#can you imagine the HORROR when cole comes back and hes...alone. with no one else but the other ninja (minus 1)

[writer-room]

Hey. The Finders have no idea that Bonzle was captured. Fritz and Spitz are still waiting, playing video games in the Monastery, for Cole to bring their sister out of hiding now that the blood moon is over. Geo is still sitting by the window, watching and waiting for a dragon on the horizon to return his kid safe and sound. Cole took a very unsure Bonzle, assured them all everything would be okay, and they'd be back soon. He promised he'd find a way to protect her.

Don't think about how they'll smile when Cole finally trudges back, happy to know he's okay. Especially don't think about the Finders stopping, looking out over the group, and how Cole can't look them in the eyes when they turn to him and ask; where's Bonzle?

[knowledgequeenabc]

See No Evil

[alternatively: In Which Kai Really Should Have Brought Sunglasses]

[or Kai gets his eyes stolen by the eye snatcher. Tw for eye horror I’m so sorry I have nothing to say for myself except the idea wouldn’t leave me alone. it’s not even Halloween, what am I doing]

They land up in the unassuming little village, surrounded on all sides by dense forest with only a dirt path winding through it, on a tip to take out some local mafia kingpin.

The mafia ends up being the part of the experience they nearly forget when they look back on the story. 

When they anchor the Bounty outside the shadowy thicket and walk in on foot, Kai feels a faint rush of nostalgia for Ignacia, his own dirt paths and straw huts and small storefronts, before he squashes it underfoot and reminds himself to stay focused. Something isn't quite right here; for one, there are no kids playing in the dusty streets. 

The villagers here have wary faces, not unfriendly but approaching every interaction like they’re waiting to be jumped by a panther. Every forager, farmer, or shopkeeper they ask about suspicious activity in the area is surprisingly blasé about the prospect of a criminal syndicate under their noses, but their faces go dark when they whisper about something else—the vengeful spirit of a man, one whose eyes were gouged out by highway robbers, that collects the eyes of unsuspecting victims in death.

Cole, never one for appreciating the supernatural, immediately hates it. Jay snorts and dubs it the “eye snatcher”, but there’s a waver to his voice when anyone gets graphic with their rumors. The others are also appropriately spooked, unnerved by the unforeseen threat added to their radars. 

Kai, for one, doesn’t think much of it. Yeah, it’s definitely creepy, but quite honestly he’s heard worse from old wives’ tales about creatures in Ignacia. Heck, they used to say that Serpentine would eat your children whole if you whistled at night, and that one was definitely false, so sue him if he’s not entirely buying the story. 

As they work their way through the village, asking questions as inconspicuously as possible under the guise of curious travellers, the vengeful thieving spirit is a recurring theme. Jay, with his mismatched blue and brown eyes, is chagrined beyond belief when a caned old man walking the street eyes them suspiciously for a second, before pointing his cane at Jay and stating, “You young ones should probably get off the street. The eye spirit likes odd eyes like yours.” 

The thing that solidifies it in their imagination far too vividly for comfort is the shopkeeper who turns to answer their queries about funny business with a colorful bandana wrapped around her eyes. She does the same thing everyone else does, brushing off questions of illicit activity and incidents with the casualness of a Slither Pit fighter, then fusses about why they were stupid enough to come at all. 

“Laugh all you want about our tales, they’re borne of truth,” she grumbles. “I used to be one of the best blacksmiths in the village before I had my eyes taken.”

Kai winces. As a fellow blacksmith, he can attest to the fact that you do, in fact, definitely need eyes to forge. He’s had enough dumb mishaps that the burns on his hands and face speak to, and he’s got a perfectly working pair of peepers. (Debatably.)

“It was only a few years ago, and I remember it in my nightmares like it was last night,” the shopkeeper continues, clearing items off the small counter separating her and the ninja with practiced ease. “I needed more metal to smith, and I was foolish enough to set off alone.”

The ninja prick their ears up politely, faces a mix of intrigued and perturbed. Kai stifles a sigh and makes himself comfortable on his feet, knowing full well they won’t be able to stop her now. At the very least, whatever she says will probably be important.

“As the sun set and the shadows started to go long—that’s when they tell you you should never be outside alone, you know—I had only just left my shop, because taking inventory took longer than I planned. I left the outskirts of the village and hit proper forest, and that’s when I heard it.” 

Jay gasps a little too dramatically, and Kai rolls his eyes. Lloyd’s looking pretty invested, too, owlish and worried, as if he doesn’t know how this is going to end already. Poor Cole looks ready to puke, and Zane and Nya are divided between sympathetically patting his back and weary amusement at the others. 

“I thought the rustling was going to be bandits, except I should’ve known better. I was in my cheapest clothes,” their shopkeeper says wryly. “When I turned, the forest was completely black. There was no moon, just …” Here she shudders, and her voice begins to shake.  “Just a sea of eyes, of every color, in a black abyss, staring me down.”

By now, they’re all properly terrified. Kai isn’t loving the imagery, himself; it makes his own eyes twitch uncomfortably.

“I couldn’t think to run. I was too afraid. Before I could even catch my breath to scream it swept in and-” Another shudder. “-and it’s like my entire face had turned to ice. Then it turned to fire. Then I realized I couldn’t see. I put my hands to my face and there was nothing there.

"That, young ones, is why you don’t want to be here. Every second you’re here is overstaying your welcome, frankly; we only remain because we fear subjecting ourselves to the forest long enough to move away.” 

A moment of stunned silence. Then, Lloyd steels himself and thanks the woman for sharing her story, promising they’ll heed her warning. Cole pipes up next to ask if she has any other information she’d like to share, and then asks to buy some food. (Fair enough; Kai would want something to compensate for the fact that they had to be here, and he’s seen Cole eyeing the colorful packets hanging off the ceiling and lying on small shelves.) Jay announces he’ll leave them to it after asking Cole to buy him something, then steps back.

Kai, deciding everyone else can handle themselves, follows him.

“Penny for your thoughts? Though,” he muses, “I probably shouldn’t pay, you offer those up for free anyway even when we don’t ask."

“Har har.” Jay isn’t amused.

“Okay, but seriously.” 

A beat.

“Sure, there’s a mafia or whatever,” Jay opines at length, leaning against the short counter. “But if you ask me, they don’t seem too worried about it, maybe it’s not as bad as Zane made it sound! Maybe we should just let them loose into the woods and let the eye snatcher take care of ‘em before we hightail our little ninja hineys out of here at the speed of fast because this eye snatcher thing is really creepy.”  

“You believe it?” Kai raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t? You heard the lady.”

“I did. It’s awful what happened to her, either way,” Kai concedes, before Jay can accuse him of being a total skeptic. “But you heard her, she was scared stiff when it happened. Sometimes you don’t see right when you’re spooked, I’m just saying.” 

“What do you have to be on to make that up?” Jay gapes at him. 

“I don’t know what they eat out here, don’t ask me.” Kai puts his hands up. “Wives’s tales and rumors can get crazy in villages, I should know. If you won’t take it from me, ask Nya. Weird stuff happens when civilization is this far out, but that doesn’t mean the stories people tell about them are true.” 

"Yeah, but … " Jay idly kicks up a cloud of dust. He's not convinced, Kai can tell, and this mission will be significantly easier if he's not keyed up over something they haven't seen. That weirdo going on about "odd eyes" earlier probably didn’t do anything for his nerves, either. 

"Well, either way." He claps Jay's shoulder once as he spots Nya pulling away from the shop window. "We’ll be on our guard when we bust this ring up. Small or not, they probably won't go out without a fight." 

Maybe they had something to do with it … it sure can’t hurt, if you’re a crime boss, to have people put up with you because they’re afraid of something worse, after all. 

The next day, they finally get a lead after a day of nearly-fruitless interviewing. The "base" for these small-town maniacs is an abandoned rest stop of sorts in a clearing, a ways out from the village.

Kai and Nya, resident village experts and least likely to draw suspicion with their mannerisms, go to ask for directions to "Lala uncle's shop", a codeword they'd managed to deduce yesterday stood for the old rest stop the dacoits were operating out of. The other four are waiting at the Bounty, but Kai and Nya have already given them the go-ahead to raid the place if they don't come back quickly—the four of them can handle themselves fine, and the local jail isn't too far off. The less time they spend in this whacked-out forest, the better. 

The entire ordeal of convincingly selling their interest in shady dealings has them both sweating bullets through their old civvies, but Kai manages to pull through in the end by promising the seedy old guy that he’ll hook him up with Venomari spit dealers in Ninjago City for a discount. Kai definitely has to draw on more old knowledge from his Slither Pit days than he’s comfortable with for that one, and Nya’s hard side-eye burns his back when they leave. 

Presumably, the thug’s just relieved that someone is willing to risk operating with the eye snatcher (to use Jay’s name) as an occupational hazard, but he eventually nods and tells them how to get there, what landmark will signal the right spot, and a warning to come alone. 

Once Nya’s texted the directions to the group chat, along with a warning to stay together in the forest, the two of them start the trek in earnest, trunks towering up above them to stroke against the sky. Kai nervously looks at the orange streaks in the sky, the sun’s low position painting the clouds golden, and the shadows of the trees lengthening, and decides they’d better hurry along before something can pounce on them. Eye cryptid or no, forests are home to plenty of big animals that Kai isn’t exactly in the mood to have a wrestling match with. 

The walk is comfortably quiet, at first, both he and Nya having worn out their conversational energy on the low-level mafioso from before. Crickets have started chirping, and the brush shakes with life their eyes don’t see. It’s not so bad, once Kai puts away the paranoid thoughts of the eye spirit sneaking up on them. 

Then he turns to ask Nya what to do after they reach the fallen log, and he’s met with empty space instead. 

The first thought he has is that he should’ve let her drown in that rice paddy as a kid and saved himself the heart attacks down the line. 

The second thought is that this is very bad, and he has to find her yesterday because this forest is dangerous and also not the place to throw caution to the wind. (Rich words coming from him, he is well aware, but Nya is missing and he definitely wanted her to be careful.)

Trying to keep his head on, Kai lights a fist into faint flames and retraces his steps, calling Nya’s name.

No luck, so he searches the areas near their path, then goes back to his starting point and keeps looking slightly beyond that, hoping that she’d just gotten caught up in the moment and forgotten to stop and check the directions. That has to be all. Nya is fine. Of course she’s fine, he hadn’t looked out for her so long only to fail so stupidly at protecting her now— 

A faint rustle of grasses behind him shakes Kai out of his worried spiral, and he’s so relieved he almost laughs. There’s Nya, and he should’ve expected that she’d be competent enough to find him- 

The greeting dies on his lips.

The forest has gone an inky black, the twilight sky blotted out entirely. The feeble streams of light that are left glint against a carpet of eyes, glittering with malice and pinning him where he stands. They’re all around him, no matter where he turns. Colorful irises, like so many gems, like demented stars in a ghastly night sky, stare straight through him as if to size him up, and it feels violent, somehow. A crushing chill has seeped into his bones, and his brain screaming at him to run doesn’t register to his legs.

Kai moves his arm, to draw his sword, maybe, or to set it alight, to do anything at all, and hundreds, thousands, of eyes immediately fly to the motion as one. The sharpness of the action freezes him in his spot, and his breath is arrested from his lungs. 

Kai knows anger like the blood in his own veins, but even he can’t imagine clinging to a grudge this obsessively.  The eye spirit is the village’s penance, one unfortunate ghost lashing out hundredfold yet still hungry for more. The shopkeeper’s words are ringing in his ear, mockingly, as if to say, didn’t I warn you? Shouldn’t you have run when you had a chance?  

He doesn’t think he can run now. 

The spirit in front of him of a thousand and one eyes closes in, and a long, dark shadow falls over his terrified face. A faint beam of light hits his wide eye, illuminating it alone in a warm blaze of amber. 

Kai, paralyzed, legs shaking, his stomach violently turning in on itself, cannot quite summon the thought that at least it’s him, and not Nya, that’s here. 

“You have quite beautiful eyes, you know.” 

His world goes midnight-black. 

            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nya has always liked her brother’s eyes, although she’d rather spray herself with perfume than admit anything so sappy to his face. Ever since they’d been young, warm brown eyes held a promise that nothing would happen to her without his permission. They’d burn furiously whenever she was hurt, and soften to reassure her that they were safe and the world couldn’t touch them. On unlocking his true potential, they’d flashed a bright fiery amber, all the more fitting for the passion he constantly wore on his sleeve around the other ninja. Since then, she’s seen those eyes harden with determination and gleam fondly at their family’s antics, as they had with her so many times. Even now, when she’s nervous that things will break under their feet again, when she feels powerless in the face of the fate her family has taken on, Kai’s warm, determined gaze brings her comfort and strength. 

Now, though, she’s afraid, not that she wants to admit it, and she’s got no one but herself. It’s been over half an hour since Kai vanished on her, and if those things the village folk whispered about as they walked by are any indication … they’re both in trouble. The sun has almost fully set, and it’s getting difficult to see under the dense foliage that blocks out the sky. Her phone screen makes decent light for now, but she needs to save the battery on it in case she gets any more texts from the group— 

Her phone buzzes, and Nya almost jumps. Right, she’d taken it off silent mode.

It’s Cole, in the group chat. They went on and raided Lala’s shop without her and Kai, and apparently it went without a hitch. According to him, Lloyd and Zane are taking the last few criminals they rounded up to the local jail, but he and Jay are already at the Bounty and they're asking if she and Kai are okay.

Good. If anything ends up happening before she can find Kai, she’ll need the extra hands to help her out once she gets back. 

She fires off a couple words about her situation, then walks a couple paces longer before an acrid tinge in the air halts her in her tracks.

Cautiously, she follows it, weapon out in case anything jumps her.

A couple more steps reveals charred bark on a nearby tree, singed leaves and grass in the undergrowth, and the familiar taste of smoke. She strokes the bark gently, feeling it crumble away at her fingertips, and her heart sinks. Her steps quicken, dumping her in a small clearing before she can break into a proper run. For a second, two, three, Nya can’t do anything but stare, unsure how to process what she’s looking at, why it feels so wrong. Then she takes a hesitant step forward.

Kai is sitting in the clearing on his knees, his back to her and softly glowing in the light of dusk. The grass around him is haphazardly burnt, but none of it is on fire, at least. His head is oddly hung, hair messy(-ier than usual, anyway), shoulders low and vulnerable. He looks smaller than she’s ever seen him, she thinks, and her chest squeezes painfully.

Her tentative step crunches on leaf litter. Kai sits still as death—no, not death, she berates herself for even thinking the word—but as he hears her coming, he stiffens, shoulders flying back up and hands at his sides curling into weak fists.

Nya stops again, appraising his reaction. 

“... Kai?”

Immediately, his head pops up.

She cuts herself off as she closes the distance between them and catches Kai flinching.

“Nya.” There’s so much relief in his voice it almost hurts, but there’s something else she can’t pinpoint that isn’t quite right. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay!” It comes out harsher than she means, but he’s been gone way too long and Nya’s thoughts have been starting to head pretty unsavory places. “Where have you been? Do you have any idea how long we’ve been out here, the others already finished the mafia raid without us and everything—”

She cuts herself off as she closes the distance between them and catches Kai flinching.

Why isn’t he running to the Bounty by now? Come to think of it, why hasn’t he immediately jumped up and hugged his concern out on her? Kai fusses and she knows it, and he sounds happy to see her, but he’s just been. Sitting there.

Around now is the time Nya’s brain stops letting her ignore the horrible idea that’s been bouncing around inside her skull like an annoying pebble since she noticed Kai wasn’t with her. Her stomach bottoms out. 

“... hey, Kai? What’s wrong?”

She’s crouched behind him and is about to reach for his shoulder when he finally speaks up again, low and rough.

“I suppose it’s real, then.”

There are many things she was expecting out of his mouth, but that’s not one of them. 

“Huh?” 

“The eye snatcher.” Finally, Kai’s head turns towards her, and her heart stops. She swears it stops. “I guess it’s real.” 

Where her brother’s fierce amber eyes used to be, there’s nothing. The faint outline of eyelids is obscured by a dark shadowy haze slashing across Kai’s face in a jagged line. 

She understands why the shopkeeper wore that bandana now.

