#ou content

[sableflynn]

all stilled

Felicia tries to slip out in the night.

(non-explicit noncon warning)

---

She slept in his bed for a week before she dared to make a move.

Rain lashed the windows, ran down in rivulets. She could almost convince herself that the sound of it would mask her movements, muffle her sounds as she crept out of the room and fled this miserable house.

In sleep, his grip around her had loosened to a single arm tossed over her side, not quite brushing her bare breasts. She shifted minutely, holding her breath as he breathed evenly beside her. Each rustle of the sheets spiked through her, and she was sure it would wake him—but then she was out of his grip, and her feet were on the hardwood as she sat at the edge of the bed, and he slept on.

She was in his room. Not her own prison cell of a room, not the basement with its chains and knives, but his bedroom, and she was untethered, and he was asleep, and as she carefully lifted herself off the bed she swore she’d find something here to make it worthwhile.

She stood frozen, counting her heartbeats as she watched him. He didn’t stir. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and her gaze settled across the room, on the door.

Her steps were silent as she crossed the room, and he still slept. She considered the bedroom door, the ornate handle, and threw another look over her shoulder at the bed. He still slept.

The metal of the door handle was cool under her palm, and—locked. There was no mechanism she could see, no keyhole or deadbolt, but the door wouldn’t open—

He was watching her.

She knew it without turning to look, in the way that all prey is acutely aware of a predator’s presence. She didn’t need to look at him to know that his eyes were gleaming in the dark, and his lips were curving into a smile. She felt him looking, and some part of her already knew she had lost.

But she was untethered, and she was somewhere new and there had to be something in his room she could use, so she forced herself to ignore him and continued her slow circle around the room.

The door was locked, useless, but maybe something in his desk, maybe the balcony door—

“Tomorrow, I’m going to bring you to the basement and whip you.”

She flicked a glance at him; he was already half-hard.

“Twenty times,” he continued as she made her way across the room. “I’m going to keep adding more until you get back into bed.”

She pressed against the unyielding balcony door, dread and frustration wrestling in her mind. She wasn’t getting out. There was no point in delaying the inevitable, making things worse for herself.

“Twenty five.”

But every atom of her being rebelled against it; she could no more bring herself back to that bed than she could grow wings and fly from this place.

His desk. It was a small thing, not like the behemoth in his office, but still, there had to be something—

“Thirty.”

Locked. The drawers were locked, and her frustration grew into silent rage and she clawed at the table, flinging frantic arms across it and sending pens and trinkets skittering across the hardwood floor—

“Thirty five.”

—and as soon as the rage had flared, it was extinguished. She wasn’t leaving. She’d have screamed, if she had a voice that mattered.

She dragged herself back to the bed and stood naked just beyond his reach. Shadows shifted across his face as his eyes trailed up and down her body.

“Forty,” he said.

She fell back onto the bed. The sheets were still warm where she’d been lying; the whole thing couldn’t have taken more than five minutes.

He cupped her cheek and traced his thumb along her cheekbone. “If you get me off now,” he said, hand sliding to the back of her head and exerting the slightest pressure, “I’ll let you choose what I whip you with tomorrow.”

He was all shadows now, and that made it easier for her to shut him out. She ducked out from under his grasp and rolled over to sleep, her back curled from him. There was a huff of a sound from him that might have been a laugh, and then he lay beside her. His arms were a vice around her, his arousal a knife in her back. Somehow, she slept.

[kaiser1ns]

hear me out cuz chika reminded me so much of someone and when i was clearing my gallery I saw a picture of akura-ou I CAN'T UNSEEN IT NOW they are both evil and pretty red-heads, chillin like a villains

even tho im speaking mainly visual wise because they personalities are kinda similar in some ways but the thing they have in common is being blunt, violent and confident in their powers, taking parts of doing meaningless and bloodthirsty fights.

also their clothing style too please see what i see ‼️

[huldrabitch]

All the DA2 romances alsmost feel a bit unfullfilling to me, are there many others that prefer Hawke single with the subtext of an unspoken Varric thing?

[lobaznyuk]

[stormbreaker-290]

G u h

[yelly-lemon]

HONESTLY

I'm a total sucker for stoic characters having their stomach rumble

Like they either go completely quiet, their cheeks flushing just a tiny bit while their eyes widen slightly in surprise, or they groan softly with a frown and try their best to ignore it.

Yes this is about C.yno and T.ecchou

[itzme-thefaust]

why does no one else wanna date the time ripper

[zeia]

Ever wanted to know what the pages look like without the lines?

Doesn' matter, now you know!

They're smooth

actual page here, for reference

[miumura]

look what was on my feed 😓😓

Hey so uh turn around 😁

[kakyogay]

I like how I can say I'm gonna draw gay robots and no one would know which gay robots I'm talking about because there are so many robots who are gay spinning in my head

[sableflynn]

Out unseen - ch. 13

first | previous | next

Elyse and Volkan have a conversation. Anna goes deeper undercover.

contents: beatings, referenced noncon, and the one and only ✨forced to watch✨

Read on Ao3

---

Elyse had never wanted to be a leader.

