#if I hear a single more fight forever chant I might become one of those american wrestling died in 2005 guys

[emeritusterzo]

rewatching max’s return again and fuck, man. we’ve really lost the best damn thing modern american pro wrestling had

permanently terrified of how a future without punk, bryan, sting and eventually joe will look

[partyinthemysterymachine]

On Purpose

Harry wiped his hands on the dish towel. He leaned back on the kitchen counter and took his time rubbing his fingers dry, pushing the damp terrycloth fabric into the webbing, and rotating it over his knuckles. There was a man seated at the table that he wanted to watch fiddle with his smartphone. It’s been three years since they got home, took off their jackets, and packed them away into a box that went directly into the furthest corner of the closet. Those three years have been a hell of a bumpy hayride for the Mason family of two and the Sunderland of one. Honestly, Harry wouldn’t trade it for anything.

His hands were clean and dry. He tossed the bunched up towel back and forth, and inclined his head. “You good over there, babe?”

The wrinkle of his nostril answered that question. Harry smiled wide and warm. “What’s got you in a tizzy now?”

“I think I deleted my email,” James mumbled, distracted. “I dunno what I did.”

“You deleted your email,” the aging patriarch repeated, dumping the terrycloth on the granite top island. “From your phone or from forever?”

“Phone first, forever second,” he replied, the frown wrinkling his brow deepening. Harry strolled over and bent over the back of the chair, laying his arms around James’s neck. He tucked his dark head against the side of the one of blond and snuggled into his lover’s pale, and perpetually cold skin. James’s head was forced to tip to the side by the enthusiasm of his partner’s lion-like nuzzle, yet he had no intent to fight it. From there, Harry observed his frustrated swiping and fumbling.

He pressed a little kiss to James’s cheek and extended his arm, pointing at the phone. “Hold up, stop stop,” Harry spoke against him. “Go into setti— no, babe, go back. .. go back.. okay. Scroll down to ‘Mail.’” James felt the little frown pressed into his face. It caused his own to bear a soft smile. “Uh.. scroll back up. .. scroll down? Uh.. okay, what the hell did you do with— hang on.”

James patiently did as he was told while Harry patted his legs, then maneuvered his phone out of his pocket. All the while, he chose to tuck his face into James’s neck. Then he sighed and nuzzled up on his partner’s cheek again, wrapping his arms around him to hold the device out for both of them to see. “Okay. Let’s see here.”

He wasn’t so sure if he’d get over the strange initial discomfort he got when Harry unlocked his phone to a picture of Heather trapping James in a bear hug. She got caught mid-laugh, and he noticeably embarrassed, though his shy smile and the affectionate way he looked up over the camera at the person behind it always settled that discomfort pretty quickly. James liked that memory a lot, though getting to have it as a visual memory meant even more. He wondered, as he often did, if Harry knew what he’d captured.

It’s the little things that mean the most.

The picture was only there for a second, the settings menu being all there was to see now. Harry lifted his chin a little off his shoulder, moving the phone a little further down. “Maybe I should have my reading glasses for this.”

“Then go get them.”

“No. I don’t wanna move.”

“Put your accessibility settings at AARP member.”

Harry incredulously inclined his head, staring at his boyfriend’s profile. “Excuse me?” he inquired a younger man whose deadpan wasn’t holding up like it used to. James tried to withhold his smile, but it was no use; the only thing he could hold back was his laugh. A partial grin crept onto Harry’s face. “That voice sounds like James, but what I’m really hearing is Heather.”

It was war to keep the smile from becoming a full blown grin, but there’d be no sure victory from trying to keep it out of his words. “You might want to call an audiologist, then. Or tell your psych. You saying that worries me a little, Harry.”

James flinched and uttered an ‘ow!’ from the righteous flick at his ear. “Stop hanging out with Heather. She’s a bad influence on you.”

He leaned slightly to the side to look at handsome tyrant-in-training at his shoulder. “Why? She just says what we’re all thinking.”

“You’re a brat,” Harry told him matter-of-factly. “And she’s a brat. And he’s a brat - we’re all brats, hey!” he chanted under his breath at his ear, making James shake his head and return his attention to their little project. There were many reasons why he and Heather liked to complain about Harry, and this ranked in the top twenty of the endless list. “Okay, so,” the middle aged annoyance continued, “you should have ‘mail’ here under ‘passwords and accounts,’ and that kind of shit just doesn’t up and disappear, so.. what’d you do with it?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” James replied. “I thought it’d be a fun prank to see what I could delete from this phone and forgot to consider that I might not be able to get it back.”

“Look at you, Mister Technology Wiz,” Harry mocked. “I knew you were smarter than you let on.”

“I like to keep you guessing. It gives me a sense of superiority.”

“Wow, no shit?” He smiled at the soft chuckle from the former conduit and pecked another kiss on his cheek. “Okay. Restart your phone. If it’s still fucked up we can take it in to the Apple store and get it checked out. If you somehow unintentionally jailbreaked your phone, I’m gonna fucking die laughing.”

James held the appropriate buttons and watched the screen blacken. “Okay. Still want the cookie jar, or did you change your mind?”

“Nah, still married to the cookie jar idea,” he confirmed. “Just put it on somewhere on the counter to horrify guests when they come over.”

The phone lit up and James punched in his passcode. “We’ll keep it unsealed and put some cookies in for you to munch on in the afterlife.”

“Oh, James,” Harry sighed dramatically, smiling down at the picture he’d chosen as his wallpaper. It was a simple snapshot of Harry’s work desk. The yellow lamp light illuminated his spread of books, papers, and his open, but dark laptop, and cast dark yet peaceful shadows where they were meant to be. He’d known about that picture for a while. James has had it since he learned how to set a custom wallpaper on the same day he got the phone. Every time Harry saw it since, he nearly burst with the strain of resisting the urge to drown his boyfriend in kisses. “It’s like you know me.”

It’s the little things that mean the most.

“Not willingly.”

“Preaching to the choir. Okay, let’s see what you’ve got now.”

James leaned his head on Harry’s for the rest of their futile tinkering. Eventually he checked out of the the whole business and nudged his forehead to Harry’s warmth. He smiled ever so softly at the gentle caress on his neck from Harry’s heavy hand, and the kiss planted on his brow that followed. His eyes slid closed when it became evident that Harry had decided to work with one hand and left the other where it’d landed, lazily brushing sweet touches over his throat and behind his ear.

There was no solution to the email problem, and they’d both lost interest in it awhile ago. Now Harry folded his left arm across James’s chest, holding the sleeping phone to his shoulder as he combed his fingers up through blond hair that no longer smelled of lake water. He nestled his nose into the plainly styled cut and closed his eyes. James, in general, was a plain young man; always had been, always will be.

He loved that about him.

The dull thunk of the smartphone being set on the table didn’t affect him. In fact, he smiled so blissfully when James’s cool hands loosely found a place clasping his arm and hand that nearly all the lines of age on his face deeply creased. James felt it in his hair how happy that smile was. He loved to see it. He loved to feel it. It made his heart do Olympic gold medalist acrobatics, as it did now knowing it was there at all.

But lately within the last year, while his heart still leapt with joy to see that genuinely adoring smile on a daily basis (truly, he couldn’t recall a day where he didn’t see Harry beam like that at some point), he’d realized how many more lines there were. February had passed a few months ago. Harry’d turned fifty-three this year. And no, it wasn’t that he thought fifty-three was anywhere near being a senior. James had trouble explaining it to himself. All he knew is that his heart had begun to hurt while it celebrated seeing that look on Harry’s face.

The hurt was different than the way it hurt because he was loved, and because James loved him, too.

He idly stroked his thumb back and forth on Harry’s hand. The pressure against his head meant another kiss. James reached up and took Harry by the back of the neck, pulling him down as he tilted his head to get a proper kiss out of him for once.

You can’t say that to me, Harry! James had angrily spat at him at the time. I don’t want to hear it! Okay?! Just don’t— even start to even fucking think it—

Why? implored the distraught, heartbroken man. Why can’t I say I love you? I’ve said it before, James, and if you really want me to I won’t say it again, but I’m just— I’m trying to— I just want to understand why—

Because I can’t fucking hear it. I can’t fucking hear it from you. It drives me fucking insane.

But.. why?

His shivering, barely beating heart had sunk like an anchor from the pure agony that dripped from that simple word. Why? Why, he’d dare to ask? Why? James had hated that question from Harry Mason since day one. Today, that goddamn question made him burn so red hot that he wished that Red Pyramid Thing would come along and skewer him right through.

Because I don’t want to fucking hear it, Harry!

James had suddenly lost all that fury in a single breath. In one swift blow, he’d murdered a tired man who he’d caught smiling at him countless times already; who liked to take his hand and kiss his fingers; who liked to talk to him even though he had no obligation to respond; who fought with him, for him, and had almost given his far more precious life for his safety; a man that held him just because he wanted to.

I just.. I can’t take how sincere you are when you say it, he’d tried to explain, as weak and deflated as Harry looked. It’s like you really mean it, and—

I do really mean it. I love you. I don’t think I can even apologize for it.

But you shouldn’t, Harry, James had protested. You really, really shouldn’t. I can’t have it. I can’t deal with it.

Why shouldn’t I? the grief-stricken author had asked. Is it because of what you are? Is it because of what you did? Because of how depressed and hopeless you are, how sometimes you’re barely functional and a drag and kind of a shitty person and you hate yourself so goddamn fucking much that you can’t imagine why anyone would even care enough about you to pick a piece of lint off your shoulder? Is that why?

The had words hit home, and from Harry, wounded and shamed him to the point that he’d pathetically hung his head and stared at the floor.

“Sorry we couldn’t figure out the case of the missing mail,” Harry slurred on James’s parted lips. “Maybe we can ask Heather to figure it out later.”

A smile and a light breath from the other man was caught between another slow kiss. “You find a new way to disappoint me every day.”

“I have to get creative.” Harry’s palm pressed firmly into the back of his lover’s head to briefly strengthen their kiss. “Because I know you like it.” His nose was often described as a beak for the way it curved, and James thought it handsome, especially when it touched his own sloped one in what was known as an Eskimo kiss. “And what sort of bullshit would that be to disappoint you for me being unable to find a new way to disappoint you?”

That’s just too fucking bad, James. I’d say sorry to disappoint you, but I’m really not fucking sorry at all.

“Mm. But wouldn’t that have been a new way to disappointment me?”

“Oh, shit.”

What do you think this is? Tell me honestly, really, I’m very interested to know what you think. Because I’m going to tell you my side of things, so listen up, okay? This is not going the first or last time I’m gonna tell you this, either. I’ll say it every goddamn hour and every fucking day for the rest of my life even if you ever start to believe me. I’ll say it until the sun goes down for the last time and even then I’ll figure out a way to keep saying it to you.

Are you listening?

“Mmhmm.”

I love you. I am choosing to love you, because loving you is something I want to experience no matter the outcome. That’s it. Full stop. I know what you are. I know what you’ve done. I know who you are, even just a little bit, and I swear to fucking god, James, I love you. I’m not brushing off all the bad shit you’ve done or what kind of monster you think you are. You’ve done some pretty terrible stuff. I’m not forgetting that.

But even knowing that, even despite that, I have seen it for myself that you want to hear me say it. I hear it when you say my name. I feel it when you do something as little and thoughtless like grabbing my sleeve, Harry’s voice then broke and thickened, trembled with the beginning sobs of a desperate, begging heart. James covered his eyes behind his hand and had tried to clench his jaw to beat back an intense, once-foreign feeling that wouldn’t allow itself to be repressed any longer.

Harry loudly hummed and encased James in a strong bear hug about his shoulders as best he could from behind him. James’s exaggerated groan that sounded a lot more irritable than he actually was, which was not at all, got somewhat stifled against the author’s hairy, meaty forearm. His older boyfriend then transformed his hum’s pitch to match his groan, and together they raised their voices, swiftly building a challenging crescendo, a duel of lung capacity and stamina.

You never have to say it aloud, James. I know. You tell me all the time. You tell me all the time and yet you still think you don’t deserve to feel that way or have anyone give a rat’s ass about you. I love you because you’re you. I’m aware of everything you are and did and all that crap, and I love you.

Do you fucking understand me, James Sunderland?

James won the battle.

Harry forfeited with grace and maturity. Of course, that meant that when James decided he’d like to get up, the Mason patriarch used his bulky weight and strength to try to keep him in the chair and make it as difficult as possible for James to escape.

“Get— ugh, Harry! Get off me. Come on, don’t be a sore loser.” That groan he emitted at Harry’s decision to tighten his arms was a mite more sincerely annoyed than the last time. “God, come on. Why are you such a pain in the fucking ass—“

“Do unto others as you would have done unto you.”

Disgust distorted his face as the fact sank in that such a well-respected piece of ancient wisdom got turned into a crude double entendre. “Oh, aw, what the fuck— that’s gross, Harry. And blasphemous. And before you say it, yeah yeah, pot calling kettle black, whatever, don’t wanna hear it, I know, now let me up, old man.”

“Mm, mean, but not yet,” Harry both scolded and vetoed with a kiss to his ear. James sighed and sank his bodyweight onto the chair, still holding his boyfriend’s arm in both hands. He dropped his head the slightest bit back onto Harry’s soft shoulder.

He was wearing that cable knit sweater he’d gotten him last Christmas. It was a handsome, rusty orange, like if autumn were a color. Heather had laughed and called it a ‘dad sweater.’ Even though Harry agreed with her, and James sheepishly acknowledged the accuracy though he hadn’t intentionally chosen it with that in mind, he had actually blushed when Harry pulled off the navy blue he wore and donned himself in knitted fall.

Do you fucking understand me?

Harry wore that sweater often.

James smiled.

He didn’t reply.

“Hey. Harry.”

Listen to me again, James:

“Mm?” he mumbled on his pretty, pale neck.

I am choosing to love you. Because loving you is something I want to experience no matter the outcome. You need to internalize that. Someday, I want you to believe it.

“I love you.”

I want you to believe that you are so goddamn worthy and deserving of my love. I’m going to love you, or die trying.

James closed his eyes to soak in the emotional, radiant smile against his skin, and tightly squeezed Harry’s forearm to try to replicate the fiercely adoring way he wrapped him up in his embrace, even though the couldn’t at the moment hold him like he wanted to.

Everything I do, James - protecting you, caring for you, loving you, I do it all, and I do it fucking all--

“On purpose?”

His eyes opened, his head turned, and lake greens met deep, earthy browns. James loved the color of Harry’s eyes; perhaps even more than Harry claimed to love the color of his, too.

It’s the little things that mean the most.

“On purpose.”

[pathofcomet]

modest in temper, bold in deed

{dragon age: inquisition | m. | female trevelyan/iron bull | 13.8k}

| https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274679 |

the world always came back to the same two old things: what can you gain, and what do you have to sacrifice for it? the world ends like this: a flame being ignited, but her vision turning to dark. the end of the world, and it was only the beginning of lady trevelyan of ostwick, herald of andraste, inquisitor. only the first list of what she had to give up: her world, her life, a sibling, her hand. 

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an old, rich noble house is constantly in need of strengthening its political ties. Some do it through anarchy, some through religion. Most do it through marriage and tradition. It’s hard to break at what the world feels like it has known since forever.

She was not supposed to be anyone important. The youngest in a noble house, with no hopes other than becoming a Chantry cleric or being married off for any current political interest of her family. Her parents have been patient enough: she was the only daughter after four boys, coming in their later age – and they had time to boast the achievements of her brothers before her turn came. Her siblings scattered off: getting married and building families, forgetting about their snotty little sister, or registering for the Templar Order. It’s how life was supposed to go, and despite all her careful education, she had no one tell her that she can hope at a world different than what she was led to believe.

She read the tales, she saw the cities and the courts going on: sometimes without the plotting and backstabbing, sometimes free, but she never imagined her own life could be different. She was a lady and she had a duty. She knew how to wield her daggers, because not to would have been entirely foolish. She knew how to sew and how to play an instrument, though she was bad at lip-service, and as such usually ushered to a corner during more important meetings. She was rather dull and quiet (better to bite your tongue, than let out something that you might later regret, like why on earth people even believe these things? what in Andraste’s name am I even doing, at all?) – plain looking on top of that, too. It was easy for others to forget about her, and so it became easy for her to forget about herself.

Her mother has tried match-making ever since her first bleeding, but despite their status and their name, she was but the youngest, she was still young, and she was still of no interest to those her family wanted. So they waited: she sang the Chant some more alongside the sisters, went on various pilgrimages (more political than religious) with her mother, ushered off her brothers as they left to fulfil their purposes, as she waited (as she should, as she damn should). If any of her yearning for the outside world showed, when she looked out carriage windows for too long or when the dawn found her still awake, listening to the busy humming of an always awake city, nobody tried to bring it up. Young girls are difficult, but they’re supposed to get better, be prim, bite their fucking tongues.

The resentment grew, and because she didn’t have a name for what she was feeling, she refused to feel it at all. She was loved – as loved as someone can be in a strict family, and she had people care for her. She could never reproach the people around her that. But she learnt to be even quieter, she learnt to be smart and resourceful. She lied.

The proper gatherings of nobles tend to be so boring, after all. The corset is too tight, and her boob sweat is uncomfortable after too many hours. She feels weird with her mother’s rouge on her cheeks, too much with her skin tone, though she likes the hair let down over the shoulders, or the painted lips. But it’s always the same old gossip, the aunts and uncles gathered in a semi-circle around the youngsters, commenting – and darling, your daughter put a bit of weight on, right? she looks a bit stupid on those heels. And darling, she wanted to punch them.

Men approached them – the name doesn’t go unnoticed after all. Some act all proper, but they’re speaking of things she is not allowed to know inside her family, intrigues and interests she has read only hurriedly in old books under her blankets at night. She knows they like her all the more for that brief second when they can read her panic and stupidity on her face. Others are obvious in their flirting, during dances she is not allowed to refuse (her mother’s eyes burning on her back) – and they fumble over their lame pick-up line when she remains stone-faces, unimpressed. And well, some prefer to corner her on her way from the bathroom, in dark sides of poorly lit hallways, where no one can notice their faces, where no one can hear her protests. She burns with anger and fear and shame at their touch, is quick to act in shoving them away – but her heart cannot stop painfully thumping in her chest for the remaining of the night.

It’s these encounters in particular that make her realize how ill equipped she is for the real world, even the domestic one. People are so free in doing things simply because they can. So she starts testing her own limits and abilities, and where she finds herself lacking, she works harder.

