#but I really need sometimes to stop myself to prevent burning out

[limonnitsa]

5 X 5 MCs challenge

this is my very belate continuation of 6 MC challenge, but this time I drew 10!

@libellule-ao3 - Evelyne & @the-ozzie - Millie

@silvyadrakkon - Lyssa & @siboom777 - Sally

@phinik - Ruth & @catohphm - Danny

@diana-bluewolf - Chris & @endeavour12345 - Philip

@a-usernamelol - Allan & @rypnami - Phillip

All of your MCs was so cool to draw, I loved the process so much!

P.S. please don't hesitate to correct me if I made some mistake

[doginprogress]

Ok. Let’s talk lure coursing safety.

A pretty awful accident occurred during the lure coursing at UKC Premier this past week. I wanna make it clear that I cannot and will not be passing any kind of judgement on what happened. I was not there, I do not know many details other than the owner themselves called it a freak accident.

And the truth of lure coursing is that even if/when things are done perfectly, this kind of accident is always a possibility. There is a certain amount of risk you must weigh and decide to take when you decide to let your dog lure course.

1. Mechanical Risks - like with this accident, there is always the possibility for injury when coming in close proximity to a thin, tensioned wire running at speeds upwards of 30+ mph. Line burns on paws and lower legs are not uncommon, and many dogs run muzzled to prevent them from cutting their mouths when trying to bite a moving line. Azula has gotten tangled and line burnt after the line, loosened by wet conditions, popped off a pulley mid run. I myself have scars from some pretty awful line burn after a freak accident while setting up the field.

To help mitigate this risk, the huntmaster should always have a knife or scissors on hand and should be closely watching the dogs running so they can cut the line and release tension at any sign of a tangle. The lure operator should be highly trained and also be keeping out for any sign of danger so they can stop the lure when needed. As a competitor, make sure you are aware of the line at all times. Not only where it is, but when it is and isn’t moving. I try to never move my dog over a moving line, and when I am moving over a line, I am either taking extra tall steps or stepping on it to make sure I don’t trip (but, DO NOT step on a moving line). Try not to grab a line unless absolutely necessary and never ever ever grab a moving line - you will cut through your hands.

2. Other Dogs - lure coursing is one of the few (maybe the only?) dog sports where multiple dogs are competing at the same time potentially hundreds of yards away from their humans. It’s a high arousal and highly competitive environment, and this can lead to conflict between dogs. Sometimes this can be mitigated with muzzles and sometimes the dog should simply not be participating in lure coursing. If it is your dog that is aggressive and putting others at risk, please do not run them in the Open or Specials stakes. Dogs can have just as much fun running in singles and no title is worth potentially endangering your dog and others by running a dangerous dog.

However sometimes the risk comes simply from dogs running together at high speeds. Dogs can unintentionally bump into or trip each other, I’ve seen dogs leap over another in the field, tumble into each other while slowing down, and run into each other when they’re paying too much attention to the lure and not enough to the other dogs on the field. Sometimes unintentional contact happens and it’s important to recognize that too. There’s really not much that can be done in those cases.

3. Field Conditions - heat, rain, snow, height of grass, dry ground, rocks, trees, and the course plan itself can all pose issues when running. The club running the event should be continuously assessing these and doing what they can to alleviate the effects, but there’s a lot that you have to judge for yourself and what you know about your own dog. Wrapping paws or soaking them in water can help minimize injury due to dry ground, soaking a dog in water can help keep them cool on hot days, and knowing how your dog may handle tight turns can help you evaluate whether you should enter based on the plan for the course.

Fields with numerous trees or other obstacles are dangerous for dogs who may be paying more attention to the lure than their surroundings. If you’ve never been to the field before I highly suggest talking to someone was has to get a feel for what to expect.

4. Honest to God Freak Accidents - sometimes shit happens. A dog steps into a hole no one noticed and breaks their leg. A group of deer pop onto the field and your dog takes off after them, disappearing for hours. A dog with no prior indications has a cardiac event mid run, and is gone before anyone can even process that they’ve stopped running.

Sometimes there is absolutely nothing that could have been done differently and things just happen. It unfortunately is part of life and something that can be so hard to accept. Occasionally, there is no rhyme or reason, no blame to lay. When you go to that coursing event and run your dog, you’re entrusting that a lot of the risk has been mitigated for you by those running the event. That’s why it’s so important to know who that is and what experience they have.

But beyond that, you are assuming some amount of gambling by participating in lure coursing. The sport itself has dangers that cannot be managed away. But so does agility, and flyball, and disc, and dock diving, and any other sport of any kind. This does not mean that any of these things should be discontinued, but that you should not take any of these lightly and consider the risks vs the rewards, both personal and for your dog. Lure coursing has unfortunately become fairly available to do on a whim in recent years when it is truly something you should be heavily educated about before choosing to participate.

[obsessedwithtoomanythings]

The Terrifying Ordeal of Falling in Love with Leon Kennedy

CHAPTER 2

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader (female reader)

Series Warnings: Minor injuries, Leon teases reader a lot, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Drinking, Drinking followed by driving, DO NOT DO THAT THIS IS FICTION, Anxiety, Leon S. Kennedy has PTSD, Leon has an anxiety attack, Anxiety Attacks, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nightmares, Leon S. Kennedy has Nightmares, Cuddling & Snuggling, Probably incorrect medical talk, Strangulation in one tiny little scene, Reader's brother was a cop who was KIA, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Grief/Mourning, Christmas Fluff, Mistletoe, Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, Arguing, Love Confessions, Looking for Alaska is mentioned, Inconvenient Love Confessions, Penis In Vagina Sex, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Leon loves eating Pussy change my mind, Shower Makeout, romantic smut, Desperate Leon S. Kennedy, They are both desperate for each other tbh, They say I love you as they come, Scar Kissing, Enthusiastic Consent, Always pee after sex, UTI PREVENTION, POV First Person, No use of Y/N

Words: 1.4K

Masterlist

March 2004

We’re only getting older, baby

And I’ve been thinking about you lately

Does it ever drive you crazy?

Just how fast the night changes

-Night Changes, One Direction

The door opening pulls me out of the piles and piles of reports I have yet to file away, and I greet the distraction with a thankful sigh. Dr. Dalton stands in the doorway, his usual smile adorned on his features. In this lighting, it’s easy to make out the light dusting of freckles that dot across his face.

“Wanna take this one?” He asks, eyeing the stacks of paper littering my desk. I stand immediately, almost too fast, the hem of my purple scrubs catching and tugging me back closer to the desk with an unexpected huff. The doctor chuckles at my accidental antics, grabbing half the reports of my desk with a smile.

“Thanks, Dr. Dalton.”

“No problem, and hey, it’s Jasper,” he corrects, still smiling. “Oh! Before I forget, Lilian asked if you were interested in coming to dinner sometime?” Lilian is Jasper’s wife, and while I have yet to meet her, the way he talks about her? It serves as a gentle reminder of what love is supposed to look like.

“That would be fun! I’d love to meet her.” He lights up.

“Perfect, I’ll let her know. Now I wouldn’t keep him waiting, he seemed a bit irritable.” Oh. An irritated injured agent. Now I understand why Jasper offered it to me.

Striding out into the room, I adjust the diffuser silently as I breeze past, hopefully increasing the lavender scent before I look up and see him. Again. Standing in the middle of the infirmary.

“Agent Kennedy. Was hoping I wouldn’t see you back in here,” I say, disappointment etched on my features. It’s not as if I didn’t want to see him again, quite the opposite, actually. However, that desire also included that meeting not taking place in the infirmary when he’s injured.

“Was I really that bad of a patient, Nurse Nosy?” He asks, that signature smirk plastered on his lips as his arms fold across his chest, and I frown at the nickname.

“Nurse Nosy?”

“Yeah, seemed fitting after our last meeting.” His tone is infuriating.

“What do you need, Agent?” I cross my arms across my chest as well, a futile attempt at shielding myself.

“I’m having some lower back issues, so I figured I’d stop in and have someone take a look.” Agent Kennedy’s excuse seems kosher, and I gesture to the exam table with a wave of my hand, grabbing the gloves from the box.

“Remove your shirt and lay down on your stomach, Agent.” The words are devoid of any of my previous niceties, figuring he’d rather be in and out than make small talk.

“That tone’s a bit rude,” he mutters, but still doing as I asked. I turn back toward him and release a gasp. His entire back is covered in bruises in different states of healing, and I notice that the gash on his shoulder has become scar tissue already. I reach for the ice, but he notices this and quickly speaks. “They’re fine. I’ve been icing them.”

“Jesus, what the hell do they have you doing?” I ask as I move to press my hands against his lower back, right in the curve of his spine. Before I make contact, I notify him of where my hands are about to touch. He silently huffs, and I remove my hands like his back is a hot stove. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was that tender.”

“It’s not. Your hands are cold.” The words are mumbled into the space between his arms, his forehead now pressed against the folded limbs to keep his nose off the exam table. I exhale a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“Oh, okay. I’m gonna run my hands down your spine, tell me if I land on the area that’s bothering you.” Even through the gloves, I can feel the heat that practically radiates from him and I find myself wondering if he has a fever.

“There,” he mumbles as I graze over one of the bumps of his spine.

“Does it hurt when you move or all the time?”

“Mostly when I move or stretch.” I remove the gloves and toss them into the garbage with a chuckle.

“Well, I figured out your problem, Agent.” Agent Kennedy sits up, turning to look at me with pained movements as I move away toward the cabinet.

“And that is?”

“You have a pretty nasty bruise right over that vertebrae. It pulls tight when you move, hence the pain.” The explanation is simple, and I reach over and drop two little pills into his hand, along with a water bottle.

“What is this?” If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was anxiety in his voice. But I do know better.

“It’s pretty intense. You need to be real careful with it.” I fain seriousness, almost losing it with a giggle that bubbles up in my throat. “It’s regular-grade tylenol,” I whisper, leaning in close as a smile spreads across my lips before I reach for a blank form on the counter. The blonde rolls his eyes at the theatrics, looking at them hesitantly before popping them in his mouth, followed by a small swig of water. As the bottle lowers, I rest my fingers on the edge, not raising it, but preventing it from dropping any lower. “Drink. You need more water in your system if you want those bruises to heal faster.” His mouth opens in protest, but with a single glare, he seems to think better of it, drinking a few more large gulps.

“Why are you here?” He questions. The pen in my hand stills as I look at him. Still shirtless.

“Because I work here?” As if that wasn’t obvious.

“No, why here? Why not somewhere else?” He wants to know more about me? Or maybe he’s just being nice? Do I even answer? A sigh falls from my lips as I rotate, resting my back against the countertop as my hands find my pockets.

“I used to work in pediatrics. You know, taking temperatures and handing out suckers after a shot, the whole spiel.” His eyes widen. Guess he didn’t read my file then.

“That’s one hell of a change. I bet you see a lot more injuries this way,” he mutters, almost chuckling.

“I’m used to it. My brother was a cop. I used to be the one to bandage him up whenever he came home beaten to shit.” The agent doesn’t hesitate, latching onto the subtle wording.

“Was?” Damn it.

“Yeah. Was. He was killed in a hit and run 4 years ago.” I don’t need to share this with him. Something about the blue eyes he’s sporting just draws me in, and I find myself struggling to look away, knowing I should. “You can put your shirt back on, by the way,” I inform, turning away from him and those whirlpools he calls eyes. I hear a slight rustle of fabric behind me.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The words are sincere, and the tears spring into my own eyes without permission. Reigning them in before turning back to him, his muscular chest and abs now concealed under a loose black shirt.

“Thank you.”

“Used to be a cop myself, it’s not an easy gig. Your brother was brave.”

“Really? You? A cop?” The revelation takes me by surprise, although it probably shouldn’t have. My eyebrows rise in shock.

“Yeah, believe it or not. Ended up here through sheer dumb luck.” The way he says ‘dumb luck’, it sounds like there’s more he wishes he could say but can’t.

“Well, then it sounds like you’re pretty brave yourself, Agent Kennedy.” The clipboard handed to him. Him signing it with a scratching across the paper. His hands, bruised knuckles and all, returning it to me.

“I would be inclined to disagree with you, but I’m worried you’ll scold me again,” he admits with a teasing smile, stepping off the table again and heading toward the door. “And hey.” My eyes find his, actually facing me this time. “Call me Leon.” Then he’s gone. Again. Stepping back into the office, I hand him the report, dropping down into my chair with an exhausted sigh.

“So how did it go?” Jasper asks with a mischievous grin. I roll my eyes.

“It went fine. Thanks for making me do that, by the way,” I tease, crumpling an old post it and tossing it at him. It misses, landing in front of him on the desk, his own laugh resounding.

“Oh, I didn’t hon.”

“What?” But he said-

“Guy asked for you. By name.”

He what?

Leon: @house-of-kolchek @bonnibuckets @athanasia-day @muffimtv Everything: @chaosandbubbles @kassiekolchek22 @akiramoon8088

[omoghouls]

Dunno if anyone has asked this, but what’s your favourite omo situation to be put in?

Oh gosh like what I personally would like to be placed in /////?

Bc/ one that I really love would there being this older lady and we're either going out on a date or something of that nature and she sweetly hands me a mug of peppermint tea to drink before we head out bc/ "she knows I tend to get car sick and wants me to be hydrated to help prevent it" and i'm nonethewiser to her true intentions-

So we're driving around, and she slides a bottle of water onto my lap- again under the "intentions" of wanting to make sure I'm not underhydrating myself- and again, i'm aloof, she's much older than me so obviously she knows more than I do!

I don't even notice she's turned the radio down to a low background hum as she's more keen and instrested in hearing the little noises i've started to make as I shift around in my seat, occasionally tugging at my seatbelt to move it away from my filling bladder momentarily- My face burns a deep red when I finally notice

She chuckles, her hand not occupied with the steering wheel now lays on my knee, gently rubbing it as she says that it won't be tooo long before we get to our destination

Ofc, that is a lie. She takes alll the "scenic routes" and roads where the potholes have not yet been filled in- any routes that have me white knuckling the edge of my seat, clenching and tensing all my muscles withh each thump as the wheels lower into the potholes. She fanes a sympathetic look and coo as she apologizes. She forgets just forgets how small my bladder is- she rummages around while we're at a red light, holding out the half empty bottle of water she had previously given me

She coaxes me to finish what is left in the bottle, tilting my chin up as the last drops of water go smoothly down my throat.

But she knows that evenn if I manage to shuck my pants down far enough, i can't aim worth shit even in the best of times. But, I'm so despreate i'll do anything to get relief- shakey hands hold the bottle in where i think I need to- but it isn't the right spot and piss just starts spurting out around the opening of the bottle- I gasp, soft whines and pleads with my own body to stop as urine hisses out, splattering onto the plastic floor mat under me

It feels like an eternity before my bladder is empty, achingly so. I shudder, relief washing over my shakey body- half-lidded gazing down at the bottle that barely contains a drop of urine- my head hits the back of the car seat as i'm brought back to reality- already trying to think how much it will cost to get this cleaned.

I don't even realize the car had been in parked in some parking lot/side of road for quite sometime until I hear my side of the car door clicking open. She guides me to slide my legs to the side- I shiver as the cool evenings air brushes against my legs as urine dribbles down from gravity

I dont expect the kiss but it's warm and filled with passion as her hands roll over my back- praise being whispered in my ear for being such a good boy for her, such a messy boy but, that's why she's got plastic mats

and adfsjhgrehgs ye,,,

[lavitaofdeath]

Rescue Bots fighting style in my AU

So regarding This post again where I mentioned several things, the main one being about Blades fighting like Ty Lee from ATLA

So I´ve brought myself to do Heatwave, Boulder and Chase fighting style in their holoforms! /can also be considered in their bot forms

That and explaining more about Blades one of course!

Blades

As I´ve stated before, since Blades is the team official medic, he must know all about Cybertronian; biology, anatomy and medicine. Since rescue missions sometimes, or most of the time, end up with the rescuers or the rescued injured. And having a medic in the team ,or at least someone with medical knowledge till help arrive, must be if not needed then OBLIGATORY.

So for me Blades fighting like Ty Lee works in his Holoform, because her fighting style is called "White Crane Fist" or “beak hands” or gōu shǒu, and this type of style emphasizes on circular movements, grace, and subtlety. The style also requires strong balance, reach, agility, and speed over brute force.

Also in this type of fighting style, it is necessary to know about human anatomy, or precisely about pressure points (if they actually belong to the branch of biology I apologize for the confusion). By hitting a sequence of pressure points, you can paralyze or even kill enemies.

I don´t know how but I think this could be aplied, somehow to their Cybertronian form!

Boulder

Now, while Boulder has a huge frame and powerful alternate mode, his gentle nature might prevent him from acting violently, he may dislike violence and his main focus is on rescue missions. However, if necessary, he must resort to violence to protect his comrades.

He is absolutedly the most peaceful bot in his team and with his little innocent fascination about Earth´s Flora and Fauna, he is definitely the most protected of his team.

And even if he doesn´t recurs to violence, his team, mostly Blades and Heatwave insist that he needs to AT LEAST know personal defence or carry a weapon around, a small weapon.

