#dash: elisa

[the-newr0mantics]

polaroids of the cast of 'clueless', 1995

[extravagantfool]

Asha doesn’t really have a least favorite food. The boy is a living garbage disposal of an elf. The most he dislikes is bananas/plantains. The texture is just a strike too odd for him and he was served savory plantains once and it broke his taste buds/food sense a little.

[hoboblaidd]

this idea is so cute - tell me your muse's feelings on or experience with (actual) wolves. How do they deal with wolves when encountered?

[weptfreedom]

we don't talk about the de-wardening because 1. it destroyed alanari and alistair's friendship 2. it was only possible because of his cocktail of Weirdness

(I'd tag the blog if I could remember where holly tossed him)

[imstuckin1999]

Clueless Thanksgiving (s3ep8)

[anextravagantliar]

Ok ok this is probably not the best way especially since my fingers on mobile are not fast. But there is a world where Asharen arrives too late to the ritual, and she arrives late enough to see it all happen but to not be able to stop it. Instead there is only one thing to do:

She is unsure if it is time that slows down or if the world gives her that grace. When her brass fingers touch Varric's fallen form, they are both in the eye of the hurricane. Asharen cannot bear to look up, there is her heartbeat, the wind and Varrics ragged breath. And blood.

Her fingers reach for one of the many glass like needles on the staff. Piercing through the air the noise rips through the storm around them. The darkness that opens just beyond the flap that asharen cuts through the veil welcomes her. Beckons to her.

It is faster. More dangerous. To walk through the untamed fade. Especially with another deeply bleeding and wounded soul. It might also be his only chance. And her only choice. And so she carries them both through.

The wind that welcomes them roars louder than the one before. Instead of the green and blue light there is only a deep unsettling starless night above them. Asharen stands before Varric calling his name and there is no one but the two of them to listen.

so i may have played a little in this space -

He stands at a great divide, between the verge of life and death. He stands overlooking that precipice, looking from the top down as it all happens. 

The brain is funny like that in the last moments, playing and dredging up everything that has never been settled and could never be settled. The body is excellent when it comes to death; it is a symphony of nerve endings dancing alight with signals over flooding a mind full already; it is too much, always too much, as he aches, he is on fire, and he wants it to end, he wants something more than this, something more than the look etched behind his eyes, a name on his lips, a body drawing limp as the stars are washed out by magic and a roar of something he barely hears. 

The knife slides out of him, and he takes a deep breath, wet, and he coughs through it, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s like an old friend; it’s warm and dry. There are voices around him, the kid and others. Still, they fade with time, fade into the soft voice of someone else, an old friend - maybe the oldest at this point, and he’s lingered agonal and in atonement, fingers twitching as Asharen, cradles him as if she’s the ferryman to see him over, as if she’s the warm hand sent to greet him, but the world seems to still around him, a cooler wind - a wind he remembers on a mountain, he remembers the feeling of snow on his face as he watches Asharen and Solas walk over the hill and lead them to Skyhold, there is a moment of him in a doorway lingering before that too goes dark, curtains falling over a stage as he is moved.

He still doesn’t feel pain; more or less, he’s grasping at memories flurrying forward; he’s been flashing backwards, getting younger, and he sees the fall of Haven, a boat in which he marches instead rides and then the docks of Kirkwall, screams around him, people burned and bruised, people half-formed as skin peels from their bones and leaves them more a pulp than person.

Then it's the raw fade and magic. It stops it, pausing the memory on his brother’s face, whipping him forward into the abyss, into raw magic. It pulls him toward the present, rewinding it all and throwing it back into his body, and he lunches against Asharen, against the fade, and back into his body. 

Alive, every nerve ending screams - retching him into his proper place, ageing him to his death and back, a flash of red in his hair before it settles into a shock of grey, lyrium sapping more from him and the fade forcing him to live, forcing air into both lungs and they dilate; he can fill them both, nothing but words want to tumble forward, but there is only the vast expanse beyond them, beyond him and she’s no longer holding onto him, it’s a new divide, a new one that is punctuated with the fade and a feeling he cannot quite grasp. 

His name carries across the sound, across the divide, and he follows it, pushing through the grey and unknown and finding a friend, finding one of the reasons why he acts. He couldn’t let her go at this alone; it wouldn’t be fair. That races across his mind, across his soul, and he pushes through, muscling his way back to life, muscling his body to take one last breath, as there is something he needs to see through as well. 

Solas. 

Hey, Chuckles. Hope I’m not interrupting.

The surprise written on the elf’s features had nearly been enough; was it the weight of age? 

Or had it been the surprise of responsibility? 

It didn’t matter. It all played out the same, and here he was, not really alive or dead, somewhere in the fade, blue and green awash around them.

“Asharen.” When was the last time he used that name? Had it been years? No, months, his nicknames - were the norm, him defaulting to a title long past or defaulting to her nickname of Scribbles, never without a book or notebook, always questioning, always learning something, and he sighs, a hand comes to rest on her shoulder.

Love. 

It all boiled down to love - from the fade to the last star blinking out across the moor. 

“I’m here.” He repeats it until she hears it over the noise, his own dialogue, over the words of Solas, the screams of someone else, and his brother's words. Do they all hear different things? He hopes so; he hopes they don’t hear the way Bartrand begged, the way his heart shattered in two so many times through his long life and that this should have been the last time. 

“Hey.” He’s not in pain as everything seems to be steady here; everything seems to flow here. He’s felt this before, but not so fluidly, not so keenly. “We can find him.” 

Even now, even with blood stained through, he wishes to try; one last time.

[afraidofchange]

I may seemingly keep writing tradcath after tradcath in Dragon Age but I do write my Ashley W.illiams (Mass Effect) as Jewish

[missallanea-a]

"So, I'm guessing you top." Fox says it as casually as one might've asked for her coffee order, how many sugars she wanted. "Either that, or your your pelvic bones are made of tungsten."

[littletroubledgrrrl]

[wardenhowe]

i have achieved the black paw in booping. i may rest now.

[ellieputellas]

in another life | final part of "if you'd have stuck around"

i'll make you stay, there's just no way i'm leaving without your love if i had my way, i would be yours

— "yours" - now, now

part one | part two | part three

🏷️ @moonystoes @simp4panos

(a/n: the song for the previous chapter suits the first part (?) of this fic more actually but whatever lol)

part three You wondered how many times more you had to relive your break-up with Elisa, how many more times you had to deem the "last one," how many more times you would cry over losing her. You were sure you didn't have another "last" goodbye in you. When she left you in that meeting room, you didn't know what came over you but you cried just like you did five years ago. Sure, after you had split up with Elisa, there were several more instances that you cried but it aas nothing like this. You felt like you were back in that tiny dorm in Montpellier, hurriedly packing up your bag to storm out. You were gutwrenched, feeling like all of the hurt you've buried deep inside you was bursting out all at once.