Nya’s hand flies over her mouth before she can stop them, except she figures it doesn’t matter if he can’t see her do it. 

“Oh, Kai …” she breathes, her eyes welling up. With shaking fingers, she cradles the side of his face; Kai flinches back initially, but reluctantly lets her trail where his eyes used to be with her hand when she tries again. He leans into the touch despite the chill her fingers have picked up from walking outside so long, and she swallows the sob fighting up her tightening throat. Her tears are the last thing Kai needs right now, after all.

With her other hand, she pushes back his more unruly bangs, and examines the awful void left in place of what the spirit stole from her brother as if it might hold any answers. 

She might have had somewhere to look, except the spirit took them. 

They’re both still like that for a minute or so before Kai tentatively reaches out, feeling for her neck, her shoulders, down her arms, and pulls her into a desperate hug. He’s still shaking, and Nya probably is, too. She’s struck right then by how helpless she is, how little she knows about where to begin fixing this once she leads Kai back to the Bounty, and if there’s one thing she hates, well. That’s it. Seeing Kai so openly vulnerable is breaking her a little. 

That’s fine, though, she thinks, tightening her grip as Kai’s shaking intensifies and the shoulder of her dirty robe goes wet. Kai spent so long trying to be tough for them, so … she should be able to return the favor. 

Nya just doesn’t know how she’s going to do that, under the crackle of snapped twigs and twisted branches’ shadows dancing in the soft light of the rising moon.

An owl hoots, ominously certain of its place in the forest. Its unblinking eyes, honey orange and piercing, burn against the night.

[saventhhaven]

Breaking and Entering

Pairing: None

Tags: scared!reader, tired!reader, awkward!Sam, baseball bat

Word Count: 1,528

A/N: Thanks to @spn-imagines-nation​ for the prompt!

(Gif not mine)

It had been a hellish day at work. After your eight-hour shift had turned into a twelve-hour shift, you were about two seconds away from quitting your job and becoming a stripper instead. Hell, that had been your backup plan for as long as you could remember, but lately, you were more serious than you ever had been. You couldn't wait to get the hell out of there. As soon as you got a raise at your full-time job, you were gone. Quite frankly, that day couldn't come soon enough. Even as part-time, retail was ridiculous. The number one rule was "the customer is always right," and they knew it, too. The especially difficult ones would come in with an un-returnable product and then throw a fit when you couldn't give them anything back for it. In your opinion, someone should put a law in place that forced everyone to work a retail job for at least a year. Maybe then you wouldn't be treated like shit so much.

You were exhausted when you got home - too exhausted even to eat, which was seriously saying something. As soon as you got back home, you had gone upstairs, taken off all clothes aside from your panties and bra, and collapsed into bed. Thankfully, it was a Friday night, and you had the next two days off. Your weekend plans consisted of sleeping from Saturday to Sunday if needed, and pretty much nothing else. That is until a noise from downstairs had your eyes popping open. Instantly, you were wide awake, despite your tiredness when you lay down. For years, your dad had nagged you about installing an alarm system in your house, but you never had seriously considered it, unfortunately. It would definitely come in handy right now.

As you reached over to grab your phone from your nightstand, your heart sunk in your chest. Seriously? Where the hell was it? Obviously, not where it usually was, but still, you couldn't believe your luck. You had to bite your tongue to keep from swearing as you remembered the location of your cellphone. Last night, you had plopped it down on a console table next to the front door with your keys. Peachy. If anything else happened, you were going to start thinking the misfortune of all those busty girls in the hoaky horror movies were for real. Here you were, alone in your house, in your underwear, and your phone was downstairs along with the intruder. Really, this was just perfect.

Swinging your legs over the side of your bed, you were careful not to let the floorboards creak beneath you. You were pretty much already toast, but even more so if you made any noise sneaking up on said intruder. It was moments like these that always made you question your life decisions. For example, not owning a gun, or even a FOID card, for that matter. No, instead, you were stuck with an old aluminum baseball bat from when you were in middle school. Not the worst weapon, in retrospect, but definitely not your first choice either.

As you padded down the (thankfully) carpeted stairs, you tried to keep your heart from beating too loudly, without much luck. At this rate, if your knees knocking together didn't give you away, your loud-ass heartbeat sure as hell would. You glanced around the corner of the wall at the bottom of the staircase, straining your eyes as you peered into the dark living room. The silhouette of a hulking figure moved around the back of your couch, facing away from you. You could tell by the build of the figure that he was a man, but what was he looking for? Too bad for him, it was going to be lights out before he found it. You reared up your bat above your shoulder, letting out a battle cry as you rushed him. Hearing you come up behind him, the man whirled around, ducking your makeshift weapon in the nick of time. You made a note to yourself: no battle cry in the future.

"Scumbucket!" you screeched, swinging the bat around wildly.

"Y/N, hey, it's me!" As the tall man dodged your strikes, something clicked in the back of your brain. You knew that voice.

“Sam?" As you finally realized who was in your home, you flicked on the light.

"Hi," he said with an awkward wave. Narrowing your eyes, you allowed the bat to fall to the floor with a loud clang.

"'Hi?'" You smacked him hard in the arm several times.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, backing away.

"You scared the shit out of me!" you hollered at him.

"Yeah, I can see that," he replied. He gestured to you, clearing his throat uncomfortably as he made an effort not to look. "Y-you... you're, ah..." You glanced down at yourself, half-surprised to see that you were still in your underwear. You had sort of forgotten about that part. Squeezing your eyes shut, you made a face as you shook your head.

"I just can't catch a break, can I?" you muttered. Sam reached for the pile of clean laundry you had been meaning to put away, snagging a shirt and pair of shorts.

"Here," he said, still not making eye contact. You smirked at him as you took the clothes, pulling them on.

"Oh, come on, Sam," you teased. "It's not anything you haven't seen before." The man went beet red.

"W-well, that's-" he stammered. "I-I mean, I-" You snorted.

"Relax. I'm kidding." Sam seemed relieved, letting his shoulders relax. "Listen," you started again. "Not that I'm not happy to see you - I am, seriously, I'm super glad you're not a burglar - but what are you doing here at..." Glancing at a clock on the wall, you sighed. "Four in the morning?" For the first time since he arrived, you got a good look at him, squinting in confusion at his apparel. "And why are you in your FBI gear?" Suddenly, it all clicked, and you held up a finger at him. "Oh, no. No. You did not come here and break into my house at the ass-crack of dawn, by the way, for a case!”

"Look, I'm sorry I scared you," Sam apologized, "but you were a huge help last time, and I could use a hand." You shook your head again as you began to pace. The last time you helped the Winchesters, things got ugly. Like, had to lay low for two months and move away ugly. Because of them, you had to totally uproot your life and start over, and that was something you were not doing again. But the last time you helped the Winchesters, you also saved lives. You helped people, you killed a bad guy, and the world had become a little better because of it. You couldn't just sit idly by knowing that more people might die if you didn't help out.

"And this case is in town?" Sam nodded.

"Yeah. It's the owner of that general goods store down the road." He laid a hand on your shoulder as he looked you in the eye, forcing you to come to a halt. Damn him. He knew you were a goner for those puppy-dog eyes. "I've gotta be honest with you here. It won't be easy, and I hate that I would be putting you in danger," he confessed. "But I can't do this by myself." You gnashed your teeth together.

"And your brother can't help you?"

"No," Sam replied. "He's in Oregon dealing with a poltergeist." You would be lying if you said you weren't at least a tiny bit intrigued.

"What is it?" you questioned. "Vengeful spirit? Ghoul?"

"Vampire," he answered, earning a surprised look.

"Vampire?” you echoed. "Huh. That's a new one." You had to admit, ever since the boys had left town, life had been painfully boring. "Damn it," you grumbled. With a final huff, you pushed his hand from your shoulder and headed toward the kitchen. "All right." You reached for the coffee pot. If you were going to do this at this hour, caffeine was a must.

"Does that mean..?" Sam asked, hopefully from the living room. You had to hide your eagerness as you turned back around to face him.

"Yeah, I'll help you." Instantly, he let out a breath of relief. "Get in here and give me the rundown before I change my mind and go back to bed." Seeming to call your bluff, he tilted his head, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Well, if it's really too much trouble, I can just go," he offered. As he turned to leave, you grabbed onto his wrist to keep him in place.

"All right, you got me," you revealed. "I'm weirdly excited. Things have been too... normal since you and your brother left." Sam chuckled. "Now sit your ass down while I make some coffee." Once the coffee began to percolate, you sat down across from the youngest Winchester at the kitchen table, allowing your enthusiasm to show in your eyes. "So. Tell me about our monster."

Thank you for reading! <3

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[crackinglamb]

Comfort

From this prompt list.

Read it on AO3 here.

Rated T, ~1400 words.

---

“The next time you have to mourn,” La'vise said, “you don't have to do it alone.”

“I'll think on it. And thank you, Inquisitor.”

Solas walked away, back towards the keep and his sanctuary in the rotunda. She watched him go, hugging herself. Was there such a thing as secondhand bereavement? She ached to comfort him, knowing well what it was to lose someone you cared about. Even if that person was a spirit. His loss put into perspective many things about him.

He saw them as people. La'vise admittedly had little experience in such things. She wasn't a mage. And the Dalish were wary of anything that came from the Fade as a precaution against demons. But she'd seen it with her own eyes. The monster they'd released from bondage transformed into a small, vulnerable figure with eyes that glowed with veilfire. She had spoken with feeling, even if her words were few that La'vise knew. But he did.

And he'd had to dissipate her. From what La'vise understood, it was akin to killing her. She couldn't imagine the pain and horror of that act. Or that he preferred to be alone afterwards.

She turned on her heel and went back into the Great Hall, seeing the eyes of her guards on her where she stood, still hugging herself, an equally small, vulnerable figure with too much heaped on her shoulders. Inquisitor. No, she was just an elf. An elf with feelings she didn't know what to do with. She just knew she wouldn't want to be alone at a time like this. But she could wait until she was invited. Everyone dealt with grief in their own way.

***

She couldn't get it out of her mind.

Her ancestors called the land Dirthavaren – the Promise. One that had not been kept. It lit an old, racial anger that beat in La'vise's veins. For less than 300 years her people had called the Dales home. And then they were scattered, chaff on the wind. Never again would the Dalish submit. And never again would the elves of Halamshiral call their world theirs. What little history was passed from generation to generation had sparse details. She had learned more of the history of her people from books found in human libraries across the Emerald Graves and beyond than she had at her Keeper's knee. She took copious notes and sent them back to Deshanna faithfully, taking full advantage of the fact that Josephine kept her stocked with expensive paper and good ink. This hard won knowledge would not be lost again, if she could help it.

She sat back in her chair, alone in her chamber, and set down her fountain pen, making sure it did not clatter and spill ink across her page. It was not easy to think about the land humans called the Exalted Plains. It had hurt, seeing it with her own eyes. Seeing the devastation and ruin of the Promise. Solas had been with her, of course, and his eyes had been hard, the mask he wore to cover his thoughts brittle and cracking. Cole had whispered to him, too soft to carry. Their murmuring conversation had carried on the whole time they rode through the broken, tortured land of her forebears.

Cassandra had kept silent on the matter, for which La'vise was grateful. Although she caught the Seeker's eyes suspiciously wet as they made camp near what was obviously an elven ruin, now nothing more than a few stones outlining a foundation. La'vise had not slept well in that place. She didn't think anyone else had either.

Despair hung over that land, as sere as the grass. The stench of smoke and blood and death was an inescapable miasma. Not even the roaming herds of halla, nor the guardian wolves watching over them, could brighten her spirits there. Everywhere they went there were battles. The warring factions of the Orlesians bled over into the constant struggle against the risen undead. Solas said the Veil was desperately thin, that spirits pressed too heavily against it, piled on each other like so many bodies in a mass grave.  There had been many rifts.

She hated it. She hated the land stolen from her people and she hated the humans who had done it, still fighting over its carcass 700 years later like savages. They called her the Herald of Andraste, who was their Maker's Bride, who had made the Promise. And all she could think about when they were there was how to place her feet carefully so she did not trip over the bones of the People.

And now Solas had lost his friend there too. She covered her face with her hands and wept.

***

The rotunda was quiet when she entered it, many hours later. She carried a book with her that she'd found on one of their journeys, a journal written in a hand she could barely decipher. She was getting better at it, but she needed help from time to time, and she knew Solas could do that.

Her heart was heavy, she didn't really want to disturb him. But she needed this to send back to her Keeper. He turned to her as soon as he heard her enter. He was standing near a blank wall, the riot of colors from his murals absent in this spot. She wondered if he was contemplating the next one, or just needed the emptiness of that patch to reflect the emptiness of his sorrow.

“What do you need of me?” he asked, as polite and mild-mannered as always. There was no sign that he was still affected by the spirit's death, but she knew him well enough now to know that he was a master of hiding things.

“I have...I'm having trouble with some translations. I wondered if you could help me, if it's not too much trouble?”

“It is no trouble,” he assured her. He held out his hand for her book and she crossed to him. As he took it, she could feel his eyes on her. “Are you all right?”

Her eyes shot to his and she realized she hadn't washed her face or combed her hair. She felt gritty and wrung out like a rag. She must look it, too. She flushed with something almost like shame at letting him see her so broken, but his smile was soft. He brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tears that still lingered on her skin.

“You have been crying,” he said.

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“I failed you. The only thing you have asked of me, and I couldn't...I couldn't...”

Solas set the book down on a table and took her into his arms. This wasn't how she thought this would go. But she could not deny that the feel of him holding her, comforting her, was good. She relaxed into him, and in turn, she felt him relax into her.

“It is not your fault,” he whispered into her hair. “There was little you could do. And what you could, you did. That is more meaningful to me than anything. You have been a true friend to me, and I treasure it.”

She shuddered against him, and his arms came around her tighter. She didn't know how long they stood there like that, but finally her tears eased, the burden of their mutual sadness made lighter by each other. She tipped back her head to look at him and found a lopsided grin. “Is that all I am?”

He smiled back and wiped her cheeks again. “No, La'vise, that is not all you are. You are much more than a friend.”

The moment stretched, and she thought perhaps he might kiss her, but he didn't. Still, the warmth in his gaze poured over her and she felt better. She could see in his eyes that he did too. All at once she remembered why she had come to the rotunda in the first place and stepped out of his arms, feeling the cold loss immediately. “My book...”

Solas drew her back and wrapped her in his embrace again. There was something in his expression that she couldn't quite name. If she didn't know any better, she would call it greed, but that was simply ridiculous. “It can wait. Let me hold you.”

[fanfic-corner]

Writer Castiel

4/12/20 - I have wanted to be a writer since I was ten years old, so maybe I’m biased here, but I absolutely adore the idea of Cas being an author if he lived a different life!

Tabula Rasa by Dangerousnotbroken on AO3. (78,240 words).

Tags: Writer Castiel, Bartender Dean, Past Relationship, Pervasive Themes of Memory, Magic, Canon Typical Violence, Mentions of alcoholism, Mentions of Past Child Neglect, Mental Illness, Witches, Ghosts, Bi!Dean, Bi!Castiel, Referenced Past Minor Character Death, Angst, Slow Burn, Memory Loss.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Once upon a time, Castiel Novak had everything. He had a happy home life, a full scholarship, and, if he played his cards right, a promising journalism career. And on top of all of that, he had Dean. Then tragedy struck, as it tends to do, and Castiel lost everything. At thirty six, he’s got none of those things. He’s got no family to speak of. He’s got a job investigating purportedly true tales of the supernatural for a magazine no one reads. And worst of all he hasn’t seen Dean in nearly twenty years. So when research for an article turns him on to a witch who apparently grants wishes in exchange for stories, Castiel figures it’s worth the risk. If making a deal with a witch can get him Dean back, what has he got to lose?

Notes: This was absolutely amazing; both written beautifully and with a fantastic plot.

the inexhaustible silence of houses by Askance on AO3. (31,820 words).

