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actlikeyoudidntdoit · 4 years ago

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ASSASSIN’S MODERN DAY PROFESSIONS

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ALTAÏR

College Professor

-We all know that Altaïr has spent most of his life teaching, so what better job does he have than a college professor?

-He knows what he’s talking about, that much is certain, but sometimes he gets a little too lost in his lesson to realize that his students are scratching their heads. So it’s normal to have students staying after class, but they leave understanding every word of what he said.

-He’s not the fun teacher, but he’ll be able to teach you what you need and still remember it at the end of the day.

-He’s pretty lenient, and even with the obnoxious students who cause a scene, he calmly gets them to at least do their work.

-Other teachers always use him as a reference when it comes to the perfect teacher.

EZIO AUDITORE

-I can see Ezio being a public speaker since he’s not all that scared of crowds and spends a lot of time giving advice, so I think he’d really enjoy being able to help a crowd of people whose lives are falling apart

-Ezio would be the single anchor in a sea of storms because he always seems to have an answer for everything. He’s a man whose words are turned into inspirational quotes that people hang on their walls.

-When he says that things will be okay, no one doubts him since they know that he lost his father and his brothers very early on and that it took years for Ezio to accept the loss the way he had. If he could soldier through it, why couldn’t they?

-He doesn’t involve himself in politics, finding them to be a waste of time and breath despite how many people ask for his input on the political status of the country he’s staying in.

-He speaks to a lot of people in private, letting them speak their minds and giving his advice if they want it. He’s a therapist without a license, and you always feel hopeful about life leaving his office.

Connor

Construction or Sports

-This boy was designed for heavy work, and I’ve heard some good points in saying that not only would he be amazing at sports, but he’d also really enjoy it too.

-In my personal headcanon, I think he’d be a good construction worker as well. Not the high end kind that build skyscrapers or anything, but I can see him building simple houses for small communities, taking the lower jobs that can’t afford much help like the sweetheart he is. He definitely volunteers to make houses for the homeless.

-Since most of the homeless he helps don’t have much money, he makes sure to offer them baked goods because he’s definitely a baker.

Edward Kenway

-As a young man, he joins the navy

-Once he’s on his own, he buys his own boat and treats it like royalty.

-He’s not a pirate himself, but he does let less legal people on board for a price. At the time, it was just an easy cash pay since people paid good money when they were desperate.

-When he’s older and gets a grip on some of the people he’s helping (like the REALLY bad criminals) he quickly lets it go.

-Yet after seeing some of the more decent people and the places they were running from, I can see him being a sort of smuggler, but instead of smuggling drugs or weapons, he sells medicines, canned foods, and clothes to the regions where they’re scarce or hard to pay for.

-When he’s older and found a fortune over time, he starts up his own official charity, hiring various sailers to sail supplies to more places than he himself could alone.

SHAY CORMAC

-Okay, I have to say it. Shay would DEFINITELY be an FBI spy. Maybe I haven’t thought of it as heavily as I could, but he just strikes me as a man who could kill someone in plain sight and still not be seen.

-He already knows everything he can about infiltrating and getting vital information

-He knows exactly how to manipulate people to get what he wants.

-He’s like Macgyver but as an agent.

-He does things that make sleeping at night impossible, but he tells himself that every long night for him is another person somewhere else having a peaceful night, and peaceful nights means he’s doing his job. Right?

-Constantly questions his morals, but he can’t bring himself to stop, not knowing that he’d do if he stopped, because at least here he’s doing something. He’s contributing.

-That and maybe I might or might not want to see Shay in a suit 🤷‍♀️

AVELINE

-Actress. And a damn good one. She’s one of the kind of people who get paid millions each job and gives most of her cash on people who really need it. Not only that, she’s a fan favorite everywhere.

-She takes extra jobs in smaller businesses barely staying afloat, and public morality boosts has nothing to do with it. In fact, she keeps her fame life out of everything, choosing to see it just as another job.

-I can see her sharing similarities of Zendaya or Zoe Zaldana

ARNO DORIAN

-High school teacher or actor, I can’t decide.

-Because let’s be honest, this guys brain is more wrinkled than a raisin. He knows his stuff.

-He’s good at simplifying what he’s saying, and that happens to be a very useful trait when it comes to teaching.

-If he was a teacher, he’d be a damn good one, that’s for sure. No one will fail his class because he’s so good at explaining things, and he’d be the one who actually cares for his students.

-When it comes to acting... just admit that Arno’s a theater boy through and through. If you need proof, he’s the only one with a crazy amount of fancy robes and colors. FOR GODS SAKE HE OWNS A THEATER! So on modern day, I could totally see him as an actor as well.

-He’d be the Ewan Mcgregor of the modern day, because everyone recognizes him from SOMEWHERE because he’s really tested his acting ability on multiple various roles. Well read, charming, and level headed, he’d totally rock being an actor. He’s good friends with Aveline, and when they both have time in their busy schedules, they stop by for coffee and fill each other in on their life.

JACOB

-Boxing

-I saw the photoshops of Jacob in boxer life, and I have not been the same because oh my god that is amazing.

-but absolutely he’d be a boxer. He’s the shortest guy in the entire match, but he doesn’t need a stool to knock you on your ass before you can laugh about it.

-His opponents are lucky shattering bones is against the rules because he knows how to make someone wish their dad wore a condom.

-A lot of people think that his rounds must be rigged, and his sister had to physically hold him back every time Jacob threatened to give him a close up of how ‘rigged’ his fights were.

-Jacobs a powder keg, so it doesn’t take much to make him explode, and a lot of the less respectful people he has to fight picks particularly sore spots to do just that.

-He might be pissed, but his punch isn’t the only thing that stings. He knows exactly what words to use, and when they’ve gone too far, he doesn’t hold back.

-Might have a temper, but he has a good heart despite it all. He visits schools and completely turns his personality around with kids. He signs autographs, takes pictures, and makes sure that every one of them have a fun day because he knows that there’s some kids in this school that don’t have those kinds of days. He pays the school for field days each time, making sure they all get out. They bring out the scooters, parachutes, capture the flag, and ‘wrestling’ matches for the kids who want to face him. He loses every time. He never has a bigger smile on his face than when he has children fans walk up to him.

EVIE

-She is totally a lawyer and you can’t change my mind.

-Logic and Facts are her strongest weapons, and so far she has yet to lose a debate.

-Every other lawyer knows that seeing Evie walk into court is an instant death sentence, because like her brother, her words are sharp as a knife and her mind is even sharper.

-If they didn’t look identical, no one would believe that she would be related with Jacob the hot headed boxer, because she was level as water and was near impossible to make angry, but god help the poor sod that presses her.

-Her clients almost always get the best case scenario with Evie by their side by how good she is.

-Also like her brother, children are her weak spot, and her hard composure melts whenever she needs to speak to a child in the witness post, making sure that the child feel comfortable unlike the others that drill the kid with questions when they’re too skittish to answer. She takes her time and gets the kid feeling safe, and gently asks their side.

-Evie might not do it as a profession, but Evie has beaten Jacob in the boxing ring in the gym. She knows damn well how to handle herself, knowing she’d need it since she’d be fighting corrupt politicians or gang members who have too often tried attempts at her life. Every time she emerged unscathed, using the attempt at even more evidence against them and insuring a spot in jail. No one dared try attacking her again after that.

BAYEK

-I’m thinking police officer or motivational speaker for trauma.

-Either way, he’s a guardian who takes care of the people he’s in charge of. He knows words well, and having been down the dark path himself, he knows exactly what people experience and what they want to hear.

-Be the change you want to see in the world, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.

-He’d be a well respected officer, and he’s not afraid of telling off a comrade if someone is wrongfully accused. He’s not very popular in the police station, but as long as he’s doing his job, he’s satisfied.

-He’s saved several people over the course in his life, and his word is well honored since he’s on no ones side. He sees things as what they are and doesn’t twist events he disagreed with to his point of view. Even if it hurts him personally, he doesn’t lie.

-He’s divorced, but they’re still best friends with each other and visit when they can.

AYA (ran out of gifs. Sorry)

-She is hands down a self defense teacher for women

-She sells hidden self defense tools for less than ten dollars, always sure to keep constantly supply of them since many have confessed that they’ve saved them from dangerous situations.

-Like her former husband, she’s a protector and makes sure she provides her students with the best.

-She teaches children what to do if they ever get grabbed, and she’s had many parents in years thanking her when that information ended up saving their child’s life.

ALEXIOS

-Hands down he is a stunt double

- Preferably Arno’s since he relies more on flexibility than brute strength. Then there’s the fact that they look similar enough in features

-He does the moves that would probably be safer if they were just CGI, but he hates those computers with a passion, preferring to do the real thing instead of giving out something fake. He’s broken more bones than he can count, and the companies he works with always have a medic on standby when something goes wrong.

-They tried convincing him that they only needed him for a few spots, but after realizing that he wanted this (and him assuring them that he doesn’t bother with suing), they let him do his thing. The results are fruitful since the most nitpicky movie fans are absolutely thrilled when there’s a particular move done right.

-He teaches Arno a good few things about how to do action scenes, and they’re definitely good friends.

KASSANDRA

-Roller Derby

-She lives for throwing people and smacking them without being judged for it, so the Derby’s her safe spot.

-Everyone on the opposing team is terrified of her, always scared when they see her devilish smile, knowing that they’re about to get their asses handed to them. Like her brother, she’s an adrenaline junky, and when she’s not doing the derby, she’s going off into car races in a water trench. She’s surprisingly very good with cars too, knowing the inside and out of a car like the back of her hand.

-She loves it when men try to catcall her. It gives her a perfect opportunity to punch them in the face.

-She loves the races themselves because no one expects it. Sometimes she pretends to act like a beginner and absolutely slaughter them, giving them a nice wink before driving out with her cash.

-Only has a soft spot for the girl who visits her on weekends. She’s practically her older sister, and there will be hell to pay if her favorite kid gets hurt in any way.

EIVOR

-BACA(Bikers Against Child Abuse)

-The moment I saw this, I instantly thought about them.

-they would absolutely be a part of this

-Looking all badass in leather while turning into a softie for children? That’s Eivors entire character right there.

-Eivors not afraid to get physical with an abuser. They’d beat the abuser to a pulp and right after take the child out for ice cream.

-No one messes with Eivor, knowing that their lenience was stretched only for children. Anyone else tried to pressure her? Your teeth would be shattered and they’d wear the bits for a necklace.

-Children are much more brave around them because they’re tougher than their parent and on their side, so they’re not afraid to give them to the police

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aprilsrant · 4 years ago

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When I kissed the teacher | Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N) and Oliver finally accept their feelings for each other.

WORD COUNT: 2,065.

WARNINGS: a kiss, (?), a few curse words.

A/N: English is not my first language, if there are any mistakes, let me know! This part wasn’t supposed to be here so soon because I was working on the other fics, but this actually took some of my writer’s block away so here it is.

This is the final part of the mini series, but I think I’ll do some blurbs about Oliver and this particular reader in the future, like dates, life after Hogwarts, and more.

Please like, reblog or comment if you want!

PREVIOUS PARTS:

Lay all your love on me. (Part 1)

Honey Honey! (Part 2).

MASTERLIST. / WORK IN PROGRESS.

The poor Slytherin girl had been trying to hide her feelings towards Quidditch’s rising star and Gryffindor’s Team Captain, for a little more than a year and a half. It wasn’t necessarily difficult at first since they barely saw or talked to each other, only sharing a few classes and having one friend in common —that was more of an acquaintance to him, which made things easier for a few months—. But then, her friend’s conspiracy to get them together interfered with a plan of her own named “avoiding Oliver Wood for the rest of my school days”.

Many tutoring sessions followed the first one, Oliver was improving a lot faster than they had expected. “All your work, of course”, he would say with a thick, scottish accent that made (Y/N) nearly faint every time he’d utter a single word. This was actually one of the reasons why she tried to convince him of calling off their meetings, —that and the fact that it was getting harder to conceal her sweaty hands, the fidgeting, the occasional stuttering, the evident stares and, of course, that the girl was unable to look him in the eyes for more than three seconds—.

Oliver thought differently, he energetically insisted about needing her as tutor more than ever now that he was catching up with Potions and Transfiguration. And once more, incapable of saying no, she agreed, accepting to tutor him for the rest of the year ‘just in case’.

Dorian almost had her head when she talked about the conversation and her desire to stop helping Oliver. He couldn’t comprehend her reasoning, not when his friend was finally getting what she wanted for so long. Ethan and Isla didn’t take his side this time, instead, they supported (Y/N), sympathizing with her logic.

“If it’s becoming a burden for you, maybe you should tell him,” the Ravenclaw boy advised, concentrating on beating Isla on the game of Exploding Snap in front of him.

“It’s not a burden, it’s just…,” (Y/N) started, the lack of words interrupting her sentence, “I don’t know how to explain it.”

The only Gryffindor in the Multicolour Quartet —horrible name indeed and his idea— kept quiet. He wanted (Y/N) to be happy, so why was she giving up her chance to actually be happy with the boy she liked for more than a year?

No one spoke about Oliver again that Wednesday afternoon on the Courtyard, a pact to keep quiet about the subject forming silently between them.

By the group’s seventh, and last, year at Hogwarts, Oliver Wood and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) were official friends —something Dorian took full credit of and something no one in the school had foreseen, except for her friends and the Gryffindor Quidditch Team (why was their Captain, Oliver obsessive Wood, postponing practices all of a sudden?)—. Not long after she tried to end their tutoring sessions, Oliver asked her if she minded to spend some time with him outside of their “study dates”.

Since then, she and Oliver could be seeing together round Hogwarts. Sometimes (Y/N)’s friends joining them because of the boy invitating the Quartet, or rest of it at least, to Hogsmeade, making up silly excuses to leave them alone or telling Oliver all the embarrassing things (Y/N)’d succeeded to do, most of them narrated by Dorian, —how could he know so many stupid stories when he joined the group not that long ago?—, who loved laughing at the angry faces she did until her elbow hit his ribs.

While (Y/N)’s feelings kept growing without restraint, Oliver’s were blooming slowly, at first unnoticed, but strong. His heart jumping whenever he saw her smiling, or talking about a subject she was passionate about. His body going still momentarily if she was too close to him, showing him how to cut ingredients, or the order they went in, or how to move his hands to perform a spell correctly.

He realised during the fifth month of the school term. It wasn’t romantic nor beautiful. It felt like taking a Bludger to the head —believe or not, he had experience with that—, you weren’t prepared for the hit and the consequences it would bring. Ruining their friendship was the last thing Oliver wanted, so he kept quiet about his discovery and acted normal, begging no one, especially not (Y/N), would notice.

Reckless, and sometimes irresponsible, they were, but not fools. So of course the experts on the matter of ‘friends being complete idiots and denying their feelings’, Dorian, Isla and Ethan knew exactly what was going on when they noticed Oliver’s change of attitude towards their Slytherin friend. How he seemed more nervous around her; the way would look for her before a Quidditch match; how he would ask easy questions about the assignments, claiming he was going to die without her help, and how he put more effort on his appearance whenever they were going to hang out.

The three friends couldn’t believe their luck. First, (Y/N), the smartest person they knew and yet, at the same time, the most oblivious and ignorant. Then, Oliver, the boy their friend had a crush on, now seemed to reciprocate her feelings but was trying to push them aside.

“How can someone be so daft?,” Isla whispered to the boys beside her while watching (Y/N) and Oliver leave Zonko’s and starting to walk slowly towards the Three Broomsticks, “you know, we could make them smell Amortentia and admit their feelings once and for all.”

“You are actually onto something there, Islandic,” Dorian said, beginning to follow the pair in front of them. The Gryffindor snickered after Isla hit him on the head because of the recent nickname he’d given her.

“Oh no, we’re not doing that,” they heard Ethan from behind them.

“Why not?”

“Why not?,” Ethan repeated before letting out a scoff, ”because you two are going to make me brew the potion and I’m not brewing Amortentia.” Isla and Dorian gazed at each other, trying to conceal their smiles, knowing their other friend was right.

They’d started to follow (Y/N) and Oliver in silence when Dorian talked again.

“Why don’t you want to brew Amortentia?” The noise of the village almost drowning the suspicious tone in his voice. “Are you trying to evade something, maybe?”

“Shut up,” he responded, tightening the dark blue coat closer to his body, and unknowingly giving Dorian the answer he hoped for, “and come on, don’t just stand there. We’re going to lose them.”

Their continuing attempts were a failure, nothing they did made the Slytherin or the Gryffindor confess. Fortunately, these thoughts were starting to appear more frequently in the latest’s mind.

|||

It was the first Saturday after the Easter Holidays and the whole school, including the professors, was waiting impatiently for the last Quidditch match of the season, Slytherin versus Gryffindor for the Inter-House Quidditch Cup.

With Slytherin leading the championship with more than two hundred points, Oliver’s team needed a massive win if they wanted to get their hands on the Cup.

(Y/N) made her way up to the stands alongside her friends, all of them hoping for Gryffindor to win the match. Even as a Slytherin, she wished for him, and the whole team of course, to crush her House’s Quidditch Team. Marcus Flint was everything but kind and a fair player, his tactics consisted purely of hurting his rivals, not caring about the damage the injuries could cost. (Y/N)’d have supported her own House if they weren’t cheating bastards.

A few of the students looked at her weirdly before starting to whisper when she sat down on her seat beside Dorian, who went full on Gryffindor pride. Yes, she was wearing a green blouse —she should have accepted Dorian’s offer on using one of his red t-shirts—, but that didn’t mean anything. She was on the Gryffindor stands, so she was supporting Gryffindor, and for a good reason…

The first ten points went to the lion’s house thanks to Angelina Johnson, but the cries of joy transformed quickly into shoutings and insults directed to the Slytherin Captain for nearly knocking her off her broom after smashing into the Chaser. Fred Weasley reacted by throwing his beater’s bat at the back of Flint’s head.

The rest of the match followed pretty much the same way. Slytherin played using dirty tactics and attacking the Gryffindors, which resulted in them answering their violence with, well, more violence.

“Harry spotted the Snitch,” shouted Dorian while raising his arm, pointing towards the third year boy. Before the Gryffindor Seeker could grab the shiny, golden ball, Malfoy grabbed the end of his broom and pulled it back.

“Not the fucking Firebolt, you twat,” (Y/N) thought of hearing her best friend Isla, seating on her right side, said. Everyone started screeching insults at the Slytherin Seeker, even (Y/N) and some of the professors.

Finally, after more penalties, Harry Potter caught the Snitch, handing his House the Quidditch Cup.

Students from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff roared in excitement, quickly leaving the stands and flooding the Pitch, running to congratulate the winning team.

Three of the four members of the Multicolour Quartet stayed a few feet away from the crowd, Dorian celebrating in the middle with Oliver, who was carrying the Cup, on his shoulders. Isla grabbed her arm and carried her to where the Gryffindor Captain was, a memory of Dorian doing the same thing a year ago entered her mind.

Looking up at Oliver, (Y/N) noticed his rosy cheeks and some drops of sweat forming on his forehead, but his brown eyes and smile were what captivated her the most, his enthusiasm turning contagious.

“Congratulations, I guess,” the girl said, a serious expression on her face while rolling her eyes exaggeratedly to show him she was teasing. (Y/N) extended her arm, still acting, but was taken by surprise when Oliver grabbed it and pulled her towards him, engulfing each other in a hug. She giggled near his ear and whispered, “I’m so proud of you.”

The Gryffindor glanced down at her, bodies still close to each other, neither of them wanting to let go, eyes thrilled because of his team’s victory and something more she couldn’t figure out. Slowly, his face approached her’s, staring back to the other’s eyes, asking themselves internally if this was the moment.

“Fuck it,” Oliver mumbled before closing the distance between them and planting a chaste kiss on her mouth.

They stood motionless for a couple of seconds, arms still wrapped around each other and the whole school watching them silently, waiting for her reaction. From the corner of her eye, she saw Fred Weasley giving his twin, George, some sickles, a grim look on his face for losing what she assumed was a bet on them.

(Y/N)’s attention went back to the boy in front of her, one with a desperate expression. Standing on her toes, she pulled her hands away from Oliver’s torso, directing one towards the back of his neck and the other to his cheek, caressing the skin tenderly. She smiled, unable to stop another giggle, and pressed their lips together for the second time, hoping it wouldn’t be the last one.

The crowd around the pair roared again, making them laugh between the kiss, lips separating and then reuniting. Her heart almost jumping out of her chest from how fast it was beating, her necessity to breath becoming more prominent with each second her mouth was against he’s. Ignoring it, (Y/N) continued on kissing Oliver, whose hands were now on either side of her head, trying to bring her impossibly closer. Biting her bottom lip, his tongue rushing through her mouth. The hand on his neck pressuring now with more force, bringing him down so her feet could touch the ground.

A hand on each of Oliver’s shoulders forced them apart.

“Okay, I’m really happy you two finally stopped the painful yearning for each other, but this is my best friend you’re snogging, Oliver, so try to do that privately,” a voice that could only belong to Dorian came from behind the Gryffindor boy.

(Y/N) crossed her arms, one of them pressing into Oliver’s side, and looked at her friend before speaking.

“Are you going to tell…”

“Yeah, I am,” he interrupted her mid sentence, “I bloody told you so.”

TAGLIST: @peeves-a-legend @weasleybees @acontinuationofstuff @parkeroffline @lilac-wrists

If you want me to add you to the taglist, ask me! And if you asked but you’re not here, please remind me!

#Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter oneshot #slytherin!reader #slytherin #oliver wood x slytherin!reader #oliver wood #oliver wood fanfiction #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood oneshot #oliver wood x reader #hp fanfic #hp imagine

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self-indulgence-in-fiction · 4 years ago

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Okay so. This like a shamelessly obsession fueled side blog where I reblog fics I like and hope others will too. I haven't posted much original content here but I feel like @something-tofightfor and @its-my-little-dumpster-fire deserve special thanks right now because

I've been watching a lot of older ben stuff recently and his characters all have such ??? sad ??? endings?

