#everyone's an abom au

[feynites]

I was gonna wait to post this until after I’d done more stuff with Tiny Uthvir, but that’s taking a while so in the meantime - here’s Raised-by-Marassal Dirthamen’s first meeting with Selene. (Or my take on it, anyway, feel free to disregard.)

When he is twenty-one, Dirthamen and his Papae take a year off to go travelling around Thedas.

It seems to Dirthamen like his Papae is looking for something, although he doesn’t actually say as much. But Marassal is a Desire Abomination, and is prone to strange preoccupations and spontaneity. And Dirthamen thinks that if someone lives for a very long time, then they probably have moments where they find themselves searching for the meaning of life, or similar such ineffable things. It’s a nice trip, anyway. A lovely vacation to lots of interesting places, mostly off the beaten path, and Dirthamen collects a lot of specimens and takes a lot of photographs, and feels wholly rejuvenated even if he still hasn’t decided what he wants to do with his life.

His Papae is very supportive on that front, though he seems less overall pleased with the end results of their vacation.

“It will all come together, somehow. We just have to figure out how…” he says.

Dirthamen nods, and after a few nights of contemplation, decides that he will go with his gut and accept his father’s offer of a start-up loan, and follow his dream of owning his own book shop.

It’s not exactly a simple matter. Online sales are more popular for books, but Dirthamen understands computers fairly well, and sets up his own little shop. Eventually he finds a network of used book sellers to join in with, and makes a deal with one of the local thrift shops and some community charities. It takes about three years for him to start actually making a profit, but slowly, bit by bit, his shop gains a reputation and he finds some very good suppliers, and online business booms as foot traffic increases. Diversifying his stock with some magic-oriented items requires a lot of licensing, and he has to pass half a dozen government mandated tests and put his name on several registries. His life seems to work better when he can managed to keep to a schedule, but it always seems far too easy to distract him or knock him off course. He has to re-take three tests because he misses them, but he manages.

He’s twenty-six, and his shop has been in business for four years, when he wakes up one morning to find that someone has thrown a brick through the window.

He has no idea what prompted it, but stores owned by mages and stores owned by elves often seem to incur this sort of reaction. Dirthamen patches up the window, and checks and is relieved to find that none of the books were damaged, at least. He files a police report, but he gets the impression that he’s not doing it right, and his father comes and fusses and calls the people responsible wretches.

It could have been an accident, though. Just the same, Dirthamen reinforces his windows with some spells to deflect blows, and saves up to get a security camera. Some of his books are quite valuable, although nearly all of the ones which are would be difficult to actually sell – unique volumes and old texts are distinctive, and easier to track than a lot of other things.

But the broken window seems to let in a rush of objections that he doesn’t really know what to make of. There are people on online forums calling his store a ‘blight on the community’. They seem to find his stock inappropriate, and his location next to an erotic bookstore somehow damning to both of them by sheer proxy. They are both very far away from the nearest school district, but Dirthamen supposes that it is true that they are also technically ‘just a bus ride away from impressionable children’. He does not suffer any more broken windows, but one of the local chapters of the chantry puts a ban on his store, and there are several attempts at defacing the front with graffiti. His security camera catches several individuals, but the police tell him not to get his hopes up, and that it ‘could be anyone’ in the footage.

There is another incident, wherein a woman decides to read several select verses from the Chant of Light while walking outside of his door. His neighbour, Zevran, who owns the erotic book shop, comes out and starts countering her with passages from Three Nights in a Chantry, which is not necessarily fit for public readings, but he does not get very far before the woman leaves.

Eventually, the furor starts to die down. Not entirely, Dirthamen doesn’t think, but he figures out how to charm his windows so that they will not let paint stick to them, which limits vandals to the side wall and back alley, and those are harder to see from the street. At Zevran’s advice, he goes to a local animal shelter to obtain a ‘shop cat’, which can ‘stare creepily off at invisible things and make certain people too uncomfortable to enter the store, at least, if they are a suspicious sort’. Dirthamen ends up coming home with a rescued pet crow instead, a bird with clipped wings and a lot of intelligence, despite her tendency to tilt her head at odd angles due to slight brain damage from an injury.

“Even better!” Zevran declares, delighted.

He starts coming over on his lunch break to feed Blackbird tiny chunks of meat.

Dirthamen is twenty-seven when the bell for his shop door rings. It is late, technically closing time, but he had forgotten to flip the sign again. He is restocking some of the shelves on the second floor, and glances down over the balcony to see who has come in.

It is a woman.

Elven, and tall. Fair-haired and long-legged, with very sharp, striking features, that he can detect even with his odd angle on her. She is dressed in a long coat and faded jeans. Her hair is pulled mostly into a messy ponytail. She looks around the shop, and something about it makes Dirthamen think of dreams, for a moment. Glassy instances that linger between perceptions, and slow time down to make all the details more noticeable. There is ink on the woman’s fingers, and on one corner of her jaw. There is something about her countenance that makes Dirthamen think of mages, and of oddities, and of long nights with lots of books and studying and shutters drawn against the sunlight.

He freezes, and feels inexplicably like he should go and get his camera.

But he doesn’t have permission to take this woman’s photograph. She’s a customer, and this is his shop, and he’s learned that’s rude. With some trial and error. The woman walks over to Blackbird, and looks faintly concerned.

“Just a moment, please!” Dirthamen calls out, and makes his way down the light staircase.

The woman freezes to the spot.

“Ah, good evening!” Dirthamen says, as he comes up behind her. “My apologies, the shop is technically closed, but I forgot to flip the sign. It’s no matter, though, I’m restocking so you can feel free to browse for a few minutes. Unless you came by to find something in specific.  I should probably go and flip the sign, though, before I forget again. One time I left it open until eleven o’clock – at night – and one of my customers became convinced that I was open late and seemed very upset to find out that it was not my regular schedule. I wouldn’t be able to afford it, though, not that many people like to buy books after seven pm, even though most readers seem to be night owl types. I tried it for a few weeks but it was just very tiring, and the few people who came mostly ended up ordering online anyway. Oh! That reminds me, we do have an online store, and you are welcome to browse our selection there. You can have books shipped right to your address, or place orders of in-store pick up. But like I said, you can also browse right now, at least until I have to go home. But were you looking for something in specific? Because if you weren’t I can make some recommendations, if you tell me your interests. We have textbooks, too, with student discounts. Most of them are used but we try to keep a wide selection. And some of them are very interesting even if you’re not a student, although I still recommend leaving the actual textbooks for the students to buy and purchasing similar books on the same subject, I can usually find something that is more specific anyway.”

The woman doesn’t turn around while Dirthamen is speaking. Instead she seems to be staring very rigidly at Blackbird. He wonders if he’s gone too fast, and decides to just head over and flip the shop sign, and give her a moment. Perhaps she is nervous of birds? Well, it’s about time to settle Blackbird in for the night anyway, so Dirthamen goes and fetches her sleeping cage from behind the counter, and then heads over with it.

When the woman finally turns to look at him, her gaze fixes on his face. Dirthamen actually makes eye-contact, for a moment, before sliding his own gaze back over to Blackbird. He can feel the customer looking at him, though, watching intently as he gets the shop bird into her cage. Blackbird flaps a little, but she knows she will get treats before bed if she behaves, and so she does. He feeds her one of her favourite snacks, carrying her back to the register and letting her munch, before he pulls the tarp fully over the cage and makes it ‘night time’ for her. Then he settles the cage into its usual spot, feeling eyes on him all the while.

He looks up again, at the sound of footsteps.

The woman walks towards him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, now. Sometimes he gets customers who aren’t in a good way. Too much lyrium, or too many drugs, or recent trauma. Sometimes all three. He glances at the woman’s arms, but he doesn’t see any needle marks or scars. Her nails are purple, he notes. A very particular purple, which gives him pause, as he glances back up at her, and reconsiders.

Is she an abomination? Like Papae?

It’s probably not a good idea to just ask that, he knows, some secrets are trickier than others.

But if she is, and she’s having troubles, then that won’t do. She comes to a halt a few steps away, and her expression wavers. One of her hands comes up to her mouth.

“It’s alright,” Dirthamen finds himself saying, though he’s not sure what he’s promising. Still, he thinks, it can be. Things can be alright, as long as there’s someone to help. As long as you know the right steps to take, and what better place to figure such things out than a book store? “Maybe if you tell me what’s wrong, we can start sorting things out? If you don’t like the shop, there’s a little café just across the street…”

The woman swallows.

“There is?” she says.

It’s the first sound she’s made since she came in. But it instantly makes Dirthamen feel a little more at ease. That’s a good voice, he thinks. Not high and false, or snide, or defensive. It seems a bit like it’s been punched out of the poor woman, though. He can almost hear his father tutting in his head, and he thinks that if he was here, he would be reaching out to pat his customer’s hand and tell her that what she needs is probably a nice sit down to just breathe for a few moments. Life can be overwhelming, but that’s usually just because it’s full of so many possibilities. Things to see, and do, and learn, and want.

Dirthamen is not as good at helping, but he can try.

He offers the woman a smile.

“Just let me lock up,” he suggests. “And I’ll buy you a coffee, and we can talk about whatever it is you’re looking for.”

She lets out a shaky breath, like something between laughing and gasping and crying. Her eyes are starting to shine.

“Are you real?” she asks him.

Dirthamen’s brow furrows. Oh, so she’s having those sorts of problems.

“Yes,” he assures her. “I’m very real. So is the crow you saw, and so are the books, and so is this shop. Do you know what street you’re on, and how you got here?”

The woman clears her throat.

“Yes,” she says. “I drove here, we’re on Archway, just near to Queen’s Street and next to an erotic book store.”

Dirthamen smiles.

“Exactly,” he confirms. He’s already closed out the till, so he just sets about checking all of his locks. He can finish restocking in the morning, he thinks.

“I’m sorry,” the woman says, after a moment. “I’m sorry, that was… I must seem very strange, right now.”

Dirthamen offers her another smile, relieved that she seems to be able to speak, now.

“Strangeness doesn’t offend me,” he assures her. “But it can be a little worrying. May I buy you a tea or a coffee, or something to eat?” He doesn’t think he would feel right about letting her drive off without making sure she’s consistently lucid.

“Yes!” the woman blurts, all in a rush, now. “Yes you can, you absolutely can, I would like that very much!”

Dirthamen blinks.

The woman slowly tilts her head back, and sucks in a long breath, and closes her eyes for a moment. Then she exhales.

“Sorry,” she says. “I mean… if it’s not too much trouble…”

“It’s not,” he assures her.

After all, this is by far the most interesting customer he’s had in a long while.

[selenelavellan]

16 for Chantilly couple in either our dark reincarnation au or frat?

16. sleepy morning kisses that accidentally turn intense

Man we haven’t done Dark Reincarnation AU in a while. 

Let’s see…

Cirimeni belongs to @justanartsysideblog

Pride is not a new presence to Felasel’s sex life. He is used tothe prods, to the nudges towards certain behaviors and techniques andthe strive to obtain certain…responses.

Purpose is a differentsort of issue.

It is harder to get Cirimeni to sleep in the first place, so hetries not to disrupt her unless absolutely necessary. But theadjustment period has been long, and in recent days he has foundhimself craving her nearness more than he is used to. Slowly,lightly, he kisses a trail up the length of her neck. Lips grazingagainst her jaw bone as her eyes flutter open. She leans up, justenough to signal her own interest as their lips press carefullyagainst one another.

It is greatly reassuring, the warmth of her in their bed after therecent turmoil in their lives. He cannot help himself, his handsbrushing up her sides beneath her camisole as he leans further intothe kiss. 

Ordinarily, they could continue like this for hours. Justgentle and calm, soft touches without any pressure or intent to them. Hehas miscalculated. Forgotten about Purpose, golden and glistening andeager beneath his lovers skin.

Her hands reach beneath his own shirt, pulling him closer to her.Tighter, deepening the kiss as her tongue plunges into his mouth.Felasel lets out a soft groan, unused to her behaving so aggressivelyas she grinds against him with intent and his body eagerly responds.

He can feel Purpose though, simmering inside of her, pushingtowards a very particular goal.

“Cirimeni,” He growls out, hands moving over her skin to flickplayfully at her nipple.

She lets out a quiet gasp, her own hands drifting down to grasphis backside possessively. He can feel her shifting her weightbeneath him, legs adjusting in preparation. He drags down her sleeppants and underwear in one smooth motion as she flips him, her bottomhalf now bare as she straddles him with her shirt still rumpled andpushed up.

Felasel lets his face split into a self satisfied grin at thesight. Cirimeni raises a challenging eyebrow towards him-so much moredaring since Purpose, it still shocks him sometimes-and easily pullshis erection out through the front of his own sleep pants. He letsout a soft grunt at the feeling of her hand on his cock, skin softand grip firm as she gives him a few self-assured pumps.

Felasel slides one hand down to rest lightly on her hips, thumbbrushing carefully against the skin just a few centimeters away fromher hip bone, as his other arm pulls open the drawer beside their bedand fumbles for a lubricated condom. Cirimeni strokes him a few moretimes until he successfully finds one (and makes a mental note toorder more) and she takes the packet from him.

She tears it open with more strength than is necessary, beforecarefully sliding it down his shaft and double checking that it’sbeen placed correctly. It is one of the warming ones, Felaselrealizes as he lets out a breath; more intense than he had beenprepared for, but he will make it work.

He lifts Cirimeni with ease, still light and petite, and moves herto his stomach so that his cock is outside of her touch for themoment.

She pouts, head turning slightly before he calls her attentionback to him with his fingers, gliding easily over her labia.

“You still need to be prepped,” He reminds her gently,speaking more to Purpose than Cirimeni “I won’t hurt you.”

She looks ready to put up an argument, so he lets his right thumbpress against her hipbone before assuming a clockwise motion. Shelets out a loud moan, eyes drifting blissfully shut as she relaxesagainst him. One of his fingers slips in with ease, glad to find italready wet and willing. He carefully prods with a second, his leftthumb brushing against her clitoris in a motion matching his right.It doesn’t take long for her to become entirely relaxed from thecombination, and after one last reassurance, he lifts her and easesher down onto the tip of his cock. She shifts against him, hipswriggling to find her ideal angle as she slowly slides down onto him.His hands brush up and down her sides, waiting patiently for her todecide on a pace. Once she’s settled into one, taking him almostfully before lifting herself back off, he begins to move beneath her.He can see Purpose gleaming inside her, rising and falling with eachcrest as she gets closer and closer to her goal.

Far be it from him to deny her anything.

He snaps his hips up, hands tight around her hips as his fingersbrush against her hip bone, keeping her securely on top of him as sheleans forward. Her hands grasp tightly to his shoulders, breathsrapidly increasing as he increases the pace, pulled by his own desireto satisfy her. Closer and closer,  Felasel can feel his own climaxarriving, and leans forward, lips just barely brushing againstCirimenis.

“Come for me,” he whispers, snapping up into her fully.He feels her clench down onto him, and crushes his lips against hers,biting down on her bottom lip as the feeling drags him over his ownedge, grasping her tightly to him.

For a moment, everything else melts away. Just the two of themagain, like it had been so many years ago. Caught in a private momentof bliss, every muscle and fiber of his body alight in a wonderfullyoverwhelming and vulnerable way.

And then they fall back to the bed, panting with stutteringbreaths as the tension falls away from them.

Felasel hugs Cirimeni tightly to himself, placing another kiss tothe top of her head.

“Thank you,” She murmurs.

“I think that’s my line,” He shoots back. “Good morning, bythe way.”

“Let’s just go back to sleep,”she groans. “Please.”

Felasel takes a moment to consider. “Alright,” He agrees. “butwe shower first.”

“Can’t. Legs don’t work.”

Felasel ponders the possibilities for a moment; he could stayhere, and fall asleep soft and spent with Cirimeni on top of him. Butthat would lead to unpleasantness and possible bacterial issueslater, and he’s gained a layer of sweat he would rather not have tosmell or sit in either.

Which really only leaves the one option, he supposes.

Carefully, he lifts Cirimeni off of himself, swings his legs tothe side of the bed, and carries her bridal style towards theirrather large bathroom. Placing her gently down on the bench in theirshower he checks. “Will this do?”

Cirimeni stretches her arms up and over her head with a long yawn,then smiles back at him. “Yep. All according to plan.”

[justanartsysideblog]

It’s summer, so have a summertime Beauty! Pun fully intended. 

[scurvgirl]

@lycheemilkart wanted more baby Dirthamen shenanigans. 

@feynites

It is exceptionally difficult for Marassal to not shower Dirthamen with gifts any day of the week, let alone his birthday. But his son is sensitive and prone to getting overwhelmed, even by indisputably good things. Marassal has learned that a staggered approach is best to make sure Dirthamen can enjoy everything Marassal wants to give but doesn’t wind up feeling overwhelmed and needing to be alone for a while.

Dirthamen’s birthday is celebrated over the course of a week. This year, it falls on a Thursday, which both him and Dirthamen take off to go to the children’s museum. Dirthamen ends up spending most of his time in the new space exhibit. The weekdays leading up to it are full of Dirthamen’s favorite foods, shows, games, and a new toy each day. They are exceptionally good days, but not great hoorahs. On Friday, Marassal brings cupcakes to his school and there is a party there that is lowkey enough for Dirthamen to enjoy.

On Saturday, they spend the day at the pool with new pool toys. Dirthamen is all too happy to show off his diving skills to go get the little toys until his ears start to bother him. After that, they chill on the lazy river and Dirthamen tells him about the dreams he’s had. They’re mostly just odd gibberish but in the odd gibberish he can recognize the telltale signs of magic slowly beginning to make itself known.

On Sunday, they go to Ikea. If there is one thing that Marassal is shocked about, it’s Dirthamen’s amusement at having so many different areas so close together.

“Uh oh! We’re lost!” He exclaims in their third bedroom. Marassal directs him to the signs on the floor.

“Oooh,” he says then scurries along into a kitchen.

“I like that!” He points at a swirling black and white counter top with what appears to have bits of glass in it to make it shine. Marassal picks him up so he can see it better and touch it. He runs his hands over it and makes giggly happy noises.

“Maybe we should redo the kitchen with this? Or your bathroom?” Marassal suggests and Dirthamen nods.

“It’s pretty!”

Marassal has been wanting to redo his son’s bathroom. Tiled countertops can only ever so clean, but he had worried when Dirthamen was smaller, all the dust and construction and people. But clearly he needs to hop on it now. He sets Dirthamen on the counter top and snaps a picture of the tag.

When they get home, Marassal gives Dirthamen a bath and notices how long his hair has gotten. Very, very long. He brushes it all out without much complaint from Dirthamen who is wrapped up in his toys, but when he gets out of the tub he rubs his neck.

“Is your hair heavy, sweetheart?” Marassal asks.

“Yeah,” Dirthamen says. Well. That means one thing. Haircut time. He is absolutely unwilling to let a stranger get near his son’s head and ears with scissors, so he bundles Dirthamen up and puts him in a chair and sets to combing out his long, long hair.

When he picks up he scissors, something in him shakes a bit and he drops them.

I can do this, Desire whispers and while he isn’t a fan of letting her parent for periods of time…this is an exception. He steps back and watches as Desire moves to the front. Dirthamen smiles and waves.

“Purple Papae!” He exclaims and Desire nods.

“Yes, da’len, Purple Papae. Now do you want your hair here,” Desire holds their hand at Dirthamen’s clavicle, “or shorter, around your head?”

“Long like Papae’s,” Dirthamen answers and Desire hums as she begins to snip away at his hair. By the end of it, Dirthamen is shaking his head happily, giggling at how his hair flies now. There is a pile of hair under the chair and Desire wants to pick it up but Marassal is done sitting back now, thank you.

He pushes his way forward and sweeps up the hair before picking Dirthamen back up and letting him run around for a while before bed.

Marassal’s back itches, like his wings want to spring forth. But no, Dirthamen hasn’t seen him like that yet, he could scare him, or overwhelm him, or – no, he can maintain control. He flexes his back and turns to Dirthamen with a smile. He asks if he wants dessert and the boy nods emphatically.

Marassal opens the fridge and pulls out the homemade pudding he made the other night in the middle of a bout of insomnia. He makes a small bowl for Dirthamen and hands it over with his favorite spoon.

“Remember you need to sit down and eat so you don’t get a tummy ache,” Marassal reminds him gently. Dirthamen decides that the floor suits this purpose just as well as a chair and leans against the kitchen island. Well, at least he’s sitting. Marassal couches down with him with his own bowl.

His back itches and protests touching anything.

“Do you like it?” Marassal asks, trying to distract himself from his sensitivity.

“Uh huh. It’s mushy and feels nice in my mouth.” He sticks his hand in the pudding which was foreseeable to be fair.

“How does it feel on your hand?”

“Mushy and smooth!” Dirthamen giggles. He proceeds to lick his hand which was also foreseeable. Well, children are children, they know nothing and learn everything by doing. How was he going to really know that pudding is messy if he didn’t make a mess with it? And who’s to say the mouth and the hand feel things differently? Dirthamen has always been a fan of the exploration, just in moderation.

But this means that he needs another bath. Marassal writes it off as a tired parenting error and convinces Dirthamen to have another bath – this time in Marassal’s giant fancy tub. It’s copper and the water sounds differently in it, keeping Dirthamen entertained while Marassal quickly scrubs him down again. Dirthamen fusses at it, but they thankfully avoid a meltdown.

After he’s down for the night, Marassal lets his wings out. He sets to cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms, going much faster with the aid of his wings. He can’t fly because leaving Dirthamen would be horribly irresponsible but he can clean and stretch.

He looks up at the ceiling and wonders if he can take a summer vacation with Dirthamen and have the ceilings vaulted, having some rafters to lurk in would be nice.

He is halfway through cleaning the play room when Dirthamen wanders in, rubbing his eyes.

“I had a bad dream,” he mumbles then stops when he sees Marassal bent over with two of his favorite stuffed animals in his hands while two of his blocks are clutched by the talons at the end of his wings. Dirthamen’s eyes widen and Marassal straightens, flattening his wings behind his back.