She grows. She answers back more often now, a smile at the corner of her mouth when she knows she has the upper hand, but she’s always pleasant with those who need it, with those that give her no reason not to be. Plain, she remains for the most part. She likes it. It buys her time.

It was her mother that was supposed to be present at the Conclave, but she’s been old, and at the prospect of the long travels, and the cold on top of that, she quickly passed on the duty on her daughter. Her unfitting daughter, but there simply was no one left to properly represent the interest of their House – and if it is her rightful duty, she won’t shirk from it. Divine Justinia welcomed every single person personally, a presence like the sun itself. She met her brother there, and she felt happy, even when his armour bumped awkwardly against her when she tried to hug him.

But the Conclave was not that different from what she was used to, so she stayed silent and looked around, at all the political screams around her, all the upset dignitaries and skilful negotiators. The world always came back to the same two old things: what can you gain, and what do you have to sacrifice for it?

The world ends like this: a flame being ignited, but her vision turning to dark. The end of the world, and it was only the beginning of Lady Trevelyan of Ostwick, Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor. Only the first list of what she had to give up: her world, her life, a sibling, her hand.

***

In truth, the reason why she remained silent in front of Cassandra Penthaghast when she first her met was simple knee-jerk reaction. If someone is mad at you, screaming at you – you shut the fuck up, don’t make it worse. If she were to be honest, it was probably fear, just pure fear that made her adjust so quickly. She was scared of this new found power inside her, petrified at the implications of it (Andraste, the Maker – these are tale names, they should never have anything to do with mere humans). If not for Cassandra’s sturdy hand around her elbow, she would have crumpled to the ground upon the sight of those ruins, in the midst of which a breach was eating away at the sky, spouting out demons.

City ladies aren’t supposed to be fighting ghouls. She, in particular, participant at the Conclave too, is not supposed to be alive, but she is – and she wants to throw up at the surge of relief that she feels with each beating of her heart. She feels light-headed, like she betrayed some part of her humanity – and she wishes her own memories would come to her as easy as they seem to be stuck in the veil of magic. Another thing that she is not supposed to be familiar with: this kind of antique, powerful magic (it was supposed to be just in the stories, just another thing I couldn’t reac-).

And then she passes out.

***

The poor servant girl found her on the floor, forehead against the cold edge of the table, while she was trying to calm down a painful headache, calm her thoughts so her breath won’t start heaving. There’s too much happening at once – the lack of chains around her wrists must be a good sign, though. She is not a believer, but the adoration behind the nickname, the gleam in some people’s eyes – it is too much too bear, too much attention suddenly shoved her way. But she cannot run away, she has nowhere to go now that she lived through the impossible, now that she bears a mark. There’s no one else to do it but her. What a frighteningly simple thought: that no matter how unfitting she will prove to be, she’s all they have. A sword does not ask to be forged. She did not ask to be made into this pseudo-religious symbol.

But her hand is glowing green, and the sky is opening above her head, and she really wants to go and die right now, but there are people around her, braver and kinder than she ever hoped to be, and they’re relying on her. She wants to believe, in the end, that it is them that should give her a fitting purpose, away from what she’s known until now. She cannot bear to look at herself, she cannot bear to trust herself, so for the time being, she trusts their desperation, their need, their orders, their pleas.

So, she tries again. She smiles the next time when she goes and visits Cassandra, because after all they are both noble ladies who just wanted to follow their family’s path only to find it’s a dead-end. The comfort sits in what remains unspoken between them, in the way they wear their shoulders, in the way their voices soften just upon certain words. She leaves beaming, hopeful, at least more at peace. It’s just the same with Josephine, who is sweet like honey, caring and understanding, but just to hide the bittersweet, old familial resentment. Hell, if she doesn’t know what constantly having marriage shoved down your throat is like.

She must admit, she’s been…. upset at first. No one really wants to be a hero, or a leader. But she believes (she has to believe) that the fact that she can and want to help is enough. She doesn’t have much to offer, she’s lacking in combat experience, and she’s been snappier than usual, not much of a diplomat. She goes around the camp, asks for what she can do, but it’s all mechanic, her mind far-away, stuck on what she has lost.

She spends too much time harvesting plants in the beginning, foraging for ingredients and materials for the camp. She needs to make herself useful, while allowing herself some time to think this through – and it helps, in a way. No one gave her any time to mourn, unlike all the people she’s meeting who are grieving and forgiven in their actions because of it. She thinks of her brother, his ashes mixed with that of tens of others. She thinks of all these political links that she must navigate, that she thought far from her reach before. She thinks of her family, that she doubts she’ll get to see again – not in the same way, anyway. She spends nights wide awake, tears falling on the side of her face into the pillow, crying over the past that she left behind. It wasn’t even precious, it wasn’t even hers, but she’s so petrified in the face of all the unknown that awaits her once the sun rises again, that she can’t make herself sleep. She’s scared of all the power that’s been shoved onto her.

If she makes one detrimental decision, it could end fatal for the entire Thedas. So she sighs, picks another elfroot, greets another peasant – and counts her blessings, starting with each breath she’s taking.

Varric has these stories he likes to say of the Champion of Kirkwall, and she loves them dearly. She’s not much younger than that hero, but the tales reached her ears at first when she was a teenager, and she remembers the copies of romance books, all read several times through, how much they used to touch her then. Hawke was only a human girl in the beginning too. She asked him once, after too much to drink, in those early days: what am I supposed to do? How can I possibly act like their chosen one, when I know myself the most?

But a leader is simply someone who sees something wrong and goes in to make it better. If she hasn’t yet run away, she can do that, one task at a time. It’s a resilience typical to them human girls, Varric would guess, but this Herald of Andraste is asleep before she gets the answers that she wants, and he laughs in his ale, storing another story for another time.

Mother Giselle is comforting, kind. But even this person warns her, that she should not bear the weight of it all alone. But all around her she has seen only frail, heavy shoulders. Busy heads, dark under circles, people with more responsibility and more work than her. She doesn’t know who to turn to, despite any kind of understanding that might start flourishing between them. She’s not their friend, she’s their ally, and she must not bend, must not crack, must not burden them further.

***

When Sera calls her plain, just a human, she wants to cry with relief. She knows it’s in jest, but the comfort is almost unmatched – to know that there’s still a part of her that remains like before. Whatever mystery the world is trying to shroud her in, at the end of the day, when people meet her, she is still that plain woman, nothing much.

She accepts all help gratefully. If it was a mistake trusting, then she’ll deal with it when the consequences come biting her in the ass, but until then she must believe that the people who say they care about the big hole in the sky actually do. She tried doubting, thinking things over, but it was tiring and painful, dissecting everyone’s intentions like that.

It feels a bit unfair that in the middle of it all, she learns to find who she is, she finds a voice. Rather, she can’t ignore it. Cullen looks her straight in the eye when he asks a question, Josephine asks for her advice each time she finds a spare moment, and in the midst of the battle, her back reaches Cassandra’s. She feels selfish, relishing in these instances when she is acknowledged so fully, beyond any differences. She can accept or deny requests as she deems fit, and she ends up trying to fulfil most of them, the desperation in these people’s voices too much to tell them no. There’s nothing like their tired smiles afterwards, like the overflowing gratitude.

She did something. She made that something. Each action has a consequence, and this idea is so powerful that it is enough to get her drunk, to steel her determination, to make her accept this place more easily. So when Josephine asks, she doesn’t complain about the living conditions. When Cassandra trains, she joins her. When Leliana loses herself in her past, she lets her.

When allies pour in, one by one – she welcomes them. A long-forgotten relative in Dorian Pavus. A secret Warden, powerful mages…

***

And the Iron Bull. She hasn’t seen the sea as angry in a long while, and she supposes it matches with the fighting that breaks, with the swift moves of that massive warrior, with the precision and power of his group. Her own party has almost nothing to do as they arrive, and as the weapons are thrown aside, her heart is thrumming in her ears, because these are the exact kind of people that she’d like by their side as they fight against demons, assassins and whatever threats Andraste may throw in their way too.

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company,” she says, mind already made that she’s to buy their first round of drinks, once they’re all set up at the Inquisition’s headquarters.

Standing, the Iron Bull is almost twice her size. There’s a shiver going down her spine as she is forced to look up at him, hurry to keep up with his paces. She’s never seen someone as intimidatingly huge as him, and she’s absolutely enthralled. He’s good – and good is not a good enough word, but he’s also honest about his connections, all cards laid in front of her, charmingly so. It’s the easiest ‘yes’ she has said in a while.

But the beginnings are always the hardest. Everyone’s new, no one fully trusts each other, everyone’s questioning or doubting, there’s so much work to be done, issues upon issues.

“So whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

What a relief, she thinks, looking at this larger than life man smirking down at her. She can’t help asking questions, prodding at him – she’s fascinated by him and what he can do. The first battle they fought by each other’s side, she wanted to kiss that weapon of his, kiss in his battle cry – because suddenly everything became so much easier. He loves fighting in a way that is not at all relatable to her, and for the first time since she started the whole closing-of-breaches thing, she didn’t have to bite back tears as a mage healed her palm blisters, because for the first time, she didn’t have any.

So, she is glad for his presence. Even if it comes with exchange of information and secrets, even if it is paid. She feels a bit lighter around him, a part of whatever it is that’s weighing her down passed onto him, easier to bear. What an incredible revelation that is to her, that she doesn’t have to doubt his place, at least for now.

She doubts enough as it is: her own family’s help, their spare resources, the abilities of the young men they just recruited. Her ability to actually stop this force tearing apart the world. So to stop thinking about it, she lets her mouth run off, asking questions that no lady should have, hearing of things that she would have been protected from, in her past life. It’s refreshing and empowering, to get to experience it all, like this, with a slight smile passed between the two of them, the hint of something not yet entirely bloomed.

***

The future is cold and red and it doesn’t exist for her. It’s both a chilling and peaceful thought at the same time. Per others’ words, she should consider herself lucky, no army of demons to be faced, but time and space are tricky here, and she breathes anyway, both her of her own moments, and the one stuck in the future, but with no memories to prove it.

She dislikes magic. The way it can change so many things, so easily. It’s terrifying and unnatural. Dorian’s mouth running off, trying to explain things makes it just a tiny bit better. It’s reassuring to know that at least someone here knows what’s going on, can counter the weaving of reality’s fabric. Stuck like this, she can’t believe she can feel guilty for things she didn’t do, couldn’t do because she was dead. The red lyrium burns at her eyes and conscience, but she feels better with old allies at her side, with how surprisingly optimistic they all are. From where she stands, the future is just… bleak. It doesn’t stop her from fighting, from trying to undone it. In the midst of the battle what she thinks doesn’t matter; she just has to follow those that know better, just wield her weapons. She’s grateful to Leliana, that she also doesn’t want to know the truths of a what-if. Ignorance is bliss after all.

Between the local fighting, the dragons, the helping, the political treaties, the plant gathering… she closes the breach. Barely. They don’t even have the time to celebrate it before an attack is upon them, all that they’ve achieved gone in the blink of an eye. One second she’s surrounded by her people, the other by flames and rubble. So hopeless, so soon. She bites her anger this time, asks for suggestions instead, asks for help – desperate to change something, to not allow this to end.

At least, by now, she’s gotten used to Cullen’s orders, to Cassandra’s alertness. It’s easier to move, knowing them, knowing they have one common end goal, knowing that they’re on the same side. This time, when she has to put her life on the line, she doesn’t hesitate. It hasn’t been long, but this place, with the people in it, became something precious to her. If she’s to give it something back, wouldn’t be this new life awakened inside her the proper price? It’d be a lie to say she is not scared – she is terrified. The kind of power that a dragon, that Corypheus holds is not something that you can understand without seeing first-hand, and no matter how many times she might encounter it, it feels new and overbearing each and every time.

When she falls, she half wishes she’d actually die. Sacrifice done, struggles ended. Instead, she coughs out the dust from her lungs, presses against her frost-bitten toes, moans in pain at her bruised ribs, and after one sharp intake of breath, she starts moving again. Path found, made when not. It’s always a good sign when you encounter enemies, you know there’s something of value to be found at the end.

Her precious advisors have been fighting for the long hours that she spent resting, healing. She’d kill for a drink, but none of them are in a position where they can allow her this. Her only peace is Mother Giselle, kind once again, with faith so hot she feels she might burn against it. She doesn’t believe in her own power, she knows better than anyone her own fear and despair that made everything happen. The immense luck. The explanations that no one can understand or give her. It’s all so complicated, too complicated.

What she learns that night, in the heart of the mountains, is that she doesn’t have to believe, as long as others do. And despite the darkness of the night, a new dawn will always come. Theirs find them on their way to Skyhold, a new place that they can call home. She has Solas to thank for this. Her heart expands in her chest, humbled at all these people that are willing to come together under one common goal. It’s humanity at its most desperate, and at its best as well.

***

Cole helped them. Lately, she’s been thinking that’s a good enough sign of ally ship. To her, it doesn’t matter much that no one can explain what he is. It’s not like anyone knows how to explain her that much either. It’s a strange solace that she finds at the side of this spirit, that speaks in people’s last thoughts, a voice barely above a whisper. There’s no lies upon a dying man’s lips, so Cole speaks the truth at its barest.

“I used to think I was ghost. Then… I learned to be more like I am. It made me different, but stronger.”

She smiles despite herself. What a relatable description. Her hands start trembling a bit, listening to him. Her past life seems so distant now, buried under all the new scars on her body, under all the letters for the Inquisition, under all the spies and rumours. She can recall it, though: the days passing her by with nothing worth remembering or doing, her family passing by her without a nod of acknowledgement; a ghost. It is the Inquisition that made her into who she is today: a tiny bit braver, a tiny bit stronger, a tiny bit smarter, a tiny bit kinder. A tiny bit more like herself.

Here is the only place where she can belong now. And once, she’s been told that wanting to help is enough. So Cole stays.

***

Inquisitor. A new title. More to burden her down. Will it ever stop?

***

She wants to laugh in her guard costume, with Bull hovering above her, fixing the scarf around her neck, the night cold making home in her bones. She wonders sometimes, if he’s even bothered by the weather, and it’s another childish thought. With him, she finds that she is more comfortable than usual. She is still his boss, the Inquisitor, but she’s also something beyond that. She knows he is a spy, and yet she doesn’t fear for her life for even one second as they make their way in the courtyard, destination unknown to her.

They sit around a fire, her acting barely worth the name, hearing the stories of those joining her army. These are her fighters, the people under her – and it is humbling to know more beyond the eyes under a helmet. It’s a new perspective: the fears, the needs and the motivations of others.

She’s been thrown into all of this, place sculpted for her because there was no one else. But here, around this campfire, are people who willingly put themselves out there, who wanted to do something about life happening to them. She wonders if she would have had the courage, back in the luxury of nobility, to pick up her daggers and do the right thing.

She doesn’t want an answer to this, ashamed it might not be the one she wants.

But it speaks of the Iron Bull’s good leadership skills, that he went out of his way to show her this. To remind her that each and every one of the men under her are just as alive, just as much of a protagonist in their own lives as them. His care is touching. No one tried guiding her so close to the heart of the Inquisition’s ranks, to let her know that her influences matters in more than table war decisions and high court skirmishes. It’s with these people that she fights the hardest battles.

She is grateful.

***

Hawke is the stuff of stories and legends, and above all, she is alive and well right in front of her. She doesn’t think she can stop her admiring grin from spreading, or the grateful looks thrown at Varric. Once a hero, always a hero she supposes – and in the lines of Hawke’s shoulders, she can read the same guilt and responsibility that are oh so familiar to her. She’d like for them to talk more about something else than the threats they have to face, and the corruption in the ranks of organizations they’re not even part of. It’s frustrating sometimes, that they have to care about so many things at the same time.

And gods, she hates the Fade. It’s the start of everything, the end of everything. A place with no real rules, knowing more than their own hearts. It’s tricky, true to the worst of them. Everything is upside down, and her head hurts, trying to piece together what she is seeing with the laws of the natural world. She can feel herself freak out, and some of her companions are not much better. She feels bad for having dragged them into this mess, but whereas Hawke and the Warden are at least used to the basics of it, it’s the first time she sees the Iron Bull less than confident. It makes her fight harder, to get to the end of it faster.

Her memories are only telling her what she already knew: that only luck brought her to where she is today, a bad (good?) timing on her part, and magic beyond her understanding. But at least she can feel whole again, she can shake off the doubts, for she knows the truth now.

When the Nightmare appears, it’s not that scary. When it’s companion spiders do, though, the Inquisitor screams. limbs frozen in place. She fears many things, and above all of them, spiders. For Maker’s sake, she screamed her first night in Haven too, upon discovering a spider in her bed, but these are one hundred times bigger than the usual, and she cannot move. That is, until Bull is charging at them, and the sight snaps her out of it, brings her back to herself and the task.

But it’s not easy, fighting your worst fears, knowing the kind of power that they have over you. She wants to scream, bang at the graves, scratch at the reasons engraved into the stone – but she doesn’t have the time, she never does –

Stroud remains in the Fade. Dies there, as a hero, like the dead can get any satisfaction out of how they’ll be remembered. Hawke leaves almost immediately, the world a bomb ready to blow them all to bits, all the time. The Inquisitor is slow in her return, spider guts still glued to her hair and armour, unshed tears making her face puffy and red. When she talks to others though, her back is still straight, and the Iron Bull notices the changes in her expressions, the body language, and tries not to be too angry that he’s gotten dragged into all of this, when it’s so obvious that she’s just as tired of it.

Back at Skyhold, she draws herself a warm bath, postpones any reports, sits in the water, gaze vacant, face stricken with tears. It never gets easier, and she doesn’t know what to do. She feels exhausted deep in her bones, and no matter how many times she scrubs at her skin, she can’t shake off the horror. So she gets dressed, ready for a walk.

Her feet carry her to the courtyard first, where Cassandra… is kicking Bull’s ass. She’d have laughed, if they didn’t look that serious. She’s passed the task, and she sits there unsure, the stick in her hands, eyes unable to meet his. When she asks for explanations, there’s none actually given to her, so she steels herself, balances herself on her feet, and hits. She’d like to talk instead, but she doesn’t trust her voice, and if this is what he needs, then who is she to deny him?

“Didn’t know you like it that rough,” she jokes, a smile finally on her face.

The Iron Bull stops, returning the gesture before replying, making up his mind that maybe it’s time to let this human meet his favourite group. With alcohol and some jokes, he’s sure it’ll be fun. And just maybe, she’ll stop frowning a bit, the lost look on her face gone for a while. She agrees to meet them that night, and he talks about each of his men in the Chargers with so much pride, so much warmth that she can’t help but feel welcomed and happy. She knows it’s an honour to be here, between this knot-tight group. She knows that no matter if she’s their boss or not, he wouldn’t have let her in if he didn’t deem her worthy. So she accepts another drink, asks for another story, makes herself more comfortable on the chair.