Spoilerly stuff below ----

Character by Character

John: abandoned and divorced by father and wife and about to potentially lose the family estate

Dorian: led astray by someone he thought was a friend, he reclaims his soul i guess but he burns alive doing it. I've never read the book so I don't know if that last scene is really supposed to convey a measure of redemption or not

Caspian: becomes a king at a very young age, loses his father, then Peter and Susan then Edmund and Lucy after becoming like family with them. He is literally confronted with the choice to cross the boundary of death at the end of dawn treader

Ryan: the movie assumes he starts to settle down or finds another person to call home at the end but that song, well, it doesn't come from a place that has never known some really hard and alone times

Josh: the trailer is so bad I'm never going to watch locked in but the premise seems to be he caused an accident that put his daughter in a coma and then he thinks he might he going crazy hearing her voice. So again. Sad and distressing

Sam adams: reckless and angry and careless and ready to tear the world down but comes to the realization his talent for oration can help the revolution as much as his fists. Although he's still not steady this is arguably one of the happier endings. The scene where he stands like a dare on the deck of that ship puts my heart in my throat and has "standing point blank in front of a pistol with full knowledge of my own mortality" energy even if the range isn't point blank

Nic: literally dead by the end, loses his father and his girlfriend. his brother enters the one world nic didn't want him to have anything to do with. Also he's so deluded with the idea of belonging to something fraternal and powerful throughout the film. The scene where he burns the card in his hand makes my heart hurt too because hand burns are painful and cruel

Benjamin: this is also supposed to be a happy ending but the show leaves so many loose ends it makes me worry the environment of julia's family is going to just let him keep lying and manipulating without being sure of love as a moderating force for that part of his personality. And also he went to jail off screen as a younger man for something he didn't do. Also he has a panic attack on the bedroom floor that's never addressed. He just feels fragile and that just makes me feel defensive and protective.

Logan: one of the worst fates by far even though the "poor little rich boy" thing makes Logan hard to empathize with at the beginning I'm starting to think Ben could play almost anyone and I'd empathize with them. Anyways Logan ends up dehydrated for days in the desert, abandoned by father and sister, gaslighted by william, and ultimately succumbs to drug addiction. Then the (big spoiler) Forge takes on his face and voice and some weird echo of his personality in what would have been a personal hell for Logan - always trying to figure out if there was another path or lifetime in which his father didn't abandon him. And guess what, turns out everything "always ends up here" at the point where Logan is drowning and his father turns away anyways

Billy: selfish and greedy though he is, the glimpses we get of his past makes those character traits make sense and also read like defensive mechanisms as much as anything else. And those traits would be forgivable except his fatal flaw is? I'd say pride except he's bowed down to a man like Rawlins. He can't bend long enough to explain to Frank what his part in the carousel murders was. He supposedly didn't think that the ambush would kill the rest of the Castles, so he feels guilty and the part he did play hurts him enough he avoids thinking about it beyond the mantra that it wasn't him behind the guns. I get the sense that Billy is mad at Frank because Frank knows Billy's capable of terrible things but neither of them thought he'd ever be complicit in Maria and the kids' death. Billy doesn't want Frank to believe he's that kind of bad but he also isn't willing to reach back and make amends. They know one another too well to be anything less than infuriated at the others' pretenses. Punisher s1 feels like a little like if King Lear's Edmund and Edgar got a betrayal tragedy all to themselves; and then punisher 2 is painful because the score should be settled except the last fight shattered all Billy's already crooked pieces and the picture he puts back together from them is somehow both younger and more solidified and committed to following a betrayal to its logical conclusion than even s1. He's more wicked in s2 but also somehow raw for it. No more polish no more of anyone except himself. Except he doesn't know who he is so that's a fun acid trip

And the newest ben guy, Aleksander. He's just so Lonely. He's nearly immortal and finally running out of resources at one of the peaks of a war hundreds of years long. He's also manipulative and sort of casually dismissive and cold but this also makes sense in context. But he's also sweet and has this really bent righteous streak that's oddly on brand

anyways NO WONDER I'VE BEEN MEDIA INDUCED SAD FOR LIKE THREE WEEKS AND BINGE READING ANYTHING THESE TWO WONDERFUL WRITERS HAVE WRITTEN TO TRY AND FIX THAT

They both have an amazing grasp of character and know how to write slow burn like pros. They also both really nice. Go check out their stuff and leave some likes!!

As much as I love ben's complicated characters, I think he's right. It may be time for a sweeter palate cleanser. Something that's not going to leave me feeling like my heart is cracked. Again. It doesn't have to be a romance or anything and honestly I'm a little romanced-out as far as movies go. Id just like One Thing without a romantic subplot. And just something with a little gentler of a resolution possibly. Although I'm going to he grateful whatever new content we end up getting from him 🙏🏼

#ben barnes #prince caspian #jackie and ryan #the chronicles of narnia #billy russo #the punisher #gold digger #Westworld #logan delos #sam adams #sons of liberty #by the gun #easy virtue #dorian gray #shadow and bone #author thanks

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cadaceus · 3 years ago

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C3E17

So, this was certainly an episode. I feel like I got attacked from all sides with an emotions-laden baseball bat. We got so much character lore and backstories--Fearne, Laudna, Orym... and I still have NOT recovered, but thanks for checking in 😭. Full liveblogs for Campaign 3, Episode 17 of Critical Role with extensive spoilers (!!) below!

- May I just say that Campaign 3, Episode 17 airing on 3/17 is so satisfying

- I love everyone’s outfits! Including Sam’s, although I came in late so I don’t know the sunglasses context LMAO

- Imogen and Laudna’s relationship..... oh my beloveds :’)

- Chetney’s reaction to missing his date sdsghjkldd I FORGOT ABOUT THAT PLOTLINE

- “Is he dead?” “I don’t think so, I just heard him screaming” “That’s how you know someone’s NOT dead”

- The gnarlrock?! From the fae realm, and it mutates whatever is around it... I am so intrigued! I wonder if the party will visit the Big Gnarlrock someday

- Aww, FCG doesn’t think he’s alive :(

- Oh lowkey Fearne lore! Considering she’s like 120 years old, the fact that she hasn’t seen them since she was 40 makes me so sad

- AEOR?!?!?

- Zhudanna is so sweet I miss her already

- So this is sort of like a heist? I’m always down for heists

- So Jiana’s old automaton was stolen by someone with blue skin, wide shoulders, and longer hair... Ruh Roh

- Ashley, please never use the phrase “caramel sharting” ever again. LMAO

- Pent up energy?! What does that mean?

- MATT LITERALLY LEAVING THE TABLE BECAUSE OF CHETNEY’S “RECOGNIZE THE ALPHA” TATTOO MATT COME BACK

- The instant alpha fact check too go off Matt

- “I feel like you all are a bit eager to share your blood with me” “It’s your shopping list that’s weird, everyone else is just trying to be nice” LOL Ashton

- THE NEW SET LIGHTING! GREEN!!!

- So we have Sir Floppers, Rabbit, (One Way) Loonch, Escargot, and Heart... like Fearne, I would die for all of them

- Orym making yellow flowers for FCG while he takes watch is so wholesome

- Ashley and Sam watches are always so fun afsghjk I love them

- Ashton saying “I was soft once...” HUH?? Now what does that mean?

- The raining effect in the background is so nice and cozy, I love it sm

- Laudna’s backstory is so sad... also I know inklings of Vox Machina lore but I haven’t seen all of the show yet (or all of the campaign for that matter) but I know that she was important in it... poor bby 😭

- Is something going to happen to them if they touch the tree?

- Orym thinking about Dorian when he sees the blue flower..... :((

- Once again, Imogen is the Biggest social anxiety mood

- ORYM’S HUSBAND. NO 😭 😭

- I knew this from Liam’s older tweet but also hearing him actually talk about it. I’m a mess. There’s so many emotions tonight HELP

- Travis tearing up when Yasha said “I have so many flowers to bring her” in Campaign 2 vs. Travis tearing up now when Orym says “big moon, little moon” I love him so much he is me for real

- Laudna: “Do you want to eat our face off?” / Ashton: “Don’t offer!”

#oh i finished this forever ago so WHY is it still in my drafts sfgdhjk #c3 liveblog #critical role #cr3 liveblog #i am once again trying to remember my own tags #queue

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ofgoodmenarchive · 4 years ago

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The second in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.

Spring Thaw

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.

No- he was definitely getting ahead of himself.

At the very least, Dorian shouldn't have discarded the Venatori's equipment so impulsively. It was possible- even likely- the Herald would be immune to his charms. If no attraction existed between them to start with, then he'd forsaken his current, sole employment for nothing.

Introducing himself was also a complex matter. His subject of fixation was more often than not swarmed by Chantry puppets- Inquisition puppets, whatever.

Either way, they'd be wary of something like him.

Which would be perfectly sensible, if we're being honest...

For days he stalked them through the Hinterlands, camping out of sight- preferably at high vantage points. On this occasion he'd discovered a homely cave dug into a cliff, with an ideal view of the Inquisition camp. They'd organised around a half-crumbled tower, wrangling full command of the King's Road at this end.

It took time to accomplish- Dorian had spectated most of the work. The Templar-Mage conflict was their main concern- by now almost completely eliminated. Still there was plenty of trouble to be had, Dorian knew.

Are they even aware of the Venatori yet?

Indeed for now they mostly focused on the resident lyrium-smugglers. To be fair, they were a nuisance- and had not enough sense to leave the Inquisition unmolested.

In his shadowing he concluded a few things, at least.

For one, the Herald was a mage with an affinity for ice. Admittedly Dorian felt stupid for not realising on their first encounter. That sword of light channelled the man's will, swaying him towards close combat. Odd for a mage- so Dorian didn't berate himself much for failing to notice.

Secondly, the man was Spirit-bound. To what sort of spirit and for what purpose, Dorian couldn't guess. He'd only concluded this due to a chance look at his weapon- a summoning circle was inscribed into the hilt. An insanely reckless thing to attempt- unless your will and the spirit's could work in perfect unison.

We have something in common, at least!

Though Dorian was positive none regarded him as an Abomination.

Lastly, the Herald was unaccustomed to such close work with humans. Dorian rarely overheard conversation but frequently witnessed him seeming lost, needing elaboration on what appeared self-evident.

Overall he was somewhat peculiar, even for an elf.

“You know...” Dorian mused while building a small fire for the night. “I'm already feeling chipper. It's probably a trick of the mind, since there's potential for a meal...but wouldn't it be funny if my desire was feeding into itself?”

An unamused grumble responded and he frowned at his shadow- slumped morosely against the cave entrance, like a wrung out towel.

“Yes, yes, I know that's not how it works.” Dorian rebuffed, scowling. “I'm just saying I don't mind all this creeping around! Or I don't mind it yet...give it a while, I suppose...”

The Herald of Andraste...

…probably also does not speak to himself.

“Well I'm not speaking to myself, am I?!” He countered, huffing. “I'm speaking to you!- And you're being especially bratty today!”

Desire slouched down the cliff-wall until it was almost flat.

Dorian spluttered with laughter.

“You're like a cat, you know!? An ominous, perverted cat.”

The creature bubbled sadly, giving no answer.

Rolling his eyes, Dorian would have returned to working on the fire- except Desire's head emerged from it's puddle, leering down the slope.

“Hrm...?” He followed it's gaze, squinting. “Something happening down there...?”

A tall figure wandering from camp, accompanied by a much shorter one- the Herald and his dwarf ally.

“Where are they wandering off to on their own...?” He frowned at his shadow. “Should they really be doing that?”

Desire shrugged, shoulders casting ripples along it's spooled form.

“For some reason...” Dorian swiped his staff from nearby. “I don't like it. Let's make sure nothing bothers them, yes?”

Maker forbid the elf get himself killed- it would be a waste of his whole week!

The pair strode upon the King's Road, moonlight leading their path and their path leading Dorian- always close behind but not too close. Eventually they paused at a road-marker, muttered between themselves and appeared to wait.

Are they missing one of their people, or something..?

Regardless of the situation, whatever was meant to occur, didn't. Exchanging anxious stares, the duo walked further along, ignorant to Dorian's presence as he slunk from shadow to shadow.

Within minutes all heard the same thuggish shouting- accented in Ferelden, somewhere amidst an outcrop of limestone. Sprinting forward, the Herald and his companion hunched behind cover, in frantic discussion.

Wanting a full perspective, Dorian climbed ledges as stealthily as possible. Once he had an ideal view, he sat and assessed.

Lyrium-smugglers again, of course. Carta, perhaps? No one Dorian had ties with, whoever they were. More than a dozen- with enough heavies in their ranks to pose serious threat to a miniscule party.

A party of two, for example, would likely be obliterated.

Dorian could see why there was discourse between the Herald and his friend. An Inquisition scout knelt among the group, bleeding and mid-interrogation.

So they did lose someone...

Now the Herald wished to attempt rescue and his companion reasonably disagreed. Even out of earshot, Dorian could tell who was winning- through pure stubbornness alone.

Glancing behind, he spotted that looming, bratty shadow of his.

“I hope you're ready to actually work for your meal.”

Not a second passed after his speech before all erupted into chaos. The Herald careened through the group, carried along paves of ice. Flailing and visibly irritated, the dwarf scrambled onto a high-point, where he could launch arrows from some elaborate crossbow.

Skidding from his perch, Dorian leapt into the fray.

Blood had already touched ground- that didn't bode well for anything near him. The grinning skull of his staff raised high, he willed every drop of lost life into himself. It swirled around him in crimson ribbons- he hadn't even channelled a form before people screamed.

“MALEFICAR!”

Earning a wild, blood-crazed laugh from him as he barrelled forth, slicing enemies with their own pain- weaponised. Anyone struck deep enough and lacking proper resistance became crazed, attacking all in their proximity.

It had been a while since he'd stretched his abilities for combat- quite invigorating, really! Not to mention all the blood- a fair snack, though not his usual preference. Licking some from his fingers, Dorian launched into another attack and found himself brushing passed blizzard.

Swivelling to face it, he bore his teeth in a personable manner.

Winter-touched eyes regarded him quizzically, then vanished into battle.

Moments later and it was done- together with the scout, their enemy was reduced to a pile of corpses.

Inhaling, Dorian glimpsed the dwarf and recruit in breathless conversation. Elsewhere stood the Herald- sheathing his weapon, sighing with relief.

Talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk.

Maker, stop it! Yes, I see.

This was the closest opportunity he was chance to get.

Awkwardly, uncharacteristically- Dorian hesitated.

TALK-TALK-TALK-T

I SAID STOP THAT! I'M GOING!

Mustering composure, he sauntered that direction, beaming.

“Greetings, friend!”

The Herald blinked from wiping stained hands, eyes widening a second later.

“...Who are you?” He mumbled, automatically hunching to Dorian's level- as he'd witnessed many times.

“Me?” He laughed airily- had to restrain more when the elf flinched. “My name is Dorian Pavus...and you would be the Herald of Andraste, no?”

Much hesitation from this so-called Herald- the poor man's eyes darted as if seeking attendance, white complexion reddening. Effortless traits for human eyes to see- and then there were aspects only Dorian would see. A quickened pulse, hitched breath, heightened temperature...

Well, that answers that question...

But...I really didn't intend to give the poor fool a heart-attack.

He hadn't even exercised his will in any fashion- just introduced himself! The Herald's clan must have been terribly isolationist, if that's all it took to fluster him.

“That...is what they say...” He managed after a long pause, brow furrowing. “...Have you been following me, Dorian Pavus?”

Oh, I like that.

So formal.

“Only for your own protection, my darling Herald!” He chuckled warmly, gestured to their fallen opponents. “As you can so clearly see.”

Another drawn out silence, pale features struggling to stay that way and failing- pink had spread to his neck.

“You are from Tevinter.” He observed clumsily.

Dorian's head tilted.

“Nothing gets passed you, does it?”

The Herald didn't seem to know how to respond, grasping air dumbly and again searching around for aid. Deciding to provide such aid, Dorian inquired;

“Since I gave you my name- may I have yours?”

Though fidgeting, he offered;

“Lavellan.”

“That would be a last name, no?”

“I do not tend to give my first.”

“You don't 'tend to'...” He smiled, shamelessly familiar. “So you might make an exception?”

Something about this caught the elf off guard- absolutely flushed. He merely stared as though Dorian proposed he strip to his undergarments.

“Uhh...hey, there.” The dwarf ambled to them before Lavellan could recover.

“Ah, hello!” Determined to make a good impression, Dorian stuck out his hand. “Dorian Pavus! Pleased to make your acquaintance!”

The Dwarf relented to a light shake, inspecting him doubtfully.

“Varric Tethras- pleased to make yours..” He knit his brow, glanced between the two men. “...I guess.”

All the while Lavellan was statuesque, face crimson and attention flying everywhere.

“...You okay, Lord Heraldness?”

“I...am fine- I am fine.” He practically squeaked. “I think...Cassandra will wish us back at camp...right now...im...immediately.”

Incapable of restraining himself, Dorian roared with mirth and hoped it didn't sound unkind.

“We'll talk soon, my dear Herald.” He bid farewell with more obvious warmth. Lavellan swiftly fled- half-marching, half-scurrying, Varric at his heels.

-–

Dirt and blood raced beneath his feet. Evallan Lavellan fought to correct the hue of his face.

“...Are you okay?” Varric- barely audible above the sound of his heartbeat.

“I am fine!” He snapped, shrill. “I just...was not prepared for...for that.”

Varric's expression scrunched inwards, perplexed.

“Prepared for what?”

Speech died on Evallan's tongue, frowning helplessly at his companion. He barely had the words in his own language, how could he explain with the vocabulary they both shared?

All the human mages he'd encountered- they were so reserved, tame.

He couldn't imagine any human to carry themselves so shamelessly- draped in blood and bone, cackling and grinning through danger. Formidable yet exercising flawless control- so at ease in his nature.

And Mythal have mercy- Those eyes- deadly flares of red and gold.

Absolutely wild.

He must be mad.

“...Oh, Maker's breath, Herald...” Evallan became aware he'd been glaring into space. “Don't worry- I won't tell anyone you took one look at the weirdo-'Vint-blood-mage and turned into a tomato.”

He flushed every shade of red imaginable, snapping-

“I said I was not prepared!”

“I wasn't prepared either!” Varric chortled. “And I do not look like you do right now!”

Groaning, Evallan sped his pace, wishing for nothing more than to hide in his tent and scream until humiliation subsided.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #inquisition #dai #dorian pavus #blood mage dorian #blood mage #maleficar #pavellan #lavellan #m!lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #dorian pavus x inquisitor lavellan #dorian pavus x inquisitor #trying not to spam tags when all the content I make is dragon age rip #my writing #my aus

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years ago

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Anonymous asked: I always think of you as Kristin Scott Thomas’ character Fiona in Four Weddings and a Funeral as a beautiful woman who is scarily clever and classy. So with my upcoming wedding (next year!) and especially wedding music I thought of you. I really would appreciate your advice on Mendelssohn or Wagner as they seem to be the traditional choices of music to play at a traditional church wedding. My fiancé isn’t bothered what music we play but I can’t decide. Please do help as I value your unvarnished truth.

Thank you for the flattering words which while well intentioned are nevertheless entirely misplaced.

Swiftly moving on, a sincere congratulations on your forthcoming wedding. I can only imagine how stressful it must be running around like a headless chicken trying to desperately organise everything. And desperate you certainly must be - perhaps even certifiably insane - if you’re turning to me on Tumblr for advice!

I’m not married....yet ( oops! better get that caveat in before I am chastised by those who really know me) but I am a wedding veteran - some would even say, a jaded one (thank you, mummy).

Every season there is a string of wedding invitations that I can’t turn down and I feel obligated to attend. While great fun, one wedding starts to blur into another especially when the champagne starts to copiously flow. I have my own thoughts on the good, the bad, and the tacky about wedding etiquette but I don’t want to disappear down that rabbit hole. Instead let’s talk about Mendelssohn and Wagner.

Both music pieces have traditionally struck a chord (pardon the pun) and have become a staple of traditional weddings since time immemorial.

Mendelssohn's ‘Wedding March’ was originally composed in 1842. He got there first.

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Wagner's ‘Bridal Chorus’ came later in 1848. The ‘Bridal Chorus’ became a popularised piece to play at weddings around Europe after it was most memorably used as the processional at the wedding of Victoria, the Princess Royal to Prince Frederick William of Prussia in 1858. Nowadays - certainly in Britain and the US - it is generally known as "Here Comes the Bride”.

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I suppose the straight forward answer is that it doesn’t have to be Wagner vs. Mendelssohn. Why not both? Wagner’s ‘Bridal Chorus’ can be used for the entrance processional of the bride walking down the aisle and the Mendelssohn ‘Wedding March’ for the recessional walk out of the church.

But you did say you wanted my ‘unvarnished truth’ so allow me the small luxury of an arm chair rant from the Coronavirus self-isolation of my Paris apartment.

Of the two I would definitely ditch the Wagner piece. Please don’t misunderstood me. I am a huge fan of Wagner’s music - like any true Wagnerian I have taken more than one pilgrimage to Beyreuth - but in this case playing Wagner’s music would show a frightful ignorance of the meaning behind the ‘Bridal Chorus’ piece.

I don’t know why more people haven’t picked up on this but I’ve always found it a terribly odd piece to play at a wedding especially as it originates from Wagner’s masterful opera, Lohengrin.

Wagner came upon the opera's inspiration around 1845 when he took interest in the legend of the Holy Grail through the poems of Wolfram von Eschenbach and the anonymous epic of Lohengrin. Composed by 1848, Lohengrin features "Bridal Chorus" as the prelude to a very short-lived, doomed marriage between Elsa and Lohengrin.

The famous ‘Bridal Chorus’ is lustily sung by women of the bridal party serenading Elsa to the bridal suite after the wedding in Act III. Elsa is not allowed to know her true knight’s true name and identity. But this is a romantic German opera and so of course Lohengrin is found out with dire consequences for all. A sad Lohengrin ends up revealing that he is in fact a knight of the Grail and son of King Parsifal, sent to protect an unjustly accused woman. The laws of the Holy Grail say that Knights of the Grail must remain anonymous. If their identity is revealed, they must return home. Lohengrin is lead back to the castle of the Holy Grail. Elsa is grief stricken at being left behind. Poor Elsa (naturally) collapses and dies with a broken heart.

Charming.

To say it’s not the happiest of allusions of looking forward to a long life of wedded bliss would be an understatement.

However my objections against Wagner’s ‘Bridal Chorus’ goes beyond this. For one thing I find it rather too sombre - Oh dear God! Is marriage really like this?!

My main ire is that it overly used and therefore boring to listen to. And when one is bored the mind wanders.

In my case, without sounding malicious, my mind just drifts to whispering mischievous lyrics under my breath that go like, “here comes the bride, big fat and wide, here comes the groom, skinny as a broom.” Try as I might I can never get those words out of my silly mind whenever I hear the organ music playing “Here come’s the bride.” Not my finest hour.

Now Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’ is different beast entirely. Beast being the operative word as we are dealing with Pagan deities.