What's worse was having to leave that meeting room, rushing to wash your face, grab your things, and dash out to avoid any questioning from your co-workers. The last thing you needed was word getting out about Elisa de Almeida making you cry. You spent the next few days avoiding all things football. You stashed the jersey and keychain Elisa gave you in the far corner of your shoe closet. You muted the phrases "Elisa de Almeida", "PSG" and the like on all your social media accounts. You were resolute that that last encounter would indeed be the last. But fate had a weird sense of humor. "Babe, I really don't feel up to it." You told Casey as you buried your head in a pillow. "Can't we just do it over the phone or email? What's technology for if we still have to physically go somewhere to interview people?" "Come on, babe, my dad asked us to do him a favor," Casey said, trying to lift your head up with her hands. "It's just a quick interview. It won't even be filmed."

You groaned. "Why can't they send Gina or Mark... or Daisy? That girl has turned into a full-blown PSG fan in the past week. She'd prefer to interview them." Casey huffed. "Well, I would ask them but they said the team requested you."

You peeked out from your pillow. "The team requested me?" You questioned. "I don't get why they'd like me so much. I pretty much exchanged like 12 total sentences with them all-in-all." "Yeah, to be honest, I just think that Jackie girl does have a crush on you." Casey said in jest. "Pretty sure she just wants an excuse to see you." You sighed, knowing fully well that it wasn't Jackie Groenen who had a crush on you. But then again, it also seemed very unlike Elisa to invite you over. When she left you in that meeting room, it felt like she also permanently decided on ever seeing you again. "Casey, please, I really don't want to." You took the pillow off of your head and gave your girlfriend a pleading look. "It's the last thing I want to do." Your girlfriend looked at you confused as she brushed your hair behind your ear. She cupped your cheek and used her thumb to caress it. "What's up with you, huh?" She asked, concerned. "Did something happen to make you dislike those girls? It's so not you to dislike working... I genuinely think my dad likes you more than he likes me cause you're always up for the job." You gave Casey a weak smile. You didn't know how to tell her that you didn't want to interview them because of Elisa. You knew deep inside that Casey would understand if you told her about what happened five years ago and also, what happened a few days ago between you and Elisa. But you felt like opening it up would just mean reopening your chapters with Elisa. "Babe, did they offend you?" Casey asked with a concerned look. "I did hear from some people that Elisa visited you to give you a gift from the team. Did something happen then?" There it was... your opportunity to tell Casey. You paused. "No."

Casey hummed. "Then what is it? Are you okay?" You felt a pang in your heart. Casey had trusted you immediately without even further questioning. The fact that she was so nice and trusting just made it all worse. You sighed. "Just feeling lazy," You excused. "But fine... I'll do it. But I need you to come with me, please." Casey pouted. "No can do," She sighed. "I'd drop everything to be with you normally but I kinda do have to be with dad for this meeting about a possible acquisition. No clue why I have to be there... I don't get the whole corporate mumbo jumbo but yeah, dad needs me there." "Fine, I'll go alone but drop me off, please?" You asked. Your girlfriend gave you a smile and a peck. "Of course, my darling."

Casey hummed. "Then what is it? Are you okay?" You felt a pang in your heart. Casey had trusted you immediately without even further questioning. The fact that she was so nice and trusting just made it all worse. You sighed. "Just feeling lazy," You excused. "But fine... I'll do it. But I need you to come with me, please." Casey pouted. "No can do," She sighed. "I'd drop everything to be with you normally but I kinda do have to be with dad for this meeting on a possible acquisition. No clue why I have to be there... I don't get the whole corporate mumbo jumbo but yeah, dad needs me there." "Fine, I'll go alone but drop me off, please?" You asked. Your girlfriend gave you a smile and a peck. "Of course, my darling."

You're filled with dread as you knocked on the hotel door. You read the message from your co-worker, instructing you to head up to this exact room. You found it odd that you weren't meeting at the hotel restaurant instead but you just figured the girls might be too tired. The door swung open. Jackie met you with a grin and threw her arms around you as if you truly were friends. Oddly enough, Jackie stepped out of the hotel room and shut the door behind her. "So nice to see you again." She smiled at you. You reciprocated the smile. "Yes, yes, are you the only one doing the interview?" You asked, hoping she'd say yes. "If you'd like, we can do it at the hotel restaurant. The company can foot the bill so we can go crazy on club sandwiches and coffee." She chuckled. "That's so sweet but actually," She replied. "I just asked your production manager to forward all the interview questions to my email and I'd reply through there too." You blinked in confusion. "Oh okay," You furrowed your eyebrows together. As if on cue, you got a text from Gina telling you that there was no need to conduct the interview in person. Too late, Gina. "I guess, I'd go now..." You said, still confused. Jackie held your arm. "Actually... please don't go yet." Her face looked a bit more serious. "Uh, I asked for the interview thing and really pleaded with my boss just so you could come." "A-what?" You asked silently, growing more and more confused. She blushed slightly. "I feel so unprofessional right now but..." She started. "I know.... about you and Elisa." You fell silent and stiffened. "Oh." It was all you could manage to say. The Dutch bit her lip. "I didn't want to pry since I know you're in a relationship but... Elisa hasn't been herself since she visited you so I interrogated her and she just exploded and told me everything." She sighed. "I just thought it would help... for you and her to talk. Even for just five minutes." You were caught in an awkward position. You had to be polite but also, you really didn't wanna do this anymore. "Sorry, Jackie. I don't think—" "Just five minutes, please." The Dutch girl pleaded. "It's affecting her game. She hasn't talked to any of us, not me or Grace or Saki. No one. Our manager is losing his mind having to deal with her and I'm just scared that if she doesn't get proper closure that she might not recover from it and... I don't know. I just figured this was a solution." "Jackie," Your voice trailed off. "Five minutes." She pleaded. "Just tell her that she should move on and that you'll always treasure your time together. I don't know. I've never been in this situation before..." She looked at you with desperation. "I care about Elisa. She's a good friend. If you have to lie to her, just to make sure she's okay... do it." She asked. "I know it's a lot to ask but please..." You took a deep sigh. "Fine." Jackie gave you a genuine hug. "Okay, I'll be back in five minutes. I'll leave you here and just... please try if you can." She asked. Cautiously, still holding on to your arm as if you'd run away if she didn't, she swiped her hotel key card on the hotel door. You two walked in. From the door, all you could see was Elisa's stuff thrown on top of her bed. Jackie started. "Elisa... I'm just gonna go buy some drinks. You want anything?" Elisa grunted in response. Jackie gave you a smile as if to say 'see?' Jackie responded. "Okay, stay here and I'll be back in five minutes." She said as you two walked further into the hotel room. You could now see Elisa under her duvets, scrolling through Instagram on her phone. "Don't leave this room." "Why would I —" Elisa spun around violently as she sat up. Her face went from incredulous to dumbfounded. You were instantly regretting your decision but Jackie had already swiftly exited the room.

