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squishneedsahero · 3 years ago

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A Swing and A Miss

Awesomest of Them All 2.0

Part 9 of 13

Word Count: 2001

Batman x Batmom!Reader

You know what the bat family needs? Someone to pull them together and give them all the love they deserve. Who better to do that than you? An author rising to stardom in Gotham who catches the eye of a billionaire with your standoffish attitude at a huge social gathering. You are yourself and never pretend to be more or less than that. Plus you're the most stubborn person in the world, refusing to let good things go without reason.

This is a rewrite of my story Awesomest of Them All, I wanted to see how much I've improved over 3 years.

You and Bruce had been sitting on the couch together when his phone went off, it was a phone call. Who it was from you didn't know, all you knew was that he got up and went to the other room to take it. He doesn't usually do that, but on the rare occasion he does leave the room to take a call you don't mind as it's usually for a good reason.

Bruce walks back into the room, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking done. "I need to go take care of something. I'll be back later."

"What is it?" You try to ask, and aren't surprised when Bruce doesn't answer. "Okay, I'll see you when you get back," you say going up and kissing him gently on the lips. He kisses you back then heads down to the cave.

You don't sit back down, instead going to find something to do, to occupy your mind while Bruce is gone. Something had him upset but until he was ready to talk about it you weren't going to get it out of him, so that meant you got to either worry or keep busy.

Keeping busy was obviously the better option, so, you went and found the kids to sit in the same room as them. There's your two sons, Dick and Tim, your one adopted daughter Cass, plus Stephanie and Barbara who were like daughters to you.

"Hey mom," Dick says, looking up from where he was on his phone next to Babs, "where's dad?"

You shrug slightly, "not sure, he said he needed to take care of something and took off towards the cave."

"Oh, you want me to go check on him?"

"Not yet," you smile at your oldest who was always trying to take care of you, "he just left. I'm pretty sure he just needs to figure it out on his own first then he'll let me know what's going on."

"Alright," Dick concludes the conversation, but you can feel the eyes of the other kids on you.

Cass catches your attention and signs, "you can come sit with us," from her spot on the couch. She then pats the empty seat next to her.

You thank her in ASL with a hand to your chin as you go take a seat next to her. Cassandra was quiet, having an easier time communicating through asl than out loud. It always made you smile on the rare occasion you got her hear her soft little voice, and to know she was comfortable enough to talk to you, but you had learned sign language specifically for her, wanting to make sure she was comfortable all the time.

You gently put an arm around her and kiss the side of her head, then you go to remove your arm, knowing she doesn't always like to be touched. But she stops you from letting go of the hug and leans against you, maybe she just knew that you needed it at the moment to help get your mind off Bruce but either way, she didn't let go so you didn't either.

Stephanie scoots closer to you, taking the other seat next to you and offers you a controller. "We're playing Mario Kart, you want to play a few rounds Mrs.Wayne?"

You laugh gently, "I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice, all of you would easily kick my ass."

"Come on, pleeeaaaasssee mom," Tim joins in in begging you with his ex, turned best friend.

You laugh and take the controller, "fine I guess I'll try a few rounds."

"Yes!" Dick joins in, cheering you on as Babs gets things set up.

Tim had hotwired the two Wii's so all of you could play together without having to figure out how to do it online. So, the six of you were easily able to start a game and begin racing the many different tracks just having fun together as the kids knowingly distracted you from your worries.

It's a more than a few hours later when Bruce returns home. The kids had all gone down to the cave to get ready for patrol, and you had gone with them. They were about to head out when the roar of an engine cause everyone's attention and Bruce parked the bat mobile and got out, looking stressed and tired.

Dick goes over to him and tells him they're going to head out, and can cover things tonight.

Brice nods and doesn't argue, simply turning to look at you as the kids leave. He doesn't approach you until they've all left and you don't give him a choice but to hug you as you hug him.

"Do you want to change?" You ask, knowing he's obviously upset about something, but willing to be patient while he figures out what it is he needs to tell you.

"Sure, I'll change and we can go sit in our room," he says and kisses the top of your head before turning to get out of the batsuit.

It doesn't take him long to change, and the two of you head upstairs, hand in hand and take a seat on the couch in your bedroom. He just holds you for a while, obviously thinking through what he needs to tell you, and this only causes you more worry.

"Bruce, my love, you know you can tell me anything," you try and reassure him with a kiss on the cheek.

This reassurance works, as he finally speaks up, gently saying, "I have a son, he's 9."

This surprises you, and you don't exactly have a good response, you lean back away from him to look at his face as you quietly ask, "you have a biological son?"

"Yes, I didn't know until today, but he's 9... we've been together 11 years, my love-" this is when he begins to break his normally stoic demeanor.

This is also when you catch on to what he is saying. You had been with him at the time this child was conceived. That hurt. You turned to look away from him, not moving away but taking a moment to think.

There's a few minutes of silence before you speak, "how did it happen?"

You give him a chance to explain and he jumps on it, beginning to tell you what he knows. Starting with the fact that Thalia Al'Ghul was the mother, how she had apparently drugged him in order to have a child with him. His son had been raised by the League of Assassins, taught that he was the one to inherit the mantle of Batman.

It was... a lot. And it hurt to hear, especially due to the fact that you and Bruce had been unable to have a child of your own for many reasons. But, you turn to your husband, the man you were still head over heels for and say as gently as you can, "I'm not sure what I'm feeling right now but it isn't anger."

He looks at you and brushes your hair out of your face, "are you sure you're alright?" He's clearly still worried about his standing with you.

You gently lean to kiss him on the lips, "I'm not sure I'd call it alright, but we will be fine. My husband isn't a cheater, and that would be my biggest worry."

You can see more of the stress and worry leave his face as you speak and he pulls you into a tight hug. "I am so sorry my love. Thank you for giving me a chance to explain-"

You lean back from him once again, taking your hands to cup his cheeks. "Bruce, you didn't know. She drugged you and I trust you enough to know that's the truth. I'm going to need some time to get used to the idea, and figure out exactly how it is I am feeling. But promise me that we will be open and communicate about all of this as we get more information, deal?"

Bruce sighs in relief, "Deal," with that he wraps his arms around your waist and kisses you deeply.

It's at this point he informs you that Thalia had sent Damian, their son, to live with Bruce for a time. Damian would be coming the next morning and Bruce hadn't been able to have any say in it, barely able to convince them to wait long enough for him to talk to you first. It was yet another thing you could only describe as a lot but this was life, you had to roll with the punches or you'd never be able to move forward.

Two days later you still had yet to meet Damian. You were ninety-five percent sure it was because the boy was avoiding you. You sat eating breakfast and contemplating this when you hear someone behind you say, "Tt, you must be my father's harlot."

You raise your eyebrow and turn around to face the boy, "Harlot?"

"That is what my mother calls you," Damian says looking at you disgustedly.

You are so exhausted by this entire situation that the sass just slips out of you and you laugh. "I mean, that's one way to go about saying she's jealous of me because I have a ring and she doesn't."

Damian is clearly surprised by the fact that you just laughed off him calling you a harlot. He, "tt,"s again and just walks right back out of the kitchen, unwilling to admit you had surprised him.

You watch him leave, and he passes Bruce as he does. Once Damian is gone you shake your head and go back to your breakfast.

"I see you've met Damian," Bruce comments.

You offer him a slight smirk and a shake of your head, "yep, finally showed himself just to call me a harlot."

"A har-" Bruce starts, clearly outraged by the fact that anyone would dare call his beloved wife a harlot.

"Yeah," you laugh again, "he left just as fast because I laughed at the thought."

Bruce sighs, relaxing with how you had taken it, he takes a seat next to you and wraps you in a hug. "I'm glad that you didn't let him get to you."

"Yeah, though as far as introductions go, I think he's going to take some getting used too."

"Yeah, he's quite the character after being raised by the LoA."

You smile and lean against Bruce as you finish your food, "yeah, but eventually he'll have to figure out I'm just as stubborn as him for having put up with your shit for this long," you tease and he laughs.

It's a few hours later the next time you see Damian and he tries to insult you in yet another way, "you're weak, and would never be able to take anyone down. You aren't worthy of father."

This one is creative, you'll admit that but you shake your head. "I never claimed to be a fighter, if you'd stuck around earlier I could have told you that. Though, the first time I met your 'father," you say mocking his tone, "I kicked a green haired clown in the head so that has to count for something."

Damian once again just leaves, you weren't supposed to take these things so well, you were supposed to run off crying, not agree with him.

This goes on for a while, him trying to insult you and you just not having it. It goes on until he stops, knowing he'd have to find some other way to get under your skin. Meanwhile you try to get to the bottom of his behavior. Why does he feel like he needs to put you down in comparison to his mother and how can you show him he can trust you enough to not have to do that to keep a place in this family? It might take a while but you'd sure as hell figure it out.

#batfam #batfam x you #batfam x y/n #batfam x batmom #batfam x reader #batman x you #Batman #batmom #batmom reader #batman x batmom #batman x batmom!reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x batmom #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n

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jinx-jade · 4 years ago

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Secret Dreams Chapter 3: Meeting Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Damian was woken up from the dream zone like he usually was for the past eight years, by three sharp knocks on his door.

“Master Damian, Breakfast will be served in fifteen minutes. Please make sure to be up and ready by then.” Alfred informed him.

He got out of bed, moving towards his closet to grab an outfit. Once he had an acceptable outfit Damian went to the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day.

He came out of the bathroom wearing a black turtleneck sweater, with a pair of dark jeans, black dress shoes, and a dark gray dress coat. His hair was spiked up into its usual gelled back spikes.

Leaving the quiet sanctuary that was his room, Damian ventured toward the loud morning chatter coming from the dining room.

“..hy do I have to be at some event planning meeting? Replacement is the one who works there, not me!” he could hear Todd argue. ‘Most likely with father’ Damian deduced using previous events as evidence for his claim.

“What’s this about Todd going to a W.E. meeting?” Damian inquired as he entered the dining room.

Bruce let out a sigh, too used to the children and their antics. “Jason, Tim, and Cass will be joining me at a meeting to go over the charity gala last-minute details.”

Damian simply raised an eyebrow. A clear question as to why.

“The people we are meeting with are Jared Stone, Penny Rolling, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Jared is most commonly known as the world-class rockstar Jagged Stone. Penny Rolling is a Jagged’s assistant and wife. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is most known as MDC, the designer for our gala outfits.” Bruce explains.

Damian nodded his head in acknowledgment. Being careful to keep his face blank as he was trained to do. After all, it wouldn’t do to give the game away just yet. Malak most likely wouldn’t forgive him if he ruined her fun.

The morning continued like normal once Jason finished throwing his fit about the ‘boring’ meeting he was being forced to attend. Alfred drove Bruce, Tim, and Cass to the meeting, while Jason insisted on taking his bike. Everyone knew that Jason was most likely taking another form of transportation so he could ditch the meeting if it got too boring.

Once they arrived at W.E., Alfred left to go pick up their gussets. While waiting for them Jason seemed to get bored already and started an argument over something pointless. Tim argued back with Jason, the argument moving back and forth between the two. This was common for them, most times they could be found arguing over something that will make no sense to anyone but them. It was simply the way they communicated with each other. It might not make sense to others, but it made sense to them.

Cass watched the argument in amusement. Trying to read in between the line to what they were saying. As difficult as it seemed to others, all her training at reading body language made it fairly simple to understand.

Bruce simply watches his children interact. They had all come along from where they were when he first took them in. While he might not say it out loud, he hoped they knew he was proud of them.

Their attention was pulled to the door as a knock was heard. Bruce got up and opened the door.

“Jared, I’m glad you could make it,” he said welcoming them into the office. “Am I right to assume that these lovely ladies are your wife and niece?”

“That’d be a right on assumption” Jagged agreed. “This is my wife Penny Rolling, she’s also my lovely assistant.”

“It’s nice to meet one of Jagged's childhood friends, feel free to call me Penny.”

Jagged continues with the introduction, “And this little rockstar is my niece and designer, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne. You can call me Marinette, my last name is a bit of a mouth full.”

“Please call me Bruce, there’s no need to be so formal.” Once Marinette nodded her head, Bruce started to introduce his kids. “These are a few of my children. My second eldest son Jason Todd-Wayne, my second youngest son Timothy Drake-Wayne, and my daughter Cassandra Cain-Wayne.”

All the Waynes noticed that Jagged’s niece seemed no older the Damian, but according to the public, MDC has been a designer for the past six years. That would have made MDC somewhere between the ages eleven and thirteen, depending on her current age, when MDC had first started designing.

Marinette had smiled at them before taking a seat on the office couch, pulling out what seemed like a sketch, most likely to work on a design. The Waynes, Jagged, and Penny were the main holders of the conversation. Marinette mostly stayed out of the business conversation, only really talking when the conversation had to do with herself.

Everyone heard a noise that sounded like someone holding back laughter. Only to see that it was Marinette. There hadn’t been anything funny or amusing said in their conversation. No one asked what was so funny, only look in her direction for an explanation. Marinette had simply raised an eyebrow towards them until they went back to the previously abandoned conversation.

Their conversation was resumed until they heard Marinette say, “Mood” under her breath. All attention had turned to her, but she simply ignored the attention. The conversation slowly started back up. Looking in Marinette’s direction every once in a while.

One of the times they look to Marinette only to see her and Cass in some sort of staring contents. They watched for a bit before a smile appeared on Cass’s face.

“Can we keep?” Cass asked gesturing to Marinette, which made Marinette burst laughing. Much to the confusion of everyone else.

Realization appeared on Bruce’s face. “You can’t just ask to adopt people out of nowhere Cassandra,” Bruce said with a sigh.

“Keep?” Cass asked again with her best puppy dog eyes. Bruce simply shook his head, causing Cass to pout.

This interaction made no sense to the Waynes. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was certainly an interesting individual. They would have to ask Cass why she wanted to adopt Marinette later, but Cass's pout seemed to be the last straw as everyone burst into laughter.

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#maribat #batfamily chaos #Plagg is proud of Mari's Chaos #Cassandra Cain mentally adopts Marinette #Cass is now Mari's sister #cause she said so #daminette #damian x marinette #romantic soulmates #secret soulmate #soulmate damian #soulmate marinette #secret relationship #secret dreams

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the-dimitrescu-seamstress · 3 years ago

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I Won’t Be Long - A rather long one shot

(I have been working on this, what I call “Magda’s Worst Day”, for a while, and I only recently was inspired to finish it. Hence why I’ve been rather quiet in terms of posts. I can only torture my muse so much.

Basically, this story came about because of the “What have you done to my daughter?!” line. Alcina was in her chambers while saying that, therefore unable to see or know that Ethan was outside. So how did she know what happened to Bela, and who told her?

My answer? Magda.

I did my best to follow the game’s timeline, but there might have been some condensing or stretching in order to make things fit. I’ve also included some brief cameos from other OCs Magda has interacted with.

Please note, this is not an “Ethan Hate” story. Magda is simply reacting as one would in their given situation. Is this a sad story? Yes, in parts. Will you hate me for writing this? Maybe. Will you still enjoy reading it? I hope so.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You must hide. The man is a danger, and I wish for you to be safe. Do your best to keep out of all this. If he approaches you, play the helpless victim. Do not help him, but please do not hinder him either.”

“But I want you to stay safe.”

“You know that I always do, dearest. He is nothing but a man.”

“You literally just said he was a danger.” The press of Bela’s lips against Magda’s was enough the hush the smaller woman and soften her demeanor. “Kissing me in order to maintain the last word is technically cheating, you know.”

“True, but I did learn it from you,” the witch smiled. “I won’t be long.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That conversation happened a little over an hour ago. Since then, Magda had quietly paced the floor of her workroom, occasionally stopping to listen for any sound outside her door. She prayed she’d hear the familiar drone of flies, but nothing came. Everything was unnervingly quiet. Magda did her best to reassure herself. She kept telling herself that the man was outnumbered three to one, that the girls would work together and remove him as a threat, that they couldn’t be killed.

The sudden barrage of nearby gunfire and shattering glass ripped away any comfort she had tried to retain. It wasn’t terribly close, but then again it wasn’t terribly far either. Worse yet, there was no celebratory laughter that accompanied the silence that soon followed. Worry gnawed at Magda’s insides, and she did the one thing that Bela had asked her not to do. She unlocked the door to her workshop, and left her hiding place.

Magda went through the halls in sock feet, wanting to make as little sound as possible. The last thing she needed was to run into the man by accident. Thankfully, the courtyard was deserted. Freezing, especially without shoes or a coat, but it was empty. Even better, the door leading to the dining room was still locked. That meant the intruder had not found a key or harassed one of the few servants who had a skeleton key to the various entryways. Magda was one of those servants. Being a seamstress, and a trusted one at that, gave her a few perks.

As much as she wanted to rush in, Magda knew better. She turned the key slowly, as the locks were heavy and made a distinct and rather loud click when undone. The door she also took time opening, just in case there was an armed madman standing on the other side. Finding none, she closed and relocked the door behind her. Best to keep him confined.

Cassandra’s laughter coming from the Main Hall signaled that she was keeping the intruder well occupied and, rather than risk an interruption, Magda turned to the much plainer door which lead to the kitchen.

Normally the kitchen was a warm place, full of the sounds and smells of cooking food for the human staff, but the rush of cold air that blew in as she entered confirmed a fear she had. Hurrying past the preparation table and ducking under the cuts of drying meat, Magda stopped short in the doorway to the connected storage room. What she saw squeezed her heart like a vice, making it difficult to breath.

Shattered glass and the remains of broken boards framed a large, collapsed pile of frozen flies. The room wavered and suddenly felt hot, despite the open windows. Maybe… maybe this wasn’t Bela, she tried to reason. It wasn’t Cassandra, as she had heard her laughter not moments ago. A small, hateful voice in her head whispered that this was Daniela, that Bela was still alive inside the castle, perhaps happily carving up the man with her sister, and what laid before her was Daniela. Magda hated to even think that, but right now she was mental begging the powers that be for that to be the truth.

