ellana her mask, but she didn’t reach for it, her gaze locked on the man who had once been Solas, the man who now stood across from her as Fen’harel.

His face was a storm of frustration and confusion, his eyes hard and unrelenting. She frowned, her heart twisting painfully, but she wouldn’t apologize. Not for the kiss, not for the slap, not for her choice to walk away. There was nothing left to say, and she knew it.

"Alright, everyone stay close, unless of course, you want to stay here!" Dorian called out with a flourish, breaking the tension as the portal flared to life once more. The air crackled with energy, and the group began to gather.

Ellana hesitated for a moment longer, her hand gripping the mask. Her eyes flickered back to Fen’harel one last time—no words passed between them, but the silence was heavy with everything unsaid. With a quiet breath, she let the mask fall from her fingers, the sound of it hitting the ground sharp in the stillness. She moved closer to her companions.

"Get ready... and NOW!" Dorian shouted, his voice full of authority as the group rushed toward the swirling energy of the portal. In an instant, the room and the gods faded from sight, and the chaos of the past slipped away.

The portal spat them out with a jarring thud into the familiar surroundings of the Great Hall of Skyhold. For a moment, there was only silence as they all caught their breath, the weight of their journey settling on their shoulders.

“Damn," Varric said, breaking the tension with a grin as he brushed off invisible dirt. "That is something to write about." He reached down, helping Sera to her feet, who shook herself off dramatically.

“You mean the elfy bits or the magic-y bits?” Sera quipped, yanking out a chair from a nearby table and plopping down into it with a sigh. "Because both were pretty messed up."

Ellana allowed herself a small laugh, the familiar sounds of Skyhold easing the tension in her chest. They were home.

"Boss," Iron Bull rumbled as he pulled both Dorian and Cole up onto their feet. "Let’s not do that again, alright?" Cole, with his usual innocence, chimed in, “The Iron Bull isn’t afraid.”

Dorian, of course, couldn’t resist the banter. He flashed a broad smile and adjusted his robes, clearly pleased with himself. "I thought it was a fantastic field trip," he said with a gleam in his eye. “Too bad we couldn’t stay longer.”

Vivienne and Cassandra exchanged glances as they watched Ellana rush toward the throne, her hands shaking as she snatched up her staff. The urgency in her movements was unmistakable.

"Where are you going?" Cassandra asked, her voice sharp with concern as she quickly followed the Inquisitor down the steps and outside into the courtyard. Her eyes narrowed, noting Ellana’s frantic pace—and the fact that she hadn’t even bothered to change out of her gown.

She ignores the question. "Cassandra, stay here. That is an order," Ellana commanded, her tone firm, though her voice carried the weight of something far more urgent than a simple mission.

Cassandra gritted her teeth, but pressed on. "But where are you going?" she demanded again, her frustration growing as they entered the stables. Ellana’s face was set, her jaw clenched with determination that Cassandra recognized all too well—it was the same look she wore when she was about to face a danger only she believed she could stop.

"I am headed to Crestwood," Ellana replied shortly, her words clipped, barely giving Cassandra a glance as rushing out of the great hall and towards the stables. Cassandra grunted in disapproval, her brows furrowing deeply as she watched Ellana ride off without another word, her red hart galloping away into the distance. The sight filled her with unease. Whatever was driving the Inquisitor, it wasn’t something Cassandra could ignore.

As Ellana disappeared into the horizon, Cassandra let out a slow breath, the tension coiled tightly in her chest. She had seen Ellana like this before—too determined, too willing to face something alone.

"I’m not letting her go off without protection," Cassandra muttered under her breath, her resolve hardening. She marched back into Skyhold with purposeful strides, her thoughts already racing. When she found Leliana in the war room, the spymaster raised a questioning brow.

"The Inquisitor has left for Crestwood," Cassandra said firmly, her voice low. "Send your spies to follow her—discreetly."

Leliana’s eyes sharpened, her expression unreadable. She gave a slow nod, already understanding the unspoken weight behind Cassandra’s words. "Consider it done," she replied, turning swiftly to make arrangements.

When Ellana arrived in Crestwood, the world around her had already been swallowed by darkness. The cool night air clung to her skin, and the soft rustling of leaves in the wind was the only sound that broke the stillness. Her heart raced as she dismounted her red hart and quickly made her way to the place where they had last been together, where the memory of their intimacy still lingered like a phantom touch.

But the clearing was empty. He wasn’t there.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, trying to keep her voice steady even as frustration clawed at her chest. She stood still for a moment, her breath shallow, eyes scanning the empty space, as if he might suddenly appear from the shadows. But there was nothing. Just the cold wind and the aching silence that pressed in from all sides.

Her hands clenched into fists, trembling with the weight of her emotions. “He has to show,” she whispered, her voice shaking. Her mind raced, replaying their last moments together, the promises and the hope she had carried with her since his departure. “He has to!” she nearly screamed, the desperation in her voice echoing through the darkness.

She wanted to cry, the frustration burning in her throat, but she couldn’t—she wouldn’t. Not yet. There were still two more days. He had two more days, and she would wait.

Ellana paced restlessly, her mind a swirl of emotions—anger, longing, uncertainty. ‘What if he doesn’t come?’ she thought, her heart tightening with fear. But she shook her head, forcing the thought away. No. He would come. He had to.

She settled onto a rock, the tension in her body refusing to ease. The night stretched on around her, the stars glinting coldly above as she stared into the empty space before her, her thoughts filled with the man who would become the man she knows as Solas.

It was the last night she would wait. The last night she had allowed herself to cling to hope. Ellana had fashioned a makeshift bed out of dried leaves, the crackling of them under her weight a quiet reminder of how far she had come—rushing off with nothing but the clothes on her back and her staff in hand when they had returned to the present. She hadn’t even thought to pack supplies, her mind too consumed by the desperate need to see him again.

Now, as the final night stretched on, the air was bitterly cold. The dress she wore—still the one from the past—did little to shield her from the chill. She wrapped it tighter around her body, pulling the thin fabric close, trying to trap any warmth she could find. Her breath formed small clouds in the night air, the silence around her broken only by the occasional rustle of the trees.

She was tired—so tired. The weight of days spent waiting, hoping, had finally caught up to her, dragging her eyelids down like lead. The weariness seeped into her bones, and though she fought to stay alert, to stay awake in case he came, her body was betraying her.

The stars twinkled coldly above, indifferent to her struggle, and the ground beneath her was unforgiving. Ellana shifted slightly, trying to make herself comfortable on the bed of leaves, but the ache in her chest was far deeper than any discomfort of the earth beneath her. It was the ache of uncertainty, of hope slowly unraveling, fraying at the edges with every passing hour.

Her eyes fluttered shut, just for a moment. She told herself it was only to rest, only for a heartbeat, but the exhaustion was overwhelming. Her thoughts grew hazy, and the edges of her vision blurred as sleep began to pull her under. She fought it, gripping her staff tighter in her hands, but the fatigue was winning.

As her body gave in, Ellana felt a final pang of frustration—why hasn’t he come?—before sleep began to claim her, wrapping her in its heavy embrace. The last flicker of consciousness clung to the hope that when she woke, he would be there, waiting for her.

But the silence of the night remained unbroken, and as her eyes drifted shut, the darkness closed in around her.