So I imagine him using "nunchucks" or "nunchaku", like TMNT Mikey. He is good fighting with his nunchucks and decent at hand to hand combat.

Chase

Now while Boulder is the peaceful one that doesn´t like to use violence unless necessary, Chase on the other hand is capable of using violence but he strongly belief in the law, meaning that he will rather use legal police procedures that using violence.

But he agreed, by order of Heatwave, to resort to violence if necessary or in case of life or death, he without a doubt follows the orders of his superiors and Heatwave is the leader of his team therefore he must obey him, also because he understands his concerns.

So like Boulder, I imagine that Chase also carries a weapon around, and he is better at fighting than Boulder. So in my perspective his fighting style is kinda like Tanjiro Kamado from Kny, but without the Breathing Style, he is good with his katana.

Or like in many headcannons he knows about the Cyberninjas style of fighting.

Heatwave

Believe me or not I was in PAIN trying to figure out how Heatwave´s fighting should be (well his and Chase´s) so I will just say this.

Heatwave already has the will to fight, even though he is a Rescue Bot and his main objective is to save people, he wants to join Team Prime to be able to fight!

But even though that he NEEDS and WANTS to fight, he knows down deep in his Spark, that he cannot leave his team, his family, alone, he knows that there are dangers and that his team is the only full and functional Rescue team left. They are the only thing he has left, they and the Burns family are his home.

So even if he knows he can´t leave his home, that does not stop him from learning to figh. He already is very strong and he is really focused on improving, but he must be a great fighter, if not the best of his team(Blades following him).

He is accurate and lethal, he makes sure to study his opponent's movements when fighting them, if he sees a pattern he can predict his opponent's next movement and stop it in time with a blow.

It might not look at it but he can adjust his water cannons so that they have more pressure and cause damage to his enemy.

So I see him as a less deathly but still good fighter like the Winter Soldier AKA Bucky Barnes!

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

ThisIsFinallyDoneOmG-

This took me FOREVER, I´m in Spain WITHOUT THE S!

[theamateurartistblog]

The Sad Tale of an Artist's Burnout

I have been burnout over a lot of things but being burnout because of art hits differently. Art burnouts are the worst. Imagine just losing your passion for something or having to force yourself to do so. If this sounds like something you’re going through have no fear, I’m here. Imma tell you how to prevent a burnout and some tips that will help you get back into shape in no time.

Stop Drawing

Mcutie are you serious? Yes, I’m not joking. Stop drawing. Your brain is tired of doing the same thing over and over again, give it a break. Find another hobby, play a game, watch a movie, catch up on a comic or manga (if you want some recommendations I got you;) maybe then you will find inspiration to draw.

Ease your mind a little. What always helps me is ASMRs, find a channel you like and relax to them or put on some Lofi tunes, whatever it takes for you to get your mind out of the sketchbook. Don’t think that when you stop drawing you’re gonna lose your talent, you can’t lose talent but you can lose passion.

Stop looking for likes and views

They'll come eventually, I'm still in the baby stages myself and sometimes it's disappointing not to see any likes or views but that just takes the fun out of art. Social Media is tiring especially with the algorithm doing whatever it likes. If you run an art page why not give it a break a little, maybe the stress of putting out too much content is getting to you.

Also, the self-declared “art critics” don't help either (baby artists please ignore these people, pay attention to the ones who really give you solid advice) so drop social media for a while and post your art unless you want to.

“But Mcutie I need to advertise to get commissions!” (in a future post, I'll give you tips on how to make money with your art). I hear you, but the posts you have in your feed are already enough to tell your audience about what you do and which commissions you’ll take. My advice is to shake it up a bit, instead of Instagram try Twitter maybe art station or deviant art, they have some nice communities on there.

Or better yet create your little website and build a community around it (I'm currently trying this one on Tumblr so follow me on my journey if you want) who knows maybe you’ll find people who respect and admire what you do. ^^

Don’t Compare Yourself!

HA! I need to take my advice. It’s easy to compare yourself with others and let’s be frank there is always gonna be a better artist or athlete or dancer but there is never gonna be another you. The way how YOU draw is different from other artists, no two people are the same and no two artists have the same style unless one artist copies from another. However, it's good to try out new styles and see how you can implement them into your drawings. You may find something that can add an extra spice to your art.

Find Inspiration - Outside!!!

AHA! You thought I was gonna tell you to take up Pinterest and browse huh? Nope! I need YOU to TOUCH SOME GRASS! Look at the clouds find shapes in them, take a walk in the park or something. “But what if it is snowing?” Who cares?! Sit at your window and watch the snowflakes fall you may just find something that inspires you. Doing this motivates you to take up that pen and paper or tablet or whatever kids use these days and draw.

Sleep!! - Please Sleep...

Once again…….I need to take my advice. But let’s face it have you ever gone to bed and suddenly at exactly 3:00 am you get the urge to get creative? That’s what you want! Therefore, get some rest, take a nice bath, rub on your favorite lotion, put on your favorite PJs, and sleep it out. “I suffer from insomnia….” So do I but if it is chronic go and see the doctor maybe you need medical assistance, if not try playing rain sounds or as I said earlier find your favorite ASMRist and just close you’re eyes and fall asleep.

In Conclusion....

At the end of the day, something is gonna burn us out whether it is work, hobbies, or just life in general but the thing is we do not want to stay in a burnout. Besides if you stay in a burnout you’ll just shrivel up and die. So try my tips and if you have anything to add say it in the comments so others can benefit from them. Until next time stay healthy and stay cute.

(〃＾▽＾〃)

[offrozenmemoirs]

“ Seraph. You said once that you wished to be ‘friends’, yes? I am curious to know your reasoning. “ Sebastian tilts his head.

Unprompted Asks || Accepting! @eraba-reta-unmei

"That's a pretty silly question, isn't it? I want to be your friend just because we've been traveling together for so long. I know I spent a while away, but frankly, I trust you. You've saved my life plenty of times, and whatever's going on between you and my father doesn't involve me."

Seraph was busy with his prayers, both to Winter and Pharasma. Even if he hadn't heard from them since they left Rivera, it didn't stop him from his usual rituals. Did Sebastian sometimes terrify him? Absolutely, but then again, first meeting his father had been terrifying and even if he knew Winter would never harm him, it didn't change the fact that he was capable of a great deal of destruction if he wished it.

"I guess, after coming back, while it was only a few months for you all, for me, years passed. It felt nice to come back to a regular timeflow. My only regret is that I wasn't fast enough to prevent Lenora's death...Even if I don't necessarily agree with how she treated you."

Seraph doesn't really know Sebastian, and maybe some would say that he's a bit foolish to try and befriend a spirit he doesn't know too well.

"I want to be your friend because I guess...I wouldn't want your only experience to be akin to a master and servant relationship. Not to mention, I guess I see a similarity in us kind of figuring out who we are? With you gaining more and more insight to yourself, while I'm trying to find out who I am outside of my various duties. A life spent in servitude isn't much of a life, I suppose."

Even now, the elf thinks about himself, wondering who he was outside of his devotion to Pharasma and his newfound status as the Champion of Winter. If he spent most of his life serving...Would he ever have time to appreciate his friends? His loved ones?

"Eternal servitude doesn't sound appealing to me. I think that if I burned away all of myself, and focused purely on what I needed to do, I would wind up miserable and regretting not spending enough time with those I love. I know I'm going to outlive Soup and Sino, I don't like it, but I can't ignore the truth of the matter. I will outlive them, and I can't stop the passage of time, as much as I may want to."

Even now, during their time in Abarlio, most of their, "vacation" had been spent fending off attacks from the Cetaceans, rogue spirits and helping yet another spirit gain a form of actualization of their self. Soren comes to mind, and he wonders how the spirit is doing. Elise and Antonio were family, the girl had latched onto him and in turn, he was a new father.

"We haven't had any real time to rest. I'm sure that at some point, we'll have an actual vacation where we won't have to fight for our lives, or prevent the destruction of a city. But, gods above, I'd like time to just have a real date, with dinner and maybe a night under the stars."

Seraph feels a growing irritation, and he can't stop the rant that he feels coming.

"My relationship with Soup is more or less physical and I can't even settle down to actually ask him what he wants out of what we have, and it doesn't help that he's reminded me that I'm going to outlive him either...And Sino...I don't know where to begin, I know that emotionally, I have a closer connection, and I worry for them. Maybe it's because I see a lot of myself, with their devotion to work, but I can't judge because it's not like I actually say what I mean or need to say enough. I'm a mess, mentally, and for the rest of my foreseeable life, I'll have to live with the fact that a chaos god has taken residence in my mind, and is waiting for whatever moment he can to take me over."

Seraph stops his rambling for a moment to notice his left hand coated in ice. He sighs, before he knocks his hand against the table, knocking it off and shaking the last shards off.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to just...dump all of that on you, Sebastian. Like I said, I want to be your friend because I want to. You're kinder than you think, and even if other spirits find you intimidating, I'm happy to help you whenever you need it, or just to be a listening ear."

[luna-nigthshade-wood]

What they don´t know, will hurt them

Summary: Dean Winchesters attempts suicide on a dirty motel bathtub, ending brain dead on a hospital. A trickster promises John and Sam that he will save him for “free”, as long as they both get through watching a series of Dean´s memories, good and bad. The twist is that they will feel everything Dean did at the time and they can stop it at any time, but then Dean will die. They both accept thinking it cant be that bad. Spoiler: it is worse.  

Chapter 37

Sometimes, back when his sons were young, John used to fantasy on the What if´s? What if Mary hadn’t die? What if their house hadn’t burned down? What if his kids had grown up in a normal safe environment? Would Mary and him still be together? Would he still have had an unhealthy relationship with alcohol? Would Adam still exist? Would Sam had still loved school? Would he had still gone to law school at Stanford or would he have chosen a different path? Somehow the what if´s that kept him up at night weren’t these, the ones that prevented him from sleeping were the ones regarding his oldest. Would Dean had gone to college? Would he have been a scholar or a jock? Would he have been more social or have few trusted friends? John´s mind was full of what if´s, but perhaps if he had paid more attention to the reality, none of this would have happened.

The screen lights up once more, and Sam almost chokes recognizing which case their past selves are heading, would it have been too much to ask that they skipped this one? Back then, Sam hadn’t given any thought to his brother´s inner struggles, hadn’t really care to figure why Dean was so adamant to return to their childhood home, and yes, they have saved the day at the end, but Sam didn’t want to uncover the hurt he had put his brother trough.

The scene doesn’t stop though, and it shows Dean trying to find a new case, while “Sam” all but ignores him, drawing something in a note pad. Dean questions his brother, until “Sam” tells him that they need to go back to their childhood home, “Sam” shows his brother and old photo and suddenly sadness and nostalgia fill the room as Dean looks at it. “Sam” keeps talking on the background of the screen, but to Dean (and therefore the viewers) it sounds like miles away, until one sentence catches Dean attention and he snaps back of the trance he was in

-This is going to sound crazy, but the people who live in the house, I think they might be in danger.

-Why do you think that?- Dean asks confuse and nervous

-You gotta trust me on this okay?- “Sam” says ignoring Dean completely

-Trust you? Yeah, I think that I will need a little more than that- Dean says pissed off, but the nervousness is still there- I am not going anywhere until you explain

-I have these nightmares- “Sam” confesses- and sometimes they come true- he tells Dean and Dean´s face goes pale as “Sam” continues- I dreamt about Jessica´s death for days before it happened

-Sam- Dean says sitting down- People dream terrible thing all the time- he says but his voice is shaking

-I dreamt about the blood, about the ceiling, the fire, and now I am dreaming about some woman screaming for help, and that has to mean something- “Sam” says, Dean losing color the more he talks, and John wants to reach out inside the screen and hug his oldest, as he watches the lost look on his face

-I don’t know- Dean says looking lost, the world coming out slightly slurred

-What do you mean you don’t know?- “Sam” screams- This might be the thing that killed mom

-All right. Just slow down, would you?- Dean says, shaking slightly as he buries his nails inside his thighs, a movement only perceptible by the sting the Winchesters get. Dean stands up, and Sam cant honestly keep track of his brother´s feelings, before he exclaims- First you tell me, you got the Shining and then you tell me that I have to get back home. Especially when…

-When what?- “Sam” says

-When I swear myself that I would never go back there- Dean says, tone vulnerable and soft.

-Look, Dean, we have to check this out, just to be sure- “Sam” exclaims, and the mask goes up once more on Dean´s face as he nods and the scene ends.

And Sam wants to rage and shout and his past self for this, this alone is one crime he could never forgive himself, for once in his life Dean was letting the mask slip, his brother was as close as begging for him not to make him go, to the place where his life had burned overnight, and Sam refused him. The walls his brother put had quickly gone up, because Sam hadn’t care to find out what was wrong, he hadn’t care beyond some callous words, because he always had to be right, doesn’t he?

John takes a deep breath knowing what case his sons are working, and it would be a lie if he told himself that he wasn’t close to tears just by the opening. Before this “experience” he was too busy playing the victim to think what his sons had lost, but now, seeing the devastation on Dean´s face he had a clue of what was to come. He also remembered a particular voicemail that he hoped wouldn’t be shown (as if the Trickster would let him get away with it)

The scene progresses and this time it shows the brothers pulling over outside of the house, Dean´s house visibly shaking. They knock on the door, which is answer by the new tenant named Jenny. “Sam” introduces both of them with their real names, and the woman lets them in, telling them she found old pictures of them while cleaning the attic. The woman introduces the brothers to her kids and Dean tries to make small talk to fish for information but his attempts fall flat, with “Sam” having to take the lead. The awkwardness and discomfort Dean is feeling is felt by his family like invisible ants crawling inside their skins, and both of them wonder how Dean was able to stood there long enough without bolting.

Sari, Jenny´s daughter, tells the brothers that she saw a flaming figure and both brothers´ hearts almost stop. They make their excuses and rush out the door, with Dean almost tripping in his haste to get away, “Sam” hot on his heels, all but screaming at his brother his theories about how it might be the thing that killed their mom, with Dean rationalizing that they cant take the people out of the house without investigating more. The brothers drive away to a gas station, with “Sam” asking Dean how much he remembered about that night

-Not much- Dean says and somehow it tastes like a lie- I remember the fire. The heat. Then I carried you out the front door- he admits

-You did?- “Sam” asks surprised, and the Sam in the room feels a pang of hurt just thinking about it.

-Yeah, why, you never knew that?- Dean asks, with “Sam” shaking his head quietly, before Dean continues- And well, you know Dad´s story as much as I do, he found Mom- Dean says, before losing his voice for a couple of seconds and then continuing, with every word almost getting dragged out of him- Whatever out her there was long gone by the time Dad found her

-And he never had a theory about what did it?- “Sam” asks, and Sam gives a side glance to his dad, who avoid his eyes, they both know the answer to that

-If he did- and this sounds sarcastic in Dean´s tone- he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.

-Okay- “Sam” says with a small voice- So we have to figure out what happened that night and see if it is the same thing- the younger says before adding- Does this feel like a normal case to you?

-I will be right back- Dean says ignoring the question- I gotta go to the bathroom

Dean walks towards the bathroom, but only once he is away from “Sam” does he lets himself lose composure, his fingers tremble as he pulls his phone out of the pocket, a couple of stray tears falling from his eyes, as he dials a known number, getting the voicemail once more

-Dad- Dean says, voice breaking- I know I have left you messages before. I don’t even know if you get them. But I am with Sam and we are in Lawrence and there is something in our old house. I don’t know if it’s the thing that killed mom or not…but… I don’t know what to do- Dean says before breaking down- So whatever you are doing, if you could get here. Please. I need your help, dad- Dean pleads, before he hangs up the phone, and yes maybe, John should have expected the punch to the face that Sam gives him

-He asked for your help- Sam says, once the flow of blood slowed down- He practically begged for it and you refused.

-Sammy, I…-John says trying to excuse the inexcusable

-No, dad- Sam furiously says- Don’t even try to explain. Dean, who never asked anything from you, asked for your help and you ignored him, just like you ignore him every single need or want he has. What possibly stupid reason would you give, that would excuse this, huh?- Sam asks screaming

-I did go- John confesses and Sam has half a mind to punch his father again- But by the time that I arrived you two had practically solved the case

-So what?- Sam retorts- You didn’t think that perhaps you could have talked to us, instead of leaving us hanging?

-You have to understand, Sam- John tries to defend- The demon was after me, I was protecting you

-No, dad- Sam replies with a hollow voice- You were protecting yourself- he says and well what can John respond when presented with the truth

The memory continues as Dean slowly sinks in the ground, disappointment and desperation filling him, before shakenly pulling his phone out once more and making another call, the first sentence he says making John´s stomach turn

-Give me a reason why I shouldn’t just blow my brains out and be done with it?- Dean says as soon as the call connects on the other end

-Because your family will miss you- a familiar female voice tells him

-They wont care- Dean laughs humorless- Hell, they will probably be happy to get rid of my useless ass

-I will miss you- Faith responds

-You will get over it- Dean retorts, tears falling freely

-I wont, and that is something you cant refute, because it involves myself and you know it- she tells him- Also you will be flanking on your promise, and that is an insult to fae culture

-What are you gonna do?- Dean asks- Kill me? Make my life a living hell? Because trust me, it already is- he says, but even with the grim topic the Winchesters realize that Dean has finally stop shaking

-Maybe revive you- Faith answers- You know, as punishment- she says, getting a small laugh from Dean, before she asks- What happened?