“Oh no,” he breathes.

Dirthamen blinks and Marassal wonders if he can play it off as his son still having a dream…but no, that would be lying to his son. Too much lying. He had planned to be open about his condition eventually, just…not this soon.

He stands up sheepishly and holds his hands close to his body.

“Hi, sweetheart, I know this is a bit strange, but there is nothing to be afraid of. It’s like Purple Papae, sometimes I have wings and sometimes I don’t.” He waits as Dirthamen’s brow furrows and he thinks very hard.

“Will I get wings?” He asks finally and Marassal smiles.

“You may be a shapeshifter, we don’t know yet. But if you are, you can make your own wings – any way you’d like.”

“So it’s a magic thing?”

“Yes, but it’s a secret, okay? Can you be a little secret keeper for me?” Marassal asks and Dirthamen nods, stepping over to Marassal.

“Can I touch them?” He asks and Marassal carefully lets down one wing. Little hands run up the smooth skin and poke at the firmer bones within.

“Gently,” Marassal urges. Dirthamen’s face turns serious as he learns the wings with his hands.

“Can you fly?”

“If I want to.”

“Can I see your back?” Dirthamen asks and Marassal sits, spanning his wings out and letting Dirthamen examine where his wings sprout from his back. It is an odd feeling, having the small hands poke and prod, but not to get Marassal to do anything, just to learn. Because Dirthamen is curious, and he is good, he just wants to know.

“Wing Papae,” Dirthamen whispers and Marassal smiles. Right, just like Purple Papae. One day Dirthamen will understand the full implications of the wings and Purple Papae, of the sometimes-long nails and why he sometimes dresses so funny or speaks in the wrong language. But for now, the five-year-old just needs to learn about wings.

Dirthamen comes around to Marassal’s front and leans into him for a hug.

“There’s a monster in my closet,” he says on a yawn and Marassal chuckles.

“Do you want me to scare it away or sleep in my bed?” Marassal asks and Dirthamen sighs.

“I want to sleep in my bed.”

“Scaring it away it is then!” He decides, picking Dirthamen back up and carrying him back to his room. He tucks Dirthamen in then turns to the closet.

“Be gone, foul beast!” he cries, throwing open the doors. A large bag comes tumbling down and into Marassal.

Dirthamen laughs, “Oooh, it was the bag.” A heavy bag. Marassal opens it to find it full of all of Dirthamen’s old shoes. Right, he keeps meaning to donate these. Marassal chuckles and sets the bag aside.

“Alright, problem solved! And look! No monsters, just shoes.” He returns to Dirthamen’s bed and tucks him in, humming an old song that Marassal’s mother used to sing to him.

Dirthamen doesn’t know the language, the slave tongue, but he knows the tune and it soothes him. Hands and talons smooth his hair down and lips kiss his forehead good night.

[theladypirate]

Have some baby Marla and Wrath. Tagging @feynites and @selenelavellan bc abom au. Wrath is old. It didn't know -how- old exactly, time passes differently in the Fade, it had told her. But it was old enough, and apparently strange enough, that most other spirits shied away from it. When they'd first become partners, after... after she had calmed down, Marla had been overwhelmed by the deep sense of loneliness Wrath carried with it, buried beneath the fire and the driving rage. She had crawled into the first dark place she could find and wept until she had dehydrated herself. As they'd gotten used to their new circumstances, Marla had made it a point to talk to it, and include Wrath in her decision making, on everything, which had baffled it at first. (We're friends, and I'm gonna look after you) she had told it (you don't have to be lonely, I'm always here) (...) (...thank you. But I still don't care what color socks we wear.) About a month after they'd teamed up, things had gotten rough. The tenuous equilibrium they had established had started fluctuating wildly. This resulted in mood swings that left Marla seething, but without a reason, or safe outlet, for her anger. Wrath rose up too close to the surface, and she would have to drag them away from public, because they had the wrong number of eyes and/or limbs, or they were suddenly three foot taller and starting to glow. (I'm hungry) Wrath had tried to explain. Marla, in desperation, had snuck into a public library after hours, and found an online 'roleplay' forum about abominations. Sketchy at best, but... /What does it mean when your 'friend' says it's hungry?/ she had typed. She sat refreshing the page for a few minutes, but before she could get an answer, she heard footsteps down the hall. She pulled the power cord and fled. It took a few more days of being the wrong height and having to wear oversized sunglasses to hide the extra eyes that kept stubbornly appearing before she managed to go back. She went during the day this time, not willing to be caught trespassing, as she wasn't sure what Wrath would do. It had been... pacing, for lack of a better word. Irritable and snappish, which meant -she- was irritable and snappish, and she felt lost. She wasn't doing a very good job of looking after her friend. Which just made her more upset, and in turn rankled Wrath. It was a Tuesday, mid morning, and the library was thankfully quiet. She'd still snuck past the librarian. There was no plausible reason she could give for a 12 year old to be wandering around unsupervised on a school day. Wrath curled around her spine and waited, impatient. She couldn't keep her feet still as she logged back into the forum. /What does it mean when your 'friend' says it's hungry?/ -14 replies (Hurry up) Wrath insisted. Marla clicked on the link eagerly. The first few replies were... graphic... in nature. They involved pictures, and suggestions of unwilling blood sacrifices, a couple of which insisted children were the best catalyst. Wrath growled, offended and vicious. (Don't look at those) it said, and she'd had to struggle for control of herself for a few minutes. (Not here! Wrath-) they were glowing, slightly. Marla pressed her lips into a thin line and scowled, her own patience worn thin after so many weeks of being out of balance. She took a deep breath and sought out the still, cold place in her mind. Wrath objected, but it was too distracted by its own anger to catch her in time. She dragged it into the stillness with her. They stopped glowing. Wrath coiled around her like a second skin, disgruntled and at once apologetic. (Help me read this) she told it. After the offending posts, there were a few more asking for details. Two posts, by the same user, SparksAlive, first asking what kind of friend she had, was her friend angry, or sad, or flirty...? The second one, several hours later, was more helpful. /Hi again Flash, I geuss ur offline but in case u see this, generally, if ur friend is hungry, they need smthg  that fits with their personality. Misery loves company, so sad friends like sad people. Flirty friends like to socialize and give gifts. If u have got an angry friend plz be careful they need lots of attn./ (Huh.) Mala thought it over. Wrath wasn't making any noise, but she was keenly aware of its presense, watching her. Towards the end of the replies, that same user had posted again, last night sometime. /hey Flash idk if ur still around plz let us know if ur OK it's a worry when sum1 goes dark/ /Thnks for the info Sparks/ she replied, mulling it over. Wrath prodded her, still impatient, but Marla was getting an idea. She pulled the power cable instead of turning off the computer, again, and quietly made her way over to the stacks. From here she could see the rest of the library. There were two other patrons in here, one at a table with her headphones in, and another a few seats down, half falling asleep in what looked like a medical textbook. College students, probably. The librarian was at her desk, busily sorting things. Marla took it in as she absently chewed her bottom lip. She didn't have a lot of practice with magic; had only really come into it last year. (I will help) Wrath insisted. (Okay. But be careful) Marla pulled at her magic softly, and felt Wrath wrap around her like a large temperamental cat. She let it go in a soft 'woosh'. Marla's eyes went wide as she realized their mistake. (Too much!) The man's head slammed into his book. He sat bolt upright and cursed loudly. The librarian fixed him with a withering look. "Shhhhhh!" Wrath rippled around her. (More.) It said (Look.) Marla wasn't sure what it was talking about, was about to leave, try something else, when she felt it. Irritation bordering on anger, coming from the librarian, malcontent confusion from the man. Wrath searched their shared lexicon to come up with a good analogy. (Like popcorn. A snack. Salty but unfilling. More.) It insisted. Oh. Yeah, she could do more, if that's what it needed. She pulled up her magic again, more confident this time. When she let it go, it was more focused. The man's chair shot back half a foot, and he slammed into his book again. This time he stood up and swore, looking around. The librarian's face scrunched up and she slammed the check-in stamp down. "SHHHHHHHHHH! This is a LIBRARY!" she managed to yell in a whisper. He turned to her, returning the tone. "Oh really? I HADN'T NOTICED." Marla giggled. Giddy from relief, as Wrath relaxed a bit, and she felt the tension that had been riding them the last few weeks slowly ease. "Who's there?" (Busted) Marla thought, still grinning. She practically skipped out of the stacks and stood next to the spinning display of harlequin novels, near the door. The librarian and the man both glared at her, but for different reasons. "How did you get in here? What are you doing here?" The librarian demanded, at the same time as the man said "What the fuck?" "FEED ME, SEYMORE!" Marla shouted, and knocked the spinning rack over with such force that a few of the books went flying. Wrath practically purred at the incoherent rage the librarian, who looked like she had just seen someone murdered, was exuding. Marla didn't stick around to see what other reactions there'd be. She bolted out the door, cackling, and down the street, knocking into a woman in a sharp business suit who spilled her coffee down her front. Wrath hummed happily at her outrage. Marla finally came to a halt down an alley several blocks away, still grinning like a madwoman, breathing hard. Wrath swirled around her, unseen, but more agreeable than it had been in a month. (Ya know?) Marla said, still giddy, (I think we're gonna be alright.)

[captusmomentum]

@theladypirate

#oooooh#noodly awkward eldritch abomination attempts flirting#it goes... better than expected?#poor Dirthamen he never has much control of his body#He always ends up some kind of weird masked horror#except he's super polite and probably more upset about scaring you than what's happened to him#well I geuss he's still pretty much an elf in most modern aus#right up to the 'everyone is an abom' au#where he ends up becoming... himself again?#but that's besides the point#this is so cute I really like the way he looks in that bottom right one#like his body language just sort of shouts#I AM VERY UNCERTAIN ABOUT HOW TO PROCEED BUT I'D STILL LIKE TO SOCIALIZE#almost reminds me of Noh-face from Spirited Away

i’m placing a pox on u and your cattle bc noW YOU’VE GOT ME THINKING OF A SLIGHTLY MODIFIED SPIRITED AWAY AU

Selene is a worker (spirit or mortal idc) at the Evanuris/Mythal-Elgar’nan (and sons) bathhouse for spirits/gods/yokai/supernatural types or a frequent visitor and Dirthamen is naturally the Deeply Awkward and Sheltered Son who falls for her 

like fuck oh god i think i’m already in hell i’ve literally started worldbuilding this bastard more than what i just said  i’m so fucked FUCK FUCK FUCK

[feynites]

FEY that last abom au fic was so good it watered my crops and cleared my skin and paid my mortgage??? Could we plese see a followup where Fear/Uthvir react to Love/Thenvunin? What are Uthvir's feelings on Thenv becoming an abom? Also how does Thenv react to losing Screecher and does he remember what merged with him when he wakes up? :x

Thenvunin wakes up.

For the first few moments, he feels so strange that he’s notreally sure if he has, though. His eyes are open. He finds himself looking atan unfamiliar ceiling, caught up by a mess of uncertain feelings andsensations. His skin feels hot. His heart feels heavy. The nest…

What nest?

Bestest Nest.

Thenvunin blinks, and stills as he remembers. Light and painand the children-

He sits bolt upright, and feels something smack against hisback. There’s a clatter, a rush of dizzying sensation, but there are also twowarm bodies on the bed beside him. He knows them even before he looks. He canfeel them. Kel and Irenan. He can feel Uthvir, too, lying close, but there’smore. Lines that run, further and further away. For one panicked moment he isconvinced that he has more than two children, that he has missing children, and there is a horrible jumble of thoughts as hetries to sit up and tries to fly and thinks he needs to find them all and getthem safely squared away in…

In…

Best Nest.

…Which is, admittedly, absurd.

His heart trembles, and he looks down at himself.

Arms. Wings. Feathers. He remembers… something flew intohim? Something bright, and familiar, it flew to him and Kel was going to die,those people were going to hurt herand Irenan and there was nothing Thenvunin could do; until he could. I will help. That was what it had said,or… no, it hadn’t been words, exactly. Just. A sentiment. And he had known thefeeling of it so well that he had trusted it.

A spirit?

A spirit like… like a bird.

Like his bird.

Uthvir had always told him that Screecher was more than itseemed, but it takes a long moment for Thenvunin to actually process what healready knows has happened. He can feel it. The more he wakes up, the more hisown sense seems to return. But the rest of it is still there. He can feel thememories. Flying and roosting, catching little animals and alighting onto hisown shoulder. Seeing himself, in… a lot of places. More than his own mind canrecall.

Husband.

He’s Uthvir’shusband. But these aren’t Uthvir’s memories, and even as he thinks it, he feelsthe rush of… of feeling. For himself. A nebulous intensity that’s not easilydescribed with any better appellation. Husband, mate, partner, lifelongconnection. For birds it’s all the same category.  But he can hardly be his own husband, and he’s already married, and the voice inside him iswoven in with him like the threads of a scarf, now. It causes a moment ofintense internal disorientation, as feelings and senses clash, before thestrange distortion in his chest finally seems to relent.

He still has his partner, after all.

The thought draws him up from the deep self-absorption whichhad consumed him, and he realizes that the others have moved, now. That Kel andIrenan are sitting at the edge of the bed, as Uthvir looks at him intently.Their hand moves to his chin, and tilts it upwards. Makes him look into theireyes.

Oh, he loves theireyes. They are so warm and beautiful, that almost-red brown that looks coolwhen the light is cool, and fiery when the day is bright. Thenvunin gets lostin them for a moment. How many times has he looked into those eyes? More thanhe can recall, he knows. His own start to itch as he thinks of it. He lovesthem so much, and they came, they came for him and thechildren, because of course they did, they are Uthvir. Not even death hasstopped them from finding Thenvunin, again and again.

“Thenvunin?” they say. “How do you feel?”

He feels like he’s drowning and he’s not sure if it’s goodor bad.

His face falls, and something clatters and his wing smacksagainst the wall a little, a disorienting jolt even as he lurches forward andwraps his arms around them.

Uthvir.

“I love you so much,” he tells them.

They smell like sweat and their crumpled leather jacket,like exhaustion, though he’s not sure how he knows that. They stiffen insurprise, but he just pulls them closer, and buries his nose against theirtemple before the mattress shifts and another rush of feeling overcomes him.

Oh, the children!

Uthvir is alright. Tired, but alright. But what about thechildren? Kel! Kel’s fingers! And Irenan, Irenan was handcuffed, he wraps a wing around Uthvir, knocking them gentlyonto the bed as he gathers both of his children up. Irenan looks more uncertainthan Kel, who just stares at his wings and then crumples into his reaching arm.He counts her fingers, checking for injuries on her, and then on her brother,as Irenan finally relents and folds against the other side of his chest. His children.Oh, oh. His son, who used to be sosmall, with his nubby horns and chubby hands and big, watery eyes. Growing sobig and so strong, so brave and yet so insightful. More and more each year. Andhis daughter. His little Kel, with Uthvir’s eyes and her own warm, dark skin,her sweet smile and sunny eagerness to always be helping, always be doing,always be solving problems and seeking her own path.

He peppers kisses over the tops of their heads. Over hornsand messy hair, and that won’t do, no, his children are a mess, they need warm baths and fresh braids and clean pyjamas, softsheets and blankets and so does Uthvir, probably. He noses at the top of Irenan’shead before he realizes that he’s trying to use a beak he doesn’t have, and thehe lets out a frustrated huff, looking around for a brush, before he starts tofeel dizzy. The room tilts a little, and Uthvir closes an arm around his waist.

“Babe,” they say. “I need you to put your wings away. It’staking a lot out of you to keep them, and you don’t need them right now.”

Thenvunin frowns.

Of course he needs them, how else can he fly?

Uthvir lifts up a hand, and runs it carefully down themiddle of his back. Between taught muscles and sore joints, tingling a little.

“You’re not flying anywhere today,” they tell him. “You haveto rest.”

“But… I need a brush…” he murmurs. He needs to find a brush,so he can start straightening out his childlings. Children.

All disorderlyplumage. Uncomfortable. Poor hatchlings, poor Small Red. Must be fixed.

“I will find one,” Uthvir tells him. “Put your wings away,vhenan, and I’ll go get one.”

Something in Thenvunin settles, but he’s not sure how to doaway with his wings. He feels another lurching rush of confusion,disorientation, before Uthvir’s magic tingles over him again, and seems to tellhim, somehow, what the map of his back should really be like. It’s easier,then, to just follow the guide, and after several minutes his feathers recedeand his shape diminishes. Wings folding away, into wisps of magic; leavingbehind just his elf-shape.

It feels almost like the biggest sigh of his life. He sagsbackwards, leaning into Uthvir’s arms and pulling the children along with him.

“Deep breaths,” Uthvir tells him, and after a moment hemanages a few. Kel clings to his side, and Irenan pats his shoulder, staring athis face with worried eyes.

“We’re alright,” he says. “We’re alright.”

Need SpeckledHatchling. And Youngest. Need to find.

“Where are they?” Thenvunin murmurs.

“Shh,” Uthvir says. “We will go and find them. Just as soonas you get your strength back.”

The world is started to slip away again, but this exhaustionfeels different, now. More like regular quietness. The voice inside of him isgetting less persistent; less loud. He settles, bit by bit. Of course heshouldn’t be concerned with brushing hair right now, what was he thinking? It’senough that they’re safe and sound for the moment, that they’ve escaped thatawful place, and everyone is in one piece. There will be fears to assuage andnightmares to soothe, traumas to heal, and Thenvunin still doesn’t think he’sreally processing it all. But they are alive,Uthvir’s gotten them someplace safe.

They need to catch their breath.

“Who’s he talking about?” Irenan asks Uthvir.

“Eda, for one,” Uthvir says, and that sounds right. Yes.They need to find Eda, and… and someone else, although Thenvunin’s not quitesure. But he gets the impression of her. Another girl, fair-haired and with hisown eyes, and… more. There are more. There are holes, gaps, people missing froma tapestry that he feels oddly certain of, for all that he doesn’t think he couldever describe it.

But he missesthem, somehow.

Still, tiredness is winning. The light coming through thewindows is dim, and Uthvir’s eyes are sunken, and Kel seems like she’s fallingback asleep in his grasp. He lets Uthvir settle them back down, and Irenansquirms away just enough to get onto the opposite pillow of the bed.

“Are they coming back?” Kel asks, softly, and he feels asurge of protectiveness that almost has him shooting back upwards again.

“No,” Uthvir says, reaching over to brush her head. “Ikilled them all.”

Thenvunin thinks he should object to that kind of astatement, for some reason. But all he feelsis a rush of relief.

Kel cries, and he soothes her. And then Irenan starts tocry, too, trying to hide it in his pillow, but Uthvir moves around to him andpulls him to their own side. Comforting, both of them comforting, as Thenvunin’sheart alternately sinks and swells and he feels a fresh pang as he realizeswhere his wings have come from. Who else is missing, in the holes he canperceive.

Screecher.

His bird is here and not here, and the realization dredgesup another confused mess of emotions. Grief and attachment, reassurance andconfusion, until finally he just sags against the pillows, and does his best toget his arms around everyone; and finally falls asleep again.

[scurvgirl]

More Fen'Sulahn AU or maybe Marassal raising little Beauty and introducing him to Dirthamen?

Number 2 again!

Beauty belongs to @justanartsysideblog

Dirthamen belongs to @feynites

Selene belongs to @selenelavellan

Warnings of mentioned abuse and brainwashing but nothing graphic, and for drug use. 

Follow up to Beauty is Pain, and Marassal ‘Adopting’ Beauty

Marassal drives until he sees sunlight. Beauty is curled upin the backseat, asleep with a blanket tossed over him. The morning lighttrickles into the car rousing the boy. He pokes his head out of the blanket andseems confused by his surroundings before recalling the night.

“Good morning, little one,” Marassal says softly, “are youhungry? Need to use the bathroom?”

Beauty nods slowly and Marassal exits off the highway tolook for a place to eat. Ah! An old diner, perfect. Marassal pulls in and helpsBeauty out of the car. The poor thing doesn’t have any shoes though.

“Let me check the trunk, I’m sure I have sandals orsomething,” Marassal mutters as he walks around the car to rummage around forsandals. He comes up with some of Dirthamen’s old shoes. They’re a little big,but they’ve got adjustable straps on them. When he gets back to Beauty, hecarefully unwraps his feet and hisses at the injuries.

“I will never understand why people have an urge to hurtchildren,” he murmurs before summoning a great swell of healing magic. Hishands glow brightly and Beauty flinches back.

“No! No magic! It’s bad!” He says, crawling back into thecar.

“Beauty, I’m not going to hurt you. This is healing magic, Ipromise. It’s good.” But Beauty ishaving none of it, he doesn’t want it near his body so Marassal eases off of itand returns to the trunk, pulling out the first aid kit.

He disinfects the cuts and gently applies antibacterialcrème. He wraps his feet with new gauze then sets to help the boy’s hands.Burns are not easy injuries to heal even with magic. But Beauty doesn’t wantthe magic, and while it pains him to see Beauty in pain, Marassal respectsBeauty’s wishes. There are burn pads in the kit, but they’re not for hands andfingers, but for arm or leg burns. Still, Marassal makes do and wraps Beauty’shands as well.

He fits the shoes as gently as possible onto Beauty’s feet,making sure to not tie them too tightly. He sets the first aid kit aside thenpicks Beauty up and places him on Marassal’s hip. Marassal closes the door,locks the car, and heads inside. After a moment, Beauty leans against him andsomething in Marassal clicks.

We have another son,Desire coos. She wants to wrap herself around Beauty like she did with Dirthamensometimes, showering him in love and affection but Beauty is older, warier,abused not unlike Marassal had been. He requires a gentler touch, so theyrestrain themselves.

“Why hello there! Just two?” The hostess asks and Marassalnods.

“Just two,” he confirms. They take a seat in a squeaky boothwith bright red leather seats and a tin table. The hostess hands out menus,including a coloring sheet and crayons for Beauty. He doesn’t immediately gofor the drawing, even though he eyes it.