Strictly speaking, she wasn’t—they weren’t any sort of formal team or anything with a hierarchy, they were a group of friends sharing an apartment and trying to fix some of the wrongs in the world. But stakes grew higher, and decisions had to be made, and one day Elyse realized everyone was turning to her for the last word. Trusting her to make the right call.

She took it on, because she had to. But now Felicia was gone, and the note from Volkan sat on her desk and burned a hole in her mind, and she wished more than anything that someone else could tell her what to do.

1 pm. To discuss the enclosed. Come alone. It was 12:55.

She’d attached the calling charm to her mirror, locked everyone else out of the room, and now all she could do was count the seconds in her beating heart. Autumn rain lashed the window outside, ripping bright leaves from trees in sodden clumps, darkening the room even in midday. The shadows stretched long across the hardwood floor, leeching the color from everything they touched.

Elyse barely spent time in the bedroom anymore. Everything that had once been a comfort was now a sharp pain, a pick in her chest, a reminder she couldn’t ignore. By daylight she found herself anywhere but there, keeping herself busy, convincing herself she was making progress. When night fell and exhaustion finally dragged her to her cold, empty bed, she lay alone, images of Felicia burned into her mind, Felicia tortured, raped—

Elyse drew in a shuddering breath and forced herself to stare into the mirror.

12:56. Felicia’s hairbrush sat on the table, coppery strands still wound in the bristles. A hair elastic was wrapped around the handle.

12:57. A soft green skirt lay on the ground where she’d slid out of it before slipping into bed. Elyse couldn’t bring herself to put it away. It would feel like giving up.

12:58. 12:59.

She blinked, and Volkan was there.

It was like looking through a window into another room a world away. He was in what must be his office, relaxed in a leather chair, framed by the bookshelves lining the wall behind him. As she took him in, took in his room, she realized he was looking not at her but past her, taking in her own room in turn. She knew what he saw: the unmade bed, Felicia’s clothes left on the ground, absence filling the space like a ghost. Elyse twitched with the suppressed desire to block his view of the room.

The faintest smile ghosted his face; she wanted to break through the glass and slap it off of him.

“Elyse.” He inclined his head at her in greeting. “It’s a delight to meet you at last.”

“Let me see her.” She wanted the words to be firm, cold, authoritative, but she sounded like nothing so much as a petulant child.

“Are you sure you want her here for this conversation?” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “It could be—”

“Let me see her.”

Volkan held her gaze, and then his smile broadened, and he stood. “One moment.” He walked out of her line of vision, and he was gone.

Her nerves were tingling. She gripped the edge of the desk, leaning close to the mirror, and then a few seconds or hours later, Volkan returned with Felicia.

She was Felicia, the Felicia who Elyse loved, the Felicia of the photos, the Felicia of Elyse’s nightmares. Warm red hair gone lank and dull, freckled skin a marbled canvas of white and black and blue, arms crossed across her chest in a futile protective gesture.

The worst of it all were the tiny details Elyse’s nightmares couldn’t capture. It wasn’t just the exhaustion in her eyes, the slip of a dress that did nothing to hide the bruising covering her body. It was the way she hunched into herself, barely perceptible but always present. It was the casual ownership in Volkan’s touch, the way he moved her body around like nothing. It was the way something in her faded every time Volkan’s hands touched her skin. Elyse had never seen Felicia make herself small before.

“Felicia,” she said, her throat dry, swallowing against the tremor in her voice. Felicia’s gaze bored into her, gripping her heart with its intensity, and her mouth silently formed Elyse. Behind her, Volkan settled his hands on her bare shoulders, and she flinched but held her gaze.

This is a game for him, Elyse thought—and it had been obvious from the start, but she felt it more starkly now than ever, as his greedy gaze drank up her every flicker of reaction. Even now, able to see Felicia for the first time in a month, her reaction was nothing but a performance for him, her grief another layer of entertainment.

She needed to cut to the chase, to ask him what he wanted, why he had arranged this meeting, but all she could do was take in Felicia, scared and strong, chest rising with shallow breaths, bruises darkening her cheekbone, Felicia—

“She’s been a great help with my research,” Volkan said, his large hands rubbing circles into Felicia’s shoulders. “Felicia, tell Elyse about what we’ve been doing together.”

Felicia swallowed and stepped away from Volkan’s touch. “He…we…”

It was the first time Elyse had heard Felicia’s voice since she’d been taken and it was a shard in her heart. Felicia glanced back towards Volkan, and when she turned to look at Elyse again, there was something of fire in her eyes. She began to speak very quickly.

“We’re somewhere up north. The trees—there’s woods, and a town nearby, and I can see mountains—”

Volkan moved faster than her eyes could track, and the sound of the slap rang out before she could process what Felicia had said. She stumbled from the slap, her steps making distance between them, her hand to her cheek and the fire still in her eyes. Volkan, more amused than anything, opened his mouth to speak, but Felicia cut him off.

“He’s working with Gabriel Davids, from the university—”

The amusement was gone from Volkan’s expression, and when he hit her, it wasn’t a slap, but a punch to the jaw. Elyse gasped, and Felicia fell back, and Volkan hit her a second, third time.