"Hey," You said as you stood near the foot of her bed, nervously picking at the fabric of your cardigan. "Heard you weren't feeling well." Elisa gulped. She remained on the bed. She ran a hand through her hair and looked away for a moment, trying to regain composure. You took this opportunity to look at her. She looked tired and sleepless; her hair was a tad disheveled. Yet, to you, she still looked so good. She was wearing a black muscle shirt, revealing her strong arms. You couldn't deny it... she looked incredibly hot. Fuck, this is so weird. You thought to yourself. Why am I even here? "I'm supposed to tell you to get your shit together and move on and to do your job better, I think." You said with a hint of jest in your voice. "So, do that." She was still averting her gaze. You stood there awkwardly before biting your lip and sighing. "I guess, that's all I have to say." You said. "I'll go now." Elisa stood up and rushed to you. She put her hands on either side of you. "No, please, I need to talk to you." She said as she guided you towards the other bed. You awkwardly sat on the other bed which you assumed was Jackie's. Elisa sat on the edge of her bed. You were facing each other with knees knocking given the awkward proximity of the two beds. "So..." You started. Elisa looked up at you. You glanced at her too. You took it all in this time. You looked at her honey-brown eyes, the smile lines around her eyes, her nose, her pink lips, her slightly tanned skin. You figured you might as well take it all in now before you permanently closed the door on your relationship with Elisa. This is the actual last time I'd see her. After this, I'm closing the door and bolting it shut. You rationalized. You bit your lip awkwardly and looked away. "Did you win the friendlies?" She nodded. "Yeah, 2-1" You nodded. "You played the full 90?" She nodded again. "Even if I was fully shit, I did..." She responded. You sighed. "Was San Diego nice?" There was a moment of silence. Elisa didn't respond. Instead, she took your hands in hers. You nearly jolted as you felt her fingertips caress your palm so gently. She used her fingers to trace the lines on your palm as if trying to commit them to memory. The pads of her fingers barely grazed yours, as if you would break if she touched you any firmer.

She took a deep breath before she gently lifted your hands and rested her face in them. She kept her own hands at the back of yours, as if to keep you in place. Her face felt warm under your hands and her skin was so soft to the touch. It felt so intimate, touching her like this. You blinked and looked away for a moment. She shook her head slightly, feeling the movement echo in your hands. It was if to nonverbally tell you to keep looking at her.

When you hesitated, she whispered. "Please, just look at me right now. Just... pretend with me. Even if it's for a while."

You bit your lip. It was so honest and so... oddly painful to see her practically asking you to hold her like this. You were a tad clueless with what she meant. Did she want you to pretend you were still together? That you came here to be with her? Or... was she asking you to pretend that you still loved her?

"Just let me have this for a while," She whispered, as if reading your mind and answering your confusion.

Your gaze lingered on your own hands before finally giving in and meeting her eyes. They were as stunning as ever, the golden flecks in her irises more pronounced than usual. A familiar warmth pulsed through you mingled with a poignant sadness. A heavy glaze obscured her eyes, telling you just how she felt without having to use any words.

In that moment, you realized the cruel irony: the most beautiful things are often the most fleeting. A wave of emotion washed over you. This time, it felt different. It finally sunk into you that this really was the final goodbye. All the other times you deemed "the last" felt painful or incomplete. This felt almost... beautiful. It felt like you both knew this was the last and were finally accepting it. A bittersweet acceptance hung heavy in the air. “Please, move closer,” she whispered, her voice soft and gentle. Her fingers still intertwined with yours. You nodded. You stood up and stepped closer to her, looking down at her face. Her hands found solace under your cardigan and on your back, pulling you towards her with strong yet gentle hands. A pang of guilt shot through you.

You had a girlfriend, a sweet kind-hearted girlfriend. A girlfriend who had no clue what you were doing at this very moment... But suddenly her hands found their way under your shirt and her thumbs were rubbing circles into your skin, and all you could think about was how great it was to feel her touch like this again.

"You're so beautiful," She said in the softest voice. If she said it any quieter, it would have gone unheard. You smiled at her and you took her face in her hands again Without a conscious decision, you straddled her, your weight settling on her lap. She kept one hand under your shirt, at the small of your back to keep you steady and the other reached to your face. She took a stray hair and tucked it behind your ear, a silent gesture of intimacy. Time seemed to stand still. The world outside the hushed room faded into insignificance as you absorbed the moment, her warmth seeping into your soul. You took in the moment, being this close again, after years and years.

She inhaled deeply as her head nestled against your neck, a gentle weight that spoke volumes. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she clung to you; it felt like a silent plea.

As she breathed, her lips brushed against your skin, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. With each gentle exhale, you felt her warm breath caress the curve of your neck. Nuzzling closer, you inhaled the comforting scent that enveloped you; she still used that same familiar shampoo. You held her head against you, brushing her short, dark locks. The whole moment felt like a sensory experience devoid of thoughts or words. All you could focus on was the soft texture of her hair, the warmth of her body, the comforting rhythm of her breath. As you held her close, the world outside felt distant, muted, detached; it literally felt like you were in a dream or a small pocket outside of reality that only you and her occupied. She lifted her head, her gaze locking onto yours. A silent understanding passed between you. Then, with a swift movement, she flipped you onto the bed, hovering over you. Your eyes pleaded with hers, a silent plea for her to reconsider what she had in mind. But her gaze, unwavering, held a different message. Her eyes traced the contours of your face, lingering on your lips. You parted your lips as if to say something — maybe, a protest or even just asking her to pause and think it out — but nothing came out. She leaned forward cautiously and slowly, pausing intermittently just like she did when she first kissed you. And suddenly, you were kissing. Your lips stayed pressed together, unmoving for a moment. You felt tears sting your eyes. You were unsure why you were suddenly tearing up but the emotion was just too much to handle. Then, your muscle memory took over. You didn't have to think too hard before your arms wrapped around her as you locked lips. You let your hands move up and down to touch her back, her biceps, her body. It felt so familiar yet so new. And, her lips were incredibly soft and her taste... god, she tasted as addicting as ever. Elisa kissed you with a growing desperation. You breathed heavily as the kiss grew deeper, more intense. Her tongue licked your lower lip before you parted them to allow her entry. Elisa’s hand gripped your waist gently as she continued to kiss you.

You’ve kissed a handful of people after Elisa and you’ve kissed your girlfriend more than just a handful of times but… kissing Elisa was different.

You just moved naturally like you were made to be this close to each other. It felt like you two were speaking in a language only the two of you could understand. As your hands tangled in her hair, you couldn’t help but think that maybe — just, maybe — this was where you truly belonged.

She suddenly pulled away to give you two a moment to breathe. Elisa’s forehead pressed against yours as you shared a fragile silence, heavy and warm breaths mingling, each of you holding the other close as if afraid to let go. You wiped your face and realized that it wasn't just your own tears staining your face. Her tears had joined yours, tracing down your cheeks together, silent witnesses to all the emotions you felt. You felt her hands on you; her presence grounding you in that fleeting moment. Elisa was the first to break the silence, her voice low and tender.