“Do you like to draw?” Marassal asks and Beauty nods.

“My hands hurt,” Beauty whispers, his eyes darting away. Heexpects retaliation for the admission. Marassal bites his tongue, replayingMarthe’s murder in his head.

“That’s okay, they’re not fully healed. I’ll get you somemedicine to help with it, okay?” He offers and Beauty blinks at him.

“Thank you, ser.”

“Please, call me Marassal.” Marassal smiles as sweetly as hecan and turns to the menu. The hostess returns with coffee and Marassal asksfor an apple juice for Beauty.

“They have pancakes, Beauty, would you like those?” Marassaloffers but Beauty just blinks.

“…Pancakes?”

Marassal replays the murder again in his head while heexplains what a pancake is.

“It’s a little flat cake you can have for breakfast. Normallythey come in stacks, each one is sorta thin, like this thick,” he holds up hisfingers to demonstrate.

“They’re soft and sweet and you can put all sorts of thingson them. I like mine with powdered sugar and strawberries.” Marassal showsBeauty a picture of the pancakes in the menu and his face lights up.

“May I have them?”

“Of course, does anything else look good?”

As it turns out, there is very little that doesn’t look good. There are crepes,bacon, sausage, eggs, Orlesian toast, eggs – he wants to eat so many things andMarassal is very tempted to order everything. But he knows better, Beauty isgoing to fill up and will feel bad about not eating everything.

“How about we order a tall stack of the regular buttermilkpancakes with the assorted syrups, a fruit bowl, a cheese omelet, a few slicesof ham, a slice of Orlesian toast, aaand hash browns?” It’s still a lot, butMarassal can pack it away if he needs to, and it’s enough to give Beauty a bigsample of food.

“That sounds really good,” he says, “thank you.”

“I’m glad.” Marassal gestures for the server and gives hertheir order. She stares at them for a minute before nodding and heading off.He’ll make sure to tip her and the kitchen well before they leave.

The fruit arrives first. Marassal helps feed Beauty sincehis hands hurt. He nibbles on the strawberries and cantaloupe but shows a clearpreference for the blueberries. Marassal makes a note to make blueberrypancakes sometime in the future.

When their food arrives, Beauty’s eyes widen and Marassalgestures out at the table full of food.

“Everything the light touches is yours.”

Beauty looks up at him like he’s grown another head. Andwhile Marassal could theoretically do that, he knows he hasn’t. That’d be waytoo much for Beauty to handle right now.

“Lion King not big with the Chantry, okay then. What I meanis, if you want to try something go for it, or let me know and I can help you.”

Beauty doesn’t move. Ah, well, this was going to happensooner or later. Marassal takes one of the free plates and starts putting bitsand pieces of all the food they got onto it. Some pancake, some eggs, ham – hesets it before Beauty and tells him that it’s his plate.

Marassal begins to pick at his own food when out of thecorner of his eye, a little wrapped hand reaches out and grabs a piece ofpancake. Then grabs another and another.

Pancakes are a success then.

The ham, not so much.

The eggs are harder to eat with his hands so he focuses onthe things he can eat by picking things up with the very tips of his fingers.He nibbles on the Orlesian toast but ends up going back to the pancakes todevour them. Marassal conspicuously puts more pancakes on Beauty’s plate with adollop of syrup. That starts a whole messy affair of syrup and pancake eating.

Marassal eats the rest of the omelet, Orlesian toast, andhashbrowns while Beauty fills himself with pancakes and fruit. By the end,Beauty is terribly sticky and he clearly feels uncomfortable. Marassal pickshim up carefully and they head to the bathroom where Marassal carefully cleansthe boy up.

“Syrup is one of those things that tastes so good, but manoh man does it make a mess.”

“I’m sorry,” Beauty says softly. Marassal bites his tongueand smiles sweetly.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, I’m not upset,” Marassalclarifies and some tension leaves Beauty’s body. He holds his face up forMarassal to clean and then comes the delicate work of cleaning his hands. Theclothes…well, those were going to go anyways. Beauty sniffles and Marassalapologizes for the pain. He wants to use his magic, oh how he wants. But…Beautyneeds him to not, so he restrains himself. Restraint, restraint.

He picks Beauty back up and they head back inside, pay thewaitress and leave a hefty tip before heading back out to the car. Beauty sitsin the back, strapped in and safe while Marassal thinks of what he wants to donext. He’s still not completely comfortable with the distance they have withVal Rayoux, but he also wants to buy some new clothes for Beauty. At least somethat will tide them over until they make it to Rivain.

And while Marassal does have children’s clothes stocked atthe nearest house he has, not touched since Dirthamen was small, Marassal wantsBeauty to have his own clothes – not hand-me-downs. He needs to understand thathe is his own person, he has autonomy in things, and having his own clothes isan important part of that.

Marassal compromises by driving for a couple more hours, stoppingagain when he spies signs for a Target. Perfect. He takes the exit and Beautyperks up to peer out the window.

“Where are we going?” He asks in a small voice.

“Would you like some new clothes, Beauty? Clothes all yourown?” Marassal asks and he sees Beauty’s eyes widen in the mirror.

“All my own?” He asks in a small voice.

“All your own. No one can take them from you,” Marassalpromises and Beauty nods slowly.

“I would like that very much.”

“Wonderful! Because we’re going to get you clothes all yourown.”

Marassal navigates traffic then pulls into the Targetparking lot. It’s big and bright and still early, so there aren’t many peoplethere but Beauty is excited, eyes all wide trying to get a better view of thestore. Like before, Marassal takes him out of the car and holds him on his hip.But this time, he puts Beauty in the main part of the cart and pushes itinside.

By how Beauty’s eyes widen and his head swivels, one wouldthink they had just walked into the world’s greatest candy store. They pass bythe purses and bathing suits, heading towards the kids’ sections. Marassal walksslowly through the sections, paying careful attention to where Beauty’s eyeslinger. If he looks at something for a long time, Marassal picks it up. Theypull ten items before heading to the changing room to try them on.

The attendant’s brow furrows at the dresses but she doesn’tsay anything as she hands them a number and lets them back.

“Do you want me to help you, or no? It’s okay, I won’t getmad either way,” Marassal tells him. Beauty worries his lip before reaching upand taking the clothes, disappearing behind the door.

“Okay, let me know if you need help.” Marassal leans againstthe wall and takes out his phone, lingering over Dirthamen’s number. He needsto call, but there hasn’t been a good time. Him and Selene are finally stable,and this…it’s not like he wants to impede on anything Dirthamen and Selene havegoing on, but there is this fear that she’ll make him give Beauty up.

I rescued him.

Like you rescuedDirthamen?

He presses the home button and puts the phone back in hispocket. It’s not the time and he is uninterested in getting into with Seleneover the phone while Beauty is so close. Beauty doesn’t need that, doesn’t needto hear shouting and anger.

Marassal waits patiently while Beauty tries on all theclothes. When he finally comes out, he looks sheepish at having made two piles.

“Which ones do you like?” Marassal asks. Beauty points tothe pile with two of the dresses, a pair of jeans, and a sweater. Discarded aremostly ill-fitting shirts. Marassal puts the no items on the rack without fussand puts the ‘yes’ items into the cart.

“Alright, you still need some shirts and some pajamas.” Theyreturn to the kids’ sections and blow through, getting smaller shirts, anotherdress that is the same as one he likes already in another color, a skirt, twopairs of shorts, two more pairs of pants, and two sets of pajamas.

Beauty disappears back into the dressing room and Marassalpalms his phone again.

This wasn’t like Dirthamen, at all. Beauty is a completely different case, he didn’t take himfrom parents, he just…violently adopted and liberated him. He worries his lip,remembering the other children there. Hm.

He pulls out his phone and texts out the details of the Chantryto an old friend. She’s always up for this sort of thing. He can’t be aroundher so much because of the risk of corruption of who she is, but…this issomething she can do.

Those poor things! Iwill see what I can do.

He smiles at his phone and tells her about Beauty – all inthe old language of course, to prevent any prying eyes from understanding.

You’ll be good forhim, then, very understanding. If he needs me, just let me know.

Marassal smiles and sends back a list of happy emojis.

Beauty comes back out of the dressing room, again with twopiles but the ‘no’ pile is significantly smaller and Beauty is smiling.

“Great job!” Marassal coos, putting the clothes where theyneed to go. Marassal puts Beauty back in the basket and notices how he holds hishands. He must have overworked them from putting the clothes on.

Next up, shoes. It’s difficult right now to properly tryanything on, but the store thankfully sells some more traditional softer elvenstyle shoes that lace up around the ankles and have soft soles. Beauty can’treally walk in them, but the traditional shoes are gentle enough that Marassalis sure that they’ll work until Beauty’s feet heal and they can go shoeshopping properly. He adds it to the cart and moves on.

They head to the pharmacy section and he grabs burn packs,lots of children’s Tylenol, Neosporin, gauze, and large bandages. He also picksup some toiletries for Beauty, including shampoo, conditioner, a toothbrush andtoothpaste, soap, lotion for his dry skin, and a couple of fun face masksbecause he deserves to have some fun too.

He’ll take Beauty toy shopping once they get to Rivain andthey can do a great haul. In the meantime, Marassal thinks he can give Beautyhis tablet and show him the games and things he can do.

They check out and Marassal makes sure Beauty doesn’t seethe cost – children don’t need to see such things when they’re already upset.They come away with many things, all of which Marassal stashes in his trunk.

“Do you want to put one of your new outfits on?” Marassalasks and Beauty nods.

“Yes, please.”

“Which one?”

“The grey dress with the hood, please?” Beauty asks andMarassal takes it out of the bag, passing it to Beauty. He lets him change inthe backseat and contemplates calling Dirthamen again.

Not the time, later,Desire reminds him. Right. Later.

Beauty opens the door and gives Marassal his clothes, whichget unceremoniously tossed into the trunk. Marassal hands Beauty his tablet andshows him how to watch movies and play various games.

“You can watch anything in there in the KIDS folder and allthe games are good too,” Marassal says, showing him the folder. Beauty watchesand holds the tablet carefully, as if it’s the most precious thing ever.Marassal straps him in then heads back to the driver’s seat. Back to thehighway.

Aristocats startsplaying and Marassal smiles. It will do.

Desire expands in him and she slinks back to spread some ofher energy over Beauty. Just little magic to encourage his healing process.They can feel the prickling of Beauty’s own magic, strong but repressed, so, so repressed.

Marassal can work with that, though. And Rivain hasmaintained a unique magical identity that will allow for natural expression ofmagic. Mages are seen as part of the landscape there, not so different from askilled worker. The Veil there feels less like a heavy curtain and more like abride’s thin veil that can be cut and sewn to the wearer’s preference. Precisetears and holes happen sometimes, to be sewn up with something special by thecaster.

He could give Beauty headphones, or cast a noise barrier sohe can call Dirthamen. But no, that would be inappropriate.

He sighs and controls himself. It’s just he misses hiseldest son. He hasn’t visited much in the past two years, mostly just atholidays. It is clear to Marassal that Selene would rather he not linger, andhe doesn’t want to get between them and their happiness. He wants Selene to behappy almost as much as Dirthamen, and he knows that his presence can bestressful for her.

Marassal figured it was best if he did not linger where hewasn’t wanted.

But he can hear it in his head.

You’re replacingDirthamen.

To which he replies vehemently, NO.

Having a second child is not meant to replace the first, andDirthamen is grown, he’ll understand. And hopefully he’ll welcome his newlittle brother with an open heart.

He didn’t steal Beauty. He helped him, he wanted to be helped. The desire to befree, blooming in him so true that Marassal was called to help. It’s not likeMarassal doesn’t want to call, he just…he doesn’t know how it’ll be receivedand he’d rather not expose Beauty to any potential negativity while they’re inthis tentative stage.

They drive up into a small town at dusk and pass through adrive through window for chicken fingers and fries before heading to a houseMarassal keeps here. It’s a nice little renovated cottage only a couple hoursoutside of the city Dirthamen and Selene live in. He’s spent most of his timehere the past two years, close but far enough away to not suffocate Dirthamen’slife or to make Selene uncomfortable.

He pulls into the driveway and helps Beauty out of the car.

“What about the food?” Beauty asks.

“That will be for trip number two, but you come first,”Marassal says. He slides the key into the door and opens it, shuffling into theliving room –

To find Selene and Dirthamen sitting on the sofa. Dirthamenlooks up in surprise while Selene’s gaze snaps immediately to Beauty.

“Who is this?”

“Father, I –

“Marassal?”

“I can explain –

Everyone starts and stops at the same time. Dirthamen’s gazefinally lands on Beauty who shrinks in Marassal’s arms. Marassal sighs andturns to Beauty.

“How about I show you where you’ll stay tonight, okay? I’llbring in your food and you can watch TV and play on the tablet or do anythingyou want in your room while the grownups talk about boring grownup things?”Marassal asks. Beauty hesitates, moving in closer to Marassal and away fromSelene and Dirthamen, unsure of how to react to them.

“Okay,” he says in a tiny voice. Marassal levels a verylevel look at Dirthamen and Selene before retreating down the hall to a prettylittle guestroom. He sets Beauty down and gestures at the TV and hands him theremote.

“You can do anything you want with this. Even throw it. Iwill not get mad or upset or anything. This is your room now, that is your TV.I’ll go get your food.”

He dashes quickly to and back from the car with the bag offood, dropping it off for Beauty.

“I am so sorry I have to leave you right now, but I want youto know it is not your fault. Whateveryou hear is not your fault. You have donenothing wrong, I am so happy to haveyou here, alright? There is a bathroom on the other side of that door, so ifyou need to go, just head right on in, no need to ask or anything. But if youneed anything, please ask.” Marassal gently smooths Beauty’s hair down andkisses his forehead. He already loves the boy, already bonded, but he knowsbetter than to try and force Beauty to feel anything in response. If Beautyuses Marassal for all he’s worth until he’s an adult and ready to be off on hisown, it’ll hurt, sure, but that’s Beauty’s choice and Marassal will live – healways does.

Marassal closes the door gently and places a ward over it sothat Beauty won’t be able to hear anything past it, but Marassal will still beable to hear if Beauty suddenly needs him or something. He turns and heads backto the living room.

It doesn’t look like Selene or Dirthamen have moved a musclefor the last ten minutes while Marassal got Beauty settled.

Selene levels a long stare at him and says one word,“Explain.”

Marassal takes a deep breath and sits down on a plush chair,“I was in Val Rayoux. It was a spur of the moment decision to see the city,taste the chocolate, see the canals, you know. And while there, I came acrossthis Chantry, though it really shouldn’t be considered that. There was anexceptionally abusive mother, Beauty was favored by her. She demeaned him,tortured him, taught him that he was sinful simply because of his magic.”

Selene’s eyes flash purple and Marassal bares his teeth inacknowledgement.

“I could hardly standby and allow such atrocities tocontinue. So I killed the mother and rescued the boy. There were several otherchildren who are now also being rescued by an associate who is very skilled inthis area.”

Selene leans back, apparently mollified by his answer. ButDirthamen’s eyebrows draw together.

“Why didn’t you call? Val Rayoux is more than a day’s driveaway.”

“I…was unsure of how’d you react, to be honest. That andthere was never an appropriate time to call. I wanted the call to be privatebut I could hardly leave Beauty alone.”

Dirthamen nods but the tension doesn’t leave his body. Worryworms into Marassal, making him reach out to his son.

“Dirthamen –

“Are you adopting him?” He asks and Marassal nods

“Yes, if he wishes to stay with me, then I want to adopthim.” He keeps his voice and face soft, almost falling to the floor to getDirthamen to look at him but his eyes are fixed on a point on the rug away fromMarassal’s face. He remains still, this is just how he works with his stress,he knows, but it’s unsettling to know he isthe cause of the stress.

“I have a brother now.”

“If you so choose. You’re an adult, you have the ability tochoose here and I will not deny you that.” It would be difficult if Dirthamenis unwilling to be around Beauty, no doubt, lots of…not seeing Dirthamen forthe next decade. But as painful as it would be, Marassal wouldn’t begrudgeDirthamen for choosing it.

“But whatever you choose, and you don’t have to choose rightnow, know that this is not to replace you in any way. I love you, my dear boy.You have brought light to my world and I will always love you, nothing couldchange that.” He tucks a stray hair behind Dirthamen’s ear. He’s remains still,processing and tense.

“You haven’t been around much.”

“I…I wanted to give you and Selene room to be together. Butthis really isn’t about me, it’s about Beauty. He needs a loving home and I canprovide that, and he has undergone things that are similar to things I haveexperienced, I can help him.”

After a long silent moment, Dirthamen raises his head andlets out a long breath.

“I have a brother now,” he says.

Selene bites her lip.

Marassal chooses toignore her, “Yes. And for what it is worth, I think you’ll get alongeventually. He’s a very sweet and intelligent person.”

“I’m twenty years older than him,” Dirthamen says andMarassal nods.

“Yes.”

There’s another long pause and Desire reaches out towardsDes.

Dirthamen takes a deep breath and faces Marassal.

“I don’t like that you haven’t called in months. I don’tlike that you have distanced yourself for seemingly no reason. I have askedSelene to try and I am going to ask you to try too. I love both of you and I donot like this.”

Marassal blinks and Selene looks down at the floor.

“Is this why you’re randomly in my house?” Marassal asks andDirthamen nods.

“Yes, because I knew you were staying here but then youweren’t here.”

Oh.

He’s…not been very good about this whole situation, has he?

Marassal stands out his seat and crosses over to the sofa.He wraps his arms around Dirthamen in a hug and strokes his hair.

“I wanted to give you space to grow, to discover life andlove, I am sorry I miscalculated. I should have talked to you about it. Ishould have talked to Selene about it. I didn’t want to mess things up, I’msorry,” he whispers. Dirthamen holds onto him and leans against him.

“Thank you. I was not expecting to have a brother tonight.”

“If it helps, I was not expecting to give you one either,”Marassal chuckles.

“Is he going to live here?” Dirthamen asks after a minute.

“No. We’re going to Rivain, as far away from Orlais as wecan get. And the Chantry.”

Dirthamen is silent for a long moment before turning toSelene.

“Would you like to move to Rivain?” He asks. Her eyes widenand she glances at Marassal before pursing her lips.

“I think that is a discussion for another time,” she saysand Dirthamen nods.

“That’s reasonable. Would Beauty be up for meeting ustonight?”

“I am unsure. I can ask him,” Marasal says. He patsDirthamen’s head then bends down and kisses his forehead before heading back toBeauty’s room. He knocks before cracking the door open.

“Beauty? It’s just me, can I come in?” He asks softly.

“O-okay,” a sniffly voice answers. That isn’t good. Marassalopens the door wider to see Beauty sitting in the same place on the bed. Thechicken fingers have been nibbled at but the TV isn’t on, there is barely anythingmussed on the bed. And Beauty is crying.

“Oh honey, what happened? What’s wrong?” He asks, comingover to kneel at Beauty’s bedside. Beauty takes in a great sniffle and wipeshis face.

“I-I’m sor-sorry.”

“It’s okay to cry, I’m not upset, not in the least. Can youtell me what’s upsetting you?”

He nods but doesn’t say anything, just sniffles and beginsto cry more freely. Marassal takes a seat on the bed and pulls Beauty in for atight hug, holding him close to his chest. He strokes his hair and coos softlywhile he cries.

It takes several minutes, but eventually Beauty begins torelax and lean against Marassal.

“I don’t want to go back,” he says so quietly that Marassalalmost doesn’t hear him. His arms tighten for a moment in reflex. No, Beautywill not go back.

Marassal leans back looks Beauty in the eyes, “I promiseyou, I will never take you back there.” Some tension leaves Beauty’s body buthe still seems unsure. Marassal can feel the desire of wanting to askquestions, and the restraint preventing it.

“You can ask me anything,” Marassal encourages.

Beauty avoids his eyes and glances to the door, “Who arethey?”

“The man is my son, Dirthamen, and the woman is his wife, Selene.They’re very nice.”

“You have a son?” Beauty asks. There is…fear and worryinside of him at that.

He is worriedDirthamen will not like him? Desire supposes which seems logical.

“Would you like to meet them? They would very much like tomeet you. But if you’re not up to it, they’ll understand.”

Beauty thinks about it for a moment, only to pause to yawnagainst his will. He’s probably too tired from all the travel and theexcitement from the last thirty or so hours. Meeting people, family…it’s a lotto ask for.

“How about you meet them in the morning when everyone hashad a good night of rest. I’m sure Dirthamen and Selene would like that too,it’s been a very big day.”

“Are you sure?” Beauty asks, promptly yawning again.

“Very sure. Let me just change your bandages then get yourpajamas and you can go to sleep. There is plenty of time tomorrow, da’len.”Marassal kisses Beauty’s forehead and stands back up. He dashes once more pastSelene and Dirthamen out to the car, grabbing pajamas and all the medicine andbandages.

When he returns, Beauty is already curled up on the bed,fighting the urge to fall asleep. Marassal is quick with his bandages, butgentle as he rubs in the elfroot salve. He helps Beauty change into his pajamasthen tucks him into his bed. He kisses his forehead once more and wishes him agood night before switching the light off and leaving the room.

Exhaustion seeps into him. The energy it took to killMarthe, driving all through the night and the day, the drama waiting for him…

He heads back into the living room and sits back down in hisseat.

“Beauty is exhausted. You can stay the night and we’llintroduce everyone in the morning over breakfast.” He runs a hand through hishair, his body feeling distinctly far from the rest of him. He recalls thelyrium he took before and now its price is rearing its ugly head.

Dirthamen looks disappointed but Selene remains as she did –stoic. She is in hiding mode, he’d bet, unwilling to add any influentialemotions. It’s fruitless though, Desire Abominations are creatures of emotion,holding them back is like trying to damn an ocean.

“Beauty is sensitive right now, we need to accommodate himand his wishes. He’s had very little autonomy,” Marassal explains. He movescloser to Dirthamen and gently takes his hand.