The sharp snap of a twig jolted Ellana from her half-sleep, her heart racing as her eyes flew open. Panic surged through her, the cold air biting at her skin as she scrambled to sit up, her fingers instinctively tightening around her staff.

She turned sharply toward the sound, and what she saw froze the breath in her lungs.

Behind her stood an enormous black wolf—the Dread Wolf—its size rivaling that of a horse. The creature's coat gleamed in the pale moonlight, but it was the eyes—six abnormally large, glowing red eyes—that held her paralyzed with fear and disbelief. They gleamed like burning embers, fixated on her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

“Solas?” Her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper, as the recognition clawed its way out of her chest. It couldn’t be. Not like this.

The wolf, towering and silent, lowered its head toward her. There was a moment of stillness, an unbearable weight hanging in the air, before a swirling bright light enveloped the beast. The blinding glow twisted and spiraled around its form, and as the light slowly faded, the wolf was gone.

In its place stood Solas.

He didn’t meet her eyes. His posture was tense, his face shadowed with regret, as he stood before her, not the man she had known, but something far more powerful. Something ancient, something dangerous. He didn’t move. He simply stood there, his gaze fixed on the ground as if the weight of the moment was too much for even him to bear.

“That was not…this is not…” His voice was barely audible, and when he finally spoke, it was laced with a quiet sadness, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “This is not how you were meant to find out.”

His words hung in the night air, sharp and heavy, but he still wouldn’t look at her. His presence—the same man she had loved, the same face, yet somehow entirely different—was overwhelming. The quiet dignity he once carried now felt like the gravity of something ancient, something burdened with centuries of secrets.

Ellana’s heart pounded, her mind racing to make sense of what she had just witnessed. The truth that had always lingered at the edges of her awareness had finally revealed itself, and yet standing before it, she found herself unsure of what to feel—shock, disbelief, or the ache of betrayal that had been simmering inside her for so long.

“Solas…” she whispered again, her voice trembling, the name foreign on her tongue in this new reality.

"You lied. You lied about everything!" Ellana’s voice cracked as the words tore out of her, her fists clenched tight, shaking with rage and hurt. Tears streamed down her face, hot and uncontrollable, as the weight of his deception crashed over her like a wave. She had held onto hope, onto the man she thought she knew, but now that hope was unraveling before her eyes.

Solas shook his head, his expression filled with a regret that only deepened the ache in her chest. “I am Solas,” he said softly, though his voice trembled with the burden of his truth. “I was Solas long before I became Fen'harel.” His tone sharpened as he continued, a bitter edge creeping into his words. “And even if I had told you the truth… would you have believed me? Or would you have clung to your legends that paint me as a monster?” His voice broke, filled with anger and hurt, his frustration palpable.

Ellana’s breath hitched, her sobs rising in her throat. “I would have had you trust me,” she cried, her words shaking with the intensity of her pain.

There was a silence between them, heavy and suffocating, before she heard the soft shuffle of his feet as he moved closer. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, not yet. But he was near—closer than he had been since the truth unraveled.

“Ir abelas, ma vhenan,” he whispered, the words thick with sorrow. His voice was gentle now, the anger and bitterness fading into something raw, something regretful. Slowly, he reached for her hands, his touch soft but hesitant, as if he feared she might pull away.

In her hands, he placed the golden mask—the very one she had worn in the past, a thousand years ago, when they had danced, when the world between them had been far less complicated. The weight of it felt heavy, like a symbol of everything they had lost.

Ellana stared at the mask, her breath catching in her throat. “You kept this?” Ellana sniffled, her voice wavering as a small, sorrowful smile tugged at her lips. She held the golden mask in her hands, the weight of it both comforting and painful, a reminder of what once was. Her eyes, red with tears, shifted to Solas, searching his face for answers.

“I deserve an explanation,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together as she tightened her grip on the mask. Her knuckles turned white as the weight of everything—his lies, her feelings, the shattered trust—pressed down on her.

“You do,” Solas replied plainly, his voice carrying the deep, steady cadence of a being who had lived too many lifetimes. Before she could react, he stepped forward, gently pulling her into his arms. The warmth of his embrace contrasted with the cold air around them, and for a moment, despite everything, she allowed herself to melt into it.

“Perhaps,” he continued softly, his hand brushing through her hair, “you should have changed before rushing here, ma vhenan. You’re wearing an antique, after all.” His voice held a gentle quip, a flicker of the humor he once shared with her. His attempt to lighten the moment was subtle, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

Ellana let out a quiet snort, her tears subsiding as she managed to let out a half-laugh. “You’re an antique,” she replied, her voice still thick with emotion, but now tinged with a sliver of amusement. It was a brief, fleeting moment of their old dynamic—a glimpse of what they had been before everything had spiraled out of control.

Solas smiled. He tightened his arms around her for a beat longer, as if he, too, was holding onto the past in the same way she clutched the mask. His hand rested gently on her back, the movement soothing, though the enormity of everything that lay between them remained.

“That is not inaccurate,” Solas chuckled softly, the sound low and familiar. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, a gesture that was both comforting and bittersweet. The warmth of it spread through Ellana, grounding her in the moment as if they were the only two people in the world.

She looked up at him, her heart aching as she lifted a trembling hand to his face. Her fingers traced the sharp lines of his high cheekbones, the curve of his nose—features she had memorized long ago, back when things had been simpler. “Don’t leave again,” she whispered, her voice breaking with the weight of her plea. “Please, don’t.���

Her fingers lingered on his face, as if by touching him, she could anchor him to her, keep him from disappearing into the shadows of the world he had once vowed to leave behind. The ache in her chest was overwhelming, the thought of losing him again unbearable.

Solas’s expression softened, and he gently took her hand into his own. His lips brushed against the tip of her finger in a gesture both intimate and filled with unspoken emotion. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t hurried, nor desperate—it was soft, aching, as if pouring everything he could not say into the touch of his lips against hers.

Ellana’s breath hitched, her body melting into his for a moment. She let herself get lost in the kiss, her hands gently resting against his chest. But then she pulled back, her breath heavy, her heart pounding. Her fingers lingered against his chest as she looked up at him, her eyes searching his.

“There is a time for that later,” she whispered, her voice breathless, but firm. “You have a lot to tell me, Solas.”

Solas’s gaze darkened slightly, the weight of what she said pulling at the fragile moment they shared. His expression, though still tender, now carried the shadow of the burdens he had carried for so long. The truth that had been hidden, the stories untold—everything that he had kept from her.

He stared down at her, his expression shifting as the weight of his thoughts consumed him. His stormy blue eyes, once filled with fire and defiance, softened as they searched her face, as if trying to commit every detail to memory. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken truths, before a small, almost reluctant smile formed on his lips.

Without a word, he gently pulled her down beside him, drawing her close until her head rested against his chest. The warmth of his body wrapped around her, and for a moment, Ellana allowed herself to feel the comfort of being in his arms again, despite everything that lay between them.

He let out a deep sigh, his hand gently stroking her hair as he began to speak, his voice low and steady. Ellana remained silent, listening intently as he unfolded the story that had been hidden from her for so long.

He spoke of his past, of the ancient world she had glimpsed, the time when he was both Solas and Fen’harel—two identities that had collided into one. He told her about the Elvhen, the world as it had been before the Veil, and the power that had once been theirs. His voice was calm, but heavy with sorrow as he described the actions he had taken to tear down the thrones of the gods, to break the chains of his people.