Tags: Horror, Psychological Trauma, Domestic Violence.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Almost two years after the world doesn't end, Castiel falls from grace—and loses his voice in the process. It is the impetus for confession and change; before long, he is settling into a loving relationship with Dean, the Winchesters are tired, and hunting for a place to land has taken precedence to hunting anything else. Dean and Castiel fall in love with the strange little house on the end of Swallowtail Drive, and for a little while life is as it should be—sweet, affectionate, and beginning afresh. But more and more Castiel sees and hears things in the house that beg the question of whether or not a place itself can be alive. The walls and rooms seem to shift and grow and breathe, and one night, Dean comes home from a hunt changed in a way that Castiel cannot explain. In the months that follow, their domestic bliss takes turns for the dark and sour, and the confusion of their circumstances will ultimately test everything Castiel knows about the man he loves, and everything he believes to be true.

Notes: Excellently written, made me cry, and the ending was brilliant. Technically it isn’t tagged as Cas being a writer, but he does write some poetry throughout, and I couldn’t help myself.

Lost and Found by whelvenwings on AO3. (7,762 words).

Tags: Writer Castiel, Mechanic Dean, Demisexual Castiel.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: “Chuck Shurley? Sure, I’ve read his books. Kinda Vonnegut, but like, Kilgore-Trout Vonnegut, you know?” Dean took another gulp of his whisky, and smacked his lips like an adult. The guy sitting beside him at the bar, however, did not look suitably impressed. In fact, he was staring down into the bubbles of his cider, not even noticing the way that Dean was smiling at him, giving him the eyes. “I thought his stuff was pretty good, in a kinda metamodern way,” Dean added airily, and a little more loudly. The guy only nodded gloomily. Dean almost clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in frustration. C’mon, dude, I’m trying to impress you. Twenty minutes of talking and all Dean had to show for it was a weird first name, a series of dour stares and the strangest need to know more about this – Castiel.

Notes: This was written so well that I wanted to cry at Cas’ story of the stars, even though it wasn’t particularly sad. Now I want to go and stargaze with someone.

The House on the Ocean Road by coffeeandcas on AO3. (111,351 words).

Tags: Single Parent Castiel, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Baggage, Hurt Dean Winchester, Writer Castiel, Car Accidents, Past Character Death, Adopted Children, Mentions of Suicide, Slow Burn, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Near Death Experiences, Hospitals, Explicit Sexual Content, POV Dean.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester is on the run from his life. He's done something unforgivable, and can't face his family or friends ever again. So he does what any rational person would do: fakes his own death and vanishes into the ether. Wandering aimlessly along country roads, he succumbs to the elements during a violent storm and wakes up hours later in the home of a stranger: a single dad living alone in an isolated beach house, with a haunting past of his own. Cas is sweet and shy, but welcomes Dean into his home and tells him he can stay as long as he needs, never prying into his life or asking him to spill his secrets. As they rapidly forge a close friendship, Dean finds that the quiet life by the ocean with Cas is exactly what he's been dreaming of. He only hopes his past never catches up with him.

Notes: This was so gorgeous and the plot was fabulous! Also, I loved Jimmy, and Dean and Cas as parents were adorable. Weirdest use of Cole’s character that I’ve ever seen though.

What Can’t Be Seen by destieldrabblesdaily on AO3. (2,639 words).

Tags: Soulmate AU, author!Cas, Strangers to Lovers, First Kiss.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Written for this prompt: Soulmate AU where you first see color after eye contact: Cas is a famous best selling author and he’s promoting his book, so he’s talking to a crowd of people and suddenly his world is in color, and a lot of his fans pretend to be his soulmate. A Cinderella type situation ensues.

Notes: This was really cute and such a sweet and funny idea.

(un)conventional by imogenbynight on AO3. (6,100 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe, mechanic!Dean, Writer!Castiel, Conventions, Fluff.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Spec Lit Con--Speckly Con, to it’s regular attendees--is an annual weekend-long event held in Chicago, dedicated to science fiction, fantasy and otherwise speculative literature. This year Dean's favorite author, C.J. Novak, is appearing as a panelist. Naturally, he shells out the cash for an all access pass.

Notes: This was so adorable that I nearly screamed in the corridor outside my computer science lesson. Plus, the writing was absolutely gorgeous! I miss conventions :(

I Think That’s Mine by palominopup on AO3. (6,804 words).

Tags: Fluff, AU, Reporter!Dean, Writer!Cas.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: A mix up at the Atlanta Airport places Dean Winchester's laptop in someone else's possession. A series of calls and texts bring two men together.

Notes: This was so cute, Cas was so sweet, and Dean was an icon.

‘Star Wars is Overrated’ by leftdragonpainter on AO3. (38,186 words).

Tags: Soulmates, Pining, Drinking, Writer Castiel, Mechanic Dean, Neighbours, Swearing, Winchester Logic, Clueless Dean, College Student Sam, Awkward Dates, Dean Cooks, Castiel in Glasses, Slow Burn, Injured Sam, Fixing Cars, Smut, Costumes, Drunk Texting, Temporary Amnesia, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: When Dean Winchester turned sixteen he was disappointed by the words that appeared on his chest. He never expected that it would take so much to find his soulmate. He never expected to not remember meeting them...

Tags: Every time I thought I knew what was going to happen in this fic, something completely different happened, which I loved. 

Event Horizon by Winglesss on AO3. (6,442 words).

Tags: Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Dean, Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Past Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Texting, Sharing a Bed, Happy Ending, Veteran Dean, Doctor Dean, Writer Castiel, Strangers.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Castiel couldn't have helped his sister. That's why being offered a chance to help somebody else dealing with suicidal thoughts he took it without hesitation. When he gets the first text from someone who needs his help, nothing goes as he expected.

Notes: I don’t know if that kind of suicide prevention scheme exists, but this fic is very sweet. 

Darkly Dreaming Dean by Duckyboos on AO3. (29,008 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe - Police, Detective Dean Winchester, Writer Castiel, Serial Killer Dean, Alternate Universe - Dexter, Established Relationship, Murder, Top Dean, Bottom Castiel, Anal Sex, Innocent Castiel.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester has the perfect apple pie life with his shy-but-sweet boyfriend in the suburbs. He has a steady, well-paid job with the LAPD and he’s charming and attractive. Really, he’s living the American Dream. It’s his extra-curricular activities that some may disagree with, as he’s also an accomplished serial killer. To date, his kills amount to around 36 and he’s never been caught. He’s employed by the law, remember? He knows how these things work.

*

A new serial killer arrives on the scene and despite the sloppiness of their work, Dean is intrigued by them and what they're trying to achieve, because their MO is the same as his; killing bad people. He makes it his mission to track the other killer down before the police do, and he’s left reeling when the 'Basin Vigilante' turns out to be someone a lot closer to home than he could have ever imagined.

Notes: I sort of watched Dexter a few years ago, and I absolutely love the idea of Dean as a vigilante serial killer. I only wish that the synopsis was a bit different, so the end was more of a surprise.

Finding Home by Desirae on AO3. (42,828 words).

Tags: Baker Dean Winchester, Writer Castiel, PTSD, Past Childhood Trauma, Childhood Kidnapping, Mistaken Identity, Dean Whump, Castiel Whump, Best Friends to Lovers, Emotional Sex, Fluff, Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester lived a quiet life running his bakery. Aside from family, Dean had no desire to let anyone inside. The more people you cared about, the more you had to lose; A hard lesson he'd learned at the tender age of eight when Dean’s best friend was kidnapped right before his eyes. Dean was forever haunted by the event, although he hadn’t realized quite how much until Emmanuel James Milton breezed into his life; waking his sleeping heart with a complete lack filter and achingly familiar eyes. An author, with no family and traumatic past of his own, Emmanuel never felt like he belonged anywhere until he walked into The Honeybee Bakery and met Dean. It’s not long before they find out that there is a reason for their profound bond.

Notes: It was obvious what was going on here from the start, but that just made it even cuter as they fell in love again.

I think it is a shame we didn’t get more human Cas content, but I guess it is too late now. I hope you enjoy these fics, and if you ever have a specific list you want me to make, feel free to ask!

[ruesteas]

Ghosting Ch.2

They say when you die you see a bright, hypnotic white light.

A light that etches itself into your memory, beckons you to follow it with every fiber in your being.

Harumi tries to imagine the light, plots out every detail it must contain in the moments after the fall that cracked her ribs and splintered her breath.

She’s great at plotting, she killed the ninja afterall.

The light inches closer into the corners of eyes. She can see it so clearly, feel the warmth enveloping her.

Death will whisk her off to Mom and Dad and her work in Ninjago is finished. She’s sure Emperor Garmadon must have finished off Lloyd by now.

Her mind sowers at the thought of the green ninja.

Her enemy.

Her parents' murderer.

Her ex-whatever it was he thought they were.

And suddenly, and she swears it’s green, there's a harsh tug where her ankle should be, if dead people had ankles that is. A green, murky darkness that is pulling her away from the comfort of light.

She wonders if she’s going to the bad place, Lloyd destroyed the Cursed realm years ago after Mako, or whatever his name was tried to destroy Ninjago.

She admired him for his efforts initially, After all possessing the green ninja? It’s brilliant emotional manipulation.

Lloyd might have the power of Oni and Dragon but he’s too trusting, too soft on the inside.

And then using that to utterly destroy the ninja emotionally and render them powerless? She doesn’t stop hearing about the ninja’s hollowed faces and flickering powers from Ultra Violet for weeks.

She finally hears about the ninja’s victory as her lady in waiting is bleaching her hair at her “father’s” request.

“The blonde roots aren’t attractive to your suitors” the older woman tells her, raking the bleach through her hair.

The smell of it is suffocating, and with every harsh yank on the thin strands of her hair she hopes, no prays, that stupid ghost will defeat the ninja.

But moments later Hutchins excitdelty bursts through the door with word that the Ninja have defeated Morro and his army.

The woman envelops Hutchins in a hug and gives one last painful tug at her hair before motioning to Harumi to join the celebration.

She forces a smile on her face for the thousanth time that week, and silently curses at that stupid ghost for his pathetic loss.

There is a banquet that night, her parents have the palace decorated with strands of bright green lights to celebrate the return of their beloved green ninja.

The table is lined with warm noodle dishes, expensive meats and mountains of fruit but Harumi knows not to eat too much, or her “mother” will lecture her for hours to come, before she inevitably forces her to spit it back up.

Perfect princesses have perfect figures, she supposes.

But as she picks at her food she realizes the flaw in Morro’s plan, in every other pathetic villain's plan who tried to destroy the green ninja before her.

They all knew the obvious, Lloyd is willing to sacrifice everything for his friends, those stupid five, no-now six ninja.

And vice versa, the team relies too much on one another, but that is an easy weakness to exploit and prey upon.

No what they were missing she concludes, was silence.

They were too showy, so bombastic in their plans and presentation that they laid out every card in their hand before the game had even begun.

She remembers encountering Pythor as a young child in her old village, moments before Samurai X had swooped in before the ninja to save her.

The anacondrai boasted about stealing the fang blades, monologed about Lloyd releasing the serpentine and uniting them without even trying and cackled about awakening the great devourer as if the ninja were powerless to stop him.

She supposes they didn’t stop him, but Lord Garmadon did.

And the ninja would stop Pythor again and again. He was only the first in an endless cycle of showmanship among Ninjago’s evils.

The overlord knocked down half the city with a spider mech, and announced his plans to half the city giving the ninja ample time to freeze him into oblivion.

Chen stomped around with an army of anacondrai and had announced and left papers laying around with key pieces of his plan, or at least that’s what she heard from what some ex-employees of his had stated after joining the new Sons of Garmadon.

And as much as she admired his cunning, Morro had fallen victim to this as well. Summoning an army of ghosts and some demon queen from the Cursed Realm without regard for their obvious weakness in a city surrounded by water.

She won’t be so careless. She just needs to keep her cards close to her chest, keep the ninja close to her chest. She ponders if Lloyd would be foolish enough to let a stranger get that close to him, get so close to his precious team.

He will though, she’s a helpless princess overall.

She can stay quiet.

She is brought back from her memories as the force beneath her feet pulls her down with a final harsh tug.

She spirals through the deep green and pitch black of the world around her cursing Lloyd’s name with every breath left in her spirit.

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

Lloyd arrives at the morgue faster than he wants to.

He almost wants to yell at Jay and Nya for building such perfect bikes for speeding down the open road, but he wants to end this and the sooner the better.

He parks his bike in front of the building, it stands alone a few miles outside of ninjago city. Thick layers of dust and sand cover it’s roof and cobwebs and nestled between the beams of it’s entrance.

Lloyd muses that it’s only fitting a morgue looks so dead on the outside.

He hesitates at the entrance, his hand ghosting over the doorbell.

He’s gonna have to identify her, confirm it’s her body and not someone else killed in the wreckage he caused by letting her into his life.

Another smear of blood that stains his hands after every destructive battle he could have prevented.

He wishes Kai were here, his big brother would give him some form of encouragement before making some dumb joke about Harumi’s fashion sense already having killed her long before the building did.

He wouldn’t have laughed at it, but Kai would anchor him to the ground and help him through it all, taking him out for some emotional support ice cream like he always does when Lloyd is dealing with his mountain of trauma.

Your seventeen, get a grip he snaps at himself. Forcing his thumb to press into the doorbell and let out a pleasant chime.

An attendant of the morgue greets him, the man is so pale he reminds Lloyd of one of the zombies he and Jay had seen in that old horror movie last week.

“Mr. Garmadon I thought you would be the one here to identify her” the man muses.

Lloyd forces an emotionless stare, he doesn’t know how to feel but looking disgusted and paranoid probably wouldn’t be very “Green Ninja” like.

“Yea- well, it only seemed proper,” he says to the morgue attendant. And the man nods in response.

“We need you to identify her, Follow me please” He walks towards a back door, motioning for  Lloyd to follow.

The walls begin to close in around him, he can feel the anxiety crushing into him. Panic bubbles in his brain. Out- I need to get out his brain screams and the light bulbs are flickering around him.

Oh FSM now my stupid powers are losing it too. He sees a wooden door in the corner of his eye with a faded sign of “Bathroom” taped on.

“BATHROOM” he shouts and the morgue attendant whips his head around at the green ninjas outburst.

Lloyd quickly composes himself reigning in his panic and the energy threatening to shatter all the lights in the building for just a few seconds longer.

“I-uh need to use the bathroom” he says before speeding to the wooden door at his left.

He slams the door behind him, coughing as the dust of the clearly dirty bathroom rains down on him. “Aw Gross” he mumbles and rakes his hands through his hair to clean it.

The bathroom is strangely cold, and Lloyd briefly wonders why they keep the bathroom AC on and not the lobby’s.

He decides to splash some water on his face, and work on those deep breathing techniques Cole showed him for dealing with panic attacks.

The mirror in front of him is cracked and the light of the bathroom is only being given from an old lightbulb in the center of the room, giving him even less of a reflection.

Something creeps it’s way up his spine, a force that’s cold and empty ghosting across his body  and his eyes once again drift to the mirror.

But instead of his own disheveled reflection he sees the familiar green glow of what he knows can only be a ghost, and his heart stops thinking Morro might be back.

But the figure has long almost silver hair flowing down to its back, and it’s outfit is tattered with deep gashes and a missing sleeve. He finally meets it’s eyes and sees the smeared paint on the figure's face, now a dark green from the transformation.

Harumi stares back at him, eyes widening with his.

And with that surge of overwhelming panic, the lightbulb shatters above him.

[varricmancer]

The Golden Halla | 3

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x OC

A/N: Obviously I’m deviating a bit from canon. It would be rather boring if it was always the same thing though, yes? Anyway, enjoy the latest chapter! PLEASE let me know what you think. 

He was fighting desperately to stay asleep despite the pull to awareness he could feel clawing at him. He was at peace here in the fields with his mystery woman. She’d prepared them a picnic and he lounged on the blanket as he watched her dance around merrily, the skirts of her simple blue dress rippling about her bare feet, her snowy hair floating behind her like a waterfall. He smiled when she caught his eye and laughed, her joy contagious. She had claimed she was dancing his demons away, so there was no reason to be afraid of them or that she was one herself. 

“Won’t you tell me your name?”

She skipped towards him, dropping onto the blanket gracefully. 

Shrugging, she picked up a pastry and took a small nibble. Her features were somewhat hazy in this place, but her lips were still clear enough to keep him captivated. Thin, but not harsh. Soft-looking. He watched transfixed as her tongue appears to flick away some crumbs on the side of her mouth.