Step by hesitant step, she approached the pile, acting as a windbreak when she knelt between it and the broken window. Tears began to cloud her vision as she saw pale yellow flies mixed in amongst the brown and black insects. Again, her heart wrenched inside her chest. Her skin burned and the walls of the room closed in as her anger grew and burst forth in a ragged scream of rage, sorrow, and anguish.

Why?! Why did he do this?! How did he even know?! Did he just get lucky with a stray bullet breaking a pane of glass? Why did he kill her? Why did he go after her? The cold would have been enough to stop her! She would have stopped the chase, and he could have gotten away, but he still decided to kill her! He killed her while she was hurting! He killed her while she was cold, alone, and separated from everyone. He killed Magda’s stea mică… her little star…

He didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone.

Magda’s guttural scream was echoed by a rasping, undead one crawling up from the once boarded up passageway that led to the dungeon. In her emotional state, she hadn’t put two and two together. The boards were smashed going into the storage room rather than out into the passageway. The man had come up from below, meaning he had created a potential access point for the thralls to get upstairs.

“Căcat!” she cursed, scrambling as quickly and as quietly for a container in the other room. It would take the thralls a bit of time to coordinate and stumble their way up the stairs, but they would eventually make it and Magda was not about to let those disgusting things trample all over what was left of Bela.

She would also need to tell the Countess.

Grabbing one of the large basins used to hold drained blood, as well as any discarded towels or cloth she could find, Magda carefully moved every single fly she found into the container, scouring the floor for any the wind may have blown about, but always keeping a careful eye on the dungeon passage. The last thing she needed was to be attacked by those damn thralls as she finished.

The basin was… not as heavy as she thought it would be. That knowledge made her stomach sink and made her feel that much worse. She was carrying her love’s body, and it wasn’t heavy. It needed to be. The woman was seven feet tall! It should have been heavier! These stupid, unimportant thoughts made her tears start to once again fall as she returned to the dining room. “Dammit. I’m sorry, Bela,” she mumbled as a few hot tears fell on the flies.

One twitched in response.

Magda stopped at that. She was seeing things. In her grief, her mind was clearly playing tricks on her. Bela was dead. The cold killed flies. She was dead and the tear hitting the fly only made it look like it moved.

That was when the worst feeling in all of creation latched itself onto her.

Hope.

Leaning in close, she breathed a few times on a small clump of flies, letting her warm breath roll over them. And then she waited… Her heart pounding in her chest as she watched for something. Anything.

…A leg spasmed.

It was small, almost imperceptible, but Magda took it as a sign. A possibility. A tiny one at that, but she grabbed onto it and refused to let it go. Hope was evil like that.

Covering the basin to shield the flies from the cold, she ventured back across the courtyard and towards Alcina’s chambers, locking any and all doors behind her because fuck this man and his doings. Make his shit life harder.

The Countess’ chambers were empty, which sent a chill of dread and terror down Magda’s spine. Had she fallen to the man as well or was she simply hunting him along with her daughters? Should she wait for her to appear? Right now, searching the castle was not the ideal thing to do, as she was unarmed, human, and she had no idea if the intruder would have mercy on her if she encountered him. Thankfully, her questions were answered as familiar heavy footfalls were heard coming up the stairs. Now all she had to do was explain to Alcina what she thought was possible. And hopefully not die in the the telling.

“If I can’t, I’ll do my best to bleed on you as I die, sweetness,” she told the basin of flies, trying to make a joke and do her best to smile. The latter crumbled as soon as the chamber door opened.

“Countess?” Magda’s voice was weak and shaky, full of fear, and she immediately regretted opening her mouth due to the look on Alcina’s face. It was one of surprise mixed with displeasure, which made sense as Magda should still be locked in her sewing room, not running around as she was currently doing.

“Are you not aware of our current situation, Magdalena?” Her tone was cool and reserved, as if she were waiting on Magda’s answer in order to decide the best manner of action to take.

“I am very much aware of the situation, Countess. Which was why I came here as quickly as I could.” she replied, uncovering Bela’s remains. The candelabra the taller woman had been holding streaked towards Magda’s head and the seamstress barely had time to duck.

“What have you done to my daughter?!” she roared, lunging forward and grabbing Magda by her neck. For a moment, fear and terror filled the seamstress’ mind, but she somehow managed to find her voice despite the vice-like grip upon her throat.

“It wasn’t me… the man… did this… the flies… not… not dead…” Darkness had started to creep around the edges of her vision before Alcina finally released her. Landing on the ground hurt, but the deep breath of fresh air she took afterwards was incredibly sweet.

“Explain yourself,” Alcina growled, stretching out those two words in a low and menacing fashion, one not at all suitable for a woman of her standing, but perfect for a mother seeking justice for her child.

“I heard the fight,” Magda rasped, throat still sore. “It was in… the kitchen. I found… Bela. I thought she was dead… but some flies reacted to my tears…. and warm breath. There’s a chance. That cold state they go into. She told me about it. Bela might not be dead. Only hibernating. If she can be warmed, maybe she can be saved.” Magda watched Alcina, eyes never turning away or blinking too rapidly. She didn’t want to give the woman any excuse or reason not to believe her.

The quiet between them lasted for what seemed an eternity, only to be interrupted by a low rumbling and draining of liquid coming from the next room over. They both heard it, though Alcina only gave the most subtle of glances in its direction. The pool in the Hall of Ablution had been emptied. The Countess’ iron grip was suddenly around Magda’s arm, pulling her back to her feet.

“You will take my daughter back to your workshop and you will keep her warm,” she hissed. “You will not leave her side, not even for a moment. Should I find you disobeying my instructions and wandering these halls while that impudent wretch is still in my castle, your life is forfeit. Is that understood?” Magda nodded, fear in her eyes. She picked up the basin, replacing the cover before being roughly escorted out of the chamber.

Once safely back in her workshop, Magda set about gathering her thickest fabrics; the wools, flannels, gabardines, and anything else heavy she had. She removed the blankets and comforter from her bed and did what she could to form a nest or bed for the flies. For a moment, she even considered cutting her forearm and dribbling some blood onto them, but if they weren’t moving then they weren’t feeding, and the last thing she wanted to risk was them somehow drowning in her own blood.

Magda did her best to obey the Countess’ instructions, as she was not about to risk Alcina’s wrath, not with her life on the line. However, if she did end up being wrong about Bela, maybe it would be better to join her in death. What was she thinking? Magda likely would die anyways. But, in terms of when, it would just depend on Alcina’s mood. So, the seamstress sat in silence, waiting and praying to hear the soft buzzing of fly wings as they slowly warmed up.

Instead, she heard someone faintly plinking the keys of the piano in the Opera Hall. Rather badly at that. Naturally, the all too familiar footfalls of an enraged Alcina soon followed. He must not have realized she was hunting him, Magda thought. Because what idiot would actually take the time to play the piano if they were actively trying to stay hidden? The brief retort of gunfire seemed to prove her point. Although she could only hear what was going on, Magda still had a brief chuckle as she imagined the man scrambling for his life away from Alcina.

Not that he had many places to run to. It was either to Magda’s workshop or the library, and as the noise of confrontation began to distance itself from her hiding place, she breathed a sigh of relief. The library it was then.

“How has this man managed to survive this long?” she softly asked Bela’s remains. As if in answer, gunshots rang out once more and the seamstress stood, wondering who he was fighting now. The previously reassuring knowledge that bullets couldn’t harm anyone in this house re-entered Magda’s head… but it was quickly dashed to pieces as she glanced back at Bela. Who had he gone after now? She needed to know.

For five long minutes, Magda stood at her sewing room door, with it cracked open enough to listen. But she heard nothing. No footsteps, no gunfire, no sounds of anyone.

If Alcina caught her, it would be death, a voice in her head reasoned.

So she simply would avoiding getting caught, another replied.

The distance to the library wasn’t far, and she could easily hear the Countess’ footsteps well in advance, allowing her to hide as she approached.

“I’ll be back soon, stea mică. I won’t be long,” she softly told the flies. A few seemed to twitch in response. God, she hoped that she was right in the foolish ‘not dead, only hibernating’ theory. Basin and flannel cloth in hand, Magda made her way to the library, hoping she wouldn’t need what she carried.

Her heart sank upon feeling the chilly air inside. Papers were scattered, vases lay shattered, and, near enough to be in the light cast from the glass skylight which acted as a central decorative point for the room, was another large pile of immobile flies. Magda actually needed a moment to sit and collect herself with this discovery. Little flies, whose bodies glittered in the light, matched Daniela’s hair color.

Alcina will weep, Magda thought as she did her best to keep her own tears from falling once more. Gathering up these remains took longer than Bela’s, but not because they were scattered about. No. For as messy and wild as Daniela was in life, she had collapsed in a neat little pile. It was the weight and knowledge that this was the baby of the family which made this such a long and arduous task.

“You’re not alone, Dani. I’m not letting you be alone. I’m taking you to your sister. You’ll be safe in my sewing room,” She told the flies. Could this have been the first sign of madness? After all, Magda was talking to a container full of potentially dead insects. She recalled the character of Renfield from Dracula. The man went mad in an effort to serve and worship his vampire lord. Perhaps she was becoming something along the same lines. Perhaps she was already dead; killed by the intruder, and this was her own personal hell of gathering up mounds of flies throughout the castle for the rest of eternity, all the while avoiding Alcina. If Bela’s nest was not in the workshop when she returned to it, Magda figured this terrible thought would be reality.

Thankfully, upon opening the door to her workshop, the comforter and blanket that Bela was nestled in was still where the seamstress had left it. So maybe she was not dead and this was not hell. Little miracles were all she could hope for right now.

Magda took her time making Daniela’s nest, listening for anything that would signal they were victorious and this man-thing was dead and gone. She shook her head a little as she used that term. Normally, Magda did not join in on calling men that, but this was a special case. This individual didn’t seem human. The fact that he could best two of the daughters worried her, and a dread feeling that, unless mother and daughter combined forces, Cassandra could fall as well filled Magda’s stomach like a lead weight.

The daughters were monsters, yes. By the classic definition, that’s what they were, and Magda did not deny any of it. Blood stained dresses, screams and laughter coming from the dungeon, or even the rare times when Bela’s kisses had a slight hint of copper or something raw tasting to them. They weren’t normal. Alcina was also a monster; perhaps even more of one. The height, the claws, the gray skin that she hid beneath layers of foundation. All four of them shared that same inhuman appetite for blood and flesh. But, they also had human tendencies. They laughed, they cried, they screamed in fright the odd times they were scared or taken by surprise.

Then again, humans could be monsters as well. History showed how terrible they could be. Magda was certainly no angel, and she had the odd feeling that this man wasn’t entirely a good person either. Maybe she was wrong. Magda didn’t know. All she knew was that she was trying to save the small group of friends and family she had left in this world.

Minutes ticked by and still her wing of the castle remained quiet. The longer it stayed quiet, the more she worried. If the man was dead, Alcina would have come to her workshop to see to her daughter. But if the quiet persisted? Magda didn’t want to think on that.

“Should I go out and search?” she asked her charges. Of course, no reply came. Magda thought she saw more movement from Bela’s flies, but she had no idea if they all needed to be restored to a proper temperature, like a hive mind, before they could respond. With the way Magda had layered everything, they would warm up slowly and naturally. No artificial heaters or fires were being used, as she didn’t want to risk damaging them. After watching both mounds for a few minutes, the seamstress nodded, knowing once more what she had to do.

The castle had an unusual quietness, a stillness she had never felt before. There was always at least some sort of background noise; the shuffling of servants, the daughters’ laughter, the general noise of a home being lived in. Where was everyone? Had the man killed them all? Or were Sylvia, Andre, Samuel, Bianca, and the rest hiding in the servant’s quarters, having barricaded themselves in? Vulga likely would have escaped into the walls upon hearing the first gunshot, so she was probably safe.

At least there would be some survivors of Castle Dimitrescu.

Finding Cassandra took a long time. Besides hiding from both the constantly patrolling Alcina and the seemingly trigger happy mad man, Magda had to think like the middle child, who had the tendency to spend time in the oddest of places. While Bela and Daniela could be found in seemingly normal locations in the castle, Cassandra explored. She found hidden areas that were unknown to most of the inhabitants, hard to get to, or simply dilapidated enough and impossible to access unless you could fly. Magda assumed she enjoyed being hard to find.

The seamstress had searched damn near every room, after having briefly hidden for a few heart-pounding minutes in one of the dressing room wardrobes upon hearing Alcina’s approach. Currently, she was sitting in the back hallway, taking a moment to try and mentally collect herself. Magda hated failing, and right now she was absolutely in sync with the idea that she was a failure. Cassandra, as far as she knew, had simply disappeared. Had the man shattered a window and thrown her outside? If that was the case, then the chance of finding the young woman dropped to impossible odds. The castle was surrounded by woods and cliffs with sheer drops. Maybe… if the snow and cold somehow preserved her through the winter, Cassandra would show up in the spring, like crocuses.

At that thought, Magda let slip a sharp little laugh while, at the same time, her eyes began to water. Cassandra would hate being compared to a flower. She would absolutely have hated it. And for as much as Magda wanted to continue to both laugh and cry right now, it would certainly draw unwanted attention from one of two parties currently in the castle. Possibly both.

Wiping her face with her sleeve, she allowed herself a few calming breaths before pushing herself back to her feet and continuing this fruitless search.

The slight draft blowing on Magda’s hand from beneath the door stopped her. Yes, castles were drafty, but not this one. Alcina made certain to insulate everything as best she could so her daughters could survive the winter in relative comfort. But, there was a definite bit of air movement coming from under this door.

Opening it, Magda found the Statue of Pleasure…. with an animal skull in place of the sacrifice’s head. Not even Cassandra or Daniela would be foolish enough to ruin one of their mother’s statues. So, on top of being a murderer, this man enjoyed defacing both art and private property. What the fuck was wrong with him?

The indignity aside, the windows in this room were intact, so where was the draft coming from? The only other option was the fireplace, but if the chimney was that badly cracked, why wasn’t it sealed? Crouching in front of it, the reason quickly became apparent as the entire back of the fireplace has been removed, and the hole led to a set of stairs.

“Cassandra, you little shit.”

Crawling through the passageway, Magda entered what looked to be the remains of a hidden armory, or at least a place to stash and work on things a certain daughter didn’t want her mother to learn about or her sisters to interfere with. It would have been a lovely little room had it not been for the gaping hole in the wall, letting in all the cold air. And there, near enough to the stairway, laid what was left of Alcina’s middle child.

“At least you were smart enough to fight him in a room without windows,” Magda commented as she gathered her up. Cassandra was vicious and violent when she wan’t to be, but she was also calculative and observant. Perhaps that’s why she lasted as long as she did. Had she sacrificed her sisters in order to study this man? If Magda were the girl’s mother, they would definitely be having a talk about that later.

With the last of the Dimitrescu daughters safely bundled up, Magda began to make her way back to the workshop. As it was nearly on the other side of the castle with no direct route, she took great care to move as quietly as possible. She paused repeatedly, and scanned the Main Hall, looking for signs of the the woman in white. For as large as she was, Alcina was a stalking beast. She could be incredibly quiet if she wished to be.

As she crouched in one the small balconies, Magda heard movement coming from below her on the floor of the main hall. However, it didn’t sound… right. It couldn’t have been the intruder, unless he was gravely injured. But If that were the case, Alcina wouldn’t have been far behind, and Magda didn’t hear her at all. Speaking of the Countess, it certainly wasn’t her, as the noise was far too small to be anyone remotely her size.

Chancing a look, Magda peeked over the edge, and a soft gasp of surprise, sounding so devastatingly loud in this silence, escaped her lips as she saw what was beneath her. Luana, the castle’s head servant, the personal watchdog for the Countess, laid collapsed on the marble floor, clothes stained red with blood. Where had they been all this time?! Magda had scoured entire castle… Had they been outside and only just now managed to get in? This just made her life ten times harder. Not only did she have Cassandra to carry back, but now there was the issue of Luana as well.

She could have left them where they were. She could have. After all, Magda was currently disobeying orders and Alcina was already displeased by her previous actions. She should have taken Cassandra back to her workshop and then returned. By then, perhaps Alcina would have discovered Luana herself and… done what? She was hellbent on hunting down the intruder. Would she even have stopped and tended to her servant? Magda couldn’t say. She also had no idea what would have happened if the man found them first. Would he finish the job he clearly started? In all likelihood? Yes.

Tucking Cassandra safely in an out of the way corner by the top of the stairs, Magda made her way down to her fellow servant, glancing into the Hall of the Four as she went.

The doors leading to the Temple of Worship were open.

In all her years there, Magda had rarely seen those exterior doors stand open as they were now. The Countess was strict in her orders about that portion of the castle being forbidden to everyone save herself, and now the seamstress was watching her tall figure ascend the temple stairs. An unknown fear filled Magda with dread at that sight, and she hurried towards Luana.

Rolling the head servant over onto their back, Magda gave them a quick look over. Buckshot, and a few normal bullet holes, peppered Luana’s blood soaked torso. A normal human would have been dead from such injuries and blood loss, but Luana was thankfully not fully human, rather a Lycan-cross. They usually preferred not to speak of their heritage, but Magda hoped they would be happy to have it just this once.

“Luana? Luana, dear, can you hear me?” she asked, opening their eyes to check for any sign of life. She was met with slurred, half-conscious Portuguese. “You know damn well I don’t speak that, but right now any response is a good one, so I’ll take it.” The bleeding had stopped and their breathing seemed normal from what she could tell; no gurgles, bloody froth in the mouth, or sounds of difficulty.

“…Apologies…” they said in Romanian, doing their best to sit up.

“You’re fine. I’m just happy to see someone else, aside from the Countess, alive,” she replied. Their uniform already ruined, Magda removed Luana’s jacket and began tearing off bandage strips. Or at least she started to, as a distant crash and a devastating roar from outside quickly stopped her efforts. Whatever injuries seemed to be afflicting Luana were momentarily forgotten as they did their best to stand, only to collapse almost immediately. As they attempted it a second time, Magda moved to support them. She didn’t even say a word or caution them to take it slow as the two of them made it to the open doorway.

And what they saw? There were no words.

