#let's merge our gates

[ghoossom]

guys. hear me out. I told my bestie about Rigatoni. and they said. what are you gonna end up now shipping him with mikhail. MAYBE THEY ARE ONTO SOMETHING, MAYBE WE SHOULD REVIVE MIKHAIL.

[thefirsthogokage]

Fuck AMPTP and the bullshit going on. I'm tired, might not do this well:

(link to article in above picture) From The Article

Receiving positive feedback from Wall Street since the WGA went on strike May 2, Warner Bros Discovery, Apple, Netflix, Amazon, Disney, Paramount and others have become determined to “break the WGA,” as one studio exec blatantly put it.

To do so, the studios and the AMPTP believe that by October most writers will be running out of money after five months on the picket lines and no work.

“The endgame is to allow things to drag on until union members start losing their apartments and losing their houses,” a studio executive told Deadline. Acknowledging the cold-as-ice approach, several other sources reiterated the statement. One insider called it “a cruel but necessary evil.”

The studios and streamers’ next think financially strapped writers would go to WGA leadership and demand they restart talks before what could be a very cold Christmas. In that context, the studios and streamers feel they would be in a position to dictate most of the terms of any possible deal.

[Image IDs: Twitter thread by David Slack posted July 12th, 2023 that reads in totality:

And right on cue, here’s the inevitable Deadline article claiming that the AMPTP and their CEO bosses are ready to wait us out and let us “go broke.”

They’re not. They can’t. This studio propaganda, and here’s why.

In the increasingly mega-merged and hedgefundified Hollywood, these companies live or die on their quarterly earnings reports. It only takes one bad quarter for their stock price to plunge, putting the company and the CEO’s job in jeopardy.

But their stock prices are holding steady, right? Right. For now. Because our industry is a pipeline that starts with writers. The TV and movies they’re releasing now are shows we started making for them 4-12 quarters ago. But what happens when that pipeline runs dry?

What happens is they run out of product. No new shows in streaming to drive and sustain subscribers. No new shows in broadcast and ad-supported to bring in ad revenue.

No shows, no money.

No money, bad earnings report.

Bad earnings report, bye-bye stock price. Bye-bye CEO.

After 70+ days with no writers to create their product for them, the pipeline is running dry.

Their stock price isn’t tanking yet. But if they don’t make a deal with us, it will.

And they know it.

If they make a deal soon, they might be able to weather it. Stretch out releases. Rush some new stuff through.

But the longer they keep us out, the longer that pipeline runs dry, the more unavoidable a catastrophic dip in new high-quality shows becomes.

And they know it.

So yeah, the studios are planting articles in the trades that make it sound like they’re so determined not to pay us the 0.02% of company revenues we’re asking for that they’re willing to hold out forever.

Bullshit.

I’m sure the AMPTP bosses would love to break our union. But they love their jobs more. They love money more. They can’t make that money without us.

And they know it.

Ignore the trades, walk the line, stand together, and win. #WGAStrong

/End ID]

Bonus: John Rogers' Reaction

[Image ID: A tweet from John Rogers that he posted July 12th, 2023 that reads:

I was trying to be cool and professional about this strike, but this AMPTP “we want to drive them to homelessness” shit means I’m going to be dug in at WB Gate 4 like Hiroo Onada. They’re gonna have to send @ellenstutzman with a bullhorn to order me out of the bushes.

The second image is Ellen Stutzman's Twitter bio that says:

Cheif Negotiator for WGA MBA, Assistant Executive Director, Writers Guild of America, West; Cornell ILR and UCLA Anderson alum. Views are my own.

/End ID]

EDIT: Please see the update on this HERE

[thewertsearch]

AA: […] we all lost track of our books AA: they were gathered surreptitiously by agents assigned to the task AA: and in the veil their codes were merged with the ghost imprints of other mysterious artifacts

AA: our first guardian was brought to life on the seed to pass through skaias final gate of defense AA: the first to find alternia

Well played, Scratch. You rat bastard.

Alternia’s First Guardian was created from an omniscient cueball, the physical manifestation of a child’s terror, and mutant DNA from the mind of a madman - and if that doesn't just track perfectly. The guy is literally a puppet, created to be a vessel for English's will in Alternia's universe. In lieu of his master, he commands the Felt, a gang which I'm pretty sure he named after his own skin.

Lil' Cal is dead. Long live Big Cal.

And here he is, ready and waiting to gloat.

...the fucking bow-tie! He's wearing Cal's Alternian clothes! The proof's been staring us in the face this entire time, and we were none the wiser!

[...] I think it would be for the best if I commandeered the narrative completely for a while. [...] I am expecting a guest to arrive shortly. [...] And if I did have a doorbell, you would have just witnessed it ring. He is already here.

I get it, ya smug fuck. You won before we'd even started playing.

My door is not fitted with a peephole either. Those without eyes or without limits to their knowledge have no need for peeping, and I am without either. I have never once peeped at or through something, and I doubt I ever will.

And - ooh, I'm so wonderfully mad right now - and you know you’re showing up right after the Cal reveal, don’t you? That’s why you’re playing up the smarm.

I can feel the smugness emanating from every thread. Are you going to start laughing, too?

Pardon me while I let Jack inside. Did you not believe it would be Jack? Who else would it be? Someone who would have suspected anyone else is a person I would also describe as a sucker.

Well, I sure didn’t think English would knock - but, that said, I wouldn’t have expected Slick to knock, either.

[jayvikstolemyheart]

What if Jayce was able to get Viktor to stay in the lab in episode 2?

You can tell from their body language that Jayce respects Viktor’s boundaries and autonomy, especially seen when Jayce lets Viktor walk after the latter has said his piece. I don’t think he would try to force/trap Viktor.

Instead he manages to argue that Viktor should wait and let Jayce run some tests on Viktor’s new body, to confirm that Viktor really has recovered and there’s no adverse side effects.

“I know that this is just an excuse Jayce.”

“But am I wrong? Please, I know I was reckless to use the Hexcore on you. But it would be even more reckless now to let you walk out without making sure you’re okay.”

“…”

“Stay for now, give me a few days to examine you, and if after all that everything turns out fine and you still want to leave… I won’t stop you.”

“…Very well.”

The quick ending to this story would be Viktor sees the ghost of Sky telling him to heal Jayce’s back, and then Jayce is lost to the Hivemind and Viktor becomes free to start his commune. But that kind of sucks so let’s say things are too tense for our almost-divorced lab partners.

Ekko and Heimerdinger still come to the lab because the tree was getting sick anyway, and they encounter Jayce and Viktor amidst their testing and awkward silences.

Heimerdinger is understandably alarmed seeing Viktor’s new body and Ekko’s probably shocked too, just cuz Viktor is purple and glowing.

Jayce would explain the merging of the Hexcore with Viktor in order to save the latter’s life, with Viktor being quick to inform the two guests that he had asked Jayce to destroy it, and accepted the fact that he may very well die over it.

(It definitely comes off as Jayvik being a couple who are passively-aggressively fighting in front of their awkward guests. Even better if Jayce has made everyone cups of tea like he did in the show.)

Heimerdinger is of course heavily conflicted over this. Maybe Heimerdinger had become more open minded with the Hex Gates but he always warned about the dangers of magic and ordered his former students to get rid of the Hex Core. And now Viktor has changed physically and it appears mentally as well. But the yordle isn’t so cold hearted to be able to say to his former students’ faces that Viktor should have been left to die.

I’m not sure about Ekko’s reaction to all this. He might just try to steer the conversation towards his tree’s illness. He’s got his own people to worry about.

I’m not sure what Jayce’s tests on Viktor would prove, but I like to think Viktor would be able to sense the magic on the leaf even before Jayce gets it under a microscope and sees the Hextech effects.

(Maybe it’s around here that someone, maybe Ekko, suggests Viktor gets some pants. Viktor puts on some spare pants from somewhere in the lab, but still keeps the blanket.)

This leads to the discovery that the arcana seems to be “leaking” into the Undercity. Jayce and Ekko have a similar confrontation as they do in canon. Viktor is deeply remorseful… well as remorseful as he can be in his emotionally numbed state. I’m not sure how well Ekko knew about Viktor, if he already knew Viktor was from the Undercity. Either way, Ekko definitely wouldn’t go easy on the older man for letting this slip past him.

This stresses Jayce out more, and he might even get a little defensive, at least for Viktor’s sake. He argues that Viktor was fighting to improve lives in the Undercity from the beginning, but to get permission in funding they had to take care of things that the council wanted like the Hexgates. That’s part of why they had to work so hard. Jayce describes how Viktor would pull all-nighters, working himself sick to get everything done faster so that they could eventually have the freedom to the things they want to do, like looking after Zaun.

It’s here that Viktor steps in and says that while all that is true that doesn’t make the him blameless. Viktor overestimated his own abilities about being able to accomplish things like the Hexgate and his other goals in a reasonable time. He underestimated just how much politics get in the way. Viktor contemplates how if he spoke up more, or joined Jayce in being the “Face” of Hextech he could have raised more awareness of the plight of Zaun. It only hit him all the poor decisions he made when he found out he was dying. And now the future is more uncertain than ever.

Maybe at the end of his monologue Viktor tries to leave for the Undercity again, but I imagine it would be Ekko who stops him here. Ekko points out that if Viktor is upset about the way he wasted his power as “the other inventor of Hextech” then going back to the Undercity now with nothing but a blanket in his back isn’t going to help. Ekko suggests the two come down with him to the underground of the Hexgate (can’t remember the exact name) to fix the problem there first. Viktor is a little startled but agrees with Ekko, and compliments the young man for having such a sensible head on his shoulders, unlike Heimerdinger’s other students.

(The professor is offended but Jayce is just happy to hear Viktor crack a joke again. Although Viktor argues it wasn’t a joke just an observation.)

Now what would be interesting is if they all still went to alternate universes, and if Viktor and Jayce ended up in the same post-apocalyptic reality.

Now if the Mage is the one who arranged this, then I believe he would put them in separate parts of the world, Jayce at the very bottom of the Undercity, and Viktor somewhere else, but somewhere he could still see the fields of nothingness.

Why? Well if Jayce and Viktor are together and Jayce still gets injured, then it’s the same problem as before; Jayce joins the hivemind, which would be directly against the Mage’s plans. And if Jayce manages to avoid injury, then Jayce doesn’t get his poetic journey through Piltover that mirrors Viktor’s journey, and we can’t have that.

So the two are separated for a long while. Viktor walks through fields of corpses and can sense the magic and beauty in the silence, but the parts that are still human since the lonely nothing-ness that occurs in an empty world. Viktor can move as much as he wants, he can run, leap, but none of that erases the quiet. The satisfaction of movement can only provide so much comfort. While Viktor wanders he is also mentally wrestling with the Sky Young in the Hexcore, and this Viktor is far less open to Sky’s words, cuz the Hexcore is perfectly happy in this world where the arcane has conquered everything. He moves towards where he senses magic at its strongest, to the Mage. Because it is the only point of interest in the beautiful wasteland.

Jayce does the same as before. He crawls himself from the bottom of the deepest pits, after taking apart his hammer to try and mend himself. The solitude is loud for Jayce. The pain and regret weigh heavy on him.

When they reunite, in sight of the hill but not quite there yet, they stare at each other for what feels like forever. They both thought they came here alone. When they weren’t fighting for their sanities they were worried sick about the kid, the professor, and each other. And now there stands not too far away, their partner.

They run to each other. For the first time ever Viktor is faster than Jayce. They hold each other in a similar way to how Viktor first woke up in the lab which might as well have been eons ago. Only this time Viktor doesn’t just hold out of politeness but nestles into Jayce just like the other man buried himself into Viktor’s shoulder. Even if Viktor’s emotions have weakened, the months of solitude and the suspicion towards the visions of his own mind have ignited an instinctual desperation for his partner that the learned man thought no longer possible.

Jayce nearly falls into his smaller friend as the adrenaline starts to leave him. He had a faced a constant fight to survive for months so the moment he felt an ounce of safety in his partner’s arms he nearly collapsed. Now Viktor is not just an emotional support, but stands as a physical support for Jayce and his newly braced leg. They continue to finish the journey they started, to reach that mysterious point that draws them both.

And they finally encounter the Mage, the alternate Viktor.

It’s there the two learn some incredible truths. That the two meeting is essential to the survival of the world. That Viktor’s wishes for perfection have slowly become warped underneath his skin, and if he cannot resist the wants of the Hexcore then he will doom his planet to the same fate as the one they currently stand on. That Viktor, countless versions of him, have done just that, and may continue to do that indefinitely if the Mage hadn’t altered the odds by pushing Jayce into the path.

It’s afterwards they are sent home where Noxan invasion is imminent and the war between Piltover and Zaun is delayed but still hangs heavy in the air. And now Viktor stands in the centre of all that feeling like there’s a ticking time bomb in his chest.

The memory of Jayce’s corpse holding the hammer haunts Viktor. The deep sorrow and regret of the other Viktor haunts Jayce.

Viktor suggests that he must die once again. Not just that but absolutely vapourised to get rid of any risk of the Hexcore coming to life and taking over the world. Jayce refuses. Yes Viktor has changed but it’s still the same man deep down. If the Hexcore could really control him, would it not have done so by now? As long Viktor doesn’t give in to the voices, they still have a chance to make things right.

Viktor realises now that Jayce won’t drop this. All he can do is make Jayce promise that if the Hexcore takes over, then Jayce will kill him then. And if he still thinks he can’t do it, then he won’t stop the people who are brave enough to do it. Jayce reluctantly agrees.

With that, they go and try to find Ekko, to find out what they need to do with the current threats, swallowing down the fears of what resides in Viktor’s chest.

[unforgettwble-sumii]

DATE NIGHT — W. A

( Wednesday Addams x Fem!reader 📖 )

⭐ A lovely date night with Wednesday.

⭐ Warnings ‼️: not proofread! mentions the grim reaper, if I miss any more please do tell me ♡

⭐ Word count: 1.8k

a/n: My brain was itching for some Wednesday and soft!R fluff ☹️

—

"How does this look, Thing?" The infamous goth spoke to her companion, Thing, who was currently on her desk helping her pick out an outfit for your date night. The hand signed, saying that she was being too extra. Wednesday scoffed. That was very out of character for the appendage to say. But he was right. She didn't need to dress up that extravagantly, as it was just a lovely date night through the park. A pair of black jeans and a black hoodie will do.

Wednesday rummaged through her closet once more to look for her beloved hoodie that had both of your scents merged in it. She switched her clothes one last time, looked at the mirror, then at Thing; who finally gave her a sign of approval. She nodded and grabbed her backpack, which was full of items you both loved: snacks, a book, a pair of earphones, etc. She turned to the table where Thing was, grabbing the precious flower she grown herself just for you.

As she was about to open the door, you knocked; causing Wednesday's heart to skip a beat. With a soft inhale, she opened the door to see you with a soft smile. You greeted her with a soft kiss on her cheek.

"Mi sol, how are you?" She had asked, exiting the room and closing the door behind her carefully as to not draw attention or cause disruptions to any of the other students who were currently in deep slumber. "I'm more than fine, Wednesday. Especially now that I'm here with you." You giggled, skipping down the stairs of the Academy happily and without care. "How about you?" You returned the question, glancing at the goth who followed behind you.

"I'm doing well. I had grown this myself for you." You abruptly stopped, eager to know what Wednesday was talking about. You hummed, turning to look at her. She had a flower in one hand. She brought her hand up to give the flower to you. You carefully took the flower from her hand and admired it; entranced by it's beauty. "It's gorgeous, I love it!" You almost fully screamed in enthusiasm. "I'm glad you adore it. Even if I'm not one to enjoy these type of plants, I'm glad you find joy in them." She took the back of your hand and placed a chaste kiss on the finger where you had worn the ring she had given you.

It was a simple black ring with her initials on it. She wore the same one, except engraved on it were your initials.

Both making your way out of the school gates, you once again skipped your way to the park. It was a cold and breezy night, and a jacket would do you so much justice. Unfortunately, because you were so excited; you had forgotten to bring your jacket. You slightly shivered, not enjoying the cold. Wednesday took notice and took off her own hoodie for you to wear.

A small yet heartwarming gesture that made your heart warm and soft. You thanked her and happily put it on, twirling to show off that you were wearing her hoodie. "What about you, baby? Aren't you going to get cold?" Your voice now lacing with concerned as you walked closer to your lover.

"As long as you're not freezing to death, I'll be fine." She sighed, walking over to a bench and looking up at you. You followed suit; sitting beside her and leaning your head on her shoulder. You let a puff of breath out, contented with the current event you were in right now.