“Dirthamen, I love you, nothing has changed between us.”

“I understand. I’m glad you rescued Beauty. But perhaps callin the future? I was concerned.” There are bags under Dirthamen’s eyes, andstress lines at the corners of his mouth. His hair hasn’t been brushed probablysince he got up over fifteen hours ago, and there are rumples in his clothing.He has never been particularly vain, but the apparent exhaustion and strain isout of the norm.

“It appears my eldest also needs sleep. I’ll show you to theguest room you and Selene can stay in.”

It’s a small room, just large enough for a queen bed and adresser, but thankfully no one is expecting to stay here for long. Marassalcloses the door and feels his energy drop even further. His bones ache, histeeth feel like they’re rattling in his head and Desire is riled up with no energyto put to it.

Lyrium, it’s…not good for you.

He drags his body into the kitchen and begins to riflethrough whatever it is he has. Nothing. He cleaned out before heading to ValRayoux, thinking he’d be there for longer than just a few days. But he has ice.And medications both legal and otherwise.

He rummages through a cabinet full of various herbs andpulls out his stash of elfroot and his old wooden pipe. Good, good. Help thenerves and the chills.

“Really? Drug use just after putting your newly adopted sonto bed?”

He almost drops the centuries old pipe at Selene’s voice.

“It’s elfroot,it’s medicinal,” he drawls.

“Does it even affect us?” Selene asks.

“It does the way I make it,” he replies, packing his pipe.He turns around to see her vaguely interested. He can see the shadow of a tail,swaying back and forth in mild agitation.

Really? He has to deal with this now? Ugh.

He gestures for her to follow him out to the small patio inthe backyard. He switches the light on, pulls up a chair, then lights his pipe.Smoke puffs out of his mouth and slowly his body begins to relax.

“I took lyrium to handle the woman torturing him,” he sayswithout preamble.

“That was stupid.”

“Mhm. I ripped her to shreds, took Beauty, and high-tailedit out of there. His feet are…his hands…” he struggles for the words, onlyemotion seems to pour out of him. Desire swirls inside and passes the smallmemories of Beauty’s hands and feet to Des.

The reaction is instant. Her eyes flare purple, and hethinks that maybe his rose bush is incinerated now, but it happens so quicklythat there’s nothing he can do.

“And you have not healed him?” She asks in a low tone.

“He is uncomfortable with magic and prefers the slow methodof healing. I know, I hate it too.”

He focuses on his pipe for several minutes before Selenespeaks again.

“Are you certain this is not to replace Dirthamen? I knowwhat it feels like to need to fill the nest so to speak.”

Marassal blinks then shakes his head, “No. Not at all. Andno one could ever replace Dirthamen, you of all people should know that. Ishaving a second child supposed to replace the first? No.” He scoffs at the ideaand returns to his pipe.

“The timing is suggestive, is all,” she replies. Her tone issofter and he suppose she’s just trying to make sure he isn’t recklessly doingthis. Not like the nearly disastrous sudden investment in tree houses forcougars. Selene is reasonable, she’s experienced with children, far more sothan Marassal is admittedly. He leans back and blinks slowly at her.

“Do you have any advice?”

She stops up short, “For what? Parenting?”

“Yes. I’ve only raised Dirthamen, you’ve raised manychildren over the years. They’ve all been lovely sorts, all with differentpersonalities and temperaments – really the only constant is you, so you must be doing somethingright.”

She freezes and the air flickers with tense energy, her eyesbecoming very deep and almost glassy for a moment. But then she lets out a longbreath and reaches for the pipe.

“You said this affects us?”

“Yes, it’s my own blend – ookay, going for it. I respectthat, treat yo self,” he says as she begins to drag on the pipe. Her eyesflutter and her body begins to relax.

“Shiiiit.”

“Be careful, darling,” he says affectionately. Her aura getsa little more purple and her horns curve out from her head and her tail sneaksout. He raises an eyebrow at her as she relaxes or attempts to at least.

“What is thisstuff?” She wonders.

“Elfroot, royal elfroot, and demon weed. The demon weed actsas an immunosuppressant for people like us so the elfroot can take effect.”

“That’s brilliant,” she replies, going in for another hit.

She avoids looking at him as she blows smoke out through herlips. He supposes he can wait for another time to ask her about her parenting,how she’s managed to do so well each time. None of her children are cruel,mean-spirited people. Even her abomination children – good people. That’simpressive.

They fall into a surprising companionable silence, smokingthe pipe for an hour before heading back inside. He puts the pipes away andushers a relaxed Selene to Dirthamen’s room. Marassal returns to his own roomand passes out into a blissful sleep.

**

Beauty is awake,Desire says in a not so soft and quiet voice in his head. Marassal harrumphsand momentarily nuzzles back into his pillow. It’s too early.

It’s nine.

Damn. Not even early.

Selene and Dirthamenare also awake. Desire informs him helpfully. She is entirely too cheery,but they are a parent again. Desire has always had a soft spot for children.Sometimes Marassal wonders what she was before she was Desire. Motherhood? Arethere spirits of Motherhood? She doesn’t talk about it, even after all thistime of being together.

Marassal drags his body out of bed then quickly moves tomake himself presentable. It’s a messy bun day, that’s just how it is.

His first stop is Beauty’s room. He knocks softly, askingpermission to come in.

“Okay,” a sleepy Beauty says. Marassal steps inside to seehis new son still ensconced in his blankets, rubbing at his eyes. The bandageon his left hand has come loose and Marassal sets to taking care of all thebandages. There is healing but Beauty hisses and winces at the pain.

“Selene and Dirthamen are already awake, we can all havebreakfast together. And later we’re going to get on a little plane and flyright over to Rivain – does that sound good to you?”

Beauty nods and yawns, “Are they coming with us?”

“Not today, no. Just us. But they are very excited to meetyou.” The burns look bad and he worries they’re not healing properly.

Deeeesss? He callsin his head.

Selene and Des are outgetting groceries, Desire responds instead. Hmph. Well, he’ll ask Selene tolook at it when she gets back. They may have to use magic just to make sureinfection doesn’t set in and Beauty ends up unable to use his hands. It wouldn’tbother Marassal if he couldn’t use his hands, of course, but the loss wouldalways be tied to Mother Marthe and Marassal wants to get as much distance fromthat time in Beauty’s life as possible.

He bends down and presses soft kisses to Beauty’s hands,willing them to get better.

“We may need to heal your hands with magic, little one.” Hetells him. Beauty clams up but he doesn’t flinch back before.

“Magic won’t make it worse?” He asks in a small voice.Marassal blinks. Did…did they not even say that magic can heal?

“No, magic can heal. There are mages who specialize inmaking their magic heal other people. Magic doesn’t have to hurt or be bad, themage controls what the magic does, not the other way around.”

He should have burned that chantry to the ground, shouldhave killed the Templars, the complicit mothers and sisters who would everallow such abuse and lies to damage the children.

No. That…that is wrong. People like Marthe wrap everyonearound their fingers and play them like instruments. But still…no one stoppedit. No one thought to do anything before it got horrendous. Where were theauthorities?

Who do you call when the authorities are the people allowingthis to happen?

Us? Desiresupplies and Marassal supposes that’s true. It’s how demons are summoned, howthey’re born, how they continue to exist in a disproportionate number comparedto spirits.

“Mother Marthe said –

“Lies, da’len, all she said were lies. Magic is notinherently anything – it is what the person wielding it makes it. A good personcan make good magic. A bad person can make bad magic. A sleepy person can makesleepy magic. If you are good – you can make good magic,” Marassal says softly.He holds up his hand and tiny lights dance around his fingers. Beauty retractshis hands but he doesn’t flinch away.

“What about sin?” He asks in a barely audible voice.Marassal blinks.

“What about it?”

“Mother Marthe said I was sinful and that’s why I had to bepunished.”

He plays the murder in his head again, quickly calminghimself. He smiles as sweetly as he can.

“Oh honey, no. No, no, no, no. You are a child, you have done nothing sinful, ever. Okay, we’regoing to try something okay? I want you to repeat after me. ‘I am good.’”

Beauty pauses and shifts uncomfortably, but he eventuallyspeaks in a small voice, “I am good.”

“’I deserve good things.’”

“I deserve good things.”

“’I can do good things.’”

“I can do good things.”

“’I deserve to be happy.’” Marassal concludes.

“I deserve to be happy.” Beauty repeats, his voice soft butthat’s okay. They’ll build it up. Marassal has him go through it two moretimes, deciding that they’ll do this each morning three times. Something toremind Beauty that what he learned, what he was forced to believe was wrong.

Marassal finishes fixing Beauty’s bandages, helps him intothe bathroom, then they head out to the kitchen, Beauty secure in Marassal’sarms. Marassal deposits Beauty on the chair he was sitting in last night andgoes to fetch Dirthamen. Judging by the running water, he guesses that his sonis washing dishes.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Marassal coos.

“Good morning. Selene’s out getting things to make breakfast,”Dirthamen replies. He shuts the water off and dries his hands off.

“That is excellent. Beauty is awake if you would like tomeet him,” Marassal offers. Dirthamen nods and allows Marassal to walk him backinto the living room. Beauty has curled up on the chair, appearing entirely toosmall for a seven-year-old. Dirthamen pauses for a moment and Marassal watcheshim. But after a moment, Dirthamen strides forward without his father and sitson the couch.

“Hello,” he begins, “I’m Dirthamen.”

Beauty blinks and shifts so his hands and feet are hidden, “Hello.I’m Beauty.”

Dirthamen pauses then smiles, “I’m happy to meet you.”

“Really? I mean, thank you,” Beauty says. An awkward pause stretchesbefore them before Dirthamen tries again.

“Do you like books? I own a bookstore, you could come bywhenever you like,” Dirthamen offers. Beauty bows his head.

“I know the Chant. I haven’t read a lot of books.”

“That can be good. Exploring genres can be fun. I have readmany books so I can help you find things you like. There is a nearby bookstorethat has many children’s books that you may enjoy. Some have mages as the maincharacters.”

“Are you a mage?” Beauty asks and Dirthamen nods.

“Yes. So is Selene, and Father. And I hear you are too?”

Beauty slowly nods. “I didn’t think it was good.”

“Father likes to say that if you make your magic your friendit helps.”

“He said that if I’m good, I can make my magic good.”

“I think that’s right, there are bad people who don’t havemagic, good people who do have magic. I don’t think it’s magic that makessomeone bad.”

Marassal watches his sons try to figure out themselves fromafar, smiling and feeling his heart swell with pride and trepidation. Dirthamenwill be a good big brother, and Beauty will benefit from having someone likeDirthamen. Calm, steady, unassuming.

The door rattles open and Selene strides in, several plasticgrocery bags hanging from her arms.

“I come bearing food!” She declares. Beauty pops his head upover the back of the chair and Selene stops to see him.

“Hello, there.”

“Hi.”

“What kind of breakfast do you like?”

“Pancakes,” he replies and something in Marassal’s heartclenches just that teeniest bit.

“Pancakes it is!” She declares, heading for the kitchen.

Selene and Marassal take to the kitchen, cooking uppancakes, eggs, and all the other goodies Selene managed to grab for breakfastwhile Dirthamen and Beauty continue their get-to-know each other situation.

“I want them to be happy, just like any other parent,”Marassal says. Selene stops and she turns to him.

“Why is my approval so important to you?”

“Because I want Dirthamen to be happy. I don’t want frictionbetween us, he is integral to us both now,” he tells her. She crosses her armsand stands still for a moment before letting out a long breath.

“Alright. Fine. But you need to get better at communicating,you’re part of a family now and that means talking to us when stuff like thishappens. Or when you feel like you’re being shut out. Families talk.”

“I don’t want to fight.”

“Sometimes families do that too, but you know what elsefamilies do? Love each other and figure it out.” She pours batter into the pan,turning from him. Fighting. Why fight? The shouting and the accusations. Hisears itch just at the thought of it.

“You and Dirthamen never fought?” She asks after a moment.Marassal shrugs and continues to tend to the bacon.

“Not particularly. There were discussions every now andthen. He did not like to adhere to proper bedtimes, he would stay up readingwith low lights. I got frustrated a bit since it’s not good for his eyes. Butmostly I just gave him everything he wanted.” He flips the bacon, holding asmall barrier over it to avoid the spit.

Selene nods, flips a pancake, “That explains a few things.”

“He’s a nice boy.”

“I’m not saying he’s not. But it’s more than just the two ofyou now. It’s Beauty…and me, I guess. So calland talk to us when stuff happens.”

It’s a little silly how happy it makes him to hear her callhim family. A knot he was barely aware of unties just a bit inside of his andhe is so moved he turns and wraps and arm around her.

“You’re a lovely daughter-in-law,” he tells her. She freezesfor a moment then gives him an odd look before returning to making pancakes.

“There’s a first for everything, I guess.”

They finish making breakfast together, putting it alltogether and taking it out for the new brothers to dig into. Marassal tries totap into some of Beauty and Dirthamen’s desires for food to spur his own with mildsuccess. He nibbles on fruit regardless, to appear at least somewhat normal.

Beauty struggles to feed himself with his hands andDirthamen is there immediately, even before Marassal, holding out a forkful ofpancake for him.

“Beauty says he wants to try the magical healing afterbreakfast,” Dirthamen informs them. Selene and Marassal smile and it all seemsto click into place. His ears don’t itch, his heart doesn’t clench, and there’sno knot in his stomach – this is what he has wanted for so long. Desire that hehad no name for. He drinks in the resolution in, the completion. It fills himwith a warm power, from his toes to his fingertips.

After breakfast, Selene and Marassal sit in front of Beautyand carefully unwrap his hands and feet. Selene’s face goes stony but Marassalcan feel Des’s recoil.

Shit.

The woman who did thisis very dead. Very, very dead. Desire supplies.

Good.

Selene first shows Beauty her magic in the form of littlelight then moves to begin working on his left hand while Marassal takes theright. Beauty shuts his eyes against it while Dirthamen assures him he is doingwell.

They manage to remove much of the necrotic skin, whisperingpowerful healing spells to spur the skin to heal. When Marassal reaches down,he makes a point to draw a claw on his palm – using his own blood to power thehealing. A small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things. When his hands arepink with new skin, they turn to his feet. It’s a slightly different tactic.Scars are different on the feet, only the deepest of them really stay, and eventhen, the skin is shorn off so much with the wear and tear that they don’tlinger like they do on other parts of the body.

Still, Selene and Marassal take care to heal the cuts,cleaning them as they go. By the end, it’s not perfect and he still needs towear bandages, but it’s a marked improvement.

Beauty cautiously stands up, testing his fresh feet out.When it doesn’t hurt like it did, he smiles and wraps his arms around firstSelene and then Marassal for a long time.

“Thank you, Papae.”

Marassal’s heart stops for a moment, “Papae?”

“Dirthamen said we’re brothers now and you’re his father soI just thought….” Beauty stammers and Marassal holds him even closer.

“Papae is perfect. Oh my darling son.”

He hoists Beauty up into his arms and holds him close,breathing him in. His son, his second, perfect son. They’ll make it all work,they’re all family after all.

[feynites]

@selenelavellan, @palindromekomori, @justanartsysideblog, behold, Uthvir’s side of the Felasel Dies situation!

Felasel comes to them, after their discovery of Selene’s research.

They expected him to. Though they also expected him to offer something in the form of debate.

“I have made up my mind,” he insists, though.

Uthvir shakes their head.

“That is too hasty,” they decide. “Death has a way of making a rather significant impact. There’s still more we could look into. Ways of… shifting the cycle around for Darevas, maybe. Experimenting. There must be spirits who know more…”

Felasel shakes his head, though.

“Nabae,” he says.

They don’t like the tone of his voice.

“Death is…”

Permanent lingers on the tip of their tongue, for all that they know that it’s not entirely the case. It makes their younger-older nephew smile. It’s strange, sometimes, to remember Felasel both as a caretaker of their own, and as a little child, curled up at their side for a nap. Fear’s memories have settled into the back of their mind with relative ease, though. The voice in those thoughts is simply their own, after all.

But sometimes the shifts in perspective run unpleasantly against one another.

Felasel lets out a breath.

“We let them choose,” he says. There is an edge of Vengeance to his voice. A heavy look to his eyes. “Every cycle, we let them choose. Every cycle, you bury your children. Bury Thenvunin. Let them die, even though you could stop it, because they have a right to decide. I bury Cirimeni. Vengeance burns, because we could save her. I see people I loved as a child grow old and die, and come back as children again. My mother has buried every other baby she ever held. I ever held. I wait for my brother and I know he will never come, now. And I am tired. Pride has corrupted. There are times when it claws at me, and I know I am slipping. I think part of it is because I am missing him. I am missing the other balancing piece of my life, and I have missed him for so long…”

Uthvir stills, as Felasel’s voice wavers, and cracks. As a tear tracks its way down his cheek.

They feel cold with the weight of his fear.

That he will never see his brother again. That he has been responsible for this absence, however inadvertently.

They close their eyes.

“I cannot kill you,” they tell him, quietly. They can’t.

But Felasel only nods in understanding.

“I could never kill you either, Nabae,” he offers, looking down at his hands. “I’m not asking for that. I can take care of it myself. All I ask is that you help me make the choice that we have let every other loved one make. To end, and start again. To be finished with one life, because it has been long and well-lived. If I could let it come to me naturally, I would. But I can’t.”

We cannot let him die, Fear whispers.

Even as it does, though, they both know how hollow that notion is. They both know that choice, a choice knowingly and deliberately made, must outweigh it. It’s been a month since they found Selene’s research. Felasel isn’t overwrought, or dramatic. He’s not consumed by his guilt or despair. Vengeance is a clear, cold light in his eyes, but it always is. He’s not making this choice out of hand.

Still.

“One more year,” they decide. “You take one year, and keep thinking about it, while I look into things. If you still wish to go then, I will not stop you.”

Felasel sighs.

“My choice will not change,” he assures them.

“The variables might,” Uthvir counters, even though they know it’s a long shot.

They both fall silent for a moment.

“I want to tell my mother, first,” Felasel admits. “I have to explain. But she will not be able to let me do it, she cannot. Her contract with Des would force her to intervene and stop me. We would have to act quickly, once she knew.”

Uthvir lets out a long, slow breath. They feel shaky at that.

“You should not tell her,” they counter. “Or if you must explain, just… leave her a note.”

“A note is too cruel,” Felasel insists.

She will hate us, Fear whispers. If they do this. She will hate them. They all will, they all will hate Uthvir and fear them. 

“Do you know what you are asking me for?” they whisper. They can remember, again. Felasel, small and in their arms. Felasel, tall and holding them tight.

He shakes his head at them.

“It’s only the same thing you’ve given most everyone else you love,” he says.

They think of Eda, then. Will Eda understand? How many times have they watched her cousins, her siblings, old and grey, die in their beds? They have memories of holding babies, of watching them grow  sick and old and frail, and drift away, only to come back as babies again. They think of Kel, and their grandchildren, and Virevas. Of what they can remember of Darevas. Small, sunny little Darevas, who loved hugs and songs and swimming.

But oh, they know. No one will forgive them for this.

“I love you,” they offer, faintly.

Felasel nods.

“They’ll forgive you, Nabae. If nothing else, when I come back… with Darevas…”

They meet his gaze.

Probably not.

“And if you don’t come back?” they ask, instead.

“That is my risk to choose,” he says.

So it is.

[scurvgirl]

Marassal likes to run. It’s one of the few physical exercises that he still enjoys after the long and rather odd life he’s lived. Running is direct, it feels good, he is going somewhere. It helps get his blood moving in a healthy and productive way. 

Though he supposes that after spending a few centuries of this, he’s developed quite the nice runner’s physique. He doesn’t really notice that much until he adopts Dirthamen and moves into a new, family oriented neighborhood. 

He is out doing his normal run, Dirthamen safely strapped into the jogger stroller, burbling at a new toy Marassal got for him when a blue sedan slowly rolls up to him.

“Marassal! Hey!” Ugh, Guilame. The man is a menace, really, and every time Marassal sees him, it’s nigh impossible to not do anything. He reminds him and Desire of the man’s triplets, the adorable little girls who are very sweet little things with rosy cheeks and like to give Dirthamen lollipops. 

Think of the children! He screams in his head. 

“Guilame! How unexpected,” he says, playing how out of breath he is up. He is running after all, don’t want to give the impression that he particularly wants human contact at the moment. 

Guilame’s eyes dart down to Marassal’s ass, making him glower. 

“Guilame, do be a dear and remove your eyes from my bottom, we are in the presence of a child, perversions will not be tolerated,” he warns but the man is maddeningly slow to pry his disgusting eyes off of Marassal’s body.

I want to remove his eyeballs from his head. Desire growls. 

“That’s ridiculous, Marassal! What are you talking about, I’m a married man you know.”

“Yes, but you don’t seem to know that you are.”

“Look, when you wear those leggings -

Marassal stops listening and reminds himself that Dirthamen is right there. A baby, his son, right there. If Marassal did anything, it would put his son at risk. 

Guilame has cornered him. Approached him on the street while he is out on a run with his baby purposefully. 

Well then.

Marassal turns and smiles at Guilame.

“You’re absolutely right, Guilame. I wanted you to look at me in these normal, black, opaque leggings that help with circulation while running. I crave you and your...whatever it is you have to offer. I’ll meet you at your house?” Marassal suggests and then he takes off, running almost at full speed down the street towards the Pierre household. 

“Wait!” Guilame calls, but it’s too late, Marassal’s at the door, ringing the bell.

Claire, Guilame’s wife, answers the door, “Marassal! What a pleasure! And little Dirthamen! Looking cute as ever, were you thinking of a play date? The girls are still eating breakfast, but maybe later?”

“Oh Claire! Just the woman I was seeking. Please, may I come in? It concerns your husband.” Claire’s eyes widen and she peers around Marassal to look a tthe man frantically climbing out of his car and running up the walkway.

“Don’t listen to him Claire!”