It was the photos come to life, and it was worse than Elyse could’ve imagined. She breathed out, “Stop,” and hated herself for the distance between them, and with another blow Felicia collapsed to the ground. Volkan studied her fallen form, gave a final kick to her ribs, and the smile that returned to his face had a darker edge to it.

“You’d think she would’ve learned what her mouth is for by now,” he said conversationally, nudging her curled form with his shoe.

Elyse’s fists were curled, nails digging hard enough to draw blood. She bit down the half-dozen retorts—she couldn’t afford to antagonize him, not with Felicia at his feet, unmoving—and tried to keep her voice steady as she asked, “What do you want?”

“For her?” He glanced down at Felicia, then smiled back up at Elyse. “You tell me. What are you willing to offer to get her back?”

She studied him, his self-assured smile, the easy confidence. He had to have an angle. He hadn’t bothered to arrange this meeting for nothing. “You aren’t looking for money…” she began cautiously.

He held her gaze a heartbeat longer, daring her to continue, and then dipped his head in acknowledgement. “You need to stay out of my business.”

It wasn’t completely unexpected, but she watched him warily. He stepped over Felicia as if she weren’t there, walking closer to Elyse—no, closer to the mirror.

“I’ll admit, it was charming at first, watching you and your friends make your attempts on my operations. Darya and Kailo, always sticking their noses in my trade deals. You and Marcus, staking out my home like you’re going to make a difference. You’ve assembled quite a little crew.”

(He didn’t mention Anna, she realized, his intel isn’t flawless—and then she halted that train of thought before her expression betrayed her.)

“But it ends now.” Despite his affected air of casualness, his eyes were hard. “You call off your friends, you stop interfering with my operations, and you end your ridiculous attempt at investigating matters that don’t involve you.”

So somewhere, the work they’d been doing struck a nerve. But she’d give it up a million times to get Felicia back. “We do that,” she said, scared to believe it was that easy, “and you’ll let her go?”

“No.” The word was a knife. “You do that, and I won’t strangle her and send her back to you in pieces.”

The heat rose in her voice. “You’re already going to kill her either way—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to kill her for no reason.” Behind him, Felicia had pulled herself up to sitting, but made no move to stand. Her face was blank. “Once we finish our work together, I’ll sell her off to someone else. You can pester them if you still want her back.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to argue, but he cut her off. “This isn’t a business meeting. I’m not offering you a deal.” He was close now, and his eyes were cold. “I’m giving you a warning.”

Her breath caught in her chest. He was watching her, tracing her reaction, and her mind was buzzing. She looked past him to Felicia, who was still sitting with her legs curled beneath her, whose lip was bleeding and whose eyes were a thousand miles away.

If Volkan ended the conversation, Elyse would never see Felicia again. The door was quickly closing, and she needed to force it back open.

She locked eyes with Volkan and said, “Then let’s make this a business meeting.”

He raised an eyebrow at that and looked almost impressed—fuck him, she wasn’t trying to impress him, she didn’t want his approval—and he nodded. “Go ahead.”

Keep him talking. She needed more information, and she couldn’t ask any more of Felicia. He had the upper hand, and he knew it, but the more he spoke, the more likely he’d let something useful drop.

Hating herself for playing along with him, hating the question, hating the answer she anticipated, she said, “You never did tell me what it is you’re doing together.”

His smile made her stomach churn. He let the question hang in the air a heartbeat, then said, “We’re conducting research together.”

Research. He had mentioned that earlier. She held his gaze, tried to keep her expression neutral, wondered if he would elaborate or if he’d force her to ask question after question—

“We’re researching magical healing techniques, its effects and applications. Ways that a healer can turn that power on themself, heal their own burns or bruises or broken bones.” The image flashed in Elyse’s mind, the photo of Felicia’s arm snapped like a twig. “It’s such a complex field, and some avenues have been woefully underexplored. But Felicia’s been capable of some remarkable things when I push her.” He glanced back at Felicia then, almost affectionate. “She’s been an invaluable asset.”

Elyse grit her teeth and refused to dwell on the implications. Behind Volkan, Felicia sat still, staring at nothing in particular, blood dripping from her lip to the ground. She’s not an asset, Elyse thought, she’s a person. But what she said was, “Don’t try to dress this up as some legitimate research venture. It’s kidnapping and torture.”

He actually laughed at that, and it pissed her off. “Don’t be so self-righteous, Elyse,” he said. “We are making important discoveries here.” We, we, as if Felicia were a willing participant in this. “And when the time comes, I have ways of turning my findings legitimate.”

Gabriel Davids, from the university. How many other contacts at the university did he have? How many avenues of influence across the city? And how the fuck could she possibly negotiate to get Felicia back, when he had everything and there was nothing she could offer him, and—

“I can tell you’re really upset about all this.” His cloyingly faux-sympathetic tone was almost enough to push her over the edge, but she bit her tongue and forced herself to lock eyes with him. “You have to understand, I have my own obligations and interests to think of. But I’m not entirely unreasonable.” He paused to consider, almost theatrical. “She’s a good enough healer, but she’s not irreplaceable. If you find me another decent healer who can take whatever I do to them, I’d be happy to make a switch.”