Typically used in church wedding recessionals, the ‘Wedding March’ piece has sparked controversy due to its literary origins. The Prussian monarch Friedrich Wilhelm IV commissioned Mendelssohn to compose incidental music for many pieces that were based upon Greek mythology and tragedy in order to revive the genre of literature and performance. Among his commissions, in 1843 Mendelssohn composed a setting for William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream; the setting comprises twelve musical numbers and a finale. The plot of Shakespeare's play focuses on a pagan god and goddess and is filled with fairies, magic, and fantasy. Due to the piece's pagan, fantastic inspirations, some puritanical leaders and musicians - particularly in Roman Catholic churches - have found the piece to be inappropriate for a Christian religious ceremony. In its defence at least Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night's Dream was a comedy with a happy ending.

If you’re feeling traditional rather than puritanical then the joyous Mendelssohn ‘Wedding March’ might still be a great option either as a processional or recessional.

If you’re looking for options outside of either Wagner and Mendelssohn then it’s really a matter of exercising good taste alongside what suits the personal tone of your wedding.

Off the top of my head I keep coming back to Johann Sebastian Bach.

Bach’s many cantatas and fugues seem to tick all the boxes. In particular there is Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring (derived from the cantata Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben, "Heart and Mouth and Deed and Life”). There is also the Toccata and Fugue in D minor ‘Dorian’ BWV 538 and the Toccata and Fugue in F Major, BWV 540. Arioso in A flat for solo piano from Cantata No. 156 "Ich steh`mit einem Fuss im Grabe is softly elegant. A particular favourite piece of mine is Weichet nur, betrübte Schatten, BWV 202, the ‘Wedding Cantata’. Of course many would point out that Bach’s Ave Maria would be perfect for a processional but I would think twice about that. As beautiful as the piece is it is about the Virgin Mary after all and you may invite unwanted speculation from your guests if you are (cough) chaste.

Trumpet Tune in D by Jeremiah Clarke is a little more festive. Or consider his more famous Trumpet Voluntary ‘The Prince of Denmark's March’.

Charles-Marie Widor was a fine composer and his Toccata (from Symphony for Organ No. 5) is spiritually intense for traditional organ music.

Eugène Gigout's famous Grand Chœur Dialogué might appeal to you as well.

G.F. Handel’s Water Music Suite - Air has a graceful and calming tone. The Arrival of The Queen of Sheba (Solomon) HWV 67 is upbeat and was made for a processional.

Beethoven’s Für Elise is perfect to calm last minute panic attacks before you go up the aisle.

And how can one forget Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?

The Serenade No. 13 for strings in G major, K. 525 or more commonly known as Eine kleine Nachtmusik KV. 525 - II. Romanze: Andante is a beautiful melody familiar to many and sets a soothing tone. Ave verum corpus, K.618 is profoundly spiritual and lifts your hearts up to the angels. ‘Alleluia’ from ‘Exsultate, jubilate’ is wonderful if you can get your hands on a competent soprano. If you are feeling more adventurous then the Spanish Wedding March from The Marriage of Figaro which might be to your taste.

Elgar’s Salut d'Amour, Op. 12 is soft, inviting and makes one feel you’re in some 19th Century romance novel set at court.

Elgar finished the piece in July 1888, when he was romantically involved with Caroline Alice Roberts, and he called it Liebesgruss ('Love's Greeting') because of Miss Roberts' fluency in German. When he returned home to London on 22 September from a holiday at the house of his friend Dr. Charles Buck, in Settle, he presented it to her as an engagement present. The dedication was in French: à Carice. 'Carice' was a combination of his wife's names Caroline Alice, and was the name to be given to their daughter born two years later.

Edvard Grieg’s Wedding Day at Troldhauen, Op. 65, no. 6 is magnificently playful.

Jean-Joseph Mouret’s Rondeau from Sinfonie de Fanfares is a beautiful Baroque piece. What’s a wedding without trumpets that could be heard all the way into the heavens?

Gluck’s Dance of the Blessed Spirits from his Orfeo et Euridice can be an elegant choice to do a recessional. Perfect for sensitive souls.

Gabriel Fauré’s Pavane, Op. 50 is sublime. I can never get tired of listening to it. Would make a worthy piece as a processional.

I would also throw into the mix Gaetano Donizetti’s ‘Una furtiva lagrima’ (A furtive tear) is the romanza from Act II of his delightful opera L'elisir d'amore.

It is sung by Nemorino (a tenor) when it appears that the love potion he bought to win the heart of his dream lady, Adina, works. Nemorino is in love with Adina, but she is not interested in a relationship with an innocent, rustic man. To win her heart, Nemorino buys a love potion with all the money he has in his pocket. That love potion is actually a cheap red wine sold by a traveling quack doctor, but when he sees Adina weeping, he knows that she has fallen in love with him, and he is sure that the "elixir" has worked. It may not fit your idea of a processional but I would try and use it some where in your wedding - perhaps at the reception.

I feel guilty about trashing on Wagner and Mendelssohn so I will leave you with two final thoughts. Reconsider Wagner’s opera Lohengrin. Forget the Bridal Chorus but instead listen to the chorus ‘Gesegnet soll sie schreiten’ in Act II. The various horns give this chorus a dreamlike quality and you feel like you are floating on air. Mendelssohn’s On Wings of Song is a powerful and poignant piano piece and quite suitable to play as your guests away your arrival in church.

I am sure there are other great classical music pieces that I have neglected to mention but others reading this might give their thoughts in the comments below.

If knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit, then wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad. So give careful and considered thought to what music you throw together into the mix as your church wedding processional and recessional.

Congratulations again and I hope it’s a special day for both of you and your families and friends.

Thanks for your question.

#question #wedding #music #wedding music #classical #tradition #church wedding #processional #recessional #personal #bio

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johaerys-writes · 5 years ago

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Witcher AU: Viper In Tall Grass

Chapter (3/3): Fast Approaching Dusk

Summary: Tristan of Toussaint is a witcher, his life dedicated to following the Path of the Viper. It is curiosity more than anything that leads him to Emperor Emhyr var Emreis's court. That is where he meets Dorian Pavus, lead sorcerer and advisor to the crown of Nilfgaard, and his life as he knows it changes for good.

They say that destiny is inexorable. Tristan is starting to see the wisdom in that saying.

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

This is the third and final part of the prequel fic I wrote for the as-yet-untitled Witcher AU my beloved potate @solas-disapproves and I have been working on! Hope you enjoy!

Warning: Smut under the cut :)

Read here or on AO3!

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

Pain, dull and hollow. Breath, short and panting. Head heavy. Lids heavier. Scattered thoughts, twisted images, broken shards of something that must have been whole, once, a long time before. A young girl’s laugh, blonde hair so pale it almost looked white. Blue eyes so dark they looked like deep, whirling pools. A mirror of his own. The gleaming edge of a dagger in the night. A viper’s forked tongue, flickering. A plunge into a yawning abyss.

Tristan woke up with a gasp, coughing and sputtering, agony spearing his sides. Bright light stabbed his retinas, searing white rays piercing his brain. He reached out, searching for his daggers, oblivious to the pain that flared with his every move. His daggers, he had to find his fucking daggers-

“Easy! Easy. It’s alright. You’re safe. Great Sun Almighty, you’ll undo all your bandages the way you’re thrashing about.”

That smooth, velvet voice made Tristan stop abruptly. He blinked, his vision clearing somewhat. Pavus was kneeling next to him, brows furrowed in concern. Tristan squinted, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the sunlight that was streaming through the foliage overhead, framing Pavus’s face like a halo.

“What- what happened?” Tristan said, his voice a forced croak. He tried to sit up, but the mage’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Lie down. You need rest.” He uncorked a water skin, bringing its mouth close to Tristan’s lips. His palm eased behind Tristan’s neck, holding his head steady as he helped him drink. His touch was gentle, caring. Tristan couldn't even remember the last time someone had touched him with so much tenderness. He made a weak attempt to pull away, but as soon as the fresh water reached his lips he realised how parched he was. He drank thirstily, thin streams of liquid running down his cheeks, soaking his hair that clung to the back of his neck. He drank until the water skin was empty, yet he would have gladly drank a couple more. Pavus gently withdrew his hand from under his neck, his fingers soft as they brushed against his skin. He let his head fall back on the makeshift pillow that Pavus had made for him. It felt like one of his cotton undershirts. It smelt like him, too.

“What… where is the Fiend?” he asked, trying to take his mind off of Pavus’s scent that seemed to be everywhere around him all of a sudden.

Pavus quirked an eyebrow as he put the cork back on the waterskin. “Where do you think it is? Lying dead in a bloodied heap, where you left it.”

“Ah.” Tristan took in his surroundings. A merry fire was crackling close to him, its soothing warmth seeping into him through his woollen blanket. A pot was hanging over it, its contents simmering away. Pavus’ bedroll, clean and neatly folded, was almost touching his own. Had he slept next to him all the while Tristan had been unconscious?

The swell of affection that flooded his chest was surprising, and wholly uninvited. Tristan took a breath and cleared his throat in an effort to ease it away. He was still woozy from sleep. Must have been. “How long was I out?”

“Two days. More or less.”

“Two days? Fuck,” Tristan breathed. “What… what happened?”

“What happened? You mean you don’t remember getting skewered by that Fiend’s antlers?”

“Yes, I… I remember.” Tristan winced at the memory of the Fiend’s snout, its foul breath so close to him. Of its burning eye in the darkness, luring him into an agonising end. Of its claws and its deafening roars, and of Pavus's face, pale and drawn as he watched him teetering on the precipice of death. Tristan shook his head gently, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before he opened them again. “What happened after?

“You were half dead by the time I dragged you off that thing. The antler had gone straight through your lung. Healing is not my field of expertise, but I did manage to stem the bleeding somewhat. Couldn’t do much about the scarring, I’m afraid. Had to stitch and wrap the wound with the healing kit I had on me. After that, I came back to fetch my horse and carried you back here.” Pavus let out a sigh, leaning back on his arm. A tiny teasing smile was on his lips when he gazed at him. “You’re much heavier than you look, you know.”

“Right,” Tristan said, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Sorry about that.”

Pavus waved absently. “Apologise to my horse. The scent of the Fiend’s blood almost gave him a heart attack. He’s still jittery. The faintest sound can send him off. Your horse seems to be doing splendid, though.”

“She’s used to that sort of thing.”

“I’ve gathered as much.” Pavus stood up, leaning over the pot by the fire as he stirred its contents. When he came to sit back down next to Tristan, he was holding a steaming bowl of stew. “You should eat something. Shall I help you with it?”

Tristan shook his head, propping himself up on his elbow, wincing at the pain in his side. The stew was hot, burning his tongue as he took a spoonful. It tasted faintly of spices. “It’s good.”

“Of course it is,” Pavus said with a smirk. “Certainly much better than that bland porridge you made yesterday.”

Tristan grunted a half hearted assent as he chewed, then nodded at a small pouch that was lying close to the mages’ belongings, stained with blood. “Did you get what you came for?”

“I did.” Pavus glanced over his shoulder, following Tristan’s gaze. “That Fiend won’t be missing its third eye.”

Its third eye. So that was what he’d wanted all along. That was what Emhyr wanted to get his hands on. A Fiend’s third eye was said to have many powers and strange applications, but most of the rumours were simply that; rumours. Superstition. Old wives tales about knights who battled Fiends to obtain their third eye, which would miraculously bring their beloved back to life or that could be given to demons in exchange for riches and power. Tristan doubted his knowledge now. What could the Emperor of Nilfgaard possibly want to do with that eye? What were they up to?

In his dream-like haze, Tristan almost voiced those questions. As soon as he opened his mouth, though, he quickly snapped it shut again. Witchers didn’t ask these sort of questions. Whatever Pavus was looking to do with it, was his own business. And as soon as Tristan was paid the entirety of the gold promised to him, this whole affair would stop being any of his.

“You witchers heal surprisingly quickly,” Pavus said as he watched him eat, stirring him out of his thoughts. “I managed to make you drink one of those healing potions in your pouch while you were unconscious - at least I hope it was a healing potion. It reeked abominably to me. You didn’t die, so I guess it worked, yes?”

“You went through my potions?” Tristan’s eyes widened. “You know they’re highly toxic for anyone that isn't a witcher, right? And how did you know which one to give me?”

“Oh, please. I could recognise the smell of swallow and celandine anywhere. Although there was something else positively horrid in there that I couldn’t quite place.”

“That must have been the drowner brains,” Tristan said, smirking when he saw Pavus’ eyes widening, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Or the vitriol.”

“The horror,” he breathed, pressing his hand on his chest. “The things you poor fellows have to ingest. No wonder you’re so irritable.” Tristan glowered at him, and Pavus laughed mirthfully under his breath. He gave him a warm smile after his laughter had eased away, letting his gaze glide over Tristan’s features. Tristan felt that familiar flush returning to his cheeks, and he hastily looked away. When the mage spoke again, his voice was soft like a whisper. “It almost got you, you know. I’ve never seen a gash this nasty."

Tristan lifted the blanket that Pavus had draped over him. His armour had been removed to be replaced by soft cotton breeches. The bandages on his chest were clean, freshly changed, the strong smell of antiseptic ointment reaching his nostrils. And soap. A startling realisation suddenly dawned on him, making his breath hitch. Pavus had removed his armour, washed him, dressed his wounds, put him in clean clothes. Pavus had seen him naked. Fuck. Shit.

His face was burning when he swiftly let the blanket fall over him again. “I’ve had worse,” he grumbled, eyes fixed on his bowl of stew, hoping against hope that his furious blush wasn’t as noticeable, although he must have looked red like a pomegranate by then. He scooped up the last of his meal and pushed the bowl away, lying flat on his back with a grunt.

"That’s easy enough for you to say. You didn’t see the wound when it was fresh. If the Fiend's antler had got you just an inch to the right, I'm not certain I would have been able to do much. If it were your spleen instead of your lung you would have bled out before I’d even reached you."

Tristan shrugged indifferently. “Perhaps. But it didn’t. And I-” he shot him a sideways glance as he spoke at him, and his words died in his mouth. There was worry lingering in the mage’s eyes, his brows drawn in a thoughtful frown. Tristan felt irresistibly drawn to that curious silver gaze, like a moth was drawn to light. "I, uh…" he started, gulping thickly. "Thank you. You…" He paused, letting out a low chuckle. It sounded weak and painful. "It seems I owe you my life."

Pavus looked at him quizzically for a long moment, tilting his head to the side. "You think so? It never occurred to me. I could invoke the Law of Surprise, I suppose. That might come in handy."

Tristan frowned at him. Invoking the Law of Surprise was no laughing matter, and he had heard of countless people getting into trouble for merely mentioning it. Pavus huffed in amusement when he noticed his disgruntled expression. "I'm simply joking, naturally. If anything, I owe you my life. If it hadn't been for you jumping onto that beast's head, it would have been me lying where you are now. If I were here at all." Pavus held his gaze, his gaze softening. "If thanks are to be given, then you should have mine."

Tristan's heart fluttered in his chest, a blade of grass trembling with the wind. He licked his lips, swallowing thickly. "You-uh… It-it's alright," he stammered. "You don't have to… You placed yourself in danger, too. If it hadn't been for you drawing the Fiend's attention while it had me in hypnosis-" He shook his head. “You could have ran off, then. Should have, actually. Yet you didn’t.”

"Oh, please. As if I would have left you to die out there. Not when you’d finally started warming up to me."

"I… what?"

Pavus' smile widened. "You grabbed a Fiend quite literally by the antlers to save me. You also haven't snapped or grunted in the last ten minutes. Not much, at least. If that's not warming up, then I'm not sure what is.”

"I don't… that's not-" Tristan frowned, pursing his lips in some desperate attempt to appear stern. “I gave my word to the Emperor that I would see you back safe. Witchers live and die by their word. That's what they should do, at least.”

“Was that the only reason you did it?” Pavus whispered, shifting just an inch closer to him.

Tristan’s first instinct was to edge back, safely away. Instead, he found himself watching him wide eyed, unable to move, a deer before bright lights. “I… I-” He dabbed his lips with his tongue, swallowing thickly. The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “I didn’t want to see you get hurt."

With a soft sigh, Pavus moved closer still, covering the distance between them. His lips were only a hair away from Tristan's when he paused, his breath tickling his skin. "I like you, too.”

As if drawn by a spell, Tristan leaned in, catching his plush, velvet lips in a kiss. The mage moaned softly, fingers threading in Tristan’s hair. Tristan’s hands tangled in his robes when he reached out, pulling him towards him. His injury nipped with his movements, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Pavus’ lips were soft and warm against his, and he tasted of cardamom and cloves, and his fingers were soothing as they smoothed down the sides of his neck. Tristan could almost feel the vibration of his magic running over his skin, tingling, drawing him in.

“I want you,” Tristan whispered. He ran his palm down the mage's back, feeling his muscles under the thick fabric. “I want- I want-”

“I want you, too.” Pavus closed his teeth over Tristan’s bottom lip, nipping and sucking lightly as his hand left his neck to skim carefully over his bandages, palm brushing over the bulge in Tristan’s breeches. Deft fingers slithered under his waistband and it wasn’t long before Tristan groaned against his lips, thrusting into his hand when it wrapped around his hardness. “I want you so much.”

“Yes,” Tristan nodded, hypnotised, riding the waves of pleasure that washed through him, unable to hold back. Everything else around him had faded away, even the pain at his sides, and there was only Pavus there, and his lips, his tongue, his hands- fuck, his hands-

Pavus’ mouth left his own to brush along his jaw, down his neck, along the dip of his chest. Tristan held his breath as he watched him trail ever downwards, every touch sending ripples of electricity down his spine. The mage held his gaze firmly, lips quirked in a teasing smile before they closed over his cock.

Tristan moaned, fingers snaking into Pavus’ hair. His mouth was warm and slick, his tongue smooth like velvet as it pressed against him. He shivered as he was swallowed whole, that rich heat enveloping him until he could think of nothing else. He wondered idly whether he had ever felt anything as pleasant, whether there was anything in the world that would compare to that, to that sweet torture, to that slow, agonising pleasure. His fingers were soft when they curled around the base of his cock, when they caressed his thighs, when they trailed upwards to touch the exposed skin of his chest. His sterling grey eyes were fixed on Tristan’s, his intense gaze stealing the air from his lungs. How had he held himself back from this- from him- all these days? How had he managed to keep his hands off him for so long?

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Tristan rasped, pulling him up. Pavus hovered over him, straddling him. Tristan pried his mouth open with his tongue, the taste of him on Pavus’ lips sending shivers coiling and unraveling through him. He slithered his palms under the mage’s robes, feeling the tight muscles of his thighs, fingers digging at the firm flesh of his buttocks through his smallclothes. He hooked a digit over the waistband, the rich fabric retreating easily under his fingertips. “Silk?” he whispered, and the mage chuckled softly.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured against his lips. “Only the best kind.” He gasped when Tristan pulled at it, the silk fabric ripping at the seams. He edged back to look at him, a stern expression on his features. “You owe me a pair of very expensive underwear, you know.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Tristan brushed his fingers over Pavus’ mouth, then sighed as those full, luscious lips wrapped around his digits. Sucking gently, caressing them with the flat of his tongue. Teeth closing over his fingertips. Eyes trained on his own. Did Pavus even realise the effect his eyes had on him? Could he see, could he feel the rolling waves of lust that rushed through him with his every glance? The pulse that roared in Tristan’s ears with every touch?

He dragged his fingers out slowly, replacing them with his tongue. “You’re brilliant,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. “Just bloody brilliant.” He reached down, closing his palm around Pavus’s length, brushing his thumb over the bead of dew that had gathered at the tip. The mage tilted his head back, sighing as Tristan placed a trail of kisses along the underside of his jaw, pumping him slowly. He took a deep breath, letting his rich scent fill his lungs.“And you smell so… so-”

“Yes?” Pavus breathed, reaching out for his bag, rummaging through its contents until he pulled out a small vial. He dropped some of the liquid on his palm, then reached down between them to smooth it over Tristan’s shaft.

Tristan’s mouth watered when the spicy scent of the oil reached his nostrils. His pulse quickened, a hot white rush that surged through him in a wave. “You smell so-” he grunted softly, thrusting in Pavus’ hand. “You-you smell... incredible.”

“What else do you like about me?” the mage asked, carefully angling Tristan at his entrance.

“You’re- ah- you-” Tristan’s eyes rolled back at the contact. He clenched his jaw, fingers sinking in Pavus’s thigh. “Your mouth. Your lips. Your skin. Your eyes. They’re beautiful. You’re-” He gazed up at him, running his tongue over his lips. “You’re beautiful.”

Pavus leaned down, brushing his nose over his. “You’re not that bad looking yourself,” he whispered, his lips curved in a smirk.

Tristan groaned at the back of his throat as the mage sank slowly, ever so slowly over his hardness, as the tip of his cock slipped inside his tight heat. “Fuck, this is- this is-”

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Pavus said breathlessly, taking him in a little deeper. A deep flush had risen up his cheeks when he quirked an eyebrow at him. “Makes you feel like an idiot for not doing it sooner, yes?”

Tristan rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation, though it was half hearted. Mainly because Pavus was right. “You talk too much,” he grunted, cupping his neck to pull his lips down to his, hips bucking upwards a bit more. He kissed him deeply, tongue caressing the roof of his mouth, drinking in the gasps that escaped Pavus as he thrust lightly, shallowly until he was sheathed to the hilt.

“Yes- Sun, yes-” the mage moaned, grinding helplessly against him. He was tight -fuck, was he tight- deliciously warm, infernally good. He pushed into him over and over, chasing every sliver of that sweet bliss. Pavus threw his head back when Tristan closed his fist over his cock, pumping him in time with his thrusts. “Yes- harder, please…”

The breathiness, the need in his voice, the flush of his cheeks, his glistening lips, they made the roaring fire that flooded Tristan’s chest soar to something uncontrollable. He gripped his hips, dragging him down as he surged up, driving himself deeper. His pulse was buzzing in his ears, warmth surging through him with every thrust, his breath catching in his throat, his breath-

Tristan stopped abruptly, his head falling back against the pillow as his lungs spasmed, seeking more air. His hold on Pavus’s hips tightened, holding him steady. “Wait,” he croaked, voice thick and strained.

The mage blinked at him, lifting himself up. “What? What happened?” He was panting, sweat gathering on his brow. It glowed in the evening sun, like beads of golden dew.

Tristan gulped, inhaling slowly through his nose. “I just- I need to catch my breath.” His wound stabbed him every time his chest rose and fell, making it hard to speak. Pavus was watching him wide-eyed, sitting perfectly still on top of him.