“You can call me Hana,” she finally answers with a teasing grin, her lovely amber eyes sparkling with mirth. 

Cullen snorts, amused. “The name of the halla? Well, if I wasn’t so certain this was a dream before, it would be clear now. That creature is taking over my life,” he sighed. 

Her laugh was a gentle thing, as lovely as her. 

“Perhaps.” 

She pauses, cocking her head thoughtfully like she was listening to something only she could hear. 

“It’s time to wake up, Cullen.” 

He loved the way she said his name. Everyone else began his name like they had something stuck in their throat. With her, it sounded like a song - one that she loved to sing. 

“Will I see you again?”

“Sooner than you think,” she chuckled, fading right before him. 

He groaned as he came to awareness, her wave of farewell still branded behind his eyes. 

The distant snickering was the first clue that he wasn’t alone. Next came the realization that there was a very warm body breathing next to him. A warm furry body. 

He cracked up one of his eyes and briefly wondered if he was still dreaming. There could be no other explanation for the fact that there was a halla cuddled up with him on top of his furs. Or that one of his arms was draped loosely across the back of the beast as though to pull it closer. He quickly pulled away in embarrassed horror, his face turning crimson as the low snickers from the front of the tent evolved into outright mocking laughter. 

“Commander, if I’d known you had a thing for horns I would have volunteered my services,” The Iron Bull laughed heartily. 

Cullen groaned and turned to face the front of his tent where Bull and The Herald were both sticking their heads into with unapologetic grins. Of all the people to find him in such an embarrassing situation, the loudmouthed Qunari mercenary and the proclaimed Herald of Andraste were not his first choice. 

He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, snorting as Hana slept on unbothered by their guests. 

“Is there something I can do for you?” 

“We heard about Loranil making it here and bringing the Halla with him. We wanted to see her again, make sure she was doing alright. She wasn’t in her stall though and Cole told us to find you. I was confused about why the Commander of this little party would know where a lone halla was - wasn’t expecting to see you two so cozy,” Kaaras Adaar shrugged with a teasing grin. Bull stood there cackling close enough to the other that their horns were surely clanging against each other. 

“Yes, she’s proven to be rather...friendly. She must have snuck in during the night. I’ll have to speak with the stable boys.” 

“There’s no shame in wanting a warm body during cold winter nights,” Bull drawled, doing what Cullen interpreted as a wink with his single eye. 

“Maker’s breath…” he grumbled, standing up and waving them away. 

“Unless there is pressing business, I’d appreciate some privacy so I might get ready. I’ll walk her over as soon as I’m done and you may visit to your heart’s content.” 

Kaaras nodded, “Alright. We’ll leave you be, Commander. We’ve all been summoned to the war room in three hours’ time for a debriefing of my experience in Redcliffe, however. Cassandra’s getting generous and actually giving me a couple of hours to recuperate from my travels before interrogating me.” 

Cullen actually grunts in amusement and waves as the two Qunari take their leave. It isn’t until he could no longer hear their stomping that the halla decides to wake up, actually yawning and looking up at him drowsily as though to ask, ‘What’s with all the racket?’ 

“This is all your fault, you know? What are you doing bursting into my tent in the middle of the night? How did you even undo the ties?” Cullen grumbles as he quickly throws on his armor and splashes his face with water he kept in a pitcher for such purposes. 

Still, as embarrassing as this whole situation was, at least he’d slept fairly well after the nightmares left him. He actually felt refreshed and starving for a full meal for the second day in a row. Perhaps the worst of his symptoms were over? He’d never heard of them leaving so quickly. Perhaps the Maker saw fit to help him in his efforts to assist with closing the breach. 

Cullen snapped at Hana to get her to follow along, which it seemed like she did reluctantly. Cullen chuckled quietly as she shook her head and blinked at him blearily when she stood up to walk towards him. It seemed even halla could not be morning risers. In a moment of weakness, he reached out and scratched behind her ear, which she seemed to love since she nickered softly and rubbed her head into the touch. 

“Alright, you’ve been spoiled enough from me for today. Back to your post, Miss Hana.” 

He led her back to the stables swiftly, waving her into her stall. As he locked her in, he could swear she was staring up at him in the halla equivalent of puppy dog eyes. 

“You’ve had free reign enough, for now. Perhaps when I take Grace out later you may come. Until then, be a good girl.” 

Hana propped her snout on the top of the gate and huffed at him. He actually cracked a smile and tossed both her and Grace an apple before he left, heading towards the war room to look over reports and discuss some things with the other advisors until the meeting. 

***

“As allies? Are you sure that’s wise?” 

Cullen stared incredulously at The Herald as he explained the horrifying events from Redcliffe. 

“Would you rather us all locked up like your mabari? Give us a sip of lyrium from time to time if we’ve been good little mages?” 

The Tevene mage that the Herald had dragged here with him from Redcliffe like a heavily perfumed stray was not helping his already shot nerves. He glared right back. 

“No. I know very well the horrors of the circles, but I know just as well the dangers that unchecked magic can bring. There are not nearly enough templars here to contain them all.” 

“They are not here to be contained, Commander,” Kaaras answered softly. “Kindly remember that Haven is just that - a haven for all. Including those that are born with something that they often never asked for in the first place.” 

As the old familiar fear receded, he felt ashamed. 

“You are right, of course. Please forgive me. I let my fear cloud my reason.” 

The Tevene mage looked at him strangely then, as though he’d found a puzzle to solve, but went silent. The Herald nodded, understanding shining in his eyes. 

“I’ve heard some of your story, so I understand your concerns. However, let us give them the benefit of the doubt for now. Many are simply happy for a chance to find the families they were taken from, so I imagine they will be much too busy for staging a takeover.” 

“Understood, Herald.” 

The Qunari nodded, adding a soft smile of reassurance that Cullen felt he didn’t deserve. He fell silent and let the others run the meeting as he lost himself in memories. 

He shook his head, forcing himself to stop thinking about such maudlin things. He had better things to worry about now. Accommodations and supplies for an extra hundred people, at least. He’d need to ask about for a more accurate tally. Increased lyrium supplies. Andraste’s ass, there was going to be lyrium everywhere. 

Cullen gulped at the realization, practically tasting the song on his tongue. But no, he could handle it. He’d tell Cassandra to increase her vigilance...and to be on the lookout for a replacement, just in case. Perhaps Rylan. 

When the meeting was over, he strode quickly from the room thinking he’d stop for a bite then take Grace out for another ride. He was halfway to the door when somewhere cleared their throat behind him. 

Turning, he found the Tevene mage eyeing him sheepishly, though he maintained his proud stance. 

“I wanted to...apoligize. That was unfair of me to start our acquaintance in such a way. I’m afraid I was being as judgemental of templars as others are of me.” 

Cullen rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“That’s quite alright. I can’t say there wasn’t a time I would have deserved every word and more. Pray accept my apologies as well Magi...err...Lord...Pavus, was it?” 

The mage chuckled lowly, waving his hand with an affected flourish like many nobles were wont to do. 

“Just call me Dorian, Commander. The scary magister is my father.” 

“Alright, Dorian.” 

The mage’s smile is friendly - and perhaps a bit flirtatious. 

“I was wondering where I might bed down around here, Commander. I know many are in tents, so if you would be so kind as to point me in - Venhedis! What is that awful sound?” 

The awful sound was a horrible screeching bray coming from the stables. But it wasn’t normal. It sounded...terrified. 

“Hana!”

Cullen sprinted towards the stables, unmindful of the fact that the mage ran with him. He burst through the door and towards Hana’s stall. She was spooked horribly - her eyes wide and watching everyone fearfully as she reared back, kicking her hooves towards some unseen thing. 

“Shhh, easy girl. It’s just me. It’s alright.” 

Like it was he was her lighthouse in a storm, she latched her frightened gaze on him, letting him lead her back to calm. Once she stopped kicking he finally walked into her stall, taking a moment to note that it was unlatched already. He slowly reached out and stroked her neck, ignoring the ear-piercing screaming as it died down. She finally went quiet beyond a slight nicker, her body shaking under his hand. 

“There we go. Good girl, Hana. I’m here.” 

She stuck her head under his arm, seemingly trying to hide under his coat. 

“Friend of yours?” 

Cullen startled, meeting Dorian’s amused gaze. The mage nodded towards Hana, visibly softening in sympathy for the creature. 

“Of a sorts, I suppose. She was a gift from the Dalish for the Inquisition, but according to another elf around here she’s chosen me or something. I’ve never seen her like this before, though. She’s normally so calm. I don’t see anything that could have spooked her.” 

Dorian looks around the stables thoughtfully, humming as he holds his hand up that soon emits a slight glow. His eyes narrow as he follows some invisible thread leading towards Hana’s stall. He frowns and closes his hand before meeting Cullen’s questioning look. 

“There’s a trace of magic in here. It’s not...evil, but it’s hardly something innocent. It feels ancient.” 

Cullen strokes Hana, as she continues to use him as a shield from the world. 

“They didn’t hurt her though?” 

“No. She appears healthy, although…”

Cullen’s brow furrows as the mage stares thoughtfully at the halla. 

“Dorian, what’s wrong with her?!” 

Dorian shakes his head, “It’s not something wrong, it’s just something strange. She doesn’t feel like your average beast. She has immense power, for one thing. Immense magical power.” 

“She’s some sort of sacred halla for the Dalish...could that be it?” 

“No,” the mage shook his head, pulling on his mustache thoughtfully. “She feels like a mage. Which seems strange given the hooves and rather furry appearance, yes?” 

Cullen pried Hana’s head out from under his coat, holding her snout in his hands. For the first time, he really looked into the halla’s eyes and realized they were a warm amber ringed in black...just like the Hana from his dream. 

His breathing became unsteady as his mind struggled to understand what it was piecing together...or rather had been trying to piece together for a couple of days now. It was impossible, wasn’t it? But...he supposed nothing was truly impossible when it came to magic. 

“Dorian, this is going to sound strange, but is there a way to find out if she’s...really a halla?”

The mage quirked an eyebrow at him, “My dear Commander, I was merely theorizing. It’s always a good idea to throw out the most impossible things to narrow down the possible ones.” 

Cullen stared into Hana’s eyes, which were looking at him with such soft understanding that there was no way what he’d figured out couldn’t be true. 

“Please?” he looked at the mage, plea in his eyes. Dorian straightened and nodded firmly. 

“I’ll do some research.” 

“Thank you. And Cassandra is nearby, next to the training yard. Please inform her of what is happening - quietly, if you please - and that I’d like two men stationed outside of the stables.” 

Cullen smiled warmly at the mage as he took his leave, then turned and settled onto the bottom of Hana’s stall. 

“I’m going to feel awfully stupid if you turn out to be some sort of demon or possessed halla,” Cullen sighed, settling his hand onto her head to pet her once she plopped her head into his lap. “I’m sure everyone is going to think I’m going mad and that I’m going overboard for something they’d all rather cover in spices and serve for dinner.” 

“If someone’s done this to you though, I’ll do what I can to help.” 

Cullen sighs and settles in to keep watch over a single halla, uncaring of the troubles that lay outside the stable doors for the moment. 

[lokimostly]

Home from War (Ch.5/8)

James Conrad x Reader Word Count: 3,015 Warnings: character death, injury, depictions of violence and gore Fic Summary: One year after you lost the love of your life, a last-minute decision changes everything you thought you knew. Now only one question remains: how to make it out alive, and return home from war?

A/N: Whoo. I could have posted a day ago, but y’all know me, I’m a perfectionist to a fault and I had to make sure everything was *chef’s kiss.* Also, I split the chapter AGAIN cause it was way too long (and I like where it ends better, anyway). I’m looking forward to your comments on this one. <3 

Prequel Series | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight (Epilogue)

As you and the group travelled west across the island, the feeling of dread in your stomach began to tie itself into knots. 

Everyone but Colonel Packard and a few of the soldiers were visibly on edge. No one would meet your eyes, focused instead on the forest around them, and what could possibly be in it. Particularly what wanted to eat you alive.

You took solace in walking with Conrad. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like, stuck on this island without him. But he too looked tense, every tone muscle in his body taut like a coiled spring. If Conrad was nervous, how could you not be?

The trees thinned. The air was thicker, and sick-smelling somehow. You began to pass huge, moss-covered pillars that jutted from the ground: giant bones. Thousands of them. They were overgrown by vines and trees, the only remnants of ancient creatures long-dead – and whatever had killed them.

You came over the crest of a grassy hill and your breath caught when you saw the valley below. 

Filled with putrid smoke, polluted with gaseous vents and littered with the monolith bones of two former giants, the smell alone was enough to make you gag. The bones of the giants were still bloodstained. It may have been years since they’d died, but not so long ago that whatever killed them hadn’t stopped gnawing on their bones.

“You smell that?” Marlow said in disgust. “That’s death.” 

“What the hell is this place?” Slivko asked weakly, pushing up his bandana and looking like he might throw up. 

“This is what’s left of Kong’s parents,” Marlow said, clenching his jaw.

“I’ve taken enough photos of mass graves to recognize one,” Weaver deadpanned. She stared ahead with a sour expression. The mood of the group dropped even further and settled into heady discontent.

Colonel Packard, on the other hand, was unfazed. “The crash site’s just on the other side of this valley,” He nodded, gesturing to the terrain below you with his rifle. “We’ll cross through and make it to the highest point west.” 

You looked down into the crater of bones, which was so polluted by fumes that you could hardly see into it, much less across to the other side.

Yeah, this was not a good idea.

Marlow gaped at the Colonel, astounded that he was still set in his course. “Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head, vocalizing your thoughts. “This place is a real no-no, sir.”

“We need to be going to the north side right now!” One of the LandSat scientists piped up quickly, riding the wave of insubordination.

The Colonel turned to look at him sharply. “And you’re welcome to do that, my man,” he snapped. “By yourself!” 

He turned back to the rest of you, looking from face to face obstinately. “Now who’s with me?”

The soldiers looked between each other with uncertainty. You and Mills glanced shared a glance and he gave you a severely disgruntled look behind the Colonel’s back.

“We can make it,” Conrad said. His eyes were fixed on the valley. Your mouth opened in shock and you stared at him, screaming in silent disbelief.

Are you kidding me? You thought.

Conrad glanced at you and tightened his jaw.

“Mighty right, we can make it,” Packard nodded. “Now, stay sharp, keep an eye out.” And with that, he began walking down the hill. 

Most of the soldiers fell into line automatically, some more reluctantly than others. You stood on the ridge for a moment, looking at the path ahead. Marlow adjusted his cap with a stony expression.

“I’ve only been here twenty-eight years, what do I know?” he muttered, shaking his head and following them downhill.

You sighed, rubbing your face and shaking your head into your palm. Everyone else began the descent. You felt the ghosting touch of a hand on the small of your back as Conrad passed you, glancing up to make sure you would follow.

“Stay close?” He said, raising his eyebrows. A promise.

The two of you had already made so many promises. 

You nodded. “I will.” 

~

The air was thick with smoke. Your vision was dangerously cloudy– you could see only a few yards ahead. The ground itself was treacherous. There were random outcroppings of rock and half-buried bones, and giant, gaseous vents that seemed to go on to the center of the earth.

The group kept a loose single-file behind Packard, treading softly along the floor of the valley. Everyone with a weapon in their hands held it raised, attentive and on edge.

Gradually, you spread out. Your breathing became a little less quiet as you grew more familiar with your surroundings. For the moment, there were no monsters around. It gave you time to scope out your surroundings. You were quietly stunned at the amount of dinosaur bones and other geological marvels littering the ground like discarded baubles. This place was an archeologists’ dream -- if their dream included meeting monsters face-to-face.

Soon, the only sound wasn’t your own measured breathing. A few of the soldiers were brave enough to talk in low murmurs as they walked in groups. Randa’s flash camera made a high-pitched whine every time he took a photo.

Your backpack was much heavier than before your groups had joined up together– you and Slivko had taken on some of the weight of Griffin Co’s cargo. Bullets and gas cans, mostly. Not for the first time, your thoughts drifted to the medical bag stored in the Sea Stallion with Chapman. 

If you made it that far, at least you’d have something to look forward to. The constant discomfort of being parted from your tools was not a feeling you wanted to get used to.

Conrad stood alone, kneeling on the ground and pressing his hand into the dirt. You made your way over to him, watching as he pondered over an enormous, three-clawed footprint pressed into the earth.