Elyse’s mind was blank, wrapping around what he was saying. “Find another—”

“You live near the university.” It wasn’t a question. “It wouldn’t be too hard to find another healer to take her place.”

And for a bright, horrible moment, Elyse considered it. People came from all over the world to work and study in Trisgate. People starting over in the big city, no friends, no family. It would be easy enough to find someone that nobody would miss. Just one stranger’s life, and then she’d have Felicia back and this nightmare would be over.

And they’d be condemning another to torture. And they’d never be able to untangle themselves from Volkan’s evil and the part they’d played in it.

“No,” Elyse said, forcing the thoughts from her head. “You’re insane. We’re not bringing anyone else into this.”

Volkan shrugged. “This is the best offer I can make you. Take it or leave it.”

“We’re not bartering lives with you.” As she spoke, she looked not at Volkan but at Felicia, not knowing what she wanted to see—forgiveness? Understanding? But Felicia’s eyes were empty and her mind was a thousand miles away. Even anger would’ve been better. It was as if Felicia wasn’t even there.

“Then there’s no point in continuing this conversation.” The finality in Volkan’s tone froze her heart.

“Wait—”

“I made you an offer, and you aren’t interested.” He was moving closer to the mirror, fuck, he was going to end it all— “And remember, you’re going to stop interfering with my work. That’s not negotiable.”

“Volkan, wait—” Her mind was racing, but there was nothing she could say, and he was going to end the conversation, and Felicia sat still as a statue behind him. “Felicia—”

At the sound of her name, Felicia looked up, and locked eyes with Elyse with a burning intensity.

And then she was gone and Elyse was staring into her own eyes in the mirror.

“Fuck,” she breathed, and she started to sob.

She was alone in her room, the walls closing in on her, storm still raging outside, and her mirror was just a mirror, and Felicia was gone, and now they were even worse off than when they’d started—

No. Felicia had given her information, and paid dearly for it. Elyse couldn’t let that go to waste.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, wiped the tears from her face, and took one last look at her reddened eyes in the mirror.

The others were waiting for her. She needed to be a leader and tell them what she had learned.

***

The tension in the living room was a physical thing, choking Elyse as she stepped into the room and everyone’s gaze immediately turned on her. Marcus sat in an armchair, fingers drumming the worn armrest; Darya paced, more restless than she’d ever been; Kailo was on the couch, still, his energy drawn inward. The moment balanced on a knife’s edge; she had made a choice, and they knew nothing, and they were waiting, and she realized she had no idea what to say.

Marcus opened his mouth to ask something and, suddenly desperate to control the situation, Elyse blurted out, “She’s alive.”

Something of a collective breath of relief settled over the room, taking the edge off the tension. Elyse sank onto the couch next to Kailo, her mind sifting through everything of the conversation, trying to untangle a thread she could lead them with. She’s alive. He’ll kill her if we move against him. Gabriel Davids, from the university. Volkan’s fist cracking against Felicia’s jaw.

Start at the beginning. “They’re up north,” she said.

“Did he tell you that?” Marcus leaned forward in his chair, heightened, suspicious. “Why should we believe anything he says?”

Elyse looked him in the eye. “She said that.”

“How was she?” Kailo’s voice was small; as she turned to him, he flushed, as if he regretted the question but couldn’t stop himself.

Felicia curled on the ground, Volkan delivering a final harsh kick to her ribs. The urge to reassure Kailo competed with the need to tell the truth, and Elyse didn’t have a way to answer that question without bursting into tears.

“He’s working with Gabriel Davids,” she said instead. “He’s from the university. One of the most well-respected healers in the city.” She’d heard the name before, in passing; his connection to Volkan caught her completely off-guard.

“He wasn’t on our radar at all.” Darya leaned over the back of an unoccupied chair, brow furrowed. “If we—”

“We can’t.” Elyse was terrified to let Darya even finish that thought, terrified of what would happen to Felicia, what was happening to her at this very moment. “This whole call—it was a warning. We were getting too close to—to something, I don’t know, and if we keep going, he’ll kill her.”

The finality of the words hung heavy in the stunned silence. Elyse’s heart was pounding so hard, she was sure they could all hear it.

Marcus finally spoke. “We were so close…if we could just—”

“We can’t. It doesn’t matter how close we get, he has everything.” He has Felicia. “He knows all of us somehow, he said your names—”

And then she caught herself, because no, he didn’t have everything.

Kailo picked up on her hesitation. “But?”

“He doesn’t know about Anna.”

It had been weeks since Anna had slipped away to work her way into Becker’s crew, to follow his tenuous connection to Volkan and find a way to get Felicia out of there. It was the closest thing they had to a lead, and if Volkan hadn’t mentioned her name, if he didn’t know who she was and her cover was still secure…

“I haven’t heard from her in a bit, but—that means she’s close. It has to,” Elyse continued, half-trying to convince herself. “She’s finding a way in, and they don’t know her, and…”

Marcus flared up at that. “So we’re just gonna sit around and wait for Anna to figure something out,” he snapped. “And meanwhile, Felicia’s with that creep, getting beaten or—”

“Marcus.” Darya’s voice was sharp, laced with anger covering fear, and her cheeks were damp with tears.