It was huge. A great beast, vast and terrible, with an immense wingspan, lashing tail, and a toothy, gaping maw circled the top of the temple tower; sometimes flying, sometimes crawling along the stonework. It was pale white with streaks of pink flesh, slick and glossy looking as the sun hit it. Muscles bulged as if barely contained by the skin, as tendrils curled and whipped about in an independent fury. It looked both cancerous and incomplete while at the same time horrifically beautiful and awe-inspiring in some inexplicable way. And to top it off, as if in an absurd gilding of the lily, Alcina’s upper torso, looking flayed and monstrous, erupted from between the beast’s shoulder blades. Her voice was distorted, both by rage, vengeance, and sorrow, but also by this transformation. She was lost in this madness, fully given in to it.

Magda’s knees gave way, and she fell to the floor, unintentionally bring Luana down with her. The seamstress was lost. How was this even possible? How had Alcina become this gargantuan beast? Could she change back? A sudden sick feeling rolled over her as all these questions and more filled her head. She was sure Luana was thinking similar things.

All they could do was watch this battle as it unfurled. Stonework and roofing tiles fell freely as the dragon creature did its best to pursue its quarry. Gunfire was heard regularly as Alcina taunted, threatened, and cackled in her torment. The fight moved steadily upwards, with more and more of the building being destroyed until a bloodcurdling shriek was heard and something structural gave way.

Multiple somethings.

Large plumes of dust, broken window, and cracks forming in the side of the building were the indication that the dragon had fallen through all of the interior floors of the temple, landing with a massive crash.

Magda and Luana looked at each other and then back towards the temple. “How about we wait and listen for movement?” the seamstress started to offer, but the head servant was already stumbling towards the building, trying desperately not to once more fall onto their face. They didn’t get very far before collapsing, but Magda was there to lift them back up. “How about a compromise? We get to the temple door and listen before barging in?” At that, Luana nodded a little sheepishly.

If Magda had thought the castle had been quiet, the inside of the temple was a veritable tomb. She just hoped it wasn’t a literal one. At least not for Alcina. Let the man be buried under all that rubble. Unfortunately, her wish was not yet granted, as she saw the limping figure of a man leaving through the lower level door. All she needed was a gun. Why didn’t she or Luana have a pistol? One bullet through the back of his damned head, that’s all that was needed and all this terribleness would be over with.

But instead, Magda just stood there, watching him leave before her gaze turned to Alcina’s body. It was still that dragon creature, but she had just come to accept that this was the Countess. Luana was already making their way down to her, carefully using the broken rubble as a stairway. Magda reluctantly followed suit.

The beast may have remained, but the human torso that was Alcina? That was gone, crumbled to ashes. The body was also still. Seeing that, Magda sat down hard, shocked by it all. Luana at least made it to the corpse, but they soon collapsed as tears began to fall.

Theirs was an ugly crying, one that Magda had never heard from them before. It was a full body shaking, heaving from the gut sort of crying. Luana had been serving House Dimitrescu since they were a teenager, and they saw Alcina as a mother figure, so Magda could only imagine what they were going through.

Letting them grieve for a few minutes, Magda eventually stood and walked over to Luana, placing a hand on their shoulder.

It was then that the beast took a great, shuddering breath.

Instincts quickly took hold and Magda scrambled backwards, not wanting to risk being eaten, while Luana did the opposite and moved closer, overjoyed to see some sign of life coming from the creature. She expected to hear a scream or cry of pain from Luana, imagining the creature lunging forward and devouring the head servant in one or two gulps. But instead, when the seamstress looked back, she saw Luana petting its head, saying soft things to it in Portuguese as it just laid there, barely making any noise.

“You are either very brave, very trusting, or very stupid to be petting that thing,” Magda hissed, keeping her voice down low, as if raising it would trigger the beast to attack them both.

“It knows me… us. It won’t hurt us,” Luana replied calmly.

“How do you know that? How is it even still alive?! Alcina’s torso is gone! The thing should be dead!” In response to Magda’s outburst, the thing growled, slightly turning its head in her direction. “… All right, I’m clearly wrong in my assessment of life and death. But that still doesn’t explain why or how.”

“Separate functioning systems? Maybe it all… pinched shut when the torso disintegrated? Like a limb or a tree branch that’s dying? Save the main body?” Luana offered.

“I would have thought Alcina would have been the main body. Can she regenerate from this?” Magda asked. Luana simply shrugged.

“We take her back to the castle and see what happens over the next few hours or days.”

“Easier said than done,” Magda replied, gesturing to the rock they scaled down and the all too small door was the only other exit.

“If it is a simple creature, then it will respond to simple things like food. She will need to eat anyways. We lure it back with food,” Luana reasoned.

The kitchen was thusly raided and a good bit of the meat that was there removed; both cured and what was still fresh. Amazingly, despite having heard the shrieks of the thralls earlier, the kitchen was now devoid of them. Had they wandered back down into the dungeon after finding no prey? Or were they all dead? Magda could only wonder as she glanced towards that corridor, her eyes wanting to linger on the spot where she found Bela. No, she thought. No, Bela was safe in the sewing room with her sisters. Magda had made a brief detour to deposit Cassandra there, as well as retrieve a pair of shoes for herself, before joining back up with Luana in the kitchen.

Along with the meat, they also brought along two barrels from the tasting room, placed at strategic points along the route back to the castle, in case extra bribery was needed for the beast. By the time they had finished setting everything up, the Alcinadragon… for what else would you call it?… was on its feet, clumsily walking around its temporary enclosure. Naturally, after throwing down the first piece of meat, with it being consumed in a single bite, the beast’s attention snapped to the two of them as it began the effort of climbing its way up towards freedom.

Magda knew better than to run. After all, doing so would likely trigger hunting and chasing instincts. But still, once the massive forelimbs appeared and the beast pulled itself up and over the lip of the hole, she made sure to be a good distance away, keeping Luana between it and her.

While this was something she normally would never state, on pain of death, it was rather easy to lead this version of Alcina around by her stomach. So long as they had a trail of food, she was easy to please and keep relatively docile. In the end, they only needed one barrel as a treat, though it wasn’t quite that. As they passed it on the bridge, the creature must have smelled the contents, or perhaps recognized the shape…. but how that was possible, Magda had no idea, as it had no discernible eyes right now. Either way, the tooth lined maw easily engulfed the barrel and bit down, splintering the wood and draining the contents quickly. Afterwards, the creature seemed more agreeable.

Maybe it had just needed a drink.

By the time they had entered the Hall of The Four, the remaining castle staff had emerged from their hiding places. There were no reprimands or excuses given, only looks and sighs of relief. Bianca, Sylvia, and Mihaela quickly flocked to the form of the Countess who was currently gorging on wine and meat. Samuel latched themself onto Magda with a tight hug; one that she was not exactly ready to receive, but she was also not about to deny them this comfort. Vulga also soon joined in, likely in an effort to make Magda feel even more uncomfortable.

“If you two insist on being this close to me, I will be putting you to work,” Magda told them both before taking them to her workshop and retrieving the three sisters. Sam took Daniela, Vulga carried Cassandra, and Magda held Bela close. The urge to place the daughters next to their mother was great, but caution won out instead. Who knew if or how the Alcinadragon would react to seeing her children as nothing more than collections of flies? Yes, they were becoming more active, but there was no indication they were on their way to reforming back into their human shapes. They just need time, Magda thought. That’s all. They’ve been through trauma, and they just need time to recover.

Even though it was not yet midday, It was decided that everyone would spend the night in the Main Hall. It was the inner most room, central to most of the castle, and it was big enough to house all of them comfortably, even a dragon with a massive wingspan. There would be safety in numbers.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Magda asked Luana quietly.

“No. As far as he is concerned, everyone here is dead. Whether that is true or not…” They paused, not wanting to say the unthinkable. Understanding, Magda nodded and finished their sentence.

“…It’s best to keep up that appearance.”

“Precisely. We keep everyone centralized for the time being. Close off and safeguard the exit points, stay quiet, and wait. With any luck, things will be different twenty-four from now. Or at least there will be an indication of a difference.” The look the two of them shared was one of tiredness and threadbare hope. There wasn’t much left to run on, but so long as the lady of the house still drew breath, no matter what form she took, they still had their duties to attend to.

“Even if the man isn’t coming back, no one is going down to the outer gatehouse and drawbridge by themselves. One of the lords is currently weakened, you are still recovering from being shot multiple times, and while my mind may be playing into the medieval hierarchy of things, I wouldn’t put it past other things going wrong and our current situation being taken advantage of. We’ll go together. It’ll be faster that way.”

Despite initial outward appearances, the castle was rather impenetrable once locked down. A drawbridge, three heavy doors of varying designs dividing the exterior gatehouse, a massive portcullis at the Carriage Gate, and a smaller, but just as fortified, portcullis on the interior of the entrance hall that kept the front doors closed from the outside. For all intents and purposes, they would be safe and secure.

More of the staff wanted to assist in the closing of the gatehouse, but they were dissuaded by a few other duties; securing the door leading to the temple, keeping an eye on Alcina, and gathering up any supplies they would need for the night. They were also greeted by another unexpected task upon opening the castle doors.

In the middle of the Carriage Gate rested four crates; three of a similar size and one that was noticeably larger. Nothing had been ordered, and the Duke had packed up his caravan, vacating his usual spot some time during the battle with Alcina. Yet the note tacked onto the larger crate was in his elaborate, flowing script:

I’d wager these treasures are of more use to you than I. Think of this as a thank you for your years of patronage, as well as a farewell gift for the time being. Keep them safe.

Bonne chance,

The Duke

The lids came off easily, and inside, nestled amongst packing material were… statues? Odd ones at that. Beautiful, crystalline, and perhaps a bit macabre, they were three busts and one massive torso with what seemed to be very familiar proportions. Either the Duke had a sick sense of humor or this was something else.

“Take these inside,” Magda instructed, still a bit confused as to what they were. “Be careful with them. Don’t damage them.” She then hurried to catch up with Luana who had decidedly not stopped to investigate the crates.

While neither of them ventured out into the village, the lack of the noisy day to day life that would normally filter up from it was obvious and more than a bit unnerving. Yes, there were the occasional barks and growls from whatever lycans were still prowling around the buildings, but there were no sounds of people. That lack of background noise twisted Magda’s stomach and made her raise the drawbridge that much faster.

“Tomorrow… Tomorrow, we will search the village. Look for survivors,” Luana reassured her.

“I don’t think there are any other survivors,” she replied morosely, as her thoughts immediately went to the one person outside the castle that Magda actually cared about. Stay safe, Donna. Please God, keep her safe.

With each barricade put into place, Magda felt both safer and more alone… cut off from everything. But this was what needed to be done. As the final portcullis fell into place in the entrance hall, a burden lifted from her shoulders. There was still that sick feeling in her stomach, but her back felt lighter.

Why? She didn’t know. She didn’t deserve to feel better.

Everything was starting to blur together, and she didn’t care anymore. Magda remembered entering the Main Hall and seeing the Alcinadragon curled protectively around the crystalline torso that shared the measurements of the Countess, growling at anyone who came near it. She didn’t care or wonder why. Someone called out her name as she climbed the stairs, but she ignored it, legs carrying her faster and faster as she went. She didn’t want to talk. Her head, neck, and chest felt hot. She felt smothered and unable to breathe. She needed to get away.

By the time she was in the Hall of Joy, Magda was running. The library was a blur, as was the opera hall. Her eyes were open, but they saw nothing, as if her brain was on automatic. All she cared about was getting away.

She slammed the door to her workroom shut, turning the lock as well in order to keep herself physically, mentally, and emotionally away from everyone. She managed to go a few steps into the room before her knees gave way and she collapsed into a heap. That’s when the floodgates of emotion just opened up. She screamed and wailed, tears falling uncontrollably. All the pain and the burdens accumulated from this day, from these past few hours, came roaring out.

She had no idea how long she cried, nor how many in the castle heard her. She didn’t know if anyone knocked on the door to check on her, nor did she care. She would have ignored it anyway. At one point early on in her anguish, her stomach heaved. Only bile came out, as she had eaten nothing this entire day, but the wretching continued until even that was entirely discarded from her system. She cried until her tears ran dry; until only hiccuping breathes and weary, burning eyes remained.

Throughout all of this, there was one constant in Magda’s mind. She knew that if anyone, and she did mean anyone, interrupted her in this moment, there would be hell to pay. The staff had seen her mad and frustrated before, but they had never seen her rage. If anyone tried to comfort or hold her right now, they would be met with punches, thrown objects, and a slew of filthy, hate-filled words that she would likely regret at a later date. Perhaps even shears to the intruder’s throat, if she could reach them in time.

She didn’t want comfort. She wanted this pain. She wanted to hurt.

But most of all, she wanted her Bela.

Eventually though, the pain did subside. It slowly dulled and dissipated. To say it was completely gone would have been a lie, but it had settled for the time being. Magda’s body ached, as did her head. The floor beside her was a mess, but she made an effort and took the time to clean up the bile. She couldn’t stand having such a thing lingering in her workshop, no matter her mood or the circumstances. The process also helped the seamstress return to a semblance of herself.

After a change of clothes, a quick washing of her face and brushing of her teeth, Magda made her way back to the main hall. Samuel was lingering in the hallway, shuffling around a bit in an effort to entertain themself while probably waiting for Magda to re-emerge.

“Hey, Magda? Are… are you okay? Do you need anything? A hug maybe?” they asked, holding their arms open. Magda just shook her head and continued on. “Ice cream, maybe? We could sit and watch a movie together Not a scary movie or anythin’, but I’ll sit and watch something you’d like if it makes you feel better.” At that, Magda just sighed.

“Sam? Right now, what I want? I can’t have. So, please? Just let me go sit in peace next to what is left of the woman I love. All right?”

“Yeah, um…. about that? Okay, so we brought the statue things in like you said, but as soon as we did, the dragon thing that Lady D turned into? Yeah, she got real defensive and grabbed the big statue and isn’t giving it up. So, we then took the smaller ones and the fly piles got really active. Like super, super active. I mean, they’re not buzzin’ around like normal or human, but-“ Magda didn’t even wait for Sam to finish. Once more, she was off and running.

The daughters were on the opposite side of the fireplace from the Alcinadragon, though pretty much everyone was on the opposite side from her, as she took up an entire length of the hall. Samuel had actually been right, as the flies were more active since the last time she saw them. While not swarming, they were crawling over the statues, or rather, individual statues. Now that she was able to look at them properly, Magda could discern the shapes of the daughters in the torsos. Bela’s she knew well enough, and Daniela was a bit slighter than Cassandra… and all the while the appropriate flies were crawling over the appropriate statues. She still had no idea what they were for, but clearly they held some importance.

Whether it had been intentional or not, someone had set Bela in the alcove under the stairs, allowing a bit of privacy and seclusion if it was needed. Obviously, Samuel or someone else had taken Magda’s breakdown into consideration. Normally, the seamstress did not enjoy having special things done for her, but at the moment, she was not about complain.

Sitting on a blanket with her back against the wall, Magda actually managed to take a breath and relax for the first time that day.

They were alive.

Whether due to the added heat, time to recover, or whatever these odd statues were, the daughters were alive and moving around. They would be all right. The Alcinadragon had a forelimb curled around her own statue, surrounded by her favorite maidens, and was practically asleep, if her breathing was any indication. She would be all right. None of the servants had been gravely injured in the long term. The current state of the castle was an odd miracle, but it was a miracle nonetheless.

Looking at the crystalline statue beside her, Magda gently placed her fingertips upon it, in hopes that it would pulse or feel abnormally warm. That wasn’t the case, but one of the pale yellow flies that had been idly traversing the torso’s clavicle almost immediately changed direction and climbed onto her hand. Smiling, either from happiness or exhaustion, she brought the insect closer as it proceeded to march into the palm of her cupped hand. It happily buzzed and bumped its head against her skin, settling down in the warmth as Magda gently stroked it.

As if energized by her touch, the fly took to the air and landed in the hollow of the seamstress’ neck, where it buzzed and bounced around more; its little wings tickling her just enough to elicit a soft laugh from Magda.

“Hi, stea mică…” she said softly, body instinctively relaxing to that sensation. Magda wasn’t sure if it was her exhaustion or something else, but as her eyes closed and sleep began to take her, she could have sworn she heard Bela’s voice in the drone of the fly.

I won’t be long.

EPILOGUE:

“Magda? Magda, wake up. Somethin’s happening,” Sam’s voice cut through the blackness of sleep. The seamstress groggily rubbed her eyes and looked around, remembering where she was. Instinctively, she looked over at the Bela statue, worried for a moment at that she would find. The concern was unfounded as it was mostly covered by a swarm of flies, more than what she had seen prior to falling asleep.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, standing up. The Alcinadragon was still asleep, her harem of maidens still tending to her. If it was possible, she too looked healthier.

“There’s something goin’ on in the village. Luana told me to get you. They’re in Lady D’s bedroom.” That made sense. The Countess’ chambers had a view that overlooked the village. It was a smart place to scout from.

Making her way there, Magda discovered that night had fallen, meaning she had slept most of the day away. Why hadn’t they woken her up sooner? She didn’t need to have her sleep schedule even more messed up. However, the not so far off explosions made her decide otherwise, as she quickened her steps up the stairs.

Luana was out on the balcony of Alcina’s chambers, watching a veritable firefight going on in the village. Massive waving tendrils were erupting from the ground, knocking what looked like military helicopters out of the sky as explosions and gunfire rocked what was left of the buildings.

“Have they come towards the castle?” Magda asked after taking it all in.

“No,” Luana replied.

“Then unless they come towards the castle, it’s not our fight. I’m not about to start something with a group that has guns, explosions, and…” An airstrike briefly interrupted the seamstress as she talked. “Whatever the hell that is!”

“I simply thought you would like to be made aware of this. It was wise that we closed up everything when we did.” Magda didn’t know why Luana was making her seem more important than she actually was. They were the head servant. She was just the seamstress.

“…… You’re going to sit out here until it’s over, aren’t you?”

“Of course.” At that, Magda sighed.