“Are you alright? Shall we stop?” he asked, anxiously searching his face. He shifted where he was, lifting himself up. “Perhaps I should-”

Tristan grabbed him tightly, pulling him back down. “Don’t- don’t move,” he rasped. He winced as his lung stabbed at him, and he felt the mage’s back stiffen, saw his eyes widen in concern. Tristan let out a slow exhale, caressing Pavus’s sides under his robes. His muscles were tight underneath his smooth skin, and Tristan let his fingers glide over them, tracing the line that led to his navel with his thumb. “Let’s just take it slow.” He languidly ran his fist down the mage’s length, watching with keen eyes as his eyes rolled back and his lips parted on a moan. “I want to feel you. Really feel you.”

“Slow. Yes.” Pavus nodded, breathless. “I want to feel you, too. You feel so good. So hard. So thick. So-” He rocked against him, palms bracing on the ground on either side of Tristan’s head. He was moving slowly, infuriatingly slowly, but his pace did nothing to quell the roaring blaze of want that surged through him. If nothing else, it kindled it even more.

Tristan fumbled with the buttons and buckles of Pavus’s clothes as the mage rode him - what need was there for all these blasted buckles, anyway?- until he was blissfuly bare, his robes discarded beside them. Until he was hovering over him in nothing but his skin. And what a glorious skin that was - smooth like velvet, rich like caramel, catching the rays of the setting sun, glowing. Tristan dragged his palm down his torso, feeling the contours of his taut muscles. He sighed when he brushed his thumb over a raised nipple, the tight nub stiffening under his touch. Pavus’s teeth closed over Tristan’s bottom lip, his hand slithering in Tristan’s hair as he moaned, as he picked up his pace, lowering himself over and over on his cock. “Tristan,” he breathed, long fingers wrapping around his strands, pulling. “Oh, Tristan-”

His name, spoken in Pavus’s breathless voice, was enough to set his blood aflame. Before he could stop to think, he gripped the mage tightly, shifting his weight to flip him on his back. The wound nipped under the bandage, and he winced in pain, biting the inside of his lip.

The mage gaped at him. “Wait- your injury-” he started, but only managed to let out a loud moan when Tristan thrust eagerly back into him.

“Fuck my injury,” Tristan grunted, crashing his mouth against Pavus’ again, ignoring the pain in his side as their lips touched, chasing every other thought and sensation away. There was nothing else in the world but him, his velvet heat warming him to his very core, his scent that flooded his senses, the taste of him that lingered on his tongue when he brushed it over his throat. He pushed harder, as hard as he could, hooking an arm under his leg to burrow more of his cock inside him.

Pavus’s head fell back, his fingers digging into Tristan’s shoulder blades as Tristan drove himself deeper. The mage’s lips that pressed against the side of his neck, the streams of garbled sentences and curses that ran over Tristan’s skin as he reached down to stroke himself in time with Tristan’s thrusts, his eyes that rolled back with his climax, they were all too much, far too much. The heat and tension that had coiled in his gut burst into something white hot and blinding as he shuddered, letting the vibrations of Pavus's ecstasy wash through him.

Tristan collapsed on top of him, suddenly feeling every last bit of his strength leaving him. His limbs ached and trembled, and the skin at his sides tingled when Pavus ran his palms over it. With soft, careful movements, the mage rolled him on to his back, his fingers lingering on him for just a breath before sitting up to pull a blanket over them both. They lay next to each other for a long while, the chirping of the birds and their own breaths, gradually softening, the only sounds between them.

Tristan inhaled deeply, taking in the quiet of the moment. He watched Pavus from the corner of his eye, studying his languid movements. His heavy lids, fluttering softly. The thin film of sweat that still clung to his brow. He wondered idly whether it had all really happened, or whether the past half hour or so was part of a fever induced dream. A wonderful dream, yes, but a dream nonetheless.

Pavus shifted were he lay, curling his arm under his head. “You can just look at me, you know,” he said sleepily. “You don’t have to peek.”

Tristan frowned, turning away. “I am not peeking.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve been doing it ever since the moment you saw me.”

Tristan’s cheeks flared hot and bright, and he cleared his throat irritably. “I’ve been doing nothing of the sort.”

“For someone who prides themselves on their stealth skills, you’re not very subtle.”

Tristan rolled his eyes, huffing. “Are you always so mouthy, Pavus?”

“Well, of course I am,” the mage chuckled. “It’s one of my greatest assets. Something to which you yourself can attest.” He propped himself up on his elbow to fix him with a pointed look. “And, by the way, my name isn’t Pavus.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s not Pavus. It’s Dorian.”

“I know what your name is,” Tristan grumbled, pursing his lips. He felt like a petulant child all of a sudden.

“You know it, yet you never use it.” He leaned closer, brushing his nose over his. “Just try it. It’s not that difficult. Dorian. Do-ri-an.”

Tristan took a tremulous breath, resisting the urge to surge forward and run the flat of his tongue over those full, glistening lips. “Dorian,” he said after a brief moment of hesitation, poignantly drawing the vowels out. “There. Happy?”

“Very.” Dorian flashed him a wide smile, his finger tracing the raised scar on Tristan’s collarbone. “Now that we’ve learned the basics, we can move on to something more advanced, yes? Let’s start with… ‘You look positively splendid today, Dorian’. That’s always nice to hear. Or ‘I thoroughly enjoy your company, Dorian’. Or ‘Your wit and charm is unparalleled, Dorian’. Or…”

Tristan pulled him down for a deep, passionate kiss, their tongues twining. “You drive me mad, Dorian.”

Dorian laughed against his lips, pressing his body closer against his. “I love hearing that, too,” he whispered. “Especially when it comes from you.”

The days of travel until they got back to Vizima rolled by swiftly, much more swiftly than Tristan would have liked. Even more than he would care to admit. The long hours on the saddle by day, listening to Dorian’s voice, drinking in the sound of his laugh. The longer hours at night, when they lay together by the fire until the early morning rays found them. It was as if Tristan was in a constant dream-like haze, his mind filled with thoughts of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. Pure, unfiltered bliss. Ecstasy in slow motion.

When the tall towers of the palace of Vizima rose before them, it was as if someone had stabbed him in the spleen and left him for dead in a shallow ditch.

They didn’t exchange too many words as they solemnly rode through the town’s tidy cobblestone streets. The people parted when they passed, with quick, uneasy looks at Dorian’s magnificent horse, Tristan’s armour and the amulet hanging about his neck. A few even flinched when they met his eyes, praying to their gods under their breath.

Dorian’s expression was serious and grim when their horses’ hooves reached the stone bridge that arched over the deep, broad moat that separated the castle from the rest of the world. They both dismounted, reluctantly handing their reins to the stable boys that rushed out to get their steeds. Var Heid was already waiting for them by the inner courtyard. He gave them both a small bow, hawk like eyes examining them when he straightened back up.

“Was the gentlemen’s journey satisfactory?”

“As a matter of fact, it was,” Dorian said with a sickly sweet smile. “But it was also long and tiring. So, you will excuse us if we go straight to our rooms, yes? I could use a bath.”

Var Heid’s gaze fleeted to Tristan, no doubt taking in every detail of his appearance. “I can imagine,” he said flatly. “I am afraid this is not possible. The Emperor has requested to see you as soon as you arrive.”

“I see.” Dorian straightened up, brushing his palms over his robes, then shot Var Heid a contemptuous look. “Well? What are we waiting for?”

Var Heid sniffed as he turned around, leading them through the castle. Dorian rolled his eyes behind the steward’s back, his lips pursed in an annoyed frown. Damn it. He was beautiful even when he was irked. Perhaps even more so then.

A sharp pang of bitterness drove through Tristan as he followed him through the narrow corridors, secretly wishing for Var Heid to take the long way to the Emperor's office.

A short while later, Tristan was walking back out of the palace, his coin pouch significantly heavier than it was before. The sun was setting, casting its waning golden light upon the world as he made his way to the stables. Almond neighed softly when she saw him, chewing on some fresh straw. He reached out, stroking her forehead, letting his gaze drift past the stable window, over the tall mountains in the distance.

So. It was him, Almond and the vast Continent once more.

“We’ll manage, won’t we, girl?” he whispered. “We always do.”

“Are you talking to… your horse?”

Tristan turned around at the sound of Dorian’s voice. The mage was leaning against the door of the stables, watching him. A soft smile spread on his features, interest flashing in his sterling grey eyes.

“I spend a lot of time on the road by myself,” Tristan replied. “One develops certain habits when they’re alone for so long.”

Dorian chuckled softly, pushing himself off the door. He sauntered towards him, hips swaying ever so slightly. “My initial assessment of you was correct, it seems. You are sentimental.”

“So was mine,” Tristan retorted. “You are mouthy.”

“Was that really your initial assessment of me?”

They gazed at each other for a long moment before Dorian’s lips widened in a smile. Tristan let out a low, throaty laugh, letting his arms fall to his sides when Dorian took a step closer to him.

“So,” he said quietly, “this is it, isn’t it?”

Tristan's stomach tightened uneasily. Dorian's scent was hypnotizing, his lips so close to his, his eyes glittering, drawing him in. The light of the golden setting sun reflecting on his features, making him look as if he were aglow. Tristan ran his tongue over his bottom lip, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to take him into his arms, pull him down atop the hay and make love to him until the sun rose again. “I believe it is.”

Dorian’s finger trailed down his arm, sending shivers through him everywhere it touched. He leaned closer, brushing his lips against his. Tristan closed his eyes, tasting the spices on his tongue, drawing on his focus to discern every detail, every hidden undertone, etching the memory firmly in his mind. They kissed gently for a long moment, light touches that made Tristan’s skin prickle.

“Drop by sometime, will you?” he murmured against his lips, pushing a lock of hair behind Tristan’s ear.

“That is not up to me,” Tristan replied, a tinge of sorrow in his voice. “Witchers go where destiny takes them.”

Dorian brushed his nose over his. “You might be able to figure something out,” he whispered. “If that is what you want.”

Tristan leaned into his touch, helplessly drawn to him. He wanted to be close to him, as close as he could, for as long as he could. He reached out, fingers skimming his waist, itching to pull him into a tight embrace. With a soft sigh, Dorian took a step back. He held his gaze firmly, silver meeting slitted amber.

“So long, Tristan of Toussaint,” he said with a small bow of his head. He turned around, pausing to shoot him a glance over his shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Tristan stared after him, long after his form had disappeared around the stable doors. “So long,” he whispered to the swiftly approaching dusk.

#dorian pavus #witcher #witcher au #dorian pavus x trevelyan #dorian pavus/trevelyan #pavelyan #dorian pavus x inquisitor #dorian pavus/inquisitor #dragon age fanfiction #tristan trevelyan #dorian x tristan trevelyan #viper in tall grass #johaerys writes

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smutnug · 5 years ago

Text

Day 10: Surprise kiss

Owen Trevelyan had always been fascinated by magic: as a boy he pored over illustrations of griffons and dragons, devouring folk tales of witches and enchantments and talking animals.

"You shouldn't let him read that nonsense," his mother said. "He'll turn into a mage."

Bann Trevelyan peered over his spectacles - the finest in dwarven craftsmanship - and blinked mildly. "I'm quite sure that's not how it works."

"How will he ever be a templar? He won't know which side he's on."

"I don't think it's supposed to be about sides, dear."

Lady Trevelyan sniffed. "I see where he gets it from."

Thankfully for his mother, Owen's sense of adventure extended to a love of swords and rough-and-tumble play. A dutiful but indifferent Andrastian, he was considered too old at ten for templar training, but utterly unsuited to clerical work.

"We'll send him out to squire. It will do him good to be around boys his own age."

Owen had been a late addition: a surprise, or an accident, depending on his mother's mood. She looked at her youngest son doubtfully. "I just don't want him to be bullied."

"Stop bullying him then, dear." The bann returned to his book.

Squiring agreed with Owen exceptionally well.

"The duke is happy with his progress," said Bann Trevelyan over his morning letters. "Very popular with the other boys, evidently."

Lady Trevelyan choked genteelly on her tea. "Not too popular, I hope."

Her husband peered over his spectacles. "You're a hard woman to please, dear."

Owen returned home to Ostwick in his eighteenth year. Described variously as strapping, honourable to a fault, affable, and a host of other complimentary things, he had distinguished himself in tourneys and skirmishes alike. He was, everyone agreed, a credit to his house.

Lady Trevelyan looked her son up and down. Tall and broad with a mop of straw-coloured hair and a radiant grin, he was already gaining a reputation as the handsomest youth in Ostwick.

She pursed her lips.

They held a ball to celebrate his homecoming. Owen danced every dance, no more than once or twice with the same partner. People seemed drawn to him.

"I wish you wouldn't lead those poor girls on, Owen."

He looked down at his mother with a mock-wounded expression. "What makes you think I'm leading them on, mother dear?"

"Oh, Owen."

He laughed and kissed her on the cheek, and she couldn't help but smile.

Owen Trevelyan loved magic. He walked the streets of Haven with a grin, his cheeks ruddied by the cold. Mages, real mages, everywhere he looked! Some were half-starved, some surly, many too nervous to look anyone in the eye, but to him they may as well have been exotic butterflies.

"Is it true a dragon used to live here?" he asked the tavern keeper.

"That's what they say, ser," she said with a shrug.

"How wonderful!" he said, and tipped her richly enough that she forgave him for being a bit strange, and wondered if he were single.

He was. Lady Trevelyan had farewelled him with a kiss, a thick woollen scarf, and a murmured, perhaps you'll meet a nice man over there.

For you, mother, I'll try, he'd answered, and swept her into a bone-crushing hug.

He hadn't spent the past five years idle. He'd served in his father's guard, with such distinction that any suggestions of nepotism were quickly abandoned. He'd helped strengthen trade agreements with Markham and Ansburg, and turned down half a dozen marriage contracts with such charm that nobody felt any offense (but more than one young lady was left a touch disappointed). He bested some of the best fighters in the Free Marches at tourney. And, of course, he read.

None of this entirely prepared him for what was to come.

Owen Trevelyan loved magic - that didn't mean he wanted a mysterious, sometimes bad-humoured magical mark embedded in his hand. He loved the idea of dragons, but there was nothing exciting about having one attack his home. The novelty of demons wore off at his first encounter.

He loved magic; and while it didn't cross into fetish, it wouldn't be true to say he'd never thought of having a mage lover. There was a certain exotic, star-crossed romance to it after all.

Dorian, though…Dorian was something else altogether.

Smooth, flashy, witty…beautiful. Every visible inch seemed perfectly sculpted. His voice was richer than mead, his skin almost seemed to glow with warmth. For all Owen's romanticism, he didn't believe in love at first sight. But his first sight of Dorian…well, it took a man a while to recover from something like that.

Every ounce of charm Owen could throw at him was returned with double the force. He slashed, he parried, but it seemed Dorian didn't even know he was part of a duel. The mage shielded himself in sarcasm and cast wit like fireballs, all without so much as a sheen of sweat forming on his perfect brow.

A lesser man might have given up. Not Owen Trevelyan. He believed in magic.

"New books?" Dorian exclaimed. "Just when I thought my brain was about to wither and die."

"Our budget has allowed for some arcane study," Owen said, nearly dropping an armful of priceless tomes.

"Stop right there," Dorian ordered, "and let me help you. Why?"

"The advisors thought it might help me to have more knowledge of magical…things. I was hoping you might help me choose some good starting material?"

His eyes lit up like a glutton at a feast. "If you promise to take better care of them. I absolutely forbid you to carry more than three at a time."

"As you wish," Owen said with a winning smile.

"Dorian." Owen slid into a seat at the Herald's Rest. "I've been meaning to ask you - just how closely related are we?"

The mage took a sip of his drink, wrinkling his nose in elegant disgust. "I'd hardly say closely. Barely at all, and even then only by marriage."

"Oh. Good."

"Good?" Dorian swivelled in his chair. "I suppose you're right. The shame of being linked to a Tevinter mage, and all that."

"Dorian." Owen drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "I've travelled, you know. I've fought in battles. I've made love. I know you think I'm some over-excited puppy, but I want you to take me seriously."

"Where did this come from? I do take you seriously, dear boy."

"Dorian," he said a third time. "I'd like you to take me seriously. Because I take you seriously." Rising from his chair, he gave Dorian a backslap that soaked his mustaches in sour wine. "Good talking to you."

When the Inquisitor had gone, Sera stuck her head over the railing.

"Oi!" she called. "You, Dorian, are a frigging idiot."

Owen found Dorian leaning against the wall of the Gull and Lantern, staring at his finely tailored boots.

"I suppose you think I should forgive him?"

He joined him, tilting his face towards the sun. "I think it's up to you. Say the word and we'll leave now, and I'll never talk of it again if you don't want me to."

"But…?"

"But if you want to talk, even to say goodbye, I'll wait here."

Dorian looked at him for a long moment, then clasped his arm. "I won't be long."

"As long as you want."

"Thank you," he said softly, and straightened his spine. Then he opened the tavern door, and closed it quietly behind him.

The kiss came as a surprise to nobody but Dorian.

"You have to fight for what's in your heart," he said, and Owen couldn't help but take those two steps and kiss him.

The setting was perfect: Dorian's little corner of the library, filtered afternoon light streaming through the windows. Softer than Owen had dreamed of, gentler (although harder kisses were to come, later; rough, savage, stolen-in-the-midst-of-wrestling kisses) and sweeter by far than his imagination could conjure. He captured Dorian's small sound of surprise with his mouth, then Dorian caught his bottom lip carefully between his teeth, and only one word crystallised in the back of his mind as they melted together, two halves finally whole.

Magic.

#14dalovers #dorian x trevelyan #surprise kiss #nug writes #Owen trevelyan

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secretsfromwholecloth · 5 years ago

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Dragon Age: Inquisition, day 7.

The banter with Dorian offering to draw diagrams for Blackwall is great. I love you to death, Blackwall, but mind your business. Unless you want those diagrams.

Is it just me, or are the shards in the Exalted Plains all tucked away in the most irritating possible places?

And being constantly pulled into combat by passing wolves is terribly annoying.

You know, I was trying to pull the party out of combat, but I will also accept Dorian taking out a bear by himself. Good job. Dorian.

Landing on Dragon Island and having Varric ask, “So what do we expect to find here?” is good comedy.

Sorry, Dorian, you can have your seaside picnic in a bit. Though do you really want to have an audience for that, much less Varric and Blackwall, of all people?

OK, level 16 party, Vinsomer, go!

Well, that took several tries, a lot of manual reviving, and swapping out Dorian’s staff and a couple of his spells because whoops, he was favoring electrical attacks and the Vinsomer is immune to electricity, but this game’s first fucking dragon has been slain! Sorry you couldn’t be here for it, Iron Bull. Another time.

Bianca. >:|

Avasis is really unhappy with his stepmom right now.

To Caer Oswin now, to bang out Cassandra’s quest.

Oh, Cassandra.

“We seekers are abominations, Cassandra.” No, that’s definitely not foreshadowing anything, whatever would give you that idea?

Ooh, the Temple of Dirthamen. I don’t think I visited last time, let’s see what we find.

Whoo, good demon-summoning fun. With dismembered body parts.

Is it time for Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts? I think it just might be.

Dorian is non-negotiable as the love interest, and Cassandra makes sense for the warrior—she’s the fanciest of the three, and we’re going to a fancy thing. Even if she hates every second. (There are arguments to be made for Iron Bull, too—you can’t have too many professional spies on your side at an Orlesian court function—but the party needs a proper tank, it already has a melee DPS in Avasis.) Vivienne is potentially useful because she’s familiar with the Orlesian court, and Solas is important for in-character Reasons. That’s too many mages. Who do I drop? Vivienne, I think. Cassandra/Dorian/Solas party go.

Wow. I knew Orlesians were super racist, but wow.

“What is Lady Pentaghast wearing?” A uniform that looks very nice on her, now shut your hole. It’s rather less flattering on Avasis, mind.

Yep, Josephine and her sister are still adorable. Hug option when?

Poor Cullen. The handling of him here still sits very poorly with me, especially in the absence of any option to even try to rescue him.

“It would be easier if people would stop talking to me. Other people. Not you.” Weh.

Solas. Solas, what is that hat you’re wearing? Pretty sure Josephine didn’t issue you that thing.

Aww, Dorian. Don’t worry, if your mother does materialize out of nowhere, she’ll have a very large and protective Vashoth to contend with.

Yay, I totally needed more Morriganing in my life! Yes! Definitely! This is not sarcasm!

“Is that the Inquisitor? He’s not very good-looking, is he? Poor man.” Your hole, random noblewoman, shut it. Avasis is gorgeous, thank you kindly. And the horns are dashing.

Nice villain monologue, Florianne. You do know what traditionally happens after the villain gives their monologue, right?

Commencing Operation Stab Florianne Real Good.

Nice, that was some good stabbing.

And it’s done, Briala and Gaspard are ruling. Enjoy the boost to your ambitions to become Divine, Leliana.

Oh god. Killing Florianne means having a cadaver synod with the remains, doesn’t it.

And I think Dorian’s approval is maxed, I didn’t get messages about the last couple of things he should’ve approved of. Avasis loves you too, Sparkler.

“For a time, I had a respite with the man I loved.” I’d dearly like to know who that is, because it sure as hell isn’t Daiwen and I doubt it was Loghain.

The Wicked Grace scene is very sweet. And a little sad to see Blackwall having fun with everyone when he’s going to do the thing very soon.

And more in the morning, it’s late.

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #avasis adaar

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thecomicsnexus · 5 years ago

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MIGHT MUTANIMALS #1-6 / TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES ADVENTURES #38-39 APRIL - DECEMBER 1992 BY STEVEN MURPHY, STEVE LAVIGNE, MIKE KAZALEH, SCOTT SHAW, JON D’AGOSTINO, GARRETT HO, CHRIS ALLAN, BRIAN THOMAS AND BARRY GROSSMAN

SYNOPSIS (FROM COMIC VINE AND TMNT ENTITY)

In the sky above the desert, a bald eagle soars. Below, a rider on horseback races across the wasteland. The rider is revealed to be Death. Death clutches a patch of leopard fur, rubs it to its face and then races onward. As the patch of fur is picked up in the breeze, the eagle snatches it in its talons and follows the Grim Reaper.

Off the coast of South America, Mondo Gecko is having a “bodacious” time, skating the side of an abandoned ship, the Dorian Grey, like a half pipe. Wingnut and Screwloose find his antics irritating and take off.

From a raft out in the water, Kid Terra watches them through his binoculars and wallows in his own despair. He feels genuinely regretful for the things he did while under the employ of Null; an emotion which grows tenfold once he considers how hard it must be for the various mutants he’s met to find their place in the world.