He paused briefly, his fingers tracing idle patterns against her arm, before continuing. He spoke of the Veil, the great barrier that separated the waking world from the Fade, and of the orb—the artifact he had created, the one that had fallen into Corypheus’s hands. The consequences of that loss still weighed on him, an invisible burden that she could sense in every word he spoke.

His voice wavered slightly as he explained the future he envisioned—the removal of the Veil, the restoration of what once was. "I intend to bring it down," he said quietly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "To restore what the world lost when I created the Veil.”

Ellana’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she tried to process everything he was telling her. The removal of the Veil—the destruction it could bring, the chaos it could unleash on the world. She had known his plan, in theory, but hearing him speak of it so plainly, with such conviction, made it feel all the more real. All the more dangerous.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His face was etched with regret, but there was also a resolve in his eyes that she couldn’t ignore.

"That’s your future?" she asked softly, her voice filled with a mixture of fear and sorrow. "Destroying the Veil... regardless of the cost?"

Solas looked down at her, his hand still resting gently on her back. He nodded, his expression grave. "It is the only way to restore what was lost," he murmured. "But it comes with a cost. One I do not expect you to agree with."

Ellana’s heart twisted painfully in her chest. She had feared this, had known it, deep down. But now that it was out in the open, spoken aloud between them, it felt like a chasm that could never be crossed. And yet, there was still that part of her that ached for him, that longed to change his mind.

But another part of her—the part that had always admired his vision, his drive, and the way he saw the world—agreedwith his plan.

As she rested against his chest, Ellana could feel the weight of her conflicting emotions pressing in on her. On one hand, the thought of tearing down the Veil, of unleashing chaos on the world she had fought so hard to protect, filled her with dread. She had spent years as the Inquisitor, saving Thedas from destruction, guiding people to safety, mending the fractures of a broken world. How could she now stand by and support something that could destroy it all?

And yet, there was another side to her, one that resonated deeply with Solas’s vision. His words—his determination to restore what had been lost, to bring their people back to the greatness they had once known—stirred something inside her. She had seen glimpses of that ancient world, felt the raw power of the Elvhen, the freedom and beauty that had been stripped away when the Veil was erected. She could understand why he wanted to restore it, why he believed it was the only way forward.

She could feel the tension building in her chest, the pull between her sense of duty to Thedas and the longing to see the world as it could be—a world without the Veil, without the barriers that had divided them from the Fade, from magic, from what was once a rich and vibrant existence. There was a small, dangerous part of her that wanted to see it happen, that needed to know what that world could be like.

Ellana pulled back slightly, lifting her gaze to meet Solas’s face. His expression was unreadable at first, but as their eyes locked, she saw it—the deep well of regret, the weight of centuries etched into his features. He was quiet, waiting, his breath still as though anticipating her next words, her judgment, as if bracing himself for her to tell him he was wrong. His eyes, stormy and filled with sadness, seemed to plead with her without uttering a word.

For a moment, Ellana hesitated. She could feel the tension in her chest, the pounding of her heart as her mind raced. The man she loved—the man who had lied to her, who had hidden so much—was asking her to understand.

But he did not ask her to walk beside him in a plan that could tear the world apart. Yet, as she laid there, with her back resting against his chest, she couldn’t deny the pull. The vision he spoke of, the restoration of what was lost, it stirred something deep inside her. Something that couldn’t be silenced.

She took a slow breath, steadying herself, feeling the gravity of the choice she was about to make. Her fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of his robes as she looked up into his eyes, her voice low but steady.

“What do we need to do?” she asked.

[godlizzza]

hihihihi! i love your spider-dan au and (sorry if i sent an ask about this i can't remember if i did) but can u write a danbert spider-man kiss scene :3

Herbert stumbled as Dan set him back down on his feet. In the pouring rain his dress shoes slipped on the slick road and Dan had to reach out to catch his arm and keep him upright. Herbert glanced at him and muttered his thanks before gently drawing away. Dan was reluctant to let him go. The scene they'd just fled from had been utter chaos, Hilltop robots in pieces around a massive sinkhole in the road. Dan had watched Herbert nearly pitch over into that gaping hole, a line of his webbing the only thing keeping him on his feet.

Dan swore he'd nearly fainted from the painful swoop his heart had taken to the pit of his stomach at the sight. He was becoming more and more aware just how attached his health was to the continued safety of the scientist he was meant to have a strictly working relationship with.

"Are you sure we should have left?" Herbert asked, pulling his soaked coat tighter around his shivering shoulders.

Dan wanted to go to him, pull him into his arms and warm him up with his superhuman body heat. He resisted the urge though, balling his fists at his sides and keeping himself still.

"It wouldn't have done any good for me to be there when the cops showed up," he replied, imagining Lt. Chapman's surly face scanning the wreckage, looking for any opportunity to blame the whole thing on Funnel Web.

Herbert sighed, his breath emerging from his lips in a puff of steam in the cold air. "I suppose you're right."

Dan itched to say more, do something, but he couldn't say or do what he really wanted, so he just turned away. He shot a webline at the wall of the alleyway high above and pulled his feet off the ground.

"I should go."

"Wait-"

The sudden desperate plea had Dan freezing midair, paused as he'd been ready to swing away. Instead, he turned, hanging upside-down from the string of webbing to face Herbert, who slowly paced towards him through the rain. He only stopped when he was mere inches from Dan's face, his eyebrows drawn together as his gaze flicked all over across Dan's mask. Those quizzical eyes stared into his, full of questions and emotion that Dan couldn't read.

"I have to know," Herbert began, his voice shaky and hard to hear over the pouring rain. "Do we know each other?"

Dan sucked in a breath, his whole body instantly tense as a bowstring. Herbert had never dug at his identity before, past some idle questions when they'd first met as Funnel Web and Dr. West.

"You know I can't tell you that," Dan murmured.

He couldn't tell Herbert that they'd gone to med school together, that Dan had been bitten by the spider that gave him his powers in his final year. That all those instances where Dan had been forced to race out of class, earning him odd looks from Herbert had been a result of him growing into his hero persona, rushing off to danger. He couldn't say that even now that they had become acquainted through his hero work that they still ran into each other at a coffee shop they both frequented as civilians. Every time Dan saw Herbert in line, waiting to order his oat milk latte, he had to pretend they hadn't just escaped a death-defying experience the previous day.

He couldn't tell Herbert it killed him to keep his distance as Dan Cain.

Herbert frowned at him but didn't seem surprised. The lenses of his glasses were fogging up from his own breath and the heat emanating off Dan's body.

"I just can't believe," Herbert said softly, reaching up to trace the seam of Dan's mask beneath his jaw, "that I could know you and not realise. Even though I have no idea what you look like beneath this, I feel as though I could take one look at you and instantly know that's my spider."

Dan inhaled sharply as Herbert's fingers dug beneath the thin fabric of his mask, beginning to peel it back. He shot a hand out to clasp one of Herbert's wrists, stalling the motion.

"Herbert-"

"Don't worry," Herbert soothed, continued to gently tug the mask down until his mouth and nose were exposed, his skin instantly soaked from the rain. Herbert traced the pad of his thumb over Dan's upper lip, leaving shivers that had nothing to do with the cold in his wake. "Maybe I wouldn't know you by sight. But by touch..."