“I’m not staying out here all night. It’s too cold. I’d suggest that you come in from the cold as well, but you’re just as stubborn as I am. I’ll be inside on the chaise lounge if you need me. Please don’t freeze out here, Luana. I’m not about to lose you after keeping you alive.” With that said, Magda went back inside and made herself comfortable on the Countess’ furniture, something she’d never do normally, but this wasn’t exactly normal circumstances. Come to think of it, the large hole in the floor was also out of the ordinary. That hadn’t been there earlier today… What had happened here after she left with Bela?

She must have fallen asleep, since the next thing she knew, Magda was woken up by the sudden slamming of a door, followed almost immediately by being rocked off the chaise lounge by an earth shattering explosion. Broken glass rained down on her as the shockwave smashed the windows. For a brief moment, she thought a nuclear device had gone off and she waited for the incineration wave to burn her to a crisp. When none of that happened, and the castle remained standing, she looked around.

Luana was crouched against the door leading to the balcony, covering their head out of instinct. Brushing the glass from her hair, Magda cautiously stood up and looked out the window. Smoke filled the air, but as the wind carried it away, she could see a decently sized crater in what had been the ceremony site. There was nothing left of the tendrils from last night, just like there wasn’t much left of the village.

“What in the hell happened?” she mumbled. “Do you even now think there are survivors?” she asked Luana. In response, they simply pointed to the distant shape of a quickly retreating helicopter. For a moment, anger blossomed in Magda’s chest. If that man was on that thing? How dare he be able to escape so easily after causing all this destruction. But the feeling and hatred vanished along with the helicopter. If he was gone, then so much the better. Better for him to be gone and forgotten than to remain a problem for them all.

“Goodbye and good riddance, stupid man-thing,” Magda said, before turning her back on the sunrise and returning, with Luana, to her family.

#drabble #one-shot #LONG oneshot #bela dimitrescu #Ethan Winters #alcina dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu

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thezebrawlw · 3 years ago

Text

Part 2 Donna x Maiden

Part one is over here.

---

Donna was speaking through Angie's voice. The doll was sitting on the maid's bed while Donna was in her own room.

The conversation was trivial, but pleasant, until Angie fell silent.

"My lady? Are you all right?"

Angie didn't move, she was still and quiet, just like the last time the dolls attacked her.

Startled, the maid carried Angie and ran to Donna's room. Again, a large group of dolls stood in front of the door and Donna's sobs were heard from the other side.

"My lady, I have Angie, please let me in."

Donna didn't answer.

"Please, I know she will make you feel better."

The crying changed from sad to hysterical and and quite violent blows began to be heard.

"I'm sorry about this."

Desperate, the maid broke the lock with some witch's spell. She entered the room, she couldn't see anything clearly, but she was sure Donna was in her bed by the sound of the sheets.

"Ma'am, here's Angie, please stop beating yourself up"

A pair of hands snatched Angie from her grip. The maid felt helpless that she could do no more.

"I withdraw, if you need anything else--"

"Stay."

The maid froze in place, for the first time, Donna's voice was commanding her to do something.

"Yes, ma'am."

She sat down on the corner of the bed. A cold hand gripped the dress over her leg. Donna was shivering, seeking comfort in her.

The next morning came with an annoying sunshine. The maid tried to get up to close the curtain, but Donna would not let her. They lay side by side, Donna wrapped one arm around the maid. Angie was the one separating them from a real embrace.

As expected, Donna slept with her veil on, but the fabric had moved out of the way for the night, so the lady could see her mistress's cheek and the corner of a pair of pale pink lips. She also noticed some long black eyelashes fluttering in her sleep.

Gently, the maid hid her face again, she knew Donna didn't want to show her face for some reason, so she respected her privacy and waited for her mistress to wake up.

Donna almost fell out of bed when she saw the lady next to her. The young woman greeted her with a quiet "good morning" and then asked how she was.

Donna was so confused and sleepy, she ended up answering on her own.

"I'm feeling... better, thank you."

"Would you like anything for breakfast?"

"No, not right now."

"That's okay. Then would you like to snuggle some more?"

Only then did Donna realise where her hands were. The dolls were right in saying that the young lady was very warm and that the living beat of her heart lulled a tired soul like Donna.

"I don't want to impose anything on you," Donna said.

"You're not, my lady, if you remember, I said I was going to serve you after all, didn't I?"

Donna didn't answer. She was silent long enough for the maid to think she had said something wrong.

"Yes, I'd like to stay here a while longer".

From that day on, Donna stopped using Angie to answer simple questions. Shy "yeses" when offered tea. Soft "no's" when the maid asked if she wanted to go out and play with the dolls. Angie would sometimes close her mouth so that Donna would answer more than two words, then "Good morning" and "Good night" were the first and last things she said every day.

The maid one day asked how the dolls' blade mechanism worked and was surprised to hear Donna talk for over an hour about her precious dolls. The second time Donna talked so much was one day when the young girl burned a biscuit sheet for the second time and Donna explained how to bake properly.

No one blamed the maid for having a panic attack when three young women came through the door shouting "Auntie Donna, Auntie Donna, Auntie Donna"

Daniela was the first to corner the maid. Bela peppered her with questions and Cassandra sniffed her all over.

"Girls, please, stop" Donna stopped.

"Who is she, Auntie?" asked Bela.

"Is she a prey?" continued Cassandra.

"Can I eat her?" asked Daniela.

"She's my maid, she's not prey and no, Daniela, dear, you can't eat her."

The Dimitrescu sisters left the young girl alone and rushed towards their aunt. They monopolised her for most of the day, for they wanted new dolls to play with.

When they left later that evening, Bela warned her aunt that she would tell her mother about her new maid. Donna wasn't sure how her niece approached things, because it was only a few days before a huge woman pounded on the door.

"¡¡Donna Beneviento, open the door this instant!!"

Unfortunately It was the maid who opened and once Alcina Dimitrescu saw the young woman, she didn't hesitate to wrap a single hand around her neck and lift her into the air.

"You little piece of-- How dare you defile my sister!?."

Donna, again, intervened before the young woman died of suffocation.

"Alcina, no, wait, wait, wait, wait wait wait!!!"

Donna and Alcina drank a special tea in the comfort of the living room. The servant girl was cornered in the corner awaiting her mistress's orders and ready to escape again if the situation called for it.

Donna explained to the Dimitrescu leader why the young woman was in her mansion and that she was now a good friend to confide in.

"If that is the case, I apologise for the way I acted, young lady."

"No hard feelings, ma'am."

"What is your name? I didn't hear it before."

Donna realised she had never asked that question before, despite the length of time she had been living with her, so she paid special attention to the answer.

"I'm afraid I don't have a name, ma'am. I think someone once called me Acacia, but it's been a long time since then."

"Acacia is a good name," Lady Dimitrescu complimented "Your blood smells like a witch, so it's no wonder you were named that."

"I thank you, ma'am"

"Donna, My dear, I'm sorry I had to come like this, you know how much I care about you."

"I know, Alcina, thank you, but it's all right."

"It's almost a pity, Heisenberg had already prepared the heavy weapons."

The maiden shuddered in her place, she didn't want to know what "heavy weapons" meant.

"That won't be necessary"

"If you called more often, this wouldn't have happened"

"I will, Alcina, I promise"

"In that case, I'll take my leave, it was good to see you, my dear."

When Donna and the maid were alone, the young woman slumped into an armchair.

"I'm sorry for what happened."

"It's all right, ma'am" the young woman laughed "It must be nice."

"What?"

"To have someone who cares about you."

"I'm sure people care about you too."

"I beg to differ, ma'am, my parents were the only ones who cared about me until they were murdered. After that people started to push me away and those who wanted me around were to use me. I'm sure one day you will do the former or the latter."

Despite the bitterness in her voice, Donna was not offended because she felt the same way about people. That's why she shut herself away, that's why she didn't want to talk to anyone, because people were scary and she didn't know how to deal with such situations if it wasn't for Angie.

"If something happened to you, I would worry," Donna blurted out without thinking.

The statement left the young woman speechless for the first time. She didn't know how to respond, even Donna belatedly realised her words.

"I... I'm going to see where Angie is.

Donna got up and left the young woman alone.

The young lady did not believe Donna's words. On the other hand, the leader of the Beneviento had not been so serious with someone new that she began to question the reason for the affection she had taken for the girl.

Her doubts were cleared up one night when Donna was returning from a meeting with the other lords. She had gone away for a couple of days in a coach and was returning in the same one. When she entered the mansion, she noticed that the place was a mess. There were no dolls in sight and the few that weren't missing were broken.

Donna rushed to the young girl's room. There she found all the dolls burned, the bed shattered and several bloodstains. The woman started to panic, but it was the explanation of a small doll that told her that hunters had come in the middle of the night and taken the girl away.

Donna didn't think twice and infested her entire territory with the cadou so that she would have time to find the girl. Her whole troop of possessed dolls searched and found near the forest a group of men fighting violently against a huge bush full of thorns.

Dona rushed to the spot, hypnotising the hunters into attacking each other. When she arrived, there was no one alive except the huge thorn bush.

"Acacia?" Donna spoke to the bush "Is that you? Please answer, it's okay now. You can come out."

The leaf monster shuddered and let the young girl free. The girl fell face first on the ground, bleeding from her stomach and legs, surely she was injured before she could defend herself on her own.

Donna hurried to pick her up, worried that the young woman's rhythmic heart would no longer beat. She removed her veil and placed her ear to her chest.

She was alive, but barely.

The young woman was breathing shallowly. Donna spoke to her a couple of times to keep her awake to ensure her life while she returned with her to the mansion.

"I'm so sorry," Donna sobbed.

"It wasn't your fault, ma'am," the girl replied, her voice breaking.

"I should have protected the mansion better."

"They would have attacked you" she spoke again "they were coming for you."

"And when they found you, they chose to take you."

The young woman laughed and then began to cough.

"Shut up now, save your breath"

Donna nursed the maiden and healed her before starting on her dolls.

During this time, the maid remained unconscious. Donna was afraid that the mansion would be attacked again, so she didn't for a moment allow the spores of her plants to stop producing hallucinogenic gases.

Donna kept watch over the young woman, watching her sleep and admiring her peaceful face. She wished that face would smile again and even hear her voice again. She wanted to watch her play with her dolls and maybe now she would join in the games.

She wasn't sure what that feeling meant, so she decided to ask the maiden if she felt the same way once she woke up.

Four days after the attack, the young girl opened her eyes, sleepily. Angie was lying beside her, watching her. The doll alerted Donna that 'mudface' was already awake.

Donna couldn't help but run into the girl's room and hug her too tightly.

"Ma'am, ma'am! it hurts!"

"Oh, for mother miranda! I'm so sorry."

It was then that the young girl realised that Donna didn't have her veil on. Her whole face was turned into a truly worried expression. One of her eyes could not be seen because of a bulge, her other eye was dark and deep, a black hole full of worry and caring.

"Woah..."

Donna didn't understand the young woman's expression until she noticed the lack of her veil. She was so distracted that she forgot to put it back on. She got up from the bed, but the young woman grabbed her hands.

"No, please, I want to see you."

Donna shook her head, trying to hide her face under her hair.

"Please let me go," she said.

"It's my wish before I die," the young woman said.

Donna turned fully towards the girl, her brow furrowed.

"You're not going to die, you fool."

The girl giggled and raised a trembling hand to caress Donna's cheek.

"You're beautiful, ma'am."

If the blood was still coursing through her veins, Donna would have turned red, instead, she ducked her gaze and tried to hide her right eye under her fringe.

"Don't hide like that, please."

"This is why I don't like to be approached. People always make fun of it, they always tease me about it".

"You talk like you don't know me, My lady, I would never make fun of you."

"Then I hope you understand that I care about you."

Neither of them knew what their statements meant, but they were sure that, from that day on, the two were more than just a friendship between mistress and maid.

The two were spending more time together, Donna had taught the young girl how to make some outfits for the dolls and so they spent their afternoons in the workshop.

The young maid, who felt comfortable being called Acacia, became another support for Donna when she had her anxiety attacks. Many nights they slept together. Just sleeping and enjoying each other's company.

Sometimes Angie organised tea parties where she no longer had to be the go-between, because Donna no longer felt shy about talking openly with Acacia.

One afternoon, they were both reading their respective books, this time sitting next to each other. Donna had fallen asleep late making a new doll and now felt sleepy. She didn't realise when her head fell on Acacia's shoulder. When she woke up, she couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed.

She apologised for using her as a pillow, but Acacia said it was fine. Only then did they both realise how close their faces were.

That night, Angie would scold Donna for not leaning in to kiss her. She told her they were too close. How could she have missed? Donna excused herself by saying it wasn't that easy.

"Next time, you're going to have to kiss her."

"Why me?"

"Because she respects you too much and doesn't want to offend you."

"She wouldn't offend me if she did."

"Then ask her to kiss you."

"Why are we having this conversation again, Angie?"

"Because I know how you feel and I know you love that girl."

Angie was right.

It was springtime, and though the dollmaker didn't like to go out, she would occasionally sit with Acacia on the porch to braid each other's hair and fill each other's hair with flowers.

"There, beautiful, as always," Acacia praised.

"Thank you."

When Acacia looked down to make a wreath for Angie, Donna spoke, her voice trembling.

"Hum... Acacia... have you ever? I mean..."

"Yeah?"

Donna couldn't help but resort to an old habit and carried Angie in her arms. Angie refused to move her mouth. Donna frowned and murmured for her to help. Angie didn't speak.

Acacia laughed at the unusual interaction between the lady and the doll. So she cleared her throat.

"My lady, I can turn away if it makes you uncomfortable to tell me something."

Donna gave up and nodded. The girl turned around and waited for Donna to speak. It was quite some time before Donna embraced Acacia and wrapped her slender arms around her neck.

"Can I kiss you?"

The girl stood still, blushing up to her ears.

"Yes, my lady, of course you may."

#donna beneviento #beneviento #maiden x donna #resident evil donna #fic

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pikapeppa · 4 years ago

Text

Varric vs. Solas: Wake Up

I watched the Dec 2020 DA4 teaser trailer, heard Varric and SAW MA VHENAN, and I had to write a little something. Behold: a little post-Trespasser, mid-Tevinter Nights chit-chat between Varric and Solas, with a twist.

2400 words. Read here on AO3.

************************

Varric scrawled his signature one last time, then put his plume down with a sigh. He resentfully eyed the pile of documents he’d just finished signing; most of them were orders or requests that Bran could easily have signed on his behalf. Varric suspected that this was his comeuppance for telling Bran that he didn’t care that the new signposts in Lowtown were two centimetres taller than the regulation standards.

“Not like the signposts will help,” he muttered to himself. “People are gonna get lost in Lowtown no matter what. It’s just the charm of the place.” Sure, maybe the real reason people got lost in Kirkwall was that the city design was based on some old magister’s crazy blood magic plan, but that didn’t bear thinking about right now – or ever, really, considering the other shit going on in the world right now.

He sighed and regarded his paper-strewn desk. There was the tidy pile of documents he’d just signed, and the untidy larger pile of documents he had yet to review. A little stack of coded letters sat in a tray by his left hand — letters that he’d be sending out by raven once he was done here. And finally, poking out from underneath a dog-eared copy of the latest Randy Dowager, was the long-neglected draft of his most recent chapter of Swords and Shields 2.

A pang of guilt penetrated his fatigue. It had been months now since he’d sent Cassandra a new chapter. He could try to get a little writing done now, while the Viscount's Keep was quiet in the middle of the night, but his eyes were stinging with tiredness…

Ah, what the hell, he thought. He couldn’t deprive his most loyal reader. He pulled out the chapter pages and quickly skimmed the last one to see where he’d left, off then dipped his plume and began to write.

He had barely gotten out two paragraphs before he heard a soft knock on his office door – so soft he thought he’d imagined it. When the knock happened again, he looked up warily.

It was almost midnight. Who would be coming to his office this late? Whoever it was, it couldn’t be urgent. If it was urgent, they’d be banging, not knocking quietly.

He leaned back in his chair and idly ran his thumb over the small stiletto blade he kept in a hidden pocket on his thigh – you could never be too careful these days. “Come on in,” he called.

The door opened slowly, and a tall hooded figure stepped into his office. “Master Tethras,” the figure said. “It’s good to see you.”

A ripple of shock shot down Varric’s spine. He recognized the voice long before the hood was pushed back, revealing a shiny bald head and a subtly tragic expression.

Solas? he thought incredulously. Solas was here? Here, in his office? Impossible. For years they'd tried fruitlessly to track Solas down using any means available, and even with the knowledge of his last known whereabouts from his encounter with Charter, they hadn’t been able to find him. And now here he was, in Varric’s office, strolling in as casually as though he’d just come out of the rotunda at Skyhold?

It was ridiculous. Totally ridiculous. But since when did things ever make sense, really?

He quickly gathered his wits and leaned back in his chair. “Chuckles. Funny seeing you here.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or should I call you the Dread Wolf?”

Solas let out a little laugh – a very tired-sounding laugh. “Please don’t.”

Varric smirked. “What, reputation getting too heavy for you?”

“You would know, I suppose,” Solas said softly. “You have written about the crushing weight of a reputation several times over.”

“Sure have,” Varric said.

Solas nodded. For a long moment, they were silent as they looked at each other, and Varric got the impression that they were sizing each other up, almost like–

Don’t use a wolf-related simile, Varric scolded himself. He gestured at one of the visitors’ chairs across from his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Solas said. He seated himself on the chair, somehow managing to make his rich dark cloak drape elegantly around himself without making a show of arranging it, and Varric took careful note of the elegance of the gesture. It was… different than the Solas he was used to. More reserved but more powerful at the same time.

Lavellan mentioned he’d changed, he thought. Well, here was the proof. But just how much had Solas changed in the years since Varric had last seen him?

He sat back comfortably. “So,” he said.

“So,” Solas agreed.

Another moment of silence ensued, and the back of Varric’s neck began to prickle. Solas’s expression was calm and neutral, almost alarmingly neutral, and Varric hoped he looked equally unfazed by the strangeness of the current situation. It might be as weird as a giant nug with a beard and a pirate’s hat to be sitting across from an elven god, but Varric didn’t want to show it.