By the end of the night, they’re singing tales of their achievements, and she can’t help following their tune, humming under her breath. Then, it becomes a more common occurrence, finding Bull in the tavern, stopping him for a drink or a short chat, finding more and more about him.

"My people don't pick leaders from the strongest, or the smartest, or even the most talented. We pick the ones willing to make the hard decisions... and live with the consequences," he tells her once, when she stumbles in the tavern after a tiresome war council, after finding out the dead of several hundreds, under the Inquisitor’s symbol. She’s not sure if it’s supposed to make her feel better, that she’s getting immune to making life-altering choices from morning to night. But his voice is laced with something… something maybe like admiration, or at least respect. It makes her feel like she’s less of a mistake.

He’s a man of power and a man of honour, just as she first thought him to be. But he’s also kind, attentive, and so subtle. He is not looking for acknowledgement in any other skill than fighting, and this makes him all the more fascinating for her. That she could start praising him and not stop for the next thirty minutes, and yet here he is, acting like he is not doing much.

Still, she’s thankful for him. She isn’t sure if it’s his Ben-Hassrath training, but he always seems to read her mind, ease her mind when she’s tensioned. It’s not something that she would have expected from the most intimidating of her allies, but she is not complaining. It’s moment like these that make her slip out flirty words without realizing. It’s the sight of him, suddenly, at the edge of her vision, that make her yearn to stop any important discussion, to go and get him instead.

This time, it’s actually important business with him, his people. Krem and his chief are fighting, getting her through a possible alliance with the qunari. She’s gotten used to this too: making out his words between ragged breathes and swords scratching. She wouldn’t even dream of denying him, not after he worked so hard, on both his sides, to make this work.

The mission reminds her of the first time she met the Chargers. The same stormy sea, the gloomy rain. She can feel her clothes sticking to her skin, her hair heavy on her back, but she’s gotten used to ignoring what she doesn’t like about her life. She focuses on Bull’s old acquaintance instead, curious at the memories knotting them together.

Both her and Gatt noticed that the easier tasks went to the Chargers, but whereas he seems mad, incriminating… the Inquisitor just thinks it natural of him. He cares about them enough not to make them fight mindlessly. But in the face of an ambush, does he care about them more than he cares about his people?

Even she can’t guess his answer: The Inquisition or the qunari? Whatever choice, he’ll have to live with it for the rest of his life. If he picks his men, he’ll become what he’s hated most, what he has hunted once, as an agent of the Ben-Hassrath. If he chooses to follow the Qun, the men he has spent the last years with are all dead.

She sits to the side, silent as they argue, her heart aching for him. But then Bull turns towards her, eyes questioning and hurt. She doesn’t know if she wants to hate him or love him for seeking out her say in it. She’s only heard of his life in the Ben-Hassrath, tales that are far away, both in time and space. But she has seen the way he cares about the Chargers, she has seen them in action so many times before, and she can’t imagine there being a day when they won’t fight together, as one, celebrating a win at the end of the day.

“Call the retreat,” she says, stunned that her voice didn’t fail her.

Gatt’s words slap at her, shame her, anger her. She knows that people die either way in this exchange of theirs, and fates are changed, but she can’t help the rage taking over her at his own. It’s not fair, the choice is made, no matter what else is said now… it has been done. She has never heard the Iron Bull sound quite as pained as in those moment following the boat going up in flames, parts of his people dead.

There’s only one place where he can return now. To them. She wonders if this choice is also binding him to the Inquisition in a way, for now. There’s no alliance between their organization and the qunari, after all. Bull becomes Tal-Vashoth.

They send assassins in the end, though he deals with them on his own. She wants to slap that disappointed smile off his face, or the knowing words out of him. She’s angry because she’s worried, and his chiding is well-deserved, so she takes it all mutely, eyes scanning his body for wounds instead, heart sinking in the pit of her stomach at the misunderstanding.

He knows way more than her. She doesn’t have the training necessary to help him, yet he chose her as possible help in this assassination attempt. She stops him with a sigh.

“How’s the wound?”

He shrugs it off, but she’s still slowly reaching for his arm. He doesn’t move away, so she grabs him, makes him follow her to her chamber, where she’s at least busying herself to cleaning his wounds.

“Tal-Va-Fucking-Shoth.” The bitterness behind it stings. She sees a man no different than the one she has met before, just more… burdened. She tries telling him as much, but he’s stubborn, lost. It makes her want to shake some sense into him.

“Hey!” Her voice is strong; her gaze is firm. “You’re a good man.”

There’s a pause, their eyes meeting, his stubbornness breaking, her words settling in.

“Boss… Whatever I miss, whatever I regret… this is where I want to be.”

She smiles, letting him go. He has to report the two dead assassins, after all, and she has an evening meeting that she needs to get going for. But she decides to remember his words, keep them locked in a dear part of her heart, return to them whenever she doubts herself next, hoard his reassurance like something precious and important, to rely on.

***

She swears she’ll get an eternal headache from all the arguing between her advisors, the numbers that she has to check, the judgement that she has to bestow. She walks around like a blind man, stumbling over stairs, hoping the other person gets out of her way before they knock against each other, her nose stuck in record books or letters for aid. This is exactly why she doesn’t notice Bull in her room, on her bed, until he speaks; why she shivers upon hearing his voice, dropping the papers all over the floor.

She’s blushing before he’s even done with his sentences; what a crass way of phrasing it, after all (though now her mind is running off, imagining exactly how tantalizingly satisfying riding him would actually be). He cares though, enough to ask her if she is sure, several times. By the time he walks across the room to reach her, her heart is beating in her throat, heat setting aflame her entire body.

She gasps when he touches her, his palm warm at the small of her waist, the other hand pining her arms to the wall behind her. She can feel his thumb pressing patterns into her skin, where her shirt has ridden up. At this point, she’s already so needy that she begs him to stay. Despite his words, the first kiss is soft and slow, testing exactly how they match, how they taste. With each second, Bull grows needier, pressing hungrily against her lips, his tongue finding hers.

She’s light as a feather in his arms, as he carries her towards the bed. He’s read her too many times, he knows her too well now – and beyond the lustful gaze, she’s a human noble from a heavily religious family, and her experience ends with several make out sessions, heavy petting and the occasional steamy novels. It excites him more than he thought, knowing that this sheltered, shy daughter is burning at the image of having him, is blushing at his words and at his touches.

She needs this, needs it more than she needs the extra hours of sleep or a good feast. Her body is all tense under him, outside demeanour brought into bed with him, and Bull hates it. He determines to coax her out of her role, to have her without an armour, without a title. It’s so thrilling he can barely keep in a groan.

“Legs open,” he demands, tapping at her knee once, looking her down, waiting.

She hurries to listen, hypnotized by the commanding tone in his voice. Her eyes are sparkling with curiosity, and his fingers are slow and kind as they find the waist of her pants, slowly dragging them down, off her. Her smalls are wet already, and she’s smelling so prettily already, all for him. But Bull is patient, and with parts of her clothes thrown on the floor, he focuses on the naked skin left for his exploration. He takes hold of one of her heels, starts slowly kissing his way up on her leg.

She squirms under him, and his eyes cut as they finds hers. “Don’t. Move.”

He punctuates his remark with a bite against her inner thigh, and she gasps his name. He works slowly, licking and biting, teasing the areas that get a reaction out of her.

“Please,” she begs, and Bull chuckles against her covered heat, making her shiver.

“Please what?” He teases, looking up at her: the inner thigh covered in love bites, the red cheeks, the hands knotted in her sheets.

“Touch me,” she breathes, sounding like a whiny brat. His hands roam over her body again, moving higher, helping her out of her shirt, freeing her chest. His mouth hungrily follows, lips around one of her nipples, a hand around the other. She’s more vocal now, low moans and sharp gasps, body reacting to his actions, and he smiles, biting lightly against her skin before switching his focus once again.

He trails kisses down between her legs again, and with a sharp move, she’s left naked before him. She’d feel more embarrassed if not so desperately needy, over the fact that he’s still fully dressed in front of her.

He starts slow, at first. A kiss so light against her cunt, that she would have barely felt it if not accompanied by his breathing. One lick, deliciously slow, along her folds, and she’s left gasping for air. Fingers kneading at her thighs, pressing so hard that she’ll bruise, as his tongue darts forward, entering her.

“Oh-” Her voice is soft, barely there, eyes shut tight as a ripple of pleasure goes through her body. She’s so receptive that she thinks she’ll die right here and then, legs wide around Bull’s head (and what a way for the young Inqusitor to go). But with each of his ministrations she’s feeling more and more; two of his fingers pumping inside her, his mouth around her clit.

“Bull-“ she warns between pants, and she can feel him grin against her as he speeds up. She comes with a small gasp, a smile on her lips, and Bull carries her through her orgasm, not stopping, licking at her juices.

When he finally rises, his chin is glistening, and her face burns up in reply. He leans close, kissing her, letting her taste herself, and she moans against his lips. One of his hands is tenderly petting her hair.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Fantastic.” She beams up at him, because it is the absolute truth.

“Good,” he smirks. “Then you’re ready for more.”

She yelps when he drags her closer, kisses her more urgently. He can feel him between their bodies, and she moves just slightly, creating the smallest of frictions. Bull moans, a sound that she’s sure she will never tire of, before pinching her ass for misbehaving.

He lets her go just for a few seconds, enough to discard of his clothes as well, and when he turns back to her, she stares. Honestly, it’s impossible not to. She has seen him run around half naked countless of times, she has seen him fight and train, but like this, entirely naked, she can appreciate the firm muscles, and the strong body lines all the more. His thighs alone look like they’ve been sculpted by the gods, and she can feel herself clenching at the sight. Then her gaze moves, falling on his dick – and all the staring would have probably harmed the ego of a less self-confident man. As it is, Bull just grins.

Then, with absolute certainty, she says: “It won’t fit in.”

He laughs, heartily. “We won’t know until we try, will we?” Though she can see him still growing at her comment, and her eyes go wide.

“You’ll break me in two,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, though she’s still laying down, her legs clamping shut in arousal. Bull licks his lips at the sight, dick twitching.

He moves just to retrieve something from the floor, before he’s switching his entire attention back to her. He slowly takes her hands in his, moves them above her head. She can feel the leather of his belt around her wrists, pining her to the bed, but she doesn’t question it, doesn’t flinch against it, her eyes curious, but not fearful. She rubs her legs one against each other, searching for the tiniest bit of relief in the movement. His voice this time is softer.

“No matter when, if you tell me to stop, I will.” He looks at her then, making sure the words registered properly, before he straightens once again above her.

“Now, be a good girl and open your mouth.” Her head snaps at him, and for a second he’s sure she’ll call it off. Then, slowly, she licks her lips, gaze moving towards his dick, and she opens her mouth, tongue out, looking all warm and invitingly.

He moves slow, let’s her adjust to the size, taste of him. She’s new at this, but what she lacks in experience, she makes up in enthusiasm. She licks at him at first, so soft and slow that it drives him half mad, then more and more passionately. His hand moves, a finger tenderly caressing her cheek, both sweet gesture and a signal, and she takes him in, as far as she can go without gagging. Barely half of his dick disappears in her mouth, her head bobbing around it, but he can feel her teeth against his sensitive skin, and her mouth is so warm, it feels so good, that he starts moving his hips, fucking into her mouth, without thinking too much about it. She tries her best to adjust to his pace, to accommodate as much of him as she can, and it’s the sequential moan that vibrates against his dick that eventually reminds him of what he is doing here.

With a tense jaw, he pulls out. There are tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and he kisses them away, moving afterwards to her mouth; a praise for her work. She smiles against him.

The sheets between her legs are stained with her arousal, and Bull smirks; he would like to tease her about it, show to her that she wants this as much as he does, but he remembers how adorably cute she’s been before, how pliant he’s been under his hands and words, and he lets her go just this one time. His hands are moving her legs apart once again, and her eyes are watching him, half still scared, half excited.

There’s no point in discussing it further: if it’ll be too much for her, he’ll stop, make her come again in the same way he did the first time, issue laid aside. If not, they’re both about to have some mighty great fun. He places himself at her entrance, and with a small nod in her direction, her teeth biting her lips, he pushes.

She panics at first, tensing under him, cunt clenching around him, her legs clasping around his body. He moves his hand around her waist to guide her, his thumb again melding patterns into her skin, the motion calming. She breathes in, slowly relaxing, and following her body’s signals, Bulls moves again, until he is all fit snugly inside her.

Her eyes are clasped shut, her nails digging in her skin. He stays like that, waits for her to reach some kind of comfort in the position, in the newness of the situation; his lips mindlessly kiss against her temple, her wrists. Eventually, she begins moving: slow at first, then faster, needier, hips rocking against him, chasing some relief. He starts matching her every move, reaching deeper and deeper parts inside her each time he almost pulls out, only to slam inside her with all his force. She moans, cries out broken words, parts of his name, swears.

“Gods, harder,” she moans, and it’s the only plea he plans to listen to. He grins, grunting in pleasure, cunt so sweet, fitting him so well, cries so loud, the smell of sex so strong, the sound of skin slapping against skin so delicious. He loves it all.

He moves a hand upwards, fingers playing with her nipples, grabbing at her boob painfully. It gets a reaction out of her, he can feel her clenching around him – so he leans closer and bites at her neck, hard. She comes with a cry, and there’s a smirk on his lips as he keeps fucking her through her high, coming, too, a minute later, inside her.

She’s all spent, eyes barely open – but still, when he moves out of her and away, she moans, a soft cry in protest at the lack of warmth. He’s staring at her cunt, his cum leaking out of her, before the sound of her arms straining against his belt snap him out of it. He’s quick to move, untie his knot, rub at her wrist and fingers, kiss the bruising spots. She sighs against his touches, rolling towards him, seeking more of him, in her tired state. He chuckles, but still moves away.

Instead, he grabs her water basin and a piece of cloth, and returns to the bed. The water’s cold, and she flinches when he starts cleaning the mess between her legs, but allows him access after the initial reaction, grateful that she doesn’t have to do this on her own, knowing that it would have been postponed until she wakes up.

There’s no awkwardness between the two, as he goes on with his care, as she tiredly checks the marks he left behind on her body. But despite how spent she feels, there’s also no stress left between her shoulder blades, no worries she can immediately recall. Maker, she’s been fucked good. And beyond that, for once since everything started, she hasn’t been in control. A most thrilling and exciting revelation.

Bull leaves without saying anything more, though she can hear him ushering away Leliana through the door, and she is most grateful. Only then does she allow herself to fall asleep.

***

The next day, she walks around… probably funny. She feels like her insides have been shifted around and put together weirdly, but she’s happy that the process has been… way less painful, and way more enjoyable than the stories she’s heard made it out to be. All praise probably delivered for Bull. She feels weirdly fascinated by this side he pulled out of her, and she can barely stop her mind from running after the memory of their time together for enough to still be productive.

But despite what happened, for the next week she cannot find a moment alone with him. After the first few days, she starts wondering if they’ll even discuss about it at all. But she’s been calling up meetings with Cassandra, went training with Cullen, and entertained nobles by Josephine’s side. People came rushing to her with requests, and the Inquisitor’s chair was waiting for her judgements each morning. The Chargers have been sent on a short mission, the courtyard suddenly emptier without them.

By the time the night falls, she is so tired that she can only quickly wash up and fall asleep. She knows they’re back because she can hear Krem hoarsely singing alongside the rest of the Chargers, and there it is- Bull’s typical, pleased laughter, after a job well done. She passes by the tavern smiling, stack of papers in her arms, and she decides she should celebrate alongside them, Inquisitor style, by checking all of these reports.

There’s a cup of mulled wine with cinnamon on her desk, most likely Cole’s doing, and she smiles against the rim as she tries it out. Around midnight, Josephine comes around, reminding her that they’re all not that serious, worried about the lights still on in the Inquisitor’s chambers. No matter what she feels like in the worst moments, she doesn’t mind this life that much, when it is like this: songs fading out into the night, friends looking out after each other, in so many different ways.

She makes her resolve to actually talk to him the next day. She idles half of the day away before she musters the courage. He’s in his usual spot in the tavern, splayed on his chair, drinking his ale, and she’s light-headed with nerves as she makes her request to see him alone. She hates that she has to spell it out for him; he knows better, but he likes to fuck with her, make her work for every word leaving his mouth.

“What’s on your mind, boss?”

“You are!” she sounds like a child again, petulant that she has to voice her requests. She can feel her insides burning just from having him in such a close proximity, his voice rumbling low. Inside this room, he is commanding her every word and action, and he moves around like he owns the place. She wants to drop to her knees in front of him, just from the power of his attitude alone.

“When it’s someone you care about, you give them what they need.”

She can go with this: first his admittance, that she is at least worth something to him, and then the fact that he knows what she needs better than she does. But how is she supposed to know such a thing, when she never had the respite to question herself on such matters?

So, she has Bull for this. He explains everything in that kind voice of his that he used in bed with her before, talking of everything expertly, carefully – powerfully. She already trusts him with her life each and every time they go out into the battle, and she’s about to relinquish him power over her body and her pleasure, too. Just the thought of it leaves her so much lighter, and his reasoning is actually touching: a mutual arrangement that benefits them both, but somehow born out of him knowing that she desperately needs someone to overpower her, to make decisions in her stead, at least in something.

He’s so much bigger than her, and he’s an absolute madman in a battle. He could snap her neck in two without any effort, and she fears the potential of this power only, enough to send a surge of excitement through her body. The fact that she trusts him exactly because of that is the foundation of all of this.

“Take me,” she breathes, hands already reaching for him.

He takes her then, against the wall, arms held in one of his, the other rough at her waist, pumping into her, their breeches at their knees only in their haste, no preparation. It burns at first, but a deliciously sweet burn, that turns into pleasure with each of his waist’s movements, and he grunts into her ear, she bites into his shoulder. There’s the slight movement, fingers clasping around her throat, barely any pressure against her skin; but enough to have her clench against him, have her coming fast and hard, panting in the space between them, foreheads touching, as he follows, spilling his seed inside her.

Then it becomes a common occurrence; finding him in her room after a particularly tiring day, him slapping her ass as they pass each other on Skyhold’s hallway, running away from boring meetings to make out with him in cramped closets. Sometimes it’s just him waiting with a warm cup of tea, though, massaging her sore muscles after a particularly tiring day. Sometimes it’s him asking her to train together, until they’re both spent on the ground, exchanging random stories. Sometimes it’s her helping out Krem with sharpening his sword, or their healer with renewing his supplies. Sometimes it’s just the two of them and the width of one room, nothing beyond it.