-I am at Lawrence, in a case that involves my old house- Dean answers- I guess, I kind of got lost inside my head.

-Do you need help?- the Fae asks with no hesitation

-No- Dean says- At least I don’t think so, I think I just needed to talk to someone that would listen. Thank you- Dean tells her, with the tears finally stopping

-Happy to serve and be of service- Faith responds- And I am serious, if you need help, you can call at any time.

-Thank you, F- Dean says one more before disconnecting the call, as the scene ends

The fact that something (someone, his mind reprimands) that he would have called a monster and gank without a second thought shows more kindness and support to his son that his own father, hits something deep inside John. Because the truth is that there is a monster in this narrative, and he sees it everytime he looks in a mirror.

Sam, for his part, is stunned into silence. He never acknowledged Dean´s struggles with more than a path in the shoulder and perhaps a quick hug, and then proceed to never mention it again. He never knew how close he was to lose Dean (he never knew how close to the edge his brother was)

The memories continue this time showing the boys at the garage that John used to own, bringing back memories to the man that had long been forgotten. The brothers interrogate John´s partner at the garage asking him if he knew something about the Winchesters disappearance, the man tells them that after the fire John claimed that something caused the fire and killed Mary, even though it was an “accident”, starting to read odd books and seeing a psychic in town. Afterwards, “Sam” starts to research psychics in town with Dean recognizing the name of Missouri Moseley as one he had read at their dad´s journal, so they head to the woman´s house to speak to speak to her.

Missouri recognize them upon arrival, giving his condolences to “Sam”, while also telling them that she doesn’t know where their father is. Dean doesn’t take the news well and makes a verbal jab towards the psychic but she rebuts telling him that she can only read thoughts and energies. She tells the boys, she is the one that told him the truth about what was out there and if the Winchesters hadn’t been paying attention they would have missed the barely there resentment that Dean quickly feels and dismiss. He recovers quickly asking the woman if she knows what killed their mom, and she tells them that she went to the house with John looking for clues, but she doesn’t know what it was, only that it was evil. “Sam” tells her that they think the creature is back in the house and that it might be related with their missing father and Jessica´s death. Dean and Missouri both getting pale at hearing this.

The scene moves on, showing the boys and Missouri going to the old house. Jenny opens the door and tells them it is not a good time, Dean, clearly off his game, tries to interject but Missouri slaps him on the back of his head, and tries to explain to the frighten woman was going on. All in all, a normal for them conversation but a phrase that Missouri says repeats inside the Winchester´s head:

-Forgive the boy- Missouri says- He means well. He is just not the sharpest tool in the shed. Now hear me out…

But whatever she says next, they don’t quite hear, too busy getting confronted with Dean´s feelings of hurt and self-hate, that he quickly tries to contain to keep his mind on the game.

Whatever Missouri says works, because Jenny grants them access to the house. They climb to Sam´s nursey and for a moment Dean feels panic as he tries to do anything possible to block bad memories from resurging. Missouri tells them that it is not the same thing that kill their mom, but it is related. She thinks that the creature that is terrorizing the family is a poltergeist that was attracted by the evil energy related to the house and that there might be a second more benign spirit. She tells them that they need to purify the house to expulse the creature.

The three split up to cover more ground and Dean takes a deep breath as he starts to work, a noise is all the warning he gets as his instincts kick in managing to duck before a knife invades itself where his face was a second before, he doesn’t hesitate either using a table as a cover and managing to put the herbs in place. He rushes upstairs to find “Sam” getting strangled by a cord, that only stops when he puts the ingredients in the spot in the wall, a white light is seen before it disappears, with Missouri exclaiming that is finally over, even if “Sam” is not convinced.

“Sam” convinces Dean to park outside the house for the night, telling him that something isn’t right, with Dean secretly agreeing that things seem to have been too easy. “Sam” looks at the window and sees Jenny asking for help making the boys jump into action. Dean hurries to the woman´s bedroom trying and failing to open the door, before kicking it out, managing to get Jenny to safety, Jenny´s kids come out the door soon after, but there is no sign of “Sam”, the little girl claims something grab him, so Dean hurries and tries to enter the house taking down the door with an ax.

Dean enters the house, finding “Sam” and a fire figure, he goes to shoot but “Sam” stops him, and Dean´s heart (along with John´s) skips a beat at seeing his mom´s ghostly figure.

The sight leaves Dean speechless, with a wheel of emotions intermixing. The moment last only a few minutes tough and as quickly as Mary appears she disappears taking the poltergeist with her.

The scene jumps to the next morning showing Jenny thanking the brothers and giving Dean some photos she found. The nostalgia Dean feels is mixed with melancholy, before he locks them inside one of the boxes inside the trunk of the Impala, before he and “Sam” drive away closing the scene and finishing the memory.

Sam stares at the blank screen for a minute, trying to keep his emotions at check. Now more than anything, he regrets not having pay attention to his brother. Through the whole case, Dean was struggling, with reason, trying to keep his head in the game, without letting it show how it was affecting him. The nostalgia and melancholy still in the air, but there is bitterness in there too, bitterness at thinking of the life they could have had in another life, and Sam doesn’t know how to process this new information

There is something inherently broken in his family, John thinks, something he broke and never bother to try and fix. Because, back then Dean needed him more than ever, and he gave excuses once again to avoid confrontation, prioritizing once more his own feelings, telling himself that Dean was going to be okay. But Dean wasn’t okay and he hadn’t been okay for a while. And one day, near the future of the memory, his eldest would climb into a bathtub and (try to) kill himself and he wouldn’t ask for help, why would he? He had no reason to believe someone would help him.

AO3

Masterlist

[bi-bard]

Our Process Implies Our Progress - Dean Winchester Imagine [Supernatural]

Title: Our Process Implies Our Progress

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader

Based On: Land or Sea

Word Count: 1,246 words

Warning(s): grief, mentions of death

Summary: Hunting was sometimes a painful reminder that no day was promised to you. When (Y/n) is given that harsh reminder, Dean takes it upon himself to help them as much as possible.

Author's Note: You would think it would be easier to find gifs of Dean that would match the banner art.

Part Two of February [Release Date: 3/4/2023]

Part Three of February [Release Date: 3/6/2023]

YEARBOOK - SLEEPING AT LAST WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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Hunter's funerals always had this medieval sense to them.

My dad had explained to me that lighting the body on fire kept out the bad things. Allowed freedom to one's soul. Since then, I had imagined pieces of a person's soul jumping from flame to flame and then jumping onto the particles of smoke and following them to Heaven.

I knew better.

Not only did I know that it was simply to avoid possession and prevent people from turning into vengeful spirits, but I also knew very well that most people in our line of work were not going to make it to the pearly gates.

But it was still a comforting thought.

A comforting thought that I clung to. Especially when the body burning was my dad's.

That had been days ago.

I hadn't been sleeping much. I could still see the flames so vividly. Still burning just behind my eyelids. If I closed my eyes tight enough, then I could hear the crackling.

My sleep or lack thereof didn't change how the smell hung around me. Like I was wearing the clothes of some lifelong smoker. The particles had seemingly stuck to the inside of my nostrils and offered no escape. It didn't matter how much I showered, how many times I changed, how many candles I tried to light. There was no escape.

Maybe it was guilt. Guilt shaking hands with my grief.

Or maybe it was because I wasn't sleeping, so I was losing my hold on reality.

It didn't really matter at the end of the day.

After the funeral, I had confined myself to my room in the bunker. I had joined Sam and Dean when my dad started slowing down on the number of hunts he was pursuing. They allowed me a more consistent line of work.

Maybe that was selfish.

If I had stayed with my dad, then I would've been there to save him. I wouldn't have needed to get that panicked voicemail. I wouldn't have needed to burn the body.

I shook my head at the thought, trying to push it away.

"(Y/n)."

I picked up my head when I heard Dean say my name. He was standing in my doorway just barely tilting his head in.

"How are you feeling," he asked.

"How do you think?" my head plopped back down on my pillow as I rolled my eyes.

"I'm not one to make assumptions," the sarcasm dripped from each word. When I didn't even entertain him with a scoff, Dean walked in and pulled the blanket from me.

"What are you doing?" I muttered, wanting to go back to avoiding every ounce of the world around me.

"Getting you to eat," he replied. "Let's go before I have to carry you."

I grumbled before pulling myself out of bed and starting to follow him down that hall. It was a silent walk for a while. I had mixed feelings about that. I liked not answering questions but hated feeling like all I could do was drown in my thoughts.

He led me to the kitchen before pointing at one of the seats. "Sit down. I'll whip something up."

"This is just an excuse to show off that you know how to use the kitchen," I muttered as I sat down.

"Can a man not use his fancy kitchen without judgment?" Dean joked.

A chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. Dean had already turned away from me to walk toward the fridge.

"Heard that," he said proudly.

"It was a cough."

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

I just rolled my eyes and rested my head on my folded arms on top of the table. My eyes closed for a few minutes, listening to Dean mutter the lyrics to some song to himself. I couldn't quite hear the words, so I couldn't make out what song it was.

I only picked up my head when I heard a plate hit the table. Dean had put together a sandwich and thrown some chips on the side.

"Would've made something fancier, but it's last minute," he shrugged, putting his own plate down and sitting across from me. "I'll prove my cooking skills soon enough."

I just nodded, picking up a chip and eating it.

We fell silent again. I had a million and one thoughts but no way to express them. Not all of them. Not properly.

I heard Dean let out a small sigh. He wanted me to talk to him, but he didn't want to push the topic. He did the same thing when he went through pain. He shut down, closed himself off. He understood it all.

I only spoke up after my chips were gone, "What do I do now?"

"What do you mean," Dean asked, setting his sandwich down and swallowing the bite he had taken.

"What do I do now," I repeated. "I... I hunted with my dad to keep him safe. I hunted with you guys so I could keep him safe. But he's gone. I failed and I... I don't know what I'm hunting for now."

"It's still him," he replied.

I furrowed my eyebrows.

"Now, you keep his memory safe. His work safe," he continued. "As far as failing goes, that's just crap.

"You are easily one of the most badass hunters I've ever seen. You made your dad proud. I saw it."

I nodded a bit. It must not have been very convincing.

"Listen. I... You had a bit more luck with your dad than I did with mine. God knows that I should be the last to talk about good fathers, but I saw your dad's face. I heard him talk about you. He was proud of you. He really was.

"Now, you hunt for him. Because you can. He had a legacy behind him. You get to hold onto it. Everything is in his name. Continue doing the work that made him so proud."

I nodded again, wiping away a few tears that had fallen. "Thank you, Dean."

"It's nothing," he kind of waved it off. "I'm gonna grab us some drinks, alright?"

"Yeah, please," I said as I took a deep breath. He grinned before pushing himself out of his seat.

I felt myself staring at his back as he got the drinks.

Dean had always been the first one to want to help me. I hated asking. I always had. But he seemed to always know exactly when to show up. He always knew when to hug me or check on me or make some seemingly inappropriately timed joke. It seemed like an instinct for him.

"You alright?"

I blinked a few times when Dean spoke up. He was suddenly not standing at the fridge with his back to me but standing next to the table again with a concerned look written on his face.

I nodded.

Dean let out a sigh before circling me. Instead of sitting across from me, he moved to sit right next to me.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," I muttered. "I just got lost in thought."

"You sure?"

I nodded.

He reached his hand over and placed it over mine. He grinned at me sympathetically. I found a small grin forming on my lips.

It felt selfish at the time, considering everything that had happened in those few days, but in that moment... something shifted in how I looked at Dean.

And it was good.

Really good.

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Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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[allegra-j-joann]

This Place

This place is...well, what is This Place? Does it even have a name? I wish I could tell you, but I've been here so long that I can't recall, there is no one else here that I could ask either, I suppose that should make this a lonely place, but I'm not sure. I can summon birds and animals as much as I like, but never people. I cannot imagine how people would even live in such an impermanent world as this, Every time I wake, it starts over new, sometimes I wander in the tallest mountains or through fields of grass as high as my waist, but other times I drift in the deepest depths of the seas or float in the light of the farthest burning stars. Those are the moments I feel most alive, I often wonder if I came from that place faraway in the blackness of space, I see ships out there occasionally, but I never get close enough to see who might be inside before I am whisked away again. This is my world, but I do not control it, I may only influence it in some ways. My favourite of these is to make it rain in odd ways, under the sea, or so high on the mountains the drops freeze like little diamonds, sometimes the forests rain purple, and the fields are gold, sometimes it rains frogs or other small creatures, or doesn't rain at all. This is....these influences, they're nothing really, I can do this as much as I like but it doesn't make anything move forward and I always feel like I am waiting, and holding my breath even when I don't breath. This Place is cold and still, no matter where I go.

In this place, there is no time, Day and Night only come when I call for them, There is no Hunger, or Disease, no Death, no Pain, they are all simply concepts in this place, things that I read about, things that I imagine, but never feel, I discovered a long time ago that if I would hurt myself, the world changes to prevent it, for a time I would jump from trees just to see ponds and pillows appear beneath me. Even that game grew tiresome after a while, just like everything does. Though nothing else reaches me here, boredom never seems to leave. In this dull Place, I drift for hours and hours, but it is too bright and so noisy here, the water flows and bubbles, the wind whistles against everything it touches and the trees and grass whisper to each other, always leaving me out of the conversation, I long for somewhere calm, somewhere without distraction, but every time I go there I am drawn away again too soon. Enough, I decide, This Place isn't right, I will find a way to return where I belong. As with everything in This Place, the next time I returned to the dark Space, I noticed what I needed to, the feeling of falling, i was falling through Space towards that small ship, but I never fell fast enough, that was my answer, I finally had a purpose, something to aim for, I would reach that ship.

It does not take me long to realise what I must do to leave This Place, I must fall faster and further than a simple pond or pillow can protect me from, there is only one place that will suit my purpose and it is not here. I take off at a run, I have not run in a long time, there was no need to, and I feel it like a forgotten thought at the back of the mind. A dull ache rolls around my chest, bumping against my ribs and pressing on my heart as i speed onwards, the grass hisses around me as it parts and my bare feet slip on soft loose dirt, threatening to slow me down, but I will not be stopped now. All too soon I am standing at the foot of the tallest mountain i have ever seen, i don't ever remember it being so tall as it looms over me and casts a long, cool shadow, as if trying to turn me away, but I will not be stopped. I begin to climb. The clouds are dense, the air is thin, and the stones that jut awkwardly from the side of the mountain ars sharp and loose, not one of them looks like it should hold my weight, but This Place is mine, and will never let me be hurt, so as I push myself further upwards, my shaking hands and aching legs find only smooth, solid landings that are all too easy to grab. I continue climbing. The mountain becomes sheer, and yet I do not struggle to find my way up, though I know I should, I don't seem to have any more weight than a feather fallen from a bird's wing. I stop climbing. Finally I stand at the highest point of the mountain, balanced between two craggy points and looking down at the jagged cliff face below, I have no guarantee that This Place will behave according to my plan, but even if it doesn't, I will not be here anymore. I hesitated, leaning forward just a little, but it was just enough when the wind let out a pitiful moan, pressing against my back, the moan turned into a wail as I tipped forward and went tumbling down, if I only reached my hand out I could touch the face of the mountain, catch a ledge and stop myself, but that was not my plan. I fell, further and further until every aspect of the dark stone melted together into an inky blue, and suddenly, This Place changed, now I was falling through darkness, tiny distant lights spiralled around me, seeming to blink out if I looked straight at them, the howling stopped, the rushing air against my skin stopped, and then it was just Space arcing past as the ship came into view, I would make it this time, I was so close.

I flinched as my fingers made contact with the ship, it was right there in front of me now and it was simultaneously hot and cold, but not in a way that balanced each other out, in a way that made my stomach lurch and my head spin, the metal was too hot to keep a grip on, but it left my skin feeling icy as I peered through the front window. Red, everywhere, it edges my vision and pours from the screens across everything. 'Critical Operations Error'. It pours across the consoles. 'Stasis Extraction Failure'. It spills over the floor. 'Oxygen Systems Offline'. It drips from the walls and suits, hanging just out of reach. 'Pilot Override Required'. It swims across the still face of the pilot, My face. Red. everything is bathed in red and I am too still, I don't move, I don't even breathe. I can't breathe. 'Pilot Override Required' I can't reach the button, and there is no one else here with me, Why am I alone in That Place? I am always alone. Now I know I was right, I did come from That Place deep in the void beyond the farthest burning star, and I need to return there immediately.