Below, Man Ray leads numerous Glublub refugees (whose homeland was destroyed by Null’s toxic pollution) to their new home of Valle De La Ninfa Marina, a marine nature preserve. The Glublub’s are grateful for his help, though the local sharks are hungry. Man Ray uses his Aquaman-like powers to summon the shark’s natural enemy, the stingray. The stingrays drive the sharks away and Man Ray leaves the Glublubs in peace so he can rendezvous with Kid Terra; whom he isn’t very fond of. An uneasy conversation follows, as Terra assures Ray that he never intended to kill his friend, Bubbla the Glublub; he intended to kill him. Man Ray is touched, but Terra expresses his guilt and vows to use all his knowledge of Null’s operation to bring the villain to justice. Man Ray and Terra part on uneasy terms.

High above the jungle, Wingnut and Screwloose yearn for their lost home world of Huanu, though find brief joy among a flock of vampire bats brought out by the setting sun.

In an ancient temple built by an unknown civilization, Jagwar calls the rest of the Mutanimals (sans Wingnut and Screwloose) to a meeting. Jagwar asks his friends to eat the fruit of the jungala tree, as its mystical properties will allow them to share a vision; a vision of his mother, Juntarra, who has been missing for six years. Many years before that, though, Juntarra’s restless spirit sent her on a quest to the south, following the path of the four winds. The south was the Path of the Serpent, where she was able to shed her previous life. The second path, to the west, was the Path of the Jaguar, where she faced her fear of death. Juntarra sought out the Jaguar Spirit, Yaguaro, and the two fell in love. Juntarra then gave birth to Jagwar, but being a rather poor mother, left him at age 12 to continue her journey. That was six years ago.

Suddenly, Jagwar is disturbed by the arrival of his father, Yaguaro. Yaguaro tells Jagwar that his mother has succeeded in following the third path to the east, the Path of the Dragon. He warns Jagwar that a great danger approaches her and that he, as a spirit, is powerless to stop it.

Indeed, out in the desert, the leopard skin-clad Juntarra is spied by the eagle, who swoops down to deliver the patch of fur it had caught. Juntarra is then faced by the figure of Death. Juntarra succeeds in decapitating the Reaper with her dagger, but the spectre only laughs and knocks her out with the blunt end of its scythe. Putting its head back on, Death places Juntarra on his horse and rides off.

Back at the temple, Jagwar observes the whole ordeal and declares that he must save his mother. The other Mutanimals insist they have his back.

In the South American rain forest, the Mutanimals follow a trail of rattlesnake talismans left behind, leading them toward the Path of the Serpent. Making small talk, Mondo Gecko asks Wingnut and Screwloose why they’re both so standoffish, leaving Screwloose to angrily reply that they’re friends and that should be good enough. Apologizing, Mondo brings them up to speed on their current mission, to follow the trail of Jagwar’s missing mother, Juntarra, and save her from the mysterious skull-faced fiend who has captured her.

Leaving behind the bulldozers and construction vehicles of Man’s world, the Mutanimals journey deeper into the heart of the rain forest. At last, they reach their first destination: the South Wind, AKA the Path of the Serpent. Suddenly, a humongous snake bursts out of the cave entrance and attacks. The Mutanimals rally together to defeat it, but in the battle, the snake destroys Wingnut’s prosthetic wings (emotionally crippling the poor guy). Leatherhead and Man Ray get a bright idea and, using their super strength, tie the creature in knots. The Mutanimals then escape into the cave.

Coming out the other end of the tunnel, they are met with a shade and vest-wearing anthropomorphic serpent-man named Snake-Eyes. As the representative of the Path of the Serpent, his challenge requires those who seek him to face their pasts and shed them like the skin of a snake. Using his hypnotic gaze, Snake-Eyes freezes the Mutanimals and decides to make Wingnut face his inner demons first. Wingnut remembers his childhood on his homeworld, Huanu. His wings were small and crippled and he couldn’t fly. However, this handicap led him to his best friend, Screwloose, who also couldn’t fly. The two then decided to pool their allowances until Wingnut could afford prosthetic wings that he could use to travel (and Screwloose could use for rides). Sadly, Wingnut’s next memory is far more tragic, as he relives the destruction of his planet and race at the hands of Krang.

Enraged that Sake-Eyes would make Wingnut relive such horror, Screwloose forces the serpent to gaze at his own reflection in a pool of water. Hypnotized, Snake-Eyes is forced to recall a rather unfortunate moment from his own past… when he tricked Eve into eating an apple from the Tree of Knowledge.

Later, the Mutanimals relax over a campfire. Wingnut feels relieved, having faced his past. Screwloose suddenly realizes that Snake-Eyes was actually trying to help them all and that his brash actions foiled their chances at emotional bliss. The Mutanimals forgive him, though, as he was acting in what he thought was his friends' best interests. Jagwar, meanwhile, can think only of his poor missing mother.

In the desert, an eagle follows as the grim reaper carts Juntarra into the mouth of a giant skull.

Riding atop his steed, Beelzy, the Grim Reaper carries Juntarra into the mouth of his skull-shaped temple (as an eagle observes from the sky). Setting Juntarra down, Death worries that the Mutanimals are too far ahead of schedule and the plans orchestrated by himself and a mysterious other could be ruined if they arrive too early. Mixing a spell into a bubbling cauldron, Death gleefully prepares a surprise for the heroes.

Scaling a temple in the shape of a jaguar head, Jagwar announces that the Mutanimals have at last reached the Path of the West Wind, the Path of the Jaguar. The Jaguar-spirit, who is also Jagwar’s father, requires all who confront him to face death. Man-Ray complains, suggesting they just skip all these bogus supernatural “paths” and go directly to the East where they know Juntarra has been taken. Jagwar explains that they are on a supernatural mission and must follow a supernatural path. Being a scientist, Man-Ray refuses to believe in such nonsense and rolls his eyes as the rest of the Mutanimals sit and meditate.

Suddenly, the Jaguar-spirit appears to Man-Ray, asking if he fears death. Man-Ray boisterously reveals that since death is an unknown, and he has no cause to fear the unknown, then therefore he does not fear death. The Jaguar-spirit takes Man-Ray on a spiritual tour of his life, to when he was a grad student in 1987, trying to cure several dying dolphins of a mysterious poison and again to the summer of 1988 when he was doused in mutagen and transformed into Man-Ray. Even as Jack Finney, he was more curious than scared, never fearing death. Taking the tour into his own hands, Man-Ray shows the Jaguar-spirit the times he fought Cap’n Mossback and the aliens, never showing fear in either encounter.

The Jaguar-spirit senses danger and drags Man-Ray back to his body. The Mutanimals come to in time to spot a flock of bat-winged skulls ("deadheads") flying toward them. The Mutanimals engage the creatures in battle, with one narrowly making off with Screwloose. Screwloose escapes with Leatherhead’s help and manages to smash the last remaining deadhead.

The fight isn’t over, as a colossal burning skeleton attacks, hurling fireballs in every direction. Man-Ray comes up with a strategy on the spot and, with the power of name-calling, lures the burning monstrosity to a nearby lake, where it evaporates on contact with the water. From the sky, the Jaguar-spirit is impressed, conceding that Man-Ray truly does not fear death. As the Mutanimals reunite, Screwloose remarks that their challenges were way too easy, as if someone or something were merely trying to stall them.

At the skull temple, Death laughs as he cleans out his cauldron, pondering the next challenge he can concoct for his foes. Juntarra quietly comes to and attempts to sneak away. Her escape is barred by a familiar cigar-smoking, horn-headed fiend in a business suit.

Observing a flock of bats leaving their caves for the evening, or “the Elation of Wings” as it was called back on Huanu, Wingnut and Screwloose bask in the beauty of the migration while simultaneously missing their now-lost ability to fly. They rejoin the rest of the Mutanimals, who are preparing for their journey to the North and the Path of the Dragon; the Path of Wisdom.

At the skull-shaped temple, Juntarra comes face to face with an unimpressed Mr. Null and attempts to castrate him with her knife (for real). Null laughs her attack off, disarming her and slapping her around. Enraged, Juntarra steals the scythe from the Grim Reaper and takes another whack at Null. Now angry, Null seizes the scythe and lays Juntarra out cold with a fist to the face.

Crossing a desert, the Mutanimals stumble across an slaving operation. The Mutanimals intervene, taking down the guards and freeing the slaves. The slaves suddenly drop to their knees and begin worshiping Jagwar as a god. Dreadmon asks what’s up, leaving Jagwar to nervously admit that back in his younger days he used the local tribes’ worship of the jaguar to his advantage; masquerading as a god for his own gain. Never the judgmental type, Dreadmon remarks that he wishes he’d thought of it, too.

The Mutanimals continue up a mountain and finally reach the Path of the Dragon. The bearded, French-smoking dragon Glyph greets them (and his “distant cousins” Mondo and Leatherhead) and tells Jagwar that his mother had spent many years learning wisdom from him on her journey. Glyph knows they’re in a hurry and decides to let them depart with only one story.

Over four billion years ago, there was a planet between Jupiter and Mars named Astraea. Two warring alien factions, the Gryphs and the Soomas began battling over the planet’s resources and when the Soomas launched a secret weapon, they wound-up destroying Astraea (reducing it to the asteroid belt) and both races in the explosion. The lone survivor, a Gryph, crash-landed on Earth with nothing to show for his campaign but a valley full of spaceship wreckage. That Gryph was, of course, Glyph.

The Mutanimals venture into the valley full of spaceship wreckage the next day, contemplating the meaning of Glyph’s story. Man-Ray doubts its authenticity, as “Astraea” was the goddess of justice; citing it as nothing more than an allegorical fable. Searching the wreckage, Leatherhead comes up with his own moral, “Walk tall and carry a big stick”, as he pulls a humongous gun out of a cockpit. The other Mutanimals follow his lead, arming themselves with outrageous alien artillery.

Crossing several days into the desert, the Mutanimals are greeted by an eagle; the same one that tried to warn Juntarra of danger. The eagle transforms into a beautiful woman, who introduces herself as Azrael.

Welcoming the Mutanimals to the last of the Four Winds, the Path to the East, mystical bird-woman Azrael offers to help them rescue Juntarra if they in turn help her save the Four Winds. The Mutanimals agree only for Man-Ray to collapse from dehydration. Azrael leads them to a hidden spring where Man-Ray makes a full recovery. She explains that the spring is all that remains of Lake Resurrection and the sacred tropical lowlands of the Path to the East, which were all destroyed by the bad magic of the Grim Reaper and his mysterious cohort.

Screwloose grabs his alien rifle and urges everyone to stop yakking and head into battle. Azrael leads the Mutanimals to a hill overlooking the skull temple but encourages Jagwar to wait until nightfall for their assault.

Inside, Juntarra wakes up and finds herself bound to a chair with Kid Terra. Kid Terra tells his life story to Juntarra and that Null has captured him for revenge. Reluctantly, Juntarra responds with her life story; that her parents were Spanish missionaries who brought her to Brazil as a child in an attempt to convert Mayorunans. The Mayorunans burned her parents alive but chose to raise her as she was innocent. Juntarra eventually abandoned the Myarunans due to their patriarchal beliefs that women cannot follow the Path of the Four Winds. She then lays the bomb on Kid Terra that she is, in fact, Jagwar’s mother.

Night falls and the Mutanimals descend the hill for their assault. Just then, Null steps out of the shadows and greets them… with an army of laser-wielding robot skeletons! The Mutanimals and the skeletons open fire on each other, but the good guys are too badly outnumbered. One by one, they are each taken down until only Leatherhead and Azrael are left. As the skeleton robots move in, Leatherhead tells Azrael to transform back into an eagle and retreat. From his vantage point, Null lights a cigar and grins.

Man Ray, Jagwar, Dreadmon, Mondo Gecko, Wingnut and Screwloose have been knocked unconscious by a group of skeletal robots controlled by the evil corporate weasel, Mr. Null - the devilsih dude hellbent on ruling the universe. Leatherhead and a shape-shifter named Azrael are still standing, but the gatorman's gun runs out of ammo and he is overpowered by the cybernetic psychos. Azrael changes into an eagle and escapes.

Before Null can kidnap the Mutanimals, the TMNT, Ninjara and Splinter show up and the fight is renewed. A laser beam that Leo deflects with his swords nicks Man Ray's shoulder which awakens the mutant and he joins the fray. Eventually all of the Mutanimals recover and battle escalates. As laser beams and robot body parts fly, Null manages to capture Azrael when she returns to human form and punches her in the face. Null then carries the unconscious woman through a secret doorway hidden in the nearby rocky hills.

Mr. Null meets with four shadowy figures, the foremost looking like the Grim Reaper, who states that the group is ready.

Meanwhile, with the help of the Turtles, the Mutanimals finish mopping up the Robo-Skeletons. As the group exchanges greetings, Jagwar notes that Azrael is missing. Leonardo points out that Cudley is also gone and wonders if they're together, but Dreadmon states that he saw Azrael flying off in her eagle form.

Man Ray then explains that the Mutanimals have come to this place to search for Jagwar's mother, Juntarra, who was kidnapped by the Grim Reaper. A nearby giant skull is where they believe the Reaper to be - but when they found it, Null's robots attacked them. Thus the fishy mutant surmises that Null is working with the Grim Reaper. Jagwar points out that the stoney desert they're now standing in was a lush tropical jungle before the Reaper arrived. Ninjara notices a fire in the jungle far off and everyone rushes to investigate.

When our heroes arrive, they discover four zombies with torches setting fire to the jungle. Jagwar and Dreamon destroy the monsters quickly. When the heroic mutants turn to look at the fire, four shadowy figures emerge from the flames.

As the rain forest burns, the Mutanimals, the Turtles, Splinter and Ninjara face off against their foes: War, Famine and Pestilence; three of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse! Suddenly, the Grim Reaper reveals himself to be the Fourth Horseman, Death (big shocker), and with his scythe, slices reality into three segments, dividing the combined Mutanimal/Turtle forces.

Inside the skull temple, Null plops the unconscious Azrael down at the feet of the bound Kid Terra and Juntarra. Kid Terra pleads for Null to let the ladies go, but Null has very important plans for them… they’re going to be part of his harem.

Back in the desert, Death opens up his “toy chest”, pulling out marionettes of the other three Horsemen and gets ready to “play”. Splinter, Leonardo, Man Ray, Wingnut and Screwloose suddenly find themselves drafted into the army and standing out in the middle of a war zone. Jagwar, Donatello, Raphael and Mondo Gecko end up in an operating room dressed in surgeon’s garb. Michelangelo, Ninjara, Dreadmon and Leatherhead appear in a wilting corn field.

In the corn field, the heroes find themselves hungrier than they’ve ever been before, quickly wasting away to skin and bones. They see a breadline stretching ever onward and fall in line to wait for their meager sustenance. In the operating room, our heroes are faced with cages and cages full of monkeys destined for vivisection. Jagwar considers freeing the pitiable little guys, but the head surgeon warns them that they could already be infected with new strains of deadly viruses. He pulls back his surgical mask to reveal himself to be Pestilence. On the battlefield, our heroes desperately try to avoid getting blown up by "friendly fire". Their commanding officer orders them to seize the enemy barn on the horizon where he suspects nukes are being hidden. The good guys narrowly avoid getting killed by their own forces, but when they kick down the door, they discover War preparing to launch a nuclear missile destined for every nation on the globe.

Back in the breadline, the good guys finally make it to their turn, only for the food to run out. They ask why they can’t have any of the food in the nearby truck, but the distributor laments that those resources are going to the Presidential Palace. As the President commands the military, the starving have no choice but to accept their fate. Suddenly, a can falls from the back of the truck and everyone fights over it. They decide to share the scrap of food, but when Dreadmon claws it open, Famine bursts out. Sapping the last of their strength, he carries the helpless heroes away.

At the operating room, Pestilence reveals that the patient he’s been working on (the Earth) has died. The Turtles try to attack him, but since he’s made of bugs, they can’t land a solid hit. Jagwar has an idea and releases the monkeys, who promptly devour the Horseman. Alas, that just allows Pestilence to possess the primates, who knock the heroes unconscious. Restoring himself, Pestilence wheels the fallen protagonists away.

At the barn, War proves immune to sword blows from Leo and Splinter and counters by using each hero as a bludgeon against one another. He reveals that, in the end, the heroes shall defeat themselves. The protagonists ponder what he means, when suddenly they notice a massive warhead, “friendly fire”, heading toward them and the nuke. The nuke explodes and War hauls their unconscious bodies away.

Out on the desert overlooking the skull temple, Death gleefully dances his three Horsemen marionettes over the beaten and broken marionettes of the Turtles and the Mutanimals.

The four shadowy figures ended up being Death, Famine, War and Pestilence - evil forces of nature who have allied themselves with Null and defeated our heroes. As this issue opens, Null has the TMNT and Mutanimals shackled to posts. Jagwar demands to know why Null has destroyed the rain forest and kidnapped his mother. The evil corporate devil explains that he did it to make the Earth inhospitable to all life.

Splinter asks Null what he plans to do with his captives and the villain explains that they will all be slowly electrocuted to death on the posts. Ninjara snarls for him to get it over with, but Null delays and states that he will not be the one to push the button that begins the execution, he has someone else in mind for that task. The demon then he walks off to his hidden headquarters in the hills.

When Null gets to his destination, he discovers that both Azrael and Juntarra have escaped.

Azrael arrives at the spot where our heroes are tied and attacks the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. In his efforts to capture the eagle, War crashes through the posts holding some of our heroes, freeing them. A battle ensues while Don quickly frees the others.

In the distance, the cowboy known as Kid Terra spies on the Reaper, who is controlling War, Famine and Pestilence by means of puppetry. Juntarra is with Kid - she runs off to help her son while Terra heads up the cliff where the Grim Reaper is preoccupied with the battle below. Kid Terra punches the bonehead, but Null arrives on the scene and shoots the cowboy, who falls from the top of the cliff to the ground below.

The battle between the mutants and the Horsemen continues, while the Reaper seizes the Kid's lifeless body.

Juntarra, Ninjara and Azrael corner Null - who freaks out when faced by three powerful women.

While the Reaper is preoccupied with the Kid's body, Screwloose finds the puppets that the deathly villain was using to control the other Horsemen. Screwloose grabs the puppets and smashes them on a rock - causing the real monsters to disappear into thin air!

Null pulls a gun and keeps his adversaries at bay, before sprouting bat wings and escaping.

Our heroes gather around the Grim Reaper as it holds Terra's body. Kid is having a vision about a hallway full of doors... he finds one cracked open, bright white light escaping from it. Kid opens the door...

The Reaper laughs with satisfaction and holds a glowing orb high above his head, gloating that it has captured Kid Terra's soul. Juntarra grabs the Reaper's scythe and smashes the skeleton to bits - Azrael leaps and catches the Kid's soul and places it on his head, where it seeps back into his body. Once he's absorbed his soul, Kid Terra stirs back to life!

The Reaper's bones turn to dust and Kid asks someone to remove the bullet from his chest - Raph states that he can do it with the right implements.

Jagwar is finally reunited with his mother.

Mondo comments, "After all this, I can only say one thing... WHEW!"

Off in the distance, the Grim Reaper's dust reforms into its skeletal form and rides off on its horse.

Later, Kid Terra peacefully recovers from his impromptu surgery as the Turtles wonder where Cudley the Cowlick could be.

REVIEW

When a villain is so evil, he doesn’t care if he has a planet to live in... you are usually getting yourself into a bad story. But that is not the only thing that doesn’t work.

Jagwar’s mother has become very famous for no reason, she had a son with jaguar spirit (don’t ask), plus there is the changeling Azrael, that we technically have been seeing all along, but does very little in the end, except for bringing Kid Terra back from death.

My main concern however is in how this was supposed to be a spiritual journey, yet they managed to evade learning anything from it. The most notorious problem is when they meet the dragon. You can extract him from the story completely.

Then we have the actual crossover with the TMNT. Which is ok. I feel like the tone of the TMNT book is way darker than Mutanimals, and this mix doesn’t really work that well. And they are both kids books.

The biggest legacy of this saga is in the letter pages, where it is explained that Man Ray’s original name is Man Ray, and that Ray Fillet was a name change they had to do for legal reasons, for the Playmates toy line. I still prefer Ray Fillet, even if it makes no sense.

The art is quite different between the two titles. While both are cartoon-ey, Mutanimals takes it to the extreme.

I give this saga a score of 6.

#archie comics #comics #review #1992 #modern age #mighty mutanimals #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles adventures #man ray #jagwar #ray fillet #mondo gecko #leatherhead #garret ho #ryan brown #peter laird #a c farley #steve lavigne

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funeral-clown · 6 years ago

Text

@demibuckybarnes

it’s jdox

it’s got some smut

it’s got some banter

it’s got some daddy kink

it’s got a whole bunch of girls names

it’s got sins against the pizza gods

read it if you want

The handle of the door dug into his back through the thin cotton of his shirt, leaving JD wincing. He was more concerned with his front, however, where Dr. Cox had him pinned, snarling, hands furled into tight fists around his shirt. The position exposed a frankly embarrassing amount of belly to the cool air. At least he was wearing a shirt, unlike the growling man currently pinning him to the wall.

“Cassandra,” his mentor grit out, “What in the hell were you thinking, dropping in unannounced on my one day off this week?”

JD started to stammer out a response, only to be roughly jostled into silence.

“Let me to that one for ya there, sweetheart. ‘Oh, how I miss my stud of a resident! He must be lonely, up in his apartment with his scotch and his flat-screen tv and his premium sports cable package! I should go annoy him, thus taking away any chance of him drinking himself into the sweet oblivious void where the hospital, it’s patients, and most importantly I do not exist!’ Am I somewhere close, precious?”

JD sulked.

“I just thought you might want a buddy. You have my back in the hospital, and I have yours-”

A sharp whistle cut him off.

“For the last time, Cassiopeia, I don’t “have your back.” I do my job, which is to make sure you don’t kill all your patients! And it’s a damn exhausting effort! So forgive me for wanting a few hours to myself to drink scotch, watch hockey, and put my hand down my pants-” at this JD’s gaze shifted downwards to his sweats-”eyes up HERE sunshine- without any life or death disasters looming over me or sparkly Disney-princess eyed fan girls looming behind me! Now give me one good reason not to kick your ass.”

JD fluttered his eyelashes. Perry growled and shook him again.

“I’ll pay for pizza?”

There was a pause. His eyes narrowed, considering. After what felt like an eternity, he grunted and let him go. JD let out a small breath of relief, giddy at the chance to bond.