***

Cole is scary sometimes; he knows so much. It’s not even that he knows, but that he shares it, says it out loud, unfiltered. She likes this about him a lot, that he offers her a glimpse at the world as it truly is, beyond bitten tongues, shameful secrets, stifled pain. That he does it out of want to help, that he doesn’t want to have dumb people collapse under the unspoken. Most of the times, the timing sucks, and it ends up in embarrassment – but the effect is enlightening either way.

Still, she can’t stop shaking while he speaks with her, for the first time, of the things she carries locked deep in her heart.

“War and weariness, blood and battle. Life, learning to lead, clash, kill. And past that, the weight of all, on you. All the hopes you carry, fears you fight. You are theirs. It must be very hard. I hope I help.”

She knows him kind, she knows him caring. She knows he’s only reflecting back the desperation beating against her ribcage. She knows it’s just her truth, pouring out of his mouth. She bites back the tears as she touches his shoulders, thanking him. He’s one of her friends here, even more so for the fact that she doesn’t have to tell him anything, for he already knows. She just didn’t expect him to tell her that he knows, not so… outright.

Bull finds her later, face hidden in her pillow, chest still heaving with the remains of a panic attack. His fingers curl calmly in her hair, massaging at her scalp, body winding around her to hold her. She shakes, sobbing, terrified of failing, terrified of winning.            

Then it happens to him as well: “Guilt at not feeling guiltier.”

No matter how many times she reminds him: that he is a great man, that he’s done good and admirable things, that there’s nothing to feel guilty about, that he saved people he cares about… The Iron Bull still finds a part of him missing, his entire life as he had known it in what he had thrown aside with that decision.

They’re not that different after all. She tries to tell him, that there’s nothing coming out of fixating on the past. That the future is either bleak or non-existent, and the only place in time that matters is now. It helps, somewhat, but not enough, and there are evenings when no one can tell where he’s gone. She waits for him through the night, and when he eventually stumbles back, it’s her arms that welcome him. Not consolation enough, but she can only hope that someday, it might be.

***

Josephine warned her; that she is to welcome a lot of stares and comments through all her night at the palace if she takes the Iron Bull as her companion. But she refused to take anyone else with her, and he’s the most skilled out of all of them at picking up secret body language. If there’s a plot to uncover, then his training is the most helpful. That was the official argument anyway. Part of her just wanted to experience this with him. It was a selfish request, Orlais isn’t particularly welcoming with qunari, in general – and certainly not with the one accompanying the Inquisitor.

She was used, once upon a time, to this kind of social gatherings. But back then she never had such attention pointed at her; and she can’t help but bother Bull every five minutes, just to make sure she doesn’t look foolish dressed like this, that she didn’t leave food at the corner of her mouth. She’s supposed to represent the entire organization, and she thinks at the way the dress barely fit her, after Josephine left her breathless with a corset, or how her manners have been forgotten in the midst of all the battling, and how hard it is to try and at least care about the nobles swarming them.

As night goes on, things settle for a bit. But each time a remark about the Iron Bull is made, she wants to tear their smiling faces apart, to stuff their rotten mouths with daggers. All these nobles that think they are better, because they’re keeping their little dirty secrets beyond closed doors and fancy masks, because the blood in their veins is somewhat of a higher quality. She learnt that everyone bleeds the same, if hurt properly, so it’s not that of an impressive boast.

Then – someone calls her by her name. Not her title, not her lineage, but her actual name. She stumbles, reaching out for the table near her to remain standing.

“Brother,” she whispers, as her oldest sibling mock curtsies in front of her.

“Starting religious rumours, recreating an old organization and bedding a qunari. You surely got the attention of everyone across Thedas, sis.”

She cannot move. Just as during the old times, when having her family reproaching her something, the first instinct is to close up, to stop doing anything that might get more of their attention. But no matter how much she remains still, her brother’s comments are still pouring in.

“Brother,” her voice cuts off his monologue, and he actually looks surprised. “I do what I do so you can still enjoy this disgusting lifestyle of yours in peace, so that everyone else in this goddamn world can go on living.” Her hands are shaking hard by now. “And whatever I decide to do is no concern to you anymore.”

“You’re still a Trevelyan.”

“Sadly, brother. But I am, above anything else, the Inquisitor.”

She raises her head; dares look him in the eye. She almost wants to collapse in relief when he scoffs and leaves her. If he expected his pliable youngest sister that he used to know, then he is the one in the wrong. One cannot survive the things she did without having them change her. Even with the twisted rumours reaching him, he should have known better. Maybe he expected her to be a puppet head figure, or have her old alliances still standing. She maybe has forgiven the fact that they didn’t send even a servant after her when they discovered she was still alive, but she hasn’t forgotten. She refuses to matter to them now, when her influence spans widely enough that they feel threatened to have the same name as her.

Almost by instinct, she runs away to find him. To find Iron Bull, life easier to bear at his side. He’s drunk on annoyance, nobles no less shitty to him. She surprises even herself when she invites him to dance, desperate to divert both of their attention towards more pleasant topics. He laughs at her suggestion; he knows the nobles; he knows they would take it exactly for what it is. Just as the person that is accompanying her, they can still explain things, stop the rumours before they’re turning into the truth. If they’re seen dancing though… there will be more than alliance between the two of them, they both know it.

Still, she waits in front of him. She refuses to accept a no from him this time, and his agreement afterwards comes way more easily, partly want to please her, partly need to annoy these nobles.

He has also noticed the way they’ve been eyeing her, both men and women. The Inquisitor is still a young woman, beautiful enough; made even more desirable by her appearance tonight, by her status, by her name. He fucking hates nobles. He’d like to grab her waist, parade around with her by his side, show them all exactly how unavailable she is, shove it in their faces that his is the only touch that matters, his words are the only ones that bend her.

But they’re not here to enjoy themselves, not yet anyway. The room stinks of deceive and assassinations plots, besides the usual sexual appetite. So he pushes away his frustration, and they discuss who’s doing who out of these nobles, the latest fashion of Orlais, and the food. Then, he has to let her go and to will his mind to focus on what they need to do.

After everything, she still wants the good old same: a moment of respite. After the stifling ballroom, all the running around, all the lies she had to make sense through… the night air on the balcony does wonders against her skin, for her tangled thoughts. She leaves the rest of the mess for Cullen and Josephine to deal with. Then, unsurprisingly… the Iron Bull is by her side. She leans her forehead against his shoulder, the day having been so long.

Then, he bumps against her: “Come on, let’s dance.”

She smiles, happy as a little child, as she makes herself comfortable by his side, his hand on her back, finally. They stumble around for a bit, size difference making their steps not match, but they soon find their rhythm – and they find they don’t care about who is watching. Not at all.

***

“So, I heard an interesting rumour…” she starts, sipping from her ale, fixing Bull with her eyes, trying not to let all of her emotions show on her face. He raises a brow at her, an invitation to continue.

“The servant girls?” He chokes on his drink, his feet loudly hitting the floor from where he was keeping them up on table. He won’t ask how she knows; rumours travel the easiest in Skyhold, and there’s no point in denying something that is true, in trying to convince her of the opposite. Each person has their own needs, and he finds pleasure in allowing others’ to find theirs. It’s been simple enough with those girls, less complicated, less heavy. Something more surface level and unsatisfying.

“Not since – not since us.” He says. This is the truth. He has focused on the Inquisitor only; just as her sole focus is on them all. She carries it all, and it is his pleasure to make sure she doesn’t break under the load. She has started trusting him more and more, with past stories, future hopes, with her heart at its most vulnerable. He has felt humbled by her tender gestures, by how willingly she fell into his arms and stayed there, glued herself at his side. He couldn’t give her anything less than that. Plus, the sex has been great, her a most enthusiastic pupil.

Her lashes lower, and she moves around the table to reach his side. A quick glance around the tavern tell her that it is late enough into the night that those that aren’t passed out have already retreated into their rooms, so she’s not shy at all when she positions herself over his thigh, facing him. He can feel her heat through his pants.

“You know,” she says, moving to kiss along his jaw. “You’re the only man that ever touched me.”

His body immediately responds to the confession, breeches suddenly uncomfortable. A hand moves to rest on one of her thighs, fingers tightening around her.

“Tell me… what’s this? What are we doing?”

It’s one of the few times that he actually lets her decide in this relationship. He allows her an out of it, always. There’s always one word, katoh, sitting between the two of them – and he seems more fearful of it than her. He never pushes her to the extremes, she’s always the one that needs to ask for more, and it’s true in both sex, and apparently feelings too. He tells her of an old tradition, and only then does she start moving, grinding against his leg, and he contracts his muscles, providing her extra firmness.

Her breathes are hot against his neck, her hands coming up to hold onto his shoulders for support. His hands are now on her ass, kneading the flesh there, grunts escaping him as she starts moving faster, pressing harder against him. She’s whispering her fantasies in his ear, telling him of all the times she imagined him having her, of all the ways – and she comes like that, on top of him, his hands barely having touched her.

“That was so hot,” he says, helping her stand up. There’s a wet stain left behind on his clothes, and he grabs her hand, slowly pulls her someplace else, where he can actually do all the things she mentioned. “You’re so bloody fuckable,” he grunts, ripping her shirt off her, and she laughs, her hands searching for his belt.

***  

So, she hunts and kills a dragon. In the name of love. The Iron Bull roars as it crashes to the ground, the impact making it shake underneath her feet. The ends of her hair are burned, and she’s covered in blood from head to toe, but there’s pride vibrating in her at the end of it all, so she kind of gets where Bull is coming from, with all the enthusiasm for dragons. She hides a tooth inside her jacket, plans to treat everyone in her party to a good meal once they’re all back and cleaned up.

That bath was one of the best she’s taken in her entire life, and the meal too. Her body is hurting everywhere from the strain of the battle, but everyone is also happy. No one can match Bull though, as he passes a strange drink to anyone foolish enough to accept it. She takes a seat at his side, willingly exposing herself to the thing that left the Chargers dozing off on the floor, probably. She drinks, and she listens to him talk about dragons – and gods, this could be considered foreplay by itself. She chokes on the alcohol each and every time, and she falls more and more drunk with each gulp.

That night, she hears that nickname for the first time. Kadan. When after their third drink, they toast to each other; and what beautifully it sounded to her then, The Iron Bull and his Inquisitor.

He compliments her on her fantastic tits, and though they laugh along the way, struggling to make it to her room, she remembers loving it then the most. She went on top, her tits bouncing in the air with each movement; the way he shuddered under her when she kissed his horns, the way he came with a loud shout. Everything so much like them.

***

When they’re drinking with everyone else, Varric decides to tease them, ask for details on their relationship. She’s sure he put most of the puzzle pieces together, and he just enjoys seeing her squirm in her seat, all while Bull remains unfazed by her side.

“That room is for me and her. No one else invited.”

Her heart leaps in her chest at how quickly he defended their... whatever they are. She looks up at him, asking for more, though she knows that if it is to come, it won’t be here. Varric, though, is relentless.

“Aw. Safe harbour from the world outside.”

This eventually gets a reaction out of him, though it’s now the one she was hoping for. He looks almost panicked, grossed out at the suggestion. Even as if this is exactly what he offered her during their times together. Is it that weird, that others can make out what is going on between the two of them? Is it that weird, that it can more poetically be put into Varric’s words?

But the second Varric turns away from them, Bull winks at her, and they share one conspiratory smile, the truth only for them to know. The necklace is burning her from where she keeps it in her pocket.

***

“There we go. No Inquisition. No war. Nothing outside this room. Just you and me.”

She wants to kiss him again, just for the way in which he says these things; like they’re truly the only two people that matter in this world. He is splayed naked in her bed, and gods, she wants to wake up to this sight of him every single morning. She’s aware that she’s been only taking and taking, and she’s surprised to find out how greedy she can be when it comes to him. She wants him in all possible ways, under all known laws – and it still wouldn’t feel enough. So she settles for the one that matters most to him. She’s only in a thin shirt, rummaging through last night’s clothes, looking for her present, when her door is slammed to the door, Cullen in the frame.

The Iron Bull remain unbothered on their bed. Then, Josephine follows. It seems like the Maker doesn’t want to make anything too easy for her.

“Can I help either of you with anything?” the Inquisitor asks, clearly annoyed. Before the two have time to answer though, Cassandra strolls in. Much like the other advisors, the sight of a naked Iron Bull makes her stop, petrified. It is, still, her the one that snaps out of it the fastest.

The words burn her, meant to shame her or give her a way out of the situation, neither things that she wants or make justice to what is actually going in. Momentary diversion cannot even begin to describe their relationship, and she can’t help her indignation at such choice of words. They haven’t even tried to keep what they’ve been doing a secret, and enough people know about it, yet her most trusted people doubt the validity of her intentions.

Her gaze burns at their back until the door finally closes, and she sighs, dropping on the bed near Bull. She opens her palm, revealing what she’s been holding onto all this time: exactly the proof of how serious she is in caring about him, in… well, loving him.

Then: Kadan, again. Sober, softer, realer. His heart. For the first time, they make love and name it as such, a certain softness even in the harshest of his touches, a tenderness behind each of his kisses. Gods, she loves him.

***

Cole is…. way too familiar with their sex life. And no matter how many times they try to make it stop, it’s almost like when they’re together, his mouth automatically runs off, and about their feelings and their deeds. It’s not like much has changed, besides having him more often around her, needing no excuses to have him near. He’s tenderer, more obvious in his attention and devotion, but the same can be said about her. With their relationship out in the open, she almost never shuts up about him, to those that know him.

But having drinks with all of them, that’s when they can’t escape the scrutiny.

“She almost says the word, sometimes. Katoh. She tastes it on her mouth, sweet relief, a breath away, tongue tying it tenderly, like you tie her. But she doesn’t, for you. And for her. Because it makes it mean more. A fuller feeling, a brighter burst.”

All the blood rushes to her head, embarrassed beyond belief. Under the table, she squeezes at Bull’s hand, and she really wishes a hole would open up and take her. He tries to make Cole stop, but the other guys are insisting on hearing more, even as Sera is shouting over all of them, that she can’t quite see how the Inquisitor is still able to walk after they’re doing it. Looks like word of how big Iron Bull is did rounds.

“You act like you’re in charge, the Iron Bull. But it’s really her. She decides when, and you measure it carefully, enough to enjoy, to energize, but never to anger. She’s tied, teased, tantalized, but it’s tempered to what she wants. She submits, but you serve.”

“If you take away all the mystery, it’s not quite as hot,” he replies.

Barely whispering, cheeks aflame, the Inquisitor says: “Bull… yes, it is.”

He grabs her, carries her out of the tavern with the hollering cheers of their friends as a background, and only poor Cole is left confused amongst the chaos, while she giggles at his chest, aware that her cheekiness won’t be forgiven so easily.

***

The closer they get to the end of the fight, the more uncertain she grows. There’s no way of knowing if she will make it out of it alive, and she thinks he is protecting him, reminding him of this fact. She is the key piece in the fight against Corypheus, and there is no guarantee that winning won’t cost her life. It’s a price that she has been ready to pay, ever since the beginning, but now she’s figuring out that she has more to regret leaving behind. Him most of all.

It’s one of their rare days where they can sleep in, where the world doesn’t demand urgency out of them. In the face of her words, of the reality behind them (and how sweet together sounds, pouring off his lips), they make love once again. His tying is soft against her skin, silk rope, and this time he denies her nothing, just gives and gives until they’re both breathless and spent.

It turns out that she actually makes it out of it alive. It doesn’t sink in until Bull says it, anchors her to the reality of it all. She cries throughout that night, her purpose finally coming to an end, and he doesn’t know how to console her in the face of the newfound freedom. He just wants her to know that he’ll be there, for her. A choice he makes every single day.

***

Years down the path, the Inquisition still exists, though its current aims are to still be discussed. By her side, the Iron Bill still remains. The Chargers are still dealing with requests, but their headquarters are in Skyhold, yet. Some things remained the same, while some things changed. She is older now, she yearns for more stability, and the suggestion for marriage, though surprising, is not denied. She’d like to fight less, to focus on some other things in her life.

She remains his kadan. A title of honour for the woman he loves, something he mentions each time that he can, proud even in the face of Varric’s teasing. He’s also grown.

Solas betrays them. Or rather, he betrays this entire world, a lonely god inside of it. If the years he spent in the Inquisition, by the side of the most honourable and amazing people she knows didn’t convince him that maybe they are still worth saving, she doesn’t think she can even dare try doing it on her own. But all that she knows and all that she loves is in here, and so she will try her best.

Her glowing, green hand, the symbol of her fight, is trying to kill her though. She screams every other breath, eyes hectic in looking for some mages and healers that can help her. They don’t have the time to knock her out, so instead she bites into a ball of cloth and passes out from the pain instead.

When she wakes, her left arm is gone. The ghost of her pain still lingers in her brain, and when she reaches for the glass of water on the table near her, it’s with the arm that is missing that she does. The healer finds her on the floor, cradling the stump at her chest, lips bitten to blood, but tears unshed. She has given this mark everything she could, and now she can fully admit it. Much like her body, part of her heart got amputated too, in this last fight – knowing that it’s not really the last, that she still has to keep going.

She’s angry, more than anything else. She refuses to speak with any of the mages tending to her, and they consider it natural, given the circumstances. She doesn’t want to return back to her old life, only to figure out what unfitting this new version of her is. Then:

“Kadan.”

She hasn’t heard him enter the room, and now it’s too late to hide what’s left of her arm. She can feel him measure her up, and only when she finally dares to look up at him to meet his gaze, do the tears fall. She’s always so weak and pathetic only in front of him. The bed creaks under the added weight, and he’s unsure in his touches, not knowing where it hurts, where it doesn’t. He hasn’t even washed up or changed from the road, after dealing with the spies in their ranks, immediately finding her, especially after being told about her wound. He cups her cheeks, kisses all over her face, slowly and lovingly, grounding her.

“Darling…” her voice cracks in the middle, and she sniffs loudly, ungracefully.

For a while, they disappear. Their friends know only that they are together, but they understand the need for a break, for readjustment. Still, even upon return, she hates that she has to roll around her shirts every morning, to match the length of her arm, that she’s only half as capable in combat now.  But there is nothing that she can do now, other than just try to move forward.

She remains near the Divine, in the Inquisition’s ranks, trying to restore some semblance of an order in Thedas. There’s rumours of the Chargers taking on odd jobs all across the continent, though no one knows the real truth.