Suddenly I am back in This Place, laying under the mountain on a feather cushion, It feels like the mountain itself has come crashing down, pressing itself onto my chest and crushing the air from my lungs. I gasp, I thrash, I try to crawl free, but my hands sink ineffectively into the feathers, I can't breathe, my head is starting to ache, my vision is edged with red, but it is dark, these are not the warning lights, this is different, it's This Place, It's trying to keep me here where I can't be hurt, but I need to return to That Place. I claw at the ground until it starts cracking, they spread like spiderwebs from under me, pieces falling away. Finally it cannot take the weight of me anymore and the dirt under the feathers cave, as it falls away so too does the weight on my chest and I'm free, I drag myself up and start running again, I have to get back, I have to get away from This Place, maybe there is still time. It's not Enough, No matter how far I run, long past the crumbling mountain, the withered field, the murky ocean, long past the birds and creatures that chase me as I pass, past everything, even when the ground falls from under my feet, I cannot reach That Place, now there is Nothing, not This Place, nor That Place, not even a Nowhere, just a Nothing that goes on forever, It's cold and quiet and hard to think, and I am Alone.

[drippingviolets3]

Sooooo, a lot has been happening with me recently and since I might be sick (and desperately need my medication adjusted-) I’m going to do a part two to that one thing where I rated danganronpa characters based on how they would comfort me after that one instance where I got bullied for being 💅

Hajime: 6/10: His free time events low key make me want to strangle him sometimes for his attitude, and I’m STILL traumatized by that one nut scene, but he’d still do more then the bare minimum despite being awkward about it.

Chiaki: 6/10: I know she would never say this, but for some reason she’s giving me Zuko’s “Thats rough buddy” response from ATLA 😭. I don’t think I would be able to tell if she’s actually listening or caring, so I’d be discouraged, but Chiaki would definitely try to find some way to distract me.

Nagito: -10/10: Mf would deadass look me in the eye and tell me it was a necessary stepping stone to achieve the brightest hope or some shit he can gtfo.

Twogami: 8/10: For the sake of staying in character he would pat me on the back with a broom, but would definitely have some words of wisdom to share with me, maybe share his food, idk.

Teruteru: 7/10: Here me out, since Teru is canonically bisexual, coming from one queer to another, he’d know when to drop the pervert shit and actually help. His advice would be shit but hey at least he’d make me something to eat.

Mahiru: 3/10: I can’t stand this bitch I gotta be real with y’all 💀. While she would agree that it was bad and such, she’d still get onto me for how I reacted and tell me to stop crying. We know she doesn’t really do anything to stop bullying so she’ll just do slightly below the bare minimum and dip.

Peko: 12/10: MY. WIFE. Okay I might be biased but I do think she’d just slowly draw her sword out to kill the mfs but would retract it the moment someone said “Peko, no.” Would she know how to comfort me? Probably not. But will she make sure that karma is delivered and that it hurts like a bitch? 100% yes.

Ibuki: 5/10: I think she’d also canonically queer, but she’s obnoxious and is weird in a way that kinda feels forced to me tbh? Idk how else to describe it, but I do know that while she would do her best to help, she’s not the person I want to be around in that kind of mess.

Hiyoko: 4/10: It depends on if we’re friends or not. If we were she’d probably tear the bullies a new one before promptly getting curb stomped, or she’d just make fun of me and tell me to get over it 💀.

Mikan: 2/10: She’ll want to help but would probably make it worse by tripping, crying, and apologizing.

Nekomaru: 9/10: He’d be such a dad about it, give the bullies a firm talking to and maybe yell at them if they catch an attitude. Overall he’d be bodyguarding me around that bitch 24/7

Gundham: 7/10: He’d give me a hamster to hold and would go off on one of his tangents about being a demon lord and how he’s make them burn in hellfire and shower the underworld in brimstone, but I won’t be paying attention because I’m holding a hamster and that makes life better 💞

Akane: 5/10: Similar to “Peko, no” but instead it’s like swiper the fox where you gotta scream “AKANE NO!” Three times in a row to prevent her from going on a rampage.

Sonia: 6/10: The sweetest and gentlest thing omllll 💞💞💞. She’d make sure I’m in a safe mental space so I won’t hurt myself and brings me pillows and blankets and such. But if she gets really pissed, home girl will deadass threaten the group to leave me alone. If they catch an attitude they’re gonna have to throw hands with her whole fucking country (and it is mentioned that everyone in her country learn how to work army machinery in elementary school so 💀)

Kazuichi: 5/10: I don’t know if he knows what a bisexual is 😭. He’d try to support me but his confusion would be so evident that it somehow makes me laugh enough to where I’m less sad.

Fuyuhiko: 20/10: This man has access to an entire fucking yakuza and you think that bitch will get out unscathed? He isn’t good with words, but actions speak louder than words so he gets straight to work. By the next day that bitch would be in the hospital and get PTSD by looking at babies, knowing it was a baby gangster who knocked her teeth out

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

Trials 1:40-44 part 1

Well, here it finally fucking is.  Part 1 of the monster that is The Hinterlands ChapterTM .  I had to break it into two chapters to prevent both myself and you guys from losing our minds.  I’ll post the next part soon when I’m done editing.  Part 1 gives everyone some time to shine, but Lilith is a major player, so get hype for that.  Link to AO3 as always :) (x)

Having signed your life away to a group of religious fanatics (nice going, Ava, you dumbass), you are immediately put to work.  There are 1,001 problems that need to be solved, and most of them seem to be in the Hinterlands.  Dora explains in a succinct, tactical way that the area has become the central battleground of the Mage-Templar war.  This is because the region is huge, and neither side has the numbers to control it all.  The rebel mages have based themselves in Redcliffe with the permission of the Arl and King Alistair, while the Templars have holed up in a fortress called Therinfal Redoubt on the opposite end.  Both sides have camps and patrols spread throughout the area, harassing and even killing locals, burning down houses, and disrupting trade.

You are charged with somehow stopping all of it.  Or “remedying the situation” as Mother Superion puts it.  She bids you to seek out a Revered Mother named Giselle who is supposedly active in the area.  Gaining her support will supposedly lend the Inquisition credibility to play nice with the Chantry and get them to maybe not excommunicate you all (not that you care, but everyone else says it would be bad, so you’re outvoted).  Additionally, if you can get the rebels and Templars to back the fuck off for even a minute, it will supposedly win you massive public support.  That’s a lot of supposedly’s, fuck.

But, you go.  Everyone goes, actually.  Beatrice makes the excellent point that the Hinterlands are so massive that no one team can possibly handle it all.  So, after a day of preparations, you set out on the march with Beatrice, Mary, Lilith, Camila, and Solas in tow.  Mother Superion elects to stay behind with Dora to manage things while you’re gone, but she sends a number of scouts and soldiers ahead of you to assess the situation and do reconnaissance until you get there.

You have never marched anywhere before, so this trek is more than a little difficult for you.  Lilith scoffs when you get tired easily and Mary teases you when you trip over your own feet, but Beatrice helps you back up each time you stumble, and Camila does her best to boost morale as you go along.

You learn little things about each of them along the way.  Camila is a kickass archer babe, but she’s also a really good singer.  She makes the long walks go faster by singing an upbeat tune, and when you all camp out for the night, her voice lulls you to sleep after you collapse on your bedroll.  Mary performs routine checks on her crossbow, oiling and testing all of its mechanisms before bed each night.  She also enjoys wood-carving, taking any moment of sitting down to whip out a half-finished block of wood and work on it.  She won’t tell you what it’s going to be, though, insisting that you’ll have to wait and find out.  Lilith trains constantly.  She’s always swinging at something, hacking apart some foe only she can see.  It works for her, clearly, but sometimes after you slow the group down a little too long with how many breaks you need, you think the enemy she’s swinging at is you.  Solas is a quiet traveling companion.  He will talk, ask questions, and make observations occasionally, but overall he seems content in silence.  You can feel him looking at you though, still trying to figure you out, so you avoid him more often than not.

As for Beatrice… Beatrice writes.  A lot.  She takes notes.  On everything.  You look over her shoulder one night and find her writing in detail about some fish you saw jumping out of a stream, cataloging their characteristics to determine their edibility.  She writes about the weather, she inventories your provisions, and she takes extremely diligent, highly-detailed notes on any combat situations you come across.  

(And you have found a few.  It’s nothing crazy, but brigands hide along the roads to ambush travelers, and they don’t spare your group despite the obvious Don’t Fuck With Us energy you’re giving off.  Fighting people is not the same as fighting demons.  It’s harder, both because people are smarter than demons and because people are harder to kill.  For you, at least.  The others don’t seem to have any qualms about it.  In fact, Lilith is partial to mocking you when you hesitate to strike a killing blow.  The others just repeat that it will be worse when you actually get to the Hinterlands, like that settles the matter.)

Beatrice writes about all of it.  And when she’s not writing, she’s reviewing.  You’re starting to get a little worried about her neck with how much time she spends per day slouched over her notebook.

You think she may also be writing about you.  It’s just a hunch, but sometimes you catch her looking at you too, not like Solas does, or not exactly like he does.  She's also trying to figure you out, but for different reasons (you hope).  Mainly, she just seems to be concerned for you, but you’ve definitely seen her reaching for her notebook out of the corner of your eye.  Although you are desperate to ask, you keep quiet in present company.  Lilith still watches you like you might attack them at any moment.  Mary watches you too, with something like sadness in her gaze, or regret, or worry.  On a bitter note, you know from listening to her story why she seems so familiar to you, but getting into that is not something you have the energy for right now.

So no, you won’t ask here.  Instead, you’ll crack a joke (what do you call a pig that catches the Blight?), make up a pun, or just distract everyone by falling on your face again.  Whatever works to make them look at you rather than through you.

At least your Friend treats you the same.  You think She may be enjoying this time in the world.  You can feel it when She focuses on something, studying it, and you can almost visualize Her looking over your shoulder and taking in the mortal plain, which must be completely bizarre to Her.

And it’s not all bad, really.  It's beautiful and exciting, surprising and challenging.  You’re getting to do a lot of things you never dreamed of before, like camping (hard to adjust to, but fun), eating hot food (Mary smacks your hand away from messing things up every time she and Camila cook dinner), and using magic again.  To your delight, Beatrice agrees to teach you some spells, starting with basic stuff you kind of remember like barrier spells and elemental barrage spells.  You ask her to teach you an immolation spell, and she agrees, but only once you reach the Hinterlands where there will be enough space to practice with it.  Solas chimes in from time to time with tips and advice of his own, and he even teaches you how to dispel an enemy’s magic and protect your allies from hostile magical effects.

And as he predicted, you also learn more about the power your bond with Hope gives you.  You start to recognize the feeling that comes right before you phase through an attack, and you think if you ever get a moment’s peace that you can learn to do it on purpose.  You also levitate again, which is terrifying at first.  A hulking brute of a guy picks you up at one point and chucks you into the air like a child's ball.  You brace yourself for a painful landing only to never hit the ground.  Instead, you hover two feet above it, limbs flailing, until you lose focus or something and crash down on your ass.  Your bruised tailbone is healed by the time the fight ends.

At one point, you discover something entirely new.  While you’re stuck battling a large group, someone jumps out of the brush to ambush you from behind.  You don’t hear them sneak up, too distracted pushing another one away from Camila.  They almost bury a knife in your shoulder when they are suddenly thrown backward, buffeted by a propulsive wave of energy that makes the trees behind you shake.  You spin around to find them lying in a boneless heap on the ground, breathing but unmoving.

“Instinctual defense,” Solas comments, far too casually for how he’s currently grappling with a man twice his size.  “Later on, we can try to harness that deliberately.”  Let it never be said he isn’t an enthusiastic teacher.

Eventually, you do make it to the Hinterlands, and yes, it is worse.  So much worse.  You’re shocked by it, and you didn’t think you could be shocked by violence anymore.  It’s horrific.  The rebels and Templars tear each other apart in the smoke of burning farms while refugees starve and freeze to death in overcrowded camps, hemmed in by threats on all sides.  The summary report you receive from Scout Harding doesn’t even scratch the surface.

You find Mother Giselle after cutting a bloody path to the Crossroads refugee camp, and you don’t need her to tell you how dire things are when you arrive.  You listen, of course, as she explains the general situation and makes several suggestions for how you can help, even as you begin to fear that your best efforts will barely be a drop in the bucket.

You approach the task at hand via a series of delegations, per Beatrice’s suggestion.  The refugees need food and blankets, the camps need watchtowers to guard against approaching threats, and the Inquisition needs horses.  There are also Rifts everywhere, spewing out demons in alarming numbers.  So, divide and conquer.  You send Camila with a group of scouts to hunt for food and pick up supplies, and Lilith agrees to travel with some soldiers to capture several lumber yards for the watchtowers.  

You, Mary, Beatrice, and Solas set out to get the horses and close any Rifts you happen to find.  The horsemaster, Dennet, initially refuses to help you until you complete another series of tasks for him.  You want to tell him to take his horses and fuck off, but Beatrice gently, firmly, reminds you that the Inquisition desperately needs mounts and cannot afford to piss off the man who both provides and trains them.  So you go, stopping a pack of demon-controlled wolves and closing a Rift tucked inside a cave.  Every time you close a Rift, you feel a little stronger.  Not physically (Mary won’t stop calling you a wet noodle) but magically.  It’s as if the Mark lets you take some of the Rift’s energy back into yourself, a kind of victor’s prize.  It hasn’t had a noticeable impact yet, but you think if you keep closing Rifts, it might pan out somewhere down the line.

After completing all of his requests, Dennet finally agrees to give you horses, so you return to the Crossroads that night feeling pretty accomplished.  Camila returns with a similar tale of success, having swept a span of several miles to procure ram’s meat and blankets aplenty.  Even Lilith sits down at your cookfire with an air of satisfied smugness, talking proudly of how she reclaimed enough wood for an entire set of watchtowers.

Mother Giselle pulls you aside as your group begins to settle down.  “It is exceedingly honorable, what you have done today,” she says, and unlike Duretti, you find her Orlesian accent to be quite pretty.  “Where others have stood by, paralyzed by fear or apathy, you have stepped forward to be a light in darkness.”

You blush a little and rub your neck, unsure how to respond to such praise.  “I’m just glad we could help,” you settle on.

“You have done more than that,” she asserts.  “You have restored a spark of hope in the hearts of the people, a rare accomplishment in these dark times.”  As if beckoned, your Friend is at your shoulder, regarding Mother Giselle with a thoughtful hum.  “Allow me to speak plainly with you now.  I have heard the Chantry’s denouncement, and I am familiar with those behind it.  I won’t lie to you.  Some of them are merely grandstanding, vying for favor, trying to increase their chances of becoming the next Divine.  Others are simply terrified.”  Grief twists at her mouth, making her seem far older than she appears.  “So many good people, senselessly taken from us.  I understand their fear, as it is my own.”

“What happened was awful,” you agree, though it sounds paltry leaving your mouth.  “I’d be lying pretty hard if I said I wasn’t afraid too,” you admit quietly.

Giselle nods.  “Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason.  Go to them.  I will send my blessing on the swiftest hawk.  Go and convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared.”

You balk at that, shifting nervously from foot to foot.  “Yeah, I don’t know that that’s going to work, Mother.  They seem pretty convinced already.”

“They have heard only frightful tales of you.  Give them something else to believe,” Giselle instructs calmly.

“You really want me to try and appeal to them?  ‘Cause I’ve gotta say, I wasn’t really up for having a friendly chat with them before this all started, and I’m definitely not now.  No offense.”

“If I thought you were incapable, I would not have suggested it,” she says, almost smiling.  “You do not need to convince them all.  You just need some of them to doubt.  Their power lies in their unity.  Take that from them, and you will see that I am right.”

“That’s… actually pretty cunning, Mother.”

You think her eyes might twinkle, but maybe it’s just the firelight.  “It never hurts to approach life with prudence and shrewdness, so long as those traits do not give way to pride or cruelty.”

“Thank you,” you say genuinely.  And then, because it seems important, you add, “I honestly didn’t expect much when coming here.  I didn’t think anyone still in the Chantry would give a mage a fair shake, or a non-believer.”

Mother Giselle considers these words.  “I do not know if you have been touched by Fate or were sent to help us, but… I hope.  Hope is what we need now.  The people will listen to your rallying call.  You could build the Inquisition into a force to deliver us, or destroy us.  Do not fall prey to pride, my child, nor despair.  You may not believe in the Maker, but I hope you will believe in the rightness of your actions today, and make it the core of your cause.”  She tucks her hands behind her back, standing tall.  “I will send my blessing and then go to Haven to deliver Sister Suzanne the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering.”

You blink in surprise.  “Are you able to leave at a time like this?”

She nods certainly.  “Thanks to the Inquisition, the people here are in better hands than I alone could provide.  I will go now to where my two wrinkled ones can do the most good.”

She leaves you then to return to your campfire, and Beatrice looks up curiously at your return.  “What did the Revered Mother have to say?”

“She’s going to Haven,” you explain.  “She’s going to help us convince the Chantry to cool it on the denouncement.”

Beatrice also seems surprised by that, but uplifted.  “She’ll be a great help.  She’s very charismatic, and a persuasive writer.”

“How do you know that?”

Beatrice flushes, realizing her critical error and looking away from you quickly.  “She’s written some treatises,” she admits shyly.  “And I’ve been present for some of her services.”

“Wait…” You grin widely, seeing an opportunity you can’t pass up.  “Are you a fan of hers, Beatrice?”