"Wen, you should def learn how to text." You say, breaking the silence. Wednesday glanced at you, clearly confused. "Why would I need to learn how to text when I can talk to you perfectly fine? Besides, I don't want to succumb to the horrible effects technology has on teens these days." You playfully rolled your eyes. Wednesday could be such a mom at times.

"Well, yes—but what if we're not near each other? Plus, I've been meaning to add you to our girls only gc" You stated, looking at her slightly; thinking wether to plant a kiss on her cheek or to peck her on the lips. "I think that would be unnecessary. I see no proper use for such thing."

Wednesday sighed, even though she had no clue why you were so attached to a piece of technology, she tried her best to understand it. Grabbing her phone from her backpack she put it on her lap, staring at it. This made you gasp in excitement; an idea popped up on your head. Wednesday wondered what could have been going on in that mind of yours yet didn't ask about it. Instead waited on for you to dictate your idea.

"Let's take a selfie!!"

Oh dear. The young Addams was not a fond of 'selfies', infact, she hated them with a passion. But, you had changed her perspective on life for the better, so she had thought that maybe a small selfie wouldn't be as bad as she thought.

You unlocked her phone; surprised that it didn't have a passcode. Opened the camera app and held up her phone so that both of you would fit in the frame. "Smileee!!" You giggled. Wednesday wanted to rip her eyes out, but, for your sake; she followed what you had asked her to do. Scooting closer she placed her left hand on your right shoulder and tried to muster up a small smile. With a simple click, she felt her world stop. Instead of her looking at the camera, her gaze trailed over to your face instead.

'Click.'

You giggled excitedly, not noticing Wednesday's gaze on you. You clicked the icon beside the button in order to view the photo. Your heart suddenly skipped a beat once your eyes examined the picture. Pure joy and love erupted from your heart as you tried to find the right words to say. You looked at Wednesday, who was already gazing at you.

Her harsh eyes filled with softness she didn't know she had. She was admiring you, something that the young Addams did in secret or when it was just the two of you. You cupped her cheek with your hand, leaning in closer; glancing at her lips then back on her dark eyes. She leaned in, signing for you to continue. With a smile, you closed the remaining gap between the two of you. Suddenly, the night wasn't as cold; the warmth of both of your bodies radiated the air, creating a soft and perfect atmosphere.

You broke off the kiss after a few minutes, then fell into a giggle fit which made the young Addams sigh. Yes, you were a handful at times, yet that never stopped her heart from beating for you. If you asked her, she would rip her own heart out and feed it to the kettle of vultures that flew freely outside her home.

She loved you dearly. That you for sure knew. When it comes to love language, Wednesday's is definitely acts of service. She would do anything for you, she could climb the tallest mountain to obtain a special flower in order to show you just how much you mean to her. When it comes to you, Wednesday never hesitates to risk her life to make sure that you're happy.

Soon after, you both decided that it was a great time to eat the snacks you both had brought.

Throughout the night, you both shared your thoughts and other random things that needed to be let out of your mind. Everything was calm and absolutely perfect. Every once in a while, one or the other would let out a chuckle. However, there was this one story that caused you to have a laughing fit and, laughing while eating certainly wasn't a bright idea. You started to choke on the sandwich that you were munching on, causing Wednesday to violently and aggressively pat your back.

Somehow that experience made the night even better, even if the grim reaper was around the corner to take your life. But you know that Wednesday would always be there to save you if he happened to stop by.

Even if you wanted to stay much longer, Wednesday noted that it was getting late and that both of you had classes tomorrow.

You sighed, sad that this night was coming to an end. However, another idea had popped up in your head that positively affected your mood.

"Come back to my dorm with me? Please?"

You begged Wednesday to sleep over at your dorm. After much consideration, Wednesday complied. Earning a kiss on the lips from you.

When you arrived at your dorm, you opened the door for both of you. The smile on your face was so evident that you resembled a child in a candy store. "I'm going to go change and brush my teeth, okay?" You told Wednesday as you made your way to your drawers to pick out a pajama set. Then, your eyes landed on a black pair of pajamas that had another set to match with it. This sparked another idea in your head. You quickly went to the bathroom to brush your teeth so your idea can be in motion.

You clasped your hands happily as you looked at yourself at the mirror, Wednesday right beside you. Wearing the black pj's that matched yours except you were wearing shorts instead of pajama pants. "Don't we look adorable?" You asked, admiring yourself. "While I wouldn't describe myself as 'adorable', you certainly look dashing, Cara Mia."

You set a soft and tender kiss on her nose, before replying, "You remind me of the moon, my dear. So perfect."

"I love you, Wednesday." You slightly giggled. How many times have you giggled and kissed Wednesday this night? You don't know. But one thing you new though was, both of you were getting tired and needed some sleep, especially Wednesday. You have learned after awhile of dating her, that once she got tired she gets a tad more affectionate. While yes, it was adorable, you wanted to go to bed more than anything.

"My darling girl, you are everything to me. You bring me joy that the world is incapable of giving me. You bring light to my dark world. I love you, Cara Mia." Wednesday replied, kissing your knuckles just as she did awhile ago.

You belly flopped onto your bed, then moved to make space for Wednesday. You made grabby hands at her before she made her way beside you. You found yourself moving closer to lay on top of her. Your head rested on her chest, listening to her heartbeat that soon lulled you to sleep.

"Mi amor, you may not hear me but, you mean so much to me. I may struggle tell you, but I can and will show you." Wednesday mumbled before she herself fell asleep.

Little did she know that you heard her, and it brought a soft smile to your face.

— ⭐ ©unforgettwble-sumii's work. Pls do not repost, steal, modify, or translate.

I love u elmo

[mylunaris]

Flavian Amphitheater

The roar of the Colosseum filled the air, resonating off the marble and stone walls. Rome, in all its glory and brutality, was poised for a new spectacle: a duel between Acacius, the veteran general celebrated for his victories in the Empire's most pivotal campaigns, and Hanno, the young gladiator whose fierce spirit had captured the crowd’s imagination.

Aeliana Callista stood in an upper corridor, observing the throngs of people bustling through the aisles, eager to claim their seats before the battle commenced. Her expression was calm, yet her green eyes shimmered with a simmering intensity. Though her days as a gladiatrix were behind her, Hanno's presence intrigued her; the way he moved, his bravado, and youthful vitality seemed to reflect a past version of herself, when she was known as "Victrix Ignis. "

As she descended the staircase towards the entrance of the imperial box, she heard footsteps approaching. There was no need to turn to identify her visitor; Geta's voice broke the silence before he drew near.

"Aeliana, always so punctual for the games."

She paused, meeting his gaze with her own. Clad in a white tunic embellished with gold embroidery, Geta projected the poise of a man who had everything under control. Yet, there was something in Aeliana’s eyes that disarmed him, though he would never admit it.

"I’m not here for the games, Caesar," she replied curtly, offering a nod that merged formality with distance. "I am here because someone must remind you that justice and politics are two separate paths."

Geta smirked, although his gaze lingered on her longer than he intended. There was a magnetic quality to her presence, a blend of pride and defiance unmatched at court. The way the sunlight made her green eyes twinkle unsettled him, as if they contained a universe beyond his comprehension.

"Justice?" he echoed with a dry laugh. "Isn’t this justice? The Colosseum is where Rome decides who lives and who dies."

"Is that how you justify the execution of a hero like Acacius?" Aeliana retorted, her voice sharp as the blade of a gladius. "This man fought for your lands and defended your borders, while you and your brother indulged in glory. What kind of justice is wielded by the sword in the arena?"

Geta allowed a moment of awkward silence to envelop them, his eyes scrutinizing each subtle shift in her expression. He anticipated defiance, yet what he found was the fiery passion that seemed perpetually ready to consume her.

"Sometimes heroes become threats, Aeliana" he finally said, lowering his voice to nearly a whisper. "Haven't you learned that over all these years?"

She stepped closer, bridging the distance between them.

"I’ve learned that the fear instilled by powerful men can bring about more destruction than any genuine threat, Caesar."

Geta hesitated, the weight of Aeliana's proximity unsettling his confidence. Her piercing green eyes seemed to delve beyond the layers of his imperial toga, searching for something that transcended his mere title.

"You might like to think so," he eventually replied, managing a bitter smile. "But power is far more intricate than you imagine."

Before Aeliana could respond, the unmistakable sound of drums signaled the beginning of the show. Instinctively, they both turned their attention to the arena, where the wooden gate slowly creaked open. Hanno emerged first, his muscular frame silhouetted against the swirling dust and bright sunlight, the audience erupting in cheers of his name. Opposite him, Acacius approached with steadfast dignity, sword in hand, projecting the enduring strength of someone who had weathered countless battles. The crowd was torn between the general’s inspiring presence and the dark curiosity surrounding the potential for his downfall.

Geta, his gaze fixed on the sandy ground, spoke without glancing at her.

"You argue that Acacius deserves to live, yet look at him now. If he is indeed worthy of our loyalty, let him prove it. Let him survive."

Aeliana shot him a sideways glance, her lips curling into a sneer of disdain.

"It is not Acacius who must prove anything, Caesar. Right now, it is Rome that will be under scrutiny."

Her words sent a chill through him, though he managed to maintain an impassive facade. Something about her stirred both challenge and intrigue within him—he loathed her for it, yet recognized that in her, he found a rare connection to a truth he wasn't ready to confront.

In the arena, the clash of swords resonated through the Colosseum, drowning out the roaring crowd. Yet, Aeliana and Geta remained oblivious to the unfolding spectacle, their thoughts consumed by the weight of their conversation and the tension that hung heavily in the air. Soon, the voice of Caracalla brought them both out of their musings.

[xxnashiraxx]

AO3

Welcome!! My name is Ali and I like to yap a lot, draw, write, and play music! I am currently buried in BG3, though you'll see some other fandoms cross my blog from time to time! I have a main long-fic for my BG3 isekai below, as well as some other one-shots set in that fic's universe but not explicitly tied into it or canon (yet or eventually!). Stay awhile! I make stupid jokes and I'll tell you I love you within days of speaking to each other!

๋࣭⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Fics ⭑ ๋࣭⭒๋࣭

✧˖ With Stars to Fill My Dream: Main ongoing long-fic isekai story following the events of the game. Releases every 3 Saturdays!

A street-smart, musically inclined human girl with a tragic past gets abducted by a nautiloid after her painfully average shift at a retro singing diner. What's worse- putting your all into Olivia Newton-John and Travolta for lousy tips, or getting your guts ripped out by a gnoll? Or worse- getting turned into a hideous humanoid squid?

Ofelia Montez will have to see if she can survive long enough to find out.

✧˖ Act 1 🗡Chapter 1: Chasing Rabbits 🗡Chapter 2: Known Me, Broken By My Master 🗡Chapter 3: But It Was a Trick and the Clock Struck 12 🗡Chapter 4: Behind a Broken Frame 🗡Chapter 5: Close Your Eyes and Hear My Secret 🗡Chapter 6: My Thoughts You Can't Decode 🗡Chapter 7: From Now Our Merge is Eternal 🗡Chapter 8: Born in Blood I'm Not Like You 🗡Chapter 9: Darkness Helps Us All to Shine 🗡Chapter 10: Let the Dystopian Morning Light Pour In 🗡Chapter 11: Try to Keep the Truth From Showing Up 🗡Chapter 12: You Know How Much You Broke Me Apart 🗡Chapter 13: Moving Through the Silence Without Motion 🗡Chapter 14: I've Held On but I Feel a Storm Approaching 🗡Chapter 15: I Cast My Spell of Love on You 🗡Chapter 16: I Could Show You Tonight ✧˖ Act 2 🗡Chapter 17: I Feel Like I'm Leaving Myself Behind 🗡Chapter 18: Target release date of 2/8

✧˖ Kinktober 2024: Small collection of fun prompts featuring Astarion and Ofelia from my main fic.

🗡Prompt 1: Incubus Astarion + Fanart! 🗡Prompt 2: Breeding Kink/Sex Pollen + Fanart! 🗡Prompt 3: Inappropriate Use of Tadpole/Melted Candle Wax/BDSM

✧˖ Christmas in Baldur's Gate: Set in Act 3 of Ofelia's journey, this can be read as a standalone fic- reading With Stars to Fill My Dream is unnecessary!

๋࣭⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Lore ⭑ ๋࣭⭒๋࣭

✧˖ With Stars to Fill My Dream Art: My Art: Character Portrait & My Art: Ofelia Portrait WIP) Commission of Astarion and Ofelia Dancing from Chapter 12!, My Art: Spoiler Art of Ofelia (See After Chapter 8!), My Art: Sad Ofelia Portrait, Amazing Art of Ofelia and Alfira as a Promo for Their Tiefling Party Performance by the incredible @bby-bel! GORGEOUS Chapter 13 art of Ofelia in Astarion’s shirt by @bby-bel-art 🥺❤️, Beautiful Ofelia Character Portrait by @bby-bel-art!, Birthday Art of Ofelia by the lovliest @pinkberrytea 💕

✧˖ With Stars to Fill My Dream Gifts: Stop Me if You've Heard This One Part 1, Stop Me if You've Heard This One Part 2 (a lovely, insanely beautiful gift fic from @caffeinatedmunchkin)

✧˖ Ofelia's Playlist: #1 Mitski ,

✧˖ Extra Screenshots: Astarion & Ofelia Meeting, Karlach Meeting,

✧˖ Ofelia Lore: OC Smash or Pass, OC Insight: What Kind of Love Are You?, OC Patron Saint Game, OC Deep Dive:Ofelia, All About Your Tav/Durge and Their Romantic Interest, 30 Questions Ask 1, 30 Questions Ask 2,

✧˖ Extras: Ofelia Moodboard 🖤🩸

✧˖ Future Scene WIPs and Drabble: Potential Future Smut Scene,

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the new tag list!

✧˖Tag List: @khywren @allymcfee @pinkberrytea @beewilko

More fun stuff!!!

✨Ali's Birthday Bash✨

❀ Post 1 ❀ Post 2 ❀ Part 3 ❀ Part 4 ❀ Part 5 ❀ Part 6 ❀ Part 7 ❀ Part 8 ❀ Part 9 ❀ Part 10 ❀ Part 11 ❀ Part 12 ❀ Part 13 ❀ Part 14

[3-2-whump]

HIT!

<prev next>

For those of you who celebrate it, happy Fourth. For conscientious objectors like me, happy free day! I can't believe I'm posting this chapter on (American) Independence Day, but honestly, there's nothing more American than random acts of gun violence.

NOTE: This is where shit gets real (more real, that is), and where the author may make some decisions that might not vibe with the readers. To those readers, all I will say is fanfiction is a thing, canon divergence is a thing, and I will honestly be more intrigued than mad if you end up scrapping this part and writing your own version! (Just lmk, like tag me or dm me so I can see?) But, um, yeah, onto the chapter!

TW/CW: guns, gunshot wounds, blood, emergency first aid, sort of medical whump, emotional angst

“Hell of a day, wasn’t it!” Thomas exclaimed as he pulled out of the gate.

Khaled only offered a noncommittal hum from the passenger seat.

“Least it’s over now,” the older man huffed. He picked up the speed as they entered one of the main roads, far away from the residential side of the city. He punched a few buttons on his dash, tossing the phone to his passenger. “Make sure my phone is connected.”

“It is,” Khaled answered. The sound of late nineties punk rock soon blared through the speakers and competed with the faint clicking sound of the blinker as they rolled to a stop at a red light. 

“So, you ready to go to the gym tonight and do our usual routines before we settle in?”

“Sorry, but I kind of just want to go home tonight, Master,” Khaled murmured. He’d been in a bit of an emotional slump all day, and the last thing he wanted to do that evening was to end the day with a run on the treadmill.

“What, are you sick or something?” Khaled didn’t respond. Inexplicably, Thomas changed his tone. “Fine, I’ll drop you off at home, then I’ll go by myself,” he sighed.

The light eventually turned green. The car rushed forward and gained speed as it merged onto the highway. Khaled zoned out, leaning his head against the window as he watched the other cars zip by. A motorcycle weaved in and out of traffic lanes. He felt a pang of nostalgia in his heart, though he wasn’t sure why. A brief murmur from the driver’s seat about how they needed to stop for gas barely scratched the surface of his consciousness. He was still hung up on that motorcycle.

They pulled into a gas station just outside the downtown area. Khaled felt the car parking and heard the door opening as his master stepped out to fuel up the car. He’d been dissociating a lot more since The Incident, taking refuge in his own mind and hiding from the world. His master had been keeping his distance since then, too. In those few times where he didn’t visit a whorehouse since The Incident, he would take his time with Khaled and fuck him much slower and more carefully than what either of them were used to. Whether it be out of guilt or genuine penitence remained to be seen, but this time, he knew better than to ask. This was just the new normal, now.