“You’re still the girl I’ve always loved.” Those words cut through the air, and suddenly, it was as if reality had snapped back. The low hum of the AC filled your ears. You became acutely aware of her fingers under your shirt, the warmth of her body being this close to yours, the small ache forming in your chest. It was as if time had unpaused. You blinked a few times before gently pushing Elisa away. Elisa stood up, her face tinged with something close to pain and desperation, a pleading look barely concealed beneath her quiet gaze.

Yet, she didn’t say a word, letting you sit up and collect yourself in silence. You straightened your shirt and your cardigan. You brushed your hair and pat them flat with your hands quickly. Each crease on your clothes and each knot in your hair just felt like thinly veiled evidence of your moment of weakness. You cleared your throat as you stood up. You picked up your bag from the floor. You wiped your face with the flat of your fingers. You tried to regain composure even as all the emotions bombarded you. Elisa stood, facing you. She was silent and had a sad look in her eyes but you felt like there was a quiet understanding between the two of you. You took a step toward her, almost instinctively moving to hug her, but stopped, pulling back at the last moment. With a heavy heart, you cleared your throat. “I… I’ll go now.” She nodded, and you managed a shaky breath before turning toward the door, a finality to each step. But before you could take another, Elisa’s arms suddenly wrapped around you from behind, pulling you close, her chin nestled against your shoulder. Her breaths came in soft, shuddering waves, and you could feel her tears dampening your shoulder. You exhaled as you bit your lip, forbidding yourself from crying for the nth time. She held you like that for a while before finally, she said. "Goodbye, fifteen." She dropped her arms to her side. You looked up at the ceiling, preventing the tears in your eyes from sliding down your face. You took one last breath. Then you walked away.

and honest i can tell you now, i love you more than my future spouse — "i'd have to think about it" - leith ross

You brushed your hair as you gazed at yourself in the mirror. Suddenly, two hands wrapped around your waist from behind you, hugging you. “You look incredibly gorgeous, wifey.” You chuckled and rolled your eyes. “I don’t think you can call me that just yet.” You turned around and kissed your fiancé.

“Why not? I already have a ring on that finger.” She said before kissing you several times on the neck and cheek. You chuckled. “Casey!” You yelped in between giggles. “You’re gonna make me late for work.” Casey beamed. “You’re the boss now. You can go as late as you want to.” She said before repeatedly kissing you all over again as you playfully protested and writhed in her embrace. In the past year, Casey’s dad successfully completed an acquisition of a small women's sports media company, and the transition happened in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, you went from being just another content writer to the interim head of the newly formed media division, and then, astonishingly, to External Vice President of Communications. Initially, you struggled with feelings of guilt, questioning whether your rapid ascent was merely a result of nepotism. But as Casey reminded you, you worked harder than anyone else there and you fully deserved recognition. “Remind me again why you have to go to this press conference today.” Casey complained as she plopped down on the bed. You chuckled. “When in Paris…” You joked. “But seriously, I thought that since we will be here anyway, I might as well do the press-con instead of sending someone else to do it for me. Cost-cutting and all that…” She hummed in disappointment. “I hate it when you’re so responsible.” She complained. You re-applied your lipstick and straightened out the blazer you were wearing. You were finally seeing Jackie again after a long time. You two have gotten quite close since… the incident. You remembered dashing out of the hotel room and bumping into Jackie who was emerging from the elevator with drinks in hand. You two had an emotional exchange; quite frankly, you could not remember a single thing you two talked about. You just knew it ended with the Dutch girl hugging you tightly and telling you that it was all going to be okay. After that, Jackie and you had become quite close. You started off as casual Instagram mutuals. She would often respond to your stories, comment on posts, and chat with you. You hung out twice again after. You had drinks with her and her boyfriend when they visited California. Then, a spontaneous, double-date Universals Studio trip together at the end of her trip. Ever since then, you always kept up with each other's lives. You loved Jackie. Mostly because she was a great girl, partly because she never brought up the thing with Elisa without asking her not to, and… partly because you got to indirectly keep tabs on Elisa. You shot Jackie a quick text, letting her know you’d be at the press con today, as you settled into the media seats at the hotel conference room where today’s press-con was being held.

PSG had emerged as champions of the Première League in a historic win. Obviously, this meant there was a lot of attention on the team today. Luckily, your company was able to be granted a press pass to this conference despite not being a France-based company. As the other media people settled in, a staffer announced that the press conference would begin in a minute. You readied your recorder and notepad. Suddenly, cameras started snapping and the crowd started getting louder. You looked up from your seat to see the squad had arrived — Fabrice Abriel, Pauline Dudek, Jackie Groenen…

and Elisa de Almeida. You swallowed the lump that had quickly formed in your throat. You bit your lip as you took a deep breath. It had been over a year since you saw her. She looked the same but different. There was a glowy tan to her skin, her hair had grown out longer, and she had a happy look on her face, beaming with pride due to the win her team secured. You could see the pride sparkling in her eyes, and it made your heart ache in a way that felt both familiar and unsettling.

Elisa hadn’t noticed you yet, and part of you doubted she would. The press conference was buzzing with energy, reporters firing questions at her and the rest of the team. You found yourself mesmerized by how she spoke, her confidence shining through with every word. She seemed to have reached a new peak, a version of herself that was so sure of herself and confident.

As the questions flowed, you felt a small pang in her heart. She seemed like someone so distant from the person you knew. She seemed like a fully realized version of herself.

She was still Elisa but... different.

The moderator finally called for last questions, and before you could think twice, your hand shot up. The moment felt surreal, and you could feel the collective gaze of the room shifting towards you when the moderator pointed you out. As soon as she saw you, you noticed a change in Elisa’s demeanor; her face stiffened as your eyes locked. It was as if time had stopped, the air between you thick with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You smiled weakly at her. You hesitated for a moment. “J'ai une question pour de Almeida.” You said. You were afraid your voice was too soft to hear but Elisa nodded at you, signaling you to continue. You chuckled and looked down for a moment, composing yourself. “Elisa,” You started. You looked up at her and made sure your eyes were locked. “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” The question hung in the air, innocent yet charged with meaning. To anyone, it might have seemed like a generic question but it meant more to the two of you.

She paused. You could see her go through a spectrum of emotions within seconds. Her face dropped then she shook her head in amusement then she looked genuinely pensive. Looking down for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, she eventually lifted her gaze to meet yours again. There was something vulnerable in her expression, something that made your breath hitch. “I see myself still playing football,” she began, responding to your question in English as well with her voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of emotion. “By then, I’d be in my 30s… I’d be considered a, uh, senior citizen in Football.” There were a few chuckles in the crowd. “I know for sure that, I’ll still be playing for the club of my life – PSG, winning more leagues… and hopefully, I’d still be playing for the national team too. I still want to be fully immersed in Football…” Her voice trailed off. She took a deep breath before continuing. ���And for my personal life, I can’t say much…” Your heart almost stopped in anticipation. You didn’t know why you were so nervous but… the nature of the question and the memories of the past just made it difficult for you to remain calm. ”Five years from now, I want to be happy.” She said, eyes fixed on you and you alone as if you were the only people in the room. “I’d like to believe that I will be... regardless of whatever may happen.”