“Marassal, what did he do?” Claire asks and Marassal grins. This is not the first time Guilame has wandered and been rather perverted with his neighbors. Poor Linda felt so violated from his wandering eyes and picture taking she moved across town. And Jerome still refuses to go to Block Parties after the Butt Grab incident. Enough is enough, really, Marassal thinks.

“Your perverted old man here believes that I am soliciting him by running...in these leggings, because of course I am. Because as we all know, these are the most revealing running garments out there.”

Claire’s hands turn into fists and she lets out a long sigh.

“Alright, that’s it. I’m filing the papers.”

“Claire no! I’ll change!”

“No you won’t! You’re a danger to our girls! Go away!” 

“I know a very nice lawyer who can get you a restraining order today and divorced as soon as possible,” Marassal whispers and she nods.

“Text me! Now, play date with the girls after lunch?”

“Sounds splendid!” Marassal grins and jogs back off with little Dirthamen who is still happily burbling at his toy. 

Who knew suburbia was such a dramatic place?

[scurvgirl]

The Mean and Bad

So what’s going on with Kass in the not-fey everyone is abom au? A follow-up to this.

Melarue, mentioned, belongs to @justanartsysideblog

Warnings for: Blood, child abuse, and guns. 

When Melarue doesn’t show up for dinner, something pricks at Kassaran’s mind. Something...is not right. They always show up for dinner and are typically exceptionally punctual.

“Mama, I’m huuungry,” Asaaranda whines, sipping on her juice as she watches other people be given food.

“Alright, I’ll get you food, Nanae won’t mind.” If they’re showing up. She checks her phone and frown slightly. Nothing. No word or anything. Kass flags down a waitress and asks for chicken fingers for Asaaranda and a turkey sandwich for Ash. Her appetite is dwindling as worry worms its way into her. She orders a salad.

Melarue isn’t leaving her, she knows that. They’re happy, they’ve been happy, they talk all the time. And sure, her writing recently has taken up a lot of time, but they’ve always been supportive of it, of her….

They’re not leaving her, it doesn’t make any sense. Instead, she thinks of the Templar raids that have been whispered about by mages all of Thedas. About getting randomly picked up and taken with any sort of suspicion that one has connection to an abomination. Melarue is...different, she knows. Their magic feels so vastly different from the magic of Ash’s or Asaaranda’s but she always felt like whatever the reason for that was a deeply personal thing. They don’t ask too much about her life in the Qun, she doesn’t inquire too much about their magical differences - not because they don’t want to know, but out of respect for the other person.

But Templars are a threat to mages regardless of status, all it takes is suspicion. Both of her children are mages and if Melarue has been taken, then she has to be the one to protect them.

She eats as much of her salad as she can while the girls try to figure out what their nanae isn’t there.

“Are they caught up at work?” Ash asks and Kass checks her phone again, forcing a smile.

“Yes, they are. They said to have fun without them.”

Honey mustard drips from Asaaranda’s fingers as she nibbles on her chicken fingers, eyebrows drawn together.

“I want Nanae.”

“You’ll see them later, when they come home.” It’s not exactly a lie, Kass reminds herself. But Ash stares at her and she takes out her own phone. Kass’s buzzes.

You’re acting like father’s near. Where’s Nanae?

That girl is too observant for her own good - it does Kassaran proud. She texts back, repeating the lie and feeling herself close off a bit more as she tries to inspect the customers around her. It’s mostly couples, a few families, and there are of course a few loners. A woman who looks like she is being stood up. A man who keeps checking his watch and flaring up the paper he’s reading. A few couples watch Kassaran and the girls out of the corners of their eyes, and she doesn’t know if it’s because of the horns and obvious Qunari heritage or something more sinister.

“Can we have dessert?” Asaaranda asks, face covered in honey mustard. Kass chuckles and gives a nod.

“Yes, you can have dessert.”

“Maybe we should go home, wait for Nanae,” Ash counters and Kass sucks in a short breath.

“Your nanae is going to be home very late, might as well as get dessert here.” Kass opens up the dessert menu and starts going through the options while Ash frowns. Thirteen-year-olds, they’re always challenging you and making observations. Kass is so proud but this is not the time, she is the adult here and in the event that Melarue doesn’t come home….

She’s done the single mother thing before, she can do it again.

They order a large brownie and decide to split it three ways, the girls getting most of it while Kass takes the ice cream plopped on top. She should take them to a different house tonight. Should they go home? Probably not.

Kass pays and walks carefully out to their SUV. She straps Asaaranda into her booster seat and tells Ash to sit in the back with her sister.

“Why?”

“Because it’s safer,” Kass explains. Ash scowls but doesn’t argue for once as she takes a seat next to her sister. Kass slides into the driver’s seat and locks the doors, carefully pulling out of the parking lot.

They can’t go home, the...lakehouse will do. It’s only two hours out of the city, but they’re the only ones who’ve ever been there and there is a large basement that is stocked just in case it gets snowed in.

She can either take the highway or surface roads to get there. It’s faster to go on the highway, but it’s more conspicuous. But it’s more public too...less likely to get run off the road by Templars in public….

Public spaces have always been a safe haven for her. She used them frequently in that first year running from Qal. Hiding in plain site, and there was an immense comfort in knowing that if he had found hem and done anything, there would be witnesses and help.

But the Templars are different.

The public fears them and there have been enough disappearances and enough legitimate abomination attacks that makes the Templars practically invulnerable, either through fear of them or the mages. Both of her daughters are mages, both of them. They’re young, though, and there’s really not been any reports of mages this young being taken...right?

There is construction ahead so Kass turns down a one way street for the detour. The three cars behind her turn with her and her hackles raise. Something’s not right.

“Mama?” Ash asks in a small voice.

Kass doesn’t answer, just continues on. Should she call the police? No, no, the Templars have bought them, she knows that. She looks in her rearview mirror but the car behind her has tinted windows so dark she can’t see inside of them.

A car turns down the street towards them.

No, no. NO.

“Mama?!” Ash asks again, more panicked.

Kass takes the taser out of the hidden compartment in the glove box as she continues to drive forward.

“Make as much noise as you can if they pull you out of the car. As loud as you can go, fight back, do not stop fighting.” Her voice is low and she lays on the horn as she stops the vehicle. Wake the neighborhood, make them know exactly what is about to happen.

She will not go quietly and if they think they can just take her children without her fighting, they are wrong.

“Get down, put Asaaranda under you and if you feel the need to use magic. Use it. If you headbutt, try to use the crown of your head, right where your horns begin and hit down on them. If they grab you, try to turn around so they’re at your back then thrust your head back, if you can stab them with your horns, do it. Elbows and knees are weak spots. Bite hands that try to cover your mouth. If they don’t let go, keep biting. If there is a chance to run, take it, use the emergency numbers Nanae gave you.” Ash sniffles but she does as her mother instructs. She moves Asaaranda out of her seat and down to the floor bed while Kass tries to find some semblance of calm.

The other vehicles stop and people clad in black quickly emerge from them. A man comes up to her window and taps, indicating for her to open the door. She shakes her head. She is not opening to them, she sees the small sword sigil on their shirts, sees the stitching and the hard looks of the others. The man sighs and gestures for another person to come up...a person with a crowbar.

“Turn away from the windows!” Kass shouts before ducking down to avoid the sudden shattering of glass. Shards fly into the car and gloved hands enter, unlocking the doors.

Kass turns and fires her taser, leaning forward to pull the electrocute person forward. She quickly takes his gun and releases the taser.

“Get back! We’ve done nothing!” Kass shouts, aiming the gun right at the men about to grab Ash.

“You tased Richards, pretty sure that’s something,” one of the Templars sneer.

“You assaulted my vehicle. They are children. You follow the Maker? How do you think He’ll feel about you terrorizing children? You think Andraste’s okay with that?” Kass growls, refusing to drop the gun.

There is a click by her head.

“Put the gun down, Kassaran and no one gets hurt.”

Her heart races and time slows for a moment. Everything comes into brilliant focus, the world cools...and cools...she can see her breath.

“What is that? Which one of them is doing that?”

“Let go of my mother.” Ashokara growls from the backseat. It’s a distraction and she capitalizes on it but lunging up and cracking the man’s wrist, stealing his gun too.

“Sweetie, it’s okay, I’m okay,” Kass reassures, but the temperature continues to drop. What is she doing? What -

A brilliant blue fireball flies out of the backseat, engulfing five of the Templars in front of them. They scream and fall to the ground, trying to escape the flames. Kass seizes the opportunity and surges forward, jumping out of the car. Ash is already out with Asaaranda, running down the street as fast as she can. Kass tears down after them, guns in hand.

Three more people jump out of the cars behind the main van and they charge at the girls too quickly for them to change course.

“Don’t touch them!” Kass shouts but it’s too late.

There is a bright light forcing Kass to shut her eyes. There’s a scream and when she opens her eyes again, she sees her daughters on the ground. Not moving.

NO!

She screams and fires her gun at the man bending down to Ash and Asaaranda.

A body slams into her and she hits her head on the ground. Her world goes black even as she tries to fight it.

No, no, not my children, not. Melarue...no.

**

Ashokara’s head hurts. Throbs, really. And her magic, usually a warm comforting presence, is distant. Everything feels fuzzy and cold. She is very cold. Her hands shift under her, moving to push her up off the cold surface she’s on. Concrete.

Her eyes blink open to the harshly lit room and she winces at how the throb in her head worsens.

“Ah, you’re awake, good,” a voice says and she groans. Noises are bad. She moves back to the cold concrete and curls up in on herself. It’s a bad dream, clearly. A terrible dream.

“Nope, I saw it, you’re awake.”

She groans again and flinches. She hears a long sigh before hands are gripping her and hauling her up. She cries pitifully and shakes, trying to loose herself from their grasp. She’s dropped into a chair and she immediately curls back into herself.

“Cold,” she whispers.

“Yeah, figured you wouldn’t like the cooler temps, you’re a fire mage right? Probably like it nice and balmy. You just tell us what you know and we’ll take you to a warmer place, alright?” The voice cajoles.

That’s apparently the ‘good’ Templar.

She doesn’t answer, just shivers and shrinks into herself. Her magic feels distant and odd. There’s nothing to grab onto in her. Nothing for her magic to latch onto.

“Answer them,” another voice demands. She smiles, ah, it’s the ‘bad’ Templar. Like that differentiates them anymore from other Templars. They’re both bad, one just wears a mask.

“Fine.” She says. She doesn’t really want to fight and she figures she can pull punches here so she can start riling them up later, save her some hurt.

“When did your mother start seeing Melarue?” The first one asks in that too sweet tone.

“Eight years ago,” she answers.

“Have they changed at all in that time? Suddenly were meaner or sillier or crueler?”

“I don’t understand. They’re my nanae...they’re fine…” she plays dumb which I guess they’re willing to play along with because she is a more primal mage rather than an ‘intellectual’ mage who plays with spirit energy and entropy.

The Templar sighs and she hears them lean forward, “I know you know exactly what we’re talking about here, Ash. Can I call you Ash? It fits, with all the burning things.”

I am going to incinerate you, she wants to say but keeps her mouth shut.

“My nanae is a good person, unlike you.”

WHACK!

The hit is quick and sudden from Bad Templar. Good Templar sighs and leans back.

“Ash, we serve the Maker and we want to protect you from abominations. Abominations like Melarue.”

She imagines them engulfed in blue flames, licking up the sides of the walls and bearing into their skin, turning it to black ash and soot. Ash takes a deep breath and crosses her arms.

“My nanae doesn’t hit me.”

“But they lied to you. We would never -

“That’s bullshit, I know it. Because you’re lying right now. You say you’re good, that you care, but you don’t. You think I don’t know you won’t kill me after this? Oh look at the dangerous fire savant, she is just too dangerous even though she’s only thirteen and has absolutely no record of hurting anyone.” She screams at them. The Bad Templar rushes her, shoving her to the floor, banging her already aching head against the ground.

She screams in pain and cries even as they step off of her. Good Templar clicks their tongue.

“We won’t kill you, Ashokara. You’re a child, we’re not evil, really.”

“You’ll kill my nanae.”

“Trust us, your nanae has killed lots of people,” Good Templar prompts. But Ash stays on the ground, unable to move. Bad Templar picks her up and tosses her back into the chair.

“So where were we, ah. Tell me about Melarue.”

“They hate tea,” she says dryly.

“What about their magic? Have they ever used their magic in an odd way?”

“They once floated a turkey out of the oven because they didn’t feel like picking it up.” She blinks and shrugs.

“They’re a normal parent. They get frustrated when I lie about not doing homework, they help me when I have problems, and they support me when I do things. They’re my nanae. Whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it here.”

“Do they always seem to know when you’re lying?” Good Templar asks and Ash shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“What about your mother, does she notice when you lie?”

“Yeah….”

“But who notices it first? Melarue or your mother?”

Ash blinks and leans back in her chair.

“Whoever sees me first when I get home,” she lies. Bad Templar narrows their eyes and they inch closer but Good Templar stops them and smiles.

“Does your mother ever lie to you?”

“Sometimes, but harmless stuff. Like if she’s worried about something.”

“And what about Melarue, do you notice if they lie?”

Ash doesn’t answer. She keeps her mouth shut and braces herself for impact. But it doesn’t come. Good Templar makes notes in their notebook and stands up.

“Alright, that’s enough for now.” The Templars make for the door and Ash perks up.

“Can I go to the warm room now?”

“I think you’re fine here.” They shut the door and she growls. Next time, she’s not saying a damn thing.

**

“I want my nanae,” Asaaranda says for the millionth time. One of the Mean People sighs and pulls her stiff body towards them.

“I know you do, and that’s hard. We’re trying to find them, so it’s very important you answer all of our questions.”

“Where’s my mama?”

“She’s busy right now, helping us.”

“Can you go get her?” Asaarnda asks, trying to pull away from the Mean Person. She doesn’t like them at all, they say mean things and they hit her sister. She woke up before everyone else in the dark car and it was so scary and then they were picking her up and pulling her away.

“No, not right now. But if you answer our questions, we’ll let you see her,” they say, reaching out and patting her hair. She bats them away with a solid no.

“Is Melarue nice?” They ask and she scrunches up her face.

“My nanae is very nice. They love me.”

“Does Melarue ever say odd things? Things that don’t make sense.”

“Yeah…” they’re a grownup. Grownups almost never make that much sense. She shifts on the ground and sniffles.

“I want my nanae. I want my mama. I want my sister.”

“Soon, Asaaranda, soon. Just...answer the questions. Are there monsters in your house?” They ask and Asaaranda fidgets with a curl.

“Yeah...there’s one under my bed and one in my closet. Nanae keeps me safe though.”

“Oh that’s nice, so what does Melarue do to keep you safe?”

“They hold me...sometimes I sleep in Nanae and Mama’s bed because mine is so scary. Sometimes, they...they um...have friends? Sleep friends and and they keep me safe too.” She fidgets some more and Mean Person gets excited.

“Sleep friends? And where do you see their sleep friends?”

“Um. Nanae said not to tell anyone….”

“Oh you can tell me, I’m a friend.” She doesn’t really think they are a friend and even if they were, this is Nanae and her secret. She can’t tell other people’s secrets, the sleep friends agreed and said that they wouldn’t be able to protect if she told anyone.

“I want my nanae,” she says again.

“Okay okay, do you have any imaginary friends? Any sleep friends of your own?” They ask.

“Um...Nina is my imaginary friend...she’s a pony.”

“Do you like ponies?”

“Yeah…”

“Does Nina show up as anything else sometimes? Like...as a person?” They ask and she giggles.

“No! That’s silly, Nina’s a pony!” Nina is the pony that Asaaranda wishes she had. Nanae said that they’d get her a pony when she’s old enough to learn how to take care of one, but she still wishes she had one now. So she has Nina.

But she also has Sleep Friends. Sleep Friends keep the Monsters away and they tell her to be careful. They can be very sneaky and scary, but she’s used to them now. But Sleep Friends are also Nanae’s friends. So she can’t talk about them.

The Mean Person sighs and stands up. They bend down and pick her up, placing her on her feet while she whines and asks for Mama. They grab her hand and lead her out of the room and down a really scary dark hall. It’s very dark, the shadows are so big.

“Let me go.” She tugs on their hand and tries to get back to the lighted room.

“Come now, you want to see what happens when you don’t talk? Look,” Mean Person shoves her toward a big window...and inside the room is Ash! She runs presses herself up against the very cold window and peers inside...but something’s wrong. Ash is curled up in a ball and shivering. Asaaranda can see her breath.

“Ash doesn’t like the cold! You need to let her out!” She bangs on the glass but it just bounces back against her.

“We know. She didn’t answer how we wanted, she resisted. Don’t you see, Asaaranda? If you don’t help us, bad things happen. Please help us, so we can make sure the bad things don’t happen.”

Asaaranda looks up at Mean Person, crying. That doesn’t sound right. Ash is right there! They could get her out if they wanted to! Why can’t they?  

“Now tell me about these sleep friends.”

“It’s a secret!” She sobs and bangs against the window again. Ash looks up and Asaaranda yells for her. Ash’s ears twitch and she frowns.

Mean Person grabs Asaaranda, pulling her from the window.

“Your nanae doesn’t love you! If they did, wouldn’t they be here by now? Wouldn’t they come to help you?”

“Let me go!” Asaaranda flails back, screaming and crying. But Mean Person holds on, yanking her forward.

“Listen to me!”

The window suddenly explodes with a sudden burst of brilliant blue heat. The glass shatters and Asaaranda screams as she falls to the ground, some of the shards digging and cutting into her skin. Ash emerges over the window, hands and the tips of her horns bloody as an aura of fire orbits her.

Ash sends the flames away from her body to engulf Mean Person is a violent display. Asaaranda looks away just as alarm sounds through the hall. Ash’s bloody hands pick Asaaranda up and hold her close.

“We need to...find Mama,” Ash breathes and begins to rush through the halls.

“Remember the tricks?” Ash asks and Asaaranda nods. The tricks...but her magic feels all funny she can’t do her tricks without her magic. But then Ash moves a bloody hand over her head, murmuring words that sound like spells. Asaaranda’s magic flares to sudden life and she gasps. The shadows on the walls seem farther and less scary, her eyes are wide and she is awake.

“Ash!”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. All they said were lies, they lie about Nanae.”

“I know,” she replies, holding on tight. Sleep Friends may be spirits or demons but they’re good and they keep the real monsters away. Like Templars.

Ash runs down the halls just as Templars begin to fill them. She cuts her arm on her horns, jabbing the growing ragged end into her grey flesh, blood running in thick streams that turn into giant flames. She throws them at the Templars and the flames sink past their clothes and armor, into skin, consuming them.

There are more though and Ash needs time to regain her strength -

Asaaranda raises her hand out and pushes her magic out. A long, erratic bolt of lightning flashes through the room, electrocuting the new Templars. They fall to the ground, convulsing and Ash rushes past them.

They pass another room with a window and come to a stop, returning to the window. They look inside and Ash shouts angrily before setting Asaaranda down. She tells her to get down and to cover her head and neck.

The glass shatters like it did before and there’s shouting and yelling and a gun fires.

Then quiet. Hands gently pat at Asaaranda and when she looks up it’s Mama! Mama! She cries and throws herself in her mother’s arms. She’s bloody and there’s something wrong with her nose, but it’s her, and she’s okay!

“Mamaaa!” She sobs.

“I’ve got you, baby. We need to be quick though, okay? Ashokara, carry your sister, I’ll take the gun.” Mama passes Asaaranda to Ash again and they quickly begin to make their way through the complex.

Asaaranda isn’t sure how they know where to go, it’s not like there are maps or anything. But somehow they make it to what looks to be a garage where there are vehicles and...more Templars.

They drop down behind a wall and Mama takes the gun out, counting all the bullets. Ash looks pale and scary, the blood is still flowing down her arms, but she looks tired.

“Stay. Down.” Mama orders before sneaking to the other wall. She peers around and shoots, once, twice.

Ash’s arms come around Asaaranda and she is shoved to the cover of the wall with Ash’s body around hers. There are more shots and shouts and Ash’s blood is soaking through Asaaranda’s clothes.

The shots stop and silence falls upon them. All Asaaranda can hear is Ash’s breathing, erratic and worried but there. She presses into her sister’s body, still warm and comforting rather than the cold of the concrete that surrounds them.

“Ash...Anda…” Mama whispers close to them. She’s out of breath but she’s there when Ash let Asaaranda up.

“Mama, are you okay?” She asks, still worried about her nose.

But Mama nods and picks her up, “I’m okay. Now let’s get out of here.”

**

Kass steals one of the Templar SUV’s and drives it for several hours before ditching it. She ushers the girls to follow her to a car dealership. It’s a used car lot, the lights aren’t bright and she’d guess it’s about to go out of business. Shame. She sneaks into the lot and hotwires one of the cars, packs the girls in and rips out of the drive way.

It would be nice to have a GPS but then they’d be able to track her then. Instead, in the morning, Kass goes into a gas station and picks up a map by sweet talking the very nice kid behind the counter. He even lets them top off the gas tank. Running from abuse she says, which...is not a lie.

The girls keep asking where their nanae is though, and she honestly has no idea. They weren’t at the compound, she knows that because they kept asking about where they were and what they did, about their relationship….

Melarue isn’t with the Templars.

So...where are they?

Kass can’t afford to focus too long on it. She tells the girls that she doesn’t know where their nanae is but that whatever the Templars said was a lie. Melarue loves them and if they could, they’d be here with them. Whatever is going on...it’s preventing that.

With the map, Kass manages to guide them to a small cottage Melarue once told her about. It’s a tiny thing, only three rooms, but it’s got a good cellar for hiding and is stocked. Always stocked.

The girls are starving by the time they get there. Ash is still pale and Kass worries that she hit too main of a vein. They eat as much soup they can fit in their bodies almost immediately, then they shower in shifts. The girls go first with Kass staying guard.

Kass has them stay in the bathroom with her while she showers quickly. Afterwards, they bandage everything up with the large first aid kit. Asaaranda is asleep by the time it’s all done and Kass puts her to bed in the small adjoining bedroom. Ash curls around her sister in a protective stance.