“Fine, but we’re getting pineapple and anchovies and I won’t hear you bitch about it.”

“Anchovies on half?”

“You’ll get anchovies on all of it and you’ll like it!”

“Fine.”

JD rolled his eyes and dialed the number as his dubiously enthusiastic companion returned to the couch.

“There’s beer in the fridge.”

“I thought you were drinking scotch?”

“Correctamundo, I am, in fact, drinking scotch. You, however, are a degenerate upon whom fine liquor is wasted. So you will be drinking beer.”

JD grinned.

“Thanks, Perry. Thoughtful of you to provide a drink, knowing I hate whiskey and all.”

The teasing lilt was not missed by his irate companion, who scoffed before crossing his arms.

“I just refuse to see good booze go to waste on the ungrateful. Now go get your pansy water. And hey! Newbie!”

JD froze halfway to the fridge and looked back.

“No more first naming me. We are not friends, we are not buddies, I am your superior, and it’s Doctor Cox, Big Dog, or, since this is my house, My Lord. Got it?”

JD nodded resolutely.

“You got it, Doctor Per-Bear.”

He cackled and ducked away from the pillow sent flying at his head with a snarl.

“First strike, Deirdre.”

Still quietly laughing, he grabbed a beer and returned.

“So! Who’s playing?”

“Mouth shut, eyes open, princess. You’ll figure it out.”

“What, no rant about the grand history of the sport?”

“Here’s a rant for ya. If you open your mouth again before the pizza gets here, I’m going to spit in your beer like all the waitresses at the bar do.”

“Ha! Jokes on you, I drink appletinis at the bar!”

“Strike two. And now if you talk, I’m going to kick your ass and throw you out.”

JD took a sullen sip and dramatically gestured to his closed mouth.

“Ah, sweet relief. If I’d known how absolutely giddy it would make me to hear you not speak, I would have bribed the Janitor for duct tape ages ago.”

JD stuck his tongue out. He got a raised eyebrow for his troubles.

“Problem, Betsy?”

He shook his head.

“Awww, buck up there, kid. Tell ya what, if my team rallies by the next period, Daddy might just let you have a sip of his scotch like a big girl.”

JD rolled his eyes and took another drag of his beer.

“Thirsty?”

He shrugged.

“Fine, but you better enjoy it. Little girls like you can only have so many. I’ve met your brother, and I’m not letting another lightweight Dorian crash on my couch.”

JD grinned.

“What? Ohhhhh, did I allllllmost call you by your name, there, Suzy? Don’t worry, Newbie, it won’t happen again.”

JD did his best to project his internal thoughts through his eyes.

“Can’t tell if you’re pissed off or turned on. See, that’s the face Jordan makes when she’s angry, and when she’s angry, I usually get laid. But. Well. Hate to ruin your dreams of a white picket fence, but that’s just not happening, Francesca. I’m not the settle-down type.”

JD gave up on projection and simply flipped him off.

“Thatta girl.”

Perry cuffed him roughly behind the head and grinned.

They both watched silently, drinking their alcohol, until the pizza finally arrived. JD looked to Perry, who gave a small grunt and gestured to the door, eyes glued to the screen. JD paid for the food abomination and chattered lightly to the pizza delivery man, just because he could. The sense of his mentor’s growing frustration only heightened the glee he took in finally communicating with another human being.

“Darlene! Let the nice hostage go, he has places to be tonight!”

Smiling awkwardly, the man took his tip and left.

“Just had to rub it in there, huh, Newbie?”

“I learned from the best, Big Dog.”

The small snort he got in response was accompanied by the tiniest of smiles. Progress, that was almost laughter. Perry must have already been half tipsy when he got here.

“Well come on, sweetheart, you gonna bring the pizza over here like a good little bitch, or am I gonna have to ask the service for a new french maid?”

“Shall I get you a refill too, sir?”

“That’s more like it.”

JD rolled his eyes and acquiesced.

“Jordan must really be into dirty talk.”

Perry froze, slice halfway to his mouth.

“Come again?”

“I mean. You’re always calling people names, and getting weirdly descriptive. She must be into it, if she keeps coming back to you.”

His eyes hardened.

“Jordan, mythic bitch that she is, is into a lot of things. Namely, making me miserable. None of which is your business, considering, oh, we’ve BOTH slept with her, and I spend my every waking moment trying to forget her little experiment with lesbianism. No, you know what? We’re all friends here. Why dontcha go ahead and tell me there, princess, does scissoring actually work, or is it just in porn?”

“Just porn.”

Perry’s eyes bulged.

“You are perilously close to losing speaking privileges again.”

“You asked!”

“I have seen your penis, unfortunately, I think we could all safely assume it was a rhetorical question.”

“I only know because Elliot told me.”

“You know what? I could actually stand to hear more.”

“Sorry, Doctor Cox,” JD said smugly, “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“So you frenched a lesbian.”

“Well she said she wanted to be sure!”

“And she decided to go about that by kissing the most effeminate man alive.”

JD pouted.

“I’m not the most effeminate man ALIVE.”

“Darla, you’re a bad wig and a touch of mascara from being a full on drag queen on a butch day.”

“Yes, I get it, I’m a girl, eat your pizza.”

“Damn right you are,” Perry muttered, and continued to do just that.

JD grabbed another beer for himself, but as he began to sit, a foot shot out to occupy his space.

“What now?”

“They’re doing a piss poor job out there. Change seats with me.”

“Seriously?”

“Do you want to get kicked out?”

At this point the threat sounded half-hearted. For all his bluster, they were having a good time, easy banter tossed back and forth over pizza and booze. Perry had been planning to spend another evening alone, and while he might have fooled himself he preferred it, the half bottle of scotch warming his belly loosened his facade enough that he could admit, if only to himself, that he didn’t half mind the company. His eyes skated over to JD, settling himself into the warmth Perry had left, mouth wrapped around the neck of his beer, eyes staring off into nothing. He’d been lonely. Now he got a seat warmer and free pizza. It could be worse.

“It’s toasty over here. Like I’m being warmed in a Cox Oven.”

JD’s head tilted tellingly sideways as Perry groaned and threw another pillow at him.

“Alright, Mary Beth, that’s where I draw my line!”

A look of delighted mischief crossed his companion’s face.

“Pillow fight!”

“Wait, fuck, no, the game-”

His protests were cut off by a blunt fluffy force connecting with the side of his head and pushing him against the couch cushions. Damn it, he couldn’t take that lying down. It was on.

Game ignored, Perry launched a full scale feathery assault. Laughing, JD returned volley with his own attacks. They stood up and clashed together, pillows laying mighty blows, hockey game forgotten. JD ducked behind the couch for cover, striking out when his opponent peeked over the edge. Snarling, Perry slammed him with a displaced couch cushion.

It was clear there was only one recourse if victory was what he hoped to achieve.

“EAGLE!” JD cried, and leaped through the air, tackling Perry over the arm of the couch and against the ajar cushions beneath. His eyes went wide as he went down, bowled over backwards into a soft and pillowy landing. Panting, shaking with laughter, JD beamed down at him.

“I win!” he crowed, and something about the moment, him perched on his chest, the unabashed joy, the rising heat from the exercise, the flushed faces and sparkling eyes, made Cox feel something.

Not something for the first time. Feel is perhaps not the correct word. As he stared up into the joyous expression on his opponent’s face, he let himself acknowledge something he had been feeling for a while.

Fondness.

Percival Cox was fond of him.

In an instant, he felt it, recognized it, accepted it, and moved on. Fondness aside, victory in the hands of the enemy was unacceptable.

“You think so, huh, Sally Ann?” he murmured, panting himself, eyes half slits.

“Uh, yeah, I totally took your ass down.”

He scoffed, hands coming up to JD’s waist.

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

“Did not.”

JD’s breath caught as Perry’s hands squeezed.

“D. Did too.”

He smirked.

“Betcha can’t do it again.”

“Wh. What?”

Startled and off balance, it was easy enough for Perry to lean up, closer, lips nearly brushing against the curve of his cheek, and murmur, “I said. I bet. You can’t. Topple me. Again. Layla.”

JD froze.

“Um-”

Moving quickly, Perry flipped them over onto the floor, pinning him underneath. He grinned viciously.

“HA! I win. Now. Tell me who’s the greatest.”

JD grumbled, still taken off kilter.

“Newbie, don’t make me tickle you.”

“No!” JD squirmed underneath, trying to buck him off. It felt. Interesting.

“Then who’s the greatest?”

Pouting, he gave up the struggle. It was almost disappointing.

“You are.”

“And who can never be defeated?”

“You!”

“And who just kicked your girly little ass all over this living room?”

“I don’t know if I would put it like that, exactly, but-”

Perry brought his arms together to be held down with one hand, letting the other tease at the sensitive skin on his stomach. JD squealed and started squirming again.

“Fine! You did! You totally kicked my girly ass!”

“And that makes you?”

“.....Really thirsty?”

“Sally.“

JD sighed.

“Your bitch.”

“There’s my girl. Now, I’m not letting you up until you say ‘Doctor Cox, you’re the strongest, smartest, sexiest man alive, and I’m so, so lucky that I’m your bitch.’ Got that?”

“I’m not saying that!”

“Why not? It’s the truth. Not like you weren’t thinking it.”

“Can’t I just bark like a dog again?”

“MMmmmmmmnope! Not quite the level of humiliation I’m going for, sugar.”

“Fine! And then you’ll let me up?”

“Swear it on my father’s grave.”

JD grit his teeth.

“Doctor Cox.”

“Yessssssssss, Lacy?”

“You are the strongest. Smartest. S.”

“Say it.”

“Sexiest man alive.”

“God, it’s so good to hear the truth come out. Annnnnnnnd?”

JD gave a last token effort to release himself from his banded grip. Perry simply pressed down on his wrists.

“And I am so, so lucky to be your bitch. You asshole.”

Perry hummed thoughtfully.

“Gonna have to deduct points for the ad-libbing, there, Georgia, but overall a fine performance.”

“Now let me up!”

Perry grinned.

“Confession time, Samantha. I hate my father.”

“Wha-”

He was cut off by his mentor’s tongue in his mouth.

Oh.

Well okay then.

Groaning, he opened his mouth wider to let him in deeper. He tasted like scotch and anchovies. It was the single most disgusting mixture JD could possibly think of. But his dick was still more than happy with the change of procedure. Pushing against his hands, he tried to press further into him, but even with the distraction Perry held firm.

Very firm, if what was rubbing against his thigh was any indication. Gasping, JD broke away for air, Cox’s lips chasing after, sliding across the corner of his mouth, his cheek, beneath his ear, down his throat, leaving small painful nips along the way that made JD’s skin tighten and burn.

“Is that your ego, or are you just happy to see me?” he choked out, giggling when Perry growled against his ear.

“Try stroking it and find out.”

“I w. Would love to, there, but I, uh, fuck.” Perry sucked a bruise into the base of his throat, half purring. “I can’t seem to get use of my hands.”

“Don’t need ‘em,” Perry muttered, nosing at his hairline while JD pressed kisses to his face, “Like you right where you are.”

“Perry,” JD whined, trying again to release his hands with futility, “Wanna touch you.”

A sharp bite tugged at the lobe of his ear.

“What’d I say about first names, there, sunshine?”

“But-”

He cut him off with his mouth. Perry quickly decided that this was his new favorite way of shutting him up.

“No first names for you.”

“Well, I am NOT calling you Big Dog when you make me come.”

“Is that what I’m gonna do, Beryl?”

“Come on, I’m already half way there!”

Snickering, Perry ground down hard. They both moaned harshly into each other’s skin.

“Ah, the enthusiasm of the young.”

“N-nnn. Not. Not that young. Jerk.”

“Your creative use of insults has clearly proven me wrong here.” Perry let the hand on his stomach palm JD through his jeans, the heel of his hand rubbing hard on the bulge underneath. “You’re not young. You’re a child.”

“What,” JD moaned as his hips thrust into his hand, “And you’re my Daddy or something?”

Perry froze.

JD bit his lip.

“Doctor Cox?”

He blinked.

“Doctor Cox, I’m sorry, I went too f-”

Definitely his favorite way to shut him up, he decided. Perry finally let go of his arms to tear at his pants. JD brought his hands down to help, only for a dark growl to let out until he brought them back over his head.

Snarling, he finally got them unbuttoned and unzipped, drug them down over JD’s thighs and off his body before pushing his own sweatpants down.

“That what you’re into? Huh?”

His hand wrapped firmly around JD’s dick, pulling him out of his boxers and stroking roughly.

“Don’t know why I’m surprised. Always following me around, daydreaming. This what you wanted?”

JD let out a small whimper at the rough handling.

“This it? Dumb new kid with big lost eyes. You just want Daddy to take care of you? Huh?”

He stroked faster.

“Well? You gonna be a good girl? Tell me the truth,” he licked at his nipples, biting, “Or you’re getting punished. Can already tell you need a. Ha. A firm hand.”

JD’s teeth ground together as he tried to focus on anything but the building tension in his balls.

“Yes,” he hissed, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yessss, please, more. Daddy, please.”

“Good girl,” Perry crooned, “So good, asking so nice, making me proud of you, go ahead. Get the first one out of your system, princess. Because when I finally fuck you,” JD whined, “When I finally pound that ass like you always dreamed of, I want you to last more than five measly minutes.”

JD let out a small shriek when he came. Perry stopped to admire his handiwork, boxers and shirt now tacky with semen. His hand was a mess. He held it up, smeared it against JD’s face.

“Lick it.”

JD’s nose scrunched up but his tongue still slipped out, lapping away obediently.

“There ya go. Pretend it’s one of those suckers you’re always stealing from pediatrics. What kind of a sick fuck actually takes candy from babies?”

JD nipped at the webbing between his fingers, eyes alight with teasing.

“Oh, carry on.”

JD’s tongue swirled around his palm, between his fingers, tracing the lines on his hand and sucking it clean.

“There ya go, sweetheart. Just like that.”

He wrapped his lips around two of his fingers, suckling gently. Perry moaned at the sensation, thrust them deeper in.

“Ohhhhh, you’re giving me ideas, Kara. Look at you take it, huh?”

He slid in deeper, to the back of his throat.

“If I weren’t so hard up right now I might even take you up on that. But I have other plans.”

His fingers made a popping sound coming out of his mouth, and JD’s lips were slick with spit.

“I’m pretty good at it, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I got a lot of practice. You know, in college.”

“That the only thing you got practice in?”

JD laughed and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, baby. One of these days, I’ll sneak you into Kelso’s office and you can just go to town. My treat. But right now? Turn over and spread ‘em. I’m gonna go grab some lube.”

JD hesitated.

“Something wrong?”

“It’s just, uh. You know. I didn’t actually expect this, coming over. I didn’t really. You know. Prepare, or anything. And we just ate pizza. With anchovies. Could we. Maybe save that for another night?”

His eyes softened.

“Well, obviously. You’re gonna be coming over a lot more often now, anyways.”

“I am?”

“You are. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Newbie,” Perry gestured to the tv, “But my team won. I think you might be good luck, so we gotta recreate this. Every time.”

JD smirked.

“This exactly?”

“Well,” Perry grinned, “The spirit of it anyway. Now. If I’m not fucking you, and you’ve already gotten off once...”

“Pretend it’s a sucker I stole from a baby?”

“There’s Daddy’s girl.”

JD beamed.

Damn it, he really did look like a Disney princess.

Perry’d have to get him a tiara.

#jdox #scrubs #this is literally the dirtiest thing i have ever written and spoiler alert they don't even fuck #uhhhhh lemon i guess since that all got so weird #there's. yeah just. read it if you want to

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vincent-frankenstein · 5 years ago

Text

To My Heart and Soul

[ 1 | 2 | you are here | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | read on AO3 ]

Warnings: major character death, villain/abusive deceit, blood, fighting, panic attacks, creepy imagery

Pairings: logince, hints of moxiety, a tiny smidge of remile and past abusive anxceit

Tendrils of bright blue light floated through the hole, lashing around the stranger and tightening around him like glowing snakes. He grimaced as they lifted him off his feet. Logan pressed himself back into the wall, and his breath left him in one big whoosh as a figure stepped through the hole. Numb disbelief buzzed in his chest.

Chocolate brown hair, gently curled in that wonderfully soft way, and bright green eyes, crinkled at the edges — so familiar that Logan forgot how to breathe. The figure met his eyes and Logan nearly crumbled beneath his gaze — a gaze he knew, knew better than he knew his own, a gaze he had married and loved and lost.

But it was wrong. Those familiar eyes were hidden behind round glasses, and they were rounder, more hazel than green. The hair was lighter, the face rounder. Still, Logan couldn’t find it in himself to speak; his voice far too gone in the face of this man, so Roman but so not.

“Ooh, goody, the cavalry.” The stranger rolled his eyes, barely even struggling against his glowing bonds. “Pat, hun, what can I do for ya?”

“Well,” not-Roman said, in a voice so gratingly wrong that Logan nearly winced, “for one, you can let these poor mortals go.”

“Aww, girl, come on,” the stranger groaned, dragging out his words in an overdramatic whine. “Where the fun in that?”

Not-Roman shot the stranger a glare that reminded Logan of a dad, just stern enough to be scary. The stranger huffed. “Fiiiine,” he drawled. “But I can’t exactly let ‘em go like this, y’know? I’m a bit tied up at the moment.”

The corners of not-Roman’s mouth twitched. As a few giggles he couldn’t stifle slipped out, he snapped his fingers, and the ropes vanished into thin air. The stranger stumbled as he fell to the ground, a grin finding its way onto his face.

“‘Preciate it, Pat,” he said, cocking his head to the side as he regarded Picani. He was frozen in time against the wall, face caught in a comical expression of confusion and disbelief. With a snap of his fingers, the stranger sent Picani tumbling back to the ground.

“Wh —” Picani staggered into the stranger’s arms. “Who... ? What happened?”

“Aw, gurl, you fell for me!” The stranger helped Picani find his footing, and they shared a moment’s look before he turned back to not-Roman, a cat-like gleam of mischief in his eyes. “I’d love to stay and chat, really —”

“Remy, don’t you dare!”

“But I’m afraid I’ve got shit to do, revenge to find, all that jazz. Buh-bye!”

Not-Roman jerked forward, the blue ropes flaring to life in his hands, but it was too late. The stranger, Remy, disappeared in a shower of green sparkles, his final cheshire-cat grin blazing in the air.

“Oh, the council’s gonna kill me,” not-Roman murmured, running a hand through his hair. Emile stared at the spot where Remy had been, a dusting of pink across his round cheeks.

“Wh… what in the name of Rose Quartz just happened?”

“I’m sorry,” not-Roman said. “Remy is… a bit of a wild card. I didn’t think he’d ever attack mortals, but…”

A million questions raced through Logan’s head and died on his tongue. Not-Roman fixed him with a concerned gaze and his chest ached.

“Are you okay, kiddo?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “We’re gonna get this all sorted out, okay? Don’t you worry.”

Picani stepped forward. “Excuse me, but what exactly are we gonna get sorted out? What just happened?”

Not-Roman hesitated. “I… I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to tell you. I’m just supposed to —”

“Wait, but you can’t just not tell us!” Picani insisted. “You —”

Not-Roman squeaked and snapped his fingers, and a cloud of blue dust surrounded Picani’s head. He floated gently to the couch, fast asleep. Logan’s eyes widened.

“What did you do to him?”

“No, no, he’s okay! I just put him to sleep.” Not-Roman fidgeted with a clasp at his neck, holding a long gray cape around his shoulders. “When he wakes up, he won’t remember any of this. Now…” He went to snap his fingers again and panic bloomed in Logan’s throat. He couldn’t forget this, he couldn’t.

“What about Roman?”

The change was immediate. Not-Roman’s hand fell to his side, shock and confusion coloring his soft features, and his expression was so familiar that it was like a punch to Logan’s gut. “How do you know who Roman is?”

Logan closed his eyes, forcing out a shaking breath. The familiarity only made the differences more glaringly obvious, in the most painful way. Both men were bright, brighter than anyone else he’d ever seen, but Roman was shining brilliance, a vivid display of colors and lights bright enough to fill a room. This man was a soft, gentle glow. He swallowed, pushing down the pain. This wasn’t Roman.

“He was my husband,” he said finally. Not-Roman’s eyes flew wide, his mouth falling open.

“You’re — you’re Logan!” he cried, tears springing to his eyes immediately. “Oh my goodness gracious, you’re his starlight.”

The familiar nickname sent shards of broken glass through Logan’s lungs. He pulled his tie back into place, if only to have something to do with his hands, and nodded. “Yes, I-I am,” he said, “and I’d like some answers. Who are you?”

“I’m Patton!” he said, offering a bright smile. “I’m Roman’s younger brother. I guess that makes me your brother-in-law, right?”

Time stuttered to a stop. Logan blinked — once, twice, again and again as if the action would make the world tilt back onto its axis. Roman had a brother — a brother that he hadn’t once told Logan about. On top of that, every single magical being he had met thus far seemed to know Roman. How much had Roman kept hidden from him? How much didn’t he know?

He cleared his throat. This was no time to dwell or spiral; Patton was looking at him expectantly, waiting for a response. “I-I suppose so.” Patton exuded a sort of kindness that soothed Logan, deep down, and a part of him regretted asking the next question the moment it left his mouth. “Is Roman really dead?”

Patton seemed to crumple, his light dimming. “Yes,” he said softly. “He didn’t have his magic anymore, and he couldn’t have survived that crash without it. He’s — he’s gone.”

“So there is magic,” Logan said, refusing to focus on the rest of Patton’s sentence. “Is there any possibility that it could be used to bring him back?”

“Oh, honey…” Patton sighed, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Logan. Logan tensed at the sudden contact, swallowing hard, but he didn’t move away. “No amount of magic can bring back the dead.”

“Has anyone tried?” Logan had to know, he had to. He refused to leave any possibilities untouched. “Given the proper resources, I’m sure I could —”

“No,” Patton said firmly. “It’s way too risky, kiddo. The dead have to stay dead, and we have to let them go and move on. I know it hurts, but —”

Logan jerked away, squaring his shoulders. “‘It’s too risky,’ implies that there are possibilities, but no one has explored them due to fear. I can, I don’t care about the risk —”

“No.” Patton shook his head. “Roman would never let you risk your own safety on something like this, and neither will I. You have to find closure, kiddo. It’s the healthiest thing to do.”