The silence thickened between them. Varric itched to break it, to know what Solas was doing here, but he didn’t want to ask. Something about this visit felt like a power play, and Varric was fairly sure he’d lose if he asked a direct question.

Instead of asking why Solas was in his office, he asked something far more innocuous. “Any interest in a hand of diamondback?”

Solas’s posture relaxed slightly, and he gave Varric a faint smile. “I would like that. Thank you.”

Varric nodded and pulled a deck of worn cards from his desk drawer. He shuffled the cards and dealt a hand, and for the first time in years, Varric and Solas played a game of diamondback together.

They played a couple of hands in silence. Varric won the first round and Solas won the second, and by the time they were on their third, Varric was feeling much more in control of the situation.

He discarded a card and selected another. “It’s been a while, Chuckles. What have you been up to?”

“Travelling, mostly,” Solas said. “Observing. And yourself?”

“Signing my life away,” Varric said dryly, and he nodded to the pile of signed documents on his desk.

Solas’s smile widened slightly. “I see.” He glanced at the unfinished chapter under Varric’s elbow. “You have continued to write as well, I see?”

Varric huffed. “Eh, not really. This is just for Cassandra.”

“For Cassandra exclusively?” Solas said.

Varric nodded. “Aveline — she’s the inspiration for the main character — she demanded that I stop writing it. I told her that making me choose between her and Cassandra would be putting me between a rock and a hard place. Literally.”

Solas chuckled. The rare sound of Solas’s amusement was strangely familiar, and it only served to highlight the weirdness of the situation.

Varric dealt another hand. “How’s Cole? You seen him lately?”

“Yes,” Solas said. “He is happily dwelling in the Fade once more.”

His tone was very bland, Varric noticed. With Solas, ‘bland’ usually meant ‘something very significant’. Had something happened to Cole, then?

Varric’s gut twisted with concern, but he carefully kept his expression calm. “Tell the kid I said ‘hi’ during your next Fade nap. We miss him around here.”

“I shall,” Solas said softly. “It is your turn.”

Varric nodded and selected a card. They finished the round, which went to Solas this time, and as Varric shuffled the cards, he carefully considered what to say next. Everything he and Solas said to each other involved giving up a piece of information. Even admitting that he and Cassandra were still in touch was a piece of information that could be used – though not one that would be hard to discover even by a fairly poor spy. But in such a fraught situation, Varric needed to be very careful about what he said next.

It was time to try and unbalance Solas. And there was only one thing — or rather, one person — that had been able to soften Solas up in the past. Would a mention of her still be enough to unbalance this especially placid and self-possessed version of the elven apostate?

Only one way to find out, Varric thought. He dealt out their cards, then looked at Solas. “She’s fine, by the way.”

Solas met his eye. And for a split second, swift as the blink of an eye, an expression crossed his face — an expression that landed like a strike to Varric’s gut. It was a complicated mixture of heartwrenching longing and regret: the kind of regret that could haunt a person for decades. The kind of regret that spoke of near-misses and what-ifs that would never be resolved.

The kind of regret that could twist and fester in the walls of a once-loved fortress until it became literally monstrous.

Then, just as quickly as the weight of emotion crossed Solas’s face, it was gone — but not quickly enough for Varric to miss it.

Solas still cares about Lavellan, Varric thought. This was very useful information to have. If Solas still loved Lavellan, if the Dread Wolf still had some kind of attachment to their world, then there was hope. A little hint of hope, sure, but Varric was well-accustomed to seemingly-hopeless situations by now.

Hope is good, he thought. Hope’ll keep us going. He couldn’t take any pleasure from this information, though — not when he knew Lavellan still loved Solas too.

Solas, meanwhile, had returned his now-neutral gaze to his cards. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “You see her often, I take it?”

“Nah,” Varric said. “She’s still out in the Hunterhorn Mountains.”

Solas looked up with a tiny frown. “The Hunterhorn Mountains?”

“Yeah,” Varric said. “With the rest of the Seekers. What’s left of them, anyway.”

Solas blinked. Then his face cleared with comprehension — and a whisper of disappointment. “Ah,” he said. “Cassandra. Of course.”

Varric raised his eyebrows in faux-innocence. “Who did you think I meant?”

Solas stared stonily at him, and Varric steadily returned his gaze. Then Solas huffed softly, and a hint of a smile touched the corner of his lips. He looked at his cards once more without replying, and Varric watched him carefully as they played out the remainder of the round, but his face had resumed its unnervingly placid expression.

Varric won the round. When he’d collected the cards once more, he paused and gave Solas a frank look. “Listen, Chuckles, the personal visit is nice, but I’ve gotta wonder what it’s about.”

Solas leaned back and crossed one ankle over his knee, looking supremely comfortable for an ancient god who had just been called out by a mere mortal. “Truthfully?” he said. “It was an experiment.”

Varric frowned. This was not what he expected Solas to say. “An experiment?”

“Yes,” Solas said. “I am both interested and somewhat alarmed to see that it worked.”

“Okay,” Varric said slowly. He couldn’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed that Solas was being his usual cryptic self. “So… what happen next, then?”

“That is largely up to you,” Solas said.

“What do you mean?” Varric asked.

“I mean that the choice is yours. It is your mind, after all.” He gestured at the cards in Varric’s hands. “We could continue talking and playing, if you like.”

Varric narrowed his eyes. What did Solas mean, ‘it is your mind’? “And what if I don’t want to?” he said suspiciously. “Are you going to kill me?”

Solas’s smile widened into something indescribably sad. “No, Varric. If you don’t wish to continue playing, then I suggest you wake up.”

Varric jerked and opened his eyes. “What?” he blurted.

Solas didn’t reply. In fact, Solas wasn’t there.

Disoriented and alarmed, Varric looked around his empty office. What the hell? he thought. So… wait. He was confused. How — what had just happened? He’d been asleep, so how had he been playing cards with Solas?

A sudden realization gripped him. Thinking or doing things or seeing people while he was asleep: Varric had never done this before. In fact, he didn’t know any dwarf ever who had done that before.

“Did… did I just have a dream?” he said incredulously to his empty office.

No one answered — of course no one did, because Varric was alone. But… Andraste’s knickers, that had felt so real. If that was a dream, how did humans and elves and qunari stand it every night?

He rubbed his face roughly. He was spooked; there was no denying it. And he couldn’t make sense of how this was even possible. Everyone in Thedas knew that dwarves didn’t dream; it was a fact, like the sky being blue and grass being green. But if Varric had just had a dream, and Solas said it was an experiment…

Shit, he thought. Maybe that meant Solas was doing some kind of weird new magic, which didn’t bode well. If that was the case, he needed to talk to some mages about this. Good thing Lavellan was in Kirkwall at the moment. He could talk to her and to Dorian through her sending crystal thing, and they could explain what had just happened.

He stood up and stretched, then quickly locked the coded letters in the hidden compartment in his desk before leaving his office. As he made his way through the silent Viscount’s Keep, he tried to remember what he and Solas had talked about during the dream, but it was becoming indistinct. He remembered playing cards, and he remembered Solas saying it was an experiment, but the things they’d discussed…

He rubbed his forehead, frustrated that his memory of the dream was so fuzzy. Had they talked about lyrium? Varric didn’t think so. Maybe… maybe about Varric’s books? That was possible. Was it normal for dreams to just disappear so quickly? He thought he remembered humans complaining about this, but Solas always made it sound like his dreams were so clear…

Then Varric remembered something very clear: the look on Solas’s face when he was thinking about Lavellan. That wistful, yearning expression that spoke of hope and tragedy at the same time — the same expression that Lavellan wore when she thought no one was looking.

His heart sank, and he sighed. It looked like shit was about to get weird again for Lavellan, and soon. Then again, when had shit ever not been weird?

At least we’re never bored, he thought wryly. With that semi-positive thought in mind, Varric stepped out of the Viscount’s Keep and into the heart of Hightown.

#varric tethras #solas #da4 speculation #da4 hopes #da4 #post-trespasser #solavellan #solavellan hell #pikapeppa writes #yes i know varric dreaming is implausible #impossible though? i think not

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a-shakespearean-in-paris · 4 years ago

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I'd love to see your take on Cullen's recovery arc as an alternative analysis! I feel like we're only ever presented with the two options of: "he needs to atone!" Or "he was a victim that needs protection!", neither of which I've ever fully agreed with. I think it's a result of the lack of attention given to his arc in DAI, which leaves a ton of room for interpretation, and results in people swaying towards either camp depending on how sympathetic they are towards him and his history.

I totally agree with this.

The problem with the way Cullen is presented in DAI is that he’s presented in an unambiguously positive light, and as @tokutenshi pointed out in this post (which I do agree with) if your Hawke was hostile to him you don’t get some of his dialogue about questioning Meredith. Additionally if you side with the mages rather than the templars Cullen has some realizations about the Order that you’re not going to hear. It’s too little too late for a lot of people, though I would also argue with what tokutenshi said, he was severely traumatized after the Blight (if you take a female mage Warden in the tower during the Witch Hunt DLC you will get lines that indicate he is suffering from PTSD, notice the lines about him being “twitchy” and “jumpy”) Personally I think we can find a middle ground between Cullen being a victim of manipulation and indoctrination, someone who suffered after experiencing trauma, and someone who works hard in the moment to do some good, whether we can or should call it “atonement” or not. That being said, he does acknowledge in Inquisition that the war against Corypheus is his chance to atone, and he works overtime to the point where it’s commented upon by several characters including the Inquisitor how hard he works.

By the time we meet Cullen in Inquisition a couple of years have passed since the chantry’s explosion. This is where I will be critical of the writing because I do think the game should have better established what exactly Cullen was doing in the time in between, though we get bits and clues from dialogue if you pay attention: He served as Kirkwall’s knight Commander after Meredith died, and he and presumably Aveline’s guard worked to basically repair the city, as Rylen says in Griffon Wing Keep that there was a lot of rubble, a lot of people without homes. Cassandra noticed Cullen’s work and recruited him to the Inquisition. (Also, keep in mind that the Inquisition was originally going to help quell the worst excess of the mage and templar fighting, restore order because the chantry lost control. Then the conclave happened, it went boom, and suddenly the Inquisition’s purpose became far greater than anyone would have expected. So Cullen as Cassandra’s choice of Commander makes total sense to me, considering he was a former templar and bringing him in basically acted as a symbol to any wayward templar, letting them know that there could be another way. But I digress on that part, haha.)

I *think* some people are dissatisfied with Cullen’s “redemption” arc in DAI because we don’t really see him fall on the sword or beat himself up for his past. There’s also no moment where he like, faces a mage he maybe knew in Kirkwall or has to deal with the mages not trusting him. Obviously of course there is nuance there as well as Toku and I mentioned--he wasn’t allowed to heal as much as he should have before being shipped to Meredith. However, here’s an interesting bit of dialogue you can get if you pick the right options after Perseverance if you tell him he doesn’t need lyrium:

Quiz: The man you were. You can’t pretend like he never existed.

Cullen: Not even if I wanted to. But I’m here now. I can make that mean something.

Cullen knows he screwed up. What’s more, he doesn’t want to forget he screwed up. But he lives in the moment to make things right. Blackwall’s arc actually shows him falling on the sword and wanting to atone, versus with Cullen it’s implied he has come to terms with his screw ups off screen. He doesn’t continuously beat himself up, he does what he can for the Inquisition to the point where if the Quiz tells him to go back on lyrium for the better of his soldiers, he does, knowing it just may kill him. There is also limited dialogue that challenges his views which turns some people off, but I know for my Inquisitor she’s very much about the now and what they both can do in the now. I won’t blame anyone who wants to be able to challenge him more, but frankly I find the fact he doesn’t continuously fall on the sword or beat himself up interesting.

All that being said, I do think of his arc as more of one of recovery versus redemption. And to be frank I’m kind of critical of the term “redemption” and what makes good redemption arcs or not. Someone having a “redemption arc” seems to imply that there’s only one road to the top of the mountain when maybe redemption is something you should always strive for? But as for the “recovery” arc: the chantry, IMO, purposely devoids both mages and templars of a personhood or life outside the order and Circle and treats them as objects. Many templar recruits are children and are basically indoctrinated to believe they serve the Maker and they are needed and that they do the Maker’s will. There’s an interesting bit of dialogue you can get if your character is a warrior and talks to Cullen about the templar spec, basically if the Quiz says “templars serve the Maker, I’d do the same.” Cullen basically replies, “uh, yeah, that’s not going to make you righteous, believe me,” implying this was the way he once indoctrinated to think, but he no longer believes it so. Templars are given lyrium for their abilities, but also to placate them, something Alistair says in DAO.

After Kirkwall Cullen sees where the Order is going, gets an offer from Cassandra and decides that if he removes the “part that kept [him] chained,” he would find his own purpose again. (He says this is your Quiz makes him take lyrium.) In Inquisition we learn he always wanted to protect people. (Our local mind reader Cole says “some templars want to only protect, like Cullen” if you ask him about templars.) And as a kid living in rural nowhere Ferelden, he saw the templars as protectors. Why I interpret his arc as more about recovery than redemption all has to do with Perseverance and the way you as the player can handle it: You can either let him know he can start over, he can endure and one day find a life of his own away from duty and battle, or you can make him take it and thus let him remain indoctrinated to what the chantry taught him, that there is nothing outside of duty and battle. It comes down between a choice of “you are leashed to what the chantry made you till you die” to “you are more and you can recover and make your own life,” which he does do by Tresspasser, romance or not. At the end of the game if you keep him off lyrium he basically thanks the Inquisitor for giving him a chance, letting him know he could be more. Additionally, a lyrium free Cullen in Tresspasser speaks of meeting his siblings again, developing a relationship. If you make him take it forever he refuses to see them.

I could also see the arc as one of faith, and finding it again. If you keep him off lyrium the prayer in the chantry he speaks is one of quiet reassurance and finding strength through his faith, but if you make him take it the prayer is “blessed are the peacekeepers” and it’s uttered desperately as if he is trying to believe it. He also mourns how far he fell. All this to say that I find it very interesting his writer focused his personal quest around the lyrium and what lyrium represents rather than say, him meeting a mage who lived in Kirkwall or something and him trying to atone to them.

When I wrote my post about why Cullen gets so much fandom related wank I got a lot of different responses that echoed the same thing about Cullen’s arc not getting a lot of attention. I think there is a lot of good writing there with his personal quest, but his writing doesn’t fill in every single gap---not to mention people are going to have vastly different experiences on how they played the games till Inquisition. And my examples of dialogue are things you may not get if you don��t pick the right options. And heck, some people only have played Inquisition.

So, I think me calling his arc in Inquisition a recovery arc has partially been not me trying to justify why I like him, but analyze a differing way a character who has screwed up in the past is written. Blackwall’s arc is a true redemption arc IMO. Cullen’s isn’t so clear cut as a redemption arc, but at the end of the day it is truly about him finding his own purpose again, which leads me to lean more toward calling it a “recovery arc.”

#cullen rutherford #replies #thanks!#toku I was going to expand your post but I got this ask and thought I'd talk about it here #I once wrote more about this in a longer post that expanded on it being a recovery arc I think #but this is a summary #resjade #long post #I had a screenshot of the quote but the post was already too long lol

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crystal-moon-101 · 4 years ago

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Right! So I’ve decided to do some redesigns again, planning on doing the main villains of Generator Rex, Ben 10 and The Secret Saturdays. Vilgax and Argost will be coming up soon, but I thought I’d start with Van Kleiss, as this fellow has been an interest of mine for sometime, in terms of the potential of his character. Unlike the other two, I’ve always just...felt like Van Kleiss didn’t need to be dog kicking evil to be a villain for Rex, that being evil for the sake of evil wasn’t something they needed to do to make him and Rex opposed to each other. I’m not saying to make Van Kleiss soft hearted and kind to every person he meets, but add more of a complicated story to him, show more to this man than just a jerk who likes being a jerk. After all, this is a show about things not being so black and white. So I shall share my rewrite background for him! I should also note that I mentioned in the Hong Kong Gang redesign that Circe is his daughter, so that will tie into this. Warning for mentions of deaths by illnesses and murder!