“I am no such thing!”  She scoffs, trying to sound indignant.  “I simply hold a deep respect for her good works and her faith.”

“Riiight.  You know, I could go talk to her again,” you tease, sidling up next to her.  “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind giving me an autograph for you.  Unless you want to ask her yourself?”

She gasps adorably, smacking your arm.  “You are insufferable!”

“But yoouuu liiike it,” you sing, wiggling your eyebrows and beaming.

She rolls her eyes, declaring “I’m going to bed now,” before promptly turning her back on you and heading to her tent, still blushing.

You just laugh, feeling lighter than you have all day, and saunter off to your tent too.

On your second day in the Hinterlands, you are faced with two significantly more daunting tasks than fetching horses and blankets: 1) closing more Rifts and 2) dealing with the blood-drunk idiots currently setting the forests on fire.

Closing Rifts is fairly straightforward.  You find one, kick demon ass, and wave your hand around until they stop appearing.  Getting the mages and Templars to cool off and quit slaughtering civilians is not so simple.  It quickly becomes apparent that negotiating or reasoning with either side is out of the question.  They attack on sight and refuse to back down until dead.  No matter who you encounter, you get called some variation of "Templar bastards" or "rebel scum", among other creative curses and slurs, and that simply doesn't work as an opener to productive conversations.

You hoped that the rebels would at least be more hesitant to attack, seeing a trio of their fellow mages among you, but your hopes were dashed, quickly and thoroughly, when one tried to impale you and Beatrice reduced him to char.  The Templars are even worse (wow, shocking), and you can tell that Lilith feels just as discouraged as you when she sees them acting like lowlife bandits, robbing houses and stealing wedding rings.  She’s not a Templar (Beatrice had briefly explained the difference to you one night as you both watched Lilith obliterate a helpless bush), but it's evident that she had hopes and expectations coming into this that were shot down just as harshly as yours.

(You catch her staring hard at a scrap of paper you find in an abandoned hunter’s camp.  Her face is like stone, but she clutches the note so tightly that the fragile paper warps and crinkles irreparably.  You watch her throw it on the ground and stalk off without a word to anyone.  Only once she’s a safe distance away, you pick it up and find that it’s a shakily written diary entry, doubtless inked by the hunter staying here.  It is a stricken account of a skirmish between the Templars and mages where several refugees were caught in the crossfire.  The hunter’s horror is apparent in every word, but as you read, you think you identify the passage that drove Lilith away.  “A refugee was still burning. His arm went up to a templar. The templar used his sword. It went up and down. Up and down. There were pieces of black.”  The worst part, to you, comes right after that, when the hunter recounts the Templar preparing to rape a dying woman, and the very last line leaves you chilled.  “I want it to go out of my head please, Maker.  I been good, I want it to go out of my head.”)

You have to find the main camps for both sides and clear them out.  If nothing else, this will stop the attacks on the locals, but the secondary goal is to be an assertion of the Inquisition's power, a show of force to both sides that says "We're in charge now".  This is how Dora frames the situation at least, in a letter that arrives on the eve of the third day.  Strictly speaking, you'll be in charge of nothing but Haven and a few refugee camps, but it's the message that counts.

There’s an argument over the fire that night about which group you should focus on first.  Lilith argues (wrongly) for hunting down the mages first while you argue (correctly) for finding the Templars.  Beatrice, to your surprise, agrees with Lilith, calmly explaining that the combined magic of so many volatile mages running loose is the greater threat, but Camila sides with you, pointing out that from everything you’ve found so far, the Templars are the ones doing the most harm to the innocent.  Solas doesn’t comment on either position, seemingly neutral, but Mary shuts you all down while testing the tension in her crossbow string.

“We don’t know shit about where either side is camping out,” she says.  “We’ve got nothing to go on.  Until we do, focusing on one will just make us sloppy and give the other time to regroup.  We have to be smart about this.”  Since your group has an even six, she suggests splitting up, and claims authority to divide you into teams as follows: Lilith, Beatrice, and Camila on one, and you, her, and Solas on the other.  Her directive after that is simple: walk around and look for shit.  “But don’t even think about rushing in somewhere without getting the rest of us first.”  At first you think she’s saying this to you, but she actually looks at Lilith, who rolls her eyes hard but doesn’t argue further.

You follow through with Mary’s plan the next morning after a breakfast of scrambled eggs and nut bread with jam that had been gifted to you by a merchant at the Crossroads (side note: you love eggs).  You, Mary, and Solas decide to investigate north of camp, back through the Crossroads to where rocky crags and unassuming caves could hide a small force with ease.  Lilith, Beatrice, and Camila head westward, where the river runs and offers many tempting spots to camp.  You agree collectively to regroup at your camp on Lake Luthias at nightfall.

You have to walk carefully as you make your way through the crags.  The terrain is uneven and prone to sudden dips and inclines.  You nearly twist your ankle stepping on a rock concealed under moss, and you wonder idly if Solas goes barefoot in order to avoid such mishaps.

You find nothing in the crags themselves, save for the odd, tiny cave where the occasional spider or smuggler stash sits.  Druffalo lumber lazily past you, seemingly quite confident that you won’t attack them, but other than that your trek is uneventful.

About four hours into your search, during which time you cover a fairly impressive amount of ground, you stop for a snack before changing course toward the small cliffs and ponds further north of the crags.  Mary speculates that these might be more promising, as a consistent water supply would be important for any group settling in for an extended stay.  You keep hiking well into the afternoon, trying to be as thorough as possible.  The midday sun begins its descent in the west when you finally see it.  Something quite bizarre.  A giant pillar of ice sticks out the ground, standing some fifteen feet tall by your estimate, if not more.  More accurately, it sticks out a frozen pond a little bit larger than your camp, where it is joined by several others.

Mary stops you in your tracks when she notices this too, making you duck low and move to the side, toward a cluster of large rocks overlooking the water.  The three of you take cover there, peeking your heads up carefully to survey the scene.

The pond is thoroughly frozen.  The ice is apparently thick enough to walk on, as eight armed men are currently walking on it with careful steps.  They are armored, but they don’t bear any identifiable symbol or emblem.  They appear to guard the entrance to some kind of cave nestled into the rocky wall that towers over the pond.

“Those are sellswords,” Mary says confidently.

“How do you know?”

“They’re dressed like soldiers, but there’s no consistency in their gear.  Organized armies like to have all their guys wear the same stuff.  These guys don’t have that.  They’re mercs, mark my words.”

“Does that help or hurt our chances?”

She frowns.  “Too early to say.  But they don’t wear the colors of any of the well-known companies, so they’re probably just small-timers.”

The entrance to the cave is blocked by a magical barrier, warping the air and glowing bright green.  At first, it doesn’t seem particularly daunting, but Solas frowns when he sees it.

"We will not be able to penetrate that barrier," he explains when you ask.  "It is too powerful."

"How can that be?"

He scratches his chin thoughtfully.  "Likely, they are using a talisman or rune of some kind to keep it in place, something they can activate or deactivate as necessary."  He hums.  “It requires a certain level of training to create, so I would hazard a guess that one of the mages inside is experienced and likely Circle-trained, if not more.”

Mary curses softly.  "So how do we get inside then?"

Solas hums, looking hard at the swirling currents of the barrier, analyzing them.  "A difficult problem, which may require a creative solution.”

You all puzzle over this for a time, squinting at the barrier and biting your lip.

"Well, what if I try to go through it?” You ask.

Solas tilts his head.  “How so, Ava?”

"When we talked, you said that Hope could help me overcome otherwise impassable obstacles.”  He begins to smile, catching on quickly to your meaning.

‘"You want to phase through it?"

You shrug.  “I dunno.  It’s worth a try.”

“What are you two talking about?” Mary asks, sounding a little irritated.

You turn to her, starting to feel the tiniest bit excited.  “Mary, remember when we fought that huge demon at the Breach, and it almost hit me?”

Mary frowns.  “Yeah, that damn near gave me a heart attack.”

“But it didn’t hit me,” you explain.  “Because I phased through it.  My body changed so that its claw went right through me.  I can pass through things, or things can pass through me, if I phase.”

“It’s true, Mary,” Solas confirms when she looks skeptical.  “And when I think about it further, I have a good feeling that Ava would be able to phase through the barrier if she tried.”

She looks at you.  “And that’s one of your… things with your buddy, is it?”

You frown right back at her.  “Yes, I can do it thanks to my Friend.”  Mary just shakes her head.  “Why not?”

“It’s dangerous, kid,” Mary says, not ungently.  “You barely know anything about your whole deal with this spirit.  You don’t know how volatile it could be.”

“With all due respect, Mary, I believe this is a negative overreaction,” Solas says.  “Ava will not become an abomination simply by phasing through a barrier.”

“You don’t know that,” Mary insists, shutting you down before you can argue.  “No, we’re scrapping that plan.  No more discussions.”  She tugs the back of your shirt and starts moving out from the rocks.  “We’re heading back to camp to talk to the others about all this.  Then, as a group, we’ll decide what to do.  No back-talk,” she growls when you open your mouth.  “Let’s go, we’re losing daylight.”  Solas gives you a commiserating look before helping you stand and follow Mary’s footsteps.

You find the other half of your group already sitting at the fire by the time you return, talking seriously while Camila stirs together a stew.

"Any luck?" You ask Beatrice, who is the first to notice your approach.

"We found the Templar camp," Lilith says before Beatrice can utter a word.  "They've claimed a section of the river running across the West Road, guarding it like brigands."  There is unmasked disdain in her voice, something you have yet to hear her express when talking about the Templars.  She's rubbing a rag along the blade of her sword with quick, harsh strokes, the only other sign of her anger.

"They seem to maintain a force of 50 at any given time, with the rest spreading out as we've seen." Beatrice picks up the telling from here.  "A mix of knights and archers, with 1 knight-captain presiding over them."

"Nice job," you compliment as you sit down in the spot next to her.  "How did you guys find the camp?"  In answer, Beatrice produces a number of rolls of paper from her bag and hands it to you before accepting a bowl of stew from Camila.

You unroll the notes and read.  The first thing you notice is the neatness of the handwriting.  Words inked by practiced fingers talk of the "call of the Maker" and "the Just" and "righteousness".  They urge all Templars to join them on the West Road.  One line in particular stands out to you, twisting your stomach, making you unable to eat despite how good the stew smells. "By their rebellion, they have forfeited their right to live.  They are not people, and any order that asks us to end this just and righteous battle is a lie."  They are not people.  They are not people.

"So they just left these for anyone to find?" You ask, swallowing against a sudden, bitter taste in your mouth.  "That's kind of dumb, isn't it?"

"Arrogant," Lilith corrects, still polishing with violent strokes.  "That's what they are.  Arrogant and senseless.  To shamelessly disobey the Lord Seeker?  To dare encourage their comrades to do the same?  It's unacceptable!"

Your brow furrows.  Okay, what's all that about?

As if reading your question off your face, Beatrice quietly points to the second note again.  You reread, and on the second pass you notice the mention of a Lord Seeker and his supposed directive to withdraw from the Hinterlands and instead gather in Val Royeaux.  The reason for this order isn't stated, but the author clearly thinks it isn't worth following.

"So they're going rogue."

“In a word, yes.”

"This knight-captain," Lilith growls, finally discarding the rag and not-quite slamming the sword back into its sheath.  "He will not dictate his own agenda against the order of the Seekers.  I will not allow it."

"Did you guys have any luck with the mages?" Camila changes the subject while taking one of Lilith’s hands and placing a bowl in it with a smile.  Surprisingly, Lilith quiets, abandoning whatever diatribe she was about to start and accepting the stew with a stilted "thank you".

"We found them," Mary confirms.  "But not much else."

"What do you mean?"

"They're hiding out in a cave," you explain, moving your spoon around, hoping your appetite will return if you do it enough times.  "Next to this pond northwest of the Crossroads.  It doesn’t look big from the outside, but we couldn't see inside to confirm."

"Why not?" Beatrice asks.

You shrug.  "Big magic barrier in the way.  We think we can get around it when the time comes…” Mary glares harshly at you.  “But we'll be stuck walking in blind regardless."

"They've got mercs guarding the entrance for them, though," Mary adds after watching to make sure you won’t mention your idea.  "Which makes me think there aren't as many hiding out in there as it seems."

"How do you figure that?" Asks Camila, finally sitting to eat her own portion.

"If you were a group of mages, drunk on power and itching for war, would you hire sellswords to fight your battles for you if you had the numbers to do it yourself?" Mary responds, drawing head shakes from everyone.  "Exactly.  They're not as unified as they look, at least not this offshoot. That's not a guarantee, of course, and we still have to kill the mercs before we go anywhere, but I'd bet 5 royals that there's a lot fewer of them than they've made it seem."

You are still left with the question of who to eliminate first.  You have more information on the Templars, but they might have more numbers.  The mages might be less organized, but you’ll be walking into a situation with no sense for how it will play out.  There’s also the how and when to consider.  Mary proposes attacking at night, but if you attack the mages you’ll not only be metaphorically in the dark but literally as well.

To your surprise, Lilith completely changes her tune from your morning argument, declaring strongly that you must defeat the Templars first.  You can tell by the others’ expressions that they are similarly taken off guard by this turn, all except Mary, who gazes at the Seeker with a quiet understanding.

“Okay, so we attack the Templars at night,” you say.  “Wait ‘til they’re all asleep and jump them in their tents?”

Beatrice shakes her head.  “If even one of them gets the space to sound the alarm, we’ll be doomed.  It’s too risky.”

“That’s if we just go in, swords-swinging,” Mary contends ponderously.  “If we could keep them off guard and off their game, then it won’t matter as much if they realize we’re doing it.”

“Allow me to make a suggestion,” Solas cuts in for the first time since you arrived back at camp.  He stands relaxed against a large rock, stroking his chin, his empty bowl long abandoned next to him.  “In my dreams, I once witnessed a battle in the Exalted Plains.  A small force was able to defeat a much larger one by spreading panic and chaos among their ranks.  They invaded the camp in the dead of night, dressed in dark clothing to hide from sentry torches, and carried with them small jars or oil and alcohol.  These they hid throughout the camp in unassuming places near wooden crates and tents, anything flammable.  They waited until the next night, and when the time came to strike, archers in their ranks struck the jars with flaming arrows.”

“Fire spreads, and suddenly it’s a free-for-all,” Mary concludes with a growing smirk.  “We strike in the middle of it and pick ‘em off like sheep.”

Solas grins and inclines his head.  “Indeed, Mary.”

It’s a good plan, provided you can pull it off.  You’ll need supplies, time, and luck on your side.  The first you should be able to acquire from the merchants at the Crossroads.  The second you’ll have so long as the Templars aren’t alerted to your movements in advance.  As for the third… Lilith insists that luck doesn’t determine the outcome of battles, diligent soldiers do, and just this once, you hope she’s right.

So it’s decided.  The Templars go down first.  You all sleep that night and head back to the Crossroads at dawn’s break.  It’s even easier than you expect to convince the merchants there to give you what you need.  They hand over two dozen jars of tarry black oil with barely a promise of compensation from the Inquisition.  One of them, a purveyor of hard liquors chased out of his distillery by the Templars, supplies you with a score of bottles of a Ferelden favorite called Dragon Piss.  Your ribs ache something fierce with the force of not laughing during the purchasing discussion, and Mary slaps you upside the head when you can’t stop making both dragon and piss jokes on the way back to camp.

The in-depth planning stage is next.  Beatrice, Lilith, and Camila collaborate to map out the camp from everything they remember.  Beatrice, predictably (adorably), pulls out her notebook and dictates to the other two as they attempt to draw on a roll of canvas also gifted by the merchants.  They plot out the clusters of tents and the position of each campfire, making tiny X’s wherever they identify a good place for a jar.  You, Mary, and Solas take charge of planning the attack itself.  The soldiers in Solas’s story only had flaming arrows to rely on, but you have that and three mages too.

“Your affinity for fire will be most helpful, Ava,” Solas says.  “You need no oil to set tents aflame, but you should perhaps focus on the cookfires throughout the camp.  They are all centrally located, and upending them will ensure the flames spread quickly and thoroughly.”

You think back to Beatrice’s promise to teach you an immolation spell, and see her look up from her notes to nod at you.  “Beatrice’s magic will help too,” you point out.  “There’s not much scarier than out-of-control fire and lightning bolts raining down from the sky.”

So it’s decided.  Camila, Mary, and Beatrice, deemed collectively to be the stealthiest of the group, are charged with placing the pots at midnight.  It’s a risky operation, one that will require them to leave most of their armor and tools behind, but Beatrice’s observations about the Templar patrol patterns provide windows for silent infiltration.  

That afternoon, Lilith and Mary travel with a band of scouts to transport the makeshift munitions.  There are unoccupied stone ruins close to the camp but not within its direct line of sight.  You can’t ask for a better hiding spot than that.  While they’re gone, Beatrice takes you to the lakeside to teach you the spell.