The way she said it… it just felt heavy and loaded with something you just couldn't decipher. You looked down and smiled as you shook your head, deciding it was better for you to take it as it is.

You looked up again. “C’est tout ce que je voulais pour toi.” (That’s all I ever wanted for you.) As you said those words, you felt your heart skip a beat.

The moment lingered, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the world outside the press conference faded away. You were just two people sharing a quiet understanding amid the chaos of the room. She gave you a weak smile and kept your eyes stayed locked together for too long. Later on, the moderator announced the end of the conference and the spell broke, pulling you back into reality. You broke your gaze and hurriedly gathered your stuff, readying to leave. You just felt like this was a better way to actually close this chapter… again, for the nth time. But it felt better than the last time, like you'd gone full circle.

As the conference ended, Elisa rushed towards you. She excused herself through the crowd, brushing off the journalists trying to ask more questions. You didn’t notice her make her way to you as you just rushed to get out of there and back to your fiancé. ”Fifteen,” She exclaimed out, hoping it would catch your attention. With that, you turned around. You saw her, standing a few meters from you. You paused for a pensive second. Shyly, you walked closer to her. You two were pressed awkwardly between the chairs scattered about and the people making their way out of the room. “Hey, Elisa.” You responded. She gave you a smile. “I like your hair.” She said, commenting on your haircut. “I mean… I saw it in Jackie’s Instagram story before but looks better in person.” You awkwardly thanked her and consciously touched your hair. “Oh, thanks.” There was another moment of awkwardness before Elisa began speaking again. ”D-do you wanna talk for a moment?” She said as she gestured towards the private area where her team was settling down. You hesitated but you nodded. A few people greeted her with congratulations and niceties as you made your way to a quiet corner.

Her teammates were packing up to leave. You caught a glimpse of Jackie who just gave you a smile and a wave; she seemed to understand what was happening and did not want to bother this moment. You both slipped away to a quiet corner, seeking refuge from the chatter and excitement that filled the room. The atmosphere felt charged, and the intimacy of this moment took you by surprise. “So… I didn’t expect to see you.” She started again. “Jackie never mentioned that you were…” ”Yeah, yeah,” You interjected with your words tumbling out a bit too quickly. “I’m in the city for a couple of weeks. She nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting into a small smile. “It’s so nice… seeing you again.” She complimented, holding your gaze a bit too intimately. “You look great.” You felt a warmth spread through you at her compliment, but unconsciously, you crossed your arms, as if trying to shield yourself from trying to be too friendly.

“You too… and congratulations, by the way.” You responded. “There’s a number of Lyon and Paris FC fans in the office that were very disappointed whenever PSG won but… I was always secretly rooting for you guys.” A chuckle escaped her lips, but you noticed the way her eyes flickered, as if taking in your reserved body language. She took a deep breath, her expression shifting slightly. “Jackie did mention you’re the head of this new media company,” she said, her voice softer now. “You must be… happy?” You nodded and genuinely smiled. “Yes, I’m really happy.” You responded. “And you?” For a moment, her face grew serious, and she looked down, as if gathering her thoughts and courage. You watched her closely, sensing a vulnerability beneath her confident exterior. Then, she looked up, taking a step closer. “Look, I—” she began, but hesitation crept into her words. Another deep breath, and this time, her eyes fell to the ring on your finger, the light catching the stone. ”Oh,” She said, surprise coloring her tone. She couldn't hide her reaction and her staring. "I guess there are other congratulations to be said.”

An awkward silence settled between you, the air thick with unspoken words. You felt a twinge of pain at the sudden shift, a flash of “what could have happened if it was us instead” darting through your mind. But it quickly faded as you’ve made yourself aware of the present. Here you were, two complete people. Six years ago, you left with broken up hearts after you had damaged each other. One year ago, you picked on each other’s last remaining chip, threatening to return to what you two were. But now, here you were. If your lives seemed so different a year ago… now, it seemed like you were in completely diverging paths. A quiet sadness lingered in the space between you, intertwined with a flicker of something resolute. You exchanged genuine smiles, a silent understanding dawning that this was the real closure you both needed.

Elisa’s smile softened, taking on a warmth that felt both comforting and vulnerable. “You know, I never reciprocated,” she said, her words almost a whisper, catching you off guard.

“Hm?” you replied curiosly.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, her gaze drifting as if she were contemplating. When she looked back at your eyes, you could see so much vulnerability and warmth in her eyes that it made your heart race. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

You paused, the question hanging in the air. You paused with a racing mind. There was so much to be said about your new dreams, aspirations, goals. You couldn't find the right words.

Then, unexpectedly, a laugh bubbled up from within you — unexpected but genuine. It didn't take long for Elisa to chuckle along with you. The laughter felt freeing, as if it released the tension that had built up.

You didn’t respond, but you felt like you didn’t have to. Your eyes locked together and you gave her a warm smile, feeling a surge of affection. You said, “It was so nice knowing you, Elisa." Her smiled shifted slightly with an unreadable look in her eyes. She responded with a nod and a genuine tone. “And it was nice loving you.”

i love you too much to drift completely wait for me, i'll be back because you hold in my tide i would die a thousand times just to see you in another life — "love letter from the sea to the shore" - delaney bailey

a/n: thank you for reading this fic! please reblog if you liked it! this is my first time writing angst so please be nice 🙏 anyway, this was so enjoyable to write hehe. if any of you want to see me write about anything else, just send me a message or an ask!

[hoboblaidd]

im totally fine about dhavi calling out varric's lies of the heart, and fast forwarding to veilguard her saying solas is terrible when it comes to lies of the heart.

[sngj08]

[Not so Quiet Boy] Sunghoon x fem!reader {Part 2}

summary: your friend tries to set you up with an old acquaintance of yours in hopes to get him a girlfriend by the end of his senior year

genre: crush to friends, friends to lovers, crush to lovers, high school romance, after school and outside of school hangouts, mixed signals, friends playing cupid, friends not saying everything, obvious flirting but protagonist doesn't see,

warning: profanity, bullying(we mean it in a friendly way but some people may consider it bullying), 'gay jokes'

author's note: all of this is from true experience and none of them were altered besides names.

taglist status: OPEN

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Part 2: The Tech Booth

You were carrying chairs across the hallway, to bring backstage as props for a dance until someone was zooming past you which made you slip the chairs from your hands. “WATCH THE HELL WHERE YOU’RE GOING!” You screamed to the person who just dashed when you were trying to pick up the chairs, you felt someone carrying both chairs before you. “Sorry about that.” Sunghoon said as he picked up the chairs.

“Where do you want these places?” He said, still holding the chairs. “Oh, Ms. Jung told me to place it backstage cuz it’s props.” You explain to Sunghoon as he nodded and pointed to the door with his head. “Can you open the door?” Which you made your way towards the door.