The unmistakable sound of a shot ripped through his inner thoughts. A heavy thump onto the ground soon followed. Khaled’s head whipped around; his master was not outside the car. He unbuckled the seatbelt and opened the car door with a shaky hand as he let himself out. “Sir?” He slowly made his way around the car, heart pounding in his ears and dread coiling in his stomach as he looked down between the car and the gas pump.

Khaled would never forget that sight as long as he lived. There lay his master, face up on the ground, with a telltale bullet hole in his chest that steadily seeped blood around the entry wound. Khaled’s tall foreboding owner, the man who once seemed impossibly invincible, now lay wounded (dying?) in front of a gas station pump.

“K-Khaled?” a voice weakly called from below.

The young man stood frozen, staring down at the man below him.

“Get my phone…call the ambulance…” Thomas huffed through ragged breaths.

He thought he could hear other voices –a crowd forming. Though, honestly, he could barely hear anything above the pounding of his heart and the mess of thoughts and feelings within his head.

“Khaled!”

It’s finally happening, he thought with delight in his mind before immediately switching to guilt and horror that he was cheering over someone’s demise. He’s finally –but wait, if he dies, then …I’ll be free, he realized.

“Can you hear me, boy?”

A bystander rushed over, kneeling next to the mob boss to check on him, but he stubbornly waved them away, pushing himself up from where he fell, wincing as he left behind a puddle of blood on the ground.

I’ll be… free, Khaled realized. Freedom hadn’t felt this attainable for him since he was a child on his third or fourth escape attempt, with every running footfall charged with hope that maybe this time it would work.

Hope. He’d forgotten how good it felt. I’ll be free …

…but, then what?

“Get my phone –now!” Thomas slipped, losing balance on the arm he had propped himself up on to fall back into his pool of blood. He swatted away the helping hand of the stranger who had come to check on him.

He’s given me everything, Khaled remembered. The roof over my head, the clothes on my back, the food in my belly. And if he dies, would all of that just be…taken away…? The weight of that realization combined with the increasing attention they were getting from an ever-growing crowd to exert a pressure on Khaled like he’d never felt before.

“Khaled! For Christ’s sakes,” Thomas yelled, gasping in pain. “Phone! Now!”

His body moved before the rest of his thoughts could catch up, opening the car door and retrieving the boss’ cellphone. He gripped it with a shaking hand and a sweaty palm as he crouched down next to his master and handed him the phone. The man took it between bloodied fingers and punched in his passcode with great difficulty as he huffed in annoyance and pain. There was no need for him to be calling 911 on himself, because at least three other people in the crowd had their phones out and up to their ears, presumably doing the same thing.

Before Khaled could ask what to do next, the good Samaritan next to them said, “Sit him up, and check his back for an exit wound!” Thomas groaned as they hauled him up into a sitting position.  “If it came out the other end, that’s good. If it didn’t then-” A hole about the size of a table grape gaped through the back of the expensive suit jacket, dripping with blood and raw flesh from within.

A wave of nausea hit Khaled as he propped his master up against the gas pump. “It-It’s out, ma’am,” he confirmed.

“Great, okay, yeah. Now, get his handkerchief out of his pocket, and use it to stem the bleeding,” the bystander instructed. “Don’t be afraid to stick it in there.”

The boss' face writhed in discomfort as Khaled dabbed around the bullet wound. Tortured groans escaped clenched teeth as Khaled packed the blood-wicking cloth into the wound, but the stranger patted his back and cradled his master’s head against her chest as she whispered reassurances into his ear. “Just like that, you’re doing great, kid!” The peal of sirens was coming closer, which meant help was on the way soon. Khaled meanwhile, sat back on his heels, nervously chewing his lip as he tried to make sense of why he was helping his abuser. When the EMTs finally loaded the man into the back of the ambulance to take them to the hospital, he was no closer to finding an answer.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

[avoutput]

Ryan, Wade, Logan, and Hugh || Deadpool & Wolverine

I have been on a bit of hiatus from seeing films in the theater, but what always seems to bring me back is even the faintest hint of good action comedy or the glimmer of a return of some legacy. In Deadpool & Wolverine, you get the promise of both in a single package. But I waited so long because I was still apprehensive. It bothered me more as time went on because it was so well received, as of now I believe it's the highest grossing “R” rated film of all time. The public largely isn’t a good barometer of whether anything is good or not, certainly not the amount of money it brings in, and definitely not the collective critical conscience. Word of mouth from trusted sources. People you love to disagree with. When both of those sources agree you simply have to take a look. I brought one of those people I disagree with, my father. A man who claims to hate the profane, but indulges in all sorts of films with deeply profane language, especially ones starring cops or detectives. Still he has always had a love for the X-Men, for Wolverine, and the chance to see him in the iconic 90’s suit was enough of a draw despite his lack of interest in Deadpool. He sat through all the violence, all the gore, all the dirty innuendo, the implied buttsex, and the 4th wall nods to the camera. He was the balance to my indulgence, and as I glanced over at him, I saw in his stoic stare, fingers resting on his temples like he had a headache, just how much it bothered him to see the swearing and the gore, and I knew in that moment that we might have a home-run on our hand.

Out of the gate, I’ll go ahead and assure you that the spoilers for the film will be marked at the very end of the article, and the initial review will simply go over the main points and my thoughts on the film in general. All I can think about right now is how I wish I was clever enough to write a review in a voice that broke the 4th wall, if there is even such a thing. 

I am not sure if it's worth explaining the plot of the film, because it feels as though by design that it hangs around in the background, simply a vehicle for the jokes. Going into most action comedies, the driving force is usually the plot with the attached jokes along the way. With a franchise like Deadpool, forced to merge his well thought out and narrow franchise with Marvel, limited as it was by the copyright protections and constricted access to characters outside the Fox owned universe, you would be wise to be concerned that this wouldn’t be handled well. Even though both previous Deadpool films should have proved this creative team is a well oiled machine, I was still surprised by how well they merged their ideas into the Disney Marvel conglomerate. This film is constructed upside down, with the jokes being the engine and the plot being the fuel. Comic moments are designed in which the plot flows through them to create the momentum instead of the plot having appropriate jokes to follow the action. When the comic moments collide with the plot, you get these uniquely Deadpool action moments, with his masked smirk, potty mouth, and penchant for splitting bodies apart starting at the taint. It's quite an elegant display of talent that you don't see too often. If I had to make one thing clear, this action comedy redesign is the shining crown on Deadpool’s tight ass.

To satiate the curious, let me pour out the fuel for you, though common sense would tell you not to huff fumes, but it's your funeral. Wade Wilson is having another downer moment. In a desire to prove to himself that Deadpool is an important cog in the new Marvel Cinematic Universe he has found his way into, he tries to join the big leagues at Marvel headquarters. When he doesn’t make the cut, he gets depressed and the love of his life, Venessa, decides he needs to grow before their relationship can continue and moves out. Deadpool is then recruited by an interdimensional agency that keeps the multiverse from unraveling, which he is genuinely excited about. Only, the agency decided that Deadpool is the only thing left in his home universe that can be useful and relay to him they plan to destroy it prematurely. They plan to destroy it because the central character from his universe, Logan, perished heroically in a completely unchangeable Fox story cannon. Realizing the now dead Wolverine is the center of his home universe, Deadpool sets out across the multiverse to find the perfect Wolverine to replace his own so he can thwart the multiverse administrator villains and stop the destruction of his universe. Unfortunately, the only one he can find is a Wolverine that failed to live up to the legend of any other Wolverine’s from any other universe. This exhaustive story presentation is brought to you by the people who overthink Deadpool.

Brilliantly, this setup appears to be born out of conversations with a possibly real Disney boardroom. Disney appears to have told Ryan Reynolds and the Deadpool team that when James Mangold, director of Logan, closed the door on the X-Men universe when he put Logan out to pasture, and that all the other characters and creative choices across the Fox cannon were now worthless. Except for him. Ryan and Deadpool radiate star power, and Hugh Jackman had already confirmed he was done playing  the Wolverine. This transformation of real world conversations into compelling meta-narrative is the part that feels genius. Not only did they write a narrative to fit the world in which they were writing Deadpool, they found a way to make that an entertaining bedrock of their film. And then they flipped it one more time, made this narrative the background story, the fuel as it were, of the film instead of the engine. They made the comic moments the focus, the action the result, and their creative purpose the driving point. Like Deadpool on screen, the creative team wants to matter and maybe the only way for anyone to believe in them is for them to prove that all that creative work at Fox has more value than the Disney executives can possibly imagine. As a result, they spoke the one language any executive knows, that language translated to now 1 billion dollars in ticket sales. Creative work again saved by the power of capitalism. (I hope that hits with the irony intended. I am not in the Deadpool creative team.)

Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman are still sublime as their alter egos. They define these characters for an entire generation. As such, it should go without saying that they are incredible in their roles this time as well. In fact, every actor in this film hits pitch perfect notes on every joke, every line, every stroke. I’d list out the various actors, and their strengths, but some of them feel like spoilers and as a man of my word, I cannot betray your trust. My only personal complaint is the amount of blood and gore in this movie would make a Mortal Kombat fan blush. It was by a wide margin the only thing in the film I thought should be toned down. It was consistently distracting in almost every one of the action scenes to the point that I couldn’t even be sure of what was happening, especially when they really got things going. It made me wish for an “R” rated, light cut of the film. All the language, half the gore. The take away from this should be that the only bad thing about this film was how distracting the gore was. Imagine this horse I just beat to death is an example of how distracting the gore in Ryan & Hugh: BFF4Life was as a whole. Damn, that is a great turn of phrase and critique. Good job me.

I can’t lie to you though. Or maybe I just won’t lie to you. I left the film after this meta-narrative thinking that, while the film was great, it came with a lot of baggage. The fire to this fuel is mostly lit by knowing not just the catalog at Marvel, not just Fox, but the careers of the actors, the artists in the soundtrack, and a never ending myriad of collective popular culture knowledge as well. I can still remember sitting down in the year 2000 to see the first X-Men film in the Fox franchise. It was quaint by today's standards, and while fan service could be found in the film, it wasn’t created to specifically cater to the demands of fans or their knowledge. Its primary focus was to tell the classic X-Men story. Lucky for us, Fox attacked it with a kind of fever no one really expected at the time. Not quite as unique as Tim Burton’s Batman, and not quite as earnest as Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man, but it was grounded without being gritty. It was real. Just before that, Batman & Robin and its 60’s hokey aesthetic had basically closed the door on superhero films for a while, or that was how it seemed. But a slow build was happening adjacent to this with R rated features like Blade, a gorey mess that kept the hinges of that door oiled. Fast forward almost 25ish years and Deadpool & Wolverine turned all these creative successes (and failures) into their showcase for the executives at Marvel. In doing so, they had to throw everything in the entire backlog at us, for us and everyone who worked on those films. They asked fans to light the fire, but in doing so, they ended up having to make a film that relies on people in the future being cultural anthropologists, lighting their own torches as they dive deeper into the dank caves of our popular culture past. I think films should have some amount of presence in the present, but at this point, we are basically asking people in the future to understand an entire lifetime to truly capture the thrust of the film. 

And this time tunnel goes both ways. If you are my father’s age, a boomer disconnected with the now, there are a series of synapses that don’t fire. He may know a lot about X-Men, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the history of mutants, all sorts of nerd culture, but I could see him lost in about every other word out of Ryan’s mouth. He may have been alive, he just wasn’t participating in pop culture beyond his 30’s. He just can’t connect to it. I fear that may be how people perceive this film in the future, and in fact this whole MCU. The MCU as a franchise is an overwhelming excess that rarely touches brilliance across its entire catalog. It's not like it is a new cinematic language either, but rather a recreation of what makes serial comics like those under the Marvel and DC banner so uninviting to newcomers. What I love about films of the past is that they may capture the moment, but not at the cost of the story and not at the cost of the future. It's helpful to know what was happening around the time of films like The Godfather or Apocalypse Now, but the films don’t misfire because of your lack of historical awareness. When Iron Man came out, it was alone. It set a tone for itself and it was completely free to do so. Future generations would better grasp the whole of the film with knowledge of the Iraq, Iran, and Afghanistan wars of its era, but the film doesn’t rely on this knowledge for its story and thus will have a stronger legacy.

That being said, even if it is stuck in the present, all cylinders are firing on this film, even if it's only because I know how the car works. I think it can still run without it, just like starting a car is a simple turn of the key or press of a button, I don’t need to understand how the engine works, but it helps. Ryan and Hugh have completely brought to life Deadpool and Wolverine as they were always intended to be, you’d think they were born to play the roles. I think that here and now, we can call this film a complete creative success, and that is truly set in stone, but I am subtracting a few points in my own cannon simply because I believe films should also preserve their point within the runtime of that single film's arc. They should be able to stand on their own, speaking the human condition without the baggage of complete cultural knowledge. A great film is both universal and timeless. But I can still love a good film. And maybe that’s enough. It's clear that the success of this creative endeavor is shared by the entire team, from the director, the actors, the writers, the camera operators, all the way down to the lowly grips. Maybe that will be clear to new people watching this film in 50 years. Maybe that will ring true across all the baggage, across all the jokes, across all of time. A collective creative success.

****SPOILERS****

The greatest spoiler is that I won’t burden you with any spoilers at all! No, no, I jest. But with a kernel of truth. This film has a never ending slew of celebrity cameos, all playing a few one off jokes, but ultimately, they aren’t really worth talking about in a review because they have very little consequence. The Marvel Universe usually has cameos for the purpose of creating branching paths, but that doesn’t really happen in Deadpool. Not really. It's like an Easter egg hunt where there are hundreds of eggs of all different sizes and colors and it's hard to really tell them apart or make any one of them more important than the other.

So let me share my favorite eggs with you. I really enjoyed the post credit sequence, making the final case for the creative passion that went into Fox's cinematic universe over the years. I really enjoyed seeing Wesley Snipes’ Blade turn the corner and make possibly his last appearance as Blade, with all the original swagger. The riff on Gambit’s accent was fun, and Channing Tattum really hit the mark, but still made you wonder if Gambit really ever stood a chance on the big screen. And finally, seeing most of the original X-Men and X-Men First Class series villains. I think the biggest loss was not seeing Nighcrawler or Mystique. But you can only do so much, and the film acknowledges that. So there we go. Remember to plug yourself like daddy Deadpool likes and thanks for reading!

[alpineshift]

sorry i was scrolling back thru ur asks and saw u mention a jacknico college campus crush au…. do u have any further thoughts on how they would meet if jack went to uni 👀

ohhh campus crush jacknico!!

I can offer up some options!!

"In every universe we'll find each other doing the exact same thing" - they meet on a hockey team lmfao

Because it's so so convenient. Jack was always destined to go into hockey and in this verse he decides to follow in Quinn's footsteps and happily goes to college with his older brother. I'm not super duper familiar with the Swiss education system but I'm envisioning Nico transferring over and even though he's older he starts school in the same year as Jack. They're rookies on the hockey team together and the become the bonded rookie pair and it's all eyes on them because that's Quinn Hughes' younger brother and that's Nico Hischier the hot European student but meanwhile jacknico are crushing on each other. Thinking the other is the campus crush who definitely won't like them back bc they're too cool. Featuring copious amounts of time spent working out and admiring each other, house parties where they get close but not too close, trying to balance hockey life and school life and being in loveeeee--argh!

"Classic jock and nerd set up bc even though we're not in high school anymore we are still very capable of failing classes" - one of them tutors the other

In honour of my love for Jack's big brain and his 20+ book count a year he's the highest-ranked student in his program in this verse. Maybe in business or statistics or management or something. He seems like a logical kinda guy to me. And Nico, who's not a bad student at all, just happens to need tutoring because he really, really doesn't get this one particular class. They get matched up completely by chance and it's not quite crush at first sight, because Jack is kinda wary of the jock-type and Nico is a bit intimidated by how aloof Jack is, but the warm up to each other pretty quick and soon they're getting along like a house on fire. Because the best part is, Jack is also an incredibly good athlete--he's just too busy stockpiling extra credit courses to join any sports teams. And Nico is smart--he just needs a better study technique. Plenty of late night study seshs in the library and walking each other back to their dorms while sneaking looks at each other while the other is distracted in this verse.