“You want to picture it in your mind,” she explains, steady and calm, standing next to you as you grip your staff and call fire to your fingertips.  “An eruption of flame.  See it surging up from the ground.  A gout.  A geyser.  Then, contain it.  Like a lid on a boiling pot, contain the surge.”  She reaches out to carefully adjust the height of your hand, her skin nearly as warm as the inferno waiting for your command.  “You have to hold it tight in order to position it properly.  Let it go too soon and it will ignite right under your feet.”

“Not interested in being a roast chicken,” you joke.

“You’d be the sorriest roast chicken I’ve ever seen.”

You drop your hand in shock, mana dissipating with your loss of focus, and your head whips around to stare at her.  Did she really just say that?  Sure enough, she’s looking at you with a tiny smirk, her eyes sparkling.  You put your hands on your hips with exaggerated indignance.  “Beatrice, are you implying that some snooty Orlesian chef wouldn’t want to serve this,” you wave pointedly at your figure, “up as a main course in some weird wine sauce?”

“Of course not, Ava,” she denies, but her smirk is growing.  “I was implying you wouldn’t even be an appetizer.”

You gasp, clutching at imaginary pearls.  “Rude!  Just for that, you don’t get to eat me no matter how good the wine sauce is!”

Your choice of words registers in your brain a second too late, threatening to stop your heart as you see them register with Beatrice too.  Her jaw drops, her smirk transforming into a surprised O, and heat that has nothing to do with fire magic paints her cheekbones pink.

Your own face feels like it’s being roasted.  You’re sure it’s bright red as you quickly look away from her, stuttering, “Uh!  I, um… Th-that came out wrong!  I wasn’t implying… anything!”

You see her suck in a soft inhale out of the corner of your eye, visibly composing herself.  “It’s fine,” she says, still sounding a little breathless.  “Let’s… get back to the spell.”

“Great!” You squeak, hastily turning back to the lake whose water continues to swirl serenely, unaware or indifferent to how you’ve just made an ass of yourself.  “So, containing it, right?  Until it’s in position?  Where should I aim it?”

She clears her throat loudly.  “Ahem, aim for the center of the water.  Then the flames won’t spread through the grass.”

“Right, got it.”  You force all of your attention onto the task at hand, thinking about lids on pots harder than you’ve thought of anything before.

You raise your hand toward the lake and call your magic again.  The flames come, dancing around your fingers, waiting for you to direct them.  You picture them moving out from you, gliding unseen across the surface of the water until they sit just above the center.  You can almost feel them tickle and spark against your palm as you hold them still in that spot, waiting, counting down from 5.  At zero, you let them go, and sure enough, an enormous blaze of fire bursts from thin air as if pulled from the lake itself.  It extinguishes immediately upon contact with the water, but you beam at your success, bouncing up and down on your feet.  “Did you see that, Beatrice?!”

“I did,” she confirms, her familiar, gentle smile back in place.  Some pink lingers in her cheeks, as you’re sure it does in your own, but the awkwardness of the previous moment has passed.  “Well done, Ava.  Let’s keep going.”

That’s how you spend the day until it’s time to execute the first part of the plan.  The rest of you travel with the chosen infiltrators as backup should anything go wrong.  Moving through the pitch darkness is fucking difficult as shit, to put it mildly, but Solas shows you how to conjure Veilfire in your palm as a makeshift torch, which makes avoiding uneven rocks and tree roots a little easier.  He doesn’t have an ounce of trouble moving through the dark, you notice.  Indeed, none of the others seem to either.  It’s a little infuriating.  You know you’re still getting used to walking again, but seriously, what’s the fucking secret?

The ruins on the West Road are about 200 yards from the camp, give or take 10 due to the various rocks and little hills that apparently break up the camp (you can’t see them, so you take Beatrice’s word for it).  Camila takes the lead when you arrive.  Small and quick, she sheds her extraneous items, keeping only a pair of daggers strapped to her thighs, and slinks into night.  Her first responsibility is to watch the sentries patrol and signal to Mary and Beatrice when to move.  You learn something else about Camila here, she’s apparently excellent at mimicking bird calls.

You wait in the ruins with Lilith and Solas, the former crouched on a worn chunk of debris, her eyes trained in the direction of the camp, unwavering, ready to charge at the first sign of something amiss.  The latter pays no attention to any of this, standing serenely in the center of the ruin, where the distant, twinkling stars can be seen through shattered stone.  His face is tilted toward the sky and his eyes are closed, almost like he’s listening to something.  You stand next to him, looking up at the stars.

“What do you know of the constellations, Ava?” He asks softly, without opening his eyes.

You shrug.  “Nothing, really.  That people think they exist, I guess.”

“You do not see them, I take it?”

“Nah.  You can’t make me believe that someone took those little dots and deliberately arranged them into dragons and boats for us to gawk at from down here.  If they did, they were kinda shit at their job.”

“Hmm, perhaps.  Still, deliberate or not, we may find valuable insights in those little dots, as you call them.  Peoples both ancient and modern have gazed at the sky and found meaning in its patterns, using them for navigation as well as religion and culture.  For instance, it was common practice in ancient Tevinter to create astrariums, magical tools designed to analyze each constellation in search of secrets.”

“Why?” You scoff.  “Did they have their fill of secrets here on the ground?  Were they so bored with their lives that they had to make up shapes out of lights they would never touch?”

Unexpectedly, this makes him smile.  “You remind me of myself as a young man.  You treasure the here and now, life lived from moment to moment, never wasting energy on things out of your reach.”

“Are you insulting me?”

He shakes his head.  “No, merely pointing out the similarity.  It is not wrong to live in the present, where our actions often have their greatest effect.  These are simply the musings of an old man who spends much of his time reliving memories through dreams.  Old men tend to wallow in the unchanging past while grasping feverishly for the intangible future.”

“Solas, you’re like, 40 at most.”

He laughs, a quiet, unassuming noise that blends into the sounds of the night.  “You flatter me, Ava.”

The hoot of an owl interrupts the conversation.  Camila’s signal.  Damn, she really is good at that.

“They’re moving in,” Lilith informs the two of you.  You leave Solas to his musings and join Lilith at her perch, keeping a safe distance between you as you do.

You can just barely make out Mary and Beatrice moving silently over the grass, each of them transporting a tray of tightly tied pots and bottles.  You wait with baited breath, switching your grip on your staff every few minutes to wipe the sweat off your palms.  Lilith and Solas may as well be statues.

It’s a long time to wait.  You can’t see what’s happening, but you know it’s going to take multiple trips through the sentry lines to place all the pots without being seen.  You eventually get tired of standing, sitting down with your knees tucked into your chest.

When the retreat signal sounds, it startles you.  It’s not a bad signal, it actually means they succeeded and are heading back, but the pregnant silence was so heavy that its removal makes you feel unexpectedly weightless.  Another minute, and you see Lilith relax ever so slightly as three shapes move toward the ruins.  When they arrive, you scan their faces, looking for indication of worry or injury, but find none.  Mary smirks, Camila winks at you, and Beatrice squeezes your shoulder as she passes, gracing you with a reassuring smile.  They don their armor and weapons again with practiced movements, and as a group, you retreat from the ruins and head back to your camp.

There is brief discussion of how the plan went and any adjustments that had to be made, but overall the infiltration was a resounding success.  You retire to your tents with Solas and Mary taking the first watch.  As you shrug out of your armor and take your boots off, you see Beatrice and Lilith talking quietly by the Seeker’s tent.  You can’t tell what they’re discussing, but Beatrice reaches out to touch Lilith’s elbow, her deceptively strong fingers holding the other woman steadily.  Lilith’s expression twists, then opens, a flash of vulnerability elicited by whatever Beatrice just said.  Whatever is happening, it’s an intensely private moment.  You look away out of courtesy.

The morning arrives gray and dim.  Clouds obscure the sun and put a wrinkle of tension in Beatrice’s brow at breakfast.  “We should be mindful of rain.”

“Those jars are sealed,” Mary says with a shrug.  “And with sparky here on our side, getting the flames going won’t be an issue.”

“But it will create mud,” Beatrice points out, setting her bowl of mushy oats and dried fruit (“Beatrice, that’s gross as fuck.”  “I’m not accepting critique from girls who eat plain hardtack in water.”) aside and reaching for her notebook.  “If it does, the fire may not spread effectively along the uneven slopes.  And they will have an easier time putting the flames out if they can roll in mud.”

“But then they’ll be on the ground,” Camila says, shrugging.  “And it will be twice as easy to shoot them.”  You can all only concede to her excellent point.

It doesn’t rain, ultimately, but the mood in camp is solemn regardless.  The day is spent conducting preparations.  Camila and Mary inventory their arrows and bolts while Lilith checks every buckle and strap on her armor, including some you didn’t know it was possible to have.  She’s silent today, not even wasting breath to make snippy remarks to you.  That’s how you know the specter of the upcoming fight is really getting to her.  That, and the fact that Beatrice keeps glancing in her direction with that furrow of worry ever present.

You practice your spell over the course of the morning, training until you can hit a series of increasingly distant targets almost instantly.  You stop at midday to avoid exhausting your mana, turning instead to watch Mary talk strategy with the handful of Inquisition soldiers who will be fighting with you.

Dinner is a nearly silent affair.  Lilith advises you all to eat light, which is fine because you still feel good from your breakfast, no matter what Beatrice says about it, and your rations at lunch included some absolutely awesome jerky.  You’re settled in to eat some more when Mary suddenly frowns at you before prying one of your hands free and shoving an apple into it.  “Um, thanks?”  You say, bewildered.  She rolls her eyes and doesn’t respond, instead sitting with her own meal while repeatedly glancing at you until you toss away the barren core.

When the time comes to move, the night air takes on a new feeling.  It didn’t rain, but a chilly mist has settled over the lake, just thick enough to obscure the path ahead.  Something about that feels distressingly appropriate.

Together, you are a band of 20 soon to face 50.  You could have summoned more soldiers from the Crossroads, or waited for more to arrive from Haven, but the former would leave the refugees unprotected, and the latter would take too much time.  Whatever happens, it has to be now, and the numbers you have, your skills, and your planning, will all have to be enough.

You reach the stone ruins where you waited the night before, and the plan commences like this.  Camila and three soldiers will go first, armed with bows and daggers, to pick off what sentries they can without raising the alarm.  Once they clear enough space, the archers will advance in two groups, taking positions around the camp to wait for the signal to strike.  You will go with one while Beatrice goes with the other.  Your team is responsible for setting the fires.  Your job is to light the arrows and then target the cooking pits.  Meanwhile, Beatrice and her team will wait to bring lightning and steel-tipped fury down on the Templars when they scatter.  And once their ranks are broken and panicked, Lilith, Mary, and Solas will lead the final charge.

That’s how it’s supposed to work, at least.

Camila is dressed for war: bow over one shoulder, quiver full, and three pairs of knives strapped across her torso and legs.  Without her usual mischievous grin in place, she looks downright fearsome, ready to hunt and kill whoever gets in her way.  The three soldiers chosen to go with her are two humans, a man and woman, and a female elf, all similarly armed.

Camila approaches the five of you before joining them.  She graces you with a smile as small and quick as she before saying, “Here goes nothing, I guess.”

“You’re ready, Camila,” Beatrice says, reaching out to squeeze her elbow as she did to Lilith the night before.  “Maker be with you.”

“Knock ‘em dead, Cami,” Mary tells her with a smirk.

“Do stay safe,” Solas adds.  “I would like to continue our discussion from earlier.”  Camila’s expression brightens, making you wonder what they might have talked about.

“Eyes up,” Lilith commands, short but sincere, allowing the tension in Camila’s frame to ease minutely.

Then, she turns to you, and you struggle for the right thing to say.  You’ve gotten to know Camila a fair bit over these past days, but the friendship you’re slowly building pales in comparison to the bond already well-established between her and the others.  There’s a distance there, a line drawn between you and them that yet remains uncrossed.

So, in the absence of anything heartfelt or clever to say, you do what you do best.  “Have a knife time, Cam.  Don’t bow out before we get there.”  This draws exasperated groans from everyone within earshot, but you hear Camila’s soft snort, and it makes the weight pressing on your chest a little lighter.

Two minutes later, she is gone, her trio of assassins following close behind.  As with the night before, you wait anxiously for an owl’s hoot, the signal to move forward.  It comes five minutes later, right when it feels like your grip on your staff can’t tighten any further.

“That’s our cue,” Beatrice tells you.  “Are you ready?”

You exhale slowly.  “As I’ll ever be.”  Your shoulders abruptly feel warm under your pauldrons, like Your Friend is resting Her hands on them, not to hold you back, but to embolden and reassure you.

“Trust your team, Ava,” Beatrice advises, gifting you with another of her gentle grins.  “We’re at your side.”

Her smile coaxes out one of your own.  “Right back at ya, Bea.  Let’s kick Templar ass.”

Lilith catches your arm as you’re about to leave with your team of archers.  Her expression is hard but, for once, not actively hostile.  “If you see the knight-captain,” she says.  “Leave him.  He is mine.”  You are caught, momentarily, by her eyes.  They are dark, lovely, and filled with a sharp-toothed determination that evokes a second of pity for the man in question.  He’s fucked.

You give a nod of understanding, and she releases you.  Hesitantly, she adds, “Don’t set yourself on fire.”

“...Thanks, Lilith.”  It’s as good a send-off as any, you suppose.

Your squad moves on silent feet toward the camp.  You can see the entrance ahead of you some 100 yards away, and you give it a wide berth, already spotting two Templars guarding it.  Instead, you sneak around the side, up the small, steep hills and through the trees, passing over the bodies of sentries killed to prepare your arrival.  At the top of a steep ridge standing some thirty feet above the camp, you see one of Camila’s assassins, the human woman, waving you over.  She greets you with a tricky grin before turning your attention to the camp below.  She points, guiding your eyes to different spots among the tents and boxes, and in each one, you can just glimpse a pot or bottle sticking out, perfectly positioned for an arrow’s strike.  Once you nod your understanding, she takes her leave, disappearing into the darkness like a ghost to rejoin Camila.

You wait, scanning the rocky hill opposite yours, and sure enough, you see four figures creep into view, one of them being Beatrice.  Her squad stays low but ready, waiting for the signal.

When it comes, it sounds for you.  Your archers nock their arrows and hold them up for you to light.  You take a breath and summon a tiny flame between your thumb and index finger.  It’s big enough to get the job done without creating enough light to draw unwanted attention.  They each hold their tips to the flame before stepping back and taking position on the ridge’s edge.  Their arrows glow like fireflies in the distance, looking almost harmless.  But then they draw their bows back and fire.

The first volley strikes quite anticlimactically.  There’s the thrum of the bowstrings, the keening whish as they cut through the air, and a distinctly mundane shattering sound as they connect with the jars, like the crashing of the box Marabel dropped when you first awoke in Haven.  What happens next, however, cannot be described as mundane or anticlimactic.  The first flames catch, tiny at first, but then they grow and spread, adhering to wooden crates and licking at the billowing tarp of tents.

Several more arrows fly from your perch, hitting their targets with merciless precision.  You can see the sparks catching in all areas of the camp, from the lowest point at the muddy banks to the highest slope where you imagine the knight-captain sleeps, unaware of Fate’s enclosing jaws.

Once all the small fires are lit, the archer next to you, a slim elven man with dark hair and bright green eyes, gives you an encouraging nudge.  It’s your turn now.  At this moment, you are not a girl.  Instead, you are a match, an accelerant, the falling lamp that burns down the barn.  Fire seeking oil.  You target the cooking pit closest to your position, where two Templars sit, not yet aware of the inferno steadily building around them.  The magic comes to your call like a dog, heeding the weight of your hand, and letting it go is as easy as closing your eyes.

There are shouts, shrieks, curses.  Not just from the two men now writhing on the ground but from everywhere, up and down the slopes, inside the tents…

They come stumbling out in singles and pairs, these terrors that haunt your dreams.  They crawl through the dirt like rats, coughing, screaming as some part of their clothing ignites and heat eats away at their flesh.  You light more fires, watching them explode into existence one by one.  Sparks and chips of glowing hot wood pelt any Templars who get too close, and one explosion propels an iron pot directly into a man’s face as he tries to run by.

“We’re under attack!” One of them yells from somewhere you can’t see, but no sooner do you hear the words than a bolt of lightning descends from the sky, silencing them.  Beatrice has joined the fight.

It’s almost quick from there.  Some of the Templars realize where this assault is coming from and attempt to move on your position, only to be pushed back by your fireballs and cut down by metallic rain.  On the other side, they try to do the same with Beatrice, meeting an even swifter end.  Camila signals for the charge, and the screams of the burning are overpowered by the battle cry of the Inquisition.

You see Beatrice’s team abandon their position as Lilith and the others rush the knights below.  The stench of smoke, burning hair, and cooking meat floods your nose as you follow them, descending into the fray.  Camila’s squad maintains the high ground while your team and Beatrice’s trade their bows for axes, cleaving savagely into the nearest Templar they can find.

You focus your energy on casting barriers and controlling the flames so they don’t hinder your side.  To your left, Beatrice is battering an archer with her staff, knocking his bow aside and using the opening to push lightning into his chest with her hand.  He collapses dead on the grass, and she advances to the next without missing a beat.  To your right, Solas ducks deftly around a knight’s swing, using his staff to trip the man directly into a wall of flame.