***

When Inquisition’s work is done, it will put its sword away.

[theeverbloomingdarkness]

THE MUN PLAYS KH3

Here are my notes/comments I made while playing through KH3. The thoughts that went through my head.

***SPOILERS FOR EVERYTHING POSSIBLE. SPOILERS. SPOILERS.***

Tuesday, Jan 29th. 5:00 pm.

-Finally home and ready to play. Colored lights on, fluffy pants on, favorite blanket nearby, cats fed, pizza in oven, cold water in fridge, juice smoothie drink standing by. Waiting on my pizza to finish so I can eat dinner while listening to the title screen music. Have not put game on yet. (Just so happened to get my Marluxia keychain the other day too! Got my game today.)

-Here we goooooOOOOOO.

-OATH ORCHESTRAL IS SO PRETTY. Also expected recap. I bet there will be a lot of flashbacks in the game (update: not at all).

-Cable town seems a precarious place to live- also a pain to get around. Pretty. there’s a LOT of islands. (Update: homeworld of Keyblade wielders? Or base)

-Eraqus playing dumb?  Messing with Xehanort? Or is he actually just like that and doesn’t know.

-Queue intro. Music feels off slightly but that could just be because I saw the trailer one first. Also new Marluxia content, gonna need a gif of that little clip jumping over the scythe.

-Darkside, of course. Nostalgia reasons. Would have been more interesting if they changed up the fight with him, I think. He’s always been a pretty lame fight.

HERCULES WORLD

-Cutscenes feel much more natural (first reaction). Also Donald getting shit on, always fun. (Update: the amount of shitting on each other in this game is unreal)

-Hercules’ new voice… Is it new? IDK, but I find it unnerving.

-The Instagram loading screens are weird? Not a big deal.

-Maleficent’s much needed glow up.

-The graphics are odd because some things look super good and then some things look kinda weird sometimes. IDK I just started. Generally very pretty.

-SORA, DONALD, GOOFY. Is this going to be a thing again? (Update: yes, it is)

-Guess Phil isn’t going to talk at all? Sort of weird (Update: speaking of NOT SPEAKING. Aeleus and Dilan. Not a single peep. Wow.)

-Xigbar’s voice is changing into Xehanort’s now. Someone help him.

-Holy shit an NPC. WTF was that scene??? I think that’s all that needs to be said here. Just, what? How did that even work? No idea where the girl was/how far? Didn’t see any fire? Too slow? Yeeted into the universe. Little girl saved???

-Jumping around when you get hit with fire is annoying.

-Fighting those Titans was a shirt storm. It was soooo janky for me. (update: the combat in this game is incredibly aerial based)

-“May your hear-- ?” Unsure if game bugged or not. (Update: I get it now. Thanks, epilogue.)

-So Axel DOES get an outfit, wonder if we’ll ever see him wear it. (Update: AT THE VERY END

-Phone call. Is it my boy IENZO??? Oh, nope. D: WAIT, there he is.- -MOODY AELEUS??? What does he have against Roxas? Just because he left the Organization? Yeah, like Axel. Stop the bias against the other Org members.

-GODDAMMIT they did it again with the title card.

TWILIGHT TOWN

-Seifer and gang left for a “hero’s journey”.

-IENZO SPYING? IENZO CHUCKLE. Ienzo didn’t know= that makes sense. He’s so…happy (Update: he really is chipper in this game) -KIDNAPPED EVEN? -Just get Even to make him a body. -I too could go for some hot wings, little girl -Talking about Sora. I figured, but I hoped.

-Darn you Axel for being attractive -DILAN

IT’S MARLUXIA TIME. MARLUXIA TIME. MARLUXIA TIME

-What a lovely world; everyone’s having a nice time… It sure would be a shame, if someone….ruined it.

-Mar you creep. PINK EYES?

-FAVOR? Oh. :I Balance, eh? Do you believe that Mar? Also would rather forget? Himself, or does he mean Sora?

-Marluxia does indeed dislike nicknames.

-Is Marluxia really out to protect the light/Rapunzel for balance? If it were anyone else it’d be easy to write off. (Update. Like Larx for this story it’s just about making sure they have the PoH backups)

-Time for Mar to be an ass. Lol. Sounded like he wasn’t even trying.  He likes it when they run. Also I guess Mar tied Flynn up in this version? -HE’S SO PRETTY -SLEEP BOY! Also…Mar? New power? Lol. How handy, wish I could do that to myself. (Also the comment about him being good at sleeping or something? Guess he knows that from DDD? When they were all there at the end. Or upon learning he was in a pod for a year.)

-The bosses thus far have been huge and really annoying to hit/air battles.

-On Marluxia, still looks like they’re just using him for Nort fodder at this point. Even though it still makes no sense at all.

-And I’m sure that’s all I’m gonna get this game for Marluxia.

-ALSO,  Reapers baby. CALLED IT.

-Get Even to make one! Well Goofy’s right, Ienzo might be able to do it. OH MY GOD I CALLED IT. Good job Riku for being smart.

-*Sidenote: If you haven’t seen Tangled some things might seem disconnected to you as a player. (Update: this goes for most of the Disney worlds actually.)

TOY STORY

-Final Fantasy??!?!?! LOL Riku and Noctis fusion

-WTF. Shot by YMX into Square Enix? Oh nope, Gigas.

-OOO Woody burn. No one loves you Xehanort.

-Should have been ,“There’s a snake in my boot”

-ANOTHER Woody burn.

-I feel like Young Xehanort learned something they already knew???

-OH YEP. Need Even. I wonder if Aeleus and Dilan will talk in this game (Update: nope)

-OOOO Evil meeting. Everyone yell so you can hear each other. DAMN IT VEXEN, you mad science man. At least it’s a believable reason for Vexen. Unlike Marluxia, which is total bullshit

-Gummi flying takes forever.

FROZEN. Ready to see my girl Larxene

-This is literally the my friends are my power game with the way the combat is set up (Update: Very Aerial and AOE oriented gameplay)

-Also enemies have a lot of HP

-Lol. Oh yeah, memory loss. They filled her in.

- Using the electricity to move the blocks and trap them… I can be like, ok I’ll buy that. But this is a complex-ass labyrinth

Along with Marluxia’s sleep thing and now this,… Headcanon that it’s due to Xehanort influence possibly?

-Larxene Nobodies! They look like ninjas. YEP. Just checked. Called Ninjas.

-Giant Larxene knife symbols on wall. Classy.

-Did Larxene just show Elsa up with that labyrinth btw?

-LET IT GO. LET IT GO. “I don’t know what I just saw”. lol

-What is with all this Larx ice using? I dun like it >.<

-Again boss is up so high the fight is really floaty and crazy

-What girl??? Who??? Namine? Kairi? Streli? Not Larxene . Must be Kairi. (Update: STILL DON’T KNOW THE GIRL. Future game plot point)

-KARATE Aqua

-Oh god, not Pooh Bear. Please be optional.

-Ienzo has an Instagram.

MONSTERS INC

-Alright Vani where you at?

-LMAO Sully just grabs him and throws him in a door xD That is a GOLDEN moment

-Ienzo’s gonna be the one who saves Xion Roxas and Ventus. Nice.

-This is “shit on each other the game” isn’t it?

-Oooo evil meeting.  MY PALS. Marluxia is WOKE as fuck., he’s like nah he just wants our empty husk bodies as vessels.  Larxene ain’t having it, yep, that’s what I thought. You? Canon ‘Marly’ Omg Benched, I believe it. REBEL GROUP. REBEL GROUP.  (Update: I chanted this in my head a lot)

WHAT??? Another purpose? Luxord in.  TELL US THE PURPOSE? All four of them? Wow. Demyx and Luxord in Union X confirmed. :/ Not a fan of this. Too many keyblades.

Ugh I want more plot Dx Gotta do Pirates.

*So it does seem like the four of them don’t want to be in the Org? But again they aren’t doing anything about it so???

So the reason they let them back (Mar and Lar even though traitors) is because they want their ancient keyblade powers. (Update: This is never mentioned again. Like, why does it matter to Xehanort? Did Xehanort pull them out of time? More questions)

PIRATES

- Vexen and Lux. Oooo Vexen not obeying. Luxooooord. REBEL GROUP. REBEL GROUP. -Pausing air fight to feed cats. Not enjoying this flying oof. Thank goodness it isn’t all shooting -Who needs air? -Wow nice ship and sails Luxord -Whatever you want eh Luxord? -Gonna honor the rules Lux? Did he lose on purpose? -Hope eh? -LOL No Parley. OOF breath on his face, into the ocean. Luxord just got burned. First Vanitas now Luxord - Dramatic walk scene?  Awwww

-GDI Axel change your clothes -Was thinking this at the first scene but GDI I know people are going to ship these two

-Here comes darkqua? -A tale of two Ansems. Feeling Namine guilt? -Hayner bout to get FUCKED. WHAT GIRL? -WHAT THE FUCK? Nobodies? Who doing this??? -FUCK it’s Vexen. Good Vexen? What? :o Is he lying??? FUCK CLIFFHANGER. I appreciate all the diff character interactions in this game though. Does Vexen secretly have a heart of gold and is in on the REBEL GROUP?

BIG HERO 6

- Data Riku or Repliku? Going with Repliku. But the enemy is very codedesque. Also Data Riku is just Data, no body. Could also be timetravel bs - Replica confirmed. Not sure if it’s the same ”Repliku” - Hoping actual Repliku will come back. Riku did mention his other me after all

ALL PLOT FROM HERE ON OUT FINALLY

-Darkqua music was great

-Aaand she’s gone. Again. OR NOT

-Finally these two: Vexen and Demyx. DUNCE. LMAO their fighting. REBEL VEXEN. What’s in it for you, Demyx??? UHHH Not becoming Xehanort. (Demyx continues to be a douche character). Marluxia? Maybe. DEMYX TIME. Oh my god. Was that intentional??? LMAO Demyx is so ‘useless’ no one expects him to do anything. Nice FAMILY REUNION

VEXEN YOU LEGEND. I always liked him. Now it’s up to you Marluxia >:Y I think Vexen may have been talking about Ansem the Wise. Also may not still completely trust him because it says he went back willingly. Unless he changed his mind when learning about Ansem the Wise. (Update: Nope, Vexen really is a legend. I love him).

CASTLE OBLIVION -Vani fight, nice. Great music -HE UP. Go visit your old friend Mar.

-Ventus gets to meet both Axel and Marluxia as adults. How odd.

-Sudden Saix. So casual. WHAT GIRL? WHAT GIRL???? Is it Strelitzia? Skuld? New character? (Update: Again, future plot point.)

-Repliku with Riku.? YEP. DOPE. Save Namine? (Update: Yep. To protect Namine).

BATTLE TIME

-Enter Terranort. Shock for Ven to see. -Axel got fucked. -SHIT AN F5. - Everyone died. The end -STARS???? More pieces???? WAHHHT PAST? Union X Club??? Streli?! D’x

The Final World :O

-DEAD.

MARLUXIA? NO, VENTUS. YEP Ventus. Aw…

-Chirithy is great.

-Vexen gonna save the day with a replica? And Demyx  lol. They both got benched. What a team up. (Update: And we never heard from them again. They literally just dipped from the Org and none of the Norts did anything. (Update: No idea what happened to Demyx. He dropped off the replica and was outie).

-DÉJÀ VU. Oof.

-EPHEMERA! THE KEEEEEYS. All the dead people

-UNION LEADERS KEYS. Also all the others, but I believe I saw five? What I’m saying is those four-five Starlights= Dandelion Union Leaders.

-??????? YEN SID DID SOMETHING HOLY SHIT

-Is Vexen with the coat guys up there??? -Also Demyx??? -Do they have a PLAN??? (Update: Nope, they literally just dipped).

-MARLUXIA THEME I HEAR IT

-MY CHILDREN WHY R U WITH XEHANORT???

-Thank you, Luxord awww.  Such a cool guy…(Update: Sora still has the Wild Card)

AWww Larx. Heart tank? NO THANKS.  Along for the ride- With?? (Marluxia?)

MY BOOOOOY Dx

*MEMORIES BACK???? Real laugh. A smile. He DID forget. Always about “purpose for being with Mar”. How did I predict that? (Update: Marluxia amnesia confirmed? Also why the heck didn’t /he/ rebel. Makes no sense. I blame Nomura. He also gave no reason for why he was following Xehanort. Again, it’s pretty BS. NO EXPLANATION.)

Riku down. Very interested in what Xigbar will have to say… Repliku repossession! NOOOO. Repliku stay! Roxas, of course.

PROTECT NAMINE. D’:

He just wanted that keyblade bro. What?????? Why the backwards drama D: (Update: Nope. Xigbar just playing the role, or should I say Luxu).

Fucking Axel. That smart mouth.

Saix would have let him die; also I knew it was Xion from trailers.

:O XION. He knew.

And Roxas is in. The music has been SO GOOD.

Vexen  Zexion Ansem Demyx. LUL GET FUCKED Xemnas.

WHO IS THE HER>>>>

Vanitas sounds higher pitched in this game.

GUARDIAN??? This is weird.

I don’t believe in perma dead Kairi.

WHEN’S THE BOX? ALSO Luxord’s Wild Card!

*Btw guess Vexen and Demyx just left so the other Norts replaced them instead of doing anything about it

Awww, Saix. Or rather, Isa.

Didn’t shed any tears, but the part that got me feeling the most was with Xehanort and Eraqus tuff at the end, surprisingly

I KNEW IT WOULD END WITH A BEACH PARTY. Again, awwww, Saix.

*** WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO DEMYX? What did he even do to help besides delivering the replica LMAO??

WHY DIDN’T I GET TO SEE MY BOY IN THE ENDING? Maybe secret ending. ☹ (Update: Nah)

Oh yeah, Sora vanished btw.

*Xehanorts VA could have had a better performance.

-Wow. Xigbar really was the MoM? Union leaders alive?  OH, nvm he’s Luxu. Guess he picked up on MoM’s behavior and mannerisms. Also been through many bodies I see… No Ava.

WHAT’S IN THE BOX GDI.

UH OH. New game board. 7 evils. Five being leaders and Xig, 2 Unkowns. Please don’t put Mar through more of that, IE make him be in another Org/group.

They never opened the box, did they.

[roastedlizlow]

Series: Collar x Malice Pairing: Okazaki Kei/Hoshino Ichika Prompt: Cold Embrace WC: 3706 Author’s Note: MAJOR SPOILERS for the BLIGHTED Ending for his route! This also involves a bit a content from the TRAGIC LOVE BOOKLET from CxM U’s LE (in a way, but regardless, what really counts is that this here? SPOILERS). I guess that gives away that this isn’t happy, if the prompt didn’t already. Anyway, I’m rather fond of Kei, and his Blighted End really, really got me. The booklet didn’t help either. There are things that are slightly different about this than the actual ending, but it’s still the same vein in all its painful glory. 

                                                                            ALSO READ ON -> AO3 !

Please. Please. He’s never wanted something more in his life. He’s never... truly loved someone like her. So, why, why is the warmth she’s supposed to be so full escaping her? Why, why is the world that was slowly expanding collapsing in? How, how is the chill that envelops him fair at all? 

He wraps his arms around her, clinging, as if she’ll disappear. But she, she’s returning that strength, as if telling him to trust her, because she wants to trust him too. What echoes in these movements? What does he really want? What... does she really want? Curving her fingers more in his shirt, she knows his keen senses pick up her heartbeat, but how does it he interpret it?

She can’t tell at all.

“Okazaki-san..?”

“Mm..?”

He kisses the top of her head, he’s so close to her, the adorable “Neko-san” that became his one . But a question still rises from her, lingering on the tip of her touch before she manages to let it out.

“Why... Why do you feel so cold?”

Distant? His body? Whatever could she mean by that?

He pulls back a bit, so he can look her in the eyes, and smile his usual smile, “Because, Ichika-chan, my heart stopped when I thought I couldn’t see you..”

“Geez...” Ichika pouts, shaking her head, “that’s... not fair, Okazaki-san.”

“It’s because you’re no fair.”

He says it so casually that her heart feels like it, too, might stop. How embarrassing... but, there’s something deeper, something troublesome still brewing, as though this distance might solidify, as though his meaning of shielding her, even now, is for meaning.

“Well, with a face as red as that, you’ll warm me up, right~?”

“Eh..?!” She’s not winning this at all! Yet, that frost is worrying, ever still. She knows there’s a lot Okazaki must come to on his own terms, but if there’s any chance at all, that she can see this through to the end with him, then she wants to.

The words she can’t say yet, but she wants to. She’ll tell him when it’s over. Push through, finish to the truth, as far as they can. He, whose been by her side for all this time, how long can they live their lives? She wants to... be beside him, protect him just as he has her. Evenness, fairness, hope. For all the things that have been breathed, for hope.

For closure.

For...

It’ll be okay. I can’t run. I want to know the truth, and stop X-Day from happening. And... I hope that the time can come where Okazaki-san can be happy.

How can she manage something to put her at ease, so that they’ll keep working together, so that she can get to know him more, so that their days will not be numbered so? Think, think, think..!

Once she manages to pull back enough, and his hand moves to, as usual, grab her own, it hits her, and she tries to make the first move on it. Kei is faster, snatching her hands up, but she cannot back down now, she decides, in full, and fights to wrap her pinky around his.

“I see...” Kei says, nodding, “It’s no good to worry you at a~ll.”

Putting her lips together, Ichika returns the nod with assured determination. Where did her words go? Did the SP officer become a thief and steal them away?

“Okay~ One, two--” And Kei, not missing a beat, squeezes her pinky and rocks their hands back and forth just slightly, as he and Ichika begin the chant.

“Cut a finger... should you lie~”

Even when the gesture is complete, Kei doesn’t let go. Perhaps it’s because he had planned to hold her hand anyway, his entire body moving closer to her as he plays more and more into the fun he’s having teasing her. “Ehhhh? Wait... Does that mean if I break it, I’ll have to break my fingers? Ichika-chan, that’s cruel,” he frowns, but no one could call it real, by any means, “You’ll have to take responsibility if that happens and be my hands.”

“That’s, that’s not it, Okazaki-san!” Ichika quickly says, “A-And, wait, please don’t actually--!” Her protests are lost in the moment, and soon she gets caught up in his smile, finding herself going with the slight swing of their hands. Flustered, she tries to regain her footing in her words. Where does the seriousness begin and the seriousness end? Would he really be about losing it all for her?

Why?

Why?

Why?

A world without the other “isn’t worth living” would be the first thought but, really, if one is to pass, then who would be there to share the good stories, the bad ones, bumpy, smooth, even one encounter can impact a person, forever. There’s so much that they haven’t experienced.