She should sleep. But everything in her body is a live wire, and she knows it’s been more than twenty-four hours since she’s slept but her babies need her to stay guard. So she’ll stay guard.

[scurvgirl]

Recovery Fluff

for lovely @feynites 

100% fluffy happy goodness 

“Alright, Dirthamen, we have an important decision to make,” Marassal says.

Dirthamen blows a spit bubble from his spot in the car seat.

“Excellent, I knew you’d understand. Now,” he pulls out three pictures from the file he’s been collecting over the last few months.

“House number one, the Orlesian colonial. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, big backyard, original floors and plaster detail work. Completely restored. What do you think?” He holds the picture up. Dirthamen makes a popping noise with his lips and Marassal nods.

“I totally agree, no basement and no designated play area for you, deal breaker.” He set the picture down and pulls up the second picture.

“House number two, the Fereldan tudor. I really like this one, it’s got that big bonus room at the top, three bedrooms again, a screened in porch, three bathrooms this time, one on each level!”

Dirthamen shakes his fist and gets distracted by a spot on his carrier.

“Hmm, the kitchen does need updating and an open concept is just not happening in that house. Plus the basement isn’t even finished and the yard is on this horrible slope. Next.”

He shuffles the pictures again and pulls out the third, “House number three. Two bedrooms this time, so it’s a little smaller, but completely open concept, finished basement, a nice sized yard, fenced. Two bathrooms...oh but it’s a new build. Hmm. We need something with some character to it, don’t we? Yeaah. House number four is a mansion built by a Marcher who wanted to be closer to his daughter after she married Ferelden nobility. The historical preservation societies keep it regulated to the max, so really, renovation and customization isn’t going to happen.”

Dirthamen burbles and Marassal sighs.

“It is too big, isn’t it? And we want something we customize to our needs over time. Alright, house number five, now I really like this one. It’s a mid-century modern, so you know, I’m older than it, but it is just so architecturally interesting and oh! There is a water feature in the backyard, a very soothing little waterfall. Four bedrooms, all on the same level, three bathrooms including the master bathroom. You will have your own bathroom! And a little free room since it’s a Jack and Jill set up. It’s a good neighborhood, with good schools, all mage friendly. The basement needs some more finishing, I think, but it is livable right now. There’s a courtyard and a large fenced in backyard.”

Dirthamen giggles and kicks and Marassal smiles in response, “Mid-century modern it is! Now, what color do you want your bedroom to be?”

**

Marassal loves TV, he does, but he hates commercials. One of the many banes of his existence, commercials are. But alas it is something he must deal with if he wants to watch his shows debut live.

He is watching the latest of  Say Yes to the Dress when a most decidedly offensive commercial comes on air. It’s this woman talking about how she thinks that her birth mother is the only one who will understand her and that she’s adopted and never felt wanted. Marassal blinks and then narrows his eyes.

It’s just marketing, Desire says but Marassal doesn’t care. Is this how Dirthamen is going to feel? Is he going to feel some sort of automatic pull towards investigating his biologically family just because of blood? Marassal supposes he can’t really blame him if he does, he never got over his own bio family, though those were considerably different circumstances.

Dirthamen sits on the plush rug in their great room, making what looks to be a booming metropolis with his blocks.

Marassal climbs down to the floor and asks Dirthamen for a hug.

“Okay,” he says and crawls into Marassal’s lap. Marassal coos and holds Dirthamen close, snuggling his nose into Dirthamen’s hair.

He supposes that it doesn’t really matter, in the end. He loves Dirthamen and he is going to raise this boy with that love and the resulting support. And if Dirthamen finds any of it lacking...he gets what we wants. His desires are valid and should be listened to.

Dirthamen is his son, always will be at the end of the day. But for now he can hold Dirthamen close and revel in the fact that he is all that Dirthamen knows right now. That he doesn’t see any oddities in how he doesn’t really look like his father. So in the meantime, Marassal plans to hold his son and to love and cherish him as he deserves.

Dirthamen wriggles and pulls back a little bit, wanting to get back to his blocks.

“Play wit’ me?” He asks and how can Marassal say no to that?

“Of course, sweetheart.”

**

“I’ll catch you! I promise!” Marassal calls from inside the pool that was completed at the beginning of summer. Dirthamen shuffles to the edge of the pool and looks at it with great suspicion.

“Are you sure?” The four-year-old asks. Marassal nods.

“Yes! I am a very good Dirthamen catcher!”

Dirthamen doesn’t look convinced but he takes a deep breath and wiggles, his water wings swishing with him. But then he takes a deep breath and looks back at Marassal with his serious face.

“Okay!” He backs up a bit and does a little run before jumping off the edge.

Desire catches the moment like a snapshot for Marassal’s memory, Dirthamen flying in the air, scared but determined and flying before actually knowing how to fly.

He jumps right into Marassal’s arms, warm and safe and comforting.

“Yaay! You did it! Oh you were spectacular! I am so proud of you!” Marassal coos and praises while Dirthamen giggles with the adrenaline rushing through his little body.

**

The doorbell rings  just as Marassal is walking by, which means something he thinks. He opens it up to find a little girl with a wagon full of brightly colored boxes.

“Hello,” he says.

“Good afternoon, good ser! My name is Velari and I’m with the Girl Scouts and I was wondering if you’d like to buy some cookies? We’re a very good organization that promotes leadership skills and good citizenship in young girls all over Thedas!” Her two front teeth are missing and her glasses are bright purple cat-eyes that make his heart soar.

“Just one moment!” He says and runs inside, grabbing his wallet and rushing back out.

He rifles through the wallet and pulls out a wad of cash, counting it quickly in his head, “How much will...three hundred twenty six and thirty two cents buy me?” Her eyes go wide at seeing that much cash and she stutters.

“Uh I have twenty boxes and sixteen of them are three-fifty but the other four are six dollars.”

Marassal quickly does the math in his head, “That’s only ninety-four dollars! Uh, here, have...two hundred, buy yourself something nice. Can I have all the cookies? Or do you need to sell them to different houses?”

“I-I don’t think there’s a rule about that.”

“Excellent! I’ll take the lot!” Marassal waves his hand and floats the boxes into the house much to Velari’s amazement.

“Woow!”

“Have you never seen a mage, da’len? We’re quite the treat, you know.” He winks at her and floats all the boxes into the house.

“Thank you, ser!” Velari says, holding her two hundred dollars in hand.

“Of course, darling! Now go! Have fun, it’s a lovely day, tell your mamae I say hello and thank you.” He waves goodbye and closes the door.

“Dirthamen!” He calls, “we have cookies!”

[feynites]

I am curious, who did your Hawke(s) romance in Dragon Age 2? Also, I am REEAAALLLY curious to see what spirits Thenvunin and Kel merge with in the 'Everyones an Abom AU'.

For the first question: I romanced everyone in various playthroughs of DA2, but I never really developed a particular attachment to any of my Hawkes, so I’m not very picky about shipping with that crowd. If that makes sense. The Hawke who had the most dramatic playthrough was a M!Hawke who romanced Anders, so I tend to default to him, or else I go with my sister’s Hawke, Malcolm Jr, who was a bit of an ass and spent most of his game pining for Aveline. (90% of his character comes from my sister’s impression of him, and watching her play and basically be like ‘ahhh, my dove!’ any time Aveline came on screen. She can also sneer ‘Donnic’ in a faux-M!Hawke voice that is just full of undeserved vitriol - but Donnic was fine in her playthrough. Also a running gag was that Malcolm was completely oblivious to the fact that Fenris was rather long-sufferingly in love with him.)

For the second, I mean, I wasn’t actually planning on… but, I guess it is called… I…

…Well I guess let’s see what Uthvir was doing in the version of this ‘verse where they didn’t die!

(Warning for child endangerment and threats towards children and physical menace of children.)

The Templars have gone quiet.

That is, Uthvir thinks, a bad sign rather than a good one.Because their sources have been going silent, over the past four years.Snuffing out like candles, running up across dead-ends, meeting unexpectedwalls and blockages and it is not as if the movement is dwindling. It might diedown, every now and then, might legitimately come close to ending, but over thecenturies they have learned to see the signs. They know what to look for.Everything in them is telling them that is an upswing, not a down.

But all the places they know, and the faces they havelearned to watch, have stopped yielding information.

They do not know if the leaks are being discovered, or ifthe organizing is simply wise enough to cover its tracks better, or if time hasmade them so accustomed to looking in certain places that they have forgottenhow to seek out others. They do not know what has and has not been compromised,and Fear is running wild with the implications. With the best avenues ofresponse. Withdraw to one of the bunkers? They are more remote, harder to find,but if they are already being watched and tracked, then they could be followed.Then the remote location might work against them. Send out warnings? Butwarnings for what? The danger of discovery is well-known, and contacting theothers might simply alert anyone with eyes on Uthvir as to where the rest ofthe clan is. Stay put, try to lie low? But that could just be turningthemselves into a sitting duck, if the only location that the Templars knowabout is this one.

They cannot afford to take long to deliberate, either. Amoment. A moment is all that it takes, sometimes.

In the end they leave messages in the Fade, in the old dreamnetworks that have not been used for a century. The ripples should catch someattention, but possibly not enough for the others to actively check it. Still,it would be harder for the Templars to discover such things; even if they havemages on their side, or spirits, discovering the network would be difficult, andinfiltrating it well enough to actually glean the contents of the messages, near to impossible. Unless one of theclan has betrayed them.

Uthvir does not think so, but they cannot afford to discountthe possibility.

They tailor each warning very specifically, for all that the contents must be vague. ‘Templars upto something – change security, withdraw if needed, clan may be compromised’.

They mentally review what they know of everyone. Selene andFelasel are with Dirthamen and Cirimeni again, out on their not-quite-farm. Nota good location, Uthvir thinks; it’s too remote for the security or anonymityof a densely-populated area, but not remote enough to afford the protection ofwilderness. But then, Desire and Pride are not apt to listen to their ‘over-precautions’.Melarue and that other one, they’re in Antiva again, with Varawell. Followingup a potential lead on more family. Their security level is questionable; it’sbeen months since Uthvir heard from them. They might even be the source of thelink, if one or all of them have been compromised. Eda is on her reserve, withher dragons.

And Thenvunin, Irenan, and Kel are at home, in their ParVollen city apartment. Or they all will be in a few hours, anyway. School willbe letting out soon. Thenvunin should be home, he said he was going to goshopping but they doubt he would leave it so late that he would risk not beingthere everyone else got home.

Uthvir leaves the public terminal they had been using tolook into their last dying ember of a lead, and sets off down the street. They considertheir car, as they get back into it. A somewhat flashy SUV, too conspicuous fortheir tastes right now. There’s another they can use to leave the city by, in aparking garage not far from the highway. They’ll head for Eda’s. Weighingthreat versus security, they think, the bunker near to the giant nest full ofdragons will be safest. The kids will be thrilled, and they can gather up Eda,and then investigate what may be going on in Antiva. If they can get thingssecure enough, they’ll fly over themselves.

But they can’t leave Thenvunin and the children. Theycontemplate it, but only for a moment. There’s a chance that putting distancebetween them might be safer for them. But there is an equal chance that it willleave them vulnerable, and it would be jarring to just suddenly abandon them.They won’t do that.

They stop at the elementary school first. Kel is youngerthan Irenan this time, Uthvir had her themselves, and has spent the past eightyears marvelling over how little has changed about her in the process. Thebiggest difference is that she is a mage this time around. Irenan is thirteen,now, at the awkward stage of painful growth spurts, his horns hardening and hisindependent streak kicking in with a vengeance. Uthvir expects to find himwaiting outside the school for Kel; his own lets out a little earlier, and heusually waits for Uthvir to come get them here.

There are a lot of parents and kids milling about. But notIrenan’s distinctive outline.

They give it a minute. Their nerves are heightened due tothe situation, they know. They remind themselves that they do not really knowfor certain what is going on, or if they are a target; and even if they were,today, of all days, would not necessarily be the day that something happened.

The bell rings.

The classes empty out, children eagerly dashing away fromtheir classes to waiting cars and parents, older siblings and guardians. Uthvirsees the other children from Kel’s class, recognizes little Alistair and hisbrother, the redheaded Tabris girl, the pack of Rutherford children – anothergroup they have been keeping one eye on, at Varawell’s request. A few morechildren they can’t name, but can recollect from class activities, field tripsthey have helped with and parent-teacher conferences.

No Kel.

They park the car properly, and head into the school.

Kel’s teacher is friendly, if more sugary-sweet than Uthviris inclined to like, and prone to talking down to his students. He’s in theclassroom, organizing a few things at his desk, when they push past the lastfew stragglers and head in.

“Where is Kel?” they ask, disinclined to preamble.

The teacher blinks up at them.

“Oh! Ser Elvhen,” he greets. “I thought you would haveknown. Kel was called away from class at lunch time. There was a familyemergency? Your husband came and got her…”

Uthvir is already turning away, though, their hearthammering and their mind racing enough that the lights flicker, just a little.They pull out their phone, and quickly call Thenvunin. Heading for theprincipal’s office.

The call has gone to voice mail by the time they reach theirdestination.

Thenvunin is not apt to ignore their calls.

They have to remind themselves that it could actually be an emergency. The reminder feels thin, however. Mirenais in Orlais, visiting with friends. Something could have happened to her, butThenvunin would have called them first, in that case. They have no missedcalls. No texts. A check at the principal’s office has the vice principalconfirming that Thenvunin – or someone sufficiently like Thenvunin to keep Kelfrom kicking up a complaint – came and got their daughter at noon. They phoneagain, as they make their way back out to the parking lot. Fear is riding high,now, licking at the threads of connections it can find. But the school iscrowded, and rife with the anxieties of students, and teachers, and frettingparents.

Checking Irenan’s school reveals the same results. Someonecame and got him at noon, citing a ‘family emergency’, and nothing else.

Uthvir tries phoning Thenvunin again.

Voice mail, again.

Someone has takenthem.

Yes, obviously, butthey need to figure out where, and so they also need to figure out how.Thenvunin came and got the children. It could have been an imposter. It wouldtake a good one to fool Irenan and Kel, but a shapeshifter might be able tomanage it for the time it would take to get in and out of the school. Gettingthe voice right would be the trickier part. On the other hand, it could haveactually been Thenvunin himself. That seems… likelier, though if he thought thechildren might be put in danger, Uthvir cannot see him willingly going andgetting them. By all accounts, he had gone in alone…

What if they are hurt?

…But he could have been deceived. Made to think there was an emergency. He still would havecalled Uthvir, they think, but there are ways to interfere with calls…

What if they arekilled? What if we have lost them again?

…They need to go to the apartment. There is a component theyneed for their tracking spells to work, and a backup, and if not they will haveto head for the storage locker near the docks. If someone has taken them, ifthe Templars have taken them, then itwill be to get to Uthvir. There will be something. A message, a trap; even ifall else fails they will not have vanished into thin air.

Kel is a mage, now.They will hurt her. They will hurt them all. Condemnation by association;aiding and abetting an abomination.

The children are justlittle, and Thenvunin does not know much beyond basic self-defence…

The steering wheel creaks and Uthvir forces themselves totake a breath. Focus. They cannot get pulled over by a police officer, theywill eviscerate whichever unfortunate soul tries it and that will be conspicuous.

The roads seemed to have grown exponentially in the time ittakes for them to get to the apartment, however.

Gone since noon. Hoursoff, now. They could have boarded a plane. A boat. Could be in the back of atruck somewhere, driving away.

They could be dead.

Uthvir gets to the apartment in one piece.

The security measures are intact. Wards undisturbed.Frustrating. They hold out hope that this is just a misunderstanding, thatthey’ll get inside and Thenvunin and the children will be there, safe and soundif slightly perplexed at Uthvir’s state. But the apartment is quiet. Just asthey left it this morning, more or less. There are still a few dishes in thesink. Thenvunin’s favourite coat and his city shoes are gone. He was taken while he was out, then.

But there is one piece of news.

The cage by the terrace is shut tight, and it does not takelong for a frustrated racket to kick up. Screecher normally spends theafternoons flying off towards the park at the edges of the city, huntingsquirrels and menacing the occasional jogger. The apartment has a garden, aswell, and with some extra incentive, the building’s owners have agreed to givetheir exotic pet free reign. But not in the mornings. Thenvunin must have leftshortly after Uthvir went to work, and then not come back at his expected timeto let Screecher out.

Uthvir opens the cage, and is immediately treated toscolding cries. Fear cracks, andsomething in Screecher answers. The bird freezes, halting its reprimandstowards Uthvir, and cocking its head.

The best component for the strongest tracking charm thatthey have ever made is in this bird’s feathers.

There are others, of course. At any given time there is achance that Screecher will meet with an unfortunate accident. The bird’sprovenance has seen it through more lifetimes than Uthvir is certain of, butthey will not bank on it being indefinite. However, all things considered,Screecher has been more permanent than a lot of factors in their strangeexistence. And its nature makes it uncannily predisposed to such magic.

“We have to find Thenvunin and the children,” they informit.

Screecher doesn’t offer a protest to this.

Uthvir begins to cast the spell. It doesn’t take long, butit’s possible they overdo it a little. Two of the lightbulbs in the roomshatter, and the television screen cracks, and one of their weaker wards diesin a burst of overwrought magic. But Screecher does not move, not even when itbegins to glow, slightly. And then the air snaps and Uthvir’s lungs ache, and theyfeel their shadow grow big enough to swallow some of the daylight in the room.Something tugs behind their ribs. A direction.

There.

Screecher alights onto their shoulder, and they all but flyback out of the apartment again. Barrelling down the stairs, and out throughthe doors and into their car once more. Their teeth and sharp and their nailsare long, and their skin is itching, threatening to crack as they forcethemselves to breathe, to think, to keep their focus as they take back off downthe road. Barely aware even of Screecher as it settles onto the passenger seat,and cries angrily at anything that veers too close to their vehicle.

They have to find them.

Have to.

 ~

 Kel’s class is in the middle of watching a movie – a rareand much-appreciated event which most everyone has been looking forward to, eventhough the movie itself is kinda boring and old – when she gets called out ofclass. The school’s secretary whispers with the teacher for a moment, while theother kids are watching the movie; and then tells Kel to get her bag.

“Your Papae is here to get you,” she says. “Something hashappened, but he wants to tell you about it himself.”

Kel frowns, worried, but nods in understanding.

“Is my nanae alright?” she wonders.

“Yes, they’re alright,” the secretary tells her. They go tothe office, then, moving quietly through the halls so as not to disturb theother classes. It doesn’t take long, just a few minutes of sitting in one ofthe office chairs before her Papae comes.

Something’s wrong, though.

She goes up to him and he puts an arm around her shoulders,but it doesn’t… feel right. He’s all stiff and there’s just… something notright? She can’t put her finger on it, though. He doesn’t really seem upset.He’s polite to the school’s secretary and the vice principal, who comes andpops their head out to check on them before disappearing back into the office.His clothes are wrong, though, she realizes. She’s never seen her Papae wearthese ones before, and she thought she knew all of his clothes.

But… he was going shopping today, wasn’t he? He promised toget her new sunglasses, too, since her old ones broke.

“Papae?” she asks, when the grown-ups have finished talking.“What’s wrong?”

He pats the top of her head, awkwardly.

“It’s nothing too bad, sweetheart, but I’ll explain whenwe’re in the car,” he says.

“Are Nanae and Irenan okay?” she asks.

“Of course they are. Irenan is in the car too, waiting forus,” he tells her, and takes her by the hand. Holding just a little too tight,as he leads her out of the school, and the sense of something is wrong doesn’t go away. But Kel is thinking that itmust be that something has happened to make her Papae act strangely. Making hisvoice just a little too high, and his mannerisms a little too stiff, and it’snot until she sees the car they’re heading for and realizes that she doesn’trecognize it, either, that sheremembers Nanae’s warnings about shapeshifters. Shapeshifters other than them,who wear disguises, and sometimes even make themselves look like other,specific people.

“Papae, what’s the password?” she asks. She should haveasked that first! That’s what thepassword is for!

Papae looks down at her, and she knows. She just knows. It’swrong. It’s all wrong, his eyes are wrong, they’re the same colour but theyaren’t looking at her right, and that’s nother father!

But before she can open her mouth to scream, everything goesreally bright and then really dark. Painful and deep, aching and drowning atonce. Her head swims and the world dissolves into ribbons of bright colour, andher voice dies in her throat before it can even get past her lips. Her skinfeels too hot. Too, too hot, and it feels like someone just tried to punch allof her bones at once.

And then it goes dark, as Kel feels an awful lurch of terror.

Her dreams feel like they take a long time to come.

There’s something itchy about the darkness that takes her.Like scraped knees catching on rough fabric. Like the sense that she needs tobe doing something, needs to be not sleeping, but she can’t wake up, either.She drifts in that odd sense of urgency and inaction for a long time. A bag ofrocks, covered in ants. Itching, itching, until she feels something twitch, in the dark.

Something big moves beneath her.

Oh, says a voiceshe feels like she knows. It is you.

Everything starts to tip, then, like a chair fallingbackwards. In the moment when she expects the lurch, then, she opens her eyes.Scratchy, heavy eyelids, and bright lights, and there are arms around her. Armsshe knows, and a scent she knows, and she sighs before she remembers that’s not my father, and then she goesrigid with fear again.

“Kel?” her Papae says, though. And his voice is right. Hesounds upset, but he sounds the right kind of upset. “Da’vhenan? How do youfeel? Does anything hurt?”

Her vision clears, and she sees his face, then. There arebruises on it, and blood on his lip, and there’s Irenan, too. Sitting rightnext to them, with his hands behind his back for some reason, and his headalmost on Papae’s shoulder. He’s not bruised, not that she can see, but hisbrows are furrowed and he looks like he’s scared. But he’s trying not to showit, because he’s Irenan.

“Kel, are you hurt? Where does it hurt?” Papae asks her,with his eyes red around the rims and a purple bruise on his temple.