In front of you, another knight prepares to stab Mary from behind.  You rush him, slipping between the two just in time to catch the blow with your own body.  It never lands.  Instead, a pulse of golden light explodes out from you, just like before, and sends the knight crashing into a burning crate some ten yards away.

“Thanks, kid!” Mary says.  “Now duck!” She shoves you down to one knee before launching a trio of crossbow bolts into a Templar charging your flank.  Then, she pulls you up and turns you so you’re back-to-back, a bulwark, a fiery stockade, never to be overtaken.

It’s not a fight without losses.  Although your plan was a success, you’re still facing Templars, and their superior numbers and training cannot be discounted.  On all sides of you, you see Inquisition soldiers dying.  Sometimes they take a Templar with them, dealing a fatal blow with their last gasp, and sometimes they never get the chance, torn apart before they can even lift their blade.  Camila’s squad is eventually pushed back and forced to scatter, but not before taking down a handful more knights while retreating.  They join you on the ground, trading arrows for daggers, and you cast a barrier over them to keep them safe, but the battle is reaching its most dangerous point.

You and Mary are forced to separate to avoid being hacked apart by a man with a longaxe as tall as you.  Mary tries to spin and counter, but his gauntleted fist collides with her face, knocking her to the ground.  You swing at his back with all your might, aiming the sickle end of your staff at his neck, but he knocks it away with a flick of his arm and grabs you by the throat.

You lose your grip on your staff, abandoning it to scrabble frantically at his icy-cold fingers.  You gasp soundlessly as you are lifted off the ground and held aloft, forced to stare through the man’s helmet into his cold, cruel eyes.  

“So,” he growls.  His voice is gravelly from the smoke, but his tone is mocking.  “A little pack of mages and their lackeys think they can defeat me and my boys?”  This is the knight-captain, you realize, as your windpipe is slowly crushed.  “Well, I’ll give you this, girl.  The fire was a nice touch, but playtime is over now.”  Phase, you need to phase out of his hold.  But he’s using all of his Templar power on you, suppressing your magic until you can’t even feel it.  If you can just reach your Friend, you know you can escape, but you’re starting to panic with every second your lungs beg for air.  “I’ll send your unnatural soul straight to the Void.  The Maker guides my hand!”  Unnatural soul.  Sir Francis had said the same thing while beaming with delight as she killed you.

The image of her ugly, smiling face is all it takes.  Your panic turns to anger, and your desperation becomes determination.  No matter what happens, you refuse to die to another Templar blade.

You draw your feet up to your chest and kick them into his breastplate, all while you visualize your neck slipping through his clenched fingers.  It works.  He stumbles back a step as you fall to the ground in a heap.  You immediately scramble to grab your staff and stand up, but he is already lifting his axe to liberate your head from your neck.  

He tenses his body to bring it down on you, but the trajectory of his swing abruptly changes, burying the axe head in the dirt several inches in front of you.  You realize why a second after it happens.  A chunky stone, just big enough to fit in your hand, lies on the ground, and the knight-captain is rubbing the side of his helmet.  Someone hit him square in the face with a rock, saving your life in the process.

“Enough!”  You know that voice.  While the knight-captain is distracted, you get to your feet and put distance between you, all while your gaze searches wildly for the exclamation’s source.  You find it, find her, standing tall amidst the inferno some yards away, her armor covered in ash, her sword dripping red, her black hair shining in the firelight.  Lilith.

The knight-captain recovers himself, turning to face his new challenger, and he snarls upon seeing the crest of the Seekers on her chest.  “So the betrayal is complete,” he spits.  “For all his talk of justice and glory, the Lord Seeker is truly just a drooling Chantry dog!”

“Spare me your petty insults,” Lilith snaps.  “You are the traitors here.  And now you’ll pay the price.”

“You should be on our side, Seeker!” He shouts, pointing the ax-head at her.  “We are the champions of the Just!  Why will you not stand with us?”

“I stand where I have always stood, in the Maker’s guidance.”  Your mind is cast back to the war table in Haven, where Mother Superion said those same words to Duretti.  “I stand with the Seekers, and with the Inquisition.”

“The Inquisition?” He sneers.  “Then you are doubly a traitor, and will be dealt with accordingly!”  He grabs his longaxe with both hands, lets out a thunderous roar, and charges at Lilith, who simply takes her stance and readies her shield.

It’s breathtaking, in a way, the scene that plays out before you.  You compared Lilith to a bull when she fought demons at the Breach, and that’s still true, but now you witness her true ferocity unleashed.  Not a bull, but a wildcat.  Not a woman, but a weapon.  She moves around the knight-captain’s first strike, letting it glance harmlessly off her shield, and retaliates by slamming her pommel into his side, forcing him off balance.  He knocks her blade aside when she tries to stab him through the gap in his chainmail, but she only rolls with the force, using the momentum to drive the edge of her shield into his jaw.  He stumbles back, clutching at his mouth, barely able to avoid a second hit by ducking, dragging his axe along the ground and spitting out blood and teeth.  Lilith is relentless.  She chases him, stomping down on the axe’s shaft before he can lift it again and smacking him across the head with the flat of her sword, knocking his helmet loose.  He is forced to abandon the weapon to catch her next swing with his hands, and she slams her shield into his chest to push him away, hitting him over and over until the pristine emblem of the Templars warps and dents under the merciless blows.

The battle continues to rage around you, but you can’t pay attention to it.  Nothing seems capable of disturbing this moment.  The knight-captain cannot withstand Lilith’s onslaught, the hurricane that she’s become.  He falls backward, coughing and spluttering.  She must have broken his ribs.  He holds up his hands, gasping and pleading.  “Please, Seeker,” he begs.  “Do not do this!  We fight in the Maker’s name!  He would not want this!”

Lilith is unappeased.  “When you greet Him, feel free to make your case.  I don’t need to argue for mine.”  She plants one booted foot on his chest, smearing blood, mud, and soot across the battered insignia, and buries her sword in his neck.

From there the battle ends in an unceremonious fashion.  The remaining Templars are wiped out by your friends as Lilith withdraws her bloodied sword and kicks the knight-captain’s body to the side.  She spares you a single glance before walking away, dropping her weapons to help one of your injured archers to their feet.  You are left to stare at the man’s body, at the fatal puncture that still spurts with the last of his lifeblood, until Beatrice calls your name, and you turn away.

You don’t return to camp until after sunrise.  There are wounds to bandage, bodies to count, and lingering fires to put out.  Mary is bruised but alright.  Solas uses his magic to freeze a wet rag for her to hold against her eye.  His robes are dirty and torn, but he is unharmed.  Camila took a shallow slash across her stomach and forearm.  She winces as Beatrice cleans them with elfroot salve and a bottle of Dragon Piss that somehow survived the fight.  Like Solas, Beatrice is uninjured, although you can’t help but scan her body repeatedly for any sign of harm or discomfort.  You frequently catch her glancing over at you with the same concern, but the bruising on your neck has already faded away, and you feel fine, if exhausted.

Of the 14 soldiers who fought with you, 9 are dead, and there is no practical way you can carry them all back to the Crossroads for proper burial.  They will have to stay here, carefully separated from the dead Templars, until a larger force is able to pick them up.  Lilith has already ordered one of the surviving archers to place an Inquisition banner outside the entrance as a landmark.  Scout Harding can bring a team with shovels and a wagon once you send word of your success.  It will have to do.

You hike back to your lakeside camp at a limping pace, and it takes all of your willpower not to immediately collapse inside your tent and sleep until noon the next day.  Only when Beatrice gently undoes the buckles on your armor (after watching you fail at it for nearly three minutes) and pushes you toward your bed do you finally give in, falling unconscious before your head even hits the mat.

[loveandmurders]

Helloooo, I was wondering if I could request Sinclair sister who struggles with SH?

Hello love, thank you for this request <3 

I really hope you’re doing well and if you need to talk about anything, you can send me a message. Never stay alone if you feel like you’re struggling <3

This request is the most personnal thing I ever wrote on this blog because I did hurt myself for quite a while, and still do sometimes. This is also my darkest post over here. 

Not too sure if I love or hate this work (it had been very hard to write and readproof it before posting), but I still hope you’ll enjoy this in a way that’ll bring you some comfort. <3

And if you needed a sign to stop hurting yourself or not commit suicide today/tonight, this is it.

LET ALL THE ANGER AND HATRED OUT

Warnings: self harming (pulling you hair, bad position, scratching and cuting yourself), self hatred, insecurities, shame, suicidal thoughts, mentions of mental illness, mention of torturing and killing people (the twins’ solution to your SH isn’t a good one but you can’t except more from slashers)

You started to hurt yourself when you were a child.

At first, it was pulling at your hair or taking deliberately positions that would quickly be uncomfortable or hurtful. Thankfully Vincent was always there to stop you pulling at your hair, and Bo was finding way too much comfort in your presence so you always ended up on his lap or close by, that way he was unknowingly preventing you from hurting yourself. And when Lester was noticing how silent you were - which often meant you were going to hurt yourself - he would cheer you up and sleep with you, at night, to look after you.

When you became a teenage girl, you started to understand that you were actually hurting yourself. As a child, it was a subconscious defence mechanism, but as you grew up you realised what you were doing. And if you stopped pulling at your hair and taking bad positions - mostly because you started to enjoy your hair and because you wanted to have a healthy body (so your dad wouldn’t give you some made up painkillers you didn’t know the side effects of), you started to hurt yourself in other ways.

At first, you started to scratch your skin with your nails until you bled. As you continued to grow up in this very toxic family, you started to use a knife or a razor blade on your inner thighs and arms. You always did your best to tend your wounds afterwards, mostly because you didn’t want your brothers to find out. You knew they already had a lot to handle, and you loved to be able to bring them comfort, and not even more burden.

Plus, you felt awful, weak and pathetic afterwards. The more you hurt yourself and the more you hated yourself. It was a vicious circle but you just couldn’t help. It was like a drug. You felt so much better when you were punishing yourself, it felt like you were alive too. But once you were done, you would look at what you did; and you would feel empty sometimes, or you would start crying. Either way, you would mechanically go have a shower and try to patch everything up and burn anything with blood on so no one could know.

You were always putting on long enough sleeves too, because you were ashamed.

More than once you thought about killing yourself too, but you never did for your brothers. You knew how much they loved you, adored you, cherished you. You knew how Bo was always freaking out when you were out of his line of vision, how Vincent always kept an eye on you, how Lester was always looking at you when he made a joke to be sure you were laughing at it. 

So you didn’t commit suicide - to not break your brothers even more than they already were - but you continued to hurt yourself, even in your adulthood. There were better days, better weeks, better months than others. But there were also very dark times. Your lows were awfully low. If you brothers knew you could sometimes feel depressed and unhappy, no matter how much you would always try to hide it behind a smile, they never thought you were using blades against yourself. They always thought they would notice - but they probably were blind by their own insanity and mental illness. They couldn’t imagine that their joyful beloved baby sister could hate herself. How could she when she was the ray of sunshine in their life? When she was the only thing worth living for, even in this bloody and unhappy mess?

It was so easy for you to hurt yourself when you lived in your own flat, you didn’t even have to hide the bloody bandages anymore. But when you agreed to live with your brothers again, a sane part of yourself hoped this would help, hope you would feel better, or hope that the boys would notice something. The bigger part of yourself thought that if you had been able to hide it your whole childhood, you could continue doing it.

But the boys grew up too, they weren’t just angry, vulnerable, violent, desperate, broken teenagers. They were adults who used their own suffering and insanity to find prey, to kill them, to turn them into the main attraction of the town. They also spent several years without seeing you every day, so their eyes on you were more lucid. And if their love for you never wavered, it turned more protective and possessive with time.

That was how Vincent started to notice that some days you seemed to be hiding your arms, or that you were trying to not flinch when Bo would innocently grab you to show you something or have you sit down for a family dinner. He also noticed how long you could stay in the bathroom for a simple shower. Vincent learnt to observe and to stalk people as he grew up, and even though he hated to do anything that could make you feel uncomfortable, he couldn’t let anything happen to you.

He knew something was wrong. 

That day, after lunch, Bo went back to his garage, Lester left for an errand, and you went upstairs for a shower. Vincent stayed in the kitchen, and looked at the clock. 

It was over an hour your were in the bathroom now. 

Deadly silent in there too. 

His instinct was screaming at him to open the door separating the two of you, but he couldn’t do that, so he waited for you right behind it. 

You gasped when you opened the door and found him there, quite surprised and deep inside, a little bit panicked. You still smiled at him “You scared me” you chuckled even though you didn’t understand what he was doing there. You kept the towel you used to stop the bleeding closer to your chest so Vincent wouldn’t see it. You tried to move past him but he blocked you and you frowned.

“What, Vinny?” you asked

Why so long? He signed and your heart dropped. No one ever asked you this, and you didn’t think anyone would notice because the boys were always so busy with everything. When you were a teen, your parents would kick your arse if they heard the water running for too long, but they wouldn’t care otherwise. When you were a teen, Bo was too busy screaming, Vinny being in his own world and Lester trying to get his mother’s attention.

You shrugged “Just did a hair mask, took me longer… Why? Are you checking how long I stay in the bathroom now? It’s kinda creepy, Vince” you replied with a smile, trying to embarrass him so he would leave you alone, but he could see past your lies and noticed how your smile wasn’t reaching your eyes.

You good? What’s going on? He insisted and you bit on your bottom lip.

“Look I don’t know what you’re imagining…” you said as your brother reached for you and you accidentally let the towel fall. You didn’t even look at it, because you knew Vincent would see the blood on it. You looked away actually, feeling so ashamed. Vincent picked the towel up and for an instant he was simply speechless.

He hadn’t known what you were doing in the bathroom, but hurting yourself to the point of making yourself bleed was clearly not what he had imagined. He had thought that maybe you were staring at yourself and hating yourself and insulting yourself, like he often did. But hurting yourself... like that? 

He let the towel go and very carefully and gently he grabbed your arm and he lifted the sleeve up. The sight of the bandages turned his stomach up and down. He had no idea what to do. His heart was breaking. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed before either. He should have been smarter for your own sake.

He brought you against his chest and hugged you. You had to resist the urge to cry as you hugged him back.

“I’m fine, Vinny, I’m fine, I swear. I’m sorry about the towel, I’ll go buy a new one” you babbled, as if Vincent was caring about anything else but you. He remembered the hair pulling when you were a kid and he hated how he never thought it could have turned into something worse. “Vinny, please don’t tell Bo” you pleaded. “Or Lester. Please. I’ll stop, I promise” you begged him.

I’m sorry we haven’t noticed before. I’m sorry you never talked to us about it. Vincent replied as he cupped your face. You know we love you more than anything. Tell me what we can do to make this stop. He continued and you started to cry as you shook your head.

“I’m fine. You all have enough to handle with, I don’t want to be a burden. My skin regenerates well, if I put some cream on every morning and night, it’ll be all good soon.” you replied. You didn’t add that you had become quite good at hiding any marks with jewels or clothes.

In your state you hadn’t heard Bo coming inside the house. Vincent did, and even if he understood you wanted to keep this a secret, he needed Bo to watch over you too. Bo heard the two of you talking upstairs so he joined in. He saw the tears dripping down your face and in two big steps he was there, hugging you. He didn’t know what was going on, but he never was able to stand the sight of you crying.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked and you felt like you were going to cry even more. You didn’t answer, and as he was about to ask Vincent, he saw the bloody towel on the ground.

“Are ya hurt?” he instantly asked and he started to check on you with worried gestures and eyes. You gently pushed him away because you felt like you couldn’t breathe. But he didn’t let you do, he brought you closer before freezing when he saw the bandages. With what happened to his wrists, he understood right away. And it felt like a punch in his stomach. His baby sister had been hurting herself all those years and he hadn’t noticed? Like Vincent, guilt instantly creeped inside of him. As your big brothers, their job was to protect you and to make sure you were happy. How could they have failed so badly without realising it? Like Vincent, he hugged you, completely speechless, and you cried even more before pushing the two of them from you.

“This needs to stop” Bo sternly said because he had no idea how to handle the situation, and emotions weren’t his strong suit. You let out a dry laugh that broke their hearts even more.

“Ya think I don’t know that, ya think I’m feelin’ good? It’s been weeks I haven’t needed to, but today I just couldn’t stop. I should’ve been better at work and I haven’t been super nice with Lester yesterday, so I needed to do this. That’s all. I mean we’re all fucked up, so yes I’m hurtin’ myself since I’m a kid, but it’s fine, I survived so far.”

“Love…”

“Ya want to know how bad I can feel? Sometimes I fuckin’ dream I could hurt myself bad enough it would kill me.” The twins’ eyes widened and they both reached for you with pure fear and concern written all over their faces. They couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, and hearing those words coming from your mouth was ripping their hearts from their chests. “But if I never did, it’s because I knew I’d kill ya too. Honestly ya saved me more than once, but I need to hurt myself to feel somethin’, or when I’m angry at myself, or when I feel guilty or stupid or pathetic, or when I’m tired or when I’m feelin’ too lonely.” you explained, and it felt good to be able to say it out loud for the first time in your life.