Like I needed a reminder that Skull Crawlers are here, you thought, and shivered.

You looked away to distract yourself and saw Mills nearby, walking slowly alongside Cole as the older of the two lit a cigarette.

Mills turned and saw the stick dangling from Cole’s mouth, and his expression turned to indignation. “Cole, we don’t got time for that, man,” he chastised quietly. “Put the cigarette out.”

Cole paused in lighting the cig and stared at him for a moment before reaching up, taking a drag, blowing a puff of smoke, and then discarding it with an absentminded flick of his hand. 

There was a boom as the cigarette’s ember flame ignited the gas coming from the vents. A fiery cloud blasted against your front and you turned away, ducking down to avoid the flames.

You coughed as the smoke cleared and looked up at Conrad, who held his shirt over his mouth, looking watery-eyed.

“Watch those fumes!” Randa shouted from across the field, shaking his head and mumbling something under his breath. The camera in his hands fizzed and sputtered as the lightbulb flickered.

“Let’s go!” Packard called through the smoke, rallying the group to him. “We gotta move!”

Conrad coughed and dropped his shirt, standing up. The two of you jogged back to the group, falling into line and catching your breath. Everyone else did the same. 

Just as your boots found their rhythm, you heard a familiar sound: hollow screeching in the distance.

Your blood ran cold.

There was a split-second of silence where nobody breathed. Conrad had already moved towards you in one step, shoulders squared and gun raised protectively.

Then Marlow shouted, “RUN!”

You and Conrad sprinted through the smoke, dodging giant pillars of bone as they appeared through the fog.

“Here! Hide!” He said, pulling you down with him against a fragment of skull. It was curved inward, just big enough to shield the two of you when crouched down and pressed together.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest and you struggled to catch your breath. The Skull Crawler screeched again: closer, this time.

“Shhh,” he soothed, reaching a hand out to squeeze your leg before he shifted his grip on his rifle and tightened his jaw, leaning his head back against the bone. 

It was silent as a tomb. You forced yourself to calm down as the monster came closer, its heavy footsteps reverberating through the ground. Every pounding step drove fear into your mind like a hammer to a nail, until it was right on top of you. 

The monster’s throat warbled in a howl loud enough to burst your eardrums. Your own terrified shout was lost in the noise as you buried your face against Conrad’s shoulder. You felt his hand squeeze your thigh.

The roar changed into a disgusting, retching sound. Its muscled throat convulsed and, in a spray of bones and stomach acid, it disposed of what it couldn’t digest.

You pulled away from Conrad’s shoulder and stared at the bones tumbling across the ground, rolling to a stop in front of you.

Among them, a skull.

Around it, a dog tag. 

Dripping with acid, the punched letters read: Jack Chapman, Lieutenant.

You put your hand to your mouth to stifle a whimper of horror.

“Breathe,” Conrad whispered. His grip tightened when the Skull Crawler retched a final time. Its muscled throat warbled, and with a swing of its tail, it thundered off.

It felt like eternity before the rumbling of the monster’s footsteps subsided. Then, silence.

Conrad let out a breath he’d been holding and pulled you against his chest. Your bottom lip trembled and you fought down a wave of tears, nearly overcome by the feeling of near-death. He reached up to cradle your head, hand tangled in the loose strands of your hair.

“Shh. It’s all right,” He comforted, pressing a kiss to your forehead and exhaling heavily. 

“Rally up! Rally up!” Came Colonel Packard’s voice. 

You forced yourself to pull away from Conrad and stand, fighting the taste of bile that came whenever you thought about Chapman. Conrad snatched up the tangled dog tags and shoved them into his pocket, following behind you.

“Somebody cover the civilian’s six, let’s move!” The Colonel ordered. You beckoned to Weaver and the others to follow you.

They came quickly -- all except Randa, who lagged behind. He lingered in front of one of the dinosaur skulls while trying to take a picture. The flash bulb of his camera popped again, and began to malfunction, flashing at random. He turned it around. The bulb flashed. There was a low warbling behind him.

You turned around just in time to see the Skull Crawler’s giant mouth snatch Randa from thin air, throwing him from side to side before engulfing him whole. As he travelled down the monster’s throat, the camera’s lightbulb flashed erratically, glowing underneath the reptile’s skin. 

Everyone opened fire. The Skull Crawler screeched, swinging its heavy tail towards you. You ducked, feeling the wind as it passed inches above you, before the gunfire drove it way and into the smoke.

“Set up the 50!” Packard ordered. A few soldiers jumped to the task of anchoring a 50-caliber machine gun to a half-buried skull, but everyone else stood still. 

The silence was deafening. Your sweaty hands gripped the cold metal of your gun, finger floating above the trigger. In the distance, the camera flashed. Again. And again. The monster was moving quietly now– the only way to know where it was hiding in the smoke was the telltale whiz and pop of the lightbulb.

Beside you, Mills was sniffing as he tried to keep his composure. Slivko was on the verge of the same mental breakdown. You would have offered words of comfort, but you were feeling just as terrified.

Suddenly the Skull Crawler screamed and charged out of the smoke.

“Run!” You shouted, sprinting away immediately while the other soldiers opened fire. Mills followed you, catching up when you took cover behind a curved rib. The two of you gasped for breath, watching as the Skull Crawler rammed into the dinosaur skull where the 50-cal had been firing away and doing no damage. 

It caught one of the soldiers with its teeth as he flew through the air. He disappeared with a sickening crunch. The Skull Crawler snarled, and set its eyes on another target: Mason Weaver, who was armed with nothing but a camera.

Your eyes widened and you jumped to action. “Stay here!” You told Mills. You ran out from your cover and followed the Skull Crawler as it chased her. She wasn’t stupid: she ran from cover to cover, dodging the monster’s snapping jaws until there was nowhere left to run.

Mason slid underneath the curved ribcage of one of the skeletons, buying herself a fraction of time. The Skull Crawler smashed into the bones with terrifying force and began digging at her with its claws. She screamed, covering her face while its powerful jaws snapped and frothed angrily.

You skidded to a stop next to one of the soldiers, who stood dumbfounded.

“Torch!” You screamed, snapping him from his trance and pointing to the chemical backpack he was wearing. “Now!”

He let fly a sea of flames, dousing the Skull Crawler in fire.

It worked– to distract it, at least. The Skull Crawler shrieked angrily, digging its claws into the ground before swinging its monstrous tail and sending the flamethrower flying. You watched, mouth dry, as he fell into one of the vents.

An explosion rocked the ground and blasted you several feet backwards. Slivko went flying, landing on an unforgiving outcropping of bones and rock. 

Slivko didn’t get up. The contents of his backpack spilled onto the dirt: punctured cans of toxic gas. They whistled dangerously, like a kettle sitting on the stove for too long.

You groaned and pushed yourself off the ground, trying to ignore the high-pitched ringing in your ears. Your head throbbed as you came unsteadily to your feet. 

This is too much, you thought weakly, leaning against a bone pillar and trying to snap out of your dazed state.

You heard Conrad’s voice cut through the air. “Slivko!” he shouted, but his voice fell on unconscious ears. “Gas!”

You watched the cans burst in an explosion of green. 

Clouds of poisonous smoke filled the air and you pulled up the fabric of your shirt to cover your mouth. A whirlwind of yellow birds appeared out of nowhere– the very same terrors who had devoured LandSat director Nieves only hours earlier. They dive-bombed at you and the soldiers, and a fresh wave of terrified screams filled the valley. 

Meanwhile, the Skull Crawler was fully enjoying the hunt: chasing down man after man, devouring them in a single bite. The screams would haunt your nightmares.

As soon as your vision cleared, you took your own gun and aimed – not at the Skull Crawler, that was a lost cause – but at the birds. Mills and Cole did the same. They fell out of the sky one-by-one. You were no excellent marksman, but you could hold your own. That is, until something distracted you.

You saw Conrad out of the corner of your eye as he sprinted past, picked up a gas mask mid-run, and pulled it onto his face before charging into the smoke. You watched him in horror. Saving Slivko or not, it was reckless and unspeakably dangerous.

You weren’t about to let him go alone.

Pulling on a mask of your own and shooting at the birds as you ran, you sprinted through the gas. He had Marlow’s sword in his hands, using it deftly the cut down the low-flying monsters.

When did he learn to use a sword? You wondered vaguely.

As Conrad plowed ahead, you raised your gun and shot the birds that he missed, keeping them off of his back. 

The two of you came out of the gas at the same time. You pulled off your gas mask, and sucked in the fresh air, coughing. 

“Slivko!” Conrad shouted, spotting his unconscious body lying in the dirt. You dropped your mask and ran to him, landing on your knees. 

“C’mon, Sliv,” you urged, pulling him onto his back. He stirred and mumbled something incoherent. You gasped in relief, shifting him into a sitting position as he regained consciousness. “That’s it. Easy,” you soothed. His head was bleeding profusely.

“Help me get him up,” you instructed. Conrad obeyed. You both looped Slivko’s arms around your shoulders and pulled him up.

“Hang on, Sliv,” you stalled, reaching frantically into your pockets for something to wrap his head-- gauze, cloth, anything. 

Somewhere in the distance, Colonel Packard’s voice rang through the valley. “This thing’s moving!”

You barely had time to feel dread before you saw the silhouette of the Skull Crawler coming towards you, jaws gaping. Rows and rows of teeth flashed in its bloodstained mouth. Its forked tongue lashed out and it screeched, churning up the earth beneath its feet. 

Your hand felt something cold and familiar in your pocket.

Without any warning, you dropped Slivko’s arm and pulled the lighter from your pocket, running towards the Skull Crawler.

“Y/N!” Conrad shouted, his voice cracking in terror, as he watched you run to you doom.

You skidded to a stop as the Skull Crawler appeared in the gas and pitched the open lighter as hard as you could.

One little flame, but it was enough.

The lighter arced through the air and flew into one of the vents. An explosion, bigger than any of the others before, rocked the ground below you and caught the Skull Crawler in its wake.

You, Conrad, and Slivko flew back through the air. They landed on their backs against the softer ground, coughing and groaning as they came to their senses.

You weren’t so lucky.

Your back slammed against one of the giant, half-buried ribs and there was a sickening crack. Pain shot up your left leg like a bolt of lightning.

You hit the ground and everything went black.

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! And thanks for all the kind messages lately. Tag list is still open! <3 

Tag List: @tarynkauai​, @jessiejunebug​, @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi​, @fire-in-her-veinz​, @daylight-swiftie​, @un-consider-it​, @torntaltos​, @majahu​, @et-puto​, @kinghiddlestonanddixon​, @awesomefandomsunited​, @damalseer​, @uinen-ulmiel​, @fire-in-her-veinz​, @naspter1129, @fandomdarlings​, @embracingtom​, @alina-margaret​, @bthtallmadge2​, @larryspantaloons​, @lady-loki-ren​, @captainsherlockwinchester110283​, @holacherrycola90, @indelwen-of-mirkwood, @marveloushiddleston, @ladybugsfanfics

[theharellan]

so far i’ve read three trees to midnight, horror of hormak, and callback. i’m trying to practise restraint and leave the last story until i’m at least done with my initial read-through of the material most relevant to my characters which ksjdf. is very hard but here’s notes i’ve taken so far:

oh and btw pls dont r/b this!

if you want a pretty good demonstration of why solas and cole speak with discomfort about how spirits are used in thedas, “wisp darts” may be a pretty good example. it’s likely the wisps aren’t fully-formed spirits, more akin to the pieces of pieces cole refers to the mortalitasi using. still a pretty callous way to use something that has some presence, even if it’s not a person.

there’s a reference to a talented tevinter mage healer being able to reattach arms with magic, through use of spirits.

there is a lot of discord among the qunari rn, both within different arms and without. the bas-taar, the antaam keeper of bas slaves, essentially, thinks of the ashaad with disdain-         “even the black-and-white-striped vitaar that painted the huntmaster’s face was  drawn to symbolise sight, finding, rather than battle and power, as befitted the antaam.” funnily the huntsmaster is actually not antaam but ben-hassrath, therefore a priest, but that his attitude doesn’t draw notice indicates this isn’t abnormal for the ashaad. so like not only do at least some of the antaam and ben-hassrath have beef, but there’s beef within the antaam.

if i read it right, the dwarven deep roads gave way to purely elven ruins, and the warden narrator notes that this isn’t completely unheard of. not only that but there are dwarven carvings of elves, and it’s only later the elven bas-relief take over. i’ll prob need to reread to wrap my head about it, i wonder the relation between the dwarves and elves there.

fucked up as the art itself was, i love the glimpse we got into true elven art. the lack of age made me pause-- solas indicates that spirits can preserve things, so it could be that, or could someone be upkeeping it? and the change the art went through, going from healing to putting the hurt (the taint?) into people. whether this is just ramesh’s perception changing or magic idk, but i also wouldn’t be surprised if ancient elven magic shifted as the viewer looked at it, too.

solas’ reasoning for discomfort abt the wardens grows tbh when i think about the art. while the wardens don’t change themselves the way (what i assume to be) ghilan’nain’s creations have, they are still taking the blight into them oftentimes unwillingly. it’s the sort of parallel that would be difficult to let go to say the least.

there was a yellow-green lyrium stone hanging from the ceiling, something we’ve apparently only seen before in the hissing wastes (around rifts). cole makes reference to it being a result of venatori trying to make red lyrium “less angry,” which i guess would make sense given all the blight around the lyrium? but who knows if they’re connected. it’s a pretty good bet that green lyrium is somehow touched or related to the Fade/sky in ways the blue stuff isn’t.

a lot about the spirit of regret made me wonder both about it and about solas. there was a lot to it that didn’t match up to solas’ motivations-- glee in the dread that was coming, for example, doesn’t match, calling itself the regret of a god. this is honestly expected as spirits don’t create perfect replicas, tho still interesting. and that what felled it wasn’t a lack of regret, but an ownage of said regret. idk i feel it has greater implications for “demons” because things like pride, desire, rage aren’t bad but natural human emotions, and sometimes necessary or even good. this ramble is just becoming the plot to pixar’s inside out. regret was a good and i wish things had ended less violently for it, even if it will likely reform in the fade. i will be putting more stuff out abt regret tbh b/c i like to think it and solas spoke prior to him leaving the inquisition but for now i’ll leave it be.

the implications for solas? - “I regret acting alone!” / “I regret using my friends!” / “I regret now!” as sutherland himself notes it seems like he was echoing the regret that drew it to skyhold, and all these things apply to solas 1000%. the thing about solas’ relationship with regret is that while he does “own it” in the sense that he will admit regretting-- a lot of things, and often-- his relationship with it is pretty unhealthy and doesn’t lead him to new paths, at least not as of now. he’s regretful but also feels stripped of other choices. - “There might have been a better choice, said a thought it had not been allowed.” this line makes me think about inquisitors who vowed to redeem solas, specifically thora, but what else is new there. namely, the lines at the end of his trespasser screne aren’t so much in the spirit of “save our friend from himself, if we can” but “i’ll show you there’s another way.” which is much closer to how i imagine the threat solas poses could be nullified (without just pure opposition, anyway, which imo may solve the solas dilemma but would just be slapping a bandage on a world that’s bleeding out). - that the final fresco became the scene of flemythal’s death and that the figure was both lupine and reptilian obvs confirms that it was absorption and not possession which, thanks i hated that theory for many reasons. whether the implication is that solas has lost some of his own identity as a result or it’s merely symbolic we’ll see, i guess. i do personally hc that it changes his relationship with his own magic and not necessarily for the better. - tbh the moral sutherland and the order from divine victoria is interesting considering-- regret did accept and move on? which has implications for more than just solas but spirits in general. idk i’ll talk abt this one more once a) i reread it and b) i read the other relevant stories for solas b/c i know there’s more

on a brighter note, it was sweet and so good to see the inquisition from the POV of people not in the inner circle. i loved the note of skyhold being stripped bare by people taking keepsakes, and how much it meant to sutherland

overall so far i think my fave has been three trees to midnight, i thought the chemistry between the characters rang the most true. i’ll have to go back and reread down among the dead mean as i know it has spirit-relevant stuff but i wanted to read horrors of hormak......... so.

oh i wanted to add if you’d like more coherent summaries, i’d suggest felassan’s tevinter nights tag. everything i talk abt in here will prob end up rewritten on solas or my multimuse (like the qunari stuff is relevant to tetrak) rn it’s just........... words.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

continuation of this drabble. content warning for referenced/implied noncon.