"Missed connections, except we're both treating the campus forum like our personal text messages and the admins are about to ban us both so let's figure out a way to meet" - falling in love over the absurdity of campus life

Jack and Nico have never lived a normal day in this verse, because that's exactly how they catch each other's attention on campus. Nico's sitting in an upstairs study room when he sees his really handsome guy sprinting across the quad being chased by a furious horde of geese and kind of gets heart eyes with the way his hair shines in the sun as he's running for his life. Jack's waiting for the bus on a particularly windy day and sees a TA run straight into the campus pond bc the elastic around his assignments broke and everything scattered into the water and he has to physically close his jaw when the man merges from the pond with a white t-shirt clinging to his chest and abs. And the flood gates open from there. Hey - you were the guy with the beautiful blue eyes that walked out of the campus cafe and immediately got your croissant snatched out of your hands by a seagull. If you want to hang out, I'll definitely buy you another one. Okay - you were the handsome guy doing your best to put a raincoat over your suit and avoided the puddles in your dress shoes during that storm (presentation or something, bud?) only for a delivery truck to drive by and splash you from head to toe. If we meet, I'll hold the umbrella up for you. Each post gets thousands of likes and the admin is begging them to just find a the least dangerous starbucks in town to meet in at this point.

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Accidental Post Deletion —4 Parts

Part 1

Ya’ll are asking incredible questions in my inbox which helps me to refine what I write and teach to support other women in the future. I am taking a week or two off these apps but please keep your questions coming mm. For now I leave you with a quote by Nicole Daedone. I just finished two books in her series “The Eros Sutras” —even if you are like me, and are non-hetero—it’s definitely a gate opener no matter your sexual desire. But if you are heterosexual, how lovely, because her books speaks more from that lens. FYI—This is a long post! 

“….This is the type of sex where it feels as if she and her partner are possessed by something deeper from the bowels of the earth, something from her own body and consciousness that comes through with voraciousness and a self-less benevolent agenda. Both parties can let go entirely without feeling like the other can’t fiend for or handle themselves. This is a very uncommon channel for a woman to open but when she can and does, it is a sign that she has built a high level of power.” —Nicole Daedone 

My God. I don’t read books that are similar in coding to my own forthcoming books but decided to pick up her work and read them in two days! Yes Nicole all of this —that’s it ! I highly recommend her books to you loved ones but not because I agree with everything she writes(nor do I need to in order to love it/something) but mmmm I do adore it alll —so good ! 

I speak about sexual desire often because it is the most valuable and powerful resource received from truly living connected to our body that affects our creativity (health and wealth) in clandestine ways that this world wouldn’t dare speak about. And because we live in a female body that contains an organ whose only purpose is to generate pleasure, we were divinely architected to feel arousal energy simply because we feel the warm sun on our face, taste yummy homemade food on our tongue or see our lover walking towards us in the distance. In addition, to live pleasurable everyday lives (which is not to same thing as being pleasure-seeking in a hedonistic way or addicted to peak states from plant medicines) has to include the ability to repair and regenerate our tissues through skillfully mastering the “darker” aspects like our ego, thoughts, beliefs, and unconscious fears, shadows, and triggers, and sexual creative life force energy we were taught to distrust, shun, and repress but actually permits our energy to flow better in brighter healthier thriving ways, from darkness into light. In other words, you will be 80 year olds and deeply self-regenerative and alive and thriving in your tissues, you see.

But I have to give it to you from behind in plain layman’s terms so that you can fully grok what I’m conveying. You should feel the desire to want to fuck for no reason at all even if celibate and going on your morning walk in the sun on a beautiful day and not only feel desire when your lover is sucking your breasts. “Feeling delicious in your female body” not because, but just cause— is the key to winning at this game we are playing. Feeling good, however, doesn’t bypass experiencing denser emotions like yearning, anger, loneliness, or sadness but welcomes them, whatever is true, without you needing to run away and push them down. Regeneration is only possible with the refined skills of alchemy and integration, where base metal turns into gold wings, you see.

Like me, I know many of you are creating your own new body and life narratives, even if they are as simple as waking up on Monday mornings slowly and rested without an alarm clock and doing what the fuck you want to do with your day, no longer pigeonholed into following the status quo outdated script that looks like …..

wake up with an alarm and rush off to work; sit in traffic with a compressed spine; eat crappy cafeteria food at lunch that messes up your digestion (which impacts your mental clarity and ability to merge with quantum information (divine energy) and procure and digest new narratives); come home exhausted because you felt you had to give all your life force in exchange for money to men at the head of a corporation who could care less about your wellness; and unbox a microwave meal because you are too tired to chop for real nutrition (or to make love with your Beloved). Then cap off the night by watching TV until it’s time for bed and do the same thing the next day.

This is the pimp-prostitute archetypal pattern of a typical Western household and as Sylvia Plath alluded to “you can’t feel reality, only a weariness and longing…” where the only solutions are addictions and coping mechanisms to numb your body from feeling and detecting its own lack of fulfillment and accompanying heartbreak. And I want you to know that I have been there before when I worked as a corporate accountant in my 20s —that’s why I can write about it so well. I had the same common, conditioned Westernized struggles. In some way, we all do, until we wake up in this game and get free.

I have lived in a state of constant and deliberate creation since I was in my late 20s and started studying/integrating the mind-biology connection and witnessed how the quality and impact of our future/creations are influenced from the inside out by the quality of our mind and health. It is also why I have lived a quality of life over the last 15 years that most people can’t fathom or believe is possible. If we are to be artists, teachers, dancers, mentors, athletes, entrepreneurs, etc. , we must amplify our sexual energy in order to create in epic ways because this is exactly what billion dollar corporations do when they extract nearly every drop of life force from its employees that not even a six-figure monthly salary could ever make up for. If you do work in a corporation, how lovely but you must also be so strategic and masterful in how you experience your job every single day like a martial artist in order to not get sucked in as a pawn in their system and as a result, too tired and drained to do the magical and miraculous with your own divine-given energy or LIFE or too fearful to consider other possibilities beyond working hard day in and day out for someone until you are 60 years old or become unwell. You must be strategic in not giving all your life force away to the company you work for every single day you log into their system.

What my first book “You Look Like Something Blooming” modeled is that we can create sustainably and live beautifully in atypical ways. We can create imperfectly and even have typos, yet our work/book still massively sells on its own 15 years later without advertisements. And no one really knows our secret sauce because it all happens so calmly, quietly, and humbly through word-of-mouth without our need to track it or shout in order for it to be seen. That’s the level of freedom, resourcefulness and deliberate creation we must stimulate passively in different ways in this new earth.

It is not enough to merely create something —you must create what has its own pulse and heartbeat and can drive and influence this world without you having to exhaust yourself by convincing others to purchase. That means that you have to 1. open up the congestion in your body with care, stretches, yoga, breath and consistency. 2. Hold, amplify, and channel your sexual desire. 2. Reconcile your fear programming around sex and have really passionate sex if you are not celibate or in a period of fasting and channel your sexual energy into higher frequencies as a way of life 3. Then boom —you create soulfully at astronomical levels.

Part 2

There is so much power hidden in the depths of the female body that wants to come through and heal and advance us all and this world. Being in Milano and drinking organic juices, eating fruit and reading The Eros Sutras on relationships and intimacy in warm sun on a balcony with very little blue light screen time has been uplifting and soul-opening. Healing, mental clarity and manifestation are simply the release of deep congestion in the body (often inherited ancestral imprints or religious, cultural, or social conditioning and programming and the accompanying ideas of who we “think” we are). 

Basically it is a ferocious ego death that happens over and over again in different ways and at different times. As the congestion releases in increments overtime, now you start to rebirth and truly feel, sense, intuit, move, inhale deeper and open your hips, back, etc., with a little more ease than before, experience miracles, and create at a higher level in other ways as a result, no matter what that creation looks like for you. As souls living in human bodies, the success we desire in life always begin in the liberation of the female body. Those are my words/sensations I write here that moved through me after reading.

I was a little down in the dumps before coming to Milano. I am spending part of my vacation alone in the quiet doing nothing but reading, feeling, stretching every few hours, and making my homemade purple sea moss and aloe soap topless in panties in 90 degree weather. Even though my preferred state is butt-nakedness, there is a large window the tenants across from me have a clear view to see inside and I refuse to close ‘not narry’ curtain or window. I am also unwinding some old stories I continue to grip hold of but need to let go of as my next step right action. All of this may feel strange and self-indulgent to some people. This says to me that western normative culture is not only difficult to be healthy in but also toxic to how we think, perceive, listen, and create from living in cultures whose neural and structural frameworks are “go go go…just do it…fuck your body and your feelings. ”

I read the other day how women are pulling back from the workforce on average 15 years earlier than men because of their debilitating moon time and menopausal symptoms effecting their hormones, libido, and quality of health. In other words, we either change or the earth forces us. 🫀🫀🫀🫀

part 3

My main critique of Nicole’s work: if I could edit my comment I would say my eros is “not ONLY” about my attraction to same gender but about my embodied relationship to my divine energy.” Gender is so tricky and complicated to me because I have never felt that any of my female lovers have been the same gender as me—two females are far too vast in their frequencies to be the same—we are wholly multidimensional and diverse like our individual gut microbiology. I truly believe it is up to us to clear these kind of flaccid miscalculations and computations on what it means to be a sexually liberated woman and wake up to the erotic power in our hearts, hands/fingers, etc …but I digress 🥰🕯️🤲🏿

Part 4 And lastly but most importantly —you must kill that archaic shame living within your body parts. This was my very first time practicing this choreo and the teacher called me up to be a lead and I accepted without hesitation. What I learned in this class is that I don’t have a lot of shame living within my body parts. I will high-tail myself right on up to the front of a dance class if I am called up there and smile every bit of the way even though I have no idea what I’m doing or what the steps are. This was a liberation dance for me. I hung in there like a prayer flag, smiled my ass off and even sucked my finger because I was feelin’ the light of love from shaking so much! 🕯️💡⚡️ 🤣 —India

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[vir-tanadahl]

Into the Present

Summary: Following her journey to ancient Arlathan, Ellana Lavellan returns to Skyhold, burdened with the truth of Solas’s plan to tear down the Veil. Her declaration of loyalty to his vision fractures her bond with the Inquisition, forcing her to leave behind her companions and align herself with Fen’Harel. Together, they work to stabilize an ancient prison holding the corrupted elven gods Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, whose Blight-tainted essence threatens to destroy both the Fade and Thedas. As the Veil collapses and the worlds merge, Ellana and Solas reshape Thedas into a realm alive with magic and possibility, yet fraught with uncertainty and peril. Bound by their shared purpose and the sacrifices they’ve made, they face the dawn of a new age—one that will test their resolve and the fragile balance they’ve sought to restore. Read on Ao3! Part 2 of the Timelines Entwined Series

Note: I took…some a lot…of liberties with some of the descriptions, locations, and events from DATV…

---

Ellana stood at the gates of Skyhold, her hand tightening around the haft of her staff as her heart pounded with the weight of what she was about to do. The cool mountain air bit at her cheeks, but the cold was nothing compared to the storm raging inside her. Crestwood had been a turning point—an impossible choice laid before her. Now, with the echoes of Solas’s words still reverberating in her mind, she prepared to face her companions and the consequences of her decision.

As she ascended the steps, the familiar sight of Skyhold’s great hall felt both comforting and suffocating. She had fought and bled for this place, built a family among the people within its walls, yet her vision now felt irreparably at odds with theirs. Her boots echoed loudly on the stone floor as she entered, and all eyes turned to her, drawn by the unmistakable tension in her posture.

Cassandra was the first to step forward, her brow furrowed with concern. “Ellana, what happened in Crestwood?” she demanded, her voice sharp, yet tinged with worry. “We sent scouts to follow you, but they reported nothing.”

Ellana hesitated, her throat tightening as she struggled to find the words. “I spoke to Solas,” she said finally, her voice steady but quiet. The room fell into a heavy silence, the name carrying a weight that seemed to press down on everyone present. Cassandra’s expression darkened, and behind her, Varric let out a low whistle.

“Spoke to him, huh?” Varric’s voice was edged with disbelief. “I assume it wasn’t just to exchange pleasantries.”

“No,” Ellana admitted, her gaze shifting to the floor. “He told me his plan. He…he intends to tear down the Veil, to restore what was lost.”

“And you think that’s a good idea?” Iron Bull’s booming voice cut through the air, his tone a mixture of anger and confusion. “After everything we’ve fought for, you’re just going to let him destroy the world?”

Ellana’s jaw tightened as she looked up, her golden eyes blazing with determination. “He’s not destroying the world,” she argued. “He’s saving it—saving a world that was stolen from our people. I’ve seen what could be, Bull. It’s worth fighting for.”

“Fighting for?” Sera’s voice was shrill, her face flushed with anger as she stepped forward. “Fighting for what, elfy dreams and ruins? What about the people who live here now, boss? The people who will die if the Veil comes down? You’re supposed to protect them, not side with a bloody wolf.”

“I am protecting them!” Ellana snapped, her voice rising. “Thedas is broken—fractured. The Veil is a scar, and it’s killing us. You’ve all seen what the Blight has done, how the Fade bleeds into our world. Solas is offering a chance to fix it, to make Thedas whole again.”

The room erupted into a cacophony of voices, each one filled with anger, disbelief, or heartbreak.

Dorian stepped forward, his expression unreadable, but his voice carried a quiet disappointment that cut through the noise. “Ellana,” he said softly, “you can’t truly believe this is the answer. You’ve seen the chaos that magic can bring. How can you trust him not to make it worse?”

Ellana’s breath hitched, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I trust him because I’ve seen what he’s fighting for,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her conviction. “And because I know what he’s willing to sacrifice.”

“And what about us?” Cassandra demanded, her voice cold as steel. “What are you willing to sacrifice, Ellana? Your friends? Your Inquisition? The people who have stood by you, who trusted you to lead them?”

Ellana flinched at the accusation, her guilt flaring like a physical wound. “I never wanted to hurt any of you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But this…this is bigger than all of us. I have to do this.”

The breaking point came when Vivienne stepped forward, her presence commanding as she addressed the room. “The Inquisitor has made her choice,” she said, her voice icy and precise. “And it is one that cannot be reconciled with the mission we share. If she wishes to follow Fen’Harel, then she does so without our aid.”

The finality of Vivienne’s words hung in the air, and Ellana felt her chest tighten as the weight of her decision became unbearable.

Ellana turned away from them, unable to face the looks of betrayal and anger etched into the faces of her companions. Without another word, she left the great hall, her steps quick and purposeful as she headed toward her quarters.

That night, under the cover of darkness, Ellana gathered what little she could carry. She left no letters, no explanations, only a hollow silence that would greet her companions when they realized she was gone.

With trembling hands, she activated the eluvian in her chambers, its surface shimmering like liquid silver. The voices of the Well whispered in her mind, urging her forward even as doubt gnawed at the edges of her resolve. As she stepped through the eluvian and into the Fade, the warmth of the Lighthouse enveloped her. The air was thick with ancient magic, and the walls pulsed faintly with a soft green light.

Ellana paused, her breath uneven as she took in her surroundings. She was alone now, cut off from the people she loved, but for the first time, her path felt clear.

The whispers of the Well swirled around Ellana, an indistinct murmur that grew in intensity, pressing against her mind like a rising tide. One voice emerged above the rest, resonant and commanding, its presence both soothing and oppressive. Though she couldn’t grasp the exact words, the weight of its meaning was unmistakable—an unyielding question, a challenge that demanded an answer.

Ellana’s hands clenched at her sides, her jaw tightening as she pushed back against the tide of doubt threatening to engulf her. “If it means saving Thedas, restoring what was lost…” she whispered, her voice steady despite the tears burning her eyes. “Then I’ll bear it.”

The magic of the Fade wrapped around her, a tangible reminder of what she had chosen to fight for. She was no longer just the Inquisitor. She was something more—something ancient, something powerful. And as the voices of the Well guided her deeper into the Lighthouse, she knew there was no turning back.

The moment Ellana stepped into the Lighthouse, her breath caught in her throat. The Fade enveloped her, its beauty both overwhelming and disorienting. The air shimmered with iridescent hues, shifting between warm golds and cool blues, as if the very essence of magic pulsed through the walls.

The Lighthouse itself was unlike anything she had ever seen—an ethereal tower of crystalline structures and woven light, rising high above the dreamscape. Its design felt impossibly ancient yet alive, as though it grew directly from the fabric of the Fade.

For a moment, she stood still, letting the raw wonder wash over her, but it wasn’t long before the weight of her decision pressed in. Solas stepped out from the shadows, his movements fluid but deliberate, as though each step carried the weight of unspoken thoughts.

His expression was calm, almost serene, yet his violet eyes betrayed a flicker of unease that lingered in their depths. “You’ve come,” he said softly, his voice laced with the warmth of familiarity, though tempered by a thread of caution that made the words hang delicately in the air.