“She’ll just be a little sore,” someone else says, fromsomewhere she can’t see, with a voice she doesn’tknow. Papae glares in their direction, though. Hurt and scared and mad.

“She is a child,”he says. His arms move around her, but they’re moving weirdly, and he doesn’tbrush her forehead or cheek. Kel blinks a little more awake. She feels like shebruised both of her knees and her elbows, and her chest aches, like she justran really hard into a rock or something. She’s done that before. One time shefell down a hill and bruised her shin, and landed on a boulder. Her chin gotscraped up and Papae took her to the doctor, and he got really mad about thathill and made the school put a fence around it and dig out the boulder.

“What happened?” Kel asks.

Papae looks back at her, and bends down and presses a kissto her forehead.

“You got hurt, da’vhenan,” he says. “How do you feel? Isyour head okay?”

She thinks about it.

“My arms and legs hurt,” she tells him. “And my chest issore. Papae, your face is all bruised…”

“Shh,” he says. “Don’t mind that, I’m fine. What does yourchest feel like? Where does it hurt?”

Kel wriggles around, meaning to put a hand over her ribs.But then her fingers brush something, and she frowns. Sitting up a little bitmore, she realizes that there’s metal on her papae’s wrists. And there’s ropeon her brother, too, and some bruises on his arms. She swallows, and then looksaround. She doesn’t know the room they’re in. It looks a little bit like theschool basement, but there’s no heater or little box windows. Just grey walls,yellow light,  and a man she doesn’t knowhandcuffed to a pipe.

The air feels heavy, too. Stuffy, but not, and she can’tfeel her magic very well.

She doesn’t like this.

“Where are we?” she asks again. “Where’s Nanae?”

“Shhh,” Papae tells her. His bottom lip is trembling alittle, like he might cry, and Kel gets that sinking feeling she always haswhen he’s upset.

“It’s okay,” Irenan tells her, shifting his legs around. “Wejust need to… to wait. Help’s coming. These guys think they’re gonna trick ourNanae, but they’re wrong. Nanae’s gonna get here and they’re going to be somad, they’ll tear this whole place apart, and we’ll be back home before dinnertime. We’ll have pizza to celebrate.”

Kel glances over at the stranger handcuffed to a pipe.

“What guys?” she wonders.

“The guys who hit Papae,” Irenan tells her, and Papae sucksin a breath and then makes a quelling motion at him. But Kel was pretty sure hegot hit, anyway, because he looks like he did. “They made that other guy, overthere, pretend to look like him so they could kidnap us. He’s a shapeshifter.”

Oh.

“I figured that out!” she says, pleased about one thing, atleast.

Papae’s eyes water a bit.

“I know you did. My smart girl,” he tells her.

She asked for the password, she remembers, and then… he musthave cast a spell on her.

That really hurt.

She sits up, and Papae keeps his arms around her, eventhough his hands are cuffed together. They’re real handcuffs, too, not like the toy ones she found under his bedone time. There are no soft fuzzy bits, and they look like they hurt. Kel leansagainst her father’s chest as she examines his wrists, and he asks her morequestions about where she hurts and whether or not her heart is beating reallyfast. If she feels dizzy, and things like that; but she’s starting to feelbetter.

After a while, she feels good enough to get up and lookaround. Papae tells her not to go near the stranger, but after a minute he letsgo of her so she can look and see if she can find anything that might help themescape. She looks for wards, like the kind Nanae makes, but she can’t find anysigns of them. There are no sigils or runes or anything, and she even goes intoa corner with cobwebs trying to look, and checks the undersides of some of thepipes.

Maybe, she thinks, it’s on the inside of the pipes. Nanae did that, one time, under the sink. Keldoesn’t have a wrench, though, and the pipes won’t twist in her hands.

The stranger clears his throat.

“Little girl,” he says.

“Don’t talk to her,” Papae snaps, furious.

The stranger doesn’t even look at him. He’s human, althoughhe’s not as big as some, and it looks like it’s been a long time since he had ashower.

“Little girl,” he says, again, clearing his throat. “I thinkyou might be able to get this pipe. If you can untwist it-“

“Kel, come here,” Papae tells her, in his no-nonsense voice.

She hesitates, just for a minute. Just until she remembershow bad it hurt, and how scary it waswhen the stranger was pretending to be him. And then she goes back over, whileIrenan squirms around. It’s hard to be comfortable with his hands behind hisback, and his horns are probably itching again. She reaches up a hand andscritches the bases for him, and he lets out a relieved sigh.

The stranger swallows, and then lets out a big sigh of hisown.

“Look,” he says. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t have a choice-”

“Shut your mouth,” Papae hisses. “No choice? You could havescreamed your head off the minute you set foot in Irenan’s school building. Youcould have called for the police, could have run, could have hit the firealarm. You could have tried any of that before you even attempted to deceive me, but instead you hurt my children!”

“You don’t understand!” the stranger shouts back. “You don’tknow what they’re like. Call thepolice? They own this whole town! They’re everywhere! You can’t escape them,they’ll always find you and when they do, they’ll do things to you… they’llwatch you and follow you, never let you sleep, never let you be… alwayswatching…”

He sobs.

“Save it,” Papae says, and Kel’s never seen him be so mad atsomeone who was crying before.

The stranger’s face twists.

“Oh, sure, blame me,” he snarls. “Blame me, when you’re theone who fucked one of those things.Fucking an abomination! And it’s myfault that they come for you, come to clean up the mess, when it’s creatureslike that ‘nanae’ of yours and fuckers like youwho ruin it for the rest of us! Make them think we’re all twisted monsters,while you go around happily making demon babies and perverting ox brats-“

“Children, cover your ears!” Papae insists, and he looks soupset that Kel actually does it, for a moment.

Irenan doesn’t, though.

He just glares at the stranger, and when Kel sneaks herfingers apart so she can hear better again, he starts shouting, too.

“You used blood magic on my little sister, you sick fuck!”he says.

“Irenan!” Papae scolds, because Irenan said the ‘F’ word.

Irenan’s eyes are shiny now, though.

“Well if he’s gonna say it then I’m gonna say it, I’m notletting him call us names…”

Papae makes a sound, and then leans in towards him. It takessome doing, and Irenan seems like he’s going to be standoffish about it, butthen he shuffles closer and presses his face against Papae’s shoulder. Huffinga little as a few tears slip down his face, and Kel feels her own eyes itchbecause there’s so much shouting and crying and bruises and trouble, and shejust wants to go home. She wants Nanae to come and say that everything’s okaynow.

Irenan’s still crying when they heard a loud groaning sound.Like a big door opening.

Papae stiffens, and then he shifts forward, and makes Keland Irenan go behind him as much as they can.

Some part of her expects to see her Nanae came rushing in,then. Or maybe just really hopes to. So it feels like someone’s dropped anentire bag of ice cubes in her stomach when three strangers come into the room.Two men and a woman, all with hard faces, and upside-down swords on theirshirts. They’re human. Wearing clunky boots and heavy gloves, and one of themhas a gun.

Kel’s never seen a gun in real life before. Not one thatwasn’t a toy, anyway. It’s shiny, and it takes her a moment to even realizewhat it is; for half a second she thinks it’s a knife, but it’s the wrongshape.

The strangers stare at them.

“Girl’s a mage?” the woman asks.

“No,” Papae says.

“That’s what’s on the record,” the shapeshifter tells them.

“It’s a mistake. She’s not a mage. None of us are,” Papaeinsists. “If you let us go, we won’t say anything. We won’t tell a soul, we’llpretend that none of this happened…”

The lady gives Papae a hard look.

Then she gestures towards Kel.

“Grab her,” she says, to one of the men at her side. The onewho isn’t holding a gun.

“No,” Papae says. “No, don’t you touch her! She’s just agirl, she’s not a mage, leave her alone, she’s a baby, you can’t touch her-“

“Hands off, leave her alone!” Irenan says, too, and Kel endsup wedged between him and Papae but the human is a big guy. Bigger than the onechained to the pipe, with eyes like ice, and he just backhands Irenan out ofthe way.

“Don’t you touch my son!” Papae shouts. “Get your hands offof my children, get your hands off of my children!”

He’s shouting as loud as Kel has ever heard him, and she’sterrified when the man finally grabs her and drags her across the room. Shekicks at him but misses, and his grip on her arms is hard enough to bruise. Thelady doesn’t even blink. She doesn’t even really seem to look at Kel, justright through her, as the man who isn’t holding her levels is gun at Papae andIrenan, while they both fight against their handcuffs.

Kel freezes.

There’s a gun pointed at her father, at her brother.

And she can’t feel her magic. She wants to do something, she has to something, she’s the one who has magic here but she can’t feel it, and they’re gonna hurt herfamily, they’re gonna hurt her family andwhere’s Nanae-

She doesn’t even realize how hard she’s crying until the manholding her shakes her, and it’s like all the breath gets rattled right out ofher lungs.

There’s a moment of silence with her gasp. She looks atPapae, and Papae looks at her. His face all flushed and bruised, and mad andscared, and he’s still trying to keep Irenan behind him, and he’s trying toreach her, and this is the worst dream Kel has ever had.

She wants to wake up now.

“Please,” Papaesays. “She’s just a baby. My baby. Please.”

“Nothing has to happen to her,” the lady says. Her voice iscold.

They’re all so cold, these people. Monsters. Ice in theirveins.

The lady keeps talking.

“We’re just going to ask you a few questions,” she says.“And you’re going to answer them. If we like your answers, the girl will befine. If we don’t, well… my associate here has yet to practice his skills on areal abomination. The girl presents a good opportunity for him.”

Papae looks like he wants to scream.

He bites his lip instead, as Kel looks up at the man holdingher again. What skills? What’s he supposed to practice?

It sounds… bad.

“What do you want to know?” Papae asks.

The woman settles her hands in front of herself.

“How many of you are there?” she asks.

Papae blinks, and swallows.

“How many…? You… you have my whole family here. Except formy spouse. And my mother…”

The woman snaps, and the man holding her loosens his gripjust enough to pull a knife from his belt. The metal gleams, just like the gun.Papae’s eyes go wide.

“No!” he says. “I don’t know what you’re asking! What areyou asking? I’ll answer, how many what, howmany what?”

The woman makes a gesture, and the man settles the knifeagainst Kel’s shoulder. Near her neck. The blade is warm, from where it’s beenpressed against his skin. Her eyes drift towards it. Nanae told her want to do,if someone had a knife like this. Stomp on their instep, and then hit theirgroin as hard as she can, and then their elbow to make them drop it. Theyshowed her how. But she’s supposed to run away, then, and there’s nowhere torun away to.

And the other man still has a gun.

Kel looks at her brother.

Irenan shakes his head, just a little, and she stays still.

“How many abominations are there?” the lady asks. “We knowthere’s a nest. More than just your spouse and daughter. An entire infestation;so tell me, how many are there?”

Papae looks like he’s going to cry.

“I don’t know,” he says.

The lady moves and the man grabs up her hand, and Kelstruggles but he’s really, really strong, and he makes her put one of herfingers out straight and presses the knife up to it-

“FIFTEEN!” Papae shouts. “There are fifteen!”

Kel’s heart is pounding, and her eyes can’t move away fromthe sharp metal pressed close to her finger. She’s shaking. She doesn’t want toget one of her fingers cut off, she doesn’t want to, she’s so scared and theman is almost smiling now, smiling ashe holds the knife to her and stares at it, too. The lady gestures for him tostop, though, and he does. He stops again, crushing her but not cutting her.

“Nanae!” Kel cries, as hot tears spill down her cheeks.Maybe if she calls, they’ll come. They come when she calls. When she’s scared,when Papae’s hurt and her brother’s sick, they always come. “I want Nanae!”

“Quiet!” the man snaps at her.

She swallows, her vision blurring.

“You’re lying to me,” the lady says. “So I see we need toestablish the consequences of that. If you give me an answer I don’t like, I’llhurt one of your children. But if you lie…I’ll kill them. After all, you do have two, don’t you? And in the end, I’m justgoing to get everything out of your spouse as well. So I want you to tell methe truth. Even when it hurts. Honesty is cleansing, they say – and Makerknows, your ‘family’ needs a good fire.”

“No-“ Papae says.

“Let’s see if Round Two goes any better. Kill the girl,” thewoman tells the man.

He shifts his grip on the knife.

“Do it, Kel!” Irenan shouts.

All three grown-ups whip around to look at her, and thenPapae makes a sound she’s never heard him make before, and surges forward. His handcuffs clink and the pipe he’s chained to snaps, and so does his shoulder,cracking like a chicken bone as water spills out across the floor. Everythinghappens so fast, then. The lights flicker and the gun fires, and Papae tacklesthem, and Kel watches, wide-eyed and up close, as the knife sinks into hischest while they all land in a heap. The air charges up like a storm. Like theblanket that has been thrown over everything has just caught fire. She can hearIrenan wrenching himself away from the pipe, too, sliding in the spilled waterand the lady shouts something and… and…

Papae glows.

 ~

 Screecher has loved Husband for a very long time.

Since before Small Red came. Since before the cycles came.Since before the hatchlings came, and the round-ears came, and the big hornscame. Sometimes, Screecher is not sure of what is true in the world. If theyare a bird, or a spirit, or a memory. Sometimes they are not sure of ground, orthe sky, or the sea, or the places where dreams live, or the places whereclouds drift. These things could all be lies. The world is full of them. Sometimesgood lies, sometimes strange lies, sometimes nice lies, and sometimes cruellies. Tricky lies and lies that are still true, somehow, and twist themselvesup in all the things that are and all the things that are not.

But Screecher loves Husband.

This is true. This is what makes Screecher… Screecher.

And Husband loves Screecher back. Has loved Screecher backsince the Beginning of Screecher. If he did not, then this truth would not beso true. It would not be so strong. It would not be so easy for Screecher tofind Husband, when they know to look. The magic that Small Red put in theirfeathers would not shine like a beacon in the place of dreams, and Screecherwould not hear Husband so well when he is calling.

When he is screaming.

When he needs them.

It is not an easy thing to fly through the space-between-spaces,and it is not an easy thing to fly through fast-moving traps of metal androaring. The car-beast that Small Red is using to speed towards Husband, but itis not fast enough. Small Red is good for moving in the shadows. Not in thebright daylight, of roaring things, and heat, and stone.

But Screecher is Love, and Love, old and long love, made ofmany tethers which cannot break – that is something that flies, when it must.

Husband is screaming for help, in the ways of the deep, deepneeds.

So Screecher flies.

Through the car-beast and through the Other Place, throughmetal and magic and skies made of both. Screecher’s wings tear and feathersbreak, and light spills through the places where its blood flows. But there isnot time to care about such things. Love flies through the roads it made,through Bestest Nest and dirt and sky, to where Husband’s heart is beating andvoice is screaming. Through walls of stone and will, that break like glasswindows when Love barrels through them, and sends their makers staggering.

Husband is screaming.

Hurting.

Loving.

Youcan’thurthemyoucan’tmybabiesmychildrennoIwon’tletyouIwon’tletyounohelpnomybabies…

Love does not stop flying until it reaches Husband’s heart.

It has never flown so close. In all the years Screecher hasbeen trying to make a place for Husband, they have been trying to repay him, insome ways. Because Husband’s heart was Screecher’s first roost, even if theyhave never truly been there before. It is warm, and bright, and like the neststhey have tried to build, it is always too cruelly confined by things aroundit. Sometimes things which Husband has done himself. Sometimes wicked gardenerswho have come and torn out branches. Ripped out nesting, and lit fire to the edges.Taught Husband to make his heart smaller.

But when Love reaches it, Husband’s heart bursts like asong.

Like a star bursting to life in the dark place where peoplehave hurt the ones he loves.

They love.

Screecher has loved Husband for a very long time.

Thenvunin… Thenvunin never knew how much, before thatmoment. Never could have comprehended that any living thing would love him –him! – with an affection that defied eternity. Even knowing Uthvir’s love hasspanned centuries, part of him has never quite believed in it. Not that he has disbelieved it, either, but some part ofhim, he knows now, had always wondered if it were truly possible. To be soloved. To be so…

But he feels it.

He feels a love for his own self that he has never known,beating in his own heart, now.

For a moment it stills him. Like a dream, it’s a moment thatseems to take forever, and is over in the blink of an eye. And then he draws ina breath, and his chest aches. The knife in it burns like the light spillingover his skin; like the weighted things at his back. Wings. He has wings! The thought flits through him in mingled aweand perfunctory understanding. Of course he does. Of course he has wings, howelse would he fly?

But there is more to worry about than wings.

Thenvunin scoops up his daughter, as the Templars stagger. Kel. Kel, hatchli… baby. Daughter. Hisdaughter, and that man still has onehand on her, still too close. Thenvunin snatches his child away from the fiend,and then gathers up his son, too, the angles of his body still awkward but heis used to that. Awkward body. Too many limbs, and his chest with too muchache, and his arm hurting but these are things he knows. Things that matterless than his children, and getting them away from danger.

Stay away from my children!

The Templars are blown back again, but they are quicker torecover, this time, chasing after them as Thenvunin struggles up the stairs.Battering at the heavy door, with wings and arms and the air is turning again,now, drowning him as the rush of light and energy starts to sink, like theheavy weights of his children in his arms. Irenan and Kel try to kick at thedoor, as a rush of sinking, sucking energy hits Thenvunin from the Templarsbelow. The Templars, gaining. He puts his children at the door and turns toface them, using his wings to block them, making himself seem bigger andscarier. He will rend them apart!

The last lightbulb in the room dies.

The heavy door flies open; torn back off of its hinges, aspitch darkness floods down the stairwell.

“Nanae!” Kel cries, running right into it.

Irenan is not far behind her.

“Go, go,” Thenvunin murmurs, as something strikes him again.Curses and prayers. His shoulder twists and the knife wound stretches, andbleeds. Red droplets spattering against brown and white feathers. He careenssideways, but something catches him. A long, dark tendril, that curls aroundhim as whispers thicken in the air.

“The other one! Shit, the other one’s here!” one of theTemplars cries.

“Yes. I am,” Uthvir whispers, with an unspoken promise ofviolence somehow carrying through the words.

“Maker-“

The words do not get further than that before they arechoked off in a scream. Thenvunin staggers, supported by things unseen as hefinally makes his way into the darkened room. He cannot see much, but eventhough the air itself is blacker than night, he can see his children. Andflashes, here and there; of sharp things moving downwards, cracking where theyrace over the stairs behind him, and rush through the air over his head. Hehears the mage who took his children cry out, once, and then go silent; hedoesn’t spare much feeling for him.

He makes it back to his children, to a far corner of theroom, and the sense of a familiar hand settling on the shoulder that doesn’thurt.

“Thenvunin…” Uthvir whispers.

He almost falls over, again. Heavy. Too heavy. His chesthurts; his heart hurts, too much, ohhis love, his children, he needs… he can’t… it hurts…

“Help,” he manages.

Hush, the darksays. We have you.

He gathers Irenan and Kel to him, and falls into dizzyingdarkness of a different kind.

 ~

Irenan loves his family.

He knows it’s not really the ‘done thing’ for mostthirteen-year-olds to be all mushy about it, and he’s not a really bigexception on that front, but he’d never deny it. In fact he’d probably clockanyone who suggested otherwise – and some people have. Being adopted’s notalways easy, for a lot of reasons, and being adopted by parents who look sodifferent has its own issues.

But Irenan loves his family. He loves his nanae, who scoopedhim up out of a public orphanage when he was too little to remember anythingmore than some bright colours, and the plastic tray of his highchair, and theway their leather jacket felt underneath his cheek. His loves his papae, whodotes and fusses and is always worrying if his horns are itching, if his hairis alright, if he’s hungry or cold or lonely. He loves his Gramma, who made himhis favourite pink flamingo costume when he was four, and who always calls himher ‘tiny grandson’, even though he’s nearly as tall as Nanae now and everyone knows he’s probably going to be big. Heloves his little sister, who’s always quiet and shy until she decides to beanything but. He loves his big sister, who lives out in the wilds and raises dragons and used to let Irenan ride onher shoulders until he got too big for it.

He loves his family. He trusts them to be his anchor in thestorms. So even though his nanae can get dark and creepy and weird, he’s neverafraid of them. And when his papae suddenly starts glowing and sprouting wings,he’s still more worried about the knife in his chest than what he might havedone.

There’s… a lot of blood.

And his hands are still cuffed. He’s got them slung around Kel,anyway, but he can’t exactly pull out the knife and he probably shouldn’t because then his father might bleed to death, but there’s so muchmagic going around he doesn’t know if having the knife in there is keeping himfrom healing or what. He doesn’t know exactly what his papae’s done, or if it’sall his nanae – his papae’s not a mage,he’s not supposed to be able to do anything – and he’s almost crying, becausethe place their in is dark and full of whispers. But they’re his nanae’swhispers.

His nanae came. He was right after all.

And they’ll know what to do, but they’re also busy fightingoff the Templars, so they can’t do it right now. His papae crumbles in a heapof blood and light and wings. Kel wriggles her way out of his grip, but Irenandoesn’t fight her, just makes his way over and helps roll their father onto hisback. So the knife doesn’t get pushed further in. He’s sweating, and his handsare shaking. His ears keep ringing with the sound of the shot that had goneoff, in the basement. The one that had nearly hit him. And the guy holding theknife to his sister; the knife in his father. The one that had nearly killedher, while all Irenan could do was watch.

He can hear them screaming, now.

He wonders if it’s messed up that he likes it. That everyshout they make, makes something in him answer with a vindictive snarl ofsatisfaction. He hopes his nanae is tearing them apart.

But then he remembers. He’s a big brother. He reaches overand covers Kel’s ears, because Papae can’t exactly do it, now can he?

She squirms.

“Irenan-”

“No, don’t listen,” he says. “Papae wouldn’t want you to.”

Kel gives him a mulish look, even though her face is alltear-streaked and messy, and she’s shaking, too. But then she reaches up anddeterminedly clamps her hands over his own ears, and Irenan kind of laughs.Bubbling and hysterical.