“Van Kleiss is a man you could say has not had the easiest of life, especially when it comes to social things. Raised by strict parents with high expectations, he felt like he was never good enough for them, eventually kicked out of their home for not living up to their ideals. He wasn’t exactly good with making things either, coming off as odd, a strong loner who was easy to mess with. Most of this resulted in him being anti-social for quite sometime, afraid to reach a out hand to people incase they bite back. Then, while trying to live his young adult life the best he could with what he had, he was caught up in a terrible accident, one that resulted in him losing his left arm. He was stuck in recovery for a long time, with no visitors of course. He was quite use to being alone at this point, a cast out in people’s eyes, so you could imagine his surprise when meeting his physiotherapy, a bright, young woman around his age by the name Cassandra, who was in no way put off by Van Kleiss’s demeanor. He will admit, he was taken aback by how pleasant she was, so chipper and ready to strike up a conversation with him, kind and gentle towards him as she helped him learn to live with a prosthetic, and yet would also respect his boundaries, treating him....human, for a lack of a better word. At first, Van Kleiss was keen to just stay quiet and ignore her, mostly uttering how short sentences to try and make things process quicker. But there was just something about her that made him feel alright, calm, as if those walls he built up to protect himself weren’t needed when she was around. It was like some strange magic Cassandra had, slowly able to get him to open up more, share stories, ideas, goals, dreams, thoughts, never once judging Van Kleiss for the person he is, while others had been so quick to. Quite the people pleasing person she was, the opposite to Van Kleiss, but he wasn’t complaining, especially when the fool started realizing his he beginning to fall head over heels for this woman. He was a bumbling mess when asking her out the first time, and yet it somehow worked. Life seemed to be going up hill since then, the two hitting it off so fast, becoming a couple, then finances, and suddenly marriage was right around the corner. And just when Van Kleiss felt like he didn’t need anyone else other than her, another surprise came in the presence of their daughter, Circe. A family life wasn’t something he had thought about, nor did he think he would ever get the chance, but here he was and he was happy to be there, he had even gone back to school to study. But...he bad luck in life would soon return. Circe had only just turned five when it began to happen, and no one had seen it coming. Cassandra was starting to seem off, tired, dizzy and feeling faint often, at first assuming it was the flu or something...but she didn’t get better, instead getting worse. She started collapsing, struggling to breath, eventually coughing up blood. She had gotten sick, a disease infecting her that had no known cure. The best they could do was pray that she could recover, could beat it, after all she was a tough woman, with a lot of hope and love from her family. Sadly, love isn’t always going to be enough, and Cassandra passed away after saying her final goodbyes to her daughter and husband... Struck with grief, Van Kleiss went quiet, a haze with his manners. He wanted to scream, cry, yell at the world for taking away his love, the one who showed him why he should keep going in life. But he didn’t allow himself, for he had to keep himself steady for the sake of his daughter. Circe needed him, and he was afraid to see what would happen if he gave into those painful feelings of grief inside him. So he locked it away, and pushed forward in life, eventually graduating school and began looking for a job. He applied and worked for a few places, but none of them really stick, especially since he still struggled to get along with people. Many were still uncomfortable around him, or quick to crack a nasty joke at his expense. He did his best to ignore it, again locking it all away, pushing forward for him and his daughter. And then, one day, he caught word of a project in the making. The nanite project, rumors of microscope machines being built to do many tasks, like solve world hunger, regrow limbs and even cure disease. The thought of something able to help others survive something his wife could not...it caught Van Kleiss’s interest, something he could do to honor his late wife. And so, after some applications and interviews, Van Kleiss eventually found himself landing a role in this project, which also meant him and Circe would move to the labs location. It was hard to pull Circe away from the life she already knew, but he felt it was for the better. But there were to noticeable issues right away. Again, the way people saw and treated him, and his general demeanor sparked some problems with other scientists. Most kept it professional, but many cast doubtful or harsh clears his way, or mutter whispers about him. He was use to most of this, though...he did end up caught in quite the nasty rivalry with a certain man. Caesar Salazar. Neither of them knew exactly why, but right from the bat the two did not like each other. Maybe it was because they were similar in many ways, maybe it’s because they both were bad a socializing, maybe each other’s backgrounds caused some sparks. They just could not stand each other, quick to criticize the other and speak badly. It did help that Van Kleiss felt like he had no one backing him up, as many were already familiar with the Salazars and were even friends with them, while Van Kleiss was alone in the ordeal. Strangely though, the opposite could be said with the younger brother, Rex Salazar. It didn’t take long for Circe and Rex to meet and become friends, given they were the only two kids there, which often resulted in Van Kleiss watching and babysitting the two in his lab space, sometimes even getting dragged into their games. He was happy that his daughter wouldn’t be lonely out here, but Rex being her friend wasn’t why he thought the kid was good, it was rather his friendship with Van Kleiss himself. Rex was a lovely kid, very kind and understanding for his age. While he cracked jokes and often got into trouble, he treated Van Kleiss like a human being, and often liked talking to the man and asking him many questions. Van Kleiss was a little stand-offish at first, but the kid managed to soften his heart a little. Things seemed to be going as good as they could for a while, but then things started happening. It first started with Rex’s accident. Van Kleiss had been watching Circe and Rex, but when he got caught in something, the two snuck off to play hide and seek. Next thing anyone knew, Rex got caught in a lab accident in the main nanite room. It took a while to get him out of there, as there had been a lock down to prevent any loss nanites to escape, but he was quick to be rushed to the medical section of the labs. He was found to be close to death, with no normal means to save him, but Rex also had a few nanites in him from the accident. However, instead of taking them out, the nanite project group, including Van Kleiss, decided in the end to try and use the nanites to save him, with the help of the Omega to the side. After a long struggle, it eventually began to work. Things became complicated for Rex, now being used in testing, developing strange technological powers he was struggling to control, now feeling off...different. Van Kleiss and Circe were there to support him, but because Van Kleiss had been the one who was suppose to watch him before the accident, there was tension between the Salazar and Kleiss families. Eventually, while there were new changes, lab life started to go back to focusing on the project, even a new member called Ebony Hale (Black Knight) joining as an assistant. Things started going back to normal, or as normal as they could be, until that fateful day. Word got out in the chief scientist that their sponsors, The Consortium, had no only put a unknown spy among them, but were planning to use the nanites to take over the world. A large debate broke out on what to do, some arguing to destroy the nanites and all the data on them, some saying to keep the project going but find a way to keep the Consortium out of it, and some even saying they just wanted to do the project and didn’t care if the Consortium taking control. Van Kleiss was part of the side saying to keep the work, but kick out the Consortium. But eventually it was decided to destroy the project. But the spy must have caught wind of this, as while they began to remove their work, the Consortium sent in a heavily armed team to take out everyone on the project. During the chaos many things happened. Not having time to get rid of everything, members of the project decide to give Rex the Omega to hold onto, as he has enough experience with nanites to handle it for a few hours. Van Kleiss did try to say otherwise, not thinking it was fear on Rex, especially when his parents and Caesar agreed to this. In the end they did end up giving Rex the Omega, with the plan that he would meet Caesar at the docking bay. Van Kleiss had originally wanted to go with him and take Circe, but next thing they knew armed soldiers came in and everyone spilt. Rex managed to wander by as not only did the soldiers have no interest with the kid, but Ebony, who turned out to be the spy, ended up letting him past without knowing what he was hiding. Van Kleiss and Circe ended up running into Rex’s parents, who were busy trying to wipe the computers. The three parents got into quite the arguments, with Van Kleiss eventually leaving the room with his daughter, only to be confronted by some soldiers. They noted that the room that Van Kleiss just left was locked, so they made him an...offer. Either he unlocks the door and let them in, or they kill him and Circe where they stand. Despite how harsh the Salazars were on Van Kleiss, even he didn’t want to make this choice...but after everything, and looking down at his own daughter...he made the choice to let them in, holding his daughter as they heard gun fire. With everything coming to a head, it suddenly happened. With scientist messing with computers and machines, soldiers raining bullets everything, and Rex off somewhere glitching out with the Omega, it just became too much and the nanite event happened. A massive explosion that sent out a wave of unfinished nanites across the world, and for Van Kleiss, everything went white briefly... Then, he opened his eyes...finding himself feeling different. To his shock, he found himself to be mutated, his prosthetic arm gone, now replaced with an arm of wood and vines, a deep connection to the earth around him. Thankfully, his daughter was still by his side, but she two had changed, with the agility to emit a powerful scream. As days turned to weeks and then to months, Van Kleiss found himself turning his old home into something new...into a place that him and the out cast could belong into...But after everything that happened, the things he lost and was hurt by, he began to put up those walls again. He could no longer risk getting attached, not if he were to complete his goals....” And there we go! My tale about Van Kleiss in my rewrite. It does go into other things that I will eventually write down that happened in this rewrite, but it’s a good place to start as any. I wanted to give him a tragic back story, something that shows why he behaves the way he does today, and how it ties into his goals. I like the idea that he does believe in the dream of turning everyone EVO and ruling them, but so that he can start a new age and era where people don’t have to be out casts anymore. After all, if everyone is different a monster, then no one can be judged, at least in his mindset. So Abysus is a safe haven for EVOs that need a home, and he does want the best for his subject. The only problem is that one, Van Kleiss doesn’t want to get deeply attached to anyone, as many past friendships eventually failed on him, so it’s bound to happen again, and two, he can get a little power made because well, he’s spent so long being the underdog and kick to the ground, so it feels great to be able to be the one standing tall. It also helps make him feel like Rex’s opposite, not only with the nature vs technology design for the two, but the idea that one is someone who wants to get attached to people, while the other is someone who doesn’t want to get attached anymore. A tragic hero and a tragic villain, who have history tied together. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my version of Van Kleiss, and for hearing me ramble! 💙

#Generator Rex #GR #Generator Rex Van Kleiss #Van Kleiss #Generator Rex Rewrite #redesign #Generator Rex Redesign #Generator Rex Circe #Generator Rex Rex Salazar #My Art

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thatdreadbitch · 3 years ago

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[Late] WIP Wednesday

Thank you so much for tagging me @halesshepardn7 Tagging whoever wants to participate. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the time between when my OC Cassandra Shepard gets off Mindoir and when the Game starts and how those events impact her decision making between games. Its given me a lot of ideas for various interactions in her fic Walking into Hell and Back as well as things that happen offscreen. I’ll put spoiler things for the fic that i haven't written to [my brain naturally writes things out of order] under the cut but here are some snippets that I’ve been working on.

When Cassandra discovers that Nihlus is the Spectre overseeing the Shakedown run of the Normandy SR-1[not part of the published fic]

“Captain,” She began. “I was hoping to speak to you before we welcomed the turian Spectre aboard.” “Commander. I understand your family doesn't have the best history with Turians. But this mission is important. I want you to keep any comments to yourself. The last thing we need is to give Nihlus a reason to dislike the Alliance.” “I’m afraid if one Commander’s past actions are enough for that, it may already be too late.” “What do you mean, Commander?” Andersons eyes narrowed at the Commander. She looked down and away from his gaze. “I have a history with Nihlus and it isn't the best sir,” Cassandra admitted, “I know the reports say that a Spectre helped me escape Mindoir. Nihlus was that Spectre. I figure I should let you know that when I first met him we had a misunderstanding and I threw him into a stream and stole my brothers omni-tool from him. I never exactly gave what i would call an apology for it.” “Damn it, Shepard.” Anderson muttered, “We can only assume that he doesnt hold it against you too much since he still got you off of Mindoir but keep quiet about it unless it gets brought up. If he brings it up I expect you to apologize.” “Yes sir,” Cassandra said, following the Captain to the bridge to welcome the Spectre.

When Nihlus stops answering the comms on Eden Prime

“Nihlus, are you seeing this?” Cassandra asked through the comms as she stared at the massive ship taking off. Radio silence. “Nihlus? Nihlus are you there?” Another minute of Radio silence passed. Something was very wrong. “Maybe he’s just busy.” Kaidan said. “Maybe he’s working with whoever brought the Geth here?” Williams offered as an explanation. “Williams, has it occurred to you that not every turian thinks humans are a blight on the Galaxy?” Cassandra asked, “I’ve worked with Nihlus before and he isn't the type to attack a human colony; or any colony for that matter.” She tried the comms once more, hoping that their conversation had been long enough for Nihlus to wrap up whatever was keeping him busy and answer. “Nihlus do you read me? Answer your comms.” She’d take any answer right about now. The sound of radio silence wasn't something she enjoyed. “Yes, ma’am. Understood.”

Actually Becoming a Spectre is nothing like Cassandra Shepard imagined it would feel like.

"So do we have to start calling you 'Spectre-Commander' or 'Commander-Spectre' now?" Kaidan chuckled. "Not one for partying now, huh?" "Please, Kaidan. Its just, 'Commander'." Cassandra said, looking out on the ward arm from the dock. A small smirk formed on her face at Kaidan's attempt at humor before she hid it. She still hadn't even stopped by the Spectre office to get all of her paperwork done, wanting to wait until she could be sure there was barely any other Spectres there. "I thought I'd be in a partying mood if I ever became a Spectre. But I still don't feel like I've done anything worth celebrating. Tali's the one who had the evidence against Saren and Garrus is the one that saved Dr. Michel so we knew about her." "You're still thinking about Eden Prime, aren't you? Is what happened to Nihlus bothering you that much?" "In a way." She sighed "It was my idea that got him killed Kaidan," "We don't know that he's dead, Shepard. All we know is he's missing and Saren is responsible." "Doesn't matter. I'm the one that told him to scout ahead towards the beacon because I thought that's what would make him more likely to recommend me as a Spectre. Hindsight I wish I hadn't known about being considered for Spectre status before the mission." "You said that you encountered Nihlus before, based on how you're handling this I'm guessing it either means you owe him something or you didn't get off to a great start." "Both actually. You know how I told Jenkins that it was by the sheerest dumb luck I managed to get off of Mindoir? That's because if Nihlus hadn't been there on a mission for the Council and my brother hadn't helped him, I'd be some Batarian’s slave right now, or I'd be dead. I threw him into a stream by my family's farm with my biotics because I thought he had stolen my brother's Omni-tool. I didn't even know he was a Spectre."

"I'm guessing that's why you were dodging him the entire way to Eden Prime?" "Wouldn't you?" "Maybe." "I don't even know if he recognized me on the Normandy, or what his mission was on Mindoir that day. I was planning on asking after the mission if it went well.” "So how did you end up working on the wrong side of C-Sec? If you don't mind me asking." "Kaidan, we're friends and I understand the curiosity, but that's too personal. Maybe if you save me from a fate worse than death someday, I'll tell you the story. But until then," She sighed. She thought a teenager that just had everything taken from her on her birthday would have been smarter than to make the mistakes she had made back then. "I need to head down to the Spectre office to sort out some paperwork. Thanks for coming to talk to me." She pushed herself off of the railing and started walking towards the elevator, deflecting any further discussion.

. . . “Cassandra Shepard; human. Spectre status: recognized. Welcome.” Cassandra let out a deep breath at the sound of the VI; it almost didn't feel real as she stepped through the corridor. All those years she spent joking with her brother about becoming the first human Spectre and it was nothing like she thought it would feel like; it wasn't the ‘on top of the galaxy’ feeling she had imagined it would be, maybe if she had actually done something to earn it she would feel that way. If only he could see her now though.

#Mass Effect #Commander Shepard #Commander Cassandra Shepard #wip game

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remmushound · 4 years ago

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Bay/rise 37!! @errorfreak88 @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @brightlotusmoon @yarchurr @dakotafinely @sententiously-sarcastic @sprinklestheditty

Content warnings!! Mentions of death

The ringing in Leo’s ears was deafening. After his humiliating defeat, the best thing he could think to do was find someplace quiet to think. The single place in the lair that offered such solitude was Splinter’s room— the only single-person bedroom in the entirety of their home. It was small and Leo could barely fit through the doorway, and laying on the bed made him feel colossal, but he didn't care. He buried his face in the pillow and it smelled like his father and that was all that he cared about.

He didn't care about losing the spar. Sure, it was a bad sting to his self esteem, but at least his dad hadn’t been there to see it. But maybe if Splinter was there he could have talked some sense into Leo before he made a fool of himself in front of his brothers. He didn't know what he was doing and he admitted that to none but himself. He had been leader for almost four years— and even before then he had always taken well to bossing his brothers around. That’s why he had been made leader in the first place! Because Splinter saw something in him and chose to highlight that above all his flaws and faults. Leo still didn't know why!

As a kid, though he had always taken charge, his personality wasn’t just that. Not like what he was reduced to now. He remembered running the sewers with his brothers and mapping out the tunnels with their minds alone and how he was always the one who could find the way home even when Donnie’s techniques failed. He remembered Splinter taking them up to the storm drains so they could watch the parades go by in the streets. The colors, the people dancing, the music sounding off and filling Leo with such a bubbly, warm joy that he just wanted to dance along to any song that carried down the tunnels.

That was what ninjitsu was to him at first. Dancing. Memorizing the moves and following through as fluid and free as the dancers he saw on the streets and in movies. Trying to emulate what he saw— feeling the melody in the very blood that coursed through his veins. Then a fun hobby turned into an obligation. It wasn’t a game anymore— it wasn’t something to enjoy or a fun thing to practice in his free time. It was his duty, his responsibility. His honor. And he couldn’t let his father down!

He wasn’t human and he could never be human. He shouldn’t want to be human! He was a turtle— he was a mutant— he was Splinter’s son! He had to live up to all the stories he was told about how great he would be and he had to live up to his father’s expectations and he had to live up to what the people in the city needed him to be! He didn't need to dance, he didn't need to like his work—he shouldn’t like his work! Work is work and work isn’t meant to be enjoyed. He was a savior— a messiah in the form of a grotesque monstrosity and it was him and only him that could protect his brothers and the city and the earth and he just wished the ringing in his ears would stop—

Then he opened his eyes again. The ringing wasn‘t just in his ears. It was all around him. An alarm— Donnie’s alarm— sounding a warning of some enemy approaching. Leo looked up and dried his tears just as Donnie came rushing into the room.

“Leo! An alarm went off in the south tunnel! We should check it out! Are you gonna…?”

Leo stood up quickly, shoving his way past Donnie and reclaiming his swords on the way to the entry tunnel. He didn't dare look up at any of his brothers or their counterparts as he passed them by. He was a leader and he had to be strong and silent and he wasn’t allowed to cry. He wasn’t allowed to be weak. He had to be the best— he was the best! Even if Leonardo had beaten him.

They traversed the tunnels in silence. Leo’s brothers were all gathered around him, Mikey with his head hung low like a puppy and remarkably silent. Donnie gave Leo space instead of being right at his side as usual, and Raph put some distance between himself and his Leo for completely different reasons. He needed a chance to cool off before he strangled Leo for how the stubborn leader had been acting the past few dates. He could strangle him later, Raph told himself. Just wait until the sensei’s are safe.

Leonardo was in the lead of his family, Michelangelo clinging to his arm for security against the rushing water that tried to force him off his feet. Leonardo, slippery as he was, always had a better grip under the water than the land-dwelling box turtle could hope to achieve. Donatello was tapping away on his watch, though Michelangelo was half convinced that it was actually just a game. In the place of Raphael, who’s exhaustion couldn’t be moved even by the loud scream of the alarm, was April taking up the rear. She had yet to get her special baseball back, though whoever this Casey Jones was had promised to get it out of police holding for her. In its place she had a new, regular bat covered in nails. Not as effective as her mystic bat, but she was sure it could pack a punch nonetheless.

They came to the place where the alarm had gone off. All eight of them slowly came to a halt when they saw the intruder just standing there, calm as day, as if he had been waiting for them quite some time. Leo and his brothers all took an audible gasp as they stepped back, Leo putting his arms out to protect those behind him. Leonardo and his family, however, gasped for a whole different reason.

“HUESO!”

Despite Leo’s wide motion for them all to stay behind him, Leonardo lead his family to all ignore the leader and dash forward under Leo’s arms to greet the skeleton man. Hueso looked filthy, his normally flawless suit stained with the sewage he had to wade through and dripping even after he had found an almost-dry spot to stand on.