As he drew closer, his posture was a study in contradictions—tense yet open, his hands at his sides but his fingers twitching faintly, as though uncertain whether to reach for her or hold back.

His gaze swept over her, lingering for a heartbeat too long, before flicking to their surroundings. He raised a hand in a small, understated gesture, the faintest trace of reverence in the movement.

“This place…” His voice was quieter now, touched with something that might have been regret. He turned his gaze outward, letting it rest on the soaring arches and fractured runes around them, their glow faint but persistent. “…it was once a place of learning. A sanctuary for knowledge.” His eyes darkened as he spoke, the weight of memory pulling at his features. “Before it became the heart of my rebellion.”

There was a rawness to his words, an undercurrent of both pride and sorrow, as though the history of the place was etched into his very being. For a moment, the silence between them felt as vast as the space they stood in, the air heavy with unspoken emotions that neither dared to name.

Solas inclined his head in acknowledgment, but her words seemed to weigh heavily on him, deepening the lines of weariness etched into his face. His violet eyes locked onto hers, shadowed with a mixture of concern and quiet anguish.

“Belief alone will not sustain you,” he said, his voice low but unyielding. He stepped closer, his movements measured, as if wary of crossing an unseen threshold. “The path ahead will test you in ways you cannot yet comprehend. There is still time to turn away.”

Ellana held his gaze, her chest tightening at the raw weight of his words. Her hands trembled faintly at her sides before she clenched them, grounding herself. “I’ve already chosen this,” she replied, her voice soft but resolute. “I wouldn’t have come this far if I didn’t believe in what we’re doing.”

Solas’s expression faltered, just for a heartbeat, his guarded composure breaking beneath the quiet certainty in her tone. He took another step closer, the distance between them vanishing, his hand rising slowly.

He hesitated, his fingers hovering near her cheek as though seeking permission. When she didn’t pull away, his touch was tentative at first, the pads of his fingers grazing her skin before his palm cupped her face fully.

“You speak with such conviction,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yet conviction has led many to ruin.” His words carried a warning, but his touch was gentle, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along her cheekbone.

Ellana leaned into his hand, her breath catching as she allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. Her own hand lifted to rest lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her fingers. “I won’t turn back,” she said, her voice firmer now, though her gaze softened, her eyes searching his. “Not from this. Not from you.”

A flicker of something unspoken passed through his eyes—regret, longing, perhaps even gratitude. Slowly, his free hand rose to settle against her waist, his touch hesitant but grounding. The tension between them was palpable, a fragile thread pulling them closer.

Without thinking, Ellana stepped closer, rising slightly onto the balls of her feet. Her forehead gently touched his, the motion delicate and deliberate.

The gesture was tender, intimate, and when Solas closed his eyes, his shoulders sagged, as though the weight of his burdens lifted just enough to let him breathe. For a moment, the world around them faded, leaving only the quiet, unspoken understanding shared in their touch.

The air around them seemed to shimmer, the Fade responding to the intensity of their emotions. Ellana's heart raced as she tilted her head, her lips a breath away from Solas's. She hesitated for a moment, searching his eyes, before closing the distance between them.

As their lips met, a surge of energy coursed through them both. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as if they were both afraid the other might shatter. But as Solas's arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, the last of his restraint crumbled.

His lips moved against hers with growing urgency, years of longing and regret pouring into the kiss. Ellana responded in kind, her fingers tracing the edge of his face, anchoring him to her.

The kiss deepened, igniting a fire that had long smoldered between them. Solas's hands roamed her back, fingers tracing the curves of her body with a reverence that made her shiver. Ellana pressed closer, her body molding against his, seeking more of his warmth, his touch.

Their breaths mingled, hot and ragged, as the kiss grew more desperate. Her tongue flicked against his lips, eliciting a low groan from him that reverberated through her very core. The sound only fueled her desire, and she nipped at his lower lip, drawing another muffled moan from him.

Solas responded by backing her against one of the crystalline pillars, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. His lips left hers to trail along her jaw, then down the column of her throat.

Ellana gasped as Solas's lips trailed fire down her throat, her head falling back against the pillar. Her fingers tightened against his body, urging him closer as a soft moan escaped her lips. The cool crystal at her back only heightened her awareness of the heat radiating from Solas's body.

His hands slid lower, gripping her hips and pulling her flush against him. The friction sent sparks of pleasure coursing through her, and she rolled her hips instinctively, seeking more. Solas growled low in his throat, the sound sending shivers down her spine.

Their lips met again, hungry and desperate. Ellana's tongue swept into his mouth, tasting him, memorizing every sensation. Solas matched her fervor, one hand sliding up to cup the back of her head as he deepened the kiss. Solas pulled back suddenly, his chest heaving as he pressed his body firmly against hers. The intensity of their embrace caused their breaths to mingle and their hearts to race in unison.

He rested his forehead against hers, their gazes locked in a passionate stare that spoke volumes without the need for words. Heat radiated between them, igniting a fire within that threatened to consume them both. A warm and genuine smile blossomed on her face as she gazed up adoringly at him, her eyes brimming with longing and affection. Ellana couldn’t help be feel grateful to be reunited with him.

The days that followed were a blur of discovery and effort. Together, they delved into the mysteries of the Lighthouse, a place where the Veil thinned to near nothingness, allowing the Fade to seep through in its purest form.

Solas guided Ellana through the tower’s secrets, showing her how its architecture acted as a conduit for ancient magic, amplifying their ability to study the Veil.

They worked side by side, their magic weaving together as they explored the delicate threads holding the waking world and the Fade apart. Solas’s knowledge was vast, but Ellana found herself contributing in ways that surprised even him.

The Well of Sorrows heightened her connection to the Fade, allowing her to sense its ebb and flow with an intimacy she had never experienced before. In their shared work, a rhythm emerged. They moved together with an ease born of trust and familiarity, their steps synchronized as though they had always been meant to do this.

Solas’s initial wariness began to give way to something warmer, his walls lowering as they spent countless hours in each other’s company. They spoke of magic and history, but also of themselves, their conversations deepening in quiet moments between their efforts.

One evening, as the dim light of the Fade cast long shadows across the room, Solas approached Ellana with an unusual proposal. “There is something I wish to share with you,” he said, his voice hesitant. “Some memories. It is… deeply personal, but I believe it may help you understand what I am fighting for.”

Ellana regarded him curiously, sensing the vulnerability behind his words. “I want to see,” she replied simply, her trust in him unspoken but undeniable.

Solas extended his hand, and as their fingers intertwined, the Fade seemed to shift around them. The Lighthouse dissolved, replaced by a vivid and vibrant world that left Ellana breathless. She stood in a city of impossible beauty—ancient Arlathan, alive and thriving.

Its towers of crystal and stone rose toward the heavens, while its streets bustled with elves, their laughter and voices weaving a melody that resonated with joy and purpose. The air itself shimmered with magic, and Ellana could feel its pulse in her very being.

Solas stood beside her, his face etched with a wistful sorrow as he watched the vision unfold. “You only saw a glimpse of what was…this was the world before the Veil, before everything changed,” he said softly

He guided her through the dream, showing her the artistry of the ancient Elvhen, the strength of their magic, and the unity of their people.

Yet, as the dream progressed, the cracks began to show. The joy gave way to ambition, the unity to division. Ellana saw the seeds of the empire’s downfall—its gods growing corrupt, its people divided by power and greed.

When the dream faded, they stood together once more in the Lighthouse, the weight of what she had seen pressing heavily on Ellana’s chest. Solas’s gaze was distant, his expression unreadable. “I did what I thought was right,” he said, his voice low. “But it was not enough. And now, I have a chance to restore what was broken.”

Ellana reached for his hand, her touch grounding him. “You’re not alone in this anymore,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “Whatever comes next, we face it together.”

Solas met her gaze, his violet eyes softening as he squeezed her hand. In that moment, their bond felt unshakable—a connection forged not just by their shared purpose, but by the unspoken understanding of what they had both lost and what they hoped to reclaim. The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in centuries, Solas allowed himself to feel a glimmer of hope.

***

Skyhold was steeped in an uneasy silence, the absence of its Inquisitor casting a shadow over the fortress. The great hall, once filled with the hum of camaraderie, now echoed with heated arguments and whispered fears. Ellana’s disappearance had shaken the foundation of her inner circle, and the cracks were beginning to show.

Cassandra paced furiously near the war table, her armor clinking softly with every agitated step. “This is unacceptable!” she bellowed, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Ellana would not abandon her duty unless she was manipulated. Solas—he’s twisted her mind, made her think this madness is justified!” Her fists clenched at her sides, and the fire in her eyes dared anyone to challenge her. “We need to find her. Now.”

“She wasn’t manipulated, Cassandra,” Dorian said quietly, though his tone carried a heavy sadness. He sat nearby, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the surface of the war table.

“Ellana is curious by nature. She has always sought to understand the past, to piece together what was lost. That curiosity is what drew her to Solas in the first place. It’s what—” He hesitated, his gaze dropping as a pang of guilt washed over him. “It’s what made her drink from the Well of Sorrows.”

Cassandra turned on him, her frustration boiling over. “And you encouraged that curiosity! You were always fueling it with your stories of Tevinter relics and ancient power! And now look where it’s led her—to a man who wants to tear the world apart!”

Dorian flinched but held her gaze. “Don’t mistake my understanding for agreement,” he said firmly. “I don’t support what Solas is doing, and I certainly don’t want to see Thedas destroyed. But condemning Ellana without trying to understand her choice won’t bring her back.”

Across the room, Sera stood with her arms crossed, glaring at both of them. “Why are we even talking about her like she’s coming back? She’s gone, yeah? Gone off to play dress-up with the elfy wolf and his creepy Fade crap. She betrayed us—betrayed everyone!” Her voice rose sharply, her face flushed with anger. “We should be burning whatever plans they’ve got to the ground, not wasting time wondering if she’ll change her mind.”

“Sera,” Varric interjected, his tone measured as he stepped between her and Cassandra. “That’s enough. Yelling about betrayal isn’t going to fix anything.” His voice was calm, but the weariness in his expression betrayed how much the situation weighed on him. “None of us wanted this, but sitting around fighting each other isn’t going to help. We need a plan.”

“Plan?” Sera scoffed, her hands gesturing wildly. “The plan is to stop Solas, yeah? And if she’s standing next to him, that means stopping her too.” Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, but she quickly masked it with a sneer.

Varric’s expression softened, and he let out a sigh. “Ellana isn’t the enemy,” he said gently. “Not yet, anyway. If we can find her—if we can talk to her—maybe we can figure out what’s really going on.”

“And what if she’s already beyond talking?” Cassandra asked darkly, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “What if she’s chosen to stand with Solas, no matter the cost?” The question hung in the air like a blade, its weight pressing down on all of them.

Dorian broke the silence, standing abruptly and placing his hands on the war table. “Then we ensure that cost doesn’t destroy Thedas,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “I’ll begin researching counter-magic—something that can disrupt Solas’s efforts without tearing the Veil apart. It won’t be easy, but it’s a start.”

“I’ll work with Leliana,” Varric added. “Her agents can track Ellana’s movements, maybe even find a way to get a message to her. If there’s still a chance to bring her back, we need to take it.”

Cassandra nodded reluctantly, though her jaw remained tight. “Fine. But if she stands in our way… we do what must be done.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, the reality of her words sinking in. Even Dorian, who tried to cling to hope, felt a pang of fear at what might come. As they each turned to their tasks—Sera sharpening her arrows with grim determination, Dorian gathering tomes, Varric scribbling out coded messages—Skyhold felt heavier than ever.

The Inquisition was fractured, its unity splintered by Ellana’s choice. But despite their anger, their fear, and their heartbreak, one thing remained clear: they would not stand idly by.

Whether they sought to save Ellana or to stop her, their path forward was one of resistance. And though none of them said it aloud, a single question echoed in all their minds: If it came to it, would they be ready to face her?

***

The air in the Lighthouse was thick with tension as Solas led Ellana deeper into its winding halls. The shimmering, dreamlike walls grew dimmer with every step, their once-vivid glow fading into muted hues. Even the magic that permeated the space felt off, its usual flow disrupted and infused with an unsettling energy.

A chill ran down Ellana's spine as she sensed something dark and foreboding lurking just beyond her senses. Before Solas even spoke, she could feel its presence pressing against her mind like a physical weight, a manifestation of deep regrets.

Solas paused at the threshold of a towering archway, his silhouette stark against the faint light spilling from within. His posture was rigid, the tension in his shoulders betraying a weight he had carried for too long. When he turned to face her, his eyes reflected both determination and a sorrow that ran deep.

“There is something I must show you,” he said, his voice steady yet burdened as he guided her to murals he had painted long ago. “Something you must understand. The Veil—it was never meant to be what it has become. It was meant to be a prison. An ancient one, created to contain those you know as the Evanuris.”

Ellana’s breath caught, but Solas continued, his tone unyielding. “They were once my kin, all but Mythal. But now… only two remain—Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. The others...” His voice faltered, a shadow passing over his expression. “The Blight consumed them.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Blighted?” she whispered. “But how? What happened to the others?”

Solas gave a bitter chuckle, devoid of humor. “The Blights you know—those of your world—are their legacy. Each was bound to a high dragon, a connection I failed to foresee when I created the Veil.” He paused, the weight of his words settling between them. “When the Veil was raised, the Evanuris were cut off from their anchors, and the dragons—twisted by their corrupted bonds—became the first Archdemons.”

Ellana’s voice trembled as she spoke. “You’re saying…the Blight came from them?”

Solas averted his gaze, his expression clouded. "Not exactly..." he said, his voice trailing off. After a moment’s pause, he continued, "A fracture in the prison allowed the Tevinter magisters to hear their call. That alone was enough to release a fragment of the Blight into your world." He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "Now, the prison is weakening. If it collapses entirely, the Blight will pour unchecked into Thedas—along with Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. The devastation would be beyond anything Thedas has ever faced—worse than any Blight in its history."

The weight of his revelation pressed down on her like the air of the chamber, suffocating in its enormity. Yet beneath her growing fear, Ellana saw the flicker of resolve in Solas’s eyes, and she knew that this was not just a warning. It was a call to action.

Ellana's heart clenched under the weight of the looming threat. The whispers of the Well of Sorrows stirred faintly in her mind, their murmurs growing louder with every word Solas spoke. The voices were fragmented and cryptic, offering no clear guidance, yet they carried an undeniable sense of urgency that pressed heavily upon her.

“What do we do?” she asked, her voice steadier than the tremor she felt deep inside.

Solas’s gaze softened as he looked at her, his trust evident in the intensity of his expression. “We must construct a new Veil—a new prison to replace the one that is failing. This new barrier would be stable, unlike the current one, but the ritual to create it is both intricate and perilous. It requires someone deeply attuned to the Fade—someone who can act as an anchor during the transfer.” His eyes dropped to the glowing mark on her arm, and the implication struck like a thunderclap.

Ellana’s breath hitched as understanding dawned. “You need me to do it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, the weight of the task settling heavily on her shoulders.

“You are uniquely suited for this,” Solas replied, his tone gentle but resolute. “The mark you bear—it came from the orb Corypheus wielded. That orb was mine…” His voice faltered, tinged with quiet regret. “And the Well of Sorrows—its power has deepened your connection to the Fade. The voices you hear? They may guide you through what lies ahead.”

For a moment, Ellana wavered, the enormity of his words threatening to crush her resolve. But she drew a steadying breath, forcing her emotions into focus. “Then we do this,” she said, her tone firmer now, though the flicker of unease lingered in her eyes.

As they began the preparations for the ritual, the voices of the Well stirred again, growing louder. Their fragmented warnings and cryptic advice coiled in her mind, heightening her sense of unease. Despite the doubt clawing at the edges of her resolve, she pushed forward, the magnitude of their task leaving no room for hesitation.

Days turned into weeks as preparations for the monumental task began in earnest. Ellana and Solas worked tirelessly, navigating a delicate balance between planning and urgency. The Lighthouse became their sanctuary and their crucible—a place where ancient magic and new resolve intertwined. Each step forward brought them closer to the heart of their purpose, but the weight of the impending ritual loomed over them like a gathering storm.

Now, their efforts converged on a critical artifact, its significance tied not just to the ritual, but to the dangers they had both vowed to face. As Ellana steadied herself for what lay ahead, the tension in the air sharpened, the next stage of their journey demanding a focus and resolve greater than ever before.