Logan’s hands curled into tight fists. He focused on the sting of his fingernails digging into his palms to keep from breaking down, to keep the shattered glass in his chest from slicing through his lungs. “The man in the graveyard said — he said that someone is going to use me to get to Roman. That implies that Roman is still alive. We need to —”

He cut off, eyebrows furrowing. Patton had gone very, very pale. “Who?” he asked insistently. “Who did he say was going to use you?”

“I — someone with a name starting with d,” Logan said, straining to remember. “Daniel, or…”

“Dorian?” Patton breathed.

“Yes, that’s it.” Logan nodded. “He told me that Dorian is going to use me to get to Roman. Who is Dorian?”

“Someone who shouldn’t be alive,” Patton whispered. “We… we have to get to the bottom of this. We have to find out who told you that.”

“I didn’t see his face,” Logan said, dread and hope swirling together in his chest. Patton seemed dreadfully shaken at the mere mention of this Dorian, which did not bode well — but he hadn’t denied the chance of Roman being alive. “He was wearing a cloak. Remy said his name was Anxiety.”

“Well…” Patton let out a shaky breath. “I dunno who that is, but maybe the Council will. Logan, you need to come with me, okay? We have to keep you safe.”

The implication that he was in danger paled in comparison to the opportunity that had presented itself. Patton’s whole presence glowed with magic; certainly, wherever he’d come from held magic as well — magic Logan could learn, magic he could use to find Roman.

But something kept him from agreeing too quickly. There were far too many pesky emotions fluttering around in his chest. If he didn’t take a moment to organize, he’d surely fall apart, and that would be counterproductive.

“Would it be possible to have a moment to myself, first?” he asked, voice even. Patton blinked.

“Oh! Sure thing, kiddo. Lemme just…” Sticking out his tongue in concentration, Patton turned to the hole he’d blasted through the wall. Blue light jumped to life around his outstretched fingers, spreading outwards to surround the rubble scattered through Picani’s office. With a soft, melodic hum, Patton sent the debris tumbling back through the air, and when they slotted back into place it almost looked like the wall had never been broken at all.

“I’ll be out here when you’re ready!” he said, closing the door behind him. A heavy quiet fell over the room, sinking deep into Logan’s chest. He let out a breath.

What had he learned over the past few minutes? Magic was real — magic, somehow, this thing existing beyond logic, or perhaps alongside it, a whole new world of possibilities to explore. There was someone after him, a man, or perhaps a beast, judging by Patton’s reaction. The man had nearly killed him once. The man was going to use him to get to Roman.

Roman.

Logan sank down into Picani’s chair, heart thudding in his chest. There was a possibility — however faint, however uncertain — that Roman could be alive. That all his grief, his anguish, his loss had been for nothing, that his broken would could right itself once more. Roman — who had a brother, who had magic, who apparently had very dangerous enemies.

How much else had Roman hidden from him? How much of Roman had Logan truly known? And how dense was Logan, really, to never have realized that Roman was hiding such massive secrets? There must have been signs, somewhere, evidence to prove that all of this was real.

Did Roman not trust him? After everything they’d been through together, everything they’d faced — did he still not think Logan smart enough to handle the truth? Or, worse, was he trying to protect him?

Omitting information was a horrible way to protect someone. Roman’s secrets had caught up with them both, and Logan felt sure he would pay the price for his lack of knowledge. He had no way to catch his bearings in such a situation, so unfamiliar, so unnatural. He needed time — to think, to plan, to work the minutiae of the situation through his mind and come to a working solution.

If Anxiety’s warnings were anything to go by, he didn’t have any time. The urgency in the stranger’s tone spoke volumes. Whoever Dorian was, he was going to act soon.

Which meant every moment was precious. Every second he let slip by, wallowing in these feelings, was another moment that Dorian could use to gain the upper hand. He stood, smoothing down his shirt and yanking his tie back into place. There was no time to waste.

“Patton,” he said simply, stepping out into the waiting room. “I am ready to go.”

“Oh!” Patton straightened up, a bright smile popping into place on his face. He’d been tending to the receptionist — who was slumped in her desk chair, fast asleep, wisps of blue magic sorting through the mess Remy had left behind. “Alrighty! C’mon, teach. We’ve got a lot to figure out.”

#to my heart and soul #celeste's portfolio #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #ts deceit #villain deceit #abusive deceit

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longsightmyth · 6 years ago

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Myth Reads the Naming, Chapter 21

PELLINOR

The chapter is called Council of Friends and I for one could use some more friendship is magic stuff in my life, bring it on.

Maerad has a nightmare and a voice speaks in something that is almost the Speech but fucked up. It says, “I am again, but none shall find my dwelling, for I live in every human heart.”

I just wanted friendship, book. You promised me friendship.

She wakes up and reassures herself, and then Hem knocks on her door having also had nightmares. They huddle together and fall back to sleep.

Maerad wakes up to a beautiful morning and Hem, eating bread in a corner. He’s been waiting for her to wake up. She asks how Cadvan is and Hem doesn’t seem to care much (which, fair) but says he’s probably still sleeping and Maerad should hurry up because there is food (I appreciate a lot about this interaction. If I forget to mention it in the comparison please bug me so I can talk about it in a reblog or something). Maerad kicks him out to get dressed and then they walk down to get lunch together.

When they get to the sitting room, Cadvan is awake and chatting with Saliman. Cadvan is the worse for wear still but he’s talking and awake and teasing Maerad a little bit, and Maerad almost cries with how happy she is that he’s alive, black eye and stitched up face cuts and all. He assures her when she asks that he feels great and sends her off to the food.

Appetite sated (Hem comes with her for seconds) the siblings return to Cadvan and Saliman, who are discussing Saliman’s journey. Turns out Saliman was attacked by three hulls and killed them, but not before they killed his horse. He’s pretty sad about it and so am I: horse death is sad. The horses are just doing their best okay.

Anyway, Nelac comes in while Maerad is looking out at the gardens and says that most of his flowers survived the storm. Maerad immediately likes him, not least because he fixed up Cadvan and reminds her of Cadvan.

Hem continues to eat as the adult bards convene and catch each other up on everything, and when they get to the part about the Kulag Cadvan admits he was in a hurry and not as careful as he should have been with magic or travel. He credits Maerad with getting them all out alive.

“I wondered…,” said Maerad, and then stopped.

“What, O my Deliverer?” said Cadvan.

Maerad blushed again at his teasing. “I wondered if the Landrost had hurt you, and that was why…” she faltered and stopped again.

“The Landrost did indeed hurt me,” said Cadvan. “And I was less in my power than I could be. But that is no excuse for rushed decisions and the mistakes that come with them. I judge myself at fault, and so I am; and it is a severe judgment, Maerad, because things very nearly were otherwise, and the result would have been terrible for many more than us.”

Maerad saw for an instant an implacable harshness in Cadvan’s face, and she shivered; she thought she would not like to be judged by Cadvan, had she done any real wrong.

They continue to catch up, and Nelac remembers hearing about the Treesong somewhere but he’ll have to look for it again, but Saliman Knows What’s Up and sings a verse from the poem at the beginning of chapter 17, which I will transcribe here so nobody has to search the hellscape that is my tumblr tags:

Grows a Lily on the Briar

Grows a Briar on the Wave

Triple-tongued its voice of Fire

Edil-Amarandh with save

True and false the cunning Flame

Burning in the darkest Night

False and true the secret Name

Quickened in the womb of Light

Where the Briar on the Foam?

Doth the Lily stemless stand?

Who will bring the Singing home?

Where the Harp? And whose the Hand?

Nelac is like ‘lol it almost sounds like you’re saying Maerad, who can speak common, Elidhu, and the Speech, is the Foretold’

Cadvan’s ACTUAL (specified as distracted and absent) RESPONSE: “Yes, yes, of course I am.”

Maybe warn a guy before you drop prophetic bombs in his lap, Cadvan.

Nelac thinks about it a minute and sorta soul searches Maerad with eye contact is like ‘okay fine you may have a point’. Also the Treesong is a super ancient song, he remembers.

Nelac ALSO wants to scry Hem. Hem is not having it rn and runs into the garde. Maerad chastises Nelac with all the vehemence of a sibling vs outsiders and heads after her brother. After assuring Hem that SHE believes him, obviously, and that Cadvan does, he agrees to come back inside, where Nelac straight up bribes him with food to be scried later. Hem is like ‘well if there’s FOOD’ and agrees, which, fair.

Further, Nelac says they have to figure out where Hem can go to bard school because Norloch is being Particularly Racist at the moment and Hem, unlike Maerad, looks very Pilanel. Cadvan says irritably that Hem would like other schools better anyway, fuck Norloch (okay not in quite those words but it’s close).

Saliman: hey no worries I’ll take the kid home with me where racist dickheads aren’t in charge. Sound good, Hem?

Hem: Boy does it!

Section paraphrased for clarity.

Also, Nelac adds, y’all haven’t been here in a while so let me tell you what else Enkir has fucked up: no more lady bards can train at Norloch.

The fuck, everyone in the room basically mouths in unison.

Nelac: so the flaw in our system is, if all of our elected officials are old white rich white dudes with The Right Families then it turns out they elect an old rich white dude with The Right Family as leader, which means even the relatively benevolent old rich white dudes get outvoted when it comes to civil rights and not destroying the world because these guys have no concept of doing anything for other people even in the name of self interest.

Not that we know anything about that in the States or anything.

Everybody agrees that a council must be called regarding world saving because they still labor under the delusion that old rich white dudes with The Right Families in power give a shit what happens to the world if it doesn’t affect them in the next five minutes. The poor saps.

Cadvan shows Maerad around Norloch and assures her once again that even if she isn’t the foretold it’s no biggie, he’ll take her to a good bard school.

“Would you stay there?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

He glanced at her quickly, his face unreadable. “For a time, until you were settled in,” he said.

When they get back, Hem wants Maerad there while he’s scried. Nelac says it’s unusual, but so is scrying a child so why not. There isn’t much to see since we aren’t in Hem’s PoV, but Nelac confirms that Hem is Maerad’s brother and everybody rejoices. Maerad offers to get them something to drink, does so, and leaves, feeling like she intruded.

At dinner, which Hem actually skips, they make a game plan for presenting Maerad-as-The-Foretold to the council. Nelac is going to do it alone for political reasons. That’s the end of the chapter.

THRONE OF GLASS

Three chapters of ToG is a fitting punishment for taking so long I guess. 46,47,48.

Dorian is hunting through the woods to ‘let the freezing air rush through him’ and burn off steam regarding Celaena, who apparently watches him like a cat watching a mouse, which is different from every single other woman ever, who otherwise look at him adoringly.

Dorian, I would think Kaltain fits that description. I’m just saying.

Apparently Celaena makes him want to be a better king or whatever by watching him and he’ll never be happy with any other woman now that he’s kissed her and he’s worried about her in the duel. Sure.

CELAENA’S POV.

She’s thinking about the duel, worries that Cain might be better because he has stamina (I mean this is a valid concern: Celaena can’t seem to do any sort of strenuous physical activity without throwing up, her stamina IS crap) and then that she might have to obey the King of Adarlan if she’s his Champion.

I’m not sure what you thought you were signing up for, Celaena?

Then she decides she wants to stay in the castle because Hot Dudes, I guess.

NEXT CHAPTER.

Kaltain drugs Celaena’s goblet(?) in the outside duel.

Swap to Celaena’s PoV, where she complains about the cold and thinks that she doesn’t know why they have to have the duels outside. Me neither, Celaena. Me neither.

She recognizes a couple of council members who hired her in the past, and then Nehemia shows up. For reasons?

Anyway, the king makes a speech, the duels start, Cain wins his. Celaena thinks that the other guys hadn’t even lasted three minutes, which, I mean. People generally greatly overestimate how long fights take, especially fights that aren’t specifically hemmed in for competition. Three minutes is a long time to fight one on one for your life?

Oh wait they aren’t fighting to the death. That would be too men for the demon infested king? I don’t know.

Chaol offers Celaena his sword to fight with, and Nehemia offers her Nehemia’s staff instead.

“If I may,” Nehemia said in Eyllwe, “I’d like to offer this to you instead.” The princess held out her beautifully carved iron-tipped staff. Celaena glanced between Chaol’s sword and her friend’s weapon. The sword, obviously, was the wiser choice—and for Chaol to offer his own weapon made her feel strangely lightheaded—but the staff…

Nehemia leaned in to whisper in Celaena’s ear. “Let it be with an Eyllwe weapon that you take them down.” Her voice hitched. “Let wood from the forests of Eyllwe defeat steel from Adarlan. Let the King’s Champion be someone who understands how the innocents suffer.”

So Celaena chooses the staff, which is actually a GREAT weapon vs a sword assuming you know how to use it for a myriad of reasons? Why would a sword be a wiser choice? Why is that obvious? Especially if it’s ‘iron-tipped’ by which I think she means capped, but whatever. We already knew very little research went into this, I’m lucky Celaena isn’t using that soap and hairpin thing.

She’s going to fight Grave. Don’t worry about it, we’ll get an explanation about him in the second book when he suddenly becomes relevant again.

Chaol squeezed her hand, his skin warm in the frigid air. “Give him hell,” he said. Grave entered the ring and drew his sword.

Pulling her hand from Chaol’s, Celaena straightened her spine as she stepped into the ring. She quickly bowed to the king, then to her opponent.

She met Grave’s stare and smiled as she bent her knees, holding the staff in two hands.

You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, little man.

NEXT CHAPTER.

Grave’s first move is to try to break her staff. I. I’m just. Whatever at this point.

His sword gets stuck in her staff when he hits, and she punches him in the nose. He gets angry and charges, “aiming a direct blow to her heart.” She knocks his legs out from underneath him and puts the staff to his throat, which ends the fight I guess, though he doesn’t yield and isn’t injured aside from a broken nose.

She brought her mouth close to his ear. “My name is Celaena Sardothien,” she whispered. “But it makes no difference if my name’s Celaena or Lillian or Bitch, because I’d still beat you, no matter what you call me.” She smiled at him as she stood. He just stared up at her, his bloody nose leaking down the side of his cheek. She took the handkerchief from her pocket and dropped it on his chest. “You can keep that,” she said before she walked off the veranda.

She intercepted Chaol as soon as she crossed the line of chalk. “How long did that take?” she asked. She found Nehemia beaming at her, and Celaena lifted her staff a little in salute.

“Two minutes.”

She grinned at the captain. She was hardly winded. “Better than Cain’s time.”

How slowly are these people moving? Why are we counting time? What is HAPPENING.

Anyway they have a toast.

“Out of good faith, and honor to the Great Goddess,” Kaltain said in a dramatic voice. Celaena wanted to punch her. “May it be your offering to the Mother who bore us all. Drink, and let Her bless you, and replenish your strength.”

I want that all noted for the record on the religion front.

Celaena is thrown directly into fighting Cain without any more of a rest and does not realize she’s been drugged.

The conqueror of Erilea raised his hands.

“Begin!” he roared, and Celaena shook her head, trying to clear her blurry vision. She steadied herself, wielding the staff like a sword as Cain began circling. Nausea flashed through her as his muscles flexed. For some reason, the world was still hazy. She clenched her teeth, blinking. She’d use his strength against him.

Cain charged faster than she anticipated. She caught his sword on the broad side with the staff, avoiding the sharp edges, and leapt back as she heard the wood groan.

He struck so quickly that she had to concede to the edge of his blade. It sank deep into the staff. Her arms ached from the impact. Before she could recover, Cain yanked his sword from her weapon and surged toward her. She could only bound back, deflecting the blow with the iron tip of the staff.

Given that Celaena is a, an assassin, b, just had a refresher course on poisons, and c, has been poisoned like this at least once before in the prequel novellas, I don’t know what to tell anybody here. Finally she gets it when she hears Kaltain laugh.

She had difficulty holding the staff. Cain came at her, and she had no choice but to meet his blows, barely having the strength to raise the weapon each time. How much bloodbane had they given her? The staff cracked, splintered, and groaned.

Did Nehemia give her a wimpy-ass staff or does Celaena just not know how to use it to deflect rather than just take the full force of a blade? His sword sinks into it, it splinters and cracks? Y’all. No.

She had to end this now, before the hallucinations started. She knew they’d be powerful: seers had once used bloodbane as a drug to view spirits from other worlds. Celaena shot forward with a sweep of the staff. Wood slammed into steel.

The staff snapped in two.

The iron-tipped head soared to the other side of the veranda, leaving Celaena with a piece of useless wood.

Y’all. Y’ALL. You don’t even know how much I’m despairing right now.

Anyway, we go through Dorian and Chaol’s PoVs in quick succession to show that they’re worried about her and are probably in love, because sure, that’s what’s important right now, why not.

Celaena starts seeing creatures from another world as Cain keeps beating her up and Chaol keeps telling her to get up. Apparently the eye of Elena actually was protecting her, because…

Cain reached for her throat, and she flung herself backward. All that he managed to grab was her amulet. With a resounding snap, the Eye of Elena ripped from her neck.

The sunlight disappeared, the bloodbane seizing control of her mind again, and Celaena found herself before an army of the dead. The shadowy figure that was Cain raised his arm, dropping the amulet upon the ground.

They came for her.

That’s the end of the chapter. Thank goodness.

COMPARISON

Say it with me: I despair.

These chapters are pretty different from each other, but I said I wanted to talk about Hem and food and I do.

Both Hem and Maerad have been deprived all their lives, and while Maerad is slightly less preoccupied with filling her stomach than Hem, she also does not in my memory refuse food when it is offered, and only ever delights in the fact that she has it. Hem, obviously, is a little more fixated, but Maerad usually got ENOUGH to eat by virtue of her musical talent and value and the whole superstition thing. Hem rarely did.

Celaena turns her nose up at salmon and complains when chicken is a little bit dry. It’s just not behavior I would expect from someone starved in a salt mine for a year.

Pellinor’s mythology and religion and society remains consistent. ToG’s still rolling with the one goddess lots of little gods thing for now.

I’m just glad that Celaena used an actual weapon (poorly) and didn’t try to get creative. God knows what she would have done with a blade of grass or something. Why are we timing our fights. How was Chaol watching the clock closely enough to know that AND watching the fight. This could all have been solved with some research.

STATS

Pages: 23

Fragments: 36

Em-Dashes: 50

Ellipses: 14

Pages: 22

Fragments: 6

Em-Dashes: 2

Ellipses: 13

#myth reads the books of Pellinor #myth reads the naming #myth rags on throne of glass #myth talks

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eeveevie · 6 years ago

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Shadow and Light

Nothing in Varric’s life ever goes as planned, but he’s damn good at improvising with the hand he’s dealt.

Varric introduces Hawke to the Inquisition, and with Garrett Hawke comes Bethany, much to Varric’s surprise. And there was much rejoicing. (Monty Python jokes not included).

Chapter Summary: Adamant: taking the phrase "I have a bad feeling about this" to a whole new level.

Varric Tethras x Bethany Hawke

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5478 words (chapter) | Ao3

Chapter Five: L’appel du vide

The siege on Adamant would be one for the history books, or better yet, Varric’s book—if he ever got around to actually writing down all the shit he was seeing. In an incredible show of strength, the Inquisition showed up in the Western Approach in full force, literally throwing everything they had at the Warden fortress. All of the Inquisitor’s inner circle were there as well, split up and in charge of their own battalion of soldiers during the battle. Lucky—or unlucky—for Varric, Aurelie kept him with her near the front lines. Right where the bulk of the action was.

“You’ll be less likely to make up the details later on,” she had joked when the decision was made back in Skyhold.

Now, as he watched another catapult launch a fiery missile towards the battlements, Varric wished he had never boasted about being an eager story teller. Couldn’t she just recap the event later on? No doubt there would be a detailed report from Curly that he could elaborate on. It wasn’t that he was scared—he was terrified—but that was beside the point. No, for Varric he had a dreadful feeling that something awful was about to happen, a feeling he couldn’t shake. For better or for worse he kept it to himself, focusing on Aurelie as she led them through the thick of the fighting.

The army had worked to destroy the front gates, creating a way for foot soldiers to flood into the stronghold. With them came the Inquisitor and her companions, Dorian cloaking them all in protective barriers as the corrupted Wardens attacked. Blackwall had charged ahead with Aurelie, the two taking on the enemy at close-range. Varric lingered back near the mage, careful to watch his flank for friend or foe. Cullen was there now as well, his presence a force of inspiration for his soldiers—he wasn’t afraid to fight alongside them. Also with them was Ser Stroud, his compassioned pleas towards his brethren falling on deaf ears.

Through it all, however, Hawke was nowhere to be found. It made Varric only slightly nervous, uncomfortable with how many crazed Wardens were running around. The enemy was unpredictable, not to mention there were demons literally popping up from the ground as they fought at the main gate. He only hoped that wherever his friend was, he was fighting like his life depended on it.

The loud crash of another Inquisition missile crashed against the walkway above them, punctuating the fall of the last enemy in the area. Whatever Wardens that survived quickly retreated, leaving the infantry team some time to regroup. Cullen approached Aurelie, not bothering to sheath his sword.

“Aur—Inquisitor,” he quickly corrected himself in a breath. “You have a way in, best make use of it. We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can!”

Aurelie seemed amused by that. “That’s a worrying lack of specificity, Commander.”

“There are more of them than I was hoping,” Cullen explained.

“What exactly were you hoping for? A tea party?”

Varric would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the fire and screaming around them. She really had spent too much time with Hawke. Cullen only shook his head, displeased, and regarded their Warden ally.

“Stroud will guard your back. Hawke is with the soldiers on the battlements, assisting until you arrive.”

Finally, an answer for Varric. Their conversation was interrupted by a body falling over the edge of the ramparts, which were crawling with demons. The sight only unnerved Cullen further. “There’s too much resistance on the walls!”

“We’ll clear them out,” Aurelie assured.

Cullen seemed to hesitate before moving away, running back to the gates where his men were awaiting further orders. Varric sympathized with the man, understanding how difficult it must be to throw Aurelie—somebody he cared about—into the fray. For a brief moment, he thought of Bethany, her place in all of this an even bigger mystery. He hadn’t seen her at Griffon Wing Keep on the way to Adamant, and he hadn’t spoken to her since...Bianca. The thought of Bethany being there now only added to his concern.

They fought as a group through the baileys, encountering possessed Wardens and demons the whole way. Miraculously, Aurelie and Blackwall had convinced some of the Warden warriors to stand down, a large group of them falling back to safety. Eventually they made their way to the battlements, where Varric found a familiar sight. Two, actually.

“You wouldn’t consider dying, would you?!” Hawke had just chucked a dagger a considerable distance, the thick silverite blade finding its home right between the eyes of some poor Warden.

At his back was Bethany, her hands alight with magic as she expelled a firebolt from her staff, it easily wiping out a pair of shades. “I think there’s a lesson here about the dangers of magic!”