Dan's eyes fluttered shut of their own accord as Herbert leaned forward. He was aware that on the list of bad ideas he'd ever had since becoming Funnel Web, this was probably the worst. It was unwise and completely catastrophic to get involved with someone directly under Hill's thumb. But he couldn't deny the desperate ache he felt for Herbert, his desire to be close to him. And in that moment, suspended in the air, the rain pouring down on them, and the distant wail of police sirens sounding in the air, he couldn't resist that pull any longer.

When Herbert's lips brushed his, all the doubts and worries fled his mind, leaving room only for the sensation of their mouths pressed together. Herbert's hands rose to clutch Dan's face between his palms, his fingers curling under Dan's jaw. Dan had never felt the tip of someone's nose brush his chin as they kissed, but he'd never felt like this kissing anyone before. Like his whole body was being pumped full of electricity, setting his nerves alight. He so deeply wanted to reach out and hold Herbert in return, pull him close until they could be touching everywhere, consumed by the other, but he had to keep his grip on the webbing, lest he tumble to the ground.

Laying in a heap at Herbert's feet sounded appropriate. Herbert had thoroughly obliterated him.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but Dan built an eternity in that moment. One he wanted to construct a comfy home in so he could stay there forever. Herbert stepped back, breathing heavily. He kept his hands cradling Dan's face for a moment longer before pulling his mask back into place.

"Alright," Herbert said, sounding as out of breath as Dan felt. "You can go now."

Dan blinked his eyes open, taking in the flush dusting Herbert's pallid cheeks. He wanted to say something but his tongue felt thick and dumb in his mouth. After a few agonising seconds of the two of them just staring at each other, Dan shook himself out of his stupor and adjusted his hold on the webbing.

"Right," he said, drinking in the sight of Herbert's slick lips. "Okay. See you soon."

Then he turned and swung away, leaving Herbert on the trash-strewn ground. That tingling pulse of static electricity pounded through his veins as he swung through the city. It didn't leave him until he scaled the wall of his apartment and slipped through the window, where he promptly rolled into a starfish position on the floor. He pulled his mask off and brought the tips of his fingers to his mouth.

Herbert had tasted like mint and coffee. It was Dan's new favourite taste.

[cybiirz]

ೃ⁀➷TO CLASH WITH MALICE

Gepard x Gn!Reader

Sypnosis : This celebration had been in the works for quite some time now. Everything was figured out until the very last detail, nothing would cause this event to go wrong. Well, a party isn’t fun without a party crasher right? Who would have guessed that both sides however, would come more than prepared. And when doing so, who would come out victorious?

WC : 3.1k (exactly)

WARNINGS (PLEASE READ) : Gepard is a little OOC in this. There will be a lot violence in this chapter and a fair bit of blood towards the end. I would also like to state that this is pretty much a filler fic. The only reason I have chosen to write this now is because I will be busy the next two days, and this idea has been on my mind for a while now. I wanted to show that I have chosen to go with a more independent reader and I believed a fight scene fic would be the best way. There is almost no actual interaction with Gepard and the reader, only for a very short time. This chapter will be optional to read but will be preferred if you do. I apologise for not adding more of his character, but I can guarantee that he will be the main event in the next! ALSO KIND OF BAD FIGHT SCENES WRITTEN UP AHEAD I THINK?

Read part 1 || part 2 || part 2.5 || part 3

Gepard’s little confession was certainly one that took you by surprise. Luckily, over the next few days, that thought had slowly dissipated from your mind as something else filled that hole instead. The night tomorrow was the viewing of some of Belobog’s most famous artefacts, thanks to the help of the History and Culture Museum. Pela had organised the majority of this event.

The only catch to this event was the fact that it was strictly only nobles, knights of high ranking and helpers specifically picked out by Cocolia who gained access to this event. There was one more thing that really made this little celebration stand out however. The dress code was surprisingly enough a masquerade ball, along with formal wear.

Why, you may ask? Because Cocolia was the one who would give the large speeches, and therefore be up on stage more. Mainly, heroic speeches, about the success of the guards who managed to push the fragmentum monsters back further, allowing the guards to progress more. It was actually quite a large step for the guards, so much so that many supplies had to be sent over in order to build entire new camps.

Now, masquerade, Silvermane guards, artefacts, how do they all link? Well, since this event was no doubtedly going to be in the newspaper for the next few days, Cocolia wanted to be the centre of attention, which is what caused everyone else to be wearing masks, whilst she would not. This would emphasise her more, that much was true. The formal wear would be a stark contrast to her as she had specifically requested that nobody else should wear the colour green, of any shade. And if anyone dared do so, they would immediately be banned from said event.

The artefacts however are linked towards the Silvermane Guards more than anything. The first helmet made, the first axe used to slay a fragmentum monster, so on and so on. But the one and only thing that stood out to you was the large chunk of geomarrow ore that would be displayed. Even just a small handful of that ore would provide enough money to feed an entire family for a week. Which is why you were dead set on carving part of the ore out for the Underworld.

There were about three problems, as expected, unfortunately. First off, your parents wanted you to attend the event, so you were officially put on the guest list, meaning you had to double cross this whole thing without anyone recognising you. The masks were convenient at least. Secondly, the place would be surrounded with guards, which only meant more planning on your part, and planning was one hell of a headache.

Last but certainly not least, Gepard was going to be there. It was assumed of course, but it only made it more difficult. Not only in having to sneak past terms, but also the fact that you had to do this pretty much right under his nose. Before never bothered you since he always came to the scene of the crime after you had taken everything, but now he was right there in the flesh. Not to mention he would be keeping a personal eye out for you as a friend.

All of those thoughts ran through your head as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Examining your outfit again, you tried to make sure the entire piece of clothing was in tip top shape. No wrinkles, creases, simply all prim and proper. You wore a short cape that reached your waist around your shoulders to hide the strap around your upper arm which contained a small revolver with spare ammo. The guards acted on instinct and all it took was a shot to the arm before they would back off. No one had to die tonight, that was never your plan.

After going over the full outfit, you grabbed the mask that sat on the wooden table top and placed it onto your face. Your eyes stared at the reflection as you considered yourself practically unrecognisable at this point. Eventually, you were brought out of your daze as you heard your mothers voice shouting for you. You rushed down the stairs as you began walking with your mother and father towards the Qlipoth Fort, as the event was going to be held there.

Before the three of you could go up the steps, you called towards your father to let him know that you had forgotten your family badge back at the house. He scolded you for a second before shooing you off to fetch it. Truth be told, you still hadn’t found the badge which you had seemingly lost, but it didn’t necessarily matter to you. After all, the old thing meant nothing to you, you couldn’t even be bothered to keep it in a good condition.

As you made your way home, you took a slight detour and went through an old alleyway which people mostly avoided at this late hour. There, you spotted a person who was your height and build as you greeted them. They handed you a bag as you moved behind a dumpster and got changed into the new set of clothes. After fixing your hair up into a different style, you handed your old clothes to the person. As you placed them into their hands you held them there as you spoke.

“Remember, you do not reveal your name under any circumstances unless you are with my mother and father. You needn’t worry about them, but if anyone asks you about how the family is doing, simply say that Cocolia is a good person and you wouldn’t be anywhere without her. Other than that, smile and wave, and be weary of the Silvermane Captain. His eyes and hair are recognisable, you know that. Avoid him at all costs, that’s all. Off you go,” You patted them on the shoulder as you texted Sampo a thank you and how you would also personally dismember him if this person was incompetent.