She’s the only one besides me who saw the photos, Elyse realized. The only other one who had a real idea of what condition Felicia was in at that moment. She wanted to grab Darya’s hand in comfort, but instead she turned back to Marcus. “Do you have a better idea?”

He was silent at that, but the space yawned with what she wasn’t telling them: the offer she hadn’t accepted, the one chance they had and she’d refused it. It must’ve been written plain across her face; she couldn’t believe no one was pushing her on it. Felicia wasn’t coming home, and it was because of the choice Elyse had made, and she was paralyzed with it.

“So we know she’s alive, and we have some information about where she is…” Kailo began, gently, and Elyse could’ve hugged him for how easily he broke the tension. “Can you get that information to Anna?”

“I don’t have a way to contact her,” she said. “I’ve just been waiting for her to call when she’s able. But she’s getting in deeper with them; she hasn’t been able to call as much lately.” Her hands trembled in her lap; she clasped them to still them. “But it’s something.”

Their eyes were all on her: Kailo, next to her on the couch; Darya, moving restlessly from the window to the couch and back again; Marcus, still and searching. It was something, she kept saying, but they needed more. She stood, trying to set herself as solid and determined, knowing she was scared and useless.

“We can’t make a move yet,” she continued. “But we have more information. We can look at maps, cross-reference with what she—” Her voice wavered, and she fought to keep it still. “What she told us. It has to mean something.”

Her breath was coming shorter and shorter, and she couldn’t hide the trembling in her hands no matter how hard she clasped. The emotions were too much, too close to spilling over. It’s done, she told herself. There isn’t anything else we can do right now. And if she spent another minute in that room with everyone watching her and waiting, she would break.

She left the conversation and made her way to the kitchen. The storm had finally blown over, and feeble sunlight broke through the lingering clouds to bathe the countertops in a warm glow. She grabbed a mug from the shelf and poured herself some stale coffee; she wasn’t going to sleep that night either way, she might as well self-sabotage.

It was 1:40. The conversation with Volkan and the follow-up with everyone else had barely taken more than a half hour. The entire rest of the day stretched before her, an endless expanse for her to fill with nothing but her thoughts, until she crawled into her empty bed and didn’t sleep and turned all night with the same thoughts in a spiraling cycle that only captured a fragment of whatever Felicia was facing.

She should’ve taken Volkan’s deal. She stood up there with her false confidence, acting like she was some sort of leader, but she’d dropped the only chance they had. What the fuck was wrong with her, she should’ve at least pretended to go along with it, buy them some time, make an opening for Volkan to slip up—

Marcus entered the kitchen; perhaps he was trying to be quiet, but his presence was too loud. Elyse extricated herself from the slow spiral of her thoughts, poured him a mug of coffee and handed it to him without a word. He took it and cupped it in his hands, resting his elbows on the island counter. In the slanting sunlight, his skin took on a warm glow. He breathed deeply, his eyes half-shut, and finally: “You didn’t actually tell us how she was.”

All at once, Elyse was exhausted. “How do you think she was?”

“It’s just—you saw her.” His eyes were open now, and locked on her across the island. “All this time, I’ve been terrified she was dead.” His voice caught on the word, but he stumbled on. “I couldn’t even imagine—what did it look like?”

The question caught her off-guard. “What?”

“His house—the room. Wherever he’s keeping her.” He leaned forward across the island, and it hit her: he was grasping for details, needing more than what she’d given them. Terrified of the unknown.

But she was empty, and had nothing left to give. “I don’t know, Marcus. It was an office. A nice chair and some bookshelves.” And gleaming hardwood floors, when Felicia had sprawled at Volkan’s feet.

“That’s it? An office?”

“What do you want from me, Marcus?”

His face told her he wanted exactly what she wanted: Felicia home, safe. He set the mug down and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I just—there needs to be more.”

Her blood ran cold. There was more, a deal she should’ve taken, a slim but extant chance to bring Felicia home. “More what?”

“More…something. This is the closest we’ve gotten since she—” He cut himself off, looked down at his clenched hands, then continued. “It didn’t get us shit. I thought you’d have something…real for us.”

Her blood turned from ice to fire at that, his blame and her own guilt kindling into slowly-growing anger. “Felicia gave us something,” she reminded him. “She told us where they are, gave us names, and Anna—”

“Fuck that,” he snapped. “Maybe you’re fine with waiting around for Anna to solve things, but I’m not. Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one who actually gives a shit about Felicia.”

It was a slap in the face. She wanted to slap him in turn, but her hands had never been her weapon.

“Remind me, Marcus,” she said slowly, coldly, “how did she end up with Volkan in the first place?”