He hopes Nanae knows which one held the knife to her. Hehopes they rip off all of his fingers.

It takes a while for the screaming to stop, so he thinksthere’s a decent chance of it. He’s not sure where exactly their nanae is, in the dark. They can change shape a lot,and Irenan’s kinda thinking that they might actually be everywhere. But not long after the screaming stops, some lightstarts to filter in through the windows. The door downstairs swings shut with asolid clunk. Irenan starts to makeout more things about their surroundings. Dusty walls, and a table, and whatlooks like the front room of a house that hasn’t seen a lot of kind use. There’ssome bird crap on the walls, and cracks on the floor. Plants growing throughthe windowsills here and there. Outside he sees trees and bushes, rather thanother buildings or sidewalk.

Nanae walks over. Not really seeming to come from anywherein particular, but not exactly stepping out of nowhere, either. Papae’s stoppedglowing, although he’s still bleeding. Irenan has to resist the urge to rushover to his other parent as they check his father’s knife wound, but he doesn’thave to resist it for long. A blink, and his nanae’s fiddling with the lock onhis handcuffs, and then pulling them off.

Kel clings to their nanae’s side, latching on, and Irenantips forward and their arms come around them both. However small his nanae is,they never seem to have a problem holding everyone.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ve got you, now,” they say. “Nanae’sgot you.”

Kel starts bawling, then, and Irenan… doesn’t do muchbetter.

He’s not really sure how Nanae gets them all out of thederelict old farm house and into the car. He thinks they grow an extra pair ofarms, maybe, but he’s not really paying a whole lot of attention. Outside it’sa clear and sunny day, just as it had been a few hours ago. Nanae makes him andKel get in the car, but doesn’t stop them from watching as they heal Papae. Theair tingles with the spells they start casting, as they pull out the knife, andthen straighten the wrong angle of his arm.

Irenan watches their fingers carefully brush the hair out ofPapae’s face, and something in him eases, just a little. Something he didn’trealize was still tight and hard, that eases even more when he sees the steadyrise and fall of his father’s chest.

From the car window, he can see his papae’s wings betternow, too. Big and mottled, and there’s something kinda familiar about them, butnot in a way that he can place. There are feathers on other parts of him, too,Irenan realizes. And his fingernails are black, and clawed like Nanae’s areright now. Long and sharp as talons. His shape doesn’t change back, even as helies there.

“Is Papae okay?” Kel asks. She’s holding Irenan’s shirt sotight it feels like it might rip.

Nanae looks up.

“He’ll be fine,” they say. “He’s just very, very tired now.Magic’s not easy, especially when you’ve never done it before.”

“How’d Papae do magic?” Kel asks.

Nanae looks up at them, and is quiet for a long moment.

“He made a deal with a spirit,” they finally say. “It’sharder for non-mages to do that, but it is possible. He was… it was very braveof him.”

They brush a hand over Papae’s cheek. Irenan almost thinkshe sees it shake, a little.

“We have to go,” Nanae says, finally. “There are things totalk about – I need to check you both, first, and make sure you’re okay – but wecan’t stay here. And we can’t go back to the apartment. I’m sorry. We’ll haveto go someplace else, and it will take some driving to get there. So I need youtwo to just hold on, until we’re safe. Can you do that?”

Kel nods, straight away. Irenan hesitates a little longer.He has a lot of questions, but… he understands.

He does.

So he nods, too. Nanae smiles at them, and then he has themcome out of the car – first Kel, then Irenan – and checks them over. Healingtheir bumps and scrapes and bruises. Irenan hadn’t even realized how bad hiswrists were hurting until they stop. Kel gets double-checked when Irenanmentions that the shapeshifting stranger used magic on her, and their nanae isquiet like they’re being very deliberatelyquiet; like they don’t want to do anything that might seem frightening. Buttheir hands are gentle and careful as ever as they cast their last healingspell.

Then they have to fit Papae into the car.

Wings and all.

In the end Irenan helps fold him into the backseat, whichleaves just enough room for Kel to squeeze in with his head on her lap. Then hegets into the front seat, while Nanae drives.

He thinks he sees their hands shaking on the wheel.

His own have stopped, but only just barely.

“Are you okay, Nanae?” he asks, quietly.

They look at him.

And then they reach over, and brush a hand across his head.Between his horns. For a few seconds, their eyes slide shut. Like they’retrying to feel the whole car, and everyone in it; and know they’re alright.

Irenan gets it.

“We’ll all beokay,” they promise.

It’s not the easy answer. But Nanae doesn’t give easyanswers, they give true ones, and right now, he thinks that works better than aplatitude would. Because it wasn’t okay. None of that was okay, and now thatthey’re not in danger, he thinks he might be angry. He thinks he might be hurt,and furious, and frustrated, and a little broken by it all. But it will be okay. It will be okay again,because his nanae said so and because they wouldn’t tell him that if it was impossible.

He lets out a breath. They put their hand back on the wheel,and then start the car again. The engine rumbling quietly as they pull off downan unfamiliar dirt road, overgrown and dusty.

There’s nothing on the radio, and nobody seems inclined tolook. After a while the crunch of the road beneath the tires starts to lullthrough him, and exhaustion takes over everything else. They’re safe. Nanae’sgot them. Irenan shuts his eyes and leans his head against the window, andwants to be home so badly it burns. He’s too big to go crawl into his parents’bed anymore, but that’s exactly wants he want to do. He wants to wake up in it,five years old again, with Nanae chasing away the last of his bad dream, and Papaesnoring gently beside him, and his baby sister snug against his chest andprobably drooling on him.

He doesn’t know if that’s a real memory, or just a bunch ofimpressions fitted together. But it works, and so he imagines it, as the carrolls along and the scent of rotten basement lingers like a bad aftertaste.

Eventually, the dirt road turns off onto a bigger dirt road.And then onto the highway, just like it’s a weekend trip to visit Eda. Nanaekeeps driving until it’s after dark, before turning off and up another dusty,winding Fereldan road, and into the parking square for a motel that they’venever stayed at before. Kel’s asleep by then, slumped against the seat withPapae’s head still in her lap, but both of them are breathing and neither ofthem are bleeding. Irenan thinks he should pick up his sister, help out withthe heavy lifting; but Nanae tells him to go open the door to their room, andhe does, too tired to really manage much else.

Not that Nanae looks much better. They carry Kel in first,and then Papae, though. Settling them both onto the same bed, before they closethe door, and start laying down wards.

By the time they finish, they’re staggering.

Irenan moves reluctantly over to the unoccupied bed.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Nanae says, catching him by the shoulder. “Ionly warded one bed. You’ll have to cram in together.”

Irenan feels a rush of relief. He nods in acknowledgement,not even inclined to complain as he strips to his shorts, and escapes more ofthe lingering scent of that basement. He wants a bath and a shower and maybe asteam clean, some salve for his horns and oil for his scalp, for he barelymanages to get himself and Kel under the covers. Nanae tucks in Papae, then pullssome blankets off of the second bed, and settles down onto the floor besidehim, with Papae’s wings dipping off of the mattress. Really close to a lampthat’s probably going to meet a tragic fate in the morning.

Whatever, he thinks.

They’ll deal with it when everyone wakes up. Just like allthe questions they haven’t gotten around to yet.

[scurvgirl]

A Life Worth Living

More Dad!Marassal, when Marassal arrives that morning after Dirthamen and Selene meet.

Dirthamen belongs to @feynites

Selene belongs to @selenelavellan

The plan had always been to find Selene after Dirthamen came of age to have a relationship like that. So Marassal took him traveling when he turned 21 and every little lead that Marassal scrounged up came up empty.

He couldn’t find her or her son. They had vanished. Which, all things considered, was understandable, They were still reeling from the Templar involvement all those years ago. But it made surprising Selene with this very good man he’s raised difficult.

When they return home, he has an episode. His skin crawls and shivers, expanding and retracting in painful contortions. Desire has been denied and she regrettably does not deal with that and it’s been getting worse over the years. Dirthamen tries to help, comforting touches, making food - but there is only so much he can do while Marassal keeps his desire, the thing he wants, secret. His back shivers and his wings spring from his back from the magical pressure. They’re not pretty bird wings, he is not pretty when he is...like this.

He had never wanted to be pretty like this, the goal wasn’t to be seductive but to be terrifying. To be left alone. The desire for freedom beating so hot inside of him.

But it doesn’t phase Dirthamen, if anything it...helps cue him. Marassal has gotten those whole self-care for his abomination self down to an art. He keeps himself happy, he’s learned how to take care of himself by not fighting his desires, by accepting them and acting. It’s...resulted in a few issues, but he is alive and not dying. Self-care is important. But there are times where this self-care only goes so far.

Marassal’s lingers on the couch, heaving as his body tries to find an equilibrium in form. Dirthamen makes dinner - chicken and dumplings soup, and he helps Marassal slowly sip on it.

By the morning, Marassal is back to normal. Desire is riding a bit higher than normal, tinting his normally brown eyes purple, but he’s contained in his body. Dirthamen has questions, so many questions, and Marassal does his best to answer them.

“How did you become an abomination?”

Marassal blinks and when he smiles, his teeth are ragged and sharp, “That is not a story for my son to hear.” Dirthamen’s eyes widen slightly but he nods and moves onto more mundane questions.

Years pass but Marassal doesn’t give up. Dammit, he’ll find Selene. He’ll find her. It’s more than setting her and Dirthmen up, now he’s genuinely concerned for her. Desire aboms do not hide like this, it’s unnatural for them. The more they hide, the more they isolate themselves from society...it’s like a sickness, not being able to feed and sustain the Desire, slowly and surely corrupting the spirit to desperate levels.

It’s how aboms become the abominations of old.

He goes through all of his contacts and begins to infiltrate police databases. Looking for any clues.

Nothing.

Dirthamen is twenty-seven when one of the leads dings. Sort of. There has been a recent submission of a set of equations to a publication of Mathematics Today. The contributor of these equations is listed under a blatant pseudonym. He gets in contact with the publisher who have nothing to contact the contributor with other than an email.

Hm. Sending a “Hey! Your true love isn’t dead and he can be found at these marvelous coordinates!” won’t work. If anything, it’ll send her deeper underground.

Instead, Marassal contacts Dirthamen and poses the idea that perhaps emailing coupons to the bookstore will generate more revenue. It’s not a hard sell, and Marassal offers to take up the emailing.

He puts in the email he got from Mathematics Today and attaches the coupon.

Buy One $10 Book and Get one Free!

It lists the store’s name, the online store, the telephone number, and most importantly the store owner’s name. It’s...a bit of a longshot.

But then...then he gets that wonderful text. A strange woman by the name of Selene asking Dirthamen to come home with her.

Finally.

He drives all night to make it into the city where Dirthamen and Selene are set up. He picks up muffins and doughnuts before heading to the apartment. He quickly assesses the environment and finds it lacking - there are few places for indulgences, mostly laundromats, pawn shops, and small family owned restaurants. Not that there is anything wrong with these fine establishments, but they’re not particularly nourishing for Selene and that is concerning.

The apartment complex is even worse. Drab and depressing, colorless, filled with people who are unable to fulfill their desires. And what desire is filled is not the sort to keep Desire healthy. There is despair and longing but no actual desire beyond hopes and dreams. Nothing concrete, nothing sustaining.

The tendrils of her passenger eek out past the door to her apartment, flaring irregularly as he tries to gain a hold of what is going on. Marassal can only catch a few stray thoughts.

Is this real?

How is he not dead?

What’s going on?

Dirthamen.

Oh dear, ooooh dear. Perhaps...he should have reached out to Selene after rescuing Dirthamen. Assured her that her love wasn’t dead like the reports….

One of them would have taken him from us, his own Desire laments.

No matter, what’s done is done.

He knocks on the door and Des flares in severe annoyance.

Now, now, Des, is that any way to treat an old friend? Desire coos. A moment passes before the deadbolt and locks click open and Selene cracks the door open, eyes bright purple.

“What are you doing here?!”

He holds up the boxes of muffins and doughnuts and smiles, “Dirthamen! Dirthamen, darling, I’m here,” he turns to Selene with a smile, “my son asked me to come, he believes you need help.”

Des wriggles possessively in front of the door, clearly not wanting to share the only source of desire fulfilled in an...undetermined amount of time. Desire unfurls inside of Marassal and reaches out to Des, letting some of her power roll out and onto him. An olive branch,of a sort. Selene’s eyes flash and she shivers.

“Selene, I am not here to take him away - but he does need to keep his blood sugar up, otherwise he gets a little moody. In fact, here,” he takes out a doughnut and hands it to Selene as he walks by, “get your blood sugar up, it helps.”

He walks into the apartment and Dirthamen emerges from the small bathroom, smiling.

“Papae! Oh good you brought food, I forgot to ask. I was looking in the fridge and I didn’t really see anything, so thank you. Sorry Selene, I should have told you. This is my father, Marassal and he’s like you? I think, I mean you have some of the signs that Papae has when he’s not feeling good so I just thought that he could maybe help?” Dirthamen fidgets and Marassal sets the boxes down before walking over to Selene. Desire inside of him unfurls and presses into Des, asking for communication.

What is going on?!

We rescued Dirthamen as a baby - we made Mythal and Elgar’nan believe he was dead and we rescued him. Raised him, loved him, supported him.

A barrage of emotion swirls in Selene’s aura, half Des half her as the tenuous equilibrium they had suddenly comes into flux. Des is awake and starving. Desire pushes them to eat the doughnut, and she begins to nibble on it, slowly gaining more momentum as she goes. Desire gives Des a bit more sustenance, he drove by a plastic surgeon’s office earlier and his tank fill to burst thanks to that. Des practically latches onto Desire, demanding more.

Desire gives as much as she can before it gets a little tenuous for them. By then, Marassal has guided Selene to the couch and she’s digging into her second doughnut. Dirthamen eats his blueberry muffin and doesn’t interfere in the clearly magical and very demonic activities going on.

“I’ve been thinking about becoming a house flipper slash restorer. There are all these houses in the area I live in that are roughly one hundred years old but they’re practically decaying away, it’s just not right. I lived through that era, I know what houses looked like, how they should feel. I just need to get my contractor’s license...that should take what? A year or two? Making people’s dreams come true with homes...that sounds like a good profession, you know, I could use a business partner with it. You could handle all the financials of it, help good deserving families get good homes? Just until you’re on your feet again, if you want, just an idea. Still, I’ve been in the mood for a career change. Sex line operator is just not doing it anymore.”

“Papae!” Dirthamen sputters and Marassal rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’ve only done it for the past five years.” Marassal rubs Selene’s back as she finishes eating her doughnut, rambling on about his future prospects. Her breathing deepens, her eyes become clearer, sharper. Des settles a bit more inside of her, not completely and not without agitation, but it’s better. Much better.

Her eyes dart over to Dirthamen and Marassal waves Dirthamen over.

“I need to use the restroom, how about you hold onto Selene for a bit?” Marassal stands and Dirthamen takes his place. Selene presses herself against him almost immediately, needing that contact.

This is real, Des. Desire reassures. This is real, he is alive, he’s here, he’s healthy and good.

[justanartsysideblog]

*flings Melarue into the Everyone is an Abom AU and flees*

Warnings for blood, vomit, and torture. Kassaran, Ashokara, and Asaaranda (mention) belong to @scurvgirl. Selene and Felasel (mention) belong to @my-beautiful-thief. Varawell (mention) belongs to @lycheemilkart. Eda (mention) belongs to @palindromekomori. And Uthvir (mention) belongs to @feynites.

--- 

It is dark.

A drowning, gnawing nothingness that they cannot see through. It takes them several moments to realize that their eyes are open at all. There is nothing, not even the vague outline of a corner, or a ceiling.

Deceit is silent.

Too silent. They reach for it, but the edges of its consciousness slip through their mind like smoke. Drifting further and further into the Fade, the tail end of a whispered plea for mercy and a sharp stab of fear.

Deceit was afraid.

Of what? What frightened Deceit to this extent? 

They try and move, to sit up, and pain shoots up their stomach. Melarue gasps, and falls back against cool stone. The ground beneath them is slick with blood—their own, cool and thick—and the wounds on their body seem to have closed, at least.

As they awaken more fully, the numbness of unconsciousness fades.

Every hitched breath, ever twitch of their fingers or turning of their head ends in an stab so deep and sharp and visceral that it causes them to turn over and vomit onto the stone next to them, body on fire.

Where are they?

The last thing they remember is receiving a message from Victory. They’d hired him to begin searching for Nithroel, Faunalyn, and Aelynthi, and he’d replied that he’d found Aelynthi. 

The Templars have become too active lately.

They know the cause of that, of course. Some abominations are not as subtle as others. Too open, too willing to let their natures take precedence, thinking that they can end the threat by slaughtering those that come for them. But it has never been that simple…there are always more, always a way to catch an abomination unaware.

Laureline had thought she and Pride could take the Templars down. Thought she could kill and run and kill again and didn’t think to cover her tracks. She flaunted those kills, left them impaled on their own swords like some gruesome effigy because she thought too much of herself, thought herself more powerful than any of those who would come for her.

There are other abominations like her, out in the world even now. They don’t hide it enough, and the Templars take note.

That has always been the problem, really.

The Templars are always smarter than abominations give them credit for. Not all of them are bumbling idiots swinging swords and smiting mages like a child at play. And there is always someone stronger, someone smarter, someone older.

Assuming you’re safe, even for a moment, is what kills you.

It’s their own fault, they suspect, as memory slowly seeps through the cracks in their skull and the hair matted to the back of their head with blood. They assumed they were safe.

They remember walking down the street, heading to that café where they had met Kassaran in this cycle, to have dinner with her and their daughters…small things flicker behind their eyelids, as memories surface more fully. 

The light glinting off a hubcap, the street sign to their left, the cracks in the sidewalk beneath their heels—an alleyway, brick scraping against their back, digging through their jacket, Deceit shrieking, blue eyes and a whispered “found you” before pain, so much pain—the tips of clawed fingers sprouting from their stomach like the first shoots of spring grass—and then darkness.

It was not…it was not a Templar, at least.

Something shifts in the darkness, like nails skittering against stone, and they swallow.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” A voice calls out from above them. Above and around and everywhere, they cannot pinpoint its direction, only focus on the oily quality of it. “I had worried for a moment that I had gone too far.”

Something begins to build inside of them, and it takes a few moments before they recognize what it is.

Fear.

Aelynthi is safe. Kassaran is safe. Ashokara and Asaaranda are safe, they remind themselves, as they try and pull at Deceit, try and drag it from the Fade, as the tapping gets closer. Uthvir knows about Kass. Uthvir can…Uthvir can get to them all, and take their family somewhere safe; Selene and Felasel are together, and Varawell is visiting Eda. No one is alone. They are all…they will be alright without them. Whatever happens, my family is safe.

“I would hate for you to die so quickly.” The voice croons, and something presses against their stomach, fingers digging into open wounds.

That’s when the screaming begins.

[scurvgirl]

More dad!Marassal! It’s apparently all I can write right now *shrug*

Dirthamen here belongs to @feynites. 

Tagging @selenelavellan for itnerests.

“I write you a story!” Dirthamen declares, waving around three pieces of paper for Marassal.

“You did? Oh how wonderful! Let’s see!” Marassal sets to reading the irregular, large handwriting. It’s impressive at all that a five-year-old can write this well at all, let alone write a story. His son is so talented!

“’Once upon a time there was a mushroom. The mushroom was dark. He had a toadstool friend. She was red. She had spots. She looked like Minnie Mouse. The mushroom and toadstool liked to dance. They danced with two birds. The birds were friends. The mushroom jumped high. He wanted to fly. But he can’t. He is a mushroom. The end.’” Marassal stares at the papers for a moment before looking back to his son who is sitting at his little play table.

“This is amazing, Dirthamen! You are so creative!”

He is getting this framed, it can go next to the masterpiece he drew last week of his school. He added a tentacle monster in the parking lot, which Marassal thinks is brilliant commentary on how the school system tends to suck all the creativity out of its students in favor of standardization.

Dirthamen smiles and reaches for the papers again, “I wanna draw the mushroom.”

“Does the mushroom have a name?”

“A…a…gar-i-cus Bis…por…us,” he says, making Marassal raise his eyebrows. Desire shifts in him, perking her metaphorical head up.

That is the scientific name for the common mushroom.

Why do you know that?

I actually am able to pay attention to the picture books our son reads.

You got him a picture book on mushrooms last time I let you drive?

He was very excited about it.

“That is a very nice name.”

“His friend’s name is Minnie because she looks like Minnie Mouse.”

The scientific name is Amanita muscaria. It associates with deciduous and coniferous trees.

You are really enjoying this.

His face was glorious while reading that book.

Marassal smiles and smooths Dirthamen’s hair away from his face, smiling fondly. This is another for the great horde of everything this boy has created in this life time. And it’s moments like these, where he sees Dirthamen so happy, a little odd but also strangely cute, where he wonders what he would be like with his biological family. An Evanuris instead of a Sataris. He thinks about what his life was like before, with his brother and sister, with his mother and father. All he can picture is a quieter boy, a nervous boy that hides his pictures of large tentacle monsters sitting in parking lots and stories about mushrooms who befriend birds and can’t fly.

He takes a seat at the small play table and takes a piece of paper from the stack at the other end. He picks up the purple crayon.

“Whatcha drawin’?”

“A spirit.”

“What kind?”

“Desire.”

“Wha’s desire?”

“To desire something is to want it a lot. Like remember when you really wanted that cookie at Davie’s party over the weekend? You desired it.”

“Oh, okay. I’m gonna draw a spirit too!” He declares, grabbing another piece of paper.

“And what kind of spirit are you going to draw?” Marassal asks. Dirthamen thinks for a moment before grabbing the blue crayon.

“Cookie spirit!”

“You…mean like the Cookie Monster?”

“Spirit!” Dirthamen affirms, pushing the crayon into the paper to get that pure blue color. Marassal chuckles and nods.

“That sounds good to me.”