He simply sent one of his silly emoticons back with a little reassurance before you shut off the screen. After attaching the small gun back onto your arm strap, you made your way through the crowd and looked around for a way to get past the guards. You saw out of the corner of your eye a young chef who seemed to be wheeling a cake up the not too steep steps.

Pursing your lips together, you whistled for the oncoming chef. He quickly paused and looked to the right before you appeared on his left and pressed down hard onto his pressure point as he fell to the floor.

“I won’t ruin your cake bud, don’t worry,” You whispered down to the unconscious man. You quickly dragged him back to the alley way and threw on his ridiculously oversized coat and the toque as you left the mask on to conceal your identity.

After a surprisingly easy trip up the stairs, you nodded towards the guards as they nodded back and let you pass through. You brought the cake to the kitchen before sneaking off to the toilets. You threw off the old uniform and chucked it into a nearby bin before fixing yourself up and readjusting the mask.

Making your way out of the bathrooms, you stepped foot into the large ballroom. Everything here was neat and tidy, the decorations were simply so well done that they could’ve been straight out of a storybook. The food looked absolutely divine as did the people. Everyone had their own dresses, suits and the masks were to die for. And obviously the one face you could spot was Cocolia’s as she shook hands with a few of the guests.

Looking around, you spotted your temporary clone chatting away with a random person as you clapped for them internally. Suddenly, you spotted Gepard, he was hard to miss after all. He stood by the Supreme Guardian, keeping a watch out for any suspicious behaviour.

You pulled your eyes away from him as you slowly made your way over to the table which held all the food. You grabbed a glass and poured yourself a glass of Chardonnay. Walking away slowly, you made sure to keep your eyes on Cocolia and Gepard at all times. You saw the time and discreetly pulled your phone out and left one simple text.

“Now.”

Your impersonator had moved close to the coupe with the other which they were chatting with. You watched closely as another masked guest walked just behind them and quickly snagged a glass from the tower. The glasses of wine soon began to shake, which didn’t escape the Captain’s sharp eyes. Hearing him yell as he instantly pushed the clone out of the way along with their supposed date.

A smile creeped up onto your face as all eyes diverted towards the three. Still keeping a hold of the glass, you made your way through a side door as the guards rushed to check if there were any major injuries due to the outstanding acting of your other.

Making your way through the twisted hallways, you entered a dark room as the motion detector switched on the lights to brighten up the dark place. Looking around briefly at the artefacts, it was safe to say that they were not as impressive as you had hoped. Until your eyes finally landed on it.

There, placed conveniently in the middle, was the chunk of geomarrow ore, practically screaming at you to take it. You lifted your foot as you were about to take a step but quickly paused. “This seemed way too easy…” You thought to yourself as you quickly retracted your foot. Your hand reached for your gun as you held it by your side and began to walk towards the medium sized ore. Sure enough, there stood the Captain himself across from you, the only thing in between you two was the ore as he watched you, without his mask. He was accompanied by his giant weapon of a case.

“Ah! Captain, such a coincidence that we both wanted to take a look at these artefacts. Such deep meaning behind them, wouldn’t you say?” You asked with a smile as you placed the gun behind your back.

“It is over for you thief,” He stated boldly and straight. Soon enough, the rushing of footsteps could be heard as guards came running in through the doors holding axes, guns, spears, whatever you could think of, they had it. You raised your eyebrows as you looked around to see all of them in defensive positions.

“Wow guys, sure you brought enough soldiers?” You questioned no one in particular sarcastically.

“Like I said, it’s over, now do not make this hard for us and give up nice and slow,” His words were firm as a few officers began approaching you cautiously. You raised your hands by your head. This was just like the café, only more soldiers, more risk and certainly harder to escape from.

“Put down the weapon!” One of the soldiers screamed. Turns out in the midst of all the commotion, you had somehow forgotten of the very obvious gun in your hand. You let out a quick hum.

Six rounds, around 14-15 guards including Gepard. No reloads. You kissed your teeth after realising that you were going to have to be diligent with the bullets.

“Alright alright, I'll get on my knees…” You murmured as you slowly began to descend. The officers were pointing their guns to your head. Just as your knee was about to make contact with the floor, you swiftly pivoted on one foot as you shot each guard in their thigh as they cried out in pain.

You began to run whilst keeping your head low as multiple shots began firing at you. You swiftly ducked beneath a stand that protected you from the shots as you checked the gun.

4 more rounds.

Upon further observation, you spotted how there were only about 5-6 more soldiers with guns. The rest you could take head on. But you had to be careful. You were a thief, sure, but that didn’t mean you wanted to become a murderer for crying out loud.

You were quickly snapped out of your thoughts as you heard the grunt of a soldier who had snuck near you and was raising his axe. Your eyes widened as you swung your leg, swiping him off of his feet as he hit his head onto the floor, knocking himself out cold.

“You tryna kill me?!” You yelled at the remaining soldiers. Briefly, the sound of Gepard telling the officers to keep you alive filled your ears. Course he wants to, wants to lock me up for eternity.

You grabbed the barrel of the gun and sprung out of the case as you aimed towards another person, before a weapon fell and the officer held his shoulder crying.

3 rounds, a few more gunned guards.

You exhaled deeply as you peeked around the corner before hearing footsteps behind you. Out of reflex, you managed to roll to the side just in time as an axe came swinging down, slicing the wooden stand in half. Dramatic?

You raised yourself before delivering a kick to his abdomen, causing him to release his weapon and stumble back before you kicked him square in the head, sending him to dream to his heart’s content. Not permanently might I add.

Another shot was fired as you ducked down again. Still 3 rounds. But now, only about 9 guards, including Gepard. But it seems through this whole fight, he wasn’t dealing any blows. Good for you though, because if he did, this battle would’ve been over minutes ago.

You heard two of the soldiers closing in on both sides of you. One with a gun, one with an axe. Dashing towards the axed guard, he attempted to strike you before you turned to his other side. The other one pointed his weapon at you and was prepared to shoot.

Just as he pulled the trigger, you dragged the one next to you by the collar and guarded yourself with him. The bullet went straight into the soldier's arm as he wailed out like the others.

“No hard feelings!” You said nervously to the man on the floor before realising you still had another on your back. Raising the revolver, you shot at the officer. Unfortunately, it seems he chose to do the same. And due to the amount of precision in your shots, the bullets collided with one another.

The small bullets created an explosion of a miniature size, but it bought enough time for you. You ran towards the man and ripped the gun from his hands before knocking the barrel against his head.

Another guard ended up putting you in a chokehold from behind. You gripped onto his arm as you did your best to regain your breath before planting your feet. You grasped his arm as tightly as you could before flipping his body over and slamming him against the wall, his unconscious self sliding down to the floor.

You cracked your neck before turning around to spot another gunner charging towards you. Rolling your eyes, you shot him once again in the thigh. He fell just like the others. You checked the gun and spotted one more round left before someone aimed another shot towards you.

But it wasn’t one, rather two. Shit! You knelt down and remembered how there was one more guard than you had bullets. They were both standing next to each other which allowed you to go forth with this strategy.