The dance concert was coming up so you were in school on a saturday morning for tech rehearsals. You ended up doing some errands because your parents needed to go to a meeting for the whole day so you were dropped off early with tech theater students running around.

While you were done with the errands, you wanted to check the theater to see Yunah setting up her camera. “Hi Yunah!” You said while going to her. “Hi girl!” She said to you, still setting up her camera. “Ready for the photos?” She asked you to make you chuckle until you felt a cold breeze hit you. “Is the air conditioning above us?” You say jokingly which Yunah answered. “I know, it gets cold here when I stay longer.” She explains making you worry. “Why not move a few seats away?” But Yunah shook her head. “I’m here to take good photos gurlie so I brought my jacket with me.” She said proudly showing her jacket as you nod in amusement.

The tech rehearsal went smoothly, seeing all of my friends dance on stage and dancing on the stage yourself. It was time for you to leave but you didn’t have a ride so you asked Elisa who agreed to drive you home but she needed to stay late to do tech stuff backstage with Sunghoon and that he was joining the ride home. So while waiting, you were with Yunah the whole time watching the other dances while freezing your ass off but you wouldn’t say anything. 

Then you saw Elisa sat beside you. “So how are the pictures turning out?” Elisa asked with her bright tone. “Why are you guys right underneath the air conditioning?” Elisa also noticed how cold it was. “I’m already used to it and I’m wearing layers so I’m ok. I’m just worried about Yn. She’s even wearing a cropped top but she hasn’t said anything about the cold.” Yunah said in worry when they both looked at you for an explanation. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to worry you guys. I’m fine really. I could have chosen to sit somewhere else for a bit but I chose here so I need to bear it.” You say making your friends stare at you in disbelief but you all felt the cold breeze stop, making Elisa look at the tech booth which was behind us in confusion.

“Yo Sunghoon, did you turn down the AC?” She screamed from the seat for him to hear over the music playing. “Yeah I did.” He said after he opened the window from the tech booth. “You were there all along?” You dramatically turned your head to him while using the same volume as Elisa. “No, I just went here when Elisa arrived beside you guys.” He shouted while explaining. “Aren’t you a little nosy listening to us talk?” Yunah shouts as well while playfully raises an eyebrow at him. “Nah I can’t hear that well when the window is closed plus the music playing.” He still shouted back. “So how the hell did you know we were freezing?” You ask him when he shrugged off. “I know where the air conditioning was and you don’t have a jacket with you so I could see you freezing Yn.” He said making you nod but then realized something. “But Elisa didn’t even know we were under the air conditioning till she sat here? Aren't you guys both in tech?” You asked him but he shrugged his shoulders and didn’t answer you. Then someone called him from inside the booth so he closed the window and left. “He noticed you freezing!” Yunah playfully said to you. “Yeah and?” You said with a slight ‘I’m not buying what you’re thinking right now’ tone. “Yeah he doesn’t notice the small things in others. He’s always too busy with other things.” Elisa shrugs off, making Yunah turn to you with a raised brow making you huff in defeat while Yunah takes more pictures.

“Yn let’s go!” Elisa says in the lobby while you carry your bag with you, coming from backstage. “Ok let’s go?” Sunghoon says as he stands up from his seat while holding crutches, looking at the both of you. “Why do you have crutches?” You asked him about going to the door outside but he went first and held the door for you as you walked out. “Oh I sprained my ankle.” He said while letting go of the door as you were fully outside until you heard a slam. You turn your head to look at the door to see Elisa with her eyes closed shut, right in front of the door. “Oh my God, Elisa are you ok?” You opened the door for Elisa while you could see Sunghoon's hand, helping hold the door open. As she was safely outside, you scolded Sunghoon why he slammed the door on her face. “I thought she was already holding the door.” He complained as you looked at both of them in big disappointment. 

While walking to Elisa’s car it was just awkward while Elisa and Sunghoon started talking about other things, you were behind them and started singing hot to go by chappell roan because another girl had it as her ringtone backstage. “Oh my God. Hot to go?” Sunghoon said playfully in a slight annoyed tone. “Yeah someone had it as their ringtone backstage.” You said chuckling at the memory.

“Wait what’s that?” Elisa asked as you looked at her in disbelief. “You seriously don’t know the song hot to go by chappell roan?!” You said in shock as she shook her head. You started to sing it to her, hoping she'd heard it on her feed somewhere when Sunghoon started dancing to your singing but Elisa shook her head, saying she hasn’t heard it. “Well that’s surprising?! Even Sunghoon knows the dance but you don’t know it?” You say to her still in disbelief.

“Now to think of it. I think you’re really what people say you are Sunghoon.” You say trying to lighten up your mood. “Like what? What do people say about me?” He said, chuckling at your statement. “Gay.” You straight up said to him, making everyone laugh. “Yeah, like that one time during charades in disneyland, we did a motion and you listed lipstick, lip gloss, chapstick, lip tint. How did you know the difference? Or that one time you decided to act so girly pop that one day? Or that one performance where they told you to act sassy and you did?” Elisa said to him. “Yeah probably why you don’t have a girlfriend is that you like men?!” You said jokingly but then Elisa remembered something. “Remember that one time you and Jake were touching each other?” Elisa said while laughing at the memory. “In my defense, he touched me first.” He said while laughing as well. “What if I am gay?” He said in a curious tone which made you laugh some more.

“No, but you know the difference between Kenny and me right?” Sunghoon said seriously which made you stop laughing. “No, yeah I know. Kenny is undeniably gay.” You said, confirming and taking his point seriously.

As you went in Elisa’s car you remembered you wanted to know the reason for Sunghoon’s crutches and why he didn't use them earlier today. “He just won’t use them!” Elisa scolds Sunghoon while driving. “No it’s because I look stupid in them.” Sunghoon said in defense while he was in the back seat. “You were even dancing on stage and even carried the chairs for me earlier today when you were supposed to be resting!” You also scolded him for not using his crutches. “It’s fine. It didn’t hurt that bad and I’ll be all better before the dance concert anyways.” He said trying to reassure you both but you shook your head in disappointment. “You carried multiple chairs when you were supposed to wear your crutches?” Elisa said in disbelief. “They were two chairs so it wasn’t really a hassle.” He said which made you respond. “So why didn’t you let me carry those two chairs instead if you said it wasn’t a hassle?” But he didn’t respond as we arrived at his house, we bid our goodbyes before he left the car.

“Worried much?” Elisa joked around. “Oh stop Elisa. I already told you. I don’t like him.” You replied to her with a smile. “Wait really? So what’s your type?” Elisa asked you which didn’t make you think at all. You just started stating things why you liked your ex. “Korean- Sunghoon!” You just listed one thing and her conclusion was already Sunghoon. “Ok, Korean OR Chinese!” You said with emphasis, making Elisa nod. “Someone introverted. Soft spoken. Someone who can dance. Someone who likes kpop. Someone who’s clingy and someone who can listen to me yap.” You explained to Elisa. “You’re just stating Sunghoon girl.” She said while laughing but you were entirely just listing things about your ex. “Ok but soft spoken? Sunghoon is not soft spoken nor clingy at all.” You said to Elisa in defense. “What do you mean?! That guy IS soft spoken and clingy?!” She casts her own defense to you. “Ok but to be serious. Sunghoon fits all of those… Do you want me to set you up with him?”

taglist: (open) @enhacolor @beigerin @tasnemluvs @parkjjongswifey @usuallyunlikelyfox

[imstuckin1999]

[hoboblaidd]

“Wake up, Varric.”