The chamber was cloaked in dim light, the faint shimmer of the Fade casting ethereal patterns across the stone walls. The hum of magic pulsed faintly, a quiet undercurrent that seemed to grow heavier as Solas paced near the central pedestal. Ellana stood nearby, her arms crossed, the weight of their recent discoveries pressing down on her like a physical burden. The tension in the air was palpable, an unspoken acknowledgment of the artifact they were about to confront.

The heavy door creaked open, and one of Solas’s trusted agents entered, their steps purposeful but reverent. In their gloved hands, they carried a bundle wrapped in thick, protective cloth, its edges faintly glowing with an ominous red hue. The agent’s expression was grim as they approached, bowing slightly before placing the bundle carefully on the pedestal.

“We retrieved it from the necromancer in Nevarra,” the agent explained, their voice steady but tinged with unease. They paused, their eyes flickering toward Solas for reassurance before bowing once more and retreating at his quiet dismissal.

Solas’s gaze lingered on the bundle for a moment before he reached out, his fingers deftly unwrapping the protective layers. As the cloth fell away, Ellana’s breath hitched. The red lyrium idol lay exposed, its jagged, twisted form glowing faintly in the dim light.

The room seemed to darken, the air thickening with an oppressive energy that pressed against her chest. Memories of battles with red lyrium surged to the surface—memories of corruption, death, and destruction. Instinctively, she stepped back, her jaw tightening as her eyes darted to Solas.

“This… is dangerous,” she said, her voice low but steady, though unease laced her tone. “We’ve both seen what red lyrium can do.”

Solas, in contrast, remained calm, his expression composed but tinged with something deeper—something almost reverent. “Yes, we have,” he replied, his voice quiet but resolute. His hand hovered just above the idol, his magic sparking faintly as though testing its boundaries. “But this is no ordinary artifact. This was once a dagger, crafted from pure lyrium and used in the ancient elven rituals.”

Ellana’s eyes widened. “This belonged to you, didn’t it?” she asked, already knowing the answer from his tone.

Solas nodded, his gaze not leaving the idol. “Millennia ago,” he admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of history. “It was a tool of great significance—its purpose was to channel power, to bind or sever, as the ritual required. But over the centuries, it has been corrupted by the Blight, twisted into this…”

The word hung in the air, sharp and cutting. Ellana’s gaze flickered back to the idol, her instincts screaming at her to stay away. “And you think it can be cleansed?” she asked, her skepticism evident.

“I know it can,” Solas replied, his voice steady but intense. “The purity of the lyrium still lies beneath the corruption. It can be freed—but it will take time, precision, and strength.”

Ellana shook her head, stepping forward despite her trepidation. “We’ve fought red lyrium before, Solas. We’ve seen what it does to people—how it spreads, corrupts. What makes you so certain this can be undone?”

Solas turned to her, his expression softening as he took a step closer. “Because it must,” he said simply. “Without this dagger, the ritual cannot succeed. The Blighted Evanuris cannot be contained, the prison will collapse, and the Blight will consume both the Fade and the mortal world. I would not ask this of you if there were any other way.”

Ellana’s heart twisted at the earnestness in his tone. She looked at him, his violet eyes burning with conviction, and then at the idol, its glow pulsating like a heartbeat. Doubt clawed at her, but so did the memory of why she had come this far. “And you’re certain you can do this without… without it consuming you?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

“I have studied the process carefully,” Solas replied, his voice softening further. “We will use Fade magic to separate the corruption from the lyrium itself. It is dangerous, yes, but it is not impossible. And I trust you, Ellana, to help me.”

She hesitated, her mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. The memories of battles with red lyrium haunted her, but so did the vision of what Solas sought to restore—a world alive with magic, untainted by Blight or Veil.

Slowly, she let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing as she stepped closer to him. “Alright,” she said, her voice firmer now. “But we do this carefully. No risks. You promise me that.”

Solas placed a hand lightly on her arm, his touch warm and grounding. “You have my word,” he said solemnly, his gaze meeting hers with quiet intensity.

Together, they began to prepare the chamber, Solas explaining each step of the ritual as they worked. The oppressive energy of the idol seemed to intensify with every moment, the air growing heavier as though the artifact resisted their efforts.

As Ellana placed wards around the room, the faint murmurs of the Well of Sorrows stirred in her mind, fragments of warnings and cryptic advice slipping through the edges of her consciousness. She pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand, but unease prickled at the back of her mind.

When everything was ready, Solas stood before the idol, his hands hovering just above its surface. Magic sparked faintly from his fingertips, dancing along the artifact’s jagged edges.

He glanced at Ellana, a mixture of determination and vulnerability in his expression. “This must work,” he said softly, the weight of his words heavy in the dimly lit chamber.

Ellana stepped to his side, her hand brushing his briefly in a gesture of quiet solidarity. “Then let’s begin,” she said, her voice steady despite the apprehension tightening in her chest. Together, they turned their focus to the ominous glow of the idol.

The air in the chamber grew heavy as Solas began the ritual, his magic weaving through the oppressive energy of the corrupted idol. The room shimmered with the interplay of Fade magic and the pulsing, malevolent glow of red lyrium, each force pushing against the other in an unseen battle.

Ellana stood nearby, her own magic focused on maintaining the protective wards they had set, her senses heightened as the Well of Sorrows whispered faintly at the edges of her mind. The voices were indistinct but insistent, like a storm just out of reach.

As the ritual continued, the idol’s glow flared violently, the red light pulsing in time with a low, almost living hum that reverberated through the room. Solas’s hands trembled slightly, sweat beading on his brow as he channeled more energy, his expression taut with concentration.

The room seemed to blur at the edges as the corrupted power within the artifact fought to hold on, but Solas’s magic pressed deeper, searching for the purity hidden beneath.

Ellana felt the shift before she saw it—a change in the air, a sharp clarity that pierced the oppressive haze. Slowly, the crimson glow of the idol dimmed, replaced by a soft, crystalline light.

The jagged edges of red lyrium began to dissolve, flaking away like ash on the wind, revealing a gleaming, pristine artifact beneath. The hum of corruption faded into silence, replaced by a calm, soothing resonance that seemed to fill the chamber with an almost musical tone.

When the light settled, the artifact stood cleansed on the pedestal—a radiant piece of pure lyrium, smooth and unblemished, its surface etched with ancient, flowing patterns. Solas stepped back, his breathing labored but steady, as he regarded the artifact with quiet triumph. For a moment, he simply stared at it, as though reconnecting with a part of himself long buried by time.

Without a word, Solas extended a hand over the cleansed idol. A faint pulse of magic from his fingers activated the artifact, and the intricate patterns on its surface glowed faintly. With a soft hiss, the artifact shifted, revealing its true form: a dagger of gleaming lyrium, its blade translucent and impossibly sharp, unsheathed from the heart of the artifact. The dagger seemed to hum with life, its presence filling the room with a palpable sense of ancient power.

Solas held it reverently for a moment, the glow of the blade reflected in his violet eyes. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even after all this time, it endures.”

Ellana watched in silence, the awe on her face mirroring his own. As Solas carefully sheathed the blade back into the artifact, the glowing patterns dimmed, and the idol returned to its dormant state. He turned to her, his expression one of quiet satisfaction tempered with determination. “It is ready,” he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of what was to come.

Ellana nodded, her gaze shifting between Solas and the artifact. The significance of the moment hung heavy in the air, the purity of the lyrium dagger a stark contrast to the corruption it had borne.

The success of cleansing the red lyrium dagger marked a pivotal moment in their efforts, but it was far from the end. Days turned into weeks as Ellana and Solas pressed forward, each step weighed down by the enormity of their task. Their work demanded not only their skills but their unwavering focus and often their moral fortitude, as the stakes seemed to climb higher with every artifact they unearthed.

Next, their journey led them to an isolated fragment of the magic—an anomaly Solas described as a shattered remnant of Ghilan’nain’s fractured mind. The transition from the Lighthouse into this pocket was like falling into a nightmare.

The warped landscape stretched before them, grotesque and surreal, filled with half-formed creatures that writhed in pools of viscous liquid, their pained cries echoing through the corrupted air. The ground shifted beneath their feet, slick with the remnants of failed experiments.

“This is where she lost herself,” Solas murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow as his gaze swept over the disarray. “Her desire to create became obsession, and obsession gave way to madness.”

Ellana followed him carefully, her senses attuned to the magic thrumming through the air. Fragments of memories flared around them like broken mirrors, each one a glimpse into Ghilan’nain’s descent.

One showed her sculpting a creature with delicate precision, her hands steady and her expression serene. Another revealed the same creature, twisted and monstrous, lunging at her as she screamed in frustration.

At the heart of the pocket lay the artifact they sought—a crystalline feather, shimmering with an otherworldly light that seemed to pulse with life.

Solas explained in calm, measured tones that it was a fragment of Ghilan’nain’s magic, a remnant of the power she once wielded to shape life itself. But as Ellana stepped closer, an overwhelming surge of whispers filled her mind, a cacophony from the Well of Sorrows.

Though she couldn’t discern their exact words, the intensity of their tone was undeniable—sharp, urgent, and filled with foreboding. Her steps faltered, the weight of their presence pressing heavily on her chest, as though the artifact itself was issuing a warning.

Before Ellana could respond, the ground beneath them roiled, and a massive creature emerged—a twisted amalgamation of bird and serpent, its form pulsating with raw magic.

The battle was brutal, its strikes relentless as it lashed out with talons and teeth. Ellana’s connection to the Fade proved invaluable, allowing her to weave defensive wards while Solas struck with precision, his magic dismantling the creature’s form piece by piece.

The moral weight of their mission grew heavier with each artifact they retrieved. In some cases, the artifacts were tied to mortal communities—precious resources that sustained life in desolate regions or sacred relics of cultural importance.

Time and again, Ellana found herself faced with impossible choices: to take what was needed for Solas’s plan and risk the ire or suffering of those who relied on the artifact, or to leave it behind and jeopardize their mission.

In one such instance, they sought an ancient elven staff imbued with protective magic, guarded by a Dalish clan that saw it as a symbol of their resilience.

The Keeper, a stern but fair woman, refused to part with it, citing the staff’s role in shielding her people from human raiders. Ellana pleaded with her, trying to explain the greater purpose the staff could serve, but the Keeper’s resolve was unshakable.

In the end, Ellana made the difficult decision to take the staff by force, using a spell to incapacitate the Keeper and her hunters long enough to escape.

As they fled, Ellana’s chest ached with guilt, the weight of her choice pressing heavily on her shoulders. “Was this worth it?” she asked Solas, her voice thick with emotion. “Hurting people who have already lost so much?”

Solas’s gaze was distant, his expression unreadable. “There is no salvation without sacrifice,” he said quietly, though his tone betrayed a flicker of regret. “The burden of those sacrifices is ours to bear.”

Each mission brought Ellana closer to the heart of Solas’s plan, but it also deepened her internal conflict. The voices of the Well grew louder, their warnings more insistent, as if they sensed the fine line she was walking.

And though she continued to fight for the vision of a restored Thedas, the weight of her choices—each one fraught with danger and moral ambiguity—threatened to crush her beneath their weight.

The weeks that followed blurred into an exhausting cycle of pursuit and evasion, with Solas and Ellana working tirelessly to gather the last pieces of their plan. Each step forward deepened their resolve but also their isolation, as the consequences of their actions rippled across Thedas.

Their journey brought them to a remote elven ruin, a place where magic lingered thick in the air and the Fade felt closer than ever. Here, surrounded by remnants of a forgotten age, they finally began preparations for the next critical stage of their work.

The ancient halls, carved with elven script and imbued with faint, flickering wards, seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. It was a fragile, fleeting moment of quiet—one that shattered with the sudden echo of approaching footsteps reverberating through the stone corridors.

The confrontation struck like a storm, sudden and unrelenting, breaking the fragile quiet of the ancient elven ruin. The chamber where Solas and Ellana worked was bathed in the soft glow of enchanted sconces, their light casting intricate shadows over faded carvings of elven script.

At the room's heart stood the eluvian, its surface shimmering faintly, a gateway known only to Solas and Ellana. The hum of latent magic in the air was interrupted by the echo of hurried footsteps reverberating through the stone corridors.

Ellana froze, her breath catching as the sound drew nearer. Her gaze flicked to Solas, whose posture straightened, his expression darkening with quiet apprehension. Before either could react, Cassandra burst through the archway, her presence commanding, her armor gleaming faintly in the flickering light. Her eyes blazed as they locked onto Ellana with a storm of fury and betrayal.

Dorian entered moments later, his usual composure strained beneath an expression of conflicted worry. Varric followed, his crossbow slung at his side, his gaze scanning the room with cautious purpose.

Sera brought up the rear, her bow gripped tightly, her sharp features alight with raw anger. Each carried the weight of their own emotions: betrayal, fear, and heartbreak.

"You’ve been hard to find," Cassandra said, her voice cutting through the room like steel. She stepped forward, her expression unyielding. "We had hoped you’d come to your senses before it came to this."

Ellana straightened, her chest tightening at the sight of them. She stepped forward instinctively, her voice calm yet laden with sadness. “I didn’t expect you to follow me here,” she admitted, her gaze sweeping over the faces of those she once called family.

"You didn’t leave us much of a choice," Dorian said, his tone softer but no less pointed. His eyes shifted to Solas, his expression hardening. “Vanishing without a word, aligning yourself with him? What were we supposed to think?”

Sera let out a sharp, bitter laugh as she leaned against the doorframe. “Look at you,” she spat, her voice venomous. “You’re cozy with Wolfy over there, while the rest of us are out here trying to pick up the pieces. What the bloody hell happened to you, Ellana?”

Ellana’s jaw clenched, her fists tightening at her sides. “It’s not like that,” she said firmly, though a trace of defensiveness crept into her tone. “You don’t understand. This isn’t about abandoning anyone—it’s about saving Thedas.”

Varric stepped closer, his voice quiet but heavy with disappointment. “And here we thought we were saving Thedas together,” he said, his eyes flicking briefly to the eluvian. “But now it looks like you’ve traded us in for ancient magic and cryptic promises.”

Solas, who had remained silent, stepped to Ellana’s side. His presence was composed but commanding, and when he finally spoke, his voice was steady and sure. “This confrontation serves no purpose,” he said, his gaze cool as it swept over the group. “Ellana has chosen her path. It is not your place to question it.”

Cassandra’s glare turned icy, her hand moving instinctively to the hilt of her sword. “And what exactly is her path, Solas?” she demanded. “Destroying the Veil? Unleashing chaos upon the world? You’ve twisted her mind—filled her head with your lies.”

Ellana’s frustration surged, and she stepped between them, her voice sharp. “Enough! You don’t get to make this about manipulation. This is my choice. Solas didn’t force me into anything. If you want to blame someone, blame me.���

Her words silenced the room, the weight of her conviction cutting through the tension. Dorian’s shoulders slumped slightly, but his voice remained insistent. “Ellana, please. This isn’t you. You’re the Inquisitor—the one who inspired us, who fought for something better. Don’t throw that away for this.”

Ellana’s chest tightened at the raw emotion in his voice, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I haven’t thrown anything away,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m doing this because I believe in a better world—for all of us.”

Cassandra’s voice shattered the tense silence, her tone heavy with both anger and resignation. “Then you’ve made your choice,” she said bitterly, her eyes narrowing at Ellana. “But don’t think for a moment we’ll stand by and let this happen.”

As Cassandra’s voice rang out, sharp and unrelenting, Ellana's resolve wavered, if only for a moment. Flashes of the past came unbidden—Dorian's wry smile as they debated over ancient texts, the steady comfort of Varric’s stories, Sera's infectious laughter after a victory. They had been her family once. The ache in her chest felt like a fresh wound, but she straightened, pushing the pain aside. This was the path she had chosen

Ellana’s chest tightened, the weight of her companions’ disapproval pressing down on her. She took a tentative step forward, her gaze sweeping over the faces of the people she had once trusted with her life. “I don’t want to fight you,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “But this path… it’s one I have to take. For Thedas.”

“You call this saving Thedas?” Cassandra’s voice rose, her frustration spilling over as she stepped closer, her armored boots echoing in the chamber. “You’ve aligned yourself with him,” she spat, her glare flicking toward Solas. “You’re helping him destroy everything we’ve fought to protect!”

Dorian shook his head, his tone sharp but pleading. “Ellana, listen to reason. Whatever he’s promised you, whatever dream he’s painted, it doesn’t justify this. The Veil coming down—it’s chaos. It’s madness.”

Sera sneered, her bow already in hand. “So that’s it, then? You’re just gonna walk away with Wolfy and leave us to clean up your mess? You think anyone’ll survive this ‘better world’ you’re dreaming up?”