You sprinted whilst keeping yourself low as you saw them hiding behind the stands. You leaped to the side and pointed the revolver towards them. Their heads turned towards you as they began to lift up their weapons. But you were faster.

You pulled the trigger as the bullets went through both of their sides as they held then whining out into the night time air. 3 guards left. All gunner guards down. Unfortunately now, you were also out of bullets. Now you had to rely on hand to hand combat.

Two of the guards began sprinting at you, pointing their axes at you. You kicked one of the weapons on the floor and caught it before blocking one of the officers' slashes. Lifting your leg up, you kicked the other in the side as he tumbled back. Whereas you had chosen to wrap your legs around the other's waist and flip him above you, slamming his head into the floor.

The kicked guard quickly stood up and saw his friend fade out of consciousness. Dashing towards you, he yelled about how he would end you as he reached his arm out. Tutting, you grabbed the reached out wrist and swerved him around as you placed his arm onto his back, as you held his free hand straight.

“You’re ambitious aren’t you?” You whispered into the man’s ear before twisting his arm. He shrieked and it almost pierced your eardrums before you let go and he held the injured body part. You stood up straight and gazed around for the final soldier.

In all honesty, you looked like absolute crap. Your clothes were slightly torn and the mask on your face was ajar. You adjusted it before he could recognise you. But the one thing that stood out, was that half of your face and your body had been dirtied with blood from the wounds of the soldiers. It was a whole murder scene, except it wasn’t. The officers crawled out one by one as they went to look for medical attention.

A slow clap could be heard from one of the doors before Gepard emerged from the shadowed doorway, holding his case.

“You certainly have talent, thief. It’s unfortunate you chose this path, even more unfortunate is how you look right now. But it matters not, as I will end this between us once and for all,” He stated as he raised his weapon, ready for combat.

Reaching up your hand, you wiped the excess blood off of the corner of your lips before retrieving one of the axes left on the ground. You slammed the end of the weapon down before pointing it towards him and you spoke in a low and serious tone for once.

“So be it Captain. If it is misery you have chosen, then allow me to bestow that upon you, Gepard…”

A/N : Whoohoo, third fic finished. I had so much inspiration to write this since I just rewatched suicide squad and birds of prey, so you can only guess who inspired me to create this. But I hope that the idea of a strong reader has come across well here and I apologise if this is not the type of reader you like. One day I will make a soft reader but I do not see many strong inserts being written so I decided to try and be one of em. Anyways, any critiques, feel free to leave and I will respond ASAP!

[vivispec]

Hello & Happy Friday! From the 'platonic prompts' list and for Viera and Iloniyen: "I am this close away from strangling you." Happy writing!

With how much they bickered as kids, it was really hard to just choose one scene :') here's Viera and Iloniyn preparing for the ball at the Winter Palace, featuring that godawful Inquisition getup.

@dadrunkwriting Viera & Iloniyn words: 660

“Wipe that smug look off your damn face, before I wipe it off for you.”

Viera lifted her hand to hide the offending expression, but Iloniyn could still see the laughter in her eyes. “I think it suits you,” she managed, barely able to contain the giggle seeping into her voice. “It’s…bold. Very…intriguing.”

“By the Creators, I will strangle you.”

“If you value your own life, I wouldn’t,” she warned, crossing arms clad in white satin up to the elbow, and drawing near. “Vivienne’s attendants spent the better part of an hour on my neck alone, and you should know from the lethallen who wove our plaits as da’len that there’s no wrath like that of an artist scorned.”

His scowl was broken by a scoff. “They powdered your neck?”

“Yes. My neck, and just about every other bare piece of skin on my body. It feels terrible, like I walked through a dust cloud on a dry day, and didn’t bother wiping it off.” She lifted a hand, running it along the blue sash cutting across his chest, stark against the bright red fabric behind it. “At least your tunic looks comfortable. I can barely breathe through all these layers.”

“You’d rather look like some exotic bird?”

“And you’d rather be swarmed by bored shem on the hunt for a little entertainment, courtesy of the Inquisitor’s elusive Shadow?” His ears ran red as his tunic at the suggestion, blinking away with a sour set to his brow—no different from when they were children, and she got the best of him. “I didn’t think so. They’d be no match for your good looks, at their full power. For the sake of the world, I’d much rather spare the both of you.”

“How shall I ever repay you,” he griped through his teeth, and she gave his sash a firm tug. “I can’t even begin to understand why you dragged me here. Barely three months since I left the clan, and you bring me to a ball? Really?” 

“You’ll be able to stomach it for a single evening.”

“This isn’t because I pushed you into the river, is it? Or said you looked like a bogfisher?”

“I need you here, Ilo,” she pressed, white-knuckled against his chest. Then, her fingers relaxed, lifting to smooth the cowlick at his hairline. “You won’t have to speak with anyone, but I’ll be too busy appeasing the nobles to see what’s roiling under the surface—if appeasing them is even something I can hope to do. If you can keep your eyes and ears open, look out for anything amiss…”

“Does Nightingale not have agents for that sort of thing?”

“She does. I don’t.” Her eyes rimmed by severe black, her features framed in gold, she was a far cry from the sun-touched hunter he’d ran the trails with; and yet, her touch at his temple was familiar, the curling of her fingers as she coaxed his stray hairs back into place as recognizable to him as his own. “And they don’t see the same things we do. I trust you, more than myself. Just this once, and I won’t let them dress you in something so garish ever again.”

“Swear it. By the All-Mother.”

Tilting her chin, Viera straightened, her voice growing grave. “In the name of Mythal, the Protector, I do swear to defend Iloniyn Sarethon—the blood at my back, my eyes beyond me—from any and all offending garments.”

Stifling the smirk that thinned his eyes, he chewed on his answer before, eventually, heaving a sigh. “Alright,” he relented, “just make sure, in no uncertain terms, that the tailors know red really isn’t my color. It washes me out.”

“I’ll make it very clear,” she promised, before turning to retrieve her mask, and make for the door. “A burnt orange, maybe, or a nice, neutral black?” 

“Over this monstrosity? I’d take magenta, were it paired just right.”

She snickered, and slipped away. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

[animehouse-moe]

Overtake! Episode 1: The Man Who Races

I really like cars, so of course I'd like racing. I heard of the concept for Overtake! and was immediately on board, then I saw the previews and was a bit more apprehensive. But, I watched today's episode, and I'm very surprised. Lots of great stuff to chat about. If you were on the fence like me though, I'd say to watch it.

So, obviously, the racing. That's what I'm here for. It's what I was concerned about, and for very little reason it seems as the execution on it is impressively good.

Working with CGI you need to understand the flexibility you're given to convey that three dimensional space. Troyca grasps that very quickly and uses all the tricks in the book to make things look great through this stretch.

The use obstructions like the fence to mask detail, as well as shots that aim to follow the subject so that they don't appear perfectly still in the scene. Following that up they make use of "camera shake". That is the movements are non-linear, they overextend on their panning or rotation and have to come back in slightly. It's a simple detail but important to add to the believability. The depth of field/focus shifts also help with that a great deal. They even mix in 2D shots of the characters driving for extra effect.

I think the only thing I really say is somewhat subpar is the visual information with the cars. Initial D/MF Ghost understood the assignment and added visual effects to denote the pace of the vehicles. Not that they feel slow, but that they feel too clean in some shots.