He looked as if she had slapped him. Hypocrite. “How can you even—”

“I’m telling you that if we make one wrong move, he’s going to kill her.” Marcus would’ve taken the deal in a heartbeat. The thought hit her, and she brushed it aside like cobwebs. “So we can’t—”

“We can’t, do you ever—”

“Let me talk, Marcus. Just because you hate yourself for leaving Felicia to die—” It was cruel and she couldn’t care; she barreled on. “—it doesn’t mean I’ll let you risk her life again now. He said he’d—” Kill her and send her back to you in pieces. “He—” Felicia crumpling as his fist smashed across her face, curling on the ground, blood dripping from her nose—

She couldn’t breathe. What was happening to Felicia, right now, while they stood here and argued about it? How many more ways could he hurt her? She rubbed furiously at her eyes to scrub away the images; her fists came away wet with tears.

She couldn’t look at Marcus, but she felt his eyes on her. “Elyse…”

“When Felicia gave me that information,” she began, voice shaking, “he beat her so badly she could barely move.” She stared at the cooling mug of coffee in her hands, the dusk of the setting sun fading from the countertop. “He beat her, and it just kept going, and I couldn’t do a thing, and I just had to stand there and watch it—” She swallowed back the tears and looked at Marcus’s face then. The anger and frustration were still simmering beneath the surface, but something more tender was beginning to break through.

She took a breath. “I don’t know what we can do.”

It was painful to admit to her helplessness; it was worse to know that there was something she could do, and she had refused it. There were no good choices, and she’d still made the wrong one.

Marcus, at last, was silent, his face pale as a ghost. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and she couldn’t imagine how anything he said could help—and then he blew out a weary exhale, shifting to lean against the counter and look out the window, the lingering autumn twilight smoothing the shadows of his face. The mug of coffee was cold in her hands.

***

People got into the dark underworld of Trisgate one of two ways: either they had the skills and inclination to take everything they wanted, or they got in too deep and owed someone higher up more than they could ever give. Anna couldn't afford to become the second one if she were to have any hope of finding Felicia.

Insinuating herself with Becker’s gang had been easy enough; she lingered, she let them get used to her face, and when the chance arose for her to be useful, she took it. It wasn’t long before she was running jobs with them, working her way deeper into the organization. The weeks passed, and she gained their trust and pretended that the information she passed along for them wouldn’t be used to hurt anyone, that the weapons and drugs she smuggled wouldn’t be used to kidnap and torture and kill people just like Felicia.

Somewhere among all the subterfuge, she’d made enough of a positive impression on Becker to get brought along with his inner circle to that night’s gathering: a cocktail party, an intimate gathering hosted by some magnate with his fingers in all the city’s magical materials trade, a rumored business contact of Volkan’s. Another in for Anna, a chance to listen and learn.

She mingled that night, a glass of wine dangling from her fingers, drink untouched but a prop in the part she was playing. Her ears were attuned for any mention of Volkan’s name, but the conversations around her layered and tangled, names and companies and places, so many facets to this dark underworld that were impossible for her to tease apart.

The host. Fuck, what was his name? Emmett, Evanson? If she could meet him—or if she could linger in his vicinity while others chatted him up—he was a tenuous connection to Volkan, but it could be enough. She scanned the room, but he’d introduced himself and welcomed everyone at the start of the party, and she hadn’t seen him since. Her gaze trailed past the buffet, the dance floor, and there: the courtyard doors were open, but few guests had ventured out after the storm that tore through earlier that day. Maybe Elmer or whatever his name was had stepped out for some air—or for a private conversation.

Her short heels clicked on the stone steps as she made her way outside, breathing in the sweet scent of rain. The earlier storm had given way to an unseasonable warmth, tree branches shaking off water droplets with each shift in the breeze. The courtyard was expansive; winding paths snaked through neatly trimmed hedges, trees headed towards winter dormancy, hidden nooks with stone benches invited clandestine conversations.

Anna made her way among the shrubbery, hoping she’d find the night’s host, but with each step carrying her further from the party, she realized how much she needed the air and the space and the stillness. Even alone, she couldn’t fully let her guard down—she could run into someone at any time—but it was a step removed from the constant performance that her life had become those past months, the agonizing balancing act of ingratiating herself with cruelty without doing more than she could ever take back.

The courtyard was still and quiet in the way of dusk following a storm. A cool breeze brushed the trees, a fountain gurgled, and the murmur of the party sounded a thousand miles away. She was alone, and as much as she craved it, it wasn’t where she needed to be. She took a few breaths and braced herself to put the mask fully back on, and then she heard distinct rustling from the bushes.

She acted on instinct, tracking the darker shadow among the shadows, grabbing a body and forcing it against the stone wall surrounding the courtyard. A knife flashed in the dark, and she grabbed the wrist and pinned it against the wall and the knife fell, and she was finally able to take a look at who she was holding.

The man was young—more of a boy, really, likely not yet out of his teens. Disarmed, he looked harmless, but for the hot anger simmering in his eyes like coals.

“Who are you?” she hissed, pressing him into the wall.

“Let me go,” he growled, jerking against her with sudden force.

She held firm. “Who are you?” She threw a quick glance behind her, but there was still no one else around. She knew that from inside the light of the party, the courtyard was dark and impenetrable, but the murmur of the fountain would mask any approaching footsteps, and if someone found them—the boy shoved against her again and she almost buckled, but planted her feet and held him in place.

“If you’re nobody, and they find you,” she continued, forcing herself to look into his eyes, “they’re going to kill you.”