Emory knows for certain, within half a day, that something’s happened to Lux. They text every morning, occasionally throughout the day, every night - if they’re not both sleeping at Emory’s place, which they often are. Lux has stopped responding, and he’s nowhere that Emory can think to look.

He’s talked to Lux’s friends, he’s told Anders, and people know, they’re looking, they’re worried. Emory doesn’t have connections or magic. He can only wait, and hope that wherever Lux is, he can take care of himself.

“Lux. Lux…”

Emory touches his shoulder, and Lux whimpers, tucking his face against the back of his couch, away from his boyfriend.

“Honey, where were you? How did you get home?”

He watches Lux take a few breaths, arms wrapped around his middle. Then, Lux makes a choked sound, and Emory takes his hand, just because he’s dying to wrap Lux up in a hug but thinks all the contact will make Lux panic. Tears start slipping down those pale cheeks, his eyes squeezed shut. Emory cups Lux’s cheek - that doesn’t make him panic - and then goes to kiss his forehead, which makes Lux whine sharply and sink down lower in the couch, arms coming up to cover his head. His sleeves come up to show bruising around his wrists.

Emory’s not going to touch him again without permission. “You got home, Curls. I’m so glad you’re home safe with me. You know where you are?”

Lux’s breaths are tumultuous, uneven. “I kn-know,” He answers, voice muffled by his hiding. “I. Took Cole home first. Too much walking, it - hurts…” A shiver runs through him. “Water, please?”

As soon as he’s brought a cup of water, Emory hurrying to help, Lux sits up with more pained sounds to drink it. His hands shake as he lifts it, lowers it back into Emory’s hands.

“Cole was with you?” Emory asks, watching Lux closely in case he just slumps over. He looks liable to pass out.

Lux nods somberly, looking up at Emory from the cup. His eyes don’t have that joy they usually have; they’re dull and weary. “I kept him safe.” He’s intent on making that clear, fingers twitching when he wants to take Emory’s hand, but he fears any contact right now. “No one laid a hand on him. He’s just hungry. His mom will make him food, make sure he sleeps. He’ll be okay.”

“I believe you. It sounds like you did a good job protecting him. Was his mom glad to see him again?”

“Uh-huh.” Lux nods. “And, after I got him home, I went back, made sure everybody else was safe too.”

“Everybody else?” It’s horrible, the thought of Lux doing so much to help others before letting himself come home to crash. “Safe from what? Lux, where were you?”

“I was - we were - it was a cell,” Lux starts, seeming a bit dazed by muted horror. His voice gets quieter like he’s telling a secret. “They wanted me to talk, at first. There was a, a camera. And they made me - mmm. Made me. Take off my clothes, and stay kneeling, I don’t know how long. Then I got moved to the cell.”

Emory nods, listening. He’s still crouching beside the couch, where he brought Lux his water. Lux did collapse on the couch, for Emory to find him, so he’s lying down on it. Emory won’t ask him to move.  “What happened in the cell?”

“Nothing - nothing happened in there, nothing happened,” Lux answers insistently. “Not in there. I wouldn’t let Cole see anything like that. There were a lot of us. We were all chained up, girls, guys, and - a man, he came in. Tried to drag out a girl, she was younger than me, and so scared - I said, I said if he wanted that, to do that, he should - I told him, he should do it to m-me - I showed him -” He pulls up his tattered shirt for Emory to see. He ignores all the bruising across his chest to point at the scars from bite marks, even though Emory’s eyes go to the bite-shaped bruising that’s far fresher than scars.

“You asked for that, to protect a girl,” Emory surmises, trying to keep a handle on all the emotions warring to make him sick. Lux already has so much trouble enjoying being in bed with his own boyfriend, outside of trauma, it’s something they work on - the thought of someone doing this to Lux, it’s horrific.

The shirt is lowered, and Lux nods again. “I didn’t - ask him to stop, didn’t say no, every day, and, I kept her safe - I kept everyone safe, the whole time. No one - no one, but me, got hurt like that. No one.” He’s leaning forward, determined to make Emory understand.

“You were really brave, Lux. I bet they were grateful to you, for protecting them.”

“Some - some of them were. The girls. Cole, he was. A few of - the guys, they - they said things - called me things, like I was weak, like I wanted it - they told me to wait ‘til the man was asleep, and slit his throat, if I really didn’t want any of it, get us out - but he didn’t sleep there! On the mattress, he didn’t fall asleep there, after, and I couldn’t take his knife, it wasn’t easy like that, they didn’t understand, they thought - they didn’t get it.”

Emory raises his hands in a placating gesture, eyes showing his concern. Lux doesn’t have to talk about it so soon, he doesn’t have to stress himself out like this, but he’s doing it anyway.

“Changed their tune when I came back for them,” Lux mutters, looking away tiredly. He stares at the wall for a moment, like he did in the cell, until he remembers he’s back with Emory. He looks at his boyfriend, now. “Do I sound crazy?”

Shaking his head, Emory shifts onto his knees and leans up to be more on eye level with him. “You sound tired. How long has it been since you slept? It must’ve been hard, there.”

“Been… a few days. I’m not sure. Didn’t want to, to leave Cole alone, no one else would watch out for him - they could come at night, if I wasn’t awake, they might’ve, taken one of the girls…”

“You want a shower before I help you to bed, then? I bet you want to get all cleaned up.”

Lux’s eyes widen a little, and he nods eagerly. Two unsteady hands make their way to Emory’s shoulders. He sits up and stiffly turns on the couch, helped to his feet when Emory stands. Lux leans against him with a whine, and then wraps his arms around Emory. They stand there, hugging, as Emory waits for Lux to show he’s ready to move.

“Help me?” Lux asks, against Emory’s shoulder, and they start the slow, painful walk toward the bathroom.

Lux has fallen asleep, ten minutes into the shower. Emory was scrubbing his back gently, his arms, his chest, and Lux just gradually slumped forward into the other, water dripping from his curls. Emory finally murmurs to him that the water’s going to stop and he’ll be chilly for a moment.

A half-asleep Lux is bundled up in towels. Emory forgoes the walking, afraid that Lux will slip on the floor, so he picks up his too-light boyfriend and carries him to the bedroom. Sets him down on the armchair in there, and helps him get into fresh pajamas, hair towel-dried, before he’s carried over to the bed. Lux was flinching away from touch an hour ago, but now he’s all limp and holding weakly onto Emory, letting himself be wrapped up in blankets and held close. Emory brushes through his curls with his fingers, telling him quietly that he did well and he’s safe now, and Emory will hold him as he falls asleep.

Lux keeps jolting himself awake, breath hitching as he tries to look around. Emory’s familiar touch and smell and voice make him remember where he is each time. This time, someone will stay awake to make sure he’s okay. Finally, Lux’s breathing evens out and deepens. He’s curled up, bruised wrists together by his chest, how Emory imagines he slept on the floor of a cell, arms bound together. He’ll be okay, the more he heals, and once his pain doesn’t carry over into his sleep. Emory knows he’ll have nightmares. He’s surprised that Lux was able to accept any touch at all tonight.

He knew already that Lux is strong. He just didn’t know he was this strong, to make it back after what he’s just survived.

[finding-jericho-blog]

Same Difference

characters: RK900(dbh) x human fem!reader

warning(s): Graphic language

word count: 2,124 words

Part Two

A/N: So.. I wanted to write a RK900 fic, but I wanted to write him how I personally headcanon him, not as the evil killing machine everyone imagines him as. There will be more to come, promise! Cx

When you walked into the precinct that morning, the sheer amount of whispers alone should have alerted you to the fact that something was awry, but you’d had such a horrible night of sleep that you only rubbed your bleary eyes as you walked past the front desk. You felt like shit, and you probably looked like it, too, but the reason for your recent spout of insomnia couldn’t be chalked up to you idly scrolling through your social media instead of actually trying to sleep this time; it was something you tried not to think about. The whole precinct tried not to think about it, really, but you and your old, grizzly uncle had been the ones closest to the incident and every day, you were finding a little bit harder for you to cope with it.

Lost in your train of thought, the gate whooshing open to offer you entrance seemed to rouse you, and you huffed a slow, deep sigh through your nostrils as the glass door slid open. Your feet carried you through the door and into the hall, and it was only then that you began to wonder why the room was so.. quiet. Eerily so. Usually, if there wasn’t a briefing going on, the floor was filled with laughter and polite conversation as officers carried out the least enjoyable part of their jobs; the desk work. Nobody liked it, but the paperwork needed to be done, so they tried to make it as pleasant as possible. All except your uncle, really; he kept to himself unless you were there to keep him company. Even then, sometimes neither of you really spoke, content enough to fall into a comfortable silence.

You didn’t work here; god no, you weren’t sure you could ever see yourself ever being a legitimate cop. You supposed you were an honorary ‘member of the force’, merely by extension of Hank. They celebrated your birthday, they sent you cards when you were sick, they came to your aid even when they were off duty. After.. Cole died, you started coming to the precinct to check on your uncle, since he refused to answer anyone’s calls and no one else in your family bothered to check on him. After a while, the rest of your family moved on, deciding that Hank would ‘come around eventually’ and that it was apparently more trouble than it was worth to continue making sure he knew that he wasn’t alone. That was three years ago, and ever since then, it’d been you and Hank against the world. Spending most of your days with Hank at the precinct was second nature now, and you couldn’t imagine spending your time any other way. Besides, it had taught you a thing or two about self defense and you had to admit, you felt your safest surrounded by your large ‘family’ of police officers.

Or, you had.

When you turned the corner into the main room, you abruptly slammed into something, which you soon realized was someone. While the other figure remained wholly unaffected, you stumbled backwards with an audible ‘oof’, but thankfully, whoever it was that you had ran into reached out to steady you by the shoulders. “Sorry,” You uttered out embarrassedly. “I wasn’t watching where I was-” As your eyes darted upwards, they met an unfamiliar pair of cool grey eyes belonging to a very familiar face.

Almost by instinct, your wretched away from his grasp, a look of horror finding residency on your features. “Connor?!” The name ripped out of your throat like a gasp, falling from your lips into the floor’s dead air. No.. no, it couldn’t be, they’d told you he’d been decommissioned, that he had been too much of a liability, that you and Hank were safe from him now!

“My apologies,” a too familiar of a voice mused, lips pressed into a firm, thin line. “but I am the replacement RK900 model sent by CyberLife.”

His words did nothing to soothe you.

Shaking your head, you backed away, but the RK900 simply watched you with his arms at his sides, making no moves to approach you or otherwise communicate with you. Swallowing your fear, you brushed past him and practically sprinted in the direction of Hank’s desk, and you found your uncle with his head in his arms, leaning over his desk. He only lifted his head when he heard your footfalls approaching him, and he looked at you with an expression you could only describe as one of exasperation. “Shit.. I was hoping you wouldn’t come in today–“

“Hank,” you hissed within a whisper, overlooking his previous statement. “did you see–“

“I did,” he cut you off, turning back to the paperwork sprawled haphazardly across his desk. “motherfuckers didn’t learn their lesson with the last one, I guess. They just keep pumping the fuckers out like shitty hot dogs.” Although you might have laughed at his statement, you were too on edge to find any amusement in the comparison; your racing heart pounded so hard in your ears that you feared Hank may hear it from where he was sitting. How could they just.. make another and put him back on the mission after what the last one had done?

Your eyebrows knitted together as you peered over your shoulder; the android was no longer where you’d left him, presumably carrying on with whatever task he’d been given before you’d run into him. Slowly, your gaze was drawn back to Hank, and, very softly now, you spoke. “… Fowler didn’t assign him to you, did he?”

Silence.

“For fuck sake,” you spat, your eyes snapping towards the captain in question’s office; despite being behind a wall of glass and being unable to hear a word either of you were saying, Captain Fowler’s eyes were already on you, and he looked away almost shamefully when your eyes met. “I’m going to talk to him.” You announced, moving to take a step in his direction, but Hank’s sudden grasp on your wrist kept you in place.

“Don’t bother, kid, I already gave that asshole a piece of my mind, he ain’t budging.”

Ignoring Hank’s request, you slipped your wrist out of his hold and marched right up the steps, swinging the door to his office open and storming inside in one fell swoop; Fowler couldn’t even look at you as you approached him, but you heard him mutter something a bit like ‘here we go’ under his breath as you came to stand over him at his desk. Despite the tensity of the silence, you didn’t speak a word, not until his dark eyes finally darted up to meet yours in uncertainty.

“What.. the fuck.”

“Listen, [Y/N], I–“

“No, you listen to me, Jeffrey.” you pressed your palms into the wood grain of his desk as you leaned over it, your gaze unwavering. “I don’t know what your game is here, but if you really think this is a good idea, then you need to have your head checked. I mean, honestly? After what happened last time?”

“CyberLife admitted that the android they last sent was... faulty, but they have assured me personally that this one is perfectly safe.” Although his voice was wholly even, his gaze darted between you, his monitors, the papers stacked neatly on his desk, and everywhere in between as he said this; he wasn’t certain of the validity of the words he was speaking, and you both knew it. “Having worked with the last one, Hank is the most qualified out of everyone to handle working with it.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to yell at Jeffery and tell him how shitty of a person he was to be dumping this on your uncle, and by extension, you, especially after everything you’d both been through with the last CyberLife android. It felt like a raging wildfire roaring through your chest, like it would overtake you at any given second. But instead, you quietly straightened your posture, your shoulders slumping as his eyes finally met yours again. “Jeffery..” you quite nearly whispered, shaking your head. “.. He nearly nearly killed us. Please, I don’t.. I don’t think Hank can handle much more. Is that what you want? You want Hank to finally have a breakdown? If you want him gone, please, just fire him. Assign the android to Gavin for all I care, just leave my uncle out of it. Please.”

Captain Fowler was silent; despite looking genuinely regretful for assigning the new prototype to Hank, he still shook his head and turned away from you. “I’m sorry, [y/n/h]. My decision is final.”

Disbelief washed over you like a tidal wave. You honestly couldn’t fathom how Fowler could do this a second time. The first time, he had said that he hoped working with Connor would finally help Hank get back to being the cop he’d once been, but now, there was no excuse, not a good one at least. You found yourself shaking your head once more, turning to retreat back towards the door of his office; you paused, though, just before you opened the door. “Whatever happens..” you said, not even bothering to look at Fowler; you knew he was listening. “is on your hands. I hope you remember that.” With that, you slipped out of the office, trudging down the steps in defeat. When you returned to Hank, his nose was buried in his work, which was unlike him; he never bothered to work so diligently on paperwork, often leaving it to the very last possible second. Slowly, your [y/e/c/] eyes drifted past him to the adjoining desk to find the eerily familiar form of the RK900 sitting at the desk; the desk Connor used to sit at. The desk you use to sit at together.

The new model’s eyes were closed and his LED was a shimmering gold; he must be in the garden, Connor had told you about it once. Wincing at the sudden onslaught of painful memories, you maneuvered to sit on top of Hank’s desk, your legs dangling off the side as you both clearly struggled to ignore the android. You felt the weight of everyone’s eyes as they passed, and you knew most of them felt sympathy for you and your uncle, but they said nothing as they passed you by. What could they say, really? Sorry the captain is throwing you under the bus, again?

Despite your best efforts, your eyes eventually shifted back up towards the android in question, taking in his strange appearance. He sat perfectly still in the way only an android could, his hands resting in his lap in a stiff, tense fashion that continued to put you in mind of Connor. Aside from the obvious change of clothes and the stark difference in eye color, this RK900 looked almost identical to Connor, right down to every freckle, and even that unruly tuft of hair that made him seem a little less perfect, a little more.. human.

You hated how much he looked like him.

Suddenly, the RK900’s eyes snapped open and met yours, and you felt your breath catch in your chest as you quickly averted your gaze. Connor had nearly killed you, simply because you’d been in the way of his mission, and yet, part of you still loved him, grieved him, even. You hated him with every fiber of your being for what he’d put you and your uncle through, for the lies he told and the utter betrayal he’d so matter-of-factly admitted to.