Ellana held her ground, her voice growing firmer as she replied. “I’m not abandoning you. I’m not abandoning anyone. This is about restoration, about giving Thedas a chance to be whole again.”

Cassandra scoffed, her frustration flaring into open hostility. “At what cost, Ellana? How many lives are you willing to sacrifice for your ‘restoration’? How much blood will be on your hands when this world burns?”

Ellana’s pulse quickened, her heart aching as the confrontation began to spiral out of control. “I don’t want to sacrifice anyone!” she said, her voice rising. “But if we do nothing, the decay will continue. The Blight, the corruption, the suffering—it won’t stop. This is the only way to truly heal Thedas.”

The tension in the room escalated as Cassandra’s hand moved to her sword hilt. “I can’t let you do this,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Not while I still have a say.”

Solas stepped forward, his presence commanding as he spoke. “Ellana has made her choice, just as you have made yours,” he said calmly, though his gaze carried an unspoken warning. “But you must understand—there will be no turning back. If you seek to stop us now, you force our hand.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Cassandra snapped, drawing her sword. Sera nocked an arrow, her sharp eyes darting between Solas and Ellana, while Dorian and Varric held back, their unease palpable but their loyalty unwavering.

Ellana’s breath caught as the realization settled over her. This wasn’t a conversation anymore—it was a confrontation, and it would only end in violence if they stayed.

Without hesitation, Solas stepped to the eluvian and touched its shimmering surface, activating the portal with a rush of energy. The air around them crackled with magic as he turned back to Ellana, his expression both resolute and protective.

Ellana faced her companions one last time, her heart aching at the betrayal they must have seen in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breaking. “But I can’t stop. Not now.”

Before Cassandra or the others could act, Solas seized Ellana’s arm and pulled her toward the eluvian. The portal’s shimmering surface rippled, swallowing them in a surge of light and energy.

The last thing Ellana heard before the magic consumed her was Cassandra’s voice, sharp with rage and heartbreak, echoing through the chamber. Then, the resonant hum of the eluvian sealing itself shut cut off all sound, leaving silence in its wake.

When they emerged on the other side, the world felt heavier. The secluded grove in the Arlathan Forest was alive with ancient magic, the air charged with an almost imperceptible hum that vibrated in her chest. Ellana stumbled, her knees buckling under the weight of what had just transpired. Solas’s caught her before her knees hit the ground.

“They will not stop,” he said softly, his voice calm but laden with the gravity of their situation. His words carried no malice, only a quiet resolve. “You must be ready for that.”

Later that evening, as they sat beneath the faint glow of warding runes etched into the bark of ancient trees, the confrontation played over and over in Ellana’s mind.

Cassandra’s face haunted her—the raw anguish behind her fury, the betrayal that seemed to pierce through her own chest like a blade. Ellana’s fingers trembled as they traced the edge of her staff, the weight of guilt pressing down on her until the words spilled out.

“I never wanted to hurt them,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she stared into the flickering light. The confession hung between them, fragile and exposed.

Solas turned to her, his expression softening, though the lines of his own burdens were etched deeply into his face. “You’ve chosen a path few can understand, vhenan,” he said gently, his voice warm yet tinged with an unspoken sadness. “Their anger comes from love, as does their pain. To them, your absence is not just a loss—it is a wound they cannot yet bear.”

His words carried a quiet reassurance, but the regret in his tone betrayed the depth of his own understanding. The shadows of choices long past lingered in his eyes, a reflection of a burden he had carried for centuries. For a moment, the two sat in silence, the shared weight of their sacrifices heavy in the stillness of the forest.

The days following the confrontation in the ruins were filled with quiet preparation and heavy contemplation. After fleeing through the eluvian, Ellana and Solas pressed deeper into the Arlathan Forest, distancing themselves from their pursuers while drawing nearer to the sacred site where their most vital work awaited.

The ancient forest, cloaked in mystery, enveloped them in its lush expanse, its towering trees and ethereal glow offering both a refuge and a sense of looming inevitability.

Time passed in a blur of activity. The ritual site needed to be prepared, the intricate elven inscriptions on the seven pillars of the elven gods were reactivated to serve as conduits for the monumental spell Solas would cast. By day, they worked tirelessly, drawing on magic older than most could comprehend.

At night, Ellana found sleep elusive, her mind plagued by the echoes of the confrontation with their former companions. The words spoken in the ruins lingered, a painful reminder of the widening gulf between the life she once knew and the future she and Solas were determined to create.

Though the urgency of their mission propelled them forward, the weight of what they were about to attempt—reshaping the very fabric of Thedas—hung heavy in the air.

Ellana felt the strain in Solas’s every movement, the quiet determination in his voice, and the fleeting moments of doubt that flickered in his gaze when he thought she wasn’t looking. They both understood that what lay ahead was irreversible, the culmination of everything they had fought, sacrificed, and risked for.

The day had finally arrived, the culmination of all their preparation and resolve. Deep in the heart of the Arlathan Forest, the ritual site was a nexus of ancient power, alive with a pulsating, otherworldly energy.

Seven towering stone pillars encircled the clearing, their surfaces carved with intricate depictions of the elven pantheon. Each pillar glowed softly, radiating streams of magic that converged at the center like tributaries feeding a powerful current.

Solas and Ellana stood side by side within the circle, the weight of their purpose pressing heavily upon them. The air thrummed with energy, resonating like the first notes of an ancient hymn. The world beyond the forest felt like a distant memory, as though they were poised on the edge of a new existence. And, in truth, they were.

Ellana inhaled deeply, steadying her resolve as she turned to Solas. “It’s time,” she murmured, her voice soft but unyielding. He met her gaze with a nod, his expression solemn, his eyes burning with determination.

Together, they stepped into the circle, and the pillars flared to life, their glow intensifying as the ritual began to take shape. Solas raised the lyrium dagger, its crystalline surface shimmering with raw energy, and chanted the first ancient Elvhen words, the spell weaving itself into the fabric of the clearing.

Ellana’s heart pounded as the conduits thrummed in unison, their light casting shifting patterns across the forest floor. At the ritual’s core, a sphere of corrupted magic writhed violently, its tainted tendrils lashing out like a living entity resisting its fate. The combined essence of the Blight, Elgar’nan, and Ghilan’nain strained against Solas’s control, but his focus never wavered.

Ellana stepped closer, her magic joining his, amplifying the energy flowing through the conduits. The hum of power surged, building to a crescendo as the final chapter of their work unfolded, a moment poised to reshape the world forever.

Solas raised the lyrium dagger, his voice steady as he chanted in ancient Elvhen. The words carried a commanding resonance, weaving the energy of the pillars together and driving it toward the sphere.

Each syllable seemed to carve through the corruption, forcing it back as the ritual progressed. The Blight hissed and writhed in resistance, the tendrils recoiling as the dagger’s light grew brighter. Ellana watched as sweat beaded on Solas’s brow, his focus unwavering despite the immense strain.

The Well of Sorrows stirred within her, a disjointed cascade of impressions and fragmented knowledge rising to the surface. She stepped closer, her magic intertwining with Solas’s spellwork, bolstering the conduits’ strength.

The voices of the Well whispered faint, indecipherable warnings, their tone urgent but elusive. Ellana clenched her fists, grounding herself in the moment as she channeled her energy through the pillars, amplifying their power.

The sphere trembled violently, its essence beginning to unravel as the ritual reached its peak. Ellana’s breath caught as she felt the sheer weight of the Blight’s corruption pressing down on them, an oppressive force that threatened to consume everything. Solas’s voice rose above the cacophony, his final incantation cutting through the chaos like a blade.

The dagger flared brilliantly, a surge of energy radiating outward from its crystalline blade. The sphere collapsed inward, its corrupted essence spiraling into the conduits, which redirected it to a new prison crafted deep within the Fade. The Blight’s oppressive weight lifted, though the shadows it left behind lingered, a testament to its enduring presence.

As the magic dissipated, Solas staggered, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. Ellana caught him, her arms steadying his trembling form as he gasped for breath. The lyrium dagger, now cleansed, glowed faintly in his hand, its once-tainted surface restored to pure crystalline clarity.

“It’s done,” Ellana murmured, her voice heavy with relief and exhaustion. “The Blight and the Evanuris are contained.”

As the seven pillars of the elven pantheon dimmed, the clearing in the heart of the Arlathan Forest was plunged into an eerie silence. The faint hum of energy that had filled the air dissipated, leaving an unsettling stillness that seemed to draw even the ancient forest into a breathless pause.

Solas, still gripping the lyrium dagger, stepped toward the center of the clearing where the ritual's culmination was about to begin. His movements were deliberate, his expression etched with the weight of centuries.

“The time has come,” he murmured, his voice carrying through the quiet like a ripple across still water. He turned to Ellana, his gaze steady, yet touched with an almost imperceptible vulnerability. “This final act will tear down the Veil. What follows… will be beyond anything you or I can fully predict.”

Ellana nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the magic in the air begin to stir again, a subtle but growing pressure that seemed to gather around Solas as he raised the dagger high above his head. Around the clearing, the seven pillars flickered back to life, their engravings glowing with a golden light that grew brighter with every passing moment.

Solas began to chant in ancient Elvhen, his voice weaving a spell of incomprehensible power. The words resonated with a depth that seemed to transcend language, each syllable carrying a vibration that shook the ground beneath their feet.

The pillars responded in kind, beams of light shooting upward into the twilight sky, piercing the thick canopy of the forest and disappearing into the heavens. The clearing became a nexus of converging energies, the lines between the Fade and the mortal world blurring with each pulse of power.

The lyrium dagger, now a beacon of pure energy, crackled in Solas’s grasp, its brilliance nearly blinding. As he completed the incantation, he thrust the blade downward into the heart of the clearing, embedding it into the very fabric of the earth. The ground shuddered violently, and a great wave of magic erupted outward, sweeping through the forest like an unstoppable tide.

The Veil—long invisible to mortal eyes—began to tear. The air shimmered with a kaleidoscope of colors as the once-imperceptible barrier unraveled, its edges curling and dissolving into tendrils of light. The clearing filled with an unearthly sound, a harmony of tones both haunting and beautiful, as the Fade and the physical world began to merge. Overhead, the sky fractured, revealing glimpses of the Fade’s ethereal landscapes—floating islands, rivers of light, and a vast expanse of stars that seemed impossibly close.

Ellana stood frozen, awestruck by the sheer magnitude of the transformation. The forest around them shimmered with a strange beauty, as though the magic of the Fade was weaving itself into the mortal world. Plants and trees glowed faintly, their forms shifting and becoming more vibrant. Creatures emerged from the shadows—some familiar, others unearthly—each drawn to the merging realms.

Solas staggered as the final pulse of energy rippled outward, the strain of the ritual evident in the tightness of his expression. The dagger, the magic still glowing, remained lodged in the ground, a silent witness to the end of the Veil. He straightened slowly, his breaths shallow but steady, and turned to Ellana, his face a mixture of triumph and sorrow.

“It is done,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of both exhaustion and fulfillment. His gaze swept across the transformed clearing, the mingling of Fade and Thedas now a visible and undeniable reality. “The Veil is no more.”

The forest around them glowed faintly, its trees shimmering with translucent light. Vines spiraled up their trunks, pulsating with a hum that resonated in her bones. Crystalline flowers bloomed in impossible hues, shifting colors with the passing breeze.

Above, the sky was no longer a simple expanse of clouds and stars but a living canvas, streaked with luminous ribbons of energy weaving through the heavens like threads of an ancient tapestry. Floating isles hung suspended in the air, serene and dreamlike, their surfaces adorned with glowing foliage and radiant pools of water.

Creatures roamed freely between realms. A glowing halla with antlers of pure Fade light paused at the forest’s edge, meeting Ellana’s gaze before dissolving into a swirl of magic, reappearing farther away like a fleeting dream.

A pack of wolves padded silently nearby, their bodies flickering between the material world and the Fade. Spirits glided through the landscape, some curious and gentle, others darker, their intentions unreadable. The rivers sparkled with liquid light, carrying whispers of spirits that blended into an unending symphony emanating from the very earth.

Yet for all its beauty, the world felt unsteady. Ellana could sense the fragile balance between magic and life, as though the land itself teetered on the edge of harmony and chaos. The people of Thedas had not been spared from the change. Those sensitive to magic thrived, their abilities growing in ways they could scarcely understand, while others struggled under the weight of this new reality.

As Solas and Ellana returned to the Lighthouse, they were already hearing of villages where spirits and mortals collided—some forming fragile bonds, others succumbing to fear or destruction. A lone spirit wandered past a distant settlement, its form glowing faintly in the dawn light, as a child reached out to it with innocent curiosity.

Ellana inhaled deeply, the air thick with the hum of magic, no longer distant but intrinsic to the world itself. The silence left by the Well of Sorrows was replaced by this living cadence, and for the first time in what felt like an age, she felt wholly connected to the land. Her fingers brushed the bark of a glowing tree, the warmth of its magic grounding her as she absorbed the enormity of what they had wrought.

Beside her, Solas stood tall, his violet eyes surveying the horizon with a mix of pride and sorrow etched into his features. He looked older somehow, the lines on his face deeper, his weariness unmistakable.

Yet his voice was steady as he spoke, carrying the weight of their shared vision. “It is as it was meant to be,” he murmured. “The world is alive again, in ways it hasn’t been for millennia. For the first time in centuries, it breathes freely.”

Ellana turned, her gaze sweeping across the floating isles and glowing rivers that now marked the Veil-less world. It was breathtaking, alive in a way she had never imagined, yet a chill crept up her spine as she thought of the villages she had passed on her journey. How many of them would be overwhelmed by the spirits wandering this new land? How many lives had she upended with this choice?

"It’s beautiful," she said softly, her voice tinged with something that felt like guilt. She glanced at Solas, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "But are we ready for what comes next?" she asked.

He turned to her, and for a moment, she thought she saw something fragile in his gaze—fear, perhaps, or sorrow. "No one is ever ready for true change," he said, his voice quiet. "But they will adapt, as they always have. And we will guide them, vhenan, as best we can."

The wind carried the melodies of this transformed world: the rustle of leaves, the gentle murmur of enchanted streams, and the distant, haunting calls of spirits venturing through uncharted lands. Ellana tightened her grip on Solas’s hand, her resolve solidifying as she met his gaze.

They stood on the balcony of the Lighthouse, the expanse of the Veil-less world stretching out before them. Solas’s voice was barely audible, a whisper carried by the breeze. “I have held this dream for so long, Ellana. But now… I wonder if I was wrong to ask you to share this burden.”

Ellana turned to him, her fingers curling firmly around his hand as she met the storm brewing in his eyes. “I chose this path, Solas,” she said softly but with unshakable conviction. “Not for you—for Thedas. For what I believe in. You don’t carry this alone.”

Solas exhaled slowly, his grip tightening ever so slightly as his thumb brushed over her knuckles in a gesture both tender and laden with unspoken emotion. “And yet,” he murmured, his voice heavy with regret, “I cannot help but wish I could shield you from the pain that lies ahead.”

As dawn bathed the Veil-less Thedas in golden light, magic flowed unbound, reshaping the essence of existence. Amid floating isles and shimmering trees, spirits roamed freely among mortals. Together, Ellana and Solas stood resolute, watching the fragile hope of a new age take its first breath.

The light of the transformed world seemed to spill onto the balcony where they stood, its crystalline railing refracting hues that danced like ripples across the horizon. Yet, for all the splendor before them, Solas’s gaze lingered on Ellana. His violet eyes softened, tracing the contours of her face as though committing them to memory.

A tremor ran through his hand as he reached out, his fingertips brushing against her cheek. The touch was hesitant, almost reverent, as though he feared she might dissolve into the misty air.

"You remained," he murmured, his voice raw and trembling, barely rising above the distant hum of enchanted streams and the mournful calls of wandering spirits. His breath faltered, his tone fracturing as he continued, "You saw it all—my arrogance, my failures, the wolf I sought to hide—and yet... still, you remained.”

Ellana tilted her head into his touch, her own hand lifting to cover his. The tremble of his fingers did not go unnoticed, and it stirred a deep ache within her. “Solas,” she murmured, her voice steady, though her eyes glistened. “I didn’t stay despite seeing all of you. I stayed because I see you—all of you—and I still believe in what we’re building together.”

His composure fractured, the weight of centuries of regret, fear, and disbelief crashing into him. His hand slipped to cradle the nape of her neck, his thumb brushing the delicate curve of her jawline.

His words came hoarse, barely more than a breath. “You gave me more than I could ever deserve,” he said, the faintest tremor in his words as his brow furrowed, the weight of the truth pressing upon him as though the realization pained him. “You gave me hope. You gave me yourself. And I…” His words broke, the enormity of his gratitude rendering him momentarily silent.