It would be nothing to incapacitate him, skinny scrap of a kid that he was, and if she brought him to the others and announced she’d found him skulking around the garden, she’d rise even higher. He could be a gift for Volkan. She could climb to Felicia’s rescue over this boy’s dead body.

“I’m not afraid of you.” The waver in his voice betrayed him. His defiance was a cheap bravado that couldn’t fully cover the scared kid he was underneath.

“I’m serious.” She threw another glance over her shoulders; no one was there. “I don’t know who you are or who you came here to kill, but if you go in there, you will die. And then you’ll never get the revenge or whatever it is you’re after.”

Her words got through to him, and he softened. “Help me,” he whispered.

“I am.”

“No, I mean, help me fight them. We could take them down together—”

“No. It doesn’t work like that. You aren’t going to sneak in there and bring down the systematic corruption in this city with your shitty butter knife.” Hadn’t they all thought that, just a few weeks ago? This boy may as well have been Marcus, brash and angry and ready to solve the world’s problems. He may as well have been Felicia, who’d tried and was being repaid tenfold.

Anna pulled back a bit to look the boy in the eye, looking for resignation, maybe, surrender. She saw only the same fire smoldering. “You lost tonight,” she said. “Don’t be stupid. Go home.”

She released him and stepped back, watching. The boy kept his eyes locked on her as he crouched down, fumbled in the dirt for the knife he’d dropped. Found it, slipped it back in its sheath. Then he backed along the wall, away from the party, eyes still on her, until he turned and ran.

She watched him until she could no longer make out his shape in the darkness. Her skin prickled, and she spun around, sure that someone was watching her. The courtyard was still empty. In the distance, the party glowed and murmured. Anna took a breath, ran her hands through her curls, and steeled herself to play her part.

[randomnameless]

Tiens, on est le 21 avril aujourd'hui?

Ca va faire l'anniversaire des 22 ans de Jean-Marie au second tour et où pas mal de personnes censées se sont rendues compte qu'il y avait toute une frange de cons en France : "moi pas content moi mettre coup de pied dans fourmilière alors moi voter pour vieux monsieur qui a formé son parti avec des anciens Waffen-SS et qui a torturé en Algérie et compare les homosexuels au "sel dans la soupe" parce que moi vraiment pas content "

Et depuis on a de plus en plus de cons à tous les niveaux - mais bon, je reste un blog fandom donc parler trop de politique ça va me transformer en bloc de sel géant.

Par contre, avec le fandom actuel sur Fodlan, ben je vois que c'est une tendance de fond apparemment, et ça dépasse nos frontières (ouais on est pas les seuls cons au monde! Youpi!) et c'est toujours aussi inquiétant - je ne parle pas des délurés dans leur caniveau dans un certain serveur de Discord(e) - mais juste un commentaire banal genre :

"J'ai vraiment aimé ta fic du coup j'ai écris la mienne!"

Je me sens un peu flattée qu'un des trucs randoms que j'avais posté ai pu rendre des gens contents ?

"Du coup j'ai aussi repris l'idée de Lycaon l'hybride Nabatéen"

Cool, enfin c'est pas juste moi, les demi dragons, c'est un peu une tradition dans FE et les mondes de fantasy, et puis Fodlan le sous-entend avec certains persos et dialogues et...

"Alors dans mon idée, les hybrides tombent tout le temps malade, jusqu'à que leur descendance ait moins de sang de Nabatéen parce que c'est ça qui les rend fragiles"

... Attends, quoi ??

(gros gros sel sous la coupure)

Moi dans mes délires c'est l'histoire clichée du "il a du sang de créature magique donc ça les rends plus forts/demi-dieux etc etc" avec l'analogie traditionnelle du "ben s'ils peuvent faire des bébés c'est qu'ils ont pas si différents et les deux peuples peuvent s'entendre au lieu de se foutre sur la gueule tout le temps" - il n'a jamais été question de "oui ben l'hybride est mal foutu génétiquement parce que le sang d'une des races n'est pas bon et il survit que s'il se débarrasse de sa partie "autre" " !

Et puis merde, je sais qu'on est dans une fanfic et une oeuvre de fiction, mais c'est super inconfortable de lire ce genre de trucs! Sans rentrer dans les "théories" à la con, ce genre de saloperies a été utilisé dans la vraie vie pour justifier de la merde!

Enfin quoi, on est sur de la fiction, mais on explique que "il est malade parce qu'il n'est pas de sang pur ??" Et ça c'est censé être, genre, normal, et pas un twist où en fait c'est un super raciste qui a "créé" cette maladie pour garder des gens "purs"? C'est juste, euh, "naturel"????

oui bon j'ai relu bleach récemment

Comment un de mes posts a pu inspirer ça?

Tiens, ça me fait penser à cette autre fic qui m'intéressait bien aussi :

Guerre des Héros? Check

Willy ? Check

Lycaon est un hybride? Triple check

Et puis dans les notes de l'auteur "ah oui c'était compliqué pour l'élever en tant que bébé, mais une fois qu'il avait passé sa phase de nabatéen* ça passait"

*Ok, c'est de l'anglais et j'ai peut-être mal compris le "grew out of his nabatean traits" ???