Your brothers hugged you, lost for words. They both were thinking fast because they couldn’t let you continue hurting yourself like that. After a few instant, something very natural came to them. They just exchanged a look before guiding you to your room, so you could sit on your bed. Vincent sat next to you, stroking your back, as Bo knelt in front of you and he cupped your face in his hands.

“Listen to me, love.” he started and you looked down at him as he stroked your cheeks. “Ya need to let all your anger, your hatred and sufferin’ out, but ya can’t do it on yourself no more. Ya’re important, ya’re loved, and ya’re safe with us. We should’ve seen what ya were doin’ to yourself a long time ago, but now this will change, do ya hear me?”

“How?” you asked as you softly sniffed

“By hurtin’, torturin’ and killin’ people who aren’t ya. I promise ya’ll feel better and we’ll make sure that nothing can happen to ya. Ya know the special room I have in my garage that I never let ya see? There is a chair there, and I’ll tie up anyone ya’d like so ya’d let out everythin’ bad you have inside of ya unto them. How does that sound?”

“I don’t know, Bo…” you weren’t sure you were able to hurt someone else other than yourself. You had never been a bully, and you weren’t a killer.

“Let’s try, love, even just once, okay?” Bo insisted so you looked up at Vincent who nodded. You thought about it for a few moments before nodding and both the twins relaxed. They really hoped it would help like it “helped” them. They also promised themselves to keep a very close eye on you, because you were far too important for them.

And everyday they reminded you that:

You are loved.

You are not alone.

You are important.

You are safe.

You deserve better.

Taglist:

@feathery-ass

@g0thl3zz

@erasable-mustache  

@cavern-creature

@peachycupotea  

[hope-for-the-planet]

Hello! Something I see a lot of in climate discussions is how important it is that we do not let climate anxiety prevent us from taking environmental action. Now, I do suffer from a lot of eco anxiety, but I dont let it stop me; I do a lot to try and help the planet, from volunteering to pursuing an ecology degree. I can see that my actions have made a small impact, but no matter what I do, it never seems enough! Especially considering how many harmful actions I undertake just by living. I always feel I should be doing more, but I dont know what more I *can* do, and I drive myself crazy trying to find more ways to help. I've never heard anyone discussing this particular flavour of anxiety. A lot of the discussion seems to end at "take action". Do you have any thoughts on this?

Hi Jesse! Thanks for the ask—this is a great question.

First, thank you so much for the work that you are already doing. Remember that the impact you actually see from your actions is rarely the full scope of what you have accomplished—there are very likely positive ripple effects you will never know about.

Two other important things to remember:

No one individual is responsible for solving the climate crisis—or even just solving a large chunk of the climate crisis—on their own. I think Western individualism can sometimes convince us that if we, as individuals, cannot make a huge, measurable dent in a problem then we aren't doing enough and it will never be solved. But that is not true—we are not in this alone, we share the fight with billions of other humans, and we are most effective when we join our efforts together in community.

The fight against climate change is not a battle that can be finally and conclusively won, at least not in our lifetimes. There will always be new challenges to address as we seek to repair and live on this changing world. Pacing yourself and contributing a sustainable amount for a long period of time is more effective (and healthier for you) than going full throttle doing everything you possibly can for a few years and then burning out.

Right now I'm slowly working through the book A Field Guide to Climate Anxiety by Sarah Jaquette Ray. This passage made me think of your ask:

“[S]ome people thrive in “the struggle” and feel like there’s something wrong if they start to feel happy and well adjusted, as if this shows that they do not care enough about the cause. Many of us feel were are complicit in causing harm if we do not suffer alongside those who suffer the most

“Although this tendency comes from a generous place of wanting to be present with those who suffer, our perception that the crisis is urgent and requires immediate and intense engagement can lead to burnout. If we really care about a cause, our priority should be to avoid martyrdom. Despite what some of us have internalized from the environmental movement, our presence on the planet does not have to mean eternal damnation. We are all worthy of living on Earth, and we do not need to spend our lives repenting for the sin of being human.”

I hope this helps you in the same way it helped me.

<3

[thebibliosphere]

I had a question.

So, just an hour or two ago, I was going through some sort of “manic high”, sorta like how somebody with bipolar disorder would have (I don’t have BPD). It felt like a bullet train at max speed and completely derailing, and it was incredibly draining. It also got me wondering.

Do people with severe enough ADHD deal with ADHD episodes like this? My search attempts are often futile because all of it is just talking about how to differentiate between BPD and ADHD and BPD manic episodes, but nobody ever mentions ADHD episodes; the only time I’ve seen it mentioned ever was when somebody made a clip of crankgameplays to show what an ADHD episode looked like.

Do they even exist? I’ve got no idea, so I was just wondering if you knew.

Hey! Sorry, I saw your other ask a while ago, but I wanted to talk to my ADHD specialist before I answered because I’d never heard of the term “episode” being used to describe ADHD. I’m also going to splice both questions together here and answer them in segments in the hope it helps :)

So like I said, I’d never heard of the term “episode” with ADHD, and neither has my specialist. Part of ADHD is having a natural ebb and flow between inattention and hyperactivity, sometimes skewed toward one or the other, depending on your ADHD type. (What are the different types of ADHD?)

Your type of ADHD may also fluctuate because of other factors, such as stress, changes in medication, hormonal fluctuations, lack of sleep, overstimulation, or even under-stimulation, to name a few. Another overlooked part of ADHD is emotional dysregulation, which may cause rapid cycling emotions that may look like an “episode” to someone unfamiliar with what that actually qualifies. The way my therapist explained it and using your example of bipolar disorder, “episode” is used in diagnostic criteria to categorize manic or depressive episodes that last X amount of time, are usually severe, potentially requiring hospitalization, and are accompanied by other symptoms not found in ADHD.

Our “bursts” of energy or lack thereof typically don’t last long enough to be considered episodes. This isn’t to say they are not severe or debilitating, especially if you suffer from things like anxiety or depression that ADHD can feed into. Merely that “episode” is not used as part of the language used to discuss ADHD, which is likely why you’re not finding anything.

So, do ADHDers experience intense bursts of energy that are draining afterward? Yeah, we can do, especially if we lean more toward hyperactive than inattentive. (And again, it's normal to fluctuate and also for things to be affected or worsened by secondary factors.)

And I'm going to put the rest under the cut because this is hella long.

I’ve seen some people think that all hyperactivity has to come with fixation, but that’s not how ADHD works. It’s true if something gets us excited or gives us a dopamine boost, we might be more prone to becoming hyperfixated and burn all our energy up on that. But you don’t need something to fixate on to experience hyperactivity. Some of us are just wired to the moon sometimes, and yes, it can be very draining when it ends. Some people find medication helpful in regulating their hyperactivity/preventing it from coming in such big swings and dips.

Speaking personally, when I'm hyper and nothing is grabbing my attention, the world and people around me can feel painfully slow. It's like I'm going a mile a minute doing everything but achieving nothing. The crash that comes after can also be particularly bad, as I also have dysthymia, which can tip over into a major depressive episode depending on other factors in my life at that time. For years I was misdiagnosed as having "probably Bipolar Type II" by a doctor who didn't believe teenage girls could "get" ADHD* and convinced my parents I needed psychoactive drugs. The drugs I was on didn't help, in fact, they made me worse so I was taken off them.

It wasn't until I found an ADHD specialist as an adult a few years ago that I made any real progress. And I'll be honest, I was shocked when she diagnosed me with ADHD, I really didn't think I had it. Right up until we started doing the work and slowly but surely my mental health began to improve and my understanding of myself with it.

Sometimes there are days when I will be wired to the moon and it will derail my entire day because I can't focus on a single thing/I'll focus too much on a single thing. Other times, like when I am closer to my menstrual cycle, I'll crash into inattentiveness and depression because of how my hormones affect my various different conditions, including my ADHD. Medication would likely help with this, but due to medical reasons, that's currently not an option for me so I do the best I can.

That said, if you’re experiencing something more than hyperactivity but it's not mania, you may be experiencing a form of hypomania and you should talk to a doctor about your concerns.

Hypomania typically occurs in Bipolar Type II disorder, which is less severe than the manic episodes in Bipolar I. I’ve experienced both manic and hypomanic episodes in my life due to medication interactions, and they felt very different from ADHD hyperactivity. It's not just derailing mile-a-minute thoughts, it's something usually completely mood-altering and out of control feeling followed by devastating crashes.

If you're on any medications and are worried you are experiencing something like this, you need to talk to your doctor. You might just need a dosage tweak, or you might be better off on a different medication altogether. Also, make a thorough check of any and all medications you are taking to check for any interactions.

I'm on a cocktail of meds for my MCAS, which if I were to combine them with the SSRI one of my doctors wants me to try, would result in serotonin syndrome. The doctor didn't notice this, but the pharmacist sure as shit did!

Some people (ask me how I know) even develop mild hypomania from overusing the sunlamps used to treat SAD (link), which is why brands like Verilux now include warnings in their leaflets about not using the lamps for more than X amount of time a day. Thankfully it goes away once you stop overusing the lamps.

Which actually brings me to something you asked last time about being unable to sleep at night. Insomnia and delayed sleep phase cycles are not uncommon in ADHD. This is likely because our circadian rhythm is thought to be out of whack (link).

You also mentioned having racing thoughts at night too, which is not uncommon either with hyperactivity. I find if I get overstimulated before trying to sleep, I’ll end up lying there awake with what I like to call “radio ADHD” playing in my head. It can range from snippets of songs stuck on repeat, conversations, things I’ve watched on TV, arguments, or if something is happening the next day, fixating on not being late for it. Hence, I end up getting no sleep because you can’t accidentally sleep in if you don’t sleep. *jazz hands of despair.*

Sometimes I find Radio ADHD soothing if it’s fixating on something chill, but it can get annoying fast and even distressing if I’m tired and can’t “change the station.” (I’d say “shut it off,” but as of yet, I’ve never been able to do that. Medication helps some people with this, as can looking into “sleep hygiene” if you haven’t already.) Conversely, if I’m bored or something is too stressful, I will 100% fall asleep because my brain would literally rather just turn off than do something I don’t want to do or is a low dopamine reward task.

Brains are fun.

Anyway, I uh, I am not sure if any of this is useful to you, but I hope it helps. Mostly I'm just repeating back what my specialist said when I asked her about it lol. Good luck, and I hope you figure things out.

----

*NB: It's important to note that ADHD and Bipolar Disorder can be comorbid. It's not a one or the other situation. I’m just throwing it out there in case hearing that helps someone else pursue the proper diagnosis!

[navree]

Hi, first I wanted to say that I really like your takes and how eloquent you communicate your thoughts. I could never. I aim for a 5 sentence max paragraph and end up with an essay 😅

Anyways, I’m usually not one to dwell on other’s interpretations of a character or scene, especially if I don’t agree because it’s just fiction anyways…but sometimes I just see a bad take have to rant. I came across this take (I’ll copy and paste since I don’t want to @ op. I’ll also omit some filler words just in case): “the exhale, almost like relief. Alicent will finally escape a life she’s never had a say in. She won’t have to deal with the consequences of putting Aegon the throne and the look of horror when she realizes she’s alive” and ma’am. No.

Let’s say Alicent may be suicidal/have suicidal ideation, in that moment I’m pretty sure she was terrified that her sons and daughter were about to be burned alive. Even if she wanted to die, I’m not sure she would leave her children and grandchildren behind unprotected. Also, “deal with the consequences of putting Aegon on the throne”?? I know the show basically went “lol, anyways” in regards to Alicent’s fear that’s been growing for the past 20 years but she should be relieved that Aegon is crowned. They’re all (seemingly) safe. The “only consequences” are cruel, unjustifiable acts of “revenge” aimed at literal babies.

This take annoys me even more because I know that op and co. were the same ones who ran with “Alicent poisons Aegon in the name of retribution” and “Alicent is disgusted by Aegon’s touch during coronation scene when she removes his hand from her side and holds it instead”.

I know that her children were forced on her and loving them can’t be easy, but all Alicent has are her children. Aegon and Aemond were quick and brave enough to face an angry king to spare her, Aegon accepts the crown for her and their family, Aemond wants to gift Luke’s eye to her. Helaena has never done anything wrong. She doesn’t hate them; she loves them the most.

You guys are being so sweet to me today oh my goodness!! You're too kind, thank you <3

And yeah, I saw the exact take you're talking about, and the one about the hand too, and I did have to stop myself from vaguing about it cuz it was early in the morning and I have the capacity to be mean. There's this bizarre idea people have where they decide they're fine with Alicent being more sympathetic, but only as long as she repents the things she's done and realizes that she actually Did A Bad Thing and she's so sorry and regretful guys, really. And listen, interpretation is up to the interpreter and all that, but it's a bad interpretation.

Alicent is not, in fact, semi regretful while smiling at Aegon's coronation, she was under a lot of stress and she's finally seeing her son safe from harm for the first time in his entire life and actually embracing something, she's relieved. No she's not trying to prevent Aegon from touching her during the scene, boy has a sword and is very clearly trying to push her back and behind him so he can try to protect her before she stops him and is the one holding onto his hand to make sure that he doesn't try it again. No she is not "sighing in relief" she's just accepted that there's nothing she can do in the face of a dragon but at least she's with her son, at least her first boy won't die alone, at least she'll be there for him. No she is not horrified to be alive, she's now incredibly stressed once again and also realizing that Rhaenyra's going to find out that Aegon has the crown before Alicent was able to send over a peace delegation with honorable terms to potentially blunt the blow and prevent backlash. Like I'm sorry, but did some of these people need a hospital stay, cuz I'm assuming they pulled some muscles pretty badly with all that reaching.

Alicent did not have much say in how she lived her life. And there might have been times where she might have had some sort of suicidal ideation or something similar. But for one, that is hardcore fanon because there is nothing in the text or subtext or supplementary materials that has ever even attempted to claim that Alicent has any suicidal tendencies. It can make for a good fanfic idea, but fanfiction isn't canon. For two, we don't even know if that's something Alicent would be willing to do. We don't have a clear view on some of the tenants of the Seven, but it's meant to be analogous to Roman Catholicism (similar views on women, marriage, sex, homosexuality, the works) and in Roman Catholicism, suicide's a sin, it's actually a really big sin, so it's entirely possible that Alicent doesn't have any concrete thoughts on suicide and the like because it's against her beliefs and she's kinda big on those. And when it comes to whether or not Alicent would do it when she's got kids, suicide is a complex topic and sometimes you can have the most loving family in the world but if the factors are too stacked against you in other ways, it won't matter, but likely not. Alicent is a person who puts duty over everything, who literally lays her own body on the line in the defense of her children, she's probably not going to think about doing something for herself even if it'll make her happy so long as she's got the kids.

And yes, sorry to some people, but Alicent loves her children. Very, very dearly. I've discussed it many many times so I won't repeat it in detail again for anyone who's sick of it, but Alicent takes an active part in raising these kids, she is their primary parent, they clearly rely on her love and support, and she's very willing to defend them at all costs. She attacks Rhaenyra for Aemond, she demands Criston take Helaena to safety, she literally places herself between Aegon and a dragon. And Alicent's children love her, Aegon clearly does and half of his issues come from feeling that this love might not be reciprocated back, Helaena doesn't seem to mind her mom wanting to engage more in her interests, and the scene in episode 9 where she shies away from her touch is because she's aggravated no one's understanding her prophecy, and Aemond of course adores his mother through and through likely more than anyone else in his entire life (until Alys comes along).

When it comes to Alicent wanting to avoid consequences of putting Aegon on the throne, again, no? Alicent is not stupid. Alicent is very aware that there are going to be consequences to putting Aegon on the throne. That's why she and Otto lock the castle down, that's why she immediately calls a meeting of the Small Council, that's why she wants Aegon found and brought to her first, that's why she makes sure to talk with Aegon in private about Rhaenyra on their way to the Dragonpit. Alicent has been the de-facto ruler for nearly ten years, and she's the one spearheading a lot of this, she is textually aware of the consequences. There are consequences that we know are coming, like Vhagar going off script or Daemon deciding to indulge in some child murder, but those aren't consequences that anyone who isn't the book-reading audience could have ever foreseen. So let's also add "Alicent is not worried about facing the consequences when she's got the King, the King's government, the entire capital city, multiple dragons, and several powerful and influential Great Houses behind her and she's got a clear view on how to deal with the foreseeable consequences of this decision" to the list.

A lot of these takes come from the idea that Alicent can only be likable if she's constantly self-flagellating herself for her choices and is in constant self hatred mode for anything done against the characters they actually do like, or a view that Alicent is, I guess, the dumbest person on the planet who can't see further than two feet in front of her. But Alicent isn't constantly hating herself, she might hate her life but she does view herself in the right more than she does in the wrong, and she's smart and capable, and she's allowed to, you know, have ambition for her son and love her kid and want to stay with her family and protect them to the best of her abilities.

And of course, this was a take found on Twitter. Some of the Team Green side of HOTD Twitter is good, the rest of HOTD Twitter, literally the site is basically a disease at this point. There's a reason I frequently delete the app off my phone and try to limit my use, and I actually need it for work and connections.