“Oh Hueso! Es bueno verte! I can’t believe you’re here! I’d hug you if you weren’t so gross!” Leonardo laughed and held his arms out for a social-distanced hug.

“Yes, I’d do the same if not for similar reasons.” Hueso grumbled under his breath.

“How’d you get here Hues?” April asked, walking closer to the calaca than Leonardo dared.

“It is a very long story.”

***

“You go on ahead Cassandra. I got some loose ends to tie up.”

When Cassandra left through the rift and the portal closed behind her, only then did Draxum put Hueso back on the ground and release his vice-grip. Hueso gasped softly as he clutched at his throat, his eyes full of hate and locked on Draxum like he were the scum of the earth.

“What do you want from me?” Hueso asked finally, his eyes never once leaving the sheep yokai.

“We have a common means, calaca.” Draxum said, calm and steady. “I hear you are fond of the one called Leonardo.”

“Fond?” Hueso laughed, “I wouldn’t much call it fond as I would call it a... hostage situation.”

“But you know of him. You care for him?” Draxum made a fist and raised it to the air. “You are a very clever Yokai, I can tell. And I could trust no other with a message as important, and to accept what I am about to ask of you would ensure riches and safety for you and your family.”

A glint came to Hueso’s eyes. “What is your request?”

“My creations think me cruel. They know not of my plans, and I need a carrier to bring the news to them so we may unite our forces to take down a common enemy.”

“The Shadow Fiend…” Hueso whispered softly, looking to the place where the rift had once been. “He is not whole. He cannot be defeated in the state he is currently in.”

“Yes.” Drauxm growled softly.

“He must be made whole again, and the only way to do that is…”

“A sacrifice. A sacrifice of Hamato blood will bring the Shredder back whole. He’ll be defeatable.”

“But the cost...”

***

“...would be great.” Hueso finished. “You would be able to destroy The Shadow Fiend once and for all! He sent me here to be your guide.” Hueso looked to Leonardo.

“So he’s not bad!” Michelangelo said quite loudly, his voice echoing all around them as he ran fast to hug Hueso, almost tackling the older skeleton. “DRAXUM’S NOT BAD! I knew he wasn’t!”

“You… you’re just…” Leo pointed at Hueso.

“Just a bone man, yes.”

“Hm.” Leo smacked his lips together as he nodded ever so slightly. “Okay.”

“Can I touch your bones, dude?” Mikey asked, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

“That is extremely disrespectful.” Hueso spat, “You should show more respect to your elders.”

Everyone just stared at him.

“Well? Data prisa! We haven’t got all day!” Hueso started to usher the teens back down the sewer tunnel, his confidence and booming voice enough to compensate for the shorter and weaker form he had compared to the brothers. “Malditos chicos! Tan lento!”

The mutants scattered along at his urging just as they would if their Splinters had done the same. Hueso grabbed Leonardo before the blue ninja could get far.

“Talk with me.” He said in Spanish before they started to walk again.

“Why the Spanish?” Leonardo spoke with the same tongue and in a hushed voice. He hoped none of the counterpart-brothers could understand what was being said.

“We must talk of your father in private.”

“Splinter? Why? Do you know something?”

“I told you the ceremony requires blood magic! It requires the host to be bled and possessed by the Dark Armor. The host would be your father with his hamato blood.”

Leonardo’s eyes went wide. He stopped walking for a moment, but Hueso grabbed him by the arm and forced him to keep going.

“B-but if we destroy the shredder then he’d be free right?”

“To destroy The Shredder, we will have to destroy the host.” Hueso looked up at Leonardo with mournful eyes. “If we go through with this, then you will have to kill your own father.”

#OHHHHHHHHHHHH #what’s gonna happen?!#find out on the next installment #OF TMT #(Turtles Meet Turtles)

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itsmeevie01 · 4 years ago

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Bio!dad Bruce Day 7-Fashion Show

Marinette laughed as she linked arms with Alix and hurried out of school. Today, the girls had arranged to go out for the evening, and they were insistent that nothing would ruin their fun, even an akuma. As the shorter girls hurried away, Alya watched from where she stood on the steps. When she had transferred, she had hoped that the girl she had made a connection with would become her best friend. Now, as they neared the end of April, she had resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t part of the other’s inner circle.

Although she was friendly with the entire class, Marinette had quickly proven to be hard to get close to. She had her life out of school, and she had her life in school. They didn’t mix.

Unknown to the rest of the school, Marinette’s birthday was coming up. Every year, she would do something small with Tom and Sabine. Sometimes she would invite a friend over. Mostly, she kept her birthday quiet. The teen knew that if she offered, her class would love to celebrate with her, but she didn’t see it as a big deal. three years earlier, Bruce had asked her if she wanted to do anything for her birthday. When she had mentioned that she didn’t really celebrate it that much, he had nodded in acceptance. Each year, he flew into Paris and took her out for a day of shopping, an amusement park, or a fancy dinner. This year, he had invited her to join him in Gotham so that her brothers could come along. Since the event earlier in the month, Bruce had been more at ease when talking about many of the things going on in his home city. Now that he knew that Marinette was already entrenched in the hero life that he had been working so hard to keep her out of, he had opened up about the times that the family had vanished during her visits.

When Marinette had eagerly agreed to join him in Gotham, Bruce had asked his daughter of she had any preferences on what they did. The girl, as expected, shook her head and told him to surprise her. As long as they were together, it didn’t really matter. Imagine her surprise, when she got home from her late-night movie with Alix, to find her parents waiting for her, both buzzing in excitement.

“Mariette! Oh good, we were afraid that you would be out later. Bruce got in contact with us, he is going to fly you our for the entire weekend, instead of just one day!” While the bakers continued to gush about how wonderful it was for Bruce to fly Marinette out for her birthday, the girl paused. Usually, as much as she enjoyed her brothers, they were very upfront with her. When she had asked if they knew what Bruce was planning, they had been cagey. Now, he was flying her out on a Thursday, and bringing her back on a Tuesday? That was a long time considering she still had school.

Later that week as she packed her carry on, the noirette crinkled her nose in concentration. She had been doing the best she could to figure out what it could be, but she still had found nothing on their plans for the next few days. Once she had finished, she plopped the bag next to her suitcase. Whatever her family had planned, she could only hope that she was ready for it.

The next day at school, Marinette rolled her eyes as Alya started to chatter at her. The girl was nice, yes, but Marinette had seen what had happened when she had started to zero in on information. Alya was not likely to let anything go, which sadly, meant that for the sake of her secret identity, Marinette had t keep her distance. When Nino plopped into his seat in front of her, he turned to flash Marinette a grin. “you ready for your trip, dudette?” Marinette smiled in return,

“So ready! I finished packing last night, so Maman is going to pick me up at noon. That makes sure I have a little under four hours to get on my plane.” Nino nodded in understanding.

“International travel is nothing to mess with. You may be joined by Chloe; she is flying out to visit her mother. Where are you flying into?”

“New York! They said that they would meet me there, and that we would head back after whatever surprise they’ve been planning.” Nino snickered at his friend’s frustration. It was well known within their friend group that the girl liked to know what was going on so that she could plan accordingly. The last time they had tried to surprise her, Kim had ended up with a broken arm, and Alix had gotten enough blackmail to last a lifetime. It was also pretty common for the girl to refer to her family in vague terms. As much as she trusted her friends, her class was more than willing to dig into her personal life in an attempt to force friendship. Because of this, Marinette tried to keep her personal life a vague as possible. In situations like this, she was grateful that Nino understood what she meant, because Alya had caught onto their conversation and started to ask as many questions as she could. Thankfully, Chloe must have gotten the notice from Nino to rescue her, because the blonde swaggered into the room and made a beeline for the duo’s desk.

“So, Mari trash, what this I hear about you leaving the country?” while Alya bristled at the name that the heiress had thrown out, Marinette sent her friend a secret smile. Chloe sent her a nod before returning to riling up Alya until Madame Bustier made her way in, effectively shutting down all conversations.

The girls giggled as they hurried through the airport. When they had realized that they were on the same flight, they had agreed to meet up at the airport and wait out the extra time together. As the duo sat there, they chatted and traded pictures, and discussed fashion. When Chloe mentioned that her mother was taking her to meet a ‘rich client who she wont name. Ridiculous!’ Marinette paused. “Chloe, that’s not the only reason that your flying out, right?” the blond gave an undignified snot.

“Honestly Mari, I wish! She’s dragging me to her ‘secret fashion show for the ages’ as she calls it.” Soon the girls were giggling and discussing the latest trends. When the flight attendants called for first class, the two girls gather their bags and made their way over to the line that was forming. When they had gotten settled (conveniently next to each other, which spoke of manipulation to Marinette, although she refrained from mentioning it to the diva next to her), they each pulled out a book and got ready for their flight. Thankfully, they both made the transatlantic flights enough to know what to expect.

That evening, when they arrived, the girls hurried to get through security and collect their bags. As they exited the baggage claim, both girls started to scan for their rides. On one side of the airport, was Audrey Bourgeois’ personal assistant. Next to her stood the stately figure of Alfred Pennyworth. While Marinette threw herself at Alfred in a hug, Chloe nodded to the frazzled looking brunette who had greeted them. The girls hugged and parted ways, promising to meet up on Monday if they didn’t see each other before hand.

While Chloe settled in her mother’s penthouse, Marinette was buried in a pile of hugs from her brothers. When they had finally given her room to breathe, her father introduced her to a girl who had been standing nearby. Cassandra (her sister!!) smiled at her and waved shyly. Marinette had sent her a smile worthy of the sun and given the girl a hug in return.

The next morning, the two girls were the first to join Alfred in the kitchen. Was Marinette caught Alfred up on the last few months, she started to help him with breakfast. Cassandra (Cass, Marinette scolded herself) settled on a stool to watch her move through the kitchen with a fluidity that spoke of many, many hours of experience. Once Bruce and they boys had joined them, the group settled at the dining table.

When the food had been cleared up, Marinette turned to her father, “you know, you made it really hard to pack for this trip, when I had no idea what we are going to do!” Bruce smiled at her ire and easily brushed aside her worries.

“it’s a good thing that we’re going shopping then, isn’t it, Marinette?” the way the girls face lit up made Tim snort.

“B, you really shouldn’t have said that, now she’s not going to sit still for the rest of the day.” The teen made a face at the look sent his way and Marinette huffed at her older brother.

“At least I know how to dress myself nicely without having someone pick my clothes out for me!” Dick sniggered at her response before wincing as she directed her fury his way. “don’t think I’m ignoring you, Richard.” The man froze, because his sister had used his first name only once and that occasion was not to be brought up unless the world was ending. “your fashion choices are even worse than Dad’s!” As the family started to argue about the validity of her statements, Marinette slipped away, beckoning for Cassandra (Cass!) to follow her.

Once they were in Marinette’s temporary room, the girl handed her sister (!!) a small wrapped package. “Tim gave me a heads up that there was a new addition to the family, and I wanted to make something for you.” The other girl studied her for a moment before hesitantly ripping the paper. Inside was a small journal that was leather bound and had the name Cass written in an elegant script (A/N Cass is probably the character that I am the least familiar with the origin of. That said, I’m going to run off the assumption that she is learning to read when she is brought to join n the Wayne family. If I am wrong, lmk, for now, this is what we are vibing with). The quiet girl gave Marinette a tentative hug as a thank you before Tim knocked on the doorframe.

“Time to go, ladies. Your chariot awaits.” Marinate rolled her eyes at their brother while throwing a pair of balled up socks at him.

“We’re coming, boy genius. Be fearful though, this is the start of an alliance. Soon, maybe ill be able to finally compete against you boys on game night without rigging the games!” Tim spluttered at her declaration as she strode past him. He huffed and hurried after the girls, bemoaning Bruce for making this trip a ‘family affair’.

Three hours later, Tim and Dick were each carrying handfuls of shopping bags, as the family of five re-entered their temporary living space. The girls were walking together, Marinette explaining some of her ideas for different designs. Alfred smiled at them as they all stood talking together, until an unfamiliar ringtone broke the low ambiance. The brothers looked at each other in confusion, while Bruce raised an eye at his youngest daughter. The girl flushed in embarrassment and dug into her purse for a long moment before pulling out a phone that was very obviously not her own. “hey! Is everything ok?” her immediate switch to French made the others pause and zero in on her conversation. “Oh, you caught it. How much damage was there?” A pause and then, “do I need to- I know I’m supposed to be on vacation but- oh fine! Leave it on my balcony in the jar, ill take care of as soon as I can.” A beat, and the girl made a face at whatever the person on the other end of the phone said. “stay safe, and call me if you need me, yeah?” once she had hung up, the girl turned back to them with a raised eyebrow. “what? Are you saying you don’t have a second phone for emergencies?”

The next day, Saturday, was a whirlwind, as Alfred got everyone up and moving by7 am. When asked what was going on by Marinette, the butler simply smiled and moved to lure Dick out of bed. When the family was once again gathered around the breakfast table, Marinette turned to her father and demanded an explanation at the reason for a wakeup call before what she considered ‘reasonable hours’. The man smiled in return, “Today, Marinette, we are going to celebrate your birthday. As promised, this year, the entire fairly will be able to join in.” the girl protested at his declaration.

“what was yesterday? I thought that was us celebrating my birthday without going overboard!” Dick laughed at her shock before jumping into the conversation.

“well, Net, yesterday was part one. Today is part two…and the part that we think you’ll like the most.” At her confusion, Tim leaned over from his spot across the dining table, pushing a stack of six tickets towards her,

“were going to Audrey Bourgeois’ secret fashion show.” The screech that came from the youngest in the family was well worth the suspense.

As the family approached the hidden venue, Marinette felt excitement bubble up once again. She had spent the day making sure that the entire family was dressed appropriately for the event. Somehow, Bruce had managed to buy a dress on the sly for her, after catching her gazing longingly at it for the duration of their time in the shop. As for the others, for the most part, they had the necessary pieces to put together a look that would be presentable at the secret show. The door was opened once they had handed over their tickets, and the Wayne family were handed a stack of passes that they hurriedly settled around their necks as they were show their way to their seats.

When the catwalk lit up, Marinette sat there, frozen, anticipating the beginning of the show. The lights blacked out, and a spotlight followed the first model on her way towards the middle of the room. Marinette’s breath caught in shock at the beauty of the coat that was trailing down the runway. As the next model made his way out, Marinette lost herself in the world of fashion.

After, Bruce turned to the girl and raised an eyebrow, “so…was this too over the top for your birthday?” the 14-year-old smiled at her father.

“no,” she breathed, “it was perfect”

whew! that was a long one! obviously, this one is not compleate, but it’s other half is going to be coming soon! any feedback is more than welcome, im going to try to keep these a little longer if i can...

also, what did y’all think of Alya? i’m not her biggest fan, but didnt want to make her a villian?

#b!dbwm2020 #b!dbwm #miraculous ladybug #maribat #My writing #shit this was supposed to be short #i love Chloe #so she will probably play a bigger role in mari's life #idk where this came from man...

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theharellan · 4 years ago

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Written for Stories of Thedas Volume II. Pairing: Solas & Cole (platonic) Prompt: Library

Masks upon masks. The Winter Palace is strange to Cole, who attends at the Inquisitor's bidding and finds himself at a loss for how to help. Solas comes upon him with ideas for how to cope with the deadly Game.

Read on AO3.

Couples spin on the dance floor, turning and turning, going nowhere and everywhere at once. Their heads fill with daydreams, one gazes into her partner’s eyes through their masks, imagining the hidden corners they could lose themselves in. Another, all he sees is the faint outline of a knife in his companion’s skirts, so all-consuming he almost forgets the steps. A third, their eyes bore holes into the other’s heads, hate springs from love eternal. His eyes dart from one couple to the next, glimpses into minds fraught with thoughts of a Game no one ever really wins.

He breathes in and feels the air catch in his throat. Honeyed words mask the taste of poison, cold compassion, they understand only so they can hurt. It isn’t right, it isn’t fair, it isn’t–

In the blink of an eye he’s in the library, surrounded by pages that whisper the words of yesterday. Not so sharp against his skin. Below, a dead man in the shape of a Warden pretends to stare at a plaque, praying no one will look at him twice, fearing they might see his valourous wings are clipped. It’s still a hurt, a tangle, but he’s trying to help. Cruelty does not become him. He lets out a breath he forgot he was holding, hands coming together to pull at his sleeves.

Oh.

He had forgotten about the uniform. The fabric doesn’t come away at his touch, no matter how hard he tugs.

And he misses his hat.

Cole wonders how long he will wait here, alone with his panic clawing at his throat. In the Spire he spent months isolated, forgotten by all save the one who no longer cares to know him. Suddenly the soft, inviting lights which illuminate the halls of the Winter Palace seem as cold as the dark cells they had kept Rhys in, clapped in irons for crimes Cole committed. Anxiety squeezes every inch of him. He counts the beats of the music that drifts from the distant dance hall, just to assure himself only minutes have passed since he came here.

A door opens behind him, and he nearly jumps into shadow, the Veil waiting to envelop him, drawing him from prying eyes, but a familiar face waits on the other side. “Solas!” he gasps, relieved and ashamed that he had doubted, but grateful most of all.

Solas shuts the door behind him, turning the handle so the latch doesn’t make a sound. “I thought I might find you here.”

That gives Cole pause. He hadn’t known he would find himself here, until it happened. “But I don’t read.” The books here are newer than those kept in the Pit, some hum with the occult, others recount poems about the shape of a woman’s hips, but he still doesn’t read. There isn’t a question in his tone, but Solas hears it, all the same.

“This place can be overwhelming for anyone, even without accounting for your abilities. Books carry meaning, but without eyes upon them those meanings are static. Far easier to take in,” he answers as he walks towards him, gait stiffer than usual. His feet had forgotten what it was like to wear shoes. Solas has been quiet that evening, quieter than usual, the stem of a glass glued between his fingers, bottomless. He lets his hat do his talking for him, the Drasca’s dissent lived on atop his head. He stops beside Cole, leaning upon the marble rail, gloved hands bearing weight. His eyes turn upon him, no brimmed hat to hide behind. “Are you all right?”