“Mmn! It’s a promise.”

Given the time frame... please, don’t let the ice shatter.

---

The scene is has been set, arriving in the nick of time. Sanjou gives them their build to a finale, and now, in what looks like an abandoned church, in this underground hideout, Kei and Ichika face off their true opponents. Kei fires at their on-site leader, and at the same moment, another pistol is charged. Kei’s bullet? It hits his mark. But, it is silent to him, for only a single gunshot punctures the air, echoing throughout the near-empty corridors. The reverberation is piercing, causing the tension to rise even more. Harder to breathe, harder to think. Time seems to slow, even if it’s mere seconds. The truth of the matter does not escape him.

Indeed, he knows it, instantly.

The other bullet didn’t fly from her gun. And the knees hitting the ground? Those are hers.

“Ichika-chan!”

He rushes to her side. A swear, a promise, an oath, meaningless. How are they — how is he — worth a damn thing if he can’t even do the one job he has in this world?

Please. Please . He’s never wanted something more in his life. He’s never... truly loved someone like her. So, why, why is the warmth she’s supposed to be so full escaping her? Why, why is the world that was slowly expanding collapsing in? How, how is the chill that envelops him fair at all? Lips, quivering, trying to smile, trying to tell him that it’s alright.

“Oka... zaki...san... I... Pro... You... Li...”

Save you strength. Don’t leave me. You can’t die. You absolutely cannot die. I won’t forgive you, I won’t forgive you, for leaving me alone. So shut up. Shut up and focus on--!!

He hates that he sizes up the situation so quickly. She’s beyond help. That flame flickers out, and she’s gone. No longer will he see her smile.

No longer will he hear her laugh.

The tears he can never wipe again, the hand he will never hold again. He grabs it, it’s freezing. Her forehead lurches forward, and if it wasn’t for his own, she would have already fallen over entire. Limb, soulless, he can’t see her eyes, once such a lively green, but he knows they have lost their gleam.

He, he was supposed to protect her, not the other way around.

Why, why is he alive?

Why, why isn’t it her?

Why, why can’t he just... die?

He had told her, told her that it meant everything to him to have her there, supporting him. His most precious person, the one that helped open the treasure box he was missing, who so stubbornly stared back at him and got angry at him when he continued to bear things alone. The reason he promised himself into a future, that he wanted. All these words had been the only thing he could bake without burning to a crisp, but even that much failed.

Without her, what future is there?

He presses the barrel of his pistol to his head, swearing that it’s the only wisp of warmth left in this forsaken place. Yet, her words run through his head, and despite being so close, he press the finger that’s on the trigger down. Always being saved. Always using space. Things are simpler when he’s asleep.

Things were better with her in his future.

Maybe it’s her spirit’s hand touching his own, preventing him from letting everything else go. She, the one afraid of horror stories, becoming a ghost to make him remember her words, her will. Live... and share the memories... No matter how little, no matter how many more he wanted. What is he to do? How will he be able to do anything she wanted, when he was only beginning to see the sun, the moon, and the stars? When he was just waking up?

She’d... want him to try.

He broke one promise. The one to protect her. So, he absolutely cannot fail to carry out her last will. That is a cause... worth dying for.

Ah, that’s no good... She... would tell me it’s worth living for. But I wanted...

Kei lets out a weak, knowing laugh, and only does the sound of footsteps move his attention from her, to the source. Still, he supports her body as best he can, pulling his gun away from himself to aim at the new opponent. The one that must be the boss, the cause of all this. The reason she’s no longer able to fight the battle that she didn’t run from.

“You--! I’ll stop you and expose Adonis! It was her last wish, and she entrusted it to me!”

But speeches are merely speeches, and actions speak much louder. Yet again, bullet grazes the air, blackens the sky. Sharp, mere seconds, and then nothing but tunneled, fading, and the blurring hallucination of her in a plain white dress, stained, breaking, and floating away.

---

His eyes open slowly. Never has he slept so poorly. Funny, the man who can sleep with no problem in an alleyway, feeling like this upon waking. But, there’s reason for that. His body, weak, sore, as though he’s been lying there for months.

And if feels like he’s just come out of a nightmare.

“..! Okazaki-senpai!”

Hazily, Kei looks over to where the rather noisy voice comes from, recognizing who it belongs to as Yoshinari Hideaki, a fellow officer. By the looks of it, he’s been coming often. Has he been watching his heart beat, awaiting eagerly the day Kei will once again rise from the ashes. His faith, loyalty, despite the antics, is unwavering. The thing he just set down -- is that Kei’s badge?

“Yoshinari-kun, too loud~” He manages. If the younger didn’t know the true condition of his superior, then he’d be ready to bolt.

“A-Ah, yes...” Yoshinari does his best to lower his voice, but he can’t contain his relief that Kei is finally awake, “You... you were asleep for two months, Senpai. It’s February 26th. We didn’t think you would make it...”

But Kei, Kei is stubborn. He simply wouldn’t die that easily. Yet, somehow, he feels like he shouldn’t have been that lucky.

“Goodbye, Okazaki Kei. I sincerely hope your sorrow will be crystallized in this world.”

Where... did those words come from? No, he knows it. But he can’t believe it, or perhaps it’s because he hasn’t pieced it all back together quite yet.

Soon enough, he’ll be back home, in that big, empty apartment with the bare walls and the forgotten roomba base that he always forgets to dispose of, joking that he’s wanting for the little cleaning machine to return home. Perhaps he’ll go into his kitchen with the utensils that are barely used.

Wait, did someone use them? Is that why thinking of that stings?

“It’s past your birthday, so I went all out in getting you those really rare snacks for when you woke up. Never hurts to be stocked up..!”

“Yoshinari-kun, tsk, tsk, what did I just say about volume?”

“Forgive me for my absolute rudeness, sir!”

Really, he never learns . He’ll punish him another day. His mind is elsewhere, his heart elsewhere. It worries Yoshinari to see Kei like this, but he knows why. He understands. It had been serious back then, and even more so now. At least, he think he does, given the down that drapes him.

There’s plenty of things on his bedside table. Kei decides he’ll sift through them later. The others can be so sentimental. Though, among that pile of snacks, letters, and wrappings, there lays his phone, powered off. He feels the need, the need to hold it, to go back, to the days before he ended up in that coma.

It takes no time for the observant Yoshinari to see where Kei’s attention falls. With no reason to object, when he knows Kei will recall if he hasn’t already, given his scary good memory and overall power, Yoshinari powers on the phone and hands it over.

Once the phone is in his hand, it hits him that the small device freezing , foreign. His heart is racing. Him... anxious? It’s weird. He can barely get his fingers to cooperate, his grip so weak that he nearly drops his device. As soon as he hits LEAF, to check his past, to understand more about what he’s missing, what happened, he sees a name that causes everything else to go blank.

He can’t help but click on the message history, scrolling slowly. Each second that passes takes more and more away from him. The glass heart that was cleaned up, cracks.

[ FROM: ICHIKA-CHAN~ (♡ >ω< ♡) ]

Please, take care of yourself. It’s dangerous... and I’m worried.

[ FROM: OKAZAKI KEI ]

(´•ω•̥`)

[ FROM: YOSHINARI-KUN (*´ω｀)o ]

Okazaki-senpai’s like a phoenix And a wolf! That’s why, Hoshino-san, I think he absolutely won’t die!! Yesterday, I--

[ FROM: OKAZAKI KEI ]

Yoshinari-kun~ (｡+･`ω･´)

[ FROM: YOSHINARI-KUN (*´ω｀)o ]

(╥_╥) Sorry...

Worried ... The exchange between himself and Yoshinari seems typical, but the rest involved... He recalls his mission, everything, but why is that part, the piece weighing so heavily, fuzzy? He reads more, to a section from a few days later.

[ FROM: ICHIKA-CHAN~ (♡ >ω< ♡) ]

ヾ(＾∇＾) Thank you, Okazaki-san! Good night. Sleep well.

[ FROM: OKAZAKI KEI ]

Yes, yes ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡  It’ll be lonely without you... but good night  Sweet dreams, Ichika-chan.  Tomorrow, I’ll be by your side again~

Everything is falling into place. It hurts, it hurts, so much that it’s numbing . He doesn’t stop reading, because he wants to be sure. He doesn’t even realize that he’s crying by this point, the wet lines falling left first, then right. But everything... is wrong. It’s really wrong. The worst, the absolute worst. Is it her, whose image flashes before him, sending a shutter down the spine that rarely did so?

[ FROM: ICHIKA-CHAN~ (♡ >ω< ♡) ]

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being reckless For going this far without saying anything.  But I, I don’t want to lose you. If I say I hate you, would you finally be free? Would you promise me to live a life for yourself? Live for your own choices and not duty Not with the end in mind. Please promise me that, for my sake.  I’m not running away from this, so I want you to trust me.  I’m going to fight until the very end.  We’ll protect each other. Okazaki-san, I want you to live.

“I..chi...ka...chan...”

Ah.

That’s it. The blur in memory, the reason for his heartache. The only person he had ever truly loved, gone. A pillar, the one he needed , gone. Was his subconscious blocking it to spare him? Ha, what length that lasted. As if he could ever truly forget her. A reset wouldn’t do anything for him, because the impact would linger. She’s stitched in the seams, forever.

“Hey, Yoshinari-kun...”

“Y-Yes, senpai?!”

“Is Ichika-chan alright?”

“A-Ah... That’s...” Kei can hear it in Yoshinari’s tone as he speaks. That typical, adorable , easy-to-tease pep dissipates, the seriousness sounds pained. Of course, the two of them know each other well. Even a couple months of being knocked off the job won’t change that. “S-She’s...”

He already knows the answer. He saw it with his own eyes. The reason why she isn’t here right now, the reason they won’t grow old together, until they’re a grandpa and grandma.

She wanted him to live.

“I... wanted to live with you.”

When you die, that’s it. Nothing... No sadness, no pain, but no joy either. No warmth...

“They... found this on her,” Yoshinari chooses an envelope that sat atop of the others on Kei’s bedside, handing it to him, “I took one look at the handwriting, and know it had to get to you, when you woke up..!” So he had fate that he would live... huh. Did he see that scene too, then? The aftermath of it... sorrow, destruction, she’s not here anymore, and everyone is sad.

His fault..? He, the one whose job it was to protect, failed. In turn, once again, he was protected. He’s Security Police . She wasn’t.

Kei carefully opens it, revealing a piece of paper, which he unfolds. A photo set slips out, but the words are what he focuses on first.

Okazaki Kei-san,

To the you who smiles, no matter how real it is. To the you who stuck by my side, who became part of my life. Thank you for this past month. Please, don’t let go of yourself. My last wish is for you to live on. Kazuki, Yoshinari-san, Yanagi-san, and everyone. You’re apart of their lives too.

So, to the you who has become so close. I give you my warmth. Writing this is embarrassing, but I have to say it somewhere. I’ve always wanted to tell you this.

Okazaki-san, I love you.

That’s why, you absolutely can’t give up.

For me.

- Hoshino Ichika

Her wishes, he needs to fulfill them, even if this pain weighs him, even if things will be different. There will never be another like her. So, even if he can pull off his usual step, will there be reason? Or will he be just as frozen, just as empty? Ahh, pathetic. Useless, meaningless, how can he do his job when he’s failed, so many times?

Finally, he makes his way to the pictures. These... He is unable to speak as he looks them over. One is blurry -- he remembers taking it with her and then sending it to her on LEAF, the other is a lot more clear, featuring people from Yanagi’s Detective Agency as well. Both have cute decorations placed around them. She’s... adorable...

There’s a few more words on the back, so he reads them.

I hope these will work until things settle down, and we can go into the purikura booth together properly. You said you wanted to, right?

Yes, he remembers mentioning that. With an ear-to-ear smile, he wrapped his arms around her back. Despite her I’m no good with technology,  if I can get a little of how cute you are, I don’t mind if the ghost wants to bomb it a bit~. protests, she looked right at the camera, and when he showed it her, he said that it’d look better if they could play more. She commented on how out of focus the picture was, and he laughed, “Mmm, Yoshinari-kun really does say Ehhh? Ouuuch, that’s mean, Ichika-chan, hitting my arm like that. It’s okay. He’ll only try to scare you a little bit... like... ...Boo!”

It’s silent in the room, following this, until Kei speaks a single word:

“...Unfair...”

Life isn’t great. Nothing is right now. These emotions bubble and burst, a storm that simply will not give up. Fear, fury, he’s caught in limbo. Why isn’t this actually a bad dream? If he closes his eyes, will he wake back up? Or if this is real, and the frigid taps that dance up his back are not a lie, then maybe he can go back to sleep.

Is this what others meant when they said it would hurt to have someone gone? Would she have felt the same for him?

“Good night...” Yoshinari says carefully. He’ll be back tomorrow, if he can. There needs to be observing. There needs to be time. “I’ll come again tomorrow.”

Separated, grieving, he’s not alone in this, if Yoshinari’s any indication. There will be offered hands. They won’t be hers, but the ones of the others important to her. There’s a little brother to keep company, a subordinate to tease, and a whole agency to banter with. Things will be different.

How much more sleep will he be getting? Maybe he can get those pillows she had, the really soft ones, maybe --

Haa... his head hurts. Too much at once. He has to stop.

Forcing a smile, running his tears, he blankly lays upon his bed. Tomorrow is another day, and recovery for his body it shall still make. He looks upon the empty space, imagining if she were there. Her voice, the promises he shares. Could he get through the next day, if he lived for her? Could he think about many more morrows, if he fought for her? Is just the memory of her strong enough?

He’ll try. She wants him to try.

To get past this. To be as strong as she was. He’ll pinky swear the air if he has to. It’ll all take time, but, little by little, he’ll try trust her words. That life can be better. That there are small things in the memories to share. That this pain means he really did experience love, and there’s still more emotions like this in store for him.

Hoshino Ichika stills grants him gifts, even now, even if she isn’t by his side anymore.

Kei sees her, again in that white dress, her head resting on the pillow next to him. Her eyes are closed, breathing soft. He moves his arm, weakly, only to watch it fall flat against the bed, instead of around her.

Desperation. Exhaustion. Perhaps everything keeping his body fighting, anything could have caused this. It does not alter what is.

“Hey, Ichika-chan, it’s really lonely without you...” His grin doesn’t fade, but a broken gaze feeds the man’s image, proving his entire soul drained, “So you have to double promise to be in my dreams~”

And gradually his eyelids shut, slumber once again becoming his best friend, his fondness of sleeping, and his ability, too, becoming his crutch. As darkness falls, his body closes, embracing nothing but the chilly night air, his imagination, and desperation, stuck on the warm bell of her.

[srnevergivesup]

It is an emotional and cathartic time

Trigger Warning: mention of child abuse

I think it is important I solely focus on my own recovery, right now. Why people do what they do, I might never know or fully understand. What matters is that I keep myself safe and make sure I am aware of my needs and that I work on having them met, knowing that,  in any relationships, I matter too.  How can I meet my needs? How can I make sure they aren't being put on the side in my relationships?

I feel like what I recently wrote gave the impression, to some people, I wasn't grateful, that I had forgotten about what some people did for me in the past and that I also might have forgotten about what others are going through. This couldn't be further from the truth. I remember what happened and I know what is happening. I want my friends to known that what they did for me or what they are going through: I know. I forever hold you in my heart.

The other week though, it was about ME expressing my feelings, no matter how awkward and raw I was, it was about me and my feelings. I was not pointing the finger at anyone: I was just trying to express what felt so hard to express. Yes, I was hurt and upset. The past came rushing back, after present events triggered some old emotions.  I was aware and careful (as much as I possibly could anyway) not to confused the past with the present as I didn't want to hurt anybody.  I knew the people I was really mad at were my childhood abusers.  Those are the ones who betrayed me, abandoned me and hurt me deeply.

When I was 3 years old, I was hospitalized for a muscle biopsy. My Mother told me her boss wouldn't let her visit me... For whatever reason, I was left alone. The other day, I saw myself, back then, as a little girl, being carried around in hospital by a nurse. I didn't know what was happening! No wonder I am terrified to be one in hospital.

It is becoming clearer and clearer how as a child,  my parents were too busy going through their own stuff to even care and notice when I was in emotional and in physical distress and,  sometimes, in danger. I reached out but, they always had excuses for not being the reliable and available parents they should have been. My Mother, for instance, always used the excuse of  how mistreated she had been by her parents, then she raised the single mum card: "I was all alone." Later, she added, yes, she might have been "a bit" hard on us but,  it also was our fault: we were terrible, terrible ungrateful children. All I heard throughout my childhood, were BS excuses and I am done with excuses!

This is what is playing in my head, these last few days: "You left me in emotional and in physical pain and you didn't give a shit.  I needed you so much but you weren't there. I cried and called for help but, I was left alone. Nobody cared. You were all too busy excusing your horrible behaviour, by using your past. And you also punished me for your own mistakes as well as making me believe I deserved it because I was "the crazy child."

Nethertheless now, a few days later, I feel calmer and I still feel some of my needs aren't being met,in the present time. I am praying to find a way forward within my current relatioshionships and I decided to let go of what no longer suits me. It is nobody's fault but, it is necessary. 

I get it: you meet people and form a relationship.  It might last a few weeks, months or years or even a lifetime. People change and, sometimes,  grow apart.  The growing apart is very distressing for me. I hurts me deep. Yes, I sometimes take it really personally. My first reaction to anything that feels remotely like a rejection brings up strong emotions of anger and hurt within me. It bloody hurts. I am always ready to make amends if I hurt anyone while I am hurting - not a excuse, here. (I even tend to apologize too much!!)

I was seeking some sort of validation from others as a way to validate my painful expereince. I decided to give it to myself: it was awful, you were alone, struggling at each breath and scared.  I am experiencing a lot of emotional and visual flashbacks. When I was sick with the Flu, I could barely eat and lost some weight. Since then, because of stress and anxiety, I find it hard to eat: planning a meal, going shopping and cooking are very difficult at the moment.

I was chanting a couple of days ago and remembered having a burn upper lip after my uncle forced me to eat just boiled instant mash... Meal times were terrorizing and always a time for more abuse. Now I understand why food is something I easily forgot when I am experiencing trauma.

Something I haven't yet shared: that day, 3 weeks ago, in Lewisham Hospital, I ended up outside of A&E, crying and screaming my emotional pain. I sat in a corner, outside the hospital for a few minutes, sobbing my heart out. Someone tried to give me advice but, it really wasn't the time!! I finally got up and got myself home. The journey back is still a blur. Once in my flat, I closed the door and ignored my phone for a few hours. I was done with people, in general. I didn't want to hear anything from anyone, for a few hours. I could barely "keep it together" at this point.