“You don’t think I’ve been trying, Chuckles?” comes Varric’s frustrated reply. The attempt at levity is lost by the desperation that underlies it. 

“Not hard enough, it seems,” is Solas’ dry reply. 

They watch as green flames engulf the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Solas’ hand is on the back of Varric’s jacket, and he feels Varric trembling beneath it. Just like he did then. The green flames desaturate, a flicker of that all too familiar grey, before they turn a brilliant orange that is backlit by the black of the night sky. Kirkwall’s Chantry burns, and the embers fall like snow upon them.

“I don’t want to see this,” Varric mutters, a rare spoken moment of honesty. Solas knows the Fade stole it from his thoughts. 

Hope I’m not interrupting.

As was its wont, is Solas’ equally dry reflection.

“You have the power to shape the dream,” says Solas, and he’s as patient now as he had been then.

“You might,” says Varric, and it’s almost a snap. He is frazzled, unravelling, and the Fade seizes it.

The sound of the Chantry burning is replaced by an unintelligible song borne on harsh, unpracticed lips. The orange goes red until they are surrounded by it, as engulfed as the Chantry, the Temple. Within the crystalline cage forms another dwarf, as like Varric as he is unlike.

“Your brother,” says Solas.

“I can’t,” comes the singsong whisper of Bartrand, “I can’t hear it anymore. I can’t hear it.”

“She glittered like the sun,” says Varric, “but her heart was ice.”

He’s losing control of it, losing himself in it.

“Wake up, Varric,” Solas says, and sharply pulls the back of his jacket.

Grey flames engulf the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Grey flames engulf Kirkwall’s Chantry. The crystalline cage turns an ice cold blue.

“Your dagger was the idol,” says Varric.

“It was,” says Solas. He doesn’t want to talk about it, about the present, or whatever this hell was. But it’s better than losing Varric to a nightmare. Even if this nightmare belonged to Solas.

“That’s some fucking irony,” he says with a shaky laugh. “Shoulda left it in the damn Deep Roads.”

“Perhaps that would’ve been best.”

“Woulda turned out differently though.”

“What would have?”

“Everything.”

The blue becomes green, but it is neither the green of Corypheus’ ritual or the sickly green of the Nightmare’s lair. It is vibrant, too bright even to look at, and it is held aloft by an upraised hand.

Sidri closes a rift in the snow above Haven. It is Solas who holds her hand aloft. Solas that helps that first channeling of the power that would kill her. 

“Bianca’s excited,” Varric huffs a wet laugh, so different from the practiced nonchalance he’d adopted that day a decade ago.

Solas releases Sidri’s hand lest it burn him. He cannot look at her. 

“Never woulda been here without it.”

The sound of a blade slices through the air. Solas gasps despite himself, hearing his dagger rend through flesh. But before them is a dagger embedded in a book, and the snow of the Frostbacks melt into the wooden floor of a dingy tavern. Tankard in one hand, the other slapping the table with a laugh, is Varric’s Champion.

“Wish I could’ve brought you here,” Varric says. “Woulda been awkward, though.”

“How so?”

“I called them Chuckles, too.”

Solas barks a laugh.

The door to the tavern opens, and snow blows through. The warmth of the tavern does not change, however. Only the scenery. Chantry songs replacing the ribald chants. The Hanged Man gives way to the Singing Maiden.

They sit across a table from each other. Apart from servants, they are the only nonhumans here. 

Varric raises his glass, as he did then, when they were both prisoners of the fledgling Inquisition.

“Worth it,” says Varric. “It was all worth it.”

Solas looks at the table and says nothing. His throat is too tight with regret.

“You taking care of my Rook, Chuckles?”

Solas lets out the breath he did not realize he’d been holding. He does not answer.

They sit in silence. Solas dares not think how achingly comforting that silence is.

But the Fade hears regardless. The color bleeds from the walls, the warmth of the fire is snuffed by the great nothing of his prison. The table extends into an impassable staircase.

The stone visage of Asha watches.

“Why does this dream always lead back here?” says Varric, his voice echoing up through Solas’ cage.

“Because it is my dream. It has always been my dream.”

“Bit selfish of you, dragging me into it.”

“I begged you to stay away.”

“Yeah,” says Varric. “Not really my thing.”

In Kirkwall. In Haven. In Arlathan.

“Have you finally accepted that you were the hero of your story?” says Solas to a ghost.

“Don't know,” Varric shrugs. “Have you finally admitted you’re not the villain of yours?”

Solas closes his eyes. “Wake up, Varric,” says Solas softly. “Please.”

“Think maybe it’s about time you woke up, Chuckles.”

When Solas opens his eyes, Varric is gone. Asha - Rook - stares at him with mismatched eyes, as expectant as they are exasperated.

“Varric told me you used to pose as just an ‘elvhen apostate,’” they're saying.

Yes, Solas wants to say. And it had been worth it. It had all been worth it.

He lobs some half-hearted insult instead, and retreats back into Fen’harel.

The pavers are uneven in this part of Lowtown; they end up loose, and people pry them out of their spots and sell them if they can. It’s why the carts only go so far before people carry things by hand. He cannot remember why he’s down here. He can; it’s just muted by the buzz of people, muted by the things and the how of his fair city. There is chatter he has not heard before, and the air is still kissed by sea and less and less by chokedamp; it is home. It is a bustling section of Kirkwall spun to life nearly as if there is the gold and silver thread that runs through his clothes keeping her together; the pavers are still uneven as he walks, finishing up the job of picking up papers for Bartrand, another thing.

Lowtown is alive in the worst ways. He sidesteps someone throwing something out over the street, and it cascades down, running over the stones and sticking in those open spots. Someone else is shouting about some fresh meat, someone else about fried bread and other wares, more chatter as he pushes his way through, knowing these streets better than the words in a book he should know better, finances he should know better, and jobs he should be more mindful of, but instead he’s pushing the doors open to a familiar tavern, smoke filling his lungs, shavings and hay on the floor, a risk to open flame sitting too close on a table - another kind of home. His name is said repeatedly as he ducks in, down and around, avoiding folks who only ask, and he avoids most - only taking a moment or two with someone he knows, but he pushes through that, finding a table well worn, empty, save for a redhead nestling a tankard. 