He pulls on his sleeves, this time he thinks he feels a thread come loose. “Yes... No? There are two faces for every person.” The Left Hand smiles and laughs, she comes alive, but inside it’s cold and cruel. The rose withers upon the vine. He finds the thread with his finger and pulls, but it doesn’t break. It unravels, further and further, if he keeps going his whole sleeve will be an unspooled mess on the floor. “I don’t know which to look at. I-I don’t know how to help.”

Solas reaches out, subduing his worrying hands with a single, steady touch. A gentle gesture, despite the blood which stains them. Sometimes they do not seem so different from his own, they remember the bodies because forgetting would be worse. Killer’s hands, but there is no deceit in their tenderness. Solas wraps the thread around his finger, string bright white against his brown glove, and he tugs. It snaps, suddenly brittle, and falls to the floor to be swept away by a servant who will never know they were here. A comforting hand is placed deliberately on his shoulder blade, and Cole stills. He inhales, eyes snapping from the abandoned thread to Solas. There is kindness in his eyes, quiet assurance. He has seen this all before and he will make it easier to bear. So many tricks just to make it through a day, an evening, an hour. “You will not find much compassion in these affairs, any help you offer will be perceived as duplicitous, a means to get what it is you desire.”

“Then I… shouldn’t help?”

He hesitates, delaying his answer with a moment’s deliberation. “The choice is ultimately yours, but their comfort should not come at the cost of your peace of mind.” His hand slowly falls from his back as Cole turns his advice around in his head. “While we are waiting for the Inquisitor to call upon us, rather than mend the missing pieces in strangers’ lives, perhaps I may help you.”

“Help me?” He searches Solas’ eyes for answers, compassion seeking solace in pride. They are quiet, revealing only as much as intended. Cole chips at the cracks in the rock and hopes for water to spring forth, but he guards his sorrows like a wolf guards her den.

“Would you care to learn how to dance?”

A dozen thoughts pile into the spirit’s head, most too quick to catch, but he grasps one by the tail. “Do spirits dance?”

Solas claims spirits are people, and each day that belief is realer in Cole’s own mind, reinforced by the Herald and Solas himself. He need not change to be loved, or understood, he need only be himself. But if he is a person, then he is not a person the way Varric is, or Cassandra, or even Solas. There’s a touch of sadness in the corner of his smile, as though he is sorry the question needs to be asked. “I suppose it falls to us to answer together,” he replies patiently with an offered palm.

Uncertain how it will help, but ready to trust that it can, he takes Solas’ hand.

“Listen closely,” he says, but he declines to speak again. Cole’s instruction takes a different turn, a manicured glimpse through a window into Solas’ soul.

“Delicate hand folded like a paper crane between my shoulders, her eyes shine like the gold she deals in when I take to the dance.” Josephine had poured so much into tonight, all her smiles and favours, anything that will see the Inquisition prevail. “She didn’t think you would be asked to dance, but she was afraid if you didn’t learn, someone would.”

“Her time was likely better spent elsewhere,” he agrees, “though nothing would have given me more pleasure tonight than refusing one of Celene’s court. Listen again, parse the thoughts which cloud the memory and see how we move.” Cole nods, and concentrates. He remembers the palm tucked in the valley between Solas’ shoulders, and he moves his there. His feet, too, he moves in line with his hips. It’s strange, focusing upon his own body and the space it takes up in the world. Lighter now that he has chosen compassion, but still very much real, empty only in the seconds the air rushes from the chambers of his lungs.

He feels eyes upon him, questioning, searching for confirmation before the music dares move them. “I’m ready.”

When Solas steps forward, Cole steps back, like they’re two puppets on the same musical string. He clips his strides, travelling farther faster than Solas can hope to without magic to carry him there. Awkward at first, but with each beat he feels him join with the dance that exists in his head. Old melodies, half-remembered, play in distant memories. Like the sky he knew it, once, but made himself forget. Dancing wasn’t always this way, was it?

Solas remembers. Feet too full of motion to keep his thoughts safe in his head, they spill onto the fabric of the world where Cole breathes them like his own. Memories of moving on a dancefloor to a familiar tune, swaying with the stars themselves, spinning until they parted from the earth. He swells with pride, a beast alive beneath his ribcage, it thrives and fights and inspires. When they dance the heavens and the earth move, and an empire holds its breath. It fears what dread the dawn will bring, but his People find freedom in the impromptu steps.

“What are you two doing here?” A voice snaps the string. Halamshiral looks different than it did heartbeats ago, all the magic hidden in dark corners (all the elves, too). When Cole turns to see the servant who disturbed them, he’s surprised to see a bare face behind her plain mask, and a second later cannot recall why.

With silver eyes she stares at him, unblinking. “She can see me.”

“A consequence of our dance, I believe.” Yes, he can feel it. Solas fades with each passing second, growing distant as his hand falls from his waist. “It will fade in a moment.” He speaks as though she is not there, but he’s waiting. It’s another dance, only it’s Cole’s turn to lead.

Cut loose, he turns his attention to the woman. Fear flows through her veins, the dagger beneath her sleeve is ready to open theirs. Beneath the steel, her heart wavers. Stranded between duty and love. “I’m warning you-”

“There’s still time,” he says. “She waits for you beside the fountain where you wished away Your Lady’s collection.” There were wiser things to do with gold, but oh how they’d laughed with every dream plunged into the water.

Cole steps forward and she braces, but not fast enough. “Forget.”

Time is unmade behind her eyes, and she slips the mask from her face to rub the last place she’d been kissed. Gone as quickly as she came, with new purpose in her step.

“It seems you found a way to help someone, after all,” Solas remarks after the library door has shut behind her. “You never fail to impress.”

Something in him shines brighter, bolstered by his pride. “Thank you.” He falters, looking down at his feet, curling his toes inside their boots. “I’d like to try another dance, if you think there’s time.”

A laugh coloured wine red parts Solas’ lips, punctuated by a snort that makes Blackwall down below look around for its source. “I believe there is time for one more,” he says, outstretched palm seeking Cole’s hand. “Since you have devised a way to put off intruders, I daresay we have all the time in the world.”

It isn’t a lie, but neither is it true. Like the golden caprice coins that shine beneath the lovers’ reunion, Solas’ words glow like wishes.

#dragon age #solas #cole dragon age #cole #storiesofthedas2 #storiesofthedas #a pain you can't heal ( cole )#( my writing )#wicked eyes & wicked hearts ( quests )#[ this was actually started like a year ago as a warm-up for adding cole to my multi so i figured i'd finally finish it... ]#[ pls dont make me repost this tumblr ]

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seeing-the-light · 4 years ago

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TTS Gen Week Day 3: Protection

Note: Yes, I know this was yesterday’s prompt, I just ended up being too tired to finish it yesterday but I really liked where it was going, so here we are! Thanks @purplespacefairy for organizing this!

Something More Important Read on AO3

Edmund was upset, because today was supposed to have been special.

And it’d started off well enough. Ever since he’d informed the royal family in Corona that his son’s real birthday was approaching, they’d been nothing but willing to help him create the proper celebration. He could tell that their friend’s betrayal had been hard on Eugene and Rapunzel, but though it still cast shadows over everything, he could tell they were beginning to heal. That’d heartened him, particularly since he knew how far they’d come since it first happened.

That moment when his son had stepped into the room, with shock that turned to confusion… for a moment, he could imagine what it might’ve been like to something like this for him every year, growing up, if they’d been together. He felt something warm bloom in his chest as Eugene looked to him for confirmation, even then – for a moment, they felt like a child’s eyes. He made his way in and looked around with a child’s excitement and wonder – and though Edmund was happy to see it, he couldn’t help being stabbed with guilt. Maybe he could’ve tried harder, maybe he could’ve sent his son something every year just so he knew he was remembered, even if that could’ve been dangerous and attracted unwanted attention. If only he’d-

A cold gust of wind had run through the room, then, startling him out of his thoughts. He didn’t have to look to recognize the aura of the moonstone. “Swell party,” She’d smirked. “I’m guessing my invitation got lost in the mail.” It’s not my kingdom, He’d had to remind himself, adamantly, as she entered the room, dragging Adira’s blade across the floor. Cassandra didn’t deserve to be holding that blade. He was a guest here, this wasn’t his castle, which meant he had to defer to the royal family’s judgement, even if a part of him wanted to strike her down the moment she entered for having the audacity to use this moment, this moment that was supposed to be special and his first chance he had to celebrate a birthday with his son, to engage in her sick drama. The anger only rumbled deeper, and stronger, when she patronized the princess, and called his son an ex-convict and a loser.

He noticed his son only corrected the ex-convict part, and that hurt Edmund in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

After she left, the whole atmosphere had changed. No one wanted to celebrate anymore, with her threat looming over them. And before he had the chance to say much of anything, Eugene and his friends had already whisked out of the room, likely to decide what their next move was.

He couldn’t help feeling a twinge of regret. He wanted to be a part of his son’s life, especially on a day like this, but the last thing he wanted was to accidentally do something that’d push him further away. He didn’t think he could bear making any more mistakes, not when this was such a delicate situation and his son had finally started talking to him enough that he’d had to be careful not to mention this surprise birthday to him beforehand.

So he waited. In fact, the next he heard from any of them, it was when the dispirited couple was walking through the castle’s hallways, on the way towards their bedrooms. “What happened, son?”

Eugene glanced over at Rapunzel, before looking back at his dad. “She took him.” He sounded defeated.

“Took who?” Edmund said, brow furrowing, concern entering his eyes. He didn’t have to ask who she was.

Eugene sighed, running a hand over his hair, but it was Rapunzel who answered. “Varian. He was translating the scroll, and we thought…“ Her voice trailed off, lapsing into silence.

Quirin’s son. “Then we must go after them at once!”

“We?” Eugene said, at the same time as Rapunzel said “See?” She crossed her arms. “He agrees with me.”

“You can’t be serious, son.” Edmund said, looking at both of them. “You said it yourself, earlier- with the scroll, and the moonstone, she could-“

Eugene looked at Rapunzel again, more out of concern than anything else – but she didn’t seem to be overly affected by the remark. Then, he gave another sigh, “Listen, Dad… can we talk about this?” The implication was clear. Alone.

Edmund was silent for a moment, unsure whether he’d pressed too far, but then he nodded. (And maybe it wasn’t important, given the current circumstances, but he couldn’t help thinking of a time when Eugene could hardly stand being in the same room as him.) “Of course.”

As he waited, Eugene squeezed Rapunzel’s hand and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight, Sunshine. I’ll be by, later.”

Despite everything, Rapunzel smiled back. For a moment, the ring she hadn’t gotten to pull out weighed heavily in her bag. “Happy Birthday, Eugene.”

With that, she moved down the hall to go up to her own bedroom. Eugene’s gaze lingered on her until she disappeared from view, before turning back to his dad.

“I’m sorry if I’m-“

“No, it’s fine.” Eugene said, putting his hands in his pockets, before turning to walk towards his room. “This is important.”

“I agree.” Edmund swallowed, before walking to keep pace with him. “All I’m saying is that you already know exactly how powerful it is, if she has the ability to harness its full potential-“

“But we don’t even know where she is.” He cut in, half because he just didn’t want his dad to start detailing everything CassAHNdra could possibly do, right now. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it. “It’s dark, and in the woods, there’s no telling what we might run into- look, I don’t feel good about leaving her with all of that power and Varian, either, but what she did today-“

“What did she do today?” Edmund asked, in a quieter tone. By now, they’d reached the door to his bedroom.

“Kicked me down a flight of stairs, for one.” Eugene muttered, as they entered, closing the door behind them. He found himself continuing before he could stop himself- and once he’d started, he found he didn’t want to stop. “Almost ran me over with a giant ball. Almost brought a giant metal machine down on us while I was dangling over a drop while holding onto a horse’s legs. So you know-“ He forced out a wry chuckle, trying to hide just how shaken he felt. “A normal Tuesday. And that part was just Lance and Max and I, Varian is-“

Cassandra had taken him. Now, there was no telling where she was. And he suspected that Varian wouldn’t just tell her what she wanted to know, which meant-

Which meant the kid was in a whole lot of danger.

Eugene looked out the window. He’d never admit it aloud, but he didn’t think he’d been properly scared of what lengths Cassandra might go to in order to get her way before today. The person who’d faced him hadn’t been his friend- it was someone who had no qualms about using his life as a pawn in her game.

Well, at least it wasn’t his first time in that situation.

Edmund’s eyes hardened as Eugene relayed this series of events. “I’m sorry all of that happened.” Maybe, if he’d insisted on being there instead of waiting here, he could’ve-

“Dad.” Eugene said, looking back at him. “You were saying your thoughts aloud again.” By now, he’d crossed his arms, but the way he was looking at Edmund... it seemed almost vaguely confused by the sentiment.

“Sorry.” Edmund responded. He only hesitated briefly, before continuing. “But if you go tomorrow, you must let me come along with you.”

“You?” If anything, the confusion only seemed to have grown. “No, it should be Rapunzel and Lance and I, if anything- the less people who are at risk, the better.”

“The less people you have, the easier it will be for her to overpower you.” Edmund pointed out.

Eugene shook his head, and for a moment, Edmund caught a glimmer of the same conviction that’d swayed him from what he’d thought was his purpose for decades. “I’m sure Rapunzel can take her.”

“You have to agree, though, that having someone else along couldn’t possibly-“

“Look, I’m touched. But we’ll be fine.”

“And what if you’re not-“

“Dad,” Eugene said, resisting the urge to sigh for the third time and trying to keep his frustration at bay. “I get that you’re upset because Cassandra stole the moonstone and you-“

”This isn’t about the moonstone, son.” Edmund said, in a low tone. Eugene must’ve looked confused – he was so sure he’d understood exactly what was bothering his father – because then the older man looked at him more directly, and said in an even quieter tone. “It’s about you.”

Eugene blinked at him, stunned into silence at that statement. He didn’t know how to respond. People had tended to get upset at him time and time again throughout his life, but upset on his behalf? He hadn’t really encountered that until... well, Rapunzel. Which was much different from this. And his father had dedicated his life to protecting the moonstone, so he’d just assumed...

Well, he’d definitely been quiet for too long. It was time to fill the silence with something witty, like he usually did. Something intelligent, that’d distract him from whatever the hell this new emotion he was feeling was.

”...What?” He found himself saying instead, stupidly.

“It’s about you.” Edmund repeated, still holding his gaze.

Eugene blinked again, processing this, “…what,” He swallowed, realizing he was about to sound like an idiot again. “What do you mean? I mean, the moonstone is-“

“I lost everything because of the moonstone, son!” Edmund said abruptly, in rare burst of strong emotion. Eugene barely kept from flinching, startled by its force, even if he was equally surprised to realize he didn’t quite mind it. It didn’t scare him the way it had when they’d first met, at least. “In a different way from how she has.” Edmund continued, more softly, leaving no doubt as to who she was. “And now that ... something has brought us together again, whether you want to call it destiny or happenstance, I don’t want to-“ He gave a deep sigh, no longer meeting Eugene’s gaze. “I could not bear it happening a second time.”

You’re the reason it happened at all. He wanted to retort, but something held him back. The sentiment his dad was expressing seemed so... genuine and vulnerable, he wasn’t sure he had the heart to shoot it down, even if a part of him was still angry.

“And when she was saying all those things about you and your friends, I wanted to-“ Edmund’s hand clenched into a fist, taking the silence as an opportunity to continue. “You are many things, son, and I admit I don’t know what all of them are, and that is my fault. The weight of that decision is mine to bear for the rest of my life.” His voice was tinged with deep regret, as he finally raised his head to meet his son’s gaze again. “But a loser isn’t one of them. A loser would not manage to rise every time he was knocked down. A loser would not go out of his way to help even those who have wronged him. If being here has shown me anything, it’s how vibrant a life you’ve built for yourself, and how deep the connections you’ve forged run. Everyone practically jumped at the chance to throw you a party, after I-”

“...the party was your idea?” Eugene asked, in a small voice. Everything else he’d said was too overwhelming to process, right now, especially when he wasn’t properly sure how he even felt about the man standing in front of him. Besides, anything more, and his voice might start shaking, and the stinging in his eyes might turn into something more. He couldn’t afford that right now, even as he wondered at how... much it warmed him to be seen by someone relatively new to him.

“Well, Rapunzel took the idea and ran with it, of course.” He said, a somewhat endeared smile crossing his face.

“Of-of course.” Eugene realized he hadn’t been breathing, and released one, relaxing a little and unable to keep from giving a small smile. She had a way of doing that.

“But I wanted to commemorate this day in some way. So you could see that you are important - and to so many people, too.” His brow furrowed in frustration. “And then she-”

“That wasn’t your fault.” Eugene said, before he could continue. He wasn’t even sure why he said it, just knew that that wasn’t something he wanted his dad to blame himself for. Especially not after...all that. “Look, I’ll admit that I haven’t forgiven you for what you did, and what that meant for me growing up.” Rather than saying anything in protest, Edmund just nodded, bowing his head. Eugene swallowed, before reaching forward to put a hand on his father’s left shoulder. Edmund met his gaze. “But you’re trying, which is more than a lot of people would do. I can see that. And that still... means something.”

Edmund held his gaze for a long moment. To be honest, Eugene wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, in there. But then, without warning, he felt himself yanked into a strong hug. He gave a (very manly) yelp.

Edmund froze. “You’re injured. I didn’t even think about that, are you-”

Eugene’s breath had caught in his chest, but as it released, it bubbled forth in a laugh. “I’m fine, Dad. Just warn me next time.”

Edmund pulled him closer in relief (though more gently). “I make no promises.”

He gave a smaller chuckle in response to that, but just relaxed into the hug, in lieu of giving an actual response.

Edmund smiled. There was a long journey ahead, but every step was taking them somewhere, and it was more than worth it. For now, he was just glad to have this moment.

“Happy birthday, son.”

#tts gen week #eugene fitzherbert #rapunzel #tangled #cassandra's revenge #king edmund

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