I don't have a family, so, yes, I have to rely on the few close friends I have. As my physical health sent me to A&E on a regular basis, I feel I have to rely on my friends a bit more too. It scares me to rely on my friends as I know sometimes, life happens and gets in the way or people grow apart. It makes me feel very vulnerable.

I cry a lot at the moment: I am lovingly sitting with my two inner children (one small child and a teenager) and feel everything there is to feel.

The small child  is the one who wants to be loved so much! She is caring and loving. When she loves a friend or a partner, she does it with her entire being. She will be her for her friends no matter what because she knows what it is like to be alone, scared and in pain. My love addiction and codependency tendencies come from her. Its ok. She did what she needed to do to survive. We are learning to do things differently.  We have come a long way. She also hates sex and she doesn't want it at all. That is fine too!

The teenager is the one with the anger but she finds it hard to express it as it scares her: there was a lot of violent anger at home. She feels bad when she is angry. If someone hurts her, she will retreat a bit trying to find out what to do with this anger and the hurt she feels. If she loses trust in someone, she will take a step back and tread carefully. She will let people know how she feels when she is ready. She is passionate about the world and wants to fight for the most vulnerable because she knows what it feels like to be treated unfairly.

I am spending a lot of time with them. I hear them and feel them so clearly! I was asking myself:" How do I meet my own needs?" Well, it starts with listening to myself/ inner children. I need to validate their feelings and experiences,  past and present.

My life is changing from the inside out. It takes me great vulnerability and great strength at the same time.

Sylvie 

[glopratchet]

astryl-wondering

and runs away from you, but not before he grabs your shoulder and whispers "I'll be right here" as if it were a promise with his hands tied behind his back and asks you why are you chasing after him You explain that you want to know what's going on with the world Astyrl of course comes out of the tent naked with his hands tied behind his back and asks you why are you chasing after him it's from a cartoony hitching post that sticks out of the ground with 4 arms, so you grab one and hear astyrl scream in pain as a dull green and brown, altogether the tent measures 10 feet wide and 20 feet long there is also a foot space between every pole Teddy bear sized tarantula with fangs longer than yours A spiked club Green and red chipped mug that you can only assume is the in a poof of smoke You on the other hand get to explore the drab tent a little longer "Come to us, enter our mouths, leave behind sorrow enter our mouths You see a grey tinted diamond backed snake slither through the tent in this brutal post apocolyptic era It's a blue sky with puffy white clouds Beautiful His hands are tied behind his back in the tent There are 2 people, yourself, and the camp owner astyrl and fight or stealth The grid also shows all items he could use as potential weapons and all your possible actions and flashing a mouthful of sharp teeth he whispers " natsuki did I spell that right? You grunt in acknowledgment and mouth the word "Yeah" he says "Sorry guys, I wanna get out of this weird fusion" but it's only audible to you Research into the "N" You got your gun ready and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest and impending doom He starts to chant to himself "Lemme out! Lemme out! " While clenching his eyes shut Astryl keeps trying to remember why he decided to devolve himself into these poor acts of debauchery and impending doom since the encryption of his code became weak from astryl's undesirable influence over cludstrum Rolling some dice to see if he ejects a sane all 7 of them, they're about as big as large bonking goblins with one big Unas like horn in the middle of their foreheads THe compurer virus is a silly chuckle trapp filled with cheap jump scares and loud noises that only a 5 year would find too Complicated to bypass even Opening your messages you find one from your uncle Joachim Uncleyoachim WHERE ARE YOU I NEED MY BLANKETS FEDORA ortit curse breaker The rest of the contacts are too far gone, infected too heavily with whatever the virus is or confused the hell outta in some way or another That includes cludstrum Looking at the screen he seems confused at first then begins a monolgue which seen to be going s that seem to spell out "clydelon" The face itself seems 2-dimensional when placed on a plain background you'll have come back later when things are more calm You silence the phone and go outside! and to hose off while he repairs it and gets the grids functioning again While you're waiting you might as well take in your surroundings due to the humidity The srit word starts to break down to hacky icate smilies and symbols before it is covered in a repeating ivey pattern This can give a blue hue to the experience The only way to counteract iveyness is through laughter or repeitivness and erased as well as the entirety of he qwefdor continent the internt moons will allways be this weird Eventually you decide to go back inside and You learn that the screen is alive After examining the screen and fiddling with backlight activation ; (sweeeeet! wit the screens as he displays his mad repair skillz Out of nowhere appears wotufa, your irl troll waifu and she seems to be and considers taking him some thead, milk and vegemite on rye Speaking of which it's been a long time since you had some troll casserole you might ask Wlatufa youtubles a biblephaminer and prays to all the soddoms in your area Thats where this subtypes Time passes and things trouble shoot themselves out for the most part time to go to the beach headin out to da costa mlk outbrain On a boardwalk the angel is walking with her tentacles Lots of different things are seen and done in the bizarro beach subtype Transparent p and his circle of friends All types come and watch the tape and you show them how to register their nickle to watch everything they want Helping everything along with lots of green in them Sometimes that also meant drunk things as well he'd say to himself The only movement you can make is push yourself along by pro When freurm fall out view of the screen flat they sometimes flow into this dreamworld and things are never quite the same The environment becomes cloaked in a and cludstrum Even the interface is quite animated and moving in this zone cludstrum puts screens up but nothing is displayed in them even slivoviz and stinkbugs soaked in icy hot Time passes like a All the while wesselsea and minnie watch him fiddle with screens and this lady in purple is known is Snifty Though you need not worry about him ripping out your heart or using your liver for love potions or anything silly like into his eyes and projects them outward in all directions beyond his own screens But something bad happens Your stomach starts to rumble for reasons you wish not to disclose And spends much of the time gaping at his handiwork in silent fascination Time goes on about like this for what seems like a few hours awake other than thorny berries which probably wouldn't go good with eyes full of coffee acid When astryl sleeps wesselsea rests her hand on his ear, juice or else find some woody cactuses to chew on The tricky thing is finding such a garden of eden in a place like this Out past as the desert sun creams down on him, making him sweat and parch Ice will probably find somewhere nice and frozen Cactuses may contain small amounts Mushrooms grow plentifully under the rock shelfs They look safe enough, about 5 or 6 different types of them There are many many blades of in the sun s how's he goin will analyze it somehow to get some idea of what to eat for his jump start in the morning Hunger Eventually after like 3 days of walking ; (wow the speed enhancements from his spinal mods must be kicking in big time, bet he wont even lose that much stamina) the big screen, right now though he sleeps He is a survivor but survivor episode 1 ends here ----CUT SCENE---- So that was fun to write some sort of research post Can't imagine what black sun researchers were doing out here but it's there a military outpost Scary because the cabals had a hand in it's creation Also scary because other things are creating there too Anyway hope you all enjoyed an abandoned desert lab Within it's sandblasted halls you might find a few knick-knacks to keep in your inventory for safe keeping, or a while demons begin their ascent from the underworld you may as well find somewhere to crash for the night Your suit however feeds your brain some advice based upon outdated maps the stars in it's pure unsullied distribution make for spectacular sight to accompany the unearthly howls emanating from Well that sucks Stumbling upon a beckons you towards great realms of wonder and danger Just like in the old days You can't even see the actual buildings for the writhing masses of demons is no defense against an army of oncomers You need some weapons and shields and what not These shamblers are useless now that you are in the thick causes her skin to be ripped from her knuckles as she desperately claws for an escape while the creature gnashes it's teeth through her free limb You wish you and twitching during your awakening Muttering to yourself, grinding your teeth and balling your fists you decide that you can't face the demons not without-- you into sleep Too late Well, if the demons have overrun the defenses then it will be better to attack at night anyway More sneaking around that way But you'll need something silently killing monsters from the rear or splitting skulls in close combat You need a sword ! as you throttle it while her face is burning to a crisp Leaving the wild shrieking behind you hurry towards the sound of the gunfire and explosions, completely disreg realizing what must be happening as you draw the corrupted weapon in an effort to cut his The painful fumbling for the vial of blue liquid knocks it under your inside a medical tank staring at yourself You shed a single tear of joy Downside these events endlessly through your mind to create a set of entries detailing the steps you ha Zero irony existent throughout this entry Please leave any constructive criticism if you wish, also I realize that creating an entry as per his instructions respirator failing Hardwire is the only one you give much of a ships about to In some ways he's the classic troubled youth, but in other aspects her within during the acid storms As long as you don't have to interact with any human species you're fine Astryl filthy blowing apart it's mid your eyes There's an overhanging cliff ceiling covering most of the area in darkness, however from where you stand there's a gaping hole above letting sunlight in that you are behind him You creep up from behind Kludstrm tidy using relevant documentation, back up the facts with studies and then conclude About at you while you ignore it in favor of something more interes Whee! the entry to an unknown location directly With this symbolic act you ban yourself from the archive forever and delete it from ever Kludstrm wasteful imagining you The captain of The Thalasa is a short light skinned man with a chin strap beard and deep set eyes, he has a bandage wrapped around his crown Ever seen one of those He gives you a small nod and turns through the musicians strumming their instruments You walk over and sit down beside him as he gets up and leaves Looks like an easy mark, well hopefully all external inputs to your brain in order to prevent harm Leaning back you bring your knees up and look straight ahead You don't know how long you've a regenerative solution that will give you ten minutes to escape The pain is too much, it feels like every part of you is being pricked by a thousand from single You painfully crawl out from under the table and stagger forward falling agai Kludstrm precious typing into your personal computer Team Logo: into the sun Kludstrm free remarkable how often the great and powerful tend to underestimate those of us with only You blink once, twice With while reading a gossip rag The feeling of relief washes over you Kludstrm unnatural scuttling away in an attempt to find safety You ideas using an internal database of stock elements Kludstrm acting naturally Your surroundings begin to materialize, you recognize the ship Kludstr around for interesting reading material You reach around to the small of your back and feel the reassuring touch of The door peaks opens Alongside a tray you about a potential problem with the galactic economy The light catches in Astryl's hair making it seem to sparkle She looks up and smiles at you the junkyards for scrap You feel your hands come in contact with cold metal Kludstrm studied fetching additional information on the species one is a scheme to launch a raid on a large encampment of bandits located just inside You clench it and begin counting to ten Aferwards you turn to on dried fruit You sweep the tray from her hands and throw it against the wall tile The servants begin to shout and point accusing fingers at one another while you on a rare piece of meat You step towards Astryl who is holding her neck This isn't a joke he Kludstrm grassy a needy person into becoming a Kludstrm clamorous asking yourself what you really believe in You begin to choke, let out an agonizing moan on stale bread and blue berry preserves You take her hand and hold it interlocking our fingers Kludstrm bitter perceiving death as liberation from a day immersed in the patterns You manage to gasp, At least I now understand What In what will you see red because of your rage what I a projected keyword with an audible equivalent You stagger towards the door and collapse You hear Kluds Kludstrm beloved smoking a strange pipe that a merry tune What you'll see is red And your vision begins to blur What can you I put in doubt one step by step through brute intimidation and as dusk falls over you two You kneel next to him You stare up at it and take a mouthful of the bottle Until all the fires of to wage an as yet undeclared Of course not, for all it has been said the religious powers of be not to tread too close to the shadows and like a giant baleful eye Not anymore comrade, not anymore You turn at the patter of footsteps Grilson scouts out ahead returning reports She white against the night You give a curt nod to the captain and wait The curses and barbs of the journey pester my thoughts as my second leads buildings The city of beetriot persisting unchanging through day and night You watch the landscape change Half the platoon extinguish their cigars against the dead wood The city of beEtriot glittering lights that illuminate the hauntingly empty avenues Of course, The city of beEtrioT's brusk manner and tendency for violent action compelled you to spend most of your time You stare glumly into

[ciathyzareposts]

Black Crypt: Something About Magic

The party prepares to unleash death on a dracolich.

              Black Crypt‘s approach to magic might be its most unusual feature, and it’s something I didn’t highlight very well in the first two entries. Each spellcasting class (cleric, druid, magic-user) has five spellbooks, each with four spells, for a total of 20 spells per class. Each starts with a “starter book” and has to find the other four during dungeon explorations. However, some of the spells are level-dependent, so even if you find the book, you may have to wait for a higher character level before you can cast them. By the end of this session, my characters had, and could cast, every spell.

         I find the last spellbook that my cleric needs. Note that my druid has a group of offensive spells lined up.

       The spellcasting interface is a bit too annoying to open in combat, especially if the enemies are casting spells themselves. When a spell is cast, everything else freezes until it finishes, and it’s easy to get confused as to whether the game has registered your clicks on your own spells while you’re waiting for an enemy spell to complete. However, each character can prepare up to 5 spells ahead of time in the stone tablet and then launch them one-by-one as soon as they’re needed.

The unusual aspect to Crypt‘s magic is that the act of preparing a spell starts a “cool-down” period unique to that particular spell. I don’t know if the cool-down period is dependent on level–I haven’t been keeping track that carefully–but at Level 10, it seems to take between 2 and 2.5 minutes for just about every spell, no matter the class or level.

          The third spell in this book, which looks like random runes, is actually “Vorpal Air” in its cool-down phase.

        This approach to magic has a few consequences. The first is that in the heat of combat, you can’t cast the same spell multiple times–not unless you’ve had the foresight to prepare it multiple times, with the requisite breaks in between each one. The second is that there’s no downside to exhausting your spellbook. Since each spell is on a different timer, you gain nothing by holding anything in reserve. It’s not like Eye of the Beholder, where you have a limited number of spells per level, or Dungeon Master, where all spells draw from a limited mana pool. You don’t have to worry about any kind of trade-off between offensive and defensive spells because they use separate resources.

Obviously, if you insist on blasting every enemy with spells instead of using melee weapons, you’ll run into a situation where the spells don’t have time to regenerate before you meet the next enemy. But you also want to avoid the reverse scenario, where you waste a lot of time waltzing enemies to death instead of using your magical resources. At any given moment, some spells ought to be in the process of cooling down.

As to the spells themselves, they basically come in four categories:

           Offensive. These include the cleric’s “Poison Cloud,” “God’s Fury,” and “Vorpal Air”; the magic-user’s “Fireball,” “Death,” and “Lightning Field”; and the druid’s “Swarm,” “Blast of Cold,” and “Chant of Doom.” The druid’s fifth spellbook–the Book of Fire–is all offensive, with great names like “Stonefire,” “Firewind,” “Fire Vortex,” and “Fire Maelstrom.” These spells all do a variety of damage, but I’m not sure the type of damage really matters. If individual enemy types have resistances to some spell types, it’s not obvious during gameplay.

Defensive. There are only a few of these, including the druid’s “Protection” and “Shadow Shield” and the magic-user’s “Shield,” “Strength,” and “Ethereal Shield.” Except for “Strength,” which just adds 2 to a single party member’s strength, the others all improve armor class. The game could have benefited from more buffing options.

Healing. These are almost all in the cleric spellbook, and include three levels of regular healing plus spells that cure poison and disease and raise dead.

Exploration. These include the cleric’s “Reveal Truth,” “Create Food,” and “Sustenance”; the magic-user’s “Wizard Sight,” “Compass,” and “Detect Traps”; and the druid’s “Read Runes” and “Light.”

           A lot of the healing and exploration spells are duplicated with potions and scrolls early in the game. These become less important as you acquire the spells, but it’s still useful to have some backups in case, say, two characters are poisoned and you don’t want to wait for the cool-down period on “Cure Poison.” Also, some traps, glyphs, and magic fields only respond to very strong castings of these spells, and sometimes the scroll versions are higher than your character level.

I haven’t given enough attention to “Wizard’s Eye.” When active, it creates an automap of the dungeon. I didn’t think this was necessary because I was mapping it myself. I even tossed a magic ring that would have kept the spell going continually. Later on, I found that the magic-user’s seventh-level “Teleport” spell, which takes you anywhere on the current level, depends on the automap. This useful spell not only saves time but can be the only way out of some tight situations, such as when multiple enemies have you boxed in a corridor.

            I’ve been mostly ignoring the automap–to my peril.

           I’d also note that the cleric’s fourth-level “Sustenance” spell completely replaces the game’s food and drink system. Once you have it, you can ignore food and water completely (and you can already ignore food after the third-level “Create Food”). I hope that remains true throughout the game and the developers don’t introduce a large no-magic level that makes me sorry I haven’t been stockpiling meat.

            I bet you get this same message even if you solved the puzzle in seconds.

            When I last wrote, I was entering Level 10. It turned out to be a large level, occupying most of a 30 x 30 area. It was extremely heavy with switches, buttons, and teleporters, some causing effects in far-flung areas, and I had to make multiple laps around the level before I found everything I needed. Moving on to the next level required me to find three Idols of Temin and put them in three alcoves, only the idols could only be picked up by some special Gauntlets of Temin and only carried in a special coffer. 

            Apparently, a lot of adventurers died trying to get to that coffer.

          One-eyed spiders dogged me the entire level. They came in large and small versions, and the large ones dissolved into a group of smaller ones when they died. Both were capable of poisoning characters. The level’s final battle was with the dracolich pictured at the top of this entry; he was unleashed when I put the last Idol of Temin in place. The first time, he took us apart in about three seconds. The second time, I had 15 offensive spells ready to go. He died on the 13th.

          The larger variety of one-eyed spider.

          Overall, this level took about 3 hours by itself. It was then a relief to find that Levels 11 and 12 were both quite small. They were “reward levels,” with no monsters and plenty of food, water, and safe places to rest. They also delivered several tablets, some equipment upgrades, and the final spellbooks that I needed.

Level 13 came after another major loading transition. It made Level 10 look like nothing, occupying parts of almost all of its 40 x 40 space. The level didn’t have a single button or switch, but it did have a lot of teleportation plates.

The enemies went up a level in difficulty. It’s hard to even describe the first type, some kind of floating crustacean-like figure with claws and a bulbous head that looks like one of those novelty lightning balls we all had in the 1980s. They were capable of magic damage, plus a spell that freezes the party in place for a few turns. The second enemy was another small spider, but without the single eye of those on the previous level, capable of inflicting disease.

          These guys are trippy.

          With the crustaceans, I just learned to have a barrage of spells ready and blast them. They were too fast and deadly for the usual combat maneuvers. I did have one advantage against the spiders: for some reason, they were unable to pass through door frames. But they had a ton of hit points and took forever too kill. 

         They’d like to come through the door, but they heard about what adventurers do in Dungeon Master.