He has papers in his hand for Bartrand, but Aveline sits at a table already worn. He already knows her name, but the documents in his hands are a mess of words, something he cannot read, but he knows what they are - they’re for Bartrand, processing paperwork, an estate closed - a body burned. It hits him in the lungs; it hits him like someone has meant to knock the air out of him, like all the people who have tried to do it in this bar, like the man who nearly caved his skull in one time in Lowton, and things are wildly out of order. Aveline is too old for this to be a memory, and the documents in his hands are the very ones on a desk lost in the Frostbacks, reminding him he sold that part of the estate for the docks, new pavers, and lumber.

This isn’t real; it never happened, as Kirkwall lies wasting away, Aveline handling the shit while he’s toiling in the muck, but she’s sitting there and looks right at him. “How did it go?”

“Swimmingly.” He answers, words are his, but it is more like he’s moving as if he’s a part of a play, just in a part, as if these are lines said over and over. “Building on Moors sold, and I closed Bartrand’s account; we can manage even if Highland pulls her money out of the banks.” 

“That’s not the worry, Dwarf.” Aveline sighs, and she lets go of the tankard, but she doesn’t still, instead she starts peeling the gauntlets from her hands, and he ends up settling in front of her, watching her movements, the gauntlets coming apart as her tale unfolds. “Even with the money - that does not quell the issue of the Chantry.”

“Hawke’s gone, Red, they’ve been gone for - ” He guffaws at Aveline a moment, and he fears it will not stay boisterous. Feeling that deep down, the following words would strangle him, and he would nearly choke as if he had to say those words to himself, to not stumble and fall over them, to impale himself and spill his blood, his thoughts, his whole being out and all over the table. But he does not - the story goes on, the laugh dies, and he does not stumble over the words; instead, the pause comes off as reflective. “Years, long enough for it to not matter - shit is kicking off in the South, they should worry about that.” 

“Hawke isn’t there?”

“No, it’s why I’m being interrogated.” 

“Then why is the Chantry on all sides of us?” 

“Because I’m a liar.” 

“Varric.” 

“They want to starve us out.” 

“What?”

“It’s a march, Aveline. A soft-handed one - we have a Seeker here interrogating me, the docks are a mess, so post people at the gates - we can’t get people in or out.” They never had this conversation, this he knows, as Aveline shakes her head, digesting his words and the tempo of the bar. The populace is happy; the city is bright - so they are doing this quietly. They are talking in the dark, and it all dims on them as if there is a spotlight and Aveline is playing through the motions on a stage. “What does Bran think?” 

“He’s petrified; he has no Chantry Mother and no real power to negotiate with.” 

“The election?” They never had an election; someone was stuck somewhere and couldn’t get in due to the dock, and he had been placed on a boat before they could all choose anyone but Bran, but it came out of his mouth like it was natural, like it has been discussed before. His body moves, pulling the tankard to him. Aveline looks at him unimpressed but does not admonish him for flagrant sticky fingers - her gauntlets come down on the table.

“Next week. Are you going?” 

“Might as well, someone has to clean up.” 

“Varric.” 

The tankard comes to his lips, and he’s reeling. The beer tastes like nothing, near the truth of what was any swill from The Hanged Man, as was most of the warm drink of Kirkwall. 

“If you go.” She pauses, and her hand comes to the table, grabbing his attention, grabbing his eyes. They are looking at one another, juxtapositions of justice and mercy, vengeance and cruelty - and he knows the words before Aveline speaks them, before they even leave her lips as if he knows the script but cannot deviate from it. “If you go, you will be elected.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Varric.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to die that badly?” He laughs. The world shifts around him. It isn’t real, yet it feels like such; it is the same look to the bar, the same worn look that Aveline gave him time after time, just his mind mending the gaps, giving her age, talking about things still ongoing in letters, the bottom falls out, and the lights flicker around him. 

There are words that fade among that laugh, and the lights flicker with it, again. Rather than a proper ending, he moves up the stairs, walking to that old room; instead, that does not lead to a room, it leads down a long hallway, greying out to a world lit to fire, a Kirkwall lost to a blaze, a Kirkwall that falls long under three dark shadows, cast wide at his feet and it is the noose likely looking for him, an axe seeking his neck. He moves as if he cannot stop, and he is led to the echo of Aveline’s words, a choir of whispers of his ineptitude, the way he leads them all to death, a dirge somewhere far off. 

Do you want to die that badly?

He knows all of those words would have been true; he would have walked that path that would have become a long shadow looming, and he finds himself falling against the darkness, against the moor, against the fever of his mind. He remembers magic; he remembers something settling hot in his stomach, making him ill as he hit different pavers, as he clawed at different stones and skittered off lost to the throngs of people, lost to the crowds of dying, mourning and grieving in Adamant. He barricaded himself somewhere dry, somewhere warm enough as that heat in his stomach became physical, leaving him with the fever that now runs through his mind, his veins as his mind crafts something else as he falls and keeps falling. 

Those words - Do you want to die that badly? 

No, but there are three long shadows of his family, of his city, of all the places he still has to go, all the muck he will still need to wander and wade through, all it still churning - the nightmare of facing death and what was still to come. 

The long shadow left by Hawke, by the Inquisition, and even by the very people who wedged themselves past those walls, finding the inner circle of a tender and bruised heart. Those shadows always twist, but he moves, stepping away; shadows always have a light source.

There are other echoes as he finds himself piecing it together bit by bit, another place coming to mind, another place in Kirkwall, another person he nearly wanted to summon, rather they were gone, locked against this place, and he cannot even summon them here, as if he’s not able to control his own dreams, the word he doesn’t want to give it as it feels like hell, it is something more of a nightmare and he has to be a puppet along with the next piece, a meeting - Bartrand, and that too ends - that too ends in blood, rather than a bolt in Bartrand in a manor he has long locked, he watches his brother bleed out, a face flickering to Hawke, to everyone else, to his mother, to Aveline, to those waiting on him in Adamant. There is that sick drop again, no wailing, no, he just falls, and the blood on his hand comes to gloves, and Bianca is back in his hands, and there is snow on the ground. 

Yet, he is pulled back. A hand is in the back of his jacket, pulling him out from danger, pushing him aside as a barrier is cast wide, and it feels differently this time; it feels wildly like a quick calm, a beat on the streets of Kirkwall, and he turns and faces the elf. This he knows, but all of this has been wildly out of order. 

“You are wildly out of place, Master Tethras,” Solas states, as if he can see this is somehow out of sorts. “Perhaps, a remnant of the fade, latent magics.” 

“I’m dreaming.” He simplifies. This time, he can speak outside of turn, as if he understands this a little better. “This shit is weird.” 

Haven no longer exists; it hasn’t for some time. 

“Then wake up.” 

“Wonderful idea.” 

That earns him a frown and a push away again, still somewhere under the barrier of that spell. “You always have a choice to wake up.” Just like a spell, those words push him. 

Breath catches, and he sits up, sweat still on his skin, and he blinks, coming to somehow, running through everything a hand on his pack, on his jacket, finding a bit of parchment, finding bits of notes, coin, his cards - the joker is pulled first, turning over in his hands, he is the fool, just like the card and it is tucked away. 

He’s still sick, but he is awake, so he moves out of that tent and finds somewhere else.