Anyways, the 3D racing is incredibly good and features some really great work throughout.

Of course, as an episode it's not all about racing (though a lot of it is), and not all of it is 3D. There's a lot of impressive work on the 2D front as well, and the direction very strong throughout the episode. Lots of use of space and perspective that provides very strong and standout scenes and layouts.

Personally speaking, I think I got a little tripped up by the 3D aspect of this series, so I wasn't expecting the level of quality apparent in the 2D animation, which was a considerable mistake. It's not balls to the wall 24/7 or anything, but there's a lot of character acting that really has effort placed into it.

That's enough about the production though, let's start into story. I think... it's okay. I don't have anything that really grabs me by the collar right away, but I can feel the potential. Koya's afraid of taking pictures of people due to a traumatic experience of his past. He can't find a reason to further explore his passion, and Haruka is the catalyst for that passion. It's somewhat straightforward, but aside from a sort of grating exposure to Koya's trauma, I can sense a good bit of potential.

Also surprisingly, Overtake! fits in a sizeable chunk of information regarding how formula racing works. It's not too heavy, nor does it take ages to explain. It might make the first race seem a little convenient, but it does a good job of covering quite a bit of information both with exposition and just plain old exposure. The idea of using Koya as a vehicle for viewers to understand the sport was a good idea.

All in all, it was a good series to cap off this Sunday with. Lots of energy and excitement, and pretty clear dedication to the sport of formula racing. Intense action and pace as well as emotional beats and character driven stories being set up. I smell quite a bit of potential for this series as a racing anime, which is great to see considering how dry the genre has been for so long now.

[jgballard2]

Inspired by more musings from @byronicbarbie

Scene: a dark room is brutally illuminated to show a young woman on all fours. She's placed on a low table; a collar around her neck is attached by a cable to the ceiling- out of shot. She's naked apart from an elaborate theatrical mask over the top of her face. A large ball-gag is fitted, jamming her mouth open. Her back is flat and horizontal, her keens are apart. Her eyes are glassy but alert.

Three men enter the large and quiet room. They are dressed in black jeans and black t-shirts. Their faces wear elaborate masks decorated with iridescent feathers from exotic birds. One man is obviously senior - his mask is more elaborate and he leads the other two into the room.

The tree men walk around the young woman, it's now obvious that the low table's height is carefully chosen to present her face and rear at crotch level to the men. They slowly circle the woman and discuss her like a show animal or experimental apparatus. They coolly examine her in detail: commenting on her large, heavy breasts, pushing a finger around her lips; parting her pussy-lips; admiring her tight and puckered asshole. One man cups a heavy breast, another pinches a nipple and notes its pleasing stiffness.

In an orchestrated manner they all stop circling and pause. One man is behind her, two, including the senior one, stand close to her face, their jeans inches from her face. She breathes slowly and heavily.

Man at her rear unzips himself to reveal a thick hard cock, he presents it to her pussy and with no grace or delicacy starts to push it into her.The woman can only grunt as this assault continues; the relentless pushing and probing gets him more deeply into her; her back arches to instinctively push back against him, which lets him enter her fully. Once fully and wetly and deeply inside her, he stops.

The leader and man 2 at her face now unzip themselves. Man 2 has another merely impressive cock, but the leader has a cock as thick as a Coke can with an even bigger head. The two men press themselves into her face, her cheeks, the wet ball of the gag. Her eyes are wide but the gag and collar restrain her.

At some inviible signal from the leader, the man at her rear reaches down and pulls out a thich back dildo, slick with lube. With little finesse he rubs it around her asshole and then relentless pushes it into her. Her gagged mouth makes incoherent sounds until both cock and toy are deep into her cunt and ass respectively.

The leader holds up two fingers to the womans face and nods. He then flicks the release behind her head and the ball-gag drops to the floor. But before she can inhale to exclaim be rams his monsterously thick cock into her open mouth. He holds three fingers up and then nods to the man at her rear. While holding the dildo deep in her he begins to grind his cock into her slowly. The leader sets the rythmn and pushes his cock into her mouth in sympathy - such that she's being assulted by both at once, squeezing her between them. The leader tilts her hed back slightly to give him better access to the back of her throat. Man 3 pushes his cock into her face, trying to, impossibly, also get it into her mouth.

The precise tempo and orchestration starts to break down as all three men want to selfishly take their own pleasre from her. The man at the rear cums first, followed by the leader who give her no choice but to swallow him whole and finally man 2 cums on her face and down her heavy breasts and hard nipples. The three men then circle her again, gently stroking her and observing the flushed marks and cum streaks they have left on her and in her. Leader kneels and kisses her drooling mouth. The three leave and the lights are extinguished.

[lifetimeshipper]