“I only ever told you what you wanted to hear,” you could still hear his pleasant voice utter too softly, too sweetly for his hand being around your throat like that. “I had to get along with you, whatever made my mission easier. It was easy to win you over, and once you trusted me, Lieutenant Anderson would inevitably follow.”

“You lied!” you had sobbed out, fingers clutching at the fabric of his sleeve. “Everything was a lie! How could you!”

“It was nothing personal,” he had sounded so sad when he said that.. like he really regretted what he was about to do. “it was all for the greater good, and for the record, I think I would have enjoyed our time together, if I was capable of such. But now, you’re in my way.”

Every word he’d spoken, every perceived spark of emotion that he had displayed as he admitted his doubts as to whether or not he was just a machine, every.. affectionate moment you’d shared.. it had all been a clever lie, and you’d fallen for those sad eyes once before.

You weren’t going to again.

Taglist;

@akemiikeda, @deviantramblings, @deviantsupporter !!! <3 <3 <3 

[fabrowrites]

White

Quick ficlet that's been running around in my head for a while. Cross posted on ffn.net.

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

Gene's wings blend in perfectly with the dark colors of Darkley's School for Bad Boys. "My parents are high-ranking members of a biker gang," he brags. The proof is there for everyone to see, too. Green and charcoal splatter across the top of his coverts, joined by the little patches of color from his large circle of adopted aunts and uncles and cousins.

Brad's wings have bright silver tips and when his mom brings him a care package, the same bright silver gleams from the soul-feathers mostly hidden near her back. "I never knew my father," he tells Lloyd one night, in a rare moment of vulnerability. "Haha, see? No indigo anywhere here." He unfurls his wings and spins, and the only other color on his feathers is Lloyd's own.

Even Finn, the magician's kid, has acid green feathers scattered throughout his white primaries and secondaries. They glow when he's angry; he says it's a side effect of being created from pure magic. Lloyd doesn't have a problem with that, not really. But the fact remains that even the kid magically spawned on some isolated island has a heart-color brightening his feathers.

And Lloyd? Lloyd's wings are as white as the day he was born. There's not a splotch of heart-color anywhere on them, and he's checked, too, every night before he goes to sleep. White wings are the worst kind. They announce to the whole wide world that nobody has ever loved him: no, not his mom, not his dad, not the friends he's grown up with since forever.

Oh, he remembers his mom. He remembers the wings speckled with gold and purple, folding around him in a gesture of safe. The same wings betraying him, leaving him alone and abandoned on the doorstep of Darkley's. The olive green heart-color never appearing on his own wings, no matter how many times he looked in a mirror.

He doesn't remember his dad. He knows that he left before he was born and that he was the one to paint his mom's feathers in purple. But there's no face to go along with this knowledge- only rumors, stories, and gossip.

It doesn't bother him. Really. If he just ignores the ache in his heart and the repulsed yet pitying looks of his teachers, he can get through his day just fine. Darkley's, however bad it might be, is way better than the outside world.

That's what he thinks for a while, at least. But it can't go on forever, and something inside him snaps as Finn taunts him one too many times over his lack of presents on his birthday. Who needs love when you can have fear instead? he thinks, as he seizes a cloak on his flight out of the building. He slips the fabric over his blank wings, blanketing them in the darkest color there is.

The kids at Darkley's usually have just the one or two heart-colors from their parents. Lloyd's not prepared for the sheer amount of color that almost everyone has on their wings. He wanders, wide-eyed, for several hours in the village outside his school. Then his head kicks in and he shoves his heart aside. He's out here for a reason. He's gonna be the greatest villain in Ninjago ever, and then, people will stare at him for something far better than his white wings.

The plan is perfect in his head. The execution, well, not so much. Four ninja drop from the sky and carry him off, kicking and screaming, to their flying ship. Oh, he hates it at first. But the ninja slowly win him over and he starts to think of them as not friends, not yet, but not enemies either.

Kai's flight feathers are painted in gold and blue, but most striking is the large patch of dark red feathers that cover his entire mantle and stretch out to most of his outer coverts. Lloyd doesn't know much about winglore, but Kai tells him that the mantle feathers often represent the protector. The rest of his coverts are specked with a rainbow of colors, but the largest three sections are the colors of the other ninja.

Jay's upper coverts are colored in gray and pale blue. Lloyd catches flashes of color on his inner wings when he's training, but the lightning ninja moves too fast for him to clearly see. The feathers near his left alula are tinted in a maroon that darkens with each passing day and creeps down farther and farther- the same color as the feathers on Kai's back. Cole's, Kai's, and Zane's colors tint the edge of his flight feathers, climbing higher every time Lloyd sees them.

Cole's feathers are dyed in a rich gold and a faded orange, each covering a piece of his wingtips. "The orange used to be brighter than this," Lloyd overhears him telling Jay one night, as he sneaks into the kitchen for a midnight snack. "But she, well, you know. I guess that's why it's my favorite color." Jay's heart-color- a brilliant blue- is the largest of the ninja's colors on his coverts, but the others shine brightly too.

Nya's wings are tapered, built for speed. The secondaries on each side of her back are colored in the same gold and blue on Kai's, and a burnt orange color spreads across her mantle and creeps down to blend with the others. Many spots of different colors speckle her wings, but the biggest of them is the same color as Jay's that takes up a whole four feathers on her coverts.

Like Lloyd, Zane's feathers are almost completely white. A sea green colors the secondaries of his right wing, but slowly spreading across his wingtips are the colors of the other ninja. Something about the ice ninja draws Lloyd to him. They sit together in the crow's nest for hours at end, Lloyd talking and Zane listening, and something clicks into place for him. It isn't long before Lloyd sees his own green appear on his alula.

And Lloyd checks his wings every night, when he's alone, and he doesn't have to hide. And every night he's met with the same image- blank wings meeting his blank stare that doesn't, can't understand what's so unloveable about him that he still has no heart-colors.

He looses his cloak when the serpentine capture him. It's unnerving. He been with it so long that he feels naked and vulnerable without it's weight, but the snakes seem not to know or care about the human's winglore. Cramped within the metal cage, his wings grow dusty and ragged. Broken feathers hang from their shafts, bent at odd angles where they get stuck between the bars of his cage. His skin itches much the same way it did when he had to get out of Darkley's, but this time it's much worse and worst of all, there's no escape he can see for him anytime soon.

Lloyd's not sure what to think when he sees the dark man inside the Fire Temple. The tingling in his coverts surges as they lock eyes, and Lloyd is left gasping, but the moment passes and he's tugged away as Pythor tries to flee the volcano.

The man chases after them. He throws snake after snake over the edge into the lava. He fights whole groups of them at a time, winning every match. His eyes never leave Lloyd. Lloyd's throat feels dry. Is this-?

But his thought never gets to finish. Pythor jerks the cage on its hook and the door flies open and Lloyd falls.

He screams. His wings flare, but they are too damaged, too weak from the long term of disuse to be helpful. He crashes into rock.

He's not sure how long he stays that way, only that suddenly a presence is at his side and helping him to his feet. Lloyd stands up and it's Kai, face flushed and hair spikes dropping into his face and the gold on his wings arching in a protective stance above him reflecting the glowing magma below.

They escape somehow. Lloyd doesn't know how. But they're back on the flying ship and Kai is getting congratulated by the ninja and the dark man is still watching him. Lloyd gulps. He's been waiting for this moment all his life, but now that it's here, he doesn't know what to do.

"Hello."

The room goes silent. The dark man still watches him. Lloyd takes a breath and starts again.

"Are you my father?"

He doesn't know what he wants the answer to be. Or, at least, he doesn't think he does. But when the dark man nods, slowly, like he isn't sure himself, something breaks inside Lloyd and he covers the distance between the two of them and flings his arms around his waist. Garmadon stiffens. Lloyd feels tears breaking at the corners of his eyes.

"Why?" he whispers, and in that one question there hide so many more. Fingers card through his hair. Lloyd chokes on his sob.

"I'm sorry, Lloyd," Garmadon says, and like the question before, it holds more words than were spoken. His voice is low and rough. It's just how Lloyd imagined it.

"Lloyd," he says again, "I've missed so much. I did not know I had a son, but now that I have you, I am never letting go." Crimson eyes stare into crimson. And Lloyd feels the same shiver from earlier crawling down his spine.

He breaks away abruptly. Is this-? He hardly dares to hope. Not caring what anyone else might think, he stretches out his wings, displaying the vulnerable inner feathers, and brings them around so he can see. Lloyd scrubs at his wing. The soot falls off, the dust and the ashes, and there.

His fingers stutter over the inner coverts of his left wing, over the deep purple coloring the unkempt feathers. His mouth opens; no words come out. Something taps his shoulder; he looks around to see Kai.

"Over here, silly. I know you must have felt it earlier, and I've gotta say, you couldn't ask for a better mantle cover." He grins, easy and cocky but there's something else in his eyes, something more vulnerable.

Lloyd twists his neck. There, just out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of burnt orange. His heart definitively skips a beat this time. Two heart-colors in one day, after a lifetime of no color. He keeps staring, looking back and forth between the two.

"You're acting like you've never seen a heart-color before," scoffs Kai. He's scuffing the toe of his boot against the deck floor.

Lloyd only nods dumbly.

Kai's face morphs into poorly disguised horror. "Wait a minute. What did they do to you at that bad boy's school? They don't paint your wings black, do they?" he asks, like having black wings is the worst thing he can imagine.

Lloyd laughs at that. It's kinda breathless, kinda sardonic, all around astonished.

"No," he says. "No, not black."

[wonwoosthetic]

Saviour || Jake Gyllenhaal

Heyy everyone, here you have another Jake Gyllenhaal imagine, very kindly requested by Anonymous - I hope you enjoy it!! :)

Request:  Hey! Hope your doing great. Can I request an imagine with Jake Gyllenhaal, where the reader and him used to be a couple, but they split and the reader is in a new relationship and her new bf is abusive and idk how but jake finds out about it and like he saves her and they get back together or something ? ☺️

AND my Finn Cole imagine “Just Tell Me That You Love Me” just hit 100 likes, so thank you SO MUCH for this, that is absolutely insane, I would have never imagines ANY of my writing to get anywhere near as that many likes!

Warning: hints to an abusive relationship, a described punching scene, sadness, some curse words

Please don’t read, if you’re sensitive towards this subject!

Pairing: Jake Gyllenhaal x Reader

Saviour

--- A Year Before ---

„What do you mean, you can’t do this anymore?”

Your boyfriend of two years was sitting on your shared couch in the living room with you standing in front of him, slightly blocking the view to the TV. After you got back from work and found him chilling there, you thought this was the time ‘Now or never’, to tell him about your current state and opinion of your relationship. You knew, when you had just started dating him, that it wasn’t going to be easy – he was actor, of course he would be travelling a lot – but you would have never thought, that it would come to that point, where you just couldn’t cope with it anymore and you were trying to make him understand.

“Y-Y-You’re never here, how are we supposed to keep this relationship going?”

He scoffed, pretty much screaming at this point “The same way we have been doing this for the last two years!” His hands waved around in rage.

Your right hand was on your hip, while the other one held your forehead while pacing around the room “But that’s the point! We haven’t been doing it for the past years! It worked at first, but now, you don’t even realize it – we almost never see each other!”

Jake stood up, clearly done with the situation, every now and then while yelling, pointing at you “You knew what you were getting yourself in to! I told you, I would be all over the world! Yes, it’s hard, but our relationship is not that bad – you have no idea!” You never thought, you would ever say that, but he terrified you. You were scared of him.

Trying to sound as calmed down as you possibly could, you tried to calm him down “See…you don’t even see it. There-Look, there’s nothing bad about it… we just have to get real and be OK with it.”

“I don’t even know, what the heck you’re talking about”, his voice was calmer again, but your rage rose quickly

“ABOUT US! WHAT THE FREAK ELSE?! I don’t want to sit here alone most of the nights in the year, missing you on Christmas Eve, Easter-Sunday or whatever freaking holiday you missed because of your job!! I… I respect you… and your job, but I can’t do this anymore and that’s final”, you slowly approached him, taking both of his hands in yours “Please. You have to understand this. I love you. You deserve someone, who can cope with this… all of it.”

His head rose up, looking you in the eyes, instead of on the floor “But I love you, only you. I know it’s hard, but we can work it out, don’t you think?” His voice was shaking, and tears started to form in the man’s eyes. Guilt was building up inside you, but your decision was final, so you just sadly shook your head and muttered under your breath “No, I’m so sorry.”

He let go of your hands and pulled you into a tight hug.

--- A Year Later ---

You were in the supermarket in the new part of New York you had just moved to with your boyfriend, Sam. The both of you had met in a bar a month after Jake and you had broken up. You had been there mourning about your unfair life and drinking your sorrow away - something very unlikely to you, normally.

Pushing the trolly through each aisle, you were looking at the wide range of food, spices, drinks, et cetera. ‘Who the heck needs four different brands of cereal with the same type and flavour?’ Just as you were turning into the next aisle, you suddenly came to sight with someone you had never thought of seeing, ever again. Your ex. Jake. Jake Gyllenhaal, the actor. The thought of just quickly turning around came to your mind, but you decided against it – you were an adult, you could do this. After taking one deep breath, you started approaching the dark-haired man, making it look like you hadn’t already seen him.

Jake was looking at some kind of flavoured water when he turned his head to his left and immediately saw you behind the trolly. Deciding to be a good and polite human-being, he walked up to you

“Hey, (Y/N).”

You turned away from the shelves and directed your head to his direction, acting surprised

“Oh, hey Jake… it’s been a while”, that made him slightly chuckle “Yeah, a year… anyways, you-you look great, how are you?” His compliment made you smile “I’m very good and thank you. How are you holding up? I’ve seen your new movie, Stronger. Well, done. It was… very emotional.” You hadn’t actually seen it – you couldn’t see him on the big screen and not feel like a part of you got ripped out and put in front of the camera(s), also, Sam would absolutely lose his mind – but one of your friends told you about Jake’s new movie, so you decided to use that knowledge. His smile got just a tiny bit bigger – he wanted to answer, when – “Hello, Jake”, your boyfriend was suddenly standing next to you, put the canned tomato sauce in the trolly wrapped his arm around your waist, making you tense up – that action didn’t go unnoticed by Jake.

“Hey…?”, the actor answered, trying to get the man’s name out. You wanted to introduce them to each other, but Sam cut you off “Sam”, he extended his hand and shook Jake’s – he nodded. This was your chance. To shake your ex’s hand, your current boyfriend had to take a small step forward and his grip on your waist loosened up. In the very short moment Jake shot a glance at you, while shaking hands, you mouthed “Help me.”

An awkward silence followed their hands separated again and everyone stood next to each other, for a couple of seconds, before Jake excused himself

“Well, it was very nice to see you again”, he then nodded towards Sam again “and nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too”, Sam seemed unimpressed.

Jake passed him, but got up to you, hugged your body slightly, and whispered in your ear “Please, call me.” He let go and gave you a pitying smile. Your eyes followed him, while Sam moved forward cursing under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear

“What an asshole.”

--- At The House ---

While putting the stuff away that you had just bought, your boyfriend was making a big scene about meeting your ex in the supermarket

“WHAT THE HECK WAS HE THINKING?! JUST HUGGING YOU LIKE THAT!! LIKE YOU BELONG TO HIM!!” he was screaming – surely the neighbours heard that. You flinched at every new sentence he began, hoping he would stop.

You tried calming him down while putting everything in the fridge “He just hugged me. He knows, that I don’t belong to him. We broke up a year ago.” Your voice was almost as quiet as a whisper. Those words did not calm him down. Oh, no, they made him even more furious. He walked up to you and smashed the fridge door close, almost getting your hand in between, but you quickly snatched it away

“YOU BELONG TO ME! AND ONLY ME!” Sam positioned himself in front of you, making you smack your lower back into the counter behind you. He was a good foot taller – towering over your small body.

The tears started to flow – gushing out of your eyes.

“STOP CRYING YOU LITTLE BITCH!!”, he screamed into your face and raised his hand left hand, only to smack you so hard with his palm a second later, to make you fall to the ground, knocking the side of your head on one of the counters before the impact with the floor.