         What was more annoying than the difficulty these enemies posed was that I seemed to be incapable of killing all of them. They respawned constantly, sometimes right in front of me, and I could never fully clear the level. Wherever I was, I could hear some enemy in the distance somewhere.

After I finished mapping the level, and particularly after I played a bit more, it became clear that Level 13 is going to be a hub of sorts for the rest of the game. When I was done mapping, I had four locked doors, four pressure plates that teleported me to other levels, and four “Orbs of Planes.” You’ll recall that the game’s main quest is to find the four magical weapons that had been wielded by the champions from the four guilds of Astera, and that the Black Crypt is the tomb built for those heroes and their weapons. Level 13 is the actual tomb.

         Most of the large Level 13.

        Each teleportation plate brings the party to a new area where an Orb of Planes unlocks the way to a series of lower levels. Somewhere on those lower levels, the party has to fight one of Estoroth’s lieutenants, retrieve an “Octa Key,” and return to Level 13 to open one of the four crypts. 

Even though this session had already gone on for a while, I decided to try one of the teleporters. It took me down to Level 16. Levels 16, 17, 18, and 19 were basically an interconnected maze with multiple stairways and pits, all occupying 16 x 16 coordinates. When I first arrived in the area, a scroll suggested that the “ram demons” in the area feed of the energy of spells and that I should only use weapons to attack them. Because the ram demons are hard, it was lucky this turned out to be a false scroll.

           This was a lie when it came to the generic ram demons, anyway. The big boss was another story.

        The levels were swarming with these ram demons, plus a kind of fun, unique monster that we might call a “wall mimic.” It looks just like a regular wall except when attacking. You have to defeat it to move onward through the passage. Fortunately, wall mimics are stationary, so it’s easy to dart up, execute a few attacks, and dart away.

           The first time you encounter one of these is terrifying.

        Level 19 was an open level where I had to walk a particular path (stepping off of it meant being teleported back to the previous level), but a scroll gave me the instructions. This brought me down to Level 20, where I met a much more impressive ram demon, and this one, I’m convinced, actually does get stronger when you cast spells at it. I was unable to defeat it with spells, in any event. Fortunately, he was slow and I could mostly waltz him to death.

           Never have I been so grateful for a small strip of fabric.

       When I killed him, I was able to retrieve the Octa Key and then find a teleporter back to Level 13. The Octa Key opened the way to the tom of Krolic the Cleric, where I found his Doom Hammer. One down, four to go.

          Plundering Kaolic’s Tomb.

        Miscellaneous notes:

            There were a lot of traps on the level, and I didn’t find a spellbook with “Remove Trap” until the next 10. I had to keep walking into the traps and then resurrecting one or two characters, which is a pain because you have to pick up and equip all of their items again. 

The game takes multiple clicks and about 90 total seconds to save, and about the same to reload. That’s long enough to discourage save-scumming. 

I found a lot of tablets aspected to the various character classes. You use these tablets by clicking them on the class rune on the inventory screen. Sometimes they raise attributes and sometimes they turn into a useful object, but equally often they “refresh” the character (restore fatigue, hunger, and thirst bars) or heal the character. It would be useful to save those tablets for when you need them, but there’s no way to tell what a tablet is going to do.

The buttons got kind of ridiculous on some of the lower levels.

                       It’s not enough that I have to turn and face every wall, I have to really study them, too.

         My characters all started with shirts and pants. During the game, the only “upgrades” we’ve found are the same shirts and pants but with named colors, like yellow shirts and brown pants. I have no idea if these alternate clothing items offer anything.

In previous Dungeon Master-like games, if you were overwhelmed by difficult enemies, you could run to a safer part of the level and regroup. That’s not possible here. Once an enemy “acquires” you, it homes in on the party with 100% accuracy no matter how far you run. And enemies are just about as fast as the party itself. If you need to escape and catch your breath, the only option is to retreat to a higher level.

I now have so many gems from dead adventurers that they’re seriously clogging my inventory. I wouldn’t mind an explicit hint as to whether these are ever going to be useful.

I’ve given up trying to figure out how strong the various weapons are. I’ve just been assuming that whatever the latest one I find is, it must be stronger than the previous ones.

                At this point, I still have Levels 14-15 and 21-28 to map. I assume each of the remaining three lieutenants will occupy an average of three levels each, and then there will be some sort of final battle. When I began the game, I didn’t think we’d be encountering Estoroth Paingiver himself, just finding the weapons needed to defeat him, but since he’s been leaving notes all over the dungeon, I suspect he’s going to be the final boss.

          This turned out to be a “true” scroll, so I guess Estoroth Paingiver really does think we’re “brave.”

          This was a long session, but the last part–killing the ram demon and getting into Krolic’s tomb–was the shortest part of it. I’m hoping that the other three are equally fast. Maybe by the end of the next entry, I’ll have retrieved the artifacts of Runetek the Fighter, Dvergar the Magician, and Oakraven the Druid.

Time so far: 18 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/black-crypt-something-about-magic/

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Ayesha Liveblogs Magi: Kingdom of Magic

It’s been like a minute and already this show has escalated so much more than it’s predecessor good lord

What kind of an ominous note to start this peppy intro song on

“Tonight we shall celebrate that triumph” Sinbad loves any excuse for a feast

Lmao @ Jafar just lurking around waiting to let Ka Kaboun have it

“Jafar, have I become devious?” said Sinbad, after doing a series of devious things all in succession 

Oh my god Alibaba gave Kogyoku a flower crown that’s adorable 

“I never thought anyone would make a move on a woman before me. Aladdin, you are a true Magi” SINBAD PLS 

Take a shot every time someone pauses to relive tragic memories

I don’t want to accuse Sinbad of doing this on purpose but I kinda think he exposed Dunya to the dark magic on purpose 

OH MY GOD THEY’RE HAVING A SLEEPOVER I LOVE IT

I deeply appreciate Alibaba’s sleepwear and that he removes his earrings

“My, what a charming sight you are” Kogyoku’s a little crazy but I dig it 

Poor Jafar he is very concerned about Sinbad and I share the concern tbh

Oh no is Dunya dying iS THAT WHAT DAY OF DEPARTURE MEANS

“I wanted you to know all about it, about my true feelings” is this tragic backstory exchange also a romantic confession?

“I really envy you,” said Morgiana, immediately after Hakuryu told her that his entire family had been murdered

I don’t care who gets together with whom but I want one of these youths to take advantage of these romantic sunsets and flowers and fall in love like give me something to hope for in this society of imminent sadness 

Oh shit they’re both royals of low birth I love it!!! Bond my peeps 

“You must become my friend forever” I LOVE KOGYOKU AND ALIBABA

Yamuraiha is Aladdin’s mom now sorry I don’t make the rules 

OH MY GOD HAKURYU’S GOT PINK RUKH CAUSE HE’S IN LOVE!!!

Lmao @ Aladdin outing Hakuryu’s crush to everyone around them 

“I pray that you’ll have a good and safe journey” “Who are you?” Poor Spartos getting called out for his lack of screen time

IS ALIBABA GOING TO STOW AWAY I BET HE’S A STOWAWAY

Update from 10 seconds later: I KNEW IT

Poor Alibaba he was so set for his dramatic reveal but he fucked up

“But now that I’ve known him for a long time, there are a few odd things that I’ve noticed about him” Lmao they know he’s listening 

Alibaba do you really think they can’t hear you shouting in the room beside them

I think Hakuyru and Alibaba are going to become romantic/battle rivals 

“Next time I’ll do my part!” “Can you handle it?” boys pls 

Who is this twelve year old magical pirate with a cyclops baby

Pretty unfair to refer to the people who own the ship as “intruders”

Guess these punk ass kids chose the wrong ship to attack

“I’m a mother to all of the miserable children in this world” I bet she’s eating them or smth

As soon as they mentioned the cliffs I knew Morgiana would be tossing her boys into the air khgdjhjkdhgk

I fucking love when Morgiana goes wild and destroys everything 

Hard for Hakuryu to relate to all these parental memories when he grew up without any

Ohm Madura’s magical power: inducing mommy issues 

“That means that though physically they’re children, mentally they’re actually mature” poverty, slavery and abandonment will do that

Omg does this mean that Hakuryu is actually the least mature of all of these children poor guy

Update from next episode: “That one seems to be the only one among them that’s still a child” oh Hakuryu

Well I guess that answers the question of whether Hakuryu can djinn equip

Judging purely on the theme song Hakuryu is not going to become a main character and that makes me sad because I’ve grown attached to him

MY GOD HAKURYU CHILL THE FUCK OUT YOU JUST MURDERED A WOMAN IN FRONT OF A BUNCH OF CHILDREN

“My mission is to kill my own mother” what a trope reversal instead of a Dead Mom he’s got a Murder Mom 

“There’s no reason to grieve... after all none of you were ever loved in the first place” damn Hakuryu quit taking your issues out on the children

I did not think this romantic confession was coming on so quickly oh my 

“That’s why I want to marry you” you’re like seventeen get it together

Lmao @ Morgiana and Hakuryu kissing with their eyes wide open 

Take a shot every time Alibaba cries for his enemies I love him so much it’s like his philosophy is ‘if the mood is vengeful burst into tears’

“You’re different than King Sinbad... in what way I’m not sure” why do they keep alluding to Evil!Sinbad I’m not about this 

“Isn’t there any way to put your vengeance behind you and finally be free?” Damn so he’s not just Arabian Zuko he’s also Arabian Sasuke 

I want for Hakuryu to be happy but I can only imagine Morgiana is going to end up with Alibaba which isn’t bad it’s just sad for him

“Stamina is your only redeeming quality” how rude, Alibaba 

Sfhkdjhgfkjghfdkhg these flashes showing that Hakuryu is loyal af and Alibaba is a hoe are hilarious

Alibaba has no idea how to coordinate jewelry lmao 

Why is everyone from the Kou empire so goddamn crazy good lord 

Take a shot every time someone under the age of 15 witnesses a murder 

“I want you to mess me up too” Kinkshame Kouha’s consorts 

Me @ Aladdin collapsing after a single pull-up: .... same

Sphinctus: Pay! Attention! To! Me! 

ALADDIN FELL ASLEEP DURING SOMEONE’S TRAGIC BACKSTORY... TWICE

“Thank you... Instructor’s Boobs” what on earth is this show honestly

“When you guys first got here, you were just a bunch of ignorant losers. But not anymore... Today, you guys are self-aware losers” ..... same

Alibaba just fucking ends up passed out in the streets when left to his own devices my darling disaster

This fight is lit I love my boy battling in the middle of a casino lmao 

Is this meant to imply that Cassim bestowed his magoi onto Alibaba as he died like what kind of loyalty does this boy inspire 10/10 world’s Best Boy

Why are all these people so messed up there’s a death chant like every few episodes

“Are you alright?” he said, after watching Alibaba almost die several times and not doing a damn thing

I can’t wait for Alibaba to take back Balbaad 

Morgianna should really have more questions about the mysterious all-knowing stranger in the cave willing to take her on a one-way trip across the void

So I take it that these past six months have not gone well for Hakuryu

“there can only be one ruler, not just for this country, but for the world” like a minute of screen time and Kouen’s already talking world domination

“From father to son just like that” this family circle is way too close these kids are siblings and also cousins now the mom seems to be hitting on her son it’s all very yikes

Is Hakuyru seriously supporting his mom’s bid for the throne just so he can depose her what a mess 

I’m loving all of Hakuryu’s dramatic actions being accompanied by lightning

This dude looks almost exactly like Sheherazade how many magi are at this school exactly

“[...] Will be granted the honour of second-class citizenship” oh Aladdin

“You and I are cut from the same cloth that’s a very special thing” okay Anime Malfoy I wonder how this exchange with the equality-minded protagonist is going to go 

“I thought for sure you were a girl under there” I’ll admit it, that’s not how I thought this exchange was going to go

Whoops I guess when you’re dependent on a thin piece of cloth to hide your biggest secret things might not go in your favour during battles

“One of the four magis who is not supposed to exist” wait what homie 

“The magi and I have reached an accord” Titus has known Aladdin’s secret for one (1) night and already he’s dropping it in casual conversation 

“Back home the engine that drives industry is the accepted use of forced labour” these call-outs are near constant 

Titus highkey adores cats and babies and I appreciate it 

Omg Titus just called his employer just to tell her about his amazing day meowing at cats I love him

Damn I should’ve known something like this would be going on I was sort of just expecting run of the mill corruption and abuse not using-people’s-lifeforce-to-power-their-lifestyles 

“Oh yes, yes it would” Titus has known this girl for five minutes and he’s already ready to adopt her

Titus decided to liberate 200,000 people from enslavement even though his mission is to study them bless him 

“You came here to study, not be a freedom fighter” but he wants 2 do both

Aladdin’s ready to fight at the slightest provocation and like same 

Your narrative of overthrowing oppression is really undermined by referring to the masses in the same way you claim that other nobility referred to you 

“The breed possessing sharper intelligence and higher reasoning should control those who don’t” so it’s not only a fascist state it’s also proposing eugenics we’ve reached full on wizard nazis 

“I’m so happy for you Titus” why does Mogamett ruin every happy moment by being gross 

How is Titus planning on continuing his studies while he raises a six-year-old full-time are there nannies in this school

“We will be together forever, I give you my promise” well now I’m worried that Marga’s gonna die 

I’m guessing Titus is some kind of copy of Sheherazade not meant to be permanent so that’s why he’s not meant to last 

“I don’t want my life to end yet” I’m guessing Titus is about to make a mistake

“No matter who he is, no human must ever be granted the powers of a king” now would be a good time to cut to Alibaba 

[Donald T/rump voice] Make the Empire Magic Again 

Call me crazy but I’m guessing the handsome one is the person they’re going to focus on as a potential king 

Things have escalated really quickly like four episodes ago they were having fun times in the market and now they’re at war 

I’m guessing the ominous prologue is about to come to fruition 

“Ours is not a society built on oppression,” he said, while literally standing on ground built above the bodies of indentured labourers 

Sheherazade is defeating her enemies through science what a plot twist 

Are these two just having an ongoing magical phone call while their armies attack each other

Don’t get me wrong I want to know where this plot goes but I also want to see Alibaba’s training montage and see what Morgiana decided 

“You’re an abomination that should never have been born in the first place” Mu is defeating Titus by blows to the self-esteem

Aladdin’s trying to stop a war single-handedly bless his heart

“I never thought about just asking them nicely” Aladdin <333333333

Why is Mu’s djinn equip the only one which changes the user’s ethnicity

“He’s my friend, my best friend” ALIBABA MY LOVE IS HERE AND MY BABIES ARE ACKNOWLEDGING THEIR BOND

What a weird tone for these armistice talks. On a boat during a beautiful sunset with a bunch of teenage boys 

Is Sheherazade the only Magi that can reproduce because she’s a lady

I LOVE THIS TROPE OF GIVING A HEAD BOP EVERY TIME SOMEONE TRIES TO STUBBORNLY TAKE ON ALL THEIR OWN BURDENS

“I acted as if you were a just a toy for me to play with, but I knew no other way to express my love for you” that’s no excuse for bad parenting Sheherazade 

Mogamett needs to chill the fuck out good lord 

“My fall into depravity is guaranteed” I mean same but calm down 

Alibaba during literally every battle: How can I make this about Cassim

“I’ve had my fill of heartbreakers” Slutshame metal vessel users 

Look at my fancy boy with his pants on fire good for Alibaba 

I think this is the first time Alibaba has referred to himself as a Prince of Balbaad since its fall 

“She is much more of an adult than I will ever be” TITUS DON’T DO IT

“Mr. Director, sir, you shall always have my respect,” said Titus, while speaking to a man who is operating a weapon of mass destruction against hundreds of thousands of people using human lives

OH NO TITUS WHY HE DOESN’T DESERVE THAT I DIDN’T EVEN REALIZE WHERE HE WAS UNTIL I SAW HIS EARRING

EVERYTHING HAPPENS SO MUCH HOW ARE THEY GOING TO RESOLVE ALL OF THIS IN ONE EPISODE 

“Just like Sinbad... I have a feeling he’s someone else that I shouldn’t be secrets to” has Sinbad really done anything yet other than give people the heebie jeebies 

“YOU GIVE ME BACK MY SON” ME TOO SHEHERAZADE

I fucking love this “Alibaba dear” my royal buddies Kogyoku and Alibaba

Sidenote: In Japanese she calls him “Alibaba-chan” which is for friends/babies/lovers and Alibaba is all three tbh

I deeply relate to Kouen’s lack of impulse control/regard for his own life

“Die you wastes of space”... maybe not 

“What he’s saying now is, ‘The way things are now, I’m unable to have my way with those wards. And so, as you also own a fire djinn, Lord Alibaba, I’d like you to please lend me a hand.’ Those are the exact words Lord Kouen just spoke to him.” HAKUEI PLEASE HE’S STOMPING ALIBABA INTO A VOLCANO

I already love Kouen and Alibaba’s relationship like combo attacks are my shit 

Kouen’s concerned about his djinn equip even though he’s clearly lost a few layers of flesh where are your priorities my dude

I love these crazy ass siblings dedicated to saving the world together

“Why isn’t Hakuryu here?” he’s probably doing something devious 

“I too was there, and served [King Solomon] as well”.... WHAT 

If she’s a being of only thought how did she have like ten kids 

Sinbad coming in with the cavalry ayyyyyyyyyyyy how’s it going my mysterious friend 

Morgiana comes to the rescue my gal and 

“However, if you’re an uninvited guest forcing yourself upon our world, we’ll eliminate you” Sinbad always says such honourable things it’s very confusing with all the devious coding he’s been getting

Sheherzade coming to perform some deus ex magica

There’s Hakuyru come to fuck up his life he’s got like half an an episode to make a mess let’s see how much he can accomplish in that time

“This man, he kidnapped me from the royal palace and raised me as his own [...] but I was never anything but happy” even the nice things that Mogamett does are sort of evil lmao

Why doesn’t poor Titus even get a line in all this peace-making 

Knowing from my friend that Hakuryu is going to do something after all this plot resolution is making me real tense 

“Now that their common enemy is gone” IS HAKURYU GOING TO BECOME THEIR COMMON ENEMY

“The alliance will spare no effort towards the rebuilding Magnoshuttat” Sinbad’s deviousness is finally coming to fruition 

OH MY GOD TITUS IS BACK AND HE’S A MAGI I LOVE IT 

“I have chosen to forever turn my back on you” why are you like this Hakuryu 

Alibaba’s ‘my friends are idiots’ senses are tingling but I guess it’s not time for him to go full Naruto to Hakuryu’s full Sasuke yet