Life's New Adventures and Secrets

Chapter 29

~~~~~~~~~~

They put the sparklings to bed and quietly came back just in time for the overture. Razorclaw jumped at the sudden music. The guys sat with their mates, "That beginning really can make one jump out of their plating."

"Yeah."

A woman started singing somewhat off-tune as the new managers came in. Razorclaw and Steeljaw pulled their ears back trying to block out the bad singing, "How can she even stand that?" Razorclaw asked as Metalsound watched on unflinching.

"She's probably used to it."

Metalsound frowned a little as Carlotta was nearly flattened by one of the sets, "He's here, the Phantom of the Opera!"

Razorclaw's and Steeljaw's ears perked back up when Christine started singing, "She's not bad," Steeljaw whispered.

"Is that better for your ears?" Metalsound teased quietly.

"Yes, much better."

They watched on as a voice came out of nowhere, congratulating Christine, "What the..? Where is that coming from?" Steeljaw asked out of curiosity.

Metalsound chuckled quietly, "It's the Phantom," she whispered in a spooky voice.

"Oh."

They moved on to when Christine met Raoul again, he invited her to supper. She tried explaining that the Angel of Music was very strict, but Raoul shrugged it off as a joke, "Two minutes, Little Lottie."

"Raoul, wait!" But Raoul had walked out already.

"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion, basking in your glory," a voice boomed.

The song moves on until the Phantom shows himself and then the song Phantom of the Opera starts playing. Metalsound quickly melted into Thunderhoof as the Phantom and Christine started singing. Thunderhoof held her close as he listened to them.

"They're good," Razorclaw whispered.

"Yes, they are," Soundwave whispered back.

Christine and the Phantom traveled through the catacombs, and into the Phantom's lair where he started singing Music of the Night. Razorclaw's tail wrapped around Soundwave's waist as the Phantom continued to sing, Soundwave felt it but made no effort to remove it.

Strongarm leaned on Steeljaw's arm, and Steeljaw wrapped his tail around her waist as he continued to listen to the Phantom singing. Metalsound wrapped her tail around Thunderhoof's waist as she leaned against his shoulder. The Phantom finished the song as they moved on to the next day. The movie kept going and soon got to the part where Raoul and Christine sang to each other.

"That's so romantic," Strongarm whispers as she snuggles up against Steeljaw.

"Yes, it is," he whispered back.

Soundwave slid an arm around Razorclaw's waist. Razorclaw felt the movement but he didn't shy away. As Raoul and Christine left the Phantom came out from hiding, singing about how he had been betrayed by Christine. Metalsound's spark broke for the poor man.

"Awe, poor guy," both Strongarm and Arcee say feeling sorry for the Phantom.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. Metalsound chanted to herself as the Phantom started crying, but a moment later the Phantom showed anger as he sang his last lines for the scene and the instrumental version of The Phantom of the Opera song started to play. "Wow, that turned wicked fast," says Strongarm.

"That was kind of fast," Steeljaw agreed as the Masquerade ball started.

"What are they wearing on their faces?" Thunderhoof asked.

"Masks, this is a Masquerade ball. In other words, they wore masks to hide their faces. The song will explain," Metalsound whispered as the song went on. Christine wanted to keep her engagement a secret while Raoul wanted to understand what she was afraid of.

"Why would she want to keep it a secret?" Strongarm asked quietly.

"Probably to keep the Phantom from finding out," Steeljaw replied quietly.

A man in a red suit came to the scene with a skull mask, "Is that..?" Sideswipe trailed off feeling scared.

They watched as he walked closer to Christine while singing, then gasped when the phantom snatched the ring off her neck, "You belong to me!"

Strongarm giggled, "That's kind of how you were at first," she whispered to Steeljaw.

"I wasn't that bad," he countered quietly.

"Yes, you were," Metalsound and Thunderhoof spoke at the same time.

Strongarm gave out a soft giggle, "See? They agree with me."

Steeljaw's ears folded back, "Sorry," he said as he held her close.

"Don't worry about it, it's part of the reason why we're together now," she whispers to him as she lays her helm on his shoulder. Steeljaw nuzzled her neck as Raoul went after the Phantom, stuck in a room of mirrors.

Later they got to the cemetery scene where Christine was missing her father and wishing he was there. "Wandering child, so lost so helpless, yearning for my guidance."

They watched as Christine was getting pulled into the song and going into the tomb until Raoul came riding in on his horse and stopped her, "Christine, this is not your father!"

The Phantom seemingly appeared out of nowhere, drawing his blade once he was on the ground, "Finally some action," Sideswipe muttered with excitement. But the sword fight lasted only a couple of minutes then was over and Raoul rode off with Christine, "That's it?" Sideswipe whined as the Phantom declared war on Christine and Raoul. Raoul plots with the managers to take down the Phantom by using Christine as bait but Christine doesn't like the idea and is scared.

"Why are they using the poor girl as bait?" Arcee asked.

"They know the Phantom will come for her and they're trying to catch him. But yeah, shame on them for using her like that," Metalsound explained quietly.

"I know she's the only one the Phantom will come for, kind of sweet actually, but still I wish they wouldn't put her through the terror."

"I know."

The movie went on to "The Point of No Return". The Phantom sang his song to Christine as they met in the middle of the bridge set. "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Anywhere you go let me go too, that's all I ask of-" Christine ripped his mask off and showed his face.

Metalsound growled in annoyance as the others screamed in fear, "That's all? He looks like he got a bad sunburn," she complained.

It then escalated to the Phantom releasing the chandelier, making it fall as he picks up Christine and runs off with her, then the entire Opera house went up in flames with everyone scrambling to get out.

"Well, that happened." Wheeljack looked at the explosion, dumbfounded.

"Yep," Arcee said in agreement

The Phantom dragged Christine through the catacombs while Madame Giry led Raoul to where the Phantom had taken Christine. Raoul enters and everyone gasps as the Phantom ties him to the bars of the gate and tells Christine she better agree to marry him or Raoul dies.

"Why make her choose then? She'll feel awful if she says no because Raoul will die and the Phantom will still keep her anyway, but if she agrees to marry him Raoul goes free, but she'll be miserable," Razorclaw argued quietly.

"It's a double-edged sword," Metalsound replied quietly, "Either way she will lose," she sighed.

"That's not fair," Strongarm whispers.

"Pitiful creature of darkness. What kind of life have you known?" Christine slowly made her way toward the man whom she had trusted. Asking God to give her courage she kissed him.

"Whoa, didn't see that coming," Grimlock says quietly

"I don't think anyone was expecting it, except for Metalsound," Bumblebee whispered as he looked at the female Predacon who looked like she was about to cry.

Christine kissed the Phantom again, and after a few seconds, the Phantom seemed like a different person. He tells them to leave, "He's letting them go? Just like that?" Steeljaw asked.

"If you love something, set it free," Optimus replied as the Phantom watched his music box.

He sang the Masquerade song as Christine watched him, "Christine, I love you," he sang in a broken tone. She took off his ring, giving it back to him. The femmes awed feeling sorry for the guy.

"Darn it," Metalsound started crying into Thunderhoof's shoulder as Raoul and Christine left, singing their song.

"It's over now the music of the night!" The Phantom started breaking the mirrors in his lair. The other femmes started crying as well. The movie ended with a much older Raoul in a graveyard, placing the Phantom's music box on Christine's grave. As he started to leave he saw a single red rose with a black thread and a ring.

"That was good, but it was sad." Razorclaw felt a little confused as the end credits started.

"Who picked this?" Sideswipe asked feeling a little annoyed.

"Metalsound did," Bumblebee replies.

"It was awesome," Sideswipe chuckled nervously.

Metalsound shrugged, "It's something I like but not everyone will like the same thing. No one's forcing you to like it."

"Well, it was somewhat better than Romeo and Juliet," Strongarm adds.

"Why's that?" Steeljaw asked.

"Well, they got together and didn't kill themselves. The only sadness is that the Phantom was left to be alone for the rest of his life."

"I think she should have gone with the Phantom," Razorclaw put in.

"I think so too," Arcee says in agreement as everyone leaves for their quarters.

Razorclaw looked at Soundwave for a moment before heading for his cell, "Where are you going, Razorclaw?" Soundwave asked him.

"Um, to bed," he sounded uncertain as he pointed to his cell.

"You don't want to sleep in my quarters again? Will be better than the cell."

Razorclaw blushed as he thought about his choices. Soundwave was inviting him to sleep in his quarters, it was better than the cell, "Mm-hmm," he nodded shyly as he joined Soundwave. Soundwave smiled under his visor as he walked with Razorclaw to his quarters.

"That was a better movie than the last one."

"Yes, it was."

"What was your favorite part?"

"Don't really have a favorite part. Yours?"

"I liked it when the Phantom was singing to Christine. Music of The Night, was it?"

"Yeah, that was a good scene."

Razorclaw unknowingly wrapped his tail around Soundwave's waist once they were in his room. Soundwave grabs him, pulls him over to the berth, and lays down with him, holding him close. "Thank you for inviting me," Razorclaw said softly as he lay with Soundwave.

"No problem."

Razorclaw laid his helm on Soundwave's chest, still thinking about the movie. If the Phantom hadn't kidnapped her or forced her to choose, would she have gone with him willingly? Soundwave held him tight as they both started to drift into recharge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shockwave was staying up late trying to find a safe way to recreate the Predacon race. After Cybertron was brought back, and its inhabitants had come back, Darksteel and Skylynx were killed. The new Cybertronian government saw them as a threat, the only reason that Predaking was still alive was that Shockwave had sent him to a planet that was inhabited.

With a sigh he looked at one of the vials he was working on, slowly adding a new ingredient. With a single small drop, the substance started bubbling before it exploded. Unaware of the shockwave it made, the one-optic Decepticon started cleaning up the mess, "Another failed experiment," he muttered as he looked at the time. It was late, once the mess was clean he fell asleep at the desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The GrimBee Story

Chapter 1

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