Bordel ça commençait tellement bien, et ça finit comme les épinards de la cantine.

Encore une fois, on est sur de la fanfic alors bon, si quelqu'un écrit sur quelque chose ça ne veut pas forcément dire qu'il est d'accord avec tout ce qu'il écrit ou veut les promouvoir, j'entends bien.

Mais tout de même, je trouve que parler de ça, dans un fandom qui comporte des latrines comme ce fameux sous-serveur, et dont l'oeuvre principale est centrée autour d'une "waifu qui est en fait méchant mais trop kawaii alors tu te sens tristoune de la dégommer mais comme elle trop kawaii personne va lui dire de la boucler ou tout ceux qui le font sont dépeints comme des vilains pas beaux méchants qui à la fin trouvent qu'elle avait pas tort" dont le leitmotiv reste tout de même la volonté de débarrasser le monde du "sang de dragon" (Et personne dans le jeu ne tique ou ne remarque ça pour sortir - à l'époque ce que j'aurais appelé une tarte à la crème mais vu le fandom et les temps actuels ce n'est en fait pas si commun??? - "le racisme ce n'est pas bien" et que tous les persos mettent à leur sauce des "oui mais c'est vrai que le sang de dragon ce n'est pas bien"!) franchement c'est très très bof.

Est-ce que ces "théories racialistes" sur les "hybrides Nabatéens" c'est juste de la liberté littéraire dans le genre de la "darkfic" ou du "dead dove do not eat", ou est-ce que ce sont des effluves nauséabondes qui émanent des toilettes, ou des personnes qui ont joué au jeu et ne se rendant pas compte des énormités de Dedel - qui sont malgré tout passées sous silence par les développeurs et scénaristes eux-mêmes parce qu'il faut vendre des goodies ?

Ça me gonfle parce que normalement, je me dis toujours qu'il faut consommer des choses auxquelles on est pas forcément attirés dès le départ pour élargir ses horizons et peut-être apprécier d'une autre manière quelque chose - mais avec cet univers, avec un fandom (et des jeux) qui nous bassinent en long, en large et en travers "ouin ouin tout ce qui ne va pas dans le monde c'est à cause du sang de Nabatéens" et chie sur, ben, les persos Nabatéens eux-mêmes, une fic qui a part sur un postulat "les hybrides Nabatéens existent, mais ne sont pas viables/en bonne santé/gérables s'ils ont trop de sang Nabatéen", je ne peux/veux plus les lire/voir/écouter.

Comme pour l'utilisateur de Tumblr que j'avais bloqué, sans avoir jamais interagit avec cette personne, mais parce que j'avais lu un billet en mode "oulala rien que de penser à Dedel qui aurait du sang de Nabatéen [encore dans un contexte de demi-nabatéens] ça me rend physiquement malade!" parce que, non seulement, ben ça veut dire que cette personne n'a visiblement pas compris ce qu'est un Emblème dans le jeu, et surtout, parce que ce genre de trucs avec le fandom de FE16, avant même que je ne découvre le trou à fange qu'est le sous-serveur de la Discorde, c'est un gros gros signe que cette vision qu'à cet utilisateur du jeu et la mienne sont tellement incompatibles qu'on ne pourra jamais discuter sereinement dessus, donc blocage automatique.

Je vois le "fandom" comme quelque chose de relaxant où j'ai envie d'être chill et de juste, apprécier des trucs plutôt que de râler (j'ai déjà la vraie vie pour ça), mais là c'est juste, je pense, de la déception (une origo gentis sur les Hresvelg! Un des trucs sur lesquels j'avais déblatéré il y a longtemps! C'est tellement génial de voir que quelqu'un d'autre a eu l'idée d'en faire une! Si seulement il n'y avait pas eu ce foutu commentaire "et en fait les métisses sont malades parce qu'ils ne sont pas viables à cause du sang de l'un de leurs parents mais si ce sang se dilue ils vont mieux"...) et la simple coincidence qu'aujourd'hui on est le 21 avril qui vaut ce bloc de sel.

[the-badger-mole]

Honestly, between Grand Crew and How I Met Your Father, I'm about done with TV and streaming. The only one who has my back is fanfic.

[chujoy098]

i'm just gonna begin posting the stuff that I draw while procrastinating. Translation for my incomprehensible pseudo-cursive garble in image 2: "Thank you. Your power awakened me from death."

[its-sadorable]

I can see why people would want to make angst content for mutant mayhem.

On the other hand. Wow i was ready to go feral just seeing them in danger in the trailers.

[dreamofimmortality]

[Image description: A screenshot of Raikou from the Nabari no Ou anime. He's wearing a colorful mismatched outfit and winking while pointing a finger gun to the side. He says, "Yo!" A glittery pink cursive caption reads, "Sparkle on! It's Wednesday! Don't Forget to be yourself!"

He's shown wearing a frilly shirt with a bunny graphic in the centre, a yellow scarf, heart shaped glasses, and orange pants with hearts on them. The background is yellow and sparkly, and there are some purple roses as well. End description]

1) go read nabari and 2) [gau voice] raimei your brother looks gnc as fuck