Before she could respond, Solas pulled her to him. His lips met hers in a kiss that was neither gentle nor restrained—it was a deluge of emotion, a desperate, unspoken plea for forgiveness, for understanding, for the solace only she could provide.

The world around them fell away, the symphony of magic fading into silence as her warmth anchored him, tethering him to this moment.

Ellana responded without hesitation. Her fingers slipped to the back of his neck as though holding him together. She could feel the way his body trembled against hers, the suppressed weight of his relief and disbelief pouring into the kiss. It was unhurried and fervent all at once, as though he feared the moment might slip away if he let go too soon.

When their lips parted, their foreheads rested against one another, Solas released a trembling breath. His hands lingered—one at her waist, the other gently entwined in her hair—as though her presence alone tethered him to this moment. “I believed I would face this alone,” he murmured, his voice unsteady, carrying the weight of his vulnerability. “That I would lose you... that you would look upon me and see only the monster I allowed myself to become.”

Ellana’s heart ached at the unguarded fragility in his words. She cupped his face, her thumbs gently wiping away the tears that clung to the corners of his eyes. “You will never face this alone,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “Not while I’m here. Not while I believe in you.”

Her words broke through the last vestiges of his composure. He pressed his forehead harder against hers, his eyes closing as his shoulders sagged, unburdening centuries of tension. He kissed her again, slower this time—an unhurried, deliberate connection, not of desperation but of gratitude. It was a kiss of discovery, an affirmation that despite all he had lost, she was here.

Solas’s hands roamed her back, his touch reverent, as though she were something sacred. Ellana pressed closer, her body fitting against his, her fingers tracing the ridges of his shoulders to anchor herself to this moment. She could feel the unsteady rhythm of his breaths, the way his heart thundered beneath her touch.

When they pulled apart, Solas leaned into her, his arms tightening around her as though afraid she might slip away. His lips brushed against her temple, lingering there as he spoke, his voice thick with emotion. “You are the reason I can look upon this world and find hope again, vhenan. Without you, I would still be lost in the ruin of my own making.”

Ellana wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as the dawn’s light bathed them in its warmth. “Then let’s rebuild it together,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the tears that glistened in her eyes. “We’ve already come this far. We’ll face whatever comes next.”

The hum of the transformed world grew louder as the sun rose higher, casting its golden light over a land reborn. For a long moment, they stood entwined, two souls who had weathered the storm together. In each other, they found a fragile but unshakable solace—a bond forged in pain, trust, and unyielding hope.

[grison-in-space]

Oh my god. Matilda hit a milestone tonight. We are really struggling with dog reactivity right now, and it's making me feel like shit to the point that she's about to start taking a break from coming to work with me — but I had a genuinely really wonderful moment this evening. See, she really reminded me that there was a reason I decided to train a clever, pushy, independent dog as a service prospect in the first place:

you get a clever, pushy, independent dog at the end.

Pictured earlier today, glaring because seven hours earlier she had to have a bath (because she got so muddy that three separate shampooings were necessary to get all the dirt off).

Which is to say, today for the first time ever bedtime came in a context where there was no human effort attending to me getting up and going to bed: CM was off to work, and Kawuli was upstairs on the phone, and I was absolutely absorbed in yelling at the bank sitting in the living room gently zoning.

And she took one look at that situation, marched up to me, stared urgently and then poked me until I got up. I did not move until she shoved me at least twice, because I was focused on something else. She nudged me into getting up and then marched me to where CM was getting ready to go to work to see what happened. At which point I went OH RIGHT BED and started getting ready for bed, and then CM had a few minutes to sit and chat before leaving so we sat down for a bit and as soon as they got up Matilda was right there watching that I went to the bathroom and came to bed upon getting up.

And then she helped herself to a used kleenex on my pillow, because her nickname "yucky Tilda" is well earned.

I genuinely cannot tell what is going on with her feelings about dogs because she has always been extremely weird about strange dogs and soliciting play, and her natural body language is almost as stunted as Benton's: she has always sort of gravitated to other dogs screaming at the top of her lungs or hung back and watched strange dogs very seriously and thoughtfully. I think it may be excitement but even as a puppy she was not into meeting other puppies or interacting with them—she used to sit firmly on her mat and observe other puppies without getting involved during free play time.

She has the ability to control her attention and totally ignore other dogs if she's doing something rewarding enough, though, and I think we can countercondition our way out of this. I'm trying something new out: tying her, harnessed, to the cherry tree in the front yard and playing flirt pole. My yard is fenced, but only by about three feet, so I have a limited visual barrier. And we have a very rewarding activity that does not involve self control and does involve engaging with me. Let's see if we can get the idea of dogs walking by me way less interesting than engaging with her human in a game.

Tried it out this morning and she was able to totally blow off Roof Dog (also a cattle dog) yelling at her from the roof of the garage across the street. She struggled with my neighbor walking a polite Lab mix past the gate but handled a smaller toy mix easily. So we will see if that helps.

But even if she is never public access ready, she's still really useful just being at home. She's never tasked totally uncued before—generally by timer —but this was extremely clearly an extension of the pieces I've taught her smoothed and merged into a sequence I was hoping SO much she would pick up on.

[chumbertchumiliouschummy]

-FrozenGeodeShipping headcannon fic-

I thought I'd lost him forever, when I woke up here, after the merge. I thought I was destined to be alone forever. I thought Zane was dead. Shattered somewhere, broken, completely unrecognized and completely unfixable. Every time I thought of him, I pictured pieces of broken endoskeleton scattered across the world, little pieces and big pieces everywhere, never to be put back together.

Maybe he was all in one piece, somehow, was he on? Was he okay? Is he broken somehow? Is he hurt?

It was all too much. I couldn't even think about it without starting to cry. It hurt so much to think about, I could feel my soul shattering every time I thought of him in pain, scared somewhere, alone.

I can handle it, I'm the strong one, I can handle everything, physically and mentally.

But I can't handle the thoughts of Zane.

Not knowing is what makes everything so much worse.

Before I knew it, Geo found me, welcomed me into the Land of Lost Things, and it became my home. Everyone here became my family, the kids, they're like my own, I'd do anything for them.

I only wish Zane could be here with me, this could be our home, our family. Together.

Geode and I got pretty close. I started opening up to him about my thoughts, my fears, and he supported me throughout everything. It was nice, not being alone. Before I knew it, I'd been living here for years!

I began to fully accept that Zane was gone, and that I'd probably never get to see him again or know what really happened to him, but Geo was there the whole time. He listened to all of my stories about Zane, listened to how much I loved him, and how much I hurt losing him. He was there. He gave me a shoulder to cry on, and told me he'd always be there for me.

Slowly, I started to fall for him, just like how I did with Zane.

At first, it made me feel horrible, how could I possibly love somebody after losing Zane!? How could I let myself love again, how could I be so selfish?

But...he makes me so...happy.

We raise these kids together, eat together, he even loves MY cooking! I love his toothy smile, the way he laughs at my jokes, and I've never met somebody else as touchy as I am! We hug all the time and he's never said it's too much!

In a lot of ways, he reminds me of Zane. He's so sweet and caring, so willing to sacrifice himself to protect us, to protect the kids and Bonzle, so willing to sacrifice everything to keep us safe, keep our home safe.

He's so mature, he always knows just what to say when you need it, and when he doesn't, he can still sympathize and support you. It comes so naturally to him.

When he smiles, the whole room lights up, he's so passionate about his art that it makes my heart hurt, where someone else might see nothing but a pile of trash, I can really see his feelings. His art has so much depth that I can't even begin to describe.

It's so easy to talk to him, about everything.

One night we were talking, like we usually do, about anything and everything that came to our minds, and without even thinking about it, I told him-

"I think I'm in love with you-"

He stopped talking, looked at me with that toothy smile, and took hood of my hand.

It all felt so natural.

We fell into a routine, life was relatively simple, sometimes we'd have to run away from the Hoarder, but that's nothing we couldn't handle.

We started sharing a bed, which was nice. I can't put into words how lonely I was at night. It feels like Geo grounds me, those nights where I can't sleep because I can't get out of my own head.

The day I finally came face to face with Zane again, after we were finished running from those weird guys in wolf masks, I think I physically felt my heart stop.

So many years gone...where was he all this time?

He brought me into a deep hug as soon as the portal gate had closed.

I didn't know what to do.

I didn't know what I could do.

"Uh! I need a minute!"

I pushed Zane away.

I ran off, I found my old room, everything was just how I left it so many years ago.

Where do I even start with all of this? What do I tell Zane? What do I tell Geo?

What do I even want?

I love them both...

-----

Cole had run off in distress, leaving everyone else in the room in an awkward silence.

Geo put a hand over Zane's shoulders.

"I think we should sit down somewhere and talk."

Sitting down outside, Geo comforted Zane while he tried to process what was going on.

"Why did he...run away from me?" Zane almost whispered, a face to his face, his eyes began to water.

"it's been so long...I thought he was dead...it doesn't make any sense!"

Geo gave Zane a firm squeeze on the shoulder.

"I think he's in as much shock as you are. He thought he lost you."

"I also think he doesn't know what to do...know that we've been dating for several years..."

Zane looked over at Geo, hurt in his eyes, but not directed towards the other being beside him.

"That would make sense. I suppose I wouldn't know what to do in his position either..."

"You're not angry? I was kind of worried you'd beat me up when I told you we're together-"

"What? No, of course not! It would be extremely unfair to Cole to stay single under the presumption that he might one day find me again. I would want him to find someone in the situation we found ourselves in. He doesn't deserve to be alone."

"But I must admit that regardless, this current situation is quite messy."

"I don't think it has to be." Geo smiled, Zane looking back with curiosity.

"You know, this may be pretty forward, but you're as beautiful as Cole described! Everything he told me about you has so far been proven to be true!"

Zane became flustered, heat rushing towards his face as his fans whirred to keep him cool.

That's when they began to discuss polyamory, and idea Zane had never been opposed to, but always thought was too socially unacceptable to talk about. Geo mentioned it was pretty normalized for him in his culture(s), and mentioned it was something Cole has once toyed with, in his younger years.

"I had no idea Cole was so adventurous when he was younger..."

"He told me he wanted to experience everything after running away from that dancing school, he wanted to stop thinking about how his father would react to him being himself, so he wanted to replace it with as many people as possible. He was in a polycule for a little while, before he became a ninja. I guess maybe he never felt comfortable enough to talk about it?"

"Yeah, who knows what the others would've thought at the time." Zane said.

"it's a lot more accepted now!" Geo agreed.

"So, what do we tell Cole?" Zane asked after a while.

-----

(ending here but will probably eventually post on AO3 or something)

[usagirotten]

Top 20 Cyberpunk Anime to Watch: Dive into Futuristic Worlds and Captivating Narratives

Hey there, cyberpunk enthusiasts! Are you ready to dive headfirst into a mesmerizing world of high-tech wonders and dystopian futures? Look no further because we've curated a list of the top 20 cyberpunk anime series that will transport you to neon-lit cities, challenge your perceptions, and ignite your imagination. Get ready to explore captivating narratives, complex characters, and mind-bending themes. Let's embark on this thrilling journey together!

- "Ghost in the Shell" - Step into a world where humans and machines coexist, as Major Motoko Kusanagi tackles cybercrime and questions the nature of consciousness.

- "Akira" - Witness the explosive tale of Kaneda and Tetsuo in Neo-Tokyo, a city plagued by government conspiracies and powerful psychic abilities.

- "Psycho-Pass" - Enter a future society where crime can be predicted, and join Inspector Akane Tsunemori as she fights against a corrupt system.

- "Serial Experiments Lain" - Delve into the enigmatic world of the Wired alongside Lain, a young girl who becomes entangled in a web of technology and identity.

- "Cowboy Bebop" - Join the crew of the Bebop spaceship as they embark on thrilling bounty-hunting adventures set to a captivating jazz soundtrack.

- "Ergo Proxy" - Explore a post-apocalyptic world where Re-l Mayer uncovers the secrets behind her existence, blurring the lines between human and android. - "Steins;Gate" - Experience a mind-bending time travel adventure as a group of friends accidentally stumble upon the ability to change the past. - "No. 6" - Follow the journey of Shion as he unravels the truth behind a seemingly perfect utopian city and joins the fight against its oppressive regime. "Texhnolyze" - Immerse yourself in the gritty underworld of Lux, a city torn apart by gang warfare and the merging of humans and machines.

- "Bubblegum Crisis" - Travel back to the '80s and join the Knight Sabers as they protect the city from rogue robots and corporate greed. - "Neon Genesis Evangelion" - Witness the intense battles of teenage pilots as they defend humanity against mysterious creatures known as Angels. - "Blade Runner: Black Lotus" - Based on the iconic film, this series follows a young woman who becomes embroiled in a dangerous conspiracy. - "Darker than Black" - Enter a world where contractors with supernatural abilities carry out covert missions in the shadows of society.

- "Armitage III" - Join detective Ross Sylibus as he investigates a series of murders involving robots with human-like emotions. - "A.I.C.O. -Incarnation-" - Follow Aiko, a high school student with a mysterious past, as she uncovers the truth about a devastating phenomenon. - "Mardock Scramble" - Dive into a dark and gritty world where a young woman, Balot, seeks revenge against those who have wronged her. - "Bubblegum Crisis Tokyo 2040" - Experience a reimagining of the original series, following a group of women who don powered suits to fight against rogue robots. - "Arise: Ghost in the Shell" - Explore the origins of Section 9 and witness Major Motoko Kusanagi's early days as a cyborg detective. - "Megazone 23" - Join Shogo Yahagi as he uncovers the truth about his city and the secrets hidden within a virtual reality game. - "Cyber City Oedo 808" - Enter the crime-ridden streets of Oedo City, where three criminals are given a chance at redemption by working as cyber cops. There you have it—a comprehensive list of the top 20 cyberpunk anime series that will transport you to immersive worlds, challenge your perception of reality, and leave you craving for more. Join our community of cyberpunk enthusiasts, share your favorite moments, and dive into the electrifying conversations that blur the lines between humanity and technology. Together, let's embrace the future and explore the endless possibilities of this captivating genre. Read the full article

[slyvieselkie]

Welcome to Estoria

A small exhale is announced by the misty puff dancing through the crisp air, it then fades to reveal a gorgeous sight in the distance. Amongst the lush green mountains and gentle navy ripples, a castle stood proudly. Glowing behind a light veil of mist, it seems to draw all travelers in. You approach the towering building with steps accompanied by the light snapping of leaves, the silvery gates open as if they knew you would come.

Ah you might've notice, time goes different here. It can be whenever you want and how long you want it to stay for. Now, I'm sure you'd rather do something then just stand around here. Estoria is all yours to explore.

How about the garden?

Come smell the sweet scents of the flowers and lose yourself in the vibrant maze. It never seems to end, every turn leads you deeper into the floral dimension and to new discoveries. Have you found the lotus pond yet? What about the sunflower field? Or do you prefer to gaze at the cherry blossom trees?

And maybe if you're there for long enough, the bud within your heart will also blossom.

How about the lake?

If you're feeling a little down, you might prefer the lake. Surrounded by a tranquil silence, a willow tree forever weeps its tears of leaves and petals into the crystal clearness. Some say the willow was once human like you and I, but tragedy struck and the poor soul disappeared into the lake. Not long after, this tree began to grow.

Maybe they came back, here to comfort those who are in pain.

How about the resting chambers?

The chambers are a place of privacy, where relaxation and excitement can merge into one. Don't shy and let your body just melt into the sheets. Let the silk fabrics glide across your skin, soaking up the glistening layer. Rest your head against the pillow and allow the heat to build up.

Pss, check the nightstand draws.

How about the dungeon?

Oh my, you're quite the brave one. Are you sure you'd like to explore the darkness below? Those who roam down there are...they're different. They have a different look in their eye, a weird glint, and a smile that always feels so unnerving. And if you catch their attention, you will be doomed.

I can't stop you if you wish to go but please stay safe

How about the cemetery?

Our graves are a little different you will soon see. Adorned in only the most precious gems, they lie in neat rows and cherish carefully. After all, here lies the foundations of Estoria. Kings, queens, triumphant monarchs of their time. But they were only human after all.

They bathed in golden glory and drowned in misery, leaving behind a tale of caution.

How about the wishing well?

Does nothing satisfy you? Then you should head down to the wishing well, here, take a coin with you. What should you ask for? Whatever you want. Maybe you want to build zoo here, that would be cool. Or maybe you want your own story to come true?

Gracefully ask and if you are lucky, Estoria will graciously grant.