Sam left you crying on the floor, exiting the kitchen and shouted “YOU BETTER BE MAKING SOMETHING GOOD FOR DINNER!”, before walking upstairs and shutting the bedroom door.

You were lying on your left side on the cold tiles, trying to support your upper body with your left arm. The blood dripping out of the wound formed on your head was soon to be felt and passed your eye. He was upstairs and would not come back down until you call him for dinner – this was the time. Jake told you to call him, but that would mean, you would waste time and had to spend more in this horror of a house in the companion of this monster, you had been living with for a couple of months.

You raised yourself from the ground with the help of the handles on the counter drawer and got back on your feet. Everything had to happen quite quickly, he could still possibly hear you and walk downstairs. After walking out of the kitchen, you started looking for the car keys in the hallway. After just a short while of tiptoeing around, you found them, took them in your hands, and put your shoes on – not even bothered to get with a jacket, although it being the end of Winter. When you opened the front door and got outside, you made sure to close it very quietly again. You ran towards the car, got in, closed the door, and immediately tried to start it with shaking hands, which it did after the first try.

While driving, you prayed that Jake didn’t move away and was still living in the same street, in the same house. The journey was, thankfully, short and soon you found yourself in front of the house, in which you had left him only a year ago. While sitting in the car, you started thinking about what to say to him and how much you regret leaving this dream of a man and boyfriend Jake was – everything went downhill after that day.

You didn’t want to overthink everything too much and decided to just exit the vehicle and be in comfort again. After turning the car off and getting out of it, you started walking towards the old, yet familiar front door, which you used to open so many times. A couple of seconds after knocking, footsteps could be heard, from the inside, approaching the door. It opened and revealed the only person you wanted to see at that moment, Jake Gyllenhaal.

“Oh god, what happened to you? Come in.”, he invited you in, stepped aside, and stared at you in shock and pity. The actor led you to the couch and you took a seat when he came back with some tissues “Here you go.” You didn’t even realize that the tears were still spilling out of your eyes – you just couldn’t seem to stop them. After a while of trying to calm down and Jake comforting you in a big hug, he felt confident enough to ask a question

“What did he do to you?”

The thought made you want to cry even more, but you held back and got all your courage together, thinking that you finally had to tell somebody to get it off your chest

“H-He-He hit-t me. But i-it wasn’t th-the first time.”

“Why didn’t you do anything?”, he wondered.

“Why I didn’t do anything?”, you sounded a lot more furious than intended,” He has been keeping me inside for the entire time of us being together!”, you sobbed in between and tried to stop yourself from crying even more “Th-This today, was one… of the first times, he let me leave the house.” Your hands were holding your face at that point. “He got jealous because of you.” That made him stop rubbing comforting circles on your back.

“I can’t do this anymore”, was the sentence you got out, being completely out of breath.

Jake took your face in his hands, made you look at him, and looked you deeply into your eyes, with his steel-blue ones “You’re safe. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, ever again. I won’t leave you.” You were looking for comfort and definitely received that from the man in front of you, but at that moment, you remembered how much his kisses calmed you down.

Your hands reached up to his, which were still holding your face, and your face neared his, only a short moment later your lips touched. It was a gentle and loving kiss, full of the regret of ever leaving each other. After separating again, Jake finished his statement from before

“Not this time.”

Thank you for taking your time to read this, I hope you enjoyed it :)

Sorry, if the gifs don’t fit that well, I couldn't find any, that fitted 100 %, but I still wanted to use some - was that a good idea or is it better to leave them in general? Please tell me :)

I hope you have/had a wonderful day/night!! :)

[fadekhat-blog]

Prompt for you! While out in the Hissing Wastes, our band (non-mage Lavellan, Solas, and any two others of your choosing) tangles with the Venatori. The Inquisitor gets separated from the rest and spirited away. While captured, she's forced asleep and a Venatori dreamer goes about trying to break her mind in the Fade (in whatever way you choose). Unpleasantness ensues. There's a daring rescue. Then recovery. Or something. I'm never sure if I'm doing prompts right! Cheers!

That prompt is incredible, thank you! I’ve never written a non-mage Lavellan, so I’ll use my original Inquisitor Revanelan (Elana) sans magic as a stand in - let’s say she’s an archer. Not having magic definitely adds something to the scenario… This might be more than you signed up for, but I got pretty into it XD @dadrunkwriting

“Such a pity. To think, the elven empire was once impenetrable.  Your people possessed magic beyond our wildest imaginations, immortality they say, and you are reduced to this. Sticks and stones will not save you,” the woman said, gesturing to my quiver of arrows with disdain.

She didn’t have to introduce herself. It was Mythal, I simply knew. Whatever doubts I once had fled my mind in an instant. My vallaslin, her vallaslin, seemed to dance upon my skin.

The all mother was beautiful - not in a covetous way, though every mother has a sensuous side, but in a way that was love given form. Her face was the face of everyone who had ever touched my heart, a shifting, flickering mirage of familiarity.

Every part of me wanted to please her, to make her sacrifice worthwhile.

“They can do more than you would think,” I said into my chest, explaining myself.

“And yet what do you have, really? Who are you, really? An elf from the wilds who mouths the words of the Chantry’s god. Your lies are written on your face. Do you think you’re human? A person rather?”

“I, what? No.” I said, my tongue unsure which question to answer. “I’m just trying to help them. The breach endangers us all. Mythal’enaste.”

I bowed my head, moving my hands in a clumsy sign of reverence as my keeper once taught me, but Mythal struck out at me, shattering my gesture of piety with a single blow.

“You will get no such thing,” she said with a sneer. “Not when you serve shemlen gods. Wear their colors, live in their halls.”

The slur sounded wrong on her tongue, but I couldn’t say why. My cheeks burned beneath the gnarled scar across my brow and my mouth moved wordlessly.

Suddenly every piece of my red and gold armor felt like an accusation.

“I don’t serve their Maker! I’m only trying to help,” I cried out, anger at myself and at them sparking in my chest.

“But you don’t serve me either,” she said, swooping in so that her perfect nose nearly brushed mine. “You don’t even believe in me.”

“That - that’s not true.”

“I don’t deserve it,’ you think. ‘What goddess would let her people suffer like this,’ you think. ‘One that is either impotent or indifferent.”

Her fingers traced the curve of my jaw as she spoke, and it seemed as if my thoughts echoed around us.

Well aren’t you?

How do I even know this is real? You’ve never bothered speaking to us before now.

I gasped, as if to inhale my words, but I couldn’t stop them. They came not from my lips but from my mind itself.

“Ah, but you forget you were gifted the freedom with which to fail yourselves. It is you that has failed me, child.”

Suddenly I was on my knees. She loomed over me, at once a goddess and a horror, a parent and an executioner.

“I haven’t…” I said. Part of me strained to turn away, to run, but I found myself enveloped in the sticky slowness of dreams. My will was not enough for my body, and I couldn’t bare to look at her any longer.

“Where is your clan?”

“In the Free Marches.”

“Where in the Free Marches?”

“Wy-Wycombe.”

“Why?”

“Because we sent them there. To protect the people - and the city elves. They would’ve been slaughtered without our intervention.”

Her slap rang out like a thunderclap, and suddenly I was thrown up against the ruins of a wall. The remains of an old temple hung around us, the leafless tree of Mythal depicted in colored glass at its center.

“The tree of your people is dying. You are but a lifeless leaf, an arcane warrior born without magic. A single spasm in the death throes of your kind. But you may still serve me.”

I stared into the broken stones that littered the ground, unable to focus on even a single blade of grass, but my mind answered for me.

How?

“Set. Them. Free.”

Her voice was all around me, formless.

“Rip the breach open, let the Fade rain from the sky. Allow Thedas to be realm of true magic once again. There, even you will not be worthless.”

I struggled to speak, to breath. My logic was slow, otherwordly. Her words wound through my mind like muck through a dead river.

“Slave,” she hissed.

There was a flash of pain and light, and then I was running. Roots and branches flew past me, all that was beyond consumed with shadows as my feet carried me forward.

I fled not by moving my legs, but my wishing they’d move. It was small difference, but it was there.

Then I was in a clearing. I was small, and Arlathae was pinned beneath a bear of a man, her left leg crushed into a mass of bone and meat.

“Leave her alone,” I stuttered, but my bow fine longbow was gone. In its place was a silly thing of twisted wood and string, practically a child’s toy.

He didn’t hear me, or simply laughed, and yet the scene didn’t seem to move.

I had a single arrow, I realized in an instant. I grabbed it at the hilt, like a dagger, and plunged it into his neck. Then he was on me, and Arlathae was screaming with rage and pain and I stabbed him over and over again. My hands moved by their own will, a memory of what was already done.

A blade tore across my face, maiming me once, and then again. The moment seemed to skip and pass over itself - at once we were fighting him, but also we were slipping away from camp, and then we were looking down at a corpse, unable to put a name to what we had done.

We won’t return to camp until we have our first kill, we’d promised ourselves. We’d meant a deer.

I saw the arrow in his eyes, once, twice. The blood trailing down his cheek as he finally died beneath me.

“The Fade will fall on them,” a voice whispered from on high.

I rose to speak and the painful light flashed again.

I was on a battlefield, or what I once considered one. The charred corpse of a human militia simmered around me. I’d pushed her - it was Arlathae’s magic, and yet we had both watched them die. Willed it.

If anything, my only regret then was that I had not been able to flay them myself. That my clan had to flee yet again.

“But you will.”

“You will be something.”

“Not a puppet, not a tool.”

“A weapon, a messiah of your people.”

“They will burn, or you will.”

The voices came as if from within me, filling my head as a final flash of blistering light engulfed my vision, bathing me in fire.

And then I was fire. Without and within me, all I could see is flame. My companions stood around me in a circle, and beyond them the masses watched me burn.

“You’ve done all you could,” Cassandra said, “But heathens must be cleansed from this world.”

I screamed and screamed and felt my skin strip away until there was only anchor and bone.

“It will make a nice relic, I think,” Dorian said.

Their every word felt like a dagger beneath my nails. Not in a metaphorical sense - every syllable was punctuated by visceral pain. I wasn’t a person then, but a gaping wound. An unwanted feeling.

“It would be helping to end it,” Cole mused beneath his hat.

“Creatures like her do not deserve compassion, Cole,” Solas said, stepping into the circle with an air of cool certainly. “They know nothing of this world, or what came before.”

When he touched me, the world was at once made of ice.

“You are nothing,” he said into my lips.

Not you.

And then he was smoke, and a second Solas stepped through him.

We were in a windowless cell, somewhere deep underground. I sat up on a wooden bench and my feet brushed the body of a masked Venatori mage.

“Are you okay, ma vhenan?” He moved to touch my arm and I flinched away, the bright pain flashing in my mind.

He said something else, but I didn’t hear him. It was all coming back.

There hadn’t been many of them - just enough Venatori to take out our party with the element of surprise. I had been left standing amidst a circle of my fallen allies wishing, hardly for the first time, that I possessed the barest spark of magic necessary to heal another’s wounds.

Then there was darkness, and light, and darkness again as they pulled me in and out of consciousness, transporting me. There was pain, both real and imagined, and I was covered in scars I didn’t recognize.

Battered, but alive then.

“Are they gone?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“For now, yes,” Solas said, his eyes pained. “Did they say what they wanted?”

My hands shook, and I kept my distance, shifting over on the bench so he could join me.

“Well, the anchor, of course. He, they, whoever, said I should bring the sky down…”

“For the good of our people,” Solas finished, shifting closer.

“I, yes. But how did you know that?” I asked, a chill kissing my bones.

“It is no small thing to hold such power,” he mused. “I suppose you have never considered what else you might do with the anchor?”

“What else? There is nothing else. We close the breach.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he took my hand.

“That is one option. Imagine what we could do together, Elana. With the anchor, we are equals.”

Almost, hung in the air, an unspoken truth.

“You’ve never talked this before. Why is the fate of the elves suddenly so important to you?”

We’re not your people, remember?

He teeth glittered in the darkness as lazy haze of magic rose from his fingertips as he stroked my skin around the anchor. Once again, I was curiously unable, or unwilling, to move.

“Say you’ll do it, for me?”

“For you?” I repeated, in a trance.

“Say it.” His fingers dug into my palm, forcing their way into the strange in-between of the anchor. It flared, turning my arm into a shrieking claw.

“I…”

Was in a cave.

Cole was hunched before me, his form faint, quivering.

“I found you,” he said weakly. “I ran ahead. I felt you crying. Your mother dead, a bear in the woods… only it’s not really a bear, is it?”

“Cole,” I exhaled his name as I fell into him. “Cole, please, just get me out here.”

His arms encircled me, always cooler than you’d expect, as he spoke into my neck.

“But I need help now,” he said, voice hushed.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m unraveling, unbeing before your eyes. Can’t you see it? Will you help me? If the Fade is now, we will always be together. There will be someone who understands.”

“Say it.” His hands closed around my neck.

Blackwall in a tunnel.

Cassandra in a field.

The Iron Bull on a ship, Dorian by his side.

Sera in a back alley.

Varric in a forgotten bookshop.

Vivienne in an attic.

“Say it, dear.”

I tore into the next moment like a woman possessed. Perhaps I was.

The stars hung above us, distant and utterly imperious in every direction. A shadow stepped toward me, but I knew what was coming.

“I won’t say it. I won’t say it. I don’t care who you are. I won’t bring the sky down.”

The words flew from my lips like bile as I pressed my hands over my ears, blocking out their pleas. I felt them close in on me, a touch on my shoulder sending a lance of pain, or a memory of pain, coursing through me.

“Don’t touch me,” I barked, the spiky lip of a battlement pressing against my back. A fallen sword glittered in the periphery of my vision and I dove toward it, putting the blade between me and my attackers. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

There were three, Cassandra taking point with Solas and Dorian on either side. I was breathing wildly, so fast I could hardly think. The bursts of air through my nostrils nearly drowned out their words, but I could see their faces. Looks of worry masked with attempts at comforting concern.

“It is okay, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, doing her best to sound soothing. “We’ve removed the Venatori. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

I scoffed, my eyes skittering away from their own.

“That’s what happened before, and that wasn’t real. Not ever,” Running my free hand through my short clipped hair. “Do whatever you want. I won’t say it.”

“Say what?” Dorian asked quietly, stepping closer.

“Nothing, shut up!” I shouted, swinging the sword to underline my point. He stumbled backward, eyes wide with fear layered with the seeds of pity.

“I - of course. It’s okay Elana, you don’t have to tell us anything. Let’s just go home, hm?”

Home, and suddenly I was reminded that they could hear my thoughts.

If I said it, I was theirs’. I could feel it in me, the power behind those words. But what if I only thought what they wanted? Was that enough? Could the Venatori possess me the way they had all those tranquil?

As I thought, I stepped back until my free arm was hooked over the wall. We were on a tower. I looked down onto the cliffs below, the sword always between us.

Could I make the jump?

Did it matter?

“Elana,” Solas said, his voice ever soft.

“You don’t call me that,” I snapped. “And don’t give me any of that shit about ‘our people,’ I know you don’t care. Not about ‘wildings’ anyway.”

“Inquisitor, then,” Solas said, his voice even despite my barrage of insults. “You are correct, what you saw before wasn’t real. The Venatori trapped you in your dreams, but they are not in control now. You’re free.”

“Free. You mean free until the next time I wake up,” I muttered.

“Pay attention to your body. To the way you move - not by will, but by action. That is distinction is unique to the physical world. You are not dreaming any longer, Inquisitor,” he said, as if it were any other conversation in his rotunda.

“Mm,” I said, loosening my grip on the sword. It fell to the ground, clattering harshly against the stone. “This is… real.”

“Exactly,” he said, guiding me forward with an arm that never quite touched my body. He seemed to understand that this was beyond me.

“Come Inquisitor, let us leave this vile place,” Cassandra said, leading us out of the tower.

I saw the corpse of the Venatori mage as we passed. I tried not to think how familiar it looked as we rode for the nearest Inquisition camp.

Instead, I focused on the majesty of the stars above and on the friends close at hand.

“I won’t say it,” I whispered into the wind.

Inspired by my very real and intense fear anytime someone pulls that “Wake up, Fakekhat, just wake up!” style prank - how can you know you’re not a brain in a jar (or a dreamer stuck in the Fade)? You can’t!