Her appearance nearly gave Varric a heart attack—her words too—what was she doing here? He didn’t have time to comment as their group joined the fight, Hawke moving to team up with Aurelie. They had really perfected the art of double-dual-wielding rogues, working in tandem to flank their attackers. At least there were more allies than enemies now, Varric watching his aim as he shot dead a rather annoying despair demon. There was a rumble beneath his feet and the all-too-familiar guttural laugh of a pride demon.

“Big guy incoming!” he shouted. He felt a strange sensation wash over him, the hair on the back of his neck rising. It felt almost like another one of Dorian’s barriers, except Sparkler was too far away. Suddenly, Bethany was standing next to him, looking rather worried. So that’s what it was. He hadn’t felt Bethany’s magic in what seemed like a lifetime—not that he could feel it as well as he would’ve liked. His nerves calmed momentarily. “Thanks.”

She moved past him after that, fire on her fingertips as she engaged another shade. Varric cursed under his breath. Thanks? That had been the first time he had spoken to her in weeks and that’s what he chose to say? He grumbled to himself as he took out the frustration on the grouping of green wisps. Before he knew it the pride demon was vanquished, the battlements clear for more Inquisition soldiers.

“Inquisitor! Always a pleasure!” Hawke laughed as the last demon disappeared. Aurelie smiled briefly, gripping the man’s forearm in a shake. He patted her on the shoulder in kind.

“Good to see you in one piece, Hawke,” she nodded. “Bethany, surprised to see you here.”

“Two Hawkes are better than one,” she said coyly. She was even dressed in a similar fashion to her brother, red dragonling leather accenting her mage armor. Hawke regarded her with pride before glancing to the only one in the group with a scowl.

“Don’t look at me like that, Varric.”

Had they all forgotten what was happening? “What is she doing here? Didn’t the whole brainwashed mages make you think—”

“I can take care of myself,” Bethany stopped him cold. She crossed her arms, brow furrowed in frustration. “I wanted to fight.”

“There’s no arguing with her,” Hawke suggested, ignoring the way Bethany rolled her eyes at him. “You of all people should know that.”

“Not all of us are susceptible to corruption,” Dorian added, reasonably.

Varric decided it wasn’t worth to disagree. He didn’t doubt Bethany’s ability, but the circumstances had him worried about her well-being than ever before. That sinking feeling returned, but again he remained silent. Nobody ever reacted well to ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

“There are still more demons on the western battlements,” Aurelie explained, the group following her line of sight were Inquisition soldiers were struggling. Her silence told them she was contemplating what to do next. It was in the opposite direction of the main courtyard where most of the Wardens were held up. Hawke took that as his cue, and grinned, ready for another fight.

“Surely you can handle the rest of the demons without assistance,” Varric spoke, somewhat sarcastically. His sense of humor was barely hanging on. Might as well use it while he could.

“Of course I can,” Hawke replied, brandishing his ridiculously large daggers. “And don’t call me surely!”

He ran off towards the opposite end of the battlements. Bethany lingered to give Aurelie some reassurance.

“You go on ahead, Inquisitor, we’ll catch up in no time.”

Varric wanted to stay with them, but as Bethany turned to follow her brother without another word, he took that as a sign to keep with Aurelie. They ran through the lower floors of the fortress, quickly cutting down any opposing force they ran into. The sight in the courtyard was enough to stop them all dead in their tracks. The magister Erimond, and what they could only assume was Warden-Commander Clarel, holding the attention of the brainwashed Wardens as they completed some sort of ritual. In clear view was a large, closed fade rift. Aurelie’s shock was momentary as she ran forward, too late to stop the Commander as she slayed a Warden in sacrifice.

“Warden-Commander Clarel!” Aurelie shouted. Even though she had her companions stand back, Varric readied his crossbow, unwilling to trust this could end amicably. “If you complete that ritual, you’re doing exactly what Erimond wants.”

The magister argued almost instantly. Varric was sick of that tool and the sound of his voice.

“Do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty!” Erimond yelled. Clarel blindly agreed with him, which only enraged Stroud.

“What do you think your Tevinter ally is doing? Binding the mages to Corypheus!”

His exclamation gave Clarel pause. The shock on her face screamed of betrayal. “Corypheus?”

Erimond was already at her side, his words too quiet for Varric to make out. His trigger finger was itching to shoot down the man now and hope it would end the madness. Clarel was conflicted as she stared between the Tevinter mage and the Inquisition forces. If they could delay this any longer, the Wardens would soon be outnumbered.

But suddenly, Clarel’s expression hardened. “Bring it through!”

“Oh, shit,” Varric muttered.

The Warden mages complied without question, using their magic to tear open the fade rift and bring forth…something. Stroud’s continued appeals went ignored as the Wardens stood ready to defend their Commander to the death. Aurelie shook her head, still determined to find resolution without further bloodshed.

“I’ve spared what Wardens I could,” she started. “See reason! Do not fall victim to this man’s corruption!”

Varric almost breathed a sigh of relief when he saw some Wardens, including Clarel, staring at Erimond now with suspicion. The deception was crumbling—even with the indoctrination, she was now hesitant to continue. Regardless, her resistance only irritated Erimond. So much so that with a few taps of his staff, a resounding screech was heard from above.

Andraste’s ass—Varric hated when his intuition was right.

Within moments, Corypheus’ dragon was in the sky, barreling down towards the courtyard at an alarming rate. The red lyrium it expelled exploded a few feet ahead of them, the shining red of the blast nearly blinding. If Erimond’s intentions weren’t apparent before, they certainly were now. Clarel attacked him and the dragon in vain, and addressed her Wardens as the magister scrambled to run away.

“Help the Inquisitor!” she shouted as she gave chase.

Chaos ensued. The Wardens that did listen to her command immediately engaged the demons that had been brought through the fade rift, including another pride demon.

“I am so sick of seeing these bastards,” Varric called out to nobody in particular.

“That’s not a very nice thing to call someone!” Hawke’s voice echoed around him, his body moving past Varric in a flash of red as he practically dove into the fray. “Did you miss me?”

Even with Hawke’s typical confidence, Varric was not convinced, or even slightly relieved. Shot-for-shot, his fear was harder to swallow. The demons wouldn’t stop coming, and no matter how many times Aurelie or Hawke stabbed at the pride demon, it would not weaken. It was quickly turning into the worst thing he had ever witnessed, more than the fall of Haven, more than the near destruction of Kirkwall. In his distraction, a Warden mage knocked him over with the end of his staff. If he had used magic, Varric couldn’t tell—his one solace. There was fire in the man’s fist, primed for his target.

Guess this is as good of a place as any to be cooked alive, he thought. When he heard screaming, he wondered if he was having an out of body experience. It wasn’t until he felt a hand grabbing at his coat that he snapped open his eyes, unaware he had them closed in the first place. All he saw was Sunshine.

“Bloody hell, Varric.” Her eyes were wide with panic. She pulled him up by the collar with one arm, the other using her staff to set up another barrier. She quickly followed it with a few fire mines to keep enemies back as she helped him to his feet. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you think you can die on me?”

Varric blinked hard, wondering if he had hit his head. Was she…teasing him? Why was everyone joking at a time like this? Before he could respond, a flash of green exploded into the night sky. Aurelie had used her mark to expel a large amount of magic, the blast instantly killing the pride demon and the few enemies that lingered.

“How do we get out of here?” Her voice was laced with determined anger.

Stroud gestured towards the stairs that led to more battlements and a large stone bridge. “She went that way!”

Most of the group quickly made their way up the stairway, Bethany and Varric trailing behind.

“No, no, no!” Hawke quickly turned on his heel, stopping Bethany in her tracks. He grabbed her shoulders, shaking his head as she immediately made to protest. “You are not following me this time.”

“Excuse me?” she hissed. “Now you don’t want me to fight?”

Hawke groaned, throwing his head back in frustration. “That’s a dragon, a scary, lyrium-breathing dragon, and I’m not—”

“We don’t have time for this!” Aurelie interrupted them both and pointed to where more Wardens had made their way to the courtyard. Inquisition soldiers had followed, with their Commander leading them, but they would need help to keep the enemy at bay. “Stay here. Help here.”

Varric could tell that Bethany wanted to argue, but her mouth snapped closed, jaw set tightly as she nodded once. Hawke didn’t say anything as he simply grabbed her hands for a moment, squeezing them in a silent goodbye before he ran up the stairs with the Inquisitor. Blackwall and Stroud chased after them, but Dorian lingered when he noticed Varric was still standing there, just staring at Bethany. He didn’t know what to say—or if saying anything was the right thing to do.

“Varric?” Dorian called for him. He hesitantly stepped backwards a few paces before turning to follow.

That sickening sense of uncertainty returned, settling deep within his gut as Aurelie led them away. Before he rounded the corner, the last thing he saw was Bethany looking straight back at him. He prayed it wouldn’t be for the last time.

Bethany stood breathless amongst the carnage, her blood rushing and mana pulsating through her veins. She hadn’t had a fight like this in years, hadn’t been able to practice her offensive magic so freely in nearly a decade. It made her feel alive, but the circumstances filled her with a sense of dread all the same. She had been in the Western Approach for more than a week, away from Skyhold for a completely different matter when Leliana’s crows came with word that the Inquisition was marching to Adamant. Hawke and Stroud gladly joined the fight, and surprisingly, it didn’t take her too much persuading to be brought along as well.

The battle gave her something to focus on—as of late, her mind had been troubled with something much more delicate. Her heart. Ever since she had discovered Varric’s letters, she found herself confused, unable to deal with the level of embarrassment—jealousy—that she felt. Was she a fool to take their relationship, be it romantic or not, for granted? The appearance of Bianca had only made matters worse. She wondered if she had over-reacted or not.

So, she went to Griffon Wing Keep, thinking the distance would help. It did not. She found herself missing Varric, going back to read the carefully preserved letters she carried with her. She wanted some kind of answer to a question she wasn’t even sure how to ask. Did he still have feelings for her? Did he love her? Maker knew she still loved him, despite everything. That much she could admit, at least to herself. It was a dilemma she had never dealt with before, and somewhere within her very soul, she knew the outcome would affect the rest of her life. Her brother had tried to help, but she discouraged him, knowing the resolution had to be brought on by them alone. Too bad the end of the world didn’t stop for just two people.

“Bloody timing,” she muttered under her breath as she smacked her staff against an attacking Warden.

“What?” Cullen was behind her, his head turning slightly to look at her. She shook her head, willing a bolt of electricity from her fingers to knock the demon attacking him back. “Thanks,” he grunted, before moving away to attack another enemy.

Bethany grumbled at that, reminded of the exact and only word Varric had spoken to her since their reunion. Granted, she wasn’t expecting a full-fledged conversation in the middle a battlefield, but she wasn’t expecting a silent treatment either. He had no trouble talking about her, after all. It wasn’t until he left the battlements that she understood that it came from a place of concern. The same reason why she kept looking for him in the crowd of enemies, wanting nothing more than to keep him safe. When she and her brother eventually made it to the courtyard, she reacted in an instant, not knowing how injured Varric was when she found him flat on his back. This time he was dumbfounded, no doubt by the words she had chosen to speak. She was frazzled—the ridiculousness of the events unfolding around her had terrified her beyond the realm of rational thought. All she knew was that she did not want to leave his side. Not now, not ever.

Her brother had other plans.

“Damnit, Garrett!” She released the frustration she felt in a fiery blast, exhaling as her magic flowed out in a dramatic flair. The demons around her scattered into ash.

A deafening crash snapped her attention towards the stone bridge where the Archdemon had landed. A large portion began to crumble as huge arcs of lightening flashed upwards. Bethany could immediately sense the powerful magic being used. Powerful and dangerous. The ground—even the walls—rumbled with an intensity that nearly toppled her over. Cullen was at her side again and braced her, his expression slowly turning to one of fear as the bridge began to collapse at an alarming rate.

“Pull back!” he shouted, tugging on Bethany’s arm to ensure she followed suit. The only thing she could think was that the Inquisitor had been headed in that direction with her brother—with Varric. The ground troops fell back as far as they could, large groups of stone falling all around them.

“What was that?” Bethany was astounded. It looked just like—

“A tear in the veil,” Cullen breathed out next to her. His eyes were wide in disbelief as a large streak of green lingered in the sky. “They must’ve fallen through.”

He shuffled them to where Inquisition soldiers had commandeered a large room. Wounded lay on the ground, the few healers they had brought with them for the initial assault scrambling to triage. They would be safe here, for the time being. Cullen dispersed commands to his men as he passed, assuring that the fortress was well on its way to being taken. She clenched her fist, regretting that she wouldn’t be of much help here.

“Monitor the fade rift in the courtyard,” Cullen instructed a soldier. “Watch for any sign of—” His tone wavered momentarily. “The Inquisitor.”

“Do you really think they’ve gone through the veil?” Bethany asked. She watched as more soldiers rushed around them. Cullen didn’t answer her, distracted by his men’s movements and the general chaos of the room. She hesitantly reached out to grip his wrist, something she would’ve never dared to do in other circumstances. Regardless of his current position with the Inquisition, she still remembered his role at the Kirkwall Gallows. “Cullen.”

He shook his head, looking down at her hand. She pulled away, but looked at him expectantly. “It’s the only explanation that brings us any hope that they’ve survived,” he finally answered. His voice dropped dramatically as he closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his brow. “It’s the only thing that brings me hope.”

Bethany pursed her lips, slightly uncomfortable. She knew that there was some kind of relationship between the Inquisitor and her Commander, but his body language and expression spoke volumes to how serious it really was. It seemed Bethany was not alone in her worry of a loved one. They stood there silent for a few moments, just observing as more wounded were brought into the room. Suddenly, Cullen sighed, shaking his head again.

“I haven’t told her yet,” he spoke softly. Bethany looked at him curiously. He glanced back, and seemed ashamed of his sudden words. As awkward as she felt, Bethany knew that any conversation would help keep them distracted until more news arrived. Until they were needed.

“The Inquisitor?” she prompted.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, nodding once. “Aurelie. Yes,” he continued. “I haven’t told her that…that I love her.”

Oh. Her mind froze—she was in no mental condition to offer relationship advice. “I’m sure she knows…” she trailed, hoping she could offer even a little comfort. “What, with the way you two are.”

Cullen regarded her, brows furrowed as if he was still unsure. He seemed to hesitate before speaking again. “Does…Varric know?”

“What?”

“About you,” Cullen clarified. “Rather, how you feel about him?”

Bethany could feel her face running hot, mostly because this was not a conversation she thought she’d be having with anybody, let alone Cullen. Garrett, maybe, but here? Now? Was it really that obvious?

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tried to deny, but as she heard her own voice even she could tell it wasn’t very convincing. Cullen raised a brow at her and she groaned, closing her eyes tight until her vision became fuzzy. “Maker, you’re just like my brother.”

Cullen gave a short laugh. “Maker, I hope not.”

Bethany opened her eyes and the two shared a similar, amused smile. It was brief. She shook her head in disbelief, beside herself with how clear her mind was. That answer she had been looking for was just within reach.

“I struggle to wonder if it’s worth the risk,” she explained.

“The world is burning, we’re at war,” Cullen responded. “Considering the circumstances, I think the potential reward is worth the risk.”

“Says you,” Bethany didn’t mean to sound so abrasive, but the Commander only shrugged. They were both fools, but at least Cullen and Aurelie were already together. He had already taken that risk. “I don’t want to have any regrets.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Flying nugs. Bethany almost laughed at the sudden image that came to mind, but it was her quick thinking that gave her another answer. She took a deep breath, feeling a strange sense of calm wash over her. It didn’t last. An Inquisition soldier approached, his expression grim. Bethany’s stomach instantly dropped.

“Commander,” he paused, as if the next words were a struggle to report. “The veil in the courtyard has opened. The Inquisitor appeared only shortly after the explosion. She’s saved the Wardens and—”

“Everyone has returned?” Cullen asked, interrupting his soldier. The runner shook his head.

“Not everyone.”

The Fade. To say Varric was displeased would be the understatement of the entire Dragon age. What was this now, his third trip? First with Hawke, second with King Alistair, and now? He really needed to stop associating with people who brought him here.

“Why is it you never take me anywhere nice?” Hawke was frowning, or at least Varric assumed he was. It was hard to tell from the rogue’s upside down position as he stood on a nearby rock. Nearby, Stroud stood sideways, equally confused. Varric only wanted to lay down and wait for it to all go away.

“Fade shit here,” he mumbled. Nearby, Dorian looked at him, perplexed, and Varric just shook his head. “I’m thinking about just writing a giant footnote for this part of the book.”

“No details? How boring,” the mage replied. At least he was standing the right way. Maybe.

Varric looked around at the green and floating rocks. While the Fade looked different from when he was last forced here, it was similar enough that he didn’t feel like memorizing the specifics. If he had any say, he’d hope to forget this ever happened to him in the first place.

“This isn’t really how I remember the Fade looking the last time I was here…” Hawke trailed.

“It’s because we aren’t dreaming,” Dorian explained. “We’re here physically.”

Varric could feel his eye twitch at that. “No shit.”

“Was it like this when you walked out of the Fade at Haven?” Hawke asked next. He was looking at the ground, above him, clearly upset with his current position.

“I don’t know,” Aurelie spoke softly. She stared at her hand, the anchor quiet. “I still can’t remember what happened the last time I did this.”

“What if we found another rift to escape through?” Stroud pondered aloud. “There was a rift nearby, in the main hall…”

“Possibly.” Aurelie looked off into the distance, a large tear in the sky resembling the breech. “Let’s go.”

Hawke and Stroud were now standing on the ground where they should be. Varric blinked hard, wondering if they had even been askew before, or if it had been his imagination. He rubbed at his head as they walked, periodically glancing out across the landscape. The eerie darkness had him snap his focus back to Aurelie as she guided them. There were a few demons that patrolled the area, easy enough for them to kill.

The unexpected came when at the top of a hill stood a figure. Somebody, or something that looked exactly like Divine Justinia. Her appearance gave everyone pause, even as she greeted them individually. Varric hated to admit he was even remotely religious, but the sight of the most holy had him questioning his beliefs all over again. Their conversation with the Divine centered on the debate on whether or not she was real—it was hard to believe that she could be alive. No, it had to be a spirit. Especially when she began to discuss events that the real Divine would have no way of knowing.

Instead, the figure decided to explain the Fade and the enemy that lingered there. The Nightmare. How it had stolen away the memories of the Inquisitor, helped Corypheus brainwash the Wardens with the false calling, and was now working to keep them trapped there forever. Wherever the Nightmare was hiding, Varric couldn’t wait to introduce him to Bianca.

They battled the demons as instructed, and as promised, their defeat revealed that the mark of Andraste wasn’t really from the Maker’s bride after-all. Plot twist, Varric thought grimly. He could already sense Hawke’s fury as he engaged Stroud.

“The Warden’s actions led to her death!”

The Warden took it in stride. “I assume they had taken their minds, as you’ve seen done before.”

“We can argue after we escape,” Aurelie warned.

Hawke took that as a challenge. “Oh, I intend to.”

Varric still had his doubts, not wanting to believe anything he saw while he was here. That was the tricky thing about the Fade, it tricked you. He didn’t want to think about a monster that took people’s memories away. It would only lead to fear, which was exactly what it wanted. He focused on fighting, keeping his mind as clear as possible as they made their way. He tried to focus on Hawke, the Champion’s scowl so unfamiliar it rattled Varric’s bones. A voice dug into his brain—loud and abrasive.

“Once again Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric.” Must be the Nightmare. “You found the red lyrium, you brought Hawke here. Both Hawkes. They will both die, Varric. And it will be your fault.”

Despite the gab at his heart, he braced himself. “Just keep talking, smiley.”

The grim expressions of the others told him they had also been talked to, Aurelie pausing as she was momentarily caught off guard. Varric didn’t want to imagine what the Nightmare had conjured for her. Hawke looked at him, despondently for a moment. It looked as though he was about to say something when he shook his head, snapping out from the Nightmare’s grasp.

“How charming,” he grumbled with the faintest of smirks.

Further on, the Divine Justinia finally revealed her true nature. Well, sort of. Varric was still confused on if it was a spirit, a memory, or something else. Regardless, it was helping, leading them towards their escape. Except it wouldn’t be easy. It was never easy. In front of the glowing fade rift that would be their escape stood a towering spider—at least it was a spider to Varric. Judging by the looks of the others, it may have been presenting itself in any number of horrible ways. A different, towering demon that he could only assume was the Nightmare stood guard as well. The Divine spirit engaged the demon, sparking it to summon more.

Within minutes, they were overwhelmed. The Nightmare figure moved sporadically, vanishing after only a few swipes of Aurelie’s daggers. It had cast a spell that entranced Stroud and Hawke, the two struggling to help the fight in any way.

“Help for the mage, please!” Dorian was leaning his weight on his staff as he attacked with his free arm.

Varric shuffled over to him, tossing the spare healing potion that he had. He had already gone through several in the short time they had been fighting, with no end in sight. And then he was on the ground, the thump to the back of his head echoing in his ears. He hadn’t even seen what had knocked him out. The lack of Dorian’s reaction told him the mage had been hit too. It was painful, but only for a moment. More than anything, he heard ringing—the clashing sound of metal and magic. He struggled to open his eyes, and when he did, his vision was blurry. He thought to move, but a voice in his head told him that wasn’t the best idea.

Another explosion, Aurelie yelling out as she used the full force of her mark to literally tear the Nightmare apart. Varric imagined what it looked like, smiling briefly to himself as he heard the whispering scream of its defeat. It didn’t seem to be any kind of victory, however. He could hear Hawke and Stroud discussing something urgent.

“…I’ll cover you!”

Was that Hawke? Varric furrowed his brow in a lame attempt to hear.

“…A Warden must—”

Their words grew quieter. Despite Varric’s desperation to want to speak, he was unable. He closed his eyes, wondering if this time he really was about to die. If so, he wasn’t afraid—or at least, the fear he had been carrying with him was now gone. He was calm, almost aloof. Maybe that was the blood loss, or the concussion. All he felt was arms surrounding him, somebody picking him up with little effort.

Please don’t toss me, he thought. At least his sense of humor was determined to hang on to the bitter end. And then, his mind went blank, and he panicked to think of something else. Something better. If he had a choice of a last memory, it needed to better than that.

As the darkness finally surrounded him, he thought of the sun.

Sunshine.

Bethany.

#crab cakes #dragon age #varric tethras #bethany hawke #varric x bethany #oh i'm in danger #a crab writes #fanfic #and there was much rejoicing

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